FRAGMENTS OF A SUMMER

I just received an email from Mr. Adam Prizio reminding me of the existence of this long-neglected corner of the web which I have dedicated to myself and my bloviations. He encouraged me to write something on it again lest I be consigned to the "Cold Day in Hell" portion of his upcoming list of friends' blogs. So I'm back now. I'll try to keep more up to date.


The last few weeks at Hillsdale were a bit of a marathon in terms of writing. I turned out several papers (two of which are posted at my other site, which it seems I am turning into a place for papers and such longer things) and generally wrote my brains out. I've thought about writing some since graduation, but haven't really been in the mood. I hope, however, that the month-long break in my writing has served to permit the juices to flow once again.


It is strange to me that my time at Hillsdale is over. Every summer for the past four years, I have been accustomed to the assumption that, whatever I may be doing, by the end of August I will be back in Hillsdale, among old and new friends, favorite professors, old haunts and everything else I associate with the Capital of Nowhere. It has been my home for my entire adult life. Indeed, I grew into adulthood there. But this fall, I will be at school in Boston. In January, I will be married. After that, who knows? More debt, children, ordination, ministry, pain, joy, death�the stuff of the rest of my life. And as it moves inexorably on, I still half-expect to go back to Hillsdale.


A few days ago I spoke with my old roommate. His wife is pregnant. They found out just last week that they have a little girl. She is due in November. They never expected to have a child so soon. My friend is a father. I could well be one myself in less than a year.


This summer, I am working with my wife-to-be. I had thought that I knew her almost as well as it was possible to know another person. Now, I spend at least eight hours with her every day, and I realize that the depths of her person reach almost to infinity. I realize how it is possible for two people to love each other very much and still argue, even fight. I begin to wonder if it is possible to love at all without fighting. I think I am grateful for the opportunity. This summer, we have the chance to make a good beginning, working through the fights, slowly achieving together that strange thing called one-ness�not a dreamy fairy tale, but a gritty, dirty reality built on blood, sweat, toil and tears. I think I am learning what love really is. Childish dreams are stupid.


Re-reading this, I decide it is atrocious. It�s corny, sappy, fragmented and over-introspective and contemplative. Anyone who knows me would probably say it�s very Guggian. Which is true�this is me this summer. This is my life. I think it�s a good life. I don�t thank God for it anything like I should. I squander my time on frivolities and hurt those who love me the most. And there�s no non-cheesy way to end that rhetorical train, so I�m just going to stop. Suffice to say that I am pretty happy.


Perhaps the next thing I write will be a little better. For now bear with me. Welcome me back to the world of blogging. And, if it crosses your mind, pray for me.