Poor man's art.

Bernadette and I had a little trouble finding the place, and it was closing when we got there. We walked in anyway and I was a little hesitant. There is a smell I associate with poverty and drugs that I became familiar with when I used to deliver food for the St. Vincent society and when I rode the city bus to school, back home in Spokane (aka “Spocomton”). This place was full of it. I overcame my mild repulsion, since I had come this far, and even if we couldn’t get into the gallery, there was art hanging in the hallway.

Someone kindly let us in, opened the art room for us, showed us around and told us a little about the program. Heartside Ministry art room is both a gallery and a studio. The space is crowded with supplies, chairs, tables, and the walls are covered in art work. At first glance there is simply too much to take in. As I focused my attention on one group of work or another, I began to realize that there is something different about this gallery. Art is always expressive, of course, but the people who created these pieces really had stories to tell.

Our tour guide showed us the work of Deb Dieppa. He told us that she suffers from Multiple Personality Disorder. I remember studying MPD in my psychology class a few years back. It’s a horrible disorder. I remember thinking, “this looks like possession by demons.” It is caused by horrific abuse in childhood. Dieppa’s art showed her struggle with the disorder. They tended to be dark and a bit ominous. I kept coming back to a piece called “Shame.” A childlike figure dressed in a pale robe stood in a dark forest-like place with her hands clenched against her chest. Her face was a ghastly pale purple. It clearly captured something painful that the artist was very familiar with. But the very fact that she could paint about it and express her struggle gave a great sense of hope to her work. This hope, I found, was common to all the pieces that I looked at.

I didn’t get to hear the stories of the other artists represented. But their work spoke for them. Ann P. was one of my favorites. She often wrote an encouraging phrase across her paintings. “This Too Shall Pass,” across a cloudy sky with a hint of blue and sun. “Relax,” was a colorful painted puzzle pattern. These and others told of a life filled with struggle and hardship, but also hope and determination.

I was surprised to see how much of the art was religious. The passion, resurrection and the creation stories were referenced often. Johnny King’s “It Is Finished” (a very poignant crucifixion portrait) and “In the Beginning” (which showed the world as a bright horizon in the darkness of space. A silhouette of Christ stood in the center like a reminder that His fingerprints are in all things.) are examples. Christ said blessed are the poor. Most of the time, I have a hard time believing that he meant it. But seeing paintings like these makes me realize that these artist’s, many of them homeless, are capable of being must closer to Christ than I am. I always hear that Jesus made Himself like us, so he knows what we go through. I think Johnny King might know what Jesus went through. Christianity is indeed a poor man’s religion.

Along with the works that referenced the creation story, the works of an artist named Darwin seemed to put us in perspective by showing something much greater than ourselves. Darwin’s work shows the beauty of outer space; a world that is too large to fathom, and yet we are a part of it. How humbling and awe inspiring.

There was so much variety, I know I will have to go back at some point. Perhaps it is my over active imagination that creates all this meaning and inspiration out of these images. I don’t know if the artists intended to prompt all that reflection and hope. But that was the effect it had on me and I am very glad it I came to see it.

Sisterly presence

A few years ago, I made a project of writing down my favorite Christmas memories. I only got through two or three. Found this one the other day. Sometime I'll edit and rework some of these...

~*~
When I was seven I had one older sister and one younger sister. My older sister was wise. My younger sister was sure. I was in the middle, watching and wondering.
I wanted a baby doll for Christmas that year; one with eyes that opened and closed. But if I spoke too loudly my younger sister Clara would take my idea and say she wanted one. Clara has always been better at making her needs known than I am. I was determined to make sure mom knew about me, somehow. I never really believed in Santa Claus.

I remember the advent table in the corner of the living room, and the couch in front of the window. Mom was slouching on it, her legs apart, watching us play on the floor.
My older sister Dana, always the critical one, rebuked her for her posture; “Don’t sit like that mom, it makes you look like you are pregnant.” Dana was nine and there a was understanding between us that she was the older one and therefor she was always right. Mom seemed amused. A half smile crossed her face.
“Wouldn’t it be funny if I was pregnant?”
Dana tried to raise just one eyebrow and gave mom her best “dream on” look.
“Well, it could happen.” mom laughed.
Dana rolled her eyes “Nah, we’re done.” she said and went back to her game.

Done? This thought had never occurred to me. I contemplated this for a moment: just the three of us? Just Dana, me and Clara? I decided I did not like that idea at all. But Dana was very smart and must know what she was talking about. I looked up at mom; she smiled and winked at me. I glanced at Dana. Nine must be the age of not believing.

Christmas morning came, Dad set up the camera and we ripped our presents open one after the other only stopping to put our new toys in neat piles so they would not get mixed up. Dad sat on the floor, he was “being Santa,” which meant he was in charge of making sure we all had some thing to unwrap and that the gifts that went together were unwrapped in the right order. He dug through and rearranged the heap of brightly colored packages calling out the names on each tag. Finally there were only three presents left. Dad handed one to each of us. My attention was drawn and fixed on the box in my hands.
Yellow curls peered out from beneath a blue and white bonnet. She lay on my lap, contentedly sleeping, long lashes at rest on the rosy cheeks. I carefully opened the box, untwisted the wire that held her and lifted her out. To my delight her lids fluttered open and two bright blue eyes stared back at me. Tinny hands and feet with their little fat fingers and toes made me want to laugh.
When I looked up at last and came back out of my delight, I found Clara happily playing with a previously unwrapped gift, the book she had just received lying forgotten on the floor. Dana had a set of clothing patterns on her lap and a piece of paper in her hand that she had just finished reading aloud. Now she was looking at mom and dad in annoyance.
“So.” she said blankly.
I wanted to know what the paper said but Dana did not want to read it again and so she ignored my inquires. Finally mom explained.
“There is a little person inside me who is about the size of a bean. By August he or she will be big enough to come out. These present are from your new brother or sister.”
I can’t say that I was surprised. Just happy that it was really true. Dana seemed to be in either denial or just acting to cool to admit that she was wrong, it didn’t matter.
I named the doll Rebecca. She was my companion for the next few year.
Then in August the best present of all came; Cecilia had big blue eyes and a little bit of brown hair and tinny hands and feet with fat little fingers and toes.

Big cats

I'm not an animal person. In African American lit the other week, we were talking (for some reason) about movies where animals die, especially dogs. My class mates agreed that it was far worse to watch an animal die in a movie that to watch a person die. The same holds true for them in news stories. Honestly? I really couldn't care less how many dogs and cats die. I guess I'm a horrible person...

But anyway.

