cities

So on my way in to work this morning, driving with my wrists crossed, hands kind of hanging out at the top of the wheel, under a blue sky liberally studded with puffy cumulonimbus clouds with airy white tops and starting-to-look-threatening bottoms, sunlight peeking through the leaves of the thick trees I drove through, my mind dispensed this quick little notion:

It was definitely good to go, but it's certainly good to be back.

Although I'm fascinated by some of the features of American cities on a temporary basis, I don't particularly care for them in the long run, and Indianapolis is no exception. Yes, the architecture can be neat. But the traffic and trying to get around is a pain.

European cities, on the other hand, I don't think I'd have as much of a problem with. I have Copenhagen in mind, of course. But this is a longer subject for another time.

So, to summarize the trip: good (if sometimes overly complicated and drama-filled though alternately nice to re-connect and make new connections) time there, but good to be here, too.

(I just realized that the parenthetical there doesn't make that very succinct. Oh, well.)

small towns

So I just got back from the post office.

I just realized this actually requires some prefacing. How odd. Here goes: I've found myself involved in an online swapping community. We swap various things--mostly scents, bath and body nonsense, that sort of thing, but also going out to handmade crafty things like painted boxes (which I gave a basic whirl about a month ago) and jewelry and such. I recently learned chainmaking via chain maille techniques, and only have the very basics under my belt. But one of the fine ladies on that forum wanted a charm bracelet, and most of the work I've done in the medium was something that is usually used as a base for a charm bracelet. She actually wanted to buy, not swap, once she saw a photo of the piece. So thus I got my first $25 (although I only asked $20) for a handmade item. So I sent it out, and she got it, and she likes it. Go me. That little bout of attention-deficit was entirely beside the point.

The point to the preface is that I find myself sending out little packages all the freaking time. When it's what we consider an even swap, it only costs me the postage (fifty cents, usually), and I get to try something new. Otherwise, I usually get reimbursed the postage. This cost analysis again brought to you by my lack of focus today, which is sometimes the case for me on Mondays, given that I usually get about four hours sleep the night before.

Okay. Let's try this again. I went to the post office in a nearby town, as that post office is a lot less busy than is State College's (notoriously long lines, and at lunchtime? forget about it). This town is nestled against Mount Nittany, and has a rather lovely little strip. My point here is that it's a tiny town (whoops, digressing again). So I was at their little post office, sending out three little packages, and on my way out, noticed that someone had left their car running while they ran in.

Then I realized that as soon as I stopped living with my dad, I had taken for granted that I'd never again live in a town where it's safe to do that. And I don't now. But it's neat to know that it exists, and so close by. I wouldn't do it there, but that's probably because I know how small towns work, and I'm not part of that small town. It's not that I think the people there wouldn't look out for me like they would their fellow residents, but that they don't know me well enough to get in touch with me if they needed to, or know whether or not I'd welcome the help.

Given that I moved from my dad's village to Beloit for college, which has really shady areas that are not safe--South Beloit being even worse--the switch to becoming more paranoid when it came to my car's security was a natural one. A good friend there had his car broken into while parked in the same lot I parked in all the time. That's not to say that Beloit's horrible, especially in the area around the college, but--well, stuff happens.

And stuff happens here in State College, too. Nothing I can think of has hit so close to home here, though. And S.C. has been rated the best small city in terms of crime. That study even states: "In particular, the burglary and auto theft rates are among the nation's lowest." But now that my concern for my vehicle was raised in college, I can't really go back. I have a friend who has a very low concern when it comes to security. I see that friend leave things unlocked all the time, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Heck, I even lock my computer when I leave my desk at work.

The moral of the story? I'm perhaps overly paranoid. But we knew that. On the other hand, it's probably better to be on the safe side. But in either case, it's nice to live near places where people aren't as concerned. It makes me feel better. (and on another non-focused moment note: I also adore that my commute takes all of fifteen minutes, tops.)

a useful metaphor

Tonight I rediscovered the secret to my practice of yoga:

Work, but don't push.

I think that may become a metaphor for lots of other pieces of my life.

