Red and Yellow Rose Hall

This picture was taken from the other side of the road in order to caputre the color magic of nature.

Back That Up Now

Yes people, look below to lines that are hard to comprehend and fathom. This is the conversation of my brother and I chatting online:

papakika: do you use your vaccumn?
timecheckreedy: yes
papakika: what? come on now. As what, a coat rack?
timecheckreedy: nope, I actually used it last night!
papakika: you used A CLEANING DEVICE?
timecheckreedy: amazing, I know
timecheckreedy: sometimes I like to keep a room clean

Hmm...may I repeat the line below for further empahsis (this means a lot to those who have seen the living quarters of my brother both on and off campus).

timecheckreedy: sometimes I like to keep a room clean

But then again, it's all in how you say it:

timecheckreedy: sometimes I like to keep a room clean

Who knew? Of course, this makes perfect sense, Greg was always one to pick up a mop...to move in order to get to the 24 case of Pepsi.

Edinboro- 1957

This photo was taken on one of my "nature walks" to capture the Autumn foilage. I know what you are thinking: "Lindsay, the picture is in black and white." Yeah, I know, but I like it much better black and white. And that bike, talk about old fashioned! The picture oppritunity couldn't be passed up.

The Doctor Is In

It was a beautiful morning to wake up to; showing signs it was going to be a gorgeous day. I had the special treat of sleeping in till 9:45 today for our Two-Dimension professor decided to have a mid-term meeting individually. We all selected a time slot and would show up to our appointed time for a ten minute discussion and then blot out the door. My time was 10:20, so a good long nap not only kept me out of the morning chill but I got some cozy Zzz’s to boost my momentum for the day.

I showed up on time but that mattered little because, as usual, the disorganized professor Kip Deeds was up to his usual teaching method- behind schedule and scatter brained. As I waited with two other students, one waiting to go before me, I noticed I had taken most of the work out of my folder and placed it somewhere in the dorm room; which called for a quick gaunt back to the room to retrieve the missing art work and still make it back in time. I was successful in this speedy trip and made it back just in time as some others began to show up. Yet as I waited, catching my breath, I began to get the same idea and notion I would in the doctor’s office or for a dental appointment- “no good can come of this”.

Kip is the type of person who really doesn’t want to teach, it’s just the money resource in his life at the moment. He has even told the class that his passion lies not in teaching but doing his own work, translated in our ears: “I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t want to be here.” However Mr. Deeds proves that he does have a certain level of care on concern when it comes to teaching the basic and helping every student along the way in the course. He even had plans of his own like going to Belgium this summer for printmaking, one of his many interests. When it comes to critiques he suggests some areas that could stand some improvement but lacks to recognize things done well. He also is not cut out for the public speaking field, so attention spans are outside the classroom day dreaming about a slice of pizza instead of focusing on things like repetition and contrast in a piece of work. You just never know what he is going to say.

The notion I received, “no good can come of this”, grew as I placed my items on the table before the discussion of teacher and student. The showdown, the final frontier, whatever you may call it. To my surprise he didn’t bash me to death or leave things out and actually the meeting was reassuring for my grade and time saving according to my plans for the day. It was brief and informative, short and sweet. He looked over my work and pointed out some things he liked, how I still have a perfect attendance, work on things in class, and try to improve things when suggested. I didn’t get a nasty shot of strange criticism or forced to have an artistic filling or root canal. I made it out alive.

I left Hamilton Hall knowing that my next appointment wasn’t for several months and my record was clear. I didn’t even have to hassle when it came to my health plan.

Maintenance to Rose Hall, Please

Here are the wonderful showers on our floors. Aren't the yellow CURTAINS a nice touch?

Rub A Dub Dub, No Curtain For The Tub

I was casually standing in our room after a filling meal from the Rose Hall Café when my roommate Manna came rushing through the door with some disturbing news. She proceeded to ramble on information about the showers and curtains and bathing, almost like a person who just saw something traumatic and are so out of breathe they can’t form complete sentences. At a slower pace, she again tried to explain herself in a clearer way. It seemed that the individual shower curtains were missing in the bathroom. Not only were they missing but just one hung at both ends of the shower section and someone had the valor of going in bare butted to play with soaps and suds.

The news shocked me and I knew I had to check out this crazy situation for myself. My roomie warned me not to look too much in case the brave bather was in the open. So I pushed open the swinging door and passed by two columns of sinks to my right that connects to the shower section. Indeed, shower curtains at the end of the sinks were hanging and no sight of other yellow curtains came into view. Yet did not glace close enough for a detailed view for fear of porcelain room porn.

