My Buddy!

My friend managed a weary grin up at me, bent over her shovel. Her normally neat blond hair was waving in the hot air, and her pale skin had been tinted red with sun. She had dirt up to her elbows, and her tiny fingers clung stubbornly to the shovel handle. "I'm so sore," she muttered, not complainingly, but in her usual matter-of-fact tone. I gave a breathless laugh back, "You and me both!" Both of us heaved another shovelful of dirt to the side, our arms screaming in pain. We grimaced, but our synchronization simply gave round to another moment of laughter. She was older than me, but much smaller, and the two of us got along well. Maybe it was because we shared the same name, Abby. She paused again, adjusting the neck of her shirt. The frilly collar was stained with dirt, giving it a strange look. She groaned as mud from her gloves scraped against her sunburn, but once again, her actions did not come from complaining, but with good humor. Her dark eyebrows snapped together in a joking wince and she grinned sheepishly. She threw another pile of soil away, accidentally-on-purpose tossing it down one of leaders' shoes. He leaped away as she glared impishly at him; he had been doing the same thing to us moments before.

Digging in Guatemala

I jammed my shovel into the hard-packed clay and heaved a pile of dirt to the side, straining my already burning muscles. The sun beat down on me from above, piercing through my multiple layers of sunscreen. The smell of baking dirt wafted in the air, bringing with it the taste of dry dust. My tongue felt too thick in my mouth, like it was too big. I rubbed my forearm across my forehead in an attempt to push my hair out of my eyes, leaving a streak of dirt like a brand on my face. The blisters on my hands throbbed as the mud-hardened fingers of my gloves rubbed against them. It seemed to take an extreme amount of effort to close my fingers around the wooden handle of my shovel. Scraping sounds echoed around me as my friends threw more piles of dirt into buckets. They too were covered in dirt and sweat. I took a deep breath, determined to keep going like they were. Another shovelful of dirt slid away from my shovel. The sun was now directly above us, and the palm fronds and bamboo bushes were unfortunately too far away to provide any shade. I blinked more dirt and sunlight out of my eyes and made an attempt to lift the exceeding heavy bucket of dirt at my feet, nearly falling to the side as its weight caught my wobbling legs off guard.

Swim Meet

I had a swim meet tonight, which is why I am writing this past midnight. Swim meets always kind of freak me out. The shock of the cold water as you dive in always stuns me, no matter how much I attempt to convince myself that I am prepared. Also, I have this reoccuring fear that I will miss one of my events because I read the schedule wrong. That is why I check, recheck, recheck, and recheck the schedule throughout the night. I have not missed an event yet. I am pretty sure I know where the fear comes from, though. Before I joined the high school swim team, I was briefly a part of a swim club. I went with the club to a meet in Thunder Bay, Canada. While there, I, thinking I knew the schedule correctly, went sightseeing with my family on a day that I thought I did not swim. Turns out I was wrong. I had been supposed to swim in a relay. I figured that out when we returned and my friend informed me that they had searched and searched for me. Obviously, I never showed up, so someone had to swim for me. How embarrassing! I don't want something like that to happen again. So maybe that is the reason for my constant anxiety.

NHS Ceremony

Tonight was the induction for the newest members to join NHS. I remember my own induction ceremony quite clearly. I was very nervous I would slip or fall on the stage. I sort of shuffled out into the spotlight, blinking at its harsh glare. I carefully shook hands with each one of the people lined up on the stage. The scent of smoke from the five candles resting in the center of the stage swept around me, and tendrils of it could be seen snaking through the glow of the lights. I then grabbed a candle and pledge and we all came up onto the stage to recite the NHS pledge together. Our candles had been made of wax, so as time went on, it began to melt like cheese in an oven. Liquid wax slowly spread down the edges of the candle in a waterfall, dripping mercilessly onto my fingers. I gulped back my exclamation of pain, refraining from the urge to snuff out the candle instantly. Not wanting to embarrass myself on stage, I merely continued to hold the candle gingerly and finish the pledge. After we were finished, and the candles had been put away, I carefully scraped some of the remaining wax from my fingers, wishing that the candles had been electric. This year, they were! I'm glad none of the new members got burning wax all over their hands- that is always a plus.

Night Driving

Driving around at night always freaks me out a bit. My hands get a tad tighter on the wheel, and my knuckles turn more white. I double check to make sure the headlights are on, gazing into the reassuring glow in front of the car. As I drive, I constantly throw sideways glances at the grass and trees on other side of the road, worried that an unsuspecting deer will dive into the path of my car. I also am concerned about stop signs. Even with their shining edges, I still am afraid I will zip past one without even noticing. All of these things are just minor worries, though. The main reason I dislike driving at night would be the fact that I get lost...a lot. Getting lost a night is twice as worse as getting lost in the daytime. Signs are harder to read. Settings that may have been familiar earlier suddenly look different as they are shrouded by the night. My worst driving moment was getting lost by Minneapolis and having to pull into the dark parking lot of some warehouse to get my bearings. Of course, it was hard to get my bearings when I was spooked by the lack of street lamps or any sort of light near the warehouse. I got home eventually and never told anyone about my moment of panic. I guess I was too embarrassed. Now, though, I realize that getting lost will probably just be a fact of life for me, so I had better get used to it.

