Indescribable... Unbelievable...

I didn't quite realize how much I needed this weekend away from Staunton until I climbed into the rented car on Friday morning at 7:30-something AM and buckled my seatbelt. The ride there was fairly smooth, though, to be honest, Dr. Allen's driving terrifies me like nothing else. There were times, especially when we arrived in the city, that I was praying sincerely for our lives.

We arrived at the hotel on 94th and Broadway relatively unscathed, and once we had unpacked, Steph, Miranda, Katie and I spent the afternoon and evening amusing ourselves with what the City had to offer. Since Miranda and I had never been to Central Park, we took the subway there and walked a good bit of it, enjoying the incongruous mixture of beautiful trees and scenery - and Trump Tower looming over us. We were tempted by a carriage ride, but opted against it in favor of exploring on foot. Following our trek through Central Park, we decided to run out to SoHo to window-shop for a little while before heading over to Chinatown or Little Italy for supper.

While in SoHo, we spent most of our time browsing among the street vendors and searching in vain for a bathroom (We eventually went to Victoria's Secret out of desperation and were directed by a helpful sales lady to either Armani or Crate and Barrel - Crate and Barrel was the recommended choice.) Whilst in Crate and Barrel, we lounged on the furniture for a few minutes to consider our options - once the more pressing need had been fulfilled, we were all very hungry. We opted to walk a little further in favor of visiting Chinatown for supper, where we found a hole-in-the-wall Malaysian place. Unfortunately, none of us had the presence of mind to write down the street name.

The food there was amazing. Beyond amazing. Superb. Excellent. It was the strangest hodgepodge of Indian, Vietnamese, Thai, and Chinese food; with a dash of Japanese added in for the hell of it. We started out with a shared spring roll as an appetizer; then Miranda had Thai, Katie had Chinese, and Steph and I each had a different kind of Indian curry beef that was beyond good. Having sated our need for sustenance, we moved on to Times Square, which I had never before seen at night.

While at Times Square, we met requests: Steph requested the Hershey store, Miranda requested the M&M's store (where we also bought Dr. A a tie, as a thank-you), Katie requested Virgin Records, and I requested coffee then the hotel - by this time, I was quite worn out with all the walking and in desperate need of a caffeinated substance. We did all this in turn - surprisingly, it was only about 10pm - because we had been awake so long, it felt much later. When we got back, Tracy Allen, Dr. A's wife, knocked on our door to introduce herself. She had flown in from D.C. to meet us there (to meet Dr. A, rather) and she's a lovely woman. We all adored her from the moment we met.

The next morning, we all woke up early to go eat breakfast in the Village, where we happened upon a street fair quite by accident. I bravely resisted buying anything - though there were some vintage clothes it nearly killed me to say no to - and merely absorbed the sights. After the Village, we crossed town via the subway and went to the World Trade Center, by Miranda's request, following which we visited SoHo once more. The day before, we had encountered Dean&Deluca in our search for a bathroom and wanted to go back to buy a snack before the opera. (I wasn't hungry, so bought only some fresh lemonade and a water. Katie got brioche, Miranda a danish, and Steph a very large foccacia.) At this point, it was nearly 5:15, so we headed back to the hotel to glamor-up for the opera.

At the opera, you go to see - and to be seen. Katie and I showered, and we all dressed and primped until seven. I was very proud of my ensemble and you'll excuse a description - it's a vintage dress, from the sixties, I think, and a London design. It's golden-yellow (not usually a good color for me), with a black lace overlay and thin strips. The decollatage is low and the skirt is short, with fringes along the hem. I wore this with a pair of black high-heels with an ankle strap and pearls - with my hair swept up in a style of my own invention. I had never before had the courage to don this particular dress, but my mom found it for me and bought it last Christmas because "it just seemed like you", and there was never an occasion for which it seemed appropriate. Dr. A told me I looked like a character in a Noel Coward play; and Mrs. Allen told Dr. A I looked as though I belonged in something like "Brideshead, Revisited".

The Metropolitan Opera House is breathtaking. The chandeliers were all designed by Swarovski, and the floors are covered in soft red carpets, and the people are glamorous and the balconies overlook the entire opera hall and - oh! It was just beyond any sort of description my poor little brain can summon. It was my birthday, so we had champagne to celebrate at intermission and I stood by the balcony over the stairs and just revelled. I will not even attempt to describe the opera except to note that even though Dr. A allowed us the use of the opera glasses during the first act, he didn't let us touch them during the second act (and the love scene!). The man who played Mercutio was amazing; as was the woman who played Romeo's page.

