Jackelopette

Here I am, a week or so later, and I am disappointed with my writing resolution.

It’s hard to write this, right now at least. Writing about the deployment makes it real. I know I’m not the only one sharing this sentiment. It’s hard to be lonely, but I feel like I’m doing a good enough job of keeping busy that I have run out of time to write. I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing.

People often remark that I must be a very resilient person, to have survived the events of the last few months without breaking. I think I have simply been too busy to fully experience all of it. Again, I’m not sure it’s a bad thing.

What’s happened? Well, starting in February…

• I moved to Washington with David.
• Three weeks after I moved, David left on a long field exercise. Meanwhile, Mike (the previous roomie) moved out and deployed, I had a long weekend in Davis with my beloved Alumni Chorus, moved my crap out of storage and into the apartment, collected the cats from southern California, and saw Grandma for the last time, all in two weeks…
• David came back from the field exercise in time for St. Patrick’s Day, just the day after I’d returned with the cats, then I left for several days’ work travel in Oregon. We had about two weeks of normal time before he left again, this time for over a month of training with the whole Brigade — meaning that most of my new friends and/or their spouses were gone too.
• Shortly after David left, I found out that a good 4-H friend of mine had died. See the Ross post for more information, but there hasn’t been any more closure since then. And yet…
• Fortunately (depending on your perspective) I also had another ten days of Oregon travel and a hell of a lot of work. I’m not entirely sure how I filled my time during this month, but I know I didn’t have much of it to spare. David came back early, though, in mid-May…
• And a couple of days after his return, he had more surgery on his wrist. So we didn’t exactly have normal time for that, either. My dad visited in the last few days of May and that’s when my summer imploded.

Grandma passed away the afternoon after my dad left. I had spoken to her over her hospital phone the day he did leave, and I had dismissed the finality in her voice as illness. While I did ignore that tone, the things we shared in that few-minute conversation were pithy and a worthy way to say goodbye. It’s not that I don’t miss her or wish I’d had more time – of course I do! – but the things we said to one another have been enough to comfort me. Again, I don’t feel I’ve had much time to experience the full grief. I am sure I will come the holidays.

I had talked to my dad around noon that day, after he’d arrived in Santa Barbara, and we knew things were not looking good. I booked a last-minute flight for that afternoon and my cell phone rang as I was going through security. It was my dad, calling to tell me that she’d stopped breathing.

The next few days I spent at home are somewhat blurry – there was so much to discuss and do and share that I don’t have a clear memory of what I felt.

Two days after I returned, I had my wisdom teeth out. Oh, and that’s the day the ACCESS 4-H project director and project manager, both people I’d consider good friends, were no longer employed by Council. I’m selfishly glad I had the haze of pain and painkillers and wicked nausea to distract me – I found out via email blast as I returned from the surgery, so at first it all seemed like a dream.

I think we had two full weekends between my wisdom teeth removal and the beginning of our ridiculous vacation itinerary, and both were busy. In the last month we have spent a vast amount of time in Seattle and at Army parties, in the Bay area with family and good friends, even a week in London and another touring the east coast… Those three weeks alone deserve their own post.

Two days after we returned from the last leg of the traveling, David departed for a year. I’m still finding things that need to make their way overseas to him. I spent a day broken, though I still did my daily work. I spent a few more days fighting back tears whenever someone asked me how I was doing. I found things to do instead of cry.

But I haven’t given myself the leisure to examine the way I’ve felt until now. And see! I’ve filled it with recaps and observations. Of course, I doubt I’ll ever share the depths of what I do feel, but I felt an obligation to announce that Yes! I yet live! This is what I felt like writing. So yes, perhaps I’ve made a good start.

This week has been a shock of quietude, at least during the day. I am still swamped with work; we have looming deadlines and a shortage of hours to complete them. And with the rest of the Brigade’s soldiers yet to deploy, there have been plenty of excuses to get myself out of the apartment and savor what time I have remaining with the friends who haven’t yet left.

I suppose I’m finding out how good I am at distracting myself. Give me another couple of weeks, for them to leave, for me to finish my annual pilgrimage to the land of fluffy critters and blue ribbons, for the familiar structure of weekend parties and summer business to taper off… and I think perhaps I will have time to fully feel all that has happened.

