Tag Archives: College

Being There

These small words elicit king-sized effects.

My first cranky thought, another songwriter has run out of originality, as in:

Being there (ooh, baby)
Being there (ooh, baby)
Being there is like … 
Being there (ooooh, BABY!)

Okay, I need a second cup of coffee today. With double cream.

Much better.

Now I recall that being there when airline personnel solicit volunteers to take a different flight, I might land a free future trip.

Being in the right checkout line can mean the difference between three Tylenol^® and only one.

Fifty years ago, my being there to observe this cute boy from a library’s balcony changed our lives.

Being there at a library during a 1970 Christmas break placed me near the railing of a second-story atrium, eyeing my future husband below. Thus, I ensured he wasn’t with a girl and could “accidentally” run into him. (He still calls this stalking, but that’s because he hasn’t yet drunk his morning tea.)

Being there at a gas station when someone, perched on a ladder, is changing prices can mean a savings of 11 whole cents per gallon. Although, if the price is upped 11 whole cents, you’ve picked the perfect time and place to ruin your morning.

Though that timing isn’t as bad as certain shoplifters’ when, according to Reader’s Digest, they attempted major heists on Shop-with-a-Cop Day.

Being there can get complicated. Still, we want others to be there for us.

My mother refined this into an art form. One joyful day, when I learned I was ranked 10th in my high school class, I arrived home to the fragrance of muffins fresh from the oven. She’d baked them either to celebrate or console. Whatever happened, they were there for me.

So was Mom.

However, she also was there to enslave me with chores, require church attendance, and stare through my dates and me with righteous black eyes.

Years later, I appreciated her when I, too, baked after-school treats, mini-vanned my kids everywhere, and wandered into the den to “get stamps” from my desk while they were entertaining dates.

Being there can be threatening, wonderful, scary, tedious, triumphant, smelly, or comforting, but rarely boring. And lots better than not being there.

Sometimes, it’s just plain cuddly.

Tonight, Hubby and I are watching a Cubs game. We don’t make brilliant conversation. We don’t have to make conversation at all.

We simply savor being there.

Ooooh, baby.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Who’s been there for you?

Uninvited

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“We are all of us from birth to death guests at a table we did not spread.”
—Rebecca H. Davis

Has an uninvited guest ever brought suitcases to your house? Plus, a hostile pet named Lovey?

When I was growing up in a pastor’s home, uninvited guests were the norm. Many brought suitcases and — if not Loveys — equally mean kids.

A penniless evangelist, his wife and five children spent several weeks. Again, my siblings and I slept on the floor. I worked overnight at Denny’s. Once, during a rare nap, a kid poised a pipe at my window and bellowed like a mastodon.

Another incident involved a lady preacher named Bunny who often stayed with us. One night, Dad, who also worked construction, arrived home after everyone had retired. He climbed into bed beside Mom.

One thought, though, struck like lightning. Hadn’t Mom said Bunny was staying overnight?

His pastor’s heart stopped. Dad yanked covers from the huddled heap beside him.

Mom glared. “Bunny’s coming Friday, not tonight!”

I could hardly wait until college, where I’d take control of my life.

One weekend, an unknown force roused me from sleep, swinging me in circles. Surely, a nightmare. …

No. The girl — half my size! — swinging me was real. So was my roommate, giggling up and down the scale.

I gasped to the stranger, “Who are you?”

“I’m Vicky!”

“Vicky, please put me down.”

She deposited me on my bed, singing, “O Lord, Won’t You Buy Me a Color TV?”

Other giggling, melodious strangers gathered. I took refuge in another party pooper’s room. Unfortunately, my discussion with my roommate afterward was not the last.

So … uninvited-weird-people incidents were not confined to parsonages.

That lesson has been confirmed again and again. Unlike our late parents, though, my siblings and I have placed gated fences around our lives.

Though uninvited, I couldn’t help welcoming these petunias that popped up between cracks on my patio.

Recently, I reflected on hospitality as I watered uninvited cosmos, seeded from last year’s planting. Volunteer zinnias inundate marigold borders. I never planted those petunias, yet they invade our premises, looking wild … and wonderful.

