Category: Caitlyn Goodhue (page 1 of 3)

Winds in the East

Writer’s block: we’ve all experienced this frustrating phenomenon, we’ve all spent hours staring at a blank Word Document and a blinking cursor.

At least, I assume we all have. If anyone out there in Internet-land has gone an entire lifetime without any sort of writer’s block, make yourself known so I can congratulate you and give you a giant cookie.

Even SpongeBob has fallen victim to writer’s block.

Even SpongeBob has fallen victim to writer’s block.

Anyway, before writing this blog, I psyched myself out to the point of a particularly severe bout with this unfortunate affliction.

The reason? This is my last post – ever – for UD’s South College Blog. *Sniff* I want it to perfectly represent everything my writing stands for, state great philosophical truths, and propose a solution for world hunger. All in that order.

Basically, long story short: I had over a million embryonic ideas, but I wasn’t sure if any of them were worthy of being Caitlyn’s Final Blog.

The cycle of thoughts tumbling around inside my head went a little something like this: “I know, I could write about…my first Zumba class of the semester! Or…the stress of finals! Yeah! No. Too mainstream. Hmm…I got it! A how-to piece about surviving a lack of job prospects! Wait…that’s depressing. Uh…leaving my friends here in Delaware? My recent group project about Jimmy Fallon? …Finals?”gradecard

Also, the main thing on my mind, besides exams and papers, was (and still is) the Ceremony-That-Must-Not-Be-Named. *Shudder*

So, without further ado, here is one of those initial, budding ideas – which includes its fair share of nostalgia. It’s like a blog within a blog (I’m feeling meta).

Number 17 Cherry Tree Lane

When there’s hardly no day, nor hardly no night…There’s things half in shadow, and halfway in light…

new amst

When I first walked into the New Amsterdam Theatre, I couldn’t contain my excitement.

The set reminded me of the sensation of holding’s one breath – the empty street was waiting, anticipating a fresh breeze filled with cherry blossoms and the appearance of someone special.

Mary Poppins was my first Broadway show. Even though my Connecticut home is a mere two hours from New York City, my parents were wary about venturing into NYC after 9/11. Hence, it took years of begging, plus the added security of a family friend who knows the city like the back of his hand, in order for a New York trip to actually happen.

As for my high school self, I didn’t care as much about the classic tourist destinations like the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building; I was a theater kid through and through. I wanted Broadway.

Mary Poppins blew me away, just like the ever-changing winds featured in the show itself. This musical made a lasting impression – Bert literally tap dances upside-down from the theatre’s ceiling at one point – which carried over into my college existence.

For my freshman year Honors English course, I selected a class that focused on writing about music. For my final paper at the end of that first UD semester, I wrote about the musical stylings of none other than the Sherman Brothers. Crash course on the Sherman Brothers: they wrote “It’s a Small World,” and composed the music for The Jungle Book, The Aristocats, and, of course, Mary Poppins.

That paper was one of my first “college moments.” I stayed up to all hours penning it, and the process is a blur of Mary Poppins music on YouTube, coffee, 3 a.m. jumping jacks…and more coffee.

kangaroo

Me and some lovely kangaroos versus the characters of Saving Mr. Banks.

Me and some lovely kangaroos versus the characters of Saving Mr. Banks.

Fast-forward to this semester, my last one. When I was home (for either Easter or Spring Break, I can’t remember which), I watched Saving Mr. Banks with my mom. Neither of us expected to love the story of P.L. Travers, author of Mary Poppins, and her creative clash with Walt Disney as much as we did. Half of the story is told through flashbacks of the author’s childhood, which takes place in the dry, sprawling Australian Outback. Not only were these scenes of her rough upbringing both fascinating and unsettling – in the same way that one can hardly look away from a train wreck – but it also brought me back to Australia. Ever since returning from my study abroad trip in the Land Down Unda, I’ve longed to go back.

As someone who dreams of being a writer, I sympathized with P.L. Travers and her fight to keep her source material pure – and free from Disney’s corporate influence. But the movie, loosely based on the real-life conflict between Travers and Disney, highlights reconciliation, a give-and-take.

