Marks of Many Minds: An edition of Cicero’s “Of Olde Age” and multiple readers’ hands

The first primary source that I’ve examined in search of early modern (and English) marginalia was a translation of Cicero’s Of Olde Age. This initial analysis is a basic one; given the nature of this research and necessity of a preliminary review of primary texts to determine a subject group to focus on, this analysis is a minimal one of first impressions when interacting with this text. Although I intend to look at this text further, I have not begun any attempt of interpretation; this summary will aid as an overview and introductory visual analysis.

A handwritten inscription at the beginning of the volume identifies the work as Cicero’s De Senectute [Of Old Age] with an addition of Cicero’s De Amicitia [On Friendship], translated from French and printed by Wiliam Caxton in 1481.

Pages proceeding this inscription and the exceptional preservation of this tome are necessary to discuss. Although printed in 1481, these original pages (half sheet size) appear rebound in a red leather cover with gold gilding. The marbled end papers (popularized near the end of the early modern era, later then this 1481 date) and excellent condition of the leather exterior suggest that the work has been rebound.

Inside the front cover are 3 stickers that identify past owners, as well as a Newberry Library book plate present in most of the Special Collections holdings. One of these ex libris style plates features a family crest, motto, location of Osterley Park, and names “Victor Albert George Child Villiers, Earl of Jersey.” as a past owner. A smaller black and gold name sticker reads “Louis H. Silver” above this tag. In the upper left of the page a humble white sticker reads “Later Library of Hershel V. Jones”. Hershel V. Jones asserts his ownership on the subsequent page (which lays opposite to the identifying passage) in a pencil inscription which–although it will require another look to read the name and title clearly–restates an additional owner before Jones; “From the collection of … 1756” is legible. These pages include some interesting markings that may be an original price as well as a stray signature which will necessitate further research.

The book is printed in a black letter font with middle English spellings. Notes similar to modern page numbers appear in the top right hand corner of most of the right hand pages of some, but not all pages; if these are arbitrary markings or some code of order is not clear at a first look, as the numerals are not in numeric order.

The in text marginalia begins about one-sixth into the translation. These first marginal notes introduce one of the readers’ hands. From my initial observations of this work with a preliminary introduction to marginalia and paleography, the presence of two separate readers are present, and with some variations between ink and letter shape, some similar notations may in actuality be a third reader’s marginal notes. These first notes are written with contemporaneous middle English spellings and style. Nuances of letter formation and changes in ink color later on in the text present the possibility of distinct hands and requires further investigation.

While a distinction here may be shady, there is certainly another reader’s hand in notes that appear in a blocky, darker ink that complements the gothic font of the body of work. These annotations are written entirely in Latin and where the other reader notes are lengthier summary, lists, or reference, these are brief notations, often accompanied by marginal lines designating specific lines of text. This reader also uses a variety of symbols in the margins to note content, although the significance off these are not apparent at first glance.

An interesting feature at the close of this volume appears on the last original page. Remnants of ink on a page that would have at one time faced this page remains in shadowy traces of what seem to be a tally or alphabet of some sort.

The initial examination of this volume was exciting and a very valuable introduction into exploring the world of marginalia. My next approach to this volume will inevitably include a refined research interest and cues of what aspects of marginalia are present in the text. To continue examining this work will be dependent on a brief crash course in early modern paleography, common reader’s symbols, and of course, a magnifying glass.

[accompanying images pending, as they are being problematic in loading at this time]

Reading Between the Lines and the Pursuit of a Research Question

As a student of medieval and early modern literature, history, and art history, I am a big proponent for examining things from an interdisciplinary lens. One of the ideas for research to pursue that came along with me to the Newberry was investigating marginalia, a term which encompasses reader’s notes, inscriptions, and frankly, doodles left by historic readers. A professor at Cornell suggested that I look into the topic with my varying interests in historic book culture and I can’t say that I’m disappointed. Particularly within the framework of this seminar and the many variations of meaning and constructs of ‘place’, I find myself intrigued considering the place of a reader and how interactions with texts have evolved or–possibly more surprisingly–maintained through the ages. It is interesting to consider the mind behind the mark on the page and think of what hands held that book before you.

