Back in blue

I have returned from Texas, a state which is very proud of its Texas-ness. Everywhere I looked there were state flags, single stars, references to the "Lone Star," and lots of other reminders of where in the world I was. I don't say this in a pejorative sense at all--it is just fascinating and for me, a true Yankee, kind of daunting because I don't know exactly what Texas stands for and so I don't know what it means to be so surrounded by it. In my ignorance I think of Texas as a red state, home of Bush, a state with big, silly fence to keep Mexicans out, a state about which I'm honestly not very curious. Nevertheless, when I was able to get over myself and quiet my suspicions that everyone was going to find out I was a Yankee and chase me to the city gates with flaming brooms, I had a good time exploring San Antonio (which many people call "San Antone," and I don't know if it's a Johnny Cash reference or what). We saw the Alamo, which isn't nearly as big or impressive as you think it will be but is still worth the visit both for the beautiful grounds (home to the biggest, most beautiful oak tree I've ever seen) and for the cute retired guys in red jackets who staff it and are eager to leap on each and every tourist and explain the significance of the handle of a single sword, the dust from the walls, the trajectory of the sunlight across the floor, whatever. They were so serious I was afraid to ask about the basement and instead listened to a ridiculously long explanation of the taking of the Alamo.

Tacky souvenir shopping is always really high on my list whenever I'm away, and I like the idea of bringing something home for darling C when I'm away. I was pretty close to buying a mounted jackalope (made from a real rabbit) because it was truly, truly tacky, but it was stupid expensive and the fake stuffed one seemed so much more appropriate (did I ever think I'd use a word like that?@!). I also got her a creepy Mexican puppet she and the cat love to fight over, and a few other tacky knick knacks I got along the Riverwalk before heading to some very chic restaurant for the conference dinner. It was strange to sit on the low banquettes in the dim lighting, sipping some ultra-cool cocktail while screaming to be heard over the pulsing electronica--it was like revisiting another life. But soon enough the women migrated to one table, and we all started talking about our kids because it is just SO much easier than trying to find some other common ground with such temporary acquaintances. As mortifying as it is to admit, I took the first bus back to the spa after dinner and left the carousing to everyone else--even though I was the youngest person in the whole group. Lame, yes, but I had a full night's sleep in a comfortable bed to claim.

It was otherwise an uneventful trip except that I got to spend a lot of time by myself (such a luxury), thinking about what my next step might be career-wise. I totally fell into this job some years ago, and while it does afford me some flexibility and even a little power, it interests me less and less as time marches on. Part of it is my amazing boss leaving last June and part of it is the growing realization that I won't be able to keep calling myself a poet much longer if I don't get out there and do something about it. I miss literature. I miss language. I think it's time to get back to teaching. Duh! some of you are thinking. It's true I came to that conclusion this same time last year and allowed them to convince me to stay in my current job, but I can't get jazzed about it anymore. And I have to stop whining.

We're going on the first whole week of Clementine's life I haven't had a camera in her face at least once, and it's not all that bad. I did miss her first trip in the sled, some general cuteness as she has started loving looking at picture albums to recite everyone's name and lots of great candids, but I think we'll all survive. Hopefully my damaged goods will be fixed and returned soon, though, because there are some triumphant moments on the horizon: Clementine will have her cast removed in three weeks AND her father and I are going to learn to become world-class snowboarders. It's true we haven't skied since high school and have only practiced snowboarding in our minds and living room, but I'm fairly certain it's my sport.