Finally!!

**To potential readers: this is an entry I made in my journal that I decided to post online. It is about my first harp lesson, which I had today, but also some events I had that led up to it. It's very long, and I don't know if it's interesting to anyone but me, but go ahead and read it if you'd like, and see if you can understand the pure joy, excitement, and passion I feel about learning how to play this beautiful instrument!**

Today I had my first harp lessons!! It was very exciting for me because I have wanted to learn how to play the harp ever since I was a little girl. I still remember the exact moment I fell in love with the instrument. I don’t remember how old I was, but I remember going to my grandpa’s house (The Clark House) and in the living room, right next to the dining room, there was (and possibly still is) a picture of a golden angel (or a woman) playing a golden harp (I think it may have been an Irish harp, because it was quite small, but I’m not sure). That picture was sooo beautiful to me. The way the woman’s hands touched the harp strings, stroking them so delicately, there seemed to be a beautiful art to it. The instrument itself was gorgeous, only a golden outline of a harp, but to me it was still so beautiful. I imagined what the instrument must sound like, particularly coming from the hands of that woman, so delicately playing it. I loved that painting, and very much wanted to learn how to play the harp myself!

When I was about seven, my mom signed me up for piano lessons without asking me if I wanted to learn to play, and before she knew about my desires to study the harp. I took piano lessons for a couple of years before I told her that I wanted to learn how to play the harp. Why I took so long to tell her this I can’t exactly remember. When I told her she was surprised, and then said that no one in the area taught the harp. I was very disappointed, and continued to play the piano, which I did get some joy from admittedly, but never gave up on my dream to learn how to play the harp.

As the years went on, I got better and better at the piano, and while I did get joy from it, I never felt any of the passion that some of my other friends felt from playing it. When I had played the piano for enough years that I should’ve been able to be able to sit down and play just about anything I couldn’t. At least, not with the passion and excitement and expression that some of my other friends could. I never really felt the desire to. I remember sometimes listening to my friend Bryant talk about his love for the violin and what joy that instrument brought to him, and the love he had for it. It was fun listening to him, and feel his excitement, but sometimes I wondered why I too couldn’t feel that love for my instrument. This is not to say that I didn’t get enjoyment from playing at times, and I did sometimes just sit down and play for fun, and I am glad that I learned how to play it as knowing how to play the piano is a valuable skill in many areas (besides just for church). I competed with the piano at a Junior Miss pageant and performed very well in front of an audience of at least 1,000 or more people. But I still never felt the passion for the instrument.

I remember getting online and looking for harp teachers in Idaho when I was 15-17 years old. I did this every once in awhile, just to see if any of them had moved up North. They were all in Southern Idaho. No one did, so when I moved down to Provo for BYU when I was 18, almost 19, I went to that website again, and looked up harp teachers in Utah. There were plenty!! And four lived in the Provo/Orem area!! I sent emails to all of them, asking how much they would charge for lessons, and what I needed to do to take lessons for them. One lady was particularly helpful to me. She replied: “Hi Kristen! I would be happy to teach you how to play the harp in my own home! However, I’m also a harp teacher at BYU, and since you are attending school there, I think it would be wise for you to use BYU as a means for your harp lessons. The question that arises from learning how to play the harp is, where are you going to practice? If you’re taking lessons through BYU you will have access to their practice harps. Let me know how else I can help you!” She then added how much it would cost to take lessons from her (about $400/semester).

Close to that same day I had run across a BYU students blog in which this student talked about how excited she was to be taking harp lessons at BYU! I left a comment on it, briefly explaining my desire to learn how to play, and asked her to please email me more information. A few days after the above harp teacher emailed me, this girl emailed me too, and told me the class was Music 160R-Harp.

A few days later my roommates and I were invited to eat dinner at a boy’s dorm, and one of the boys said he was taking harp lessons and that he was really enjoying it. I immediately jumped all over that.

“Seriously?” I asked him.

“Yep!”

“Do you have to audition to get into the class? Or can you be a brand new beginner?”

“You don’t have to audition. They’ll take anyone from beginners to experts. You just sign up online. Music 160R-Harp.”

So that settled it. I went home, found the course, and put it in the Winter 2009 box to sign up for that upcoming semester.

A couple months later my roommates and I went to Brittany and Brooke’s home in Sandy for something…possibly General Conference? Or just to get away, I can’t quite remember. But during those couple of days there, Brittany told me that her aunt wanted her to watch her boys for about an hour, and that her aunt had a harp! She asked me if I wanted to come with her and see it? This was okay with her aunt. I immediately replied yes, and slipped on my shoes, and was ready to leave at once! Brittany was excited for me, and we left about ten minutes later.

When we got to her aunt’s house, her aunt greeted me happily and uncovered the harp in her living room. It was so beautiful!! I looked at it with pure delight!

“Have you ever touched one?” the aunt asked me.

I shook my head.

“Well, today is that day then! Come over here and sit on the bench!”

I went over and sat on the bench behind the harp. It was so big! I’d never been so close to one before!

“Now lean it back and balance it on your shoulder between your knees.”

I reached out and touched the instrument, and did exactly as she told me to.

“Perfect!” she exclaimed. “Now, do you play any other instruments?”

“Yes, the piano.”

“Oh excellent! The harp is very similar to the piano.” She pulled out some easy sheet music and placed it on the easel next to the harp. She then pointed out the strings to me.

