Please read the letter

Just drained a cup of hot Afghan tea, and about to down some orange and spice. Both with gobs of honey. That's right, I have not had coffee in 48 hours. I have not wanted coffee in more like 144 hours.
Por que? Well, somehow the bean of the gods loses its appeal when your body is a 24 hour sneezies factory (how can one body produce this much snot, I ask in disbelief). Last night I spent over an hour coughing instead of sleeping, and I went outside yesterday for .03 seconds. Coffee, my daily walks, normal functioning energy level - what else will this consumption steal from me?


***
We have not had personal photos displayed in our home for over 2 years. This is sad to me. We took them down when we put the old house for sale, and they've been lingering in a neglectful pile in the basement ever since. Not to mention the masses of more photos in my dad's back office, i.e. catch-all for everything we haven't found a place for yet in this house. So for Christmas I gave my dad some service coupons, which included "organizing the pile of photos."
A bigger task than I first realized. But fun. He asked me also to organize the basement and the attic, and of course I said yes. So that is my job for Jan-term, and what a job it will be.


But really, I'm looking forward to it. I'm just on the photos now, and it's fun to go through and see our personalities change through pictures. Jim was a stern and unsmiling toddler who is a goofball by the time he's eight. I was a flamboyant camera-loving diva, until I stopped smiling when I was nine (when I figure out how to scan photos in a .jpg instead of .jsp format, I'll show you on here!).


And it will be fun to re-discover all the treasures in the attic, like the mallard duck sketch I always loathed and the Anacapri watercolor I loved. It's a treasure hunt into the forgotten, and who knows what I'll find?


***
In other news: my mom and I spent 20 minutes on Sunday morning coordinating our outfits (she used to dress me up. Now I dress her up). What with the sickness, I go to be first and wake up last (solid 11 hours, night before last). It feels lazy and wasteful, and oh so wonderful. Erin visited yesterday, and we spent yes, the entire time, watching "A Very Potter Musical," and I loved it.
And my dog, my Sweet Dog, who we kept warm and safe in the War Room last night, and I was reminded of just how much I love him more all the time. His sweet velvet fragile tents of ears. His wide submissive eyes when he wants to be stroked. His exuberant happy eyes when he tries to knock me down in his excitement. The way he runs off in the completely opposite direction when I throw the ball for him. His sweet snuffling nose and the way he tries to lick all over my face (I understand I may be the only one who appreciates this. No one else is expected to enjoy my dog's slobbering. End of disclaimer). Sweet sweet Mo.

A Study in Contrasts

What with everything, I have been inclined to dwell more on the differences this last year has wrought, before I go making resolutions for the new one. So here are the ways I've grown from last January to this January, categorized for your convenience.

Pass on the Vermouth Bianco.

Last Jan 1, I was a nondrinker per being underage. This January 1, I am a nondrinker by choice. A decision made in consideration of my personality and genes. Nothing wrong with alcohol. Just not for me right now.

O when I was young and foolish.

A year ago, I was coming off an autumn of being brittle and hard. I had laughed too loudly. I had used another person solely for my own emotional needs, to keep myself from hurting. I was proud and unkind, and I still blush over my behavior and heart during that time.

That whole autumn can be summed up this way: I thought that by being careless, I could avoid feeling all the pain of what had happened. And it works, for a while. But let me tell you this: it's much better to grieve. To feel the loneliness. To ache over the losses.

Last January, I had just broken and begun that process. And let me tell you - it's so much lighter on this side.

Come back to Normal.

I've told you what the last part of 2008 was like. The first part was horrible depression and darkness. Needless to say, I hadn't felt normal for quite a while last January. But little did I know, the coming spring would hold incredible gifts. I still remember my first taste of Normal in the sunshine of a warm February afternoon. And the wonderful friends and adventures of folklore, the dear friendships that developed with both the Deborahs and Jessica and other wonderful RUF-ers, the sweetness of simple happiness again. Because of all that, I enter this year a little more healed, a little more at peace.

Wear and Tear; or, Let's Get Physical

I have two tiny scars on my tummy that I didn't have last year. And suffered no ill effects. Thank you Lord for smooth surgeries. There was a tough time when I was "et up" with fear. But I got my first IV and really liked anesthesia and when I think about how scared I was all I can say is: thank you Lord that nothing was wrong.

As for everything else health-wise: weight's the same, height's not changing, and I have taken up Pilates. Which is wonderful.

Three Words

2008: pain, dark, love

2009: light, struggle, laugh

Direction

Last year, a professor had just approached me with the possibility of doing research. So we applied, and received the grant, and through that and the following TA opportunity, God made me to understand that I really love to teach and think researching and writing papers is fun. So this year I'm waiting to hear from grad schools. Next year? It's either the halls of academia or the one-room insurance agency in Kansas. Guess which one I'm hoping for.

