The new building: HSU’s Community Clinic

  Humboldt State University (Arcata, CA) has a new Behavioral & Social Sciences Building.  They were talking about it when I first started there in Fall 2000, and the psychology professors were very excited.  It would have the labs we needed, facilities for the grad students, and be “better organized.”  It took much longer to design and build than planned, but five departments moved into it this Summer, and classes began in it two weeks ago.  Of course, it’s still not quite done — there is an area roped off in the foyer, because they are still working on the floor (wooden blocks — very nice), and there are still “Wet Paint” signs in various areas.  But the view from the fifth floor balcony (you can see them in the photo) is spectacular, and just high enough to see over the surrounding evergreen trees. 

As a graduate student in the Counseling Program, I work in the Psychology Department’s on-campus clinic.  Last semester it was called Davis House (in a house previously owned by the Davis family); I wrote about seeing the last client there in  http://judithornot.wordpress.com/2007/05/09/davis-house/  .  I was hoping they would keep that name, but now that we are in the new building, the Department has decided to call it HSU Community Clinic.  I was excited about working in the new clinic, and looked forward to seeing what it would be like.

It is new, clean, has a great view (out the second story, with evergreens), and the clinic area has a pleasant varigated-green/black carpet.  The waiting area is more spacious, and there is a counter with an open window for the administrative assistant to sit behind.  That is the good stuff. 

Am not sure how much detailed input the Psychology Department had in designing the clinic area, but at this point there is nothing they can do about it.  They have no say in what color the walls are, or even final say about what can go on the walls.  Apparently they are even being told what furniture they will use.  I write all this so you will know my frustration is not with them.

The approach to the clinic is down a long, creamy white hallway with slate grey/black  floors.  It seems to stretch on forever, and provokes a feeling of anxiety, like something out of a Hitchcock movie.  The window in the door is clear glass, so anyone can walk by and see the clients in the reception area.  The therapy rooms are huge (twice as big as needed, unless you are doing group counseling) and have creamy white walls (making the rooms feel even bigger).  The energy efficient light switches turn off the lights after about 10 minutes (because we are sitting there in chairs, without much movement).  There is an observation area behind a one-way mirror (for the supervisor), which is where the video equipment will be for each group.  However, the Dean insisted the Department couldn’t keep its audio/computer technician (not enough money, even after the tuition increase), so it is apt to be a month before the cameras and video equipment will be in place.  Apparently the new, modular furniture hasn’t arrived, so fortunately we are using the comfy, upholstered chairs that used to be in Davis House.  I hear the interior designer had “forbidden” us to take those chairs into the new building.  She is also the one who won’t let us hang anything on the walls unless it is framed, and who won’t let us paint the therapy room walls in darker colors so the rooms are more cozy and conducive to intimate conversation.  I considered putting up a couple portable decorator screens to create a more intimate space, but that would block the observation mirror.  So, for now, the therapy room chairs are grouped near the window (where at least the view is nice) in an effort to create an island in the midst of all that space. 

Am sure the official descriptions of the building and its interior are full of words like “clean” and “spacious.”  However, in reality the words that come to mind are “sterile” and “institutional.”  I suspect the interior decorator has never worked as a therapist, and has no idea how important it is to create a safe and contained atmosphere when working with a client.  Surroundings DO make a difference.  If the therapists-in-training can create a supportive atmosphere in those rooms, they will probably be able to do so anywhere.  Maybe it’s a test?

 I miss Davis House.

Crescent City’s Crescent Beach

   I love the beach, and I love the forests I’ve always associated with the mountains (having grown up in Southern California).  Crescent City, CA, has the best of both worlds, with lovely beaches, and redwoods and evergreens surrounding and in town.  We live just a mile from the beach (as the crow flies), so some evenings, when the wind is right, we can hear the seals barking, the buoy honking, and the waves breaking. 

