A few pictures here.

Now Playing: The Decemberists, "Picaresque", "The Engine Driver".

The last day of October. I've spent most of the evening working on senior project and have six pages of unpolished poetry-prose thus far.

Psalm 27.

"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?
When evildoers assail me to eat up my flesh, my adversaries and foes, it is they who stumble and fall.
Though an army encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war arise against me, yet I will be confident.
One thing have I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in His temple.
For He will hide me in His shelter in the day of trouble; He will conceal me under the cover of His tent; He will lift me high upon a rock.
And now my head shall be lifted up above my enemies all around me, and I will offer in His tent sacrifices with shouts of joy; I will sing and make melody to the Lord.
Hear, o Lord, when I cry aloud; be gracious to me and answer me!
You have said, 'Seek my face. My heart says to you, 'Your face, Lord, do I seek.'
Hide not your face from me. Turn not your servant away in anger, o you who have been my help. Cast me not off; forsake me not, o God of my salvation!
For my father and my mother have forsaken me, but the Lord will take me in.
Teach me your way, o Lord, and lead me on a level path because of my enemies.
Give me not up to the will of my adversaries; for false witnesses have risen against me, and they breathe out violence.
I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living!
Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!"

God is light who dispels fear, who shows reality, who brings warmth and peace, who enables creativity and fruitfulness. No peace outside of this light. Not only do we not know ourselves, but we don't know others, stumbling around a dark room.

The safety and peace for which David prays are for the purpose of worshiping and serving God. David does not seek God's favor for his own sake merely but for his sake in God's glory. One of the most amazing truths about salvation is that Christ has chosen to make our happiness His glory.

"We must value God's power so highly that it puts to flight all fear," says Calvin, even fear from our consciences, Romans 8, especially vs. 34. The fear of God enables more trust of Him. The more powerful and sovereign He is, the more understanding comes of His authority to forgive sin completely, and the more weight the assessment of justification has.

In verse 12, the believer can ventriloquize Christ's words. The witnesses against Him were false because He was perfect; the witnesses against the believer are false because the believer is perfect, too--in Him. Pastor Jones preached at RUF this week to the effect that the believer is so closely united to Christ physically and covenantally that it is as though we ourselves knelt in the Garden and wept tears of blood in obedience.

That sounds like blasphemy to me because I know I'm not capable of that obedience. The Gospel knows I'm not capable of that obedience, too--which is why the union is so close. Just enjoy it.

The union can't always be sensed, though. God commands His people to seek Him, but He enables that seeking, too. He is the God of salvation: His love is irresistible and unchanging. By His character He must draw His people to Himself.

Someday that will happen eternally. The feeling of lostness is no wonder. If we are united to Christ physically, we are also disembodied with Him physically--our bodies, with His, are scattered all over time and space, awaiting the final union, the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I get impatient for that.

"Wait for the Lord."

Now Playing: Brahms, Requiem, Track 2, "Behold, All Flesh Is As The Grass."

Just a post to let you all know that I'm not actually dead yet.

Highlights from this week.

On Monday evening, Rachel Jr. and Tara both came over for tea at our apartment. Tara brought over this enormous wedge of Dutch cheese to share. She hung out in our apartment until it was time for prayer, while Rachel Sr. and I both studied industriously.

Tuesday, I permitted myself to become far too engrossed in my senior project. Rachel Sr. was out all evening, so I ended up reading one of the translations of Beowulf that I'm studying while I ate my tea, and then settling from that into a deep daze for at least forty-five minutes until I came out of my stupor in time to go to RUF.

Wednesday was spectacularly cold and wet. In the morning it stormed riotously, and not only was my umbrella broken, but my jacket wasn't waterproof, so by the time I got to the library and to lectures, I was almost soaked to the skin. That evening, though, Nicole came over, and in the process of the evening, with much labor and travail, I managed to write a decent five-page summary of my senior project, thanks also to the help of The Fellowship of the Ring soundtrack.

