Good Weekend

I had a good weekend.


Friday:

Class. Hooray, hooray.
Then I went home. I got to hang out with my Mom and brother for a bit which was nice. We chilled out and ate dinner and listened to my brother practice piano for about an hour until it was time for us to leave for my high school's football game, at which I was participating in the alumni marching band. I got there right at the last minute, but one of the first people I talked to was my beloved old band director, Mr. B. He took one look at me and told me my hair looked like a rug.

I loved seeing people and getting to catch up with some old friends. I also found that I could still play the flute, which I was a little worried about. Standing on the field at half-time, I kept talking to Sierra in between songs; something that would have been strictly forbidden if I was actually in marching band. I also enjoyed remembering old times with Erin and how we used to be friends with this one group of people back in middle school, and how most of us have all gone a bunch of very different directions with our lives.

During third quarter, I enjoyed cookies and talking to people in the band from the other school (including a girl about six years younger than me...I feel so old) with Mary Kate and my sister, then going up into the stands to find my mom. I found her with my brother and my mom's friends, including Darin and my first grade teacher Angie (sorry for being disrespectful and using your first names instead of Mr./Mrs. so&so...it's the internet, that's all). It was good to see them and they also made a huge fuss about my hair, and asked me a lot about school. It was great seeing them and catching up. Darin took my picture with my mom...

As I was leaving, I saw Zach's family, so I went over to talk to them for a few minutes, also about my hair (it's a really big deal, apparently), and about Debbie's new job. I love that whole family and it was really good to see them, as always.

A few cool facts about the football game: it was homecoming weekend (which is really dumb because apparently there hasn't been any away games yet...) so we got to find out who was voted homecoming king and queen. Turns out they're both band kids, which we were all really excited about. Congrats to my friends King Paqui and Queen Nikki!
The end of the game was pretty exciting, and depressing. We all got super excited because there was like 40 seconds left in the game and the score was 28 to...something in the low thirties. And we scored! So we were winning. Then the other team scored. Then the game ended. It was rough. I forget the exact end score.

After the game I walked back to the school by myself, praying under my breath, and working up the courage to talk to Zach once I got back to the band room.
He was there, wayyyy in the back corner, taking off his band uniform and stuff, so I went over and stood there waiting for him to notice me. He looked up and I said "Hi." and he said, "Hey." I asked if he wouldn't mind talking if he had a minute, when he was done, and he said, "Well, I have to drive Paqui to his [own] party, so maybe if I have time." Well, I waited there and talked to Sierra about her Happy Birthday balloon and the trophies in the band room. Zach was done before Paqui because Paqui was making this big deal out of deciding to make a speech about Cleaning Up Your Area as a way of respecting our beloved band room. Then he ran around like a crazyperson picking up trash and fussing about how people just leave stuff everywhere. So I got to talk to Zach. I asked him how school was going, how he was doing, about his date to the homecoming dance. He didn't ask me anything about my life, but I told him anyway that I was doing well, very well. Then I told him that I was asking him this stuff because I do indeed care about him a lot and it bothers me that I don't know how he's doing when he doesn't talk to me, which is always. He nodded like he understood, and said without much conviction that he was pretty busy with school and didn't have a lot of time to talk. I pretended like that was a very legitimate excuse and said that the ball was in his court and he could talk to me whenever he would like, because I will always be ready.

That was the first real conversation we had since we broke up. It helped with closure, I think. It sucks when it ends so bad and then we can't even make up as mere friends because he doesn't want anything to do with me. He was polite to me that night, when I talked to him, and I was laughing nervously the whole time, and smiling way too much, but I could tell that he didn't really care about me at all anymore. And now I am more okay with that than I was. Because at least I got to talk to him about it. I don't think it will bother me so much anymore.

Then I went home, loafed around on the internet for a while, looked at some of my sister's senior pictures on facebook, and went to bed.


Saturday:

I got up, took a shower, had pizza rolls for brunch, packed up all my winter clothes, hugged my mom goodbye, and left. I drove two hours to camp, stopping once along the way to pee in a disgusting gas station bathroom and purchase a bag of Combos for a late lunch.

Upon arriving at camp, I went to the office where I was bombarded by a medium-large dog named Duchess. Duchess was a jumper, licker, and nipper, and very, very excited to see me, a stranger. I went in to the main room where Claire, Chris, Ashleigh, and Lee (whom I remember but who doesn't remember me) were sitting. We chatted, then were like, okay, time to get to work!

I might mention that the reason I was at camp was to work a total of two hours by taking a group of seventh-graders on a retreat to the challenge course.

There they were, a bunch of stranger middle schoolers, up at the lodge waiting for me to entertain them. To the challenge course we went, and as I got to know my little group of twelve, I was intrigued by the group dynamics that would probably be of little interest to the average joe.

Later we chowed down on baked ziti and garlic bread. I said my goodbyes and was gone as quickly as I came.