And with this broad idea in mind, I have begun an adventure of reading between the lines in the most literal sense. Over the last few weeks I have paged through secondary source books on aspects of marginalia already published by scholars to ground myself with some knowledge of where to start in finding, identifying, and placing meaning on marginalia. Some of these books contain chapters of significance to me while others seem informative from front to back. After taking some time to peruse these texts, I’ve felt equipped enough to begin to explore primary sources and at least identify what materials to revisit more specifically later (much like the entire secondary books I’ve set aside to read in entirety over the next few weeks).

Figuring out how to search for primary sources and weeding through the numerous titles has been a challenge. Luckily, I picked up cues from materials and case studies of how scholars have found texts with marginal additions in their own work, gained some suggestions of how to search from some Newberry librarians, and within these parameters, currently have a list of around 30 primary texts at the Newberry with holding note that points towards some form of inscription or marginalia. With the immensity of the Newberry’s Special Collections and with my own interests, I have set some frankly arbitrary parameters to begin with as I have narrowed my search to texts in English pre-1700; while most of the texts I intend to focus on will be early modern works, I have yet to establish any ‘earliest’ date.

Some unexpected things have already cropped up as I’ve reviewed secondary material and paged 6 primary sources. I wasn’t aware of how much printed marginalia was present in the early modern period and have yet to decide if that will impact the course of materials I examine or not. While I am interested in examining the early modern reader, the place of the printer is always close at hand. Speaking of hands! One of the symbols of marginalia that I find interesting is the manicule, or the small, pointing hand that while originally a part of handwritten reader’s notes, became an installment in the realm of printed notes as well.

It also did not hit me that a note on a holding that would suggest some marginalia is present doesn’t clue a researcher in to what they may find when they page that text. So far I have looked at 6 primary sources that fall within the established parameters, 4 of which I will definitely take a closer look at later on. I will have a post shortly (either later today or tomorrow) about one of these sources, but as this update has gone rambling, I’ll wrap it up.

Top three exciting things at this point:

• coming across  manicules (drawn hands) in one of the primary sources [from 1559]
• finding texts that have reader’s notes from multiple hands; one [from 1481] seems to have extensive notes from at least 2 distinct readers and another [from 1561] with 2 readers and with the select notes and style of one hand, may be from a woman reader (as suggested by a secondary source I’ve looked at)
• a chronicle of England from 1482 has multiple reader’s hands, as well as doodles that seem to be from a young scholar which include horses, faces, and some phalluses (phalli?)

As I work towards developing a real research question, I am excited by what I am learning and what is available to explore here at the Newberry.

On Late Night Breakfast and deadlines.

Back at Cornell today, finals would be over and the first block break of the year would be under way. As a product of the Block Plan, it seems that the schedule and stress levels I’m so used to on campus don’t fade when away from campus, particularly when you’re immersed in a daunting scholarship application. So naturally, as all Cornellians know, sometimes the only answer is Late Night Breakfast. Late Night Breakfast is a Cornell staple on the eve of finals to take a bit to relax, refocus, and buckle down after well…copious amounts of breakfast food. It may not have been free, but Tuesday night called for an homage to Late Night Breakfast and I was glad to have a fantastic and supportive roommate willing to tag along for both breakfast and a much needed ‘Conniption Walk’ earlier in the evening. Over blueberry pancakes and an orange juice, at least a bit of stress began to fade away and after a bit of that break on Tuesday night, it’s time for an update.

The seminar has been fantastic, if you can’t tell from my level of excitement and numerous posts on class discussion. Everyday I feel compelled and challenged to be immersed in such an interesting group of fellow students and to be learning from two phenomenal professors. But I could rave about that for days–as I’ve already done and will continue to do.