On Thursday, instead of doing Bible study in the evening, my small group, minus Rachel Jr., who was at a concert, went to see TU's production of Hamlet. It was quite excellent. The acting was really good. Karl, one of our RUF friends, wrote the incidental music. Rachel Sr., of course, was all ablaze with excitement afterward. Russ, an acquaintance from freshman Honors classes, who'd somehow joined our group in the course of the evening, made fun of Rachel Sr. and me: he calls us "Team Study" and "Team Good Grades" whenever he sees us, which makes both of us uncomfortable, for Rachel blushes and I laugh at him.

Friday evening, Kevin and Holly invited Rachel Sr. and me to their apartment for tea, which was very relaxing, a good break between study sessions for the GRE. We played Taboo (American version of Articulate), and Kevin loaned me a Decemberists CD that I'd not heard before.

Saturday was THE DAY OF RECKONING: i.e., the day I buried myself in a random office complex in south Tulsa at a testing centre to take the GRE. It was alright. Laura, Anna, and Sarah were supposed to visit from Stillwater this evening, but they couldn't come, so Rachel Sr. and I spent a quiet evening at Nicole's apartment with Nicole and Tara, watching the Emma Thompson Sense and Sensibility film.

Today I went to Christ Pres for church in the morning. Afterward, Tara and I took sandwiches to Woodward Park and ate a picnic there in the rose garden. The day was gorgeous. A brisk north breeze was roaring through the oak trees at the top of the hill just to our right, sweeping the smells of the roses to us and scattering our napkins across the little grassy plot where we were sitting on our jackets in the sunshine.

Now Playing: Football game at the stadium next door.

I'm so tired that I'm about to fall asleep at my desk, but I'll attempt to be coherent.

Today was a good day up until the point at which, just now, I looked at my planner and realized that I take the GRE next Saturday, a five-page paper for senior project is due the following Monday, and a MUS 3253 trimester exam is that Tuesday, followed in short order the next Monday by a letter of response to a peer's senior project paper, and the Monday after that by ten pages from the senior project itself.

Needless to say, I'm going to go into hibernation for a long time....

Anyway.

So today Rachel and I both took a little bit more time in the morning than usual, which was pleasant. I sat down and studied for the GRE while I ate my breakfast. Then I did my devotions.

Rachel left at nine o'clock for an economics research colloquium. At ten o'clock I walked over to Nicole's apartment. She's having an RUF party tonight, instigated by a combination of Tara, German class, and desire to make currywurst (bratwurst with extra spices, I gather), and the two of us were to spend the day getting ready for it.

Nicole and I, both tired, took her Hummer to Reasor's on 15th Street. It was crowded with the usual Saturday morning rush. We bought the sausages she wanted, and I bought things to make cookies with. Then we went back to campus, put away our shopping, and went to the caf to pick up lunch to go. We ate in Nicole's apartment.

After we finished lunch, Nicole did an amazingly fast cleanup of her apartment before she and I went shopping for other things. We drove down to Target on Yale and shopped for winter clothes. Then we drove down to the Promenade Mall and walked through JC Penney to find a casserole dish for Katie. It reminded me so much of Debenham's down in city centre in Belfast, all the counters of perfumes and jewelry. Nicole managed to find something for Katie, and after she did, we wandered around in the mall for a little while.

We found a funny wee shop that was like a magician's box. The ceiling was hung with paper Japanese lanterns. Nicole had been looking for Eastern-style silk trousers and found a rack of them, shimmering bright colors and floral patterns. While she looked, I wandered, in awe, delighted by all the pretty things. There were beaded earrings, canes, bags, scarves, saris, all sorts of random colorful things. By the door there was a whole stand full of masks, all feather and glitter and gaudy paint. Nicole bought a green-and-copper one to go with her silk trousers. I tried on a baby-blue-and-gold mask shaped like a cat's face. There were plumes and feathers and all sorts of strange fantastic combinations of shapes and colors.

After a couple of other stops, on campus, I went to my apartment to put things away before hauling the cookie-baking materials back over to Nicole's apartment. She had already started to grill the sausages on a George Foreman grill, which sat on the kitchen counter and spouted grease. I whipped up the cookies and put them in the oven. The apartment was hot and smoky with the grill and the oven running at once. Jacob, his roommate, and Nicole's parents all arrived. Then RUFfians started to show up: Amy and Rachel Jr., Laura, Hannah, Holly and Kevin, Jenny M., Rachel Sr., Bob, the Tyree brothers, Brandon, James and Eleanor, Tara.... The apartment was full of people sitting in groups, at the small dining room table, on the floor in the bay window, on the old battered green leather couches around the TV. I finally ended up curled pleasantly on the floor behind the sofa with Tara, the two of us talking quietly underneath everyone else's banter.

