didn’t mean to come back so soon
Got that call I knew was going to arrive sooner or later. Have been dreading it for some time now, but at 9:51 on Thursday morning, it came. As my plane descended with the night into the Roanoke Valley, I tried to figure out what to say at her funeral. What to say during the day that would - unequivocally - be the most heartbreaking one thus far.
Would I talk about how she was born on Mt. Pleasant Road, raised her children on Mt. Pleasant Road, and ultimately passed away on Mt. Pleasant Road? She lived her whole life on that patch of land and knew it more intimately than I could hope to know any such place.
Would I talk about how she would make that long walk back to her home in the hollow - sometimes tracked by mountain lions, sometimes encountering a stray black bear? How she really did have peaches in the summertime, apples in the fall - which they'd drive over the mountain into Roanoke on Saturdays to sell?
And then - what would I say to Grandpa? How would I respond when - midsentence - he chokes up and lays his head on my shoulder, silent, while I run my fingers through what's left of his hair? When he finds a new picture of her, taken at the family reunion last month, and decides to keep it in his shirt pocket? Brings it out to stare, puts it back. Brings it out again, stares again, puts it back again. Like he's on that boat headed towards Japan, a blue-eyed girl waiting back home for him.
I walked the property line that day. The sky was an undeniable blue, scattered with the particular brand of altocumulus that only seem to exist during this season. Ended up by the creek bed, against my better judgment. I'm certain I've been reading too much David James Duncan (and certainly not enough Wendell Berry), but it stopped me short to see the creek stained that telltale orange. What water remained looked lifeless; you'd never believe we used to have sunfish, bluegill, bass, and more catfish than you knew what to do with. You'd never know Grandpa caught a 20 pounder in there - he named it Big Sam, and it was one of the best Thanksgivings ever. A few autumns ago, our yellow dog went down to that same creek bed -and that was where they found him a week later, due to the buzzards circling overhead.
I was looking at my lost creek, standing beside the grave of my lost dog, thinking about my lost grandmother. I guess they formed some sort of trinity, sealing off the day.
boy, she could talk you up a blue streak about carolina
I started taking Russian classes at the community college a few weeks ago. It's good for all of the reasons you might imagine - diversity, heightened sense of community, tax dollars going to good use, being back in a classroom setting, etc. Using a different part of my brain, wearing a sweatshirt, slouching in the back row while taking notes.
So - tonight. We were learning about questions and answers, and our format for doing so utilized the US map. I was in a group with two other students, both in their early twenties. Both (I assume) high school graduates. I asked them, "Where is Michigan?". It, apparently, is next to Louisiana. As our time progressed, I learned that Utah and Ohio are one and the same. Don't even bother trying to find Iowa. I have this tendency to be a Geo-Nazi, and have a feeling that tonight was no different. How do you tell someone, "Yeah, so New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and Delaware? They're actually states. Not cities." and not feel somewhat snug in your own knowledge of the world, simplistic as it may be?
But then. Oh, but then. The next exercise had to do with identifying animals. Most of the Russian terms were cognates, so it was pretty easy to match the word with the image. Fresh off of my geographical victory (which had clearly established that I was the smart one in the group), I was matching up "pahnda" with a panda, "sheempahnzee" with a chimp, etc. But then I got to the word "antelope".
"Wait….I don't see an antelope on here".
My partner pointed to um, this thing that looked like a gazelle, sort of.
"No, that's not an antelope. An antelope eats ants. And it's otherwise known as an aardvark and is native to Sub-Saharan Africa and is primarily nocturnal. It has a long nose and resembles a pig".
My partner just looked at me while I, unfortunately, continued ranting. Again, I'm the smart one here, I've got a license to rant for as long as I darn well please. Finally, he broke in -
"Are you SERIOUS?"
Silence. Realization. Oh crap.
"Um….wait, you're right…uh….sorry about that."
I deserved it.
we dream an ocean in ohio
I knew it would take more than a sentence to finish up this summer. Montana and I took a hike in the gorge the other day...we sat at the summit for what seemed like hours, letting the sun do its thing, one last time. I'd brought along the ipod (not without guilt - should digitized music even have a place outdoors? I have internal battles over this, and never know the correct approach. When I think about the piece that David James Duncan wrote entitled
My One Conversation with Collin Walcott, however, there's no doubt about it), so I ran through this summer's soundtrack - and effectively allowed music to close out the season.
There we have it. Summer is over. I got caught in a rainstorm yesterday, while walking home from the library. An involuntary immersion that forced me to convert. I've been baptized into the winter, and have no choice but to move on.
Katie called one day, from a train station in North Dakota (a man and his granddaughter were playing music in the background) and asked me what I was looking forward to. Good question. I generally make others idealize their surroundings and situations, so perhaps it's time that I do the same. Therefore, I'm looking forward to all the live music that Portland sets forth during the winter. To stormy evenings under the Morrison Street bridge, firewood in the basement, Thanksgiving at our house, sweaters, and hikes in the rain.
Oh - and that economy thing. It crashed the other day. I wandered by my boss's office, to find him with his door closed, tie loosened, head in his hands. (
Something to note: percentage wise, Monday's fall doesn't even make the top ten drops in history.) Here's to still being employed tomorrow. Maybe America should get it together and stop spending money it doesn't have.
