Open Book

One small step for the economy. One giant step toward moving on.

Sundries

The air outside is bitter. It's the kind of cold that serves no good purpose beyond keeping lip balm and woolen gloves relevant to the world at large, biting and almost painful when it hits your skin. The bare trees look stark and brittle, and even the clouds in the sky seem to be grimacing today. The absence of snow makes a mockery of this kind of winter day, the sort that features all of the cruelty of the season with none of the white drifting beauty or dreamy sentimentality.

But it's warm and toasty here in the house on this lazy Sunday afternoon. I've got a new book to read, hot tea to savor and Mountaineer basketball on TV to help keep my heart rate up.

_________________

There is news on the house. Even after seven showings and one open house, it all feels so premature. Still, it's the kind of news that fosters the anxious roil in your belly, ensuring that the sleep that comes tonight will be a restless peace. A couple is ready to make an offer on a house. They have received on contract on theirs and are determined to make a decision on their new home by end of day Monday.

Turns out, our humble abode is currently the front runner on their list. You know - and I well know - that can change in the blink of an eye, not to mention in the time it takes to tour three other homes alongside a return visit to ours tomorrow. I'm trying hard not to get my hopes up, but I confess to finding many encouraging notes in the midst of all the back and forth today.

For starters, this couple got a contract on their house, meaning people are still buying, economic news of the day be damned. For next, this couple found enough to like about this place to rank it high on their list of possibilities, and this news brings with it a shoring up of my belief that this is a desirable, likable, livable home with appeal. For yet another, this couple is not the only couple expressing serious interest. Whether it ends up that they are the right ones for the house and the house is the right one for them or not, I'm opting to see the optimism in the situation going forward.

If they do make us an offer, my son and I have to find temporary shelter by the third week of February. This won't be difficult, but it will be a bit of a pain in the arse, a bit sooner than anticipated.

If they don't make us an offer, my realtor is hosting an open house here from 3 - 5:30 on - wait for it - SUPER BOWL SUNDAY. I'm convinced he just wants to watch the pre-game on our big screen. Why else, PRAY TELL, would anybody schedule such a thing on such a day?

There it is. Either way, I'm attempting to pretend I can just go with the flow. Whatever happens, happens. Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be.

You believe me, right?

Pffffffft.

Yeah, whatever.

_________________

Okay, so to change the subject.

Back to new books to read.

I always like to keep a book in the car for reading at lunch, or in lines while running errands, or wherever the time presents itself. These are usually anthologies of some sort; short bites of the written word that can be consumed in a single sitting. The 'Best American' series is a perennial favorite, particularly suited for the task. Collections by Joan Didion, David Sedaris, Alice Munro, and James Baldwin are perfect for the job, too. 

Today, while fleeing the house for yet another parade of visitors potential buyers, I went to the bookstore, unused gift card in hand. I was feeling a bit adventurous. A bit in need of some honing of my not quite razor sharp knowledge of history, both American and of the worldly variety. And in my wandering through the stacks upon stacks of possibilities, I stumbled quite accidentally on two of the very most perfect little books imaginable.

The first is a smallish paperback by E.H. Gombrich entitled A Little History of the World. Originally published in 1936, with a few revisions through the years, the book is nonetheless new to me. Here is the selling paragraph from the inside flap:

In forty concise chapters, Gombrich tells the story of man from the Stone Age to the atomic bomb. In between emerges a colorful picture of wars and conquests, grand works of art, and the spread and limitations of science. This is a text dominated not by dates and facts, but by the sweep of mankind's experience across the centuries, a guide to humanity's achievements, and an acute witness to its frailties. The product of a generous and human sensibility, this timeless account makes intelligible the full span of human history.

I am already 65 pages in, and I do not foresee having the pleasure of this book's company for many lunches in my future, as it will likely be devoured as a weekend feast before that opportunity presents itself. I am enamored, well and fully, and should you care to engage in discourse about the Ionian revolt or Brahma and the transmigration of souls, I should now welcome the conversation heartily.