Tonight's TU football game started at seven o'clock. The sun was already going down and the evening growing cold. People began to leave. Tara, Rachel Sr., and I were among the last to leave. Tara had ridden her bike, so Rachel and I said good-bye to her and walked back to her apartment. I spent an hour drinking tea and working on a GRE maths practice problem set before hurrying over to ACAC at eight o'clock to study with one of the guys from PHIL 2113 for our midterm on Monday. He's Lithuanian, I think, and on the track team. He genuinely seems to want to learn the material and do well.

We studied for an hour, and then I walked back to the apartment. The night was noisy. Halftime was just finishing in the stadium. The noise of the music blaring over the PA system and the announcer's voice bounced off the buildings, disorienting, echoing between the library and the chapel. Crowds of people were moving up and down the footpaths. The lights of the stadium blazed on the southeast side of campus, but to the northwest, a few stars were shining clear and cold in the black sky. I longed to get away somewhere quiet.

So tired. In the apartment, Rachel was sitting on the sofa researching amendments to the Colorado constitution so that she can fill out her absentee ballot. I sat down at my desk, too tired to study until the moment mentioned at the beginning of this post. I had thought my schedule was crowded--until now. Let's hope I make it through to Thanksgiving....

"Lift up your heads, o ye gates!
Lift them high, ye ancient doors,
That the King of glory may enter in!
Who is the King of glory?
The Lord strong and mighty,
The Lord mighty in battle."

Now Playing: Mozart, "Requiem in D Minor", "Agnus Dei".

Rachel just got off her mobile and is glowing, having solved a problem with a jump bidding spreadsheet with her father's help.

Today I sat through an hour-and-a-half seminar about applying to graduate school with Rachel and about fifty other students. One comforting thing was that I already knew a lot of the things that were said. It's always mildly reassuring to realize that one is not quite clueless, though that sensation was just barely enough to restrain the usual panic I begin to feel when embarking on any such venture.

It was more encouraging, though, to realize while I listened to the Dean speak that I am actually looking forward to this opportunity. It would be so pleasant to be able to set aside Philosophy of Art, Honors, and even Music History to be able to focus completely on senior project right now. Dr. S lent me a lovely book about book history a couple of weeks ago, full of samples of manuscript and print from Roman times to the present. Unlike some scholarly historical books, this one actually takes an unashamed stance for the idea that form and meaning are intimately united and that the form does convey a certain specific range of meaning. Refreshing, and a beautiful read.

Considering graduate school, it's tempting to start to get bent out of shape. In fact, that's usually what happens as soon as I start contemplating the reams of paper that will have to be consumed to fill out applications and all the stiffly polite e-mails that will have to be sent to professors and advisors.

I was wondering tonight why I ought to bother with this anyway. I've wondered about it many times. I've vented on here so much about how much I've hated certain English classes I've been in. Perhaps it would be better to quit and find a nice quiet sinecure somewhere to keep me occupied. I find, though, that the job market is my refuge, a place of escape whenever I decide that graduate school is just too hard.

Tonight as I was walking back from the gym, thinking about these things, I was reminded of Psalm 23, "He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake." Whenever I contemplate the truth in the verse from Galatians 2, which God brought to my attention this past Sabbath morning as I was skimming through the book, where Paul speaks of Christ as "He who loved me and gave Himself for me", I am motivated to seek this goal as a way to reflect that glory. Truth and beauty, and the Word made flesh.

I certainly won't attain it on my own: the fear and lack of skill and opportunity that are natural to this nature would be more than enough to keep me back. But as Rachel reminded me wisely, desire, aptitude, and opportunity are gifts of God, and when those three come together, they often demonstrate His guidance.