Beyond class time, reading materials for the next day, and the other facts of life like making food and sleeping, I’ve stayed busy. Over the last few days I’ve been splitting my attention between class, research, and a post grad scholarship deadline looming closer and closer. As excited as I am for the opportunity I’m applying for–the Mitchell Scholarship, a program providing funding for a one year post graduate program in Ireland–it has been hard to focus and buckle down to actually accomplish anything further for the application. With the frustration of PDFs being temperamental, the fear of hearing nothing back from letters of recommendation despite persistent but polite (I hope!) reminders, and the terrifying reality of personal statement writer’s block, I’ve come to a point of….well…at least acceptance that I can only do so much at a time. I have yet to get my personal statement done and have plans of a showdown with that on Friday morning, most likely over a chai tea. The final deadline for my application is next week but with the confusion of conversion to British time, I have set a deadline for myself a few days earlier.

I met with the Conservation Lab yesterday afternoon and will begin work next Wednesday. They seemed like really interesting people and I am so excited to get going on some conservation projects and to try something new. Stay tuned for an update on my project and how things are progressing. And as a bit of a teaser: yes, there are early modern doodles and yes, some of them are of penises.

thoughts after a hard–but important–day.

Today has been a long day, but an important one.

This morning’s discussion continued to hit hard on race, Du Bois’s The Souls of Black Folk, and a particularly American (or as we refer to in class, US-ian) historical past. Our conversation continued on about race, slavery, perceptions, and narratives that for the most part, are embellished, silent, or lost completely. With purpose and frankly, necessity, we sat in silence as a slideshow of postcards of lynchings played on the projector. The images ranged in times and place of uncomfortable proximity–and how sad is it that that’s justifiable in instances: “not my time, not my place, not my problem” comes to mind. There were images from Minnesota and images from the 1960s; spectators in the frame turned around to face the camera in many photos–some smiled; there were women and children in the crowd. As much as any of us may attempt to distance ourselves from this terrifying legacy of torture, intimidation tactics, and atrocities in this nation’s past, this is relevant–it is our problem. While my American history education had familiarized me with the term of lynching and conjured a concept of terror and pain, no summary or gloss of that brand of historicizing instilled the deep horror and consternation that hits with these images. A distance was always present in my learning of race issues and the history of the Civil War, reconstruction, even the civil rights movement; I was being taught in rural Wisconsin–all of these atrocities were not only of the past, but not of the North and certainly not the Midwest. “It wasn’t just rednecks” Marcy pointed out in class; ‘respectable’ professions and ‘good’ people were among those crowds of spectators–people that were they among our acquaintance, we’d call family friends and in actuality, we call ancestors.

Something terrifying in itself to consider is that these photos are not crime scene photos; they are mementos–postcards and snapshots of a spectacle and tradition. One of the photos includes locks of a victim’s hair as a memento, a practice of commodicizing a lynching. The presence of children in these images is unsettling and as a seminar, we discussed that the presence of children hails a sense of ethics and values and cultural ‘stimulation’; children are included in aspects of the adult sphere to learn the ethics, traditions, and acceptability of their community.

These images are hard to cope with, but I realize that the mix of sadness, anger, and hurt that I feel tonight after seeing these images is a minuscule fraction of the immense pain and scarring that racial inequality and atrocities of a not so distant past have left on this nation and so many lives and that these wounds run deep and are still in danger of infection today.

How To Get Away With Vague Language: Problematic Language & How We Talk About Race

Before our seminar dove into discussing W.E.B. Du Bois’s The Souls of Black Folk and race as a factor in social place, Marcy (our professor leading the discussion this morning) pointed out that contrary to any of the “correct” French pronunciation that some of us may have assumed for Du Bois (think “bwa”), his family did in fact pronounce it as “Du Boys”. In retrospect considering the way that our conversation in class and my thoughts on the topic evolved, this clarification is of greater significance then at first, one would think.

