Here becomes there without ceasing to be

"Passerby, These are Words" by Yves Bonnefoy (translated by Hoyt Rogers)

Passerby, these are words. But instead of reading
I want you to listen: to this frail
Voice like that of letters eaten by grass.

Lend an ear, hear first of all the happy bee
Foraging in our almost rubbed-out names.
It flits between two sprays of leaves,
Carrying the sound of branches that are real
To those that filigree the unseen gold.

Then know an even fainter sound, and let it be
The endless murmuring of all our shades.
Their whisper rises from beneath the stones
To fuse into a single heat with that blind
Light you are as yet, who can still gaze.

Listen simply, if you will. Silence is a threshold
Where, unfelt, a twig breaks in your hand
As you try to disengage
A name upon a stone:

And so our absent names untangle your alarms.
And for you who move away, pensively,
Here becomes there without ceasing to be.

On Flannery O'Connor's porch with Vivy

Happy Thursday! Prayers for my bestie/ four-year college roommate Bear-Bear, who has her first day of her second year of teaching school today!

O! She doth teach the torches to burn bright

Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chief use for delight is in privateness and retiring; for ornament, is in discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition of business. For expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs, come best from those that are learned. To spend too much time in studies is sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humor of a scholar.

Book store in Mecosta, Michigan

They perfect nature, and are perfected by experience: for natural abilities are like natural plants, that need pruning, by study; and studies themselves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men condemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them; for they teach not their own use; but that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read not to contradict and confute; nor to believe and take for granted; nor to find talk and discourse; but to weigh and consider. 

Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that would be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books, else distilled books are like common distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man. 

And therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a great memory; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit: and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he doth not. Histories make men wise; poets witty; the mathematics subtle; natural philosophy deep; moral grave; logic and rhetoric able to contend. Abeunt studia in mores [Studies pass into and influence manners]. Nay, there is no stond or impediment in the wit but may be wrought out by fit studies; like as diseases of the body may have appropriate exercises. Bowling is good for the stone and reins; shooting for the lungs and breast; gentle walking for the stomach; riding for the head; and the like. 

So if a man’s wit be wandering, let him study the mathematics; for in demonstrations, if his wit be called away never so little, he must begin again. If his wit be not apt to distinguish or find differences, let him study the Schoolmen; for they are cymini sectores [splitters of hairs]. If he be not apt to beat over matters, and to call up one thing to prove and illustrate another, let him study the lawyers’ cases. So every defect of the mind may have a special receipt.

-- "Of Studies" by Sir Francis Bacon

Confessions of a Never-Homeschooler

Extra, Extra! Read all of Volume Ten! I'm still on the phone (fine, on hold) with so-and-so about this-and-that, so let's get this post oot and aboot...

one

Confession: I didn't know people ACTUALLY home schooled their children until I went to college. It sounded like a myth, or a kind of educational theory. I rationalized that only people who didn't have schools within a certain number of miles of their home would do that. I grew up in a huge city with tons of schools: public, private, parochial, take your pick! Then I found out Cincinnati is a huge homeschooling city.

I admit: I should have known better.

My father was that parent who made us do extra work when we got home from school. He went to teacher-parent night to complain that we weren't being given enough homework. He always said, "I already know my kids are the best. I want to hear how you're going to make them better."

He also told us to play for fun, climb trees, read books and then write our own. He listened to every single child tell him ridiculous stories, only to have him tell us a better one. Yeah, you want to meet my dad now. Who doesn't?

Walk This Way

From my lovely burnt orange book, bought in Mecosta:

"The Scholars" by W.B. Yeats

Bald heads forgetful of their sins,
Old, learned, respectable bald heads
Edit and annotate the lines
That young men, tossing in their beds,
Rhymed out in love's despair
To flatter beauty's ignorant ear.

All shuffle there; all cough in ink;
All wear the carpet with their shoes;
All think what other people think;
All know the man their neighbour knows.
Lord, what would they say
Did their Cattulus walk that way?

In honor of the end of Hillsdale Hell Week and for general exams kicks and giggles:

H/T Andrew

And for the Dogwoodians et al.:

I've gotten a few entries, with promises of a few more, so here's the challenge again: if you were to give a toast (wedding or otherwise) in the voice of a literary character, whom would you imitate and what would you say? (See the bottom of yesterday's post for more details and inspiration!)

Happy Thursday!!

Oh College Days, What Art Thou?

I do not often respond to other posts, but my fellow Happydale classmate Kiernan recently posted a blog subtitled “What I learned (and didn't learn) in college.” It was inspired by a column in The Guardian and an e-mail from her sister, who asked her how to get straight A’s.

I did not go into college ever thinking I would leave with straight A’s. And I didn’t. That doesn’t mean I slacked off in my studies; major au contrair, mon amis! Academics have always been very important and prioritized in my family. I simply decided and did not allow my studies to completely devour or define me. That isn't living, nor is it college.

Senior year: I FINALLY got Bear to a football game!

I gave my time to other things, like the Hillsdale Forum, Kappa, babysitting my advisor’s kids, RAing for two years in Mac, coaching a little girls’ soccer team, playing soccer, serving as Social Chair for both Catholic Society and the American Studies honorary, pulling pranks, becoming friends with my teachers, getting published, eating cheese, etc.; all the while, enduring constant, jesting mockery for "never leaving the library" from my fellow classmates. (Or so it seemed; I am rawther partial to libraries.)

I suppose the major thing I noticed missing from her evaluation, however, is the need for perspective. Learning in college does not mean having a perspective but gaining one. Mark Steyn once told me he was going to teach me to shingle a roof because writers need perspective. How can one get perspective, however, without the urgency and adgitation that there is more to do and more to learn? Pushing one's limits, either physically or intellectually, can help one know more, by doing, not simply being.

For example, Kiernan instructs her sister in all-caps to NEVER pull an all-nighter. I say, why not? My sister Kato has only pulled one all-nighter and it wasn't even for academic reasons. (It is also a really, really funny story to listen to.) My college career, on the other hand, could easily be defined by the ceaseless all-nighters my roommate Bear and I pulled and my participation in the infamous “graveyard shifts” of American Studies majors.

This is not an endorsement of all-nighters; they were often painful, and always caffinated. A person has to be mentally prepared for it. My first all-nighter freshman year was horrrible. I felt terribly ill by the end of it. The second one was better, and the hundredth one was second-nature, with typing away at 6 a.m. and hearing the birds chirp always a pleasant surprise, as in, look what I'm doing! But this is what worked for my schedule, and I figured that out by doing it, is my point.

