El País de Cuatro Pisos [The Country of Four Floors], José Luis González.
Important 1979 essay that attempts to diagnose the failure of the Puerto Rican independence movement. Luis González's argument is primarily class-based, as he argues that 1) Puerto Ricans by and large have simply "not wanted" independence; and 2) the reason for that is because most of the leading figures of Puerto Rican independence have been conspicuously light-skinned, of aristocratic origin, and have privileged Spanish culture against the U.S. But to the masses of Puerto Ricans who are of African-slave, Indigenous, or otherwise impoverished origins, such calls for a "return to Spain" are anathema, for a "Spanish" Puerto Rico is one where they are enslaved on Haciendas without voice in government. As such, they would rather try out their lot with the U.S. which, for all its long, brutal history of racism and imperialism, still at least has traditions of abolitionism and Civil Rights movements.
El Pozo [The Pit], Juan Carlos Onetti
The legend is that Uruguayan-author Onetti wrote this 1939 short-story/novella during a single weekend when he was trying to quit smoking, and it shows. Filthy habitations, prostitutes, disjointed narrative (if you can even call it that), fights with friends, lonely expats on cold Alaskan nights, reports of foreign wars and other misery on Earth--this is a dispatch from a man at rock bottom, in "the pits", someone in the worst throws of addiction recovery.
::
And that pittance was all I got read this week. This was the week I finally had to return to Iowa City, you see, and the packing and final goodbyes to friends and family and the multi-day drive and the unpacking and the work meetings and etc, etc, meant that the breakneck pace of reading I've desperately kept up all summer long has finally suffered a sustained interruption. I'd say that maybe I needed the break, but 20 hours in a car I also slept in has not left me feeling particularly rejuvenated.
But this is too complainey--all things considered, I had an objectively amazing summer, and I should be doubly proud of all the reading I got done when I consider all the adventures I had; and perhaps now that this summer is already rapidly receding into the rear-view mirror, now is as good a time as any to at last reflect these experiences before they fade from my grasp.
Yellowstone
The summer began in late May with a visit to Yellowstone with two old college friends--we had in fact roomed together exactly 10 summers earlier at BYU-Provo, which was enough to throw me through a loop; and that without compounding the fact that the last time I visited Yellowstone was the summer of 2007, when I was a senior at BYU-I, on a double-date with my then-girlfriend and a work-friend. When I consider that the former friendships have lasted so long and so strong, while there is scarcely a person from that double-date--or even from my whole entire Rexburg days--with whom I am still in contact beyond the thinnest of facebook connections...and when I consider that on top of that, the last time I'd been to Yellowstone before then was in '98 when I was 15 and awkward and shy and my Mom was still alive, and I picked up a yellow rock that I did not have the eco-awareness to return to the Park till '07, which even clear back then I already considered to be such an unspeakably long time...well, it doesn't exactly make me feel young.
But then, when you've been living in the endless flat expanses of the Great Plains for 9 months, any return to the mountains is a welcome one. The mountains, after all, are blissfully indifferent to whatever you're going through right now, they don't even care if you call them mountains, or even try to differentiate them from the whole wide earth to begin with. The longer I live, the more I realize the absolute necessity of visiting places that remind you how small you really are (Yellowstone National Park alone is larger then some eastern states, than some European countries), of how much bigger the world is than you, and how pitiful your concerns are against the stunning beauty of a Caldera that could wipe out all of human civilization in a single apocalyptic eruption. Existentially speaking, we are all dumb bison, chomping grass atop an active volcano, biding its time and ours...
Cork, Ireland
As good as it was to revisit Yellowstone, it was there that I realized that all I've been doing since I first moved to Iowa is re-visit places--re-visiting Nauvoo, New York, Kansas City, Adam-Ondi-Ahman, Utah, Washington, Oregon, Puerto Rico, and now Yellowstone. I suppose Chicago was new--but then I promptly re-visited it to death. Revisiting can be good, but I've now realized that if all one does is revisit, well then, there's no faster way to grow old. Post-Yellowstone, I decided it was high time I start visiting new places, and feeling young again.
