Friends

With my last final on Monday, I should be home in Sidney by Thursday night. I can’t wait to frost gingerbread men with my mom, wrap my small, I’m-a-college-student gifts, and watch The Little Drummer Boy on my Grandma’s couch. I love my dorm Christmas decorations, but seeing a real tree covered with my macaroni ornaments will be wonderful. I look forward to being home for Christmas, but I’m little worried that after five weeks away from Missoula, my new college friends might forget about me.

I have never been the best at making friends. In high school I really only had a few good friends—five to be exact. This first semester I have pushed myself to be more outgoing around new people and make new friends. I’ve shared stories about myself and my family with people because I want to form lasting friendships in college. My mom says that most of her best friends are the ones she met at college. Still, I am afraid of losing the friends I have now when I start next semester. After a long Christmas break, maybe we won’t have much to talk about, or maybe all the friend progress we’ve made will be gone. With the end of the FIG, we won’t be together everyday and maybe won’t have much in common anymore. I haven’t seen my best friend Andrew since August, but I am not worried about us not being friends when I go home. We’ve been friends since middle school, and I know our friendship is deep enough to handle our long separation. But my new college relationships can’t compare to Andrew’s and my relationship. I look forward to being home, but I don’t want to lose all I have established here. So FIG friends, don’t forget about me.

A Quote

I really love quotes and so here is one by Maria Shriver that I think fits with my blog on change and the college experience in general.

"If you feel afraid, that means your alive. That's good. Now use it."

Change

I don’t really like change. I didn’t like leaving my old house when we moved or my Grandma Dolores new couch. I hate that my cousin doesn’t talk to me anymore and that my little cousin Riley is growing up. Coming to college I was a little worried about how things would change. Could I still hold conversations with my friends? Would I lose all the shape I was in without three hour track practices? Although I don't like things to be different, I have to accept change as a part of life. I'd be miserable if I didn't. Reflecting back on my first semester, I realize I have changed. I’m sure there are many changes I haven’t noticed about myself, but here are the ones I recognize:

*Without sports I have gained seven pounds and get winded climbing the stairs to English. Fitness is still a part of my life, however. I run and lift weights at the gym every day. (Except for this week, but it’s busy.)

*I’m better at comprehending Spanish now that my teacher speaks in Spanish for the entire fifty minute class period.

*I still go to youth group each Wednesday and mass on Sundays, but I’m not sure what I believe anymore.

*My reliance is transitioning from my parents to my friends. Since my dad was my high school principal I talked to him everyday about school and friends. Now that I don’t see him everyday I find myself opening up to my friends.

*Here, I have to rely more on myself for support. In my high school, all of the teachers new me and my activities. Because everyone knew me I was constantly receiving support from my community. The day after I pulled my quad in track at least ten teachers asked me how it was doing

*I show more of my true personality to people at college. The majority of the kids in my high school thought I was nerdy and reserved because I acted like that around them. At college I decided I wanted to start being myself from the minute I met people and now feel more comfortable laughing and acting silly around other people. (I do accept that I am a nerd; I’m just not a quiet one.)

*Procrastination has become a part of my life now that I actually have time to waste.

*Being around people with such strong opinions has forced me to decided where I stand on certain issues. I never saw the connection between faith and activism or the crime in shopping at Wal-Mart before.

In Sidney I was sure of who I was and what I was doing. I was the principal’s daughter who ran track, played the clarinet, dressed like Hefty Girl for Speech and Drama, religiously attended youth group, and took all the AP classes. In high school I knew who I was and what I was doing. Now I don’t know if I’ll get cast in the spring shows, and my Ways of Knowing grade is a mystery. I’m not 100% sure of my opinions or life plans. College is scary, and I like that.

Just Say No

Weekends at Jesse Hall are full of alcohol. Weekends at UM in general are full of alcohol. Riding the elevator I inevitably meet a group of girls giggling who smell so strongly of alcohol that even their copious amounts of perfume can’t even mask it. The Sunday morning the elevators and parking lots are littered with Bud light cans and Michelob cardboard boxes. Drinking is such a large part of the social scene at UM that I sometimes wonder why I have made the decision not to drink.

My reasons for not drinking have changed since high school. I played volleyball and ran track during high school and didn’t want to hurt my performance with alcohol. Besides, nothing make me more angry than losing a teammate because she got an MIP, and I didn’t want to be that person. If a person wants to screw themselves up that’s fine, but the minute it affects my performance and my success it’s not ok.

I also wanted to be a good role-model for my younger sister. I was the president of the Trading Card Program, a mentoring program to fourth-grade students about abstinence from drugs and alcohol, my junior and senior year. This program gave me time to talk to my sister and other kids in her grade about how they could still be cool and not use alcohol or drugs. (This was slightly ironic as most of the Trading Card members weren’t popular.)Trading Card also helped me stay away from drugs and alcohol because I had to sign a contract promising not use drugs or alcohol during the school year to be in the program. If I was caught using drugs or alcohol, I would have to explain to each fourth grader who had my card why I had made that decision and take back my card. During my years as President no one in the program had to do this, but it is quite a deterrent for most members.

