breaking up is hard to do

I woke up this morning and came to the sad realization that I would be waking up in Charleston (as a student/transfer-South Carolinian/Charlestonian) for the last time.  I graduated yesterday, and while that fills me with pride in my accomplishments and excitement about starting the next chapter of my life, it has also plagued me with sadness and nostalgia.

I have said goodbye to a lot of people I love and "see you later" to the ones who can never be rid of me,  but I am still grievously sad (as anyone within 40 feet of me can attest - I have cried a lot this week).  Why am I so sad though? This is the beginning of something new, even though it means the end of something beloved.   And then I realized why I am so weepy:

I am breaking up with Charleston.

I took this picture at Freshman Orientation, Summer 2008 :)

I once joked on Facebook that I was "in a relationship with the city of Charleston" and "it's complicated."  Complicated because so many people are in the same relationship, I think. Or because in the summer it gets really hot and smells like garbage and/or fish. Sometimes it's hard to love that. But I did.

In the summer I would joke that I was "in a long-distance relationship with the city of Charleston."   I would start to have dreams about just walking the streets, I missed it so much.  And then a month would go by and it would be time to move back. And I would roll down the windows as we drove into the city and say "it smells like beach" and smile.  And I would unpack and take a walk around the city, wishing on several occasions that it were possible to give the city a BIG I-missed-you hug.  (I had to settle for a lamppost. There was gum on it...)

I haven't experienced very many break-ups, and they have never been too devastating, and I think that's because I have never truly been in love.  Until I moved to Charleston.

I know it's a break-up (and that's why I am so inconsolably sad) because:

• Every song is about us.   (me and Charleston, that is.)  Driving home from my parents' hotel room the other night, I heard two songs on the radio and I wanted to cry.  These are songs that I have heard millions of times before and on the surface have nothing to do with graduating or leaving or anything really. They were:
• Hold on Loosely - 38 Special   "usually it's too late when you/ realize what you had/ so hold on loosely/and don't let go...etc."
• Mr. Jones - Counting Crows  "when everybody loves you/ you can never be lonely"
• thank goodness I didn't hear the Cheers theme or James Taylor or "How Far We've Come" or something otherwise reminisce-y.  Looking at these lyrics now, it seems really stupid, but the other night these songs were about meeee.  And that's how I know it's a break-up. Because I am acting crazy.
• When people say "you can still come visit!"  what I hear is "we can still be friends...."  Visiting is such a hollow mockery of our relationship it makes me sad to think about it. I will always belong here, but I won't belong to Charleston the same way ever again.
• I know that this is "for the best" but I don't care. We will both go on to grow and flourish. But I am allowed to be sad about something wonderful ending. So damn it, I will be sad. 

So goodbye, Charleston.

It sucks to leave you.  I will always have a HUGE place in my heart for you and for the College and all the wonderful people I met as a happy consequence of moving here four years ago.  I will miss you. I will miss the Farmer's Market and praline samples and Charleston Christmas traditions and nuns and church bells and crooked streets and lampposts covered in gum and old houses and boarded-up fireplaces and seagulls and the Cooper River Bridge and horse-drawn carriages and alleyways and the Battery and bicycles and the best cupcakes I will ever eat. I will probably never stop dreaming about walking these streets with the people I love.
Stay beautiful, Charleston.  I will be back to visit (we can still be friends).

I've cried a lot about leaving here, but this morning when I looked out my window I knew it was never a one-sided relationship:  Charleston was crying too.

you CAN come home again

They say you can't go home again. And at least physically, that is not true.

Of course you can get in your car/plane/bus/tardis and travel back to where you grew up/where your family is/where you keep most of your stuff. But often times the place that you get to just isn't the same as you remember.  (that is what the saying means, of course, but, like my brother Ryan said last night "I'm just trying to break it down for you guys")

This always strikes me when I come home for winter break, especially this year.

My brother Daniel has taken over my room upon my absence. The only real change to the room is a lightsaber mounted on the wall and an x-box in the corner but it is enough to remind me that it's not my space anymore. 

