Thursday I was sitting in a comfortable wing backed chair in Hatcher trying to read an article for 504 about behavior in evolutionary theory.  Also trying to stay awake while reading said paper, probably should not have been sitting in a comfortable upholstered chair.  I was distracted from the paper by the multitude of other tasks still to be done, and by the bright yellow leaves and dark branches being tossed around in the wind and snow outside the library window.

Taking a break I glance at the file drawers next to me.  They are labeled:  “US Census 1830-1880.”  It hits me again, how very privileged I am to be sitting here at this university among all this stuff.  These documents are one hundred and seventy-five years old!  Maybe it’s just microfilm in those drawers, very likely the actual census documents aren’t there.  But still….

I thought I was stressed by the difficult reading and the fact it was snowing and I’d soon have to walk across campus for a lecture I didn’t want to hear.  But I could be sitting in my office with thirty-five employees all wanting attention and the phone ringing off the hook with problems and complaints and a boss asking where the latest assignment is.  Instead I’m sitting in a comfortable wing backed chair with my feet up, next to older then dirt documents, stretching my mind, and watching the sun and snow on the leaves as they blow in the wind.

 Soon enough I’ll be back in the world of work.  But for now…what’s to stress over? 

I pass Nichols Arboretum every day on my bus treck to and from campus.  I haven’t been back there since last July when I attended the river bank preservation dedication.  The university restored a piece of the river bank.  My aunt and uncle donated a sum of money for a canoe landing there, which entitled them to place a rock with a plaque memorializing my parents between the river, the canoe landing and the path.  It’s a beautiful place, and one my parents loved.  Dad and his sister, my aunt, played in that river just upstream when they were children.  He and Mom always lived on water.  So it’s a fitting memorial.  And every morning and every evening as I pass by the entrance I say a little hello to them.  But I haven’t been back to see the rock or the river.

Today I got brave, stowed my stuff in a locker at the gym and walked down to the river.  The sky was leaden, almost ready to rain…or snow.  But moving quietly down the soft path through the woods the sasafrase trees were deep golden, the squirrels were running around looking for food,  the air was sweet, and the silence was almost complete.  I loitered in the woods, avoiding the moment of returning to the river bank.  The woods were so similar to where I and my brothers and sister grew up and played.  They felt so much like home.  I wanted to stay there a bit longer.  Where it was safe, and where I could imagine I was a kid again.

After loitering too long I meandered down the hill to the river, and at first didn’t look toward the rock.  The water is higher than it was in July, the trees are beautiful.  There was a class sitting on the steps discussing something, people jogging along the path.   I wandered over to the rock and read the poem there, as if it wasn’t already etched into my heart.  I touched their names, felt my heart swell, and walked down to the river to study the current and get my composure back.   People stopped to read the plaque and wondered aloud “who these people are”.  I didn’t say anything.

At the dedication last July my young 10 year old cousin told us that there was an ancient tradition among some tribe of people that said you should place a small stone on a tombstone to show the person that they were loved.  I thought that was pretty deep for a ten year old.  Today I placed a pink stone on top of the rock, told them I loved them, and walked back up to campus.  Moving on, going forward, remembering the past.  Sounds like a 504 theme for the week.  I have a rock with a plaque that helps me remember, that provides a focus for thought, a place to put the pain, a place to leave it for the time being so that I can keep on keeping on.

One of my classes has a “snack” feature, which involves students taking turns bringing in a snack for the class. It’s a large class so usually there are 2 or 3 students bringing something in. Since I love to bake, and there are only two of us at home to eat, this seemed like a good thing.

Tuesday was my day to bring the snack. I decided over the weekend to make a cake on Monday night, because most of my homework was done and I’d have time. Turns out I misjudged the homework and I didn’t have cake ingredients at home anyway. So after finishing homework I trudged to the grocery store at 9:00 p.m. to get cake stuff. Arriving at home laden with cocoa and eggs, pudding and sour cream (sounds good, right?) I commenced to cake baking. The thing went in the oven at 10:00 and had to remain there for an hour. I’m already past my bed time, but I managed to stay awake until it came out of the oven, but it was too hot to turn out of the pan. So I thought I’d just lay down for a bit…..

