Stubbs

I was always jealous of those girls who had perfectly painted nails that they could do themselves. I would practice and practice and still end up with smudges and paint all over my fingers. I have shaky hands apparently. Then I discovered clear nail polish and that is practically all I use on my fingers now. Helps to keep me from biting them and turning them into stubbs...

However, I DO love a good mani/pedi at a salon. I used to be slightly addicted to them in high school but then realized that I didn't really have the means of income in college to keep up the "mani/pedi" lifestyle. It seems like every salon you go to is the same. You walk in and you are inandated with the strong smell of acrylic nails and polish remover. Then a Koren woman shouts a greeting from the back of the room by the pedicure chairs and trys to upsell you on ever service they offer for "Only six dollar more." Click here to watch a video of Anjelah Johnson a comedian that talks about this whole experiece. It is quite funny.

I don't know why this experience is so great. Maybe it is because of the massage chairs, or the high you get from all the fumes when you leave. But, honestly, I think women just like to be pampered and pretty. And for those of us who can't "paint within the lines" this is a plesent change from the norm of clear polish and bitten nails.

My Fingernails

My fingernails are kinda ugly. They just aren't like pretty fingernails. Pretty fingernails (almost) fit the shape of the fake fingernails you can buy at the dollar store. Pretty fingernails are curved and thin. The grow out and look elegant.

My fingernails, on the other hand (rather, on both hands), are simply none of the above. My fingernails are barely curved. They lazily sit flat and grow flat. Short, square, wide fingernails don't grow out well, they grow out big, and the fake fingernails never fit.

I try to make them pretty (I constantly shove back my cuticles so that the nails look longer). Acutally, I usually just try to keep them from being noticed. That's why I haven't painted my fingernails in years. Painting my nails used to be one of my all time favorite things, but not for a while now. I didn't even bring any nailpolish to school this year.

Frequently, in the evenings, Angela, Marie, and I gather in their room (right next door to mine and Sara's) and spend time together. We talk about boys and pray for comfort and theorize about peace and play with each other's hair. One evening Angela and Marie had this great idea--"Let's paint our nails together."

We all sat down, I sat cross-legged on the floor with polish bottle secured close by and Marie and Angela were in their corresponding ready-to-paint positions (each girl has one, you know, for it is a percarious process--you wouldn't want to spill polish or mess up your nails by slipping and painting "outside the lines"). They smiled as I half-complained, "I don't really like to paint my nails since the polish always chips so quickly." And on we painted.

Heasitantly, I began to slowly but ever so steadily paint the deep red color onto my naturally naked fingernails.

Avoid the cuticle if possible. Not possible.
Oh, bummer! "Where's the remover. I got it on my finger."
Silence. Don't get too much paint on the brush. Ah, It's dripping!
"How's your day, Marie?"
Time for the right hand. Now you'll have to be extra careful painting with your clumsy left hand, Becs.
Why is the opening for the bottle so small?
Finished. Wave your hands around.
"What about you, Ang?"
Keep waving. They'll dry faster.
Just don't hit anything. Don't touch that yet.
"I'm fine. Doing really well, actually..."

For the first few days before the polish began to chip off I noticed my fingers. I really noticed them. And I didn't mind noticing. As I washed my hands, picked up a pencil, lifted a glass to my lips, twisted a door handle, put on my mascara... my hands looked elegant. Wherever they moved, whatever they did, my painted fingernails were pretty.

Football

Autumn brings back tons of memories. Some of my most fond memories are of watching OSU football games with friends and family. Countless times, In Columbus I have shouted "O-H" fondly replied by "I-O" from a random stranger. I have adored gray sweater vests for at least 7 years and can't get enough of "Michigan-is-stupid" jokes. However, this past season I see this tradition of engrossing myself in touchdowns and quarterbacks slipping through my fingers and I am not 100% why.

When I lived in Ohio and Indiana I was always the first one to be in the living room on the couch wearing my Scarlet and Gray at kick off. I think the decline might partially be because the OSU games aren't consistently aired on T.V. down here in the south. The only games you get are SEC stinking FL/Auburn/Bama games...OSU games are only aired when the Bucks are playing a major competitor, probably from the SEC. I also think, contributing to the down slide is the fact that EVERYONE down here is a massive Tennessee Vols fans. It's kinda gross. Let's just say I hate the color orange now.

