Lifetime.

A Trio of Haiku:

this Lifetime movie,
one "My Stepson, My Lover,"
is not very good.

Moral: do not wed.
Your husband may be crazy.
It's reason enough.

PS-your stepson!
He is quite handsome! But looks
can be deceiving.

(he is probably crazy).

Hey, You Should Update Your Blog.

Sometimes it just takes a virtual voice from Paris to remind you that you need to keep writing. Thank you, Daniel.

In most places today is Halloween. In Jackson, it's Sunday--a day for Church and family lunches. We had our fair share of trick-or-treaters last night, many of whom were driven door-to-door by their parents, a custom I have yet to encounter elsewhere. Winning costume? Probably "Sponge-Bob Dead." Or the tiny girl dressed in a beautiful red velvet dress who didn't quite understand that when you gave her candy she didn't have to give it back to you. She also would have spent the evening hanging in Emily's hallway if her parents didn't remind her that it was time to move on to a different house.

We were a pretty eclectic bunch, I'd say. My streak of attempting to be something "local" every Halloween (I think I exhausted every Skidmore place or thing there ever could be) sort of worked out; there is a local bar called the Electric Cowboy, so of course I donned by new boots and plaid and old gold leggings (a staple in my wardrobe, I think) and attempted to carry around a lightblub. Electric Cowgirl. Get it? Sort of. We went to a Jackson Halloween gathering right across from the Capital and saw Hitler and Anne Frank (really? Really.), "God's Gift to Women," a chasidic man, Flo from the Progressive commercials (Jul, your costume was better), a great dinosaur, and several other notable figures. I met a TFAer who went to Bates and knows the One and Only Mikey Pasek. Basically it was totally Jackson, totally lovely. The Taco and the Man in the Sombrero drove me home to our Belhaven abodes, I somehow found "B'loons" online and now miss Alex and Ray terribly, and went to bed!

Today Sara and I are going to engage in the age old tradition of eating bagels on Sunday (obviously the bagel place is open on Sunday. Go figure), Traci and I are going to see "Waiting for Superman" which finally came to Jackson, and eventually I'll grab Lauren from the airport and hear of her Philadelphia Adventures.

I really do promise to update this more often. A few days ago I decided I should write a haiku a day, because I love writing haikus and I have decided that I am going to become famous one of two ways: 1) independent wealth, or 2) writing a really great blog that rivals that 14-year-old fashion blogger who had the hilarious New Yorker profile. It could happen, right?

So here is the haiku for the morning. Or, rather, of the afternoon. But it's the day after Halloween, so really it's morning:


Candy Corn Jesus
I hope you are not angry
Today is Sunday.


Love Always and More Stories Soon,

Claire

Wall of Shame (Back By "Popular" Demand)

Dear Annie (and, of course, my other devoted followers),

It's shameful that I haven't written a new one of these in...oh, six weeks. I don't even know what has happened. It's finally Fall here in Jackson, which is just wonderful. We are doing a lot of bike riding and meeting new people and gearing up to start our Fall visits--mine start the weekend of October 8, in Auburn. And the week after that I am off to Saratoga to reunite with some of the best and the brightest (hopefully someone from 60s will read this, like maybe Elena).

Today begins Simchat Torah, the Jewish holiday where you start the whole story from the beginning. It's also the anniversary of my Bat Mitzvah. So maybe both of those things mean that today it's time to start fresh and rekindle this endeavor--bring the love back to the blog. Or something like that. I'm sort of tired.

See some of you in 16 days.

Love, Claire

my dear friends,

I know I am behind on this endeavor, as many of you point out on a daily basis.

I am sort of overwhelmed by how much I have to share, and I'm not exactly sure the form in which to share it. Poem? Prose? Picture? Vignette? Well,

regardless, it's bed time (according to me and according to Elissa on skype, and she's usually right about bed time), so I'll just leave you hanging for a little bit longer while I get my bearings.

...But that doesn't really seem fair. In the last few weeks I have been to Auburn, Tulsa, and Macon. I had a birthday. I read the most beautiful book of short stories I have ever read (Memory Wall by Anthony Doerr). Saturday I am off to Hattiesburg, next Wednesday to the great state of Texas, and then to Hot Springs.

I have been taking notes and talking and doing a lot of thinking. I guess because I have been thinking a lot, it feels like I have been blogging. Or something like that.

So, the point? More later, more always later.

