Subtle changes

Before I went to Socorro, I'd developed a bit of a wind phobia. Sometimes the wind here, near the mouth of Strong's Canyon, is pretty extreme. It has been known to blow the Adirondack chairs right off the deck.

But Socorro might also be called Sirocco, because it's really windy all the time there. So much so that people build adobe walls around their houses to keep their stuff from blowing away.

After about three months of cowering at night in my A-frame, I started to get annoyed. The fine desert grit blew right under the door and through the window frames. It got in my food, it got on my toothbrush. It coated the floor and the bathtub and made mud when I showered. Then, after about another month, I stopped noticing it all together.

We've got a bit of wind here at home tonight, the kind that used to make me cower under the covers.

It sounds like the sea.

Random Findings...

On Friday, I was cleaning out the furnace room. We store our outdoor gear in there---snowshoes and skis and tents and sleeping bags and, well you get the idea. It occurred to me that some shelves would be helpful. So I was putting them in.

I bumped a shelf into the duct work, and a little metal rectangle, a bit larger than an index card, fell down onto the floor with a loud clatter. I gasped because I thought I'd poked a hole in the duct, and stood on tiptoe to look at the duct work. And I saw this piece of brown paper. Which, naturally, I pulled on. It was a paper bag. Whatever was inside was heavy. As I pulled it toward the edge of the duct, a perfectly ordinary quarter fell on the floor. My brows furrowed and my heart thumped. I pulled the bag out, and held it in my hand for a long moment. A moment fraught with this much sheer, unexpected possibility had to be shared with someone else. So I brought the bag inside and put it on the kitchen table. Then I went out and did a bunch of other things while I waited for J. It was 3:50, and he was supposed to be home at 4. I kept wandering through the kitchen to stare at the bag until 4:40, when he FINALLY came home. At that point, I was coming in from the chicken coop with four eggs in my hand.

I said, "Come on! I've got something to show you! I didn't open it yet, because I wanted you to be here! Four eggs! Look!" which, naturally, made no sense at all to him.

As I was putting the eggs in the fridge, J casually opened the bag. I was telling him all about it, but I don't think he heard me, because I had to tell it again later. Inside the bag? More than $1000 worth of silver coins (according to wikipedia).

I told the story again, dragging J out to the furnace room, where he looked all over for other hidden treasure.

Naturally, the response has been mixed---from disbelief to amazement to envy. But the most interesting one is the response from a friend of a friend, who warned us that we shouldn't talk about it. We should keep it quiet. We shouldn't mention it out loud. Because the old owners might come and want the money back. Or get a court order to tear the house apart looking for more. I think less than charitable things about his view of the world.

Which brings me to another random finding, this one inside my own head. Apparently, I have a sincere faith in the Universe's own peculiar brand of justice. If anyone showed up with a court order to tear my house apart over $1000 in coins, I wouldn't even have to do anything. Likely, the big pine tree in the front yard would fall on their heads, and drive them like a nail down into the sewer line. So I'm just not worried about this. Instead, I'm just childishly excited by the buried treasure that I found, and I'm having fun making up stories of how the money got there. All the sudden, I'm living in Nancy Drew's or Trixie Belden's universe. How fun is that?

Is this when to say 'when'?

I find myself in a spot that's unusual for me. I'm uncertain. And because I note that it's unusual, you know I usually just plow ahead, without worrying too much about the consequences. But, at the moment, I find that I'm dragging my feet on a project that I wouldn't usually drag myself to. Instead of getting to work on it, I find myself vacuuming. (!) Washing dishes. Doing laundry. All things that are necessary, and so I can convince myself that they need doing RIGHT NOW.

So here's the thing. I'm looking at this grant proposal, which, if we got it, would be huge. Enormous. Challenging and of national impact. I would more or less devote myself to this effort for the next four years. Everything else would take a backseat, because running this effort would be a full time job, in addition to the half time teaching load that is more or less necessary to keep my actual job. Not to mention committee work. And research with students. Ah. And so there I see the problem, even as I start talking it out, I see what's bothering me. More than 150% time for the next four+ years. Given that 100% time at my job typically means many more than 40 hours per week, 150+% time typically means... well, no time for anything else. Not only that, but I'd be working 150+% time for 130% pay.

