Class notes for my high school were due yesterday. After receiving an email from our perky, self-appointed class liaison, I went to the website to check them out. I thought about posting - after all, I've just achieved a milestone in my life. But my old shame rose up to block me: my classmates are all posting about MBAs, PhDs, babies, houses, careers, and here I've just graduated from college. I feel ten years behind, stuck in my adolescence, a loser among the cool kids. I try to remind myself that people only write into the alumni magazine when they have something to boast about. I look at the notes from my friends and think about how glad I am to hear from them, how nice their lives look on paper, purged of the trials and tribulations I've heard about along the way. I could narrate my life in that vein. I could joyfully proclaim my achievements and make them valid by doing so. However, I am stymied by my own doubt about the validity of my achievements. I am stopped by insecurity, the very emotion so often stirred by my experience at Choate and rekindled by my re-entry into the world of academia, social pressure, and the tyranny of success.

The epitome of the "class note"? A little update from a man who writes that he has "taken up triathlons," completing 7 in the last year. Yeah? Well I've watched 2 entire seasons of Entourage and one of Deadwood. Call it the triathlon of television.

Yesterday, whilst checking out Master's programs in Australia, I decided to Google "Australian citizenship". Here's what I found out:

1. "There's Never Been a Better Time to Become an Australian Citizen"
2. There are only 7 requirements for citizenship, the most difficult of which is residency in Australia.
3. Australia has Defence Forces! Who knew? (Also, if you become an Australian citizen, you have to be ready to defend Australia, "should the need arise".)

In contrast, when I visited the USCIS site, I couldn't find any clear instructions on how to become a US citizen. I had to navigate through three levels of the site before I could find out how to begin the process. However, along the way I was reminded that "citizenship is one of the most coveted gifts that the U.S. government can bestow" and told that the USCIS is "securing America's promise" and "protecting America" from all those pesky wannabe immigrants.

Now, if I could only get my parents and all my loved ones to entertain the thought of Australian citizenship, we could help the conservatives out by defecting en masse.

I figured out what I want to do next. This is kind of a big deal, but I am still being pretty critical of myself, unable to just pat myself on the back for only taking 6 days to figure it out. Anyway, I decided that I want to go back to South Hadley for July and August. This entails finding a (very) cheap place to live and enough odd jobs to keep me in kibble for two months. I spent the morning scouring craigslist, the Alumnae website, and my former professors (not literally, of course) for possibilities. Not looking so good. Maybe I need to give the plan more than 24 hours to happen...

Our big trip to Providence turned into a big bust (K was tired, cranky, and spacey, so we left after only 15 minutes of walking around). However, we were there just long enough to whet our appetites for a bigger, better visit sometime soon. We parked up next to the Brown University campus, which is absolutely gorgeous. Their Philosophy Department building is bigger than most mansions. The lawns were incredibly green and sheltered by huge old trees. The portion we checked out was enclosed by high brick walls punctuated by massive wrought iron gates. I spotted an intriguing sculpture and we went over to check it out. It was several times taller than a person, made entirely of saplings bent to form sinuous geometrical shapes, and had little rooms and alcoves in which to hide. The sculpture was assembled by Brown U students, faculty, and staff, in conjunction with the sculptor. They wound it around several pre-existing trees, which sprout out of the top of some of the "rooms". In short, it was stunning and wonderful. After thoroughly inspecting it, we strolled down the hill, past more mansions containing academic departments (oh, Merrill House, you would have wept) and several promising libraries and museums, into the downtown Providence area. We went to look at a huge statue and started to walk along the river promenade, at which point K completely pooped out and I suggested we return home. We agreed to a return visit next week. Luckily, it was a beautiful day for a drive, so all was not lost!

I'm enjoying my vacation more at this point. I've cut the anxiety down to 1 good bout per day, leaving many wonderful hours in which to loll about, watch movies, read romances, and chat with K. We venture out into the gigantic strip mall that is North Dartmouth at least once a day. Today we visited Office Max and Stop & Shop. But we could just as easily have chosen Walmart, Macy's, Dick's, Home Depot, Barnes and Noble, Target, Best Buy, Shaw's, and any one of a plethora of other options. It's really quite surreal to live amidst this landscape of parking lots, traffic lights, and large fake-adobe facades. Drive a few blocks off the main strip and you enter a perfect suburbia with beautiful lawns, manicured golf courses, and plenty of American flags fluttering from front stoops.

