Occupied: Many voices, many messages, one main point

Posted on October 3, 2011 by 8junebugs

Raised FistOccupy Wall Street started in New York City on September 17. The protest continues today – in an increasing number of US cities — in spite of hundreds of arrests (Thousands? I’m starting to lose count.) and widespread accounts of…let’s call it “inappropriate police response.” For now.

“We are the 99%,” the occupiers say, and their demands are legion, leading mainstream newscasters and professional activists to criticize them for lacking one cohesive message.

A cohesive message, you might learn in a graduate communications degree program (maybe) is critical to the success of a campaign.

If you’re a lobbyist. A paid lobbyist.

These aren’t lobbyists or professional communicators. These are the nation’s un- and under-employed. These are our kids and our parents, and now our teachers, our autoworkers, our nurses, and the people who run our trains and buses.

They bought into the version of the American dream we’ve been sold for the last 30 years and they’ve got nothing to show for it. Or they were raised on it, post-Reagan, and followed all the rules, only to get locked out of the “dream” before they even got started because an unsustainable system finally broke down. They — we — continue to be sold out by a socioeconomic class that supports trickle-down economics knowing that nothing much ever trickles down. And our government, always in campaign mode, listens to that socioeconomic class.

These protesters are our neighbors.

And they have nothing — or nothing else — to lose.

To me, this is their most important message. These are smart, organized, well-meaning Americans who can focus their energies on this protest, many of whom have no better occupation or idea in which to put their faith and their talent. They hold advanced degrees and technical certifications. They “did it right,” and they’re still facing a lifetime of college debt and credit card debt  and medical debt…more debt than they can see past and little hope of relief. They’re our neighbors, our fellow Americans, and they can’t think about saving for retirement — they’re too busy trying to make rent.

Instead of gaining a little more to lose with every generation, we’ve got millions of middle- and working-class Americans winding up with less than they need, to say nothing of what they want. And 1% of Americans control more than 40% of the nation’s wealth.

This is our nation’s Reaganomics legacy: A multi-generational mass of citizens with nothing to lose.

***

Right now, I have a good job. I save religiously and manage debt and risk pretty well. I am temporarily able-bodied, healthy, and strong. I have and make choices — yes to dental insurance, no to medical for now; yes to BART budgeting, no to a new car payment; yes to some new clothes, not yet to new shoes.

I’ve been fortunate for a while now.

But even well-managed debt looms darkly over the rest of our lives; together, our educational debt is roughly double my brother’s upstate New York mortgage…and we each got one of our degrees for free (or near enough). We’ll spend our working years paying interest on the promise a future that only about halfway materialized, and we’ll scramble to keep that “halfway” — without it, we’re sunk. We’re only about 1.5 emergencies away from needing a social safety net that is fraying more and more every day, a safety net that will disintegrate entirely right about the time we may need it most. We’re fortunate and we’re okay for now, and we’re still part of the 99%.

Whether they’re wearing ratty tank tops and docs or khakis and polos, whether they’re on sabbatical or have no job to go to, these protesters are me.

Are they you?

Filed under: A life less ordinary, All the livelong day, Internets, NIMBY no more, Pop goes the culture | Leave a Comment »

Breakfast, revisited

Posted on September 19, 2011 by 8junebugs

It’s been almost two years since I made Breakfast Pies and swore that I would be adding them to my “Cook a bunch on Sunday and eat for the rest of the week” routine. Yesterday, I made them again for the second time. Twice in nearly as many years! This may be a personal procrastination record.

But I need to wean myself off my (multigrain-)waffles-with-peanut-butter habit and get back to the Second Breakfast model that served me so well during my last running phase. Breakfast 1: Le smoothie (which I’ve decided gets the male pronoun because of the frightful amount of spinach in it. As with most other nouns, I cannot explain why French spinach is male.). Please don’t assign any particular vegetarian virtue to the amount of spinach in my smoothie — you can disguise the taste and color of nearly any amount of spinach with a handful of frozen blueberries and a squirt of honey.

Breakfast 2: Oatmeal. Booooring.

