Fleeting Days of Summer

Or is it Fleeing? I've got less than a week left of my internship. It wasn't really at all what i expected (surprise, surprise! i often do try to live life without any expectations at all, but i've found that it falls flat. here's to being wrong!). As far as the logistics of running an archive, and helping people with research, i'm really no further than i was before. However, i've learned a bit about running a business, and the types of relationships that exist between bosses and employees. An academic library doesn't need to make money. A historic park does. This means that the organization and hierarchy of the staff is much more important. It means that the work done is not only "for posterity" but must have some (relatively) immediate purpose and value. It means that we can't just apply for another grant or scholarship, but must make do with what we have and must concentrate out efforts on that which will have the greatest public interests. GSRing has also been (much as i am loathe to admit it) a good experience for me. This may sound strange, but it is the first instance in which i have been able to relate to people as an adult - an equal. In the park offices i am an intern; at Sunday School and in choir i am the youngest by two decades; when living with my parents i am the Pastor's Daughter; at school i am a student. Of course there are always "peers" but that's not quite the same thing. I expect i shall tire of it soon - there are definite advantages to being young and ignorant. The new people being trained put this feeling into sharp relief - both elderly, and rather slow (dunno if it's fear of computers or what) - and i became a voice of experience (by some strange coincidence, i also saw buttercups buzzing after bees). I also learnt that i find 18th-20th century history rather prosaic. People would exclaim at how old an 18th century artifact was, and all i could think was "Wow, that's only a couple hundred years old!" Or they would be looking at a photograph from the late 19th century, and while i was exclaiming over what a recent process photography was, they would be like "Dude! it's in black and white!" It's just... American colonialism has nothing on European Medievalsim, i'm sorry.

"Thou Burning Sun With Golden Beam"

I really wish i could figure out how to get the photos off my cellphone, for even the poorest photo could give you a better idea than my words will. But it was such a magnificent event i simply must do my best to share. Let's see... Well, you know how they tell you the earth is round? I know it is not - they are wrong - for i saw the sun drop off the edge of the earth. Nor was i the only one. There is a small public beach 6-7 miles down the road. A bit of a bay - the land stretches almost to the horizon and then curves in a little, so it is relatively protected from the wind and waves. It is facing West. I like to go there to read after work, and in a pathetic attempt to get tanned. There were two or three other families there that day. I had been hoping to have the beach to myself, so i ignored them, and they returned the favour. The sun began to go down. The blue sky turned orange and purple - it brought to mind bizarre and abstract paintings. The sun was pink and yellow, and the closer it got to the edge of the water, the faster it went down. The light reflected off the water so that it formed a straight path on the waves - if i had so desired, i could have walked on it. I could have reached the edge of the earth and touched the sun. But i was rooted to the ground - we all were. We had all begun to pack (the sun sets late - it was after nine-thirty), but we could not leave. Even the youngest children paused their splashing and screaming. Our breath stopped, or at least it seemed completely irrelevant compared the pulse and rhythm of the waves and the sun. The sky faded, and only the perfectly circular sun was reflected on the water. The path was fading, though the sun was still bright. I wanted to follow so much that i ached. The sun continued to sink. The horizon was a straight line - i believe the earth stopped there. If we were still before now we became statues. The glow of the sand and the green of the grass and trees, the bright and raucous colours of our towels and lawn chairs, all of this seemed unbelievably dull and faded in comparison. It sank, and the path became shorter and shorter. Just the very top was visible, yet still we could not move. What we were hoping for or what we feared, i do not know. But the tension of both was in the air. The sun was gone. It had fallen. It was gone. A collective sigh, and we all looked at each other, curiously, as if we had just been given our vision and yet were surprised to find everything looking so familiar. Ridiculous grins plastered on, we all silently finished packing and staggered back to the parking lot. Not having any small children to pack, i was the first one to leave. We waved and nodded to each other as i headed back to the East.

What Is It With Small Towns? I Have Never Been This Creeped Out In a City.

