Vocabulary Word of the Week: Nor'easter

On Thursday I overheard some of my classmates talking about how a huge nor'easter was heading our way this weekend. When I asked what they were talking about they laughed. After a few moments they realized I was serious, so they explained that it was a kind of major storm that occurs on the east coast. Since I had already been laughed at once, I refrained from my follow up questions which were: What exactly is the word you are saying? Are you trying to say "north eastern"? If so, why aren't you just saying that? Is there a deeper issue here?

When got home I googled my best guess as to what that world actually was, and much to my surprise "nor'easter" is an actual thing. Like, you can use in in a sentence and everything.

So then I got kind of excited. I'm going to experience a nor'easter like a real north easterner! I am battling a cold, so I stocked up on groceries and dreamed of a snowed-in weekend curled up on the couch with the cats and a box of kleenex. But the nor'easter (perhaps insulted by my west coast enthusiasm?), decided to head out to sea once its business was done with Washington D.C.. We got a sprinkling of snow, but not enough to make me feel justified for staying indoors all weekend. So I went out and took a couple of pictures.

Prospect Park

A view of my apartment building from Prospect Park

Back in New York

Ever since taking my cross-country train trip it has amazed me how short the same journey is via airplane. Last Thursday I woke up in Seattle, sat on a 6 hour flight, and arrived in New York just as the sun was setting. It seemed too easy somehow. During the first few days back I felt like I was in a daze. I knew I was physically in Brooklyn, but my thoughts were constantly drifting back to Seattle. Being on break was wonderful, but it was difficult too. It reminded me of all the wonderful bonds I share with people who aren’t with me in New York.

The nice thing about coming back was how logistically easier it was than my arrival in August. I walked off the plane, hopped on the subway, and got off at my usual stop. When I made it to my apartment all I had to do was fish out my keys and turn the lock. And behold! I have a bed, a desk, a set of clothes, and an entire life set up and ready to go. All the New York habits came back to me as if they were natural. Within the first 24 hours I was riding the subway, cooking with cheap ingredients from Trader Joe’s, and watching weird Netflix movies with my roommate.

I didn’t feel like I was doing anything with much energy though. On Sunday I went to the Frick Museum—which has been on my to-do list forever—and only stayed for a short time before going home to take a nap. With no homework and no commitments, I should have taken advantage of my free time and explored the city. But all I wanted to do was write in my journal and chat with friends online.

Luckily, today, I had my first class of the semester. I was apprehensive about the return to school mode, but the day really energized me. Seeing my classmates again made the dark, bathroomless graduate hallway seem warm and happy. I went out for coffee with one of the women in my program, and came back to gab about Cranford and Young Victoria with another. In class, we were handed what we knew would be one of the biggest assignments of the program—a semester-long exhibit design project. But, as daunting as it sounded, I felt eager to start. While the professor gave a brief lecture on the history of museums I started thinking “YEAH! MUSEUMS! GRAD SCHOOL! AWESOME!” I imagined the activities of the term set to a Rocky-esq “Eye of the Tiger” montage: me taking vigorous notes at museums, me carefully re-sewing a torn historical garment, and me insightfully analyzing a primary source.

Okay, so maybe CLARA : THE MOVIE wouldn't make a good action film, but I'm feeling pretty good. Phase II of grad school—Bring it on!

Things I miss in New York

I’ve been back in Seattle for a month now, and one question I’ve gotten a number of times is, “is it weird to be back?” Besides the fact that I’ve living with my parents rather than my old apartment, I’ve basically just gone back to my old Seattle life. I’ve been hanging out with my regular crowd of friends, interning at MOHAI, and even singing with my old choir. It should feel weird, but instead seems quite normal. In fact, it sometimes feels like New York was a strange dream. I think to myself “hey, wait…didn’t I move to the east coast and start grad school?”

Part of me is concerned that I won’t be ready to leave Seattle. I have so many things that I want to do and hours of quality time I have yet to spend with people here. So, recently I’ve been trying to keep a running list of things that I am excited to get back to.

