134 Parker Street was my first home.
Sometime in early December of 1992, my parents brought me to this house, and I was home for the very first time. I was fresh and new then, a tiny, bald bundle of baby and light. We moved from this house a few months before my first birthday, so the closest thing I have to a memory from this house is recognizing it from a picture I've seen in a photo album of my parents, older brothers, and I on the small front porch. I did drive by it briefly a few summers ago, though, when I visited Maine with my parents and younger brothers.
27 Schoolhouse Lane is the first home I remember.
I had my first birthday on Schoolhouse Lane, complete with the traditional Greenhalgh family carousel cake. I often have a hard time sorting out which memories I have of this home are actually mine and which ones I think I remember because I've heard the stories told so many times. I've written about this before, in fact, but I've come up with a few more memories since then. I remember the grassy hill that separated our home from a wide expanse of woods. When it was windy outside, that hill was a prime kite flying spot. I remember the day a moose wandered into our front yard and put its front hooves up on our trampoline as though it were trying to climb on and squeeze in a quick jump before going back to doing whatever moose do. It was dinnertime, and we were eating soup. We had a large garden at this home, and my mom tells me I used to plop down by the peas and eat them straight off the plant. We moved from this home about six weeks after the birth of the triplets when I was just barely closer to my fifth birthday than my fourth
1407 Cayton Road was the home of my childhood.
I associate trees with this home. There were two pine trees in the back yard that were quite close together. We kids liked to play under and around them. There was an every larger tree on the side of the house. The branches started high up enough off of the ground that I could crawl under them as a small child and be completely hidden from the world. One year on Arbor Day, I got a tiny little sapling that we planted in the front yard. I don't think any of us expected it to amount to anything, but a few years ago, we drove by our Cayton home and were surprised to see a large, mature tree in the place where a tiny little twig with a few pine needles once stood.
1883 Farmhouse Way is where I stepped out of childhood.
It's the home of my teenage angst, which I'm sure my family would love to tell you about. It's the home where I had my graduation party, where I had my first kiss, and where I got accepted to college (not necessarily in that order). It's the home both of my older brothers departed from when they blazed the way to college and missions. It's the home I had to leave when it was my turn to make the trek to Provo. My parents and younger brothers still live here, so it's the place I visit at Christmastime. I call this home my Kentucky Home, because even though I don't live there anymore, it will always be home as long as my family is there.
222 Tingey Hall was my first home away from my family.
My first memory of this home took place at nighttime after a long day of travel. We dropped off some of my belongings before heading to my aunt's house to spend the night. I remember stepping into the room that was to be mine that contained a desk that wasn't mine and a bed that wasn't mine and a closet that wasn't mine and blank walls that certainly weren't mine. And for the first time ever, another person's belongings were in the room that was to be mine. And as I shoved a few suitcases into a corner, I felt a sinking sense of fear and dread that this place would never feel like mine. Thankfully, my pessimistic premonition was incorrect—that room became just as much mine as any other room I'd had. And having roommates was actually kind of nice, I found. Sometimes it was (and still is, really) overwhelming for me to live with girls after growing up with all brothers, but it's a unique blessing that I appreciate over and over again when I can come home to a friend to talk to about girl things.
910 N 900 E #104 is where I am now.
It's the first home I've had on a numbered street, which feels more grown up for some reason. In a lot of ways, this home has shaped who I am today more than any other home. The places I grew up with my family laid a foundation for my life; they helped me discover who I am at the core. But this home is where I've had the experiences that have helped me become that person. This is the home where I've dealt with the hardest trials, where I've doubted myself the most, and where I've experienced the darkest of my days. But it's also the place that's refined me, that's taught me how to feel true joy, and that led to meeting some of the most important people in my life. I don't know how much longer this will be my home (according to signed contracts it will be at least a year), but I know that no matter how much longer I stay here or where I go after leaving it, I wouldn't trade my life in 104 for anything. This home helped me become confident. It helped my become closer to my Heavenly Father. It helped me become me.
Showing posts with label from the files. Show all posts
Showing posts with label from the files. Show all posts
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Thursday, May 22, 2014
on going to an out-of-state university
NOTE: This post was originally written just after my freshman year of college when I was at home for the summer.
At my job as a temp in a warehouse, there are two distinct categories of employees: the college kids and everybody else. The college kids are the ones who are just looking to make a few bucks in-between semesters; they all quit within the first few weeks of August to scurry back to their respective universities. Obviously, I fall into this category.
Now, you may not believe it, but taking textbooks out of boxes, shrink wrapping them, and then putting them into new boxes doesn't generally tend to spark interesting talking points. Therefore, most Cengage employees try to make small talk in a (usually vain) attempt to distract oneself from the painful monotony of the job. Or, they just choose to remain taciturn and work with a robotic fury. Empty box, stack books, count books, send them down the line. In silence. Getting to my point now. The usual attempt at small talk directed toward the college kids starts a little something like this: "So, where do you go to school?" Actually, I corrected the grammar of the question for my own personal sanity. It's usually something more like "So where d'ya go ta school at?" Shudder.