Love Always,
Claire

Living History

It's amazing how long it has been since I have posted. I've been jotting down notes for the last three weeks in anticipate of blogging, but I guess I have just been too tired, though, really, there are no excuses. Maybe I have just been blogging in other ways--emailing, talking on the phone, scribbling these ridiculous notes to myself on little pieces of paper that I then find and have to think about.

Well, I guess I could start from some sort of beginning. We went to Vicksburg a few weekends ago, a place where the past is constantly intersected by the present. Driving through the Battlefield I couldn't help but marvel at its expanse--miles and miles of fields and gorges and hills. It was a relief to finally be able to visualize Tony Horowitz's Confederates in the Attic. The Battlefield is really astonishing. Of course it was raining on our visit, so it made our trip all the more ominous. Ominous? I guess it was sort of ominous. After the Battlefield we ventured to downtown Vicksburg which is quite quaint--there is a beautiful art gallery (The Attic Gallery) where I bought a small painting by Jamie Tate, a southern artist, and there are more cute shops / restaurants. We really did have an excellent time.

Later that week I had a few lovely phone conversations, received a siddur in the mail from Julia (an excellent reminder of Friday night evenings spent in Saratoga), and Lauren and I went to CJ's installation, a lively and significant occasion. As usual we were warmly welcomed into Mt. Helm. We heard several eloquent sermons where speakers gave advice such as "you just need a little faith in the tank," and reminded CJ and parishioners to "listen to the voice of the past." Really, these last few weeks have just been about finding, listening to, and remember that voice, or those voices. After the ceremony we joined the lunchtime celebration and met several active Jacksonites (Jacksonians?) and we left feeling as if we had expanded the boundaries of our collective community. We certainly did watch history being made.

Last weekend we were fortunate enough to visit Jacobs Camp, the URJ camp in Jackson, where we spent Shabbat. I had never been to a Jewish overnight camp, and the experience was much more moving than I anticipated. Watching more than 100 kids singing together, swaying, and dancing, and then joining together for services outside under the sky was, at times, breathtaking. I always forget how awe-struck I feel when strangers know the same language. If that makes sense. Anyway, it was a wonderful evening.

The next day, Saturday, obviously, we went to a Pig Roast and a Chick Ball --duh -- and on Sunday we went to an Interfaith Panel at Beth Israel. An interesting conversation about Prayer in School began, a conversation that doesn't make its way north in interfaith dialogue very often. One of the speakers reminded the audience that "people really do care about each other here," and I smiled. I spoke with some interesting leaders as we ate cookies together and really, really missed WTW and IFYC activities.

Then it was a regular week, I think, and Friday I left for Auburn for my first summer visit. The drive was long but beautiful, the temple was welcoming and kind, I met interesting and engaging people, I ate good food, really, I had a great time. On the way back we stopped in Montgomery and Selma and did some Civil Rights touring, and, again, witnessed the past and the present collide. It was a moving and unexplainable experience standing on the Edmund Pettus Bridge and watching the cars go by. I tried to picture King and Heschel holding hands and walking. I thought about Zion Baptist and modern day freedom fighters and those who have given up. Selma is a depressed town--it is empty and it feels lonely. If that makes sense. We visited AME and the old synagouge and were just overcome by the silence of Selma. The history is still there, but weeds are growing around it. I don't really know if any of this makes sense, I'm tired, and I think I am finally realizing how different it is to be here. It's just just that I'm far away from friends and family, or that the geography is different. History is different.

Pictures to come in another entry (Keith I know you have stopped reading by now anyway), pictures and more thoughts to come. I'll try to be better with this as the summer begins to fly by. Birthday Thursday, Tulsa Saturday, Macon, Georgia a day after we get back from Tulsa. And then a few more states, and then September.

Time is a really funny thing.

Love,
Claire

Days

9:10 pm
Home from Atlanta after gathering for Elaine's memorial service

"Go airplane, Go!" Cici giggles. She is almost two, sitting next to me on her mother's lap on the plane. We are strangers but I feel as if we have met before. She delights in opening and shutting the window shade, marveling at the sky and pointing to the clouds, repeating words over and over again to herself. "Cloud, wing, go airplane, go." She smiles. She grabs my hand and her mother shoots me an apologetic look, but I don't mind. "Care," she calls me, "Care, look! Please! Thank You! Sky!" She smiles shyly and drops my hand, moving on to her next adventure.