So, the first time i noticed it was in the stores here. As i mentioned before, they absolutely pounce on you. "Did you see this? Did you know that we can do this? Do you know what a good bargain this is? What's your name? Where you from? What's your SSN?" Okay, they didn't really ask that last question. And then, of course, there was the yarn lady... Another time, i was sitting on a sort of wall right next to the curb, talking to my dad on the phone. Not bothering anybody. A policeman drives up, pulls over, and asks me who i am. I give him my first name, and he drives off w/o another word. A couple weeks later, and i am again talking to my dad on my phone (which is very cute and purple, btw). I am walking up and down a side street, behind a motel and a couple of residences. It's right off one of the main drags. I'm wearing this huge black sweater - it reaches down past my knees and wraps all the way around me - a scarf, and a beat up grey purse. The whole outfit, while comfortable, is quite ugly. This white haired man in a gold pickup drives up and down the street at least half a dozen times, smirking and waving at me each time he passes. It's daylight and there are other people around, but my dad (to whom i'd been relating the whole) insisted that i go to a more popular area. I moved to the main street, and the guy drove around the block a coupla times before leaving. Okay, but the next event is even more amusing. Somebody called the cops on me! I just don't get people here - they must be bored outa their minds. Blame it on the library. I was on the phone again (and i know i'm not the only person here with a cell phone - it's not like it's a bluetooth or anything) talking to someone i hadn't heard from in a while. I sat on the steps of a church, since i could see the water from there, but it was across the road from the park and there wasn't even any sidewalk on this side of the road so i wouldn't be in anybody's way and they wouldn't be in mine. And i was talking on my phone, laughing and smirking, banging away at bugs with my shoe (all the things one normally does while on the phone). I saw some shoes coming down the walk as if from church, and thought "well, that's odd, i didn't think anyone was in there and didn't hear the door." It was a (cute, blonde) policeman - "Do you need help, ma'am?" (Ma'am!!) "Umm, no... Do you want me to leave?" (i assumed it must be loitering - couldn't think of anything else) "Oh, no - you're fine. Some one called and said you were talking to yourself, but i see that you are on your phone." And then he left. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? I tell ya, ya gotta love these small town communities.

A Perpetuation of the Blonde Stereotype

I'm working at this historic state park place, right? The first European settlers in the area were French voyageurs, and later British troops who took over their fort and then later moved it to a nearby island. A guy is working admission on the island. I heard this story directly from his own lips, and from my own experience working admission, i find this entirely believable. A blonde woman in her late 30's comes up to the booth. After an exchange of greetings, the dialogue goes something like this... "Is this a State Park?" "Yes Ma'am." "Oh... I didn't know that France had states." "Ummm... France doesn't have states." "Oh! Then ---- State runs it for them?" "No, the park is owned by ---- State." "Oh? So, they don't have to pay rent or anything?" "No Ma'am." "Oh. When did the fort stop being French?" "It never was - this was a British Fort." "So, it isn't French?" ...

I forgot my knitting needles

I have a confession to make. (A completely unimportant, uninteresting, dull confession. In fact, it's not even really a confession as much as a statement. A rather dull and unimportant statement. But i thought it would probably be unwise to start out the post as "i have a dull and uninteresting statement to make." Of course, it's probably not very wise of me to be telling you this now, but i just couldn't bring myself to draw the wool over all ya'lls eyes, or whatever the colloquialism is. Where does that come from, anyway? Back to the statement. It does lead to not quite as dull and relatively interesting statements. Well, it tries to. Sorta. Kinda.) I buy my yarn at Walmart. Sometimes Michael's. I'm cheap. I knit often, but although i started a blanket once (it's about two feet long at the moment), i've never finished anything more complicated than a scarf that spirals. But it's a really cool scarf that spirals. So, here i am, stuck in this silly little "City" that has no Walmart, no Target, no Micheal's, or anything. Well, there is a tiny little IGA. The only place for knitting supplies is a small boutique across from one of the ferry lines. It's teal and green. There's a yard in front - fenced in, white picket. The stairs and the long handicap accessible ramp are also fenced in. Since the yard is tiny, it's already looking rather cluttered. Evidently not cluttered enough, as there are assorted shiny lawn ornaments everywhere. The ambiance is similar to that of Harry Potter's Professor Trelawney. Or that of a crow (or a jackdaw? the bird that is obsessed with "shiny!!"). Inside it looks even more like a bird's lair - a very colourful and expensive nest, and about as unorganized as such a nest would be. The insubstantial-looking proprietor greets me but she's on the phone, so I nod, smile, and duck into the first side room. There is barely room for me to turn around - yarn is piled everywhere - but with the window it is bright enough. She comes by and asks me if i knit or crochet. I say i'm a knitter, though not a very good one. She looks pleased and says she doesn't know how to crochet either. I browse, and pick up a book on crocheting. It's in poor condition, but it looks useful. She gives me approximately 45 seconds before checking up on me again. "I thought you said you didn't know how to crochet?" She sounds startled, almost betrayed. I just say that i would like to learn, and stick my nose back in the book. She won't leave. I return to the main room, and wander around. She stands by the register, staring at me. The next side room is just as small as the first, and without the window. She follows me in and starts dusting, careful to keep an eye on me through the small mirror on the wall. This behavior starts to amuse me. I really am interested in crocheting, so i decide to see if i can find any crochet hooks, and move back into the main room. She decides she has finished dusting a few seconds later and returns to the register. In fact, she never lets me out of her sight again. I had been in there for a total of 20 minutes when i left - which is, in a yarn store, like no time at all. My appearance is far from intimidating. Tell me - why??

