Bits and Pieces

I've started the dreaded task of cleaning my room. No, I don't mean just putting clothes in their drawers and books back on the shelf. No, the cleaning I'm talking about is FAR worse. It's the deep I'm-going-to-college-in-three-months type of cleaning. Empty the contents of every drawer and decide what to keep and what to toss. Stand on a stool and inspect the top of the bookshelf and underneath the bed where lost items have been rediscovered. With every item I find, there is a story and a memory that flies back into my head. Good memories, bad memories. The ones that make me laugh and the ones that make me cry. This is what the next three months will be for me: an uncovering of the years past and an uncertain anticipation of the years to come.

It started with the dresser. I opened each drawer pulling out hings that were once adorable and over the years, have evolved into a horrible fashion statement. I pulled out all the T-shirts from all the clubs and events throughout high school, the ones that at one point were purchased to be pajama shirts. I soon realized that one can only have so many pajama shirts and they have become significant enough that they will be turned into a quilt that will journey with me into the dorm. The dorm, the dorm...what else will go with me there and what things will be left behind?

I started to look at all the picture frames, which are so hard to get rid of. I found one with six different squares, each one filled with a photo of someone who has made an impact on my life. Grandpa is in the first square and I realized at this moment how much I truly miss him. Then there are friends, siblings and youth leaders who have all been there for every play, all the tough times and countless times filled with laughter and joy. Then I began to uncover pictures and treasures from my middle school days. Pictures of old classmates and crushes and the box of poetry written in the seventh grade. The poetry brought to mind an unforgettable story.

I came home after school one day with the poem in hand. It was about pets and it rhymed, but I learned that day that just because it rhymes, that does not make it a great work of poetry. My mother, in an odd attempt at being humorous, read the poem and said it was crap. I began to bawl because the pride of my work had just been ripped to shreds. It seemed horrible then, but after reading the poem five years later, she was right: It WAS crap (and, to be fair, she was quoting a movie. I didn't realize that at the time.) And, like most cases where she is right, I will try my hardest to forget about it.

Very few things went beyond middle school, except for a few school projects from my elementary years, which will be added to the memory box. But the memory box is full of even more stories that must be saved for another time. If I uncover all the treasures right away, it will all be over to fast, and I can't have that, now can I?

New York, New York

When I first stepped out of the train from New Jersey to New York, I wasn't thinking about New York, I was thinking about where I could find the closest restroom. In New York, the closest one was certainly not close and I was not happy with the busy city the first moment I arrived there. "Will the whole trip be like this?" I thought to myself. Then I responded to myself "No, it couldn't." And it wasn't. The trip was wonderful from the first taxi ride to the last Broadway show.

I went to New York with two friends, Lisa and Lindsey, and we had been planning on New York since our freshman year. Lindsey is our mentor, you see. She is the one who has met with us every Sunday for four years and given up her own free time to help us grow into who we are right now. Lisa has been my closest friend since the age of five and our friendship has stood the test of time. So, when we wanted to go on a trip and we each started a coin jar to create spending money from loose change, we decided on New York. New York is the place to be, with its bustling crowds and busy streets. It's the city that never sleeps, and we are the girls that never sleep, so it seemed a perfect match. What we all quickly discovered is that it was a perfect match...for all of us, each with our own reason. Now, I cannot speak for the other two, but I can definitely speak for myself and I could give you a hundred reasons why New York truly is the place to be. I won't give you a hundred, but I will at least give you a few.

For me, of course, Broadway is an obvious one. The lights of Broadway were as bright as I imagined and there was a theatre on every corner, which, for me, was heaven. Although the theatres were smaller than I had built in my mind, the shows were more extraordinary than anything I every pictured. They were overflowing with talent and artistically, I haven't seen anything so remarkable. The actors were able to draw me into the story from the very first note they sang and I laughed and cried through the entire story. That is when theatre is truly amazing, when you are transported into another world and you entirely forget where you actually are. Broadway did exactly that and it was absolutely amazing.

The diversity of New York was so interesting to me. Everywhere we went, you could never see an obvious racial majority. You could sit on the subway and the people across from you were speaking french while the woman next to you was wearing a sari. We ate dinner in Little Italy and as soon as we crossed the street, we were in Chinatown. There were people everywhere and you could always have an interesting conversation with anyone (who was willing to share....) So, between the people we met and the food we ate, we experienced at least a dozen different cultures all in one place.

