Billiken vs Cancer
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Help SLU's Relay raise $48k in 48 hours! Go to www.slurelay.org and donate to Hilary Korabik!
Artistic April (Or Artsy April)
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
First off, I need to start off this post with something completely irrelevant, but wonderful just the same: I GOT MY ACCEPTANCE LETTER TO IRELAND!!!!
So I will be studying abroad in Galway Fall 2011. I'm so excited.
Back to the meat of this blogpost.
In October, I was able to experience a lot of new things because of something called "Original October." My friends told me about it; it was something they had created. It's very simple--every day in October, do something you've never done before. It was a lot of fun even thought a lot of times it was really difficult to think of something original to do at 10pm on a Tuesday night (but that also added to fun of it.)
There is also a Forkless Februrary that my friend Adrienne created her freshman year. I didn't participate in that, but I am really missing Original October so I've decided that I'm going to do another themed month: Artsy April. Every day in April, I'm going to try and create something new... hopefully some of my friends will join in!
NOLA
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Okay.
I have never been city-sick for any city but Chicago. I mean, I've been school-sick to come back to SLU, but not to actually come back to St. Louis. Buuuuut now, I am city-sick. City-sick for New Orleans. And I really don't know how I feel about it. I guess I've never been in love with a city besides Chicago before. I mean, I haven't been to that many cities I suppose. But I definitely wasn't in love with New York or L.A. when I was there. There was just something about NOLA. I felt safe there, connected there. I want to go back. It was a different kind of connection than the one I have with Chitown and I am craving to go back there. New Orleans. New Orleans. I love it. I love it.
I have never been city-sick for any city but Chicago. I mean, I've been school-sick to come back to SLU, but not to actually come back to St. Louis. Buuuuut now, I am city-sick. City-sick for New Orleans. And I really don't know how I feel about it. I guess I've never been in love with a city besides Chicago before. I mean, I haven't been to that many cities I suppose. But I definitely wasn't in love with New York or L.A. when I was there. There was just something about NOLA. I felt safe there, connected there. I want to go back. It was a different kind of connection than the one I have with Chitown and I am craving to go back there. New Orleans. New Orleans. I love it. I love it.
Today I was at mass, and there was a man in front of me with the most beautifully, shiny, bald head I've ever seen. I mean, it was just so shiny. It reminded me of when I was little and at church, sitting up in the choir loft with my family. I remember whispering to my mom, saying I'm bored and she told me to count all the bald heads I saw on the main floor of the church. Coincidentally, that was what I had already been doing to entertain myself! Like mother, like daughter. Today I also got to pet a freshly-shaved head. Erica's sister, Jessica, just shaved her head for the St. Baldrick's Foundation to raise money for children's cancer research. She looks so cute and her hair is so soft!
Before I Die
Today I STUMBLED across this page. It's a community art project, organized by a woman named Candy Chang. She turned the side of an abandoned building into a chalkboard where the residents "can write on the wall and remember what is important to them in life." This building just happens to be in NOLA, where I was on my service trip last week. Before I realized that's the city it was in, I thought, wow. I feel connection to this place. Then I realized it was in New Orleans. LOVE THAT CITY. Anyway, I love community art projects and you should really check it out.
A new little love!
My roommate's sister, Emily, and her husband have been working tirelessly to adopt a little girl named Elsa from Ethiopia. They already have four beautiful children, Caedmon, Hadley, Milo, and Kohen and yesterday they were all able to welcome Elsa home from Africa! Here's Emily's blog and here are some pictures from Elsa's homecoming. What a beautiful, beautiful family =]
story of my life right hurrrrr.
Why I Relay--the Story of the Daughter of a Breast Cancer Survivor
Hello to all my loved ones,
As many of you may know, I am on the Steering Committee for Relay for Life at my college, St. Louis University. Relay For Life is the signature event of the American Cancer Society which helps create a world with less cancer and more birthdays by helping people get well, helping people stay well, finding cures, and fighting back. I've chosen to make the American Cancer Society the official sponsor of my birthday because I know that they are doing such great work to make sure that future generations will live in a cancer free world.
