As I am writing, I am finding myself sitting in what appears to be an endless line of cars on I-75, somewhere north of Chattanooga. My mother is driving (and what a trooper she has been to drive all the way from Cincinnati, despite our offerings to trade) and my sister is watching a movie via iPad. Stephen is beside me, sound asleep, and wakes up only when his phone vibrates with the updated score of the Falcons-Vikings game.

Happy Thanksgiving.

It really was a good one. I had 3 feasts belonging to each branch of my family, including the step-family who resides in Northern Kentucky. Henceforth, I am in a car returning to the Peach state this glorious, rainy Sunday.

Stephen hasn’t slept the entire trip until an hour ago after a CrunchWrap and a Diet Dew from Taco Bell. He read The Hunger Games ‘til 3 in the morning last night and then continued reading all the way through Kentucky and most of Tennessee until he finish, a mere 15 hours after I loaned it to him.

I finished it myself yesterday, but I certainly didn’t read it as fast as he did. I got it a week or two ago and read casually until a couple of days ago when I got hooked. Until I finished, I would read whenever I could. It’s a thrilling read.

Since then, I’ve been imagining myself as a hunter in the woods, bow and arrow loaded. Not hard to picture myself with a bow and arrow- I got trained to be an archery instructor this summer (which has nothing to do with my ability, believe me) but I’ve seen many an arrow leave bows in my hands since May, when I got trained and badly sunburned.

I picture myself, bow and arrow, in the woods. I had to pick the perfect scene, so, of course, I picked Camp Glisson, where I worked the past 3 summers and where the lay of the land is a wooded paradise. Yes, I picked a Christian camp as a comparable setting to the bloodbath which is The Hunger Games. You would, too.

Camp Glisson is not only one of my most favorite places on earth with the waterfall, hiking trails through wooded hills, and beautiful people, it’s only my go to if some kind of apocalyptic event occurs.

Dead serious. I’ve dreamed of it before.

I dreamed that China invaded America (this is your brain on college) and put the cities and highways on lockdown. Stephen and I decided to set a course for camp, where we could survive on the land and supplies for a little while.  Somehow, Stephen and I escaped in a car and decided that, as soon as we got to the first highway checkpoint, we would ditch the car and hike the rest of the way.

Which we did, since our trip wasn’t authorized.  We hiked alongside the road and camped out in tents until we made it to camp. We lived at Outpost, the rustic, and most isolated, part of camp until the mayhem had settled into normalcy.

Yeah, you may dream about forgetting to wear pants or not studying for your math test, but I dream about post-apocalyptic journeys to safe havens. I’m a unique individual. I dreamed this before I read the book… so I guess I’m already wired to run with Katniss every step of the way as she maneuvers through the games.

That being said, I picture myself with a bow and quiver at my favorite place in the world in an easy way.

The traffic has loosened and we are now cruising at a solid 60 mph through the pouring rain (which must be parked over I-75.)  It has been a good Thanksgiving.

I yet predict what next year will hold… I’ll be several months married by then and who know what part of the country I will be in. Don’t worry though- if there’s an apocalyptic event, you know where to find me.

It was about this time last year when I wrote one of my favorite posts ever called “Honeysuckles”. It emobodies much of how I feel now, even after a year has passed.

A year has passed.

Honeysuckles were my cue into summer last year. Even as the semester came to a close just a couple of weeks ago, I was halted on my speedy stride to class by the intoxicating aroma. Summer is coming, they sang to me.

And it’s upon me. 

2 days from now I will embark on my third summer at Camp Glisson and my heart thrills at this knowledge. This summer will be unlike the previous ones, but I’m still anticipating all the good, old things of camp that wait for me. So much will be different. So much will be the same. Camp is beautiful that way. Old friends and new friends.

Summer (not just because of camp) is my favorite season.  Summer has reigned king of all seasons in my heart since I was a little girl. Summer was scraped knees, hours of hide-and-go-seek, pools, sprinklers, popsicles, swimming lessons, trips to my grandparent’s house, picnics at cooper’s furnace, watermelon, adventures in the woods, and sqeauls of laughter.

This summer will not disappoint. I’ll make another list. This summer will be the laughter of children, songs passed down for decades, camp outs, slip-n-slides, hay rides, diving boards, trail running, dew drops that wet your ankles in the early morning, grilled cheese, crafts, and blackberries.

I. love. blackberries. Living in the woods teaches you what to anticipate in the seasons. May is cool, cool mornings. July is blackberry season. Organic and secret. I once found a patch with my campers and we ate and ate. It was our own discovery and we loved every last one of them. I always go for the really ripe ones, but I sneak the not-yet ripe ones too. The tartness oh-so-good.