I've got to get over this whole "only post when I have something to say" fetish. I have nothing to say, and I write this proudly. Over the last two days, I have read blogs, checked my email often, read 2 romance novels and a New Yorker, watched an entire season of Entourage + 2 episodes of Deadwood, cleaned out K's spare room and set up an office, exercised once, and started a new diet. I think this list might comprise a busy 48-hour period for some and a disgusting lack of activity for others. For me, it falls somewhere in the middle. Which is to say, I will never be satisfied with the amount I am doing. What I really want for this vacation is to be completely relaxed AND satisfied. This combination is one I have rarely achieved, but I always seem to expect it of myself. I have this gnawing feeling that maybe I am relaxed and satisfied, underneath all my anxiety and consternation, but I just can't tell.

I keep trying to make little plans for myself, but invariably end up reneging. Today, I thought I'd go to Horseneck Beach but now that seems wildly ambitious. I feel isolated and stuck. But I think I am not really isolated or stuck, I just feel that way. I'm trying to strike a healthy balance between feeling my emotions fully and total denial. So, part of the day I wallow and part of the day I escape.

Tonight, K and I will go to the movies to see Knocked Up. Tomorrow, we will explore Providence a bit.

So now I've got all this time on my hands. (Ew, gross, time is sticky and hard to wash off.)

Things I think I should be doing during this time (as opposed to thing I want to be doing, things I can do, etc.):
1. LOOK FOR A GODDAMN JOB. I mean, look for a job. This looms the largest, mainly because it caters to several different sources of insecurity and potential woe. Most urgently, I need money, because what I have is running out fast. Slightly less urgently, I feel like I should be working, because of my Puritan genes, the IMs society sends directly to my brain, and the excellent programming of Mount Holyoke to attempt/accomplish great things. Unfortunately, I don't want to find a job, mostly because I fear the job-finding process. I fear the resume-writing. I fear the job description-reading. I fear the interviewing. I fear the relocation. I fear the 9-to-5-ing. At this point in my thought process, I am huddled in a corner of the room, preferably underneath some sheltering object, making the sign of the cross over my head.

2. Applying to grad school. Or at least deciding about/researching grad schools. The need to make decisions about the future seems prominent. None of this namby-pamby waiting around to figure out what I really want. Just decide on something and DO IT. Ah, the fascist Nike commercial that is my brain...

3. Read good literature. At the very least, if I am not looking for a job or making stalwart decisions about the future, I ought to be expanding my mind with the reading of great books. I have a big pile of such books waiting for me. But all I want to do is read romance novels and The New Yorker, perhaps an occasional mystery to punctuate my days.

4. Write every day. But not in blog form or email form; I must write for the sake of writing, 2 hours each day, snippets of novels, short stories, poems, anything with a literary or self-improving bent.

Given the punishing and self-flagellating aspects of the above directives, I begin to see why it is difficult for me to enjoy myself during my down-time. There is always something else I should be doing, and those "somethings else" are elevated to a level of virtue and ambition that my actual thoughts and movements cannot achieve. Also, it turns out the the messages that I fear are only coming from my punishing unconscious are also coming from external sources. This creates an interesting sort of "proof," akin to that achieved by Fox News' referencing of two different sources for its false claims. If two separate voices, each with some sort of seeming authority, speak the same words, then those words take on the heft and force of facts.

The other paralyzing aspect of this situation is that I think it will last forever. I think my hesitation, fear, laziness, well-earned vacation, or whatever it is called, is a permanent state of inertia. However, this has never proven to be true. I do move, act, think, write, decide, change. I just do it on a schedule that seems to lag behind my expectations for myself. Since this topic comes up a lot, in therapy and in conversation with those trusted ones in my life, I even have a nice metaphor for it: my psyche moves in geologic time, while my expectations live in the fast-moving present, the tiny indentation of time in which humans flourish.

Sic Transit Academia...

It was all a little too easy and a little too quick. In my frenzy of packing and self-imposed deadlines, I did indeed forget to savor the many "lasts": last time on campus as a student, last moment wearing the cap and gown, last night in my little garret room, last time letting Oscar out to pee and chase cats, last time positioning the trash just so on the curb, last time backing carefully onto the lawn, last time popping microwave popcorn in the world's slowest microwave; the list goes on. Of course, one can never savor such final moments while in the midst of them. I suppose what I can savor is that there were so many sweet, small things to savor - even in the apartment I was sure I hated. My last night was lovely once I let it be. After a sleepy dinner at the Florence Diner with E and M, I bought a six-pack of Newcastle, intending to drink a couple and leave the rest for my roommates. I left E and M at their new house, after a bewildered but fervent goodbye. We have been living in each other's pockets for many months. So much air and space will be a shock.

