Olympic hockey gold

He skated up the ice and passed the puck to his teammate, number 12, Jarome Iginla. Iginla passed it back and he shot. The crowd, dressed in red and white, held their breath as the puck sailed through the air. It landed in the net. The crowd erupted into cheers and number 87 threw his gloves and stick high into the air, crashed against the boards, and whooped. His teammates swarmed him. He had just scored the sudden-death overtime goal in the Olympic gold medal game. Against the Americans. At home, in Vancouver. With the home crowd watching. He was the hero of the game. The hero of the day. The hero of the entire Olympics. Canada was thrilled to get their record-setting fourteenth medal of the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympic Games. Team Canada was thrilled that Crosby ended the game with a win. Crosby looked like he was pretty thrilled about the goal too.

Sidney Crosby is without a doubt Canada's current athletic hero. I'm so relieved I can't type any more. Go Canada! I love my country, I love hockey, and I love the winter Olympics!!

Roma Smoothies

His frazzled hair stood up on end like a mad scientist. He tossed ingredients into the blender: peanut butter, soy milk, roma. The perfect smoothie, so he thought. He poured the mixture into glasses and passed them around the table. The smoothie testers lifted the glasses to their mouths to drink the strangest, most bitter smoothie ever made.

*Inspired by David's smoothie-making experiments tonight.

Voice Competition

She grabbed the mike from the volunteer's wrinkled hand and marched up the seven steps to the platform. She strode to the middle of the stage, turned to face the audience, and positioned herself at the very edge of the stage. The child stood so near the edge that the tips of her black patten dress shoes hung over into space. With a movement surprisingly fast for one so small she shifted the mike into one hand and smoothed the front of her bluebell-sprinkled dress with the other. Then she held the mike in both hands again and lifted it to her mouth. She flashed a huge grin past the judge into the silent audience and then closed her dancing green eyes, let out a small barely audible breath, and sang. The judge, who had given the four-year-old an encouraging smile just seconds before, dropped the red pen in her hand. It clattered against the oak table but the child didn't open her eyes, break her rhythm, or lose her concentration. Her clear sweet voice echoed through the auditorium and the audience sat enraptured. She stood perfectly still on the edge of the stage, moving only her head as she sang. Brown ringlet-curls framed the small tanned face and swayed with the movements of her head. The notes floated up into the rafters as the minute singer ended her song. For one second after the last sound faded the child kept her eyes closed, standing as still as if she were a statue in a store window. Then her eyes popped open and she raised the mike back to her lips. "I have to go to the bathroom," she announced emphatically. The crowd, judge included, burst into a swell of laughter and the girl returned a soft giggle, the only shyness she had shown since her name had been called. She rocked back and forth on her shoes until the volunteer walked across the stage to grab her hand and lead her to a back stage bathroom.

Forder

"Harmon, I need the forder for the Yansy job."
Harmon looked up from his cubicle. His boss leaned into his personal working area. Harmon hated it when Vanrall did that. "Forder, sir?"
"Yes, we've got to get that finished today. You do have it, don't you?"
"Sure, it's right here." Harmon reached for a pile on top of his hip-high filing cabinet. He opened the folder, leafing through the pages. "Yeah, it's all done, sir, at least that part that I can do. Here."
Vanrall took the folder and opened it, scanning the first page. "Looks good. That's what I like about you, Harmon. You get the job done."
Harmon, unimpressed by his boss's praise, turned back to his work.
"Well, I'd better get this off to Reimer. What are you working on now?"
"The Bodrew project." Harmon didn't look up from his desk. He had work to do and Vanrall would stay around and talk forever if you let him. He needed a hint. He always needed hints. "Well, I'd better finish this. Glad I could get that folder to you in time, sir."
"Folder, Harmon?" Vanrall laughed and punched Harmon on the shoulder. "You need some English classes? It's FORDER. I thought a smart guy like you would know that." Vanrall walked down the row of cubicles, pausing every few steps to talk to an employee or make a joke.
Harmon watched him leave. "Forder?" he muttered to himself. He shook his head and turned back to his work. "I've got to get out of this place or I'll become one of them."

*Inspired by a word verification after commenting on Janelle's blog

____________________________________________________

Tonight is the women's figure skating long program. I'm cheering for Joannie Rochette (read yesterday's post for more info). I'm done my three W midterms. I'm done half a semester. I only have half a semester to go. I'm happy. I'm leaving for Maine with my siblings and Jonathan today sometime after Adv. Creative Writing class. I can't wait to leave Collegedale. I hope you all have a great time during Spring Break!

Short program

She skates onto the ice for the pre-skate warm-up. The camera focuses on the woman whose blond hair is pulled tightly back into a bun as she skates around the rink. A camera shot shows a man sitting in the stands wearing a red long-sleeved shirt with the stylized word "believe" incorporated into a maple leaf. Her father. He, unlike other parents of Olympic athletes, looks somber, almost sorrowful. The camera moves back to the skater. She bends to retie a lace, then straightens and continues her warm-up skate.

The three NBC commentators exchange dialogue but viewers tune out the comments as their eyes are fixed on the figure skater, until one sentence breaks through. "And she hasn't missed a practice since this has happened. It's like she's found solace on the ice." The announcer tells the skaters that the warm-up has concluded and to please clear the ice. Then the crowd starts cheering their encouragement to the one skater who remains in the rink. "I can't imagine . . ." another commentator trails off.

She skates over to the boards and exchanges high fives with her coach. The cameraman focuses on her face as her eyes tear up. She reaches for her water bottle and swallows down her emotion with the water. The camera cuts back to her father, who claps with a small sad smile on his face and adjusts his earpiece. She gets one last pep-talk, one last bit of advice from her coach, and then she pushes off the side boards and circles to centre ice. She stops and sets up her starting pose. For one long moment she is perfectly still. And then the music starts and she beings with sweeping arm gestures.

For the next two and a half minutes the crowd in the arena and the viewers watching at home sit spellbound, captivated as the dynamic woman skates her way into their hearts with precise jumps, complicated footwork, stunning spins, and a passion that shines through every element of her short program.