Last night I was talking with Elizabeth on the phone and realized, with a sort of silly blinking amazement, that life has been rather dreadful lately. All sorts of pieces that I thought were fairly stable have come apart; the future is uncertain; assumptions that I had made are being proved wrong, and usually because of sin. Sin is unpleasant to have to deal with, and even more unpleasant is the realization that this disgusting sin nature actually likes sin and prefers to sit and enjoy it, no matter how painful it is. One has to be hauled kicking and screaming away from that.

Away from that, and towards something else. Learning lessons over again, perhaps. Last March in Ballyclabber I heard a sermon on Psalm 46 and was reminded of it tonight. Christ is not named Prince of Peace for nothing. Even further back, there was a moment when Psalm 84, "Blessed is the man who trusts in you," overwhelmed my mind with a sense of the Lord's love. Repentance and recognition of God's grace makes that blessing real. Since some hideous days, things in outside "life" have actually gotten worse, but things in inside "life" have somehow curled up into a childish complacency.

I certainly don't believe it enough, but God is sovereign, loves us, and gave Himself for us. It's odd to find oneself clinging to that with a sort of resignation: "Oh, look, everything is way too much for me to carry. Well, I guess you can have it, then." It's really ridiculous in a black way how much ugliness has to happen before that resignation and repentance can begin.

One thing for which I am very thankful: I am not supposed to be Christ. Pastor O'Dowd preached last night on Ephesians 2, "Work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you...." I had always thought the "fear and trembling" bit meant fear and trembling that I would somehow not do something God had foreordained for me to do, and that it would lose me the richness of the reward. But that's again ridiculous. The fear and trembling is that people would think we're able to do this on our own, without God who works in us and Christ who "became obedient to the point of death".

The Gospel doesn't expect us to be perfect; in fact, it expects us not to be perfect--so that Christ can be perfect and forgive us. Sin keeps people from mistaking me for Him. I want to glory in my perfection; I ought to glory in my imperfection, and the fact that Christ keeps loving me anyway, despite my stark blindness and insistent refusal to believe any of this.

Well, it's tomorrow now. Bach's "Passacaille and Fugue" has just ended, and on that note (haha, pun--Asher was making dreadful musical ones in RUF last night) I shall go to sleep.

Now Playing: Chris Thile, "Stealing Second." Track 1, "Ah, Spring".

Last night, Nicole, Katie, Rachel, and I went to the Tulsa Opera to see La Boheme. Somehow, the apartment complex had managed to buy tickets so that people from the apartments could attend the performance for free.

At about a quarter past six, Rachel and I, dressed and brushed, scurried over to Nicole's apartment. She and Katie were there, thoroughly dressed up. Nicole had on a pair of the most awesome (and uncomfortable-looking) sandals I've ever seen. We clambered into her Hummer and drove downtown. The evening sun was just above the horizon, striking directly into our eyes as we crossed the highway and turned down onto the surface roads, low bumpy streets between old buildings. The downtown area has suffered economically for years. Many of the old shops and warehouses on the fringe of the area are empty. We went past McNellie's, the Irish bar, and past the Blue Dome district, an artsy area that has refurbished and used several of the more unusual old buildings.

We parked in a lot near the PAC, right downtown. The PAC is an enormous cream-colored concrete building, right in the heart of the downtown area, surrounded by skyscrapers, with the green steeples of churches down the street. The sun was still far enough above the horizon to strike down over the faces of the skyscrapers looming over us, flashing on endless rows of plate glass windows, glowing in the fabric of the Stars and Stripes waving on the roof of a building across the street.

Inside the PAC, we were welcomed by rows of well-groomed ushers in yellow jackets. We had no trouble getting tickets, so we stood around for the hour or so until the performance started. Nicole and Katie ordered champagne from the bar. The lobby quickly began to fill with people. Most of the opera-goers seemed to be wealthy older people, very well dressed, though there were a few younger adults with children, and of course a large contingent from the apartments (free anything tends to draw students, whether they like the free stuff or not). Grant came, and Crystal with Kyle, and several other people I recognized, many of them voice students from the music department.

