4-18-92, 10:07 A.M.

The time and date I was born. Celebrating 19 years of life this week.

19 highlights in my 18th year:

1. Completing Mrs. Jordan's honors English class.

2. Cruise to Alaska with my family.

3. Joining Mt. Baker symphony.

4. Getting my driver's license.

5. Getting my ears pierced.

6. Lots of BBQs in the summer with friends and family.

7. Day trip to Larrabee State Park with my family.

8. Fiddling with Ali and Brad.

9. New Year's Day dance on Camano Island with Placzeks and Moores.

10. Getting my own hard cover set of Calvin's Institutes from mom and dad.

11. Planting and harvesting my veggie garden.

12. Taking a flower arranging class with a friend at WCC.

13. Performing at my first masquerade ball.

14. Singing Handel's Messiah at Christmas time.

15. Starting my first official year of teaching violin.

16. Having 5 students in my first year of teaching.

17. Babysitting my niece Lydian for 2 weeks.

18. Spending another year of Tuesday mornings with the Clarkes.

19. Turning 19 of course! ;-)

O Lord, and Guardian of my soul,
Your word is my counsel,
Your power is my courage,
Your promises, my comfort,
your presence, my confidence.
I rest my life,
My soul,
My future,
in your hands.

~B.J. Hoff

Forget it.

Awful. Nerve wracking. Mind-boggling. Unnecessarily Complicated. Invented to make people wonder why there aren't more accidents on the road. Probably the result of more cases of insanity than drugs or 6th position on the violin. Bad.

All this flashed through my mind, as I killed the motor on the jetta for like, the sixth time during my first stick-shift lesson this afternoon. My wonderful daddy was everlastingly patient as he explained that once the meter on the dash board reaches 20, you shift.

Daddy: "Let out the clutch SLOWLY and when it's almost out, shift to 2nd gear. No Emily, 2nd, that's fourth..... Ok so the car stalled. (a nice way of saying I killed the motor) Turn the car on. Now, push in the clutch and the brake. Shift to 1st. Now let off the brake. Now SLOWLY let off the clutch, and give it a little gas.

QUICK,!! NO, LOOK OUT, SHIFT! LET THE CLUTCH OUT! SLOWLY!! GIVE IT GAS!"

(Car: shudder, shudder, jerk, jerk, bounce bounce. Ominous silence)

Sigh. The car died again.

Daddy: Umm, it's ok. Turn the car on. Let's try it again.

Me: This is horrid.(as the neighbor lady gives me a sympathetic glance.)

Daddy: you're doing pretty well actually!

Me: Sigh. (as I give daddy a sympathetic glance.) Can we go home now? That is, if I can make it all the way around the block?

Daddy: No, no, keep trying. You'll get it.

15 minutes later...

Me: (starting the dead car again in the middle of a turn.) I suppose we should give it a rest. You look shell-shocked and I feel like a jellyfish.

Daddy: Ok.

So. That was my first lesson. I hate stick shift, but I guess I'll have to try, try again. Like daddy, rather too cheerfully I thought, said as we walked in the house, "Clarks NEVER quit."

Me: Sigh.