Colder than it ought to be in March

My mother has started posting family stories and memories, which has started me thinking about my childhood. So I think that I might start to post my own personal stories every once in a while.

I'm going to start with an essay I wrote my freshman year of college for a required writing course. It's the story of getting stuck with my brother and sister during a blizzard once and what happened afterwards.

I was having a bad evening. It had been a long Saturday at a high school speech meet, and my mind was simply exhausted. I just wanted to be home, but my speech coach was telling me to stay in town. She didn’t want Kathryn, David, and I trying to drive the seven miles to our home on the rural North Dakota gravel. The last time I had stayed in town because of the weather I didn’t have a toothbrush or any clean clothes. I stayed with a friend whose mother wasn’t very pleased that she had to put up me and my sister on such short notice. I didn’t want to impose myself and my siblings on them like that again. The only thing I desired was a mug of hot chocolate, one of my big warm sweaters, and my house. So, against the wishes of my coach, I got in my dad’s “Toreador Red” Ford pickup with my brother David and sister Kathryn and started to drive home in the late March twilight.

I remember being able to see a few stars as we started silently driving home, but it wasn’t long before the north wind picked up, and the snow began to fall harder. It was an Alberta Clipper, which can come fast and cause a lot of problems for those on the road. After a couple of miles we had veered slightly off the road several times, but were still headed home at about fifteen miles per hour. We were all looking out of the windows, trying to see glimpses of the tan gravel underneath the blowing snow. There was a lot of tension in the pickup, heightened by Kathryn’s continual reminders that I was driving off the road. All three of us were in high school and could drive, but I was the oldest and felt it was my responsibility to get us home safe. I didn’t think Kathryn would feel comfortable driving in such strenuous conditions, and David, well, David was a freshman in high school and I didn’t trust him with much of anything.

All at once the wind blew so much snow in front of us that I could see nothing. I turned too sharply, and we hit the ditch. However, I wasn’t very worried. Dad’s pickup has pulled itself through mud and snow many times before. We began working to get unstuck, but I had really pulled a good one that time, and apparently we weren’t about to go anywhere. I was thankful we were on the right side of the narrow road; if by any slim chance another vehicle was driving by, we wouldn’t be much in the way. We didn’t have a cell phone with us, but my dad did have a farm radio in the pickup. We tried using that to get a hold of someone at home, but no one was there. I figured we would probably be spending the night in the pickup, so I started thinking and planning that way.

I actually felt kind of excited to spend the night in the pickup cab, stranded in the middle of a blizzard. I wasn’t alone and we had food. My brother had brought to the speech meet three tuna fish sandwiches, a family favorite, and only eaten one. I figured they would be sufficient to keep us from getting too hungry. We all had winter clothes along, but in truth not much more than coats and gloves. In the morning the weather had been very nice, promising spring would be coming soon. We hadn’t planned on being marooned on the side of the road overnight. The three of us cuddled together to keep each warm with our body heat. We prayed that we would be safe through the evening and that our parents wouldn’t worry too much. We began to lighten the mood by joking and laughing. Kathryn, I think, was the most upset about our little mishap. I don’t think she was feeling very adventurous that evening and wasn’t looking forward to spending the night in the pickup.

Before long, though, it got pretty cold, and we decided we would turn the engine on for a little while in order to heat the cab up again. I had been loath to do this earlier because I remembered hearing stories of people who suffocated themselves by turning the engine on when the exhaust pipe was clogged up with snow. Carbon monoxide filled the cab instead of venting outside. David said he would check the pipe, but getting outside proved to be a bit of a challenge. We were stuck at a good slant, and while it was possible to get out through the driver’s side door, it was very awkward. The passenger side door wasn’t about to be opened in the least; it was jammed right up against the snow. So David climbed out through the back window and checked the pipe, which was free. We turned the engine on and listened to the radio while hot air blew through the vents.

A little while later I sensed that my bladder was full and that I probably wouldn’t last too much longer without relieving myself. David and Kathryn made fun of me, but I was determined to take care of it. I climbed out the window and went to the leeward side of the pickup. The wind was very strong, pushing me as I walked into a run. I went to the bathroom in the middle of a blizzard and hurriedly climbed back into the relatively warm pickup.

