One Must Have a Mind of Winter

The most disappointing thing about big girl world, to date, is that there are no snow days. It's particularly disappointing now that I live in a state that actually accumulates a significant amount of white powder. It started snowing sometime in the middle of the night, and hasn't stopped. Almost 16 hours of flakes that have no intention of ceasing until tomorrow night. Fortunately, these flakes are prime snow man flakes. After work, I made my way to various stores looking for gloves. I admit that I'm a bit late in the season, but I was shocked to be informed by multiple places that they were out of gloves. They offered me bathing suits instead. I then picked an exhausted husband up from school; he and his bike and his headache were waiting for me outside when I pulled up. I let him rest and gave him some Midol, putting on my best "pretty please" face. We bundled up and went out back to find inches of snowy potential.

Our first attempt was far too small, so we tried again. We had a great time - it was my first snow man! He's a bit lopsided, and his poor eyes kept falling off.

We didn't officially name him, but I think "Bruce" suits him.

Ben read "The Snow Man" by Wallace Stevens, to christen our creation. The whole event was just fantastic.

One must have a mind of winter

To regard the frost and the boughs

Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time

To behold the junipers shagged with ice,

The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of January sun; and not to think

Of any misery in the sound of the wind,

In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land

Full of the same wind

That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,

And, nothing himself, beholds

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

The Snow Man by Wallace Stevens

02-05-08

December of 2007, Ben and I had been dating for almost two years and I began a notebook full of thoughts and letters that I intended to give him on our wedding day. Part of the February 4th, 2008 entry reads: “... just think of all the adventures that lie ahead!”

The next night, some girls from the art department enjoyed an uncharacteristic night out of the studio. We shared a fantastic meal together prepared by one of our fellow students that grew up in Africa – the feast was absolutely delicious. The last three days had also been an uncharacteristic 65 degrees, and we were loving every minute of this midwinter sunshine. The weathermen suggested some possible storms, but we brushed them off as precautionary warning. We watched some clouds roll in and traded tornado stories while we enjoyed the chicken curry with the door and windows open. My old room mate Rose and I laughed as we expressed what a good last meal this would be.

Our university was settled just off Highway 40, half way between Memphis and Nashville; we'd been under tornado watches and warning countless times. The sirens would go off in the city and in our dorm rooms, so we'd spend a few minutes in the bathtub talking about the homework we still had to finish. If nothing had progressed within five minutes, we'd flip on the weather channel, pop some popcorn, duct tape a pillow over the intercom and go back to work.

I called my mom after dinner, just to let her know the weather was being a bit funny. I knew if she had heard it from her weatherman, and not from me, I'd be in trouble. I told her not to worry and we'd talk soon. After supper, we migrated back to art studio and picked up on our various projects. A fellow student turned the radio on and we listened as our county was among the ones under watch. We worked in the studio until someone stepped outside to hear the sirens going off and a bit of rain start to fall, at which point several of us gathered our things and huddled under two umbrellas as we made our way back to our dorm rooms.

Rose poured me a glass of milk while I closed all the blinds, knowing the RA would be around soon to make sure we were in the bathroom... We sat in front of the TV and heard about a touchdown in Memphis, just an hour south of us, and a sighting of two more. We pulled out some oreos. It wasn't long before the lights began to flicker, but they didn't go off. We transplanted ourselves and our sweet snacks to Rose's room which faced the courtyard between the girls and boys housing complexes. We laughed as we remembered our first tornado siren experience during our freshman year. We five room mates lived on the second story, so we obediently made our way downstairs to find our neighbors huddled in the tiny bathroom, yelling for us to get in fast or they would shut the door. Things looked a bit tight in the bathroom with five girls already fighting for room in the tub, so we opted for the room in the back right, similar to the one Rose and I were in now. Only weeks into our first semester, the five of us took turns leaning out the large window and catching hail pieces on our tongues. Twenty minutes later, we were back in our rooms above, doing math homework.

This is Rose, you've met her before [here].

