Notes from Seattle

I feel like something that has been asleep for a long time is waking up, like a dead limb. The moon is closing over this weekend, which seems fitting. The city smells like snow and pastries, jazz musicians on the corners with men in black beanie hats clutching cups of coffee watching them play. I'm monochromatic with blonde hair, gold earrings, tawny coat, and the hobos bow to me when I clip by as if they know I am their librarian champion. The conference freebies astonish me, and my shoulders are bruised from the 60 pounds of books I lugged into the post office. Liberated from the display floors, I flee into the heart of downtown Seattle, spreading across the couches in Anthropologie.

In the warm homes of my friends, I'm safe. I read bedtime stories to my friend's young son, wishing Gavin were on my lap as well. Looking out at the crisp mountains and seeing something very different than what I set out to see: everything.

quick trip to Bakersfield

Click to enlarge. And off to Seattle I go.

Shrubbery!




Burrito of Doom:




Sunrise over the Southwest Library:




Unexpectedly descriptive picture of me grappling with everything:




I get my own stairs, fancy


  Meet my new boyfriend, Joe:




The snow that shut down the mountain overpass. Oh no! Weather! Close the roads.

Consulting the universe

For every transition, opportunity, or significant event, it helps to quiet yourself and listen to the forces at large. Gather whatever small clues you can and interpret them like a fortune teller (a very self-fulfilling activity). For me, this is baking cookies. The process is as important as the end result. When we moved into the doomed Pink House, I blessed the kitchen with peanut butter cookies, but they were lacking a fundamental ingredient and fell apart in my hands - just as my home and marriage did. Proof of cookie genius! So today I grabbed the last chocolate orange from Christmas and melted it down with butter to read the future. The sugar took longer to dissolve than usual, which I take as one of my signs; with extra focus, steadiness, patience, and a little heat, everything smooths out. I chilled the batter, rolled the balls in confectioner's sugar, and fed my good fortune to a happy family.

Cookies of Converging Pathways:



Things are going to be delicious.

Going to California

Po has been under quarantine until her surgery on Wednesday. I let her out for some supervised exercise yesterday morning, and she waited until Gavin and I had gotten our boots stuck in the mud, then ran into the bushes. Hercules came out to help me look for her, climbing up the backs of my legs and dangling from my butt by his claws while I paced the yard. Finally I decided to lure her back to the house with food, and my mother ended up getting her after finding me in the kitchen eating mini quiches (cat's natural prey).

We attended the grand opening of the new bookmobile. The Chinese lion was getting tired of dancing by the time we arrived, but Gavin found the courage to approach the bobbing, panting creature and ram a dollar down its throat. When the sweating children beneath the costume limped back into the shade, a Hawaiian priest flicked water at the bookmobile in blessing, then, in an act of thorough dedication, had them cut the ribbon and went inside to bless the books, which made all the librarians in the audience bite their knuckles. As the crowd bunched into the bookmobile, we found ourselves in the awkward position of being the only people standing around on the lawn with children, and the library had been very proud to round up a local celebrity for storytime.
 

This guy.

Wally, maker of Famous Amos cookies

 

So we had to stay and listen. He was very enthusiastic (and his cookies are great), but Wally isn't a very good orator. My mom and I wanted to yank away his books and read them our way, while the other adults applauded every time he winked at them. I'm going to start bribing my audience with cookies, too.

Tomorrow

I'm going to be gone for a week.  First, Bakersfield, California, to see how it feels and maybe sign some paperwork. Returning Wednesday, I hug my baby for one night and then hop back on a plane to Seattle. My RMC friends are going to take me in and show me around, so I'm not alone at some hotel bar crying into my beer. I will be able to talk with my fellow mothers, sleep with snakes in the guest room, and go to the conference in my wookie coat. Also claim my free cat calendar at booth #1221.

how to clean a castle

133

Alone time with the kiddo

Gavin, upside down on the couch, watched me looking through a stack of CDs while Freddie Mercury offered to sail across the sea with me.
"Mom, why you putting on music and music and music and music?"
"Because I LIKE all this music."
"You should just listen to one song."
"No way, I'm having fun singing along."
"Fine. [said archly, causing me to look up in suspicion] I sing too... JINGLEBELLS JINGLEBELLS JINGLEBELLS JINGLEBELLS!"
"Nooooooo! Not with the Jingle Bells again!"
"MWAHAHAHA!"

Several minutes later...

"Smash, 'oh nooo!' Die. Fall. Hurt. Uh oh, what's happening here? It's a big mess! Wook, mom."
"Oh no! The pirates trashed the castle! What's that crane doing in the middle of it?"
"He going to clean up."
A moment later...
"Mom, wook! It's all cleaned up!"
"Wow, I'm amazed, look at that! You actually cleaned it! ...Wait a second, where did everything go?"
"In the dungeon!"
[reveals carefully packed dungeon, loaded to ceiling with pirate corpses and weaponry]
"Is that how you're going to clean your room when you're bigger?"
"Yep!"
"Too bad you'll be sleeping with me until you go to college, then."

