Toes say so much about a person

I looked down today at my feet and realized that my transformation into a Pacific NW mom is pretty much complete. Which is good because I adore it here.

I think Towhead’s clothing tastes must be wearing off on me. For example, today CT’s wardrobe involved striped leggings, a brown shirt, pink jumper, and orange socks. (And yes  I let her go to school like that)

There is beauty in colorful things.

I have to admit that as much as like where we’re living, I had a bout of desert longing this weekend while visiting friends in Wenatchee. While walking through a short space of sagebrush to get to an apple orchard, I stopped and broke off a piece of sage and found myself kneeling amidst the brush to just inhale that familiar scent. No matter where we move I think I will always long for the smell of rabbitbrush after a rain, cloud shadows passing across the hills, and aspen groves in autumn.

Away too long: Or, my adventures in moving and subsequent return to the blogosphere

There are a number of reasons why I haven’t written in awhile. None of them really interesting. But here’s a general update.

• We bought a house and closed escrow the end of May. It’s a 4 bed, 3 bath on 1/3 acre, and is just lovely! I have the kitchen of my dreams! After the 3 drawers and hardly any cupboard space in my last kitchen, I am in paradise. I bake, grill, chop, fry, clean, and I don’t resent a minute I spend there. Given my ongoing ambivalence toward homemaking, this has been a good feeling. And, since the house was newly remodelled just before we moved in I can let me OCD go nuts with none of the frustration that comes with scrubbing and scrubbing and only achieving “well, at least it doesn’t look so disgusting” results. I wipe, it looks new – very satisfying.
• The new house is 3 miles from Mr. A’s work, so he can bike most days, and 3 miles from the YMCA so Towhead and I can bike there about three days a week. The Y has been our oasis and salvation in the desert (though we don’t really live in the desert anymore, do we?). More on social outlets and our lack of them later.
• The most exciting, though paradoxical element of cooking more is that I’ve lost 8lbs. since moving here. Going to the Y, biking, and running around like a mad-woman probably helped.
• We’ve had family visiting for 5 of the 7 weeks we’ve lived here. This is a wonderful thing, don’t get me wrong. But it leaves little time for blogging.
• Good friends from Reno convinced me and Mr. A to join Facebook so we could chat and keep in touch more easily. Although I enjoy talking with them regularly, my final verdict is that Facebook is an evil procrasination tool that sucks time and brainpower. (But I finally beat my previous high score at Text twirl! . . . see what I mean). I miss reflecting on life, relaying funny anecdotes, and actually writing. That and my mother-in-law has been screaming at me to “post more pictures!!”
• We decided to abstain from TV, or at least keep in very minimal, which means I have been listening to public radio and getting my news off the interent. So far, I like it. However, it eats up the precious little time the Towhead allows me to spend on the computer before she starts banging on the sliding glass door or peeing on the sofa to get my attention.

Speaking of which, I believe I hear crashisg upstairs . . .

Friends Matter

When it rains it pours. Shit happens. Things can only get better.

These phrases have dominated my thoughts the last couple days. To counter these I keep calling to mind images of the friends I got to see when I went back to Reno and Sacramento in March. Caught in a set of crappy circumstances, it’s all I’ve got right now. Thank goddess those circumstances are temporary. But when you and your kid are sick, cranky and have hit each other’s last respective nerve repeatedly, sometimes the simple stuff gets put in perspective.

Like when your kid throws broccoli across the room and spits yogurt in your face at dinner and all you want to do is vent to someone. But then you realize that you don’t really have any friends in town to vent to. I know I could call a friend who is farther away, but I’ve never been good at confiding in people when I’m stuck in the mud. Once I’ve made it to the other side of the muck and have stopped screaming in panic, then I can talk and ask for a towel to clean off.

This is the part of moving I didn’t anticipate would hit me so hard. I’ve always made acquaintences fairly easily. Good friends are harder to come by, but they inevitably come. I was excited about meeting new people when we moved here. So with Mr. A out of town for work, and Crazy Towhead and I in the middle of feeling sick and miserable, why does it surprise me that all I want is my old friends around me to make me laugh.

Everyone, no matter how independent, needs other people, needs to be surrounded with the warmth of friends and their affection. So talk to a friend today and let them know, somehow, how much you appreciate having them in your life.

The Message in the Storm’s Eye

Since my last post Fate and Luck have been keeping me on my toes, dragging me through events as fast as I can run on tiptoe through them. Fate has had a hold of my left arm, Luck my right, pulling me up and along like overzealous tour guides wanting to show me all the sights at once, each one talking like an auctioneer on crack. I’m dizzy, manic, and my head is spinning.  I won’t bore you with the details, most friends and family have heard them already. Suffice to say that selling a house right now sucks. With a vengeance. But it’s over. Almost.

