Goddamnit. I just wrote like a 3 page post and then accidentally erased it. Grr. So what I was going to say was...
On Thursday night, just as I was about to creep off into dream land, I had a bit of a panic attack. When I came home from Haverford, I could still measure my time at home in weeks, but a new unit of time was in order then. Thursday was just five short days away from Tuesday, my date of departure. There were (read: are) so many things still undone, and suddenly it felt as though I should be doing all of them right now. Of course, that was pre-doctors visits, pre-shopping, pre-marathon car work session.
I'm still a little worried about the time crunch, now that my units have shrunk to hours instead of days, but I feel a little more together now than I did that night. Getting things done which seem distasteful is one of my major failings (see: summer assigned reading, packing), and one of these days it's going to get me into trouble, meaning more trouble than I've already gotten into. I know that there are corps members who are going to be better prepared for this whirlwind introduction to teaching, for the move, and for life on their own, but I'd like to think that I'm not going to be the worst prepared. I mean there have got to be some other flaky ones out there that slipped throught the interview process like I did. I swear, it makes me endearing. Shut up, it does.
The past few days I have just been so scatterbrained, I mean more than usual. There doesn't seem to be any way of alleviating my affliction, other than to get up and go, get out there and start my life. Yikes, start my new life. I'm going out on my own, moving out of the house for real. Tonight, before dinner my mom mentioned in a roundabout way that they were going to miss having me around the house. I thought to myself "shit, I really am moving out." Way to go, Thea, brilliant recognition of the completely obvious. Seriously, though, this is different than the past four times I've "moved out" up North. I'm headed South this time, uncharted territory for an only grudgingly Southern girl.
At least the van seems ready for the trip. Took out the back seat today, and after I finished the flames on the roof, I started packing. Van, by the way, is hot. It is very difficult to describe properly how a freshly chromed bumper makes me feel, even if it is faux chrome. Hot. Also hot is my new suit: white with pinstripes, helloooo Miami. Not quite so hot is all the shit I've still got left to do, the rapidly diminishing space in the back of the car, and Rachael's tales of her roommate (working in finance, duh, were else would Harvard grads go?), already set up in her South Beach swanky apartment. Hey, we can't all be Armenian corporate royalty, can we? No, we can't.
Leaving the house with furniture that I've had my entire life feels like I'm stealing from my parents. I have an old wooden chest which I believe used to be red, as part of my non-gender-specific first decorating scheme, a product of egalitarian hippie parents: Red Yellow, Blue, Green. No pink to be found...maybe that's why I'm so weird. Anyway, theh trunk went pastel, like so many things did, when I was allowed to redecorate in the late 1980's. It might have been magenta in middle school, and the color which currently graces its outer facade is a lovely warm purple which matches some of my current walls. The box used to be my stash of old art supplies, but tonight I kicked out the half-used sketch books and watercolors so that more practical things like clothes and shoes could come to Miami with me. If you open the lid, you can see drips from every single repainting, and there's one or two sides that are still the original wood, where I got tired of painting purple. Outside, it's a slightly dented purple all over; it's hard to tell that it used to be all those different colors. If I were more prone to prophetic omens, I'd assign some sort of similitude to the chest and myself, but I'm not feeling quite that metaphoric yet.
I filled the chest, and as I was dragging it down the hall I noticed that I couldn't carry it by myself. When I get to Miami, I'm going to have to ask someone to help me move it in to my room. Dad gave me a hand getting it in to the car tonight, but he's not going to be there next time. Sometimes I feel very alone in this: I don't know anyone else in TFA either in my region or who's going to be at the institute, but I'm sure that will go away once I get there. I need to not be so stubborn about doing things on my own; sometimes I need to know when to ask for help, it's so hard for me to admit that I can't do things alone. Hopefully I'll find a roommate before I have to move my chest again.
While a sense of independence and solitude have settled in some parts of me, there is also a part of me which is very much not alone. That "not-aloneness" is something new that takes a little getting used to, but I must say it's nice to expect a phone call almost every night. The only down side is that it makes me a little lax on my long-distance friend communication, and I haven't talked to my sister in a shamefully long time. At dinner last week (god, was it only last week?), we toasted "to next year" and I really do think I'm looking forward to it. I'm so hesitant to make long-range plans, but I guess it's contagious. Maybe that's the scariest thing of all. Probably not.
As I drove home from the movie tonight ("Saved" so funny, so sarcastic), thinking about my relationship, I got to pondering relationships in general. It's been quite the topic of discussion in my Va Beach circle, with Mandi and Rachael both separating from significant others this summer, and the theme of power in said relationships is also on everyone's mind. I hadn't thought about power balances too much, maybe it was Mandi's feminist shirt that stuck the idea in my head. For whatever reason, whilst musing on the changes of "power" in my own fledgling relationship, I had an idea: maybe good relationships shouldn't be about power. It's fine to spend the beginning worrying about who's in control, who likes whom more, and all that shit, but I feel as though the healthy relationships that I've seen last are less about power and more about partnership. I think that's a nice little slogan: "Partnership, Not Power." I'm going to keep that in the back of my mind for a while, and feel smug about having thought it. Isn't that nice? Yes.
