We got done with Reslife relatively early - 10pm on Saturday. Tina and I ate my last frozen curry meal in the kitchen and she took a black sharpie and wrote my name on her stomach, and then I took it and did the same, using a little mole for the i. And we were sad, a little bit. The whole weekend when I was moving out it was wet and cool for May. I went to the lake with mom and dad and I sorted some of my crap out, helped dad with dry-wall, went on a canoe ride or two, and worked on my papers. On Tuesday I said goodbye to a misty Missouri morning, drove to Columbia, dumped off my last library books and said goodbye to Monica (^^), and then flew into Florida where I instantly became 'a northerner' in my long pants and plaid shirt. Whatever. I've never been tropical and I don't claim or wish to be.
But Florida does have its charms. Dad bought a boat here. It's a small fishing boat and a bit rickety and makes me nervous when we're going at top speed and hit a wake, especially when I'm holding onto Tidbit. I could just go into jetski mentality and hold on and enjoy the ride, but I'm not 100% confident in any part of the boat's construction, and so I have little images going through my head of the entire front seat snapping off when we hit some wave and sending me, Tidbit, and the chair into the water. Still, it's nice to feel the wind on my face. I've always liked boats for that.
It's good to be back home with Tidbit. Mom's always lamenting that Tidbit's growing old, but other than the white face I don't really see if. She's become more of a beggar which can be annoying, thanks to mom feeding her the occasional piece of salmon skin, popcorn, tortilla chip, etc. Mom just wants to spoil her in her old age but I don't necessarily like the effect it's had on her personality. Still, she runs when she wants to, that funny, off-center sort of run she has where her body rolls a little bit with every stride. And her tail seems to always be wagging. I've missed her.
The next month I'll spend cooking, getting ready for Liisa and the road trip, getting ready for Scotland and study abroad. I have bags to pack, cds to burn, airfare and hotels to book, cameras to buy, and a lot of Skyping to do. The next month, though, is mostly lazy - along with a few celebrations in Melissa's behalf. She's graduating from high school, having her party, turning 18, and starting college at the University of South Florida - St. Petersburg. So that'll all be nice.
Showing posts with label Missouri. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Missouri. Show all posts
May 21, 2010
April 26, 2010
The Camping Trip from Hell. :D
Got back from camping yesterday and when I woke up this morning it was hard to believe everything we'd been through. I mean, except of course for the lingering feeling of being wet and cold, the barely conscious urge to seek high ground at all times, the slight smell of forest and slighter smell of mildew throughout my room, and, of course, the giant tent filling the entirety of my bathroom. I squeezed around that this morning to brush my teeth and wash my face. I have a pimple in the middle of my forehead for the first time in years. I also have a toothache and a headache. Nice. I spent most of the day yesterday getting each of the four tents to safe and dry place so that they wouldn't mold, and I'll likely put in another 1-2 hours this week getting them folded up, sorted, and returned, but such is life. It was the weekend from hell, as predicted, but it was also awesome. Not only because the company started out good and got better (you can't help but bond through such experiences), but because it was beautiful.
We survived and that felt good, but it made me feel more vulnerable rather than more capable. I was forced to understand nature and my own limits. What if the tornado had hit our campground? What if we didn't have cars? What if we hadn't found the coin laundry? What if we weren't going home after only two days of the pain and cold? And how pathetic - we weren't even in the middle of nowhere in anything hellish - just a fierce two day thunderstorm, in a nice state park that even offered hot showers (which we never used because frankly we were wet enough).
I understood something of homelessness when I slept in the laundry room in a shelf above the dryers, feeling exposed and alone and even though it was hard and cold and uncomfortable still feeling bad for being there at all, that I didn't deserve even that... and in the morning after sleeping on and off I woke up to voices and my first thought was "shit, must be park rangers and here come the questions and, since I /am/ more legitimate than a real homeless person, an apologetic removal rather than one by force..." and I squirmed in my sleeping bag and waited but it turns out that time it was just some hick emptying his trailer toilet into the sewer. Relief. Zahra and I slept another fitful hour and then packed up before the real authorities might take offense.
Everything flooded the first night. We were all cozy and happy at first, eating chicken in the big tent by candlelight and then listening to the thunderstorm and feeling very safe and warm and dry inside. Then Lingxiao came in and said she was a bit wet, and Palak seconded. So Palak squeezed in a bit tighter and Lingxiao came over by me. After a little while Palak said her side was becoming unbearable and so was mine. So we sent Palak and Lingxiao into the cars to sleep, and brought in towels and whatever else we could find to try to keep the middle of the tent reasonable for Megan, Zahra, and I. We kicked out Zahra early on because the water kept coming, but she took the last available spot in a car, so Megan and I tried to last the night. Our tiny dry spot got smaller and smaller and we moved closer and closer to one another, catching only the tiniest moments of sleep now and then. Everything was damp, even wet, but we kept shrinking away from the puddles of genuine standing water until even that reached us. When three inches of water reached my face, I told Megan that we would have to figure something out. She elected to sleep in the front seat of one of the cars, and I gathered up my sleeping bag and went for a hike. It was barely even raining by now although the ground was soaking wet. I went up to the bathhouse and found a coin laundry, used all the coins on me to dry the sleeping bag, running laps around the campground while I waited, and then took the sleeping bag up to a little shelf, about a foot wide, perched above the dryer, and there I slept at last for an hour until the birds started singing at dawn.
We went climbing at Elephant Rocks and Johnson Shut In's, weather be damned or close enough. We hiked through the rain and when it stopped we climbed on the rocks, timidly at first and then a bit more ambitiously. We had to be careful, careful because things were slippery when wet and we held onto each others hands firmly and helped each other go higher and higher. At Johnson Shut Ins it was mostly me who went out, the others hadn't been there before and didn't trust it as much as I did. I had almost reached the other side when the rain picked up, turned into one of those torrential moments that can't last. I was in the middle of the river with the waterfalls and rapids on all sides and suddenly it turned as dark as after sunset and the water became dark grey and troubled. Everyone called me to come back. I did so, but calmly, thinking to myself how many times I've done the same thing in summer when the rocks were just as wet from splashing children and I didn't even have shoes on. God was it beautiful in the middle in the rain.
A dry moment at Elephant Rocks...
... and a wet one at Johnson's Shut Ins.As soon as I reached the side my friends were on, the rain stopped and in seconds there was a dramatic reversal. The sun came out and the sky was blue - it was the best weather we'd had the entire weekend. I took off my jacket - I was still soaked underneath, but lighter weight, and Ju, Prite and I went out again. Prite was wearing flip flops and started walking through the shallower parts of the water rather than leaping from rock to rock and Ju and I did. Soon he was soaked and gave up on staying dry at all. He started jumping out of crevices and splashing us, so finally I put down my bag and jumped in after him.