And that makes me more than a little sad. And it reminds me that I have a future out there to be worrying about.
(but instead I ignore the scary thoughts about next year and the echos of concerned relatives "what are you going to do? what are you going to do? what are you gonna do?" and burrow myself into another knitting project)

The most radical change - the one that takes the most getting used to and always reminds me that I don't really live here anymore - is the refrigerator. 

this is not our fridge. this is a stranger's fridge, which is what I see every time I come home for the holidays

Every time I come home it's completely different, and it serves as a microcosm of the changes within my own house, my own family.  Sure, the cheese is still in the cheese drawer, the vegetables are still sitting (ignored and browning) in the vegetable "crisper" drawer, but the contents and configuration are constantly changing.

Sometimes completely new foods show up that I have never heard of or foods that should never have been bought (called over my shoulder: "Who eats blue cheese stuffed olives???" response from the living room: "Oh they're really good. Try one! Try- just try one. Just. Try it. Fine! Don't ever say I don't introduce you to new things").  Then again, there is still a bottle of sake in there that has been lurking at the back of the fridge for several years now. I'm not sure where we got it. Or why.  But it's still there.

I am almost always completely thrown off by the refrigerator.  I open it, seeking refuge for my gurgling hunger, and stop short as I glance around and remember I have no idea what is in there (or how long it's been in there).  It's just one more thing that's different. 
One more reminder that I don't live here anymore and I better get on with my life, because things are changing without me.

Wow. blogging therapy.

In the end, the refrigerator becomes normal again.
I learn not to eat that thing in the black tupperware that's been there since before I got home, that blue cheese stuffed olives are pretty delicious, after all, and that home will always be home. It's just waiting for me to normalize.

flurries

I haven't written much because a lot has been happening this break. And when I say "a lot" I mean "a lot of knitting patterns." But I won't bore you. I have a story. A little snapshot of Christmas break in the DeBuys house.

In the afternoon of New Year's Eve, all is calm in the house. Mom and Dad are out shopping and returning heinous Christmas presents. Daniel is in the basement, playing Oblivion. Sean is downtown at Tech with his girlfriend. And Ryan and I are sitting, peaceably, in the living room watching the 4th season of The Office as I am knitting a scarf for my friend Mallory. All is calm. All is bright.
So of course you know some disturbance is coming.

Right as Michael Scott is threatening to throw himself off the roof of the building (onto a Moon Bounce castle) the lights flicker, the TV shuts off, and the refrigerator powers down.

The power is out. The afternoon is ruined.

 A quick call to Mom confirms that the electric bill has been paid, and then Ryan and I sit and look at each other, the question "Now what?" hanging unspoken on the air.

Daniel comes rushing up the stairs out of the dark basement. A surprisingly delayed reaction considering he was plugged into the Matrix and was most likely engulfed in darkness almost instantly.

Now we are all sitting in the living room, sadly at a loss for what to do. Then survival mode takes over.
"Daniel!" I scream, as he jumps off the couch, "whatever you do, DO NOT open the fridge! I mean it! Not even for a second! Ryan, check if the phone is working."
Ryan goes to the phone, and picks it up. "I think the batteries are low. Or it's out. It was probably an EMP. Your cell phone won't work either," (my brother is suggesting that the power is out due to an electromagnetic pulse, which he believes can be weaponized and used to "wipe out an entire city's powers of communication"). I remind him that I called mom on my cell phone already, and he looks a bit mollified.

Dad gets home and we discover that the power outage is most likely due to a car crash on the road by our house. Ryan and Daniel actually played outside. With a ball. Together. I even took the dog for a walk (while also observing the power outage around the neighborhood. I felt a bit like a spy. Because I am a nerd).

When Einstein and I got back to the house, Mom was home and we started lighting candles in preparation for the sun going down and what was reported to be a 4 hour outage. Awesome. I convinced Daniel to take a shower while light was still coming in the windows (score!) and Ryan told Dad about his EMP theory.

A few days before this, we all painted pottery with my aunt Colleen. Three of our family's pieces (that's an even 50%) had Saints colors or a fleur de lis. Or both. Anyway, they had finally been fired and picked up and we admired our pieces in the thin sunlight still streaming through the kitchen windows.

