Monday, April 28, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Shades of Death*
Yesterday, we went for a little hike in Shades State Park. I didn't bring the still camera-- I brought the video camera (I am experimenting on something right now), so I have no images to show you. Maybe I will have time to upload video, but for now, I want to say:
Even in the beginning of spring, without the full greenness unfurled, it was one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. And I have been to Yosemite, the redwoods, Joshua Tree, etc. It was surprising. And when I looked online to find images to refer to this entry in place of my own, I came up with slim pickings. Mostly from blogs. So, until I can upload some stimulating video of my shoes walking around, these links will have to do. Know that while the images linked here are perfectly lovely, they still not as inspired as the place itself was. I commend you, brave bloggers, for posting the possibly unpostable!
Even in the beginning of spring, without the full greenness unfurled, it was one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. And I have been to Yosemite, the redwoods, Joshua Tree, etc. It was surprising. And when I looked online to find images to refer to this entry in place of my own, I came up with slim pickings. Mostly from blogs. So, until I can upload some stimulating video of my shoes walking around, these links will have to do. Know that while the images linked here are perfectly lovely, they still not as inspired as the place itself was. I commend you, brave bloggers, for posting the possibly unpostable!
*Please Note: There is a series of rather peculiar legends associated with the name of the park/this post. Far be it from me to propagate a rumor, I will not repeat them here until I have found some hard evidence.
Friday, April 18, 2008
A little California(n) in Indiana
There was an earthquake this morning. I thought there weren't supposed to be those here. Not that I mind, or am worried. It is actually a little funny to google Indiana earthquakes and see the biggest ones here only brush past 5 points on the Richter Scale. Sure, some walls crack, some chimneys have (in the past) fallen down and pictures sometimes fall off the wall. Cracked walls? The plaster walls of the two houses I have liven in here are more cracked to begin with than my old house in California. Fallen chimneys? Many of the ones I have seen standing are crocked to begin with. Knocked pictures? May as well remind you they are there and should be switched out as the kids get older.
In short, I am unphased. Bring it on! I am hardened to the shakings of the earth by my hearty California upbringing.
I have found more wildflowers for you (click the pictures for texture). In high school we collected and cataloged them. I feel as though I need to do the same here to truly understand the place. These ones are yet unnamed, but I will pull out my old science neurons and try to find them out.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
To the past
Dear M,
Could you believe this town has two of these? I pass one each day on the way to work, depending which route I take. I think of you each time. Do you remember? It was so funny; we laughed and laughed. Well, you did, I guess. I wasn't there, so it was never as funny to me. But you laughed and I wanted to make you laugh, so I thought of you whenever I saw one. They are such weird things, and it is odd they exist at all. They are both more rare and more common than I would have thought.
Anyway, there it is. Back from a time when we were still together, but you could already see how we would end. I denied it, which is why losing you hurt so much. I thought we would be old maids together, fighting in the same room of the nursing home.
I meet someone here who reminds me of you, is even the person I thought you would become (back when we were kids). It is both painful and wonderful to see her, even though we do not have the same friendship you and I had. Being friends as an adult seems like a tragedy, compared to those of childhood. To laugh as riotously at nothing, to not need alcohol or exotic food or fancy clothes. It was enough to stand in a circle, feet touching, to take a picture and think it would last forever.
Oh nostalgia, how you stab me in the eye when I stare at you too hard.
Could you believe this town has two of these? I pass one each day on the way to work, depending which route I take. I think of you each time. Do you remember? It was so funny; we laughed and laughed. Well, you did, I guess. I wasn't there, so it was never as funny to me. But you laughed and I wanted to make you laugh, so I thought of you whenever I saw one. They are such weird things, and it is odd they exist at all. They are both more rare and more common than I would have thought.
Anyway, there it is. Back from a time when we were still together, but you could already see how we would end. I denied it, which is why losing you hurt so much. I thought we would be old maids together, fighting in the same room of the nursing home.
I meet someone here who reminds me of you, is even the person I thought you would become (back when we were kids). It is both painful and wonderful to see her, even though we do not have the same friendship you and I had. Being friends as an adult seems like a tragedy, compared to those of childhood. To laugh as riotously at nothing, to not need alcohol or exotic food or fancy clothes. It was enough to stand in a circle, feet touching, to take a picture and think it would last forever.
