Wow.

It's been a long time since August 27th, when last I posted.

Much has transpired. Much of that is stressful, and I prefer not to rehash it.

But speaking from the other side of those particular tranches I've traversed, things are looking better now.

I've finished that major writing project, I've begun to get a handle on the additional duties required of me at work....I've got one more major push this weekend in terms of immediate deadlines, and then I can concentrate on planning for an event in January that does need immediate attention, but is in January.

I've been "interim" division head of my program this fall, which has been a wealth of additional duties and stress, and has meant I've barely been able to get things done on time (and frankly, some of them haven't been on time, which adds to the stress). My mentor and supervisor has been on emergency leave this semester--but is in town this weekend for our director's retirement party and to have a gabillion meetings, since he will be taking over as "interim" director. I think both of us are realizing that there may well be nothing "interim" about either position, since hiring freezes are now in place so we can't search for a new director at the moment. But having a chance to meet with him, to go through what we've been able to accomplish so far, was really excellent. That meeting we had with him yesterday was the first time I really felt like things are going to be okay. Now, they may not be pretty, and we still don't know what things are going to look like once the budget cuts come down (or keep coming down), but I have less of a sense of doom.

That's really important right now. Because frankly, it's hard to teach when you feel like the rug could be pulled out from under you at any moment by people who fundamentally don't understand what you do.

That still may happen, but now I don't feel like it's going to break my neck.

However, there's still quite a bit to be done this weekend, so I'd best get to the doing of it.

But I just wanted you all to know I'm alive.

Sorry.

There will be no posts for a while...the universe has other plans for me.

Here comes the sun...

I've always been an early riser. It's hard for me to recall a time when I've ever consistently "slept in". Okay, maybe the summer I was ten, but my room that summer was under the eaves of an old camp, and I could spend hours watching the shadows of the leaves cavort on the ceiling.

But naturally, I'm an early riser. Makes me a bit of an odd duck in theatrical circles, but....it is helpful to already be awake when someone from the East Coast forgets that there's three hours time difference until about the third ring....

I like getting up early because, in part, the world has a different kind of quiet in the early hours of the day. And my mind is at its most clear and functional, which also helps. Angled sun begins to stream through my skylights, the sound of coffee gurgling through, normal quiet house sounds. Nobody's rushing around yet. It's good. It's peaceful. And peaceful is what I need in my life right now.

This fall seems to be predisposed toward tumult. And to a certain degree, I have to embrace that. It's kind of like having to let yourself be carried by the rip tide, until your thrown free of it.

It's daunting, but I'll survive. I'll survive, in part, because of the quiet I find in the early morning sun.

good for the soul, good for the soles.

I just went for an hour long walk in and around my 'hood...it was indeed good for my soul. Walking some of the stress out. Having some solitude. Composing some of the various emails that must must must be sent this weekend.

So I'm sitting here cooling down (yes, at 7 am this morning it was already 78 degrees--welcome to my world) and figuring out what I can get off my plate today before I have a little outing adventure tonight. My dear friend (the person who really runs the School of Theatre Arts here!) has invited me to come up to her house and finish my syllabus poolside, and I think I might just take her up on that. I think the pieces of the class are beginning to come together--I've just been struggling with exactly what my pedagogical goals are for the class. I have some pretty concrete practical goals, which I'm excited about--but laying down the theoretical framework has been complicated by the fact that the materials out there on the topic are not...well, to be honest...useful...for those that are DOING the work in a real-time, real-life way.

On the up-side, if I attend to the work of the semester appropriately, I'll have at the very least an interesting pedagogical article out of it. At most: I could have the beginnings of a book outline.

Hmm. The thought of that both excites me and exhausts me. So I think I'll read yesterday's mail and throw myself in the shower.

O. M. G.

Classes haven't even started yet. And I am EX-HAUST-ED.

If I escape this semester without being meetinged to death, it will be an act of a higher power. It looks like I'll be spending roughly six hours a week in the classroom, and 30 hours a week in meetings. And I'll be in rehearsals from now until November 29th. And somewhere in there I have to prep for classes--oh, and defend. Let's not forget that. And let's not forget the yeoman's work necessary for that prep.

I nearly burst into tears at a meeting today--one that I had scheduled as "Interim Division Head" of my area....there's just way too much on my plate. But my new colleague was awesome, and immediately offered to take some of the load. She totally, completely rocks.

I don't think it would have been nearly so overwhelming if I hadn't been CORNERED in the restroom after a college-wide meeting by a development person who wanted me to speak to the Dean's Advisory Committee--in October. For the record: October is going to be HARD. Super Super Hard. I tried to get her to wait until the spring, but there was no way.

Now, I've always been pretty attached to a more pagan sense of the calendar...October has always been a kind of "completion" month for me, with November marking the transition into something new. But this year seems to be marking that even more so.

