What Might Have Been

Last weekend, Darling Wife and I went up to southern Oregon to visit an old friend of mine. When we moved to the west coast, my friend and I thought we would get to see each other more. With him in northern OR at the time and me in northern CA, there was still some distance to contend with. So we knew it wouldn't be often, but we both like to travel, and at least we were in the same general area. But you know what they say about best laid plans and good intentions. During the four years DW and I have lived in CA, we've seen my friend maybe three times, and only once for any significant length of time. What's more, my friend has also gotten married during that time, and I only met his new wife for about five minutes during their wedding reception last year. So it was with great enthusiasm that I planned our visit.

Oregon is an absolutely beautiful state. It has mountains and coastline to rival that of its more famous southern neighbor, although the former are not quite as high and the latter is somewhat colder and wetter. But there are also snow-capped volcanoes, which I have to say, are slightly scary but awesome at the same time. And what about the Columbia River with its gorge and spectacular water falls the likes of which CA cannot rival. It is true that it rains a bit much in the northern part of the state, but that only means lush green valleys and an abundance of flora and fauna that appeals very much to the outdoorsman in me. And southern OR is much drier. Not as dry as this burnt-out hell DW and I live in, but dry enough to lower the humidity and require irrigation for farming.

We spent the weekend hiking in the mountains, where we saw a black bear in a closer encounter than I've ever had when I wasn't in a car, exploring caves (on a tour at the Oregon Caves Nat'l Monument), and wine tasting. It was so pleasant. DW and I both wonder how our lives might have been different if I'd gotten into the University of Oregon in Eugene instead of UC Davis. What would it have been like if we had friends close by and a landscape we prefer so much more than this one?

What, indeed?

Around and around I go...

I have several things I'd like to blog about but no time in which to blog. I really thought I'd have more time once I finished with classes. Funny how it never works out that way, isn't it?

Don't Be Hasty

Due to the exterminator's visit, I needed to be out of the house during the time in the morning I normally clean up from my bike ride and get ready for work. So I had to skip my morning ride. By the time I got off of work this afternoon, it was getting too warm and I had too much to do for me to take my regular ride, so I settled for a quick trip along a marked bike route through a neighborhood near my house. I didn't even go home to change clothes; I just went straight from work.

As I neared one of the turns, I saw that it was pretty sharp, and I was going pretty fast. In a split second, I had to decide to either slow down enough to make the turn, or cut the corner, as I could tell many others had done. I could clearly see the tire marks in a sunken arch in the dirt between the two concrete paths. So I opted to cut the corner.

If I'd had a dirt or mountain bike with knobbly wheels for traction, I would probably have been OK, but the thin, smooth wheels of my street bike aren't designed for that type of maneuver on that type of terrain. The dry dirt offered no resistance, and my bike slid out of my control.

I ended up on the ground with almost half the palm of my left hand skinned and bleeding. So much for rash decisions and cutting corners. Next time I'll just slow down.

Chasing Rainbows

As I rode along the bike path early yesterday morning, I spotted a series of brightly colored balls hovering above the horizon before me. They looked like rainbows, condensed into something less ephemeral, less transparent. Or maybe they were enormous lollipops, held aloft on sticks the size of skyscrapers.

Of course, I knew they were hot air balloons. I often see them, especially on morning rides. But they are usually a considerable distance away. I think they are launched from Napa Valley, which lies over the ridge I ride toward. The wind was in my face, traveling east from San Francisco Bay, and I concluded it must blown the balloons off course. Later, I saw several white vans with the logo of a balloon tour company sitting alongside the road, apparently tracking the balloons and trying to determine where they would land.

But as I continued on my ride, the balloons passed right over my head, perhaps a hundred feet up or less, and I saw the glint of sunlight off glass from what must have been binoculars. I wondered what I looked like to the occupants of the balloons' baskets. Did they admire my dedication, out riding through miles of open farmland so early on a weekday. Or did they think, as they leisurely floated along, that my industry was ill-spent. Or perhaps they silently prayed that I would send help, as they moved farther off course, at the mercy of the breezes.

I guess I'll never know.

