The Glowing Girl, Day 2

Roomies
When I was in the sixth grade, one dishwasher replacement progressed into a full-blown house renovation. In the throes of the developing plans, our parents made a deal: if we shared it, Georgia and I could have the old master bedroom. We agreed.

The first few months were hard. My type A ways and her whirlwind of chaos consistently clashed; fighting regularly ensued.

“For the love of God, pick up your clothes!” I would yell. “People live here – I live here – not pigs! I cannot deal with it another day.”

 Tape went down on the ground. My half and your half.  It might as well have been invisible. After an ineffective week of border restriction, I pulled the tape, but dissension continued. When PB Teen magazines started coming through the mail slot, I spotted one page displaying a nook I liked, and low-budget redecorations began at a fraction of the Pottery Barn price. Georgia would have no part, but she certainly didn’t mind having friends over to goggle over it, rarely giving me credit.

I don’t remember when breakthrough finally saved us. It was almost as if, under these smaller living constraints, we had to relearn each other in proportionately closer intimacy. If our room was a volcano of fighting, at least the eruptions became less active. They were replaced with lights-out pillow talks and fashion advice. In those first years together, our sisterhood became doubled bonded by friendship. Sharing a room with Georgia was the greatest blessing of my adolescence.

This made moving out one of the poorer decisions I made. Georgia hit puberty kind of late, so the mood swings didn’t really set in until I was in twelfth grade. Couple that with the late-in school arrival senior privilege I gained (and thus later sleeping schedule) second semester, and I was ready to have my own room again. After barely catching a conceding, “Fine,” from Rosa Marie to switch rooms one morning, I proceeded to move all of my stuff back into the original room of my childhood, never announcing to Georgia my intentions, much less my actions. When my sisters came home from school that day, they were both shocked. I think I hurt Georgia’s feelings, too. After a few weeks, I started missing her a lot, and I asked if I could move back in. The upset emotions had not yet worn off, and I was told I had to live with my (poor) decision. Fortunately, much good even came from this bad choice. Once I left for college, Rosa Marie and Georgia continued to share a room, becoming close friends also.

This pretty much defines our roommate relationship

To the Glowing Girl

I know someone who glows. She radiates seemingly endless doses of energy and optimism, and she is contagiously upbeat. Dirty blond, dimpled, and confident, only her inner spirit outdoes her physical beauty. From her earliest years, she has been able to tell a stream of gut-wrenchingly hilarious stories, befriend any stranger, and make life plain fun. Like mosquitos swarming around a bright light on a summer evening, others inevitably gravitate to her magnetic presence.  God gave her a good heart, and every day, she gives it back to Him, allowing Him to use it for His holy purposes. She does not focus on herself; her compassion for others often leads to generous acts of love. She’s a go-getter. She’s got moxie, spunk, pizazz, confidence…call it what you will – this young woman encapsulates a rare breed of the human spirit, and there is no one quite like her. Her name is Georgia, and I have the fortune of calling her my sister.

At the age of four, she rocked a bowl cut and asked Mama to have friends over for tea par-tays every day after  preschool. Now she usually buns up a waterfall of wavy curls, and her sociability has only grown with time. She was so popular by the end of high school, I was becoming highly suspicious of a cult following soon developing. Tea parties have been replaced with restaurant outings and movie nights, but Georgia is still, and will always be, 100% Georgia.

Today, she is headed back up to Furman to begin her second semester. She is worth writing about and, what's more, worth knowing. As she jumps back into both the fun friends and grueling work schedule, this is my little blessing to her. For the next week, I will post a lil' something about my dear Georgia. Stay tuned to learn a bit more about one of the coolest people around.

Day 1

Lucy

With the move to Mount Pleasant in 1996, we began visiting St. Andrews Church. One of our first Sundays there, a three-year old Georgia bounded down the church hall lobby in a corduroy jumper. She was stopped by a father headed the other way who introduced himself, concerned about this motherless tot.

When he asked Georgia’s name, she exclaimed, “I’m Lucy!”

The next Sunday, they saw each other again. This time Mama and I were with her.

“Hey Lucy!” he greeted.

“Lucy?” Mama asked. “Her name is Georgia.”

