(Please ignore me talking about school and skip down to the pictures, a la library smut)

So here I am!  I made it to Indian summer Seattle.  I miraculously made my way to Lis’ place entirely from memory.  I now insist (well, strongly recommend) that you listen to/read Feed (M.T. Anderson) because it made the last hour and a half of the trip speed past like nobody’s business (and I even went more or less the speed limit).

Classes haven’t actually started yet; they’re easing us into it with orientation sessions and tours and computer lab tutorials (oy).  The people seem generally friendly and enthusiastic, as befits the job description (in my mind, at least).  It’s hard, though, because there are three days in which to meet people and get to know names and faces…and then we all go off to our own little computers and communicate electronically until we meet again in January.  (Which reminds me – the school sent out some flier about “recommended computer skills” and one was a familiarity with online communication like blogs or message boards.  Um, check.)

But I’m forgetting my main point.  And really the only reason (apart from seeing more of Lis) that makes me think, oh maybe the residential program would’ve been nice…

The Library.

There’s nothing quite like a faux-Gothic cathedral/reading room.  Although maybe it’s best if I’m not on campus, because I might spend more time admiring the Reading Room than actually studying. 

Well, I ought to get back to the ever-fascinating Looking for Information.  As Kitri said, I’m on my way to being a Certified Card Carrying Librarian.  And as I said back, I already have 3 library cards.  So technically, I’m already card carrying.

Oh, and how much do I love the bundt cake visualization from Eat Cake?  Okay, so the main character goes to a stress reduction seminar and has to picture herself in a safe, peaceful place.  She chooses a bundt cake.

The place that I went, the place that I still go, was the warm, hollowed-out center of a Bundt cake.  It is usually gingerbread, though sometimes that changes.  Sometimes its gingerbread crowned in a ring of poached pears.  The walls that surround me are high and soft, but as they go up they curve back, open up to the light, so I feel protected by the cake but never trapped by it.  There are a few loose crumbs around my feet, clinging to my hair, and the smell!  …This isn’t a fantasy about food exactly, at least not insofar as I want to eat my way through a cake that’s taller than I am.  It’s about being inside of cake, being part of something that I find to be profoundly comforting.

I know what I’m baking when I get home.