My suitcase is full of books...

A lovely TED talk by Susan Cain.

When she described her grandfather's apartment, I was immediately transported to the farm. My Mema's house contained furniture and all the usual items necessary for human occupation, but this could not disguise its true purpose as a repository for books. Bookcases lined every room except the kitchen, and if you happened to peer inside any given closet, you would find bags overflowing with miscellaneous paperbacks. I remember sitting together but in solitude, reading for hours, only occasionally breaking the silence to compare notes on a story or relate a particularly amusing passage. Precious, happy hours, when I did not have to fight to hide my social awkwardness.
The interview process at INS made me painfully aware of my own introversion. I left Montreal feeling exhausted and drained, fearful that my lack of social grace might impede my career development. This talk was a much needed reminder that the other things I bring to the table are just as valuable as a loud and powerful voice.

Match...

A year has passed, and I'm back in the same strange position- my future riding on the results of a computer algorithm. Interviews in early February in freezing Montreal, before my fate is decided on February 29. Obsessive email checking is near the end. From 10 applications, I have 9 interviews, and only one site left to hear from. I shouldn't be so anxious/excited to hear from the last place. As it stands, I can make a decision based on training opportunities and fit, but if Dallas gets into the mix, things suddenly become more complicated. Family and familiarity, all wrapped up into one tidy bundle... Impossible to predict how much that will alter the composition of my decision making tree.

As ready as I am for a change, it will be harder than I ever imagined to leave my desert home.

Formulating a null hypothesis

Ryan Gosling can even make statistics sexy... Stolen from our former (and favorite!) stats TA.

When life hands you lemons...

Walking home yesterday, I found myself thinking about Miss Mary Ann. It always catches me off guard- how quickly the memories (and the tears) well up and overflow... No matter how many years pass, the thought of her smile and her infectious laugh remains bright and powerful. Mary was eternally optimistic. Of late, my heart has been so bogged down- with anger and sadness and worry. I wish that I could capture even a bit of her spirit.
I suppose I am becoming more superstitious in my old age, but as soon as I thought of her, the song I was listening to ended and shuffle landed on an Elliott Smith song that I never paid attention to before.

"Talking to Mary, you know you don't have to shout
She can hear what you're thinking, like you were saying it right out loud..."

I miss you, my beautiful friend.

Down too far to care

Carlotta's wedding was lovely. My favorite moment of the whole weekend: we were waiting in the back room for the ceremony to begin. Her level of anticipation was visible; she hovered between tears and elation, exuding this ecstatic nervous energy that was truly beautiful. In 16 years, I've never seen her look so in love or so happy.

Despite the occasional downpour, Chicago in May is a much more pleasant place to be than the below-freezing tundra I visited back in January. I love the architecture and the vibrance, although I'm not quite ready to trade my mountains for a skyline view.









After only a day at home, I packed up again for Utah/Colorado tour 2011. Durango, Canyonlands, Moab, Arches, and Mesa Verde- 1200+ miles covered with minimal planning. 6 years into my NM residence, I am appalled at my lack of exploration. It helped having good company to push me into action.




Arches








Anasazi ruins at Mesa Verde





Since the two things I was looking forward to have drawn to a conclusion, I've fallen into a post-adventure slump. I've been spending too much time playing with google maps, estimating driving times, and wishing for a real summer...

I believe these lyrics have made an appearance here before, but the Old 97's have been haunting my inner monologue all week.

"And I wonder where I'll wind up, but I'm heading west I know, wind my way through Texas and into New Mexico. And I don't know what you've been told, the streets of where I'm from are paved with hearts instead of gold"

Moving is a dangerous endeavor for a girl prone to clumsiness. Covered in bruises and surrounded by piles of boxes, I am settling into my new casa, although you wouldn't guess it from the mess. Three days in, the munchkins remain overwhelmed. Their food dish is virtually untouched (especially unusual for Lear), and they oscillate between super-cuddle mode and instigating semi-malicious acts of destruction.

On Thursday, one of CRC's closest friends (and one of my favorites from his bunch) was hit while riding his bicycle. He was wearing a helmet, but he sustained a severe head injury and remains in a coma- a stark reminder of the random cruelty that exists in our universe. Although I am a step removed, the waiting is awful. I rarely long for religion, but in times of helplessness, I recognize the appeal. Sending all the positive energy I have to Matt, his family, and his Angela.

Just a little breath on the water now is all we need
Just a little strength in our hearts
Enough to heal
-Heather Nova

Is there any real magic?

For two months, I spent more hours than I care to reveal trawling through this. Seriously, xkcd- too close to my reality for comfort. Although the new casa is likely Minotaur-free, I have never been more excited to cease and desist frequent craigslist use. Paying the deposit on Wednesday, I felt an intense and immediate sense of relief- none of the usual anxiety that haunts me post-big decisions... Which is remarkable, considering the place is unfinished, a work in progress. I've committed to living there without seeing the end product- feels a bit like I've slipped a quarter into one of those grocery store vending machines, and now I wait to see what prize falls in my lap. I'm counting down the days until I leave this uncomfortably tenuous residence for a place that feels safe and inviting- repairing my sense of self by reconstructing my idea of home.

I'm no soothsayer
I don't speak in tongues
I don't say these things
To make you run, run, run

A parliament of owls
Had seen this coming
Took you for a field mouse
When they spied you running

Crying save me
From the fires
That I have lit
Oh, it was exciting
But it stung like a whip...
-The Lovely Sparrows