tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87717052419501249272024-03-19T01:15:47.815-07:00The New Adventures of Old Courtney<p align="left">it's the halves that halve you in half.</p>CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-5449824406886505102014-01-13T22:19:00.002-08:002014-01-13T22:19:42.202-08:00the story of a girl's journey to WellnessI've never been one for exercise routines. It's not that I'm sweat-averse or a total baby about physical exertion -- I just don't think it's fun, and I'm a doer of fun things. I also don't get the epic adrenaline rush some claim to have when exercising (Is that really a thing?). Annnnd there's also the issue of me liking food . . . A LOT. People who are thin or fit think big eaters lack self control, which may be, but is not always, the case. It's assumed that people who claim they like food and don't like exercise are just lazy and gorge themselves on fast food and junk food while they sit on the couch watching <i>Idol. </i>And who even watches <i>Idol </i>anymore anyway?<br />
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Let me set the record straight. I like food. No, I love food. I consider the creation and consumption of food to be a hobby of sorts. Like all hobbies, overindulgence effects our relationships, time management and bodies. I don't sit around eating junk food. In fact, it's a seldom occurrence that I even purchase junk food. Just in case my roommates ever read this and try to contradict me, I will say that I do purchase it, but I do not buy snacks when grocery shopping. Sometimes, on my way home from school, I'll think, "Man, I'd really like some _____." I then go to the store and purchase just that item. It's a bad choice altogether to think you can have a cupboard full of Oreos and Fritos and trust yourself's self-control. If you know someone that claims to be able to accurately follow the portion size count on the box, I'd like to meet them and shake their hand. Because of this, I simply don't keep it in my house.<br />
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So when I say I love food that's not junk food, what am I talking about? I love carbs. Not cheap, greasy, fast-food carbs; but, expensive breads-and-cheeses carbs. Give me a hunk of Pecorino Romano and I'm yours. Hand me a loaf of yummy, pretty bread as a housewarming gift and I'll invite you over for parties for all eternity. My mother tells me that in the highchair, I would reach up my open palm and like a little Oliver Twist, imply, "Please, [Ma], may I have somemore?" She had to start telling me no for the sake of my digestive health. I just love good carbs. I'm also a sucker for good pizza. Not cheap, take-out pizza (although, that's good, too, sometimes); but good, exotic pizza. Since my Italian adventures, I have a deep appreciation for pizza when it's treated kindly. You don't need a tub of lard to melt on the top, people. I can close my eyes right now and picture the perfect pizza: Thin, slightly-burned, crackerlike crust, lightly sauced, small chunks of melted mozzarella; portabello mushrooms; fresh and clean arugula; sometimes, seafood pizza; OR pesto instead of tomato sauce; OR tartufo. Is your mouth watering yet? You people will never understand what fresh ingredients are. And if you ever are blessed with the experience of going anywhere outside of the United States, you will be stunned the first time you bite into an apple or slice a tomato. America serves you complete crap, I tell you. C.r.a.p. They spray it with glorified bug spray to deter the worms and then shine it real good with God only knows what kind of apple lotion and VOILA, here is your American, shiny, poisonous, poor-tasting fruit. Enjoy!<br />
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My point is, I overindulge on things that in my mind, are "better" for me. Less preservatives and transfats do NOT equal less calories or fat consumption. So when I'm overindulging, I'm overindulging, plain and simple. That being said, I've started a wellness kick, which I hope will soon be a lifestyle change. I don't believe in New Years Resolutions because I'm pretty good at recognizing when I need to make a change and doing it, no matter what day of the year it is. So this is a January 12th Resolution, I guess? I started P90X yesterday and it was the most discouraging thing I've ever done. It was only upon reflection that I realized it's not meant for someone who's rarely active, to say the least. It's too high-intensity for someone who's starting over, as the HUGE pinched nerve that's currently under a heating pack on my back will tell you. I'm not going to stop doing it, but I'm probably not going to do it daily. Instead, it's going to act as a supplement to my running routine.<br />
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I think wellness is physical, emotional and a state of mind. I am a firm believer that everyone should be reading constantly. It's food for the mind and there's always something to learn from reading. I've always been a reader but my schedule and life have made reading impossible; or at least, the last thing I want to do when I get home late from work or school. Anymore, I only binge-read. After a semester of not reading anything besides textbooks, I read 3 books over the break: An autobiography and 2 novels. I'm not even really proud of that -- it's just sad. SO I'm going to get back on the horse (figuratively) and read regularly -- although, who can say what 'regularly' even is? Current read: <i>This Is Where I Leave You</i> by Jonathan Tropper. I'll let you know how it goes.<br />
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Physically? Diet, exercise, blah.<br />
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Emotionally? Not sure yet . . . I'm really stressed about all the grown-up decisions I'm going to be faced with at semester's end. I wish I had my grandpa to talk me through it like only he could. I don't know where or who to look to for emotional health anymore. What do you do? Where do you go? I'm open to suggestions!CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-57908081009642143982013-10-22T20:32:00.001-07:002013-10-22T20:32:34.791-07:00the day weMy roommate and I got into a deep conversation about where our lives are headed, our view on relationships, the upcoming end of college for the both of us, etc. I told her the thought of getting married made me hyperventilate because I feel so unready for that. Her answer was one that I've been thinking about ever since:<br />
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"The problem is that we have been raised to think of our lives as a series of big moments:<br />
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the day we walk for the first time<br />
the day we start kindergarten<br />
the day we ride on our first airplane<br />
the day we learn to drive<br />
the day we lose our virginity<br />
the day we can vote<br />
the day we graduate<br />
the day we leave home for college<br />
the day we graduate again<br />
they we start our big-kid jobs<br />
the day we get married<br />
the day we have a baby<br />
the day we retire<br />
the day we have grandbabies<br />
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Life would seem so much less scary if we would stop thinking of life as a series of big moments we can't get back but instead, treat each day like a small adventure."<br />
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I've been thinking of how often I've done just that. I've invested all my energy into getting excited for graduation, which is 9 whole months away! That's 9 months that I could be living. It may not be huge, mindboggling, exciting adventures; but it's not something to just skip over or fear.<br />
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<i>"My whole life I've been telling myself 'don't be afraid.' And it is only now that I'm realizing how stupid that is. Don't be afraid. Like saying 'don't move out of the way when someone tries to punch you' or 'don't flinch at the heat of a fire' or 'don't blink.' Don't be human. </i><i>I'm afraid and you're afraid and we're all always going to be afraid, because that's the point.</i><br />
<i>What I should be telling myself is 'be afraid, but do it anyway.' </i><i>Live anyway."</i>CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-76071382394162358722013-08-07T21:38:00.002-07:002013-08-07T21:38:56.076-07:00be my lobster?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I googled this once: "Do lobsters really mate for life?" The answer, not surprisingly, was no. There are other animals that mate for life but Phoebe, of course, missed the mark on this one. It's a nice thought, though; and anyone who was ever even slightly invested in the Rachel-and-Ross saga, wanted to believe in those lobsters, myself included.<br />
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My friends and I have asked ourselves this question many times: Are there things such as soulmates and if so, how does it work? Any romantic would hope that a soulmate is delivered by fate or providence and consequently, hand-crafted and uniquely perfect for you. But is it like that? Republican, Moderate, Democrat, whoever you vote for, one of my favorite love stories is of Ronald and Nancy Reagan. He was married before but once he met Nancy, he never looked back. He wrote her the most precious letters and always talked of her and looked at her with such longing. After years of Alzheimers that robbed him of all their memories together, it was her eyes he searched for as he drew his last breath. I don't know anyone like that; and that makes me so sad.<br />
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I have always wanted to believe that there was literally <i>one</i> person in the world for me. That if I lost him, that was it. No hope, no searching, just loss. Because God would want that kind of rarity, right? I wanted to know that I was looking for someone specifically carved for me -- that he'd embody the right amount of humor and creativity but enough levelheadedness to bring me back to reality. That he would love me something rare and unruly. We would follow each other wherever life took us -- places far and alone but it'd be okay, because we'd be happy and whole.<br />
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Then I thought about people I love who have lost their spouses. Are they finished? I'd like to think they're not. What if I found my lobster when I was 20 and he died at 25? Am I really destined to never find love again? I don't think that kind of cruelty is the love God had planned. But then, the thought of God not having some bigger plan means that we're all left to chance and that seems so unromantic.<br />
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Basically, I want a real-life lobster.CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-8585170564089277842013-06-12T20:26:00.002-07:002013-06-12T20:26:48.305-07:00Love, Vivien Leigh<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In lieu of my friends deciding to get hitched simultaneously, my mind's been wandering to nuptials and that pre-martial bliss that I've heard tale of. I won't bore you with the details of my life as a suffragette/bra-burner but I just don't understand what the rush is all about. Now I realize that our 22-year-old biological clock is ticking away and that our eggs are slowly killing each other off, but I feel like we have a few years to play around before we need to get serious about marriage.<br />
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I was actually thinking today that the idea of getting engaged sounded kind of sad. Stay with me, here. So in this really precious 2 minutes or so, the man of today's dreams is on his knee, telling you how awesome and hot you are, how lucky he is to have found you (I can paraphrase, right?); and for a split second, you think he's actually starting to look like Clark Gable, Justin Timberlake or [insert sexy man here.] You're so impressed that he was articulate enough to be that charming -- Is his shirt tucked in?? And then you realize, this is the only time in our past/present/future that a situation forces him to be irrevocably honest about his feelings. What if he never dotes on you again? That was it. That was all the wooing he plans to do.<br />
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Every woman <i>thinks </i>her man is the exception but they can't all be, right? What happens when Clark stops being romantic or even a little sentimental? In the movies, they joke about the husband that forgets anniversaries or birthdays. But what happens when that happens? Does life just go on birthdayless?? All I'm saying is, take a little extra time to look for Clark.<br />
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<br />CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-46578441263321365132013-03-24T19:48:00.000-07:002013-03-24T19:48:47.645-07:00equilibrium<div style="text-align: justify;">
I feel weird. Imbalanced, kind of. I all of a sudden don't care at all about class and being perfect at school. I just want to stop. I haven't gotten to catch up -- on school or schedules or life. I haven't even gotten to sit and relax. I'm returning from Spring Break, which usually means that, if nothing else, I've slept. I haven't. </div>
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I think about him all the time and when I'm not thinking about him, I feel guilty. He's the kind of person that deserves to be thought of. I was driving and honked at a slow driver. When I passed him and realized it was an old man, I started sobbing. When I was at a restaurant and saw a man eating alone, I had to fight back the mist that was starting in the corners of my eyes. When I pulled over for a funeral procession, I started crying. Anytime someone asks me about how I'm doing with those knowing eyes, my mouth draws up and I know it's coming. </div>
