Huh. Four years ago today I shared a joke photo with my co-workers showing a supposed toilet paper roll made out of unmatched socks.
It seems like a lifetime ago.
mystery BEGUILEMENT portents WONDER awe CONNECTION majesty SURPRISE
It seems like a lifetime ago.
The skies have cleared up around the 13th, just in time for a conjunction of the Moon with Jupiter, and then a very close pass of the Moon by the Pleiades the next day. "I thought you said they were going to be next to each other," Mark said Thursday night.
"Well, I thought they were," I said. "I guess Earthsky led me on. They're still about as close as they're going to be on this pass."
The next night the Moon was right next to the Pleiades, and I was lucky enough to get some images of them during twilight, when the sky was still bright enough to even out the washing-out effect of an almost-quarter moon. "I thought you said you could see the Moon next to the Pleiades," Mark said when the sky was much darker."Well," I said, "it is. If you put your thumb over the Moon, you can see the Pleiades right over it." Mark likes to be a contrarian when I say that the Moon is next to Jupiter, and Thursday night we had a loud conversation on the deck about how apparently close planets and stars are to each other, how I think it's neat when celestial objects are in conjunction (because it looks cool and doesn't happen every day), and how Mark thinks this is like religion. I suppose on one level it is like religion, in that photographing the sky makes me feel like I'm participating in something larger than myself.
The best thing about the conjunction was that I realized that since we're close enough to the Spring Equinox for me to easily compute the sun's and moon's position on my Portable Stonehenge, I could mark the Pleiades position on the Holes, which, unsurprisingly, is near Aldebaran's position. So I did.The other week I finished up an interweave pattern using the 9-6-9 star pattern from last month. It refreshing to work with stars using a pattern other than a ten-fold one. I held back on my urge to use strongly contrasting colors and managed to come up with a combination that's energetic, but not spastic.
On the dream front I've been having unpleasant dreams over the last week that have me examining issues of trust, duty, authority, power, and artifice. I'm not quite sure what children damaging a wooden play structure with dried out lion's fingers means, but I'm pretty sure that the army of assassin-geishas has something to do with my ambiguous feelings toward drag queens. At the very least, I suppose that it generates some interesting exchanges with ChatGPT.
Sigh. This is what happens when I focus on cool ideas and world-building. Back to the drawing board. I suppose that it counts as writing practice.
Slightly related, I rearranged the paperbacks in my library. I did find a few duplicates and also some hardbacks that I very likely will never read again. Dislodged from the paperbacks were the old blank notebooks I've been filling since 1995. There's fewer than one would think, as it usually takes me about three years to fill one completely. They're interesting as a record of story ideas or of questions I was working through, but I think I would have to index them or at least put their dates on their spines for them to be useful.
I guess I need to just force myself to write short stories based on a modular outline—what my friend Nina calls "roll-ups"—for the next few months just to get started and to have a story with an ending. I'll have to see if I can come up with something other than "quest" or "secret library" or "whiney hero" plots (or "eye-candy" non-plots).
Here; have a recent hummingbird photo.
Getting the stars down on the triangles was simple enough, but it took me a lot of wiggling to get the nine kite-shapes at the top and bottom of the design to look symmetric and not smooshed.
I'll have to see what sorts of patterns will result from right-triangles which form squares instead of hexagons.
Whats fun about this technique is that it allows one to break away from patterns that are hexagon- or square-based.
Probably the best way to describe the gatherings in full force is "a frat party with lots of theatre people." Or possibly a slightly grittier version of backstage at The Muppet Show.
Since there were so many relatives scheduled to attend the fancy birthday lunch, there was a raffle to "sit at the captain's table" with the birthday girl. Since the instructions didn't specify a limit, Mark proceeded to fill out multiple tickets with his name on them. This sparked a loud discussion among his sisters about the interpretation of the rules and whether Mark was stuffing the ballot or not. During this time, The Child (at least) wrote Mark's name on an extra ticket, and somebody else submitted a ticket labeled "Anyone BUT Mark."
