This is how my niece, Maddie, should learn her ABC’s:

thanks, lady.

photo by renee

I just talked with my mom for the first time in about three years.

I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. So I picked up the phone and called.

It isn’t like the call solved anything. I already have enough questions to last me a few more lifetimes, so it didn’t add to that.

It’s like the sadness was a point on the horizon and calling her made my body tear into a sprint to get to it. And now I’m here. The reality is time has passed. She’s not the same. I’m not the same. I kept myself at a distance for the length of the conversation, sending words to the end of my arm and saying them there. That’s all I could give. For now it will have to be enough. I’m just too hurt and it’s been too long to make it into something that it isn’t. The truth is I missed her voice. I’m curious. I want her to know I’m okay. I want to know that she’s okay.

My heart is heavy, but I have no regrets.

I must keep it in the kneecaps—they seem the hardest to crack. I find my hammer and tap it to the bends. Behind the tendon, a light is quickly extinguished. The knocking is ignored. I try again.

I know you’re there, certain memories. I can hear you breathing, ear to the division between us listening.

I’ll wait. You’ll surface.

homesick : acutely longing for one’s family or home.

Yesterday, I received a box in the mail. I thought: Oh sweet, the fenders my dad told me about. He knew that I needed some for the bike(he’s an avid cyclist and loves to support my riding).

Opened the box, and found:

fenders, as mentioned.
a floor pump(needed; I’ve been sporting the travel pump)
a riding jersey(sweet)
one raincoat(”bright yellow, just like mine,” he said)
tire levers and extra tubes(needed extras)
and on backorder, a cateye computer to track mileage and speed(!!!!!)

Way more than fenders. My dad is amazing.

EDIT: Also in the box:

riding gloves
mechanic bag for my bike seat

family portrait
by: summer allen (my sister)

I had a fantastic trip home to Ohio. The bus ride? Not so great. It’s hard to have high expectations when it comes to Greyhound though. I took the midnight bus down, which wasn’t so bad. The ride back? Icing on the cake to hell. I cannot even begin to describe the absurdity of the bus taking me from Dayton to Columbus. The driver had an incredibly violent movie playing on the small tvs dispersed throughout the bus. Plus the sound system ran through speakers that we, the passengers, could not control. So imagine full volume gun shots as one character shoots another character in the face. A couple of us were pleading with the driver to turn it off–there were small children on the bus. She never did. Once the movie ended, she turned up the radio, and my seatmates started to pop and clap along to “Apple Bottom Jeans.” The bus from Columbus to Pittsburgh: similar absurdity, different circus. The air conditioning did not work for the duration..on a 90-something degree day. You can let your imagination run from there.

Helped my sister, Jeremy, and Maddie move the last of their things out of the house. The house has been their home for six years, and it’s tough to say goodbye to such a great place. I’m excited that they’re building a new one, but sad to see the old ground go. New chapters beginning.

(more…)

Ah, as predicted: my leg feels like a bramby mess of stick twigs and stabbed spots(yes, exactly). In other words, it’s hobblin’ time.

But who cares–I get to see this lady in a few days:

jos and joel, here’s to a great adventure. be safe, take care of each other, and enjoy enjoy enjoy mongolia.
love,
me.

p.s. yes i’m in bed with a cold compress and my feet up and i am feeling better thankfully.

missing home.