Movin' On Sideways

I'll have to put off telling you about Alison's grandfather's birthday and some of the other pleasant times we've had between then and now, because time's flying by and there's one very important piece of information I haven't been able to convey yet.

I guess just about everyone who would be reading this blog knows this already, but for anyone who hasn't heard, we're moving back to Halifax. I got a job working for a photographer, so it's so long, beautiful Annapolis Valley; hello, foggy, cold, mouldy metropolis. Are we crazy? Perhaps.

However.

This job of mine at the university has not been the exciting career-builder I'd thought it would be. I've been responsible for putting forth the institution's brand clearly and consistently, even though no one has ever come up with a clear statement of what that brand is. Why not? There are too many different political interest groups with too many different ideas of what the main point of the university should be, so no one dares to come up with any clear definition of its public character. That's fine, though — means I can visually express what I take the brand to be and just try to stay consistent with myself. Except that my hands would keep getting tied at every turn, and I'd be expected to just do whatever any individual wanted for their particular ugly marketing piece and forget about building any kind of brand, or else go along with whatever half-baked and ultra-expensive one-off campaign an outside agency would be hired to produce, and then shake my head in wonder along with everyone else when the question arose why there were not enough students enrolling to keep us from acquiring a massive debt. All I could say was that it certainly wasn't my salary that was causing it.

And then there's the town of Wolfville. Beautiful and charming. Lovely weather. Politically progressive. But just not very interesting. Where are the hipsters? Why is there no record store or college radio station? How come, with such a great music department at the university, the only bands that ever play around town are all composed of two guys simultaneously strumming acoustic guitars and maybe a woman earnestly whacking some bongos? I.e. where's the RAWK? Plus it smells like cow poop all the time, which is just extra depressing if you're already not into the vibe. I don't know. Maybe when we're ready to retire we'll want to move back here. "Retire". Good one! It is quite lovely, though, especially in the summer. Can you tell I'm ambivalent about this?

This'll also, hopefully, allow Alison to get some more work because she won't have to commute an hour in either direction. Which means maybe we'll be able to afford this somewhat expensive apartment we're about to rent. Sure has been nice having a whole house to rattle around in...

So anyway, we've found an apartment, I've quit my job, and we're set to move Haliward after we get back from a week in Maine, starting Saturday. This I can't wait for. We're meeting my parents and sisters and their families and another family that's friends of our family's, all at the same beach/cottage community we went to a couple of years ago and where we've been going sporadically since I was a little kid. Alison and I are driving, meaning Alison's driving. It should take us most of Saturday. I'm loading up the iPod right now, we're going to make some egg salad sandwiches, and the maps are in the glove compartment. Gobo's gotten an oil change and the thumbs up from our local mechanic, and Alison figured out why the high beams weren't working (they were actually the low beams and the low beams were actually the running lights; we drove all the way home from Chester at one in the morning Saturday night like that). I have the latest Believer and a new Kazuo Ishiguro book. Everything's set. Look out, rich white liberal Americans, here we come!