I was so exhausted from the two previous days (indeed, the previous week) that I feared I would not be able to finish up my packing. I brewed some coffee, called K, and hoped. While I was attempting to rally, C called and wanted to stop by to drop off something I'd left at her house the night before. This was somewhat mysterious, as I hadn't left anything at her house. In a few minutes, she and Em stopped by and dropped off a lovely graduation/vacation package, including bath gel, a well-worn and beloved book, a journal, and a beautiful bath sponge. C's note was perfect and made me feel hopeful about my upcoming time of not-knowing. I felt blessed to have a friend who so perfectly understood my needs and fears at this tremulous juncture. (Yes, I've been reading romance novels aplenty and their language seeps into my blog, spreading corrosive juices into the cracks.)

After C left, I rallied and packed for about 2 hours, finally forcing myself to stop. I made up a bed on the couch, moved Oscar's bed down to the living room, popped some popcorn, and loaded up the bad movie of the evening: Because I Said So. Oscar and I shared the popcorn equally, as he eschewed his bed on the floor for the opposite end of the couch, creeping ever closer in his attempt to get more kernels. The movie was satisfyingly awful, with that odd mix of irreverence and conventionality common to many modern romantic comedies. I did not drink any of the beer, fearing the results. I slept fitfully but well enough and woke reinvigorated enough to finish my packing, load the car, and bid Oscar farewell. I pulled out of the driveway at 12:15pm, only 15 minutes later than my goal. I returned my videos, made a stop at the FP House to drop off more clothes and books, drove past my house one last time to see if the mail had arrived, and got on the Mass Pike around 1pm. I made good time, even in my overloaded car, and arrived at K's house in North Dartmouth a little after 3pm. It is truly astounding how easy it is to shed one life and move on to the next. I've slept and my body has recovered a bit, but my mind lags far behind, casting about for some purchase in this new beginning. I want to nestle back into the comfortable, stimulating, and surprising life I found in South Hadley for the past 3 years, but I am always aware that that specific time is over. Even the passage of a mere 2 days makes it impossible to go back. Man, that's heavy. So, here I am, in this familiar-but-strange in between time, wondering how much I'll be able to enjoy, and what lurks at the other end.

Since I just harangued my friend for neglecting her blog, I thought I'd better post. I've been afraid to write anything in here after my last post because it turned out so maudlin and cliched. I don't know how to write or think about my life right now without sounding whiny or sentimental. Perhaps I should just accept my own whiny sentimentality and go with it.

Today I had my final therapy session with my current therapist. It was a good session and I was able to honestly say that I would miss her. I haven't always been sure about this therapist, but I think all in all we've done well together. I really felt the finality of the moment as I walked down the stairs for the last time. Having this ending made me recognize all the other endings I will be facing in the next week or so. I persist in feeling like this is just another end-of-term, followed by a vacation, then another semester. It is hard to grasp the fact that I'll be leaving this chapter of my life behind in all ways: physically, emotionally, intellectually. I have really enjoyed the community here in the Valley, even as I took it for granted almost all the time. It is daunting to think about creating a new community somewhere else, especially since I don't know where that will be. I should be getting better at doing this - I move with alarming frequency - but I don't feel any more comfortable with the prospect.

In an attempt to hammer home the reality of my situation, I decided to say goodbye to Mount Holyoke by revisiting every classroom I've inhabited, in order of habitation. I made it through the 2004/2005 slate and will continue the mission tomorrow. In Richard Linklater's fantastic pair of movies, Before Sunrise and Before Sunset, he employs this method of remembrance. At the end of the first movie, the camera alights on each place the two lovers have occupied, showing the locations empty in the light of day. At the beginning of the second movie, the camera moves to each place the lovers will inhabit through the course of the film. This practice of visiting places that have been or will be invested with meaning seems apt. As I physically occupy the spaces that have constituted the landscape of my Mount Holyoke career, I reoccupy the events and states of mind that took place inside those spaces. Sitting in the empty rooms, I am able to repopulate them and measure the distance between my past and present selves. As an exercise in self-conscious recreation, it's particularly effective. There is also something satisfyingly poignant about sitting alone in an empty classroom. Empty spaces easily fill with meaning and memory.

