Like Riding a Bike

Do you ever wonder where weird phrases come from?  Like, "It's just like riding a bike."  For real, where did that come from?  [cue Google search]  Nope, no luck.  Or I just didn't look hard enough, which is a distinct possibility.

Anyway, I went to Girl Scout camp this weekend.  I go every six months to take care of the tents over there.  And when I say "take care of," I don't mean I take them out back and embed lead into their skulls.  I mean that we either set up or take down these big smelly canvas four person tents.  (I suddenly feel like I've written about this before, but I'm going to repeat myself anyway.)  Spring we set them up, fall we take them down.  Simple as that.

They're platform tents, so once everything's spread out and you've got two people working on hoisting the upright poles and you've also got four people on the corners, once the thing is up, you have to tie the ropes to the platform.  Now there's a specific knot I was taught to tie so that come fall, all you have to do is pull the tail end and Voila!  The rope is loosed.  I call this the "tent knot."  I learned this weekend that it's a slipknot.  Who knew?  Anyway, I tried practicing this knot at home to refresh my memory and no luck.  I just couldn't tie a knot that reminded me of the knot I tie on the tents.  Then once I got to camp, I tied the knot like it was no big deal.

Apparently it's just like riding a bike.

April 13, 2013

It's just like
riding a bike.
But you wouldn't know
what that's like
because you never
rolled your bike out
of the garage
after months of cold and school,
dusted off the seat
and took off down the sidewalk.

My brother and I rode
up and down the alleys
of our neighborhood,
our boundaries being
the busy streets
that tied us to one little triangle
where we could visit
one grandma
but not the other.
When we were old enough,
we rode around the circle,
pretending to be horse jockeys
because they used to race there.

And we always stuck
together.
It was easy.

"My two favorite things in life are libraries and bicycles.  They both move people forward without wasting anything.  The perfect day: riding a bike to the library."

- Peter Golkin

Advice

Q:  Hey, so what's up?

A:  Not much, just hanging out with people who are younger than me.

Q:  Oh yeah?  Can't find too many friends your own age, eh?

A:  You have no idea how severely unfunny that is.  In fact, these teenagers are actually pretty cool.  I've known them for a while.

Q:  So what's up with the title?

A:  I'm getting there!  Sheesh!

Last night I was giving advice to a friend.  Specifically, I was giving advice to a teenaged friend about boys.  Via text message.  While I was sitting in Baker's Square with a friend who I've known since high school.  Because I'm incredibly rude.  (I'd say you probably wouldn't believe how often I text other people when I'm out with real people...but like I said, you probably wouldn't believe it.)  Anyway, I'm not saying I know a lot, but I have good instincts, and I care about people.  So that's where all my texting was coming from.

My friend who I was eating pie with made the observation that I've been doing this for a long time.  I almost wish that I could have asked him dubiously what he was talking about, but I already knew what he was saying.  I've been collecting friends and surrounding myself with people who could benefit from my advice.  In high school, I "adopted" freshmen, and in college, I was adamant about wanting to work in a first year hall as an RA.  And now that I'm out of school, I'm helping out with my local Girl Scout troop.  My friend made the comment that I can be the "cool and hip" adult person in old TV shows that picks up the main character from the police station, gives them a lecture in the car about responsibility, and then the credits roll.  I immediately thought of Full House.  But I'm not really sure I can be Uncle Jesse.

This realization isn't really something that should come as a surprise to me.  It's just something that I do, kinda like breathing.  And obsessively checking Facebook even though I know that nothing interesting could have happened in the span of five minutes.

So I find myself thinking that this is something I'd like to do with my life.  In The Future, maybe.  I want to be able to give people advice, or help them when they're struggling with something.  And I think that's what draws me to residential life at universities, because I had such a great mentor while I was at school, and I'd like to serve as the same type of person for another student.  When I say I want to "help people," this is the capacity in which I want to help them.  I want to get on their level or be able to say, "I've been there," or "I care about you" and mean it.

