My First Beautiful Snow

It happened.  It snowed last week, in October.  Had I still been in Michigan, I might've been pissed.  Snow there isn't pretty.  It's gray, and it piles up near the curbs and gets slushy and gray within minutes of falling.  It's joyless.

That's not how it happens here.  The sky stays blue.  The air remains crisp.  The snow is breathtakingly white as long as it's on the ground, and when it melts, quickly (since the sun is always out here), what it leaves behind is still vibrant, not washed out and drowned.  I love it.

Behold.

Have I Mentioned the Stars?

Because they're pretty amazing.  Ever since we had that assembly (that I imagine every single public school elementary student experiences in third or fourth grade) where the science people brought the dome shaped balloon big enough for us to crawl into and lie down in so they could project the constellations on the roof of our miniature planetarium, I've nurtured a passing, non-academic interest in the stars.  While this not-quite-obsession hasn't yielded any scholarly or serious pursuits, it has made me one of those people who gushes when the sky is particularly clear at night, and who thrills at identifying the Big Dipper (one of only three I can recognize with any reliability) or at spying a shooting star.  

It's one of my favorite things about camping, and now about my new home.  It's also one of my favorite things about mythology - I love knowing that the characters in the stories I devour are immortalized in the heavens, somewhere, even if I can't locate them there myself.  There's something wonderful about it, and I can't quite put my finger on why, because I'm not nearly as taken with reading tea leaves or following old commandments, but I love how connected I feel, when I look up at the sky to all the people who've done it before, not just now, but thousands of years ago, all over the world.

My Love/Hate Relationship with Election Season

I really do love election season for a number of reasons.  I like the dialogue it can inspire about sacred cows and oft-ignored but ill-intentioned civic happenings and discourse.  I like the excitement and passion it can inspire for our role as citizens.  I like the promise elections hold for reinvention, reform and review.

What I don't like is the vitriol and pettiness that those same things can engender, especially with the advent of social media.  I watch with some delight about the amount of unfriending and hiding on facebook that happens in these months (and occasionally do it myself).  As a general rule, I don't get too political online; for me, facebook is for joking with friends, finding funny cat videos, and peeping at pictures of friends' vacations and kids.

But I did post today, something a little pointed, because it mattered to me.  The fallout was at once dispiriting and enlivening.  I haven't seen that much action on my wall in a long time.  The first responders disagreed with me, and then lots of friends weighed in, referring by name and position to those who preceded them.  While their points were clear, and their stances clearly in opposition, most of their rhetoric was civil.  It was kind of exciting.

Still, one friend who'd taken the time to post immediately got her hackles up when someone asked a direct question following her post, and she retreated to her own page to whine about "being burned" by posting.  I couldn't help but ask why she felt that way.  In my mind, if you respond at all, you're inviting another response; being upset by one suggests that you're not arguing or engaging, but ranting, and well, there's enough of that on the talk shows.

Nonetheless, what I appreciated about the whole thing is that I had friends on both sides of the issue who registered their agreement and disagreement.  No one changed my mind about anything, but it occurred to me that too often, when we post anything with any substance at all, we're preaching to a choir of the like-minded.  We're seeking validation, or cheers, or kudos for a witty articulation.  A friend convinced me not long ago that a lot of the divisiveness we're plagued with these days, especially in politics, is the result of the fact that people with divergent thoughts, attitudes and worldviews don't actually speak to each other; they speak to those who share their ideals, shrugging their shoulders, rolling their eyes, and raising their fists at those who hold others.  I'm not above that myself; I'll own that I am bewildered by some seeming untenable positions and have begun sentences "How can they possibly..." or "Why can't they see..."  among friends from whom I didn't really expect an answer.  At the same time, I lost some respect for a former colleague when she posted that all those who supported one candidate should get half the country, and those who liked the other should get the other half, and we should just call it a day.

I don't really know where that leaves me.  A hypocrite? A lurker?  What I'm thinking about right now is whether or not being somewhat more political on facebook and the like will open my eyes and provide more of these answers (even if they're unconvincing) or start a more serious friend-purging.  We'll see...

Let Me Count the Ways

Things I Love About My New Home:

1. The sounds.  There are crickets that live near every window, apparently, and the evening is full of their chirping.  There are coyotes who roam the open space behind me, and I relish their yipping and howling.  Admittedly, the first night I heard it, I was kind of freaked out - it sounded less animal than adolescent, and I was convinced that there was a rabid pack of 13 year old girls roaming the trail in the dark causing mischief. When the barking became more identifiable, I was actually relieved that it was coyotes instead.   When storms come in or through, the leaves on the trees of my patio rustle and shush insistently.  These are just a few.

