Fall 2014, in a Blog

I'm sitting in bed listening to Silent Night right now. I have four days until finals start, one week until I'll be on the road home, two weeks until Christmas. What little motivation has dragged me through the last three and a half months has dissipated since Thanksgiving break; I'm basically begging the exhaust fumes of my brain to propel me through the paper writing, preparation, and test taking of the next seven days.

That paragraph is essentially a summation of what Fall 2014 has done to me, my roommates, and seemingly every TCU student that I've talked to. It's been a drag, a "long, hard slog," to quote Kiss Me, Kate. The First Noel is playing now, and I feel like I should be uplifted. It's hard to truly enjoy the optimistic power of Christmas music, though, when I know I'll have to be "enjoying" studying for my math final soon.

I don't want to seem like a downer; I've loved this semester. I've developed some new friendships and strengthened old ones. I've changed my major and infused new life into my future. I have found a place to live for the next two years with three wonderful people. I've had the blessing of following TCU football every step of the way to an 11-1 record (we should have made the playoff, but that's a completely different story). I got to see one of my favorite bands in concert for the fourth time and realized that I will never get enough of them live. I was able to visit Disney World with my parents and my sister, something that I know will not be happening too much more as my sister and I both continue to grow up. I've had relaxing and rejuvenating trips home at Fall and Thanksgiving breaks. I have so much to be thankful for.

The actual school part of school seems to be what's brought me, and everyone else, down. Again, don't get me wrong: I've enjoyed class. I've liked going to my classes and learning about a wide variety of topics, from British Literature to 1800 to Intro to Programming, from Intro to Literary Theory to Differential Equations, and, of course, Literature and Civilizations II. I'm just looking forward to classes being done and getting a break and a fresh start in the spring. Something about this semester has been, for lack of a better word, difficult. More than once have I felt bogged down by work. More than once have I considered skipping class, not because I just didn't want to go, but in order to get work done for some other class. More than once have I considered dropping out (okay, not really, but how many times do college students utter the phrase, "That's it, I'm dropping out" in a semester? 10? 20? I'll get back to my point now).

My grades aren't where I want them to be, but I know I'm not the only one that feels that way. My mind is fried, but I know I'm not the only one that feels that way, too. I guess that's one of the best parts of college: no matter how unmotivated, drained, and stressed you're feeling, you know at least 50% of the people around you feel exactly the same way.

Ave Maria is playing now. I could probably use a prayer at the moment. I can't quite tell if the Christmas music is helping me or making me think too much of next weekend. I'm going to say both.

This will be my last blog for Literature and Civilizations II. It's been a great and wonderfully unique class that I will certainly never forget. I've had fun in the classroom, out of the classroom (on the river, in the Water Gardens, at the Amon Carter Museum, working on group projects), and on my blog. I hope everyone else in class, and everyone who will take the class at some point, enjoys it as much as I did.

I feel like this blog is a little disjointed, but that's just indicative of my current mental state. Have I mentioned that it's almost Christmas? Merry Christmas everybody, and Happy New Year. God bless. Thank you for a tumultuously awesome semester.

(We Need A Little Christmas started playing just before I clicked the "publish" button. Spotify understands me.)

Conversations that could have been

A prominent assignment of Literature and Civilizations II is meeting with a "conversation partner," an Intensive English student from a foreign country, in order to help them with their English and to help us learn about a culture that differs from our own. I was skeptical when this assignment was first introduced, but the more I thought about it, the more interesting it sounded. Talking with someone you probably never would meet otherwise, from a place you've likely never been to and culture you've likely never encountered, could be a great and unique learning experience.

I was paired with someone from Saudi Arabia for this "Community Engagement" project. This excited me. I had basically never even thought about what Saudi Arabia and its culture might be like. I looked forward to asking what daily life was like in the country. I looked forward to finding out what their school system was like, what they liked to do for fun, what their favorite foods were. I looked forward to engaging with someone from a country that, I'm assuming, I will never get the opportunity to visit and learning what his life was like.

I also was excited to share my own thoughts about American culture with him. I wanted to help him learn anything that he wanted to know about the United States and its culture. Being immersed in the culture for several months, I'm not sure how many or what kind of questions he might have about the society that surrounded him, but I wanted to do anything I could to shed some light on the place we call home.

Unfortunately, I never got those opportunities. Though we both tried, my conversation partner and I were never able to meet up. Plans fell through, miscommunications occurred, the general busyness of life got in the way. Before I knew it, it was the last week of the semester, the Intensive English Program was having finals, and the program's students were preparing to return home. Any chance I had of meeting my partner had blown by in the whirlwind of the semester.