1. Egg Bagels. Egg Bagels Everywhere.

About a week ago I spent the night on the couch at my old apartment (see comments below about the bus system and not wanting to go home late at night). Having had a bit to drink, and knowing that I would be hung over and hungry the next morning, I feel asleep dreaming of the perfect breakfast snack. For whatever reason, I decided that when I woke up I needed to eat a bagel with cheese and egg on it. But when I did actually wake up, I couldn’t think of where to find such a thing. Of course in New York, if there isn’t a place with bagels on your block, the bagel and coffee street vendor is sure to show up in your hour of need. Plus, in a rare exception to the “New York is expensive” rule, said shop or cart will probably only charge you $1.99 for putting an egg on a bagel. I realized that there was a Noah’s Bagels on Capitol Hill, but I also remembered that a bagel with something other than butter on cream cheese would probably cost around $5. So, at the intersection of exhausted and irrational, I woke up wanting to scream “WHY ISN’T THERE A CART FULL OF EGG BAGELS RIGHT OUTSIDE THIS DOOR?”

2. Litter-trained kitties!

One thing I have not posted much about yet is the fact that in late November two cats moved into my apartment. They were previous resident’s of my roommate’s father’s house, and John had told me they were coming before I moved in. Lulu is just past middle age, and Coco is well into retirement. They stroll leisurely around the apartment rather than scampering or stalking, and sleep determinedly in the same spots day after day. Whenever one of them was on my lap or purring nearby, I would think about how happy I was to have cats in my life. Then the moment would end when I would get a whiff of poop from the adjoining room.

Coco and Lulu were previously outdoor/indoor cats that apparently did most of their business outdoors. John was aware that litter training might be an issue for them, and sure enough it was. Coco got it right most of the time, but Lulu just cycled through a few favorite spots in John’s room. Between keeping my bedroom door closed and watching where I stepped, I managed to avoid any physical contact with their various gifts. Even so, the smell made life difficult. No matter how much you love cats, when you come home after a long day your heart does not leap for joy to be greeted by the scent of poop. John assured me that this was still a trial period, and if the cats couldn’t learn better habits they would go back to their previous home. I was torn on whether or not I hoped they would go. I was obsessed with cats as a child, and firmly believe that “crazy cat lady” will describe me in my later years. How could I possibly prefer living without cats to living with cats? But, the reality was that I was spending a lot of time in my room hiding from the smell.

Before I left, John announced that he would use my absence to try a few things and see if he couldn’t turn the situation around. He informed me that he was in contact with a “litter expert” who specialized in this kind of thing. I begged to know if this person had business cards or letterhead that said “litter expert.” Personalized stationary or not, the "litter expert" must be the real deal. I’ve heard twice now from John to say that the cats are joyfully making excrement deposits in all the proper places. I hope this is true, and am excited to spend a new semester enjoying more benefits than downsides to cat companionship.

3. A comprehensive city-wide subway system.

Look, Seattle busses really aren’t that bad, and my experience with the NY subway system has proven it isn’t perfect either (my main line in and out of Manhattan is the aptly named F train, which enjoys stopping in the tunnel for no reason and closing on weekends). My biggest frustration with the Seattle busses has been service at night. After the evening rush hour many busses stop running or only show up every hour. Plus, in order to get to my parent’s house I have to transfer in the U. District, which is sketchy once the sun goes down. Even if it wasn’t the U. District, I don’t relish the idea of waiting for a bus on some lonely street corner late at night.

In New York, the subways run less frequently at night, but they never stop service. In fact, I think that more people ride the subway at 2am than 2pm. Once you get on the train that will take you home, there is something strangely comforting about the subway. I like how it rocks slowly back and forth as I count down the remaining stops. If I can, I get a spot where I can gaze out the window. My train goes above ground for two stops. On one side you get a view of downtown Brooklyn and a few of the tallest points in Manhattan. On the other side is a glimpse of the water and the Statue of Liberty. Day after day, I still haven’t gotten tired of the view. For some reason it reminds me more than anything: “Wow, I live in New York.”

End of Semester Wrap-Up

Wow. I had forgotten how great the time change is going east to west. My plane left New York in the late afternoon and arrived in Seattle when it was still early in the evening. I woke up at 6:30 am today feeling better rested and more awake than I have been in weeks. I mean, I am chipper, and even my morning-loving parents are giving me that “can’t you dial it down a notch?” look. But I can't keep it in! The semester is over and I’m back in Seattle for an extended winter break. And if you aren’t in a good mood, here is something to fill you with holiday cheer:

That would be a picture of my mysterious unknown fiber. Isn’t it beautiful? When silk comes out of a silkworm there are two strands (or “brins”) attached together with a coating. Usually the coating is removed and the strands are separated, but sometimes the silk is left raw like this. This is what it looks like! Merry Christmas!

