Did I mention I like books ...

Today it rained. I went to the National Book Festival anyway. Because I love it that much. When I think about how next year at this time I will be a Working Adult (again, since I did try that out for a while there) with an Actual Paycheck, I dream about the library I will create with said paycheck, with a really comfortable reading chair and a great lamp and lots of bookshelves and framed posters on the wall. And one of those posters will be the picture above. From the National Book Festival today. And I will remember this:

Listening to Jeannette Walls, of The Glass Castle fame. She told us that everyone has a story to tell. I agree. Next came Lois Lowry, who wrote The Giver and Number the Stars. I read The Giver for the first time this summer, thanks to the suggestion of a wise friend, and good news, Lowry told us that Jonas lived. She told us how she narrates her life in her head as she lives it in person. She said writers do that. I do that too. I like that. Then I listened to Sue Monk Kidd, who wrote The Secret Life of Bees. She came with her daughter, since they have written a new book together. Something about pomegranates and traveling through Europe, mother and daughter. Note to Working Adult Self: read that book. Also read book Laura Bush is writing. And, read book that came out this week, written by former White House speechwriter Matt Latimer, who, in my limited experience, never seemed to display any sort of human emotion. Yes, I met him. In the speechwriting office. Where I interned, and he worked. And I have absolutely no respect for people who pretend to believe in something and someone and then sell out three weeks later for a measly 15 minutes of fame and some cash. So, Working Adult Self: read that book because I met this particular sellout. But do not buy that book because that would benefit him. And I am morally opposed to that. Also, Working Adult Self: do not sell out. But back to the Book Festival.

I loved the last speaker, Azar Nafisi, who wrote Reading Lolita in Tehran. I wish I could remember everything she said, but I especially liked how she said that every culture, every civilization, has made some hideous mistakes and committed terrible atrocities, but a country grows stronger and becomes better by overcoming and coping with these challenges. She said it better. And so much more. I love the National Book Festival ...

Ode to the lost firefly ...

Two nights ago I smashed a firefly. Accidentally, but on purpose. With, ironically, a box of unlit candles. And I have been thinking about it ever since.

I am not opposed to killing insects. I killed a spider this morning and a mosquito last night and have not felt even a speck of remorse. But fireflies, well, I like fireflies. When I make the inevitable list of what I will miss most about living on the East Coast, fireflies will be on it. But I learned too late that fireflies look like regular beetles, until it gets dark and they decide to glow.

I know some people like that ...

Worlds colliding on a Thursday afternoon ...

So today I was partly listening to my professor talk about adult adoption but mostly debating in my head whether the name Naleigh (as in Naleigh the newly adopted child of Katherine Heigl) rhymes with the name Callie. Then I saw it, right there on People.com: an advertisement for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My very own church. On my very own People.com. Obviously, this validated my choice of reading material.

Today I also saw a picture of Ashton and Demi amidst a discussion of older women marrying younger men. In my casebook, not on People.com. Then a few pages later, a discussion about Pamela Anderson. Still in my casebook.

And one of my professors sounds exactly like Joan Cusack. I hope this makes the bankruptcy code more memorable.

So, let us review. Inane trivia about famous actors is more important than previously thought. Lesson learned ...

Happy Monday ...

I only have one class on Mondays. It happens to be my current tied-for-favorite class: Copyright Law. And it does not start until 11 a.m. And today I wore my new yellow shoes. And they did not give me any blisters. Thus, I like Mondays. Good logic, eh ...

Now, a paragraph from the reading for my other tied-for-favorite class, Law and Literature. This comes from a closing argument defense attorney Clarence Darrow made in a 1924 murder case:

"If there is such a thing as justice it could only be administered by one who knew the inmost thoughts of the man to whom he was meting it out. Aye, who knew the father and mother and the grandparents and the infinite number of people back of him. Who knew the origin of every cell that went into the body, who could understand the structure and how it acted. Who could tell how the emotions that sway the human being affected that particular frail piece of clay. It means more than that. It means that you must appraise every influence that moves men, the civilization where they live, and all society which enters into the making of the child or the man! If Your Honor can do it--if you can do it you are wise, and with wisdom goes mercy." ~ Attorney for the Damned, Clarence Darrow in the Courtroom

In which I attempt yoga ...

This week Carly joined a gym. I got a free one-week pass out of the deal. So today we went to a yoga class. The teacher came in five minutes late, in heels and a dress, and immediately began a continuous stream of instructions as she situated herself at the front of the room.

