Having A Party

Last week after school drop-off I came upon seven deer in someone’s front yard. It is common to see a deer or two near school, but this was a large group. I pulled over and sipped on my still hot coffee watching them prance and stumble, their knees and ankles like the turned-in legs of an awkward yet elegant giraffe. As they grazed, they moved from yard to yard. I followed. They had purpose, and beckoned. We made our way to a small side street than can best be described as a loop. Not a cul-de-sac but a crest, a half circle and you’d only find it you lived there or took a wrong turn. I inched along and soon we were twelve. I was in awe.

They stopped in each yard to munch, leap a few times, groom, look up at me to make sure I was playing along, and then move on. Finally, we came to the circle’s crest, a large yard joining two homes with trees, a thicket and a clearing. There was the party. There were at least twenty-five deer, three bucks, does, fawns, all just being deer. One buck thrust his antlers at a low-hanging branch and when it fell two nearby fawns began munching on the green buds. A few does groomed each other, the other bucks sparred nearby, practicing. Fawns pranced and grazed and seemed almost to dance in the sunlight and shade and freedom. My presence and that of others, dog-walkers, a few passing cars were of no consequence. They were in the moment. And so, therefore, was I. So much so that, despite my earlier attempts to take pictures, it didn’t occur to me to snap one of this amazing site. Over twenty deer in one small clearing. Having a party. As my son Lucas said “Mom, it’s like you found their ‘private time.’”

Since that day, I have returned every day to see “my deer.” The boys and I leave for school a few minutes early. I return, walking with them, standing very still and once or twice a doe has come within a few feet of me. Just looking, smelling, wondering. I have yet to see them in such numbers as I did that day, but I see groups of seven, nine, five. They add up. That day though, that was magic.

Those deer, “my deer,” came along when I needed them, as things in life do. I was coming off a rough week nursing illness, myself and a child. Then, my husband left for a long overseas trip. I knew that while he was gone, I would need to practice extreme self-care. I’d need to be sure to get enough rest, to exercise but not too much, to listen to my body, my mind, my heart. When I see the deer, watch them live, walk with them, I am still, I can breathe and be in the moment. I can have private time. And maybe even a little party.

We’re having a party,
dancing to the music
played by the D.J.
on the
radio . . .

So, Mister, Mr.
D.J.
keep those records playing
coz I’m having
such a good time,
dancing with my baby

What A Wonderful World

Here I sit in my new home. Finally, we are here. We are home. Ten months in an apartment, a limbo of disparate cultures. Not Seattle, yet not quite Austin. And yet, we did our best to assimilate to the city. And we were happy, grew to love this city, the beautiful weather, sunshine, blue skies, friendly people, our new life.

And now, our life is beyond compare. A friend who knows of such things said “Rarely do I see a family relocate where every member loves it. Flat out.” And yet that is our family now. We are all happy, so very happy. Theo has said, “I love Austin Mom. This our home now. And, by the way, I’ve never slept better.” Somehow, that speaks to the depth of his security. He can let go completely at night. He falls into deep sleep the moment his head hits the pillow. He loves his dark room, a small cozy cave-like space he has made his own where he hangs out on his bed listening to Beethoven and reading Hemingway, my amazing ten year old fifth grader.

Lucas has a giant room to accomodate his big, open self. He plays “air” drums along to Bruce Springsteen. He begs to go the neighbors every five minutes, and when he gets there, I’m told, simply asks to walk their dog. Or, joins them on hikes. We have the most amazing neighbors, they are not just neighbors, they will be lifelong friends. A family across the street with two boys, another up the block with another boy and new baby girl. And parents of like mind. Tim and I have friends, the boys do, we belong. We are home.

I see skies of blue . . . clouds of white
Bright blessed days . . . dark sacred nights
And I think to myself . . . what a wonderful world.

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.