In the Steps of John Muir

DW and I had a lovely time in Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks. We didn't get to spend much time in Kings, but my impression was that it was not altogether different from Yosemite valley, which, of course, is beautiful beyond words, despite the crowds that always stuff it to brimming in their capitalist frenzy for tacky gift shop merchandise. We would have liked to do some hiking there, but we didn't have time. We couldn't leave the dogs in the car, anyway, so we reluctantly left it after only a cursory glimpse of its rushing streams and towering granite structures.

We did pass an entire day in Sequoia, treasuring our brief contact with the largest trees in the world. In fact one of them, the Sherman Tree, is the largest living thing on the planet. Think about that for a moment. Larger than whales, larger even than the dinosaurs. AND it's about 2,200 years old. In this tree's incredible span of years, our fleeting visit would not even register on its timeline. To it, we were truly insignificant. We've been in Giant Sequoia groves before, but certainly none of this magnitude. Everywhere we looked, massive living pillars held the sky aloft and held me enthralled.

And yet, I couldn't help but be put off by the masses of humanity, crowding around, snapping pictures, rabidly purchasing souvenir t-shirts, as if this thing of natural majesty, this awesome work of God, were only another in a series of life's spectacles, the next intangible commodity to consume while muttering perfunctory lip-service to "life-changing experiences" and moving on in a desperate attempt to quicken a vacuous existence. How pathetically small it all is.

Returning to our home in the Central Valley, however, was completely unfulfilling. It has grown hot here, and the dry summer has set in. Everything seemed dusty and cramped. The sweeping grandeur of mountain landscapes with their space and cool air had forced an unflattering comparison to the flat little huddle of stucco homes that make up my community.

Yes, it is time to go home.

And Be One Traveler

Darling Wife and I recently watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, and I found it to be an amusing little story. It did not have the profound affect on me that it seems to have on others, perhaps because the concept was not new to me. Nonetheless, I was affected by the story's setting.

We have decided to alter our cross-country route to cover Texas and some of the South, including Louisiana and New Orleans. New Orleans was also where DW and I spent our honeymoon. So as the trip and our anniversary nears, my longing to touch that landscape is almost physical. I find myself preparing Southern meals and seeking out other movies set in the South. These things call to me in the voice of Home.

And yet, even as I think I will begin to write about the things I look forward to rather than the things I will miss, I am again confronted by the splendors of my present life. This weekend DW and I are camping in the Sierras and communing with the Giant Sequoias. In a few short weeks, we'll be deep in the coastal redwood forest, my favorite place in California.

How can I leave this place? Certainly I have been brought to tears repeatedly by my desire to get out of here and return to all the things I love in the east, but like it or not, I have acclimated. I no longer view things here as abnormal, something I actually thought would never occur.

It's funny, when I moved to Boston, I melted into it from the first day and embraced it like an old friend. It was only time that made me need to leave it. As much as its crooked streets and layers of history will always reside in my soul, I needed more space, less competition. When I moved here, the effect was the complete opposite; I held it at arm's length as something distant and alien from myself. Time has endeared it to me.

Now I wish I could return and stay. Frost wrote, "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, / And sorry I could not travel both / And be one traveler, long I stood / And looked down one as far as I could." I suppose that is what I am doing, standing and looking. If only the distance, that distance which is the primary reason for our relocation, were not so prohibitively great. If only...

Family Outing

He strutted, proud but wary, at the head of the group. His dark eye at the top of his long, black, snake-like neck following me cautiously as I biked past, but he was not to be completely distracted by my presence; his attention darted back and forth from the bike path on his left to the field on his right. Puffing up for an instant, he made himself larger, more menacing, and hissed softly, just to be absolutely sure I knew he would not be taken easily or allow his family to be approached. Determining I was not a threat, he calmed himself down with a rapid shutter and ruffle of gray and white feathers and continued on his course. He would make certain the way was safe before leading his loved ones farther along it. That was his job, and he was good at it.

She followed behind, clicking and honking, guiding her precious babes with her large breast and slightly spread wings. Her head flicked momentarily in my direction, but she trusted her mate to keep protective watch. Her task was to make sure no one strayed from the group. She knew from experience that there is always a curious or dawdling one in every brood, and she was determined not to lose him or her this time.