This time though, the rain let up and the wind just increased. We watched the sky turn a unique shade of hazy purple as we lounged on her bed. I glanced at the clock wondering how long we'd be quarantined; it was 7 p.m. already. A gust of wind, a small window shake and we looked out to see the several trash cans blow past. This hasn't happened before; it was supposed to be settling down by now. I had been in contact with Ben who recently snuck out of the cafeteria and back to his room. It wasn't until the patio furniture followed the trash cans that Rose quickly jumped up, “Lily, lets go.” She ran to the bath tub and I to the next bedroom to grab pillows and blankets just in time to hear shattered glass from the windows all around me. I screamed as Rose yelled my name and I ran back to the bathroom to see her crouched in the tub; then the loudest sounds of crashing and breaking and tearing I've ever heard. I had been standing in the doorway, arms full of blankets and within seconds found myself on the ground against the door. There was a warm wind of my face and silence. Absolute perfect still. My mouth was full of dirt and there was a shooting pain in my arm. There was nothing I could think or say but utter Oh, God, Oh God, Please, God. Rose, where was Rose? Rose? Lily, are you okay? Is it over? – Lily, we're okay, Jesus protected us, we're okay and we're safe. No, there's more, Rose. There's more coming. She made her way over to me and held me. I looked around. Just over Rose's silhouette I saw the tree outside our dorm room. I glanced to the right toward the front door and saw the dorm room across from us. The storm had made a doll house out of room. If there were more coming, we wouldn't make it. We sat there, with no direction in the most terrifying silence I've ever heard. I began to weep. It felt like several minutes had past before I heard something in the distance. I wished it was Ben. Ben? Where was Ben, was he ok? I had my phone in my hand just a minute ago, but no track of it now. By the third yell, I could make out my name. It came closer and closer and louder, “Lily!” The first sound to break the silence was Ben calling my name, running to find me. I yelled back, directing him through the gash in the wall where our shower unit used to be. He knelt down and embraced both Rose and I, reassuring over and over that we were okay. Once we stood, he used his headlamp to check for blood and then embraced me again – the pain shot through my arm and my back. Somehow Rose had lost one shoe; Ben went to her room to find another. She looked at me and asked 'what just happened?' After giving her a second shoe, Ben rubbed her head and found a large knot. By this time, people quietly began making their way out of their rooms, helpless, looking for any sort of direction. Swarms of boys made their way through the standing frames of the rooms, yelling girls names, helping them out of the rubble. Students were yelling to one another to make their way to the academic building which, just 300 yards away, had been untouched. We climbed over rubble and rooftop and boards and furniture until we found the sidewalk and met thousands of other students in the packed hallways. Names were being yelled, people were pushing. We made it to the main hall where the nursing students had already set up first aid stations, making bandages and wraps out of t-shirts. Trails of blood lead into the bathrooms. Rose and I sat while Ben went to look for help. “Wait, what's going on? Where is Andrew? Is he okay?” Andrew was Rose's boyfriend who she hadn't talked to for quite a while. I tried to answer her questions but had so many myself. A nursing student checked her eyes and her pulse and several other things. She was so patient and understanding; they looked at me and told me to keep talking to her. Ben paced down the hall as he tried to get a hold of my parents. “Mary, it's Ben. Are you okay? Well, it hit. It really happened, it really hit? We're okay, we're in a safer building; Lily's in a little pain but we're okay.” Administration had arrived by this time and were yelling directions down the hall. “I have to go but I'll call back soon.” I can't imagine the uncertainty and helplessness that my mother, along with every other parents felt that night, miles and miles from their children.

This is Rose's room and big window. October, 2007.

Bottom left is that window, post tornado. Bottom right is the outside of the bathroom that Rose and I were in.

Rose continued to ask the same questions. Wait, exactly what happened? I told her. Are you okay? Yes. Am I ok? Yes. Is my mom ok; does she know I'm ok? She's far way, she's ok and we're trying to call her. Where's Andrew? We're looking. Are there more tornados coming? I don't know.

This repeated for the next hour as we were directed into one classroom. We were counted and told to write our names on a list being passed around. Twenty minutes in there and then we were lead down the hallway where we sat in uncertainty for another hour. The reality sunk in for Rose when she realized she realized her shoes were different. I watched her as she stared at her feet and without a word, began to cry. She was comforted when Andrew finally found us; she asked him the same questions. Once it was decidedly safe to leave the building, we were told faculty and staff were coming to pick us up. Surrounding church members were opening their homes, too. Another hour and we heard cars weren't being allowed on campus. Five of us snuck out the back door and began walking to meet a student who was off campus and now waiting for us with his card in the shopping center across the street. It was still warm out. Sirens filled the air. We passed a large mail truck turned on it's side in the ditch. We walked until we heard someone scream Ben's name and then piled into a faculty member's mini van. Rose was asking less questions, remembering only the answers I had given to her. She and I sat in the front seat and she commented on the resemblance of our driver to Joey Fatone of N'sync. We travelled back road after back road until we reached a house with a basement. Several people were there already. We were finally able to reach Rose's mom and I was able to talk to my parents. The rest of the night was spent in the emergency room as Rose's head was examined and my arm was x-rayed. I sat by Rose's bed and we watched breaking news stories about our own university flash across the tv screen. There were still students trapped. We later learned that upon seeing the damage, the chief of police had contacted the hospital, asking they prepare room for at least two hundred bodies. Two students were trapped for several hours, but by the next day, everyone had been accounted for – not one life lost in the wake of an F-4 tornado. It was the most terrifying and the most miraculous thing I have ever experienced.

