Editor’s note: for the next two weeks we’ll be running the best of our This Ordinary Day pieces. We’ve enjoyed working with so many great writers and wonderful people and felt it was high time to take a look back at some of what they’ve brought us. If you’d like to see more pieces, please take a trip over to our archives page — it’ll be well worth your time.

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I don’t <em>love</em> Celine Dion’s music. I don’t even really like it that much. While her lyrics are catchy and she has the kind of voice that melds with yours just enough to make you think you’re good, I sing along for reasons of my own.

I sing with Celine because every time I do, it takes me back to my college years in southern Indiana. It seemed like the only place I’d ever been where every season was charming and beautiful in its own right…silent, gorgeous winters; breezy, floral springs; sunny, dense summers; and a fresh, explosive autumn, which never ceased to remind me that God appreciates beauty in its most natural form.

I sing with Celine because every time I do, I go back to singing her songs at the top of my lungs with four other girls, the windows down, the hot, balmy air whipping our hair around, and our destination always paling in comparison to the actual trip. The stops and the detours were some of our best memories as we traveled to support each other, help each other and surprise each other. Their glowing, laughing faces bubbled with life and we quickly became family during our treacherous early 20-somethings. They were much more constant than they are now. But they no less flit in and out of my mind, their features as clear as if they were standing right in front of me. We were writers, runners, jokers, dancers, singers and anything else we wanted to be together. I go back to Megan’s twinkly eyes, Kate’s fiery hair and wit, Jaimie’s reassuring and sometimes snarky grin, Laura’s carefree curls, Anna’s gentle spirit and rich stories, Ashley’s fun yet melancholy presence, Kamper’s bursting joy, and Sam’s big dreams, which always left room for us.

I sing with Celine because every time I do, I go back to Kirkwood Avenue, the hub of life in town. I go back to leisurely walks snuggled in a sweater, watching the burgundy, gold and burnt orange leaves blow around my jeaned legs. I go back to sharing Jiffy Treat with my friends, getting my favorite coffee on the corner or just sitting outside and letting the sun warm my face. I go back to the relaxed outdoor diners, the well-lit bar entrances at night, early-morning breakfasts at the Runcible Spoon and afternoons just lying in the grass, watching the activity, not thinking about what I was missing in class.

I sing with Celine because I wish I could go back to that surprise road trip to Ohio where I was given one of the best birthday gifts ever. I go back to Little 500 weekend, filled with out-of-town friends, late-night dinners and cheering on our team. I go back to sharing an apartment with two beloved girls who loved me through big decisions and not-so-worth-it boys with cookie dough and endless episodes of <em>Grey’s Anatomy</em>. I go back to early morning runs through a quiet campus and sleepless nights fueled by coffee and polar pops and the fear that I may not get my project done. I go back to birthday cakes and movies and grades and group projects and football games and Christmas-shopping trips to Indianapolis.

I sing with Celine because every time I do, I am reminded of the tenderness and fragility of those years. I took it for granted at the time. Tears never went uncounted. Laughter was not only shared but a staple of every single day. And the priorities of life were defined for me: relationships came first and everything else would fall into place.

I sing with Celine because every time I do, I go back to that spring when I stood on the curb of the dorm driveway saying goodbye. I go back to the hugs, the gnawing sense of fear, the waves of nostalgia and the sense that life was going to be different from here on out. I go back to the journal writing and picture taking, the frantic attempt to catch every last moment and freeze time. I go back to the Sample Gates and the joy wrapped up in the congratulating and the dreaming and the breathlessness of not knowing, yet hoping for, what’s next. My teeth were clenched that day and my throat was tight, but the smile plastered on my face was to encourage them, and maybe most of all myself, that though things change, we don’t. And we can always go back.

<a href=”http://theliquidcell.com/thisordinaryday/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/jamie.jpg”><img class=”alignleft size-thumbnail wp-image-12″ title=”jamie” src=”http://theliquidcell.com/thisordinaryday/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/jamie.jpg” alt=”" width=”312″ height=”159″ /></a>

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