Enter the Breakfast Pies. Or, Breakfast Cups. (Or, “Breakfast Yum-Yums,” if, instead of a Pie/Cup, you get a buttermilk biscuit with meat and cheese pressed into it.) (Which looks like a Pie. Whatevs.)

Looking back, that Breakfast Pie recipe seems ever so much more complicated than it needs to be. Here’s the quick version:

  • Buy a roll of pre-made buttermilk biscuits.
  • Gather together stuff that sounds like it’d be good with a biscuit. Bell peppers, sweet italian chicken sausage, minced onion, shrimp, mushrooms, pepperoni, leftover chicken…the world is your oyster! (Hmmm, oysters…?) If you’re trying to balance the fact that you’re shoving it all into a buttermilk biscuit, stick to lean protein and veggies.
  • Chop and brown/saute whatever you’ve selected. Set aside to cool.
  • Press each biscuit into a muffin pan and spread the dough up the sides to create the cup. If you have 8 biscuits in the roll and only 6 muffin cups (curse that fancy silicone pan!), generously decide to split the biscuits evenly with your partner, because 4 and 4* on the counter looks less stingy than 6 and 2, even though you’re pretty sure that screws with your “Eat for the rest of the week” plan. (Note to self: Buy more biscuits.)
  • Spoon your mixture evenly into the muffin cups…about 3/4 full.  (Got some leftover sautéed stuff? Who needs biscuits? NOMNOMNOM.)
  • Sprinkle a little shredded cheese on top of the mixture en biscuit.
  • Drizzle a little egg substitute (or basic omelet mix) over each. Even just a tablespoon or so will help hold all your sautéed stuff in.
  • Bake using biscuit directions + 2 minutes or until “egg” looks set.

For anyone worried that Buttermilk Biscuit = Diet Buster, these things net out somewhere between 250 and 300 calories each, depending on what you stuff into ‘em (1 biscuit from the Trader Joe’s roll is 190 calories). I’m pretty sure you could cut and reshape the pre-made biscuits and double the batch pretty easily, too — the biscuits are more substantial than they really need to be for this “recipe” — but I haven’t tried it yet.

Actually, I should do that next time. It’s only Monday, and I’m out of Breakfast Cups. Back to oatmeal…

(more…)

Filed under: A life less ordinary, Tastes Like Chicken, Waist Management | 2 Comments »

Roadrunner

Posted on September 13, 2011 by 8junebugs

Grape Stomp. In my head, this is pronounced GrapeSTOMP, Hulk-smash style.

5K. October 23. It’s on.

A new friend, living up to all reports of coolness from the mutual friend who introduced us, just gave me an actual training goal. Or: THIS WAS ALL HER IDEA. Which in no way invalidates the waivers I signed to register for the thing.

Archway composition w/ recycled bicycle parts #14. This run would go faster on a bike...

Jack London Square, 6:45 am

They don’t set 5Ks up on treadmills, apparently, so I’m changing my training. Instead of my usual Run Like an Arthritic Sloth Until Running Starts to Feel Normal “plan” (shut up, it totally worked last time) I’m pushing myself a little harder than last time and justifying it by already knowing that I can absolutely, without question, run for 30+ minutes without stopping.

I just, you know, need to go a bit faster now. I don’t need to be the first to cross the finish line (Graham assures me that most people who sign up for these things aren’t trying to win them), but I don’t want to be the last, either.

I’m still only running every other day, because science and my body agree that beating me up one day requires me to spend the next day letting my muscles repair themselves. And so far, even though I’m pushing harder (and am probably due for new shoes), I feel pretty freaking awesome.

Every other training session, I’m running outdoors instead of in, because running outdoors is wicked hard if you’re used to the treadmill. (I learned this last year, trying to run a mile or so with Boo…during a Vermont heatwave that didn’t make it any easier.) During the week, that means street/trail running in the early morning (hence the sculpture in the dawnlight up there). For the one weekend run, that means an outdoor trail roughly equivalent to a 5K to see whether my training is getting me ready for the real thing. The outer loop of Lake Merritt, which is right down the street, happens to be a 5K loop; on Sunday, that loop proved my assumptions right — I have about 15-20 minutes to shave off my time, which is achievable once my legs and lungs are conditioned again. The problem, you see, is not so much my running pace as my walking when I “need a break.”