This morning, at 9:50am, I completed the last final of my undergraduate career. It was a big moment, fittingly memorialized by my Biology professor, who gave me a firm handshake and a big smile. I walked out of Merrill 1 giddy, almost shaking with excitement and relief. I stopped at the pay phone outside the lecture hall to call Keith. No dial tone. I tried the other pay phone. No dial tone. So, being embedded firmly in the 21st century, I hied myself hence to the computer lab and emailed a select group of friends and family. After three years of rigorous undergraduate education at a fine institution, the only words I could find to express the gravity of my impending graduation were "Oh. My. God." Where would we be without Southern California?

I tried to find the perfect song, the perfect activity, the perfect words to adequately memorialize this occasion. Finally, I was forced to admit that nothing could be adequate. There's too much contained inside this momentous event. So, I bought a sandwich, returned my library books, and found some friends who are experiencing the same stage of their lives. We spent the rest of the day merrily not talking about it. We sat in the sun. We applied sunblock. We drank margaritas and Corona. We checked our mailboxes. We went out to dinner. And all the while a little drum beat inside my chest "Done. Done. Done. Done."

I have twelve days to dwell in this sweet in-between zone before Commencement pushes me out into the great blue yonder. I plan to spend them all.

Studying for second Bio exam:
1. Did flight evolve because previously flightless animals fell out of trees? Or because previously flightless animals were jumping to catch insects in an "insect net" above the ground? These are two of the more popular theories on the evolution of flight. If only all of biology were this accessible...and this ridiculous.

2. Animals that have evolved to undertake most of their digestive processes in a hindgut often end up practicing coprophagy (eating of one's own feces) because the digestive process leaves lots of tasty bits intact.

3. Animals select the destination of nutrients. For example, red fish will allocate carotenoids to making themselves more red. Blue fish will use the same material to boost their immune systems.

4. Certain moths will emit a series of clicks to warn the bats that want to eat them that they are not tasty (or even poisonous). Isn't that sweet?

5. For many years, scientists have assumed that animals developed legs in order to crawl up on land from the water. Recently, newly discovered fossil evidence suggests that fish developed legs many millions of years before they made the transition to land. They might have used these legs to propel themselves to the surface of the water in order to breathe oxygen.

I am studying for bio in hopes that I will improve upon my abysmal average. Taking a science class has been extremely humbling for me and I am trying not to let my inadequacy in this subject pollute my success in other academic areas. It's tough. I feel like a failure!

Things I'm Excited About This Week:
1. the stairs at the Natural History Museum at Amherst College
The rest of the museum is cool too, but the stairs are by far the best part. They are this amazing grey stone that is flecked with all kinds of intrusions and possibly fossils. I wanted to get down on my hands and knees to check them out, but was cognizant of presenting a potential hazard.

2. biology lab
I dread the lab every week and it brings out all my insecurities, phobias, and ornerisms, but it never fails to lift my spirits. My lab partner is a total kook - I both like and resist her more each week. The hands-on stuff is great and the martyr in me loves the fact that the lab is so damn long and arduous, even when it's fun.

3. my little room
I am quite depressed to be back in the House of Doom but I do love my little room. (Eat that, Emily Dickinson.) It's cozy and I have lots of pretty, homy, sentimental things. Plus, I have lots of books, a great bed, a cushy chair by the window, and several air-moving/purifying devices that make enough noise to drown out the fact that I live with two other people and a dog.

4. Henry James
What an insane man he is. "The Jolly House" is like some gothic horror story of the mind, like Freud trapped inside the rapidly firing neurons of his own brain.

5. self-pity mixed with self-aggrandizement
I am feeling sorry for myself for having to leave the amazing house/dog-sitting gig and simultaneously congratulating myself for doing such a fantastic job that Lee wrote me a very touching letter of thanks. There's nothing better for the neurotic, borderline depressive than this combination!

6. long-distance love
This situation fulfills some of the requirements stated above. I get to feel sorry for myself for being so far away from my love, while congratulating myself on the depth of my own feeling.

7. books, books, books
I found www.librarything.com, which lets me fill hours categorizing my books. I also joined an online non-book group started by my friend Sara, which allows me to publicize my reading habits and get great recommendations from the other members.

