There and back again...

I am back this week from a few does on the North Shore...a short and very sweet visit. How I love Massachusetts...and the people that happen to reside there at this moment in life. A few Capt Dusty's runs, some Sugar Magnolia's, lots of Singing Beach, and a fair amount of drinks -- the North Shore at its best. Lex was gracious enough to allow me to stay in her freshly-moved-in room, and even kick her out of her bed. We went to the movies twice on Saturday which was hilarious. No regrets, of course. And I was able to see John's new place and hang out with Pete and Gina (and their unborn baby boy). And Matt and Josh's lovely place. And Bethany's little apartment. We're all growing up...living on our own now.

We went into Boston and had delish Vietnamese food and went to a bar near Harvard. After ordering our drinks and sipping about half, the fire alarm went off and we filed out side, without our drinks. After ten minutes and a host of firemen (firetrons?) heading into the building, we attempted to pay our waiter for our drinks (we are SUCH Gordon students) and, when we had no luck, we bolted. Jenna was our get-away car driver. She took us to an oovy-groovy lounge which we enjoyed, even with all the "atmosphere."

We were able to see Devon off before her plane ride to Europe where she'll be for the next 9 months. Nine months. When we were in college, that would have seemed like so long. And, relatively, it is quite a chunk of time. But...in the grand scheme of it all, I bet it will fly by, at least for her. I'm so glad she's able to go back to Italy and enjoy life there. I gave her a book on French customs and traditions so she could be somewhat prepared for her time there come January. And, though I'm hoping to see Steve before he takes off for Egypt, we were able to hang out extensively and talk about l'Arche and life. He's adjusting to life in l'Arche as I am, which is a nice feeling of solidarity. Come late December, he'll be flying to Egypt for the year!

Man...all this talk of travel makes me want to get up and go again. Lex and I were having dinner with Laurie (from Gordon's chapel office) and she was telling us about her trip to Ethiopia over the summer. Just the mere mention of Eastern Africa had me itching to go back, and Lex felt the same. She and I really need to get out asses over there as soon as humanly and financially possible. It's so strange how one seemingly small experience, like studying abroad for 5 months in Uganda, can remain imprinted in your brain as if no time has passed. That was, what, 2004? We are heading into 2007. And yet I have moments, once or twice a month, where I have a flash back to my time in Uganda. When I was up in Hamilton, walking along a path next to a lake, the clouds brewing a storm above, the humidity of Eastern Massachusetts hanging in the air, all I could think was, "I'm in Uganda."

I was there for 5 months. Why do I have so memories of that short experience compared to my memories of high school? My parents and I went to an Osbourn High School football game tonight for "old time's sake." I wasn't psyched about the idea...high school seems like ages ago, and it's always uncomfortable to run into those people whom you've forgotten their name, their connection to you, or what have you. It's been a long enough time, 8 years now, that few if any of my classmates were around. So...no awkward interactions. But, anyway, as I was sitting in the bleachers, listening the marching band play and watching the field, I could hardly conjure up enough high school memories to count on one hand. I spent 4 rather formative years of my life in that school. I walked on that field for homecoming.....I loitered under the bleachers with friends.....I ate lunch on the grass. So so strange that none of those memories stuck with me as vividly, as viscerally as my experience in Uganda.

Some could argue that high school was so long ago...that so much has happened since then that those old memories have faded and been replaced by new ones. Sure. This could be true. But even experiences I've had AFTER Uganda. I have a hard time recalling in the same lucid manner. I do not walk down a certain road or eat a certain dish and think "Romania." Well, I have on occasion...but those occasions are decreasing at a rapid rate. My experience in Romania didn't exactly "stick" like Uganda. I can look at pictures and read old journal entries, but I don't have the feelings and emotions associated with those things. And that's very strange. That was less than a year ago.

My time at l'Arche has officially started as of yesterday, though today I am on my "day away," as well as tomorrow. It's nice to have this time off to see my parents. We are headed to an orchard tomorrow for some apples, and then seeing "A Prayer for Owen Meany" tomorrow night in Bethesda -- quite possibly my favorite book adapted for the stage. I might bawl. Then, on again for Sunday! Still lots of stuff to learn, people to acquaint myself with, routines to learn. With every passing week, things will feel more normal, easier, natural. But for now, things are crazy!! And my room is, though monastic in size, full of character. I'm thinking...Christmas lights?

I miss...

My sister
Jacob
Portland
My friends
Gordon
Dana and Brandi and Briana (in Romania)
Diana and Cornel and Victor (in Romania)
Public transportation
The woods
Non-Starbucks coffee shops
Farmers markets
Uganda
Happy and Gayo (in Uganda)

The start of another chapter...

Well...it's clear I'm not in Oregon anymore, so my URL is a bit irrelevant. But, I still have the sensation that I am falling into the "Great Beyond," which feels something like what the unfortunate astronaught in those sci-fi movies must have experienced when her safety line is tragically severed in some freak accident and she is sent whurrling head over heels into space. I'm surprised scenes like that never gave me nightmares as a kid. Yeesh.

The feelings of "weightlessness"....better described as "planlessness," have subsided a bit now that I have a plan. My home until next summer will be 413 S Highland St, Arlington, with the occassional weekly jaunt home to Kamlea Dr. I visited the house for the first time tonight and was able to meet some of the folks and some of the assistants. It's such a new house - it's only officially been opened since August 28th, and two of the core members haven't moved in yet! But, I was able to meet Hazel and Fritz, who are cool for many reasons but especially because their names have a "z" in them. And Diane, the community coordinator, was great to talk to...and John, the DC community director, is a great guy. I felt excited about it all...and hope to get my l'Arche on soon, by the end of September.