When the tickets were drawn, Mark's name was drawn five times (six if you count "Anyone BUT Mark"), and after a consultation, Mark's Mother decreed Mark disqualified.
"I've been sent away!" said Mark, "Banished." Smeagol-like, at the fancy birthday lunch, he sat down at the captain's table and pretended to lick the forks.
The lunch was a hearty Italian meal, with several courses (I had salmon). The strangest aspect of the party was that it was the same venue as Mark's Mother's 70th birthday, but the room seemed smaller somehow. We couldn't figure out if the room had been painted a white back then and that the now red walls made the space seem closer, or if there had been some slight remodeling or additions.
Afterwards, Mark and I took late-afternoon nap; the news of which alarmed one of the precocious young nieces, who firmly announced to her mother that she "did not take naps." We rejoined the family at the Suffern house, which by this time, through the piano magic of one of the nephew-in-laws, had turned into a kind of piano bar with sing-alongs—I don't know what happened, one moment I was chatting in the living room, and then next moment I had a solo singing "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina." The requests poured in—"This Land Is My Land," "Part of Your World," "Under the Sea," "Piano Man," "Bohemian Rhapsody," Scottish ballads— and folks were still singing when we left at midnight.Sunday started out typically. Mark and I had talked about getting up before dawn and going to Delta Ponds to try an spot some more beavers. I woke up around 6 AM, peered between the blinds at what I thought was an overcast morning, groaned, and burrowed further under the covers.
Around 7 AM I did toddle out of bed and found Mark in the living room. The sun painted high clouds magenta, and the waning full moon hid behind the two pines to the west. I realized I was a Bad Husband for keeping Mark from his early morning nature walk, and said that we should go—but Mark said we could go in the evening.
After breakfast, I thought I'd join a Zoom writing session of folks I know, but then I got a blind spot in my vision as I was trying to catch up on social media on my phone and the next thing I knew, there was a vibrating spiral of blue lightning in the middle of everything, which put the kibosh on reading or doing anything requiring sight.
I ended up napping outside all morning on our deck furniture. In the sunlight. It got up to 65F. This is two weeks after the snow and ice storm and about a week of temperatures in the mid-20s. I think I might have gotten a mild tan.
Luckily, my aural-migraines aren't too bad; although my eyes didn't feel like they were focusing properly until the mid-afternoon. I convinced Mark to go to Delta Ponds a little early, and we headed out around 4PM. Mark thought we were there a little early, but as we were walking along the place where we'd seen a beaver the week before, I heard a nibbling sound, and there was a great big beaver sitting on the bank just below the walkway stripping the bark off of a twig. Mark saw a smaller beaver near-by.Scene: The living room. Mark is using a swifter.
Mark: "There. I've finished sweeping and the floors feel less gritty."
John: "Isn't that a metaphor for life." (Notices his shoes on the floor by the couch and goes to put them on the entry shoe rack.)
Mark (aghast): "John!" (Steps in front of John and clasps him by the shoulders) "Look into my eyes."
John (trying to step around him): "But I need to pick up my ..."
Mark (holding him fast): "Honey. Honey. Look at me: Sweeping and cleaning is an actual job we have to do to maintain the house. It's not a metaphor."
John: "It's not a metaphor? Why can't it be both a metaphor and—"
Mark: "Oh my God, this explains so much."
The January winter storms have hit and covered much of the Willamette Valley with snow and a crust of ice. Power lines are down, and it seems like half of my friends up and down the valley are without power, or their wells have stopped, or trees have come crashing down near or onto their houses. The city has closed public parks and bike paths.
We’re lucky to be in a part of Eugene that seems to have robust power transmission. I believe the last time we were without power was due to someone speeding down Willamette Street at something like fifty miles per hour and smacking into a power pole (Willamette Street is straight, so they would have had to work a little bit to hit a pole at the side of the road).
The time before that was a strange occurrence: lightning overhead caused a mechanical switch (maybe a line arrester) at the top of a pole near our house to trip. I’m guessing that the lightning caused an induction surge in the transmission line. Only houses on our side of the block were without power, but some linemen came and used a very long (and insulated) cherry-picker type tool to flip the switch closed.
