I know you are all to busy to be reading this right now. It is Oscar Sunday after all. Wait. What? You DO have time to visit me ol’ blog on such a day? Well, apres du. I’m pleased to find you here. Let me say this then: For the second year in a row I am missing the Oscars. Last year I was in India when Slumdog Millionaire won Best Picture. That was neat and all. But being in Abilene the year before, running around town in our slickest garb, preparing a Best Picture themed meal (Sunny D-Juno, Champagne-Atonement, Southwestern Fajitas-No Country for Old Men, oil for sauteing the fajita veg- There Will Be Blood, and baguettes-Michael Clayton), was really the Oscar tops. Not so this year. Thanks, blogs, for keeping me in the loop tomorrow with our winners. Meanwhile onto things that actually matter for my life in Armenia.
Ok, so in the last post I said I saw my fresh flowers. Well yesterday, I was working in the garden with the landfamily and saw my first real spring flowers right there rooted in my own dirt. Do you SEE the magic that is spring here? They are not even half the size of a pencil eraser, but there they are, tiny little blue whispers of changing days. Longer days, garden planting, bird-chirpping, crisp and wet, colorful days that mean a different life all together. In the States, I think of seasons in terms of upcoming tv show finales, summer sports, holidays, fiscal years and back-to-school displays in Wal-Mart. Here, in this time of my life, seasons mean a change of landscapes, from the tiny scenes around the toes of my boots to vast swathes of color rolling out in front of me on the road and on up the curves of our mountains. I can hear the seasons as the crunching of snow under my feet is replaced by the more sure-footed scuff against the dirt on the road. I walked outside at midnight last night and couldn’t believe that the cool air was so gentle on my bare arms. And you can argue, spring is felt in the sixth sense, the lift in posture, in mood, in renewed comraderie.
Before coming to Armenia, I knew easily that winter would be the most obvious challenge during my Peace Corps Service. Well, today I ate fresh ice cream made today’s milk and some strawberries. My friend brought it to me from a tiny hut across the road. Ice cream. And this morning I heard the pattering of the first real spring rain, the one I’d been waiting for. In the near future, things only get warmer, tastier and brighter.
And friendlier. Tomorrow, I’m bringing home a puppy. I know, I know. After my Sanity disappeared, I didn’t know if I could really handle taking in a new pet. But the little beast and I met a couple of weeks before Sanity flew the coup. At that point I had already committed to bringing her home.
Moment of honesty: I’m NERVOUS. Moment of brutal honesty: I have a terrible pet track-record. See:
-Sanity, recently disappeared, possibly eaten by neighbor dog.
-Little Critter, the high school family adoption, the PERFECT kitten, ran over in front of the house.
-KittenCat, disappeared, spotted later in a neighbor’s arms. (Or did I CHOOSE to see it that way?)
-Sister’s calico kitten, head whipped around in the engine fan belt when I started the car.
-Endless list of hermit crabs, all dead before their time (but really, who knows how to keep the crabs going, right?)
-Topper, the only dog I ever owned, ended up at the pound.
-Calico Moon, the bunny who was unfortunately named during the period I read a lot of dragon and sorcerer fantasy novels, was also unfortunately the rabbit I forgot to feed to the point of having no eyeballs.
-Catcher, my very first pet, squashed under motorcycle tires.
Those are ALL the pets that have been mine (not counting all the dead fish). Not one has lived to a natural death with me. And now, despite my departed Sanity, I’m committed to bringing another live being into my care. I’m thrilled; really I am. You’ll see soon enough; she’s a cute little blond pup. And as you can see, spring has given me a new confidence.
I will not lose this puppy. She will be mine and will live to a creaking old age of 16 or so. She will not dig out, get pneumonia, get run over, or be neglected in anyway. She will fly home with me at the end of my service and will log smells into her puppy brain from opposing hemispheres. I will do whatever I can to make sure she doesn’t disappear, get squashed, get stolen, or starve to the point of losing her eyeballs.