We attempted to go up to Taum Sauk and Mina Sauk. We did stop for a while at the highest point in Missouri and took pictures at the overlook with the last of the short sunshine. As we reached the Mina Sauk fall trail, we realized that it was longer than anticipated and also very muddy and nasty, so we decided to head back to camp. It was a good thing, because no sooner had we gotten into the cars then it started raining again - harder than ever. It was such rain that it still impaired visibility when our wipers were at full speed, and here we were trying to make our way down the mountain. The roads weren't exactly in bad repair, or exceptionally steep, but they were definitely going downhill and were very curvy and windy and gravelly and muddy. I kept reminding myself of how it had been driving through the Smoky Mountains in a rainstorm at 60 mph and I knew I could manage. Just as I was thinking about where I would pull over if it got even the tiniest bit worse, the rain stopped again and the sun came back out. We had beautiful sun all the way back home and the drive was amazing.
That night wasn't nearly as bad as the first had been. After a miniature campfire in the pavilion so that Zahra could at last have the halal s'mores she'd been dreaming of and a game of Bullshit under the yellow lights of the bathroom building, we slept relatively well. We set up a new tent that seemed a bit more solid than the first, plus put it on higher ground, plus the rain wasn't as intense. Still, we were a bit scared after the first night, so Megan and Palak elected to sleep in the cars from the beginning, Prite and Matt took one of the 'safe' tents, Ju and Lingxiao took the other, and Zahra and I decided to sleep up in the laundry area again. It's amazing what can seem like luxury after a disaster.
Only picture of the whole group: Zahra, Megan, Lingxiao, Prite, Matt, Ju, Palak, and me.
Would I do it again? Abso-freaking-lutely. But not tonight please. :)
April 14, 2010
Error: Incompatibility
These are some of my favourite trees on campus (they have a lot of competition, too!). They've got very slender, very strong, twisted branches and they're wonderful to sit in.
This time of year in particular, the branches are covered densely in new green leaves and white blossoms, and hang like curtains. It's beautiful.
Some girls were sitting in one of them as I walked home from class yesterday. People don't do that enough, so normally I would be glad, but as it was I was jealous! I wish I could enjoy the fine weather and beautiful flowers. But we just don't get along.
These are such a nice orange! I can almost taste them when the sun shines through like this...
And these are all butter-yellow and are always swarming with bees and butterflies. ^^
Allergies are the cruelest joke. I'm strong, survive the cold winter, love it even - the greys, the whites, the way it makes brown seem warm and lovely and completely disarm me, leave me unprepared for the incredible beauty of the first green buds of spring... and then allergies arrive. They almost make me want to be dark, depressed, angry again so that I can close my heart to the beauty of spring and call it a choice. As it is, I just feel so excluded, so alien to this environment of sunshine, laughter, and organic healthiness.
Squirrels are rushing about with new energy... birds swoop recklessly in front of pedestrians, the sun glints off their feathers but they move too fast for you to even note their colour half the time...
Amidst all of this, I feel... incompatible with life.
This time of year in particular, the branches are covered densely in new green leaves and white blossoms, and hang like curtains. It's beautiful.
Some girls were sitting in one of them as I walked home from class yesterday. People don't do that enough, so normally I would be glad, but as it was I was jealous! I wish I could enjoy the fine weather and beautiful flowers. But we just don't get along.
These are such a nice orange! I can almost taste them when the sun shines through like this...
And these are all butter-yellow and are always swarming with bees and butterflies. ^^
Allergies are the cruelest joke. I'm strong, survive the cold winter, love it even - the greys, the whites, the way it makes brown seem warm and lovely and completely disarm me, leave me unprepared for the incredible beauty of the first green buds of spring... and then allergies arrive. They almost make me want to be dark, depressed, angry again so that I can close my heart to the beauty of spring and call it a choice. As it is, I just feel so excluded, so alien to this environment of sunshine, laughter, and organic healthiness.
Squirrels are rushing about with new energy... birds swoop recklessly in front of pedestrians, the sun glints off their feathers but they move too fast for you to even note their colour half the time...
Amidst all of this, I feel... incompatible with life.
Golden Dust
Pictures from my last walk in the hills, with Zahra and Nash:
"What's making you sick, Miranda?" asked my Catalan professor the other day. "Is it this golden dust?"
It's worse this year than normal, and I... can't stand being compromised like this...
"What's making you sick, Miranda?" asked my Catalan professor the other day. "Is it this golden dust?"
It's worse this year than normal, and I... can't stand being compromised like this...
March 16, 2010
Suddenly Spring
Spring happens so fast. It catches me by surprise every year.
The grass is suddenly green. Yesterday, it was that yellow colour, which looks dead and disturbing after October's first frosts, but by the end of February seems to me golden, lovely, something like straw, a bit of warmth in a world of cool greys. And suddenly it's green, in some places more than others, and you find yourself blinking at a patch several times, wondering why it's drawing your attention, what's different about it, until you remember the apple flashing from grey to red in The Giver and remember. Colour. Spring. Life.
The ground is so soft. Mud reappears where there was ice all winter. Last week old, dry and freezer-burnt mulch crunched under foot, now they are spreading new mulch, mahogany coloured or as dark as soy sauce, with a rich strong smell that makes me want to put my hands through it, dig and breathe in the energy of the plant life.
In the shade of one of the parking garages, the one by the hospital that I pass on the way to most of my classes, there has been a snow pile all winter. It was taller than I was and lingered from one snowfall to the next, protected by the deep shadows in that corner. It was there as of this afternoon - now approximately one foot tall, with a big wet ring of earth around it, marking it's previous diameter. I think it's the last snow left on campus, and with it goes this winter.
Time goes by so quickly...
I miss Winter, but I'm still glad it's Spring. ^^
The grass is suddenly green. Yesterday, it was that yellow colour, which looks dead and disturbing after October's first frosts, but by the end of February seems to me golden, lovely, something like straw, a bit of warmth in a world of cool greys. And suddenly it's green, in some places more than others, and you find yourself blinking at a patch several times, wondering why it's drawing your attention, what's different about it, until you remember the apple flashing from grey to red in The Giver and remember. Colour. Spring. Life.
The ground is so soft. Mud reappears where there was ice all winter. Last week old, dry and freezer-burnt mulch crunched under foot, now they are spreading new mulch, mahogany coloured or as dark as soy sauce, with a rich strong smell that makes me want to put my hands through it, dig and breathe in the energy of the plant life.
In the shade of one of the parking garages, the one by the hospital that I pass on the way to most of my classes, there has been a snow pile all winter. It was taller than I was and lingered from one snowfall to the next, protected by the deep shadows in that corner. It was there as of this afternoon - now approximately one foot tall, with a big wet ring of earth around it, marking it's previous diameter. I think it's the last snow left on campus, and with it goes this winter.
Time goes by so quickly...
I miss Winter, but I'm still glad it's Spring. ^^
February 16, 2010
Melissa's Visit
Melissa came up to visit me for the weekend. It was a lot of fun - she met all of my friends and visited most of my favourite places. We made a lot of jokes about being Valentine dates, and ate rediculous amounts of frozen yogurt.
Here we are at Rockbridge! From left: Me, Melissa,, Zahra, Sarah, and Jenny.
Here we are in the Devil's Icebox! :)
<3 you sissie.
Here we are at Rockbridge! From left: Me, Melissa,, Zahra, Sarah, and Jenny.
