Poes in Boots

Perhaps one of the best things about my recent move has been having housemates. While I was living on my own, I really thought I was content (at least, most of the time). Indeed, one of my biggest concerns in the weeks leading up to the move was having to learn to live with people again. I had gotten used to being on my own, taking a shower when I felt like it, making dinner while having Netflix on in the background, talking to myself out loud, you know, the usual things you do when you're on your own. Having to navigate two other people's schedules was a seemingly daunting task. Looking back at those anxieties, I have to laugh. These past three weeks have been really fantastic and I think both my mood and productivity have skyrocketed.


Now, while I try never to play favourites, I must confess that there is one housemate for whom I have a soft spot. Poes is Ceciel's cat and I must say that living with an animal again has really been amazing. Those of you who have read my other blog know that back home in the States, I have three lovely ferrets, Chase, Enzo, and Lamborghini. I miss them a great deal every day I'm here. I grew up always having pets in the house and one of the hardest things about living in the UK is that I had to leave them behind. My parents take excellent care of them and I know through Skype sessions that they are doing well and are happy. I also know that Lambo is still being his very mischievous and naughty self in my absence. So while I can't have my babies with me (yes, I'm one of those people whose pets are like their children), I have been able to have some bonding time with Poes.

These are my babies back in the US. Lamborghini, Chase (on top), and Enzo.

Over the past two weeks or so, Poes and I have had occasion to spend a lot of time together. He really is quite a sweet cat who enjoys cuddles (up to a point), exploring our back "garden," and trying desperately to apprehend his arch nemesis the laser pointer. When Ceciel had to be away for a few nights, he took to snuggling up in my bed. It was really lovely, though I must admit, it's far easier to snuggle with the ferrets in bed as they tend to take up less room and sort of enjoy keeping to themselves. When I woke in the middle of the night in a shape resembling that of a pretzel in order to keep from disturbing His Majesty Sir Poes, I decided that while I enjoyed having him sleep there, I couldn't give up all my comfort for his sake.

This was the first night, Poes decided to climb into the TARDIS bed.
Unfortunately it's not bigger on the inside.

This was my view when I woke up the next morning.

He was very tolerant of my need to capture the moment.

But then he was ready for breakfast. Note the disapproving stare.

Sometimes, Poes can be quite silly. He was playing on the stairs when he flopped over rather dramatically and lay in this position for about five minutes. Ceciel and I were puzzled by his wild-eyed stare, but I think someone found a stash of catnip somewhere.

Even Dutch cats like to sit in boxes. It's one of the universal laws of feline-ness.

Waking up from a nap to a smiling kitty in your lap is one of the best feelings.

On a separate note, it would be remiss of me to publish this post without mentioning an important anniversary which happened yesterday. Two years ago on the 25 September, I moved to the UK for the very first time. No one is more shocked than I am that it has been two years. Now full confession, there was a four month hiatus between my Master's degree and when I began my PhD when I moved back home and I did spend a month traveling in the US between April and May of this year, but the majority of the past two years, I've spent living as an expat. It makes me feel all sorts of things when I really try to think about what that means. I think, despite the mountain of student loan debt, the homesickness, the wrenching feeling I have when I think of all the things I am missing back home, I am exceedingly lucky to be on this adventure. It's not something I genuinely thought I would do and it's moments like these that really encourage me not to take a moment for granted.

Ready for more adventures...

Laundry and Cookies, er Biscuits, Oh My!

Getting used to a new place and routine can be very exhilarating if exhausting. I set out on Monday to carve out a schedule to keep me on track towards my probation review* at the end of October. I decided to divide most of my days into morning CrossFit sessions and afternoon writing/reading/general PhD stuff sessions. There are some students who can work 9-5 on their PhDs (or so they claim, I’m highly suspicious of such exertions) but I am not one of those people. I do best when I’ve had some time to look through things, have a cup of tea, read a bit more, watch an episode of Star Trek, do some writing, stare out of the window, answer emails. It’s a very organic process. (At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself.)

It’s been a good week. I managed to hit CrossFit every day with two rest days thrown in there so that I can appreciate my DOMS⁺ more fully. It has been awesome getting to the box more. Though I’ve been getting stronger, it has been a very slow process. Maybe I’ve increased my weights half a kilogram but at least it’s something. The walk to the box is much more enjoyable as well. Going through the park early on a crisp autumn morning is one of the most rejuvenating parts of the day. The leaves are stubbornly holding onto their colour at the moment, but every day that passes brings fall colours that much closer.