I do like to look at some animals, I just don't want to keep them as pets.
Sea Monsters, for example... But I already wrote that post.
If I had to pick, I am definitely a cat person, rather than a dog person. There is a long standing assumption in my family that if I was a mammal (and not some kind of amphibian or reptile), I would be a cat. But I find house cats mildly annoying, so I insist on being a wild cat.
For a long time, I ended up being a lynx.
Lynx is a cool word.
But they are a rather ridiculous looking creature, when it comes right down to it. They have such odd proportions, stubby tail, double pointed beard-er-I mean mane, and ears with black hair sticking up making them look very pointy.
They have a majesty and grace of their own, I'm sure. All cats do. Those long legs with the snow-boot-like paws are perfectly designed for chasing after small snow Canadian creatures of all kinds.
But he's just not cool enough for me.

I really like all kind of big cats, though I tend to prefer the rain forest and jungle cats. Tigers beat lions any day. Cheetahs are alright, but I kind of like jaguars and panthers better.

But anyway, I'm not a Lynx.

I'm an OcelotIsn't it cute? Not too big, not too small. He is the perfect cat really. Swims, climbs trees, terrorizes rodents on the ground. Not really spotting, more like spotty stripes. Face like a house cat, body like a hunting cat. Really BIG Eyes. Night vision! And their not even very high on the endangered species list. So there is no annoying "save the ocelot" campaign going on. That sort of adds to the persona of stealth that it has going for it. It's not a creature that demands a lot of attention. It just drops out of tree branches onto unsuspecting bunny rabbits.

-like a Frog-

Emily Dickinson might be the bane of my existence. In my mind – wrecked with sleep deprivation and overburdened with many concepts waiting to be processed – she has taken on the form of a fiend who wishes to drive English students mad. Half way through a simple – if a little nonsensical – poem, she adds an image or word entirely foreign to her subject. Before I can recover from the shock, the poem is over and I am left pondering how to reconcile the twist in her thoughts with my own. She has leaped away from me, across a chasm to some higher meaning. She leaves me few stepping-stones to build a bridge to follow her. I too must make the dizzying leap. Mustn't I? At the first reading, I think maybe she’s just crazy. Maybe she is laughing because I try to follow, groping for her meaning. She watches me perform mental acrobatics to give deep, intentional meaning to her every word and dash. She is pleased at having fooled me, kept me up late into the night. When the panic has subsided and I can read her poem again, the meaning is clear. I can easily bend my mind to catch her meaning and step neatly over the crack between her words and my expectations. A second reading (or third or forth) does not exclude the possibility that she was a crazy mental sadist. But now that I am of the elite who can understand her, I am far more likely to consider her benignly clever in frustrating my expectations to prove her point. I suspect she is still laughing at me, but after a few mores readings, I can usually laugh with her.

Kindred Spirits

It takes me a long time to process things. And with so much to do, there isn't usually time. I sit down to do homework and if I am not sufficiently resolved to get it done, my mind wonders off and I start processing the little unimportant events of the day.

I don't know which is harder; to find a friend or to be a friend. Sometimes I'm pretty sure it's harder to find someone who speaks your language. But then, once you find someone, you begin to learn the limits of your mutual understanding. It is hard not to give up when you find out that they don't understand the really important parts. So you have to learn where those places are that your friend wont go with you. It is truly a gift when you find someone who understands all the important things.


I love chestnuts. I see them on the ground in the sunlight among the grass and golden leaves and they beg to be picked up and carried with me. It's hard to explain it to people who don't understand. They are such a rich color and they feel smooth and heavy in my hand.

This week one of my new friends showed me her pocketful of chestnuts as if they were treasures. This pleased me very much. There are lots of chestnut trees in my neighborhood. There are not so many on campus. Amy found hers off campus, far away. She hoarded them in her sweatshirt pocket and made plans for what she was going to do with them. They would be useful for decorating, or as a learning tool for us tactile people who have to play with something in order to concentrate. They are just nice to have; as many as you can carry. She understood, but not quite the same way. I would never use a multitude of chestnuts to decorate. For me, there can only be one chestnut at a time, enjoyed for it's own sake, just all by itself.

Walking to the music building I found a chestnut all alone in the gutter. At first it was a pleasant, but unimportant coincidence. Then I realized that it had to come from somewhere, other than Amy's pocket. I found the mother tree across the street, right next to the music building. I pocketed just one chestnut of a particularly enchanting pattern and color and continued with the business of being a student. Only in my pocket I have this small round treasure. Now and then I curl my fingers around it and smile. I've picked up things like this since I was very small. And I always want to share them.

Chelsea is in two of my music classes. She is a freshmen so she is eager to make friends. She makes an effort to be my friend, talking and hanging out with me. I am really glad because it's nice to have a friend in class. Sometimes I think we will never be friends because we don't speak the same language at all. Chelsea is a bit cynical. She has given up childish things, but not the fear of seeming childish. She took on a mocking tone when I found a book of Winnie the Pooh songs in the music library. Then she was a bit shocked when she realized that I was genuinely excited about it. Maybe I'll loosen her up yet.
She didn't understand the chestnut.
Was I going to roast it, over an open fire? (You can hear the sarcasm dripping.) No? Why was I carrying it around? What is so special about it? Isn't it just like every other chestnut?

In the sunlight, all the beautiful colors and the tiny pattern of light and dark brown glow. And it's nice to touch, because it's smooth. There is a tiny dip in mine. A flaw? No! It makes it more unique and beautiful. She shakes her head and smiles condescendingly. I gave up.

There is a girl in my English class who is very cheerful and kind... I don't remember her name. There is also a girl in my art class and in choir named Bernadette who has a similar air of simplicity and joy. I found out they are sisters. That makes so much sense. They make me feel safe without feeling little. There was a camp counselor... or someone like that. I can't think who exactly they remind me of. They are both people I would love to get to know better.

Something told me that Bernadette would understand about chestnuts. So when choir was setting up chairs and chatting about Sunday's concert, I jumped up and ran over to where Bernadette sits. I gave her the chestnut. She cupped her hands and took it with an exclamation of awe and delight. "A gift for me? It's so beautiful," she whispered. I knew we were kindred spirits.

Darn Lewis.

I'm supposed to be doing my homework. I have a paper due tomorrow. I long paper, on a difficult topic. I have research to do for another assignment. I must escape all distraction. I turned off my Broadway play list because it was too likely to make me want to dance and sing along. I avoided my acquaintances, especially the ones who look like they might become friends. I hid in the most sparsely populated floor of the library; the third floor, far from the computers, far from the librarians and the printers and the DVDs. I sat down down the aisle from a clock so I won't be late for my next class. I worked very hard for about an hour. Then I looked over my shoulder. How did I end up next to this particular aisle?

Drat! Three shelves full of book bindings all bearing the name "C. S. Lewis."