I feel much better having finally committed some of these thoughts to writing. When they're floating and swirling about in my head, it's so confusing, and not productive. Even though I've clearly wasted over an hour now that it's done, I need to remember (what is this, like personal reminder #8?) that peace of mind and sanity are not something to downplay or ignore. I haven't been writing in my journal lately, life has been so crazy. It would do me good to sit down for a while and just write it down, get it out of my head and move on. But alas, that's another project for another day. Do I ever finish anything? Sigh. [sheepish smile?]
If, on a winter's night a traveler outside the town of Malbork, leaning from a steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down into the gathering shadow...on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story there awaits its end? -italo calvino
Sunday, June 13, 2004
Thursday, June 10, 2004
A New Wardrobe
One of my summer projects, in preparation of the career transition that is speeding into my future, has been the quest for teacher clothes. I need a professional wardrobe which does not include, as Dave likes to call them "bright tight tank tops," a staple of my warm weather fashions. At first the task seemed onerous: expensive, time consuming, and furhtermore frustrating, because I'd be looking for the dreaded conservative clothing.
At first, I went alone. This winter, purchasing the Power Suit with Mandi was indeed fun, but I knew that shopping for teacher clothing was a serious task, and nobody really wants to look in JC Penney for knee length skirts, now do they? No, I thought not. I got on a roll at the mall one day a few weeks ago with some good purchases and then took a break until I came up to Philly to stay at Haverford for a while.
During our two weeks of bonding, the shopping issue came up with my significant other; it was brought to my attention that we've never been shopping together. I figured it was cruel and unusual to drag a guy along to department stores, even [gasp] shoe stores, and the ultimate indignity: the makeup counter. To my genuine surprise, when I mentioned that I might like to go down to Suburban Square to scout out the bargains over Memorial Day weekend, I found myself with an enthusiastic partner willing to give the male perspective on "teacher clothes." We actually had fun that day, and while I ended up with a watch (and belt, both practical purchases but not exactly clothing) instead of a suit, the day was a success.
I don't usually shop with other people, but sometimes it's fun. I've learned to respect my dress, skirt, and pants size and not get so angry at the fact that I'm never going to be a 0 or 1 again. Those were much less happy times for me. I also started to realize that maybe it was time for new clothes, that I'm moving away and starting again, and perhaps a change in feathers is in order. I'm learning how to get clothes that fit my personality, still look nice without being trashy or inappropriate in the classroom, in short, more grown up.
These days I seem to feel either very adult and independent, while preoccupied with things like health insurance, student loans, and buying luggage, or alternately young and vulnerable. Those days, like today, I just want to lay down on a beach and let sweat run out all of my pores. I want my only worry to be the sand fleas, and my only unknown to be the jellyfish in the dark blue water. It's scary to have to think about real-life issues, to talk with my family about what's going on in our lives, and to hear about my Dad being sick. I realized that being a caretaker in the household is a huge resonsibility: having dinner on the table, the house cleaned and functioning really doesn't leave a whole lot of time for screwing around and being unproductive. Maybe that's why I felt so tired when I got home.
But I also realized that even on those "regressive" days when I don't want to assume responsibility for an adult life, I'm not the same Thea that moved to Pennsylvania four years ago; I'm not even the same Thea that came back from Spain a year ago. Today at the beach with MandiTVS (the newest acquisition to my world of AIM), after swimming, sunning, chatting, walking, and drying out I mentioned on the car ride home that the beach doesn't make me bitter any more. It's a place where I feel comfortable and happy, not somewhere populated entirely by "those girls" from my past, a site of insecurity and inferiority. I can go to lay in the sand during the summer and not feel like I'm betraying my social values. There are quite a few things that don't make me bitter anymore, so much so that at times I think a change in nomikers for my blog might be in order, but perhaps I need a reminder that things weren't always so lovely.
I've had a wonderful two weeks. Back in the hot shop again, and I found that I actually kind of knew what was going on; I understood the advice that Chris was giving me, and (again) surprisingly, I look kind of hard core in the pictures that Dave took of me in the studio. I'm making functional things that I designed, which is pretty fucking cool as far as I'm concerned, and I can't wait to find a place to work in Miami. I don't have all the right clothes to be comfortable yet protected from the heat in the studio, but I haven't really developed my glassblowing wardrobe yet. Who knows, maybe that will be my next project. I've got all sorts of looks to try out in the next few years, and while the teaching wardrobe might be the immediate one for the future, I don't know if it's the one that I'm going to be wearing for the rest of my life.
In the meantime, I'm going to forget about immunizations, oil leaks, and high gas prices for another evening, make some pizza at the Warrens, and watch Lindsey Lohan host the MTV movie awards. How's that for an adolescent end to an irresponsible day? Now, if I could only find an outfit that matches the *car*.....
At first, I went alone. This winter, purchasing the Power Suit with Mandi was indeed fun, but I knew that shopping for teacher clothing was a serious task, and nobody really wants to look in JC Penney for knee length skirts, now do they? No, I thought not. I got on a roll at the mall one day a few weeks ago with some good purchases and then took a break until I came up to Philly to stay at Haverford for a while.
