Week 3, Can you believe it?

So, I realize that this is a little late. This week has been a little crazy. :D Anyway, here it is.

Dear Family, 
     There is no better study break than orchestra, especially for a violist. You may interpret that however you'd like. Seriously, though, there's something so great about being part of something bigger than you are--music is one of those crazy things that makes you feel like you have a purpose. The softer I play, the more beautiful the orchestra sounds. I wonder if there's something to this.
     In other news, I think I'm making friends. That is, everywhere but in my German class. I may or may not have reminded the teacher to give our homework assignment on Friday. Though the intent was to make sure I hadn't missed something, the reaction of the class was immediate. they all swiveled in their chairs, eyes locked on their target. Terror gripped my heart. Jokingly, the professor said he would leave the room while they all pummeled me. I don't think the other students took it as a joke.
     On a totally unrelated subject, I've been walking in groups of at least twenty, my dorm room door is always locked, and I make sure someone tastes my food before I eat it. Safety first!
     Fall is beginning to settle in, which means only one thing: sweater season! I love sweaters so much. A sweater is the key to a perfect autumn day. Really, the weather is great here. I don't think the students from below the Mason-Dixon Line agree with me. Maybe I should be less vocal about my love of autumn. I wouldn't want them to be after me too.
     Off to construct an impregnable fortress around my room. One can never be too careful!
                                                                                                                       All My Love,
                                                                                                                                    Leah

P.S.

Oh yeah. And this is my face paint job. It isn't exactly a "thick layer" but my editor liked that phrase better.

Week 2, Makin' in Big...or something like that.

    I promise my ego is not the size of Texas. Only Alaska. Kidding, kidding. I still am having trouble getting info on my column from the online version of the Collegian, so I am going to put article number two on here. And, if you stick around until the end, you'll get to hear about my unique responses.

Letters Home
by Leah Bernhardson
Dear Family,
     I went to my first Hillsdale football game this week--I figure that astonishes you. Please, please erase form your mind all the horrible things I've said about football in the past. I repent! Watching football is not a waste of four hours of my life. Referring to a team I'm not a member of as "us" is not ridiculous. Screaming at the television is not a mark of insanity.
    I went to the game in gorgeous blue and white and a thick layer of face-paint. And guess what? The Chargers won. My voice is a little worse for the wear, but I hope I recover.
    Football, however, isn't the only thing occupying my mind these days. There's this fantastic book titled The Iliad that I spend a great deal of time reading. Have I ever mentioned that I really like English? I really like English.
    Oh, oh, oh! I received cookies this week! I know they weren't from you, but I'm still extremely excited. See, this appears to be a sign. If I merely wish for things to appear in my Hillsdale mail box, they will! I can foresee endless possibilities here. Cookies, large steaming mugs of hot chocolate...Oh! And maybe even a home-cooked meeal. Hmm. Must go wish things into my mailbox!
                                                                                                                     All my love,
                                                                                                                             Leah

Alright? Still there. Ok. Now for the funny part. So, after this ran in the paper this morning, I received a rather unique email response. Ready? Ready? I'll copy it in full...
"Leah -

 

Enjoyed your article - glad you liked the game!

 

Does this mean you plan to take football class in the spring?

 

Have a great week - God's blessings,

That illegible signature happens to be that of the head football coach at Hillsdale college. Most random thing to ever happen to me? Quite possible. I'm still not entirely sure how to respond. 

I guess when you make it big...Just kidding. But the email did make my day. I think college shows substantial possibility to be one of the most fantastic experiences ever. 

My First Published Article

     I might be a little bit excited about this. Perhaps. Ok, breathe. So, I got published in the first issue of the Hillsdale College school newspaper, The Collegian, in what I understand to be an ongoing column. Knowing me,  it attempts to be humorous, achieves being nerdy, and generally heaps a bit of ridicule on myself.
     Either due to my lack of technological savvy or a delay in putting things online from the Collegian, I don't have a link to the article yet. Feel free to do some digging yourself, if you'd like: http://www.hillsdalecollegian.com/     Without further ado, the text of my article. Oh, and attached is the picture that accompanied it.

