Life is a Banquet

Anna Roland Rocks the Socks Off My New Camera

I wonder how as Americans we can be so connected--too connected almost and yet, be so removed from each other.   I'm sitting at a coffee house in town, texting Freak while the Gas Fast Tour gets going, surrounded by Zen and Scientist, trying not to think about why there's only twenty of us here.  Even as I slide my cell phone out of sight, I'm still apart, one with my camera--metering and balancing, drawn in, instant by instant. 

Anna Roland and Thistle are touring the Northwest by bike (hence the Gas Fast Tour), a political and personal statement about our dependence on oil, a war with no end in sight, and some really amazing folk music.  Anna and Thistle are angrier, nervier Ani's, Alanis long before she sold out, the heiresses-apparent to Joni Mitchell.   Zen knows Anna from St. Louis.  I vaguely know her in the way all of left-leaning St. Louis is never more than six-degrees of separation from each other. Wireboy is beside himself that I get to see Anna.  If he knew I was seeing Anna through the lens of my new camera, he just might wet himself. 

I used to be a biker chic too--tearing up the Kady Trail, yelling with Critical Mass, biking my way to killer hamstrings and glutes.  Long before diabetes, before all the fatigue, before divorce, before bitterness, before Oregon, and Freak, I was a radical righteous babe.  Now, I am never more than a cell phone, an email, a text message away from anyone, never further than my Jeep or Hotwire can take me.   

Yet, I know the real distance.  The radical activist in me hasn't succumbed so much to the suburban buzz that I'm not aware of how far apart we really are these days.  I 've never seen 99% of my food growing, my bargain-clothes come from countries I'm not sure I could locate on a globe, and I know the names of the neighbors on my block and no other.  I can walk in my downtown neighborhood and see no other pedestrians.  The nearest "corner produce market" is four big box grocery stores, 3 miles, and two huge roads away. 

I am so far removed from my life in Vancouver (was that ever really my life?), from Zen's life in China, from the life of my grandparents.   Why is it that this is the first time in two years that I have walked at night to the coffee house?  I live with four other people, and yet, this is our first group outing.   Board games and chess sets sit idle while Ipods and cell phones hum.  Yahoo! shows all four of us online, separately together, alone in our little Internet bubble.  I live in one of the most bike friendly states in the nation, and yet, I still can't trust the cars. 

I want to tell you how amazing Anna Roland's music is, how you must go see in Corvallis (Interzone, Tomorrow, August 19th) or in Eugene (Mystic Pizza, August 26th), how she'll silk screen her logo right on the shirt you wear to the concert, how her CD's are a mere $5 (which didn't stop mine from getting lifted from the ladies room), and how Thistle is starting a community in Iowa.  But, all I can think about is how I'm not doing enough, how I'm sitting in a circle of plastic chairs, the intoxicating odor of tobacco and apple pie sedating us, and I'm talking the radical talk, and I keep thinking, "This is not my life, I'm not really here." 

But, I am here, and this IS my life.  I'm doing so much, and yet, still not enough.  My garden died a horrible death sometime in July, recycling and composting are sporadic events in our house, and I give too many of my dollars to silliness, and I have to work too hard to do the common sense things that should be second nature.  All these "Big Ideas" rolling around in our heads, and to 90% of the world, it's so simple, it's laughable.   We need each other.

It's a Boy!

" Wavybrains and Freak proudly announce the newest addition to our household:  Roommate #2, hence force known as Zen.  Zen has returned from a nine month sojourn in China and will be joining Scientist in project pay-off Wavybrains' and Freak's mortgage.  Non-grandparents are not impressed."   

This explains my lack of posting in the last few days, as I've been cleaning like a mad banshee.  With each new addition to the household, I like to start on a positive, CLEAN note, as if we always live orderly lives and dishes always go in the sink.  I like to think that this encourages good behavior, not to mention makes the place more welcoming. 

Of course, Zen is returning with no furniture, and a bed would have probably been a tad more welcoming than clean carpet, but what can I say?  I had the nesting instinct.  I cleaned and fluffed, buffed and waxed, and that's just the living room.  Freak even got in on the act, using the weed-eater which last saw action sometime around the 4th . . . of July.   