She finishes with a flourish and then bites her lip to keep from sobbing as the crowd, cheering wildly, gives her a standing ovation. She bends, hand to her face, unable to mask her emotions any longer. She straightens and skates, hand moving from her face to her neck, face contorted as she tries to regain her composure. Her father is once again shown on the screen, standing and clapping, his smile a mix of grief and pride. She returns to the Vancouver 2010 Olympic logo in the middle of the rink, and bows to the audience on all sides.

Finally the commentators speak. "There's no bigger stage than the Olympic games, but," Scott Hamilton, voice cracking, pauses to regain his composure before continuing, "this skate and the moment means much more than the competition."
"Such a touching moment," says Tom Hammond.
"What a gift she's given us," adds Sandra Bezic.
She skates from centre ice to the results area, her coach enveloping her in a hug as she finally lets out a sob.

She sits down to wait for her score and her coach asks, "How are you?" in French. She responds, "d'accord," OK. Her score is announced: 71.36, a personal best that puts her in third place, which she remains in at the end of the night. She was fifth at the Turin Olympics in 2006 and, until several days ago, her main focus in these Olympic games was to move up from that spot and claim a medal. Her name is Joannie Rochette, six-time and current Canadian champion figure skater, and last year's world champion silver medalist. But none of that, not even her impressive score, matters tonight. Her skate meant so much more than numbers or a medal position because on Sunday morning her mother, who had traveled from her hometown in Quebec to Vancouver to watch her skate, died of a sudden heart attack. It was her mother Rochette was skating for.

Video: Emotional Rochette in third
Article: Rochette fights through grief

Stove fire

"AHHHH!! Help, somebody help me! There's a fire, an actual fire in here!" Bryn screeched from the kitchen. Jonathan and I stayed rooted to the couch where we were doing homework for just a milli-second before Bryn's word sunk in and we jumped up and dashed into the kitchen. Flames leapt several inches into the air above the stove top. "What do I do?" Bryn yelled. Jonathan ran toward the stove while I stayed back near the table. Really, I wondered, what can I do? I'm as helpless as Bryn. "The fire alarm," Bryn pointed. "It's going to go off." Josh, who had just joined the rest of us in the kitchen, reached up and took the whole alarm off the ceiling then set it on the counter. He moved to the stove where Jonathan was blowing out the flames licking the fallen uncooked spaghetti. I thought of a way to be useful and went to open the kitchen window. By that time the flames were out. Jonathan reached over the stove to move the pot of almost-still-boiling water and then the emergency was over. Bryn and Josh worked at cleaning up the charred spaghetti and Jonathan and I returned to the living room. A minute later Bryn let out another screech. Josh had been trying to move the element away with a fork so he could clean out the burned spaghetti underneath it. Bryn, forgetting that the element was still hot even though it wasn't red anymore, tried to help by attempting to pick it up. For her troubles she has a white streak of burn across her right thumb. Jonathan's effort to move the pot of water rewarded him with a small burn on his middle finger. All in all, while the damages were minor, the house smelled like burned spaghetti for the rest of the night.

Snow states

I was going to type this a week ago, but I forgot to so I'll just do it now. Last Monday one of my teachers said that on the Friday before (Feb. 12) every single state in the U.S. had snow. Yes, Hawaii had snow up on its tallest volcano. Yes, Florida had snow in the panhandle. Yes, Texas and Arizona and New Mexico and California all had snow. Amazing isn't it. Apparently, so my teacher claimed, that was the first time every state had had snow in the same day. Crazy, eh? I think so. Also, (not that this is on the exact same topic) I am amused that the term "global warming" is going out of style for the newer and more-hip expression "climate change." Do those in power really think that, by inventing new phrases to scare the public into believing whatever they're told, they can dictate the events, natural or otherwise, that will happen to planet earth? I'm pretty content to leave the future of the world up to God. It means a lot less worrying for me to do and that's just fine.

Babysitting little Q's

Screams met us as Terrie opened the door and let us inside the house. Tucker and Coral bounced around the living, jumping and dancing with joy at an afternoon and evening with Auntie Ali and Auntie Bryn. First we were introduced to the newest member of their family, Maggie, a brown German Shepherd, some-kind-of-terrier cross who Mark said was probably the friendliest dog on the planet. I quietly made a correction in my mind; that dog was Pepper. In any case Maggie proved to be constantly under foot, literally. We'd try to take a step and there was Maggie, flopped on the grass for a tummy rub or licking the feet of the closest person to her.

For awhile we played outside on Tucker and Coral's new Big Toy (what we call the playground set in their backyard) and then Bryn started a soccer game with Tuck. A bit later I joined in and even Coral played for a few minutes before dragging me off to help her finish making her "bird house" (sticks and twigs she had stuck onto the branches of a small tree near the house). Then she found "tiny rocks" (bits of the shingles from the roof) beneath the drain pipe. She sprinkled handfuls of them below the tree and then wanted to have a place to put the extras so I built her several "rock pits," small holes dug into the ground at the base of the bird-house tree. We spent a long time transferring rocks until finally Maggie came over to investigate and broke Coral's spell with the rocks.

Coral loves Maggie. Before Mark and Terrie left on their date Terrie told us that she occasionally crawls into the Dog-loo to be with Maggie. Coral and I took turns "tackling" Maggie and rubbing her belly after she obligingly dropped to the ground. Finally we let the dog be and headed inside where the soccer players had gone several minutes earlier. Inside I got my dominoes out and I built domino lines for Coral to knock over. Tucker, who had been reading his comic books (ones he himself had written) to Auntie Bryn, came over to investigate after the first knock-down and tried his hand at the line-building too for a bit.

Later on Coral and I played Hide-the-Dominoes with three dominoes from the set. According to Coral I wasn't allowed to have any clues or hints when it was my turn to find the dominoes, but I was supposed to give her lots of hots and colds when she was looking. Tuck joined in for a round and then I put the dominoes away so we could play Scrabble Slam. Tucker got the game really quick and had fun playing it while Coral tried to mess it up for us since she didn't want to play, but didn't want us to either. I worked through that controversy and then we put the game away and Bryn warmed up the pizzas for supper.

