When I recounted my recent mechanical close-encounters-of-the-weird-kind, I never imagined there would be a Part II, but as anyone who's ever seen a movie knows, sometimes the sequel outstrips the original...with sheer goofiness, in this particular case.
You see, rather than learning my lesson, and lying low for a while, I decided instead to press forward with car-related maintenance tasks. I reasoned that I was being a responsible adult, caring for my property in the correct way, scheduling the required upkeep, blah blah blah. It seems like a low-risk, no-brainer, right? However, besides the aforementioned odd incident, the other thing holding me back was the fact that--having priced out all of the odds and ends recommended at the 105,000 mile checkup--I expected it to be a painfully expensive blow to ye olde wallet.
So after a few pathetic whimpers, I decided to suck it up, take a deep breath, and just get on with it. Now, for these sorts of appointments, I tend to visit a local shop that I trust, rather than trek all the way to the dealer. Therefore I dropped off the Forester at 9 a.m., caught a ride home with their driver in the Prius shuttle (because of course it is, in super-green Chapel Hill/Carrboro!), and puttered around the house, waiting for the magical phone call that would instruct me to come back and pick it up again.
Unfortunately--but not entirely unexpectedly, given the age and mileage--they found something that needed to be repaired (and which would freakin' DOUBLE the cost I'd made such a big deal out of preparing myself for...DANG IT!) After heaving an obligatory, gigantic "this sucks" sigh, I gave them permission to go ahead. However, at 4:30, I hadn't heard anything further; not only was this somewhat...worrisome...I also knew that they close at 5, so I reached out for an update myself. Reassuringly, I was told that a technician was currently tooling around town for a test drive, to make sure everything was running smoothly.
Aaaannnd, instead of that information, I received the following: "Um...when it was out, the clutch started making a...screeching noise...and we need to figure out what's happening." Oh, you've gotta be KIDDING me! After making 100% sure the sheepish manager and I were on the same page--that it had definitely NOT been doing this before they got their hands on it, and therefore would also not be my financial headache--I agreed to take a loaner car overnight, so they could keep mine and continue working on it the next day.
Ay yi yi. This was beginning to cross over into the territory of "somewhat surreal", in my opinion. But I graciously accepted the generous gift of a temporary (hybrid, naturally. Ha! Sorry...) Camry, and kept my fingers crossed that they'd successfully solve the mystery...and return a good-as-new (ish) Subaru to me as soon as possible.
The following afternoon, I got the "all clear" text, and piloted the borrowed Toyota back to the shop-- with some trepidation--to hear the verdict. When I arrived, the technician explained that they'd isolated the one part causing the cacophony...which was a circular connector...thingie?...that links the clutch to the engine. To illustrate, he showed me a photo on his phone, of a new, shiny, perfectly round one...then held up mine with an admirably understated flourish, to show me the filthy, misshapen, cracked and warped version they'd removed and replaced. Gulp.
After expressing sheer amazement at the difference...and abundant gratitude for their intervention and rescue...in a small voice I inquired as to how much they WOULD have had to charge, if not for the incredibly, unbelievably lucky timing (for me, anyway). "Well," he replied, "it's about 6 hours of labor...and we usually suggest replacing the clutch at the same time, since we have to take out the whole transmission to get to it." Oh. My. Goodness--or can you say "Holy Dodged-a-Big-Old-Bullet, Batman!"?
There's a footnote as well--something that only occurred to me later that evening. I remembered that I'd been noticing...and studiously ignoring...a barely perceptible...umm...squeak/whistle?...from the clutch for, oh, the past several months. It certainly wasn't loud or scary, and didn't seem to be affecting the actual performance in any way, so I never even thought to mention it to either the dealer or the local guys. In retrospect, or that proverbial 20/20 hindsight, if you will, it was probably our little plastic friend, slowly becoming more and more mangled over time.
So to sum up:
1. Some seriously crazy-ass four-leaf-clover timing on the clutch crisis.
2. An even more astronomical bill narrowly averted.
3. The car gods (and maybe even higher-up powers) totally had my back on this one.
4. Oh, and my clutch, which hadn't even been misbehaving, as I mentioned, now feels all kind of...I don't know...freshened up? (I guess maybe "tight and responsive" if I had to reach for any remotely automobile-related terms. But that sounds vaguely...naughty. I should just stay the heck away from car talk, yeah? Agreed...)
