January buzzed by

Oh heavens. It’s been too long and too hectic. I mean, iPad has been released to the public, I got a year older officially, Zoë got older, the academy has announced it’s Oscar nominees. Whew. It’s all just a bit too much to process.

Therefore, I’m writing tonight from work. 75/85 southbound is a sluggish river of headlights. Most of the buildings around me have cut off their office lights, but a few floors remain illuminated — and the occasional solo worker alone. I always wonder if, like me, they get more work done with the co-workers gone.

Anyway, all that is an aside. January is gone. All the memories and events I could have shared have eclipsed. I’ll do better.

How did the groundhog do? I really am hoping for an early, productive Spring! And who, other than me, is going to planted in front of the television to catch the last season of Lost?

Winter haze

Looking out over 75/85 and a power grid, I can almost pretend it’s August in Atlanta. There is haze masquerading as smog and uncertainty. If it weren’t for the small bits of snow and ice clinging to the shadows, I’d almost believe the mirage.

It’s a universal occurrence, really. The people I talk to are forgetful or unclear of what is going on. My friends are all lulled by their dreams into shadow realities. Keys disappear from their rings. Longtime residents of a city suddenly are lost. I don’t know if the weather is causing it, or if we are harnessing our doubts and releasing them into the stratosphere where they gather north of Atlanta in a grayish, pinkish surreal layer.

Who knows which came first. More importantly, who cares? Seize it. Open your mind wide to the shroud around you and embrace the unknown murky depths, the hidden or erroneously placed thought. Just roll in the fact we know nothing, we forget everything and a cold wind still blows.

Tick-tock tick

School doesn’t officially begin until Friday, but I still have some work to do. It’s quiet. Eerily quiet. The clock above me is keeping me grounded in the fact that I’ve not entered a zone of silence. Someone just walked down the hall wearing heels. I’m going to soak it all up and know that in a few days I’ll be counting the hours before I can crawl back into my solo space.

The between times at work are my favorite. Obviously, I love working with the students and I appreciate the static and energy. But now, this quiet ticking. My typing and the clock the only factors. A box of books to catalogue. The simplicity of solitude. It’s a special and rare treat — one I especially appreciate.

Hope everyone enjoyed their countdown and the past few days of 2010. Felice capodanno (and enjoy La Befana today)!

Aughts be gone

I wanted to write something lovely, something that would tidy up the decade nicely so I could send it on its way. But, like so much of the past 10 years, I’m out of time.

In an earlier post, I pointed out that it has been a sucky decade — but I’m a creature of positive and negative, so let me point out some of the good things that have (personally) happened.

• My god-daughter was born in this decade. That would be the number one good thing. She redeems a lot, in my mind.
• I earned my 2nd Masters and that has led me to a profession that I love and feel comfortable in.
• Naturally, I can’t not mention Italy. Being able to survive and experience life outside of my comfort zone; getting to know wonderful people; walking the streets of Florence; well — the whole life I lived there has left a permanent and beautiful mark on me.
• Alternately, living in Tallahassee definitely allowed me to meet some of the best and most interesting people ever. Those Tally days where I emerged from heart ache, walked the quiet neighborhood of pine trees, laughed with Cheryl, played with little Evan, and all of the time with Claudia and the muslibfolk — well, that helped make me stronger.

There are little things, private things that I’ll leave off. But I will say I find it fitting that I left Atlanta in 1999 and ended the aughts back here. Honestly, it’s been a mixed bag of tricks. The whole decade has been that. Maybe it’s not the decade’s fault. I know deep down that is life. Good and bad, pain and pleasure, alienation and connection. It will happen again and again, in different ways for us all. The repetition can be a comforting hum.

Happy New Decade everyone! I’m taking Kimbre’s advice and blending it with my own needs. So tonight I’ll be a bit social and say goodbye to the aughts with friends, but will wake early and great the new year alone and looking at the world. Greens and black-eyed peas to follow (certo).

