Silver Taps: At last I understand.

Once there was a grad student. She had a home and a job far away. She came to campus only for class, usually once a week. She did this for years, until she finished her classes. Then she didn’t come to campus at all.

She didn’t understand the Aggie Spirit. Texas A&M was the institution at which she was enrolled, and that was all. She didn’t grasp the strange, almost cult-like kinship Aggies seemed to share, and even found it annoying. Why must they whoop at every mention of their school? And what are the strange motions they make with their hands? Who were these Texas Aggies? Did they really think they were better than everyone else? Perhaps she was a tad resentful, as people sometimes are when a circle closes, leaving them outside.

Last year, she came to Muster. There she caught a glimmer of that unique bond that ties the Aggie family together. Years from now, when her dissertation is a distant memory, and her time on earth is done, would a comrade answer “Here” for her?

Over time, the memory of Muster dimmed, buried by the busy-ness of life. But once started, such a spark could not be completely extinguished. Our grad student started coming to campus more, as often as her job duties allowed. She even made it to a football game. She can now sing most of the words to the Aggie War Hymn, as long as there is a strong singer nearby for her to follow. Still, she still often felt more like a visitor than a true Aggie.

Tonight, she went to Silver Taps.

Walking through the blackened campus, she had difficulty recognizing the buildings and wished she’d spent more time there. Unsure of her way, she strained to see shadowy figures far ahead, and followed them to the Academic Plaza. As a city dweller constantly surrounded by light, she loved the cloak of darkness—it dimmed sight but sharpened her other senses.

Standing in silence, she thought of students she didn’t know—students snatched away, to the heartbreak of their friends and families. As she listened to the hymns tolled by faraway chimes, she was sad because she couldn’t remember all the words, and vowed to spend more time listening to hymns, and singing them. From the front row, she could see the Corps cadets, arrayed in silent vigil. She thought of all the planning and practice that went into this evening. Just turning off all the campus lights must be a huge logistical challenge. All this for two Aggies? Yes. Would they have done it for just one? Yes.

Click…..Click…..Click. As the Ross Volunteers entered, clad all in white, she wondered…are they nervous? Are any of them praying they won’t make a mistake? …an error in timing, a slip of the hand on a rifle… There would have been no condemnation, of course; but still—no one wanted anything to tarnish the moment. And nothing did.

As the bugles’ last haunting notes died away, she thought of respect, and loyalty, and honor. Fallen we are, full of selfishness and every bad thing; yet we are made in God’s image and thus we get it right at times. Tonight was one of those times.

At last, at last she understood.

Sbisa Dining Hall: Death of a Dream

(This is Stop #20 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.)

Well, it’s gone. Over. Dead.

My beautiful, magnificent, splendid writing streak is done. It lasted over a year, and I had secretly hoped to keep it going until I graduated. For 382 days in a row, I wrote continuously for at least 30 minutes. I was sure I would at least make it to 400. (Why are numbers ending in 00 somehow more satisfying? Completely illogical.)

My writing streak died last night at midnight, but I didn’t discover its death until lunchtime today, in Sbisa Dining Hall's underground café where I had settled in for a pleasant lunchtime writing session. I couldn’t decide between Chik-Fil-A and Mombo Subs, so I compromised, pairing a Mombo sandwich with CFA’s waffle fries. I opened my file to work, and I opened my writing log spreadsheet to document my session. Then, a shock: there was no entry for yesterday.

I stared at the log, hoping to discover a mistake. I scoured my paper journal, to see if I’d written longhand without recording the date. I cast my mind through all of yesterday’s events, from getting up in the late morning, to the doctor’s appointment, to packing up my stuff, and driving to my College Station apartment for two days of self-imposed dissertation boot camp. I remembered settling in for a relaxing evening, catching up on emails and other miscellaneous dissertation-related tasks. I didn’t even open my writing log, thinking I’d written that morning. Somehow my dissertation-addled brain mixed yesterday morning up with the previous morning…I remembered an actual morning writing session, but my mind placed it on the wrong day. I could easily have written half an hour last night, without even staying up late.

If only I’d known my writing streak was dying at that very moment, I wouldn’t have been so upset about shattering my beloved water mug in the apartment parking lot. Yes, yesterday was one of those days everything fell apart: me, my water mug, and my writing streak. I wonder, do other grad students occasionally have days filled with panic, when nothing goes well, and they’re terrified they won’t be able to finish? Hmmm, it’s probably just me. I must say, the writing streak has helped with that—ever since I developed a daily writing habit, my percentage of panic-filled days has decreased.

