I leave for Winter Camp prep day after lunch with the fams. Today Katie and I get everything ready for the chaos/wonder of Winter Camp. This could be my last year running it, so I need to do it up big.
Anyway, I’ll be gone from the internetz all week probs, so don’t expect anything! Instead, I’ll leave you with this video from when I performed taiko at my Japan graduation. Mostly because I just found it on my Youtube account and went, “Awwww! I remember that! Fun!”
My brother reminded me of this story the other day. I had almost completely forgotten it.
We used to spend Christmas in Florida now and then, because that’s where my maternal grandparents lived before my grandfather died. Nate and I shared a room with two beds. One Christmas Eve, or possibly the wee hours of Christmas morning, we silently snuck out of our room after the adults all went to bed. I don’t really remember what mischief we planned. Perhaps we were trying to sneak a look at our presents. But, I’m pretty sure we were chasing that allusive pitter-patter of hooves on the roof.
Now, this is a Floridian home with its own aloe plants and orange tree in the backyard. Not only did it not have a fireplace, but there was no need for one. Nevertheless, Santa visits every house. If there is a Santa, he cares not for your architecture, income or group identification. That is one thing I believe. Santa is an equal-opportunity bestower of gifts.
I’m sure I didn’t truly believe in St. Nick at this point in life. I don’t think I ever truly did. I believed in the story and the fun of it. But, the fantasy eluded me. Yet, in the silent, dead of night- probably with some of the same mystery and magic that those who saw a giant star suspended above a generic, ordinary stable- as Nate and I tiptoed back to our room past our grandparents’ and parents’ rooms, the distinct jingling of bells stopped us, awestruck.
And I’m sure they weren’t the bells our family traditionally hangs on the bottom branches of the tree to deter peekers and kitty claws. This was the tinkle of sleighbells. The sound you hear in your head when someone reads the end of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. The accompaniment to a deep, jolly “Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!”
And though I forgot it a decade or more later, that was Christmas to me. The reason Christmas is so different than Thanksgiving or Easter. Christmas is the unexpected sound of sleighbells when you already know what Christmas is about: Jesus, family, love, charity. It’s not the couple dollars in the Salvation Army bucket, but bringing hot chocolate to the ringer as well. It’s the reason we read Yes, Virginia every year. It’s the warmth in the room during the candlelight service or midnight Mass.
It doesn’t matter if you know- or think you know- the facts of Christmas. This season will always surprise you if you give it the chance.
I can’t just keep sapping about how great my friends are and how much better they are than yours on here all the time, even if it’s true. So, if you are Mr/s. Brown, Maggie or Ashley and you were expecting this post to be about you, well, you’re selfish. You know our Christmas party was amazing. You know I love you.
There’s little I love more than shredded chicken sandwiches with beautiful people, but one of those things is my mother’s singing. Many of you who read this blog have talked to me in real life and have heard my voice. It’s not great. There are worse voices. But, those are incredibly unfortunate.
Lots of people mistake me for my mother when I answer the phone. We sound similar apparently. We also look similar. Understandably so, since I’ve been led to believe she gave birth to me and contributed half her DNA to create this shiny, happy face.
However, my mother is greedy and mean-hearted because, while our speaking voices sound alike, our singing voices do not. Do. Not. Not at all.
For example, my mother majored in music therapy, with her voice as her instrument. I make children cry when I try to sing them Itsy Bitsy Spider.
So, I always enjoy hearing my mother sing in church. Even if you’re not religious, there’s something about the acoustics and atmosphere of a church during Advent that will move you. My parents’ new church performed a Christmas cantata tonight. My mother sang a solo. And, once again, I realized I’d give up all my other musical abilities, my writing and future career to be able to sing like my mother. Or, like Etta James. Either one. I’d accept both with equal humility and appreciation. That’s what I want for Christmas.
Or, I suppose I can just appreciate that my own mother puts songbirds to shame.
During my nine hour drive yesterday, I realized I spent as much time away from Ohio this semester as when I was in Japan. Yet, though four months is still four months, it seemed to pass faster. Or, the distance didn’t seem as… distant.
Regardless, today I spent time with two of the most important people in my life. I know that there are several “most important” people in my life. But, what makes these two different is that they’ve been that important for years longer than most everyone else. Except, of course, my family.
