Summers in West Virginia

Recently, I've been dabbling in photography. Now that I have my hands on my nice little DSLR camera, I have been taking pictures and editing them. I've been learning by experience why photographers take so many pictures of the same thing with little variation : what looks sharp and clear in the viewfinder might actually be soft and blurry once you see the image on a larger screen. So far my best photos have been of antiques.

In early June, my parents and I went to an estate sale and auction in a very small, rural West Virginia town. The estate was a gorgeous mansion, built in the early 20th century and remodeled in the past ten years. I am sure that whoever ended up with the mansion is planning to turn it into a very successful bed and breakfast. (I cannot say that phrase out loud. Bed and Breakfast. I accidentally say it Bread and Beckfast.)

Many of these antiques, some of which were from the turn of the century (1900 ish) were being auctioned off from the mansion.

Looks like he knows a secret

A noble steed

Du Pont

 Have you heard of the black stereotype called the Mammy? This is essentially the motherly black maid, the one that lived with a white family and raised their children for them.

 According to this Jim Crow caricature of black women, the Mammy was a fat, happy, motherly woman.

She was content to live out her life as a slave. She was too busy raising the white children of the household to want freedom.

The Mammy loved her white family. They were her entire world.

 She might have had many of her own children, but as this caricature she was almost completely desexualized.

She was only fit to be a domestic worker. She had no black friends.




The picture below is something that I am titling "Reflection of West Virginia." It to me embodies what people think of when they envision West Virginia: old things and fat people.

West Virginia in a Nutshell? Not exactly.

While there are lots of people in West Virginia who are overweight, there are also many who take advantage of the state's abundance of hiking, biking, and canoeing areas. It's such a lush, beautiful state.

The Greenbrier River, after a long weekend of rain, is close to the top of the river bank.

 It is true, though, that a lot of the things in West Virginia are old. Many places are in disrepair, and many a house or car gets patched up over the years but never gets repaired or replaced the way it needs to be.

My childhood tree house

This was the old tree house that my brother and our friends and I played in when we were younger. You can see now that it is used to store a kayak, a lawn mower and a grass seeder. We had some good fun in this tree house. I strung up colorful strings and bells on the railing. Our friends and I tied a giant rope to the top of the metal slide and used it to climb up the slide, which was very useful when playing the lava game. (You know the game where you pretend the floor is made of lava? We pretended that the ground was made of lava and had four kids try to climb up the slide at the same time so that we wouldn't fall into the lava. Sometimes our shorts would get caught on the nails at the top of the slide. It was a fun game. I'm sure we screamed a lot.)

The Cool Restaurant

One of the other things my brother, our friends and I did with this tree house was turn it into a restaurant. Our very original and inspired restaurant name was The Cool Restaurant. You can see that it came equipped with a plastic kitchen. The lettering of our name was originally very colorful.

The fire pole

In West Virginia fashion, The Cool Restaurant was a fast food restaurant. The fire pole served as the drive thru. Our most popular item was the leaf cake, consisting of a large oak leaf sprinkled with pine needles.

I would probably not dare to set foot inside this tree house today. The main reason for that is that I am sure that there are many spiders, squirrels and maybe snakes that have made it their home since we stopped using it. Wouldn't want to disturb too many nests...

This is the swing that we would play on all the time as kids. You could swing really really high if you wanted to, given that the branch the swing was on was pretty high up. However, the best utilization of this swing was, in my opinion, sitting or lying in the seat, twisting the ropes around really, really tight - to the point that the twist hit the top of your head - and then unspinning the swing in all its dizzying glory. If you wanted to take that one step further, you'd also try to swing back and forth while spinning in a circle. The plastic swing is a little cracked up now, and the ropes are fraying. There are no young kids to play with the swing anymore.

Here's some additional "American Pastoral" for you from West Virginia.

My parents

The fire that I made

The front yard on a sunny afternoon

Me, Fire Master

I plan to take a lot of pictures while I am living in Île de la Réunion. Maybe some of them will have stories and memories attached like the photos I took in West Virginia do.

Once Again...Now What?

So.

I just got back from summer camp on Monday. It's now Tuesday, I'm on the internet and I don't know what to do with myself. Except for rounding up some paperwork for a 24 hour trip to Atlanta, I don't really know what to do with all this down time. So I'll write about it.

