Recommended wine for today’s entry: Now that we’ve entered into fourth quarter and, unfortunately, cooler weather, let’s think Cabernet Sauvignon … I know many of my friends gravitate toward white wine in warm weather and reds in the cold. One selection I’ve gotten from two of my friends is Cakebread Cellars’ Cabernet. The 2006 is described by the winery as, “ bursts from the glass with fresh, smoky, cassis, blackberry and boysenberry aromas augmented by subtle cedar, black tea spice and sweet oak scents … black fruit flavors coat the palate, while its firm underlying structure transports the rich fruit and zesty black tea spiciness into a long, savory finish.” Great to toast a special occasion!
Oh, my. If my daughter doesn’t choose a college soon, I’m going to blow my head off.
Revise that: If my daughter doesn’t choose a college soon, I’m going to blow her head off.
No, if I’m being honest it’s: If my daughter doesn’t choose a college soon, she’s going to blow my head off.
Ours is not a good group for college visits.
We began her search with certain criteria: She wanted to go far away, meet a bunch of new people and watch awesome sports. Oh, and she wanted to go south of Kentucky.
Her first choice was Clemson, so, with Cheetos and coffee on hand, we set out. Seven hours later, we arrived – she fully rested from a six-hour-and-forty-five-minute nap, me totally wired from about five cups of coffee and still licking my orange-stained fingers.
While there, you may recall, my embarrassing act took place before the tour even commenced. In the restroom at the alumni center, I rambled on in over-caffeinated fashion about the fact that we were wearing what could be construed as purple and orange, the school’s colors. From the stall I pontificated about what kind of lunatic would wear the school’s colors on a visit – and how mortified I was that people might think that we had done so.
When I came out, the feet I had been speaking to didn’t belong to my daughter. They belonged to one of the other mothers. And above her feet, above her mom jeans, she wore a purple-and-orange Clemson University sweater. My daughter was like huddled behind the trash can with her hand on the escape door.
The rest of the day was fine and she actually loved the school. Met with the admissions counselor. All good. Until the drive home when — awake this time — she realized that it wasn’t just a quick nap away.
“Maybe I’ll look at schools that are closer,” she announced with conviction.
I almost swerved sharply toward the thick concrete overpass, to put us all out of our misery, but I didn’t. I just gripped the wheel and said, “Oh, I thought you wanted to go pretty far away.”
“I’m not sure.” (With the glare that’s uniquely hers: How can you be so freaking stupid and This conversation is over, all rolled into one wad of facial muscles.)
OK. This month’s parameters: A great school where she’ll meet new people that is less than two hours away. It has to have good sports and good business and pre-law programs, (potential majors, also changing like the moon phases). Oh, and she has to look good in the school colors.
Within two hours? “OK,” I told her, “that’s great – I’m glad you want to be able to come home every once in awhile. But remember, we don’t live in New England, where there are college campuses at every exit off the interstate. In fact, where we live, there’s a community center that holds an antique tractor festival and a biker bar and a Feed & Seed Depot at the first three exits. Now that fourth exit has a really nice truck stop that may offer big-rig driving lessons. Have you thought about that?”
Yesterday, we headed due north toward Indiana University. It met every single criteria, so a tour and full-day visit was planned.
On the tour, I asked about 15 questions because, as always, I had to be at the front of the line, so I felt it my duty to make the tour director think that our group of 20 was engaged and interested. Then my husband interrupted with some questions because he actually was engaged and interested. An example of my questions: “Do you know what kind of tree that is?” and an example of his questions: “So, Debbie, as a business major do you think it’s best to apply for that program as a freshman or do you recommend waiting and opting in as a sophomore? How difficult is it to get accepted into it later? What quad should she request if she decides on business?”
Oh come ON. After she finally finished with that stupid laborious question, I asked, rapid-fire to test her mettle, “Do you have Ugg boots? Do all the girls have Ugg boots? Is chocolate brown or tan more popular?”
And that’s about when I fell down. Not just a stumble – this was one of those things where I lunged forward in slow motion, sloshed coffee onto the tour guide, sunk really low on a giant stride like that exercise that I don’t do because they HURT LIKE HELL.
I know I said something. Loudly. I don’t remember what but I am almost positive it was a cuss word and I really hope it didn’t start with F, but I can’t count that out.
Finally I got myself upright and this guy – not a tour member, a student – who was striding along next to us on the packed sidewalk, looked at my daughter and said, “Ha! My mother did that same thing when I took a tour.” Then he veered off into a building.
So now she thinks she can’t go to IU because of that stupid incident. But time heals all wounds and besides, we’re running out of compass points bearing colleges.
If you see a blonde in a big rig next winter, you’ll know where she ended up.