Run. Jump. Splash.

It's Grange Fair time in Central Pennsylvania. With my grandparents, I tent for 10 days in America's largest tenting encampment - it's a family tradition. We have a nice little living situation; beds, kitchen cabinet, table, chairs and lots of delicious cookies (carrot cookies are my favorite). It's a huge ordeal - very country, very "heart of america". I think there are close to 1000 tents and probably twice as many campers. My grandparents have been doing this for over 35 years. Wow. Detailed information can be found here.

Anyway, tonight the fair is flooding. It's been raining all day; raining squirrels and chipmunks. I'm wet. My grandparents are wet. Our tent neighbors are wet. Our heater is failing us. There is inadequate water drainage. Yet, there is free WiFi; I am astounded.


My Pap and I went puddle jumping this afternoon. We "had a blast" as my mother would say. He marched through the puddles like a happy kid in galoshes. I laughed. I attacked the puddles with silly madness. There is something incredibly satisfying about puddle jumping.

On Friday night, I brought my housemate, Karen, my friend, Nicolas, and his roommate Mike, to the fair. Between the four of us, we ate hot sausage, milk shakes, pulled pork, soup in a bread bowl, cinnamon ice cream, apple dumplings, peach dumplings and lemonaide. Fair food is wonderful. I think they were amazed at the size of the place; this "ain't no regulaar cuntry fair, no siir."

Raining Squirrels and Chipmunks

Heavy raindrops pelt our tent. My grandmother nervously completes crossword puzzles; she's afraid of storms. The rain is impressive. Bach is in the background to distract us. Gram and I used play violin. My stint with the violin was short-lived, but my gram used to be quite good - this is what people tell me. The music seems to be a good distraction.

Neighboring tenters have dug ditches and are piling small bits of gravel. There is a dark stream of water tearing down the gravel walkway in front of our tent row. I wonder if this is what it's like living in a refugee camp during bad weather; except we have many modern appliances and the option of going home if we desire.

Pap watches the water flow. I fear there won't be much sleep tonight. Too much worrying about the water rising into the tent. The sound of the rain is almost deafening. It's hard to hear anything other than the rain. It's a roar.

Space

So did you know that you can watch NASA TV on the internet? It's true. You can watch earth from space here. Incredible, eh?

A wedding and All Those Photos.

There is a wedding on the golf course. I can hear it, but cannot see it. The couple just did their vows. It's a beautiful day for a wedding.

At the request of Karen, I reposted old France photos on my photo site. I've also updated a lot of the photo captions and downloaded more Ireland photos. Keep checking back for more. Enjoy!

Hot Chocolare Lovers of the World - Unite!

This post is entirely devoted to that wonderful drink: hot chocolate. I love hot chocolate. As I sit in my apartment, conjugating verbs which I'll undoubtedly forget tomorrow, I'm sipping a lovely cup of chocolate with a hint of caramel. Heavenly. Music for the night is Bizet's Carmen. What could be more perfect? Drop me a line and tell me of your love for hot chocolate. Together, we can take over the world ... or at least, spread the hot chocolate love.

-Bise.

Alone.

The door shut. I was furious. Locked out of my apartment, I trudged down the stairwell and out the door. There was only one thing to be done: walk to the office in hopes of a master key. It was the first time I had been out of the apartment in while - maybe days - I don't remember; my sense of time seems to have been distorted. I think it was Wednesday.

It had to have been Wednesday because Thursday I called Shelly. We went to the movies. I bought a small pail of doughnut holes at Sheetz. The tiny morsels were my dinner that night and my breakfast the next morning. No wait; Shelly and I had hot dogs and milkshakes at Meyers Dairy that night, so I ate dinner. The doughnut holes were merely a nightcap. Now I remember.

