March 05, 2005
I arrived at my parent's house on the Lake around 3:00 p.m. last Saturday to find my mother's younger, 80 pound, 5' 3", mumbling sister Sharon spending the weekend with them as though she were spending a relaxing three days at an infamous island retreat. She has become something of a wall flower at their humble abode, breathing words of fire toward her husband and his hated habits in a nearly incoherent murmur from her sedentary position at the kitchen table.I am often rather amused with her pessimistic attitude. Sharon could find the dark cloud looming over the wisps of every warm and sunny summer day, despite the week's forecast of clear skies and gentle breezes. She would surely associate this tepid tone to the reason her ice cream cone is melting about her fingers or fault the humidity for making her hair limp and shapeless. She would curse the little bunnies innocently prancing about her lawn and scold the colorful butterflies for simply being 'f'ing beautiful.' Spring is too muddy, summer is too hot, fall is too leafy and winter just plain sucks when you decide that a new Ford Mustang convertible is a good 'family car,' will handle 'just fine' in the snow and is somehow justified despite the fact that you don't have a job...
People like her never fail to spark the greatest sense of rebellious joy within my entire being.
"So, Sharon, how've ya been?"
"Terrible, thanks.".
"Well... at least the sun is out!"
"My entire life is in shambles."
"Oh, well, if there's, um..."
"Nothing you can do unless you want to drag me into the back yard and shoot me; freeing me from this hellish life of torment and agony."
My mother will then begin to croon words of encouragement all over her sister while my father and I desperately attempt to hold back our amused chuckles. There's nothing to be done in her favor and we've learned through the years that Sharon's attitude must be taken with a dump truck of salt. She'll never be satisfied nor will she ever be able to define herself as happy, content or even moderately comfortable. Although I love her, it doesn't change the fact that she's a miserable pile of mush seeking to trod over any and all references of delightful daisies and sprightly song birds.
That night, after my parents had retired and while I was writing out flash cards on the living room couch, Sharon quietly floated into the room and turned on the television. She has this propensity for staying up until 3:00 a.m. or later, watching the most bawdy of Pay Per View movies (while my mother incorporates the world's largest library of DVDs known to mankind which tend to be free) and drinking Rum and Coke out of a styrofoam cup (while my mother also has had a fine collection of usable tumblers).
I was merrily composing my flash cards for my Politics exam when suddenly I noticed her slight and sagging form take shape directly in front of me.
"You're studying," she said.
I looked up at my aunt (Master of the Obvious) and blinked a several times before smiling and replying,
"Why, yes, I am."
"I suppose this movie is too loud for you and you'd like me to turn it down."
"No, actually I rather enjoy the noise about me - keeps me awake."
"I suppose you want me to help you memorize your flash cards before you go to bed," she pressed on in a monotone voice.
"Oh no,' I said, "I was going to have Mom and Dad go over them with me tomorrow."
"Fine," she grumbled while returning to her stake out on the love seat.
"Ummm, thanks anyway."
"Yeah."
This seemed like my cue to go to bed and thus I retreated into the den, crawled into bed and fought over my concentration of David Copperfield and the sounds of the movie 'Cellular' blaring from the living room.
In the morning, I rose with my usual cheeriness that sets my father immediately into 'breakfast mode.' Sausages with dijon mustard on the side, eggs made however I like, toast with our favorite Knott's Blackberry Jam and a full glass of V8 juice. It is always the highlight of my weekend to have my father fawn over me so, despite the fact that I rarely have the stomach for breakfast. He takes such delight in this task that I rarely protest, but when I do, he will retort with the notion that I am a 'growing girl.'
"Dad, I've stopped growing nearly ten years ago. The only way I'm growing now is outward."
"Calliete y come ('shut up and eat')."
It was nearly noon before my mother devised a plan to wake up her sister who was still in deep repose in the spare room. We opened the door and the two of us peered in, smiled at each other and began to sing as annoyingly as humanly possible a song from the movie 'Dancing In The Rain,'
"Good morning, good MORNing! You've slept the whole night through. Good morning, good MORNing, good morning TO YOU!"
We could hear Sharon grumbling beneath her covers and I believe she threw something at the door as my mother and I swiftly retreated back into the living room. We laughed; Sharon cursed. Fun was had by (nearly) all.
At any rate, the point of this post was supposed to go back to the fact that I had a great week this week. Although I had misjudged the date for my Sociology exam, I managed to scrape up an 86% which is a solid B. I am rather disappointed as I know I would surely have scored at least a 93% if I had not been such a dolt with my schedule, but I shall not entertain any thoughts of regret; only improvement.
My Sunday studies proved fruitful as I garnished another A on my Politics exam (commence fervent applause) which encouraged a hot little 'happy dance' number and many a blank stare on the way out to my car on Thursday. Later that day, I ventured into Milwaukee to study with a friend of mine at UWM for my Graphics Communication exam the next day and was surprised to be 'serenaded' by his guitar/drums/piano playing abilities (there, you have officially been mentioned, Sut).
She shoots. She SCORES! I made quite the ruckus in class as our professor handed back my exam with a neat 100% written at the top.
That's two As in one week, folks.
And I owe it all to the superb group of mentors at Carroll College who have made my continued education an absolute success. I find myself wanting to study and wanting to learn because of this wonderful group of elite professors who will never be forgotten and will most likely be written about in my first publication. Hey, I have to give props to anyone who claims the ability to keeping me in on a Saturday night. Wonders never cease...