I thought about entitling this post "Short and Sweet," but "Short and Bitter" is probably more accurate.
10 yrs ago: Just to make Sarah feel even older, I was only 11 ten years ago, just receiving my acceptance to Hogwarts.
5 Things on my list of things to do today: 1.Wake up, 2.Get dressed, 3.Take a nap, 4.Play Text Twist with Elisabeth until I have a headache, 5.Go to bed
Things I would do if I suddenly was a Billionaire: The same things I do now, except I would be rich.
3 of my bad habits: 1.Worry, 2.Procrastinate, 3.Worry
Places I have lived: SeaTac, Puyallup, WA; Rexburg, ID
Things most people don't know about me: I absolutely can't stand clichés.
Everyone I know that has a blog has already done this except for one person: Mom was already tagged, so I'll tag Dad.
23 February 2008
22 February 2008
So Much Depends...
I started responding to a comment, and then realized I could make a whole post about this very topic. So that's what I'm doing.
Names are a very interesting part of who we are. In many ways, they define who we are, sometimes dictating how we act, who we associate with, and how we are viewed by others and ourselves.
When I write fiction I take all of this into consideration. It is one of the many aspects about writing that can be so irritating, that makes writing so difficult. In a particular piece I'm working on right now, each name has been chosen with great care. I choose names differently depending on the character. Sometimes it's all about the meaning. Sometimes it's in the symbology. Sometimes it has to do with the way particular names sound and how they would affect the other characters. Sometimes it's about association. Names sometimes come to me in a moment of wonderful inspiration, like a stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. This happened in the case of the two main characters of the piece I'm currently working on. But this is a very rare occurrence. With all of the other characters, I've had to try out different names, sometimes several times, until I find just the right fit. Sometimes a name seems so perfect for a particular character, and then as I begin developing the character even more, it becomes so obviously the wrong name. As strange as it sounds, sometimes I place temporary names until the characters "tell" me what they want their names to be. It's a tricky business.
In "553," I chose names based on the way the names sounded. One syllable names such as John, Khord, and Ode all represent the stark world of a mental hospital and the one-sidedness of the characters. Edith, Alma, Irene, and Margaret, even Larry and Mrs. Wellington, have multi-syllable names to contrast with the starkness of the hospital.
So that's the short version of my naming process, at least the character naming process. Choosing a title is more difficult because so much depends on a title. After all, we really do judge books by their covers, and often by their titles.
Names are a very interesting part of who we are. In many ways, they define who we are, sometimes dictating how we act, who we associate with, and how we are viewed by others and ourselves.
When I write fiction I take all of this into consideration. It is one of the many aspects about writing that can be so irritating, that makes writing so difficult. In a particular piece I'm working on right now, each name has been chosen with great care. I choose names differently depending on the character. Sometimes it's all about the meaning. Sometimes it's in the symbology. Sometimes it has to do with the way particular names sound and how they would affect the other characters. Sometimes it's about association. Names sometimes come to me in a moment of wonderful inspiration, like a stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. This happened in the case of the two main characters of the piece I'm currently working on. But this is a very rare occurrence. With all of the other characters, I've had to try out different names, sometimes several times, until I find just the right fit. Sometimes a name seems so perfect for a particular character, and then as I begin developing the character even more, it becomes so obviously the wrong name. As strange as it sounds, sometimes I place temporary names until the characters "tell" me what they want their names to be. It's a tricky business.
In "553," I chose names based on the way the names sounded. One syllable names such as John, Khord, and Ode all represent the stark world of a mental hospital and the one-sidedness of the characters. Edith, Alma, Irene, and Margaret, even Larry and Mrs. Wellington, have multi-syllable names to contrast with the starkness of the hospital.
So that's the short version of my naming process, at least the character naming process. Choosing a title is more difficult because so much depends on a title. After all, we really do judge books by their covers, and often by their titles.
20 February 2008
553
I keep receiving requests for more writing. I am ashamed to say I do not have anything new, but that is today's project, to work on something new. Just in case I don't get this done today, I thought I'd post a fiction piece I wrote for a creative writing class in my second semester of school. For those who are familiar with literary short stories, I based it off of Gilman's "The Yellow Wallpaper." It was published in Outlet, the BYU-Idaho literary journal. I'm sorry for those of you who have already read this story, but it's the only other thing I have write now.
Stephanie says it's weird. Let me know what you think...
It is called, "553."
The black 1940 Sedan pulled into the circular gravel drive, and Edith looked out the window at the large red brick building with white Corinthian columns that stood before her. The car stopped, though she didn’t move for several seconds while the engine died. She reached for the handle, but John stopped her.
“No, darling, let me get it,” he said as he opened his own door. Edith clicked her tongue a few times against the roof of her mouth and closed her eyes as she drew in the sweet smell of John’s cologne that lingered in the warm car. “Come on, Edi,” John said as he opened her door and took her hand.
Together the couple walked up the front steps and into a massive hall that was empty except for one circular desk in the center of the room. A young nurse with flaming hair and lipstick to match sat reading Wuthering Heights, but she looked up as the pair approached the desk. “Yes’m?” she said in a nasally voice.
“I’m John Hock. I called several days ago about my wife,” John replied, motioning to Edith who stood admiring the spacious ceiling.
The nurse looked over to Edith, stared hard, then said, “Yes, Mr. Hock. Follow me.”
“Thank you,” John said, though he didn’t really sound thankful. He took Edith’s arm and led her down the hall behind the nurse. “Now, Edi,” he whispered to keep the nurse from overhearing. “I’m paying a lot of money to keep you here. They are very full at the moment. One problem and they could kick you out. Do you understand?”
Edith didn’t look at John, but stared straight ahead and nodded. The nurse led them down several long hallways, four flights of stairs, and down another long hallway. At last they found themselves standing before a brass ‘3’ that hung crookedly on a door. The nurse motioned John and Edith in and said, “The room is 553 but a previous tenant liked to rip the numbers off the doors and use them as weapons against the cleaning maids.” She chuckled and added, “Home sweet home.”
Edith sniffed as she walked in the room. “Full, huh?” she grumbled. The petite room had four empty beds crammed against the walls. Each bed had its own nightstand as well, and in the center of the room were a small table and four chairs. In one corner there were two large bureaus. How could John say this place was so full if there were four vacant beds in one room?
“Well, Edi, what do you think?” John asked encouragingly.
When Edith didn’t respond, the nurse said, “I’ll leave you two for a minute.”
Alone at last, Edith said, “John, is this really necessary? I mean, there may not even be a problem at all.”
“Yes, there is a problem, and I’ve heard that Dr. Khord is the best there is.”