Awareness

A year ago, I lived in the grip of fear. And today, I still live mostly in the grip of fear. But now I understand that it is fear, and fear leads only to a tiny, twisted version of the truth. Never freedom. Never peace. A year ago, I thought that if I could think through things and figure out what my problem was, I could fix it. Now, I more often just pray. For courage, courage to walk through the fear. Or for faith and peace. Or I just sit and breathe, "Help."

So that's where I am right now. No resolutions yet; no impossible goals that lead to defeat, just trying to stay balanced.

And oh, all you folks that read this blog - thank you for spending time on these ramblings. I do love all you sweet people - have a full, rich and glad new year. And that's an order, children.

My Favorite Things, New Mexican Style

Mamma Pat and Bobbo. They have got to be some of the warmest, most welcoming people in the world. Not to mention the funniest. Every day before we'd ski Mama Pat would make sure we had our gloves and sunscreen and chocolate (for energy, y'know), while Bob cracked jokes. I love their marriage, love to watch how they still delight in and enjoy each other after 35 years. When I expressed this to Pat, she smiled. "Well, we laugh a lot," she said. Note taken: laughter a key ingredient for good relationship.
And we have laughed much during our time here. At their 20 year old deaf cat. At Bob's dry and rapid fire wit. At Pat's sudden and outrageous statements. And at their lifetime of wonderfully comic stories.

Ski Santa Fe. I like the mountains here better than Utah, I think - they're softer and more embracing. And Jim and I had great fun sliding down the slopes. He fell first, but I predicted that I would accomplish the most dramatic wipe-out. And I did. Twice. But for the most part, we both did pretty well for second-timers, and I remembered the graceful dip and sweep and float of skiing. Except for when I'd realize I was going fast (ish). Then I'd panic. Then I'd calm myself down and keep dipping and floating.

Meandering Irish Scarves. I am knitting what was supposed to be an Irish Hiking Scarf. Somewhere along the way, though, the pattern, well it . . . changed. So Bob named it the Irish Meandering Scarf. The End.

Straight as a stick. There is No. Humidity. out here. And I love it. You know why? I straighten my hair, and it stays straight. For more than 15 minutes! Yes, there is the slight problem of constant dehydration, but who cares when I can wake up and run my fingers through perfectly straight, tangle-free locks?

She can bake a cherry pie. Sweet Aunt Roberta, who is late eighties, 5 foot 1, and still has an immaculate yard and clear mind and fabulous cooking and more energy than most anyone I know. Gracious. She fed us lasagna and an absolutely perfect cherry pie, and told us about the year the family lived in Alaska, and about her and Glenn's square dancing days, and their friends Poncho and Marie. That woman is amazing.

Sky and earth and color. You'd think New Mexico would be brown. Just brown. But it's not. The earth is red and gold and tawny beneath the pure-white snow, and the sky is every shade of purple and blue. But the light. Oh, the light is the best part - perfect and golden and clear.

Here is all a-right

Current position: Great room, fire blazing beside the lovely tree. Sharing the couch and a cosy blanket with Mom, and taking a short break from knitting my third scarf since Monday.

Verdict: Nearly idyllic.

(The "nearly" is for the leaks I just discovered in two windows. The tree happens to be stationed close to one of the leaky spots, so we had to turn the lights off. Still pretty, though. Now, back to our regularly scheduled program.)

***

We had our big family Christmas yesterday, in Marietta. Jim and I went to the favorite cousins' on Tuesday, though, and much hilarity ensued. Ty and Austin make me laugh until I ache. And Brannon is just a pure delight ("Anna, I think you should be Mrs. Claus for Christmas." Thanks?) I just love being at the Georgia family's place, period. Aunt Laura entertains with easy grace, always has a funny story, and has impeccable booksense. Their house is full of laughter and running and collapsing on the couch for naps.

And when you wake up at 2 am, there is most likely a fuzzy cat kneading your feet and purring. Happy sigh.

***

So yes, after all the excitement, a quiet Christmas Eve is not so unwelcome. Jim and I are flying to New Mexico on Saturday (we are going to stay with Mama Pat and Bob, and ski, and hug Roberta and all the other sweet family), so today was spent rounding up the last minute ski necessities (I have developed a sudden addiction to knit caps. Straight hair does this to a girl. Curly hair hates hats. Did I mention I have straight hair now? I digress). So the four of us ate lasagna and tiramisu while the storm howled, considered watching The Godfather (which idea was nixed by the female half of the family as too violent for Christmas Eve) and watched Waking Ned Devine instead (Irish music/scenery/accents = love).

Dad just joined us on the couch (and informed me that Alan Ladd was 5"6 . . .), and family and crackly fire and peace - Merry Christmas, dear people.

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,

his hair was like a fire -

oh weary, weary is the world

but here the world's desire

-G. K. Chesterton

Late November Loveliness

One day during Thanksgiving break, I took a ramble in the lovely golden afternoon splendor of late autumn. I love November's golden browns, and the bare twigs and brittle grasses and purple leaves. I'm no photographer, but maybe these photos will show some of the loveliness that is Alabama in November.

Golden wispies.

Gorgeous silky field. See the terraces? And the barn peeping over the hill?

Sweet Mo.

