Amongst The Waves

If not for love I would be drowning
I’ve seen it work both ways, but I am up

Riding high amongst the waves

We arrived in Austin on October 22, 2011. Our new hometown greeted us with warm weather and a tiny 1200 SQFT apartment. The months that followed were filled with emotional stress, for my husband in a new job he didn’t love; for me alone in an apartment complex made up of 99% East Indian and Pakistani families who didn’t openly welcome us; and for our children who left the only home they had ever known. We knew—Tim and I—that we had made the right choice, but we also knew that we’d made an enormous change, and it showed.

The kids’ new school is fantastic, the weather is great—everyone says “wait until Summer” but I’m fine trading that for what we had in Seattle. Tim’s job is getting better, he’s done some traveling, which is sometimes good, and sometimes not. I have joined the Y, met some people, am taking care of my health issues, and we finally sold our house in Seattle so we can start looking for houses here in Austin.

The best news is that our kids feel at home. Our older son raged that Texas would never be his home—Seattle was his home. Now, in his free time, he does dioramas of Texas landscapes and reads about the wide variety of wildlife and habitats across this huge state. Our younger son is playing baseball, taking afterschool science classes and loves the mild weather.

Our family’s turning point came as we visited San Antonio last week for Spring Break. It was our first vacation since moving here. I had to hire a cat sitter for the first time in a decade; we’d always relied on our beloved Seattle neighbors. We enjoyed each other, we relaxed. We ate dinner at a pub one night and Tim taught the boys how to play pool. We walked along the Riverwalk and took a boat tour. We saw The Alamo. We went to Sea World and fed the dolphins and watched the Orca whales put on a spectacular show. We basked in the joy of our children and each other.

Our older son, who declared two months ago: “I’m not going to camp this summer. I’m just going to stay in my room all day,” decided to do overnight camp at Sea World plus two science day camps. Our younger son, who had mimicked his brother, has now signed up for an intense soccer camp and is begging me to find flag football and basketball camps as well. They are happy.

And that is what we want, for them to be happy, for us to be happy. And sometimes happiness takes time to settle. Like the ocean it can be rough and tumble and it can be smooth and clear blue and beautiful.

Riding high amongst the waves
I can feel like I
Have a soul that has been saved
I can see the light
Coming through the clouds in rays

I gotta say it now
Better loud
than too late

(Pearl Jam/Backspacer 2009)

Amongst The Waves

If not for love I would be drowning
I’ve seen it work both ways, but I am up

Riding high amongst the waves

We arrived in Austin on October 22^nd, 2011. Our new hometown greeted us with warm weather and a tiny 1200 SQFT apartment. The months that followed were filled with emotional stress, for my husband in a new job he didn’t love; for me alone in an apartment complex made up of 99% East Indian and Pakistani families who didn’t openly welcome us; and for our children who left the only home they had ever known. We knew—Tim and I—that we had made the right choice, but we also knew that we’d made an enormous change, and it showed.

The kids’ new school is fantastic, the weather is great—everyone says “wait until Summer” but I’m fine trading that for what we had in Seattle. Tim’s job is getting better, he’s done some traveling, which is sometimes good, and sometimes not. I have joined the Y, met some people, am taking care of my health issues, and we finally sold our house in Seattle so we can start looking for houses here in Austin.

The best news is that our kids feel at home. Our older son raged that Texas would never be his home—Seattle was his home. Now, in his free time, he does dioramas of Texas landscapes and reads about the wide variety of wildlife and habitats across this huge state. Our younger son is playing baseball, taking afterschool science classes and loves the mild weather.

Our family’s turning point came as we visited San Antonio last week for Spring Break. It was our first vacation since moving here. I had to hire a cat sitter for the first time in a decade; we’d always relied on our beloved Seattle neighbors. We enjoyed each other, we relaxed. We ate dinner at a pub one night and Tim taught the boys how to play pool. We walked along the Riverwalk and took a boat tour. We saw The Alamo. We went to Sea World and fed the dolphins and watched the Orca whales put on a spectacular show. We basked in the joy of our children and each other.

Our older son, who declared two months ago: “I’m not going to camp this summer. I’m just going to stay in my room all day,” decided to do overnight camp at Sea World plus two science day camps. Our younger son, who had mimicked his brother, has now signed up for an intense soccer camp and is begging me to find flag football and basketball camps as well. They are happy.

And that is what we want, for them to be happy, for us to be happy. And sometimes happiness takes time to settle. Like the ocean it can be rough and tumble and it can be smooth and clear blue and beautiful.

Riding high amongst the waves
I can feel like I
Have a soul that has been saved
I can see the light
Coming through the clouds in rays

I gotta say it now
Better loud
than too late

(Pearl Jam/Backspacer 2009)

 

Three More Days

Three more days
Girl you know I will be comin’ home to you, darling . . .

