let me clear my throat

I've been meaning to write a blog post for a few days now, but I couldn't find the way in. The beginning. In workshop, we used to say that a lot of the poems needed to cut the throat-clearing; the beginning that permitted the poet to get the poem rolling, but in retrospect did nothing for the poem itself.

This is throat-clearing, but since this is also a blog that maybe three people read, I'm gonna leave it. As an added bonus, now you have DJ Kool stuck in your head! Yes. You're welcome.

So yes, we have returned from the beach. It was sandy, and it was nice; there were some bumps along the way, but mainly it was the same group of people at the same houses doing the same things, only looking a little bit taller/grayer/older than the previous year. The B made his Duck debut this year, and I did receive a text message in which it was revealed that a vote was taken and he passed, with a thumbs up, so that's good to know. There's something about that beach. It's a good place to think things through for a few hours, bobbing in the ocean, and then rinse off the salt and grab a beer and sit down in the company of twenty people who have seen you through pretty much everything. When you consider that, it's hard to feel too overwhelmed by what's on your mind.

I couldn't help but think, however, that at least this year the things on my mind were NOT MOVING. I'm still working through this thought, so perhaps this is just more throat clearing (ah huh! ah huh!), but two years ago I was freaking out about moving to Madison and not having a job lined up there, and last year I was really freaking out about the fact that I was a few weeks away from moving to an entirely different state from the B, and what that was going to do to us. This year, with the B at my side for long evening beach walks and the knowledge that we'd already moved, I felt a lot better. So much better that I only had to reach for the Xanax twice. For a week-long family vacation that is bookended with fifteen hours of driving, that's not too bad.

It was a sort of beautiful strangeness to return home, too; this place actually feels like home, or is starting to. The night before we left, the reading series kicked off, and no matter how successful that venture proves to be, my founding partner is right in that it helps both of us feel as if this town is home for the next few years. I was looking forward to two things this week: the last of the apartment fix-up things and having a few drinks with the people here. Both very home sort of things. And this morning, when I woke up to the sounds of the B making French toast in our kitchen and saw the new curtains billowing at the windows, I felt good. Very, very good.

Maybe I won't have much to say here over the next few weeks, or maybe I will. I don't know yet. I do know that I keep thinking, Holy shit, I can't believe this is all set--meaning that we are both in this apartment, and the closets are clean, and the pot rack is hung, and the classes are still a month and a half away, and we live here now. Kato feels as far away as it ever has, and that itself signifies something. So maybe I'll camp out in the sunroom with a stack of books and admire the way the light filters through the dining room windows in the late afternoon. Maybe I'll repot a few plants and drink some more wine. Maybe I'll head over to the lake on a windy day with the dog and laugh when his ears flap straight up. And maybe I can make a little sense of what's swimming in my head: family things, writing things, the-next-phrase things.

It sure is nice to be here, though. Let me say that. AND LET ME CLEAR MY THROAT AH HUH AH HUH.