Boston and Books

I visited Boston a few days ago, met with a few friends and laughed for what felt like several hours.

The city was beautifully decorated for Christmas and it was a welcome relief to emerge from the deep forest and be surrounded by people.

I met my friend Julie from Scotland outside South Station. We usually traveled to and from Boston - St. Andrews together last year as we were both full-year American abroad students. We hadn't seen each other since we both returned and it was wonderful to share the readjustments we've both experienced.

Julie and I in the Highlands in April.

Later, I met up with one of my best friends from Saint Michael's, Katie.

We could not stop laughing. It was joyous.

Katie and I at a ball when she visited St. Andrews last February.

Seeing the ocean...those shades of blue...it was majestic. It was also quite warm with barely any wind. If the snow hadn't been there, it might have been July...or March.

We were hoping to run into Paul Revere in this Quincy Market alley.

This was incredible. After literally stumbling upon Quincy Market and the Faneuil Hall Marketplace, we saw dozens of new Americans emerging from Faneuil Hall with their families, certificates and American flags. There was so much joy and excitement among everyone. We stood for a while and smiled at it all. :)

As we walked towards Charlestown, we found ourselves across from the Vermont Building!

Friday was warm in New Hampshire with quite a bit of snow meltage. I woke up...

to this dangerous peril! These snow-ice clusters were hanging from the roof... 

As for the "Books" part of the post, the bookcases were bathed in sunlight on a recent afternoon and I like what I captured below:

Books are so meaningful to me. I think they're physically beautiful on bookshelves too. I haven't yet embraced the kindle, but perhaps someday.

My Mom's Robert Frost collection from college. :)

My poetry anthologies. Each one has such a story behind it which I love. I see one of Joan Didion's in here that I found on a 'free book' table in the School of Business and Management in St. Andrews, another that I received as a gift from my Dad, others that I picked up at a used book store while in San Francisco with my brother, a few that I purchased over the summer at Bookstock, one from Amazon, and others with stories from their past. 

Lastly, religion continues to interest me and I've thought often recently about the politics of religion that divide us. I see our religious decisions, ideas and beliefs in politics and persuasion. I wish I could express it all better and had a better explanation and grasp of my own beliefs or ideas, but I'll leave it to the following quote that I read earlier by Kathy Reich from her book Cross Bones. My friend Susanna is to thank for it.

"Despite the rituals, the rhetoric, and even the bombs, every religion is saying mostly the same thing. Buddhism. Taoism. Zoroastrianism. Sikhism. Shamanism. It doesn't matter, take your pick...The Torah, the Bible, the Koran. Each offers a recipe for spiritual contentment, for hope, for love, and for controlling basic human passions, and each claims to have gotten the recipe straight from God, but via a different messenger. They're all just trying to provide a formula for orderly, spiritual living, but declare the boundaries of correct belief, outsiders are labeled heretics, and the faithful are called upon to attack them. I don't think it was meant to be that way."

Snow, a Library and a few Book Reviews

Despite the chill, the snow we have here is beautiful! I haven't yet gone calf-deep exploring through the snow forest as I've been planning, but it shouldn't be too long before I do.

I keep noticing the darkness and early sunsets here and continue to wonder how I survived at this time last year when the sun dipped below the horizon by 2 p.m. and the night stretched for sixteen hours. It continues to baffle me.

I headed to the nearby Dartmouth College library this afternoon in the attempt to do a bit of academic work. I found this Burberry scarf and was doing my best to look the part. 

Dartmouth's main library, Hanover, New Hampshire

Below are a few book reviews. :)

The Vintage Book of Contemporary American Poetry.

This anthology is rather enormous. It was required reading this past spring for my American Poetry class in St. Andrews and some burst of determination convinced me to read the full anthology. Sometime in late July, it was finished. Even for those who may not be too into poetry (I often find my mind wandering when reading it...) The anthology includes the perfect selection of twentieth century poets. Poetry isn't always political, but I like to think that it reflects the thoughts and energy and opinions of the day whether or not it attempts to. Poetry seems to get at what isn't spoken about in public, what history books might have overlooked, the thoughts, emotions and conversations we avoid in the moment. (Book image found here.)

