Now that quals are over and done with–yay, again!–it’s time to catch up on some of those things I’ve been putting off in the meantime. Which means that it’s time for a ridiculous gigantic Project 22 update. Definitely not recommended for dial-up viewers.
Continue reading ‘Project 22 - 1 - 16 January 2008′
Tag Archive for 'family'
And now, for the last of 2007’s Project 22 photos. This batch of photos starts on Christmas Eve and finishes out the year. Continue reading ‘Project 22 - 24 - 31 December 2007′
Today I drove the whole distance between Ithaca and my parents’ place in NC by myself and made it in one piece. This essentially means that I left Ithaca before the sun was completely up and it was well dark by the time I got to my parents’. There was a bit of car trouble–flashing lights, buzzers, and a loss of throttle control–but restarting the car seems to have fixed that, at least enough that I was able to make it the last fifty miles or so without incident. But I will definitely be taking the car in to a dealer before I drive the 630 miles back.
I think a large factor in my ability to have driven so far and so long in one go was listening to Neil Gaiman reading Fragile Things the whole way. The audiobook claims to be 10.5 hours, and, though I’m near the end, I’m not quite finished, which seems to indicate that I did actually drive less than 10.5 hours, which surprises me because I’d been pegging the drive between here and there as 11 hours or so. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. The audiobook definitely helped, though, because I didn’t find myself growing sleepy and easily distracted like I normally do after, say, six straight hours behind the wheel. And, being Neil Gaiman, it was all brilliant and I thoroughly enjoyed listening to him do all the different accents and voices–so much so that I think I may listen to the whole thing again on the way back instead of listening to music like I typically do. If that’s not a shining recommendation, I don’t know what is.
Haven’t had a chance to see my parents really because they were on the way out the door to a Christmas party when I arrived. I did see enough of them to be extremely disturbed by the sight of my father with a full beard. (With few exceptions, my father has had either a mustache or a goatee my entire life.) I think the only thing more distressing than my father with the full beard is him with no facial hair. Ah well. I suppose if he doesn’t get the right to complain when I cut my hair, I don’t get the right to complain about his facial hair. Which, mind you, does not mean that I won’t give him a hard time about it. 
Plans to drive to Arkansas for Christmas have been scrapped, and, I must admit a certain relief. After today, I really don’t need another 14 hours of driving. I’ll be sorry to miss seeing my extended family–I so wanted to hear my uncles’ remarks on my Cornell “Actually, I am a rocket scientist” t-shirt–but life goes on. And on. And on.
I think I’m ready for a nice, relaxing holiday now. I doubt I’ll get it, but it’s nice to delude oneself every once in awhile.
To answer the question some of you may have been asking: yes, I am still alive. It’s the end of the semester here at Cornell, which basically means that the end is nearby but I’ve got too much to do to appreciate it. This does not explain why I’m sitting at my desk typing a blog entry, though. The fact that I can’t convince myself to pull out my TAM homework explains that one. So here’s a brief look at my past month:
- Work, work, work, work, work.
- I’ve had a couple of encounters with my advisor-to-be, and those, on the whole, have turned out well. My feeling on this is corroborated by the fact that I got an e-mail from my advisor at Case saying that he ran into my new advisor at a conference last week and he had good things to say about me already. So, not all of my classes may be going the way I’d like, but I am still making a good impression around here.
- Earlier this month, I worked like mad to code, test, and write a report up on a computational fluid dynamics problem for one of my classes. Today I got the report back with an A+ on it. I didn’t know they still gave those in graduate school, but, boy, does it feel nice, coming, as it does, at a time where I’m seriously worrying about my performance in my other courses. It’s like getting a pat on the back and having someone tell me that, yes, you do still belong here.
- B came to NY and spent nearly a week with me last week. In our time in Ithaca, I showed her around town some but especially around Cornell. She got to experience walking around in a snowstorm as well as a chimes concert in McGraw Tower. We visited a winery up the road, and I fed her her first ever brownies and her first pizza in thirteen years. All in all, I felt pretty good about my hosting while she was up here in NY. Then I shuffled her into my car and drove 11 hours south so that she could spend Thanksgiving Day with me and my family. Her final conclusion was that Thanksgiving dinner was a lot like Christmas dinner but with better desserts. Unfortunately, we had to sacrifice showing her Black Friday sales for sleep before I drove her to the airport. I really enjoyed having her here.
- The unfortunate thing about living in a small town 630 miles from one’s family is that the 22 hours of driving necessary for the round trip cut into the amount of time one gets to spend with one’s family. I was really sorry to have to leave when I did on Saturday, and I’m quite looking forward to having a chance to see my parents and sister for longer once exams are over.
