Grandpa Reed

I've posted several times about my grandpa (almost all of these posts have him in them), but this post is the hardest to write. The thing is, this beloved grandpa of mine just said goodbye to this world.

Let me tell you a story about my grandpa. It starts like this: when I was little, we didn't have the best relationship. We didn't fight or anything, but I certainly didn't feel close to him and it might even have been bordering on being scared of him, such as when he would twist my ear as he asked me if I had a clean room. You see, Grandpa just wasn't a fan of being warm and fuzzy. I remember walking in on a fight he and Grandma were having about whether the word "surprise" had two Rs or one, and he wasn't happy with the answer that his spelling bee champion granddaughter gave.

He liked to do things his way and if you didn't do something his way, he would make you quit and do it himself, like the time he took a broom away from my dad because he wanted to show him how to sweep his driveway. (He did similar things to me and everyone.) Or the time when my aunt and uncle moved his sprinkler in from the corner so he would stop complaining about people running over it, and he moved it back (correct me if I'm wrong here). I guess some of it was provoked. I remember my cousin Ginger and I purposely messing up the rug in front of the door because he had complained so much about it. ("Who keeps messing up this rug?!?!") Whatever the case, Grandpa was not Grandpa. He was Grumpy. (I still don't know to this day if he knew we called him that.)

But that didn't mean that he didn't do things that impressed me. He and my grandma always gathered his family together once a month for a huge dinner. He was known to give generous amounts of dollar bills that were so brand-spanking-new that they were still attached like a notepad and emitted a fabulous smell. Because of Grandpa, the Fourth of July is my favorite holiday, since it generally consisted of breakfast in Brighton with family, a march in the parade, a few candy-throwing adventures (though the direction of the throwing changed over the years, and I know some of you know what I'm talking about), and maybe a hike in my beloved Big Cottonwood Canyon. Grandma and Grandpa made Christmas Eve the best night of the year, where, surrounded by family, we would eat til we couldn't move, talk, act out the Christmas Nativity with Grandpa reading from Luke, talk as we waited for Santa to show up, excitedly sit on Santa's knee (though the "excitedly" was some years more show than anything) to receive our presents that came out of a bag Grandpa selected from, and addressed to us in handwriting that seemed somehow familiar. Oh, how I missed that night the last two years.

But then again, just for some more contrast, let's not forget how Grandpa was generous about helping out with home remodeling, only to ignore your wishes and pay for what he thought would be good—the Grandpa-selected storm door, the shelves built by Don Whipperman, and the painted cement floor instead of tile.

However, a miracle happened. Grandpa just got better and better during and after the years when my grandma was sick with cancer. His strong opinions did not disappear, but his general grumpiness softened and the whole family saw a side of him we had never seen before. Maybe the credit should go to my grandma's prayers, desiring not to die until she had a better relationship with him. Or maybe it should go to the fact that he was retired (he once told Amy that was the reason). Whatever the case, Grumpy disappeared and Grandpa took his place. I think that was why I admired him so much.

But that's not what built our relationship. After Grandma died, I decided I wanted to be closer to Grandpa and to support him now that he was without his love. It started with me visiting him more often. I brought my boyfriends and potential boyfriends there to meet him, always enjoying one of his famous frozen cookies dunked in milk and maybe a glass of his and Grandma's famous grape juice. Being there more often meant I started helping out with little things, like cleaning the dishes. As Grandpa saw I was willing to help, or maybe as I was available, he started asking me for things.

He would ask me to type a letter for him and marvel at how fast it was done. He would call me from his land line to come help him figure out his cell phone, which he never used but which he liked to look at because of the picture of Grandma on the screen. With both of us being believers in work being equal to love, pretty soon, there was a general feeling of comfort between us. We didn't always expect anything of each other, but we knew that if we asked, we would get what we needed.

I knew Grandpa liked his yard to look nice, so one time I snuck into his backyard in the early morning and swept up all the leaves. Another time, I weeded his flowerbeds. Doing things that way was a lot more fun, because he hadn't asked for it, and truth be told, he didn't come out to check on your work. :) Nevertheless, I learned to laugh at the stubborness he had retained and he always seemed surprised when I lightly teased him about it—he would grumble a little and stop his remarks.

