My birthday has come and gone, and I am older. Older still. The same. I went away so often. So many places. Still without.

Being happy with what we have. I don't know. My yard is filled with daffodils and tulips. They are happy.

Calling out, but they will not be comforted. My akathisia is worse these days. And the nighttime sweating returns. Waking up early. Afternoon somnolence. Quiet voices whispering in the night. Sometimes. Still.

I have little seeds growing. Little sprouts now. Heated in the artificial basking of the halogen and fluorescent lamps. There are no paths ready for the planting to begin. No beds prepared, nothing. The potatoes are sprouting already. The onions revived. Broccoli and sprouts are perking up from the winter sleep.

Peas and spinach are growing softly next to the budding blueberries. And the crocuses, the tulips... the daffodils. I can't believe I still have the daffodils from that long winter in Chicago. Five years they've survived. In a pot. In freezing kitchens, utterly neglected. On the barren deck, almost forgotten. In the ground, now, growing again.

The past is a box. You have to watch out for boxes. Boxes are trapping. Confining. Comforting. They are limiting. Inflexible. Certain. Boxes choke off the complexity of life required to be honest about all that we are. And have been.

I have been thinking about moving again. The logistics. To escape and be far away. To hide from reminders and such. To not visit the familiar streets, wish for voices so close and not, imagine how memory will reshape itself back into the promise of hope and future. This is not how it continues on. This wish for more. This memory.

I called my brother tonight, and we made a plan to make a plan. We will talk with her. See what we can do. We know our mother, though. She will not change. She will not admit defeat. She will hold onto the shards of memory, reconstructed in a puzzling and puzzled way, and, fueled with unrequited emotion and the lack that must haunt her so, step further into the night.

To be haunted and not aware. The terror, the lack, the water and what is down there. To remember and never have again. The brandy, the calmness, the perished standing just outside our knowing. Memory is the sense of loss, and loss pulls us after it, says Marilynne Robinson.

My mom tries so hard to be well. To find joy, to be at peace, to help others in need. She tries so hard. We will try, too, my brother and I. Together, I guess.

A family.

After so many years of trying.

...

?

?!

It's quite cold in my house. Especially since the heat was off. The DVD I'm watching is even frozen. Literally, I think, since I'm playing a relatively new disk. The pipes are frozen, too. This is maybe not so good.

It's really beautiful outside, though. My whole yard in covered in pristine snow. My garden is buried. (Looks like I can continue to blame my gardening challenges on the weather.) My wheelbarrow is neatly tucked in. My sunflowers are frozen pillars in the night.

I had such a fantastic holiday. I don't even want to begin to decompress yet. It was just fantastic.

I'm happy to be home. To unpack and wash dishes and pay my bills. To collect my thoughts. To think about where I'm at. And where I'm not. To cry a little. To rest. TO wonder if I wish I were somewhere else.

The bottles of wine don't come with the hotel room, of course. I got them whilst gallivanting around this lovely, lovely country. I mentioned to a waiter tonight how much I loved it here, and he asked if I was going to move here. I asked him about jobs. "what do you do," he asked. "Food and beverage manager," I say. "Oh, right, well, probably you'd make around 15000 rand. Not too bad, eh?" I didn't want to tell him that the meal at his exceptionally overpriced (by SA standards) set me back about an hour and a half of pay, so if I worked a couple more years in the States, I could move to SA with my million ZAR and retire. Or be a waiter in a fancy hotel for foreigners and make bank on tips since I'd be one of the few people in the country that knows about classical dining room service. (The service in restaurants here is, quite frankly, exceptionally awful, but that's a topic for another post.)

I've been listening to lots of Top 40 music here. (Mixed with odd hits from the 90s.) Rihanna. Kanye. Adele. Ne-Yo. It's been fun to mix up with Maria Taylor and The Weakerthans. Possibly some Avril Lavigne. (Gosh, I know, I know, I know. But I heard "When You're Gone" in a shop a week ago, and now I'm compelled to play it excessively through YouTube.) My mp3 player's battery is almost dead. I couldn't find the charger, either.

I lost my favorite running shirt. Well, not lost, per se-- I know exactly where I left it. In a closet. At a resort with rooms in caves. In the middle of the high desert. 35 km up a dirt road classified as "good." In U.S. terms, I believe we would classify it "somewhat terrible for 4x4s only." I drove 80 km/hr over most of it. Natch.

I should sleep a little. The sun is starting to come up. One more exciting day in Cape Town. Running through the streets. Seeing more museums. Tracking down an elephant for KT. (Another aside for another post, but I met someone who runs a game reserve for hunters. You go there and hunt lions and rhino and kudu. Aside from the small thrill of stalking lions, that made me slightly sick to my stomach. And by slightly, I mean really.) I need to find a zebra for Tracey. And a baboon for Jay. (Wait, he's already-- oh, nevermind; we all know how that one goes.) An adorable cheetah cub for me.