Being me, I did not completely follow her command to close our eyes and breathe. I am opposed to closing my eyes in unfamiliar public places, so I did not do that. But I am in favor of breathing, so I did that. Well, as I breathed she began removing articles of clothing. She seemed to be wearing shorts underneath the dress, but she definitely added a shirt and removed said dress as we all continued breathing and some of us closed our eyes. Apparently the eye-closing is less for relaxation than for some minimal form of modesty.

Despite realizing that this class might not be quite as Puritan as I am, and yes I know that few things are as Puritan as I am, for the first ten seconds of instructions after the breathing and eye-closing business, I felt pretty good about myself. I could totally do the whole turn-my-head-side-to-side routine. Then things became more complicated. For the next hour, I twisted and wriggled and tied myself up in knots and attempted a few maneuvers my body has not attempted since the age of 12. It turns out that I am not a natural at yoga. Shocker, I know. But apparently the skills required to repeatedly win the balancing contests in ballet class are not the same ones needed to remain balanced while flailing various limbs. Dang. Or perhaps one must work on such skills more than once a decade. Something to consider ...

Old and new ...

The last view from the window of our old apartment ... yep, we moved ...

the view from my new bedroom ...

and the view I will probably see most often ...

Harper's Ferry ...

On Saturday we took a day trip to Harper's Ferry to see the town and go tubing down the Shenandoah River ...

The arsenal John Brown raided. Or something like that.

Jefferson stood on this rock and deemed the view worthy of traveling across the Atlantic to see.

Carly, Callie, Melanie and Beth ...

Philadelphia ...

I have wanted to go to Philadelphia since I moved to D.C. I finally made it last weekend before my parents left.

Liberty Bell

Independence Hall, up close.

The room where the Declaration of Independence was debated and signed. Definitely my favorite part of the tour.

Apparently Jim's Steaks is the best place in town ...

and I must say, Philly cheesesteaks are surprisingly delicious.

The oldest residential street in America.

The cemetery where Benjamin Franklin was buried.

Amish Country

My Mom loved the clothes lines

A chicken ...

Thanks, parents ...

Appropriate. And very deserving of its own post. See below ...

The long way ...

A sample conversation from the week before I left Salt Lake:

Q. So, when do you go back to D.C.?
A. Friday.
Q. Are you flying or driving?
A. Driving.
Q. What route are you taking?
A. The long way.
Q. (Pause)
A. My Dad does not like to take the same road more than once. And he has moved me between Utah and D.C. four times before now. So he gets creative.
Q. Oh, so your Dad is driving with you?
A. Yes. And my Mom.
Q. Are your parents retired?
A. No. My Dad just likes to drive. Or so he says. He possibly just finds me incompetent to make my way across the nation without parental assistance.
Q. (Slight pause.) So how long will it take?
A. Well you can do it in three days. But we are taking six.
Q. And where are you stopping?
A. Here. (In reverse order. Apparently I am also incompetent at downloading photos.)

Duke Campus, on the last day of the trip, which turned out to be Honor the Siblings Day. Autumn has a bit of a thing for Duke, and we also visited Roman's favorite pizza place in Richmond. Which, for the record, was delicious.

At Biltmore, the Vanderbilt Mansion in North Carolina. Now, I really like my Dad. But I am pretty sure I could like him every bit as much with the last name Vanderbilt.

We spent a day in the Smoky Mountains, which my Dad informed us is the most visited National Park. This trail ends at the highest point of the Smoky Mountains and the Appalachian Trail. That makes this the highest cartwheel in the Smoky Mountains and on the Appalachian Trail. My mother mentioned that antics like this could contribute to my less-than-stellar dating record. I asked her what man would not want a cartwheeling almost-attorney. That pretty much ended the conversation.

We saw a bear.

New pose.

We like Christmas. So we visited this little Christmas store.

We took a long, long, long and very windy road through rural Kentucky, arriving at our hotel after dark. Had we not stopped there we would have missed this beautiful lake.

Dad in Mammoth Cave, the longest (discovered) cave in the world.

In Hannibal, Missouri, where Mark Twain grew up.

Reading stories ...

During my first week of law school, one professor told us that for the next three years, we would be reading stories. Although I soon realized that reading a case never matches the feeling of reading a story, I liked thinking that if law school meant I read stories for three years, my not- entirely-rationally-created plan to enroll perhaps made more sense than I had anticipated. Well, this semester I actually get to read real stories for my Law and Literature class. Which makes me think of my first week of law school, which seems like yesterday ...