5. Finally, "thankful" doesn't even begin to express my feelings after this near-disaster. So now it looks like I might need to perform not only a cleansing ceremony, but also an offering of some variety. Or maybe they can be combined? Whew, gotta go--there's some very important research to be done!
Thursday, February 21, 2019
Sunday, February 17, 2019
Definitely not Christine...but a tad creepy, nonetheless!
There are many reasons why I call my ride the "trusty Subaru", not the least of which is that it's been with me for 9 years and over 100,000 miles, while mostly only demanding routine maintenance and a few parts replaced here and there when they've worn out. Therefore it was definitely out of the ordinary when, roughly a couple of months ago, the electronic door lock button quit working suddenly. I initially blew it off--I mean, I figured it was no big deal, because I could still secure the vehicle using the fob (which I carry at all times) once I got out. So I just made a mental note of it, and decided to have the issue addressed the next time I went in for service.
But then...it started to get weird. As in, one day I was just driving along, minding my own business, and the doors abruptly...locked themselves. Now, I do realize that some models--Husband's Hyundai, for example--automatically do this as a safety feature for the passengers once the car is in motion...but mine is NOT one of them! So yeeeeaaaah, I was, let's say, "mildly freaked out" by this event, and began to formulate a hypothesis that my beloved Forester might be...HAUNTED. (Because of course my mind immediately went there--I blame it on waaayyy too many years of being a faithful Supernatural viewer...that stuff starts to stick with you after a while...especially if you're blessed/cursed with an overactive imagination like mine...)
Anyway, it's all super-cool, no harm done, and all that, right? I'll just keep ignoring the up-to-now still somewhat cryptic signs of otherworldly tampering, and carry on as if nothing is wrong. Eh, what's the worst that could happen? Weeeelllll...evidently this attitude and/or plan of action didn't please the... spirits (or whatever)...at all, and they conspired to level-up their spooky game.
What happened was, on Errand Friday I gathered together some household recycling, and traveled to the county's Hazardous Waste Center to responsibly dispose of it. The site is set up so that you enter at the main gate, and then make your way around in a counterclockwise circle, stopping at each area that pertains to what you need to unload. It was a chilly, breezy, damp day, and I'd gotten nice and toasty in the driver's seat, with the heat vents blasting on me for 15 minutes on the way there. That, coupled with the fact that I didn't actually have too many items, led me to formulate what seemed like a perfectly valid plan: leave the car warm and running, and just hop in and out a few times as necessary to drop things in bins.
Thus I pulled up to the first station--for CFL and LED bulbs, in case you care--steeled myself for the blast of cooler air, and bravely exited the vehicle. So far, so good...all I had to do was walk around to the other side, remove a few recyclables, and continue on my merry way. However, as I began to push my door shut, my ears picked up a faint, but familiar "click". It didn't even have time to register in my conscious brain what that sound meant--one that's been repeated countless times in my journeys--because the door was already inexorably moving toward its closed position, and there was no stopping it.
The next noise, though, chilled me to the bone, and caused my mouth to drop open in shock: BEEP. That's right, the unmistakable signal that says, "Your car is now locked up tight, yes sirree--don't you worry about it, no one's getting in and stealing your stuff!" But...but...that's not even supposed to be possible! I know from one unforgettable experience in my distant past that there's some kind of fail-safe (or, you know, "stupidity-proof") mechanism that prevents my Subaru from being able to lock when it senses that the key fob is inside. Uh-huh...clearly its Spidey sense is All. Kinds of Messed. Up.
So there I stood, flabbergasted, glaring at my traitorous Forester and admonishing it for the stunning act of betrayal (out loud--yeah, I'm that "talks to herself...or inanimate objects...in public" person...). Naturally, this caught the attention of an employee, who wandered over and asked with concern if there was something wrong. (He was too polite and respectful to actually address me as "The crazy lady in my parking lot who clearly needs help". For which I was grateful.) I sputtered a (probably barely comprehensible) explanation, and he shuffled his feet, sympathetic for sure, but apparently completely stumped about how to address the situation. Hmm...perhaps I hadn't made myself clear...my PHONE is inside. He brightened instantly and replied with palpable relief, "Oh! Here, you can use mine!"