Our room in the last month of college... at least we passed our comps and successfully defended awesome theses!

Secondly, Kiernan defined college as “necessary, interesting, and not-overwhelmingly-pleasant chapter in my life.” She said, “I loved my professors at school, I loved the books that I read, I loved my friends. They were the bright lights that often got me through a dark day. But, I did not love college. It was not everything I expected it to be. Unlike many people, I will never consider it the best years of my life.”

I do not disagree with her description overall; but really, only people like Tom in F. Scott's 'Great Gatsby' peaked in their undergrad years. College isn’t “the” best years, but they are some of the best. I made more mistakes in college than I did in years before. I faced challenges and grew as a person. I was faced with adversity to my faith, and found the courage to stand firmer; I found fellowship and knew truth. I learned not to think, but to think better and more analytically.

College gave me my sea legs, essentially, through joy and sorrow, tears and laughter. It is because of these experiences that I can fondly return to this second, Happydale bubble with a strident step in my walk, and be glad I am gone from the place; for, "we shall not cease from exploration/ and the end of all our exploring/ will be to arrive where we started/ and know the place for the first time." College prepared me to move forward; it is a means, not an end, in life. It is a good, not a best.

Still, it delights me to know Kiernan and I both picked Hillsdale for the same reason: I too “decided that I would go there to learn how to become a writer.” (And a few other things, too!)

Her "don't" list echoed my collegiate career: I got wrapped up in socializing; I took way too many credits; I took classes I didn't feel comfortable taking; I didn't willingly pick sleep; I studied fairly well under pressure; I studied mostly with people. I didn't get all A's, but I did well. My roommate was a Biology/ English double major and Art History minor, so there wasn't much room for slacking during college-- just lots and lots of random dance parties.

Bear and Bird as sophomores

I won’t rehash all of Kiernan’s points, except for this one list—

"Things I Did Not Learn At College (and that you therefore should not expect to learn)":

1. How to be creative

2. How to enjoy literature (or history or art or music) more deeply as a person, not an intellectual

3. How to write, not merely according to the rules, but with my own panache and flair

4. How to enjoy learning

5. How to be a life-long learner

Why do I quoth the raven-haired one? Because it is here that we truly part paths. Because this is the list of things I take from my four years in college. This was my endgame. That was not her's. And that's okay. That's the beauty of a liberal arts education. It gives different people different experiences while using the same system and foundation.

John Henry Newman said the purpose of a liberal arts education is to "open the mind, to correct it, to refine it, to enable it to know, and to digest, master, rule, and use its knowledge, to give it power over its own faculties, application, flexibility, method, critical exactness, sagacity, resource, address, [and] eloquent expression..." But more than that, this type of education helps each student, if they will so take the path, to understand what it means to be human. To be a human is to be a child of God; and there is nothing less sacred than the undertaking of getting to know him through his children, whom are made in his image. No book in the world can treat a person with compassion like a human can; no book can be a friend like another human can; no book can touch a soul and change a life the way another human can. It was in these ways that I have been conditioned and treated, alongside my mind, at college.

But can I revise number ten? By removing the word "never"?: "Can I repeat - PULL AN ALL-NIGHTER! ESPECIALLY BEFORE AN EXAM!"

Ah, that's better. If you don't know, you're just going to have to trust me on that one. It's definitely an experience worth having!

Oh, That Just Hit The Fan...

"O human race born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind dost thou fall." -Dante

I am a firm believer in the small things. Actions people carelessly do can be just as telling as their calculated ones. The way people use words matters, as does how a person treats another who can do them absolutely no good in terms of societal and/ or business advancement. Et cetera.

Last week, I had a brush with reality. My office mate and I both did, and it was a bitter pill to swallow. Fortunately for us, we had perspective and a clean conscious to work with, which makes the entire episode almost comical. I apologize for the vagueness with which I am writing, but here are my top three take-aways:

1. Stand by your man.

Not just a funny old country song- it's the value of a good person, and being a good person. By good person, I mean a person of character. It can be easy to make decisions under the pressure, when the iron strikes the fire, but I think it takes more gumption to avoid succumbing to the fire. Last week, gossip in the office took precedence over directly verifying facts. It was disconcerting, to say the least. Moreover, a good person may become an unlikely good friend and ally. If there is one thing my OM and I will take away from this, it is a lifelong bond and promise to be there for the other person, even when life takes us down separate roads.

2. A sense of decorum.

The standard for professionalism is losing its touch. Last week I blogged on dress codes, and this week I push the need to watch what one says. My OM and I have been witness of late to casual conversations in which personal stories about friends and family were told. We- and most norms of conversation etiquette- found it quite distasteful. Not that all personal stories can be bad; relating the story of when I cut off all my sister's hair when we were younger during a game of "The Parent Trap" isn't terribly telling to a general audience, for instance. Family drama, on the other hand, should not be brought up. Experiences in the past few weeks with individuals who lack certain values has been a big push for me to return southward.

3. Vocational Charades is coming to a halt!

Life is so short; and my time at this job?- the same. I love journalism, but it's not enough. I want to keep writing, but I want to do more. In the undisclosed future, I recently decided I'll be moving home, working for the family business and pursuing my Master's. The third decision was one I always knew I'd do eventually, but the first two are ones I've really wrestled with for the past couple years. In high school, I always saw myself leaving home for the non-discript "somewhere else." In college, I went out-of-state. After college, I came back in-state but not back home. I reason: if I'm going to do good work, I might as well give back to my family and hometown, who gave to me first.

More details later, but God is definitely pointing me through these trials. I love having more direction in my life, even if the variables are still a-plenty.

Here's an excerpt from an excellent piece I read today, which applies to many things occurring at present:

"There will always be a fringe, living in its own private madhouse, that will never accept truth regardless of how it is presented. There are three primary motivations at work in such individuals. The first part of this unholiest of trinities is blinding pride, an inability to accept anything other than ones own perception as truth no matter how flawed are the conclusions drawn from same. The second descends from this, that being a mixture of validation and ego gratification by convincing others to join in the crusade. Finally, there is the third element, which is also a result of the first: if you work it right, personal madness pays."

