My three favorite areas of KKG 11

#3: Return from Abydos (a wall painting on plaster done in 1410 B.C.; artist unknown; located in Thebes, Egypt, in the tomb of Sennufer, a mayor of Thebes in the 18th Dynasty).

I have the feeling you, dear reader, might not be very impressed with this picture, but this is the reproduction I did for Art History last semester. Medium mostly colored pencils, although crayons were used sparsely. It took hours and was very hard (do you see those hieroglyphics?!). My Art History minor roommate mocks me for how long it took me (no, I shan't tell you, don't ask), but I got a 95% on it and thus hang it with pride next to the various pictures drawn for me (not by me). My favorite is one of Albert the Caterpillar. If you draw me a picture, I will put it on my wall.

#2: my desk area.

I thought about cleaning it up before I took a picture, but that would defeat the purpose of it being my desk. As you can see, there are two lovely stacks of books, a box of stationary, various post-it notes to myself, family pictures, my water bottle and notes from friends on the wall. You can even see Heatho's art fashionista pictures reflected in the mirror! How fun. My hard drive sits on a stool besides the desk and I have a little side table close by, where I stack even more books and papers. I spend too much time here, which is why I oftentimes abandon this comfortable little nook for the library.

#1: dresser top.

This is my most favorite area of the room because I think it encompasses the most. First off, this area is squeezed between two 3-drawer containers, which appeals to my ever-need to be organized (or at least have the illusion of being organized). But the most important elements of this picture are the crayons my cousin Sarah gave me when I went to college, the coffee cup Heatho wrote on (she writes on lots of cups; I just haven't thrown this one away yet), the little Kay Kay Gamma badge box, and the picture of the roommates and our parents from sophomore year, when both sides of the family happened to visit Hillsdale the same weekend.

Honorable mention to my bed, but I hardly sleep in it.

This will be my formal way of introducing my favorite things series, where I shall periodically take pictures of my favorites places/ people/ things around Hillsdale throughout my final semester in the Hillsdale I know and like best. I had a blog post which showed the house and the campus after a legit blizzard, which I've now decided was the unofficial first post about favorite things. Then another blog post recently, which actually listed favorites (as well as non-favorites). A lot of people who read this aren't physically here, but they still know the campus, so I thought I'd share little parts of my life, if only in pictures. Think of it as peeking through a looking-glass.

Thursday poem comes from the motherland.

"Digging" by Seamus Heaney

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pin rest; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.

It's the witching hour, but must press on. Back to Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau and Rothbard...