Oh nostalgia, how you stab me in the eye when I stare at you too hard.
Monday, April 14, 2008
found in the grass, on a cold day
something like a stone, something like a piece of candy.
blue like the Mediterranean was, heavy like a silver dollar.
seem impregnable, yet so cold and exposed.
how do you know if something is (still) alive?
it incubates under a lamp in my bathroom.
blue like the Mediterranean was, heavy like a silver dollar.
seem impregnable, yet so cold and exposed.
how do you know if something is (still) alive?
it incubates under a lamp in my bathroom.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
new template -- and homework for you!
i have finally broken out of the template. hooray! by purposely opposing my web design training and the look of "main stream" blogs, i expect all kinds of mad things to happen on different browsers and monitors! let's toast to spontaneous technological creations/failures!
the good thing about it-- i can now have much larger pictures and videos. yes, they will occasionally cover up columns and words-- that is part of the fun! expand your browser window if it is too much, or go look at it on a public terminal with a high-resolution monitor! i suggest the Apple store, public libraries, the Sony store, Fry's, etc!
send me a picture of you looking at the site in a public space and i will post it!
the good thing about it-- i can now have much larger pictures and videos. yes, they will occasionally cover up columns and words-- that is part of the fun! expand your browser window if it is too much, or go look at it on a public terminal with a high-resolution monitor! i suggest the Apple store, public libraries, the Sony store, Fry's, etc!
send me a picture of you looking at the site in a public space and i will post it!
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Spring Forest
This is the fourth day in a row I have walked to work. In those four days, it has been sunny and warm, a joy for walking. (OK, this morning is a little cold and overcast, but that breaks the flow of the story.) Each morning, I walk a certain route, cutting through the north east corner of the campus, a forested grassy area that doesn't seem to serve a purpose for the students (not quite large or natural enough for hikes or research, too large to comfortably study or have lunch, no place to sit, etc.). Each evening, I walk a slightly different route past the big, declining, old houses, so I can imagine what it would be like to fix one up.
Each morning, I have noticed slightly more green on my walk to campus. The first day, the ground was green with moss; the second day, clumps of grass had appeared; by today, those clumps have passed my ankles and are covering the ground. I may not be able to cut through soon, at the rate it is growing.
Last night, after class, I changed my walk slightly, to cut through a tiny section of this forested area. I looked to my left (to the west), and I saw a photograph. No, I saw a landscape, a sunset. But actually, I saw a photograph. The way the light spilled over a building, around a tree and into my eyes, the way the tree cast its shadow like a finger pointing at my feet, the clumps of grass looking like a cheering crowd. When I returned with camera in hand, of course the photo was gone. I don't think I will find it again-- the grass has grown two more inches, this weekend calls for rain, the earth moves around the sun.
This morning, I saw my friend walking through to forest, on her way to her office in a different direction from mine. I emailed her about it later. This is what I wrote.
Each morning, I have noticed slightly more green on my walk to campus. The first day, the ground was green with moss; the second day, clumps of grass had appeared; by today, those clumps have passed my ankles and are covering the ground. I may not be able to cut through soon, at the rate it is growing.
Last night, after class, I changed my walk slightly, to cut through a tiny section of this forested area. I looked to my left (to the west), and I saw a photograph. No, I saw a landscape, a sunset. But actually, I saw a photograph. The way the light spilled over a building, around a tree and into my eyes, the way the tree cast its shadow like a finger pointing at my feet, the clumps of grass looking like a cheering crowd. When I returned with camera in hand, of course the photo was gone. I don't think I will find it again-- the grass has grown two more inches, this weekend calls for rain, the earth moves around the sun.
This morning, I saw my friend walking through to forest, on her way to her office in a different direction from mine. I emailed her about it later. This is what I wrote.
Didn't that seem like a scene from an early 20th century poem about "2 young faculty enjoying their morning reverie on a walk through the woods, come upon each other and exchange a wave." :)
Friday, April 4, 2008
moving in a small town
our postwoman noticed we were moving and has begun forwarding our mail to the new house across town. the mailfolks in California still forget to forward even with our forwarding postcards.
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