View across Victoria Park.

I can't wait until these trees are red and gold and orange.

One thing that I must confess will take some getting used to is drying my laundry here. In the past, it has dried quite quickly (maybe in three days at the most) on my drying rack. This was mostly due to the fact I’ve always had ready access to drying machines both in Durham and at my old flat. Unfortunately, I have but a washing machine here and after almost a week, my clothes were no closer to wearable. Reticently I hung them up on the clothes line outside. Now, just a quick reminder that I live in England. In true stereotypical form, the day I hung my laundry was very overcast. I had looked at the weather report which assured me that despite a high percentage of humidity, it would not rain. I worked through most of the afternoon but every two minutes or so I found myself squinting out of my window trying to tell if it were raining or not. I was just convinced that it would begin to pour and I’d have to start the maddening laundry process all over. After checking on my clothes three or four times and realising how difficult it is to tell whether clothes are still wet or just cold, I brought them in for good and hung them in the closet. I am greatly looking forward to the next time I get to go through this thrilling new ritual.

This is a dramatic recreation of events. No garments were harmed during the making of this photo.

A house is not a home until you have baked in it. I’m not sure what great person first said this, it is possible it was George Washington, though I doubt he ever lifted so much as a finger to measure out some flour for chocolate chip cookies. Last Sunday Ceciel and I set out to make some sugar cookies. Now I must pause here to mention that in the UK cookies are basically considered chocolate chip cookies, any other sort of cookie-like thing would be called a biscuit. At least, I think I’ve got that right. This comes after an earnest conversation I had with an English person in which we both became confused about all things cookie/biscuit. Now baking is very much about chemistry. You must put the right proportion of ingredient A with the correct proportion of ingredient B and as long as the ratios are good and proper you should end up with a delicious cookie. I’m afraid however, that using an American recipe but with UK measurements and gas mark ovens requires at least a first class Master’s degree from one of the UK’s top chemistry programmes. Something neither Ceciel nor I possess. Our first batch….well…they sort of melted. Thankfully Ceciel took matters into her own hands and saved the day with an extra egg and lots of extra flour. Truly, she is a cookie hero. The rest of them came out beautifully.

What you see here is a commentary on the hardships of life. Mainly that I suck at reading directions and measuring. By the way that's supposed to be a T-Rex at the bottom. 

Ceciel had so many cute cookie cutters. Biscuit cutters. Cookie cutters. Oh I give up. The T-Rex at the top is mine though, because dinosaurs.

That's much better!

I was very excited about having T-Rex cookies.

I suppose along with my baking and laundry adventures I have been eking out more work over the past week. My probation review document is coming together like Frankenstein’s monster. (I’m grafting parts of my two major papers together in the hopes of creating a brilliant review of my progress.) I’ve managed to list every paper, book, article, chapter, pamphlet, and journal I’ve read since January and I’ve produced my first Gantt chart laying out what the next two and a half years should (in theory) have in store for me.

I've got my windowsill of plants. (Two I rescued from the rubbish bins at my last flat.)

It's small, but very cozy.

I like my travel posters. Can you believe they make them for imaginary places like Cambridge? I know, me neither.

Mr. Fox guards my door from unwanted visitors. Luckily I like having visitors, especially kitty visitors.

All in all, it has been a pretty great first two weeks in my new home. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll just start a load of laundry. It looks rather like it might rain later.

*Basically I have to account for all of the work, reading, and research I’ve done up until this point. If I pass I can go on to field work, if not I have six more months to prove my worth.

⁺Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness otherwise known as the devil.

Take Two

Sunday mornings in Leicester have to be my favourite. I have a bit of a lie in, make myself some breakfast (breakfast of the moment is two vegetarian sausages and two soft boiled eggs with a cup of tea), and then I walk to CrossFit. My walk is usually one of the best moments of the week. Leicester on a Sunday morning is very quiet. Little to no traffic and only a few people out and about. I must say though that today’s walk was even better probably because I was leaving from my new house.

I’d been living in a very nice studio flat since I arrived in Leicester eight months ago. There wasn’t anything wrong with it and in time I got used to the walk to and from the department and the box. It was pretty close to the town centre and I had it all to myself. That last part was sort of the problem. I work from home (I find it nice to be able to grab a cup of tea and watch a quick episode of QI on YouTube during my breaks) and on days that I didn’t go to CrossFit or didn’t have a meeting at the department, I just wouldn’t see another human being. As an introvert, this arrangement was pretty nice…until it wasn’t. Until I was feeling very cut off from people and was missing the whole social aspect of, well, being a human. So when a room became available in Ceciel’s house, I decided to go ahead and sign the housing agreement. It was a difficult decision. I had become quite complacent in my studio and had grown used to my routine. But that was the problem! I knew I needed a bit of shaking up and this was going to be it.