I am sad about this. I truly was anticipating our meetings, a chance to learn and to perhaps make a new friend. Even if we had been able to meet just once, there's so much that could have been discovered. I've consistently heard how much my classmates have enjoyed their conversation partner experiences, and I wish that I could share in their elation.

I do not know if I will ever get an opportunity like this again. If I do, though, I hope to put forth an even greater effort to engage with a partner and expand my horizons.

Fall on the River

It's amazing what you can find when you settle down in nature for awhile. Sometimes, you'll find the sun at the perfect angle, the air at the perfect temperature, and the perfect amount of solitude in order to truly appreciate the nature around you.

I found this spot in a park next to the Trinity River late Sunday afternoon. I watched as the sun set behind the interstate. reflecting off the water and setting the park under a muted orange glow. I watched cars periodically scroll by on the overpass, and I heard more whizzing by on University behind me. People walked, jogged, ran, and biked on the trail in front of me, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in groups.

I sat in a pile of freshly fallen leaves. They crackled every time I shifted. The ground was littered in light green, yellow, orange, and brown. I smelled fall and a whiff of impending rain. This aspect of the scene was strange to me. Being from Kentucky, I'm used to fall in October, not in December. Still, it was nice to be in the presence of the seasonal change, regardless of when it was happening.

The small train track in front of me confounded me. Why was it there? Where was it leading to? What tiny vehicle rode along it? I had so many questions, yet I was so content with it, as well. Amidst everything that was changing around it, from the leaves to the people to the cars, this train track remained, unmoved, seemingly unused. There was something quaint and calming about it.

And then, of course, there was the river. I watched it from afar for some time, seeing how the sun and the signs from the restaurants reflected off it in different patterns. I watched its gentle flow; sometimes, it seemed that the river was completely still. As I prepared to leave, I stood up and walked down to the river. There was a place where the river dropped off, with water cascading in small waterfalls down a slanted wall of rock. I walked down that spot and watched the ripples for a moment. When I turned away, I saw two creatures gliding about. At first, I thought these creatures were ducks; once I moved closer, I found that they were actually otters. I thought this was strange, two otters dancing about in, basically, urban water. But then, there was something uplifting about it. These two creatures were oblivious to everything around them. They swam around each other for a spell, then drifted in separate directions. I left them as they parted, but somehow I knew they would come back together again.

I was still thinking about the sun, the cars, the leaves, the train track, the river, and the otters as I parked my car and walked back to my dorm. It's amazing what you can find when you settle down in nature for awhile, and how much what you find can impact you.

"The River What?"

These are the words I heard from a classmate after watching the movie The River Why in class. I found this statement interesting and interpreted it to mean something like "What just happened?" or "What did I just watch?" or even "What was the point of that?" Personally, I most relate to this last question, but I would have stuck with the movie title to ask my question about the film: "Why was this movie made?"

I understood the message of the movie (the importance of family, friends, having an open mind, etc.), but it was rather cliché. In fact, the entire film was pretty cliché, from the way the main character, Gus (who I could never see as anyone other than Matt Saracen from Friday Night Lights), encountered his dream girl, to his dream girl's name (Eddy, indicative of the raging and changing currents of a river and of Gus' life), to the tumultuous relationship of Gus' parents, to Gus' dad's name (which conveniently abbreviates to H2O), to basically every aspect of the movie. It was hard to look passed how blatantly cliché it was and actually enjoy it.

Fishing used as a metaphor for some aspect of life is also overused. Hemingway used it in The Old Man and the Sea. The other movie we watched in class,  A River Runs Through It, used it. It's a common metaphor and is losing its effect.

There are plenty of water-themed movies. What about Finding Nemo? Yes, the Pixar movie is about fish, but it is not about fishing. It has plenty of life lessons to deliver and plenty to analyze even though it is a children's movie. In fact, I once led a retreat that was based entirely around Finding Nemo, and it was one of the most fulfilling days I have ever had.

What about Jaws? Okay, this one is just for fun.

What about Castaway? I have never felt more emotionally connected to a volleyball in my life than I did while watching this movie. The movie is a great examination of humanity and is based around the concept of being shipwrecked. Water literally sets up the framework of the film, one that could spark some interesting class discussion.