I love summer because I loved to see him come to camp in all his sweat and dirt after days of being away. I always looked for him later in the week. And when I finally laid eyes on him, I rejoiced. After consistent time away, you learn to appreciate every second you have.

And another reason I love summer?

I’m getting married next summer. My favorite season with my favorite person.

So many reasons.

And it started off exactly as expected, with our Christmas Eve service and annual trip to applebee’s (a tradition for my family that started in 1994 when we went on a whim after my sister’s dedication at church that night. Since then, it’s been a highlight.) Afterwards we drove up and down the streets downtown, looking at the old houses,decorated ornately (another tradition that has been a family favorite in recent years).

And then, after my sister read The Night Before Christmas and Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus out loud to everyone, we went to bed.

I awoke and we discovered our gifts and of course it wasn’t snowing because white Christmases are unheard of in the state of Georgia, no matter how far north you get. The weatherman had cautioned us that there was indeed a chance, but, like all threats of snow, I generally disregard.

And then, just as the last few gifts were opened….

Snow.

And it poured snow all day in big, sticky flakes that transformed my yard into a glorious Christmas scene straight from a recently shaken snowglobe. My first White Christmas since I was just 2 months old, now 21 years ago.

And it was the most perfect gift.

The snow fell thick all day to the point where church is now cancelled and our annual Kennesaw gathering with my mom’s side postponed until next week. So traditional Christmas was thrown out the window into the snow and Christmas 2010 came in all its newness and improvisation. We played apples to apples and drank homemade cappuchinno and watched the Grinch try to steal Christmas once again. And it was wonderful.

Now, I find myself at the end of the day, at the end of the Christmas season.

I’m warm under my blanket, full from a day’s worth of good food, listening to sweet tunes, and I’m saturated with thrill that comes from a delightful blend of the traditional with the unexpected.

Pensive too, but in a good way. I remember writing about this time last year that breaks from school make me nostalgic. These pit stops give me perspective on where I am in life.

And these years are so tender, so poignant. Right now, I’m savoring the fact that my life spreads out before me as a endless plane of possibilities. As intimidating as that is, I cherish that. In a few years, I may long to return to the days of “who knows?” and “whatever happens, happens”. The taste is bittersweet…but mostly sweet.

Hug those near you. Gather your rosebuds while you may. Look into each face and cherish each heart. These times are fleeting, fleeting. This snow, while it confines me to the house will too melt away. And then? Only memories.

“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart” Luke 2:19

Oh sweet Christmas story… you amaze and astound me. Such beauty.

I hope your Christmas is meaningful, beautiful.

I think we all relate to George Bailey.

Synopsis: [When we meet George Bailey, he's a young lad with big dreams and no plans of being tied down. In fact, he has no plans at all- other than to see the world for a while and then stop only to build mighty structures like airplanes and bridges. Through a series of events that require George to make tough decisions that benefit others before himself, he finds himself living in the same town that he was born in, working at the very job he vowed never to have, and completely tied down with a wife and four children. Through a string of unfortunate circumstances involving misplaced $8000 , George becomes suicidal and sees his family's financial struggles as a direct reflection of his personal failure. He comes to believe he's worth more dead than alive but, just before he commits the act, is stopped by an angel named Clarence. George is given the unique opportunity to see what the world would be like had he never been born.... and... the rest is history. If you don't know the ending, go watch this movie now cuz its about to get ruined for you. ]

I know I relate to George Bailey-who doesn’t? Especially after this semester.  There were times when I, like George Bailey, wondered why my life was playing out this way. College had seemed so different when I dreamed about it years ago.  And then the tumult of the assignments and expectations only made it worse. I, like George, had envisioned different things and was seeing expectations thrown out the window. And though I’m learning to embrace change… this uncertainty, these plans thwarted were more discouraging than eye-opening. And that’s my fault.

But George gains new perspective… and though I did not get the rare opportunity to see life without Ellen, it was enough for me to just survive this semester…. and survive I did. The chaos dissipates, the tension relaxes, the flutter of my anxious heart slows. I live, I’m alive and I find that I had nothing to worry about- that I took stress to an unhealthy level.

So George Bailey and I meet on common ground. We find that the road leads us to a place where we can’t turn back; a fork in the path that requires us to choose our perspective… To see that life is exactly as it should be.

Perhaps one of my favorite parts is when George’s brother comes home from war, having received the congressional medal of honor. He finds George dumbfounded in his house with an unbelievable amount of money from friends and family before him and surrounded by those who love him. His brother, the hometown hero, raises his glass to his brother and says “To George Bailey, the richest man in town!”