Woke up with Ray LaMontagne’s voice in my head. I miss my husband and son, Theo, who are somewhere between Cheyenne and Denver now, roadtripping their way to Austin, Texas our new hometown. And in three more days, I will coming home to you darlings. Lucas and I, the two cats, a giant suitcase and a backpack filled with every confidential document, piece of jewelry, and piggy bank item will board a plane Austin-bound. With a one-way ticket. The last time I bought a one-way ticket was in 1991 when I moved to Seattle, where I have made my home for over two decades.

The move was initially prompted by a search for a warmer climate. My health issues have become so overwhelming that I cannot live comfortably in Seattle. The cold, damp weather simply crushes me. Once Tim and I got on the same page–fodder for another blog post–we realized that our lust for travel and adventure could be combined with this move; he was also about to start a massive job hunt, and our older son would soon be ready for middle school. (Seattle schools are iffy at best right now, unfortunately for all of my dear friends with children enrolled in them.) The timing was perfect.

These last few weeks have been a surreal whirlwind of anxiety, exhaustion, excitement, panic, joy, sadness and amazement. Tim and I put our minds to moving the family to Austin in May of this year. And we made it so. I remember distinctly the moment, even though we hadn’t yet verbalized it. We were in an awful W Hotel in San Diego doing recon. Down to two cities of choice, we went to San Diego first. If you believe in signs, and I do, the first was that the day before we left, I got the flu. And I’m talking the knock-down drag-out flu. My older son had had it two weeks earlier and I was so proud of myself for having Purelled my way through his illness. Hah! I slept on the plane and shivered my way through our first night in the hotel in a Nyquil haze.

We spent our first day in San Diego doing our due diligence but, needless to say, my heart wasn’t in it. I could barely speak and my only sustenance was a Wendy’s Frosty (which by the way, was my first ever and kicks ass if you have a sore throat). The expense of living there, the feel of the place, the limited job opportunities, there were many factors–it just didn’t feel right. And the signs, oh the signs. We were parked next to the hotel room of a group of bachelor partiers. At 3 a.m. they decided it was Black Sabbath time. I could go on and on. Signs were everywhere.

But, back to “the moment.” It was after thirteen hours of drug and flu-induced sleep, waking up on Mother’s Day in the don’t-ever-stay-there-W-Hotel in San Diego as I heard my husband madly tap, tap tapping on his laptop. He was signing up for LinkedIn message boards and technology groups and reaching out to folks all in the name of Austin, Texas. Ya’ll.

One month later, coincidentally but fittingly, on Father’s Day weekend, we were in Austin. It was the beginning of the summer heat wave. It was hot. I’m not gonna lie. But, it also wasn’t so bad. Not humid. Light clothing. Take a good deep breath of A/C before exiting the hotel. By the end of the weekend, we were getting used to it. The feel of the city enveloped us like a blanket (a warm-ass blanket, but a blanket nonetheless). We felt like we were on a first date, “I could live here, what about you?” “I could live here.” And finally, we looked at each other, toasting with a Shiner and a margarita: “Here’s to our new hometown.” Friendly, manageable traffiic, great job opportunities, a fantastic school district within the city limits and affordable housing–we’re getting a pool dammit–awesome food, music to shake your moneymaker to, awesome food (did I mention), Amy’s ice cream, water everywhere–lakes and people out running, walking, playing with dogs, kayaking–like Seattle but with sun and warm weather. And bats, the largest colony of bats in a city, oh, just Google it. It’s amazing.

So, here I sit, in an Alki townhouse, with my sweet six year old asleep downstairs as we live out our last three days in Seattle. My hometown of over 20 years. I love you Seattle. Thank you friends, family, community, mountains, beach . . . I will miss you all.

Gonna bring it on home to you
Home to you home to you.

Our House

Our house is a very, very, very fine house,

With two cats in the yard,

Life used to be so hard,

Now everything is easy ‘cause of you.

Come to me now, and rest your head for just five minutes

Everything is done.

 

My oldest son is nine. Tall like a stalk of bamboo, smile as broad as can be. Bright, curious, sensitive, amazing, resilient, creative, intense—he amazes me. He wants to be a scientist, aide to the President, discover a new dinosaur. My younger son will be six in a few weeks. He’s a sweetheart; kind, gentle, incredibly aware for his age and hilarious. He wants to be a rock star, professional baseball player, fireman.  He made our little family complete. And when I look at them, I realize that they already have more security, strength, rock-solid parenting, nurturing, laughter, than my sister and I at their ages. They have lived in the same home, had the same room, the same parents, together. We are a team, solid, loving—they have a world to discover and a safe place to come home.

