The Christmas Spirit

I survey the scene of my home from my white plush robe and armchair: the berry lights are lit, the tree decorated, the presents wrapped under the tree. The carpet is vacuumed, the plants are water, the dishes left undone (but I'm not too worried about them). The Winter Songs album is playing with the latest rendition of Frosty the Snowman. I am ready.

And waiting.

On a train travelling through the depths of the London streets, which have just received a dusty of snow, is my brother and his girlfriend. They are headed my direction, my brother just off a transatlantic flight. I can't bring myself to do anything but wait in anticipation. The excitement almost tangible that I don't know how to react to daily life it seems. The last time I was this nervous/excited/dazed was my first wedding day in April: I woke up before the sunrise and needed to laugh to relieve the tension.

But now, now, I cradle the laptop as a distraction device, write to you, and think, well, this is part of the Christmas Spirit isn't: waiting for your loved ones to arrive through whatever the weather, the kitchen a little dirty, and your home warm and open. Sigh.

To Do List (Saturday)

It seems now that married life has officially begun without any secondary wedding on the horizon, the nesting has begun. And my nesting I mean a deep urge to paint the walls, frame and mount prints and photographs, and finally find covers for our ugly, red couches. Here's part of our To Do List:

A broken down ranch house,

poster from the free blugrass festival

in the city's park, an anchor in the sky,

your college diploma, and clever photographs

I brought back from Canada for you

that spell out our initials in architecture

...

these are all the pieces

I want to frame for our home,

find the perfect spot just so

build our sanctuary together...

Mt. Shasta....

I miss my mountain. I know it's a half hour's drive away from my hometown. I know it's not always visible from every vista of Yreka. And yet, Mt. Shasta has always signaled home. Driving around those bends in the canyon where the mountain just peeks through after the long drive through the Northern California valley and hot hot Redding. Its towering facade from the actual city itself nestled at its base, the snow ever glowing in the moonlight. Over fields and football stadiums, Mt. Shasta is a symbol of home. I about fell out of my computer chair tonight when I saw it online in the most random of places. There were tears in my eyes.

Highways & Anchors

On this day when I have turned in the final assessment + dissertation for my MA degree (and drunk a few glasses of cava), I find myself reflecting on the url I've chosen for this blog. Now titled 'One a Day,' the blog reflects my continued commitment to my writing practice and constant observance of my own life and surroundings. When I first started this blog, however, I was interested in what grounded me, and where I was going.

For me, the highways were my pathways through the unknown paths of my life in California. I-5 connecting my home to my future in Los Angeles, the coastal highways connecting to my university life in Santa Cruz as well. The anchors were people: my family, my friends, my lover. I knew which roads I would be travelling by but I was unsure of my destinations.

A year and a half later, I no longer travel by highway, but by bus route and underground train lines. The pathways that connect my homestate and my home-sweet-homes are most easily navigable by airways. My destinations thus far have been largely unseen, unknown--and at the same time, completely expected and make so much sense. My anchors have been, well, anchors: a community of people who unflinchly support and love me.

Highways & Anchors. One a Day. Where I've come from, where I'm going. And who's coming with me on the journey, I am ever-grateful.

What It's Like to be Home

As you can probably tell, One a Day has not been 'one a day' lately. There are a number of reasons. Not excuses mind you, but observations I've had.

First, way back in May when I started this assignment I changed the time zone setting on my account from PST to GMT. After all, I am now living in London full-time and not the West Coast of the States. However, since coming back to California I had forgotten all about switching time zones and was astonished to realize that as I was making my one a day deadline, it published as the next day, 8 hours ahead, as if I were in London. Lifeshock #1.

Second, I have no routine here. No empty house to myself, no set aside time to check my email, write, and blog. And can I just say, I miss my laptop. Ok, I not necessarily my laptop in particular as a midnight discussion with my love the other night proved I desperately need one that works, but the IDEA of a laptop. Freedom. Mobility. No back aches sitting at a not-computer-desk desk. (Which, I may also take the time to note, I don't have in either country.)

Thirds, it's busy here. People's works schedules. Family. Friends. All good, don't get me wrong, but not much time to walk in the park--or write on the computer. It'll be sporadic for a week or two, but I think I'll start by changing the time zone temporarily.