And really, I'm too tired and too wrought at the moment to go into it further. Perhaps a good night's sleep, and the miraculous appearance of that last syllabus, will cure what ails me.

Little Indulgences

While I am torn between attempting to get through creating my last syllabus tonight and spending my evening "lackadaisicalliciously" as I've promised a friend I would, I did just embrace one of my favorite little indulgences as a way to wind down this evening.

For a while, when I was growing up, my folks owned a commercial greenhouse and florist shop. It was one of the truly great parts of my childhood--despite the fact that my second grade field trip was to my house to study plants. Many of you know how much I love plants, and how soothing I find gardening. I trace it back to those childhood moments.

One of the things that always bothered my mom about owning the florist shop though, was that nobody ever gave her flowers. So now, my stepfather makes sure there are always fresh flowers in the house. Sounds expensive--but let me tell you, the grocery stores get their flowers the same place the high end florists do, and in quantities great enough to pass the savings on.

So today, I walked to the grocery store nearby--just to pick up a couple of things--and saw these gorgeous orange roses--for $6.99! A whole dozen! (As a side note, for the one or two boys that may read this, red roses are not necessarily mandatory--and actually, buying a girl roses that aren't read can often lead her to believe that you think she's more than your average red-rose kinda girl).

Like my mother, having fresh flowers in the house makes me happy.

So, I indulged.

Hillippines!

My friend the world traveler is safe and sound--in Manila! I just caught her online, checking her email, and didn't want to keep her--but seeing her name with that little green button alight next to it filled me with a surge of much-needed delighted energy. Thanks, dear!

Today has been long and at times tedious, but definitely had it's high moments, like the aforementioned traveler-sighting. I didn't sleep well last night--I never sleep well when the moon is full. But this morning, when I checked my email, I had a very nice affirmation from a former student, who is now teaching (at the middle school level, I believe). She was looking for an additional copy of some source material I had lent to her, because she's developing a unit around something similar--and she wanted to let me know that she is planning on using another assignment that I have developed to analyze plays. I consider that a mighty fine compliment.

So too, were the words of praise I received from another student, who stopped by my office this afternoon to update me on her summer doings. I confess, I felt guilty because I was in the middle of a project that needed completion (as tedious as it was), and I didn't feel like I devoted my full attention to her. But after about 15 minutes, when I gently told her I had to get back to work, she thanked me for my time, and told me it was nice to have a professor take interest in her not just professionally, but as a whole human being.

That was pretty cool.

So, in all, today was a good day.

...to review:

The thing about blogs...you may have this lovely insight or idea that hits you, say...in the wilds of Kent, Texas after having already driving about 3000 miles across country with your father...but if you don't have the opportunity to get that insight or idea on paper or recorded in the ether somehow AT THAT VERY MOMENT it simply never has the same precision, the same quality.

How do I capture the look shared between my father and I as we filled up at a gas station in Kent, Texas and realized that, while both of us probably should use the 'loo, neither of us was willing to traverse the haze of flies emanating from the facilities in order to do so...or my father's white knuckles as we tried to figure out the two-story monstrosity that is I-10 in San Antonio? During rush hour? I mean, it's a freakin' highway, people! What's with the second floor????

And how do I truly capture the chaos of realizing I was not going to be able to have any down time, any alone time, before my semester started? I knew I was cutting it tight, and that I would have less than a week to settle into my bones before I had a roommate until December--but what with the hole in my kitchen ceiling that greeted me--I literally was scrambling to get my house in order until about half an hour before my roomie arrived.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm currently ignoring the two foot-high stacks of dissertation related material (mostly older versions of stuff) that are piled under the coffee table that need organization.

But the good news is I have a spanking new ceiling, and my leasing company has been SUPERB. And I'll have a new cupboard and new countertops as soon as the parts come in. Now, y'all know how I am about my kitchen. Not having my room of zen has been troubling. But it's operational at the moment, and that's all I can ask. So proper acknowledgment is due to Sara, my leasing agent go-to person, who has been awesome in all this; Tyler, the maintenance engineer; Jose, my roofer; Rich, the ceiling-fixer; and Chris (I think that's his name--he's Sara's dad), my cupboard and countertop guy. Sure, having someone step through your roof and not tell anyone is a major f*ck up--but that in no way means any of these people have been required to go so far above and beyond like they have. Tyler swung by when it looked like a storm was headed my way, because he hadn't been able to touch base with Jose about a temporary patch--so just in case, he went up on the roof with a tarp (Jose had already done the patch--and will be back this morning to do a more permanent fix). Sara called the day after we did have a storm, just to make sure there was no problem.