Oops. No. I have a choir audition tomorrow. Perhaps instead of writing it all down, I’ll find myself singing it out. That’s always worked well for me…

I suppose I should write something. After all, it’s been a year since I began this leg of the journey.

A year ago I’d just finished my first week of working at Council, living in DC, and learning how to live outside my comfort zone.

A year later I’m back in Davis, living far more independently than the last time I was here, and learning how to adjust my comfort zone to accommodate who I’ve become.

I catch myself missing my life in DC, especially with the weather turning and the leaves beginning to fall. Twelve months ago I was still infatuated with an idealized version of the past. I still am, though the nature of that past is mutable and scintillating. Looking back on a year ago is like gazing through a soap bubble. Some things are blown large, others pushed to the edges, colors shifted and movement exaggerated. I’ve changed, too. From pushing myself to expand my boundaries and get Out! each weekend, I am pushing myself to be satisfied with this smaller circle.

I know now that I can survive and even begin to thrive without my California circle. I know that I cannot go long without seeing people whom I love. I need a touchstone every month or so to reassure me that I have not lost them, that they are still there though our lives move in different paths. I could do it again – I could return to DC and forge a new happiness. I catch myself longing for that larger, faster life.

I also catch myself in moments of contentment and happiness, and I wonder how long I can make them last. Where once I would have loved to remain in Davis, I find now that I am looking to the next place. I am not totally happy with the rhythm of my life right now, but it is working for me far better than the last iteration. I get in plenty of travel, and in the last six years my appetite for travel has only increased. I’m feeling a lot more at home now than in the last apartment I inhabited. But this is not where I will remain forever.

I feel as though I’m rushing with a current toward an edge, as though the spring will bring with it a torrent of change. Where two years ago that spring was full of lassitude and aimless uncertainty, and a year ago a mix of entrapment and excitement, this one promises greater confidence and clarity.

Check with me in a few months to see how I feel then. I am far, far better off now than a year ago, and that was better than the year before. I’m getting closer, ever closer, and one day I shall arrive.

Another week – or nearly month – has come and gone, I’ve survived a deadline and (as Bob puts it) managed expectations… though I don’t feel all that satisfied with it.

I’ve moved, I’ve been lazy, I’ve been distracted and diffused and just not altogether in any one place… except when I’ve been spending time with David. The last couple of weekends have been lovely (and loverly) – making it difficult to maintain focus on a slightly less delightful daily life. That said, things are going measurably better here in the real world now than they had been. Incremental changes, yes?

Meanwhile, new place is working out well. Kitties are happy and affectionate and quite adorable as always. I find it easier and even more restful to spend evenings at home, which, really, was the whole point, wasn’t it? There are plans in the works for future celebrations, there is money in my bank account, and I have events on my horizon. Why do I miss the scholastic life so much?

I think I may be falling in love with San Francisco… Seattle… Portland… those lovely cities on the west coast, holders of culture and interest. Perhaps I’ve simply outgrown Davis.

Any recommendations for graduate schools and topics of study?

I am a creature of contradictions, frustrations, and easy joys.

Seattle and surrounding areas were gorgeous this weekend – snow, sunlight, friends, boyfriend, explorations, roses, and chocolate. I managed to acquire the flu from a coworker so I’ve spent the last few days popping pills to keep the fever down but apart from the sick I had a fine old time.

March approacheth, with all the huge project milestones and beta and visitors and friends and conferences… birthday and festivals and springtime. April with its copious travel to California. I am a springtime kind of girl.

I find it harder and harder to resist the idea of returning to the west coast. I am also becoming more and more comfortable in this city. I’m not really sure how these two reconcile themselves with each other, but here I am. I am searching for housing without really wanting to do so, which is an awkward frame of mind to be in.

My cell phone got bricked last week – by which I mean that a “software update” allegedly from AT&T turned my cell phone into a beautiful, expensive brick. The warranty replacement phone should arrive soon, but in the meantime I am without calling ability. Perhaps I’ll try some of you on Skype.

Work is busy, stressful, pressured, and rather satisfying. I come home too exhausted to think very clearly, but I am glad to have full days.

I have roses and chocolates on my desk. I’m cautious in believing that this is a happy February but here is the evidence in front of me, denying the last five years’ experience. I can’t describe how relieved I am.