At 4 a.m. I woke and realized the cake was still “cooling” in the pan. DRATS. I got up, began working on getting it out of the pan in one piece. Bruce (husband) who works nights was on the computer and wanted to know what in the world I was doing up at 4 working on a cake. Especially when he found out it wasn’t for him. Finally got the cake out of the pan and looking good about 4:30. Went back to bed, perchance to dream.

Alas, no dreaming, and no sleeping either. I should have just stayed up. By 6 I was moving (slowly) around getting ready. It was raining. I left late. US 23 was a nightmare with several accidents along the way. South of 96 we never moved faster than 35 or 40 miles an hour. Just prior to M14 the speed finally picked up. I glanced down at the clock on the dash, how late was I going to be? I still had a 1/2 hour bus trip from the parking lot to campus. And snack class started at 9!

I looked back up from the clock to realize that all the brake lights on all the cars were bright red. And I was moving too fast. I slammed on the brakes, avoided the car in front of me by screeching into the lane on my right. Thank goodness that was empty. Meanwhile, the shoulder bag with the laptop flew off the passenger seat and landed square on top of the bag with the cake.

No time to worry about cake. Or crumbs as it likely was now. Traffic was terrible. We inched our way to Plymouth Road where I got off, finally making it to the commuter lot. The bus was there. I couldn’t take time to investigate the state of the cake, so I grabbed it and ran through the rain.

I arrived at class on time. Amazing. I put my lumpy tinfoil covered offering on the table and went to drop off the devious laptop bag. Since class hadn’t started I went back and peeked under the tinfoil. AMAZING. The cake was shorter than it would normally be, but pretty intact!

Turns out grad students will eat chocolate cake regardless of the physical shape of it! It was gone within 5 minutes of our 10 minute break. I never even ate a piece of it.

The moral of the story is: Don’t put the cake on the floor and the laptop on the seat.

Today was looking pretty stressful on the pages of my appointment book. I realized at the last moment that I only had half my homework done for my class, so last night I improvised and got something somewhat completed. But I didn’t feel good about it. Also scheduled today was the first meeting for our 501 group with our client. As of this morning we were ill prepared for that as well.

Consequently I didn’t sleep well last night, probably should have just given up and stayed awake to revise homework or prepare for the interview, but instead I tossed and turned and worried.
So this morning it was with heavy eyelids that I made my way south on US 23 in the dark and rain. I left early more because I was awake early than any hope to use additional time to recify anything. Turns out leaving early added to the stress as the school buses were out, and kids were walking everywhere in the cold dark early morning hours. That in combination with the deer running added to the anxiety of the trip.

Finally getting off the freeway in Ann Arbor I headed west on Plymouth Rd. It was raining behind me, but way up high, over the Plymouth water tower was a beautiful rainbow. I took that as a sign that maybe today wouldn’t be as bad as I imagined it would be.

And…the homework got turned in. The interview took on a life of it’s own and preparing wouldn’t have made it any better. And things were ok.

Now, if that rainbow could just read these articles for me and figure out the questions that need to be asked for 504 AND read the client information we received today AND make the snacks for 647 I’d be in great shape for tomorrow!

And I thought 1500 words was a lot to write about an observation assignment. That should be more than enough to describe and discuss a tiny cultural institution in Ohio. Heck, the people that ran it didn’t even realize they were a cultural institution! But having written it last weekend, I’ve tried throughout the past week to reduce the text by 250 words. I’m still over 150 or so, and feel like a parent. I don’t want to take out anything else, but I know I have forgotten my audience. The paper isn’t accademic enough, it reads too much like a feel good Readers Digest article. Yet I hate to change anything more. So, I will attempt to attach it to this blog entry so that it exists somewhere as it is before I go back and slash without mercy.

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