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.

What a Piece of Work Is Man

I should no longer be surprised by people’s capacity for hate, by the staggering measures human beings will undertake to harm others, even when they have nothing to gain from it, out of shear malice. But I confess, it does still surprise me. I suppose it is in my nature to hold out an optimistic hope that we can set aside our prejudices and show compassion to our fellow beings, especially when doing so represents no threat to ourselves. I guess I am glad that it still surprises me, glad that I still have hope. Yet, there are times when the utter smashing of that hope makes me heartsick and weary. Today is one of those times.

In the aftermath of yesterday’s presidential election, I should be celebrating, but you may be aware that California had another issue on the ballot. It was a proposition to alter the state’s constitution to define marriage as a union between one man and one woman, effectively prohibiting marriage for homosexual couples. This proposition passed. I simply cannot understand that.

This is not to say that I am in favor of homosexuality. I am neither for nor against it. It is merely a fact that some people - human beings like you and me - are gay. We may not like it - hell, they may not like it themselves - but our likes and dislikes do not alter the reality.

Darling wife saw a student at her school wearing a sticker in favor of the proposition. The sticker insisted that every child deserves a mommy and a daddy. OK. Soooo… what does that have to do with gay marriage? This issue is about the right for two consenting adults to marry one another. Children, or lack thereof, are not part of the matter being legislated. That is a logical fallacy if ever I saw one. Besides, what about all of the parents out there who are widowed or divorced or simply never wed in the first place? Their children do not have a mommy AND a daddy. Of course, biologically they do. They must. But biology also has nothing to do with this issue. We may not like to acknowledge broken homes; we may not think them ideal for raising a healthy child, but they are also a reality, and one that has nothing to do with the institution of marriage, gay or otherwise.

I saw on the news another proponent of the proposition, a young man of about 17 or 18 years old. He stated boldly and defiantly for the news camera, “I’m not gay. I love women! I want to marry a woman.” Well, good for you, kid. But again, what does that have to do with anything? Allowing gay people to marry one another will not stop this young man from loving and marrying a woman, will it? I’m not gay either, and I AM married to a wonderful woman. That won’t change even if a million gay people marry each other. My marriage or its sanctity will not be affected in the least. So, why should I care?

This young man went on to say, “I don’t want any kid in California to have to see that - two people of the same sex married to each other. Or any kid anywhere in this country. I want prop 8 to stop that from happening.” And this is the real crux of the matter, isn’t it? Of course, it’s not really about the hypothetical “kid” that this “kid” wants to protect. It is about his self-centeredness. He will not do something for the good of others if it does not benefit himself. No, actually, it’s worse than that. He will not even do nothing if his inaction benefits others and not himself. He had rather be active to take away someone else’s rights, even when those rights don’t in any way infringe upon his own. Because he is not gay and doesn’t want to marry another man, he doesn’t want anybody to. It is the very fact that gay marriage will mean absolutely nothing to him personally that allows him to want to ban it. That makes his act is an act of pure hatred for those who are not like himself, and though he may couch his words in moral sounding philosophy, it is hate, and hate of the worst kind. It is hate for no reason, hate against something that does him no harm, hate that is raw and ugly.

For all our claims of higher sensibilities and progressive development, how can we still… why do we… what are we?

Issues of a Nomad's Existence: A Complaint

Darling Wife and I continue to make preparations in keeping with our stated purpose to migrate back across the country next year. It has long been our intention to sell most of our furniture, saving only a few choice items, like our bed, which would free us from our material burdens and make our flight considerably easier. This measure would allow us, in theory, to transport the remainder of our household goods in a POD, and drive ourselves and our canine companions across the plain in our roomy sedan.

As the end of the month approaches, and bill-paying time is once again upon us, financial thoughts and budgeting aspects fill my waking hours. Consequently, I contacted PODS this past weekend to get a price quote for our relocation. The courteous and helpful British woman I spoke to took all of the specifics and told me - brace yourself- that it would cost $4, 305! I promptly hung up the phone.

Can you fathom it? That is an outrageous fee when we'd still have the expense of transporting ourselves, and we would have all of the packing, loading, and unloading to do. I think you could almost hire professional movers for such a sum.

So I turned to the poor man's moving friend, U-Haul. Darling Wife and I drove such a vehicle across this vast nation of ours when we moved to CA more than three years ago, and it was not an experience I wanted to repeat. Driving the distance isn't so bad - we'11 be doing that anyway - but doing it in a moving truck is not fun. The winds on the deserts and prairies struggle to turn you over or push you off the road the entire time, and it's a constant struggle to keep the contents of the truck from shifting around turns. I can handle it, of course, but I really didn't want to if there were any other way. We also have the car now, which we didn't have before, and which we'll have to pull that behind us. That adds additional difficulties to the driving. And then there are the dogs; having two dogs in a moving truck for almost 3,000 miles doesn't sound appealing either. But what are we to do?

According to U-haul's website, we'll get nine days to load and unload the truck and make the cross-country journey. That's a bit tight, don't you think? And it will cost almost $1, 500 for the truck, another $450 for the car trailer, plus there's the considerable expense of gas. So we're still looking at over $2, 000 even with this "cheaper" option.

It's almost enough to make us want to sell all of our belongings, save our money, and start fresh once we return to the civilized east. Fear not, I haven't exhausted all options yet. I just needed to vent.

