Familia & Beowulf

I woke up at 8 this morning to the electronic drone of my roommate's alarm clock. My first thought was what happened to my alarm clock? The night before, I set it to go off at 7:30, but I never heard it. Well, the answer was fairly simple. I forgot to change the time zone . . . again (see Wingless Soar). I guess it was lucky that my roommate and I have class at the same time.

I managed to get up and get out with enough time to have a quick breakfast and still make it to my first class with time to spare.

 . . .

I apologize. I'm distracted. My roommate is watching tv and I keep typing the words that their saying on the show. So, if my language suddenly resembles the vocabulary of a teenage girl with boyfriend and best friend issues, now you know why.

My first class of the day was Modern Latin American history in Robinson Hall. Unlike what most people were expecting for the first day of class, the professor didn't simply hand out a syllabus, spend a few minutes going through the text, and then release us early. Instead, Professor Kanter, a small Chicago woman with a Russian Jewish background, started showing us photos from different times in Latin America's history and asked us to determine where the photograph was set, when, why, and who was in the picture or what the people's relationship was to each other. In every case, the theme was family, because it was and still is such an important part of Latin American culture. It was an interesting exercise because it forced me to pay attention to the details behind the picture. What are the people wearing? Is there a city behind those pictured or are they indoors? Is it an engraving, a picture, or a photograph? I never thought of those aspects of visual works. Now every time I see a picture, I can't help but ask these questions. I guess that's a good thing.

My second class wasn't until after noon, so I spent the hours between classes in my study spot, well, studying. I guessed right on which text was the main one for my history class, so I had already read the introduction that was assigned for Wednesday. But that wasn't the only thing assigned, so I had plenty of things to read. I was even able to have a small conversation with a freshman named Jerry who was a political science major and history minor. Turned out his younger sister's name was also Nora.

From my Brit Lit classroom

British Literature I began at 2:10 in Vulgamore Hall (which I keep wanting to call Voldamort Hall), and it was the class people were expecting. We received our syllabi, went through it, and were dismissed with the assignment to read the first ten pages of the introduction (which smart me did on Saturday : D ) . . . and the first 1250 lines of Beowulf . . . by tomorrow . . . At least the poem is interesting and I didn't have to read it in Middle English or Old English.

At 6:30, after six hours of total studying, I was ready for tomorrow and mostly ready for my Wednesday history class. I still have a short paper to write, and I need to memorize all the countries of Latin America and their capitals. And yet, here I am still up at midnight. *sigh* So it begins . . .

Good-bye laziness

Classes begin tomorrow. At 9. No late night for me tonight, hence I'm writing this at a much more reasonable hour.

Today was the day for people to get their books, and for those of us who like to enter class knowing a little bit of what to expect, it was the day to curl up in a chair or couch or bed and read. We transfers only had one session to attend today. One about sexual assault and sexual harassment. I was expecting another comedian or a stern, long-winded lecture. Instead, my college once again surprised me. The guest speaker was an attorney (so he was a very good speaker) and right away he told us that he wasn't going to stand up there and tell us what the difference was between date rape and drunk sex. No, he was going to stand up there and present to us a case he once prosecuted as though we were the jury, and it was our job to decide whether the defendant was guilty of sexual assault or not. It led to a very interesting debate, because after telling us the facts of the incident, he answered questions, and finally, after we voted, he had people stand up and tell us why we chose guilty or not guilty. I was pleasantly surprised how many of the immature freshmen believed that the guy in the story was guilty. It certainly wasn't a straight forward case. There was no violence, just poor judgement and a few (5!) too many Everclear Jello shots. At the end of the attorney's speech, someone from the college stood up and read the fine print. Releasing us with the warning that every year someone on this campus accuses someone else of sexual assault or harassment. Lovely. Not that I'm worried. The innocent KC events are enough of a party for me. I have no intention of going anywhere near the frats in the area. I can hear their music just fine from my safe little dorm room, so all you adults reading this, put down your phones and release that breath before your faces turn any more red.