The other night I went in to cuddle with my younger son. My husband had been on story duty. I opened his door to a darkened room and he looked up at me from his loft bed. I was smiling. He said “Hi Mom. I love it when you smile like that.” My eyes brimmed. “Why’s that sweetie?” “Because it means you’re happy and I love it when you’re happy. I love you so much.” I climbed up onto his loft bed and held my little boy and took in his special smell and the curve of his body against mine and marveled at the fortune of my life.

My husband and I work at it. And it hasn’t always been easy. We’ve had our rough months, a rough year here and there. But, we’re so strong now it feels like we’re soaring. I’m aware that there are hills and valleys in life, but watching my children grow in to who they are—not who I think they should be—is more joyous than I’d ever imagined. Feeling the bond grow and strengthen and change between me and my husband, and then our family bond as an extension, is a happiness I’ve never before felt. I missed that growing up. But in our house, we’re giving that to our children, and they’re giving it to us. It’s a very very very fine house.

The New Normal

It’s been a rough year. What’s that you say? It’s January, we’re all starting fresh, you make a resolution, wake up on the 1st and life is different? Nope. It just doesn’t work that way. January 1st is just a day; the New Year can be ripe with opportunity for change and if your brain and psyche respond to the whole “resolution” thing, well, mazel tov and more power to you. Mine don’t.

What I am trying to wrap my head around is a “new normal.” My 2010 was full of health challenges, so much so that I’ve lost my exercise routine (a huge key to my sanity). I feel lost in other ways too. What’s next for me creatively? What are my priorities? Besides my family, kids, husband, I committed today to myself as my priority. My “new normal” is, thanks to the go-ahead of my knee surgeon; the strategic placement of some very strong steroids in my spine; recovery from the flu, a cold and a lot of anticipatory patience on my part, the taking back of my physical health and therefore getting my balance back. I don’t know what it will look like. I can’t predict life. I will have more flare-ups. As a good friend said to me “It’s nothing personal. Life just happens, you have been hit with one thing after another. Your knee, your back, the stomach flu, a miserable cold, but it’s not personal; it’s life.”

My new normal is just going to be my normal, I guess. No resolution can predict or dictate how it will be, what will cross my path. I just have to roll with it.

Puzzling

Earlier this week, our community was hit with a horrific and seemingly avoidable tragedy. Four small children lost their father. A young, vital, loving woman lost her husband, partner. I say “seemingly avoidable” because from where I sit, it appears as such. But what do I know? What do any of us know? No one is in your skin but you. And while I am removed enough to not know specifics, I am also close enough to know this impacts my children, their classmates, our family, our community. We are all close enough to feel deep pain, confusion, sorrow, even anger and to know we must now band together to support our friends. And we will.

My husband saw this news before I did and he called me. I was glad he did. I had a chance to begin to process it before my kids got home from school, to call a friend and cry, to reach out in my way. We decided to wait and let our older son hear it at school, with his peers. The news is only relevant to him and not his younger brother. Also, my mother and her husband arrived last night; the children were counting down the arrival with the oven timer, standing watch at the window. It was a joyous occasion in our home, hectic, exciting, not the time to raise the issue. I held it, thought about it, talked with my husband, felt it. And, I felt sad for the family, grateful for what I have, guilty for the relief, and many other things.  I still do, I still will. As it is with tragedy comes introspection, and often gratitude, appreciation, perspective.

“Don’t it always seem to go,

That you don’t know what you’ve got

Till it’s gone.”

It’s not just a song about parking lots.

Last night, after the grandparent activity, new microscopes with which to look at orange peels and pennies, new books to read, baths to be taken, I was fortunate enough to be chosen as story-reader by my youngest son. I had expected it to be Grandma, as did she and she was disappointed, but my kids know what they need. I read him stories, had special time with him, and found that he had a motive for choosing me. He’d had a bad dream the night before and needed to talk about it, needed reassurance. We boiled it down to the fact that there were no robbers in our house, the doors were locked, we were safe and he didn’t have to fear getting up for a drink of water. He dreamed he had done so and a robber intercepted him. He’d been scared but Daddy punched the robber in the nose, so that was good. Still, he had some lingering feelings.

At 3 a.m. last night, I awoke to hear very soft sobbing. It was my little one, my five year old. He wasn’t hysterical, just gently crying. I went in and asked what was wrong. “I just want a drink of water Momma and I can’t get up to get one.” He was still afraid. Of course, I got him some water and we talked about how he was safe in his own home. As I lay there with him, knowing I could go back to my own bed, not wanting the moments of comfort, for him — and as it turns out for me as well— to end, I realized how he completed our family in such a perfect way.