We played more games after supper until it was time for the kids to put on pj's and have Quiet Time. We read a bunch of books in half an hour and then put the kids to sleep. After the customary "I have to go to the bathroom once more" delays, they were finally in bed and then out came the laptops and textbooks as we half studied and half watched the Olympics on TV until Mark and Terrie got home.

Even though I'm super tired now, I have to run to Walmart to buy ingredients for my demonstration speech tomorrow. I was going to try and do something cool (how to write news stories), but the demonstration part of that idea proved to be too time consuming so I'm just going to fall back on the traditional how-to-make-a-certain-type-of-food speech. I'm going to make up a batch of Midnight Bars tonight so that I can bring in the final product and let my classmates taste them and then I'll measure out another set of ingredients into containers so I can whip up another batch during my speech tomorrow. It might be a long night but I wouldn't had traded the good memories I made with my niece and nephew today for anything.

Pew-sitting

I feel like I sat in pews all day. I went to the Village Chapel church with Jonathan. He was in a men's quartet that was singing at a 4 p.m. benefit concert for Haiti so we decided to just go there for church and stay for potluck and whatever practicing he needed to do before the concert. The church service is always interesting at Village Chapel. The random spontaneity sometimes reminds me of my home church although it seems like all three times I've been to the VC the same sort of spontaneous things happen. This time Joel left his seat at the front of the church a little bit into the service and told Jonathan and John that the quartet had been asked to sing for the second of two special musics. Apparently the VC choir was supposed to sing but that had fallen through for some reason. So they left to practice, returning just before going up front to sing "Steal Away." It was awesome to hear the King Herald's-esque song. At home we sometimes play those CD's on Sabbath mornings.

After church and a humourous but still heartfelt sermon about marriage and how the church is like a marriage, we went to the fellowship hall for potluck, which was pretty good in my opinion. Then Jonathan and I worked on getting caught up in our Bible reading. The last half of Exodus and the first bit of Leviticus is really bogging us down, but we got a lot read while also soaking up the early-spring sunshine. Then the various music groups practiced and I listened and then sat back in the church pews for the concert, which I think went pretty well. The quartet sang "Good News Charriot's A Coming," which was nice to hear again too.

After that Jonathan and I went back to my apartment so I could change and grab something to tide me over for a few hours until we could have another meal. Then we went to Collegedale Church to hear Bryn play for her first Evensong. I thought she did great for playing in her first one ever and for only playing the organ for a year and a half or so. I went and congratulated her as soon as Evensong was done and then Jonathan and I rushed off to meet Tim and get a ride to the church plant in East Ridge where evangelistic meetings have been taking place. The quartet sang both songs, one at the start and one at the end of the meeting so we had to sit through the whole thing. The meeting itself was fine, but I was rather tired, by that time, of sitting on pews.

About halfway through the meeting I got a text from the Accent editor asking me if anyone was writing the story about BCU night. I freaked out. I had no idea BCU Night was today and felt terrible that I hadn't found someone to write the story. And I was stuck in East Ridge right about the time the event was starting. I furiously texted a bunch of people on the Accent staff asking them if they were on campus and could write the story but everyone was either off campus or already had plans. I moved on to people who I knew had taken News Reporting without any luck and finally I tried to get people that are currently in News Reporting. Finally, when the meeting was out I was able to talk to Josh on the phone and he agreed to cover the story for us.

Right about that time Tim had driven away to make it back for a banquet for the police and firefighters of Collegedale that his sister was in. In his haste to get back in time, he had left Jonathan and I in East Ridge. We tried pleading for a ride from a few people before Joel and John took pity on us and let us squish into the tiny back seat of Joel's truck. We were so happy to get a ride back to Collegedale that we didn't mind too much. They dropped us off at Jonathan's van and we went back to my place and hung out with Ty and Kim who were at mine and Bryn's apartment before leaving them to talk while we played some World of Goo to end the evening. Wow, now that I've written everything out it seems like a super packed day but it was fun and very different than recent Sabbaths.

Gas controversy

Cars packed the Walmart gas station as I pulled in. I drove back around the pumps, looking for a place to get in line. I saw a pump with only one car, but just before I could pull into that line, a huge white van zoomed in front of me, getting in position before I could. Oh well, I thought. That's what you get for coming here on a Friday afternoon. I got in line behind the white van, put my Accord into park, and got busy people-watching out my open window until my turn. Less than a minute later, the car filling up with gas pulled out of the gas station and the van moved up. This isn't so bad, I reassured myself. I'll be out of here soon.

Just then a young man with an annoyed wrinkle on his forehead walked up to an older bearded man just stepping out of the van. "Excuse me, sir. I was waiting up there in front of that car to back in to this line and fill up with gas," the young man said, trying hard to be polite despite the obvious annoyance he was feeling. "Would you mind backing up, please, so I can take my turn? I've been waiting here a long time." I immediately shifted my car into reverse and backed up so that the van would be able to back up as well. The young man returned to his car.

"Sir, SIR!" I looked up to see the young man turned and strode back toward the white van. "I thought I told you to back up. I'm not sure if you heard me right, but you need to back up and let me in next." The old man, who I decided looked considerably like Moses (at least the Moses I saw in the pictures in Bible story books) because of his long flowing beard spat out, "Oh I heard you alright but I ain't gonna back up. Too bad if you were going to back up. I'm here now and I'm going to get my gas." Moses stepped forward and grasped the gas nozzle, pulling it from the pump with a violent twist. "What do you think you're doing!" shouted Mr. Follow-the-Rules. "Get in your van and back up or I'm going to call the cops on you." Moses didn't get back in his van or back up. He simply ignored Follow-the-Rules and started pumping gas. I realized I wasn't going to be able to get gas from that pump for awhile so I moved into another line and then tuned back in to the drama unfolding outside my window.