I spent the rest of the afternoon until dinner studying for the classes I have on Tuesday, having already begun the books for my Monday classes. One of those Tuesday classes I'm really looking forward to is a Faulkner seminar. I started reading both The Sound and The Fury and As I Lay Dying, and I'm finding both of them fascinating! His way of writing takes a little getting use to. He's not so inclined to use description, but relies on dialogue to let the reader know what's going on, at least that's how it is in The Sound and The Fury. I'm looking forward to reading more, but not today. Tonight there are no events planned, so I'm going to use my last free evening before classes start to watch some T.V. and eat saltless popcorn. Yum?

Is it really only day two?

Yes, I am going to writing every day. Or I'm going to try. If you don't want to follow every day of my life, I will post a weekly digest on Sundays summarizing the week. Not this Sunday, because that would be a summary of three days and silly. But starting next week, check Sundays for the digest.

How can it only be the end of day two? I feel so comfortable here that it seems like I've been here for weeks. People see me on the Quad or in the halls and address me by name, saying 'hey' as though they've known me for a semester, not only a day. It seems like it should be weird, awkward, confusing, but I'm feeling none of those emotions (because you can't feel, as Jemma is no doubt thinking). But it's more than that. When I'm feeling emotionless, I'm waiting for something. I'm tense, and my mind is running a thousand thoughts a minute. I'm preparing, anticipating. This, this isn't like that. This isn't a quiet before the storm this is . . . this is peace. This is knowing that I belong here. Because there isn't a doubt in my mind to the contrary. In two days, nay, in one day, this place has become my home.

Anyway, today.

It cooled off nicely during the night, but I still was unwilling to climb beneath my heavy comforter. It wasn't quite that chilly . . . yet. Despite the hum of the two fans placed strategically in the room, it was too quiet and I dug out my iPod, fumbled in the dark until I could locate my headphones and went back to bed with the Red Hot Chilly Peppers cooing in my ear. I woke up several times during the night. I'm not sure why. I never woke up and wondered where I was. I feel at home here. I wasn't too hot. I just would wake up. Still, when my growling stomach finally drove me out of bed around 11:30 (it was not pleased that I slept through breakfast), I was refreshed despite the restless night.

My first and only session of the day was at one, so I had plenty of time to eat a leisurely lunch and pick up my textbooks from the bookstore—somehow my $400 worth of books fit neatly into an average sized shipping box—before the session began. Of course, being the over-achiever that I am, I brought one of my books with me, reading about Latin America as I walked from my dorm, up the steps beside the dinning hall, and across the Quad to the chapel.

Today's session was about discrimination. Or that was what it was supposed to be about. Actually, it was more about listening to people and taking the time to acknowledge those you walk by on the street or in the hallway. Once again, my campus found a very interesting speaker. He is a theater major named Mikey Something who goes from school to school giving this talk, much as Randi did yesterday. He started out funny, pulling people in, then suddenly, his message became clear: remember that sometimes what society says you're supposed to do is not always what you need to do. For example, you're around a friend who is making fun of someone because they are gay or Mexican or Muslim. Well, what you're supposed to do in honor of your friend is laugh right along with him/her. But what you need to do is speak up. Tell him/her that what they are doing is rude/immature/discriminatory. More than a few of the rowdy freshmen sitting in front of me dropped their heads (and yes, a few dropped their heads over cell phones, but not all of them had cells in hand). I think the message got across once again.

I didn't return directly to my dorm after. I had a book with me! Instead, I went in search of some of those cozy, quiet study places I was introduced to by Sean, the tour guide my dad and I had back in February. I slipped into the KC (the student center) and climbed up four flights of oak-colored wooden stairs as quietly as I could in flip-flops. When I reached the top, I opened the door onto a perfect little nook cradled by comfy chairs and a couch. A large half-circle window bathed the area in rainy sunlight. It is now my favorite study spot.

Eventually, I came to a stopping point in the Latin America book, and with a shelf-full of other books to read, I headed back to my dorm to gather the next book from my Monday classes: The Broadview Anthology of British Literature, volume 1, The Medieval Period. My roommate was watching T.V. in our dorm, which was fine. I planned on reading in the large common room that all the dorms on this floor surround. I figured it would be a good place to meet people, if any people felt so obliged to come over and say 'hi.' I did become re-acquainted with the two of the three fellow Mitchell residence I met on the morning I moved it. Liz is on the same floor as me and I was able to meet her roommate, Chrissy (I think that's her name), who Olivia (who is not in this building) said was the girl to know on campus because she headed the campus tours for freshmen and new students. The one guy I knew, Ken, was also there, but he's two floors down from me. From how much I ran into him today, though, I don't think it will be hard to keep in touch. After that, I was left uninterrupted. People passed me, but they kept apologizing for disturbing me. I guess studying isn't the way to invite people to strike up a conversation.