2. My windows are always open.  The weather permits home airiness that I missed in Michigan, where the muggy air was too heavy to breeze even with all the windows and doors open.  

3. I love eating outside, and there are near limitless opportunities to do that here, for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

4. People really do seem happy and relaxed here.  Now first let me preface this by saying I'm not one of those people who thinks that people in other parts of the country are rude or rushed.  I have found nice people everywhere - when I left my wallet at a phone booth in Penn Station, the woman who found it tracked me down through my college rather than calling the home address on my license because she feared that my parents would be mad at me!  In Tucson, strangers stopped their car to help my (then)boyfriend carry our couch up stairs so I wouldn't have to, an act of chivalry I chose not to contest on feminist grounds.

That said, this is that to the nth degree.  I entered a parking lot not long ago that had one row of spots on either side to pull in to.  Just as I started to turn in from the street, a car in the left hand row started to back out, so I was forced to stop, kind of hanging out into the road.  I hate when that happens, and I'd be lying if I said I always responded gracefully or tactfully to such affronts.  I resisted the urge to glare, swear or grimace, and miraculously, the car returned to its spot, letting me pull through, which I did, and proceeded to park in a vacancy a few spots further down.  As I got out and shut my door, the aforementioned vehicle rolled up behind me and stopped, perpendicular to my own car, and the driver's side window crept down slowly.  For real.  The Jersey girl in me was bracing myself for an argument, or at least a pointed refusal to acknowledge said lout, or fierce show of indignation - was he seriously about to accuse me of being in the wrong for wanting to get out of a busy road?  The gall!

Instead, he waved, almost sheepishly (and I should add, that the driver was not a man who's likely referred to as sheepish often - his neck was the size of one of my thighs, he had guages in his ears, and a heavy brow and high forehead that one usually associates with Bond villains) and called out,"Sorry!  I didn't see you coming in - I'm so sorry..."  An actual apology for a road violation?  Is this Colorado or Valhalla?

5. The sky.  There really aren't any words.

6. They know how to make a great margarita here.  I haven't had a bad one yet.

7. My cats are happy.

Things I Don't Love About My New Home:
1.  Apparently, there are snakes here.  I saw one dead on the road the other day, and I was warned about keeping my eyes on the ground when I hike the trails.  
That's all I got for the second list so far.

The Joys of Happy Distractions

So here I am, two weeks in my new home, and the truth is, I haven't been very productive.  And that's just fine with me.


I have, mind you, registered my car, applied for a driver's license, unpacked loads of boxes, gotten library cards, visited my new school and met my new boss, found the best farmer's markets, checked out lots of local restaurants, purchased new furniture, set up utility accounts, changed my address for every possible online account I have, explored the trails around my home, had my bike tuned up, acquired some very much needed back-to-school clothes, introduced myself to neighbors, et cetera et cetera, blah blah blah.  In other words, many of the logistical and pragmatic things have been dealt with well.


More significantly, I've spent happy oodles of time with my mom, my brother, my sister-in-law and my amazing niece, who's working on mastering my name.  She pronounces it differently every time, with silly lilts and lisps.  Sometimes I'm "Taren" or "Sharen," and other times it's even more like "Arreee," as if she's some loopy British kid off to Hogwarts, but every time I hear her say it, I melt.  It's so cheesy, but true.  I've been having fun spending time with her, and I am filled with dopey warmth and excitement every time I think about the fact that I'll be here when she grows up, that I won't be one of those aunts who just sends cards on birthdays and swoops in once or twice a year for holidays.


I'm well aware that I'm still in vacation mode - that's the only way I've been managing putting off the schoolwork that nags me daily when I'm just hanging out with family or even catching up on old Hulu episodes - but the non-work I've been doing is exactly what I need to be doing to make my new house feel like home.  The work can wait.
At least for a few more days.

Neverland

There are a lot of things I like about sleeping - crisp, cool, clean sheets, for example, or the way that my cat curls up in the crook of my knees when I let him in the bedroom, or nighttime sounds that accompany the drift into it - but dreaming is definitely number one.


I'm not a scientist or a psychologist, and frankly, the whole physiological/synapses/subconscious/rapid eye movement stuff is a lot to wrap my head around. I don't pretend to understand it, and I don't necessarily want to. Lacking that comprehension, dreaming remains mystical and supernatural, which is exactly what I like about it - it's the closest thing to real magic we get to experience. How can we not be awestruck by sensations that are at once completely real and absolutely artificial? How do we take that amazing and baffling duality for granted every night? It's the coolest glimpse into a rabbit hole we get. Isn't it the same altered real-but-not-real consciousness that we chase in so many other ways?


