It's a well-known fact that corn is yellow. It is a little known fact that my best friend's mom's college friend's favorite color is yellow. In fact, these facts have nothing to do with each other other than the fact that I met this woman (Let's call her Ginny) on the same day I went in a corn maze.
Now, Ginny wasn't the brightest crayon in the box.
In fact, she was closer to the other end of the spectrum.
As I joined my friend's family in their car to journey to Lewin Farms, Mrs. D told me that she'd already received four calls from Ginny asking about directions.
"It's easy enough," Mrs. D stressed. "Just go straight, turn right, fork left, bear right, and it's there! I just told you them once, now, and I bet you could direct me there."
My friend and I looked at each other and then just chose to smile and nod. I can't direct you to Lewin Farms.
But it was comical, the way Ginny called two more times before we even got there, once to ask if she should use her GPS and another to proclaim she was supposed to be there forty minutes ago and she was exhausted.
"Where are you?" Mrs. D asked her in a voice one might use to calm down an angry toddler.
"By the Tanger Outlets," a tinny voice replied.
The Tanger Outlets are, indeed, forty minutes past where Ginny was supposed to turn left. Or fork left, who knows.
We arrived at Lewin Farms at about the time Ginny turned around and began the long drive back. Unfortunately, we were a little lost ourselves. We had gotten to Lewin Farms alright-but there seemed to be a great lack of orchard and an abundance of corn.
A staff person directed us farther down the road, "Go to the intersection and turn," she said. Which way was unclear.
Left seemed good, but all we found was a peach farm. Peaches are not exactly in harvesting mode during the autumn months.
But we did find a friendly guy who told us that Lewin Farms has an orchard back where we should have turned right at the intersection. We piled in the car and received (Surprise, surprise) another call from Ginny.
She was at the first farm, the corn one, and we drove back to fetch her, and take on her and her daughter in our car. This seemed like the safest way to get everyone to the orchard.
It was a relief when we all ventured out into the orchard as a group, the ditsy Ginny trailing a little behind, munching on pretzels shaped like bats and pumpkins. There was only one thing missing. The apples.
It was back into the car and to the first farm for this very disorganized clan.
"Corn Maze should take about twenty minutes," the woman running the ticket stand said.
My friend and I ran off in the other direction, finding a dead end but not caring, just wanting to get away from Ginny and the others.
About half an hour later they emerged. My friend and I had gone out the way we came in, having given up after reaching the edge of the corn field.
"Wow! You girls must be really good at directions!" Ginny commented.
"We just have an innate sense of judgement," I shrugged. That sense of judgement told us we'd never reach checkpoint five, and so we had high tailed it out of there.
Next on our Fall Day of Fun checklist was roasted corn, which I politely declined. We ventured into a farmer's market, where we bought apples-and lost Ginny and her daughter.
"Go back inside and find Ginny," Mrs. D told us.
"How many times," my friend asked, "can one woman get lost?"
After locating Ginny, we told her we would wait for her just outside the market. About ten minutes later she emerged. I smiled at her, thinking she'd seen me, but she continued to walk right past us-I could have reached out and touched her-with a dazed look of bewilderment on her face.
"Ginny! Over here!"
"Oh!" She laughed. "I see you now!"
It was at that point, nearly five hours after I first joined them, that we all decided it was time to go home.
We lingered in the parking lot, waiting for Ginny to follow us in her car.
"Oh, you don't have to wait for me, I can find my way!" Ginny called out as she got into her small car.
Parting words aren't usually ironic, but I'm pleased to say that these were.
We got a call from Ginny twenty minutes later.
Nah. But it'd be funnier if we did.;)
~Katelyn
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Monday, October 1, 2012
Face the Music
When you were little, I bet you had that one color that your mom would dress you in all the time, either because you wore hand-me-downs and red was your brother's favorite, or your mom decided HER little girl was going to be the one wearing the green dress on Easter, as opposed to all the little girls in floral.
I don't think I really had that. I wore a mismatch of clothing. There's a picture of me wearing a god-awful sweater (A lovely striped number in magenta, yellow, and bright blue) over a white turtleneck, and my hair is short and I look like a boy. A pitiful, un-stylish boy.
But the color I loved as a kid (And only sometimes admitted to liking) was always pink.
Most of my friends liked blue. They were rebellious. They were cool.
I liked pink.
But I stayed quiet, I learned to love blue as well, and now when I think back on my favorite colors as a kid (Ranging from peach to peeled-grape green to even clear) I realize that pink was always a second or third place.
Not a gaudy pink. Not a pink that stands up, gets in your face, pops a pink bubble and then sashays away in a flurry of sequins. More like a ballet slipper pink. The new blush of a baby. That sort of pink.
And since I'm feeling sort of nostalgic today and in awe of the fact that I'll be sixteen in a few days, I've decided that light pink is today's color. Monday's anthem-well this Monday at least-is the color worn by baby girls across the nation.
Yesterday I went to the college fair at a coliseum. There were over 700 colleges there, and thousands upon thousands of students and their parents. Not a very good place for a claustrophobic. Luckily I'm not one. I did feel a little uncomfortable as I was sloshed around by waves of people, smacked by plastic bags filled with brochures, and transformed into a common grocery store item as each college booth scanned my "Bar code" to attain my information. It was so OVERWHELMING. Not just in the sense that "Oh my goodness, I am actually going away to college in a year or so. This is a little weird!" But also in the sense of "Did that guy mean to punch me in the rib cage, or was he shoved by the woman in the track suit?" It was kind of funny (and weird) when my mother and I stopped by a California school's booth. "Oh no!" my mom cried. "You are not going to school in California!" I laughed and grabbed a pamphlet. (I felt sorry for the guy behind the table-he looked lonely) The thing is, we hadn't MEANT to stop by that booth. I had #716 highlighted because it was marked for creative writing, although we had been only looking at New England schools. Maybe it was fate!...or a mistake on my part.
