school counselors and professionalism

Having just taken a call, I have to just drop a quick note here to say that in general, I love dealing with high school counselors. They're direct, they know what they want, and can quickly get to whatever it is. They understand the situation: generally, admissions counselors don't make the rules--someone higher on the chain does. It's also nice to be able to speak plainly, without having to worry about disappointing the person on the phone. It's also helpful that most of the time, I've got nothing for them but additional encouragement. It may not be what the student really wants to hear, but it's nice to be able to counsel many options, rather than just "no," and nice to do so in a professional fashion, rather than deal with the emotional that many students and parents get (understandably, given the enormity of a college decision, of course).

Also, in campus news today, a black bear was found in the heart of campus around 2 a.m.

I almost left the house with my slippers still on this morning.

I caught myself stepping out the door with them, shook my head at myself, and stepped back in to switch over to my Børn dress shoes (which I need to polish up some), which my Dad bought for me. My summery dress Børn, mind, not this pair of Børn (also bought for me by my Dad, by the by--among the reasons I love him is that he keeps me in Danish shoes).

I took a bath right before I went to bed last night, and I feel much better for it--yesterday was a long day with a late meeting. I didn't get home until almost seven, although I stopped on the way home at Target and Wegman's. That bath, though, resulted in a feeling of extreme softness this morning--so extreme that it makes me feel vulnerable. But good, and that's the important part, I guess. More balanced, at the very least. More ready for what the day has in store.

That bath also meant I could read more of The Emperor of Scent, and follow Luca Turin's footsteps further. I've caught up with him in real time, so to speak: I've found and also been following his blog. The way the author of the book (not the blog, although Turin has a similar artistry with words) describes complex science and theory using metaphor really makes me think that I would've learned much more in the realm of science if I'd only had teachers that could use that sort of method. The usual mode just never grabbed me like this does. I'd hesitate to call it a page-turner, because it's not that sort of book, but it's certainly interesting enough to stick with (and having started and abandoned lots of books in the last few years, that's saying something).

So I drove to work, wrapped in my long black sweater because it was really nippy yesterday morning, although this morning wasn't as bad. But that sweater is cozy. And on the way, I saw the second hot air balloon aloft that I've seen this week, and the third this month. It was cruising toward campus with me. I took some shots of it while I was at stop lights and signs and such, a few of which were taken from almost right underneath it. I may be able to post these later.

I'm on phones for a couple hours this morning starting at 8, so I'd best switch gears. Although it's been relatively quiet on duty for us counselors, that'll change next month, and increase as the months pass, before settling down some in spring. I've also got a web project going up in two days that I need to get cracking on, so I'd best put the time toward that if I have it.

I feel parenthetical this morning. Need to quash that before I get on with it.

Hi Dad!

Dad just called a bit ago to tell me he'd read through this whole thing. And liked it, which was rather gratifying. He said that it was good to learn some of the things I'd written up here. I frankly hadn't realized--or rather, had forgotten--how much I do reveal here. It's also nice to know that I'm not just talking into a void. So now I've got, what, two people following along? Speak up, if there are others. I like to know who's tagging along for the ride.

Because this entertains me: last Friday, walking back from dinner at Outback, J. kicked a flower right off at the stem. I complained at him, so he bent over and gave it to me, claiming that's what he meant to do (yeah, right). Silly plant-lover that I am, I took it home and stuck it in the water glass I had at my desk. It kept blooming, and one of the other buds started opening. By now, the original bloom has died, crumpling in on itself, and yesterday or the day before, I was tempted to pitch it. Instead I decided to just add water, and lo and behold, the other bud has continued to open. Brilliant! As a side note, my avocado plants, planted about a year or so ago, are both well on their way to becoming trees. The one in my room is growing up and out in three branches, and the one in my office is just going straight up, although both are leaning pretty horrendously toward the light. I love coaxing flowers/plants to do their thing.