“But why do I have to live here? Why can’t I stay with you?”
“I want you to have the best treatment. This place can give you that. Dr. Khord can give you that. I’ll come to visit. This is only temporary.” When Edith didn’t look convinced, he said, “I thought we discussed this already. You’ll be taken care of here in a way that I can’t take care of you by myself. It really is best that I leave you here.”
“I know, John. You’re right. I’ll stay.”
“Good.” John smiled slightly and looked around the room. “I think this will suit you well.”
There was a soft knock at the door and the nurse peered around the doorway. “Are you about done?”
“Yes,” The nurse’s head retreated, but left the door ajar. “Well, Edi, I’ll be up to see you in a while, all right?”
Edith nodded.
“Be good,” he said, taking her waist in his hands. He kissed her forehead and walked to the door.
And he disappeared. A few minutes later she watched sadly as the Sedan pull out of view. Her sadness was soon interrupted by the sound of feet at the door and a nurse preceded three women into the room. “I’m Nurse Ode,” the nurse said. “If you have any questions or need anything, just let me know. Mealtimes are at seven, noon, and seven, with snack at three. All your food will be brought to you. Periodically you will meet with Dr. Khord. Either I will come to collect you for your meetings. Other than that, you will stay in this room. There is a phone on your nightstand in case you need something. Dial your room number, 553, and I or another nurse on duty will respond. I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back at ten to check on you.”
Once the door closed behind Nurse Ode, one of the other women spoke. “I’m Alma Courdier, and this is Irene James and Margaret Hyatt. You can take the bed against the window.” From that point on, the three ladies went about their own business ignoring Edith entirely.
Edith sat on her bed and looked around the room. Margaret feverishly turned the pages of a dictionary and mumbled, “I know I left that bird in here somewhere. It was here just a minute ago.” Irene stood beside her bed and traced an invisible pattern on the wall with her fingertip. Alma, on the other hand, looked off into the air and began talking animatedly to imaginary friends named Larry and Mrs. Wellington. She looked over at Edith briefly and said, “Mrs. Wellington doesn’t like the way you’re looking at her.”
Quickly, Edith diverted her eyes and lay on her side facing the window. A lump swelled in her throat. This wasn’t as bad as it seemed, she kept telling herself. John had promised that everything would be all right. It was better this way.
At precisely ten o’clock, Nurse Ode returned and led Edith to Dr. Khord’s office on the first floor. It featured a modest reception room with two chairs in one corner next to a dieffenbachia with leaves that reached the ceiling, a desk that sat kitty-corner to the chairs where a blond nurse hunched over a stack of paperwork, and a plain wooden door next to the desk that had a little brass plaque that read in black letters, “Dr. Ackermade C. Khord – Psychiatry.”
“Louise, this is Edith Hock to see Dr. Khord,” Nurse Ode said before disappearing into the hall.
“Take a seat,” Louise said.
Edith only sat for a few minutes more before Dr. Khord emerged, smiling and holding a thick folder under his arm.
“Hello, Edith. I’m Dr. Khord.” He held out his right hand and Edith took it. “How do you do? Please come into my office.” Once the two of them were seated on either side of an oak desk he said, “Tell me what you think so far.”
Edith paused, weighing her options, and then decided, “I don’t like the other ladies in my room. They mutter to themselves. They have imaginary friends and they look for things that don’t exist.”
Dr. Khord took a sip from a mug, jotted some notes in a folder, and then said, “Do you know why you’re here?”
“John says I’m sick. He says I need to stay here until I get better.”
“How are you sick?”
She thought for a minute. “I’m not exactly sure what you mean. John is in medical school. He knows much more than I do.”
“Do you ever cough?”
“Not often.”
“Do you feel fatigued?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.”
Another sip from the mug. “Do you physically hurt anywhere?”
“No.”
“So how do you know you’re sick?”
“John just told me that I was sick and I needed to stay here until I got better.”
“Yes, Edith, I understand that. But why would John say you’re sick if you don’t feel sick?”
“He knows better than I do.”
“Hmm. Have you ever hallucinated?”
“No.” She paused, and then added, “Why are you asking all these questions?”
Dr. Khord smiled and said, “I’m trying to assess the situation. Obviously your husband feels that you are ill in some way. But if you don’t feel ill, it must be that you are ill mentally and not physically. Perhaps this is why John feels he cannot help you. He doesn’t quite understand the human mind enough to delve in and discover the great issues that you may be facing. My goal is to help you, Edith, not to harm you. You are a nice young woman. You’re still very young. I hope that with some of the latest treatment, I can fix these problems you’re facing so that you can be the wife you need to be; so that one day you may be fit to have children. Do you like children?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good. I think that’s all I want to talk about for now. Regrettably, I won’t be able to see you as often as I’d like because we’re so full right now and I must take priority on my patients that were here before you. But we’ll continue this conversation later.”
As Edith emerged from Dr. Khord’s office she found Nurse Ode leaning against one wall picking at her cheap fake fingernails and feverishly knowing on her gum. “Come on, then, we’ll just get back to your room.”
By the next Friday Edith hadn’t heard from John or Dr. Khord, and she had only seen Nurse Ode at mealtimes. Sitting on her windowsill, she peered at the grounds blow. A cherub stood in the center of a fountain, spitting water in a perfect arch to the pool below. But beyond the fountain, the fog clouded everything from view. Edith knew there wasn’t much to see anyway since the hospital was in the center of a great field. She drew her initials, “E.L.R.H,” with her finger in the condensation, and said to herself, “Edith Layne Ruddings Hock. Edith Layne Ruddings Hock.” Suddenly her heart wrenched at the thought of John. Perhaps life would have been simpler if she hadn’t married him. Would she still be in this place? She’d be living alone, that’s for sure, for both her parents were dead and her only living relative was an older brother, Napoleon, but she hadn’t seen him in five years. The fact was that she had married John, maybe more for his money than anything, but she had grown to love him over the last three years. He loved her too, even though he was older than her by ten years. And the sooner she could get out of the hospital, the sooner they could start a family.
Edith wiped the letters from the window with her sleeve and looked to see the reflection of a woman. “The name’s Alma Catherine Courdier. And who are you again?” the woman said.
“Edith.”
Alma raised one eyebrow skeptically. “Well, I just came over here to tell you that Mrs. Wellington doesn’t appreciate you taking up the whole window. A person could go insane without being able to see out the window. Do you understand? That means you need to move. You don’t see the rest of us hogging the window all day, do you?”
“I hadn’t noticed. See, I was just looking out to see if my husband was coming yet.”
