Animal Farm

So many things. We visited Drumlin Farm last weekend. One of Stephen's brothers works there and drives the hay wagon, so we got to take two hayrides around the farm. There were chickens of many shapes and sizes (I liked the Bantams), sheep and goats, a huge sow due to give birth later that day, two mules, a 30-year-old pony named Midnight, many rehabilitated birds (a male pheasant, a turkey vulture, a pocket-sized screech owl), and some beautiful cows. They have an exhibit called Drumlin Underground that houses burrowing animals, with a subterranean level that lets you see into their lairs; that was one of my favorite parts, although we didn't see the foxes. It was a bright August afternoon--this past week has offered the best weather of the summer--and Stephen and I went out for ice cream (soft serve!) afterward at Dairy Joy.

This weekend, we hosted our own menagerie: Stephen and I pet-sat for a 15-year-old Siamese cat named after a Star Trek character, a color-changing Anole lizard who refused to eat his crickets, and a small brown tortoise named Turtle Boy. I hate the smell of cat food and Stephen can't stand the crickets, so we divided the work accordingly. Lucky for me, he also fed Turtle Boy. I don't mind crickets because they're compact and neat, but I really didn't want to have to reach into the worm jar.

I also fed a bunch of mosquitoes while canoing on the Sudbury River on Saturday. The water was kind of murky, and the mosquitoes feasted on my ankles. I found 14 bites on my legs afterward. The river was calm, though, and I saw lots of red-winged blackbirds near the shore.

Drifting downstream in a canoe reminded me of leading backcountry canoe trips in college. I led the same route a couple of summers in a row, and it was my favorite trip to lead by far. We'd spend a week passing through a circuit of lakes in the Adirondacks, sometimes loud with stories, sometimes silent. We'd swim and practice T-rescues, and my co-leaders and I dressed up as local historical figures. I miss that. I didn't like the bear-bagging or digging cat holes so much, but I did like hanging out by the campstove and talking or just listening or sitting quietly.

School's about to start again. I'm glad I work at a college, so my schedule continues to follow the academic cycle. It seems strange to see the campus fill up again, though; we've had it to ourselves for months. At lunch, everyone in my office heads outside to sit in the shade near the Quad, and it's usually deserted. Now there are gaggles of RA trainees, orientation groups, and sports teams criss-crossing the lawn. Most of the construction crews are packing up so the campus will look nice for matriculation ceremonies. It's an exciting time; it feels like change. I think late summer and early fall will always feel like change to me, which is why I sometimes feel so sad at this time of year. I have this feeling about time passing, that it's like having a glacier on either side of you. You can see a little ways forward and a little ways back, and you can move laterally in the moment, but the past and future are impenetrable walls pushing us along. Fall is definitely a time when you notice that the glaciers have shifted irrevocably.

Calm, Bright

Hello sun! I emerged yesterday from the long dark tunnel of end-of-semester schoolwork. 74 articles of research heavier and 54 pages of writing lighter, I'm feeling weightless. There are so many things I want to do now! Eat lots of ice cream. Read by the fountain in the courtyard of the Boston Public Library. Read for fun. Visit my parents. Go to the SomerMovie Fest. Make popsicles. I found some popsicle molds while I was on vacation with my parents in July, but I haven't had time to use them yet. I want to try some coffee-based ones. We don't have a coffee maker at the moment, but we're planning to get a Chemex, because they're pretty and we don't make coffee much so I'm not too worried about convenience.

I'm on Nantucket now with Stephen's family. There has been lots of ocean swimming, lots of Olympics watching, lots of eating, and lots of schoolworking (for me). I pulled an all-nighter yesterday, and I guess if you have to do that, it's best to do it in a beautiful setting. The sun coming up over foggy fields at 6am was breathtaking. Once I sent the paper off at 9, it was so still in the house. Everyone else was asleep, and I was completely spent but couldn't nap because of all the caffeine I'd had. I laid on the couch next to an open window and stared into space. A cool breeze was blowing. It was incredibly quiet. The dog came in and fell asleep next to me. For the first time in a month, I had no pressing obligations, and the whole day ahead of me. It was one of the most perfect moments of the summer. I thought of it again last night when I read this in My Antonia:

I sat down in the middle of the garden...The earth was warm under me, and warm as I crumbled it through my fingers. Queer little red bugs came out, and moved in slow squadrons around me. Their backs were polished vermilion, with black spots. I kept as still as I could. Nothing happened. I did not expect anything to happen. I was something that lay under the sun and felt it, like the pumpkins, and I did not want to be anything more. I was entirely happy. Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge. At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. When it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep.

Here and There

This is me on vacation last week. I look very relaxed, don't I? But the inside of my head was like, "Homework AAAUGH!!!!" This is the summer of The Assignments That Never End. I just turned in another paper, and I've got one last one to churn out in the next few days. Oh the agony.

At least I've had the opportunity to be work-burdened in some very picturesque locales lately. I took the train to Portland, ME two weeks ago, which was really fun--when is a train ride not fun? I wish I had more opportunities to go places on trains. I need to discover some long-lost friends and relatives along the Downeaster route, then I could head out of the city every weekend in the plushy comfort of its nice quiet cabins. I'd get a lot of reading done.