This trimester, I am taking an independent study art class. Today, I finished my first pastel drawing. After scrubbing and scrubbing the chalk pastel off my fingers, leaving them spotted and tingling, I pulled my artwork to the ventilation room to put a finishing spray on. The room is covered in clay, as I soon discovered after backing into a machine. Clay dust clung to my jeans like mud. Frowning, I wiped it off, sending a bitter tasting cloud of dust into my face. I taped up my drawing and paused. How did the vent turn on? Everyone was supposed to turn it on while spraying their artwork, in order to avoid inhaling the fumes. The switch was on, but the familiar teeth-grinding roar of the vent was not. The ring of the bell sang through the open doorway. I had to go. Figuring a quick spray probably wouldn't do me too much harm, I grabbed a can of finisher and positioned it to spray. When I pressed the button, steam-like substance shot out at the picture...and me. Apparently, the bottle was broken. A weird, sticky liquid dripped onto my fingers and solidified there, giving my hands an odd sheen. I shoved the bottle away on onto the shelf, hoping at least some of the chemicals had reached my drawing. I hurried outside and took in a quick gulp of air. Hopefully those chemicals had not been too dangerous, because I definitely got a whiff of them. Well, I'm not dead, so I guess they weren't.

Stress Attack

Today I experienced one of those overwhelming bouts of stress. Stress is almost as bad as a wild animal. It smothers you and snatches away whatever trace of a breath you have in your lungs. Your throat becomes dry as cotton and your mouth tastes oddly metallic as you try, and fail, to swallow. Your fingers clench your pile of books until the knuckles stand out starkly in your skin. Your eyes open wide, probably making you look comical, but at the moment, you really do not care. Your fight or flight response kicks in. Do you make a run for the door? Or put up the most desperate argument of your life? Neither, apparently. Your body has entered a mode of complete shut-down. Frozen as solid as an icicle, you sit rigidly in your seat. Your mind can hardly function, as it seems to have gone beyond its capacity. Is your heart even still beating? Are you still inhaling and exhaling? You have to remind your body to begin the breathing process once again, but in your state of panic, you overcompensate, making yourself hyperventilate. You hear breathless gulps that match your own all around you. Your classmates gaze in horror at the teacher, who remains oblivious. Yes, you just were told you have a test tomorrow, and you are completely, utterly unprepared. It is going to be long night.

Getting Lost

Tonight I was sent to pick up my little brother from his friend's house in Dayton. It was pitch black outside, with the only light being from the towering street lamps and my dusty headlights. I followed the set of directions my mother gave me, and pulled into the street looking for the house number. I looked...and looked...and finally pulled over. Two kids that had come out of their house just to watch me desperately search scurried back into their house as I came out of the car, shutting the garage door behind them with a resounding bang. I walked up and down the street, searching frantically for the number. I needed to get home and finish my homework! But it was nowhere to be found. To make matters worse, I thought I didn't have my phone. I slipped back into the car and put my head on the wheel. What was I supposed to do? Suddenly, inspiration struck! I had been texting my friend before heading out, and I had slipped the phone into my sweatshirt pocket. Aha! There it was. Relief flooded through my veins, and I quickly dialed home and asked for better directions. Turns out I was given the wrong street in one of the directions. Finally, I pulled up to the right house about half an hour late. I guess it is going to be a late night tonight, considering how much homework I still have.

Drama Team

I got to go to church tonight to attend Drama Team. It is a group of teens who perform dramas for my church and elsewhere. The people there are hilarious, and are always fun to hang out with. So of course tonight was enjoyable...even though trying to do breathing exercises with bronchitis was not a good idea. I ending up embarrassing myself by hacking out coughs in the dead silence as everyone else held their breath. Anyways, we rehearsed a skit, and that also went well. Except for when we were backstage, and someone accidentally knocked over a set of curtain poles. Guess who the poles landed on? That's right. Me. They whacked into my shoulder like a set of teeth, making me stumble back into the carpet-ball table, which made the carpet-balls roll clunk against the wooden sides like heavy rocks. Again, embarrassing. At least we got some productive work done on the skit. We all almost have our lines memorized! I am excited to perform. From what I have seen from the work we have done, our group will do well!

The Doctor

I have never really discovered why, but for some reason, I hate the doctors office and hospitals. I dislike the doctor less though, because check-ups are mandatory for sports physicals. I went to the doctor today, and it was a stressful experience. First of all, I had to leave straight from swim practice, so my hair was dripping down my back like waves of ice. Then, I got lost on the way. If you know me, this is natural, but that does not mean it isn't frustrating. I found my way there eventually and checked in with minutes to spare. So I started reading a magazine. And kept reading it over and over...what was taking so long? My appointment had been 15 minutes ago! I usually wouldn't mind, but tonight, I had lots of homework! Finally, I was led to a room, told to explain my symptoms, and left to wait for the actual doctor to come. I leaned my head back against the smooth wall, ignored the smells of sanitizer and plastic coating the room, and almost fell asleep. The room was the perfect temperature, my hair was no longer shocking me with its cold, and the chair was pretty comfortable...The door came open with a resounding click, giving me just enough time to lift my head and pretend that I hadn't actually been drifting off. The doctor talked to me, listened to my lungs, and informed me I had bronchitis. Great. Well, at least I was able to find my way back home.

