It feels lately like the world is on fire (metaphorically). A pandemic is spreading across the globe. Sporting events have been canceled. Museums and libraries are closed. Lines at the grocery store are two hours long. Toilet paper is being hoarded (for some reason). Everyone has been advised to practice “social distancing.”
As I stood in a massively long line at Kroger yesterday (not buying toilet paper, I might add. There was none to be had even if I needed it), it almost felt like we are on the verge of some sort of apocalypse.
We’re not, though. Honestly.
Anyway, you have no control over this microorganism that is wreaking such havoc right now. What you CAN control is your reaction to it. Stay informed. Use common sense. For God’s sake, wash your hands. Try to avoid touching your face. (It’s hard, I know.) Don’t shake hands with people. Disinfect frequently touched surfaces. Consider your vulnerable friends, neighbors, and family members who will be hit hardest by this virus, and keep your distance. Even if you feel perfectly healthy, you may be asymptomatic. Do what is within your power to do.
But this isn’t just physical. As the news seems to get worse every day, you need to protect your mental health.
Parks are still open. I don’t know about you, but nature is a soothing balm for my world-weary soul.
I’ve never been a trendy person when it comes to fashion (or anything, really). And I’m not sure how I would describe my style. It’s often bland and boring, but sometimes I make an effort. My everyday outfit for work is usually some type of t-shirt or tunic with a cardigan, a pair of chinos, and dress flats or booties. On weekends, I wear yoga pants, a t-shirt, and a hoodie or cardigan. I only put on jeans if I go out.
Anyway, I decided to give Nadine West a try. You provide your style profile and they have a stylist pick out an outfit for you every month (or every two weeks, if you prefer). Yes, there are other services like this. Stitch Fix is probably the most well-known. I chose Nadine West because their prices are extremely reasonable, their customer service seems to be amazing, their social media person is delightful (as a marketing professional, I appreciate that), and I liked what I saw with the customer photos they feature on their Facebook page.
My first shipment arrived today. I was filled with an equal mixture of excitement and trepidation. It’s Schrödinger’s Outfit — simultaneously awful and amazing as long as the package stays unopened.
Well, reader, I opened it. Because why wouldn’t I?
This is what they sent me, minus the bracelet, which is being sent back. (The necklace, by the way, is something I already own. A wonderful piece made by my friend Clever Kim’s Curios.) I have tiny wrists, so bracelets are problematic unless they’re adjustable, and this one is not.
Well done, Nadine West! I would likely have purchased the top and cardigan on my own if I had seen them in a store. The leggings, definitely not, because I wasn’t a leggings type of person. But I’m sold. And my Toms booties look great with it.
The title of this blog seems appropriate, given that I was recently laid up with the flu, and I have cabin fever like crazy. I haven’t been out much aside from work and running errands. I’m getting antsy for spring. (And anxious to start camping season.)
Here, have some flowers. I took these at Franklin Park Conservatory a few weeks ago, which is a great place to go here in Columbus when you have the winter blues. Their orchid exhibit is going on right now, and I love the Victorian theme this year.
I’m such a library nerd. I have been since I was a kid, and every almost trip to the library resulted in me walking out with a stack of books in my arms, eager to go home and dive in.
One of my favorite activities used to be perusing the stacks to find a book (or several) to read. Sometimes I knew exactly what I wanted and sometimes not. I actually thought it was more fun when I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. I would inevitably leave the library with a book I’d never heard of and an author I’d never read. The library is full of undiscovered treasures.
Even as an academic, I loved going into the dark, neglected recesses of the university library to look for dusty tomes that hadn’t been touched in years. (When you study some fairly obscure old texts, you have to dig deep to find what you’re looking for.)
Everything went digital, and I forgot the pleasures of browsing at the library. Life no longer affords me much time to spend at the library, so I peruse titles on the library website instead. Oh, that digital book is available right now? Sure! It looks good! Download to Kindle.
That’s been my primary way of reading for some time now. No trips to the library necessary.
And the major difference with grad school now, as opposed to my last journey through academia, is that everything I need is online. I don’t need to drive to campus. I don’t need to visit the library. Everything is quick and accessible on my computer. (I’m still getting used to digital textbooks. There was something so satisfying about marking up a textbook, but now it’s all nice and neat.)