A letter from my dad

Dad sent an email explaining his decision to sell the family farmstead. I think some of the insight into decision making, life, the passage of time and a glimpse of what matters is worth sharing. Hope you all enjoy. There is a bit I left out — but it was more personal and unique to just his kids. However, I did want to include the respect that the new owners of the home appear to have. I think it makes a tough transition less painful and their consideration of the past and the importance this bit of land has to my family is one of the kindest and most human gestures I’ve heard of lately. It’s a nice reminder to me that warmth and understanding defeats almost any doubt. (non-italicized parts are dad, ellipsis means I omitted something).

It’s impossible for me to begin explaining why I decided to sell the place of my youth without mulling over in my mind why I moved back in the first place.  I believe I was always “going home” ever since I left to work for Lockheed and retirement and a little financial success finally made it easy to do.  But there were lots of other reasons too, like:  wanting my family to better understand me and my history and my absolute respect for folks who work the land; wanting to build a place that my Mama would be really proud of; wanting to build a place that your Mama would be proud to live in and wanting my children to love the same kinda things that I love.  But the biggest reason was probably to come back and do the things that I loved when I was growing up and be closer to family and old time friends.
….
However, like everywhere and with everybody, things change – friends die, family changes, and age creeps in behind our skin and changes the way we view and are viewed.  I woke up one morning and discovered that I no longer LOVED to work the garden and keep up the fences or clean around the pond – it was a depressingly painful chore.  Keeping up my little Shangri-La was no longer what I wanted to do and certainly not what my family wanted to do.  What to do, what to do – I could just let it go back to nature and plant everything in trees, I could do a pissy job of keeping it up for a few more years or I could sell it to someone who thought it was a thing of beauty, a work of art, and let them live here and love it and keep it up.
…..
I was lucky – I sold the place of my youth to a family who Love’s it and will take care of Mama and Daddy’s home and my work of art.  The new family has a plaque on the front door that says “Padgett Homestead – Circa 1948” and the pond will be called  “Ray’s Pond”.  I believe their respect for our history and love of this place will be something that my grandparents, my parents, and my family would be proud of.
…
(Me too, dad, and I know that what you’ve created would make your mama and your daddy proud. Thanks for sharing your dreams and your struggles. The road goes ever on — enjoy the adventure.)

Did you hear?

That Obama was going to ban lobbyist from serving on federal advisory panals? Mark Morford brought it to my attention as well as providing a link to a list of 90 things Obama has accomplished this year.

I just want to point that out, because last night he also told us that he is also sending 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan.

Trying to find balance.

This decade, this really sucky decade, is coming to an end. I, for one, can not wait. The oughts are ending!!! Still trying to decide an appropriate way to end the year. Suggestions?

How to survive H1N1(or wrestling with piggy demons)

1. Clean, soft, cotton sheets. You have no idea how long you will spend in bed. You think you do, but you don’t. Minutes, hours, days, weeks can pass. Be comfortable for it.
2. Layers of warmth. Have a comforter, a blanket and several other sources of heat to pull off or add at will.
3. Lots of pjs. What with the flop sweats, hacking cough and inability to shower due to gripping chills you will feel dirty.
4. The internet and a laptop. I knew that the internet was a boon and then I got sick and it became a lifeline. All of the aforementioned time in bed is the obstacle. You can’t read effectively due to delirium. You can’t write. You can only prop yourself up and cling to babymac. It is your only hope.
5. 30 Rock. Yes, you need all 3.5 seasons of 30 Rock. Alex Baldwin’s Jack telling you to never follow a hippie to a second location. Tracy Morgan’s endless rants that may indicate genius. The cute men that rotate through poor Liz Lemon’s love life (including a floppy haired Hamm). All of these things combine to become a poultice to your soul. Yes, 30 Rock heals.
6. A wide range of hot teas. They will bore you otherwise.
7. A vat of honey.
8. Friends. Yes, the text messages, the emails, the somewhat convoluted (on my part I think) phone calls, especially the drop off of goods (thanks Darryl). These things keep you tied to reality and replenish.  They make you think you are not a pariah (even though you really are).
9. Straws. No illness should be present without the ability to sip through a straw.
10. Pirate’s Booty and Pepperidge Farm cookies. Indulge. You feel like you are on your deathbed, so you may as well not care about the waistline.
11. A brother, or some relative that is tied to you through blood and therefore will not abandon you entirely. Granted mine did walk around with anti-bacterial wipes and not enter the same room as me. However, he also made sure I had food and drink and he picked up drugs for me. He would call to me through the door and ask if I was alive and needed anything from the store.
12. Advil and Tylenol. Apparently you can take them alternately and not do too much damage.
13. And last, you need to have walls a color that really makes you happy. Because honestly, the only thing you’ll take away from the whole experience is “damn, I love my walls”.