These two shame me everyday for how little I do for other people. This semester I focused on surviving, internships, China, Adam, having time to socialize along with all my work. But, all in all, that’s just normal school.
These ladies live their lives and also have time to make things, think of other people, buy meaningful gifts for everyone in their life. I’m lucky to have gifts for my family.
I believe there is always someone better than you. No matter what you are good at, there will be someone better someday. And no matter how well I love, they are better at it than me. So, what’s most amazing is that I’m their best friend. I’m amazed and blessed.
And Mrs. Brown took us to lunch. Day made.
I made it back to Ohio. Day made.
I took my last final today. It was easier than I expected. However, it was in Japanese, so who knows how it’ll turn out.
The point, though, is that I am done with this semester. I turned in my last story for the Missourian. I’m excited to go back in a new role. I did a little training with a fellow ACE Elliot. It’s mostly learn-on-the-job.. uh, job. And I’ll be Liz’s ACE. Liz, by the way, was my editor this semester. So, I’ll be helping the reporters on the Education beat. Hopefully, that means I can feed them some ideas I didn’t get to do this semester.
In case you missed it, here’s my Douglass High School story. Just a little shameless self-promotion. This is short because I need some sleep because I’m driving back to Ohio tomorrow! Get crazy!
Be prepared for a bunch of pictures of Adam in his daycare’s Christmas program. It was adorable. I refused an assignment at the Missourian this evening for it. So cute. Without a doubt, it made my day.
Which trumps what I was going to write yesterday, but instead passed out. The Missourian hired me as an assistant city editor for next semester. So, I’ll be an assigning editor who helps students with stories, makes judgement calls in place of the beat editor and hates life. But, the hating life comes later in the semester after the joy of free tuition and an hourly wage wears off. Plus, it’s great experience, since I don’t have much experience with the editing side.
I just found out yesterday, unexpectedly. Then, I wrote a story on the fly and attended an unbelievably long school board meeting at night. It was quite the day.
I only have one final left tomorrow and I’m done with the semester. Well, plus a story for the Missourian I need to write. Soon, friends. Soon I shall see Ohio again.
I don’t know if you guys know, but I live with this adorable baby. He’ll be 2 years old in February. His hair only grows on top. He has no volume control, so even though he can’t talk, you hear him throughout the house.
He is also rambunctious and watching him makes me tired sometimes.
Anyway, tonight Erica and I sat on the bed while he tormented us with random objects he found, twirled in circles, jumped on the mattress, and used my body as a punching bag, a pacifier and pillow. He also did this thing where he rammed his head into the side of my head and then screamed really loudly and laughed in my ear. His teeth are like tiny knives.
I love him. I’m going to miss him in two days. I’ve said it before, but he makes my every day.
‘Nuff said. Be a hater. Doesn’t matter. There’s something about this time of year. Maybe it’s just the end of the semester as well, but who’s going to hate on another excuse to put on ugly sweaters, ridiculous outfits and dance? No one.
And if you do. Well, I’m sorry for whatever tragedy you lived through at this time of year in the past. I love you anyway and hope your next holiday is better.
My second long-term story left ink marks on fingers today. If you don’t live in Columbia, you can read it here. While on the Columbia Missourian, you can read other stories I wrote this semester, which are found at the bottom of the sidebar, like this one about No Child Left Behind in more detail.
This most recent story is about Columbia’s only alternative school and the silly cycle it must go through now because it doesn’t exactly fit into NCLB’s conception of education. I do know it’s complicated. It’s been in the editing process since Thanksgiving Break. It’s been through copyediting three times. It’s just a really confusing issue. Like most thing bureaucratic, it’s complicated.
I’m a little dismayed that no one will be able to understand it if even the copyeditors don’t understand it. But, then again, the copyeditors read tons of copy and look for mistakes, whereas the typical reader consumes a few stories a day.
Anyway, let me know what you think. Feel free to be harsh. I’m changing how I handle criticism, so I’m ready for it.
Also, if you want a laugh, take a listen to me on The Beat, the radio show where reporters are interviewed about their stories. Eric Durban, the host, said my story was the hardest to understand, but the most interesting he’s done. I’m getting that a lot. We’ll see.
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