BoldUlysses.com

I finally broke down and created a long-overdue Goodreads account. I’m hopeful having a record of my progress, and something to look back on and feel satisfied about will help me stay motivated to remain more consistent with my reading. The past few months have seen a real uptick—mostly as an only-partially-successful attempt at mental/emotional escape, but regardless of the reason, I’d like to keep it going.

I used to read a lot more, especially during trips, to the degree that I developed a strong memory association between certain books and travel adventures. Here’s a very non-exhaustive list:

• Mattimeo, Landes – On Gran’s recommendation (she was a voracious reader), my mom read my brothers and I Brian Jacques’ Redwall, and we loved it. I read the next few sequels myself, and was knee-deep in this book, the third in the series, during our trip to southwestern France. We stayed on a kind of summer resort camp, with rustic single-family cabins, and I remember devouring page after page in the top bunk, in between trips through the cool forest, thick with ferns, out to the wide beaches, and down to Spain for a day trip to San Sebastián.
• Watership Down, Lyon – The back cover copy of every installment in the Redwall series always had a line about them being the “spiritual successor to…” or “in the grand tradition of…” this book, so naturally my interest was piqued, but it was a while before I got my hands on a copy, and immediately found it to be more political, allegorical, and less popcorn-ish than its would-be follow-on series. I still liked it, even though it was far more realistic, gritty, and haunting. I bought a gray rabbit hand puppet in Lyon and named it Hazel, after the book’s protagonist.
• The Great Divorce, Istanbul – Though I’d repudiate some of the reflections now, I wrote about book/location experience here. Thinking back on it, there was something almost mystical, transcendent about reading fictionalized speculation on the nature of heaven and how we interface with it, and the sensory input of that city. Several million people and I were all seeking God together, in our own ways.
• Firefox, Sorrento – This is probably the biggest location-story mismatch on this list. Still, there’s a connection, so I feel compelled to mention it. The book is a dark, pulpy techno-thriller, and the town and its environs a jaw-droppingly gorgeous slice of southern Italian picture-postcard beauty. I think I read some Frank Peretti book on the trip after Firefox, but best not to dwell on that…
• Oscar Lobster’s Fair Exchange, Brittany – This was one of the first, if not the first, book my mom read aloud to my brothers and me, summer 1987. We rented a beach house for a couple of weeks, and the story takes place at the beach (albeit a New England one), so there was some degree of correspondence. We loved it. And I started reading the Astérix series here at well; I think Astérix et Cléopâtre was the first volume I read.
• How To Build a Car, Hayesville – I have warm memories of sitting in the carport, marinating in Adrian Newey’s very readable memoir of his (thus far) time in F1, glancing up to occasionally watch a cloud or three glide across the mountaintops on the other side of the valley. I think I spent all morning, several mornings in that state, and I’d give anything to experience it again.
• A Galaxy Next Door (Vol.1), France 2022 – So, this was a cute start to a manga that unfortunately didn’t really pan out, to the point where I sold the four volumes I did end up purchasing. But given the significance of the trip, the sight and smell memories that came flooding back, and especially the fact that we all got sick with COVID and stumbled through various parts of the trip in a delirious haze, the book inadvertently embedded itself in my memories of that place and its associated emotions. I could take you to exactly where I sat on the mustard-colored couch of the architect’s house’s living room as I read certain scenes and chapters. I can’t help wishing that maybe it had been another book to receive those associations, but it’s OK. It could be worse.

P showed me her Pokémon card collection last night. This isn’t a terribly uncommon occurrence, but yesterday’s timing and just the overall feel of the event was significant. It took place in the evening, during her normally-allotted play-with-Daddy time, of which she hasn’t availed herself in quite a while. Given that our relationship has somewhat normalized after a challenging beginning to the year, I’m tempted to chalk up her lack of desire to simply growing out of that phase, the same way L has, but I need more time and evidence to really settle on that explanation. But last night’s show-and-tell session felt for all the world like a substitute event. She’s rightly proud of her collection and encyclopedic knowledge of the franchise, and isn’t the slightest bit reluctant to display either, so it’s not like I had to twist her arm to get her to walk me through her binder. I’d seen most of the cards before, but she compulsively reorganizes it, so the sequence was different than last time, and she wanted to showcase her latest acquisitions, so I gave her free rein, and tried to ask intelligent questions and make thoughtful remarks about esoteric details like printing errors and special editions. She left in a glow, I think, and I felt good as well.

Speaking of Pokémon cards, we made a field trip today to the post office to pick up a card she ordered from Japan, and drove her car, which I’ve only recently reassembled and I’m pleased to report runs spectacularly well. I suggested she drive, but she politely declined, which is fine. She’s anxious about it, especially the idea of having a panic attack while driving, so I’m giving her as much space as she needs. I do hope once the dust settles and she gets acclimated to the college routine, she’ll venture out on her own. I’m going to try to set that expectation as gently as I can. She’s a natural when it comes to the mechanics of driving, and the actual rules of the road, but her decision-making still needs some spit and polish.

For his part, L has been practicing a lot, and is making good progress, though definitely at a slower clip than his sister. He’s always been the kind to not want to try something unless he has it completely figured out, and driving is a learn-as-you-do type activity, so it’s been more difficult for him than P for that reason, among others. Still, as I’ve reminded him on numerous occasions, if little old grandmothers can drive, so can you; it’s just a basic adult skill. He’ll get there. His driving test is scheduled for early next month, so he has a few weeks for some additional practice, but it’s not like the test here is anything more than a leisurely drive around the block. If I can end the year with two kids driving themselves in their own vehicles, I’ll be a happy, satisfied man—if completely broke from insurance premiums.

I need to remember what an affirmative thing writing is sometimes. Recording something doesn’t make me feel better about an issue; in Nora Ephron’s words:

“I think you often have that sense when you write–that if you can spot something in yourself and set it down on paper, you’re free of it. And you’re not, of course; you’ve just managed to set it down on paper, that’s all.”

but I feel like it can underline and affirm an option. If I’m pondering various sides of a knotty issue, or considering between alternatives, exploring the issue in writing and then coming to a conclusion almost says “THIS is the course of action, or the position I choose.” I suppose that’s a roundabout way of expressing the simple fact that writing is helpful to me when it comes to processing complex issues, but I need to constantly remind myself of that as I type and type, chucking pennies into the void with no real emotional return, and it all feels completely futile. In a perfect world, writing would do 3 things for me: Liberate me emotionally of whatever I’m writing about, help me deliberately examine all sides of an issue and arrive at a definite conclusion, and just provide an opportunity to exercise the mental muscles of verbal self-expression. As it happens, though, the first is exceedingly rare, the second happens occasionally but not often as I’d like (witness how many times I revisit the same subject), and so I’m typically left with just the rote practice of mapping my thoughts onto a screen or page as the only constructive outcome of this activity. And really, that’s OK; sometimes just doing the thing is the thing. But in these times, I can’t help but want more, as the world floods and my olive-branched dove flits wearily over what feels like the endless surface of the endless deep. Why can’t I just pour my feelings out onto the screen where they’ll be kept, locked away behind glass, taxidermied specimens of Past Matt’s Emotional State for me to casually stroll by and say “Hmm; that’s interesting” before finding the gift shop and buying a refrigerator magnet or two?

The world is drowning. Our country’s leaders and vast army of enablers, both in the government itself and the utterly apathetic voting public, are driving us off the bridge, and it feels like it’s only a matter of time before something institutional gives way and triggers a crisis that will make this so-far mitigated encroachment seem quaint. Everything is in flux family-wise; I’m becoming acclimated to the new normal, praise God, but it would be a very tender time under normal circumstances, and D, for all her resentment over “being evicted,” is getting exactly what she wanted—responsibility-free singleness—and is checked out even more than she was when she was here, so it feels like I’m shepherding two young adults through a complex web of decisions completely alone. And then the breakup. It’s a lot, and it takes its toll, and I wish, oh how I wish I could express everything here and find solace, but I flatly type and the words stubbornly refuse to absorb any real emotion in a liberating way.

It takes faith to believe this is constructive. Writing is a means AND an end, but I have to be intentional to recognize the ends, and it gets exhausting sometimes. But it helps that I can look back on past instances where I think writing helped me arrive at some kind of conclusion, even if that conclusion just amounts to “getting everything out of my head and onto a page so I can stare at it.” That’s not nothing, and I recognize that, but I wish the sense of satisfaction would pervade me more thoroughly. In the meantime, I’ll keep writing.

I can’t imagine a nicer morning for L and I to begin our volunteering “career” at Reflection Riding. The light was mild, the shade generous, and the fan gently blew the dappled air under the potting enclosure at the native plant nursery. We were given the tour, a crash course in native plants and the philosophy of the conservancy, and then we set to work making soil and repotting as many Narrowleaf Mountain Mint plants as we could in our allotted two hours and change. L had a great time, once he got the hang of it. I forgot how much he really does love the outdoors. It reminded me of the vibe from our Cub Scout camping adventures, which I endured, but he relished (although I’ll concede there were some significant memories made during those trips). I felt very proud of him as I witnessed him in his element, happy and helpful. We even got a chance to say hello to some of the red wolves in the wildlife rehabilitation center before we left.

Earlier this evening, with a small group at the church, I watched and discussed Gather, a documentary about food sovereignty focused on Native Americans. I appreciated the film, and didn’t disagree with anything put forth in it, or during the discussion afterward, even when it took the inevitable turn toward the systemic racism baked into the Constitution, or this arbitrary notion of inalienable, God-given human rights that are supposedly self-evident, but really aren’t. I’m eager to hear Greg expand in this idea of a “theology of place” during his lecture next month, given how important the concept of place is to me; I’d like to see if it’s possible to integrate those two ideas and create a kind of emotional flexibility that would enable me to feel more at home where I currently am, and wherever I’m meant to be next.