“Oh, you’re married. I see. So in other words, you’re too high and mighty, too above us single women to scooch away from the window. Pardon me, Miss…or Mrs. Too-Good-For-You-People.” She stomped off.
Edith looked under her bed and found nothing but bear floor, then looked up again to find Irene standing next to her. “Can I help you?”
Irene just stared.
“Do you need something?”
Suddenly, Irene grabbed a large handful of Edith’s hair and yanked as hard as she could.
“OUCH! What did you do that for?”
Irene let go of the hair and stood, her face void of expression.
“Leave me alone.”
Irene went back to her bed as Edith nestled herself under her covers with Moby Dick.
Dinner came at precisely seven, which made Edith grateful. She inhaled her beef stew and cornbread and then sat beside her bed in front of a notebook, pen in hand. “Darling John—” She sat for a moment to think of what she should write. “I have just been through my first week here at the hospital. It has been different than what I expected. They are very full here, so I have to share my room with three other girls: Irene James, Margaret Hyatt, and Alma Courdier. Margaret seems pleasant enough, but already I’ve had run-ins with Irene and Alma. I hope that they’re just nervous about having a new roommate. Perhaps next week will be better. I look forward to seeing you. Love, Your Edi.”
When Nurse Ode came in to collect the supper dishes, Edith said, “Could you mail this letter to my husband?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” is all Nurse Ode said before she left.
Back to the window she went, though this time cautiously so as to not take up the whole window. Down in the driveway she saw the black Sudan, and John emerged, carrying a small brown parcel. “JOHN!” Edith called, but then she remembered that he couldn’t hear her through the glass while she was so many stories above him. She ran to the door, but it was locked, so she went to the phone and dialed 553.
“Yes, Edith, what can I do for you?” It was Nurse Ode.
“John’s here! He’s here! Can I meet with him somewhere other than in my room? I just don’t want the other ladies to be bothered by him.”
“No, you need to stay in your room. It’s almost time for bed.”
“But John is here!”
“Edith, hang up the phone now; it’s time to go to bed.”
“But it’s not even eight o’clock!”
“Edith, hang up the phone.”
Edith slammed the phone on the receiver and crossed her arms. Margaret, Irene, and Alma all stared at her in alarm. Finally, Margaret broke the silence. “Don’t get so angry. They love you, and you don’t have to worry about what other people think of you. You are a beautiful woman. Don’t let some megalomaniac tell you any different.”
Edith felt her anger rising and wanted nothing more than to sock Margaret in the jaw. She thought better of it, however, and dressed for bed instead.
The next morning Edith awoke to find Nurse Ode shaking her. “Edith, you have another meeting with Dr. Khord as soon as you’re ready. I’ll be waiting just outside the door for you.”
Edith dressed quickly and in a matter of minutes was being ushered into Dr. Khord’s office once again.
“How are you this morning, Edith?”
“I’m tired. Nurse Ode usually doesn’t wake me.”
“Yes, but this is the only time I’m available to meet with you for several weeks, so I thought I’d better take advantage of it. What I want to do today is talk about your childhood.” He opened a tan folder sitting in front of him and thumbed through a several papers. “This record shows that you are an orphan. Who were you raised by?”
“I raised myself.”
“Who did you live with while you were growing up?”
“First Aunt Regina, then Aunt Vera, and then Napoleon.”
“And Napoleon is your brother. I understand he’s quite a bit older than you.”
“Fifteen years older.”
“Is he married?”
“No. He’s very poor. And once he couldn’t support me anymore, he sent me to work as a maid for John.”
“And you’ve been married for three years?”
“Yes.” Edith took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think of John anymore. “Are we done?”
“Nearly. How are you roommates?” He thumbed through his papers
“They’re crazy.”
Dr. Khord drew in a deep breath. “How do you know?”
“Are you suggesting I’m crazy?” Edith said, affronted.
“I’m not suggesting anything.”
“I don’t think I’m going crazy! I said I thought the other women were crazy!” she raged.
“Edith, if you can’t calm down I’ll have you escorted back to your room. I advise you to control your temper.”
“But I…I’m sorry. I just don’t understand why I’m here and why I was put in a room with insane people.”
“You said John thought you were sick. Do you feel sick?”
“No, I feel fine,” she said with resentment.
“Did you think that because John said you are sick, you are?”
“I…I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”
“You seem out of sorts. Do we need to reschedule this meeting?”
“That’d be good.” Edith stood but paused at the door. “When is John stopping by again?”
Dr. Khord looked perplexed. “I’m not sure.”
“I want to see him! Why does everyone think I don’t want to see him? I love my husband! You can’t keep him from me!”
Dr. Khord interrupted. “Enough, Edith! I’m sure you do love your husband. But right now is not the time to discuss this any further while you’re so worked up. Now, it’s time to return to your room.”
Several weeks went by as Edith sat on her bed looking out the window, for the other women were too occupied talking to invisible people to take notice of the lonely girl in the corner. Almost two months had past before John’s Sudan pulled into the drive once again. She ran to the phone, but Irene had picked it up and was intently examining the earpiece. “Irene, I need to make a call,” she said, but Irene made no effort to give her the phone.
“Irene, dear, did you hear Edith? She wants to make a call,” Alma hollered from the other side of the room.
“IRENE! GIVE HER THE PHONE!” This time it was Margaret who yelled in somewhat of a dreamy tone.
There was a knock at the door. “Okay, forget it. Just hush,” Edith said as she ran to the door and opened it. “JOHN!” She threw her arms around his neck.
“Edi, please,” he said, quietly through his beet-red face. “Not in front of these women.”
“Sorry, John. I was just excited to see you. Did you get my letter?”
“No. Did you write one?”
“Maybe it’s still in the post.”
“That could be.”
“Why don’t you come in, John, and sit on my bed?”
“I’m in a hurry. I just wanted to make sure they were treating you well here.”
“I guess as good as any hospital. Any word on how much longer I’ll be in here?”
“I’m really not sure. Don’t worry about that right now. You’ll be released when Dr. Khord feels you’re ready to be released.” Footsteps were coming down the hall. “I better go, Edi. You take care. Don’t tell Dr. Khord about this, or anyone else. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Why would I get—“
“Edi, just be good. I’ll see you later. I have to do.”
In an instant, John had vanished around the corner just as Nurse Ode came into view. Edith slammed the door and ran to the window. John had already managed to get to his car and was just pulling away when Nurse Ode opened the door.
“Time for dinner.”
One morning Edith awoke, looked around the room, and gasped. Alma, Margaret, and Irene weren’t there. Blood covered her sheets, her hands, the blankets on the other beds, the bureau, and the walls. All the drawers on the bureau had been pulled out and the clothing that had once been in them was gone. Her own clothing was strewn about the room, spattered with blood. Broken glass from the frame that once held a picture of John was scattered on her bed and the floor. Perhaps it had been a burglar and she had slept right through it.