This is how I'm spending my last week of summer. Time evades me. I sit on a futon in the living room, barely dressed because I'm alone in the apartment, and read. I've read quite a few books. It's raining now. Cool air breezes through the open porch door giving me goose bumps. I went out last night at midnight. A high school friend was celebrating her 21st birthday. There were three of us. It was a gentile night at an uncrowded bar. The bars and restaurants in State College are always nearly empty when Penn State isn't in session. We caught up and told stories. I spent money on a drink I didn't finish. A dry gin martini. I barely touched it. I should have stuck with my usual water with lime.

You tend to hear noises when you're alone. For example, I just heard a popping noise sound from one of the rooms. There is no one here. The neighbors don't make much noise. I actually become startled when I suddenly hear someone talking on a nearby balcony, which is rare. It's a shock. I prefer to talk standing on my balcony when someone calls. I pace. When I'm talking with someone face to face, I often have the urge to wave my hands. I sometimes click a pen cap if I have one in hand. I guess I'm a nervous talker. If seated at a table, I tend to play with my glass. These words I write sound like confessions when they really aren't confessions at all; merely statements. I'm sure people notice these habits of mine just as I notice their habits. A raised voice when asking for a favor. The twiddling of thumbs. A finger raise to pressed lips before starting to talk. You know who you are or perhaps you don't. I think sometimes we miss the characteristics about ourselves that are most apparent to others.

I have too much time to think. Forgive me for my rambling. Rock on rockers. May today be an extraordinary day.

Can't Get Rid of the Punk/Goth/Whatever It Was.

Cleaning my closet yesterday, I found a trove of old jeans. Wow. I think the smallest leg opening is 28 inches. The largest leg opening ... well, lets just say that I can fit myself in one leg with plenty of room to spare - it's kinda like a dress for the legs. Mom wanted me to give the jeans to some kids at her church. I couldn't bring myself to get rid of them. Instead I neatly folded each pair and laid them carefully in a chest. ... There are some things that I enjoyed about high school; my odd clothes being one of them.

Jesus: friend of sinners.

For those of you who know me well, you know my religious past. I tend to not talk about it. I also tend to be quiet about my religious present. But let me throw a question out there: what is up with all the legalism? Furthermore, what is up with all the judgmental attitudes?

Some of the worst people I know openly proclaim his or her religious affiliation. Yet these same people act atrociously. What gives? Don't be a blessed ass. This is all I have to say on the subject. I apologize for the rant.

Get Your French Legs Ready.

When Charise visited me in Paris, I told her to "get your french legs ready" - whatever that means. Now she's telling me the same thing. Right now, Charise is working on Capitol Hill. But on September 27 she leaves for Clermont-Ferrand, France where she'll live for nearly a year. Sigh. How lovely! I'm so happy for her. And I'm extremely excited about being able to visit her!

My tentative plans are for a 2 - 3 week visit the end of December through the beginning of January. Tentative towns include Clermont-Ferrand, Paris, Toulouse, and Besancon. Travels may include a lighthouse on the Irish coast - compliments of the package I received when I vacationed in Ireland. So if you'll be anywhere near these places in December/January, let me know. Perhaps a rendez-vous can be arranged. :) I'm looking forward to it. ... and hey, the sales start in January! I'll have to pack LIGHT this time. When I left France in May, my bags were ridiculously huge - partly because I lost so much weight and had to buy new clothes. Although, as I'm sure my friend Damien will attest to, my suitcase full of books wasn't exactly small or light. I'll never forget the look on his face when I told him to carry the small suitcase because it was filled with books (he helped me move bags across Paris). It was a green-eyed look of disbelief. lol. I digress.

David.

Because my classes were cancelled, I went to my parents house. David, the contractor's son was there with his dad. At first he was shy. He always is. Then he barreled toward with his prized birthday card in hand. At that moment we become instant friends - again. David helped me play doctor to the our herd of kittens. He was the official pitchfork holder when I cleaned the barn. His constant chatter kept me company. We walked in the creek. I soaked him with water. David was a good sport when I beat him at cards despite his attempts to cheat. He even helped me wash my futon covers. He constantly kept me on my toes. I had fun. At the end of the day I was exhausted. Much to David's parents pleasure, he was exhausted as well. I think he was asleep before his dad's truck left the driveway. Rock on.


