Day Six Hundred

Day Six Hundred
Thursday, January 26th 2012

Every day is another step closer to America. I am making a lot of progress in my own small ways. Whenever I look around my apartment, I see something that can be moved, something that can be consolidated, something that could be used in some other way, something I want to bring with me, something I plan to leave behind. I have gathered all the letters I have received together, I have put all my pens & pencils into one pencil case. I have sorted out the good paint brushes from the bad, & set the nice ones aside. I am making a lot of headway on all the spices & herbs I have here (though it will be some savory miracle if I am able to use them all before my departure). Each day, I have a small luxury to include in my life, whether it is a soup mix, a Ghiradelli chocolate square, Bath & Body Works lotion, or the sense of completion I find when I finish something.

I have been satisfying my meticulous planning habit by rearranging, reorganizing, & reordering my life. I take comfort in going through the motions of setting something aside to bring home with me. I enjoy the freedom that I have gotten from knowing that I no longer have to be stingy with my resources. I can use those envelopes I've been saving. I can write pages & pages if I am inspired to do so without thinking about the paper. I can enjoy the Great Northern beans I brought back from UB without worrying about how or when I can possibly restock them. I have enough of my favorite soap to last me the next few months & then some.

I decided to put together a small binder with plastic sleeves, saving various food & candy wrappers, Mongolian money, & even the Woodstock Independent newspaper article (my dad sent me a hard copy in the mail) I wrote last month. Before I came to Mongolia, I spoke with some school children at my father's old elementary school in his hometown, set up by my Grandma Anne & one of her tenants (who just so happened to be the teacher of this class). Perhaps someday I can speak to them again, although if I'm not mistaken, they're in 8th grade this year & I might not be able to catch them before they all go to high school. I think it would be fun for the kids to be able to see things like a Coca Cola label from Mongolia, Snickers & Mars candy bar wrappers, & other things that they are used to having in America, though with labels written in Cyrillic. These things will probably interest them more than the foreign items, like the plastic sheaf in which dried seaweed sheets are packaged, or the wrappings for Super Kontik cookies.

Yesterday, as I walked outside to do some of my daily chores, I got my first sense of spring. I cannot quite describe what it is, but ever since I can remember, I have been able to identify the distinct aura of a coming season. Each season has its own unique texture, flavor, its own scents, its own essence. For me, winters are warm & remind me of home. I envision quilts & hot cocoa, I picture window sills brimming with snow. Winters are a time for re-reading the entire Harry Potter series for the umpteenth time, enjoying hearty soups, & crocheting my heart out. Yet only yesterday, I awakened to spring. Perhaps it was that the weather felt warm, though it could not have been more than 10°F or 15°F outside. After months of negative temperatures, anything above zero feels warm to me.

In my mind, spring is a time of new beginnings. For years, I have relished the first time I have been able to open the window all day. The air seems so fresh, & those first few days of opened windows & milder temperatures, the scent of spring seems to permeate everything indoors until I become accustomed to it. Spring in America means that the skies are beginning to paint themselves blue once again after having been a wash of dreary gray for so long. To me, it includes memories of my childhood where lilies of the valley & bluebells would bloom in the tiny grove at the bottom of the hill where I lived. Mongolian springs are perhaps less idyllic, if only because of the sandstorms & incessant wind. But the gradual yet steady increase in temperature brings hope, & I distinctly recall the first time last year I discovered something growing outside. It was a tiny, stunted weed, but it was one of the most beautiful shades of green I have ever seen.

Nothing quite beckons to me like the thought of standing in my bedroom at home barefoot, my feet feeling the soft carpet beneath me, looking toward my bedroom window as the summer night descends. In this daydream, the window is open, & a gentle breeze floats through by room, bringing with it the scent of June & a sense of calm. I can hear my parents downstairs playing with our three small dogs, laughing as Buddy & Sami Jo wrestle some toy, calling for Princess to come join in the fun. My brother is in his room across from mine, maybe typing on his computer or strumming gently on his guitar. The fire in the firepit is blazing outside on our patio, & we're all getting ready to go sit around it & enjoy a beer together.