Of course, the goody-two-shoe in me kept me from doing drinking because it was illegal; I didn’t want to end up in the Police Beat of the papers. I also knew that if I got in trouble with alcohol it would put my dad in a hard position as he was my high school principal. Everyone in Sidney would know that the Mr. Farr’s daughter had gotten an MIP before church on Sunday, and I couldn’t bear the shame that would cause my parents.

However, most of these reasons aren’t really relevant now that I am in college. I’m not playing collegiate sports and my little sister would never know if I went to a kegger. I still am a little wary of breaking the law, but that isn’t what’s keeping me back. The reason I still refuse to drink is that I don’t want to give in. During high school I had very few friends. In middle school I had a huge group of girlfriends, but when high school came and most of them started drinking, I found we didn’t have much in common anymore. When they talked about how trashed they were the night before, I didn’t have anything to add. Before I knew it I was spending every Saturday night watching “Nashville Star” with my parents. Even my best friend slowly quit hanging out with me, to the point where we didn’t say anything more than “hello” my junior year. Because I had decided not to drink in high school I lost most of my friends. If losing most of my friends wasn’t enough, these friends along and other kids started treating me like I wasn’t good enough because I didn’t party with them.

Whenever I was furious at once again being ditched my friends I would rant at my parents, defending my decision. I thought all my friend’s reasons for drinking were pathetic; while there isn’t much to do in Sidney, I didn’t drink for four years of high school and I didn’t die of boredom. I thought it was ridiculous that they started drinking just to get friends. At college, I often think how it easy it would be to just go with my friends when they go out drinking, but my pride stops me. I won’t drink to get friends, because that is the thing I hated the kids at my high school for doing. I would be giving in to everything I had fought against.

So until I’m 21, I’m going to try to keep my sober lifestyle. Hopefully there will be something good on late night television to fill my Friday nights.

P.S. That is my friend Jessica Young's trading card. I took the picture; isn't it cute?

Please, Just Ask a Question

After any lecture or presentation there is a time for questions. I generally don’t mind question and answer sessions; people often bring up interesting insights that I hadn’t considered. There is, though, one thing that I dislike about these question sessions. It drives me crazy when people raise their hands during this time and don’t ask a question.

There are two main ways a person does this. One way is when a person asks a question, but not before giving the speaker their own knowledge of the subject and resumé. At the end of a Presidential Lecture series talk, one man with a heavy accent left his seat and stood in front of the microphone. In nearly incomprehensible English he spent several minutes explaining his experience with animal behavior. After describing his own study he finally asked a question. However, the question didn’t relate to the speaker’s presentation at all; the man just wanted to see why her findings didn’t match his own. Similarly, during Professor Rasmussen’s lecture on Christianity and the environment one man in the audience prefaced his question by saying that he had recently attended the national environmental justice conference. This served only to let everyone in the room know how important a person he must be to have attended this important conference. Most of the time people like him just want to brag about how much they know or what they have accomplished.

The second way a person can ruin a question and answer session is by never asking a question at all. One of Professor Rasmussen’s fellow professors took up nearly five minutes of the question time talking about the difference between politics and grass-roots activism. It was great that he cared so much about environmental activism, but we were there to hear Professor Rasmussen speak, not him. I look forward to finally attending a lecture where the audience members ask questions, not give answers.

Grandma Mary and the Government

I spent last Saturday crammed in the back seat of my car with two backpacks, a laptop, one magenta bag, a box holding my new snow boots, and my Grandma Mary. As the car inched through the Bozeman pass Grandma began talking about the government. As soon as I heard the first words escape her mouth I knew it was going to be bad. I tried to quickly look out the window, but started feeling guilty for so blatantly ignoring her. I turned back around and prepared to listen to another conspiracy theory. For the next twenty minutes I learned how the government uses satellites to tell whether a person locks his door or whether he washes his hands after using the bathroom. I already knew about the satellites from previous lectures, but was surprised to hear that the government now has GPS thread that is woven into most of our clothes so the government can locate our position whenever they want. I know not to fight with her, so I nod my head and keep repeating “That’s horrible” and “Uh hmm.” Finally she stops to comment on Sara’s driving and I grab my St. Augustine’s Confessions and start reading. When Grandma notices she has lost her audience she wipes the fog from the window with her sweater sleeve and mutters the words to a Gaelic song. Peering over my book I smile at her. That is my Grandma.

Grandma Mary first appears like the typical grandma. She bakes loaves of fruit cake every Christmas, and tries to spoon mounds of food onto our plates saying we need to eat tomatoes because they’re healthy. She grimaces while listening to hip hop and once called my sister a hussy for wearing a v-neck sweater. She loves navy sweaters and blouses and sets her dyed hair in curlers every night. She drinks tea every afternoon and constantly buys nightgowns for my mom.