And this is when I realize that this tendency toward "mentoring" the young is exactly why people think I would make a good teacher.  Not just because of the formal teaching aspect that would come as a function of my own knowledge and studies, but because I could also be that teacher that the students could confide in.

I'm not really sure where this takes me, but I do know that self-reflection is a big part of the job search.  At least, that's what What Color Is Your Parachute? tells me.  Because I'm a nerd.  Not the point.  Anyway, I'm sitting here thinking about it, and residential life just seems to make more and more sense.  It just feels like it could be a natural extension of the person I already am.  Hm.

"I always pass on good advice.  It is the only thing to do with it.  It is never of any use to oneself."

- Oscar Wilde

S'mores

"Please sir, I want s'more."
"S'more?  But how can you have s'more when you haven't had any?"

Today I thought I'd write about the Oxford English Dictionary's word of the day.  As you may or may not have guessed, the word of the day is "s'more."

From the entry in the OED, I've learned that the word "s'more" is actually chiefly in the plural, which is something that I find to be true, but interesting because I hadn't thought of it before (thank you, OED, for getting me to think!).  Sure, you can eat a s'more, but more than likely you'll be making s'moreS.

Thank you, Google, for the lovely picture!  I wish the marshmallow was a bit more well-done...

For those who aren't familiar with this particular delicious snack (all my readers who are actually aliens.  That's why they don't subscribe, it's because they don't have blogs in outer space, just the Internet.), a s'more is a marshmallow based deliciousness.  The most common way of making a s'more is to poke a marshmallow with a stick and hold it over the flames of an open campfire.  Preferably at night so the only light is provided by the glow of the campfire.  You toast your marshmallow to the appropriate darkness (I enjoy lighting mine on fire and watching the outside blacken because it's only good if the marshmallow's charred properly.) and ask a friend for help because usually it's a little difficult to do this step on your own.  You've got a graham cracker with a piece of chocolate on top of it, and you put the marshmallow on top of the chocolate before sandwiching it with the other half of the cracker.  Then you have to pull the stick out of the marshmallow and you've got a s'more.

I know this because I'm a Girl Scout.  And we're pros when it comes to making s'mores.  And other things too, but s'mores are the most important of camping staples.
Wikipedia actually attributes the creation of the s'more to the Girl Scouts, which is interesting.  Although it says that the first reference of the word appeared in 1927 when OED claims it first appeared in 1934.  I'm not going to say anything about the reliability of either of these sources, but I'm a personal fan of the OED...

I personally haven't had a s'more in a while because we didn't eat them at camp the last time I went.  It's only now that I realize how disappointed I am about this.

A couple summers ago I wrote a stage adaptation of the story "The Mouse, the Bird and the Sausage."  Yes. Sausage.  And I actually wrote that the Sausage cooked homemade marshmallows and the three friends ate s'mores all the time.  It was either s'mores or sauer kraut, because the Sausage was German.  Mostly because I really wanted my actor to wear lederhosen.  Unfortunately that didn't happen, but it was still a really good story.

So homemade marshmallows.  They're good.  When the recipe says to use a "sauce pan," that's not the same thing as a "frying pan."  And gelatin is weird.

This is relevant, I promise.  Just go to 3:26 and watch...

"You're killing me, Smalls!  These are s'mores stuff.  Now pay attention.  First you take the graham.  You stick the chocolate on the graham.  Then, you roast the mallow.  When the mallow's flaming, you stick it on the chocolate.  Then you cover it with the other end.  Then, you stuff.  Kind of messy, but good!"

- The Sandlot

Wonderwall

Q:  What is on the walls in the room you're in?

A:  Directly in front of me, there's a window in the wall.  There's also a clock that's ticking incessantly (almost as if it were ticking every second...), photographs from Arizona, pictures of me or my brother with my dad, and there are two cases (the ones with the mirrors behind the shelves) full of Matchbox cars.  I'm in the office in my house because the Internet on my laptop (Jacques) has decided to act up and walk out.  The one picture of me and my dad on the wall in front of me illustrates how ridiculously alike we look.  From my nose to my chin, I'm almost completely my father.  Something about the way we smile.  I'm not sure if that's the case now, but it was definitely the case then while I was holding up all the Girl Scout badges I had earned before that awards night.  That was also the night when I received my Silver Award for helping on a project that collected blankets for Project Linus.  Good times.