------

Today I said goodbye to someone who left too soon, and hello to someone who has just arrived. I left one family and said hello to another family. I flew through the sky that covers us all, no matter where we are.

Elaine had time to dictate her life to her loved ones and preserve it in a journal. I read her thoughts today, and among the many words and phrases that stuck out, one set of suggestions caught my eye. "Pay attention and love life," she wrote. Pay attention. Love life.

I write this wearing her worn-in purple fleece, an item I think I remember her wearing. She wanted each of us to have a part of her, to carry with us as we travel and explore and attempt to bring as much spirit and joy to the world as she did. The fleece reminds me of a fleece my grandfather owned, a turquoise patagonia (Jenni, this clothes stuff is more on your turf, perhaps I will let you take it from here). We have several wonderful shots of him standing in the park wearing his green fleece and waving, to whom I not sure. He looks away from the camera but his smile is wide, full of love, his eyes shining. He looks like he is paying attention. He looks ready for anything.

When I said goodbye to mom and dad and Jess in the airport, it felt different. I felt like an adult as I clutched my own plane ticket and watched their threesome melt away. I guess it's that time, to get older, to fly.

But for now I'm just going to try and remember the look on Cicis face as she watched the sky. I'm going to pay attention and love life. Just as Elaine would have wanted.


"Days," Billy Collins.

Each one is a gift, no doubt,
mysteriously placed in your waking hand
or set upon your forehead
moments before you open your eyes.

Today begins cold and bright,
the ground heavy with snow
and the thick masonry of ice,
the sun glinting off the turrets of clouds.

Through the calm eye of the window
everything is in its place
but so precariously
this day might be resting somehow

on the one before it,
all the days of the past stacked high
like the impossible tower of dishes
entertainers used to build on stage.

No wonder you find yourself
perched on the top of a tall ladder
hoping to add one more.
Just another Wednesday,

you whisper,
then holding your breath,
place this cup on yesterday's saucer
without the slightest clink.

Up Next...

Hi Blog!

This weekend has been super super busy but great. Yesterday we got our communities, so now I know where I'll be visiting this year! Here's the lineup:

- Auburn, Alabama. Temple Beth Shalom (Reform)
- Hot Springs, Arkansas. Congregation House of Israel (Reform)
- Macon, Georgia. Congregation Sha'arey Israel (Conservative)
- Hattiesburg, MS. Temple B'nai Israel (Reform)
- Tulsa, OK (so I fly there). Temple Israel (Reform)
-Waco, Texas. Congregation Agudath Jacob (Conservative)

So that is so exciting!! We start our visits at the end of July and will be traveling most of August. Our visits in the summer are also with a second year Fellow and often combined with other communities as well, so I'll really be traveling throughout Alabama, Arkansas, Georgia, Oklahoma, Louisiana, and Texas! Goodness!

I did a bunch of driving this week which was also excellent, and tonight we are going Contra Dancing at The Commons, the birthplace of Eudora Welty (http://www.jacksonfreepress.com/jfp.php/events/entry/37918), the facebook description is much more entertaining.

Tomorrow I will regretfully miss Rob's big birthday and Lauren / Emily's visitors because I am off to Atlanta to attend a Memorial Service. I'm sure it will be nice to see my family and be together, and then I'll be back in action Sunday night.

Ross, I want to wish you a Happy 22nd publicly on my blog, and I'll call at some point to make sure the festivities are progressing accordingly. Please give Saratoga hugs for me, guys. And also give each other hugs. For some reason all I can think about is going to the Hilton on Alumni Night and almost falling asleep. I don't really want that to be my lasting college memory, so I'll try to think about mustaches or Fun Day or themed birthday parties or dairy haus or Romas or something like that. Tell me if I'm missing something I should think about as long as it's not that dodgeball night where I wore those gold leggings because I never really want to remember that. Moorebid? I'd rather not think about those either. X, do any of you read this? For the record, nothing happened. That joke will one day not be funny, I guarantee it.

LOVE,
Claire

Ayo, Technology.

First Keith, and now 50 Cent? Something must be up.

It's uncharacteristic for me to post two days in a row, but, again, it just feels right.