Also, last week I had two nerdy achievements:

1. On Tuesday, I got retweeted by The Atlantic. If you don't know why this is exciting, don't worry about it.

2. On Thursday, one of my articles got picked up by National Review Online.Yeah!

My current goal of the week: I am trying to not be idle and to do good in all things little. God tests us not in big ways, but small, and it is in our smallness that we can best be faithful to Him. It isn't easy, but I do love a good challenge! As Theodore Roosevelt, Jr. said, "Why is it the ship beats the waves when the waves are so many and the ship is one? The reason is that the ship has a purpose."
 (He was President Teddy Roosevelt's son, not the President himself.)

In other news, I am thoroughly enjoying The Chieftains station on Pandora. Blessings on your Monday!

James Otis, found!

James Otis was the man whose four-five hour oration to the Massachusetts General Assembly is perhaps the very reason for the American Revolution. I wrote my research paper on him for the Founding of the American Republic class, so Matt and I have a fun, competitive spirit over Otis since he thought it would be unfair to have Otis on the midterm/ final as an ID since I wrote 15 pages on him and his contribution to the Revolution from the English common law. Matt is in Boston right now, potentially getting a job (fingers crossed!) and he found Otis' grave and sent me the picture. Isn't it fantastic?! Otis is a man more Americans should know about, he is a fantastic example of a pre-patriot American.

Today was filled with apartment-hunting and writing my honors seminar final. I watched 'The Young Victoria' with my cousin and sisters, got my crackberry fixed, talked to my parents, attempted to convince our housekeeper why she should make me food after I move away from home, and spent a lovely amount of time with Heidi and the siblings. J'adore home!

Tamed, thanks to Hillsdale College

Dr. Jackson's 2010 Spring Convocation speech. It was so incredible, I'm glad the college has shared it. The actual speech starts around 8 minutes, but before that is a healthy dose of Larry P. Arnn and lots of Hillsdale-ness. Hilarious, insightful, heart-warming and wrenching, and absolutely glorious. Thank you, Dr. Jackson.



For those who know me especially well, you must know how much I enjoyed this speech, with my pre-occupation with suffering, humanity, and the logos which binds man to man, man to God. I think a recognition of the necessity of suffering is the first essential step of what it means to be human and to know God through suffering. Christ suffered to pay for our sins, and so our suffering is only meant to bring us closer to Him.

There is a healthy aspect of suffering which is not apparent, nor flaunted, or even exposed. It understands Death, accepts loss, cultivates friendships and relationships with an understanding that they may not last or stay the same--and that they should never stay the same. Life is not meant to be stagnant. As Whittaker Chambers wrote, one must understand that life is pain, and that each of us hangs upon a cross of ourselves.

It would be melodramatic of me to say I am suffering in any tangible way, but I expose a little part of me and admit I grieve a loss of being at the physical college and the opportunities there to partake in fun, fellowship and non-coercive suffering brought on by long nights of studying and too many cups of coffee. Perhaps not yet--I am too happy to be home, with my parents, siblings, cousins and extended family and of course, my dear dog Heidi. But even this is coming to an end. My mother and I go to Columbus on Thursday to look for apartments. Then again, I shouldn't mind ends--"to make an end is to make a beginning" said Eliot. The brimming possibility excites and saddens me, but always in a joy-filled, for the glory of God way (ad maiorem dei gloriam!). After all, it is His will be done, not mine.

This is my first post after graduation, but I can't quite comment on that yet. My last evening in Hillsdale included a wonderful dinner with the Siegels, in which they gave me a little photo album of pictures from the past 3 1/2 years of knowing them; the nicest card; Gretchen made me a story book; Benedict colored me a picture. Prof. Siegel was my American Heritage teacher freshman year. I walked into his office and asked how I could get an 'A' in his class. He said most people got Bs and Cs. I said Okay; so how do I get an A? We've gotten along swimmingly since then (even though I got an A-, which was still the second highest grade in both sections overall).

The Siegels are another family to me. I have been blessed with so many families taking me under their wing and pseudo-adopting me, but my relationship with this devout and soccer-obsessed family is one never to leave me and always to affect me. Their love sustained me during dark days of college, and embedded joy for all the rest. When my Dad said he was worn out after entertaining Jerome during dinner, I smiled and said I could take care of all five and found it pure bliss. Nothing says I love you like letting five children turn you into a human jungle gym, playing soccer and reading stories, helping them cut their food, say their prayers and brush their teeth, and entwining your life with theirs. Of all my happy moments at the college, the Siegels encapsulate a sizable chunk.

The Chamber Choir singing at Spring Convocation, for those seeking goodness and beauty:


And for those seeking truth-- from the 1853 cornerstone of Central Hall: "May earth be better and heaven be richer because of the life and labor of Hillsdale College."

The end may come, but it's never final

I really, truly love this poem, especially the third stanza.

"Funeral Blues" by W.H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin,
let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Leaving for Columbus soon for another interview with the Buckeye Institute with Emilia. Also, I can't believe school is over. For now, at least, if I do end up going to grad school. Still--my undergrad years: done. My undergrad work? Not done. Here's to one more paper (Lib-Con Debate, 15-20 pages, nothing too skimpy) and one more exam (Somerville's 20th Century Southern Lit)! Mecosta this weekend with Delta Pi Nu and Betsy's wedding shower. Oh, the times, they are a-changing...! Good thing I don't actually believe in endings.

"Temptation of Adam" by Josh Ritter. (H/T Vivian)

The end is near

Greek Week this week. I passed my oral comps on Wednesday (they said they were impressed, so that's all that matters) and my thesis is due Friday (tomorrow). My last issue of the Forum is in lay-out right now and tomorrow is also an interview with the publisher of TAS. Last Friday I had an interview with the Managing Editor and then one with the Editorial Editor and now the publisher...fingers crossed and many prayers.

Senior dinner at the Arnn's tonight, which was great. Sat at a table with Mrs. Arnn and she is just the sweetest. Formal is next Friday, which is quite exciting. I organized and ordered cheap ray-bans with blue sides that say "Kappa Kappa Gamma" on the side. The chapter is stoked!

Poem of the day is a favorite, though sad:

"Guinea Pig" by Julie Cadwallader-Staub

As if your cancer weren't enough,
the guinea pig is dying.
The kids brought him to me
wrapped in a bath towel
‘Do something, Mom.
Save his life.'

I'm a good mom.
I took time from work,
drove him to the vet,
paid $77.00 for his antibiotics.

Now, after the kids rush off to school,
you and I sit on the bed.
I hold the guinea pig, since he bites.
You fill the syringe.
We administer the foul smelling medicine,
hoping the little fellow will live.

admitting to each other:
if he doesn't,
it'll be good practice.