In a panic, she wrapped her robe around her, found a pin in her hair, and picked the lock on the door. She ran down the four flights of stairs as silently as possible, somehow evading any nurse or guard that might have been wandering through the corridors. At last she arrived at Dr. Khord’s reception room. She opened the door and found Louise deeply involved in her paperwork, so she crept past and opened Dr. Khord’s office door.
Dr. Khord was pouring over a large folder of documents, but as Edith entered, he looked up and removed the glasses that had been perched on the tip of his nose. “Edith, is something the matter?”
Gasping for breath, she began, “I woke up this morning and found my room torn apart! I think there’s been a kidnapping!”
“Who’s been kidnapped?” Dread filled Dr. Khord’s face.
“My roommates! They’ve been attacked or something! And now they’re missing!” She broke down in tears.
“Okay, okay. Sit down Edith, and let’s talk.”
“There’s no time for that! We have to find them!”
“Edith, it’s all right. We’ll figure this out,” he said calmly. He then glanced down at Edith’s hands which were placed in her lap. “Is that blood?”
“I think so!”
He went to her and pushed her sleeves up her arms a little. Long lacerations ran from her wrists to the backs of her elbows. “How did this happen?”
“I don’t know…I don’t remember!”
Pulling the sleeves back down, Dr. Khord let out a long slow breath. He opened the door a crack and hollered out, “Louise, would you come here for a moment? Who are the other tenants from Edith Hock’s room? That’s H-O-C-K.”
Louise riffled through some pages in a book that sat before her and said, “Edith is the only resident in 553.”
“And I gave no relocation authorization.”
Edith leaned over to peek at the papers on Dr. Khord’s desk and began chanting the title quietly. “Relocation authorization, relocation authorization, relocation authorization.” This seemed to calm her nerves.
“That’s a little scary,” Louise said, looking at Edith’s arms.
“Scary Jerry. Scary Jerry Larry Barry Harry Mary, Carrie,” Edith muttered. She was suddenly feeling relaxed, almost elated.
“Edith?” Dr. Khord said quietly. He was squatting right in front of her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine...And you?”
Unsure of how to respond, Dr. Khord cleared his throat and said, “Will you take me to your room?”
She nodded and the two of them walked down the several long hallways, up the four flights of stairs, and eventually came to the ‘3’ door. Dr. Khord opened it and said, “After you…”
Edith walked in and found the room just as torn apart as it had been. She began hyperventilating. “See, Dr. Khord? The other women are gone!”
Dr. Khord’s face became whiter as he took a walkie-talkie from his belt and said, “Louise, I need some assistance here…And call Mr. Hock.” He then looked to Edith. “How about you just lay right here on the bed for a minute?”
“Is everything okay, Doctor?”
“Yes, you just look a little pale. Just lay here on the bed and don’t talk.”
Edith knelt on her bed and looked out the window. Parked in the driveway was the 1940 Sedan.
“Dr. Khord, John’s here! He’s here! Look out the window! He’s come for me! Take me to him!”
Again, Dr. Khord put the walkie-talkie to his lips. “Louise, get up here now!”
“Dr. Khord, please let me see John!” She lunged for Dr. Khord, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on as if he were keeping her from falling off a cliff.
“LOUISE!”
The door burst open. Louise jabbed a needle into Edith’s leg. Her body went limp.
“Thank you Louise,” Dr. Khord said regretfully as two guards came running in and lifted Edith onto a stretcher. “I was afraid this would happen if I left her too long.” He looked out the window down to the empty gravel drive.
Stephanie says it's weird. Let me know what you think...
It is called, "553."
The black 1940 Sedan pulled into the circular gravel drive, and Edith looked out the window at the large red brick building with white Corinthian columns that stood before her. The car stopped, though she didn’t move for several seconds while the engine died. She reached for the handle, but John stopped her.
“No, darling, let me get it,” he said as he opened his own door. Edith clicked her tongue a few times against the roof of her mouth and closed her eyes as she drew in the sweet smell of John’s cologne that lingered in the warm car. “Come on, Edi,” John said as he opened her door and took her hand.
Together the couple walked up the front steps and into a massive hall that was empty except for one circular desk in the center of the room. A young nurse with flaming hair and lipstick to match sat reading Wuthering Heights, but she looked up as the pair approached the desk. “Yes’m?” she said in a nasally voice.
“I’m John Hock. I called several days ago about my wife,” John replied, motioning to Edith who stood admiring the spacious ceiling.
The nurse looked over to Edith, stared hard, then said, “Yes, Mr. Hock. Follow me.”
“Thank you,” John said, though he didn’t really sound thankful. He took Edith’s arm and led her down the hall behind the nurse. “Now, Edi,” he whispered to keep the nurse from overhearing. “I’m paying a lot of money to keep you here. They are very full at the moment. One problem and they could kick you out. Do you understand?”
Edith didn’t look at John, but stared straight ahead and nodded. The nurse led them down several long hallways, four flights of stairs, and down another long hallway. At last they found themselves standing before a brass ‘3’ that hung crookedly on a door. The nurse motioned John and Edith in and said, “The room is 553 but a previous tenant liked to rip the numbers off the doors and use them as weapons against the cleaning maids.” She chuckled and added, “Home sweet home.”
Edith sniffed as she walked in the room. “Full, huh?” she grumbled. The petite room had four empty beds crammed against the walls. Each bed had its own nightstand as well, and in the center of the room were a small table and four chairs. In one corner there were two large bureaus. How could John say this place was so full if there were four vacant beds in one room?
“Well, Edi, what do you think?” John asked encouragingly.
When Edith didn’t respond, the nurse said, “I’ll leave you two for a minute.”
Alone at last, Edith said, “John, is this really necessary? I mean, there may not even be a problem at all.”
“Yes, there is a problem, and I’ve heard that Dr. Khord is the best there is.”
“But why do I have to live here? Why can’t I stay with you?”
“I want you to have the best treatment. This place can give you that. Dr. Khord can give you that. I’ll come to visit. This is only temporary.” When Edith didn’t look convinced, he said, “I thought we discussed this already. You’ll be taken care of here in a way that I can’t take care of you by myself. It really is best that I leave you here.”
“I know, John. You’re right. I’ll stay.”
“Good.” John smiled slightly and looked around the room. “I think this will suit you well.”
There was a soft knock at the door and the nurse peered around the doorway. “Are you about done?”