Today was a funny day--I felt kind of weird all day and then we went to a Cardio Sculpt class at the Y which was just phenomenally difficult, and then I got home and was so tired and something great happened: I got mail. Not only did my New Yorker arrive, but I got my first Mississippi mail from Skidmore (yes, I'll be at Celebration weekend. DUH), AND a wonderful Vineyard postcard from soon-to-be city girl my most darling Emily. And the night just got better, thanks to my good friend technology. I had a splendid conversation with Miss Emily before making a great dinner. I took a picture of my great dinner because it was made in a fantastic pot that I was lucky enough to get for graduation, and I sent that picture along to the "presenter of the pot." And just when you're thinking "I love technology," a la Napoleon Dynamite which I first watched at 719 Hazelhurst, it only gets better.

As usual I chatted with Sara and Michael and Raina and Melissa and the rest of the regulars on the facebook chat, and then I remembered Skype, which I have only used extensively when Julia was abroad, and otherwise I just forget about it. So I opened skype, my new gateway to the world, and giddily (is that a word?) rang Raina, and there she was--my darling rainabow--right in front of me on my computer, sitting in her bed, the glare of her tv ever-so visible. I almost cried (not surprising) as we promised to say goodnight to each other "in person" more often.

I thought I couldn't be happier, but then Michael indugled me in a 42 second Skype call, which was typical, wonderful, and just simply nice. Then he had to take a walk, though I'm only now realizing how semi-suspicious that sounds.

Now I'm writing this, gmail just notified me that Sara Riker wrote on my wall, and I can go to sleep smiling, thinking about how it is almost NST, and thanking technology from the bottom of my heart for making my favorite people that much closer.

That doesn't take you off the hook for visiting though, okay?

Love,
Claire

For Keith (I can't believe that is my blog title).

A few weeks ago (on his birthday, in fact), Keith told me that I needed to "simplify, simplify, simplify," though he didn't exactly quote Thoreau verbatim. He suggested that perhaps my posts were too long, too much for my devoted readers (...I don't really think I have any of those...). So because I am tired, and because so many things have happened in the last few weeks and I'm not sure I can put them into words at this exact moment when I really just feel like writing, this blog entry will appease Keith. Something that we all aspire to do in our lives, even though it's not very hard. I can't believe I just wrote an almost full paragraph about Keith. Sara, are you laughing? Someone? I hope someone is laughing.

A series of haiku in preparation for presenting prose.


1) "If music is good,
color is not a border,"
proclaims B.B. King.

2) smores, fire pit, friends,
country on the radio-
baseball. USA.

3) Prestwick Chase playlist
getting a lot of mileage
missing the singers (and storytellers).

4) fireworks, balloons
"my favorite food is friend food,"
the little girl laughed.

5) did you fight the fight?
activists in line for lunch
presence of the past.

6) this is not textbook
Mississippi. It's a place
still processing. Pause.

7) holding Sara's hand
America, a question:
who is Ali's man?

8) Sometimes I feel far
from you, my collective pasts.
But it will be fine.

9) Thank you for asking,
Alice is adjusting fine.
She likes the weather.

10) As I Lay Dying
waiting patiently, hoping
I will pick it up.

11) (Faulkner, forgive me
my beginnings and endings
interrupt yours).

12) Oh, also ps-
last week we had our conference.
it was exhausting...

12.5) ...it was exhausting,
but also wonderful. Dad,
communities.

12.75) That was a bad one,
Sorry, Keith. The conference can't
become a haiku.

Love for now and for always,
Claire




A painting I missed / The second visit was great / Artist: Carroll Cloar. (Most "Claireously known" / like famous, but almost there / as "the painting that (hangs in the livingroom of my grandparents).



Helena was everywhere.




Hey, B.B. Wise Words.




B.B. Enough Said.



Many more are on facebook. Many more of any and all of the above. You should look at them, they are sort of great. Sara and Michelle are excellent documenting partners.




Fireworks over the ballpark. The. End.

Melting with or without You


Coincidentally Drastics is on shuffle as I write this, and Bryce is passionately yet politely singing “Melt with You.” His voice speaks to me, as it always does, but tonight particularly because it is quite easy to melt in Jackson. This weekend has been extraordinarily hot, but I have been told that it gets “much more fierce.” I guess I probably shouldn’t have brought my fleeces.

Last week was about Home and home and Place and place and, I think rightly and obviously, not much has changed. It’s still sort of befuddling, as I’m sure it will be for weeks, if not months and years. But this week the P(p)laces became more well-defined. Also I bet there is some nutso person who has coined a term for “P(p)lace,” and if there isn’t, I don’t really want to be the first. Anyway. Place. And place. The things that I think matter most.