I love it there, and miss it. It was good to be back, and breathe in the air, even for such a short period of time. Gosh, I love the smell of the air there...

I drove back to school, and hung out with Gavin for a while. One thing I love about him is that we trust each other enough to share our insecurities, tell each other the things we don't like about ourselves, and then we accept and love those very things about each other. Strangely beautiful.

When I went back to my room, I realize that I had left my phone back at his place, so I messaged him on facebook, saying, you should give me my phone tomorrow. And he was like, well I'm taking it to you now. It was kind of late at night so I didn't really want him to but he did anyway. I went outside and there he was with a scooter...you have to laugh a little when someone comes over to bring you something you left at there place--on a scooter. It was funny. He's funny. Then I went to bed.


Sunday:

I got up, surprisingly awake, and went to Pastor Chris's church. I met up with Chris, Cody, and Kaitlyn there, and we sat together in the back. Pastor Chris had a great sermon based on the story of the workers and the daily wages (Matthew 20:1-16) and about how Jesus "paid the price" for us, so no matter how many "hours we work", it doesn't matter, because we all, as Christians, get the one ultimate payment.

After that the four of us went out to lunch with Pastor Chris at Applebee's. Pastor Chris seems a little weary, but he's going on vacation on Tuesday so I'll be praying that he gets the rest and recharging he needs.

Then I came back to school and took a long nap, and loafed around in my pajamas all day. I took a shower and wrote a paper and now I'm writing this blog and soon I'll be going to bed.


God bless

A Time for Everything

I've gotten into a bad habit of starting posts and not finishing them. This is one I started earlier this week that will probably never end up getting completed. But please enjoy it anyway! God bless.


Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

This is one of my favorite Bible passages. Often we forget that sometimes it is okay to do one thing at one time and another thing at another time. 

For example, laughter. "A time to weep and a time to laugh." Laughter is such a good thing; a beautiful gift from God. How thoughtful and kind of him to give us such a thing! Imagine a world with no humor, a world where we could not express ourselves if something brought us joy. It's such a small thing, but such a huge thing and most people would agree with me that it is not a bad thing, but a good one. However, in certain situations, we all know that it is inappropriate to laugh. Seeing someone get hurt, watching someone cry, feeling rather down yourself... laughing is not the answer. But crying might be. Crying is also a good thing. I'm sure almost all of you have experienced a crying experience that brought you much relief and even comfort. And on the other hand, and this is less heard of I would think, one ought not to cry when it is a happy time (unless they're happy tears.) There comes a point where you need to release yourself from your misery and laugh again, let your tears dry.

Other "times" in this passage might be harder to understand. "A time to love and a time to hate." Really?? Isn't every time a time to love? When would it be appropriate to hate?

Let me answer that with another question. When would it be appropriate to love sin? When would it be appropriate to love hatred itself? When would it be appropriate to love ugliness, cruelty, or violence? When would it be appropriate to love death?

And yet, there is "a time to be born and a time to die." Ah, death, what a sticky topic. Some would call this the "circle of life," but I think there's more to it than that.

Dear Squirrel,

I met you this morning and I'm glad we hit it off so well.

I was walking along on the sidewalk, admiring the morning dew on the grass which looked like millions of diamonds scattered across the lawn, when I saw you there, prancing along the sidewalk. I got pretty close to you but not too close; you wouldn't have allowed that. I was so amazed at how silent your feet were that I wondered if you were perhaps wearing tiny socks.

You were very handsome and even though I'm not always a huge fan of squirrels (you guys sometimes scare me), I took a liking to you instantly. You had big brown eyes and soft-looking gray fur and a nice bushy tail. And I got close enough to see the way you walked; it is really very much like prancing! You were absolutely lovely. As I walked along, you scampered around the corner playfully, and when I passed said corner you were running behind a flowerpot as if to say, "Can't catch me!"

I continued my journey but kept watching you. You kept a safe ten-ish feet away from me, but we were traveling parallel to one another, and I watched you with my head turned. You darted along then dove into the bushes, and I could see you for a moment but no longer than that. I silently bid you farewell, and perhaps if I ever see you again I won't even recognize you, but please know that I delighted in our encounter and that I will not soon forget you.