Almost Catholic.

Despite the author keeping a distance from Catholicism throughout and proclaiming his content at the end for not being Catholic, he gets at the admiration for Catholicism, the ritual and history, the practices and teaching and how and why it appeals to non-Catholics. It's written well, he covers many aspects of the faith especially it's presence in the modern-day. I felt it to be particularly relevant with the current popularity of Pope Francis. (Book image found here.) 

The Best American Essays of 2011.

(As a side note, I'm sure the 2012 or 2013 versions would be wonderful, too! This was the $1 copy I found over the summer) Incredibly good essays and powerful writing! Similar to the anthology described above, it was lengthy and involved concentration. Moving and thought-provoking. (Book image found here.) 

From South Africa to Brooklyn

I've been home in New Hampshire for a couple of days and the snow is deep and the air cold. I'm reading a variety of books ranging from Christian mysticism to the Vietnam War to Harry Potter. I've been writing a few essays recently on various themes and have been pleased to be editing and organizing old work.

I've tried to put together my thoughts for several days about Nelson Mandela and a piece I read recently on poverty, but haven't got to blogging. It was on a recent night at 1:30 a.m.-- either the night before or perhaps the night after my finals last week (they were all in one day this year!) that I couldn't sleep and needed to write most of what's below into the notepad section of my phone to add to this blog at a later date.

I've written before about my interest in and respect for Nelson Mandela. Sometime in May or June 2012, I read a few books about him and I remember writing a few quotes by him that inspired me. I kept them in a notebook that I brought with me to Scotland. When my Dad texted me last week informing me of Mandela's death, the sadness wasn't quite there. It may have been the knowledge that he died at 95, presumably alongside family, an image of death we all wish for. I remembered a BBC article I had read the previous day quoting his daughter saying he was towards his end, and days before, I remember thinking of him, although it may have been that my eye caught a glimpse of a quote of his on my wall. I'm thankful, like many, to have shared a world and overlapping time of existence with him. I remain humbled by his leadership and forgiveness, and interested in his nation and the opportunities that I hope lie ahead for South Africa. I'm no expert at all, and barely feel as if I can comment at all, but South Africa -- despite being the most wealthy nation in Africa, remains one of the most unequal and dangerous areas of the world. With Mandela's blueprint though, I, along with many, hold great hope.

One of my favorite quotes by Mandela:

"In judging our progress as individuals, we tend to concentrate on external factors such as one's social position, influence, and popularity, wealth and standard of education...but internal factors may be even more crucial in assessing one's development as a human being: honesty, sincerity, simplicity, humility, purity, generosity, absence of vanity, readiness to serve your fellow men -- qualities within the reach of every soul."

I spent about four hours on Thursday night (my final ended that afternoon!) in between laughing and packing with one of my housemates, reading this 5-part New York Times series, Invisible Child. I had heard of it through a few journalism circles and I can say that it is the single most amazing piece on poverty, particularly youth poverty I have ever read. It portrays one child in Brooklyn, New York over one school year. Invisible Child proves that today's American poor are unlike our images or expectations of the poor. Today's poor have similar access to media, advertising, culture, yet lack resources. They are among all of us, living and surviving on far less.

Recent Reading, Snow and Other Updates

I've been reading The Mercy Seat for several months off and on, (a $1 find from Bookstock with Carly over the summer!) and quite a bit in these past few days. The author, Rilla Askew has a name that reminds me of Willa Cather, who wrote O Pioneers. They share several similarities as historical fiction authors who wrote novels set in the midwest. The Mercy Seat is filled with beautiful writing and the description in it is incredible and so life-like but at times also too much. In several places, it feels as if the writing detracts from the story and on a few occasions I've found myself rushing through the text, moving my eyes from left to right as fast as possible solely to avoid the lengthy description and just understand where the story goes. It's made me recognize over-description in my own writing though as I typically describe too much in both poetry and prose, leaving little up to the reader.