We all stood around in the lobby, talking, our small circle being compressed into a very tight knot by the press of the crowd. Overhead, a big glass-and-metal sculpture sparkled in the open air between us and the balcony of the second level. Katie told us a story about the artist who'd made that particular sculpture. We just stood and chatted until a quarter past seven, when they opened the house doors and began to seat people. Our seats were, of course, in the "nosebleed" section, so we had to climb endless flights of stairs to reach them. Katie, Nicole, Rachel, and I had seats together. There was a full empty row off to one side, though, so at intermission we moved over there and sat with Grant, Crystal, and Kyle.

At half seven, the lights went down and the crowd went silent. In the pit, the orchestra thundered their feet on the floor to applaud the conductor, and the audience applauded. Then the music began, the curtain went up, and the performance began.

La Boheme is by Puccini, an opera about a community of artists struggling to survive in 19th century Paris. The story is basically a brief, tragic little love story. Peculiarly enough, though all the characters are French, the opera is in Italian, which was slightly disappointing to me (hearing someone speak French always reminds me now of Christmas in Paris and of Emmaline and Catherine chattering away in French on our way to city centre one afternoon in the spring).

I'm not a huge fan of opera, having never been to one before, but somehow this opera managed to poke fun of itself while still being sympathetic to its characters. The opening scene, where four of the artists are talking in their garrett, is absolutely hilarious, and Rachel kept cracking up beside me. The music was beautiful--the orchestra and singers did a magnificent job. As Nicole commented during one of the intermissions, "It's one thing to hear them sing on a CD. You kind of say, 'Oh, yeah, that's neat,' but when you actually watch them producing those notes for real...!" It was pretty amazing to see what the singers were capable of. My flute professor actually plays for the Tulsa Opera and the Ballet, so it was fun to get to see him perform.

The sets were lavish, beautifully painted and decorated. Since it was a story about poverty, the costumes weren't necessarily that spectacular, though the silly rich diva girl, Musetta, had some pretty amazing dresses now and then. The music was the best part, though, of course.

So I enjoyed it. I had been so tired this afternoon that I'd thought I wouldn't go, but I was glad I did. Afterwards, we applauded the singers and the orchestra thoroughly. Then we sat in our seats and talked until one of the ushers politely asked us to move on so that they could lock up the house. We moved out onto the balcony and were again asked to move, so we went downstairs. Everyone was pouring outside into the chilly night. Overhead, the skyscrapers glowed like enormous ice crystals, green and blue, lights striking up their mammoth flanks.

Nicole, Rachel, and I went back to TU. Grant and Katie went out together. Back on campus, we went to ACAC and bought smoothies at the Hut. We parted ways to change clothes, but Rachel and I went over to Nicole's apartment after we were more comfortably dressed. Rachel Jr., Amy, and their sister Rebecca were watching Leatherheads, the three of them tumbled snugly together on the sofa. I'd brought over the remains of Tara's birthday cake, which Nicole and I served together to anyone who wanted it. Then Nicole, Rachel, and I settled down to watch the film, too.

I nearly fell asleep. Both Rachels actually did fall asleep. The film ended at a quarter to one. Rachel and I said good-night, went back to our apartment, and went to bed.

pictures

See pictures of campus here.

Now Playing: Flook, "Haven". Track 1, "The Tortoise And The Hare".

Tortoise and Achilles, if you ask me: read Godel, Escher, Bach, Emmaline. Or don't read it but look at all the cool Escher sketches.

These days are interesting. If I permit myself, I shall begin to philosophize, and we all know how fun that is.

Our apartment was chilly this morning, but bright sunshine was streaming through the eastern windows. Yesterday was as cloudy and cold as one could wish, but today the weather had swung back to being gloriously fair. October, magnificent, so stunningly beautiful that it is frightening, awesome, remote, the year in its fullness receding to a majestic splendor.

I wrote some rapid e-mail and Facebook answers, then walked over to the chapel. In the main sanctuary, people were setting up for an event later in the day, so I went into the small prayer chapel and shut the heavy doors behind me. The prayer chapel was dim and cool. For the first time in my life, I knelt on one of the red velvet kneelers in front of the great stained-glass window where an angel with golden wings and a white robe kneels on a blue field. As I knelt in prayer, the sun rose slowly behind the window, filling the chunks of glass with color, striking sparklingly off the odd chips and edges, dazzling.

