There are several benefits to growing up near a small college town (along with several downfalls, but we won't get into that just now). Said benefits increase greatly when your grandmother's best friend happens to be the college president's wife. Yesterday, I was invited to a "small, informal" dinner to be held tonight and hosted by Mrs. Chamberlain in her wonderful home. Knowing her reputation for being a wonderful cook (she'd better be, she borrows Grandma's recipes often enough!), I accepted, of course.
Dinner was served in the main dining room on fine china (we're talking red tablecloth, candles, and two forks). The menue consisted of swiss steak, noodles, mixed vegetables, mashed potatoes, gravy, nut muffins with two jellies, and angel food cake with mango dressing (Grandma's contribution). Dinner topics included aids, genetics, Solzhenitsyn, international hostels, UK recipes vs. American recipes, and my cat. I heard words like locus, "son of a gun," wellingtons, and ecclesiology. I think I managed to not only keep my elbows off of the table, but to use my napkin properly and not say anything to embarrass my grandmother. All this in one "small, informal" meal? Applause and admiration are perfectly acceptable at this point.
I bowed out of the games portion of the evening, choosing instead to walk home in a vain attempt to burn a few excess calories. On the way, I saw a "Free" table in someone's front yard, so I stopped and browsed through the Reader's Digests, played with the doodle board, and sniffed the candy canes before picked a few pieces of clothing out to try on later. I decided to leave the table behind. By the time I got to the campus center, I knew it was time to bid adieu to the coffee I'd consumed mere minutes earlier, so I took a quick detour.
Something caught my eye as I exited the ladies room, and I noticed a bright pink back pack lying under the drinking fountain. Vaguely recalling that my sister had lost her backpack at some point in the recent past, I ventured a peek into the front pocket, and found a folded piece of paper with the inscription (written in pencil): "To: Carolyn, from: Devin." Now, being the protective and nosy big sister that I am, I couldn't let this opportunity to snoop pass me by. Don't worry, Carolyn, I won't tell anyone the password. And you can have your back pack back if you come and visit me.
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This story was brought to you by the number 4 and the word "chocolate."
7 comments:
Dare I display my igrnorance? What's Solzhenitsyn?
Your exhausted cousin who hasn't lost HER backpack.
http://nobelprize.org/literature/laureates/1970/solzhenitsyn-autobio.html
he wrote _One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovitch_, amonge other works, and won the Nobel Peace for his literature about Russian History.
in camp, we counselors used to call our backpacks our "brain." YOu knew it was going to be a bad day when your brain was either a dump or missing entirely.
I just got this great book at the library today, Well, Duh! by Bob Fenster. A compendium of stupid things people have done, mostly.
Apparently Gore Vidal had this to say about Solzhenitsyn: "He is a bad novelist and a fool. The combination usually makes for great popularity in the U.S."
I plead ignorance on the first part, but the rest applies to all the arts. Britney Spears. Dodgeball, the movie. Fill in your own examples.
sheesh, I thought I left it in your car. I wonder where the genious I talked to at the college looked when he left the phone 4 times to look. Or maybe he just had too much coffee to drink and was leaving me for other reasons.
if "he" had been a "she," the too much coffee bit might have come in handy, I suppose.
and I do actually know how to spell genius.
ummmm thanks for going through my backpack Em!!!!!
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