While I had been out taking care of business, David had come up with an idea for getting us unstuck. He vaguely remembered from someone that if you build a snow ridge perpendicular to the tire, it will give the wheel some traction and allow it to pull itself out of the snow. David tried it once, and it didn’t work. I wasn’t as optimistic as he that it would work and told him to get back in the truck before he froze. He wouldn’t listen to me, and I began to get very frustrated with him. I had reconciled myself to staying in the pickup all night, and didn’t want to let go of that safe situation. If David spent too much time outside, I thought he would freeze. The idea had taken hold of him, though, and he wouldn’t stop trying to build a ridge for the tire. There were a couple times where the wheel almost made it, and David would shout for joy; however, every time we came fell back in the rut I lost a little more hope and tried again to tell David to get back in the cab. He wouldn’t listen: “One more time, Karen. We can do it, I know it. Just trust me.” David said that over and over again. “Just trust me. You never trust me with anything. We can do this.”

And he was right. The pickup, roaring like a mad bull, charged the snow ridge and pulled itself out of the ditch. David was ecstatic, “I was right! We did it! Yes! Thank you, Jesus!” He climbed back in the pickup and we set off again. I was amazed and ashamed at my lack of faith, both in my heavenly Father and in my younger brother. I was content to stay there, stuck in a rut, when the possibility of freedom only required determination and work.

It took a long time, since we still had about halfway to go, and the wind hadn’t let up at all. We kept at it and continued driving, making it safely home. I couldn’t remember how long we had been on the road. There were quite a few worried messages on the answering machine from our speech coach, whom we called and pacified. We called our father, who was at a meeting, and David told our story. He was so proud of what he had accomplished. That night my respect for him rose quite a bit. He wasn’t just my little brother, constant and annoying. He was growing up, and would someday be able to take care of himself and his family the way he had taken care of me and my sister that night. Even though the drive home began as something mundane, it ended up marking a transition in my relationship with David. It was a journey we began separately and ended together.

Gesundheit

I was in class during my undergrad when somebody three aisles over sneezed. The student on the other side of me said softly, under her breath, like an automatic habit, "bless you." It wouldn't have been heard by anyone farther away than me. I wondered if she felt compelled to say bless you after somebody, anybody sneezes; a compulsion that forced the words out at a whisper during class.

Then began an increasing awareness of how people responded to sneezes, how the responses to sneezing were different than those for coughing. I noticed how people would say "bless you" or God bless you" or "Gesundheit" or "salud." I noticed how common these remarks were, and how people seemed to take a personal interest in your sneezes, asking if you have allergies.

All of this was different for me, but I wasn't sure if it was a general North Dakota thing, or just my family. We always ignored other people's sneezes; just pretended it wasn't happening. Sometimes we'd even apologize for sneezing, like my mother saying "oh, excuse me!" after a particularly loud sneeze or a series.

I have a tendency to stop my sneezes before they happen and, until I actually tried to "open up" and "let the sneezes out" I continually received comments like "was that a laugh or are you crying?" "are you okay?" "You need to open up when you sneeze. It's not good for you to sneeze like that!"

So other people bless you with health or God's protection, wondering if you're okay. I always thought you should smother your sneezes or at least apologize for inconveniencing other people for the noise.

You're so vain

I found out that my littlest sister is vain (actually a tad narcissistic). In a real tangible way, I realized this when I drove the car after she had. The rear view mirror was angled so that it reflected whoever was sitting in the driver's seat. My sister moves the mirror so that when she glances up, she can see herself, checking her hair or her make-up.

It was about a mile down the road before I realized that the mirror was tilted incorrectly, and it wasn't because I wasn't glancing up. I know to use my mirrors - side of the eye, side of the eye.
I didn't realize it because I guess I'm vain as well. I was looking up and checking out the color of my hair and the freckles on my nose.

So I guess I have something to work on.