I asked a few questions during the discussion time, but given that we were running long, didn’t get a chance to offer the comment I really wanted to, that in spite of all the hardship and struggle the subjects of the documentary (and the indigenous community writ large) has endured, I do envy them their sense of purpose. They have something they’re fighting for, even if it’s just to preserve a cultural heritage that stretches back hundreds, if not thousands of years. It gives them a nobility, a focus completely absent my own life, and the lives of thousands, millions of their more privileged non-indigenous neighbors. Am I reacting out of a place of privilege in even feeling that way as I watch? I’m not entirely sure, especially since I’ve copped to feeling envious of those who’ve gone through more personal struggles in their life because of their perspective, and ability to speak out of a place of having living through what they’re empathizing with—regardless of their ethnic background. I’ve had to construct meaning out of the flecks of domesticity in which I’m “present,” and the very ordinary mission of being a good father and wanting the best for my kids—one of the most common purposes around, and not one that confers anything distinctive. But I think that’s OK, and I’m equally wary of manufacturing an artificial sense of purpose, just to have one. None of the subjects of the documentary asked for their lives, such as they are, and for their raison d’être to flow out of it. They didn’t seek out purpose as an end in itself, but just embraced what was in front of them. The best thing I can do, at this point, is simply to hold the line, place my heart content in God’s sovereignty, and to keep my eyes open for opportunities. They’ll come.

In no particular order, with Odin on my lap as I type this, here are some thoughts about places to live.

Winston-Salem. Barring any unforeseen changes of situation, I’ll probably move back there in a few years, once L is graduated with a bachelor’s, has a career job, and P has some solid direction, college-wise. That was always the expectation when I accepted the new job back in January, although, to my employer’s infinite credit, they didn’t mandate a specific timeline for the move. But it’s job I intend to keep, and I do like the area, all the more since the visit back in late April, which helped me view it with fresh eyes and appreciate it even more (side note: It’s going to be challenging to visit again between now and Christmas given how special the previous trip was). Cost of living is a bit less than here, and the climate is a touch cooler. It’s also much closer to the ski resorts up in West Virginia. And I like North Carolina’s feel and politics more than Tennessee’s. The only real downside is it’s more flat, with no major river, so it lacks Chattanooga’s sense of place, although there are landmarks around, depending on where I choose to live.

Seattle. B lives here, as do D&R, and I would love to move there, but I think career opportunities have passed me by. Cost of living is considerably higher as well, and it’s on the other side of the country from my parents and brothers. In a perfect world, I’d love to relocate to that coast, but realistically, it’s a process that should have been started a long time ago, when I was married, and D really had no interest. It would have been too much of a shift. Still—I can’t tell you how fantastic it would be to be able to hang out with B in person whenever I wanted. I really can’t think of anyone else who coheres in terms of perspective on life, general energy level, shared lived experiences, and so on. I miss him a lot.

France. Given that I work remotely full-time, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t fantasized about moving over there and just working from 2 PM to 11 PM, the corresponding working hours in that time zone. I made it work while we were stranded there for an extra week and a half back in 2022, after all. As much as I’ve experienced, I’ve just barely scratched the surface of all the little nuances of the towns, cities and countryside over there. My memories are draped over the landscape like a blanket, but only sit on the surface; living there would be a chance to burrow down into the texture of the place, the smells and sounds, the little shops and restaurants, the hiking trails and traffic patterns. The silver lining of our unexpectedly extended stay is that by Week 3, I realized “I can do this.” I knew where to get groceries. I knew where the best baguettes were, and where the cheap gas was. I could make real headway talking with the pharmacist, or banter with the waitstaff at a restaurant. Coming back was particularly cruel after that epiphany. But it has all the same challenges as Seattle, with a few more besides, like a work visa and such. Still—I would make lifestyle sacrifices for the sake of trying.

Hayesville. The retirement dream, although if I could move there before retiring and work remotely out of the Hayesville house, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But as discussed here, it’s a little complicated. Given that it’s somewhat closer to Winston-Salem (4 hours vs. 6+ hours), I wonder if my company would be OK with me moving there directly instead of the intermediate step of the city. It has it all: Small town life, a strong sense of place, located in NC, family connections and just…the air, the smell, the sound of the wind as it ruffles the dogwood in the front yard—it’s home. As for the house itself, I’d fix it up and modernize it somewhat. I wouldn’t gut it and start over, but I’d definitely consider moving some walls around and opening up the kitchen and dining area, etc. Given that it only has a carport, I’d have to figure out some solution for the cars, but that’s a challenge I’d be more than willing to take on for the sake of living there. Maybe I could rent space at a nearby garage, or even just find a workable storage solution. On another minor note, I’d like to figure out a solution for the trash so I wouldn’t have to take it by the dump on a regular basis. I wonder if I could persuade the local trash service to stop by the end of the road? That’d be nice for long-term living there. All that said, it is a fair drive from ski resorts, or an airport, and the closest real hospital is 20 minutes down the road in Murphy, so there are downsides, but even so, I’d be a fool to dismiss it for relatively petty reasons.

P’s college orientation session was earlier this afternoon. It was long, but engaging, and very well thought-out. D accompanied us. We had already done the bulk of what they recommended (registering for classes, figuring out financial aid, getting her student ID, etc), but it was good to hear it reinforced, and to have someone official fill in the gaps in my knowledge of the process, especially when it comes to financial aid. P was a good sport during the campus-wide scavenger hunt, and even made a friend, although since her friend will be starting the pre-nursing program, and P will be studying art, it’s unlikely they’ll share any classes. I asked if they had traded contact info, and P said they hadn’t, which felt a little silly. I want her to excel academically, obviously, but most of all, I want her to find “her people” after years of feeling like something of an outsider, a misfit, in high school (even though she has a great group of girlfriends who love her to pieces) and also, to be pushed artistically. We checked out the studio spaces after orientation concluded, and to our delight, the rooms were open and unoccupied. I don’t know that she’ll have her own desk space like she did at Design Camp last year, but otherwise, there’s a lot of overlap between the two environments. She looked very comfortable and excited, all the more when she saw the lesson outline still on the whiteboard covering a lot of advanced composition and art theory, something for her to sink her teeth into after years of re-covering the basics with the lowest common denominator in high school art. I think she left feeling encouraged.

Apropos, here’s an incident that made my day. I was sitting in the library near the new book arrivals, listening to one of the orientation guides explain to the students how to check their college email and do other computer things, when the librarian interrupted her to address the whole group of 50-odd incoming students: “Is there a P_____ here who works at _____ _____?” Apparently P had dropped her work name tag (which she keeps in her purse), and the librarian had noticed it and knew it likely belonged to one of the orientees. P sheepishly identified herself and claimed her name tag, but I could tell without seeing her (I was on the other side of a partition) that she probably wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground out of embarrassment now that all her future classmates knew her name and where she worked. Little moments like that make being the dad of a teenager worthwhile.

On a more serious note, for my part, it was difficult to be back on campus, especially in the library and around the Humanities building. I felt the weight of past emotions surging toward me through the walls, ambushing me from the little visual touchstones on the grounds, restless, a touch paranoid. But—there’s nothing for it except to be there for the kids, and they won’t be there forever, so I’ll just make the best of it on the days when I’m camping out in the library or elsewhere while they’re in class. I’ll stay focused, stay on task, and who knows, maybe the keyed-up feeling will help me be more productive. We’ll see when the semester starts in a couple of weeks.

Church continues to be a blessing. This morning was the fourth time I’ve been to Sunday service, and I also attended the Mark Charles lecture, and the beading workshop, both held there. One of these days I’ll stay for lunch. I want to fellowship more with the attendees, especially those who look awkward there, like me. The theology is still orthodox, but Greg is very willing to go after what would be considered sacred cows to the evangelical establishment, like climate change and immigration, and I’m grateful for that. He’s beginning a sermon series on Philippians, and introduced it by giving some background on Paul’s establishment of the church, and how it was the powerless and lowly of the time that became its initial nucleus (a woman, a slave girl, and a jailer).

If I’m honest, it still gives me pause when inerrancy is alluded to (even though I know Greg shares my viewpoint on that), or even the primacy of scripture asserted. I appreciate how Greg leans into natural revelation far more than would be typical at most churches, but if I had my preference, scripture would be used and emphasized slightly differently than it is. And I’m keyed into masculine pronouns for God now, to the point of near-distraction. Again, like with scripture, I would make it a point to de-emphasize that, but I know the church’s heart in both cases, and they really are putting their money with their mouth is when it comes to being like Jesus to the marginalized, and being welcoming in very practical ways. They strike a good balance between pulling me out of my comfort zone, and being just familiar enough in other ways to provide a mental and emotional foothold. I think that’s OK.

Also, and this sounds (well, is) superficial, but the worship is sung in a lower key, one that I can actually sing without straining my voice, and that’s been refreshing, even if the worship itself is less professional than at other churches (it’s just Greg with his guitar, Brian with the drum and occasional harmonica riffs from the gentleman on the dais). As small as the church is, I feel like I’m able to contribute more to that side of things by actually singing out. So there’s that as well.

