College Algebra

For the past few months I have been studying for the College Algebra CLEP test. CLEP stands for College Level Examination Program. My reasoning was that if I had taken algebra 1 and 2 already, how much more difficult could college algebra really be? So I took a few practice tests and studied a little (precious little) and scheduled a day to take the test.

That day was yesterday.

It was about 9:00 in theory and 9:30 in actuality when Mom and I sallied forth for this test. We were well armed: I with seven forms of ID (they'd asked for two,) practice tests to review, and a good book for the drive; Mom with enough cash to satisfy the most money-hungry of test administrators and more than enough anxiety than the two of us would have needed put together.

Despite, or perhaps because of, our late start, we arrived in the city of the testing center an hour early. Mom took me to McDonald's to get me a second breakfast. She ate a sausage McMuffin and worried over me. I sipped a hot cocoa and babbled about a movie I wanted to see.

The testing center was on a college campus, but once we were in the right building, none of the faculty could point us to the CLEP testing center. Aggravation might have set in, but we were still a good half-hour early and I was comparatively relaxed.

I was still relaxed when the test administrator let me pass after merely glimpsing two of my ID's. When she took my calculator away, I was still only slightly more nervous.

Then the test started. At this point, I had mostly forgotten to be nervous. By the time I was 1/4th of the way through, my only concern was my time. I plugged away...steadily...people came and went around me. My computer was in a tiny back-lobby sort of hallway that had three offices off of it. There were students coming and going and talking and registering for who-knows-what most of the time.

And then something out of the ordinary happened. I got fidgety. The test was long and I was getting a little bored. I was tired of sitting still and answering questions. I slumped in my seat. Worked another problem. On to the next one. Sat up straight. A graphing question; easy, just subtract x from the left, that's negative slope, so it's not option E or B...I muttered mentally. At least boredom wasn't resulting in brain-frying effects.

Then I was done. I sat there nervously for a minute. What to do? According to the test administrator, my score would print off as soon as I finished. I shrugged and waited. Suddenly the printer next to me grunted and began to align itself for some task. Yep, t'was my score. I grabbed the papers eagerly and started searching them for a number, a percent, a letter grade, or anything that would reveal whether I passed. On the right were two numbers.

Score: 66

ACE Score: 50

I gulped. 50? That was the lowest passing score that College Board allowed! Equal, I think, to a C or C-. I stood in shock. The voice of the test administrator came matter-of-factly over my shoulder: "Oh! Good. You passed! 66 too. Nice work. Your mom's out here waiting for you."

Now, I am not very practiced in the art of grinning ear to ear, nor am I particularly gifted in walking ten feet in the air, but at this moment it was revealed to me that neither of these are necessarily practiced arts.

Now, only one final act remained to conclude my days of studying arithmetic.

This felt soooooo good.

Wait for it...

Sweet relief.

Wild-eyed revenge.

Satisfaction.

Glorious Day

I have a habit of marking off the days on my calendar that I've turned into a pleasant ritual of sorts. Instead of just crossing out the whole square with a pen - how doleful looking! - I put a colorful "x" in the upper right corner of the date. And they're color-coded too. Nothing random or original, just the delightful prism range, following the pattern of that unforgettable name, Roy G. Biv. I had a few extra markers in the set, pink and brown. Perhaps it was the girl in me that insisted in working pink in after violet and before red; lonely brown is destined to mark events and not the passing of days as long as his ink runs damp.

But one day I stared at my calendar, aghast at the action I was about to perform. A new perspective nearly blinded me as a portion of plank from somewhere on my face clattered to the floor.* My life was laid out as just so many X's on paper. I froze: eyes wide, mental wheels turning at a furious rate, pen raising a hypothetical eyebrow at my pause.

Is this what I want? I questioned. Do I really mean to live my life looking forward to the next x? Checking off days because they're done? Rejoicing in going to sleep? Suddenly it seemed as if I'd been wasting time, trying to hurry through each day just so that it'd be over. I capped my pen. Strange thoughts muddled together and only one thing was clear: I couldn't cross out another day just yet.

Several times throughout the next day I went up to the calendar ready to mark off that last day, which hadn't been concluded in the standard way. Each time the same thought stopped me. I couldn't just live like this, waiting with anticipation to end each day, with the purpose of getting to the next one and ending it also. I'd shake my head to clear my brain and walk away, determined to come armed with more strength and bolder ink the next time.

Throughout that day I realized something. It wasn't so much a Bible verse that stood out to me as it was a concept that I formulated. God has a plan for my life. He's got something more in mind for me than just marking off days until "to dust I shall return." Jeremiah 29:11 says, "'For I know the plans I have for you,' Declares the Lord, 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.'" I should be seizing each day for its value in God's kingdom. Each day is one in which I can worship God in all I do and all I say. Each day is one in which I can seek opportunities to live for Him and be a living witness for Christ.

That settled things nicely. It was with joy and Holy gusto that I attacked my calendar that evening.



* Matthew 7:3 "Why do you...pay no attention the plank in your own eye?"

