Weddings and Womanhood

Over the past few months, I've learned a whole lot about wedding to-dos and taboos.  From an anthropological perspective, it's interesting to pick apart the traditions - the veil, the white dress, a father giving his daughter away, the size of the engagement ring and wedding.  But for the most part, I see most of these traditions as cultural survivals - non-functional practices that once had a purpose in past society.  I mean, look at white maternity wedding dresses - need I say more?  But regardless of function, weddings are just something you have to do.

I must admit that I'm not a big fan of wedding planning.  I've never been one of those girls who dreams of her wedding day - and certainly not about a dress, flowers, or table settings.  Growing up with two brothers, I spent a lot of my childhood in the woods building forts and making mud-pies, or playing dinosaurs vs. transformers (or reaching potatoes vs. frogberries).  I spent the past two weeks excavating the ruins of an 18th century mansion - with my bare (ok, sometimes gloved) hands, one bucket of rubble at a time.  For the longest time, I hated the idea of being feminine.  If someone said I'd make a good housewife all they would receive in return was the classic Laura scowl.

At some point in college I came to terms with being a woman.  It had nothing to do with wearing pink, shopping for bras, or putting on makeup and everything to do with loving, caring, and giving of myself in a uniquely feminine way.  I love to cook, bake, and host small gathering with friends.  I love to take care of people, listening to their woes and sharing in their joys.  I am ecstatic about marrying Paul and God willing, having children in a few years.  To me, this is what it means to be woman - though I recognize that to each woman, femininity means something a little different.

If only everyone else understood.  Dresses, flowers, and table settings - that one day - are all ephemeral.  I have a good man who loves me, and on our wedding day we will make promises to each other and to God.  That's what matters.  That's what I'm excited about.  That's what I'll plan for.

Where is Four Corners, really?

I visited the Four Corners monument on a family vacation in 2004, then again in October 2010.  It's not much to see - you pay three dollars per person to take your picture at a very ostentatious monument that's located on Navajo tribal land.  (Not until after the second visit did I discover the joys of frybread.)  This place is in the middle of nowhere.  Really, I mean it.

The middle of Nowhere (actually a nice place to visit)

Since the 2004 trip, I had heard rumors that the monument was actually misplaced when initial surveying was done in the 19th century. When Paul and I were driving through the area last October, my GPS placed the monument squarely in New Mexico.  As I was doing some of my geography reading a few weeks ago, Four Corners flashed into my mind.

Since Earth has a very irregular shape, geodicists (people who study the Earth's shape) create models called ellipsoids to make calculating geographic locations easier.  When a new ellipsoid called GRS 80 replaced the previously-used Clarke 1866 ellipsoid, the geographic coordinates for specific locations changed, usually between 10 and 100 meters.  But when I thought a little harder, I realized that this would in no way explain the supposed 2.5 mile discrepancy in the location of Four Corners.  So I did a google search, and found this article from the National Geodetic Survey (NGS), vehemently defending the accurate location of the monument.

I searched for the geographic coordinates, converted them to decimal degrees, and created the Mercator projection below showing the location of Four Corners.

Penn State Oneline GIS Education, 2011.

Next I checked google maps:

And there it is - right where it's supposed to be!  I suppose I really should believe the NGS after all.  And I suppose that means that even though Paul and I did not take any epic hail-showering voyages through Utah, he has, in fact, set foot in the state.  Or at least, on sovereign tribal land that just happens to fall in the state of Utah...

Oh Paul.  You would.

Sojourner

The past few weeks have been almost Colleen Earp-esque.  In the past nine days, I've been to seven states and the District.  That's a lot of places.  Yet somehow, I haven't felt like an itinerant (or a Soujourner, if you prefer) as much as I have in the past.  Perhaps I've gotten used to this roving lifestyle - or maybe I've learned to think of home as a state of being rather than a place.

Thursday: Virginia to Maryland (my daily commute to work).  Maryland to Virginia (my daily commute home).  Virginia to Maryland (drove with Mom and Dad to my brother's house in Annapolis, to drop off our furry golden friends).  Maryland to Pennsylvania (drove to Harrisburg, where we stopped for dinner).  Harrisburg to Selinsgrove (Grandma's, where we stopped for the night).

