Tonight we set up a lava light in our livingroom. I didn't even realize we had one until suddenly there it was, in all its green and yellow oozy glory, providing us with both a sense of calm and exhilaration, just as the description on the side of the box suggested. We watched as the globules transposed themselves, first in an upward spiral, and then down again. I had an instant deja vu all over again flashback to my senior year of college, where I lived with a group of 5 people in a large house a few blocks from campus in Oberlin, Ohio. Of course, we had a lava light in the livingroom. It was on through many significant moments that year - the day my housemate, Stella, was elected valedictorian and wrote her graduation speech as she did many of her papers, at 2 am, fortified by tuna melts from the nearby Campus (nicknamed Crampus) restaurant, and hot fudge sundaes. "S-t-e-l-l-a!" we used to yell out the window whenever we saw her on her way home, in a mocking tribute to "Streetcar." It was on when we had a party in honor of the last episode of "Mash," complete with tears and remembrances. And it was on when I came home late from urgent rehearsals of "The Mikado," where I was in the chorus and had to memorize the score, which was harder then some of my classes had been. I look at the photos now in fond remembrance, me in whiteface and a kimono performing, in what would turn out to be some of my best college memories. It was on after graduation day, when me and a few others stayed on one more week, just to experience what it was like to be at college without papers and clubs and performances and obligations, just a week spent walking on the country roads and discovering what a beautiful place I had been living in for four years, only really realizing it just as I was about to leave.
I'm going to go look at the light again. I like how the shapes look like clouds, or constellations, the suggestion of things greater then themselves.