I love this place, and I want to come back. After I visit everywhere else. Airfare to Europe and Asia is cheap right now. Must. Resist. Urge. To. Have. A. Ticket. In. The. Drawer.

They made fun of George Bush. Apparently, though, the leader of the ANC Youth Congress got a G in wood working. There was a joke about them playing trivial pursuit, but I can't remember it.

One of comedians made a joke about white people jumping off bridges and out of airplanes and into shark waters for the adrenaline rush. But they won't drive through a township. "But sharks! Sharks even have teeth!"

Race is so incredibly fascinating here.

I'm off to check out penguins.

Sean thinks signs are funny around here: "Monkeys like your food. Keep windows closed." "We sell CHEESE, not squares of orange, 'soaplike' gunk." "Hawkers WELCOME." "Discounts given only to those 90 years and older accompanied by their parents."

Sean was wondering what could be worse than a sunburn over half of his body. Now he's wondering what could be worse than a sunburn over half his body with mosquito bites.

Sean was woken up by monkeys jumping on the roof. No, seriously this time.

Sean is wondering if it's the high concentration of KFC in their diet that's making the baboons along the highway crazy.

Sean's new camera was pooped on by a sea gull. But he got an awesome picture.

Sean is never going home. He knows he says that every time he goes on vacation, but this time he means it. Now he's stamping his feet and pouting. Oh, boy.

Sean is wondering if he'll break his sister's little heart if he doesn't go home for Christmas.

Sean loves YouTube. It's like music on-demand.

Sean found a B&B in South Africa that caters to vegans.

Sean figured out how to send postcards. Send your address if you want one.

Sean almost accidentally booked a trip to Shanghai. It's probably good he didn't open the bottle of wine tonight.

I held baby lions yesterday. (I'm allergic to them, too.) I saw elephants. So human-like. Baboons are too, but in a naughty way.

The scenery is amazing. One part was like the Southwest (coincidentally, a few days later, on the other side of the Cape, a Dutch tourist asked me if I thought the area I had been in looked like Canyonlands), many parts like Oregon, like San Diego, like Africa, like everywhere and nowhere else. It's quite something.

I've had interesting experiences and interactions here regarding race. And am learning some things about myself. Intriguing. And valuable.

The wine is delicious. Absolutely incredibly delicious. And cheap. I can buy a bottle in a restaurant for 100 ZAR. About $10. Good food is cheap, too. (Mediocre food is dirt cheap.) Service, in general, is absolutely abysmal. Until I realized that it's because I'm using my own standards of time.

Time is much more flexible here. Relaxed. Now is in a little while. Now now is a bit sooner. I'm lounging around a lot. It's so lovely.

The weather is beautiful. 30 degrees. 35 degrees. Almost 40 degrees one day. (Too hot for me, but nice to experience.) Most days are comfortably warm, breezy, and beautiful beyond most comparison.

LBCC has posted the food service manager position. I'm somewhat tempted, based on the benefit and vacation package. But then I couldn't move next year. I'm thinking about moving. I know I'm always thinking about moving, but I've stopped (for the most part) looking at jobs in Portland, and started looking in Boston and DC and Chicago.

I'm really, really enjoying traveling by myself. It's incredibly refreshing, and incredibly flexible. It accommodates my anxiety perfectly (though offers no support when I'm freaking out), and is peaceful. I miss people though. A couple people, in particular, I guess.

It's quite lovely here.

2). In Dakar, where my plane stopped, the security forces came onboard and "searched" the plane. They lifted the seat cushions and pulled back the seat backs; they checked in the tray table compartments and jostled the oxygen tanks. They were exceptionally methodical. Though I'm not sure what they were looking for, as they didn't inspect anyone's luggage or personal items. Possibly it's a form of social welfare, like the CCC? (Hey, maybe we could address the surging unemployment by doubling the size of the TSA? Then they could add additional important screenings, like seeing if passengers can pat their head while rubbing their tummy. [Aside.]

3). I've been listening to Maria Taylor a lot. She is part of Delta's pre-takeoff music routine as well. Funny, because I'd never heard of her before six months ago, had two random and unrelated exposures to her name, and ended up getting her cds from the library. (And creating a pandora station, but who doesn't these days?) My favorite songs are "Clean Getaway" and "Small Part of Me."

4). I've only been menacingly followed by two people since I arrived in Cape Town. Running away seemed to do the trick, so I don't know what the whole hullabaloo about crime here is.

5). Speaking of crime, Cape Town reminds me so much of Baltimore. Just with actual squatter camps made of tin and cardboard, instead of occupied abandoned buildings. And about 10 times the number of annual murders. (But who's counting?)

6). I can't wait to see giraffes. And elephants. And zebras! On the plane here, I asked a guy where I could find zebras. He said, "Zebras? Cbrist, those suckers are everywhere. Like bloody ants around here."

7). The same guy seemed to be a slightly disgruntled white person. He suggested there wasn't anything special on Robben Island, and I shouldn't bother visiting. I don't think he meant that all the political prisoners had left. (Aside: the tour of the prison was given by a former prisoner. He was superb, and I felt really happy about the hope for humanity.)