So, yes, I've had some issues here--but they are issues that I probably would have had anywhere (and did, in my little apartment that I had when I first returned to the desert--but without the incredible service and attention to detail I've had here). But I would totally recommend these guys to anyone.

Okay. I didn't intend for this to be an advertisement for my leasing company.

But now you've caught up on my life from last week. This week holds MEETINGS MEETINGS MEETINGS, finishing off syllabi, and creating a master calendar of DOOM. Good times.

Actually, most of the meetings will be with students (except Thursday and Friday), so that will be good. I'm looking forward to seeing them again.

Home is where the heart is...

and where the ceiling isn't.

Tucson has had a wetter than average monsoon season. And Jose, my roofer (and yes, I am not quite comfortable being on a first name basis with my roofer) thinks that one of the guys installing my new A/C recently put his foot through a patch in the roof and didn't tell anyone. This, added with the fact that I found my bathroom in dissarray and a couple of things broken, makes me a little...worried? peeeved? baffled? irate?--I suppose all of the above, by turns.

At any rate.

It wasn't until after I got home from Trader Joe's with a few foodstuffs that I noticed that there was a section of my kitchen ceiling about eighteen inches around being held together by the paint. Well, a quick call, and the roofer was here a half hour later--but he can only do a temporary patch for the weekend (and yes, we're expecting rain) and will have to replace rotting roof Monday or Tuesday of next week. And has suggested that they not fix the inside until after that.

Well.

I got up this morning, and took the picture that you see above. Obviously, the paint didn't hold. Thankfully, I emptied the cupboards in that corner last night (and am still in the process of cleaning some of the contents. But at this point, I expect they'll not only replace the ceiling, but at least one portion of the cupboard and the countertop--the latter being one of those 70s pressboard and laminate numbers that has now warped at the seam.

All of this, while I have a to-do list a SMOOT long. And only a week of solitude before I have a roomie for four months.

And yet, in all, life is still good.

Ecstasy

Tomorrow, I sleep in my own bed.

For the first time in 39 days.

As I am evidently wont to say in my sleep:

Wahoo!

Ah...

I have stories to tell...and hope to have the memories of them for quite some time to come.

When I have more time, I'll need to share the stories my grandfather did, of his first "job" at 8, and of his caddying for 25 cents a round...and how he preferred to caddy for the ladies....and of my stepgrandfather, regaling us with stories of his wife breaking her foot in a frisky christening of one of their new homes...

But I've shared to much merlot this evening, and have to be up for breakfast in the morning...so those tales will have to wait.

But somebody needs to tell me how you can break yourself of the crystalline magic of a moment to do something as unemotional and studied as remember to start a recorder as those stories unfold....

Mouse-adjacent

We made it to Orlando yesterday, on another day without incident. In the last hour of our trek to my aunt and uncle's we did get caught up in some significant rubber-necking traffic, as in a microburst-type storm, a semi jackknifed on I-4 heading east, and a school bus ran into it. The good news: all 29 kids on the bus are safe and sound--thanks to quick thinking on the bus driver's part, the injuries were very minor.

So today has been a down day--I've finished one of my syllabi (or nearly so--there are a couple of spots in the course calendar that require me to make some decisions on reading material), done some laundry, and found the post office and the CVS. I should crack open some educational philosophy that needs to go into Chapter Two, but I keep getting interrupted.

Still, having my own space for a couple of nights is a gift from the gods!

Another gift: my grandfather is back home in his little apartment. We had made these plans to come down for his birthday quite some time ago, and then at the beginning of July, he was hospitalized with a blood clot that ran from his knee to his groin. They managed to fix that, but while he was in rehabilitation he contracted some kind of infection, and they wouldn't let him go home until it cleared up. So we weren't sure where (or what!) we'd be celebrating this weekend. Thankfully, he was released from rehab this morning, and my other aunt and uncle, who flew down from Maine yesterday, are getting him squared away at home. I think he's mainly happy to be there so he can get some exercise. Not sure what the deal is with the rehab place, but they stopped doing anything resembling "rehab" about two weeks ago, and didn't leave his walker handy, so he's been a bit stuck.

So tomorrow morning we making the short two-hour drive to Largo, and get to spend some time with my grandfather. I'm looking forward to seeing him.

Day Three

Well, we finally succumbed to I-95--and really, once you get out of the Mid-Atlantic region, it's okay.

We decided to have a nice meal tonight (which included a much needed glass of sangria for me!), a little early--and will have an easy day tomorrow. Which is good, because the less road that looms between me and home, the more I fret about all the work that I still need to do. The list just keeps getting longer and longer.

But I've warned Dad that I may kick him out of the hotel room tomorrow morning so that I can get some work done. The hotel has a nice little breakfast area, that I think has a tv (at least the last one did, and we're staying in the same "family" of hotels)--he seems amenable to that.

