Postcards from the Imagination

I checked my voicemail this morning, and the message from __________ is still there. The more I think about/research this offer, the better it gets. The middle school my daughter would attend runs grades 6-8, and pulls from several elementary schools, which means she wouldn't be the lone new kid. Her classmates would be in a new school, making new friends as well. She might even have classmates who live in the same graduate family housing complex as ourselves. The school day runs from about 9:00am to 3:30pm, so while I'd still need some afterschool care to cover the late afternoon workshops and seminars, she wouldn't have to be there more than a few hours each week. And get this: the school district has a FREE afterschool program for kids her age. (I'm paying $200/month for the same here in NH.) 

At this point, I can't see any drawbacks to my daughter living on an Ivy League campus and having mom around most of the time as she approaches her teenage years. Nor can I see any drawbacks to writing my first book and still being able to put food on the table. I talked with her this morning, and my girl likes this option too.

What's more, I just received an email from the graduate coordinator offering to arrange a visit. They'll reimburse a good chunk of my travel expenses, put me up free of charge with a current grad student, and schedule all the faculty appointments and workshop visits on my behalf!

Exciting as this all is, it's somewhat bewildering and bittersweet too. Soon I'll be moving away from a place I've called home for the past three years--and I don't know if I'll ever come back. I'm not a recent grad with a parental home base, but a woman whose whole life travels with her. There's a finality to the way this chapter closes and the next one begins that's rare in any one life. Everything is about to change--is changing--and the space between is dizzying.

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On a lighter note, you can rest assured that the forces of the universe are doing their best to keep my ego well in check. On Saturday night I heard a sound like a squeaky shopping cart wheel coming from the kitchen. When I headed over to investigate, I saw something flying through the pass-through between the dining room and kitchen. For a split-second I thought it was a bird, but when it made a u-turn and started back in my direction, I realized it was BAT! And not a baby bat, but a full-grown, flying mammal with leathery wings. I bolted for the bedroom, slammed the door behind me, and shoved a towel under the door. Of course, there's no phone in the bedroom, so after a few deep breaths I realized I'd have to go back out. Fortunately, I'd left the mop in the master bathroom, so I grabbed it, put a plastic laundry basket over my head, and made a mad dash for the cordless. Because I'm cool like that. The security guards on duty were two guys in their twenties, and they seemed happy enough to play Wild Adventure in my apartment while I waited in the hall. Then again, my answering the door wearing the laundry basket helmet probably had something to do with their good cheer. Turns out the living room windows were open just enough at the top for a bat, attracted by the warm air streaming out, to squeeze through. Because they're super tall mill building windows, and the blinds obscure the view, I hadn't even realized they were open.

But the calamity doesn't end there. Last night, I had drive down to the half-way point in CT where my ex-husband and I meet so that our daughter can spend time with him. Just after I picked her up and got back on the highway, the rear, driver's side tire blew out. It felt like something dropped out of the bottom of the car and was dragging along the ground. It was so unsettling that by the time I pulled into the shoulder and saw it was only a flat, I was actually relieved. Because it's possible to have good and bad luck simultaneously, I was able to get my ex on the phone while he was still only a few miles away. Problem solved, right? Not when one's fortunes are as frequently Griswoldian as my own! I didn't have a lugwrench in my trunk, the one he had didn't fit my tire's lugs, and the local highway robbers wanted $50 cash to do the job. Did I mention it was like 3 degrees last night? Being the good people that they are, though, my ex and his wife drove us all to Walmart, where we Holy Shitted over a machete on sale for $6.98 and bought the wrench we needed. The whole episode extended the five hour round-trip by two and a half hours, but we made it home safe, and that really is what matters most.