Biology and Baking: Wrap Up

I got an A in Bio.
I think I can still name quite a few muscles and bones.
I would probably pass the tests if I took them again.
But I'm glad to be finished with my science requirement for graduation.

If I was getting a grade for my baking endeavors, I'd probably get an A.
I spent two days in the beautiful kitchen at Grabill Missionary Church baking cupcakes.
My mom made one kind. My dad washed all my dishes.
I would not have been able to do what I did without them.

We left early Friday morning for Mishawaka to drop off one car.
We arrived in Kenosha around 1pm and were making frostings within the hour.
A few trips to grocery stores, a dinner break, and seven hours later, frostings were finished.
The hi-hats were completely finished and in the fridge.
Some of the mochas were done.
And everything was ready to go the next day.

After a late night of catching up with friends and watching "Spirited Away," I climbed into bed.
I decided to get up at 9. Pancakes and bacon were being prepared in the kitchen.
The first words I ever said to one of the guys were "Or, you could be a real person and drink it black."
(I drink mochas and lattes and cappuccinos with the best of them, but when I drink regular coffee, it is strong and black and without sugar. It's how I was raised.)
A beautiful, sunscreen-free hour was spent at Lake Michigan.
And then it was time to go to the church to decorate cupcakes.
Shout out to my pal Calvin, who saved me a bunch of time by setting out cupcakes and taking them out to the display.

I don't know exactly how many cupcakes ended up on that display, but I know that most of them were eaten.
And I know that they were enjoyed.
They were beautiful and delicious and I was so proud of them.

That weekend was one of the best of the entire summer.
I met some amazing people, stopped traffic, got sunburned, celebrated the marriage of an incredible couple, and was totally validated as a baker.
I could not have asked for a better first gig.

My second gig was a tiny fraction of the size, but was no less fun.
It was a graduation party for my sister-in-law's sister.
Six dozen cupcakes, only three flavors.
A breeze, compared to the previous week.
At that party, besides seeing the graduate and my entire immediate family, I saw a guy I graduated with who I hadn't seen since the day A&A got married.
So, that was cool.

And now the summer of baking is over.
At least, the baking other people have been depending on.

It has been a three-post night.
And it is 2:30am.
I'm going to bed.

full circle.

I was home alone for the entirety of Memorial Day weekend.
Hannah and Susannah were both headed to weddings and Amber was cat-sitting/working/hanging out.
So I had the apartment to myself.

H was gone by the time I got home from class, I got back from my Chipotle interview (it's been a month and I haven't heard anything. I've given up hope.) just in time to say good-bye to S. Am was on her way out, too. So from the early evening on Friday until late Monday, I mostly watched movies and slept.

But Saturday was a little bit different.
I was incredibly bored and was starting to feel rather lonely.
But I didn't want to be with people nearly as much as I simply needed to get out of the house.
I talked to my mom on the phone and she said I could come home.
I almost did. But I didn't really need to.

I decided to drive to Goshen to find our old house.

I wasn't sure what I was expecting from that trip.
I needed to drive. I needed to cry. I needed to remember.
I put the address in the GPS.
I have never forgotten that address and I don't think I ever will.
I started driving.

As I got closer, I started to get nervous.
Would anyone be outside, wondering what I was doing?
Would I recognize anything as I got closer?

Not really.
Yes.

The church where I first took Communion, soon after I asked Jesus into my heart.
The sign marking the subdivision.


The house with the big front window.
My house.
59000 Lower Drive.

But everything looks different after nearly sixteen years.
The trees are all taller and the houses look so much smaller.
The street I first rode a two-wheeler across seemed a mile wide when I was five.
Now it felt barely wide enough for my car.

I remember riding my bike around the block. There were hills that seemed like mountains back then.
As I drove around the block I tried to find them.
Nothing.
I couldn't believe it.
I felt like the neighborhood had failed me.

When I got there, I realized that I was expecting to feel like I had come home.
I was desperately needing something familiar.
It seems like it's been such a long time since anything has felt like home.