Luckily, the temperature has only gotten into the mid twenties, so the animals can go outside when they need to. Aoife doesn’t appreciate the snow on her paws—although one of her plush toys, a fox, has turned into an icicle that she likes to chew. The cats only want to be outside for a short period of time, mostly so they can stalk songbirds attracted by the suet we’ve put out . The snow is covered with a crust of ice; walking is not too bad as the ice is bumpy and dry.
Today it’s supposed to be sunny—it’s currently sunny in Corvallis—but at the moment it is still overcast with diffuse light bouncing between the white ground and the grey clouds. But there’s a Winter Storm Warning issued for today through tomorrow morning, so maybe all we’ll get is deeper grey.
Tuesday, Dec 19, 2023
Off to Las Vegas!
We left the house and pets under the eye of The Child, who had returned home from college for Winter Break. Our flight was delayed at the gate for an hour due to another passenger’s medical emergency. We never did find out what was wrong, but airport firemen escorted them off of the plane along with their oxygen cylinder!
We flew over west Eugene—saw Target and then had a view of Spencer Butte and Mt. Pisgah. Then the cloud layer turned white with amber highlight and obscured the view of Southern Oregon and most of the rest of the flight.
It will be different being in Las Vegas over the Solstice—we’ll have to have late Solstice or Birthday Fire! when we’re back home in Eugene. I can’t recall when we were away in late December last… it was before COVID… Arthur was… twelve?… so six year ago (at least).
We landed in Las Vegas around 3:30; there were some light clouds and the sun felt like it was about to set at any moment. As we were walking through the security exit, the guy sitting there looked up, took in my grey-green wool cloak and long hair, paused, and said, “You look wise.”
Mark and I thought that was fairly amusing, partially because Mark was offered a “Wisdom Discount” at a Eugene store recently.
I’d forgotten how close the airport is to the strip. The most confusing visual was The Sphere: it’s so large that it shows up over the tops of all the other buildings long before you actually get to it, and with every turn on your approach you think that surely you’re going to get to its base only to realize that it’s still blocks away.
Las Vegas in winter smells like wet concrete and chlorine; like cigars, tobacco, and cannabis; like potpourri pumped up on steroids and mixed in an old ash tray; like fried food, tequila, daiquiris, and body axe spray; like automobile exhaust, Bounce sheets, and old airport carpeting; very occasionally it smells like mostly empty bottles and urine.
We stayed at a Hilton property connected to The Flamingo. Since it was winter and there was some problem with the pool, there was no obnoxiously loud pool music playing. The Flamingo was between us and the strip, which shielded us from the flashing lights and noise. Our room number was 700, which felt auspicious; the suite was pleasant and laid out so that you could have slept four people without them tripping over each other (too much). We were just above the crowns of some palm trees growing next to the building.
For our first night out, we ate at Giada De Laurentiis. Mark described her as a Food Network presenter who tended to show her boobies, sort of like that one time in that one Star Trek: The Next Generation pan across Dianna Troi’s breasts as she poured tea. I confused her with Rachel Ray.
“No no,” he said. “See?” and pointed to a picture of her prominently displaying some food.
“Oh. Well. That’s a nice blouse, but she doesn’t seem to be showing her breasts.”
Mark said, “John, take another look.”
“Oh. That’s a peek-a-boo top, isn’t it? Hmm.” (I recalled previous non-reactions to Lee Meriwether as Catwoman and Jeri Ryan as Seven-of-Nine.) “You know, I guess women’s breasts are sort of invisible to me.”
We had a very nice meal; I ordered a shrimp dish and Mark had something with the World’s Best Lentils. I ordered a tequila drink called, “The Destroyer.” We had a passible view of the fountains at the Bellagio.
Afterward, we went to a nightclub.
The attendants who admitted us were kind of mean; I’d say some of them came to work looking for problems their attitude created; the coat check staff were nice.
