Hello, world.
It's been a while (again). I was on a bit of a roll with my posts back in June and then summer travels and the fall semester turned me into a slacker. Now 4 months later I'm finally getting back to posting.
In addition to falling off the wagon with blog posts, the summer and fall have not been good for exercise. I'm going to work to change both of those things and soon.
Friday I was talking with Stacey, and she inspired me to get back to the gym. We're going to be encouraging each other to stay physically active and eat healthily. It's always easier to do these things with a partner in crime, so we're going to keep each other accountable. As my dear friend Laura once said, "We're powerful when we're together." She may have said that in reference to a different friend group, but it's true nonetheless. As with many things in life, exercise and diet are easier when we don't try to do it all on our own.
I've been doing yoga twice a week, and while that's great for flexibility and strength, it isn't enough on its own to keep me in shape. A better diet and some cardio are in order.
So steps I've taken so far...
1. Joined a gym. Yes, I've always had free access to the university's rec center, but the thought of competing for exercise equipment with 20,000 undergrads is not a motivating one. Plus, if I'm paying for the gym membership, I'll be much more likely to use it.
2. I started tracking calories again using the My Fitness Pal app. I've done this on and off over the years and have found that when I use it consistently, it makes a big difference in my eating habits, particularly when it comes to snacking.
3. Bought a new sports bra and yoga pants. You know, because I needed a reward for accomplishing steps 1 & 2... Actually, I had been needing to purchase both for a while now since my existing ones are getting worn and raggedy. Also, I find that I'm more motivated to exercise if I like what I'm wearing. Shallow? Perhaps. But if it helps me get my butt to the gym, I'll do it.
4. Went to the gym for a first workout. Nothing too intense. I went through the orientation for the fitness equipment and then walked 3 miles on the treadmill.
I think that health and fitness aren't always about big steps; rather, they're about many, many little steps that, when taken all together, make a long term impact.
Wish us luck!
Sunday, November 04, 2012
Saturday, June 30, 2012
windy nights
Windy Nights
When I was a child, my mom used to read us this poem out of an old copy of Stevenson's A Child's Garden of Verses. While I say that mom read it to us, I should say that she would sing it to us in a minor key that eerily reflected the haunting nature of a windy night. The poem itself was illustrated with what I remember to be a watercolor of trees thrashing about in a gray-black night, a yellowing moon peaking out of the clouds, and a black-robed highwayman racing his horse past the trees.
I was a particular scaredy cat as a child. All things scared me: strangers, not strangers, the dark, things I couldn't see, things I had only imagined, creaking floor boards, storms of any sort, dogs, the basement, large domesticated farm animals, the attic, playing in the trees and losing sight of the house, being away from my mom, to name just a few. I was really quite a wreck. I was also blessed - and when I say blessed, I do mean blessed - with an overactive imagination. You would think that between my tendency for mostly irrational fears and my overly well-developed imagination that I would have disliked a poem such as "Windy Nights," but I didn't. I remember loving it even though it scared me just a little.
The trees and moon in the picture could have been painted from the trees in front of our house. The trees I could see from my bedroom window. Growing up on the South Dakota plains, windy nights were generally the rule rather than the exception. So Stevenson's "Windy Nights" were very close to home for me. They didn't just exist on the pages of an old children's book or in my imagination, but they were right out side my room, and I could watch them from my bed as the branches of the old cottonwoods thrashed in the wind.
As I grew older, the windy nights and the storms that sometimes accompanied them began to scare me less and less. Rather than becoming terrified of their seemingly chaotic rage, I became in awe of their power and fierceness. I intellectually know that strong winds and storms can do great damage, and I don't particularly like to be out driving in them; however, if I'm home with no obligation to go out, I find I rather like the sound of the storm raging outside. I find it oddly soothing.
Last night a storm blew through the valley with winds gusting up to 60 mph. I had checked the storm warnings for the area, and seeing that the prediction was mostly for a lot of wind with a possible thunderstorm and maybe some hail thrown in for good measure, I decided to crack open a bottle of wine and watch a movie. No need to panic, right? It's only wind. When the lights started to flicker a bit, I dug out my flashlight and lit a couple candles since I had heard from a friend that the lights had already gone out on the other side of town. I figured we would probably follow suit since the storm wasn't going to let up for quite a while. And when the lights did finally go out and stay out, I went to bed. Nothing would be gained from staying awake and fretting over a storm greatly out of my control.
