Fall Semester

Its been a long time since my last post, but I think this picture will sum up my blogging absence.

One day in the middle of exam week, I glanced over at my desk and saw my computer teetering under a mountain of critical essays, articles, papers and books. My poor desk, with its recent shattered glass top, showed the strain of the past three months.

It has been a difficult but stimulating semester.

School at Last

Just when I thought this summer heat will melt me alive, the fever broke and a new season began. Summer graduation is over and the professors have started to return. Over stuffed cars, moms and dads, wide eyed freshmen, preoccupied seniors, and “bouquets of sharpened pencils” swarm campus.

This summer could be described as bi-polar: relaxing yet exciting; unstressed yet overworked. However I must admit, for the first time in many years, I am ready for school to begin. I would like to say I have long anticipated the opportunity to further develop my education and intellectual prowess in hopes of becoming more than a mediocre member of society.

But truthfully I just miss the coffee.

This will be the third year working at Jazzman’s Café. Each semester my friends ask, “Are you still working at Jazzman’s?”

Like every job, it has its frustrations – the temperamental coffee grinder, the repetitive music that haunts me in my sleep – but the bottom line is I love my job. How great is it to make and serve legal stimulants every day? On top of that, our Jazzman’s crew is the best to work with.

No matter how much studying I need to do, or how cold it gets to my warm Floridian blood, everything melts away at the first sip of a double shot, toffee nut white mocha with extra foam. Unfortunately this, Serge, last year’s retail manager, is leaving. He was an amazing boss and even better friend and I know he will be missed.

Being a senior, I look to life beyond college and I shutter with anticipation and apprehension at the unknown. There is so much to figure out! Still, let’s not get too worked up. For now I’ll do what I’ve always done with a book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

The Apartment

Finally, after struggling to collect various pieces of furniture and decorations, I think my colossal bedroom is finally coming together. It's a whole new world having space to spread out and sit at my desk for hours studying (well, the hours of study isn't all that great).

I just wanted to give a shout out to Karena for the freakin' awesome map and Rachael for the lamp and chair and mom for letting me use her guitar, camera, couch...(the list goes on).

One of our new addition downstairs is a coffee bar complete with espresso, mugs, and pictures.

Anthropology

"It's a lamp with candles burning upside down..." my art teacher threw her hands up triumphantly, "It's Absurd!"

I stood holding a chandelier with glass bottles for shades and burnt candle sticks for bulbs. I had just finished the project the night before. Transforming my dorm room into a workshop, burning candles, hammering iron pieces, filling the hall with epoxy fumes, I don't know how I dodge my RA.

Finally finishing my work of art, I would have described it as: inventive, unique, artistic, Brilliant!

But absurd? As I stood there, I looked again at my chandelier, a bit taken back.

But she was right. I loved the dilapidated pieced together Frankenstein thing...because it was absurd.

Hours of working for Sedexo at the registration lines has prompted me to wonder through my favorite Internet sites. Sifting through Anthropology and Swedish blogs, I find myself looking for some image to inspire.

That's when I found old stadium bulbs used as decor pieces. I kept coming back to them, looking at them neatly arranged on the desk. It's just the creative food I needed. So random. So inventive. So absurd.

New Toy

Dodging past racks of worn clothes and abandoned baby toys, I marched my way to the front of the store clutching a black Polaroid camera. I had found my prize.

We stopped at a local thrift store today, and I couldn’t help indulge my guilty pleasure of salvage shopping.

Buried behind plastic point and shoot cameras I spotted an unusual black box with silver lettering: Polaroid.

It was love at first sight. Next thing I knew I was at the counter, trying to play it cool as I asked the price. I held my breath as the cashier asked the manager. How much would I willing to pay? I wondered

A dollar fifty, she said.

I’ll take it, I said.

With a bag full of three vintage books and a new old camera, I climbed back into the car grinning like a fool.

The Gathering

Seven sisters and homemade pie: life couldn’t get much better.

Last Thursday my mom and the rest of her sisters gathered around the table for a potluck lunch. Good food and warm conversation flowed like water. If this gang of white haired ladies is known for one thing, it’s that they know how to cook.

Yesterday my mom and I flew to Ohio for a ten day visit to Holmes County, our homeland. Coming back to my roots, I had forgotten the slower speed of small town life and the abundance of home grown ingredients.

More than the cuisine, spending time with my aunts was so much fun. Once a month the sisters gather together to work on a project, catch up on the news and share a meal. Reclining in the sitting room, everyone busied themselves with some needlework as I, forgetting my cross-stitch at home, penciled in Sudoku.