We're excited because this moves us closer to the communal household of our dreams.  Of course, in MY dreams, there is MORE THAN ONE BATHROOM.  Clanna can't understand how I could even consider living with four adults and one bathroom.   Perhaps it has something to do with having grown up with FIVE people and one bathroom.   Or having been to countless conventions, dorms, and conferences where I've had to wait on a bathroom. 

We do plan to add a second bathroom, because while I CAN wait, I'm just a bit crabby doing so.  But, in his six months with us, Zen will tackling numerous remodeling projects.  Just as soon as we find the poor guy a bed.

May I borrow your Children?

There are plenty of reasons why it sucks to be the oldest, but not having nieces and nephews ranks right up there.   See, the way I see it, being an Aunt is so much cooler than being a mom.  I was lucky to have three childless aunts and four childless uncles growing up, and having them as a part of my life was a huge blessing.  I looooooooooooooove the idea of being an Aunt:  I am an EXCELLENT present giver, I believe in making exceptions to rules, I'm always up for ice cream, I love parks, and I have no compunctions about watching P-13 movies or listening to rap music.  Seriously fabulous aunt material. 

Today, I found out that dear, dear friend is unexpectedly expecting.  Of course, my baby radar went on high alert causing massive depression for a few hours while I wallowed in jealousy.   But, the thing is, as much as I want to be like Ms. Fish and Ms. Polyp and the Goddess and all the faboo mamas out there, I don't want it YET.   I'm at a really good place in my life right now.  For the first time in three years, I am finally ME again.  I have energy, I am healthy, I am strong, and I am happy. 

While an unexpected event would still be a blessing, there's so much I want to do first.  I want to finish our massive credit-card pay off.  I'm not ready to part ways with lazy weekend mornings and time-wasting afternoons and irregular meal times.  I want my cleaning, eating, writing, and exercising habits to be ACTUAL habits and not just aspirations or good intentions.  I want to travel more with Freak.  I want to be published.  I want Freak to be in a less-stressful place career wise.  I want Caylis to be out of puppy-hood.  I want a second bathroom.  There are books to be read, novels to be written, trips to be taken, wardrobes to be expanded, and Nikon D70's to be lusted over.  I want more family around--chosen or biological for support.  We need a car other than a two-sear insight and a cleaning schedule that wouldn't alarm DHS.  In short, we and I have a lot of work to do first. 

But, still, the pull of children is intense.  I have ALWAYS been a baby person.  I'm one of those annoying teenagers who followed new mothers around at church and parties waiting for a chance to swoop in and hold the baby.  I Looooooooooove babies.  But 24 hour babies?  Mmmm. Not so sure.  I like giving them back. 

So what I really need is some nieces and nephews.  Stud-monkey wants to join the peace corps and at 24 has no girlfriend in sight.  Matty-dog also has altruistic aspirations, will be in school forever, and does not aspire to either long-term partnership or adoption.   Freak actually HAS nieces and nephews, but due to stellar parenting and life choices of his two elder brothers, neither he nor his mother have much contact with these kids.  I'm testing the waters with acting in an Aunt like fashion to some new babies born to my cousins--first of "our generation"--but I need MORE. 

Gosh darn it, I need more kids to shop for.   I want kids to come and visit, and share stories and play with Caylis, and sleep on the floor in sleeping bags and build tents out of sheets, and babies to rock.  And then, I want them to go home so that I can build up excitement over seeing them again.  I want kids to borrow to go to the zoo, and other fun places.   I need adoptive nieces and nephews, people.   I'm going to spoil the heck out of my dear friend's baby, if she lets us.  Any other takers?  Short on siblings?  Need a shower planned?  A free babysitter?  Call 1-800-Not Your Mommy.    

Happy 1st Blog Anniversary To Me!

A year ago TODAY, I started blogging.  I started blogging partly out of curiosity--I'd only seen two or three blogs before I started.  There was another part of me that moved from years of paper scribbling and journals (it's too bad I can't doodle on here. Really, you're missing out on some awesome insects and flowers and fashion models that adorn my paper journals) to blogging out of a long-standing desire to write for the sake of writing.  It never occurred to me to write a snarky blog, a secret blog, or a sex blog.  No, I was (and am) 100% attention whore.  I sent an email to my nearest and dearest announcing my "arrival" on the blogging scene. 