Shocked at the evident truth of the astonished news, Manna and I decided to book it down to the lobby where RA Patrice was on desk duty. We scurry down the 4 flights of stairs and come to the desk at the lobby where Patrice sits talking to her sister. We report the news and this travels to Coordinator Heidi who gets a few laughs and phones Maintenance to correct the silly mishap. The other Coordinator Lauren questioned the mentality of the nudist and her actions. Both of them explained the calamity as a mistake by the workers if the holes were being re-drilled (we had no idea what holes she was talking about but we nodded our heads and said yes like smart little residents) and they forgot to put them back up. The problem was solved. Maintenance would soon arrive to brush up on their Martha Stewart skills. Back to the dorm, Batman.

On the haul back up the stairs we discussed what a good story for our web pages this would be, a real funny for people to read on and get a good chuckle.

Have you ever tried crow? It’s really good you know.

Or that new cosmetic item called egg, goes great on your face.

I decided to commemorate the silliness with the aid of my digital camera. As I strolled into the bathroom once again I made my way towards the showers and got a good angle for the Kodac moment. Unfortunately, this moment was more than Kodac. It was candid camera.

There were shower curtains, all five of them, hanging in place, never removed. This, my friends, is not good.

Manna rushed to the room and gives the idea that we play dumb or lie about it. Yet that doesn’t help the fact that people are on their way with five new shower curtains to hang when there are already five there that didn’t move. Someone had to fess up. Someone had to say ‘oops’. I got voted off the island.

I flew down the stairs, making lots of noise with my fuzzy flip flops, and sought Patrice who was apparently taking care of a door alarm issue. As I paced around, I noticed two burly men, each going into the Storage closet getting some type of supply. Patrice soon returned and I whispered the dreadful news of the false alarm. Then she said this to me:

“Well, you better go tell Maintenance because they are right there.” As she points behind to the same two burly guys preparing to go on the elevator up to the 4th floor. I took a glance at them, then a glance at her, back at them, again at her, and whisper:

“…NOW?!”

She nodded. I proceeded over and in a professional, educated manner I started out saying:

“Umm, you don’t have to go up there.”

(Is that the best I can do? I love using words and playing with them and I pull out a dumb line like that? Smooth, Lindsay, smooth.)

I then told them it was a false alarm and that someone just didn’t see the curtains there. At first, I received a plain-faced ‘dur’ look, then a comforting smile- my signal to flee as soon as my shoes could move me without injury from tripping and falling.

I ran back upstairs quickly and rushed into my room as I uttered the words:

“You owe me.”

Opening the door it appeared that Manna was gone, but I soon heard her voice and noticed she was hiding in her closet. Then we laughed. Out of breathe and probably red in the face, I told her the dynamic story and the embarrassment of the night.

Humility is a wonderful thing that can take you from six feet to six inches. Maybe next time I’ll take six more seconds to get a better look at a crime scene just incase no crime ever happened. Oops. Sorry Patrice!

There's noting quite like a peace offering

This is Patrice's dry erase board where some scarifices for repentance were given. Who could have done that?

"God is always with us; why should we not always be with God?" -W.B. Ullathorne

"Blessed are those who trust in the Lord...they are like trees planted along a riverbank, with roots that reach deep into the water. Such trees are not bothered by the heat or worry by long months of drought. Their leaves stay green, and they go right on producing delicious fruit." Jeremiah 17:7-8 (NLT)

The Beat Goes On

I laid quietly on my bed Sunday night. The day drawed to an end as I prepared to close my eyes and then awaken them to another. I burrowed into the warm covers and rested my head on the cloud-like softness of the pillow. As I laid there I happened to place my hand over my heart. I was touched.

I never really noticed before how eerie but amazing the human heart is. It beats, and beats, and beats again. It never stops. It’s the source of life. It confuses me people can actually believe that green slim evolved into a beautiful and wondrous beating heart; just as the same as the miracle of a child being born. It just doesn’t add up. God has something beautiful in mind- we were it. And we’re still on his mind.

Sometime, in the quiet of the night, lay your hand on your heart. People are always looking for a miracle from God but they forgot to look within.