Here we are in the Devil's Icebox! :)<3 you sissie.
January 28, 2010
Missouri - Mark Twain National Forest
I've been reading up about our Mark Twain National Forest. There's some lovely prose on that website.
Missouri’s only national forest, the Mark Twain, encompasses roughly 1.5 million acres, mostly within the Ozark Highlands. Located across southern Missouri and northern Arkansas, the Ozark Highlands are an ancient landscape characterized by large permanent springs, over 5,000 caves, rocky barren glades, old volcanic mountains and nationally recognized streams. Portions of the Ozarks were never under oceans, nor were the areas glaciated.
A trademark of the Mark Twain is plant and animal diversity. The area is described by The Nature Conservancy as a “biologically rich ecological resource.” The eastern upland oak hardwood and southern pine forests converge here with the drier western bluestem prairie of the Great Plains, creating a distinctive array of open grassy woodlands and savannas. This rich mixture of unique, diverse and ecologically complex natural communities (some 65 in all) provides a home for nearly 750 species of native vertebrate animals and over 2,000 plant species. The number of species that are endemic or restricted solely to the Ozarks eco-region (almost 200 species) rivals those found in the tropics or glacial eco-regions.
Geologic features associated with the karst terrain and igneous outcroppings of the Ozarks provide a wide variety of interest to the landscape. There are sheer rock faces, underground caverns, natural bridges, sinkholes, knobs and caves throughout the Forest. Caves provide habitat for unique animals like cave salamanders and southern cave fish. Shut-in creeks, whose enormous rock boulders restrict flow, create nationally renowned white water kayaking and canoeing opportunities.
Due to the karst topography, there is an abundance of natural springs found in the area. The Ozarks are home to the world’s largest collection of “first magnitude” springs (those with over 65 million gallons of water daily flow). Almost 3,000 springs feed rivers and streams that flow year round. Many of these streams are so clear that ten feet of depth appears to be only one foot deep.
- http://www.fs.fed.us/r9/forests/marktwain/about/niche_statement/index.php
October 21, 2009
Explore Your Environment
Some of the best advice my dad has ever given me is "Wherever you are, take the time to explore your environment". Now, last year that environment was Uni. Just being in college, in general. Campus. Pangaea. The sheer wonder of being far, far away from home. I can also chalk some of my hesitance to wander away up to the company I kept and my lack of wheels. Now, suddenly, I have friends who like to walk, car keys, and an eye on the horizon. And it's awesome.
Last weekend I went to St. Louis on a day trip. I know, crazy, right? Nineteen hours from start to finish, as we left at 7 am and finally got home at 2 am the next morning. The morning was cold and beautiful as we raced the dawn through mid-Missouri. The fall leaves were beautiful and we hit a valley filled with bright white fog. The grass there was soaking wet and glittered like diamonds as the soft, low lying rays of the morning sun hit them.
We grabbed Lucia in St. Louis and my, it was nice to see her. From there we went downtown, went through the courthouse in a rush, took pictures in front of the arch when the sky was grey and the monument seemed to gleam like liquid silver, and then did the mandatory ride to the top. I've gone up the arch about once every three years in my life. Any more and it would drive me insane - but this much is just about right. We rode the tiny capsule elevators all the way up and took laughing, silly, high altitude and crowded spaces pictures.
Zahra needed to pray, so we found her a spot on the arch grounds, in dappled sun and shade, and the rest of us ran to the nearby hillside which was blanketed in the yellow and gold leaves of two beautiful trees. Allan and I rolled down the hillside in a 'roly-poly contest', I believed he called it. Lucia took pictures of us rolling, collapsed in heaps, laughing.
Afterwards, a quick lunch at Hardee's behind the courthouse, and a few minutes running about the fountains there - one dyed blood red, the other cascading like a modernist waterfall down a series of steps. I made my way out to the center of it, trying not to get my feet wet. The weather by then was beautiful, absolutely ideal for October.
We went on to Forest Park, got in the zoo a few minutes before it was due to close. The zoo is free, so we didn't care much. At first it seemed that none of the animals were out but the birds - although there were no shortage of those, from the peacocks that wander the zoo grounds freely, to flamingos in the bird cage, to ostriches strutting around in open air safari exhibits. As the clock hit five, closing time, we made it to Big Cat Country, where we found a last enclave of late to leave zoo guests and a variety of beautiful tigers, pumas, leopards, and lions. We felt so silly, being there when the zoo was supposed to be closed, listening to the cats get impatient for their dinner. The hill was decorated with huge faux boulders, and it felt somewhat like a fortress as the sun sunk lower in the sky and bathed us all in golden light.
At length we headed for the exit, found one more animal in the form of a restless bear. We watched his fruitless attempts to climb to the top of his tree with his feed buckets and rubber ropes. We had him to ourselves. He was aware of our presence, looked at us. Once he stared straight at us and the hot air from his nostrils turned into white steam in the cooling air. The way his fur moved was very interesting. It was so thick, so tight. At times the bear stood on his hind legs and his movements seemed almost human.
We finally left, just in time to avoid the groups of workers who were heading out in search of lost and 'lost' zoo guests. As the sun set we took pictures in front of the art museum and it's proud statue of St. Louis himself.
The last item on our itenerary was the City Museum. Amy and Esther still seemed to think it would be an actual museum. I hastened to correct them. "It really doesn't merit the title 'museum'," I said. "It's more like a giant playground." I could tell, though, that my words didn't really sink in until we arrived, until they saw the sheer expanses of twisted metal and plaster that formed slides, ballpits, rope climbs, tunnels made of 'trees', castles, a series of caves and caverns that twisted far below our feet, a network of madness that brings out the best feelings of childhood. It's impossible to look at it all and not think, "If only I'd found this as a child!" And to that I reply, "Who said anything about being a child?"
Then I'm off, leading them through the tunnels, up slopes that seem too steep, through tunnels that seem too tight, up to platforms that seem unreachable. Esther is afraid of heights, but step by step she makes it to the two real airplanes that hang suspended in the sky above the city museum, the only passage defined by a tunnel made of wire and full of gaps large enough for arm or leg. The night air is cold but it seems right for such a place. Our adrenaline and energy is racing and our skin is warm and red. The metal is freezing cold under our hands as we fly further and further through the darkness. Below us, bonfires are lit and burn, tossing up sparks that disappear somewhere in the air between us and the ground.
When we've exhausted ourselves - when it's already late enough - we head to The Loop for dinner at the Melting Pot. The directions Google gave us are wrong and we spend twenty minutes searching for an address that doesn't exist, like Platform 9 3/4. When we find it at last it is late, past ten, but when we step inside it is warm and we are engulfed in the smells of rich fondue. We laugh, unwind, relax, eat bread dipped in swiss cheese fondue, mushroom caps stuffed with 'green goddess', filet mignon and duck cooked in coq au vin, and, for desert, a yinyang of dark and milk chocolate fondue with cheesecake, oreo covered marshmallows, strawberries, and brownies...
