'Layers' by Maggie Schlundt

Come with me on this journey through Armstrong Hall and my many experiences there...

'Layers'

Listen to the never quiet. Sounds curl into the corners, slide across the marble floors, clean the cool glass, they make the air vibrate, echoing the operatic warm up, the screaming actors performing the end of act 2 scene 3, the trill of the sewing machines threading through ruby brocade, the bang! hammers and buzz! saws, the directors’ wise, frustrated voices. Frantic creation. Change.

Step outside where the noise is less passionate.

We’ll begin where I began: homesick, desperate, gazing at the glaring glass walls, unable to see inside. My eyes were big, brimming with stupid tears that squirted out when I remembered how far away my red door was, how long it would be until I felt the short silky hairs behind my dog’s ears, how bad I was at phone calls.

My tear ducts calmed when someone left that sleek door open a crack, a smile. I-- shaking, timid-- approached. Now I yank the metal handle with the gentle confidence that accompanies belonging. It recognizes my grip. Slip inside and shiver. It’s always too cold.

I met two best friends on these slippery marble steps; I still talk to one of them.

Go

down.

Enter the Black Box Theatre. Oh! take off your shoes first.

The floor has been abused, pounded and scratched. Every year, someone pops open a paint can and spreads glossy black thickly over the damage, to start fresh. But the paint peels back no matter how many layers and we remember…

Here is where I let go. Here is where a bald man in a colorful sweater vest transformed me. Here is where I ripped my favorite yoga pants. Here is where a good joke jiggled my stomach folds. Here is where a curtain was a cape, a stairwell was a prison, a yellow sheet was pure gold. Here is where I grew, in a thirty minute acting exercise, from a fetus to a 95 year old. And then I died.

Down the concrete hallway is the stage; the imposing, exposing stage.

I was naked in my first production here. I slept with my cast mate. He was charming. He had a girlfriend.

I got better.

The dressing room is bright, but your eyes will adjust. People will be changing, people are always changing here: putting on corsets, taking off wigs, closing shows, opening them. The years start with parties , shots, beer, fights, misunderstandings, falling outs, giving up, with inside jokes, love that felt real, with all-nighters, death. And they end with graduations, with goodbyes and ‘I miss you’s, and ‘I can’t talk right now, I ‘m really busy’.

With emptiness.

Nothing’s the same. The thin lines around my mouth have deepened. A tired grayish purple cushions the pillows of skin beneath my eyes. When I smile my face folds and contorts in unexpected places. My hair hasn’t been this long since I was a virgin. My shoulders cave.

Peel back the black paint. Find me. Please
.

It's Been a Fun Ride (with video)

A Book of Friends: May it include the wise, the witty, and the shrewd…- introductory line to the scrapbook of Louise Elizabeth Roemer in the year 1920 (she circled the word wise and wrote “that’s me”)

To my friends who taught me to relax and have fun; to my professor who cared enough to push me beyond my self-set limits; to God who gives me strength; to my family and everyone else who never let me give up- Anonymous Senior Reflection in the yearbook “Royal Purple” 2008-2009

Friendship is the only cement that will hold the world together- Woodrow Wilson

-and [to] all my friends whose kindness helped me maintain my sanity- Anonymous Senior Reflection in the yearbook “Royal Purple” 2008-2009

Dr. Betts to Harold Johnson: “And what is your field for study”
Harold: “Insanity.”
Dr. Betts: “Oh yes, yours is insanity”
-Royal Purple yearbook 1918

Ambition: To learn to wink to roll down campus hill, to bomb ye faculty- entries in Roemer’s scrapbook

Keep serene worry is the foe of health. Cultivate the companionship of your fellow man.- “Keep Well!” pamphlet in Roemer’s scrapbook

Work, play, rest, sleep in moderation-“Keep Well!” pamphlet in Roemer’s scrapbook

Ambition: Sleep,sleep,sleep,sleep- entry in Roemer’s scrapbook

Young women should be in their rooms at the beginning of the evening study hours (8 o’clock) unless special permission is granted by the Dean of Women. Lights should be out at 10 p.m.-General College and House Rules in Roemer’s scrapbook

