"Yesterday Was My Birthday, I Hung One More Year On The Line"

It's a bright early afternoon here in the Land of Lincoln. Right at eleven our time, I took my creative writing students down to the cafeteria to watch the inauguration on the big screen tv. We got there just as President Obama was taking the oath of office and stayed until Elizabeth Alexander finished her poem.

Say what you want about Obama's politics or his plans but I don't think anyone can argue with his abilities as a speaker. We all know Bush's unfortunate disadvantages when it comes to, you know, talking so maybe part of my elation at hearing the inaugural address is just the speech equivalent of coming up for air. I've been suffocating under the heavy water of Bushisms for the last eight years and suddenly I can breathe again. It's pretty nice.

Anyway, when Obama was speaking, the cafeteria fell more or less silent. People leaned in to listen and, generally, students were rapt. What struck me as really funny was that as soon as the poet came up to do her thing, all the noise, all the card playing, all the noise of the cafeteria immediately came back. As a recovering poet, I thought it was amusing.

On another subject, Saturday was my 35th birthday. As usual, I don't feel any different. 35 feels much the same as 34 did and 33 and on and on. Still, it's always good to step back and have a look at things on a birthday. It's a good time to assess things.



As a person, as a teacher, as the head of a family, I'm very much in a place of starting over and, while it's nice to get that fresh start, it's also unsettling and challenging. I'm experiencing moments of elation and moments of uncertainty. Teaching seems like something I can get a handle on, but prepping for my PhD stuff seems particularly daunting all of a sudden.

My kids are growing up and really becoming lovely young girls but, at the same time, they're struggling with their new surroundings and the challenge of finding friends. Suzanne and I are working on how to comfort them and help them while still maintaining a sense of order and routine. It's hard.

The house is beautiful and Suzanne has done a really terrific job making it comfortable, warm, and striking. But now all the issues become apparent - the sun room is really drafty. The garage door on the right side is all cattywompus. None of the windows open. None of it is the end of the world or beyond repair, but it's the kind of stuff that preys on your mind at night when things are quiet.

Our ward is really good. People have been helpful and friendly and I think if we put ourselves out there a bit, we can make some really good friends. Suzanne and I are speaking in church this Sunday. We're supposed to address "the blessings of serving a full-time mission and the blessings of missionary work in general."

Physically, I'm heavier now than I've ever been in my life. At one point, just after the move, before our fridge was delivered and we were eating out for two meals a day, I weighed in at 239 lbs. Another couple of microwave burritos and I would have crossed over into 240-ville. It's not the number that bothers me. It's that leaning over to tie my shoes makes me breathe hard and I've got that middle-aged guy gut that pushes my pants down and makes my shirts come untucked all the time. Mainly I'm concerned about my weight just because it's uncomfortable and inconvenient. I'd rather not break out into a sweat every time I have to climb stairs. I'd rather not wear out my pants from simple strain on the seams.

I'm taking Luvastatin for my cholesterol and, thanks to my maze-like new workplace, I'm walking all over freaking creation. When it gets warmer, I'll definitely get out on my bike again. Maybe I can drop a few pounds and, more importantly, not have a borderline heart attack every time I have to jog from the parking lot to the building.

Anyway, despite all the second-guessing about our house and the girls' school and all the slight but pervasive discomfort of "the new," things are startlingly good. We are all healthy (more or less), happy, and together - and those things, that last thing in particular, are more important than just about anything else.