Pea Hen

I decided that since I don't have a door on my closet I should color-code my clothes, you know, make that side of the room that much more pleasant to look at? A design decision rather than construction oversight? What my closet looks like is this:

1.5 feet of neutrals (white-off white-brown-grey)
1 foot of color
2 feet of black

I shouldn't have been surprised. (I did choose grey as my dream color. I spent last summer convinced that I could live jeans and a black t-shirt only.) Tonight, though, I went to see a friend play at Velour. I'd just come back from the gym and slipped on some jeans and a cardigan. And I felt very underdressed.

The thing is, a couple of years ago, it wouldn't have given anyone pause, my jeans and beige cardigan. Remember when the Gap was in ascendancy and khakis were today's leggings? I was the hottest girl you knew.

Trend is not the issue even, though. I'm also at that weird straddling period that I love to talk so much about. I dress adorably for a teacher, just the right balance of professionalism and style, but my non-professional garb is pretty milk toast.

So I've brainstormed. Here are options.

a) Get an edgier hair style. (Yes I was considering buzzing my hair. No I will not. Probably. Not if I get to sleep here in the next little while at least.)

b) Buy some make up. Right now I own black eyeliner and red lipstick. Very dramatic, but I can only pull it off so often. (It still gives me pause, the make-up thing. Who are you fooling?)

c) Learn how to accessorize.

d) Buy that sweater in yellow. (Speaking of which, if anyone comes across a lemon yellow cardigan/sweater, will you let me know?)

e) Admit my pea hen status and marry this guy:

(Do you think Amy would mind?)

South

I tried to pretend that Tuesday was fine. But after a conversation with Justin the headmaster (Headmaster Kennington. Get your giggles as you'd like) in the which he said I was looking kind of off and warned me against burning out and said that they'd love to have me next year please (could he tell I was staying up late exploring graduate programs?) and asked how he could help, I felt both weighed down with grief and weariness and restless, bothered.
I'm a runner. Yeah, in that sense, but also that I often feel cornered and need to leave. I decided to take a trip to Southern Utah. Parowan: the town where my grandfather was born and my dad grew up. I changed in the car, stopped by my house to pick up my camera, and set off.

I love travelling. Just going. One of the most peaceful and contemplative times I remember was on a train to and from Lake Como. Not having to worry about where or why, just moving, thinking, writing. After 4 months serving in the Yerevan, a 20 minute marshrutni ride from the mission office, I found myself entirely claustrophobic. I wanted to move without thinking, to be in the open.

This was a great trip. I decided about halfway down that I'd need to spend the night (it would be 5 by the time I got there, and not light enough to take pictures), and drove past the Days Inn to The Victorian Rose, a restored little inn on Center and Main. Gail, the proprietor knew my grandfather by name. I bought a lily from Bev's Gift and Floral (I'm as sentimental as I pretend to be cynical) and walked to the hills at the edge of town and let myself be sad for a minute. I stopped for a toothbrush at the Foodway, ate dinner at the Pizza Barn, bought a couple of 25 cent books at the library, stayed up late reading (The Adventures of Kavalier and Clay which was incredible and made me absolutely weep).

In the morning I wrote a little and showered and ate at the Parowan cafe and stumbled upon the cemetary where I found some cousins and some lovely graveyard kitsch. (Irreverent? Maybe. Kitschy? Absolutely.) And came home in time to walk the dogs I'm housesitting for.

Moral of the story: a) I love wandering, and if I'm going to stay in Utah, I've got to honor that. I think I'll have to make something work this summer so I don't get so tense. Travelling helps me put things in perspective--the world is wide and I am a very minor player in all of this.
b) My grandpa loved Parowan. I love him for that. He left for his family I think, and I can't imagine my dad there, even as a kid, (when I told him I'd gone he asked why, disgusted, which didn't surprise me a bit), but I know it was a sacrifice. A very sweet little town. c) Fun fact--PHS is across the street from the mortuary. I'm not sure why that delighted me so entirely, but it certainly did.

Elliot

I'm sitting next to my Christmas tree right now. I'm sitting next to my Christmas tree, chewing on a candy cane, and I just finished a paper and I'm listening to Elliot Smith.
There is something oddly festive about Elliot. Something to do with December. Like, Christmas is great because it's a bright spot in the cold. It's something to look forward to when the days are so dark and cloudy and awful. And you get to wallow in the dark and the cold, it's a part of enjoying the holiday properly. I think Elliot Smith captures the mood perfectly--these beautiful vocals and instrumentals and the undercurrent of sad. Festive.
Also, I fell in love with Elliot over a Christmas break a couple of winters ago. It was this terrible break: I was completely broke, working (intermitently) at the Gap, all of my roommates were out of town, and I was contemplating major life changes. I would come home to an empty apartment nights, put Elliot on repeat and curl into fetal position on the floor. What is it, that you're allowed to wallow in the dark places during Christmas break because there are Christmas lights everywhere and carolers and neices and such? Is it just me?