In another minute Follow-the-Rules had tattled to the lady at the pay window. She blazed out of her booth. "What do you think you're doing?" the lady shouted at Moses, who by now had to be close to filling up his tank. "You stop pumping gas this instant. It was his turn first and you're totally out of line." I stared out my window so intently that I almost didn't see the car in front of me move up to the pump. I moved my car ahead at a snail's speech, still watching the scene just two gas pumps over. Moses responded to In-Charge lady in a growl that I couldn't decipher. "The cops are on their way here so you just don't go anywhere until they get here," In-Charge flung at Moses as she flounced back to her post. A college-aged girl who had just finished pumping gas in the line beside mine declared in a drawl to Follow-the-Rules, "I'll be your witness when the cops arrive. I'm just going to pull into a parking spot, but I'll back you up." She continued, "It's ridiculous how he's acting. What's wrong with people these days?" Miss Back-Up hopped in her car, pulled around my line, and parked before getting out of her car to talk to Follow-the-Rules.

The car in front of me left and I drove up, pre-paid for gas, and started pumping, listening to Follow-the-Rules and Back-Up's conspire together. Moses, now finished gassing up, but hemmed in between the Follow-the-Rules' car and one behind him, walked to the passenger window to grumble and swear to his wife. Sirens screeched in the distance and, by the time my tank was full, four cop cars had overtaken the gas station. "What seems to be the problem?" one cop asked as he swaggered towards Moses. I wondered how he knew who the culprit was. Follow-the-Rules and Back-Up burst out in a tirade of anger at Moses. Although I tried to think of anything else I could do at the gas station to stick around and watch the drama intensify, my mind was blank and I dutifully climbed back into my car and slowly drove off, keeping my ear close to the open window as long as I was able to hear the angry voices shouting back and forth. Wow, I thought. All that over issues that elementary kids learn to deal with: line-budging and sharing. Some people should learn how to grow up. Other should learn to let some things slide once in awhile.

Guatemala SM

Exactly four years ago today I left for Guatemala where I worked as a volunteer at an orphanage. I can't believe how much has changed since that day when my parents and Bryn drove me down to the Seattle airport for the two red-eye flights to Guatemala City. At that point in time I was completely confused about a career goal, which had a confusing affect on other areas of my life too. (I won't go into detail on that whole career goal thing since most of you have read my Adv. Creative Writing article and know the story.) The three months I lived in Guatemala taking care of almost thirty babies and children less than five-years-old was the most difficult and trying thing I've ever done. It was also the most rewarding. I wouldn't trade my time there for anything.

OCD?

Kaitlyn held her towel up with one hand and jerked open her closet door with the other. She didn't even have to look as she grabbed a shirt off its hanger. Today was Wednesday and that meant she would wear a solid-coloured shirt. Her closet was impeccably organized into sections. All her dress clothes were hung on the very left hand side of the closet. Then came a section for each day of the week. Monday's shirts were striped, Tuesday's were plaid or checkered, Wednesday's were solid colours, and Thursday's were polka dotted. Friday's section held all Kaitlyn's patterned shirts that didn't fit into one of the other categories. After the Friday section hung all her other shirts, the old and baggy ones that she wore on the weekends.

Kaitlyn's closet had been organized this way ever since the week before she started kindergarten. Before that she had been content to let her mother organize her clothing and pick out what she would wear each day. But that week, just before beginning school for the first time, a snow plow driver had unknowingly sideswiped her mother's car as she drove down their street on her way to work. She died instantly and Kaitlyn's world changed just as fast. Her father, deep in his own grief, had left choosing clothing up to Kaitlyn and she took charge of her own life for the first time ever. That Monday just hours after being told the news, she stood in front of her closet, still in her pajamas, and looked up at the clothes haphazardly tossed onto hangers and shelves by her hurried mother late the evening before. As Kaitlyn gazed into the unorganized mess, something deep within her shattered. She had to do something. Needed something to occupy her so she wouldn't give in to the confusion and chaos swirling through her body. So she became a whirlwind, yanking shirts from hangers, pulling pants off shelves, tossing shoes out of her way. When the closet was empty she moved on to the dresser, tugging the heavy drawers from their mounts and dumping socks, underwear, belts, hats, mitts onto the growing pile of clothes in the middle of her bedroom floor. Every shred of clothing ended up in the pile and then, with a sniff to keep the tears away, she grabbed her swimsuit from the top of the heap and started to reorganize her clothes, first the dresser, than the closet.

Kaitlyn had kept her clothes organized exactly the same as how she put them away that afternoon twelve years earlier. She had even added more structure to her clothing-management plan as she grew older. Each night, she would put the shirt she had worn in the back of that day's section. She only wore that particular shirt the next time it got to the front of the section. Kaitlyn loved her method of organization. She was tied to it. Couldn't function if someone else came into her room and messed up her clothes-order. She had gone into a fit of rage when her younger sister tried to borrow a T-shirt a few years earlier. Amanda had learned her lessons and never did that again.

Now, as she reached for the sky-blue shirt in the front of her Wednesday-pattern section, she smiled. Everything was as it should be. Her closet was in order, so her life was too. Nevermind that Gyspy was yapping his head off and scratching at the front door to go out. Nevermind that in the kitchen right down the hallway her thirteen-year-old sister was whining to her father about needing more allowance. Nevermind that one of the twins was screaming that he hated Shredded Wheat and the other one was singing "This is the Song that Never Ends" at the top of his voice while banging his spoon on the table. Nevermind that her step-mother's high heels were, at this very moment, clacking down the hardwood stairs to tell them both to hush up and eat before their carpool ride arrived to cart them off to R.O. Harvey Elementary. Kaitlyn blocked out all those sounds as she pulled the solid-coloured shirt from the hanger, slipped it over her head and got ready for another organized day of school.