This has also been my favoritest song for the past week:



I am so incredibly exhausted. Pax et amore.

Fancy-Schmancy School Projects

This is the video my little brother made as part of his project on the Vietnam War. I think it's pretty good and, compliments of my little sister's YouTube account, here it is:



song credit: "Viva La Vida" by Coldplay

Is anyone else nostalgic for the days of poster boards and crayolas?

We're going to start filming for our parents' anniversary video too, maybe I'll put some of those up as well...

Veritas

"To this I must add that he was already to some extent a youth of our times - in other words, naturally honest, insisting on truth, seeking it and believing in it, and, once believing, demanding instant commitment to it with all the strength of his soul and wanting to rush off and perform great deeds, sacrificing all, if necessary life itself. Although unfortunately these youths do not understand that the sacrifice of life is in most cases perhaps the easiest of all sacrifices, and that to dedicate, for example, five or six years of their exuberant youth to hard, painstaking study and the acquisition of knowledge for the sole purpose of enhancing tenfold their inherent capacity to serve just that cherished truth, that great work which they are committed to accomplish - such a sacrifice as this remains almost completely beyond the capabilities of many of them."
-Fyodor Dostoevsky, "The Brothers Karamazov"

Turning on the facet

I shan't be posting often, at least nothing too original. I have a paper due Thursday on legislating morality (see below), and my thesis is in dire need of attention. I'm also starting to research my Flannery O'Connor paper for Somerville (!!). March is going to be an extremely productive and mind-numbing experience. Don't mark this as complaining, please. I do love it. It's intellectually exciting and the journalist in me thrives on the deadlines. That being said, I'll be holed up in the Lane computer lab, ignoring the newly-falling snow, drinking cold coffee and typing away. Feel free to stop by.

Below is my current opening to my Con-Lib Debate class paper. Rach, I thought you'd particularly like to see it. This isn't the final, obviously, but it should give you an idea of where I'm going. I have about 2 pages thus far, plus about 12 pages of notes, my outlines and books, articles and essays piled about me. I don't look forward to packing this all up later tonight, but I am enjoying writing it.

My footnotes are not going to show up, but if you're interested in where I got something, I can point you in the right direction.

Morality is a force worth considering. Plutarch, in his discourse “On Bringing up A Boy,” says “To put it shortly, it is surely absurd to train little children to receive their food with the right hand, and to scold them if they put out the left, and yet to take no precautions that they shall be taught moral lessons of a sound and proper kind.” Aristotelian ethics concurs that one must be brought up the right way in order to know and therefore act in a virtuous way. What is the right way, however, has been the subject of much controversy, particularly in the 20th century. Moreover, as many alternative lifestyles and choices become more mainstream, the very question of what is right and what is wrong is being diminished. The question of whether or not the government can legislate morality therefore arises from where the powers of government stem from, whether morality can be lawfully legislated, and if the government has a right to control the private lives of its citizens. A further argument will be made: toleration, a chief good in America, is being exploited into coerced acceptance; religious institutions are being rendered helpless by an epistolary comment made by Thomas Jefferson eons ago, known widely in civic, religious and political circles are the separation of Church and State. There is, however, one religious institution that refuses to budge on issues of morality, faith and reason in the public sphere, and that is the Catholic Church. The Catholic Church is not on the “right” side of politics; it is the “most intolerant of churches” wrote English economist John Stuart Mill, was “the whore of Babylon” to Founding Father John Adams, and is the “greatest force for evil in the world,” according to philosopher and evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins. Yet there is something America can learn from the Holy See, and that is an adherence to founding principles.

There's a business class going on in the lab right now. I'm learning lots about markets, market prices, stocks and graphs. My ipod is on shuffle; it goes from Nico to The Who to Patricia Ahn to Bob Dylan to the Violent Femmes to Belle and Sebastian, and so forth. Good day.

Oh, and here's a song that is the direct opposite of Hillsdale at present, but still an excellent song:

Marching on the old Stomping Grounds of Summer

This picture of Heidi and I was technically taken during Christmas break of my sophomore year of college. I came home and crashed in the guest room because Mom had taken over my room in order to organize clothes stored in the attic (and I was exhausted from the semester to move them). I love when Heidi comes up to my room over breaks (on the third floor, not the guest room). It's the best way to sleep!

Leaving for the March For Life in D.C. in less 3 hours and have not packed. Heather has her bio comps tomorrow and will most likely roll into bed when I am rolling out.

I made a map for Sarah and Biz so that they can find their way A) from the red line to the yellow line to King's Street and B) from King's Street to Rach's apartment and C) from Rach's apartment to St. Mary's. I miss D.C. so much and am now ecstatic to go back! It's going to feel like going back to a secondary home, a familiar place with many good memories.

Poem(s) of the Thursday, then packing, then bed. I am simply exhausted from the day. Lots of meetings and switching up my schedule (lost a class and an audit, picked up a class and an audit). Lots of Faulkner reading too. I am liking Go Down, Moses immensely. Dr. Somerville called on me today in class to explain the significance of the first chapter title ("Was"), which I (fortunately) think is interesting, because it conveys the passive sense in which the action of the story takes place though the being verb. Faulkner is brilliant in cultural observation.

This first one is dedicated to Margaret, because she recommended Hopkins to me.

"Summa" by Gerard Manley Hopkins

The Best ideal is the true
And other truth is none.
All glory be ascribed to
The holy Three in One.

The second is by T.E. Hulme, a humanist I've come to admire very much indeed, although he did not write many poems.

The Embankment by T. E. Hulme

(The fantasia of a fallen gentleman on a cold, bitter night.)

Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy,
In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.
Now see I
That warmth’s the very stuff of poesy.
Oh, God, make small
The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,
That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.

And finally, the third poem: I bought my own copy of E.E. Cummings' poetry when I was a junior in high school, took it on vacation with me to Michigan and could not find it again for years. I was despondent; losing books is always personal since I usually spend so much time reading and writing in them. I found it, however, in the back pocket of one of my suitcases my sophomore year of college and was very happily reunited. He's a favorite, so I'll have to share him more.

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

Happy Thursday! Be well and have good conversations.

If you've ever wondered about the title of this blog...

Here is a short essay (compared the the 10+ pagers I'll be writing for most of my other classes this semester) I wrote for my honors seminar.

What’s in a book?