Yesterday, I had to stop at the library to return a DVD. But I found myself with some unexpected free time, and I had just finished a book on my Kindle. Why not, for old time’s sake, browse the library shelves and pick out something to read?
Suddenly, I remembered how great that visual and tactile experience was. I only knew I was looking for something on the shorter side. I have so little time to read for pleasure nowadays, I can’t deal with an excessively long novel.
To pull a book off the shelf, read the cover, leaf through the pages, and decide if I want to take it home with me? I forgot how wonderful that is. Doing it online is not nearly as fun, nor does it engage your senses nearly as much.
Ultimately, I chose Rutherford Park by Elizabeth Cooke – a book I never heard of, but it was compared to Downton Abbey, so I could hardly resist.
It’ll be nice to rest my eyes a bit by looking at an actual paper book instead of an electronic device. I spend so many of my waking hours staring at some kind of screen.
And now I must make a point of visiting the library more often. It’s one thing to be a frequent patron, but you can do that without ever stepping foot inside the building. It’s a whole different experience to go in and take the time to really browse and see what the library has to offer.
It’s New Year’s Eve, and I suppose most people use this time to reflect on the year behind them and look to the year ahead.
I do that, too. But I won’t bore you with those details.
Instead, I will focus on one project I did this year – a challenge, really. I decided around this time last year that I would post at least one photo every single day of 2019 on Instagram.
Seems easy enough, right?
Well, it’s not.
The photo had to be taken that very day, for starters. Some days, it was easy. Most days, it wasn’t.
But it’s not a challenge if it’s easy.
The harder days forced me to get creative – to think outside the box. If I was at home the entire day, I had to really look at things around my house (either outside or inside) in a new way to see if I could create an interesting photo. Sometimes I failed at that, but I even posted the photos that I didn’t like.
Sometimes, I forced myself to go somewhere for the primary purpose of getting a great shot for Instagram that day. And that’s good, too, because it got me out to explore more than I would have otherwise.
For better or worse, I stuck with it. And I got some really great shots because of this challenge.
But I’m glad it’s over. I want to pursue a new photography challenge for 2020. I haven’t decided what yet, but I’m leaning toward doing more macro shots.
You can see some of my favorites from this challenge below.
I knew when we left 135 Highland Drive that cold day in February 2011 that I would never step foot across the threshold again. My grandparents’ house, where we had so many Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas mornings, visits with cousins and extended family, birthday celebrations, gatherings for funerals …
Nearly every room holds memories. The upstairs bedroom, where I spent nights with my cousins, talking and giggling late into the night. The kitchen, where I kept Grandma company while she watched her soap operas or prepared a meal. The dining room, where we had many Thanksgiving dinners and games of Trivial Pursuit. The living room, where we spent hours playing Tetris. The family room, scene of our Christmas mornings. The patio, where we spent many summer days talking and laughing.
Even the backyard, where we played badminton. And the front yard, where we climbed the tree. (It was cut down eventually. It was a sad day.)
That house was my lodestar. No matter where I was or what was going on in my life, I always found my way back there.
My family moved a few times during my childhood. First, from a house around the corner from 135 Highland Drive to a place across town. Then out of town entirely, two hours south to Columbus. My brothers and I temporarily lived at 135 Highland Drive during that time while my parents were getting settled in.
Then a few more moves after that – still in Columbus – but to different houses on the westside.
But the house at 135 Highland Drive was always there, and my grandparents still in it.
I lived there again in 1996 during my fall semester at Bowling Green State University – my final semester at BGSU before transferring to Ohio State.
Even when I wasn’t living there, it was often more of a home to me at certain points of my life than wherever I happened to be living at the time.
After Grandpa died in 1999, the house stayed much the same. It just felt emptier.
The Thanksgiving dinners continued. The Christmas dinners. The family celebrations. I grew up, as did my cousins, and a new generation discovered the joys of visiting Grandma’s house.
When Grandma went into hospice care in 2011, we stayed at her house. We all knew it would be the last time. My brother wisely recorded a video walk-through of the house, though I’m sure we all have every room committed to memory.
Her passing was devastating. Walking out of that house for the final time wrecked me.
