Naturally, when I have lots of things to do, I like to blog instead. Recently I've been blessed to talk to some good friends from home on the phone, and it reminded me of how I got the name of this blog in the first place.
Almost four years ago to the tee, on the weekend of October 18 sophomore year of high school, I was invited on a whim to go celebrate an acquaintance's birthday at her farm in Mineola, Texas, about an hour and a half away from Dallas. While we knew each other from school, we didn't really associate with each other outside of class, so it was a bit odd that she invited me, but I didn't have anything better to do so I went for it.
That weekend we partook in a haunted house adventure (scared out of our minds by the local high schoolers in clown costumes), cooked sausages over a fire, tied a rope to a chair and rode behind a four-wheeler, and fed the cows. That weekend was also the beginning of my friendship with Jenna, who had invited me, and the rekindling of my friendship with Margaret, whom I had known throughout the years but had never really spent time with. Little did I know that that one weekend would be a life-changing one. Now, four years later, we are hundreds of miles apart - Jenna goes to Colorado State, Margaret's down in San Antonio at Trinity, and I'm in honky-tonk Nashvegas, Tennessee. I would give anything to go back to Mineola next weekend with those two.
That Mineola trip was the first of many to come, and almost a year later, we returned for an august summer adventure. This time, we decided to float the "river" (which was really a creek with a foot or less of water) in an inflatable raft made for two people (and there were three of us). Because it was only made for two people, the only way we could really fit is if we all, for lack of a better term, straddled each other, with our feet over the edges of the tube. I was in the middle. Jenna and Margaret are naturally tan individuals. I am not. With her unique laugh, Jenna remarked something to the effect of "look! it's an anne tanwich!" as she took a picture of the stark difference in the color of our legs (seen here in exhibit 1):
I was definitely a happy camper.
Needless to say, it was not the most successful raft trip, as we hit rock bottom at one point, popped the raft, and ended up having to walk the rocky shore line all the way back to the house. What should have been a one hour float turned into a three hour adventure with me getting out to gather lost paddles and other various items the majority of the time because Jenna was convinced that there were alligators amidst the waters and Margaret believed her. That being said, I wouldn't change a thing about that trip, and I wouldn't trade these two for the world.