The fact that the house came with a feline housemate may have made the prospect even more appealing.

So on 30 August with the help of my lovely friend Eamon from CrossFit and his car (you don’t realise how much you miss having wheels until you need to move all of your things across town) most of my belongings made it to the house. There were only a few things for Jeremy (who was kind enough to come up to Leicester to offer moral support as well as unpacking support) and I to bring over the next morning after we picked up the keys.

It took three trips to get it all across town. The last trip only had three small boxes though.

This felt like a re-do. There had been nothing wrong with my first eight months here, really, but I had often found myself feeling in a rut. Though my work was exemplary, I just didn’t feel right. I had gotten out of some of my favourite habits: blogging, walking, and just generally socialising. Everything felt off. This move was me hitting the reset button on things. It definitely helped that it came at the beginning of autumn; a time I always feel is ripe for new beginnings.

Fall is my most favourite season. The air feels crisp and cool and just lends itself brilliantly to curling up with a hot apple cider. The leaves don their very best colours before bidding this world adieu and then there are the pumpkins and mums (chrysanthemums, not English mothers, though they are nice, too). Perhaps it’s because fall always signified the start of a new school year that I always feel my most optimistic, my most excited, and my most ready for new beginnings. It’s like I’ve never lost that love of freshly sharpened pencils, chalk, and the feel of a brand new start-of-the-school-year dress. It felt like everything was full of potential. That the year was pregnant with possibilities just waiting to be discovered. That’s exactly how I feel now, sitting here at my desk in my tiny but deliciously cosy room. I just feel ready to give Leicester and this PhD another go. Everything is fresh and I have a brand new perspective. I just hope these feelings last.

My new neighbourhood on a beautiful Sunday September morning

Alright Postcards from Leicester. Take two. And……ACTION!

So what is it that you do?

August has gotten off to a rather lazy beginning. After finishing a monster 10,000 word essay for my supervisor, I felt the need to go into a bit of a hibernation mode. My days have been filled with CrossFit, YouTube videos, Netflix, and World of Warcraft. It has been a very necessary break and I must admit that I am loathed to start up work again. Thankfully, I’m slightly ahead of where I need to be in my PhD and so I have a bit of wiggle room.

It hasn’t all been hedonism and weightlifting though. I’ve been working on some extracurricular projects over the summer which have taken on a new prominence as my own project waits patiently for me to get back to it. I have agreed to be an SSCC representative at the department. SSCC stands for Student Staff Consultation Committee. Some of you may remember I took on this role while I was at Durham as well, though it’s a very different thing at this university. It seems that while there is the liaising with staff representatives which was the core of what I did last year, reps here are more about providing help and support to PhDs which includes social activities, welfare and the like. I haven’t officially begun my tenure as a rep but I’ve already been in contact with my colleagues and we’ve discussed some potential routes we may explore. To be honest, there is some irony is my taking this position on. I’ve been struggling with feelings of isolation, imposter syndrome, and depression and anxiety. In speaking with other PhDs not just at this university but at others as well, it seems that isolation and imposter syndrome are extremely common. I’m hoping as a rep to prioritise mental well-being this year not just for my sake, but for all of our students.

While some ideas for social gatherings and perhaps periodic yoga and mindfulness seminars are bouncing around my brain, I’ve also been stuck in with work on a Black History Month community project. This is probably the one project that I feel most excited about and really touches on the work I hope to do in the future. Teens from around Leicester are going to be coming to the university in October (that’s when the UK celebrates Black History Month) where they will have the opportunity to interact with some collections and where we will be discussing race issues. I’m really hoping it’s a day that will inspire the students to make some changes in their lives and communities. It’s such an exciting and complex project to be working on but it’s one that is so important to me.

Finally, I’m getting some practical exhibition experience as well working on the display of a commissioned art piece at the university library. The display will also include a digital exhibition of some of the library’s archival collection, specifically the Joe Orton Collection. While rather ironically, I find my interest in museum work moving away from exhibitions and more into community engagement and education (yes, I know I railed against returning to an education career last year), I am glad to finally be getting some hands-on exhibition experience.