During our two weeks of bonding, the shopping issue came up with my significant other; it was brought to my attention that we've never been shopping together. I figured it was cruel and unusual to drag a guy along to department stores, even [gasp] shoe stores, and the ultimate indignity: the makeup counter. To my genuine surprise, when I mentioned that I might like to go down to Suburban Square to scout out the bargains over Memorial Day weekend, I found myself with an enthusiastic partner willing to give the male perspective on "teacher clothes." We actually had fun that day, and while I ended up with a watch (and belt, both practical purchases but not exactly clothing) instead of a suit, the day was a success.
I don't usually shop with other people, but sometimes it's fun. I've learned to respect my dress, skirt, and pants size and not get so angry at the fact that I'm never going to be a 0 or 1 again. Those were much less happy times for me. I also started to realize that maybe it was time for new clothes, that I'm moving away and starting again, and perhaps a change in feathers is in order. I'm learning how to get clothes that fit my personality, still look nice without being trashy or inappropriate in the classroom, in short, more grown up.
These days I seem to feel either very adult and independent, while preoccupied with things like health insurance, student loans, and buying luggage, or alternately young and vulnerable. Those days, like today, I just want to lay down on a beach and let sweat run out all of my pores. I want my only worry to be the sand fleas, and my only unknown to be the jellyfish in the dark blue water. It's scary to have to think about real-life issues, to talk with my family about what's going on in our lives, and to hear about my Dad being sick. I realized that being a caretaker in the household is a huge resonsibility: having dinner on the table, the house cleaned and functioning really doesn't leave a whole lot of time for screwing around and being unproductive. Maybe that's why I felt so tired when I got home.
But I also realized that even on those "regressive" days when I don't want to assume responsibility for an adult life, I'm not the same Thea that moved to Pennsylvania four years ago; I'm not even the same Thea that came back from Spain a year ago. Today at the beach with MandiTVS (the newest acquisition to my world of AIM), after swimming, sunning, chatting, walking, and drying out I mentioned on the car ride home that the beach doesn't make me bitter any more. It's a place where I feel comfortable and happy, not somewhere populated entirely by "those girls" from my past, a site of insecurity and inferiority. I can go to lay in the sand during the summer and not feel like I'm betraying my social values. There are quite a few things that don't make me bitter anymore, so much so that at times I think a change in nomikers for my blog might be in order, but perhaps I need a reminder that things weren't always so lovely.
I've had a wonderful two weeks. Back in the hot shop again, and I found that I actually kind of knew what was going on; I understood the advice that Chris was giving me, and (again) surprisingly, I look kind of hard core in the pictures that Dave took of me in the studio. I'm making functional things that I designed, which is pretty fucking cool as far as I'm concerned, and I can't wait to find a place to work in Miami. I don't have all the right clothes to be comfortable yet protected from the heat in the studio, but I haven't really developed my glassblowing wardrobe yet. Who knows, maybe that will be my next project. I've got all sorts of looks to try out in the next few years, and while the teaching wardrobe might be the immediate one for the future, I don't know if it's the one that I'm going to be wearing for the rest of my life.
In the meantime, I'm going to forget about immunizations, oil leaks, and high gas prices for another evening, make some pizza at the Warrens, and watch Lindsey Lohan host the MTV movie awards. How's that for an adolescent end to an irresponsible day? Now, if I could only find an outfit that matches the *car*.....
Thursday, June 03, 2004
Working...?
It's been a whirlwind week in the life of the Williamsons, that's for sure. I finally started work on the TFA summer curriculum, and my observations at Cape Henry went rather painlessly, contrary to my irrational sense of foreboding and my lack of desire to be in places filled with unfamiliar people. A la 7th Grade: "Thea, if I left you alone in a room full of people and came back an hour later, you still wouldn't know anyone." Thanks, but I think I've grown a little since then.
What completely made my day driving back from CHC was sitting at the stoplight at Great Neck Road. Windows down and a summer breeze blowing through the van, I turn my head to see a huge lifted Chevy right next to me, tires thicker than my body, and the full accessories package. As I wait patiently for my light, an animal sticks its head out the window. We're thinking: "pitbull probably, retriever, maybe a German shepherd." Not even. The demure little furry creature that peered over at me that afternoon was a purebred blue smoke persian cat. Who takes their cat out cruising? Who does that!??! I literally started laughing right there in the car. Then I thought to myself, okay, Mandi drives a truck, maybe it's a girl in there; I could see a girl owning that cat. Not even! The light turns green, and I pull slowly by the window, peering curiously to see who is sitting behind the wheel: the stereotypical surfer-boy with blonde buzzed hair and no shirt. Mirth peals out of my happy little self as I drive away home feeling very satisfied with myself for such cuotidian surprises. Made my day, man. Made my day.