“C’s are red strings and F are black strings. The notes are in exactly the same order. ABCDEFG. The red and black strings just help you to find your place. Here is middle C,” she continued, touching one of the shorter red strings. “When you play the harp, there’s a certain way you want to pluck the strings too. Go ahead and pluck some of them.”

I plucked middle C and as I did so and listened to the music that came from it, pure excitement ran up my spine. I plucked other strings, always in an out and away motion, and did a couple of glissandos as well.

“You’re a natural,” she told me. “You plucked them perfectly. Try some songs.”

I looked at the sheet music, which was some Hymns made easy, and played the right hand of a song.
Although I was slow going, trying to make sure I plucked the right strings, I was still able to play it, and I heard the melody as I played (meaning, I was playing it fast enough, even if it wasn’t quite the tempo the sheet asked for). I was so excited! I was playing the harp! Not just messing around on it, but actually playing a song!!

After I finished, Brittany’s aunt quickly told me about the pedals, and wow are they different from the piano! Each note has its own pedal, and you use the pedals when you want to make a note sharp or flat. They’re in a strange order too. It was confusing, but I got the jist of it. Brittany’s aunt then left and I played songs on the harp for awhile, just with my right index finger plucking the strings. I didn’t know how fingering worked on the harp. I was just thrilled to be playing it, and to be able to read the music for it! As I continued to play, I realized I was feeling something that I hadn’t felt while playing the piano—passion.

When Brittany’s aunt came back, she asked me if I wanted to hear something really pretty? I said definitely, and she pulled out some more advanced sheet music, and played “Have I told you Lately?” by Rod Stewart, which I absolutely loved! I had never heard it before on the harp, and it was sooo beautiful! The way the aunt’s hands seemed to just glide over the harp, and the way she plucked the strings with such precision was beautiful too, and I was reminded of the painting in my grandpa’s house, and the art of playing the instrument. I loved it. She played one more song for me, another love song I think, and then told me of how she often played at weddings. She said the harp is an expensive hobby, but well worth it if you love it, and plus, it was nice to make some money every once in awhile at weddings, and perform occasionally at church, although she did warn me it takes some effort to move a harp from place to place.

I played at her house on one other occasion and loved it again. I couldn’t wait for Winter 2009!
When my turn came to register for Winter classes however, all the spots for the Music 160R-Harp class had filled up! I checked back almost every day to see if someone had given up their spot, but to no luck. And the class couldn’t be added after the first day of classes, so I thought there was no chance of me going to the teacher with an add/drop card. So, I decided to just wait another semester. The class had a $380 fee anyways, and waiting a semester would give me a chance to make sure I really had the money to take it.

So, when the time came for me to sign up for classes for Fall 2009, the first class I went to was the Harp class. There were two spots left when my turn came, and I signed up for one. I was so excited!!

These last two months I paid the class fee, filled out an information sheet, went to an informational meeting, emailed the coordinator for the class several times in my anxiousness to get started (and, also, she was taking a long time to get everything set up, and I really just wanted to get started ASAP!), learned my teacher’s name, Annie, emailed her, she emailed me back, and then this morning she called me while I was asleep to set up a lesson time. I called her back, and we set up a time for 3:00 today!! She asked if it would be okay if we did the lesson at her house for today, and that we could arrange something else later if I wanted. So I got her address, and arrived at her house at about 2:55.

Annie opened the door and was very happy to see me. She seemed as about excited to teach me as I was to learn! We walked over to the harp, and she asked me questions about my music background, some that she had obviously gotten from reading my information sheet.
“So you’re brand-new to the harp then, right?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“But you play the piano, correct?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you played for?”

“I took lessons for about ten years, but I’ve played for about two more years. So twelve years.”

“Oh wow. So you’re really good then?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

She laughed. “No need to be modest. If you’re really good, it’s okay to admit it. I play the piano too.”

“Oh you do?” And then I noticed a piano sitting right next to the harp.

“Yes. I’m a harp major over at BYU though. I’ve only played the harp for about six years, but I love it!”

“Six years? Wow! And you’re already teaching?”

“I had one of the best harp teachers probably in the world. Seriously, people fly in to take lessons from her, and I was just fortunate enough to live about an hour and a half away from her. She actually wrote the book that I want you to buy—I do want you to buy some music. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Oh no, not at all.”

“Okay great. Yeah, so, I want you to buy this book: ‘Harp Olympics. Stage 1’ by Susan McDonald and Linda Wood Rollo. Linda was my teacher, and she is seriously amazing, and has written many books for the harp. This book is incredible too.”

I looked at the cover and saw a teddy bear holding a balloon on it.

“They’re a bit juvenile,” she said apologetically, “but that’s just because they’re written for students much younger, because most students start when they’re younger. But no worries, I had to suffer through it too. Remember I only started playing six years ago. However, this book is amazing and explains everything you need to know about the harp in it, including technique, how to replace a harp string, how to tune your harp—everything! Plus it has some great exercises in it. So, just ignore the bears, and you’ll be fine.”

I laughed and I would do that.

“Plus, with your piano background, I think you’ll get through this book within twelve weeks. I also want you to get Suzuki Book One, for harp obviously. Although the Olympic book has some great stuff in it, Suzuki just has some better-known stuff. I’ve never used Suzuki before in my lessons, but I’m excited to try it.”

“Okay,” I told her.

She then asked me how much I knew about the harp, and I told her about playing it informally with Brittany’s aunt and that I knew a little bit about it. Annie listened, and then reminded me of the different colored strings (which I had actually forgotten), the pedals (which she said are actually amazing, despite how confusing they can be at first), the balancing of the harp on your shoulder, and other things as well.