Somewhere in the move, it seems, we lost my sister and came back with an identical girl named Lucy. An imaginary best friend of sorts, the two had switched places.

Whenever people greeted Georgia, she quickly corrected them, retorting, “I’m not Georgia. My name is Lucy.”

“Well Lucy, what happened to Georgia?”
“She’s in college.”

“What is she doing there?”

“Going to parties and having fun. She’s waiting for me at The Citadel.”

Hell week must have woken Georgia up to the realities of knob year. After a few months, Georgia returned, bold and outgoing as ever. I hope Lucy isn't too disappointed that her twin never made it to The Citadel.

a) bowl cut  b) bangs  c) squinty eyes  d) toothy grins  e) sisterly love

2013

My memory is decent, but my recollections don’t easily fall on a chronological time table. Most of them are just muddled into a period of life – a vague reference to When I was in middle school or A few summers ago. I do have this funny pattern going with odd years, though. I will always know that the trying experience of marching band was in the fall of ’07, that I counseled at Camp St. Christopher for the first time in ’09, that I graduated from high school in 2011.  And now 2013, the year of travel. But the year I was twenty years old was a lot of other things, too. Self-discovery, new friends, lessons, independence. I’m not finished yet, but I grew up a lot this year. Most of this has already been written about in previous posts, so I won’t go into great detail. Regardless, here’s a recap of living the dream in 2013.

January: New Orleans Roanoke Habitat for Humanity Trip

A reminder of how much I love hard manual labor and serving the poor. It was also my first consideration of participating in the Peace Corps or AmeriCorps after college.

February: Sweet Friends

It’s already a blur of school and work, but because of that, the quality time I spent with friends is even more treasured. After a rough week and frigid bones from the snow outside, Janie and I treated ourselves to an intimate dinner of laughter and relaxing at Mac & Bobs. Afterward, we created the infrastructure for this blog. For Valentine’s, Kayla and I shared a typical meal in the Commons together, but instead of jetting off to the next responsibility, we lingered and enjoyed each other’s company. A weekend in Clemson followed with two of my best Charleston friends, Lizzy and Anderson.

March: Bermuda

Shorts in unexpectedly cold weather, tea time and high society, clear water, bars, and dancing. Best spring break ever.

April: Hiking

In the wake of exams, exploring Devil’s Marbleyard and a spending day on the AT with Nick, my loyal trail companion, is a pleasant memory.

Gotta throw in swing dancing with Joel every other Saturday throughout the semester. So fun.

May: Cambodia

Poverty and corruption, beautiful landscapes and more beautiful people coinciding in a seemingly impossible harmony. Writing. More writing. Existential moments and minor faith crisis.

June: Taco Mamacita

I learned I want a job that gives me a little more dignity, challenge, and purpose someday.

July: Costa Rica

Excursions, no transportation, and rainy afternoons. The best family vacation ever.

August: Yertons

My favorite Roanoke family came down to Charleston for the weekend. Josh, Jen, Tessa, and Luke Yerton make my surrogate family unit, my home away from home. It was a pleasure to be able to show them the original one in the Palmetto State.

September: Perugia

Speaking Italian, making friends, cooking meals, walking everywhere.

October: Only Child Life

Solo time with BOTH of my parents in Tuscany and Cinque Terre. Memory of a lifetime.

November: Weekend Travel

I perfected my Europe travel skills regarding trains, planes, and lodging. Dolomites, Venice, London, and Budapest. All in one month. There was some schoolwork. I promise.

December: Reading

After travel, I spent winter break perfecting my relaxing skills. I’m not really good at that, though, so if I’m lying around, I’m reading. I finished The Betrothed and am working my way through Cutting For Stone. Yours truly also got a Kindle for Christmas (thanks Georgia) and registered on Goodreads, which certainly cements my developing status as a dorky English major.

So 2014, you are certainly a chapter. I do not challenge you to live up to this past year; that would almost be impossible. I don’t have the grand plan I confidently lived by in 2013. I have no New Year’s resolution and very loose goals, which freaks me out. All I know is that I’m not going alone; I have friends and family all around. I walk with arms wide open, an ear turned toward the Lord’s voice, and a heart ready to serve, awaiting the unexpected.