In Which My Siblings and I Wage WW3 and Enjoy Ourselves Immensely

It is 2:00 pm on the day before Thanksgiving. Connor left for work just when I was enmeshed in the delicate process of conquering the world. Now the suspense is killing me.

I forgot how much I like to play Risk. I'm not much of a board game person, or a take-over-the-world-person, for that matter, but today I was getting a bit angsty over that land war in Asia. As it stands, Mattie is spreading herself out over Asia but growing stronger, while Connor camps in a small cluster in Europe, just recovered from a sweep into North America that dealt me a keen blow but did no lasting damage. I'm holding the Americas a bit shakily with Alaska badly exposed to Mattie's forces in Kamchatka and the cold uppermost reaches of Asia.

After some Thanksgiving baking this morning, the four of us sat down to a game of Risk. Ethan was on my team and has been my faithful dice roller, until the last ten minutes or the game, when the little traitor went over to the other side. He thought he would get to play for Connor when Connor left, but was thwarted when we decided to keep the game till Connor's return.

At the beginning, I lined up our extra roman numeral figures into lines by tens, fives, threes, and ones (ours were yellow) and Ethan expressed his admiration. ("That is so cool, Cass.") Of course Ethan would think that was cool. Lining things up is a hobby of his. He was simply admiring a fellow master.

Ethan dropped the dice at every opportunity. After retrieving them with his toes, he shook them ferociously for about ten seconds, scrunched his nose up, prayed for a good roll, and let them go. I'm not sure that his rolling tecniques have benefited us much.

Connor consistently reminded Mattie and I to take our precious cards at the end of our turns. Mattie croaked like a frog throughout the game, fighting off a headcold. We ate leftover lasagna while gambling the fate of Irkutsk. And now, we suspensefully await the return of our honored opponent and the end of the world as we know it.

November has finally hit with a chill blast! I said something about Christmas music this morning, and Connor said not till after Thanksgiving, which I usually agree with...but I said, what if it never gets this cold (you know, the 50's) in December? This might be our only chance.

But he ignored me. His car, his ipod, his choice. But he did ask me what music I wanted to listen to, and he let me ride in his car, and...hey, it's not a bad deal for me.

So we drove off with our scarves wrapped around our necks, (respectively), humming along to Regina Spektor, which can be hard to do when she really gets up there. And I was thinking of how nice it will be to come home tonight in the cold dark and find my warm house again and a kitchen steaming with the chicken soup my Mom put on this morning before she left for work. And this thought made me very happy.

Human beings are the funniest things ever. God must have had a fun time making us. Here I am, sitting at my laptop in a gray sweater feeling small and grayish and composed, and across the table is this big fellow in a black and white t-shirt, with a lot of hair, periodically looking up at the ceiling between spurts of paper.

First he asked me if internet worked here, as I was setting up my computer. Then he went away. Then he came back and asked if I knew where another plug was. With the scrap of human kindness usually residing in my soul, sometimes farther in than not, I offered to move the table over and share, and that's when he set up shop across and over one. And began talking about how bored he was with internet down. And making money.

My little brother, Ethan, is a funny person too. Probably because he is so serious. A few nights ago, I was reading a book about countries that don't like America and it was making me blue, and I said, to the general audience of the living room, that the world is "so messed up." And Ethan, who was wandering around the couch in Robin Hood-ish garb and a wooden sword, said,

"No it's not." And I said,
"Yes it is." And he said,
"Well my world isn't messed up. And you shouldn't say that right in front of my face!"

This is entirely true and I should have apologized for my insensitivity to his little bubble. Yes. No matter how messed up the world is, there is still humor in it, and it's good to have people around to remind you, passing stranger and little brother alike.

In Which I Become Aware of Significant Envelope Licking Rituals

According to Bruce, my blog is no longer interesting because I'm in school now and not having any adventures. (Besides those tidings of ill news it was wonderful to see Bruce and Deb again while they are in from Ukraine visiting Longview for a few days.)

But though I can't be the judge of my Blog Interestingness Quotient, I can, today at least, and as many times as I continue these charming visits to the Financial Aid desk, share an experience to satisfy my readers' taste for the ridiculous.

I understand that a home made high school transcript might raise a few eyebrows. After all, this particular student (probably not the first time in the history of homeschooling) had to design and fill out her own transcript. What can I say? The principal was busy! At least they taught me to be honest.

It's true that I made my own transcript, faithfully filling in the grades received from parents and other instructors. And when they told me at the Financial Aid desk that I'd have to have it notarized, I didn't make a fuss. If they want a little extra ink that's fine, although I didn't see how it was going to make anything more official. I know my notary better than most people know theirs because she also happens to be the church secretary, but that doesn't mean she knows how I fared in Biology.

I got the transcript notarized, and, having nothing but a plain long envelope, popped it in. I left it open because I figured that looked cleaner and neater than what it would be if they had to rip it open and look at it. Oh, how wrong I was.

When I returned to the registrar's desk and handed her my envelope, she looked it over and said,

"Well, I'm sorry, but we can't accept this. It has to be sealed." I stood there, a little concerned, picturing some kind of fancy sticker...bees wax...something official that I needed stamped on the outside of my envelope, something that definitely wasn't at my house.

"So...it's a homeschool transcript. Where am I supposed to get this seal?"

"You just need to bring us a sealed envelope, that's all."

"Oh, you mean it just needs to be closed?"

"Yes." I think for a moment, trying to get this straight.

"So you mean...that I can just go outside, lick my envelope, and come back in?"

"Uhh..." Awkward silence. Mostly for her. She turns to the lady at the desk behind her and asks what to do. That lady brushes it off with a wave of her hand and a crinkle of her nose that says "No big deal." And I heave a sigh that agrees.

The lady behind the desk carefully licks the envelope and regards me seriously.

"I guess it's ok, just this once," she concedes.

"So let me get this straight," I say, one more time, just to clarify. (I know my Dad's going to be all over this.) "What I should have done is licked the envelope at home and then brought it here, and that would have been ok?"

She nodded.

Well, my transcript is now sufficiently licked and filed away (I hope) and all I can do is issue a warning to my fellow homeschoolers planning to submit high school transcripts to a college...Never underestimate the importance of that official, clandestine ritual of Licking the Transcript Envelope...it could mean your future!