Last year my romantic and thoughtful husband, knowing how much I love the beach, got us a room at the Crescent Beach Motel, which is the only motel in town RIGHT on the beach.  This year we went again — the photos at the beginning and the end of this entry were made just outside the door of our room. The rooms are simple (cable TV, but no phone), clean, and comfy, but not exactly cheap ($100/night in Summer).  The big draw is that you are right on the beach, with a lovely porch to sit on, and all night long you get the sound of the waves on the shore.  A reservation is a good idea, because even in mid-week, the “No Vacancy” sign is often lit up.  Be sure and ask for a room facing the beach, because they do have 3 or 4 that don’t.  It’s at the very south end of town, just before Hwy 101 heads south up Crescent Hill.

This year we also made a reservation at Bistro Gardens (on Anchor Way), and took a 15-20 minute walk north along the beach to get there.  Their dinners run $17-$29, but are delicious (meat dishes, vegetarian, pasta, seafood).  We sat on their deck, and continued enjoying the sight and sound of the waves on Crescent Beach.  We finished just before sunset, and enjoyed a pleasant stroll along the wave line back to our motel room.

I have friends who have machines that make wave sounds in their bedrooms, so they can sleep better at night.  Imagine having the real thing just outside.  :-)    Last night I went out on the motel porch at midnight, just to watch the moonlight glinting on the waves and the water.  I was tempted to sleep in the deck chair there all night, but even in the room I could hear the sounds.  Just thinking about it now gives me a glow of happiness. 

Come take a walk on Crescent Beach someday.

“Real Genius”

  Amuse — it means, without thought.  Sometimes you want to just relax, laugh, and not have to think too hard.  However, I do appreciate it when an amusement has some intelligence and talent to it.  For times like that, the movie (now on DVD), “Real Genius” is exactly what I’m looking for.

Yes, that’s a photo of Val Kilmer — a very young and blond Val Kilmer.  Even as a young man (1985), Kilmer had the ability to BE the role he played, and in this movie he is a brilliant and quirky college student in Southern California (at “Pacific Tech” instead of Cal Tech, like in “War of the Worlds”).  It is one of those movies where the idealistic and very intelligent kids take on the bad-guy adults.  Thing is, this one has some basis — it’s the CIA funneling money through a college professor (William Atherton) for weapons research, while the students only know it to be an interesting challenge and passing grade.  It was the sort of thing that happened a lot, before students became more cynical and aware.  William Atherton does an excellent job being a pompous, despicable jerk.  I read that after he played the EPA official in “Ghostbusters,” people kept picking fights with him in bars. 

Gabe Jarret plays the straight new-genius-on-campus to Kilmer’s irreverant, creative, about-to-graduate character.  They share a dorm room, and when Jarret arrives he says something about being there earlier (to Kilmer, who is sitting in his very messy (even by male college student standards) half of the room).

“You didn’t straighten up?” Kilmer asks.

“No,” Jarret responds.

“Good.  All my filth is in alphabetical order.  This was under ‘H’ for toy.”

Okay, so it doesn’t sound all that funny in print.  But the way these two play it, it brings a grin to my face every time.  There is also the biology nerd who grows cherries the size of bowling balls, and the engineering nerd who never sleeps and sands her floor at 2 a.m.   Most mysterious of all is the long-haired, bearded man who comes and goes through their closet.  [I've heard they are considering a remake of the movie, with Val Kilmer playing the mysterious Lazlo Hollyfeld.]

From the opening credits (offered over a montage of weapons plans, beginning with the sling shot and ending with the atomic bomb) and through to the end, this movie invites you to have fun, laugh a little with relief at no longer being that age, and remember how idealistic you may once have been.  It’s simplistic in the way most movies are.  Yet it is done with enough talent to make it quality, simple amusement.  (Rated PG.)  I give it a 4.

“Stardust”

   This is a fun movie.  First of all, it is based on a Neil Gaiman novel of the same name, and Neil Gaiman is one of my favorite authors.  I’ve only read a few of his books (American Gods and Good Omens (with Terry Pratchett) immediately come to mind), but Gaiman has the ability to take trite formulas and turn them on their heads in a most entertaining manner.  In this instance it is the lost heir, quest, and true love formula.  He makes this stuff new and fun.  He also uses one device I’ve begun to really enjoy when it shows up in movies — the characters who stand outside the action and comment on what is going on.  In this case it is the heirs who have been murdered; they hang around as ghosts, commenting on what the other heirs are doing. 