Based around the opening of this book was the question of “how does it feel to be a problem”–a question Du Bois was posed with as a black author in the early 20th century and one that resonates yet today in 2015. Our class diluted quickly what the real problem was–“The Black Problem”. As soon as this conversation began, it was obvious that a major problem existed in our own classroom and although it would be addressed, would not nearly be ‘fixed’ within the next two hours; this problem was how to talk about race. With purpose–and importantly so–Marcy would push for clarification when collective and ambiguous language like “we”, “they”, “it” were used. Language, it seems, even in a room of ‘progressive’, thoughtful, and well educated young scholars is a privilege often taken for granted. We (see, there I go!)–as a class, we needed  to be pushed to stand behind word choices and go beyond inference and assuming that the experiences and backgrounds of our own education and background discussing race (or even our own race) were that of everyone else in the room.

Du Bois’s writing is deliberate in this book; his language, while beautiful and lyric in many passages, are words with power, meaning, and significance. Have we lost a general understanding and respect of the power of words? Respect came up a lot in this discussion of race and as something that is necessary in overcoming the color line that Du Bois discusses between races–a line that remains burned into this country’s history and is still just as unforgiving today.

In modern race activism, the problem seems to be that of the white ally, as contradictory as that may seem to some. Du Bois discusses the hesitation (rightfully so) of trusting white “friends” post-war, something that resonated in his writing in 1903 and currently. When put to the question of what needs to occur to ease the ‘color line’, I remarked that white allies need to be cognizant of how to be an ally– to admit our own ignorance and that we have not had the experience with race and racism, and simply–to listen. To be an ally is an important and powerful thing, but it’s not about white activists organizing and leading a march against injustice, but listening and being cognizant of how to be a true ally and admit that sometimes, trying to help can be more of a problem.

Last night Viola Davis won an Emmy as best actress in a TV drama for her outstanding role on How To Get Away With Murder. If you haven’t watched her speech yet, you need to. A pivotal line is her closing of “You cannot win an Emmy for roles that are simply not there”–Davis joins the dialogue of Du Bois 112 years later on the absence of opportunity for the black American population. It’s striking to consider if being PC is more important then being a POC and while I’d like to be optimistic, I don’t know if realistically, things will change any time soon. As I write this, I make no claims of being any authority or having any answer of how to address the modern world’s Race Issue, but in admitting my own ignorance, I’m ready to listen.

thunderstorms and stormy thoughts.

Somehow, it seems that today had to end with a storm and for those who don’t know, I love a good thunderstorm. I love to sit and watch a storm roll in, feel the rain spattering, and hear the thunder rumble. Storms give off such an energy–even as I lie awake after the first rumbles of this storm’s crescendo, I don’t feel tired as I did earlier after a long day, I feel recharged. And this meteorological event is fitting as pastoralism and related canons of nature perceptions in literature have been the topic of the last few days and a theme to ponder in an Art Institute excursion.
I have so many thoughts on literature of the wild that I’ve been putting off a post about it as I know there is no way I can reconcile all the thoughts I’ve had on this the last few days. But, it’s the middle of the night, there’s a storm: there’s no better time to try.
In the recent theme of perceptions of nature echoing through class, I’ve been thinking a lot about the new urban wilderness I find myself in of which the bearings are still settling in and that last year at this time, I was immersed in a very different wilderness with a literature course in the Boundary Waters of Minnesota (one of my favorite places in the world). As one of my favorite classes and a crazy experience for unscheduled reasons, the most out of place I felt in the field station was in the petty and dramatic community that quickly developed between the majority of my classmates when thrown into the unknown; the quiet and immensity of the wilderness at my fingertips was true solace.
At the end of class yesterday, the idea of isolation, loneliness, and beauty of companions and the wild were brought up, and as my mind wanders there, so does this post. I feel fortunate to have in my life people who–beyond being amazing–are people that understand the visceral awe of watching a thunderstorm roll in or evening mist crawl over a glossy lake. One of my best friends was in that wilderness literature class and not exaggerating, we both know that without each other neither of us would have made it through those two weeks surrounded by a toxic (and all together strange) social dynamic–at least without hitting someone in the face with a paddle. To have friends who not only tolerate, but join my excitement when I see an old tree is something that I appreciate and as I walk around the city, I miss turning to them and pointing and saying “look–moss!”.
Sleepiness has set in and this post could go on forever, so I’ll wrap this up and maybe this weekend write a more analytical post on this. As I’ve typed, it’s been interesting to see highrises around me come in and out of view depending on how hard the rain falls. My mind is wandering through a boreal forest and missing dear friends as well as a dear and ridiculously annotated copy of Thoreau at home. To close, here is The Storm (Georges Michel) that I breezed past at the Art Institute this morning. It seems like a fitting way to end a day filled with power and beauty that a storm would assert itself as a force to be reckoned with.