Friday: Pennsylvania to Michigan (it snowed the whole way), where we stayed for a couple days with my brother (the other one) and sister-in-law (and their two adorable kids).  Favorite memory: playing with my niece Kiera, who, like any respectable four-year-old, has inexhaustible energy.  I'm pretty sure I changed gender and/or species a number of times during our "adventures" (and that was just over about an hour!)

(The next) Saturday: Virginia to New Jersey (with Paul, of course) for a family get-together, which was thankfully not snowed out this time.  I must say, Paul's family is pretty awesome.  My fondness for New Jersey has grown over the past few years, which is good, as I seem to spend a lot of weekends there.

Sometimes it's a relief to know that for the next few days, all I have to do is cross the Woodrow Wilson Bridge into work, then back again in the evening.  All the same, it's pretty amazing that over the past two weekends, I have seen almost the entirety of my dad's side of the family, and Paul's mom's side of the family.  And that's kind of cool.

Mom and Dad pose in the frigid western Pennsylvania snow

That's all the profundity I can manage for right now.  I'm pretty worn out...must be time for another work week.

a brief interlude of sensational experience

I felt bold on leaving Concord, but I confess I find New York rough and strange, and myself strange in it.  Mrs. Kirk believes I am here for a brief interlude of sensational experience before succumbing to a matrimonial fate...but I hope that any experience I gain will be strictly literary.

- Jo, Little Women (film)

When I began writing this blog two years ago, I laughed to myself about the specific context of the title.  I had just been on a first date - the first date I'd been on in long time.  And as much as I liked the guy, I was eagerly anticipating a semester in Guatemala.  Well, we went on a second date (I really, really liked this guy) and four days later I boarded a southbound plane.  When I got off the plane four months later, he was there with flowers, waiting for me.  And that was the fifth time in my life that I had ever seen him.

Sometimes I smile when I think about all those early memories.  The first weekend we met (and this was on a church retreat, mind you), when we stayed up late just sharing funny stories - I'll never forget the image of a tiny Kevin (his brother) climbing a dinosaur at a museum.  Four months later, when we got artery-clogging burgers at Five Guys and talked until dark.  And six months after that, when he took me out to my first brewpub - and gave me my first hangover (which mostly just shows that I was a lightweight).  Before he was my boyfriend, he was my good friend.  And before being my fiance, he was (and is) my best friend.  I could not ask for a better man and a better life's companion.

So I must admit (as would Jo, I’m sure), that I’m glad my experience has not been “strictly literary.”  My grandma keeps telling me that I need to quench my adventuresome spirit and settle down.  But I know, as does Paul, that I will never be done having adventures.  Only, from now on, they will ours – our simple days, our struggles, our joys – our adventures.

Holiday Highlights

Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year!  I feel a little better now that we're caught up with holiday greetings.  It's been an exciting, crazy, and fun holiday season but somehow I'm very glad that things are winding back down...I've had plenty of days of a full stomach, given my liver enough of a workout (I neglect it shamefully sometimes), and eaten my fair share of tasty desserts.

Psyched to go to Narnia again, in our 1940s gear!

Some holiday highlights: None of the four dogs assembled at home got into the turkey neck, mashed potatoes, or cranberry sauce on Thanksgiving.  They (or rather their dander) did prove a formidable enemy to Paul's sinuses on Christmas, though.  Maybe I should buy stock in benadryl...  I had a fun weekend in Williamsburg to celebrate Gaudete Mass (third week of Advent, Gaudete means "rejoice") and finally got to see Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Narnia #5 or #3, depending on how you're counting.  I spent about a week in New Jersey with Paul's family - the first few days were intentional, and the rest were the result of the crazy post-Christmas blizzard that dropped over two feet of snow in the area.  All the same, the Masurs proved lovely company, especially due to their tolerance of my love of "boring" historical films.  I actually made it to a few daily Masses, and Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve was beautiful (I don't care what you said about the music, family, it was awesome).  And for the big news, my brother Chris and his girlfriend Katie got engaged on Christmas Eve - congratulations!