I only had one play, since my AAA card was of course also (ironically, right?) out of reach: I called Husband and crossed my fingers that he wasn't in the middle of an important meeting...or that he could claim a Family Emergency and come to my rescue anyway. Fortunately, he seemed to be between conferences, so he answered, retrieved my spare key (while I provided him with a gratuitously dramatic narration of my woeful tale), and brought it right over to me. Problem temporarily solved.
At this point, I'd had absolutely enough of this &%$# nonsense, so I contacted the local Subaru dealership and made an appointment...for an exorcism. (You know, they seemed so confused when I shared my sincere and well-thought-out theory that my car must certainly be infested with either a poltergeist...or a demon. I would've thought they'd appreciate the diagnostic assist, but noooo. Also, they reeealllly need to work on their sense of humor as applied to customer relations. Just sayin'...)
And the verdict? Was less than reassuring. "Uh, we're gonna start by replacing the Master Switch (What? Witch? Damn, I didn't look for hex bags--that wasn't even one of my guesses!)...and hopefully that will fix it." Ohhh-kaaay. I'd prefer a more confident answer...but I'll take what I can get?
Still with me? Hang in there for yet another ridiculous wrinkle: because they apparently wanted the luxury of spending hours and hours to figure this out, they sent me home using their Courtesy Shuttle. Now, one reason I almost never go to the dealership is that they're a good 20-25 minutes from my house--not terribly convenient. So, we were pulling up to my driveway when it suddenly occurred to me...I didn't have a KEY. It's just that I never have to think about it, because Husband works from home...except for the, oh, approximately four days a year he has to actually go into the Durham office...one of which was, of course, Friday. And because I don't need them very often, my own set of keys is tucked into a hidden spot...In. The. Car.
Face, meet Palm. Seriously, could this get any more bizarre? It was sooooo lucky that this particular lightning bolt hit me BEFORE I got out and watched the van drive away. So I sheepishly confessed my predicament to the driver, who kindly didn't laugh or call me an idiot, but offered to return me to the dealership so I could retrieve my key. But at least my brain had woken up by this time, and I remembered that Riley has his own house key.
Thus if the very nice gentleman wouldn't mind chauffeuring me 5 more minutes to the High School, I could disrupt my son's class, borrow his key, and get into my home. (Because yes, I would like to be known as someone who causes as much trouble as humanly possible, thankyouverymuch....) The lovely ladies at the front desk listened to my plight, took pity on me, and directed me to Riley's 2nd period. At least it was Spanish, so when I poked my head in the door, I was able to tell la profesora y mi hijo what I needed en Espanol--which made up for the interruption? Sure, let's go with that...
So, shall we sum up what we've learned?
1. My Forester is perchance under some kind of electrical--but more likely paranormal--attack.
2. There may be a larger puzzle regarding keys (of any kind) and me....and how we just don't mix.
3. After Subaru completes their variety of repair, I might also have to perform a...I don't know...purifying ritual? (Or something...open to suggestions, y'all!)
Meanwhile, the new rule is: whenever I stop, for whatever reason or any amount of time, I will turn off the ignition, remove the keys, and place them somewhere on my person immediately! Please keep your fingers crossed that all of this works. (Oh, and if you know any spells that might be useful, feel free to pass them along! Kidding...sort of...)
But then...it started to get weird. As in, one day I was just driving along, minding my own business, and the doors abruptly...locked themselves. Now, I do realize that some models--Husband's Hyundai, for example--automatically do this as a safety feature for the passengers once the car is in motion...but mine is NOT one of them! So yeeeeaaaah, I was, let's say, "mildly freaked out" by this event, and began to formulate a hypothesis that my beloved Forester might be...HAUNTED. (Because of course my mind immediately went there--I blame it on waaayyy too many years of being a faithful Supernatural viewer...that stuff starts to stick with you after a while...especially if you're blessed/cursed with an overactive imagination like mine...)
