And breathe . . .

Today has been full, fun and somewhat productive. It went something like this:

• Go to a wonderful, uplifting church service
• Return home at 12:30
• Devour a granola bar, swig some milk, grab my umbrella, and head out the door by 12:34
• Catch a bus into Oakland
• Help out at a Stories for the Summer event held at an assisted living community featuring some of my classmates
• Return home
• Chat online with a friend or two
• Read for class
• Apply for a job at MIT
• Blog

Any number of these could have an entry of their own, but the only one receiving one tonight is the storytelling event. I wanted to go because I knew it would be a rewarding experience and I wanted to support my friends who were selected to tell tales. To be honest, though, I've never liked nursing homes, so I was dreading the institutional feel and the smells and sights I associate with such places. This, however, was quite nice. It almost looked like an expensive hotel.

As I was not telling a story today, my professor asked me to go out into the hallway and catch people as they came out of a little chapel one room over to see if they would like to join us. A few people kind of smiled at me and went on their way to their rooms and others made excuses why they couldn't go, but a good number of residents did choose to attend the story session. One adoreable little lady said she would like to attend but then whispered to me that she had to go to Wal-Mart.

After I had coralled as many elderly as I could into the atrium room, I joined them to hear the last three of five tellers. Watching the expressions of those I could see, I found one woman, especially, who seemed to be really enjoying the stories. And I'm not positive, but she may have been the one who felt the need to explain the punch lines and important events to those around her. Whether this was necessary, I don't know, but at least she was entertained. One man in the back of the room fell asleep. How he could sleep through my friend Jasmin's story and her yelling of AyAyAy is hard to comprehend, but he did it somehow.

There were carts of lemonade and little cakes for after the event; however, there was no one to serve them, so my classmates and I quickly jumped to the task. I was quite proud, I must say. I didn't even spill one drop of lemonade! I wonder if I missed my calling as a waitress . . . nah! We passed out refreshments to the residents and then helped ourselves before mingling with the elderly, who really were quite sharp, mentally, and a pleasure to talk to for the most part. I suppose that is one of the differences from a traditional nursing home, that these people are still physically and mentally able to take care of themselves, at least to an extent. I really must make reference, if only in passing, to the resident flirt, a charming man who sat at the back of the room and told one woman that she had put her finger in his drink while serving him and had thereby made it so sweet he could hardly drink it.

I had many compliments on my dress (really, it is a great dress) and necklace. Someone told me it looked like a real family hierloom, and I suppose it probably does, though I bought it new just a few weeks ago. The nicest compliment I received, though, came from one of my classmates and was quite unexpected. Abby was one of the chosen tellers and one of the two I missed today, but she really does a nice job. Anyway, we were standing, figuring out the refreshments, and she said she had wanted to tell me what a nice job she thought I had done in this class all semester. It's possible that she was just being kind, but she really did sound sincere. She said she was impressed with the way I always delivered my stories so well and with such confidence. This was not my opinion of myself, but we are our own harshest critics, and someone standing near Abby did agree with her. Little did they know that it was only a perceived confidence. In reality, I was terribly nervous, but I guess that didn't show somehow. Hopefully this "skill" will follow me if I ever do get any job interviews. We shall see.

And now the final bullet point:

• Go to bed

Color Me Confused

Yesterday I had my last official class in Storytelling, and since I had to tell my final story "Gode's Story" by A.S. Byatt, I decided I would dress up. I wore black slacks with a silky top, which is difficult to describe but which reminds me of water and waves. This was appropriate since the story I told was about a sailor and the souls of the dead coming in on the waves at Toussaint. A cheerful little piece, I know, but at the same time it's enchanting. Anyway, I had the strangest compliment after class. I ran into one of my friends in the hallway, and she said "I like your shirt." (Please hold here for the dramatic pause that ensued.) "It has colors in it!" Well, yes . . . my shirt does have colors in it. I'm not pulling an "Emperor's New Clothes" look or anything. What was more strange was the random woman who was waiting with us for the elevator who echoed her sentiment, with "It does have colors in it!" Guess what! My clothes today . . . they have colors too.

Appropriately Null

Thank you my punny DanDeLion! You have saved me from having to post a sad comic online that I read while at the Pirates game yesterday. I saw it and thought, "yeah, that's just about like me," but then I came home and discovered that you had commented, thus saving me from a tragic, tragic fate. Instead of posting the comic, I'll merely link to it now. http://www.comics.com/comics/pearls/archive/pearls-20060616.html

This is a real job?