Then we moved onto something Brittany’s aunt hadn’t shown me, and that was fingering. Annie told me that the fingering on the harp would not feel natural to me, but told me to just have some patience with it.

“With the piano, it’s fairly easy because you have gravity helping you. With the harp however, you actually build some muscle.” She then showed me in midair the position I would place my fingers in on the harp. I tried to mimic her, but failed.

“Hmm…all right, let’s try this,” she said, still smiling. “I always forget how hard this is for new students. Make a thumbs up.”

I did.

“Now, place your thumb on the harp. Place it on this C,” she said pointing to one of the long red strings.

I did so.

“Now, place your other fingers on the other strings wherever you think they should go.”

I did, placing one finger on each string, keeping my thumb high and my other fingers well below it while still keeping that nice open C shape she had showed me between my index finger and thumb.

“That’s pretty good. Now, don’t rest your arm on the harp though. Keep it nice and up.”

I lifted my arm up, and tilted it this way and that until she told me it was good.

“Now, sometimes you might be able to rest your arm on the harp just slightly, but don’t depend on it for support. Keep it nice and up. Also, you never use your pinky when playing the harp. It just sort of relaxes next to your fourth finger.” I took my pinky off of the harp.

“Good. Now do the same with your left hand.”

I did, and she approved. The fingering really did not feel natural at all though.

Once I got the placement down, she opened the Olympics book and asked me to place me fingers on the string according to how the book was asking me to do it (just the right hand). I saw that the book wanted me to place finger 1 on F, finger 2 on E, etc.

“Um…which finger is 1?” I asked her. I remembered numbering my fingers years and years ago when I first started piano lessons, but I couldn’t remember at all which finger was which.

“Oh! Sorry. Again, I forget that new students don’t know this. Your thumb is finger 1. Index is 2, and so on.”

“Okay,” and placed my fingers accordingly, and she again helped me position them and my arm just right.

“Now pluck F.”

I did, and it sounded just fine to me. But apparently it did not to her, because she said: “Hmm…let’s do an exercise.” She placed her left hand on the harp. “Squeeze the strings together like this, 1, 2, and then pluck,” she then plucked the string and a much louder, richer tone sounded from the harp.

“Okay,” I replied. 1, 2, and I plucked it much harder.

“Better!” she said. “Try again.”

I did so, and she liked it again, and assured me it was something that just came with practice. We worked on that for awhile, moving on to finger 2 eventually, and a little bit with 4 and then finally 3. She said 3 was the hardest, because as you pluck, that finger is supposed to move back into your hand, as though you’re making a fist, and 3 is the hardest one to control, especially not to touch other strings in the process.

“Do you always pluck the strings this hard?” I asked her.

“Well, no, not always, but you always want that rich tone coming from them.” She then played one string softer, but it still had that amazing tone to it. “Do you hear that?” she asked me.

“Yes,” I replied.

“It’s that tone that we’re going for.”

Throughout all of this I started feeling frustrated. This was so similar to the piano, and yet so different all at the same time! Here I was looking at notes that I knew, and could play with perfection without any problem whatsoever on the piano, and yet was struggling to play them to my teacher’s satisfaction on the harp. Although my teacher was very encouraging, I was still disappointed in myself. I had wanted to learn how to play this instrument for so long, and here was my chance, and I couldn’t even play a simple note correctly!! My teacher noticed me tensing up as I continued to play, and she had me stop, and told me to just relax. She said relaxation was important while playing the harp, and that tensing up just caused problems. She said if I ever felt tense to just drop my arms and shake them out. She also said that there was no pressure with any of this, that she didn’t care if we had to go slowly, she just wanted me to enjoy the instrument.

I realized that she was right, and that I was putting too much pressure on myself. I wanted to smack myself as I realized, “Of course I’m not going to play perfectly on the first lesson! I can’t expect to be a concert harpist on day one! Besides, this is just for fun. I’m not a harp major or anything, and though I’d like to play like one someday, I need to remember that that’ll take time.” I remembered my first piano lessons, and how frustrating those had been, but how in time I had mastered all of those songs, moved on to more advanced songs, and could now sit down and either play, or teach myself, pretty much anything.

I relaxed and continued practicing plucking the strings. At the end of the lesson, Annie answered some of my questions about the practice harps in the HFAC at BYU, and how to sign up for practice times, and then we decided that we would have my lessons at her house on Thursdays from 3:00-3:30. She then told me what she wanted me to do for practice that week. Since harpists, especially new ones, tend to develop blisters on their fingers, she said she didn’t want me practicing for more than 30 minutes a day for now, so that my fingers could get used to playing the harp strings. She told me she wanted me to practice my plucking, particularly fingers 1 and 2, and move on the 3 and 4 if I felt like I had those ones down. She said to practice the technique of holding the harp as well, back straight, balance between knees and shoulders, and my finger placement. She was going to move on to more, but decided that was enough for one lesson.