I'm still getting over my jet-lag. I spent most of the day feeling defeated and caffiene-insensitive. I hope to get more sleep tomorrow. And, I hope to buy tickets soon for a short trip up to the Massachusetts area to see friends. For this, I am excited! But not about flying....bleh.

Photos of roses....

Here are some pictures I took at the Portland Rose Gardens when my family was in town. Flowers are my favorite things to take pictures of because they practically take themselves.

Back in EST...

I love Eastern Standard Time. And I'm glad to be back in it. It feels natural, and comfortable, like a good, worn-in shoe. Pacific Time was classy and fresh, but felt uncomfortable, more of a high-heeled boot, in keeping with the analogy. Billy Collins wrote a poem about EST in his book The Trouble With Poetry. My copy is in Romania, with Brandi Bates, and I hope it is bringing her much gladness. Here is the poem, aptly entitled, "Eastern Standard Time":

Poetry speaks to all people, it is said,
but here I would like to address
only those in my own time zone,
this proper slice of longitude
that runs from pole to snowy pole
down the globe through Montreal to Bogota.

Oh, fellow inhabitants of this singular band,
sitting up in your many beds this morning—
the sun falling through the windows
and casting a shadow on the sundial—
consider those in other zones who cannot hear these words.

They are not slipping into a bathrobe as we are,
or following the smell of coffee in a timely fashion.

Rather, they are at work already,
leaning on copy machines,
hammering nails into a house-frame.

They are not swallowing a vitamin like us;
rather they are smoking a cigarette under a half moon,
even jumping around on a dance floor,
or just now sliding under the covers,
pulling down the little chains on their bed lamps.

But we are not like these others,
for at this very moment on the face of the earth,
we are standing under a hot shower,

or we are eating our breakfast,
considered by people of all zones
to be the most important meal of the day.

Later, when the time is right,
we might sit down with the boss,
wash the car, or linger at a candle-lit table,
but now is the hour for pouring the juice
and flipping the eggs with one eye on the toaster.

So let us slice a banana and uncap the jam,
lift our brimming spoons of milk,
and leave it to the others to lower a flag
or spin absurdly in a barber’s chair—
those antipodal oddballs, always early or late.

Let us praise Sir Stanford Fleming,
the Canadian genius who first scored
with these lines the length of the spinning earth.

Let us move together through the rest of this day
passing in unison from light to shadow,
coasting over the crest of noon
into the valley of the evening
and then, holding hands, slip into the deeper valley of night.

Back to school? Not so much...

Yesterday, as I was walking over to the Nehalem House in the morning, I could sense that the summer was on its way out, and that autumn was creeping in, covertly in some parts of the country, overtly in others. Fall is my favorite season for a number of reasons, so the prospect of summer ending doesn't have me too upset. I love the brisk-but-not-too-cold weather, the transformation of the trees from green to gold and orange and maroon, apple-picking and pie-making, Halloween and Thanksgiving. But another thing I really love about Fall is that it means school is starting up again -- new classes, fresh text books, and a reunion with all those people whom I've missed during the summer months. When I was walking yesterday morning, I had a profound sense of saddness, a sense of "loss," that such a reunion at the end of the summer is no longer inevitable. We're done. We're graduated. That's it. There's no longer a mutual point where we will all congregate come late August. Instead, we are scattered about here and there, everywhere.

This time last year, I was moving into the Hull St House. I remember Sam slept on the living room floor on his big inflatable mattress because I didn't want to be alone. I was finishing up my time at Russell Orchards, squeezing in a few more trips to the beach, and getting mentally ready for classes again. I remember when Devon and Lex and Bethany and Ray came, how our stuff was everywhere, and Devon and I kept rearranging the living room furniture over and over again. And I remember watching an entire season of Lost in about two sittings. Hilarious memories (and bittersweet ones) from the Hull St House.

Fall has always been a season of change. The warm weather packs up and heads south, the cold weather slowly moves in. Out come the jeans and sweaters. The landscape changes, the crops are harvested. But for the last four years, fall meant continuity, heading back home to Gordon to live once again with friends. This year, fall really will mean change. It's times like these that help me remember what I am thankful for, for all the memories made and friendships crafted over the years. Of course, there was a time when Gordon was new, foriegn. And it soon became home. And there was a time when Portland was foriegn, when l'Arche was foriegn.

We all ease into our environments over time...I haven't lived in the same bed for more than a year since I was in highschool. Just in the past few months, I've moved from my room in Evans during last summer to the Hull St House to home in VA to Romania to Hull St again to VA again to Portland, and now back to VA. All this moving and transition makes me feel like a nomad. Just this summer, I lived three days at one house, two days at the next, two days at Jacob's. Here there and everywhere.

Though I am indeed not going back to school this August (in fact, it's already started for most), it is a relief not to be back in class and over-involved in this or that activity. I have slept more this summer than all my years in college combined. I have been able to read at my own place, learn through experience, and see another part of the country. It will be good to have this time away before heading back in to school come next fall.

Random note to self: buy the new Outkast cd. Jordan (Jacob's cousin) is playing it outside my door and I'm enjoying it immensely.

On that random note, I'm out. Time to chill with the folks.