15 books

Oh my goodness, a post that is not a photograph! This was making its rounds 'round Facebook, and I rather liked the responses, so I'm posting them here as well. It was interesting having to think of 15 books -- to narrow them down! -- and think about the ones that really stuck with you.

These are in absolutely no particular order. Don't make me choose - I tried once, and it was painful.

Instructions were: Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen books you've read that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes.

1. I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith
An absolutely amazing coming-of-age story, that just pulls at your heart and never lets go. I love the beginning: "I write this sitting in the kitchen sink. That is, my feet are in it; the rest of me is on the draining board, which I have padded with our dog's blanket and the tea-cosy." Oh--first love. The film, incidentally, is phenomenal.

2. Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows by JK Rowling
Does this need explanation? The end of my childhood perhaps may be an exaggeration, but it was so bittersweet and tied up all the loose ends. So sad it had to end this way, but I'm glad it did.

3. Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke
This book has FOOTNOTES. Footnotes for books that are within the world! Books on the history of magic in England! Amazing. In the style of an early 19th century novel, it creates a world of English magic that you wish was real.

4. Time & Again by Jack Finney
I am realizing that there is a definite "time travel" theme to my books. Si Morely travels back to 1880s New York City to solve a mystery. One of my father's favorite books (if not the favorite) and summarily passed on to me. Also, historically accurate - neat!

5. The Egypt Game by Zilpha Keatley Snyder
Fed into my love of Egyptology as a child, my fascination with the hidden and tucked away, and remained with me ever since.

6. The Giver by Lois Lowry
Oh, those descriptions of the memories! The world! Taught me that you could stand up to the world for the greater good.

7. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
One of the first novels I remember just devouring. I read it in 6th grade, when we lived in Cambridge, England, because I remember my little room, and the armoire that held my clothes and my treasures like coins stacked up in neat rows. I had a cover of Jane Eyre that I adamantly refused to believe was what Jane looked like, because the cover looked like Kate Winslet. The book frightened me terribly as well -- I was convinced that Mrs. Rochester lived in my grandfather's attic and still cannot sleep in the house unless the door to the study (which leads to the attic) is closed. Oh, that cackling laugh at the keyhole--it's still dreadfully scary.

I also just spent a half-hour attempting to find this cover, but the Internet has failed me. It is a pretty girl in a bonnet on the right hand side of the cover and it is bright.

8. The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins
This book is one of the first times I have literally gasped in horror at one of the plot twists. Oh, Marian! What a heroine!

9. Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
Hush, Tyler. I loved it, though I freely admit to skipping most of Galt's speech, because I'd already read 800 pages of it, basically. The image of the Rearden metal on Dagny's wrist - wow.

10. These Happy Golden Years (from the "Little House" series) by Laura Ingalls Wilder
Oh, Almanzo. Oh, those calling cards with the spray of flowers! Carriage rides! I read this right at the point when it could set the bar of how I wanted to be courted. Also, Almanzo is a looker.

11. The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin
Great mystery. Probably started my love for puzzle-like mysteries as a kid.

12. the Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield
A delicious neo-gothic novel with deep roots in Victorian mysteries -- libraries! fires! twins! mysteries! -- it's just fabulous. I picked it up in the morning and didn't put it down until I finished it.

13. Lost Moon by Jim Lovell
It began with Apollo 13, but because this book was the logical sequel to watching that film (as it's the basis) it fueled my love of the space program, my admiration for Jim Lovell, and subsquent love and appreciation for Apollo 8. This caused one particular green binder cover in 6th grade to be covered in diagrams of Saturn V rockets, CSMs and LEMs, lists of astronauts by group, and a map of the landing sites (which was honestly a moon with some Xs at random points.) At one point it will be framed.

14. Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott
One of the greatest sets of stories of patience and faith, and I read it at a time when I needed more of both. Lamott writes in such an honest way, you find yourself relating to her -- because what she goes through is what we all go through, searching for meaning in our lives.

15. Ex Libris by Anne Fadiman
Autobiographical stories of her love of books. As a reader, it only makes you happier to read books about loving books, and these essays just make you happy. Who can't relate to: "Not everyone likes used books. The smears, smudges, underlinings, and ossified toast scintillae left by their previous owners may strike daintier readers as a little icky... I developed a taste for bindings assembled with thread rather than glue, type set in hot metal rather than by computer, and frontispieces protected by little sheets of tissue paper."

runner up: Interpreting Our Heritage by Freeman Tilden. Because it's inspiring.