By October 23, the goal to not need a break (also to not die, our #1 goal and always a promising metric). Wish me luck!

Filed under: A life less ordinary, Courage, Friends Like These, OAK, Runaway | 2 Comments »

Buckling down

Posted on September 2, 2011 by 8junebugs
I’ve given in and ordered a Fitbit. Graham’s had one since…’09, maybe? He’s one of those pre-ordery early-adopting types. I had little use for it — I have pedometers coming out of my ears, as well as a heart rate monitor that’s held up remarkably well to…okay, middling to moderate use. Periodically. (I just got a new one for my birthday, too.)

And then.

I perked up when Maggie Mason blogged about hers as part of her Packing Light series in 2010. “Oh, hey,” I said to Graham, “looks like you’re ABOUT TO BE HIP.” I figured Fitbit sales would jump…but I still wasn’t convinced I needed one.

Then? This week? Ms. Maggie blogged about using it to track her sleep patterns, which she was working to fix, and I broke down. That’s my Achilles heel right now, and the source of some tension in terms of how I feel and when I go to bed and whether I’m rested enough to get up and, god help me, run. So I bought one. Because also? I LOVE DATA and the interwebs, and the Fitbit wins at both.

Funnily, Fitbit seems to be all the rage in my new office. Most people here seem pretty laser-focused on their health — I know a few people who clip them on for running on Embarcadero, one guy sent out an email about losing his last week, and I think my boss also just ordered one. (I remember “laser-focused on health” from my last California residency. At UPS, three of my colleagues also taught aerobics. In their spare time.)

http://www.amazon.com/Escali-Primo-Digital-Multifunctional-Scale/dp/images/B001707OL0/ref=dp_image_z_6_0?ie=UTF8&s=kitchen&img=0&color_name=6Last night was also the first night of portioning the way we ought to if we really want to get a handle on our health and fitness. We’ve been working toward it for a while, but haphazardly. “Oh, we’ll eat fish [of whatever size] for dinner,” we thought. “And vegetables!” It’s the potatoes, the travelin’ food (back and forth to Gardnerville twice for me and once for him in August), and the cheesy poofs – even the relatively healthyish Trader Joe’s kind — keeping us inactive and squidgier than we’re comfortable being.

(Note: I have no idea how much I weigh. I have a very good idea how I feel, though, and it’s time to treat my body a little better.)

G is not overly thrilled with how I rolled out this Thing We’ve Been Saying We’ll Do For Six Months. We’d planned to have (really) small steaks last night and wanted something potato-y…as one does. I grocery-shopped after work last night; I didn’t feel like waiting for baked potatoes and the frozen french fry section was bare, so I brought home tater tots.

[Pause for the reader to reflect on fond memories of tater tots, which few of us think to eat as adults, unless we have favorite restaurants that serve them as bar food.]

[Pause for DC/VA readers to reflect on our dearly departed Del Merei Grille.]

He was amused and perhaps a little delighted by the idea, until I told him 1 serving = 10 tots and I would be counting them out pre-baking. ::sadface::

But wait! We would also be having green beans! And I did give him the larger of the two filets… And he’d added “Meat Salad Stuff” to the grocery list, which is totally an indicator that it’s time, right? Because he’s thinking about salad. (“Meat salad” is not made of meat. It just has meat in it, which was a revelation.) So the tot limit was a surprise.

Whatever. He got back at me by deciding that my Newton’s Folly (not very)hard cider (bottled in Middlebury!) is pretty tasty. Also filling. But the last one is mineALLMINE.

Tonight’s dinner: Barbecued Pork and Black Bean Soup, which I’m basing loosely on the SF Soup Company’s BBQ Pork and Black-eyed Pea Soup and/or making up as I go along. You know how I am about soup — “throw stuff in a pot and see what happens.” What could go wrong?