Somewhat relatedly, I’m starting to think my church experience growing up was more atypical than I’d always thought it was. Church was a welcoming, happy place, an extended family of sorts, and I almost always looked forward to it, and didn’t chafe against any of its teachings or emphases, or bristle at its requirements. I’m tempted to think myself naive, or just a follower—and that IS one explanation. But another, more likely one is simply that I had good, loving parents who set proper boundaries, and we attended churches that, in the main, weren’t overly legalistic but were trying to follow Christ’s example with their congregants as best they could. So my memories are untainted by any drama or hurt. But in talking with folks, I’m ashamed to admit it didn’t really register how badly many have been damaged by institutionalized religion weaponized against them. Misapplication of scripture and church members with agendas and axes to grind have caused SO much deep, lasting harm to peoples’ psyches. The silver lining, if there is one, is that it pushed them to be more self-reliant in how they sought out God and truth, more independent in their thinking, and that’s especially healthy in this day and age when people outsource so much of their opinion forming to TikTok videos or “influencers.” In a slightly perverse way, I’m actually jealous of how they came by those abilities and instincts, in the same way being cynical or jaded is an aspirational state of mind to those of us who lean more earnest. I need to strike that balance myself, actually, to more frequently practice the habit of seeking out God on my own time and in my own spaces. Being more mindful is a start, but even so, there’s a side of God in general and Christianity in particular that’s only experienced in community, so if we decide to forsake that, we’re depriving ourselves. Is institutional religion the only community in which we can experience God? Of course not. But still think there’s great value in partnering with a group of people who come together explicitly for the purpose of emphasizing their common faith. If nothing else, it reminds me that God transcends our petty differences, and is bigger than all of them.

L and I are going to start volunteering at Reflection Riding next weekend. It’ll just be helping out in the nursery for a few hours, potting plants and such, but I’m really looking forward to it. It’ll be a great chance to get him some exposure to that environment, to make some connections in the organization, and what’s more, to get to participate in taking care of the natural side of things, restoring creation just a little bit.

L’s never volunteered for anything on a regular basis, and I’ve not done so in longer than I care to admit. I always consider myself at anyone’s beck and call when it come to cars repairs or advice, genuinely happy to offer pro bono help, and that’s something I’ve done through the years when the occasion called for it. All the way back in middle school, one morning a week, my mom loaded my two brothers and I in the station wagon and we drove around delivering hot meals to people as part of the Meals on Wheels program in Durham, NC. Most of the addresses were in some pretty rough neighborhoods, and not everyone was grateful when we knocked on their door and handed them the food. Still, I look back on that experience very fondly. I felt a little awkward, but never unsafe as long as my mom and brothers were there, and some of the folks were incredibly sweet, and so thankful to just see another human being. I doubt some of them got many, if any, visitors, and I really did hate to disengage when it was clear they just wanted to talk and we had to deliver the next meal. I remember daytime TVs on in the background, tall grass, fences and bars on windows and doors, piles of unopened mail on doorsteps, old trees, musty smells and people, just people, trying to make their way in the world like we all are. I really did enjoy it, and I’m unsure why I’ve not followed up since with any official volunteering efforts. It would cross my mind from time to time, but I’d always tell myself that my kids were the front lines, as it were, of any kind of selflessness I put forth—which is true, but it’s not an either-or proposition, and I regret not demonstrating that beyond the walls of the house until now. Hopefully our time at Reflection Riding will be a small step toward making that right. Is it going to be awkward for this introvert? Yep! Will I waltz in and set the place on fire with my natural charisma? Nope! But I’ll do my best and be, if nothing else, another warm body and pair of hands helping out.

In the wake of some considered thought, I’ve decided that the words “I love you” don’t mean that much to me.

That’s an exaggeration of course, but it is true that being told that I’m loved, in isolation, may not resonate with me like it does with some others. It’s significant for me when I make the decision to say it to someone else, and while the hope is that the words will be offered in return, the content of the expression itself doesn’t move me as deeply as certain other declarations, such as:

• You’re doing a good job
• I’m proud to be with you
• You’re enough
• Thank you for what you do for me/us
• I admire you

If anyone wanted to really reassure me of their devotion and send me into internal raptures, saying (and meaning!) any of those would do the trick. For me, those are the subatomic particles of the element of love, the constituent protons and electrons that give the old familiar word its identity and structure. I’d like to think I hear them embedded within “I love you,” but experience has shown me that isn’t always the case. It’s not that I don’t enjoy being told someone considers me handsome, or complimented in another surface-level way, but a partner is going to get a lot more emotional mileage out of any of the pronouncements listed above.

I should probably also address the obvious possibility that part of the reason why the 3-word construction may have lost some of its luster is that I’ve been told that in every significant romantic relationship (4 times now), and every time, its connotations of fidelity and devotion have been walked away from, or broken outright. I half-jokingly commented a number of posts down that considering what’s happened to me, my lack of cynicism is noteworthy; well, maybe it’s there, but just buried in my subconscious, manifesting itself through a lack of emotional response to a declaration that would mean everything to anyone else. If that’s the case, who knows; maybe time will restore the expression’s resonance, coupled with an effort on my part to actively believe what the other party means when they say the words. It’s going to take intentionality; that much I know.

Had a good conversation with my brother early in the week. Among other things, I asked him for some advice about how to formulate my wishes regarding a life insurance payout, now that I’m divorced. Since the kids are underage and still in progress, it’s a little more complicated than before. I’ve been working on it all week, and I think I’ve laid out a workable plan. I’m really thankful he’s been willing to take on the role of executor, and just to have him in my corner in general. He’s very steady, and gives sound, thoughtful advice.

We talked about all manner of things, among them the Hayesville house, and he brought up something I hadn’t thought about. The house is jointly owned by my parents and my aunt, and while she doesn’t stay there as often as my parents do, she does visit at least once or twice a year, and has an attachment to the house and the area. Her husband, my uncle, is significantly older than she is, and going downhill at a decent clip. They live close to my parents, but according to my brother, my aunt has expressed a desire to relocate permanently to Hayesville when my uncle passes. Exactly how that would play out in terms of my parents’ frequent visits, I’m not sure, but it would definitely make it more challenging for me to just “escape” there for a weekend or such. I love my aunt, but the main reason to go would be to enjoy that restorative time alone. I’d like to have a conversation with my parents and get their take on it, now that I know. I have a great deal of affection for that house, and would move there in a heartbeat if my life circumstances allowed. There are just a lot of stakeholders, many cooks in the kitchen—all people of goodwill; no one’s on a power trip, which is good, but it’s still challenging to know how to navigate the web of desires and intentions, and to know which conversations to have when, etc. Fortunately, as far as my family is concerned, my parents and brothers know that I’m interested in the house. Whether that desire has been made known beyond that circle, I’m not sure.

I didn’t always feel such a strong attachment to the Hayesville house. In fact, before the first time I drove there from Chattanooga back in 2014 (?), I hadn’t been there in close to twenty years, and never felt bonded to it back then. It was just my grandmother’s mountain house, with no air conditioning, and it smelled kind of musty and was full of random things she had picked up from flea markets and thrift stores, like an old Atari 2600 and a handful of games. The TV had bunny ears, and all my tomboyish mom’s childhood toys were there, old board games and a kids’ bow and arrow and a target. So we certainly found things to keep us occupied, but it was far from a transcendent experience. What changed? Frankly, I’m not entirely sure. I’ve had several key moments there but I can’t augur a cause other than just getting older, and having experiences that intersect with those moments and breathe meaning into them:

1. Driving back in my green F150 along the twisty part of 64 that borders the Ocoee, evening sun setting in the rear view mirror, both kids sleeping in the back seat, Kings of Convenience playing softly on the stereo, arm up on the back of the front bench seat.
2. Sitting on a deck chair in the carport, watching the cloud shadows slide over the Nantahala Range in the distance, contentedly reading Adrian Newey’s memoir, a cool drink on the side table next to me.
3. Having put the kids to bed, watching old Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes in the living room with my dad, curtains drawn across the wide front windows, cozy on the couch.

There have been others, but those are the three that come immediately to mind. Maybe the common thread is that the house feels like a part of that location AND a part of my family the way no other house has—the mountains slope through the windows, and the walls have the texture of our relationships—and somehow it took me being a dad, with responsibilities and a full battery of thoughts about place, to appreciate that.

It’s been more than a month since D’s been gone. Honestly, it feels liberating. In the midst of all the hand-wringing and strife, that feeling has crept in slowly, incrementally with each little milestone, but now it feels full-grown, present. Sure, the house still needs a lot of work, but nothing feels missing, in either space or time. Everyone knows what their days and weeks consist of, for the most part, and they continue to click past—albeit mine still go by more slowly than they should, for various reasons.

I wonder sometimes if I shouldn’t put so much pressure on myself. I’m trying to do a LOT of things at once, and I occasionally have to fight the instinct to indulge my introversion, especially with regard to being more outwardly-focused in a church context, and just making friends in general. The latter is especially challenging. Not only do I have to overcome my base-level introversion, I also have to use relational muscles that have completely atrophied over the course of 18 years. Before I was married, I only ever had one really close friend, and I’d only ever had 3 of them in my entire life by the time I tied the knot at age 27. Gabe was a childhood friend, and we never really remembered a time when we weren’t close. Timothy was a once-in-a-lifetime godsend when we lived in France, and Aaron and I bonded through playing tennis and Odyssey of the Mind before we became inseparable. And even in Aaron’s case, there were (and still are) large gaps in our friendship, when we didn’t keep up with each other. The upshot of all this is that I don’t have a tried-and-true roadmap towards close friendship with another guy. And I’m 46! Talk about learning as you go… My plan at this point is to attack the problem from multiple fronts: Be open-minded and friendly at church and see who shares interests beyond spiritual things, and also explore hobby-based groups like the local astronomy club. Working remotely like I do, it’s even more important to put myself out there socially, given that I don’t have a group of local work friends to provide a daily baseline of social interaction. Don’t get me wrong—I love my coworkers, but there’s just something about being physically around other adults that I desperately need. Still, it feels like a catch-22, since I need to stay busy, especially with respect to cultivating friendships, to keep my mind from eating itself alive, but I also need restorative time alone—the space in which my thoughts run rampant.