Fortunately, a paper of mine had been accepted by a conference held at University College Cork in Ireland. It was for SILAS, the Society for Irish and Latin American Studies--it was both reassuring to know that my dissertation topic wasn't as insane as I'd feared, as well as a tad depressing to know I wasn't nearly as original as I thought. A combination of a buddy pass from my flight attendant girlfriend and a scant $600 from the University is the only way I could afford to visit the Emerald Isle on a graduate stipend--but I figured if I was going to dissertate on Irish literature, well then I'd sure better visit Ireland, shouldn't I!
On the Emerald Isle--the moniker is deserved. The island is as green as you've dreamed. The accent really does sound like it belongs to another language. Cork itself feels like a smaller version of Seattle, save with a far weightier sense of history about it--but with the same exhilarating sense of possibility when the sun at last breaks the cloud cover, bringing the whole island to life.
My one regret is that I had 3 days there--I was only there for a conference after all, and again, my graduate finances did not exactly permit for a lengthier grande tour. Nevertheless, I still did all that one can do in Cork--played the bells and ascended the steeple at St. Ann's Cathedral; really, went inside every Cathedral I could; passed by the Butter Museum, with the rousing New York Times endorsement of "It really is worth the stop!" (we didn't go in); hung out with hostel mates I may never see again, like a real traveler; evaded pan-handlers, explored downtown, walked along the River Lee; and what was my pride and joy, but I visited legendary Castle Blarney, and kissed the Blarney stone itself! As the limestone stuck to my lips along with the million others who had preceded me, that's when I felt--I was finally traveling again!
The whole thing felt meant to be, right down to the buddy pass--which can just as easily mean missed flights, sleeping in airports, and middle-seats in the back--got me into First Class this time! My friends, if ever you needed greater evidence of the need for revolution, then consider how the 1% live: the seats lean allll the way back in First Class! I didn't even realize this; when the kind gentleman next to me realized this was my first Transatlantic First Class flight, he enthused: "Ooooh, man, you are in for a treat!" He then showed me the button that transformed my bed into a bona fide bed! It was, by a full order of magnitude, the best night's sleep over the Atlantic I have ever had.
Springville, Utah
Obviously I'm mostly just hitting the highlights; the truth is, most of my summer was much more prosaic. I mostly read from my comps list like mad (as shown by the majority of blog posts from this summer), while I crashed on my Aunt's air-mattress in Springville, Utah, and paid rent on my old place in Iowa City (unsurprisingly, small college towns in the middle of nowhere are impossible to sublet in the summer). Besides a general yearning to escape the corn fields and see the mountains again, my motivation for relocating to the Utah Valley was a desire to actually date my girlfriend in person, to try and have a relationship with each other, and not just with our phones.
I was initially going to adjunct at SLCC like old times--but ironically, a sign of the improving economy is the fact that fewer folks are enrolling in community colleges now, and so my class was dropped last minute due to underenrollment. (Geez, an improving job market and cheap gas and my friends with pre-existing conditions can get health coverage now? Thanks, Obama!). Consequently, a cousin got me a part-time job at a local hardware store, so that my finances wouldn't take quite as a big a hit during my summer of studying.
It was neither the best nor the worst job I've ever had. I suppose it was humbling in a good way, as I was reminded that there are innumerable types of intelligence out there, as shown by how my voluminous knowledge of world literature was utterly useless in helping customers find the right screw on aisle 34, or for explaining how to fix their sprinkler system. For reals, if there were advances degrees for home maintenance, then the managers at that store would be distinguished faculty.
I had been there a month and had finally memorized the basic layout of the store, when I was then moved out into the lumber yard. I actually preferred that position--loading 2x4s and cement bags into trucks and trailers strangely felt more manly, more writerly, more Steinbeckian, than merely restocking merchandise. And if there was a lull in customers and I was alone, I would often surreptitiously pull out a copy of Carpentier and keep reading.