Filed under: A life less ordinary, Happily ever after, No place like home, Tastes Like Chicken | Leave a Comment »

All over the place

Posted on August 30, 2011 by 8junebugs

These days, I have too much and not enough to blog about.

Too much

Things are settling down and I’ve had more time to return to my old (entirely entangled) favorites: religion, social justice, and politics. I’m out of practice (a little) and still feeling a bit unfocused, so I’m hesitant to start sharing on topics that are even more inflammatory than they were when I was younger…and when I was more willing to engage in flame wars. There’s even less civility in our national discussion than there was when I was starting to get my philosophical sea legs, and I care far, far more about the outcome of causes near and dear to my heart than I did even then. Perhaps because, back then, I didn’t think certain things were up for real debate anymore, not Important Things like equal protection and the 1st Amendment and the cause and effect – and overall cultural value — of feminism. I thought these were settled matters of law that could only get better in a nation that claimed a reputation for equality and tolerance. I didn’t necessarily think I’d have a flying car by now, but I also sure as HELL didn’t think women would still be paid less and abortion providers would be assassinated and racist/eliminationist dogwhistles demeaning (or endangering) a U.S. president would be acceptable “rhetoric.”

This is not the country I thought it would be when I looked ahead from, say, 1996. I thought I was a bad-ass cynic, back then; today, 1996-me looks like a naive idealist of the highest freaking order.

I’ve spent a fair amount of time in the last couple of months getting into Big Discussions on Facebook, which, however ubiquitous, ain’t the right space for the amount and kind of words I think these issues deserve. The trade-off, though, is that anyone who engages here is subject to my commenting policy (“Please use your inside voice. Opinions of all shades are welcome; malicious comments may be deleted at my discretion.”), which I’m sure is less fun…which means less engagement. So we’ll see.

There’s a US election coming up, though, and I can’t imagine I’m going to grow more comfortable about the State of This Union between now and November 2012, so I can either start writing or bust the blood vessels in my eyes from finally reaching the limit of their rolling capacity.

Not enough

Confession: We haven’t been exploring the city hardly at all — neither the city we live in nor The City across the Bay. I had a sense, when we decided to move back out here, that this blog might become “All About The O-A-K “or “San Francisco For People Who Came To Their Senses And Moved Back.” But…we like being at home. We like our simple routine with the dog walking and the dinner making and the Dr. Who watching. We like saving money, now that there’s some coming in and we can, slowly but surely, replenish the Move Without JOBZ fund. And so we spend a good deal of time at home, and our friends and family have all eaten at more restaurants in our neighborhood that we have.

So, from a “Welcome to the ‘hood!” perspective, I have little to report here…unless you want a veterinarian recommendation, because we’ve seen a lot of that guy. First for an ear infection because someone let the puppers go too long between groomings, then because Westies are prone to skin allergies and infections, and again this week because some paw swelling and tenderness that manifested at the end of a trip to Gardnerville got better but didn’t go away…and Daddy is admittedly hypochondriacal when it comes to his Rodney.

Bay Area pediatric call centers? You’re on notice for…well, sometime in the future, anyway. (I am calmer about these things, but I think that’s because I grew up with big outdoor dogs who rarely saw the vet and, as often as not, died less by illness than by vehicular dogslaughter. I have no data on which to base a puppy-related panic attack.)

Yes, we’ve become Those People, the ones who refer to each other as Mommy and Daddy when talking to the dog. Except Graham will sometimes tell Rodney to “Find Jen,” which, unsurprisingly, has mixed results.

Anyway. Comfort with the simple routine, combined with how much time I spend commuting and working each day (and how little I want to be held to account for STILL NOT RUNNING), means I haven’t set aside too much time for blogging. I’m hoping to change that, because I’ve got some things to talk about. I hope you’ll stick around.