After the opera was over, we met with some friends of the Allens' and crossed the street to Fiorellos, where I ate veal marsala and got flirted with by the waiter, and drank wine, and generally felt quite grown-up. We were there past midnight, and so the girls and the Allens' made me a birthday toast before we left the restaurant. I got to ride in a taxi for the first time - three of us in each, and we raced - Katie, Dr. A, and I in our taxi won! Mrs. A complained loudly that their taxi driver was lazy. After we arrived back at our rooms, we presented Dr. A with his new M&M patterned tie and insisted that he wear it on Monday.

Sunday morning, we woke up later than we had intended to and went in search of a French patisserie that we'd spotted the night before on our breakneck taxi ride. We didn't find that particular one, but we found an even better one and spent a leisurely two hours having a birthday brunch in my honor. We drank the most amazing coffee in the world, and ate the best bread I have ever tasted - Katie, who has recently studied in Paris, informed us that this patisserie was the most like the places in Paris she had seen in the States. We ran up the street to a street-fair we'd passed on the way to food, and I treated myself to a new pair of reading glasses - I'm wearing them now and I must say, they're very striking.

On the way back to Staunton, we stopped at a Red Robin in Pennsylvania (Dr. A insisted on a sit-down meal), where Dr. A proceeded to inform the waitress (without my knowledge!) that it was my birthday. At the end of our meal, the wait-staff sang very loudly and gave me a balloon and a very large piece of ice-cream cake that the girls needed to help me eat - it was far too large for me to do justice on my own. Dr. A merely sat and beamed at me, practically bouncing out of his seat he was so pleased with himself and his plotting. I laughingly scolded him and we had a generally jolly rest of the meal.

The remainder of the trip was uneventful and now I'm going to spend the final four minutes of my birthday cuddling with my very, very upset cat - she's been so depressed that I've been gone that she actually cuddled with Les and Jen - a first, since she is a one-woman cat.

This birthday has quite possibly been my very best birthday. I am utterly satisfied.

Going...Going...Gone!

I'm leaving for NYC tomorrow at 7am, which means I need to wake up at 5:30am in order to eat an adequate breakfast, double-check my packing, and, oh, maybe shower. Anyway, I don't know how much Internet access I'll have while I'm there, or even if I'm going to take my laptop with me. I'll talk to you when I get back.

Women Who Love Firefly Too Much

So, I got out of work earlier than expected on Saturday and instead of driving home to Waynesboro (I would need to come back in the evening for the Global Rhythms Concert), I called Steph. We decided to run and get a bit to eat and while we were out, we discussed various and sundry topics. One of the topics that sticks out most prominently in my brain is when we were walking back to campus and I admitted that I was very sorry if this didn't seem exciting or even very much fun, but that I was a little worn out and would be perfectly content for the "girls night" we had planned to be simply ordering out Chinese and watching "Firefly".

I realized then exactly why Steph and I are friends, when her eyes lit up and she exclaimed, "Oh thank God! That's exactly what I wanted to do, too!"

That being said, Steph is a bad influence on my weak self. I was unable to withstand her turning on episode after episode of "Firefly", until we reached the final one and I realized that it was 3am and I still had a 20-minute drive ahead of me. Ah, the only drawback of living off-campus! And, while Steph invited me to stay, I thought it best to head home - I did have to work in the morning.

For all that, however, I can finally say I have seen every episode of "Firefly". (I hadn't, before.) Steph and I did the inevitable "so, which character do you think YOU are?" that everyone does. She is undeniably Kaylee - it's just unmistakeable. Me - well, she says I seem like a mixture of Inara and Kaylee. Not any one character. (Funnily enough, Inara is one of my least favorite characters in the series, possibly because she evidently bears a resemblance to me.) I have to say, though, if I could be any character (gender notwithstanding) in the series, I would want to be Mal. (Or Zoe.) But mostly Mal.

Anyway. Completely pointless post, for no particular reason.

