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.