pictures from new england, on the 1870's farm in maine where we spent 3 days

"they say that people who live next to waterfalls don't hear the water.
...it was terrible at first. We couldn't stand to be in the house for more than a few hours at a time. The first two weeks were filled with nights of intermittent sleep and quarreling for the sake of being heard over the water.
We fought so much just to remind ourselves that we were in love, and not in hate.
But the next weeks were a little better. It was possible to sleep a few good hours each night and eat in only mild discomfort. [We] still cursed the water, but less frequently, and with less fury. Her attacks on me also quieted. It's your fault, she would say. You wanted to live here.
Life continued, as life continues, and time passed, as time passes,
and after a little more than two months:
Do you hear that? I asked her one of the rare mornings we sat at the table together. Hear it? I put down my coffee and rose from my chair. You hear that thing?
What thing? she asked.
Exactly! I said, running outside to pump my fist at the waterfall. Exactly!
We danced, throwing handfuls of water in the air, hearing nothing at all. We alternated hugs of forgiveness and shouts of human triumph at the water. Who wins the day? Who wins the day, waterfall?
We do! We do!
And this is what living next to a waterfall is like.
Every widow wakes one morning, perhaps after years of pure and unwavering grieving, to realize she slept a good night's sleep and will be able to eat breakfast, and doesn't hear her husband's ghost all the time, but only some of the time.
Her grief is replaced with a useful sadness.
Every parent who loses a child finds a way to laugh again.
The timbre begins to fade. The edge dulls. The hurt lessens.
Every love is carved from loss.
Mine was. Yours is. Your great-great-great-grandchildren's will be.
But we learn to live in that love."

-everything is illuminated, jonathan safran foer

Every man has his secret sorrows, which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

these quotes were found on una bella vista. i have not seen the movie yet, but i plan to soon. i don't think viewing is necessary to feel the meaning of the words. in a way, being back on campus is like slowly waiting for the dull roar of the waterfall to subside. i know eventually i will not miss certain people as sharply as i do now. i knwo i will become busy with new tasks and obligations. but a part of me wants to hold on to a measure of that pain, so i remember how good it was while it lasted, and to remember that with effort i can maintain contact with many of those whom i am missing. i do not wish for people to judge me as cold simply because often i am sad.

today i have slept in, bandaged my angry feet (angry from dancing last night), caught up with a friend, and been to salvation army


beginning again

well, where do i start? i'm back from my off-campus interim in new england. the trip was absolutely wonderful, the profs and people great. we had dance parties in our hotel rooms and went through way too many historic house tours and ate tons of good food and read (and bought) many,many lovely books and walked across (frozen) walden pond and did many other things which i will not mention here. i have mixed feelings about being back...i sorely miss my group from new england, but i know my other friends need me. i have the messy task of trying to reconcile those two lives. my second semester, and my new job, starts on monday. i think for this blog i will resume my...whatever i do, my eclectic mix, and i might throw in journal entries and pictures from my trip on days when i am feeling particularly nostalgic. from fairly early on, i knew my goal would be to be and/or study off campus as much as possible, so it is always a letdown to be back. anyways, i am trying to be productive and reconnect with many people i left here. books post coming soon!

listening to: mos def, black on both sides cd. i don't really feel qualified to give a judgement on this music, but i'm pretty selective, and i like this cd. it's a much-needed change.


joanie mcmanus, age 19, writes about her beloved.

back then you were a delicate willow tree.
strands of your hair were long soft branches
and i would hide in your face and it was so green
and blue and unhappy and i didn't care,
you were so beautiful
i couldn't help you
but late at night you were so green.
covered in green time. mosses and ivys were
growing all over you. and time, and ticking.

from the ones we love
her flickr


a few of my texts for the new england authors interim abroad course i am taking. 3 days of class, then we leave on friday. i've always loved the library, and i have a noticeable fondness for elderly books. my library here at college is wonderful- don't ever expect me to come out with only what i went in for.

my new friend


new updates on my flickr

reading through the ones we love , a wondeful photo project

photographers to watch:
elizabeth fleming
matthew genitempo

shawn gust


leaving for michigan tomorrow, and i've managed to have a row with my mother. figures.


a friend and myself went the night before last to see the curious case of benjamin button. i had beenlooking foward to this for quite some time, and i was not disappointed. i was already a cate blanchett fan, and i found myself confirming that despite my misgivings about brad pitt, i very much respect him as an actor. so, yes, the movie is about a man who is born old and grows younger; his life and that of his true love meet in the middle for a few blissful years, then they are headed in opposite directions again. this movie was...unbelievaby sad, bittersweet, didactic, but not cheesy-lifetime material. i would easily recommend it.


it seems like i've just gotten home, and i have to leave again in just 2 days. i don't know where the days went...