I live in Eugene in half of a yellow house that has wood floors, two bedrooms, and a fireplace. We finally have pictures on the wall. We have hung Eli’s grandmother’s paintings, my paintings, Eli’s photography, and a few adored wedding presents from friends. When the walls were bare, it didn’t feel like home, but now it is getting close.
We finally found a sofa on craiglist. It is now overlooks the fireplace and Eli and I sit there in the mornings and in the evenings working on our respective projects. Eli builds fires at night. After a long day, I bike home (often in the dark and in the rain), and I still have more that I have to do. But I come home to Eli, and dinner, and late night fires. So far, he hasn’t quite got it down. The fires die out rapidly. We blow on them. We feed them paper. But, still they only linger so long.
The first trimester of school is almost over (University of Oregon has three terms a year). It has not been an easy trimester. I think that it has been filled with grief. I have been grieving for North Carolina, for sunshine and endless days, for a home that really is home and not this yellow half of a house, for art and creative people, for friends, family, journaling, kids I’ve known since they were born, and the feeling that anything could happen today, tomorrow, and the next day.
Here everything is predictable. Each day is fairly planned out. I know what books I will read, what papers I will work on, what stress will be lingering. Today, for example, I’m taking a moment to write this, then there will be statistics homework, then I will look at a dataset, then I will continue stats homework, then I will finish some reading and write some questions, then I will be done, take a bath, kiss Eli, and feel that I have worked another day. Only after about 9PM can I have a glass of wine and wonder, “now what?” Then maybe I will bring out a journal and write and literally explode with delight. Maybe I will listen to This American Life and try to crawl inside of my computer screen and curl up with Ira Glass and all of the people there that are always available to be listened to.
I am trying to think of this year like a pregnancy. Three trimesters. The first one has been filled with some nausea, some discomfort, an overwhelming feeling of, “What have I done?” and “How in the world is this going to work?” I’m hoping the second semester will be filled with more acceptance, more relaxation, more time devoted to the things that I love. Then in the third trimester, I’ll finish up this year of coursework, and it will end with a big finale. It will be almost as exciting as birth. It will be the end of Amanda having to take math classes in graduate school. There will be a party, announcements sent out, lots of self-fulfillment. And then the summer will be beautiful. There is no doubt of that.
There are moments here when I love life. I have an incredible advisor. I’m volunteering at a place that fulfills me. I have Eli to love and be loved by. Sometimes the sun breaks through the clouds and I’m riding my 1970s piece-of-crap bicycle, and I feel not just happy, but content. Suddenly I think that this is all part of a larger plan that really will put me where I’m meant to be, it just requires some side effects along the way. Sometimes, though I don’t feel that way at all. Sometimes the big picture is too far away (years and years away) to be seen anymore. Then, again, I try to think of this year like a pregnancy, knowing that the second trimester is always easier.
Some small Eugene moments that bring me happiness.
Eli with a leaf on his head.
Emily and Eli pretending to be robots in some shirts we silk screen printed.
Em said on November 16th, 2010 at 12:22 am:
Keep at it, my dear.