Everything running over.

I guess I should practice writing and saying this: I'm gonna travel, then become a Texan, and all while writing this dissertation of mine.

I'd really come to expect that my last few weeks in Athens would be largely uneventful. Lord knows I'll be back quite a bit to check in with my committee, which is why I tried to keep this whole "moving away" thing as unceremonious as possible. The universe seemed to have conceded to winding down my time here quietly and gracefully--afternoon beers, the sun on my face, organizing boxes of pictures and old notes (and oh! so many memories) while I shouted Carly Simon lyrics at the top of my lungs or watched the midnight feature on TCM. I've had a lot of boisterous here; the calm felt nice.

The calm was leading to something though--not necessarily a storm, but an emotional peak of sorts, most parts of which I had absolutely no control over.

And isn't that how life usually changes--on a random Thursday afternoon, while you're having the day's third coffee and ruminating on some tiny inconsequential thing that you'll never recall again? From my experience, yes. It happened to our family last week--a sudden loss, shocking the collective breath from us. My sister's inlaws were involved in a car accident while visiting Joan and Jason in Texas. Becky is okay, suffering relatively minor physical injuries, but we lost Mack. Two days before, he'd been bouncing my niece Eleanor on his knee, fresh from a swim. He loved morning swims in a warm-water pool. Mack had become, in a very short period of time, a beloved member of our far-reaching, multi-faceted family--a family that finally found some cohesion and peace on the occasion of Joan and Jason's beautiful wedding last May. He was a retired professor, a southern gentlemen, a healthy man who seemed to love being outdoors; the last time I saw him, this past Christmas season, he was wearing a funny-looking safari hat he'd just bought at Target. He loved hugging everyone. He's just not someone who should be gone yet, and certainly not in this way.

I was incredibly frustrated to be so far away, unable to help. The same day that Mack left us, my oldest sister Olivia brought my nephew Aldin into the world (in a Hong Kong birthing center). The cycle of life and death became so palpable, and in a single day. I wish that I could have been with my sisters during these life-changing moments. But what being AWAY taught me is this: the love that radiates from genuine care and support is tangible. My family congregated over phone lines; it was all we could do, and it was something. Over the course of three days, I spoke with every member of my family--even those that, unfortunately, I'd lost some amount of touch with. It formed a new map in my head, permanent now.

The emotion of these events also exposed something in me here. Everything's flooding out now. I have so much to say. I have so much to do. I'm so thankful for the opportunities I have, for the people that I know, and for the hope we should all cling to. Hell, I don't know how I thought that moving on would be simple, or easy.

Memories are funny little living, breathing creatures. They lie down and hibernate for periods of time, sometimes long ones. And then they wake up growling. They sneak into the circuits of your body, getting made and re-made as you make and re-make your relationships with the people around you. They're pieces of paper you find in boxes, and the scrawl of a handwriting you could recognize anywhere. Or how you can close your eyes and remember exactly how a moment felt, right down to the whip of the wind. They're photos that are always hiding in the back of your brain, snapshots of the way you WANT life to be. These snapshots I have of my friends are epic, iconic. The people I have loved and love are complex, and etched into my heart. I wish I could make my life into a mosaic.

[Next day addendum!

Turn and face the strrrange ch-cha-changes!

Today I've been trying to provoke some mini-catharses. Brian and I ran around Bishop Park three times, then he made me do odd training moves--like running sideways with my ass out and jogging backwards down a hill. I cleaned out three boxes. The dust made me sneeze sixteen times (yes, I counted). Catherine has requested that I work on an ultimate playlist for the trip to Italy in May...I mean, that's a rather massive undertaking. I welcome suggestions.

But most importantly, I decided to have a "take my stuff party." Have no clue what that is? Check this out: http://likethedew.com/2010/04/03/take-my-stuff-please/ Sidenote: The website, "Like the Dew" is an Atlanta-based online magazine, mostly southern-themed. Lots ofodd political snippets next to music reviews and odes to fried chicken. It's worth a look!

This afternoon, while sneezing sixteen times and sifting through a box of Athens memories, I imagined that I would drive away in a few weeks, car packed up, with Natalie Merchant's "Kind and Generous" blasting. And everyone would think I was idiot. All the while, I'd be serious.]