What also made my day the day before was Mom being on drugs. She had a root canal in the morning, and it was my duty to chauffer her to the dentist, because the "anti-anxiety" drug that she took was so potent that she couldn't drive. Shit, I'll say it was potent; she couldn't walk down the hallway without running into doors at 7:45 am, and she didn't even remember driving home 'cause she fell asleep in about 7.4 seconds. I was supposed to go to the beach later on that afternoon, and managed to convince her to let us borrow the nice car, complete with sunroof and CD player (it's the little things, really), so I was all psyched. Yet, when she awoke from my nap and sat through a fashion show of my new "teacher clothes," I realized that the medication hadn't really worn off [when questioned about said fashion show the next day, mere looks of perplexedness followed]. Sitting at the kitchen table, we get into the usual "Welcome Home Thea" discussion:
1. Have you been to the dentist?
2. Have you been to the gynecologist?
Yes, mother. Thank you. 2.a Are you on birth control? Oh dear. Do we really have to have this discussion AGAIN? It seems as though we do. Praised be god, by the time my drugged up mother got to the statement "But you have to be protected from multiple partners!!" I hear an engine come up the driveway. Saved, at last! I excuse myself from the table and exit the room, followed quickly by the cat, ears flat back and hissing. Cathy, with slightly diminished motor-reflexes, dumped a pint sized glass of ice water on Ebony's head. Dry off cat, dry off Mother, dry off kitchen floor, then answer door. Whew, I think it's time for the beach.
Then on Thursday Dave migrated south, my new digital camera came in, and I started work on the car again. Memorial Day happened with *much* success and many crabs, and Alex even made it home for a bit, so all were happy. Whew.
Work continues up here in Ardmore on the car and the TFA reading, I've scheduled another observation on Monday, and I've got two glassblowing lessons coming up which should be exciting. Gotta buy health insurance, gotta pack the car. Man, sometimes I feel like a real "adult." Scary. Alas, it seems as though I don't have quite enough time to bring the blog up to date, but that's a good start. Back to work, Thea.
What completely made my day driving back from CHC was sitting at the stoplight at Great Neck Road. Windows down and a summer breeze blowing through the van, I turn my head to see a huge lifted Chevy right next to me, tires thicker than my body, and the full accessories package. As I wait patiently for my light, an animal sticks its head out the window. We're thinking: "pitbull probably, retriever, maybe a German shepherd." Not even. The demure little furry creature that peered over at me that afternoon was a purebred blue smoke persian cat. Who takes their cat out cruising? Who does that!??! I literally started laughing right there in the car. Then I thought to myself, okay, Mandi drives a truck, maybe it's a girl in there; I could see a girl owning that cat. Not even! The light turns green, and I pull slowly by the window, peering curiously to see who is sitting behind the wheel: the stereotypical surfer-boy with blonde buzzed hair and no shirt. Mirth peals out of my happy little self as I drive away home feeling very satisfied with myself for such cuotidian surprises. Made my day, man. Made my day.
What also made my day the day before was Mom being on drugs. She had a root canal in the morning, and it was my duty to chauffer her to the dentist, because the "anti-anxiety" drug that she took was so potent that she couldn't drive. Shit, I'll say it was potent; she couldn't walk down the hallway without running into doors at 7:45 am, and she didn't even remember driving home 'cause she fell asleep in about 7.4 seconds. I was supposed to go to the beach later on that afternoon, and managed to convince her to let us borrow the nice car, complete with sunroof and CD player (it's the little things, really), so I was all psyched. Yet, when she awoke from my nap and sat through a fashion show of my new "teacher clothes," I realized that the medication hadn't really worn off [when questioned about said fashion show the next day, mere looks of perplexedness followed]. Sitting at the kitchen table, we get into the usual "Welcome Home Thea" discussion:
1. Have you been to the dentist?
2. Have you been to the gynecologist?
Yes, mother. Thank you. 2.a Are you on birth control? Oh dear. Do we really have to have this discussion AGAIN? It seems as though we do. Praised be god, by the time my drugged up mother got to the statement "But you have to be protected from multiple partners!!" I hear an engine come up the driveway. Saved, at last! I excuse myself from the table and exit the room, followed quickly by the cat, ears flat back and hissing. Cathy, with slightly diminished motor-reflexes, dumped a pint sized glass of ice water on Ebony's head. Dry off cat, dry off Mother, dry off kitchen floor, then answer door. Whew, I think it's time for the beach.
Then on Thursday Dave migrated south, my new digital camera came in, and I started work on the car again. Memorial Day happened with *much* success and many crabs, and Alex even made it home for a bit, so all were happy. Whew.
Work continues up here in Ardmore on the car and the TFA reading, I've scheduled another observation on Monday, and I've got two glassblowing lessons coming up which should be exciting. Gotta buy health insurance, gotta pack the car. Man, sometimes I feel like a real "adult." Scary. Alas, it seems as though I don't have quite enough time to bring the blog up to date, but that's a good start. Back to work, Thea.
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
Telltale Signs
There are a few things, all part of an everyday routine, that signify summer to me like nothing else. One of them is the beach. The other is pesto
I'm not talking about going down to the sand and wiggling your toes in the water beach, I'm talking frantically scanning the nearby water for jellyfish, wondering what creatures might be lurking in the dark shadowy water, letting salty hair dry out on a beach towel kind of beach. Yesterday morning, after a productive stint of errand running, I pulled in to 72nd street only to realize that I'd forgotten a most crucial ingredient for said "beach experience:" a towel.
