South Bend, here we come!

Frank and I are heading to South Bend for the day to take in the ND-USC game.

As you can see, we've come to really love going to football games together, despite the inauspicious nature of our first one. :)

Frank is a much bigger Notre Dame football fan than I am. Whenever he makes fun of me for not knowing anything about the team, I say in my most superior voice, "I didn't go to Notre Dame for the football." It's true, although it doesn't stop him from teasing.

Every time we go to campus, the place is so crowded with people that I get disoriented, and Frank has to end up finding our way. Then he teases, "Which one of us went to this school??" It always makes me laugh.

We are so excited to see our friends—Emily, Joey, Conor and Elizabeth, Mary, and many others. Going back for games always feels like a big family reunion.

And by the way, a big hello to Anna, Courtney, and Elena from Yale who met my sister Lillian yesterday. Thanks for reading!

See you all when we get back!

What I Wore Sunday

Linking up to Fine Linen and Purple.

I kept it simple this week with a Shabby Apple classic and my favorite Gap cardigan...

Plus a new bracelet—Christmas present from Grandma—and my sturdy black flats that Frank gave me for Easter and which I've worn every day since. They're headed for retirement, poor black flats, because they're developing holes from all that wear.

Most important of all, my fluffy Notre Dame zip-up! I've worn that baby every day for the past 2 weeks, because God forbid anybody meet me and not know I went to Notre Dame. You've heard the old joke: "How do you know someone in the room went to Notre Dame?" "Because they told you." So proud of my alma mater, especially today. :)

Are you watching the National Championship tonight? I'll be on the edge of my seat the whole game, and I know I'm going to cry whether we win or lose.

My favorite article about tonight's game? Here.

Still have Christmas decorations up (as I shamelessly do)? Share here.

Go Irish!!!

One Year Ago Today

This happened.

And this.

And this.

And this.

I haven't spoken to some of the people in these photos since the day these photos were taken.

Not pictured:  A massive, ridiculous and totally unnecessary fight with my "best friend" later that night... he is no longer my best friend.

College was weird. I'm really glad it's over. (I know I might be the only 22-year-old in the world who thinks that.) But it is not and never was my scene.

I spent today applying for jobs and teaching the new girl how to do my former job. If anyone had told me that I would spend the day a year after my college graduation writing cover letters for jobs, I'm not sure how I would have reacted. I don't mind though. It's a good life I've got here.

Did you (or do you) adore every minute of college or were you as happy as I was to get out of there?

To My Friends In College

I was really worried about the "real world" a year ago. Heck, I was worried about the real world six months ago.

Like all of us, I'd been in school for as long as I could remember. Leaving that safe and familiar environment was a scary prospect.

But the real world is lovely. It is oh so lovely.

Part of why I keep this blog is to share that. To say that my life is more wonderful now than it has ever been. That I am so happy. That there is life after college - glorious, goofy, wonderfully fulfilling life.

I saw this posted on Pinterest recently and it cracked me up.

Of course this is oversimplified. But it's so funny because it's so true.

I read it and I realized what I wish someone had told me a year or two ago:

"Don't worry. Don't be scared.

You can handle adulthood. You will do fine in the grown-up world.

In fact, you will do more than fine. You will do great."

And that is true for us all.

PLS Pride

This video is a little old but I'd like to share it with you.

If you read this blog, you know how proud I am of my major. I describe it as my family. It's one of the first things I mention in my self-introduction. In person, I talk about it all the time.

Why am I so obsessed with my major? You know, that's a good question.

I didn't plan to be a PLS major when I came to college. I didn't even know what PLS was. In fact, I planned to study English and Spanish literature, and I declared as an English major in the first semester of my freshman year.

But on the March for Life in January that year, I had a short little conversation that lit a spark in my mind. I was in DC, coincidentally enough, staying at the very same church where I now go for Adoration.

I was talking to a guy I had just met, a new friend of my sister's. He was a year older than us and very sweet.

"What are you planning to major in?" he asked us.

"Business," said Lillian. I still don't really understand why she decided to study business. She didn't stick with it, obviously.

"English," I said.

"I don't know about Business, but English..." he said, half to himself. Then he turned to me and asked, "Have you thought about doing PLS?"

It was my first time experiencing the fierce PLS loyalty and the constant efforts of its members to recruit. Heady stuff for an indecisive freshman. He told me a little bit about it, and I left intrigued but unconvinced.

Soon after that came the Majors Fair. Every department at the university set up a pamphlet-laden booth and sent professors to recruit new freshmen.

I went to Majors Night with my high school friend Claire. We were both pretty sure what we would choose - English for me, medicine for her - but were willing to flirt with other options. You know, let the other disciplines try to woo us intellectually, that sort of thing.

One thing really stood out to me that night. Friendly professors stood behind every booth, prepared to answer questions about their fields of study. But one table didn't have any professors at it. Students stood at the PLS booth - not behind it but in front of it, around it, eagerly talking and answering questions and distributing pamphlets. It was clear that the PLS students owned their major in a way that other students did not. I mean, students from other majors weren't even there.