I love this because he is the richest man in town. Even though he’s just received a great deal of money, I don’t believe that’s what truly makes him rich. I believe he’s rich in love. When the world was crashing down on him, when he thinks that he’s worth more dead than alive, the entire town shows him that he’s worth something to them- that his friendship and generosity has left a lasting impact. Though he may not have received the congressional medal of honor, he is just as heroic; a hero who fights for those who are weak and thinks of everyone before himself.

And isn’t that life?

Life is so much…. you could look at is as one let down and disappointment after another. Once an obstacle has been hurdled, you’re left running headstrong towards another. Sure, life has obstacles, and I’ve seen my fair share… but you must remember you are an olympic hurdler. And that at the end, there’s a gold medal. I’m reminded of the verse in Hebrews which encourages us to “run with endurance the race set before us “. So I run.

My endurance was tested… but I made it. And the finish line for this semester was a true celebration.

The race continues, though now life feels more like a stroll… breaks do that. I’m looking at the scenery and savoring all that around me, and I must confess that I need to do that more even when life moves fast and furious. You can still savor little things.

Today, I savored little things. The highlight of my day was a Starbucks trip that involved sharing coffee with my beloved friend Cody Fox and wonderful boyfriend Stevo. We laughed and caught up on each other’s lives and it was so, so good. One of the best feelings in life is seeing old friends after long time being apart…. It’s gotta be one of my favorite things. Friends are treasures; like George, I feel that I am very, very rich.

Tomorrow, I’m taking pictures of my roommate emily and her sister, which will be really fun. I’m looking to start taking pictures more frequently and really get this photography thing going. Photography energizes me and allows my neglected creativity to awaken and come alive.

I’m pretty sure I’ve made this quite long enough. I’ll leave you with the quote that the angel Clarence writes in the cover of the Tom Sawyer book that he gives to George.

“No man is a failure who has friends.”

I have, miraculously, found a few spare moments where I can write a brief entry into a neglected blog. Funny how spare moments for blog-updating and internet-surfing seem only to be located on the fringes of my day. And since I have no exams until Thursday, morning fringe is not an option. Night fringe it is.

The days are good. Even when I have nothing to do, they are full of something. Today was full of studying before the roommates and I took a field trip to World Market (World Market is excellent. International goodies galore.) and Ulta. After that, we ate at the dining hall and I braved a frigid commute to Stevo’s apartment to watch How I Met Your Mother.

In recent history, I have had a few exciting or notable events happen. For example, this past Saturday involved having a 400 dollar repair done to my car. (Water pump needed replacing. Boo.)

I also got my math project back (15% of my grade) and made a 94. I was very nervous about that one… she gave us little to no guidance on how to complete the project. So, my partner and I just winged it. I overheard my teacher suggest 5 pages for an example of a thorough essay length for the project description… So, naturally, my partner and I did 8 pages. I don’t take chances with this teacher; Her grading is too subjective. (Note that, though we did 3 pages more than suggested, we still got 6 points off. Perfection is indeed impossible.) But I was so relieved to get a 94…it makes the pressure of this final a little less. Oh, sure…. I could calculate what I needed to make on the final to pass the class. But I know that my motivation for studying would probably change depending on how low that number is. So, I’m studying like my life depends on it. That was a lot of information… not sure if all of it was necessary.

Overall, life is just a little bit… strange.

This semester has been such a beast. A monstrous, menacing beast.  And as suddenly as the chaos of the work and deadlines came, they have vanished. Fall ’10 has all but released its suffocating clench and I’m left feeling a bit bewildered.

It’s kind of like a movie… after a great battle of clanging noise and indescribable turmoil, the noise stops, the motion stills, and the dust begins to settle. You see the character emerge from the fog… battered- but victorious.

That’s… how I feel. And the bewilderment is good. The hours of studying are welcomed because they are low-key and I can spend those hours with vanilla bean coffee, a warm apartment, and loving roommates.

… and a hot bath, which is calling my name.

Actually, that’s a total lie.

Tuesday was different. Tuesday, I was itching and pacing like a child before Santa comes because, on Tuesday, Stevo and I were going to see our favorite band, Iron & Wine! Stevo had gotten us tickets about 5 weeks ago as kind of a last minute impulse birthday gift to me (even though he would be partaking in the gift as well).

So we ate chickfila in a rush and listened to Iron and Wine the entire trip there (kind of like a cram session before a test, but way more relaxing). After navigating the east side of Atlanta (which we were kind of unfamiliar with), we came at last to Little Five Points to the Variety Playhouse where the concert would be held. I was elated.