All in all, New York was a wonderful place, but, like the end of all journeys, it was nice to come home. The one thing that New York City lacked was peace. That is why Seattle will be the place that I call home and the place I always have a hard time leaving: It is a place where even the most stressful day can end in peace and peace is what every person looks for, but not every person can find. So, thank you Seattle, for the peace you bring to my life.

Clean Out Your Lockers, Turn Your Tassels and On To the Next

The final week of school was short and bittersweet. I cleaned out my viola case and turned in the instrument. I took the pictures and magnets out of my locker and shut the door. I wrote my thank you notes to the teachers who have meant so much to me throughout the last four years. I kissed the stage good-bye and I walked out the doors of the school on Tuesday and realized that I never needed to go back. And before I knew it, I was waiting in a long line of students to walk onto the field of Memorial Stadium to participate in the ritual that has always seemed 18 years away, no matter what age I was. This was it, this was the moment I had been waiting for all my life and now the tassel has been turned to the other side of the cap and I am ready for the next adventure.

As I sat in my seat at graduation, the memories of high school began to fly through my head. Good memories, bad memories, ALL memories. I remembered my very first day of school when I felt more out of place than I had in my entire life because I had entered a class of 400 from a class of 12 and I knew 3 people in the entire school. First semester Freshman year was the hardest, but after making it through those 5 months I knew that the rest of high school would be possible. Now, I am on top of the world and have made more friends, students and teachers alike, than I ever thought I would. These are the people who have changed my life and helped me discover more and more who I truly am.

I distinctly remember auditioning for "Crazy For You" and wondering what exactly I was getting myself into. I know now that I was getting myself into a family that would stick with me forever and grow bigger each year as I tried out for seven more plays. That funky drama crowd that looked so strange from the outside changed my life from the very start. From the night we went to Dennys at midnight to critique a different production of "Crazy For You" to the night that the curtain fell for the last time in "Guys and Dolls", I have been creating lasting relationships left and right. This crowd of people taught me not to judge too quickly or too harshly, because even though they wear strange clothes and have pink hair, they all have huge hearts that are made of gold.

The person who truly changed my life is gone now, but she showed love to me when nobody else did and without her, I would not have been who I am now. She gave me the confidence it took to be myself and that is exactly what I have done. She taught us all to love everyone who came into our lives, regardless of whether or not we considered them our friends. To her, everyone was a friend and that is exactly how we should live. We should live life loving those around us and spreading that love throughout the world. She also taught me that we should not live life with regret, that we should grasp all the opportunities we can. Truly, without her, I would not have lived the life that I did in high school.

The stories are endless and that makes it very difficult to put high school into only a few words. But in the end, all I have to say is that it was perfect. It had its share of good and bad, but I have no complaints. I got through the first semester of Freshman year and the last semester of senior year, the two hardest. Sandwiched between those semesters are dozens of memories and friendships that will stay with me for the rest of my life, but now it is time to move on to the next adventure. College is waiting for me and I will enter with a newfound confidence that, without high school, would be non-existent. So, here's a "thank you" to high school and all that it brought to my life.

The Northeast Wing

My final orchestra concert was on June 3, but it took until now to finally be able to find the words to say about it. The orchestra has been the most significant part of my high school career and playing that final, drawn out note on the C-string of my precious viola broke me up inside. Four years full of the best of times and worst of times, but for the most part full of absolute joy. Playing that note meant it was all over and I didn't want that. No, I didn't want that at all. My territory in Ballard High School is the Northeast wing. Nobody knows where the northeast wing is, but I do; it's the band room and the black box theatre. In other words, my home away from home.

It is impossible to calculate the number of hours spent in this area of the school because I have been in 8 plays, 16 concerts, 2 dance recitals and have only actually watched a concert one time. Sitting in the ridiculously uncomfortable auditorium seats was new to me when I watched the spring choir concert this year. It felt strange not to be on the stage, because a huge part of me is in that stage. There are too many stories and memories to share. There was the year we ate lunch on the stage everyday. There are the dance parties on the stage. The last day of junior year when I just laid on the stage for an hour staring up at the fly. Whitewashing the sets and painting the drops. The Tri-M concerts. Playing Christmas carols on the stage during sectionals. Playing hide and seek during sectionals. Early mornings with the chamber orchestra. Every one of these events was filled with enthusiasm and friendships that are unforgettable.

That is why when Mr. James put his baton down for the last time, a tear came to my eye. It was the last event on the stage. The last time I would look out into the crowd of the Earl Kelly Auditorium. It was over. So, now, I have said my farewell to the orchestra and will never be able to play with them again. It is a pity, but it's the truth, and the truth means that I must move on. So I will move on, with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. A song played by the orchestra of BHS.

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.