Back in the Saddle Again

I really must apologise for abandoning this blog the way I have. It has been three and a half months since I returned from my research trip in the US and I've not been able to get back to blogging regularly for a number of reasons.

I pretty much hit the ground running when I got back to Leicester after a month going through the southern US and spending time at home. My trip was absolutely brilliant. I got to see so many incredible sites, went to the American Alliance of Museums Conference in Atlanta, and also got to spend some much needed time at home with friends and family. While I did keep up with my personal travel journal, there is just too much to put down here. I would love to write a proper post about it though I don't want to promise anything. What I will say is that I never expected to enjoy the American south as much as I did. I absolutely loved Atlanta and Memphis. I managed to go to both city's botanical gardens and made sure I visited the National Center for Civil and Human Rights and the National Civil Rights Museum. The latter is on the site of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s assassination. I even stopped off in Montgomery to visit the Rosa Parks Museum. From there I flew to DC, one of my absolute favourite cities in the world. I had a lovely few days there visiting the Holocaust Memorial Museum, the parks, monuments, and the National Mall. I lovingly referred to my trip as my Super Duper American Research Tour 2015 Extravaganzapolooza and I think it definitely lived up to the hype. I got a lot of good ideas from visiting social justice museums and nothing can ever beat meeting and talking to new people. Despite some of the rough patches I've hit in the past few months (I'll get to that in a minute), looking back on that month really makes me smile and wish I could do it all over again.

When I returned to the UK I immediately took on a number of projects. I was feeling rejuvenated and refreshed from my trip. Travel always does that for me and indeed, I'm at my happiest when I'm travelling. Unfortunately I took on too much. I agreed to do some transcribing work and while the fee was brilliant and I was in desperate need of some cash, the job took up every spare moment of my time. I also had to dive right into my next major paper for my PhD which took two months and ended up weighing in at a monstrous 10,000 words. As if those weren't enough I decided to help out on an exhibition project for the library which ended up being a bit more than I thought and I was already working on another project in the department and oh, yeah, there was Research Week in the middle of June. You sort of see how things just got piled up on top of me. 

Probably the worst bit of it all was that I was ill for most of June and some of July. About two weeks after I got back I was slammed by a peculiar exhaustion. When I say slammed, I mean slammed. One minute I was fine, the next I could barely make the walk home and was worried I'd have to have a nap on a bench somewhere. A few blood tests and plenty of doctor's appointments later, it turns out it may have been the result of low iron. I've since started taking a multivitamin with extra iron and I've changed my diet to include iron-rich foods. It seems to be helping. I'm still feeling a bit tired overall, but now I can actually get some things done before I need to crawl into bed at the end of the day. 

So the good news is that I'm feeling better, my paper went over exceptionally well with my supervisor, and now I'm a bit ahead of where I need to be. I do wish I could give you a better recap of the past four months. I'm hoping that with this post, I'll be able to get back into the swing of blogging again. I do miss it immensely. I think one thing I need to get over is that Leicester and my experiences here are very different and perhaps not as blog-able as the experiences I had in Durham. Maybe some of the novelty of living in a new country has worn off, definitely a PhD is an altogether different beast, and sadly, I've just not got the time or money to try out a lot of new experiences here. With that being said, I do hope you'll try to stick with me and my erratic updates and I'll do my best to dig up some interesting, funny, and engaging stories over the next couple weeks. 

King Under the Carpark

How often in a lifetime does it happen that one of the world’s baffling mysteries is solved? We wait for centuries sometimes to discover answers to the most titillating intrigues. What really happened to Amelia Earhart? Who precisely was Jack the Ripper? What did happen to Jimmy Hoffa? We play with these questions; delighting in turning over the facts and wondering if perhaps we could unlock the answers given half the chance.

When the news of the discovery of a skeleton in a carpark reached me in the US two years ago, I didn’t dare hope that perhaps one of those mysteries would be answered. Could the skeleton with the severe scoliosis actually be the remains of King Richard III? The thought ignited my imagination not least of which because I had only just applied to the University of Leicester to do my Master’s in Museum Studies. I am a daydreamer by trade and my mind began to weave fantastic scenarios in which I somehow got the chance to be involved in the Richard III project. Those dreams were dashed when I wasn’t accepted into the programme. Rather, I wound up in a small city in the north of England where I had one of the most exciting and fulfilling years I have ever known. I soon forgot my dreams about Richard III, though never my enthusiasm. When it was announced that the DNA results were conclusive, I was beyond thrilled. It was truly an amazing time to be in an archaeology department even one not directly involved with the project. I had resigned myself to reading about Richard III and watching television programmes about the remarkable King under the Carpark. I never thought my path would intersect with it. Then, one day, I received an email saying I had been accepted to the University of Leicester for a PhD.