I responded to the PLS students' efforts by assuming they all must be insane.

"Woah, Claire, look at all those crazy PLS kids!" I said in excitement. "Oh my gosh let's go talk to them! They look like nuts. We can pretend we're interested in PLS!"

"I don't really want to pretend," said Claire, who is in med school and is a lot more sensible than I am.

"No come on, it'll be hilarious," I urged. "Look, that guy even has a piercing!"

She was extremely reluctant but I dragged her along. I don't remember if I ever talked to the PLS kids that night, however, because as soon as I got to the booth they dropped something in my hands.

It was a list of all the books PLS majors have to read. I looked down at it and scanned the names. That was the moment when my life began to change.

Teresa of Avila. Augustine. Don Quixote. Socrates. Pride and Prejudice. It was every single book I had ever wanted to read in high school, but didn't know if I would ever find time for. And you know what a book nut I am.

"Wow..." I breathed. "Claire... look at this book list."

"Um, that's a lot of books. No thanks."

I walked back to Badin in a trance while trying to figure out a logical equation in my head.

I really want to read all those books, I thought. If I do PLS, I'll get to read all those books.

But there was a catch. I don't want to do PLS.

I could tell that something wasn't adding up. I've never been very good at logic, though, so I decided to postpone thinking about it in true Scarlett O'Hara fashion.

But PLS kept sneaking into my life.

I was in two English classes at the time, neither of which impressed me much. In particular, I didn't like how randomly our reading assignments were chosen. It was essentially just whatever the professor felt like teaching. Yes, we got Shakespeare's Sonnets, but we also got some obscure modern novels that I didn't much care for.

I kept daydreaming about that PLS book list.

I heard about a PLS info session in CoMo, right next to my dorm. I went and listened to a few alumni speak.

"I majored in Theology and PLS," said one girl in particular. "I studied theology because I wanted to know what it means to be Catholic. And I studied PLS because I wanted to know what it means to be human."

What it means to be human. I never forgot that.

The perfect storm raged on all semester. Day by day, it became clearer that English wasn't for me. One by one, each of my doubts about joining PLS were stilled.

Every little thing that happened that spring pointed me toward being a PLS major.

Without getting too carried away, I think it was a little bit like what it must be like to figure out that someone is the person you're supposed to marry.

Finally, the deadline to apply for PLS rolled around. I applied and was accepted.

Now, four years later, I understand the cult-like aspect of PLS that arises from having so many classes with the same small group of people. I understand the absurd loyalty and the desire to tell everyone you meet about it.

I don't think PLS is perfect. In fact, I could go through and give you a long list of its flaws.

I'd like to say I never looked back, but I did. Even now, I sometimes wonder if maybe I should have studied English, or Anthropology, or even Psychology or Political Science.

I still think PLSers are crazy, myself included.

But for all that, I'm so proud that I chose it. I'm glad that my flighty 18-year-old self had the sense to see that this was something I should stick with. That this was the best possible fit for me.

When all is said and done, I'm glad I did PLS.

My Dream School

I didn't apply to Princeton for college.

Daughter of a Harvard man, I applied there instead. Princeton was hardly even on my radar.

After my sophomore year of college, however, I went to Princeton for a summer seminar at my favorite institute in the world.

And my life changed.

At the seminar, I met some of the best friends I've ever had in my life: Josh, Jake and Alex K. It amazes me how we still keep closely in touch, more than two years later. We are pen pals and cheerleaders and mentors, passing on job opportunities and travel plans and introductions to important people. We support each other.

Whenever we talk about it, we all agree that that time at Princeton was magical.

How else can you account for the fact that we were only together for two weeks... but our friendship has endured afterwards for years? We called ourselves "the Fellowship," and indeed, there was something special about what happened there. As Jake once wrote to me in an email, "I don't think I realized how good [the two weeks in Princeton] were until later. There was literally nothing in the world to worry about except having fun. And our little group was a hilariously perfect combination..."

I've been back to Princeton four times since then. In fact, I'm the only one of the Fellowship who's been back. And every time I go, it almost feels like a pilgrimage.

My most recent trip back was just two weeks ago. Being there without the rest of the gang broke my heart a little bit.

Every corner of campus and especially of the theological seminary is rich with memories, exquisite, golden, blurred only a little by the passage of time and made all the more beautiful for the blurring.

I annoyed the people I was with because I couldn't help but cry out with excitement as each beloved place came into view.

"Look! The fountain where we went swimming and splashing one night... and walked home dripping wet and barefoot, in the dark, looking like a bunch of hobos."

"There's Aquinas House, where we used to walk in the mornings for Mass, and where the interns performed Much Ado About Nothing the last night. It was my favorite Shakespeare performance I've ever seen." (still is)

"There's the street where we used to 'go for a wander' with one of the boys... what long, lovely, rich discussions would arise."

