December 06, 2002 : the missing shoe
The case of the missing shoe this morning caused quite a stir. I had thought she would simply search for her other shoe and then find another pair, but oh no, Eva had that pair on her mind. I was laying in bed with great anticipation for her leaving the house and finding her gift from Sinterklaas, when all of a sudden panic struck her.
"Where is my other shoe?!?!" she shouted as she banged around beneath the bed overturning things laying about on the floor.
"Why not wear another pair?" I questioned as I climbed out of bed to help her "look" and also to offer her other pairs. "How about your dock Martins?"
"Because I'm wearing brightly striped socks. So I need that pair in order to cover my socks when I am sitting down."
"Oh, silly me" I thought to myself...and I offered her another pair of hi-top black dress shoes, perfectly adequate in the concealing-socks category.
"No, those are uncomfortable."
"How about this pair" I said, offering her yet another pair of perfectly sock-hiding shoes.
"No, I don't want to wear those, I want the other shoe of this pair," she went on, already outfooted with one shoe, still hunting for that other one.
And so that's how it started, she's not the most wonderful of morning people. We're in dire need of doing laundry (which is always my fault) and the underwear pile has been reduced to nothing. (go ahead an think whatever you like...are we wearing dirty underwear or no underwear?) **insert chuckle here**
And so, at a most pivotal moment I went to the door (sighing deeply inside, but secretly knowing her reaction already and loving it...)
"Oh...Sinterklaas must have visited you..."
And she ran to the door, bent over and studied her gifts. A Clementine and the chocolate hand-carved 'E'.
Words can't describe what came over her then. Silly embarrassment and thankfulness and all the things that come with nice surprises--even under such circumstances. I told her all about how last night I had done it while she had been taking a shower and that I had written about it in my journal, knowing full well that she'd not read it before she found it. Ahhhh glory!
So that's the story of the case of the missing shoe. The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, except that I've now secured a time for next week in which I will do a phone interview for the graphic design position available at the University of Wyoming in Laramie. Many people I've told (all state-side lesbians) seem to think it strange that I would even be interested in a position where the gruesome Matthew Shepard murder took place, but that has no bearing on the idea of teaching there at all. Horrible things happen everywhere and good people need to be where bad things happen in order for bad things to become less-likely. But then again, bad things can happen even in the midst of a group of good people. There's just no winning.
On the way to the grocery store tonight it was snowing. Not real snow really, just a few single flakes viewable only in the light of automobiles and street-lamps. I didn't care if it was snowing only a few flakes a minute, I shrieked with joy! "WEEEEEEEEEE" I said...and I attempted to catch a few in my hand but come up empty. It's the thought of the snow that counts. Thank you snow.
Back at the house I made a supper of vegetarian chunks (fake meat again) on skewers and a big fat rookworst (smoked sausage) with mashed potatoes, carrots, and beans. (the latter two the definitive ingredients to every meal). I was skeptical about the rookworst, but found it to be delicious. Eva said it made a nice hearty winter meal and for the second night in a row we forgot to break out our Sinterklaas white wine. (which we opened later just because.)
While fixing dinner I mumbled about the importance of country and living and family and friends. What good is it for me to live in the US if I'm not near my family and friends? If my friends are divided across the US and I see them nearly as often as I do if I live here, then what is the reason to go back? There are so many positive things about here (Europe in general) that I must do a definitive heart-searching when considering my options. I see my family just as much as Eva sees hers. Mine aren't as accessible, and my friends aren't just a long-drive away, but I still manage to have a nice relationship with the people dear to me.
What's the solution? What makes a person say, "This is where I belong." or "This is my home?" I have found "home" to be such an arbitrary place, among such locations as a Christian-owned youth hostel in the outskirts of London, UK; Cincinnati, Ohio; San Francisco, California; Portland, Oregon; Antwerp, Belgium; Mullsjo, Sweden; Joplin, Missouri; Kansas City, Missouri; New York, New York; Dublin, Ireland; and the list gets bigger and bigger. One can make friends anywhere if you want. Without language barriers (which are mostly barriers I only create myself) what makes a place more or less welcoming. If you were a restless person, or even only restless in your head, what made you choose? Comments are welcome. When does someone say, "ok, self, this is it. Let's get on with living...everywhere else we will go will be a vacation, because now we've found our landing place."
I'm currently without my/our landing place. Life took such a strange turn. I woo-ed a girl and got a country.
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