For me, reconciliation is everywhere in my life at the present moment. The past and the future, my dreams and reality: all of it is currently in the process of being reconciled in my mind.

Mary Poppins selfie, anyone? Finally, one last connection: I was able to dress up as Mary herself with my theatre group recently. *Squeal of happiness* (Not too shabby, right?) Also, please note the practically perfect Australian flag postcard behind me.

Mary Poppins selfie, anyone? Finally, one last connection: I was able to dress up as Mary herself with my theatre group recently. *Squeal of happiness* (Not too shabby, right?) Also, please note the practically perfect Australian flag postcard behind me.

In Mary Poppins, Bert sings the following lines during one poignant interaction with the character Mr. Banks (based on the actual, struggling father of P.L. Travers): “You’ve got to grind, grind, grind at that grindstone… Though childhood slips like sand through a sieve… And all too soon they’ve up and grown, and then they’ve flown…”

supercalWell, this is goodbye. And I have to say it: it’s been a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious year.

This Is the Nostalgic Graduation Post That I Eventually Had to Write

Welcome folks, and now, it’s time for a word from our sponsors! The following post was reluctantly brought to you by two new benefactors: Graduation Anxiety and Fear for the Future!

I love going home. Which is strange, one might point out, considering that fact that I chose a university 5-6 hours from my family (depending on traffic). Part of the reason that I wanted to go to UD, however, is because I thought it was the perfect distance away: not too far, but not too close. In storybook fashion – “Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” I’m looking at you right now – it seemed “just right.”

In case of an emergency (which did happen, thanks to the whole having-a-severe-allergy shtick), my mom could rush down to Delaware, using the breakdown lane to prove that she’s really a speed demon at heart.

My obsession for this little ball of fluff knows no bounds.

My obsession for this little ball of fluff knows no bounds.

On the flip side, being the homesick person I sometimes can be, which hinges a lot on how much I miss my puppy, being 5-6 hours away is a good thing.

This way, I’m not tempted to jump in my car and jet home just to eat my dad’s mouthwatering homemade pizza for dinner.

Side note: my dad moonlighted as a chef back in the day. His other careers include: psychiatric technician, carpenter, pilot (Air Force), author (of a book on how to achieve the perfect golf swing…no comment), and PGA golf professional, which is his current job.

Did I mention that my dad is awesome?

Driving through Connecticut always looks like this. Note: this picture was taken in a vehicle travelling at a whopping zero miles per hour.

Driving through Connecticut always looks like this. Note: this picture was taken in a vehicle travelling at a whopping zero miles per hour.

Anyway, for this particular journey home, I was riding solo; sometimes, I drive back with my literal next-door neighbor from Old Saybrook, CT, who – funnily enough – also selected UD. The drive home was like most others: a fairly boring, traffic-filled, singing-at-the-top-of-my-lungs type of trip. Since I left right after a particularly eventful Friday academic-wise, I had several caffeinated beverages and occasionally had to slap myself to stay awake. (Clearly, this blog post was also brought to you by: Safe Driving Habits.)

Once home, preparations turned toward Easter. I was excited to finally get together with some of my cousins/extended family, watch movies, and eat my dad’s premium cooking.

The gang’s (mostly) all here – from my mom’s side of the family, anyway! I’m the one in the purple sweater, holding our perfectly handcrafted cream cheese pie. Megan, the college-bound child, is to my left with the curly hair.

The gang’s (mostly) all here – from my mom’s side of the family, anyway! I’m the one in the purple sweater, holding our perfectly handcrafted cream cheese pie. Megan, the college-bound child, is to my left with the curly hair.

Here’s the thing, though: one of my cousins, Megan, is exactly four years younger than me. In other words, she’s about to start her whole college adventure just as mine is grinding to an abrupt halt. A large portion of Easter Sunday was spent talking about her three different college options around the dinner table (a.k.a. “Princess Table,” a name from my childhood referring to the makeup of mostly girl cousins), advice on how to choose a school, and what college itself is actually like.