After the hour, I walked back to the apartment, and spent an hour or so working on senior project. Then, at half eleven, Rachel Sr. and I met outside the caf. We picked up sandwiches to go and drove to Woodward Park to eat them. We sat on a wall in the sunshine by the rose gardens. A fat squirrel crept along the wall behind me to within less than six inches of my arm, and even when I waved my hand at it, it refused to go away. Rachel laughed that it looked as though I was trying to cast a spell on it because I kept flicking my hand at it, and it kept scampering back, then creeping closer.

When we finished eating, we walked among the rose beds for awhile. Then we crossed the lane and walked down the hill under the oak trees. We walked along the muddy paths on the hillside between the azalea bushes. Flat ponds at the bottom of the hill, marshy places full of reeds, shimmered under the shadow of the trees where the sun struck them.

I drove Rachel back to campus in time for her one o'clock class. I went to Tyrrell and practiced hard, Bach and Vivaldi. At two o'clock, I went to PHIL 2113. When the madness ended, I walked over to Zink and met with Dr. J. Since Dr. G is gone, Dr. J is the only poetry professor at TU. He resides in a dim office in a back nook in Zink, one of those offices lined with books, with a slouchy old couch on one side and a desk stacked with papers under the windows across from the door. He always reminds me of an odd combination of hippie and cowboy, somehow, black jeans and suit jacket and trim greying beard. Very friendly. We talked about poetry and translation theory and all the wild and woolly ins and outs of paratextuality and intertextuality and Genette and Susan Howe and Beowulf. He also gave me some advice about applying to graduate schools.

As usual, upon stepping out of Zink, I felt a desperate urge to clear my head of all the nonsense it had absorbed while I'd been in the building. I love English and talking about English, but Englishy-ness also does my head in, no right angles or ups and downs but all loops and curves. Going dizzy by watching a kite fly for too long. So I walked around campus and took pictures of the buildings basking in the late afternoon sunshine. Then I went over to ACAC to meet Nicole for tea at five o'clock.

I was early, so I stood by Carrello's, the wee coffee shop, and chatted with Philip. We were fairly deep for awhile, but then one of his coworkers, busy in the coffee shop, called him over to draw a monkey on a piece of notebook paper. He obliged, and conversation descended (or ascended) into silliness.

Nicole came by not long after. The two of us went to The Hut (sports bar in ACAC) for tea. We sat in a booth and ordered pizza. We spent a couple of hours talking there. It was refreshing. By the time we were walking back to Mayo apartments, dusk was falling. In the west, Venus burned through the elm trees, and in the south, Jupiter was glowing near the brilliant half moon. The sky was pellucid, ringing with color like a deep bell. On the new U, the fountains were going: jets of water splashing sky-high, spraying color into the air as the lights at their feet changed color. Psychedelic green, aqua, purple, teal, blue, red, orange, magenta, gold. The jets of water are on a long stone paving maybe twenty or thirty feet long by maybe ten feet wide, shooting up in big patterns. Nicole and I pulled off our shoes, rolled up our trouser legs, and splashed onto the pavement between the water. Cold and wet underfoot. We danced and ran and skipped through the water. It was such fun. Nicole and I finally splashed our way back to our shoes again and walked to the apartments.

I went to my apartment and worked on CGE stuff for an hour. Then I went to a (typically dull) Mortar Board meeting. Their ideas about social times are all for pub crawls and casino nights, not my style.

I went to Nicole's apartment to study. She was there by herself, and we sat down to spend a couple of hours working. I worked on CGE stuff for another hour or hour-and-a-half. They want their website information for incoming exchange students (that would include Erasmus) updated. It's good to be on the other side of administration and to be working on application materials for other people to fill out instead of having to fill them out myself.

I'm away to sleep now.

03/10/08

Now Playing: Not much.

I got up at about eight o'clock this morning, dressed, answered e-mails, ate breakfast, did my devotions, said good-bye to Rachel. I dumped my things in the car, then walked over to Oliphant to turn in my HON 3003 paper, then to the library to record my hours for study abroad work. The morning was cool and clear again, another of these unbelievably beautiful days. I took the Tank to QT on 11th Street, filled her up with petrol, then started the drive to Stillwater. On the way, I listened to one of Ricky Jones's sermons on Ephesians from Redeemer PCA. The hills are beginning to look brown and red and gold, bronzed, sunburned.