The hospital bought her house. Over the years, the hospital slowly bought up all the properties in the neighborhood and demolished them to enlarge the parking lot. Grandma’s house was the only one still standing. We knew the hospital would buy it, and we assumed it would become a parking lot right away.
But the house at 135 Highland Drive stood. For nearly nine years, it stood. We drove by it every time we were in town, and the outside stayed pretty much the same. The landscaping changed some. But I could almost imagine it was still Grandma’s house and she was still there.
And now it’s gone.
I got the text yesterday from Mom. She met my aunt in town, and my aunt drove by.
I’m sure the reality of it won’t hit me until I see it myself. But as I write this now, I stop to close my eyes. And I can picture the house as if it’s still standing there, pulsing with life and love.
I keep thinking I need to update, but then I sit for a long time, staring at a blank page. Between work, grad school, and general adult responsibilities, I’m in a permanent state of exhaustion. That makes it rather hard to be creative when I sit down to write, but here goes.
Twenty plus years ago or so, I wrote poetry. I don’t think I was particularly good at it. But I wrote it anyway. I dabbled in playwriting, too. I wasn’t good at that either. Short stories? Meh.
I also made an attempt at a novel and gave that up. I still have it somewhere on my hard drive, and it might be fun (or horrifying) to read it. I expect a glass of wine or two will be mandatory.
I think most writers do that, don’t they? They experiment until they find what works.
Nonfiction ended up being my jam, specifically the personal essay. The travel essay, in particular. But I don’t travel much anymore, which is a sad state of affairs.
Maybe I always knew nonfiction was my true genre, somewhere deep down. I started out in undergrad as a journalism major. I wanted to tell stories – true stories. I think I majored in journalism for about a year, but I ended up changing to creative writing. I got this idea in my head that as a journalist, you would have to hound people frequently to get a story. And that’s not always true, which I know now. But at the time, that’s what I thought. And I didn’t have an assertive bone in my body, so I figured that wasn’t going to work.
Well, creative writing didn’t work either. I enjoyed the classes, but I think I had too much of a thin skin at the time to really handle the peer reviews. One poetry instructor strongly discouraged me from becoming a poet.
I don’t remember when I changed my major to English. It might have been shortly after I transferred to Ohio State from Bowling Green State University. Because I took some creative writing classes at OSU, too. But in the last two years of undergrad, I was immersed in literature, and creative writing took a backseat.
Of course, I heard the jokes about majoring in English. “Embrace a life of poverty.” “It’s a useless degree unless you become a teacher.” Blah blah blah. Twenty years later, not much has changed there.
Yes, STEM is the thing now. But there is still a place for English majors, too. Critical thinking seems to be in a sad decline these days. English majors? We have those skills. (Humanities in general, I hasten to add.) Writing? Editing? English majors are likely to have those skills, too. (I’m not saying all do. Trust me. I’ve seen that firsthand.)
And contrary to popular belief, not all English majors end up being teachers. That seems to be the obvious career path, and everyone assumed that’s what I would do. (And to my teacher friends, you guys are rock stars! I appreciate you!) Well, I actually hated teaching, to be honest. It took two years as a graduate teaching assistant to figure that out. So, no academic life for me.
So, back to writing and editing. You *can* make a career of that, and I have. Sadly, journalists seem to be disrespected a lot these days and there have been massive layoffs at newspapers. Editors don’t get much love either, it seems, as they are often the first to go if there are staffing cuts. (Why yes, I have noticed a sharp uptick in errors in print and online publications in recent years.)
But there is always marketing. And there will always be a need for marketers. And English majors are a great fit for this career, though you can come into marketing from any background. (Storytelling makes great marketing, and English majors know stories.)
I’m currently in the Buckeye Pen Pals program, an Ohio State-sponsored initiative that pairs a current OSU student with an alum. The pairing is based on major and the student’s career plans.
While I wasn’t paired with a student this year (more alumni were signed up than students), I am still in touch with my pen pal from last year. She’s an English major who is considering a career in professional writing. I know she’s concerned about her career prospects after she graduates. That’s understandable. I just don’t know how much of that is tied into being an English major – a lot, I suspect.
So, while an English degree is not the path to riches, it still has value. It does open doors.