Empty Nest

Think back to the last time you moved... or perhaps the first time. Remember what it felt like to walk through your apartment after all of your things had been taken out? These rooms that have been as familiar to you as your own hand suddenly seem strangely unfamiliar. The physical space is the same, the walls, the windows, the cabinets and floors. You can remember when you made that special dinner for a friend or lover, standing at that stove, lighting candles on a table that stood just there. You burned the chicken a little, but the wine was nice. Or you recall the hours you spent on the sofa in this living room, reading or watching a movie, by yourself or with friends. Those were pleasant times when you snatched a few grains of sand away from the worries of the outside world. And even if you didn't like the color of the walls or the shape of a certain corner, you were home in these rooms for a time. All of that is still here in the shadows of the mind's eye. But now, with all of your personal touches gone, all vestiges of you removed from the space, leaving it bare of personality and foreign as the first day you moved in, the very fact that the space is still the same when everything else that made it home is gone is precisely what makes you feel uncomfortable and lost there. If it were truly and completely different, it would no longer have meaning to you, and you would feel nothing. But its closeness, it's familiarity is what is unsettling when it is now so unlike what you know. Freud called this unheimlich, unhomely. It is not not-home. But it is not home. It is un-home. Recognizable as home, but not at the same time.

This week is spring break week at the university where I work and also at the high school where Darling Wife teaches. She is home with Fergus, but there is no break for me. My campus is not closed, and the staff must still work, unless we take vacation leave, which I do not want to do. So, I sit at my desk in a mostly empty building on a mostly empty campus in a mostly empty town. The students that normally fill the place with superficial cell phone conversations and drunken stumblings are all gone, and there is an eerie silence to everything. Certainly they are annoying when they are here and sometimes even seriously disturbing. But how strange it is when they are not here... how unheimlich. One almost wishes for them back....

....almost.

Homing in on Home

Darling Wife and I had a lovely weekend. Our friend from across the northern border came to visit on Saturday, and we spent a relaxing day sitting on the balconies and in the gardens of wineries, sampling the wares, and catching up. The temperature was an absolute perfect 74 degrees Fahrenheit; the sun was warm on the skin; and a gentle breeze kept us cool. Even Fergus had a good time as people everywhere fussed over him in excited tones and rubbed his fur in every direction while he wiggled rapturously around their feet.

Then yesterday, we attended a triumphant celebration of the resurrection of our Lord at the nearby Episcopal church, tidied the house a bit, and took a long walk through the burrowing owl habitat. Again, the weather was near perfect, and the pace was slow and pleasant. The air was perfumed with sage and rosemary from the wild shrubs flowering alongside the adjacent field, and cottontails chased one another long the hedge. California seems like not such a foul word at times like these.

During the afternoon, I phoned my family back in Tennessee. My sister and her family had descended from the frozen depths of Minnesota to spend the holiday there. Everyone was at my brother's house where they were eating and chatting and planning an Easter egg hunt after lunch. That is, everyone was there but me.

But even as I experienced the familiar longing to be home, sharing in the familial camaraderie, I knew that I would not be happy if I were there. It is merely the shadow of a place I called home in a distant time when I was some other person, and I don't belong there anymore. Oh, to be sure I miss it. There are certain things, certain people and places, that will always pull at my heart with all of the power of bittersweet memory. But that's all it is, Memory. There is no living reality there that I am part of, and there hasn't been for a long time.

No, as I've written many times before, the feeling I was revisiting was merely a desire for "home" in a vague and intangible sense. And as much as I might try to trick myself in that telephonic moment that TN is that home, I know better. In quiet moments, when I allow my soul to drift into imagination, it is not the cotton delta, central plateau, or eastern mountains of Tennessee that I journey to. It is the downs and dales of England that call to me the strongest, and their echo resounds along the American north and mid Atlantic coast. Perhaps there I will find harmony.

And if I stay away a bit longer, it may be that the thin air of California will further refine the sound and allow me to home in on it with all the certainty of a migrating swallow, returning to build a nest in the same British riverbank after the long journey home from a winter Mediterranean exile.

Green Acres

As an amateur gardener, I really have no problem with altering the landscape. And I don't see any reason we can't plant flowering shrubs from China or bulbs from Brazil in our gardens, as long as they don't get out and compete with native species. (Coming from a state overrun by Kudzu, I am intimately aware of how dangerous this can be.) However, as I rode my bike to work this morning amidst the spray of sprinklers, I could not escape the feeling that something is wrong with our attitude to our environment.

