D is for December

Z is for Zapus hudsonius,
the meadow jumping mouse.
Don’t look for it in winter—
it stays inside its house.

I owe that beautiful lyric to B is For Big Sky Country: A Montana Alphabet. Thank you, Sneed B. Collard III, for writing this masterpiece, which I predict shall soon claim its rightful and much-deserved place in the halls of poetic glory, among the likes of John Milton, T.S. Eliot, and of course Homer. But thank you, TASPers, even more, for that wonderful book. It gave me some joy just in cracking it open in order to find a seasonal line.

While Mr. Zapus hudsonius may spend his winter days in the comfort of his burrow or den or whatever it is that he hides in, us human inhabitants of Montana have better luck. (Take that, circadian rhythms of lower mammals.) We bear the brunt of frigid winds, yard-deep snow drifts, corrosive sidewalk salt, and sometimes slush. Or so I expected before coming home… As it is, I suffered my first day of winter break in near-40 degree weather. This is shameful. No gloves, not hat, no nothing. I could probably get by without socks. Al Gore was right on the money with his Inconvenient Truth: who can go skiing or sledding in this higher-than-freezing nonsense? This is truly inconvenient!

Fall quarter was a good one. Lots of work, but still good. I turned 21, which is something of an important date in one’s life (or so some of my boozing friends tell me). I also gave a bi-quarterly lecture called What Matters to Me, and Why. A professor usually delivers this, so it was quite an honor to be selected. I bring it up only because you TASPers figured into the talk explicitly and implicitly: I talked mostly about communities of value (and got called in a “communitarian” in the Q&A), and our summer was in the back of my mind constantly in preparing for it.

The quarter ended with a bang—a bang of 50 pages of final papers, to be precise—and then I frantically packed and put my belongings into storage. I also had the good fortune to see one of our own, Katharine, for coffee on the Friday before I left. She seemed to be doing just fine, despite the fact that we both found it strange to see one another out of the expected element (TASP). After a 24-hour train ride with a pleasantly minimal number of psychos and crying babies (I even ran into one of my professors), my brother picked me up in North Dakota and we drove back to my town. He was wearing a sweatshirt with “Italia” emblazoned on the chest. I asked him if he’d taken an interest in soccer. He asked why, and I noted that he was wearing a soccer shirt. He denied he was wearing any such thing, so I pointed out the soccer ball print on his left shoulder. He just shook his head at me in response.

So far, I’ve been catching up on emails, fending off as much of my grandmother’s tasty and oh-so-fattening greasy German cooking as I can manage, trying to read, and getting ready for the gamut of my fellow sons and daughters of Sidney to return from college and the big holidays. It’s a tough life… My immediate agenda comprises catching up on John Ford movies with my now-returned Mormon missionary friend (the only close friend yet back in town). He went to save souls in Mexico (and tried half-heartedly to save mine through occasional letters) and now has a slightly Mexican lilt to his English. I find it amusing to hear him speak.

I’ll be kicking around Montana until Jan. 2, when I’ll fly to South Africa. I’ll first be in Johannesburg for about a week, and then I’ll go on to Cape Town, where I’ll remain until the tail end of March. With Cape Town as a base, I intend to do a fair amount of exploring the western cape. On the way back to the States, I’m going to stop in Paris for a week, where I anticipate butchering that silly tongue. (I read and write French well but speak it poorly.) The entire venture will be quite the experience for this country bumpkin, who hasn’t been out of the U.S., except for Canada (which I don’t count since it’s about 1.5 hours from my house). I’ll have irregular but existent email contact, so feel free to drop me line. I can’t promise a speedy response, though I’ll try.

Speaking of contact, some of you should either leave a voice mail when you call and I miss it (ahem, Ruben) or just email me. I’m never sure if you’re calling because you want to have a serious conversation or if you’ve simply selected the wrong contact or have consumed too much Dimetapp cold syrup.

(In advance,) Merry Christmas/Happy Hanukkah/happy secular festive time, etc.! Thinking of you,

Tyler

P.S. And please keep me posted, either through this blog or email (tzoanni@gmail.com), what happens with the college admissions business. Among talented individuals as yourselves, this nonsense is really just a crapshoot. Being accepted is something to celebrate, but being rejected is something to put immediately behind you, without much remorse. Regardless, I want to learn your future plans.