I recognized myself in him as a hard worker who had little tolerance for laziness, people not measuring up to my expectations, or people doing things a different way than I would have. I didn't give up on the crazy job I loved because of his marvelous example to me that people can change, that I could change—though his trademark "you just have to be careful!" still came out at regular intervals, even in relation to moves the Jazz made in basketball games.

With things at work getting more and more complicated, my dating life being roller coaster-ish, my uncertainty about what to do with my life, and my unwillingness to open up to my parents, Grandpa's house was my emotional getaway. I would leave my house at a full-out run, letting all my tears out, and by the time I got to Grandpa's, I could just forget about the outside world, either working for Grandpa or just by enjoying his company. I could stay at Grandpa's for hours, playing the piano or reading the newspaper while he watched TV or read a book. Sometimes we would watch his favorite show, Matlock, together, with chilled cans of Kern's fruit juice in our hands. When he felt up to it, we would work in his garden, where he wanted tall tulips, short green grass, and colorful petunias. Once we planted strawberries together.

In the last several years, Grandpa loved reading LDS fiction (which just goes to show you how much he'd softened up). He read book after book and always tried to offer them to me, about how the story was just so sweet and reminded him of his Edie, but they just weren't my thing. I think I got through part of one. He picked up many of those books at the library where my librarian friends would see him. Sometimes they'd even talk to each other about finding a nice young man for me. Since I was also often at the library, and my holds were next to his in the "G" section for "Glauser," I would see what he was going to read or watch. One time, I wrote a note on the hold slip for him. He was absolutely delighted.

Though we didn't share a love for LDS fiction, we enjoyed some movies together. On one rainy Saturday, we got together to watch a movie that could be labeled as a chickflick. Instead of thinking it was cheesy, he enjoyed it just as much as I did. We both cried during the unrequited love parts. At the end of the film, we both sighed and sat there, lonely—he for his beloved wife, and me for that future guy. We were lonely, but not alone, a comfort to each other.

Grandpa and I also shared a sweet tooth, meaning he offered me ice cream with strawberries or chocolate-covered raisins whenever I showed up.

I often was able to extend an invitation for him to eat with us (thanks Mom and Dad) on Sundays and always delightedly greeted him at his car, offering him my elbow to get those stiff joints out of the car and up the stairs. It was at one of those Sunday dinners that he first announced "Michelle is my favorite grandchild." Though it probably wasn't very nice to say it, I don't think it was a surprise to anyone, and it pleased me. It was also during these dinners that he got to know my best friend Tanya. I was always surprised when he asked about her, saying that she was such a nice girl.

One summer day, though a cheapskate (something else I got from Grandpa), I decided to build up my financial credit with my first credit card, and buy a watch at Fred Meyer's Smith's Marketplace. I planned to stop at Grandpa's and then take the bus there, but when I told Grandpa of my plan, he said it was silly to spend so much on a watch (I think it was $70 or $80) and promptly let me drive us to Wal-Mart in his car. There, he bought me a $10 watch (and asked the lady at the counter to adjust it to fit my wrist) and a pair of earrings "so I would look pretty for my date" that night, reminding me that he prayed for me to "find a nice young man to marry" every day.

After that, he let me drive him often, grumbling about the seatbelt and brakes. And though some would find his errands tedious, I loved spending the time with him and checking things off his list, even if it involved complaining to glasses stores employees about how expensive glasses were. He would usually reward me by taking me out to lunch, where he would joke to everyone that I was his date.

When Grandpa was having some health problems (more than usual) and had a catheter, while others complained about the smell, I went and did what I could to deal with it. I almost lost my cookies several times while scrubbing his bathroom floor, but I finished the job out of love for him.

Then, when Grandpa was at a retirement center for a short time, he let me take his car. We all picked up some things from his house for him, but when he wanted to go home for a while himself, since I had his car, I got to take him. I pushed him to the car in his wheelchair and loaded and unloaded that freakingly heavy peace of metal into and out of the car just for him. Though we were both grumpy that day, that didn't stop him from beckoning to every nurse we saw and bragging about me upon our return to the retirement center.