Not helping matters was the movie that we picked to watch together: Monsters University. If you haven’t seen the movie, or can’t guess from the title, this movie is about college. (I can hear the chorus of resounding “duh” noises.) I may or may not have cried at the end of this particular showing, because of that whole weighty college aspect.

Also exacerbating the issue – re: me not wanting to partake in the G-word, as my roommate has taken to calling that mysterious event that happens in May – was my older cousin, Shannon. As Megan talked about choosing a college, Shannon, who graduated last year, kept saying things like, “Stop, I wish I was back!” Shannon has a job, working as a preschool teacher. I, on the other hand, am still figuring out my post-graduation path.

I’m not going to sugar-coat the end of this post, with a clichéd final sentence like, “I just know I’ll figure it out soon and love my job and have a seamless transition into adulthood!” I’m still pretty unsure about everything. I do know, however, that I have a great family to fall back on if need be. And, I’m starting to warm up to the idea of a new chapter, not even just because it’s inevitable.

Time to focus on that cream cheese pie from the above photo, decorated by all the cousins. In my opinion, we created a beautiful rendition of Mike Wazowski, with a scream canister in his left hand.

Time to focus on that cream cheese pie from the above photo, decorated by all the cousins. In my opinion, we created a beautiful rendition of Mike Wazowski, with a scream canister in his left hand.

Before watching Monsters University, I didn’t know how the story of Mike Wazowski, a student who desperately wants to be a “scarer,” was going to pan out in time for Monsters, Inc.

Spoiler alert: Mike doesn’t achieve his dreams in the traditional sense…but, he does find out what he’s capable of accomplishing. College is similar: your dreams may change (mine did), but oftentimes, you find out what you can actually do…and what you can survive. Like graduation itself, for instance.

As Sully says to Mike toward the end of the movie, “You’re not scary, not even a little bit. But you are fearless.”

~ Caitlyn Goodhue

Silly Walks

I briefly considered writing a deep, soul-searching post about my impending graduation, but then I thought, “Nah.” All I will say about the matter is: I picked up my cap and gown a few days ago, and I can’t really process that fact. The cap and gown are still wrapped up in fancy plastic, delegated to their original Barnes & Noble bookstore bag…which will be their permanent home until the end of May.

Here is the troublesome bag itself, with its unspeakable contents.

Here is the troublesome bag itself, with its unspeakable contents.

The other day, when I was walking down Main Street with the emotional aforementioned bag, I was also balancing my fairly large laptop bag over my shoulder and a Starbucks latte in the other hand. As I was juggling these three objects, I felt strangely out-of-whack. Suddenly I realized what made me feel off-kilter: I wasn’t talking on the phone.

Usually, when trekking from my apartment on the far end of Main Street to class or elsewhere, I call either (a) my mom, (b) my dad, (c) my sister/best friend, (d) another friend, or, occasionally, (e) my grandparents, which is amusing because my grandparents don’t always understand phones. Sample: my grandparents left me a voicemail one time that went a little something like this:

Nana (F.Y.I. I call my grandma ‘Nana’ and my grandpa ‘Papa’): Ed, you have to turn right!

Papa: Lee, I know where I’m going!

Nana: No, you should have turned back there!

Papa: I’m following the GPS! The GPS said left!!

Clearly, they didn’t realize that they were leaving me a three-minute voicemail about traffic directions…but that’s what happened. I called them to clarify in case they wanted to talk about something important, but they had no idea that they called me at all, much less left a voicemail. They’re the best.

Since I had no free hand to hold my iPhone last Thursday, I was reduced to people watching. I guess I enjoy talking on the phone on my various 15-20 minute walks throughout the day to feel like I’m accomplishing something during that “wasted” time. I very rarely run into someone who’s heading in the same direction that I am (as opposed to a passing “Hi, how are you?”), but when that happens, it’s a welcome change. Otherwise, I’m not going to lie, I get bored. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I hate having time alone to think. But, with several walks throughout the day, sometimes I reach the point where I simply need to do something else.

