from Pittsburgh to Minnesota to...England, this time.

(typed up from the first entry in my trip diary)

I'm leaving in about two weeks and it feels a bit sacrilegious to start writing in my journal before I'm on my way...but really the mental journey of this trip started a long time ago, which, funnily enough, is exactly what I came to say.

I've been thinking a lot about Spain and how my brain can't get used to "going to Europe" not involving Spain. I've been bemoaning a bit (but not ungratefully) because I love Spain so much and can never get enough. But I had a sitdown with myself to try to refocus on why--the last time I left Spain--I promised myself I was going to England the next time I crossed an ocean (and not just because of the Olympics which were ongoing then).

Because long before I learned Spanish and fell in love with some silly tennis players and jumped at the chance(s) to visit the land that really inspired my serious study of the language--I got my hair cut like Lucy Pevensie (BBC version, aged 4-7?), a younger sister whose unbelieved and unacredited imagination I identified with so strongly (uncharitably casting my brother as Edward, who makes her out to be a liar).

I devoured the story of Anne Boleyn (4th grade project) whose tale was just gruesome enough to fascinate me, and whose character was just real enough to inspire me: laughing in the face of death! strawberry mole on neck! defiant! I followed that with Lady Jane Grey and Elizabeth I, but my middle namesake Anne was always my favorite. And then I followed my Tudor obsession many years later into realizing why Catherine of Aragon was called such--neatly wrapping pieces of my Spain interest into an earlier obsession.

I named my gerbil Lyra after the hero of The Golden Compass (6th grade)-brave, adventurous, but still very relatable. And though often I identified more with her worrywart daemon Pantalaimon--I understood Lyra's ability to push herself to be brave for him--which, in essence, was for herself.

I dreamed about going to school at Hogwarts and always cherished the look into the everyday school life as much as the fighting adventures. The Mennyms existed as living things that had no right. A Little Princess showed me about a father's love and plowing through rough times without forgetting yourself.

I yearned for castles and timbers, a language that was understandable but just different enough to be delicious, a land with magic and history seemingly oozing out of its very soil into a potent mix of inspiration, imagination, and a deep sense of wanting to belong to something familiar and comfortable and safe but unpredictable and full of endless potential for adventures at the same time: a wardrobe porthole to another land, a wizard alley hidden behind normal London streets if you just know where to look, ruins of an ancient past to be explored around every bend.

Is this too lofty and unrealistic for the real UK to live up to? Maybe. But hopefully I'll get a glimpse of ruined castles or misty moors with the possibility of magic lingering in the air, just enough to satisfy my childhood dreams. From that, maybe I can create some better sense of myself, who I've been to make me who I am now, and the real world I live in.

The very last bit of my trip diary from Spain and Portugal in 2012.

The Language Barrier

I may have to stop teaching before I lose my last vestiges of Pittsburghese. My kids have me saying aunt different from ant, and they have me making words like foul, scowl, etc into two distinct syllables. Who knew that was a thing!

Honestly, I didn't know I had any traces of Pittsburghese left. I didn't start with much, not really, not compared to others. I've been known to say "arn" for iron, Picksburgh has slipped out (mostly when I'm angry), my friends in college made fun of me incessantly for saying pool the same as pull (I basically just try to avoid saying the word "pull" now, or rhyming words, because I just don't understand how it's supposed to sound). I try not to say roof like ruff or root beer like rut beer, but that's finding its way in on the edges.

All my o's have long been plump Minnesota O's. My a's are creeping into my nasal range (although I'm still fighting that one because gross).

I don't say uff da, but I often say uff, and then finish it, consciously, with the da. Some day the full (fool? ful? fu-ul? HELP!) phrase is gonna slip out without a thought.

It's joyful when I realize the roots of my language go deeper than I thought. When I am reading the spelling words and they say "huh? do you mean sco-wl?" Each word I didn't know I said different, it feels like a gift from my city, a reminder that I'm still a Pittsburgh girl in the depths of my soul. No matter how many hockey games I play, no matter how much I feel at home in day after day of 0 degree highs.

Except, I try to correct myself, so the kids understand me (and so my friends don't pick on me).

It's bittersweet, because in the very same act of discovering these pockets of language resistance, I essentially lose them for good.

Do you spy the cat?

Goofball.

How to tell if you live in Minnesota

I was perusing the Minnesota Math Standards (light bedtime reading) and I came across this:

...really?!

Now my first thought was less "I defy you to find another state with this example for angles" and more "oh my god yes! Why didn't I think of this before! This is PERFECT for my high flyers!"

.....

Which just goes to show you that the Department of Education is not as out of touch with their teachers and students as they may sometimes seem.

Minnesota Sunday Night

(the more I read this, the more it seems like a series of exclusively Minnesota events)

Not my photo--didn't have my phone, you see!
Might've missed the moment if I had.