The movement among plant biologists here is toward native plants or plants from the Mediterranean, plants adapted to the incredible variation in temperature and rainfall seen in the central valley. At every possible opportunity, they advocate making these choices when landscaping . And I think some people listen. I do see selections of native grasses in some "lawns" and cypress trees between properties. But by and large, I see sprinklers.

Of course, I can understand the desire to have a well-manicured lawn and lush foliage framing one's home. Not everyone likes knee-deep, half-dead stands of native grasses along our front walk, and some of us dislike stands of scrubby blue oak trees surrounded by swathes of hard, dry dirt. We like to feel we sculpt our property, make it our own. We like to feel we are in control of it. We like to feel that it is beautiful... according to our own subjective definition of that term.

But as water supply becomes increasingly problematic and the inevitable pools and squishy places, breeding grounds for West Nile-carrying mosquitoes, present themselves behind shrubs and at the edges of curbs, I begin to think that perhaps we need to wise up. If we don't like the flora and climate here, we should go where we do rather than vainly trying to force nature to conform to our image of home.

Biorhythms

Every year at this time of year, I get a little... er.... I don't know what to call it. When I lived in TN, it always manifested as an extremely strong desire to go somewhere else, anywhere else, as long as it wasn't the South. The important part was that it had to be spontaneous. You know, just get up one morning, walk out of my apartment door, get in my car, and drive until I got tired of driving. No packing, no destination, no itinerary, no notice. Just leave.

Now after years of moving around, this feeling takes on a different form, I have a profound desire to go home... even if I'm not sure where that is. First I think Boston. Then London. Then my grandparent's farm. What about New Orleans? It's springtime there, and the jasmine will be in bloom. I even think back to Darling Wife's home town and consider that. We had such a good time at Antietam with her parents over Christmas 2006. (Yeah, I know. Bloody battlefield, good times... It isn't exactly an automatic pairing, but the place was originally and still is some pretty spectacular farm land with rolling hills and a lot of history... and it's only about an hour-to-an hour and a half from D.C.) That could be fun again.

I recognize, of course, that the place is really not the issue. I just feel this overwhelming need to escape. When I'm stressed, I want to escape from my worries. When I'm not, I want to escape from my boredom. Right now, it's both. I have a lot of work to do, but none of it is exciting. I can't leave because I have too much to do, but I don't WANT to do any of it. So I feel dissatisfied and trapped, which only makes the feeling worse.

Some of this feeling transfers to DW, who seems less affected by it than me at first but eventually admits a little fellow sentiment. But this is one of those occasions in which misery does not love company. When she starts to succumb, it just makes it harder for me to ignore the mounting flight response. Wild abandonment is knocking at the door, and duty and responsibility are such feeble words to combat it with.

I think most people feel this way at some time or another, and I believe this is a particularly infectious season. Cabin Fever they used to call it. We may no longer live in cabins, but I think computers and cubicles are worse.

Pistol Whipped

Yesterday after lunch with a new friend, he says, "This is going to sound weird, but have you ever fired a gun?"

Er... yeah... it is weird, and yes, I have.

I wish I could say I was stunned to silence or had some other surprised reaction, but I wasn't. As my friend was explaining that he meant at a firing range, adding that he has an acquaintance who took some gun safety courses and started going to a firing range and now my friend is thinking it might be fun, I am scrambling to explain that as a Southerner, I am no stranger to guns.

On later reflection, I am a little disturbed by my behavior. My friend made it clear that he has no desire to hurt anyone or anything, and I know he means it. I also hastened to clarify that most of my experience with guns involves hunting, which I am not too keen on. I'm just not a killer. But here we were talking about researching where we could go and how much it would cost, and I can't say I had seriously considered what I was talking about.

Certainly, it can't hurt to know how to handle a gun. You never know when that might be useful knowledge. And it could be interesting to take on the challenge of becoming a good shot. So as long as it's safe and in controlled conditions, why not? I am not bothered by the idea of what my friend proposed. I'm even starting to hope he follows through with the plans. What concerns me is that none of these reasons crossed my mind in that moment. I was merely making every effort to convince my friend that I think the idea is cool when the truth is, I've never thought of it at all and wasn't really thinking about it then.

Am I that desperate for male companionship that I would take up a hobby that involves playing with deadly weapons without a single thought just to please a new friend?

Apparently, I am.

And now I remember...

why I don't stay out late drinking on weeknights anymore.