Happy One Year Anniversary

I had the grand oppritunity to travel down south to Florida with John to visit his relatives and see the beach for the first time. It was the best vacation of my summer. I'd love to go back and roll on the sand and ride the waves again. Happy one year anniversary John! I love you! 10/21/04

A Duck Underwater

I’ve always loved getting a bath. Whether it’s a hot, steamy shower or a bubbly, warm bath, I love it and can’t get enough of it. It comes to be a disadvantage at home when the water that supplies the entire house comes from a well that produces little to nothing in terms of great water supply. Often I would be startled by the abrupt banging on the bathroom door, a signal it was time for me to hurry I up or no one was going to be able to wash their hands until the well pumped. But despite the disadvantage of water shortages, I sure learned a lot about pumping and pulling wells, digging ditches, reservoir tanks, and the water table. But that is certainly another blog, especially one my father would enjoy. He craves on that kind of crafty learning stuff.

It was an adjustment when I came to EUP for educational experience. The showers are individual, not group, but you certainly can’t step out nude and dry off as if you were at home with the door shut. Also, another transition at Edinboro is the idea of going into the bathroom without proper foot gear is enough to make you turn your stomach. At home, you jump in, but here, brace yourself and hold on, and watch so you don’t slip and fall on your way in or out as well. You also have the caddy to assist you because not everyone can put their soaps and suds all together in one bathroom. If one chick found another using her seven dollar shampoo and conditioner, we may have a cat fight with water and toilet paper on our hands.

The bathrooms are well kept and I give our cleaning lady a gold star to dealing with trashy gals and all the hair. Any girl can tell you that sometimes you’ll just shed crazily until you get to the point where you consider picking up some Rogain at Wal-Mart for you fear of baldness coming around the corner. Amazing how so much can be lost and yet I still have locks on my head. I can’t say the same for my daddy and a few other male relatives. Usually, things are spic and span around the restroom.

The one great thing about the shower life at Edinboro is – water; lots of it. As I mentioned above, I loved taking long showers. Despite the first few weeks of freezing cold water for 5 minutes and then boiling streams coming out, the temperature is balancing out finally and now shower time is MY time to soak up the warmth.

I usually take a shower before bedtime for two plain reasons: 1) relaxes the body for sleep time 2) I am too darn lazy come sunrise. So each night I gather up my caddy and my towel, slip on the shoes, and head down the hall to the water wonderland. But wait…I forgot something this time. What could it be…?

Shower time was coming to an end, an unfortunate event every night, as I rinsed off my face wash and squeezed my hair. The lever was pulled and the rush of balmy droplets ceased. I then reached for my towel. Yet there was nothing to reach. There was no towel.

At first, I thought I threw it on the bench outside or on the rack, but with a peek out of the shower curtain and a quick scan of my eyes, I soon discovered I was towel less; stranded balmy and bare. Many thoughts dashed through my mind as I tried to think of a way out of this mess. There I was, wet and getting cold, and no towel to warm me! No stray towels are lying around; no one is in the bathroom, no cell phone on me to call for help. It didn’t help it was around 1AM and everyone is tucked in for bed too. I let out a faint, petite little line that echoed through the empty stalls and over the sinks in an urgent plea:

“Umm…help?!”

No one was there to answer or give me a helping hand. Brainstorming lead me no where for the ideas I came up with were useless and improbable. I ruled out the idea of quickly sprinting nude through the hall to me room. Knowing my luck, someone would spot me butt naked. Watch, the passer byer would even be male.

I stood for awhile and decided to stick with the plan that seemed the most effective: wait for someone to come in and ask for help. Luckily someone did stroll through and I was able to catch their attention, I was behind the shower curtain, and asked them to go to room 418 and to tell my roommate to please bring me a towel. I did get a funny facial expression and felt like a complete moron, but she went on to help me out and relayed the message. Soon, I heard the clip clop of Manna’s clogs and the comforting sound of her voice, which I knew would be accompanied by a towel.

“Alright, where are you?” she said as I peeked my hard out once again from the plastic, yellow shower curtain and smiled.

I couldn’t help but laugh and thanked her so much. She thought I was playing a trick on her when the received the knock on the door and considered not going but figured I would do something like that. Good thing she took this one seriously and came to my aid.

I’ve learned one main thing after the course of this story: just remember to take a towel, Lindsay Kate. Geez o man. You goon. But it could have been worse- there could have been a fire drill. Now that’s a predicament.

Only The Deepest Red

This is work by Jack Vettriano. I had the oppritunity to come across his work as I was preparing for church Sunday morning and happened to catch the segment of the CBS Sunday Morning Show.