Late Thursday afternoon, my high school friend Morgann and I visited. We sipped iced drinks while munching on cookies. We caught up and reminisced. She goes to school at Ohio State - a totally different world from Penn State. Morgann was the person who always had a genuine smile - some things don't change. She's going to Paris for a week in the fall. I think she'll fall in love, as I did, with the city. I miss Paris and everything attached to it.

45 Dollar Doughnuts

I love 24 hour grocery stores. The idea of being able to go to a store whenever my schedule (or lack thereof) permits thrills the materialist in me. Around 23:00 on Tuesday, I decided to go to WalMart.

I am not a WalMart fan. But I needed wrapping paper and Amanda needed more packing supplies. Movers are coming for her stuff at 7:00 this morning and she wants to be prepared. She is panicking. I don't blame her. Since the moving fellows are coming so early, she wanted to give them a little something for breakfast. Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day! I suggested Bagels, Doughnuts and Orange Juice. She suggested that I pick them up for her at WalMart. So off to Wally World (WalMart) I went.

I grabbed some doughnuts, Amanda's packing supplies and my stuff. The cashier was pleasant. I wished him a good night, signed the bill and exited. All was well with the world.

That is, all was well until I looked at the receipt. He charged me 45 dollars for a box of doughnuts. I realized this around 1:00. I'm not happy. I called the store. The phone rang 10 times. I hung up. I called again. No answer. I try a few more times. Nothing. Grabbing my keys, I bolt out the door into the night. I arrive at WalMart in record time. There is only one register open. An older lady in a bright yellow shirt is the cashier. She has tribal tattoos on her arms. I stare, wondering what they mean to her. Then I come back to reality. I explain what happened - I was charged for 12 boxes of doughnuts rather than 12 doughnuts. The cashier realizes that the lady who had been in front of me in line forgot 2 bags. I volunteer to run after the lady, which I do. I try to get her attention. The lady doesn't look at me at first. I probably wouldn't either - it's 1:30 in the morning and a strange girl is running after her in a dark parking lot. She probably thought I was going to attack or something. So the lady got her bags back. I return to the store.

The cashier is waiting for me. Of course. There is a line of people at the register. The lady not only credits my credit card but also doesn't charge me for the 12 doughnuts. I thank her. She tells me to go get another box of doughnuts. I must have looked at her like she had three eyes. "Oh, that's not necessary." She insists. So I pick up 12 more doughnuts. Sweet. I have just been blessed with doughnuts ... which further proves Amanda's theory of my extreme good and bad luck. We celebrated by eating two delightful little pastries. Until next time ...

J'ai de la chance.

I'm lucky. My host mother frequently told me this. We would be eating dinner in the living room. She would look at me and sigh: "Sarah, you're lucky." Amanda, my roommate, seems to think this as well. Tonight she told me that she cannot believe that I didn't get mugged living in Paris or Washington DC. "It must be luck" she said.

Apparently I have no sense of fear. Christine, the person I lived with in Besancon, was convinced I would be murdered when I decided to go to Italy by myself. When I boarded that train, she tearfully said goodbye. She promised to pray for my soul. Looking back, I probably shouldn't have taken a night train to Naples alone. Fortunate for me, the people in my compartment were young and nice. 3 French guys. 2 Italian girls. The guys helped me with my little suitcase. The girls woke me up when we arrived in Florence (the train was two hours early). They were all in their mid-twenties. Me, I was the skinny little 19 year old. Would I do it again? Absolutely.

In France, my friend Nicole gave me a book entitled "The Gift of Fear." It promised to change my life. While interesting, I don't think it forever transformed the course of my life. Ironically, shortly after she gave me the book, we embarked on a (semi-unwise) late-night adventure in Fes, Morocco. For various reasons, it was a night we'll never forget. I received a gold plate out of the deal. The plate now hangs on my wall - a trophy/momento if you will.

I do have a fear of getting my fingers caught in a bread mixer though.