GOING NUTS IN THE CITY

Sunday, August 8, 2004

Compilation

Like Robert Frost said...

The house had gone to bring again
To the midnight sky a sunset glow.
Now the chimney was all of the house that stood,
Like a pistil after the petals go.

The barn opposed across the way,
That would have joined the house in flame
Had it been the will of the wind, was left
To bear forsaken the place's name.

No more it opened with all one end
For teams that came by the stony road
To drum on the floor with scurrying hoofs
And brush the mow with the summer load.

The birds that came to it through the air
At broken windows flew out and in,
Their murmur more like the sigh we sigh
From too much dwelling on what has been.

Yet for them the lilac renewed its leaf,
And the aged elm, though touched with fire;
And the dry pump flung up an awkward arm:
And the fence post carried a strand of wire.

For them there was really nothing sad.
But though they rejoiced in the nest they kept,
One had to be versed in country things
Not to believe the phoebes wept.

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The barn and tavern are about 50 yards apart. The cemetary is up the hill, about 250 yards, overlooking a ravine that leads to the river...

the view up into the rafters...

part of the cabinet that was part of the schoolhouse in the upper room of the barn...

more of the cabinet...

the cabinet, with all its worn colors...

somewhat disconcerting discovery on the top floor of the barn...

perhaps someone who IS well-versed in country things can tell me what kind of farm machinery this is...

old nail and chains hanging from it, next to the uhh...wagon?

close-up of the front of the wagon-like thing... note that the wheels on the front are super sharp.

this mystery dial was on the front of the mystery machinery...

sunlight peeks through into the barn...

the rear view of the adjacent tavern...

the upper rear window...

the layers of paint peel off a window sill of the tavern...

a shattered window and glimpse inside the kitchen...

a better shot of inside the kitchen through the broken window...

the view of the barn from the tavern...

the front of the Cross Keys Tavern (operated as tavern from 1809-1820, schoolhouse where friend Amy's neighbor was instructed thereafter, currently maintained by Camp Kern(??))

John and Osee Terry's headstone, (one of the best in condition there)...

typical rural Ohio, this schoolbus is in the woods, visible from the cemetary...

Henry Stibbs' headstone, seemingly very successful farmer, the father of John Stibbs, grandfather of Jackson Stibbs, would outlive most of his grandchildren as he lived to the remarkable age of 98. Walked through his old property today...

These two headstones were near the Stibbs' plots, the names are illegible, but these red silk flowers that some person left there mark the graves...

Tuesday, August 3, 2004

"I've been driving a lot."

Today I drove.
It was the most important thing I've done in a while.

I realized many things in the time it took my gas needle to sink from half empty to quarter full.

I leave the house, my hands damp with the humidity and heat, fingers pressing the flip-key of the Volkswagen. And as if in slow motion, I move down my steps unevenly jumping two at a time (clip-clop, clip-clop).

I unlock the door just before my hand reaches for the arched handle of the car. Slipping into the hot seat, the faux leather burns my thighs and bare arms. I turn the key in the ignition, roll down my windows, and turn on my music.

Usually I complete this expected and framed moment by tearing my hairband out of my hair, pulling my sunglasses over my eyes and immediately putting my hand on the gearshift and my foot on the clutch. I'm ready.

Each turn is decided by whim. I veer toward the unknown, the blind corners, the shadows, green hills lined with the ribbon of black pavement at their crests.

I want to be somewhere unknown, where no one knows me. When I find those places, I photograph it. I make those places mine.

Sometimes its the stark contrast of color that draws me: the seering green against a brilliantly ominous sky or the toffee color of thrushed wheat.

Sometimes its the people: the old man sitting in his lawn chair on the main street of an impoverished town, his two scrawny granddaughters bent over in gutter, playing in their worn swimsuits in the dilapidated concrete and dirt, a light blue 1960 Ford pickup truck parked alongside the old man's store that is marked by an old Coca-Cola sign that has faded from red to orange in the sunlight.

Sometimes its the smells: a bonfire in the country, freshly cut fields, skunks, gasoline, manure, burning rubber, plants crushed underfoot, rain. Each smell fresh as the next and unexpected.