Peppermint lip balms

Tote bag

The day ended with a carnival, of sorts. Around 8, I trudged back over to the KC and was forced to wait for several minutes before the carnival actually opened, even though it was scheduled to start at eight. Albion time, as Ken told me the first day. A little like homeschooler time, it seems. Anyway, the carnival was fun. I made lip balm from peppermint extract so it feels like Burt's Bees, which I love but can't use because it has soybean oil in it. I also made a tote bag. Well, no, correction, I designed a tote bag. There was no assembly required. The line for designing a tote bag was very long and moved very slowly. That was actually okay, because it gave me time to meet a freshman named Karry (pronounced Katy). She's from New York, the Bronx, specifically, and was recruited to come to Albion. She's also a psychology major (Alesha, my roommate, is the other one I know) and wants to start a business where she can work completely one-on-one with people, but she's not sure if she is able to do it. We spent the whole evening together: designing totes, making another lip balm, attempting to play Sorry, and enjoying a competitive couple of games of Connect Four. Finally, I walked her back to her dorm and we talked about college. In the end, we exchanged numbers and are quite possibly going to study together. Look at that. Day two and Nora has already made a friend.

What could her last free day before classes start possibly bring?

And so it begins . . .

I moved into my dorm at Albion College today. I met my roommate. I went through all the steps. I'm sitting at my desk writing this, in fact. And yet, am I really here? How can I be in Michigan? How can this whole college experience really be happening? These questions floated around in my head as I showered in the small (but mostly private) bathroom I share with my roommate and the dorm next door. How is this real?

My day, my first day of 'real' college, began early this morning. My parents moved me mostly in around 9. I was shooting for earlier so that we would be able to run the last errand to top-off the list of supplies I needed, but there was a small mix up and the person who was supposed to be at my dorm to give me my student ID and check me in wasn't around. It took meeting a couple of my building-mates and a call to Residential Life to straighten things out. But we managed and soon I was dumping boxes onto the wood-framed bed of a reasonably sized dorm room. The room looked, well, empty, but not in a neglected or lonesome way. Instead, it presented itself as a blank slate for my roommate and me to mold. And mold we did. It took a bit of heavy lifting (but what else are dad's and boyfriends for?) and a lot of failed attempts, but now our dorm room is organized in just the right way. There is plenty of space in the middle for the air to circulate through (very important because it can be stifling in here) and we both managed to fit everything we needed.

Then it was time to say good-bye. In all honesty, I was dreading this moment. The moment when the mom burst into tears and said "we'll miss you!" When dad's mostly predictable nature traversed a place neither of us had experienced. I was expecting tears and long, drawn-out, awkward good-byes. I was happily mistaken. I walked them down to the car (the elevator ride down gave me enough time to shake off the annoyance at my father's demand that I walk them to the car—what did he think I was going to do? Get dropped off and never leave my dorm again?). Behind the small, but surprisingly roomy new Honda Fit my parents purchased a week and a half ago at least partly for the long haul down to southern Michigan, my father grabs me in a short, but tight hug. My mom gives me a less manly version of the same good-bye, and that was it. That was the extent of the good-byes. I turned around, shedding the dread, and walked without a moment's hesitation, without a glance back, to my dorm room where I began to unpack. Slowly, the empty room became home.

Today was move-in day, but it was also introductions day, welcome ceremony day, and 'don't be stupid or this will happen' day. Since eight this morning, I've been going going. Jumping from meeting to ceremony, back to the room to unpack more to another meeting, and finally to a comedian's warning about drinking responsibly and keeping away from drugs. He was good. He was funny and I can see why the campus chose him to do the talk. His name is Randi Haverson (or something like that). He started Randi Speaks, where he goes from college to college giving the same drug/alcohol speech to first-year students. He also started Hero House (I think it's called) a step between rehabilitation and returning to college for those who have suffered from drug and alcohol addictions. His basic message was that we now have the power to make very big choices for ourselves, and we have to consider the consequences more now than ever before. It was a good message, and it seemed to get the attention of a lot of the freshmen.