"The book store where we got to know each other the first day..."

"The quad where we would lie outside on blankets and watch clips of Brideshead Revisited from our laptops..."

"Our classroom building..."

"The Yankee Doodle Taproom where we would go for drinks after class..."

Some of the places are too fraught with memories and emotion for me to even describe to my companions. When we drove past the Stone Circle, where we said our goodbyes that last night, I could only clutch my heart and whisper, "The Stone Circle!" I almost wanted to cry. Realizing how silly my emotion looked to the people I was with, I sternly told myself, "Pipe down, Tess!"

The thing is, I really love Princeton.

I met Serena's boyfriend Anthony while I was there last. He is a Princeton graduate student, in the physics and engineering department. I think he must be a genius - not least because he's dating my best friend.

I began to rhapsodize to him about how much I love his campus. How much I adore Princeton. He laughed, not unkindly.

"I don't get to enjoy it very much," he explained, "being a student. I'm always so busy."

And I realized, I don't actually want to study at Princeton myself. Because then when would I get to enjoy it? No, I just want to be able to walk around the campus every day, go to events at Witherspoon, pray in the gorgeous old campus chapel (which has a Catholic tabernacle in it - one of my very favorite things about the place) and relish in its beauty.

I called my mom and informed her of this.

"Well honey, it sounds like you should marry someone who teaches there," she said.

And I thought to myself, you know, that's not a half bad idea.

How to be Happy

I'll never forget the day I first visited Notre Dame. It was September 29, 2006. I've written about it before, on a different blog, but I've never before written about the car ride home afterwards.

Did you know that college visits are a great time to talk to your parents? They were for me, anyway. That afternoon in late September, we had a 2 hour drive ahead of us. Just me, my dad and my twin sister.

We talked a lot, as my family is known to do, and most of the discussion escapes me. I do remember that, at one point, the conversation turned to celebrities. How their marriages seem to end so quickly. How so many of them seem so unhappy.

"I think I know why so many famous people are unhappy," I said hesitantly. I was still trying to figure out how to put this. "It's because so many of them seem to live only for themselves."

I took a deep breath as I put into words what I had been thinking for a long time.

"I think the only way to be happy in life is to serve other people, and try to make them happy before yourself. Because if you just live for yourself... you'll never be happy. Right, Dad?"

Sometimes I'm amazed by how much I knew when I was younger. My dad agreed with me, and said he was glad that I had figured that out.

Ever since that conversation, I've sort of always held that as my gold standard. Not that I come anywhere close to sticking to it. But in general, if I notice that I seem restless and unhappy, that I'm being a regular old grump, it's probably because I'm not loving other people enough.

Of course I've lost sight of this goal many times in the past, and I'm sure I will lose sight of it again in the future, but I always try to come back to it.

By the way, my dad texted me Monday morning to remind me that it's just 10 days until I come home. I can't wait to see him again and have another one of our good conversations. I never expected, when I took this job in DC, that I would miss my family so much!

Homesick

The infamous Jump down, Mama! statue

Wow, I never thought I would say this, but I really miss Notre Dame right now.

This morning I was talking to someone about my interest in the pro-life movement. "The dignity of the human person is the foundation of my personal philosophy," I told her. "I evaluate everything in terms of whether it affirms or denigrates that standard."

She said she was impressed by how thorough my rationale was, so I explained, "I studied philosophy at university. And I've read a lot of Alice von Hildebrand and John Paul II." That's when the trouble started.

All summer long I've lived in a happy daze of freedom from school. I never liked homework and I generally did as little of it as possible throughout high school and college. I never liked tests either - can you say stress? - and I only liked writing papers on those extremely rare occasions that I did them ahead of schedule (I think that happened twice during my entire undergraduate career. Not surprisingly those were two of the only papers that earned a perfect grade). So ever since graduating from college, I've spent plenty of time thinking gleefully to myself, "No more homework ever again! No more tests! No more going to class!" I also make a point of regularly informing my little siblings that I'm done with all of these things forever, which usually leads them to groan with envy and anguish over the fact that they're still trapped in the constricting world of full-time school. What a nice big sister I am!

Anyway, along with this attitude of joy over being done with formal education forever (I hope) came a feeling of deep relief that my time attending Notre Dame was over. I never liked late nights at parties or bars either - in fact, I generally found those situations to be even more stressful than taking tests - but as an undergraduate, the peer pressure to attend those kinds of events was constant, insidious, and unrelenting. As I am very very susceptible to peer pressure, I spent four years being abjectly miserable on most Friday and Saturday nights for the sake of looking cool and making my friends happy. Part of me wants to say "If only I had done it differently!" but who am I kidding? If I were back at college now, I would do the same thing again. It was what I had to do to finally figure out that I never wanted to do it again. I firmly believe that God will let you do the same stupid thing over and over until you finally learn your lesson, and my lesson took me four years to learn, but I wouldn't trade that experience even if I could.

