The First Two Weeks, or when it rains it f*#%ing pours

Let me preface the following vent session by saying that Spokane’s a pretty neat town so far. Much like Reno it has a hidden charm; it’s a comfortable place with a very outdoor-oriented culture and nice down-to-earth people. But, something in the stars is directing its sick sense of humor in our direction lately. For instance, 

The fridge in the apartment broke and spoiled a good portion of the food I just bought. Thanks the gods we are living in an apartment and I had a new fridge the next day. 

Towhead has had a delayed reaction to the move. Albeit in spurts, my sweet affectionate and eager-to-please daughter has become an obnoxious and defiant monster who seems determined to slam her tiny fist down on every button I possess. She’s getting better, slowly. But man is it hard to cope with difficult situations when someone spends all day pissing you off. But hell, would things really be all that different if I was working all day? Not really. 

After pulling an 18-inch long thing out of the dog’s bum, I discovered she had tapeworms. (I know, too much information, but it lets you share a little bit of the shock and disgust that still makes my skin crawl.) Thank the gods for Mr. A’s boss who recommended a great vet where we got the problem taken care of the next morning. 

The truck needs to be serviced ($$$) and when we got it back Wednesday night, the problem is still not completely fixed. 

The Civic also sounds like it needs a tune up. 

The fantabulous plans I had for Mr. A and my Valentine’s Day dinner went to hell. The restaurant I wanted to go to (and still do) is a fancy medieval pub-type place set underground in downtown. However, they had over 1 ½ hour wait when we showed up at 6:30 and Towhead was hungry. After visiting four other restaurants we ended up at a Texas BBQ that, while not half bad, was really not what we had in mind. 

I can’t seem to get the mailman to deliver my mail. 

The obsessive compulsive part of me is chomping at the bit. I can’t seem to make efficient use of my time because some detail, large or small, is always going wrong. And, neo-Luddite though Mr. A and I may be, functioning without internet for over a week has been really difficult. But enough of the vent session. Things are getting better, slowly. But slow progress is still progress. And the side bonus is that I have been writing more. That, and running, usually help rid me of most of my buried frustrations. Oddly enough, it helps with the loneliness too. 

Mr. A has been busy, and though overwhelmed by all the new information and gear that’s been thrown at him, he seems to be getting to do some cool things. He spent two days last week at a training session for rocket-netting birds and checked out a few restoration project sites. And how unreal is it that he’s been able to chase moose through town, observe them in some forested areas around town, and dispose of a dead sow and her calf? However, between the moose drool and the dead deer he had to retrieve off someone’s property I may need in invest in some better stain removers. 

All joking aside, Spokane has some pretty cool things going for it, like the Centennial Trail, a roughly 50-mile paved running/bike trail that runs through the center of town. Much of it runs right next to the river and the scenery is absolutely beautiful, even in the snowy gray that blankets the city most days. 

Other cool things I’ve found so far:

Manito Park is right in the middle of one of Spokane’s older neighborhoods. There’s a lilac garden (Spokane is actually known as the “Lilac City”), a rose garden reminiscent of the one in Portland, large trees, and several ponds. 

Huckleberry’s is your standard natural foods store but they have all the bulk items I crave plus some. It’s not a place where I want to shop regularly, but it definitely provides many of the organic, local, and specialty items I go looking for sometimes. 

Riverfront Park has an indoor carousel, a sky gondola, cool views of the river, and an Irish pub with great food right across the street. 

Well, there’s the update for those of you who’ve been waiting for it. By the way, if anyone knows of a good place to bury a mailman, I may need that information soon.   

Of Erosion and Balance

I’m feeling pensive and a little off balance today. Although I’m sure it’s just a symptom of moving, and events of the past couple weeks, lately I spend a lot of time feeling like a palindrome perched atop a piano. Predictable and rhythmic mood swings take me from tranquility to irritation, joy to despair, and back all in a few hours time. It doesn’t help that Towhead has similar mood swings on a regular basis. However, she’s two; I am not. But it’s always been hard for me not to be overly empathetic and influenced by the feelings of those around me, and in times of stress it becomes particularly difficult. 