I could recount a billion other memories, like the half-full cans of pop at the cabin that were the bane of his existence, or how he once assigned his grandchildren numbers (I'm number 9), or the time at my brother's baseball game when he dared me to throw a ball at a guy who had a circle on the bum of his shorts and then did it himself and pretended not to noticed anything, or how he started taking piano lessons using the book "Teaching Little Fingers to Play" after retiring . . . but I'll move on to the rest of the story.

One day, Grandpa declared that he'd dreamt about taking the whole family on a cruise instead of buying a new car for himself. He excitedly planned with the help of one of my uncles and a travel consultant, and we all were looking forward to the trip.

It was about this time that I was having some real trials at work that led to finishing up over 200 pages of training documents and saying goodbye to the job I had given up so much for. I struggled to find myself and spent hours just seeking some therapeutic nothingness, but I knew I had to get away. However, I pushed those feelings back, just because I wanted to be able to be there for Grandpa on his extravagant cruise.

Some of my old dreams resurfaced, and I walked to the nearest post office to send applications to faraway places. When I got in to two German universities, I avoided telling anyone for a while because I couldn't bear to think about leaving Grandpa behind. Somehow I made it to the cruise and as my parents, siblings, and Grandpa all sat at one table, I made my announcement. Grandpa told me he was proud of me, but, getting teary-eyed, that he sure would miss me. Then he immediately said something typical of Grandpa: "I think I'll make Sica my new special assistant." Ouch. Thanks. Knowing Grandpa, I felt just a bit of jealousy before I realized what a great privilege that would be for Sica and laughed it off.

When I got to Leipzig, I called him using Skype more often than I called anyone else in the U.S. Even if he didn't answer, I would laugh to hear him say, "I'm not here in my home right now. Please leave me a meh-siege [that's the way he says "message"]." I sent him postcards once in a while, and each Saturday when the jokes would come out at keepapitchinin.org, I would forward them to him and my dad. I never knew if he read them, but I imagined him opening his email now and then and chuckling a bit as he pushed "print."

Hearing from my dad that Grandpa probably wasn't going to make it much longer was extremely hard. My mom said that he wasn't himself and I wouldn't want to see him like that, but I kept thinking, "I'm his favorite grandchild, and I'm not there when he needs me." At the very least, I didn't want to be alone when he went. For a week, I prayed that he would live, though I know very well that I will see him in the world to come. I felt awful keeping him in such a state of suffering and with his own desire to move on to the next life. Then I prayed for him to live, but if he needed to go, that he would be able to "go gently into that good night."

Finally, after two weeks of stressing out over him and my master's thesis, I booked a ticket despite my impending due date and lack of funds. Then I prayed and fasted that he would live long enough for me to see him again, or that I could at least be there to honor him at the funeral.

He passed away four hours ago.

I'll be playing the organ at his funeral which will most likely be this coming Friday. On Saturday, we'll celebrate the Fourth of July just as he'd want us to.

That old guy, who could be crabby and funny and generous all at the same time. I sure loved him.

Vater Unser (The Lord's Prayer)

I ran across this sung version of the Lord's Prayer (in German by Xavier Naidoo, a singer in Söhne Mannheims) and found it touching. Although the majority of my readers fit into two categories that make it seem like I shouldn't post this video--they don't speak German, and they don't recite the Lord's Prayer-- I hope you can listen and enjoy anyway:

Please Send More Chocolate Cake So I Can Trade It for Jelly-Filled Donuts

Yesterday was awesome.

1. I got caught up on some desperately-needed sleep.
2. Both of my thesis advisers said they could meet with me about parts of my draft. (Better than nothing.)
3. Plans for next week worked out.
4. I spent about 12 hours doing the last part of research for my thesis. It also happened to be the most fun part, the part that made me pick this topic--reading through the more than 600 pages (175,000 words, yes the size of several novels) I have gathered about mommy blogs in the last two years.
5. I received no less than five Pfannkuchen/Berliner (that's jelly-filled donuts) from my roommates today. Last week, I was given a cake (thanks Mark and Julia) that had chocolate in it, so I put a note on it saying, "If anyone wants to trade this cake for some Pfannkuchen, that would be lovely." When pieces of the cake started disappearing and no Pfannkuchen appeared, I thought it had failed. Nope. Suh-weet!