As I got ready to leave she expressed her excitement to me, and I told her I was very excited too. Annie also showed me some very soon upcoming lessons, including one in glissandos (ah, how I love those!!). She also reassured me that by the end of the semester I would be playing some pretty well-known songs, using the pedals, and playing both hands at once, and that was encouraging for me. Annie’s such a sweet girl too, and I can tell that she’s going to be a great teacher. I like that she immediately points out what I’m doing wrong, but gives me encouragement at the same time. It feels so weird starting at ground zero for an instrument again. Well, perhaps ground one because I can read the music, but still, even though the harp can in some ways be described as a vertical piano, it is also very different. I felt a bit out of my element while playing it. Even though I still love the instrument, it was a bit strange and frustrating for me. I didn’t like not knowing how to play it, when I already play another instrument so well. But, that’s just how it is. I have to start from somewhere, and of course it’s going to have to be at the beginning. I’m going to keep at this though. I really do love the harp. It is so beautiful both in looks and sound, and to master the art of playing it really would be a dream come true! My love for music in general has already grown as I listen to songs and wonder how they might sound on the harp. And even though I can’t play it perfectly yet, I’m still excited about learning how to play it, about practicing it, and for my lesson this upcoming Thursday! This is something that I’ve waited a long time for, and I plan to take it as far as I can go!

Blood is Shocking pt. 2

As many of you probably know, the last time I went to get my blood drawn (two months ago), I fainted in the doctor's office. I was probably out for about a minute, woke up, was very queasy, and nearly passed out again. So, naturally, I was pretty worried when I went in to get another test done today.

**For those of you who don't know, I've just recently started taking Accutane for my acne. Since Accutane is a very powerful drug, and especially harmful to unborn babies within the first 1-3 weeks of conception, and since I'm capable of getting pregnant, I have to get a pregnancy test done once a month, to make sure I'm still not pregnant. The reason why it has to be done through blood tests is because they're also testing my liver and my lipid levels, to make sure it's still safe for me to be taking Accutane.**

I woke up this morning around 9:45. That is quite early for me to wake up on a day that I am not working in the morning, but I knew that the sooner I got it over with the better. I was required to be fasting too, and know that if my blood sugar levels get too low, I pass out. So that along with my fear of needles is not a very nice combination.

I finally left the house with my dad around 10:45, with a shout from Kate to "Buck up!". My dad had agreed to come with me a few nights earlier just in case I did faint again, and to drive me home. I was really glad he was coming along.

In the car I looked at my lab sheet, and asked him about the various tests that were on there. I'm a very curious person, and wanted to know what all of them meant. Only two tests had check marks by it, the liver and lipid test, but I wanted to know about all the other tests. I was amazed at how much my dad knew! He majored in Anatomy and Physiology at BYU about 20 years ago, and was still so sharp! Really impressive. Anyways...

We arrived at the lab and seeing the familiar waiting room, and even being able to look into the room I passed out in last time, made me start to feel queasy. But I just took a deep breath and handed my lab sheet and insurance card to the receptionist. After she typed all my information into the computer, I told her about my experience last time, and she nodded that they would have me lie down before they drew the blood.

I went into the waiting room and sat next to my dad. There was a very loud clock in the waiting room that ticked each and every second that went by with a loud "Tick-tock-tick-tock." Ugh! It was aggravating!! It was like it was counting down the seconds of my life before I had to go into that room and let them stick that needle into my arm and pass out again! I tried to calm myself down and tune it out. I stared at magazines, and watched my dad work on a powerpoint presentation. About five minutes later the receptionist, who turned out to also be the phlebotomist, called my name.

She led me into a back room and had me lay down on the bed there. It was a bed you see in any typical doctor room. I smiled, trying to hide the fear, and laid down. She put the blood drawing stuff on a small counter next to the bed and began prepping everything. She looked over at me and said: "Breathe deep. It'll be okay," and I realized that I was taking breaths pretty rapidly. I slowed down my breathing and took deeper breaths, and immediately felt calmer.

"So is it getting warm outside?" she asked me, tying a tourniquet on my right arm.

"Yeah, it's getting warmer," I replied, still taking deep breaths.

"That's good. Any big plans today?"

"Just going to work."

"What do you do for work?" she asked, doing more prep work with the tiny instruments.

" I'm a lifeguard at the Kroc Center."

"Oh okay! That's fun!" and she proceeded to ask me questions about the Kroc Center.

She kept talking to me and I felt the needle poke through my skin. But it really didn't hurt that much. Just a little poke, and I already knew what it would feel like so it wasn't quite as traumatic. About five seconds later she withdrew the needle and vile and had me hold a gauze over the small puncture wound, and then grabbed some tape to stick over the gauze. I felt the queasiness start to come over me but just kept on breathing deeply.

Then, it was so funny, the receptionist from last time, the one who had caught me before I fell out of my seat and to the floor, came and stood in the doorway. She's actually a lab technician there. She looked at me, laughter in her eyes, and gave me a big smile.

"Hello!" I laughed when I saw her. "Remember me?"

She gave a big nod and a small chuckle escaped from her lips. "Oh yes," she replied.

I laughed again. "Anyone fainted since me?"

"Probably."

The phlebotomist then reminded her of a man who had passed out just the week before, and they both laughed a little. They're so used to blood, that I guess it is pretty funny to them that anyone would get queasy over it at all anymore.

I laid on the bed for a couple minutes more while they both watched me, and then the phlebotomist told me that if I was feeling okay, I could get up slowly. I did so and then walked out of the room, to the waiting room, and then out to the car with my dad, no problems at all.

So yay!! I didn't pass out!! That fact doesn't make me look anymore forward to next month when I'll have to get my blood drawn AGAIN, but at least it gives me hope that my fainting days are over. I don't think I'll be donating blood anytime soon, but hey, at least I can handle giving a small vile of it now!

Well, thanks for reading. I'd like to say sorry that it wasn't so exciting this time around, but then again I'm not really sorry about that. The less exciting the better, don't you think?