I hope you are getting the idea from all this that I was deeply relieved to be done with college. When you are a real grown-up, I reasoned, you can go to bed at 11 pm on a Saturday and no one will care or judge you, and you won't feel like a loser when you hear other people down the hallway and outside the window loudly going to parties (because real grown-ups have jobs and kids and don't go out til all hours. Or if they do, they don't do it right outside your window). I found this realization to be incredibly freeing and I pitied the people who were still in college and still had to deal with the pervasive peer pressure. When underclassmen friends posted statuses over the past few weeks that said things like, "Moving back to campus!" I still felt nothing but relief that I was not among them. What a stressful, intimidating experience move-in weekend always was! As though corralling the family and fitting everything I'd ever owned into a room the size of a shoebox weren't enough, there was the terrifying prospect of convincing the other dorm residents that I am actually a pleasant and acceptable person, despite the small children howling in the background because they had fallen off my bunk bed (true story). I shudder just thinking about it. Oh I was never a fan of moving to campus, never ever ever. Not even for a single second. Not once.

So my conversation this morning was a splashing shock to my system as I realized just how much I really did like about my undergraduate days. How could I have forgotten the wonderful, dearly beloved CEC? Why, I wouldn't even know who Alice von Hildebrand was if I hadn't started attending its events! Then I found out that its fall lecture series this year is on Victorian Catholic Writers (swoon) and the first speaker is the legendary Ian Ker, author of only the greatest biography of Newman ever written, intellectual giant and total genius??? I practically started crying with jealousy that I couldn't be there. I began looking around on the Notre Dame website to find out more about this lecture series, and next thing you know I was remembering what I really did love about college: the intellectual life, the lectures, the discussions after movie nights, and most of all the conversations about interesting things that never seemed to end (and in some cases still haven't). Because as much as I hate homework and tests and going to class, I love learning. I adore it, especially when Oxford and England and the Victorian Era and the Catholic Church are involved. Notre Dame is where I learned about the Oxford movement, about the British Catholic Revival and the Southern Catholic Renaissance, about the privilege of being a woman and the I-Thou moment. I read (and adored) Confucius and Dante and Faust and Tolstoy. I also read and hated Nietzsche, Heidegger, and even good old Kierkegaard because he was so dang boring (a classic example of homework I hated). But for a curious girl who likes to think and learn, just not in school, Notre Dame had so much to offer.

I began remembering other things I loved too. Remember the movies at the DPAC? Some were weird and sketchy, true, but many were hilarious or profound, and a few became new favorites. If I were an undergrad again, I would go to more movies at the DPAC, because I never went to nearly enough. The plays, too, were generally superb. I loved the Notre Dame opera performance every spring, and PEMCO productions never disappointed either. Oh how I loved those shows. One PEMCO production was worth a dozen awful nights at crowded dorm parties, I would say. Then there were all those conferences, but I don't need to talk about those, because I'm pretty sure anyone who's ever talked to me knows how much I adore conferences, and I think I did a pretty good job of attending the good ones. And most of all there was the availability of the sacraments. I really loved Law School Mass and always will, and I'm grateful that I attended it so often senior year.

So here it is. I miss college. I miss Alex and Vanessa and the handful of other friends who read this blog. I miss the CEC lectures, the discussions, the conversations. I miss the ways I had of learning for which I never received a speck of course credit. And ok, I'll be entirely honest here, even though I hated it at the time, I'm even grateful for some of the homework I did (although I don't miss it, oh no!) because I surely loved some of those books. I still can't believe I'm saying this. Who knew I would ever miss anything about college? In spite of my protests, I do love Notre Dame and the good old CEC and the intellectual formation I received there. It will stand me in good stead for the rest of my life. Although I will never, as long as I live, for even a single second, miss taking tests.

Oh, and that last picture? Lord help me if I didn't just make it my desktop background.

Little Bit of This

The ball was really fun. The dance instructors taught us to waltz, foxtrot and swing, then we all got cute little dance cards with our names on them in calligraphy, and the menfolk signed up to take turns dancing with each of us. It was ridiculously old-school and therefore awesome. Here are all of the PLS majors present, in all our nerdy old-fashioned glory:

Shannon and I have been friends since Day 1 of freshman year and despite some disagreements and coolness at times, we've grown much closer over the years. She's such a helpful influence in my life, offering needed perspective and balance to my impetuous ways. Shannon is great at keeping it real and I benefit a lot from her insights. I'm so grateful that I got to have her there at the ball with me.


Here's the smaller group of us - note the loverly dance cards attached to the ladies' wrists.


Today I don't have a whole lot to say, because I said pretty much everything over on my other blog with a post about the March for Life. If you get a chance to check it out, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

I read this post on a single Mormon girl's blog and found it pretty relatable, although a little sad. Ultimately it's hopeful though and I think that's why I love it. Is it just me, or do pretty much all seriously religious people agree on the most fundamental things? At least that's how I felt reading her post.