So, it's a pretty good week, even though it feels angsty and alarming. Spring Break was relaxing and full of warmth (even though it snowed twice) and it feels very vertiginous to be back in school, racing towards the finish line. What is next? everyone asks me and then we all cringe. I have three appealing summer plans, which should be a great circumstance, but instead leaves me feeling that I will disappoint someone no matter what I choose. And it feels impossible to figure out what I really want to do. I have to think that I will be able to choose when the time is right. If all the options are good ones, then how bad can the future possibly be?

So much for my theory...

Obviously, I am not Born to Blog (TM).

I'm totally in love with my own blog. I'm an autoblogophile. So now I am officially writing for my own self-gratification, which should result in more frequent entries. Four times a day, anyone?

It's Thursday and the Spring Semester starts on Monday. It's also my last semester at Mount Holyoke. My therapist keeps asking me how I feel about this (I've started bringing it up more frequently just to show her how gosh darn self-aware I am). Like most impending changes in my life, this one feels too unreal to provoke any anxiety, beyond the anxiety caused by thinking I ought to be anxious about it. I also know from experience that if I try to plan too much or push an agenda on myself, I will rebel and sabotage my own planning. My goal this semester is to ask for HELP from those around me, rather than attempting to take on the whole shebang by myself. That way, I will have accountability to external judges, not simply my own. Also, I will have to work on my issues about pleasing others instead of myself. And take 5 classes and dissect animals and conduct a long-distance relationship. Oh yeah, so do-able.

Today I bought school supplies and narrowly escaped buying all kinds of clothes and underwear I don't need. I think Target uses a combination of airborne GHB, subliminal aural seduction, and zany lighting to entice me into buying at least 5 more items than I intended to buy. Today, I actually took my overflowing basket to an empty aisle, took everything out one by one, and had a good talking-to-myself before I even approached the check out. This resulted in a savings of at least $20. Take that, Target-ers.

I was gently berating my friend for not posting more frequently on her blog. Selfish of me, since I haven't posted since July 6th. I think my friend and I share a common ailment - the events and feelings of our lives feel at once too mundane and too complicated to explain. Sadness, malaise, ennui, SAD, depression, anxiety - whatever name you choose to give your overriding sense of wrongness-with-the-world, it makes blogging difficult. How should I choose words to describe something that I don't even understand, but which is so central to my being? It's like trying to describe breathing, or thinking, or feeling. Or the way the blood feels running through my veins, even while I am not aware of it.

I am drinking an iced coffee with a flavor shot of chocolate-mint, which was suggested to me by the overwhelmingly cute coffee-bar guy. As with all flavor shots, I am ambivalent about this one. I like the flavor, but not the icky sweetness that lingers on the palate, forcing one to take sip after sip in order to wash away the ickiness with another taste. I prefer straight coffee. But, gazing into coffee-bar-guy's eyes, I thought I'd give the flavor another shot.

I don't know how to delete posts, so I am just erasing the text. Blogger was having hiccups yesterday and today I checked my blog to find my painful thoughts and inadequate words published in triplicate. Ouch.

My heart and mind are so full lately. Last night, after a full day of 4th of July festivities, I lay in bed, sweltering and thinking about my life and myself. It felt very painful, shockingly rich, and somehow unfathomable to be lying there, in this body, in this consciousness, in this life. I thought about what I want - that thing that is always just beyond my reach. The unknowable seemed almost knowable for just a minute. The feeling passed - it was too big to carry for longer than a moment. But there are vestiges of it lingering in me today.
A fellow-student's daughter was killed over the weekend. My co-worker's uncle died suddenly yesterday. My boyfriend finally told his parents about his alcoholism. I had a talk with my dad on Monday and told him how I've missed our connection over the last few years. It seems to be a time burdened with too much life and too much death. I don't know where to put all of it. Is it all right to simply go about the day to day routine at a time like this? Can I do anything else? Coming to work feels like such a relief because I know where I will be and what I will be doing for 8 hours. I feel like a dog who wants to go sit in her crate because it is small and protected and known. The world out there is too big sometimes.

3:39pm, Wednesday afternoon - the moment of truth. Making it past this moment means that the week will come predictably to an end, providing closure to another 5 days of meaningless, frustrating toil. My hyperbole makes me sounds much more disgruntled than I actually am, but who wants to hear about the minor disgruntlements of a fortunate daughter? Workers unite! (The first time I typed that, it read "Workers untie!" which may be more on my level.)