The dance floor was an oval bracketed by two bars and ringed by VIP seating. A series of lighted rings hung over the floor, and a pendulous assemblage of illuminated crystals hung from the center, giving the whole thing the feel of a giant cyborg space jellyfish mother-ship. The widest ring was about twenty-five feet in diameter. All the rings moved up-and-down independently, and could tilt. At times it looked like a mothership was landing on Devil’s Tower, other times it looked like a multi-dimensional portal. Over a hundred LED flatscreens arranged in a checkerboard pattern along the bar’s walls echoed the color scheme of the rings. A marquee player ran along the second floor balcony’s railing.
Mark had read that the club was a multi-level club, but the upper floors were closed that night. It was billed as a smoke free club, but the no smoking rule was unenforced. The dress code of collared shirts and slacks was also loosely enforced. The cover was slightly more than we’d read; and the mandatory coat check was ten times more expensive.
However, we soldiered on and were the first folks on the dance floor. It was fun at the beginning, although the music was a little slow. Mark laughed a couple of times and said, “Well it’s not techno enough,” when I would just be getting into the music, and then it would turn into a slow hip-hop beat and my face would fall (and undoubtedly my eyes rolled). Then the music would get better.
As the dance floor filled, the marquee player would read things like “Happy Birthday Ethan.” The “Congratulations, Class of 2023” did make me wonder if we were at an underage club. A few more birthday greetings ran through. And then we saw a clutch of sequin-spangled women with sparkling flares, flashing light wands, and a large green bottle, strut over to a VIP seating area, shake a flashing cue card which read, “Happy Birthday Josh,” and dance around for thirty seconds while shaking celebratory props over their heads. This happened throughout the night, occasionally accompanied with banners which would drop from the ceilings onto which would be projected birthday greetings like “Happy Birthday Alexis” and a photo (sometimes four) of the birthday celebrant.
The music went through an uninspiring phase, and we left the filling dance floor to rest. Mark ordered a simple rum drink, and had to tell the bartender how to make it. I took a look at the light show, which took turns looking like a cool oscilloscope display and possibly a flow cytometry display. The music turned back into something one could dance to and got louder; we happily put in ear plugs and squeezed back onto the dance floor.
We danced for a little while more. Mark is adorable when he dances; someone even complemented us. Then another couple asked us if we had extra earplugs and Mark gave him his extra set. Then some guy decided I was a stile he could use to exit a roped off VIP seating area and onto the dance floor.
It became more crowded and more difficult to dance. Folks brought their drinks to the floor with predictable results. While some folks danced in tight little circles, others just stood on the floor chatting in clumps. Vapers were everywhere. Two girls lit up blunts next to us and Mark managed to back them away. The music turned into anthems featuring the word “way-oh;” the accompanying movement was for folks to shift their weight between their feet, flex their knees, raise one hand, and point in time with the syllables of the song, which they sang. Apparently this is how twenty-somethings dance. People got pushy.
The music got a little more danceable and reached for a climax. Mark maneuvered us beneath the rings, which rose and rose and rose and then dropped and tilted. Spotlights like retro-rockets fired, and the crystalline assemblage lowered to just above our heads. Cold theatre mist blasted from horns surrounding the dance floor and reduced visibility to six inches. At first I thought Mark was using the mist as a cover for some scandalously dirty dancing, but he was really ducking and closing his eyes, nose, and mouth against the vapors.
We concluded going to the club was like trying to dance with smoking and vaping children at a Chuck E Cheese’s—but with an amazing light show.
Wednesday, December 20, 2023
Today we did a lot of sightseeing, starting with a viewing of live flamingos, a walk to The Sphere, a monorail trip to Mandalay Bay, working our way through the Luxor and Excalibur and back to the High Roller (and more Sphere viewing) and off to a mystery show.
The Flamingo Casino has a wildlife area wrapped around wings of the building. Eight flamingos live on an island in an artificial river shaded by palm trees. Mandarin Ducks, Grackles, White Faced Ducks, and Hummingbirds are in the sanctuary. Koi, Catfish, and Sturgeon swim in the waters. I believe the sturgeon was thirty years old. We visited the flamingos at least once every day.