We head back through Missouri in the pitch black of the early morning. But it's the weekend, we can sleep as late as we want once we reach home, and, most importantly, we are free to do whatever the hell we want. It feels good.
Last weekend I went to St. Louis on a day trip. I know, crazy, right? Nineteen hours from start to finish, as we left at 7 am and finally got home at 2 am the next morning. The morning was cold and beautiful as we raced the dawn through mid-Missouri. The fall leaves were beautiful and we hit a valley filled with bright white fog. The grass there was soaking wet and glittered like diamonds as the soft, low lying rays of the morning sun hit them.
We grabbed Lucia in St. Louis and my, it was nice to see her. From there we went downtown, went through the courthouse in a rush, took pictures in front of the arch when the sky was grey and the monument seemed to gleam like liquid silver, and then did the mandatory ride to the top. I've gone up the arch about once every three years in my life. Any more and it would drive me insane - but this much is just about right. We rode the tiny capsule elevators all the way up and took laughing, silly, high altitude and crowded spaces pictures.
Zahra needed to pray, so we found her a spot on the arch grounds, in dappled sun and shade, and the rest of us ran to the nearby hillside which was blanketed in the yellow and gold leaves of two beautiful trees. Allan and I rolled down the hillside in a 'roly-poly contest', I believed he called it. Lucia took pictures of us rolling, collapsed in heaps, laughing.
Afterwards, a quick lunch at Hardee's behind the courthouse, and a few minutes running about the fountains there - one dyed blood red, the other cascading like a modernist waterfall down a series of steps. I made my way out to the center of it, trying not to get my feet wet. The weather by then was beautiful, absolutely ideal for October.
We went on to Forest Park, got in the zoo a few minutes before it was due to close. The zoo is free, so we didn't care much. At first it seemed that none of the animals were out but the birds - although there were no shortage of those, from the peacocks that wander the zoo grounds freely, to flamingos in the bird cage, to ostriches strutting around in open air safari exhibits. As the clock hit five, closing time, we made it to Big Cat Country, where we found a last enclave of late to leave zoo guests and a variety of beautiful tigers, pumas, leopards, and lions. We felt so silly, being there when the zoo was supposed to be closed, listening to the cats get impatient for their dinner. The hill was decorated with huge faux boulders, and it felt somewhat like a fortress as the sun sunk lower in the sky and bathed us all in golden light.
At length we headed for the exit, found one more animal in the form of a restless bear. We watched his fruitless attempts to climb to the top of his tree with his feed buckets and rubber ropes. We had him to ourselves. He was aware of our presence, looked at us. Once he stared straight at us and the hot air from his nostrils turned into white steam in the cooling air. The way his fur moved was very interesting. It was so thick, so tight. At times the bear stood on his hind legs and his movements seemed almost human.
We finally left, just in time to avoid the groups of workers who were heading out in search of lost and 'lost' zoo guests. As the sun set we took pictures in front of the art museum and it's proud statue of St. Louis himself.
The last item on our itenerary was the City Museum. Amy and Esther still seemed to think it would be an actual museum. I hastened to correct them. "It really doesn't merit the title 'museum'," I said. "It's more like a giant playground." I could tell, though, that my words didn't really sink in until we arrived, until they saw the sheer expanses of twisted metal and plaster that formed slides, ballpits, rope climbs, tunnels made of 'trees', castles, a series of caves and caverns that twisted far below our feet, a network of madness that brings out the best feelings of childhood. It's impossible to look at it all and not think, "If only I'd found this as a child!" And to that I reply, "Who said anything about being a child?"
Then I'm off, leading them through the tunnels, up slopes that seem too steep, through tunnels that seem too tight, up to platforms that seem unreachable. Esther is afraid of heights, but step by step she makes it to the two real airplanes that hang suspended in the sky above the city museum, the only passage defined by a tunnel made of wire and full of gaps large enough for arm or leg. The night air is cold but it seems right for such a place. Our adrenaline and energy is racing and our skin is warm and red. The metal is freezing cold under our hands as we fly further and further through the darkness. Below us, bonfires are lit and burn, tossing up sparks that disappear somewhere in the air between us and the ground.
When we've exhausted ourselves - when it's already late enough - we head to The Loop for dinner at the Melting Pot. The directions Google gave us are wrong and we spend twenty minutes searching for an address that doesn't exist, like Platform 9 3/4. When we find it at last it is late, past ten, but when we step inside it is warm and we are engulfed in the smells of rich fondue. We laugh, unwind, relax, eat bread dipped in swiss cheese fondue, mushroom caps stuffed with 'green goddess', filet mignon and duck cooked in coq au vin, and, for desert, a yinyang of dark and milk chocolate fondue with cheesecake, oreo covered marshmallows, strawberries, and brownies...
We head back through Missouri in the pitch black of the early morning. But it's the weekend, we can sleep as late as we want once we reach home, and, most importantly, we are free to do whatever the hell we want. It feels good.
October 05, 2009
Winter is Coming
I wasn't really around, but I heard tell that it was a cool summer here in Missouri. No one minded, I'm sure! But fall seems to be coming hard and fast, and now I'm thinking that this year might be a cold one all around, with a long winter ahead. Last year I wore a tanktop to renfest. This year, renfest is next weekend. For Halloween last year, I wore a bodice and a very skimpy sort of undershirt thing underneath, and I spent all night in it until we walked two or three miles back to Laws in the wee hours of the morning. It was chilly, yes, but it was bearable, and that's the point. This is Missouri, so things can still change, but so far we're looking at a cold year.
In the mornings we can see our breath. The green leaves still on the trees look silly. When I walk outside, I see first sunlight and green, and the unmistakable smell of winter is startling. Yes, winter already. Now and then I catch a whiff of autumn too, but already I smell winter. And it's only October. Poor Zahra, her first winter and it's promising to be a hard one! I myself, being from the "Heart of Winter", (as I call Missouri to mess with foreigners from more summery lands), will be fine, of course.
Yesterday Allan, Yannick, Esther, Amy, and I went to Baja Grill. Yannick was only wearing a thin jacket and he was complaining bitterly about how cold it was. Not wanting to hear that, I finally took off my jacket and threw it at him. I figured that he must really be cold if he was desperate enough to wear a small girl's jacket. He zipped it up all the way.
Baja was yummy and afterward we went still further, towards the agricultural buildings, a part of campus I like to refer to as the ends of the earth. On the way back everyone complained about the cold except for Allan and I, although they were all in pants, shoes, and jackets, while Allan was wearing shorts and flip flops and I was wearing sandals and only a medium-sleeved shirt. We reveled in a sudden sense of Scottish Superiority.
And I really wasn't even too cold. I felt the cool air, certainly, but I didn't feel in a rush to get into the buildings or anything like that. My fingers did lose a bit of their dexterity, though, so I kept my fists together to keep them a bit warmer. It would have all been fine and good, if Yannick hadn't gone off and smoked a cigarette while still wearing my jacket.