These are just three options (okay, two, I was kidding about Jaws) out of many that could serve a water-themed class well. One fishing-based movie is good, two is overkill (forgive the term, fish). I appreciate the thought behind these movies, but they can only vary so much. Water is so versatile, so unique, that it gives you a plentiful supply of options for movie plots and themes.

As I've already written, I appreciated A River Runs Through It. I related to it, especially at the time, and thought it was a complex and nuanced film. I did not feel the same way about The River Why. Whether you want to ask what, why, how, or when, my reaction will be the same: not good.

Walking with Water-the Fort Worth Water Gardens

Walking alongside bodies of water is almost always a relaxing experience. A stroll on the beach, through the sand and next to the rolling waves, or on the shores of a serene lake or rolling river helps you to forget about the stresses of life. There's something about the natural occurrence of water that soothes the soul. However, harnessed water can have a similar effect in the right setting. The Fort Worth Water Gardens is that kind of setting.

Located in the corner of downtown, the Fort Worth Water Gardens is close enough to the bustle of the city to be convenient and far enough removed to be quiet and solitary. The Water Gardens contains beautiful foliage and rock sculpting that is easy to get lost in (metaphorically speaking, of course). There is a peace to the area, something not commonly found in an urban setting.

The main attraction, though, is obviously the water. The Water Gardens holds three different sections of water: the meditation pool, the aerating pool, and the active pool. Each collection of water offers a different scene and mood, but all utilize water in a tantalizing way.

The meditation pool, as the name would suggest, is the calmest of the three water spectacles. The Fort Worth Water Gardens Wikipedia article describes this pool as such: "The quiet, blue meditation pool is encircled with cypress trees and towering walls that are covered in thin plane of water that cascades almost 90 degrees down to the sunken blue water feature. The sound of the water on the walls evokes thoughts of a gentle rain shower." Though this description is accurate, it cannot begin to describe the serenity of the meditation pool. The pool is located on a lower level than the other two pools, secluding it from the already secluded area. Leaning your hands on the walls and feeling the water running through your fingers to your wrists is majestic and surprisingly cooling during a hot Texas day. Each tree twists and towers in a unique fashion, giving you the feeling that you have found an oasis in the middle of a forest.

The aerating pool would be a pretty normal pool if not for the multitude of spray fountains jetting water into the air. At night, the fountains are lit, and the light reflects off the leaping drops of water to create a hypnotizing spectacle.

The main attraction of the water gardens, though, is the active pool. This pool has waterfalls flowing almost 40 feet to a collection of water below. The architecture allows for visitors to trek to the bottom of the basin and be surrounded by the cascading water, almost as if they are standing next to a natural waterfall. It is shockingly warm in this basin, but the trip to the bottom is a worthwhile journey.

In addition to the three pools, the Water Gardens features a constructed "mountain" that can be climbed in order to view all 4.3 acres of the area. It is a wonderful view, one that can mesmerize you for several minutes.

I have visited the Fort Worth Water Gardens three times now, and each time I walk away calmer and, somehow, more content than I was when I walked in. Walking with water, natural or otherwise, has a way of doing that to you.

Navigating the Museum

I have once again done what I told myself I would stop doing: I've procrastinated on my blogs. That does not mean, however, that I do not have anything to blog about. The semester has rolled on at its typically rapid pace and, just as typically, there have been a multitude of experiences that have impacted me. At least for now, I will focus on one.

Art has always been interesting to me. In fact, I gave my mom a print of my favorite painting, "Paris Street Rainy Day" for Christmas. I took Art History my sophomore year of high school and thoroughly enjoyed going through over 2000 years worth of different styles, modes, and influences of art. I visited the Museum of Modern Art in New York with my sister just a few months later and (though some modern art can be rather questionable in terms of the word "art") I liked perusing the museum and discovering and analyzing the different pieces.

All of this to say, when I found out our class was going to see an art exhibit, I became abnormally excited. I looked forward to the trip for several weeks as not only a break from normal, classroom class, but also as a way to get reacquainted with "Oil on Canvas" and "Stencil" and "Sculpture" and other mediums of art.

When I walked into the "Navigating the West: George Caleb Bingham and the River," I didn't really know what to expect, other than a collection of paintings heavily featuring natural running water. What I discovered, then, fascinated me. I found detailed, lifelike paintings of everyday people. I found subtle and overt usage of rivers. I found an intriguing and unique style of duplicating characters so that the same person could appear in many paintings, almost like different photographs taken at different times, in different locales. I found joviality, somberness, and everything in between. I found card playing, talking, dancing, drinking, rowing, working, thinking, sitting, standing, kneeling, laying.