Ah, what a wonderful day in Special Collections. Today I got to play with . . . *Ahem* I mean, I got to seriously study and evaluate . . . the double folio portion of the Rare Books. They're wonderful. Just what makes them so different from the rest of the collection, I cannot actually say. They have something special, though. The duodecimos do too. I suppose perhaps they attract me because they are uncommon. You just know by looking at them that they will prove special because someone put extra thought into their assembly, wanted to make an impact with their size. So today I flipped through a few folio facsimilies. One was the manuscript text to a novel I read a few years ago for my "Concepts of Tragedy" course, Sons and Lovers. How fun to read Lawrence's original text alongside his amendments! The other facsimilie was the Book of Kells, which I leafed through sitting cross-legged on the floor between the stacks, breathing in the familiar odor of old books, which isn't exactly a musty smell, though it is a distinctly old and comforting one.

I, of course, looked through and inspected (for I really was working, most of the time) many other large tomes today as well. Had you been standing near me you would often have heard a sharp intake of breath followed by a low "ooohhhhhhh" as I pulled out shelf after shelf of books. There were sixteenth and seventh century Bibles with their heavy metal clasps (http://libwww.syr.edu/information/spcollections/conservation/clasp2.jpg) still in place and functioning just as well today as they ever did, holding the book tightly shut and keeping all the pages crisp and clean. My jaw dropped over a box set of the first two books of Gulliver's Travels that had the voyage to Lilliput in duodecimo form of only a few inches high and tiny print and the voyage to Brobdingnag as a double folio with large print to give one something of the perspective of Gulliver while reading. I marvled over a book which was probably better than a foot thick and bound in corderoy. Not at all practical to use, for the spine will never bear such weight, but intriguing nonetheless. They finally kicked me out at 5:00, but I trust it was nothing personal. I mean, it was closing time.

It's Game Time!

Ok kids, it's time to play a game. Can anyone tell me what these three songs have in common? Your only hint is that it relates in some way (some horrific and amusingly embarrassing way) to my morning.

That's Amore

Bad Moon Rising

Blinded by the Light

Best of luck, and happy guessing!

His will, not mine.

I'm trying to be patient, to listen for God's direction in my life, but it is difficult. I graduate with my master's in just eight weeks, and I don't know where I'm going yet. Will I be a Preservation librarian in Boston, Massachusetts? Perhaps. Will I be a Special Collections librarian in Missoula, Montana? Hopefully. Will I be an Academic librarian in Stephenville, Texas? It's possible. Will I be hauling all my stuff back to my parent's house until I find a job somewhere? Ideally not, but maybe. It can be so difficult to wait for answers, even when I know that everything will turn out alright in the end. God surely has not carried me this far only to let me fail. I just have to keep reminding myself that everything will happen in His time. In the meantime, I'll try to remain patient and not go running off in my own direction only to go flying off of a cliff in my haste to have answers.

I will NOT wear a sweater in June!

No. Absolutely not. I will not wear a sweater in June. What does this mean? Well, for one thing, it means I'm cold at work. I prefer it that way, because the other option is to be hot before and after work and during my lunch break. I seem to acclimate fairly quickly anyway so that if I'm not just sitting while in Special Collections, I don't really notice the chilliness all that much. Today I realized just how cold I was when I left the library to hurry home for an important phone call. As soon as I stepped out of the building, my skin started drinking in the warmth, eagerly accepting the sun's kisses. It was such that I wanted to just stand there at the entrance, soaking in as much heat as I could. I, however, had something to attend to, and so I headed home feeling wonderfully warm, except for my hands, which were still noticeably cold. But what is warmth when you have an important call to catch?

So I'm a little behind . . .

After only two weeks of summer classes, I returned home for a sojourn into the tourist-populated wilderness of Hocking Hills State Park with my parents and a cousin we kidnapped for the trip. The day was just about perfect, with a dry ninety degrees in the sun and a somewhat cooler temperature in the cave and wooded areas.

Rarely do I ever refer to the park as Hocking Hills; for me it has always been "Old Man's Cave," but I suppose that is because that portion of the trip always served as the main attraction. No one ever suggested that we go to Rock House (featured in the photo, by the way; thanks Mom!) for the weekend or to Ash Cave. No, it was always more of a "let's go to Old Man's Cave." Regardless, the trip was wonderful, and the three of six parks we visited were beautiful. I found the light coming through the woods surrounding Rock House to be especially enchanting.

This is a trip I have made with my family for as long as I can remember. It's not terribly far from home, and it makes a great day trip. Perhaps I will someday take my own children there, to explore the dark caves, be amazed by the waterfalls, and to revel in the beauty of it all. One thing is certain, though: I'll have no child of mine standing so carelessly at the edge of such a high precipice!