Did I tell you that I had to buy no less than sixteen books for school this semester? Many of them are novels, which is kind of nice. The bottom line is that I have NO time for pleasure reading.
It's no good. All those lovely words full of truth and stories and humor and Christian common sense. They are all deceptively thin books. A collection of essays on stories. That can't be too demanding, right?
So I dive right in. The intro by someone, oh enviable person, who knew Lewis personally has me totally hooked by his short biographical summary. I've read Lewis' story so many times, you would think I could skip this part. I'm very detached until we get to the part where Tolkien shows up.
I don't know who I love more; Tolkien for being God's messenger to Lewis, or Lewis for demanding a story of Tolkien. It's probably a good thing that I don't know where they keep his books. (As I type this, I'm listening to the Return of the King Soundtrack. The Dark Tower just fell and the Eagles are carrying Frodo and Sam back to safety. Rene Flemming is singing. *Sigh*)

I sure hope I can pull myself out long enough to finish my paper. It's time for lunch.

Windowsill

Bought myself an African Violet today. I like it. I hope it likes sunshine.

Solitary Hobbits

As most of you know, my family usually celebrates Bilbo and Fordo's birthday on the weekend closest to September 22nd. There is a magnificent feast, many guests, much dancing, reading of Tolkien's books, movie watching, lively conversation, but mostly just eating.
So here I was all by my self on the weekend before Sep. 22nd without my hobbity family who usually does all of the cooking. I managed to find something to make my evening festive. I had to raid the library for Tolkien books, since mine would not have survived the journey.I watched the theatrical version of Fellowship of the Rings all the way through (except for interruptions from my family who wanted to chat with me over the Internet) for the first time since the year it came out. Still a really good movie, even though they slaughtered some things. Some of the Moria scenes, the balrog in particular, and the Arogonath are wonderfully done. Watching by myself allowed me to be very involved and present to the movie (except for when my family kept calling me), which was nice.

Tuesdays are my hardest days this semester. I have a morning class and only brief breaks till I get done at 9:30. I was despairing of finding time to celebrate properly on the actual day of Bilbo's birthday. Luckily I found a friend who understood, more or less, and another girl who had never read them but wanted to know what we were so excited about. We will corrupt her yet. *evil laugh* My family sent me a box with cookies and my elven cloak in it that arrived that day. So I got to wear my cloak and share some hobbity cookies. I read Bilbo's speech and a few other little scenes. We were in the main cafeteria, so it was not as nice as a private party would have been, but it was sufficient and I didn't feel lonely.
God looks out for me, even in the silly little things.

Sun spots

I learned all about sun spots in astronomy class. But I still think of cats curled up on windowsills when I hear the phrase.

My window faces south. After looking at the Google map of East Grand Rapids for three months, I have a very good sense of direction in this neighborhood. I look out at a line of trees that block the view of the convent and the garden. Oh well... What's important is that the sun looks in at me. All day long in fact.

My bed is on the west side of the room. In the morning, at about 6:40 the sun starts making my curtains glow a bit. I turn over and go back to sleep. At about 7:40 he has managed to send real solid rays into my nightstand. I usually close the curtains - if they aren't already - to try and keep him out at this point. But I'm glad to see him at 8 when I actually have to get up. It's really a waste of perfectly good weekend hours to sleep any later than 8. The morning might be cold, but my windowsill is a warm little sun spot. My little bottle that I made in ceramics this spring sits there in the absents of a cat, looking all warm and cozy, if lacking a tail and whiskers. The marble apple that used to sit on Dada's desk never gets warm, but it shines and makes me think of Dada and home. Always a comforting feeling.

By the end of the day, the sun spot has spilled over my room and made the it kind of stuffy. I don't mind so much. Our hallway is cold. I don't know why, but it's never warm. Even when the setting sun comes stretching into the window at the west end. The rays make the ugly yellow carpet look almost attractive, but it never warms up. Maybe this is why no one is ever in the hall. It's kind of funny; the hall looks warm. It is lit it cozy yellow light and has a very (ugly) yellow carpet. But it never feels warm in any way. My dorm is just the opposite. It's bare and gray mostly, with some off white and brown. Very cold. But it's always warm, and it almost feels like home. I've managed to shake off the feeling of being in a place that doesn't belong to me.

I think I want a small plant. Something that likes sun and is easy to care for... or hard to kill. The sill looks very austere and bare. It would be nice to have something alive sitting between hard stone and hard baked clay. Something ought to be allowed to soak up that beautiful sunlight while not here to enjoy it. And I really need a rug.

Morning Prayer

It's 6:44 AM and I can hear rain falling gently outside my window. A little hint of sunlight plays in my curtains. Sleep was hard to fall into. I close my eyes again and promise I will get up in fifteen minutes.

6:45 is marked by a knock at the door that jolts me out of sleep. Was it next door? I don't hear anything more. Fine, I'll get up.

I crawl out of bed and dress. Outside my door is a quite hall full of closed doors. Down the stairs, the hall below is identical excepting one detail. A set of double doors at the West end of the hall is my destination this morning. Someone is waiting for me.

"They shall be filled"
The words meet me in a blue glow as I open the door, so close, I could touch them in a few steps. The Beatitudes are lit by the sun from the other side of the glass. No dazzle of sunlight this morning; only a faint, even light from the cloudy sky. Each pane is simple; words and small images on blues and greens. Each guilds me in a reflection. Blessed are those who morn, they shall be comforted." An anchor. Comfort in stability. Christ shall be my anchor, wherever the sea tosses me.

I walk to the railing of the balcony and look down at the pews on the ground floor. They are empty and serene. Everything is quiet in the morning. I am kneeling close to the words "Blessed are they who hunger and thirst" in the quietest room or the quietest building on campus in the morning stillness. Even the little red light by the tabernacle is still.

All night, as I slept, He waited here for me to discover His little house. He is the only person I know in this place. But I cannot feel lonely with Him here, so close. I remember hearing a Poor Claire sister tell of her first night in the convent. She was giddy with excitement. "Jesus lives in my house. He is just down stairs and I am sleeping a few rooms away."

Americans

Sometimes you hear a song that you used to listen to as a child and you understand the words for the first time. Sometimes you realize that you understood the song even though some of the words were just sylables. How does that happen?
I listened to Laura Ingalls Wilder's stories of frontier life when I was very small.I can't have been much older than four. Being the second child, I always identified with Laura. I was nothing like her. But we were the right age to be friends in the first book and no matter how far apart we grew after that, I always thought of her as a friend. Images stick in my head from each book. The first one that comes to mind is Laura and Mary playing catch with a pig's bladder. After that there are too many to mention.
I listened to mom read them aloud to Maleny and David recently. I hadn't realized, those books made a much bigger impression on me than merely giving me a picture of life in another time. The famous American spirit - responsible, industrious, careing towards neighbors and, above all, fiercly independant - resonates from those books so strongly, even a young child like me could learn to love those elusive qualities. They don't make Americans like that much anymore. My early understanding of those virtues has its roots in her stories. The roots have certainly grown, but I could still trace their development back to the source.
I listened to the stories and remembered them like the words to a song, and I understood them for the first time, even though their lessons have been with me all along.

