On June 28, J proposed to me in front of all of my family and friends at my college graduation party. It was the perfect proposal. My family and friends are the world to me, and it meant so much that they could be there to share in the moment. My only wish was that I wasn’t so sweaty and gross when it happened — it was a hot, humid day. We’re aiming for a 2011 wedding. Picking an actual date has been trying. We want a fall wedding, that much is set. However, our wedding will (hopefully) be at Fort William Henry, outdoors, and right on Lake George. We want it to be cooler outside (think light long-sleeve shirt), but not freezing (I don’t want to have to wear anything that covers my dress). We have at least a year to decide, but I’m still antsy to choose a date and get our venue.

Aside from the wedding, the Big Move has a palpable date now: July 31. That is exactly two weeks from today. J and I went to NH last week and applied for an apartment at the complex we fell in love with. The apartments are on the grounds of an historic textile mill right on a river, and the exteriors are historically accurate. It’s very cool and very us. We lucked out on an awesome apartment. A girl backed out of her apartment for a two-bedroom instead, so the apartment was pretty much all ready to be moved in to. It’s on the first floor and on the river. The two windows (one in the living room and one in the bedroom) look right down onto the water. You could almost reach out and touch it. There’s a pantry (!) and a little den as well. There isn’t a door on the den, but it’s right when you enter the apartment. It’s separated far enough from the living room that guests can sleep in it and not be bothered in the mornings and I can do homework away from the tv. We’re putting our desk in there and a futon that my mother is giving us. We’re both very excited, though I’m dreading packing.

It’s going to be very weird living so far away from my family. Now I’m only an hour away. In NH I will be five hours away. J and I will probably not be able to go to my family’s for Thanksgiving as he usually works early on Black Friday. We haven’t decided what we’re going to do for Christmas. It’s going to be a big change, but we’re both very excited. This is the beginning of a new adventure and I can’t wait.

The second reason is that I don’t foresee myself moving back to New York State. There are some historical agencies in the area, but my best bet would be to move to the city, which I most definitely do not want to do. My chances of finding a job upstate are very slim, especially with how the economy is now (I’m hoping for an improvement in two years, but you never know). All Museum Studies students are required to do an internship as part of their study. If I’m lucky I could land a great intership and be offered a job after graduating. If not, I’ll be closer to Boston, which will afford me even more opportunities, and I would love to live in Massachussetts. Either way, I’m looking at this as my final few months as a New York State resident. Scary, sad, and exciting.

In less stressful, summer-type news, J and I will be traveling to Long Island on Sunday night and staying until Tuesday for some quality fishing time with his dad, whom I think is the epitome of awesome. I don’t think I’ve ever liked a significant other’s father as much as I like J’s dad. Next month is our annual trek up to the 1000 Islands to see my nana and attend the French Festival. Then we’ll shoot over to Saranac Lake for a week of camping with J’s dad, his sister, and her fiance. Last year was so much fun. Each campsite is almost like its own island; you can’t really see or hear any other campers, and you need to take a boat to get to your site. It’s beautiful and relaxing. Nothing feels like summer to me like camping does.

For some reason we’ve been getting the newspaper. Instead of throwing them out, I’ve been saving them to use as wrapping for our delicate items, like pictures, glasses, and decorations. J will probably get some moving boxes from Uhaul or someplace similar. I’m debating on whether or not to buy some extra plastic bins — it would make storing other items much easier.

There’s so much to think about, and we haven’t even gotten a place yet. We’re taking the trip up on Thursday to view a few apartments. I can’t wait.

The other night, our campus women’s club watched the film All I Wanna Do (1998) starring Kirsten Dunst. The film is about an all-women’s boarding school in the 1960s which, because of financial issues, has decided to go co-ed with a local boys’ school. The film was definitely a feel-good movie, and it spoke to us especially because of our current situation.

This past year, RSC decided to admit four boys to the theatre program. The New York State Theatre Institute (NYSTI) is right on our campus, and it’s a great program. The boys technically don’t live on campus — they live in a dorm that is considered “off-campus,” but it’s still ON campus, if that makes any sense. They eat in our dining hall, they’re in our general classes (they are required to take two RSC capstone courses called Women in the World and Women Changing the World), they can use our facilities. They can’t join clubs or participate in traditions. They also have pretty big scholarships (read: free ride). The big problem with this is that the students were not consulted. We never had any say in whether we wanted boys on our campus or not. You might ask why? Why does it matter?