Things I was really happy about after leaving camp:

• The glass of wine I bought myself (I deserved it).
• Watching Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 on the plane - it was the perfect silly, brainless movie that I needed after a very busy summer.
• Getting biscoff cookies on the plane, because I freaking love speculoos cookies.
• Eating top-notch falafel with my dad (because you can never get enough falafel), buying cheese to make knafe with, making eggplant parmesan, eating salad...I like food. I like making food that I like.
• Going to my college town and not being in school still.
• Coming home to my college degree.
• Sleeping.
• Sharing all the cool things I learned with my family.

Things I was sad about after leaving camp:

• My friends are all dispersed now.
• I'm not constantly surrounded by my friends.
• I'm alone with my feelings now that I'm not constantly surrounded by friends and it's very quiet.
• Learning that I may have been too good at avoiding drama while at camp because there were some conflicts between people that it hurt my heart to hear about.
• I didn't get a really cool baker's burn this summer.

There were a lot of things that went really well this summer at camp. There were a lot of things that could have been improved upon. I felt safe this summer. I made some cool friends from far away places. Rolling pins give me a little anxiety. It's a mixed bag. Net positive though.

Also, in case anyone was wondering, the Paul and Babe statues have been the background of this blog for several years. Time to resume my other blog about my upcoming adventure in la Réunion, which you can find here.

The Coolest People I've Ever Met Are Teachers

6/26/17


I wrote down in a diary somewhere, years ago, that the coolest people I have ever met are teachers.

That still holds true, even today.

Teachers get to mentor students and get to know them in ways that neither their friends nor their family do. They see worth in students that students don't always recognize in themselves. They can see where to push them and how to keep them from falling over the edge.

I would have been a hot mess if my high school environmental science teacher hadn't rescued me from an impossible class schedule and gotten me the study hall I needed to keep my life in order. Thanks to the encouragement of the dean of the French village at the Concordia Language Villages, I applied for a position as a camp counselor there. I wouldn't have been as confident as I was to complete a capstone project in communication if my media production professors hadn't showed me that they were excited by the work I did for my videos. I don't know if I would have declared a French major as early as my second semester of college if I didn't have a professor who would walk with students after class and get to know them.

Teachers are cool because they still care about you long after they've had you as a student. They are still excited about your success and your life, even if you don't talk as often as you used to.

Once, upon request, I shared a script with one of my high school English teachers that I wrote as a way to cope with the aftermath of an unpleasant breakup. Mind you, this was three years after having her as a teacher. She and a few of my friends and I went out to dinner with her one night, because we were all still close. While we munched on chips and salsa she brought up the script I wrote, looked me in the eye, and said "This is really good. Keep writing." I have.

Another of my high school teachers I didn't really know anything about until I graduated and became Facebook friends with them. That was when I learned that they had a dog (I know it's been a while but I can't recall a time where they ever mentioned having a dog during class), that they had a whole life outside of school, and even now I feel frustrated because I missed out on this opportunity to get to know a really cool person! One day, after taking the AP exam for this class, I woke up in a cold sweat because I realized that I had forgotten one small but crucial detail in one of my written responses that literally marks the difference between getting a 4 and getting a 5 on the exam. Before class that day, I ran into that teacher in the hall and said, "On the AP exam...I forgot to ask the question." It took them a second but then they realized, what I was talking about. Their response was, more or less, "Oh well. That's not going to stop you." They were totally right.

Two weeks ago, a longtime friend, who I will call C, and I visited our high school French teacher, who is retiring next week. My high school friends and I lovingly refer to her as Em-Em-Ee (Mme), the abreviation for Madame. She's the one who instilled in me an understanding and appreciation for French history, castles, Rabelais, and French grammar.

C and I sit with Mme in her classroom as she enters grades into her computer and touches base with the various students that pop by her classroom to turn in makeup work before school officially ends on Friday. Her classroom looks exactly the same as it used to, with the exception of a giant guillotine in the back of the classroom - that's new - and the laptop that she has instead of a dreadfully slow school-issued desktop. Mme invites us to sit down and tries to get some of the affairs on her desk in order before she starts to talk to us. She asks us about what is in our futures now that we've graduated. C tells her that she's going to be an elementary school teacher at a charter school nearby, which makes Mme smile. She asks C if her mom still teaches at Griffith Elementary School, at which the ears of a ninth-grader in the classroom perk up. "Did I hear you say Griffith Elementary School?" She asks.
"Yes, C's mom teaches there. Why, did you go to Griffith Elementary?"
"For a little while," says the ninth grader. "I left in the third grade...Wait, what was your mom's name?"
"Mrs. S," replies C. The ninth grader's eyes go wide. Her face lights up with excitement and she covers her face with her hands because she just can't stand it.
"No!" she exclaims. It's too good to be true. "Mrs. S was my teacher!"
Mme is delighted by the coincidence. "Mrs. S was your teacher? Well, this is her daughter." She smiles at the connection. C gives the ninth grader a hug and asks her if she can take a picture with her so she can tell her mom she met one of her former students. C gets out her phone and they take a selfie.
"Wow, you know! It just goes to show..." starts Mme. I finish the thought.
"It's a small world," I say. "It really is," she agrees.

Mme tells us about that one of her former students will be the French teacher taking her place in the fall. She's pleased that her students will be in very capable hands. I ask her, "Was he the guy who came to speak to our French 2 class once? The one who was in Franche-Comté?" "Yes!" she exclaims. "That's him. He was there right on the border of the Swiss Alps." I remembered him. "He did TAPIF, which is the same program I'm doing in la Réunion." Mme is very excited for me to go to the Reunion Islands - I don't correct her about there only being one island - and she asks me about where I'm going, if there will be electricity and running water. I assure her that la Réunion is fairly well off and has all the modern amenities that mainland France does. Mme says with a twinkle in her eye that she is so proud that so many of her students are going on to be teachers.

I bring up a memory of a really fun day where our French 3 and 4 class were making skits to demonstrate vocabulary and a couple of verb tenses that we learned over the past few weeks. The two men in the class reenacted the movie Anchorman, one of them being "Ron Bourgogne" and the other one being a météorologue. "Il pleut...des hommes! Il pleut des hommes, hallelujah il pleut des hommes, hallelujah-ah!" It's raining...men! Hallelujah it's raining men... I broke character for that entire skit because it was so funny. Mme tells us that our class that year was one of the best in her life. I'd have to say the same.

After a certain point, Mme opens the gifts that we brought her: a gift card from C and a card from me. She reads it in front of us. C doesn't know what it says but gets the gist of it from Mme's comments here and there. At the end, I wrote to her, "j'attends impatiemment le jour où nous sautillerons dans les Champs-Élysées de nouveau." I can't wait for the day where we'll skip down the Champs-Élysées again. That was something we did after I graduated high school: C, Mme, another friend and I all linked arms and skipped down the Champs-Élysées in Paris.

Mme gives us both a hug. We take several pictures together and try not to look too unintentionally goofy. After an hour and a half with Mme, C and I decide that it's probably time to go. Mme is the only teacher left at our high school that we wanted to visit - the rest had retired, died, or weren't people we wanted to visit - and Mme is retiring now too. This will probably be our last time visiting our high school, perhaps until our 10 year reunion.


I didn't really touch on my teachers from before or after high school in this post, but I sincerely appreciate everyone who've seen something in me and encouraged me.

Looking Forward

As my parents help my brother spray all his clothes with noxious amounts of insect repellent for his trip to the Amazon (specifically Leticia, Colombia) and as I lie on the couch sipping a glass of wine, I can't help but finally feel relaxed. I'm done with college. I held back the tears at each of my departments' graduation ceremonies. You wouldn't have known it yesterday, but I was definitely a glass case of emotion.

See the movie Anchorman if this meme is unfamiliar

The students' speeches were so good. CNN anchor Brooke Baldwin's speech was perfect too, especially when she noted the importance of hard work and the importance of journalism in a time when the president is afraid of facing the facts. This weekend was beautiful and exhausting, exhilarating and frustrating, exciting and sad all at the same time. If I had to give anyone advice about graduation weekend, it's to go to bed earlier. Getting more sleep might have made it less overwhelming.

Graduation day! So many people graduating!

Also, put on sunscreen.

Me! I'm graduating! It's super bright out!

Oops, graduation cap sunburn. SPF 15 on my face was not enough.

Looking back...I'm not really going to miss college, not in and of itself. I won't miss going to classes. I won't miss doing homework. I won't miss the dining hall, windowless rooms, staying up until 2am to finish assignments, or the stress of finding parking on football game weekends. What I will miss the most from undergrad is being constantly surrounded by the wonderful people I have come to call friends. After today's graduation ceremony, friends I have known since my first year of college and I gave each other goodbye hugs before breaking up to go find our families. Those hugs were much too quick for telling anyone how much they mean to me. We reminded each other to post pictures on Facebook, since we might never see each other again in person, then went our separate ways. I hope we do get to hang out in person again sometime. I am grateful to have had the chance to get to know and learn with so many talented and extraordinary people.

Some of the other graduates I know have posted on Facebook about how much they wish they could stay and be a student forever. While I enjoyed it, four years of undergrad was enough. During spring semester sophomore year (spring 2015), I got a taste of what a life beyond college might be like and have been dying to graduate ever since. I was pretty sure I was going to have a plan of action by now, and I kind of do. However, it's not a plan for the immediate future, nor is it a plan for the long term. The plan is to do TAPIF (Teaching Assistant Program in France), which will officially start in four months. Until then... I didn'texpect I would be stuck in limbo the way I am right now. I didn't know I would end up turning down opportunities that other people have always dreamed of, opportunities that I never questioned I would be able to obtain, all so that I could take on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that I wasn't even sure I'd get. It's weird, being without a safety net job. I still have a lot to figure out. While I don't feel particularly nostalgic about college right now, except for the community, I had a great experience overall. No regrets. Well, very few.

They say the best way to combat early onset nostalgia is to look forward, and I have been doing just that. For me, the future I am looking forward to is four months from now. If you want to learn where in the world that I will be in four months and why I'm going there, check out the posts on my new blog with the same name: http://profoundnovelty.blogspot.com/ 

Until then, I am knitting, running, and figuring out my next steps.















 And yes, I made up early onset nostalgia.

Everything Is Fine

Via Rivistastudio.com

"Everything is fine."

That has been my motto this year so far. I say it all the time. It's is what I follow up with any time I tell someone about the difficult situations I get myself into, all the deadlines and expectations I set for myself and struggle to meet.


"I have to finish this massive project by 5pm. It's only halfway done. Everything is fine."
"Two of the four actors in this scene have the flu and can't film today. Everything is fine."
"My lease ends in July but I don't have a summer job or a person to sublease my apartment yet. Everything is fine."


Everything usually turns out fine. At least, I think it will. I pretend it will.


 "Ignore your problems until they go away" has been my policy for the past few months. It's a great policy. It works really well. I'm not secretly worrying about my problems and not actively seeking out solutions for them because I don't even know where to start. Nope. I definitely have a plan of action. Everything is fine.

There are some things that are not in my control, things that maybe could have been if I had planned for it. Coordinating other people to be in the same place as me at the same time, for example, is a logistical nightmare. It's even worse when I do it only two days in advance because that's the earliest possible time I can have my own life together. That would mean admitting I am struggling, admitting I am struggling with a lot more than I am letting on, which is a lot to dump on people. Don't worry about me. Everything is fine.

This year I learned how just unprepared I am for grad school (which is why I haven't yet applied for grad school), why I should prioritize exercise more, and why I should get out more. Most of all, I learned that I wanted someone else to do hard tasks for me. I learned that I can't do everything all by myself. I can't. Celebrities have athletic trainers, managers, and personal assistants to keep them on track. If I could afford a life coach, I would hire one. If I didn't have the world's best executive team for Student Television, I don't think STV would be as well-positioned for future success as it is and I would certainly not be as sane as I am now. I learned that I never want to make another short film, or feature film or TV show for that matter, unless I have a full-fledged production crew and a sizable budget. I learned that I should ask for help more often, because unless I ask, people will generally assume that everything is fine.

