Today I have decided to be snowed in at our apartment. My previous ambitions for taking Ramona and three loads of laundry to the laundromat were pushed aside with the snow that began accumulating inches on the ground last night.
Although two and a half loads of dirty clothes and towels remain unwashed in our bedroom, I attempted to wash half a load (entirely Ramona's clothes) in our bathtub this morning. I have yet to decide if this was a worthwhile effort, as I was constantly struggling to keep Ramona from climbing the toilet or playing with the plunger.
It was a snowy day like this about seven years ago that I came with my parents to the University of Illinois for my undergraduate audition at the school of music. I have to admit this audition was a bit half-hearted on my part, as I had hopes for acceptance at BYU's school of music instead. I remember trudging through drifts of snow as I went between buildings for a music theory exam, a vocal audition, a cello audition, an interview--I remember the whiteness of the interstate as we slowly drove home afterward. The thought crossed my mind that I might never return to that campus again. I thought wrong.
About a week later, on my 18th birthday, two letters came in the mail from BYU. Both of them notified me of rejection from the music college, although I had been granted general admittance to the university, should I choose a different major. I remember tears flooding my eyes as I wondered where I was supposed to go and what I was supposed to do with my future. A door had been closed that I had hoped to enter, and I stood there staring at it, wondering how to move forward.
A few more weeks went by, and another letter came for me in the mail: University of Illinois, School of Music. Acceptance. That half-hearted audition had pulled through (undoubtedly by the grace of God), and a new door was opened. I stepped through that door full of gratitude and reassurance that this was where I was supposed to be.
From this experience, I learned that often the things we wish for and pray for are not necessarily the things we really need. As I look back on my life since I walked through that door leading to Champaign-Urbana, I can see the many ways my needs have been fulfilled through the people I've met and the situations I've experienced here as a student, a teacher, a wife, and more recently as a mother. While I have no way of viewing the hypothetical life I would have lived, had I chosen a different path, on most days I find myself at peace with the life I find myself living right now. In many ways, it couldn't be much better.
Our little family still has no idea where it will be at the close of 2010. We do know that
Intel's door is no longer open to us, so the job hunt will continue for a little longer--perhaps in a different direction than we originally expected. Although I have occasionally dreamed of living in a three-bedroom house in
Portland with its view of snow-capped Mount Hood and proximity to
cherry orchards, waterfalls, and the Oregon coast, I am content to put those ideas aside for the time being . . . and watch the Illinois snow from the window of our one-bedroom apartment.
For at least a year now, Forest has anxiously awaited Ramona's opportunity to make her own picks for the NCAA men's basketball tournament. Although we did attempt to complete a bracket for her last year while she was still in my belly, it was considerably more enjoyable to go through the same process with her this time in a more direct fashion.
. . . and other times we laid two cards on the coffee table with a cheerio next to each, waiting to see which of the two was eaten first.
For obvious reasons, our method wasn't exactly scientific, but we did produce some kind of results.
She was decidedly in favor of the leprechaun logo, or at least the cheerio sitting in front of it. Is it possible she knew it was St. Patrick's Day?
In any case, her bracket isn't doing terribly well . . . but perhaps she will do better next year when she is older and wiser.
