I’m so excited about watching the Anne of Green Gables movie. She was such a major influence upon my young adult life. I adopted her melodramatic perception of life, read poetry, and played make-believe. I looked all over for a kindred spirit (and luckily have found one in you), but I never did dye my hair green or add an “e” to the end of my name to make it more elegant. “Amy” is just about as plain a name as you can find. I did want to be more “glamorous” than the sweet little girl next door. Did you ever wish you were more like the heroines in the books you read? Did you wish to be stunningly beautiful, extremely intelligent, and brave as any warrior? Oh, I did…and still do to some extent. That’s partially the reason that I have been reading fantasy novels lately. While engrossed in the pages of a good book, I can picture myself full of mystery and power. It’s a little harder to attribute those qualities to myself when I am riding an overcrowded bus and contemplating whatever type of legal drudgery I will have to face at the journey’s end.

I could never tell you where we were at. Place names spilled one after the other out of my father’s mouth: the hole in the wall, whiskey basin, squaw creek, Alice lake, star falls, horse creek hot springs. They came charged with significance. And my father’s understanding of their many layers of meaning was just one more sign of his vast and profound knowledge of the world. He could tell you how the places came to be called what they were. He told stories about the places in the 40′s, when he was a boy tagging along with his father. He described later excursions, made when he was in college or courting my mother. The latest phase was introducing my brother and I to those places. Each name did not signify one place; rather, each captured a fluid, ever-evolving location. Each name recalled a group of memories. I never attached names to places because my father made me aware of the sacred quality of names. I was afraid to take such a bold step. I was aware of the heat, the dust, the smell of sagebrush, and the bruised skyline where mountains rose up out of the plain. I could taste the rain in the air and feel the energy of an imminent electircal storm. But I could not tell you where we were at.

Riding in the bed of the pick-up truck, I would stare out at this scenery and commit it to memory. I was barely conscious of my brother next to me, complaining of mosquito bites, the scorching sun and dust billowing around us as we sped down the road. I hardly noticed the hounds as they paced around the truck bed and then collapsed against Will and I. Despite the heat, the irish wolfhounds leaned against us–pressing their heavy and over-heated bodies into our sides. They panted and drooled. I didn’t notice the dog slobber drying in shiny patches on my pants. I was too busy studying the countryside, attending to its contours and smells. Searching out its mysteries. These things will stay with me forever. They are bone deep.

Today is the end of an era. It is the last day of my life as a student. I feel bereft…as if I’m losing something very dear to me. In a way, I am. I’m losing something that gave structure and purpose to my life ever since I was five years old.

At the same time, I feel elated. How wonderful it will be to have my evenings to myself again. I will be able to play on the computer as much as I want and not feel guilty about it. On second thought, I’ll probably feel guilty about it anyway because I’m bound to feel guilty about something. Ah well. Nothing’s perfect. Here’s to endings and beginnings. Cheers!