It's enough to see my hand on the wheel in front of me, my thumb anxiously stroking the bumpy surface. Enough to grab the gearshift and move from third to fourth as I peak around that curve. To feel my hair whipped by the wind, stinging my eyes.

Somewhere in the gas needle's descent, I realize it's okay to make decisions and be scared of your future. That nothing is ever final. That even if I go to law school, I can take a year off and do this--drive and think.

I realize, too, that I take memories from the past, and like blocks build something that never existed and can't stand by itself. I've worked too hard to hold this construction up and it's time I let it crumble.

I realize (as I speed by the small airport where Amy's grandfather took her as a little girl to watch the planes take off and bought her an ice cream cone but grass flew into the cone and stuck and her grandfather had laughed but Amy had cried) while I'm in my car, time stops. Location becomes unimportant. I can piece together my past and present and see my future.

I drove by a cemetary today at a stoplight and as I sat idle, I read a gravestone on the hill that read: "Sarah, Died Dec. 23, 1823." I wondered what Sarah thought about at my age and in her time and if she could have gotten in her Beetle and driven hundreds of miles in one summer, if she would have. I then thought about how sad it was she died the day before Christmas Eve. I wondered what she had planned to give to her friends and family.

Later that day, I looked at Christmas ornaments and thought about buying my mom one. I didn't realize the workings of my subconscious until now.

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Summer School

So for those of you who don't know, I'm currently taking a Children's Book Illustration course at Miami U with this published kids' writer named Catherine Siracusa. She won the Children's Choice Award a few years back for her big hit "The Giant Zucchini." It's really great experience so far, but it's exhausting as hell since Miami is about a 45-50 minute drive from my house (I drove it in 35 today.) and I draw/write from about 8:30 am until 5 pm. For kicks, and with the creative brainstorm talk I had with Bryan, I decided to write and illustrate a story about Wink, the accidentally magical cat (woot), and who is based on my cat, Scout.

Not surprisingly, this experience has provided for some interesting times with the people in my class and at Miami ("back-up" school numero uno).

My class is comprised of thirteen people, including myself, the majority of whom are at least over thirty, if not forty.

To put it shortly, I have been introduced to the scary, creepy world of disgruntled adults who have been rejected by publishing companies and seek revenge. Granted, not every adult in the class is like this stereotype. Let's do a run-down of the standouts in the class.

Two kind women from Cleveland: currently sleeping in the dorms, met in college 20 years ago and love being roommates again, been published in kids' magazines. The two are very nice women, despite a certain grudge they hold against Random House, Inc. They are very chummy with our instructor and I think they have mutual friends due to the publishing industry.

Frank: at least 75 years old, fourth year taking this course. Frank is writing a story about his cat, Declawdia, and is not very good at drawing cats or people.

Now, I don't rock at either, but we sit next to one another, and although Frank could kick my ass at drawing steam engine trains and watercolor landscapes any day, my cat is mos def out-doing his cat.

Today I noticed that he stands angrily over me while I draw sometimes, and this creeps me out. He is very defensive about his cat and will bring Declawdia up into conversation with little or no prompting.

The other day, he snapped at the one of the two other girls my age when she referred to his scissors as hers. ("WHOSE scissors did you say those were?! MYYYY scissors!")

Silent angry guy: about mid or late twenties. see name for description.

Ericka: most likely mid-twenties, taking the class so she can finally graduate with her art degree from Miami, a year late.

She doesn't show up for class until afternoon.

Debbie: My PERSONAL favorite. Early to mid 50s. First day, she gave a two minute introduction to herself, when we were asked to give just our names. She also asked our teacher if there was a crucial difference between the terms "educational books" and "teaching books."

She demands the instructor's attention for half of the day and criticizes other people's work, even though hers is terrible.

(Note: She is writing her story, with her, "Grandmother Deidre," as the MAIN character.(good thing she changed her name, "grandmother deidre" will be much less of a mouthful for the kiddies as compared to "grandma debbie" or just "gramma").

Kids just love reading stories from the perspective of their grandparents. Especially when the kids themselves are secondary figures in the story and all the large spreads are just of the grandmother.

It's also good of Debbie to take up two tables of workspace. I mean, she REALLY deserves it with that killer story of hers.

Debbie brought in goat cheese on Tuesday to share with the class. When someone asked where she bought it from, she snapped that "Iiiiiiiii have a goat. Myyyyyyy goat MADE it." When the girl, embarassed, asked where she could buy some cheese like Debbie's, Debbie responded: "HOW should Iiiiii know?? I MAKE me cheese, REMEMBER?"
I don't often see goats pasteurizing their own dairy products, but whatever.
And damn it, I did eat her cheese. But it doesn't mean I have to like her.

Tuesday, she also brought in examples of her own artwork with woodcuts rather than bringing in her favorite kids' book, as our instructor had asked. But hey, what's the difference, right??

Today, she brought in a crystal vase and daylilies. This single vase took up a third table that was previously someone else's workspace. I thought perhaps she was using it to observe while drawing it, but no.

She just brought it.

To bring.

And to show off.

And to tell the teacher when she just politely commented, "Oh those are nice," that she not only has those, but she also has twenty other varieties of daylily. Good thing Debbie is God and created daylilies for all of us to appreciate.

Today we had to have a group photograph taken of our class. I believe that we organized ourselves the best that any group of humans ever have for a photograph. Seriously perfect. Two exact lines with perfect height and our teacher sitting in front (holding the vase of Debbie's daylilies).

Well. It was perfect. Until Debbie decided she was meant for stardom, and literally positioned herself exactly in the middle, not in any line but between the two lines, and directly in front of one of the nice women from Cleveland. Incredible.

Debbie and Frank don't like each other. They argued about Frank's cat today. That was terribly amusing. I'm afraid I'm behind drawing because I'm too busy listening in on everyone's conversations.

Also. If you've read this far, here are some interesting differences between Miami U and Northwestern, as well as FYI about Miami...

1. Miami's student center has a nicer dining area indoors.
2. Miami's outdoor dining cannot compare by default of not having a lake.
3. Girls: If you are in need of some sort of female necessity, don't rely on a.) any bathrooms in all of the student center being open because they'll all be under repair. and b.) the one bathroom that IS open having any of said necessities. Good plan: go across campus to find open bathroom that carries the goods (this will take a while.)
4. Miami is beautiful. No denying it. Beautiful.
5. Miami has multiple fine arts buildings. Northwestern has one.
6. Guys at Miami: J-Crew models.
7. Girls at Miami: anorexic.
8. Volleyball campers will die under the blood-stained wheels of my vehicle if the persist to meander in the roads. (This really is nothing about Miami, but it's important.)
9. Miami has fountains. The Rock used to be a fountain.
10. There's nothing to do in Oxford, but there's lots of parking!

So this has been an incredibly long entry and I bet half of it was about Debbie. So... I'm going to go work on my drawings. Thanks for bein a pal and readin'. :)

Sunday, July 4, 2004

Eight Points of Importance

1. Work today was actually kind of fun and flew by, despite little cashiering. Shocking, I know.

2. I am reading Word Freak, the book of Scrabble drama. I'm really excited to play Scrabble again...maybe even Speed Scrabble.

3. I went out with Abby from Old Navy after work to Fridays for a really late dinner. It was nice. I also made plans to hang out with Cat and Matt Zito to discuss F9/11 next week or so. The prospect and reality of hanging out with fun people from work after hours is wonderful.

4. Tonight I drove by Kings Island as the fireworks crowds were dispersing. It was surreal because I:
a. always go.
b. didn't go this year.
c. saw the traffic and remembered EVERY other year I've gone with Brandon, Michael, and company, leaned out the windows of the bug in dead-stop traffic and sang overly patriotic songs to people in other cars, getting them to sing along with me and my friends. There's nothing quite as wonderfully abnoxious as three lanes of traffic singing "Fifty Nifty United States."

5. I work on the Fourth. I am:
a. half sad (because I'll be working during part of my FAVORITE holiday, and I'll not get to drive around and shout overly patriotic things at people who are out in their frontyards or on their porches.)
b. half happy (because I get time and a half and can be overly patriotic to customers instead. i plan to wear some horrendous red, white, and blue outfit.)

6. Possible breakfast party with Brandon and Michael tomorrow to watch Roddick and Federer. Who's siked? I am!

7. Speaking of "siked," I watched the "Las Vegas Wedding" conclusion to Saved By the Bell: The College Years, yesterday. I never saw it before, and only now is life worth living.

8. I miss school. (Bunches.)

Thursday, June 24, 2004

Tell me what to do with my life

A few nights ago, Ryan and I had the big "Dude-we're-totally-switching-to-journal

ism" talk.

I was so confident in my feelings about it. Yeah! Why didn't I apply Medill in the first place?? It was what I wanted to do way back when I was younger. Remember? Peter Jennings was your idol?! Okay. We've chosen something, self. Good.

Then, two nights ago, while coughing in bed (cause I do that instead of sleeping these days), I realized law school was definitely the path for me.

Sure, I maybe COULD go to Medill, maybe double major in some history or writing or something, and THEN go to law school! There IS that intership I want to do next summer...and after all, I've grown up in that environment, I'm already THINKING like a lawyer. Great! I better look at CAESAR so I can drop that stupid drawing class right away.

Last night, after compiling some of my photographs, I talked to Bryan about photojournalism.

Of course. Why haven't I thought about double majoring in the arts department. I love photography, after all. I love art! I can combine my two passions! Writing and art! And then write children's books much later when I'm older and wiser. Screw law school.

Tonight, Brandon, while sifting through my photographs and drawings on my laptop suddenly grabs my shoulders and looks me in the eye and says: CC. You're always wondering what you should do with yourself. Why haven't you thought about computer graphics? You can apply yourself creatively in a great medium. You love doing this stuff. So do it!

Yeah, Brandon! I thought. You're completely right. I DO love this stuff. My favorite class in high school WAS Consumer Art! That was amazing times. I doodle with art instead of writing my papers. Doesn't that mean I love it more than writing my papers?? I should totally look into this.

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Hi, my name is CC and I have a problem. I don't want to major in anything.

Except Englicomputergraphotographistoricawritinganthrojournacommunication studies, with a concentration in high stress and caffeine. Future plans to move into
((the city/cave to hibernate with bears/barn turned country cottage/Paris/Morocco/parents' house))
and
((go to law school/write about the experience/photograph the country/live off of tips at a local café/take photographs and write while learning the language on the fly/mooch)).

Wednesday, June 23, 2004

Mission: Ohio

finally started the drive-around-Ohio-and-photodocument-it mission. First stop? The abandoned gunpowder factory in Kings Mill.

This place is amazingly creepy/beautiful. Abandoned during World War 2, the factory has become a haven for kids who wish to wreak havoc, drink, and seek out the ghosts of the workers who died in gunpowder explosions. Perhaps, judging by the inside of some of the rooms, painted with messages like:

OUR GOAL IS TO BE EXTREMELY SCARY.

Perhaps some of those kids are the ones being the ghosts too.

Nature, too, is staking a claim here. Inside one portion of the factory, a large generator of sorts is rusting as it looms over a sapling. Ivy thrives on the interior walls of the factory and cats have made a home of the space as well.

I'm putting what pictures I can for now up. My computer memory is literally so low that I can no longer edit the photos. So, for now, here are some...

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Monday, June 21, 2004

Schoolhome

Tonight I hung out with Sparks, B, Mike and KTO. I felt very out of place. They've created their own memories that I'm not a part of.

As if it's not weird enough that KTO and Mike are back together (after two summers of double dates with them. every. single. night. out. just. b/cc. mike/kto. and then them being broken up while b and i were still together...)

It's not that I feel lacking, I just feel uneasy because everything's different.

But tonight, as they, some of my closest friends who are recently graduated, talked about how weird it will be to leave home and that they can't imagine making new friends and starting new....I realized how much that other place means to me.

I sat, looking through the screen of the gazebo and grazing my fingertips over its rough surface, thinking about everyone. Individually. Considering memories with each person.