Last balloon

My parents sent me 25 orange, purple, and pink helium balloons on my birthday (Jan. 25). While decorating for my party, Danielle untied the balloons from the candy bag that was holding them down to the floor and let them bounce along the ceiling in a happy, celebratory dance. In the next few days some of the balloons began to lose their helium and drift toward the floor. Several days later Josh decided we should have a competition. We all chose a balloon we thought would stay up the longest and wrote our names/initials on the balloons we picked. Jonathan, in particular, tried to test the strength and endurance of each balloon still helium-filled and hugging the ceiling. By the evening of the next day the balloon I chose was already starting to drop below the rest. Bryn's was next to fall and then Jonathan's and Josh's balloons decided to make the plunge around the same time. The last balloon left standing (or floating, I guess) is a purple one with an orange ribbon that nobody chose. I secretly call him AlphaBalloon. It's clear he has the Right Stuff. (If you don't understand that last sentence, read Tom Wolfe's "The Right Stuff.")

Strawberry Patch

Milt Patworth sat in the middle of the berry patch eating his mother's prize-winning strawberries. He found the biggest, juiciest berry he could spot within stretching distance, plucked it from its emerald nest, and popped it into his mouth. Look, find, pluck, eat. Look, find, pluck, eat. Again and again. Milt knew he shouldn't be sitting in the patch. He was crushing the delicate plants beneath him. Milt knew he shouldn't be eating the biggest and best strawberries. He wasn't allowed to eat any strawberries from the garden at all, at least not until the country fair was over. Milt knew his mother would be furious. He wouldn't be able to hide his deed. The juice dribbled down his chin and stained his mouth, fingers, and bare chest. The bib of his faded old overalls was almost purple with berry juice and he knew that, when he finally stood up, the seat of his overalls would be covered with dirt clumps. And yet, all that didn't matter at the moment because he'd just found the biggest and juiciest strawberry of all and he could just reach it if he scooted his bottom two inches to the left. He grabbed the top of the berry with his red-tipped fingers and pulled. The plant sprang backward as the berry he tugged on tumbled from its hiding place, bounced through his fingers, and rolled to a stop in the black dirt. Milt picked up the fat strawberry and rubbed the dirt from the red skin with his thumb. Then he threw back his head and dropped the entire berry into his waiting jaws and chewed. The juice squirted from his mouth and trickled down his throat. His teeth flattened the potential prize-winner and he licked the remains from his lips as he swallowed the succulent berry. "Milton Bradley Patworth, what in tarnation are you doin' sitting in my prize strawberry patch and ruinin' my plants and chompin' down my best berries?" Uh oh Milt thought, turning to look at his mother standing at the edge of the garden in her flowered house dress and apron. He knew he was in for a whipping this time. His mother's face was as red as the strawberry he'd just eaten.

Valentine's Banquet

Today was definitely my best Valentine's Day in many, many years. Maybe ever. Probably ever. Basically I got to hang out with Jonathan all day. The first part of hanging out was in comfy studying clothes and the second part of hanging out was in fancy dressy clothes. Bryn, Josh, Jonathan and I carpooled to the banquet at the Tennessee Aquarium which was probably the best banquet SAU's SA social committee has probably ever put on, at least in recent years. I went to the banquet two years ago so I feel I kind of have a right to say that. I did not really enjoy that banquet in the least. I went with someone who I felt liked me, but I didn't like (in a romantic way at least, I liked him fine as a person) at all. It was just sort of awkward and the whole night was a little cheesy entertainment-wise. Food was good though. Well, enough about that. This year's banquet was great. The food was pretty great (especially the fruit) and the entertainment was walking around an awesome aquarium filled with interesting fish, reptiles (crocodiles/alligators are so cool!), butterflies, penguins and sharks (which are pretty much the best underwater creatures ever!). So basically, in a nutshell, here's my synopsis: The banquet was awesome and I wish the bottom floor of the Ocean Journey building was my bedroom.

Find Circles

The weather was coldish and wet (after the snow melted, at least) today. It was definitely an indoors type of afternoon. So, for something different to do, Jonathan and I made each other word searches with an online word search generator. While we were looking for a site I called word searches find circles. Jonathan laughed at me, but that's what I've called them ever since I was a little kid so I staunchly stuck with my name. I think it's a better description anyway. You find the words, then circle them. Makes perfect sense to me, but Jonathan said the real name works better since the whole point is to search for words. In any case, I'm going to stick to calling them find circles. Then we found a site and started working. Since it was Sabbath, we used Bible themes. He made me one about Noah's ark and I made him one about the topic of our Bible reading for today, Moses and the children of Israel in the wilderness. It was fun. You should make one too. Try it out by clicking here.

Torch Run

She wore a white track suit with ocean blue and jade green patterns on the jacket and pant legs. She ran. Past the waves beating on the rocky coastline, past sky scrapers, past cheering school children, past crowds of people lining the sides of the road. In her left hand she held a flaming white torch high above her head. She waved her right, red-mittened hand at the screaming onlookers. For one second she stopped smiling at the faces blurring on either side of her as she ran and looked down at her right hand. On the palm side of the ruby mitten, a white maple leaf. On the top, the words "Vancouver 2010." She looked back up and saw, 50 meters ahead, a man sitting and waiting in a wheelchair in the middle of the road, dressed in a white track suit with ocean blue and jade green patterns on the jacket and pant legs. He had ruby red mittens on his hands. Attached to his chair was a white torch, ready to be lit so he could wheel it into the Opening Ceremonies and pass it off to four more Canadian notables who would light the Olympic Cauldron and officially start the 2010 Winter Games.

(I love the Olympics, especially the winter Olympics, especially when they're in my home province. Yay, for the long-awaited start of the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Winter Games!!)

What if...

People often say they hate thinking about What If's. I must be weird because I like What If's. I enjoy wondering what might have happened if I had/hadn't done something. Thinking about that stuff is always so interesting, especially thinking about how decisions we made in our lives affected where we are/what we're doing today. I'm not sure if I'm making much sense anymore so I'm going to give you some examples.