Which reminds me, this college is full of freshmen. It makes me feel old, especially when the eighteen-year-old boys come over and start hitting on me. It makes me very happy that my status as a transfer student was discovered and I was switched to an upperclassmen dorm.

My first day here ended on a wonderful note. There were two guys in the student center playing pianos. They called them dueling pianos, but there really wasn't much competition, just about which player's side of the room was louder, smarter, more attractive. When I heard about it, I was picturing the piano equivalent of a rap battle, which it certainly wasn't. It was still a lot of fun. I was really glad I went. I got to hang out with people my age, found out that I fit in with the arty crowd much more than the sorority/fraternity crowd (no surprise there), and heard a lot of really fun music ranging every where from classic rock to Disney (I Can Show You the World, Hakunna Matata) to T.V. (The Fresh Prince of Ballare theme and Sponge Bob) to the tiger song from The Hangover. I'm really glad I ignored the comments of "lame" that were floating around when the night's entertainment was announced. My day ended (well besides this) with the piano players doing "American Pie." I couldn't think of a better way to complete day one.

This whole college, living away from home in a dorm with a stranger, being surrounded by campus life 24/7 still hasn't sunk in yet. I'm still wondering if this is real, half expecting to wake up and find myself in my bed at home dreaming all this up (I wouldn't have to buy toilet paper and there would be salt on the popcorn if this were a dream, though), but I'm not having any doubts. More I'm waiting. Watching. Experiencing. In a way, I feel like for the first time in a long time, I'm living—completely, purely, simply living. And I can't really say that's a bad place to be in.

Wingless SOAR

Registration for SOAR (Student Orientation, Advising, and Registration) began at 8:15. I set the alarm on my iPod Touch to go off at 6:45, allowing me plenty of time to go back to sleep for half an hour and still have enough time to make myself presentable for my debut to at least a fourth of the new students who would be attending Albion College come Fall. Then, I called a friend and spent a long and glorious time conversing. The conversation was stimulating, but I think it was more the sugar-filled car ride down to Michigan from Minneapolis, the vodka and Gingerale I had with dinner, and the b-vitamin-, caffeine- and guarana-packed beverage I had earlier that prevented me from going to bed until after 3. When I collapsed into bed, I couldn't help but wonder just how presentable an extra half hour of sleep would make me.

The panic-inducing drone of an alarm out of the Cold War nuclear scare broke through my sleep-deprived brain, dragging me from subconsciousness. And I had been having the most pleasant dream. I reached blindly beside me, lit up my iPod and turned off the alarm, checking the time on the top of the too-bright screen: 6:45. Perfect. I returned the device to the nightstand, rolled over, and pulled the covers up closer to my chin for another half hour of sleep.

My phone screamed its jingle from the desk across the room not five minutes later. There was only one person who would be calling me this early: my father, my companion on this trek into my future. What did he want? I couldn't help but groan as I forced myself from the covers.

"Hello?" I said, more than half asleep.

"Are you ready?" inquired my father. "You wanted to leave at 7:45, right?"

"What?"

I'm suddenly very awake as I pivot to face the clock beside the bed. The angry red display answers my question: 7:48. Oh, right, time zone change. My phone and computer made the switch automatically, but my iPod didn't. Oops.

"Actually, I just woke up," I admitted sheepishly, staring at my muddled reflection in the mirror.

"You what?"

I repeated my confession.

"Well, Nora," he proclaimed, slightly exasperated. "Why don't you call me—no, better yet, I'll just meet you downstairs."

"Okay." I hung up, and started shedding clothing as I made my way into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Thunder suddenly boomed outside. The hotel room went dark. Power failure. Great. Just great.

We made it to Albion College located one town over at 8:24. It took us another five minutes to find a parking space, and a further ten minutes of slogging through pouring rain while huddled beneath the umbrella I thought to pack before we finally broke down and asked someone where we had to be. The woman politely directed us to Kellogg, the student center and the very first building we past.