Never fear, though, because *I* have local connections! Dialed up Rachael's cell to find out that the eldest Wagner child was living the high life in the Hudson Valley, sightseeing and dining at the CIA (that's the Culinary Institute of America for the uninitiated). Alas, while I could not accompany her on such gastronomic adventures, she was able to assist me in my quest for a sandy chaise. Having been assured that there was no one present in the house to give me a bathing blanket, I got the low down that the garage wasn't locked, so I pulled up the door and sure enough gained admittance to 7106 Oceanfront. Chatting all the while, I proceed through the laundry room, past the pantry and up the small flight of stairs that opens on the main hallway. As I chuckle at RAW's exploits in the Hudson River Valley, I hear a voice shriek from the patio "Where'd you come from?!"
Uh oh. As it turns out, Theresa, the babysitter had been folding laundry and talking on her cell phone, thus hand not answered the house line. Perplexed, she hurriedly told her friend that she'd call back, while I attempt to explain to both Theresa (in person) and Rachael (on the phone) what's going on. A short chat between the two of them (I relinquished my phone) solved all problems, and I even got a beach towel out of the whole ordeal. I reatreated back out through the garage, closing doors behind me, and then retreated further, out to the beach. Good times, good water, good sun.
Then, in a fit of verdant innovation, I decided that the basil out back needed to be harvested. When the pine nuts and olive oil hit the food processor, I knew it was summer. There are very few things that are as quintessentially summertime than fresh pesto, due to the seasonal availability of the ingredients, and the lackluster qualities of imitation pesto. Firing up the grill for roasted zucchini clinched the deal, and I had to admit to myself that even though it wasn't Memorial Day yet, it was definitely summer.
It's strange how these ordinary weekday events inspire thoughts of vacation and relaxation more than the surf-wear shopping extravaganza of this weekend, and it's 100 degree + heat, but that's just the way it goes in my crazy little head. The *only* downside, and I do mean only, is that schools are beginning to end, and that means that my quests for teaching observations are becoming ever that much more difficult. Well, I'll do what I can do, and then there's not much more I can do, right?
In the meantime, now that I've ordered my new camera (after much deliberation, and impressing the pants off the BestBuy salesclerk with my digital camera knowledge), I'm going to tackle the other half of my summer shopping project, and look for my teacher wardrobe. Off to Lynnhaven mall. Now that I think about it, maybe I'll buy a beach towel while I'm at it.
I'm not talking about going down to the sand and wiggling your toes in the water beach, I'm talking frantically scanning the nearby water for jellyfish, wondering what creatures might be lurking in the dark shadowy water, letting salty hair dry out on a beach towel kind of beach. Yesterday morning, after a productive stint of errand running, I pulled in to 72nd street only to realize that I'd forgotten a most crucial ingredient for said "beach experience:" a towel.
Never fear, though, because *I* have local connections! Dialed up Rachael's cell to find out that the eldest Wagner child was living the high life in the Hudson Valley, sightseeing and dining at the CIA (that's the Culinary Institute of America for the uninitiated). Alas, while I could not accompany her on such gastronomic adventures, she was able to assist me in my quest for a sandy chaise. Having been assured that there was no one present in the house to give me a bathing blanket, I got the low down that the garage wasn't locked, so I pulled up the door and sure enough gained admittance to 7106 Oceanfront. Chatting all the while, I proceed through the laundry room, past the pantry and up the small flight of stairs that opens on the main hallway. As I chuckle at RAW's exploits in the Hudson River Valley, I hear a voice shriek from the patio "Where'd you come from?!"
Uh oh. As it turns out, Theresa, the babysitter had been folding laundry and talking on her cell phone, thus hand not answered the house line. Perplexed, she hurriedly told her friend that she'd call back, while I attempt to explain to both Theresa (in person) and Rachael (on the phone) what's going on. A short chat between the two of them (I relinquished my phone) solved all problems, and I even got a beach towel out of the whole ordeal. I reatreated back out through the garage, closing doors behind me, and then retreated further, out to the beach. Good times, good water, good sun.
Then, in a fit of verdant innovation, I decided that the basil out back needed to be harvested. When the pine nuts and olive oil hit the food processor, I knew it was summer. There are very few things that are as quintessentially summertime than fresh pesto, due to the seasonal availability of the ingredients, and the lackluster qualities of imitation pesto. Firing up the grill for roasted zucchini clinched the deal, and I had to admit to myself that even though it wasn't Memorial Day yet, it was definitely summer.
It's strange how these ordinary weekday events inspire thoughts of vacation and relaxation more than the surf-wear shopping extravaganza of this weekend, and it's 100 degree + heat, but that's just the way it goes in my crazy little head. The *only* downside, and I do mean only, is that schools are beginning to end, and that means that my quests for teaching observations are becoming ever that much more difficult. Well, I'll do what I can do, and then there's not much more I can do, right?
In the meantime, now that I've ordered my new camera (after much deliberation, and impressing the pants off the BestBuy salesclerk with my digital camera knowledge), I'm going to tackle the other half of my summer shopping project, and look for my teacher wardrobe. Off to Lynnhaven mall. Now that I think about it, maybe I'll buy a beach towel while I'm at it.