Learning how to plan and break down big goals into small, manageable tasks is my new objective. The English-teaching program in France I am doing in the overseas of la Réunion in the fall will be an experiment in preparation and planning for me. That was a very casual way of threading in this new travel blog and the fact that I got a job as an English-teaching assistant in France (sort of France). I'm not as worried about being in on a tropical island with an unfamiliar culture and lifestyle for a whole school year as I am about the teaching part. As I said, it will be an experiment in preparation. If and when I blog about it, be prepared to see the phrase everything is fine or ça va.

The only thing I tell people about and don't follow up with "everything is fine" is that I'm graduating from college. That's the immediate thing I am the most excited and least worried about. I have a cap. I have a gown. I've passed all my final exams. The goal has been successfully achieved. Being done with undergrad is actually fine.

Doing Things That Scare Me

This year my new year's resolution is "no BS." That includes not taking bullshit from anyone and not giving anyone any bullshit. That means no relationship drama, no friendship drama, no work drama, none of that. That also means actively avoiding putting myself in situations that will create drama.

Another resolution I have is to do something that scares me.

One of the things that I did that scared me a little- irrationally, perhaps -was participate in protests. So far I went to an undocumented immigrant protest on inauguration day, and I also participated in the refugee ban airport protest. What scared me about participating was not so much fear of getting arrested (because let's face it, I'm a white woman and thus don't pose as much of a symbolic threat to white men as other people do), but...fear of being seen. Fear of being seen as taking a stand. Acting. My parents always encourage me to be careful when engaging in any kind of disruptive activity. I sometimes often feel like my peers would not actively stand with me if I decided to participate in another protest or march. Lack of support is scary. At the airport protest and at the inauguration day protest, though, I had friends. And there were TONS of people rallying against injustice. So I felt secure in chanting amongst the throngs of people. But when it's just a few, it's scary. But you have to do it anyway because if you really care about the cause, then you have to stand up for it on your own volition. Aiming to do more of that in the future.

Another thing that I am doing that absolutely terrifies me is making a short film. It's a massive undertaking and it's scary because I feel like I am doing it alone. I feel like I don't know what the hell I'm doing or if my plan is working or if any of the people I reached out to are ever going to help me. Asking for help has always been kind of scary, more so in the past year or two than before, because I know I need it. It's stupid and irrational to think that asking for help is a sign of weakness, I know it's a sign of strength, but for me it is so hard to ask people for things. I feel like I don't have a large social network, or I'm reluctant to exploit the one I've got.

It's irrational, I know. Part of me is terrified because I might get rejected. I've gotten rejected when I desperately needed assistance before. I once was in a situation where I was left alone to carry two people's worth of film equipment all the way across campus. It was dark and it was about to rain and I was outside with all the equipment. I knew I couldn't handle this much stuff on my own and I couldn't just leave half of it sitting around (camera equipment is EXPENSIVE), so I called and texted ten different people who I knew had access to cars or might otherwise be available. One that I asked was sick and about to go to bed. Another I asked said she would, but she just got home and kind of wanted to make dinner. Another was at work and said she wouldn't be able to help out for three hours. Several others did not respond to my messages. Exhausted and miserable, I waited an hour and a half until the other person whose equipment I had with me could come meet me and help me carry it, which I was grateful for.

But anyway, I'm doing things that scare me. I'm asking strangers and friends alike to help me (in a way that doesn't necessarily help them in return), to spend time on me, which I would rarely ask of anyone. Last spring I blogged about empathy and how much I appreciate it and strive to be empathetic. This spring, my goal is to be more generous. It's a daunting test of relationships and bonds: who will make time for me? And how can I ever express how grateful I am for their generosity?
last edited Feb 5 2017

Cramps

I'm making a short film called Cramps, about a woman who has to sell tampons to women in a world where men can menstruate.

Funny things that happened on the first day on set:

Both the cinematographer, Elizabeth Kim, and Kate Jones, who plays Alexia, were on their periods today and had cramps. Thanks to my IUD I also have constant cramps. Hilarious, right?

We shot our first scene in the men's bathroom today. A man came by and very grumpily looked at the sign I had put on the door ("Closed") and asked "Why is it closed?"
I shrugged and told him he could probably still go in there- I didn't tell him I was filming -but he walked away. LOL.

The women in this short film have to wear jock straps stuffed with socks under their pants.

