Back in Town

It has been a busy couple of weeks to say the least. I went to Arizona last week to present a paper at the Rocky Mountain Modern Language Association conference. My work paid for the flight, hotel, car, etc. so it was pretty sweet. The weather was perfect -- not too hot -- and it was fun driving around amid palm trees, saguaro cactus, and restaurants that serve things other than fried chicken and gross pasta. Very exotic.



The conference was fun and rewarding -- I always get charged up by things like that. The conference covers everything from really practical teaching stuff to super-obscure academic topics so I got some new tips on teaching and also heard some great talks on everything from the LDS pioneer paintings of C.C.A. Christensen to the excellent post-apocalyptic graphic novel Y: The Last Man. I met some nice people and my presentation seemed to go over pretty well.



There were two real highlights of the trip that had nothing to do with the conference. The first was Friday night when I took an evening tour of Frank Lloyd Wright's summer compound, Taliesin West. I have been an architecture geek my entire life and to see this 20th century master's house, office, drafting room, theater, etc. was just a huge thrill. I would touch things and think, "This was his desk. He sat right here!" About midway through the tour, I remember thinking to myself, "I could not possibly love this more."



The best highlight, however, was hanging out with the Norman family in Mesa. They graciously took me in, let me play with their kids, and talk their collective ear off. It was fun to listen to tales of Jeff burning scorpions with a blowtorch and to eat homemade ice cream for a breakfast dessert. Mel is always fun and interesting to talk to and her kids are among the best around. I particularly love that, prior to my arrival, super-niece Maia wandered around the house saying, "Do you know that Mark Brown is coming to our house?" I love that she knows that I'm her uncle and calls me that now but I kind of miss her referring to me simply as "Mark Brown."

As great as the trip was, by the end, I was pretty anxious to get home and see everyone. While I was gone, Suzanne traveled to Michigan to visit her family. She clearly has an iron constitution to take two older bickering daughters and one younger, utterly out of control daughter on the road for four days. I mean, that's practically one of the tasks from the old Fear Factor show. I think they all had a good time but I also think we were all glad to be back together.

One thing that often strikes me when I travel is how small and, in some ways, limited the Illinois Valley is. I forget that not everyone in the universe wears hoodies and sneakers to church. I forget that there are places where exercising is something that a lot of people do -- and not just to get in shape for high school football. I forget that there are places where a college education doesn't make you a freak. I forget there are places where there are lots of Mormons and they are friendly and helpful. I forget there are places that have more than one class per grade in the elementary school. I forget there are places that have bookstores. I forget what it's like to live close to family.

I have so much to be grateful for. I have a good job in a terrible economy. I have a warm, comfortable house where I enjoy spending time. I have three healthy, happy children. I have an excellent wife. But, if I'm honest, sometimes coming back to Illinois bums me out a little. Is that bad? I should probably be happy where I'm planted, I guess. But at the same time, it's not a bad thing to be honest about how you feel, is it? I know the grass is always greener elsewhere and that there are plenty of places much worse than where we are. But there's nothing wrong with hoping for better in the future while trying to be at peace with my present circumstances.

Anyway, enough of that. It's autumn in Illinois and that's a pretty nice time of year. The leaves are changing, the nights are cool, and everything feels like it's holding its breath waiting for winter. Better live it up while we can.