Archive | August 27, 2010

Seth and Penny

This is a Plinky post answering the question “What is your earliest memory?”

My earliest memories come courtesy of the teenagers who lived kitty-corner to my family when I was a small child. At the time, my family lived in a community too small to be called a town–perhaps even, too small to be called a village.

There was a post office, but the nearest place to buy gas or groceries was a half hour away. Rather than load a three and four year old into the car to go shopping, Seth and Penny from across the street would watch us when Mom needed to go to town to run errands.

Honestly, I don’t remember which of these two memories happened first, so I’m going to include them both.

One, Penny, my sister and I were in the front yard of our house. Penny and my sister were talking about dreams, and, being three, I didn’t know what a dream was, so I asked.

Penny answered “A dream is what you see when you close your eyes.” So I closed my eyes. I didn’t see anything, so I made something up. I said that I dreamed I was a dancer.

The other memory comes from Seth. Our house was built in the 1940s, and had been added on at least once by the time my family lived there (it had, incidentally, been built by my Grandfather, and it was the house my Mom grew up in too. My sister and I used to fight over who was going to live in the house when we grew up.) As part of the add-ons, there was a rather awkward basement, where the TV would go to live during summer months. Once, when Seth was watching us, he told us “There’s a ghost in the basement, and if you go downstairs, it’s going to get you!”

Now, I don’t know if Seth didn’t want to go in the basement, or if he was just messing with us, or if he really believed that our basement was haunted. What I do know, is for a long time after we were told that, my sister and I were both afraid to go downstairs by ourselves. Even after the TV moved downstairs for the summer, we were afraid to go in one of the two basement bedrooms–because it had hunting bows hanging on the wall, and we thought the ghost would shoot us.

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A change in attitude

Over the past couple of days, my family has helped me realize that I’m looking at this whole going back to school thing the wrong way–rather than focusing on how much I don’t fit in, I need to be extremely grateful for this opportunity I have to be going back.

This last year or so…well, I’ve been living in a way that wouldn’t be good for anybody.  I’ve been sitting home alone, only leaving the house enough to for the dogs to take care of their needs, and to buy groceries.   Rather than fight my agoraphobia, I’ve been feeding it.  So, it’s no wonder that all of a sudden I’m stressed and disoriented being around hundreds of other people.

So, from here on out, I’m going to try to minimize my discomfiture, and focus, at least when talking about school, the more positive aspects.

I had my first class from UVU today (the classes that will get me on campus the other four days of the week are being taught by LDS Institute) –I was so late in registering, that the only way I could get into my classes was to take them on the weekend.

This was the class I was most worried about, English 1010.  It’s a course that is required of everyone,  and when I took (and failed) it at USU, it was full of jocks and people (like me) who were just out of high school.

Fortunately for me, most little 18 year olds aren’t going to be taking a class, even a required class that is only once a week, and ends at 6:30 on a Friday.  There were a few, but for everyone fresh out of high school, there was somebody over the age of 25–including a woman who was brave enough to admit that her children were teenagers.

I left that class today feeling much more confident both in my abilities as a writer, and about going back to school in general.

And it didn’t hurt that I finally managed to locate the Jamba Juice that I spotted on the campus tour, and promptly forgot where it was.   Finding the Jamba Juice may or may not have been my unofficial goal for the week…

Don’t worry, Mom, I know that I can’t afford either the money or the calories that come with having a smoothie even once a week.  And while the Jamba Juice is located in the same building as my two on-campus classes, it was closed by the time I got out of class, and I don’t know if it’ll be open for my class tomorrow.

Speaking of my class tomorrow–who in their right mind takes an Art History class at 8am on a Saturday?

Oh, that’s right, someone who didn’t get registered soon enough to take it at a more decent hour.   I seriously hope I’ll be able to stay awake.

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