That night Rose and I slept at a fellow church member's house. I dreamt of about throwing some pots, but they kept spinning and spinning and getting off-centered, then collapsing. Our families lost no time in coming to Jackson. The next afternoon, we made our way back onto campus and reunited with faces we hadn't yet seen. There were many tearful embraces as we saw the damage in the light of day and realized just how blessed we were. The perimeter of the campus was lined with local food vendors giving away lunches, the Red Cross handing out hygiene products, and the National Guard making their rounds, assuring no one entered the unstable site. News reporters captured images and interviews as students and their families stood in lines, waiting to hear if they could re-enter their dorm rooms or look for their cars. We were able to get within two hundred feet of the room Rose and I were in and saw the piece of roofing that had punctured the siding and wall, turning the entire shower unit 90 degrees.

She was doing better, but it was months before Rose remembered details that I hadn't given her. Our teeth were chipped and broken in many places from the impact. My left arm was useless for about a month as the bruises and tissues healed – I must have raised it to protect my face. I spoke with many caring individuals over the next month, but grew weary of telling the same story and reliving the experience. One of my mom's friends called to check on me and had this to say in comfort, “Well I got the shit scared 'outta me when I was 32. Looks like you learned you're not invincible a bit earlier.” She was right. Another older gentleman told me to write it all down because one day I wouldn't remember it so clearly. So I did, and two years later, I'm glad I followed his advice.

All two story dorms - some completely leveled, others half gone, others untouched.

This is the doll-house look.

The clock tower stopped at the time the tornado hit: 7:02 p.m.

Classes resumed just two weeks after the storm had hit; it was comforting to return to a sense of predictability. Students found housing with hundreds of hospitable Jackson families that opened up their homes for the rest of the semester. Unbelievable acts of generosity were shown to the community of Union University from all around the nation and construction on the new dorm buildings began immediately. God's power was evident that night, but his grace and mercy and protection even more obvious. A few weeks following our return, we listened as Kirby Atkins spoke at church, describing the cross as a means to an end, that end being us. It was love that drove the sacrifice – it could be related to a man running into a burning building to save his wife. I wept as I had just so recently experienced that kind of love and desire from Ben – he ran into that dark silence, screaming my name. Never before had I so personally understood the state of need and helplessness that is life before Christ.

Before and after aerial view of the residence complexes. More photos can be seen here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/unionuniversity/2252802829/in/photostream/

Grandma Gleneale

Grandma, Gleneale Zopfi, approx 30 years old.

My grandpa, Poppie, kept the best scrapbooks I've ever seen. Those oversized thick, string bound books that come in a variety of blue and black, proudly wearing the word “Scrapbook” on front. I remember visiting his home and finding him at the the kitchen table, book open with a carefully cut out newspaper article or a recent photo of one of the granddaughters and the smell of rubber cement in the air. He and my aunt have recently been going through these countless books, reminiscing about their time as a family in Germany, California, then Tennessee.

My dad recently came to Columbus for a visit – we enjoyed some fine eateries and a Nashville Predators/Columbus Blue Jackets hockey game. He brought along some pieces of these scrapbooks including, but not limited to, some really great photos of me and my horse taken at the peak of my awkward stage. Seriously, peak. He also brought a letter my grandfather had written, and an old tape that had been saved from my grandparent's answering machine.

We sat and listened to a few messages – one from the local bank regarding their account, one from my mom about some vinegar, and several from fellow church members expressing their concern for my grandmother. Dad informed me that around this time, she had just been admitted to the hospital. Just as I began to tear up, a squeaky quiet voice began, “Hello grandma, I just wanted to say....” These introductions came about every third message. We listened as my four year old self would carefully go into detail about the reason I was calling and then end politely “and this is Lily Anne and my number is 775-1020,” just in case they had forgotten. Most of the messages were requesting permission to come over and bake cookies. My personal favorite was the one in which I sang the intro to Little Mermaid and ended with, “Thank you, that's all.” A few from my older sister: "Grandma, could you come pick us up? Mom and Dad are being sleepy heads." I followed with a call just to say "I love you," but the message was cut off with an urgent “um, I have to go now because I have to use the bathroom.”

They lived a convenient ten minutes from our house. My mom recalls countless occasions of Grandma showing up at our front door, smiling and saying “Lily called.” And off I went to bake cookies, or help her in the garden, or play dress up with their towel collection. They had the most wonderful Lazy Boy rocking chairs and a great backyard full of delicious berries that were consumed by my older sister and I on a regular basis. There was a basket of chewy candies on the very top shelf of the kitchen cabinets and the first thing grandma would do when we entered was lift us up to pick one out. She collected owls. These nocturnal birds of all shapes and sizes decorated the walls and shelves – I found this disturbing as a small child. There were three in particular that ranged in size like Russian stacking dolls – they were made from small sea shells and had piercing eyes that followed you as you rocked back and forth in the lazy boy.

top: Poppie and Grandma with me and my older sister, Jennie at Opryland Hotel, Nashville TN

bottom left: Grandma and I taking a break from dying Easter eggs

bottom right: Poppie taking me for a ride on the sled! Yep, that's how we do it in Tennessee- even if you can still see the grass!

The letter that dad brought had been typed by Poppie eleven years ago, seven years after my grandmother's death. I imagine it was very hard to write, but he did so with an evident peace.

“Talked with her and she responded very naturally, realizing that this might be the last time we would ever have communication with her. The next morning at 10:00 I went to her bedside, spoke her name, she opened her eyes briefly, squeezed her hand but response. So Dave, Mary, Carol and I camped outside the intensive care area for the rest of the day and night. One of us was allowed to be in the room with her. Her blood pressure had gone down; 35 over 15. No struggle whatsoever – never had any pain the whole time – the the line for her heartbeat was just a straight line, and she was with the Lord. We four gathered around her in bed in a circle – held both her hands and committed her to the Lord and his keeping. Now writing this on 2/17/1999 – on January29th, she has been with the Lord for seven years. Her one brother, Clifford, had com from Wisconsin to see her about three days before her death. We also brought Jennie and Lily in to see her briefly. She could not speak, so she wrote notes – have them under plastic in my scrapbook – some are quite humorous – strictly Gleneale right down to the end.”

Too young to understand, my sister and I kept ourselves occupied with our famous bubble letter drawings and wrote notes to grandma in the waiting room at the hospital. Our cousins came down from Michigan, and together we diligently worked on a note that collectively said “I love you” in the biggest, proudest bubble letters you'd ever seen. It took all six of us to hold it up, being held up by our parents, in front of her hospital bed. I didn't know why, but she couldn't speak, so we thought the letter would be best. She smiled big and mouthed “I love you.” Those were her last words to her six granddaughters, something my family has always seen as a blessing. Poppie's letter continued:

“Lily Anne was “grandma's girl” – were together often – would phone Gleneale often and say “Grandma, can you come over and get me?” They loved to bake cookies together. At the viewing, Lily was disturbed that her Grandma was not moving. Had to explain that was just the body she lived in but that she was with the Lord Jesus in heaven. That very night Lily had a dream that she was up in Heaven with Grandma – she held her in her arms like she used to do. She said it was all beautiful up there, everything white and gold. And then Lily said “over there in the corner was the empty casket – she wasn't in there anymore, she was alive!” She told this dream to Mary the next morning. Even though Lily still missed her very much, she knew that her Grandma was alive. I still wear Gleneale's wedding ring on the little finger of my left hand-- right beside my wedding band.”

I don't remember much about the funeral except that I was pouting through most of it because I didn't get to sit in the front row, closest to Grandma. We spent the night at Poppie's house and it felt empty and unusual. I still remember the dream Poppie wrote about. I saw myself sleeping in the room we always slept in at their house – grandma woke me and lead me up the most beautiful winding trail. She gave me a personal tour of her new room and assured me that she was well and happy there. She did hold me tight and reminded me that she loved us all very much. Content, I ran back down the trail by myself and reported it all to my mom the next morning.

This past Friday was the 18th anniversary of Grandma's death. I cherish the few memories I have of our time together and still enjoy homemade chocolate chip cookies on a regular basis. Now I wear Grandma's wedding band; I couldn't have asked for a more precious, meaningful wedding gift, or for a more loving, memorable grandmother.