As we swapped recipes and talked of the old days, realized how similar my aunts were to my mom. I tried to picture them as Amish girls wearing bonnets and long skirts. I was only one generation away from being Amish myself.

I wondered in thirty years if my sisters and I would be gathering together to talk about our grandchildren and growing up? I could just picture the four of us with white curly hair, kitting sweaters together.

"Remember the time I used to shoot pictures for you?" I would ask Daisy.

"I remember when everyone was blogging," Karena would say.

"And Facebooking," says Melissa.

"And Twittering," says Daisy.

We would all sit back and laugh, "Those were the days!"

Sit and Sip

I finally got to make use of my birthday present last week. There is no remedy like a cup of tea and some dark chocolate.

Climbing Fever

Nestled on the top of a mountain, surrounded by luxury development and yet wildly untouched, is a boulder field called Little Rock City. This rock and woodland melody is a sanctuary for bouldering and just the other week I found myself spotting my three friends as they clawed up the rock face.

Now, as for me, if I want to dangle from a rock with just my bare fingers and toes, I prefer to have a rope attached and a nice, easy decent. Bouldering is a whole other animal. Climbers hang upside down, using every muscle in their body, and slowly pull themselves hand hold over hand hold to the top of the rock. The only thing to catch them if they fall is a firm crash pad, just six inches thick.

Nearly on a whim, several of my friends drove to Soddy Daisy, only 45 minutes from Cleveland to get a few hours of climbing in. At first glance this bouldering haven may seem a bit anticlimactic due to the lovely golf course viewed from the trail. However, once you finish your first climb, you will be hooked.

Bouldering is a growing sport, and it is not for the faint of heart. Except for white chalk marks on the cracks and crevices, there is no rout to follow on these climbs. You will need chalk for when your hands sweat and tape for when your fingers bleed.

The climbs here are some of the hardest in the South East, marking all the way up to v10. Rachael, Jack and Josh attempted a Dyno on one climb. In order to reach the top, they had to leap from the rock and reached with both hands for the top. Josh alone completed it. By the end of the day, we wore ourselves out.

And everyone left with bloody knuckles.

For all those tired of indoor climbing or just like climbing things, come to LRC. It is best to go with someone who knows what they are doing and take gear because these climbs are dangerous. Due to a recent injury, I am now the designated photographer. Yet watching newbies struggle up the rock and my old friends top out on a ridiculous climb is still a rush. There is nothing like the feeling of climbing to the top of a sheer rock using nothing but cracks and bare fingers.

Its A Boy!

I was able to break away from the mundane of Cleveland and venture south to my hometown of Orange Park, Florida. Daisy and I decided to come for my sister, Melissa's baby shower.

The shower was so cute, complete with baby streamers, diaper cake, and bib painting station. I had a great time thanks to Betzy and Karena's great planning and I couldn't help taking a few of the adorable chocolate baby rattles.

More then anything, I was so relieved just to be home with family again. That night my dad, sisters and brother-in-law, Courtney, broke out into a spontaneous game of football. Being the first time we played the sport, it was not without moments of hilarity. I can still picture Karena doing a somersault over my dad on the ground as Daisy runs past them into the end zone. I could not stop laughing.

And of course, as always, I had to pay the ocean a long overdue visit.

Joy Riding

For the past month I have been trying to secure my feet back on American soil again. With all the changes – new apartment, new job, new roommates, new state – I have kept myself busy. I was so focus on working weddings and picking up shifts that I nearly forgot the fact that only a month ago I was eating crepes in France.

Last Sunday I found myself driving along Dalton Pike to pick up something for my sister. It was a beautiful day and I soon felt like traveling again. I turned up Matchbox 20, rolled down the windows, and put on my aviators. Summer was here and it was time to enjoy it. I didn’t bother glancing at my speedometer and just let my hand comb the wind out the window.

All along this windy road I passed antique junkyards and stoic red barns. Endless lines of wooden fences followed the road and carved out the horse pastures and wheat fields. Huge dried hay barrels contrasted against the green landscape. Every once in a while I passed a single tree left standing by the road, but mostly the forest were kept to the rolling Appalachian mountains in the distance.

If you ever drive down Dalton Pike, you will notice the quirky and random things left along the side of the road. Once I passed an abandoned school bus with a “For Sale” sign in the window. Whoever owned it turned it into a mobile home equipped with an AC unit and small kitchen. They parked and left it, even their dirty laundry and salt and pepper in the window. Normally I would be wondering if there was a market for converted school buses in the Tennessee area. On second thought, I think there is.