Getting to The Sphere was challenging; the monorail passes by it and the nearest stop is blocks away, so we did a lot of walking along side busy roads and construction zones. The Sphere is a giant computer screen wrapped around an eight story sphere. The pixels on the sphere are rings of LEDs about a handspan wide and about four feet from each other. From a distance, all of the LEDs blend together like a Seurat painting. Sometimes during the day, you can see through the skin of the Sphere, which covers a concert hall. We didn’t make it inside, partially because the Sphere wasn’t open and partially because any apparent motion caused by the inside’s display would have made Mark sick.
We wended our way back to a monorail station. Singing “Monorail!” we boarded and zipped to the other end of the strip. Our aim was to have a 2PM Afternoon Tea, but all of the Really Nice Tea Places were already booked. Mark located an alternative venue, which turned out to be a Irish Pub Sports Bar. We confused t he waitress with talk of Ceylon OP and Bergamont, (“We’re a sports bar, not a tea house.”) but she brought us a very tasty Irish Breakfast tea. In lieu of savories and finger sandwiches, we ate sports bar fare.
The Luxor twenty years ago was more of a faux Egyptian museum exhibit than it was during this visit. Mark was aghast at the giant “Doritos” advertisement taking up one triangular side of the casino’s pyramid, and I’m pretty sure the hieroglyphics on some of the older set pieces are pretty gibberish. The newer construction did have the Middle Kingdom word “miw” or “cat” in hieroglyphs, so there’s that.
After some selfies with the Anubis statue, we moved on to the Excalibur Casino.
The Excalibur was very simple, and we concluded that it was probably easier to clean than some of the more elaborate casinos.
We ended our sightseeing with a ride in The High Roller; a London Eye-like ferris wheel with encapsulated gondolas. It’s 550 feet high and takes thirty minutes to do a complete revolution. We boarded a capsule with about nine other people, a family of four and a group of two couples.
We chose an excellent time, around 4:30, to rise above the strip and The Sphere. The sun was set behind scattered clouds, turned the western horizon orange, and lit up the Sierra Nevada mountain range. High-rises glowed in the deepening shadows, and we had an unobstructed view of The Sphere for most of our ride.
The mystery show turned out to be “Love,” the Beatles-themed Cirque du Soleil show at the Mirage Casino. “Love” gave me a greater appreciation for the post World War II culture and counter-culture in England.
The opening was a dance reenactment of the Blitz, complete with Blue Meanies and tumblers leaping off of exploding brick chimneys. The show was mostly dance and aerial work, with lots of tumbling. I liked the transition into “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” which filled the performance space with glittering LEDs. There was a fun sequence where sheets streamed out of a bed, which rose and became a circus tent; we were seated above the tent and saw aerialists dancing upside-down beneath very large beach balls. The contortionist bothered Mark, but I thought he was cool.
After the show, we wandered past the Mirage’s volcano show. The heat from the flame made me wince.
Thursday, December 21, 2023
Winter Solstice
We survived the Bacchanal at Ceasar’s Plaace. There was lots of very good food, but no actual bacchanalia! I was surprised that a buffet breakfast could be so good. Mark said the cheeses were obviously well cared for. We had to walk off the meal by visiting the shops in the Forum Shopping area. We loitered a while and saw a very hokey Atlantis Fountain show (old animatronics, hammy voice acting, hokey plot—but there was a fun flaming pterodactyl/dragon at the end), which, sadly was a waste of time.
We made our way back to our room for a brief reset and then I was off to ride a zip line over the Linq Properties. The lines aimed straight at the High Roller. I was hoping to ride like Superman, but that wasn’t an option, so basically I flew over the Las Vegas crowds in a sling (Mark and I had a good laugh at that burlesque image). Mark stayed on the plaza below and captured fun video of me zipping overhead, my hair trailing like a comet’s tail.
My hair (and cloak) keeps attracting attention from valets, cab drivers, show girls, and, most recently, Captain America. Mark’s been a good sport about it, but is wishing my “NYC Don’t Engage” skills were stronger.
