The Light at the End of the Tunnel

This happened last Tuesday and I've been trying to finish that post ever since then.  Now it seems a little fuzzy, but I felt like I needed to document it.

I got back from seminary and was informed that I needed to make bread.  I had managed to make the last batch of bread without any disasters (such as spewing butter or flour all over, forgetting an ingredient or trying to be tidy and putting the honey away only to have to lug it back down because I neglected to remember that you add honey two different times) so I really wanted to accomplish the goal of making more than one batch successfully.  Mom left and I asked Gracie if she wanted to watch a movie or listen to music.  She said she didn't want to watch a movie so I put on some music.  After about two or three songs she came in with the movie Ramona and Beezus and asked me to turn it on.  I was in the middle of a step that couldn't be interrupted so I told her it was too late and I couldn't do it right now.  When she understood she threw a fit and ran out of the kitchen.  I sighed because I hate it when I do something that upsets her like that.  So I turn back to my bowl (feeling like I wanna cry because I'm trying to make bread for the family, tried to please my sister and failed, I had a lot of homework to think about in the back of my head and it was my time of the month for everything to be blown out of proportion ;) and realized that I couldn't remember how many cups I had measured.

I don't remember what happened from that time to when I ran out of wheat, but know I was still not in a good mood.  I was at the end of the bread making process and all I had to do was add enough flour to get the right consistency.  And this is when I reached the bottom of the bin of wheat.  I called Mom to ask where more wheat was and she responded that it was somewhere in the garage, probably to far back for me to get.  "Just use white flour."  "I already used all of it.  There wasn't even two cups."  "Well then just use some quick oats.  You can dump in a couple cups of those."  So after dumping in three cups of quick oats it still wasn't ready.  It was raising while I was trying to figure out what to do and I was getting more frazzled by the second.  I called Mom again and her phone died in the middle so I had to wait for her to call on Steve's phone.  We conversed over four different phone calls in less than 20 minutes over this stupid bread that my mind had been stewing over for hours and we came to the conclusion that the only thing we could do was put some plastic wrap over it and put in the fridge until they returned and Steve could get the wheat.

The space of time between placing the dough in the fridge and them getting back has also gone from my brain, but I believe I tried to spend it doing homework and studying for my permit test.  When we opened the fridge after they got back we discovered that the dough had risen and overflowed to the point where a good portion of it had fallen over the edge of the bowl and stretched down past the edge of the shelf of the fridge (cause it was sitting at the very end, can you picture it?).  I'm pretty sure that the first words out of Mom's mouth, though it might have been Anna's or Gracie's, was, "What happened?!"  leaving me to put my hands up defensively and squeak, "It's not my fault, I did everything you told me to!"  After which Mom gathered the escaped dough and shoved it back into the bowl, apologizing that she asked me to make bread when we didn't have enough wheat.

Another large obstacle in the back of my brain that added a lot of stress was the thought of taking my driving permit test, which I was scheduled to do at 3:30.  I wanted to do it because I do want to learn to drive (even though I'm scared to death of sitting behind the wheel), I wanted to pass the test before I forgot everything I learned from Driver's Ed and at this point I wouldn't be able to get my license for several months after my birthday so I didn't want to add any more.  Before we could think anymore about the bread we all had to run around to get ready to leave.  Anna and Gracie scrambled to get dressed for dance because we were going there straight from the DMV and I had to gather my school together to try to get some done during all the waiting I would have to do.  We left late and I panicked with the earlier conversation about the DMV going through my mind.  Mom and Steve had told me all their horror stories about how many hours they spent at that awful building only to be sent back because there was some information about themselves that they didn't have.  "Oh, and I failed my first test to get my California license, so I had to read through the entire manual before I took it again.  It was awful!"  "Gee, this is sure making me feel better."  "Oh no, honey, you'll do great!  You're so much more prepared than I was."  Yeah, that one inspiring statement after that entire conversation about all the torturous hours in the dreaded DMV.