All of you know that my life has been touched by cancer. In January 2001, my mom and dad called my brother Tom and me into the living room. We'd just gotten back from Mass and it appeared to us that we would be having a very serious conversation. I don't know what Tom was thinking, but as a little ten-year-old in whom Catholic Guilt had already been instilled, I wracked my brain trying to think of something that could have gotten me into trouble. As far as I knew, Tom and I hadn't bitten each other between Mass and then so we were in the clear. But in a few minutes I was about to find out that it wasn't just me who was in trouble; it was my whole family. My mom had just found out that she had breast cancer and would be having a lumpectomy on Valentine's Day and then would go through several treatments of chemotherapy and radiation. When my parents had called me into the living room, I thought I was in trouble, but this was a different kind of trouble than I could have ever expected. This kind of trouble was far worse because I had done nothing to cause this and even worse, there was NOTHING I COULD DO TO FIX IT.
I don't think I understood exactly what cancer meant. I knew it was bad and that my mom was sick, but she was sick for a couple of months as opposed to a few days and she would get better. Of course she would get better. She's my mom. But the thing is this: Cancer Kills. And Cancer Hurts. And Cancer does everything it can to tear families apart and ruin the lives we have worked so hard for. My mom could have died. I thank God every day that she caught that lump in her breast in time and that she had the best doctors in the world.
But mostly,
I thank God every day for all of YOU. My strongest memories of this time are of my family and friends taking care of my brothers and me. People would take Tom, Chris and me to the movies or to the zoo or to the batting cages the day of and the day after my mom's treatments. On my mom's birthday, June 8th, 2001, I was with my Uncle Dan because my mom had just had a chemo treatment the day before. We were sitting outside Stella's batting cages eating ice cream and the sun was shining so brightly. We all knew we were together because of my mom, this moment wouldn't have happened without her. As we sat there, Uncle Danny said, "The sun always shines on your mom's birthday." And it really does. Because it's my mom and you all know that she is strong and you all know that she is brave and you all know that she is LOUD and there is no way in hell that she would let cancer kick her ass without a fight!
I know what my mom's time with cancer was like for me, as her daughter. What I have never known is what it was like for you all, as her brothers, her nieces, her nephews, her cousins, her friends. I can't imagine what you were all thinking because I'm sure that you all understood much better than I could have what cancer meant. And I can only know that it hurt and that it was sad and painful and terrifying because that's what cancer is. But you all also know that it brought us all together. Because I wouldn't have had that day on the bench with Uncle Danny if it hadn't happened, and I wouldn't have gone to Michigan City with the Careys. and I wouldn't have been to the movies with Uncle John, and out to dinner with Uncle Marty, and I wouldn't have had all those delicious dinners (like the pizza from the Hochs and the Portillo's from the Nagels) from all those caring people in Riverside who took care of us when we couldn't take care of ourselves by ourselves.
Now here I am. I am twenty years old and on February 14th, 2011 my mom became a TEN YEAR BREAST CANCER SURVIVOR!!! And ten years ago when I was called into the living room and told about my mom's cancer there was nothing I could do about it but now there is. Now I can help the American Cancer Society create a world with less cancer and more birthdays through Relay for Life. I want to make sure that my daughter doesn't ever have to walk into the bathroom and see her mom with tears streaming down her face and hair falling out. I want to work so that cancer does not touch my life or the lives of the people I love ever again.
I have chosen to make the American Cancer Society and Relay for Life the official sponsor of my birthday and I am asking you to do the same. At least one member of my team will be walking from 6PM-6AM on April 16th-17th because cancer never sleeps and neither do we until we find a cure. My mom will be walking in the survivor's lap and I will be walking to meet her.
Will you help me fight back? Here is the link to SLU Relay's Website:
http://main.acsevents.org/site/TR?pg=entry&fr_id=31868
You can search for me, Hilary Korabik. If you could just donate $5 and forward this to 5 people asking for $5 I would appreciate it so much! Here is a video from the American Cancer Society:
>http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xTLdrHNei3M
Thank you so much for your time! I love you all and will see you soon,
Hilary
Pack nothing.