February is going to be better

Let's face it: January sucked. With Donald Trump sitting in the oval office, a cabinet full of vice, threats to women's access to safe and affordable health care, a ban on refugees and green-card-holders from from Middle Eastern, North African, and some Southwest Asian countries, not to mention my own personal depression and existential dread...January was terrible. There were good things and a lot of people came together in opposition of all this terrible shit, but January was a net negative.

February is going to be better. February is going to be a net positive.
 
Why? Well, first of all, February is Black History Month. It's a celebration of hundreds of years' worth of black and African-American culture, history, and activism. People of color have been (by necessity) the foremost advocates of social and economic justice in this country and they deserve to be both recognized for their leadership. Plus, there will be ample opportunity to join in on protests and writing to your representatives in favor of the rights of people of color.

Girl Scout cookies. They're on sale right now. I know it seems superficial in comparison to Black History Month, but buying cookies helps girl scouts fund their community service projects. 100% of the money that girl scouts earn from selling cookies goes toward their troop and their local council. Although cookies and capitalism aren't good for your health, especially not in excess, according to their website, "the Girl Scout Cookie Program is the largest girl-led entrepreneurial program in the world" and the fundraiser helps girls learn sales and interpersonal communication skills that are important to getting a job later on.

February is going to be a net positive because more and more of the inhabitants of the United States are going to actively, publicly express their dissent. There is a march, rally, protest, community meeting, and social justice education session set to occur nearly every day this month in just the local area that I live in. So many Facebook events. So many letter-writing campaigns and phone-a-thons. People care, and it's encouraging to see them taking action. I'm going to try to take more action, too. And that will make me feel better about my life.

I am an Idiot: The Story of My Keys

In my first post titled "I am an Idiot" I explained how I had to wipe the memory on my brand new cell phone merely three hours after getting it because I forgot the passcode that I set up after five minutes. There is plenty of evidence to suggest that I am an idiot. Here is some more.

In this edition of "I am an Idiot," I lost all of my keys.
Good times.

Last night I was rushing out the door because I had plans to go out with someone and I was trying not to be late. (I was 8 minutes late, of course 🙁) I called an Uber. I took the Uber. Almost four hours later, when I returned to my apartment, I learned that I had lost my keys. All of them.

The keys I normally keep on my keychain include:
My two apartment keys
The key to my parents' house
My car key
My work keys
My bike key

I had no idea what a huge pain it would be to think about replacing all these keys until I realized that I didn't have them. Why did I keep my spare apartment key on the same keychain as my regular apartment key? That was dumb. Also the office in which the spare work keys are found can only be opened by my regular work keys.

I knocked on the door to my apartment several times but got no answer. Moments later my wonderful roommate called me and I confirmed that I was the one at the door, not a random stranger. I explained that I lost my keys. Suffice to say, it's a good thing that she was home and let me back inside.

Backtracking, I knew almost immediately where I had left the keys: in the Uber I took going out. A quick call confirmed this. I waited up for an hour until he returned my keys. He was very nice about it, for which I am grateful. 

Lessons learned. I put my spare apartment key on a different keychain today, just to be safe. I'd rather lose my phone than lose my keys: you can back up all the information on a cell phone but you can't do the same for a key.

 

 

Long Walks

In addition to running, for the past three days I have been taking five mile walks. I've been going on walks to clear my mind and get out of the house. It snowed here recently and it hasn't quite melted yet; the sidewalks are still icy but the roads are mostly clear.

Today I went on my last walk before classes start. I walked from my apartment to the middle of UNC's campus and back. That's a little under five miles. It was still daylight when I started, at 3:30pm, and dark, 6:20pm, when I returned home. I stopped in a thrift shop for a little while along the way.

When on these walks, I listened to Gloria Steinem's My Life on the Road, an autobiography about to her anecdotes about grassroots organizing, journalism, political campaigns, and how travel is important to understanding the world. I tried to take Steinem's experiences as a model for what I want out of my own travels. Including walks.

Some interesting things happened on today's walk. About a mile in, I was walking down the icy sidewalk on W Main Street in Carrboro when somebody honked at me. I looked around, headphones in, and saw a bearded white man in a bright blue SUV point and glare at me as he drove past. I normally don't react to being honked at - it happens all the time when I go running - but I have to admit that I was a little afraid that this man was going to pull over somewhere and confront me. Luckily he didn't. It was light out at this point.