Those we leave behind

My grandmother is dying. Have I told you that?

Don't worry. I've made my peace with it. She is old, turned 90 this year. She has had a good life; she'd tell you that herself. Her father died when she was only a small child; she lived through the depression; and she literally nursed her husband through fifteen years of deteriorating health and dialysis after he suffered complete kidney failure. But she was happy. I seldom recall her without a twinkle in her eye and a song in her voice. And now her own health has been declining. She is weak, can hardly hear, and her mind is... what is the term... going? She's scarcely been cognizant of the realities of the outside world for at least two years. My memories of my father's mother are of a robust and opinionated woman who loved God, her family, and her home. She was simple, faithful, strong. This... shell... this mortal coil that remains is not my grandmother. It is not even a shadow of her; I do not recognize it. She deserves better than this shallow existence, confined to a bed, undressing herself in the middle of a crowded living room on the rare occasions when she rises, and she, the most prudish person I've ever known. She used to stitch extra lace or a bit of fabric into the necks of her dresses to avoid showing skin below the chin. That proud and happy woman has been gone for some time, and I have mourned her already. I honestly pray daily for her release.

But recently her worsening condition required my father, sister, and I to travel down to the farm house in northeastern Mississippi to make some arrangements with my aunt and clean up a few things. It felt weird going back. I haven't lived in the South for six years, haven't set foot in it at all for nearly two, and haven't been to the farm in over three. Those who read this blog know how much that farm means to me, but I am a stranger to it now. I once thought I would always be Southern no matter where I lived, no matter who else I became, but I confess I had almost forgotten what it was like. Living amongst the palm trees of California, it is Boston that my heart longs for. The South had been relegated to the past along with other ephemeral dreams of boyhood.

But oh, how the smell of the place stirred the echoes, like summer's cast off leaves caught in autumn's chill winds, dead but still resplendent, moving and palpable, their vibrant colors belying their lack of vitality. I expected the trip would allow me to take my leave of the farm, say goodbye to my grandmother and my childhood, but I found myself again and again searching for signs of my grandfather about the place, pushing through the accumulation of decades to find an article of clothing, his handwriting in a Bible. He is the one the farm conjures for me most vividly, despite the intervening years since his death, and I realized as we drove back to Tennessee listening to my father's tales of his childhood that it is for my grandfather I have wept when I have seen the utter disrepair of the place. It is because of my grandfather that I have refused to relinquish my hold on it... or it on me. He died in September of1985, but even after twenty three years, it is my grandfather I have not ceased to mourn.

He was an extraordinary person. I know many people believe this about their parents or grandparents, and I certainly know he had his fault, like any man. But my grandfather has always been a sort of hero to me. I have always wished to be more like him. He was quiet for the most part, seldom speaking, but speaking with authority and assurance when he spoke. He was smart and prudent, always making the right moves to keep the farm prosperous. He was firm with his rules, but kind in his consequences. He guided and taught with a light hand and never minded when we made mistakes. And best of all, we never knew exactly when his boyish penchant for mischief would break out from his dour countenance with a sly grin as we passed him in the hallway or on the front porch. Then would come the sudden lurch, a pinched buttock, a child's gleeful squirm and wriggle of escape, and then a rapid return in the hopes that we would be seized again. When I was a child, people said I looked like him, and with a boy's vanity, I was overly pleased with the observation. At his funeral, people packed the small country church sanctuary, spilled out to fill the hallway outside, and covered the sidewalk beyond the building's front doors. My grandfather in his quiet way loved deeply and encouraged an abiding love in others.

Of course, I didn't think of all this at the time. It seemed natural that being on the farm would make me think of him... would make all of us think of him. It was only upon returning to California that it hit me. It was my grandfather I was letting go of when I bid farewell to my grandmother and her home... my home, the home of my family for generations beyond memory. Its people and landscape have been my ties to him for my entire life, distant but comforting in their solidity.

Goodbye, Granddaddy. We will miss you. I... miss you.

Of Finances, Friends, and Formation of the Mind

It would be a gross understatement to claim that I have been busy. Of course, we are all busy, and at any rate, I am always busy. But I must say that I have been particularly busy of late.*

Darling Wife and I entertained house guests for the better part of last week, and I have been nearly o'rwhelmed with school work since their departure. We are also expecting another guest this weekend. None of these circumstances has been or will be lamented. Quite the contrary, most of it has been and, I hope, will continue to be highly enjoyable. But it does rather tax one's energies and stretch one's budget.

Speaking of which, it being the end of one month and the beginning of another, I have been cooking the books, as the saying goes. Things in that quadrant are not as bleak as in times past. They are steadily improving. But I must confess that all of this focus on dollars and cents, pennies and pounds tires me something awful. I try to live by the maxim of Mr. Micawber: "Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen nineteen six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds ought and six, result misery." But we are not talking about twenty pounds with an odd six pence on either side. It is alarming to consider the thousands that come in and out of a modestly small household like ours in the course of a single month so that even when the expenditure doesn't exceed the income, just dealing with it all runs one perilously close to misery. I can't help but think that there have to be ways to simplify matters without going to the extreme of living in an old bus in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness.

*I have also been watching the HBO series "John Adams" on DVD, and it may have affected my syntax a touch. :)