Ordinary Moments

Dearest Rachel –

Good morning, honey, and welcome to a day that seems to have a fair amount going on, but nothing in particular that we haven’t talked about before (or the occasional thing that I can’t go into details about, for… reasons). I guess a lot of days in life are like this, when you think about it – it’s why I don’t remember as much as I’d like about our days together at this point. Taken as a whole, every day is unique, but in the little individual moments, so much of what we find ourselves doing is something we’ve done so many times before that it all seems so typical after a while. But in reality, it’s not the day that is so basic, but all the ordinary moments that make it up.

I suppose it’s another reason I tell you about my dreams, honey; not only were they something you would have so often (and therefore want to talk about and share), but in the reassembling of the events of the recent past and the issues facing me in the near future, my mind constructs a kaleidoscopic cineplay that almost never seems familiar. Of course, its habit of connecting things with metaphysical chewing gum and baling wire means that they often don’t hold themselves together long enough to make that much more than a paragraph about, let alone a whole letter.

And this is one of those mornings, when the gossamer threads holding it together barely allow me to recall a handful of details. I was in a college class on either programming or ballistics – the topic was about making a computer game accurately reflect the effects of an invincibly fast and heavy projectile as it was aimed at a supposedly impregnable target; which one would fail first, and what the impact ought to look like. The particularly strange aspect about it was that our professor was none other than Jesse White. No, not our former Secretary of State here in Illinois, but the actor, who you would best recall as King Ferdinand of Spain from Stan Freberg’s United States of America (but most folks would remember as the lonely Maytag repairman). And in keeping with that, the dream was in black and white rather than in color. Maybe it was the effect of too many Twilight Zone recaps lately.

Of course, there was more – ‘Professor White’ had so much to say on the topic, which is how I recognized him, by his distinctive voice – but upon waking up, most of the storyline immediately evaporated, leaving me to contemplate how my real life has essentially gone back to a state of normal that hardly seems worth relating to you.

Just as an example, Sparks was back to its regular operations, after a week off due to the separate hustle and bustle of Family Fest. Everything seems to have actually settled into a bit of a routine, as far as the logistics of the night went – oh, there are always a few hiccups, such as the setup of the room beforehand (which made it a good thing that Daniel and I were there an hour early, to make the necessary adjustments), but by and large, I think we’ve finally adjusted to the size of the crowd. Either that, or the crowd of kids had diminished a little, compared to the previous weeks.

Likewise, it felt like everything was back in place at the end of the night, with Daniel and I heading over to check on the teardown in Cubbies, and walk out with Erin and Ms. Joan. While I could swear that Erin had returned from Italy long enough ago to have been back at her post a couple weeks ago, she was filling Joan in on her trip – and the marathon before it – as if they hadn’t seen each other for a month. And maybe they hadn’t; I may have seen her in another context (like Ramon’s birthday party last week), where it’s felt like things were already back to normal because she’d gotten home, but for the rest of her circle, that wasn’t the case. This is what comes, I suppose, from having a certain perspective, and erroneously assuming that everyone around you shares that perspective.

Today sees me heading east to meet up with Lars. It doesn’t seem all that long ago, either – and, considering we were walking last Friday, it hasn’t been – but we have to adjust, based on his schedule and the weather. So there won’t be nearly as much in terms of new topics of conversation, as life hasn’t changed all that much between then and now, to be honest. Although…

…there has been a change that I’ve been in the process of acclimatizing myself to (which also factors into how Daniel and I were able to head out so early and get things put together at Sparks the way they needed to be). I’d gotten a call from the eyewear place, telling me my new glasses were ready, and they would be open for me to drop by until as late as seven (which would have been impossible for me to wait until, but hey, it’s not as if they know my schedule. Perspectives, after all).

But speaking of perspectives… this is going to take some getting used to. These are progressive lenses, and while the folks at the eyewear place assured me that my previous lenses were also progressives, they’re referring to the ones they sold me a year ago, which apparently aren’t the ones I’m wearing (and I still don’t know how that happened). It’s weird how, if I look at something below a certain point in my field of vision, it goes right out of focus (or right into focus, depending on how close it is to me, and whether I’m trying to read it or just make out what it is) – and realize that this is what these things are supposed to do. I expect that sooner or later, this is going to feel normal and ordinary to me – in fact, it rather has to, as my eyes get more and more wonky with time – but for now, it still feels more than a little strange to deal with.

So there you are, honey. My day, past and present. Not a particularly satisfying list of moments, just ordinary stuff (although, now that I think about it, how often do I head up north like that?), but that’s what so much of life down here is composed of. I wonder what things are like on your side; does anything get to the point where you get beyond being accustomed to this or that, and it becomes almost a habit? Do things ever become mundane? I would think not, otherwise heaven might lose its wonder, but at the same time, you couldn’t go around in a constant state of disoriented unfamiliarity. I wonder how the place threads that needle, and I wish you could tell me about it; but by the time you can, I’ll be able to see for myself, and like you, I won’t be able to relay my perspectives to those left behind by me.

So for now, all I can do is ask you to keep a clear eye on me (easier said than done, as I could tell you!), and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.