The drive itself wasn't too horrible today--actually felt better than yesterday, even though I didn't get much more sleep. Part of it is that my brain and body aren't getting worn out at the same time--and the hum of the road is staying with me. My eyes are fried, but my mind is spinning, and my body is stiff and cranky from lack of use.

We'll see how tonight treats me, and go from there.

For now, I have to say, the trip has been--quieter--than I anticipated. Dad is pretty content to doze or watch the countryside.....no great stories yet. I suspect more will flow after we get to Florida, and spend some time with the family...

Two Days. Ten States.

Yes, I know.

I'm skipping a GABILLION updates at the moment.

I'm on the road back to the Old Pueblo, and thus far the father/daughter adventure has been pretty darn smooth. But it does sound impressive to say that I've hit ten states in two days. I will need to keep that in mind when I'm driving through the endless mass that is the Lone Star State. And really, I probably shouldn't count New Jersey, since I-84 barely skims it where it shares borders with New York and Pennsylvania. Truth is, I drove this particularly route from DC to Maine for at least three years before I knew I was tiptoeing along the edge of NJ--and only found that out because I need gas, and turn left at the bottom of the ramp. Go figure.

But tonight, I'm already ensconced in my fluffy bed in Harrisonburg, VA. Yes. I managed to plot a route from Maine to Florida without using the evil evil EVIL I-95 until Whetsell, South Carolina. Ha.

But I am exhausted, as last night we stayed at my stepmother's brother's place in Bethel, CT--and stayed up late talking. Greg and Cheryl have this lovely ancient farmhouse that is incredibly well preserved. I've never been more fascinated by trim and hinge-work--seriously. Gorgeous, simple craftsmanship. Anyway. When we finally hit the hay, Dad and I were sharing a room--and while the air mattress was comfy, he kinda hiccuped, snored, and moaned through the night.

So I didn't so much sleep well. I was thankful I brought along some ear plugs, though--that helped me get some shut eye.

But tonight, we're sharing a room again--but like a good boy scout I'm prepared. Ear plugs? Check. Ipod, in case those don't work? Check. Tylenol PM, if all else fails? Check.

Cross your fingers--because it'll be rough going to get to Waltersboro, South Carolina on three hours sleep for the second night running.

Recap, part I

Yeah...sorry about that.

The last few weeks have been one crazy escapade after another. I'll try to fill you in...

As for the rest of the trip: I made it from Tucumcari, New Mexico to Springfield, Missouri with little incident. Had a delightful political conversation with a gas station attendant/mechanic in Shamrock, Texas (there are democrats in Texas outside of Austin! ...although...come to think of it...he'll probably vote for Ron Paul). The worst roads of the trip were just west of Oklahoma City--like driving over a washboard. I arrived at my friends' just a couple hours after they returned home from a wedding...and discovered that their dogsitter had just decided not to show up for at least 24 hours. So we took the dog for a walk, met some of their friends, ate at a typical midwest restaurant, and called it a night.

From there, I had a (relatively) short day to Louisville, KY where I stayed with another friend in her lovely little house with her kitties--one of which was pretty insistent about crawling under my covers! We had a delightful evening, and ate at a super yummy restaurant where we ordered way too much food. I wish I had more time on the way across country; I would have liked to explore Louisville more.

The next stop: Philadelphia for the Fourth of July! I had a lot of mileage to cover, and most of it was under construction. But hey, it was a holiday, so the roads were clear of both construction and traffic. While I nearly got racked by a semi in the five minutes I was in West Virginia (typical), I was another uneventful day--until, of course, I reached the Ancestral Manse of the Benners, where their annual Fourth of July party was in full swing. It was great to see a bunch of the folks that I had seen just a few short weeks before, as well as meet some new and interesting people. I was also very glad I made the decision to take an extra day in the area, as I was able to amble around Chestnut Hill with Annie, and meet up with some of the rest of the gang for ice cream. Then we headed out to Bristol, PA for Indian food. Yeah, I know....it seems a long way to go, and Bristol is not what could be called a mecca for such things...or anything...but it was super yummy food, and a chance to see where my long distance happy hour buddy lives.

Good times, all the way across country. By the time I got to Hollis Center, Maine on the 6th, I had traveled 3146 miles. You'd think that was enough.

I reach, and I have no access...

I clearly intended to update before this...but for some reason, my PC laptop has decided to stop talking to my dad's Mac airport. When it has before. In fact, I'm the one who set the airport up. I'm a little...confused, frustrated, etc. etc.

But...I have reached my destination. 3146 miles...give or take a tenth or two.  The last day was pretty uneventful, so long as I acknowledge that 1) Massholes earn their name by how they drive on the Mass Pike and 2) Given that, there were a lot of people too tired to be driving Sunday afternoon after the Fourth, who were making really poor decisions.