Polonius: “What do you read, my Lord?”
Hamlet: “Words, words, words.”
—Hamlet (II.ii.193-194)

My 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Haines, called my mother. I was surprised when I found out. I racked my brain for any shenanigans I had been involved with in the last week.

“No, you’re not in trouble,” said my mother with a smirk. I peered up at her.

“Then what is it?” I asked, skeptic.

“Julie, I’m going to write something and I want you to read it.”

I sighed. I hated these games. She wrote. I read. Only, I couldn’t really. It was fuzzy. That’s why Mrs. Haines had called. I needed glasses at the tender age of ten. Blame it on reading under the covers, but if my parents had allowed me to read with the lights on as long as I wanted, I would not have had to resort to flashlights and, ergo, I would not have needed glasses. Now, fully looking the part of a bookworm, I read more, not less. My parents—both of whom wear glasses—began to relent. The light started to stay on later.

The mind is a terrible thing to surrender. Once captured, it is hard to regain, the grooves of constant wear difficult to embed again. James V. Schall, S.J., in his book The Life of the Mind: On the Joys and Travails of Thinking, implores his readers to read intelligently. When I was younger, I would not have understood what that meant. Reading was my favorite thing to do as a child. I played with my siblings, usually soccer or House, but reading was the best. I read the Anne of Green Gables series, Nancy Drew Mysteries, all ten Little House on the Prairie books, The Chronicles of Narnia, fairy tales and anything else I found around the house: 'Cricket,' a youth literary magazine; my parents’ eclectic collection of medical texts and history books from their undergraduate and graduate days; the lives of the saints and other religious writing; encyclopedias and novels. There is nothing more alluring to a small child than books she thinks she should not read. I strove to read prolifically and not discriminately, to conquer the library. Little did I know, those books were the beginning of my education.

Books have always been a constant in my life, much like eating popsicles in the summer, making lopsided snowmen in the winter, Mass every Sunday, and my loud family. It helped that my parents encourage reading and pushed for a higher intellectual capacity normally expected of children. I couldn’t tell you the first book I ever read by myself, but I remember the thrill I felt, the goose bumps from anticipation, eagerly turning the pages. My overactive imagination fed on words, as well as exploring the neighborhood; my barefoot feet unafraid of grass or gravel, chasing fireflies, pretending I could fly if I swung high enough. My favorite inside spot was in the front room, where I would draw the curtains, sit on the window ledge and read in solitude, a place where no one thought to look for me. It was my corner spot with a view, seeing a world beyond my own.

As I grew older, I began to consider intellect and what books I was reading very carefully. What did it mean to be an intellectual? Intellect could be genetic; after all, there are naturally smart people. People can also be intellectual sloths, which lead me to believe that the mind has to be pushed into being through a habit of reading well, just as athletes train their bodies to perform and chefs improve upon practice of the culinary arts. Thus I began my consumptions of the classics, with the help of advanced English courses and the local half-priced bookstore. The act of reading still came easy, but not full comprehension of the material. I was missing something; I could sense it. What is the point of the intellectual life, I thought, if I do not even get it? Persevero, said the Ancients. I read on.

Last semester, I met a young man who, upon meeting me, lambasted my decision to go to a college like Hillsdale. “You pay too much,” he said, “to have someone tell you what to read. You can read the classics on your own! Self-education—that is how you improve your soul. You don’t need professors. You just need books.”

In theory, I agree with him—no one needs college, unless pursuing a profession that requires higher education. School usually falls into three sections: primary provides the common academic base for learning; secondary prepares the mind for the entertainment of ideas and analytical thinking, as well as continuing to lay the foundation; and college, consequently, is a testing of the mind’s endurance and liberality, as well as strengthening and reinforcing systems of beliefs. College also provides instruction on the further precision of the intellect, a skill not immediately translatable into a non-academic job, but is rather a breadth of mind that can be continually renewed within a person for their entire life if they so choose.

I know my own education has allowed for great growth, but, more importantly, it has fostered a life-long love of books, a withering virtue in modern society. Too many people leave school and hardly crack a book again, let alone read. Isn’t that a failure of education? Traditionally, emphasis is put on the type of job one acquires as the ultimate end, not on the resulting type of person one has become. I have a friend dating a person not in college, and this bothers her. He is a decent human being, works at a steady job and, moreover, he reads good literature in his free time. Schall would see this person as capux ominum, capable of knowing all things, because he learns for the sake of knowledge, not a grade.

Reading contributes to a betterment of the mind and the soul. While reading, your person is changed, for the better or worse. One of my sisters and I disagree on what constitutes a good book. Her choices entertain her; they bore me. Fine—at least she’s reading, some say. Yes, but if reading really is like praying, as Schall says, then it matters what people read. Cultivation of the mind, like a horticulturist working with soil, is not easy. It takes years and is work; to appreciate, one needs to read and re-read so as to allow for the full effect. My favorite author, for example, is Evelyn Waugh. One never reads Waugh the same way twice. Good writing does not need to only appeal to the upper intellect; it should be understood on a base level, but have the ability to transcend regular observation. Each time read, I find a new play on words or understand a deeper meaning I missed on previous readings. Books without depth are like chewing gum for the brain: you read, you take out the flavor, and then you spit it out. No lasting effects, except perhaps a lingering taste.

Schall says he can know who a person is by the type of books they read. The preference to read the easy book can override inclinations to indulge in the Great Books, because that type of reading forces readers step back and face their own lives. If reading good literature does not make the reader contemplate himself, is it truly good? The end of a book is never an actual end, if you’ve really read the book. The profound affect a book has on a person shapes them, even if it was only a line or two out of the entire novel. The connection between the reader and the act of being: that is the point of the intellectual life. The author touches the reader and, in return, the reader touches others. It is not enough to think big, intellectual thoughts if one does not act accordingly on them, and reading is one step closer to that.

The prompt was a reflection on one of the chapters in the book aforementioned. I chose Chapter 2, "Books and the Intellectual Life." I almost feel like I copped out by writing an essay on my love of books, but the paper was due today and I started the book last night. I talked to Stacy (my roommate's big) briefly on gchat, and she provided insight into my work habits [edited for clarity]:

Stacy: haha, yea. I would love to chat more, but I'm at work right now, and should probably do work. But I will definitely talk to you later!
me: totally fine--I'm writing a paper due in a few hours anyways
Stacy: hahaha [...] true to heather and julie style, love it

In other news, today is the birthday of J.R.R. Tolkien!

“Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty forever beyond its reach.” -The Return of the King

and a nice little ditty poem by Bilbo Baggins:
"The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say."

Finally, if you ever need a reason to mobilize, I love this quote, said by Gimli: "Certainty of death, small chance of success. What are we waiting for?"

Culture: from the Latin cultura; stemming from colere, meaning "to cultivate"

Off to Chicago tonight, but first a quick note: I've had all of my classes now, minus meeting with my thesis adviser and may I just say? This is going to be an amazing semester, even if the reading will be immense and slightly overwhelming in terms of volume. I started reading 'Go Down, Moses' by Faulkner; Southern literature is so dark and gothic. Thomas More is quickly being idealized in my mind as the best of men, and I half-wish I had majored in chemistry (the science I like best) and was more interested in pursuing a masters in history of science like Kalthoff. Siegel was my American Heritage teacher freshman year and the first teacher I actually liked at Hillsdale (which is funny because he oftentimes petrifies people with his sarcastic and challenging academic demands), so it will be wonderful ending my college career by taking another course with him, even if it is an honors seminar. I also saw a copy of 'The Loved One' in Prof. Siegel's office today and was happy to hear he lends it to students, because it is one of my favoritest books.

Today's poem is an early one by Ralph Waldo Emerson. I remember last semester, I was reading Emerson while studying with three friends. One of the guys asked if he could play a song out-loud in the room for us, and it was a beautiful, Christian song. I had just been reading about how Emerson saw God in everything around him, particularly in nature, but when I shared that with the gang, a different friend got indignant that I even liked Emerson, especially because I am a Catholic (which apparently she meant because Catholics are so orthodox and Emerson was certainly not).

I don't see it that way though. I do like Emerson, although perhaps Thoreau a little less. I don't compare him to me and then decide what is true, because we both know the ultimate Truth. I've definitely been influenced by reading Salt of the Earth by German journalist and fallen-away Catholic Peter Seewald (published October 1997). The book is an interview with Pope Benedict XVI when he was still Cardinal Ratzinger. Seewald asked Ratzinger how many ways there are to God--imagining, I suppose, he would say The Church. Rather, Ratzinger delivered, in my opinion, one of the best replies. He said:

As many as there are people. Even within the same faith each man's way is an entirely personal one. We have Christ's word: I am the way. In that respect, there is ultimately one way, and everyone who is on the way to God is therefore in some sense also on the way of Jesus Christ. But this does not mean that all ways are identical in terms of consciousness and will, but, on the contrary, the one way is so big that it becomes a personal way for each man.

It should not be surprising to hear then, following the publication of that book, Seewald returned to the faith. Ratzinger/ Pope Benedict XVI sees God as an active force in the world. We are all reflections of Him and yet we are so individual, something He embraces and wants, with each of us reflecting a different facet of God and all potentially being in communion with Him. It's the same with Emerson. There is something to be said about recognizing God in this world, especially as His presence is being sabotaged in society today. RWE may not approach God the same way I do, but he still acknowledged and followed Him, which means we are united in the same faith even if we do not share the same denomination. I would never push aside the importance of dogma in theology, nor do I follow Emerson's Unitarianism, but in the face of secularism, Christ needs to be a culture, not just a character.

I'm also reminded of Jack Kerouac, whom I wrote one of my favorite papers of my collegiate career on at the end of my second semester junior year. People love claiming him and the beat generation as grounds for their own depravity. Kerouac, however, called it the "beat generation" because of the Italian word "beatific" (happiness, blessed); he wanted it to be a religious revival movement. He was a lapsed Catholic who dabbled in Buddhism, and yet very much a believing man whose Catholicism influenced everything in his life--especially his writings. Kerouac was a man who found God in the sky, in the bums he met, and on the road, as a modernist, pseduo-Wandering Jew. We're all on a road in this life. It's not surprising the Western canon is filled with images of roads, and not at all ironic that in a few hours I'll be on a road to Chicago with Julia, towards an interview that will lead somewhere, whether or not I get the job.

Anyways, enjoy! I don't think the above has relevance to the poem below, but I do think the poem is best when heard and read aloud, so that the tongue can catch the rhythm and tone. The last two lines are my favorite.

Give All To Love By Ralph Waldo Emerson

Give all to love;
Obey thy heart;
Friends, kindred, days,
Estate, good fame,
Plans, credit, and the muse;
Nothing refuse.

'Tis a brave master,
Let it have scope,
Follow it utterly,
Hope beyond hope;
High and more high,
It dives into noon,
With wing unspent,
Untold intent;
But 'tis a god,
Knows its own path,
And the outlets of the sky.
'Tis not for the mean,
It requireth courage stout,
Souls above doubt,
Valor unbending;
Such 'twill reward,
They shall return
More than they were,
And ever ascending.

Leave all for love;—
Yet, hear me, yet,
One word more thy heart behoved,
One pulse more of firm endeavor,
Keep thee to-day,
To-morrow, for ever,
Free as an Arab
Of thy beloved.
Cling with life to the maid;
But when the surprise,
Vague shadow of surmise,
Flits across her bosom young
Of a joy apart from thee,
Free be she, fancy-free,
Do not thou detain a hem,
Nor the palest rose she flung
From her summer diadem.

Though thou loved her as thyself,
As a self of purer clay,
Tho' her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive,
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive.

In other first-week-of-school news, my friend Matt N. gave me a lovely bicycle bell as a belated Christmas present last night, as he promised/ threatened he would, because of an incident last semester that involved me riding my bike to the library one night and Matt's allegations that I almost ran over him.

Good day!

This is one of my favorite pieces from Art History this semester. It is called "The Magi Asleep" and it is found on the nave of St.-Lazare in Autun, France. It was done around 1132 AD and I like it because A) the kings are all wearing their crowns to bed and B) the third king whom the angel is touching, has one eye open and one eye closed (although this makes it look like both eyes are open). I also like the way the angel lightly touches him hand with one finger and points to the Star of Bethlehem with the other pointer finger.

Art History was this morning, 8 a.m. Rocked it. For the past three tests, we've had to memorize all the information and then fill-in-the-blank, give-it-back-verbatim for whatever slides she picked, as well as give cultural significance, compare and contrast cultures, etc. This time around? MULTIPLE CHOICE, BABY! I think I did well on the essay too. I wrote about how different cultures honor the dead and what that says about the society and the prominence the art gives to the dead people and to death itself. I gave lots of examples, not enough dates, decent amount of detail and had a strong ending. That being said, I wish I had gotten more sleep. It was hard getting up this morning for another hour of studying...

