You know you're in grad school when...

• You discover that typing words like "eighteenth century" and "constitution" require too many keyboard gymnastics. Thanks, auto-correct. 
• You accumulate so many library books you run out of shelf space and have to turn them into living room decor. 
• The National Tire and Battery guy assures you their mechanics are so good, they can judge fuel levels by sight and touch - and you think "great connoisseurship skills!"
• Your grad student beau complains that the palace guards in that new Rapunzel movie are wearing nineteenth century Prussian cavalry uniforms, and you justify it as a pastiche of monarchies throughout history. 
• Next semester's syllabi are the hot item to have this season.
• Touring three D.C. museums in one day is perfectly normal, and you have to get up before 6 am tomorrow to drive over 100 miles to do so. It'll be worth it, though!

Just chillin' with the Rolls again

"The motor car is the property of a man called Hardcastle. Return the bits to him if I kill myself; I'm not very good at driving." Beyond the gate ... stood an open, two-seater Morris-Cowley. Sebastian's Teddy-bear sat at the wheel.
~ BR page 23

Last weekend and the week following were completely insane with preparing presentations and then catching up on other work. Luckily I was rewarding for my hard work with a ride around the museum grounds in the Rolls Royce.


Please don't hate me. I only got to do it because my classmate T. has managed to finagle rides twice already, and we told him to share the fun. Luckily, the car's caretaker, "Mr. Greg" is one of the kindest men you will ever meet, and is always thrilled to show off "The Empress." We even got to see the model car workshop diorama Mr. Greg built for Collector's Circle weekend. How it used to work is that Rolls would make the chassis, and then contract out the car body to other companies. Our museum's Phantom 1 model was built by the Brewster company.


We discovered that The Empress seats four comfortably, five cozily, and six in a pinch. She has a roof, unlike the car Sebastian borrowed to visit Nanny Hawkins, but it was still a pretty chilly ride.

Material Culture Alert: Rosary stories

October is the month of the rosary, and in honor of that some Catholic bloggers are sharing their own rosaries and the stories behind them. For instance, the always-entertaining Kat is featuring rosaries all month on The Crescat. So here's my contribution.

First of all, I should confess that the Rosary and I have not always been super close. When you are a kid it can seem endlessly boring. I've had my share of not-great rosary experiences: kneeling on the cafeteria floor in middle school; late at night in the living room when none of my siblings managed to stay awake past the first decade; or those parking lot May Crowning procession that never, ever work, no matter how hard you try to keep your Hail Marys on pace with the people in front of you.

A turning point for me was Pope John Paul II's apostolic letter Rosarium Virginis Mariae. He explained that the whole point is not how piously you enunciate each bead, but rather how you contemplate the face of Christ. It's not mindless repetition, it's tuning out the world to meditate on events in scripture.

Since then, I've been finding new ways to incorporate the Rosary into my life. Keeping one near my bed has helped me through many a night of insomnia. Road trips are another good opportunity. Lately, I've prayed through workouts, challenging myself to jog for just one more decade. Although, I learned the hard way today that even though prayer and running are zen, and treadmills technically keep you on a stationary path, you should still not close your eyes!

I have owned numerous rosaries over the the years - agate, pearl, faceted, plastic, Our Father medallions depicting the four Roman basilicas, made out of colored cord on a Jamaica service trip. One was blessed with a relic of Padre Pio, and another was given by a crush at World Youth Day who was bound for the seminary. But the one I want to talk about is the one on my rear view mirror that I see every day. It represents one of my fantastic rosary moments.

When I was a senior in high school, I was sure that I should go to Catholic University in D.C. I had a great time visiting, some friends were going there, and why wouldn't God want me to further my Catholic education? In the end, though, it came down to money, and I had to settle for my second-choice state school.

The week my parents and I made the decision, I was devastated and confused. How could this be the way God wanted it? Happily, there was a chapel at my school with the Blessed Sacrament, so I went there during a free period. In the dim light, I grabbed a plastic rosary from the basket by the door and plopped myself down at the altar rail to demand some answers. One decade along, I looked down at my hands - the rosary had green and yellow beads. The colors of my state school.

That state school ended up being one of the best decisions I ever made. I didn't know then how much it would make me learn and grow. But God knew, and I like to think that He and His Mom decided to send me a little hug of encouragement about it that day.
The rosary in my car is not the original from that story, but it's close. It put it there to remind me that God's providence is never far away, even if it can be mysterious.

What about you, my very few readers? What is your favorite rosary? Do you have any good rosary-related stories?

"Our Lady of Blessed Acceleration, don't fail me now!" - The Blues Brothers

When I am driving, I can be a bit directionally challenged. Even if I have directions and a map printed out, I will probably get disoriented in my new surroundings and miss a turn or two. Sometimes I even make the same mistake twice. Studying Google maps and focusing on cardinal directions can help, but sometimes it just takes a lot of practice.

Case in point: leaving the downtown area here. Unlike a lot of my classmates, I don't live in the city limits, so I am not so familiar with the maze of one way streets. The past four times, I have ended up taking some roundabout route back home involving detours to I-95 or Little Italy.

That's why I am proud to announce that this weekend I not only managed to take the most direct route home from 8th and King Streets, I also made the 2 hour drive to see my beau without directions this time! After 9 months in Delaware I am finally learning.

Material Culture Alert: Toyota Corolla

Have you ever named your car? I never knew of this concept until high school. When I was a kid, we called Mom's Ford station wagon and Dad's Toyota by the very uncreative names "brown car" and "red car."

Now I have inherited the "red car," and I can't seem find a name for it. My siblings of course suggested choosing some historical figure, but the only moniker that sticks is "My poor little car." This vehicle is a champ, but it has surely seen better days. It did turn twenty years old this year, after all! Toyota Corolla engines are fantastically reliable, but no plastic interior parts are meant to last two decades. Here are some of my "poor little car's" battle scars:

• Broken driver's side door handle
• Detached rear view mirror
• Ceiling upholstery that fell off, was held on with bobby pins and plastic picnic knives, and then finally replaced
• Driver's side door paint is corroding
• Left passenger door will only open from the inside
• Front passenger seat belt sticks closed
• Gear shift plastic case has cracked
• Interior light only turns on for driver's door
  

It doesn't help that I am sometimes a klutzy driver. I still feel guilty about driving with the parking break on and losing the original gas cap. So much so that I let Jiffy Lube snooker me into getting the "power steering fluid exchange" with my oil change. It's only $60 extra!

As much as I love the Red Car, it might be time for a new one. Say, a 1998 Corolla that actually has air bags, power door locks, and anti-lock brakes. I did some shopping around over break, and will keep checking Autotrader.com.

My Dad jokes that cars can tell when you are thinking of replacing them. My Poor Little Car seems to be doing that. Just before I drove back to school, Dad and I found a gash in one of the front tires. There went my afternoon and $200 to buy new treads. Hey Little Car, I still love you! Didn't I wax you lovingly before you came to school with me? Didn't I decorate you with window decals from the finest Virginia public college? Heck, I even bought you a new starter in September! Even if we go our seperate ways, I'll still be loyal to your family.