panic!

Charm City looks snow charming in white.

Since my last post, I managed to get sick, and not just, 'awww, mam, I don't feel good'-sick, but 'SHIT! my body didn't let me wake up for class Friday morning, even when two people came into my room and shook me to try to wake me for my first critique in Sculptural Forms!'-sick. Needless-to-say, by the time one o'clock rolled round, and I finally woke from my sick induced stupor, I was not in a pleasant mood. I quickly emailed my professor (who does not except late work!) and groveled. I am still waiting for a reply.

But! I couldn't allow mere flu-like symptoms to stop me from the weekend that was to be the SNOWPACALYPSE! I woke to find that snow was already falling, and had been falling for two hours, and continued to fall as I showered, cleaned my bedroom, napped, listened to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix; you know, the usual. It continued into Morgan and my jaunt to the ridiculously packed Save-A-Lot, where I stocked up on food and waited in line amidst the Bolton Hill community (where Morgan and I were serenaded by a big guy ramping along to his cell phone). It still was going when we got back to my place, cleaned my filthy, filthy kitchen, made a glorious pasta with baby onions and green peppers, w

atched Charlie Bartlett, drank copious amounts of tea, ate copious amounts of ginger snaps, watched Say Anything, and, of course, 'worked' on some homework.

The night was glorious. We (Morgan and I), were (are) sick and snuffling, and laughing at how wonderful our Friday night could be by merely sitting in one room, holing up, and pretending to be 75. I was even embroidering (a true statement to my age (I continually told Morgan that I felt as if I ought to be on a plantation, sipping lemonade and continuing my embroidery. She protested, saying no old man would sit and do embroidery while watching the R rated Charlie Bartlett)).

Even better was my roommate's ridiculous amount of singing and stomping around to the tunes of Rent. Morgan and I died.

That night fell snow much snow that Morgan was forced to spend the night. We sat up, watching, and wondering if the few are far between flashes were lightening, matched with a muffled thunder (later, we learned of thundersnow).

We slept in, then WENT SLEDDING! After making pancaked paired with delicious, true Vermont maple syrup, of course.

SLEDDING, SLEDDING, SLEDDING! Station building hosts some very steep hills, very covered in snow, and it was still snowing. The trek from Gateway to Station was ridiculous, a whole different, brilliant world of everything iced in fluff, compacted in sugar, hugged by snow much love (I may be getting ridiculous, but, have you ever seen three feet of snow!?)! The cars were dollops of icing fit for the largest of giants, the brick brownstones mere rows and rows of iced gingerbread houses blanketed by a sky of pink and grey wonder of more and more snow.

A family lent us their toboggan, a two seater red one, which sped down Station's steepest hill like a blade through butter. It was glorious, and Morgan and I were snow covered. As we sped, it splashed about us, a froth thrown up into our faces, into our wide, laughing mouths. The family's dog pranced about around us, a big shaggy black thing, and would drag the toboggan back up the hill. Magic.

The way uphill trek back to the Commons was a fumbling display of wet, frozen limbs and faces shocked to pink. We were entirely snow covered, cookies rolled into confectioners sugar, walking alongside giant sized dollops of icing covered cars.

The afternoon called for soup, tea, and Floridian Honey Bells. Then came some actual homework doing, all the while listening to a 1920's radio station. If there is ever a point in your life that you desperately need to be reminded of magic, of wonder and nostalgia, listen to 1920's radio. Some, most, of the songs are riddled with static, and burst from an ihome as if from an old tuner radio. It brings a warming feeling, eases the mind, makes you think simpler, happier.

A few hours of reading up on psychoanalysis works up an appetite. The menu called for some homemade mac'n'cheese, with cherry tomatoes, baby onions, and green pepper baked in olive oil, and veggie burgers made with salsa and cheddar. It's a wonderful feeling, to finally be able to use a kitchen. Last semester my living situation allowed for zero use of my apartment facilities, including living space, kitchen, and, at times, bathroom. But, that was the past, and God has graced me with glory and wonder in the form of a fourth floor flat, complete with slanted ceiling, and good, great, grand (in comparison) roommates that allow use of the entire apartment, as if, you know, we were all real adults or something.

And so, I have been basking in the ability to cook, and with that, to feel like a functioning human being. That isn't to say that those that don't cook are not real human beings, more to say that I, personally, have feelings of complete gratification with the notion that I truly can take care of myself, at least, when it comes to feeding time (also, now that I think of it, the food that I put into my mouth is bought by me, by the money from my paycheck...not my parents. Not my parents, but mine. My money. My mind is exploding right now.)

Food was paired with (500) Days of Summer. And more embroidery.

The night wore on, the snow had eventually ended, and I closed the night with Cheri, a film with Michelle Phiefer and Kathy Bates about French Prostitutes and their retired lives. The movie itself was silly, the acting outrageous (which I took to be intended), but the sets and the costumes! They were as if old Art Nouveau posters c

ame to life, tres chic with the lavish hair and natural colors, soft with winding iron pieces and lavish foliage. Quelle suprise!

It made me regard my own works, how, for this first semester and now I had focused so much on kitsch, on fabrics and patterns and textures and things, and how, there is so much more that I love and want to explore! That isn't to say that I will drop the kitsch, far from it (as goes my embroidered self portrait), but, I want more than just one thing. I want to take the time to explore, read up on, study other forms of art that are still foreign to my knowledge. I want to bathe in books, bask in their texts, and breathe some new life into my art forms before they get too boring.

And, there is still another day! Sunday was made for a late brunch, an early surprise, in the way of cancelled Monday classes (because Baltimore doesn't have snow plows and so all residential roads were still piled high with a few feet of snow), and a complete detour from work. Morgan again was over, and we filled our time with Savage Love podcasts, drawing homework, more embroidery, lots of tea, some dessert making (delicious no-bakes oatmeal chocolate peanut butter bars), copious amounts of junk food (three take out boxes from the Myerhoff brimming with sandwiches, pizza, brownies, cookies, and cereal), and movies! This time The Hangover, and, finally, I Love New York.

All in all, the weekend could not have been any better. I may not have accomplished all that needed to be accomplish in the manner of homework, but I was finally able to rest, and breathe (figuratively, considering that my nose is still so stuffed up), and think about nothing but enjoying the moment, the time with a true friend that really sums up the college experience. Without the constant emersion in family life, we create our own, spending hours, upon days, upon weekends with each other to create, in very little time, the bonds of friendship and family that we are so used to in the home environment. But, this is home now, and this is family now, and it's always nice to take a snow day, or weekend, to see the reality in it all, in this college experience.