Funny (and not so funny) Happenings as a Lifeguard

So...I have a "hit list."

At work (the Kroc Center) I'm known at work as the nice, quiet one, who does her job. Among the boys, I'm also known as the one who doesn't like to get wet. It's not that I don't like to swim or anything, I just hate getting into the splash pool at the bottom of the slide to signal to the lifeguard at the top that the bottom is clear and he/she can send the next person down. Why? Because the water is about 50% of the time cold, when I get out I am freezing, and then I'm wet for the rest of my shift! Also, chlorine kills your hair, so I try not to get it wet, since I'd like to still have pretty hair when I go back to college at the end of August! The boys just don't understand this though.

Around 2:30 this afternoon, I descended the steps to get into the splash pool at the bottom of the slide. I had pulled off my shirt and shoes so that I was only in my swimsuit and was already pretty cold. As I started getting deeper into the water (which is only about 3.5 feet high), I noticed that the water was colder than usual, and pulled up my arms and began shivering. Jarrett, the guard I was rotating out of the splash pool, was watching me get into the water. When I saw that he was watching me, I gave him a big smile and said sarcastically: "Oh this feels wonderful! Just wonderful! Doesn't this water feel just great?" and descended the last two steps down into the pool. Jarrett didn't say anything. I reached out my hand to take the rescue tube from him, when he suddenly began splashing me (lightly)!!

"What?!" I cried out, backing away from him towards the stairs. This only provoked him to splash me even more. "Jarrett! Stop!" I laughed, splashing him back a little. He stopped, and I walked towards him again. I stopped in front of him, and held out my hand again. He splashed me again, and I turned away from him. I began backing up again, when he said: "Wait! Come here!"

I turned back around, and met his eyes. There was a tender look in them, and then he leaned in like he was going to kiss me!

"No, no, no!!!" I shouted, covering my mouth and backing away from him. He continued to follow me, and I turned my body away from him, when he suddenly lunged, turned me around to face him, and then dunked me into the water!! Completely submerged me!!! I came up spluttering. I looked at him, and he was laughing pretty hard. "See? Now you're all one temperature!"he said.

"You..."I growled, and then started splashing him. He just laughed. He was already soaking wet as it was. Then the lifeguard at the top of the slide whistled at us. We looked up, she pointed at the kids, with a look in her eyes saying: "That was funny, but can they go down now?" I gave her the signal that they could and Jarrett left the pool. I went into the little corner I discovered where you get splashed the least, and can still rescue kids quickly, and was freezing the rest of that rotation!

Later I witnessed Jarrett do the same thing to another girl, Jani, who works there. Completely submerged her in the water, which I thought was weird, since that girl loved getting wet! But whatever...Jani came out of the water looking quite shocked, right as I walked by heading to guard the competitive pool. "Jarrett! Oh my gosh!" I yelled. He looked up and started laughing again. I went into the guard office to drop off my tube and he came in right behind me. "Kristen," he said, " when are you going to learn that boys just want to destroy your life?"

"Ha," I laughed, as I left the office. "I'm going to destroy yours later." Pathetic comeback, but it was the best I could come up with at the time.

I was however scheming about pushing him into the water fully clothed later. Later when I was in the guard office with another guard, and good friend of mine, Kate, I told her about what Jarrett did to me and Jani, and she told me of an experience of what he did to her (cannonballed right next to her).

"Him. He and Nick both need to be thrown into the water," I said.

Nick is another guard that likes to torment me. Whenever we're close by in rotation spots, he'll always splash me. If I'm sitting in a guard chair watching the water, he'll come up behind the chair, and tilt it forwards so much that I almost always fall into the water. Whenever I try to be sneaky and get him back, he always catches me. So far I've always tried it when he's standing. When we clear out the pool once and hour for five minutes (to scan the bottom for harmful objects), I'll come up behind him and try to push him in. I've come close a couple of times, but then he'll turn around at the last second, open his arms, and I'll back up quickly into the wall. "You know," he said to me once, "I just want to pick you up and throw you in there."

"I'll get you in there before you get me," I replied.

He just laughed at me. I will though.

I told all this to Kate, and she said I should totally get those two back. We then rotated out of the guard office, and she told Jarrett of my plans.

At 8:00, after we closed down rec swim, Jarrett came up to me, and said, "So Kristen, I hear I'm on your hit list?"

It took me a moment to figure out what he was talking about. A hit list? What? Then I realized what he meant, and smirked at him. "Yes, you're one of two. I'd watch your back if I were you."

"That's pretty scary."

"Oh it is. You don't want to be on my hit list."

"But I am. This will be interesting."

"Indeed it will."

Jarrett then went home and I stayed for another two hours since I was helping close tonight.

So being a lifeguard is pretty fun. My co-workers and I are all getting to be really good friends (seeing as how we all work about 50 hours a week, so our only social life this summer is at work). I like it a lot.

However, can I just say that I have never had a job so intense as my job at the Kroc Center? I lifeguarded at two separate facilities before working at the Kroc, and both of those jobs were cake--sit around and watch people swim, blow the whistle occasionally, and then go home. Hardly anything ever happened. And at Boulder Beach I got a killer tan (I was dark for a year). But the Kroc Center is a whole different story.

Not only was lifeguard training incredibly intense, but inservices are demanding as well. But I won't bore you with those details. Just know that all of the lifeguards there know how to swim extremely well, are in shape, and get constant training.

