Plenary blues

So I told Chi and Julie on the way back from Chapter that yes, I have a 'blog, and as quick as that I had agreed to 'blog posts from the Plenary.

So here I sit in the sumptuous yet rather arid comforts of the Sheraton, having been wished most sincerely a good stay by most sincere staff, sincerely.

I am sure I am grumpy because I was oddly nervous traveling today, even though by air standards Salt Lake City is not much more than a good steep climb, enough level flight to hand out the peanuts and come back around, attendant toe almost tapping, to collect the trash (none from me--I palmed the peanuts in an odd regressive scarcity gesture worthy of my Irish aunt). Then down, and I somewhat grudgingly admit that the mountains surrounding the Salt Lake City are impressive in a more stark and fierce desert way that our lush green peaks in Portland.

I awoke this AM feeling very grateful for my life, and for my vocation, and for our lovely jumbly chaotic family life in our aging little SE Portland house that is now worth a ridiculous amount of money because it is Where It Is. I left my wife engaged in a final push to finish her teaching Masters synthesis project, so it is well that I am out of her hair.

I know I was rattled because a lazy, glutinous drop of dark blue juice splotting on my lap, as well as all my feelings, so disheveled me that I forgot my hat, my brown pub cap, somewhere in the airport. I liked that hat.

So my head feels naked amidst the Stetsons and Caterpillar Tractor and other miscellaneous male headgear strutting about the lobby and the premises. Perhaps it is symbolic--bare vulnerable head. This is a passel of people unknown to me save for a couple of e-mail exchanges here and there. But I'll fumble through just like I've fumbled through all the new starts of my life, and there have been many.

The organizers had advertised an early registration to satisfy us compulsives rolling into town early, so once having been checked in and checked out and keyed and sincerely welcomed I dragged my rollie-bag off to find it. Empty halls.

I stood relishing not having a clue, when a grizzled 21st century Western type made his way slowly up the stairs. He mumbled something about "a conference" and "CPSP" and hauled out a cellphone, spoke into it for a few moments, then with something of a cowboy swagger moved with authority down the hall. I grinned, suspecting that in this new club of mine my Lone Ranger was probably Somebody, and decided to take the same trail back to the lobby. He deigned not to interrupt his reverie to address me, so I left him to seek his own destination and found my room.

Free WiFi, not bad. But I had forgotten how desolate a hotel room alone can be. But not so desolate that I want a roommate; I already feel the need to feed the introvert.

So writing this 'blog post feels good, like a connection. In a few minutes I will see if praying Evening Prayer from my Episcopal Daily Office Book will help me feel better oriented. I'll be on the lookout for the clinical cowboy figure later, and if indeed he turns out to be Somebody or at least Somebody You All Know I shall be sure to update you.

But damn it. I really liked that hat.