The Final Countdown!

There are seven more days of school until I will walk out the doors of Ballard High School for the last time. There are a lot of "lasts" associated with this countdown and it is completely unbelievable. I know that many people say "a last is just making way for a new beginning", but to avoid an incredibly overused cliche, I will, for the time being, simply focus on the lasts.

Today was the last assembly and last night was the dinner for the seniors. Tuesday will be the last time I will play in a concert with the orchestra and on Thursday, I will walk across the same stage to receive the awards that I have earned. These are the same things I have watched my closest friends do year after year and I remember how jealous I was that they were finally done. Now, the jealousy has been passed down and I am the one they envy.

Finally realizing that I am sitting in the highest seat in the school has made me wonder where the time went. I'm not sure where it went, but one thing is for sure: the high school days are nearly gone and will soon be but a memory. A very good memory, but still just a memory nonetheless. There is a something surreal about the whole situation and I still can't believe that it will be me walking across the stage in a bright red cap and gown in two weeks (that no doubt will fly by).

But I will save the stories for after the graduation. For now, I will try my hardest to find a sense of peace in the hectic blur of the final countdown.

A Good Bye to the Ballard Stage

It was 6:15 PM and I quickly grabbed a can of Aqua Net Hairspray and sprayed it over my completely unnatural curls. The smell is awful and it destroys my hair, but it brings back an amazing memory from my freshman year of high school. That memory was getting my hair done on the first day of the first big show I had ever been in: Crazy For You. The smell of Aqua Net surrounded me and the smell stuck with me forever. I would, over the next four years, use at least 3 cans of it. Crazy For You was what made high school truly begin for me. Not the first day of school, not homecoming week, but Crazy For You. I will never forget my audition and the absolutely sickening feeling in my stomach wondering what on earth I had gotten myself into. And that is when it all began.

At 6:45, we go through a strange ritual where we rub a Chevron patch that is safety-pinned on an old hat. I've done this dozens of times, it's tradition, it's good luck. The hat belonged to someone whose name I don't even know because it was before my time, but his hat is famous and I have no doubt that the tradition will continue. But tears well up in my eyes as I rub it this time, it's the last time I'll rub it. I will never have a reason to rub the Chevron again, there are no more shows.

Then it was 6:55 and Lilah called "places." It was "places" for the last time and I sneak offstage to listen to the overture. Oh, all of the overtures! An overture is always the first part of the show, it excites you, it makes you ready to give it your all. There are even memories associated with the overtures. Dancing to them behind the curtain and lip syncing with all your might because no one can see you, and even if they could, why would any of us care? We are drama kids who don't care what anyone thinks of them. We are our own person and no one can change that.

7:00, the show begins and everyone hugs me and kindly reminds me that this is my last show. I am well aware that it is my last show, but I find it sweet that they feel the need to remind me. It shows me that they care about me and will miss me, I will miss them all just as much. But no tears now, there is a show to put on!

I finally make my first appearance in the show half an hour later and wear the same ridiculous gold dress that I wore in Crazy For You. It still fits quite nicely, which goes to show that nothing has really changed that much. I run onto the stage laughing and smiling a genuine smile: This is what I was born to do. From the shuffle-steps I learned freshman year to the kick line, the dance is perfect and I love every minute of it.

And on and on the show goes until the curtain call. This is what I have been dreading since I started in the drama department: The last time I take a bow on the Ballard stage. But I take that bow proudly and find that there is a smile stuck on my face. I'll miss the curtain calls, I'll miss it all.

So now, 36 performances, 3 cans of Aqua Net, 27 hangers, 100s of bobby pins and 8 scripts later, it's all over. I've loved every minute of it and I will be sad to leave it, but this is not a bitter end, I am ready to move on to something new and exciting. So, to any person who was in a play with me at Ballard High School, thank you for the memories, they have been such a blessing and have truly changed my life.

The Stories They Might Have Told

For a photography project, it was my job to take pictures of things that represented the word "old". So, I started on a treasure hunt searching for anything in my house that was vintage or retro. I found all sorts of things: games, clothes, photos, toys, you name it. But what was most exciting to me was finding the two hats from WWII that belonged to my grandfathers, one army and the other navy. These hats have been around for 60 years and they were worn by very amazing men.

I never knew my Grandpa Romaine, but I have heard stories about him and seen pictures. I have heard the stories of him playing baseball with my dad and I've seen the scrapbook he made for my grandma, but I never heard the stories from him. He passed away when my father was in highschool, but that made me wonder what kind of stories he might have told me. Would he have told me romantic stories about how he fell in love with Grandma Nadine or teach me about the war? I'll never hear those stories, but from what I know, he was a part of a whole world that I will never know.

Looking at the navy hat of Grandpa Ed was a whole different wave of emotions. I have heard the stories first hand from Grandpa. Stories from around the world-- from Italy to Pearl Harbor, there were stories to tell. He was there, he was living the life of a sailor (a seabee, technically, but just as honorable) and he would always have stories to tell. But, like all things, the stories didn't last. He developed Alzheimer's and those stories began to fade and then he passed away. When that happened, the stories disappeared into history.

I still have both of my wonderful grandmothers in my life and they have their own stories to tell. They were women who worked during the war, not quite "Rosie the Riveters", but just as important. I could hear them talk about their lives in the 40s forever and I would be happy. But it's just not quite the same as hearing your grandpa tell you about "the old war days".