What If #1 - What if I had chosen to go to SAU the year I graduated from high school?
A: I probably wouldn't have switched schools halfway through my college career and might have actually graduated from college in a normal amount of time (four years after graduating from high school).

What If #2 - What if I had chosen journalism as a major before starting college and stayed with that choice throughout all my college years?
A: I probably would have gotten through college in four years from my high school graduation date (or at least closer to four years) and would probably be off working someplace (most likely Canada) right now.

What If #3 - What if I hadn't gone as an SM or worked at home for a year after that?
A: I might have just stayed at WWC to finish up my schooling and, again, would probably be done school and working somewhere now.

What If #4 - What if I hadn't followed Bryn and Ty to SAU?
A: I might have gone through with my plan to take the two-year Air Traffic Controller program in Ontario . . . and would probably be working as an ATC somewhere out in the northern reaches of Canada.

What If #5 - What if I hadn't joined SAU's orchestra?
A: I probably would never have gotten to know most of my SAU friends, I definitely wouldn't have gone on the Spring Break Europe tour in March 2008, and I probably wouldn't have ever gotten to know Jonathan.

What If #6 - What if I hadn't decided to live in Southern Villages last school year?
A: I most likely wouldn't have spent so much time hanging out and eating at Tim and Jonathan's apartment.

I think you can see where this blog post is going so I'll stop with the examples now. I just think it's crazy how things work out. God really does know what's best for us all so I usually try not to stress about stuff and let Him work things out. He always does it best anyhow.

Radio ads

Most days I listen to J-103, a Christian radio station in the area, while I drive to campus. On my way to my 9 a.m. class I like to listen to the weather and traffic reports and then the two-minute news, which all takes place just before I get to the Brock parking lot and have to run in to class. It's all very handy. Usually when I travel to my afternoon classes I'm stuck with annoying ads or Christian music. Although I've noticed that J-103 does like to play the same type of songs quite often, the music is typically pretty good. However, the ads are very much NOT-good, at least in my opinion. I'm always astonished by the variety, from pastors of area churches essentially bragging about how good their church is to retail ads from hair salons or pizza restaurants. I always surprised when the Christian-y ads are followed by profit-motivated ads. Anyway, off-topic . . . So today on my way to my 2 p.m. class I was stuck with listening to ads (Don't ask me why I never change the station. I have no good answer for that question.) and was just tuning them out when one I hadn't heard before began. Ahhh, another of those "Christian" ones, I thought to myself. Then I heard these words: "There are many people in the community who don't have anything to keep them warm. No hats, toboggan, or scarves." That's as much as I heard of the ad. My immediate reaction was, Toboggans? How can people here even USE toboggans. Then my brain actually processed what had been said. Toboggans? How in the world do toboggans help keep people warm?!? I giggled out loud the rest of the drive to campus and repeated the phrase to myself, determined not to forget it before I could get into Brock, take out my notebook, and write it down. I shared it with my classmates just before class started. They found it amusing as well. I thought you might too.

The ad was additionally hilarious to me because it reminded me of a time when my family was crossing the border into the U.S. on a quick trip to Spokane to pick up my older sister from the airport and do some shopping. My older cousin had come with us and got grilled at the border crossing, since he wasn't "part of the family" and didn't have his "mother's permission" (he was 21 and most definitely an adult at the time, in any province, state or country). The border official must have been a learner because, after finishing the questions for Nathan, he asked my mum if we had any citrus fruits, "like oranges, grapefruit, vehicles, or lemons," in the car. Somehow my mum kept a straight face and answered his question seriously but as soon as he let us through and she rolled up her window we all burst into gales of laughter. This ad very much reminded me of that incident.

Kleenex

Today I give the inventor of Kleenex, or facial tissue (to be completely unbiased towards certain brands as we learn to be in journalism classes and AP style), a hand. Bryn kindly passed on her cold to me last night and I've been fighting a losing battle with a scratchy voice, coughing attacks, and a stuffy nose since then. Those of you in Adv. Creative Writing can attest to this. For those of you not in that class, here's a short-form of the episode I had in class today. We had a workshop day and decided that, since we were tired of reading our own pieces out loud to the entire class (of four students and the teacher), we'd each read the story of the person to our right. This meant that I had the immense privilege of reading Janelle's masterpiece. I was going along reading the story passably well (although not as well as the amazing story deserved) when I got to somewhere around the second last paragraph of the second last page. All of a sudden I took a breath that hit a certain section of the upper part of my trachea. So basically I got this enormous tickle in my throat/cough attack and had to dash, with water bottle firmly clutched in hand, to the washroom where, within a minute or two, I had the tickle/cough under control once again. I'm sure I made quite the scene, but in that kind of a situation there's only one thing to do; immediately run from the room and take cover in the nearest washroom to mop away the cough-tears and blow the suddenly-runny nose. Ahh, the joys of having a cold. Yes, I'm very thankful to the Japanese for inventing, washi, the first facial tissues, all those centuries ago.

Orange list

It's been my absolute very favouritest colour since I bought my first orange item with 15th-birthday money. Before that I liked green but, because that has been my mum's favourite colour since she was a little kid, I wanted something more unique, more individual. And so, my post for today is devoted to thinking of and naming all the orange items that reside alongside with me in my apartment. Ready for the list? Here we go!
-jacket
-sweatshirt
-a pair of Smartwool socks
-three T-shirts
-toque
-fuzzy Walmart blanket
-furry Walmart pillow
-tea towel
-oven mitt
-toaster (which is still yet unused since it's made a burning smell every time we've tried it)
-colander
-mixing bowl
-plastic stirring spoon
-plastic spaghetti server spoon
-measuring spoon set
-shampoo & conditioner (no, I did not buy them simply because of their colour, although that did have just a little bit of sway between two different types of the same brand)
-toothbrush (my mum put it in my stocking this Christmas)
-three pens (two write in orange and the other writes in black)
-notebook
-several push pins
-a used gift ribbon that adorned my Christmas gift from Jonathan

There's probably more stuff but that's what I can think of at the moment. That's a pretty hefty list of orange stuff. Call me eccentric if you will, but having orange stuff around makes a person feel pretty cheery. Try it sometime.

