I'm typing this on Memory -- or rather, Memory's shell, the gutted Memory, reset like _Quinn's Ping. I have the old hard drive here, too, though I still don't know what if anything I might be able to get back from it. Maybe in the meantime I should call this version 'Amnesia'.
I went to the library and got out Pamela Dean's Juniper, Gentian and Rosemary
, which is turning out to be charming in a lot of similar ways, or maybe parallel ways, to Tam Lin
; it's not the same book, but it tastes
almost the same, so it's like having a Tam Lin
that's new. Similarly, I've got out Noe Venable's album "Boots", which I've had for a couple of years but somehow never properly listened to until now, and there are songs there that are ragged and yearning and soaring in the way that Noe's older stuff has for me and her newer, for all that I love "The World Is Bound By Secret Knots", has never quite captured, and they have that, but I've never heard them before, so they can astonish me and fill me up just like Boots the song did in 2002. That pleasure, to get back the freshness of something worn with love, is so rare; to have it twice at once is intoxicating.
It has me thinking of Tam Lin
, though, and this entry
that I wrote nearly a year ago, and the recurring theme of my longing for belonging. A couple of months ago, on a sunny day, Elise and I went for a walk near Langara, and we passed a yard with a wooden playset set up in it, which got us talking about treehouses; I remarked that I had never had one, and that I had always wanted to, as a child, and Elise (being one of the sweeter people that I know) declared that we should certainly build one together. But it felt like that wouldn't quite be satisfying; what I'd wanted wasn't so much the structure of the treehouse as its ideal, the close-knit gang of childhood comrades, all living nearby, all coming regularly to a place they'd built, deep in the pockets of each other's lives. This old dream was really just another manifestation of my pervasive desire for a place to belong.
Since writing that entry, I have often (though not always) been less content than I was at the end of it. This term, Langara has finally become a place that I know people; where it's more likely than not each day that I'll see somebody I know in the halls, and stop to talk. I've only just made this, but I'll probably need to leave it soon. I went by to see Dale the other day, and he remarked that I probably had nearly enough credits to make a university transfer by now; he said that I should seriously consider it, because it was really a much neater environment for someone like me. He's probably right. I'll have another semester here, maybe two, and then I'll move on.
This is one of the most frustrating and exhausting aspects of schooling, and one of the few that Windsor House doesn't seem to have an answer for, although I guess that you get to come back, in a sense, once you have kids. How can I keep building these communities if I'll just have to leave them behind?