I know what people are expecting when they ask me this question. They expect a comfortable, familiar answer. EKU. UK. NKU. UofL. They expect an acronym that has a K in it. But with or without the K, they expect a Kentucky school. My answer is not what they expect.
It didn't take me long to catch on to people's confusion when I delivered three letters that fit so neatly together in my mind, but generally sound foreign and clunky to my coworkers. And so I've learned to make a few adjustments to make the conversation move along a little faster. I'm half afraid, though, that people will think that the name of my school is Brigham Young It's in Utah University due to my impatient nature. You see, rather than wait of the inevitable "Where?" or "Never heard of it" that follows my answer to their question, I've learned to insert a geographical landmark in the same breath. Everybody wins this way, if you ask me, because I don't have to have quite as many questions asked of me and the questioner is spared feeling silly for not having heard of a fairly well-known university. People around here, I've found, generally tend to care very little about and/or be very unfamiliar with any location west of the Mississippi. Now I said I get asked fewer questions. My inquisitive coworkers still ask me such things as: Well, what are you doing in Kentucky? Why did you choose a school so far away? Isn't it lonely out there? and (my new personal favorite) So, do you do classes online or something?
I don't mind answering their questions (I grew up here and am home for the summer; recite LONG list of reasons why I chose BYU; No, not really; Uh. No. I live in Utah during the school year) but I still wonder sometimes why it's so odd to some people that I chose to leave the state to gain my higher education. I think this is a good time to point out the fact that I'm not bashing Kentucky schools. My home state has some fabulous universities that provide students the opportunity to get a good education. I didn't choose to leave Kentucky because I didn't think any of the schools were "good enough" for me or anything pompous like that. I chose BYU because it was the best fit for me; It offered everything that I was looking for in a university. It just happens to be 1,600 miles away from my hometown. And honestly? It is the best decision I could have made.
At my job as a temp in a warehouse, there are two distinct categories of employees: the college kids and everybody else. The college kids are the ones who are just looking to make a few bucks in-between semesters; they all quit within the first few weeks of August to scurry back to their respective universities. Obviously, I fall into this category.
Now, you may not believe it, but taking textbooks out of boxes, shrink wrapping them, and then putting them into new boxes doesn't generally tend to spark interesting talking points. Therefore, most Cengage employees try to make small talk in a (usually vain) attempt to distract oneself from the painful monotony of the job. Or, they just choose to remain taciturn and work with a robotic fury. Empty box, stack books, count books, send them down the line. In silence. Getting to my point now. The usual attempt at small talk directed toward the college kids starts a little something like this: "So, where do you go to school?" Actually, I corrected the grammar of the question for my own personal sanity. It's usually something more like "So where d'ya go ta school at?" Shudder.
I know what people are expecting when they ask me this question. They expect a comfortable, familiar answer. EKU. UK. NKU. UofL. They expect an acronym that has a K in it. But with or without the K, they expect a Kentucky school. My answer is not what they expect.
It didn't take me long to catch on to people's confusion when I delivered three letters that fit so neatly together in my mind, but generally sound foreign and clunky to my coworkers. And so I've learned to make a few adjustments to make the conversation move along a little faster. I'm half afraid, though, that people will think that the name of my school is Brigham Young It's in Utah University due to my impatient nature. You see, rather than wait of the inevitable "Where?" or "Never heard of it" that follows my answer to their question, I've learned to insert a geographical landmark in the same breath. Everybody wins this way, if you ask me, because I don't have to have quite as many questions asked of me and the questioner is spared feeling silly for not having heard of a fairly well-known university. People around here, I've found, generally tend to care very little about and/or be very unfamiliar with any location west of the Mississippi. Now I said I get asked fewer questions. My inquisitive coworkers still ask me such things as: Well, what are you doing in Kentucky? Why did you choose a school so far away? Isn't it lonely out there? and (my new personal favorite) So, do you do classes online or something?
I don't mind answering their questions (I grew up here and am home for the summer; recite LONG list of reasons why I chose BYU; No, not really; Uh. No. I live in Utah during the school year) but I still wonder sometimes why it's so odd to some people that I chose to leave the state to gain my higher education. I think this is a good time to point out the fact that I'm not bashing Kentucky schools. My home state has some fabulous universities that provide students the opportunity to get a good education. I didn't choose to leave Kentucky because I didn't think any of the schools were "good enough" for me or anything pompous like that. I chose BYU because it was the best fit for me; It offered everything that I was looking for in a university. It just happens to be 1,600 miles away from my hometown. And honestly? It is the best decision I could have made.