(and man, does every piece of my body feel better due its rediscovery.)

degrees of success.

So last night, at the club, an old student of mine came up to the booth to chat--a student who hadn't been in the area for months, at least. Some two months ago, I'd halfheartedly tried to track him down online, mostly due to being reminded of him by making renewed contact with two other old students of mine, who graduated (or were about to graduate) from the same department. (For my own reference: AB, ES, and LB)

Turns out this particular student has been in New York since he graduated, working as a production assistant on two relatively popular Hollywood news-related shows. Frankly, I envied him just a tad upon hearing this. And, for that matter, felt more than a little humbled. It's a great leveling experience, this after-graduation thing--especially considering my (grad) degree is in something that most people find relatively useless. I can't tell you how many "And what are you going to do with that?"s I had to endure, usually followed with: "Teach?"

Since work today was relatively intense--two prospective student presentations, one right before lunch, one right after--I commiserated with J at some point, who asked if I'd been looking elsewhere. It caught me off guard. Such hadn't even occurred to me. Hadn't even entered my mind.

I like my job. Sure, there are a few things that I don't love about it, but overall, I'm happy with what I'm doing. I could start a list of what I like, but I'm not sure that would serve much of a purpose. The major drawbacks? The pace, perhaps, and the amount of things I have to do that aren't really related to what projects I'd ideally be working on, but that's really all when it comes to day-to-day tasks.

It's strange, I suppose. I didn't realize I gave off the impression that I don't like it. Perhaps the method by which I blow off steam/stress makes my close friends think so.

Upon leaving, one of the women in my office suite told me (only because a conversation was going on about it) that she's pregnant. I gave a cautious "That's a good thing?" She assured me that it was, kind of backhandedly complimented how discreet I was, and the conversation continued. Upon learning this, one of the women involved in the conversation had immediately offered to help her shop. The other immediately helped by providing suggestions and advice from her own experience. I said little to nothing. The latter woman finally said something to the effect of "I'll stop pestering you about it," and let her head to her car. The news-worthy one and I walked out to the parking lot together. I said that I wouldn't pester her about it. She replied: "You're always reserved and considerate. I would never expect you to be anything less than that."

If those are the primary characteristics I'm known for, I'm having mixed feelings about it. I guess, though, that it's work, and those are certainly two better things to be known for there. It doesn't make me sound like very much fun, though. But I do much prefer to be conscientious about those sorts of matters--to be sure of where others stand before I open my mouth about it.

I wonder--if my coworkers knew my stance on children, would they be as prone to discussing them/their plans for them in front of me? It does happen a lot. Which, further, makes me wonder if I shouldn't make my stance known more obviously.

-erries (credit to L for that useful twisting of the English language)

Just for reference: I love berry season.

This week alone, I've had raspberries (both the usual pink and the unusual golden), blueberries, strawberries, and cherries. I'd forgotten how much I like blueberries--I don't think I've had them in years. Berries have become meals for me lately, although I often add a side of steamed veggies--broccoli or cauliflower, usually. I recently discovered how easy it is to steam veggies in the microwave. And boy, am I glad I did.

This week, I also finally returned to my old yoga instructor for once-a-week classes, having lost track of her during some of my more intense time here. C, the sweetheart that she is, didn't even recognize me when I showed up. It doesn't help that last she saw me, I had chin-length red hair and wore contacts. She said that it made her wonder if she would recognize her own children if they cut and dyed their hair. I found that extremely flattering, in an extremely weird fashion. But boy--whatever flexibility yoga had afforded me at one time, it's definitely gone now. I'm hoping it's just a matter of time for it to return, though.

Most of today I spent typing up recommendations to K, who's going on a trip to Denmark soon, with possible thoughts of living there in the future. I'd forgotten that I had so much to say on the subject--that email (now sent) got incredibly long. I may reprint sections of it here. When I have time. Which, in my case, often ends up to be never.