Silly J. Fear my green thumb! (which only sometimes works, of course, but it's neat when it does!)

Photo graphy (space intentional)

I'm thinking of adding some photo- graphy here, perhaps from my old macro set (a year-long project I still adore).

If you'd like to see more, comment quickly, before I end up deleting this post entirely.

Much love.

Because I'm in that sort of a mood.

- Anne

weekend update

Posting while my brain's still spinning up for the day, so please forgive the near-list format.

Just finished my breakfast of blueberries and put another load of laundry in. Watched an episode of "How it's Made" on the Science channel explaining the growing of mushrooms and the making of gold rings (J.'s watching it--I virtually never watch TV on my own). Way more education than I'm used to in about the first half hour after I've awoken properly for the day.

That's right. I got up at 1 p.m. I was also up until 2:30 a.m. Not doing anything exciting, mind you, but working on various projects--of which I've got far too many. Last night's was weeding out my collection of magazine clippings. Those I would've tossed went to L., who I assume will put them to good artistic use (because he's good at that sort of thing). He'll be getting more and more as I go through them. He already carried a couple pounds with him back to his car last night, which was parked about a half mile away. Silly L.

This sleep-in is remarkable because for a good couple months, I haven't been able to sleep past 11 on Sundays, often getting up at 8 or 9, which irked me to no end considering that I often stay up until 2:30 or later the night before. I blame it on the fact that I would wake up, and the things I had to do that day would be running through my head, until I gave up and got up and started doing them. With an extra day (Labor Day) in which to do things, my brain didn't torture me too much this morning, although I did go out at around 10 and rang our neighbor's doorbell, to ask if she could keep the six five-year-olds upstairs on a sleep-over from running and jumping on something directly above my head as I was trying to get back to sleep.

And in this case, I feel I was justified. I'm sick. Properly so, although I suspected at first it was just the usual runny nose that accompanies the shift to fall (and thus my allergies kicking in). Not the case. Instead of going to what would have been my first tailgate ever (surprising, perhaps, given where I live), hosted and attended by colleagues at the Admissions office, I went to the doctor and got antibiotics for what she said (wonderful doctor, by the way, but unfortunately her usual practice is way out of my way--she just happened to be in my usual clinic to cover a Saturday) was a sinus infection. And if I didn't think so beforehand, I definitely know so now. I won't go into details, though. It wouldn't be pretty.

In the shower, I listened to Joy Division's Permanent, which has been in my CD player in the bathroom for awhile now. Which may say something, but not as much when you consider that I only listen to that stereo on the weekends, when I know I won't wake the roomie with the volume. I often forget, until I listen to that album again, that Joy Division first did "Dead Souls." I will forever associate that song with The Crow. Random thanks to R. for introducing me to that soundtrack in high school, before I'd ever seen the movie or, for that matter, thought that goth was cool.

In the car, I've got the new Conjure One CD, which I'm a little disappointed with. They strayed away from the exotic tone of their last album, which is what I enjoyed about it most. On the good side, I'm pretty sure Poe is back doing at least one vocal, although she's not credited anywhere in the liner notes. But I'm enjoying most of it.

On the text end, I just finished National Geographic's Perfume: The Art and Science of Scent, and I'm moving on to The Emperor of Scent : A Story of Perfume, Obsession, and the Last Mystery of the Senses, two very different books, though both handle on the same subject, and both are wonderfully written. And that subject, of course, is oh-so-appropriate right now, given that I can't smell a damn thing.

I've decided that I'm going to decorate my bathroom in CDs, after finding a hanging holder that displays them rather nicely (cheaply, but nicely) at Target. I hope to go back and find more of them, since I only bought one. Off to go do so.

soup

Can I just rave about soup for a moment?

Lunch today: Tuesday's leftover wild rice soup from Stone Soup. Still incredible, even reheated.

