The craziest thing that happened in the early fall is that I won the Citibank customer service drawing. As Sean, from the office programming team, aptly put it: I can now say you've done something that no one else has. I didn't actually think those drawings were for real. There is a story of how it happened, but first:
I returned to VSC to the wonderful presence of visiting poet Adam Zagajewski. Here is a view of the party celebrating his reading.
And here he is with his translator, Clare Cavanaugh:
I feel that I am a better person, and I am sure writer, just from being around him.
So, you have to imagine I wasn't living anywhere else while I was in Vermont. We're practically in Canada -- sap lines to all the trees, a small town with no pharmacy but a store that sold empty maple syrup containers to the trade. My belongings are in storage or fit in my car. I drive back to New York to find an apartment. This is big.
Meanwhile, RISD sends official photographs of my talk which I insert here because they are beautiful:
Somewhat miraculously, Veronica--provider of famous artist pet names--also realizes her sister needs a dogsitter at exactly the time I need a place to stay in New York to look for apartments. Not just that, the dog herself, Bella, should be loaned out to anyone doing something as stressful as navigating the New York real estate market. Bella is a bit like a cross between the Dalai Lama and the kid from Jerry MacGuire. She is full of love and guileless. She will literally decide to befriend people while out for a walk. If she likes you--as she especially does a certain doorman named John--she will get up on her hind legs and spread her arms and jump forward -- part pogo stick, part bear attacking, in stance. And she will lean into the tension on her leash until the person comes toward her and then melt into the floor to get you to scratch her belly. I digress. Here is Veronica, the aunt, and Bella exhibiting great intellectual curiosity toward the dishwasher:
Me with Bella:
And the apartment I eventually found. Curiously, this is the sign visible from the window:
So back to the story of the customer service drawing, it is in the process of getting all the apartment paperwork in order that I receive some extreme helpfulness from Mildred of Citib, so helpful I am moved to fill out a Citibank customer service form.
Before moving in, I head back out to California for class two. I get to meet Sabrina's kids, who are genuinely compelling:
We head to the California Institute of Science with the boys. I wear a baby bjorn for the first time. Where I sometimes feel that people bump into me as a single, childless person, wearing the bjorn (and probably an unmistakable look of plaintive newness), people are fantastically helpful. A guy carries my tray, etc. This is instructive and part of what Teddy my dean constantly calls "empathy bootcamp," something he seems convinced is a solution to many problems. (I, and Adam Smith, would agree. . . .)
Here is Sabrina with them both:
And here is just one remarkable site from the aquarium, the jellyfish:
These pictures were taken on my phone -- the real thing was at least that amazing. And just the species of animal -- I still cannot believe there are sea horses that look like tree branches. It's amazing.
Back in New York, my things get pulled for a customs exam in the port of New York. The port workers had been on strike for a couple of days the week prior. I could have gone to stay with my sister but wanted to be in my own space. Not only does the exam cause delay and necessitate 'urban camping,' it also costs about 700 dollars. (The karmic set-up for the drawing bounty. . . .)
Finally, the movers arrive, with this big single crate on the back of the truck. That's when international moving starts to seem uncannily like the 24th mile of a marathon. The crew of movers are late. Just the guy who has brought the truck is present and everyone else is stuck in horrendous traffic, about five miles away. That's when the mover starts telling me the customs exam never happened. He is wrenching off the crate. Nothing has been touched.
This is already the end of a very long, complex process with movers and agents on both sides of the Atlantic. Finally, the stuff starts to get into my apartment. The plates are not broken, miraculously, and we turn a corner where I can see that this will eventually be my home (aka, mile 25.5). I am being reunited with stuff I haven't seen in over a year. My mom is in town, and she and my sister stop by, which also helps.
My mother and I go see Brief Encounter, which is lovely in its staging:
And the next week, I get a call on my cell phone from Canada. Who would be calling from Canada? Well, it turns out that is where Citibank's customer service team is (a separate firm), and they explain I have won a drawing. It essentially covers the cost of the customs exam. I am to fill out paperwork, and arrange with the branch for the awards ceremony. Here is me with Mildred at the ceremony:
Everyone at the branch is so nice I decide I am going to pretend I live in a small town and they are my local bank.
October gets in full swing and we go visit my brother and family since my mom is in town. Here is a picture of nephew Jack with Phoebe ("the older sibling") at the pumpkin patch. As Jeff pointed out, it's good Phoebe didn't move because it didn't seem like Jack would have let go.
Now back in the city, I am starting to reach out to friends. Here is Galen, at dinner with Darby and with Juliette's sister Emma. Galen is wearing the signature sticker of the Providence / Betaspring incubator company,
ManPacks (a company I seem always to try to call ManPants. . .):
And so starts the 'personal infrastructure' phase that is the fall -- painting the chest of drawers from the tag sale in Williamstown, unpacking boxes,
and generally doing the reverse of the phrase "scattered to the four winds" with my belongings. Reversing that phrase is a bit like solving a Rubik's Cube in illustration of some basic law of entropy in which it is far easier to break than fix a plate.
Postscript: On the topic of home, here are interns Sarah and Roland in their kitchen with a painting I lent them, after the most wonderful meal they made for us:
I am reminded of hospitality as sometimes space-necessitating, but also entirely space independent.
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