come away with me

I am a brown paper bag.

Today was one of those Norah Jones days. Over-cast, scattered showers, and the refreshing smell of damp earth gave an atmosphere which specifically required a large mug of hot chocolate and a good book. If there were any day that I would “come away” with you on, it would be a day like this one.

All illusions of serenity aside, however, I wound up studying for my last final and then heading out into the mist, boldly armed with my notes and a grocery list for Central Market.

More than likely, I’ll end up under your kitchen sink with a few of my friends.

The test went well - life is good.
[I must say that I shall miss rhetoric and Dr. Neeley. Style & Structure spring '09, bring it on!]

I also managed to turn in my last photo-assignment. [Late, but better late than never?] I always love spending time in the darkroom and I think I’ll miss that as well.

Watching an image appear on blank paper as it floats and bobs in the developer tub is a bit like magic, and I always find myself anticipating that moment the way I would rub a pencil over the pencil rub pads as a child. [please, someone say that they remember those?]

Of course it also reminds me of the song from Sound of Music [your life, little girl, is an empty page/that men will want to write on] and then I find myself humming while counting the seconds for the development time of my print.

At any rate, I happily trotted all over campus [from psych to library, back to the art building, and then to the village] and was grateful for my choice of flip-flops for all of the puddle-hopping [and puddle-landing] I wound up performing. The best part of the day was yet to come.

I might get cut up and wrapped around an old textbook, or just stuck under something messy.

At best, grocery trips are, well, somewhere between detestable and a necessary evil. They typically involve a million calls between HQ and Field Operative Little Who 1, and entirely too many choices which then translates into more phone calls.

Do we get the organic lettuce with the slightly bruised exterior?or do we get the perfect head that has been infected with noxious toxic chemicals? Paper towels - three pack or six pack? Bread - whole grain, multi-grain, whole-wheat, or nutty? Oh and while you’re in the frozen food section, would you mind picking up strawberries from the produce section?

In short, grocery shopping is not far up there on the list of things to do do on a Norah Jones day.

Somehow, though, a visit to Central Market transforms the ordinary grocery trip into something inspirational, charming and oddly calming.

It would be nice if someone made me into a kite. I’d like to be a kite.

We were having fajitas tonight, so bell peppers and guacamole ingredients were first on the list. Looking at the red, green, yellow and orange peppers in wooden crates, open market style was enough to bring me into the marvelous world that is the culinary arts.

I am amateur at best, but I relished the feeling of picking peppers like a pro, and there’s something about shuffling through loose herbs to find the right sprigs that lends an air of sophistication to the errand.

Winding ’round the maze into the bakery usually reminds me of the open markets we visited in Italy many years ago, and those are all good memories. [remember to close your eyes and breathe: CM is not for those in a hurry] Wandering into the cheese section tends to sharpen travel memories into San Gimignano, Reggio Emilia, and Siena.

Yes, all of this fit beautifully with my Norah Jones day. Come away with me…if we don’t make it to the Caribbean or Europe, I’ll be content with Central Market.

But whatever happens, I will never forget the day I carried groceries home from Central Market.

the coffee date

Usually, I love nothing better than to walk into Panera, find a corner with access to a plug, and settle in for intense work or study. This morning, however, finds me without my headphones, and better yet, with no pressing homework to be done. So this morning, I fearlessly picked a window table (with a plug), ordered a panini (bless those Italians!) and proceeded to catch up on my current events to the tune of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto no. 3. (one that I’ve played one too many times!) A few minutes after I’d settled in, an elderly couple - at least in their upper-sixties - casually strolled in sweat-suits and walking shoes.

I love to people-watch, and this couple had my attention from minute one. They were more than “grandpa and grandma;” had they been quite a bit younger, I would have said they were honey-mooning. Who knows, perhaps they were? Something tells me though, that this was just who they are. At any rate, they slowly walked up to the counter, holding hands, and he ordered the coffee for both of them after she whispered in his ear what she wanted.

Coincidentally, they took the table opposite mine, and the Wall Street Journal suddenly failed to hold my full attention, despite the stories on the PA primary. Most older couples I’ve seen are pretty quiet when it’s just the two of them; not these two! They sipped their coffee, smiled and chatted with each other - at one point they held hands across the table. Eventually they got ready to leave, and he stood first to pull her chair out for her and help her stand. After she deposited their coffee cups in the dish bin, they exited with his arm securely around her waist and drove off into another adventure.

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

Political demonstration or Sporting event?

The “Journey of Harmony” Olympic Torch relay could not have been more ironically named. The travels of the Olympic Torch are traditionally marked with parades and acclamations – the carrier of the torch treated with great respect and admiration. However this year’s controversial location of the Summer Olympic Games in Beijing, China has sparked mass protests in many of the countries it has visited.

