Senti-MENTAL

There's this thing that's been nagging at the back of my mind and is finally making its way to the front as every day inches closer to my graduation: I'll be graduating. Granted I'm not a Senior until next year, but still. Spring break means AIMS. And AIMS means the end of the school year. It won't be long.

My friends are pumped. They think we're seniors as soon as the last bell rings. I think we're juniors until the first one of next year rings. We talk about colleges, majors, and (especially after a movie night of Jane Austen) what kind of guys we'll marry. They are ready to get outta here! And, frankly, I am too. But...well...

We were repainting my room the other day. This is really the station where this whole train of thought started. I watched as my mom painted over the vibrant pink and orange flowers on my wall both excited and a sad at the same time. It seemed a different era of my life was unfolding. All the silly and wild things of my childhood were being replaced by the fresh and new things of my future. I went through my toys, ignoring those pleading looks my stuffed animals gave me and wishing I wasn't so darn sentimental. The experience was not unlike the end of Toy Story 3 and I even caught myself muttering a 'thanks guys' at the thought.

I found an old, orange candy Dot with a permanent markered face, a sock-pirate I had so painstakingly hand-sewn together, notes passed back and forth between friends on bus trips, a collection of bouncy balls I'd had since elementry school, a tooth container still containing the tooth I lost (gross, I know), and countless other knick-knacks that brought me back eons. Back when I thought this day would never come. I was, believe it or not, growing up.

Well, in most ways at least. I'm still afraid of the dark and thunderstorms and I'm still in love with ball-pits, but I figure somethings will never change.

And I'm not the only one who holds a few bitter feelings. I have a dear cousin and neighbor who has threatened more than once to lock me in her closet after I graduate and others like her who wonder how they'll ever defeat all of the goblins invading Grandma's house when I'm gone. (Honestly, I think the only thing I add to the adventure is comic relief, but that's besides the point.) I know they'll step up the task; if swords were always invisible, they'd be pros.

Obviously, I've had an uneventful springbreak and have nothing to post on, but I just felt like getting this off of my chest. I truly am excited. I know what classes I'd like to take (namely writing and elementry teaching) and that hunger for adventure is in there somewhere. I'm ready for the new opportunities and lessons. The accomplishments and the discoveries. The people and the places. And its not like I'm leaving right away. I've still got a year or so.

But, as soon as I get back, you can count on me riding my bike down the hill to the stop sign and back. That, and a BIG bowl of icecream at Grandma's.

Three in One

I've learned a ton this week! I just wrote a whole three pages in my foot-length journal and I'm only half way done. Maybe I'm just wordy...either way, some of it is going to spill into this post. I can just feel it.

First off, it was Founder's Day! I just love Founder's day! Maybe it's because I love my hometown. Scratch that, I love my hometown!!

It's the one of the few places your highschool teacher can be your sunday school teacher as well and the woods class makes award-plaques for the only pizza place in town. It's one of the few places where the principal can call a student over the intercom by their first name, if not their nickname. It's the only place you can get away with driving an old, hoodless car in a town parade with at least twenty tractors and twice as many horses. It's one of the few places where, if someone's cow, sheep, horse, dog, or even llama gets out, you know who's it is. And if a school event consistently lands on a Sunday, Monday evening, or Wednesday night, we always seem to have a hidden militia of parents fighting back in the name of church attendence, family home evening, and mutual.

If someone's basement is flooded, everyone digs out there irrigation boots. If the school's lacking a coach, they hire the band teacher. If something's broken, someone grabs the duct tape.
What's more? It has the heritage of champions! Boy am I honored, and humbled, to be the descendent of that--something I became a little more aware of this weekend.

I also became a little more aware of the Lord's awareness. It seems like I've written about this topic before...I probably have. Like I said, a reminder of the Lord's awareness--he's aware that I need a lot of reminders.

There was a youth fireside with one of the general authorities the night before all this fun and I decided to go. But as I plopped down in my lovely Buick, the thing my Mom had been slightly concerned about finally sunk in--I would be alone on this drive to Holbrook. I know, I'm seventeen. I should be almost pro at this. But I live in a place that's about a mile long both ways, where intersections don't exist and people politely wait at stop signs or even drive around you if your on the wrong side of the road. (I would know.)

So driving in a city, even a small one, had me a bit nervous. Who would point out the right exit on the freeway? Who would remind me to watch my speed? Who would tell me exactly when to go at an intersection?
Oh yeah, I was seventeen. I should be almost pro at this. I relaxed, muttered a prayer, and started the car.

The beginning actually wasn't as hard as I thought. I hit a bird in flight, which was a bit disconcerting, but I cruised that freeway and even was able to sing along to my music a little. Then came the exits. I was just about to go into panic mode when something my friend, who had gone with me the last time I had come here, said, "I remember it because all the lights."
Sure enough, not two minutes later, a familiar string of streetlights appeared. And, despite my second-guessing, it was the right one.
The next obstacle was the intersection. I gripped the steering wheel just a tad tighter before realizing that there was a grey car in front of me. Maybe,just maybe...Yes! Its blinker turned the same direction I was going! I gleefully followed that lovely grey car and made it safely through the intersection with flying colors.

I finally got to the church and, after reassuring my mom that her daughter was still in one piece, walked in. The opening hymn had already began, so I hugged my notebook and pen to me and hurried to the next empty bench, quickly grabbing the hymn book and finding the right page.

The verse wasn't even done yet before I heard the familiar voice of a classmate beside me.
"Hey," he whispered, "You wanna come sit by us?"
I looked up gratefully and nodded. He quietly led me to their bench where I saw the welcome faces of a track teammate, a good friend, the exchange student, and a soon-to-be-missionary. We sat down and finished the hymn.