Asker has been compared to William Faulkner, a Mississippi writer who I haven't read much of but really would like to read more of. I read a quote a year or two ago (I think by Mississippi writer Eudora Welty) that read, 'Mississippi grows writers...' she spoke of growing up hearing stories and the emphasis on tradition and storytelling in Mississippi. One of my favorite books of recent years is Catfish Alley by Mississippi writer Lynne Bryant. I'm also quite certain that writers from Mississippi have some of the best names. Tennessee Williams and Augusta Scattergood are two personal favorites...

Poets of the Civil War continue to be great too, I love Whitman, especially 'The Wound Dresser' and 'When Lilacs Last in The Dooryard Bloomed' but there are so many other Civil War-era  poets and writers who are just as engaging and telling in their work. I've had my $3 copy of Jane Austin's Emma also on my to-read list for awhile and I really should get to it....never having made it through Pride and Prejudice, I thought I'd begin with Emma at the suggestion of my friend Marissa, but there are so many other books that I'm looking forward to reading, Emma sounds more like healthy reading. I think I should give it a try though.

It's bitterly cold here, yet also an exciting and very different change. I ventured outside today for a few different engagements and each time I wore layers of my warmest clothes (including an insulated long sleeve shirt I would ordinarily wear while skiing!) and a scarf over much of my face to protect against the wind (the wind chill hovered around 0 (-18 Celsius)) and snow squalls that made me feel as if I was trekking across Siberia. I think I'll incorporate the journey into writing somehow...

This evening I served British digestives (cookies) in a first and second-year student dorm and spoke about the benefits of studying abroad and my own experience. I answered plenty of questions and it was so fun to see the excitement that the students held for their own experiences.

Speaking with Emma and Janelle, two wonderful first-year girls I met. :)

This penultimate semester is coming to a close and it's unbelievable! I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving later this week, perhaps getting in touch with my domestic side, reading, finishing up a few assignments, continuing to study, and gaining a bit of rest. In the meantime, I'm going to continue enjoying this snow and hoping that the winds of Siberia begin to feel a bit more like Vermont. :)

November

Greetings.

It's hard to believe how fast time has flown! My semester will be finished in about two to three weeks, but it feels as if the majority of academic work has been completed with only a few assignments left.

From my parent's home last month, in the middle of October.

November might be my least favorite month. It's between the bright foliage of October and snowy enchantment of December. The leaves have curled and fallen, the ground is frozen and the days are dark. Yet I've also found so much happiness each day and am working to enjoy every moment of this year and place I'm in now.

I went to a concert several weeks ago with a group of friends and we stopped at this diner afterwards for french fries. It felt very 1950s-ish. :)

I submitted my senior thesis proposal this morning. I won't know if it's approved for a few days, but it's the culmination of this semester's work and will give me a step forward for my thesis due date in April. It was the longest essay/argument I've ever written, but I really loved writing it. 11,000 words and 36 pages!

I accepted a part-time position with a literary journal last week. I'll be an editorial intern and contribute to a few projects.

My friend Carol visited last weekend and it was great to enjoy some time by Lake Champlain. :)

I've felt so happy these past few weeks and have realized too that I've been back in the U.S. for six months. I think it's no coincidence that I feel more at home here and adjusted than I have in the previous few months and suddenly, every small thing about the U.S. that I missed while in the U.K. has proven true and just as wonderful as I imagined it while away.

I'm continuing to write when I can and read as much as possible.

I was reading an anthology of Poems of the Civil War earlier today (a birthday gift from my parents!) and particularly loved these lines:

They snug their huts with the chapel-pews,
In court-houses stable their steeds -- kindle their fires with indentures and bonds,
And old Lord Fairfax's parchment deeds;
And Virginian gentlemen's libraries old --
Books which only the scholar heeds --
And flung to his kennel. It is ravage and range,
And gardens are left to weeds.