We parked in a convenient parking lot just a block down from the theater and found our place in the growing line outside the doors. This gave me time to assess the area. Listen, I’ve been going to Atlanta since I was born but I had never had the opportunity to go to Little Five Points. I found that the atmosphere was trendy and alive, the shops showed some wear but the feel was very vintage and the energy was cool. It felt right to have a concert there- especially an Iron & Wine concert, since his following is pretty underground.

After a while, we filed into the theater (which also had that vintage feel with versatility) and took our places at the front, standing just twenty feet from the stage. It was not long before the opening band, Nomo, came onstage.

I’ve never heard anything like Nomo, and though the sound was very new and atypical, I really did enjoy it. They are an indie-funk-electro-soul band and they made that conglomeration of genres really jive. Some of it was a little too abstract for my taste, but I always enjoy a good performance and they delivered. They played this one song that involved only the lyrics “rocket number 9 take off for the planet, to the planet, venus!” Ah, excellent.( Because of that song, I chose to do my ed. science project on Venus.)

Finally, Iron & Wine came on stage and for nearly two hours, I was in a state of blissful nirvana. He got experimental with his old songs and it was very refreshing.  His concerts are great- you really should go. But you should first listen to him. Do that here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vt_etTpABAM That’s my current favorite.

The concert ended after an encore (being a part of an encore is a really neat experience. It’s like realizing chickfila accidently gave you an extra nugget in your number 5 meal). (Fact: Ellen likes Chickfila.)

Filled to the brim with good music and good feelings, we left the theater and walked to the parking lot. It was then that we discovered Stevo’s car was gone. Thinking we went to the wrong parking lot, we walked past the next building- no parking lot. The lot we had just past was the only possibility, and his car had literally vanished from its spot.

Naturally, we immediately assumed it was stolen. I’m surprised at how calm I was- it’s in Stevo’s nature to bring the atmosphere of tranquility, but I dread these kind of incidences and I was amazed at my own collectedness.  While he summoned the police, I summoned my roommate Emily to come rescue us. We hung up and realized we were stranded in the chilly night, so we walked back to the theater to seek solace in the warmth and familiarity.

We struck up a conversation with a police officer who was working the concert and told him the situation, and he gave us a shocking new piece to our puzzle. It wasn’t stolen. It had been towed.

Here’s the dealio with that parking lot. The lady who owns the property dates the owner of a towing company. Every night they have a show, they tow people out of the parking lot as soon as the show starts- regardless of them having paid for the parking. (Here’s our confession- we had forgotten until we were in the theater to pay for the parking in the little sketchy box, but we also realized we only had twenties. So, we were guilty of not paying. But several people (we weren’t the only ones that night) reported having paid but being towed anyway.)

The police officer finally came and told us that he was very familiar with this scam (but they can’t legally stop them since its private property and no one can prove that they’ve paid prior to being towed since a fake parking attendant will pocket the money and leave the box empty, thus destroying any trace of payment.) and he gave us the address to the towing company and told us that, if we made it by midnight, we could get the car back.

After speaking to an abrasive employee at the towing company, we confirmed that we could retrieve the car, but only if we gave them $125 in cash. Of course, concerts get out late so we had very little time to work with.

Not a Cinderella story you want to be a part of.

Once Emily arrived, we raced to the nearest convenience store with an ATM (it only gave twenties, so we actually had $140 at this point) and then pressed onward into the night and towards Kirkwood Towing.

We found it only by using the GPS because the establishment was not lit. The only light was the orange-yellow of the streetlights nearby and I was extremely uncomfortable. The sketchiness of this place was unreal… We approached the lone attendant and requested to have our car back. We made the exchange (of course this guy “had no change”. And wrote us a receipt for $125.) And drove off into the night, leaving Kirkwood Towing forever behind. (I’m telling you the name because you should never do business with them. They run a shady set-up, and they will rip you off. They will continue to rip people off, regardless of whether you paid for parking. And that’s that.)

Sweet Stevo was so relieved to get his car back… he never got upset with the guy and never said an ill word about the situation. I definitely foresee us telling this story for many years to come… as unfortunate as the situation was, we really did have a great time that night. And I keep telling you, people- Stevo and Ellen always have adventures. We don’t even have to try. Adventures are obsessed with us.

MORAL OF THE STORY: Always go see Iron & Wine. Always have a blast. Never park in the parking lots nearby. Instead, you should park on the street or in a neighborhood one street over. Always appreciate your friends who will rescue you from being stranded. Always take rocket number 9 to Venus.