The fireside was AMAZING (as they usually are). It was about avoiding temptation and how it relates to cookies.
Heheh, I obviously can't do it justice, but just take my word for it--it was good! Afterwards, I found my grandpa, who's on the stake presidency, and gave him a hug. But he immediatly gestured towards the general authority (a member of the 70, for which I feel reaaaly bad for not remembering his name) and said, "You should go shake his hand."
I couldn't have agreed more. So I walked over and thanked him, shaking his hand. But what he did surprised me.
First he just said something along the lines of, "Oh, your welcome. I'm glad you came." Then he kinda looked at me for a moment and muttered, in a softer tone, "Well, God bless you."

I left that night knowing that someone up there must really care. After another wild week, he knew what I needed. What I could be to someone else as well: A guide, A friend, A blessing.

Yay for Track Meets!

And here is the sequal to last weeks post!

We had a track meet. In Pheonix. We left at 4:30 a.m. and didn't get back until 11:00 p.m. On the bright side, I finally mastered sleeping on the bus, got to read a deliciously huge chunk of Work and the Glory, and even finished writing a scene in one of my many stories I've been stuck on for a week now. That, and I got a tan.

I also managed to graciously become my friend's comedy center.

First off, I got that sudden shrinkage feeling that I always get when I go to places that have about as many teenagers present as my entire Jr./Sr. high school buildling can hold. The backs of my grubby shoes had been chewed by one of our dogs, my hair was in a simple ponytail with a few stubborn whisps falling out, my nose bragged quite the collection of freckles, and my teammates were chucking pebbles at pidgeons.

Heheh. 1A all the way.

Second off, I managed to drop one of those grubby shoes down in the bleachers. So, for reasons I can't recall, I put on my one shoe and tromped down to find its mate.

My step slowed as I realized there was a huddle of about seven dudes in my path, hanging out in the shade.

"Uhh," I muttered, suddenly remembering how undiligent I had been at shaving my legs, "Could you hand me my shoe please?"

They looked down at my footwear skeptically before assembly-lining it to me.
"Thanks," I grinned, stumbling to slip my foot back in.

"Well," I muttered to my friend, "Now that Cinderella has retrieved her slipper..."
"Yeah," she chuckled, "From seven Prince Charmings."

Thirdly, I dropped it again. I was just considering how much of a neccessity it really was, when one of them handed it up to me again.
"Your shoe," he growled.
"Aheheh, thanks. Sorry."

Fourthly, I missed my race. 800 meters in da trash. I had been stretching and warming up and talking to a few other girls during the first heat (there were 4. I was in the 2nd) when all of a sudden I heard a second gun shot.

Ah great, I thought. So, just to confirm my doubts, I tromped (I think tromping makes me feel more confident or something) over to the sunburnt guy who looked in charge.
"Was that the second heat?" I asked innocently.
"Yep."
I sighed, "Crap."
He only chuckled.

And so, without further ado, I tromped back to the bleachers, giggling at me and my "Annelieness" as my dear friends put it. (Translation: The fantastic skill of being consistently unaware, clumsy, and just plain silly.) But there was still someone to answer to...

"Um, Coach?"
"Yes?"
"I...er...I...missed my race. They are running right now."
I watched as his face suddenly broke into a huge smile and he let his forehead fall to his clipboard in laughter.
I smiled and began to laugh with him, immensly relieved. (Though I can garentee its going to haunt me for the rest of the season :)

Thank goodness for laughter! Thank goodness for gentlemen! Thank goodness for alert bus-drivers! and thank goodness for people-putter-uppers! I think I'd be an annoying headache on legs if it weren't for them.

(P.S. For all you who care, I did get third in the mile @ 6:55. I'm not a complete athletic failure :)

Practice Makes Perfect, right?

I believe I previously mentioned preparing for track in one of my posts. It's a good thing you folks only read my blog and allow me to do all the esplaining because, well...allow me to esplain some more.

could go on and on about how running three miles or doing sprints everyday for a couple weeks previous to practice payed off. I could blabber about how I'm even better than the last year I joined and how my scrawny Hansen calves (and no, I'm not reffering to cows for this one) have found their fight and propel me right on by those other runners.

But that would be lying. And lying is bad.

Actually, I've gone from keeping up with the senior guys my freshman year, to the last-person-to-trundle-in pitty clap this year.

Humbling? A tad.

But that's only the beginning. For one of the warm ups we were slowly lifting our legs over the hurdles as we walked by them. Not hurdling over them. Not jumping over them. Not even kicking over them. Just lifting.

And I biffed it. Yep. Hurdle clattered to the ground. I hopped around one leg for awhile. And my poor coach just shook his head.

Next warm up we had to cross the width of the football field by standing in place and jumping. I made it and was tempted to puff out my chest to myself a little--I hadn't lost balance.

"How many leaps did it take you?" my coach boomed to one of my teammates.
"17."
"Good. You?"
"17"
"18," the next groaned.
"16!"

And on down the staggered line. Thank goodness for staggardness because I think that's how he skipped me. It wasn't until he turned his back that I meekly turned to my friend and whispered, "24."

We weren't done yet. My athletic abilities still had another refining furnace to pass through: jumping back and forth over a cone.

I was so focused on not crumpling the wimply little thing that, to make up for it, my ankle caught and I crumpled myself. I giggled to, as I'd been doing the entire time, and got back up to take another stab at it. I tripped again, only bringing it with me.
Time was finally up.
"Alright, you spazzes who knocked them over, pick them up and let your partner try."

"Yeah," I tell people when they ask if I'm one the crazy people in track, "I'm there for the excercise.