On my last day there, near the end of July, I wondered my way through the the wood stacks, and took in the dry heat and the hovering Wasatch mountains, and I realized--as almost-aggresively unremarkable as this moment was, it was a moment that would never happen again, and the unbearable lightness of being overwhelmed me.
Lake Arrowhead, California
Over the 4th of July weekend, I drove with my gf and her younger sister to their hometown of Lake Arrowhead, California, for a family reunion. We made one impulsive stop in Las Vegas to ride a roller coaster, for which the gf has an incurable weakness.
It can be a little nerve-wracking to Meet The Family, but they were all gracious and welcoming folk, so non-such Ben Stiller shenanigans ensued. Rather, what struck me most was just the staggering amount of money that surrounds that tiny little man-made lake. We went on a little boat tour, where we saw vacation-mansions owned by Hollywood stars, Mafiosos, and politicians. The place is a resort-town with a service economy, possessing every expense and excess associated with southern California. It caused me to realize why my gf could be so generous with her money even in the days of her poverty--she's from a part of Cali where money is no object.
Iowa City--2 Days
Speaking of which, I let her talk me into just flying into Cedar Rapids the end of July and renting a car to move my things to my new place, rather than just drive out to Iowa City and be done with it, as would have been more financially responsible. Nevertheless, it somehow felt right to do it this way; the car rental was even upgraded to a minivan without extra charge, making the move infinitely easier.
Despite the hassle, I didn't mind moving--my place had been bought out by Apts. Near Campus, who had already announced that they would raise rent to a preposterous $800/mo next lease, as though we lived in downtown Chicago or Brooklyn, and not friggin' Iowa City! It's an open secret that Apts. Near Campus is in cahoots with at least two other local companies flouting anti-monopoly laws despite being owned by the same 3 brothers, and that they're trying to corner the entire downtown market. There is already a class-action lawsuit against one of them, and no one will shed one solitary tear for whatever happens to them.
Nevertheless, I did feel sad moving from the place itself--despite feeling a little dated, a little tired...it was still mine. I was caught off guard by how much I enjoyed living alone, and couldn't believe it had taken me so long to finally try it! My new place is far cheaper and I like my roommates (I'm even living with fellow BYU-I alums again, of all things!), but I'm already missing the sense of freedom, independence, and rejuvenating solitude that came with flying solo.
Yet what actually touched me most about moving that July day--what hit me harder than the humidity and the cicada's screaming and the unbearable lightness of being--was the same feeling I had my last day at Sunroc hardware, that this is a moment that will never repeat. And what's more, even as the years continue to fly by fast and faster as we age, that a year is still a full year--case in point, a year ago, I was single, Kristina a fading memory after a nasty breakup; I was still only half-way through coursework; I feared the coming semester of 4 classes. Now a year later K. and I were back together, I was done with course-work, I was comping and facing the real possibility that I would be ABD by Christmas. A lot can still happen in one year, and does, though it may never happen again.
Boston
But now I already knew the cure for such melancholies--it was time once more to travel somewhere new! K. was first stationed in Boston when she was hired by Delta, and had wanted to show me the place after we got back together. I also had a cousin out there I never saw outside of family reunions, and she and her husband graciously put us up for the weekend.
What can I say? I can safely add Boston to parts of America I wouldn't mind living in! Even the LDS Chapels feel New Englandy. It's almost like a European city, in how unique the architecture feels, how expertly it combines the ancient with the new, how the aura of history waifs through it. We saw the charming quaintness of Harvard and the bizarre Seussian buildings of MIT. We laughed at the irony of how Walden Pond is now carefully fenced off, paved, and regulated (you know, like Thoreau would've wanted). We took the tour of the Henry Wordsworth Longfellow home. We learned why Fenway gets to call itself "America's Favorite Ballpark". We wondered through the Boston Commons, walked along the pier, explored Quincy market, ate some of the most expensive seafood of my life--I don't throw around the term "Seattle-esque" lightly, but when I apply it to Boston, I mean it as the highest praise.
Mt. Timpanogos
Go figure, but a solid summer of reading means you don't get much exercise, and you don't get much hiking done. I knew I needed to drive back to Iowa City next week, and it pained me to have spent 3 months in the mountains here without hiking once. Well, we made up for all of that in one fell-swoop by hiking Timp. Goodness, I was not psychologically or physically prepared for that hike! We were initially going to do the midnight hike and watch the sunrise over the Utah valley, but overslept, which I was bummed about--until we were at mile 6 at the summit still taunted us, and I was a thousand times thankful that we weren't doing that hike in the dark! All of you have done the sunrise hike, you have my complete respect--and you all are insane.
It also didn't help my self-esteem when we were passed 3 times by the septuagenarian who now hold the record for 700+ ascents of Timp; he hiked the summit twice just that day. For fun.
The views were indeed spectacular, but boy did we pay for 'em. We made it back to the van with only minutes of daylight to spare.
Engagement
For an event that one awaits for so many years--that has such an oppressive weight of expectation surrounding it--the actual moment felt very natural, simple, calm, matter-of-fact, like it was just supposed to happen. I actually preferred it this way, as a moment of peace, of quiet assurance, not as some great sound and fury that could have signified nothing. Beginning the week before, she knew it was coming. She initially hoped it would be atop Timp; I even almost packed the ring up, but I (accurately) intuited that I wouldn't want to be too exhausted to enjoy it. Then we went to the Art Museum...and that's all. Then we visited the Temple...and that's all. She said she wanted to be surprised, so by golly, she would be surprised! Finally it was my very last day in Salt Lake; we visited Liberty Park up in Salt Lake, where we went on our very first date. We crossed the plank-wood bridge onto that little Gazebo'd island, to find the little bench where we first cuddled.
Of course, the bench was suddenly gone now--time escapes us, and moments cannot be revisited, which as you've seen has been my recurring theme this summer. But no matter, this time I was prepared; I quickly dropped to a knee and presented her with my dead mother's ring. She of course said yes.
Now I'm back in Iowa City, and it's stranger than ever to be here, now that I'm done with course work. Yes, yes, comps are coming up, which means independent study hours and thus tuition wavers from teaching--but I've also realized that I've only spent 2 years max at every college I've ever attended--Centralia College, BYU-I, Utah. To be at at Iowa longer than 2 years feels very strange indeed. But what helps is that I did not return here empty-handed, that I'm no longer living in the past, that I already look forward to the ever-coming future.
El Pozo [The Pit], Juan Carlos Onetti
::
And that pittance was all I got read this week. This was the week I finally had to return to Iowa City, you see, and the packing and final goodbyes to friends and family and the multi-day drive and the unpacking and the work meetings and etc, etc, meant that the breakneck pace of reading I've desperately kept up all summer long has finally suffered a sustained interruption. I'd say that maybe I needed the break, but 20 hours in a car I also slept in has not left me feeling particularly rejuvenated.
But this is too complainey--all things considered, I had an objectively amazing summer, and I should be doubly proud of all the reading I got done when I consider all the adventures I had; and perhaps now that this summer is already rapidly receding into the rear-view mirror, now is as good a time as any to at last reflect these experiences before they fade from my grasp.
Yellowstone
The summer began in late May with a visit to Yellowstone with two old college friends--we had in fact roomed together exactly 10 summers earlier at BYU-Provo, which was enough to throw me through a loop; and that without compounding the fact that the last time I visited Yellowstone was the summer of 2007, when I was a senior at BYU-I, on a double-date with my then-girlfriend and a work-friend. When I consider that the former friendships have lasted so long and so strong, while there is scarcely a person from that double-date--or even from my whole entire Rexburg days--with whom I am still in contact beyond the thinnest of facebook connections...and when I consider that on top of that, the last time I'd been to Yellowstone before then was in '98 when I was 15 and awkward and shy and my Mom was still alive, and I picked up a yellow rock that I did not have the eco-awareness to return to the Park till '07, which even clear back then I already considered to be such an unspeakably long time...well, it doesn't exactly make me feel young.