"As For Me and My House..."

If, by some hellish chance, someone proved that all religions are "equally true," I would still be Catholic. God wrote His law on my heart and Catholicism is the only religion that teaches all the laws written there.

Ah, the joys of summer.

Got up this morning at 7:20. It was really nice to get up in the morning, rather than the early afternoon. I like being a morning person, but I need some motivation. I also like being a night owl and don't need much motivation for that at all. Being up with several hours of morning ahead of me was glorious... until about 11:00 AM when I got really sleepy and went back to bed.

Elbereth Star Kindler.

Lately I've fallen in love with Tolkien again. This irresistible world he created in my head begs to be translated into the outside world. As with all things that go on in my head, most of the essentials are lost in translation. Actually, the only thing that doesn't get hopelessly garbled are the stories; they tend to turn out better on paper than in my head. Maybe this is why I'm think I'm an English major and not an art or music major.

In any case, here is Varda, Tolkien's lady Elbereth Starkindler.
This is my fifth attempt at translating this image that Tolkien put into my head onto paper. Twice I have finished this image and been rather disappointed. The only good thing about the first one was the hands. I worked really hard on just the sketch of the hands. The only good thing about the second attempt was that it was slightly better than the first one. It's nice to see that I've made some progress. I figured out that I wanted to use black paper on the the third attempt. I started to wear a hole through the crumby construction paper with my eraser, so I didn't finish it. I might have to give the fourth version another shot at some point. It's much bigger and I have some ideas of how I want to fix it. I was playing with some materials that I don't know anything about.
She's still not quite right (even ignoring the minor proportional problems and other little things). Her face is not really how it looks in my head, but I was glad it looked like a human face and not a monkey like some of the others did. I'll get there. I've learned a lot drawing this image over and over. I feel like I have a much firmer grasp on the shape of a face, since I've had to draw it with the light coming the wrong way. The black paper is really maddening and fun.
So, the hard part is sticking with it till it's done. There are eleven more Valar and dozens of other Tolkien images that want out of my head, not to mention faces from my own stories.

Mud Babies

To top of my piano is once again covered in ceramics. This batch looks a little smaller, as far as the number of pieces. But all the pieces are far bigger than the ones I made last summer. I made lots of shot glasses last summer. This isn't actually all of them. One or two have already been given as gifts. There are still a few in my locker at school and I think there are a few more still cooling in another kiln. Once again, I feel like I've just started to figure out what I want to do with clay. I've started to actually do things on purpose with the potter's wheel. That's a mile stone. The small brown bottle in the back was a triumph because I actually drew the shape and then tried to make it. It took me two attempts, but I managed it.

I figured out the secret forbidden glaze combination to get those flashes of red and blue. It's two very runny glazes poured on top of each other. My teacher hates it when people figure it out because it runs right off the pots and onto the kiln shelves and generally makes a mess. Thus, I put it on the inside of a bowl. I So Clever.





This is the other thing I did on purpose. Well, sort of... I wanted to figure out how to make a chip dish with a built in place for chip dip. I made a plate with a Really thick bottom, then I pushed the floor down into a lump in the middle and pulled it up into a little bowl. It's not really big enough, but I felt very clever indeed for managing it. It cracked in the bisque kiln. I think something about pushing the floor down weakened it.

So, next time I get to play with mud, I'll do some more hand building and sculptural pieces. I love the wheel and functional pottery, but I feel like I only have half of the picture this way. I started several sculpture projects, but I didn't finish any of them. The wheel is just so much faster. I hate deadlines. Maybe, when I'm on semesters instead of quarters, I will have time to think things through instead of improvising so much. All the options are a bit overwhelming. There are about a million things your can do with wet clay, just forming methods and shapes you can make. Then there are thousands of decoration, altering, joining and further forming you can do when the clay is "leather hard." Then there is the "bone dry" stage where you can do a whole other set of decoration methods. This starts to sound like an annoying math problem. 1000000 X 1000 X 24... and we haven't even gotten to the glazing part yet. Do you want to dip, spray, pour or paint the glaze on? What color? What texture? How thick? Do you want to use stains? And then there are all these variables in the firing itself. Wood fire? Gas? Raku? And if your pot is on the edge, near the fire, that blue glaze might turn pale yellow, never mind that it looks red when you put it on...
I think I'm getting to a point where I can do some things with the first stage pretty well. I'm also pretty good with the bone dry part. There are only a few options at that point. The rest is all a game of chance. I've just decided to accept whatever I get and try to be appreciative. There are one or two pieces that I can reasonably expect other people to like. The rest is only beautiful to me. So the "pretty" ones get given away to my adoring fans. Anyone want one?

Writeing lab reflections

It's so nice to see people's faces again.

People have always interested me but I kind of like to have them at an arms length; being an introvert in hiding and all. Here in the tutoring lab, I very rarely meet people who I should like to meet outside of the writing lab. I usually like to get them done and out very quickly. But sometimes I think I really like people.

A student came in near the beginning of my shift today and presented me with her paper, covered in English teacher hieroglyphics. She needed a little help decoding, but mostly just a sounding board, like so many student who come to me. She was about my age. She said she had studied overseas but I was not sure if that meant she was an ESL student, or if she had just traveled. She did not write or speak like an ESL student. She may have been an ethnic minority, or she may have just had a tan. Her hair was very carefully tousled and jelled; longer and messier down the middle. She had a lip piecing and wore black, edgy clothes. She could have been an art student except she didn't seem to be trying to get attention quite as much as my art classmates do. There was something a little more thoughtful and confident about her appearance and demeanor. It is terrible to be a confident person in a vulnerable position. Like many students, she was a little unsure if she really wanted me to to tutor her. There is a faint hope that I will taker her paper and let her escape. I finally got her to sit down (next to me rather than across the table, which is pretty extraordinary) by pulling out the chair and verbally asking her to take a seat. So much for first impressions.