Remember the cat and the duck outside my window (facebook stati)? Now there's an annoying, repetitive sound which is either a hamster of unusual size, some kind of extremely-lost jungle bird, or a monkey. And today it had friends around so it sounded like a jungle outside, but that and the neighbor downstairs using his electrical tools to build something couldn't get to me.

Now I'm going to eat another donut.

Creepy White-Eyed Preview Kid

Mac users:

Have you ever noticed than when you push the apple key and tab to switch to a different program, the thumbnail for Preview is creepy? Take another look. The kid has white eyes.












What do you suppose it means?

Learning a Language=Forgetting a Language

I haven't found any data on this, but I am telling you, the more of one language you speak, the less the overall number of words you know (I seem to have two kinds of vocabularies--the kind I can, and do use, and the kind that I can understand. "Knowing" fits into the usable words category here).

Since I don't use English as much anymore, I have started to forget words. The problem is, I'm even forgetting words that I haven't yet learned the German equivalent for. So I get into these frustrating moments where I can't express something because I have no word for it. Makes me think of poststructuralism.

Useful for writing a Master's thesis in English. Very useful.

Anyone else experienced similar things?

Become Like a Little Child

After having a very isolated, frumpy week (you don't need to look good for a thesis), I decided to have a French braid across the front of my hair, ending in a braid among ringlets in a side pony tail. I had to laugh, because sitting in the row next to me were two girls about age 10. With a braid ending in a wavy side pony tail.

Primary is always good for some laughs:

-Today I asked the kids if they had ever gone on a walk with their moms. One said, "With my grandfather." So I asked him, "Was it fun?" And he said, "No."
-The kids stopped participating in the songs when the youngest member of primary was supposed to pick someone who sang the best. When the primary chorister asked why, they said, "He has a booger."

Here are some pictures of the kids I teach.

Helene with her intense blue eyes.














Sweet Götte:














Landis, who doesn't always like to stay in his chair, but who is always willing to pray, even if he does both the opening and the closing prayer:














Otto, what a character. Newest member of the class. His favorite question for anyone is, "Und wie heisst du?" ("And what's your name?")














Laurie, also a character. For every question, her bunnies are the answer. "What are you thankful for?" "What is something cool you did this week?" etc. She walked into sharing time with this post-it note on her head. (I made one for each child.)














Here we are playing a game where we smiled at everyone (the book said this would prove that being happy is spreadable, but is smiling the equivalent of happy? Also, is Landis pulling a "loser" sign at me? Maybe that's for Leipzig . . . And notice Finn with his forced smile that is oh-so-much like his uncle Aaron's.):

I Hit a Pedestrian

A few weeks ago, I was riding my bike to teach a class in the brand new university building, and, as I often do, I wonder about the novelty (for me) of riding a bike and how I should be careful because some day I was bound to run into a car or something. Of course, you can imagine something crazy had to happen just then.

A pedestrian started to cross the street and changed his mind. He stepped back, into my path.

Yep. I hit him. Hard, even though I squealed that handbrake. I was jolted as I stopped dead in my tracks, but neither of us were harmed, so after apologizing, I rode off.

I hit a pedestrian.

Or maybe I should re-phrase that to be "a pedestrian used his body to stop my bike."

Delicate Arch

More things to distract you while I write my thesis. Check out these delicate arch (a famous landmark in Utah) pictures. They make me happy. (Found here.)

Relief Society Old City Hall Tour

Many of the Relief Society women recently got a tour of the old city hall in Leipzig.

The tour included the dungeon, which seemed pretty tortuous to me:






I thought this guy looked like Susan Boyle. If you don't know who that is, youtube her.




Here we are in the room dedicated to Bach:



Did you know that Bach wasn't their first choice out of the applicants for the church music writer guy?

Gotta Love English (Mutt Language)

I recently read this poem to my students. Unfortunately, I've been confused because some sources say Bernard Shaw wrote it.

The Chaos
Dr. Gerald Nolst Trenite (1870-1946),
a Dutch observer of English.