Between them, small green-gold balls of fuzz scurried around unsteadily on tiny webbed feet. I can hear them excitedly beeping, eager to explore this new world, but not entirely convinced it is their own. It will be some months before these frightened and anxious goslings will resemble their powerful parents.

Perhaps not all of them will survive to make the transition. But that is not for us, or them, to say. Today, there is the creek waiting, and it's time for a swimming lesson.

Ruining Everything!

And then, God sends me a not-so-gentle reminder why we have to Get... Out... of... Here. Today, it's supposed to be around 90 degrees, and tomorrow, 100! You say, "But it's a dry heat, which isn't that bad, right?" Yeah, right. While it's true that dry heat is not as bad as humid heat in some ways, 100 degrees is still f-ing HOT!

Dry heat feels cooler on the skin when there is a breeze. It also allows the temps to drop dramatically at night. Neither of those things is helpful in the middle of a sweltering afternoon. What's more, our house, which stays pretty cool for most of the morning, almost chilly even, builds up heat in the attic when it's so hot, and then radiates that heat into the house for most of the cool nighttime hours... while we are trying to sleep. Nice, eh?

And the sun... that wonderful California sun that people rave about and come here to experience, it will burn you to a cinder if you are exposed to it. I've never felt anything like it. I know that those of you back east have been suffering through constant rain for some time, so this may sound like a blessing from heaven, so allow me to enlighten you a bit. In more humid climates, the atmosphere filters some of the heat from the sun's rays, so while the air itself may be hot and sticky, the sun is not unfriendly. So as long as it's not raining, you can be outside, enjoying the summer, except for those few weeks in late July and August when it just gets too hot to move. Without the atmospheric filtering provided by moisture in the air, the direct beams of the sun are scorching hot. I mean, even if the temperature is only in the 60s or 70s, your skin will burn in the sun. And I'm not talking about getting overly tanned; I'm talking about growing hot, as if you were holding it up to a heater or a fire. You can feel the direct heat almost melting or searing away your flesh. Lovely image, isn't it?

As soon as you step in the shade, you experience relief, but who wants to live their life in the shade? Not me. I'm an active kinda guy, and I like to get out and do things in the summer.

So, this weekend, we'll have to abandon the sweltering cauldron of the Valley and seek the cooler climes of the mountains or the coast. That will provide some temporary respite from the fury of Helios, but we don't always have the freedom to do that. Besides, once the heat sets in and the rain stops, this land will become baked and burned like a terracotta pot. All that is beautiful and green will wither away, leaving dust and misery.

Yep, our departure for the east can't come too soon.

Miss-cellaneous cont. cont...

Have you ever had fresh avocado? I mean, really fresh, like picked on the farm that morning? It's unlikely. See, they spoil quickly, so fresh ones aren't even available in most grocery stores outside of the southwest, and the "avocado dip" you get may not be real avocado, or it may be loaded with so many preservatives that it bears little resemblance to the real thing. Check the label. You'll see.

And this is the case with most of our grocery store produce, even here. Produce in grocery stores is usually picked while it's still green so it can survive the journey to the market and sitting on the shelf for days. That prevents the fruits and veggies from storing the sugars, vitamins, and minerals that will give them their fullest flavors. Grocery stores also generally stock produce that LOOKS good, regardless of it's taste. I, for one, think that peaches should be soft and sweet instead of perfectly plump and colorful but tasting like plastic.

Fortunately, I have alternatives to the grocers, easy alternatives that don't require a drive across town or to another town. I know I've already mentioned this in my first post, but I have to rave a little more. Yesterday afternoon on my way home from running an errand, I stopped by the farmer's market to pick up a tomato for a salad for dinner. I ended up getting a tomato, two avocados, and a half-flat of strawberries for $15! Then I dropped into the food co-op for an $8.99 bottle of terrific local zinfandel... mmmm... and a delicious organic dressing.

As Darling Wife and I ate dinner on our back patio, I reveled in these tasty treasures and mourned the loss of them we will suffer when we return east.