Her assignment was to describe a place with a function. She chose her kitchen and explained, very humorously, why it failed miserably to live up to being the heart and center of her home. It was not brilliantly written, but I could sense thought and even enjoyment behind the writing. We moved very quickly through it, working out her teacher's comments and discussing concepts and writing strategies. She seemed very intelligent and genuinely interested in making the paper her own, rather than just getting me to feed her sentences. She didn't want me to "fix" it for her and that was refreshing. I really enjoyed reading and discussion her paper, despite it's just-out-of-high-school feel. I gathered that writing sort of intimidated her. I also sensed that she could really enjoy writing with practice and confidence. Her teacher kept writing "show us" on her very detailed descriptive paragraphs. This happens a lot with English teachers. They always want more detail just as we think we have described everything. What they really want is a different kind of detail, but of course they don't say that. He was wanted her to be more specific about what why it was dangerous to open her cupboard. She left her readers' imaginations with many wide open spaces in which to play. She observed that her imagination goes wild and needs no further guidance. I told her that she ought to lead a little further us into her mind so we don't get lost. "I don't really like letting people into my mind," she said with a small smile. Neither do I. She said she felt much better about the paper when we were done.

I don't really know what it was about this girl that made her worthy of a blog post. I liked her a lot. Both of us were uneasy, in a way, because we didn't know each other. I had the advantage, since she came to me for help, and I've had a lot of practice talking to strangers in this job. But there was something friendly about it too. She is one of those people that I'm sure I could be friends with, even if we have nothing in common beyond a small, hazardous kitchen. Funny how that happens.

"Why is this night different from any other night?"

Well, first of all, we have a special dinner. We used to have a pretty traditional passover meal, but those take so long and there is always a lot of other things to do, so we have an abbreviated version. There is that funny crackerish unleven bread, wine, some bitter herbs. Mom makes this apple and walnut salad with the wine. But we do indeed eat in and run, just like the Israelites. We don't want to be late for Holy Thursday mass.

In many ways, it's just like any other Catholic Mass. Two Old Testament readings and a psalm, one Gospel reading and a sermon. But it's different. The Gospel reading is the Last Supper. That night in the upper room, Jesus not only gave us the center of our spiritual life but also a directive for the corporal mission of the Church: He washed His disciples' feet. At mass in most parishes, after the homily, the priest, like Jesus, takes off his outer vestments, wraps a towel around his waist and goes out into the congregation to wash feet. Sometimes several other people join him. The catechumens who will receive the Sacraments of initiation often wash feet. This is just as awkward as it was for Peter centuries ago. But that's sort of the point. It's very humbling. And in this way, we are sent out to serve one another. The greatest in the kingdom of heaven will be the servant of all.

The mass continues as usual with the Eucharist, the other, and probably more important event that happened that night. We celebrate the Last Supper at every mass. It's THE center to Catholic life.
The Eucharist is the most perfect form of worship. The word itself means thanksgiving. We also call it communion. We are closest to Christ when we have received him in the Eucharist. He is literally inside us; body soul and divinity. I used to tell my girls club that Christ wanted to be physically and spiritually close to us; as close to us as was physically possible; close to us in the way He was close to Mary, the perfect disciple. He was inside Mary's body for nine months. What an incredible miracle to have God living inside your body. Christ wanted that same closeness with each of us. That is the miracle of the Eucharist. Jesus come to be inside us physically for a few minutes. We are all tabernacles for those moments.
Holy Thursday is the day to celebrate this sacrifice and miracle in a special way.

Twice as many hosts are consecrated, since none will be consecrated tomorrow (and Catholics simply can't function without the Eucharist). We know that with every passing minutes, Jesus draws closer to Calvary. While we are still on our knees giving thanks, the priest puts away the extra hosts and carries them in procession to a specially prepared side alter. This little alter is decked in greenery. It is the garden where Jesus prays. Back at the high alter, the alter clothes are being reverently folded up and put away. Everything is stripped bare. The side alter in green and the tiny candle burning beside it are the only relief. We stay and pray with Him, trying not to fall asleep. The church will stay open late into the night. One by one we stand and reluctantly leave. Tomorrow will be a long and hungry day.

Sea Monsters

I haven't done a book post in a while.
Scott O'Dell is a fairly famous author. Or at least, I think he is. Island of the Blue Dolphins won a Newbery medal and all. We got through a lot of those medal winning books. I think someone read Island to me when I was very little. It's not one I remember very well but I think it may have been important somehow. I was pretty obsessed with Native Americans for a while and it may have been O'Dells fault. There was also The Kings Fifth which was very good and I would recommend it to anyone who likes adventure and books about hunts for gold.

My favorite Scott O'Dell book, however, is The Black Pearl.
The appeal of this was the gripping danger and adventure, the quirky Catholic characters and

Sea Monsters.

Okay, the manta ray was probably the biggest appeal. The pearl rightfully belongs to the Devilfish and when the main character steals it, disaster strikes. Those terrible superstitious Catholics. They're so silly.
I was glued to the page.

You have to admit, manta rays are probably the coolest thing in the ocean. Knowing that some sea monsters really exist just makes the world a better place. I'm delightfully terrified of sea monsters. I freak myself out when I'm swimming. I would never be able to take a submarine ride, but I would hate myself for passing up the opportunity. But as long as the monsters are on the TV, and I am safely on the other side, I can't get enough of them.

The world is a better place if you believe in the existence of the Loch Ness Monster too. It doesn't have to be proved. As long as there is a possibility that Nessie could capsize your boat at any given moment, the world is a happy place. Or you can just say that Nessie is just some giant eels playing tricks on us and that's almost as good, I suppose, as long as they are extraordinarily giant eels: Seam Monsters.

Jellyfish are really the scariest things in the ocean. I used to think they were just pretty and colorful and whimsical. Then I was drawing them and I looked up a whole bunch of pictures online.
This one is not so scary. I can't post the scary ones or I'll have nightmares. :D
They can get really big. And then they eat really big things. And the looks so harmless and kind of dumb. They just float around looking all squishing and graceful. Then the zap you and you get all tangles in their nasty tentacles... And they EAT you. *shudder*
Who knew?

Jellyfish are sea monsters.

Not all Jellyfish are eight feet across with eighty foot tentacles. Some of them are pretty small and unimpressive. But they are still sea monsters. There are the ones that actually have brains and will chase after their prey. Those are pretty scary too.


Then there is this guy.
I was almost disappointed when they finally found a live one. It made them a little less scary. The more you know about a creature the less frightening it is( with the exception of the Manta Ray, of course, because he's my favorite).

A giant squid's eye balls are about the size of a human head.

Imagine looking it in the eye! I have to confess that I read Twenty-thousand Leagues Under the Sea just for the fight with the giant squid.



We used to have those Child Craft Encyclopedia things when I was little. In the back of one of them there was a story about the Kraken. There was a fantastically scary picture of this monstrous octopus-ish thing cracking a ship in half. Mine was much better than this one. All the sailors were screaming and jumping overboard or trying in vain to kill the thing. And the Kraken itself looked wicked enough to be enjoying itself.