Redemption...

and relief were evident in my roommate's eyes when i returned from a library used bookstore yesterday with over half a dozen Agatha Christie novels...

Penguins, Dante, and Pretentions

Okay, so i am slightly obsessed with Penguin Classics. I love the introductions, and the endnotes, and the commentaries, and everything. I also think they smell better than most any other brand. And so i saw Dante's Paradiso - Penguin edition - in the miserable little excuse for a bookstore they have here. (I also saw The Three Musketeers, but it turns out that was a Puffin, and abridged. Disgusting.) I bought it, since in spite of my medieval minor i have never read more than a few excerpts of the Commedia, which is really rather pathetic, i think. And since i read everything else backwards, i might as well read this backwards also. Have i mentioned how much i love Penguin? They have the Italian right across from an English translation, and although my Latin is extremely poor i still find it helpful. And it just sounds better in Italian. Anyway, so here i am, reading the ultimate Romance (or one of them, anyway, though i can't say i'm hugely fond of Milton). My roommate, who prefers to read the Romance novels that are actually in the Romance section (and i mean no slight to her intelligence, though i find her taste lacking), sees this with as much disgust as i view her romance novels. She practically sneered. It was highly entertaining, and i'm ashamed to say rather startling. Isn't that just...odd? To sneer at Dante? Of course, i suppose it is just as odd to sneer at romance novels. If i ever own a bookstore, i will reclaim the word "Romance." Jane Austen, Georgette Heyer, Elizabeth Gaskell, John Milton, Connie Willis, John Donne, Kazuo Ishiguro, Dante Alighieri, C.S. Lewis, Mark Twain, Peter Abelard...

An Entirely Subjective Description of People I May or May Not Actually Work With and Know in Real Life

