Things I've learned in Grad School

I've been a Master's student for a whole week now, and I've learned so many things already! For all you prospective grad students out there, here's some of my new wealth of knowledge.

1.) Be a morning person. I don't care what time you were in bed the night before; if you hit Nicholasville Road after seven o'clock, your morning will suddenly become worse.

2.) Bring a book. Nothing creates an instant vacation during that annoying useless half hour like a bit of Tolkein or whomever.

3.) Have patience! I promise, things will get lost, computers have viruses, new systems have snafus, and Murphy's law will reign supreme. Just get used to the idea now.

4.) Make the right kind of friends. This includes somebody who knows where they're going (a native guide is a must!) and people in the offices. Secretaries know more than anyone else on earth; be nice to them, and they'll be nice to you!

5.) Shake hands with the library ASAP. Your native guide (see #4) can be a big help here, too. Not only are libraries a wonderful thing on principle, what with all those books, but they also have computers in them, important for things like: registering for classes, contacting the professors of those classes when registration fails, arranging financial aid, reading assignments, listening to assignments, banking, and communicating with the outside world. My fine arts library will even check out headphones to me, so that I can listen to the friendly electronic audio reserves that one of my professors loves! They will check out my new piano repertoire to me and borrow from other libraries on my behalf. They will even get resources from one library on campus and bring it to my fine arts library, saving me a fairly substantial walk. Great place.

Keeping lesson #1 in mind, I think I had better go home. My useful work is done, and sleep is a good thing. In moderation, of course.

A Brilliant Discovery!

I have discovered, after a certain amount of time spent operating a motor vehicle, that stop-lights, though providing intervals of "unavoidable delay," can be well spent observing my surroundings, searching for a water-bottle, of speaking with a person in the other seat. However, throughout this process, I continue to firmly depress the brake pedal. This ensures that my car will not begin to move forward of its own volition without my direct supervision, thus endangering the vehicle in front of me. I've found that my car is subject to the prickles of boredom; if left to its own devices, who knows what it might do? Therefore, I find it best to provide it with clear instructions regarding when to move and when to remain stationary.

Perhaps the Kentucky Department of Motor Vehicles would like to include this information in its driver's education curriculum? So many of the drivers on Nicholasville Road seem oblivious to the facts I've mentioned above.

On a related note, does anyone know of a universal hand sign (appropriate for use by a Good Girl) that can convey the following message: "Yes, you just bumped me in the rear! Next time, look in the direction your car is moving! You imbecile, the least you could do is demonstrate some smidgen of apology!"

No real damage done, but I think it's more classy to show some remorse, don't you?

I'm Giddy as a School-Girl!

Well, that sort of makes sense. I'm a school-girl, again! UK has a sneaky way of ensuring that I meet all my professors -- they locked me out of every class I wished to register for, so I spent yesterday and today running around to various professors for autographs so that I can take the classes I should. At least I think these are right... We'll see. Actually, the last two days have been great, hassles and all. T's car broke down, so I gave her a lift to school and she was my native guide. So great to know somebody who knows what they're doing! Besides, she has perks like a good parking pass and a practice room key. Not to mention what fun it is to have a friend in a strange land.

I'm so keyed up. I know it's silly, but I have that same feeling R and I would have the night before the first day of school. We used to sleep on the floor, so that we could whisper late into the night. We were always far too excited to actually sleep much, though we couldn't have told you why. I'm still not entirely sure what it is. Maybe it's the sense of upcoming adventure, the knowledge that there is a New Year coming just around the corner of night. I'm so hungry to learn and work and practice; I'm so sure that my inadequacies won't stay decently hidden; the idea of all those People everywhere scares me to death. It's a good thing I have plenty to do this evening and an early morning tomorrow -- I haven't anybody to whisper with tonight, but I know I won't be sleeping much!

A Book Report

There's a marvelous book that I reread this weekend -- A Small Rain by Madeleine L'Engle. It's one of her few adult novels, which few people seem to have heard of (though I know J appreciates it properly). It's very much a "first novel," as L'Engle notes in her forward, but perhaps that's part of the reason I like it so well. There's a poetry about her youthful philosophizing that I find beautiful. In so many ways, both author and heroine seem even more naive than I am (yes, it's possible!), but I can appreciate and enjoy that naivete. And really, I kind of like being a little naive. Most of the time.

