Dream and Archives
Dreamt that I was Cate Blanchett. First I was flirting with Johnny Depp in his Dillinger role. Then I was homesteading. I had traveled by rail to my parent's cabin for the reading of their will. About a dozen shady-eyed siblings sat alongside me. Outside one window there was a clear view of the mountains, and the snow falling gently on tall pines. Out the adjacent window a man tried to drive a back hoe up a steep embankment. The vehicle tipped over, rolled down the hill and expelled the driver. I jumped to my feet, but no one else stood up. I knew that if I went out to help him, my brothers would take advantage of my absence and claim my inheritance.
Well, we're down to the white lisianthus in the bathroom. Poor little bouquet didn't last the week.
Last night's collection at the archives was a box full of notes taken by a student enrolled in Drexel's 1896-1898 library science class. The collection wasn't personal, just academic. But some elements stood out:
1. A brief essay by a book binder who explained how to gently open a book so as not to break the binding. He went on to say that a customer walked into his store one day, took a newly bound book in hand, and "opened it so violently, I nearly fainted dead away." The customer went on to laud the binder on his work, not realizing he had just broken the spine of the book he was holding.
2. Lists of reading recommendations, including books for "the sick." Why any sick person would want to read Moby Dick is beyond me. The titles were not entirely unfamiliar. And I wonder what she would think of a fellow library student, over 100 years in the future, comparing that list to her own lists of novels.
3. Lists of important dates and people which indicate that Grover Cleveland was President and Queen Victoria was still alive. This is a perfect illustration of the allure of the archives. Ephemera talking about the past as the present.
How can you not love old manuscripts? They're all so Ozymandias for the lay person.
Well, we're down to the white lisianthus in the bathroom. Poor little bouquet didn't last the week.
Last night's collection at the archives was a box full of notes taken by a student enrolled in Drexel's 1896-1898 library science class. The collection wasn't personal, just academic. But some elements stood out:
1. A brief essay by a book binder who explained how to gently open a book so as not to break the binding. He went on to say that a customer walked into his store one day, took a newly bound book in hand, and "opened it so violently, I nearly fainted dead away." The customer went on to laud the binder on his work, not realizing he had just broken the spine of the book he was holding.
2. Lists of reading recommendations, including books for "the sick." Why any sick person would want to read Moby Dick is beyond me. The titles were not entirely unfamiliar. And I wonder what she would think of a fellow library student, over 100 years in the future, comparing that list to her own lists of novels.
3. Lists of important dates and people which indicate that Grover Cleveland was President and Queen Victoria was still alive. This is a perfect illustration of the allure of the archives. Ephemera talking about the past as the present.
How can you not love old manuscripts? They're all so Ozymandias for the lay person.