But all in all, it was a good trip, with a lot fewer poor driving decisions than I expected to see. Only three accidents, in all that distance--around a major (drinking) holiday. And one of those was a semi who blew a couple of tires.  

And I think that's all I'll comment on now, as my sister-in-law and I are going to make a quick dash into the Old Port this morning to get our shop on.

Philadelphia

So it's the fifth of July...and I'm relaxing in the ancestral manse of dear friends in Philadelphia. It's really quite nice to not be in my car. I may in fact get into someone else's vehicle today, but not my own. I think my car is equally happy.

Yesterday's drive was long...like the first day, about 666 miles. (Yes, that kind of freaks me out too). However, yesterday was easier driving. Of course, it also featured my only "almost eating hot death" moment. And go figure, it was in the five minutes I was in West Virginia. A semi playing chicken with another semi, decided to change into my lane...and unfortunately, I was abreast his rear wheels. And, of course, it was on an incline, in the mountains, going around the curve. Good thing I have skills.

But the rest of the drive went without incident, and I arrived in Philadelphia to a Fourth of July party in full swing, and managed to snag the last glass of Mad Monkey Pirate Punch (3 lemons, 3 limes, a cup of sugar, ice, half a bottle of sake....and pure pure magic). All this means that I was smart to plan a day of rest here...

So at some point this afternoon I need to chart the best way to get from here to Maine...I really prefer to avoid 95 as much as possible...

On the road...all alone

While I'm driving, I think of all of this brilliant ponderings about my adventure that I want to share....

And then I arrive at my destination of the day, and discover my brain is complete and utter mush.

And I couldn't update last night, because my friends in Springfield don't have the internets at home, and the poaching proved futile (after several attempts at wafting my laptop around the house hoping to catch a stray signal).

But here are some randoms bits from the trip:

Shamrock, Texas...I stopped to fill my tank just outside of town. At a Chevron. Surrounded by nothingness. Had a delightful conversation with the mechanic who ran the place. Not a consequential discussion, but just nice reassurance that not all Americans (and not all Texans) are stereotypes.

One should be able to get NPR anywhere. One cannot in parts of Texas and Oklahoma.

The highway leading to OK City is like driving on a washboard--at 70 miles an hour.

One should be extra careful in the last fifteen minutes of any long day's drive.

NOBODY is road-tripping this summer. In any given state, I'm pretty much seeing only that state's license plates on the road...unless I'm close to the state line. And I've only seen a handful of RVs, or cars hauling boat trailers. For the day before a holiday weekend, the roads were EMPTY today.

My mother probably doesn't need to know that I will quite often drive cross-legged on long straightaways.

I took pictures of the Mississippi as I crossed it, but my camera is WAY over on the other side of the room, and I'm WAY too tired to get up and get it. I'll post it tomorrow.

Speaking of which, tomorrow is a long day--over ten hours from Louisville to Philadelphia.

So I go sleep now. Cheers. Bye.

Tucumcari, NM

Total miles: 664 (although that is tracking from where I got gas before leaving Tucson. I'm afeard the actual number may be more devilish that naught...)

664 doesn't seem like a whole lot--but when you factor in the 4000 foot change in elevation (at least twice--I drove through Salt River Canyon), it was a very..active...driving day.

I did stop and take some pictures on my way back up out of Salt River Canyon...That funky ridge in the top left? That would be the road. Pretty, but it was a crazy drive.

And the hits just kept on coming. When I finally got to New Mexico, I played chicken with an afternoon thunderstorm. Managed to sneak through relatively unscathed, but quickly came across this:

It's blurry, because I took it as I drove by...but that's a fire started by lightening. The flames were licking the guardrail.

And I think that's all I've got tonight. I'm toast.

Celestial Core Dump...

In my closet.

Seriously. It rained in my closet this afternoon.

The day before I head to a conference at the crack of doom.

Four days before I leave the Old Pueblo for over a month.

It freakin' rained in my closet.

But, I have to give a shout out to my leasing company; the rain ended for the day around five, and by six the roofer was here. He did a quick fix, and will be back in the morning to fix it for real.

Makes me awfully glad I've already arranged with a friend to check in on my place when it storms....

Celestial Core Dumps

After posting around the issue of water conservation yesterday, I think it's appropriate to acknowledge that last night we had our first desert storm of the season here in Tucson. The monsoon season hasn't "officially" started here in Tucson--because I believe you need to have three days in a row with the dew point at a certain level for that to be the case (and the local weather guys haven't gone all meteorological on us yet with those definitions, so I'm sure we haven't hit it yet. But hey, you have to give them what little weather reporting they get out here. How many times can you say "sunny and hot today" without getting bored???), but if you want to know more about the North American Monsoons (which are very different from the monsoons my friend the world traveller will be experiencing whilst in the Peace Corps in the Phillippines), you can check out this handy wikipedia entry. Oh, and I linked the above photo to the photographer's website, because he has some gorgeous pictures of last year's monsoon season on it.