Gapping: conferences/work vs. energy

Between our Spring Conference, PACAC in late June, PACAC Summer Institute at Bucknell just past, and training our campuses on the new visitation system (I'm at our Delaware County campus presently), I've had enough of leaving early in the morning to drive around Pennsylvania. Between the aforementioned, plus Spend a Summer Day rehearsal this Sunday and other sundry nonsense for work, I've had enough of working outside my usual hours. Between visitation text work (not finished), revising the web application (not finished), various web tool additions (mostly finished), monthly updates to the student section of the site (ongoing), the final edit of the paper application (finished as of 5:30 last night) and the usual counseling I do, I'm surprised I haven't had enough of writing and editing. Nevertheless, I may be pushing too hard, because I feel like I need a vacation.

But I'm learning a lot. From Spring Conference, I got my first taste of our other campuses. At PACAC, I learned the importance of socializing with colleagues not from my institution and re-learned how useful some seminars can be. At Summer Institute, I learned how different Admissions at Penn State is from all other institutions. From the visitation tour, I learned that I adore the people I'm working closely with on this project, I saw more of our campuses, and learned how variable their operations are, as well as confirming that the work I enjoy most integrates text and technology.

All in all, I'm very very glad this job involves both, and my boss wants me to do more. Next up, I'm hoping to push my knowledge of the latter.

owls and spiders, oh my!

A. and I hiked about two hours' worth of Shingletown Gap last night, until we weren't sure we'd make it back to the car by the time the light faded enough that it was difficult to see our footing. We did make it, though. The sun hadn't even gone down yet, but the woodedness of the area and intermittent clouds did make things a little more difficult for us near the end.

We were slowed down by a flash of large wings through the pines, which A. noticed before I did. Being in the lead helped, I think. A large white/beige owl with a huge round face perched about a hundred feet away from us and began this call that almost sounded like a hiss, with more vocalization near the end of it. It was looking straight at us while it did this, as if accusing us of invading its space. I tried taking a picture of it (I haven't seen how this came out yet, but due to the dimness, I really doubt I got anything much). We stood still for minutes, and it started looking around and continuing to make the hiss-call. Owls are creepy when they look behind themselves without moving their bodies.

Eventually it hopped forward to a closer branch to us. Shortly after that, we took our leave. We looked back about fifty feet down the trail to see it still looking after us, calling its little hiss-call.

I think that's as close as I've ever gotten to a wild owl. Earlier, we'd watched fish dart through the stream and wondered how they got into the little pools of stillness through the fast-running water, blocked by detritus. This stream feeds the Shingletown Watershed near the parking area--upon a Google search, I find this stream is called Roaring Run. During most of the hike, we could hear it, but I wouldn't call it Roaring. Perhaps it does farther up the mountain, though.

I love the fact that Google searches often lead me elsewhere: I just found out that Bellefonte has an old quarry that people use for rock climbing. I may just have to check it out.

Back to that hike, though: early on, we found an old house--mere foundations, mostly, at this point--with a little chimney section. In this, I found a snail. Don't think I've ever seen one of those, either. Later on, we found a bunch of webs that, upon poking my nose into, I realized were built by a tunnel spider. Eventually, upon using my camera to magnify an area we couldn't see very well, we saw the (rather large) yellow spider hiding within. Again, I don't think I'd ever seen a tunnel spider before.

In all, an excellent hike.

In home news, and on the subject of spiders, I found one of my two pet bathroom spiders hanging from me when I entered the bathroom this morning, having been kicked out of the other one's web the night before (but not eaten, as another unfortunate spider was. nothing like cannibalism in your bathroom to greet you in the morning). I suspect this one was doing something in the open doorway that I pushed through as I entered. I put it onto the floor by its dragline, and it skittered under the sink as fast as it could go. Guess I scare things that much smaller than me.

mountains and caves

Driving in this morning gave me glimpses of sunbeams--stairways to heaven--through the clouds. I wish there was another common name/metaphor for them: they're gorgeous, but hard to describe.

The low-hanging clouds made the range lining up with Mount Nittany hazy. Again, gorgeous. I'm glad to have such a pleasant--or at least picturesque--commute.

I had the opportunity recently to visit Centre Hall twice. I used to go there much more often, when H. lived out there, but hadn't been back in awhile. Centre Hall has the distinction of being built right at the foot of one mountain range, and the rise is impressive, especially as a backdrop to such beautiful houses and churches. Given, there's the mix of unattractive houses as well, but much down there is quite pretty.