Image Analysis: Elizabeth and Iconography

In starting this image analysis, it’s been hard to know where to start and with the guideline of “roughly 500 words”, I suppose I better get going and not go into how this image and it’s historical and iconographical significance could easily turn into a graduate dissertation. But—before I get ahead of myself or let my love of iconography get away from me, with an overview of context in mind, let’s begin.

The image I was granted to analyze (and which any forthcoming images, courtesy of the Newberry Library, originate in if not otherwise specified) is La Grande Chronique Ancienne et Moderne, de Hollande, Zelande, West-Frise, Utrecht, Frise, Overyssel & Groeningen, Jusques à La Fin de L’ an 1600 [The Grand Chronicle Ancient and Modern of … , just at the end of the year 1600], authored by Jean François Le Petit and printed by Dodrecht in two volumes in 1601. Although I didn’t realize it until after perusing the first volume, this image appears in the second of the two books on page 522.

Before jumping into the image, a bit about the context. The book is written in French, although some of the ‘interlude’ texts (odes, poems, a preface)at the opening of each volume appear in Latin. (And before anything further, although I’ve studied French and basic Latin in my undergraduate career, it is necessary to say that while I can grasp ideas, I relied on online dictionaries for the majority of translations and the result is at best, a broken translation. I digress—) Both volumes begin with the same illustrated plate, the only difference in that of text and designation of “Tome Second” in Vol. II.

This rich plate and it’s references to muses and gods in the Roman tradition as well as illustrations of a port city, instruments of the arts, war, navigation, and education, and presence of a globe are tantalizing to analyze, but for sake of time and sanity, this overview will continue. The volumes provide a chronicle—and portraitures—of great leaders of the European world. At first glance, the first volume and title would suggest that the focus would be on the titular places around the Dutch world and after perusing the first volume, that all portraitures of influential persons would be of men. To my surprise and pleasure, the image I was assigned is a portraiture of none other then Elizabeth I.

While some may dismiss that Elizabeth’s presence in a chronicle of influential men would not be unique as she is so often cast as an ‘exceptional feminine’ to succeed in the sphere of men, in this text, she is not the exception as a portraiture of Margaret of Austria precedes her. Another aspect unique in considering this image: the next portrait is of Robert Dudley, whose influence pales in comparison to the rest of those depicted and whose close relationship with Elizabeth—both historically and in this text—is interesting.

A date on the page facing this portraiture places the text as occurring in the year 1585 at the start of the Anglo-Spanish War. Text below the image of Elizabeth references the conflict and in a rough and brief summary, emphasizes Elizabeth’s protection of England and that the Spanish are not to be feared. Other—French—text that frames the image states “Elizabeth, Queen of England and Ireland, Defendresse [sic] of the Catholics, Protectrice [sic] of the liberty of the Provinces of the Netherlands” (roughly) as well as reference to her as “virginae reginae”—virgin queen. Although—with the close relation between this portraiture and that of Robert Dudley, one begins to wonder if a commentary on that phrase was called into questions by the author, printer, and contemporaneous readers as well as a host of modern historians.

