10.7 miles really isn't all that far to drive, even when you have this in your car:
But I'll say more about that later.
Last week, in Portland, Alex attended a science camp, and I got to attend some of the events with Jodi. One of my favorite events was the 20-minute planetarium show. As you will note if you read last week's short post, I also enjoyed looking at waterfalls. AND of course Jodi and I talked about how our activities underlined the idea that everything around us is constantly changing.
New stars are constantly being born, old ones are collapsing, and the universe expands. Water is constantly flowing, changing the shapes of the rocks. The city where I live, Las Vegas, prides itself on its constant reinvention. Few who have visited in the last 5 years can say that the Strip looks the same now as it did the last time they were here. After flying in from being away, I like to note the billboards that line the airport exits, as they have always changed since the last time I saw them. Wednesday's Review-Journal has an article about our economic decline, and how it affects children in the city. Any teacher can tell you that the students move from school to school at an alarming rate.
Another sad symbol of our changing economy is the closure of my favorite big-box bookstore, Borders:
If you squint, you can see the "Going out of Business" sign in the window. I lamented my personal loss, not to mention the job loss of all the store's employees, to my roommate Amanda, who announced that one of Las Vegas's flagship stores (above) was still open, having sales, and selling its fixtures.
Remembering that one of my favorite pieces of furniture growing up was a table-and-bench set that my parents got when Long John Silvers remodeled, I resolved to own a piece of the interior of Borders, and I drove to the bookstore. Two considerations were important in my quest: how expensive is what I want, and will it fit in my car?
At first glance, the interior of the store looked pretty normal...
...until you went digging around among the books to see if your favorite title had been discounted, only to find the shelves unlabeled and the collection picked over.
That first day, I came home with just a stool:
Last night, I couldn't resist going back to see if a magazine rack from my first visit was still there, and it was. After trying my best not to annoy the busy salesperson, I hauled the rack across the parking lot and carefully stuffed it into my car, to the comic relief of my fellow shoppers, I'm sure.
It may not be a table and bench, but at least I can say that I have some small piece of American economic history. When it gets to the front corner of my classroom, fully assembled, it will look like this:
That's why I was moving a magazine rack across town.
What exactly will fill it as it sits up there is still anyone's guess, but I know one thing about whatever it displays: it will be constantly changing. And it is left to you-all to judge whether my comparing the closing of a chain store where I have often gone to meetings (dates?), gotten work done, written letters, graded papers, and more-or-less taken refuge can be compared to the expansion of the Universe. Perhaps that's an inappropriate stretch. You decide.
I promised my car that if she successfully hauled the rack home with a minimum of whining, I would reward her with a fresh tank of new gas and a bath. So now, after some minor updates to my class blog and an e-mail to home, I'll get those things done.
Happy transitions to all!