As I said at the end of last week’s public journal entry, Molly and Lauren and I went to the International Ballet Competition last Tuesday, and it was simply stunning. Fifteen-to-twenty-five year-olds (that’s a lot of hyphens, I hope they are right) danced for a minute each and were then judged by a panel of super serious looking old people. We went on the last night of the First Round, so that night the dancers would know if they were chosen to proceed to the next round. It was just beautiful watching such talent glide gracefully and jump with such precision. Of course I was reminded not only of the Ballet that Anne and I mastered sophomore spring (give or take a trip to the mall…), and of my favorite and talented Ballet Dancing friends. It felt nice to remember the past while witnessing the present, if that makes sense. We took pictures, accidentally met some of the Ballerinas when we asked them to take our picture and suggested that they, too, “pose like ballerinas” to which they kind of laughed, and I think we collectively realized that attending the Ballet made us feel as if we were part of Jackson, part of a larger community. It really was wonderful.

Otherwise the week was busy. We are preparing for our Education Conference which is a week from tomorrow, which means the Fellows are running around copying things and practicing our sessions and really getting everything ever ready. This week is going to be super crazy, but I am sure it will be fine. It’s shocking that I said that, right?

This weekend we relaxed, went to the pool, talked for a long time with the owner of Two Sisters (the southern eating establishment that I mentioned last week) who, obviously, was at the pool, got ice cream, did laundry, and mostly hang out. I finished reading “Girl with a Dragon Tattoo” which I found quite disturbing but pretty excellent. Last night we went to a housewarming party and then were taken to a great Blues Club, apparently the only place in Jackson that is open past 1am. It is TINY, and stenciled on the wall is the phrase “No Black, No White, Just Blues.” The music was phenomenal, the people were eclectic, and we basically tore up the dance floor. Lauren danced with the sweetest quite old one-armed man, one person wasn’t wearing shoes, and hot dogs were cooking on the grill outside. It was absolutely an experience, I hope we go back.

This morning Lauren and I woke up, got dressed in our finest, and headed to Church. Mt. Helm Baptist Church to be exact, just around the corner from the Smith Roberston, the museum we frequented last weekend. The pastor, CJ Rhodes, is a dynamic 28-year-old graduate of Duke Divinity School, Jackson native (scroll down to read a bit about him-- http://www.lakejunaluska.com/events.aspx?id=10038) . Malkie, who works in our office, got to know CJ through a few Jackson social justice / community service groups, went to hear him preach, and told us that we had to go. Many of you know my ties to black Baptist churches, and I won’t go into them all right now if you don’t, but needless to say, visiting Mt. Helm was almost like visiting Zion Baptist. The Church is basically the same size (tiny), the carpet is red velvet, and the parishioners were some of the friendliest people I have ever met. The choir even sang “Faithful.” CJ was powerful, persuasive, and personal. He preached from Genesis, invoking “Lech L’cha,” so Lauren and I grinned almost the entire time. It was nice to know the scripture even though we forgot to bring our Bibles; a nice woman shared her copy with us, so it was okay. CJ is a phenomenal leader, teacher, and just a really nice guy. We spoke with him after about potential Unity Choir / Freedom Seder ideas and he seemed thrilled. I knew there was a way to bring Beth Am to Jackson.

Perhaps the most interesting thing about this morning’s visit was the ghosts. Or the lack there of. We were almost the only white individuals in Church, an experience with which I am familiar, but this morning it felt different. It was harder—it was different—being in a black church in the south, knowing the role that churches have played in Jackson. Understanding that while it isn’t 1969, in many regards, the Civil Rights Movement hasn’t completely disappeared; we drove for a second past the church and saw a completely different Jackson from the one to which we had been introduced. A Jackson I hope to explore, to get to know.

Usually gospel music puts me in a state of Rapture, but it was different today. I felt like I was intruding on an entirely different level, taking away something that did not belong to me. At one point songs were all that people had—music was what kept the fight going—and there I was singing those songs. Of course my hesitations weren’t reflected in the eyes or the handshakes or the hearts of the parishioners. As I mentioned, they shook our hands, invited us back over and over again, and told us just how happy they were to see us. But I think there are still ghosts. It doesn’t mean that those ghosts are scary, but I think they’re still here. I would like to get to know the ghosts.