Bring only your determination to serve and your willingness to be free.
Don't wait for the bread to rise.
Take nourishment for the journey, but eat standing, be ready to move at a moments notice.
Do not hesitate to leave your old ways behind - fear, silence, submission.
Only surrender to the need of the time - to love tenderly, act justly, and walk humbly with your God.
Do not take time to explain to the neighbors. Tell only a few trusted friends and family members - then begin quickly, before you have time to sink back into the old slavery.
Set out in the dark. I will send fire to warm and encourage you. I will be with you in the fire and I will be with you in the cloud.
You will learn to eat new food and find refuge in new places. I will give you dreams in the desert to guide you safely home to that place you have not yet seen.
The stories you tell one another around the fires in the dark will make you strong and wise.
Outsiders will attack you, and some will follow you, and at times you will get weary and turn on each other from fear and fatigue and blind forgetfulness.
You have been preparing for this for hundreds of years.
I am sending you into the wilderness to make a new way and to learn my ways more deeply.
Some of you will be so changed by weathers and wanderings that even your closest friends will have to learn your features as though for the first time
Some of you will not change at all.
Some will be abandoned by your dearest loves and misunderstood by those who have known you since birth and feel abandoned by you.
Some will find new friendships in unlikely faces, and old friends as faithful and true as the pillar of God's flame.
Sing songs as you go, and hold close together
You may at times grow confused and lose your way.
Continue to call each other by the names I've given you, to help remember who you are.
Touch each other and keep telling the stories.
Make maps as you go remembering the way back from before you were born.
So you will be only the first of many waves of deliverance on these desert seas.
It is the first of many beginnings - your Paschaltide. Remain true to this mystery.
Pass on the whole story
Bring only your determination to serve and your willingness to be free.
Don't wait for the bread to rise.
Take nourishment for the journey, but eat standing, be ready to move at a moments notice.
Do not hesitate to leave your old ways behind - fear, silence, submission.
Only surrender to the need of the time - to love tenderly, act justly, and walk humbly with your God.
Do not take time to explain to the neighbors. Tell only a few trusted friends and family members - then begin quickly, before you have time to sink back into the old slavery.
Set out in the dark. I will send fire to warm and encourage you. I will be with you in the fire and I will be with you in the cloud.
You will learn to eat new food and find refuge in new places. I will give you dreams in the desert to guide you safely home to that place you have not yet seen.
The stories you tell one another around the fires in the dark will make you strong and wise.
Outsiders will attack you, and some will follow you, and at times you will get weary and turn on each other from fear and fatigue and blind forgetfulness.
You have been preparing for this for hundreds of years.
I am sending you into the wilderness to make a new way and to learn my ways more deeply.
Some of you will be so changed by weathers and wanderings that even your closest friends will have to learn your features as though for the first time
Some of you will not change at all.
Some will be abandoned by your dearest loves and misunderstood by those who have known you since birth and feel abandoned by you.
Some will find new friendships in unlikely faces, and old friends as faithful and true as the pillar of God's flame.
Sing songs as you go, and hold close together
You may at times grow confused and lose your way.
Continue to call each other by the names I've given you, to help remember who you are.
Touch each other and keep telling the stories.
Make maps as you go remembering the way back from before you were born.
So you will be only the first of many waves of deliverance on these desert seas.
It is the first of many beginnings - your Paschaltide. Remain true to this mystery.
Pass on the whole story
a poem for nietzsche/freud/taco
there is on my counter a dead fish.
a decaying fish.
this nameless fish with so many names
has gilled in his last gill-fulls of water.
fish.
taco.
nietzsche.
tony.
i don't remember his other names, but everyone had a name for him.
he was a different fish to everyone who met him.
nietzsche to me, taco to his owner.
pluralism lives.
he is dead but we cannot let him go.
a decaying fish.
this nameless fish with so many names
has gilled in his last gill-fulls of water.
fish.
taco.
nietzsche.
tony.
i don't remember his other names, but everyone had a name for him.
he was a different fish to everyone who met him.
nietzsche to me, taco to his owner.
pluralism lives.
he is dead but we cannot let him go.
