It’s very beautiful in some expected but also some unexpected ways.

The real feature is the Aalto-designed library, a library that I feel very connected to from some past experiences.

The periodical room has such good light.  The whole library is built against the side of a hill, so there are these beautiful lit spaces, but not all just from swaths of windows.

I love how well cared for everything is, but also well-used.

I snuck into one of the unused closed carrels.  You know, Mt. Angel is only ten minutes from Silverton.  I’m tempted to develop a project that merits requesting one of these.  From what I could tell, there were a few available.  Also many open carrels that could be reserved.  How nostalgic that makes me feel.

There’s also a fairly sound proof listening room on the lowest level (well, above the basement).  J and I had the place to ourselves, and we listened to some Schubert.  Then we danced a little to Billie Holiday. It was very romantic.

I lived here two times, so did my sister.

Steve, the kindly & cranky manager, has a two times rule.  You can’t come back after that.  I understand it on principle, but it’s hard for me to imagine never living in The Rasmussen again.

This weekend J & I went for several walks, this was in Laurelhurst, at the teeny Oregon Park, another place that is full of memories.

We’ve been talking a lot about where we might live in the future; it’s so strange to imagine not being surrounded by remnants of earlier epochs (of my history as opposed to the world’s).  Discovery, instead of rediscovery.

Agnes Martin, Homage to Greece

I am teaching painting in a much more focused way than I used to, and certainly doing a lot more of it than I used to, so it makes sense that I’ve been more excited about painting in general of late, especially mixed-media painting.   But I think what’s prompting my enthusiasm is actually a new understanding of movement, rhythm, balance, and tension that’s coming out of the ballet classes I’ve been taking. Basically, I am moving my body in a new way, and that is resulting in a different experience of the world, which is resulting in a new understanding of art.  That I did not predict, and it’s pretty exciting.

I don’t have a more recent photo, but this one of me with pretzel moustache in France does a good job, I think, of capturing my enthusiasm.

I eat way too much dairy.

The other exciting (?) innovation was at the coffee cart, where we picked up strong french press — the stir sticks were buckwheat linguini (ahem, uncooked). Oh, Portland.

While we ate (and tried to avoid getting mauled by toddlers and their SUV strollers), we admired the building across the street, and daydreamed about buying it and living on the top floor, with a second apartment converted to an office studio. I would manage it and teach ceramic workshops and write articles for magazines, and J would do something brilliant and computery.

Then we decided to walk over a bridge; we picked the Hawthorne. It’s a good thing we like it, because we were on it for longer than expected — it went up to accommodate a (presumably) very important sailboat.

It was hot.

Sunday, today, we almost didn’t leave the house, but hunger and peanut butter toast fatigue set in, so we went to a second cart, um, grouping or whatever, and had fried fish. Fine cuisine it was not, but satisfying, yes.

P.S. Sadly, I have no pictures to represent the other notable part of our weekend, which was spent spacing out to the Eluvium album over and over and over again.

My affection for Instagram (apparently) goes far enough for me not to care that the effects bleach out all of the details of my work…

Thank you to those of you who were able to come to the show — it went very well, in spite of the heat!

I do want an iPhone.

This week I resigned from my position at Molalla High School and accepted another at Silverton High School. It is a hard thing to say goodbye.

One of the things that distinguished my time at Molalla were the many opportunities to engage in silliness.  With students, fellow teachers, or all by myself in my classroom.

Like on Halloween, in my first year, when some cheerful young fellows from my Drawing class helped me recreate Kimmy’s cover.

Or the annual Battle of the Sexes competition and assembly, where we female teachers rocked it every year.  Yep, I know this is an incredibly unflattering picture.  Here you have “Walk Like and Egyptian.” Not pictured: the synchronized roller-skating routine to “Brand New Key,” the Joan Jett number, or the Ting Tings number.  Oh, and there was that flash mob to “Safety Dance” during break this year…

The day I dressed as my good friend and former colleague, Mrs. Anderson (no relation) who was rawther pregnant at the time.

Last September’s laminating frenzy.

And this year’s final shenanigan, pledging to shave my head, for a very good cause (I had to get a new job, right? There’s no way I could top this next year).

To my colleagues, and the approximately 2100 students who shared class with me over the last five years, it was remarkable. Thank you.

I cut off my hair, and Sylvia went to the state competition for Poetry Out Loud.  Pretty exciting.

Not as exciting as going to France, though.  Which is what (what?) we are going to do, mid-Juneish.  Yesterday J & I went down to Powell’s to get a guidebook, and I also picked up this for me and this for Sylvia.

J & I will have a few days in Paris alone, and then we’ll rendezvous (see? French.) in Toulouse with Kate (J’s mom) and Sylvia, and then drive down to Bezier, where we’ll spend the remaining two weeks sampling each of the twenty-two varieties of olives purported to be available there.

Now that is a vacation.