What I Did On My Vacation

So after all that stressful life planning business, I got down to the hardest task of all: relaxing. It doesn't come easily, which is annoying and a little sad. However, last week I got a much deserved rest visiting my folks in North Carolina. The preformulated housing developments are creeping in around the edges of my old haunts; there's a brand new ginormous high school not five minutes from my house, and believe it or not, both coffee shops and espresso have finally reared their cultural little heads. Now don't get too excited; it's still damned hard to find a coffee shop open in the evenings, but hey, in high school nobody had ever even heard of coffee shops; we had a mall. I found returning to my old town a lot harder during college and immediately after. This time was maybe the first where I had a real sense of distance. And it was nice. Nice to visit, nice to toodle around town; just nice. Of course it helped that the weather was a balmy sixty degrees in comparison to the ice locked state of Massachusetts. All the trees were in bloom, the daffodils were their joyful yellow selves and the forsythia followed their example. My internal seasonal clock is definitely still on North Carolina time.





My favorite place, Reynolda House. Originally designed to be a model estate, conceived by Katharine Reynolds after marrying R.J. Reynolds (of tobacco infamy), now an art museum dedicated to American art. Something I found even more surprising was the Reynolds's dedication to education of all tenants, irrespective of race or class. The grounds are free and open to the public, while the house itself has been recently renovated, with a new wing for traveling exhibits. It's a lot more museumy than it was when I was a child, and I am grateful for the times I had during its summer programs where we were allowed to run free in the basement, bowling and swimming and eating cookies in the mirrored bar.

My parents, meanwhile, have been busy with their usual hustle and bustle. In addition to their jobs, their social lives and their community outreach, I found they have been busy raising killer koi in our backyard (see example below). I couldn't give them up to the authorities, so be warned if you come to visit.



Anyway, it was the Irish time of the month of March where most people just go have a pint or two or seventeen. But in the newfound spirit of finding culture in Winston-Salem, my stepfather and I went to a poetry reading, complete with Irish poet, whistle and fiddle. And one of the poems especially spoke to this past six months and my battle with the fear of the unknown. While I cannot read it to you, and even if I possessed that much techno savvy, I could never imitate the beautiful brogue which recited it to me that night. So tough cookies.

Fear
Ciaran Carson (pronounced Kee air un, accent on the second syllable)

I fear the vast dimensions of eternity.
I fear the gap between the platform and the train.
I fear the onset of a murderous campaign.
I fear the palpitations caused by too much tea.

I fear the drawn pistol of a rapparee.
I fear the books will not survive the acid rain.
I fear the ruler and the blackboard and the cane.
I fear the Jabberwock, whatever it might be.

I fear the bad decisions of a referee.
I fear the only recourse is to plead insane.
I fear the implications of a lawyer's fee.

I fear the gremlins that have colonized my brain.
I fear to read the small print of the guarantee.
And what else do I fear? Let me begin again.