July 26, 2004

What have I done with my summer?

I went home to the East Coast for a while. I saw my grandfather for what is likely to be the last time. I started playing in a small orchestra and also with a chamber music group. I've learned to deal with working half the time on one campus and the other half of the time on another campus halfway across the city and I've learned that it sometimes involves keeping biohazard bags containing pickled mouse pancreases in my refrigerator at home. So far I haven't poisoned myself.

Iggy and I both went home at the same time. Even though we met out here, his dad lives about 20 miles from my parents. So, we both got to meet the respective families. No matter how well such endeavors go, introducing boyfriends to my family is always a "worlds collide" experience. Even just going home always sort of feels to me like going back to a parallel life, and it was especially weird given that he also has a parallel life there--one that is entirely separate from my own parallel, even! It was good though, I got to see my family and his family. Iggy and I slept in a tent during a thunderstorm and woke up in the middle of the night to watch the fireflies, things we can't do in our life out here.

Later that week, I drove down to Pennsylvania with my parents to see my extended family--aunts, uncles, cousins, and the aforementioned grandfather. It was hard seeing my grandfather in his weakened state, especially since his illness is entirely smoking-related. His mother, my great-grandmother, lived to be 96 and was lucid and strong to the end. My grandfather is a decade younger than that, which is admittedly a ripe old age, but I can't help but wonder how long and well he would have lived without cigarettes. He has to use an oxygen tank all the time, and still struggles just to breathe. He's wizened and so bony he almost looks like a mummified version of himself. His skin is translucent and delicate and he has giant bruises on his arms. He's too weak to get out of bed most of the time, or even to have a real conversation. When we went to visit him, while the rest of us talked he seemed not to hear us--he looked as though all his attention was focused on the task of just drawing breath.

We all die of something, I know. And 86 years is a long life. And I know this isn't the worst way to go, but it's far from the best way.

Thankfully, the rest of my family was doing better than that. I went out for drinks with my cousin and learned from her that Rikki Rockett used to work at my (other) grandfather's store. And I learned from my other cousin's six-year-old daughter that I can still do a one-handed cartwheel after she challenged me to do it. (I also learned from her that I can't still do a front walkover due to my stiff old-lady spine).

And then when it was all over, I got to spend 6 hours in the car driving back to Hartford Airport and then 9 hours in airline transit home. On the second leg of my flight, I sat across the aisle from a lesbian couple with two small children. The younger of the two children was an infant who looked to be a little over a year old. She was just at the point where she was just beginning to speak actual words, except that as far as I could tell the only actual word she could say was "dada," which she kept saying over and over again. How awkward.

I've been back for almost a month now. The only thing that's really different in my life these days is the music. We're playing Bach's 4th Brandenburg Concerto, which features two solo flutes, so I can't just hide in the background. This was somewhat terrifying at first, but not so much anymore now that I've got my part down (yes, I've been practicing!). Also, I have to admit to being somewhat relieved that a lot of the other people I'm playing with just aren't very good (some of them are very good, but it's a mixed bag). I suppose it would be nice to play with a more polished group, but it's a lot less intimidating this way. Baby steps.