Barbeque Girl
Oh, yeah, I have figured out the secret of the grill. Let it think you are done. And then whooooooooo - you pounce with the good stuff, Baby.
I did it like the instructions said, I lit the coals, waited about 40 minutes until they were glowing gently, then cooked my fish. The whole time I was grilling the mahi mahi, the coals were laughing at me. LAUGHING. They somehow subverted my grand plan and managed to isolate the flame in a small corner of the grill. But that's okay, I only had small pieces of fish anyway.
So I took the fish from the flame, came inside, ate my dinner and sat down on the couch with my feet up. Several minutes into my contented reverie, I realized that the coals were still glowing. What do I mean still? I mean that the coals were glowing like they were supposed to have been glowing when I was cooking the fish but they weren't into glowing then. Now they were into it. Laughing at me again.
I'm pretty laid back, but I wasn't much in the mood to let a barbeque grill get the better of me. I threw open the freezer. Chicken? Oh, yeah, give me the chicken. Oh, and that box of bison burgers? Their time has come ...
45 minutes and about 10 pounds of chicken, beef, and more chicken later ... I won.
......
And in answer to the question from the last blog, "Is everyone in Colorado Springs gypsies?"
Yeah - pretty much. As best I can tell there's one guy in town who was born here. He's got a sticker in the window of his truck that says, "Colorado Springs Native" but most of the rest of us don't talk to him. How can you relate to someone who's lived in one place his whole life?
Okay, so maybe I'm being a little tongue in cheek because one of my very best friends has spent the past 45 years crawling, walking, tripping, and driving over the same patch of earth. Because I'm a bit of a smart alec, I feel obliged to point out that while it's true that "Not all who wander are lost," neither is it true that having roots makes you deep.
I know that there is much to be said for staying in one place. When I was growing up, I had the privilege of doing so in the same town for 18 years. In that time I can only remember living in two different homes, although my parents have told me that there was another that we moved from just before my first birthday.
There was a sense of security in knowing my neighbors, worshipping with the same people, and attending the same school throughout that first season of my life.
Now that I'm an adult, it's been my habit to wander. Since I left that sleepy Southern Arkansas town, I've lived in Northwestern Arkansas (didn't wander too far at first) then Tulsa, then Oklahoma City, then Malvern, then Little Rock, then Memphis, then back to Oklahoma, then Minnesota called my name and I spent time in Burnsville and Apple Valley. From there it was Louisville, Kentucky then across the river to Salem, Indiana, and now I'm in Colorado Springs. 12 different towns in 26 years. So by staying here for three whole years, I'm above my average and ready to move.
In three weeks, exactly three weeks from tonight, I'll be unpacking my belongings in Albuquerque. I'll be getting to know my new hometown. And I'm excited to move there in a way that I don't think I've been excited about any of the previous moves. I gotta tell you that there are people close to me who think I'm nuts. I have worked very hard to make a life in Colorado Springs. I've come up from WAY below the poverty line to something approaching financial stability if not security. And now it seems that I'm putting that all on the line.
There's a huge risk in moving. There's a risk that my boss will decide that the distance thing isn't working and that I need to find other employment. There's a risk that the boys won't like it there. There's a risk that the situation for Michael will not be as much better as I believe it will. There's a risk that I will never be able to spell Albuquerque without having to stop and think about every letter. But I'm still going.
In the first place, I do believe it will be better for Michael. And Tucker? Well, he was doing wonderfully much better by the end of this last school year, but he's got some tough situations with that group of kids and I believe this is his chance for a clean start.
There's a part of me that thinks I'm a little nuts to feel the way I do about New Mexico. It's not generally thought of as a wealthy state. (But then again, I started in Arkansas ...) It's not green and lush. There's not a beach in sight, at least not one that's attached to a body of water. It's not like anywhere else I've lived.
But it's been calling my name since the first time I visited there when I was three. I fell in love with it when I was in high school and I had the opportunity to go there for summer camp. Am I ready to stop wandering?
Maybe. I'm absolutely certain that I'll be there for the next seven years until the boys are through with high school. They haven't had the same kind of stable childhood that my parents gave me, and who knows how that will impact them as they become adults. Maybe they will put down deep roots and cling to the place they call home. Maybe they will believe that their town/team/horizon is the best on earth and they will adopt the kind of narrow provincial view that I have such a hard time understanding. Maybe they too will wander.
But one thing I'm sure of, I've taught them that home is not a place. Home is the sense we all carry inside that tells us whether or not we belong. I want them to feel that they belong in this world no matter where they happen to lay their head.
PS - I'm taking my grill now that I've figured out the secret ...
PPS - I'm selling my carnival glass.
PPPS - and probably getting rid of a lot of other things as well. I realized at the U-haul store the other day that it will be less costly to donate my dishes to Goodwill and buy new ones than to buy the boxes necessary to ensure that the ones I own get there in one piece! Isn't that crazy?
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