In preparation for the big move off-campus, I took last Thursday off to move unnecessary things that I still can’t throw out back to my parents’ house. It was the hottest day ever to do such a thing, so moving five boxes from my apartment to my car took about an hour. Then I drove home by way of Lulu’s and a new cell phone (the lowtech-iest type available, which still manages to fascinate me with its pretty colors).
My mom took part of the afternoon off to say hello, and my dad stormed in and out of the house muttering in his gloomy Eeyore-ish way about Lions ( the Club, not the “and tigers and bears, oh my” kind). At the end of the day we drove our separate vehicles to the Co-op, where we ran into one of Dad’s buddies. They talked fishing and hunting while filling my car, then Dad gave me a hug and said, “Drive safe, we’ll see ya.” Figuring this was the end of our interaction, I got in my car and drove off…only to have Dad pull over and flag me down a block away.
This is one situation in which my low-tech life fails to impress: I put the car in park in the middle of the road, unbuckled myself and sprawled across the front seat in order to crack the window and growl, “What?” To which my pop responds, “I love you, bye.”
Awww. Big tough man can’t say I love you to his daughter in front of his fishing buddy. Suddenly all the effort is totally worth it.
Friday was another day for the memory books (by which I mean this thing). Instead of work, the crew went to a camp for people with disabilities to…I’m not sure. I thought we were going there to volunteer, and we sort of did, except we didn’t do anything work-like. The closest I came to work was the time I spent building a sand castle on the beach with a little boy named Ethan. Oh, excuse me, King Ethan. And I was “King Dragon Rachel, King of King Ethan.” I did not give myself this title.
We got a tour of the nature center, which involved a lot of taxidermied animals (I’m so used to these, I barely even blinked at all the dead eyes staring at me from all directions) and a few live ones. I was content to stand by the ferrets, not that I like ferrets, but because they were as far away from the snakes as possible. When my distaste became obvious, the snake man did what every other snake man in my life has ever done, possibly adding to my hatred of snakes: made me touch it. Someone needs to tell the snake men of the world that this is not helping.
The encounters with live animals did not end there. We wandered over to a zoo-ish area and I bottlefed a baby deer. Which was, you know, extremely odd. Not as odd as attempting to sit on a potbellied pig, or handfeeding and petting a doe, or rediscovering my fear of rabbits (I’m afraid of everything), all of which I also accomplished. The best part, by far, were the chickens. I have no idea what kind of chickens they were, but they were awesome. They looked like shag carpets with beaks. Or Muppets, or possibly wookies, so I named them all Camilla and Chewbacca (although if anyone else called a chicken Chewy, it would probably be offended). I want a wookie chicken. Or a bird of paradise. What I’m getting, however, is a lovebird who bites my ear. Hmmph.