Allie Gonzales and the Part 1 Finale

If you didn't know, I love Harry Potter.

I first read Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone when I was nine years old. My mom took me to the Lake County Library for the first time (at least the first time I remember having ever gone to that smelly place). I discovered they had a room full of books for kids--a whole room! I walked around in there for a long time (probably about half an hour) until I stumbled upon a brightly colored book with an odd pastel drawn cover. It had big golden shiny letters reading "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" emblazoned over the picture of a boy riding on a flying broomstick trying to catch a little yellow ball with wings. In the back ground there was a forest, a unicorn, a castle and a three headed dog. If you're still having a hard time picturing the cover here it is:

What child would have the ability to resist this kind of fantasy? I can't remember a time I didn't (and still don't) long for magic to be real. Needless to say, I took an instant liking to the book. It was the story of an orphaned child who lived in a closet under the stairs, suffering the cruel whims of his elephantine cousin Dudley. When he turned eleven, he got a letter (delivered by owl, of course) that informed him he was in fact a wizard and had been admitted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A dear friend of mine once admitted that when she turned eleven, she stayed up at night waiting for her letter from Hogwarts; when it didn't come, she wasn't sad because she thought that it all might still be real--she was just a muggle.

I read every Harry Potter book from the time they came out. Eventually, the books were released in such a way that the age Harry was in the book I was in real life. I know, it sounds silly, but it made me feel that much more connected to that world. It was impossible for me to not imagine my friends playing the role of Harry's and the people I didn't like as the psuedo-villains and real villains in the stories. My friends and I read the books together; we'd call each other up and discuss for long hours what was going to happen next. We'd share our outrage together when a character we loved got killed (Why, Sirius? WHY FRED!!?).

I grew up with Harry Potter and he grew up with me. I think I will always love the story and the characters. I actually look forward to my children reading them and being able to pass down my love of literature and Harry Potterness with them.

SO, yes, I was one of those weird people outside the theater at midnight Thursday, dressed all in Death Eater black and trying to stave off frostbite in my nose and toes, with my mom. When I looked up at the poster:

It reminded me of being in the library all those years ago and how much I've changed in all that time. I used to be a happy, carefree little kids. Now, I am a sleep deprived college student who spends the majority of my free time doing derivatives and writing papers--no more time for fantasy and magic. When I read The Deathly Hallows, I cried when it was over because it was like putting a period on the end of my childhood (also Hedwig died. That was a low blow). I graduated that year. I moved away that year. I fell in love (and got my heart broken). I "grew up."

When I watched The Deathly Hallows Part 1, it was like being a kid again. I didn't feel silly for shedding a tear for a dead owl I didn't know--it's Hedwig, after all. It was like stepping back in time to that magical state of childhood where all this could be real--I'm just a muggle.

You may call me nerdy and over sentimental. Well, I do not care. I will always love Harry Potter because, to me, it represents the most magical kingdom of them all--childhood.

Lazy

If you haven't noticed, I've been a bit of a slacker the last few weeks. Life just seems to get more chaotic as the end of the semester approaches. I used to have time to be creative and relax, but lately all I have time to do is calculus homework (and I'm barely keeping up with that). This is an account of a field trip I took in my Biology class in October.

I was required to meander into Montgomery Woods Tuesday to "observe nature" as part of my Bio class. An acorn nearly murdered me as I climbed up the gentle incline of the one hill in the park. It went a little something like this:

1. I get out of the car and am immediately sorry as the temperature is around negative 63 and I have (foolishly) only worn a hoodie and neglected to bring my Nike's (Coach sneakers are cool for hiking, right?)
2. Learned some terribly interesting things about redwoods (well, I would have, if I hadn't been focusing on sending blood to my toes to keep from developing frostbite.)
   
3. Coach sneakers are not cool for hiking. Especially not canvas sneakers that absorb all the free moisture from the forest the day after a rain storm (we got eight whole inches) and which is currently enshrouded in fog, which apparently is like a rain storm in the redwoods. Lovely.
   
4. Walking in moist air uphill makes me breath as loud as an angry walrus. Everyone asks me if I am okay. I would have answered them, but my tertiary bronchioles were busy trying not to explode.
   
5. I need to look at the ground when I walk because, get this, oak trees like to grow around redwoods. Oak trees drop slippery leaves. And acorns. Acorns are round; round things roll. Round things roll better when they are on a moist incline. I am clumsy at the best of times.
6. I am heaving along, my socks now completely saturated and making a delightful "squish" sound with every step I take, when I am distracted by one of my darling classmates talking. I take my eyes off the ground for a moment to respond so I don't look like I dislike eye contact. As I step forward, I feel my right foot slipping.
   
7. I am in some sort of half-split position, trying to sort out why this is happening. Several people are laughing at me. Awesome.
   
8. I fall over to escape going into a deeper split and realize I am on a hill, so I roll about ten feet down the it before being stopped by a large rock in the road. More people are laughing.
   
9. Properly humiliated, I pop to feet and squish my way back up the hill, my face aglow with the redness of retardedness.
   

What did I learn from this experience? Chiefly, Coach shoes are not meant for hiking. Secondly, Mother Nature is a crazy bitch who wants to kill me with acorns.