"It is in the shelter of each other that the people live." --Irish Proverb
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Wow. I can say without one bit of exaggeration that I just had the most wonderful, intense, and life-changing week of my life.
I spent a week with six other SLUdents, a lovely Sister, and a former Brother. I was at a place called Hope House in New Orleans, LA. Hope House is located in the neighborhood that used to be the St. Thomas Projects. Sister Lilianne and Brother Don run the place and reach out to everyone in the neighborhood, helping them and being helped by them in so many ways. Seriously, Sister Lilianne and Brother Don are real-life superheroes.
We began and ended each day with reflection. One night during reflection, I brought up one of my favorite quotes by Mother Teresa: "If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other." I've loved that quote ever since I first heard it, but I didn't fully recognize what it meant until this week.
The next morning, the quotes and readings that Sister Lilianne chose for our readings all surrounded the idea of belonging to each other, quite coincidentally as she had not been at the relflection we had the night before. During this reflection, I had my big revelation that turned into the theme of my week: we are all brothers and sisters. No, I know you've heard this a thousand times. But really, we are all literally brothers and sisters, it's not a figurative thing.
One time my friend/roomie, Hannah, asked me what it was like to have brothers. I'd never really thought about it before. I have a connection with my brothers that I have with no one else. We were raised together, we love each other, we would do anything for each other. If someone hurts one of my brothers or says anything negative about them, I feel hurt and upset myself, as if that person had directly hurt me. In the same manner, if one of my brothers accomplishes something, I feel so proud, as if I had done it myself. That is what siblinghood is to me. Tom and Chris are my brothers, and I am their sister. But wait. Everyone is supposed to be my brother or my sister. Every single person. I couldn't believe it. It was so simple. We are all brothers and sisters. I should be hurt any time anyone hurts any other human being, and I should be sky-high whenever anyone succeeds. Because we all belong to each other, we are all brothers and sisters in this world and we are all called to act for justice, to serve one another, and to love each other as siblings do.
Sooo, after that big revelation, I challenged myself to see everyone on my trip with me and everyone I met as my brother or my sister. And let me tell you, it hasn't been easy. But it will come, it will come. I know that with God's guidance and love, I will be able to see every individual as my brother or sister.
Aside from this, we had a beautiful trip. Our group, of "originally seven wonderful strangers", meshed unbelievably well together. I had two beautiful and wonderful leaders and friends in Briana and Rachel, and I found love and friendship in Zip, Claire, Paul, and Anne. I have been truly blessed to be a part of this group and am so grateful.
Here is a picture of us standing outside Hope House with Sister Lilianne, Brother Don, and Patrick.
I spent a week with six other SLUdents, a lovely Sister, and a former Brother. I was at a place called Hope House in New Orleans, LA. Hope House is located in the neighborhood that used to be the St. Thomas Projects. Sister Lilianne and Brother Don run the place and reach out to everyone in the neighborhood, helping them and being helped by them in so many ways. Seriously, Sister Lilianne and Brother Don are real-life superheroes.
We began and ended each day with reflection. One night during reflection, I brought up one of my favorite quotes by Mother Teresa: "If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other." I've loved that quote ever since I first heard it, but I didn't fully recognize what it meant until this week.
The next morning, the quotes and readings that Sister Lilianne chose for our readings all surrounded the idea of belonging to each other, quite coincidentally as she had not been at the relflection we had the night before. During this reflection, I had my big revelation that turned into the theme of my week: we are all brothers and sisters. No, I know you've heard this a thousand times. But really, we are all literally brothers and sisters, it's not a figurative thing.
One time my friend/roomie, Hannah, asked me what it was like to have brothers. I'd never really thought about it before. I have a connection with my brothers that I have with no one else. We were raised together, we love each other, we would do anything for each other. If someone hurts one of my brothers or says anything negative about them, I feel hurt and upset myself, as if that person had directly hurt me. In the same manner, if one of my brothers accomplishes something, I feel so proud, as if I had done it myself. That is what siblinghood is to me. Tom and Chris are my brothers, and I am their sister. But wait. Everyone is supposed to be my brother or my sister. Every single person. I couldn't believe it. It was so simple. We are all brothers and sisters. I should be hurt any time anyone hurts any other human being, and I should be sky-high whenever anyone succeeds. Because we all belong to each other, we are all brothers and sisters in this world and we are all called to act for justice, to serve one another, and to love each other as siblings do.