Today is good because
A) it is Friday, so I only have one more exam left
B) it is Friday, so tomorrow I will be home
C) it is Friday!

Today is also good because I found out today my merit and journalism scholarships were both definitely renewed, which is such a blessing. One more semester, folks.

Kappa is emptying our quickly. I'm pretty sure half the house left after Wednesday. Now the other half are leaving. A few underclassmen stopped by to say good-bye because they'll be studying abroad next semester. That was a little sad but in this age, it's so easy to stay in touch with people if you really want to that I am not too heartbroken.

My little stopped by with her sister and her sister's boyfriend on their way out of Hillsdale. I'm now going to organize myself for my two separate study sessions this afternoon for Founding. It's nice when people want to study with me, but I'm feeling like I need solitary confinement at this point making sure I've got the IDs and essay down. Oh well. It will still be good making connections and talking big ideas.

This is a really great short film called "New Boy" if you have 11-12 minutes. It is about an African boy named Joseph with "a haunting past story" who now attends school in Ireland; this short shows his first day at school.

Have a wonderful Friday! One week till Christmas!

Did you know, by the way, that Christmas is considered the feast day of Christ's birth, not the actual day of his birth? I had an agnostic friend give me gripes about that and I wasn't quite sure how to respond, so I looked it up! I love feast days.

"In Jesus we contemplate beauty and splendor at their source...no mere aestheticism, but the concrete way in which the truth of God's love in Christ encounters us, attracts us and delights us, enabling us to emerge from ourselves and drawing us towards our true vocation, which is love." --Pope Benedict XVI, "Sacramentum Caritatis"

Good-bye, Microsoft Word - Hello notecards!

I have now finished and turned in my last paper of the semester. My academic paper count for the semester now totals 11. Yee-haw! AND I used the word "oftentimes" on page 4 of my paper; it was used correctly and in context, Haynes. Welcome back, "oftentimes," to the 21st century! I wanted to use it at least three, but I restrained myself and only used it once.

I babysat the two youngest of my advisor's 5 kids this afternoon. I can't believe the baby is 2 1/2 years old. I remember when he was born! I rode my bike to their house and made the mistake of forgetting my gloves; bikes may get one from Point A to Point B faster, but the windchill factor increases as a result. I had to stop back at the house to get my gloves before I could carry on to the library.

I was told outside the library by the girlfriend of a friend that everytime she sees me walking around campus with my hood up, it makes her want to put her hood up too. In other words, Julie, you look ridiculous with your hood up and bill tucked back (I have to tuck the bill back or I can't see), but you pull it off, so I'll do it too! I say, if your ears are cold, who cares how ridiculous you look?! Vanity will only get one so far in life. Think of all the body heat being lost to the chilly and uncaring Michigan air.

I read an article today in the American Scholar (a journal I highly recommend reading, if you do not already do so) entitled "Blue-Collar Brillance" and it ruffled my sensibilities because the whole basis of the article is the presupposition that if you are born into a lower social level, you are less intelligent. I completely disagree with that to a point (and, of course, so does the author of this article--hence the point of the article). But is this really a mindset in America? I think the lower classes need to be more liberally educated, but I would never suggest they are less intelligent. Intelligence is not a scale based on one's pecuniary accumulation, but on the broadening of one's mind so as to comprehend and make connections, a capacity of mind per se. Intellect is inate first, then developed secondly. It never stops developing either. That's how old people get famous for things they picked up in the middle of their life; it's all about applying and dedicating one's self, prioritizing.

'84, Charing Cross Road,' for example, is the correspondence between Helene the American reader and Frank the British bookseller (whom I just wrote about in my last aforementioned paper) and though she never went to college, she continues to read and self-educate herself. I think that drive and desire to self-educate is being lost in our society, and that loss of edification in our daily lives is what should alarm people, not a concern of where one falls on the social scale. One of the saddest things I hear is when people say, "when I leave college, I'm never reading another book again." Really?? How horrid!

That's another reason why I loved my Robert Frost class and the need for people to be "versed in country things." He did not write the poems for elite academics with esoteric knowledge to dissect, but regular Americans. His poems are good because they can be read and understood on a more local level as well as analyzed by an academic.

It's the same with Flannery O'Connor. I read a letter by her to an English teacher who wrote about how he, a few other teachers and their students analyzed "A Good Man Is Hard To Find." O'Connor was shocked that they made the story so metaphorical and that the Misfit was only inside Bailey's head and what happened was really a dream, etc. One of the most beautiful and daunting elements of O'Connor's work is that it can be taken extremely literally and that the dark grace shown in it cuts like a sword to allow light and a change in the mind and/ or actions of the main character. It is not always pleasant to read perhaps, but it shows evil for what it truly is, which I think is a gift. Lewis wrote in the Screwtape Letters that they (the Devils) purposefully keep things hazy in the mind of the people now, so that they can have eternity in Hell to make reality lucid.

But I digress. Here is my selection for poem of the day, compliments of NPR's Writer's Almanac.

"The Tulips" by Ricky Ian Gordon

The tulips at that perfect place
crane their necks with liquid grace
like swans who circling, collide
within the lake this vase provides.

They stood like soldiers, stiff, before
as if they had been called to war.
In two days more, when petals fall,
I will entomb them in the hall

with trash; the morning's coffee grinds,
old newspapers, and lemon rinds.
It's bitter that such loveliness
should come to this,
could come to this.

But now their purpleness ignites
the room with incandescent lights.
Their stamens reach their yellow tongues
to lick the air into their lungs
through stems attached to whitish manes.
The pistil stains.

And even though there are no bees
about the room for them to please,
I take them in like honey dew-
and buzzing now,
I think of you...

I think of you who bought me these,
at least,
I wish you had,
as that might ease the ache
of passing hours.
A love is dying, like these flowers.

Now, back to the house for a KKG sisterhood! This will be the first one I've been able to attend all semester since the library swallowed me and my studies consummed. My little is going to be there as well, so I look forward to spend more time with her. We have not had proper hang out time in quite a while. Then study for art history...

word of the day: "ersatz"
go ahead, look it up!

Song of the day is "Piazza, New York Catcher" by Belle and Sebastian

Today needs to be productive, so I shall be brief. Art History was marvelous. I'm really enjoying learning about the Greek art and architecture right now. It's fascinating to learn the frieze of the Parthenon, for example, was actually painted garishly and brightly colored, which has since the paint has since been worn away by the elements, leaving only the placid white of the marble. I'm printing off the slides right now to start studying. The first test crept up on me unexpectedly and I shan't be pulling another all-nighter to study for it. No bueno.