So far at the Kroc Center here's what's happened since I've started working there:
--Ambulance/Fire Department arrived to take a woman to the hospital after she sat in one of the jacuzzi's too long and became very sick in the locker room area.

--Fire alarm went off. Had to usher everyone in the aquatics area, and entire building, outside. We still don't know if it was a real fire or a prank.

--Lightening. Lights went out. Had to get everyone out of the water and deal with complaints.

--Kicked multiple people out, something I never had to do at any of my previous jobs. People are such smart-alec's at the Kroc Center! For me, it's three strikes and you're out.

--Saved a couple children, although really, those were very easy. I was already in the water at the bottom of the slide, and just hurried over to them with my tube to keep them from drowning. Simple saves.

--Too many "incidents" too count. If you don't know what I'm referring to, don't ask.

So, being a lifeguard is great, but there's definitely a lot to pay attention to. Our managers are cracking down on us for splashing each other and messing around, which they should, but it's just going to make it that much harder for me to get Nick and Jarrett, and whoever else decides to mess with me next, back. But I'll get 'em back before the end of the summer. Count on it.

Blood is Shocking

So I've decided that I'm actually going to start updating this blog. I want to get back into writing, and have decided that this is a good way to do it.

This morning I had to go to a lab to get my blood drawn. You see, I'm trying to get on accutane for my acne, but since accutane is an incredibly intense drug, I have to get two blood tests to make sure I'm healthy enough to take it, and also to make sure I'm not pregnant (if I were pregnant, accutane would severely damage the fetus within the first 1-3 weeks of pregnancy). Anyways though...

So I arrive at the lab about 11:00 this morning. I hadn't eaten anything beforehand, because I was required to be fasting so that they could get an idea of what my blood levels are without sugar in them. I should tell you that I am absolutely terrified of needles, blood, shots, etc... I haven't always been this way. Just in the last five years I've developed a strong fear of getting my blood drawn, medical shots, IV's...basically anything that can go into my skin. But I took some deep breaths and told myself it would be over before I knew it. I had also brought a PB sandwich with me to eat afterwards, as I knew I would need food soon after my blood was drawn.

I walked into the lab office and the receptionist greeted me. I handed her the form the dermotologist had given me, she made a copy of my insurance card, and then led me into a small room. The phlebotomist came in about five seconds after she left. She gave me a friendly smile and said hello. I hate it when people know that I'm scared so I just gave her a big smile and said hello back. She looked over the form, and nodded.

"Well this won't take long at all," she said.

"Oh good," I breathed a sigh of relief. The sooner I'm out of here the better.

"Now you are fasting right?"

"Yes."

"Which arm do you want to use?"

"This one," I said lifting up my left arm. Then I thought about it, "Well, no, actually, let's use my right arm. I write with my left hand."

"Okay," she grabbed the needle and vile. I looked at it and then looked away. Then I looked back at her.

"Um...do most people say that this hurts?" I asked.

"You know, some people say it does, but most just say it's a little poke. And you have two veins here for me to use." She pointed out where she was going to poke me, probably thinking it would comfort me to know where the needle would enter, but instead it only made me feel a little queasy. She then tied a tourniquet around my bicep, and wiped my arm with an alcohol pad.

I looked away, and she poked the needle in. It didn't hurt too bad. It really was just a little poke. She left it in for about ten seconds and then took it out. She put a guaze on my arm and asked me to apply pressure to it while she closed the vile. I did so.

"See? Now that wasn't so bad was it?"

I smiled. "No, no it wasn't. Better than I thought it would be."

Then she turned away, and about five seconds later I started feeling sick. Really sick. Everything started to go blurry. I started breathing deeply, trying to keep my head up. The phlebotomist turned around.

"Whoa. Whoa, are you okay? You don't look so good."

"I'm okay, I'm okay." And then my face suddenly felt very cold.

"You're very pale. Would you like some apple juice?"

"Yeah, sure, if that's okay."

"Well of course! Huh, I didn't draw that much blood from you."

"I know it's interesting, because you really didn't," the room was getting blurrier. "But I do faint when my..." dizzy spell. I took a deep breath... "when my blood sugar gets low. And I haven't eaten anything all morning." I moved to put my head on the counter.

"Okay well this should help," she handed me the apple juice. I drank some of it.

"And I'm terrified of things like this. Getting my blood drawn."

"You are? Well just take some deep breaths. We might have to have you put your head between your knees."

I moved to do just that. Then everything turned grey. I couldn't see anything clearly. I moved my head back towards the counter.

"Would you like a pillow for your head?"

"Oh no, no, I'm fine, I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

And then suddenly I couldn't hear anything anymore. Everything felt like a dream. I was so confused. Nothing made sense. Then the next thing I knew I was waking up. My head was on the counter. I raised it up slightly, but then felt dizzy again. I heard voices. I felt someone behind me, and realized that they were holding me up. It was the receptionist. The phlebotomist was in front of me. I could sense that she was very close, and realized her arms were out to catch me if I fell forwards out of my seat. I lifted my head up even more and looked around. Things were becoming clearer.

"How are you?" I heard the phlebotomist ask.

"I feel better," I replied, still in a daze.

"You still look sick. Do you still feel sick?"

"Yes. Everything is blurry. I don't know what's happening."

"Let's put her on the floor and raise her feet up."

