The Mail: Allison

This is the last in a series on the real mail I've recently received and the person behind the parcel.

Another butterfly card!

Jesus' words in Matthew 20:16 are appropriate as I conclude this series on the mail: "Thus, the last will be first, and the first will be last." The very first card I received in Coronatime was this handmade beauty from a former coworker and fellow nature lover who lives in the southwestern part of the state. Like me, she works at a university and lives alone. Her first degree is in art, and it definitely shows here! Her second degree is in pastoral ministry, and that is how I met Allison all the way back in 2007.

I had just begun a graduate program in pastoral ministry and a graduate assistantship in campus ministry, a nine-hour drive from home, and was feeling quite out of place in every regard. Prior to moving, I worked in a small Catholic high school as a campus minister for almost two years. It was my first real job, with amazing students and incredibly fun coworkers (so many pranks!). Unfortunately, our school closed as part of a larger diocesan restructuring, and my job prospects were dim (ok, none) in the reorganized school system. It was the perfect time to go to graduate school, but now I was a little fish in a big pond, a girl from Scranton hanging out with incredibly smart and experienced people.

I remember meeting Allison on our staff retreat in August. She and another team member were talking about ABBA, as I recall, and I was like, "Oh, I love ABBA!" and I glommed on to that conversation like COVID-19 on an ACE2 cell receptor. I discovered that Allison was a bundle of energy with a laugh that filled the room. Even better, we were part of the same workgroup: retreats and faith communities. Allison was also new, in a way. She was a graduate assistant from 2003-2005 and had just taken a full-time job at the university.

One of our students captured this serene moment in
Red River Gorge.

Ten days into my stint as a graduate assistant, Allison, our boss Dave, and I went shopping for a year's worth of retreat supplies. This included buying hundreds of candles—I kid you not. Come to think of it, where did we put them all? Since I was new to the area, Dave and Allison decided to treat me to lunch at a famous Cincinnati chili place (no names, people have feelings), and while I went to the restroom, they filled my complimentary oyster crackers with hot sauce. "How are the oyster crackers," they asked. "Good," I replied. Something was off, but I didn't know what, so while I kept eating them, they started giggling more until they could no longer contain themselves about their cunning hot sauce bomb planting. We were all laughing after that and would continue to do so for the next two years together, even after I learned that part of my job was to lead a women's wilderness retreat, which involved backcountry camping in Red River Gorge, Kentucky.

The one where I almost died of hypothermia. Allison is
in green behind me.

The good news was that Allison and I would do this retreat together a total of three times over the course of two years. Our student leaders handled so many parts of the actual camping experience that it didn't matter if we had never slept outside before or cooked food on a camp stove or peed in the woods. We eventually got the hang of these tasks, along with providing spiritual support for our WOMS, as they affectionately called themselves. One night, though, I woke up in the middle of the night feeling dampness all up my back and a chill through my body. Did I went my pants? Nope. It was raining—and it was a cold rain. I was sleeping under the edge of the tarp that was no longer sheltering me from the elements. I said some choice words and attempted to wake up Allison. She was sleeping like a rock. Finally, when I was able to wake her and explain the situation, I changed my shirt and crawled in her mummy bag with her. Together, we shivered for three or four hours until sunrise. Mummy bags are not made for two. We lived to tell the tale (many times over, in fact!), and that was probably the moment that solidified our friendship. Those retreats were also the start of my great love affair with nature, falling in love with the ordinary.

I don't see Allison as much as I would like to, but we stay connected on social media and through her awesome homemade cards. I follow her birding adventures across the country, and she follows my butterfly exploits. Some day when we are free to roam the earth again, we are going to reconnect in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas when the butterfly and birding festivals take place back-to-back. And we'll stay in a place safe from the elements. I can't say the same for the hot sauce bombs, though.