The currents of life are strange indeed. We can sometimes manoeuvre ourselves to the shores we most desire but other times, we seem to be but travellers bound for hidden destinations. It just happened that one of those currents would lead me to be in Leicester during the reinterment of the long lost King of England.

In the weeks leading up the festivities, workmen were busy repainting bollards, cleaning the streets, and hanging banners. Leicester was determined to put her best foot forward when the world turned its eyes on her. Abandoned store fronts on the processional route were spruced up and even the weather had seemed to improve just for the occasion.

I was in the midst of the busiest month yet since starting my degree. I had two major papers due within two weeks of each other and I had fallen behind on my reading. I had thankfully finished my first paper for my supervisor three days ahead of schedule and decided to give myself a few days respite before plunging back into the fray. The upcoming weekend would be full of once in a lifetime events. There was a solar eclipse on Friday and Sunday the remains of the King would be processed through Leicestershire and the city.

I began planning my strategy for the day. In the morning, the University was holding a ceremony and the coffin would begin its final journey through the countryside before ending up at the cathedral. I decided to attend in the morning and then return to the High Street by 17.00 to claim a spot along the procession route.

The whole day would prove to be one of the most surreal I have ever passed.

That morning I woke later than usual. I took my time getting ready and had a leisurely breakfast of an omelette and veggie sausages. I had to forgo my morning tea as I had run out of milk the day before. Around 10.30 I began my now familiar walk to the university. The streets were quiet. Leicester herself seemed to be having a lazy morning as well.

It wasn't until I neared the university that I began to see hordes of people gathering for their glimpse of history.

As I neared the university, I began to see more and more people. They were gathering along the roads near the Charles Wilson building and along past the Student’s Union to the Fielding Johnson Building where the ceremony would take place. I decided against trying to push in close enough to see and hear the proceedings. It seemed better to get a front row view of the procession than to see the back of hundreds of people in the vain hope of hearing speeches.

As the time to the start of the procession neared, more and more people began to line up behind the metal barriers. There were students and townies and out-of-townies. There were families and children dressed as knights. There were people carrying the flag of England and others carrying cups of tea. Finally, the first of the police motorcyclists rounded the corner. Everyone pushed to the barriers and as the hearse came into view, there was an odd hush that came over us all. The only sounds were the sounds of hundreds of cameras and phones snapping photographs.

After the procession had passed, a tide of humanity began to follow. It was as though we were being pulled after that vehicle with its mesmerising cargo. I passed the entrance to Victoria Park and turned homeward. On the way home I picked up some milk at the Tesco on the corner. It seemed on odd thing to do after one had just seen the coffin of a king, though I’m not entirely sure what one should do after an experience like that.

I returned to my flat and made myself a cup of Earl Gray. Though I had been wearing gloves, I was chilled and I wrapped my hands around the cup and let my blood thaw. I had four and a half hours before I had to head out again for the end of the procession. It somehow didn’t seem quite right watching a film and I knew I couldn’t concentrate on work so I picked up The Picture of Dorian Gray which I had started a few weeks ago and settled in. I read continuously and let Wilde’s word pour over me in a decadent cascade. I had quite lost myself when the alarm on my phone went off.

I grabbed my coat, hat, and gloves and tucked my camera into my bag. I had decided to make for the High Street which was one of the first places the procession would pass after a brief stop at St. Nicholas’s Church. As I headed down some back streets, I came to Gray Friars Lane. There were already a great horde of people standing along the route leading to the cathedral. I decided once again that it was better to stand and wait at the front of a barrier than to risk not having a good view at all.

It was still early on when I chose my spot on Gray Friar's. By the time the procession reached us, we were standing two or three deep in some places.

The atmosphere was different from the morning. It had the air of a parade or a carnival. People were carrying shopping bags and had brought their dogs. Children ate ice cream and waved flags. In the buildings along the road, residents poked their heads out thrilled for such a great view and warm surroundings to boot. More tiny knights were peppered through the crowd and parents with strollers tucked into the available spots. I wondered if the youngest ones would remember the day they saw the funeral procession of a long dead king. Many people were carrying white roses and I wished I had had the foresight to bring one.