We saw “O”, our second (and originally planned) Cirque du Soleil show. It was fun and I remembered much of the show from when we saw it twenty years ago. Like many Cirque du Soleil performances, there’s so much happening that I’m never quite sure where I should be looking, and so performers and props appeared and disappeared while my glance darted all over the stage.
I, of course, wore the World's Most Fabulous Shirt: a shirt covered in small prismatic, reflective squares. When I wore it to a previous Cirque show years ago, one of the clowns nearly broke character to ask where I had gotten it. When we entered the theatre, one of the ushers smiled and said, "Oh my! You look festive!"
"Oh, thank you," I said.
"Frisky?!" Mark said.
The usher and I turned to Mark and said, "Festive!"
"She said I looked 'festive!'" I continued. "Ugh. Here are our tickets."
"Oh, you're seated right over here. Enjoy the show and make sure you two behave!"
It’s hard to say what my favorite vignette was; like a dream, the images blend into each other and the recall is difficult. I enjoyed the four hoop aerialists. Certainly the most gasp-inducing was when one of the catamaran aerialists missed their landing and arced into the pool (they crawled out of the pool and waited by its edge until that act concluded).
The audience was odd; lots of families and groups chattering the entire show, but the weirdest thing was how often folks got out of their seats. In at least three instances The Unseated got in the way of roving performers. Mark attributed it to Belagio “I’m Specialness.”
Afterward, we walked through the Cosmopolitan and weighed having a drink in The Chandelier, but Mark wanted to be outside, so we walked along sidewalks and walked over bridges and managed to find a beer garden which was up over the street and had a marvelous view of the fountain show at the Bellagio. Mark insisted that I eat a salad; we also had cheesy tater-tots and I ordered a blue-tinged drink. The fountain was on a short schedule and we were treated to several shows; Mark’s favorite number was “Hey Big Spender,” when the water gets waved back and forth like legs. Overhead, the waxing crescent moon shone near a brilliant Jupiter.
Friday, December 22, 2023
We had a quiet morning in our room watching wide tailed Grackles forage for bugs in the crown of the palm trees outside the windows.
Breakfast for me was tea, pills, and an In And Out burger. Mark got a Subway salad. Afterward, I confessed my secret desire “to win a fortune in a game” by playing an Egyptian themed slot machine. We wandered through two casinos filled with Asian-themed slots before Mark pointed out a Cleopatra slot machine I’d walked right past. I put in $5 and managed to win $15. Hmm, the agency is wrong on that: I put in $5, set the betting, chose which lines across the slots to play, and pressed the PLAY button. The random sequences generated by the machine resulted a slow bleeding away of my money until there was a substantial credit result. Then Mark reminded me that we had a plane to catch, that I had “won a fortune” three times my initial investment, and that I should cash out.
My hair and green wool cloak continued to enjoy celebrity treatment.
Unfortunately, during our last walk of the strip, I lost my reading glasses somewhere, so while I was journaling on the flight home, I couldn’t see what I was writing very well—luckily, not being able to see didn’t have too large an impact on my penmanship (and my text is legible with proper eyewear). But it was a pain because I’d hoped to get some writing in on the flight. At least I could peer over Mark and see the sunset turning the clouds pink and the horizon green.
It was interesting to see who was friendly and who was gruff on the strip. I’d say the Ceasar’s Palace staff was the most stressed. Cashiers seemed friendly. Hilton at the Flamingo were friendly. Folks who managed queues seemed grumpy. Zip-line staff seemed firm but upbeat.
When we got home, the Willamette Valley was still grey, the house was still standing and the pets were still alive (Aoife was ecstatic to see us), and it was obvious from the over-filled garbage bin (uncollected by the service), dirty dishes (mostly piled in the dishwasher), the wads of blankets and pillows, and a collection of wet mats and towels in the bathroom that The Child had turned the home into a crash-space for some of his friends.
I guess what happens at home stays at home.
It hasn't been entirely successful. I thought I'd sit down with a few prompts and write, but not a whole lot has come out other than some attempts at character information, a list of prompts (which aren't exactly speaking to me), and an anemic outline.