It was GLORIOUS. I was terrified of it.

I always found it and marked that page somehow so I wouldn't open to it by accident. It was not the sort of picture I wanted to sneak up on me. When I was done looking at all the pleasant pictures, I would open to it very slowly so it wouldn't jump out at me. I would peek at it for about thirty seconds and then close the book very quickly before my imagination ran away and left me too petrified to move. It was the best part of the book. I have to admit, I'm glad the Kraken doesn't really exist. I love it in a story, but I prefer giant squid in real life. They don't seem as malicious.

I've rambled far off my intended subject, but I've one more sea monster to mention... at least...
The Narwhal is one of the more ridiculous looking creatures in the ocean.
It almost doesn't count as a monster because it's so funny looking. And I guess it doesn't actually use it's tusk for killing things. That's kind of lame. But it's still monster-ish.

After all, it's a whale with a seven foot tusk sticking out of it's face!

There are a whole bunch more monsters in the deepest parts of the sea. But it's bed time and I will give myself bad dreams if I post anymore pictures. (All of these came from Wikipedia, by the way)
The Black Pearl was about pearl divers, obviously. Even without the Devilfish, it was a pretty good book.

One of those stories that is written so well that images from it will stay with you forever.

Ceramics and hats.

Another old page from my notebook. I didn't have access to a scanner for a long time. But now I have one, so I'm posting some of my shameful doodles and spelling.
I don't know if I mentioned it here, (probably not) but I took a ceramics class last summer. I've always dreamed of working on a potters wheel. It was amazing. It's a lot harder than it looks but I had expected that. I got a lot better by the end of the quarter. I will have to take pictures of some of the things I didn't give away. Most of my cups were horrid, and only one of the bowls survived a few months in my house. I had a great time. So much so that I'm pretty sure ceramics will be my concentration if I do manage to major in art. I still have lots of other things to try, but I've definitely found a home in clay.
I took Jewelry this quarter. I was excited because I liked that lost wax class I took a few years back. The class focused on the metalworking side of jewelry. I had a good time, but I wouldn't want to do spend a whole lot of time doing that. Wax carving, sure. Banging on a piece of copper, no. So that's one down.
I'll be back in the ceramics studio on Tuesday for the first week of Spring quarter. I'm really happy. I've got all sorts of ideas I want to try. I'm hoping I'll manage to make some cups that hold more than six ounces. We shall see how much I've forgotten since August.
I didn't actually have the nerve to wear my hat much last summer. It's pretty silly looking. I always think of Tolkien's description of Sam's hat in The Lord of the Rings. I think he says it's a shapeless bag, which Sam calls a hat. I always imagine it to looks something like one of my failed attempts at a cup.

Dragons

Old notebook doodle.

Spring break... sort of

I actually have one final left, but it's not till tomorrow, so it feels like Spring Break. I thought I'd give everyone the boring update for this quarter. There are lots of things I want to post about at length. But if I don't write them down in brief, I'll forget, or never get around too it.

I'll be getting my AA at the end of next quarter. I'm signed up for the last two requirements, some music and a fun classes: "Sociology of Gender" (heaven help me!) "Geology" (Oh no, science!) "Music Theory VI" (Now it's going to get REALLY hard, right?) "Voice Lessons" (Cause I sing better when I'm stressed) and "Intermediate Ceramics" (As a consolation prize for having to take the other classes.) No Violin. I'm sad to have to give it up again after only a year, but I've found that I only practice to avoid learning my vocal music. Bad sign. Hopefully next year I'll be able to pick it up again.

I tutored on-line this quarter. Never again. I never thought I'd say this but; I actually prefer to be with people, rather than just typing at them. It's much easier to figure out what a student is trying to write about when she is sitting next to you. I'll be glad to return to my little room in the library next quarter.

What else needs updating... Still no love life, *grin* except the Man on the Tree, of course.

My intended major has shifted a bit. Last year it felt like I kept adding things I wanted to major in. My voice teacher told me at the beginning of this year that my interest would settle out and order themselves. I hate it when she's right!
I'll be majoring in English with a writing emphasis of some kind. Hopefully I'll double major and also do art. Music ends up as a minor. Probably liturgical music, specifically. Crazy. (I don't think my voice teacher could have predicted that. So there!) My college goals also include learning to like school. (You know, despite the part of school that isn't learning amazing things: The useless homework which demands several pages of rubbish. The group projects with classmates who have lots of suggestions for how you should do the assignment all by yourself. And the class time spent listening to your teacher's political convictions. I need to be able to walk all that off and just enjoy the learning part.) And the usual aspirations stand:

• get enough sleep at night,
• don't go crazy with stress,
  
• turn in your homework on time.
  

Sometimes it seems like those things are mutually exclusive, but I am determined to prove popular belief wrong.

I'm officially accepted into all four of the schools I applied to.
This was probably why I am up at 11:30 writing this: I have to actually admit that I've made a decisions. It feels crazy and illogical still. Again, I come up against that terrible leap of faith that I have to face after I've done all I can with reason.

I'm going to Aquinas College.

I feel like I have to make some kind of explanation. Old habit, I guess: I've had to explain and defend my educational choices (and those that my parents made for me) to people all my life. AQ is the one place I haven't visited, the farthest away, the most expensive, and the one that offers none of the specific programs I carefully chose for myself last year.

I fail at making plans... again.

They offered me a very nice financial aid package. I feel confident that I can pull the rest together without going into debt. The biggest factor remains the Catholic affiliation. For some reason, I thought that the social aspect of this decision was not going to be an important one. It was going to be about the academics, and not the student body. But, since I'm determined to get out of my home town and my parents' house, I've come to realize that the social aspect is going to be really important. I want to go to a school that other Catholic kids like me want to go to. I want to go to a school with a Crucifix in every classroom and a chapel on campus.
Maybe God knew I would drive myself crazy choosing between several Catholic schools, so He let me do all this research into these other schools to distract me. Meanwhile, I grow and change my mind about what I want, and then He drops the school in my lap. No time to deliberate.

GO!

The other financial aid letters have not come in yet. If something amazing happens with those, I may have to rethink my life... again. No more defenses and excuses. I'm so tired of being under confident and indecisive.

Time for bed

Linfield

I just realized that I haven't written about Linfield yet.