Okay, so now that the weather lesson is over with...

I love desert thunderstorms. Last night's didn't feature a lot of rain, and had enough lightning in it that brush fires are an issue throughout Southern Arizona, which is always a concern, but it was soft and wild and beautiful. Desert thunderstorms always make me feel a little bit more alive.

You notice I qualify that--it's the desert ones that I love so. As I was telling my friend Dr. Wutang just a bit ago (she gave me her sister's term for monsoons, which I borrowed to title this entry), you mix a thunderstorm and large trees, and I still get a little squeamy.

When I was maybe six or so, and still living in the wilds of Maine, we used to spend a fair amount of our summers hanging out at my mom's cousin's camp on Ossippee Lake (the one in Waterboro, Maine--not the one in New Hampshire. And actually, "mom's cousin" is actually my grandfather's cousin--but I digress). The camp was called Cedarlog, and we'd swim there all the time. Cedarlog is one of the reasons I never went to summer camp as a kid--never had to, as all the necessities were right there.

Anyway, storms could come up pretty quickly in the afternoons, and we all had our duties when the wind picked up and the thunder started growling. We'd pull all the lawn chairs up to the house, secure everything--and then the whole gang would hang out on the screened in porch and watch the storm race over the lake. It was usually quite a fun event, and very multi-generational.

However, this one storm came up particularly swiftly, and as we all gathered on the porch to watch, my mother noticed a life jacket that had not been secured, and that was now floating in the water right next to the dock. New Englanders are known to be thrifty folk, and it just wouldn't be sensible (in my mother's view) to risk losing a lifejacket in the storm. So she popped off the porch, ran down to the waters edge and, leaning on a convenient century old pine tree, plucked the preserver out of the water.

The next moment, I have no image for--it is entirely a sound memory. The next moment, I heard to sharp sounds: one the slapping of the porch door as it closed behind my mother, and the other the sound of the clash lightning and wood. Nearly everyone on the porch was thrown to the ground. When we gathered ourselves off the floor, we had an entirely different view of the world: the pine tree that my mother had leaned on simply wasn't there anymore. There was a stump about three feet high--and that's pretty much it. Luckily, the debris had mostly headed for the water; if the lightning had hit in a way to make the tree fall landward, it most likely would've taken out the porch.

So give me a great lightning show over a vast expanse of sky, and I'm a happy girl. But stick me in a forest with that kind of thunderclap that you feel more than hear, and...well...be prepared for sightings of my inner six-year-old.

Okay, this one is long enough....Cheers.

Desert Flora

My little backyard is narrowest outside my bedroom window; it is maybe four feet from window to fence. On the other side of the fence is an alley; on the other side of the alley is a horticulturally-minded neighbor, who has planted a little garden along my fence. I believe it is part of the work of my neighborhood association--and I entirely support it.

Okay, I support it with a couple of caveats. First, the neighbor that tends this little garden likes to water in the morning. At about dawn, actually. And today, according to scientific calculations, the sun rose in Tucson at 5:19 am. Now, those of you that know me well, know that I'm a morning person--that I do, in fact, rise early. And that I rarely wake to any kind of alarm, except in the dead of winter when I'm getting up before the sun. However, being woken at 5:20 am or so by what sounds like a full-force spray hose hitting my fence is frankly, a little much.

Which leads to my second caveat. Um, hi. This is the desert. And yes, it's hot. But by golly, there are plenty of heat-tolerant plants that are indigenous to the area that don't require daily watering. (The state's Department of Water Resources has several useful publications on their web about low-water usage plantlife.) If I could be assured that my neighbor was using only reclaimed water to keep her plants alive, I probably wouldn't be so bothered by the water use. Yet...the desert ecosystem has been profoundly impacted by the introduction of non-native plants. And the allergens that are introduced--the very ones so many people sought to escape from other climes by relocating here--have profoundly impacted the people in the area.

Truthfully, my own backyard is pretty much a wasteland at the moment: when I moved in, it was pretty weedy...and it took me a while to get those cleared out. There's but a single globe mallow growing in the corner, and a couple of potted plants. In the fall, that will change--in part because I won't be traveling, but also because the growing season is pretty wacky here. But it's wacky in a way I can take advantage of: I plan on growing my own tomatoes this winter, and probably some peppers, too. And of course, I'll add some desert plants to the landscaping--most likely in large pots, so that they will be portable when I eventually buy a home, and so that I can do concentrated watering without excess use.