In her portrait, Elizabeth stands in an unspecified space, whereas some other portraits include some reference to a real space with a floor, etc. The Elizabeth shown here is not a young Elizabeth, but one of realistic age—she would have been sixty-six at the time of this book’s production and would die three years later. Although an image of an older Elizabeth, her images are no less striking than in her younger depictions and her visage is set strong, eyes looking off to the left and given the context of the passage, possibly poised to take in the Spanish armada with a look of resilience and bravery. Her crown is somewhere between an imperial and royal crowns still held in the British crown jewels and inexplicably resembles the coronation orb or ‘globus cruciger’ that she holds, an image that is also mirrored in the pattern and ornamentation of her globe-like skirts. Her dress is ornamental, including the Elizabethan collar of lace that is present in so many of this eras portraits of members of court. Her dress displays brocade and embroidery, jewels, and ribbon ties. At first glance, the sleeves of her dress resemble armor but on closer examination are intricate series of ties and bows—and whose shape has been under discussion as significant by some art historians, especially in contrast to the phallic nature of her scepter and the gender politics of Elizabethan’s rule as not only a woman, but a virgin. (Possibly more on those allusions another time!)

While this image on it’s own is a fascinating one, in the context of this work and the greater iconographical themes that surround depictions of Elizabeth, it joins the greater conversation of a royal and imperial ideology and rule of a feminine ruler in the early modern world.

[images courtesy of the Newberry Library Special Collections]

Bienvenido: un paseo en el barrio de Humboldt Park, Chicago

Monday morning, I participated in an activity that all ACM students are participating in this fall to explore a neighborhood from the perspective of an observer. With two members of my seminar, I set out to the Humboldt Park neighborhood of Chicago. Another group from our program was setting out for Humboldt Park as well, although we didn’t cross paths again after taking the same eastbound bus on Division Street. To act as a framework of my observations on our adventure, I’ll be using photos to outline our walk. To start, an image of the man and neighboring park that the area borrows the name of.

When we set out on this activity, we were told to hold off on the usual Google searches, micro-Google mapping, and Wikipedia searches that as a member of the app generation, I am accustomed to. I was surprised at how easy it was for me to adapt to not knowing what I was walking into or once there, where to go. We were provided a map that outlined the streets designating the neighborhood boundaries. And, as we got off at a bus stop in the middle of the neighborhood, we began our meandering and by the end of our time, had covered much of the center and north side of Humboldt Park. Our walk wasn’t planned and it wasn’t purposeful that we stuck to this area–with no real agenda beyond seeing the neighborhood, we wandered.

Major streets run parallel through the neighborhood–we stuck to North and Division–filled with various businesses, the most abundant being: auto shops, restaurants, so many churches we lost count (both storefront spaces and large chapels on side streets with community centers), ‘supermercados’ and corner stores, liquor stores, and beauty shops. Signs in the neighborhood were written in Spanish, English, or both. An aspect while considering the variation of what signs were not bilingual or in Spanish didn’t occur to me until one of my group pointed it out: all of the city or ‘federal’ signs were in English; none of these were bilingual.

Some businesses were open, some closed with signs of being open later in the week and others closed for good. I realized that one of the corner stores advertising groceries clarified the necessities: milk, eggs, pop, cigarettes, and another staple–calling cards. Numerous stores advertised calling cards, especially international calling, which nods to the large immigrant and first or second generation populations in the area. Some shops had barred windows. Spattered around the main streets were a few huge buildings that hearkened back to another time. A behemoth of a National Guard building appeared to still be in use, but a large bank–Pioneer Trust and Savings Bank–was  vacant; a sign on the door had a vague note about a new branch opening across the street, but there was no date, and no new branch across the way.

Beginning in mid-morning on a Monday, it was interesting to see the bustle of major streets grow over the course of a few hours. It was relatively quiet, even on those main streets earlier in the day. Within the first hour, only one police siren could be heard, something that differs even from the Gold Coast neighborhood. By the time we were finishing up our walk, the main streets were busier, with more traffic and people walking on the streets.