Kellogg was one of the reasons I chose Albion. It is a gorgeous building with a soothingly darkened interior. Something about the place reminds me of an old library, or even a cathedral. The main hall is lined in silver mail boxes. A lounge with enticing easy chairs, couches and window seats shares the main entrance with the college bookstore which is run by Barnes & Noble—and I'm only budgeting $40/week allowance. Hmm. The calm that the building breathed the first time I was here was drowned by the busy chatter of dozens of students filling out forms, discussing plans with parents, and waiting in line. My father and I split up. I headed to the student registration table to gather my name tag and packet, while my father did the same at the parents' tables. When I finally made it through the throng with my paperwork, my father was no where in sight. Oh well. My stomach was growling, as his probably was, as well. I headed outside and stopped off at the next building over to get my photo taken for the ID card on my way to Baldwin Hall and the dining room.

At 9:30, I limped over to the science building to meet up with my group. An older woman with blond hair and a pleasantly over-weight build was holding up a number 14 in the middle of the hallway. By this time, the flats I had chosen to wear were soaked and doing a grand job of rubbing my heels raw. I politely asked the woman where I might acquire a band-aid and if I had time to retrieve one before the session started: Student Health Services and no, probably not. She suggested that I just take off the shoes. We were on carpet after all, but somehow going barefoot in a hallway full of shod teenagers didn't appeal to me. I resigned myself to walking as though I were wearing heels. I'd get a band-aid after the session.

The first session comprised of an ice breaker where we discovered intriguing things about each other. We were all transfer students, which was nice because most of us were sick of hearing about the First-Year Experience and being in college for four years. The ice breaker was a game of bingo. Each box had a question and you had to find someone other than yourself who answered 'yes' to the question. For example, "Do you own a red car?" or they were simply statements: "Two people who played the same sport in high school." Unfortunately, I kept answering yes to questions without finding anyone else who qualified. Several people left a conversation with me to proclaim 'Bingo!' After we got to know each other a bit, the leader of our group (it turned out to be our advising group) spent the rest of the time talking about what was necessary to graduate. There was more than I expected. Not only did you have to take the classes assigned to your major, but you also had to fulfill certain Modes and Categories. Modes could be filled by classes we had taken previously and were transferring over, but Categories could not be. Also, Albion College graded classes with numerical grades and there weren't credits, but units. You could take no more than 4.5 units each semester unless you received special permission, and you needed a total of 32 units to graduate. Finally, we were each given our transcripts and the audit that explained which classes transferred. The packet also included a summary of what Modes our transfer classes had fulfilled. Mine had covered two of the three. Not ideal, but it wouldn't be hard to fulfill the three remaining Modes in four semesters. Or so I hoped. Most of my classes had transferred, as well. I already had 15 of the 32 units I needed!

I was released from the session early and made my way back to the dining hall for lunch. I was one of the first ones there and didn't have to wait long to get food. Few of the tables had been claimed, and I collapsed into a two person booth beside a planter filled with ignorable green things. They could've been hot pink, though, for all I noticed. My mind was filled with class possibilities. Okay, I had a 4.5 class limit each semester; I didn't want to do Summer school; I wanted to be done in two years; and I didn't want to take classes on Fridays. I'm hoping to make the Equestrian team and shows also happen on the weekends with travel or even shows on Fridays. After I had devoured my plate of soy- and dairy-laden food, I bussed my dishes and fetched the abridged class catalog from my messenger bag. By this time, my father had joined me, and as I tried to work out a class schedule, he ate and asked me questions I couldn't answer. I tried to keep the annoyance out of my responses, and I failed.

The next session was quiet. All of us spent the time trying to work out a schedule of classes that worked. The group leader gave us a full class catalog that included how many seats were still available for each class. I soon came to realize that my restrictions and the college's restrictions were incompatible. At most, I could take 18 classes under the college restrictions. I added up the units I needed from the two majors and one minor I wanted to accomplish: English = 9 units, Philosophy = 8 units, and a minor in History = 5 units: 22 units. Something would have to give. The only woman adviser in the group told me to give up on my Friday restrictions. After all, I was here to learn, not to compete. I found I didn't completely agree. Yes, I was at school to attain a degree, but I chose Albion because of its Equestrian Team. It's true, I may not make the team, but from the sound of it, basically everyone makes it. I felt the beginning bristles of disappointment lacing my mood. Finally, I came up with a schedule that I could live with. There were two history classes, an English Literature, and a Philosophy. I had arranged things so that I would have only one class on Fridays and it would be done before noon. It would work.

