Sigh.

"I don't do goodbyes."

That's what I used to tell people. That is, until college made different kinds of goodbyes more than real for me. When you're in college people leave all the time, professors and students alike. And as much as I haven't enjoyed these goodbyes, I've dealt with them accordingly. Now, I would revise that phrase to read, "I don't do goodbyes very well."

People that have known me forever know that I refuse to end any type of conversation first, unless I absolutely have to. I don't really know what that's about, but it might have something to do with my always wanting to be sure that the person has said all that they wanted or needed to say.  It's one of my very many weird habits. 

I've been contemplating when to write my goodbye post to the ACM Newberry Seminar program since I wrote the last post here, on 3 December. It seemed appropriate to write this post exactly one week after we participated in the all-day conference and presented our topics. 

I didn't come to Chicago, the Newberry, or the ACM Seminar thinking that I would make good friends. I imagined that I would write my paper, spend lots of time in the library, and hang out in Chicago. For some reason, I imagined that I would do all of that alone. I was very excited to meet people, but I wasn't so sure that friendships would be in our future. I was so wrong. There was a huge difference between saying goodbye to the people from the ACM Seminar and saying goodbye to the people from home before I headed to college, and the people on my college campus before I headed to Chicago. I had more time to prepare for the latter set of goodbyes. For the former, we submitted a paper, had a final seminar, presented our papers, had an end-of-the-semester party, packed, and then left before I even realized that I was *actually* leaving.

More from me on Thursday. 

Third Base.

We've reached third base this week. One week from tomorrow, we will have our fifteen minute presentations in an all-day conference at the Newberry. That evening, we will have our end-of-the-semester party. The next day, most of us will be gone.

I can only speak for myself, but I cannot think too much about next Thursday, until I think about next Tuesday at noon. Our papers are now due Tuesday at noon, giving us an extra twelve hours to do more polishing and proofreading, I suspect. I do not plan to steal home plate, and score a run (something that I always did when I played softball). I will wait patiently until it's safe for me to go. That way, a run will be a promise as opposed to a hope. But I will get to home plate. And I won't even have to slide and dirty my uniform.

This week, I'm letting music carry me through. Well, mostly. If I had to describe the paper-writing process in two words, I'd call it "oddly invigorating." This week, if I could summarize my feelings in a song, I would sing the chorus of  "Try a Little Tenderness"(don't watch the video, just listen to the music). I definitely appreciate Otis Redding's original singing and performance, but Chris Brown's rendition has me this week. 

Songs of the week: Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough  and Try a Little Tenderness

Phrase of the week for paper-related conversations: "Hi. Tell me that I can do this, please."

Phrase of the week for other conversations: "Hey, I'll talk to you next week. I have to finish my paper."

So, if you know and/or love me, try a little tenderness with me this week. I'm not too far from normal these days, but I will be all the way back soon. And once I'm back, I'll celebrate by singing  Whitney Houston's Greatest Love of All. 

Change.

This post is pretty unrelated to the Newberry Seminar, but it's not unrelated to the changes and growth that we experience when we are away from home.

Two years ago, you couldn't have paid me one million dollars to get close to a dog. I was the type of child that would dash into the street in order to stay away from a dog. In inner-city Cleveland, there are very many stray dogs and cats. There were so many when I was growing up that I'd mastered an escape plan for the many times that I'd been chased home by a dog while walking from school. I didn't like dogs. I was deathly afraid of them. I even felt uncomfortable being in the same house as dogs. My friends always laughed at me. And whenever I'd suddenly break into a sprint, they always knew that a dog was around. That was a difficult fear to have growing up in my neighborhood, where all of my friends had dogs. I always felt bad when they had to, say, put their dog in a basement just because I was coming over. But I was too afraid of the creatures to let them stay while I was visiting. And I would cringe at the phrase, "S/he doesn't bite." Because, in my opinion, if they have teeth, they bite.

Moving into Gambier as a student at Kenyon College was a huge deal for me, in almost every way that I could imagine. But mostly when it came to animals. I did a summer program at Kenyon, and one of our directors invited us over for a picnic-style dinner. This dinner invitation did not come with the warning that a dog would be present. As soon as I heard the bark, I jumped on the table. Everyone was laughing, but I was nearly in tears. See, this cynophobia was a terrible thing for me. Especially in Gambier, Ohio.

The people of Gambier love their pets. Many people have cats, but the dogs are the ones that roam the township with their owners, the ones that are allowed into offices, and the ones that students care for when families are away. You see, in Gambier's Fourth of July Parade, there is a section devoted to people walking their dogs in the parade. That's how we roll, in Gambier. Even most of these people knew about my fear of dogs, and so they mostly let me be.