Love, your new friend,
Maryann

Dreadlocks

I started this post about a week ago, so I'm sorry the times don't line up. I'm finishing it now. Enjoy!
~~~

As I mentioned two posts ago, I was getting dreadlocks. And I got them. Two days ago.

And I LOVE them.


Here's the story in pretty much its entirety:

Once upon a time on a warm, but somewhat rainy late summer afternoon, in the building of Priebe, we looked in a pamphlet for a picture of Betsy With Dreads. We found said picture and I said in passing, I've always kind of wanted dreads. I didn't really think about it. It was something I had thought about last summer but pretty quickly decided against when someone told me I wasn't allowed to wash my hair for at least two weeks before I got them.

When I said my in-passing comment, Betsy looked up with a twinkle in her eye and said, I could do them for you! Which planted a seed that grew into a tree within about 5 minutes of talking about it. This was something I really wanted to do. And the two weeks of no showering beforehand was a myth. I texted my mom asking her, "Would you still love me if I got dreadlocks?" She replied, "Yes, but I would not enjoy your hair." Knowing my mother would not hate me, despite her utter distaste for dreadlocks, there was nothing stopping me.

The next month (or two?) was slow going, with boring, sad, normal hair as I anxiously prepared and as Betsy and I talked and later corresponded via facebook about what I needed to buy and what I needed to do to get ready.

Finally, the day arrived. The night before I had emailed Betsy asking if she wanted me to wash my hair right before she came so that it was wet. I got up the next morning, went to church (without showering), and came back to find that she had replied, no, wash them in the morning, so that they're clean but dry when I get there at noon. Well shoot, because morning was almost over. Nevertheless I got in the shower and washed my hair for the LAST TIME as normal, organized strands.

Betsy arrived at my university (the day after I moved in and the day before classes began, a.k.a. two days ago) after a many-hour drive from nearby state, almost two hours late (she realized an hour down the road that she forgot the special dreadlock combs and had to turn around and get them). My hair was clean but dry, hanging loosely to the sides which I hate, I much prefer having my hair up. We forgot a "before" picture, but whatever.

Here was the process; the order of events that commenced:

1) I sat on the floor with Betsy sitting on a couch right behind me. That's all I had to do pretty much the entire time.

2) All my hair was put into an unknown number of tiny ponytails. [Update: the number of ponytails, and hence, dreadlocks, is 65.]

3) Choose a ponytail. Sprinkle on "Lock Peppa" which looks like cocaine and smells like spearmint and eventually burns your throat like death when you breathe it for hours. Take the scary dreadlock comb and back-comb (tease) the snot out of the ponytail until it is a little hot-dog-shaped poofball. This is a dreadlock. "Crochet" it with a crochet hook to get loose ends in, and then roll it in your hands like play-dough.

4) Repeat #3 until all the tiny ponytails are now poofball dreads.

5) Take a fingerfull of wax and roll each dreadlock in it, once again like playdough.

6) Take pictures. Get called "Sideshow Bob". Get strange looks.

Initial final product:

Now I maintain my dreadlocks by crocheting them, waxing them (which I am a slacker about), rolling them, blah blah blah etc.

I have now had my dreads for approximately 10 days. I have washed them... once. But they look and feel (minus the itchiness) amazing, and I hope they last a long time.

On a more personal note, having dreadlocks has given me a boost of confidence that I didn't quite expect. Because they're abnormal in this suburban university culture, everyone notices them, and the more outspoken people usually say something about them, or ask me questions, or even touch them. It's like I'm suddenly more interesting because I have weird hair, which is something I wasn't last year: interesting. So even though the majority of my family disapproves, I love knowing that in people's eyes, no matter what they associate dreads with, I am automatically different; unique at first glance. Perhaps I get "judged" a little, but in general people now see me as someone worth getting to know. Before I was another face in the crowd, now I am, "Wow, who's that girl with the crazy hair? She might have something to say for herself." Maybe this is an exaggeration, but surely it's an improvement on my previous anonymity. This was definitely a good life-choice.

If any of you have questions about my dreads, please feel free to comment and I will answer them!

Thanks again to my awesome friend Betsy for all her time and effort in doing this for me. I love you!


God bless.


~~~
UPDATE:
I've had my dreads for about 2 and a half, almost 3 months now. They get washed twice a week and maintained daily. I still get compliments on them, but my roommate and a few of my other friends have said they can't remember without dreads. I myself look at pictures of myself before this whole thing and think I look so weird with normal here.
They've come a long way in these early stages. Although this isn't the best picture of me, you can see how much skinnier they are here.

I'm really nervous for Thanksgiving because my grandfather HIGHLY disapproves of my hair, and I don't really want to be around when he sees it for the first time, but I kind of have to be there. Oh well.

On the brighter side, I am still loving the dreads. One thing that's kind of an odd unexpected perk is... and please, no one condemn me for saying it this way, but I feel like I'm more accepted by black people. Before I was just a white girl, now I am a white girl with dreads which automatically makes me more a part of black American culture, since obviously a lot more black people have dreads than white people (at least where I live). So it's nice to have a whole lot of extra people actually smile and say hi to me (whether I know them or not), whereas before I was just a stranger in the crowd. Most people notice my hair, but it's black people who really like that about me, and give me a better chance to be my friend. I get more stranger-compliments from black people than from white people, and a lot of those compliments are also accompanied by some variation of, "How do you get your hair to do that since it's not nappy?" I'm probably the whitest chick around, but now somehow I "fit in" better in even more social groups.

I love the way my dreads smell (especially when they're wet--weirdest smell ever), I love taking care of them, I love when strangers ask to touch them, and most of all I love having something unique about me. Yay dreadlocks!