Thursday, April 23, 2009

Sailing South

I leave on May 4th to  spend seven days sailing South towards the islands with the USF Waterfront!  We're hoping to make Key West, but honestly, I don't give a damn if we don't get past Key Largo.  I just found out about the trip on Monday, and I signed up for it Tuesday.  I have to go to the Waterfront in St. Pete in a couple of hours for a mandatory meeting about the trip where I should get more details.  Right now all I know is that the Waterfront is taking their two big boats, an O'day 37 and my much loved Pearson 32, as far South as Key West and that I have a berth on one of them!

Six years ago, when I was seventeen, my parents, sister, and I drove down to Key West for two days while we were in Tampa visiting my aunt and uncle.  The drive took eight hours and wasn't exactly what I would call "pleasant."  We were only in Key West for one night and two days, and I was under age and with my parents.  I'm not saying anything bad about family vacations, but Key West is a place that needs to be visited at least once under the appropriate circumstances for the location.  While we were at Mallory Square though, watching the sunset and drinking nonalcoholic beverages, a man walked by in a "band t-shirt" from my high school back in Tennessee.  I was stunned, and after my mom stopped him and started talking it came out that his son and his son's boy scout troop, all of whom went to school and were in band with me, had chartered a boat and sailed down to the islands.  I was green with jealousy by the time the conversation ended.  I vowed that if I ever got my own boat I was going to be one of the lucky ones sailing to the islands.  I never thought that in six years I'd be going to school in Florida and on my way to the Keys with  at least a couple of good friends and a few strangers, but here I am suddenly planning a (mis)adventure that, like many of my previous ones, has found me at the right time and under the right circumstances.  So, in case any of those guys from high school, particularly Justin Sanders or his dad, ever read this, may they remember good times and sailboats...and may they be as green with jealousy as I once was.  

It's funny the way things turn out.  Very little has gone my way this week.  I'm sick, I had to buy an MLA Handbook, it's the beginning of finals, I have to write two big papers, and I stepped in gum in the bookstore parking lot when I went to buy the stupid handbook and then the gum got in my car.  Monday morning I woke up wondering how I was going to survive the week, but Monday night I went to bed dreaming of sailboats and islands.  Somehow in the past year and a half I've tracked down almost everything that I dreamed of when I was seventeen.  I've learned that you can get a lot done when you live in the right place.  Okay well I need to do some work before I leave for St. Pete, but I'll write more about my upcoming (mis)adventure tonight or tomorrow when I have more details.  If you're a college student, then hang in there, it's almost over, and if you aren't then celebrate.

Monday, April 13, 2009

I didn't choose English

It chose me.

I originally became an English major freshman year because writing was the only thing that I thought I could tolerate for four years.  I considered physical therapy, biology, and geography, but nothing seemed as appropriate as English.  So, in the spring of my freshman year I declared English as my course of study, and I haven't looked back.  Although I always thought that I chose English as my major, I have come, in recent years, to realize that English really chose me.

I have had an affinity for words, particularly poetry, since I was little when I discovered an apparently popular book of poetry, One Hundred One Famous Poems.  Although I seem to see this book everywhere now, growing up, I thought that my tattered, water-stained, 1928 copy was the only one in the world, and I treasured it.  I began reading it when was about eight, and I let the words of Kipling, Cooke, Field, Whitman, and Longfellow introduce me to things that I would later recognize as the most important things in life like morality, courage, and kindness.  I would read the Romantics for hours, and by the time that I arrived in high school English, Coleridge and Wordsworth were old friends, not new "material."  

I always knew that I liked words, poetry, and good writing better than most people, but it wasn't until I began collecting quotes during my sophomore year of high school that I learned that I come from an extensive line of logophiles.  I've always admired the wisdom that can be found in good quotes, and after finding more quotes than I could remember, I began writing them down in a notebook.  Ten quotes turned into several hundred, and one notebook turned into two volumes.  In the course of seven years I've collected more than two thousand quotes.  I don't just collect quotes, I read them, too.  I often get asked why I collect, "other people's words," and to be honest, I've never had an answer.  I always make up some excuse or reason that the person will buy so they'll leave me alone about my literary quark, but the only real answer that I've ever been able to come up with is, "Because I have to."  Of course, I don't actually have to write quotes down in my quote book, but I always feel that I'll be doing a disservice to the author and to myself if I don't keep them for future reference.  To me, quotes are more than words, they are advice, they are life lessons learned the hard way, they are what's at the end of the road less traveled, and I've been told recently that they are all that I have of two grandparents I will never know.

I've known for a few years that my dad used to collect quotes on his computer.  By collect quotes I mean that he would sign up for one of those quote a week websites, and if he liked the quote that they sent him then he'd add it to his collection.  He didn't take it as far as me with two notebooks worth of quotes and hours spent perusing quote websites and asking for books about sailing quotes for Christmas.  Instead he had a modest, but valuable, collection in a file on his old computer.  Unfortunately, when the computer crashed a few years ago it took his quote collection with it.  The computer crash was the definitive end of my dad's quote collecting, and I went back to being the only collector in the family, or so I thought.

As the years progressed and the pages in my quote book grew thicker and more well worn, my logophilic tendencies began to gain more interest.  People suddenly wanted to read my quote book, which to me is a very personal thing, and people began to consider my quote collection as "impressive" and they described my passion for words as "fascinating."  On a trip to Europe once, three people decided to start their own quote books.  Something that started as a strange interest has matured into an impressive and fascinating hobby.  But where did it all begin?