In Stillwater, I spent an hour or so running errands, going to Wal-Mart to buy a few things, then to the bank, then to the post office to pick up a box. After that, I drove to my house. Everything was quiet, the quiet of a normal day, of settledness and peace. Mandy was sitting on the windowsill outside the study. I picked her up, and she purred and kissed my face. In the back yard, my mother was cutting ripe peppers off the pepper plants. I said hello to her, went upstairs, and surprised Stephen, who was doing school on the computer. He showed me the miniatures he had painted most recently, including a large and grotesque model of Shelob.

In the half-hour I had before I had to leave to eat lunch with Logan, I managed to get almost everything done on my list: threw a load of wash in the laundry, collected a stack of books to take back to TU, opened my post, scribbled down expenses from my checking account in my wee notebook, tossed a few cool weather clothes into my clothes hamper, and made lunch for myself. With my lunch in my satchel, I biked to OSU. The day was perfect for biking. Campus was crowded, of course, at lunch time. I rode to the oak tree on the lawn between the Seretean Center and Old Central and sat there for awhile, waiting for Logan. He came at about half twelve.

We ate a pleasant lunch together, not talking about anything in particular, which was perfect as far as I was concerned. All sorts of strange tiny insects were crawling or flying through the afternoon, odd shapes and colors, like miniatures from a "Star Trek" episode. We spent a couple of hours sitting and chatting, and we prayed together before we said good-bye.

I biked back to my house and spent the first part of the afternoon sitting in the living room, talking with my mother.

At four o'clock, Laura and I drove to Ross to meet Sarah and Rachel for a shopping expedition. Sarah and Laura made each other more and more hyper, as usual. Rachel was skeptical and disgusted at having been made to join a shopping trip; I was mildly amused by the whole proceeding, but troubled at the back of my mind by the afternoon's conversations. Sarah and Laura were ridiculously silly, of course, sorting through the juniors' girls' section, waving shirts in the air for each other to try on. The clothes in Ross tend to be the scouring of designer brands--the weird, wild, and whacky. Mustard yellow, black, grey, odd shades of purple and blue. When we went to the fitting rooms to try things on, Sarah and Laura went through their routine of swapping clothes with each other and showing off all the resulting outfits.

Rachel wanted to go home afterward; Sarah wanted to come to our house for tea. So Rachel took the truck back to the Spitlers' house, while Sarah came downtown with Laura and me. They left me off at The Greenery to get my hair cut. Dusk was falling, and the little hole-in-the-wall hair salon, in the back corner of the little court behind the main row of buildings, was quiet. Mrs. H was slightly more subdued than usual, listening to them. She busily washed, trimmed, gelled, and dried my hair. I thanked her, then rang Sarah and Laura. They were down at Hallmark, nosing around among the cards and gifts.

The three of us went back to our house for tea. My mother had cooked a delicious corned beef for tea, with carrots and potatoes. My father was home from work, and it was good to see him. Sarah and Laura kept us laughing a little during the meal, and afterwards, they settled down to watch "The Three Stooges". I said good-bye to everyone, walked to the car alone, and drove back to Stillwater.

Dusk fell quickly. Sumac and goldenrod are turning red. Keystone Lake was an opalescent periwinkle, reflecting the last light in the sky. Back on campus, I rang Philip to tell him that I'd returned the car. He was taking Alyson out tonight and asked for advice. I went up to the apartment, where Rachel was working on real analysis. Sat and chatted with her for awhile before going down to the SAC to meet the Hellmans. Jenny and Spencer pulled up in Jenny's car at about a quarter past eight to go to the Tulsa State Fair. Before we went to the fair, we drove up to north Tulsa to pick up Jenny's "little" (she's in the Big Brothers/Big Sisters program), Alison. Alison turned out to be a slender little fourteen-year-old, very blond, with a definite feisty streak but also something of vulnerability staring out of her big pale blue eyes. Spencer rocketed us back through the streets, bumping over potholes. The fairgrounds are down on 21st Street. We parked in the Lowe's car park and walked to the fairgrounds from there. We walked through acres and acres of parked cars, bought tickets, and entered the fairgrounds.