The other mental hurdle to overcome will be the sense of being an outlier, an anomaly in groups. I remember in my parents’ church, there were always 3-4 random older men, probably divorced, that just kind of hung around, and they stood out a bit. They always seemed kind of sad, and like they didn’t really have their life together; remind you of anyone? I feel self-conscious about that, especially in a smaller church, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I am curious to find out whether or not that feeling persists in an interest-based group, so I’ll likely be hyper-aware of group composition and dynamics. We’ll just have to see how it goes. And then, after it’s done, retreat to my comfort zone and recharge.

So, let’s interact with this a bit. In a comment on this post, which I linked to a few posts down, Lindsey said:

“there are things in this world bigger than who you wake up with every morning. it becomes less agonizing in the long run if you don’t believe in soulmates, but instead believe that you could live a fulfilling life with any one of a number of equally qualified people.”

In my reply, I agreed, but tried to bolster my reply with some non sequitur about narcissism and selflessness. In retrospect, I’m not really sure what I was trying to get at. Honestly, I was probably just speaking out of my pre-marriage perspective on relationships. The post was written before D and I started dating, and all the self-talk and justification started, so I think I would have been in a clearer state of mind when considering relationship dynamics.

I do still agree, but with qualifications. Are we called to bear more significant loyalties than the one we show to our partner? Absolutely. We enter any relationship with a set of dealbreakers; on a basic and (I would hope) pretty universal level, we wouldn’t tolerate any illegal activity, or unfaithfulness, or abuse from our partner. On top of that, most of us have faith convictions that, if our partner didn’t share or worse, was openly hostile to, would cause us to think twice about continuing the relationship. So far, so good. But what I think Lindsey was getting at—and this is reinforced by the example she gave—is that even things like a career, or living location, or more surface-level considerations (not to downplay how significant they may feel to us) would be adequate reasons to leave. And that’s where I might disagree. Simply put—and this is not prescriptive—maintaining the integrity of my personal ambitions or preferences doesn’t alone justify leaving a relationship. I demonstrated that once already with D, in leaving pilot school to be with her and L. I valued my loyalty to her higher than the life track I was on. I mean, I did try to make it work, but I quickly understood the scope of what was going to be required of me, so I had to make a decision fairly early on. And the thing is, as fraught as our marriage was, and as difficult as that period of adjustment was, I’ve only had brief lapses of wondering what might have been as far as a flying career. My most significant what-ifs concern the who and the how, not the what I gave up vocation-wise.

I’ve never been a particularly ambitious person. I’ve always been unsure about whether or not that’s a personal failing. I wouldn’t consider my father ambitious; he certainly wasn’t a career climber, and passed over many promotional opportunities to continue to be in the role for which he felt suited, and which gave him the most flexibility as far as his family time. And I’ve always greatly admired and respected that intentionality, so if I’m following that framework, it feels like I’m in good company. But does that make me less defined as an individual? We’re drawn to those who have a clear vision or purpose for their life, or at least for the stage in which they’re situated, and it can be satisfying, or fill a niche in our psyche, to join them in fulfilling that vision. I’ve felt that, in the presence of people with a calling that intersects with a set of spiritual values I hold dear, especially when it concerns others who might be overlooked or ill-served by the spiritual establishment. So perhaps I’m ambitious for that.

Still, circling back to the original statement, it would never be my place to question a potential partner’s dealbreakers regarding personal ambitions or preferences, as easily-overcome as they might seem if I held them. But I would hope, at the very least, to have those conversations early in the relationship, and having reached a consensus about the “ground rules,” understanding that people evolve and grow, that there would be a bedrock of loyalty I could appeal to. In other words, if I reached the point where I could say “forever,” I would mean it, and I would hope the same for my partner. Do I believe in soulmates? No—I do agree there’s more than a single person out there by whom I would be able to be fulfilled—BUT I do push back on the notion that, once committed to someone, that we should be open to the idea that there may be another out there better suited to us as we change and develop. We’re not destined to a series of sequential partnerships, and I don’t think it’s a sign of a weakness or lack of healthy ambition to bend, even to a large degree, for our partners. Thinking otherwise feels like the equivalent of signing an emotional prenup. But everyone has their own threshold, I suppose. And to be fair to Lindsey, I don’t think she was envisioning a scenario in which someone had a new partner (or no partner at all) for each stage of their life. But I still hold that once the dealbreakers are discussed and agreed upon, in good time, once a long-term commitment of any kind is made, my highest loyalty is not necessarily to myself. If I’m understanding her point correctly, that’s where she and I might differ.

The way Mark Charles railed against the God of the OT on Sunday evening was striking—but not unsettling. There were many points of intersection between his tirade and reservations I’ve had about the depiction, especially God’s seeming capriciousness and disregard for the lives God created and endowed with God’s image in the first place. I’d never thought about the Flood narrative, in particular, from the perspective of someone deeply connected with the transcendent beauty of creation. The way God explicitly weaponized creation against itself must have seemed shockingly inconceivable to someone brought up with that worldview. I talked with Greg a little about it over lunch today. He actually sent out a follow-up email to church members (a group of which I’m not yet a part) distancing himself from some of the non-orthodox statements Charles made. I understand he has to do that, given that he’s accountable to the presbytery for the church’s doctrinal claims and what he preaches from the pulpit, but had I been a church member, I’d have thought it unnecessary. Greg did (gently) push back on Charles’ perspective and the analogies he offered to bolster it by reminding me of the effects of the Fall on creation, how it was “subjected to futility” and how its fate it bound up with ours, to a degree, and it how it doesn’t exist as a standalone, mediatory entity like Charles may believe. I think that’s true; after all, there is still a good deal of “natural evil” (hurricanes, earthquakes, other disaster) in the world that has to be accounted for somehow.

I’m still wrestling with whether to believe the Bible is God’s revelation to us, or whether it’s our attempt to understand God. Either way, it’s progressive, sequential, unfolding throughout history. I’ve given up believing the Bible is inerrant, instead taking the view that it’s “perfect with respect to its purpose” to quote this excellent Roger Olson post. But for as much as I’d like to repudiate the God of the OT as a fiction, a product of its savage, repressive cultural milieu, the question always arises: Then what standard do we use to judge whether the Bible’s description of God is accurate? Jesus’ perspective is always a good starting point; after all, he maintained “If you’ve seen me, you’ve seen the Father.” It would still take some getting used to, though; interpreting the Bible by itself is one thing (and a long-accepted practice in hermeneutics), but using parts of the Bible to explicitly reject other parts is definitely a step beyond where I’ve gone so far. Needs more thought (and prayer for wisdom).

Side note: Greg said that two of the congregants are a Unitarian and a Buddhist, respectively. This makes me very happy.

when you’re just a machine
imagining colors you can’t see?

I will never, ever take having a bed, or bedroom, for granted again. With the addition of the rug, the chair and lamp in the corner, and some wall decor, it’s become a cozy, personalized spot in the house, something I’ve not had in, frankly, decades. The cubbies in the middle of the room are particularly pleasing, given that 1) they’re full of books that make me happy, and just scanning my eyes over them is satisfying, and 2) their dark color works with the window opposite to bisect the room into sleeping and working halves. I thought they would overpower the room when I first moved them down from the loft, but they haven’t, instead creating the effect listed above. I need a ceiling fan, a side table for the chair (on order), and maybe a small ottoman, and the room will be complete, such as it is.

It was challenging to get used to sleeping in a bed again. I still have trouble sleeping most nights. Part of that is just me being used to the feeling of physical security by having a couch back behind me, and the couch’s arm in the vicinity of my feet, locating them, even though my feet overhung most couches. Sleeping in a large, flat bed alone, I have no similar reference points, and it makes me feel, well, somewhat lost, physically. I do enjoy the cats’ company, though, and it’s gotten better since I started, so here’s hoping I’ll continue to get used to it. I think tightening down the bed will help; it’s a little creaky.

In a larger sense, as much as I love this house—and I feel more attached to it than any house I’ve lived in, including the little one in Lewisville, which I loved dearly—there’s always a mental block that keeps it from really feeling like home. I think it’s a combination of the fact that I know I won’t be in Chattanooga forever, and just a slowly creeping sense of my own mortality. I know that’s heavy, but it’s true. Something deep down resists getting too attached to any one place—even those where I feel the most home, like France or Hayesville. I actually envy those who exhibit real house pride, who post pictures of their decor or room setups in a way that communicates that they’ve made a true home for themselves, someplace that completely reflects who they are. There are places that feel like home to me, but they’re larger areas, not specific living quarters. I’ve always felt almost like an imposter in my own house, mainly due to the relationship circumstances present in the house, but also that I’ve rarely devoted real resources to creating a personalized space beyond repairs and the occasional functional upgrade like a shed in the back yard, or the folding door to the pantry, etc. Maybe it will be different now. I’ve been encouraged by the success of my efforts to find decor I like and that seems to match the space; I have little faith in my interior decoration acumen. My emotions have so few safe places to land these days, so if making my house’s interior a little more satisfying to live in is one of them, I guess I’ll take what I can get.