Anyway, it's all super-cool, no harm done, and all that, right? I'll just keep ignoring the up-to-now still somewhat cryptic signs of otherworldly tampering, and carry on as if nothing is wrong. Eh, what's the worst that could happen? Weeeelllll...evidently this attitude and/or plan of action didn't please the... spirits (or whatever)...at all, and they conspired to level-up their spooky game.
What happened was, on Errand Friday I gathered together some household recycling, and traveled to the county's Hazardous Waste Center to responsibly dispose of it. The site is set up so that you enter at the main gate, and then make your way around in a counterclockwise circle, stopping at each area that pertains to what you need to unload. It was a chilly, breezy, damp day, and I'd gotten nice and toasty in the driver's seat, with the heat vents blasting on me for 15 minutes on the way there. That, coupled with the fact that I didn't actually have too many items, led me to formulate what seemed like a perfectly valid plan: leave the car warm and running, and just hop in and out a few times as necessary to drop things in bins.
Thus I pulled up to the first station--for CFL and LED bulbs, in case you care--steeled myself for the blast of cooler air, and bravely exited the vehicle. So far, so good...all I had to do was walk around to the other side, remove a few recyclables, and continue on my merry way. However, as I began to push my door shut, my ears picked up a faint, but familiar "click". It didn't even have time to register in my conscious brain what that sound meant--one that's been repeated countless times in my journeys--because the door was already inexorably moving toward its closed position, and there was no stopping it.
The next noise, though, chilled me to the bone, and caused my mouth to drop open in shock: BEEP. That's right, the unmistakable signal that says, "Your car is now locked up tight, yes sirree--don't you worry about it, no one's getting in and stealing your stuff!" But...but...that's not even supposed to be possible! I know from one unforgettable experience in my distant past that there's some kind of fail-safe (or, you know, "stupidity-proof") mechanism that prevents my Subaru from being able to lock when it senses that the key fob is inside. Uh-huh...clearly its Spidey sense is All. Kinds of Messed. Up.
So there I stood, flabbergasted, glaring at my traitorous Forester and admonishing it for the stunning act of betrayal (out loud--yeah, I'm that "talks to herself...or inanimate objects...in public" person...). Naturally, this caught the attention of an employee, who wandered over and asked with concern if there was something wrong. (He was too polite and respectful to actually address me as "The crazy lady in my parking lot who clearly needs help". For which I was grateful.) I sputtered a (probably barely comprehensible) explanation, and he shuffled his feet, sympathetic for sure, but apparently completely stumped about how to address the situation. Hmm...perhaps I hadn't made myself clear...my PHONE is inside. He brightened instantly and replied with palpable relief, "Oh! Here, you can use mine!"
I only had one play, since my AAA card was of course also (ironically, right?) out of reach: I called Husband and crossed my fingers that he wasn't in the middle of an important meeting...or that he could claim a Family Emergency and come to my rescue anyway. Fortunately, he seemed to be between conferences, so he answered, retrieved my spare key (while I provided him with a gratuitously dramatic narration of my woeful tale), and brought it right over to me. Problem temporarily solved.
At this point, I'd had absolutely enough of this &%$# nonsense, so I contacted the local Subaru dealership and made an appointment...for an exorcism. (You know, they seemed so confused when I shared my sincere and well-thought-out theory that my car must certainly be infested with either a poltergeist...or a demon. I would've thought they'd appreciate the diagnostic assist, but noooo. Also, they reeealllly need to work on their sense of humor as applied to customer relations. Just sayin'...)
And the verdict? Was less than reassuring. "Uh, we're gonna start by replacing the Master Switch (What? Witch? Damn, I didn't look for hex bags--that wasn't even one of my guesses!)...and hopefully that will fix it." Ohhh-kaaay. I'd prefer a more confident answer...but I'll take what I can get?
Still with me? Hang in there for yet another ridiculous wrinkle: because they apparently wanted the luxury of spending hours and hours to figure this out, they sent me home using their Courtesy Shuttle. Now, one reason I almost never go to the dealership is that they're a good 20-25 minutes from my house--not terribly convenient. So, we were pulling up to my driveway when it suddenly occurred to me...I didn't have a KEY. It's just that I never have to think about it, because Husband works from home...except for the, oh, approximately four days a year he has to actually go into the Durham office...one of which was, of course, Friday. And because I don't need them very often, my own set of keys is tucked into a hidden spot...In. The. Car.