The cast also goes a very long way toward making this movie enjoyable.  Charlie Cox (shown in the photo above with Claire Danes) plays the typical dark haired/dark eyed/soulful hero, and does a good job of it.  I’ve enjoyed watching Claire Danes since I saw her in “Romeo + Juliet,” and she shines in this role (pardon the pun).  In most movie posters you will see Michelle Pfeiffer — yes, she is beautiful, and wicked, and a joy to watch.  Robert De Niro is Captain Shakespeare, a man with a secret; he does a great job. 

We saw this movie a couple days ago, and I already want to go back and see it again.  I read an interview with Neil Gaiman, and he said he was afraid the reaction to this movie would make him hot news in Hollywood — there is a very good chance it will.  Go see it.  It’s rated PG-13 (I’d take my grandchildren to see it), and I give it a 4.8. 

Volume (sound)

I recently participated in a discussion about how we relate to the world through our senses.  It was sparked by one of those hypothetical questions: If you had to give up one of your senses, which one would you give up first?  Which one last?  [As if we would ever have any choice in such a thing.]  The interesting bit, of course, was when someone elaborated on why they chose that sense in that position (first or last).  I decided I’d give up hearing first.  Oh, I would miss the sounds of my loved ones, and the birds, and various pieces of music, et cetera.  Yet it is noise that has the greatest capacity to bother me.

I grew up in a Southern California suburb, and there was always a certain amount of noise.  I learned how to focus and tune out what I didn’t want or need to hear.  In my 20s I moved to rural Northern California, and there was a lot less noise.  Six months later when I returned to Southern California for a visit, it was very difficult for me to have a focused conversation.  Besides the person speaking, there was the sound of the fan, and the airplane going overhead, and kids playing in the street, and the neighbor’s radio, and someone’s dog barking, and an emergency vehicle siren in the distance, and on and on.  My ability to focus my hearing had become lazy.  I also realized I was very happy to live in a place where there was not quite as much background noise, nor was it as loud. 

I was raised to be quiet.  I remember a relative complaining because someone’s little girl walked too loudly through the house; I learned to walk very quietly.  My mom took a job working graveyard shift when I was 10 years old, so when I was at home I learned to be very quiet.  For the same reason, I didn’t often have friends over, because they wouldn’t understand the need for quiet. 

Out in the normative world, I don’t think people give a lot of thought to the idea of quiet.  Have noticed people will react to something as being too loud if it is a sound they don’t like.  Someone’s radio is too loud (in car or backyard) if it is playing music the accidental listener doesn’t like.  One of our neighbors has parrots, which I enjoy, so their shrieks were never all that bothersome to me.  However, several other neighbors objected to the shrieks, to the point that they called law enforcement and even eventually sued the parrot owner.   Dogs barking tend to annoy me, mostly if it lasts past three to four minutes, or if the dog is barking at me while I’m in my own yard.  I’ve gotten used to neighborhood chickens and geese, but when we had one neighbor with guinea fowl, they got to be a bit much.  The neighbor’s goats . . . well, I’d have to invoke the three to four minute rule again. 

Actually, I don’t mind the animal chatter all that much.  It’s the human noise that gets to me.  Our next-door neighbor is kind-hearted, and now has friends living in a trailer about 15-feet from our bedroom window.  Unfortunately, the mother-in-need has a very loud voice.  I know she has the capacity to be quiet, but she yells a lot, even when she is not upset about something.  They also have two children, and guess which parent they take after in the sound department?  Yep.  These are kids who take great delight in beating on trashed vehicles and the sides of dumpsters for as long as half-an-hour before any responsible adult suggests they stop.  Sigh . . .

Meanwhile, our backyard has become an oasis of green and calm (well, except for the spill-over) for various neighborhood cats (and escaped chickens).  I find myself wondering if people who make a lot of loud noise, whether vocally or with machinery, have any idea they have a choice.  Speak in a quiet, calm voice.  Use a broom instead of a blower.  Listen to the crickets, or the wind in the trees.   Turn down the volume. 

