paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- vacation begins Vacation begins Today I opened the office, worked my nine hours and closed the office. Her directorship was not in and did not call. No one called except a young man who wants a job. He called twice. I was almost lonely because the campus was empty. All of the faculty are gone. And I don�t think there were any classes held. But I was there because we open every day that we could possibly be open, and we wait for [the bureaucratic equivalent of] business. Have I mentioned that her directorship was an entrepreneurial esquire, before making millions and retiring early to the country? It is important to her that we try to operate as much like a law firm as possible. Forget about being in the middle of a big bureaucracy. The consequence is that there is more grief than need be at our office. Especially for me, because if anything gets done, I have to somehow push it across the completion line. I am a bit like a switching station or maybe a damn. Truth be told, I have not figured out an exact metaphor yet. I just like days like today, when I am solo in the office, making my way through my work. Without her directorship�s flitter. Tomorrow Quinn and I, with our pup, head off for Bunker for the house- and dog-sitting gig. I am looking forward to getting caught up on my reading. Lately, I have been reading for work way too much. And after my focus on Anna Laetitia Barbauld and Victorian literary memoirs last term, I am looking forward to some contemporary reading. I have several birthday books�. The Major�s sister and my very dear friend and aunt gave me the first two books I plan to read. One is short: _Inside Out: A Brief History of Underwear_. I am going to overlook the pun. Flipping through the book, I noticed that underwear is much different when it is not on someone. Or maybe I am becoming more mature. The other is _Pastoralia _ by George Saunders, which looks perfectly in tune with my recent mental state. Last night was our civilized birthday dinner with Mother and Major. I still let her have my actual birthday� if I am in town. As her only child, I feel this obligation to not disappoint her because I have no siblings with whom to share these various duties. We struggled for dinner conversation and finally the youngster at the table behind us began banging around and crying, which was both annoying and a great relief. Quinn was getting splattered with raspberry sticky stuff, but was a good sport about it. The Major was irritated by have the second troop wait staff. Our waiter tried, but kept saying things that seemed rehearsed and perhaps worse than that, actually achieved the opposite effect of his intention. To notice this sort of thing, we were suffering from not enough to say. We listed to Mother discuss her incredible importance at work and her incredible �in the nick of time� saves. But unfortunately, her good material moved office and so now the range of her stories is greatly narrowed. I strained to find some comments to make, which is not typically like me in any situation, with the exception of dinner with Mother and Major. There is not enough wine in a civilized restaurant for me to get chatty. So Quinn and I sat there, trying to be clever, or at the very least peppy, while the Major supervised. What exactly he supervised I could not say, his demeanor always seems to be in anticipation of an infraction. It kind of keeps me on the edge of my seat, monitoring my table manners. Last night, driving through the city in mother superior was surreal. The smell of gunpowder was thick. And all around us were big bangs and kabooms. Fireworks are illegal in our city, but we thought that perhaps everything was being overlooked because there is nothing more patriotic than a bunch of people lighting fuses and watching (hopefully) skyward explosions. At least not on July 4. We did not watch any fireworks displays. Did not listen to the oohs and ahhs of the crowd. No comments about how certain fireworks solicit an ooh and others an ahh. It has never been the fireworks that interest me as much as their smoke ghosts that drift off with the breeze, holding the shape of the explosion. Once, at one of Mother�s former important jobs, we got to watch a fireworks display from the top of a 30-story building and I got to watch the ghosts drift right in front of me, in their slow progression towards oblivion. It is my favorite fireworks memory. Well, a low-key entry tonight. I am fretting about setting up timers on the houselights and the television in the kitchen�. They are frustrating. Today I got to drop in on Jeanette Winterson�s website. This is a quote from her June column. The July column is very good, but I just liked this quote. �Change. We need it. We fear it. Part of me wants to stay here forever. Part of me longs to leave. I know that moving on is exactly that - a way forward into new thoughts, new ideas, new emotions. Without those, I can't work - or at least I can't work well. I have to put myself in situations that are unfamiliar, to change the pattern. We all make patterns- and so we should, until those patterns become habits - the well-worn track that takes us nowhere new.� This is from Jeanette Winterson�s June column on her website http://www.jeanettewinterson.com. I�m looking forward to basically moving in to another couple�s house for a week. Of living among their possessions, listening to their music, drinking from their cups. It is a nice disruption to the everyday routine. Away from work for a week. Reading, writing, photographing, hiking in a huge forest. 9:47 p.m. - 2002-07-05 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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