Saturday, May 22, 2004
Commencement?
Well, I've been home for almost a week now, and it's weird. I've been dividing my time inefficiently (as usual) between
1. unpacking
2. blowing my nose, due to sickness c/o ex-roommate and boyfriend
3. running (yes, even in the heat...it's bathing suit season, eeps)
4. being freaked out about tfa work
5. reading
6. cooking, cleaning, calling, and organizing life in 3704 Kingsgrove Circle
7. being a scullery maid
8. catching up on thank-you's
9. getting sunburnt (duh)
That pretty much describes my week so far, lots of advil cold and sinus, lots of trips to various car repair places, and lots of early mornings (arrrgh). Other than that, it's been a struggle to obey my mantra, avoid the inevitable afternoon thunderstorms, develop pictures, and not drive myself crazy in the house with my parents.
I beat Leroy and Cathy home 'cause my glassblowing lesson got cancelled (sadness), drove across the Bay Bridge in a lavender twilight paying my $10 one way toll. The view from the elevated bridge on Fisherman's Island never ceases to impress me; there's just something about those 17 miles of highway on ocean that no matter what meteorological phenomenon might be present, it just looks cool. That particular night it was a hazy sunset with deep blue-grey water at high tide, chopping against the pillars. My overloaded mini seemed do feel that it was close to rest, because she kicked it into high gear and got me home in decent time. It's too bad that "cheap" gas is $1.90, or I would *really* love that car.
Monday night, in a flurry of activity, I went out on the town with Mark. It felt good to catch up after almost a year, and I'm sure I served to stave off his boredom. What can I say, I'm good for a purpose. A girly martini at Empire made me nice and relaxed after the long drive home, and it felt good to talk about life with a non-Haverfordian for a change (no offense intended, by any means, to all of my nice Haverfordians). Mark's graduation from Duke filled the entire football stadium; they read every single person's name at my graduation. Mark shook hands with Madeline Albright; Dave ran into Paul Krugman on the nature trail at 7:30 Sunday morning before the ceremony. I sometimes forget that not everyone has the same sort of collegiate experiences as I have.
Yet in more ways than one, Mark and I shared some views on the closing of our college days. I alwasy forget that they call it Commencement, never Graduation. Cape Henry called it Commencement, and we agreed that it did feel like one. (Nearly) everyone had a place to go after the ceremony, an exciting new social and academic scene to enter into, and a definite course in life. This time, although I have definite plans and a structured short-term future, I had to agree that it felt more like an ending than a beginning. There are people who I won't see for a long time, most of them I'll never see again, and I worry this time about my desire/discipline to keep in touch with my peripheral acquaintances.
Never had that problem in high school, 'cause I didn't have ANY casual friends. My friends were emotionally bonded to me with tears and memories, cat hairs, and sandy beaches, not to mention siblings and family. Many of the people I know at Haverford aren't bonded to me by much at all, other than a few laughs or some common interests, yet I still care about them. I'll miss the Spanish majors, and the department with its craziness; running into EB on campus and being able to catch up, when we get too busy with our own lives and forget to talk; even saying hi to my customs group every once in a while (dysfunctional as we were); tagging along with klu's ecclectic bunch of SciLi addicts, and seeing Dave's crazy friends. I'll even miss a few CompLitters, and a soccer girl or two.
That said, in my case there is a commencement, a beginning on the horizon, and it's all too close. I have hours of reading to do, scary public schools to visit =), and an intense summer training period that I have to prepare for mentally, financially, and fashionably. That seems to be weighing most heavily on my mind at the moment, not the time apart from the boy, not my meager savings, not my health, not my friends. I miss my friends, I should call them.
I don't really know what else there is to say, other than it's getting hot, and likely to get hotter soon. I wish I had more time.
1. unpacking
2. blowing my nose, due to sickness c/o ex-roommate and boyfriend
3. running (yes, even in the heat...it's bathing suit season, eeps)
4. being freaked out about tfa work
5. reading
6. cooking, cleaning, calling, and organizing life in 3704 Kingsgrove Circle
7. being a scullery maid
8. catching up on thank-you's
9. getting sunburnt (duh)
That pretty much describes my week so far, lots of advil cold and sinus, lots of trips to various car repair places, and lots of early mornings (arrrgh). Other than that, it's been a struggle to obey my mantra, avoid the inevitable afternoon thunderstorms, develop pictures, and not drive myself crazy in the house with my parents.
I beat Leroy and Cathy home 'cause my glassblowing lesson got cancelled (sadness), drove across the Bay Bridge in a lavender twilight paying my $10 one way toll. The view from the elevated bridge on Fisherman's Island never ceases to impress me; there's just something about those 17 miles of highway on ocean that no matter what meteorological phenomenon might be present, it just looks cool. That particular night it was a hazy sunset with deep blue-grey water at high tide, chopping against the pillars. My overloaded mini seemed do feel that it was close to rest, because she kicked it into high gear and got me home in decent time. It's too bad that "cheap" gas is $1.90, or I would *really* love that car.