Sooo, after that big revelation, I challenged myself to see everyone on my trip with me and everyone I met as my brother or my sister. And let me tell you, it hasn't been easy. But it will come, it will come. I know that with God's guidance and love, I will be able to see every individual as my brother or sister.
Aside from this, we had a beautiful trip. Our group, of "originally seven wonderful strangers", meshed unbelievably well together. I had two beautiful and wonderful leaders and friends in Briana and Rachel, and I found love and friendship in Zip, Claire, Paul, and Anne. I have been truly blessed to be a part of this group and am so grateful.
Here is a picture of us standing outside Hope House with Sister Lilianne, Brother Don, and Patrick.
Love to you all, my brothers and sisters.
stumblin' on a discovery
Friday, March 11, 2011
hi.
I was just stumbling, and I found this website and it is so cool. For a fun distraction during class, go here.
love,
hilary
I was just stumbling, and I found this website and it is so cool. For a fun distraction during class, go here.
love,
hilary
The Vagina Monologues
This was my second year participating in Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues. It was just as life-changing an experience as it was last year. Here is the monologue I performed, the final monologue of the show.
I was there when her vagina opened.
We were all there her mother, her husband and I,
and the nurse from the Ukraine with her whole hand
up there in her vagina feeling and turning with her rubber
glove as she talked casually to us--like she was turning on a loaded faucet.
I was there in the room when the contractions
made her crawl on all fours,
made unfamiliar moans leak out of her pores
and still there after hours when she just screamed suddenly
wild, her arms striking at the electric air.
I was there when her vagina changed
from a shy sexual hole
to an archeological tunnel, a sacred vessel,
a Venetian canal, a deep well with a tiny stuck child inside,
waiting to be rescued.
I saw the colors of her vagina. They changed.
Saw the bruised broken blue
the blistering tomato red
the gray pink-the dark;
saw the blood like perspiration along the edges
saw the yellow, white liquid, the shit, the clots
pushing out all the holes, pushing harder and harder,
saw through the hole, the baby's head
scratches of black hair, saw it just there behind
the bone--a hard round memory,
as the nurse from the Ukraine kept turning and turning
her slippery hand.
I was there when each of us, her mother and I,
held a leg and spread her wide pushing
with all our strength against her pushing
and her husband sternly counting, "One, two, three,"
telling her to focus, harder.
We looked into her then.
We couldn't get our eyes out of that place.
We forget the vagina
What else would explain
our lack of awe, our lack of wonder?
I was there when the doctor
reached in with Alice in Wonderland spoons
and there as her vagina became a wide operatic mouth
singing with all its strength;
first the little head, then the gray flopping arm, then the fast swimming body, swimming quickly into our weeping arms.
I was there later when I just turned and faced her vagina.
I stood and let myself see her all spread, completely exposed
mutilated, swollen and torn,
bleeding all over the doctor' s hands
who was calmly sewing her there.
I stood and her vagina suddenly
became a wide red pulsing heart.
The heart is capable of sacrifice.
So is the vagina.
The heart is able to forgive and repair.
It can change its shape to let us in.
It can expand to let us out.
So can the vagina.
It can ache for us and stretch for us, die for us
and bleed and bleed us into this difficult, wondrous world.
I was there in the room.
I remember.
I was there when her vagina opened.
We were all there her mother, her husband and I,
and the nurse from the Ukraine with her whole hand
up there in her vagina feeling and turning with her rubber
glove as she talked casually to us--like she was turning on a loaded faucet.
I was there in the room when the contractions
made her crawl on all fours,
made unfamiliar moans leak out of her pores
and still there after hours when she just screamed suddenly
wild, her arms striking at the electric air.
I was there when her vagina changed
from a shy sexual hole
to an archeological tunnel, a sacred vessel,
a Venetian canal, a deep well with a tiny stuck child inside,
waiting to be rescued.