1. Go to Tallulah Gorge and cross rivers, surmount boulders, stick your toes in the shockingly cold water as you try to find footing on slick rocks. It’s especially good to go in November when the leaves are vibrant with reds, golds, and orange. Hike all the way to Bridal Veil falls and try not to slip on the rocks. Slip just enough to where your shorts have an awkward dampness. Hike back and remark that this place exudes worship and beauty in its purest form. All the while, follow his lead as he leaps from boulder to boulder. See that he is in his element and that wilderness is his playground. See that within that sanctuary of color and life, your worries about assignments and homework wash down and away with the current. Spend a couple of hours there.

2. When you have finished hiking and have climbed the unreal number of stairs back to the top, get in your car and drive to a place called Goats on the Roof. Spend a few minutes in the store looking at the bottled beverages, preserves, and miscellaneous paraphernalia associated with touristy places like that and then go outside and feed the goats which are indeed on the roof. Gawk at them while they gawk back and then get in your car.

3. Find the closest, dirtiest barbecue place and eat a huge platter of pork, baked beans, and corn slaw. Be the only people in the restaurant- you will feel like you own the place.

4. Drive to Otto, North Carolina until you to Spring Ridge Creamery and partake in black cherry flavored ice cream. Taste its deliciousness and be amazed that the cows out back provided the dairy for the ice cream. Celebrate all things tasty and organic.

5.Get in the car. Drive to Atlanta. Put on Pjs and pop in Juno and watch it, half asleep, with your roommate. Drink green tea with honey and follow that with a Dr. Pepper. Proceed to crawl in bed and fall effortlessly to sleep.

Rules:

-Bring good music.

- Document throughout the trip with your camera.

I didn’t even want to be in college anymore… it seemed almost as though it was working againstme. Ellen vs. The Institution. This is not about grades- I’m packing a solid 4.0 and on paper it looks like I’m succeeding and flourishing, but a week ago I would have told you that was a facade.

This post is gonna get real, but hear me out.

Here it goes. This point last week, as far as I knew, I was not going to get the classes I needed to complete my final semester of courses before moving into the field experience senior year, I wasn’t going to get to go to camp because I would be taking classes I could not get into, I was fighting off sickness like sinusitis and strep that has spanned 3 weeks, and my beloved Stevo had just discovered that he has 3 semesters of college left and 4 semesters of spanish yet to take. He would be stuck here another semester. All of this… all of it was like the earth was on my shoulders and I had let it drop. I was at a real low point… and I don’t deal with low points well.

In all honesty, I maintain a very positive outlook on life, but I struggle so greatly with control. Control control control everything. Then everything will work out. Because you control it. What a lie! What an awful habit! Worst than any drug in terms of addiction, delusionment… I learned I can’t control last week. And I faced a long time of bitterness because of it.

I woke up Monday as cold and bitter as the weather. I went to preschool and saw my sweet babies… emotion and love returned with each innocent smile and gentle hug by tiny arms. Children do that to me; open up my heart, sometimes better than adults. When I left, I was feeling better and consulted my text messages to find that Stephen had talked to an advisor and everything had (miraculously) been worked out.

So then the only thing left was fighting registration. I tried not to look at the online system- tried to ignore the fact that my classes were filling up and I had days still left before it was my turn. I was saturated with anxiety. It was my only thought all day. I’m amazed I still have friends after that- I’m sure they were sick of me voicing so much concern and impatience. When the time slot finally arrived after I had endured a restless night of sleep, I found myself signing up for one of the last 6 spots available in my math class. There had been 74 to begin with.  Everything else was still available, though there were small amounts of openings. But I got everything I needed. Miraculous.

Since then, I’ve been trying to deal with the aftershock of this week… I’m still a nervous wreck, even though everything has been taken care of. Relief is here, but I still hurt from the stressful blows this week dealt.

But last night made up for it.

Stevo and I went to our first swing dance and had an absolute blast. We were the king and queen of awkward at first but now, we can cut a rug! Our problem at first was trying to calculate the steps… we fumbled about the steps trying to make a formula out of it, but we finally became decent when we just let go of trying to force it. We just moved like the instructor had showed us and it changed everything. We loved it and it was seriously more fun than either  junior or senior prom. Dead serious. We’re counting down the days until we can swing again.  And the music was so perfect- jazz is Stevo and I’s muse.

So I have learned.

I have learned to forgo control. I must break myself of the habit- it’s counterproductive. I must stop trying to control each step- like swing. Let loose and it will all work out. Then life will liven up; the whole atmosphere will change.