I'll take my staff and travel on
Well, today I was idle and laggard and didn't get much done that I meant to get done. Fie. On the other hand, I was out for a drive and saw an eagle flying over the Connecticut River. I could tell it was a smallish eagle, not a large hawk, because its white head and tail stood out in shocking contrast to its black wings. That was definitely worth seeing.
Yesterday, I had two job interviews, one near Cape Cod, the other in the Boston area. It involved a lot of driving, and getting up early. I'm a fan of the first, but not of the second. The alarm woke me from the nightmare I wrote about in my last post, and the sense of flailing worry stuck with me all day. The interviews left me badly rattled. They went well, as far as I'm able to tell, but I haven't been offered anything yet, obviously, as it was just yesterday. I'm rattled because of my options. There are three possible outcomes: (1) I get the really good job, and have to move; (2) I get the very-part-time job and keep living here, commuting to Boston twice a week; or (3) I get no job at all and stay here, idling and writing poetry and enjoying Mountain House.
By gum! I'm happy here! These past three weeks have been something of an unplanned vacation for me. I didn't ask for one, but, hey, that just means that I don't have to feel like a lazy bum. And it's nice to have a break. I haven't had one since December 2010. It's a beautiful spot with a clear view across the valley to the next mountain range; there's a rural road at the end of my driveway, with white goats and horses and ponies, and a small cemetery. In "town" (actually a glorified crossroads out in the middle of nowhere), there are two excellent coffee shops where I walk nearly every morning to sit and write and enjoy the air conditioning and old paperback books. Plus some fine coffee and pastries, of course. It's hot, but I can swim in the river behind the old factory building, and I do so with the liveliest pleasure.
"We soon learn to love what we know we must leave." C.S. Lewis said that about Joy Davidman when she fell ill. To compare tiny things to great, I knew my time at Mountain House would be limited, and set about getting the most out of my time here. Still, I didn't reckon on getting this attached to the place. I am having a hard time going out looking for work, and I'm feeling queasy about the prospect of moving yet again for even the most desirable job. Damn it, this was difficult last time, but this time it's going to be a real blow. Leaving this house is going to be like leaving a lover. One who has maybe never been very demonstrative or romantic, but who has a certain quiet charm and who makes you feel peaceful and at ease whenever you're together. You don't know what you've got till it's gone. I have been happy here.
It's not done yet, and I intend to take every advantage of however long I spend here. Tomorrow morning, as often before, I'm going to get up early and march right down the road to enjoy the morning, drink coffee and write in my notebook. This weekend is Readercon, but I may fit in a swim in the river before leaving for the con. After that, who knows? I've been lucky here, though, I've been very lucky.
Yesterday, I had two job interviews, one near Cape Cod, the other in the Boston area. It involved a lot of driving, and getting up early. I'm a fan of the first, but not of the second. The alarm woke me from the nightmare I wrote about in my last post, and the sense of flailing worry stuck with me all day. The interviews left me badly rattled. They went well, as far as I'm able to tell, but I haven't been offered anything yet, obviously, as it was just yesterday. I'm rattled because of my options. There are three possible outcomes: (1) I get the really good job, and have to move; (2) I get the very-part-time job and keep living here, commuting to Boston twice a week; or (3) I get no job at all and stay here, idling and writing poetry and enjoying Mountain House.
By gum! I'm happy here! These past three weeks have been something of an unplanned vacation for me. I didn't ask for one, but, hey, that just means that I don't have to feel like a lazy bum. And it's nice to have a break. I haven't had one since December 2010. It's a beautiful spot with a clear view across the valley to the next mountain range; there's a rural road at the end of my driveway, with white goats and horses and ponies, and a small cemetery. In "town" (actually a glorified crossroads out in the middle of nowhere), there are two excellent coffee shops where I walk nearly every morning to sit and write and enjoy the air conditioning and old paperback books. Plus some fine coffee and pastries, of course. It's hot, but I can swim in the river behind the old factory building, and I do so with the liveliest pleasure.
"We soon learn to love what we know we must leave." C.S. Lewis said that about Joy Davidman when she fell ill. To compare tiny things to great, I knew my time at Mountain House would be limited, and set about getting the most out of my time here. Still, I didn't reckon on getting this attached to the place. I am having a hard time going out looking for work, and I'm feeling queasy about the prospect of moving yet again for even the most desirable job. Damn it, this was difficult last time, but this time it's going to be a real blow. Leaving this house is going to be like leaving a lover. One who has maybe never been very demonstrative or romantic, but who has a certain quiet charm and who makes you feel peaceful and at ease whenever you're together. You don't know what you've got till it's gone. I have been happy here.
It's not done yet, and I intend to take every advantage of however long I spend here. Tomorrow morning, as often before, I'm going to get up early and march right down the road to enjoy the morning, drink coffee and write in my notebook. This weekend is Readercon, but I may fit in a swim in the river before leaving for the con. After that, who knows? I've been lucky here, though, I've been very lucky.