So I drifted off to sleep with the sound of the howling wind and the thrashing trees and perhaps a highwayman or two galloping about. This morning the world is little worse for wear. There are a few small twigs and branches and some leaves on the ground and evidence that the wind decided to make sport of some flower pots, but otherwise I think we all survived our windy night.
by Robert Louis Stevenson
Whenever the moon and stars are set,
Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
A man goes riding by.
Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?
Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
And ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway, low and loud,
By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then
By he comes back at the gallop again.
When I was a child, my mom used to read us this poem out of an old copy of Stevenson's A Child's Garden of Verses. While I say that mom read it to us, I should say that she would sing it to us in a minor key that eerily reflected the haunting nature of a windy night. The poem itself was illustrated with what I remember to be a watercolor of trees thrashing about in a gray-black night, a yellowing moon peaking out of the clouds, and a black-robed highwayman racing his horse past the trees.
I was a particular scaredy cat as a child. All things scared me: strangers, not strangers, the dark, things I couldn't see, things I had only imagined, creaking floor boards, storms of any sort, dogs, the basement, large domesticated farm animals, the attic, playing in the trees and losing sight of the house, being away from my mom, to name just a few. I was really quite a wreck. I was also blessed - and when I say blessed, I do mean blessed - with an overactive imagination. You would think that between my tendency for mostly irrational fears and my overly well-developed imagination that I would have disliked a poem such as "Windy Nights," but I didn't. I remember loving it even though it scared me just a little.
The trees and moon in the picture could have been painted from the trees in front of our house. The trees I could see from my bedroom window. Growing up on the South Dakota plains, windy nights were generally the rule rather than the exception. So Stevenson's "Windy Nights" were very close to home for me. They didn't just exist on the pages of an old children's book or in my imagination, but they were right out side my room, and I could watch them from my bed as the branches of the old cottonwoods thrashed in the wind.
As I grew older, the windy nights and the storms that sometimes accompanied them began to scare me less and less. Rather than becoming terrified of their seemingly chaotic rage, I became in awe of their power and fierceness. I intellectually know that strong winds and storms can do great damage, and I don't particularly like to be out driving in them; however, if I'm home with no obligation to go out, I find I rather like the sound of the storm raging outside. I find it oddly soothing.
Last night a storm blew through the valley with winds gusting up to 60 mph. I had checked the storm warnings for the area, and seeing that the prediction was mostly for a lot of wind with a possible thunderstorm and maybe some hail thrown in for good measure, I decided to crack open a bottle of wine and watch a movie. No need to panic, right? It's only wind. When the lights started to flicker a bit, I dug out my flashlight and lit a couple candles since I had heard from a friend that the lights had already gone out on the other side of town. I figured we would probably follow suit since the storm wasn't going to let up for quite a while. And when the lights did finally go out and stay out, I went to bed. Nothing would be gained from staying awake and fretting over a storm greatly out of my control.
So I drifted off to sleep with the sound of the howling wind and the thrashing trees and perhaps a highwayman or two galloping about. This morning the world is little worse for wear. There are a few small twigs and branches and some leaves on the ground and evidence that the wind decided to make sport of some flower pots, but otherwise I think we all survived our windy night.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
rare book school, a recap
It's somewhat difficult to characterize Rare Book School. It was, in a word, marvelous in that way things are can be when you get to indulge in something you're passionate about along with others who share the same passion. In a world where what is temporary is valued more than what is lasting, it was so nice to come together around a belief in the enduring value and significance of the printed word. In a profession that is increasingly seduced by the promise of technology and electronic access for all, it was a breath of fresh air to be around people who understand the need to preserve the printed record and learn from past triumphs and failures.
I feel like I work in a profession that is so insecure about its own relevance and validity that it's willing to toss aside time-honored purposes and values for what seems to be the trend of the moment. It would of course be foolish to pretend that there's no need to embrace technological advances. I would just encourage the profession and its leaders to think about the long term implications of the direction we're heading in.
In a word: think.
Think critically, logically about the decisions that you make, and really consider the ramification of choices. That was really the underlying lesson of the course I took on scholarly editing last week. Pay attention to the details of whatever it is you encounter. Don't just dismiss or accept it blindly, but really consider how the new information you've learned fits with other facts at hand.
