alma del core

I had my PA today for voice. So basically I spent my day freaking out about how I only knew the words to one of my songs and how I was in no voice to sing in front of the entire music faculty and how I didn't know if I was supposed to bow when I came in and how I couldn't forget to pronounce my accompanist's name correctly and how I looked fat in my dress and how this would probably be the most humiliating three minutes of my music journey at Gustavus thus far. Whew. It wasn't bad. At all. In fact, it went far better than I could have hoped. And I am now done with voice as a freshman, which is wonderful. I've kind of despised voice lessons throughout the year. From my teacher telling me to lift the aliens out of my head (among thousands of other instructions I couldn't understand) to my embarrassment when my morning "gunk" inhibiting any kind of nice sound became a weekly visitor to my lesson, I could have done without. However, now thinking back, I've learned this year. And free lessons is a really great annoyance to have. So thanks, Gustavus Music Department. And thanks, Trish; I'll be sure to keep an eye on the aliens throughout the summer.

comfortable

Today I learned that it's important to sometimes be uncomfortable and generally less than confident. It helps you to realize that you can make it through. And it also helps you realize that that's not always the worst thing.

I promised 4 today, and seeing as I only have 49 minutes left in the day, I will put this thought on hold.

Look at me go.

Look at me procrastinating blogs even. I even impress myself sometimes.

tomorrow, i'll write 4.

It's been a big weekend for me. I got my first pedicure, reevaluated my future, and watched a movie about dragons. Home is nice.

simple

This is a cop-out, cause I don't reeeally want to blog all that badly. But I mentioned only a few days ago that I once watched Nick put a kid on the roof. Here's the story:

The sticky summer air smelled of seaweed and salty burgers, and the crowd of excited fans buzzed with talk of the day’s events. The 1998 Summer Boat Show was underway in Prior Lake, Minnesota. Hundreds of fans had come out to watch professional water skiers and wake boarders compete--performing unbelievable displays of athleticism both in the air and on the water.

Being my father’s daughter, I was more or less immune to the competitive high overtaking the crowd. My dad had owned a boat business for several years, making me a veteran show observer as well as worker. I bounced around the boats as if they were my personal jungle gym, cleaning dirt off the seats when I was feeling especially helpful and looking to my dad for an approving smile. However, the moment he was otherwise occupied, I escaped the crowds and boats to embark on an adventure with my brothers. We scurried around the swarms of people to explore the marina’s nearby tavern as well as the woods behind. I yelped as my older brother, Nick, popped out from behind trees, always proud of his clever ability to tease our younger brother, Ryan, and me.

An epic adventure of ‘Cowboys versus the Alien Invasion’ was suddenly interrupted by the high-pitched giggle of Little Patrick Fitzgibbens. The Fitzgibbens’ were close personal friends of my parents and annually spent the week at the show with my father. Sure enough, the barely babbling two-and-a-half year old had waddled smack into the middle of our game once again. Disgruntled, I darted in the other direction to join my brothers in a new game: “run-and-hide-til-Little-Patrick-goes-away.” It was not until Little Patrick fell and cut himself on a tree branch that I felt any sort of apprehension. I sighed and walked back to inspect his wound. Yep, we were stuck with him.

We soon exhausted our usual charades, and our troupe, with Little Patrick in tow, was antsy for a new adventure. Coming upon the backdoor of the tavern, I saw Nick’s eyes light up with a fresh scheme. The small, log tavern was cut into the hill, and the far side of the slightly slanted roof was just low enough for a nine-year-old boy to clamber up, and that is exactly what Nick did. Taking careful steps up and onward, he soon reached the tip top of the tavern. “I claim this land for Nicky Koch!” he proudly declared. He was on top of the world. However, down on the ground, my stomach was in knots. I looked around nervously, scouting my best possible escape route. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew that something about this was very wrong, and more than anything I wanted to be back cleaning scum off the boats on the other side of the marina. Nick scooted back down the roof slowly. “Come on Kels,” he grinned, “it’s so cool.” I shook my head vigorously. “It’s okay,” he said, “we’ll all go.” He jumped down. “Okay, smallest first.” He grabbed Little Patrick’s hand.

My pulse quickened. Every ounce of me knew that this was exactly the kind of danger than my mom was always going on about. There were so many bones to broken, bandages to use, tears to be shed. There was no possibility of my climbing the roof, and it certainly was no place for Patrick. I knew that it was time to either speak up and ruin the game or forever hold my peace. My shaking seven-year-old legs carried me towards the brother I idolized, my mind set on telling him it was time to head back. But as I stood looking up at him, I realized that I couldn’t say no. I so badly wanted him to have fun with me, to think I was cool like him. And anyway, who knew, maybe it would be fun. It was just one game; no one would get hurt.

Before I could allow myself to think any further, Nick and I were pushing the tiny, diaper-bottomed load onto the roof, using all the the carefulness two children on their tiptoes could muster. Finally, Little Patrick used his own stubby legs to stand and take his first step. I took a quick breath in. He took another step and giggled as he made his way to a flat part of the roof, a new territory to explore. Relief washed over me. He was happy. This wasn’t all bad. Nick went next once again, and I helped as he struggled with fatigued muscles to hoist his body onto the platform.

I glanced around and suddenly realized that I could no longer see Patrick anywhere. Searching the roof with squinted eyes from every angle, I jumped into panic mode--I took off looking for someone, anyone who might be able to help. I had barely taken three steps when I bounced smack into the stomach of a very large and visibly angry man. Without saying a word he pushed me aside and leapt onto the roof. Seconds later, he reappeared with Little Patrick crooked uncomfortably, like a football, under one arm. As it turns out, this man was the owner of the tavern and had been sitting pleasantly in his office when a toddler knocked and waved enthusiastically at him from outside his third floor window. Once Little Patrick was on the ground safely, the man turned to me and to Nick, who was now standing nervously by my side. I bawled as we were berated, believing that never, in the history of all of humankind, had anyone ever done something so terrifyingly horrible.

Humiliated, we next faced Little Patrick’s mother and father, and to this day I do not believe there has ever been a set of angrier parents. I was too embarrassed to look at them as they swore that their son would never be left alone with such irresponsible children again. Between sobs I begged my mom to believe that I never, ever in my life or in a million years wanted to hurt Little Patrick, and I had only done it because Nick convinced me it was okay. My mom took me in her lap and gently explained that just because other people were doing something didn’t make it okay, and it was my job to tell when something was right or wrong. After a week in my room with no one but Dr. Seuss to entertain me, the lesson was duly noted and ingrained, a lesson not only that I needed to hear as a seven-year-old, but one that still holds true today: Toddlers don’t belong on roofs. It’s that simple.

The Thursday list

Sorry for the lack of positivity...

The king will probably be dead in a week. That's not a super encouraging motivator for my homework.

I'm not The Holiday anymore. And I think being human is harder than feeling bad for not.

Megan has no deep thoughts to share with the world.

Hillary picks her nose.

^^That's a lie.

When we're young, they tell us we can do anything and that we can be anyone. We can't.

I've learned more about myself this year than I knew existed. I kind of liked not knowing.