"ever forward"

Today, we did not realize, was Bid Day at American.  For those uninitiated into sorority culture, it comes after Rush, which is when prospective girls and sororities attend a massive amount of get-togethers in the attempt to find a good match with each other.  

Bid Day is a Big Deal.  It is when you find out which sorority picked you -- there is a complicated mutual matching process, but that is a post for another day -- and at a pre-arranged place, all the sisters gather and welcome you into the sorority.  There is, to be expected, a lot of screaming involved.  It was this particular screaming that caught our attention in the middle of "Colloquium: History of the United States 1865 - Present" because it was all around us and quite honestly, came out of nowhere.

It's a big class, and a significant chunk of them are girls, and I was the only sorority member there.  I realize that there is a nerd factor with History MAs that does not usually correspond on the Venn Diagram of Life with sorority membership, but it's not unheard of.   Still, everyone was rolling their eyes at "those sorority girls" and while I realize that's a typical response, I wasn't sure how to explain.  Of course, I mentioned that I was the only one there (laughing) but I couldn't really explain Bid Day. 

My Bid Day was fabulous.  There were only 4 of us, because we were the smallest sorority, and other groups had new member ("pledge" having all those connotations, it's no longer used) classes of 20-25, but we were 4.  We had to run the length of the soccer field, because that's where the Sigma girls were, but it was exhilarating, running all the way, and running right into screaming, hugging, happy girls who were so thrilled to have us.  Of course, I knew most of the girls at this point (and lived with some of them) but nonetheless it was wonderful.  

The next year, I helped at Rush and again, they had a low number of girls.  This was particularly painful, because we had worked so hard and met some wonderful girls.  But that's how the chips fall.  Everyone was depressed, and showed it on the field, before our new girls came out to meet us.   I realized then: Wow, they must have been sad last year too -- but I had no idea.  I had no idea that to get a class of 4 is a hard blow to the sorority, and painful doubly so because of all the other classes around you at that exact moment.  I just felt loved and so close to all my friends.

I was determined to not let the new girls feel this way.  We chanted and cheered until we couldn't scream anymore, because I wanted them to have the same experience that I did.  That welcoming sense, that love, that embracing (literally) that I remember as such a happy night.

So maybe I can convey what Bid Night means to me... but it's tricky.   

I can't explain that these bonds are deep, and the happiness I get when I think of the mini-sisterhood nights that I had with two of my closest friends, Jen and Hannah, while we watched Battlestar Galactica together.  It lives on, in our frantic emails back and forth between the three of us, trying to solve who the final Cylon was, and I love it.

Oh, and of course I texted cousin Jacqui, a Chi Omega here at American -- she sent back: "haha sorry we're so obnoxious."   Honestly, though?  It just made me happy.

one year ago.

How strange it is to realize that today is my one-year anniversary of leaving my last job. It's strange and surreal, and today was rainy and strange anyway, so I suppose it added to it. I can't believe another year -- this time, my 24th -- has passed by, and how much it has been a time in the wilderness and purification by fire.

I started blogging.

I went to Twelfth Night.

I learned how to sew.

I learned how to live on my own.

I learned to be alone.

I learned to love Battlestar Galactica.

I was home for the holidays.

I got a new temporary job.

I went hiking.

I conquered hikes that had conquered me.

I went to the Family Reunion.

I saw old friends.

I ate lots of BBQ.

I line danced, and swung danced.

I travelled.

I biked.

I went to a beach.

I drove a convertible.

I lived alone for 2 weeks.

I went to Class.

I applied to grad school.

I got into grad school.

I read gothic fiction.

I fell in love with DC.

I met new friends.

I moved.

I read.

I cried.

I prayed.

I hoped.

I dreamt.

I learned.

Maybe this doesn't seem like much, but this year has been literally life-changing. It has meant the world to me, and has changed me so much that I'm not sure I recognize myself from a year ago. I've grown so much, in my way of looking at the world, and particularly my faith -- that "ever present help in trouble." It's hard to describe. I thought, in fact, that I would post an eloquent discussion of my changes, but I don't know if it's the place for that. I rather like how it's turned out.

Well, early in the morning, 'bout the break of day

I ask the Lord, "Help me find the way!"

Help me find the way to the promised land--

This lonely body needs a helping hand

I ask the Lord to help me please find the way.

photos lost, photos found

I just found an old digital camera, that I had forgotten I had.  Out of curiosity, I wondered if any pictures were still on it -- and I found 200+ photos of the end of my study abroad in France, and the beginning of the trip to Belgium!  (Where the other half of the Belgium-Germany-France trip went, I haven't the foggiest)

Some of the treasures I've found...

