Well, I did not go to quiet repose last night. I sprawled on my top pod, thinking back to my pre-course profile, envisioning it festooned in passive horrors and cackling wishes.
As providence would have it (“unfortunately” has pagan roots, apparently), my laptop, Hector by name, lay nestled in my locker, already lulled to sleep by the soft sounds of snoring and the earnest click of keyboards. And my phone, Dunderhead by name, would not load my files. Thus, I attempted to slumber, haunted by hanging participles dancing in my head.
Also, my mom kept Facebooking me. Apparently my blog post had a lot of typos…
I would like to take this opportunity to talk about my mother (and not my writing mistakes). She grew up in Oregon and she lives there now. She went to college, taught school, got married, and had kids. (She also cooks like a
goddess divine Proverbs 31 woman, but I can’t talk about it just now because I am living off sunflower seeds).
Besides homeschooling six non-ideal children, of which I am the least, she has published dozens of books, organized the world and/or special wacky events for her brood, calligraphied up a storm when called on, plays the piano like a boss (a hymnly boss), and generally spreads buttery (dairy free) goodness. And even now, Mama does not allow her ten grand children, numerous duties, and hoary hairs (a beautiful salt and pepper cloud), keep her from doing things like going to war-torn countries with yours truly.
Also Note: I wrote 600 words on my phone in the wee hours of the morning being sick and accidentally deleted everything. This is a special talent of Mama’s (see the posts she didn’t delete here). I hope, because I seem to be following her steps in this area, I will also be a hymn boss.
Now that you know a little about the matriarch, let us proceed.
Back to you, WJI…
Equipped with two hours of sleep and one scoop of protein powder, I arrived at the WORLD office at 8:51.
Mr. Russell Pulliam drove down yesterday to spend time with us today. (He’s the gracious soul who’s been dealing with my profile.) After some tests and general discussion about fail-spell-check poems, we attacked news stories on a leg stealing thief and a $30,000 toasted bakery.
In moments of panic, I totally rewrote my pre-course ministry profile.
After lunch with local reporter Caitlin Byrd, we paired off to interview and profile another student. Two hours were pityingly extended by the powers and most finished in time to bring back dry crusts of bread for dinner (actually tacos and stuff).
Mr. Pitts and Mr. Pulliam critiqued our profiles. Thankfully we could all stay awake because of the great arctic wind. Tomorrow, I will share more of the wisdom being so steadily shoveled on us. For now I want to walk the 2.5 miles back to the hostel in the darkness and lay me down to rest.
In closing, I wish my bewhiskered father a very blessed and joyful anniversary of birth.
If he did not exist, nor would I. And nor would my imagination dwell in history and Tolkien and John Barley Corn. Also, I would not have tried so many hard things (meaning I would not fail so frequently). So, thanks, Daddy ParPar.
(No, I am not homesick, my folks are just cooler than yours.)