Along APD 40, towards the Ocoee River is a school bus, parked just off the road with the words, “Ms. B’s Purple Bus” painted along the side. The faded purple bus with wooden stairs to the door is hard to miss. Inside, this automobile is transformed into a well stocked bead shop. Instead of seats, there are bins of assorted beads and all along the windows are strings of glass and shell necklaces. At the other end near the driver’s seat sits Ms. B herself next to the cash register.

Inside can get a little crowded, if more then one person is in the bus, as you might imagine. However, if you feel like creating some Hippie jewelry, this is the place to go. It may not have the

overwhelming plenty of Asheville’s bead shops, but it’s in a purple bus. For me, that makes all the difference.

In the past, my summers were spent in Florida. I was used to the broad beaches and mind-melting heat. I miss the daily thunderstorms that turned the streets and pavements into a sauna. Now living in Cleveland, I miss Florida’s open space. I feel the urge to get out and drive through the countryside. There is nothing quite like driving on back roads, away from city lights, with the specific purpose of getting lost just to figure out how to get back.

Now driving past grazing horses with nothing but blue skies above, I breathed in the freedom. It’s time to open the windows and see the world through my tinted sunglasses.

Whitestone Inn

I took a trip just the other weekend to Whitestone Inn between Chattanooga and Knoxville. Beau Moffatt and I were headed into the sticks to photograph a wedding there. I was a little anxious, as usual, before the wedding, but my creative worries melted away when we drove up to the lookout at Whitestone.

I had not shot a wedding located this far outside of Cleveland or Chattanooga. However, I must say that this couple picked a perfect place to have a destination wedding. Whitestone started as a bed and breakfast located at the top of a ridge overlooking the head of the Tennessee River. A wedding chapel and a reception hall was later added making this location ideal for a beautiful wedding. Our shots turned out incredibly well with the 360 acres of camp grounds, cottage buildings with billowing lakes nestled between the rolling mountains in the background.

This place is ideal for city slickers wanting to get away. You truly are in the middle of nowhere. The resort is surrounded by farms and pastures with the more then occasional road kill to dodge on the roads. Because GPS is little help on these country roads, we located it the old fashioned way, map and directions.

However, for the locals, it’s just another small town. Populated mostly with farmers, life out these is slower and simpler. Rush hour is early morning columbine trackers and pickups pulling trailers. At the only fork in the road there is a convenient store as old as the town itself where you might see a group of men reclined back on their chairs drinking some morning coffee. I imagined it would be black and strong, they having never known nor cared for the specialties of Starbucks coffee.

We were hard pressed to find certain necessities out there. Beau and I drove forty minutes to Kingston, the next closest town, to pick up some lunch and grab a few pictures of the bride getting her hair done. At subway we asked where a coffee shop was, needing a caffeine fix. There was none. We were informed that a Starbucks opened a while back but it soon went out of business. The fact that Starbucks global enterprise, seeming able to survive anywhere like a resilient weed, was put out of business by this sleepy rural town made me quite impressed. And sad that I couldn’t get coffee.

All in all, the wedding and reception was absolutely stunning. The Bride and groom were so relaxed and beautiful that it made photographing them so easy. Shooting with Beau was fun and I still continue to learn so much from him. However, as the night wore on, I couldn’t resist slipping way for a few minutes during to look out over the valley. Illuminated by the moon and stars the whole valley shimmered with cool white light.

Homeward Bound

It is Thursday night and I am curled up with a cup of tea, chocolate, and a laptop. For all the traveling we have done, it’s great to be in one place.

Last Friday we flew back to the United States: the land of the free, home of the hamburger. After the longest day of my life (17 hours of bright sunlight), I passed out for a couple days until I could figure out what time I should be sleeping. Truthfully, I didn’t mind. It was good to be back.

Our last days in Cambridge were spent collecting up last minute gifts, paying with pennies to get rid of loose change. All of us were throwing away clothes and books, praying that our suitcases made weight for the airplane.

We spent our last day in London and saw “Wicked” together that night. The production was incredible, everything from the costuming to the music.

However, it was all overshadowed with the expectancy of returning home. Saying goodbye to our friends and guides seemed more surreal than sentimental. On the one hand, I felt like I could live in England, yet on the other hand I was ready for some familiarity and permanence.

Walking off the British Airways flight, America greeted us with southern accents and fried doughnuts. I grabbed some food at the airport and the cashier smiled as I tried to figure out how to pay with paper currency again.

