It was a unique honor to be invited back to school by my kid sister earlier this month. Indeed, it was the chance of a lifetime to witness firsthand Em in her element at the finis of her undergraduate career. That weekend I slurped my way through an inebriating cocktail of nostalgia and, well, edification. Dorm living, for example– I remember you well, but co-ed, co-op, shared-meals-and-chores dorm living? Definitely new ground.
Em welcomed me to her Rapunzel room, complete with exclusive balcony, all very charming but for that drunken slacker down in the building’s shadow, losing his breeches and barfing his brains out. Better, though, to see the epic clash of Roman soldiers and Samurai Jesus and the nimble romping of those Ultimate Frisbee gazelles! Yes! Boys frolicking in skirts! That’s more like it!
The princess merrily led me from her tower to her dungeon for some dragon taming and snake charming. I was happy to confirm (from a safe distance and with a sturdy plexiglass partition separating us) that Eulia the boa constrictor is as gorgeous as she sounds. To make up for not holding (or being held by) Eulia, I was treated to a thorough tour of the museum’s backroom collections, or “Hmm. Wonder what genus and species of dead beast y’all keep in this drawer!” I was still recovering from the dead squirrel in the refrigerator when, almost as an afterthought, she took me into the Poe-Bates room– stuffed birds, yes, but then on the table– a total freak show! Aw, the cute little lamb… has legs growing out its back!
And so it was that our classroom film screening and translation rhapsodies (Latin and German), all falling firmly in the “nostalgia” category, were balanced by some solidly edifying lab and fieldwork. Right in the middle of the chemistry department, we wielded blowtorches, spun the lathe, tortured some Pyrex and managed not to explode anything. Then there was the John Bon Fire– practical studies in pyromania led by a real scientist! I’m sure we left a few brain cells in those dark woods, but it was worth it to watch the splendid, colorful sparkling as the plastics melted. And I must confess to getting a huge kick out of watching the flames slowly consume a one-armed school desk like something out of a dramatic Pink Floyd video. So I thrill cheap. The after-party proved even more fascinating as we joined Professor John for his nightly rounds. We circled one of his ponds (in the tract of land he’s working to reforest), listening to a symphony of spring peepers and playing matchmaker to some horny American toads. Oh, what fun to interfere with natural selection! Oh, to go herping at night!
We took the scenic route to Charlie’s, and I was intrigued to learn that old Richmond, with its blocky brick buildings by the train tracks, is the “cradle of recorded jazz,” Picked up the latest Earlham Word and discovered that it’s “pie” and it’s definitely a verb.
We whiled away the afternoons in the Heart, lying in the grass and monkeying on the giant tree swing… but now I’m back from playing hooky, and poor Em’s down with a serious case of senioritis.
Oh, how I miss the spring peepers! Every spring I spend in town living, I think of what I’m missing: that eerie sound as though aliens had landed in the swamp behind my parents house. I used to lay awake at night with my windows open, no matter the temperature, just so they could lull me to sleep. Then, come warmer weather, crickets and other night creatures took over nature’s air waves; the aliens just stopped to be frogs.
I’m anxious to hear the Steve Heiny (my Latin prof) story–so next time you’re ready to write an entry, let’s hear what he said that you thought was so interesting. I enjoyed the Pink Floyd desk-burning reference. I don’t remember that ever happening when I was at Earlham, but maybe I just missed it! Have I told you that Steve’s sister’s girl Rachel will be a freshman at Earlham this fall??? I will always remember the four years I spent there as some of the happiest of my life.
May I take this opportunity to indulge in the What If game? What If I had known of and indulged in the genius and simplicity of Earlham? Would there have been no Pedestrian at all, much less a Saga of same? What If the Pedestrian had sashayed East instead of South from her Farm? Would LA be a distant dream? And for what is LA a stepping stone? What leap will come from this day? Wistful regret of past choices is a grim teacher for the next ones so not futile. But like the Pity Pool, it is to be dabbled in, not immersed.
Nostalgia blooms in deep purple flowers.