Stay healthy! Wash your hands! Don’t touch your face! Take your vitamins and load up on C! Drink water! Get the vaccine if you can! AGAIN, don’t touch your face!

Label making

I got a label maker at work. I can’t begin to explain how much I’ve wanted a label maker in my adult life. Never have gotten one, because even though the desire is there — my practical self can’t really find a use for one in the home. Labels in the home would seem too . . . well just too organized. And total organization isn’t what I want when I’m at home. There needs to be a corner or two (or table or two) that is wild and unkempt and totally mysterious. Will the bill go unpaid? How big can that dust ball get?

But work me is different. There are a million things I could label. I’m a librarian after all. Tagging and naming and organizing is part of the process. (Ignoring my desk, of course.)  So this month begins the new subscriptions that I’ve ordered. I do so love the beginning of a fiscal year. And with that, the chance to re-organize my magazines. Behind me now, the labels are all neatly lined on the shelves, identifying place, providing order. Well, it makes me happy. It’s like I can pretend to be this other person. Part of me wonders if that’s what work should be — our pretend grown up selves, making labels and writing reports and being serious about things that matter to others. All the while masking that little girl in adult clothes and makeup and schedules — but she’s still there, gleefully making labels, knowing this is all just make-believe.

Duck butt

Well, as promised, the NC State Fair was good stuff. I ate half of a meaty, cheesy sandwich, I introduced Shelby to Kettle Corn, there were ribbon fries that we paid another vendor to cover in cheese, lovely floral displays and gardens, farm animals, chicken rooster madness, it was a great fair. But there was something that I was not prepared for — duck butt.

Apparently North Carolinians are into racing, who knew? And they hold a pig race at the fair. This may be the cutest event in the history of fairdom. Little piglets run around a loop with the promise of Cheetos driving them into a frenzy. The curly little tails,  short legs, tiny squeals and cheering from children and adult onlookers. It was too much. And followed by billy goats and pot-bellied pigs. But then, the cream on top of it all, the duck race (or were they geese?). I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed as hard as I did at that moment (with an exception of one evening watching Twilight with Lori, Mendy and Heather). I think the neighboring children were concerned with my well-being. I can’t even describe what happened. Just know that duck butts waddling in slow pursuit of some cheesy crumbs put me over the edge. I’ve been pushed back into a childlike state and I really don’t want to recover from it.

I’ll get to the pictures from that visit and the farm soon enough.

a place in time

My parents are considering selling the farmhouse. They have been there for over a decade and that is a long time for them to stay still. I went down over the weekend to say hello to the Bobs (my former cats) and to visit. The angel trumpet had just bloomed, the confederate roses were changing from white to pink, it’s a lovely spot. I know for my dad, deciding to sell the place of his childhood is beyond a tough decision. That’s the kind of thing he can be good at though, deciding things. And my parents have a lot of flaws, like all of us, but fear of taking risks is not one of them.

But naturally it’s bittersweet. I know I’d never want to live there. I can’t imagine my brother ever would be happy there — but it is the one place that threads throughout my personal timeline. It comes close to being my constant—but that’s not the truth. Like everything, it has changed. Thinking about this on my drive to Atlanta, I realized the true constant lies in my parents — their ability to keep moving, keep changing, keep taking that leap in a moving van — pushing the horizon. The sound of wheels on asphalt driving down the road is the steady beat of my family. The only true constant is change.

Will post pictures later when time permits.