But then, when you've been living in the endless flat expanses of the Great Plains for 9 months, any return to the mountains is a welcome one. The mountains, after all, are blissfully indifferent to whatever you're going through right now, they don't even care if you call them mountains, or even try to differentiate them from the whole wide earth to begin with. The longer I live, the more I realize the absolute necessity of visiting places that remind you how small you really are (Yellowstone National Park alone is larger then some eastern states, than some European countries), of how much bigger the world is than you, and how pitiful your concerns are against the stunning beauty of a Caldera that could wipe out all of human civilization in a single apocalyptic eruption. Existentially speaking, we are all dumb bison, chomping grass atop an active volcano, biding its time and ours...
Cork, Ireland
As good as it was to revisit Yellowstone, it was there that I realized that all I've been doing since I first moved to Iowa is re-visit places--re-visiting Nauvoo, New York, Kansas City, Adam-Ondi-Ahman, Utah, Washington, Oregon, Puerto Rico, and now Yellowstone. I suppose Chicago was new--but then I promptly re-visited it to death. Revisiting can be good, but I've now realized that if all one does is revisit, well then, there's no faster way to grow old. Post-Yellowstone, I decided it was high time I start visiting new places, and feeling young again.
Fortunately, a paper of mine had been accepted by a conference held at University College Cork in Ireland. It was for SILAS, the Society for Irish and Latin American Studies--it was both reassuring to know that my dissertation topic wasn't as insane as I'd feared, as well as a tad depressing to know I wasn't nearly as original as I thought. A combination of a buddy pass from my flight attendant girlfriend and a scant $600 from the University is the only way I could afford to visit the Emerald Isle on a graduate stipend--but I figured if I was going to dissertate on Irish literature, well then I'd sure better visit Ireland, shouldn't I!
On the Emerald Isle--the moniker is deserved. The island is as green as you've dreamed. The accent really does sound like it belongs to another language. Cork itself feels like a smaller version of Seattle, save with a far weightier sense of history about it--but with the same exhilarating sense of possibility when the sun at last breaks the cloud cover, bringing the whole island to life.
My one regret is that I had 3 days there--I was only there for a conference after all, and again, my graduate finances did not exactly permit for a lengthier grande tour. Nevertheless, I still did all that one can do in Cork--played the bells and ascended the steeple at St. Ann's Cathedral; really, went inside every Cathedral I could; passed by the Butter Museum, with the rousing New York Times endorsement of "It really is worth the stop!" (we didn't go in); hung out with hostel mates I may never see again, like a real traveler; evaded pan-handlers, explored downtown, walked along the River Lee; and what was my pride and joy, but I visited legendary Castle Blarney, and kissed the Blarney stone itself! As the limestone stuck to my lips along with the million others who had preceded me, that's when I felt--I was finally traveling again!
The whole thing felt meant to be, right down to the buddy pass--which can just as easily mean missed flights, sleeping in airports, and middle-seats in the back--got me into First Class this time! My friends, if ever you needed greater evidence of the need for revolution, then consider how the 1% live: the seats lean allll the way back in First Class! I didn't even realize this; when the kind gentleman next to me realized this was my first Transatlantic First Class flight, he enthused: "Ooooh, man, you are in for a treat!" He then showed me the button that transformed my bed into a bona fide bed! It was, by a full order of magnitude, the best night's sleep over the Atlantic I have ever had.
Springville, Utah
Obviously I'm mostly just hitting the highlights; the truth is, most of my summer was much more prosaic. I mostly read from my comps list like mad (as shown by the majority of blog posts from this summer), while I crashed on my Aunt's air-mattress in Springville, Utah, and paid rent on my old place in Iowa City (unsurprisingly, small college towns in the middle of nowhere are impossible to sublet in the summer). Besides a general yearning to escape the corn fields and see the mountains again, my motivation for relocating to the Utah Valley was a desire to actually date my girlfriend in person, to try and have a relationship with each other, and not just with our phones.