So, my boss at GSRing is a guy named Ron. Fifties, mebbe? People don't like him, and i'm not really sure why. He's not really friendly, or anything, and often sounds really annoyed. But in practice he has been very generous to me, making sure i have some one to help me, walking me through things several times - i mean, the fact that i still have the job... But a couple of times my other boss has asked me about him, if i think he's mean or a creep. And so have a couple other people. He seems to have a dry sense of humour, but i don't think that can be it entirely. I believe ppl simply take him too seriously. But anyone who can put up with my stupidity and not fire me can't be a complete creep... dunno. I mean, i'm the one that's usually frightened by people, and here's a guy that intimidates everyone else, and i think he's rather nice. Weird. He used to work for the Coast Guard, and hands out lollipops. His new haircut makes his ears stick out and in spite of his height, beard, and grey hair looks like a little boy And then there's Ruth, the lead at the Lighthouse. Late fifties? She's just as reserved as Ron, but has a very friendly exterior. Loves dogs - raises greyhounds. More than one person has commented about how obsessed she is with her dogs, and how weird it is to hear her talk about bitches. Don't see why - just b/c she prefers greyhounds to popular culture and politics... Anyway, i've always found her very interesting. She almost bought a dog named Ella, after Fitzgerald, (the puppy she did buy, a brindle, is Billy, after Holiday, and was flown in tonight if all went well) and we also share aging dog stories. Her husband Art works at mill creek, and her son Vince is building them a new deck. Paints an inch think, manicures, highlights, whole nine yards. Rose is one of the assistant leads. Generally friendly, and resents having to tuck in her shirt. Been here for a coupla years. 5-6 kids, some grandkids. I believe one of her sons is Coast Guard. Peggy is another assistant lead. A very jolly sort of person; reminds one of the stereotypical physical education instructor. Eloise is a housing director here. She is taking classes at a (relatively) nearby city, and also GSR's for money. She has been married once or twice, and i believe has a son that lives in Colorado. She thinks that it's disgusting the way ppl dress up their daughters these days, and agrees that romance isn't all it's cracked up to be. A bit of a nomad, she is planning on returning to Eastern Europe once she is done getting this degree (it's in business/marketing field, as i remember - she had to take an accounting class and she hated it). Gives the impression of being continually flustered, and has a rather unflattering hair cut, although a distinctive (slavic looking) face which could be beautiful. No makeup. John is a nice enough kid - gamer type - who i think might have been trying to start a longterm dating relationship. According to gossip, he tries to date anyone who isn't outright rude to him, no matter if he or she is already involved in a relationship, and can become quite stalkerish. Helen is a pretty blue-eyed blonde. Married, with two young daughters (2 and 4, i believe). She grew up here, went to school in Minnesota, i believe. Has recently been living in Wyoming, where her husband was (is?) editor of a magazine. They are in the process of moving to Wisconsin (which she pronounces wes-consin) this summer. She is living with her sister at the moment, and i believe her husband is in Wisconsin looking for a place to live. Like my mom, she eschews (is that the right word? i think maybe it's the antonym of the word i want, and i don't even know if i spelt it right, but whatev) ownership and hopes to rent an apartment. She got her degree in some sort of developmental psych. Though she grew up Catholic, her husband didn't and so now they are both Methodists (which was, i gather, a sort of middle ground). She is hoping to get a job in the church involving children's education. Mike has a girlfriend in the nearest "city" with a Walmart, whom he fought with over Fourth of July weekend. It's her birthday this weekend, and he doesn't know what to get her. The type of person you can say practically anything to, as long as you don't take anything too seriously. I haven't actually ever worked with Louise, but she's always around. A little old lady, reminds me a little of Murgatroyd from A Murder is Announced. Beth is amazingly ugly. However, she has a boyfriend, and her future expectations revolve around four children she's going to have, the German Sheperd she's going to get for each of them, and the land they will be living on. She is also making a list of every lighthouse in the United Atates, and enjoys reading Michigan ghost stories. She's picked out her wedding dress, and has already started buying clothes for her children (though she doesn't plan on getting pregnant for another four years). My dad thinks this needs a conclusion/wrap-up of some kind. I think it's just a list, albeit (i hope) an interesting list - there's no narrative. Although i suppose i could put one in. What do you think?

The Day I Met Jane Austen

UPDATE: Welcome, AustenBloggers. Thanks very much for coming. I have read a lot of literature, from many time periods, genres, cultures, and so forth. One of my favourite authors remains Jane Austen. As with most such opinions, i am not entirely sure why. As a little child (oh, be quiet, boys - just because i'm shorter than you doesn't mean i can't still beat you up!), i used to hate going to bed. This is now incomprehensible to me, but so it was. My brothers and i would camp in the doorways of our rooms and whisper to each other across the hall, inching as far out of our rooms as we dared, so our parents could trip over on their way up to bed. I always felt especially pathetic when i knew they were watching a movie, or having a party.* I remember at least one time when i tried to stay awake all night, to convince my parents that it was cruel of them to keep me up in my room while they were having fun, since i wouldn't sleep anyways. I used any excuse to get up and join the fun. One night, my parents decided to host a murder. By the purest stroke of luck, i fell off the couch and hit my head on the table. That doesn't sound like much, but when mom found blood on her fingers, they had to take me to the emergency room to get my head stapled. I've still got a scar, under my hair (cool, eh?), and left some authentic blood on the carpet (a clue!). Once it stopped hurting, i thought it was pretty fun. I got to drink lemonade and sit at the table with them. (Where is Jane Austen, in all this mess, you ask? To be quite frank, i'm not absolutely sure, but in the next paragraph or so, i promise.) As i got older, i came up with what i thought of as a very clever plan for movie nights. i would wait, dozing, for half an hour or so for them to get settled. Then i would be thirsty. I would dawdle in the background and eventually, or so i thought, they would forget about me. Depending on the movie, and on whether it was a school night, my parents would put up with this, as i soon fell asleep anyway. I was probably about eight when i used this tactic to watch the last half of Pride and Prejudice. The BBC, Colin Firth and Jennefer Ehle, 6 hour version. Much to the bemusement of my parents, i loved it. They re-rented the first half, and i watched that too. The elegant language, the elaborate hair and dress styles, beautiful houses, and gorgeous soundtrack... In the same way i watched the last half of Emma, and then the first. This was how i learned about hypochondria, noblesse oblige, prejudice, premarital intercourse (i remember the first time my dad explained to me exactly what it was that Lydia had done, and what threatened Georgiana), inheritances, et cetera. We lived in Sicily at the time, perhaps the book wasn't available. My dad printed it off of the internet for me and put it in a black three ring binder. I didn't think it was completely perfect - how could Lydia be the tallest? That didn't even make sense. And Mr. Bingley seemed somewhat of a fool. I simply couldn't like him. It wasn't until we got back stateside that i learned of Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Persuasion (my father's favourite), and Mansfield Park. I read them all, but Pride and Prejudice was, i decided, my favourite. I did not understand Mansfield Park at all. Eventually, although i will always have fond memories of Pride and Prejudice, i began to value the quirkiness of Emma above Pride and Prejudice. Emma was made much more aware of her faults than Lizzie, who only suffers through the actions of Lydia and Wickham. I gave Mansfield Park another try - dad seemed to pick up a copy everytime he went on cruise, so there were several copies laying around the house. It began to grow on me. The theatre scene, which for many people is completely ridiculous, was one i could completely identify with. I hated talking to people - still do. Fanny's fear and shyness, and her strength in spite of these, is something i perfectly understand. And while the impropriety of a private theatre seems incomprehensible today, with my own father often gone i could understand the evils of spending my father's money on activities he would not approve of and which would put considerable strain on already tenuous relationships. Other books are cute or amusing or probing or intellectual or adventursome or romantic or realistic. These books contain aspects of all of these, but mostly they are about Life. Her bit of ivory was nonetheless beautiful for being small. These are people one could meet (and indeed, i believe i have met) walking down the street anytime, and anywhere. Reading these books, i get the same feeling of delight as when i was a little girl and allowed to stay up past my bedtime (though without the headache). I get to catch a glimpse of a life other than my own, yet very like it - a "grown up" world, foreign and familiar, in which (in spite of appearances) I might just fit. ...... *a small clarification, as one must be careful - my dad was the pastor of a church at the time, so these parties were hardly raucous. the only alcohol was the caffeine in coffee, and the rowdiest game played was How to Host a Murder.