A wise professor once advised me to voluntarily end my writing streak after a year. I wish I’d listened to her. I suspect she know I was bound to blow it if I kept going. She probably feared, with good reason, that if I failed at something so simple as writing every day, I would become very discouraged about my dissertation. I’m sure she knew it would hurt more to lose this writing streak than last year’s writing streak, which had only been with me for 145 days.

I am keenly aware of how a small setback can snowball into deep discouragement, if you're not careful. Don’t worry, I have invested far too much in this little project to let that happen. I am determined to press on and not lose heart. Once I get past the momentary sadness, I’m sure I’ll see this in a positive light. Perhaps now, instead of being satisfied with spending 30 minutes a day writing about a building, I’ll chase some bigger and more meaningful writing goals.

Important disclaimer: Except for a few small edits, I wrote the above portion of this post on Thursday, January 24, the same day I learned of my writing streak’s demise. As usual, I am running behind transferring my photos and posting my building blurbs. Bad habits are tough to break at the best of times…please cut me some slack while I’m in mourning.

Oh, I almost forgot…this blog post is supposed to be about a building! I’m afraid I don’t have much to say about Sbisa Dining Hall. My writing streak’s death had rattled me, and my powers of observation were nearly nonexistent that day. All I noticed about the Sbisa underground were the murals on the walls. I liked them. They were very well done, but not so well done as to be the work of a professional (at least I hope not). My guess is that they were created by a bunch of different student groups.

Evans Library: Dissertation Boot Camp!

(This is Stop #19 in the Texas A&M Building Writing Tour, my attempt to motivate myself on my dissertation by writing in every campus building before I graduate.)

What an amazing week. For four days, the University Writing Center staff locked us in a beautiful window-lined room in Evans library, so we could write, write, write.

We each had our own big table, where we could spread out our books, research articles, and chocolate. Each day, our Writing Center friends treated us to an excellent lunch. They said that if we left to eat, we probably wouldn’t come back. As one camper said, “they took care of us so we wouldn’t have to take care of ourselves.” They even fed us afternoon snacks—writing is hungry work.

Each day, we each had a 45-minute private coaching session with the same two Writing Center experts. Thanks to Nancy and Skully, my fantastic coaches, my Introduction and Methods sections are a thousand times better than they were the weekend before. (For the first three days, I spelled Skully’s name as Scully when I sent her my papers. I eventually got it right. Apparently she is an anthropologist who likes to play with skulls.)

Due to a hectic data collection semester last fall, along with some non-dissertation-related setbacks over Christmas break, my rate of progress had slowed nearly to zero in the six weeks prior to boot camp. I badly needed some momentum.

I found it.

In the past two years, I have become a believer in the power of a daily writing habit. In fact, oddly enough, my writing streak (writing 30 minutes every single day, no matter what) began on January 7, 2012, exactly one year before the first day of the 2013 Dissertation Boot Camp. I have made considerable progress by squeezing one-hour writing sessions into the end of tiring days, but that’s not enough. If I want to finish this thing, I need some 4-6 hour work sessions, long enough to wrestle with organizational issues and data analysis without constantly looking at the clock. (Short breaks are okay; I’m not crazy enough to write 6 hours nonstop.)

I don’t think I could write 9-5 for more than 4 days though. By Thursday afternoon of boot camp, I was exhausted and my brain was fried. I couldn’t write a coherent sentence no matter how hard I tried. I’m pretty sure my fellow campers felt the same.

But as tired as we were, we knew we had accomplished a lot in those four days. Three of us resolved to do our own unofficial boot camp, beginning the next Monday in Evans Library. Getting up at 7:30 a.m. is never easy for me, but I can do it if I know someone is expecting me.

Boot camp ended on January 10, and so did the free lunches, snacks, and private writing coaches. But that’s okay, because the boot camp organizers gave me a very special gift, a gift I can keep: Cheerleaders. Whenever I walk through the second floor of Evans library and see someone from the Writing Center, I can count on receiving a pat on the back and a kind word about my writing. To a graduate student, especially one in the dissertation-writing stage, words of encouragement are like gold. (They gave me a T-shirt too, but I value the cheerleaders more.)

Over the last two years, I’ve written many times in Evans Library, usually staring at the wall of a small closet known as an individual study room. I’m very glad I waited until Dissertation Boot Camp to put Evans in my blog. Thank you, TAMU Writing Center!

Me at my writing table. It looks dark outside because it is.
It rained most of the week, so nobody wanted to go outside anyway.