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I never thought of myself as the emotional type. I'm the hard one. But anything and everything that reminds me of him being gone initiates a reaction from me. Yet, I think more than anything, I just misunderstood what this should feel like. I thought it'd be this heart-wrenching sense of emptiness but really, I feel like he went to run an errand and hasn't come back. Like he's just absent. </div>
CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-34433461079418794512013-03-12T21:13:00.000-07:002013-03-12T21:15:46.590-07:00the funny thing about death<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've never understood the grief associated with loss because it's always been irrelevant. I've never known how to react to others that I'm trying to comfort. I've never been sympathetic enough. And I know that now.</div>
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In the fall 2011, I had to move home from Norman. I was crossing my fingers that I would get accepted in OU's Italian abroad program in the spring but didn't want to be committed to a lease so I moved home. Moving home is hard for students. You get used to your space and being alone. You like solving your own problems. You like being able to make a Walmart run at 12:30am if you need to without anyone asking questions. You like it when no one's there to ask, 'do you have homework?' You like not having someone noticing the enormity of junk food you consume during test weeks. Moving home means a lot of eyes and comments. That being said, I consider my relationship with my parents to be pretty normal. We call each other, I ask for advice, meet up for coffee, whatever. But when I move back home, the dynamic shifts. We suddenly need to discuss everything I do: "Is this your dish you didn't put in the dishwasher?" "Why are your shoes by the back door instead of in your room?" "You should probably go to bed, right? Since you have a big day tomorrow?" "So what internship do you have lined up for the summer?" "How are your grades?" "What'd you make on that test?" Etc. This particular semester, I was back home and hattttting it.</div>
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My parents were fighting again and I was furious with them for it. My parents come from a long line of ignorers. I constantly have to fight the innate urge to blow people off when they disappoint me because it's in my blood, I swear. I was angry and tired of it and started packing my bags. It's a funny thing when kids get it in their heads that they want to leave because so much of our lives are financially dependent on our parents. In the heat of the moment, we think: "Cut off my cell phone? PUH-lease. I don't need a phone -- I'll survive. Take away my car? Yeah, okay, I've lived without one long enough -- I can do it again." Don't be stupid, kids. In today's society, you can't live without your phone or car. Stop being dramatic. With my bags packed and my face full of angry tears, I found my car in my grandpa's driveway. It was 10:30pm and when they answered, they held a crying Courtney, stroking her hair for over an hour while she complained about her 'terrible' parents, their children. At the end of my rant, my grandpa simply said, "You have the best daddy, I've always known it. He loves you. It's going to be okay. Meanwhile, stay as long as you'd like." I stayed at their house for four days until I ran out of clothes and I went home like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.</div>
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What I want you to take from this story is this: 1) My maternal grandfather loved my dad. Here I was, telling him about my parents inability to get it together and instead of showing favoritism towards his daughter, he reminded me that he loved my dad and my dad loved me. Then he gently showed me that in my anger, I had to remember the good in others. Because, after all, we are but human. 2) My grandpa took care of me on many occasions but this one time was really memorable. How many people do you know who will take you in after normal daytime hours to let you cry on their couch? It's a great memory for me to have of him because he was constantly teaching me lessons without meaning to -- that's why he was one of the few people who didn't irritate me when he talked about God. Because he really walked with Him.</div>
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My biggest fan passed from this life on Thursday and it's been the weirdest series of emotions I've ever encountered. Here are a couple of things that I've learned in the past week:</div>
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1) You will always, always be surprised by the people who comfort you and<i> the ones that don't. </i>My family has been dealing with a lot of hurt, not only in the last 2 weeks, but in the last 6 months. My grandfather found out he had lung cancer last August. His cancer was much larger and incurable by the end. There was only a 6 month fight and to the bitter end, he just knew he could beat it. His mother lived to be 101 years old and both of his sisters, Marie and Noni lived into their 90s. He was only 78 and told me on more than one occasion that he thought he had 10 more years left. So in his last 6 months of life, while he was fighting for his life, I was really disappointed in how little everyone seemed to care. The people we thought would be comforting and present were no where to be found. I'm a pretty strong individual so the first emotion I felt when this was happening was anger. Where are you? I need you and you're not around. My mom, though, is a tender spirit and I know that some of this absence was disappointing to the core of her bones. I wish for her sake that people would have been different. </div>
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2) Death of a patriarch doesn't encourage the family to get over past conflict and comfort each other -- things stay the same in that way. I've never been remotely close to either side of my family. If you ask any member, they will all give you a different reason why. I've been called a snob, I've called others the same, and sometimes, it's just a matter of siblings who don't get along perpetuating the cycle with their own children. When you have a mutual interest in a godly, intelligent, special man like my grandfather, you assume that his death will initiate a certain level of togetherness - of deep-rooted loyalty. When that doesn't happen, it's a little heart-wrenching. There goes the only tie that bound us together and now we no longer have anyone to force us to inhabit the same space. I think I've always had serious insecurities with regard to family. I'm worth it. I'm worth knowing. I have opinions. I have humor. If you would give me a chance, you'd like me. But instead, we glaze over each other's faces and don't talk. He would be disappointed.</div>
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3) Burial is silly. As we were packing up to leave the grave site, I couldn't help but feel so empty about being there. I think you assume that resting a person's body would make you memorialize the spot. But I just thought, "If he can see this, he's probably rolling his eyes." There's no spirit in there. He's wherever you go after. We're taking him and burying him in an expensive wooden box, putting a massive stone on top and crying over this aged and broken body. We're theatrically disposing of what will soon be dust. I believe in honoring the dead and I wouldn't have you disrespectfully dispose of his body but I think I left very certain that I want to be cremated. </div>
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Me and my grandpa became really close when I started college. I don't remember why -- it was kind of sudden. I think it was my grandma's stroke that made me realize time was short. My grandpa started looking tired before we even knew he was sick but looking back, it has become more obvious to me in retrospect. His eyes changed and he frequently had coughs and perpetual colds. But I really don't know what made me begin my weekly trips to his house. I think I felt better there with them and began becoming such a regular that when I skipped a week, I got a call asking if everything was okay. </div>
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There was a period of time when I didn't have a car yet but I was starting school at OU and couldn't be without one. I borrowed my grandpa's car, a '88 Honda Civic with peeling paint and an awesome personality. He was consequently named Charles (Charlie) because he reminded me of a rough-around-the-edges war vet with a raspy voice. My grandpa was a fit of giggles when I named him Charlie, and took no time at all to adopt the name, too. When I was in Italy, grandpa posted a comment on this blog, signing off as 'Owners of Charlie:'</div>
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They sold Charlie last week before grandpa had even died.</div>
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Last fall, while he was undergoing treatment, he sent me a text that said, "Go check out Steve Jobs' 2005 Stanford Commencement Address." I watched it and was so moved. Grandpa knew I was confused about the future and what I wanted to do with my life and he said it would help me figure it out. In the address, Steve says<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">, "You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle." He knew I needed to hear someone say that but after watching the address, I knew he took a lot from it, too. Steve had battled pancreatic cancer and spoke of death in the video. He said, "No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">After watching that, I knew he meant it for me but I knew he also meant it for him. I wondered how he felt about death. I know he went through stages of fear and anger but I think that was mostly because he couldn't imagine even heaven without the rest of us that he loved. I think he still had things to show and teach us, which is what hurts most of all. After that, we would periodically send each other messages about Steve Jobs, an undeniably brilliant man who brought us both a little comfort. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I think most of all, I wanted him to know that I loved him and had come to value him as a friend. I needed him because he was a constant and a mentor. I needed him to live to see my graduation from college that he'd heard me complain so much about. I needed him to watch me walk down the aisle and marry my best friend. I needed him to meet my babies so they could fall in love with him, too. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In the last week, we've heard encouragement from a lot of people who knew my grandpa. Two people have unknowingly said the perfect things. One was my grandpa's hairdresser up until he was bald, who told my dad, "Ron used to always talk about his texts with Courtney. He was always talking about how much he enjoyed hearing from her. He loved her so much." And the other was D Weaver, who said, "In the months preceding his death, I used to talk to Ronnie on the phone and he'd say, 'Courtney's been there for it all and before. She's my girl.' He loved you sweetie, hold onto that." There's no greater validation than knowing that he valued me. Because, God knows I valued him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I never knew when our last conversation would be and that made me really nervous. Two short weeks before he died, I was staying the night with him and he was really quiet. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He got that way towards the end. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He had texted me earlier in the day with a simple, "Can't wait," in anticipation of our little slumber party. His body was worn out and he'd try and stay up to talk but he knew I didn't mind if he slept so he'd drift in and out. He tried to get up to greet me but stumbled into the doorway and stayed there, unable to move. I hugged him there and grandma helped him back to his recliner. Those moments were hard to stomach. I waited till grandma went to the kitchen and I went and sat by his feet:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Me: I need you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Him: I need you, too. You've been there since the beginning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Him: I love you, a lot, too. You can tell when people love you because they grieve before you're gone. Whatever happens, <i>I just want you to be happy.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I cried in his chest for few minutes while his tired hands ran through my hair. That was our last private conversation and I think I somehow knew it was going to be. It was the next Sunday that I tried to call him and there was no answer. He had been admitted to the hospital and I didn't know yet. I hurried there to find him cut and bruised. In the week since I last saw him, he had been falling a lot and grandma hadn't called us. There was a knot on his forehead and a gash on his arm. He was just so tired but tried to talk to us as much as he could. Before I left I turned over my shoulder and said, "Sassafrass." He said, "Root-n-tootie," our old farewell from my childhood.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Over the next 2 weeks, he deteriorated to nothing but a comatose state. He would focus on your face long enough to respond but then the morphine would take over again. He came out once long enough to tell Robert and Richard that he thought he was going to make it, a fighter to the end. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thursday, at 5:46, he left us with a tear in his right eye. My mom was alone with him and I was glad. I thought it seemed like a beautiful thing to behold -- such a respectful, reverent moment for a daughter to witness. But I can't seem to decide what the tear meant. I knew he didn't want to die but was the tear sadness? Because I'd hate to think he was sad. Was it pain? Because I hope he wasn't hurting. Or was it because he didn't want to leave us? Because I hope he didn't. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"To lose someone you love is to alter you forever. The pain stops, there are new people but the gap never closes. This hole in your heart is the shape of the one you lost - no one else can fit it." -Jeanette Winterson</span></div>