It matters because RSC is an all-women’s college. Having a boy in class makes a difference — professors have said as much. They notice a difference in their female students. Some might argue that in the real world, there will be men. We can’t shut ourselves off from the world, because once we get out there with men, we won’t know how to act. I think this is a false argument against single-sex education. We aren’t locked down on campus. Members of the community walk through campus constantly. Many members of our faculty are men. We go to parties, we have boyfriends, we go to the mall/work/grocery store. There are men all around us. Besides, our education is preparing us for “the real world.” It doesn’t matter if it’s a man or a woman, we’ll be able to handle any situation that’s thrown at us because RSC has prepared us to be stronger and wiser. If you’re afraid to deal with men outside of school, then what have you learned? How have you changed?

I’m a very different woman than I was when I arrived. I was very much a girl when I started college. I was for women’s rights, but I wouldn’t have called myself a feminist. I was shy and young. Now I’m proud to say I’m a Feminist with a capital F. I’m brave, strong, opinionated, and ready to stand my ground. I know when to back down and when to stand up for myself, when to compromise and when to push my own ideas. I am a woman of influence. I have a voice, and I won’t shut up.

I don’t think RSC will go co-ed. Our students are too smart for that. We’ve been working this year, working to change the MAP program (that’s what the boys are in). Quietly, subtley, the women around me have been pushing their opinions and their loyalty to the school. And it worked. Next year, the boys will be living on the Sage of Albany campus, which is already co-ed (it was founded as a junior college for men and women, but it’s now a regular college). They will take most of their classes there. And RSC will continue to be the great school for women that it has been since 1916. I am proud to go to an all-women’s college.

I decided to try my hand at making my own soda bread this year. While perusing the internet for some good recipes, I found an article that caught my eye about Irish soda bread not really being Irish. Intrigued, I clicked the link. Apparently, the raisin studded carroway seeded cake-like loaves that are oh-so-popular around March 17th are NOT, in fact, traditional Irish soda bread. They’re another type of cake called “Spotted Dog” or “Railway Cake.” The true Irish soda bread came about in the late 19th century when soda bicarbonate was introduced. People began making bread out of this (which is pretty much baking soda from what I’ve gathered) instead of yeast. The traditional recipe contains only four ingredients: flour, baking soda, salt, and buttermilk. After looking through several recipes, I ultimately decided on the one below, which is from the Society for the Preservation of Irish Soda Bread website (yes, this is a real group).

Ingredients
4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
14 oz buttermilk (this converts to 1 3/4 cup, but I measured  through mixing)

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees. Lightly grease and flour a round baking dish (I used a round cake pan). Sift the dry ingredients together. Mix the buttermilk in to create a sticky dough. Move the dough to a floured surface and LIGHTLY knead it; it doesn’t require the kind of kneading that a regular yeast bread dough needs. Put the dough in the baking dish and shape it into a round. Using a knife, cut a cross in the bread from one side to the other, going as deep as half-way through the loaf. Bake for 45 minutes. You can tell the bread is done by tapping the bottom — if it sounds hollow, then it’s finished.

My dough was too flaky, I think, though I’m unsure why. The bread itself came out tasty. It’s denser than a regular loaf and much more filling. Most websites said the bread tastes the best the day after it’s baked. J and I slathered slices in butter to go with our dinner (shepherd’s pie… traditionally English, but I’ve seen it served with soda bread at many an Irish festival).

I love being Irish all year round, but I especially love St. Patrick’s Day. I hope you all have a wonderful day tomorrow, enjoy a pint of Guinness (or your favorite brew), have fun, and be safe.

My friend B said the book was “very predictable.” While there were some things I was able to sort out on my own, I was surprised by many of the plot twists and secrets. The tale remains gasp-worthy until the very last page. It’s a longer book, over 400 pages, but it reads very quickly because it’s so easy to get lost in. Maitland is an excellent story-teller and she knows how to interest a reader.

The Denver Post described it as:

“A Canterbury Tales scenario with an M. Night Shyamalan ghost story. . . A harrowing historical.”

That is an excellent summation of everything I’m trying to say. If you’re looking for a good read, definitely check out Company of Liars. You won’t be disappointed.

Russell Sage doesn’t have a traditional college campus. There isn’t a quad or a football field (or a field house, for that matter). No sprawling green lawns or large distances to traverse. We have a city block. Located right smack-dab in downtown Troy, a passer-by might not notice anything different from the previous block, except perhaps the large amount of young females wandering about. True, we have an arch ushering people on campus, but as soon as you pass the next perpendicular street and the parking lot, you’re out of Sage and back into the regular city.

