black eyed peas

Every time I show my home to someone who hasn't been before, I also see it with different eyes. I said I'd start packing after I saw Grace off at the airport. But now looking around, I'm feeling rather fond of my trailer, and I'm going to put the packing off for another day.

Grace and I started the summer off right by taking a road trip from Jackson, through the Delta, to Pott. We didn't hurry (which is an understatement, knowing both Grace and I), and our friends graciously welcomed us hours after we said we'd be there. And then, they would pull out leftovers that had already been wrapped and put in the fridge, and they fed us. We are grateful! Sometimes, it is nice to, instead of fending for yourself, decide you're going to rely on the hospitality of others. You don't do it all the time, otherwise you're mooching, but every once in a while... it's rather humbling actually. I have a feeling I'm going to be doing and feeling a lot of that on the trail.

Grace was soaking up the sun and freedom as we drove, and I was too, and also quietly saying my good-bye to the Delta. I have liked it more every time I have gone back. The year I actually lived there, I couldn't ever enjoy the Delta because the ax of teaching always hung over my head. Now that they are disassociated, I can finally enjoy this flat corner of earth. Two summers ago, I wrote this: "What more appropriate place to refresh than the Delta, the romantic backdrop of my being here. I doubt I'm prepared in the teacher sense for this fall, but I am ready to move into the Delta, to walk on its flatness and run beneath its dramatic sky." It's how I feel now, too.

The first-years are estatic to have made it, and I am happy for them. I think they expect me to be doubly relieved and excited because I'm completely done with my two years. But you know, this whole month has been so easy and enjoyable that I can't say I am. No, what I feel is more a sense of satisfaction to have finished well.

It hit me that I have spent two and a half years here in Mississippi, and even though I always viewed it as temporary, that's a good chunk of time. I didn't spend two and a half years in Vermont. I didn't spend two and a half years in Tennessee or Alaska. I wonder how Mississippi's going to shape me.

I came across some of Grace's track pictures on her dresser, and what I noticed - and what tore me a little - was that she wasn't smiling. Now, if you know Grace, you know she has a radiant smile, one that can light up a room. And it is an honest smile, only lighting when she feels that happy or tickled. But in neither of these pictures was she smiling, and I just thought, "I hope, I hope, I hope she has a good year next year." There's a couple others that I especially hope this for; they're the ones I usually think about during our moment of silence. This last month, I would always pray they would have a good time with their kids, something akin to my own May, which was so much fun that it made the previous nine months worth it. But in talking to my friends, it just didn't seem like they had that. I know it's presumptuous of me because everyone is different and everyone's year turns out differently. But they all seem so miserable, and I just want this year to be redeemed in some tangible way. Because what they're doing is such a wonderful thing, and I want them to know that.