With moving comes a lot of self-reflection, a bit of nostalgia, and for me, questions about whether or not I’m moving in the right direction. Being stagnant or stuck in a repetative circle is the worst of all worlds, but even when flowing with events I think there’s always a bit of self-correction involved to make sure you stay on the course you want, and not be swept off by eddies and currents that are counterproductive. So whenever the tide comes in, like it has these last few months, and major changes happen I always tend to run through the list: Am I coming closer to being the person I want to become? Is the life I’m creating in harmony with the goals I have set for myself? Am I creating or stifling my inner voice? As much as Mr. A and I believe in Leave No Trace ethics, am I doing my best to live that mantra and minimize our impact on our surroundings? 

I came back to the Great Basin wondering, testing myself as I drove. Will I miss this? Do I feel that heartsick pull that tells me I’m not done with this place yet. And all I could do was smile. These are the mountains that helped me shed many of my demons and fears. They made me stronger, more sure of myself. I’ve spent this last week packing eight years into boxes, and it was a material reminder of how much I have learned in this place and the degree to which I have pulled the Great Basin into my life. The pungent smell of sage, and the sweetness of rabbitbrush after a rain are not things I can pack into boxes but they are not things I will leave behind. The way a lone cloud can dominate the landscape with it’s shade is imprinted on the backs of my eyes, the pink of sunrise on the eastern slopes is embedded beneath my fingernails. The memories of a place are colors that stain the consciousness of a person and create the mosaic that is our identity. Each place, each new experience that affects me, adds a new hue and creates colors I often never knew existed. Those colors stay with me and that’s what keeps me from being sad about what I’ve left behind.

My house is no longer mine. And I think I’m ok with that. The more nostalgic I got over leaving the house the more things seemed to go wrong. I finally decide to let go, and to abandon the claim I had on that house. It was hard. Mr. A proposed to me in that house. I spent a lot of hours with good friends there; I played, cooked, wrote, labored, gardened, and loved there. But that place – the house and the Great Basin - has done all it can for me. It’s hard to give up ownership of something you love, whatever kind of noun it is – person, place, or thing. But sometimes it has to happen if you want to grow.

And as this storm moves on I will too. The trick for me is to absorb it’s energy instead of fighting it. This is where the philosophy from my aikido comes in. Sensei always likes to say, “Why fight when you can flow?” However, this doesn’t mean passively accepting whatever comes your way. The idea is that if someone attacks you (physically, or verbally) you want to meet the energy, flow with it, and then direct it in a way that works to your advantage and neutralizes their energy. It’s hard not to resist or get defensive when you feel like you’re being attacked. But if you can meet that energy with the same intensity and work with it, you actually absorb the ki generated by the initial conflict and the end result leaves you feeling more energized instead of worn out. It’s a wonderful and non-violent concept that you have to feel to truly appreciate. I don’t claim to have mastered it, or even practice it as well as I could, but I think that’s why martial arts holds such a continual fascination for me. As I become more advanced I find that it’s really a study of how people interact, a way to master your own feelings and way of dealing with the world, and a method of connecting with the rest of the world and its energy. I’m assuming that’s why, in spite of all the chaos these last few weeks, I’m not totally exhausted. Either that or I’m going to have a hell of a crash when all the adrenaline wears off.

Global warming means go north, right?

 For those of you keeping tuned to the blogwaves, we’ve arrived! After two days with two-year-old and dog shouting “She’s touching me!” and “I gotta pee-pee” in their own ways, we’ve made our way roughly 800 miles (or 14 hours, driving) north.

Roadtrips are never something where the play-by-play is all that exciting, but there do always seem to be a few moments that make ya laugh (or scream). Our moments consisted of a few screams as well as some laughs. For starters, when we went to the U-Haul place Saturday morning we were already running late. The they told us the U-Haul tow dolly that I reserved Tuesday wasn’t there (ahhh!). And it didn’t matter that I had made a reservation. And no other U-Haul place in Reno or Sparks had one. And that the closest one was an hour out of our way in Carson City. (Yes, by now I was not only screaming, I was ready to do bloody battle with ANYONE who got in my way. Yeah, I was crying too. And mumbling a lot of choice profanities when Towhead wasn’t listening. Mr. A, goddess bless him, was calm and grim faced.)