The second purchase is one trained more on this country's past. It is a title from Kenneth C. Davis' 'Don't Know Much' series: Everything you Need to Know About American History but Never Learned.

I cannot tell a lie: I cheated and skimmed ahead. It's got all the makings of one helluva ride. And now I have to hide this book from myself in order to finish the first one, well, first. So if you know already, don't tell me how it ends!

There are worse things in life than being a total geek, I tell you what.

"We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things."

1. Today's title comes from a little speech you may have heard about, given in our nation's capital on Tuesday afternoon. It is, I think, my favorite line of the day, because it is a belief I've held very close to my heart for quite a long time, particularly as it applies to all things political.

2. I really wasn't going to post on the inauguration and its meaning, the punditry and its redundancy, the Left and Right and their respective idiocy. But then it occurred to me to ask: why the hell not? And then it occurred to me to answer: well, I don't rightly know why not. So, all internal communing behind me, here are a thirteen or so of the thoughts simmering in my head over the past few days. Read, don't read. Comment, don't comment. It is what it is, as I see it. It's me. And I gotta be me.

3. Raleigh had a rare winter weather event the night before Inauguration Day, which resulted in my staying home, able to take in all the sights and sounds and words in full, whether consuming every detail with strict attention or taking it in as background noise to the every day. I confess to getting chills a few times. I also cringed, sighed, teared up, threw a magazine in the general direction of the classless booing few coming through my TV speakers, cheered, laughed, and mulled with a cocked eyebrow of wonder at the disarming pageantry of it all.

4. Watching as the Obamas bid a warm farewell to George and Laura Bush, I couldn't help but recall how our now former President had rallied this country together in the days immediately following September11th . For a time, he had the good will and support of the majority of this nation, joined in a unity of spirit. Americans were, in large measure, ready to stand with him and to look to him for leadership. I was struck by the thought of how different things might have turned out for his presidency, for his legacy, and for this country, if he hadn't opted to squander that swell of emotion through a convoluted series of choices, decisions and actions.

5. People do have short memories. Clinton Derangement Syndrome came well before Bush Derangement Syndrome, and in fact continues still. And yet, the Right would have you believe that such ugly political desecration is a recent creation of the Left, and that Bush has been the only President targeted with as much vile hatred. It just isn't so. Still, after a good six years of eviscerating the "nasty Left" who voiced their disdain for Bush in such vociferous, ugly terms, they already display symptoms of Obama Derangement Syndrome and seem eager to prove "anything you can do, I can do better" by demonstrating their own version of derangement will be much more repulsive than anything that came before.

6. To which I say, "Shut the fuck up, already!" "Enough!" The desire to give as good as you got is human nature. The ability to be a bigger people than those you ridicule is a force of will sometimes referred to as maturity. I am a firm believer in the need for voices of loyal opposition and dissent. Loud voices, pointed voices, impassioned voices, feet to the fire voices. However, in order to be that voice, and have it be heard - Left or Right, Democrat or Republican, Red or Blue - it must be imbued with some level of seriousness, some heft of thoughtfulness, some hint of introspect. Temper tantrum throwers and playground bullies never get their way; most of us learned this the hard way, as kids. Why can't we practice those lessons learned as the alleged grown ups we've become?

7. There are a good number of conservative principles that I share with those Right of Center. It's a worthy ideology filled with intelligent, thoughtful practitioners and sound, responsible concerns. But when such a movement has folks like Limbaugh, Coulter and Hannity as its public face, a collective like 80% of those using the Twitter hashtag #tcot striving to be the voice shaping its future, and a politician like Sarah Palin as its poster candidate? Well, *that* version of "modern conservatism" loses me, wholly.  This incarnation of the movement brings new life to Lincoln's sentiment, where he bemoaned in writing that conservatism is "adherence to the old and tried, against the new and untried."