Watching the Perseid meteor shower

   Each August there is a meteor shower known as the Perseids (named for the nearby double star cluster know as Perseus).  They are the trailing debris of the Swift-Tuttle Comet, which circles the Sun approximately every 130 years.  Here on the West Coast of the U.S., the Earth passed through the densest part of the Perseid debris around 11 pm, 12 August (Sunday night).  Since the Moon was dark that night (too close to the Sun to be seen), it gave us an ideally dark sky to see the meteors.

Fortunately, we also had a clear sky that night.  So my partner created a nest for us in the backyard, and from 1:30-3:30 am we laid out in the yard and watched the show.  Some meteors were so brief, they were like bright sparkles, instantly gone.  Others were like mini-comets, making bright trails in the sky that lingered in your vision for a moment after the meteors burned up.  We lost track of the number of sightings, though I believe they averaged about one every four minutes.  They seemed to come in clusters — three or four within a couple minutes, and then quiet spaces.  Even in those quiet spaces, the vast night sky was a show in itself.  The Milky Way was beautiful.  I’m not much of an astronomer, so though I recognized certain groupings of stars as constellations, I have no idea which ones they were. 

I love looking at the night sky, imagining myself traveling through those vast star fields.  I remember a science-fiction story about an observation deck on a space vehicle, where you sat as if suspended in space, with only the planets and stars around you.  People went mad in there.  Once on an August night very long ago, I was camping in the Sierras.  In the middle of the night I needed to visit the outhouse, and after crawling out of the tent I made the mistake of looking up at the stars.  Instant vertigo!  I felt I was falling into the stars.  It was beautiful and scary.

Lying in our yard, with the firm Earth against our backs, it felt lovely to contemplate the stars.  Any tendency to space out was grounded again as we listened to the night critters moving about our yard.  Am sure they wondered what we were doing in their space.  

[Photo courtesy of www.spaceweather.com ]

Stuff (aka Treasures, Bric-a-Brac, Junk, etc.)

  Several years ago our adult son commented, “Your house looks a lot like Grandma’s did, with lots of stuff sitting around.”  Seeing the look of shock (and perhaps a hint of anger?) on my face, he immediately made a great save by adding, “Of course, your stuff is a lot cooler than hers was.”    It gave me just enough space to consider the truth of what he said, and to admit that yes, I have lots of stuff.  Any resemblance to my mom, however, went uncommented.

When I was a teenager, I read a magazine article or book that suggested an exercise to find your own unique style.  The suggestion was to create a scapbook made up of magazine photos you found interesting.  Keep collecting pictures and photos for several months, and then go back over them to find their common elements.  What colors keep showing up?  Textures?  Do they look modern, victorian, rough hewn, or ?  Homemade objects or technology?  When it came to living spaces, my collection was polarized.  Half the pictures were very sparse, open, using white walls, wood, and natural fibers, but with very little furniture and only one interesting object in the room.  The other half were cluttered, still using wood and natural fibers, but with lots of homemade stuff (not frilly), and interesting objects sitting around, the kind that tell stories.  As much as I admired the clean, sparse styling (which looked more than a little Japanese), I realized I would never be able to stick to it.  So I cast my lot with the Interesting Junk Store motif, and never looked back.  (Well, that’s not entirely true . . . I still attempt the sparse look in the kitchen, but then there are all those dishes waiting to be washed . . .    )

My mom collected Avon stuff.  Every room in the house had some sort of Avon bottle or decanter or dish or scented candle or whatever.  The scented wax statues were impossible to dust.  But every one or two weeks everything else got dusted, and there was a LOT of stuff.  I actually liked the “silver Dusenberg”  decanter.  Then there were the bookends and vases and various useless objects carved out of a dark wood, and a few pieces that had gold paint (one aunt favored the Las Vegas style of decorating).  There were a few arrangements of feather or silk flowers.   When Mom moved out of that house and into a one-bedroom apartment, she had at least three garage sales to get rid of stuff (and probably made enough to pay for a month or two in the apartment). 