Daniel came downstairs, freshly clean, and Mom tells him to unwrap the other pieces carefully, so that we can take a picture to send to Colleen. I went upstairs to retrieve my (awesome pineapple) bowl from my room, and on the way back downstairs, I hear many things. Allow me to paint a word picture of this scene:

Mom: Careful, Daniel, careful-

Daniel: AHHHAHHGHHHH
Ryan: Daniel, WHAT? Ahhhahhhhh! Get it! AAHH!
Dad: WhAT! Daniel! NO DON'T TOUCH IT
[I am still coming down the stairs, faster now, and I see the dog chasing the cat out of the kitchen]
Mom: AH! OW Ow owowowow
(stomping, stomping)
Dad: Daniel! WHY did you do that?
Mom: I tried to warn him... OW, ooh, that was stupid. 
[Daniel, distraught, flees upstairs in a fit]

I finally round the corner to see white fluff suspended in the air, falling slowly like fat snow. My first thought, as I see Dad at the open sliding glass door, is that the cat has attacked some snowy white bird and let it into the house, and now its downy feathers are decorating our kitchen.

The actual story is even better:
Daniel, being careful to handle the potter delicately, and being instructed to "save the tissue paper" that wraps them, had cautiously peeled the paper away from the ceramic box he was unwrapping, and placed the large piece of tissue paper on the kitchen table, right next to the candles we had just lit. My mother, seeing this happen, tried to warn him, but was unable to stop the paper from catching on fire. Wanting to save the table, and our house, from going up in flames, she grabbed the flaming paper and threw it on the floor. This movement made the flame more intense, and ashes (like white fluffy snow flurries) floated around the clouds of stress as my parents stomped out the flames. They then turned on Daniel, who blamed himself for almost killing the family and ran upstairs in tears.

So, the results from this day: 

BAD- 

1. Daniel cried for a little bit until we assured him it wasn't really his fault
2. Mom burned her hand while saving the family (which she has shown me 47 times, because "you didn't believe me that I got burned but I did, look!")
3. and the power was out for a whopping 65 minutes.

GOOD- 

1. Daniel took a shower
2. Einstein took a walk
3. Ryan and Daniel played a game that didn't need controllers
4. the kitchen was swept (to clean up all the ash)
5. Mom got a battle scar, and...
6. I got another fun story to tell.

I think this one goes in the win column.

hiberknitting

and update on my existence so far this break:

I have been knitting. And watching television.
The end.

Of course there have been some family tussles, some exam stress (not mine this time!) and I did see Harry Potter again. Of course I did. Because the Groupon tickets were expiring.  And because it's Harry Potter. I mean, come on.

We're still not sure where we will be for Christmas. Here or New Orleans, New Orleans or here... There is still work to be done at my grandmother's house, so we will be back. But it is the day before the day before Christmas Eve, and we are still flip-flopping.

So MERRY CHRISTMAS! Hope I see you.

it's gone be OK

I have not been in the Christmas spirit until recently. And I mean very recently, as in within the last ten minutes.

When I came back from Thanksgiving, it was still 70 degrees outside.  Sure, it has cooled down a lot, but I still wasn't feeling it.

The streets are decorated. The Christmas train is up in Charleston Place.  There are decorated trees in Marion Square. Still wasn't feeling it.

I hung lights on a REAL tree yesterday for the nuns. Not a dusty plastic thing dragged from the attic, a real recently-living tree. A tree that smells like wonder and glee and childhood. A tree that came from what I imagine to be a happy forest with singing woodland creatures. Still wasn't feeling it.

I am looking forward to the tree lighting in Marion Square tomorrow, followed by the Boat Parade (my favorite Charleston Christmas traditions), and it still wasn't feeling like Christmas time until my computer played this song...



Now, this isn't Silent Night or Rudolph or Jingle Bells that put me in the spirit, but a relatively unknown song from a relatively unknown Christmas album that I am pretty sure only my family listens to.

And yet, this evokes the most Christmassy memories for me: dancing around the living room, decorating the tree, making cookies...the sound of one of my brothers stomping off in anger... You know, Christmas stuff.
Or it could be that half of our Christmases are in New Orleans. Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Anyway, I am in Christmas mode now! Going to a Tacky Sweater party later, making cookies, and tomorrow the Baby Jesus Birthday Party with the Daughters of St. Paul, then the tree lighting and boat parade. Then cooking for the CSA Christmas party!!
And then the real work begins.