Eating my dinner, I noticed how our “regional cuisine” in America was hamburgers and Dunkin’ Donuts.

Now nearing a week after we returned, I have been anything but bored. I have to catch up on movies, get a tan at the beach and, most importantly, post hundreds (well, in my case, thousands) of pictures on Facebook. Somewhere, in between everything else, I will find time to finish up my research projects.

Despite my determination not to, I had my share of reverse culture shock.

I have to drive a car to go a mile down the street? I have to keep my cell phone charged and with me at all times? It costs how much? Where are the metro lines? Where are the bicycles?
If you see me wandering around with a backpack or biking frantically on the interstate to Chattanooga, don’t be alarmed. I am still adjusting.

I already miss the rest of our group from this trip. Two and a half months with the same 21 people will bind even the most diverse individuals together. We are family now. We’ve been through the good, the bad and the ridiculous.

Now at the end of the Cambridge trip, we find ourselves at a new beginning. Several seniors are preparing for life beyond. Others have caught the travel fever and are already planning their next adventures.

We are all splitting ways and going back to our jobs, studies and friends, but one thing is for sure: at the risk of sounding cliché, none of us are who we were when we left.

Shake It Like a Polaroid Picture

I was reviewing the blogs on one of my favorite site, ReadyMade Magazine, and I stumbled onto a link that I found fascinating. It seems that you can now download a free photo editing program that turns digital photos into Polaroid picture format. Then all you have to do is print them out.

I had heard rumors before about a horrible travesty to the artistic community (they are discontinued manufacturing Polaroid film) and it sparked my interest in Polaroid photography. I used to think that nothing good could come from these mediocre point and shoot cameras, but after looking at some interesting "mess up" photos, I realize the possibilities. You get instant development, vignette edges, artistic expression, and in the end you are holding a real picture...Its almost better then digital photography.

Then, whether by some sign from God or the result of good marketing, I happened to watch two movies in which the artsy main characters used a Polaroid camera. I explained my enthusiasm to my friend and she casually offered to give me her old Polaroid camera! The heavens aligned as fate brought before me yet another artistic medium...Polaroid.

(now the trouble is finding film before its all gobbled up...)

All that to say, check out this link if you have a Mac. (I would have downloaded it by now, but they only have it available to Macs)

http://digital-photography-school.com/turn-your-digital-images-into-polaroids

Independent Travel

Here is one of the Clarion articles I wrote when I was in Barcelona:

Last week I stepped off the plane in Rome with only my pack, passport and two weeks to get to Paris. The 21 of us, splitting into smaller travel groups, have been backpacking through Europe for the past week.

Hopping planes, jumping trains, riding ferries, wandering lost through streets, we have used every mode of transpertation to make it through some of the most spectacular places in Europe.

There’s no telling what’s coming next.
Now halfway through our travel, we are taking a little time out from our constant travel to rest on the beaches of Barcelona and enjoy some sunshine.

Though it seems like forever ago, it was only last Tuesday when I started backpacking.

After we were given our Eurail passes and a green light, three of my friends and I hopped on a plane from London and landed in Rome a few hours later.

As we quickly realized, Rome really is a city of fountains. Everywhere we turned there was some sort of flowing water display.

Through we only spent two days in Rome, we had time enough to witness the spectacular artwork in the Sistine Chapel, eat pizza outside the coliseum and make a wish in Trevi Fountain while eating as much gelato as we could hold.

From there we made a pit stop in Pisa to see its tower, a spectacular result of poor engineering, while on our way to Venice.

Venice was a completely unique city in every way. It was as though the whole town was a floating marina. It was like a small town and an ancient ruin in one, though it also felt surreal with its waterways and canals carving through the buildings.

The romantic city does have a double-edged sword, however. Stray but a little from the main streets of Venice and you will be hopelessly lost in the thick labyrinth of streets.
The Venetian streets should more accurately be called sidewalks and no map detailed enough could lead you through the maze. If not for the frequent signs pointing to the major areas in Venice, we might still have been looking for the train station.

Only a day later we left the mild city of Venice and hopped a train to Switzerland. There, we spent the day climbing the majestic Swiss Alps, which took our breath away.
We did not stay long but took a pit stop in Marsailles before planting our feet in Barcelona for a couple of days.