Sorry for the lame post, I'm dead tired today, plus I have to interview someone for an Observer article and then run to Target to get stuff for Eileen's visit. Oh yes, did I mention? Rob and John's little sister is coming to stay with me this weekend for the Edith Stein Project. I'm really excited to hang out with her. My little sister Maria is also coming, so double the fun. Should be a pretty epic weekend.

Weekend Adventures

I asked 3 more guys to the dance, and as it turns out, all of them are RAs (in different dorms) and were all on duty. Why are all my guy friends RAs?? Finally I got Sam on the case and thanks to his help, I'm now going with his friend Eddie. Evening saved. Then this afternoon, after with great turmoil we had finally figured all that out, I got a text from Joey saying he doesn't have a date yet and needs one. Oh, the irony.

Last night we held one of our legendary PLS movie nights, watching A Beautiful Mind and making our own individual pizzas. After that, I accompanied Sam, Dan and Rob to the local Irish pub Kildare's, the chief virtue of which is that it's only a block away from campus.

Today I went to see The King's Speech with Rob. I was hesitant about the excursion, as we are not close friends, but in spite of the South Bend traffic on the way there I had a really wonderful time. Rob has so many interesting stories about his Middle Eastern travels and his family.

The long-awaited dance is tonight. I have a great idea for how I'm going to do my hair. Pictures should be imminent.

Happy Saturday!

I Get By With A Little

I went to Sorin Mass as promised and didn't see MB there. I waited around for almost half an hour after Mass and no sign of him. I now suspect that he was partying at the London Program reunion, but at the time I was pretty distressed. I finally called Sam, who came and collected me from the freezing porch of Sorin where I was sitting mournfully on a porch swing. As mournfully as one can be on a porch swing. He marched me over to LaFortune and, like any good friend would do, took me to Starbucks. I'm feeling a lot better about it all now (if I had asked MB, it probably would have turned out really awkward), but still, now I have to figure out who on earth I am going to take to this dance.

After I got home from LaFun I went to unload my sorrows on Alex and Shannon. I showed up in Alex's room howling, "Life is a basketful of misery right now. I don't have a date to the dance!" (how mature, huh?) and was promptly treated to several hours' worth of sympathy, comfort, wisdom and good humor from two of the best friends in the world. We ended up having a whole discussion about women and Catholicism, some of our top interests right now, and the conclusions of that conversation will likely seep into this blog.

Today I'm so grateful I have these amazing people in my life - Alex, Sam, Shannon, my Southold girls, and so many other friends near and far - who help me to navigate through the little triumphs and upsets of my 21st year. I don't have a date to the dance. What I do have is the most loving, wonderful friends ever. I often hear people complain about how their "friends" are really "frenemies," people who criticize them or don't cherish them, and I'm so lucky that all of my close friends really care about me and look out for my best interests. Of course I still want a date to the dance, but it's enough of a blessing to have these people in my life. Instead of being sad about my datelessness, I'm focusing on what I do have instead.

Happy Days

Snowpocalypse 2011 has been raging across South Bend since this afternoon and I'm loving it.

I don't know why, but for some reason, every summer I forget how beautiful winter is. Last summer, when it would get really painfully hot outside, I'd cheer myself up by thinking, "Well at least it's not winter!" I would imagine icy pellets slapping my face and a howling frozen wind attacking my body, and was grateful for summer's lush warmth.

A South Bend winter is definitely no party but it's way more fun than I remembered, from admiring the sparkling drifts (see above) to pelting Samwise with snowballs (which he can't retaliate because homeboy lost his gloves. Heeheehee). When I get tired of that, I put my head back and sing, "If all the snowflakes were candy bars and milkshakes, oh what a snow that would be!" Then when all else fails and the cold really gets to me, I huddle my face into my coat and run as fast as I can to the nearest building while playing a fun little game in my head called "don't slip on the ice." It's awesome.

I'd like to offer the following words of wisdom from my dad: "There's no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing." My secret to loving the blizzard? Layers and layers of clothes plus long underwear and a coat so fat and puffy that I start sweating when I put it on indoors. What an appealing mental image, eh?

Now for the juicy part of the post. Tomorrow I am asking a boy to a dance. Yes I am. Here's the story: first semester of freshman year, I sat in Prof. Wicks' philosophy class right behind a ridiculously cute boy with thick brown hair and broad shoulders. As I was dating someone at the time, I never learned our hero's name, and so the mysterious cutie from philosophy disappeared from my life without a trace. Fast forward to my London semester one year ago: philosophy boy was there too. We never spoke a word to each other. I knew his name now, but he was still just some really cute guy and not a friend by any means.