Face, meet Palm. Seriously, could this get any more bizarre? It was sooooo lucky that this particular lightning bolt hit me BEFORE I got out and watched the van drive away. So I sheepishly confessed my predicament to the driver, who kindly didn't laugh or call me an idiot, but offered to return me to the dealership so I could retrieve my key. But at least my brain had woken up by this time, and I remembered that Riley has his own house key.
Thus if the very nice gentleman wouldn't mind chauffeuring me 5 more minutes to the High School, I could disrupt my son's class, borrow his key, and get into my home. (Because yes, I would like to be known as someone who causes as much trouble as humanly possible, thankyouverymuch....) The lovely ladies at the front desk listened to my plight, took pity on me, and directed me to Riley's 2nd period. At least it was Spanish, so when I poked my head in the door, I was able to tell la profesora y mi hijo what I needed en Espanol--which made up for the interruption? Sure, let's go with that...
So, shall we sum up what we've learned?
1. My Forester is perchance under some kind of electrical--but more likely paranormal--attack.
2. There may be a larger puzzle regarding keys (of any kind) and me....and how we just don't mix.
3. After Subaru completes their variety of repair, I might also have to perform a...I don't know...purifying ritual? (Or something...open to suggestions, y'all!)
Meanwhile, the new rule is: whenever I stop, for whatever reason or any amount of time, I will turn off the ignition, remove the keys, and place them somewhere on my person immediately! Please keep your fingers crossed that all of this works. (Oh, and if you know any spells that might be useful, feel free to pass them along! Kidding...sort of...)
Monday, February 11, 2019
Extra-Curricular Adult Academia
It's no secret that I've always been a bit of a nerd. (Yeah, yeah--pipe down everyone out there yelling "Wait, a BIT? Is that supposed to be a pseudonym for, like, 'colossally'?" Your protests are noted...) I always loved school--and learning in general--even more so now that I'm all grown up, and have the freedom to choose educational opportunities that capture my interests, on my own time, with no pesky strings attached, like tests, or projects, or grades.
Yep, no stress, all fun--that's how I prefer my "classes" these days. So, there's a teacher at the boys' High School who offers an evening lecture series several times a year, for whoever wants to sign up and pay the nominal cost. I've always been intrigued by this, but never pulled the trigger, for whatever reason...perhaps mainly because Derek never had Mr. M, so although I knew him by reputation and community esteem, I'd never gotten an insider's glimpse, as it were, of what he might be like in the classroom.
However, this year Riley happened to end up in his section for AP World, and began coming home with stories almost from the first day of school. For instance, Riley raved about how great Mr. M was as a lecturer, in terms of imparting information in a manner both clear and compelling. But he also relayed highlights of Mr. M's apparently riotous tangential anecdotes; according to Riley, much like a sports broadcast's Color Commentator, Mr. M injected the dry play-by-play of people, events, and dates in history with lesser-known details that tended toward the scandalous or hilarious, thereby making the material deeper and more real, and bringing it to life for the students. (And according to Riley, also providing them breaks from note-taking, in the midst of intense lessons. Brilliant!)
Then I met Mr. M at Back to School Night in the Fall, and encountered the combination stand-up comedian/gifted speaker/veteran educator in person...and quickly decided that I did, in fact, need to experience his unique brand of instructional mayhem for myself. Thus I registered for the first 4-week block, focused on the War Between the States, with presentations entitled "Causes of the Civil War", "Portraits of Leadership", "Shiloh: Waking America Up to War", and "Lee Rises to Power: the Peninsula Campaign".
Seriously, I could NOT have been more excited. Not only would I get the chance to gain knowledge and understanding of an important topic...but I've always been utterly fascinated by this particular period in our country's development. (It's a well-documented contradiction in my personality: I'm vehemently anti-violence and opposed to armed conflicts in general...yet am somehow also enamored with battlefields and cemeteries, having driven all over the East Coast to tour and photograph them. Make of it what you will--I've never been able to figure it out...)
