The other day, I had what I like to call, The Moment. The Moment is that space in time when you realize what you’ve been imagining for so long has actually come true. While I’ve been in Dillon, I’ve had several Moments.

The first occurred a few weeks ago. When I was in graduate school, dreaming about being a university professor, I always imagined myself walking across a leafy, autumn-y campus, talking with a student about issues of writing or literature. I would dispense invaluable advice while the student would nod in agreement, head tilted toward the sound of my voice.

This dream became reality, and I didn’t even recognize that it had happened until it was all over. It was a beautiful autumn day on campus, and as I shuffled along the sidewalk covered with the fallen leaves, I talked with a student about creative writing. After the student and I parted, I realized what had happened. My visualization had come true, and I had missed it. I vowed to pay more attention so that future Moments would be even better.

The next Moment occurred just lastweek. I was sitting in my office preparing my class notes on Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. With my feet propped up and my radio playing the mellifluous notes of Mozart’s Requiem, I studied the Peasant Revolt of 1377 and its relationship to the origin and development of Chaucer’s pilgrims.

Then, I looked up in amazement. I was having another Moment, and this one I was determined to enjoy while it was happening.

You see, as a graduate student, I often thought about what my life as a scholar and teacher would be like. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself sitting at my desk illuminated by a single lamp. Books and notes are strewn over the desk top, and I am studying and reading all the history and literature I love.

These study sessions would lead to great lectures, and in essence, I would get paid to talk about books all day. Okay,so my lectures aren’t all great, but the study sessions are, and, thank to block scheduling, I get to talk about books all day every day.

In the throes of this particularMoment, I celebrated with a hearty, robust, and desperately out of tune sing-a-long with Neville Mariner and the chorus of St. Martin-in-the-Fields.They would have been horrified, but I feel certain that Mozart would have dug my enthusiasm.

However, some of the best Moments in Dillon I’ve had so far are the ones I didn’t even know that I wanted to have.

These were not Moments I had visualized and nurtured to come true. However, these Moments are just as important in their ability to make me stop and appreciate where I am.

How about the Moment I learned my plumber wasn’t just a plumber but also a UM-W grad with a teaching certificate? In between discussing my air-filled radiators, we talked about the state of public schools, about the importance of college/community collaboration, and most importantly (wink wink), about the graffiti downtown across from his office. We both agreed that neither of us could really see the drawing of the purple penis so famed in the Tribune’s Letters to the Editor section. We also agreed that Freud would have a field day with those letters.

Or the Moment when I learned that vegetables are musical. One evening as we sat on Blake’s porch, our quiet enjoyment of the cool, summer breeze was interrupted by a sound that can only be described as that which is emitted after one sits on a duck (should one ever feel so inclined). After a few minutes, the neighbor next door called us ove rto the fence and showed us the cause of the noise, a kazoo he’d fashioned out of a squash stalk. He played heartily, changing the pitch of his makeshift horn by slicing of its end with a pocket knife.

And how about the Moment I enjoyedwith my dry cleaner during his prolonged telephone conversation with someone who had ordered blood too viscous for his liking? (He told me later that he plays a ghost for Bannack’s Halloween storytelling event). I enjoyed this Moment a sit was happening by unabashedly eavesdropping further into his conversation. Bad form, I know, but a somewhat open discussion about the ill effects of runny blood was too delicious NOT to listen in on.

And finally, how the delightful Moment I experienced at Rookies sports pub, home of my favorite fried appetizers (is it universally true that any vegetable battered, fried, and served with Ranch dressing is ALWAYS delicious)? As I waited for the credit card machine to spit out my receipt, a kind gentleman shared his holiday cranberry sauce recipe with me. The bartender and I debated the addition of pecans o rwalnuts to this recipe, and I reveled in the Moment that over a beer and fried cheese curds such discussions not only occurred in Dillon but were also appreciated here.

And I’m sure there are more moments to look forward to. The trick is to appreciate them as they roll by. Dance, sing, discuss, do whatever it takes, but always always revel in the Moment because it might never happen again.