Last weekend I went on the senior retreat and guess who was in my small discussion group. We actually had some conversations and I learned that this guy, who we'll call "MB," is more than just a handsome face. He loves God and his family. The proudest moment of his life was the day he won the interhall football championship and the worst time was when he was cut from that same team freshman year (and got his first college chemistry test back). His favorite book is Harry Potter. Not that any of this matters, it just showed me that he's an actual human being and a really nice guy. So in a stunning act of foolhardy courage, I made up my mind to ask him to my friend's old-fashioned ball this weekend.

I'm not really sure why I'm doing this. Certainly I don't think we're going to be best friends or something. But I think it would be nice to leave ND with one more friend, plus this is senior year - the time to take risks and be brave. So I'm taking an absolutely massive leap of faith and asking MB to the dance after Sorin Mass tonight. Between the Holy Land, the blizzard and the upcoming dance, this is a pretty exciting week. Wish me luck!

The Big News

That is a picture of Jerusalem and I am going there over spring break!

I applied through Campus Ministry and the whole trip will only cost $1,200, plus I can almost certainly get a grant to help pay for it. That right there is why Notre Dame is the best.

My dear friend Alex and John G. from London are going too, plus Pablo, this completely awesome PLS sophomore I met at the ISI conference in January. I still can't believe it's really happening. Me. The Holy Land. Bethlehem, Nazareth, Jerusalem... is this real life? If it's not, don't pinch me, because I don't want to wake up.

I promise to faithfully post all the pictures and stories of my travels for your enjoyment. Get excited! I know that I can't wait. :)

Drowning Out the Haters

The March for Life was an incredible, unforgettable, scathingly brilliant, mind-blowing awesomeness of a weekend. From partying at the Russia House with Ruth and various other unexpected friends (plus a few minor celebrities, if ya know what I mean), to exploring Georgetown's beautiful campus (I liked The Midnight Mug coffee shop in the Lauinger Library much more than I liked the main campus church. Sorry, Dahlgren Chapel, you ain't got nothing on Notre Dame's Basilica), to getting cupcakes every day of the trip (well it's me, what did you expect?), I pretty much had non-stop fun. My poor sore feet will never be the same, but it was worth every minute of tramping around a frozen D.C.

The very finest moment of the trip, however, came near its very end. We had marched behind the Notre Dame banner all the way up the National Mall to the Supreme Court building, where we stopped to take a group picture of the 380 students in attendance. Squashing together in front of that beautiful "Irish Fightin' for Life" banner, we plastered smiles on our faces for the photographer's flash.

That was when Randall T. showed up, appearing out of nowhere with a microphone and a bad attitude. For those of you with short memories, or who were blessed to be ignorant of this event, he's the guy who hired a plane to fly photos of an aborted baby over the Notre Dame campus for months before Obama gave the 2009 Commencement speech. Needless to say, he is not a popular figure on campus. When he appeared at the March, he was quick to show his true colors, as he began yelling rude things at the smiling Notre Dame group. "I know some of you are innocent," he bleated, "but for the rest, shame on you!" Then he started yelling about how we should impeach Father Jenkins, or throw him into prison. Mind you that Father Jenkins is the man who founded the University Pro-Life Initiatives Office and who actually walked beside me on Monday's Right to Life March (although he was no longer with the Notre Dame group when Randall showed up, thank God). As I listened to Randall heap abuse on my school and our president, my face showed a smile but inside I was seething. How dare he stand before us and insult our school like that. I grew angrier with every word, and just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore but would have to yell back or get the heck out of there, I heard a voice singing at the back of our group.

"Rally sons of Notre Dame!" the voice yelled out, and four hundred voices took up the cry. We sang out with all we could muster: "SING HER GLORY AND SOUND HER FAME!"

Together we sang the entire Fight Song, every verse and every word, singing it at the top of our lungs until Randall gave up and went away, drowned out by the unquenchable spirit of the Fighting Irish. The message was clear: we are not going to start a fight with you but we are not going to take your crap. Nobody stands in front of us, hundreds strong, and insults our university and our president. We are Notre Dame. We stand with Father Jenkins, who stands for life. We stand with Our Lady. We stand up for the unborn. We are proud to do that, and we refuse to listen to you and your pathetic nonsense. It was one of my proudest moments as a Notre Dame student and one I'll never forget.

So this goes out to every Notre Dame student who was at the March, or who wasn't there but who is proud of Father Jenkins, proud to be a Notre Dame student. It's been two years since the Obama controversy and I believe that we've put division behind us. Whatever our political leanings or personal beliefs, we can stand together when outsiders try to bring us down, and we can drown out the haters with the sheer power of the Notre Dame spirit. There is a magic in the sound of OUR name. We are proud to be The Irish of Notre Dame.

Humongous Dilemma

Tuesday afternoon found me sitting in what was slowly shaping up to be the most awful journalism class ever. I wanted a really good last class to send me out on my journalistic way and I entered the Broadcast Journalism class with high hopes. But it was just one bad thing after another.