Anyway, in my impromptu social experiment, I gazed around, confused about what other people typically do while traversing the great distance from Main Street to class (and back). I discovered the following:

(1)  A significant number of people listen to music – or at least pretend to listen to music – based on the overwhelming presence of headphones.

(2)  Some people walk without any sort of technological distraction, and these people tend to walk in a hurried fashion. I even noticed one guy in a suit, clutching a briefcase, and he was on a mission.

(3)  Some people do talk on the phone. There were, however, less people on the phone than I thought – at least during this particular Thursday afternoon.

So, readers, since I’m curious – and would rather think about the subject of distracted vs. focused walking as opposed to other matters (i.e. the future) – what do you do while you walk around campus?

sillywalksNote: Sadly, I don’t have any pictures that I’ve taken while walking around campus to add to this post…which is probably due to the fact that I’m usually on the phone (*shrugs coyly*). Instead, I’ll close with a picture from Monty Python’s ‘Ministry of Silly Walks’ sketch. 

Man-Purses and Macademia Nuts

Have you heard the saying about being able to tell a lot about a woman from the contents of her purse? I didn’t until I watched the beginning of The Incredibles, one of my favorite movies, which will finally be getting a sequel 10+ years later. But I digress.

The contents of a victim’s purse dumped on the ground during a random mugging, from the beginning of my favorite Pixar movie.

The contents of a victim’s purse dumped on the ground during a random mugging, from the beginning of my favorite Pixar movie.

If you haven’t heard the saying, it’s pretty straightforward. By opening up a woman’s (or man’s) backpack/bag/tote, you can tell any number of things: if the person in question is a student, whether or not she (or he) is a makeup aficionado, how organized or prepared the person is, and furthermore (and probably most importantly), what that person’s favorite snacks are…the list could go on and on.

If you open up my most in-rotation bag (a patent-leather, raspberry colored laptop-purse), I have, among many other things, two EpiPens. Well, technically they’re called both an “Auvi-Q,” which is the brand-new, fancy version of the EpiPen.

So, by looking through my bag, someone would be able to determine that I have some pretty heavy-duty allergies – specifically, nuts. Almonds, pecans, walnuts, macadamia nuts, peanuts…and everything that contains any of these: think Nutella, Reese’s Pieces, Snickers – they’re all off-limits.

My allergy story isn’t even remotely cookie-cutter, however (food puns). I wasn’t diagnosed until I was older, so I’m not one of those kids who’s been labeled since birth/childhood.

Nope, I was diagnosed in college.

Whenever I reveal this, most people are confused. Honestly, the whole thing was inexplicable for me for a while. Basically, it goes like this: I have a special kind of allergy that worsens over time (yay for being unique, right?). So, when I was younger, peanuts were A-Okay. As I got older, my stomach would hurt a lot after eating certain foods. Only in hindsight did I make the following connection: whenever my stomach hurt the most, it was right after eating – yup, you guessed it – nuts. In high school, an average Snickers would make me throw up. So, subconsciously, I would eat less Snickers bars. Then, in college, my roommate at the time offered me raw almonds sophomore year…and lo-and-behold, I landed in Christiana Hospital.

Several trips to the allergist later – including skin testing and blood tests – and I had a bona-fide diagnosis: avoid nuts at all costs.

A lot of times I’ll say nonchalantly that this nut-allergy-thing doesn’t bother me…when secretly, all I want to do is just eat some Nutella and let the chips fall where they may. Which is sadistic to my body, I know (so I don’t). But you know how sometimes you have an urge to do something that you recognize is totally dangerous and an absolutely horrible idea – but you still kind of want to try it anyway? That’s how I feel whenever I walk past the nut aisle in Pathmark or my roommate’s stash of nutty foods.

My roommate’s line of things that could kill me: note the peanut butter, peanuts, tagalongs, and almonds.

My roommate’s line of things that could kill me: note the peanut butter, peanuts, tagalongs, and almonds.