Hands down, the most amazing thing about being at Linfield was meeting Leah for the first time. More on that later.
Important Accademics.
Music
The audition was much more formal that the others I have done. There were even people auditioning before and after me. I was on a stage and there were lights. Nice recital hall. The practice rooms were also amazing. I don't know how to describe them. They were something between a walk-in freezer and a walk-in safe. It was like being on a spaceship. Very sound proof, but you had to remember to turn on the ventilation or you might suffocate. (!!) They faculty members (who did't really introduce themselves to me) were very nice. They were all being friendly but very poker-faced while I was talking to them. Then the composition teacher (sitting in the corner where I didn't see him till someone else pointed him out) was either very encouraging or very flattering, by saying very enthusiasticly that he would love to work with me. They were very excited about their choir but not much word of small groups such as I am partial to. I begin to think that you really need a music student to tell you that sort of thing.

Art
The art department was locked. We looked into the windows and saw a very messing sculpture studio and a very messy ceramics studio. There was a giant wooden sculpture out side. Looks like a very active little department. The messiness worries me a bit. It's so hard to tell without being inside.

English
We didn't find any teachers hanging around but we did get into the English building. Based on their door decorations, the English faculty look like really great people to study with. There are some exciting study abroad opportunities for writing students (London!) Good stuff. I have enjoyed talking to some of the teachers over e-mail so I don't feel quite as lost about this department as the Art department.

Other factors:
Library
I think this was my favorite part of the little campus tour that Leah gave me. I like libraries very much. We found lots of old friends and other important things. The music library was not like the one at Central.

Food
I didn't actually tastes much food at the other schools I've applied to. I've eaten plenty of caffeteria food on other occassions, however. Lindfield was no worse than what I've had, and better than many. I was surprised at how small the caffeteria was. Adams state and Central both have much larger seating areas ect. My school even has more tables. But I definitly prefer the smaller feel.

Student body
There IS a difference between the public school kids and the private school. I remember that Adams State felt rather like an extention of highschool, or very simular to SFCC. Linfield was not like that feeling. There were still animated converstaions and "somewhere between highschool and adult" antics. But I didn't feel like a food fight was about to break out.

Campus ministry
The parish I visited for Mass on Sunday is the home of the Catholic community at Linfield. It seemed like a very friendly community. They needed money, badly. Looks like the few catholic students are pretty well involved.

I guess that's all I can really say. I had a good time. There were some things that were really attractive. But I'm pretty sure I won't end up there. I hope it's not because I didn't get a close enough look at it. I wish I had been there during the week so I could have met more professors. But God has a plan, so it's all right. It's so hard to not know what would have happened. I can only pick one.

Friends

Heidi's post about The Little Prince added to my already growing reflections about what makes a close friend. Also, meeting Leah in Linfield has left me a lot to think about. We realized that we have known each other for eight years on-line. It was very exciting to see each other face to face for the first time. Theoretically, meeting an online friend seems like it would be very awkward and a little scary. It is pretty easy to give people a false impression of yourself over the internet, either intentionally or unwittingly. The written word, however, which is mostly how I know Leah, is a powerful self expression tool. Leah is just like herself as I know her, only not written down. A little quieter than I had come to imagine from reading her. I should have figured that anyone who writes as thoughtfully as Leah does would be somewhat introverted. Now I'm wondering if I give the impression of being more outspoken than I am. (HA!)

I haven't made any friends at SFCC. I will be relieved to leave most of the people behind. There are people I like: some foreign students that I tutor, one or two art students, some theory classmates. But these are not the kind of people I would want to invite to my house and share with my family. That has been the definition of a close friend for me for many years. When you become friends with Zita Louise, you get her whole family in the package, with all their oddities and ability to embarrass me. Even Leah knows Dana and Clara and Mom a little from the old Tolkien Discussion board where we met. As I will be going away from home next year, how will I define a close friend?

Also, many of my friendships are about to become long distance friendships, like Leah. It's a little frightening. What will happen with those relationships? Jessica has been away at college the last four years and, while we have grown in different ways and probably changed a lot, we are still friends and being together is like coming home. The main problem is that everyone is doing such exciting things. I feel really lucky that I stayed home and got to watch some of my friends have college adventures. I have been able to grow with them and share s few experiences. Now they will be taking on the next set of challenges and I will be, as usual, a step or two behind, taking my time. I sort of wish I could go back to my state of limbo and just be around watching.

The other very scary thing is that I am SO slow to make new friends.
Everyone says that you become friends with people who have interests in common. That's very true. But I also have very close friends who have little in common with me. They tend to be the ones I have known since a common favorite color was grounds for friendship.

What is a superficial commonality, and what is really important in making a friend? I can talk for hours with someone who reads the same kind of books, and yet, we are not necessarily friends. Then there are times when I am with someone and I just know that we are going to be friends, before we even have a real conversation. There are so many different aspects of a person's character at work. The aggravating thing is that I can only really look for the superficial things in a person and hope for the more fundamental ones.

The single most important and fundamental aspect of a good friend is Christ. I don't have any non-Christian friends, and it's not because I don't know any agnostics. I have long conversations with them on every topic I would discuss with a Christian friend. But somehow they are never the people I would go out of my way to spend time with. And that's hopeful, because I can predict, to a certain extent, where I will find Christians. After that, we are back to the tiresome dilemma of whether they will be the sort of people I like to be friends with on all those other superficial levels.

Friends are a gift from God. All my closest friends showed up just when I needed them and I have to trust that I will find some wherever I end up. This is the answer and conclusion that I come to every time. It's really annoying to come to a leap of faith at the end of your reasoning process. It's not satisfying at all. But it's all I have to go on.
I'm back to being the lady-in-waiting.
Where is Lady Sadie? Lady Sadie waits.
(And if you know that book reference, we could probably be good friends.)

Just cause

I've always liked Star Wars. Until I was in high school, I took it a bit too seriously and I used to get really upset when people mocked it. Then I kind of figured it out. Mocking it is half the fun. It's very mock-able. The new ones are maybe not as fun as the old ones because they are not as mock-able in a fun way. The script was still dumb, as it should be. The acting was terrible, with a few exceptions, as always. The monsters and villains were still pretty awesome (except that droid with a cough. That was SO dumb. I was really glad when Obi Wan finally killed him). There was some good space battles and saber fights. But it seemed like some things, the whole romance for example, was taken WAY too seriously. Anikin was just not Han Solo. We skip the Anikin and Amidala scenes and watch Obi Wan. He just more entertaining.
But there were moments of brilliants. Of course, the music is probably the most brilliant thing about Star Wars. I once tried to figure out why, exactly, I liked Star Wars and I finally concluded that it was just because the music was so cool. All those bits of music have become icons.
And all of the themes in the video too.
I love this video. I like it that there are no Star Wars themes in it. So, I'm all proud of myself for being able to identify all the themes. The only one I had to look up was the ET theme, which is the only one I've seen.

There's no point to this post, in case any of you were wondering. I've never posted a video before. I'm avoiding homework.

Crazy.

So, this could be God, or it could just be me avoiding my homework.