Spray It Away

I consider myself so lucky to have found a guy in my life that isn’t a product of the modern world but instead treats others with courtesy and treats me like a lady, actually, his princess. Honestly, some days I just stop and wonder about the human race- that day was today- and the topic was men; men at Rose Hall, to be exact. Sure, I gave some of them a good bashing on the previous blog about the odor of their floors and how is could be the next formula to be canned and used to bring the dead back to life with its airborne power, but this is just my own evaluation and attempt to understand and find the answer to the question: Why?

Whoever the culprit is, I hope they read this, because maybe they will open their testosterone-filled eyes and realize that their body is not a piece of beautiful graffiti.

At the ever exciting floor meeting last night, the topic of “male graffiti” was brought up and discussed. Apparently an anonymous male artist from the hall decided to make his mark on several doors and dry erase boards. His medium? Permanent marker. His subject? His own genitals. What possess a human being to post their unwant-to-be-seen-by-strangers-ables is beyond me. I’m sure the last time I checked, they made individual bathrooms for people to use for the sight of other people’s business wasn’t theirs. And Adam and Eve even felt shame when they realized they were naked and in response they decided to make some fig leaves some kind of primitive Tommy Hilfiger. I wonder if they called it Tommy Leafsticker back then…but that is another blog.

Come on now, you don’t see females drawing weirdo body parts publicly on doors and windows. We draw flowers and bunnies, and an occasional smiling face on a dry-erase board to make someone’s day. I’m sure if you walked into your room nude as your roommate sits unexpectedly at their chair it would be far from making their day. It would most likely make you far from talking to them for the rest of the year.

We are all adults now so it’s not eight grade health where your classmates turn the pages to the reproduction chapter of the book and giggle. We know what’s there, and we don’t care to see it on our doors.

Worse part is that the drawing wasn’t good at all. Not Edinboro art student work by a long shot.

Yet no one can underestimate the power of the Martha Stewart way of thinking (aside from the insider trading issues). With a squeeze of the hair spray nozzle, I proudly wiped away the garbage from the room on the other side of the building. Take that, Mr. Artist. Now go get some real classes and draw something worth while. As for me, I’m going to daydream about the guy who doesn’t draw poor art but creates art in my heart- love.

My Habitat of Learning

Here's a wide shot of the University taken from the corner of campus. Soon all the things green and flourishing will be white and frozen. I might need to learn how to ski...or get a dog sledding team.

When It Rains, It Pours

I woke up this morning figuring it was still around 7:00 AM but to my surprise the gloomy clouds and rain shower disguised the 9:00 sunshine. My roommate began to tell me of the tyrannical downpour from her way back to class; that’s about the time I remembered I actually had to crawl out of bed on a Friday due to a meeting at 10:00. Poo. But thanks to the knowledge of my trusty umbrella, I gained enough will power to un-burrow myself from my comforter wonderland and climb down the bed.

The rain dripped steadily from the grey sky on my way to the meeting. Some used their thinker and pulled out their umbrellas while others were crap out of luck and resorted to pulling up their hooded sweatshirts and treading through the muck.

On my journey to Compton, about a ten minute walk, I started to realize that Edinboro may have not been designed for rain. The intersections and sidewalks tend to floor at certain parts to the point where it seems like you are watching coverage after a hurricane on your television. So I skipped and hopped all over the place like a little school girl who didn’t want to get her dolly wet, and eventually made it to the building. The strategy worked and I remained relatively dry for the most part. Being a sissy can come in handy.

Tee-hee.

The weather, I predict, will be quite a treat for the season. I already find that the climate here and changes in weather patterns are quite unpredictable and bizarre. As I write this, the sun is shining and those grey, ominous clouds are parting. One minute it’s sunny and warm, the next it’s dripping wet and soggy outside like cereal left in the bowl too long. I’ve already heard six or seven different stories about the weather around here and still don’t know what to make out of it.

Yet even though there will be snow, and snow, and some snow, and for a change of pace- snow, the snow will be interesting and fun. I can already see Manna and I making snowman and having Team RamRod snow fights. Unfortunately, I can see a Silver Sunfire skidding past then entrance to Rose Hall and doing a U turn to gain control. But that probably won’t happen; John is pretty good when it comes to inclimate weather.

Whatever the outcome of the winter and weather patterns in Edinboro, it’s likely to be fun, unpredictable, and an experience I will probably remember for the rest of my life. Especially the snowman. I love snowman.