Between my conversations with Greg, and the Mark Charles lecture earlier this evening, I feel seen by significant cohort of a faith community the way I haven’t a long while. They’re both committed Christians, deeply troubled (especially so in Charles’ case) by certain aspects of Scripture, and both either undergoing, or have undergone a process of “soft deconstruction” (to use Greg’s framing). I’ll admit, it felt really affirming to have Greg suggest having lunch again this week; I didn’t have to initiate anything. I want to pepper him with questions about the Mark Charles lecture, especially with respect to Charles’ perspective on Scripture (how he reconciles his repudiation of the God of the OT and his declaration that he’s not throwing out the Bible) and his consistent use of the gender-neutral term “Creator” for God, knowing that Greg holds—and is accountable to hold!—an orthodox view of these things. It feels appropriate that he was the one I turned to in the midst of my existential angst 5 years ago.

It’s funny, I remember wishing just a few months ago that I could find similar-minded people who were, like me, trying to square the circle, and it seems I may have found them, or at least folks who won’t be unsettled by questions that strike at core tenets of orthodoxy. Is it enough? No—but at least I’m able to pray again, to relate to God again in a way that was suppressed, crushed for the past couple of months. I felt those lines of communication opening back up again after my initial lunch with Greg, felt panicky after the first church service, but reassured after the second. I was even able to take communion this morning for the first time in ages.

I still have a lot of work to do. I’m still so far from being outwardly-focused like I should be, even as I try to strike the balance between that and self-preservation through time alone. But I think, hope, pray that I can augur a path forward. More to come.

In the interest of getting everything out of my drafts and into a permanent location, here, in no particular order, are some thoughts on Beautyland. Might be added to.

I love the “narrow focus” of the book, and of Adina’s life in general. Other than Toni and Dominic and Butternut and to a lesser degree, her mother and Miguel, relationships aren’t that significant, when a lesser book would pivot around them. Her meeting with her dad took all of two pages, and registered as barely a speed bump in her life. She didn’t travel, except for the one aborted attempt (which redeemed itself), didn’t experience the wideness of the world—but what she witnessed was just as meaningful as seeing the Taj Mahal, or Grand Canyon, or experiencing something equally transcendent with respect to other people. Her life was majestically ordinary, and dignifies all such lives to everyone who reads the story. I think that may be the book’s real genius.

I was frustrated with Miguel in particular, and I can understand how Adina felt let down in her desperation to find someone like her, or, barring that, to at least be believed. Initially, he seemed to take her reality seriously, but eventually couldn’t cop to it. The terrifying thing, for those of us who resonate with Adina’s struggle in the midst of our own perspective on the world, is that maybe Miguel did take at face value that it was her truth in the beginning—but eventually drifted away, or some prior framework of understanding reality crept back in over the course of their time together. And that could happen to any of us. How do you forge a long-term relationship with anyone when both parties are so allied to their vision of truth? You can fake it for a while, but eventually, you’ll both drift back to your respective truths. Or at least, that’s what happens if neither party decides to swim against the inevitable current and adjust their perspective to cohere with their partner’s OR begins with enough points of intersection that the small divergences are, in the long run, easily overcome. Part of my frustration with Miguel stemmed from my own approach to taking my kids’ interests seriously. When you’re young (or remain “young”), those interests are your reality; those characters, story arcs, scenarios, etc are just as substantial as anything happening in the real world, and deserve to be treated as such. Why couldn’t Miguel believe Adina? I don’t know that even Toni did—even though she affirmed her to the end (and beyond).

Fundamentally, the failure of the others in Adina’s life to buy into the of-course-ness of her reality is what frustrated me the most. But obviously, that’s easy for me to say, given my semi-omniscient perspective as reader; I should probably have more sympathy for those in Adina’s orbit, and it motivates me to extend that sympathy towards others I encounter in real life who may exhibit a similarly unorthodox perspective on reality. And whether or not Adina is a reliable narrator is beside the point; the book communicates her Locus of Truth in matter-of-fact terms, and we don’t need to know if there’s an actual correspondence between objective reality and her daily routine. I like that the book leaves this ambiguous.

If I had to nitpick, I would take issue with some aspects of the ending, like the directive to use a single word to describe the Earth being a bit cliché. It seems like an on-the-nose appeal to include readers, something tailor-made for book discussions.  Why not just let the story be what it is? It feels a little preachy, and that meta aspect pops the story’s bubble somewhat and undermines its effectiveness. But, in the grand scheme of things, it’s a minor quibble.

Here are some favorite quotes:

• When you’re little, sadness is a kid you can kick out of your game. A simple, fast-food feeling that leaves as soon as the bully is gone. Deeper sadnesses get buried into one’s coastal shelf, accessible only by your adult version.
• “People want to read what they already know.”
  “Why would they want to read what they already know?”
  “Comfort! Stability!”
  “I can add more about the grass?”
• When you’re alone, you are in the right place to watch sadness approach like storm clouds over an open field. You can sit in a chair and get ready for it. As it moves through you, you can reach out your hands and feel every edge. When it passes and you can drink coffee again you even miss it because it has been loyal to you like a boyfriend.
• The flight attendant’s voice startles her. He has returned to crouch beside her.
  “After reaching cruising altitude,” he says, “nothing can force a plane out of the sky. So what are you afraid of? Wind or engine failure?”
  “Staying the same forever,” she says. “And wind.”
• Her past passions sound tinny when clinking against the jar of time. But they add up to a stack next to her elbow, a growing collection of desire and insight that might acquire significance if she trusts that it will.
• “I’m sorry,” Adina says, her sound of the night.
  “I’m sorry,” Toni says. “I should have made the invisible conversation visible. I’m trying to get better at that.”
• Optimism is a sign of class.
• Human beings spend their lives pretending their parents are people with no needs. They do not want their moms to talk about sex or die.
• Hobbies are a way of staying present so humans do not have to think about death.
• Red wine tastes like a dark-walled library and white wine smells like a woman looking away.
• …Miguel says it’s the best he’s ever had about the grilled cheese and she says, really, the best, okay, and he says, “I mean it, sister, best ever,” and Adina knows she will have to deal with every ugly thing she’s been ignoring to be half as good as he deserves and this makes her tired in advance…
• She longs to compel across space like a wish. You’re barely finished making it and you’re already above the tree line, pumping into the incalculable banks of clouds.
• Dogs are the best we can do.
• She crumples the reply and throws it into the trash. It’s easy to hurl observations when they are centuries away.
• Toni pulls her cardigan tighter. The worrisome stars of her collarbones show through the faded material, her drastic elbows.
• After a spiraling conversation that lands far from its original intent, he says, “Maybe the part of you that wants to be alone is bigger than the other parts of you.”
• Adina knows that distance blurs feeling and intent.
• Human beings design irrigation systems that carry water billions of miles but cannot invent an ironing board that opens without sounding like a metal seizure.
• Grief has de-clarified him, as if someone has used an eraser to smudge his features.
• Human beings rip their addresses off old magazines when they donate them to hair salons. This is how criminals find their victims: They search stacks of People magazines. If they find one where the address has been left on, they think: What a fool. I will go to her house and murder her.
• Perhaps she’s never been anything other than lonely. Loneliness is a composite feeling: ironically unable to exist alone. It can contain anger, hunger, fear, jealousy. Adina had misidentified it for homesickness for her planet but it also meant restlessness when one is not in the place they long for. The most content she ever felt was with Toni and the little dog. Where are they? Where are they?
• Grief is a bad mirror. It shows you manipulated images of yourself, your will, and the future. It cannot show you how the small work you do will add up to yourself. Inch by inch.
• [About Butternut] He never lay coldly next to her after an argument, never subtracted himself when his ego was bruised.
• She has not prepared for no bagels.
• She wonders what other rational human qualities she wrote off as extraterrestrial because of a human’s tendency to other what they don’t understand.
• These new humans stroller over the death it took Adina forever to fall in love with. Nothing new can replace what takes years to build.
• The moment of silence under an overpass when driving in a storm. […] the dog in the park in the sun catching the ball and bringing it back, flashing between his people like a gem. The night Toni said, “Let’s wear our weather earrings and go to Whole Foods and say things like, ‘I just love ramps, don’t you?'”
• Language is pitiable when weighted against experience.
• By far, those who cause the most damage are humans who promise to be some kind of home and are not.

Many (most?) of those hit very close to home. Too close. And the above is only a small selection of what earthquaked me as I read. It really is a staggering achievement of a book.

I am SO glad that the peak of my journaling activity coincided with my flight training at Sugar Valley. I reread the entries and vividly remember every sensation, every little victory and setback, takeoff and landing. That was worthy of being recorded, such as it was.

P and I watched 86 together a few weeks ago. She loved it, and I had forgotten what a great show it is. There were definitely details that came out in the rewatch, and increased my appreciation for the animators’ and screenwriters’ craft. I told her that she’s welcome to borrow my account info if she wanted to rewatch any meaningful scenes, but she’s declined so far, a posture I don’t really understand. My desire to rewatch is THE key measure of how much I’ve enjoyed a particular show, and there are scenes in 86 that I’ve worn out, I’ve seen them so many times. Actually—that’s not strictly true; they still maintain their emotional impact for the most part, but it’s definitely a sign that the show has hooked me to the point where I’m invested in the characters and what happens to them.

How can a day be gray and clear at the same time? Many of those lately. I’ll be 45 soon. The years are rhythmically clicking by. And yet, rereading my journal, there’s a clear line of connection between then and now. I’m still very much the same person. That continuity offers a grain of reassurance as life circumstances change and swirl around me.