I saw the colors of her vagina. They changed.
Saw the bruised broken blue
the blistering tomato red
the gray pink-the dark;
saw the blood like perspiration along the edges
saw the yellow, white liquid, the shit, the clots
pushing out all the holes, pushing harder and harder,
saw through the hole, the baby's head
scratches of black hair, saw it just there behind
the bone--a hard round memory,
as the nurse from the Ukraine kept turning and turning
her slippery hand.
I was there when each of us, her mother and I,
held a leg and spread her wide pushing
with all our strength against her pushing
and her husband sternly counting, "One, two, three,"
telling her to focus, harder.
We looked into her then.
We couldn't get our eyes out of that place.
We forget the vagina
What else would explain
our lack of awe, our lack of wonder?
I was there when the doctor
reached in with Alice in Wonderland spoons
and there as her vagina became a wide operatic mouth
singing with all its strength;
first the little head, then the gray flopping arm, then the fast swimming body, swimming quickly into our weeping arms.
I was there later when I just turned and faced her vagina.
I stood and let myself see her all spread, completely exposed
mutilated, swollen and torn,
bleeding all over the doctor' s hands
who was calmly sewing her there.
I stood and her vagina suddenly
became a wide red pulsing heart.
The heart is capable of sacrifice.
So is the vagina.
The heart is able to forgive and repair.
It can change its shape to let us in.
It can expand to let us out.
So can the vagina.
It can ache for us and stretch for us, die for us
and bleed and bleed us into this difficult, wondrous world.
I was there in the room.
I remember.
reunited with my books
Okay, so I am an English major to the core: I have an eccentric fascination with books.
I love the way they feel, the way the smell, the way they look. I simply love them. They are my friends and I hate to be away from them for a long time.
Right now, I am very happy because I have just been reunited with an assortment of books. My mom brought them down for me when she and my dad came to visit on Tuesday.
Ohhhh I cannot fully express my love of books. Especially my books. I love all books. New books, old books, books that I have written in and worn down with love.
I an never spend less than an hour in a book store, and that is cutting it short. Throughout the course of my book perusing, I will pick up probably 20 books that I would REALLY REALLY love to buy, and by the end of the browsing, I have to find a quiet corner in which to sit so I can go through, round by round, and decide which books I can actually afford to purchase.
There is this girl I follow on Tumblr who just posts pictures and pictures and pictures of books. Books upon books. I almost die every time I go to her page because my heart nearly explodes with my love for books. Here is her page.
Does anyone else share this bizarre infatuation with written word?
I love the way they feel, the way the smell, the way they look. I simply love them. They are my friends and I hate to be away from them for a long time.
Right now, I am very happy because I have just been reunited with an assortment of books. My mom brought them down for me when she and my dad came to visit on Tuesday.
Ohhhh I cannot fully express my love of books. Especially my books. I love all books. New books, old books, books that I have written in and worn down with love.
I an never spend less than an hour in a book store, and that is cutting it short. Throughout the course of my book perusing, I will pick up probably 20 books that I would REALLY REALLY love to buy, and by the end of the browsing, I have to find a quiet corner in which to sit so I can go through, round by round, and decide which books I can actually afford to purchase.
There is this girl I follow on Tumblr who just posts pictures and pictures and pictures of books. Books upon books. I almost die every time I go to her page because my heart nearly explodes with my love for books. Here is her page.
Does anyone else share this bizarre infatuation with written word?
i love my parents.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
At the moment, I am failing to recall a time when I felt as loved as I did on Tuesday. I know there have been other times when I have felt the power of love, but at the moment, Tuesday is outshining them all.
I haven't been home since early January, when I returned to St. Louis a week early so that I could work. I'm going on a mission trip to New Orleans for Spring Break, so the earliest I will be back in good ol' Chicago is Easter, which falls really late this year. My dad keeps asking me when I'm coming home and I have to keep saying, "Dad, I don't know-w-w-w-w." I was fortunate that my mom could come down to see me a few weeks ago when I was in the Vagina Monologues, but it's been a long time to go without seeing my dad.
