Spontaneous Combustion

And this weekend we moved to a new rental. Moving is easier when there are no TSA restrictions. I just throw my clothes in suitcases, school books in a box, double bass in its case, and make a mental note of where I tucked my folder of legal documents. And then I'm done (i.e., available to help pack up the kitchen). This move was also easier for me because Isaac and Jared both came over to help us. Because of them, I did next to nil heavy lifting. The most tiring part of the day was picking up pizza downtown. Between noon-on-Friday traffic and construction, I was forced to park three blocks away from the restaurant. Life is hard, yeah?

Not that the move wasn't hard. I just got lucky, personally, since the muscles came and helped. The act of moving, itself, has become a formality ("Couch fits through the door at this angle." "The neighbors gave us boxes a couple months ago in prep for this."). It's the hundred other unrelated things that go on as we move that make it difficult, mentally.

I took a day off work to visit my grandparents last week. It's sad that it was such a difficult decision: go see Grandma and Grandpa who are actually at home and not in the hospital, or make money? So I got up Wednesday and made a few loaves of bread, the kind Grandma taught me how to make, and the moment one had cooled enough jumped in the car with Dad and drove down to the farm. I set the loaf of bread at the foot of grandma's hospital bed that is set up in the den, the room where I used to sit and read to her every Tuesday afternoon when it was too cold or wet to sit out in the garden, surrounded by flowers.

My grandma is so strong, like always. There's something in her eyes and in the quality of her voice that defies nature: Entropy rules over our bodies and the whole universe. Everything we see descends into chaos, and we can only fight against it for so long until it consumes us as well. But the spiritual? There entropy is fought back. There it is ever onward, ever upward, ever becoming more gloriously complete. There you have my grandma.

Grandpa, too, but it was harder to see right away because I was caught off guard. Back at Christmas, he was having a little trouble with balance, with his right hand, and with directions. Now, almost overnight, he can barely do anything for himself, or even talk. This is the man who "____." Fill in the blank. He did a lot, what with raising a family, fighting wars at home and abroad, being held captive in Vietnam for 5 years. All the glory stories.

Not that there's no guts. A few years ago, the first time I'd really fallen hard for someone and he didn't catch me, my grandma made me feel better by re-telling me her and grandpa's love story; only this time it wasn't the fairytale I'd heard a thousand times. I then realized that most of my family history had probably been written like they make maraschino cherries: pit it, suck the insides out and pump it full of sugar and red-40. It was an eye-opening heart-to-heart and took a lot of pressure off because suddenly the standard of perfection I'd been holding myself to was arbitrary. And I felt closer to my grandparents than ever. Honesty is a beautiful thing.

Whatever it is that ever happened, ever, it doesn't seem to matter anymore. I just love them and I wish they would get better and I know that everyone who knows them thinks the same.

Especially in those circumstances, it was strange being on the farm. Like falling asleep and entering a dream. One you had dreamed for 20 years.

Chris and Sara were visiting my aunt and uncle, so I walked across the road and got to meet Audrick, my newest first cousin once removed. They had just returned with some birch and willow saplings and are going to plant them by the pond. Ironically, my dad was just up the road talking to a man about logging our hill.

Come again, it's not ironic. Someone uproots a tree as another gets planted. I hugged my 85 year old grandparents, then 5 minutes later hugged baby Audrick.

In and out. Dust to dust. It's futile. We try to do so many things and spend so much time fighting against entropy but it bites swiftly and tactfully. Just 3 weeks ago I rolled out of bed and ran ten miles. Then, a week later, I had an accident at work, sliced my ankle open, and couldn't walk for five days. Just taking a shower was a big deal. I spent a lot of time staring at the ceiling. Always my favorite night of the summer, I sat on a bench at the barn dance (well, except for when Andrew or Jared pulled me onto the floor and waltzed with me really slow a couple times). I am, finally, considering going for a jog tomorrow. A two mile jog on flat ground.

Yep, a couple weeks into "my quest" and I was basically immobile (I just knew something like this was going to happen. Though I think I got off easy). The cut itself and circumstances surrounding it were consequences of the reasons I hadn't wanted to stick it out around here, why I had wanted to be like the Christmas song and "make a lot of money and quit this crazy scene." And discouragement crept in...the usual stuff. Life is spontaneously combustible and why do I even try and what about ISIS... dramatics for dramatics sake. I could only pull it off for about 24 hours. Then I was just bored and ready to be moving.

And we did move.