A Visitor

Jesse came in for the weekend. It was good to spend some quality time with my brother. He flew in Friday morning and left Sunday evening. We managed to fill up that small chunk of time quite well.

We spent a fair amount of time watching le Tour. We also drove to Grinnell - the town my mother, aunt and uncle grew up in. We connected with an old friend of the family, visited the halls of the university in which my grandfather taught, the streets where my mom and her siblings played, and finally found my grandmother's grave in a cemetery on the side of a hill. I'd never visited a grave before. We had quite a search to find it and weren't sure at first we were looking in the right place. When Brian finally found her name on a tombstone and my brother and I walked over to look, I found the experience unexpectedly moving. I wondered how long it had been since someone stood in that spot and mourned her death. As I looked at her name carved on that stone, delineating the short years of her life, I wondered how my heart could stir for a woman who died over a decade before my birth. I thought of my mother, a young girl, standing in that same spot looking at that same stone and struggling with the new state of her reality.

I believe I don't want to be buried in a graveyard, but nonetheless it felt meaningful to make that little gesture - to sit on the side of a grass-covered hill overlooking a creek, take a moment to regret the loss of an acquaintance I never made, and feel thankful for whatever force lined up the variables to bring me that place.

Reconsideration

I think I am justified in calling myself a consistent person. I rarely make black and white declarations, but when I do, I stick to them. I think an important part of forging and maintaining my identity is standing by the decisions I've made.

So, it is not without ample consideration that I venture to retract a statement I made in no uncertain terms, in this very blog, not long ago. It was a statement I made while still green on the subject matter - a statement that has proven too extreme now that I am better acquainted with the facts of the case.

The truth is, I'm not sure museum glass is actually my nemesis...

I know, I know. What about those things I said? How do I know I'm not falling prey to a ploy on the part of the glass to get my guard down so that it can strike back when I least expect it? Don't think I haven't considered these things. However, I've learned a lot since I first met museum glass back in February. Chiefly, this finicky material is not so bad to work with, as long as it's handled properly.

Lately, I more view museum glass as that eccentric genius - you know, the guy who drives everyone crazy in most spy films because he's completely inept dealing with people, but the other characters put up with him and even rely on him, because he has the skills to get everyone through tight spots. Simultaneously, they all know his quirks and take great pains to avoid ruffing his feathers, because when he's pissed he'll put the whole mission in jeopardy.

I have to admit, in a few cases, museum glass has been there for me when no other kind of glass would do. It's uv protection coupled with the non-glare and also non-foggy coating is truly a wonder. Museum glass, once installed, literally dissolves into the shadows and disappears - just like those really cool guys in spy movies. Also like those really cool guys in spy movies, incorrect handling will make it make your life a living hell.

Still, having now used museum glass with very little difficulty quite a number of times, I hereby retract the title of nemesis I once bestowed upon my sometime adversary. Instead I extend my hand (wearing a lint free cotton glove, of course) in a tentative gesture of friendship and forgiveness.

Respite

To follow a very long week+ of traveling with a very long week of work is, I'm discovering, tiring. But tonight marks the beginning of the weekend, and I'm very glad for it.

This morning Brian and I instituted our plan to start jogging or swimming four mornings a week. I ran around the old neighborhoods up the hill from us, and it felt good. I think we'll stick with it. I do think the run is part of the reason I'm so utterly worn out now, though.

Another thing we've enjoyed doing in the mornings lately is watching the Tour de France. See Brian's blog if you want to know how we're viewing it online.

Also, I wanted to say to my friends in Flagstaff, I'm very sorry we didn't stop off to say hi to anyone while we were in Northern Az. Believe me, it wasn't because we didn't want to but because we genuinely had no extra time.

In more exciting news, my vagabond brother will arrive for a short visit a week from today, and in early August, the rest of my family is likely to drop in. Good times ahead, to be sure.