Oooookaaay

The telephone rings, and I answer to a cellular number I do not recognize. Cue the vaguely Asian female voice:

Hello. I am calling from “X” organization for marketing research about smoking in Ohio. *signal breaks up and obscures a sentence or two* … then enter your name into a drawing for $250. I would like to speak to the youngest adult in the house. Would that be you?

Yes, that’s me.

Ok. I would like to ask you a few preliminary questions. How old are you?

Twenty-three.

Thank you. Now have you already completed a Bachelor’s Degree at a four-year college or university?

Yes, I have.

Ok. What is the town you live in, in Ohio?

Adelphia.

Odelphina?

No, Adelphia. It’s a-d-e-l-p-h-i-a. *she spells something different with me*

Is this county in Ohio?

Oh, county? I thought you asked for the city.

The county is Cutler, and it is in Ohio.

Cutler.

Yes.

Ok. What ethnic group do you most closely identify yourself with? White/Caucasion, Black/African-American, Asian-American, Hawaiian/Pacific Islander, Alaskan or Native American?

White.

Ok, thank you. I have no further questions at this time.

But wait I thou.. *click*

*names have been changed to protect the ... me

Thankful it's over

As Thanksgiving has just passed, I should write of that for which I am most thankful, which is that Thanksgiving has just passed. It was a long weekend of eating with family, family, and more family. I love them, but a little bit does go a long way. I missed the Wednesday preparations, as I was out Christmas shopping with some friends, but the fun started Thursday morning as my Aunt Arlene came over around 10:00 to help prepare lunch. We (my parents, Arelene, and I) ate around 12:00 and my sister finally arrived with her husband and two children at 1:30 or so. This would be excusable if she lived three states away rather than on the other side of town. We chatted and played games (mostly Chronology) throughout the afternoon.

Our house cleared out by 5:30, and my parents and I headed to my Aunt Linda's house, less than five miles away. There we chatted again, ate again, and played more games (this time Mexican Train). Here we had Aunt Linda, Uncle Bob, and their granddaughter Kristina, Arlene and her daughter Beverly, my cousins with their spouses and children, and various in-laws of cousins that I had never met before ... craziness!

Craziness? Hmm ... actually that word better fits Saturday and Sunday, when I was at my Aunt Kathy's house in Cleveland. This was a busy weekend of shopping and basketball games and no plumbing. Yep, ten people in one house and no toilets but the ones in the gas station down the street. Sleeping arrangements were also fun. There were five people in beds, four on couches, and one on the floor. I had a couch and shared a room with my aunt's granddaughter, Kristina, and my Uncle Jeff's mother, who, though sweet as can be, suffers from dementia. Fun, fun, fun.

I think that was more than enough fun for one weekend.

Not so bad for the first time!

Arriving at The Castle early for the volunteer's "gingerbread house workshop," I waited around in the kitchen as the directors desperately tried to figure out whether they should follow the icing/mortar recipe that called for one cup of powdered sugar and one egg white or the one for one pound of powdered sugar and three egg whites. Would that I knew which recipe my icing used! Mine was somehow one of the few houses that didn't have serious structural issues (e.g. walls caving in, roofs sliding off, and general implosions).

I must say I found my fellow gingerbread house builders quite charming. I was not entirely surprised to find myself the only twenty-something in the group, but I will admit that I didn't expect the next-youngest person to be (and I'm guessing here) a good forty years my senior. I truly enjoyed spending the afternoon with these witty women, and I do believe they were just as delighted to have such a young'un joining them for the day.

A Joy to Watch

One of the most beautiful scenes I know of is a man skillfully caring for his well-behaved child. I am lucky enough to see two such scenes play out simultaneously once a week. There are two men, married to sisters, in my Sunday School class who each has a son about nine months old. The babies are usually very quiet and sweet, but the father's are also so wonderfully attentive with them. Unlike other men I've seen who appear helpless when handed a child, these two come armed with burp cloths, blankets, bottles, and binkies. They always seem to anticipate just what their sons will need or want and have it right at hand. I find myself constantly drawn to these scenes. I only hope it's not an overly obvious observation!

What about the Humanities?

So I ran across an interesting problem this evening while applying for a City Archivist position in San Antonio. The set-up seemed a bit strange to begin with, because instead of just sending in a cover letter and resume, like most positions request, this application was electronic and quite lengthy. Everything progressed smoothly until it came time to put in my undergraduate major. What follows is but a small sampling of the majors from which to choose:

Advertising
Building Construction
Chemistry
Dietetics
Epidermiology
Fire Administration
Golf Course Operations Management (no, I'm not making this one up!)
Home Economics
International Trade
Journalism
Library Science (thankfully)
Merchandising
Nursing
Ornamental Horticulture
Psychology
Records Management
Science
Turf Management
Urban Studies
Vocational Industrial Education

This is quite the list, no? No. I quickly discovered that "English" hadn't made the list. Okay ... "Literature"? Not there. Hmm ... "Language and Literature"? Nope. "Humanities" then ... sorry, but no. Only one choice from the vast list actually worked for my undergraduate major: "Other." A quick skim revealed that "History" and "Philosophy" also failed to find spots on the list. Can I really work in a city so utterly deviod of the humanities? Only time will tell.

Mini-me

Very recently I met a child who is very much who I was at nine years old. (Yes, I know you will cringe over so many weak linking verbs. Sorry.) This girl has absolutely attached herself to me during the children's Christmas program practices. When we put the children into groups to sing parts, this one always has to be in my group. When they come in and take seats to begin, this one always sits directly in front of where I will be standing to lead them ... and if I don't stand there, she moves. When the other children take a break and go to play games with the other program directors, this one chooses to stay back to talk with me. You might think this would bother me, but it rather tickles me.

I enjoy this, because I was this girl. I always adored the teens and young adults when I was younger. I liked the elderly too, but I didn't have that same sense of awe with them. I especially remember attaching myself to the music/theater students from Mount Vernon Nazarene College (now University) who would come down and perform for us. I remember one girl to whom I attached myself played the French Horn, which I just thought the most wonderful thing in the world ... once I knew what it was.

Even as I was attaching myself to teens, younger children were attaching themselves to me. There was one girl named Amber who adored me. I used to babysit her and her little brother all the time. Royal terrors, they could be. But Amber just thought I was the greatest thing, and I tolerated her as the teens tolerated me. Now this child who I've known since she was in diapers is a senior in high school and doesn't even acknowledge my presence. But, then, she is a teenager now, and she doesn't really acknowledge anyone. Perhaps one day she will be like me ... sitting in a Sunday School class with her former babysitter and wanting to ask "do you remember me? Do you recall the fun times we had?" but feeling too awkward about it to actually say anything. Or, perhaps, that one wasn't so much like me after all.