So long to the Mill

Saying goodbye to my family again - It's been nice to have a short time with them. Life has been such a whirlwind lately - and though it is a rather scattered pace of living, I have gotten to do so many things in so many wonderful places .... and I wouldn't have it any other way. Thank you so much to all who have encouraged me these past few months. 

It's always summer

I live in a barn! 

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I should probably take a moment to note that the South of the U.S. is very different than the North. Yes. It is. And the East of the U.S. is very different than the West. Truly.

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So ... therefore ....... the South+East of the U.S. is MOST different from the North+West. Mhmm. 

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I have scooted myself from Trendy Seattle down to the Carolinas where, unlike the Northwest, it seems to always be summer (sorry guys). I am here doing an internship with a magazine, and it is all very new and exciting (I seem to find myself in the "new" and "exciting" genre often these days). I live in a barn! I may have mentioned this. : )

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I was reminded of why I'm not a truck driver after having gotten lost a painfully embarrassing amount of times within my first 24 hours here. Also, after a rendezvous with the wrong side of the road (I'm blaming you, Australia) I find that, even though I have no idea what to do once I graduate .... at least I am learning what NOT to do. 

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I'll be hanging out with horses, humidity, and many hours-worth of projects over the next few weeks here before driving back to Illinois. 

Barnaby Joyce and Bundy on Tap

This post is looooong overdue. These are images from Canberra - our very first group trip with the Australia Studies Centre back in March. I shall make a list of all the important things seen and learned in the capital city of Oz! 
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> The name "Canberra" either means "Meeting Place" ..... or "The Valley Between a Woman's Breasts." There is no way to be sure. I wouldn't worry about it. 
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> The most important thing at the National Portrait Gallery, I gathered, were not the paintings of diplomats or the depictions of Australia's past royalty ... Nope. Two words to make your heart stop: Heath Ledger. I walked by his photograph several times, and there were always at least 10 girls just sort of gazing at the grandeur of his presence. Glued to his demised magnificence. 
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> Senator Barnaby Joyce (Best. Name. Ever.) is excellent at character assessment. He called his opponent, who was playing a game on his iPhone in the middle of their debate, a "Garden Gnome," among other things. 
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> We routinely fit all 28 of us into normal-sized elevators. There was much love. There was also just enough oxygen. 
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> We were told to NOT roll down the grassy green hill that Parliament House is built into, please. No matter how perfect it would be. It is built that way so that people can politely stand on the hill, and be symbols of how the government is never above the people is represents. 
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> Bundanoon, an Aussie city devoid of bottled water, brought to light the possible conspiracy of "Evian," the first company to present the idea of having people pay money for something that is free: Water. "Evian" = "Naive" spelled backwards? Hmmmmmmm-furrowed-brow-of-suspicion.
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> Also, the word "Bundanoon" now officially means "To not drink bottled water" in Flemish. This is key. 
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> Not enough time spent at the Art Gallery of Australia! For those of you who join me in knowing some things about artsy-fartsy stuff, there were pieces by Moholy Nagy, Toulouse Lautrec, Josef Albers, Pollack, de Kooning, and some Rothko, among others. (Some gorgeous Picasso line drawings, too!) 
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> We visited the War Memorial, which is said to rival London's War Memorial. Also, our trip took us to the Aboriginal Tent Embassy (a bit more about that in my next post). 
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To see more pictures of our group, and our time in Canberra, click here. Or visit alessandra-elizabeth.posterous.com.


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Click here to view more pictures.

Babb Bar Cattle Baron Supper Club

More Glacier National Park pictures! 
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Please do take note of the excellent historical wall art found in the Babb Bar Cattle Baron Supper Club - an eating establishment we discovered in Babb, Montana.  Best steak and baked potato Eric and I have ever tried. Also they make very exciting fresh pineapple juice. Also the Babb Bar Cattle Baron Supper Club is the only thing in Babb, we think. Also the Babb Bar Cattle Baron Supper Club is amazing. 
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I have not edited the saturation in any of these pictures - the lake really is that stunningly blue and the hillsides are truly that green. Well, at least they are when there is sunshine and not a 90 foot snowdrift on the closed road that goes through the park. Ahh three-hour-alternate-scenic-routes ... 
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These breaths of Majesty

Roadtrip to Glacier National Park - more photos to come.

