Letter #16

Dear October,

         Don’t you love the smell of warm air? I’m serious. Today I walked into the writing center and I could tell that they had switched over from air conditioning to heating. There’s just something about the smell of warm air on a cold day, that slightly toasted warmth that just surrounds you as you walk through the door and you can feel the cold seeping out of your fingers. It's that special kind of heat that takes the place of the cold, and you look down at your hands as though feeling them for the first time.

Laura

Song of the day: "Your Apartment" by Jenny Owen Youngs

Letter #15

Aren't we cute? 

Dear October,

        I can’t believe we’ve reached the halfway point. Like, seriously. How did this happen? It feels like just the other day that I was embarking on this project, and now hear we are, with fewer letters to write than have already been written. It looks like you won’t be letting off on the chilly weather for the rest of this week, but that’s ok. It feels like winter in Texas, and it makes me think of home. It’s funny how so many little things can trigger memories. Like today I watched To Kill A Mockingbird with my film music class. Sitting in the dark auditorium, with the flawless black and white playing out on the big screen, I was flooded with memories of my dad reading To Kill a Mockingbird to me when I was far too young to understand it, and of humming along to the soundtrack whenever he played it on our record player. Eating breakfast in the caf sometimes makes me think of Sunday morning breakfasts, and  the smell of eggs and sausage and occasionally biscuits wafting in from the kitchen while we watched CBS Sunday Morning.  Or the other day, when looking at the picture of Cassie on my bulletin board, I suddenly remembered that I owned a dog, and how much I missed her funny half-ecstatic half-nervous greetings whenever I would walk through the front door. And waking up to an alarm just isn’t the same as being dragged out of bed at 7:30 by my mother, telling me to stop wasting my day and to come see the beautiful light filling the sunroom.
Since moving 2,000 miles away from home, I haven’t had the surge of homesickness that I was expecting. I imagined it would hit me like a wave in the first couple of weeks, causing me to call home every night, before dissipating and leaving to go prey on some other unsuspecting freshman. But that’s not how it is at all. Instead, it creeps up on me when I least expect it, in movies we have to watch for class, and the smell of breakfast, and in those early morning hours when my eyelids feel like weights but there’s my mother’s voice in my head, telling me not to waste a single moment.

Laura

ps. Friends, if you’re reading this, I miss you too! Hope you all are doing well, and don’t hesitate to touch base once in a while if you need to talk! (I'm trying to make more of an effort to keep in touch with you, as well. If you haven't heard from me very much, don't worry, the radio waves won't stay silent for long!) Also: If you have my address, I love getting mail! I’m so subtle, I know. :P

Song of the day: "Rivers and Roads" by The Head and the Heart

Letter #14

Dear October,

       14. I’ve always liked that number. Even before I turned 14 (and for a couple years after) I made all of the characters in my stories that age. If you were human, you would have just passed the threshold of teenagerdom. You would be a freshman in high school. I’d like to imagine you always wearing purple turtlenecks and mini skirts, doodling in a moleskin notebook, wearing your hair long because you like it when it blows behind you in the wind. You might want to wear tights with that mini skirt because you were cold today, October! Wind chill aside, you were a lovely day and you tempted me to get a pumpkin spice latte from the pub, which made my afternoon that much better.

So, I know you’re wondering. Why the picture of my cluttered desk? I’ve been thinking a lot lately about life’s tendency towards the chaotic. As much we preach time management and organization, the perfectly scheduled life is unattainable, and in most respects undesirable (It would be pretty monotonous, for one). I don’t think we should throw up our hands and let chaos take over, but I do think it’s okay to have a messy desk once in a while, as long as it doesn’t hinder our ability to get any work done. Like anything, it’s a balance, and one I’m still trying to figure out. As I face a chaotic week of trying to get stuff done before my Chicago trip, I find myself longing for order and stability, which means getting my desk back to a state of at least relative cleanliness. Still, there’s something beautiful about a workspace in the moment. It is the embodiment of our humanness, and the way our lives will always bleed out at the edges, never staying inside the lines.

Laura

Song of the day: "The Catbird Seat" by Darlingside

Letter #13

Dear October,

         You were such a beautiful, sunny day. I slept in until 10am and read for a couple hours. It’s so nice to be reading another Sarah Dessen book. Her books are like warm, cozy sweaters on winter days. Or more often, like a tall glass of iced tea on a sweltering afternoon. At 3pm a friend and I walked to New Bo. It’s quickly becoming our favorite place in Cedar Rapids. It’s a small little bohemia, only about a block long, and lined with little shops including a coffee shop and a bookstore. This time our visit was targeted towards New Bo City Market, a huge warehouse of a building that has booths for just about any kind of food you could want. We walked around, marveling at the different choices, and after I bought and ate some delicious ice cream as an appetizer, we settled on Caribbean and Chinese, respectively. I had a delicious stew on top of white rice, with a side of plantains, and she had orange chicken. As often happens with food, the meal made me think of home and the little Cuban restaurant we sometimes go to on special occasions. We ate there on the day I received my packet of information about the Iowa Young Writer’s Studio, and on the night of my high school graduation. Even as I was surprised by memories I didn’t even know I had, I was making new ones. We talked about what we would do if we lived in one of the super nice lofts that border New Bohemia, and about our favorite places to eat back home, and about our mutual struggle with decision making. We left New Bo incredibly full and happy, just as the sun stretched its long golden arms sideways through the streets.