My study of Aikido and Hapkido has taken a serious internal bent the past couple years as the free time for physical training has decreased. And in the past few months, as certain stresses have intensified I’m beginning to more fully understand certain teachings. In Hapkido and Aikido the goal is to continually master the self: physically, mentally, and spiritually. Or as Morihei Ueshiba’s Art of Peace says, “Life is always a trial. In training, you must test and polish yourself in order to face the great challenges of life.” The lessons I keep focusing on are lessons I have been trying to improve upon for years: listening, observing, confidence (meeting the energy of people and situations instead of shrinking away), humility, and letting go. And these become harder to practice and maintain when I feel full to bursting with emotion and stress. 

It’s funny, stress always makes me think of the time I spent in Italy. Not because it was a stressful trip, but because while there I learned a factoid that has stuck with me. Supposedly, there is no word for in Italian for stress – they’ve co-opted the English term, “lo stress” they call it. The closest word/phrase for it means “the wearing out.” I’ve always thought that term so accurate a description. It’s hard to maintain your vitality when you continually feel worn down and eroded like river rock. It makes for a smooth surface, which everybody likes, but I wonder if you don’t give up too much in the process? I know smooth, finished stone is more highly valued in our society, but I can’t help but contemplate what is missing, and the fundamental difference that exists between polishing and erosion. The time it takes for each to happen and who, if anyone, is responsible for which pieces get worn away determines whether what happens is an improvement of the original stone, or merely the wear and tear of external stresses on the rock. Then again, perhaps we are more like larger rock formations than individual stones, with the influences being more varied and occurring on a time scale larger than our limited imaginations can really understand.  

(I have to wonder if it’s thoughts like this that made me take so many geology classes, or if the classes I took shaped my thinking and vocabulary in this direction. Martial arts meets geology meets spirituality? It’s not a leap that hasn’t been taken before I suppose.) 

I keep trying to find balance. Balance between accomplishing what needs to be taken care of, yet not becoming frantic about getting it all done tomorrow. Balance between my own needs and the needs of those around me. Concentrating on allowing my emotions to happen without letting myself be overwhelmed by them. Balancing my mind and my body so that each has a goal, and space to exercise its potential. As with any exercise in self-control, sometimes I’m more successful at it than others.

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.

Lost and Found

Hello, my name is Mrs. A and I have a confession to make. I have been brainwashed by my child. The crazy towhead has taken over my brain in a way I thought was never possible. I mean, I worked at a pre-school for years! I thought I was immune, or at least forewarned that this type of thing can happen if you’re not careful. I’m ashamed of myself, and a tad disappointed.

 I woke up this morning as if out of a fog. (Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I got 9 hours sleep for the first time in over 6 months.) I realized that there’s been something wrong with me for some time now. I go to sleep singing Sesame Street (and worse, Caillou) songs. Yesterday I wrote out a grocery list in crayon without thinking it was funny or ironic. The towhead took a bite out of some playdough the other day and I became angry instead of laughing as she tried to pick the chunks out of her teeth. In the midst of playing blocks, dollies, and pirates I seem to have lost something – my sense of humor!

Like old pictures you discover while cleaning out the closet, I seem to have looked inside myself this morning and exclaimed, “I forgot I had that!”  Deep in the midst of packing I begin to see parallels. Things are not where I last put them, but buried in a box somewhere. And with the stacks of boxes rapidly filling the garage, I’m not even sure which box anymore. But I have to find it, even if it takes Monty Python, the Three Stooges, and a flashlight. We will search until the wee hours of the morning – slapstick, British-humor, and all – until I find the Knights who say Ni, who I’m positive are using my sense of humor as a tennis ball amidst the shrubbery. 

Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery. So here I go. I miss dirty jokes and raunchy references in conversation.  I used to use chopsticks for just about everything, from eating noodles to salad. I don’t anymore, and I’m not sure why. As much as I LOVE training aikido, I really miss putting on sparring gear and trying to slam my foot into the side of someone’s head. The knife that sat on my nightstand for years, right next to the book I was reading, has been relegated to a drawer somewhere where towhead can’t find it. Though it’s absence, and towhead’s fingers and body parts fully in tact, are not something I regret, I can’t remember the last time I played with my knives.

I’ve always pitied women who had kids and then became nothing but their children. In this long and wonderful life I object to letting any person dominate your identity, be it your kid, your spouse, or a role model. There are too many amazing things hidden inside, each one of them worth exploring. And I’ve let that voice inside me become stifled after too many years of careful cultivation.

So if you hear loud bawdy songs floating through the frigid air sometime soon, it’s just me, reconnecting with my dark side.

  

Getting ready for the move: A Photologue

Working . . .

Pouting . . .

Playing . . .

Finished!