Other groups have wondered as far north as Amsterdam and as far east as Budapest.
At a chance reunion with another group in Barcelona, Sara Anderson advised that, “when traveling to Budapest, try the thermal baths. The changing rooms are a bit of a shock to the typical modest American, but swimming under the stars in Eastern Europe is incredible.”
Living out of a backpack isn’t a bad way of life. You soon learn that such things as clean clothes and sanitation are a luxury.

Everything you need in this world can fit into a backpack. With a new city, new country, new language every couple days, I had to accept the fact that we’ll always be perpetually lost.
“I’ve learned after traveling to eight different countries and hearing an array of languages sounding so foreign to my ears,” said Ashley Jackson, “that pointing and smiling is the best universal language.”

There really is a thrill in stepping off of a train with only a loose set of directions and having to figure out how to get where you are trying to go.

In one instance in Rome, a gentleman was thoroughly surprised when we told him we had no idea where the bus we were on was going.

For all its confusing and humorous moments, backpacking through Europe is the most incredible thing I have done.

Now nearing just weeks before our return to the States, I can hear Michael Buble’s song “Home” playing in the back of my mind.

Cambrige Competitions

With spring right around the corner, all the Cambridge teams have come out of hibernation to take the fields again. Before I went to London, I caught wind of a boats race around the Cam river. I was not going to miss this.

As a tradition, Cambridge Crew teams hold a competition between all the colleges. At the start of the race, all the boats count off in order from the starting line. The object of the race is to bump the boat in front of them and the fastest boat wins. Once the Cambridge has its champion teams, they race Oxford, their biggest rival, in a huge annual competition.

Biking all along the river bank, I was able to catch up with the boats and follow them for a ways. I was not sure where to find them and ended up biking out of Cambridge county, along some grassy field, throwing my bike over a cattle gate, and finally stopping at a pub filled with spectators along the bank (I was tempted to pick up some barbecue that they were grilling). I was able to see the end of the boys competition and the start off of the girls. I couldn't believe the massive power and strength these girls had.

Soon after they all rowed away, I biked three miles back into town and met up with some of our group to watch a Lacrosse game. The Cambridge team in all white was facing off Oxford in one of the most violent sports I've seen. The game reminded me of Hockey except that there was no ice and everyone hit each other with their sticks. Sadly, Cambridge lost to the preppy Oxford team.

All in all, it was still a beautiful spring day in Cambridge town.

London Town

“In a rainy London town, the sun was shining, everywhere!” I think these immortal words from Michael Buble sum up our London travels. We spent five days running through the rain and sunshine, busy streets and crowded subways, great palaces and deep towers, trying to soak in so much of the city in such little time.

This was my first experience with subways. We were given three day passes for all the underground lines and city buses, and in no time flat, we became pros at jumping here and there from bus to subway.

Each day we did one event together as a group and then the rest of the day was free. The first day we went to Windsor Castle (our first peak at royalty) and as soon as we checked into our hostel, a group of us took off walking to the Hillsong London Church. It was not until 20 minutes into our 45 minute walk that we realized how spread out London was. Hillsong was well worth the walk. They rented out an entire theater for their services and the worship was absolutely incredible. This was the first time going to a charismatic church service since I arrived here and I realized just how different the Old Faith was from the church I usually go to. At the same time, both congregations are Christian and united under one Faith. I thought it was great that Hillsong would just call themselves Church instead our American elaborate church titles such as The First Baptist New Life Seven Waters Worship Center.

This was just the start of our trip. We also went to Westminster Abby, London Eye, Globe Theater, Piccadilly Circus, Covenant Gardens, Big Ben, Platform 9 ¾ (from Harry Potter), London Tower, the crown jewels, London Bridge, Tate Modern Art Museum, British Museum and of course, the Theater.

This was the first time I saw Les Miserables on stage and it completely blew my mind (yes, my head exploded). The acting, the stage, the sets, the music…everything came together perfectly in their performance of this play. Other people in our group who had seen Les Miz before said that it exceeded their expectations. Even now, I find myself singing the songs in my head.

I could write on and on about all that we did and saw in London. At one point, like from a movie, Jessica and David and I were literally running down the streets of London in the pouring rain. Late to our play, Chicago, we were jumping over puddles and running down cobble stone alleys trying to find the theater. David, before he knew it, ran into a gay bar looking for directions. It was quite a night.

My only regret was that I accidently dropped and broke my camera lens the last day we were in London. I tried not to let it ruin my day, but I lost all the possible pictures from the British Museum and a few from Hyde Park. Now in Cambridge, I will need to fork out the money for a new lens.

I have little time to digest London before we start planning for our epic adventures in the European continent.