Change Is Hard

This morning I got up early even though I don’t have a class till 4. I needed desperately to work on two classes; a presentation I am making on Monday for a digital library class and reading in preparation for a group meeting tonight on the infamous and dreaded consolidated sequence model. If you don’t know what either of these are, you are likely a very happy and contented person.

I was working before the sun came up, and completed one of the projects enough that I can meet intelligently with my group. (Maybe, if I meet with them soon before I forget!) I went out of the home office and into the breakfast room where I had dropped the bookbag off the night before. The sun was just topping the trees and there was the most beautiful site in the window just for me.

We had a freeze last night, and as the sun was warming the golden leaves of the birch trees outside the leaves were dropping off and falling straight down to the ground. As if the trees were dripping gold. Multitude of leaves were falling from all over the tree. I looked out at the back yard and it was the same. Gentle falling drops of gold, illuminated by the slowly rising sun.

And just outside my kitchen window two bright, cherry red cardinals were patiently waiting their turn at the birdfeeder which was occupied by a very large bluejay. The cardinals looked like the candy apple of a new car, and the golden leaves were falling all around them.

If I had still been a working stiff I never would have seen this sight. I would have been long gone, driving in the dark on crowded freeways to sit in an office (that granted had a window, but no view!) handling other people’s problems.

Even with group work, presentations, confusing theories and massive amounts of boring reading, I again realize I am blessed.

I went out this afternoon for my 6 mile run. I’ve been working on a take-home midterm all day yesterday and this morning. The more I mess with it the worse I think it is getting. So the walk was a good break. I ran the first mile, but it seemed like too much work! Plus the fact that a diet consisting totally of homemade oatmeal raisin cookies does not a runner make. So I walked the rest of the 6 miles. It was sprinkling a bit as I began. I enjoyed the colored trees, and the bright leaves on the dirt road. Even the oak leaves that had fallen on the road and were covered in mud sort of reminded me of chocolate in a pretty sort of way. I was trying to avoide getting my feet covered in clay. This was the inaugural mud bath for my shoes. But I gave up after awhile. The cars flying by me were surrounded in a damp clay mist, and soon I was too. During mile three it started to rain a little more. I stopped enjoying the musical sound of droplets hitting the puddles and leaves. I started considering why I was 3 miles away from home on a dirt road getting increasingly wet and muddy. Oh yea, that 1/2 marathon thing next weekend. I tried running some again. Gave it up. I guess whatever happens next week will happen regardless of this particular ill fated run. One run will not make up for the multitude of midweek shorter runs I didn’t do. Again. I turned around at 3 miles and headed back home. The sky was turning black. The rain was in my face. I noticed the rusted red of a metal silo against the gray of the metal barn and the black of the sky. Pretty, but intimidating as well. The red oaks and the yellow maples were gleaming in the rain. I stopped and picked up three particularly beautiful leaves from the road. The rain increased. Maybe running would be a good thing. I ran some of each mile back. I stopped at the lama farm where the 8 lamas were in the front pasture. They all rushed u to the fence as I went by. They were SO cute! I guess lamas don’t mind being out in the rain. I talked to them for awhile, then told them I had to go as I was standing in the rain covered in mud with half a mile left to go. Back in my own sub on a paved road I was walking and noticing trees, particularly a really pretty crab apple tree full of bright red fruit. Of course about that time I stepped in a puddle that went over the top of my shoe. I think I stepped in ths same puddle a previous year while looking at the same tree. Slow learner. So anyway, enough rambling. I walked 6. Got wet. Got muddy. But was still happy! Guess I’ll never be a city girld. I thought I had worked out my essay problem for the midterm on the walk. But when I got home it just got muddier (like me) as I worked on it. So I will try again tonight. There’s still time.

Driving home from class Thursday evening about 6:30 the sun finally dropped below our cloud cover, very near the horizon.  Suddenly the trees along the freeway were in technicolor.  They glowed as if I were wearing polarized sunglasses, but I wasn’t.  The colors were deep and rich, orange, red and gold, it looked as though they were on fire.

The sky color deepened as well, to a darker blue and grey, with big huge clouds carrying pink underbellies.  The pink darkened to orange.  Amazing.  The trees had set the sky on fire.

This morning as I rounded the corner into the commuter parking lot I noted my bus on it’s way out. Not to worry, there will be another one in 15 minutes, and for once I’m not running late. I also noted the driver was Nazi Man. Not his real name I’m sure, but his name in my mind. He barks at people to move to the back of the bus, yells at them if they are eating anything (against the rules) and generally scowls, rolls his eyes and seems very unhappy as a bus driver. So I didn’t mind missing his bus this morning.

Minutes later another bus for my route pulls in. The driver is Grampa, so named in my mind because he looks like someone’s grandpa, though not like either of mine. As I board his bus he scowls at me and I am reminded that yesterday on my way back out to my car he ran the bus right up behind a (presumably) undergrad coed who was admitedly walking down the middle of a campus road while talking on her cell. He jammed on the brakes at the last minute and pounded on the horn. The bus riders gasped. The coed jumped about 10 feet and moved out of the way, but didn’t interrupt her call. So maybe he isn’t exactly grandpa material.

Which made me start to consider other drivers I’ve come in contact with during this first semester at UM. There’s the 60’s leftover hippy with long grey hair that smiles (sometimes) at students. And the, well, no other way to describe her, librarian, in her long navy skirt and navy sweater who reads books at the red light on Plymouth and Huron Parkway, and who smiles and waves at every group of departing passengers. They each have their personality and distinctive driving style.

Which reminds me. Bus riders don’t seem to be stressed. Even those that run to make the bus. We wait patiently for the elderly woman to find her money. We wait a long time. We watch as crowds of students get on and off the bus. We smile, wave and say thank you to the driver as we depart. (Even to Natzi Man.) We are not worried as the bus idles in some spot waiting for the clock to catch up with reality when the route isn’t crowded. It’s as if we have given over control of our trip, and with that control we have given up the stress that usually accompanies traveling around in Ann Arbor. This morning we all sat quietly as an elderly man hobbled slowly from the bus shelter, climbed precariously aboard, dropped his 50 cents in, waited for a transfer ticket and shuffled down the isle. Amazingly, Grandpa waited too, until the old man selected a seat and slowly lowered himself down into it, before he stomped on the gas pedal and lurched back into traffic. Maybe Grandpa isn’t so bad after all.

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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