On the street in Avignon

Amphitheater in Nîmes - I saw a bullfight here.

Maison Carrée in Nîmes -- an old temple to Jupiter

Châteauneuf-de-Pape.  The popes' summer home, now vineyards.

Hodge-podge of buildings in Bruges.

Windmill! 

These make me happy, though it makes me absolutely long to travel again.

my flickr set has all of them

rooms I have loved.

So I as I look around my room and see this (see right) ...it is a mite depressing.  There is quite a bit to do.  But forgive me, I have just finished 3 days of moving.  Three, because I only end up in the general vicinity of home at 7:30 pm, utterly exhausted.  Somehow (actually, with help), everything is moved. 

It got me thinking of memorable rooms of yore, and since I have moved every 6-9 months for the past 4 years (No, really.) I have quite a few rooms to remember.   Here, there, everywhere. 

Some I never got around to photographing, some are not as exciting, but here is a bit of a retrospective, in what I hope is chronological order.

Lancaster University, Lancaster, England.  My first study abroad, and my first time having a room to myself in college.  Oh, my flatmates.  I loved them.

The Appleford, a Civil-War-era house on the Gettysburg College campus. I just loved the little details in the bathroom (all mine!) and I would take baths when it was raining in springtime...

Wolf House.  Junior & Senior year of Gettysburg, though this particular photo was taken Junior Year.  Ah, to live on the first floor of a c. 1873 Queen-Anne style house, especially when one gets to live in the Library of the house.   Quite possibly the most depressing years as a bibliophile -- O, to have so much space & yet so few books on hand!  

My first sublet, in Williamsburg.  My first time officially living on my own.  Scary (but worth every second).


My real apartment, that I shared with the inimitable Holly.  I loved it, it was cozy, we cooked food and sewed.  Ever so happy.

My sublet in Alexandria.  One of the most beautiful houses I have ever set foot in.  This was the bathroom.  There were fossils painted on the walls! 

This was the most recent apartment.  I don't really have photos, oddly, but I do like that I documented my wall of pretty homes.  It certainly brightened things up. 

And now, I am living in my little tiny room, eventually to move in with some wonderful friends.  But in the meantime -- and by that, I mean now -- I get to snuggle up with all my pillows & bison stuffed animal.   Behold how squishy it looks!  With that--I am off.  My pillow calls. 

outdoorsy

The weather has been beautiful recently, which means I am now entering my phase of missing working outdoors 40 hours a week.  Yes, it can be miserable (see: Virginia Summer) but Springtime and Fall are bliss. 

 Today was a beautiful day in DC, and as I walked to nearby family's house (right near work!) I realized how perfect for walking the weather was.  A lovely 60°, crisp enough to offset the heat from walking, and sunny.   So as a result, I started of thinking back to working at Williamsburg.  Even though the lovely weather is what you look forward to, it's the dreadful weather that you remember. 

I talked to Amy today about the day we worked during Tropical Storm Ernesto, and of course she remembers the whole day.  We spent most of it together, huddled underneath cloaks, trying to avoid puddles (and failing), making our way down the Duke of Gloucester street towards the shops where we were assigned that day.   Meanwhile, tree branches were falling around us. 

We made it to the Wig Shop, where I was assigned, and I realized quite quickly I was soaked through, and so took of layer upon layer until I was barefoot, wearing my chemise, stays, and bed gown.  

To those not intimately familiar with Early American Textiles, I was wearing a knee length cotton nightgown, a fully-boned corset ("stays"), and a woolen knee-length wrapper that vaguely resembles a bathrobe.  Colonially naked.  

All of my clothing at this point was strewn across the shop, along various ropes, as I lamented being chosen for the one shop that had a fireplace that didn't draw. 

Needless to say, it was a rather uneventful day for guests (total: 13) but we interpreters had fun.  The electricity went off, and we didn't realize it until a few hours later, and I trekked across the river that Duke of Gloucester had become to peek in the Millinery shop, and managed to find not only a fireplace, but soup and hot chocolate that they had heated up in the fireplace.  I watched my shoes steam slightly as they became slowly less damp, and wiggled my toes in my wet stocking feet while I sipped my soup. 