- Aside from work and travel and visitors, the other big reason I’ve not been as visible online in the last month is that I now have a boyfriend with whom I spend a fair amount of my free time. The best way to sum up that state of affairs is with a goofy-looking grin.
I am, in fact, alive and well, if lacking in new and interesting news. The last week has involved a lot of shopping and driving and general preparations for the big cruise. This year my parents are celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary by taking the honeymoon they never had, and they’re kind enough to take my sister and I along. We’ll be taking a Carnival lines cruise in the Caribbean with stops including San Juan, St. Thomas, Aruba, Dominica, and Barbados. Our plane leaves Sunday and we’ll be back on the Fourth.
I expect to have grand adventures to report–snorkeling! rum! rainforests! coconuts! sugar cane! sunburns! rum!–and pictures to go along with them. My research indicates that, although I am not permitted to drink onboard the ship, I am of legal drinking age in the ports we’re visiting–with the possible exception of Dominica. I haven’t managed to find information on the legal drinking age there because Google is convinced that what I really want is information about the Dominican Republic. In any case, the important thing here is that I get to enjoy visiting the rum distilleries more than, say, my little sister. And mostly it’s so that I get to enjoy making Pirates of the Caribbean references just a little more often.
Anyone interested in getting a postcard from the Caribbean should drop me a line at gnome[at]silver-starlight.net with the appropriate information. I will try my best to be good about doing that this time.
In car news, we hit 301 miles today, which means that the engine is officially broken in and long distance road trips are now permitted. This is good because, once we get back from the cruise, Mom and I (and probably my little sister) will be taking a road trip up to Ithaca, New York in order to locate an apartment for me. Exciting times.
Weeks ago I got an urge to make some chocolate chip cookies but didn’t have enough chocolate chips for them, so I went down to the Village Convenience Store to get some M&Msfor a substitute . I ended up giving the woman working the counter a couple of the cookies when I was done. Today she saw me on my way out of Starbucks (with an espresso brownie!) and had to ask me how I got my cookies all the same size. Apparently she thought my cookies were really good because she said that I should open a bakery. I had to laugh. Mark pointed out that I’ve been wasting my time with this aerospace engineering thing. Obviously I should have gone with the bakery. I pointed out that my baking skills will help ingratiate me with any lab I end up in. Who wouldn’t like the new student who brings cookies?
It’s nice to see that people like my cooking, though. I used to worry about coming from a family with a grandmother and mother who were known for being excellent cooks. I feared I’d never manage to live up to it. But over the past couple years, I think I’ve improved a lot, in confidence as well as ability. Oddly enough, I now cook more than my mom does, and last time I was home, she actually told me that she was impressed at how capable I’ve become in the kitchen. There’s hope for me yet!
My trip to North Carolina on Wednesday was largely uneventful, despite national news coverage of the weather in Ohio as I left. On the second flight, however, things took a turn for the unpleasant. Midway through the flight the captain came on the loudspeaker, and, between the crackle of the system and the roaring of the engines, I could tell that this was no ordinary announcement. Nor was it of the John-Cleese-the-wings-are-not-on-fire sort. I wish to God that it had been.
Instead, what I could make out of the pilot’s speech was this: we had two American soldiers–the pilot used the words “two American heroes,” and I’ll agree out of respect for those who serve in the military–onboard our flight. One, whose rank I didn’t catch, was escorting his friend, a staff sergeant, back home. For the last time. They had both been in Iraq.
When we landed, the escort rose and made his way to the front of the aircraft, while the remainder of the passengers remained seated, applauding. He paused at the entry, raised his hand, nodded once. I can’t be certain, but it looked as though the back of his head was scarred and slightly burnt. The pilot and co-pilot met him and led him off the plane. From my place over the starboard wing of the aircraft, I watched as a white hearse drove up, and an officer carrying a flag, wrapped in the same triangle we used to make at Girl Scout camp, greeted the escort with a salute. Several minutes later, a dozen more soldiers marched into place on either side of the cargo belt. A coffin, black in the night, crawled into view and they spread the flag over it while the guard saluted.
Tears burned in my eyes, but I resisted the urge to cry in public. Who was the young man and why had he gone to war? Why did the government send him?
I burst into tears the moment I hugged my father, and, for awhile, my parents couldn’t understand my attempts at explanation. How terrible and shallow was I to think little of going home to see my family when this young man would never see his family again?
It’s easy enough to ignore the pictures of coffins on television or the headlines when they announce a new mark for the number of soldiers killed (the civilians remain unnumbered and will remain so). But I can’t see how anyone can face those coffins and flags and uncomforted families. How can we let this go on?
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