Rotating clockwise, there's a desk and a number of cabinets on the wall to my right.  I've only actually seen my dad use that desk once.  Maybe.  He has his work phone on it, and that's where we keep the printer.  But otherwise, the desk seems like a glorified storage space for papers from goodness only knows where.  Granted, I do the same thing with my desk at home...so I really have no right to judge.

Behind me, there are pictures related to this article that was written about a local fire department event in which baby Brianna and baby brother were quoted or pictured, I'm not sure which.  We also have a sheet of dollar bills from the U.S. Mint, I believe, a sheet of Elvis stamps (you can tell they're old because they were only 29 cents), and the State Quarter collection, all framed on the wall.  There's also the door to the office that leads out into the little hallway that leads to the kitchen, and then there's the closet.  The closet houses a plethora of shoes/boots from my dad, his shoe shining kit that he hasn't used since I was little, a TON of jackets from pretty much all of us in the family, and a couple umbrellas.  I think we might have an American flag in there too, but I'd have to investigate more closely to see.

One final rotation brings me to the last wall in the room.  There's a filing cabinet with all sorts of important documents in it, a shelf/drawer thingy that used to be in my room but has been relocated.  We've got school supplies and cold weather gear stowed in the drawers.  Finally, we have a set of shelves that house our family photo albums and a large collection of VHS tapes.

And that's where I'm sitting right now.  Thank you, random question website!
If there's anyone out there reading this right now who might have a question for me to answer to help me write every day, feel free to ask away!  (I reserve the right to refuse to provide an answer though... :^P  Must take precautions!)

Absurdity

http://www.chicagoclout.com/weblog/archives/2010/08/mayor_daley_uses_child_labor_t.html

This is not only a horribly written blog post, it is also purely subjective without any concentration on fact. Thank you, Patrick McDonough, for proving that even the least educated people in the world know how to work a computer. It's true. Even a caveman can do it.

Silver and Gold

Today has been a ridiculously long day.

9:15 AM - 12 PM
[Deer Grove Church -- Nursery]
As a rule, I usually try my best to avoid small children. At all costs. Small children at parties? I purposely stay off the floor and associate with people who don't belong to them. Small children I'm related to? Well, that's a different story. They're a little more difficult to avoid, mostly because of the obligatory arrival greetings and farewell hugs, but somehow I manage it. It is very rare that I will spend time with children under the age of five under my own free will. Today was one of those very rare occasions in which I helped "babysit" at least four children under the age of five at my aunt's church, in the nursery.
I'll admit, it wasn't that bad, considering one of the boys was very talkative and pretty much adorable. There was one peanut that I felt horrible taking care of because he was just learning how to balance and he kept falling over, leaving me helpless as he started crying.
Another reason I avoid small children. Crying.
Sticky fingers.
Drool.
Diapers.
The list goes on.

3 PM - 9 PM
[Girl Scout Gold Award Celebration Party]
At my Girl Scout leader's house, we gathered and celebrated my Gold Award, as well as the Gold Awards of two of my fellow Girl Scouts. We ate, we drank, we were very merry, and just generally had a good time. I don't remember the last time I ate so much.
It was a lot of fun! It was mostly parents and our leaders, and then there were us three girls since none of the other girls from our troop could make it, but it was so great to see them all again. This was a group that pretty much dissolved three years ago, and so I haven't seen them in eons.
Unfortunately, I didn't get to hear what my fellow Gold Award recipients did for the project.
My Gold Award project?
Well, it involved three fairy tales, a local library, a local cafe, four actors from my high school, and about three to four weeks of rehearsal. Stir well and let sit, and I got a great show that ran for five performances.

9:30 PM - ???
[Home]
Baking scotcheroos and chocolate covering pretzels.
Contemplating a White Elephant gift for tomorrow's party.

"Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so." - Douglas Adams