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CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-14446903962725838442013-02-23T13:49:00.001-08:002013-02-23T13:49:24.221-08:00What do you want?For my whole life (and the whole lives of most women out there), we've heard jest of women's inability to just commit already. I don't mean commit to relationships, because most women find that rather natural -- I mean commit to a decision or course. "What do women want?" There's even an entire Mel Gibson rom-com that addresses the question! To an extent, I can see how this could be a fair question. Indecisiveness can be infuriating, I understand.<br />
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But on behalf of women everywhere, I've got to ask, What do MEN want?<br />
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We've been told by the sensitive psychologists of the modern generation that subconsciously, a man needs to be needed. He doesn't want to feel disposable or unwanted. Yet our histories and our stories want to depict men as these hunters who will fight for something if they feel the risk is worth the prize. Our mothers and grandmothers taught us not to be easy -- that we were worth all the playing-hard-to-get and ambiguity that comes from not knowing. So this annoying game of cat-and-mouse has ensued where we try to be mysterious and guarded and somehow expect men to chase.<br />
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The thing is: Men in my generation don't chase. They expect an equal if not <i>more</i> persistent woman to ask THEM out or show the first sign of vulnerability. I always swore that I wouldn't be that girl because it "isn't supposed to work that way." Men are "supposed" to chase us. One of my friends in high school used to get so frustrated with me: "Why don't you just tell him you like him? I'm not saying you have to ask him out -- just let him know that if he did, you would say yes. That's fair, isn't it?" And I suppose that it is. I guess at the end of the day, neither sex wants to put themselves out there -- it's scary. So if they do, not only have they proven that they're very interested, but they've shown that you're worth all the courage it took to ask you out.<br />
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So should I be mysterious, obvious, blunt, passive, relate-able, delicate, what? What do you WANT?CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-48564440073094859092013-02-12T22:39:00.001-08:002013-02-12T22:39:32.160-08:00Fat Tuesday<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm tired of hearing people complain about "my generation" and what technology has "done" to us. You'd think we were little millennial Frankensteins -- out of touch, spoiled and absorbed in this hazy fog that keeps us from coming up for air. I get it. Really, I do. I've been there on some level or another. For me, it has been getting addicted to a TV show (The Office, Gossip Girl, Gilmore Girls, etc.) and realizing after 4 days of watching back-to-back episodes that I seriously wasted 4 days of real, God-given, unabridged life staring at a little screen with bloodshot eyes. Or it might be something like using social networking as an escape from responsibilities, which is pretty consistent with most students, I'd say. In fact, as I type this entry, I'm avoiding my first Human Resources Management test that I should be studying for. Pick your poison, it's there.</div>
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They say it's destroyed our ability to interact socially or network professionally. As someone who thrives on face-to-face interaction, I take offense. You won't find me texting someone all day long -- in fact, after 3 or 4 correspondences, I usually give up on conversation. If I can't safely operate my stick-shift vehicle and engage in our conversation, I'll get bored and give up. I don't mind phone conversations. They used to really bother me, mostly when people call but have nothing to say. Except Bailey. Sometimes we'd spend 4 straight days together and then call each other while we were unpacking. We wouldn't even be talking -- just listening and somehow appreciating the mutual silence. What I'm trying to tell you, albeit poorly is: I don't feel destroyed.</div>
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I have, though, seen the effects of this rumored digression. I've seen the kid who obviously doesn't remember how to speak English and I've been on the occasional date that you show up for and the witty conversationalist is all of a sudden dull or mute. I'm not denying it happens. What I'm asking you to keep in mind is: It wasn't my generation that created the world that I live in. If you're even 10 years older than me, it was your's. I'm merely using the tools with which I was equipped. </div>
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I'm constantly learning new things. My mind is always roaming, I'm always daydreaming or engrossed in my own internal struggles and thoughts. I appreciate the clutter that my brain is able to sort through when it's not overloaded with media. So here it is, the big one: My Fat Tuesday just ended and my Lent has begun. As a practicing Protestant, I am giving up social media for the duration. What will I do instead, you ask? Maybe I'll pray, learn to knit, start morning yoga, read another book, I'm not sure. But it's nice, not knowing.</div>
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That grogginess, that foggy haze, it lures you in. But you know, the possibilities that are open to you when you shut your laptop are <i>endless. </i>Your small misadventures are awaiting you!</div>
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VictorCourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-81236797162959220172013-01-27T15:23:00.001-08:002013-01-27T15:24:24.027-08:00Taking Chances<div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i><b>When a resolute young fellow steps up to the great bully, the world, and takes him boldly by the beard, he is often surprised to find it comes off in his hand, and that it was only tied on to scare away the timid adventurers.</b></i></span></div>
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Some of this post is going to sound unavoidably pretentious but I trust that my small following of readers will read it in good faith :) I believe that everyone has things about themselves that they love. Whether this list is one of physical qualities, learned abilities, or innate gifts, they're there. And hey, that's normal! Only a healthy human being can look within themselves and find good. Sometimes these qualities are ones that we can't see for ourselves; but that's why we have each other! That being said, there are a few things about myself that I love:</div>
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1. My hair. When I was growing up, it was cute. We couldn't go anywhere without someone commenting on my "unique," "carrot," "beautiful," "Is that the milkman's daughter?," hair. I hated it for a long time because 1) guys don't like girls with red hair (don't argue with me, it's the truth) and 2) all the popular, pretty girls were blonde and brunette. Why did I have to be so different? It wasn't until late junior high that I finally decided it was my birthmark, my identifier, and so indicative of the uniqueness that I carried with me.</div>
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2. My imagination. When I was in 9th grade, one of my favorite years of school, I had a teacher of current events and Oklahoma History named Dr. Foote. As far as teachers went, he was a gem, and I told him as much every chance I got. One time I asked him how he remained so relatable, even though he was in his 60s (I'm sure I even said it just like that -- I was so tactless at that age). He said, "You know, I decided a long time ago that if I was going to teach, I never wanted to forget what it was like to be your age." I thought that was the coolest thing I'd ever heard! I mean, parents don't even do that most of the time! How does this tie into my imagination? Well, I guess I just think it's made me good with kids and youth. On reflection, given the right age group, I could've been a teacher. I love that I can carry entire conversations with a 13 year old, even though the only thing we have in common is the fact that I was also once 13 years old. </div>
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3. My humor. I love my sense of humor. I love that I take tense situations and make everyone redirect their energy into laughing. Long before my body is sagging from age, I will have laugh lines, because I love to laugh. Honestly, everyone THINKS their funny. And if you're reading this thinking, "Courtney, shut up, you're not funny, your jokes are only funny to you;" that's okay, too. Because while you're </div>
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scowling at me, I'm laughing. So there. I win.</div>
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4. My intelligence. Before you let out a guffaw, please understand that I am very average student. I don't get exceptional grades and I'm not the first to speak up in class. I'm not talking about book smarts -- I'm talking about the knowledge I've acquired through experience. I love that I'm a jack-of-all-trades sort of person. I can help my dad build something, knowing the names of all the tools we use. I can help my mom sew, knowing all the sewing terminology she uses. I can talk to my actress friend and know <i>most </i>of the words she throws around and even a lot of the music she chooses. I can talk science with my friend who's studying medicine. I can talk cars (a little), fashion, music, international affairs, business, italian, italian wine, food, etc. I love that I can find something to say to every person I meet because unlike some, I'd rather know a little about everything than a lot about nothing. We get one chance at life -- I don't want to miss a thing. </div>
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5. My spontaneity. I've made many spontaneous, risky decisions in my lifetime. I've also made some that were planned, risky decisions. I love that I've thrown myself into crazy places and things without looking back because it's lead me to some amazing opportunities. I'm terrified to look back on a life that was boring and empty. That's not the life we were created to live. </div>
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So there it is! Probably my top 5 favorite things about me! I finished with spontaneity because I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Because, as of late, I've found myself doing what I can to coast under the radar, which is sad because my willingness to take risks has always been one my favorite things about me. More specifically, I've failed at taking risks in relationships. Courtney, why'd you have to go there, huh? Go write that in your diary! I know, I know. The thing is, I've gotten so comfortable being alone. I lost my best friend awhile back. She was my other brain, my other set of eyes, my limbs. I was heartbroken and getting to a place where we both can be happy for each in spite of our differences hasn't been easy. So I've felt like I've had to figure things out differently, which has been lonely sometimes. But now even when someone great offers their heart, I quickly shut them out because it's easier to do that than to experience the loss of losing them later. So here it is, folks, the big one. I need to find a way to love <i>my love.</i> I want one of my favorite things about myself to be the way I love others and the relationships I create. And I need you to keep me accountable!</div>
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CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-46750996512496870172012-11-18T22:31:00.003-08:002012-11-18T22:32:48.415-08:00Mama SaidI imagine you're sitting on the couch in your living room. Maybe you have a bowl of popcorn and the remote in hand as you channel surf for a good movie. Are you tired? Insomnia getting you down? If only I were so lucky. I'm exhausted, grumpy and fed up with my 10-page "group" paper that this girl is essentially writing, editing and researching by herself. So instead of feeding my pessimism, I'll leave you with a video that Danielle and I just spent the last 10 minutes dancing to for stress-relief. Enjoy!<br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WQlImg2bm28">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WQlImg2bm28 </a>CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-22839999655207001502012-09-28T22:44:00.001-07:002012-09-28T22:44:21.753-07:00sell your clothes, keep your thoughts<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's been a crazy month or so -- the kind you look back on and wonder exactly what you actually did during it. I find that my overall state of happiness lies chiefly in my stress. Don't expect to find a happy Courtney when I have too much time on my hands. I'm overloaded and overbooked and completely thrilled with everything going on in my life. </div>
