Hallow's Eve

In preparation for my own future at Hogwarts (featured below) my roomies and I had a Harry Potter marathon to celebrate the night of ghouls while preparing for movie number 7 to come out...

And instead of celebrating the coveted world of Harry Potter I found myself missing my old world....
My mom once said that everyone has little experiences in our lives that are like gifts, and you need to enjoy them and remember them but remember that they are gifts and you can't repeat them. Mom-that's a depressing idea.

I want to go back to London because it feels like i've been away from my home for too long.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T (to authors)

Getting an MA means that you get to hang out with English people all day long. This is always a pleasure, but one of the most delightful things about it is the expectation to go to all of the English activities that you would never do in undergrad because it wasn't cool and you had friends other then those in your program. Well, now things have changed and I am very pleased and surprised at the exposure to great authors that USU has been able to attract.

Of the many speakers we have had come I have particularly liked two. I read How the Irish Saved Civilization years ago (thank you dad for being the historian that you are, and for keeping Boarders in business with all of your purchases). Cahill's presentation was about his books in the series about the hinges of history. It's really interesting to hear authors talk about what they love and their perspective on their writing. Cahill is very religious and his talk was very political, particularly about creating a world of hope and faith by stopping war (which he claims has never helped any country). He's also a little profane...which keeps the audience engaged.

Today the speaker we had is the poet of South Africa. She's legit. Think of any award and she's won it. Think of any conference and she's presented there. She lived during the apartheid system and the bantu education act and many of her poems are about growing up in that system. After apartheid was abolished and South Africa was slowly redefining itself HIV struck, and with poor governmental reaction AIDs got incredibly out of hand (with currently 1 in 10 individuals having HIV--most women and mothers). This is particularly interesting to me because I am in a class that is very centered on African writers and their connection with Langston Hughes.

Here is a taste of her writing, and the context of the poem is a reaction against the AIDS epidemic and the young children who are forced to quickly become adults and help to sustain the family.

The head of the household

is a girl of thirteen
and her children are many.

Left-overs, moulting gulls,
wet unweaned sacks

she carries them under her arms
and on her back

though some must walk beside her
bearing their own bones and mash

when not on the floor
in sickness and distress

rolled up in rows
facing the open stall.

Moon and bone-cold stars
navigational spoor

for ambulance, hearse,
the delivery vans

that will fetch and dispatch
the homeless, motherless

unclean and dead
and a girl of thirteen,

children in her arms,
house balanced on her head.

Livn' Logan

If you haven't been keeping up with Gilmore Girls for the last ten years you're in luck. You can now get all of the seasons on DVD and it is a must do. Anyway, GG has the greatest opening scene full of gorgeous fall colors with a rustic church in the background. It really capitalizes on everything from back east that I want in my life. The city they live in is Stars Hollow and there they do quirky, small town activities. Who knew that Logan was basically Stars Hollow.

(Just in case you want to watch the opening scene here it is...for the story of Logan continue to scroll)

In Logan there is this activity called The Pumpkin Walk. Approaching the walk there are swirling lines of people waiting at giant pumpkin cut outs sparkling with lights at dusk, with children running amuck and adults whispering if they should have brought better coats or shoes.

On this walk different groups bid on creating a charming pumpkin scene. This years theme was animation and so most of the scenes were from pixar movies. It was delightful.

The hens were cool but I wish I had a pic of the rabbits...which were amazing.

Here are my roomies and I just kickin' around with a witch who was able to take a break from her duties at Hogwarts and chill with the Loganites.

And with the free cookies at the end I found myself committing my future falls to the pumpkin walk.

true murmurs....

Remember the time that you hiked to the lake? It was about after mile 7 that I wanted to turn around, with my legs longing for the body of a marathoner and my eyes casting glances to the dirt trail which promised to take me home. We could have all turned back, without apology or explanation. We had gone long enough to tell others that we had experienced nature, hiked, travelled, and lived.

But we knew we hadn’t reached the pearl of the mountain, protected by steep terrain. The scene of the lake could be etched into our memories, or breathed into our souls with the feeling of the frost touching our lungs and the view reshaping our connection with nature.

So we walked and continued, and in continuing we were delighted and delightful.

And the lake was there, as promised. Just witnessing the pines (subjected to an existence of struggling in a desert) gather life from the pond during that fall was enough to give confidence to our own future, where we live in an equally dry and desert world. It was beautiful and grand and special because we-step after step, curse after curse-reached it. And it was more beautiful for it.

This view, with struggle and drive and hate and love was earned and to share it or pretend that others would ‘get it’ or feel the poison of envy from it cheapens it like the cheapness of a used love poem employed by the boy in his third serious relationship.

Sometimes I feel like there is an expectation in our digital world of facebook updates, twitter feeds, instant news, gchat, and texting to create a connection of information between those close to us, but more often than not with those distant, foreign, and losing the glow friendship.

The whoring of information will cheapen any experience.

Information gleaned from friends or given freely, like a rare lake found, should be protected through the bonds of friendship and not publicized with every blog post.

I think we forget that information doesn’t have to be shared to be real; increased value is given to that which is rare.

Life should be loved because of moments like this.

This post is not proverbial, deep, poetic, or revealing.

Instead it is one of the funniest things I have ever watched in my entire life.

You must watch it (plus it's like 30 seconds long).

Kudos goes to my grad buddy Matt who did a presentation on using youtube in the classroom and showed me the new love of my life.

Construction

As I was walking back from the library after getting my hot chocolate (which is oh so needed to get me through the cold afternoon, the cold office, and the head cold I have) I paused at the sight where the new agriculture building is being built.

There stood a man, mid forties with the lines of life beginning to forge their permanence next to his tired eyes, standing in his new leather shoes and pressed shirt (missing only the tweed jacket for a stereotypical professor).

He stood and watched, leaning on tip toes to see the hole which is claiming the center of campus. There he patiently waited to witness the dump truck and the digger work in their predictable symbiotic relationship to delve deeper into the earth.

After 24 years of schooling, the fascination he had with construction as a four-year-old still shines.

Simple pleasures my friends, simple pleasures.