Solomon is God

If taken in a literally Biblical sense, the above statement could be construed as heresy. However, it is true. Anybody who can take me to a math problem, walk me through it, then explain how I did it AND GET ME TO UNDERSTAND is indeed worthy of being worshipped. Thus: Solomon is a good man and a brilliant math tutor, for all that he is a grad student studying Shakespeare for a living. Because not only can he TELL me what to do, he can help me understand how I did it. For instance, did you know that there's a REASON for their being fractions, percentages, and decimals? I didn't - that is, before last night. He spent three hours walking me through simple mathematics and patiently repeating and reminding me of previously exercised concepts. Anybody who has tutored me knows what a chore this is.

In other news, this... February? March? ...we're getting a special guest to the music department. Ben Bagby will be coming to perform for Mary Baldwin College his interpretation of the epic poem "Beowulf", while accompanying himself on a 6-string harp that was designed by using the remains of an instrument excavated from a 7th century nobleman's grave in Oberflacht. I should probably reread "Beowulf" before the concert, but it's going to be awe-inspiring. Dr. Allen has seen him perform this already at a music festival in Edinburgh; and apparently he's very difficult to book because he's so well-known. And little Mary Baldwin got him!

Needless to say, I'm very excited about this.

Oh, Yesterday

Solomon and I happened upon one another by chance yesterday - Solomon is a grad student friend of mine - and we had a long discussion. Okay, Solomon stumbled across me by chance. He happened to enter the building I was having my basic math class in and when he glanced through the window to see if the computer lab was in use, he spotted me. He said he had never seen anyone look more bored and was tempted to make a face at me, considering I was the only person who could see him. He refrained - I told him next time he could make as many faces as he wanted, because I had been very, very bored - and I went in search of him after the class let out.

We walked downtown and had chocolate chip mint milkshakes at the Pampered Palate - it's the only place that serves chocolate chip mint milkshakes - while discussing local theatre. Another thing we discussed is his penchant for protecting me. Solomon is an overprotective guy and he has this tendency to look on me as sort of a younger sister - it's not unwelcome, but I don't know how to tell him that I really don't need a Knight Protector all the time. At least not now. For example, this summer I had a "thing" for a man of my acquiantance. (Which quickly ended, due to his highly offensive political views - it wasn't so much his views, but his way of expressing them that pissed me off royally). Regardless, said man is now in a relationship with a woman both Solomon and I know - she's also a grad student, and not a very intelligent one, at that. Solomon had known at the time that I liked the man; so that the first time he saw the man and the woman together, he was immediately struck by the thought, "Shae is going to get hurt. How do I save her?"

He quickly informed his girlfriend - who is a very close friend of mine - who in turn, informed me in a very gentle way over coffee on Saturday. (I already knew about it, which I informed her in a very gentle way.) In fact, part of the purpose of the milkshake-outing for Solomon was making sure I was "okay". Which is all very well and good, but I ask you - am I really that defenseless-seeming? Do I somehow project the need to be protected and defended? Is it because I'm "pocket-sized", as Solomon says? Or is there just an aura around me that drives men and older women to feel that over-protective urge?

I'm just curious.

Domestic Goddess?

I've been trying to recreate "home" today - more out of boredom than out of any desire to be home. The dog is ill and has been making messes all over the (carpeted!) living room floor, so I took the day off from work and am watching the dog in a hawk-like way while attempting to spend the day constructively. I risked an hour away from the house this morning so I could go to church, which was nice. To be honest, I didn't pay much attention to the sermon itself - it delved into David and Bathsheba and how David must have felt post-murder of Uriah the Hittite, while all I could think during it was "well, Dave, if you had just kept your eyes to yourself..." - but the hymns were familiar, the prayers were comforting, and the people were friendly, if quiet. Presbyterians are the same the world over, I think.

I ran into the grocery store for a few minutes to pick up some supplies, then started baking bread. The dough is rising for the second time right now, and I cooked lunch and cleaned the living room while waiting on it. NPR played behind me while I worked and it was nice. The unfortunate (or fortunate, depending upon one's mood) side to housework and listening to things is that it's very easy to tune out whatever you're listening to in order to concentrate on your own thoughts and ideas. My thoughts turned to my last Chaucer class and our discussion concerning the faerie folk.

Faeries have always been part of my life. I remember days in the late summer, when toadstools and mushrooms appeared in telling patterns on our lawn and my siblings and I would dance around them, warning each other not to step inside because the faeries would snatch us away. Sierra was the source of this legend, being the most knowledgeable of all of us on subjects of myth and fancy. I would sneak a toe in when no one was watching, just to see. (I chalked up my not disappearing in a puff of smoke to the faeries being a wee bit busy with other matters.) We would shout for the faeries to come out of hiding and build faerie houses underneath the pine trees and lilac bushes. I found out later that Momma would make Daddy mow around the faerie circles, so we could have our fun until the next one grew - at the time, we thought it was some strange sort of magic that kept the faerie circle alive in spite of the riding lawnmower.

