memory and meaning

I passed a woman trying to lead a gaggle of kids on bikes on my way home for lunch today, and it brought to mind a near-ancient memory of a bike accident I had when riding on the back of my mother's bike when I was tiny: younger than five, at the very least.

We were on a country highway near the house we lived in at the time, and most of what I can remember involves gravel, and dust, and movement, and hurt.

From around the same time, I remember getting bitten by the across-the-street neighbor's dog, though that one mostly involves images of their front yard and running down their driveway.

I think I remember happier things, like playing with our German shepherd in the snow in front of the house, but that one I can't be sure wasn't ingrained in me from seeing the photo my mother took of it or not.

I'm pretty sure I remember a meal with my grandparents (mother's side) in attendance, at least, at the big dining room table, and my grandfather urging me to finish my meal so I could belong to the Clean Plate Club.

I remember parts of my fifth birthday very clearly, including one view of our patio from the sliding glass door, right before I ran in, fell, and split my head open on one of our wrought-iron chairs. Stitches on my birthday, no less.

But most of these have moments of crispness in between a lot of haze, and I sometimes wonder if everyone's memory works like that. Mine works much like a series of still images, like a photo album, and because of this, I think I know why my data is so important to me: my memories are tied up in it. My photos and writing work as ciphers: keys to open lock-boxes way back in my brain.

So I think it's through my writing and pictures that I remember best. Things that I don't write down or capture visually tend to fade, but the problem with that is that those things end up being subject to revision. The way I write it becomes more ingrained than the original memory, and thus better remembered. If I leave out a detail, it's more likely to be forgotten. But then again, if I don't re-read that bit of writing recording an event, it's subject to the same rules as a memory I haven't recorded, other than a little bit of reinforcement from having to put it into words to get it down in the first place.

Of course, there are things that aren't like that, and weren't recorded, but I still remember: these earliest memories are an example. I don't think I ever wrote about these, and other than the snow picture, none were photographed. These were only in oral history at best, and just in my head at worst. Though I do remember my mother jesting about my grandfather's "Clean Plate Club," so it's possible that I matched that up with an image from memory--I just find it really hard to be sure.

This realization starts to pull the rug out from under me if I ponder it too long: if what I remember isn't real, then what is? But then I also manage to input into the equation that it's always been like this, and it probably is for others, and they don't seem too bothered by it.

And in some ways, it works for me, since I do write, and I do take photographs extensively. And I can even--to some extent--preserve the memory of others this way.

In college, I took a course on oral history. During it, I did a project with my aunt, who lived in Denmark during World War II along with my dad and the rest of his immediate family. She was quite a bit older than he at the time, though, and remembered more from the time. I talked to her about the experience, then wrote it up for that class. This came up in conversation with my uncle a while back, who encouraged me to find that paper because he wanted a copy. I also want to read it again too, since she's gone now, and that written documentation may be all there is left of it (though I imagine she'd talked about it with others). But it's in an ancient laptop that's not entirely stable, and I haven't taken the time to try to dig it out of there yet. I should.

But it makes me realize how much of my life (and my recordings of others' lives) is tied up as data. And realize why computers dying on me fills me with such panic whenever it happens--because that's my memory. That's part of me. I could certainly live without it, but I don't want to lose more than I have to.

And I'm out of time here, but I have to say that examining all this really makes me want to go out and get another external hard drive, just in case my backup dies. It also reminds me that I should do some further backing up soon. This brain doesn't run on its own, you know.

Weather and office shenanigans

So I headed home for lunch today. My timing's impeccable: I started driving back just as the sky let loose. I had a hard rain accompaniment all the way to campus, when it let up to a gentle but steady sprinkle.

I had brought my umbrella into my office this morning, but hadn't taken it with me back to the car during lunch. And guess who brilliantly decided to wear a white shirt with her skirt this morning?

Hi: that would be me.

I even further appreciate the fact that the door leading to my office is right inside the stairwell now. Not that it was a big deal.

Though I don't think it's raining presently, I can see another wave coming: the darkness having just crested over the nearest mountain range that I can see from my office window. I'm still getting used to this view: I switched offices recently, to one office back in the suite. It's nice: tucked away, a little more quiet, better furnished, less of a bowling alley layout, but it is down a window compared to my last office, which I do miss. But I still do like it.

week in review, week in preview

A few quick notes this morning:

This is the part about a storm season that I love: when the oppressive heat and humidity is broken one morning, and though the clouds are low and drizzling over the mountains in the distance, the scudding clouds above you are broken by gaps filled with sunlight. When you can open a window and catch a breeze just tinged (but not heavily ridden) with the next shower.

When it's a temperature comfortable to humans. Well, me in specific.

Today's one of those rare days when I wear a skirt just because (though I'll admit that they're certainly cooler).