GSR-ing

So. I have a couple of posts in the works but right now i am just going to ramble, okay? Because this is all about me, anyway. The internship is unpaid, but they do provide a part-time job so that i can eat. And housing. Nice, right? I'm claustrophobic (which i never realized until i was lost in a hay maze for over an hour - not a good way to find out). After that, i hate talking to People (as opposed to Persons - there is a difference), and Money. This job - Guest Services Representative - is both of the latter. When i say hate, don't imagine impassioned and angry. Agonizing terror would perhaps be better. I have very little control over this, in part because i am afraid of losing control. Does that make sense? No, i didn't think so. I get butterflies, i feel faint, my hands shake, and i lose all power of logical thought processes (not that i ever had much to began with, as my brothers will gladly tell you). My parents say, "It's good experience for you. Growing." I think it sucks. Okay, okay. This is my second weekend (for some reason, the paperwork wasn't prepared for me at first). I have a spiel pretty much down, i know where the bathrooms are (the number one question), i know most of the prices, and have managed to make conversation with all of my co-workers. I had zero training and no previous experience, but people seem to be pretty generous of my mistakes. Today i was only 16 cents over, and they allowed me to come in a couple of hours late so i could attend church. I work primarily in one bookstore, under a bridge. However, sometimes i cover lunches at a gift shop down the way. While there, two children, their mother, and aunt came in. The aunt is a very ... shall we say, forthright? forceful? personality. She takes her time shopping. I was holding a compass behind the counter for the boy. They were bored, and started asking questions about how the date stamp worked, and the clicker, etc. So i told them. And we must have chatted for half an hour. I mean, it was so random. About Pennsylvania, and lighthouses, and sibling relationships, and dogs, and compasses, and i don't even remember. Anyway, on their way out, they asked my name, and i told them. And then they came and greeted me in the other store later, around closing time - just the kids, you know - and played with the clickers there, and we chatted some more... and i think if i had been working in the store the next day, they would have tried to come and visit me again. I don't even know their names. I mean, it was weird. But cool. Anyway. I still strongly dislike it, and often get flustered. I much prefer the library. But i can do this. My battery is getting pretty low. So, like, i should probably go. But i really, really missed you!!

HI!!!!!!

Oh, blog, how i've missed you! My neglect has been entirely involuntary, i promise you. I managed to obtain an collections/research internship in the archives of a state park. Unfortunately, access to internet is pretty much limited to Burger King, and a public library which closes half an hour after i get off work. So. Yay! I hope to be more regular, but until school in September, my access will be limited.