I am eating Turkish figs on the one year anniversary of my move to Austin, TX.
I am drinking Washington wine while my 60 lb southern hound dog snores on my bed.
He just turned a year old. Funny to me that a few days before I boarded a plane with 2 bags and a guitar (so wonderfully cliche, I know!) a dog mama somewhere was panting and squeezing out a litter of pups, including the shy little guy who would one day end up in my life.
As it turns out, my dog and I were well matched. We both eat quickly, sleepy easily, and are nervous around men we don't know.
I made pancakes this morning, put on a pair of jorts and a t-shirt, and went for a long walk with the pup.
I let myself bask in the glow of January sunshine, felt that cool breeze a blowin' and did a bit of thinking on the past year.
Texas has given me the big space I needed, and I feel like I am in the middle of a wide prairie, not yet able to see the horizon, or what might come next.
There is momentum to my inner life, and also lots of uncertainty, which is difficult for me to sit with.
Over the holidays I was lamenting to one of my friends my feelings about grief, and loss, and my tendency to attempt to prepare for these cannonballs, or stave off what I see as inevitable sadness. She gently reminded me that this is what life is- sadness and joy exist together, and in truth all these things WILL come to pass. In other words, the cold prickly's and the warm fuzzy's live in one big house together, and they are just fine with the arrangement. She asked if there was some kind of motto I could say to myself that might remind me of this.
I imagined myself walking around the pond by my house, all of a sudden yelling, "This is all going to end! Yep! Everything is going to end!"
Might as well get myself an evangelical sign and park myself outside a grocery store.
But the more I thought about my motto, the more it rang true.
I started thinking about Mary Oliver, how I read her poems in the White Mountains of California almost ten years ago, waking to the sunrise over the Sierras, and feeling like I was home.
I thought about Billy Collins, how I think of his poem "Dharma" when I look at Guthrie, how I buzz around the house on espresso early in the mornings, during that sacred time when I eat yogurt and sing along to Gillian Welch or Neko Case, and let my hair stay uncombed.
I remembered Annie Dilliard's "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek," how I read it on the subway in Manhattan, and it felt more like a morning prayer then anything else.
I thought about these poets of mine, that so many of us love, who help us to hit that high note of sorrow or makes some sense of the big mystery before us.
I thought about how it's all going to end, and how maybe that isn't such a bad thing. It's just a thing. It doesn't mean it is easy, or simple.
I went and read Mary Oliver's poem "In Blackwater Woods," and found these lines, which I have known by heart for several years.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
I'm gonna keep working on the third thing.
And in the meantime, I promise to tell you more stories of alligator fish and drunken italian waiters, Polish boyfriends and vegan donuts, and everything else that Texas has to offer as we stride along into year number two.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Pleasanton: Birthplace of the Cowboy
Driving South on US Highway 281, just south of San Antonio, one may stumble upon the small town of Pleasanton, Texas. Their motto is, "filled with live oaks and friendly folks," and their town appeared to be filled with grocery stores, tex mex restaurants, old trees and big skies. Along the road, which skirted ranches and old farms, trailer parks and picnic areas, a signed loomed large on the horizon, declaring that this town of approx. 8,000 was the BIRTHPLACE OF THE COWBOY.
Texas is overwhelmingly filled with small towns such as Pleasanton, many of them ending in "ville", and none of them seeming like places a northern city gal like me would be likely to call home.
It had been rainy the morning I left, in the purple pick-up truck with Guthrie and Steven Markowski, who is a new and much adored character in this Texas novel I have been a writin' as of late. We stopped for coffee and a hamburger, and Guthrie watched us through the window of the truck, anxious to lay his head back on Steven's shoulder as we drove onward to historic Pleasanton, on an errand to procure a special christmas gift for his twin brother.
The past couple months have been rife with such adventures, exploring beautiful swimming holes, Mt. Bonnell in the wee hours of the morning, the little town of Rockdale where we posted up at the family land for a night, where we ate polish sausage and watched bad movies on television. Guthrie thought he had died and gone to heaven at the little Ranch House in Rockdale- while Steven and I were busy cutting down tiny christmas trees and letting me drive the farm truck through the woods, the dog ran so fast that he tripped on his paws and almost ate shit. He then proceeded to ACTUALLY eat shit, and promptly threw up.
We got a flat tire on the truck and Steven showed me how to fix it. Soon I will learn to drive stick, I swear!
I remember now my Uncle Glen, on his motorcycle visit through Austin with my Uncle Eric at the end of June, telling me gently that I never knew what good things might be just around the corner. Glen, I believe you were right.