So anyway, this Tuesday was Fat Tuesday, the day to savor the taste of luxury before the 40-day season of Lent begins. I don't know how many of you know what pączkis are, but you must try them before you die. They are a Polish/Eastern European (my family hails from Poland so I always just say they are Polish, but that may very well be inaccurate) pastry, sort of like a Bismarck. Well, the only day of the year that we ever eat pączkis is on Fat Tuesday. My dad always rises to get them at four in the morning because they sell out in about a minute. Ohhhhh they are so delicious.
Last year was my first year without this delectable treat. My dad looked into having them sent to me, but the bakery near SLU was too far and delivery charges were up the wazoo. Sad day.
This was to be my second year without pączkis. I called my mom when I got out of my first class and asked her if she had had any yet. She said she was waiting until later in the day because she didn't want to eat too many and she was afraid that if she ate one she wouldn't be able to stop eating them. She asked me what my schedule was for the day, commenting "Oh, you're going from one place right to another." She is never that attentive to what my daily plans are but I didn't take much note of it.
Later that day, my dad called me when I was in the middle of my math class. He never calls me. My parents tend to let me call them when I am free so that they aren't bothering me when I am in the middle of something. I ignored his call because I was in class, and immediately afterward he called me again. Is something wrong? I worried. I worried the rest of class. Ahhh why is he calling me!?!?
I called him right after I got out of class. Dad! What's wrong? Is everything okay? He said of course, he just wanted to wish me a happy Pączki Day. Great. All that panic for nothing. But of course these phone calls are always cute. I got a similar one when it was my name's day, and had a similar panic attack.
My dad asked me where I was going and I said I was going back to my apartment. I was supposed to go to an art exhibit in the library in an hour and a half, but it was cold and rainy and I was leaning toward skipping it. How long is your walk? he asked. Hmm... my parents are strangely interested in the details today. About seven minutes. We talked for a few minutes and he asked where I was. By the clock tower. He made it clear that he was going to talk to me until I got to my apartment, which I didn't really take note of because when I used to walk to and from the Metro late at night after work, he would always talk to me until I got back to my dorm safely. The only strange thing was that this was during the day, and I was walking openly through campus.
I finally got to my apartment and my dad and I hung up. He said he'd eat a pączki for me. Those words are always so comforting. I go into my room and start getting into sweats, ready to snuggle up in my bed until I had to go to work. All the sudden there is a banging on the door. Hmmm... either my roommates invited someone over and aren't answering or Erica knows I'm in here and really wants to visit. I reluctantly got up and walked to the door. I peaked out the peep-hole but I couldn't tell who was there. I opened the door, and there are MY PARENTS, STANDING WITH BOXES AND BOXES OF Pączkis!
They drove five hours just to surprise me because they knew they wouldn't be seeing me until Easter. I was in shock (pictures to come) and couldn't wrap my head around it for some time. So sweet. So loving. I just felt how much they loved me right there. They drove five hours without knowing if they were even going to be able to spend time with me. I still can't believe how much love I felt through that action. My dad apparently planned this five months ago. So cute, haha. So cute.
I was able to cancel my meetings and someone volunteered to work my shift at the front desk, so I was able to go out to a Fat Tuesday dinner with them, and then Ash Wednesday mass and lunch with them the next day. Mmmmm did those pączkis taste good!
I haven't been home since early January, when I returned to St. Louis a week early so that I could work. I'm going on a mission trip to New Orleans for Spring Break, so the earliest I will be back in good ol' Chicago is Easter, which falls really late this year. My dad keeps asking me when I'm coming home and I have to keep saying, "Dad, I don't know-w-w-w-w." I was fortunate that my mom could come down to see me a few weeks ago when I was in the Vagina Monologues, but it's been a long time to go without seeing my dad.
So anyway, this Tuesday was Fat Tuesday, the day to savor the taste of luxury before the 40-day season of Lent begins. I don't know how many of you know what pączkis are, but you must try them before you die. They are a Polish/Eastern European (my family hails from Poland so I always just say they are Polish, but that may very well be inaccurate) pastry, sort of like a Bismarck. Well, the only day of the year that we ever eat pączkis is on Fat Tuesday. My dad always rises to get them at four in the morning because they sell out in about a minute. Ohhhhh they are so delicious.