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Firstly, know that my supposedly brave, forceful front is just that: a front. When it comes to true tests of courage, I'm in line with the mice. When I was younger, I could play on stage or talk in front of 50 people with complete ease. I could entertain a room or at least hold the attention of the few people I was talking to; but it's a different situation to have a job interview or voice my opinion to strong opposition. I'm quite the timid little girl about serious tests. That's why, until now, I've played it safe in my college career (that is, if you call living with zealous Italians 'playing it safe'). </div>
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Since I came back to Norman, I started writing for the paper (albeit, somewhat poorly); applying for things like crazy; and maybe even going on a date with a handsome stranger.</div>
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In early September, I told myself that I was going to go to the Career Fair. "No more getting out of it, Courtney. You're going to show up in a monkey suit and impress those corporate recruiters. You're going to be looking for a job in two years so get to networking." So I did just that. I went to that pig slaughter and stood in line with all the other seemingly average students who were going to beg and flatter their way into whatever summer internship they could find. I went to 5 organizations.</div>
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I started with my favorite, my dream job, my ideal: the Department of State. Been there, done that, as far as internship applications go. I'd applied and got on the "alternate list" for an internship this past summer in Roma at the U.S. Embassy. It all worked out fine -- I would've had to come home for Cara's wedding and then return; and the internship would have been unpaid. There's a reason that it didn't work out. I mainly went because I'm still interested in the State Department long-term so I talked to the diplomat in residence. </div>
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Then I spoke with (in no particular order) Phillips 66, ConocoPhillips, Devon and Chesapeake. Woah. Lots of big names there, huh? </div>
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WELL. Guess who I had a VERY successful interview with today for a possible summer 2013 internship? Haha. I know better than that! I'm not telling you! At least, not for another 3 weeks when I find out the official results. What I can say is, that was the most comfortable and successful interview I've ever left. I'm definitely excited at the prospect of spending the summer with them. </div>
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Other than that, I interviewed for OU's Chapter of the JCPenney Leadership Program. They had a record number of applicants (150+) and I made in the top 55. Not too shabby. In the last 3 weeks, I've worn a suit 4 times. I must say, that's a rarity for me under any circumstances. </div>
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As for the date, well, we'll see. I'm not one to shy away from new things or people but with my busy life right now, I just don't want to commit a bunch of extra time. </div>
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<i>“However mean your life is, meet it and live it: do not shun it and call it hard names. Cultivate poverty like a garden herb, like sage. Do not trouble yourself much to get new things, whether clothes or friends. Things do not change, we change. Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts.”</i></div>
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-Henry David Thoreau</div>
CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-90396573979335073162012-09-22T20:46:00.003-07:002012-11-04T20:10:23.173-08:00Gold Medalist<div style="text-align: justify;">
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"When we were five, they asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. Our answers were thing like astronaut, president, or in my case… princess. </span></h1>
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When we were ten, they asked again and we answered - rock star, cowboy, or in my case, gold medalist. But now that we've grown up, they want a serious answer. Well, how 'bout this: who the heck knows?!</h1>
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<span style="font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30px;">This isn't the time to make hard and fast decisions, its time to make mistakes. Take the wrong train and get stuck somewhere chill. Fall in love - a lot. Major in philosophy 'cause there's no way to make a career out of that. Change your mind. Then change it again, because nothing is permanent.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 30px;">So make as many mistakes as you can. That way, someday, when they ask again what we want to be… we won't have to guess. We'll know."</span></div>
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</span>CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-59702272539296563592012-09-06T12:20:00.000-07:002012-09-07T06:35:11.958-07:00The 4th StageBirth. Childhood. Adulthood. Death. Repeat.<br />
That exact moment that you realize how human we really are -- that from the day we are born, our bodies are slowing dying. That exact moment when you stop thinking like a 21 year old that will live forever. That exact moment that it stops being irrelevant to you and becomes really personal. That exact moment that you realize that your life is about to drastically change. <br />
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Over the last week, I have heard some of the saddest and most heart-wrenching news in the lives of a couple different people -- some I sat near at church and some that I speak to on an almost-daily basis. Isn't grief so interesting? I mean, every single person deals with it differently. What do you do in times of sadness? <br />
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Do you dwell on it or do you avoid it?<br />
Do you lose your appetite or overeat?<br />
Do you find yourself wide awake in the night or do you sleep through the day?<br />
Do you find yourself more productive or immobile?<br />
Talk about it too much or not enough?<br />
Do you pick up a hobby or do you just sit in silence? <br />
Call a friend? Turn off your phone?<br />
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Well, whatever it is you do, maybe it'll help to hear the advice of a giant:<br />
"Be known for your gentleness and never forget the <em>nearness </em>of our God. And don't worry about whatever's going to come. Just tell God every detail and the peace of God that no one understand will come to you."<br />
Philippians 4:6-7<br />
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Easier said than done, right? If you're me, you're thinking that "not worrying" is asking a little too much. If you're me, you're wondering, "Why are we even here? Why get in too deep with people and be vulnerable when death and tragedy is so inevitable?" That's one those questions that is usually answered by, "Don't dwell on questions that you'll never know the answer to."<br />
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Well. I wanna know.<br />
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"There is nothing to be feared from a body any more than</div>
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there is anything to be feared from the darkness . . . </div>
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It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."</div>
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HP, HBP</div>
CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-33430752182534106202012-08-15T08:32:00.002-07:002012-08-15T08:35:00.672-07:00Peace and Blessings<div style="text-align: justify;">
We were sitting in the food court at Penn Square Mall, which is something I hate doing due to lack of cleanliness and the fact that I usually end up watching the food roll around in people's mouths. Attractive. It's a good place to people-watch sometimes, though. You could compare it to sitting in one of those old-fashioned hair dryers and pretending to read People Magazine while you hear about Jenny's date on Saturday with the average-looking guy from Marketing. The equally entertaining but generally easier option is the food court. I was enjoying my luke-warm Chick-fil-a when my mom, with tears in her eyes, said, "See that man over there (points)? He works in the shoe department at Macy's and every time I see him, I just get so sad. I wonder if he's alone." Keep in mind that my mother cries often -- I think it has to do with aging but the fact that a Macy's clerk was making her cry wasn't so abnormal. </div>
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Later that day, we saw him working the shoe department and being super polite and helpful, etc. My mind continued to linger on that curiosity. Does he have kids? What does he do on Friday nights if he's by himself? Because loneliness is something that everyone struggles with from time to time. I wondered what it would be like to be 60+ and, knowing that you're on the downhill side of life's timeline, be looking at the finality of death without anyone standing next to you. That's a harsh reality if you think about it.</div>
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I found out today that my pawpaw has a mass on one of his lungs. Keep in mind that this man is one of the most precious people created by God. It's easy to say in times of fear or loss or grief or anxiousness that someone is/was "one of the most influential people in your life." But please know that this man competes for the title of Most Influential Person in Courtney's Life, and probably wins most days. I know that God tries to teach me lessons that I sometimes ignore; but I'm confident that my grandpa speaks to me through a God that is using him to reach me. Because there are few people whose words I revere so highly. Now we don't know if the mass is benign or malignant -- at this point, I'm not filled with worry -- because he hasn't even had a biopsy yet. He's so upbeat and at peace and I know that whatever lies in store for us, I feel blessed to know such a brilliant and beautiful soul. </div>
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I hope you, whoever you are, are acutely aware of those blessings disguised as people. Our bodies are merely houses for the souls that we love, which is a strange and scary and vulnerable thing; but a reality that we are forced to adapt and submit to.</div>
CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-80431392373096362032012-08-10T08:48:00.001-07:002012-08-10T08:48:49.880-07:00Boomer Sooner<div style="text-align: justify;">
Are you there? Are you listening? </div>
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If you're even remembering to check this blog now that I'm safely home, you're wondering why I'm updating it. "You're home, Courtney." I know, I know. It's just that I got so used to posting about my life's happenings that dropping off the face of the Bloggosphere seemed a little unnatural. It's been a short three months since I boarded the plane at Roma Fiumicino and, let me tell you, it has drug by. Three months. That's a fourth of a year! The changes I saw in myself are slowly drifting away and I'm almost back to ordinary, post-adventure Courtney, who would just-as-soon sit on the couch with a rom-com than go out and enjoy the fresh air. These are terrifying updates to admit, I assure you. </div>
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At first, I'd say I was a little shell-shocked. How could you not be? I was staring at this strange, tall robot that everyone was calling the "Devon Tower" and trying to understand why everyone was freaking out about the Thunder -- isn't basketball season supposed to over? I was a little unnerved by highways so when my dad tossed me the keys at the airport to drive Zorro home, I wasn't sure if that was the wisest decision. I had toned up my legs and arms from all the activity in Arezzo but all my hard work slowly slipped away when I had a car at my disposal. I lost weight in Italy but gained it in America. No surprise there. Without encouraging a reputation of impropriety, I must say that I was a little shocked at my inability to easily and casually obtain alcohol. I'm not a drunk but "why can't I just go take a beer to the park?" This question puzzled me persistently. </div>
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I really didn't have a lot of time to sort through these internalized questions because, well, I was going to have a new brother in two weeks. That's right, my sister got married merely 13 days after my return. There were things that she insisted on waiting to begin until she could hear my opinion, which, while sweet, was a little senseless. Things like flowers, programs, jewelry. Ya know, just a 4 page 'Honey Do' list. No bitterness or anything, but I'll be waiting awhile to subject myself to mindless matrimony. Although, while a little off-subject, it's worth noting that I believe people are beginning to encourage life-partners upon me at my youthful 21 years. Why on God's green earth would I even entertain the thought at my age? For as Mrs. Marcia says, "Graduation, first." And for all I know, there might be two graduations in my future first. Anyway, many heartfelt Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Maldonado, who are now expecting a baby... Just kidding. Do I still have your attention?</div>