Letters Home
by Leah Bernhardson

Dear Family,

Greetings from Hillsdale, land of the free and the home of those bravely awaiting grades from daunting professors!  I’ve finally settled into my dorm. I think. Perhaps.  Ask me this time next week.

                This place is really, truly great. In fact, I’m not homesick at all. I mean, uh, I miss you all like crazy and can’t wait to go home… Ahem. Anyway, did you know that at Hillsdale saying “I was homeschooled” doesn’t get you the what-planet-are-you-from look? I think this nearly makes up for the fact that I’m convinced every professor is working together to intimidate students. I feel like reciting Socrates’ “All that I know is that I know nothing” speech ad nauseam.

                Classes started this week. I haven’t gotten any grades yet, so I really enjoy them. I’m developing a callus on my finger from all the notes I’ve taken. I’m going to name it “The Good” so that I have some answer for Dr. Arnn’s famous question.

                I spend most of my day studying and lamenting the food in Saga. My favorite place to study is the Heritage room. There’s nothing like a collection of bald eagles in attack mode to inspire serious concentration.

                I check my mailbox every day. This does not make any cookies appear. Please send cookies. And Daddy, could you send more money? Caffeine is a necessity for every college student. Really, it is. You wouldn’t want me to be ill-prepared, now would you?

                I’m off to study again. I’m pretty sure the novelty of spending hour upon hour in the library will wear off after a few weeks. For now, though, I’m going to make the most of it.

                                                                                                                              All my love,

                                                                                                                                          Leah

Struggles

     So, this blog is supposed to be about being open. I've attempted to be funny, but I would now like to point out something I really struggle with. A lot of people hear me talk about the fact that I look like I'm twelve. Don't attempt to deny it; I really do look like a twelve year old. Over all, I try to be alright with it. But there are lots of things about looking so young that really bother me.
     First, people underestimate me from the get-go. I don't know how many times I've walked in a room and people have given me a skeptical glance. When I lifeguard, parents frequently give me the Why-is-there-a-child-in-charge? glance. When I was a debater, every tall boy we came against saw me and thought "Oh, I hope I get cross examine that girl. She'll be in tears by the time I'm done." The fact that this was a huge mistake is another story entirely. The point remains that people do underestimate me because of how young I look.
    I also hate being called cute. I'm inevitably referred to as cute. Cute is your two year old. Cute is your baby cousin. Not an eighteen year old girl. For once, I would like to be called something different. The problem, though, is that I often am so very ingracious about what's meant to be a compliment. Maybe people use the word "cute" in an entirely different sense than I take it in. Surely, my half-hearted "thank you" is in no way a sufficiently gracious reply. No wonder I come off as rude and abrasive.
   The other problem that arises from this sad fact is jealousy. I'm extremely jealous of my tall friends, my friends who look much older than they are, and basically everyone who looks their age. This is a large category of people, which leads to a large amount of jealousy. It's so far from being good.
   Whatever the above paragraphs have led you to believe about the intentions behind this post, I'm writing this not just to be open, but because I think other people have insecurities like mine. Maybe its not that you are self conscious about how young you look, but there's something that bothers all of us. What we all need to see is that though our particular insecurity might be peculiar, we don't have to feel so isolated. There are two things in particular that God highlights about this subject: 1. He doesn't look down on you because you're young (or look younger than you are). 2. He's given us fellowship to help get over this. So, if your big thing is your nose, or your feet, or your pinkie, remember that you're not the only person who feels that way. Oh, and if you want to talk about it, I usually can be contacted. And yes, even though this "twelve year old" is heading off to college, I still really want to be in touch with all of my friends.