8. There are a good number of liberal principles that I share with those Left of Center, too. But I refuse to attach myself resolutely and absolutely to any one ideology. My perspective and intrinsic beliefs cannot be painted with a single color. As I've grown older, I've come to believe it's equal parts irresponsible and confining to pledge my very individual principles to one narrow collective world view. In this election as in years past, I've supported candidates across the spectrum, on the basis of instinct and information, issue by issue.

9. That said, I am, and have been, an ardent supporter of Barack Obama. He fills me with a hopefulness for a new timbre to this nation's voice, a new transparency to this nation's actions, and a new opportunity for this nation's place in the world. He inspires me to get involved, to want to know more, and be more, and do more. His quiet confidence and emotional intelligence and clear ability to lead fill me with calm and a sense of certitude. All of that makes me, in the eyes of many, a kool-aid swilling, moonbat, cultist Obamabot. So be it.

10. The fact of the matter is I am an Obama realist. I do not agree with his views on everything, and I expect our list of disagreements will only grow longer now that he is in office. It's the inevitable truth. It's also the inevitable truth that I will make my disappointments known, when they arise. Obama is not our savior, he is not perfect, and he will never be the everything to everybody that some expect. But then, it's a ridiculous expectation, at its core.

11. My own expectations are few, but they are bold. I expect openness and accountability. I expect a continuation of listening to the broadest array of perspectives and implementing the best of ideas. I expect diligence and sincerity and integrity. I expect mistakes, and I expect ownership of the same. But, above all else, I expect him and his administration to work every day to ensure the Executive Branch regain and earn the respect of We, the People, even when doing the hard things it takes to do the right ones. And I really can't remember the last time I held that lofty an expectation of any elected official.

12. My thoughts on Inauguration Day itself? It was sensory overload, mostly. The color. The masses. The history. The pride. The moment. The money. The commentary. The exhalation. The enthusiasm. The duration. The cold. The formality. I loved Michelle's outfits, and how damn adorable are those girls? I loved Jenna and Barbara's letter to the youngest Obamas, and Michelle's thoughtful gift of an inscribed journal to Laura. I loved the bungling of the oath - what a humanizing moment! - and the joyful vibe emanating from the crowd. I loved the hug between the two Presidents - old and new - and the warm welcome the Bushes received upon returning home. I loved Aretha's amazing grace and hearing the WVU Marching Band's signature tune as played by Yo-Yo Ma and friends(!).

13. But even beyond all of that celebration, the thing I loved most was knowing that when I woke up the next day, it would be the end of the transition and the beginning of a brand new day. Let's do this. And let's do this right.

I think we can.

Hush

Thick clouds swirl through an ink black sky, protective cover for a game of peekaboo the three quarter moon is playing with the twinkling stars spattered hither and yon under its knowing watch. The wind is cold as they walk, hitting their cheeks with occasional stinging slaps, and smelling of snow. They breathe deep, filling their lungs with the cool fresh air, exhaling in exaggerated fashion, taking a measure of satisfaction in watching the staleness exit their bodies and get left behind in a wispy trail of smoke.

She hears the muffled rustle of his down jacket, sees the bright red of her scarf, out of place against the milky darkness. She feels the fingers of his hand gripping hers through the thick woolen mittens, and tastes the remnants of the hot chocolate flavored kiss they shared before setting out.

They walk in matching unhurried strides, enveloped in the special brand of quiet that only a chilly winter night can offer, when suddenly, without warning, the snow begins to fall in earnest, blanketing the earth in glistening shades of white.

They stop in unison, awed by its inspired beauty, while conversations filled with words left unspoken melt upon their tongues like so many snowflakes, no two exactly alike, no one less magnificent than another.

"When a heart is on fire, sparks always fly out of the mouth."

1. My first Thursday Thirteen of 2009, and I've decided to use quotes instead of first lines of books as titles. Broadens things a bit, and doesn't exclude lines from great reads; a win~win. This particular quote is actually a proverb, and perhaps I picked it because I wish it were proving true for me. However...