See pictures from the fair here.

The fairgrounds were absolutely enormous. We walked up a broad thoroughfare between two big barns, one of which had a show arena in it. Tonight was a draft horse competition, and the gigantic Shires and Percherons stood in their harnesses, gleaming and stamping and jingling. We wandered into one of the exposition buildings, where people were selling rodeo trinkets, and from there out into the main open area. The place was just huge. Colorful lights blinking everywhere. Booths with dart- and ball-throwing competitions. Jenny and Alison played at throwing darts at balloons, the grand prizes for which amounted to a felt rose for Alison and a rather ugly pink teddy bear for Jenny.

There were vendors selling corn dogs, cotton candy, funnel cakes, soft drinks, and there were tiny enclosed spaces housing oddities: "World's Largest Alligator!" "World's Largest Pig!" "World's Smallest Woman!" Spencer and Jenny went into the "museum" of oddities, outside of which garish canvas paintings announced "Come see the Monkey with a Human Head! Come see the Weird Wolf-boy! Come see the Baby with Elephant's Skin! Come see the World's Fattest Man!" Alison and I stood outside uneasily and waited for them to come out.

We wandered through the area where most of the rides were. All sorts of twisting, turning, flying contraptions, that whirled you into the air and sent you spinning in ten or twenty different directions all at the same time. Jenny wanted to ride a thing like a big crane with baskets on either end that whirled you round and round into the sky. The rest of us weren't so keen.

We went into the biggest of the exposition buildings, a place at least the size of Noah's ark. Vendors were selling everything from shiny new Jeeps and Chevrolets to embroidery and sewing machines to hot tubs and swimming pools. The Tulsa Police Department had a display, as did other organizations. There were stands where people were selling woodworking tools or displaying their balloon-making art. The place was gigantic, the ceiling lights lost in a haze of dust.

Outside, we wandered down to the foot of the building, where most of the food was located. Booths selling hamburgers, gyros, margaritas, Mexican food. Spencer and Jenny both bought corn-on-a-stick, which had been Jenny's one goal for the night. We walked past airbrush tattoo artists and fortunetellers, past stands sparkling and chiming faintly with jewelry as people paused to finger necklaces, bracelets, belt buckles, and rings. Tents housed bars from which live music poured into the night. Back near the animal buildings, we saw not only the requisite pony ride but also, astonishingly enough, a big tank with sea lions in it. It seemed very strange to me....

The fairgrounds were packed with people. The strangest of strange people. Highschool students, Goths, cowboys, and an incredibly vast ethnic blend, shocking to me with my eyes adjusted to the homogeneity of northern Europe. So many sad-looking people, though, people whose lives seemed to center on this sort of drab amusement. Cigarette smoke and beer, dust, diesel fumes on the air. Pushing through thick lines of people waiting to get onto the rides, smelling the sugar and oil from the food vendors, dazzled by lights and noise.

We visited the animal buildings last. Inside one of them was a petting zoo, complete with a small but genuine giraffe, a couple of camels, a tiny and very fuzzy yak, a couple of llamas (one of them had been shaved with a poodle cut so that its head was a mop of tangled fur), rabbits, chickens, peacocks, sheep, pigs, a variety of African deer, and goats. There were lots of wee baby goats, with which Jenny and Alison fell in love. "They're so cute! They're so tiny! Can we take one home?" Jenny laughed as one of the wee flop-eared things nudged her fingers through the bars of the pen. Nearby there were farrowing pens, where a sow was giving birth to piglets.

Our last stop was the horse barn, where the big draft horses from the night's competition had been put into stalls. They were absolutely beautiful. Huge, gracious, perfectly-groomed. They nosed the bars of their stalls to let us stroke their faces.

We walked back to the car eventually. We took Alison home, and then Spencer and Jenny dropped me off in Mayo. Rachel was still awake, but she stayed up just long enough to say hello and hear a little bit about the fair before she went to bed. I took a shower and then went to sleep myself.

On my way to sleep, so tired that I'm seeing...

... WHITE RABBITS.