One more month. That’s what I’ve been telling myself lately; just one more month in Erie with its April snow flurries and mood swinging weather typical to Pennsylvania.
My dad said this is Punxatawney Phil’s April Fool’s Day joke, but I’m taking it personally. I went running in Friday’s balmy 50 degrees and the next day it was snowing. What?
Maybe it’s my fault for falling into the trap of believing in an early spring, but it was something to hope for. We were blessed with beautiful weather Easter Sunday, and now we’re stuck with snow.
Real funny, Phil. On the bright side, it really is only one more month.
For me, this means there’s roughly 45 days until I can see my boyfriend again. I’m excited to see my family once I make it through another round of finals and long papers, but I haven’t seen Jason since January.
He’s starting more official training in California now, so I’m taking advantage of it and dropped too much money on a plane ticket to go visit him for a weekend.
One more month until I can finally see the Golden State and the Pacific coast. A few of my favorite professors lived in California and they always talked about it with such nostalgia that it made me want to see it more.
I also have an acquired taste for John Steinbeck, who makes California something like the Promised Land in “The Grapes of Wrath.” When I learned Jason was going to have to spend a few months on the other side of the country this summer, I was more excited than nervous about the distance.
One of the consignment stores was going out of business in July, and I had just dragged Jason and my brother Josh through the store when I saw a sign that said “All items 25 cents.”
God bless them, they didn’t have a choice. When we came out of the thrift store, I had a new flannel and a beat up Cal U sweatshirt that Jason was curious about.
“I don’t know, I always wanted to go there,” I told him. “And my boss’ son went there.”
He shook his head and told me he could help me then, since he was most likely going to be stationed in California at some point.
Sure enough, he is getting me there in May. I’m paying for my trip over, but Jason ultimately gave me an excuse to do some reckless spending and travel to what my dad considers a nightmare. My mom was skeptical when I told her I bought plane tickets, but the likelihood of something going wrong when I’m spending my weekend with a Marine is slim, provided I keep an eye on him.
Jason had his first encounter with false stereotypes this weekend when he went fishing with some of his friends and got stranded in San Diego. How do you get stranded in a city, you ask?
Since the privates aren’t allowed to have cars, they relied on cab transportation. But when they called their driver for a ride home, he told them tough luck and never showed.
My boyfriend lives in a military base city, but that doesn’t mean the city totally supports the base. Leave it to a couple of young guys to establish a bad name for other Marines who just want a ride home.
I can’t imagine why else they had the problems they did, but all I can think is we only have one more month until Jason and I can hopefully blend in with the night life and enjoy San Diego.

KELSEY GHERING
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