Back when our wedding bliss
was in its infancy, KB...let us use the word "suggested here, that I
needed a hobby or two. It was when we had cable TV and I, perhaps, watched more
than my fair share. I tried the classic "Why can't watching TV be
considered a hobby?" trick. That was a lonely night on the couch. I've
played guitar for years, so she added the tag "new" to her
suggestion, and I debated until I lost. I did not see the point in developing a
new hobby just for the sake of having one. I figured it should be something I
enjoyed, was somewhat passionate about, and could partake in at any time.
It took six years, but I may
have found a new hobby. I have always enjoyed quality short fiction. I think it
is a classic art form that America has always supported. I mean, O. Henry (a
Texan, I might add) even got a candy bar named for him. A really tasty one at
that. The only other person I can think of with that distinction is, of course,
Francis J. Whatchamacallit, inventor of the toilet paper holder. Look it up.
Some dear friends gave me
journals this past spring for ideas to blog about (it should be noted that this
was after a scolding for not updating with enough regularity). I must confess
to not having used them yet, but I was inspired to start keeping a running word
document on my work computer with ideas. Many of those were just thoughts
("Nay, profundities" - T.K.), and few were sentences that sounded
good. Some were comments I had made that I thought especially witty (ok, so there’s
only one of those). I realized that I could form story around some of these.
KB and I have tossed about
ideas for books or stories before. I have made up a few stories to tell at
bedtime. We've had many good conversations on the art of storytelling and
writing. Once I finally put these puzzle pieces together, I started writing,
and it has been quite a joy. I have no delusion that I will become some widely
published author. Heck, I may only have one or two stories in my head at al,
but the process has been enjoyable so far. Michael Chabon has stated that he writes about 5,000 words per day. I'm shooting for 100, and maybe half of them good.
We're taking a trip
back to Austin this weekend, and I am itching
to get at those journals. I imagine they will be filled quicker than I realize
It is an odd sensation to know that you have multiple places to live, and yet feel homeless. It feels like an after-school special in which the homeless guy on the corner turns out to be a millionaire with several homes, but in this case, it's a couple of rentals. Also, when you're solidly middle-class, eccentric just comes off as "crazy", so...I try and tamp down the urge to make tin foil hats, I suppose. (It occurs to me that this entire paragraph is become quite eccentric. Rather than delete it, I will let it stand as a testament to my eccentricity gaining self-awareness. Like Skynet)
KB and I are in Houston for the summer, and we have a fairly humble set-up at an apartment between our two work locations. It's still a weird feeling to see her (almost) every day, but in an extraordinarily good way. We both agree that it barely seems real; the routine of the past school year set in easily, and disrupting that has very much left us disoriented. Pair the move and its challenges with a trip to Beaumont last weekend (the first time we've spent an entire weekend there in eight years of marriage, I think), and we don't quite know where we're living. So we have more than one home, but still feel a little homeless.
While it is great to be back in Houston for a multitude of reasons, one of the weirder experiences has been driving past our old house. We lived in the Heights for seven plus years, so there are a lot of very happy memories there. In the last ten months, our former landlord has neither rented out our old place, nor put any care into it, so it's looking very run down. Seeing it in such a terrible state was a sad moment for us. Maybe we felt some sense of culpability (we were the only thing standing between that house and nature taking it back), maybe a sense of loss (we kind of just abandoned the place), but part of me thinks it's a glimpse into the future.
KB is in seminary, and in 2014 she will be an Episcopal priest. It will be our lot in life to be moving on a somewhat regular basis. It is rare that someone takes a position and then stays more than ten years, so we will be saying goodbye to people and homes more frequently than most. This past year is the first big move of many more to come, and coping with that is all part of this process.
I'm comforted in a big way by the fact that we have tremendous friends (seriously, some of the best anyone could have) that will be anywhere we need them to be at a moment's notice. We are lucky to have such anchors in our life; a cadre of friends and family that we can truly depend on is one of the greatest gifts in life.