Please! Do you have to read that loudly?

So, THAT's a Vicissitude

Yesterday was certainly a Monday, in more than the calendar sense. You know what I mean. It seems that Mondays are often a little dodgy. Maybe the two days off on the weekend makes us forget the routine we endure the other five days a week, or maybe our pitiful struggle against that routine requires us to blunder as much as we can on Mondays in some vain attempt to pretend this isn't our real life. I don't know. But I do know that I wanted to crawl back into bed after my shower yesterday morning, and the day only got worse as it progressed.

First, I'd had a bad Friday. The center I work for hosted an installment of a seminar series being funded by a government research agency. I'd been working out the logistics of the seminar for months and thought everything was ready. And in all honesty, most of it came off well. But somehow I misplaced a presentation remote control on Thursday, and it was simply not to be found on Friday. I spent half the day, and almost all of the seminar time, searching my office and everywhere else I could think of with no success. Consequently, I faced an unpleasant experience on Monday morning when I had to confess my negligence and attempt to make restitution to the university.

But even before I got to work, I was hit by a car when I was riding my bike to campus. I was going straight in the bike lane when a Toyota Pruis pulled into the road from a side-street and drove right into my path. So much for caring about the environment. The driver was obviously oblivious to his. No one was hurt; the driver turned in the same direction I was going, and I saw him in time to slow up and try to dodge his car. So, I just bounced off his front, drivers-side bumper lightly and continued to bump along the side of his car until he stopped. Neither of our "vehicles" received any damage either, but it shook me up a lot, as I'm sure you can imagine. The guy had glanced my way; I saw his head turn. But he clearly doesn't understand the difference between actually looking both ways and just going through the motions. I let off a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush, and the driver was clearly frightened. I would have felt badly for him if he hadn't almost killed me. I nearly turned around and went home right then.

But I didn't. And I was swamped with work when I got to the office. There were all sorts of things to do to wrap up the seminar, and my boss is in France or Spain or some other European country where he is no help to me. Then a friend canceled lunch plans on me last minute, and I had a major assignment due for one of my classes after work.

Fortunately, I had arrangement to meet up with some old school mates down the pub last night. (It's not really a pub, but I can pretend pretty well.) In keeping with my desire to change my social situation, I've been reaching out to acquaintances where I can, and it paid off last night with a few pints of Newcastle and some lively conversation. So what seemed like a disastrous day ended up on a positive note. And if it hadn't been for my effort to make some alterations in my life, my friends would not have known I was still in town, and I would have spent the evening watching t.v. and feeling down on the living room sofa while DW worked on lesson plans in the study.

Yes, my friends, change is good. And don't let anyone tell you differently.

Be Like Me

One of the classes I'm taking this semester is on management. Each week my classmates and I read chapters from the textbook and post answers on the course Blackboard site to questions posed in the text.

Recently the topic of one of the chapters was on decision making, and one of my classmates made the following remark:

This topic makes me think of an interview I heard on NPR about how people arrive at their decision on what candidate to vote for on election day. The interviewee (he was a journalist) argued that people like to think that they arrive at their decisions because of facts they know about the candidate. However, most people, when it comes down to the moment of truth, will vote for the candidate they intuitively identify with the most. I thought this was pretty interesting.

I thought it was pretty interesting too. I really prefer to think that I do make my choices based on the issues, but maybe I just mean I choose the candidate whose stance on issues is similar to my own, in other words, the candidate I "intuitively identify with the most." Now perhaps there is some difference between intuitive identification and intellectual agreement, but it's a fine line.

I also recently heard Hilary Clinton refer to Barack Obama's campaign as a Cult of Personality, an assertion that is not entirely without merit. Take this report for instance. If we can accept these claims, then certainly there are some who are a little over-enthusiastic about the senator from Illinois, don't you think? However, I'm not sure that Clinton's followers are any less zealots; they just adhere to a different cult, the cult of the double X chromosomes. Oh, I'm not saying that there are not substantial, legitimate reasons to support her, but when I read an editorial or a letter to the editor in the paper that praises Clinton, 8 times out of 10 her gender is the primary selling point.

So, if we accept that we vote based on personality, perhaps we should look into the personalities of the candidates more. Check out this site. I'm not sure how scholarly it is, but you have to admit it's interesting.

Tho' much is taken, much abides.