I would go to professors's houses that owned dogs, but they would put them away well in advance of my arrival. This happened for all of my first year. I would often see a beautiful Husky named Monty walking with his parents in the village, but refused to get close to him. I thought he was beautiful, but that didn't stop me from crossing to the other side of the street to avoid this dog. One summer evening, when Monty's parents were away, my Super Professor was taking care of him and offered to let me go on a walk with them, at a time that I was feeling sad about some things. I'd always wanted to be friendly with this handsome dog, and my Super Professor helped me to muster up the courage to do so. Sometime between 29 June and 4 July 2007, I went on this walk and got really comfortable with Monty.  And that is when my world started to change even more.

I found myself dog-sitting TJ (a cute, energetic and fluffy monster), and also my beloved Ebony (who is semi-fluffly, calm, and loves me to pieces). 

And then I (sort of) met Rusty. Rusty belongs to my Fierce Professor. He's the type of dog that comes with the warning, "Stay away from this dog! He will bite you!" But he's so loyal to his wonderful owners. I've had many dinners at Rusty's house, and he almost always has to be put away. I've even gone on walks with the Fierce Professor, Rusty, and his sister Geni (who is quite the opposite, in behavior, of Rusty), and have been warned to stay away from him. I think that I fell in love with Rusty, the dog, for precisely that reason. I knew where he stood, I knew that I couldn't touch him, and I knew how much he loved his owners. And I was perfectly OK with that. I always admired--and will continue to admire--his stubborn loyalty.  I like to think that I, too, am loyal in that way. But a bit more sociable. Today, there is sadness all around. Rusty had to be put to sleep, as a result of physical and mental ailments. But he was fifteen years old, and dearly loved by those that knew him and knew how fiercely his owners loved and valued him. When I received the e-mail today confirming that Rusty had been put to sleep, I cried for over fifteen minutes and am still very sad. Rusty had become so much a part of what I consider my Kenyon world, that it will be weird to be in Gambier and go to his house without hearing him bark, and without my Fierce Professor yelling, "Papito! That's Titi Janae! You know her!" Rusty will be missed by all of us that have grown to love him and his family. His passing has honestly made me realize how far along I've come with animals. And also how much one can be affected by the passing of an animal, something that I probably wouldn't have thought twice about two years ago. Rusty is in a better place now, but that doesn't mean that his presence here on earth won't be missed. Rest in peace, Rusty. 

I've dived back into Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet today. And the more I read the text the more necessary and appropriate I'm finding it to be, for helping to me understand some of the things that happen in life. Today, this part is especially helpful for understanding people's relationships with their animals: 

if there is nothing in common between you and other people, try being close to things, they will not desert you; there are the nights still and the winds that go through the trees and across many lands; among things and with the animals everything is still full of happening, in which you may participate.

I'm even understanding more about how I've come to love certain peoples' pets that are in my life. I'm keeping Rusty's parents and other family members in my thoughts and prayers, as I always do, but even more so. I am sure that even though Rusty is gone, he will never desert his mami. I'm a firm believer that memories and love keep spirits alive.

Since I've been in college, I have been growing in my own way. Sometimes, I think about my freshman self, and am surprised at how, for example, this summer my rising junior self took care of Monty for a while. I appreciate everyone, every thing, and all of my favorite animals that have helped me to become who I am today. And I appreciate this program for getting me even further along in the process. For now, I'm going to get back to Rilke. Later, I will get back to revising. We have ten days left in this program.

(Addendum: I have to say that there *was* one dog in my life before. He was a German Shepherd mixed with a Rottweiler that my father's parents bought for me when I was four years old. It seemed that they had forgotten that my mother and her mother, whom I lived with, were not fond of animals. At any rate, Duke stayed there, and I barely got to know him. He became an outdoor dog and was quite huge. I don't remember ever going near him.)   

Break!

My Thanksgiving break officially started today at noon. I submitted my 40+ page paper this morning at 11:03am, just in time to head out for a parting breakfast for two of my three wonderful guests that visited this weekend. Most people in the program jetted out this past Thursday. Two of us will remain for the entire break (there is another still around, but he leaves Wednesday). 

This week will be full of many visitors, many lunch dates, many dinner dates, many museum trips, and many heart-to-hearts. And yet I will still find time for that extra research and writing. 

But, my goodness, I didn't realize how heavily everything has been weighing down on me. Turning this draft in was such a relief! After I submitted the draft, and as we sat in the cutesie cafe for our late breakfast today, I exhaled in a way that I haven't in a while. And tonight at the Thai restaurant with my dear friend (a recent Kenyon grad), and two first-year Kenyon friends of mine, I exhaled a bit more. And I've just done it again. 

Now, we will eat some ice-cream and watch a movie in my warm and cozy apartment. I'll likely distract myself, every now and again, by looking out the window to see if tonight's snow will stick.