I had the chance to visit my family in Charlottesville, Virginia (a "ville" I love dearly!) at the end of September. My Mom flew from Seattle, and I from Austin, and we spent a long weekend at my Grandfather's house, drinking weak coffee and going out to eat Southern meals with the rest of the family. I had a giant hamburger steak with greens beans and pinto beans, and then a slice of peanut butter pie. My dashing 21 year old cousin asked the young waitress if she had seen a particular television show, and she replied with a drawl- "honey, we don't get cable down in the holler."
We drove the Blue Ridge Parkway at sunset, and while the temperature dropped quickly we arranged ourselves for photos and watched the colors change over the Blue Ridge Mountains, those round peaks lookin' like a pretty picture in their fall dresses.
One night we sat around a campfire with my Grandpa, my Aunt Ellen and Uncle Glen, and two of their kids, shelling peanuts and telling stories with the country stars hanging low and bright above us. My Grandfather, despite the loss of Miss Alice, is still full of wit and charm, keeping himself busy with continental travels, pottery collecting, poetry writin' and tri-weekly trips to the gym. He parks his truck a mile and a half from the swimming pool at the University of Virginia and bikes the rest of the way. He is extremely fit, but his reasoning is more about saving money on parking then anything else. I appreciate the man's style. :)
More recently, I saw more of my extended family, these members being the chosen variety, plucked from the hilly streets of Seattle during the epic days of the Wallingford house. That's right folks, my christmas present this year was a visit from none other then Samm Mason, Kyle Hunter, and Maria Lewis! Samm arrived on a rainy 40 degree christmas eve that reminded me of home, and we exchanged panda presents around my little Rockdale tree, she nursing a cold, and both of us nursing a hot toddy. I ventured out on Christmas night to bring home take out thai food, and we sat curled on the couch with Guthrie, who was intent on being in the middle of whatever it was we were doing.
A few days later Kyle and Maria arrived, and blessedly, the sunshine came with them! The trip flowed together like one big trip down memory lane- every morning there was hours of sitting in the sun on the front porch, filling up the french press and making bloody mary's and big breakfasts of bacon and eggs. I walked the dog and we did the dishes, then hopped on bikes to explore the Greenbelt and tool around the city. We found ourselves with a thermos full of margaritas on the pedestrian bridge one night, looking out at Town Lake and the city skyline. I think I felt complete once more, with these friends in my home, draped over chairs and couches, reminiscing and gearing up for what will surely a big next few years. It's nice to feel grounded by close relationships, and it's important to remember who you are, around people who love you so freely and with such ease.
Our trip ended around New Year's, sitting in the big room above Royal Blue Grocery, wood floors and big windows looking out onto downtown.
The start of the New Year has been marred here in Austin by the death of a woman named Esme, who was killed by an unknown man during the wee hours of New Year's Eve. He attacked 2 other young women that night, and has not yet been found. She was a pillar of the community here- 29 years old, beautiful and good hearted, with a life full of music and friends and connecting with others. I did not know her, but feel shaken by her death. I do not know how to wrap my head around this kind of loss. It it frightening that this kind of sickness exists in the world, that there are people who have such darkness and horrible intent inside them. I am trying to put energy into keeping myself safe, and hoping that her family and friends will find a way to honor her, and grieve her loss, and heal.
And so, yet again, I am humbled by all that I do not understand. I hope for this new year some simple things for myself. Learn how to cook Polish food. Practice the banjo. Learn how to drive stick. Write more.
I was re-reading some books by Gail Caldwell, my favorite author as of late (and native Texan) and found this quote by George Eliot at the beginning of her memoir "Lets take the Long Way Home."
"The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone."
Let us hope we all find our Pleasanton in this life- some little place where we can sit under shady trees and feel content. In the meantime, be well, and be safe.
Texas is overwhelmingly filled with small towns such as Pleasanton, many of them ending in "ville", and none of them seeming like places a northern city gal like me would be likely to call home.
It had been rainy the morning I left, in the purple pick-up truck with Guthrie and Steven Markowski, who is a new and much adored character in this Texas novel I have been a writin' as of late. We stopped for coffee and a hamburger, and Guthrie watched us through the window of the truck, anxious to lay his head back on Steven's shoulder as we drove onward to historic Pleasanton, on an errand to procure a special christmas gift for his twin brother.