It sounds miserable, but I don't remember that.   It's filed under other outdoors days, full of fresh rainstorms, cool breezes, and blissful sunny days.  

quentin's ring

I've started to wear this ring again.  Around my neck, but I find myself absently fiddling with it throughout the day.  It's another remnant of Infernal Gaslamp, which I realize more and more (especially now that I'm reminiscing) was another great formative part of my life. 

I love the world, and I love that it's so tangible.  In the Circle, especially, we are taking this to new extremes and seeing documents as academic sources from days gone by, and having to treat it not as gospel, but as a possibly biased source.  The creation of history, in that strange meta way, is addictive. 

I have been added to the pantheon of saints in the Circle-universe.  In a small homage (or whatever you would call it) there is a St. Emily the Chatterer, who is known for building the greatest library in the world, then losing it all when she moved from Ivortown to Orryk.  

It is, I was told later, a reference to my pages upon pages of notes for Infernal Gaslamp, which I no longer have access to.  Not nearly as dramatic, as they are in storage, not destroyed, but I liked the comparison, which will nurse me through the times of having a meagre stash of pages.

As I like the ring.  I can't remember how I got ahold of it, but you'll have that.  Now, to sleep and prepare for tomorrow.  I'm excited.

anniversaries

Today, April 26th, is the two-year anniversary of my grandpa's death.  It's strange.  To be honest, I had forgotten.  I have little to no recollection for this particular date, only that I recall that it was mid-April (ish), but I thought it was earlier.   

I remember exactly where I was when I found out (Gettysburg College, senior parking lot, driver's seat) and events afterwards, but I have literally no memory connected with those events happening on any day in particular.   How very strange, but not altogether unsurprising.  

My aunt sent out an email a few weeks ago letting us know of the upcoming anniversary (which, incidentally, was how I found out when it was) and a suggestion that we use the day to spend it thinking of Grampa and do something that reminded us of him. 

Well, I forgot that it was today.  I forgot, that is, until I started to get emails in my inbox from various & sundry relations, forgot again, and remembered as I am heading to bed, as the day is turning into the next.  

I'm not sure yet what I will do.  Right now, I'm listening to a recording of Clair de Lune, which has certain points in the melody that bring out such quick, sharp memories that it surprises me.

I finally finished Atlas Shrugged.  I've had it for 6 years.  He bought it for me (of course).  I finally re-started reading it a few weeks ago, and could barely put it down.

I return again to the Edith Wharton quote that I read during the memorial service, and perhaps it's something good to meditate on:

"...one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, and happy in small ways."  

I stick by that being a consummate description of Gramps.  

I suppose the real point is, at least for me, Gramps was such a key figure in my life that I can't help but think of him.  

Little things: pianos, skiing, hawai'i, green grapes, the waldorf=astoria (not so little), Lincoln...  It surrounds me.  Even my cherry-blossom print, which has not yet found a home on my wall.  

Those are my every-day memories, the things that make me smile.  It's the things I don't expect, that crop up in unexpected ways, that are how I cherish his memory. 

Another year will pass soon, and I will most likely forget the date again.  That doesn't matter.  What matters is the love, the happy memories -- I was just reminded of Kemp's Koffee Korner and those marine-layer mornings! -- and lessons learnt.  Be a leader!

let's roll some dice -- or, wait...

scissordice!
Originally uploaded by hummeline

So today was spent driving out to a game store for the intent to buy dice.  Not regular dice, but polyhedral dice.   As you can see, I am now the proud owner of a lovely little collection of dice, including 2 twenty-sided dice ("d20s") - and the middle one is purple, green, and blue: gorgeous!

At any rate, they're the first dice I've ever bought, as I no longer have access to Eric's bag of dice, which contains the sparkly-pink ones I have previously used (and loved).

It's strange, because I don't think of myself as a gamer, yet I've been involved with it for 8 years, and I bought these specifically for a game (and by that, I mean role-playing game) of Tyler's, called the Circle. 

This game in particular becomes an excuse to delve deep into character development & world-building, which provides an excuse to write and makes one think about fictional characters (for that is what they are) in new ways.  They take on minds of their own, which is a familiar feeling for those who write, but it is always strange to have a character react to things in ways that you don't expect -- or to hang on to feelings that you thought they would have long-abandoned.  

I like that.  Even if it never explicitly comes out in the game, there are bottled up emotions that I associate with my character that determine her every move, and in that way, it makes the game more real.  Not real in the sense that Infernal Gaslamp was, when my character was a thinly-veiled version of myself (crushes and all!), but real in the sense that those latent feelings makes the game a more life-like experience.