Not quite.

It's 10:37pm. I'm sitting in my apartment with all three lights on, and it's still pretty dark. But I won't complain because our handbook told us to bring our own lamps for extra light, and I obviously ignored that advice. I guess I just didn't imagine that I would write in my apartment. I imagined writing everything in the library. But that just doesn't happen. Not quite.

It's a Friday night, and I'm working on my draft. Outside, the taxis lay on their horns, and people scream at one another.  Inside, I'm wondering how much more I'll actually accomplish tonight. 

(People--specifically the bar-goers in this neighborhood--yell the weirdest things! I could write entire stories based on the conversations I hear from inside my apartment.) (It's great for eavesdropping!) (Why, again, haven't I written any poems here? I would have some great material!)

As great as these conversations (and sometimes arguments) are, these are the days when I miss the (semi-) quietude of my college town. City-life is fantastic, but I'm finding that, despite having lived in a city for eighteen years, it doesn't quite work for me anymore. But when I think about the fact that I haven't had the same adventure twice here, I remember how great it is to have access to so many excellent things. 

Except quietness. Which is an excellent thing that is hard to find, when you aren't at the library. 

Ah. So, *this* is how it works:

Use the weekend to think about it. Go to office hours on Monday. Focus. Think of the idea (out of the many that are in the paper right now) that you want to write about most. Ah! there's your thesis. And now think through the setbacks (and even talk to some of your Kenyon people about them). You'll find that they were not setbacks, just more interesting complications. (This is a good thing.) On your walk home, smile to yourself as you think about how much easier this would be if you had a muse. Continue to smile when you realize that you actually do, in some ways. When you get home, map an outline. No, really: map it. Draw it out, diagram style. Organize your thoughts. Structure your ideas and themes. Write. Make some tea, and drink out of your Superwoman mug from the Alicia Keys concert. Breathe a little easier. And don't forget to take heart. You can do it. Just keep writing and thinking and developing and pushing. Now you're starting to get the hang of this thing.

Quick pick-me-up.

Turns out that visitors, and a talent show/potluck dinner this weekend were just what I needed. 

Friday night, we had our ACM Newberry Talent Show and Potluck dinner. I can't tell you how happy I am that it turned out to be such a great evening. Everyone that was in town contributed to the potluck dinner AND performed a talent. And our professors cooked some of the best soup I've had in a long time. 

After dinner, the talent show portion of the night started with an awesomely entertaining performance of the Calypso dance from Beetlejuice. Awe. Some. I was the emcee of the talent show, and ended up "performing" thrice. There was an amazing Spicegirls/Diana Ross and the Supremes/Three Dog Night/Bobby Vinton medley, a nursery rhyme reading in *six* different languages, some autoharp playing, some guitar playing and chinese love song recitation, a creative writing flash fiction dedication, some super intense juggling, a performance of "I'd Be Surprisingly Good For You" by Evita, a dramatic reading (which channeled a muse!) of three chapters from a 1952 etiquette book, a reading of poems by insomniacs as well as a poem read for speed in good, high school debate fashion, a performance on how to make bread, and finally (or so I thought...) some saxophone playing. 

***stretches fingers after typing that long sentence***

I'm sure that my guests appreciated meeting the people I've come to know, in this particular way! 

On Saturday, me and my guests ate, shopped, ate, shopped, napped, ate, coffeed (I know that it's not a *real* word, but it *should* be!), prepared for bed, had tea, and slept some good sleep. After a nice breakfast at the Original Pancake House this morning, my guests headed back to Gambier. My heart feels a little empty whenever I say good bye to people. Be it a telephone, instant message, or in-person good bye. But it won't be long before I see them again. 

It was so good to have them here, and to be able to vent about what I've been calling my Tragedy AKA my-setback-that-has-turned-my-research-into-bits-and-pieces-of-incoherent-ideas-arguments-and-words. But I won't be talking about that on this blog. Only about how, starting tomorrow, I will approach this setback and my incoherent pages with a ready attitude.

Our 40-page drafts are due next Monday. That Monday also kicks off our week long Thanksgiving break. So this week will be about working, writing, and thinking like I've learned to! I will get the job done. I believe that.

This post's picture is of my group's performance (the medley) for the talent show. This is the only picture I'm posting, because I haven't asked permission to post anyone else's. What a great way to take a break from the intensity of the program, and cool down for a night, over some great food with our professors. 

As I went up to end the show and thank everyone, a few members of the crowd interrupted, "but Janae, you didn't do a solo talent!" I responded, "Do I seriously need to do a solo talent? I've been up here all night," They said yes. And so I recited my most favorite poem, "As Kingfishers Catch Fire" by Gerard Manley Hopkins.