Having A Ball

Manna and I spare some time for a quick strike of the flash of the old digital camera at our first night of bowling as Team RamRod.

Strikes at Night

Everyone loves free stuff. You go to a concert and pull a hamstring to get that awesome t-shirt thrown into the crowd but to your disappointment the Grandma in front you caught it as she was asking around for the bathroom. Or when you attend yard sales or garage sales, the free bin is always checked out. Or even better- when the University offers you to bowl for free and have as much fun with it as you want. Free stuff never sounded so good.

It all happened one Tuesday night when Manna, Mike, Kevin, and I ventured over to the University Center for some physical exercise in the weight room and around the track. As we exited the room a bowling sign-up sheet caught our eye- and that’s all it took. Soon we were forming a team, writing down our names, and narrowing down team names. The best part is that none of us can bowl! Our team Captain, Mark, who was not present at the work out, doesn’t matter if his ball goes down the gutter. He’s having a great time. And so are we.

At our first night we piled in Mike’s car for the first time as team RamRod. Even though we had a little trouble finding the bowling lanes in the small town of Edinboro, we made it on time, prepared to bowl and get a few strikes. We bowled on lanes 18 and 19. But those number’s could of fooled me. They might as well have been labeled number 13 or 666. Little bowling lanes aren’t state of the art, so there are break downs, and then there are delays, and then we get out of the place at 12:30. Bummer. But despite the long night, we laughed a lot and even beat the other team. Miracles on earth.

Our second week was expected to go a lot smoother…and you can call me the President of the United States. But this time it was the President of SGA and his groupies we were going up against instead of last time where we dominated the game against a bunch of carefree girls. One of these groupies in the frat was even nicknamed “Chedda”. Soon we all discovered we were either cursed or someone out there hated us- lanes 13 and 14 were ripped out and replaced by lanes 18 and 19. Again, we didn’t get out of Edinboro Lanes until 12:30. But we held our ground, we bowled a terrific night and even had a secret weapon- John.

Bowling was never my thing. I can barely lift the balls they have placed on the racks at the lane since I left my 3 lb plastic ball at home. However I was thrilled when it was time for a glow-bowling night at Falcon Lanes at home with the youth group. Somewhat Edinboro lanes reminds me of the same kind of silliness, only with more cursing.

Team RamRod will soon be sporting team shirts soon too. Stay tuned for that as well.
Getting out on a Wednesday night isn’t so bad. Sometimes you just have to get out of your cubicle and go on strike.

"Reading Day"

Reading day is Edinboro's way of saying "Sorry, you don't have a fall break, but here's a Tuesday to blow." Well, this was our way of celebrating Reading Day- moving! We rearranged the joint and are making way for some type of couch due to the added space. Sweet.

Snakes, Snails, and Puppy Dog Tails

I always knew that boys were messy. It’s common sense almost. I grew up thinking that girls were nice and neat and boys were sticky and smelly. Sure, I found those exceptional males that keep their living standards and hygiene at a tolerable and healthy level, but the old truth still stands: Boys smell.

It was proclaimed at Orientation that the floors that those smelly little boys, now “young adults”, would always smell to some strange magnitude of garbage. I never knew how true it was until the weeks went by and I started to venture out of my room.

One instance of outrageous odors on floors begins with the first floor on the west wing, where I reside. You enter after Rose hall and pass through the lobby and mailboxes, you proceed to open the door and hit a gassy blast that reminds you of the lingering smell of a rest home for the elderly. How can something like this happen? Have the RA’s been handing out bedpans to the students and forgot to mention the fact you have to dump it when you’re finished?

The grand daddy of smells on the floors lives on the 4th floor of the north wing (obviously not my own, I live on the west wing. Now don’t I feel presidential). This smell takes the cake, well, probably melts the cake and turns it into a crumble of sand after it eats away at the icy layers. Unfortunately, it’s the short-cut to the café in the basement which results in a quick scurry past a few rooms and rushing through the door down the stairs, letting out a breath of relief tat I’ve made it alive. The experience is almost like one of those action video games where your player has to complete the level as fast as possible or the life slowly decreases due to a deadly and potent gas and game over pops up on the screen. And people say that kids are bored these days. I’m just trying to get some food before I am overcome with the fumes.

