Halcyon Carrots and Pavarotti

Hi folks -- it's Melissa, letting you all know I still exist. I don't really know what to write about, but whatever it is needs to be written NOW. I find more and more that my sabbaths can really only last from sundown to sundown -- gone are the halcyon days of fully carefree weekends. (I just finished reading an Elizabeth Goudge book that used the word "halcyon" several times, and I was reminded that it is a good word. Only it was in the context of weather, which I hadn't really seen before, so I had to ask Andrea what it actually meant. She thought it meant happy, as in "the halcyon days of youth," and while "happy weather" is kind of cool, we thought that maybe it just has a general meaning of being kind of favorable. And now I don't feel like actually looking it up.)

Anyway... back to halcyonless weekends... The Sabbath is extra good now that it means so much more. The rest of the week this semester has been pretty crazily packed, since I'm taking five classes instead of the usual four (I don't know what kinds of insane schools some of the rest of you go to, but at mine four or five is normal). Hours and hours of art continue... only now I'm covered with oil paint most of the time instead of charcoal. Cool. So far I've decided that I really like painting, which is good because I have to decide what my concentration is going to be before too long. It's kind of awkward when people ask and I have to say, "um... well, I haven't actually DONE anything to know if I like it or not, but I assume I'll be a painter." I haven't tried printmaking yet, but I could see myself liking that too. It's the closest thing to drawing in some ways (although painting is too somewhat, but that's more like "drawing with mayonnaise," as one prof. put it). I've discovered that I'm drawn to textures, and especially (oddly enough), things that are falling apart: peeling paint, rotting wood, old crumbling brick buildings... I found myself staring longingly at the ceiling at my dad's shop the other day, wanting to draw it. Hm.

In other news, I was able to stun my coworkers at the W.C. (yep, still there, triplenine) by showing them the flaming carrot trick I learned in Bible School from I-forget-who. You know-- the one where you place two pieces of carrot so that they're barely touching and then nuke 'em in the microwave for a few seconds and watch the fireworks! Do try this at home. Rumor has it it works with potatoes too.

Last night we were crashing at the end of long, stressful weeks, and Andrea declared, "I just want to watch TV until I pass out." I thought this highly amusing. Of course we knew it was a joke, until we started watching the Opening Ceremonies later in the evening and it almost came true. Oy... so long, so weird, so boring. But there was always that one more surprise promised us by the freakily un-aging face of Bob Costas, and that one country that nobody's ever heard of that could prove to be the most inspirational of Olympic tales, and that mystery surrounding the figure shrouded in darkness who would eventually light the cauldron of justice. And were we ever rewarded: Liechtenstein and San Marino out in full force, people walzing around a stage dressed as cows, and then....... STEFANIA BALMONDO as the final torchbearer! YES! I KNEW it! Oh well... I suppose the Italians have every right to give the honor to a random Italian cross-country skiier I've never heard of. But Pavarotti singing "Nessun Dorma" was a good surprise, I must say. [I admit I had to ask Andrea what he sang and how to spell it... "Nessun as in 'Nissan'?"] In the words of one American athlete I heard in the background, "You da MAN, Pavarotti!"