Something he said, something about the way he reached his little arm over me and looked in to my eyes just clicked for me. I’ve thought it before, I’ve felt it before, but last night was stronger, different. Of course, in part, I was raw from the news of earlier. And, as he grows in to himself, his personality, I continue to marvel at who he is. I love him so deeply, as I love my other son, but of course not the same because they are not the same. And I said to Lucas, “You know, before we had you, when Theo was a baby and it was just him and me and Daddy, we were like a puzzle with a missing piece. And then we had you and our puzzle was complete.” He smiled and kissed me. “I love you Momma.” And I just felt it, stronger than I’ve felt anything in a long time. This puzzle I have been trying to solve, these pieces I have been desperate to fit together. They are now one.

Give A Damn And Mean It

How many teenagers, gay or straight, need to commit suicide or be bullied to death for us wake the fuck up? I remember hearing about Matthew Shepard—twelve years ago—and weeping. I was mystified that his story was true. I think of him now and weep again. At the time, I was naive enough to think it would be an isolated incident. He was tortured and beaten to death for being brave enough to show the world who he was. We should all be so brave and not hide behind our bullshit “How are you?” “Oh, fine and you” interactions. We should all have the courage to be real. And we should be accepted for it. No matter what.

I don’t need to remind you that it is 2010. And still, we haven’t learned. Acceptance is fleeting, intolerance seeps through the pores of too many to counter those who give a damn. And giving a damn is not enough. We need to really fucking give a damn. We need to model acceptance and compassion and refuse to accept less. When someone makes a “cheap Jew” joke, I call bullshit. I don’t care if it makes them uncomfortable. It should. It is not OK and I won’t stand for it.

While this topic is particularly inflammatory with respect to gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender equality, it doesn’t stop there. Teenagers especially are at risk, but I see it already in my elementary school age children. Bullying comes in the form of what some erroneously term “harmless teasing” about athletic ability (lack thereof), academic achievement (since when is kicking ass at math and loving to read “bad?”), even glasses wearing. Really? A kid needs glasses and that merits ganging up on him and making him cry. Where the fuck are these kids learning that such behavior is OK?

I rarely pepper my posts with the f-bomb but frankly I am so angry that I cannot see straight. I wish I could find a more potent word to express how angry I am. I want to drop the f-atom bomb. I want an f-mushroom cloud to descend upon those who will not recognize that enough is fucking enough.

I am horrified when I hear about bullying of any kind. What is wrong with our nation, our communities when we cannot bear the thought of accepting people for who they are? Thin, not thin, white, black, rich, poor, athletic, academic, both. I was mercilessly teased in elementary school for being chubby. “Blubber” was the term of choice and I simply took it. Ashamed beyond belief, at a loss as to how to respond, I simply took it. A teacher finally stepped in and I remember her asking my teaser “How do you think it makes Jenny feel when you call her that?” It ended then, but the word echoed in my mind for years after and left a scar I still carry.

I was also teased for being white. I know, poor little white girl, not such a sob story, but it’s true. I was the only white girl in my homeroom and was called “honky” every day throughout junior high. Finally, the matriarch of our class, Adrienne, took the offender aside and said “Yo, Kevin, you leave Jenny alone, she white but she’s cooler than all of ya’ll.” I felt the farthest thing from cool in my OshKosh overalls, chubbiness, good grades and hippie hair, but Adrienne vouched for me, and to her credit, she saw past my exterior to who I was. I still got called “honky” but it didn’t hurt quite as much.  

I know we all have our stories. Rare is the person who did not feel awkward at some point growing up, especially in junior high school. My way around it was to be stoned most of the time, not a strategy I’d recommend. I wish I had been able to talk to my parents, to be honest with my friends about who I was and how I felt. And to celebrate my incredible strengths. Finally, I did. And I believe we must pave the way for all children to do the same: To celebrate their strengths.

My mother, for all of her faults, is an amazing educator and gets how different kids best learn. I eventually transferred to a private school made up of brilliant, creative, academically excellent teachers and students who were all, in many ways, alternative. We were celebrated and appreciated for our special gifts while still learning our ABCs and 123s, paving the way to whatever future we wanted whether it was college, grad school, music, filmmaking, writing, sales, IT, marketing, you name it. What we learned was that we were valued for who we were, no matter what. And that is what we need to teach and preach and practice.

None of what happened to me compares to the persecution of these young people in recent news. We must all start treating each other with respect and compassion. All the time. We must teach this to our children. Now. Treat people the way you want to be treated. Smile at the guy slicing your deli meat. Treat him with respect. Do you like getting flipped off and yelled at in traffic? No? Then don’t do it to me. Do you like being cut in front of in line? Then pay attention to those around you and respect the process. Don’t sneer at your partner. Smile. Give a kiss, a hug. Love your children. Put your money where your vote is. Act up. Vote for equal rights. Be pissed off when they’re not granted. Get angry. Start giving a damn and acting like it. Stop assuming someone else will do it for you. And open your heart to those who might need an ear. Not one more Matthew Shepard or Tyler Clementi. Not one more.