On the way there we realized that I didn't have my social security number.  We call my dad and he doesn't answer.  We pull into the parking lot 10 minutes late, waste another 5 by trying to find a shady parking space and end up finding one in the very back and run inside, praying that dad will call back while we're filling out my form.  We walk in and after having a hard time finding the form to fill out, take it to a table and begin the process while I'm nervously drumming my fingers.  After it's all filled out we call Dad again and he still doesn't answer.  So we decide (er, Mom decides) to just get in line and start on everything else and hopefully he'll call during all of that.  We get up there, Mom slides the copy of my birth certificate toward the guy working with us the same moment my dad calls.  I hear Dad asking me, "You don't have it memorized?  That sounds like a good project for you."  (well thanks, I'll hop right to it cause it's not like I have anything else to do right now!) as I see the guy shaking his head at the copy in front of him.  "You mean we need the original?"  My mom asks.  "We need the original?" I moan.  "You need the original birth certificate?"  My dad asks.  So yeah, I didn't get to take or pass the test that day.

I walked out to the car, shoved aside Anna's "Aliese, what're you doing here?" and hopped into the back seat.  We discussed what to do with our free hour and came to the conclusion that there was nothing to do but go to dance early and wait.  Great.  My bread failed, I didn't get to take my test which means we wasted a trip to the dreaded DMV building, and I wouldn't be able to go home and cry for six hours because their dance classes end at seven, which is just late enough to make driving through Monrovia to home then taking me back to Monrovia by eight thirty for my choir (called Vocalise) I joined this year a waste of time and gas.  So we went to dance and I did homework during the long and lonely three hour wait.  After my 'lunchbox' lunch from home I begged mom to get a snack because I was really craving chocolate (which I don't usually have a problem with except at that time of the month ;).  "I don't know about chocolate, but I want some kind of snack, too,"  Mom said.  I was grateful enough for that because it was something at least.  "Are you sure you don't want those granola bars from Costco?"  Mom asked.  I grimaced.  Costco sells these big boxes of crunchy peanut butter granola bars that I used to think were really good.  Until I had way too many.  "Still o.d.ed on those?"  She asked.  I nodded.

We went to Trader Joe's while waiting for Anna's class to get out and Gracie and I waited in the car while Mom went inside to "find something yummy for us all."  Guess what she came back with?  Crunchy peanut butter granola bars.  "I don't think they're the same as those other ones," she said.  I tried it and besides the peanut butter frosting on the top they are too much the same for me to stomach.  "Yes, they are, Mom.  Do you want the rest of mine?"  Sigh.  I just wanted to go home and go to bed, but we had to go back to get Anna then drop me off at my choir practice where I had another hour to wait.

Believe it or not, I still had homework to finish (this was all for my Shakespeare class) so I sat down near the spot me and a girl from choir usually study in when we wait for class.  She had a tap dance class that finished an hour before our choir practice started in the same place so she always stayed and studied.  Well, when she came out of class I realized that she had previously set her school stuff at the opposite end of the room and that's where she went to study.  I sighed but told myself that I'd get more work done that way, though it really felt like another disappointment.

Probably around 8 (half an hour before practice) a girl named Lydia from choir walked in...wearing an EFY t-shirt.  My curiosity peaked, I called out to her and said I wanted to ask her something.  She walked over with an enthusiastic, "What's up?!"  I replied, "Where'd you get that shirt?"  She started talking about EFY and after I told her about my experience with it I said, "I didn't know you were Mormon!"  And she said, "I didn't know you were either!"  She took out her phone and said that she was going to put me in as her 'Vocalise Mormon Buddy'.  We chattered on happily for the rest of my waiting time.  Our conversation went from EFY to school to dances to family and back again and it perked me right up.

It's funny cause I remember a funny feeling when I met her.  I don't think the thought that she could be Mormon crossed my mind and if it did it came and went in a second, but I had some kind of feeling that I didn't get when I was introduced to everyone else and it came back every time I turned around and looked back at the soprano section where she sat.  It's amazing how much of a difference someone that stands for Christ with the Gift of the Holy Ghost makes.  Not only to those hungry for the truth that they don't have, but to someone who needed to be reminded that she had that Gift too.