Dearest creature in creation,
Study English pronunciation.
I will teach you in my verse
Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse.
I will keep you, Suzy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy.
Tear in eye, your dress will tear.
So shall I! Oh hear my prayer.

Just compare heart, beard, and heard,
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, retain and Britain.
(Mind the latter, how it's written.)
Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as plaque and ague.
But be careful how you speak:
Say break and steak, but bleak and streak;
Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.

Hear me say, devoid of trickery,
Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore,
Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,
Exiles, similes, and reviles;
Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
Solar, mica, war and far;
One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel;
Gertrude, German, wind and mind,
Scene, Melpomene, mankind.

Billet does not rhyme with ballet,
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
Blood and flood are not like food,
Nor is mould like should and would.
Viscous, viscount, load and broad,
Toward, to forward, to reward.
And your pronunciation's OK
When you correctly say croquet,
Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
And enamour rhyme with hammer.
River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb,
Doll and roll and some and home.
Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.
Souls but foul, haunt but aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant,
Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger,
And then singer, ginger, linger,
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.

Query does not rhyme with very,
Nor does fury sound like bury.
Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth.
Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.
Though the differences seem little,
We say actual but victual.
Refer does not rhyme with deafer.
Feoffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
Mint, pint, senate and sedate;
Dull, bull, and George ate late.
Scenic, Arabic, Pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific.

Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven.
We say hallowed, but allowed,
People, leopard, towed, but vowed.
Mark the differences, moreover,
Between mover, cover, clover;
Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
Chalice, but police and lice;
Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.

Petal, panel, and canal,
Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal.
Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
Senator, spectator, mayor.
Tour, but our and succour, four.
Gas, alas, and Arkansas.
Sea, idea, Korea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean.
Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion and battalion.
Sally with ally, yea, ye,
Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key.
Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver.
Heron, granary, canary.
Crevice and device and aerie.
Face, but preface, not efface.
Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.
Large, but target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging.
Ear, but earn and wear and tear
Do not rhyme with here but ere.
Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen,
Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk,
Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.

Pronunciation -- think of Psyche!
Is a paling stout and spikey?
Won't it make you lose your wits,
Writing groats and saying grits?
It's a dark abyss or tunnel:
Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale,
Islington and Isle of Wight,
Housewife, verdict and indict.

Finally, which rhymes with enough --
Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough?
Hiccough has the sound of cup.
My advice is to give up!!!

That's an easy two hours of class time, what with vocabulary and pronunciation. :)

Pentacost Hiking Retreat

This picture pretty much sums up my love of Switzerland.

If you want to see more pictures, watch this (and watch out for the plethora of lovey dovey pics of Lydia and Christoph):

Oh, and I got to see Sister Grassli again! Her pictures have amazing colors. See here.

Hohenstein-Ernstthal

Several weeks ago, one of my good friends invited me to see his home town, Hohenstein-Ernstthal, since the Mormons there would be getting a tour of the city. The weather was great, though online we had read there would be heavy rains. Must have been all that praying Andy had been doing. ;)

Mormons gathering:




At the City Hall we heard the history of the city:




Pretty building:




We then went to the weaving factory museum, where we saw how socks and tapestries were made. I was interested to hear about and see the finished toes of stockings that were sent outside of East Germany and the rough toes of those sold behind the wall. The tour guide at the weaving factory museum showing how socks come out of the machine still together:




Then Andy showed off the trains that his dad and grandfather built:




Andy's dad loves cowboy stuff, so I had to get the gun talk from him:




Karl May, the German who wrote about a billion books about cowboys and Indians (Germans love that stuff), lived there, so we walked to the festival going on in his honor. The church tower was open, so we went to the top. I thought the tour guide looked like Robin Williams.


Here's the view from the top of the church tower (and look for the guy who looks like Robin Williams):





Andy didn't want to take this picture. Hee hee.




Then we walked up the "mountain." Andy wasn't all that excited about playing on the playground:




But I got this nice picture out of it:




Pretty flowers:




Andy showed me the fabulous view from this strategically-placed bench:



All in all, a lovely visit.