Last year was my first year without this delectable treat. My dad looked into having them sent to me, but the bakery near SLU was too far and delivery charges were up the wazoo. Sad day.
This was to be my second year without pączkis. I called my mom when I got out of my first class and asked her if she had had any yet. She said she was waiting until later in the day because she didn't want to eat too many and she was afraid that if she ate one she wouldn't be able to stop eating them. She asked me what my schedule was for the day, commenting "Oh, you're going from one place right to another." She is never that attentive to what my daily plans are but I didn't take much note of it.
Later that day, my dad called me when I was in the middle of my math class. He never calls me. My parents tend to let me call them when I am free so that they aren't bothering me when I am in the middle of something. I ignored his call because I was in class, and immediately afterward he called me again. Is something wrong? I worried. I worried the rest of class. Ahhh why is he calling me!?!?
I called him right after I got out of class. Dad! What's wrong? Is everything okay? He said of course, he just wanted to wish me a happy Pączki Day. Great. All that panic for nothing. But of course these phone calls are always cute. I got a similar one when it was my name's day, and had a similar panic attack.
My dad asked me where I was going and I said I was going back to my apartment. I was supposed to go to an art exhibit in the library in an hour and a half, but it was cold and rainy and I was leaning toward skipping it. How long is your walk? he asked. Hmm... my parents are strangely interested in the details today. About seven minutes. We talked for a few minutes and he asked where I was. By the clock tower. He made it clear that he was going to talk to me until I got to my apartment, which I didn't really take note of because when I used to walk to and from the Metro late at night after work, he would always talk to me until I got back to my dorm safely. The only strange thing was that this was during the day, and I was walking openly through campus.
I finally got to my apartment and my dad and I hung up. He said he'd eat a pączki for me. Those words are always so comforting. I go into my room and start getting into sweats, ready to snuggle up in my bed until I had to go to work. All the sudden there is a banging on the door. Hmmm... either my roommates invited someone over and aren't answering or Erica knows I'm in here and really wants to visit. I reluctantly got up and walked to the door. I peaked out the peep-hole but I couldn't tell who was there. I opened the door, and there are MY PARENTS, STANDING WITH BOXES AND BOXES OF Pączkis!
They drove five hours just to surprise me because they knew they wouldn't be seeing me until Easter. I was in shock (pictures to come) and couldn't wrap my head around it for some time. So sweet. So loving. I just felt how much they loved me right there. They drove five hours without knowing if they were even going to be able to spend time with me. I still can't believe how much love I felt through that action. My dad apparently planned this five months ago. So cute, haha. So cute.
I was able to cancel my meetings and someone volunteered to work my shift at the front desk, so I was able to go out to a Fat Tuesday dinner with them, and then Ash Wednesday mass and lunch with them the next day. Mmmmm did those pączkis taste good!
these lenten days
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Hello lovely readers,
So I know it has been unbelievably long since I have posted on this blog. Buuuuuut, no worries, I have a lenten goal to post every day except for next week when I am in New Orleans on a mission trip. (I am only going on Facebook for 20 minutes a day during Lent, so of course I need something else to do during those lonely, Facebook-less hours!)
This Lent, as I give up Facebook, I am going to try to invest my time in other things--such as reading, cleaning, meeting new people, praying, dancing, etc. I hope that I'll waste less time if I'm not on Facebook so that is my Lenten challenge.
Love Love Love!
Hilary
So I know it has been unbelievably long since I have posted on this blog. Buuuuuut, no worries, I have a lenten goal to post every day except for next week when I am in New Orleans on a mission trip. (I am only going on Facebook for 20 minutes a day during Lent, so of course I need something else to do during those lonely, Facebook-less hours!)
This Lent, as I give up Facebook, I am going to try to invest my time in other things--such as reading, cleaning, meeting new people, praying, dancing, etc. I hope that I'll waste less time if I'm not on Facebook so that is my Lenten challenge.
Love Love Love!
Hilary
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