Have you ever had fresh dates? What about asparagus? Persimmons, mushrooms, olive oil, figs? I've had all of these things before, but I don't think I'd ever really known how marvelous they could be until I bought them fresh on the day they were picked, ripe and luscious, from the farmers who grew them.

Oh, trespass sweetly urged! Give me my zin again.

Darling Wife's brother (and possibly her sister) are coming to visit this weekend. They would like to visit some wineries, which begs the question, which ones?

California has over 100 American Viticulture Areas (AVAs), as many as all other US states combined. Some of them are quite small and located near each other. For example, the Napa, Sonoma, and Suisun valleys run parallel to each other; each valley is its own AVA; the north and southern parts of each valley are also separate AVAs, as are the ridges between them and many of the spur valleys that branch off of them. It has to do with the climate and the soil. Because of altitude, ocean breezes, etc., each type of terrain is appropriate for different types of grapes or produces different and distinct flavors in the same grapes, so each area gets its own AVA, even though they are within a few miles of each other.

Obviously, we aren't going to go down to San Diego county to visit that region's wineries because it's much too far, although I hope to drop into some of them on our way out of the state next month. It's the same with Santa Barbara and most of the central coast. We don't want to travel more than an hour or two, I think. But there are several wine regions near us, each with its set of distinct AVAs.

We could easily visit Napa and Sonoma, which are only about 45 minutes south west of where we live. The wineries there are beautiful, and many of them are famous. And they make some excellent pinot noirs, a grape that doesn't grow anywhere else close to us. But their popularity makes them expensive and incredibly touristy. Some of the wineries there charge you just to visit the grounds, let alone taste the wines.

There is also Lodi in the Central Valley just south of us. Darling Wife and I have never been wine tasting there, and I'd like to do so before we leave CA. However, Lodi is having a big Zin Fest this weekend, which means the normally less-crowded wineries will be packed, and many of them will not be conducting regular tastings because they will have booths at the Fest. Plus, it's supposed to be over 90 degrees in the valley this weekend. Mmmm, no. I don't think so.

Which leaves the wineries in the Sierra foothills. They're a little harder to get to, taking a little over an hour each way, and we did take DW's sister there once before. But they are hardly ever crowded, are inexpensive, and produce some of the finest old vine zinfandel I've ever tasted. The spicy flavors stimulated by growing on granite for 100 years or so are incredible. And there are 27 wineries in the same 10-mile area.

I guess it will depend on what types of wines my brother-in-law favors, rich French wines like those produced on the coast, or fiery Italian and Spanish wines like those made in the foothills.

Miss-cellaneous Cont...

I think the thing I will miss the most is Davis, the city I live in. Darling Wife and I have liked Davis since we first visited it four years ago. We've often wished that we could pick it up and transport it to the east coast... but of course, that would ruin much of its distinctive flair.

Davis used to be a farm town, and it still retains some fairly conservative roots. But it's also home to one of the largest universities in the UC system, fostering a general atmosphere of liberalism and tolerance that is refreshing. It is not uncommon for me to hear three or four languages spoken on any given day. Everyone recycles, and most people support sustainable living practices while promoting a focus on family, friends, and community. There are over 67,000 people living in Davis, meaning it's large enough to boast a decent array of restaurants and shops, but it's still small enough to have a small-town feel. Everyone seems to know everyone, and you always see the same faces at community activities and downtown venues.

I've mentioned that Davis has a thriving farmer's market. It also has a successful art center where children and adults can take a class in making pottery or attend a play by local troupes. There is a great library, as well as many parks and greenways, bike paths that surround the city and run throughout it, numerous art galleries, a bakery, a train station, and a great bus system. You can get anywhere in town or travel out of town without a car. The city discourages and controls suburban sprawl, preferring to encourage in-filling and preservation of the surrounding farmland. Consequently, it's pretty dense and pedestrian/bicycle friendly.