I spent last week in Acadia with my family, which was chilly and foggy and lovely. It was so nice to wake up near the ocean and be far aware from mundane concerns like going to meetings and cleaning the house and blah. We hiked a little and walked around Southwest Harbor and Jordan Pond and Thuya Gardens and went out to eat a lot. A lot. I started referring to myself as Bowling Ball Belly by the end of the week.

Tomorrow I'm taking the ferry to Nantucket to go on vacation with Stephen's family. As you can imagine, I also like ferries. I'm pretty big on any kind of old-fashionedy public transpo. Unfortunately, the computer will be accompanying me on this trip, as well. Oh, grad school. How you mock my plans for escape and respite! But I can't be too unhappy in a house by the sea. A view of the ocean always exposes the triviality of my woes. I admit, they are quite trivial.

So Much Time, So Little Done

Spending vacation doing homework is messed up already, so procrastinating from homework while on vacation is just...wrong. I had to turn in a paper remotely today, so what did I do? Read the Washington Post, browsed jcrew.com, gazed out the window. What's on TV? Ooh, the Daily Show.

Lazy, lazy, lazy.

And I fell down the stairs yesterday, so I've got a huge purple bruise on the back of my leg. I've been dragging around a big pillow to sit on all day. And whining.

What else? Our WiFi died just when I tried to turn the paper in. The restaurant we were going to go to for dinner burned down last night. But I saw an ice cream shop with 64 flavors, including lobster! So the day wasn't a total bust. Cheers.

The Week in Short Stories

Monday morning: Riding the bus to work, I look up at the LED date/time display and notice that it reads "12/25/97 09:31 AM". Merry Christmas, 14-year-old me!

Tuesday morning: Once again on Christmas bus. When a passenger points out that the display is incorrect, the driver looks up for the one moment that it looks normal, and says, exasperated, "The display is working fine, madam."

Tuesday afternoon: Working on an architecture project at the office over the past few weeks, I've littered the conference room with little house models. As I'm throwing several out, I hear muffled scuffling emanating from one. Moments later, a startled cockroach scampers out. A colleague suggests I start designing roach traps.

Wednesday morning: Running for the bus, I make a mental note not to step/slip on the stick in the middle of the sidewalk. As I pass by, I realize "stick" is a 5-inch-long slug.

Wednesday morning, cont'd: Still running for the bus, I pass a man in a business suit talking loudly on the sidewalk. Assume he's on the phone until I realize he's completely drunk and offering commentary on passersby. "She's in good shape. Running. Not like that other guy. He's not running."

NoCookBook

It's 93 degrees out, we're without air conditioning, and I'm frying eggplant. What has happened to my judgement?

I was thinking much more clearly last weekend, when I bought this awesome "cook"book at Porter Square books. I want to make all of my meals out of here until this heat wave is over (so, until September). There's an awesome variety of popsicle recipes, including a chapter on coffee- and tea-based pops, and another on alcohol-based ones, which is funny because Stephen and I had just been talking about freezing White Russians before I saw this book.


We made the Sugar Pumpkin Pops last weekend. I couldn't find molds anywhere in the area (CVS, Shaw's, Ace, Cambridge Naturals and the local toy store all knew what I was talking about, but none had them on their shelves), so I used a muffin pan. The pops turned out very short and squat, like little orange flying saucers. They weren't quite sweet enough for our taste, either. But still cool and refreshing. I think I want to try the Coconut Yogurt ones next. This is the kind of weather where I just alternate between taking showers and buying ice cream. Nothing much gets done, except sweating.

The Stars at Night

I thought summer was supposed to be a time for relaxation. Not in this house, it ain't. Stephen and I are both working full time and taking two classes this summer. It's all interesting, but an incredible, crazy time suck. I just realized that I'm going to be at work/class for 12+ hours almost every day this week.

We're also house/pet-sitting. Which is awesome, because the house has air conditioning, but it also adds to the list: Did we remember to feed the cat? To humidify the lizard tank? When does the garbage have to go out? Did I just miss the bus again? How am I going to get to work?

Anyway. Last night was a bright spot in this constellation of busy-ness: We went to see the Indigo Girls play at the Lowell Summer Music Series. The setting was awesome - enthusiastic crowd, warm night, progressive snacks (the food tent had organic chips and salsa, Clif bars, and herbal tea). I was surprised at how many memories bubbled up as the Girls played through their set. I remembered putting "Get Out the Map" on a mix for Stephen when he drove cross-country in 2003. We used to sing "Closer to Fine" at campfires after our backpacking trips in the summer. I put lyrics from "Galileo" on my away messages sophomore year. Wow--it's been so long since I last signed on to AIM. Years.

I was watching the news at the gym the other day when they reported on the hostages being freed in Colombia, and the reporter talked about all the things the hostages didn't know about, from the Iraq War to Facebook. It's so hard to imagine what it's like to be taken out of the world as you know it for 5 years - your brain must become like a time capsule.

My brain right now is more like molasses. I've got three papers to write in the next few weeks. Bleh. I write so slowly. How do people write quickly? Even writing a blog post can take me an hour, easily. With a paper, I usually have to take a day off from work. No kidding. Sooo painfully slow. I don't know how books ever get written. Randy Shilts, how did you do it?