Character Sketches

I love the little things in life so accurately and clearly portray some one's character. It's an instant in time when everybody is doing something different - oblivious to the fact that I'm furtively sneaking glances at them, the object in their hands, and pausing occasionally to scribble notes. Mwahahahaha - if your name (or something representative of your name) appears in this post, keep a look-out behind you for a short fella with glasses (lime green rims,) a tall yellow hat and an epic beard. He's my insurance policy*.

My brother and two sisters sat on the couch one evening. For blogging purposes, their names are Nonchalant, Shutterbug, and Art Maniac.

Nonchalant was flipping through a magazine, discussing with another irrelevant the engine sizes of particular cars and small trucks, comparing estimated miles-per-gallon averages, and generally drooling over anything less than 17 years old and rust-free.

Shutterbug was intently perusing resale sites online in hopes of finding the cheapest perfect ipod on earth. If it was there, she was going to find it and she was going to drive a hard bargain. Her only presence in the room was denoted by the space she took. Consumer reports and "SAVE MONEY NOW!" advertisements manipulated her attention in turn.

Art Maniac was blissfully unaware of my photography as she studied products and pictures from a horse magazine. Horse and Rider? Quarter Horse Associated? Didn't matter. I don't even remember - all I know is that it had horses, which is all it took for her to sit mesmerized for as long as it would have taken me to memorize the thing.

See what I mean? It is as clear a picture of (that facet of) character as one could wish.

And another instance. Art Maniac, Shutterbug and myself were miles from home, talking, giggling, getting bored and otherwise enjoying our life-long sworn friend, Lari, when the idea came (it is not difficult to imagine how - we were goofing off) to give ourselves tattoos with the mascara that Lari was in possession of. Lari began to tattoo herself on her upper arm. In a minute or two of pondering and painting, a little black heart appeared, outlined and then filled in.

Shutterbug snatched at the idea and the mascara and in another minute or two, a face with a jolly smile and sarcastic tongue took life on the arm of my sister. I watched in amusement but without particular interest; the sleeveless dress I would be wearing for the next day's piano competition would advertise a tattoo rather  more distinctly than I really cared for.

But Art Maniac would not be outdone. She held out a well-muscled arm for decoration. "But I don't want a  ridiculous heart," she explained scornfully. A moment's conference and the design was decided upon. I was rather shocked; she was scheduled to compete in a piano competition on the morrow also, but she rebuked me for my fears, claiming that her sleeves would hide the "beautiful thing" and that it would help her endure the wearing of a dress. Shortly thereafter, she proudly displayed a barbed-wire tattoo before my bemused father and shocked mother. I believe she thought the reactions more than worth it.

You never knew watching people could be so amusing, did you? Another secret is to listen to the way somebody talks about a book they're enjoying. In my family it goes something like this:

Short Stuff (little brother): "Storyfingers! Guess what! Mom's reading me this book about the Pony Express and I'm going to be a rider for them!" "The Pony Express doesn't exist anymore, S. Stuff. See, it says in your book that..." "I know that, but I'm going to start my own. And if you want to ride, you have to come see me in my office." Some hours later (representative of days, perhaps?) I find mail, hand scrawled on torn note-book paper and dirty from a ride across the prairies and mountains of our backyard, safely resting on my bed.

Art Maniac: "Hey, get this. There's this book about a girl and her horse, and she rescued the horse from a ranch that was going out of business. And read this description - 'White with a perky medicine hat...'! Storyfingers, don't you know what that means?! It's like, the coolest marking a horse can have! And if you can get a well trained, papered horse with a medicine hat, you could sell it for, like, thousands! Storyfingers, isn't that, like, amazing?!" Receiving mostly a confused response, she returns to the book to retrieve more astounding facts about this miraculous dream horse.

Shutterbug: "Storyfingers, the book I'm reading is sooooo sad! It's about this girl, and her dad goes off to war, and her brother dies, and she's like, made fun of at school just because she's _____! I mean, can you believe it? That's just not fair! And her family isn't nice to her either. I mean, her dad was the only one who liked her, and he's gone. You know, the only way I can stop myself from crying is to keep reminding myself that it's just a book. It's not true, after all. But you should read it! It's soooo sad, I mean, just look at everything she goes through and none of it's her fault!"

Storyfingers: "Oh! I loved that book. I had to read it twice, I just had too. The author is such a good writer! Look at how she develops the lead character! It's so realistic and well written. It's so subtle and yet powerful how she changes the character throughout the course of the story! You should really read it." Or, "Yeah, I know it was about punctuation, but it was so humorous! Lynne Truss does is so skilled at laying out the guidelines for and the history of punctuation in a clear and interesting way! I don't see why anyone wouldn't want to read it. Her puns, dry humor and play on words are all so captivating." Or yet, "Not just his message, but his style really drew me in. I love the way he uses his adjectives. He writes to give every word it's full worth and potency. I love the way he balances simple, poignant sentences with a lengthy use of adjectives; it seems to create a much more vibrant picture."

Ahhhh. Just reading what I've written makes me want to go re-read some of those authors!

Now. Comment. Wait-wait-wait. Slow down. You didn't let me finish. Comment with style. Sketch a character you know well, and in so doing, sketch yourself in profile.

*Insurance policy: If you're looking for him, you'll never notice me. *Grin*