“Yes,” The nurse’s head retreated, but left the door ajar. “Well, Edi, I’ll be up to see you in a while, all right?”
Edith nodded.
“Be good,” he said, taking her waist in his hands. He kissed her forehead and walked to the door.
And he disappeared. A few minutes later she watched sadly as the Sedan pull out of view. Her sadness was soon interrupted by the sound of feet at the door and a nurse preceded three women into the room. “I’m Nurse Ode,” the nurse said. “If you have any questions or need anything, just let me know. Mealtimes are at seven, noon, and seven, with snack at three. All your food will be brought to you. Periodically you will meet with Dr. Khord. Either I will come to collect you for your meetings. Other than that, you will stay in this room. There is a phone on your nightstand in case you need something. Dial your room number, 553, and I or another nurse on duty will respond. I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back at ten to check on you.”
Once the door closed behind Nurse Ode, one of the other women spoke. “I’m Alma Courdier, and this is Irene James and Margaret Hyatt. You can take the bed against the window.” From that point on, the three ladies went about their own business ignoring Edith entirely.
Edith sat on her bed and looked around the room. Margaret feverishly turned the pages of a dictionary and mumbled, “I know I left that bird in here somewhere. It was here just a minute ago.” Irene stood beside her bed and traced an invisible pattern on the wall with her fingertip. Alma, on the other hand, looked off into the air and began talking animatedly to imaginary friends named Larry and Mrs. Wellington. She looked over at Edith briefly and said, “Mrs. Wellington doesn’t like the way you’re looking at her.”
Quickly, Edith diverted her eyes and lay on her side facing the window. A lump swelled in her throat. This wasn’t as bad as it seemed, she kept telling herself. John had promised that everything would be all right. It was better this way.
At precisely ten o’clock, Nurse Ode returned and led Edith to Dr. Khord’s office on the first floor. It featured a modest reception room with two chairs in one corner next to a dieffenbachia with leaves that reached the ceiling, a desk that sat kitty-corner to the chairs where a blond nurse hunched over a stack of paperwork, and a plain wooden door next to the desk that had a little brass plaque that read in black letters, “Dr. Ackermade C. Khord – Psychiatry.”
“Louise, this is Edith Hock to see Dr. Khord,” Nurse Ode said before disappearing into the hall.
“Take a seat,” Louise said.
Edith only sat for a few minutes more before Dr. Khord emerged, smiling and holding a thick folder under his arm.
“Hello, Edith. I’m Dr. Khord.” He held out his right hand and Edith took it. “How do you do? Please come into my office.” Once the two of them were seated on either side of an oak desk he said, “Tell me what you think so far.”
Edith paused, weighing her options, and then decided, “I don’t like the other ladies in my room. They mutter to themselves. They have imaginary friends and they look for things that don’t exist.”
Dr. Khord took a sip from a mug, jotted some notes in a folder, and then said, “Do you know why you’re here?”
“John says I’m sick. He says I need to stay here until I get better.”
“How are you sick?”
She thought for a minute. “I’m not exactly sure what you mean. John is in medical school. He knows much more than I do.”
“Do you ever cough?”
“Not often.”
“Do you feel fatigued?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.”
Another sip from the mug. “Do you physically hurt anywhere?”
“No.”
“So how do you know you’re sick?”
“John just told me that I was sick and I needed to stay here until I got better.”
“Yes, Edith, I understand that. But why would John say you’re sick if you don’t feel sick?”
“He knows better than I do.”
“Hmm. Have you ever hallucinated?”
“No.” She paused, and then added, “Why are you asking all these questions?”
Dr. Khord smiled and said, “I’m trying to assess the situation. Obviously your husband feels that you are ill in some way. But if you don’t feel ill, it must be that you are ill mentally and not physically. Perhaps this is why John feels he cannot help you. He doesn’t quite understand the human mind enough to delve in and discover the great issues that you may be facing. My goal is to help you, Edith, not to harm you. You are a nice young woman. You’re still very young. I hope that with some of the latest treatment, I can fix these problems you’re facing so that you can be the wife you need to be; so that one day you may be fit to have children. Do you like children?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good. I think that’s all I want to talk about for now. Regrettably, I won’t be able to see you as often as I’d like because we’re so full right now and I must take priority on my patients that were here before you. But we’ll continue this conversation later.”
As Edith emerged from Dr. Khord’s office she found Nurse Ode leaning against one wall picking at her cheap fake fingernails and feverishly knowing on her gum. “Come on, then, we’ll just get back to your room.”
By the next Friday Edith hadn’t heard from John or Dr. Khord, and she had only seen Nurse Ode at mealtimes. Sitting on her windowsill, she peered at the grounds blow. A cherub stood in the center of a fountain, spitting water in a perfect arch to the pool below. But beyond the fountain, the fog clouded everything from view. Edith knew there wasn’t much to see anyway since the hospital was in the center of a great field. She drew her initials, “E.L.R.H,” with her finger in the condensation, and said to herself, “Edith Layne Ruddings Hock. Edith Layne Ruddings Hock.” Suddenly her heart wrenched at the thought of John. Perhaps life would have been simpler if she hadn’t married him. Would she still be in this place? She’d be living alone, that’s for sure, for both her parents were dead and her only living relative was an older brother, Napoleon, but she hadn’t seen him in five years. The fact was that she had married John, maybe more for his money than anything, but she had grown to love him over the last three years. He loved her too, even though he was older than her by ten years. And the sooner she could get out of the hospital, the sooner they could start a family.
Edith wiped the letters from the window with her sleeve and looked to see the reflection of a woman. “The name’s Alma Catherine Courdier. And who are you again?” the woman said.
“Edith.”
Alma raised one eyebrow skeptically. “Well, I just came over here to tell you that Mrs. Wellington doesn’t appreciate you taking up the whole window. A person could go insane without being able to see out the window. Do you understand? That means you need to move. You don’t see the rest of us hogging the window all day, do you?”
“I hadn’t noticed. See, I was just looking out to see if my husband was coming yet.”
“Oh, you’re married. I see. So in other words, you’re too high and mighty, too above us single women to scooch away from the window. Pardon me, Miss…or Mrs. Too-Good-For-You-People.” She stomped off.
Edith looked under her bed and found nothing but bear floor, then looked up again to find Irene standing next to her. “Can I help you?”
Irene just stared.
“Do you need something?”
Suddenly, Irene grabbed a large handful of Edith’s hair and yanked as hard as she could.
“OUCH! What did you do that for?”
Irene let go of the hair and stood, her face void of expression.
“Leave me alone.”
Irene went back to her bed as Edith nestled herself under her covers with Moby Dick.