Away from these meccas of activity, we explored residential areas down side streets. Of all these streets we walked, every house had a gate. Some lawns were small, if there was any to speak of–all of these were well kept and you could see a sense of pride in houses with beautiful flowers and statues. Flags flew on some porches or were proudly displayed in windows–we saw flags of Puerto Rico, Mexico, and America. At one high school, we saw these flags as well as a Pan-African flag. Some homes displayed stickers of security companies, neighborhood watch stickers, and others had ‘Beware of Dog’ signs–may it be noted that the only dogs we saw were chihuahuas who looked more wary of us than anything. Chidren’s toys sat in yards or on porches. The homes we passed were single or multi-family homes, but in our walks, we passed possibly 2 large apartment buildings. Although homes had their own fences and security (or at least signs of determent) was prevalent, it was apparent that while private, these homes and residential streets are a pride for it’s residents. We saw litter, but none of our group would call the neighborhood “dirty” by any means. The only smells we encountered were what, given the businesses, one could expect: the smell coming from taquerias and walking past an open bay of an auto shop, oil or gasoline.

As we walked the neighborhood, a sense of community was apparent. Different facilities for child care and youth development were available–some connected to churches and others independent. The churches of Humboldt Park were something that stood out, and not only for the sheer number. As we walked the residential streets, it seemed that every third block we would see another church. Many of them had what appeared to be new vinyl signs, although the buildings seemed much older. Reinforcing this sense of pride in one’s heritage, community, and importance of family occurred when we were crossing the street near a church and a younger man–mid 30s, appeared of Hispanic decent, dressed in a shirt and tie–passed us and said “God Bless you, guys” and was the first person to address us. We smiled and as we crossed the street, read the sign next to the church–in both Spanish and English:

This sense of community and importance of ‘good acts’ could be seen in some of the public murals that we saw around the neighborhood, depicting culture, peace, community, and art.

  

We ended our walk with lunch at a Mexican restaurant near Humboldt Park itself and enjoyed the delicious and as it should be, authentic tacos. We tried to talk to our waitress about the neighborhood when she brought our waters to the table, but she apologized that she couldn’t speak English that well. I wanted to apologize that my Spanish skills were lacking and I’m not sure if she was glad that neither of us attempted to continue the conversation or not. She was very kind and the food was delicious.

As I reflect back on our walk and now that I know more about the neighborhood’s history (in recent years, as a predominantly Puerto Rican and African American neighborhood, although a recent surge of Mexicans and the outward spread of gentrification have begun to hit the neighborhood), I think back to the feeling of walking around the neighborhood. We didn’t feel like intruders that day; no one questioned our being there or even snapping pictures of buildings and signs that on a daily basis, would be completely ordinary. To an extent, I wonder if the local’s perceptions of our group changed anything. I have an olive complexion and dark hair and am often thought to be Hispanic or Latina, so much so that on a recent excursion to Chinatown, someone approached me speaking Spanish and asking for directions. Outwardly, did it look like I “belonged” there? But even typing that, what do we ever mean by that statement, really? While I suppose we’ll never know what people thought of us wandering around a Chicago neighborhood on a Monday morning, I am glad to have had this experience in visiting a neighborhood that without this assignment, I’m not sure I would have ever seen.

I’ll close this post (which has gotten a bit long) with an interesting image that we encountered. The image is just as out of context here as it was on the street we found it. These high end ads were plastered in different places and seemed foreboding of the threat of gentrification in the area and another layer of history and influence becoming a part of this neighborhood’s past.

redecorating my mind palace.

“Research is messy.” Ian remarked during our session this afternoon on learning some electronic tools we’ll be using in our individual research and projects this semester and as it would seem, that remark really struck a chord with me today.