I headed back to work this week - not as an intern, but a contractor in the Repatriation Department of the NMAI.  I'm very excited to be spending the next four months in the office.  Especially since I've discovered the bountiful Smithsonian library system.

Twenty Years

Please forgive my long hiatus.  It has been a busy month, between state-hopping, holidays, job-searching and grad school applications.  I'm currently enjoying a relaxing stay with Paul's family in New Jersey.  My Christmas shopping is done (well, almost), my gifts are wrapped, and I'm getting a good rest before the baking-and-wrapping extravaganza that will be Wednesday and Thursday.  Come mid-January I will be starting a post-graduate certificate in Geographic Information Systems (yay!).  In the coming weeks and months I hope to have official news about jobs and graduate school.

In a previous post, I outlined the basics of repatriation and legislation under the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) and the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI) Act.  In honor of the 20th anniversary of NAGPRA, George Washington University held a symposium in mid-November.  Those two days were an illuminating experience, revealing the deep hurt difficult conflicts that are an inevitable part of the repatriation process.  Scientists, curators, and Native Americans spoke of their divergent experiences and perspectives.  It was a very moving experience - an chance to see human faces rather than the simply sherds and bones and dirt of archaeology.

The difficult: The sorrow of Native people whose continued efforts have been unsuccessful.  The hurt that has a place, even in successful repatriations.  The yet unresolved disagreements between scientists and Native people.  The inspiring: Beginning and ending each day with prayer.  Inspiring stories.  Academics and curators with the courage to admit wrong practices.  The opportunity to learn from the experience of so many others.

I continue to be glad that I decided to take time off before grad school.  I am learning so much from these unique opportunities, things I most certainly would have missed had I decided to push on through.  As I anticipate returning to the hotbed of academic theory and thought, I do not want to forget the human faces - the the human experience that unites us all, regardless of time period, culture, or language.

National Museum of the American Indian

Fear and Sorrow

I got back from Mass this morning and browsed through the Post.  The metro section was open; at the bottom of the page I spotted an article about William and Mary.  As I read, thoughts flashed through my mind.  When I was visiting campus several weeks ago, a good friend had told me about the recent suicide.  Sorrowful happenings like these rock even the strongest community - she told me that people had been struggling, crying, sorrowful about this student's death.

The article highlighted different schools' efforts to detect depression and prevent suicide - high-stress and high-achievement schools like Cornell, MIT, and NYU, or W&M, where "your best isn't good enough since 1693" (to quote a popular phrase at the College).  To say that I'm not surprised sounds cold and unfeeling; I promise that these are not my sentiments.  What I mean to say is, I understand.  I know that place.

Last year (2009) was the most difficult of my life thus far, though it was also a year of joy and beauty.  About two weeks into the year I flew to Guatemala for a much-anticipated study abroad experience.  Yet while I was visiting ancient Maya sites, tutoring children in math, and diving into lessons in Guatemalan Spanish, I sunk into the depression that comes from absence; the absence of loved ones, familiar places, and human intimacy - the touch of a hand, an embrace, a knowing smile.  When I returned home, the difficulties did not disappear, but were replaced with new ones.  The beginning of my senior year at William and Mary, I was struggling with health issues I did not understand, and a recent breakup with a man I love dearly.  September I was hospitalized with an abscess; in October I was diagnosed with Crohn's disease.  Yet through all this, I was striving to maintain my GPA, to apply for jobs and volunteer opportunities after college, fulfill leadership roles in multiple organizations; to be a friend.  But I never felt that my efforts were enough; this was not an excuse to let my grades slip, or to not give all my effort and energy to campus organizations.  I cannot imagine getting through those months without the love and support of my friends and family - from my roommates to my campus ministers to my parents.

In the face difficult times, or even the seemingly small difficulties of everyday life - depression does happen.  To struggle with it doesn't mean you're weak, or that you are worthless, or that you are not loved.  And it certainly doesn't mean you're alone.  I don't want anyone to be deceived; to think that my generally lighthearted entries mark a life without fear or sorrow.  Each person bears heavy struggles through his life, too often silently and alone.

In memory of Whitney Mayer, who I never knew, or met.  For all those who feel alone, who bear their struggles silently.  In thanksgiving for every single person who brought light and joy to my dark times.