Monday night, in a flurry of activity, I went out on the town with Mark. It felt good to catch up after almost a year, and I'm sure I served to stave off his boredom. What can I say, I'm good for a purpose. A girly martini at Empire made me nice and relaxed after the long drive home, and it felt good to talk about life with a non-Haverfordian for a change (no offense intended, by any means, to all of my nice Haverfordians). Mark's graduation from Duke filled the entire football stadium; they read every single person's name at my graduation. Mark shook hands with Madeline Albright; Dave ran into Paul Krugman on the nature trail at 7:30 Sunday morning before the ceremony. I sometimes forget that not everyone has the same sort of collegiate experiences as I have.
Yet in more ways than one, Mark and I shared some views on the closing of our college days. I alwasy forget that they call it Commencement, never Graduation. Cape Henry called it Commencement, and we agreed that it did feel like one. (Nearly) everyone had a place to go after the ceremony, an exciting new social and academic scene to enter into, and a definite course in life. This time, although I have definite plans and a structured short-term future, I had to agree that it felt more like an ending than a beginning. There are people who I won't see for a long time, most of them I'll never see again, and I worry this time about my desire/discipline to keep in touch with my peripheral acquaintances.
Never had that problem in high school, 'cause I didn't have ANY casual friends. My friends were emotionally bonded to me with tears and memories, cat hairs, and sandy beaches, not to mention siblings and family. Many of the people I know at Haverford aren't bonded to me by much at all, other than a few laughs or some common interests, yet I still care about them. I'll miss the Spanish majors, and the department with its craziness; running into EB on campus and being able to catch up, when we get too busy with our own lives and forget to talk; even saying hi to my customs group every once in a while (dysfunctional as we were); tagging along with klu's ecclectic bunch of SciLi addicts, and seeing Dave's crazy friends. I'll even miss a few CompLitters, and a soccer girl or two.
That said, in my case there is a commencement, a beginning on the horizon, and it's all too close. I have hours of reading to do, scary public schools to visit =), and an intense summer training period that I have to prepare for mentally, financially, and fashionably. That seems to be weighing most heavily on my mind at the moment, not the time apart from the boy, not my meager savings, not my health, not my friends. I miss my friends, I should call them.
I don't really know what else there is to say, other than it's getting hot, and likely to get hotter soon. I wish I had more time.
Sunday, May 09, 2004
That's all she wrote
I finished the 6th paper about Borges I've written in the past 2 years, banged out my last film paper and threw it in the box at the English house at Bryn Mawr with a flourish. It crashed into the sides as it soared through the air on the second floor, clanging into the cardboard with a sufficiently aggressive sound to terminate my college career.
Went to TLA like a space-cadet to return my overdue movie, and found out that I owe them $25 in late fees for 5 fucking days. That's ridiculous, and I'm going to try and negotiate down to something more reasonable...if possible. Then rushed home to change and meet the rest of the class of 2004 at Founders' Hall to ring the bell in the tower. Whacking the thing with a mallet was rather appropriate, but the whole experience was a little surreal.
I saw students whom I'd never seen before in my life, and I'm sure I was "that girl" for a bunch of people as well. It was awkard, uncomfortably hot, and crowded in the tower, rather a propos for the Haverfordian experience. At the alumni banquet afterwards, I remembered why I don't like large group gatherings, and scrammed with Kaitlyn at the first excuse to leave. Seeing all of those people who I "know" or "knew" freshman year, and masses of people who are outside of my social periphery just kind of weirded me out. I had no desire to be social, to meet new people, or be bubbly. Just sat around with Klu and some of her friends, waved hi some of the crew from Leeds, and then ran like a scared rabbit. Hopefully this is not an indicator of how the rest of Senior Week is going to go. Optimism, Thea, optimism.
And for the time being, that's what I'm going for. I've got loads of shit to do before Miami, and more "homework" from TFA than I care to think about right now, but I'll deal with that later. Tomorrow, Tuesday, and whatnot. In the meantime, I'm starting to get really excited about the move, especially now that my connections at Hot Soup are trying to help me find a place to blow glass down south. That will be *key* for my future happiness =).
I also went to my last first Friday, rather accidentally. I was working at the Soup, set up the gallery and chatted with my teacher for a while, then Dave came and met me for dinner. Walking around Old City on a Friday is so much fun, especially now that it stays light until about 8:30. Out in the city with my boy, looking spiffy and eating wonderful Italian food at Gnocchi made me so happy. Coffee and tiramisu iced the proverbial cake of our evening, and put me in such a good mood that I found it hard to work when we got back to Haverford.
I'm back at the studio clocking in intern hours so that I don't break the bank on my last class here, but the thing that makes me really happy is that I know that I want to keep glass in my life, however I can. Usually I bore myself with my mediocrity in most artistic pursuits, but glass is kind of different. I'm not fantastically good yet, but there are so many technical things to learn, skills to practice, and ideas that I have, I can't wait to try them out. Like so many things, the more I learn about glass, the more accutely I realize what I dont' know/know how to do. With such an obscure, multi-disciplined medium the ignorance learning curve is pretty intense, but almost all of the people I've met by blowing class temper out the humility of constantly learning you're wrong. Glass attracts a certain eccentric personality, and I think that's cool. I often fancy myself a little eccentric sometimes, so it all makes sense.