Robert Frost class continues to be my favorite. Dr. Sundahl was teasing me again today, but I served it back to him, which made him laugh and give me a "touche." Frost was very influenced by the classics and transcendentalists. It's fascinating reading about his life outside class, being immersed in what influenced him/ what was happening around him in the world that he felt the need to "take the road not taken" in class and then his actual poetry and prose. I feel like I could write a book, the thoughts are whooshing through me, my pen not able to keep up with my hand's motions and intent.

In other news, I have Joey tomorrow for an entire day of being my helper and I have nothing to do with him. I'm tempted to have him make photocopies for my research paper. We're also baking cookies and I'll have him deliver those. My only other plan is to have him paint the square at the end of the walk to the house blue because he said he can paint things solid colors well and that needs to be done.

The background is that I bought Joey during Derby Days at the Servant for a Day auction, which I know sounds completely degrading, but he really is the sweetest kid and the only EX I would have even considered bidding on, ever. I think it takes nerves to get up there and offer yourself up to the public, and that type of bravado should be rewarded. At least in Joey; I don't wholly believe so in a few of his brothers. Anyways, ideas of what to do with him would be readily welcomed. He can't write my two papers for me, so I think we're at a bypass.

Off to prayer in the fishbowl, then the library till Founding to read and write. This week is all ora et labora (prayer and work). Lots of prayer, lots of work!

Happy Monday!

"The dogma is the drama—not beautiful phrases, nor comforting sentiments, nor vague aspirations to loving kindness and uplift, nor the promise of something nice after death — but the terrifying assertion that the same God who made the world lived in the world and passed through the grave and gate of death. Show that to a heathen, and they may not believe it; but at least they may realize that here is something that a man might be glad to believe."
--Dorothy L. Sayers, from "Creed or Chaos"

"Prayer is the oxygen of the soul." -St. Padre Pio

"Oh, how precious time is! Blessed are those who know how to make good use of it. Oh, if only all could understand how precious time is, undoubtedly everyone would do his best to spend it in a praiseworthy manner!"
--St. Padre Pio of Pietrelcina (say that ten times fast! ha!)

Today at mass, Heather reached for my hand and held it for a bit. It was a nice gesture on her part; she's not very touchy-feely. When we started rooming, I'm sure I slightly overwhelmed her whenever I gave her frequent hugs. She doesn't even like holding hands during the 'Our Father' at church, which is one thing I love (especially with my whole family, as we span across nearly the entire pew, with half of us trying to squeeze each other's hand harder than the other). Anyways, I had just been praying silently to myself about things to be and things to come and trusting wholly in His plan when she reached over and held my hand. I find strength in my Savior, but I think there is another type of comfort attained in the hand of a friend. When I asked her later how she knew to hold my hand (something she has never done before, at least in mass), she said she felt like it. Oh, how great it is to have grace shining down on us from above!

This week shall be busy, but I do not know if that even needs to be said. I have an art history test on Monday, meeting with my thesis director on Tuesday and my annotated bibliography is due for Birzer on Friday. This week is also Sigma Chi's Derby Days, various events (i.e. Sommerville talking on Flannery O'Connor, etc. on Thursday at 4 in Mossey; KKG scholarship dinner and dessert; Sir Arthur Guinness day party on Thursday; Kevin McCormick, classicist guitarist and award-winning poet, as well as Dr. Birzer's friend, will talk and play on Tuesday) and the last full week in September. I can't believe how it's flown by! Time really is to be cherished, especially with friends and family.

I felt that this weekend. That warm, fuzzy, "I love and appreciate my friends" feeling. Friday was enjoyable, semi-starting with a great Frost class in which I presented my analyzation of "Wild Grapes" and then getting feedback from everyone else. Some people agreed with me, others didn't, but the best part was the discussion. We spent the whole class dicussing my poem selection (and Dr. Sundahl said I did a great job!). So often people think everyone has to agree with everyone else--but what is the fun in that?! Conversations would be boring if everyone saw everything from the same point of view. I think people need a strive to understand another point of view or opinion perhaps, but ia an agreement necessary? Not always.

After Founding, Delta Pi Nu (the American Studies honorary) had our meeting of the semester (voting to make changes in the constitution, plan events, etc.). Afterwards, Matt, Dakota, Emily and I went up to the Hunt Club for beer(s). It was great fun. We were all in DC this summer too, so I always feel an extra special bond when I am with those fellow AS majors and friends of mine. I rushed back to Kappa because Betsy invited friends over for dinner and I was to make the salad. I got there with enough time to cut up the tomatoes and throw the ingrediants together. I doubt anyone noticed the haste in which salad is so often made.

Most of us went to hear a "gypsy jazz" band, The Hot Club of San Francisco, who were quite talented and entertaining. Fortunately or unfortunately, we left at intermission because we had been there since 7:30 and it was by then 9. From there I went back to Kappa, to my friend Sarah's for a pre-Garden Party party, then to the Garden Party (the fall all-school dance; very fun) before heading up-town to The Wake (Elizabeth H's birthday party) and then back to campus for Jon G's suprise birthday party. The night was an absolute blast.

Saturday I had to get up earlier than I would have liked to get ready to leave Hillsdale and drive to Carleton, MI, where a good friend and fellow Kappa was getting married. The wedding mass was at 2, the reception started at 5, so we (Heather, Kate and I) killed a little time at Panera doing homework. The reception was an absolute blast: the food was delectable, the Kappas were a-plenty, the dancing was energizing and the bar was open(!!). My favorite part was obviously when we sang "Sweetheart" to Mathew and then got Laurel in the middle to sing "Like a Prayer" (our chapter's song we sing together at our social functions), but a close second was the photobooth they had available. You got in took, it took four shots and printed two copies--one for you, one for the scrapbook. Heather, Kate and I may or may not have done it four times. It was incredibly amusing and though I was sad to leave the celebration, I was happy to roll into my bed come 1 a.m.

Art History test tomorrow. Nervous, but at least my notecards look good! Ha! Should head back to Kappa soon, so I think I'm going to go find Anna in the Heritage Room. Happy Sunday, mon amis!

in addendum: for all you Cincinnatians out there, today is Skyline Chili's 60th birthday! Huzzah Huzzah!