Short Update From My Refuge in der Schweiz

I'll do a better post later, maybe. I've gotten a lot of work done on my thesis here in Hinwil. Three things are contributing to the process:

1. I don't have constant internet and I can truly use it to motivate myself.
2. I don't have to use my time to make or buy food. Daniela is way nice like that.
3. Knowing that everyone in the family is going to ask me every few hours how it's coming does wonders.

In other news, on June 1st I said, "Okay, this is the first day of the rest of my life without zit picking." Later that night, there were well-lit mirrors. Everywhere. I went on a binge. :( And, my lips are way, way chapped again, to the point that I play with them all day long. Will they never get over their love for Natural Ice?

I'm picking up some Swiss German. I think I went about the whole thing the wrong way. Being able to speak High German is an excuse for them to not speak Swiss German around me, so I have to do the same thing I did when I was new in Germany and ask repeatedly for Swiss German. I love it when they speak slowly for me--then I get most of it, rolled-together words, cutesy intonation, and ch-isch Ks and all. If they're talking to each other, I'll catch the gist of their subject at least. Oh, and I think it's darling that they say "tschüss," or "bye" when they go to bed.

Speaking of bed . . . Tschüss!

Roommate Drama (I Guess I Had to Have it Some Time)

I have three new roommates. Out of three. When the last roommate decided to move out, we had a lot of people come to look at the apartment, and the others were getting annoyed that I didn't like any of them. I finally picked one. Well, two weeks ago, the new roommate moved in and decided to take over, make lots of changes without conferring with us all, and become the clean freak of the century, even after recently breaking an arm. A lot of things disappeared--the doors to the kitchen, my stuff in the closet, and even the stickers that made the bathroom window translucent (a.k.a. protection for my neighbors so they don't have to see me naked).

Not everything was bad--my towels got washed, and the heater was even de-dusted (and yes, I was looked at like I was psycho when I said I didn't even know you could clean heaters--come on, I'm used to them being IN the wall! By the way, can you clean central heating?). Attempts to communicate about my reactions--not the actions themselves (mostly), but the not asking--ended up in me being yelled at, me going on the defensive, and me being told that I should consider living in a different apartment, though I'm now the senior roommate and it's always worked until now! Not fun. Totally stressful as I started to worry what my future was looking like.

However, I persevered and tried to be loving (and calming) in my pursuits, which ended up in me asking what I could do and receiving the assignment to mop the kitchen floor. And I mean mop.

But I had other priorities, like my job, and money, and university, and, and, and. (I'm not going to die if the kitchen floor doesn't get mopped immediately.) So the assignment got put off and I got an annoyed knock at my door the next evening at 10 PM, which in turn annoyed me because I had already written "wischen" ("mop") in my planner for the following morning--early morning, so I could get other things done, too. I mopped at 5:30 AM and it took about an hour. And honestly, I tried to be quiet.

Well, after I stressed that the other roommates might agree with me if they were to hear my point of view, we set up an appointment to talk apartment matters. I was so scared it would end up three against me or one against one with two passive members. But, it went really well, even if some voices got a little intense at some points.

We talked about everything from job charts to paint to junk in the cellar to internet to my dislike of laundry hanging in the hall to getting better lighting there to the disappearance of three rolls of toilet paper within two days of their purchase (yeah, we didn't solve that one), and so on. I'm happy with the decisions. And getting up at 5:15 to mop the kitchen floor turned out to be a good thing, because it got one of the roomies to be on my side concerning the keeping of the kitchen doors as noise control. Hee!

I'm glad, though my curtain being stuffed in the bathroom window is getting old and I hope the new solution comes along soon. Then again, I don't have time to worry about such things. I hope it stays positive from here on out, but I'm also scared to see the high expectations of our new cleaning lady (a.k.a. roommate) who somehow seems to have nothing better to do. I thought I liked things clean, but not enough to clean that much. I guess it would be better to say I don't like clutter. I just don't think much about slowly-accumulating dust and such as long as I vacuum now and then.

Roommate two is a young, giggling freshman, but I don't think I could ever get mad at her because she's so sweet. Roommate number three lives most of the time in Dresden, so we practically have an extra room for hanging our laundry in.

So, now I've joined the ranks of people with roommate stories. I've heard Melissa's, but maybe she should tell it again here just so we can all be entertained/shocked. I'd love to hear other stories as well.