The Republic of Deb - aka This is How Stuff Happens
Part two started in 1997 on AOL. There I met my poet-guru, who gives away guy-secrets for free, and also Linda,who made magic out of my attempts at poetry. She squeezed my hand through the ether when life got weird, and reminded me how we'll survive it. Texas women are matriarchal by necessity, says the guru.
In one of life's best surprises, the two of them fell in love while I was away from the internet. My guru, known to some as Doc Blossom, eventually moved to Texas and made it bloom, too, for Linda. Literally and in all ways.
I've been trying for the longest to go visit them in person, but logistics have been complicated. I finally went all-in and set a date, and that's when part three happened. Maz is gonna road-trip with me.
I also know Maz via internet, through our mutual friend Rolb Coepmann. We talk a Venn diagram of art, food, photography, and Sherlock on a regular basis. She got really excited when I told her I was coming to Texas.
Maz will pick me up at the airport, take me to meet her parents, and thence drive to the canyon by way of my family's ancestral graveyard. After visiting the poets, we head for San Antonio. There's an itinerary, and we aim to stick to it. Maz watched the movie Thelma and Louise, and determined we need guns. Hey, there, brother Michael - you see? KIDDING. We don't need no stinkin' guns.
I've said elsewhere that my history with Texas is oil-deep. I didn't want to go the first time, and then I didn't want to leave. My paternal side were early settlers in Comanche County. My daughter was sprouted there. And Texas really is a whole other country, but San Antonio is a separate entity within it - I'll be glad to touch it again. Maz tried to convince me to stay longer so I could see Austin, but I really can't take being away from home too long. And now we're getting to what this post is really about.
I'm almost through my I-don't-wanna-go freakout. I don't have adequate time to self-analyse and figure out the source, but the fast guess is that it comes from years of life screwing up: don't go anywhere nor spend any money, because when you get home life is going to fuck you. You know this one, right? Why does it manifest last-minute, though? What's the deal with having all the plans laid, tickets bought, bags packed, and then suddenly desperately wanting to not leave home?
All contingency plans are in place, everything is booked, and I've been burning CDs all day. I've got the banjo and the world music, and Maz has Adele and Bollywood soundtracks. We are ready to roll.
I found two surprise violets blooming in the yard today, like a sign. Texas, old and new friend, here I come.
Thanks to Al for fixing the picture for me (big orange heart)
This is where I'm going, and wherefore and why.