Having just done pretty much that for two years, I can tell you that I always felt like I wasn't giving adequate attention to ANYthing I was doing. I always felt a little bit behind. Always not quite ready for class. Always not quite having the homework done before I assigned it. Always having emails piling up, reports slapped together, some purchase or requisition not quite properly tracked or accounted for. Always leaving my tack uncleaned, my clothes unwashed, the dog unwalked, and the bed unmade. Is it too much to ask to have time every day to pull the comforter up? Some days, I didn't have time to take a shower.

And then today, on Radio West, comes this guy: Tom Hodkinson, who wrote 'How to be Idle', and he talked about the Western obsession with work. And he said, 'What if you woke up every morning and thought, 'What shall I do today?'' And I was struck by that. Because here I am on sabbatical, having done some really pretty important work for the last five months. By all rights, I should spend the next five weeks trying to figure out what I would do if I didn't HAVE to do anything. Instead, I'm beating myself up over not really feeling all that gung-ho about taking on a future four years that are going to put me in the same position that made me need the sabbatical so desperately in the first place.

But then, I think about what it would mean to the University and the Department to have this grant come in. It's not everyone here that knows how to do this kind of thing. And I can see it all laid out in steps ahead of me. First, we'd do this, and then we'd do that, and then we'd do this, and then we'd have a finished product that was better than anything that currently exists, and it would really be a big help to teachers everywhere. And I have a big enough ego that I think that maybe we are the only ones who COULD do it. And I have a small enough ego to think that this kind of grant-getting is the most useful thing that I contribute. And I think about what would it mean to have this kind of influx of cash in the current economic climate.

But then I heard this story about someone who got facilities from the University---new space for new offices. But no furniture. Seriously. Not a chair. Not a pencil. Not a stapler. Nothing. And I've been promised that 'we could find the space'. But I never asked about furniture. Because why would I, right? What good are offices without desks? Grant agencies don't pay for furniture. That's supposed to come out of the overhead. That's obvious, right? But in the last grant, I was scavenging furniture from surplus. Do I really want to go through all that sort of thing again?

And maybe I should just worry about keeping the job I already have. I mean, I really, really love my job. Would I love doing this other job as much? Would it be as valuable as being in the classroom? Would I ever find time to walk the dog or ride my pony?

So mostly, I'm just wondering if I've gone completely mad... I guess I feel that applying for the grant means stepping off into a whole other career, in addition (not instead of) the one I already have, and I'm not sure I want to go there. On the other hand, we probably wouldn't get it (those are the odds). But on the other, other hand, if we did, it really would mean a commitment of cosmic proportions, for at least four years. And if I'm not sure I want to make that commitment, should I waste everyone's time by applying?

And isn't this, maybe, one of the whole points of a sabbatical, to step back and try to get some perspective on what you do every day, and what it's good for, and what it's about, and why you do it, and how you could do it better, more authentically? And to try to figure out, maybe just a little, when it's time to say 'when'?

Or maybe I'm just thinking too hard.

Small things #15:

1) Rolling over in the night and finding J there.

2) Captain, wanting morning pets. And then hopping down to let us sleep in until 8.

3) Being reunited with friends on our deck for a random Friday celebration, and laughing so hard our stomachs hurt. I am so blessed in my friends.

4) Hours-long phone calls to my mom, which likewise make my stomach hurt from laughter.

5) I began drafting the landscape plot of our property today. And I remembered the 'two-arc' method of drawing an irregular quadrilateral, (using only side lengths and diagonals!), from high school geometry. Did I EVER think I'd need to know that? No. It is such a sweet surprise to have a problem and then find in your mind all the pieces that build a solution.

Small things #14:

1) The way my pony calls for me as soon as she hears my voice. I have a special nicker all my own, different from the 'treats' nicker. What an enormous privilege that is.

2) Sore muscles. From having fun outside, not from being locked in the gym.

3) USU Extension, which is teaching me landscape design, for only $100!

4) Toy time with Captain. He's so painfully cute about this.

5) A cleanly swept porch.