What is it about poetry and beauty that makes me want to practice? Granted, the heroine of this book is a pianist, so I know that has a good deal to do with it, but whenever I find I need a little motivation, I can find it in this book. I want to work, I want to become the pianist that I should be. And all those moments over the past few days, as I looked around at the gathering hordes of college students (have I ever mentioned how much hordes of college students frighten me?), as I wondered why on earth I've just moved to a Big City where I don't know which way is up, I remember. I need to realize the potential I have been given; I need to make music; I need to become what I am supposed to become. Otherwise, what am I here for? And don't quote Rick Warren at me -- maybe he's great at generalities, but I'm looking for specifics. There are some things that are about me -- some questions, some answers, and some purposes. Otherwise, why am I me?

There, I've managed to fit two of Mrs. McG's Universal Questions into one paragraph. She would be proud.

On a different note, do you know what lifted my spirits Friday, after my fairly gloomy post? The somewhat anticipated phone call from my mother helped (really, the leg isn't all that bad, I promise!). Afterwards, I sat on my patio with a carbonated caffeinated beverage and an unopened book, watching the little birds come to my tree to begin their good-night ritual. There's something amazing about the silhouette of a bird gliding downward, perfect little triangles of wings stretched outward, no doubt of its destination in it's small brain, no fear that the wind will give out beneath it. Maybe someday, I can fly like that.

Have you ever...

...Writhed on the floor in agony? I'm honestly not much of a writher, generally speaking, but this was a writh-worthy experience.

So, I'm working in my happy apartment yesterday evening, having a new-found spurt of energy, when I have this Chicken Little moment. A five pound weight descends rapidly from an overhead shelf, hitting just above my knee before you can say "The sky is falling!" I couldn't even come up with any good periwinkle prose, but chose to cower on the floor in silent agony, instead. After a while, coherent thoughts begin to percolate through the pain-riddled haze.

Coherent thought number one: Oh gosh, I think I just broke my leg.
Coherent thought number two: My mother's going to kill me.
Coherent thought number three: Why don't you check and see if it's really hurt before you get carried away?

Yes, my thoughts speak to me on occasion. The anticlimactic finale: I have full range of motion, no permanent damage is done. Simply stiffness, swelling, pain, and all the lovely colors of the sunset. Good thing I tend to keep my legs covered up -- it's bad enough to explain away the bruises all over my arms (I'm actually not really sure about those -- carrying boxes, I think), but this would really raise eyebrows.

In other news -- received my very first parking ticket today, while waiting in line to purchase my parking permit. Irony, yes? And I was not the only one, I promise!

So, Kentucky's great. How are you? :)

Three in the Morning

"[Three A.M.] Doctors say the body's at low tide then. The soul is out. The blood moves slow. You're the nearest to dead you'll ever be save dying."
~Ray Bradbury in "Something Wicked This Way Comes"

"The time-between-times--that's just a folk superstition, more poetic device than anything else. It doesn't exist."
~Stephen Lawhead in "The Paradise War"

There's something special about three o'clock in the morning. Bradbury knew it, Lawhead knew it, people from time immemorial have felt that there is something about that hour. It may become an object of superstition -- Magical things happening only at that "time-between-times." Or perhaps it becomes a time for morbid introspection in the insomniac dreamer. When I was at Radford, three a.m. was occasionally bedtime. More recently, it's become the time for me to begin a new adventure. The world is asleep, silence reigns supreme -- and Jeanine is washing dishes, getting ready to hit the road.

Driving down the highway in the wee hours of the morning really does have a magic to it. The bakery trucks may be out, but most of the semis are sleeping by the side of the road. (It's always the trucks that seem to sleep, not the truckers -- don't quite know why!) There may be some fog, but I haven't met much rain at that time. The world seems in a state of partial being, neither here nor there. And in a hundred miles or so, about time for breakfast, the sun begins to rise.

What is it about sunrises? They always seem to herald the start of a new adventure, the beginning of something great. I love them in the same way I love Mondays, only more so. Mondays are great, because you have a fresh start on the week. Nothing can be too terribly wrong yet, because nothing has happened. A New Beginning. Sunrises are rather the same, I think -- only much more gorgeous and special.

