and... we're off!

Two weeks to the day since I left the Farm. Two weeks to the hour since rubber met pavement, and I’m starting the train trip to Philadelphia to catch my plane across the ocean.

Has it really been two weeks? Only? Apparently so much can fit into a short span, and yet so much can feel neglected. I made a weekend to trip to Harrisburg for a wedding, bought stuff for my travels, opened a bank account, closed a bank account, traveled to Ohio for a soccer game, got treated for Lyme Disease, packed (three times)… what have I missed?

I wrote briefly about the wedding earlier. It was a nice affair: the ceremony was small and personal, as was the reception. I think my friends planned and executed nearly everything themselves, with a little help from family and friends. I got to spend a weekend with three friends from high school, who I haven’t seen in several years. Although two of them had married since, and other changes have occurred, it was easy enough to pick up where we left off. A good portion of the weekend was spent playing Guitar Hero, so I think that helped, too!

I managed to visit with family a few times. On my birthday, the day I arrived home from Harrisburg, the six of us (a rare occasion when we’re all in the same room) invaded my grandparents’ house along with a few aunts and uncles. We tried to get Grandma and Grandpa talking about their youth, and we heard some good stories: the day Grandma, her brother, and ‘that skinny Catholic girl’ came out to the field to get my Grandpa off the tractor and go out; what my grandfather was like as a young man, and how my grandmother’s family liked him; and how my twin great-aunts were kept in the bun-warmer of the old wood stove to keep them warm! A week later, we had another gathering under the pretext of my homecoming. What really transpired was everybody congregating in our living room to watch the Penn State game. But I did manage to see several people I haven’t in a while, and probably won’t again for a good period to come.

At one point, I discovered a tick on my leg—the first I’d ever found on myself in PA. Despite many tick bites I’d never been treated for Lymes in Massachusetts, where it runs rampant, but here the immediate prescription was Doxicycline, an antibiotic also commonly used to treat gonorrhea. The physician’s assistant thought that might be something I was interested in knowing. This was all a little disconcerting, considering my imminent departure, my disinterest in being antibiotic-ed, and my real worry over the irritated and bruised bite itself (the PA didn’t seem too bothered by the quarter-inch deep-purple spot). Oh well, at least I won’t get the clap for my first week in Spain.

I got a new bank account! I closed my old one! That was an adventure unto itself, fraught with waiting periods, misread faxes, and finally ending in a heavy deposit that I can’t actually touch until mid-November. I hope my credit limit holds out….

And finally, after the travel insurance, trip registration with the state department (because they’re concerned for my safety. No, really.), and frantic emails and phone calls to the Spanish farms expecting me in just two days, I had time to actually gather my supplies and pack them up. Twice, just to make sure. And then, a third time because I changed my mind. Now, I have time to fret. Look out.

It’s not that I’m unprepared, or that I’m timid about what I’ve set before myself. It’s just that these small worries that I haven’t had time to consider are now coming home to roost. Before, I couldn’t be bothered with how little Spanish I speak because I had people to get in touch with. I didn’t need to worry about being mugged in the streets because I had travel insurance to buy. A further itinerary and return ticket? Are you kidding me? I had to figure out what order I was hitting up my hosts! And now, with as much of that taken care of as could be, all I’m left with are the “squirrels in my brain,” as Starpilgrim put it—the frantic fears chasing themselves around my consciousness. And the awful thing is, there’s nothing I can do about those things either! But once apprehension sets in, it’s difficult to shake. I’m breathing, and assuring myself that it’ll all work out (because IT WILL), and so this will pass. Anyway, once I get off the plane I’m going to need to make something work.

So, I’m on my way! Too bad the train doesn’t cross the Atlantic!

i'm just a'goin' over jordan...

Siiiiiiiiiigh...

I made it out. My arrival in Houtzdale was marked by nothing extraordinary. As a matter of fact, I didn't even have a welcome party. My dad was the only one home and was on his way out the door to pick up his truck; I think he was eagerly awaiting my arrival so I could give him a ride.

I'm not sure if the ride was quite the head-clearing, personal-space-providing catharsis I was expecting. Mostly I was just driving. I wasn't struck by the feelings of separation until I was two minutes from my parents' driveway. For whatever reason, stopping at the intersection to Kendrick Road was the visual cue I needed to realize I wasn't going back next week, or next month, or any time in the immediate future. Half of my belongings (two-thirds of which were a bed and chair) fit into the bed of a pick-up and the other half had come ahead of me, to take up a new residence in my parents' basement. I wouldn't climb out of the truck to see Moo, or Mummy Dearest and her brood, Star Pilgrim, Roma, Bob, Steve, Flavio, CJ, or any of them at dinner in forty-five minutes. So the moral is, my dad had to greet and hug his sobbing 25-year-old son, trying to both console him and welcome him home.

Now I'm in Harrisburg. Some homecoming-- arrival only to head out the door 26 hours later for another trip, another commitment. My friends Heather and Jer are getting married this weekend and I'm here to help celebrate. I just hope no unexpected waves of realization and the ensuing self-pity overwhelm me during this joyous occasion.

In other news: Two weeks until I fly! So much to do! Help!

one-way

I now have a one-way ticket to Madrid. On November 1, I fly from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, into the rest of my life!

poetry

Ok, I just had to drag this out of the comments section. It's too good to be left there. Thank you, Monster Librarian, for running with my idea. This is just amazing.

He moved sullenly through the house
seemingly thwarted by the dish of bananas,
which sat upon a hideous macramé coaster of sorts
that a lover had made once.

His senses heightened as he entered the kitchen
the smell of peanut butter
invoking memories of seashells and horses,
children’s literature his grandmother had once read.

A grandmother who reeked of Borax,
who loved him as blindly as he had once loved carnivals.
But that was ages ago
before self-help and psychotherapy had gotten to him.

Tired of his life in lawn care
He dreamt of library science
And a possible career in Liverpool
where he would master the Dewey Decimal System like a mathematician bent on mastering hexadecimals.

He would sort books with ease
Quarantining the books on dragons and tracheotomies and elevators
from each other
as his ex-lover had quarantined him from her existence.

--Monster Library Student

pretty please?

Now the waiting is happening. I’ve sent out emails to five farms and have heard from exactly one. I’ve been formally invited to stay on a Farm in Spain! Now, the problem is, I need to be invited to stay on at least two more. I think that would make my stay most productive and interesting. Since I sent my feelers out five days ago, I followed WWOOF’s suggestion to prod again. And then I realized I never referenced my ID number. These people probably think I’m some hobo who managed to get their address and wants to freeload on their olive farms…

In other news, I’m searching for cheap plane tickets and interesting itineraries. I’m thinking of WWOOFing elsewhere, too. Turkey is looking promising these days. However, according to the Spanish consulate’s guidelines for entry, I need to travel with a round-trip ticket in order to get my 90 days of visa-free visitation. Hmm. So, if I want to travel, oh let’s say, from the US to Spain, then to Germany, and on to Turkey before going home, do I still need a round-trip ticket? Particularly since I’ll need to fly home from Spain before my 90 days are up? This is not my idea of efficient travel. It looks like another call to the ol’ consulate will be in order. Cross your fingers and say a prayer: I’m doomed.

for grins

This post is solely for my amusement. And maybe yours, too. Let me know.

I just wanted to see what happens when I type:

• bananas
• self-help
• macrame
• psychotherapy
• horses
• seashells
• peanut butter
• Borax
• children's literature
• carnival
• tracheotomy
• library science
• lawn care
• elevator
• dragon
• Liverpool
• hexidecimal

Thank you.