Home

I've been home for a week now, and things are finally starting to settle down a little, so that I have time to check in here. Between going to get the ponies, and getting them settled in, and re-learning how to sit on my re-trained pony, and touching all my stuff, and checking in at work, and calling all the people who need to come and do things, and talking to my mom on the phone for THREE HOURS, and having sore muscles, and losing and finding all the bits of paper that document all my activities, and actually cooking food, and actually going out to not-Mexican restaurants, and taking the dog for walkies, and training him not to pull on the leash or chase chickens, ponies or children, and getting bikes tuned and assembled, and dropping off and picking up dry cleaning, and doing laundry (in the house!), and cleaning floors and washing dishes, and planting seeds, and learning how to live with someone else again, and getting new glasses, and signing up for landscape design classes, and cleaning up after the annual disaster known as winter, all I can say is...

I'm so happy to be home. But I'm not sure how I'll ever have time for a job. How did I ever fit it in?

Small things #13:

1) J is coming to get me. Not small, really. Not at all.

2) Seinfeld, which boosted me back up after Religulous dumped me in the doldrums.

3) books on my iPhone. Coraline was great, I look forward to the movie, and Pride and Prejudice is an old standby that I'm visiting again.

4) Stuffed sopaipillas at DJ's. I'm going to miss 'em. I'm going to miss 'em so much I might have mentioned it before...

5) Walter. Who went all the way to Belen at midnight to pick up Adam, when his car broke down. Hooray Walter!

Something fast to say...

Much more deliberate thinking about the Republicans and their obstructiveness and despair-mongering has brought me to this thought:

It's not enough to have an opinion. You need to have an idea.

And so I'm now busily exploring my own mind, turning up rocks, looking under logs, pushing aside fronds, staring up into branches, to see how often I have only an opinion, not an idea.

This is the same, I suppose, as saying 'Everyone's a critic', except that's not an idea. It's just an opinion.

Small things #12:

1) ...when a plan comes together...

2) Jigsaw puzzles

3) Finding money you forgot you had, stuffed in a pocket.

4) Stephen Briggs reading Terry Pratchett in audiobook. My life is more fun because of it. (How DID I ever get along before the iPod and the audiobook?)

5) gmail.

Report on the 'Minimalism Project'

A friend just called my Socorro life 'an experiment in minimalism'. I hadn't quite thought of it that way, but I suppose that it was, relatively. I can report that some things I really missed. But mostly, I got along fine. Here's the setup:

1) ~600 sq. ft. cottage, of which only 400 sq. ft actually got used. (I stacked my clothes in plastic bins in a corner of one room, but didn't actually use that room. I just never got around to getting a dresser for the bedroom...)
2) Minimal furniture purchasing:
one sm. computer desk that I used for both desk and kitchen table.
one metal folding chair.
one air mattress with one set of sheets, one blanket, one pillow.
3) Other furniture rented, by the month:
one sofa
one loveseat
one area rug
one coffee table
two endtables
two lamps
4) All kitchen supplies fit in a single box---one of those red-lidded bins from Lowe's.
5) One duffle bag full of clothes.
6) One other red-lidded bin full of random things (a few books, watercolor paints, yarn and knitting needles, bathmat, soap dish, etc.)
7) One laptop.
8) One iPhone. (see why I don't consider it 'minimalism'?)
9) No landline.
10) No tv.
11) No internet connection.
12) No car. (see why my friend DOES consider it 'minimalism'?)
13) For about 6 weeks, I had a vacuum cleaner. But it broke, and I just borrowed one from a friend twice since then.
14) In the kitchen: electric stove and range, fridge, sink. No microwave, no small appliances. Horror has been expressed about my not having a coffee-maker.
15) In the bathroom: shower, a tub I'd never bathe in, toilet, sink. No hairdryer, etc. But I never have those. Again, some react with horror.
16) One five-gallon aquarium, with five fish.
17) One window box with three plants.
18) One sweet bicycle.
19) No washer/dryer. Laundromat 1 mile away.
20) One large backpack.
21) One small backpack
22) One cloth shopping bag.