Midnight Riders

Giggling, and yelling among loudly whispered reminders of how close to midnight it was getting, we zipped around suburbia on long skateboards.  Freak and I decided that $150 for one of these puppies would be an investment worth considering.  Especially if RoboSushi makes us one of his awesome custom rides.   Yeah, I've totally got the lingo down and everything.  RoboSushi and Golden Marionette and our new bestest-friends-ever SkaterGrrl and Her Boi (and the fact that their parents have the coolest house ever has NOTHING to do with how much we love them.  NOTHING at all.) gave us exactly what we needed tonight: FUN. 

We needed it because Freak FINALLY finished his project, and I needed an evening to forget about the three killer cases I'm working right now, 2 articles due for a Freelance project, several short articles due for the magazine I write for, bunches o' basement stuff to finish, and a partridge in a pear tree.  Oh wait, that's a different list.  Everything else though.  But, I NEED PEOPLE.  And my own company, has been a bit oppressive lately.  Last night, we got out for a work-function to watch a minor league ball game in a luxury suite (which basically means--really high up with free beer. I was all picturing leather chairs and massages and stuff.  Not so much.) and I met some really cool people and had total baby lust for all the cute families there. 

But, today, the stress of DEADLINES and the AGONY of not-getting-anything-done-because-of the STRESS circle of doom NEEDED to be broken.  Thank god, Marionette broke my whole nap-and-bitch-nap-and-whine-nap-and-eat-crap regimen, because it was getting pretty taxing.  So, a gourmet dinner and two plates chocolate covered strawberries, and four hours of conversation later, and lots of wine (none for this grrl, diabetes monster is a teetotaler), we found ourselves on skateboards.  And, as Freak says, I need to follow my impulses more often.  Hey! We almost went skinny dipping, but Marionette had to be all sensible! Next time, I'm totally going for it. 

Have I mentioned how much I LOVE our life here, now?  How even when bad eating leads to bad blood sugar leads to the world ending (AGAIN), the sun opens up and I remember what an AWESOME place I am at now? And how, the universe IS sending me what I asked for, and sending me AMAZING people, and the FAITH to believe myself good enough for these blessings (cause gosh darn it, I'm good enough! I'm smart enough! And people love me!). 

Fear of falling once kept me from learning to roller-blade, kept me from jumping when I yearned to give in to my wild and crazy side.  But, now, not only am I totally in love with my rockin' skater dude husband (who looks damn hot on the board), but I'm going for it.  Next up, surfing.  And I'm totally going to catch a ride.

Rodeo Woman

It turns out that I am a redneck woman living in hippy disguise.  On Friday night, I got all gussied up in a new denim sundress, shaved my legs, put on lipstick, and went out with my husband (who does sinful things to a pair of jeans, even if his belt buckle is . . . a tad small . . .) to a rodeo.  And had fun.  Lots of fun.  I'll pause while you pick yourself off the floor. 

I grew up in a town with a Fourth of July Rodeo, too.  Not like this rodeo, though.  The St. Paul Rodeo in Oregon is pretty darn special.  So special that the entire town seems to have built up around it, until you are no longer sure which supports the other.  Land sales take into consideration the 4-day a year revenue from parking, and proximity to the fireworks.  The town sign declares Rodeo first, with population as an afterthought.  And, if that wasn't enough, the arena IS the center of town.  The ENTIRE center of town.

Go, Doggies!

How many black lab mutt puppies does it take to pull a golf cart?  I don’t believe I ever asked myself this question, but I found out the answer the other day.  I took Caylis for a playdate with Goldenmarionette and Robosushi’s dog, who like Caylis is a large black lab humane society special mix, who’s about her age too.  They even look alike. 

The goldenmarionette is the princess of a retirement community here in Salem, and this was my first time visiting them at the community.  She’s the princess because her and Robosushi are the only under 30 people of the hundred or more who live there.  Heck, they are the only under 55 people there too.  The retirement community is Robosushi’s family business, and Goldenmarionette gets to share dinners, and a pool, as well as an awesome green space with many, many adopted grandparents. 

So, we took the dogs out onto the large, park like greenspace and let them loose.  Robosushi was showing off the amazing landscaping job he has done with the area, and all was well until the sky open up.  This wasn’t the usual misty northwest rain that barely invites an umbrella.  No, this was a torrential and downpour.