Filed under: A life less ordinary, Courage, Fourth Estate, Happily ever after, NIMBY no more, Pop goes the culture, POTUS | 1 Comment »

Nightmares, real and imagined

Posted on July 31, 2011 by 8junebugs

Recently, we finished a monumental effort to steep yours truly in the Buffyverse. (I’ve heard that’s a controversial term, but it’s also awfully compact and convenient.) We’d debated this staggered, two-series marathon for several years – my personal pop culture reference database was woefully bereft when it came to the fictional adventures of vampires and demons, and the slayers thereof, in the late 90s, but it wasn’t a huge priority for me — seven seasons of one series and five of another aren’t, usually. And then I was faced with a voluntary-but-uninterrupted Cosmos marathon and thought to myself, “Self, one can only take so much Carl Sagan before one needs to watch David Boreanaz brood.” (Aside: One of my former colleagues talks exactly like Carl Sagan. But exactly. It must be the Brooklyn thing.)

So we picked sci-fi over science. For MONTHS. And I had nightmares about vampires and demons. For MONTHS.

I’m also all caught up on Whale Wars and we went into the new Torchwood: Miracle Day at full speed. We collapsed our usual pre-new-release Harry Potter marathon, and I finally made Graham watch Bring It On (with the help of a great deal of scotch).

We still have at least one episode of Cosmos left, not because I hate science, but because Carl Sagan’s voice is the world’s best lullaby. Plus? I’m going to watch it again later anyway. It’s brilliant, but it’s going to take time to absorb stuff I was never/badly taught as a kid.

Other than that, though, we’re out of TV to watch and a little TV’d out, if you want to know the truth. Until we sat down after dinner the other night and whined, “There’s nothing to waaatccchhhh.” So we turned on our previously recorded Gang Wars: Oakland, a 2009 series that claimed there are 10,000 gang members walking the streets of Mah New City.

“Great,” Graham said. “Now you’re going to have more nightmares.”

I didn’t have nightmares. I’ve been here for four months and I like it. I’ve lived in and around cities long enough to learn that you do the best you can to stay safe and waste as little time as possible being afraid of your neighbors. People are people, no matter where you go. Pretty much everyone’s doing what they can with what they’ve got, wherever they are.

Gang violence in Oakland is not my nightmare.

You know what is my nightmare? More kids growing up with limited opportunities, truncated education, and fear. Kids who can’t see any way but the one right in front of them. Smart kids who don’t get to learn. Talented kids without an outlet. Parents who think their own experience is the living end. Legislators who care more about being right than being good, or being kind. The “I got mine” mentality informing policies that’ll keep people who ain’t got nothing — and their kids — from ever getting anything…because somewhere along the line the American Dream became a zero-sum game. A government gambling away a future they won’t even see for principles based in pomp and circumstance.

All that? Scares the ever-loving crap out of me. Thugs in my city can put the homocide rate at a record high, but they’ll never hurt as many people as what passes for leadership in Washington right now.

Filed under: A life less ordinary, Boobtubage, NIMBY no more, OAK, POTUS | Leave a Comment »

Week 1

Posted on July 22, 2011 by 8junebugs

New job, new commute, new city, new neighborhood.

Here’s what I’ve learned this week:

  • There is never a line for the stairs (true for most public transit stations, I imagine).
  • I can take the stairs. Usually. Depending on my shoes.
  • San Francisco Soup Company’s BBQ Pork and Black-Eyed Pea soup (regular) with a whole-grain roll and half a Hummus Wrap contains about 600 calories, but feels like 850. (Must learn to make this soup at home. NOM.)
  • Trying to buy lunch between 11:50 am and 12:30 pm is just foolish. (I’m a brown-bagger, usually, but it’s week 1 and I’m getting my bearings.)
  • There’s a zipline running over the plaza outside the Ferry Building. I don’t quite understand the draw. Run it alongside the Golden Gate, maybe, or down Lombard, but here? Meh.
  • Unpredictably, a 9ish to 5ish schedule seems to work for me for the first time in 12 years…but I’m starving when I get home.
  • It’s going to take longer than four months for my body to adjust to what “cold” means here. I’m schvitzing in a tank top and the locals are wearing pea coats.
  • I need a recycling primer. There are more bins than when I left. I live in fear of putting the wrong thing in the wrong bin in the kitchen and being instantly identified as The New Person Who Does Not Love The Earth.
  • San Francisco makes me crave salads. Oakland makes me crave pizza and burgers.
  • Bachata beats are for dancing, not for walking.

