The Week in Review

Really feels like fall all of a sudden, doesn't it? This picture was taken just a couple of weeks ago, when I was visiting my parents and some very good friends in the Hudson Valley. It felt like summer then, but now it's crisp and even chilly. We put the big comforter on the bed on Wednesday, and Stephen has taken his jeans out of summer storage.

Thursday was my two-year anniversary at my job. I remember that first day well. We were house/petsitting out in Harvard, Mass, and Stephen was teaching in Cambridge, so we had to get up in the dark to feed the pets and take the dog for a walk before making the slow drive toward the city on Rt. 2. Once we got to Stephen's school, I had a 45 minute walk to the office. I arrived early, and my new boss gave me a long list of stuff to do, and I felt completely lost. My predecessor had left a month earlier, and school had already been in session for two weeks, so there was a pile of mail on my desk and a sense that we were already way behind. Also, it was September 11th, which is a strange day in any place.

My first year of work was difficult. I didn't hire any interns at the beginning of the semester, so there was no one to help out when things got busy. If we were having an event, I had to hang up all the flyers and carry the food and set up the projector and chairs by myself. Everyone else in the office worked part-time, so I spent many days alone at my desk. Meanwhile, Stephen and I were moving into a new apartment, and I hardly knew anyone in Cambridge. I wasn't taking classes, I hadn't joined the gym, and I didn't know my way around. It was really lonely, and I wondered if I'd made a mistake.

It's hard to remember that now. My life feels so far from there. But it was difficult and sad, and it took a long time to get past it, and I think it's good to remember it once in a while, to think about how things change. As a kid, I used to think that adults were static. Like, once you stopped growing physically, you were also fully formed as an adult. I'm still amazed at how things continue to change, all the time. This has been a week of little milestones.

After seven years of vegetarianism, I started eating fish again on Thursday. I'm still not going to eat chicken or beef or bacon or anything, but I need more protein. For one of my classes this semester, we're assigned to undertake a Lifestyle Transformation Challenge. It has to be health-related, and it has to be difficult. Mine is to get 46 grams of protein a day, the recommended minimum for my height/weight/age. I think I've been getting about half that. It's tricky to track nutrition content, but with my handy nutrient database I'm muddling through. I'm also trying protein shakes. I thought I'd never buy those things in a million years, 'cause I'm not some kind of crazy athlete, but now I rely on them if I fall behind on any given day. Change, see?

Also, I took my first trip to the ER last night. I wasn't injured; I was with Stephen's brother, who had almost broken his arm on the slippery, rain-drenched streets of Boston. The ER was way different than I imagined it would be. It was very quiet and calm. There were worn-out New Yorkers on the end tables, and we looked at the cartoons. Some silly awards show was playing on the TV. People argued quietly with the receptionist about getting their parking tickets validated. If it hadn't been 9pm, we could just as easily have been at the dentist's office. No screaming or crying, no spurting blood. Probably it would have looked different if we'd been at the ambulance entrance, which I guess is what they show on TV, but it was nice. I'm glad it wasn't scary. I think the term "emergency room" makes it seem like there will be flashing lights and air horns going off when you get there.

So: emergency room, fish eating, and a work anniversary. How to cap off this momentous week? There's a Lebanese restaurant down the street that we've meant to try since we moved here, but never have. I hear that they have an amazing Pumpkin Kibby, whatever that is. So we're going out to lunch.

Success!

I got not one but two of the things on my list done yesterday. The Rice Krispie treats were awesome. I remember convincing my mom to make them once when I was little. As she scrubbed the congealed marshmallow mess off of the pan, she told me that we would not be making them again "for a long, long, long time." And she was right! I didn't make them again until yesterday, so it's probably been about twenty years. I don't think I'll wait that long for the next time, though. Melting a whole bag of marshmallows is really fun.

I might have to retract some of my glowing comments about yesterday's weather. The rain was really nice, but the humidity was ridiculous; the kind that makes you sweat even when you're sitting still. I ended up camping out on the living room floor last night, sleeping directly under the fan, because it was the only cool place in the house.

Here's my progress so far with the embroidery. This little patch took about three hours, but some of that was prepping the fabric and fixing mistakes. (Also, we were watching The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, so that was distracting.) I bought some more gingham with a bigger check, so maybe I'll switch to that until I get my technique down.