While these characteristics might sound like any seventy-five year grandma, my grandma really is unique. Conspiracy theories are an inevitable topic of discussion with Grandma Mary. She is also what I call an Irish supremacist. I’m constantly reminded of my great Irish ancestors who made up 32% of the armed forces in World War II. Did you know that more Irishmen died in World War II than all of the Americans in every following war? Grandma Mary loves to read about history and politics, but often confuses events or misinterprets what she reads. Whenever she starts a statement with, “I read that…” I know that only part of the upcoming information will be true. She is honest about everything, to the point of being mean. She once told an obese man in Wal-Mart that he needed to lose some weight. She did, however, empathize with him by showing him her rounded stomach.

Even though Grandma Mary is a little crazy at times, she is an amazing woman. When she was only nineteen years old she came to America to earn enough money to pay off the debts of her family back in Ireland. Since then she has worked diligently at every task from running her farm in Wyoming to her cleaning rooms at the Holiday Inn. At the age of seventy-five she still works at the Heritage Inn three times a week washing laundry and cleaning rooms. My grandma loves her family and tries to provide for us as much as she can. Nothing makes her happier than cooking us dinner and sending us home with jars of homemade jam and loaves of banana bread. She is also very proud of her children. When my dad received his doctoral degree in Education Grandma just clutched his hand and cried. She visits her elderly neighbors every day and loves to talk with children. After meeting any young person she will soon start referring to them as “love.” My Grandma Mary can drive me crazy with her stories and over-bearing personality, but those are what make her so special. Besides, there is nothing like a little government conspiracy to make a long drive interesting.

My Family

Here is a Christmas picture with my cousins at my Grandma Dee's house. This picture is missing quite a few unborn kids.

The vision in magenta without front teeth is me. My older sister is the girl holding the little baby who is my little sister Ashley. Aren't we cute?

Home

In the weeks before this Thanksgiving break countless people told me that everything would be different when I got home. I heard that people would treat me different because I was becoming educated and that I wouldn’t feel at home in my own house. This was scary. Although I am already getting comfortable with my roommate and my friends here, I was afraid of losing my sense of home. I looked forward to being in a place where everyone knew my background, my likes and dislikes, my personality. Home is where I can be comfortable just being myself, and I was worried I wouldn’t have that when I reached Sidney.

Coming home I did find a few changes. Finnicum’s Furniture had finished their storage building and the high school’s new science wing was completed. My aunt’s new house had a roof and the garage was nearly done. In my own house a faux wood humidifier sat in my living room and my bird Sunny’s cage was in the living room. At Grandma Dee’s there was a DVD player in the basement. While a few physical things had changed, home was still the same. My bedroom still looked empty, most of my favorite belongings now filling my dorm room. My grandma’s house smelled the same and the brown pleather chair was just as inviting. Both places were the same with just a few minor improvements.

Although I looked forward to the familiar surroundings at home, the thing I longed for most was to find my family unchanged. It was a great relief then to get home and find my family was still the same. My Uncle Geno still called me Gomer and chased me around trying to flick my arm. (That really hurts!) I watched late night television in the living room and perched on a bar stool in the morning eating a cinnamon roll. My whole family laughed while I demonstrated my newly acquired belly dance skills. We played Cranium on the kitchen table and laughed about Nathan drawing a calf for the word “caviar.” Joy flooded my heart as I realized that not much had changed. I could still perform goofy dances and wear my scruffy pajamas around the house. At home I don'’t have to worry about being articulate, funny, smart, or charming. My family already loves me, just as I am.

Thursday night I laid in bed with the covers pulled up around my neck, listening to my grandma’s soft snores. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was home.

Eastern Montana

Missoula is beautiful. Driving through thte lightly frosted mountain pass, I marveled at the green pines that make the mountains appear almost blue. Fog hung heavy around me, giving everything a mystical appearance. Looking at the beauty of the mountains, I couldn't help but feel grateful to have grown up in Montana, amidst thse breath-taking views. Throughout my ten hour trek across the state the scenery slowly changed. Brown fields of grass gradually replaced the navy mountain peaks. I must admit at first I wasn't impressed with the tarnished gold hills. Next to the mountains, they just couldn't compare. However, as I continued on I began to remember why I love eastern Montana. It might not have the evergreen pines or icy mountain creeks, but it is beautiful. I felt free looking at the pink cloudy sky that stretched for miles. Even breathing seemed easier in the open space. Driving over each hill, I saw taht this is Montana. Many people in Missoula and people from other states think of Montana and only see what Missoula has to offer. Montana is a huge state, a great part of which isn't material from A River Runs Throught It. It bothers me that people say the love Montana, but haven't experienced the entire state. Eastern Montana has its own unique qualities that make it just as interesting and beautiful as the western part. I love driving for miles on Highway 200 and never seeing any houses, just silver mailboxes lining the road. The highway is often too narrow causing me to cry out "Oh God" whenever I passed an oil truck. Stopping in Jordan (yes, that is where the Freemen were) I saw three or four pickups full of men dressed in hunter orange. Eastern Montana is full of tiny towns with one main road, a bar, a school, and a couple churches. Coming home I realized I home much I love Montana. All of Montana.

P.S. I love blogging, but this was really a pain. Another interesting thing about Montana is most people don't have internet so getting this published was quite the adventure. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.