The Wormlips Scrapbook

• The old mirror that my father left me will be at auction on August 23. I was hoping it was worth $10,000 or something (well, it happens on TV, right?) but if I get $1,000 I’ll be lucky.
• I talked to the coordinator of the organization I’ve been volunteering for (Refugee Transitions). She’s an inspiring and accomplished young woman who is working on her MFA in creative writing. Now I want to do that, too. She directed me to an Atlantic Monthly article about the “top” writing schools in the country. Two of five low-residency programs (i.e., you don’t have to live there, but just visit for ten days twice a year) are in Vermont. She’s studying at Vermont College of Fine Arts; their logo looks quite like SIT’s. The program at Bennington College (30 miles from where I’ll be in a few weeks) looks cool too.
• I’m getting more homesick for friends by the minute. I’ve got such good ones and I treat them so badly. It’s ironic that I avoid most social contact, yet spew tears when faced with the prospect at not being able to see my friends.
• Did I already tell you that I did find renters, after a nasty legal encounter with some gomers from the South? I had to call in my personal and beloved lawyer. Now my renters will be four 23-year-old girls. They seem sweet. I hope they treat the house and my things well, are considerate of the neighbors, pleasant for me to deal with, easy-going, prompt-paying, and leave when it’s time for me to come back. When I met them I was so shell-shocked from the experience with the prior rental contenders that I didn’t even do a credit check or call references. I know that’s stupid. I hope I don’t regret it. It was the night before I left for Boston so all I could do was go with my instinct, scratch out an informal contract and collect their deposit.
• I got an e-mail from a Nepali guy I met on the rafting trip on the Kali Gandaki. This is what he wrote; I wonder what it means:
  

  “hi ginna i m now in kathamdu far 5 day traning then i kak pokhara wen you com nepal what you do ther i work in rafting now monsun allthe time ren how is your sun i see your frend photo so butty full photoi want to see you bak nepal sun ok bye rite me”

• Mark sent me a link to some fascinating, quirky documentary videos by David Lynch.
• I just booked a room in Brattleboro for the end of the month since my apartment won’t be ready till the 1st. And I’ve made tentative plans to meet with other incoming students for drinks in town the night before the orientation begins. They drink cool things while I get stupid old lemonade again. There must be a better way. Maybe a tank of laughing gas on my back.
• Syd found me a circus arts school down the road from me in Vermont. Maybe I should take a class. Sadly, there’s no rock-climbing gym there, but that’s okay since I’ve already packed away my climbing gear. I don’t know whether to take their flying/catching class, aerial fabric or plain old low trapeze.
• I still have many boxes yet to pack but every time I put away something, I need it the minute it gets buried under four more heavy boxes. I’ve crated up the stuff I almost never use. On the off-chance that the tenants don’t want a dead dog under the bed, I tucked away Otis’ ashes.
• I hate it when people park across my driveway. It happened yet again today — twice — so I couldn’t get my car out when I needed to. Cheryl got the rare opportunity to see me rage. When I called the police to ask them to ticket it, they asked what kind of car it is. I walked to the window to look. It’s a gold … car, I said helpfully. It had been parked there for an hour, but left just before the police arrived — but not before I left a vitriolic note on their windshield.

So it’s official: I have been admitted to SIT Graduate Institute in Brattleboro, Vermont. I found out the day before yesterday. Numbness from shock has become worry and then excitement and then anxiety about all I have to do before I go and then panic that I’m insane to be doing this and then happiness that I am and then… From morning to night I think, Will I be able to rent my house in time? How will I manage to pack everything into storage? What should I bring? Will I find a nice place to live in Brattleboro? Will I have time to see my friends before I go? Should I drive across the country, or fly? How will I get Stella and luggage and everything to and from the airport? Where do I get doggie drugs for flights? Can I have some? Will I be able to succeed academically with the very intense workload? Why am I doing this? Will I be able to stay sane or will I tank midway?

Today I had breakfast with Adi & Michael. We looked on a map of New England to see where I’ll be, where her mother is, where their friends are. —I wonder if I’m in the snow belt up there, I mused. Adi pointed to the map. —See those little drawings of guys on skis? I did. They surround the campus.

Anna & Adi say I should take snow shoes. This will be … different.

Lulu and I had a bat-oriented night in Davis last night. First, we watched a live presentation starring a cast of orphans.

[All filmography by Lulu. Ginna edited and produced it. The first song is There Ain't No Bugs on Me by Jerry Garcia and David Grisman. The second is Doc Watson singing Summertime. Corky is the name of the woman who handles and tells us about the bats.]

Then we drove along a maze of dirt roads that cut through glistening rice paddies like swollen veins.

Our destination was the far end of the Yolo Causeway bridge, whose underbelly is home to 250,000 (if you don’t include this week’s 125,000 babies) Mexican Freetail Bats.

It was interesting to see how the bats conduct their mass exodus from their roosts. Normally they live in caves, flocking from the mouth at twilight. No caves here, but apparently they still need something symbolic of an opening. For unknown reasons, a quarter of a million bats have decided a certain tree is the “opening,” and they fly along under the freeway from far and near until they reach it, emerging only then. They appeared in four waves. First, we’d see flashes of orange under the bridge as wings caught the sunset. And then seconds later, thousands of the tiny creatures — looking much bigger than they actually are — burst into the open, flapping up and over the tree in a fluid cord that thickened as it spiraled into the darkening sky.

The organization that sponsors this class is the Yolo Basin Foundation. They lead fascinating-sounding trips out into this northernmost part of the Delta, which is loaded with birds and natural drama. Check ‘em out. I’d like to go on more little outings.

This is another of my nature self-portraits: