Put on the Christmas tunes, let's dance

Currently listening to: Enter the Worship Circle
Currently feasting on: pizzelles
Currently dreaming of: all things DC

I am making lists....lists of to-do's before departure.....a list of books to read....of things to do in DC. I am making a list of people to see before leaving.....

This must be what retirement feels like. You sit in your chair, ready to think of the next thing you have to do, and when you realize it doesn't consist of the things you have emersed yourself in for so long, you feel naked--figuratively. I am sure an identity crisis is in my future. But at the moment, it's pretty fun to not have student things to do. I am partaking in some casual hobby-finding, ok, intense hobby-finding. But I figure I got college out of the way and there are several other things I want to accomplish...like learning how to cook, sew, how to exercise regularly, read more books, write more. I want to record more music. And you know, when I am done with that, I will miss school so much I will enter myself into grad school. Just because.

After 2 life-threatening moments of thinking my computer was crashing down, I devoted a signficant amount of time today saving everything I own onto a couple of little flashdrives. Those things look whimpy, but watch out, they can store your whole world. 8 GB of music, 8GB of pictures and another one full of documents I am too attached to delete. Ah, security.

I embraced a family tradition tonight. I dressed myself and my mom and dad in santa hats, put on the Luther Vandross Christmas cd and made pizzelles, an italian cookie and a Christmas tradition for our family. It's the same every year....same music, same hats, same roles. Mom makes the batter, dad handles the pizzelle iron, I take care of the music and hats (essential to the experience) along with eating them all as I go. I even hear the same things being said every year...."We should write what we changed down on the recipe so we remember it for next year"---we never do. So the first batch of pizzelles are either burnt, too soft or shaped funky. It takes a batch for dad to get the hang of it and to tweak it all to italian perfection. And you know, no one outside of our family likes them. When we were young, we always had our friends try the cookies, but they said it tasted like black licorice. While we make them, we dance. We glide and groove across the kitchen floor. And we never miss a beat. This is the Powell tradition.

I am going to bed now. Something a college alumni can finally do.