And there is always something to do. You can drop into the Raptor Center for a Hawk Walk or attend a performance of the Moscow Symphony Orchestra at the Mondavi Center. This weekend, Darling Wife and I passed an afternoon at the Whole Earth Festival after the successful completion of our yardsale and enjoyed perusing the vendor's stalls while listening to some great music on the main campus quad. As we walked to the event along a path lined with olive and citrus trees, we passed a small strip mall with two department stores and a Starbucks, St. Martin's Episcopal Church, the Chinese Christian Church, the Islamic Center of Davis, and several frat houses. You gotta love that kind of diversity.

Plus, the university has a world-class arboretum; its own butcher where two days each week you can purchase low priced, quality beef, lamb, pork, or chicken, raised at the university's many farms; and some pretty good sports teams.

And sometimes... when the wind is right and the springtime jasmine has stopped blooming... the air smells like rosemary and sage.

Miss-cellaneous

I'll miss...

-The jasmine
I wrote about this last year, but it never ceases to blow me away. If you've never had the experience of breathing in the intoxicating aroma of this plant's small, white blossoms, I haven't the words to describe the pleasure. If you have, imagine what it must be like to be enveloped in that scent, that heady fragrance that surely must come from Olympus itself; for, I know the greedy gods would have kept something this good for themselves.

Here in the central valley, there are two types of jasmine in abundance. The first grows incredibly fast with thin, clinging vines that climb swiftly and cover fences, lattice, shutters, etc. with lacy leaves from spring to fall. It has pink buds that open to creamy white blooms from late February to late April.

The other type of jasmine has thicker vines. It's almost shrub like with dark, glossy leaves that are ever-green. Its blue-white blossoms open in late April and last through the month of May. It can be found in almost every parking lot, highway median, and home landscaping, and when it blooms... it perfumes the entire town.

Combine that with the citrus blossoms that are also in full array right now, and basically, we have about two-to-three months of heavenly breezes.

Then the dairy reclaims its position as our number one aerator. But we won't go there. Stay with the jasmine...

Moving On

It’s always exciting to move. There are so many new things to experience, so many new things to get to know. Even the word “move” denotes action and activity, change and motion. But no matter how much I want to go to a new place and how much I disliked an old place, part of me is always sad at the loss. I’ve blogged about this before, so I won’t belabor the issue. It’s just that our impending move is really starting to sink in now, and though I have never felt like I fit in here, in this land with few pubs and an overabundance of exotic flora, there are so many things I will be sad to leave behind.

I will miss:

- wine
It is everywhere, cheap and good. I thought I knew a bit about wine before coming here, but now I have an entirely new depth of appreciation that can only be achieved by touching the landscapes where the grapes are grown, seeing how they differ from each other. There is wine at every public function and in every store. People drink it casually without puritanical hang-ups or snootiness. No matter how much wine flows at a gathering or dinner back east, it can never be part of the culture in this way.

- bicycles
This is particular to Davis to some extent because everyone bikes here, but I see more bikes in general in CA than I ever did back east. I think this is in large part due to the climate. But for whatever reason, I go everywhere on my bike, and I love it!

- climate
It’s one of the things I have most disliked because I’m a guy who likes rain. But I must confess that after 4 years, it will be hard to go back to considering the weather whenever I make plans. It’s nice to be able to plan a BBQ without having to have contingency plans for rain. For nine months out of the year here, it just ain’t gonna rain, so you don’t have to even think about it. We also have really pleasant evenings with low humidity and light breezes that make you want to live on your patio.

- produce
I grew up having vegetables and fruit from my grandparent’s farm. So unlike most kids, my parents rarely had to persuade us to eat our veggies. This was normal for us, and we didn’t even think about it. We just ate them. I’ve always loved produce, but I’ve never had the absolute wealth that is available in CA… all year long. The Davis Farmer’s Market is twice a week, every week, all year. Darling Wife and I cook and eat in ways that we will never be able to replicate back east. :(

- landscape
Again, this is one of those things that I have a love/hate relationship with. The landscape is grand on a scale that is beyond compare. But a person can only be in awe so much before he longs for something more comfortable, more homey, like the rolling green hills and pastures of the mid-Atlantic. I am sick of everything being the hottest, driest, highest, lowest, longest, tallest, biggest, and on, and on. Besides, I only really get to enjoy the landscape when we have visitors or leisure enough to engage with it in a meaningful way, otherwise it becomes an obstacle. The breathtaking mountains are a pain when they add an extra two hours to a short-distance trip, etc. Still, I will miss the cool quiet and timelessness of the redwood forest, the powerful fragility of the miles and miles of coastline, the magnitude and grandeur of the Sierras. And I feel honored to have lived among them.