I left the house really early for my hockey practice last night because it'd snowed 3-4 inches since I'd last driven (typical) and I wasn't sure how long it'd take to clear my car. Took hardly any time at all because there was no ice, just fluff.

I didn't feel like going back in the house though because A my car was already starting to warm up and B my gear would've started to get cold. So I just headed to the rink and got there 40 minutes before my ice time. Problem: I didn't have my phone with me because I never take it to that rink since it's so close. What to do?!

What else but stand along the end glass behind the goalie and watch whoever's on the ice before you? I judged them at peewees (11 and 12 year olds), the local organization Highland Central against something with an M (there's like a billion "something with an M" but a teammate later identified this one as Mahtomedi).

I always intend to watch local hockey and never do, and I was super pleased to take this opportunity just to be there. It was fun to watch kids at this level skate--more graceful than my team, sure, but still awkward in some of their movements, not as smooth as they'll be in just another year or two. And not getting the puck off the ice on their shots 100% of the time, to which I can relate. Fairly competitive game, though, more time spent in one end but the team on offense was losing 0-2 so it was evenly matched. There was a HUGE crowd in the stands, and a dad walked past me and was super friendly with a big smile and a "hello!"

Mostly, I stood there and felt the feeling of being connected to this amazing thing of hockey enjoyed by so many across my state. I thought about where these kids come from and where they might go. I tried to pick up moves, and figure out their strategies and recognize things me and my teammates do. I enjoyed getting out of myself a little bit, and feeling a part of my community instead of home-rink-home and not truly interacting.

And I laughed to myself like "this must be how people killed time before smart phones at their fingertips."

Something shocking happened this morning.

There are probably several things about my life that various incarnations of me over the years would be a little surprised by. When I was a kid, I thought my life would go the way of my parents' and I'd find my high school sweetheart and marry him right after college (HA HA HA HA HA). At one point, I HATED cats. There was a time when I hated hockey. (I *KNOW*. I was in middle school, which is all I can say about that.) Several mes would be surprised to learn I don't live in Pittsburgh.

Some things are less surprising. Me in parts of my college years was rarely surprised: I was so into life being all about flux and taking it as it comes and believed in very few to no certainties, least of all about myself. Before I hated cats, I loved them (although Puck would be an orange tabby if it were up to that Caroline). I almost always wanted to be a teacher over the years, so the only me surprised by my current job is me from the last year. Me from 2005 had a good feeling about Minnesota and would be happy to know just how good it's been here.

Obviously, there are little and big things that would've and would not have been surprising over the years if you'd told me "In five (or ten or twenty) years...".

 But there is one thing that, without a doubt, ALL former Carolines before three months ago would be flabbergasted and flummoxed to learn (even college!Caroline would've taken this never happening as the one certainty in the universe): I woke up before work at 6am today to run, for no reason other than wanting to for myself--and I liked it.

I'm baaaaaaaaaaack!

One of the reasons that I don't post a lot is even when something happens, I don't like writing about it if I don't have pictures. And I don't always take pictures. And sometimes I take pictures but don't feel like going through them and uploading them... Anyway.

I bought a NEW LENS today! Very exciting. I've gotten tired of my kit lens, which is a 18-55mm 52mm 3.5/5.6 lens. The new one is a Nikon 28-80mm 58mm 3.5/5.6. So it has a bit better range, it's a bit more wide angle, and it's much smaller and lighter. Partly because it doesn't have vibration reduction. Also, the auto-focus is not compatible with my camera. AF was weird at first when I switched to digital since my film camera never had that, but now I'm used to it, so we'll see. Anyway, the lens was only $43 post-tax because it ended up being on a bit of a sale. AND I have 30 days to try it out and return it. Low-risk situation.

I think part of my issue is that digital photography has a different philosophy than film (for me). With film, I'd shoot a roll of 36, usually only one shot per subject. Maybe two. I'd spend a little more time setting up the camera/framing/composition to take each picture, and I'd usually come out of my roll with just three or four (more on a really good day) that I actually wanted to print. I don't remember feeling any remorse for the compositions that didn't work out. It was about the final finished art. And the process of getting it. I really miss darkroom time.

With digital photography, I'm not as into the "art" aspect as I am into attempting to preserve memories or places. I want each picture to come out perfect--I'll take ten of one thing and try to choose the best later, and I feel disappointed if I don't really like any of those ten. I'm less forgiving if something I was trying to shoot ends up just not working.

I think I would enjoy myself more and use my camera more and like the outcome more if I could think of digital with a philosophy more akin to my old film mindset. With all that being said, I think that being forced to manual focus is a GOOD thing because I think it may help me take better pictures. Even if some of them will inevitably turn out to be out of focus.

Regardless, getting a new toy makes me want to take more pictures! I had about 25 minutes between buying the lens and needing to leave for work, so I took a random little walk and came out with some fun things.