It’s not that I don’t have my share of disappointments and frustrations, it’s more that I’ve got far more things keeping me interested and hopeful in the world than I’ve had in previous Februaries. I’ve their experience to remind me that it does get better – indeed, look at where I am right now.

Now, if only I could straighten out the cell phone, housing, and need for a teleporter… I’d be set.

A lot’s changed in the last twelve months.

I graduated from UC Davis.
I got my driver’s license.
I acquired a most persistent state of confusion.
I lost a segment of that extended friendship-family that I’ve had since the age of three.
I got Beethoven’s 9th stuck in my head.
I worked at the Nugget.
I sang in Carmen.
I left my Davis nest and the three people who have become my brother and sisters.
I lost my dog in that most permanent way.
I had a few identity crises. Or maybe just a single, fundamental one.
I thought I was done with 4-H.
I found that I wasn’t.
I saw Boston.
I found clarity, if not closure.
I moved to the other side of the country.
I found a job I enjoy.
I have seen and heard deeply moving things, and have touched pieces of history.
I have found, or perhaps simply rediscovered, both genial and kindred spirits.

And at the close of the year, I find reasons both for great hope, and for deep sorrow. I don’t see them as two extremes on the continuum, though. I find them tangled and interwoven, each giving rise to its own grace.

It’s been a tough year, but it’s definitely ending on a high note. I’ve great grinning hopes for 2008.

…They’re really far easier when they’re a bit more sudden. The last 12 months have been both the most painful and the most joyful of my life … but then again I suppose I’ve said that before now.

I feel as though my last year in Davis has been my most rewarding: I’ve found new friends, new experiences, new connections to the town itself. The transition to non-student life, however, is still incomplete, and I have to say it’s been very difficult. I’ve always identified myself as a student. Pretty much anyone under the age of 18 (or 23 in my crowd) is a student. The primary bits of information about my friends: name, gender, school, major. It’s doubly so when you’re living in a college town. There are exceptions, but essentially you’re a prospective UCD student, a current one, a staff member, or an alumnus/alumna. I always feel a little strange in choir rehearsals when a difference is made between student and non-student status. I still have to stop myself from raising my hand.

And now the change I’ve been trying to predict for the last twelve months is looming – and I’m still trying to make it an impermanent one. That is, the choice to leave Davis. I find it difficult to foresee myself living here on a long-term basis. All my experience as a student has led me to believe that the collegiate life is a fleeting one. They tell us over and over: enjoy it while you’re here, it ends far too quickly. With that in mind, I find it a little odd and yet perfectly natural and expected for me to long to stay here. At the same time, I’ve made it my home. In the last three weeks alone, I’ve begun considering other aspects of Davis life besides the University. The layers and varieties of musical opportunity are vast! There are actually people my age here who aren’t just grad students!

But Ojai is still home and I’ve always assumed that I would return there at some point, as an independent adult. The climate is better, the mountains and beach call me home every summer and winter, and the equine Western/trail-riding lifestyle there is far more comfortable than the English/jumping/dressage scene up here. If I were in Ojai, I could easily see myself resuming it. In Davis, I don’t think I will anytime soon. There are comparable restaurants, festivals, arts and entertainment in both places.

The most difficult part? The people. I have the family I grew up with in one, the family I found and created in the other. I love both, and I’m not using the word lightly here. And I find it impossible to choose.

There’s no priority, timeline, or preference – just things I want to do.

• Get a teaching credential in English or Latin
• Take the Aestiva Romae Latinitas course from Fr. Reginald Foster in … well, Rome. He’s one of the guys who translates papal documents into Latin. And he’s American, which means I’ve a chance in hell of understanding the rest of the class.
• Go on regular trail rides again – perhaps that means getting another horse and joining ETI again. Obviously this will have to wait a while.
• Return to Italy, Hawaii, DC, Colorado, and France. Also, make at least a first journey to England, Spain, Mexico, New York, Africa, Australia, New Zealand, and Japan. I suppose that means I need to make more friends in those places.
• Get a job that I enjoy and that will allow me to do these things (in moderation of course).
• Figure out how to multilocate and travel in time (in other directions and rates than the normal).
• Own a house with enough space for pets, the occasional visitor, and a hot tub.
• Go on regular camping/skiing/mischievous trips with friends who share my ideas of fun.
• Write a book.
• Take up several arts and crafts that I’ve never had time to do… y’know, like cooking, weaving, pottery, photography, painting… there’s no limit.
• Get settled enough in one place that I can actually do these things.