However, I have come to the conclusion that the main reason I am not an avid watcher of the OSU football this season is because I don't have the family/friend support to do so. It is really tough being a Bucks fan by yourself down here with no one to eat chili with, cheer with, laugh with, cry with, and celebrate with. Non-Buckeye fans are very critical and angry with the Bucks for some reason. I know some of you are thinking, "Man, what a fair-weather fan." but I promise you I am not. My blood runs scarlet and gray no matter what part of the country I am in. Let me close with this about being a fan of The Ohio State University in the south... it's harder than it looks people. It's harder than it looks.

Where did the glory go?

Last year, utter "Autumn" to me and I'd be all bust lost in thoughts of the lovely crunchy leaves and the cider so pungent and hot it almost hurts as it goes down. I used to think of sweaters and firesides and books.

This year, Fall means cold. Since my first hell-freezing Chicago winter experience there is something inside of me that cringes at the thought of cold, and Fall means winter is almost here. The crunchy leaves will turn soggy from the sloppy, snowy sludge and I'll want that darn cider to burn so it'll defrost my frozen pipes. Those sweaters will have to be covered up by puffy coats, there's not a single fireplaces on campus, and all I'll have time to read are school books.

Is the glory of fall all but lost?

For the past few days I thought that my dread of winter had destoryed Autumn. . . until today. Today I woke up and loved the chill. Something in me said "This is a beautiful day." It isn't freezing yet, and I didn't have to wear a puffy coat. I got to be warm and cozy in my big sweater over my favorite simple black sweater. I didn't mind the sweaters. I wore a thin scarf I bought in Palestine and my trusty old brown shoes (inherited about 6 years ago on a winter retreat). Good pair of jeans. And I wasn't cold except for my nose. And I didn't mind that.

Fall's glory is in her bold, present existance--not where she's pointing. Fall, in its folksy way, draws us to the earth in her state of adaptation and shows the beauty of the in-between. It makes me want to be okay with the in-between. Like Emily said, it's not a time of dying. It is a time for Earth to show off her confidence in the process. May God grant us such a grace.

I know this is probably out of turn, but I thought I'd mention my favorite parts of fall....

Hot tea (Good Earth Spice). My cozy red sweater. Fires in the fireplace (now and then). Leaves turning gorgeous colors on trees - all the trees lining our street red - except for our yellow one (we are different). Leaves falling to the ground. Crinkly leaves on the walkway. Papa raking leaves with whomever will help. Slate grey skies with the sun peeking through every once in awhile and shining on colorful trees making them luminous. I really like trees.

Sorry, I'm ridiculously slow. But I promise I will be better. :)

Autumn is my favorite season of all time. It is beautiful everywhere you look. Some people say everything is in the process of dying but to me everything comes alive. The chilly air makes everything seem crisp and fresh. I want to linger outside as long as possible, taken in all the colors and crunching, crinkling, and swishing sounds. Even my breathe seems to want to linger longer than usually, leaving behind a trail of fog. Animals are active. Squirrels hurry in anticipation of the cold season to come. Dogs leap through piles of leaves, while dads shake their heads and rack them back together again. The perfect attire is appropriate for this weather. Jeans, sweaters/sweat shirts/long sleeves, boots/clogs, and curly hair. (Curls always look better in cold weather.) This is also the start of a new school year. To most kids this would suck but for me it means change. New teachers. New classmates. New subject matter. Sure after awhile all that becomes monotonous, but for those few blissful months, school is continually exciting. And with the new school year comes football! Standing beside friends pretending to watch your team battle it out with opposing school with a hot beverage in hand is always a high light of my week. Along with the leaves come pumpkins, and Halloween! Costumes do not need embellishing, because their magnificence is obvious (alternate identity for the night! *fist pump*)

All in all autumn is splendid. The sounds, the sights, feelings, and activities are all high on my favorites list. I'm sure if I could smell, the smells of autumn would be lovely.