Dinner tonight: fresh smoked trout chowder also from Stone Soup. And awesome smoked trout it is. Thick, flavorful--can't beat it. There's also wild rice in this particular soup, which makes me wonder if Tom's using leftovers, or if he just got on a kick.

I rediscovered wild rice awhile back. That's also when I figured out that we don't get much of it around here. The stuff I've been buying comes from Texas, and is mixed with white. Requesting some of the real thing from my dad, back Wisconsin way, didn't come up with much either. Then again, most of the real wild rice I remember loving and seeing in the store often came from Minnesota.

The soup chef of Stone Soup, Tom Everly of Keystone Yankee Catering, is taking the next two weeks off, which is why I stopped by to grab some while I could (normally, I only head over there during lunch). This, of course, right after yet another of my coworkers (in this case, my grandboss) says he wants to go down there with me to grab some soup for lunch next Thursday. I've got four on the line at the moment, and with this break, they'll likely forget all about it in the interim. But I won't. I'll be over in my office just waiting for its return.

reading aloud

When I was little, I used to love being called on in class to read aloud. Now, though, I've lost those skills entirely. This was realized after trying to read the report of a friend of mine who just moved to New Orleans aloud to my roommate. I stumbled over simple (and sometimes ironic) words, words like "inadequate."

I blame this on adult impatience. And, I suppose, the fact that I don't read for really extended periods anymore, like I used to. But when it comes to the impatience, I just want to get to the end of the sentence. My brain is trying to go forward, skim through sentences as I do when I'm speed-reading. The fact that my speech is slower than my reading speed is not something my mind is used to, or comfortable with, so it just tries to keep up. Which, of course, doesn't work.

On a completely separate note, the students are definitely back, bringing with them all the baggage they carry from all different parts of the U.S. and the world. Although I haven't interacted with many, I know because, as happens every fall to some extent at one point or another, I can feel myself getting sick. Joy.

misty morning

This morning I stepped out into a very close world. Fog had set in overnight, creating a blanket clutched tight around us. Sometimes it loosened, but only very little.

I have a coworker who appreciates sunlight, and I could hear her protest already as I got into my car, but I knew it wouldn't impact me much. "It's a lovely morning," I'd reply, if she mentioned it.

And it is. The mist highlights spiderwebs built in patches at the top of the grass along the sides of the road. It masks the industrial chimneys occasionally seen pumping out steam on the horizon. It softens the arrival of about 40,000 students.

Classes start on Tuesday. I'm half thankful for the students' return, and half irritated by it. Their awkward and often lost arrival disrupts the easy flow of summer here. I admit it: I've become a townie. Then again, in the four years I've lived here, I've always felt like one. It's just that they descend like geese--loud, obnoxious, and often shitting all over the place an awful lot. When one gets detached from the flock, they make an awful racket of being lost.

I do understand all this, of course. I've been there myself. And I'm certainly generalizing--this is no one person I'm describing. It's the mass. And it's no one's fault. It's just an inconvenience, interrupting a comfortable flow and (gasp) evoking change.

I love academia. I do. Being surrounded by this many brilliant and becoming-brilliant people is invigorating. But I have to admit the return of students and introduction of a new batch can be both immensely hopeful and depressing. I see drive and spirit, and it's lovely and refreshing, but in the back of my head, the cynic in me starts making bets about how long it will take for that to be driven out of them. Somehow, I hope that students will avoid my mistakes, for example, but of course I wish that for them without being able to say what, exactly, those were.

Gosh. All this makes me sound like I'm becoming older and wiser, doesn't it?

Laugh while you can.

cities: addendum

I also meant to write briefly about how I really should be taking more advantage of the natural resources available to me in the area here, but (how appropriate) forgot.

Basically, I really enjoy trees, forests, streams, etc. But I don't see enough of them. My drive to work is the majority of my interaction, which is sad, and should be rectified. Again, though, I have to fight with the time issue.

Better to be too busy than to be bored, I suppose.

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.