I am sure this list will grow over the next days and weeks.

On the Road Again

While trying to stay on top of my coursework and plan our upcoming cross-country move, Darling Wife and I are also on a whirlwind tour of California.

A couple of weeks ago, we spent the weekend camping in Pinnacles National Monument. It is not a place I'd recommend during 75% of the year; it is dry, hot, and utterly inhospitable during our long summers and falls. But right now, it is beautiful. Wildflowers were everywhere, and we saw TWO condors! When I was a child, I watched a program about California condors and the frenzied efforts to reverse their declining numbers and belay their impending extinction. At the time, condors were remote and unreal to me. They lived, the 22 that still lived, in the extreme west in areas that existed for me only in old westerns from my grandfather's day. And even today, though their danger of extinction has lessened, they are hardly common. I never thought I'd see one, especially not in the wild. We caught a glimpse of one a few summers back from a shuttle bus at the Grand Canyon, but this was radically different. After a three-mile hike up the sloping side of a mountain, Darling Wife and I broke onto a bare ridge and saw first one, then another condor soaring almost at eye level over the canyon below. The distance obscured the beasts enormous size, the largest of all raptors, but it was still an amazing sight.

Last weekend, we hiked to the broad valley that was the subject of my last post. We took our dogs and had a picnic under an enormous Valley Oak by the side of a pond. The dogs played, happy to be free of their leashes, and we sat on a blanket drinking sauvignon blanc and eating strawberries and hummus. Mmmm.

This weekend, we are going to Death Valley. I'm not sure if there is symbolism to be found in that, give that this weekend is also the Easter holiday, but if so, it is not intentional. I'll let you know how the trip goes next week.

Once When the World Was Quieter

Although the abundant spring wildflowers promised in the trail guide were nowhere to be seen, I thoroughly enjoyed my trek this past Sunday into the hills and valleys bordering the north western side of CA's central valley. It is a landscape I would not find hospitable once the scorching sun and lack of rain take their toll on it over the next couple of months, but right now, while it is still fresh and green, it is beautiful.

And quiet. I had gone alone since Darling Wife had too much grading to do to allow her to accompany me, and I don't like to take the dogs into untried territory. At first, the silence made me slightly uncomfortable. The trail traversed public lands let out as pasture to local ranchers, but I only glimpsed two distant cows on an opposite hill once by using my binoculars toward the end of my hike. Otherwise, I shared the expanse with one lizard, one hawk, one falcon of some sort, and one flock of small finch-type birds that I passed in some scrub brush at one point. Oh yeah, there was also a small, yellow butterfly. I was comforted by the well-traveled look of the trail, including the heavy marks of cow and horse hooves and the occasional boot print. There wasn't a soul out there that day,but these tracks made me feel pretty confident that mountain lions were unlikely to frequent the area. I was utterly alone with nothing but the sound of the wind in the brush as it gusted strongly from time to time.

The silence oppressed me a bit, and I started to whistle, then sing as I walked along until it occurred to me what a rare and marvelous thing it is to be surrounded by quiet. So, I stopped vocalizing and listened for the remainder of my outing, and as I did so, I wondered if this is what it felt like to be a cowboy or a hunter 100 years ago or more. Out there on the open terrain with nothing but myself, a few birds, and the smell of sage and cattle. Maybe. Though I'm not a fan of the West, I can certainly imagine the appeal.

It's the little things

What a difference a day can make.

Yesterday, I went home ready for a beer and a book. Nothing bad happened, but all the little things that make up a day had been stress-laden and vexing. All of them. Leaving me desperate for comfort and retreat. But I couldn't have that even then because I had to take a midterm exam after dinner. So I slugged through the day, only to have bad dreams during the night, no doubt prompted by daytime anxieties.