How did Mom and Dad’s uninvited guests ultimately respond to kindness? Perhaps some, like disruptive flowers, are blooming in the place God — not people — prepared for them.

Most humans need fences to ensure safety and well-being.

But maybe I’ll leave my gate open more often.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: How do you react to the uninvited?

Testing, Testing

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Standardized tests and I have always crossed No. 2 pencils.

During the 1960s, we Hoosier children took Iowa tests, though Indiana teachers already gave too many. Iowans loved math (yuck). Nobody in the test readings solved exciting mysteries like Nancy Drew.

Little did I know the SAT lurked in my future. Today, SAT cheering sections rah-rah second graders. Preparation courses guarantee not only top scores for high schoolers, but complete acne cures.

Fifty years ago, I almost forgot about the SAT.

My OC boyfriend saved the day. “Got your test ticket?”

Image by Clker-Free-Vector-Images from Pixabay.

“Um, I think so.”

“SAT’s Saturday! If you don’t take it on time, college is out!”

I rolled my eyes. “Were you born in Iowa?”

“Des Moines.” He blinked. “Why?”

“Nothing.”

No wonder we didn’t last until prom.

I found the crumpled ticket under my bed and took it to the test center.

Nowadays, kids bring laptops, caterers and masseuses. I brought two No. 2 pencils. (Has anyone ever seen a No. 1 pencil?). Also, a headache from staying out late the night before.

Image by Jean van der Meulen from Pixabay.

Reams of story problems met my bleary eyes. Sue rode trains to Detroit at 65 miles an hour. Her friend Gertrude traveled at 50 mph. These tests never asked important questions: Why didn’t they go together? Why would anyone go to Detroit? This had to be about a guy. Sure, Sue had a great body and flat-chested Gertrude, like me, read Jane Austen. That didn’t mean Gertrude didn’t deserve Kevin, the California surfer visiting his Detroit grandma.

The only answers offered: a) x; b) y; c) x + y; and d) 2,578 1/2. Heartless!

The first analogy question appeared more promising: chocolate is to vanilla as brown is to: a) fudge; b) mint; c) white; and d) 2,578 1/2. I chose b. Nothing topped chocolate mint ice cream. Sundae fantasies drifted through my mind. …

Sometimes, my high school friends and I had better things to think about than SAT scores.

Amazingly, colleges accepted my scores. But a scholarship? Doubtful.

During my era, students took the SAT only once. I could, however, take Achievement Tests. I retired at 9:00 p.m. the night before and brought five No. 2 pencils. I banished all thoughts of trains, Sue, Gertrude, boyfriends and ice cream.

My scores moved me up the scholarship ladder. Those standardized tests proved accurate, after all.

Maybe they were clapping for me in Iowa.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Were/are you good at taking tests?

OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer: No Marching Choirs

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O Lord, such a treat to watch our oldest grandchild march with her college band on Family Day. But after the director invited visitors to a practice workout with our kids, OMG, I’m glad I’ve always been a singer!

The professional and the amateur. Can you tell who’s who?

Nothing like full uniforms on a hot day!

OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer: Whatever Happened to Buying Fisher-Price?

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O Lord, I can hardly believe it! Shopping for my granddaughter’s freshman dormitory supplies? But thank You our three generations did it together.

She seemed to have a good time with her sweet mom — even, OMG, with her misbehavin’ grandma.

College Christmas Break

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Once upon a time, colleges didn’t evict students from dormitories three minutes after final exams. Back in the Dark Ages, Hubby and I stayed until the following Monday.

Eventually, some grinch discovered that supplying extra days’ heat for 30,000 students spoiled the university’s merry Christmas. College officials also realized that multitudes of sleep-deprived, de-brained students + 24-hour blocks of free time equaled … excitement.

In the early ’70s, though, they assumed we couldn’t wait to go home.

Right.

Sure, we’d missed our dogs.

If we’d hacked with colds, cough syrup and aspirin were blocks away instead of steps. We anticipated parents smearing us with love and Vicks^® VapoRub^®.

We’d languished without Mom’s cooking. Meals with fewer than 500 people might be nice. Plus, a refrigerator of free food would be at our disposal.

