Christmas

The trees in the backyard of my childhood home are gone. The dead grass stares with shock at the open sky, still unable to believe that the winter sun is touching the crisp brown fingers with it's delicious chlorophyll-producing light. A metal building now stands to the back of the lot, and harsh stumps dot the ground like low fibrous tables. When the seedling stood there 100 years ago, who could have known I would be the one to stand tall on the remains of the fallen tree?

Christmas is a time for cutting down evergreens. So now the pines are indeed cut down, and are turned into nevergreens instead. I don't dislike the new shop building. It hides away the back corner of the yard, and provides a dark and leafy tunnel my girlhood eyes would have seen as a place of magic. I joke to my father that it is unfair that he only just now built a clubhouse out back when I am finally married and moved away. But the empty cement floor will soon be filled with my grandparent's belongings. My old room will be given to my sister, and my sister's room will be given to them, and our sour old cat will not be able to find a quiet room in the house.

My greatest gift was to see my family this year. I love them very much. <3 I got a lot of other awesome things that represent warmth (a coat), harmony (the piano), support (money), and walking down diverging paths (new boots), etc. It's funny to me to think of them being so far away. I can communicate with them so easily, and the streets of the city are so familiar I can hardly believe how much land passes under the wheels of my car when I get into it in Texas and get out again in Louisiana. Mental space and actual space are at odds.

For example, I am amazed that there is a box in which I live called a house that is discreet from everyone else's house. My current house is just a variation on the larger idea of the House, yet is unique and individual and very different from the house I grew up in. Conversely, my I feel no distance between Haughton and Austin when I consider the space between my two homes. My Home exists in a few places simultaneously. So my physical houses are far apart, yet my homes are close.

Luckily, technology does a very good job of making the world feel so much smaller than it is. It hides the physical gaps using the pulsations of ephemeral electrons over wire. I am capable of a much broader awareness than ever before in human history. I am, on occasion, fooled into thinking that I am actually experiencing life more fully through the pixels than I would without them.

What I cannot allow myself to forget, however, is that sometimes those broad horizons can dull my sense of wonder. Though the homes in my heart are close together, there is nothing so great as holding on to the neck of a person I love. Though I can see photos of the raized backyard, the best perspective can only be obtained from the top of a cold stump.

I am not sad about the changes that come with growing up and moving away. In my mind, it all runs together like watercolors anyway. The edges of each thing bleed together into a solid wall of memory and light. But in the real world, where I and Thou must be clearly defined, it is good to come home for the holidays, and it is good to go through the rituals of the season. All the screws are tightened up and all the knots adjusted, and everything is made orderly. Changes are noted down in the log, and pins are pushed into maps. What I am trying to say is, seeing the people I love is Good and Right and of benefit to the universe. The sailing is made smooth.

So I send holiday warmth to everyone. I saw some of you, missed others, but still hold you all close to my heart. Blessings.  ¶ 19:33

The New Life

I got married on September 27th, 2008. I kept meaning to write about it, but I've been too busy setting up my new life to do so. I guess it's a bit late to summarize the experience, isn't it? It's not really fresh in my mind. Most of you have already seen the facebook images anyway. All I can really say is that it was wonderful. I'm so thankful for all the friends and family who made the day special. And I'm even thankful for those who couldn't make it for all your well-wishes and years of love. You rock.

So I moved to Austin, Texas with Jeff and into the tiniest apartment ever. I also got a job at St. David's hospital in the ICU working nights. Then, this weekend, I moved into Unit B of a roomy duplex. Our friends occupy Unit A, which is great. But we had a dilemma; what do we call the place? It's no longer just "Arthur's Place" or "Jeff's Place". So we decided, rather ridiculously, to refer to the building as "Seabrook Manor".

The Manor is about halfway unpacked and organized, though there is still a lot we need to do to get the place completely fixed up. I thought you'd like to see the place anyway, so here is a messy tour.

The outside of the building, and our cars. Mine is barely clunking along these days. We'll have to buy another for me within a month, I'm certain. Something interesting: you can see the very large blue recycling bin by the side of the house. Austin has curbside mixed recycling pickup. This apparently comes from a law that if tenants want to recycle, landlords are required to provide the service. This makes it very easy for me to dispose of all those Diet Coke cans in a green fashion. With the number I drink a year, I'm convinced I'll make a significant impact on the environment. Perhaps even stop global warming personally.
My poinsettias are the only meager Christmas decorations about at this point, though a tree is surely in the near future. When it gets summery, I might need a rocking chair for that thar porch.

Backyard. The bucket came with the place, so Jeff used it to accidentally spill water all over the upstairs bathroom. It was then banished to the back porch.

Through the front door is the still-messy living room. Here Jeff has taken all his CD cases out of the CD towers to organize them. He is very pleased about this, as you can see, but we find we're going to have to buy another media tower to hold the contents.

If you stand at the front door and face forward, you can see into the kitchen.
And if you look a little left, there are the stairs. My left shoulder is against the coat closet, which contains exactly zero coats at the moment. (I am wearing mine, and Jeff's is some place where he won't be able to find it when we are going out.)

So here we are in the kitchen itself. The back door is there on the left, and the empty flower vase is there in the middle of the island.

The kitchen from the opposite corner. I am very thankful that I took Rachel with me when I registered for wedding gifts; otherwise I wouldn't have anything with which to fill this enormous kitchen. Along that right wall you can see the half-bathroom/laundry, the pantry door, and the under-the-stairs storage closet.
Anyway, if you go up the stairs and make a right there is a hallway. To the left are two rooms:
And to the right are the upstairs bathroom and master bedroom.

The left room in the Y is what we're calling The Library. I'm hoping it will eventually become a guest bedroom at some point... but for now it's just books...
...lots of books.

To the right is a very empty computer room. We're going to set up another desk for Jeff's computer soon, and I'm sure I'll eventually use it for art too. You can see the still-incomplete painting of the naked lady there in the corner. One day I need to finish her, but I just don't know what to do with her feet.

Here is the really, really messy master bedroom. The bed isn't even made, for shame! There is a master bath to the right and a big walk-in closet to the left that is still so exploded I can't stand to show you. I'm hoping to finish unpacking the rest of this stuff by the end of the week.

So. That's probably an over-detailed tour of the new place. I am way excited about it. :)  ¶ 12:32