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Moving On

I got the call yesterday afternoon: I've officially been offered that job in Michigan, and because B's bosses are kind enough to let him work from home, we'll be moving to Marquette at the end of the summer.  Or sometime this summer or fall.  Whenever (if? please, not "if") we sell the house.

We are infinitely sad, of course, to be leaving Iowa City and the wonderful friends we've made here, our finally repaired adorable little house, and Prairie Lights.  But when I applied to the Workshop in 2000, it was because I hated my lousy dysfunctional office job and decided I wanted to teach.  Now that's a reality, so it's time.

For those of you who don't know where Marquette is: Turn on the Weather Channel.  If it's snowing somewhere in the Lower 48, chances are that's Marquette.  (And no, I am not teaching at Marquette University.  That is in Milwaukee.  Marquette, Mich., is the home of Northern Michigan U.)

Here are some interesting facts about our new town:

1. It is the second-snowiest city in America.

2. It is the fourth-coldest city in America.

3. It has population of 20,000 and is sometimes referred to as the "Queen City of the North."

4. It's major industries are iron ore shipping on Lake Superior, education (moi) and a Level I prison.

5. Despite all this, it is oddly beautiful:

6. The Upper Peninsula is home to moose, black bears, wolves, and enough deer to rearrange the hood of every car in Iowa, so I will be keeping the cats inside.

For the record, no, I will not be taking up snowmobiling, hunting, fishing, or dogsledding, all of which are very popular activities in the Upper Peninsula.  But I will be keeping this blog, and updating on our adventures in a new place.  Join us, won't you?  For the further adventures of Mr. and Mrs. Can't Stay in One Place for Long.

Overheard in Iowa: The News

Brando, looking over my shoulder at the news that astronomers have found a habitable planet outside our solar system:  Ooh.  Are we moving?

Help

I'm in big trouble.  I can't stop working on the new novel, even though I have a ton of work to get through this week especially.  I start to grade a paper, then I get instantly bored and drift over to my Microsoft Word files.  The end of the school year is two weeks away.  I MUST STOP WRITING.  Really.  After the 11th of May I can work on it as long and hard as I want, but right now I need help.  Any advice?

Petition

Please sign the petition to keep the Atlanta Journal-Constitution's book review section.

The Sounds of Silence

So I'm feeling much better, but I still can't speak, at least not well.  This is probably better for everyone at the coffeehouse where I sit all day to grade papers because no one can hear me curse out my students for NOT FOLLOWING DIRECTIONS, but it still makes life awkward.  I whispered my way through a dinner party on Saturday and made B order for me when we went out to brunch yesterday.  However, none of this stopped me from cursing, as much as I was able, when I went all in as the short stack with pocket 7s in our local poker game Saturday night only to find out that Jayson, who was on some kind of unstoppable streak that night, had pocket 8s.  He hit a third 8 on the flop. 

Which prompted the outburst. 

Which is probably why I still can't speak even though the cold is almost gone.

Grim Death

So I just got back from my first full-fledged faculty job interview in Marquette, Michigan, where I finally made the top 3 and might have a shot at an actual teaching position.  It was an eventful weekend, coming hard on the heels of my fabulous birthday dinner with B and friends the Motel Manager and spouse, Michelle, and Jayson. 

I was starting to feel a little under the weather on Saturday, which progressed to pre-cold by Sunday morning.  Sunday afternoon I was supposed to be on a plane to the Upper Peninsula, but in the lead-up to leaving I was trying to print some sample syllabi for my job talk, and in true computer fashion, the damn thing froze up on me.  I cursed, I left the house in a huff and screamed up to Cedar Rapids only to learn that I had missed the cut-off for flight check in by TWO MINUTES and they wouldn't let me on the plane.  The next plane didn't leave until 12:55 p.m.  The next day.  In the middle of my interview time.

So I drove.  I drove eleven hundred miles roundtrip in three days.  With the plague.

B gets these adorable little colds.  He sniffs, he coughs, I offer to get him soup and tuck him into bed early.  I end up with insomnia for a week because he snores, and I go sleep in the guest room so I won't kick him in frustration at three a.m.

Then he gives the cold to me, and it's like the firebombing of Dresden: What was once the jewel of Saxony is now a desolate wasteland.  I cough, I sneeze, I ache, I shiver.  I lose my voice in the middle of the job interview, and thanks to all the meth addicts in the Midwest, I can't even get Ny.Q.uil without signing a death warrant.  (I will hunt you down and hurt you, meth addicts.  I swear to God I will.  Because the new Ny.Q.uil?  Does. Not. Work.)

And because I don't want to keep B up with my hacking and honking, I end up in the guest bedroom.  Again.

One Year Later

It's one year today since the tornado hit our neighborhood.  Yes, I know I continue to whine about it like a mule, but if a big effing column of wind hit your house you'd be slightly concerned, too.

Many of you have already seen my take on what happened.  Here's my neighbor's take.  A little post-traumatic stress aside, everyone seems to be doing much better.  Although today is Friday the 13th, last year it was a Thursday night when we came up out of our basement to see our street transformed by downed trees, smashed cars and crushed houses.

As you can see, some things have changed.

Before


After

Before

After

Finally, FINALLY the repairs are complete, though the mess, as you can see from the amount of mud in the backyard, is not.  The expense and effort have been enormous, at least by our standards.  Final bill: $32,155.35.  And that doesn't include the cars.

The neighborhood is slowly coming back to itself.  Though most of the old trees are gone, the houses, at least, are looking a might bit better.

Before

After

Apparently there's a shindig tomorrow in the neighborhood to celebrate the anniversary, or else huddle together for warmth, because yesterday when I woke up there was snow on the ground.

Never a dull moment around here.

Kurt Vonnegut is Dead

You gotta love a man who drew a picture of his own sphincter next to his signature.  (This is it too as the icon next to the URL on his webpage.)

The lady who shares my office told me this was coming a couple of weeks ago when he took his fall off the porch, because she has a family connection to Vonnegut, but it doesn't make it any less of a shock.  I read Slaughterhouse-Five and Cat's Cradle in high school and was never quite the same afterward. 

I only heard him speak once, and it was not enough.  He said to go into advertising or sell insurance, whatever we had to do to make a living, if it meant we could write what we wanted.

Yours Truly and Yvette Christianse at the PEN/Hemingway ceremony

Check out Yvette's glasses.  Everyone kept asking her where she got them.  Apparently some guy in Belgium makes them and they're all unique.

My hair looks better here than it ever does in real life.  That's my mom in the background.

Earthgoat Interview

If you're not yet totally bored reading the minutiae of my daily life and all that book stuff, hop on over to EarthGoat, where I gave an interview this week.