Nothing happened while I was on campus. Everything but the dining hall and student stores were closed. That being said, there were many students milling about, eagerly anticipating the start of the semester tomorrow.

On my way back from campus, it began to get dark. Gloria Steinem's audiobook narrator talked to me about how she held discussions with women about voting for candidates based on the issues they supported rather than strictly on party lines. I accidentally stared at one of my professors as he got out of his car to go into Fedex. We made brief eye contact and he turned away quickly. I was amused. Either he didn't recognize me in that fleeting moment, or he just wanted to avoid having to see or say hello to someone he knew but didn't really want to talk to. I get that. I do that too.

In Carrboro, a middle aged white man on a bicycle stopped me and asked me for 25 cents. Smart, I thought. No one gets upset about giving someone 25 cents. He asked me what my name was. I smiled and politely told him my name was Mary. As I fished a coin out of my wallet and handed it to him, he asked if I had a boyfriend, obviously asking so that if I didn't, he could somehow repay me for the 25 cents. I grimaced. "Yup, I have a boyfriend, isn't that crazy." He said "oh well," still cheerful, perhaps a little drunk. "Hey, can I have a hug?" "No, sorry," I said, and walked away. He yelled "Thank you, Mary!" a few times after me. It was close to sunset, across the street from Cat's Cradle, a concert venue near the grocery store.

Moments later, I crossed the street. A woman I was passing asked me if she could borrow a dollar. I said absolutely, and gave her a dollar. I asked her how she was doing today, and she said she was fine. Just getting out for a little bit to enjoy the sunshine after being stuck inside all day. I told her that's what I was doing too. She had a pretty smile.

I don't tell about me giving money to people just to make myself look good- that's not the point, I'm not seeking validation for being a charitable person or anything -but
A) to point out that there are a lot of people in this area, even in this very safe area to live in, who probably don't have enough money to buy food or bus tickets on a regular basis, and
B) I was trying to be more open to people addressing me while I was walking down the street.
I was much more comfortable giving this woman a dollar than giving that other man a quarter.

The PTA Thrift Shop was open today, so I stopped inside to see if there was anything worth buying. I was looking for board games, but I didn't want Harley Davidson Monopoly, Trivial Pursuit, or a puzzle, which was mostly what there was aside from more children's games. I found but did not buy a Twilight water bottle that was "Team Jacob." Really missed my chance there, I know.

There was a man in the thrift shop who seemed very enthusiastic about coming back next week on his birthday. One of the cashiers told him she'd make him a birthday cake, which got him so excited. He was turning 61 soon. The cashiers were cordial and very patient with him, telling him that they'd have pineapple upside down cake for him when he came in next week. They giggled with relief when he he left, but only said good things about him. Another man came in a short while later and one of the cashiers commented to the other that one of their regulars had shown up again. It hadn't really occurred to me, but of course there must be regulars at the thrift shop. Regulars looking for something to flip for a profit, maybe.

In passing the bus stop by my apartment complex, an older woman said to me, "Hey! Come here." I was a little unsure, but nonetheless I turned around and walked over to her. She told me I had a beautiful nose. I said that that was very nice of her to say. She told me that I had a beautiful nose and that I shouldn't get it broken. Her nose had been broken, she said, and now it wasn't straight, although it looked fine to me. "Come here and look," she said. "Look at this. Do you see this scar?" It was a scar that stretched from her ear down to the middle of her cheek. "My husband did that to me. He hit me and he broke my nose and he hurt my face. If your husband ever hits you, LEAVE." Astonished, I promised her that I would.

Finally, when I was walking up to my apartment, someone in a truck waved at me, and who should it be but my boss and Alex! They had just dropped off my neighbor, who also works at Campus Rec. I was pleasantly surprised to see them.


Normally, I don't walk to and from campus for school. I ride the bus or ride my bike. In her book, Gloria Steinem says that she doesn't drive, herself, because she finds community in public transportation. I interacted with more people than I expected to on today's walk, and although I can't make a sweeping statement about being "forever changed," I can at least say that it's worth making yourself a tiny bit uncomfortable to make conversation with the people around you. You never know what they might have to say.