Whatever it is, I love it. I don't know that I can totally get into the whole lucid dreaming thing (see here and here if you don't know what I'm talking about), but I might be willing to check it out.  We'll see...

Tongues, Ties and Time

As much as I've been so completely immersed in all the preparations required of a big move, I'll admit that I'm also still in a state of disbelief about the fact that it's actually happening. The boxes in every corner of the house should be a giveaway, but alas...


Just yesterday, my husband and I went to dinner someplace we'd never been, not too far from where his parents live part of the year, and on our way out, I suggested that next time we get together with them when they're down here, we should bring them. The words were barely out of my mouth when I realized that we won't be doing that any time soon. I had a similar moment at another restaurant that recently opened when I told D that when my mom visited us next, we'd have to share our new find. It took a little longer to figure out why he thought that was a ridiculous thing to say, but of course then I remembered, she's definitely not visiting Michigan again. Ever.


These moments have me thinking about all the ways that every single thought we have is so contextualized by our surroundings. The move - a very happy one entirely of our own choosing - has been my only priority for the last three weeks. I've been consumed by calling movers and getting quotes for shipping, visiting the post office to request mail forwarding, planning and executing a garage sale, flying out to Colorado to find a place to live, attending all sorts of farewell gatherings, returning cable boxes, purchasing bubble wrap and boxes, packing, packing, and packing; still, in the middle of all of this, I forget. At the very least, linguistically, I fall back into familiar patterns or processing. As a language person, in and of itself, that's a pretty big deal.


I'd be worried maybe if I thought these were a sign of some underlying hesitation, but believe me when I say that that's not really a fear of mine. I am ready to dive in to this move and the changes that accompany it, head first, so I am much more interested in this academically than psychologically. I can't help but liken it to those times that in the weeks or months after a break-up, people refer to their exes as their boyfriends or girlfriends or spouses, oblivious to their verbal revision of history, yet absolutely content with their new status quo.


I briefly entertained the idea of pursuing an advanced degree in linguistics, and thinking about all of this makes me regret not seeing that through.

Packing, Purging and Procrastinating

One of the things I'm least proud of about myself is my penchant for procrastination. I have a knack for finding projects that allow me to feel productive even when what I'm really doing is putting off less appealing drudgery. I return phone calls. I clean out my closets. Alphabetize books on shelves. Groom the dog. I like being productive, and loathe being lazy, so each of these diversions do serve some legitimate purpose, but they're also a means to happy avoiding-the-real-work ends. 

This first post then, is a fitting introduction. Movers will arrive at my home in less than two and a half days to pick up all of its contents, a very small portion of which are actually prepared and boxed appropriately, yet here I am, making good on a long-standing promise to myself to start writing daily. I should be packing - there's no question that that would be a better use of my time - but as has happened frequently the last couple weeks, I am distracted by an overwhelming reverie, a vivid immersion in all that my new life in a new place might be.

I love moving. I've done it a fair amount in my life. I grew up and went to college on the East Coast, then lived in Arizona, then Michigan, and now, soon (less than a week - gasp!) in Colorado. In most of those locales, I had a number of different homes. What I love is the promise and potential and opportunity each new place holds. A new address provides all the reason one needs to rethink priorities and routines; an empty house is a blank slate, and the people who move into it get to be unwritten and rewritten too. They get to leave behind what doesn't really work for them anymore, whether they're tangible objects (like the clothes, tchotchkes and CDs I've been eagerly divesting) or old but familiar habits. While I resent feeling compelled to make New Year's resolutions, I enthusiastically embrace the opportunities that moving gives me to redefine who I am and what I do.

So I've spent a lot time lately considering who my new Colorado self will be. Here's what I know:

1. She will write more than comments on students' papers.

2. She will play more.

3. She will spend more time outside. (This is probably pretty connected to number 2.)

4. She will make things - not just food, but things. I want to be crafty, not Beastie Boys crafty, but DIY, Etsy crafty. Realistically, my initial goal is just one something a month. We'll see how that goes.

5. She will listen to more music, read more books and watch less TV. It used to be that my favorite bands and albums were always on, sometimes even when I wasn't home. When did that change? Why? Boo to that.

There are lots of other things in the mix here, but those are the five I'm ready to claim out loud tonight. More on the rationales here later. Now, more packing...