I know boys can be messy but why does messy have to go along with smelly? It’s most likely a chain reaction. Clothes lay on ground dirty. Clothes develop fungus. Food is eaten. Food wasn’t finished. Food lies around. Food attracts flies. Food developed fungus. Dust forms. Dust spreads. Dust begins to play the role of a fungus- spreading everywhere.

I guess you just can’t avoid it. Boys just smell.

Girls can be messy too. You will come across some real trashers. But generally, girls are made of sugar and spice and everything that smells nice. Boys have cologne to make up for it.

Tribute to Indy, Lilly, & Jack

adopt your own virtual pet!

Now isn't that fun? you can even click on the treat bag and get him to fly through the air! Now I know what you are thinking next: "What kind of a name is bunny foo?" I can't remember when I all happened, but we nicknamed our dogs "bunny foos". So in honor of my faithful pooches at home, here's a blog for you. Woof.

Scotland the Brave

No, I did not take this picture Homecoming weekend. Someone sent it to me via e-mail several months ago and I decided to keep it for a laugh. Now it's your turn.

Feeding the Fighting Snots

Even before I was the legal age to be employed, I already made the firm decision to stay far away from the fast food business or any job that concerned feeding hungry people demanding perfect service. When the job opportunity opened up at the grocery store, Shop N’ Save, I was pleased because for one, it was money, and two, it wasn’t McDonalds. I see that my choice was a wise one as I observe the hired help that proudly wear the t-shirts “Feeding the Fighting Scots” at the dining halls of Edinboro University. I guess it’s not my kind of field, or should I say, not my kind of kitchen.

I only checked out food at Shop N’ Save, allowing people to make their own food at home and giving them a cost-efficient method for there was no tip at the end of the order. Thankfully I didn’t have to put up with the crazy pressures of cooking food the whole way through, getting the right order, adding the right ingredients, and hustling around clearing off tables for more carnivorous customers. The restaurant business is busy and fast, which is probably the one reason I enjoyed the harmonious beeping of the scanner on my register at the store.

But in this blog I give it up to the employees of Edinboro University’s dining services. If you think about it, they make tons of various foods, ranging from tacos to turnips, they cook it, clean up, re-stock, cook some more, and also put up with pushy, egotistical college students. Sometimes they display a look on their face that is similar to a kid trapped in the house on a rainy day- they just want out of there.

I’m not saying all the students on campus are rude and insensitive to others, I find many of the people on campus kind-hearted and friendly to meet. It’s those few that strike a cord that plays a sour note, usually on the wrong day for the person listening to the tune. Sometimes I wonder where people get it from, their parents, the television, or just having nothing better to do than vocalize their inner most thoughts publicly. It’s usually not hard to say thank-you or please, goodness sakes; there is even an episode on Sesame Street. Maybe there is some hidden idea or lesson to people as they get older that they have the right to frown and grab their food and leave with a grudge. But what fun is that?

I remember all those bad instances that scared me half to death and also left me scratching my head when I worked at Shop N’ Save. However I always loved having someone with a smile and a hello comes through my line. Even the people could be considered too chatty would make the day a little more interesting and intriguing. I remember some quotes of them like “Always remember to have fun” and other silly remarks and rips on the Green Points Rewards system the store offered. Even the people I knew that came through my line gave me a happy grin because it just wasn’t another stranger. But I still don’t understand why people that did see my lane was open went to the one in front of me or the shorter one. Is making someone’s day bright not worth the time?

I guess generous thank-you’s and please’s and other compliments to those serving you go farther that one would think. You never know when your greetings and good day’s will come in handy to put a smile on a busy server or shop keeper. J

"Go B-O-R-O!"

Here's a view from the stands of the team as they prepare to hike the ball at Sox Stadium Homecoming Weekend. We ended up defeating Cal U (black hole) 43- 28.

Say Cheese

I was quite pleased to see the finished product and realize I didn't end looking like a bimbo with a fat lip; I actually look pretty neat. The UFO added in the picture is trademark of Adam, the artist who drew me. I saw it was worth the $1.00. Good fundrasier, Animation Club.

Coming Home to Homecoming

It's been a great time for reminiscing these two story-evoking weeks. Lucky me, I've had the grand opportunity to attend two homecoming weekends, back to back, packed with excitement and all kinds of unusual fun and scrutinizing.