I’ve also learned A LOT about the company where I’m working. The software is outside my experience, mostly, so I go home with a full brain every day…which is how I like it.

Filed under: A life less ordinary, All the livelong day, No place like home | Leave a Comment »

Done. Also, beginning.

Posted on July 21, 2011 by 8junebugs

I set myself up. It would either be the best week ever or completely deflate me. Either way, I was saving Friday, July 8, for celebrating or hibernating.

***

At first, it was just me and my thesis advisor talking about when I should expect to defend based on this draft and that draft and the “requirement” of two weeks for readers to digest the file and come up swinging. “Oh, by mid-July,” she said. She thought that was reasonable and we both thought I was ready to be done.

“My birthday’s July 8,” I said. “I’d rather not defend that day, but how about July 7?”

“Oh, that’s perfect!” she said (she’s very sweet and likable). “If you make those small changes and get the file back to us by Thursday, we can make that happen.”

Instead, we backed the deadline up a day and scheduled it for Wednesday, July 6. It went smashingly. All that remains is a minor round of manuscript clean-up and a bit of paperwork…including my application for graduation. D. O. N. E.

***

Meanwhile, back in CareerLand, a couple of opportunities converged all at once. I’d been sought out by a recruiter for a new web writing contract-to-hire with a great software company I’d actually heard of — out here, there’s a solid 75% chance you won’t have heard of any given software company — but things were on hold. Early this month, the hold lifted and things moved forward. Phone screens, copy test, interviews…all of which went quickly and well.

I started Monday.

It is awesome on all sides: Great people, interesting work that requires me to perform well and learn quickly, and an environment evocative of everything you’ve heard about Silicon Valley software companies (espresso in the kitchen, casual attire, etc.).

Except we’re not in Silicon Valley — we’re in the one location that could have made me think, “Right, still my favorite city in the world.”

This is right across the street (that’s the corner of the office building, down there on the right):

If you haven’t been out here, that’s the Ferry Building, full of markets and eateries and COWGIRL CREAMERY. Behind it is Treasure Island. If you squint, you can imagine my Oakland apartment building behind the Bay Bridge tower on the right edge of the photo. (Which is neat, as the new east section of the Bay Bridge was designed with this company’s software.) Instead of spending an hour on a packed freeway and paying bridge tolls, I take a quick walk to BART, spend about three iPod songs on the train (give or take), then skip across Spear Street.

And then I grab a giant Americano with milk and sugar from the office kitchen.

Y’all, this was exactly the kind of opportunity I was hoping to find. It’s a six-month lease with an option to buy, so to speak, and I’m about three meetings away from feeling completely at home. (Seriously. Great people. Fun work. Fast pace. Measurable results.)

Tonight, I’m shopping for cute, comfy sandals than can take a beating. My (move-reduced) shoe collection is reflective of my old GW Parkway + Dulles Toll Road commute. I wore socks and loafers today and just felt WRONG.

***

I turned 34 on the 8th. After defending my thesis and getting a new job for at least six months, managing to survive another pass around the sun seemed…anticlimactic. We spent the afternoon at the beach, where Rodney did get tired and drenched but did not, in contrast to the last coastal outing, get beach diarrhea. That night, there were cocktails. We totes know how to party, am I right?

***

A bit before the full-time gig appeared as if from nowhere, a company back in Virginia sought me out on a recommendation for some freelance web writing. Their projects are of varying size — I’m hoping I’ll still be able to take on smaller ones in my off hours, as I have in the past, because it’s good work and, again, good people. (This is why you should all work in web content, design, and development. You can’t beat this kind of drive and creativity.)

In the long run the local, full-time work had to win the bulk of my attention. As much as I love consulting, I’m settling into a new place with a career direction that’s more defined than it was in DC/VA…and only one of us is working full time right now.

Keeping Rodney in kibble is a priority that cannot be ignored.

***

The week of my birthday sort of capped my Virginia obligations and opened the door to the California future I came out here to explore. I owe a debt of gratitude to all y’all who thought I could pull this off. Apparently, I wasn’t fully convinced…just, you know…cocky. Thank you for believing in me in spite of myself.