Tonight the five of us went to see Toy Story in 3-d, a much needed excursion. Toy Story, like most Pixar movies, is, of course, about Place and place and Home and home. It felt right to watch. It was hilarious, and scary, and also sad. That’s sometimes how I feel, I think. It was funny to watch Andy go to college (I promise that doesn’t spoil the movie), to watch everyone grow up. We all admitted to crying a bit, perhaps because the plot (…well…okay…that’s really stretching it…) speaks to where we might be, or how we think we might feel.

It was nice, at least, to be in an air-conditioned space, a space away from the melting, away from the thrashing of the world. Thank you, Bryce.

To a new week of moving forward,

Love,
Claire

Thalia Mara Hall, International Ballet Competition Headquarters



There we are, in front of the Torch. Yup.


Blues Club!

While Standing on Two Feet

While Standing on Two Feet
June 15, 2010

I found myself brushing my teeth late last night and reciting the Mourners Kaddish, the prayer said in Judaism when you observe the anniversary of a death, or if someone close to you has recently passed. My cousin died last week, a loss that is felt deeply by my family and by her community. I could see the top of my forehead in the mirror as I moved the toothbrush back and forth to the rhythm of my body, swaying to the rhythm of the prayer. As I prayed, I brushed. As I brushed, I prayed.

I was caught off-guard when the Mourner’s Kaddish found its way into my head. It seemed wrong to be wrapped in a towel, standing in my bathroom, reciting the Kaddish with toothpaste in my mouth. I think the place bothered me the most: the bathroom. Was it sacrilegious to repeat ancient text in such an “unholy place?” Probably. But then I started thinking, again, about Place.

It has been difficult to keep this blog up-to-date in part, I think, because of Place. As I round the three-week mark in Jackson, it’s just beginning to hit me that I’m here to stay. I’m not sure if it sunk in after the checks from my new bank account came, or when I was driving to the airport to get Lauren after her weekend at home, but whenever it happened, it felt…well…weird. I am standing, with my two feet planted firmly and my knees slightly wobbling, in a new lowercase place, but I am also in a new capitalized Place—a new Time, a new Chapter. At the same time, I am desperately trying to remember my old Place/place, to hold on to it, to call it when I am lonely, to make sure it does not disappear. And what does “Home” mean now? Where is it? At school, here, at “Home”—the place I grew up, the place I still think I live? Do I really still live there? I guess Home is everywhere, really—it’s wherever we are, and we can’t really lose it. But Place. And place. I don’t want to lose those. I don’t want to leave them behind.

To make matters more conceptually confusing, while I am straddling these two Places and places, I can’t help but think about what happens next. After these two years end, where do I go? What do I do? Who do I meet? Of course, as my body begins to ache from the constant past-and-present tug-of-war, I recognize that these questions aren’t important right now. But I can’t seem to push them out of the way.

Over the course of the last few weeks I have started a murder mystery novel, begun to slog my way through the words of William Faulkner, taken long drives with new friends, participated in a potluck, attended parties, gone to gatherings, and celebrated birthdays. I have cycled, done pilates, purchased new running shoes, visited the Mississippi Farmers Market, and enjoyed a Mississippi Braves minor league baseball game. I have almost lost my cell phone in a public sewer only to have it saved by three of Jackson’s finest firefighters a mere 5 minutes after I called the Fire Department (“this is the first call we’ve received about a cell phone, ma’am”). I have worn a wig at a bar and danced with minimal inhibition. I have hugged and been hugged. I have missed a voice I thought I didn’t miss anymore, I have called that voice, and that voice hasn’t called back. I have visited beautiful old spaces—a Victorian home that now serves as a Southern-Style buffet, a museum of the African-American experience housed in the first black public school in Jackson—spaces inhabited by peaceful ghosts that waft through history exploring unexplored crevasses, digging up the past, presenting secrets and telling stories. I have sat at my cubicle and listened to music, I have sat in meetings, I have understood what it means to go to work. I have realized that I want to write.

In short, I have started to become familiar with my Place, and with my place. It’s frightening, really, how real it is. But here it is. And here I am.

While getting ready for bed last night, after I brushed my teeth, I was reminded of a teaching I once learned often referred to as “While Standing on One Foot.” A man asks Rabbi Shamai to teach him Judaism while standing on one foot. Shamai brushes the man off. The man then seeks the advice of Rabbi Hillel, and asks him the same question. Hillel stands on one foot and pronounces: “don’t do unto others what you would not like done to you. That is all the Torah; all the rest is commentary. Now go and learn it.”