I was doing an extensive scholarship search. In filling out my profile on one web site, I also filled out the profile for the college search and I came up with a list of thirty colleges that I was not going to look at. I glanced through to see if the colleges I actually applied for turned up. (Adam's State didn't make it) but I noticed that the scholarship stats for one school were way higher than the others so I casually clicked on it.

It's a Catholic school in Grand Rapids, Michigan, called Aquinas College. It didn't come up on my college board searches because it doesn't offer a major in creative writing, or composition. On closer examination, however, I found out that the course list, for writing at least, is far more extensive than the major requirements at some of the other schools I'm looking at.

So I continued. My AA will count for all the core requirements except the theology requirement. *nods approvingly* Shows signs of actually being a decent school as far as Cathlicity goes. (what a concept!) Free aplication online.

Okay. At this point I started filling out the app on a whim. Every few minutes I would think of somthing else I wanted to check and I would open a new window and check it out.

The voice teacher is into opera... and musical theater...and women composers... and (wonder of wonders) chant. No kidding.

Other exciting thing abound.
So I will be exploring this more int he next few weeks. It was just so crazy to find it when I wasn't even looking. I should go to bed now. Just wanted to tell someone about this because I'm all excited. I would LOVE to go to a Catholic school! Even a nominally Catholic one.

More College updates.

Last week I visited Central Washington University.
It was interesting because I had a very clear impression of what it would be like. I imagined it would be something like my school now. But, while there were some similarities, it was mostly very different. Which was a good thing.

General Information:
CWU is in Ellensburg Wa. Small town but it has some character from what I can tell. It's a public state school on the small side of medium sized. :D I was pleased to find a school in my home state that was not Eastern, and had the things I was looking for. All three interest areas seemed really strong.

Important stuff:

Music: The music building most be fairly new. It's all... shiny... Seems like a pretty nice building and it was full of people every time we went in. The faculty was very nice. However, I didn't actually get to meet the people who would be important to me. The voice teacher was sick and the composition program director was invisible or something. We couldn't find her. So that was a bit frustrating. My audition went well. The program seems to be a good balance for me. It's solid but not too intense. The composition program takes two years despite the two year degree I will have by the time I get there. That's okay with me.

Art: We had a sort of mixed experience with the art department. The secretary, who didn't know much about anything really, gave us a tour. The building was totally deserted. We were assured that there were usually people around. We talked to the head of the department about the programs later. She didn't give us a stream of impressive selling points and details like the teacher at Adams State did but she was equally excited about the program. They have a good variety of things to offer. They have a really great jewelry studio it seems, and a wood design program. Good stuff. She was all for me designing my own major since I have too many interests. I've always been very uncertain about that idea. More on that later.

English: They have a very intensive writing program that looks very impressive. One of the things I really like about it is that it takes students through the whole writing process from drafting to publishing. There are required classes on prepareing a manuscript for publishing etc. Lots of opportunities. The director of that program met with me and let me sit in on her class. I liked the class and she seemed like a good teacher. On a side note, why are all creative writing teachers poets? I guess it's supposed to be harder to publish fiction than poetry. And they all act like fiction is this dark, dangerous world. It's just too complicated. And of course I have very little interest in poetry. I want to write fiction. I'm sure the fiction teachers exist, but I seem to have a talent for not meeting them. Anyway. The English department is in this amazing building. It's an odd sort of shape when you are inside it but it sure looks cool on the outside.

Campus Ministry:
The draw back of the self guided campus visit is that you don't have someone to ask about things like this. Dad said he saw signs of a strong Catholic ministry on campus. They have daily mass and rosary once a week or something like that. That would be pretty awesome. I found their website recently and that was kind of funny. I get the impression that they are just getting off the ground. The front page said "You are not alone!" in bold letters across it. They're a real underground movement I guess. That's alright. Just as long as I can get the sacraments often and have some Catholic friends, I'm good.

Other noteworthy factors.
I unexpectedly ran into Ben, a friend of mine from CYT, who would be in my class. So that's kind of nice. I'm excited to make new friends next year but it would be really nice to have an old friend around.

• Student life: I really don't know much about this. The student body seemed similar to the one I am in now but with less druggies and dropouts. That's to be expected but it's kind of nice. I didn't get the same "extension of high school" feeling that I got at Adams State.
• The campus is really nice and pretty. Lots of rd brick with a healthy does of more modern looking buildings. They manage to look new and not ugly but elegant, which is impressive.
• The Library was pretty cool. It seemed extensive and, because there were so many different rooms and floors for different purposes, it was really quiet in the study aria and stacks. They have a whole mini library for music. The music librarian was a selling point in himself. He was the sort of person who is a campus legend.
• The Theater was where we ran into Ben and he told us a bit about it. Sounds like a strong program that might even talk to the other departments (music, English) despite being on the other side of campus. It's a nice old building. One of those theaters that might have a ghost. It looks like a government building or a church. Kind of Greek temple-ish. The show line up for this year had a good variety of classics (Two Gentlemen of Verona, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers) and shiny new stuff. I really hope I'll have time to dip my toes in there once in a while.

That kind of brings me back to the student designed degree that the art teacher brought up. I would have the freedom to take some theater classes if I wanted to. This system works best for someone who has a specific goal in mind and none of the conventional majors offer proper preparation for that goal. Someone doing art related writing can tailor the art and English majors to get what they need. Seems like the story of my life in too many ways. I have a pathetic desire to fit into a box for once in my life. Just declare a major that is established and handed too me with all the classes dictated. The draw back of this is, of course, that I want three of them. And I Do Not fit into the overachiever box. I swear I don't. I just want to study all the interesting things in the world. So if I were to do this I would have to make some decisions about what exactly I want to study. I would have to present a capstone project that demonstrated why I'm not crazy and these things can go together and make something in some way justifiable. So... I could write a story... and set it too music... and make it into an art exhibit... Lots of possibilities. It would be perfect if I already knew exactly what I wanted to do with all these creative processes. But I'm never that practical. So it would be a little scary. I know that I really want to have a solid, well rounded education in art and writing. Music is sliding in my priority list of late. This may be a passing mood related to my dislike of my voice teacher though. I have so much music in my life already. I know there is a lot I have yet to learn but right now I just want the ability to get started in composition as a hobby. I will always sing but I don't think I could make it my life, even for three years.

Overall: I felt more at home here than Colorado. But I feel like I got an incomplete view since I don't know what campus life is really like. I think this decisions is going to come down to what I decide to study. If I decide to go the designer way, I will end up here. If I end up determined to double major, I will head for Adams State. And of course, there is still my long shot, Linfield in Oregon. I don't know what that will be like. It seems unlikely because I don't really want to have giant dept when I get out, but it will be interesting to have the comparison.