Since I'm home in Michigan again, I feel called upon to give another "trip down memory lane" report.
But before I tell you that story, let me tell you how Michael and I met. We met online after I'd succumbed to Facebook's advertising "Do you want to meet Mormon men?". When I finally decided "yes" and clicked on the advertisement, I searched for my ideal candidate and saw Michael and though he looked cute and liked that he was "a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll" and that he liked to hunt. So I sent him a brief email saying that I was also a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll and that, although I had never been hunting I supported the idea and even won an essay scholarship from the NRA in high school. I had no way of knowing at the time that no sentence could have more quickly and deeply endeared me to his heart. He sent me back an email saying (among other things) that I was on the fast track to getting on his good side. And the rest is history.
So while I was home, I thought it would be fun if I could find the essay I wrote, so I decided to go through my trunk in which is stored all the memories of the first 18 years of my life.
My goodness, I had no memory of being so busy!! My business is perhaps best illustrated by the fact that my mother says her main memory for me during this time was how frequently I would fall asleep behind the dining room table while working on homework and other projects. She was always a great support for me, as evidenced by the fact that during high school my after-school chore list typically included "take a nap." Bless her. (Also, she made me tell my boss at Pizza Hut that I could only work four days a week.)
I have very few memories of my life pre-college, but (as illustrated by the items in my trunk) it turns out I was up to all sorts of exciting, important, and/or time-consuming activities.
For example, did you know that I was a paper girl for four years? I had completely forgotten. And yet, every day of my life (except Saturday) fifth grade through eighth, I made sure the papers were out by 5:30. And, if the delivery bag I used is to be believed, I even earned the title "Honor Carrier." Good thing I held on to it.
Apparently, I was very involved in Speech competitions. I remember that my friend Jamie and I formed a Speech and Debate team at our high school just so that we could be co-captains (also, I believe we were the only members). But I had forgotten that I also competed in middle school (where there was already a team established). In my trunk I found several of the judges' reviews and I got a kick that over the approximately seven years I was competing, most of the reviews were exactly the same: "Good expression and diction. SLOW DOWN!!!"
And speaking of Jamie, I found a folder full of poetry we (or mostly she) had written on a field trip once. We went through quite a poetry-writing stage in middle school and if the sample I currently have in my possession is accurate, the re-occurring theme in our work was to somehow including the word "Moo" in every piece. While our infamous five part series "The Brady Brunch Massacre" is still missing, I am happy to have found these originals. Although, I must say they are not a sample of her/our best work. The good ones were all committed to memory decades ago. I have decided to share one of the ones I store in my head
Ode to Glue
(Sung to the tune of "Home on the Range")
By Dr. Jamie S., chief resident of Pediatrics at the 3rd best children's hospital in the US (in her pre-MD life)
Oh give me some glue
With a wrapper that's blue
And a nozzle that's awfully big
If you give me glue,
Then I will thank you
'Cause glue's made of horses, not pigs.
Glue, glue, glue, glue, glue
The cow on the wrapper says "Moo"
If you don't give me glue
I don't know what I'll do.
So please, please, please, please give me glue.
(Jamie, do you want me to send you these originals? They include "Druggies on the Street", "Ode to Buddy," and "Bus Seats, subtitle The Seats on the Bus".)
Just because people like pictures, I've decided to include one of me and Jamie earlier this year while I was visiting her in St. Louis. No review of the first 18 years of my life would be complete without her.
Also, in high school I was a scripture mastery diva. (I use the word "diva" on purpose, wanting to include all the snobbery and attention-seeking that is usually involved with the word.) At the conclusion of every school/seminary year, Sister Goldman would van us down to Louisville to compete in the Multi-regional Scripture Chase Smackdown (not official title) where we would be tested on our academic scripture prowess again seminary students from four states. Since this is my blog, I"m going to go ahead and tell you people that I kicked butt every year. Need proof?
These are journals I won every year. One year one of the Hardie boys (I can't remember which one) tied with me for first place. I still haven't quite forgiven him, which ever one he was.In high school, I was SO proud to have earned a letterman jacket. I bought one, but for some reason never got around to sewing on the letters I had earned, so I never wore it. But I think one time I decided to wear it to a football game, so I pined one of the letters one and that's how I found it in my trunk. The other letters were nearby, but still not attached. I think I"m probably at the stage of my life where I can start wearing my high school letter jack in an ironic way, but I don't want to have to deal with another coat (I already own about 6 and I never wear any of them).
In middle school and high school I started my obsession with the theatre. Unfortunely, in my little town in southern Indiana it was a three hour drive to any theatre that got the good traveling shows. Fortunately, I had an awesome big brother (with a driver's license) who was also interested in shows and so we would go together. That was always a highlight in my small-town girl life. Apparently, so much a highlight that I kept the newspaper advertisements in addition to just the playbills. This trip through the trunk, I decided to throw the newspaper clippings away.
In my trunk, I also found an old friend.
In our family, my cabbage patch kid Nelly is famous for being in more family photos than Sara as a baby. Now that I've been through the trunk, I am dealing with all sorts of important life questions. Will I ever need my high school diploma, or should I throw it away? Will I ever have to prove to anyone that I did, indeed, earn my Mia Maid medallion? What should I do with these medallions-- perhaps a charm bracelet? Is it petty for me to keep the dress I wore to high school graduation and my favorite jeans from my senior year just so I can periodically put them on and see if they still fit? Why did I keep this fifth place ribbon? Is it gross that I still have the cast from when I broke my fingers playing basketball when I was 14? These are the questions that currently plague my existence.
In conclusion, I did NOT find my NRA essay, but I did "find myself." Also, the plaque the NRA gave me at their Christmas Banquet that year where I was their honored guest. (I had forgotten about that.)
(please note that the "Third Place" was for the entire state of Indiana. and I don't think I need to remind you that guns are important there.)