I like to think my stuff is more interesting.  There is the broken vase our son reclaimed with a silk rose and a story about making something beautiful out of what others discard.  (That’s definitely in the treasure catagory.)  There is the statue of Granny Weatherwax I bought in England.  LOTS of rocks and crystals.  Small, plastic animals that actually look like geckos and pelicans and such.  I have candles, too, but I use mine.  The Zen Clock that got dropped, and now the alarm doesn’t work, but the clock still does.  The tiny cement statue of a rabbit, and the large cement statue of Venus on the half-shell.  Of course, there is also my husband’s stuff, which has slightly different themes but still plenty of interesting stories.  And BOTH of us have a lot of books.  We decorate our house with books like my mom did with Avon. 

Lately I’ve been thinking I need to get rid of some of this stuff.  Am sure it is blocking my chi.  I keep saying I’m going to investigate how to sell things on Ebay, because some of my stuff (like tarot decks and books about magic) just wouldn’t sell well in this area.  Some items I have no problem with getting rid of.  But there are the ones that make me hesitate, usually the ones with stories.  Sigh . . .      

Then yesterday I was looking at a Sharper Image catalog, and they have these great digital photo frames . . . 

Happy Lughnasadh! (late)

Lughnasadh (loo’-na-saw) is the first of three harvest festivals, and usually centers around the harvesting of grain.  Lugh is an Irish sun god.  He is also known as Lugh of the Long Hand or Long Arm, refering to the long rays of the sun as it begins sinking lower in the sky each day.  Lugh is also a god of agricultural fertility.  As Lugh begins losing his strength, the days become shorter and the nights longer.  Farmers held wakes, as the sun god “died,” to thank him for the harvest and to remember that he would return in the Spring.  In an agricultural society, there is great importance in having a good grain harvest — it could mean the difference between life and death in late Winter.   This natural holiday (halfway between Summer Solstice and the Autumn Equinox, August 1 or 2, depending on where you are on the globe) is also called Lammas, a medieval Christian name meaning “festival of bread.” 

I enjoy the fact that our county fair is always the first weekend in August — a fitting way to celebrate Lughnasadh.    Walking through the halls, smelling all the grains, fruits, vegetables, and flowers harvested from gardens.  And all the baked goods!  Yum!  I didn’t get to bake anything for the holiday this year, but I did harvest blackberries from our yard, and share them with a friend.  When I went to a potluck, I took along a basket of “slugs” from Los Bagels in Arcata — they are long sticks/rolls made from bagel dough and covered in spices and herbs (pepper, poppy seeds, garlic and onion bits, etc.) — so yummy and very in keeping with the holiday.  

Now is the time of year when we see the results of seeds we’ve planted.  It is also a good time to consider what we are reaping in our lives as well as our yards.  In Winter we make plans, in Spring we put them into action, and in Summer we work hard to make our goals a reality.  Are things going as we hoped?  It is also a time to practice patience, because with some projects the rewards still seem so far away.  It reminds me of the Seven of Pentacles, where the person has worked so hard, and is exhausted.  Yet there is still work to do before the harvest is complete. 

Spend some time out in nature while the Summer is still ripe, and before the days get too short.  Connect with the cycles of life, think about what you have planned, what you have accomplished, and what still needs to be done.  Namaste.

“Bourne Ultimatum”

Most of the reviews I’ve read about this movie give it high marks.  Me, too.  I’m not exactly an action-adventure fan, nor am I generally impressed with Matt Damon.  However, I am impressed with this movie.  Yes, there is PLENTY of action.  When you sit down in the theatre, do not plan on getting up for more popcorn or the bathroom, because you will miss an important plot point.         And I love the on-location filming.  It’s fun to see something and say, “We’ve been there!”  And it makes me want to travel more.  So many places to visit, and so little money.    

What impresses me most about this movie is how intelligent it is (not something frequently noted in movies).  And everything you see happening, probably is already happening on a daily basis somewhere in the world.  It is scary in the same way “Pacific Heights” was scary — this is Real Life.

“Bourne Ultimatum” is rated PG-13.     I give it a 4.7.