But rest assured, in reality, I’m far too terrified to actually do anything of the sort. Generally, having an anaphylactic reaction makes an individual eager to avoid the experience in the future. Coming to terms with never being to consume these foods again has been strange, and definitely hard at times.

Going back to the prophetic abilities of a woman’s bag: they can reveal broad facts, like an allergy or a makeup obsession. One thing, though, that a woman’s bag (or man’s backpack or man purse a la Zach Galifianakis, since I don’t want to be gender exclusive) doesn’t reveal is the story behind each object.

zach g

No explanation needed.

So even though a random thief rifling through my bag might find an Auvi-Q epinephrine injector, that person would not know the story behind my Auvi-Q.

An object might expose a fact, but only a person can explain the story.

Birthdaypalooza

Cirque“It’s just like any other day.”

“You care a little too much about your birthday.”

“I think you put more stock in your birthday than my Kindergarteners. That’s sad, you know that, right?”

This last observation came courtesy of my mom, who is in fact a Kindergarten teacher. The other comments were uttered at some point or another during my month-long birthday countdown by my roommates/friends/sister.

I’m not sure what it is exactly, but it’s sadly true: I have always loved my birthday in an unnatural, five-year-old-child-who-just-arrived-at-Disney-World way (and I am pretty obsessed with all things Disney). Deep down, I know that it’s a regular day of the week, nothing special.

Upon further examination, I might look forward to my birthday so much because it breaks up the monotony of a fairly boring time of the year. Think about it: what does March have to offer (besides St. Patrick’s Day)? March is (a) usually still cold; (b) void of any majorly exciting, family-gathering-type holidays (think Thanksgiving status); and (c) smack-dab in the middle of the school year, typically at a test-heavy time.

Heavy introspection aside as to the reasons why, I still get excited when March rolls around, even though I’ve had some disappointing b-days in the past (picture crying into cupcakes). Even for this past birthday, for example, I turned…22. Not the legally novel opportunities of 21, not the new decade happiness of 20…nope, 22. Nothing remotely interesting occurs as a result of being 22, besides people screaming/quoting those infamous Taylor Swift lyrics at you: “I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU…”

So, last Monday, March 3rd, I turned a whopping twenty-two years of age. And, for the first time in forever (shout-out to the lyrics from one of my Disney favorites, Frozen), I actually had a birthday worthy of all my pent-up birthday hype.

First of all, two words: snow day! Even though I hail from the freezing, barren woods of Connecticut, I’ve actually never had a snow day on my birthday before. I watched the first season of Heroes on Netflix, and generally stayed in my pajamas all day. It was amazing.

Second of all, my family totally and completely went above-and-beyond this year. For ages, I’ve wanted to see a Broadway show for my birthday. I fully consider myself a “theater kid,” and am always ecstatic to watch a professional production. I also lived in New York City for three months this past summer, but even before that, I’ve always called NYC “my city” just because I like absolutely everything about it (and because it’s fairly close – about two hours away from my home-home). But, of course, ticket prices for a Broadway show are more-often-than-not through the roof – especially when ordered beforehand as opposed to standing in line at the Time Square Ticket Booth.

AladdinThis year, however, Aladdin opens on Broadway. And as anyone who knows me can attest, I’m a Disney nerd; I love Disney World, Disney movies, ABC, Marvel (now a part of Disney)… Anyway, because Aladdin hasn’t even premiered yet – the official date is March 20th – tickets have been a lot cheaper than normal. So, when I opened the small envelope containing my birthday gift for this year, there was (*drumroll*) a ticket to go see Aladdin on Broadway during my spring break. The best part? My mom and sister are coming too.

So, to give my birthday gushing a moral: sometimes, something that you look forward to might not meet previous, and possibly ridiculous, expectations (which has definitely happened to me several times). But other times, something that you’ve been waiting for just might exceed your expectations.

As Disney proposes, dreams can come true, after all.

Older posts

© 2021

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑

Skip to toolbar