The morning was spent with small groups to do ‘Neighborhood Walks’, an activity that all ACM students studying across the world are participating in this fall. [There will be a post about this coming shortly, so keep an eye out for that sometime over the next few days.] In short, I spent the morning walking around a neighborhood to the west of the Gold Coast and the program digs. Suffice to say, I wasn’t surprised when we were waiting for the bus back after a quick lunch that we had walked around five miles over the course of our meanderings. But more on that some other time.

I’m excited to learn to implement these new tools to help organize and on a night like this, I could use a forum to organize my thoughts. As I have written before, I nod to my college’s block plan scheduling in it’s efforts in making a multitasker out of me. But the curse of a multitasker and at times, self-identified overthinker like myself is that with so many ideas and mental catalogs of lists and things to think/write/accomplish at a given time, at times it’s a juggling act to know which ‘to do’ should go back on the shelf for a bit and what to do with a given amount of time. Minds, as I think we all can relate, get cluttered sometimes. Any fans of Sherlock will know the idea of a “mind palace”; tonight I’m thinking mine could do with some redecorating.

My mind palace is a bit full tonight with the reminder of an application’s deadline hanging around like a relative that wish as you may, you can’t quite see to the door. After spending longer than I would like to admit to on an email in regards to an administrative aspect of my application, I felt exhausted. And, 15 minutes later, I got an email back from the mentor I had cc:ed on the email, turns out, the email in question (in which I summarized my interest in the scholarship, personal passions and dreams, and specifics of how the program aligns so closely with my future goals) was…well…not necessary, as the letter would be written by another committee who already had materials to reference. …alrighty, then.

I’m sure there will be many trips back to my ‘mind palace’ and while I’m sure it will always change, tonight my mind is back in a favorite coffee shop near Cornell; the indie music from my Spotify syncs with the typical coffeeshop tunes and a dear friend sits across the table, working on some scientific reading that I will never understand. There’ll be the familiar long drive back to the hilltop campus and a mix of profound conversation and (poorly) singing along to the radio. But, at some point, I’ll have to leave my mind palace and with that said, I’m going to go heat up my own chai.

I’ll leave you with a Sherlock gif (be prepared for more gifs to come!) of the phrase I’ve mentioned. Cheers! 

the importance of being early

Today has been a full day. Not the kind that leaves you exhausted, but one that leaves you feeling tired yet content. It’s days like this make me appreciate getting up early (at least on the standards of a 20somethings weekend) and making a day of it.

The day started getting up before 8 and getting ready to go around the corner to the Division and Dearborn Farmers Market with my roommate. We embarked out when it was definitely raining, but light enough that my rain jacket seemed enough to stay dry. My, was I wrong. Nearing the end of our browsing the market–whose booths span two blocks of the closed street–it began to come down harder and harder. Once back to the apartment, I was soaked but happy with a bundle of fresh basil and a tomato which will inevitably find their way onto a pizza in the next few days.

After the sudden downpour and subsequent toweling off (which I am not exaggerating), sweatpants and Netflix seemed much more inviting than heading to the library to get a start on some paging. Just as I was starting to embrace the option of holing up in the apartment for the morning, I looked outside to see blue skies and ambition returned.

The materials I looked at this morning were exciting and a great introduction into my future time doing research in the Special Collections room [seeing as my vast interest falls within their holdings]; today’s volumes date to 1601 and 1618. While I intend to write about that experience again soon, I will say that I was pleasantly surprised by how much French I was able to remember to the point of understanding the concepts of much of the text if not a translation; Latin–that could use a bit of a brush up… more on those sometime soon!

In the afternoon I explored the Lincoln Park neighborhood with my sister, which was a lot of fun. We’re both excited to be able to share adventures in the City and to swap stories of academic successes and snags along the way–her beginning a Ph.D. program and for me, adventures at the Newberry.

I just got back from a cupcake run (run may be misleading…) with a few others and am ready to settle in for a cozy night before working on coursework and a post grad application tomorrow. There will be tea and hopefully by then, my Converse currently perched on the windowsill will be dry and ready for another day padding around the City.

a few favorite photos from the market this morning.