Dinner came at precisely seven, which made Edith grateful. She inhaled her beef stew and cornbread and then sat beside her bed in front of a notebook, pen in hand. “Darling John—” She sat for a moment to think of what she should write. “I have just been through my first week here at the hospital. It has been different than what I expected. They are very full here, so I have to share my room with three other girls: Irene James, Margaret Hyatt, and Alma Courdier. Margaret seems pleasant enough, but already I’ve had run-ins with Irene and Alma. I hope that they’re just nervous about having a new roommate. Perhaps next week will be better. I look forward to seeing you. Love, Your Edi.”
When Nurse Ode came in to collect the supper dishes, Edith said, “Could you mail this letter to my husband?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” is all Nurse Ode said before she left.
Back to the window she went, though this time cautiously so as to not take up the whole window. Down in the driveway she saw the black Sudan, and John emerged, carrying a small brown parcel. “JOHN!” Edith called, but then she remembered that he couldn’t hear her through the glass while she was so many stories above him. She ran to the door, but it was locked, so she went to the phone and dialed 553.
“Yes, Edith, what can I do for you?” It was Nurse Ode.
“John’s here! He’s here! Can I meet with him somewhere other than in my room? I just don’t want the other ladies to be bothered by him.”
“No, you need to stay in your room. It’s almost time for bed.”
“But John is here!”
“Edith, hang up the phone now; it’s time to go to bed.”
“But it’s not even eight o’clock!”
“Edith, hang up the phone.”
Edith slammed the phone on the receiver and crossed her arms. Margaret, Irene, and Alma all stared at her in alarm. Finally, Margaret broke the silence. “Don’t get so angry. They love you, and you don’t have to worry about what other people think of you. You are a beautiful woman. Don’t let some megalomaniac tell you any different.”
Edith felt her anger rising and wanted nothing more than to sock Margaret in the jaw. She thought better of it, however, and dressed for bed instead.
The next morning Edith awoke to find Nurse Ode shaking her. “Edith, you have another meeting with Dr. Khord as soon as you’re ready. I’ll be waiting just outside the door for you.”
Edith dressed quickly and in a matter of minutes was being ushered into Dr. Khord’s office once again.
“How are you this morning, Edith?”
“I’m tired. Nurse Ode usually doesn’t wake me.”
“Yes, but this is the only time I’m available to meet with you for several weeks, so I thought I’d better take advantage of it. What I want to do today is talk about your childhood.” He opened a tan folder sitting in front of him and thumbed through a several papers. “This record shows that you are an orphan. Who were you raised by?”
“I raised myself.”
“Who did you live with while you were growing up?”
“First Aunt Regina, then Aunt Vera, and then Napoleon.”
“And Napoleon is your brother. I understand he’s quite a bit older than you.”
“Fifteen years older.”
“Is he married?”
“No. He’s very poor. And once he couldn’t support me anymore, he sent me to work as a maid for John.”
“And you’ve been married for three years?”
“Yes.” Edith took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think of John anymore. “Are we done?”
“Nearly. How are you roommates?” He thumbed through his papers
“They’re crazy.”
Dr. Khord drew in a deep breath. “How do you know?”
“Are you suggesting I’m crazy?” Edith said, affronted.
“I’m not suggesting anything.”
“I don’t think I’m going crazy! I said I thought the other women were crazy!” she raged.
“Edith, if you can’t calm down I’ll have you escorted back to your room. I advise you to control your temper.”
“But I…I’m sorry. I just don’t understand why I’m here and why I was put in a room with insane people.”
“You said John thought you were sick. Do you feel sick?”
“No, I feel fine,” she said with resentment.
“Did you think that because John said you are sick, you are?”
“I…I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”
“You seem out of sorts. Do we need to reschedule this meeting?”
“That’d be good.” Edith stood but paused at the door. “When is John stopping by again?”
Dr. Khord looked perplexed. “I’m not sure.”
“I want to see him! Why does everyone think I don’t want to see him? I love my husband! You can’t keep him from me!”
Dr. Khord interrupted. “Enough, Edith! I’m sure you do love your husband. But right now is not the time to discuss this any further while you’re so worked up. Now, it’s time to return to your room.”
Several weeks went by as Edith sat on her bed looking out the window, for the other women were too occupied talking to invisible people to take notice of the lonely girl in the corner. Almost two months had past before John’s Sudan pulled into the drive once again. She ran to the phone, but Irene had picked it up and was intently examining the earpiece. “Irene, I need to make a call,” she said, but Irene made no effort to give her the phone.
“Irene, dear, did you hear Edith? She wants to make a call,” Alma hollered from the other side of the room.
“IRENE! GIVE HER THE PHONE!” This time it was Margaret who yelled in somewhat of a dreamy tone.
There was a knock at the door. “Okay, forget it. Just hush,” Edith said as she ran to the door and opened it. “JOHN!” She threw her arms around his neck.
“Edi, please,” he said, quietly through his beet-red face. “Not in front of these women.”
“Sorry, John. I was just excited to see you. Did you get my letter?”
“No. Did you write one?”
“Maybe it’s still in the post.”
“That could be.”
“Why don’t you come in, John, and sit on my bed?”
“I’m in a hurry. I just wanted to make sure they were treating you well here.”
“I guess as good as any hospital. Any word on how much longer I’ll be in here?”
“I’m really not sure. Don’t worry about that right now. You’ll be released when Dr. Khord feels you’re ready to be released.” Footsteps were coming down the hall. “I better go, Edi. You take care. Don’t tell Dr. Khord about this, or anyone else. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Why would I get—“
“Edi, just be good. I’ll see you later. I have to do.”
In an instant, John had vanished around the corner just as Nurse Ode came into view. Edith slammed the door and ran to the window. John had already managed to get to his car and was just pulling away when Nurse Ode opened the door.
“Time for dinner.”
One morning Edith awoke, looked around the room, and gasped. Alma, Margaret, and Irene weren’t there. Blood covered her sheets, her hands, the blankets on the other beds, the bureau, and the walls. All the drawers on the bureau had been pulled out and the clothing that had once been in them was gone. Her own clothing was strewn about the room, spattered with blood. Broken glass from the frame that once held a picture of John was scattered on her bed and the floor. Perhaps it had been a burglar and she had slept right through it.
In a panic, she wrapped her robe around her, found a pin in her hair, and picked the lock on the door. She ran down the four flights of stairs as silently as possible, somehow evading any nurse or guard that might have been wandering through the corridors. At last she arrived at Dr. Khord’s reception room. She opened the door and found Louise deeply involved in her paperwork, so she crept past and opened Dr. Khord’s office door.