I've switched to writing this blog post to try to jump start the process. It's entirely possible that trying to write from an outline is the problem, and I'm going to switch back to a technique of free-associations of images–I don't remember if it was Gene Wolfe or Ray Bradbury who would sometimes follow a thread of images to a story, so we'll see.
At least the house is cleaner and the dog has been exercised and the cats fed.
To misquote Oscar Wilde, summer has collapsed into autumn here in the Willamette Valley. With the Autumnal Equinox, the unseasonably warm and bright days have been washed away, at least for now, by an atmospheric river. The plants in the yard have gone from looking slightly withered to slightly faded but somehow more lush. The yellow grass is poised to regain its Pacific Northwest winter verdancy. The garden gate swings easily now that the clay in the ground has been watered and whatever shrinkage causing misaligned sidewalk and fence post has been undone. And we've had bewilderingly dim days, as if the equinox acted like a wall-outlet timer switch that tripped and turned off the sun.
On the last day of summer, The Child went off to college. We've all been fairly laid back about it. I asked him if we could take pictures of him moving into his dorm room for social media, complete with me, hand at my brow, clutching his knees, and wailing while the two of us were surrounded by moving boxes and laundry, but he declined. We did have some moments on Move-In Day where I would wobbly sing "Please Don't Take My Sunshine Away," and we would both theatrically break down into fake boo-hoo-hoos. But then we'd both start snickering.
It's not like we haven't been practicing for the last six months for this moment; he's spent a lot of time in the high school theatre rehearsing for shows or hanging out with his friends, so we really weren't seeing him much except for an hour before work and school or for a moment when he would come home for the night. During the summer, we saw him even less, and it wasn't unusual for Mark and me to be in bed for the night before he'd come home.
Even though he was essentially only sleeping here these last few months, the first twenty-four hours after he was gone, the energy of the house shifted. Now that he's gone his computer (and fan) are turned off, as is his air conditioner, which can account for some of the shift. But our small house isn't very sound-proof, and The Child is a dynamic person. I am pretty sure I was partially waking whenever he would come home, or get up in the middle of the night to eat the last of the pizza, or when he would thrash in his sleep and knock against whatever.
Mark and I are not sure what the dog thinks of this. She would trot to the front door to meet him whenever he came home. Mark thought she would be looking for him, but I haven't noticed her wandering in and out of his room or perching on the back of the davenport, forlornly sighing in a reenactment of Odysseus' faithfully waiting dog. Although she does seem more clingy. The cats seem to be more affected by the season's change.
At odd moments the last few days I've been struck by the weirdness of the shift. I'm reminded of the time long ago when I had returned to Oregon and was crashing at my folks' house. My mom said to me, "John, when you were in Minnesota and Arizona, I really didn't worry about you. But now that you're here, I want you to know that I really don't get to sleep until I hear you pull into the driveway." Mark and I are going through something similar, but for us it's in reverse and it's a freeing up of cognitive focus.
We—or rather Mark—scoured out his room, which revealed the accumulated wear of the last fifteen years. Most of the furnishings have stayed, and the plan is to turn The Child's room into a guest room / office. We'll see how this works out. Considering that Fall Term only lasts eleven weeks and he'll be back for about four weeks over the Winter Solstice, the changes we're making feel a little temporary.
I expect on that December day when she first sees him, the dog will charge at him, barking and growling as if he were an Evil Trespasser bent on perfidy, but a split second before she's about to eat him and save us from Certain Peril and Property Damage, she'll recognize him and beg for belly rubs.
I want to have decorations with fire! Sometimes I think it would be fun to have a large pumpkin that has flames coming out of its top or spouting out of its mouth. Or torches! Or the bottom half of a cast iron barrel with snake forms cut out of it and burning firewood, with colored flames of green or purple. Or some kind of convection-powered mobile made out of flaming bats (not real bats, maybe metal bats?) Or maybe a musical instrument, like an organ that shoots flames (pause to consider a laser beam harp)!