Divided Loyalties: 2013 Cotton Bowl

Wow, what fun! As I see it, there are three ways to spend our discretionary dollars: (1) stuff, (2) training/learning, and (3) life experiences. (Well, there’s also grad school…not sure how to categorize that.) Once upon a time, I leaned too much toward (1). Nowadays, (2) and (3) seem far more important, and I go back-and-forth between them.

On January 4, we spent money on a unique life experience, and it was worth every penny. (Yea, I’ve let myself fall behind on blog posts again. I actually started writing it that same night, longhand in the hotel room, and finished it the next day. Just didn’t get around to tweaking and posting it. I’m a mess, I realize.)

When I began this doctoral journey, Texas A&M University (my current institution) was in the same conference as the University of Oklahoma (my undergraduate alma mater). They faced one another in football every year. Unfortunately, as a graduate student working full-time 90 miles away, I did not make much effort to immerse myself in Aggie experiences. I genuinely meant to attend an Aggie football game eventually, but I just didn’t get around to it. (Not following through on good intentions is a habit with me…I’m working on it.) I especially wanted to see an A&M/OU game, and always resolved to buy a ticket…next year.

Lesson learned: If there’s something you want to do, don’t wait until “next year”. The opportunity may be unexpectedly yanked from you. Before I got around to buying football tickets, Texas A&M abandoned the Big 12 Conference for the SEC (Southeastern Conference). All of Aggieland was thrilled. (Apparently joining the SEC is like getting a promotion— more prestige and more money than the Big 12.) I was very sad. Now A&M and OU would never play each other.

Though I had missed my chance to watch my two schools duke it out on the football field, I at least learned from it. The missed opportunity, along with rumors that Kyle Field might soon be replaced or renovated, motivated me to positive action: I obtained a student Sports Pass, and purchased tickets to three Aggie football games. I missed two of them, one due to beginning-of-data-collection craziness, and the other due to post-surgery miserableness. Fortunately, the one football game I attended was easily worth the price of the entire three-game package. (Observe: The blog post for the Kyle Field game was posted two months late; this blog post is only two weeks late. I’m improving!!!)

But then, in December, a miracle: Oklahoma and Texas A&M would face each other in the Cotton Bowl!! Yea! A bowl game, within a reasonable driving distance. We just had to go. Skipping it was never really an option, even when we were only able to get Standing Room Only tickets. (Many thanks to my dear hubby, who drove to College Station at 4:30 a.m. and stood in line for hours to get them.) At $50 each, these SRO tickets were the most expensive event tickets we had ever purchased. I cringed at the price, especially considering we wouldn’t even be allowed to sit down.

It turns out, they were a bargain. Such a large amount of pleasure, for only $50 (plus food, souvenirs, motel room, and gas).

For those of you who don’t know me well, I am not someone who normally buys or plans “outfits” to wear. But this was a special occasion, and merited special treatment. Once we resolved to go, I braved the post-Christmas mall traffic in search of an Oklahoma shirt. (Due to my antibiotic-induced hospital stay, it was too late to order a shirt. Had I thought of it, I’m sure my brother Dave Mows Grass would have been happy to buy one when he drove through Oklahoma on his way to visit us in Houston.)

Fortune smiled upon me, and I found an OU shirt. It wasn’t great, it didn’t even say “Sooners”, but it would have to do. At least it was the right color of OU crimson. I already had an A&M shirt. I loved it, but knew I could replace it anytime. Most experiences of value require sacrifice. Yep, I cut it up.

My Cotton Bowl outfit was created the night before the game. (Many thanks to my friend Denise, for her late-night sewing machine loan. My machine was broken, and wouldn’t even sew a seam.) My lack of seamstress ability definitely shows in the outfit, but that’s okay—I think the flaws add to its character. A professionally created split-loyalty shirt just wouldn’t be the same.

Personally, I think the outfit turned out perfect in every detail. I even accessorized it well, with my OU and A&M necklaces. (I put OU on top, since I attended there first.) The outfit included both an Aggie hat and a Sooner hat. I switched hats based on ball possession.

We drove to Fort Worth, checked into our hotel, changed into our Cotton Bowl outfits, and arrived at Cowboys Stadium in Arlington. (The Cotton Bowl football game is not played in the Cotton Bowl football stadium, which is about 25 miles away in Dallas). It was game time!