Really, the only remaining question was: given the fact that I would absolutely want to recall key ideas from the 90-minute talk, would I completely geek out and bring my laptop? Or just go the old-fashioned route and use a lower profile notebook and pen? (Either of which made me feel slightly self-conscious...but not nearly enough to consider foregoing the process. Hey, the struggle of...an over-aged student...is REAL!) I couldn't resolve my dilemma beforehand, so I ended up bringing both, and making my choice in the parking lot--with the less obvious paper and ballpoint winning the mental coin toss.
As it turned out, I needn't have worried about feeling conspicuous--or even anyone noticing me at all--since Mr. M's hallowed hall of learning was bursting at the seams, with approximately 40 people filling every available seat. It was a crowd buzzing with palpable anticipation and excitement...and the veteran showman/historian at the front of the room did not disappoint. He led us through the roots of slavery...the Missouri Compromise...the Underground Railroad...the Abolitionist movement...up to the sowing of seeds that would grow into the ultimate bitter separation between the Northern and Southern states. Aaannnd It. Was. RIVETING.
(How rapt was his audience during all this? At one point he was describing the plotline of Uncle Tom's Cabin, and became so animated that he yelled and banged on a desk with his fist...causing all of us hanging on his every word to jump in our seats. I swear, the whole session was like a dramatic performance, wrapped up in a continuing education course...good stuff!)
Anyway, it should surprise no one that I scribbled 7 pages' worth of notes. It was actually exactly what I was hoping for--while I feel like, growing up where I did, I received a pretty thorough exposure to the Civil War, Mr. M both refreshed my memory on things I'd long since forgotten about the era and the conflict itself, and added to my comprehension with tidbits and nuances I hadn't picked up the first (or second, or whatever) time around.
In short, it was a highly satisfying...and super-entertaining...way to spend a Wednesday night. When I came home, I converted my questionable handwritten sheets into a neatly organized electronic format, so I'm all ready for the next installment. But this time, I'm planning to arrive early...bring my computer so I can type as I go...and mentally prepare myself for those occasional extra-thrilling and/or loud moments! Week 2: Bring it!
Yep, no stress, all fun--that's how I prefer my "classes" these days. So, there's a teacher at the boys' High School who offers an evening lecture series several times a year, for whoever wants to sign up and pay the nominal cost. I've always been intrigued by this, but never pulled the trigger, for whatever reason...perhaps mainly because Derek never had Mr. M, so although I knew him by reputation and community esteem, I'd never gotten an insider's glimpse, as it were, of what he might be like in the classroom.
However, this year Riley happened to end up in his section for AP World, and began coming home with stories almost from the first day of school. For instance, Riley raved about how great Mr. M was as a lecturer, in terms of imparting information in a manner both clear and compelling. But he also relayed highlights of Mr. M's apparently riotous tangential anecdotes; according to Riley, much like a sports broadcast's Color Commentator, Mr. M injected the dry play-by-play of people, events, and dates in history with lesser-known details that tended toward the scandalous or hilarious, thereby making the material deeper and more real, and bringing it to life for the students. (And according to Riley, also providing them breaks from note-taking, in the midst of intense lessons. Brilliant!)
Then I met Mr. M at Back to School Night in the Fall, and encountered the combination stand-up comedian/gifted speaker/veteran educator in person...and quickly decided that I did, in fact, need to experience his unique brand of instructional mayhem for myself. Thus I registered for the first 4-week block, focused on the War Between the States, with presentations entitled "Causes of the Civil War", "Portraits of Leadership", "Shiloh: Waking America Up to War", and "Lee Rises to Power: the Peninsula Campaign".
Seriously, I could NOT have been more excited. Not only would I get the chance to gain knowledge and understanding of an important topic...but I've always been utterly fascinated by this particular period in our country's development. (It's a well-documented contradiction in my personality: I'm vehemently anti-violence and opposed to armed conflicts in general...yet am somehow also enamored with battlefields and cemeteries, having driven all over the East Coast to tour and photograph them. Make of it what you will--I've never been able to figure it out...)