And like, me, Goldenmarionette melts.  So, we sought refuge in the nearby greenhouse.  A good half hour of planting and conversation, and doggies drinking out of the plant water buckets, and it was clear the rain was not going away.

So Robosushi had the grand idea of fetching his grandfather’s golf cart, which was stashed nearby, to ferry us back to their unit. So Robosushi makes a mad dash for the cart, and Goldenmarionette and I round up the puppies.  The three of us squeeze into the front seat (thank god for my weight loss efforts or this could have been ugly), and a puppy flanks us on each side.  There was no way that they were going to fit in, and Robosushi goes at slow speed while they trot along beside us, happy as wet little clams.

All of a sudden, Robosushi notices how long it has been since the cart has been charged.  “On Caylis! On Leelu!” we chant, urging them onward as they help the paltry charge carry us back around several culdesacks to their units. 

The puppies were drenched and surprisingly wound up after their run.  Goldenmarionette and mine’s only regret?  Not having a picture of the three of us, squashed into a golf cart being pulled by the puppies. 

Will of Wavybrains

Perhaps it is the Terri Schavio case.  Perhaps it is change in medications that's playing havoc with me right now. Perhaps it is the simple notion of getting older.  Or perhaps, and most likely, it is Connie Mae Fowler, and her uncanny ability to make the unpalatable parts of life slide down like sweet tea, coaxing away of the ugliness of something bitter like death, until dwelling on the morbid becomes as natural as dinner.  Each of  Fowler's books leaves me introspective, questioning my life, and seeking the same meaning in my life that resonates in every sentence of her books.  And so, after finishing The Problem with Murmur Lee, I've decided to follow Murmur Lee's example and write my will.  Even though I intend to be around a good while longer (and so did Murmur Lee), and what I write now will be irrelevant at the time, I'm still glad I drafted a will.  A first for me.

(And it was such an eye-opening exercise, that I hope to post more on it soon. The mere thought of what if? is very terrifying and freeing at the same time)

Trick or Treating with the Back-up Friends Gang

Everyone has back-up friends. We don’t admit to it, of course. We love all our friends equally, and would love to spend more time with all of them if only we had more time. Let’s do lunch sometime. I’ll call you.  No really.  I’ll call you.  And we do call.  When we’re bored, when none of our “A” list is free, when we need a favor or advice.  But, we don’t think of it as being users, we’re just busy. 

And we do this to relatives too.  It’s just a symptom of our modern, overscheduled lives, we love everyone, and we mean to do more, to call more often, to remember birthdays and holidays.  We’re not insensitive, we’re just busy.

Run, Run, the Queen of TMI is coming!

It occurs to me out of the blue: Am I one of the people that you hate? Am I one of the obnoxious ones whose entry into a room makes you groan? Am I one of the people who doesn’t seem to know when to shut up? Have I become a queen of TMI? Do I commit the cardinal sin of assuming that my life is interesting? Do I use our common interests to give me free license to subject you to my life?

Or

Am I a refreshing open book? Am I an uncensored glimpse into another life? Is my candor endearing? My optimism infectious? Do you enjoy my little stories? Am I as funny to you as I am to me?

Pampered Chef for the Realist's Soul

In another lifetime, I had a kitchen full of gadgets. Scientist brought with him a treasure trove of goodies—stainless steel pans, knives, spatulas, cookie sheets, and soon our rather empty cupboards were bursting. So after a year or so of making do with two skillets and the bare necessities, I’ve fallen back in love with cooking. I’ve also made some amount of peace with my dietary restrictions, and I’m unleashing my creativity to create gluten-free, sugar-free, healthy goodies I can eat. But of course, once you start cooking, you always end up discovering more gadgets you think you need.

Closing the Door

Sometimes the universe gives us situations out of the blue to offer unexpected clarity in another situation. About two months ago, I discovered my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend’s blog, and I felt a strong connection to her. I wanted to talk with her, share ideas, and possibly even be her friend. After all, it seemed that we had both been through very similar things—married young, divorced because we were too young and grew apart, like art, were liberal, and so on. So I took a risk, and I sent her a rather lengthy email introducing myself, explaining how much we had in common.