Ambition: to break B.H. (Bowman Hall) rules (at least I was caught last nite staying out of the hall)- entry from Roemer’s scrapbook

It would appear that someone had a little too much fun, I returned home last night only to learn that that someone had vomited all over the hallway. - e-mail from current R.A. in Bowman

Avoid self-drugging. Beware the plausible humbug of the patent medicine faker.- “Keep Well!” pamphlet in Roemer’s scrapbook

Our cover has been blown- Royal Purple yearbook 2003-2004

Personality-n [Pur-suh-nal-i-tee] The quality of being a person; existence as a self-concious human being; personal identity- introduction of Royal Purple yearbook 2010-2011

To the girls of Suite 120 for memories that were funny enough for reality tv- Anonymous Senior Reflection in the yearbook “Royal Purple” 2008-2009

Life’s a garden, dig it. And I dug a pretty phenomenal hole.- Anonymous Senior Reflection in the yearbook “Royal Purple” 2008-2009

The College is fortunate in that the attendance, although large, is not too large to afford every student individual attention in the classroom- description under a picture of Cornell’s 1920 student body in Roemer’s scrapbook

Baughman: “Are you going to teach?” Helen: “I suppose I’ll have to.”-Royal Purple yearbook 1918

Cornell College is a private, four-year liberal arts college offering students an extraordinary array of opportunities.—- from www.cornellcollege.edu

Ambition: to be a ballet dancer, to be a cabaret dancer, to be a model, to be a songster, to be an angel, to be an artist in drawing! Ahem!, to be an actress- entries from Roemer’s scrapbook

Music Mondays: Quartet San Francisco
Grammy-nominated Quartet San Francisco will open the 14th season of Music Mondays…As crossover specialists they excel in multiple styles from jazz to tango, pop to funk, blues to bluegrass, gypsy swing to big band and beyond.- Cornell College e-letter

Ambition: to eat sleep and dance enough, to make Dolly see that I’m not really so bad even if she did catch me dancing in the parlor, to always have a peppy time- entries in Roemer’s scrapbook

HvZ: The Wild Happened! This Sunday, much running about in the Pal was done, and many humans were struck down by a ravenous and quickly growing horde of zombies. Thanks for coming, everyone!- from Cornell student organization Z.O.M.F.G

“I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.” Mark Twain

Ambition: to never be tired of working, to learn to love math. to get an A once in my life- entries in Roemer’s scrapbook

Gentleman callers are to be entertained only in the reception room and only at the calling hours (Young women are not allowed to visit in the parlors of the men’s rooming houses)- General House and College Rules in Roemer’s scrapbook

Mike H.: “May I kiss you?”
Ernestine S. “Isn’t that just like a man! Trying to put all the responsibility on me.”
-Royal Purple yearbook 1923

Ambition: to be a suffragette, to be an old maid- entries in Roemer’s scrapbook

Ed: “I think the world of you.”
Co-ed: “The world isn’t so very hard to get around nowadays”
-Royal Purple yearbook 1923

Ambition: to have you love me as much as I love you- entry in Roemer’s scrapbook

Bridegroom not given away-he is sold- Royal Purple Yearbook 1918

“I’m so glad you’ve come. We’re going to have a young married couple for dinner.”
“I’m glad, too. They ought to be tender”- Royal Purple yearbook 1923

Do not overeat. This applies especially to meats and eggs
Eat some hard and some bulky foods; some fruits
Eat slowly—chew thoroughly
-“Keep Well!” pamphlet in Roemer’s scrapbook

Ambition: to learn to eat B. Hall Hash with equanimity- entry in Roemer scrapbook

We’ve finally reached the same level as prison food!- overheard conversation

Evacuate thoroughly—regularly- “Keep Well!” pamphlet in Roemer’s scrapbook

Professor Norton- “My digestive apparatus has turned Bolsheviki.”- Royal Purple Yearbook 1918