At this time of year, while playing around faerie circles, we would peer into the cornfield to make sure hunters or trespassers weren't coming out at us with guns - a legitimate worry, especially as hunting season was beginning. We would gather pine cones and twigs for when we still had our wood-burning stove. Berries and walnuts, which were prime for picking then, we would boil down for inks to be used at Heritage Days. (The walnut made a better ink than the berry, though the berry was prettier.) We would scurry around, up and down trees, playing make believe in the Den and the Lone Pine and Mulberry Meadow. The Witch's House was gorgeous at this time of year - the trees that formed it were just starting to change color and fall to the ground. Sierra and I formed our own miniature coven, where we would brew mint leaves and pine needles together in cold water and wave maple twigs over it, chanting spell couplets we had found in books - this was long before Harry Potter was ever even thought of. This is about the time we would begin begging Momma to let us carve pumpkins for Halloween, even though we knew that they would rot before Halloween if we did it now. We made scarecrows for the front yard and had already changed our minds at least fifteen times concerning Halloween costumes.

This retrospective was not just triggered by Chaucer, though I did spend a few moments reminiscing until Frank snapped me from my spell. An elderly lady of my acquaintance, Feencie McClain, passed away last week after having a heart attack. Momma called to tell me yesterday. I'm not sad - Feencie had a long, full life and she still had her wits about her. I'm told that a few days before she died (after the heart attack), she had been unable to attend a wedding after having bought a new outfit (with matching shoes and hat, Feencie was always a snappy dresser). She merely shrugged and said that she would just have to wear it for her funeral, as though it was a mere nuisance. Her daughter, Clissie, protested loudly at the time; but Momma and Aunt Nancy just laughed and laughed. And not because they didn't believe Feencie - they did. They laughed because Feencie was just so ready. It's difficult to fathom now, but there will come a time when I am ready, too.

For right now, though, I'll just think about Feencie with her teeny-tiny, well-dressed personage sitting primly her pew. Her beaming smile, her happy eyes, her stories about Watsontown when she was a girl and there were still horses and carriages trotting up and down Main Street. Of course, I will always remember her scolding Nanna Pat for telling me not to run in church - she informed Nanna Pat that children needed exercise, especially after sitting cooped up for an hour listening to someone talk at them, then proceeded to walk me outside and set me and the other kids to a game of kickball in the church parking lot.

I'll miss Feencie a lot. But, to be absolutely blunt, I'm glad she's gone.

The Cost of a Soul

My soul is worth a free trip to New York City. I discovered that last week when I consented to the theatre-equivalent of selling one's soul: modelling. Yes indeed - I'm off for a modelling gig today. In exchange for what, you ask? Well, I was approached last week in a public place by a lady who told me that I have a lovely face and would I be interested in a job modelling for a very well-known beauty products company. (Yes, I know the name of the company and no, I'm not saying which one it is.) The payment for this would be, if I was chosen, an all-expenses paid journey to NYC for a photo-shoot in November.

This is both good and bad. Good because, well, I'll be seen. That's important in my line of work - in fact, one of THE most important things in my line of work. Not only will I be seen, but it's a legit job which I can put down in my resume. Modelling just requires a pretty face and the ability to show it off. Bad, because - I really don't want to attain "fame" by displaying my "lovely face" in a catologue or in an advert in Cosmopolitan. Aren't I better than this?

The simple answer to that question is no, I'm not better than this. I depend solely upon the kindness of strangers, as Blanche Dubois would say. Besides, if more modelling gigs come out of this one, then I'm this much closer to scraping together enough funds for a trip to Vienna. And that, my friends, is worth being sullied by having my picture taken of me all dolled-up with nowhere to go.

In other news, Steph and I are taking the evening after her Lysistrata rehearsal to hang out and think about anything but men. We are both unfortunates who are always the friends - never the girlfriends. So, we're taking tonight to shift our focus away from our loveless states and towards something more important: chocolate. I'm of the opinion that we should head somewhere for coffee and cake, then round off the evening with a nice long Firefly marathon. I'm pretty sure she'll be amenable to the suggestion.