As the professor went around the room asking for our names and life stories, he said to me, "So you're from Chicago, huh? Blackhawks fan? Do you follow sports?" I responded with blithe naivete, "I don't really follow sports... or pay attention to them at all." His eyes narrowed and he went on to ask every student in the room about their sports preferences. Turns out the whole back row was full of football players. The professor and the athletes talked sports for a while before he finally buckled down to class business. Needless to say he and I had nothing to chat about. Red flag # 1.

The professor asked the students about their journalistic experience and it turned out the guy behind me has his own political talk show. The professor asked a few choice questions about his political stance and before long the two of them were happily sharing their affiliation for a political party I do not belong to and for issues I do not agree with. I'll leave it to your imagination. Red Flag # 2.

"Alright well... time to start class," the professor admitted with some reluctance half way through the time period. He pulled up a powerpoint and as I opened my notebook, he said, "You don't need to take notes because the powerpoints for the entire semester are available on Concourse (the class website)." What. If that's the case, why should we even bother going to class? I took a look after class and sure enough, the whole semester was parsed out in 219 tidy slides. I took a gander through them and they contained such choice lessons as "How to write in Active Voice, not Passive." Hello, 8th grade English class. Red Flag #s 3-4 million.

So I dropped that class like it was hot, which brings me to my huge existential dilemma: which journalism class should I pick up instead? It's down to Advanced Reporting or Multimedia Journalism. The former sounds more useful plus it has my friend Laura in it, while the latter sounds more fun. I just can't decide. Any advice?

Never Again: A Poem

Composed after a walk outside in the South Bend winter

I refuse to go outside again.
Nope.
You can't make me.
Outside it's cold and the snow is in drifts to my knees.
My lips get chapped just walking to class,
unless I swaddle my head in scarves,
and then I look ridiculous.
Plus they say it will get even colder on Friday.
I won't go outside
I refuse
I'll stay in my warm cozy room
with my snuggie, my sweatpants, my warm cup of tea,
and the heat cranked up as high as my dorm will allow.
I'm staying right here
if I get hungry, I'll order Jimmy John's to deliver
Or snack on fruit pilfered from the dining hall this morning
Hibernating in here forever, I'll be content
What's that now?
Corby's tonight?
Oh
Hmmm

Fiiiiiiiiiine
I'll go
But I'm wearing at least three pairs of socks

Fin

Bittersweet Last Round

After hitching a ride to campus with my old high school pal Claire, I jaunted over to the Hammes bookstore to pick up as many of my schoolbooks as I could before the store closed at the ungodly early hour of 5 pm. As I stood in front of the PLS shelf on the second floor, clutching my teetering stack of Dostoyevsky, Heidegger, Walker Percy and Flaubert, I almost began to tear up. Eight times in my life, I've made the now-familiar trip to the bookstore to stock my shelves with all the things I need for the next semester. Today was my last time doing it. After this semester, I most likely won't ever be in school again.

I can't remember a time before I was in school, but soon, I'll be cast entirely adrift from this world so familiar to me. I pondered all the implications of being a second-semester senior as I walked back to Badin. No more tests or homework or assigned reading. No more of the occasional boring professors or aimless discussions, true, but also no more of the riveting conversations and fascinating lectures that I've come to rely on for intellectual stimulation and fulfillment. Most especially, no more Notre Dame. In my head I was already saying, Goodbye, Rockne gym. I'll miss you, South Dining Hall. Sayonara, quad benches. Right now, my perspective of everything I see is tinged with the awareness that pretty soon, all of it will still be here but I won't.

I suspect that it's going to go on like this all semester. Being the drama queen that I am, I'll make a fuss over everything from "My Last First Day of School" (on Tuesday) to "My Last Edith Stein Project" (one of my favorite things at ND) to "My Last Time Passing Notes in Class." My life at school has a pattern of rituals and routines that I follow throughout the seasons. It's hard to know that the little traditions I've created, from Law School Mass to the March for Life bus trip, will soon be obliterated. As excited as I truly am for post-college life, I fear losing my established, familiar moorings to carve out habits around an entirely different place and lifestyle.

What I am most afraid of, though, is that I'll forget my way of life here and all the little details that color and shape it. Some day, I suppose, I'll forget that the bathroom stalls in Badin have orange walls and that in the dining hall, the water dispenser closest to the right-side door is always broken. I don't want to forget those little details. I want to keep this very happy, incredibly blessed part of my life present for me always. I don't want to leave Notre Dame. Of course I knew this was coming. From the day I first set foot on this campus, I knew graduation was only four years away. Be grateful for the time you have, I keep telling myself. But with the end in sight, that's harder to do then I thought.

So College

I do think it's really silly when people say something is "so college," because most of the stuff you do in college you'll continue to do after college, but today has just been over the top in the "only in college" department.