For the record, I did not feel at all deprived. I felt like I was living pretty swank, actually. I ate out as much as I wanted, visited the library a couple of times per week, went to the grocery store nearly every day, paid for my share of food and beer with friends at BBQ's, and spent more evenings out than in. J came to visit, and seemed to feel that some added swankness was needed, and by the time he left, I'd acquired all kinds of things, like a bath mat and a soap dish and a toilet paper holder. And a whole slew of glasses for wine or martinis. I had a bottle of 18-year Jameson's that I bought specially because I had intended it as my 'tenure whiskey'. It turned into my 'Obama inauguration whiskey', and everyone enjoyed it very much, which was more fun than drinking it all myself. I often had wine in the house, and often took a bottle elsewhere.

For almost the entire time I was here (exclusive of J's visit), I kept track of every single expense. If I spent money, I recorded it in my phone. I wanted to know what this boondoggle was costing.

Monthly costs:
rent: $375
furniture: $130
electric: usually $15, $50 Dec and Jan (electric baseboard heat, oh boy.)
water, etc.: $11 avg.
food, wine and beer: $80
eating out: $60
entertainment: (iTunes, movie rentals, audiobooks, etc.): $30
liquor (not wine and beer): $20 ($90 of this total was my 18-yr Jamesons)
miscellaneous: (laundry, fish food, train fare, magazines, etc.): $15

So. Add it up. For less than $800/month, I was living really comfortably.

What did I miss? John. Captain. Trinket. The gurls. My friends at home. Trees. My garden. Good pots and pans. A knife with room for your fingers under the handle. A 'real' NPR station. Restaurant variety. Windows that close all the way. An outdoor space to inhabit.

Towards the end, I got tired of schlepping my clothes to the laundromat. Mostly because I had left my big backpack at home in January, and had to take two trips every time. Bad enough to walk two miles to do your laundry. Worse to do it twice in one day. If I were staying longer, I would either a) send for the larger backpack, or b) start calling the public transportation van, or c) start borrowing an NRAO van.

Sometimes I got really frustrated by not having the interweb right there at home when I wanted it. But then I'd walk over to someplace that had it, and figure ok, whatev. After a while, I just got used to planning ahead. And then I got used to only being able to check email on my phone. And then I noticed I was a lot more relaxed...

I didn't miss having a car. I listened to a lot of audiobooks, and got a lot of thinking done. After a while, I even stopped using my bike, prefering to take my time and walk wherever I was going, because there was enough time to have a complete thought, but not so much that I bored myself. Once in a while, I felt a little claustrophobic. So I'd take the public transportation van (not a bus. It's complicated.) to the train station, or I'd talk people into a big group hike.

Now, I grant you. I don't live like this at home. Home is lots more luxurious, and has lots more dependents. It's also much colder than here. And anyone can put up with almost anything for five months. That's not the point. The point is... well, I don't know what the point is. I guess the point is that if I had to, I could get by with a lot less. And still be totally good. And that's really comforting, at this particular moment of chaos.

Small things #11:

1) Unstructured time. The picture above is the first one that comes up on a google image search for 'unstructured time'. Why should spending time always need to be 'profitable'?

2) My air mattress, which did not spring a leak until this weekend. If I fill it before I go to bed, I only have to fill it once in the middle of the night!

3) Thai food. Especially panang red curry with tofu.

4) Recognizing that what you have in your hand might be more valuable to someone else. I got a massage yesterday. The m.t. was telling me how she always wanted to be a marine biologist when she was a kid. But then she had to grow up and let go of her dream. She's always regretted it. I happened to have both a box of notecards AND Earthwatch's 2009 magazine of science volunteer/vacation opportunities in my bag. (What are the chances?!) So I wrote her a note, and left her the magazine. I also tipped her 50%, to get her started. I like to imagine her running with that.

5) Time passing. I also picked up a book about bridge yesterday, published in 1976 by, gasp!, a woman. The introduction is all about how you shouldn't assume that a woman doesn't have the endurance (!) or the intelligence (!) to play bridge, because Dorothy Truscott breaks all the barriers. I am so, so lucky that I didn't even know that there was a bridge barrier for women. You've come a long way, baby.