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Other than that, the summer has been lazy and hot. I got an internship that began a short 3 weeks ago through Whiz Kids for the fall and spring semesters. Whiz Kids is a faith-based, non-profit out of OKC that promotes literacy in elementary students by pairing them with a tutor that will mentor them (hopefully) throughout elementary and intermediate schools. It's a small staff but there's a lot to do and I love the people I see every day. God's doing great things through this program -- it now supports 26 schools in the area and is growing every year. My work is sometimes merely clerical but also includes some special projects so I'm still challenged.</div>
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I move back to Norman a week from today and I've barely started packing. No surprise there, right? I'm getting the itch to be in a classroom again and see all of my Arezzo friends. I can't wait to see what this next academic year has in store for me. </div>CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-48042623896285855782012-05-09T17:09:00.001-07:002012-05-09T17:09:54.923-07:00Paradise<div style="text-align: justify;">
My heart is breaking a little more every day. The students are starting to trickle away -- the first of us left earlier this afternoon. Two of my favorites are leaving Thursday morning and I'm just at a loss of what I'm supposed to say exactly. </div>
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Chloe turned 15 on Saturday, which is a little surreal for me considering that I remember the day she was born. Every time I blink she's a different person and I've had a hard time reconciling the fact that I missed an entire semester of her life. In my guilt, I made her a video that was not only fun to make, but fun to share:</div>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CI8ol0e4nIk&feature=results_video&lr=1&ob=0">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CI8ol0e4nIk&feature=results_video&lr=1&ob=0</a>
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This last weekend was our trip to Sorrento/Capri/Pompeii. We started in Pompeii and listened while Kirk lectured for what felt like forever. We learned a lot and enjoyed our time there but were itching for some beach. We all stayed at the same hostel, which ended up being a campsite. We had 3-man cabins and all stayed in the same little village. So ensued the title <i>Camp Arezzo</i>, which none of us can think of without getting a little bit misty. </div>
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Saturday we went to Capri and took in all the beauty around us. All I kept thinking when I saw the island was that it looked like the island on <i>King Kong. </i>I expected palm trees and beachy weather and outfits but it was a totally different kind of island experience. Most of the time, it just felt like I was on the coast of the mainland. We went through the city in the three tiers: the port, Capri, and Anacapri. As you go farther up the hill, the island becomes less commercial. We spent the day shopping and eating. BUT the <b>best </b>part of the day was when we went to the small beach. It's the beginning of May so the water is ice cold. I told my friends that there was no way I was leaving without jump straight into the Mediterranean. So I did, and it was colllld. By the end, everyone was jumping into the ocean in their clothes. We were so, so happy!</div>
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The whole weekend went by really quickly and we were all dreading going back home because Kirk's paper was coming up. I chose to do mine over Michelangelo's <i>Last Judgment.</i> It's not that the subject matter was difficult -- it's probably the easiest topic to find information on. It's just that the paper was supposed to be 7 pages and 1 and a half spacing. I thought I was supposed to be studying abroad, aka traveling?? We've all been super stressed about it all and we had our Italian language final on Tuesday. Which is a perfect segue into my next topic....</div>
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Monday was my 21st birthday! As previously mentioned, we were so stressed with finals that my entire birthday was spent working on Kirk's paper. We had a meeting that morning and my friends showed up with a pastry with candles in it and a cappuccino. That night, they all bought my dinner and brought me wine. We waited until today to celebrate though since we were all done with our papers. My friends and I had a potluck picnic in Cortona. We had pecorino cheeses, grapes, strawberries, bread, champagne and bruschetta! We were so full that we were falling asleep. A couple of us ended up buying new leather purses before heading back to Arezzo. </div>
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Tonight we met at the Marco Perennio apartment for a dinner of mussels and pasta. We all just sat around playing music and being reminiscent. I have never been more scared to lose a group of people in my life. I just want time to stop right now. I love these people -- they have become such a part of my life journey. Have I already told you how much my heart is breaking? I think that's the way it's supposed to be, though. I'm supposed to fall in love with this place and my friends. I'm supposed to be sick about leaving. It's the sign that I did what I came here to do. I hope that everyone I know experiences something that changes them so greatly.</div>
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My heart is sinking as I'm lifting up above the clouds away from you</div>
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I can't believe I'm leaving, I don't know what I'm going to do</div>
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But someday, I will find my way back to where your name is written in the sand</div>
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'Cause I remember every sunset</div>
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I remember every word you said</div>
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We were never going to say goodbye</div>
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Tell me how to get back to paradise with you</div>
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<b><i>And I'll be there in a heartbeat</i></b></div>CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-10988407105491826622012-05-01T12:54:00.002-07:002012-05-02T03:54:09.289-07:00Alive<div style="text-align: justify;">
Danielle and I took a little day trip to Pisa and Lucca on Saturday. The famous leaning tower is . . . still leaning. Surprise, surprise. We walked through the city, which is quaint and small. Their Duomo was beautiful and the Baptistery had a ten-second echo, which was really impressive. The security guard comes out every 30 minutes and sings for about 2 minutes. By the time she sings a scale, she's creating harmony with her voice(s). We caught the train over to Lucca and rode bikes along the city walls. We had lunch at a charming pizza place, sipped wine and watched a ridiculous break-dancing competition. The weather broke 80 degrees, which is impressive, I assure you, seeing as how it poured rain again all today. It was the best day and I told Danielle that when my birthday is going on and we're too busy working on finals, I would be willing to call that my birthday. It was just one of those days. I was happy. <br />
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I'm getting this tightness in my chest. I'm moved to tears every time I think of leaving this beautiful place and the beautiful people that I've grown to love. I've gained more than just pounds and a love for carbs, believe me. I've gained a world view, a love of being amazed, a love of meeting people I can connect with on some seemingly insignificant level. I have had my moments that made my heart ached for parts of home, but now I'm having moments that I just ache to think of saying goodbye. I have 12 days and I keep doing the math in my head: by the time I subtract this weekend's travel (3 days), homework/final exams (3 days) and packing and cleaning my apartment for departure, I'm left with absolutely no time. Nothing is more devastating than knowing that it may be a very long time before I breathe Tuscan air.</div>
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I've found that I have an irresistible urge to do big things. I want to see it all and do it all. I want to see the castles of Germany, ski in the Alps, ride a camel in Turkey, see an elephant in India, sing with children in Africa. Is that wrong? It's kind of an expensive hobby, isn't it? I have seen only a small tease of the many wonders of God and I know there's more. I've seen things that can't be bought or sold, only felt; and I want nothing more than to feel them. It's not just a travel bug or an itch for adventure, it's want I want to do with my life. And I'm determined. </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”</span>CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-74671416649937692292012-04-27T10:21:00.003-07:002012-05-02T03:55:32.491-07:00Divinely Favored<div style="text-align: justify;">
I felt Tuscany today. I mean, really felt it. You know in the movies when you picture those clay Tuscan roof tiles; the tall, skinny trees; the fields of flowers; the smell of rich, ancient dirt? Today was all of those things and <i>more. </i>We had a long winter, a week and a half of those "April showers" and now, it's what Oklahomans would consider shorts-weather. I prophesied that it would be at the very end of the semester that I fell in love with this place. I was right. And I am. </div>
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Wednesday, the 25th, was the 4th of July in Italy, the day Italians celebrate their liberation from Mussolini and his fascist party and the Germans, who were driven north out of Italy. The Italians were out of school for the day (we were not so lucky) and the city was alive! We had our Illicit Trafficking presentations that day and, true to form, I talked for 10 minutes longer than my allotted time. There were 4 group presentations and each group was required to speak for an hour. That was the longest class day of my entire life. I am in no hurry to relive that experience. </div>
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Today, though, is the day we all dread. It's the day for our "Getting to Know Arezzo" class, where we spend about 3 hours doing something around town. We only have 5 of these classes per semester and today was our last. So far we've spent a day studying the famous Joust of Arezzo, we've studied the Madonna del Conforto on the day that her holiday was celebrated in town, participated in the Slow Food Movement (we had 5 courses -- yum!) and then there's today. </div>
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Today, in honor of the Liberation Day festivities, we went to San Polo, a town that was invaded by the Germans in 1944. We began the class by watching a documentary on the massacre at San Polo, where German forces being driven out of the south of Italy by Allied forces came through that little town and killed 48 people, including most of the men, some elderly, and at least one pregnant woman. The documentary was in Italian and the actors were locals so the children on the screen (not knowing the severity of the subject matter) were laughing while German soldiers were chasing them with guns. It was at the end, though, where they showed the footage retrieved from English archives when you saw the decomposed bodies later excavated from the unmarked graves for inspection that it really became sort of eerie. San Polo is as insignificant as Luther. If you're not paying attention, you might drive right by without even noticing. There aren't any stores -- just fields and houses. It was only a 10 minute drive from Arezzo so we all piled into different cars and headed up the side of the Apennines. The little unpaved square remains untouched since the end of that tragedy. There is no huge annoying plaque that people flock to or an admission fee that pays for the upkeep. It's privately owned property and the owners leave it alone. The buildings where the people were temporarily held hostage were not given fresh coats of paint and there were not new doors on the hinges. It was the same old houses, begging to be forgotten. In a small grove under the shade of the trees that had seen it all, there's a little clearing where men were forced to dig the graves where they later would be buried in bulk. The grass isn't mowed, there are no flowerbeds. The place is at peace, as I think we all silently agreed it should be. We placed our white roses on the brilliantly green grass and left it as we found it. </div>
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My mom, in her all-knowing wisdom, always reminds me that I will one day understand the gravity of death. She says I don't know now because I have too much life ahead of me; but one day, I'll start to realize how quickly life literally flies forward. I've been more than lucky to never feel a shockingly grave threat to my safety. By sheer luck, I was thrown into 1991 in Midwest City. Sheer luck. But today I witnessed the effects of a horrific and sad act of violence. What did I do to deserve my luck? Nothing. I'm blessed, right? But that's the thing about seeing other people's tragedy. It leaves you feeling like you don't deserve your blessed fate. </div>
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Something about being here makes me feel kind of foolish. I can assure you that it doesn't take going to Africa or a 2nd or 3rd world country to be humbled. Life is slow, people love hard. Being here has made me want to cook for, spend time with, and smother the people in my life with love; because isn't that what God has granted me under the alias of "Study Abroad Program?" The opportunity to witness some of the most beautiful wonders that man has ever seen with some beautiful souls. I am not only blessed. I am divinely favored.</div>