Free laundry, too! Mom might reintroduce us to clean clothes, as opposed to those sanctified by optimum time at the bottom of the hamper.

Add Christmas magic, and most students wanted to share the holidays with family.

Just not quite yet.

Having been chained to books, typewriters and labs, we needed to celebrate. Even our nondrinking Bible study required a two-day party.

We snarfed Christmas cookies by the bucket and played Monopoly all night. Only one guy owned a car, but 13 of us jammed into it, rolled down windows, and sang Christmas carols at the top of our flattened lungs. At stoplights, we emptied the car with Chinese fire drills.

Who needed sleep?

Besides, we comrades in the trenches of academia soon would part. For couples, December and January stretched like a forever, empty tundra.

Hubby’s long-haired college days, before the Christmas Break haircut.

During that long-hair era, guys dreaded welcome-home haircuts. We girls combed bangs out of our eyes to please our moms.

We loved our parents. But they would expect us to talk to them. To hundreds of relatives. We’d repeat our majors and future plans a gazillion times. If we didn’t have any, we’d have to make them up, quick.

Worse, our families went to bed early. At the crack of dawn, they took showers and slammed doors so a normal person couldn’t get proper rest.

Parents would expect help with the dishes. Why not summon the fairies who had done that all semester?

Ditto for putting gas in the car. Whatever happened to “free”?

Sigh. How had we lived at home so long?

After a 48-hour party, though, a 10 o’clock bedtime didn’t sound so bad. Eating a nutrient or two might be nice.

With the arrival of a station wagon loaded with delighted smiles and hugs found nowhere else on earth — well, Christmas break might be worth the sacrifice, after all.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: How did (do) you celebrate Christmas break?

Trial by Graduation

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Though considered a sentimental rite of passage, graduation more accurately resembles a series of trials — for all involved. Other societies require sticking one’s hand into a glove full of tropical ants or running naked across a herd of cows’ backs. Still, few match the demands of a contemporary American graduation, where we face:

Trial by Speeches. Graduation requires that half the addresses be delivered by people who never make speeches.

Graduates’ talks — generally an exception — are thoughtful and well-practiced, thanks to parents’ and teachers’ threats.

Academic speakers, however, often push listeners to the breaking point. Perhaps the researcher who spoke at my son’s graduation had studied disembodied brains so long she forgot how to connect with those still residing in humans.

If graduates misbehave, the graduation gods will press a button, ejecting them onto Neptune without diplomas. So students Super-Glue their eyelids open. They ready socks to stuff into mouths that issue inappropriate comments or snores. Friends don’t let friends snore during graduation speeches.

Proponents support this polite façade because graduates learn the hypocrisy necessary to keep a job.

The opposition claims such courtesy perpetuates poor speeches. If listeners shot Super Soakers at a sleep-inducing windbag, quality would climb considerably.

Trial by Wardrobe. If aliens attended a graduation, they might conclude the assembly was undergoing mass penance. Suits, ties, high heels, body shapers and control-top pantyhose abound. Graduation gowns trap heat when dry and disintegrate into goo during rainy processionals.

Mortarboards, true to their name, work well for bricklayers. They should not be imposed on human heads. No woman’s hairdo in the history of western civilization has survived the ordeal.

Trial by Music. After 96 repeats of “Pomp and Circumstance,” even the composer might ban the tune forever.

Also, no one ever knows the words to a school’s alma mater. Tunes, however, seem familiar, since many alma maters are based on Cornell University’s “Far Above Cayuga’s Waters” — which borrowed its melody from a song about someone dying of tuberculosis.

No wonder we are moved to tears as, struggling to read the program’s print, we warble:

Steve and me, June, 1971 Columbus (North) High School, Columbus, Indiana

Glory to thy bricks and ivy,

Airy halls of light and truth.

We leave behind thy golden towers,

Built by our bank accounts, forsooth.

Or something like that.

Trial by Smile. Graduates must hug hitherto unknown relatives. This is good practice for their weddings.

Yes, the bravest students, families and friends must endure this rite of passage known as graduation.

And we wouldn’t miss it for the world.