I think I will take Hillel’s advice to heart; it isn’t that hard to remember how to be. And the rest—our Places, our places, ourselves—is commentary. We just have to go and learn it.

Tomorrow Lauren and I (and perhaps a few of our colleagues) are going to the International Ballet Competition, held in Jackson every four years. On the phone, Ray asked me if it was actually international, and that’s certainly a fair question. Yes, people come from all over the world to dance in Mississippi. As I watch them brush their feet in the air, perhaps I will pray. And as I pray, they will brush.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a bit of the past on the wall behind my cubicle.

my favorite painting in the Mississippi Museum of Art.

enjoying a Mississippi Braves Game. Hot dogs? Cheap beer? Prizes? Yes, please.

First day of work photograph, obviously.

Enjoying a night out with Sara's mom.

Yup. This happened. On Michelle's birthday.

...but it was hilarious.

Fellows posing during phone saving.


Duh. Wigs and dancing at Bachlorettes.

Lots of Fellows!

Self-Explanatory?

The Smith Robertson.


Upstairs.

Farmers Market!

Two Sisters--Truly Southern Cooking.

My favorite quotation, courtesy of the Mississippi Museum of Art.


...Just to remember that these things really did happen.


Love,
Claire

I'm Still Here!

I think once I get on a schedule it will be easier to figure out this blog business. But Hi!!

The last two weeks have been crazyyy--I am just starting to play phone catch up with some of you as my schedule gets more finalized. Last week was Orientation, which means we had a lot of meetings and did a lot of bonding--a minor league baseball game, a potluck, services, office lunches and dinners and coffee--you name it, maybe we did it. We have just been settling in and exploring (I have become more comfortable driving which is super, and everyone has been more than nice about helping) and watching tv. I made a trip to the Mississippi Museum of Art which was beautiful and quiet (pictures to follow when I get home), and Lauren and I biked a bit on Sunday after playing kickball with the office at the hight of Jackson heat, when it is 96 degrees and so super humid. Blech. Also yesterday we joined the gym, today we joined the Temple--we are just joiners, I think. And I have been in contact with this comic woman named Martha who is maybe 87 who runs the Jackson Choral Society, and I am certainly going to sing with them in the fall. So really that's what up. I have sort of gotten my barings, which means in the next few weeks maybe I will figure out how to get to work (...it takes 10 minutes and is just so easy. As you all know, I never know where I am...).

I think that's it? It doesn't really feel like that's it though. Work is great--we are working on writing our "this is my job" stories to be prested to staff this week and reading over the curriculum and getting ready for this ginormous conference that we plan for the end of June. It's a lot of things. But at work there isn't homework. And that's just so funny. Also the office has a book club. We are reading that Dragon book by the Sweedish dead man that you read, Elissa. So far it is good but I start reading right before bed and fall asleep in the middle of a sentence. So I hope I know what's going on.

Also I keep trying to drive to museums and things but everything is sort of always closed. I'm working on figuring out how to go to places when they are open.

Okay. Maybe that really is it? EMAIL ME ALL THE TIME, I will write you back. Or try to call. Remember I am an hour earlier. I am learning all about how Central Time is the "best time." Perhaps it is.

This was a funny blog.

Love,
Claire

There's No Place Like Home

Dear what seems like long-lost friends,

We did, indeed, arrive in Jackson what seems like weeks ago--Thursday afternoon. Our car ride was uneventful and wonderful. We were graced by the presences of Odetta, Steve Goodman, Barack Obama, and Frank McCourt, among others. We stopped at such fine eating establishments as "Hillbilly Willy's B-B-Q" and a grocery store in Virginia that sold "sporks" but not forks or spoons.

When we pulled into 1715 Myrtle street, we were greeted with open arms by Mark and Lauren and Kilroy (...who doesn't really have arms...), and 1715 Myrtle immediately felt like home. Mark and Lauren helped us unload in record speed and mom and I went to the inn (the Fairview Inn--a refurbished mansion that is GORGEOUS) to eat and freshen up and then Mark and Lauren and I met up with Sara and some of the other Fellows and Fellow Friends and off we went to "Ladies Night" at a local establishment. 5 dollars and ladies drink free all night? Darling Sara Riker, I could not stop thinking of you. Why you specifically and not the rest of our friends? I'm not entirely sure, but I think it just makes sense.