Onward…

Filed under: A life less ordinary, All the livelong day, Courage, Happily ever after, OAK, puppypuppypuppypuppypuppy | 1 Comment »

What other shoe?

Posted on May 11, 2011 by 8junebugs

So, I could write about how weird it is living with another person full time, particularly how weird it is living with a man again after being on my own for a couple of years. I could come up with some snark about unmade beds or beard shavings in the sink or how OMG HE ALWAYS TURNS OFF THE SHOWER WITH THE SHOWER LEVER STILL UP. WHY?!

Or? I could tell you that we’re settling in so well together that it’s a little scary. I’m not afraid of the scariness…and even if I were, I’d be a little afraid of telling you that I’m afraid, because that fear could be misconstrued. It could be received as a sign, if a reader were so inclined, that something is wrong, or that I feel like something’s wrong.

What’s scary about this whole new/not-that-new thing, though, is that nothing feels wrong. Everything has been…easy.

Nothing feeling wrong is causing powerful waves of random emotion in me. Joy escapes in random giggles. Certain songs make me bawl and grin AT THE SAME TIME. I am leveled by a tenderness toward Graham (and Rodney) that borders on ridiculous. Because of our history together, everything that’s becoming so real also seems surreal.

But my own recent history is colliding with all this happiness and throwing images from my past into stark relief. All this rightness comes with the big ugly memory of just how monstrously wrong things were in my marriage. (Relationship Rule #14: When you marry your rebound, the terrorists win.) As much as I knew things were wrong then and kept moving forward anyway, part of me had always mitigated how wrong…because I moved forward anyway. I justified what I was doing while I was in it, to myself and to others, and I minimized it when I left because I was finally out and didn’t want to dwell on it. I didn’t talk about it, I didn’t write about it, and when it was finally over, very few people knew why. I had their support, sure, but the only people who know what goes on in a relationship are the people in it, and even they can convince themselves of a different reality.

(more…)

Filed under: A life less ordinary, Happily ever after | 8 Comments »

Hi! I’m in Oakland!

Posted on March 26, 2011 by 8junebugs

Okay, I’ve been here nearly a week, but plans changed a little bit over the course of our four-day cross-country drive. To make a long story short, I opted to hang out with my brother rather than blog.

Also! There is no internet in our home yet. Blogging on the road or in Oakland would’ve started with something like, “Hey, let’s go hang out at a coffee shop where I’ll stare at my computer for half an hour or more while you…twiddle your thumbs?”

That’s not really fair. He had his mp3 player and the first of the Twilight series (no, we didn’t discuss it — I accept that it has a certain value, even if everything about it drives me up a wall) and the kid can make friends anywhere. He’d have been fine, but it would’ve been rude. He chose to take a week off around his 29th birthday to drive across the country with me, and that kind of time deserves that kind of attention.

Make no mistake — this trip was chronicled in a social media way. I checked in whenever we stopped. I posted pics via Facebook so friends and family could follow along. But I skipped the navel gazing that is my wont, normally, and just enjoyed the time with my little brother. We haven’t been in each other’s daily company in more than 10 years…probably closer to 20 at this point.

It was the most fun we’ve ever had together. I’m still having a hard time with how not a child he is.

We talked about the past and the present and the future. It’s still weird to me to learn that anyone in my family has memories that are different from mine. I found this out when Boo said she had no recollection of Memere and Pepere’s Weybridge farm. I mean, of course we have different memories. She’s, what, eight years my junior? She was a wee thing when we moved Memere into town. Somehow, it made sense to me that she didn’t remember Pepere — only a few of us really do — but not that she didn’t remember the farm.

What? Even a flaming liberal is susceptible to cognitive dissonance from time to time.

(I felt the term “flaming liberal” more than ever before when we stopped at Stuckey’s on the Texas-New Mexico border, where I got the distinct impression that my worldview could get me burned as a witch. No joke.)