Stuff I've done Today:
Slept in an extra 2 hours after last night's PLS and Observer parties
Really long, late brunch in South dining hall with Lillian, Dan and Lillian's friend Alyssa
Cleaned my room
Set my bed (supposedly some people say "made my bed?" What?)
Listened (still listening) to the Christmas station on Pandora
Watched this video
Looked up recipes for thumbprint cookies and gnocchi
Wrote this blog post

Things I have NOT Done:
Written my 2 papers due Friday
Studied for finals

"Study days" is such a misnomer. More like "creative procrastination days." Badin has a study break at 10 pm to watch "Eat, Pray, Love." I really want to see it so I'm hoping to get at least a leetle work done before then. Maybe I'll go for a walk to clear my brain. What's your favorite strategy for beating procrastination? Advice would very welcome!

Magic at Midnight

Last night I was in my room trying pretending to do homework when Shannon stopped by after work, as she often does. We eventually wandered down the hallway and soon found ourselves snacking on chocolate-covered potato chips (surprisingly tasty) with Ginny and our Assistant Rector (AR) Mary outside of Mary's room. A curious freshman poked her nose out her door and said, "The snowball fight starts at midnight, right?"

I'd almost forgotten. Every year after the first big snowfall, Notre Dame students turn out for an epic campus-wide snow battle as North Quad and South Quad duke it out for the honor of God, country, Notre Dame, and their quad. Mod Quad and West Quad kinda jump in there too - West Quad usually allies with South Quad, while Mod Quad joins forces with North. Anyway, after the blizzard we had yesterday, campus was humming with preparations for the battle.

As a freshman, sophomore, and junior, I'd always been too cold, sick, tired or plain chicken to participate, but last night I reasoned that this was my senior year, dadgum, and I'd be darned if I missed out on this unofficial Notre Dame classic. Thesis be hanged. My journalism project could wait. The snow and South Quad were calling. So I geared up in mittens, woolen coat, rain boots (my snow boots being mysteriously missing), my coziest scarf and thickest hat; shanghaied my dear friends Shannon, Alex, and Ginny; and galloped nobly forth to fight for the glory of our Southern (Quad) land.

The battle raged long and hard. Hundreds and hundreds of North Quad dwellers were bearing down on us valiant Southerners, invading our territory, and we fought back with the courage of true Domers. To the front of battle we ran to cast our snowballs against the enemy, then dashed to the back of the trenches to gather more fluffy white ammunition. Snowballs hit our faces and backs but we battled bravely on. At last, by the strength of our arms and the size of our snowballs, we repelled the invaders from our hallowed lands. Then we plopped down on the ground and made snow angels.

Badin girls, snow-covered and happy

It was a night that I hope to never forget. It was more fun than I could even have imagined, from ambushing our friend Audrey in the midst of a snowy duel to climbing a tree on God Quad to the mysterious fireworks that went off during the fight, adding that extra touch of magic. After we had finally spent our energy chasing each other around two quads (and taking some pictures in front of the Golden Dome), we moseyed back to Badin for immense mugs of steaming hot cocoa and marshmallows.

This is what college is really about, I think; it's what I love most and what I'll miss most. Not the classes or projects or papers, as awesome and interesting as they are, but having the time and enthusiasm to spend an hour on a December night chasing my friends around a huge pine tree with a hand full of snow. It was perfect, and it was unforgettable.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, Love Thee Notre Dame.

Best Birthday Ever

Ok so the whole "Reasons I Like Being Single" thing was fun and all but I'm bored with it now. Hello, Tess's ADD. Also it occurred to me that maybe dwelling on why I like being single is a little... much. So enough of that. Instead I present to you... My Wonderful Birthday Weekend (yes folks, I'm 21 now!!)

Friday night I went to the Western-themed dance. Maggie did my hair and make-up, Lillian lent me a shirt and Katherine next door lent me turquoise cowboy boots. The group effort paid off and I had a crazy good time. Here I am with my fabulous date, Sam:

Don't we look divine? Here I am with by bff Shannon before the dance, at the pre-dance party in Katherine's room.

 

 We kind of look like lumberjacks... but cute lumberjacks. :)

I spent Saturday with my family. Mama Book Smart came to visit me with three of my little sisters. We had lunch at fancy schmancy Sorin's restaurant, our annual tradition, and then they helped me unpack winter clothes in my room (by "helped" I mean my mama folded clothes while the 3 little ones got in the way). Then I took them to the LaFortune candy wall and my littlest sister thought she'd died and gone to Heaven. A normal reaction to massive quantities of candy, I think.

Sunday was my utterly fabulous 21st birthday garden party. It was everything a garden party ought to be. We had champagne flutes with a raspberry floating in each, chocolate cake, vanilla rum cake, scones and tiny finger sandwiches with frilly toothpicks. Not to mention strawberries and cream. The inimitable Coco Chanel once said, "Every girl should be two things: classy and fabulous." Well honey, I fulfilled that maxim to my classiest, most fabulous best. 

Me with my hat, my sundress, my heels and a bottle of champagne.

Yes indeed, it was everything a birthday should be.

Perfectly happy, Tess