Saturday, May 17, 2014
what's in a name
NOTE: My library of blog posts is littered with half-formed, partially-written posts. Every now and then I like to go back through them and resurrect old thoughts with new ideas. This is one of those posts. Post like this have the label "from the files."
The one time in my life I remember not being annoyed by the misspelling of my given name was on the place card at the wedding reception of one of my father's friends. It was spelled in the way that I've dubbed "The Pretentious European Way with Far Too Many Vowels," but I decided to let it slide this one time since I was in Germany, after all, and it made me feel a little more cultured.
But other than that isolated experience when I was a seventeen-year-old who desperately wanted to have more interesting life experiences that Florence, Kentucky, could offer, I have always had to pep talk myself into remaining calm and not rolling my eyes or huffing impetuously when somebody spells my name with a y thrown in the middle or deletes the e off the end.
I don't know exactly when I became a name snob, but here I am. Interestingly enough, I spent years of my childhood with a highly irrational vendetta against the spelling of my name (sorry, Mom!). I found it too commonplace; it just wasn't interesting enough. But now it's the simplicity and the tradition of the spelling of my name that makes me love it so much.
Because I'm pretty simple. And I'm pretty traditional. The trendy vowels, the superfluous consonants—they just don't fit me. I like the rhythm of my name. Three simple syllables. Consonant, vowel, consonant, vowel, and so on until the little swoop on the final e.
When my parents told me that the runner-up name when I was born was Samantha, I was immediately grateful that they didn't choose that. Not because I don't like the name, but because I'm just not a Samantha. I can't imagine going by Sam or Sammy, and I certainly can't imagine answering to Samantha. I am not Samantha, and Samantha is not me.
As I've gotten older, I've clung more and more to my given name. I've stopped telling professors I go by Maddie, partially because it's easier and partially because I feel more academic being called Madeline. It's ridiculous, I know, but it makes me feel smarter and more grown up. I randomly introduce myself as Madeline, and I've noticed that my family does the same from time to time. More and more friends use Madeline as a term of endearment of sorts, which I've always found amusing, as it is my given name after all. It used to feel forced to go by my full name; it felt sterile and too formal and a little bit fake.
But it doesn't anymore, because Madeline is who I am. I always was, really, but I think I needed to grow into my name. I needed to be a little older, a little wiser to really feel like Madeline.
I supposed I'll always be Maddie to family and close friends. It's how I grew up, and I like its familiar, comfortable feel. It's shorter and easier for small children to say. I like having both names. Because as a wise woman once said, "Madeline is someone who will do great things, but Maddie is someone you can party with."
Amen, sister. Amen.
The one time in my life I remember not being annoyed by the misspelling of my given name was on the place card at the wedding reception of one of my father's friends. It was spelled in the way that I've dubbed "The Pretentious European Way with Far Too Many Vowels," but I decided to let it slide this one time since I was in Germany, after all, and it made me feel a little more cultured.
But other than that isolated experience when I was a seventeen-year-old who desperately wanted to have more interesting life experiences that Florence, Kentucky, could offer, I have always had to pep talk myself into remaining calm and not rolling my eyes or huffing impetuously when somebody spells my name with a y thrown in the middle or deletes the e off the end.
I don't know exactly when I became a name snob, but here I am. Interestingly enough, I spent years of my childhood with a highly irrational vendetta against the spelling of my name (sorry, Mom!). I found it too commonplace; it just wasn't interesting enough. But now it's the simplicity and the tradition of the spelling of my name that makes me love it so much.
Because I'm pretty simple. And I'm pretty traditional. The trendy vowels, the superfluous consonants—they just don't fit me. I like the rhythm of my name. Three simple syllables. Consonant, vowel, consonant, vowel, and so on until the little swoop on the final e.
When my parents told me that the runner-up name when I was born was Samantha, I was immediately grateful that they didn't choose that. Not because I don't like the name, but because I'm just not a Samantha. I can't imagine going by Sam or Sammy, and I certainly can't imagine answering to Samantha. I am not Samantha, and Samantha is not me.
As I've gotten older, I've clung more and more to my given name. I've stopped telling professors I go by Maddie, partially because it's easier and partially because I feel more academic being called Madeline. It's ridiculous, I know, but it makes me feel smarter and more grown up. I randomly introduce myself as Madeline, and I've noticed that my family does the same from time to time. More and more friends use Madeline as a term of endearment of sorts, which I've always found amusing, as it is my given name after all. It used to feel forced to go by my full name; it felt sterile and too formal and a little bit fake.
But it doesn't anymore, because Madeline is who I am. I always was, really, but I think I needed to grow into my name. I needed to be a little older, a little wiser to really feel like Madeline.
I supposed I'll always be Maddie to family and close friends. It's how I grew up, and I like its familiar, comfortable feel. It's shorter and easier for small children to say. I like having both names. Because as a wise woman once said, "Madeline is someone who will do great things, but Maddie is someone you can party with."
Amen, sister. Amen.
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