As the crowd thickened, people began to stand in the windows of the shops to see over the crowds. Bobbies passed up and down the street and event staff with fingers in ear walked by. It seemed ages that we all waited.

Then there was a flash of sun across armour plating. The procession was nearing.

Mounted police were followed by two knights in full plate mail on horseback. Then four black horses came into view drawing the cart with King Richard III’s coffin. It is a strange thing the coffin of a king. I’m not sure what I thought it would look like. Dark mahogany maybe with intricate gold clasps. Something exquisite marking the wealth and power of the man who had once ruled over England. Instead it was simple and wooden. In death, does a king still need riches?

The procession carried on and people tossed their roses and snapped their photos. I stood and watched them turn the corner and pass out of sight.

I slowly walked the ten minutes back to my flat, my thoughts were a perfect whirl and I could make little sense of them. This man had been dead for five centuries. He was much maligned and even now I think it likely he was responsible for the deaths of the princes in the Tower. Yet, he was oddly compelling, this king. But then, we spend too much time on kings, royals, those in power. We trace history through the wars they have made others fight rather than through the stories of those like ourselves. Why do we continue to venerate them? Still, I felt it important to be there. I felt it a good thing to be there. This odd king with the crooked back who had lain under a carpark for centuries had captured my imagination two years ago. At some point he had ceased to be a figure on the page of a history book and had himself become just a man to me. Maybe that is the real lesson from history. These men, far from being worshiped, should be thought of just as men. Take them from our currency, remove the exaggerated monuments erected in their memory. Look on them simply as flawed, complicated, and human.

I made myself another cup of tea and settled in to finish my book. 

Partial Eclipse of my Heart

The moon is still not completely clear of the sun in the UK but I wanted to upload some of my photos and get out my thoughts on the whole experience. 

I suppose the first thing I should say is that my tea box pinhole viewer worked pretty well. It took me a couple tries to line it up and for a moment or two I thought I had done something wrong, but once I saw that round speck of light, I got fairly excited. 

I decided to watch the celestial event from the garden just outside my flat. I had a great view there and I was near enough to grab a cup of tea if I needed one. I went out just before 8:26 in the morning when the eclipse was due to start.

I'm really sorry about the blurriness but both my camera and my phone were quite unhappy trying to adequately capture this experience. If you want to see impressive photos do a Google search.

Ever so slowly, that round dot of light started to be squished into a sliver. It was pretty cool to watch. After about twenty minutes some of the maintenance and cleaning crew for my building started to walk by. Everyone wanted to take a glimpse through the viewer. A solar eclipse is a great way to meet people.

As we neared the height of the eclipse, other watchers began to filter into the garden. Some had protective glasses, others were using cards, and still another was watching from the fourth floor using a telescope.

Again, sorry for the blurriness but I think you get the idea.

At 9:32 the sun was nearly covered completely by the moon. I took off my sunglasses and it was the oddest thing. The quality of the sunlight had changed drastically. It wasn't a warm yellow but a cool, greenish sort of light. For me, that was the coolest part of the experience. Everything seemed odd in that light and I could understand why my ancestors viewed eclipses as terrifying. That sickly green light isn't something I'll forget, it was pretty amazing.

After about ten more minutes, folks began to head back inside. The shadow over the dot of light in my viewer had crossed over and was slowly disappearing. 

I had been standing outside for an hour and a half and despite it being the first day of spring, my hands were numb with the cold. I headed indoors and to my delight, I could still check on the eclipse from my window. I poured myself a cup of earl grey and began to look back over my photos.

I am thrilled to bits I finally got to experience a solar eclipse. I find it bizarrely difficult to capture my thoughts about it. In some ways, it exceeded my expectations. That incredible change in the quality of light was beyond fascinating. Even as I type this, there is still a hint of green in the yellow rays coming through my window. In other ways, it was a little less amazing than I wanted it to be. Watching it through a pinhole viewer was cool, but I think next time I'd like to see it with my own eyes. I couldn't shake the nearly uncontrollable desire to turn around and see the moon over the sun for myself. It's a very human thing to want to see for oneself. It makes the experience that much more real. I felt a bit like Perseus at times, only able to see Medusa through a polished shield. I've often wondered as I've read that myth and watched Clash of the Titans (the original one of course) if I would have the restraint not to look at the Gorgon. I suppose today proves I would, but it doesn't mean that I wouldn't love the opportunity to sneak a peek and risk being turned to stone. Perhaps in another twenty-one years I'll get that chance.

For now, I think I'll take one last look...