Dr. Khord was pouring over a large folder of documents, but as Edith entered, he looked up and removed the glasses that had been perched on the tip of his nose. “Edith, is something the matter?”
Gasping for breath, she began, “I woke up this morning and found my room torn apart! I think there’s been a kidnapping!”
“Who’s been kidnapped?” Dread filled Dr. Khord’s face.
“My roommates! They’ve been attacked or something! And now they’re missing!” She broke down in tears.
“Okay, okay. Sit down Edith, and let’s talk.”
“There’s no time for that! We have to find them!”
“Edith, it’s all right. We’ll figure this out,” he said calmly. He then glanced down at Edith’s hands which were placed in her lap. “Is that blood?”
“I think so!”
He went to her and pushed her sleeves up her arms a little. Long lacerations ran from her wrists to the backs of her elbows. “How did this happen?”
“I don’t know…I don’t remember!”
Pulling the sleeves back down, Dr. Khord let out a long slow breath. He opened the door a crack and hollered out, “Louise, would you come here for a moment? Who are the other tenants from Edith Hock’s room? That’s H-O-C-K.”
Louise riffled through some pages in a book that sat before her and said, “Edith is the only resident in 553.”
“And I gave no relocation authorization.”
Edith leaned over to peek at the papers on Dr. Khord’s desk and began chanting the title quietly. “Relocation authorization, relocation authorization, relocation authorization.” This seemed to calm her nerves.
“That’s a little scary,” Louise said, looking at Edith’s arms.
“Scary Jerry. Scary Jerry Larry Barry Harry Mary, Carrie,” Edith muttered. She was suddenly feeling relaxed, almost elated.
“Edith?” Dr. Khord said quietly. He was squatting right in front of her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine...And you?”
Unsure of how to respond, Dr. Khord cleared his throat and said, “Will you take me to your room?”
She nodded and the two of them walked down the several long hallways, up the four flights of stairs, and eventually came to the ‘3’ door. Dr. Khord opened it and said, “After you…”
Edith walked in and found the room just as torn apart as it had been. She began hyperventilating. “See, Dr. Khord? The other women are gone!”
Dr. Khord’s face became whiter as he took a walkie-talkie from his belt and said, “Louise, I need some assistance here…And call Mr. Hock.” He then looked to Edith. “How about you just lay right here on the bed for a minute?”
“Is everything okay, Doctor?”
“Yes, you just look a little pale. Just lay here on the bed and don’t talk.”
Edith knelt on her bed and looked out the window. Parked in the driveway was the 1940 Sedan.
“Dr. Khord, John’s here! He’s here! Look out the window! He’s come for me! Take me to him!”
Again, Dr. Khord put the walkie-talkie to his lips. “Louise, get up here now!”
“Dr. Khord, please let me see John!” She lunged for Dr. Khord, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on as if he were keeping her from falling off a cliff.
“LOUISE!”
The door burst open. Louise jabbed a needle into Edith’s leg. Her body went limp.
“Thank you Louise,” Dr. Khord said regretfully as two guards came running in and lifted Edith onto a stretcher. “I was afraid this would happen if I left her too long.” He looked out the window down to the empty gravel drive.
10 February 2008
I Love to See the Temple
Many of you know that I have been staying with a family, the Samuelsons, for about a week and a half. They do not have high-speed internet, but they do have a good wireless signal from the school. I haven't been able to get it to work on my laptop, though. It has been driving me nuts! So, finally I figured out that my computer was trying to use the wrong program to connect. Once I figured that out, I just had to change the default setting, and now I have no problems connecting.
My life has not been exciting. Pathetic is more like it. The Samuelsons have been so good to me. I am grateful that they are here and so able to help. I have become a little sister (again!) to Elisabeth, who is 21 as well. We have a great time together. Although they have an a spare bedroom, I sleep on a mattress on the floor in Elisabeth's room. She has been so gracious in sharing her space. Shauna (Sister Samuelson) has become another mother, which is just what I need. We watch "What Not to Wear" and "Cash Cab" together during the day, and she makes sure I take my medication and eat three meals a day. . . . She won't let me leave the house unless I've eaten breakfast, and even if it's time for the next meal and I haven't eaten, she'll make sure I eat two meals. Brother Samuelson makes sure I'm included in family scripture study and prayer, he checks up on me a few times a day, and he gives me occasional friendly reminders to do my English 370R homework. . . . He's the teacher.
Last night I was able to go to the Cultural Celebration for the Rexburg Idaho Temple. Elder Nelson and Elder Bednar were both there with their wives. I was at the earlier performance, but I think President Monson was at the later performance. Too bad. It was quite a big production. It basically went through the history of Rexburg from the time the pioneers came here to settle to now. There was singing and dancing and videos to tell the story. They talked about how the conditions were for the pioneers, then about the beginning of Ricks Academy. They talked about a big fire in West Yellowstone that several students helped with and, of course, the dam flood. They then talked about the expansion of Ricks College and BYU-Idaho, and then about the construction of the temple and how it is a fulfillment of the prophecy made my Wilford Woodruff so many years ago.
This morning I went to the first of four sessions of the dedication. I was in the Kirkum Auditorium on campus for the dedication. President Monson, of course, presided, and he was accompanied by Elder Nelson, Elder Bednar, and Elder Costa (Presidency of the 70). President Eyring was supposed to be here, but he broke his ankle and was not allowed to travel. President Monson proved that he has the same sense of humor as President Hinckley when they were sealing the cornerstone. He is a great man, and I am so glad he was able to be here for this.
So, I guess that's all for now. I'll try to keep you all updated if more happens. Maybe I'll start going on hot dates and get engaged in my spare time. Or not. I don't have a very good record. I just realized that now that I am 21, I have been on one date every seven years of my life. Three dates, divided by 21 years. Pathetic, huh? Oh well. Some day. Maybe.
29 January 2008
This just in!
By no stretch of the imagination would I ever claim to like Scroll, but yesterday I was able to get a glimpse of why real journalists like their work. Because of the recent passing of President Hinckley, Scroll decided to do an insert in this week's issue (that came out today) about President Hinckley's life. This meant we had an extra five pages put on us at the last minute. We were scrambling all day trying to get the paper ready to go to press. We were able to convince our gracious printers to give us a deadline extention so we could do the extra pages, but that just meant we all (or at least copy and a small handful of editors) had to stay late. I think it turned out all right, but we were sure in a rush to get it done. And we still got it to the printers late.
So while I was in the Scroll office last night, we began talking about the Rexburg Temple dedication, and how that might be affected by President Hinckley's passing. He, as well as several other apostles, were supposed to be in attendance. We started having a long discussion about when the funeral would be, an item we certainly wanted to be able to print on the front page. Brother Warnick, the i-Comm advisor, said, "Who can we call? I'll be back." He came out of his office a few minutes later and said, "President Hinckley's funeral will be on Saturday, as per his request so that people wouldn't miss work to attend." So then the inevitable question of the temple dedication came up. Who would dedicated the temple on Sunday? Again, Brother Warnick left, this time for a little longer, and came back, grinning ear to ear. He hardly made it into the office when he burst out, "This just in! The temple dedication has been postponed until the following Sunday!" We all asked how he found out, and he said, "I have friends in high places." He is on a first-name basis with many of the Church public relations people. I'm sure that's how he found out. Anyway, it was a very busy but exciting night as we were among the first in Rexburg to know the news. I was excited to tell my FHE group that night something that I was positive they did not know yet. We went to our bishop's house for FHE last night, and he told us the news. When everyone said they already knew, he said, "How did you guys get word so fast?" I smiled and said, "I work for the newspaper."
We're still not sure how all the details will be worked out as far as who will be in attendance now, but we're still excited for the dedication. There may be some upset brides (the temple is already booked months out), but I'm sure they'll get over it. They have no other choice.
So while I was in the Scroll office last night, we began talking about the Rexburg Temple dedication, and how that might be affected by President Hinckley's passing. He, as well as several other apostles, were supposed to be in attendance. We started having a long discussion about when the funeral would be, an item we certainly wanted to be able to print on the front page. Brother Warnick, the i-Comm advisor, said, "Who can we call? I'll be back." He came out of his office a few minutes later and said, "President Hinckley's funeral will be on Saturday, as per his request so that people wouldn't miss work to attend." So then the inevitable question of the temple dedication came up. Who would dedicated the temple on Sunday? Again, Brother Warnick left, this time for a little longer, and came back, grinning ear to ear. He hardly made it into the office when he burst out, "This just in! The temple dedication has been postponed until the following Sunday!" We all asked how he found out, and he said, "I have friends in high places." He is on a first-name basis with many of the Church public relations people. I'm sure that's how he found out. Anyway, it was a very busy but exciting night as we were among the first in Rexburg to know the news. I was excited to tell my FHE group that night something that I was positive they did not know yet. We went to our bishop's house for FHE last night, and he told us the news. When everyone said they already knew, he said, "How did you guys get word so fast?" I smiled and said, "I work for the newspaper."
We're still not sure how all the details will be worked out as far as who will be in attendance now, but we're still excited for the dedication. There may be some upset brides (the temple is already booked months out), but I'm sure they'll get over it. They have no other choice.
26 January 2008
A Special Note
I decided since I haven't written for so long, I'd get it all out now, so forgive me. So here is how to read all of this: read this post first, then "Frostbitten," then jump down to the post entitled "Happy Deathday to Me!" and work up from there. I know it's weird, but that's kind of the flow.
I also added a new list of books that I have read this semester. So far, I would recommend all of them. I don't know what I'll do if I read a book I don't like. I'll try to keep this list updated as I finish a book (or maybe just once a week), for all of you looking for something good to read. Many of them are young adult novels from my young adult literature class, but some of them are also from my Christian author's class.
I also added a new list of books that I have read this semester. So far, I would recommend all of them. I don't know what I'll do if I read a book I don't like. I'll try to keep this list updated as I finish a book (or maybe just once a week), for all of you looking for something good to read. Many of them are young adult novels from my young adult literature class, but some of them are also from my Christian author's class.
Frostbitten
Yes, I am alive! I know it's been forever since I've updated my blog, and I haven't been so great about keeping in contact with people. The guilt finally got to me, and I figure this is a much easier way of letting everyone know about my life than trying to track down everyone. Maybe one of these days you'll get a personalized email, or if you're really lucky (or unlucky, depending on how you look at it), a phone call.
Rexburg has definitely seen its share of cold fronts, although we may not yet be done for the year. This last Tuesday I walked from my apartment to class in the Hinckley Building, a joyous half-hour walk, in -27 degrees, though according to weather.com, the wind made it feel like -36. The news stations were reporting that it hasn't been this cold since 1987. All the schools in the area were canceled--oh, but of course not BYU-Idaho. There is a group of students working on trying to make it so that when it gets to a certain temperature classes will be canceled, but I don't think anything will come of it.
If you haven't been in weather this cold, consider yourself lucky. I am grateful for layers and for the warm new coat I got for Christmas. Down is warmer than you'd think, though once you get down into the negatives, it doesn't matter what you wear--it's still just plain cold. Your fingers, toes, nose, ears, eyelashes--everything--feels as though it will fall off. Your hair freezes if it's close to your mouth. Your body groans, every inch in pain, and you're sure each step will be your last. No matter how many layers you wear, how long you bury yourself in the library, how many cups of hot chocolate you drink or bowls of soup you eat, you can't escape it. So far I have been able to dodge the frostbite demon, but I did have a few little scares a time or two.
For now, we have lots of snow, about two feet in the places where it hasn't been scraped or walked on, and the sun is out. Actually, we're lucky enough to be at 24 degrees right now! I'm tempted to put on some shorts! I almost didn't wear a coat to Scroll this morning. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. After it's been so cold, 24 degrees feels like summer.
Rexburg has definitely seen its share of cold fronts, although we may not yet be done for the year. This last Tuesday I walked from my apartment to class in the Hinckley Building, a joyous half-hour walk, in -27 degrees, though according to weather.com, the wind made it feel like -36. The news stations were reporting that it hasn't been this cold since 1987. All the schools in the area were canceled--oh, but of course not BYU-Idaho. There is a group of students working on trying to make it so that when it gets to a certain temperature classes will be canceled, but I don't think anything will come of it.
If you haven't been in weather this cold, consider yourself lucky. I am grateful for layers and for the warm new coat I got for Christmas. Down is warmer than you'd think, though once you get down into the negatives, it doesn't matter what you wear--it's still just plain cold. Your fingers, toes, nose, ears, eyelashes--everything--feels as though it will fall off. Your hair freezes if it's close to your mouth. Your body groans, every inch in pain, and you're sure each step will be your last. No matter how many layers you wear, how long you bury yourself in the library, how many cups of hot chocolate you drink or bowls of soup you eat, you can't escape it. So far I have been able to dodge the frostbite demon, but I did have a few little scares a time or two.
For now, we have lots of snow, about two feet in the places where it hasn't been scraped or walked on, and the sun is out. Actually, we're lucky enough to be at 24 degrees right now! I'm tempted to put on some shorts! I almost didn't wear a coat to Scroll this morning. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. After it's been so cold, 24 degrees feels like summer.
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