I can't commit to a September book. I have a huge stack of potentials on my desk, but can't decide which to start. I've begun A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, but it's really long and I'm worried that it'll stretch into October. Also, the copy I have is an ancient hardcover from my parents' library, so I can't really carry it around with me on the T. And I don't feel like I'm quite ready to give up on Willa Cather just yet, so I bought Death Comes for the Archbishop at Porter Square Books yesterday. Maybe I'll switch. When you only read one book a month, you want it to be just the right one.

Stormy Weather

Not really stormy, actually, but it was damp and light gray when I woke up this morning, some of my favorite weather. The geraniums wish they were outside soaking up the rain. My history with houseplants is pretty sad. I've killed four this summer: an ivy, a fern, and two jade plants. All I've got left are these five geraniums, a spider plant in the kitchen, and a huge philodendron that's threatening to gobble up the couch and Stephen's desk, Little Shop of Horrors-style. (My brother was the puppeteer for Audrey II in his college's production a few years ago.) I used to go through this cycle every year in college--I'd buy a plant, over- then under-water it, watch it grow tall and spindly, then wither, and finally throw it out at the end of the year. My jade plants all died suddenly and mysteriously. The ferns limped along interminably, dying just a little at a time, refusing to respond no matter what I did--more sun, less sun, more water, less water. No reasoning with 'em. The survivors of this summer's massacre all seem to be doing well now, though. I'm happy to say.

Classes started this week. I know I'll soon be bogged down with homework, so I'm trying to get out and have fun before that happens. Stephen and I went to the Museum of Fine Arts out on the Green Line on Wednesday night. I haven't been there since we moved to Boston. We only had a few hours before closing, so we went straight for the best parts: the Egyptian mummies, the Japanese prints, the musical instruments, European paintings from the 19th and 20th centuries. Stephen and I each picked our favorite painting--I like Manet's Street Singer and Stephen picked Van Gogh's portrait of the Postmaster Joseph Roulin. We also saw some ceramics by Diego Romero, which reminded me of living in Santa Fe. There was a great exhibit of portraits near the stairs in the Evans wing, too. A surprising number of rooms were either packed up or empty, though. I want to go back when the new stuff is up. I think the whole museum is undergoing extensive renovations, so by the time I get back there the whole place will probably look pretty different.

I don't know if it's Summer Nostalgia or what, but my To Do list lately seems to be leaning kitschy and domestic. I want to make Rice Krispie treats and homemade marshmallows, and I want to try embroidering Chicken Scratch on gingham, and sew polka dot curtains to go with my new polka dot sheets. This weather is making me feel like sitting and reading, though, so if I get even one of those done this weekend, I'll consider it a success.

Late Summer

I went to a barbecue this afternoon and stood right next to the grill as we were cooking the wood down, so now I smell strongly of smoke. I love this smell, and I've been carrying it with me the rest of the day. People in my class at the gym probably wondered who smelled like fireplace.

My parents' house is wood heated, so the smell is all caught up with warmth and family for me. Once, in high school, a friend of mine buried her nose in a scarf I'd knitted and said, "This smells just like your house--wood smoke!" So I guess others have noticed it, too.

If I had to distill the image of my childhood home down to two objects, they would be a wood stove and a mug of tea. I think the former represents my dad and the latter my mom. There's nothing really symbolic about these things, except the warmth of the images, I guess, and the idea of sustenance. They're just things that I encountered often growing up. In the fall and winter, my dad would get up early and stoke the stoves, and the first thing we'd do when we got home in the afternoon was start the fires up again. And my mom drinks a cup of tea, or sometimes two or three, every single day. Always Lipton. (The Brisk Tea.) Always with milk and sugar. I find the taste of this combination very comforting.

The barbecue today felt very goodbye-to-summer-esque. We made black bean burgers with cheddar, and grilled pineapple and peaches, then marshmallows. The burger buns were from Iggy's, my favorite bread company. (When I eat at a restaurant where they serve Iggy's, I always order extra and take some home in my purse.) There was pomegranate iced tea with agave nectar, and mango and coconut for dessert. I sat in a hammock and watched the sun sink, all orange and gold among the Catalpa leaves. I thought about how much I'd miss this day in a few months, when it's cold and dark in the afternoons. I'm not quite ready for summer to be over yet. I think I want another two weeks or so. But school is coming; classes start next week, and then we'll be on the roller coaster again. I had a dream last night that I was at work during a huge storm, and lightning was striking all around my office, and little brush fires were spontaneously erupting in the shrub border. That's kind of what the next month is starting to look like: utter chaos, and lots of little crises to put out. I'm going to try not to think of it like that, though. I'm trying to look forward to it.

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.