And as we thought deeply and barreled through an entire semester-long graduate course in one week, we began to understand how something as seemingly small as an editorial decision can impact what is believed to be true and good. It made me think more critically about how I build my collections at the library and how they can be used in scholarship. It also reinforced a thought that I've been thinking around for quite a while now. We in the library profession are too insular. We need to get out more. We need to read the scholarly literature of the disciplines we support. We need to be in conversation with faculty outside the walls of the library about the research they're doing and the concepts they're teaching their students. And we need to think carefully about how our decisions impact the people who use our collections most.
The more we know about any topic, the better we understand it, and with understanding, a deeper appreciation and interest develops in time.
It is as Michael Suarez, the RBS director, said in both his opening and his closing statements: "Knowledge conduces to love, and love conduces to wonder."
And we could all use a lot more wonder in our lives.
I feel like I work in a profession that is so insecure about its own relevance and validity that it's willing to toss aside time-honored purposes and values for what seems to be the trend of the moment. It would of course be foolish to pretend that there's no need to embrace technological advances. I would just encourage the profession and its leaders to think about the long term implications of the direction we're heading in.
In a word: think.
Think critically, logically about the decisions that you make, and really consider the ramification of choices. That was really the underlying lesson of the course I took on scholarly editing last week. Pay attention to the details of whatever it is you encounter. Don't just dismiss or accept it blindly, but really consider how the new information you've learned fits with other facts at hand.
And as we thought deeply and barreled through an entire semester-long graduate course in one week, we began to understand how something as seemingly small as an editorial decision can impact what is believed to be true and good. It made me think more critically about how I build my collections at the library and how they can be used in scholarship. It also reinforced a thought that I've been thinking around for quite a while now. We in the library profession are too insular. We need to get out more. We need to read the scholarly literature of the disciplines we support. We need to be in conversation with faculty outside the walls of the library about the research they're doing and the concepts they're teaching their students. And we need to think carefully about how our decisions impact the people who use our collections most.
The more we know about any topic, the better we understand it, and with understanding, a deeper appreciation and interest develops in time.
It is as Michael Suarez, the RBS director, said in both his opening and his closing statements: "Knowledge conduces to love, and love conduces to wonder."
And we could all use a lot more wonder in our lives.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
meeting of the minds
I've just passed the halfway point in my Rare Book School course on scholarly editing. There's so much that I could write about this experience, but it is getting late and my alarm will wake me sooner than I would like. The experience so far has been amazing. It is both exhausting and invigorating. We all come from such different backgrounds--librarians, graduate students, booksellers, private collectors, English professors--but we all come with a passion for books, which makes for a most beautiful meeting of the minds. The week will be over far, far too soon.
Saturday, June 09, 2012
other types of writing
Every now and then I think about writing an essay (or series of essays when I'm feeling really ambitious) about growing up in rural South Dakota. And yet, for numerous reasons, I've never followed through with that. That may be in part because the genre--creative non-fiction--is a little foreign to me. I'm used to research writing, and its familiar cadences. Since I haven't practiced writing in that mode very much, I have a harder time sustaining the narrative. I will have bursts of great prose and then my thoughts fizzle out. I suppose practicing my craft would improve it over time.
The bigger issue that I have had this continual stream of academic projects: book #1, play indexing, various and sundry committee obligations, book #2, rare book school, digital humanities presentation, rare book school again. These are all good and appropriate things for me to put my time into, but it leaves me less mental energy for other types of writing (thus my absence from blogging for so long).
Book #2 should be published in mid-August, and our final review of the galleys is due next week. Next week is RBS #1 with the DH presentation following close on its heels. RBS #2 doesn't come around until the last week of July, right after my soon-to-be epic road trip to South Dakota. Oh, summer, why do you always slip by so quickly?
Maybe when all of the summer scholarship/professional development stuff dies down, not that something else won't quickly fill the void. I think I need to carve out time to write if I'm serious about it, which is unfortunately easier said than done. But like academic writing, creative non-fiction doesn't tend to happen in one fell swoop. It's one page, one paragraph, sometimes even one sentence at a time. I just need to start and then keep taking steps towards completion. Wish me luck!
The bigger issue that I have had this continual stream of academic projects: book #1, play indexing, various and sundry committee obligations, book #2, rare book school, digital humanities presentation, rare book school again. These are all good and appropriate things for me to put my time into, but it leaves me less mental energy for other types of writing (thus my absence from blogging for so long).