I was initially going to adjunct at SLCC like old times--but ironically, a sign of the improving economy is the fact that fewer folks are enrolling in community colleges now, and so my class was dropped last minute due to underenrollment. (Geez, an improving job market and cheap gas and my friends with pre-existing conditions can get health coverage now? Thanks, Obama!). Consequently, a cousin got me a part-time job at a local hardware store, so that my finances wouldn't take quite as a big a hit during my summer of studying.
It was neither the best nor the worst job I've ever had. I suppose it was humbling in a good way, as I was reminded that there are innumerable types of intelligence out there, as shown by how my voluminous knowledge of world literature was utterly useless in helping customers find the right screw on aisle 34, or for explaining how to fix their sprinkler system. For reals, if there were advances degrees for home maintenance, then the managers at that store would be distinguished faculty.
I had been there a month and had finally memorized the basic layout of the store, when I was then moved out into the lumber yard. I actually preferred that position--loading 2x4s and cement bags into trucks and trailers strangely felt more manly, more writerly, more Steinbeckian, than merely restocking merchandise. And if there was a lull in customers and I was alone, I would often surreptitiously pull out a copy of Carpentier and keep reading.
On my last day there, near the end of July, I wondered my way through the the wood stacks, and took in the dry heat and the hovering Wasatch mountains, and I realized--as almost-aggresively unremarkable as this moment was, it was a moment that would never happen again, and the unbearable lightness of being overwhelmed me.
Lake Arrowhead, California
Over the 4th of July weekend, I drove with my gf and her younger sister to their hometown of Lake Arrowhead, California, for a family reunion. We made one impulsive stop in Las Vegas to ride a roller coaster, for which the gf has an incurable weakness.
It can be a little nerve-wracking to Meet The Family, but they were all gracious and welcoming folk, so non-such Ben Stiller shenanigans ensued. Rather, what struck me most was just the staggering amount of money that surrounds that tiny little man-made lake. We went on a little boat tour, where we saw vacation-mansions owned by Hollywood stars, Mafiosos, and politicians. The place is a resort-town with a service economy, possessing every expense and excess associated with southern California. It caused me to realize why my gf could be so generous with her money even in the days of her poverty--she's from a part of Cali where money is no object.
Iowa City--2 Days
Speaking of which, I let her talk me into just flying into Cedar Rapids the end of July and renting a car to move my things to my new place, rather than just drive out to Iowa City and be done with it, as would have been more financially responsible. Nevertheless, it somehow felt right to do it this way; the car rental was even upgraded to a minivan without extra charge, making the move infinitely easier.
Despite the hassle, I didn't mind moving--my place had been bought out by Apts. Near Campus, who had already announced that they would raise rent to a preposterous $800/mo next lease, as though we lived in downtown Chicago or Brooklyn, and not friggin' Iowa City! It's an open secret that Apts. Near Campus is in cahoots with at least two other local companies flouting anti-monopoly laws despite being owned by the same 3 brothers, and that they're trying to corner the entire downtown market. There is already a class-action lawsuit against one of them, and no one will shed one solitary tear for whatever happens to them.
Nevertheless, I did feel sad moving from the place itself--despite feeling a little dated, a little tired...it was still mine. I was caught off guard by how much I enjoyed living alone, and couldn't believe it had taken me so long to finally try it! My new place is far cheaper and I like my roommates (I'm even living with fellow BYU-I alums again, of all things!), but I'm already missing the sense of freedom, independence, and rejuvenating solitude that came with flying solo.