2. My first TT of 2009? I am a blog slacker, 'tis true. So many stories, so little will. So much news, so little coalescent thought. So much time, so few words. This too shall pass. Or so someone much smarter than I once said.

3. The husband has found himself a quaint little apartment he likes in the East End of Charleston, with a view of the capitol building. They'll do a six month lease, which is good timing. It's quite small, and older, and beat up, which is good for the whole bachelor pad dealio. Will he or won't he? I think he might.

4. And that brings up a subject that's bugged me for the past day or two. We went through this same routine in our move from Charleston to Richmond, and again from Richmond to Raleigh. How does it happen that I get left behind to mop up our joint life's details while he gets to go off into the wilderness and forage his new life without me? Doesn't seem quite fair, somehow.

5. Especially when you consider that this house could not feel less like my home if I were staying in a hotel. It's sterile and cold. It's devoid of (my) personality. When I come home in the evenings, I do one of two things: park myself in front of the computer until bedtime, or just go to bed.

6. I really need to get over myself in that regard and quit tiptoeing around the little bit of time I have left in this place. The Triangle is a wonderland. What the hell am I doing living like a caged animal in my last days here?

7. My daughter read Skinny Bitch just after Thanksgiving, at my recommendation. Since then, she's become a committed vegan. Now, my daughter? She never does anything halfway. She's all in, all over it, all about it or she's not. With this, she's hook, line and sinker. And I'm proud to say, she's doing it the right way, the smart way, and is - as of this moment - devout. More power to her. After I read the book, I went vegetarian for 3 1/2 weeks. Then I caved at the alter of a bacon cheeseburger.

8. My daughter the thoughtful vegan is a bit of a weird and twisted irony, in more ways than one. As a girl, she had five things on her list of "acceptable foods". Chicken nuggets, hot dogs, cheeseburgers, ice cream and cereal. Her tastes expanded as she got older - like 17 or 18 - and in recent years, she's been downright adventurous with her choices of food. But still. Quite a conversion.

9. Dad called tonight. He's in a very bad place these days. Down on himself, depressed, weak, consumed with his internal "woe is me". The man is certainly entitled, but I can't even begin to tell you how difficult these phone calls are for me. He unloads. Because he can. I listen. Because I must. And then, I'm fairly certain, we both hang up and shed a few tears.

10. His one bright light lately, however, has been my son. Bless his heart. Scott calls his grandpa all the time. The make $2 bets on games, argue over the greatest players of all time, and just talk and talk and talk about everything and nothing. The thing about these conversations, at least from where I sit hearing one side of them on occasion, is that there is rarely an opportunity for Dad to crawl inside his own head and dwell on his miseries. And that, my friends, is a gift.

11. Speaking of my son (and I probably shouldn't go here, because history teaches that pointing out the goodness in this area leads to inevitable crisis, but what the hell. I'm feeling lucky), he's fully engaged in his classes this semester. I actually caught him doing homework the other night, after he got home from work and thought I was asleep. Nearly fainted, I did. Thing is, he's taking classes he likes, and so he's interested. He's putting in the time, and so he's doing well. He's seeing results, and so he's motivated. And so it goes. He's a little tardy with the sprouting, but he's blooming where he's planted, and that does this mother's heart good.

12. The book I just finished featured the Columbine tragedy as a major plot thread. As a result, I've found myself doing an inordinate amount of googling of the subject matter. There are hundreds of thousands of pages on the internet about that horrible day, sites dedicated to "the truth", the survivors, the victims. I hesitate to admit that I now know more than I probably should, or need to, about the subject. The myriad perspectives and the literal mountain of information kept luring me and my morbid curiosity deeper and deeper into it. I would not recommend this brief flirtation with obsession to anyone, friend or foe.

13. This post reads like a bad holiday family newsletter, with odd bits of random-nimity thrown in for good measure, just because. Doesn't it?

Yeah, well.

Welcome to my world these days!