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<i><b>I met in the street a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old, his coat worn, his cloak was out at the elbows, the water passed through his shoes, - and the stars through his soul.</b></i><br />
Victor HugoCourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-1472005130084596982012-04-21T09:03:00.001-07:002012-04-23T11:52:21.348-07:00Respect<div style="text-align: justify;">
Five days. In five days you can put in a 40-hour work week, sell a car on Craigslist, or even drive from one side of the United States to the other. You cannot, however, live without the world wide web. Before you insert some anecdote about how you "walked uphill both ways to and from school" and whatnot, it's not just that I can't use my social networking websites. I also cannot check my email for important school messages or even do research for my upcoming group project. Or procrastinate by downloading free movies. We've had to take advantage of school office hours to use the computers and are spending the weekend in and out of our professor's basement for wifi. It's probably some form of karma, forcing us to "get out" and "enjoy the fresh air" or something. But since this week has been one of constant showers, it seems rather impossible. You're wondering, "Have you done something about it?" Funny you should ask! Italian companies are apparently even worse than American ones about house calls. We can call Monday about getting help but I think we are expected to be indefinitely patient. </div>
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The rest of the week has been great! We had a faculty-in-residence event where we brought our own meat and all grilled out together. Danielle and I brought hamburgers and fixins -- you don't even know how exciting it will be to be able to eat real beef. There's such a difference, you don't even know. Our professor played her iPod the whole time and it kind of turned into karaoke night. Some of the students got some footage and I will be super embarrassed when it ends up on the group video at the end of the semester. If you know me at all, you can imagine what my lipsync to Aretha's Respect probably looked like. Processing? Yeah, it was too far. </div>
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Today we participated in OU's<i> Big Event </i>from here in Italy. It's a day dedicated to community service of different kinds. We spent the morning attempting to clean up our sister campus, <i>The University of Siena in Arezzo. </i>We started at 9am and were given trashbags and brooms. I don't think I ever mentioned this but Italian brooms don't look like the ones we buy at Wal-Mart. They look more like the Wicked Witch's broom or a Quidditch broom with all those twiggy, disheveled branches for the sweeping. We were walking to our designated area when the downpour started. It's been one of those weeks where the rain comes in 15 minutes spurts with 10 minute breaks in between. Needless to say, there was a lot of repetitive starting and stopping with little actual progress. It was nice to spend some time together considering we only have 22 DAYS LEFT HERE!!! That seems sooo unreal.<br />
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<br /></div>CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-15430880594648956372012-04-15T11:31:00.001-07:002012-04-15T11:36:48.275-07:00Bella Notte<div style="text-align: justify;">I wish there was a well-known movie that accurately represented Naples for what it is: a city with no apparent trash collecting system and a place that makes wearing a cross-body bag with hidden compartments for your money absolute necessary. We got off the train at 10pm for our field trip. It was a foggy and wet night and the train station isn't exactly in the posh part of town so my teacher was walking behind the rest of us like a shepherd herding his flock. We walked in a few circles before finding the hotel that the President of the European College of International Studies<i> </i>recommended to us personally. I'm convinced, based on the whole experience, that he probably has never seen that hotel in his life. We had a late dinner at the hotel, not unlike the true Italian way, at 10:30pm. I have never been so untempted (and yes, I know "untempted" is not a word) to finish a meal in my life. Dessert was, drumroll please, fruit. Literally, a wire basket of apples and oranges. The head waiter tried to charge us €90 for the evening's wine, which consisted of a liter of red house wine for every 6 people, totaling 4 liters. Lucio said "no" and the waiter came back offering €50 instead. I think they settled on something even lower but it was a ridiculous suggestion in the first place considering the quality of the meal.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was up with the sun on Wednesday for the three meetings we had scheduled. Our meetings with NATO and customs officials were unfortunately cancelled. I was so looking forward to NATO, too. It was a long day, broken up by our lunch at this delicious pizzeria -- I feel like I've eaten enough pizza here to be allowed to say that it was definitely fantastic. The city had trash heaps taller than me, smelled bad and I never felt safe until I was sitting in my seat with my validated ticket and headed back to Arezzo. I saw some of the "pretty" and "old" parts of Naples, too, though none of it compared to some of the prettier places I've been. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">By the time I arrived in Arezzo at 11pm on Wednesday night, I hadn't fully relaxed since before our trip to Nice. I was really tired but had an Italian Quiz the next morning so I stayed up to "study" for that. Since I hadn't seen Danielle in 24 hours (pathetic, I realize), we had a lot to talk about so bedtime ended up being at about 3am.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's a rare thing for Danielle and I to not go somewhere -- anywhere -- on the weekends but our professor had planned something special last night. He had organized a trip to Florence to go see an opera at St. Mark's English Church. We got dolled up in our dresses and curled hair and stepped out onto the soaked streets, where at least <b>my </b>hair instantly went flat as a board. I guess not everyone can have the best curly-haired genes. It was in a small place without a stage that looked like a space for a dinner theatre without dinner. That sort of thing. <i>The Marriage of Figaro </i>was on the agenda for the evening and the host was a complete gem. He was witty and clever -- at one point, Leanna was taking a picture (with her flash off) and he strikes a pose for the camera, completely embarrassing her but causing the entire crowd to die laughing. The characters were hilarious, which makes sense since it was a comedy. Sense since. That was unintentional. Anyway, great late evening. We spent the ride back playing a million mind-teasing games, annoying all the rest of the people in the car. It's nights like these that I'll look back on with a smile, I think. Everyone together, having great fun and knowing that we'll be heartbroken to leave this place, where we are but a very small piece in a very large puzzle. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCeXklGBw7eyt6_2Vf_okbypFMJT1kRiemtzu0Ha5O4kBmS5JOG_RG7kwH_rPqMLYY5TD8B2OT__7rEDBS7Y2HUFeYQyEHgVxHn62CRPNA_u8KRTVypKWt6rCmMaiwrrX1hRpAz80p-14/s1600/P4140113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCeXklGBw7eyt6_2Vf_okbypFMJT1kRiemtzu0Ha5O4kBmS5JOG_RG7kwH_rPqMLYY5TD8B2OT__7rEDBS7Y2HUFeYQyEHgVxHn62CRPNA_u8KRTVypKWt6rCmMaiwrrX1hRpAz80p-14/s320/P4140113.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Ponte Vecchio a notte</i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">With only 28 days left (eeek!), course loads will be picking up. I have 3 enormous projects/papers due that will require anywhere from 20-25 pages of writing from me. I'm having trouble focusing, especially since my grades in those classes are, so far, safe. AND it's much more fun to travel and play, right?</div>CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-16066300697112448252012-04-09T10:14:00.002-07:002012-04-29T16:05:47.761-07:00Do as the French do?<div style="text-align: justify;">
Happy Easter to you all! It's been an extremely successful extended weekend here in Europe since they gave us Monday off from class (leaving me with a 5-day weekend). Thursday at 11am, my friends and I left for Nice, France, which is on the southern coast. When you see it on a map, you think, "Wow, that's just across the pond. You guys must've been able to get there sooo quickly." I caution these assumptions -- we were on trains until 10pm. We were hangry (hungry/angry) and tired but also kind of loopy, which makes everything funny. We needed funny because we meandered to Hostel Smith, where we would proceed to spend the next four nights in close quarters with a very mixed group of weird and sometimes interesting people. We weren't unsafe or anything but it was one of those places that made you wish you had brought your own silverware. You get me? </div>
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Friday was our first day in Nice so we were most concerned with hitting the beach. It has that gorgeous water that fades into three different shades, starting with the lightest at the beachfront where the water and sand have mixed, then darker, then a dark denim as far as your eyes can see. The difference between Nice and American beaches is that the beach is rock instead of sand so it's quite uncomfortable. The water was that take-your-breathe-away kind of freezing so, while I'm usually the first to want to get in, I ran back out after only having gotten in to my waste. Those that were brave enough to submerge all the way looked like a really awesome orange contrast to the turquoise blue water. There were palm trees everywhere, manicured lawns and gardens, and loooots of pretty cars. Basically, it's my dad's paradise, which is why I'm going to take him there someday. I got looots of sun, which is great because Cara has threatened me with a spray tan for the wedding (noooo!!). And by tan I mean, I have more freckles that are darkening my complexion. You understand.</div>
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We passed a place that rented rollerblades and bikes. Rollerblades are huuuge here. So we decided to participate and the rental fees were low (6 euro for 2 hours) so we played for awhile. Lots of stories of us falling off and making fools of ourselves but I'll save those for another day . . . or never. </div>
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Saturday we took a short bus ride over to Monaco!! This was probably the best part of the trip! I want to grow up and marry the Prince of Monaco so that I too can live in such a beautiful place. You can tell this is a hot spot for the rich because there are a lot of well-dressed foreigners and locals driving niiiiice cars that I feel should never leave the dealership. The huge casino is the first thing you see but obviously, we're poor so there was no gambling to be done. We ate sack-lunches on the pier in front of all the boats, fed the seagulls, and marveled at the beauty of everything. </div>
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The really cool part of being in Monte Carlo is obviously seeing the place that Grace Kelly was wonderfully present. We went to the church where she was married and buried. It's a very modern building -- it's not some antique piece of architecture or anything. We lit candles and sat to pray for awhile. Being there is a little sad, I think, because you can't help but hate that good people die too early. Danielle and I stayed later than everyone else and went through the prince's palace, too. I'd compare it to going through the White House, where you see pieces of furniture that, while important at one time, barely ever coinhabit the same rooms as the President himself. They're old rooms with lots of portraits of lineage and gifts of pottery from ancient foreign leaders. Overall, it's just a really beautiful city. I kept telling Danielle that if I'm ever rich and can afford a "summer home," that's my place. Or Nice. Or anything in between. It's really that lovely and peaceful. </div>
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Lastly, we went to French Mass for Easter. We showed up about 45 minutes early so we'd get a seat. Of course, it was all in French and there was a lot of standing involved but it wasn't unlike the Italian Masses I've attended. At the end, he said in English, "To those english-speaking people in attendance, Happy Easter and enjoy your stay in Nice." Shout out to the English! Woot woot! There were no Easter Bunnies, I'm sad to say. There was also none of Doris Aldridge's lemon cake. Even more sad. But it was a lovely Easter, nonetheless!</div>
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So I know you're dying to know if I liked the people/life, based on the Italian standard I have to compare things to so I will indulge you.<br />
<i>Pros</i> for France:<br />
1) Cuter boys<br />
2) Better bread (I won't tell you how many croissants/baguettes I ate...)<br />
3) They let you touch their pets<br />
4) People don't invade your space<br />
5) Better supply at grocery stores<br />
6) Cuter boys<br />
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<i>Cons </i>for France:<br />
.....<br />
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I must say, that I was in the South, which tends to be better no matter what country you are in. I was also near a lot of foreigners, who weren't just French but American, British, etc. But it was the best ever. You should go on your next vacay. Forewarning: The women sunbathe nude without shame. My jaw has never dropped so low.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSJT25N2ZhC4SWTc31y9MA8wTCtBrMKSf60uN_jnb8OZ8dkCleBh72MMMVEq87BLsc2PnZOrN9VPHtzTUvgKS3w5fv5Y99s-I09bFyNuDZSUMPoxuG8C-53SKaaoQwsBzNKRTpxeqibpk/s1600/IMG_2887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSJT25N2ZhC4SWTc31y9MA8wTCtBrMKSf60uN_jnb8OZ8dkCleBh72MMMVEq87BLsc2PnZOrN9VPHtzTUvgKS3w5fv5Y99s-I09bFyNuDZSUMPoxuG8C-53SKaaoQwsBzNKRTpxeqibpk/s320/IMG_2887.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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^^<i>My beautiful friends and I</i></div>
