A Beginning

Six years ago this month, I was accepted to graduate school in the East. I packed my belongings and journeyed across the country, ready to break with the past and begin my future anew. Building a new life stretched and enriched my soul, and I was healed in ever so many ways.

Home is something of a strange concept for me. I feel that I have many homes, and DC is certainly a  home to me. Leaving one of my homes is always excruciating.

Our apartment is half hollow now: furniture sold, keepsakes boxed, pictures wrapped, and walls wiped clean. We will pick and sort through our East coast lives for another week yet, and then we will together pack our belongings and journey across the country. This leaving has not been-- nor will it ever be--easy. But, we press forward. We will return to the West. And we will begin again.

Juxtaposition

Sometime over the course of the last year, I started forgetting how old I am. Genuinely, positively, absolutely forgetting. I've never been particularly bothered about growing older, but I never imagined that I'd start forgetting the actual number at such an early age.

Whatever the number is, I am (as Preston wisely once described me) on the outer fringes of youth. I have merely a vague knowledge of what the young kids these days listen to or watch. And I impatiently--nay, desperately!--await the day when skinny and/or brightly colored jeans are no longer fashionable, since they look terrible on me.  Let's face it. I'm out of touch.

Since I'm already an old woman at heart, I decided to fill some of my spare time by volunteering at the  Shakespeare Theater Company in DC. I'd envisioned being an usher for a local theater company much later in life, but since my memory is clearly slipping already, I figured should start acting my internal age now.

As my fellow new ushers and I sat contemplating theater layouts and the correct protocol for dealing with latecomers the other day, we heard an unlikely sound coming from across the street: screaming. Specifically, teenage girl screaming, the likes of which mine ears had not heard for many years. We looked at each other uncomfortably, unsure of how to reconcile what we were hearing with our surroundings. After all, a healthy majority of us were sporting awesome grey hairdos and orthopedic shoes.

Then, a small voice of knowledge chimed in: "there's a Justin Bieber concert happening across the street." We chuckled, sighed, and resumed studying our theater maps in silence.

Hey, I was a teenager once--I have enough 'N Sync songs on my iPod to prove it.

But I have embraced my old side. I am one of them.

Civic Duty

My household is not blessed with a television. Accordingly, we fled to Virginia last week to watch the opening ceremonies with the VA Witts. In between moments of Danny Boyle mayhem--which, can I just say? MR.BEAN!--we had to sit through all kinds of political attack ads.

Yes, it's election season.

We feel very strongly about civic engagement in my home. What better way to express appreciation for our rights as citizens of a democratic republic than by voting? And vote we do. We vote with our dollars, and with our e-mail accounts. We vote for what truly matters: maintaining a robust selection of light ice cream products in our grocery store's freezer aisle. David is truly a patriot. Showing here:

Dear Edy's,

Please continue the Slow Churned Black Raspberry, which is marked "Limited Edition." I'm a normal Joe who has never contacted a company like this before, but I'm begging you: please continue this flavor! My only complaint when I eat it is how fast my bowl becomes empty.

Sometimes you just have to take a stand, reader.