Well, after having two weeks of Red Cross Training to become a lifeguard at the Kroc Center, and after hearing that, I realized what was going on with me. I was in shock. My body was reacting to my fear in the only way it knew how: by sending all the blood to my major organs to protect itself. That's why my face had suddenly felt so cold. The blood was rushing from my face to my trunk. And by so doing, blood had been taken away from my brain, and my brain had been deprived of oxygen. Since my brain had been deprived of oxygen, I had fainted. My body had shut down for a few minutes to give itself a chance to get everything working again. My dad later described it as the restart key on a computer. My body had simply shut itself down and then restarted itself.

However, I was still in shock, and because of that had the possibility of fainting again. So they laid me down on the floor, and raised my legs up on a chair. The receptionist then ran to get a doctor. I looked around the room, and at the phlebotomist. I was feeling better and more calm now that I knew what was going on with me.

"You gave us quite a scare there," she told me. "Does this usually happen to you?"

"Only when I don't eat. And I knew that I might feel queasy after this so I had a sandwich prepared. It's out in my car. I thought I'd at least be able to walk out there after this. But I guess not."

"No, definitely not."

I laughed. "I agree." She relaxed when she saw me smiling and laughing.

The doctor arrived and I was smiling and laughing with the phlebotomist. She smiled and then looked me over. "You're okay," she said, and then explained what happened to me.

"Yeah, I know. Two weeks of Red Cross Training. I know I'm in shock." Everyone smiled and gave small laughs at that. They all looked surprised that I knew what was going on with me.

The doctor left and I stayed on the floor for a few minutes more. Unfortunately my room was easily visible to all in the waiting room so there were two other adults staring at me. So embarrassing.

The receptionist then spoke. "So what happened?"

"Everything just went blurry," I told her. "And the next thing I knew I was waking up."

"Yeah you scared us! You weren't answering any of our questions!" I guess I was out for a few minutes then.

"I didn't hear any questions."

Soon enough I was able to sit up again. I drank some more apple juice and they gave me a piece of candy. They then asked if I felt like I could sit in the waiting room until they felt I was well enough to drive home. I told them that was fine. I stood up and began walking.

"You're shaking," the receptionist said. "But not too bad."

"Yeah, I'm shaking," I said. But we all knew it was to be expected after something like that.

I sat down in a chair and the other two adults went into other lab rooms. The receptionist gave me some crackers and I began to eat them. I was fine for about five minutes. Then I started feeling sick yet again.

"You okay?" the phlebotomist asked, when she came out of one of the lab rooms.

"I'm all right. Not as bad as earlier."

"Let's get you some more juice," she poured me some more apple juice and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I smiled and took it from her.

I still felt sick though. I leaned me head against my arm. The receptionist had left the office for a short time, and when she came back she looked at me.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

I took a deep breath then said, "No."

"Okay I'm going to clear out a room for you, and have you lie down on a bed." And she did just that. I followed her into a room and lied down on one of those typical patient beds every doctor's office has. I began to feel better. The phlebotomist came in. After a few minutes she said, "You know, I've been doing this for 35 years and I've never had anyone get sick on me twice."

My eyes were closed but I smiled. "I'm a special case," I grinned.

She laughed. "Yes you are."

About ten seconds passed and I said: "I think I'm going to call my parents and have them come get me. I probably shouldn't drive home."

"No, I was just thinking the same thing."

"But I really don't want them to know this happened to me."

"Well, give it a few minutes then, and we'll see how you're feeling."

A few minutes passed and I was feeling much better. I told her so.

"Okay now sit up."

I did so. "I feel fine." As soon as I said that I felt queasy. Gosh darn it!

"As good as you did lying down?"

I sighed. "No."

"Lie back down."

I did.

"Your hands are still so white."

I looked at them. They were very pale. I shrugged. "Whiter than usual anyways." We needed some humor in the room.

The phlebotomist laughed. "'Whiter than usual,'" she repeated. "Well I suppose it's a good thing you're fair. People won't be able to tell what happened as easily."

I smiled. Then I called my dad, and explained the situation to him. He said he'd be there soon. Other nurses/lab techs/ etc. popped their heads in. One told me a story of her daughter who is also terrified of needles. Apparnently this girl went to go donate blood at a lodge with her friends, and didn't even make it past the front door. Once she saw everyone lying down with needles in their arms she was out. I was glad someone else shared my wretched fear.

My dad arrived at the lab. The receptionist led him back to the room and I sat up. My dad looked at me, his eyes got wide (I guess I looked pretty bad), then to the receptionist, the phlebotomist, then back at me. I smiled at him. He relaxed.

"What are you doing?! Making things intersting for them?"

Everyone gave a small laugh at that, and then I got up and followed my dad out of the lab. I stopped at my car and grabbed my sandwich. I had to be at work in thirty minutes. I decided I was well enough, or would be well enough, to work. I ate my sandwich on the ride home and felt better. Then I hurried inside the house and grabbed my bag full of lifeguard stuff. Then I hurried back out and my dad drove me to work.

Luckily they assigned me to a station where I could sit down first, in the competitive pool area. I was still feeling a little queasy, but well enough to watch people swim laps back and forth and make sure no one was drowning. About ten minutes later I heard someone say:

"Hi Kristen!"

I looked down. It was my mom, with a huge smile on her face.

"Hi Mom!"

"I heard you fainted."

"Yeah...it was pretty embarassing."

She laughed and nodded, but I could tell she was just glad to see I was okay. She was at the Kroc Center signing Amy and Kate up for swim lessons.

Later when she came to pick me up and drive me back to my car, she said she hadn't realized how truly terrified I was of needles. She had been teasing me the last few days, because I kept saying how much I was dreading going to the lab.