The last two days have been a blur of unpacking and buying a dresser and visiting the office and smiling and eating and sleeping and more unpacking. Mom and Jess leave tomorrow, but we have had such a nice visit. Today Sara and Lauren and I accompanied mom and Jess to the Old Capitol building which was lovely (and the woman at the desk welcomed us over and over again to Jackson), and we went to "Brent's Soda Shop," an old soda counter that is simply wonderful. As Sara said, whoever said that there isn't anything in Jackson is sorely mistaken. Y'all will have to visit soon, please.

We watched "Up" last night (one of my favorites, as many of you know), and I went to sleep thinking about how, if we're lucky, we carry our homes with us. As you'll see in a minute from the pictures (not the most up-to-date--no graduation ones yet, but they will come!), I just spent a long time putting up pictures of places and people and realizing that wherever I am--near or far--you, collective, are here. Not necessarily simply because I can hear your voice over the phone or see your pretty faces on the walls or in a frame, but because parts of all of you are with me always. I am sure that in the next few weeks I will have a "I can't believe I am here and this is my home" moment(s), but I know that you will be here. And it will be fine.

Love always, and I'll call many of you tomorrow to assure you that I haven't acquired an accent and that I am still alive,
Claire

Some pictures for your viewing pleasure, though more are on the facebook:

Daniel eating water ice in the 610, not in the 601. But Daniel is important and so is water ice, so I figured this was an important picture to share.

Mom and Dad secure the bike rack which really did carry the bike all hte way to Jackson. I watched them put it on, obviously.

Dad says goodbye "Fire Island style."

Skidmore heads south.

Sunset somewhere in Tennessee.

A fine establishment in Virginia.

Chunky, Tennessee.

A bit out of order! Sara, Lauren, and Jess at the Soda Fountain.


Part of my room!
More room! (...and me.)

Our library!

Come to my Window, I'll be Home Soon

After a lovely surprise afternoon water ice visit from Daniel (who is an excellent towel picker-outer), an even more lovely visit from a surrogate Scharf-Kligerman (no offense, darling Daniel and I really miss you, Nic), and a farewell dinner with a few favorite cousins, I figured the visits were over and started to watch dad pack the car. Actually I hid upstairs, phenomenally anxious that nothing would fit. But it did, because dad is a genius packer.

Then I was almost ready for bed, just figuring out gmail while sitting on the floor of my room (I'm never sure why I do that--I have a desk with a chair not far away...), and I heard all of these voices coming from my window. "CLAIRE," the voices collectively shouted. I jumped up, for some reason assuming something was wrong, but clearly those voices belonged to Al and Emmie, friends extraordinaire. What a treat. They watched as I crammed things into other things and we stayed up much too late (...typical...) remembering and talking and laughing and obviously watching the youtube dance (if you haven't seen it, go to the Skidmore homepage and click on "99th Commencement" and scroll down). It was hard to say goodbye, but Emmie will only be 5 hours away in "Nashvegas," and Al reminded me that I wasn't being banished to Mississippi. She's right. Not only am I going excitedly and willingly, but I'll be back. Remember that, okay?

Anyway. In an hour we are off. We'll be driving throug the Blue Ridge Mountains and hopefully end up in Virginia or Tennessee tonight. We will take pictures and post them and we will spend our car ride with Barack Obama, Tracy Kidder, and Frank McCourt. Want to know why? We'll be listening to Dreams of my Father, a book that I forget, and Teacherman. So it's nice that those three men will follow us on our journey. Well it's actually kind of weird. But it will be nice I think.

Also I hope someone reads this sometime. It's sort of fun. It will be more fun when there are pictures and when we pull into 1715 Myrtle and Kilroy welcomes us (as do his human counterparts). I'm really, really excited.

Lots of love and don't forget to call and write and text and bbm and sent smoke signals,

Claire

Southern States of Mind

This is totally weird, I never thought I would have a blog.

But I figure there will be enough stories and pictures and "Southern States of Mind" in the next two years to justify the creation of this space, so here it is.

I was listening to "New York State of Mind" while driving Alice the car a few hours ago, and I remembered how much my friend Erin likes Billy Joel, and then I thought about Erin's thirst for adventure and the adventures, near and far, that we have had together. And then I thought about our other friends, and our other adventures...and that's really where this blog title came from. "States" is plural not only because it's true--I might be living in Jackson, but I'll be traveling everywhere and in between--but also because I'm sure my mind will figuritively be in different states. Right? Right. I think so.

So, Er, thank you. I owe you a blog title.

Okay. The end until my next adventure starts.

Love,
Claire