Rereading more journal entries… I’ve decided summer 2004 was the Season of Peak Possibility, the axis around which my life turns, before and after. I had a stable job at UNC. I had just returned from an exhilarating trip to France. I still had the Supra. No romantic attachments. My writing had matured to the point where it better conveyed what I was thinking and feeling. I hadn’t committed to PBC yet. I was beginning to study systematic theology with Aaron, and was dipping my toe into what would eventually become a treasured friend group. Yep; pretty sure it was never as good as it was then, at least from the array of options laid out before me.

Do I miss it? Absolutely. But in thinking about my situation now relative to then, I can’t decide whether I’m more resentful over the loss of possibilities in general that accompanies a decision, or of the outworking of the decision I did make. The grass IS always greener, but I still can’t help but wonder how those parallel-universe versions of me are making out.

i’ve been behaving myself for too long

In the process of rereading my whole journal, from the very beginning, such as it is. It’s funny; something possessed me to look up Everything but the Girl yesterday, and I discovered they had released their first album of new material in 24 years this past spring. I guess there’s hope for me yet if creators can take that long of a hiatus between updates and pick up where they left off.

Still, Tracey’s voice sounded very different. They’re in their 60s now, which is wild to think about. A lot of life happens in 24 years, and I could hear it in her voice. Just as nuanced as it had always been, but with a tinge of age to it. Not as clean and pure. Different. Just different.

Reading back on my journal entries, as much as I’d like to think it’s autobiographical to the degree that anyone could read and piece together some kind of coherent narrative of those years of my life, I know that’s untrue. My mind works overtime as I read my own words, remembering people, places, situations, feelings and filling in all the (substantial) gaps. I wonder what impression it would all leave on someone coming in cold? I suppose it would be similar to the type of impression I left on my journal followers at the time, at least the ones who didn’t know me in person, but just through my written words on the screen.

It’s an understatement to say I miss those times, but I read about my antics and think about all the time I wasted, and still waste every day. I read my work-related comments and remember that I didn’t even have a work ethic to speak of until ImageWorks in Winston-Salem in early 2007. So much (all?) of what I complained about was my own fault, but I just treated others’ crises and frustrations as normal, or par for the course, or something. I was (and am) so immature. I wonder when, or if, it gets better?

Oh, and with only a few noteworthy exceptions, my poetry really sucked.

There’s a sense of quiet desperation that pervades the last evening but one before we return to the US.

We’ve been in Vence for the past three and a half weeks. It was originally scheduled to be just two, but then members of our party successively came down with COVID and we had to extend our stay. Fortunately, my parents had rented the second house for another week, and the owners let us stay another half week beyond that.

It’s been a story of achingly beautiful scenes interspersed with moments of hands-up overload. But now everyone is well, and I feel the old familiar, visceral need to throw my arms around the stone walls, the immaculately-trimmed hedgerows, the sea and sky in one view and the history of this place. My favorite times have been nightly walks with Luke, watching the light fade behind the four old baous in a row, sentinels that will watch over this place long after I’m gone.

I want to bottle the breeze I felt on a warm day in Coursegoules. I parked the car and D and I leaned against the concrete wall, looking out over the valley and spying the little windsock on the bleak ridge behind. We watched the cloud shadows play over the little green fields and villas, shielded from the coast by the first wave of the pre-Alps.

It’s subtly different than last time, but there are broad similarities. There are things I’m genuinely looking forward to returning to, like our house, animals, projects and the general ease of everything. Last time, I had very little of that. But there’s still a generous feeling of displacement that’s building, even now.

More than anything, the whole process, as it repeats, reinforces a feeling of mortality. These times end. They slip through my fingers over and over again and I don’t know how to get THERE from HERE. That’s the paradox: Back when I was more flexible, I didn’t have the work ethic to apply myself and figure things out, and now that I do, my flexibility is severely constrained. As soon as I say that, though, I’m reminded that when I set my mind to it, even then, I could make things happen, so perhaps it was something else.

Regardless, that time is gone, this one is soon to be, and my time will be up as well, sooner than I think. What will I make of it? What will WE make of it? God and his Word are the only things I’m sure of, and I need that fact to be more than cold comfort as the core ache of another departure looms.

I keep thinking that if we hadn’t moved, maybe he’d still be alive. Midwestern is just as busy as Brook Hill, but it was slightly farther away, outside his normal territory (even though I’d see him venture that far before).

Our beloved Benjen was hit and killed by a car today. A good samaritan found him in the road, moved him to the side, got his collar and found us. I took his little body to the vet where they confirmed what we already suspected.

He was my favorite cat ever. Here’s a list of some of the things I will miss about him:

• He loved tummy rubs. When he was in the mood, he would roll over in my lap and look up at me expectantly. I rubbed his belly and he would nestle his head in the crook of my arm. If I stopped, he would reach up toward me with his paw for me to resume the rubbing. I thought it was a kitten thing and he would grow out of it, but he never did.
• He would always ask politely to be let outside, usually with just a glance or a meow or a little nibble to my legs if I didn’t respond quickly enough.
• He LOVED to be outside. Whenever I’d meet him outdoors, he’d flop down anywhere and everywhere for a tummy rub.
• He had the sweetest disposition. He got along with all our other cats, and they all had issues with each other. But not Benjen. He was so easygoing and unflappable.
• I loved the “mask” around his eyes and his coloration. The dark tabby areas and the rest of him white.
• He slept on top of me almost every night. I laid down and pulled the blanket over me and 9 times out of 10 he was there before I’d even had a chance to settle in.
• He would let me pick him up and hold him with both his front paws on my right shoulder. He didn’t like being picked up generally, but he let me do it and purred more often than not.

I just want this day to end. I don’t want to think anymore that less than 12 hours ago I petted him after he had a quick snack downstairs. And that he was the first creature I said “Good morning” to when I got up. We’re devastated.

Boy I loved Shirobako. I don’t know that I’ve watched another show, anime or not, that’s done such a great job of not only giving every character of a very large ensemble a fleshed-out feel and unique personality, but has also made every character sympathetic in some way, even the ones I initially disliked or misunderstood.

As mentioned on my Twitter feed, it’s a must-watch for anyone who works in a creative field, as I do. The daily struggles, especially the challenge of having to be creative on demand despite the lack of inspiration, are very real.

It’s put together with a lot of care and is obviously a kind of love letter to the anime industry, with a lot of inside jokes and nods to things only those directly involved in anime production would know about. The animation is consistently strong throughout and the music is perfect. If I had one nit to pick, it’d be a wish for more differentiation between the main characters’ designs. The primary way to distinguish between the 5 of them is their hair color and style, and I kind of hoped they’d be more distinctive beyond that appearance-wise. At least the template, such as it is, is appealing. Highly recommended show. Episode 23 stands as one of my all-time favorites.

Paris, tu me manques… Des bons souvenirs de notre voyage de l’annee 2000.

1. Well, I relented on watching SAO with P. Sure, it has some borderline-objectionable content, but nothing worse than your average primetime sitcom, and I’ve been staying an episode or two ahead of our joint viewing, so I can skip or fast-forward scenes that cross the line. It’s tough to find time to sit and watch it together, though.
2. I dreamed last night that I moved to Japan. I was staying with at my friend Jeff’s, who lived in a kind of one-story duplex in the heart of downtown Tokyo. He had a carport that held a vintage pace car Mustang and a late-model Dodge Challenger. The house was built in the ’60s and the interior decor had that flavor. I had forgotten all my clothes in the move, didn’t know a lick of Japanese and had absolutely no job prospects.
3. I’m glad I can still dream, and remember my dreams. I don’t know that I ever envisioned a day when I wouldn’t be able to, but it give me a sense of satisfaction just the same to know that I still can. It feels like a kind of mental barometer; as I age, as long as I can still recall my dreams, I’ll know my mind is in a good place.

no particular song
i’ve been hiding
what am i hiding from

1. I’ve been getting into anime lately. I watched (and re-watched) and greatly enjoyed Kimi No Na Wa (Your Name), a 2016 Japanese blockbuster by Makoto Shinkai. His Garden of Words was nice also—if a bit short. I watched The Girl Who Leapt Through Time and have started on Sword Art Online. I wanted to watch the latter with P—and we even made through a few episodes, which she liked—but the later content in the series veers a little too adult for her. Maybe when she’s in her mid-teens. It’s a bummer because it’s a quality show otherwise, and she was into it. Some other series and films on my to-watch list include Wolf Children, Voices of a Distant Star, 5 Centimeters Per Second and Steins:Gate.
2. We accepted an offer on the NC house last week. Buyers’ inspection on Thursday. Hoping everything is OK and that the process keeps moving forward.
3. Our Corgi puppy, Olive, is growing up. She was sick last night and threw up all over the kitchen. That was fun to clean up. She’s a sweetheart, though, and still a puppy so it’s hard to stay frustrated with her for too long.