Enjoys: long walks on gravel roads

Being home seems at once the right place to be, and at the same time incongruous with the rest of my life. What I mean is this: I came home after graduation, and I fit right in. My bed is still as uncomfortable as ever, I drink three cups of tea a day (it's like a comfort blanket). Shanna still keeps me awake at night, (last night it was recording my name in a gravelly voice on her phone and then playing it back to me, right in my ear.) These are things that fit like a glove.

At the same time, this is just a pit stop. I'm moving to Mexico in two and a half weeks. My clothes don't have a drawer in which to belong, because Shanna has usurped all the space in the room upstairs. My stuff sits in peripatetic piles, piles that I carry from place to place but have no final destination.

I feel comfortable at home, content, yet there is a restless corner inside, because I know I will not be here long. Unsure how the next step will turn out, let alone the step after that, I want to be fully present, here for these next few weeks, and still fully prepared for what happens next. I will keep you updated as to the success of this venture.

conversation snippets

One of my Aunt Kathryn's classmates (from the class of 1943, here for their 65th college reunion) "We graduated with Billy Graham, and we hear so much about his life, but God has done great things in so many of our lives."

The person a few spaces behind me in line for commencement, "the alphabet is a confusing place to be."

Grandpa, holding my hand, "when your dad was a little boy in church, he would be restless, and I would take his hands and rub his fingertips. Quieted him down. Life is good."

Commencement speaker, Akiko Minato, "We are united in Christ, Galatians 3:28, and we are called to be peacemakers."

Tyler Fulton, "Karen, if I don't see you again, have a nice life."

graduation

I graduated today, summa cum laude with a bachelor's of arts in sociology, minor in Bible/Theology. I am no longer an undergrad and my tassle will always hang on left, at least everytime I wear my tartar board hat from now on.

Rehearsal for graduation consists of a motley group of 500 or so 22 year olds, anxious to be done and annoyed with one last "stand here, walk here, say this, know this." Graduation is a bit of a farce, no? We are taught for years to be an individual and then are given matching robes and caps so that assimilation appears complete. It is during rehearsal that our personalities come forth, through our hairstyles and t-shirts, rather than the actual ceremony. And what about the fact that we do not receive our diploma at Commencement? We are given a nice case, but our diploma is mailed to us later, after verification that we have completed our course requirements. My family traveled 840 miles to see me receive an empty case. Why is graduation so important?
For Baccalaureate I feel odd dressing up in the blue graduation gown, but after I walk to the library, where we line up, I would feel odd if I had chosen instead to wear my regular clothes. The gowns separate us. They take us out of our everyday lives and pronounce that something different is taking place, at least for now.
I could not stop myself from smiling after Baccalaureate. It was a beautiful windblown day, rainy. I won't forget it. We were so dignified in our caps and gowns, and the wind said "don't take yourself too seriously."
Coming of Age ceremonies in many cultures have some things in common. First, in order to acknowledge a change, the initiates are separated from the rest of the group, given specific instructions or a challenge, and then reinserted into the wider community. On Sunday, I was someone different. I was given a physical representation of a less ostentatious change - the gown, the diploma case all represent the academic achievement that I have worked on for the past four years. What if I had chosen not to walk for my graduation? I would have still achieved the same, but there is meaning in this ritual, and that is why my family came, why professors dressed up like watermelon jolly ranchers, and why Dr. Litftin shook 560 hands. I think the bizarre thriller-type organ music we processed to made it even more pregnant with meaning and circumstance.

Cardinal

This morning as I walked from my townhouse through the secret passage I heard a bird rapidly spewing "tew tew tew tew tew." I hadn't heard that in a while but it sounded like a cardinal. I scanned the trees for the flash of red, and was rewarded with a vision of a tiny red paint stroke in a naked tree across the parking lot. Would I have been able to see it if the tree had been lush and blooming?

I guess there's not much really exciting about this post. I was happy to see that the cardinals are returning. I am also, as always, glad that it is March. The turning of seasons has always been a fun time for me, and especially the beginnings of spring. It's also Shanna's birthday tomorrow. Sixteen years old. I'm so glad to know you.