Hot water heater

"Ali, come look at this," Jonathan called from the utility closet just as I walked out of my room to tell him I was ready to go. I skipped getting my dress shoes from the garage and stepped into the closest to see what was going on. A pool of water lay on the cement floor beneath the water heater fed by a stream of water flowing from the pipe that the pressure release valve vents into. I stared from the artificial pond to Jonathan's face. "Ummm, that's not good." "Nope," he responded as he twisted the gas knob from ON to OFF and then reached to the top of the heater and shut off the hot water valve. I went to the garage, found a bucket, brought it back to the utility closet, and stuck it under the pipe, which had almost stopped dripping water by that time.

After making sure the hot water was turned off we left for church, hoping the slowly draining pipe wouldn't overflow the bucket before we got back to the apartment. All was fine when Bryn, Jonathan and I got back for lunch, except for the fact that we were without hot water but, since Bryn and I had already taken showers for the day, that didn't really bother us. Later that evening the Martin's got back from their trip and knocked on our door to figure out why they weren't getting any hot water. I explained as best I could and Jonathan, who was here again, filled in the parts I didn't understand. Dr. Martin called a fellow church member who was a plumber and he gave us directions that he said might be able to stop the leaking problem. Jonathan used a wrench to hit the hot water valve Dr. Martin told us would fix the leak and, when that didn't work, hit the pressure release valve. The leak stopped and we were able to turn the hot water back on although we did replace the bucket with a large plastic storage container from our garage, just in case the leak became problematic again.

The next morning we realized that although we'd turned the hot water on we hadn't lit the pilot light again so the water hadn't heated. We went about doing that just as the Martin's knocked on our door again to see if the leaking problem had been solved the night before. I assured them that all had been fixed and, as soon as the water was warmed up again, took a nice hot shower. When I came back home Sunday night I decided, on a whim, to just check the hot water heater again before going to bed. I was very glad I had. The plastic storage container that we'd put under the pipe in place of the small bucket was filled so full the sides had been pushed out and water was spilling over the top. I went through the same motions Jonathan had done the day before and called Bryn to help me bail the water from the container and dump it outside. Finally we got as much water out as we could and I wrote a note to the Martin's before going to bed.

In the morning I decided against a freezing cold shower and went straight to class. In the afternoon the Martin's again knocked on the door and said the church member-plumber was coming to fix the heater. "In the summertime we can go a day or two without warm water, but in the winter we need hot water," Mrs. Martin said emphatically. I agreed and was relieved later that night when the hot water heater was fixed and working well again. It's hard to go even a day without having nice warm water whenever you need to.

Different cooks

He loved to cook; she didn't. He burned everything he made. When she actually had to cook, she worked for hours, slaving over intricate menus and completing each dish with fancy garnishes. Maybe that's why she didn't love, or even like, cooking. Everything had to be just perfect for her meals. When they ate what she cooked everyone sat at the huge oak dining room table and they had to use proper etiquette to impress their visitors. He just liked to have fun in the kitchen, experimenting with flavours and concocting new recipes. Much to her amused dismay, and his nonchalance, the recipes never worked out, though he ate them anyway and shared them with her. He'd scoop the remains of a newly-tried-out idea onto one large plate, grab two forks from the silverware drawer, and hand one to her. They squished onto one cushion of the long black leather couch and ate the destroyed food, laughed, and enjoyed each other's company. He usually made the meals . . .

Sleep is great

Whoever invented sleep was a genius. I didn't sleep last night due to my procrastination in preparing for my debate and my subsequent preparation. I finished working on my debate around 7 a.m. and then made sure I'd covered everything I wanted to and proofread it and went over it a couple times. Then I printed it out and went to have a shower. When I got out of the shower Bryn told me that Jonathan was here. When I went out to the kitchen he was making French toast for me. It was amazing, except for the fact that I only had a few minutes to eat with him before running off to my classes. Anyway, I'm definitely willing to bet that he's the best boyfriend ever. French toast on a Friday morning when you didn't sleep at all the night before is awesome.

I felt pretty good and not too tired when I was in class giving my speech and rebuttal and doing a few errands after class. But when I came back to the SJ&C to do some grading later on I started getting tired. I finished one assignment and decided to give up on getting the other one out of the way. Then I came home, ate a small lunch and had a nap. It was awesome. So awesome, in fact, that I think I'll head back to bed again, this time for the night. Good night all.

Debate

Just let it be known that I officially hate debates! I'm in the process of trying to write my first ever actual debate; it's not going well. It's on the right to know with my position being that there should be a right to know. My classmate Renee, who is taking the opposite side, will give her side of the debate and then I have to talk for 8-10 minutes on my side with numerous great examples of why there is a right to know. After that Renee gives a 3-5 minute rebuttal about what I said and then I give a rebuttal on what she said. Then we're done. Let's just say that I cannot wait until 11 a.m. tomorrow when it will be over. Then I have until March 24 before I have my second and final debate in Mass Comm. & Society. I absolutely and definitely can't wait until that date passes and I am forever free of having to write/make official debates.

Bulletin boards

Maybe my creativity grows when I have a bulletin board. One day when I was at Jonathan and Tim's apartment near the end of last semester I stole two square pieces of Tim's corkboard and hung them above my desk. Since then I've been pinning random things to the corkboard. At the moment there are: several lists (things to do, movies to watch - as if I'll actually get the time to watch any), a couple IOU post-its, pictures of my family and friends, a yet-unused Canucks bumper sticker, the SJ&C faculty picture/Christmas card, a cut-out snowflake that a co-worker made for each person working at the Accent office one night in December, mine and Jonathan's read-through-the-Bible-in-a-year schedule, a blank SM application form (to remind Bryn to fill out the online form), a fortune cookie fortune that says I will soon begin a new line of work (I saved it because I'm hoping it's prophetic once May rolls around), and a fake parking ticket that Jonathan left on my windshield last October. I feel like those two packed squares of corkboard give me more ideas, even when the subject I'm writing about has nothing to do with anything pinned on there. Now I'm longing for a real bulletin board. If I had one I would be able to move my list-of-books-to-buy and my list-of-food-items-to-make from the fridge to the bulletin board. And just imagine how much more creative I could be if I filled up one of those!

