Kind of a Stay-Cation

Thanks, Hthr, for the term.

A couple of weeks ago, we'd been trying like crazy to plan a getaway for this weekend. We were on pins and needles everyday, waiting to get a Ding and hoping that maybe, just maybe, luck would have it that some extra cash we've got saved up (and the need to book a flight or two to get my free Southwest ticket) could be used on a trip to somewhere. Somewhere we could go that would be warm (or at least warmer than here), near a National Park, and easily camp-able. We had high hopes of packing up our gear, having Cliff take Monday off, and high-tailing it out of here.

Well luck (or just life) would have it that we ended up here for the weekend. Here with little to no plans (before Thursday afternoon) for the first time in a very, very long time. Here in our home, waking up incredibly late, watching movies, wandering bookstores, doing some chores, reading, and just being together. Not to mention, getting to spend time with some people we care about a ton but haven't seen in the longest. Oh and being around for church two weekends in a row for the first time in forever (months?!).

It's funny that sometimes we forget how nice it is, how relaxing it is, how enjoyable it is to just be here, to be home, and to just be. And so what if we're not spending a long weekend (well, Cliff didn't take Monday off so I guess it's just my long weekend) at Biscayne or Carlsbad Caverns (our two biggest targets for the weekend)?

There's always time for those things later and frankly, we could use the lesson in learning to be content and at rest where we are.

Wowzers, Guys!

Who Knows...

We live near this guy named Tommy. When we moved in, he was the first person to introduce himself and to become, well, rather neighborly. He's a unique guy, probably in his late-thirties with shoulder-length jet black hair, an affinity for not wearing shirts, and a large wardrobe of jean cutoffs. Tommy, in his spare time (which tends to be most of it), makes weapons and dream-catchers. Unsurprisingly his apartment, that he shares with his mom, is decorated with tiny cut-outs of wild animals, Native American figurines, and the aforementioned weapons and dream-catchers. Back sometime last fall, he adopted a stray mutt who is aptly named Cherokee. (Sidenote: I love Cherokee. And I love her name, too - we had already planned on naming our second dog Cherokee before he got her.)

The stories involving Tommy since our arrival at this apartment complex are numerous. Our most lasting memory is of coming home one evening after dinner and a movie and realizing Cliff had somehow misplaced our house key (and mine was locked inside the apartment). We hadn't the least idea of how exactly we'd get into our apartment and had started to make plans to call up Zach and Jody and crash at their place for the night. No sooner do we start to walk back to the car when Tommy stumbles (evidently drunk) out of his apartment, asks us what's up, and without even hesitating starts to climb our downstairs neighbors porch railing up to our second story balcony. And then falls off onto his bottom on the ground. He then proceeds to help Cliff who, with some (still to this day) unknown method opens our porch door, walks through our apartment, and lets me in the front door. Tommy stood watch the whole time, evidently caring enough, despite the alcohol, to make sure we were okay.

I haven't looked at Tommy the same, ever since. He's strange in that endearing sort of way, and I often wonder about pieces of his story that we haven't heard yet. And then, sometimes I am quite less curious and just simply amused. Like just now, the whole reason I am posting about Tommy, is because I pulled up from being out all day and he was sitting in his new deluxe large-capacity van with Cherokee in the passenger seat. Tommy smiled and waved, continuing to sit in the car, blaring some electronic woodwinds music with a strange clash of Irish and Native American tones. I walked up to the steps and he honked. I looked back to see if he was trying to get my attention, but no, no he wasn't. I get inside the apartment and he honks again. And in the span of twenty minutes that I have been sitting here writing he has not moved from the car and has honked at least six more times. Music blaring still. Why?

Who knows...

Franklin, Oh, Franklin

Well, we better keep getting comfortable because this will be our home for at least the next year and a half (plus). After some (rather short) deliberations we decided the new lease being offered to us was more than we could pass up (who doesn't want to save a couple of hundred bucks in the long run, right?) and we'll be signing a new lease that will keep us in good ol' 1505 until the end of April, 2010. Crazy, huh? It feels like a huge commitment but we feel an equal amount of peace about it and are looking forward to settling in even more.

With the decision made, Cliff's now talking about painting the walls, buying new patio furniture, and boxing up all of the picture frames and odds and ends we have stacked in corners of our home (after they were graciously unpacked for us while on our honeymoon) and storing them in Cleveland. I have to admit, I like the sounds of it all and it would add even more to the "homey" feel most people say our apartment already has. I think patio furniture will be our first move because I spend a lot of my time there during the week, especially as the days cool off a bit, and the two of us love to wax theological/poetical/philosophical over our dinner until the the sun sets and the mosquitoes start tearing up legs. (That's when all the poetry flies out the window.)

One of our favorite things to do on the patio is read, and between the two of us, we're getting a lot of that done lately. Cliff's averaged about one book a month since the beginning of the year, which is a huge accomplishment for him as he's a thoughtful (not "slow") reader and busy, at that. I myself have read seventeen books since the beginning of May (I can't even recall what I did in the spring amidst comprehensive exams, finishing school, and the like... though I am certain I did some pleasure reading). That means I'm averaging close to one book a week, which isn't so bad I don't think.

And reading has been a great way for me to unwind from two years of predominately academic thinking. Not saying that's not good, because I am incredibly grateful for the sly gift that grad school was to me. But I also know that it sucked a lot of the creativity and free-thinking I once had out of me. So, I've been in a spell of "reservoir filling" - as I've come to think of it. Fiction has done me good along with it's alternation with some good solid non-fiction and now I'm trying to dig a little deeper theologically, coming back around the marrying of my faith to considerate, academic thinking. So, I'm a jumble of thoughts as usual and happily so. And this is my new home for sorting those kinds of things out, for the time being.