This is a major fail. I don't have my winter clothes yet and I'm going to need that jacket for a while. And now it smells... indescribable... X(
In the mornings we can see our breath. The green leaves still on the trees look silly. When I walk outside, I see first sunlight and green, and the unmistakable smell of winter is startling. Yes, winter already. Now and then I catch a whiff of autumn too, but already I smell winter. And it's only October. Poor Zahra, her first winter and it's promising to be a hard one! I myself, being from the "Heart of Winter", (as I call Missouri to mess with foreigners from more summery lands), will be fine, of course.
Yesterday Allan, Yannick, Esther, Amy, and I went to Baja Grill. Yannick was only wearing a thin jacket and he was complaining bitterly about how cold it was. Not wanting to hear that, I finally took off my jacket and threw it at him. I figured that he must really be cold if he was desperate enough to wear a small girl's jacket. He zipped it up all the way.
Baja was yummy and afterward we went still further, towards the agricultural buildings, a part of campus I like to refer to as the ends of the earth. On the way back everyone complained about the cold except for Allan and I, although they were all in pants, shoes, and jackets, while Allan was wearing shorts and flip flops and I was wearing sandals and only a medium-sleeved shirt. We reveled in a sudden sense of Scottish Superiority.
And I really wasn't even too cold. I felt the cool air, certainly, but I didn't feel in a rush to get into the buildings or anything like that. My fingers did lose a bit of their dexterity, though, so I kept my fists together to keep them a bit warmer. It would have all been fine and good, if Yannick hadn't gone off and smoked a cigarette while still wearing my jacket.
This is a major fail. I don't have my winter clothes yet and I'm going to need that jacket for a while. And now it smells... indescribable... X(
September 14, 2009
The Asian Minority
At one point, on the river, Ju and I realized that we hadn't seen Fangbai for a while. We decided to wait for her, since we didn't know what she might have gotten into. So we found a quiet part of the river and stopped paddling, just drifted and ate some more of our lunch. A long time went by and we started to think that maybe we had been mistaken, and that Fangbai had been ahead of us. At this point some other people, not from our group, were going past.
Ju: "Why don't we just ask them if Fangbai is behind us?"
Me: "But they don't know who she is?"
Ju: "Excuse me! Are there three Asian people in a boat behind us?"
Guy: "Yeah."
Ju: "See? Was that so hard?"
Haha. No, not really. But believe it or not I think I felt the effect of having been to Japan. On a river in Mid-Missouri, yes, it makes sense that an Asian canoeist would be unusual enough that someone would remember seeing them and know who we were talking about with just the one adjective. I might have come more quickly to that conclusion a year ago.
But my trip to Japan seems to have changed things a bit. I no longer take it for granted that Caucasians form the majority. In some ways, that's a good thing. But then again, this situation demonstrates the usefulness of categories, and yes, even 'stereotypes' in a sense, for efficient communication.
Ju: "Why don't we just ask them if Fangbai is behind us?"
Me: "But they don't know who she is?"
Ju: "Excuse me! Are there three Asian people in a boat behind us?"
Guy: "Yeah."
Ju: "See? Was that so hard?"
Haha. No, not really. But believe it or not I think I felt the effect of having been to Japan. On a river in Mid-Missouri, yes, it makes sense that an Asian canoeist would be unusual enough that someone would remember seeing them and know who we were talking about with just the one adjective. I might have come more quickly to that conclusion a year ago.
But my trip to Japan seems to have changed things a bit. I no longer take it for granted that Caucasians form the majority. In some ways, that's a good thing. But then again, this situation demonstrates the usefulness of categories, and yes, even 'stereotypes' in a sense, for efficient communication.
September 07, 2009
Routine Flights
Today I came back home to Columbia after a weekend in Dallas. Usually I absolutely love traveling, am so filled with excitement and positive energy that even annoying things either fade completely away or become part of the epic. This time, however, the flights and drives were isolated and just felt routine. I imagine that my dad feels this way a lot, but it's new to me.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
I was amused by the airport people's expectations of me.
"Take care, dear."
"It's the second stop. God bless you."
"Are you old enough to be traveling by yourself?"
Me: "I really hope so, seeing as I've flown by myself internationally. And I am nineteen, just so you know."
If people actually see me in action, they rarely say any of these silly things. I check my gate and time on the flight monitor without slowing down, I never pause and look confused, I switch my bag from rolling to carrying and back again quicker than any but the most experience business travelers. So take that.
-----------------------------------------------------------
On the flight from Dallas into Memphis, we were on a smallish plane. There were twenty rows, with four seats in each row. The girls sitting across from me kept freaking out about how it was the smallest plane they'd ever been on. There was pretty bad turbulence at one point, and they shrieked a bit. When we got off, I heard other passengers complaining to waiting family members in the terminal about what a small plane, what a bumpy ride it had been. I laughed.
The plane from Memphis to Columbia had 20 passengers, one flight attendant, and of course the pilots. It was a propeller plane and shook the entire trip.
--------------
With aspirations as lofty as mine, you would think I'd prefer to call some big city home. You know, someplace cosmopolitan and famous and connected. Actually, I'm proud of being a bit provincial. And while Tokyo and Paris definitely had their charm, I also have a perhaps less common fondness for the smaller, more out of the way destinations, and regular flights on a twenty seat plane, among other things, are helping prepare me for them.
And there's something wonderful about Columbia. It's a bit of brilliant civilization surrounded by a mix of ruralness and wilderness that I love just as much. :) I'm not sure I'll be one of the many graduates who stay here after finishing their studies, but I will enjoy my two and a half remaining years in Mid Missouri.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
I was amused by the airport people's expectations of me.
"Take care, dear."
"It's the second stop. God bless you."
"Are you old enough to be traveling by yourself?"
Me: "I really hope so, seeing as I've flown by myself internationally. And I am nineteen, just so you know."
If people actually see me in action, they rarely say any of these silly things. I check my gate and time on the flight monitor without slowing down, I never pause and look confused, I switch my bag from rolling to carrying and back again quicker than any but the most experience business travelers. So take that.
-----------------------------------------------------------
On the flight from Dallas into Memphis, we were on a smallish plane. There were twenty rows, with four seats in each row. The girls sitting across from me kept freaking out about how it was the smallest plane they'd ever been on. There was pretty bad turbulence at one point, and they shrieked a bit. When we got off, I heard other passengers complaining to waiting family members in the terminal about what a small plane, what a bumpy ride it had been. I laughed.
The plane from Memphis to Columbia had 20 passengers, one flight attendant, and of course the pilots. It was a propeller plane and shook the entire trip.
--------------
With aspirations as lofty as mine, you would think I'd prefer to call some big city home. You know, someplace cosmopolitan and famous and connected. Actually, I'm proud of being a bit provincial. And while Tokyo and Paris definitely had their charm, I also have a perhaps less common fondness for the smaller, more out of the way destinations, and regular flights on a twenty seat plane, among other things, are helping prepare me for them.
And there's something wonderful about Columbia. It's a bit of brilliant civilization surrounded by a mix of ruralness and wilderness that I love just as much. :) I'm not sure I'll be one of the many graduates who stay here after finishing their studies, but I will enjoy my two and a half remaining years in Mid Missouri.