More winter

Exactly two minutes before his alarm went off he sat straight up in bed and turned to look at his calendar. "Yep," he murmured sleepily, "it really is Groundhog Day. Guess my dreams were telling the truth." He stretched and yawned, then stuck his toes out from under the quilt. He leapt from the warm bed, grabbing his housecoat from the hook as he danced on tiptoes into the kitchen. "Why they do this to me year after year after year is beyond me," he grumbled holding the hot water heater under the faucet. He plugged the heater in, fumbled through the cupboard for a mug, and tossed in the contents of a hot chocolate packet. He turned on his laptop, which was still sitting in the middle of the kitchen table where he'd placed it last night after playing a game or two of spider solitaire, and navigated to his favourite news site. "Hmmm, looks like the crowds are already gathering," he said. Then the hot water heater whistled, and he ran to pour the piping hot water into his mug.

He sipped the hot chocolate while browsing some more news stories. Then an instant message box popped up on his desktop. WHAT'D YA THINK? SIX MORE WEEKS OF WINTER THIS TIME? He grinned an evil grin, finished his drink in one last long swig, and typed back. A new message popped up from another of his cohorts. Soon the chats were all linked and messages flew back and forth. WELL BOYS, he ended the conversation, LET'S GET ON TO BUSINESS. He signed off the instant messenger, checked the news site once more, and closed the lid of his computer. Leaving the dirty mug in the sink, he went to the bathroom to groom. Once his teeth were brushed, his ears cleaned, and his fur combed and looking presentable, he walked back into the kitchen and looked at the microwave clock. 7:56. It was early. Earlier than he ever got up. But it was a once-a-year event, and he couldn't be late. There would be no fun in that. He washed his mug as he waited a few more minutes. 7:59. Then he opened his front door and sauntered up the tunnel.

Just out of sight of the crowds he leaned nonchalantly against a pre-cleaned place on the wall (didn't want to get his fur dirty just before appearing), and sucked on the mint he'd popped in his mouth just before leaving the house. He would let them wait until it was almost 8:01. Let the suspense build a little. Finally he knew it was time. He patted the fur on his belly into place one last time, gave a quick energizing shake, and dashed up the last bit of tunnel. He poked his head out of his hole, quickly assessing the crowd gathered behind a protecting fence (Who does it really protect? he always wondered. Them or me?) At the site of his silky head, they burst into cheers and applause. Ahhh, just the same as every year, he thought. After the moment of surprise was over, he vaulted from the tunnel, and scrambled out of the darkness cast by the overhanging tree branches. Yes, it was sunny; this was perfect. He shuffled into the bright morning sunlight. Stop. Look confused, or maybe almost curious. Amble forward a step or two, watching the ground. Jump back just the tiniest amount. Stare at the shadow of yourself. Look horrified. Edge backwards. Slowly, slowly. OK. NOW! Turn straight around and run fast back to the hole. Dive into the tunnel and disappear. Out of breath (I really should get up every so often and work out a bit), he ran around the corner and stopped just out of sight of the crowds of people. Yes, he had done it! It had been more than perfect. He had seen their expressions. They were hoping for a good sign, but he'd pulled that hope away. Six more weeks of winter for those humans to contend with. Six more weeks for all the humans; the other groundhogs had done the same thing. He didn't care. He'd be curled up fast asleep and dreaming in his cozy underground bed.

Photo: On a plane

There's a picture on my desk. Three towheaded children are playing on a back porch with ugly green fake-turf surfacing. The youngest, a pink-cheeked, long-haired one-year-old boy wearing a striped blue and white hoody, balances in the middle of a bright red Fisher Price airplane/teeter-totter/merry-go-round, hands firmly gripping the steering wheel. On the teeter-totter's high wing sits the middle child, three years old and dressed in a light pink sweatshirt and sweatpants (probably hand-me-downs from her older sister since pink is not a colour she usually picks out to wear), peeking out from a considerably well-looked-after (for her) mane of slightly-tangled blond hair. From her half-guilty looking glance at the camera, one can only guess what mischief she was involved in before playing on the porch. On the low wing of the plane is the oldest sister, age six. Her legs are crouched and her pointy knees show she is growing out of the airplane teeter-totter (although she will still play on it with her siblings and younger cousins for years to come). She's wearing a wide, big-sisterly Jack-o'Lantern grin, pink leggings that come halfway up her calves, and a baggy pink sweater with an intricate design. A neon-yellow plastic ribbon is pinned to the middle of her sweater and her bangs flip out on either side, caused by a cowlick that will bring dismay to future hairstylists. The trio is the picture of happiness, enjoying the time playing together on an apparently seasonable day. The picture was either taken in early autumn or late spring, judging by the clothes, although all three children are barefoot.

Every time I sit at my desk I glance at the picture and wonder where that Jack-o'Lantern-grin girl has gone. Although her teeth have grown in and she has stopped wearing leggings, she's still the same girl. She still adores her siblings and loves hanging out with them. She still can't wait until winter ends and she can go barefoot once again. She still loves airplanes. But, sadly, she's grown up. No longer can she spend an afternoon on a back porch spinning around in circles trying to make her younger siblings laugh. She has to think about important things like classes and homework and writing news stories and editing and work and finding ideas for creative writing stories and keeping her relationships with all her friends on good terms. She is busy. She is tired. She is ready to be done school. But she is still imaginative. Sometimes she lets her mind wander back in time. With great care, she'll pick up an old story she thought up years ago, blow the dust off, and replay it in her mind. Once in awhile she'll write it down. And that's what keeps her going. The stories, both true and made-up, that come from back then, in her memory, where she was a young girl, happy and innocent, who just loved to make up stories and tell them to her siblings.