Today, everything is different. All of those little things have been a joy and a delight. First, my Scottish Terrier was in a frisky mood this morning and engaged me in a little game of chase that he and I occasionally play together. It never fails to amuse me, and I think he knows it. Then I got to work to discover that my state tax refund had been processed and disbursed, something I didn't expect for awhile, if ever, and a friend sent me a YouTube link to an absolutely hilarious rendition of "Danny Boy" by Muppets Animal, Beaker, and Swedish Chef.

It's supposed to be a sunny and pleasant 70 degrees Fahrenheit this afternoon. I think I'll go for a bike ride after work.

Look Away, Dixieland

My father sold our property in Mississippi. I knew he was thinking about it. I gave him my leave to do it. But....

When I was a child, I thought I'd live there some day, but I've known for years that that would never be. It's beautiful and inviting in many ways, but it's far too removed from so much that I now consider necessary for my way of life, like theatres and pubs and hearty Italian breads. I wouldn't mind if those things were not in my own back yard, but I need to be able to get to them when I want, and I'm not sure Mississippians would know a European bakery if it jumped out at them in the street, all warm and smelling of yeast. They only know Walmart and Piggly Wiggly. That's fine. That's part of their appeal. They are good people, kind and devoted... as long as your skin isn't dark or your name isn't "funny" and you don't drink or have an attraction to members of the same sex. They're just isolated in a way that I could never be comfortable in, even though I miss it an awful lot sometimes.

No, I could never live there, nor could I ask Darling Wife to do so. And my father sold the property to his sister, so it's still "in the family," more or less. I guess I could still visit if I were so inclined. And the truth is, the place has become run down in the past decade or so. So run down that it pains me to see it. I've felt disconnected from it for years, and when my grandmother passed in December, I thought I had said my goodbyes to it.

So... why do I feel so cut off now... so... set adrift?

I've roamed all over the country, and a bit around the world. I've felt homeless and nomadic for all of my adult life. But even though I knew I wouldn't live there, somehow, owning that property made me feel connected, rooted. Not to the mid-South I grew up in, or to my parents and family, but to the Deep South I loved so much as a child, to that very childhood, and to centuries of ancestors who worked that land through good times and bad, who fought for it, regardless of the rightness or wrongness of their cause, and who died on it. To some, like my brother's plainspoken wife, it was just a bit of land way off in the sticks with no practical value to us. But to me... to me... it was so much more than that. It was... I can hardly say what it was. Its meaning defies my ability to articulate. And part of me, part of me that will be Southern no matter where I live, is saddened by the loss, saddened by the realization that my children will never know that place, never feel it in their blood.

I guess I'm being silly, right?

What's Next on the List?

Well, I'm finally getting caught up on school work. That is, I am completing my weekly readings and assignments on time now. I still need to begin to think about the longer term assignments, but I'm getting there.

With that and the arrival of spring here in the Central Valley, my old wanderlust is kicking in. Due to the flurry of activity and travel around the holidays and the constant rain we have here in January and February, I tend to go hermit for a few months after the start of a new year. But toward the end of the second month, I start to get the itch to get out, which is only exacerbated by slightly warmer days, erupting blossoms, and the most green we will see all year.

This is when I find myself longingly reminiscing about places I've been in the past, even though I know that the mild weather we are having would not be found in many of those places. Plus I have neither the time nor the funds to visit any of them. Instead, I have to refocus my attention on local sights.

There is also an extra incentive to see California this time. Darling Wife and I are planning to move back east this summer. There are all myriad anxieties about that, primarily derived from the pitiful job market, but great joys accompany the thought as well. In the mean time, there are still a large number of places we have not visited in our adopted state, places we've intended to see for almost the entire 3 1/2 years we've lived here. And there are even more places that we have explored that we would like to experience again before departing.

Last weekend, we made a list of these destinations. We have serious doubts about how many of them we will be able to cover during the next four months. I mean, we can't go somewhere every weekend. We have school and work commitments that preclude the possibility even if money and fatigue did not. That leaves me conflicted. I'm excited to finally get to some of these sights, but I lament the necessity of accepting the fact that we just won't manage others.

Do You Smell Something?