What doesn't make sense to me at the moment is how different my life is going to be in the next year. So many things are changing that it's a little daunting, but I figure I can give myself at least until Graduation before I freak out about stuff. I deserve a bit of a break, dammit, and I'm going to take one =)
Went to TLA like a space-cadet to return my overdue movie, and found out that I owe them $25 in late fees for 5 fucking days. That's ridiculous, and I'm going to try and negotiate down to something more reasonable...if possible. Then rushed home to change and meet the rest of the class of 2004 at Founders' Hall to ring the bell in the tower. Whacking the thing with a mallet was rather appropriate, but the whole experience was a little surreal.
I saw students whom I'd never seen before in my life, and I'm sure I was "that girl" for a bunch of people as well. It was awkard, uncomfortably hot, and crowded in the tower, rather a propos for the Haverfordian experience. At the alumni banquet afterwards, I remembered why I don't like large group gatherings, and scrammed with Kaitlyn at the first excuse to leave. Seeing all of those people who I "know" or "knew" freshman year, and masses of people who are outside of my social periphery just kind of weirded me out. I had no desire to be social, to meet new people, or be bubbly. Just sat around with Klu and some of her friends, waved hi some of the crew from Leeds, and then ran like a scared rabbit. Hopefully this is not an indicator of how the rest of Senior Week is going to go. Optimism, Thea, optimism.
And for the time being, that's what I'm going for. I've got loads of shit to do before Miami, and more "homework" from TFA than I care to think about right now, but I'll deal with that later. Tomorrow, Tuesday, and whatnot. In the meantime, I'm starting to get really excited about the move, especially now that my connections at Hot Soup are trying to help me find a place to blow glass down south. That will be *key* for my future happiness =).
I also went to my last first Friday, rather accidentally. I was working at the Soup, set up the gallery and chatted with my teacher for a while, then Dave came and met me for dinner. Walking around Old City on a Friday is so much fun, especially now that it stays light until about 8:30. Out in the city with my boy, looking spiffy and eating wonderful Italian food at Gnocchi made me so happy. Coffee and tiramisu iced the proverbial cake of our evening, and put me in such a good mood that I found it hard to work when we got back to Haverford.
I'm back at the studio clocking in intern hours so that I don't break the bank on my last class here, but the thing that makes me really happy is that I know that I want to keep glass in my life, however I can. Usually I bore myself with my mediocrity in most artistic pursuits, but glass is kind of different. I'm not fantastically good yet, but there are so many technical things to learn, skills to practice, and ideas that I have, I can't wait to try them out. Like so many things, the more I learn about glass, the more accutely I realize what I dont' know/know how to do. With such an obscure, multi-disciplined medium the ignorance learning curve is pretty intense, but almost all of the people I've met by blowing class temper out the humility of constantly learning you're wrong. Glass attracts a certain eccentric personality, and I think that's cool. I often fancy myself a little eccentric sometimes, so it all makes sense.
What doesn't make sense to me at the moment is how different my life is going to be in the next year. So many things are changing that it's a little daunting, but I figure I can give myself at least until Graduation before I freak out about stuff. I deserve a bit of a break, dammit, and I'm going to take one =)
Thursday, May 06, 2004
Why I dislike ornithology
As D. and I strolled past the duck pond this afternoon by the paired mallards, it ocurred to me why I disliked birding so much as a small child. I explained that the green shiny male mallard was chattering at the canada goose to "leave off his wife" as the goose 'goosed' (literally! he bit her ass) the female mallard. All the male birds get the pretty colors, the irridescent feathers, and the flashy style. I wanted the girl birds to be pretty, and they weren't. The female of the species was always fat, brown, and dowdy looking, the antithesis of everything that I wanted in a bird. Consequently, we went on bird watching trips looking for all the male birds, which left me rather uninterested in the entire process.
A friend recently observed that "for you, it's all about aesthetics" and yes, I think that's a very astute observation. It pervades most of my thinking, this concept of "style." And not speaking as a preference for the strictly "beautiful" either, but something that pleases my own twisted, quixotic, aesthetic preferences. Sometimes my distraction over appearances (font styles, clothing, food) gets me into trouble when I'd rather do other things than work, but I figure that's just one of the pitfalls inherent in said obsession.
That said, I still managed to absorb a ridiculous amount of bird trivia over the first 13 or so years of existence, so I suppose it wasn't all for naught. My parents would be proud. =)
A friend recently observed that "for you, it's all about aesthetics" and yes, I think that's a very astute observation. It pervades most of my thinking, this concept of "style." And not speaking as a preference for the strictly "beautiful" either, but something that pleases my own twisted, quixotic, aesthetic preferences. Sometimes my distraction over appearances (font styles, clothing, food) gets me into trouble when I'd rather do other things than work, but I figure that's just one of the pitfalls inherent in said obsession.
That said, I still managed to absorb a ridiculous amount of bird trivia over the first 13 or so years of existence, so I suppose it wasn't all for naught. My parents would be proud. =)
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