Got back from the last conference mid-week last week, which was in Hershey, where the hotel provides you with enough chocolate to drown a horse if you want it. Upon check-in and check-out, they hand you two chocolate bars. A basket full of chocolate was their answer to a housekeeping screw-up (they swiped my soap by accident). Rather than the hard candies that some conference locales provide next to the water in the back of the session rooms, they provided a selection of Hershey's chocolate. You get the idea. It was a refreshing change when on the last day, they served cheesecake for dessert: regular cheesecake, with strawberries, and no chocolate.

This week's already been a bit of a whirl, and only promises to get worse. Yesterday, a long-time Internet friend and virtual sister who I'd never met in person was in town, ostensibly to visit and tour the university, but also to spend time, which was extra nice.

Reached home to find a package and envelope of news clippings from my dad (got it, and it works!), which I was intending to call him about but didn't due to online drama having happened while I was out of touch Sunday night sometime after I went to work at the club. I called to give one person involved some moral support and catch up a bit, which ate up much of the night, it felt like.

Wednesday some of us are having a gathering that will eat up that night, and on Friday most of that group (including me) will be going to Pittsburgh for a concert, the details of which I still haven't heard, given that it's being organized by a gal one of my friends is seeing but she lives in Philadelphia (I've only met her once). Hopefully it'll work out, though. Another online friend saw the band in question in NYC recently, and gives the tour a firm two thumbs up. Hopefully we'll get a similar performance.

New Orleans pictures, part the third

Though I'm about to leave for another conference, I wanted to note this before I ran out the door.

One of my New Orleans pictures has been solicited for a book, Signs of Life, by a couple I've never met, through the beauty of easily-searched photos online (thank you, Flickr, and thank you, tagging). Here's that shot:



I took that when my host took me on a drive through St. Bernard parish. It was eye-opening. I have lots of shots where that came from, but I have to say it was an uneasy experience. Yes, I wanted to document it, yes, I wanted those shots both to help me remember and to show others, but at the same time, these are peoples' homes. And I was just a tourist.

As for the book, I'm still not really sure how I feel about it. Sure, it's flattering, and sure, I submitted the shot, but this certainly isn't as much about the shot as it is about the subject matter there. I just happened to catch it. And I think there are much better "Signs of Life" from the area, but this is what they chose--the signs people put out to signal how they're dealing. The signs that let everyone know that people were back--or that they'd abandoned the area. There were plenty of those, too. Most residents, those that stayed, met that abandonment with heavy disdain, though.

I don't have a conclusion here (and take that as an overarching statement), but I've got to run or I'll miss my carpool to Hershey, where in addition to the conference, I'll probably get to meet up with a few folks I know primarily online. One I've met before (in New Orleans, in fact), and the other I haven't. Both are fantastic gals, though. I'm just hoping our schedules work out.

con season

Yes, kids, it's con season once again. Conferences, conventions: looks like I'll be hitting up both again this year, but mostly the former. Already hit up the Penn State Admissions Conference, just today finished the Penn State Web Conference, and next week is PACAC (Pennsylvania Association for College Admissions Counseling). Needless to say (and not too much different than normal), I may be a bit scarce.

Today's conference was impressive. Excellent speakers: great ideas, well-presented. Frankly much better than yesterday's pre-conference sessions, but that may be more due to the format than anything else--a tired me and four-hour-long tutorials do not mix well.

During the conference, I talked a bit with colleagues from Student Aid, after which one offered to meet up and exchange notes on different sessions, and others offered to loan me a few books that I might want to pick up. Very nice of them. After the conference, I sat for a bit at Legends with the keynote speaker and some of the presenters and organizers (plus one that I'm not sure qualified as either), rather by accident. I'd only intended to sit at the bar and quiz one of the presenters briefly. Only after I settled in did I realize who else was sitting with him, but I certainly wasn't going to turn down an invite to join them when they shifted to a table, especially since I hadn't really found an opening to start asking questions at that point (nor did I, but that's another story). An exceptionally pleasant bit of hanging out ensued, especially considering that I knew absolutely none of them beforehand. The conversation bounced between a whole bunch of different subjects I enjoy: blogging and fiction writing, new web developments and how the University can use such, as well as some banter about semi-current events at Penn State and filling in the speaker on those bits he wasn't familiar with. Excellent stuff, and rather got me interested in getting more involved in that community. I'd forgotten how easy it is to talk to people that are interested in similar things both professionally and personally, but I suspect that has a lot to do with being overloaded and rather sequestered out in Admissions.

Here's to being not quite so much so anymore, with the arrival of the new writer.

New Orleans pictures, part the second

Yes, I know the sign's a little skewed in this view (had to do it to fit this layout). Click it to view it at a more normal size (and read the sign).



I believe I found this fierce creature in the Marigny. And probably had gotten on the nerves of my host by that point because I stopped so much without saying a word. Eventually I got the hang of saying "stopping for a sec," but early on, I'd just pause to take the shot.