101 Things To Do When Your Siblings Start School Before You

     Today, my siblings started school. Being a college student now (sounds exciting, doesn't it?), I don't start for two more weeks. To celebrate my freedom and my siblings' bondage, Lois and I decided to make their day extra special. To begin, we woke up early, went upstairs, grabbed pots and pans and proceeded to bang them in the vicinity of the groggy students (Because we didn't have school, we had stayed up later the night before and missed the pleasure of awakening them with this cheery greeting). To make the experience more pleasant, we shouted "You have school and we don't, ha."
   This was only the beginning. We also had a running conversation at the breakfast table that went like this.
Lois: "What are you going to do today, Leah?"
Me: "Not school."
Lois: "What are you going to be doing while not doing schoolwork."
Me: "Curl up in a chair, read a book, do some shopping. Basically whatever I want. Isn't it great to not have school?"
  After breakfast (and our walk in the rain--we can do whatever we want, remember), Lois and I proceeded to come up behind the more scholastic Bernhardsons and remark "Whattcha doin'?" in obnoxious voices.
   This behavior, though not exactly mature, is extremely enjoyable. My mother refers to it as a "way to find joy in my transition to college." I wasn't having any trouble finding joy in moving to Michigan, but I guess the explanation works. Perhaps, however, I shall persist  in giving it a different title. Its something I like to call "Revenge of the College Student". I mean, I would never be that cruel. Rather, I am seeking to inspire my siblings to graduate from high school. See, if they stick it out, they too can be extremely obnoxious on the first day of school. Yep, that's what I'm calling it. Older sister duty: complete.

Childhood and Memory Lane

    This past week, I had the wonderful opportunity to visit my best friend Katie on her farm in Minnesota. These trips are some of my favorite times for several reasons. 1) Katie is my best friend and has been since I was eight. Obviously, this is a significant reason for my joy. 2) I always come back from Katie's feeling stronger, tougher, and a little less helpless-city-girl. 

     Laugh if you want. In fact, anyone from the country is encouraged--nay, required--to laugh at my naive joy from playing a "country girl". Over the years, I have useful life skills like horseback riding, break neck sledding, extreme tree climbing, playhouse roof jumping, how to drive the four-wheeler, how to operate the riding lawn mower (the last two did not go particularly well), how to shoot a rifle (no comments, please. Its not my fault I can't aim), basic archery, and how to deal with my fair share of cuts and bruises. All of these I've embraced with a certain amount of pride; especially the cuts and bruises. 

     Believe it or not, I used to be a major tom boy. Until I was forced to attend my homeschool kindergarten all day, I could be found running around the neighborhood playing with my best friend, the neighbor boy Luke. We played everything from Indians to rolling in the mud. I was ALWAYS in charge and had no squeamishness when it came to small creatures and dirt. Naturally, I was always bruised up. For years now, though, I haven't gotten a good scraping. Well, when I was at Katie's house this past week this sad fact was remedied. 

    We were riding in the wagon on the back of the 4 wheeler and the bolt connecting the two broke. I flew forward, landing on my knee, hip, and elbow. The battle scars are a satisfying array of scrapes, bruising, and originally sported a sweet layer of dirt. After disentangling my glasses from my hair, ascertaining that everyone was alright, and making sure that my sore leg worked properly, I couldn't help but smile. There is nothing like a good scrape up to reassure yourself that you're not growing up after all. 

     I'm leaving for college in only a few short weeks, but I can't help but feeling like more of a child than ever. I love it. So, take a moment if you can today and recapture this experience of fully living. Whether it entails staring at the stars, eating tons of ice cream, spinning in circles until you're about to puke, putting a worm down your brother's back (he really needs to get over his fears...I mean, I would never EVER be that cruel), or having a watermelon seed spitting contest, let yourself give in to the simple pleasures of summer and childhood. Remember when your best friends were imaginary, the world was bigger than you could ever even grasp, and your greatest problems included deciding between playing hide-and-go-seek-tag or sardines until the sun went down. 

   What about me? I'm pretty lucky. I got home from the lovely farm today, so I don't quite have the crazy companionship of my best friend. However, I do have two younger brothers who haven't been challenged nearly enough by the Hide-And-Seek Queen. As for those worms, well, the boys better get over their fears fast. Because I seem to remember the best place to dig them up. I also shall endeavor to get plenty of corn-on-the-cob stuck in my teeth at dinner, and will follow it up with a dessert of giggling over my crazier exploits. Curious? Too bad. You'll have to wait for another lazy summer day to hear the further tales of Leah the Childhood Terror.