When I was young, I was a loner. Not exactly a rebel, but an isolationist of sorts. I was the kid who sat in the back of the room and scowled with disdain at the ridiculous drama of teenage life. I read Malory and sci-fi novels and wished I could be anywhere but where I was. If there had been a Goth movement or a trench coat mafia at my small suburban high school, I would have been part of it... if I were a joiner, which I most definitely was not. Even that alternative lifestyle seemed ritualistic and hypocritical, and I just preferred to do things for a reason, not because others did them. I did have some people I hung out with and called friends, but when high school was over and we all went separate ways, I realized they were habits, not friends. I'd always known them and never imagined not spending time with them. It was that simple.

After high school, I came to know what loneliness was. No longer able to interact with people out of habit, I spent almost all of my time alone, when I wasn't at my dreadful fastfood job. I gained 60 pounds and perfected the art of wallowing in self pity.... until I wised up to the fact that no one was forcing this life upon me. I could change it at any time.

So, I got a new job, lost weight, learned to dress better, and started college. I made many friends and began going out all the time. I'm not saying it was all bliss and roses, but I was pretty happy. I'd never considered myself a social person before, but as long as I got some "me" time to read or watch a movie to recharge my energies, I enjoyed having an active social life.

This pattern continued for over a decade. Then, Darling Wife and I move here to Northern CA. I never really got into the rhythm of things here. There were many people in my cohort at the university that I liked, and they seemed to like me. I spent a lot of time with them. But I can't say I ever considered any of them to be friends. This is mostly my fault. I didn't allow myself to connect with them. I didn't want to. Whenever I could get away from school, I preferred to spend time at home or on an outing with DW. I enjoyed our little cocoon. So once I left my Ph.D. program, I lost all contact with the only people I knew here. I didn't anticipate how lonely this would make me feel.

You may recall that I mentioned a new friend a few months back. Our friendship was the most random connection. He was a computer support guy in the university dept where I work as a part time admin assistant, and he came to my office to fix a minor problem with my PC. We started talking, and soon meaningless smalltalk led to a decent conversation. So, I suggested we grab a pint sometime to continue it. Over the past weeks, I have come to value his friendship a great deal, more than I could have foreseen at the time. You can imagine, then, how I felt to learn that his position with the university was a temporary appointment and he would be leaving at the end of February. I attended his farewell party Friday, and though we have made promises to stay in touch, I am too experienced with the ways of the world to expect much.

It's true, we hardly ever saw each other at work anyway, but today, I sit at my desk with a profound sense of loss and isolation. But just as I did those many years ago, I am starting to think the answer is to lighten up... make some changes. And this time, my starting position is already better off because I am not alone. I have DW.

One of the great things about life is the ability to change it, don't you think? I am ready to smite the sounding furrows. Care to join me?

Sometimes they do come true

It finally happened. Last weekend, I brought our new puppy home.

This was no mean feat. As some of you know, the entire process has been a lengthy one. After convincing Darling Wife that she wanted a Scottish Terrier... :)

....we had to save the money to buy one and take proper care of him. We also had to find a breeder we liked. This involved months of web searches, telephone calls, and letter writing. And when we did finally find one, we waited and waited, but her dog did not go into season. Then she recommended another breeder in Michigan who had puppies available.

So we had to start the process all over again with this breeder. Once we'd decided to take a puppy from this breeder, there was the issue of how to get him here to CA. We did not want to fly him by himself in cargo. That's a bit too much for a puppy to go through alone. Would you put a baby in a box and stick it into an airplane's cargo hold for hours? I don't think so. And while a puppy is not exactly a baby, in many ways it amounts to the same thing. So I decided to fly to MI and pick him up and bring him back with me in the cabin. However, flights to Grand Rapids, MI from central CA are not cheap. I ended up opting to fly to Chicago and crash with a friend for a few days instead. The flight was significantly cheaper, and my friend generously offered to play chauffeur to me and my new family member, picking me up at the airport while it was still dark and driving us around Lake Michigan in the wee hours during the middle of winter. Now, that's a good friend. But coordinating her schedule with mine and the breeder's proved even more difficult, and when we eventually worked it all out, it still meant me getting almost no sleep for three days, and all I saw of Chicago was my friend's apartment and one truly great pizza place.


But all's well that ends well, right? Fergus has been home with us for a week now, and he is proving himself to be all that we wished for. We've been having so much fun -and I had so much school work to catch up on- that this is the first chance I've had to sit down and share the good news. Who knows when I'll take the time again, but fear not; my blogging days may be fewer, but they aren't gone yet. And they won't all be about our adorable new pal.