My brother doesn’t remember too much about the time he spent here as a young kid, other than that Addison County’s schools hadn’t quite prepared him for Alameda County’s. One bite of Round Table pizza the other night, though, and he was completely transported back to Lydiksen Elementary. And then he remembered why he usually stuck with McDonald’s.

The road trip was an experience. If you haven’t done it, please, please do. This is a wide-open, beautiful land of wonders of which we can barely conceive through the lens of our daily lives. We planned very few stops, as the point of the trip was to move me and my car to Oakland and spend some time together. With that agenda — and a lease to sign, a trailer to meet, and a return red-eye to catch — we didn’t meander much. We’re both more likely to visit people rather than places, but this drive gave each of us a sense of what parts of the country we might like to explore…on a more exploratory trip.

A friend questioned this, wondering why we didn’t just fly if we weren’t going to “stop and enjoy” the trip. Sometimes the journey, the time together, and the shared experiences of a mobile meat smoker on the highway and a 1,000-mile day are enough. We had a lot of fun just hanging out and tackling a 3,000-mile trip…the longest trip of any kind he’s ever been on.

We even managed to have fun in Oakland after our plans changed slightly. A nasty series of storms were about to hit the Sierras at the same time we had to decide whether to swing up through Nevada and caravan with Graham and his folks or go straight on to California. Had we gone up, we all might’ve gotten stuck there and missed the windows we needed to hit. (Graham and the puppy are still in Nevada even now — the storms kept people from returning moving trucks, which delayed those waiting to pick them up. At this rate, they should get here on Tuesday.)

And I have to tell you: The few things we planned tended to go comically wrong. We got pounded with snow at the Grand Canyon on the first day of spring. Graham’s delay meant there was no couch for KidBrother to sleep on, no puppy to play with, and no boyfriend to get to know (KidBrother wasn’t around in the old days of our relationship). We got ferry tickets and Alcatraz tickets, but only Alcatraz happened — torrential rain and wind gusts canceled the ferry. Thank god for the washer/dryer in the new apartment, because we had to throw everything we wore into the dryer that day. Twice.

But we got a picture of him throwing a snowball into the Grand Canyon and he laughed his ass off when I couldn’t get the window closed before the plow passed by. He enjoyed the sea lions at Pier 39 (I swear he’s seen them before, but maybe not…or maybe he was just little) and had a great time trying to identify pieces of meat in the Chinatown shop windows. He also saw the World Famous Bush Man in Fisherman’s Wharf, sort of corroborating my story about when Bean put herself between me and DANGER one misty SF morning — previously, I’m not sure anyone back east believed that a random dude jumped out from behind a “bush” at me. We did get to Alcatraz, which was fascinating. And we cracked up over burgers at Nation’s the other night, knowing Oakland had narrowly escaped the destruction of which each of us is capable when extremely hungry.

It turns out, we’re still the only people we know who go all HULKSMASH when we need a damn sandwich and don’t have the acceptable excuse of a blood sugar problem (we’ve checked). Thanks, Mom!

The only regret I have about this trip is that KidBrother and Graham didn’t get to spend any time together as planned*. We may still be able to make that happen this year, but it’ll depend on a couple of things that are nebulous at the moment.

I’m thankful that we had this time together. I’m thankful that I could afford to move the way I wanted to (mostly) and to bring him with me on the trip. I’m thankful that I live in a such a beautiful country and, now, so near my favorite city.

Most of all, I’m thankful for a little brother who isn’t so little and who actually wanted to make this trip with me — it was his idea. It may take a minute (a solid eight days constantly together is a lot), but I’m really going to miss him. It still stuns me how we can be so alike and so completely different — I’ll never get him to move out here, and he’s the only reason I’ll ever get to Watertown, New York — but the alike parts matter more than the different ones.

Thanks for the ride, kiddo.

 

 

 

 

*I am also slightly regretful about KidBrother being raised such a gentleman that I could only convince him to take the air mattress once, and then only for a couple of hours, when we got to Oakland. He’s going to need a week of decent sleep to get back on track after this trip.

Filed under: A life less ordinary, G-Clan, Happily ever after | Leave a Comment »

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