Bad enough with my own closet piled with corpses.

NYE 2007

On the menu for 2007: run away to the desert to find my place in the world and get over heartbreak with the help of friends - with hope in my heart, a beautiful child, and tall stompy boots.



New Year's Eve at Aloha Tower

Gavin says, "Ha ha I made a face for the picture! Vroom vroom."



The boys hold down the table in the food court against the hordes of chair-nabbers:



Sparklers in the parking lot.

 

I think I've got something in my teeth

A red bow on the steering wheel and a blare of music told me that the Christmas elves had fixed my car speakers. They forgot to re-attach the insides of the passenger door handle, creating a handy little death trap. I drove to work with the radio drowning out my singing without all the usual pops and rattles. Dangerous, listening to music while the world is still tender around me and I haven't callused up for the day yet. The wrong song will shoot right through my chest.

Last night Gavin and I sat on stone stairs on the Boyscouts headquarters terrace while our RSCDS folks danced and laughed. I wrapped a blanket around Gavin's shoulders and we pointed at stars, watched small toads hop in the grass, and discussed what the world would look like if bugs could build houses. He held my finger and walked along the low stone wall. Small things, but really nice.

In other news, I have officially changed back to my former identity. I've got my name back.

Holiday 2006

Chrismas! Gavin tiptoed downstairs in the dark, lit the tree, and dove into his loot. He doled out gifts, successfully reading his name on the labels, and tore open more Cars merchandise than I thought should exist. I stomped around in my new boots ("they're like hooves!"), Mike ate cockroach clusters, and my mom took up her usual position on the couch to peer through reading glasses at her new electronics.


Gavin instucts cat on proper use of cardboard catnip scratcher:

I embark on my first monumental parent assembly job: a PlayMobil castle. Impossible to achieve without monkey toe socks:

An hour later... success! Gavin says "meh":

Singing the doom song:

Me shamelessly posing with new earrings and cashmere sweater:




Highlights of weekend:

Gavin ripping open present, seeing the Cars logo, and exclaiming, "Oh no! Not another one!"

Texting Mike to nag him about groceries and hearing "Heartbreaker" wail from the table where he forgot his phone. Guess he changed my ringtone. Asshole.

Discovering that Santa had stuffed smoked oysters and beef jerky in my stocking. Looked fruitlessly for stinky cheese and crusty bread to complete meal, but it was a good start.

4 words: pink. rubber. cowboy. boots.

Caught with bottle opener, I suffer humiliation over twist-top bottles.

Rock-n-roll fruitcake, ready to pull our eyeballs out of our heads.

Drunk neighbors take break from smashing furniture to warble carols in the parking lot, I am about to go outside and throw salted nuts at them.

"Wow, this dead meat air freshener is the worst present I have ever gotten. Thanks." You're welcome.

The oven caught fire when the meat pie and sausage-apple dish bubbled over.

Gavin with toy soldiers on edge of castle, yelling, "I wave my private parts at your auntie!"

Squeez 'n' bites

I've gotten hold of some lychee jelly candies. The "mouthful of death", my favorite.

The Christmas tree has been slowly filling up with gifts, and they finally spilled into the living room like candy-colored entrails. I sat with the tree lights on at 5:00am, eating baked Lays with the cat. Xebo finally rolled off my lap, went outside, threw up, and climbed back on to lick the salt off my chest. That is the kind of holiday weekend it's going to be. I haven't been sleeping. On the table is a manila envelope containing final processed divorced papers; I am free to reclaim my former name and go wherever the breeze may carry me. And it is carrying me to Bakersfield, I guess.

Doing my best Leonard Nimoy hobbit dance in new travel gear:

that road keeps on calling me

Gavin and I wrapped a present for his teacher this morning. I held the paper while he cut, handed him tape while he fastened, peeled the paper from a bow and he stuck it on. He signed "G" on the label. "He's the 'Big G'!" I said to my mom, holding it up for admiration while he put his hands on his hips and grinned.  He's awesome. Of course, I still watch his hands closely when he does anything artsy, looking for future promise, wondering if he'll succeed where I fell short. His scribbles look the same as all his classmates' on the wall, with only one big difference that gives me hope; in a sea of staring blank holes, his figures are the only ones with pupils.

Yesterday I narrowly avoided broadsiding a parked car when I rounded the corner and saw all the new firemen at the training station lined up in uniform and marching down the courtyard. Today I anticipated this and slowed to a crawl to see what they were doing, but was again disappointed to see that they had not set fire to anything. I have been waiting an entire year to see that training center set on fire like the "LIVE FIRE TRAINING!" sign promises. Perhaps they are referring to the firemen being alive while trained. Or they are training the fire to not burn down stuff. My lunch companion (Mr. Squashy) and I had squinted up at the building and spotted what appeared to be a hammock at the top. Hmm. Firemen are mysterious.