Of course, I will probably never be in disguise and a member of a ragtag band of mercenaries trying to convince a foreign government to give us an army to beat back mutated beasts, but if I were, I have a feeling it would be similar, because, in game, there are all the personalities, biases, hatreds, friendships, and reactions of real people.

In the meantime, I'm editing the wiki we've created so all the players can keep all the facts about the world straight.  It's currently 573 pages.  That's a lot of information, most of which will go un-mentioned, but the delicious detail is so fun to learn, especially for the historian in me.  

A month left until the next session -- and I cannot wait.  I will be connected through my computer, but at least I'll have fantastic dice.

disneyland

rocket to the moon

Sometimes Disneyland just makes me smile.   Even though I mourn the loss of Astro Jets, I still think this Jules Verne-y tower is cool to take pictures of.   That's my superficial story & I'm stickin' to it.

(that being said, I hope they keep Small World as it is...)

a bit of chinatown, a wedding, and lots of friends

Day 3 & 4 of San Francisco have passed by in a bit of a blur.  

Day 3 we spent the morning wandering around Chinatown, buying tchotchkes and eating the most delicious potstickers at a restaurant called, understandably, The Pot Sticker.  

This day being the wedding, our sightseeing was cut relatively short, as I dolled up, looking like some sort of 50s housewife, and headed out.  I had seamed stockings!  Made it down to Palo Alto, and to the church, almost running over half the groomsmen in the process (not really).

Perhaps the best part of the ceremony was, after the vows, Eric's old a cappella group from Stanford sang a hymn, and something with the way their voices just soared in the space -- I've talked about how this idea of harmony has been coming up, and that was the pitch-perfect example.  

Writing about it now, I'm incredulous that this wedding actually happened.  There was this feeling of the end of my childhood -- I simply adored Eric all throughout high school, so to now see him married (to a wonderful woman) is the first major sign that we all are, in fact, growing up.   Well, some of us.  I was seated at the reception with some old friends,  a new friend, and an old boyfriend, all of whom I cherish, and haven't seen in ages.  It was, again, like the last salute to our childhood & a sign of us growing-up, in a way that seems fitting.

So to end it, I submit our signatures - some faked, excuse us, but only 3 of us were in London - of our characters of Infernal Gaslamp, in the guest book at 221B Baker Street.   These are the people I was so excited to see at the wedding, these are the ones that I will always hold close.

The game is afoot, the Infernal Gaslamp burns & set your watches to 5:07!

summers at balboa

The rest of my weekend - and by weekend, I apparently mean Sunday and Monday! - was spent buying an apron at anthropologie, a copy of the 1922 edition of Emily Post's Etiquette, and satsuma-flavored body wash.  All of these deserve particular note.  

To begin with, simply: I love aprons, and this one is particularly delicious (photographic evidence to follow... eventually).  

As for Post, I was in a store, looking at the most recent edition (17th ed.) and lamenting that I am quite confident about how to type an email at work, and to not use "reply all," and so wanted one of the vintage copies of Etiquette.  As my gaze moved slightly down the row, a glimpse -- 20s font! -- and I pulled out what I now own: a reprint of the 1922 edition!   It's fantastic.  Chapter XVIII is: The Debutante.  This is preceded 

by Formal Dinners: Not For the Novice to Attempt.  I'm so excited.

Now: the body wash.  Important enough for an image.  It seems simple: Body Shop's Satsuma Body Wash.  It's orange-y.  

I opened it up in the store, and smelled it, and all I can remember is summers on Balboa Island as a kid.   Specifically, after long days at the beach or in the water or on our tiny inflatable boat (the Indefatigable), taking cool showers in this shade-filled bathroom, using satsuma and smelling oranges everywhere.

It was one of the many things I loved about Balboa.  The bricked porch, the built-in closets that seemed so old, kayaking, and the freedom to go everywhere we wanted on the island.  I loved the mornings, with the marine layer making everything foggy, and waking up, rollerblading down to the pastry shop, picking up cinnamon twists (delicious) and skating back to meet up with Kemps' Coffee Corner (namely, my Gramps and Mom eating the same cinnamon twists, reading the paper, and talking about current events).  

Not to mention Patrick's and my budding capitalistic ventures: buying shells and selling them (mostly to our parents) at inflated prices.  Yep.

95% of the reason I bought this body wash was because of how happy it makes me feel.  The other 5% is because it smells fantastic.