Being a Sunday night, downtown was practically a ghost town. It was quite beautiful, and I realized just how nice the architecture is on many of Cedar Rapid’s buildings. Suddenly, out of nowhere, we saw a sea of people walking towards us. We were by far the youngest people on the street; everyone that made up the clump of strangers was a senior citizen. It was such a surreal experience, watching them advance slowly towards us, the light making halos through their thin white hair. My friend and I exchanged glances and then decided to find out the source of the crowd. We changed course and wandered past the people that had spilled out onto the deserted streets, walking in pairs, their arms looped through each other’s. We soon found out that a show at the Paramount Theatre must have just finished, and the only people who go to Sunday matinees are part of an older demographic. Our detour led to other discoveries, too. We found an adorable chocolate shop, window shopped at a furniture store, and walked until we came to the river, big and wide and always there, even though it’s so easy to forget. On the way back to campus we marveled at our discoveries, at this city’s ability to constantly surprise us. Those of you who think of Cedar Rapids solely as “The City of Five Smells,” know this: it has some pretty cool scenery, if you know where to look.

Laura  

Song of the day:  "Pleasant Valley Sunday" by The Monkees

Letter #12

Dear October,

        I’m sorry I didn’t write you a letter yesterday. I did however write this e-mail to my friend Indigo. Hopefully it will serve as enough of an explanation (Note: If you don’t want to read my crazed, late night ramblings just skip this part and scroll down to the regular post):

"[Indigo]!!

I don't know what to do with myself! I just finished reading The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer by Michelle Hodkin. And… oh my god. OH. MY. GOD. WHAT JUST HAPPENED? AHHHHHGGGGGHHHHH!

Okay, sorry. Trying to calm down. My brain is swimming. This has never happened to me before. Like, WHAT?! *deep breath*

Basically I can't tell you what I thought of it because I DON'T KNOW WHAT I THOUGHT OF IT! I went to goodreads after finishing it, and I COULD NOT decide whether to give it five stars or two. (I figure if I'm having this reaction it at least deserves two) I guess I'm just writing this to work out my thoughts…but I don't know what my thoughts are!

Okay, here's what I DO know:

1. THE ENDING…OMG THE ENDING!

2. FOR THE ENTIRE BOOK YOU DO NOT KNOW WHAT IS REAL AND WHAT ISN'T.

3. The romance was soooo "You complete me" (gag) and the love interest had cliche bad-boy-with-a-british-accent-who-also-happens-to-be-super-rich-and-somehow-madly-in-love-with-the-herioine-after-like-three-days? written all over him. (But… I think I liked him anyway? O_O)

4. I'm still not sure I completely buy into the paranormal stuff

5. I'm REALLY trying hard not to give anything away

6. THE ENDING!!!!! NEED SECOND BOOK NOW! (Or do I??? Would I be content breaking it off here? Can I sit through more "You complete me" nonsense to FIND OUT THE ANSWERS TO MY QUESTIONS? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS!)

Basically, I do not know what to do with myself right now. It's after 11pm, I still have not written my letter to October (My brain can only barely spout complete sentences), and my entire evening just DISAPPEARED. I PICKED IT UP (I was already at the halfway point, mind you) AT 7:00 AND WHEN I LOOKED UP IT WAS 10:30. O_O

What should I do? Please send help.*

Laura”

*She did send help, and it was very helpful. Thanks Indigo!!

So, yeah, I wasn’t exactly in an ideal state of mind (judging by my complete abuse of capslock) to be writing heartfelt letters about my trip to Iowa City yesterday. Luckily, I am today! Here is the letter that The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer unjustly robbed from you:

Going back to Iowa City since spending two weeks there in the summer of 2012 has always been a somewhat surreal experience. Every street corner oozes with memories from those two weeks. It’s tempting to see the city as a time capsule, a place where I can re-live those summer days, and for a while I coveted the delusion that it would always be summer in Iowa City. But this time the wind whipped the sleeves of my jacket and my favorite thrift shop was stocked with tacky Christmas sweaters rather than thin floral dresses.  Once again I was in the city for a literary themed event, the Iowa City Book Festival. I attended some really interesting panels, including one called Fact in Faction and one about the fate of independent bookstores. The latter was very encouraging: Even with Amazon offering books at crazily discounted prices, people still crave the very tangible atmosphere that can only be found in bookstores. Afterwards I spent a full two hours in Prairie Lights, browsing the seemingly endless shelves, and reading the thoughtful notes from employees about their favorite books. I ended up buying a copy of Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walter, which was prominently on display in several places around the store, so I figured it must be good. I think my favorite part of Prairie Lights is the café. It has a different feel than the rest of the store: hardwood floors instead of carpet, sleek glass counters instead of white wooden shelves, and streaming through the high windows, shafts of yellow light that make the room seem to glow from the inside out. It’s also a place brimming with memories from the Iowa Young Writer’s Studio. I can remember sitting at table near a window, sipping chai tea and typing the last few paragraphs of a short story that would later be workshopped. I remember eating cookies with friends and skimming the interesting (and often hand-bound) publications that crowd the counter on one side of the café. Once I read poetry while sipping coffee by myself and it was perfect. I only spent a few moments in the café yesterday, but it was enough. As much as I want to remember Iowa City for those two weeks that felt like a lifetime, I’m also glad I have the opportunity to make new memories there. All cities are living, breathing, changing entities, with the tendency to move on without us even noticing until it’s too late. Luckily, I’m nearby enough that I can keep tabs on it, and go back for the occasional literary festival.

Laura

Song of the day: "Her Hands Were Leaves" by Alexi Murdoch

Letter #11

Dear October,

        Today you were a perfect, blustery fall day. Your morning matched my mood as I frantically ran around campus trying to find a printer that would print my essay for Lit class. As I walked the leaves tumbled down around me and danced through the air so fast I had to squint for fear the wind would blow something into my eyes. The trees on campus are changing noticeably now, their tops crowned by lots of yellow and a little bit of red. Today feels like a poem I’m not sure I can write, but I’m going to try anyway.

Later tonight I get to carve pumpkins, an event that the Student Activities Committee is putting on. It’s been years since I’ve carved a pumpkin, so I got excited as soon as I heard about it. Pumpkin carving always makes me think of Martha Stewart, and Martha Stewart Living is still my guilty pleasure magazine, especially the Halloween edition. I fall every single time for the beautiful pictures of old new England cottages with paper silhouettes of witches in the windows, and of cupcakes decorated to look like spiders, and of black and white streamers twisting above the fireplace like decorations for some monochromatic prom. The places in that magazine, the cottage, the spotless living room, the rustic front porch with the perfectly carved pumpkins on the stairs, always seemed magical to me, like they were the true embodiment of all things Fall. But I know that isn’t true. Fall is in days like today- just chilly enough to warrant a sweater (even though most people didn’t bother), with the wind at your back and leaves spinning around your head. Today the leaves, huge and brittle, crunched under my feet as I walked to class. The pumpkin I carve tonight won’t be a work of art like the ones in Martha Stewart Living, and I don’t even have a rustic front porch to  display it on. But that’s okay, because instead I’ll be back in the cafeteria, surrounded by friends who are hopefully just as inexperienced at pumpkin carving as I am, and it will be the act, the messiness of it all, that counts, and not the idea, this perfectly imagined picture of a season that we get from the glossy pages of magazines. I prefer days like today over that, anyway.

Laura

Song of the day: "Little Green" by Joni Mitchell

Letter #10

Dear October,

       This morning I rolled out of bed at 8:30am to meet with Dr. Bob, the writing center director. It was a mandatory meeting for all first-years, as a way to talk about the writing center and to check up on how we are doing in our first couple months as new consultants. I was beckoned into his cocoon like office, which sort of glows from the inside because of the yellow lamps positioned in different corners of the room. All the walls are covered desk to ceiling in books, which sag on-top of precarious looking shelves. Honestly, I still don’t feel super confident in my skills as a consultant, but this meeting made me feel a lot better than before.  (When I told him this, he looked at me and said, “Well, you have experience talking to people, don’t you?” Me: “Yes.” Dr. Bob: “And you can read, can’t you?” Me: “Yes.” Dr. Bob: “Then you already have the two biggest skills that you need in regards to writing conferences.”) The other thing that this meeting reminded me of was that in a week I will be heading to Chicago with the Writing Center for a conference!  I cannot wait to go on a trip with these amazing people.

After lunch I checked my mail box to discover, not one, but two pieces of mail, one being a lovely postcard from my mother (which I always enjoy getting) and the second being my very first paycheck! *happy dance* As if my day wasn’t already going well, I then received two fantabulous grades in my sociology class, which was just awesome.

But you just wouldn’t let up today, would you? During my shift in the writing center, while I was casually minding my own business (which is difficult since the writing center is practically built for eavesdropping), a senior came up to me and the friend I was sitting with a casually asked, “Hey, did you know there’s a book festival in Iowa City this Saturday?” We both shook our heads. “Do you want to come?” Our answer was an emphatic YES.

Today was full of little surprises, things turning out even better than expected, and new things to look forward to. I’m so grateful that I can be in this place and have the opportunity to explore the things that I love. Oh yeah. And the absolutely perfect sunset was a nice touch, too.

Laura

Song of the day: "How The Day Sounds"by Greg Laswell

After you've enjoyed the song for what it is, also check out the quirky but lovable music video.