I walked into my office this morning as usual and was greeted by a blast of cold, damp air from outside. Confused I looked around and noticed that one of the tech guys I share an office with had opened the window. He's done this before, but usually only in the summer time. It's cold and rainy today, so I was a little perplexed until I moved to my desk and began taking off my coat.

A putrid smell permeated the air inside the office. Clearly, this guy had farted in the office just prior to my arrival. And I'm not talking about a mildly disagreeable odor. This was toxic.

I can't imagine doing that in public, let alone in a small, confined space that you share with others. I can only assume that he couldn't help it. But sheesh!

Well, at least he was thoughtful enough to open the window.

Get Outta My Way

A large white van parked boldly on the walk that leads to my building this morning. It belongs to the elevator repair man, I think... or perhaps some other member of university facility services. I know this because it says "Facility Services" on the side. In that position, the van makes it impossible for me to ride my bike up the walk to the bike racks by the door of the building. To reach them, I had to go around the van by riding into the grass, which I prefer not to do because the grass is wet, my bike is not designed for off-roading, and riding across the grass damages it. This is about the third or fourth time this has happened within the last two week.

Of course, I became annoyed. I immediately thought, "Why can't that a--hole park on the side? Can't he walk the extra TWENTY yards to the door? It's not like it's far. Would it kill him? He's making it harder for everyone!"

Then it occurred to me, "Why can't I park on the side?" Technically this is not the front entrance to the building. It's a side entrance, one of several. So it's not like the repair guy is inconveniencing EVERYONE. And even if he were, let's admit the truth, I am not mad because he is making things difficult for others; I'm mad because he's making it difficult for ME. Besides, the walk is, by definition, for pedestrians, not bikes, despite the presence of bike racks by the door. So I shouldn't even be on them anyway. And there are, in fact, bike racks on the other side of the walk, a mere twenty yards away from the door. Who am I to demand that I have curbside access while someone else has to walk farther? I'm not handicapped, nor am I privileged in any way that I know of. I'm a lowly part-time admin assistant, after all. And when I think about it, I realize the repairman likely has a tool kit or some such thing to tote into the building, and he probably needs to return to his van from time to time for supplies and equipment; whereas, I only have a light messenger bag to take in and out with me once each way.

It often amazes me just how entitled I think I am... without even thinking about it. No... that's not true. I'm not amazed. I'm embarrassed.

Break's Over

This weekend I completely ignored my schoolwork, and now that it's Monday morning, I am feeling a little stressed. I don't even have a good excuse. Other than a few errands, I didn't really do that much.

But it certainly was nice.

Bliss with a side of guilt

Hi all you poor people out there where things are cold, and there are ice storms and power outages. As you all know, I've never liked living in CA. And even though I confess that I have gotten used to is, i.e. everything isn't so strange and foreign anymore, I still prefer East Coast culture. Nonetheless, I can't help but want to burst out into song when I ride my bike to and from work on a magnificent sunny, 62 degree day like today. I'm telling you, it feels about perfect.

Of course, my joy will perish as quickly as the grass as soon as the rains stop and the sun becomes a little less friendly. But right now, I'm LOVING it!

Except for this little tug in the back of my brain that reminds me that my sister had to refugee south to my brother's house because she is without power and doesn't know when it will be restored. And I know that I will experience the same conditions next year.

All the same, it's wonderful now. Why shouldn't I revel in it?

Oh, and BTW, I have a new truck. I think I like it more than any vehicle I've ever owned. So, another reason to be happy.

And there's more... but that's a secret... for now.

Unproductive Productivity

I find that the more activity I have in the real world, the less inclined I am to ruminate on ideas or dwell upon them in cyber-monologues. Much has happened over the past few months, but I have written almost nothing. I want to say that I have nothing to say... or no desire to say it. But that is not true. I've made strides to re-establish communication with old friends; I've spoken volumes to Darling Wife; I've held conversations with family members. Perhaps these outlets have redirected my thoughts and allowed little flow for this venue. I don't know. Perhaps, I just haven't had the time to compose thoughts into blog posts or consider how they could be composed into posts.

Whatever the cause, I am beginning to contemplate some bloggable compositions. Bear with me awhile yet. I will return in time.