In one case, I was driving J. to the dealership to pick up his car. In the other, I was driving out with D. to see Penn Cave. Penn Cave was a weird one for me: I adore caves and cave tours, even if I don't particularly care for the kitsch that almost always accompanies them (although I remember now that the D. from high school wrote enthusiastically about such kitsch, as a total aside).

Penn Cave, though, is a totally water-based tour. You're in the boat the whole time, sometimes ducking to pass through what they call the Narrows, or other low-hanging configurations. You get on the boat after watching the huge trout chase food people throw in (those fish get violent!), go through the cave, which isn't entirely impressive, then out the other side, through a man-made entrance. You get to see bits of their wildlife park, including a pair of nesting swans. The boat makes a circle around the island they nest on, then you go back through the cave and see it all again at a bit faster of a pace and including some special-effect lighting. Overall, though I love caves, I wasn't entirely impressed. I appreciated the drive out there more, in some ways.

In some ways, perhaps, it's the touch-feel sense of caves that I love. The expanse of interior space versus the press of rock bearing down all around you. Being in the water, in a boat, made that feeling very distant for me. Or perhaps it's that I had company. The most recent tours I've had of caves were done on my own--and it may be that I prefer the relative solitude. Relative, given that there's usually many others with me on the tour, of course.

That's it. I just need my own cave to retreat to.

The inescapable humidity broke today. Today's 73 degrees at 8 a.m. is a low for this time of day in the last few weeks, at least. I suspect we had rain overnight, which helped. The stormclouds on the horizon this morning promised either more to come, or that previous rainfall clearing. But the sun's angle through the dark clouds, with more dimness hanging over the closer mountains, is just lovely. I have to reiterate an earlier thought here: sun is more beautiful against a backdrop of darkness.

A, a (relatively) new infatuation, gave me an original painting this past Saturday. It's dark, featuring a layer of newspaper with a photo from Berlin after the Russians entered it. In the right bottom corner is a little girl wrapped in a 20 Euro note. The rest is a smear of grey, with a flash of red peeking through. The slate found on a curb, broken, appears on top and bottom right. In describing why those colors, A explained that since I wear a lot of black, and it was being painted for me, darker was probably better. I can't argue: it fits perfectly over one of my black bookcases. "Places in Picturebooks" is written on the back, along with A's signature.

We got together on Friday as well, downtown. There, I ran into the closest friend I've got at work. Turns out he knows A to some extent. I met the friends of both, joked around for awhile, and then we went back to A's for a movie.

The week before, A and I had gone for a walk in a park I'd known existed but had never been in. It was gorgeous, and I lost myself in the details. We hovered near the spring, or at least we assumed it was a spring, since we couldn't see the source for sure. We watched things on the bottom of the streambed, through the clear water. We examined the ivy overtaking trees, and the magnificent twists it made on its way up, and the interlocking of its wooded base. A identified the trees that stood far above the rest of the greenery (which of course I forget the name of now), amazed that things could be dredged out of a started-then-abandoned undergrad in Forestry. We paused on every bridge to take in everything in minute detail. It made me miss the macro photography series I'd worked on for a year. During that walk, as well, I noticed that I pretty much forget my nose in the winter, but something along there--a purple flower of varying intensity, I think--smelled amazing. It's kind of strange to suddenly have something to smell outside again. But I like it.

Today I managed to get caught in two different storms. After the first, I drove silently, watching the steam rising from the roadway, seeing through that mist a mix of dark green pines and fresh new summer leaves on the rest, and weaving around the branches and leaves down everywhere. It was bright--so bright, in the post-thunderstorm sun. Even the stadium, with the sun streaming down, looked attractive. Fresh and gleaming. Past it, the storm having moved into the next valley gave the bright glass and steel a dramatic dark backdrop.

The second storm was surprisingly violent. I cruised along the bypass (which, as an aside, I'm thankful for, as it gives a height in the valley--a viewpoint I never would've had otherwise). I watched lightning strike to the right of the road, and a moment later the thunderclap made me jump. I laughed at myself afterwards for startling: I knew it was coming, after all.