"Bet you feel pretty bad, huh?" I teased her.

"I do actually. I'm really sorry. I really didn't realize that it was a legitimate fear of yours."

"It's okay." All was forgiven.

So we arrived at the parking lot, I got into my car, and drove home! I have to get another one of these tests done in four weeks though. At least next time around precautions will be taken. The phelebotomist told me that she would have me already lying down in a bed, apple juice ready to go!

At Last

As I was walking home this evening, from the Law Library, after having exhausted my brain from the long hours of studying, I was observing the night around me, thinking about the frosty air, dark sky, and watching the cars as they drove by me. Suddenly one of these cars, going about as fast as any other car on the road, slowed to a stop right in front of me. I slowed, my breathing becoming irregular, wondering what was going on, but kept on walking. As I began to walk past it, my breathing began to resume a normal pace, when suddenly the truck went into reverse, and for a moment it seemed like the driver was following me. What happened after that inspired the following story:

It seemed as though the driver was watching me, trying to get a closer look at me even, when suddenly they shifted into forward drive, and went into the Central Building's Parking lot. Looking back, I realized that they had stopped right in front of the driveway for the parking lot, and must have missed their turn, and were backing up just to get a second chance at getting into the lot. The car parked, and the driver got out, and I thought nothing of it, until the driver called out my name.

"Well, well, well if it isn't Tiana Marks," he said, loud enough so that I could hear, but low enough that it fit with the frigid darkness of the night.

I froze. I knew that voice too well. I tried to command my legs to move, to run, but no response came. It was as though all of my nerves had suddenly leaped into my heart, which was pounding vigourously, and also into my lungs, which had quickened their pace, all to no avail of my thought's commands to stop.

There was nothing to do but slowly turn towards him and act strong and brave. I was fairly good at acting those two things, even if they were the last things that I was feeling.

He walked towards me, a look of triumph on his face. I stared coldly back. He laughed.

"I would think, after all I've been through to find you, that you might be able to greet me with a kinder look."

I gasped. I couldn't help it. Here I was, thinking it was by some twisted curse of fate that had brought us to be at the exact place at the exact time, and yet it wasn't fate at all. He had planned it (except, exact time may have actually been fate. Had I not been out when I was, he probably wouldn't have found me tonight). His look of triumph increased, and his eyes softened.

"Yes, darling, I've been looking for you."

Hearing the endearment suddenly lit a fire in me as I old memories were brought to the front of my mind; memories that I wanted to forget. I was not pleased about them being brought back.

"Looking for me? Why?" I asked haughtily, pleased at how strong my voice sounded.

"Because you ran away from me. And I missed you," his voice was sweet, but it had the tenor of a lie attached to it.

"Ran away? I simply went to college!"

"And by doing so went away from me. Didn't I tell you I could provide a good life for us without you going to college?" He was right in front of me now.

"Numberless times," I murmered, my eyes narrowing.

"And didn't you believe me?" he whimpered.

"I had no doubt about your ability to provide for both of us financially, or a family."

"Then why did you come here?"

"Because I want an education."

"Didn't you realize that you wouldn't need an education if you married me?"

The fire that was burning in me had just been given kindling. I spoke slowly, calmly, and deliberately."I realized that financially, no, I would not need an education, assuming of course, that you did not die and leave me as a widow. I knew that I would not need an education under these circumstances."

"Then why did you leave me?"

"I guess I just didn't want the package."

Suddenly there was fire in his eyes as well. It scared me, naturally, as he was very close to me, and I knew that he was much stronger than me, and could easily hurt me. But another part of me was calmed, as though a reassurance of who he really was had just been presented to me. "Ah...there's that old anger," I thought, almost humorously, to myself.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he whispered icily, his words not matching his eyes.

"David, take a good look at me," I said.

His eyes began to move up and down my body, and I grabbed his face, and directed his eyes to mine.

"No. Take a good look at ME," and made him look into my eyes. This meant I had to look into his too, but such sacrifices had to be made. After about ten seconds I asked him, "What do you see?"

He looked away and then closed his eyes and shook his head. I asked him again.

He looked lost for words, but then that old sly smile creeped back onto his face. "Fear," he replied.

"Liar," I said, for at this time I felt no fear at all. I was in control.

The smile left his face. Then he took a deep breath. "I saw someone that I don't even know."

I smiled, a small, triumphant smile.

"From your first impression of this girl, what did you see in her?"

He took another deep breath. "I saw determination, focus, and discipline. I saw that this girl was in charge of her life, and that no one was going to run it for her."

"What kind of a partner in life do you think this girl is looking for?" I pressed.

He sighed, and then thought a moment. "I think she's looking for someone who will take care of her, but also let her make her own choices in life. Someone who will work right along side her the rest of his life."

"Are you this partner that I am looking for?"

He looked up at the sky, but I could tell he wasn't really looking at it. After a few more moments he replied, " I want to be, but I'm not. You're way too independent for me. I want a woman who will do what I tell her to, and admire me as the provider of our family."

I shook my head, and felt sorry for the woman who felt so insecure about herself, that she would allow someone to push her around like that. Certainly, some admiration should come for the man if he was the only one providing an income for the family to live off of, but I could tell David did not respect womanhood or even motherhood. He was not for me, and I was definitely not for him.

"Good night David," I said, and turned around and continued my walk down the sidewalk to my home.

David stared after me for a few moments, and then I heard him walk back to his car. Shortly afterwards, I heard his car engine start, and listened as he directed his car North, back to Washington, never to bother me again.