They pressed the petals of their ambitions
next to any heat source they could find.
Not knowing where a blade of hope would be stymied,
it came to a head—finally.
The craft became so large in his field of vision,
it would have usurped a fleeting glance;
fortunately, at that moment several large figures began to descend.
Only wanting to be tethered to a salt flat
and the shape of her mirage,
he opens the door.
Its outlay might wince in translation from the norm,
but only if another figure stepped in.
“It depends,” she says, “on whether you would allow process
to unbind me.” I always saw my life as one unbroken
plain of residual consciousness.
If I had known how severely the Three would wince
at his approach, perhaps the unfurled darkness would
have chosen to amend its stay upon the dais.
As an exercise, it was almost finished by
a gap between the open beams. That said—
and she knew a positive organ after a while—
innumerable silver fellows posited
a return to the rain. I wished for a world where
crosses were silent,
to live and extinguish in a moment.

but i don’t mind, don’t close your eyes
don’t say goodbye, i’ll be unkind
don’t do it, don’t do it

• Happy new year. Expect much more activity in here in 2018. One of my new year’s resolutions is to get back onto the blogging kick.
• Spent Friday morning through Sunday evening in NC, working on the rental properly. My parents came out on Saturday and were incredibly helpful, cleaning, fixing, conversing… It was wonderful to have them there, and I got to meet their new puppy, Barnabas, who is…puppyish, with the energy level that entails. The house is finally ready to be put on the market. The downstairs ceiling could stand another coat of white paint, and the door frames might could do with a little more touching up, but overall the house is move-in ready. Turnkey for a new family. I took around 90 photos Sunday morning, and reviewing them, it’s tough not to feel sad given our attachment to that little house.
• We’ll be picking up our new little corgi, Olive, in a couple of weeks. It’s going to be interesting to see how she handles the presence of 5 cats in the house, and how they handle her.
• This is one of the best fan-made music videos I’ve ever seen. The coordination between the music and the visuals is epic:

I’ve got some definite gray around my temples now. I’ll be 39 in less than a month. Sobering, but my uneasiness about it comes and goes. It helps that I don’t think I feel my age. I still run twice a week and hit the gym 3 times (over lunch MWF), and I eat well (D’s wonderful cooking helps in that department). If I feel tired, it’s because of the hours I keep, or some combination of stressors unconnected with my physical health, thank goodness. I know all of that can change in an instant, but smooth sailing for now.

I’ve let myself dwell on the concept of mortality more over the past couple of years than I likely have in all my years prior. My last living grandparent—my mom’s mother—finally passed away at the beginning of the year at age 95, and those events always invite a protracted amount of reflection on the scope of this phase of our existence here on earth. Between that and an opportunity to see family we haven’t talked to in years, funerals are good that way. It’s time to wise up to the fact that we’re not invincible like we were in our teens and 20s and really ground our belief, or lack thereof, in the afterlife and what it means for the way we live now. To put it more crudely, staring at a dead body in a coffin throws the flaws in our worldview into sharp relief. Does it dispel all doubt? Absolutely not—that’s something I wrestle with more than ever—but at the very least it should propel our minds into places we so easily distract it from in our day-to-day.

For the second year in a row it’s been a low-key Christmas. Part of it has to do with the fact that we chose to remain here at home in Tennessee rather than to travel back to NC. Among other things, the kids scored a ton of Harry Potter paraphernalia. HP actually made things like stocking-stuffers really easy, given how much merchandise is readily available. Not a lot of head-scratching involved.

My parents got me a $50 Home Depot gift card that will be put to good use this coming weekend during the work trip to NC and some nice clothes. I received a pair of giant Reese’s PB cups and a Fossil watch from D. I’ve never been a watch-wearer, but she and I both agree it’s time (pun intended) to add a tasteful watch to my wardrobe.

The day rolls on and the light falls outside. I had meant to put the smoke tester on the BMW today to check for any additional vacuum leaks before the 350-mile trip on Friday, but I’m not going to worry about it. It survived the trip with only an occasional running hiccup last time, and I know for a fact I was driving with a leak from the DISA valve seal—which has now been repaired. Here it is after a bath on Saturday:

The cats behind me in the living room are in fine form, alternately chasing each other around and wrestling. As long as they don’t bother the pile of presents circumscribing the tree, they’re OK.

The only time I was ever told I was a good dancer was at a wedding reception in downtown Raleigh sometime in mid-2005, just before I moved to Winston-Salem. I had had quite a lot of champagne, and probably shouldn’t have driven back to Chapel Hill after the event… But as far as the dancing is concerned, I think I must’ve just gotten lucky; I can’t imagine what I did that might have provoked that compliment from Heather, my date. Whatever the case, my momentary skill certainly wasn’t connected to any amount of practice, since I hadn’t been to a club (and still, to this day, haven’t—don’t ask me how I made it through my 20s without experiencing that). At Mark’s wedding a couple of years prior, I remember talking with Michael, his best man, during a long drive about the psychology of dancing, and I probably exasperated him with my overanalysis. His perspective on it was that it was a matter of being confident, but that didn’t help; it seemed—and still seems—like something of a catch-22: How am I supposed to be confident at something I’m not good at? And how can I become good at something that no one wants to do with me before I acquire that confidence? The answer, I think, is that like with so many other things, some folks stumble upon the answer, and the rest are left to grope in the dark or avoid the activity entirely. The richer become richer, and the poor…well, you know the rest.

The only time I’ve lost sleep over it, in a manner of speaking, was during our trip to France in 2004, when the rest of the group wanted to go clubbing in Paris as an alternative to my stick-in-the-mud leading of everyone around the more tourist-y attractions of the city. That’s when my insecurity reared its ugly head and I had a mini-meltdown here in my journal. Other than that…the activity exists on the very fringes of my experience, and I’m fine with that.

• Current favorite song: EBTG, “Tender Blue.” The intro tips its hat to the Flamingos’ version of “I Only Have Eyes for You.” It’s a nice touch.
• As a kid, I observed the adults around me and remember feeling there was a great gulf between childhood and adulthood, and not understanding how exactly one would get there from here. Grown-ups were fundamentally different people than kids in some qualitative way. Looking back on it now, it’s been one long continuous process of learning little things a few at a time. There was no abrupt switch or crossover point, and we remain the same people we’ve always been.
• Washed both cars today, the last day I’d have been able to do it before the weather gets significantly colder (tomorrow’s high is only 49°, in contrast to 67° today). Used the rubbing compound to get a bit of parking lot rash out of the Mazda’s bodywork. And although I’ve resigned myself to the fact that it’s a losing battle trying to keep the cats off the BMW in the garage, I’m going to try—I put up the hood and trunklid as soon as I moved it inside. Need to put the smoke machine on it tomorrow so I can see if there’s anything I need to order next week before the next—and hopefully last—work trip back to NC next weekend.
• Working my way through Neon Genesis Evangelion (the original series) at the moment. Far too adult to share with P, but it’s interesting to me. Not as “grounded” as Cowboy Bebop, but thought-provoking in different ways. Very syncretistic.

when you speak of the past
doubt is over now and i can join in when you laugh
fascination makes us ask for more than we like to know
i needn’t explain, i think you know

A bit of freelance after a good run (the first is a couple of weeks, actually) + Clif bar + provolone slices + EBTG’s Acoustic = A nice way to end the day. The live version of “Fascination” to close out the album is a real showstopper. I desperately wish they were still making music, but after being so prolific throughout the ’80s and ’90s, I suppose they’ve earned a respite.

I have GOT to upgrade my equipment at some point in the near future. My iMac is nearly 10 years old, my MacBook older still (the latter necessary because it’s the only bit of hardware that will still run my copy of FormZ, which is even older). I have the latest versions of Illustrator and Photoshop, but that’s it for recent software. And I know people kick around the word “investment” when they’re trying to justify an outlay for something they want, but in my case it really is—I spent $700 on the iMac, $100 on the MacBook and around $300 on FormZ and they have paid for themselves many, many, MANY times over. Soon, hopefully.

Now, to bed.

• Listening to some Yves Montand this morning at work. Reminds me alternately of France and then of his song on the Rushmore soundtrack, “Rue St Vincent.”
• Found a point-of-purchase display designer job listing in Paris on the Coroflot job boards yesterday. I half-jokingly sent it to D, and she replied “But it’s in Paris,” and I responded, again half-jokingly:
  

  Sell both houses and both cars, use the funds from one to pay off debt, and from the other to set up a life over there. Connect with my Reformed pastor friend and his expat American wife in Paris, attend their church. Live there 4-5 years, come back to the US. Easy.

  If only it were.

• A goal of mine for this journal is to record moments I have kicking around in my head, but have never written down. I think about certain episodes so often that I take it for granted someone somewhere knows about them and their significance, but if something (God forbid) were to happen to me, they’d be lost forever. I also want to transcribe my handwritten journal entries from my senior year of high school.
• The only 10,000 Maniacs songs I play on repeat are “Carnival” and “A Room For Everything.” Here’s the association with the first song. As for the second, it’s not tied to a particular memory, but just the song that speaks the most to me from the band’s Mary Ramsey period.

i would not hesitate
to tell you all things i never said before
don’t tell me it’s too late

Benjen is sitting on my lap, purring loudly, as I write this. He’s mostly white, with black and gray tabby splashes on his back and head, and he’s very affectionate. He’s unable to settle, but is pacing around, curling around and looking up at me, tapping me with his paw and nuzzling my nose with his cheek when I get close. Phoebe and Odin went through similar stages as kittens; I’ll miss it when they get older.

I think this was a “message song” from her to me on the mix cd. And I missed it completely, or willfully misinterpreted it. For all the incredulity we express toward characters from films when it seems they can’t see what’s right in front of them, it’s probably time we cut them some slack, or at least acknowledge their experience may be closer to reality than is generally believed—even if it is shown in a caricatured way, neatly wrapped up at the end of the movie’s two-hour running time.

I should write a post on more “message songs” in my mental Rolodex. I’ve already alluded to one in Dar Williams’ “Iowa” a few posts down. More to come.