According to the Olympic Charter, the goal of the Olympic Movement is “to contribute to building a peaceful and better world by educating youth through sport practiced without discrimination of any kind and in the Olympic spirit, which requires mutual understanding with a spirit of friendship, solidarity and fair play.” Unfortunately, many have observed that China’s human rights record, its strained relationship with Tibet and its friendly ties with Sudan stand in direct contradiction to the purpose of the Olympic spirit. Consequently, activists see the “Journey of Harmony” with its international coverage as an excellent opportunity to express protest over China’s policies.

The International Herald Tribune reported that roughly 3,000 police officers - on foot, horseback, rollerblades, motorbikes and boats in the Seine - were deployed in an attempt to prevent a repeat of the scenes played out in London. Not easily discouraged, protesters determinedly trailed the torch as it made its way through France. The crowds could nearly be described as riotous as the eternal flame was intentionally snuffed repeatedly before being whisked by French police onto a bus for the rest of the route. In San Francisco, the Torch route was kept hidden as demonstrators played a frustrating version of “where’s Waldo?” via internet postings and text messaging. Dogged by protestors from London to New Delhi, the torch’s “Journey of Harmony” has become am increasingly delicate issue for diplomats world-wide.

When all is said and done, the “Journey of Harmony” relay will have crossed five continents and stopped in over 100 places before finally reaching Beijing in August.

Many pro-democratic countries strongly disagree with China’s human rights policies and its actions in Tibet. On the one hand, lawmakers from each of the countries on the Torch route have actually participated in protest demonstrations while some leaders are abstaining from attendance at the Opening Ceremonies. A handful of countries including France, Belgium and Norway, as well as the president of the European Union’s parliament, have discussed the consideration of a boycott as a symbol of displeasure over China’s handling of the Tibet protests.

Yet the Olympic Games are part of a world-wide tradition and despite the controversial policies endorsed by the government of the host country, the Olympic Games are not typically considered a political forum. Hence, the leaders of many countries, including Germany, Denmark, the United Kingdom, and Cyprus have clearly stated their determination to attend.

China has responded to the situation with a mixture of conciliatory remarks and mild offense at the insinuations proffered by the rest of the world. While vehemently defending their sovereignty over their policies and honor as the host country, Chinese officials have issued a regulation which guarantees reporters the right to travel to all parts of the country, including Tibet, and pledged to honor their commitment to improvement of human rights within their country.

Should the Olympic Games be treated as a political forum? China’s human rights track record and her macabre treatment of Tibetans should not be permitted to slip by without notice. Yet the very fact that China is willing to undertake the arduous task of playing host to hundreds of representatives from countries who oppose Chinese policies is clearly a diplomatic step in the right direction.

The Annual Gripe

So this is the beginning of my annual “i-can’t-believe-the-semester’s-almost-gone-and-I’ve- still-got-ridiculous-amounts-of-stuff-to-do” gripe.

Wait. No. There’s no need for a beginning; that pretty much sums it up.

With literally 20 school days left in my semester, I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. I finally sat down and made a list of everything that I have to do between now and next Tuesday; that definitely made life suddenly more concrete and slightly more bearable. Still, that’s not saying it’s going to stand still and wait for me to catch up. I’m sprinting the last leg of the marathon and feeling a bit high from it all.

On the one hand, I truly enjoy being busy. I love always having something to do, a deadline to meet or someplace to be. I have definitely mastered the art of reading/writing/applying make-up while driving. [Cell phone usage is quite passe.]

Despite my love for activity, I find myself dreading the nagging feeling that somewhere, at some point and without any reason whatsoever, I forgot something - hence the compulsive list-writing. There is a lack of sleep friends find easy to discern during the season of Rachel as the headless chicken. My tendency to utter random phrases with no connection to the present conversation or a strange inability to separate days and events are both key indicators. There are, of course, moments in which I breathe free, but a vast majority of those are stolen from other projects which fell lower on the totem pole of priorities. Is this one of those things where I just need to learn to say no?\

At any rate, with the help of a day planner, Google Calendar, a little caffeine and good friends who remind me of what day it is I believe I shall, once again, emerge triumphant.

The Typebar

Typewriters have always fascinated me as relics of a newspaper day gone by. In early typewriters, the typebar was the arm which reached up and actually placed the characters one paper.  Because most early typebars struck upward against the bottom of the paper, the end result was not visible to the typist until two or three more lines have been completed.

Like life, we often don’t know the outcomes of our decisions until they’ve already been made. Sometimes, hind-sight’s 20-20, but there are other times in which mankind is positively brilliant without ever knowing it.

The Typebar is just an interesting name and I managed to pull an interesting analogy out of it. In short, it’s just a blog - this is my typebar.