Discovery #1: Coffee made via the French press method is only superior if it is made from good coffee beans. Intensifying the flavor of Maxwell House does not serve the greater good. Good to the last drop, my foot.

I salvaged a grey metal box from the trash today. It makes me absurdly happy. It is square, about 6x6, and has little rubber feet on the bottom. It is perfect for treasures (and Latin flashcards).

My guilt about what I am not doing is growing apace with the heat, the mosquitoes, and my belly. Instead of working on my thesis project, practicing Latin, or enriching my mind in any way, I rush home to watch TV, read romance novels, and have rich meals with friends.

I wish I knew a way to harness the energy of a particular conversation and keep it humming once the talk has ended. I suppose this is a reason to be in contact with other people. Somehow, it is never quite possible to generate the same friction alone. I guess Good Vibrations has been working on this problem for a while.

I am interested in just about everything I read, when I read it. This is exciting and intellectually stimulating, but not very focused. As I am looking around for the perfect grad school, the perfect career, the perfect thesis topic, I find my multiplicity of interests (to use a sociological phrase) somewhat detrimental. Perhaps I am a true liberal art-ist, but is there any place to put that in this world? I know, I know, I'm supposed to create my own niche to fit me, rather than trying to fit myself into some prefab slot (eww). But how can I figure out what to do if it's never been done before? Or am I just looking in the wrong places?

I think my preoccupation with self and identity may be blinding me to alternate ways of living/being/doing. My friend was trying to articulate her philosophy to me, as philosophers will, and I kept getting hung up on the self. If we can only experience ourselves through an individual consciousness, how can we ever truly connect to an "other" or "others"? The more I think about this, the more I see my own limitations, perhaps stemming from an immature, or inexperienced, point of view. I don't really get how to connect to people, or to something "greater" than myself. Obviously, I am not affiliated with any religion - a position I've always worn as a badge of courage. But I wonder if I'm missing out on the big kahuna by refusing to connect to a spirituality. (Am I refusing? Does this imply that there is something to refuse?) I've always thought that I worshipped at the altar of the psyche, which is all well and good as an ironic intellectual position. However, it does not function as a worldly emotional recipe.

I am experiencing blog envy. And Blogger's Remorse. I am convinced that my blog is inferior. Does it reveal too much without revealing anything substantive?

I spend a lot of time at work looking over my shoulder and startling, like a cat in a room full of invisible moths. If I were to perform actual work-related duties, my nerves would be able to settle. But I persist, like a modern-day Don(a) Quixote, tilting at windmills labeled "MySpace," "Facebook," "Blogger," "gmail," "hotmail," and "petersons.com". Oh yes, and my nemesis constantchatter.com. This display of utter disconnection with reality further convinces me that I am unsuited for the world. Do I really wish to spend my life in an ivory tower, jotting strange poems, and putting all my hopes into posthumous recognition? I would like to think that I truly want meaningful engagement with the world. How that would actually look remains to be seen.

Typical archival request #1
The phone rings. It's an elderly woman, asking for Patty. I tell her Patty is on vacation and ask if there's any way I can help. She says "I sure hope so," in a dubious tone of voice. She wants to know if I can find out about a professor "Conlon" or "Condon" who taught in the Religion Dept in the mid-80s. I tell her I will look into it and call her back. I search every directory from 1980-1994. No luck. I search the Religion Dept files for that year range. No dice. I search the faculty bio files for anything starting with CO. Strike three. I call her back to let her know I haven't found anything. She can't hear me and we yell back and forth until she realizes she needs to switch phones. All this time, she is also yelling to someone else - a man, maybe her husband, who is there in the room with her. They decide that maybe the name is not "Conlon" or "Condon" but simply a 1-syllable name, and maybe he taught earlier than the mid-80s. Biting back my frustration, I offer to search again. I go through the directories from 1960-1990 and find an F. Benjamin Carr who taught in the Religion Dept from 1969-1974. I have a feeling he's the one. I pull his file, and while I'm at it, I pull the file of the caller, Gwen Glass. I call her back to give her the name. It's the right one. Her voice warms and she and the man in the background both sound happy. She thanks me. Turns out she's an alum who also served as Secretary of the College from 1973-89. She's a pistol.

This exchange is typical because it involves the 3 main ingredients of archival work: the frustration, the search, and the discovery of information and resultant connection. It's pretty cool, when it works out.