Intensity, both the storm and the sun, leads to joy.

Walking into my building, I looked down at my feet, wondering at how comfortable my shoes were, and realized I'd put on the wrong shoes. I almost laughed out loud, despite other folks also coming in to work. My current shoes are emphatically not business-wear, but rather more like overgrown leather slippers. They're by Børn, and are amazing.

The moral of the story is: at least my footwear can make me laugh on days I'm in a rush to get out of the house.

Saw/heard Crystal Method last night. Scott was excellent, despite a few technical issues: his partner, though, we heard little from.

Evil Nine warmed up to being pretty decent. The opening DJ, on the other hand, was lamentable. In my professional opinion, his beatmatching and transition skills needed some serious work.

In general: great beats. Just wish they'd all used more vocals.

Side note: good candid picture opportunities. Got some great results, both crowd candids and performer shots.

Excellent night--equal parts shooting and dancing.

Today I was in a meeting with about seven people in it, by memory. Three of us were Annes--in fact, all the females in the room were named Anne. All three of us spell it the same way.

I go from being the only Anne, especially the only Anne-with-an-e, to that name being as common as pennies.

Better yet: one of those Annes shares the same job title and responsibilities with me, and has the office next door. Even better yet: we have the same middle name, as well.

There seems something a bit wrong about snow drifting past magnolias in full bloom.

Snow greeted me as I walked out of the house this morning. Less than a block from home, the little amber gas pump next to my speedometer lit up.

Normally, I'm a good girl, and follow the advice my dad provides: that is, never let your tank get below half when it might snow.

Really, near May, I didn't think this would be a problem. But I have to admit I debated for a good long time (even though I was five minutes late for work) about whether or not to get gas before going in. Lateness and a meeting spurred the latter choice. Instead, I snagged a couple minutes at lunch to do so.

The older lady in the car who pulled in behind me couldn't figure out how to work the pump. The reflection on and angle of the little screen on the pump (as well as her height, or lack thereof) contributed to the problem.

I have to say I fear becoming that little old lady. The day that technology confuses me to the point that I can't fill my gas tank is the day I should really stop driving. I don't think it'll happen anytime soon, but that certainly helps along my drive to stay current with web and tech developments.

Even better, during my last (first, for that matter) staff review, I was told the entire office depends on me to research and help implement new and better ways to communicate with students via tech and the web.

I like my job.

Judged the Student Film Festival here yesterday, along with five other people. One work felt like a standout to me--an almost concept-piece about a woman who kills God, and the world being unprepared for it. It was also one of the few actually on film, and you could really tell the quality difference. Touches of beautiful color work were included, and simply amazing visuals every once in awhile.

Overall, it was great fun, and I think we turned out an excellent Film Festival. I hope they'll invite me to do it again next year.

I just saw Amiri Baraka, Sophia Sanchez, and a couple younger folks perform and speak. As is my habit lately, thanks again to my fantastic uncle and his fabulous gift of a great little voice recorder, I recorded the entire thing. I intend to convert the files to .wavs and burn them to a CD, if that's possible.

That experience was just amazing. I'd forgotten how much I love the poets that emerged from the Harlem Renaissance--and their younger protoges were also excellent. Baraka read the poem "Somebody Blew Up America," which moved the governor and legislature of New Jersey to try to oust him as poet laureate of New Jersey. His reading style--confrontational, vehement--can be entrancing if you let it.

Also amazing (but not nearly so much) was the girl sitting next to me who later asked: "What's your major?" after asking me for copies of the files. Mental note: email her when I've managed to burn the CD.

While I have to say I'm really, really curious about my background, I'm not $100 plus shipping curious.

I just got my boss's boss (a.k.a. my grand-boss) to say "when last we left our intrepid adventurers" in a meeting. Then he proposed to rename our committee the Intrepid Web Adventurers on the condition that we all had to stand with our hands on our hips, chin up and at an angle, when we said so.

I said that I'd do it only if I got to take a picture of him doing it.

My grand-boss rocks.