Seasons & Recent Travel

Greetings!

The nights and days have grown very cold here, with the surroundings resembling November more than October. Darkness arrives earlier and I've begun to wonder about winter silence and the late afternoon darkness. I've found in the past few weeks for one of the first times I can remember that there is something so familiar about darkness. It's warm and comforting in ways that you would never think of it, yet in ways that sunshine cannot be.

Earlier this week I woke up before the sun (undoubtedly for one of the first time in months...) and remembered many mornings spent that way. I thought of school buses and early morning travel. As the sun sets earlier, it brings memories that the distraction of longer sunlight doesn't bring. It reminds me of community, of conversation and quilts and homework near lamps on fall and winter nights, of couches and sleeping and seeing the world in a different way, through darkness behind branches and above fallen leaves. Of course the darkness reminds me of spending last fall and winter at a latitude farther north than I am now. I've thought briefly of the constant darkness there, and how as dramatic as it was, I don't remember minding it then, and I miss it now. Winter darkness is different than summer darkness. It's quieter, more common and earlier, stiller, less alive, resting, a pause of movement.

Recently I worked for my internship about an hour and a half north of here, on the Canadian border. I commuted with a co-worker and was pleased I was able to take several photos along the drive. :)

A week later, I went on a train journey to New York City. The trip was smooth, roughly nine hours each way and sprinkled with bright colors and small towns.

Northern Vermont

I think it was near this point that although we were still in Vermont, my phone carrier considered my phone to be in Canada. 

A sunset recently in Colchester, Vermont.

Northern Vermont from the train :)

Western Massachusetts

Manhattan from afar.

I love the two extremes in scenery, it happens so gradually over hours of travel, yet seeing the city suddenly makes the transition feel so sudden, all mountains and most foliage had disappeared by this point.

On the train journey back north, the Connecticut river, somewhere near the border between Connecticut and Massachusetts. 

Western Massachusetts

Western Massachusetts, the sun set shortly afterwards, leaving the remaining journey through Vermont to be quite dark.

Happiness

Soon, I know I will miss these days. I had forgotten about the busy-ness and pace of college life, and many days I feel as if I cannot breathe. And yet, I cannot complain at all. Each day I find happiness. Most days I'm overwhelmed with tests and essays, presentations and memorization, but I think I've found a peaceful state. When skyping with a friend in the U.K. last night, he asked when my work would be complete. The answer is sometime in mid-December, and as far-off as that feels most days, when I'm wading through research and memorization, writing drafts and science labs while trying to recall if my gas tank is full or if I made a lunch for myself, I don't want December to come. This comfortable spot of my final year of college is tough to say farewell to. I know these are the days I will long for someday soon, or far off. Each day I'm learning. And striving to find peace and grow to be better than the day before. I think of the future often, but the present more.

I love this season. October is beautiful. The weather has been warm and the foliage is bright. I attended a poetry reading tonight at a large and beautiful meetinghouse/church at the University of Vermont of former U.S. poet laureate Billy Collins. I drove myself and a group of girls from my poetry course. We sat in the back row of the balcony and struggled to hear most of his poems, but there were a few memorable lines:

The 1790s will never come again. Childhood was big.
People would take walks to the very tops of hills
and write down what they saw in their journals without
speaking.
Our collars were high and our hats were extremely soft.
We would surprise each other with alphabets made of twigs.
It was a wonderful time to be alive, or even dead.

As usual, I was thinking about the moments of the past,
letting my memory rush over them like water
rushing over the stones on the bottom of the stream.
I was even thinking a little about the future, that place
where people are doing a dance we cannot imagine,
a dance whose name we can only guess.

Saint Michael's College.

My housemate Kirsten, speaking for a better society.

My Mom and I in Boston a few weeks ago.

Boston.

My volunteer program co-coordinator, Meaghan after an evening of allowing children to paint her arms.

My internship workplace, Berlin, Vermont.

Stowe, Vermont.