It began, I have been told, with two of my grandmother's aunts.  Apparently one was a librarian and both were writers.  Although neither one of them collected quotes, to my knowledge, they both wrote and loved poetry, and so my childhood love affair with the Romantics finds an explanation.  I love poetry because I am programmed to love poetry.  As for the quotes, several years ago my dad found a two page collection of quotes that my grandfather had written down over the course of his lifetime.  From what I can gather from the nature of the quotes in his collection, he read them as aphorisms as I do with mine.  I don't have my grandfather's quote collection, but my dad is supposed to be sending it to me soon.  Although I don't remember any of the quotes specifically, I'm sure than many of them will find their way into my quote book and add to the thousands of other life lessons learned.  

I've known about my grandfather's quote collecting habit for about three years, but it wasn't until yesterday that I learned that my grandmother also had an appreciation for, "other people's words."  I was visiting my logophilic aunt, and as we were on the topic of my physical resemblance to my grandmother, my aunt was reminded of our literary resemblance as well.  She quickly disappeared into her bedroom for a moment and then reappeared with a stack of old papers in a manilla envelope.  Inside were three pages of quotes that my grandmother had collected over time along with a poem that her aunt, the librarian, had written titled "A Few Ifs" - "Not Kipling's."  I laughed to myself as I read through my grandmother's quotes, finding many that have been in my book for years.  It's amazing what quotes can reveal about a person - if they were optimistic, what their sense of humor was like, and for me, what has been lost and what has been left behind.   In my grandmother's quotes I found that I have much more in common with her than just a petite frame and the same facial structure.  I share her words, her thoughts, her humor, her appreciation for morality, courage, and kindness.  I found that the Romantics once taught her the same lessons that they have taught me; One Hundred One Famous Poems was her book, she tattered the pages that I have come to treasure.  

As I said at the beginning of this post, I didn't choose English, it chose me.  And I'm glad.  Sometimes the papers get to be a bit much, and I don't really enjoy my Lit and the Occult class or my legal writing professor's criticisms, but then I go to the bookshelf in my apartment and I pick up my new edition of One Hundred One Famous Poems, and as I flip through the pages, wondering who I'm tattering them for, I realize that my classes don't matter.  I was a writer long before I knew what college was, and I'll be a writer long after I have forgotten what it has taught me.  I write both poetry and prose for the same reason that I collect quotes, "Because I have to."  For me to not write would be to do a disservice to my family.  I've always said that I write for me before I write for anyone else, and while that is still true, I've realized that when I write for me I'm probably writing for my grandchildren, too, and that's okay by me.  Maybe in some distant year they'll find my quote books in a box in some attic, and as they flip through the tattered pages they might think of me - and if they never knew me, then perhaps they will find me there, in, "other people's words."  That's where I found my grandparents, and through them, that's where I've found myself.  I didn't choose English... 

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Cold and waiting

It was about 70 degrees outside when I went into my education, night class yesterday at five.  It was in the upper 50's when I came out at nine.  It was 55 and blowing 15 when I left my apartment this morning, and it is only supposed to deteriorate as the day progresses.  I've made it to the library though to meet a friend for coffee and get some work done since my first class was cancelled.  I'm currently waiting on my friend and the warmth that the coffee will afford.  

In other news, this weekend was nice.  I actually got a weekend, unlike last week when I worked on my case study the whole time, and I spent it relaxing with Chris, visiting my aunt, and cleaning out my apartment.  Spring cleaning was in full force on Saturday and we seem to have reclaimed our apartment from our stuff.  We threw most of the stuff away or gave it to Goodwill.

  Saturday night Chris and I went out to Bar Louie.  We intended to just have dinner, but after we got there we realized how many yummy things there were on the menu so we just ordered drinks and one appetizer after another.  If you ever go there, you definitely need to try their Key West mojito, it's delicious.  The Havanna mojito wasn't bad, and Chris loved their mango mojito, but I'll stick with Key West.  The Final Four games were on and we watched the last half of the Michigan - Uconn game and the first half of the UNC - Villanova game.  It was a fun night, and made even better by the fact that we haven't been out together in over a month.  It was nice to just relax for an evening.

Sunday afternoon I headed over to my aunt's house to hang out with her since I haven't had much time to visit recently.  We got on the subject of school and an international exchange student from France who I'm supposed to help acclimate over the summer and my Australian friend, Julie, came up.  My aunt asked me when she was going back to Australia for the summer, and when I answered that her lease ran out on May 1st and that she didn't leave until May 19, my aunt asked where she was going to stay until she left.  I told her that Julie didn't know, and my aunt insisted that Julie move in with her for two weeks.  After working out the details about Julie's visit, my aunt ordered pizza and we had one of our famous pizza and CSI nights.  It was enjoyable.  We also did some playing with words, and discovered that a logophile is someone who loves words - a condition that we both "suffer" from.  Anyone else probably would have hated our night of word play, trivial pursuit, and crosswords, but we had an awesome time doing everything and nothing.  

Okay, well Julie should be here soon for coffee so I should be going.  Just a quick thought though, I'm apparently related to someone who, when asked if they would like cream in their coffee would answer, "No.  The superfluity of the cream overflows the fabularity of the coffee.  Therefore, rendering it obnoxious to my taste."  See, it's not just me - my logophilic tendencies go way back.  Okay, well I'm going to shove off now.  Have a good day.  I'll try to; the coffee will help.