First, I'll start off with the dynamic night of football I had the honor of witnessing- the Kittanning vs. Burrell game. Since my father has season tickets to the pigskin throwing events, I decided to come with him and keep him out of trouble (which never works because I start mocking along and being silly just like he does. You can't be a Reedy without a good mocking and some foolishness). We first take our cool, aluminum seats and I see signs around the field with names of them. I narrowed it down to either Senior night or Homecoming because no one plasters their name on a sign on a fence without having a reason (unless you are into graffiti). Not even three seconds after I asked him about it, the lady in front of us, sporting picture pins of band kids, jumps in, leans back, and tells us it's homecoming. A shock to us because for one- we don't know who this lady is and two- we just didn't see that one coming. She ended up playing the role of Alex Trebek later on that night again. I guess soccer mom's are really on top of the game.

The game soon started and as my eyes shifted from one spot to another all over the field and soon I realized how cheesy some things in high school are to me. As I sat there, I was sitting as a college student; not some ignorant 9th grader throwing popcorn and chasing the opposite sex. I was in the higher education system which gave me the attitude of "I'm bigger than you. Bow before me, oh small unknowing one." Of course, I would never say that because I am much too light-hearted to care about what status or reputation I hold in a town that is centered on a Wal-Mart and an over-flowing riverbank. Yet I found a respect for how precious this time of life was to kids in high school. You only once get to be a kid and goof around and make the sporting event a social hour for you and your friends. Even though the whole idea of homecoming was a little old-fashioned, it's still a treasured part of life that you deep down inside enjoy to watch.

So I return to Edinboro Sunday night and as my schedule worked out, I spent the weekend on campus for the first time. I picked a terrific time to stay because there is lots to keep me busy between all the stuff that was planned into a few days. Homecoming was this weekend and I had already heard stories of what it would be like, mostly the stories of drunken students stumbling around and making fools of themselves while trying to regain their bodily functions. I, on the other hand, rather keep my mentality at a stable and controlled level and keep myself away from being the next cast member in the movie "Old School".

First is started with the parade at 11:00. I woke up at 10:00, thinking it was about 8, but after I squinted and starred at the fuzzy numbers on the on my digital clock, I realized I should probably haul my rear out of bed to make it on time. So I jaunted over to 316 Meadville Street- the Potter's House, belonging to Kristin. I had a jolly of a time sitting on her porch and getting some occasional candy and goodies that were thrown out. The float theme this year was "Fairy Tales" and the floats in the parade did a pretty exceptional job at displaying Three Pigs or Little Red Riding Hood with tissue paper and students inside making stuff move on the float to give it mechanical effect. The Shriners did a bang up job but the presentation of their tricks and figure eights would have been a bit better if all the Shriners from Western Pennsylvania didn't show up for the event. I saw Shriner performances for probably a half hour straight, no joke. People started leaving the parade figuring that "Heck, it's the end of the parade pretty much; I don't need any more exhaust, let's go eat." Eventually, the parade continued and then soon ended around lunch time.

After I shoved some food into my stomach, I hitched a ride with Becca and Sharon from the Potter's house and traveled over to Sox Stadium for the football match between Edinboro and Cal U. We took a seat on the cool bleachers and had a good time being greatly entertained by the band performances and the various comments my some of the college students above us as they chanted several things, some I cannot repeat. It did get a little breezy as time went on but we were all warmed up when we left the stadium and got into the sun after the victory of 43 to 28. Poor Cal U, but oh well, they can just go back to the Black Hole and regroup their plan of attack. I then got my caricature, which you can see above, and traveled to get some yummies in my tummy for dinner. Overall, the homecoming at EUP wasn't too bad and kind of makes me feel proud to be at the school. Maybe a littler interaction with the whole atmosphere made things feel more like home.

I guess you can say that homecoming is different for everyone, whether you are in the sparkly dress sitting on the backseat of a car or passed out over a couch at a frat house. But for me it was just a lot of thinking and analyzing, which always leads me back to the reason for my personal home comings - getting to see my John, home coming King.

"Your word is a lamp to my feet, and a light for my path." Psalm 119:105

One night Manna entered the room carrying a crippled and frail little plant into the room saying she found it in the trash room across from us. We decided to lend the poor thing a helping hand and have rehabilitated the little bugger into the booming, green plant that rests on our window seal doing it's favorite thing: soaking up some rays.

"Go Godward; and you will find a path." - Russian Proverb

Here is an Autumn photo of Coffee Hollow Road as you approach the Reedy home. If you look to your bottom left, you can spot the downward driveway of my Uncle Eric and Aunt Trudy's residence.