Book #2 should be published in mid-August, and our final review of the galleys is due next week. Next week is RBS #1 with the DH presentation following close on its heels. RBS #2 doesn't come around until the last week of July, right after my soon-to-be epic road trip to South Dakota. Oh, summer, why do you always slip by so quickly?
Maybe when all of the summer scholarship/professional development stuff dies down, not that something else won't quickly fill the void. I think I need to carve out time to write if I'm serious about it, which is unfortunately easier said than done. But like academic writing, creative non-fiction doesn't tend to happen in one fell swoop. It's one page, one paragraph, sometimes even one sentence at a time. I just need to start and then keep taking steps towards completion. Wish me luck!
Wednesday, June 06, 2012
remember who you are
I recently learned that when Mormon girls go out on dates, their mothers will tell them "remember who you are" as they're leaving. Mormons believe that they are the literal spiritual children of God, so the reminder is for them to keep their identity as God's children at the forefront of their thoughts.
Now I have not even the slightest inkling of a desire to become Mormon, but I think it's really cool that these mothers will remind their daughters of their identity. How often and how easily do we forget our identity in the midst of all the chaos of life?
I think that as a Christian it is so important that I remember who I am. I am not my own. I was bought with a price. I have been adopted into God's family and am co-heirs with Christ. I am loved. I am forgiven. I am redeemed.
There are so many identities that we could each take on and portray to the world, but our true identity is in Christ. It's not a question of if I'm wealthy or impoverished, single or married, intelligent or not, successful or barely scraping by, a mother or barren, alone or surrounded by friends. The thing that matters is that I'm a child of the King. Remembering that makes all the difference.
Often in the epistles, the authors begin their letters by reminding their audience of God's faithfulness to fulfill his promises, of who Christ is and what he accomplished on the cross, and of who we are in Him. For even though "at one time you were darkness," because of who Christ is and who we are in him "now you are light in the Lord," so we are to "walk as children of light" (Ephesians 5:8). We do not live, speak, think, or act in any particular way to gain our salvation, but we live, speak, think, and act because he is who he said he was and we are changed because of him.
So I would just encourage you to remember who you are.
Now I have not even the slightest inkling of a desire to become Mormon, but I think it's really cool that these mothers will remind their daughters of their identity. How often and how easily do we forget our identity in the midst of all the chaos of life?
I think that as a Christian it is so important that I remember who I am. I am not my own. I was bought with a price. I have been adopted into God's family and am co-heirs with Christ. I am loved. I am forgiven. I am redeemed.
There are so many identities that we could each take on and portray to the world, but our true identity is in Christ. It's not a question of if I'm wealthy or impoverished, single or married, intelligent or not, successful or barely scraping by, a mother or barren, alone or surrounded by friends. The thing that matters is that I'm a child of the King. Remembering that makes all the difference.
Often in the epistles, the authors begin their letters by reminding their audience of God's faithfulness to fulfill his promises, of who Christ is and what he accomplished on the cross, and of who we are in Him. For even though "at one time you were darkness," because of who Christ is and who we are in him "now you are light in the Lord," so we are to "walk as children of light" (Ephesians 5:8). We do not live, speak, think, or act in any particular way to gain our salvation, but we live, speak, think, and act because he is who he said he was and we are changed because of him.
So I would just encourage you to remember who you are.
Monday, May 28, 2012
working my way back out
So I realize it has been almost an entire year since my last post. I'm sorry about my long silence. I won't try to rewrite the entire past year for far too much has passed between then and now, but I will say it has been a very hard year. Trying in ways I never guessed it would be. God is faithful through it all, but it has not been a particularly easy year.
Right now I'm trying to declutter both physically and emotionally. It is a long process. Every weekend I tackle one part of my life and find myself with bags of trash and recycling to haul out to the dumpsters, both literal and metaphorical. Every time I think I'm nearing the end there's a new stash of stuff and more tears to shed that I didn't know were left behind. I think it will be a while longer before I get to the end of all the junk, but I believe there will be an end in sight eventually.
Ephesians 2:1-7
And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience—among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind. But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.
Right now I'm trying to declutter both physically and emotionally. It is a long process. Every weekend I tackle one part of my life and find myself with bags of trash and recycling to haul out to the dumpsters, both literal and metaphorical. Every time I think I'm nearing the end there's a new stash of stuff and more tears to shed that I didn't know were left behind. I think it will be a while longer before I get to the end of all the junk, but I believe there will be an end in sight eventually.
Ephesians 2:1-7
And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience—among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind. But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.
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