Does (this random friend, maybe you reading this) know me better than mike? my favorite person to call up and just talk for hours with? my favorite duet partner? my best hairy friend?...

better than a? my enemy for so many years turned best friend during the latter half of high school? my art buddy and favorite crazy friend?...

better than b?? b--who was my other half for so long. b--who was my stunt double, my swing dancing partner, my picnic buddy, my skinny-dipping fellow swimmer, my favorite person to bicker with, my best friend, my boyfriend. The person who brought out the best and the worst in me for four years.

Then I realized. Yeah. You do.

And even though I already knew this, the feeling is all the more visceral now. And I miss you.

Sunday, June 20, 2004

Summer Things

I came up with a Father's Day gift earlier this week and got all the necessities this afternoon while shopping with Amy. It's my Sensory Basket of Memories with Dad. It includes
1. A lottery ticket and beanie baby bear for sight (like middle school after-school trips all over again)
2. Dove Ice Cream Bars and York Peppermint Patties for taste (since my earliest memories are of sitting in my "playpen" and my dad trying to feed me those)
3. Sandalwood soap for smell (since it is his favorite)
4. A Garrison Keillor Prarie Home Companion CD for sound (I grew up listening to this with my parents in the van)
5. All wrapped up in a basket, stuffed with red tulle for touch (since when I had my first ballet recital in a red tutu, I told my dad then that it felt like his scruffy face)

Amy and I attended the Ben Folds, Guster, Rufus Wainwright concert at Fraze tonight. It was really great. Ben Folds is officially my favorite performer and I want him to be my brother.

Nothing beats him teaching the audience what a triad is and then climbing up on a piano in the heat of musical passion to get them to sing it back.

And the fact that both he and Guster walked around Kettering separately all afternoon. Ben Folds took photographs of the suburban houses, hoping not to get caught by the owners; and the lead singer of Guster bought a ten-speed bike from one of the many garage sales that he visited, deeming the bike "the best 10-speed seventies bike this side of the Mississippi."

Rufus was, of course, wonderful, but I think the order for the concert would have been better as follows: Guster, Rufus, Ben... rather than Ben, Guster, Rufus. But that's just me, and I'm a Benophile.

Other good moments included Ben Folds just sitting on the side of the stage during Guster, eating a banana...and Rufus Wainwright repeatedly apologizing for his singing, even though it was amazing as usual, and then putting it out there that no one should vote for Bush.

Friday, June 11, 2004

Being Cliché

I'm getting all sentimental. That sucks.

I just got off the phone from an hour and a half long conversation with Brandon. Before that, I was with my parents moving around storage and we drove around looking at the old "familiar" sights of Wilmette.

Yesterday involved:
One last final
Packing
Burning CDs, a lot
Goodbyes
Dinner at Panera
Running in the rain with John down Sherman
Slideshows and pizza
Dance parties
Naps at midnight
More packing
Quietly spending last nights with friends

Stayed up last night with John til 4 am talking about our coming summers. Lil Jess came in shortly thereafter and we reviewed our short college experiences til 5. What stereotypical last-few-nights talks, but I think they had to happen.

Outside my window, cars nearly ram into one another in efforts to get parking spots near the dorms. It's chaos.

So many people left today. How can it be that I feel like I still JUST got to college and yet I have such a connection with a still unfamiliar place?

I was still just getting to know so many people and I don't want summer to interrupt. I'm, of course, anxious to get home and try to settle back into my old skin, but I don't know if that's going to be completely possible.

Sorry to make this cliche end-of-my-freshman-year-at-college entry, but I think...it had to happen. :)

Monday, June 7, 2004

I've Been Doing Things

I've had an incredible end to this school year. I couldn't have asked for more in the last few days. Well, could someone cancel my exams this week? That'd be okay. I cannot possible describe the fun I had Saturday Luau'in, beachin', and music/movie/rearrangin' roomin' it up. Friday was amazing as well, what with finishing up a course a week early and seeing Harry Potter 3. So, in an abreviated version... Here are photos to let you know what I've been up to...