Located at the heart of campus, Bowman-Carter is the oldest residence hall at Cornell and home to approximately 110 women. Bowman-Carter Hall stands out on campus due to its distinctive architecture and decor.- www.cornellcollege.edu website

The home of “our gang”- Roemer’s scrapbook description of Bowman-Carter Hall

It looks like a Harry Potter building.- overheard on moving day

-for my Bowman girls for the breathless laughter and flying pumpkins- Anonymous Senior Reflection in the yearbook “Royal Purple” 2008-2009

If you live on the fourth floor of Bowman-Carter you will always know when the wind is strong, because the room shakes- Bowman resident

Unpredictable winds can change local temperatures 50 degrees F in a 24-hour period.- page 27 of Art of the State Iowa The Spirit of America; text by Diana Landau

On the coldest of days I think back to those who came and founded my Cornell and am assured they were Tough souls to have survived the bitter howling wind- Royal Purple yearbook 2003-2004 by Jessica L Rundlett

To those whose book of life is prematurely closed because they saw beyond the limits of their own lives, this volume of the Royal Purple is loyally dedicated- introduction to Royal Purple yearbook 1918

Dearest Louise- I am going to surprise you by writing in here tonight. You don’t know how much I am going to miss you next year. I hate to have you go away, but for your sake, I am glad you are going to attend Minnesota U., because you will have such a good time. Our loss will be somebody else’s gain. Your friendship has certainly meant a lot to me. I’m sorry that I didn’t know you sooner. With lots of love to you and success for next year- Maude E. Beeman- entry in Roemer’s scrapbook

We love you. It’s been a fun ride- end of Senior Reflections in Royal Purple 2008-2009

A Patch of Soil

Layers: an audio essay

This is and audio essay tracking my soon-to-end experience with Cornell Theatre...

-Maggie Schlundt

Perhaps they don't see me.

The following is a prose poem based on my experiences in Iowa City and, well, everywhere....

Perhaps they don’t see me.

Perhaps they were born without peripheral vision. Perhaps their mothers took too long to select a brand of peas at the supermarket so they tumbled from the cart behind her and landed on mushy toddling necks. Perhaps they’re color blind and embarrassed. Perhaps they’ve watched too many horror films - Freddy is everywhere. Perhaps they developed a rare leg disease that makes pausing painful. Perhaps when they were five their older brothers whispered into their dark yellow ear caves: ‘You know leprechauns live in sidewalks, right?’ Perhaps they’re still looking for gold. Perhaps they have a recurring nightmare where they’re killed by clouds. Perhaps they’re very very late for a very very important something. Perhaps they’re retracing their steps, searching for what they lost. Perhaps nature’s boring and people are ugly. Perhaps 4G coverage comes with a free mind wipe. Perhaps they have a good excuse. Perhaps I’m mad, no. Disappointed, no. Lonely. Desperate. Sad. I have beautiful eyes.

Palisades- the Green Oasis

Palisades- The Green Oasis

An oasis lies in the eastern part of Iowa, an oasis in a desert of cornfields. A vast swath of land covered in trees and vegetation with rolling hills that steepen and give way to a river that runs through it. The Cedar River’s east bank gently slopes down to the water where Palisades-Kepler Park is dotted with signs that read “danger, strong currents” alongside picnic benches and grills. The opposite shore is a cut bank of steep limestone cliffs that has been formed as the water slowly churns against the river bend. But, it’s the abundance of trees that catches the eyes of visitors during summer- a massive green fog of foliage.

The Cedar River's eastern shore within the Palisades Park.

What prevented the cornfields from invading this slice of paradise? The Palisades-Kepler Park originally started out as an Inn and rest stop during the 1890’s. James Sherman Minott built the Inn and later sold lots for summer cottage homes. During its earliest years, the population of Palisades was around 200 who also enjoyed a local grocery store and boat launch.

During the late 1920’s, the State Board of Conservation set out on a mission to preserve the area. By the 1940's, the Board would add over 700 acres to the park. In 1934, the parks recreational facilities were constructed from a Civilian Construction Corps. With nothing but a barracks to start with, the corps would eventually add the roads, trails and lodges that still exist today. Though the construction was effectively terminated, the land remains a park for all to enjoy.