The wedding… well, it was a very Jack wedding. All pretty and traditional and formalish… Greg and I traded tables with a couple of Cal Poly people and sat down at the Kiddie Table on the grass where we were safely free from looking at Jack. All the cool 4-H types were at our table, so we spent most of the reception just hanging out. It wasn’t the most fun I’ve had at a wedding but it was pretty painless. They had gorgeous flower arrangements (Alli stole one for her mom and I took one for my grandma) and every single chair was covered in Tiffany-blue tulle to look like a turquoise tutu… so we filled Jimmy’s cargo area with all the tulle that no one else wanted to take home. I think Steven still has the huge bag of it. If he does, expect mischief.

Things have been mellow in Davis. I was home alone this weekend, cleaned the whole place, and got completely desperate for human company. Had a massive flat tire on Wednesday so I finally took the bike in to the shop and got it overhauled along with a makeover. The new handlebars plus new seat, new front tire, new brake cables, new chain, and general tuning. I actually enjoy riding it now. I watched chick flicks. I walked downtown. I walked everywhere. I got the bike back. I had lunch and dinner with people I hadn’t seen or really spoken to in months. Then Steven and Alli came back from their weekend trip and I regained some sanity.

Sophie keeps meowing at the door until I open it, then sits there staring at the outside world. I think she’s waiting for Fizz. Silly kitten.

It’s been about 5 weeks since I last was able to meet with Carole (maybe more?) and my work-study runs out on Friday. Ah well, when I finally do get to catch up with her (assuming that she makes this afternoon’s meeting), at least all I’ll be doing is finishing off the last of the assignments. Then when I return in September I get to look for another job. Whee.

Supposed to have thunderstorms today – the heat’s gotten really muggy for the last two days. Alli and I have been living in swimsuits. This weekend we’ll be joining her brother and the Vander Sals (the Humboldt crew) at Anime Expo in Anaheim. Alas, Amy can’t join me for a trip to Disneyland. :’(

Next week, Alli and I are hoping to go river rafting while Steven’s at a 4-H thing, then after that we’ll all go “camping” at Uncle Buck’s cabin. And by “camping” we apparently mean “hanging out at the cabin with alcohol and board games and lounging on the beach and playing tag in the redwoods while enjoying the running water and kitchen electricity.” We’ll see when we get there.

Then it’s off home for my dad’s retirement party, back up here to pack up my stuff, then home again for two weeks and working at the Fair until 4-H State Leadership Conference in San Diego and IRELAND!

There. Now you all know what’s going on in my life.

So.
As generally happens to me whenever I’m in a situation like this, I’m consumed by whatever drives the circumstances of the moment. In this case, it’s music and singing and Carmina Burana… and I remember the last time I sang with such ease. It was the Verdi Requiem, when (as now) we had the Alumni join the University Chorus for a full day of rehearsal. 9:30 AM to 5 PM, with a 2-hour lunch break for barbecue and socializing and getting to catch up with old friends, with the voice so warmed up and loose that I can not only hit the notes I can usually hit, but actually feel comfortable at the (current) extremes of my range.

Therefore, I’m inspired to go further and study music. Really study music, theory and performance and all… not as a career per se, but because I’m feeling inspired to study it. Then again, I know my usual modus operandi and will most likely lose the drive in a day or few. I think the hard part about this one is this: when we last had a Massive Alumni Gala Event-thingy, it was at the end of Winter Quarter, so I still had 10 weeks to sing and get reaccustomed to the smaller sound. This time, it’s at the end of the year. Sigh.

And in other news, it’s Steven’s birthday, and he’s stuck driving home from San Luis Obispo. He’s a groomsman for Jack’s wedding, and got suckered into driving to Las Vegas for the bachelors’ weekend. And, being Steven, got suckered into not only driving but even picking ‘em up in SLO. So he’ll be getting home around, oh, 1 AM or worse. Ew.