Cowboys Stadium was beautiful, pristinely clean, and full of friendly employees. There were screens everywhere, so even with SRO tickets, we didn’t miss any action. I’m very glad we went SRO, and not just because it saved money. We enjoyed the atmosphere more this way, and got to see all the different parts of the stadium. Whoever designed the stadium clearly anticipated SRO patrons, and made sure we’d be able to enjoy the game just as much as the people who spent hundreds of dollars on seats. We especially appreciated how Cowboys Stadium and the Cotton Bowl organizers honored both the college teams, by frequently displaying their school logos on the electronic ribbons, and by letting the teams and bands play, instead of drowning them out with obnoxious and unnecessary canned tunes. (Reliant Stadium, site of last year’s A&M/Northwestern Meineke Car Care Bowl, are you listening?)

I really didn’t care who won. I decided to cheer for whichever team had the ball. (My apologies to the defensive players…I had to have some system, and this was the best system I could think of.) I hoped for a close game with lots of lead changes…maybe even overtime!

We saw one other fan with a divided-loyalty shirt. He was a boy, probably about ten years old. His outfit was better than mine, because his entire face was painted—half crimson, half maroon, logos included. His dad was a Sooner, and we chatted briefly, admiring each other’s gear. I wish I’d thought to ask his story—he sure didn’t look old enough for either college!

I must confess, in the first half, my heart was with OU. This was partly because Cowboys Stadium seemed to contain a lot more Aggie maroon than Sooner crimson (I make no apology for my root-for-the-underdog instinct), but mostly because OU was my undergraduate university—the first college I ever attended. I have fond memories of OU football games, both of attending them, and of missing them to work the Engineers’ Club hamburger feeds. If you spend hours washing dishes during a football game, at least you’ll remember the experience. As much as I enjoyed my one Aggie game in September, it couldn’t overcome such nostalgia.

But by the third quarter, it became obvious that the night belonged to the Aggies and Johnny Manziel. I sincerely wished the Sooners had shown up and been competitive, but it just wasn’t their night. Even in the first half, when the game was close, the Aggies seemed in control. During the entire second half, there was a parade of sad Sooners heading for the exits.

We found a great place to watch the second half, in the far end zone on the uppermost (fifth or sixth, I can’t remember) level. We could see the giant screen facing the end zone, most of the ultra-giant screen facing the sideline, and half of the actual football field. We could even see the Aggie Band performing the four-way cross and block T. Spectacular. I’m glad I didn’t see or hear the Fighting Aggie Band before I attended OU at age 18…it would have dampened my appreciation for OU’s excellent Pride of Oklahoma show band. There simply is no comparison.

We visited with some friendly Ags who had just graduated and found jobs. We all sang the Aggie War Hymn, locked arms, and swayed back and forth sawing Varsity’s horns off. After eight years as a graduate student, I think I am finally starting to grasp the Aggie Spirit.

What a marvelous experience. I’m glad I'm an Aggie. (Though I won’t feel like a real Aggie until I graduate.)

P.S. Make your best guess: Which hat did I wear on the way home?

My outfit when the Sooners had the ball.

Outfit when the Aggies had the ball.

Notice that the cap actually says Sooners!

After the game, the kind but strict ushers let us SRO folks stand by the seats for a picture.

Crash Pad!

Well, I never expected such a thing, but it happened: I have joined that elite class of people who have a second home. But my second home is not a cabin, lake house, or bungalow on the beach. My second home is an apartment in College Station. I can now sleep within 10 minutes of campus, a wonderful thing. No more long drives to and from Houston early in the morning or late at night.

My crash pad has a twin bed (a cot, really), a Poang chair from Ikea (have wanted one for years), and a borrowed craft table. It also has a couch and a flat-screen television. I feel rather guilty about that…my hubby convinced me that after a long day of writing, I might want to veg out in front of the TV. I think he just liked the prospect of the TV coming home when I graduate. He’s been hoping for years that our old Magnavox TV would die so he could get one with a flat screen. And of course, it refuses to cooperate.

When I closed on the crash pad, I started thinking of what essentials I would need: Radio, water pitcher, trash bags…oh, I need a shower curtain! I browsed my usual shopping haunts. No, all the shower curtains were far too sophisticated for a college student’s apartment. A fabric shower curtain, whether subtle stripes or fancy florals, would never do.

I waited patiently and on my next trip to campus, I went shopping. And I found it! The perfect shower curtain. And not only a shower curtain…a 7-piece Texas A&M bath set, all packaged neatly into an Aggie wastebasket. The shower curtain is all plastic, attached with cheap plastic hooks. No curtain liner needed. The toothbrush holder, tumbler, and soap dispenser cover nearly all my counter space. It’s just right!

I’m a college student again. I can’t wait, this is going to be fun! Oh yea, except for that dissertation I need to write...

Isn't it perfect?

For hauling my dirty duds home on the weekend. It's perfect too!