And really, there are some gorgeous flowering (and non-flowering!) desert plants. Ultimately, I think it's about embracing where you are.

A Walk in the Woods

Years ago, I guess around 1990, my brother's best friend thru-hiked the Appalachian Trial. Georgie to Maine--ostensibly, to decide where he was going to graduate school. He's a geologist now in Oregon, helping that state decide the most geologically sound places to put or expand roadways. Highway 101, which extends up the entire Pacific Coast, gives him fits--and rightly so in some places.

Of course, I'm pretty sure he had decided where he was going to grad school by the time he hit North Carolina--which meant he still had about three months of hiking ahead of him. But he is one of the hardy few, some would say the crazy few, who have hiked the entirety of the AT in one season. Heck, he trained for it, even. I remember my mother laughing when the intrepid hiker came to visit the family in Tucson, and would take off up the wash that ran behind mom's house with his pack on his back, loaded with the economy-size Tide laundry detergent to add a semblance of the necessary weight to his training.

The AT has been on my mind this week, in part because the wedding I went to in Maryland last weekend was fairly adjacent to where the trail snakes through that state--and because I swear the lovely lady GPS system (really, a very nice female British voice, calmly taking us to perilous parts unknown) had us driving on the trail to get to the morning-after brunch.

It sounds like exaggeration, doesn't it? But when the GPS has you traveling a road that becomes less road-like by the inch, until you are skidding over loose shale and rock and the way narrows so barely one car can pass, until the road climbs precipitously so that the driver has to maintain the perfect speed, else he'll either not have enough oomph to crest the peak or he'll lose control on the gravel and go careening over the edge, until the folks in the car following your lead call you to double check that we're on the correct route, and meet the assurance that the British lady has yet to say "recalculating" in her dulcet tones to gently acknowledge you've left the route any sensible driver would take with the phrase, "Okay, but you are aware we just passed a bathtub" that as entirely unassociated with the road...

The view, when we reached the height of this precarious road, was stellar. And when we finally saw a real, civilized road (with freshly painted double lines authoritatively stretching down the middle of the road), and embraced its smooth terrain, the first sign we saw said, in large white letters, "Appalachian Trail". And suddenly, the route we had taken made a great deal of sense.

I was still chuckling about the adventure on the way home, when I was stuck in the Houston airport, delayed by thunderstorms. I had finished my book en route, and had wandered fruitlessly through the fiction section of the airport bookstore. Trailing through the nonfiction, I saw a book that had long caught my eye, and finally decided this was the perfect opportunity to pick it up.



I'm most of the way through Bill Bryson's A Walk in The Woods, which is a very amusing blend of travel writing, memoir, and anthropological history of the Appalachian Trail. I laughed out loud at his description of reading about bear attacks before he left on his adventure, and several more times at the antics of his erstwhile hiking partner. But I've also learned a great deal about the AT, its keepers, and the environment that surrounds it. And I have a great deal more respect for my brother's best friend, and the journey he took from Georgia to Mt. Washington.

I have to confess, I lost my train of thought a bit in this post. In the middle of writing, my sister-in-law called, and we went for a walk. Walking along the Rillito River (which only runs when it rains heavily) is not at all like Bryson's description of walking the AT.

But sometimes, it just feels good to walk.

Summer Solstice

Summer is here....

Normally, that wouldn't mean much in the desert; normally, the heat has already settled in, and one hundred degree temperatures are already the norm, and Tucsonans gird their loins in preparation for another three months of heat.

But I think we've had a mild spring this year, and it's just been this week that the heat has reached that oppressive level wherein every movement is bound by a lethargy unmatched in winter months.

Somehow, I don't mind at the moment, and that's probably for two reasons. One, I just returned from a very mild weekend in the DC area, where I went to the wedding of dear friends. Two, I am headed to San Diego for a conference next weekend, where my biggest worry is how much of the conference I'll be willing to attend when the beach beckons.

But perhaps the biggest reason the heat hasn't soured my mood is that I know I'll be spending most of my summer away from it.

July 1, I hit the road, bound east for Hollis.

I have a lot to do between now and then, and what I thought seemed like a long time (an entire month!) away now seems unnervingly short. But I'm truly looking forward to both the journey and the destination.

And now, I have the journey back to Tucson to look forward to in an entirely different way. I had talked with my father a while back about road-tripping with me to Florida--my grandfather turns 90 (90!) at the beginning of August, and I thought it was a good excuse to get my dad traveling. He's never been a big traveller, and now that he has to do so without Barbara, my stepmother, I worry that he won't take advantage of visiting us out here in Tucson--especially in the winter months, when he has a tendency to get the blues anyway.