Worth a thousand

Yes. I have failed the blog world. It is a fact of life. Like Lysol. 
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SO ..... I will now finally bombard you with the barrage of photos and experiences that have fallen into my scattered life since the last time I posted something. I hope that they might somehow bless you, even if just a fraction as much as how they have blessed me. 
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I will mostly post pictures, since they often speak louder than words. I keep trying to put this past semester into words for those who have asked questions about it - but there are just too many ---- and when I try --- I end up just saying "great" or "awesome" or something equally un-descriptive and lame. 

Those black flats

Tip-toeing morning sunshine is intoxicating as it graciously sweeps over shadowed stillness. With Phil Collins, Three Dog Night, and some Bossa Nova fueling my spirit as I sit on the sleeping bus, I realize, par its failing reputation, that my body has gravitated to sit me in the only seat that neither reclines, nor has a functional arm rest. At 5 in the morning, my spine doesn’t really care that I’ve taken eight dance classes that week which teach me about proper posture and alignment. Larry the Cucumber streams into my headphones – reminding me that he’s a pirate who doesn’t do anything; and I find I’ve made it all of an hour after dawn brekky before stuffing more food into my barely-waking system.

It’s quite a frightening sensation when you smell something waft over a bus and consider that it might be coming from the shoes you just took off. You envision, in a staggering instant, societies shunning your face and friendships being severed like the limbs of a Barbie in the hands of your twisted cousin. You feel that there will soon be generous frowns from all walks of life acutely stabbing your wardrobe selections;  at the fact that such a putrid smell could come from a pair of size 7 flats. All because you chose to bring those black shoes. Those silly black shoes. The ones that may potentially be molding. The ones you wore extensively in last weekend’s persistent deluge, possessed by the evil puddles to rot in humid decay. Rain everywhere. Cats. And dogs. From … the  … sky. You knew they would betray you, but it’s the only black pair of shoes you brought to Australia.  You wanted to be different than the girl behind you who brought all the shoes she owns for the four months abroad. But now you only have this one pair that match the dress you’re wearing. And you have to wear a dress on the 7-hour bus ride because you’re going to visit Parliament. You’re happy because most everyone is asleep, and maybe they won’t notice that the bus now smells like a well-loved locker room. Maybe they will be acutely unaware of the assault to the comfort of their senses. If you were to be able to just reach the frilly, girly lotion tucked in your backpack, maybe you could confound the nostrils of those nearby. It is, of course, wedged into the deepest, darkest, most hardest-to-reach corner of the most awkwardly placed pocket furthest from your desperate fingers ….  maybe you should just chuck both the insubordinate backpack and the disloyal shoes out the window … and you can feel those frowning noses from the fastidiously analytical culture of the masses coming to shame you ….. and you just can’t find that lotion … and people are starting to wake up …. And the shoes are staring at you, mocking the distress of your soul …

And then, in a moment of insurmountable beauty, the skies open up as you realize that the awful scent is coming from outside the bus.

Crisis crushed. Boo-yah.

So you begin a carefree conversation with those who are awake (and some who really aren’t, or shouldn’t be) about Neil Patrick Harris, excrement of jellyfish, mnemonic anemones, strategic tactics for the acquisition of quarters, school buses, and fathers being pastors.

It’s going to be a good day.  

Tin Cans

I have found that 14-hour plane flights are easier if you pull an all-nighter the day before, and then sleep for 9 out of the 14 hours in the sky-bound tin can. But make sure to have the people sitting next to you poke you when food comes by. And when you’re in the exact center seat of the entire plane, make sure to go to the bathroom when others are already up, and not try to climb over them with the grace of a drowsy and atrophied gymnast while they sleep. Brush your teeth before trying to convince the customs officers that they should let you into their country. Don’t try to bring peanuts into an island nation, or Tuberculosis.

Also, Qantas puts a video camera on the outside of their plane, so that you can remember that you’re flying in a miracle, and see the city as the plane breaks through the clouds to land. I think whoever thought of that should be given a hug, because it is an excellent gift when you’re in a non-window seat.

After months of expectations and impatient waiting, I am finally in Australia! Thank you to all who prayed, all who advised, and to all who keep loving me no matter what patch of land I wake up on from one day to the next.