I left the room in search of my father once again. He wasn't hard to find, which was lucky because the atrium of the science center where we ran into each other was full of people. He asked me how the class selection went and if I had learned anything more. I gave a brief summary about how things had gone as I made my way to the cookie table in the center of the room. Unfortunately, his conclusion was that two majors and a minor was for crazy people. Drop the minor. When I continued to struggle with working out a class schedule, I had to admit that he was probably right, though I loathed giving up on part of my goal, but 17 classes was attainable, 22 was, well, crazy. I trekked back to the next session with a heavier heart. Reality had begun to sink in.

The first thing I did when I returned to the geology room where my group had been meeting was grab the attention of one of the advisers. I told him my goal: graduate in two years with a double major. He helped me put together a class schedule that comprised of two philosophy classes and two English classes. He left me staring at it. The disappointment in my chest tightened its hold. I had been so excited, so thrilled when I signed up for classes at Century College. There had been a piece of paper listing all the classes that fell under each category. It told you exactly how many classes you had to take in order to graduate with an Associate in Arts degree. It had been easy. It had been fun. I had spent months before hand planning which classes I would take each semester. This experience was nothing like that. This was frustrating. This was disappointing. I felt like I was lost. I would ask the advisers questions and they'd be unable to answer them: do any of my transfer classes count toward my majors or minor? Which ones? Is my goal possible?

It was time to register. We filed into a computer room and logged in after spending a noisy half hour sitting in a lecture hall being told how to register, how to check our financial aid, and other important college-related items. Because I was a transfer student, I got to be with the first group who registered. At the last moment, I changed my schedule. I may have to give up on the history minor in theory, but that didn't mean I couldn't take a history class. I snuck one of the earlier ones in, replacing one of the philosophy classes. I vowed to e-mail the history, English, and philosophy departments to find out if any of the several classes I took at Century qualified toward my degrees. Maybe I didn't have to give up on my plan just yet.

In the end, my schedule looks something like this:


HIST Modern Latin America: MWF 9:10-10
PHIL Ethics & Public Policy: TTh 10:10-11
ENGL British Literature I: MTWF 2:10-3
ENGL English Seminar: Faulkner: TTh 3:10-5

SOAR at Albion College didn't really soar for me. At Century, we were given a tour of the campus. At Albion, we were forced to scrabble from building to building. At Century, I felt ready and confident when I chose my classes. At Albion, I was left with a feeling of dread. It's possible that my biggest problem is that I'm comparing Albion to Century. Century was a community college. It was smaller, simpler. I wasn't choosing classes for a major, I was choosing for a two year degree. Yet, I don't think that's all there is to it. I'm not feeling any doubts or regrets about my choice. I do like Albion. It's a beautiful school. The people are great, even if they aren't great advisers. I have a feeling that next semester I'll have an easier time of choosing classes, because I'll know what to expect and I'll be able to talk to someone who can actually answer my questions ahead of time. This first semester is my trial run. It's my chance to get to know the campus, the college, and the curriculum. I have no idea what to expect right now, and as I rested my head on my pillow and gazed out the window of my little Saturn coupe daydreams (and the side effects of too much dairy, probably) threatening to transform the scenery into another reality, I realized that discarding the need for expectations was probably okay. After all, I would be starting a new chapter of my life come Fall, and new chapters are always more interesting if you leave expectations behind.

And the winner is...

There are times when the unexpected can be delightful. Last Fall, when I began this crazy journey to find a college to transfer to, I never expected that I would end up in a little, run-down town in southern Michigan.

After I visited the Albion College in February, I had an inkling feeling that I would end up going there. Things had just aligned themselves so well while I was there. I had already made a couple friends, the horse stables are actually on the campus, and I'm close enough to home that I can return for events that I really can't imagine missing—specifically the homeschool Shakespearean play group that I enjoy watching. I'm also close enough for my family and friends to visit, but far enough away that I can fully experience the independence that I've been craving. Still, I felt obliged to wait until now to officially choose because I still hadn't heard anything from the top two colleges on my original list: Roger Williams University and Sarah Lawrence College.