September 04, 2009
Nativity
I'm out on the highway, feeling the engine roar as I accelerate, soaring past miles and miles of my Missouri - grasses green and golden and all the late-summer wildflowers, cresting gentle hills, passing through shadows the setting sun casts through the pines, and I feel free... ordinary... native.
It is a strange and wonderful feeling.
It is a strange and wonderful feeling.
August 31, 2009
Rose Bush
It's cold suddenly, as it shouldn't be in Missouri until October at the earliest.
And one day it drizzled, also a rare event. We felt as though we were walking through misters at an amusement park. One boy said he wished it would just rain, it would be better. I had to disagree. My socks were dry. :) Still, even our rains are more of a summer phenomenon. It was strange for it to be so cool so early and so wet so late.
On that drizzly day, I had to go to the student health center between classes. I debated running back for my jacket, then decided to push through. I took a funny turn, one I wouldn't have taken unless I had taken the middle road further than average, debating whether or not to head back to South.
And in an artificial canyon sheltered from the wind by two buildings, I came across a rosebush. The bright red flowers and deep green leaves were covered in silver droplets.
I had time, I stopped and stared. Two minutes went by. Then the wind came through a gap between the buildings and rustled the branches of my rosebush - the droplets lifted in a silver mist and washed over me.
And one day it drizzled, also a rare event. We felt as though we were walking through misters at an amusement park. One boy said he wished it would just rain, it would be better. I had to disagree. My socks were dry. :) Still, even our rains are more of a summer phenomenon. It was strange for it to be so cool so early and so wet so late.
On that drizzly day, I had to go to the student health center between classes. I debated running back for my jacket, then decided to push through. I took a funny turn, one I wouldn't have taken unless I had taken the middle road further than average, debating whether or not to head back to South.
And in an artificial canyon sheltered from the wind by two buildings, I came across a rosebush. The bright red flowers and deep green leaves were covered in silver droplets.
I had time, I stopped and stared. Two minutes went by. Then the wind came through a gap between the buildings and rustled the branches of my rosebush - the droplets lifted in a silver mist and washed over me.
August 29, 2009
My Life/Japan Stuff Coming: Tomorrow
Today Zahra and I went to Rock Bridge. I showed her around and we clambered all over the stream with remarkable surefootedness. ;) Then we studied a bit sitting on a large rock and utterly at the mercy of the sun, which seemed to regulate the temperature more than normal today.
I also cleaned a bit in the morning. It thrills me when my stuff is arranged nicely. But not in a satisfaction sort of way, more of a giggly, feel like I'm living in a hotel room kind of way. I never keep my stuff organized. I have a hard time remembering that this is my stuff. But it's also very nice to live in. In some ways it takes a lot of upkeep... or does it really? My mom always said that I'd never save a dollar driving around on empty, and she's right, of course, and I feel like it might apply in this case as well. If my room is a cesspool and I'm working each day to clear a walking path, does it ultimately require any less upkeep time than a more orderly room? A puzzle for the ages. So far I'm winning the struggle to be organized, just barely. And next week I get more money, which means printer plug ins and paper, a rolling organizer thing (which will help a lot... no more excuses for ANYTHING to just sit around), a paper towel holder, and a water boiler.
Tomorrow I've a bit of homework and I'm on call in the evening, but I'm also planning a writing frenzy. I want to finish the email to Liisa I'm more than halfway through, and I want to start writing about Japan. It's started hitting me. It was absolutely amazing and then I needed to concentrate on other stuff when I came home, so I distanced myself from it and it became not quite real. Now I'm having some sort of flashback. I can start remembering.
I also cleaned a bit in the morning. It thrills me when my stuff is arranged nicely. But not in a satisfaction sort of way, more of a giggly, feel like I'm living in a hotel room kind of way. I never keep my stuff organized. I have a hard time remembering that this is my stuff. But it's also very nice to live in. In some ways it takes a lot of upkeep... or does it really? My mom always said that I'd never save a dollar driving around on empty, and she's right, of course, and I feel like it might apply in this case as well. If my room is a cesspool and I'm working each day to clear a walking path, does it ultimately require any less upkeep time than a more orderly room? A puzzle for the ages. So far I'm winning the struggle to be organized, just barely. And next week I get more money, which means printer plug ins and paper, a rolling organizer thing (which will help a lot... no more excuses for ANYTHING to just sit around), a paper towel holder, and a water boiler.
Tomorrow I've a bit of homework and I'm on call in the evening, but I'm also planning a writing frenzy. I want to finish the email to Liisa I'm more than halfway through, and I want to start writing about Japan. It's started hitting me. It was absolutely amazing and then I needed to concentrate on other stuff when I came home, so I distanced myself from it and it became not quite real. Now I'm having some sort of flashback. I can start remembering.
July 05, 2009
Homesick
It rarely happens to me that I wake up in the night, unsure of my surroundings. But it's happened here, in the darkest hours of the night, when I'm woken by rain on tile roofs and the swishing of palms on my windowpane. I stretch, am surprised by the cool metal of the home gym as my arm hits the weight machine, which comes right up to the edge of my mattress. I don't know where I expected to find myself - at home on Burgundy Lane, or back in Laws.
Laws, Mizzou, last year, is an awkward memory for me. There are moments, especially in the waking day, arguing with my family, that it's hard to believe I ever went away, and lived for a year alone, with a bunch of loveable and crazy foreigners (and even crazier Americans) in the huge concrete monstrosity of Laws hall. Mayumi, Mitsuki, Ben, Clint, Mimi, Laurence, Tomomi... Timur, Santi, Pat and Maria... even Laura, Tabi, and Jorge to a lesser extent - is it really possible that we met, lived together for a long year, and then, now, it is over? And Mayumi, having been my roommate, that is the strangest.
When I wake up at night I don't wonder about having lived there - the whole environment is absolutely present in my mind, less as a memory than as a reality. Without my eyes, I could climb out of my bed, make my way out of my room, and to the bathroom, or perhaps down the stairs. I might even get as far as Dobbs.
But no, I am here in Florida. And that's strange indeed. My family is here and all of my things. The furniture and paintings that surrounded me throughout my childhood have been transplanted to a new climate, almost a new nation. It feels like a crossover fanfiction or something, strange.
I am vaguely aware that this is one of those magical places people leave their own homes and spend loads and loads of money to come to and go to the beach rain or shine and take pictures and bring home memories. And that's strange. I've never lived in such a place before, and I always thought that if I did I should appreciate it a bit more. But the beach isn't really my scene, at least not yet.
When I walk on the beach I feel old. I feel like walking slowly and watching clouds and sunsets and seagulls and thinking about my life, maybe even writing about it. Except that I haven't hardly lived my life. It is a peaceful place - no place for me now. I am not ready for peace.
Being transplanted has had another effect on me - one that raises questions and may have long term implications. Or it may mean nothing. I am homesick for Missouri. It happens a little bit with silly things, like longing to hear "Dierbergs" and "Schnucks" instead of "Winn Dixie". And it happens more with bigger things, like Winter.