I would like to hear the stories again, but I can't. But that's alright, it's a part of life. Some of the stories last forever, and others are just there for the moment. Either way, they are remarkable and I will never forget the stories that I did hear. Above all, I will never EVER forget how these men did their part to change the world.

A Security Blanket of Clouds

My father recently shared a story in a sermon about a very perfect moment in time. It was a beautiful summer day when I was seven and we were lying on the trampoline watching the clouds role by against a beautiful canvas of blue. It was a moment when time stood still and none of the terrors and fears in the world existed. It was just me, dad and the clouds with nothing else around us.

I hadn't thought about this day for a long time, but as soon as he mentioned it, the memory was vivid in my mind. I could practically smell the summer air as he told the story and feel the sunshine burning my fair skin. I remember lying there and telling him that I was going to live with him and mom forever, but that is no longer the case.

I am off to college in seven months. I am no longer a seven-year-old on a trampoline, I am a seventeen-year-old who has experienced more than I knew existed ten years ago. I have had a friend commit suicide, known many people who have battled with cancer -some who made it and some who did not- and I have watched the world as it slowly crumbles.

The world is no longer still. In fact, it seems to be moving faster everyday. I am very aware of what America is facing, how students are feeling and how life cannot be perfect. It can seem quite grim, it really can. But when I look at those clouds fly across the sky, I am transported into a world where nothing is wrong and the world is beautiful. The clouds will always be there and no matter where I end up, my father and I will be able to look at them and remember the day on the trampoline. And then time will stop.

The Final Sunday

Yesterday was the last Sunday church service in the church building that I have grown up in. On the first Sunday I attended Bethany Community Church, I was five years old and it was to be my home for the next twelve years. Little did I know that over those twelve years I would have performed in seven children's musicals, participated in three different choirs, be baptized by my own father, light candles at the Christmas Eve service, be knocked out of my chair by a Sunday school teacher and make lattes for dozens of people every Sunday. A lot has happend, but now it is time to move on. Attendance has hit 1300 people a week and that space which has been home to so many memories will become a memory in and of itself.

Attending the last service in that building brought back so many memories. I sat in the balcony with my friends for the last time and I watched the sun shine through the stained glass behind the cross for the last time. But it was not sad for me. Instead, it was quite beautiful. It was amazing to think of all of the people who have been involved in making my memories at Bethany. 14 Sunday school teachers, dozens of youth leaders, 1 choir director, 2 small group leaders, and countless friends. So much effort is put into making your church experience a memorable one and it feels as though Bethany should win a prize.

I'll never forget the Sunday school classes and choir rehersals. I won't forget hiding in a closet with a friend to avoid children's church and I won't forget playing Sardines with the youth group when one boy clung to the underside of a car so it was impossible to see him. Of course, there was the time that every sixth grader experiences when Greg Collins knocks over tables to represent Jesus destroying the temple. And the two year olds who dress up as angels and sing "Away in a Manger". The list could go on forever, but there is no need for that.

The building is still there, but these memories are not so much about the building, they are about the church. More memories will be made in the new building and old memories will not be forgotten. Next Sunday will be an important one. Perhaps there will be someone there who will make Bethany their home for the next twelve years. And that's what it's all about. It is about creating a place of shelter and a home for anyone who will come. That is Christ's love working through us.

Unexpected Friends in Unexpected Places

One of the most difficult parts of high school for me was saying "good bye" to the friends I made who graduated before I did. I went to graduation every year, cried every year and said "farewell" every year. It was always bittersweet and disconcerting not to see them in the hallways the next day and wonder "well, who will I be friends with now?" It was always the grade ahead of me who I became friends with and the fact that there would be no class ahead of me someday was something I preferred not think about. Well, once that brutal fact did approach, I tried to find a group of friends who I could have fun with senior year.

Now, halfway through senior year, I find myself hanging out with three people who, at the beginning of freshman year, I never imagined I would find myself with. They were bold and flamboyant and I was shy. I watched from the corner while they stood in front of the class without a care in the world. But, somehow, I emerged from my little spot in the corner and realized just how amazing they are.

Spencer is in the orchestra with me and will listen to just about anything you have to say and always have a comforting word of advice. Adrienne is the nicest person I have met in my life and has love for everyone around her and dedication for anything she does. And Dan is the most talented actor I have met in my life and brings entertainment to any and every situation. Why I wasn't friends with these three all along is a mystery to me, but I now find myself quite attached to them.

So, now I will cry at graduation once again and be surrounded by people who I love so very much. My own life has proven that life is one big surprise and I absolutely love it!

The Tables are Turning

Today I auditioned for my last high school play ever. No, the audition process is not over, nor is the anticipation, but there is still that lurking feeling that it's the last one. And with every thing this year that is "the last one", I am continually realizing that I am the old one now.

When I was a freshman, I was scared to try out for the plays, but I can still name those upper classmen who made it all okay. They assured me that I was making the right choice, they told me the things to do that would make me a better actress and they took away any insecurities I might have had. These were "the old ones". And now I am one.

I was in the hallway where we waited to audition and the newbies around me were asking me about this and that. It sounds ridiculous to be talking like this, but I remember when I was one of them. One of the freshmen, scared of auditioning and feeling knots in my stomach, but I grew up and they will too.

Seeing how I've grown is continually reminding me that I will be in their same position in less than a year. I will be a scared freshman all over again, wanting to know how it all works. It is all part of the endless circle of life I suppose; this idea that once you finish something, you'll just begin all over again.

So now, I treasure the last few months of high school and being the old, respected one because I won't be that person for another four years.