Leaving (not) on a Jet Plane

... or at least packing to.

Yes, the summer has come to an end, and I must find all the bits of things I unpacked and hid and figure out where to shove them into the trailer so they won't pile up on one side and make me flip the car on the drive back.

But I was thinking today about something someone said to me recently. About me. I was called "impulsive." It's funny, because I think this word has a negative connotation, but it doesn't seem to be any different than "spontaneous," which is how I have long thought of myself.

I will admit, I have made many impulsive decisions in my life, about real estate, relationships, consumer spending, jobs, and large purchases. For some reason, I am better about control of buying things like make-up or clothes or jewelry; these are things other people are compulsive about. Not me. I buy houses, quit jobs, cut-off friends, adopt pets, buy cars, travel without packing, etc. Oh, if I see a junk shop with an amazing piece of mid-century pottery? I'm pretty much done. On the upside, I know many people who make lovely lemonades out of such compulsions. I'm still working on my recipe, but I'm getting closer.

Why these thoughts now, you wonder? As I pack the trailer, I see the results of a few (thankfully) very concerted efforts that presented me with opportunities to be impulsive with my money. Thankfully, there is not a small art-house among them, though I haven't completely put the idea out of my mind. But what did I give into, you ask? Well, a partial collection of 1950s "Do it yourself" encyclopedia books for children. There are amazing illustrations, and I couldn't help but to be fascinated by books from a time period when kids really DID tool their own metal parts to build a box-car racer or a telescope. I keep trying to tell myself the illustrations alone are worth it, but I also know it was a very impulsive, heavy buy.

What else is Alice grudgingly taking in? Well, part-way through the summer, as I was reading my books about the '60s and thinking about the happenings of the time, I was thinking I wanted to know more about the music of the time. That week, Amy Winehouse died. I have one or two MP3s of Amy's, but I was surprised by the number of articles linking her with Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, and Janis Joplin (all musicians who died at 27; also, Kurt Coban, but he doesn't fit into my story). I was also surprised that Winehouse, like Joplin and Hendrix, still produced her albums on LP (and CD, which again, fewer musicians are using). And like that, I thought, "I should own a record player and start collecting obscure retro albums."

I looked at some used and new record players. After finding one on Amazon that I liked, I resolved I would buy it (once back in Montana) and proceeded to scan the thrift shops for albums. It didn't take long. I am now the owner of roughly 48 LPs, including the bands: Peter, Paul and Mary; Poco; Eric Clapton; Wings; Paula Bloom; John Denver; Chicago; and many others. I still haven't ordered the record player, because I don't know when my mail-forwarding will end. But I am now one of those kinds of hipsters. And yes; I now own 48 vinyl records and nothing to play them on.

I have huge trash-bags of mixed feelings about leaving. I always love being on the road, so I am eager to get there, but I also know once I go, I will be away from S and be sad. I also know once I arrive, I will have huge amounts of work to accomplish: getting the lab back together and preparing for classes, as well as installing a new piece in the faculty show. I'm riddled with anxiety at the thought. I miss my house and my space and dry air. I know I will miss the First Fridays here (seriously, Billings, only 5 times a year? Are you that uninspired??), and the Museum, and the restaurants, and canoeing on Shades. I will miss all our social gatherings and bonfires and highjinx. I am pretending I will have the strength to commit highjinx in Montana, and I can build the support system to make it happen. Hopefully.

So that's the agenda this week. Pack trailer. Get on the road. Plan highjinx. Oh, and stop at the Iowa State Fair to see Leslie and the Lys in concert.