But on Father's Day, he surprised me. Not only has he decided that would be a good idea, but he thinks he should come all the way back to Tucson with me. My first reaction was, "well, that will completely change the nature of my trip!" And then, I realized what a great gift that would be. My father and I have had a chance to get closer in the last few years--while I was living in Maryland, I would get up to visit several times a year--and I count myself so lucky in the nature of our relationship. I know him as a father, and as a human being--foibles and all.

But to travel alone with him, across the country--what a gift! I haven't quite decided how I'll record the event, but I have a strong sense that it does need to be kept elsewhere beyond the vault of memory.

Don't be surprised if some of it shows up here.

But for now, I should get back to planning...

Oh, and the summer solstice? Also Dad's birthday. Happy birthday, dad....

road trip!

I just started plotting a course across the country. As usual, it looks like the first night out is the only hotel night.

I need someone to get a job in Albuquerque, mm'kay? That'd be super.

Beyond that, tentative plans to hit Springfield, Louisville, Phili, then home in Maine. Had hoped to get up to Chicago on this journey, but it doesn't seem like that will happen, as my brother's family will also be in Maine at the beginning of July.

It does change my plan of a nice leisurely road trip that direction...but hey, plans change. And it very well be that my journey back to Tucson in August is a perimeter trip around the US: I'm thinking about taking my dad on a road trip down the East Coast, visiting my step-mother's sibs along the way to see my grandfather in Florida. His birthday is at the beginning of August, so I thought that might be nice. Then I could put my dad on a plane home (get him used to flying solo again), and hit I-10. I've heard that it's not as bad to do I-10 through TX. I hope not; my last journey, which took me through West Texas, left a bad taste in my mouth. Literally. I felt like I had sucked on an oil rag. Ew.

Anyway....that's the news from here. Time to start the rest of my day.

Moonbathing

Tonight is a blue moon. It seems to me there usually is one at the beginning of planting season, at least in the Northern climes of my childhood.

Blue moons in the desert are different: more sky, less bugs, more temperate. Great for moonbathing.

I haven't been moonbathing in a long time--certainly not since I moved back here (and as an aside, I can't believe I've been back in the desert for as long as I have--perhaps because it still had the tinge of temporary to it).

Sadly, most of the places I used to like to go moonbathing are out of bounds now. The best place is just too close to a little airfield north of Tucson, that is now one of the major training grounds for desert helicopter ops. Last time i went up there to catch an unimpaired view of the milky way, I was nicely asked to find another viewing spot--by two gentlemen in full military gear, down to the AK-47s.

And that kind of weaponry is not conducive to basking in the light of the moon.

So part of today's goal: find a good moonbathing opportunity for tonight. I prefer open fields, but who knows? I may have to settle for a moonlit walk instead of spreading a blanket for this one. But that's okay. As long as I get to spend a little time in some moonbeams!

Coffee and contemplation

So the ice is supposed to break on the river tomorrow.

That's a quaint way to say that it'll finally hit 100 degrees in the Old Pueblo.

Spring will be gone for another year--and the heat will stay probably through September, with erstwhile relief during Monsoon Season. The afternoon rains in July and August will keep the temperature in the nineties, but the added humidity can be problematic--particularly since I cool my home without air conditioning. See, in arid climes, you can get away with a swamp cooler most of the year--it's much cheaper, and because it adds a bit of moisture to the air, it has benefits as well. However, during monsoon season, it doesn't work as well. You get out of the shower, and stay damp all day.

The worst part, in my opinion, is what it does to your sheets. I like nice crisp bedsheets, thank you very much. I'm usually a morning shower person, but sometimes, as a special treat, I'll take a quick shower just before getting into my newly-made bed. Simple pleasures. Simple pleasures that are impossible during Monsoon Season.

However, I get to miss a fair chunk of the monsoons this summer. I'll be on the road for about six weeks--and I'm so looking forward to it. Some think I'm crazy, what with gas prizes; but my little '99 Sentra, which needs a couple of new tires and a tune-up, still gets 30 mpg. When he's purring, he gets closer to 40. And I love long drives.

Nobody in my family understands that part of me that is perfectly content to be on the road for ten, twelve hours in a day. But I love it. And I think "content" is the most apropos word. I get in my car and go--and that's all I have to worry about. None of the craziness of multitasking that we do in our lives so much. It's just me, my car, and my thoughts. And I prefer it that way.

Now, there's still a chance that a friend will be doing part of the road trip with me this summer, but I'm not really counting on it. My parents are, but I'm not.

And now that my brother and his family have a Boston arrival date, my window of leisurely driving is a bit narrower. That's all good, though....I just have to be in Maine by the 4th of July, so I can pick them up at the airport.

Hm. seems that my mind is still flitting; it's been doing that for a few days, now. And I have no nice clean end to this post. No button; no tag line. And that's okay.

You are here.

Yes, this is the place to find me now.