The process of elimination began about a month ago. I knew as soon as I was accepted into Seattle University that I wouldn't be attending Saint Cloud State University, so they were the first college to hear the word "no." (Though they're still sending me stuff, so apparently they are in denial, or maybe just desperate.) I wrote in a previous post that Seattle hadn't felt right to me. I felt unwelcomed there, despite that I liked the city and the college. After a few weeks of debate, I finally chose to eliminate them as well. Then the eliminations continued with a college in Oregon that I had never finished applying to because they never responded to an e-mailed inquiry about SAT/ACT scores, and finally, I notified SUNY-Binghamton, another college I never finished my application for. That left me with only my top three: Albion, which I fell in love with when I visited there over President's Day, Sarah Lawrence, and Roger Williams. A week ago, I decided that I would give the latter two another week to contact me, then on Friday evening I would make my decision, or book plane tickets to the East Coast.

On Friday, my cell phone rang while I was at work. Seeing that the caller was Diane, my helpful counselor at Roger Williams, I answered the phone. Diane informed me that the admissions council had just passed her a letter attached to my essay saying that I hadn't sent in an adequate essay. Upon request, Diane clarified: I hadn't correctly answered the question. The essay was supposed to be about a favorite book that influenced my writing. I hadn't talked about a favorite book. Well, I hadn't talked about a favorite book because I don't have one. Like a lot of writers, there isn't one book that influenced my writing. I opened my essay saying that, then preceded to talk about a favorite author and how her books influenced me. Diane said that this apparently wasn't acceptable to the council and that they were willing to grant me time to write another one that better answered the question. I told Diane, thank you, but no. I had decided that I would not be attending Roger Williams University. I had no interest in attending a college that was so inflexible they were unwilling to accept an essay that they considered beautifully written but didn't answer the question perfectly.

When I got home that night, there was no mail from Sarah Lawrence, and so, I am attending Albion College come August.

Dreams in Southern Michigan

Long before I'm finally getting down to writing this, I was accepted into both Seattle University and Albion College. In the last month and a half, I have managed to visit both of them and my conclusion upon returning from dreams of the none-to-distant future was not even close to what I was expecting.

My dream college has always been one on the coast, far from my parents and relatives not because I have issues with any of them, but because I want to be absorbed by the independence that living beyond a phone-call away would provide me. For this reason, my top three schools were Seattle University, Sarah Lawrence College in New York, and Roger Williams University in Rhode Island. However, visiting Seattle in January, I didn't feel the connection to the city or the college that I was hoping for. Seattle is a wonderful city. All of the people were adequately helpful and friendly and the college was intriguing. And yet, when I returned home, something about my journey didn't sit right with me. For the longest time I couldn't place it. I couldn't figure out what about Seattle had left me on edge. Then, upon writing a similar entry in my paper journal, I realized that I had left  feeling as though I had never been welcomed. The people of Seattle were more than welcoming, but the city itself felt closed and passive to me.

Then, a couple weeks ago now, my father and I trekked out to southern Michigan for an open house at Albion College. We chose to drive -- well, my dad did the driving, I spent most of the nine-and-a-half-hour trip day dreaming. By suggestion from one of the people working at Albion, we stayed at a Holiday Inn Express in Marshall, just fifteen minutes west of the town of Albion. Marshall was beautiful. We got to see a little of it the first night we were there when we went in search of a very late dinner. It's a collage of old houses and historic buildings. It was fairly easy to see that it got most of it's revenue from tourists. In fact, the last day we went into Marshall, we stumbled upon a Museum of Magic and promptly declared that even if I didn't end up at Albion College, we would have to come down to Marshall as a family some time.

