It’s awkward to start out a post by commenting on how long it’s been since I last posted. Obviously, it’s been awhile — if I wanted to be dramatic I could probably get away with using words like “resurrect” and “comeback”. Yes, the blog is struggling up from… well, wherever neglected blogs go to sulk. So don’t tell it that this is just a practice post, since I need to get back in the habit of posting occasionally before I start traveling.
I’m going to Mozambique (!!!!). I just found out a few days ago, while we were in Monterey. Which was awesome, by the way. I have a pretty cool family — +1 incentive for ending up in California at some point. I’ll try to post more on the family reunion later. And on Mozambique, of course, since I’ll be there until December. It would be sort of pointless to talk about that now, since aside from the general outlines of the project, I know almost nothing concrete about what I’ll actually be doing there.
So. I’ll be mundane. I got home from San Francisco last night, really late because I missed the turnoff driving home. I didn’t really mind the extra time driving, since it made me think of the road trip I took with Joy earlier in the summer. Ah, the peaceful splats of bugs on the windshield. I think it was maybe the hottest day of the year so far — I doubt it got below 80 overnight — and when I finally got home the AC was having an exceptionally bad evening, which meant that I didn’t get to sleep until probably 4 or 5am.
I didn’t go to Oregon because I thought at the time that I’d still be frantically trying to find a job f0r the Fall. Now that’s taken care of and I’m kind of sad that I didn’t get to go. But I do have a lot to do (get my visa. get vaccinated. get malaria pills. book my flights — or wait, find out when I’m leaving, and then book my flights. find a refresher Portuguese program. learn how to drive a stick shift. etc, etc.). And it will probably be nice to chill at home alone for a few days, watch West Wing, and generally just hang out with anyone who’s in town. The only problem is that now that the house is empty except for me, I really notice the absence of a certain old golden retriever. Even though Fairfield is probably the safest place in the continental US, and even though Sandy would have made friends with most burglers (unless they were carrying cardboard boxes, in which case he would have run the other direction), it was still weirdly comforting to have him on “guard duty” (otherwise known as drooling on our shoes while he slept by the door). And even though I have my doubts as to whether he actually remembered who I was — I haven’t spent much time at home in the past few years — he always managed a tail thump or two when I walked in the door. Sometimes he even got up to say hi.
So now that I’m home alone, it’s impossible to avoid hourly reminders of how he’s not here. I jump guiltily every time I absent-mindedly step on the place his bed used to be. I shuffle down the hall at night to avoid tripping over something that isn’t there, and I still skip the landing step at least half the time I go upstairs. I have to pick my own food up from the floor now if I drop it, even delicacies like white-flour tortillas and dirty napkins (what? dirty napkins are definitely edible). I look around every time I spread butter (if you think that soft butter doesn’t have a sound, wrong. that dog could hear a stick of butter being sliced from two rooms over). And this morning, in the just-before-you-wake-up fog of not quite enough sleep and a room that was still several degrees too warm and stuffy, I had a moment of almost panic when I realized that had overslept and forgotten to feed Sandy or take him outside. Now, when the house is empty, it really feels empty. And Sandy really is gone.