Today in chorus, my teacher handed out the first page to a piece we might be learning, and I almost started crying and laughing and hugging anybody who was near me. It was Billy Joel's And So it Goes, which my choir from two years ago had sung at a competition. Not gonna lie, there's a cupboard full of memories piled up like cereal boxed behind that song. And when she started teaching it to us, I looked around the room to see the faces of other kids who had been in my old choir, wistful and giddy to be singing something that felt like an old friend. A bit awkward, though, was the moment in which I realized I would be singing the soprano part to this song. (I used to be an Alto) I think it will be an interesting experience, though. It's an old song, but a new part. And I can't wait to learn it.
On a very different note (Not to be punny) if one day I become a celebrity, and am faced with the task of naming my children bizarre and bewildering names, I had pulled a few obscure ones from the internet and various books and I've decided. Marlin, Alaska, and Kismet shall be my celebrity children. You know, if that ever happens. If not, I can always name my dogs/fish/various other pets those wonderful little names.
Now it's time to get back to reality, or face the music, shall we say, and bid adieu to this lovely bit of prose in order to jump into my history assignment. I must read Thomas Paine's Common Sense. I hear it's a good read. I'm excited.
To make it a little more interesting, though, I'm going to look at it with a wary eye. Pretend I'm a loyalist and this pamphlet is supposed to tear me away from my homeland. I think that's how my history teacher wants us to look at it. I'm not sure, though. The man practically talks in solely riddles and rhetorical questions.
So long, fare well, *German/Austrian word I do not know* adieu!
~Katelyn
I don't think I really had that. I wore a mismatch of clothing. There's a picture of me wearing a god-awful sweater (A lovely striped number in magenta, yellow, and bright blue) over a white turtleneck, and my hair is short and I look like a boy. A pitiful, un-stylish boy.
But the color I loved as a kid (And only sometimes admitted to liking) was always pink.
Most of my friends liked blue. They were rebellious. They were cool.
I liked pink.
But I stayed quiet, I learned to love blue as well, and now when I think back on my favorite colors as a kid (Ranging from peach to peeled-grape green to even clear) I realize that pink was always a second or third place.
Not a gaudy pink. Not a pink that stands up, gets in your face, pops a pink bubble and then sashays away in a flurry of sequins. More like a ballet slipper pink. The new blush of a baby. That sort of pink.
And since I'm feeling sort of nostalgic today and in awe of the fact that I'll be sixteen in a few days, I've decided that light pink is today's color. Monday's anthem-well this Monday at least-is the color worn by baby girls across the nation.
Yesterday I went to the college fair at a coliseum. There were over 700 colleges there, and thousands upon thousands of students and their parents. Not a very good place for a claustrophobic. Luckily I'm not one. I did feel a little uncomfortable as I was sloshed around by waves of people, smacked by plastic bags filled with brochures, and transformed into a common grocery store item as each college booth scanned my "Bar code" to attain my information. It was so OVERWHELMING. Not just in the sense that "Oh my goodness, I am actually going away to college in a year or so. This is a little weird!" But also in the sense of "Did that guy mean to punch me in the rib cage, or was he shoved by the woman in the track suit?" It was kind of funny (and weird) when my mother and I stopped by a California school's booth. "Oh no!" my mom cried. "You are not going to school in California!" I laughed and grabbed a pamphlet. (I felt sorry for the guy behind the table-he looked lonely) The thing is, we hadn't MEANT to stop by that booth. I had #716 highlighted because it was marked for creative writing, although we had been only looking at New England schools. Maybe it was fate!...or a mistake on my part.
Today in chorus, my teacher handed out the first page to a piece we might be learning, and I almost started crying and laughing and hugging anybody who was near me. It was Billy Joel's And So it Goes, which my choir from two years ago had sung at a competition. Not gonna lie, there's a cupboard full of memories piled up like cereal boxed behind that song. And when she started teaching it to us, I looked around the room to see the faces of other kids who had been in my old choir, wistful and giddy to be singing something that felt like an old friend. A bit awkward, though, was the moment in which I realized I would be singing the soprano part to this song. (I used to be an Alto) I think it will be an interesting experience, though. It's an old song, but a new part. And I can't wait to learn it.
On a very different note (Not to be punny) if one day I become a celebrity, and am faced with the task of naming my children bizarre and bewildering names, I had pulled a few obscure ones from the internet and various books and I've decided. Marlin, Alaska, and Kismet shall be my celebrity children. You know, if that ever happens. If not, I can always name my dogs/fish/various other pets those wonderful little names.
Now it's time to get back to reality, or face the music, shall we say, and bid adieu to this lovely bit of prose in order to jump into my history assignment. I must read Thomas Paine's Common Sense. I hear it's a good read. I'm excited.
To make it a little more interesting, though, I'm going to look at it with a wary eye. Pretend I'm a loyalist and this pamphlet is supposed to tear me away from my homeland. I think that's how my history teacher wants us to look at it. I'm not sure, though. The man practically talks in solely riddles and rhetorical questions.
So long, fare well, *German/Austrian word I do not know* adieu!
~Katelyn
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