With that fiasco and an hour of extra driving behind us, we headed out toward Winnemuca. Mr. A’s big moment of pissiness came when we drove through Fernley and we saw a tow dolly in front of the U-Haul place there. The lady in Reno had specifically said there wasn’t one in Fernley (which would have been on our way), and that we had to go to Carson (definitely not on our way). But, after that things settled down in typical road-trip style.

There are pluses to long road-trips though, as we found out. One, is that the Towhead gets excellent practice at self-entertainment. She spent a lot of time drawing, playing with her dolls & pirates, and eating snacks. The absolute classic moment came when Towhead busted out with a comment that will likely live on stories for many years. Mr. A and I were talking, enjoying the scenery of the Great Basin, talking about geology and his field site, when we hear, “Mama. Mama, I licking my feet.” I turned around with a puzzled expression and there she was, actually licking her foot! Boredom is the mother of invention?

We also discovered on the way that Oregon has a I-wanna-be-somewhere-else complex, as evidenced by town names. And there seems to be no theme or commonality, except that I assume these people would rather be anywhere else but eastern Oregon. Rome, Ontario, and Roswell were the most well-known names we found, but there seemed to be quite a few. But when I saw other local signs that pointed to Hogg Road or Jump Creek, I had to wonder if perhaps it was instead the product of either a lack of imagination or an odd sense of humor.

We spent our one night on the road at an inn in Ontario, OR. The free continental breakfast was actually at DJ’s dinner next to the hotel. Not only was it free (or should I say, included in the hotel cost) it was huge! And tasty! After breakfast I was the happiest camper alive. But then of course Murphy and his damn law had to spoil it: we got into the truck and the “Service Engine Soon” light was on. Go figure, I was in such a good mood.

 Spokane so far has been fantastic in spite of the gray overcast sky, and the stress that comes with finding a new place to live with a two-year-old and dog in tow. Mr. A’s work collegues have been extremely friendly and welcoming, and that part of our life at least has been pretty stress free. I haven’t had a chance to start exploring yet, but I’m hoping that by the end of the week I’ll have the apartment organized and we’ll be able to head out and actually take a look at the town we plan on calling home.

 This is new. And I’m ready for something new. I have been for awhile. There are so many positive things about this move. Perhaps in a future blog post I’ll list them all.

We miss you all very much. As cheesy as it sounds, the time we got to spend with all of you before we took off has given me a “happy place” to retreat to and think about when the details of moving get overwhelming.

Getting ready for the move: A Photologue

Working . . .

Pouting . . .

Playing . . .

Finished!

Spokane or Bust: Don’t ever say Spo-can’t

This blog begins with a move. An 800-mile move. An I’m-leaving-behind-almost-all-my-close-friends move. A move that pulls me away from the mountains I’ve adored and explored since I was a teenager. This large expanse of sage that I have called home for the last 8 years has allowed me to grow in ways I never thought I could. It has sat patiently while I explored my inner self, while I trekked over it’s rough spots, and found wildflowers in unlikely places.

 But I’m ready to move on. I’ve been waiting for this for awhile. And I welcome it. Because I can’t do anything else. My identity and my strength lies in what I have yet to explore. I get myself into trouble when I dwell on the past, when I get nostalgic, or try to piece together my journey by looking back. One lesson I hold to religiously (one that Mr. A can’t fully understand) is that the past is not a place I can spend too much time. I look for the lesson, learn it, and move on. Too much time spent in those details and I’m stuck in a sort of whirlpool that only makes me feel stupid, insecure, and foolish. Perhaps that’s what I mean when I continually point out that I’m not the most sentimental of women.

 Pensive ramblings aside, we’re moving. Mr. A, myself, Crazy Towhead, and the Mutt. In less than a week we pack up, and head off through the mountains to the north. Cleaning things out feels good, but the speed at which I’m doing it makes me feel ambivalent. I don’t think “the move” and all it’s implications has had a chance to sink in yet. Maybe that’s a good thing.

 I keep thinking about Spokane. Everyone keeps telling us it’s like Reno without the casinos. I can live with that. But all I can think of is Bush’s classic, “Are you an American or an Ameri-can’t?” I hope this is not a bad omen for the town’s potential for us. 

I’m excited. I want to explore. I’m scared that I will lose touch with my friends. I’m bad at these things.

My heart is warmed by all the people who have wished us well on our move and who’ve offered to help. It sounds so cheesy but with that warmth and friendship and fondness close to me — be it in the form of Mr. A, friends or family — I can walk through the worst storm with a smile on my face. With that thought in mind, I’m heading north in the dead of winter.