Minnesota State Fair

I have mixed feelings about the Minnesota State Fair. My family goes every year and I still have not been able to decide whether or not I like it. I like the milk shakes, the all-you-can-drink chocolate milk, the Sweet Martha's Cookies, and the french fries. I also like seeing the art projects there, as well as watching the dog and horse shows. However, I do not like walking through the huge throngs of people and waiting in line. It also is nerve wracking to realize one of your little brothers is missing, which usually happens. I have three of them, and during the course of the fair, one of them is bound to get lost. This year it was the youngest. He stopped to look at a robot in the Education building, and did not see us leave. Luckily, I was able to spot him in the crowd and track him down. This year, my feelings were even more mixed than usual about the State Fair. I was disappointed because there was no chocolate milk! That is my favorite part of the fair (plus, it is probably the only dairy I get all year, because I usually hate milk). So that was a low-light. The highlight was the giant pickle on a stick I ate. Delicious! So, once more, I am unable to decide whether or not I love the Minnesota State Fair.

9/11

Tomorrow marks the anniversary of one of the days in America's history that will never be forgotten. I was in grade school when it happened. I remember watching the Twin Towers smoke their lives out into the sky. Then, I remember watching them fold in on themselves, collapsing like paper. Steel girders were twisted and broken glass littered the ground as I watched the smoke fade on television. I was too young to fully comprehend the damage, but a trip to Ground Zero some years later helped enhance my understanding a bit more. The place where the Twin Towers had once stood was now almost a crater in the ground. Flowers lined the fence around the perimeter, along with notes to loved ones who just hadn't been able to make it out. There were plaques and pictures of the day, and I winced to see some of the photographs of those injured. How terrifying it must have been, to be caught inside a building that was falling apart. However, the scene wasn't completely one of despair. Some of the plaques told stories of heroes. The firefighters who had worked to save as many lives as possible. The medical teams that had worked non-stop to mend people. The search teams that worked for days after, scouring the wreckage for any sign of survivors. Also, the everyday citizens who helped drag others out of harms way. So when I think of 9/11, I don't just think of how much of a tragedy it was, I also think of all of those who risked their lives to help others. It's a bit of a bittersweet taste. But bittersweet is better than just bitter, right?

Elevator Conversation

Oh, hey! How are you? What? You're the admissions counselor for Bethel? I just applied there! Why should you pick me to join your college? Well, there is a few reasons. First, I am very hard-working. I have set goals and am determined to reach them. This has helped my academic record stay in good shape. I also am creative. My father once told me he had to write a five page essay on a quarter, and it gave him extreme difficulties. I remember thinking that there were so many possibilities in terms of what to write about the quarter. You could talk about its history, its metal, the president that is permanently imprinted proudly on the front, the sayings inscribed in the coin, or the eagle arching its wings on the back. On the other hand, you could also fashion it into a memoir or a story. Maybe the quarter was the last thing your grandmother gave to you, or maybe it plays an important part in a counterfeit scheme. My father always said that the fact I was able to come up with so many ideas was that I am creative. I also have been told many times that I have the ability to lead, and I try to live up to that compliment. Another compliment that my friends and family have given me has been that I am loyal, and will stick with something or someone until the end. That includes a college, a course, or a set of standards set before me. Lastly, I consider myself to be artistic, by means of art, music, drama, and writing. These skills can come in handy in many places. They also add to my ability to understand and interpret different works of art, which is another important skill. I believe all of these traits would be beneficial to a college, and I am eager to use them in my future college years. Bethel is a place that I think would be a good college to practice and use those characteristics, and I am ready to do so.

In class we learned about the different steps to writing, and I found that I had overlooked some steps...or, not really known they had existed. The "Discovering Form" section was one that I have never heard of, but I have known subconsciously. I also was previously unaware that "Revising" and "Editing" are different. I have always done both, I believe, but I had simply grouped both in the "Editing" department. I also learned that writing is something that always stems from a thought, no matter how much poets or novelists might claim that their writings were random. Even if you do not consciously realize that the words you are writing are from a certain source, they are. That was an interesting concept of writing that I had never looked at before. All of this new info will come in handy when writing essays!

Today was my first day in CIS English! Our first assignment was to write about our writing process. I am not entirely sure what mine is like. However, I do know that I generally follow a three or more step process. First, I write words straight from my mind, thinking about them, but not looking at them critically. Then, when that first draft is done, I reread what I have written. As I do so, I make changes that I see are necessary, including grammar and adding more where is needed. After I have finished, I reread my work again. This time, I am looking to make sure it flows. I also look to see that I have added just the right amount of description. Not enough descriptive words can make writing boring and bland. On the other hand, too much description can make writing hard to understand. When I have finished my third editing, I am done. However, I sometimes may look over and change my work more than three times, depending on how important, how long, and how difficult the paper is.