Yet what actually touched me most about moving that July day--what hit me harder than the humidity and the cicada's screaming and the unbearable lightness of being--was the same feeling I had my last day at Sunroc hardware, that this is a moment that will never repeat. And what's more, even as the years continue to fly by fast and faster as we age, that a year is still a full year--case in point, a year ago, I was single, Kristina a fading memory after a nasty breakup; I was still only half-way through coursework; I feared the coming semester of 4 classes. Now a year later K. and I were back together, I was done with course-work, I was comping and facing the real possibility that I would be ABD by Christmas. A lot can still happen in one year, and does, though it may never happen again.
Boston
But now I already knew the cure for such melancholies--it was time once more to travel somewhere new! K. was first stationed in Boston when she was hired by Delta, and had wanted to show me the place after we got back together. I also had a cousin out there I never saw outside of family reunions, and she and her husband graciously put us up for the weekend.
What can I say? I can safely add Boston to parts of America I wouldn't mind living in! Even the LDS Chapels feel New Englandy. It's almost like a European city, in how unique the architecture feels, how expertly it combines the ancient with the new, how the aura of history waifs through it. We saw the charming quaintness of Harvard and the bizarre Seussian buildings of MIT. We laughed at the irony of how Walden Pond is now carefully fenced off, paved, and regulated (you know, like Thoreau would've wanted). We took the tour of the Henry Wordsworth Longfellow home. We learned why Fenway gets to call itself "America's Favorite Ballpark". We wondered through the Boston Commons, walked along the pier, explored Quincy market, ate some of the most expensive seafood of my life--I don't throw around the term "Seattle-esque" lightly, but when I apply it to Boston, I mean it as the highest praise.
Mt. Timpanogos
Go figure, but a solid summer of reading means you don't get much exercise, and you don't get much hiking done. I knew I needed to drive back to Iowa City next week, and it pained me to have spent 3 months in the mountains here without hiking once. Well, we made up for all of that in one fell-swoop by hiking Timp. Goodness, I was not psychologically or physically prepared for that hike! We were initially going to do the midnight hike and watch the sunrise over the Utah valley, but overslept, which I was bummed about--until we were at mile 6 at the summit still taunted us, and I was a thousand times thankful that we weren't doing that hike in the dark! All of you have done the sunrise hike, you have my complete respect--and you all are insane.
It also didn't help my self-esteem when we were passed 3 times by the septuagenarian who now hold the record for 700+ ascents of Timp; he hiked the summit twice just that day. For fun.
The views were indeed spectacular, but boy did we pay for 'em. We made it back to the van with only minutes of daylight to spare.
Engagement
For an event that one awaits for so many years--that has such an oppressive weight of expectation surrounding it--the actual moment felt very natural, simple, calm, matter-of-fact, like it was just supposed to happen. I actually preferred it this way, as a moment of peace, of quiet assurance, not as some great sound and fury that could have signified nothing. Beginning the week before, she knew it was coming. She initially hoped it would be atop Timp; I even almost packed the ring up, but I (accurately) intuited that I wouldn't want to be too exhausted to enjoy it. Then we went to the Art Museum...and that's all. Then we visited the Temple...and that's all. She said she wanted to be surprised, so by golly, she would be surprised! Finally it was my very last day in Salt Lake; we visited Liberty Park up in Salt Lake, where we went on our very first date. We crossed the plank-wood bridge onto that little Gazebo'd island, to find the little bench where we first cuddled.
Of course, the bench was suddenly gone now--time escapes us, and moments cannot be revisited, which as you've seen has been my recurring theme this summer. But no matter, this time I was prepared; I quickly dropped to a knee and presented her with my dead mother's ring. She of course said yes.
Now I'm back in Iowa City, and it's stranger than ever to be here, now that I'm done with course work. Yes, yes, comps are coming up, which means independent study hours and thus tuition wavers from teaching--but I've also realized that I've only spent 2 years max at every college I've ever attended--Centralia College, BYU-I, Utah. To be at at Iowa longer than 2 years feels very strange indeed. But what helps is that I did not return here empty-handed, that I'm no longer living in the past, that I already look forward to the ever-coming future.
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