Doesn't do it for ya? How about this:

Festive.

So, apparently I just finished my first term of grad school. It is pretty hard to believe. Four months ago I couldn’t tell a warp from a weft. Now I’m that annoying girl who wants to tell you about the weave structure of your coat. I’ve already tried to bring up the significance of the cage crinoline at a party, and I spent part of Thanksgiving dinner staring intently at my aunt’s napkins. As planned, grad school has added rich, nuanced levels to my nerdyness.

But how have I progressed as a New Yorker? Now that I will be gone from my new city for about six weeks, I have to wonder if I will miss it. Have I grown attached to New York, or am I just going through the motions? It is hard to say. I’ve met a lot of wonderful people, but I can’t say I’ve made any close friends. I’ve been up to the Cloisters and down to the financial district, yet I feel like I only really know the blocks between FIT and my subway stop. I’ve enjoyed New York pizza, hot dogs, and bagels, but I still find myself wondering why there aren’t Pho places on every corner.

In some ways, I feel like there must be two New Yorks: the famous one (as seen TV and film) and the one where I live. I live in the every day New York. The one where I get on the F train every morning and stare ahead stoically when it gets delayed. One where the bright lights of Times Square are just a distant glow I notice on my way home. One where weekend evenings are spent watching Project Runway DVDs on the couch with my roommate and his cats.

Terrifying moments in grad school history

I haven't written anything in almost a month, I know. This end of semester stuff seems to be going on forever. Tomorrow I have a big exam that the whole class is rightfully terrified about. During our review session last week the following occurred:

Professor: Ok, here is a dress you haven't seen before. Date it.

Me: 1880s?

Professor: You are not in grad school to say "1880s." Give me a year.

*gulp*

The Crazy: It is Starting

How is it almost the end of the semester? I feel like I've just gotten started! Truth be told, part of me still thinks it is still late August back in Seattle and I am just on some kind of bizarre trip. But no. The end of the semester is coming, and I will soon immersed in the deluge of papers, presentations, and tests. There have been so many things I've wanted to share with you all, either through posts here or personal e-mails and calls, and I feel guilty about how little I have done, So, in anticipation of the end of the semester, I would just like to apologize in advance if I become even less communicative over the next month.

So, before I disappear, here is a little about what I am working on.

Most of the time when I post something on this blog, I sort of wish I had a accompanying picture. But then I go through the recent pics I have taken and most of them look like this:

Or this:

This latter is one of the unknown fibers I need to identify for one of my term projects. The fiber is encased in some sort of mysterious crust. Even my professor said "whoa! what IS that?" when I showed it to her.

In my History of Western Textiles course we have to write a paper about an object in a local public collection. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, but when I was paging through a book in the library I fell in love with a 17th century embroidered bag that was made by a 10 year old (it is now in the MET). The book described the work as "amateur," but to me the skill seems remarkable. I guess that is what happens when you grow up with a corset instead of a television. I've been researching the motifs in the bag, and one of the most interesting are these figures referred to as "boxers."

Apparently the motif crops up in embroidery samplers all the time, but no one actually knows what is going on. They are always human figures, usually wearing either tight fitting clothes (which is why someone thought they were boxers) or are barely/debatably clothed, are holding a "trophy," and are standing next to some foliage. One source I found thinks that it started as a pattern from a book of "a lover offering a flower to his lady." The lady was apparently complicated to stitch, so over time she was simplified into a leafy bush. Another source was intrigued by the fact that these particular figures appear to be hairy. There might be some connection to the hairy people that sometimes show up in Medieval tapestry. They are said to represent wild people that are untouched by civilization. Here is a female example:

The project that I am currently the most excited about is my paper for Fashion History. Last year at MOHAI we discovered that there was an object in the collection that was supposedly a blood stained scarf worn by Mrs. Lincoln on that fateful night in Ford's Theater. Like good museum cynics, we all laughed at the possibility. But ever since then I couldn't help but wonder how ridiculous that claim really was. Does anyone actually know what she was wearing? U.S. Historians are nuts for Lincoln, it seems like someone must have looked into it. Right? I proposed the idea to my professor, and she liked it. So basically I am researching 1) If anyone does actually know what Mrs. Lincoln wore that night, 2) whether a scarf of that type makes sense for the time period and the setting, and 3) a little about Mary Lincoln and her fashion. It is all a bit morbid, but I am finding it FASCINATING. In essence, there is no reliable source about her clothing on the night of the assassination. The few references I've found contradict each other. The Chicago Historical Society has a bloody cape that has more provenance than the MOHAI scarf, but is far from a sure thing. If you are interested, they have a whole site devoted to a current project of research and lab tests for the cape: http://www.chicagohistory.org/wetwithblood/

I guess I am on a photo theme for this post, so here is Lady Lincoln in one of her controversial low-necked gowns:

What do you think? Do you feel like throwing a lacy scarf over that decolletage?

Karl Lagerfeld and the Magical World of Libraries

Just about a month ago, I finally landed myself a work-study gig at FIT. Like everyone else in my program I had applied right away for the two most coveted open jobs: collections assistant and conservation assistant in the museum. Besides getting to work with FIT’s magnificent, jaw-dropping collection of garments, such work would be great resume building experience. Unfortunately those jobs, along with several other back-ups, all went to other people. I was feeling sort of rejected and hopeless when I unexpectedly got an e-mail from someone at the library circulation desk. When I applied I thought it was checking books in and out (front desk! Like MOHAI!), but instead it turned out to be book re-shelving (oh…like Barnes & Noble). As dull as it sounded, I figured I might as well go in for the interview.

When the two supervisors looked at my resume and realized I wasn’t an undergrad, they took pity on me. They wondered if, instead of book shelving, I would have any interest in Special Collections. Special Collections is where all of the rare archives are kept. In terms of gaining good experience and working with amazing items, it is on par with the museum. I salivated accordingly. They weren’t sure if the department was looking for anyone, but they offered to make inquires. We agreed on the following arrangement: I would start with book shelving and they would work on getting me in to Special Collections.

Shelving books turned out to be grimmer than I expected. Besides the fact that numerically sorting books isn’t high on the list of invigorating activities, there were too many people hired for too little work. Often there were three or four of us working to re-shelve a few short piles. I would end up circling the aisles and study carousels waiting for someone to leave a book unattended so I could snap it up and return it to its proper place. [Side note: in order to learn the Library of Congress system I had to sit through a computer tutorial hosted by a wizard who told me he was going to take me on a magical journey through the world of libraries.]

One thing I did like about shelving though was that it gave me a deeper appreciation of the library and the people who use it. It is sometimes hard not to be cynical about the undergrad population, and while there are certainly those that are a few needles short of a full sewing kit, there are clearly some great creative minds here as well. They use the library as a space to get inspiration, work on sketches, finish paintings, and build 3-D diagrams on the computer. It is fascinating to walk through and sneak glances at all the work in progress. Earlier this week I saw two women painting what appeared to be a large metal doughnut. Appropriately, the library collection reflects the needs of the students. The European history section is a bit thin, but the shelves for photography, graphic design, art, architecture, textile history, and fashion stretch on and on. Printed text is all well and good, but sometimes it is wonderful just to get lost in a smorgasbord of gorgeous coffee table books.

Visual delights aside, I was thrilled to be mercifully plucked from shelving duties. The director of Special Collections was desperate for help, but had no budget approval for a work-study student. But, since the circulation desk didn’t actually need me, they were happy to keep paying me and lend me out to another department. So, late in the game and partially by chance, I ended up with one of the best work-study jobs on campus.

I felt at home in Special Collections right away. Like your average underfunded museum or library the department has a small staff with an overwhelming to-do list. That sounds like a bad thing, but it means that I was warmly embraced as much needed help and promptly trusted with an interesting assignment. I’m working on an inventory of personal papers from a woman who worked as a fashion journalist in the 1970s and 80s. The collection is organized by designer, and features mostly articles, photographs, and PR materials. That stuff is interesting on its own, but every so often I come across the archives holy grail: an original designer sketch. Of particular interest are those by Karl Lagerfeld, who if you don’t know, is a design legend who is the head designer for Chanel. He apparently destroys most of his sketches, so seeing originals of his is doubly rare. So maybe the tutorial wizard was right after all. Libraries are magical places.