Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Scared in Spanish Class (and other first week adventures)

For those of you who read my father's blog (I like to say "father" when I'm far away from him. Same with "mother."), you know that getting to Rexburg was a bit of a challenge. I'm guessing that was just a little test to see if I really wanted to go to school this semester, meaning that it's going to ROCK, right? Once Sister Beck was speaking at a Women's Conference, and she said that absolutely nothing had gone right in the planning of the conference. Then she said that because of all the trials they had experienced, she knew it would be a really good conference. She got it! I think I get it!

Yesterday was the first day of class and the first devotional. There's something about being back in this place that gives me new energy.

The sun has been shining (I say "has been" because it's raining now) since Saturday, so I have been wearing a skirt since then. The last time I was in Rexburg, it was far below zero and I was wearing up to four layers.

I keep seeing people I know and smiling and talking with them, and every time I go to a new class, I get a little too excited.

I hold up my scriptures in devotional and realize I'm in the right place.

We start my English class with a prayer and I think writing a jillion papers won't be so bad.

I go to the Reading Center and find out I will be helping students write papers, and I think I'm going to need to work on my writing skills.

I walk into Spanish 321 (also lovingly referred to as "return-missionary Spanish") a few minutes late and am faced with about 35 return missionaries and 5 girls, including myself. I start to feel really intimidated, especially when the teacher (who is speaking in Spanish, of course. I should have known!) makes a joke and everyone laughs except for me, who is still intimidated. Uhh, no hablo espa

I am dubbed the official "scribe" of the apartment (4th semester in a row...) and start writing down quotes like crazy. The toll as of day four? 29. There's not enough closet door for the funny things we say at this school or overhear. Here's a sampling (heard in British Literature from the professor, who says he tries to speak French and it doesn't end well):

[takes place at Broulim's grocery store]
Bro. Brugger: Hi, I'd like a croissant [French accent].
Bakery dude: A what? Ohhhhh, a crescent!!!
What, are we in Idaho or something?

I go to Women's Health and am challenged by the 60-something year old teacher to a game of tennis. Then she adds, "You probably won't want to play with me." What? Did I just get beaten by a 60-something year old without even playing her? I think I did. Welcome.

I stay up late to help my old roommate Courtney move into her new apartment. We attempt to put those riser-things under her bed (instead of the much more dangerous cinder blocks, which have failed me before in mid-sleep), and I am doing the upside-down turtle underneath her mattress as we make the attempt. Pretty soon half of the bed flops, and I'm basically trapped, but I am laughing my head off. She can't hear me say I'm OK, so she screams for her friends to come help me. I re-surface laughing (what's left of) my face off.

I sit in my Doctrines of the Gospel class and hear the professor say that he wishes everyone was required to take his class, because it's that amazing. He said that the Book of Mormon/New Testament/Old Testament classes "skim the surface" of the doctrines, which is good, but this class will be a "deep dive." Hey, I can swim.

I look out my window before I go to bed and see the temple lit up on the hill, and make plans to go every week. I remember some of the temple workers, but will they remember me?

I'm in Rexburg. Again. No camera yet, but I'm using visual imagery. Is it working for you? Pictures soon, I promise.

By the way, this picture is photo-shopped. There isn't field with a barn below the Taylor. There's a giant construction site. So maybe they wanted to cover it up? There
are fields like that in Rexburg, but not on campus.

Friday, April 2, 2010

Bob Dylan+Ballet in the Basement

Yeah, I alliterated. Is that even a word?

Yesterday I was folding laundry in the basement with Ellie and asked her if she wanted to pick a CD from dad's collection. She picked out Bob Dylan's best record (that's what I think anyway), "Blood on the Tracks."

I asked, "Bob Dylan? You wanna listen to Bob Dylan?"
Ellie says, "Yeah!! Bob Dylan! I loooove him!"

As "Tangled Up in Blue" came on the speakers, she began to pull off her increasingly skillful ballet moves across the floor. I bet you didn't think Bob Dylan could mix with the likes of tutus and pliés, did you.

Right now, I'm sitting next to another pile of folded laundry, Caleb on one side, Ellie on the other. Caleb is starting to sing along with "She was born in spring but I was born too late, blame it on a simple twist of fate." How many 8-year-old boys do you know that sing those lines (with a pretty high pitch too, mind you)?

When I asked Ellie if she wanted to listen to Mr. D. again, she jumped up and down, then started to warm up with some piqués and twirls.