’cause i’ve relied on my illusion
to keep me warm at night
and i’ve denied in my capacity to love
but i am willing to give up this fight

• Trying to get the NC house fixed up to sell. My dad has been an absolute rock star in helping me work on it; relentless in his efforts to assist. I can’t thank him enough.
• Pen and I continue to listen to music in the car on the way to school in the mornings. I’ve been trying lately to pique her interest in less electronic sounds, with limited success.
• It’s been ages since I’ve been on a trip of any sort. The last time I was in an airplane was 2013, and before that 2008. Hard to believe how little I’ve flown recently when it was such a staple activity of the first part of my life.
• I’ve been up late almost every night over the past couple of weeks working on freelance. I’m grateful for the work (if effectively paid for Christmas) but goodness I’m tired.
• The kids are very, VERY into Harry Potter at the moment.
• I haven’t run in a couple of weeks. I’ve changed my route so that now I’m running around the neighborhood instead of through the sketchy areas around our subdivision, so at least the runs are more relaxing—but it seem I still need motivation to get out there. Part of the issue is the aforementioned fact that the kids are into Harry Potter; they beg me to read extra chapters/pages and it’s invariably close to 10 PM by the time we finish reading and L goes to bed.
• I’ve lost close to 7 lbs just by moving to Coke Zero from regular Coke. It’s nice I suppose, but I still need to be exercising. At least the daytime gym visits haven’t tapered off.
• My mom is interested in getting a new car. I keep pushing for a Mazda CX-9, but I think she’ll end up getting an Audi Q5 or a VW Atlas or Tiguan.

if you believe still
that England don’t love you
and she never will

• Freelance has hit a bit of a lull lately; it’s been hard to figure out what to do with myself in my off-evenings (when I don’t go for a run). I should be putting the pieces together for the eventual launch of my full-time freelance endeavor, but a larger part of me wants some creative expression tonight. So here I am.
• P and I ran errands late this afternoon. I decided it would be an “all U2” car ride. She particularly liked “Stay (Faraway, So Close).” This made me exceedingly happy.
• I’ve started rewatching Cowboy Bebop. I want to live in that world, where interplanetary travel is so easy and effortless. I wish more people felt as strongly as I do that we need to get off this little blue-and-green rock. In that one respect, the technological curve can’t be vertical enough.
• Speaking of interplanetary travel, a few weeks ago I watched Passengers. Contra all the negative reviews, I really enjoyed it. I didn’t feel like the action-filled third act detracted from the film, but flowed from and felt integral to the rest of the movie. It wasn’t a simple MacGuffin, in other words—and the situations encountered directly addressed some of the ethical questions raised earlier. The film’s director seems to have put forth as his main goal in making Passengers to get viewers to ask themselves whether or not we would have acted in the same manner as the protagonist, given his situation, but I think the film holds up on many other levels besides just that one. Well-acted, beautifully-shot, tightly-constructed and funny—recommended.

it’s cold and there’s nothing to do

Josh and Jonathan made good points on Tuesday when I (hesitantly) shared with them D’s and my long-term desire to move to the mountains: For spouses, and even kids, to be so completely in sync about a move is a rare enough thing that it’s not situation to be dismissed out of hand. D and I have so little in common on a superficial level—i.e. things that aren’t theology or philosophy or politics and are easy to talk about and get excited over—that a move may be a very real way to foster closeness. As reasons to move go, that’s a pretty good one, especially on top of all the other intrinsic mountain qualities pulling us that direction.

Speaking of the mountains, the frequency with which my parents visit the area is amazing to me, especially considering it’s a 5.5-hour drive for them from Chapel Hill. Needless to say, I don’t think either of them are really dragging their feet when the other decides another trip is a good idea. I find it hard to imagine they won’t be moving there long-term, or at least buying property in the area and spending a good chunk of the year there. Makes me happy to think about that possibility.

And…we’re back. From Hayesville. Returned yesterday afternoon, and today feels like the day after Christmas. Both D and I miss it very much. It’s a transcendently beautiful place, and this weekend showcased it like no other. It was the perfect mountain summer weekend—mild, sunny and breezy. We went out on the lake Saturday afternoon in a rented pontoon boat and splashed around various islands and peninsulas. Saturday evening, we ate on a picnic table in the carport as the evening breeze blew through. I brought my little portable record player outside and put on some music, and we regaled ourselves with some grilled steak and barbeque chicken. It was absolutely wonderful.

We want to move there as soon as possible—but so many pieces have to fall into place for that to happen. One day, hopefully.

I discovered another one. Another perfect synthesis of image and music, that is.

The first was detailed in this post:

Mono, “Life In Mono” — To date the strongest synthesis I’ve found between a song and a visual image. It was between this song and the first teaser trailer to the 1997 movie Great Expectations. You won’t find the teaser any more anywhere–I’ve looked–only the full-length, inferior trailer remains with a different accompaniment. But if you hear this song and think of muted red and green, symmetrical, baroque icons and elaborate shapes rotating deliberately on a black background intercut with the more passionate moments from the film, you’ll be on the right track. Beautiful, delicate, enchanting.

So yesterday evening on the way to the gym, I plumbed Primitive Radio Gods’ “Standing Outside A Broken Phone Booth With Money In My Hand” through the iPod onto the stereo, and whilst listening, the image of Velázquez’s painting Las Meninas came into my head:

I wish I could describe how the song and the painting fit together, but at this point it’s a gut-level thing. It’s powerful, but the reasons aren’t fully-formed yet.

Best names in science fiction, in no particular order:

Arkady Darell
Princess Irulan
Spike Spiegel
Han Solo
Khan Noonian Singh

* * * * * *

Thinking about flying out to SF to meet with the folks I do a lot of freelance for. A round-trip ticket from ATL to SF is surprisingly inexpensive. I could probably do the trip for $600 or less, including hotel and car rental, if I’m frugal. I think D needs a break first, though, before I start to consider a trip in earnest. I’d obviously contact them first to arrange a time for a visit, and there’s always the off-chance they’ll offer to pay for some or all of the trip. Would love, love, love to work for them full-time. The flexibility that would afford me would be immense, in spite of the reassignment of freelance as day-job work. To be able to work from home, to be able to live wherever we want as long as I have a stable electronic platform and a good internet connection… I have all the tools I need, it’s just a matter of putting the remaining pieces in place and taking the leap. Maybe in the next year or so?

I’m just ready. I’m ready to be where we’re going to be. Especially as I read over old entries and ruminate on the fact that I wrote them 10+ years ago, I’m overwhelmed with the desire to get off the merry-go-round before I’ve been on it another 10 years without realizing. I don’t feel particularly old, but the numbers don’t lie, and as thinking about my memories in 10-year blocks becomes the norm, a sense of mild panic sets in that I’m not in a sustainable place—whatever that means.

All I know is that I’m not meant to be here long-term. When will it stop? If I’m honest, I’ve been restless my whole life—hence the reference to the Platonic ideal of “Home” a few posts down and the desire to attain that being such a driving force. I’m ready to be Home. Help me to be patient.

Can’t wait to visit Hayesville again next Friday. My dad’s rented a pontoon boat, so we’ll go out on the lake for a bit. L’s excited about stargazing from the top of the dam, and both the kids want to play on the tire swing and go the creek. I love it, especially on summer days like these when the heat and humidity is crushingly oppressive and I long to someplace just a little cooler and drier.

D and I are pretty serious in our desire to move there, or at least somewhere like there, at some point in the future. Doing so would require me to either freelance full-time, or land a job that allows me to work remotely—the opportunities that would support the fam just aren’t in that area. To that end, I’ve been slowly moving pieces into place to hopefully be able to make the transition in the next year or two. It’s going to take a substantial financial head of steam; that much is given. But the lifestyle shift would be worth it a million times over.

lost in our mood
afraid to feel truth

As I tumble gracelessly into the blanket of middle age, I’m beginning to be able to visualize more how my kids will manifest themselves as adults. More than glorified parental appendages, they’ve both developed fully-formed personalities at this point, and are both a real delight to talk to and spend time around.

We’re back in NC for half a walk visiting D’s folks, and we made the required pilgrimage to Arigato for some Japanese food, and my overwhelming impression was just one of delight in my kids. L was across the table in between two of his cousins, narrating the food preparation with a quasi-play-by-play, and P was cozied between D and myself, completely and utterly safe and content. I think the latter feeling rubbed off a bit; it’s difficult to remember a time when that particular part of my mind was more at ease. That isn’t to say all of me was; there was a large part that was still “on,” as it were, but a crucial little nugget was content. For a spell.

I feel like all my creative energy has been ground out of me. Crushed away. I had time pressure before, but I seem to remember being able to make time to just sit and…the words came. Even if I had to jot down a topic on a scrap of register tape, I’d return home and more often than not I’d be able to recall the nuances of whatever it was I wanted to share or discuss. Now, on the off-chance a matter pops into my head, it’s utterly gone by the time I sit down and place my fingers on the keys. I hope I’m just out of practice and simply doing it more will help.

I really should be in bed, though. The day starts on the dot, though granted even that is better than it used to be.

The two places I’ve discovered that feel like home to me are France and Hayesville. I haven’t found anywhere else where the convergence of innumerable factors meshes with my subconscious in a way those two places do. I’ve shared this with Diane. I think one thing we do have in common is a restless quest to return home, wherever that is for us, respectively. Even if our ideas of home are wildly divergent, at least we can relate on an emotional level to the feeling of displacement. I suppose there’s some comfort in that.

• Penelope loves Aphex Twin. She’s dug every song I’ve played for her so far off The Richard D. James Album. I want to broaden the horizons of her musical appreciation beyond avant-garde electronica, but I’m not sure the point of entry to any other genre. Will probably just keeping playing other stuff for her and see what sticks.
• Luke’s astronomy interest has flared up again (I sound like I’m talking about a rash, haha). He’s mentioned wanting to stargaze next time we visit Hayesville. There’s a great spot on top of the dam. I miss it very much and want to go back soon. Maybe when my parents return from Europe and we’re on the other side of our NC visit in June we can discuss another mountain trip.