I miss it for myself, a bit. I watched a few minutes of Greys Anatomy and Meridith walked outside in a coat, the whole world grey and her breath coming out in a mist, and I felt it in my chest. I am so grateful that I am going back to Missouri in the fall - I'm not sure I could manage without the winter. Go ahead and tell me it makes no sense, I already know it.
But it gets more complex than a longing for snow - I was playing Rosetta Stone, and some of the pictures show late fall, and early winter... and in no exotic way whatsoever, but perhaps a little girl in a little coat, smiling shyly and standing in front of a suburban street with bare trees and pale grass behind, the last few leaves of fall dancing on the lawn. That street could be in my old neighborhood, that coat could come from Wal Mart or Target, that child could be my own -
I understand suddenly, this want to have your children grow up in the same way you did. It gives me a certain feeling to imagine my children growing up in colourful warm parkas, playing with scattered leaves, feeling their cheeks and ears and nose turn bright red in the cold, going door to door on halloween, going off to the woods because they know thick winter clothing makes the thorns more bearable, cracking frozen puddles with their feet, watching sleet hit the windows as they snuggle under blankets indoors...
A lot of images go through my mind. I don't require my future children to experience each and every one of them, but each one of them makes me smile and think of them. Not that we need be in Missouri - almost all of these things could happen, for example, in New England, and most of them (swapping out Wal Mart and giving up Halloween) could happen in Scandinavia (if I went far enough north I would lose the leaves, and they won't be exactly the same anywhere else).
Just some thoughts and feelings, is all. And even if I were to move off to some exotic land, there's nothing saying that I might not be able to take my kids home for a year or two for them to understand America. I am planning on shipping or accompanying them back to the states for a month most summers anyway. Still, it's imperfect - there's a difference between having Trick or Treated, and growing up doing it every year, from being carried by mommy dressed up as a pumpkin to being a little witch whose daddy follows her around holding pounds of candy to going to high school costume parties dressed as a... bunny?
And I've avoided mentioning deep winter and Christmas and New Years altogether! I've avoiding thinking about them, if you want to know the truth. If leaves falling and winter coats make me so lonesome, what will the thought of Christmas without snow or Santa do to me? :P But I'm sure I'll give it all due thought before I make any of that sort of life decision.
And one can't have everything. Even people who never leave their own small town grumble about "when I was your age", and I know my children won't have Pokemon or Pottermania as part of their childhood. So, I dunno. :)
I'm just thinking onto paper.
Laws, Mizzou, last year, is an awkward memory for me. There are moments, especially in the waking day, arguing with my family, that it's hard to believe I ever went away, and lived for a year alone, with a bunch of loveable and crazy foreigners (and even crazier Americans) in the huge concrete monstrosity of Laws hall. Mayumi, Mitsuki, Ben, Clint, Mimi, Laurence, Tomomi... Timur, Santi, Pat and Maria... even Laura, Tabi, and Jorge to a lesser extent - is it really possible that we met, lived together for a long year, and then, now, it is over? And Mayumi, having been my roommate, that is the strangest.
When I wake up at night I don't wonder about having lived there - the whole environment is absolutely present in my mind, less as a memory than as a reality. Without my eyes, I could climb out of my bed, make my way out of my room, and to the bathroom, or perhaps down the stairs. I might even get as far as Dobbs.
But no, I am here in Florida. And that's strange indeed. My family is here and all of my things. The furniture and paintings that surrounded me throughout my childhood have been transplanted to a new climate, almost a new nation. It feels like a crossover fanfiction or something, strange.
I am vaguely aware that this is one of those magical places people leave their own homes and spend loads and loads of money to come to and go to the beach rain or shine and take pictures and bring home memories. And that's strange. I've never lived in such a place before, and I always thought that if I did I should appreciate it a bit more. But the beach isn't really my scene, at least not yet.
When I walk on the beach I feel old. I feel like walking slowly and watching clouds and sunsets and seagulls and thinking about my life, maybe even writing about it. Except that I haven't hardly lived my life. It is a peaceful place - no place for me now. I am not ready for peace.
Being transplanted has had another effect on me - one that raises questions and may have long term implications. Or it may mean nothing. I am homesick for Missouri. It happens a little bit with silly things, like longing to hear "Dierbergs" and "Schnucks" instead of "Winn Dixie". And it happens more with bigger things, like Winter.
I miss it for myself, a bit. I watched a few minutes of Greys Anatomy and Meridith walked outside in a coat, the whole world grey and her breath coming out in a mist, and I felt it in my chest. I am so grateful that I am going back to Missouri in the fall - I'm not sure I could manage without the winter. Go ahead and tell me it makes no sense, I already know it.
But it gets more complex than a longing for snow - I was playing Rosetta Stone, and some of the pictures show late fall, and early winter... and in no exotic way whatsoever, but perhaps a little girl in a little coat, smiling shyly and standing in front of a suburban street with bare trees and pale grass behind, the last few leaves of fall dancing on the lawn. That street could be in my old neighborhood, that coat could come from Wal Mart or Target, that child could be my own -
I understand suddenly, this want to have your children grow up in the same way you did. It gives me a certain feeling to imagine my children growing up in colourful warm parkas, playing with scattered leaves, feeling their cheeks and ears and nose turn bright red in the cold, going door to door on halloween, going off to the woods because they know thick winter clothing makes the thorns more bearable, cracking frozen puddles with their feet, watching sleet hit the windows as they snuggle under blankets indoors...
A lot of images go through my mind. I don't require my future children to experience each and every one of them, but each one of them makes me smile and think of them. Not that we need be in Missouri - almost all of these things could happen, for example, in New England, and most of them (swapping out Wal Mart and giving up Halloween) could happen in Scandinavia (if I went far enough north I would lose the leaves, and they won't be exactly the same anywhere else).
Just some thoughts and feelings, is all. And even if I were to move off to some exotic land, there's nothing saying that I might not be able to take my kids home for a year or two for them to understand America. I am planning on shipping or accompanying them back to the states for a month most summers anyway. Still, it's imperfect - there's a difference between having Trick or Treated, and growing up doing it every year, from being carried by mommy dressed up as a pumpkin to being a little witch whose daddy follows her around holding pounds of candy to going to high school costume parties dressed as a... bunny?
And I've avoided mentioning deep winter and Christmas and New Years altogether! I've avoiding thinking about them, if you want to know the truth. If leaves falling and winter coats make me so lonesome, what will the thought of Christmas without snow or Santa do to me? :P But I'm sure I'll give it all due thought before I make any of that sort of life decision.
And one can't have everything. Even people who never leave their own small town grumble about "when I was your age", and I know my children won't have Pokemon or Pottermania as part of their childhood. So, I dunno. :)
I'm just thinking onto paper.
March 16, 2009
The Birth Pangs of Spring
Spring is coming! Alright, so it's mostly here, but the weather is so fickle in Missouri that one can never be certain it's here to stay. For three weeks now we've alternated between cool, very wet days, warm perfect slice of heaven days, and freezing days when it feels like we're back in the heart of winter and all the rain from the day before freezes. It's a treacherous time of year. Check the weather before you go out!
