Pack Creek Ranch, San Juan County, Utah
Written in the third week of October, 2008

THE MILL RE-OPENS

It’s four a.m. on a Sunday morning. Having come almost non-stop from Crete – via Athens, Atlanta, Denver, Grand Junction, and Moab – Fulghum has arrived in a time-and-distance-warped out-of-body state - ten time zones out of whack. The good side is that for a few days I’ll be up early enough to walk out in the quiet before dawn, see the morning stars, hear the early birds, and experience the sunrise.

Despite jet lag, I’m reasonably functional – but not coordinated. My body gets up but my brain sleeps in. When I woke up in my hotel room in Denver in the middle of the night I tried making a long-distance phone call using the television remote control. It worked, too. But just on my end – the person I was calling had nothing to say.

In July, when I was last here in Moab, I posted an essay on this website entitled: “The Closing of the Mill” – about how not only was the sawmill of my mind not in action cutting up literary lumber from logs, but there also seemed to be no logs floating out in the millpond of creative possibility. I seemed to have stopped writing. Moreover, I seemed to philosophically accept the possibility that maybe the mill was closed for good. “Well, I thought, every enterprise comes to an end. Mine not accepted. So it goes.”

To my surprise, here I am back in Moab and on the job again. It started at the end of my stay in Crete. The mill is up and running. And I brought back a pile of logs accumulated while traveling. Apparently, taking a break outside my country and my culture and my daily habits for a few weeks juiced the machinery. Not forcing the issue allowed the urge to write to revive on its own time.

Plus, being goosed by an audience of strangers in Denver was provocative. “Get back to work,” one lady admonished, shaking her finger at me in mock disapproval. “I miss you when you don’t write.” I miss me, too. Thanks to her for reminding me that correspondence is a responsibility, even when it sometimes seems like I’m only talking to me.
So, then, good morning to you and the lady in Denver. Onward!

HELLOS

Paradoxically, traveling involves waiting. Especially in airports. But waiting is not lost time – it’s an opportunity to watch people. 

(When the airport security announcement asks that you report any persons behaving suspiciously, I laugh. Where to begin? There are hundreds.)

The rituals of parting and greeting on display at an airport are a buffet of human idiosyncrasy. I’m a fan of Hellos. And I often pause just as I walk out of the Passport and Customs hall at an international airport just to notice the Hello habits of my fellow human beings.

I was there when a grown man was staggered right back through the exit doors by a running, screaming, leaping teenage daughter – “DADDY! DADDY! DADDY!” she shouted just as she hit him, arms around his neck, legs locked around his waist. Now she was weeping. “Daddy, oh, Daddy. I love you Daddy.”

I had just passed the “Anything To Declare?” sign at customs, and I thought, “Yes, I declare I am jealous.” It’s been a long time since I got the loving airborne assault version of unconditional Hello from a child.

This was matched in Atlanta by a middle-aged, lumpy looking, bald-headed man and the woman waiting for him – middle-aged, lumpy looking, orange-haired. They reunited like two freight cars coupling – WHAM! – sucking face, hugging, rubbing, laughing, and kissing like they were drilling for oil.

It always moves me to see affectionate lusty love alive in middle-age. And to see two geeky people mated up is encouraging.

It’s funny to see the awkward Hello of two people who are unsure of the depth of their relationship. Both want to hug or think they should. But to be safe they first offer to shake hands. Usually they end up with an amateur one-armed wrestling hug, hands crumpled up between them. Men are especially prone to this awkward conflict between intimacy and formality.
It’s also laughable to see this confusion compounded with cultural habits of kissing cheeks. Americans want to be hip. Europeans don’t expect kisses from us. Is it one or two or three? So there’s this chicken pecking performance thrown into the semi-hug, half-handshake form of Hello between cultures.

It’s a little sad to see the empty Hello that goes with visiting relatives who didn’t really want to come and their family who really didn’t expect they would. These are part of the come-for-the-reunion experiences around Thanksgiving and Christmas. “Well, it’s been a long time!” is the ambiguous greeting. Accompanied by an air-hug – almost no actual contact. The Good Riddance Goodbye will come at the other end of the holiday.

This is matched, on the positive side, by the Family Group Grope, where a waiting family falls en masse on good old granny who they had given up for dead, and who, by god, rallied to come for one more Christmas. Granny cooks the best turkey, plays a mean game of poker, and tells dirty jokes to her grandchildren when her children are not around. Yea, Granny! HELLO!

One of the more complex Hellos is the L.A. homeboy approach. Once a prerogative of young blacks from the hood, it’s been co-opted by the young and street-hip whites and Hispanics. High five hand clasp, knuckle bump, down and dirty hand slap, even a hip bump or chest thrust is included. More than anything this elaborate set of gestures implies solidarity beyond just friendship. It’s a “brothers” thing. Now that I think of it, I don’t remember ever seeing a “sister” making the same Hello. There’s one I should look for.
What do the sisters do?

In international airport arrival gates I’ve seen Maoris rub noses, Japanese bow, and Italian men lightly pound each other on the chest and arms with their fists. And my all time favorite was a group of middle-eastern men shouting and jumping up and down and up and down together out of sheer exuberant reunion joy!

And there are the painful What-to-say? What-to do? timid Hellos of disillusioned but hopeful couples who have come together for one last try at reconciliation. They stand awkwardly and quickly walk away in silence without touching. One of them will be back on a plane in a very short time. The final Goodbye gesture is the one that says, “Don’t Bother To Write.”

Goodbyes are yet another topic – to be addressed at another time.

I’ll quit with this: There’s a form of Hello I’ve just started using - something original that mixes recognition of intimate friendship with a sense of mischief. I explained it to a friend and we gave it a try. Yes!

Here’s how it works:
(First you have to let your friend know the plan.)
Walk up to this person you know and like – move close enough so that you’re face-to-face inside personal space – within 18 inches. Stop. Stand still. Count silently to three. And bump knees. That’s all – no touching.
Just bump knees. Try it. If you don’t laugh, I’ll be surprised.
Laughter is always the best Hello.
And the next time you see me . . .