The day of the open house didn't start well. Albion was no Northfield or Dinkytown. Instead, it was a junkyard of worn-out houses and lifeless store fronts. I was immediately put off. Northfield was the first college town I had ever experienced and I had fallen in love with it. It wouldn't surprise me if that's really what I'm looking for in my college search. I was disappointed, as was my father. Then we turned onto the campus of Albion and suddenly the whole town seemed to come to life! Snow lay over everything, but people trotted between cheery tan buildings. Entering the registration building for the open house, I was greeted and directed to a large room utterly filled with people. Looking down upon the open floor of a sky-lit hall, I saw professors speaking with students about the departments they were representing. I saw high school students greeting fellow seniors. Joining the melee, I immediately was greeted by a counselor who, upon hearing that I was also from Minnesota, introduced me to a girl from Morris. We exchanged e-mails and our fathers chatted about carpooling. Yikes! Slow down, I thought. I haven't made any decisions yet!

The first session began and I fell into company with a fellow creative writer and a theater/music major also named Nora. In the first session of the day, I was told by a professor of theater that at Albion, not only will all your professor's know your name, but they'll know your dorm room, and your roommate. If you skip class, they're going to know why whether you tell them or not. During a student run panel, I was over whelmed by the dozens of clubs that Albion provided students. Everything from an Equestrian Club to knitting to anime. I made the acquaintance of an Albion freshman who had wanted to go to New York because she couldn't stand the north midwest cold, and yet she found herself here, in Michigan, and she loved it. She was studying Japanese (a language I intend to study) and she offered to direct me to the next place I had to go: lunch.

In the lunch room, I met up with my father and we eventually claimed a seat. The Nora I had met before soon joined us and the parents once again got to talking. Suddenly, I felt myself slipping. The dreams of being a student here that I had never experienced in Seattle were suddenly manifesting within my mind. I reminded myself that I hadn't heard from or seen Sarah Lawrence yet, and the dreams settled.

I was doomed when I saw the Equestrian Center.

The stables for the campus are five minutes away. Easily walkable in finer weather, and only a call to campus security away any other time. My dad and I accidently drove past it the first time, but when we came to the end of the twisted driveway, I felt like I had been transported to the finest stable in Europe. The place was a massive collection of white buildings filled with windows and blue trim. Inside it was airy enough that someone with the most horrendous allergies could probably breathe without wheezing. A heated VIP viewing room granted four picture-window portraits of the largest indoor arena I had ever seen. It was big enough to hold a full blown dressage ring at one end and still have room for a complex jumping course at the other. It was in this room that George, the British riding instructor, and Daneille, the non-British instructor, told the tour group of which I was a part of, about the British Horse Society certificate that Albion also offers. The certificate would allow the bearer to teach lessons, manage a stable, or be a groom throughout the US, Canada, and nearly every country in Europe. They went on to explain about the shows that Albion's Intercolligiate Equestrian Team goes to, how easy it is to get on one of the teams, how rewarding it is to compete in Albion's schooling shows which add up to a $5,000 pot in April, and, if all that wasn't enough, Danielle took us on a tour of the rest of the stables. By the time we had returned to the VIP room, I had forgotten how to breathe. It was too much. A dream. A fantasy. There couldn't possibly exist a college this perfect! Once more I reminded myself that I hadn't seen Sarah Lawrence yet. SLC also had a very prestigious Equestrian complex. I had seen pictures online of it. You didn't have to try out for SLC's team either. However, there was one more thing that Albion had to offer. No, there was no dress code at Albion. Breeches and tall boots were suggested, but not required. . . at SLC each student had to wear a polo with the name of the stable on it, tall boots, and tan breeches. I climbed back into the car, my mind reeling. I couldn't keep the dreams at bay any more. They budded, blossomed and grew, nourished further by the private tour Sean, a junior at Albion, took my dad and I on for our last excursion before heading back to Marshall for dinner.

Maybe I just won't get accepted into SLC. I can't imagine myself having to choose.

Then, just this past weekend, I was once more involved in the homeschool community's Shakespearean Youth Theatre. On and off for the past several years, I have helped this theatre group by doing hair. Doing it this time -- the last time -- I realized how much I was going to miss it. Then I realized how much it would pain me to be so far away from the friends and life I have created here. A life that I would be unable to come home and visit. If I went to school in New York or Rhode Island, I wouldn't be able to come home for a weekend in February to watch these people's acting grow. That thought hurt. And just like that, a little college in southern Michigan, nearly as far from the east coast as Minnesota, shot to the top of my list.