Yet, most importantly, I found a renewed excitement about art. I would catch myself analyzing how Bingham painted the folds in a shirt, or how he utilized chairscuro ("the treatment of light and shade in drawing and painting"; I've been waiting to use that term since I was 16), or merely staring in awe at how talented one can be with a pencil, a brush, and a canvas.

I exited the Bingham section of the museum and wandered briefly among the other, permanent works.  There was a wide variance in topic, from angelic statues to Prairie Native American paintings. There was also a sort of modern reverence for art permeating from every corner and canvas. The workers of the museum were eager to engage about the art that they likely stare at for hours per day, yet somehow never tire of. The museum was spotless, well-organized, vibrant but subtle, and a wonderful refresher for me as to how liberating art can be.

We were greeted with a beautiful view of the Fort Worth skyline as we walked out of the museum and down its front steps. It was then that I had one of those cheesy "art is like nature, but nature itself is also art" moments. I'll admit it's cheesy, but it is also true, and it especially was in that moment. After observing representations of reality for about an hour, it was perfect to see reality representing itself in such a serene way. Again, cheesy? yes. True? absolutely.

I hope to visit another museum soon. I have never been to the Kimbell, but I have frequently been informed that it is a must-see. After being reinstated into the world of loving art, I have a craving for more. Who knows, maybe I'll find another favorite painting to gift to my mom next Christmas.

Blogception

I'm about to blog about blogging. Original, I know.

I feel like this is a topic worth blogging about, though: the concept of a blog. When we were first assigned to blog for Literature and Civilizations II here at good ole TCU (Go Frogs, beat Baylor!), I was skeptical. I'd thought about starting my own blog before, but never for academic purposes. How was this strange, informal, internet-based writing form going to translate into a grade? How was it going to be graded? Content, style, creativity? Was the dreaded plus/minus scale going to be used? I was deeply concerned...

... until I realized that I had no reason to be; that was the whole point of a blog: not to be overly concerned about how and what you're writing. Sure, you can't just write whatever you want, particularly in an academic setting for a class based on the theme of water; obviously, in this scenario, most of one's blogs will be about something relating to water. Yet, within those incredibly broad boundaries (water does span the whole world, after all), blogs give one the freedom to explore one's writing content, style, and creativity without simultaneously having to adhere to MLA format. Those things I was so worried about being graded on turn out to be the things I have to worry about the least.

My biggest problem so far with blogging has just been getting myself to do it. To be honest, I almost forgot about this blog until last week, and now I'm scrambling to fill a quota that has a deadline less than 4 hours away. Any fault I can find with blogging is my own, not the blog's.

While blogging, I don't have to worry about being academic, even when discussing academic concepts. I can blog about The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn without analyzing quotes or theme. I can blog about an assignment, like blogging, without treating it like a teaching evaluation. The blog gives me the freedom to talk about school more like I'm talking about it to my friends, not writing about it to my teacher.

When writing papers, in-class essays, answers to application questions, and other forms of formal thought regurgitation, we can easily forget how fun, relaxing, and relieving writing can be. Yes, I'm still writing for school, but informally. I may be in the library writing this, but I'm not researching anything for it. Blogs may simply be short essays, but I'm not on a time crunch to write them (other than the aforementioned deadline that I'm dangerously nearing). And, blogs don't require one to answer the same question ("Why do you think you would be a good fit for [insert position title here]?") over and over, or to brag on one's self and seem impressive like applications (if any future potential employers are reading this, hello. I promise I take life seriously).

I feel like I can deploy my clearly wide and witty range of humor when blogging. Whether you take that sentence as a joke or seriousness is entirely your decision.

Basically, blogging is pretty wonderful. It has been a nice break from normal homework assignments, and I think it would be a useful assignment for more English classes to undertake. You write enough formal papers in your school days, why not write some informal ones?

Over the summer, my sister told me I should start a blog about the happenings of the world of professional sports. I was hesitant when she suggested this. "Oh goodness," I thought, "People will be able to read my ridiculous opinions and ramblings? I don't know if I want that." I'm second-guessing my hesitancy. Maybe I do want people to read it. It's something different, it's a creative outlet, it's a blog. What harm could it do?

With Fall Break and the second half of the semester approaching, I know I have yet to be confronted by numerous homework assignments, projects, papers, and tests before the onset of winter. Though more blogging will constitute one of those assignments, I won't be concerned about it. I have no reason to be.