Salt On Leather

The weekend before last, we had an ice storm. Classes let out early Thursday and were cancelled Friday. It was beautiful. Except for the "whole mountains of snow and dangerous sheets of ice" thing. I went sledding down a hill by the law school on the corner of campus and hit my head on a pole. Thank goodness I didn't black out. That really would've ruined my free day. For a couple days afterwards, I tried to decide whether or not having my black puffy jacket smell like a wet dog from all the melted snow was worth the enjoyment of an hour of exhilarating sledding. The answer was yes.

Ice sickles the size of katanas soon melted when the sun finally decided to show up, later the next week. Now, the campus is recovering aesthetically. Muddy tracks left by the Bobcats clearing snow off the sidewalks and dried epsom salt can be seen everywhere.

My mom came to visit this weekend. She came to the first night of Stripped because I played for one of the shows. I had to navigate her to the right building on campus over phone during the first intermission. Whatever tiny sense of direction I inherited from my parents, I didn't inherit from her. I hadn't seen her since July. I almost started crying when I was talking to her after the show, which surprised me, because I normally don't get that emotional when I see my mom for the first time in a long while. I grew up bouncing back and forth between living with her and my dad, and she moved a lot, so I never really knew when I would see her, or for how long. But something about her being there with me after the performance and just radiating all her love for me, and me understanding and absorbing it, was beautiful and priceless. I love her so much.

So since February is Black History Month, the cafeteria decided it would be fitting to serve fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and collard greens last week. Not only that, but they also posted signs everywhere for Black History Month that featured four pictures in four separate quadrants, one showing a pair of presumably African hands primevally flattening a husk of corn against a stone. I think some people found that offensive.

Perhaps more importantly this month is Valentine's Day. I've decided to wear black.