A checkered floor, brown on beige. Every Sunday as a child, every few weeks of the 10 years I spent as a student and then employee of the University, and every year since I have come here. This is my security blanket. A personal history so thoroughly entwined with that of nature. Dioramas, locked behind fingerprinted glass; geological displays, a veritable Fortress of Solitude, sit exactly the same. I can still turn that Geiger counter and listen to the pop of radiation, I can still find every hidden nook and cranny.

Opening in its current location in 1969 in the former George Thomas Library, it still feels like a library. Years of necessary quiet seeping into and swallowing you as you enter. Is this why I feel so instantly comfortable within its walls, laden with book-memories? Moving to a new building with a new name built just below Red Butte in late 2011, soon everything this is will be gone. Still, the consummate conservationist that lives within me knows it is a long overdue move and embraces it.

Butter yellow, double dyed.

Warm weather- seems like it’s time to dye some fabric. Linen hanging on the line, a sort of disorderly order. It makes me happy. Is that weird?