Meanwhile I’m caught between stress and relaxation — Mom’s up, and staying in a hotel, and therefore I have this haven of comfort into which I can sink after rehearsal. Then I’ve still got two and a half papers left, with one and a half being the ones due Tuesday, but they’re mostly researched and nearly ready for the writing. And, of course, the more I try to avoid a person or thought or pattern of thinking, the more it recurs. Enter stress. Thus, I’m focusing on Carmina for the rest of the weekend and staying relaxed so’s I can fully enjoy it, and I’ll panic about the papers later.

If I miss a 30-in-30 post tomorrow, that’s why.

So, in a classic turn of events, I am swamped with work at the end of the quarter. I’ve already finished one of the four papers due next week (ESP 171: on pavement and runoff and pervious pavement and other such blasphemies), and I have moved on to Latin.

Yesterday I spent the day running errands, voting at the MU polling station, and reading Norman Maclean’s Young Men and Fire. Thirteen smokejumpers about my age died in a wildfire in 1949, in Mann Gulch, Montana. The book is about their last day, and the author’s efforts to find out exactly what happened. It’s a bit like James Lovell’s Lost Moon, but instead of spaceships going Boom! it’s a firestorm overtaking men in a race for their lives. This alone doesn’t disturb me; I rather enjoy this sort of sleuthing. I think what bothers me is how close it came after Angelina’s death, when I was contemplating such morbid things. The author often went back and asked “what happened? What was going through their minds?” of both the dead and the living. He actually expored this at one point; what they remember thinking during the last race to the top of the ridge where they died, reconstructing it from what the survivors remembered. Jesus asking “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” and these young men asking “am I to be struck down right now, before I’ve lived?” … reading it, I had to take several breaths between each line, which is NOT something I naturally do while reading.

So anyway, last night was a little psychologically edgy even before I went to the Carmina Burana rehearsal. My fellow altos and I spent an hour and a half sitting there while the orchestra and soloists and male singers got run through all their movements, jumping around and stopping mid-bar for Jeffrey to express his disappointment at the lack of volume or timing or tone or whatever. At least we’ve got an excellent baritone soloist! We’ve decided that he should be cast as Gaston from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. Half the choir now has a crush on him, or at least on his voice. Our soprano soloist is equally awesome. She’s shorter than me and has a speaking voice that I can only describe as cute. It’s like a cheerleader, only without the squeak. Anyway, she caught us all off-guard with her clarity and power (insert music critic here). I’m not as fond of the tenor, but then, I never am. Ah well, some of you will hear it live, and others on the DVD next fall, so I’ll leave it there for now.

Today, I showed up to the Music building at noon to help Jeffrey and Fawzi prepare for the invasion of alumni. Choir at the Music building feels dichotomous somehow; I know I fit in well with the choir, but I don’t feel quite at home in the Music department. I know what I’m doing when I’m singing in an ensemble. I have a massive inferiority complex about being around ‘real musicians’ though. Hell, maybe I should go get a second degree in music. I know after this weekend, I’ll be desperate to keep singing. But it always goes this way…

Anyway, I established myself as the queen of stuffing envelopes (w00t for 4-H training and the Ford Method — get an assembly line going!) and logistical organization. I felt at home with my fellow hosts. I just want to be on an equal level with musical experience and knowledge. Pfff. At least I have the opportunity to stay involved once a year with this group through the alumni concerts. I’ll just have to join another choir in the area.

So, now I’m working on my Latin paper. I’ve gone as far as I feel like going with Latin. I’m comfortable with simply being able to translate; I’m not a huge fan of analyzing each little word and studying the meter and feet of each line… I’m more interested in what the stories say, or could say, rather than the precise way that they’re structured and composed. I have a command of the language but no desire to study it any more deeply. Perhaps now I’ll get around (back?) to Spanish or some other Romance language…

By the way, I’ve found that for useless literature papers I default to the “find good blocks of quotes, then write around them” and “when in doubt, analyze the role of women in the work” if there’s no other topic that excites me. That’s pretty much what I’m doing for Plautus and Latin papers. For McLean, though, I think I’ll focus on the Maclean book (now, see if that confuses you) ’cause it’s been resonating with me. He’ll accept that, too, since he prefers our thoughts over the usual semantics of traditional criticism.

Now, back to work.