The past couple months have been rife with such adventures, exploring beautiful swimming holes, Mt. Bonnell in the wee hours of the morning, the little town of Rockdale where we posted up at the family land for a night, where we ate polish sausage and watched bad movies on television. Guthrie thought he had died and gone to heaven at the little Ranch House in Rockdale- while Steven and I were busy cutting down tiny christmas trees and letting me drive the farm truck through the woods, the dog ran so fast that he tripped on his paws and almost ate shit. He then proceeded to ACTUALLY eat shit, and promptly threw up.
We got a flat tire on the truck and Steven showed me how to fix it. Soon I will learn to drive stick, I swear!
I remember now my Uncle Glen, on his motorcycle visit through Austin with my Uncle Eric at the end of June, telling me gently that I never knew what good things might be just around the corner. Glen, I believe you were right.
I had the chance to visit my family in Charlottesville, Virginia (a "ville" I love dearly!) at the end of September. My Mom flew from Seattle, and I from Austin, and we spent a long weekend at my Grandfather's house, drinking weak coffee and going out to eat Southern meals with the rest of the family. I had a giant hamburger steak with greens beans and pinto beans, and then a slice of peanut butter pie. My dashing 21 year old cousin asked the young waitress if she had seen a particular television show, and she replied with a drawl- "honey, we don't get cable down in the holler."
We drove the Blue Ridge Parkway at sunset, and while the temperature dropped quickly we arranged ourselves for photos and watched the colors change over the Blue Ridge Mountains, those round peaks lookin' like a pretty picture in their fall dresses.
One night we sat around a campfire with my Grandpa, my Aunt Ellen and Uncle Glen, and two of their kids, shelling peanuts and telling stories with the country stars hanging low and bright above us. My Grandfather, despite the loss of Miss Alice, is still full of wit and charm, keeping himself busy with continental travels, pottery collecting, poetry writin' and tri-weekly trips to the gym. He parks his truck a mile and a half from the swimming pool at the University of Virginia and bikes the rest of the way. He is extremely fit, but his reasoning is more about saving money on parking then anything else. I appreciate the man's style. :)
More recently, I saw more of my extended family, these members being the chosen variety, plucked from the hilly streets of Seattle during the epic days of the Wallingford house. That's right folks, my christmas present this year was a visit from none other then Samm Mason, Kyle Hunter, and Maria Lewis! Samm arrived on a rainy 40 degree christmas eve that reminded me of home, and we exchanged panda presents around my little Rockdale tree, she nursing a cold, and both of us nursing a hot toddy. I ventured out on Christmas night to bring home take out thai food, and we sat curled on the couch with Guthrie, who was intent on being in the middle of whatever it was we were doing.
A few days later Kyle and Maria arrived, and blessedly, the sunshine came with them! The trip flowed together like one big trip down memory lane- every morning there was hours of sitting in the sun on the front porch, filling up the french press and making bloody mary's and big breakfasts of bacon and eggs. I walked the dog and we did the dishes, then hopped on bikes to explore the Greenbelt and tool around the city. We found ourselves with a thermos full of margaritas on the pedestrian bridge one night, looking out at Town Lake and the city skyline. I think I felt complete once more, with these friends in my home, draped over chairs and couches, reminiscing and gearing up for what will surely a big next few years. It's nice to feel grounded by close relationships, and it's important to remember who you are, around people who love you so freely and with such ease.
Our trip ended around New Year's, sitting in the big room above Royal Blue Grocery, wood floors and big windows looking out onto downtown.
The start of the New Year has been marred here in Austin by the death of a woman named Esme, who was killed by an unknown man during the wee hours of New Year's Eve. He attacked 2 other young women that night, and has not yet been found. She was a pillar of the community here- 29 years old, beautiful and good hearted, with a life full of music and friends and connecting with others. I did not know her, but feel shaken by her death. I do not know how to wrap my head around this kind of loss. It it frightening that this kind of sickness exists in the world, that there are people who have such darkness and horrible intent inside them. I am trying to put energy into keeping myself safe, and hoping that her family and friends will find a way to honor her, and grieve her loss, and heal.
And so, yet again, I am humbled by all that I do not understand. I hope for this new year some simple things for myself. Learn how to cook Polish food. Practice the banjo. Learn how to drive stick. Write more.
I was re-reading some books by Gail Caldwell, my favorite author as of late (and native Texan) and found this quote by George Eliot at the beginning of her memoir "Lets take the Long Way Home."
"The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us, and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone."
Let us hope we all find our Pleasanton in this life- some little place where we can sit under shady trees and feel content. In the meantime, be well, and be safe.
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