another month gone. it’s cold here, freezing most every night and adding stress to mornings in the form of frozen windows and door locks.
the last month has been the proverbial roller coaster of emotions, with unexpected loss and death in the extended community; a job offer, at a big-box grocery store; ups and downs of confidence; thoughts of how amazing this house and town would be if i had a family, but how almost completely stifling it is without one; thankfulness and fear, setbacks and steps forward. some sick sort of balance, i guess.
before the sort-of-schedule of work began, i had some time to refresh social media every five minutes, and happened upon two extremely small venue shows – in the right place (bed) at the right time (one in the afternoon). i set out with a borrowed pair of docs, a plaid shirt and a grey beanie and walked in to a 40-person amy ray show. before i got there a friend wished me a room full of kind people, and it was delivered. i sat, front row, next to the nicest of ladies who chatted me up about the seattle job scene, the phoenix weather, and the crazy luck of getting tickets to the sold-out show.
it was a joint show with lindsay fuller, who was as charming as a guitar-playing idgie threadgoode, with enough southern sass to fill the shoes. lindsay and amy shared the night, all but passing the mic back and forth to each other. the only down point of the night was a poorly-timed text that turned a bit of my attention to thoughts of returning to an empty house. i walked out with a mandolin still jangling in my ear and drove home to quiet.
a week later, i pulled out a different plaid and boots and drove the thirty miles again, this time toward a poetry event headlined by andrea gibson. tara hardy and a couple of members from youth speaks seattle started the night, but andrea brought me in. before shyly walking on stage she sat a few feet in front of me, watching the rest of the show in the audience. her slightness surprised me, that a being so small holds a voice so large. after her set i walked up to buy a book, and dumbly responded “i do” to her “i hope you like it!” dumb, i was struck dumb. no matter. i walked down the outside stairs into the crisp night and hurried to my car, parked in a nearby neighborhood, fast asleep. i drove home feeling inspired, but lost it somewhere over the last two weeks of training to ring up the donuts. it’s time, once and for all, to write everyday without fail, artist’s way-style discipline.
it’s my “saturday” today, and i’m spending time trolling jobs on craigslist and idealist, and contemplating baking. typically i bake when i’m procrastinating, or homesick, or want to fill someone’s belly because i am the original food-pusher. i think today i’ll try pizza mini muffins, to see if they are freezeable and kid-friendly for a sort of homemade christmas gift.
thirty minutes later they are out of the oven, hot and tasty. not quite pizza, but flavorful enough to satisfy a craving. also, how many is this recipe supposed to serve? because i’ve already had
six seven without much of a thought.
these lonely days pull me into melancholy for arizona — not the place, but the people. the family, friends, 10-6 m-f job, no matter how crazy things felt at the time. even the heat seems bearable from here, in the frost. i’ll go home for christmas, and hope that i’m not a mess on the plane ride back to washington. the next step hangs towers over me, and if i can make it happen, maybe i can return here with a bigger foot to put in the door career-wise. i do school well, and i love it. why not go forward now, with a somewhat uncomplicated life? i can only hope the right complications arrive along the way, but for now i have to move on alone.