Last school year was rough.
More than I think I've ever written.
It was so different and difficult and I was so ready for it to be over.
But in the last month of the semester, everything seemed to be getting better and I knew that I would miss it.

Then I went home for less than a week before May Term started.
But I was home alone during the day and up late every night organizing my possessions.
I didn't have much time to spend with my parents, and that is what I was so desperate for all year.
And I know that it was partially my fault.

I moved into an apartment with three people.
I had met Susannah only once and for about five minutes.
I barely knew Hannah and Amber at all.

I didn't know what to expect.
But I knew that if it turned out to be terrible, I could look forward to July 10.
That was always the date I would be moving out, whether anyone else knew it or not.

It has definitely not been terrible.
I have loved talking, cooking, laughing, watching movies, going to weddings, and sharing life with these women.
I have not loved how much we've been all over the place and not in the same house for the past few weeks.

I have not loved how much my people skills have diminished because of my lack of human contact (my own fault).
I have not loved how lonely I have made myself feel.
I have not loved my lack of money skills.
I have not loved the mess that is my side of the bedroom right now.

But I've gotten off track.

I'm going home on Tuesday.
And by "home" I mean Fort Wayne.
But that doesn't really feel like home.
Home is my family.
Home is the friends I've had forever.
And that means that home is spread across the Midwest.
And a Katie-sized piece of home is finishing her time in Macedonia.

I'll be with part of my family for a few days.
Then I'll come back, pack up the rest of my stuff, go to a waterpark, and go to Fort Wayne for a week.

Then I leave the country for two weeks.

And then I'm finally in one place for three weeks.
Except for Sarah and Matt's wedding.
I'll be in the Cleveland area for that weekend for a mini-vacation.

I will spend time with my parents.
I will spend time with my dear friends.

Someday I will make it to The Chief to eat Blue Moon ice cream.
Someday I will go to Lake Michigan.
Someday I'll actually finish a Jane Austen book.
Someday, I'll be Somewhere that feels like home.

And it will be, for Eternity.
Homesick doesn't even begin to cover how much I'm looking forward to that.

Sometimes, all it takes...

...is a text from a friend reminding you that people actually see what goes on facebook and they might think that it's pathetic.
...is a courageous blog post by a guy who's had a lot of tough times in the past decade.
...is a caramel mocha, crafted by Max.
...is finding out that the cute barista at Starbuck is named Max.
...is finishing all of the items on the list your mom made for you.
...is knowing that your mom makes lists for you because she loves you, even though you are 21 years old and still don't know how to budget.
...is a storm, reminding you that God is powerful AND knows that we desperately need rain.
...is a sleepy kitty who just wants to snuggle. (Allow me to interrupt myself and clarify this one. I hate cats. I hate the way they treat me like they're in charge. I hate that a six-cat house smells like a six-cat house. I hate that every article of clothing now has cat hair on it. I hate that they climb on everything and steal my seat and scratch at my door at night. I hate that the litter box room is in our apartment and not upstairs. That said, I live a very lonely and secluded life, so affection keeps me sane. The fact that I talk to the cats as much as I do could bring that sanity into question, but I'll forgive myself. I like sitting and watching TV and petting an animal. I'd rather it not be a cat, but that's what I've got. My life is a little bit pathetic right now. I really do not like cats.)
...is knowing that you are leaving the country in 18 days.
...is watching the pile of dirty dishes become a pile of soapy dishes that is currently waiting to be a pile of clean dishes.
...is the prospect of a day spent packing and cleaning in preparation to go home for a few days.
...is the thought of seeing family next week and possibly celebrating my aunt and her husband's third anniversary. (I'll interrupt myself again. I've been trying to get used to the idea of calling him my uncle for three years. I can't do it. Her first husband was my uncle, and that didn't end well. He's my aunt's husband and I could not be happier or more thankful. To find out more, she's writing their story in installments over at Ernestine Edna and her Really Big Ideas right now.)
...is finally finishing a blog post after starting at least two of them in the past month.

Sometimes, all it takes is one (or all) of these things to get me to the end of this day without crying or screaming.