Refutation.

IN REBUTTAL to my mother's most recent blog post entitled "Funniest Story Ever" (found at fransonfunnyfarm.blogspot.com) I want to bring up a few points in no particular order:

1. Upon hearing the intense and loud rattling, shaking sound, I did not know what it was, and I did not want to find out. I am afraid of mainly two things in this mortal life: being spiritually dead in the next and snakes. All fears are miniscule in comparison, and other fears or grievances I can at least handle. These I cannot bear to think about. So, in the case that the shaking, moving thing was a snake, I didn't want to take a closer look.

2. If fears can be inherited (and in this case I most certainly believe they can be) then ALL of my family- with the exception of Judson who has no fears and my dad whose feelings toward snakes I am not certain- have the deepest, most intense fear and loathing toward any form of snakes. Pictures, toys, stuffed animals, movie clips, sounds, ANYTHING. Once I saw a film about freak animal stories. There was one where a snake got in the plumbing and was in the toilet. I now always check. So, in light of this fear that runs in my family, I believe that has it happened to any one of us we would be at the least a bit startled.

3. I was the child that, because I was the bravest, was nominated at or around the age of 9 to clean out the spider infested window well. At the far end lay the doormat that was blown in by the wind. As I went to pick up the mat and put it in its proper place, I saw several slimy and long tailed creatures. I thought they were snakes then too, but again I did not want to stick around long enough to find out. Turned out, it was four salamanders and six frogs (I think) and we kept them all as pets for a short period of time. One of the frogs was a chameleon-like and we later found its skeleton roasted to death on top of the space heater. I can stand to look at reptiles and amphibians only from behind glass. These experience have made me forever cautious.

4. My mother had warned me earlier that day that she had found several hobo spiders in the laundry so I was to keep an eye out for any in mine. Hence, I was already a little wary of finding something. I do not handle nervousness well.

5. And, of course, as most people say in their defense when something foolish happens, (i.e. it was bigger, scarier, harder, meaner, etc.) the noise WAS indeed louder the first time it happened. It is true, this is no lie. And it shook harder. In fact, the second time I spun the wheel it was the closest sound we could make to it, but not quite as drastic as I remembered. I was still afraid to find something later on in my suitcase.

6. The point about waking up Judson: yes, I went down and was the one who put him back to sleep. In literally less than two minutes time. I told him I was sorry that I scared him and that it's ok and he can go back to sleep. And he did with absolutely no trouble at all.

7. Lastly, it was late. We were all tired, and when one is tired, everything, fears, sounds, funny moments, are amplified. And that was most certainly the case in this situation. So yes, it was funny, but remember that blonde is not a hair color, it is a state of mind in which we all fall victim to from time to time.

Home is where the heart is.

Being a college student and having all the time in the world to organize for yourself usually leads to a number of things, ie procrastination, watching all the TV you never got to as a child...,but along with this also comes ponderous and growing experiences. I've learned how to really cook to my own liking and preference and however much I may deny it I've also become more grateful to my parents and see that they knew a little bit-maybe alot- more that what I was giving them credit for. One thing though, that has particularly come to my mind in the past year is the definition of a place to call home. I'm not one to use webster or verbal types and definitions, but seriously, at this point in my life, I have referred to many places at home. Blackfoot, for one, is my personal address. This past summer, for two, in Vancouver has been my home. And then there is Utah, Provo specifically, where I have lived in 5 different apartments over the space of 12 months, and that doesn't include moving everything between the semesters back to Idaho.
Once more, this next Monday, I am moving from my current unoccupied apartment to the Italian Foreign Language Housing on campus at BYZoo. Move out and move in day are the same for both places which is really nice. And although I am afraid and quite intimidated when I think that I will not be living in an English speaking home, I am also looking forward to possibly learn something new about what home is, being around and involved in a different way of communication with the girls I will be living with. I don't think I'll speak much besides hello for the first couple of weeks. I suppose that I should just go for the cheesy way to describe home: where your heart is, where your friends are, where your family is, where the love is. Ha. Then I guess I have no solid, definite place I can call home. I find it everywhere.