My first visit to Palisades began with the study of rocks up close and out in the field, rather than dusty rocks stored on shelves on Cornell’s campus. Something took hold of me that day. It was the first day I fell in love with those clumped aggregates of minerals. How could things so seemingly mundane in life possible interest me? But I learned to love the limestone that covers much of the park and the petrified wood lost in the banks of the Cedar River. My curiosity about formation and prehistoric times was piqued. I would remember this place and come back to it.

Four-hundred and twenty-five million years ago there was no corn in Iowa. There were neither forests nor prairies; there wasn’t even land! At this time, eastern Iowa and much of the Midwest was actually underneath a shallow tropic sea. Picture the Bahamas, that was Iowa 425 million years ago. But instead of scuba divers and tourists, these waters were filled with small planktonic creatures with skeletons made up of calcium. When these creatures died, their shells and skeletons sank to the bottom of the ocean floor where they were compacted and cemented over many millions of years, forming sedimentary rock layers such as limestone and dolomite. When we walk along the bank of the Cedar River and look at the cliffs on the opposite side, we are looking into the past. Within those cliffs are fossils of ancient gastropods, corals and trilobites.

The limestone and dolomite "Palisades" on the opposite shore.

Many millions of years later during the Quaternary period, after the seas of the Midwest vanished and there was land to walk on; glaciers covered the area. Palisades rests in a hilly area of Iowa which did not undergo hundreds and thousands of years of glacial grinding and flattening. Instead, as wind blew over the miles high surface top of the glaciers, it carried with it sediment that the glacier ground up. Miles away in eastern Iowa, the winds blew low into an area without glaciers and deposited the dust and sand as rolling hills.

If wood decomposes anaerobically- without oxygen- there is a chance that it will petrify.
This most often happens when a tree or branch is buried under sediment.
As mineral rich water flows through the piece of wood, it may leave behind little deposits
of minerals inside where wood cells used to be.
photo is from nps.gov

A visit to the Palisades during the winter yields a much different experience than during the fall or spring. The trails are covered in snow and ice, and only the bravest dare to venture out. During my sophomore year at Cornell, I visited the park with some friends. The park was all ours; the only other people there were staying in a cabin. There was a faint wind blowing through the air, but it still chilled our ears to bright red crisps. Crunching snow gave way to slippery ice, and we tumbled down the hills. Moving from tree to tree, grasping branches, we eventually reached the river. It was absurdly cold that year; an ice sheet had formed over much of the water, and we could walk almost halfway out. It was only a little after six in the afternoon, but it was dark. We navigated our way through the snowy landscape using the moon, illuminating the snow as a massive white glow. We trekked along the riverside for an hour until we decided to go home; a friend was getting frost bite.

A wide section of the Cedar River.

My friends and I are not the only ones to enjoy the Park’s natural treasure. During my most recent visit, when the sun-starved maples of an autumn Palisades slowly withered, I watched children run up and down the riverbank playing some blend of hide and seek-tag game. As most hid themselves behind auburn bushes, one sneaky and devilish boy -the ‘it’- crept, invisible, fox like into their midst. Until all at once he threw up his arms and shouted; scattering the rest of the screaming children as if the boogieman himself suddenly phased into being. The children ran away blissfully frantic. Farther up the river were an old man and his dog. He would cast a stick far down the beach and his golden retriever would pursue. During one toss, the stick landed by a flock of geese, and the golden retriever decided the birds were more fun to chase than his stick! At first the older man shouted after his dog, but then stopped and laughed as his dog was chased instead. A flock of angry mother geese is a force to be reckoned with.

People come to the Palisades because they need to get away from their world, be it behind a desk in office or school, wading through the vast cornfield expanse that makes up much of this state, or their small town life. People need some sense of the natural world, and as we drive through Iowa we sometimes forget that it used to be prairies and forests that made up the state’s landscape.