Puff the Magic Killer

I grew up reading the signs and hearing the lectures when I went to visit my grandfather. If you even got him started on the subject of smoking or using any tobacco product of any kind, you were likely to get an earful. He was quite against the issue to almost the point of obsession, but then again, he obsessed over a lot of things.

Yet I myself can testify that smoking isn't one of my "fond" habits. Sure, biting your nails is a no no, but I don't think chunks of fingernail bits are going to clog up your lungs. I am surprised by myself at times in how I handle a smoke-filled room or walk past those puffers. When I drive over to John’s house, the smoking issue doesn’t bother me that much, mostly because I am: 1.) Used to it, 2.) I know them, they are nice people. But people I pass on the sidewalks of Edinboro who are smokin’ it right a long in between their fingers and blowing it out of their nose holes; I find myself holding my breath long enough to make it past them. Cancer is your choice, not mine. Keep it to yourself please.

I don’t hate smokers, now don’t get me wrong. If I did, there’s a lot of people to hate out there, and some of those people I know and love. It’s the habit I despise and don’t fully understand. If people puffed for taste and health benefits, I’m sure there would be a dramatic difference. Rather, people are addicted and it’s the cool thing to do. Many of them, in fact, want to quit; they just can’t. I honor those who do try and succeed. I'm sure it's not a walk in the park.

There are so many sides of the issue that I don’t even want or care to explore. I just don’t understand sometimes. Why the hassle? It’s a shame it’s a habit, because it’s nothing but a hazard.

This Pontiac Silver Sunfire, belonging to John, takes many joyous trips ranging from Pittsburgh to Prospect. This photo was taken after Mr. Sunfire had a bubbly bath and some Rain-X aftershave. Look at that grin... 

Passing Signs on I-79

As a kid, I hated the ride in the car. The journey in the four-wheeled vehicle was just a use of transportation in order to get to the place I wanted to be. The quicker I got there, the better. This doesn’t mean I love people who fly by at 90 miles an hour; it means that the whole concept of “enjoying the ride” was, to me, a boring time period of signs and trees.

Now I am two hours away from home and from my boyfriend, which some days feels like thousands of miles. The idea of going to this university wasn’t an attempt to run far away from my family but the art program that is offered and what it could do for me and my interests. This two hours away deal at first was quite scary to think about over a long period of time. I recall several of my first visits here this past spring spent in the car asleep. Now that I look back on it, it probably wasn’t a good idea to sleep in the car for it made the trip seen longer and endless but when morons at universities decide to schedule events at 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning when they are well aware of the fact that many of their applicants aren’t townies, you have no choice but to get some shut up on the early venture towards Erie.

I’ve gone home several times since then. About every weekend I either hitch a ride with a fellow student or I have sweet surprise of John showing up and taking me back. This two hour adventure has taught me a lot about the highway, people, cops, and myself.

Several times I have driven John’s car on the way down or up for the sake of his alertness or to make the deal even. While driving I’ve noticed how you “bond” with other vehicles on the road. You name them like “Little Cavalier” or “Green Van” and you follow them for miles and miles at a consistent speed while others zoom by or lag behind. Then you sadly see your new found friend click their turn signal and you say goodbye to your traveling buddy. “Goodbye, Mr. Ford 150.”

Halfway through the trip your radio fails to pick up local stations you receive at home and instead decide to pick up the closer ones that cover the area of Erie. Unfortunately, the choices are few and scattered. I’ve found about 8 country stations, 2 or 3 oldies or rock, and then just fuzz.

Conversations never cease to amaze me as well. On the trip up with my parents, one minute we may be talking about those pesky relatives to how windows vary in cars (depending on which parent I’m with) (you take a stab at which is which).

We mustn’t forget about the other kind of fuzz, the law, cops, law enforcement, or the police as many know them as. You’ll occasionally see a victim pulled over and cast aside to receive their punishment. It’s always a good idea to be alert all over the road, you never know when it comes in handy.

And in two hours, if the conversation is quiet or while driving the passenger is reading a book he bought for extra entertainment, your mind can think about anything. I’ve hit quite a lot of topics in the old noodle while riding along. From the future to fire drills, you can ponder about it all.

I don’t mind the trip as much anymore and feel like I have adapted to the traveling idea of hours in a car. Maybe it’s an acquired taste or comes with age. I guess it has made me a better traveler. Sure’ I’d love it if Edinboro was just an hour away or so, but some things come with a price (mostly two dollars a gallon).