My new apartment in Nicholasville (photos coming soon!) has a north-facing window. For the first time in my life, I can see the sunrise from my bed. How can you resist beginning the day when that sort of motivation is before you?

I know why birds sing.

Time Warp

Do you ever feel like time has become an unpredictable entity? I know my life is a little crazier than usual, but recently it feels like I'm almost living outside of time.

I've been spending my weekends in the alternating rush and lull of a ticket booth at Silverleaf Ren Faire, where my customers are all "m'lord" and "m'lady;" where the security guy wears a sword at his belt and a plume in his hat; where my faithful rock dragon, Igor, guards the modern money while I make change. I spend my breaks hanging around with knights, ladies, and bards of all stripes, watching sword fights and jesters. It really is like some sort of alternate universe. The spell doesn't always break the moment I leave, either -- I've caught myself calling waiters, waitresses, and strangers at the rest stop "m'lord" or "m'lady." Luckily, they don't usually realize what I've said.

Then, perhaps I'll spend my evening playing trumpet in the Kiwanis band, where my friends talk of the day that Harry James came to East Lansing as though it was yesterday. ("He kept drinking from this glass of water through the whole show -- though it wasn't really water, you know..." a gentlemanly clarification for the naive girl at the end of section.) They remember going to dances where all the men were too old or too young, because the truly eligible fellows were away at war. My friends are on the young end, but they never minded dancing with an older woman.

I'll be home, reading -- currently a charming novel by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, "Beyond the City." This portrait of suburban life before 1900 is one into which I would fit very comfortably, and my imagination takes me there in a minute. Perhaps women will earn the vote someday...

I'm still packing boxes, so I'm playing every LP I own. I even cut the cellophane off my brand-new Big Band LP -- great stuff. Harry James, Duke Ellington, everybody who matters. I've discovered the Smothers Brothers -- so much talent and silliness in one package! Perfect for a late-night effort.

What decade am I living in? What century, for that matter? Which state am I in today? It's Monday, you say? And afternoon already. Well, how time flies. Or does time spin like a top? Maybe I spend some time with the theory of relativity again. It's so hard to measure the immeasurable. Still, without some type of measure, my days begin to lose all feelings of structure. Without structure, I begin to lose track of where and when I am today.

Where and when, perhaps, but never who. That's the best part -- I'm always still me. :)

WOO-HOO!!

Let there be rejoicing in every mouth and a song of praise on every tongue! Let the flags unfurl and the trumpets sound! With celebration and joyous shouts, dancing and leaping, whoops and sighs of relief, let it be known:

Jeanine has finally received her acceptance information from UK!

They have resolved to stop losing my paperwork and at last realize that they want me. And there is much rejoicing!

Little Known Facts

Somewhere near scenic Gas City, IN, there are several signs advertising the "Huggy Bear Motel." Normally, I go in for names like "Budget Host," but there's something terribly inviting about a name like "Huggy Bear." "Gas City", not so much...

Okay, once and for all: the "cute accent" (Thanks, Aaron, that was the kind way to phrase it!) is from exotic Lansing, MI. I incorporate other accents fairly quickly, maybe because I'm a musician, but some of my altered vowels have no excuse. I just talk funny!

There are few feelings more rewarding than looking around a living room full of empty boxes. After loading a car from a third floor apartment, driving seven hours, unloading said vehicle (which shares certain characteristics with one of those clown cars that have an amazing number of clowns in them), and putting things where they belong, one can look around at the fruits of one's labors and sigh. Time to cuddle up with a cold beverage and an old movie. Starring Ronald Colman, perhaps, or maybe Cary Grant. Or, if you're as lucky as I am and have a copy of "The Talk of the Town", both!

Gexa Energy Corp -- great folks! Even if it takes five years, they are bound and determined to return your security deposit to you. I was shocked, amazed, and pleasantly surprised to find their check in my parents' mailbox the other day. Unexpected cash -- doesn't it just makie your week?

Polyurethane is wonderful stuff. Not only can it spiff up your twenty dollar plywood bookcases, but it can seal the crumbling leather trim of the 1940's suitcase you can't bear to part with. No longer will my legs be marked with brown dust every time I carry my suitcase somewhere! Amazing what one can do these days!