</div>CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-19856721438358324312012-03-27T12:53:00.002-07:002012-03-28T15:34:04.021-07:00Porsche<div style="text-align: justify;">Geez, oh pete. It has been a long 16 days since I wrote. No, it wasn't neglect -- I was on Spring Break and free of technology for 10 of those days! Being able to disappear for awhile is great for your health. I recommend it. Perhaps, though, you're wondering how my break was and I'm afraid that the version I must tell will be seriously abbreviated. Never fear! I journaled throughout my trip and will try to sufficiently recount it all. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I must say that leaving Arezzo in the first place was a daunting task. We missed our train to Rome; Danielle got fined in the train for not validating her ticket; and we last-minute had an issue with one of our hotels and I had to pay for 2 nights in a hotel that we didn't end up staying at. Talk about a total waste of money. It feels like a stab in the heart. <b>Finally, </b>we were in Rome and ready to start. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">On Friday, we picked up Danielle's friends Stephanie and Rachel from the airport. It was nice to see the route that I will end up taking when I head back to the airport because it's going to be a stressful situation, what with juggling my bags and everything. Our first three days were spent in Rome. We had found our apartment on a hostels website and after going through a labyrinth of streets, we found <i>Stella's House, </i>which ended up being a woman's apartment that had a few spare rooms. Stella spoke English-Italian that was borderline hilarious. For example, "Hai to close la porta, please." (You have to close the door, please) It ended up being like that episode of The Office when Dwight is talking to some Hispanics and asks, "Donde are you from?" Hopefully you can appreciate this reference. Anyway, she made us espresso and gave us breakfast each morning. She ended up brokenly telling us that she was headed to Naples on Monday to visit family. The fact that she's from Naples makes total sense -- that southern hospitality is not only typical of Oklahomans, I assure you. We saw all the normal sights: Trevi, the Colosseum, the Roman Forum, Vatican City, the Spanish Steps and Pantheon. We obviously did a lot of walking, which made us all pretty exhausted. All those backstreets are full of people selling knock-off designer bags, street art (the current fad is to use spray paint for their prints), and beggers. One man showed us his cute parakeets, which we immediately cooed over and held. He waited till we were done with our pictures before saying, "Three euro, three euro." Danielle said, "You didn't tell us that. NO." And away we went. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVGB7Uoosva0LumF68Tx9n1IWRYn3TXK6I56MmoYr1VuvF4G-UKOSf5VCIOu6z6J65qBfMFd4cdyCcG5GGiDXscqY4hL1OpaL3N0opERUc5ytq0YodCJAZ6MWhVYi44hFlB0-FdNYbx28/s1600/IMG_1755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVGB7Uoosva0LumF68Tx9n1IWRYn3TXK6I56MmoYr1VuvF4G-UKOSf5VCIOu6z6J65qBfMFd4cdyCcG5GGiDXscqY4hL1OpaL3N0opERUc5ytq0YodCJAZ6MWhVYi44hFlB0-FdNYbx28/s320/IMG_1755.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>In St. Peter's Basilica in Vatican City, we had a lot of fun taking advantage of the lighting offered by the windows in the side aisles. It either looks eerie or angelic -- you decide:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzc68XaDXnvpE2-BqKF8KCAomPR4m8F2JUsgq-UbR5wYut1u1a5FGoQD8lJLdsG3Gd_4GxqwklRB3wYnZLkKbKcqamFdcl4NvN6XOc9IMqm8MbHfw7V47-yQRns8Oo9Vn5r-DEe-0NkJ4/s1600/IMG_1723.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzc68XaDXnvpE2-BqKF8KCAomPR4m8F2JUsgq-UbR5wYut1u1a5FGoQD8lJLdsG3Gd_4GxqwklRB3wYnZLkKbKcqamFdcl4NvN6XOc9IMqm8MbHfw7V47-yQRns8Oo9Vn5r-DEe-0NkJ4/s320/IMG_1723.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Saturday night was St. Patrick's Day and since we'd wanted to be in Ireland that day, we were sort of sad that we weren't there. When we had picked the girls up at the airport on Friday, we had seen a lot of men in kilts and found out that Scotland was playing Italy in rugby on Saturday. It was a small consellation to see innumerable amounts of Scotsmen throughout Rome. As luck would have it, we met a few of them while we were dining outside one night and ended up spending the evening with them. The BEST part of the night was when I got to (.... drumroll ....) <b>WEAR A KILT. </b>That's right. I got to try on and wear some of their family colors for a couple of hours and it was sooooo perfect. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsReMk7854QYDh7Atu7JlYnR17nybBr-qTztPnjYbc9EPUQj7LEvQl4GDsW2NG64lhxWoqnS5D4htPZGh8R4gbWvrCj9AbYb_XAJcFha09GiINUDbzHeNfYMym-4tZftcjpS4iqvseyfk/s1600/IMG_1790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsReMk7854QYDh7Atu7JlYnR17nybBr-qTztPnjYbc9EPUQj7LEvQl4GDsW2NG64lhxWoqnS5D4htPZGh8R4gbWvrCj9AbYb_XAJcFha09GiINUDbzHeNfYMym-4tZftcjpS4iqvseyfk/s320/IMG_1790.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I must say that, while Rome is full of antiquity and everything, it's so incredibly dirty and crowded. It's comparable to New York City, I suppose. I was glad to be moving on, for sure.<br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">Monday we left for Cinque Terre. Everyone warned us that, because of last year's flooding, it would be unenjoyable. I wouldn't say it was unenjoyable, but if you're going there to hike from town to town, that's impossible. And if you're going for entertainment, don't. We had the most relaxing couple of days. I even got some sun! The season for the beachfront towns doesn't start till after Easter so going before then just means that the cities are quiet and some of the stores and restaurants are closed. We were tired from Rome, though, and perfectly content to sit and enjoy the scenery. I've always loved the view of Manarola, with the waves crashing into the side of the hill. I was freaking out as I got to the place that displayed that view. Here's one from there:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqu9wud9mqd8KOE6ad-FvnRXw53ZWceXynqUZGLK97gvrN1uiLQZyx0CTE56qDoXd2qN166wb_P5Pvqt1ekkOSDUOESG0pHAiKOW2aLUSFB84EGy1ag4SO2Fa_WAcD5yBfXVCkWgLe7JE/s1600/IMG_2143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqu9wud9mqd8KOE6ad-FvnRXw53ZWceXynqUZGLK97gvrN1uiLQZyx0CTE56qDoXd2qN166wb_P5Pvqt1ekkOSDUOESG0pHAiKOW2aLUSFB84EGy1ag4SO2Fa_WAcD5yBfXVCkWgLe7JE/s320/IMG_2143.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>We made sure to leave our mark... maybe someday I'll be back?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKSdHqVaec0lqdV90NNmiohgfuG2oQi5TEfyg6nRuaLVeuxNwJAFHpg6-XUzVrCpMwp4fbnrASM2cnfXee8WkaIUWce1__q0Y_tFoyE7T9WL00je03su-SPbBC-cMuZRC0AcAUujdzxA8/s1600/P3190086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKSdHqVaec0lqdV90NNmiohgfuG2oQi5TEfyg6nRuaLVeuxNwJAFHpg6-XUzVrCpMwp4fbnrASM2cnfXee8WkaIUWce1__q0Y_tFoyE7T9WL00je03su-SPbBC-cMuZRC0AcAUujdzxA8/s320/P3190086.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After a lot of seafood (even octopus!), we headed up north to Lake Como for our last three days! From the right location, you can even see the Swiss Alps from the lake so it's really gorgeous and relaxing. My first thought on arrival? Retirement Community. Everyone and anyone with money lives and travels there. Again, we were there before their season began so it was rather uneventful. We tried renting kayaks but they didn't trust us to not fall in and die of hypothermia. We shopped and ate. And ate. And ate. George Clooney lives in one of the surrounding towns so we kept asking, "Scusi, dove does George Clooney live?" and "George, is that you?" No, it wasn't . . . One night, we were eating in a restaurant by the ferry and a man and his friends struck up a conversation with us. He ended up buying us three rounds of lemoncellos (a gross, potent lemonade that we gritted our teeth through) and welcoming us to the wonderful (albeit quiet) town of Bellagio. The most interesting part of that evening was that I got to drive his PORSCHE. Yes, that's right. His porsche. Don't believe me? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWjksapbsjSxLr6APTPjhAGICjvHgRmAuczfW4nZtZrojXIcfC6uOlPiJM9A5AV8PuC_i42cOtZ6Rx1vUpld38ijSr8HJRrs7TDlBRPxj-pcfdbTAKBrOU5_IEi6sSWtPn3-lWDmGqhco/s1600/IMG_2408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWjksapbsjSxLr6APTPjhAGICjvHgRmAuczfW4nZtZrojXIcfC6uOlPiJM9A5AV8PuC_i42cOtZ6Rx1vUpld38ijSr8HJRrs7TDlBRPxj-pcfdbTAKBrOU5_IEi6sSWtPn3-lWDmGqhco/s320/IMG_2408.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I only killed it twice and in my defense, I was turning while driving up the side of a mountain after a stop sign. I can cross "Drive a Porsche" off my list, though. I must say, it drives a littttle bit different than my jeep, Zorro.<br />
The rest of the trip was lovely but I must say, I was glad to go "home" to Arezzo. Living out of a suitcase is no fun. Plus, I was missing all my friends. It's starting to feel normal here after all.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfivRG-d6XXIH5BmdS_6lSibIeWG4L1tvcVf-Dsb9IhjBy3-vzq0ZV8572TjnL6SWwgTUViYzd0-AyK4KNulKcb_4YI8ygsTgEp21UQ-WjvdbcnD4nCGq62oH8SdRRkWl9qlRcMnjKC7c/s1600/IMG_2424.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfivRG-d6XXIH5BmdS_6lSibIeWG4L1tvcVf-Dsb9IhjBy3-vzq0ZV8572TjnL6SWwgTUViYzd0-AyK4KNulKcb_4YI8ygsTgEp21UQ-WjvdbcnD4nCGq62oH8SdRRkWl9qlRcMnjKC7c/s320/IMG_2424.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGjJZYBfDM044-H5IRtZxtRtHMI9vLZtDRaOMwPJAuxVwgFZ2R31dZ2D_IwAmysvZe9sUOdSg-0C-GahkOb8Zy5cpBcsnkp4KuMJr0sneY4lJnWsfW1GGhBAMtT7a6obYzQQFZ5BhKPHo/s1600/IMG_2544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGjJZYBfDM044-H5IRtZxtRtHMI9vLZtDRaOMwPJAuxVwgFZ2R31dZ2D_IwAmysvZe9sUOdSg-0C-GahkOb8Zy5cpBcsnkp4KuMJr0sneY4lJnWsfW1GGhBAMtT7a6obYzQQFZ5BhKPHo/s320/IMG_2544.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJPKufShBv3cvkY_W2yzpQKA8wEzZ6WvGEN8W0jQ5bFNiHYiCh43ejhOG7XgptHWvXHpOjuR2-faSi3vNVJimd-ElnU0VyC4_HITwJcjkM8UA4c17XTmLFvHtMQ0tlq7uz1DgooPyQ2uc/s1600/IMG_2567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJPKufShBv3cvkY_W2yzpQKA8wEzZ6WvGEN8W0jQ5bFNiHYiCh43ejhOG7XgptHWvXHpOjuR2-faSi3vNVJimd-ElnU0VyC4_HITwJcjkM8UA4c17XTmLFvHtMQ0tlq7uz1DgooPyQ2uc/s320/IMG_2567.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie4h2xN4oF59FuTOfY3Ujqtpp1A_S5689lkcxf4N7Z0a46DUpu3oB7eXwrMJBdrk6EkPe7AWg0p4qCyw4TJK0ux0gqxS_OvfXLXUlgnXalVC3oYRF3fhKftYpwz4-mnrEJkUllO_o_UcE/s1600/P3220136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie4h2xN4oF59FuTOfY3Ujqtpp1A_S5689lkcxf4N7Z0a46DUpu3oB7eXwrMJBdrk6EkPe7AWg0p4qCyw4TJK0ux0gqxS_OvfXLXUlgnXalVC3oYRF3fhKftYpwz4-mnrEJkUllO_o_UcE/s320/P3220136.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-32603784331879453562012-03-11T10:46:00.000-07:002012-03-11T10:46:43.286-07:00German Chocolate<div style="text-align: justify;">You must have thought that I forgot about you! Well, I didn't, I assure you. It's just that this last week has been the most busy thus far. We had midterms last week, which is an entire week ahead of everyone at home. I'm not really sure why they chose to do it that way -- maybe because they know that students have family coming in and will miss Thursday class this week anyway? All I can say is this: I studied more for my Art midterm than I have for anything in a looooong time. You should know that this is not your average study abroad, everyone-gets-an-A class. Our professor is an Art historian obviously and has had some high-paying clientele as a Tour Guide for rich tourists, which is how he got his job. He met President Boren after giving him a tour in Florence. He did his Masters thesis over Michelangelo's financial records. That may mean nothing to you but he can tell you exactly when certain pieces were completed because of how they were entered in the ledger. Basically, I hate going to do any touring without him because he knows everything about everything. I can't appreciate what I'm looking at because I know Kirk could be telling me something about the architect or the foundation of the facade. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">On our midterm, we had to know the title, artist, date and current location of every piece we had seen together as a class so far. That's overwhelming considering the fact that we have been to over 6 locations so far. That's <strong>a lot </strong>of art. Just sayin'. There were also two essay questions and a host of vocabulary for which we had to give the definition, its significance to our class and an example. I spent well over two hours completing the test and had another midterm after. I was drained and that night, had to get on a train to Rome for our Illicit Trafficking field trip. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Rome was nice but you have to understand, I was in meetings for the whole thing. We went out late Tuesday night and found the Colosseum. That was about as touristy as the whole trip was for me. Wednesday, we went to the Carabinieri to speak to them about the trafficking of illicit art. It's interesting to see how much staff and money the Italians pour into investigating and tracking down stolen art. That was unanimously the class' favorite part of our day. We also spoke with the International Organization for Migration (IOM) and Libera. I went home exhausted but didn't get to make up sleep until the weekend. Friday afternoon, we went to Florence to go shopping. That sounds so snobby to say that out loud. Anyway, we went to get some tops because I wasn't prepared for the spring/summer weather. I was under the impression that it would be cold until mid/late April. I brought about 4 shirts so I was looking for some moderately inexpensive shirts. Mission accomplished.