I love our wonky little campus. Our dorms, except for the freshmen building, are old Victorian brownstones turned into student sanctuaries. They’re as updated as they can possibly be, which means we usually have to deal with the workings of an old house (loud, smelly radiators and weak wireless signals because of thick walls). But they’re beautiful each in their own way and rich in history. Wool House, my dorm, was owned by General Wool, a relation to Uncle Sam (who is from Troy himself). There’s a rumor of a tunnel in our basement that leads to the Hudson River which was supposedly used for runaway slaves on the Underground Railroad. The film “The Age of Innocence” was filmed in another of our buildings. There are tons of ghost stories about our campus. Harriet Tubman was just a block away from here, rescuing a runaway who was to go on trial. Of course each college has its own history, but I find ours to be unique.

There are also the smaller places on campus that are near and dear to me. The library is a favorite study spot — always warm and comforting, the stifling whisper of books surrounding tables that face windows looking out onto campus, 787, and the river. La Fayette Courtyard, French House Annex, and Carriage House are the three places I have spent most of my time. All of my English classes are held in FHA. Dr. Salomon’s (affectionately called DSal) office is in Carriage House. The Courtyard is small and quiet, accessed by a stone arch and a path nestled between French and Spanish Houses or another out of the way passage behind the library. Here resides the Shakespeare Garden and the fountain. In the fall and spring it always smells of dirt and grass. In winter, though the plants are dead and the fountain is turned off for the season, it is still beautiful covered in snow and ice.

Warm spring afternoons are spent in Sage Park, our only “college-like” landscape. Students sprawl on blankets, reading, talking, or enjoying the warm sun after a long, bitter winter on the Hudson. We find it increasingly difficult to go to class and leave the sun’s rays behind us, trading them for the dark, stifling classroom. Frisbees are tossed, dogs are walked. It’s truly a rebirth as we emerge from the safety of our rooms and embrace the new season and the end of the semester.

I look forward to graduate school. I want the new sights and experiences. I have no doubt that I’ll find things I love about the new campus, too. But RSC’s small, compact area will always have a place near and dear to my heart, and I will always miss it.

A year and a half ago, when I decided I no longer wanted to be a teacher, I had to quickly think of a new plan, a new course for my life to take. What did I love to do? What could I see myself doing for the rest of my life? I started to think about history and through some sort of stream of consciousness I began pondering National Treasure. I wrote, “Nicholas Cage: Treasure hunter” on my list “What I Want to Be When I Grow Up.” Treasure hunter isn’t exactly the most successful career and I certainly wouldn’t do very well at persuading my parents that it is, so I dug deeper. History is like a treasure hunt. One must search for facts, documents, evidence. Sometimes it’s not all there, and that is when historians must be creative. By creative I don’t mean making things up to fill in the gaps; one must make a hypothesis, try and connect things that otherwise might not go together. It’s a stretch and sometimes it can be very obvious. Okay, I thought. Research.

Many of my elementary school fieldtrips were to the New York State Museum in Albany, about an hour from where I grew up. My father took me to the Saratoga Battlefield, and he also introduced me to Sir William Johnson and the historical sites around Johnstown, my hometown. I have been to Fort Ticonderoga and Fort William Henry with friends. I love these places. I made thread at the Cooperstown Farmer Museum. I love thinking that I am walking where Joseph Brandt or Benedict Arnold or Horatio Gates once walked. This past summer J and I walked the Freedom Trail in Boston on a hot, thickly sticky day. We ate in a tavern where Paul Revere and George Washington had once met with groups of men. We walked the trail from Lexington to Concord and saw the exact spot where Paul Revere was captured. We stood next to the unmarked graves of British soldiers. This is what I wanted to do. I wanted to make history a living part of other people’s lives. I wanted them to feel the same way that I did when standing in front of an exhibit or in an open battlefield.

This is why I chose Museum Studies. I can’t describe the feeling I get when I’m at a historical site. It’s an overwhelming sense of emotion and excitement. My friends don’t really understand it, even though many of them are history geeks themselves (though I think S might feel this way about Gettysburg). If I’m going to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for a BA and even more for my Master’s, I want to spend that money on something I have a deep passion for (and that, I’m sorry to say, is certainly not teaching in a classroom). The day I told my advisor this, I felt so light and relieved. And excited. I’ll miss RSC, but graduate school can’t start soon enough. I’ve applied to four different schools, and I’m hoping that I’ll be accepted to one of them for the fall semester.

And all because of Nicholas Cage and National Treasure.