Confessions of a Former Praise Junkie

Confessions of a Former Praise Junkie
Freak and I spent most of six plus hours driving on Saturday talking about the nature of friendship. Seeing as how I've been very focused on finding more community, more people to share with, more close friends, it seems natural to turn my critical on this desire of mine. It's not really enough to say "I want more friends" without digging deeper into why you want more friends, and why you feel that way.

I'm reading to Freak out loud from my private, paper journal, trying to make sense of an epiphany I had Friday morning, trying to sort out the jumble of thoughts going through my head, like fence posts on the endless fields between here and Portland.

Also, given that no one person can be your "everything," it makes sense to think of types of friends I want, knowing that someone could fit into more than one category, rather than just looking for "friends." So what do I want? I want:

---Female shopping friend(s) to go bargain shopping with, to spend the afternoon window shopping
---Foodie friend(s) to cook with, to go to ethnic grocery stores with, to share recipes with
---Chick flick movie friend(s) to go see "girl" movies, watch friends and sex in the city
---walking/hiking/exercise buddies
---Travel friend(s) to take road trips with
---Lunch friends
---Potluck friend(s)-this last category is perhaps the broadest as well as being my deepest long term desire. I want groups of families who come over, hang out, talk politics and life, kids running around, playing board games, maybe someone breaks out a guitar or some music. I want community.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Freak and I have been discussing respect all evening. Its interesting how differently we grew up. Freak had to earn respect, from his grandparents, from his brothers, from his superiors in the military. My family didn’t really operate like that, and neither have any of my relationships. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that respect has played a very limited, if any, role in my life up until recently.

Cuddle Party

Ok so I'm like apparently one of the few who thinks this is a really really really cool idea. In fact I think its one of the best ideas I've heard about in a long time:

www.cuddleparty.com

Plenty of bloggers are panning this--but I think it's really cool, and can't wait for this trend to hit Portland. Even Freak thinks its cool. Its kind of the spirit of polyamory with the innocence of summer camp, and limits that seem comfortable for a wide range of people. Perfect.

I want to have a cuddle party :) I want a big puppy pile of people in pajamas in my living room . . .

You are Loved

Quote of the day: Don't give me a rhetorical answer to my rhetorical question! My mother reminded me tonight, "remember you are loved." It is such a simple thing, but so incredibly easy to forget when you are feeling off. (Or like in my case when whatever drug interaction checklist the pharmacist uses isn't quite precise enough). I get so hung up on avoiding failure, on making the "right" decisions, on figuring out the "right" answers that I forget to stop and notice all the love around me.

And I am loved. And so incredibly blessed by it. From the wireboy whose made his way back into my circle of friends after a long journey, to my friend the marxist, to other old friends, to the people in my yoga class, and even at work. And of course by poor Freak who has to suffer through these abrupt mood swings, and medication induced weepiness along with me. I've been working on a number of mental commitment cases at work. I notice one similarity among all of the cases I have handled thus far--the tendency of the truly mentally ill to push away those in the best position to help them.

While an inability to recognize love is a far cry from delusions and paranoia, it is a problem that impacts our mental health and our ability to relate to those around us. I just finished Jonathan Franzen's "The Corrections" and one by one each of the adult children realizes that their father, a rather difficult man, loves them. This realization sets them free to be who they really are.

All this worry that has occupied me most of my adult waking hours prevents me from seeing the love, and prevents me from letting my true self out in a similar way. In my search for what is "right", I overlook what is right here. I overlook the happiness that pervades my everyday life--my cats, my Freak and the sweet way he lets me be whoever I want to be, my house that I can paint whatever color I want (including my soon-to-be pink office), the job that I love. I'm happy and I'm so unused to the sensation, I keep searching for the crisis.

My challenge as Freak so ably points out is to find a way to live with all this abundance of happiness without inventing crises. Which I'm very talented at doing. But these crises distract me from the love around me so that I can go right back to worrying about what is "right." And isn't much better to be loved than to be right?

Confronting the Past

I've been thinking a lot lately about why people are reluctant to confront the past. I think a lot of times, we are unwilling to let go of the mythic importance we have built certain events into, i.e. high school, first dates, bad experiences. We don't want to confront the past head on, because we risk having that vision of the past disrupted--and in the process how we see ourselves is threatened. For example, I have an old friend who is so invested in seeing a certain version of our relationship that it prevents us from having any sort of relationship now, which is very sad. We use our past as a fortress to prevent getting hurt.