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This weekend, I got a visit from an old friend. Julia was a foreign exchange student at Choctaw my junior year. She's from Germany and is on break from school so she stopped in Arezzo on her way to Florence. We got to catch up and she brought us German chocolate. It was great to spend some time with her! Safe travels, Julia!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREr9ky28w6xlGtrEoK4F0xlEyZW7yX4XEbfR7iBsGXhIoa3PqUOQG0Ytrf5P84P09Ta7_46thJfVKgiFzNA3vQiYMAQesjuVt5GUGgbvd_7wj8sHA3Sw0ht93hSefj7A2gImlRtOKn18/s1600/P3100042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgREr9ky28w6xlGtrEoK4F0xlEyZW7yX4XEbfR7iBsGXhIoa3PqUOQG0Ytrf5P84P09Ta7_46thJfVKgiFzNA3vQiYMAQesjuVt5GUGgbvd_7wj8sHA3Sw0ht93hSefj7A2gImlRtOKn18/s320/P3100042.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We're starting to get antsy for Spring Break. I have a paper due tomorrow and another midterm on Tuesday. I'm having the hardest time focusing. I think this post wins the most boring ever award. I will leave you with a small token from our procrastination:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iVaCbVYhXYs&feature=plcp&context=C49b53e3VDvjVQa1PpcFN80GjHQZgl_xwCJLMI3t-bR_jpJ0-ZVkc%3D">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iVaCbVYhXYs&feature=plcp&context=C49b53e3VDvjVQa1PpcFN80GjHQZgl_xwCJLMI3t-bR_jpJ0-ZVkc%3D</a></div>CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-11153336565127014872012-03-03T16:26:00.001-08:002012-03-03T16:28:38.432-08:00496 Steps<div style="text-align: justify;">We've had a really, really great week. The school week wasn't one for the books -- I had that Italian Quiz (fingers crossed) and I'm losing sleep and procrastinating. All of those combined result in a tired and slightly grumpy Courtney. But this week <em>was</em> happy and full of friends! I left you Wednesday after a field trip to Florence. I've mentioned before that Thursdays are our Fridays because we get three-day weekends. So come Thursday afternoons, we're all ready to celebrate! Thursday was perfect. After class, Danielle and I set out to get some air. It was borderline toasty, actually. I even took off my cute blazer and went sleaveless! We ran into two of our friends and sat in the Piazza drinking cappuccinos and soaking in the sun. These are the days that I'll remember most, I think. When you're not traveling or running, just being. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi188nTFSuxB18hUCKAzHyRtoQA5myFpn6zR-ExVbM3QZbX__05cxNquTnedbHlExxG_djRNhnSZAbgfGNbMf5llWHw9lk4VrhAgnIyqrLj_SyjgSDe_OYYKQMtjV-RHtam8FOo0KyHNCE/s1600/IMG_1344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi188nTFSuxB18hUCKAzHyRtoQA5myFpn6zR-ExVbM3QZbX__05cxNquTnedbHlExxG_djRNhnSZAbgfGNbMf5llWHw9lk4VrhAgnIyqrLj_SyjgSDe_OYYKQMtjV-RHtam8FOo0KyHNCE/s320/IMG_1344.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Thursday night was what we call "Conversation Space." We invite Italian Youth from Arezzo to come meet with us and have a language exchange of sorts. It was the second of the semester and the first for me to attend. All of one Italian showed up. Poor lad was stuttering and fidgeting and all nerves as a room full of 12 girls interupt each other and yell over each other to try and explain OU Football. More specifically, "What's a Sooner Schooner?" "What's a Sooner?" "Why do you hate Texas?" "What's tailgating?" As you can imagine, the spirit of Oklahoma football is a hard dynamic to explain. The world stops on Saturdays from September to November. "Even when it's an away game?" Even when it's an away game. In exchange, we got to learn about Arezzo's historical annual joust. The city is separated into 4 neighborhoods and each neighborhood is <em>very </em>patriotic. The four sections compete in the joust in the Piazza Grande every June and September. The winner is awarded the Golden Lance. I know what you're thinking: "Thanks, but I'll stick with OU Football." You should know, though, that it's a huge celebration and very spirited. Plus, the competitors and town officials are in traditional costume. Which is charming, don't you think?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We slept in Friday and woke up in time for the tour of the local winery with the rest of the group. If you're interested in hearing about how wine is produced, I'm your gal (maybe). Don't get too hardcore -- some things are lost in translation. The whole adventure ended with a wine tasting with some different meats and cheese (Ps. I looooove pecorino; What will I do when I have to leave it behind??). The whole place was really charming. I found out that in Italy, there's actually a government entity responsible for policing their respective area's preservation efforts. That's a little vague so I'll clarify. One cannot make major changes to property, old houses, the land<em>, anything</em>, without the "board" or whoever approving it first. So this vineyard wanted to convert their wooden posts to some sort of steel (the posts that forms the structure for the grape vines -- sorry I don't know vineyardian lingo) for cost efficiency reasons but the board said no because, "the vineyard needed to maintain the aesthetics typical of the region." Similarly, while the current location for OU's campus here in Arezzo is temporary, they've purchased an old monastery here and expect to open it in 2015. While they will <strong>own </strong>the facility, there are certain pieces of art within it that they aren't allowed to alter or cover up. Weird/cool, right? Imagine what the landscape of America would look like if someone had said, "Hey, no, you can't build the Devon tower there. We're trying to maintain the whole 'great plains' look." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfCLB4reEXFw2wDPiwy-ozGBWbb-AOAU_Di0jqtXaEpCWi2nKj2ZCoUVtaJNEuyLyDqbJKZ0DSbLGJMVh6pbPZRj9taE5pWwK_wUSf3aiBF49d6YwPA8b250nKpQEuzv8iPTbAKLcjLmQ/s1600/P3010001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfCLB4reEXFw2wDPiwy-ozGBWbb-AOAU_Di0jqtXaEpCWi2nKj2ZCoUVtaJNEuyLyDqbJKZ0DSbLGJMVh6pbPZRj9taE5pWwK_wUSf3aiBF49d6YwPA8b250nKpQEuzv8iPTbAKLcjLmQ/s320/P3010001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjga9U0tRGDyh36HXVvTaHfz6p5YIqHbuvtjgUDw0ktxztCKdRkyz5hRmdnRbSGBy6pt6Ct7lFj_4h-RyRgenZZHZhO_1yJQKDHhZ8jLMvD9244tsIWNk5Gs7tvUWgIgidfKAHL5IX1n8M/s1600/IMG_1418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjga9U0tRGDyh36HXVvTaHfz6p5YIqHbuvtjgUDw0ktxztCKdRkyz5hRmdnRbSGBy6pt6Ct7lFj_4h-RyRgenZZHZhO_1yJQKDHhZ8jLMvD9244tsIWNk5Gs7tvUWgIgidfKAHL5IX1n8M/s320/IMG_1418.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga0QaZe2kNnyL9q-sQHuxsvEN0h9ZCnNLAESC-nDirJJA1ikBOecKeqZ8RrlZ066h-f1jjVVj0c23FMP9SGwW2NmAYy-WcRVHnm3Cccyco1YGNir5Kyd0Fs8biTvR8UWPE9uvzw2CNAsc/s320/IMG_1409.JPG" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Finally, today Danielle and I went to Orvieto, which is a little town in Umbria that's just an hour away from here. Per usual, it was a lot of walking, seeing the town's Duomo, following Rick Steve's Guide religiously. We went to the St. Patrick Well, which is a well commissioned for defensive purposes. It's 175 feet deep and there are 496 steps. The city is also known for its "underground city." Also for defensive purposes (and surprisingly, for a lot of pigeon breeding), they built caves under the city. They're not all connected -- in fact, many of them are private and secluded under private property. But there are over 1,200 caves in all and we only saw 2! It was quite a brilliant thing, considering their durability. We shopped some, too, of course. Oh! And I also found cats. I'm a little pet-deprived. I miss my puppy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJxAVItmQVcO-jUbO-vUJmZHiI-_jv002NfOy7zPe8UQIp6_UeSDNgG81DwOliBp126OyCRhlh-yil27phdv6BdhpPtz1U1cRuy-h6Vx5cLfZge_Rrtjr4ZgkNlfwYKT3yR57cLwbGaQY/s1600/IMG_1455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJxAVItmQVcO-jUbO-vUJmZHiI-_jv002NfOy7zPe8UQIp6_UeSDNgG81DwOliBp126OyCRhlh-yil27phdv6BdhpPtz1U1cRuy-h6Vx5cLfZge_Rrtjr4ZgkNlfwYKT3yR57cLwbGaQY/s320/IMG_1455.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVEpWrnuqvtoK1kM4-FEv0Mf-stAHJT3PZ3-6XoyQc4_CteE6H3ht7KlVe1kFH2RjUGPceJO6xzxBmpfhr7YCKwGf_Gb5Xhnq77oyjNYCeUaa8HBuMJXh5DyKwLyh_Xbb_SNaSnPkaQyQ/s1600/IMG_1451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVEpWrnuqvtoK1kM4-FEv0Mf-stAHJT3PZ3-6XoyQc4_CteE6H3ht7KlVe1kFH2RjUGPceJO6xzxBmpfhr7YCKwGf_Gb5Xhnq77oyjNYCeUaa8HBuMJXh5DyKwLyh_Xbb_SNaSnPkaQyQ/s320/IMG_1451.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95w4axVx-r2tTsTqOV3NMKLPriKDskHQG5CLXOdCRSersL9bjZzoz5-T-2avdXgR5avCwYPB1Ys27hS5y4RNbCY1dNfCm3dHjx5u8AWiyIPZcpHoqAYHMrZ_RsqC-4B4WE6kzqYpGB2o/s1600/IMG_1433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95w4axVx-r2tTsTqOV3NMKLPriKDskHQG5CLXOdCRSersL9bjZzoz5-T-2avdXgR5avCwYPB1Ys27hS5y4RNbCY1dNfCm3dHjx5u8AWiyIPZcpHoqAYHMrZ_RsqC-4B4WE6kzqYpGB2o/s320/IMG_1433.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLSiF4Lkl83pdYfrs7cp6ryaXf6hAEn2jJbbwtd3oU06_svBBjMOcP4FPlj1ic6bNGs86qvBKozmG4UN8lxLvYTMapRSM71Ti647DsFcInPd5dbwfHvVkX1a9q3D-5X5J9Ddl9g8p5cX4/s1600/IMG_1506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLSiF4Lkl83pdYfrs7cp6ryaXf6hAEn2jJbbwtd3oU06_svBBjMOcP4FPlj1ic6bNGs86qvBKozmG4UN8lxLvYTMapRSM71Ti647DsFcInPd5dbwfHvVkX1a9q3D-5X5J9Ddl9g8p5cX4/s320/IMG_1506.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh34ojMgLFkYvV6Nz2nXz_gOrk0PaweZNc4CybjiZsH0T3MKWjZPVQUywHjrNQ6Q89gDkGRCSoEQWoANPg9wDmrlaPepOYCwBxUFcL6yYgQb0drmKgIAopSmivO8pbAZis5Arz88kLcj2E/s1600/IMG_1463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh34ojMgLFkYvV6Nz2nXz_gOrk0PaweZNc4CybjiZsH0T3MKWjZPVQUywHjrNQ6Q89gDkGRCSoEQWoANPg9wDmrlaPepOYCwBxUFcL6yYgQb0drmKgIAopSmivO8pbAZis5Arz88kLcj2E/s320/IMG_1463.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOgocbB4IbVQLQ7HR1dkM7XgHwiWH9jNPpMBWINzVmMyN7QAWIGnaT56CNT2NAA6fJZkFonoJ2PyC7ma3XMrtmJe1PCCzHFlxvQS1DhVIAUo77FPW8P-MQC7MRJj_ljRq2IDIS85RRpI/s1600/IMG_1501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOgocbB4IbVQLQ7HR1dkM7XgHwiWH9jNPpMBWINzVmMyN7QAWIGnaT56CNT2NAA6fJZkFonoJ2PyC7ma3XMrtmJe1PCCzHFlxvQS1DhVIAUo77FPW8P-MQC7MRJj_ljRq2IDIS85RRpI/s320/IMG_1501.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8771705241950124927.post-40282001206068144382012-02-29T09:59:00.000-08:002012-02-29T09:59:51.622-08:00A Day With Giants<div style="text-align: justify;">We went on our second field trip to Florence and I must say, it was much more eventful! We exited our train at Santa Maria Novella and went to that church for about an hour. We focused on Masaccio's <em>Trinity, </em>which is somewhat tedious since by this point, we've seen what feels like 100 trinities. Not to sound like a spoiled study abroad student or anything. The best part of the day was visiting the Uffizi Gallery. I was expecting Kirk to talk forever about artists I'd never heard of but I spent my day looking at works by the fab 3 of the Italian Renaissance: Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo. Not to mention Bottacelli, who I realized I looooove. You know exactly the painting I saw of his today: <em>The Birth of Venus </em>and <em>Primavera. </em>My mom has never understood why I love mythology but to me, that's much more interesting than describing Raphael's <em>Portrait of Pope Leo X. </em>I'm sorry but it just didn't tickle my fancy. It just seemed like the audience during the Renaissance was full of superstitious people who believed in the power of art to cure, save and teach them things. I loved today. Much more than any other day of Renaissance Art. I appreciated everything I saw. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Usually we'd go home to Arezzo with Kirk right after class. Danielle and I wanted to say behind and walk around for awhile, though. Also, we wanted to go to Hark Rock Cafe and have <strong>real </strong>burgers. After having guacamole for the first time in two months, we were about to explode from eating so much. We walked around and I bought another pretty something! Can you guess what it is?? No? I'll help you out. If you're Chloe or mom, it's something I've been wanting for a looooong time. Give up? Here it is -- I'm thrilled:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivQnhhyphenhyphenfhgUx489bjLTzQr9HGOZbXRW3zUZu-Fqqw2Yjno1YvWy-vj-zQcw3Sn3RRLgq4u4tSFtAQ7eFh1jgaH6KGayD_dSuE1D-bNlTf1mqlr0_IgCtGV73rtL-au93B7_wxEIx1UB_4/s1600/P2280073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivQnhhyphenhyphenfhgUx489bjLTzQr9HGOZbXRW3zUZu-Fqqw2Yjno1YvWy-vj-zQcw3Sn3RRLgq4u4tSFtAQ7eFh1jgaH6KGayD_dSuE1D-bNlTf1mqlr0_IgCtGV73rtL-au93B7_wxEIx1UB_4/s320/P2280073.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>I'm in love with it!</strong> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4XfLbh-qk9S4ebb7LofWv5djkA4rN3kls2QREiIxRl5PXGPwRoiqeKAHRb0iyCOZlkwDWpbvyLayI1_tyKiqzh2ayLP7y88ImnygDQLUSPNXo2YmDjYit58rDZ_aHtfiQrXnrFgJyrqk/s1600/P2280074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4XfLbh-qk9S4ebb7LofWv5djkA4rN3kls2QREiIxRl5PXGPwRoiqeKAHRb0iyCOZlkwDWpbvyLayI1_tyKiqzh2ayLP7y88ImnygDQLUSPNXo2YmDjYit58rDZ_aHtfiQrXnrFgJyrqk/s320/P2280074.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here's one of me with my outdoor David. We're best friends and in love. Sorry, ladies.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">We headed home after that and are now pooped from all the walking. Of course, I have an Italian Quiz tomorrow morning over a LOT of material. This weekend we're taking a day-trip to another local Tuscan town. I'll update you after! </div><br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><strong>A presto!</strong></div>CourtneyAldridgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12853460883830708409noreply@blogger.com2