Really, the only remaining question was: given the fact that I would absolutely want to recall key ideas from the 90-minute talk, would I completely geek out and bring my laptop? Or just go the old-fashioned route and use a lower profile notebook and pen? (Either of which made me feel slightly self-conscious...but not nearly enough to consider foregoing the process. Hey, the struggle of...an over-aged student...is REAL!) I couldn't resolve my dilemma beforehand, so I ended up bringing both, and making my choice in the parking lot--with the less obvious paper and ballpoint winning the mental coin toss.
As it turned out, I needn't have worried about feeling conspicuous--or even anyone noticing me at all--since Mr. M's hallowed hall of learning was bursting at the seams, with approximately 40 people filling every available seat. It was a crowd buzzing with palpable anticipation and excitement...and the veteran showman/historian at the front of the room did not disappoint. He led us through the roots of slavery...the Missouri Compromise...the Underground Railroad...the Abolitionist movement...up to the sowing of seeds that would grow into the ultimate bitter separation between the Northern and Southern states. Aaannnd It. Was. RIVETING.
(How rapt was his audience during all this? At one point he was describing the plotline of Uncle Tom's Cabin, and became so animated that he yelled and banged on a desk with his fist...causing all of us hanging on his every word to jump in our seats. I swear, the whole session was like a dramatic performance, wrapped up in a continuing education course...good stuff!)
Anyway, it should surprise no one that I scribbled 7 pages' worth of notes. It was actually exactly what I was hoping for--while I feel like, growing up where I did, I received a pretty thorough exposure to the Civil War, Mr. M both refreshed my memory on things I'd long since forgotten about the era and the conflict itself, and added to my comprehension with tidbits and nuances I hadn't picked up the first (or second, or whatever) time around.
In short, it was a highly satisfying...and super-entertaining...way to spend a Wednesday night. When I came home, I converted my questionable handwritten sheets into a neatly organized electronic format, so I'm all ready for the next installment. But this time, I'm planning to arrive early...bring my computer so I can type as I go...and mentally prepare myself for those occasional extra-thrilling and/or loud moments! Week 2: Bring it!
Thursday, February 7, 2019
Fancy Friday Field Trip
Well, it's technically Winter in these parts (although you wouldn't know it right now, as I'm sitting here next to an open window, basking in the 75 glorious degrees flowing into the house on a gentle breeze...), which means the Great Outdoors is kind of drab and not terribly...visually exciting, let's say. Therefore, when I was seeking something interesting to do last week, I opted to lean in a more cultural direction, and finally spend some time in the institution that I've been meaning to visit for, oh, approximately 4-1/2 years.
The Ackland Art Museum is situated just off of Franklin Street, on the edge of UNC's campus. It's fairly compact, but it also doesn't charge admission--so obviously a no-risk endeavor! You're basically free to just wander in off the sidewalk and meander through the exhibits, taking as long as you want on things that appeal to you, and skipping those that don't ring your particular bell, so to speak. (After all, no cost = no guilt, amiright?)
So, the ancient Chinese pottery? Gorgeous, impressive, cool to glance at briefly, but not really my thing. Kooky modern sculpture made from old keyboards and other random electronic devices, centered around an optometrist-type eye chart? Worth a moment to stop and shake my head in bemusement. But colorful impressionistic still lifes and landscapes, or super-realistic portraits painted with exquisite detail? Those grab my attention, and sometimes I realize I've been standing in front of one for a while, examining it from all angles and marveling at the creator's skill and talent. (NOT that I'm an expert--or even particularly well-educated about art. I just know what I like, and gravitate toward it!) |
| Labyrinth of the Inner Ear 1908 |
 |
| Saturated Reconstruction of a Volume of Neocortex |
After strolling through all of the rooms on both floors--taking both pictures and notes, lingering extra minutes in front of items that I, personally, found compelling, and revisiting those I'd deemed my favorites--I felt slightly more educated than when I'd entered, and also (more importantly) supremely pleased and satisfied with my artistic venture. The best part is, while the permanent pieces obviously won't change as much or as often, the traveling collection switches several times a year, tempting one to check in periodically and see what's new.
Hmm, let's review: a free museum...3 miles from my house...across the street from the only Starbucks in town? I'd say this is going to become a regularly occurring adventure, y'all!
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