Last remnants of red.

I loved the way these leaves caught the afternoon light and shone against the gray, dead ground.

And the woods behind the house. Brambles and branches and mystery.

There were just a few red remnants hanging on to the branch, and they were beautiful against the blue sky. Too bad my camera skills couldn't capture it. You'll just have to trust me.

Golden stands of grass. I never get tired of it.

Winter Song

This afternoon, when I climbed the stairs and pulled the shades and crawled onto my enormous fluffy white bed, it was light outside.

Now it is not.

I slept for two hours. And I took a nap yesterday, too. And the day before that.

I think this is what they call "hibernation."

***

Items of Note:

- I have decided that Mosby does not run, he does not walk, he gambols. This is the only word for his weird, clumsy, hyena-like lope. And it makes me laugh and I love it. Sweet Mo. I love him to pieces. We played fetch-the-ball for a solid hour on Monday. Sweet Mo. He's also a little obsessive.

- Yesterday was my day to put things in order. As in, unpack and organize everything. Originally, I was going to spread the process out over a few days. But I have found that once I begin to sort and organize, I cannot stop until I collapse from hunger. I didn't just unpack, I organized my closets and half the attic. When the dust settled, I found a Very Tidy room, three bags of stuff to give away, and five large plastic bins filled with things. I have three childhood boxes, one high school box and a costume box.

- Speaking of childhood: my dad recently unearthed some books that had disappeared somewhere into the black hole of moving. Among the salvaged was one of my favorite ever books: Minnikin, Midgie and Moppet. I was completely obsessed with this book when I was three, and the obsession has never quite gone away. Three mice that live in a tree with their mom and go out to lead their own lives for a while but all come back to live in the big tree. Sorry if I just spoiled the ending for anyone.

- I am learning to knit. Yes, that is right. Un-crafty Anna is trying to learn an art that involves physical dexterity. And . . . it's a little bit addictive. You feel relaxed and productive at the same time (as in, I can knit while watching a T.V. with my family. I usually sort of hate watching television, because it's so passive and I think of everything else I could be doing and I can feel my brain cells dying from the lack of stimulation). Last night Jim and I watched Arrested Development and I knitted and somewhere in the episode where Gob makes the yacht disappear I dropped a stitch because I was laughing so hard and now there's a huge hole in my practice swatch. I like that show.

***

Yes, I am home and glad to be here. The people-deprivation will set in soon enough. But for right now, it is good to have no school and a real kitchen, and naps whenever I want them.

There was a little melancholy the end of last week - but then, I was melancholy all of last week. A combination of knowing it was the last week with friends for a while, and finishing the durn paper, and, as I wrote last week, "that peculiar melancholy that hits at random times." Where I get sad about ridiculous things that don't bother me most days.

I guess change makes us a little nostalgic, and it makes us long for the things that used to comfort. Whether they were good or bad. For me, it's mostly bad, because I tend to deal with those feelings by sinking into a comfortable gloom. I may not like my little black rain cloud blanket, but at least it's familiar.

For others, it may be a relationship, or Calvin and Hobbes, or smoking, or maybe just cookie dough ice cream.

What about you? What comfortable habit do you go back to when you feel down?

Light will come again

Well, yes. I could be using this time to finish that review due on Friday. Or edit a poem. Or start brainstorming for the paper due Tuesday. And maybe I will do one of those things in a while.

But right now - right now I just came in out of the cold. And washed my face. And took down my hair. And slid into pajamas. And inside a blanket.

And that's why I'm writing.

***

In news of great import: I finished the Deathly Hallows. Yesterday. As in, the seventh, the last, the final book in the Harry Potter series. And I always thought they were overrated. Or uninteresting. Or too trendy. Or . . . something. And I thought the people who got excited about them were strange. Well.

Is it too weird that the end of Harry Potter pulled me out of my Eyeore complex enough to believe that things will be right in the end, that God is good and joy is true?

Yes. It made me pretty happy.

"Of house-elves and children's tales, of love, loyalty, and innocence, Voldemort knows and understands nothing. Nothing. That they all have a power beyond his own, a power beyond the reach of any magic, is a truth he has never grasped."

Well said, Albus.

***

I've made my finals game plan. It's written in colored pencil and hung on the wall beside my desk. It's nice to have it out of my head. Plus I love scratching things off the list. Maybe too much. I just love study plans.

Only maybe I should call it "project plans." Because I have no finals this year. Nada. Just papers, and a presentation. And I like it, I like it lots. I'm the world's worst studier, and I'd much rather sit down and think and analyze and write than . . . study.

Oh yes - and the last GRE? It proved what I've always known: my right brain is abnormally large, and my left brain is the size of a shriveled pea. I got a very exciting score on the Verbal section, and a dismal - nay, abysmal - score on the Quantitative. But that's ok, because my field is English! Take that, mathematics, you have no power over me anymore.

Now. Time for poem revision (cue nerdy excitement), sleep, and finishing strong. Then Jan term: New Mexico ski slopes, good books, and knitting. You heard me right.