Spring break is next week, which means a lot of work for us now. I wrote no less than three essays over the weekend. Two are for a pass fail class, so I didn't put much into them. I also slacked off a bit on the Spanish one, as I gave that professor some of my best work with the last essay and he didn't appreciate it at all. Surprise, I got the same grade on this one (93%), but he docks points without any explanation and he's too scary and wrathful to ask about it. (4/5 on content... what more was he looking for? I know I was the only person to pick the harder topic, and I spent an hour or so planning the content alone!)
Oh well. Tonight I have a Statistics Exam. And a Prom. Don't ask how that is going to work out.
But today I saw some little white flowers poking out of some mulch outside of Arts and Sciences. And after the rains, all the lichen on the trees glows an almost painful green. Observe...
Coincidentally, this is my answer. Look to the details...
Spring break is next week, which means a lot of work for us now. I wrote no less than three essays over the weekend. Two are for a pass fail class, so I didn't put much into them. I also slacked off a bit on the Spanish one, as I gave that professor some of my best work with the last essay and he didn't appreciate it at all. Surprise, I got the same grade on this one (93%), but he docks points without any explanation and he's too scary and wrathful to ask about it. (4/5 on content... what more was he looking for? I know I was the only person to pick the harder topic, and I spent an hour or so planning the content alone!)
Oh well. Tonight I have a Statistics Exam. And a Prom. Don't ask how that is going to work out.
But today I saw some little white flowers poking out of some mulch outside of Arts and Sciences. And after the rains, all the lichen on the trees glows an almost painful green. Observe...
Coincidentally, this is my answer. Look to the details...
February 07, 2009
The Weather of a Week in Missouri
Last weekend the weather was lovely and I watched the wind play in the little artificial puddles over the volleyball pit, setting ripples in the water, which the sun shone through and made me think of summer days and little wooden and paper sailboats...
Monday and Tuesday we were plunged back fully into the winter, far below zero, and forgetting to check the temperature Monday I headed out into the world with only a warm coat, and no gloves or scarf or hat. And I thought I was going to lose my ears...
Wednesday I wore gloves, but determined to catch an hour of solitude, I spent a while leaning against a tree, bundled up, sketching German houses and paella on my Molskine vocabulary notebooks...
By Thursday I was carrying the coat over my shoulder, with my sleeves pushed up past my elbows. That evening was a scavenger hunt, and the air held that pregnant, expectant feeling of an Indian summer...
Friday we went wading in a spring, with ice still on the water... but it felt like summer as we laughed and lay back in the grass which clung to our clothes, brittle and yellow as it is this time of year...
Today Tabi and I went downstairs, where people were enjoying the warm evening like Scandinavians in summer time, and outdoor seating and ice cream places had been reopened for just a few days, to catch this mini-season...
Monday and Tuesday we were plunged back fully into the winter, far below zero, and forgetting to check the temperature Monday I headed out into the world with only a warm coat, and no gloves or scarf or hat. And I thought I was going to lose my ears...
Wednesday I wore gloves, but determined to catch an hour of solitude, I spent a while leaning against a tree, bundled up, sketching German houses and paella on my Molskine vocabulary notebooks...
By Thursday I was carrying the coat over my shoulder, with my sleeves pushed up past my elbows. That evening was a scavenger hunt, and the air held that pregnant, expectant feeling of an Indian summer...
Friday we went wading in a spring, with ice still on the water... but it felt like summer as we laughed and lay back in the grass which clung to our clothes, brittle and yellow as it is this time of year...
Today Tabi and I went downstairs, where people were enjoying the warm evening like Scandinavians in summer time, and outdoor seating and ice cream places had been reopened for just a few days, to catch this mini-season...
February 02, 2009
The Subtle Beauty of Missouri
Ah, this Missouri, this land of the big blue sky - I needn’t lose it, needn’t forget it, it is being tattooed onto my identity with every moment. The sky is indeed big here and you wonder how it feels, you don’t want reality, you want to touch the fabric where the blue is kept, you wonder if it is rough-smooth like canvas painted this amazing impossible colour or light as silk or soft like cream. Ah, blue sky and below, the winter grass, the warm colour of straw – it is for me the colour of the number seven, and I love seven, and somehow it has a perfect sort of symmetry for me that three, the number of God, is green like fresh summer grass, and in the winter seven, the magic number, takes over. Nestled in this gold are rocks, here and there, grey as the Baltic sea or as those eyes we can’t forget… and rising above to link roots and sky are the trees, some with their dark and naked branches glimmering and highlighted by sunbeams, whose depth seems impossible, profound, that, moving the view changes with every second revealing such complexity, and others covered in their piney evergreen… My Missouri, ah, I love your subtle beauties.
May 23, 2007
Queenie
Stephanie and I went to Queenie the other day. It was a lovely time - we took the Horse Trail through the woods so we kind of saw the park from a different perspective. My three favourite things were the random bleachers, 'miniature forest', the tadpoles in the hoofprints, and the mysterious ivy tower.
The Random Bleachers
The Miniature Forest
The Ivy Tower
The Random Bleachers
The Miniature Forest
The Ivy TowerApril 15, 2007
Ere Spring Was Born...
While I was away in Rome, the St. Louis Spring was right on schedule. I got home and for one lovely day, the wind was soft and warm, the flowers were blooming, the leaves were a tender, new green, and the dogwood spotted the woods like snowy lace that drifted into bloom.
Then everything froze over. For two weeks now, we haven't been above 50 degrees. It's dipped below freezing almost every night, and most morning when I drive to work or to school. The fresh green leaves have closed back in on themselves and are turning browner with each passing day. The flowers wake every morning encased in a bitter frost. There have even been reports of snow, insubstantial and worthless, in the morning hours.
None of this has stopped the spring rains, however... they press on, cold and dreary. The other day when I went to take the ACT, ( and even that was a lovely break from Trieschmann), the lines were long and stretched out into the street. There we waited, a bunch of strangers who wouldn't even speak to each other, staring up into the cold and bright sky while the rain came down on us. It was that amazingly soft rain, almost a mist, that drop by drop crowned each of us with white and dewy hair and soaked our admission tickets. In the thirty five degree weather every inch of bare skin was slowly, painfully coated...
P.S. I checked my google page to see if this was a global phenomenon. See preceding post.
Then everything froze over. For two weeks now, we haven't been above 50 degrees. It's dipped below freezing almost every night, and most morning when I drive to work or to school. The fresh green leaves have closed back in on themselves and are turning browner with each passing day. The flowers wake every morning encased in a bitter frost. There have even been reports of snow, insubstantial and worthless, in the morning hours.
None of this has stopped the spring rains, however... they press on, cold and dreary. The other day when I went to take the ACT, ( and even that was a lovely break from Trieschmann), the lines were long and stretched out into the street. There we waited, a bunch of strangers who wouldn't even speak to each other, staring up into the cold and bright sky while the rain came down on us. It was that amazingly soft rain, almost a mist, that drop by drop crowned each of us with white and dewy hair and soaked our admission tickets. In the thirty five degree weather every inch of bare skin was slowly, painfully coated...
P.S. I checked my google page to see if this was a global phenomenon. See preceding post.
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