Junque Drawer

I'm not so good at the whole New Year's resolution business, but I did give a passing thought or two to the idea of being a more consistent blogger. Or at least a more thoughtful diarist. The end of 2008 and the infancy of this brand new year have certainly been full of bloggable moments and ponderable wanderings.

There were the holiday travels. The family times. The bowl game and its aftermath. There is the transition into a whole different phase of our lives. The staging of our home for sale. The departure of my husband towards his big new adventure. The giving of my official notice at work. There are an endless stream of emotions and events, thoughts and ideas, fears and excitements, hopes and dreams.

In short, there is a whole lot of the stuff of life going on here.

But, as is a frequent lament on these pages, it always seems that the fuller my actual life is, the less time there is to bother with the documentation of - or reflection on - it all.

So, here I sit, tonight, with time on my hands. The husband is far away, the son is at work. This is the first chunk of time I've had to myself, sans busywork or togetherness, in weeks. I decided to take advantage of it by doing more of the same purging, cleaning, repairing I've been doing, only this time in my head. I'm opening up the junk drawer of my mind just to see what falls out. As with most of the rooms in our home, I have no doubt that most of the contents will prove worthy of the trash pile. The thing is, I've learned something about this exercise along the way in recent days.

All of that purging may be truly ugly as it's happening.

But more often than not, it ends up leaving a beautiful, useful space in its wake.

And you gotta start somewhere.

This seems as good a place as any.

________________________

This morning, I wrote the most difficult email of my 26 year career, giving official notice of my pending departure from my place of employment. My eyes welled up with tears the entire time I was composing it, and within minutes, my boss - a man's man if ever there were - wrote me back and said, "Are you trying to make me cry?"

It was a sad day. But a happy one. A bittersweet one. I've promised them I will stay until the end of April, at a minimum, and they seem very grateful for that. They are quite open to the possibility of some ongoing contract basis work, and I am very grateful for *that*. Everyone is making me feel as if I'll be missed, and even though I know how these things go, and that I'll likely be an out of sight, out of mind piece of their pasts in due course, I'm happy to believe them, for now.

My husband is three days into his new career, and so far he has no complaints. Just a lot of enthusiasm, a lot to take in, and a lot of change to absorb. He's got a new vehicle, a new phone, a new computer. He's looking for a new (temporary) place to live. He's got new time to spend with old friends. He's got a new well to go explore tonight. And in many ways, it seems as if he's got a new lease on life. It's early yet, and things might change, but for now? He has no second thoughts about the choices he made. My relief in having secured that piece of information knows no bounds.

________________________

The house looks better than it has in years. All emptied out and lightened up. All polished up and spit shined. New paint and new light fixtures. New furniture arrangements and even a couple of new towels. So much new, new, new around here, across the board! 

Apparently, at some point along the way when I was otherwise distracted, we became a family of gluttonous sloths. At least you'd think so by the amount of stuff we've hauled out of here to the landfill (guilt), the storage unit (buried treasure!) and to Goodwill (bless their hearts). Our home feels lean and mean, tight and light. I'm enjoying being in it, cleaning the wide open spaces and trying to act like we're just borrowing the place for a while. Thinking that way, I find, makes it easier to resist the urge to trash it up again.

We took most of the advice of the stager who came to help us, and I have to say, the humble abode sure does look great. So why am I so nervous about her follow up visit on Saturday? She's going to judge me, that's why. And I really can't stand that, on any level. No matter how innocent or constructive it's meant to be.

Because I am a baby and truly need to grow the hell up.

Truly. I do. I know. 

Don't you judge me.

________________________

See? All this purging? My mind already feels a little less cluttered, and if I'm not careful, I could surely pound on this here keyboard a few hours longer. But I think I should take a break. Put some of these thoughts in temporary storage, as it were. Save some of the buried treasure for later.

Because I know, underneath it all, it's in there somewhere.

And damn if starting the process hasn't reminded me how good it feels to unearth it every now and again.