8). I went to a clothing store, and they had dozens of pants in size 28. I was slightly incredulous, until I tried them on and they fit. Also, 75% of the ties here are polyester. Seriously, it's a classy skinny vegan's paradise.

9). I hate when there is more than one button on a toilet. It's so confusing for an uncultured American such as myself.

10). I almost bought a ticket to London today. It was about $600, and the itinerary involved spending a night in NYC and an afternoon and evening in LA. I've never been to LA before, and it would be lovely to visit for a day.

11). It's 36 degrees today. Celsius, of course.

12). I've been hanging out with a girl (back in the States), who is semi-frustratingly fantastic. She's vegan, in the super cool way, absolutely adorable, and has me seriously considering whether I actually need sleep anymore. (My buddy from long ago. Only now, she kisses me.) I seem to be thinking about her constantly, so I suppose I'm quite keen on her. I should probably work out the salient details soon, like her favorite book, her high school GPA, and her last name.

13). Digital SLR cameras are the coolest thing ever. Only, since they take pictures about five times faster, I seem to be taking five times as many pictures. Thank god for 4GB memory cards and giant battery cells.

14). I saw penguins. They're pretty lazy, actually, but also super cute. I want one.

I don't know; I thought it was pretty funny. So this girl writes me: blah, blah, blah, you're awesome, your spelling is great but there shouldn't be an apostrophe in apostrophes.

I write back: One point for technical correctness. See paired statements. Perhaps my humor is too subtle.

We meet for coffee, and she brings up the apostrophe. I make some allusion to a giant piece of meat in the middle of an empty field, and a hungry tiger thinking its scored the jackpot. She then asks if I went back and fixed my ad. I say, it's a good thing you're not a tiger.

So, is it just me? Because I'm still cracking myself up.

I have been so sad lately.

It's not like this all the time, I think. I'm really happy when I see my garden, how it's grown from little seeds in the palm of my hand on a quiet March morning. And when I'm five miles into my run on the hottest day of the summer, when I can't breathe or swallow or miss anything at all. And when I hang out with this guy at work who has Parkinson's and is so much lonelier than I am.

But maybe a lot, recently.

We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss-- we want more and more and then more of it.

Sometimes I do little calculations in my head. Five months equals twenty one weeks equals one hundred fifty one days equals one half empty heart of missing you. It doesn't really matter, though. I know this.

I just wish there was more. Even a little bit. Even if only for a little while.

Did I mention that one time, I came home to find my front door wide open? Or that packages routinely sit on my porch all day? My neighborhood is so boring.

I wonder if I should go for a run this morning and see where all the action was. (I asked the girl here if this was a neighborhood you could run in, and she said, "Well, that depends on how fast you run.")

On a different note, it's possible that Philly has more hipsters than Portland. And I swear the guy who works at Bishops on Hawthorne has a brother here. Who works at a half-carnivorous/ half-vegan cheesesteak shop. Of course.

But my garden is finally in bloom. I've eaten blueberries from my very own plants, something I've always dreamed about, and fried zucchini not five minutes off the bush, and the corn will soon grow high enough that I will be able to hide myself in the middle, amongst the pumpkins creeping underfoot.

I fired someone at work last week. He was a jerk, in multiple ways, and my only regret is waiting so long to get rid of him. He accused me of being a horrible racist (is there another kind?) and then called me a fucking cracker about fourteen times on his way to his car. I would have asked HR to continue paying for his medical insurance if I thought he would seek some help for his anger.

Two of his most negative co-workers quit in protest, which saved me the trouble of ever having to worry about fighting their unemployment claims. I feel happier, and I think a lot of people in my department feel happier, too. It's not good having a lot of negative energy around, I think. I've been doing some line work, and building up my stash of comp days, and it's been good.

I've been seeing a counselor I really like. She runs to control her anxiety, and probably talks to herself now and then, and I think she's a good fit for me.

I'm going to Philadelphia in a week, and Boston a month after that, and then Chicago a few weeks later, and maybe D.C. another month later, and then South Africa two months after that, and possibly to Tanzania while I'm there.

I have a new buddy, and I'm reminded that buddies are nice to have.

I went backpacking in Utah! It was fantastic, on so many levels, not the least of which I was hiking through Canyonlands and saw maybe five people a day. Just me, my forty-five pound pack, my footsteps, some hunger, and bunch of sun-soaked rocks.

I rented a "compact" car, too. Which looked suspiciously like a Dodge Nitro. With satellite radio. I blasted Kanye West while fishtailing on a dirt road. Also fantastic.

On my flight home, I got bumped twice. And suddenly, my $284 ticket turned into $800 of travel vouchers. Which I promptly started spending the moment I got home. Hello, Boston. (Oddly enough, the ticket to Boston [well, Hartford] was $65 less than the ticket to Salt Lake City.)