Tualatin

The couple sitting next to us at Starbucks had just returned from a mission trip to Cambodia with their 16 year-old son. They were pleasant and kind, and did not smell like smoke. We chatted easily while Longitude used the free Wi-Fi to hook up our utilities. We noticed that the restaurant next door had a Champagne Brunch, perhaps even a dress code. Our apartment has spotless carpet, quiet neighbors, and a jacuzzi bath. Another car stopped to let me in as I was turning onto a busy street. This was our first outing in our new city, and up to that point I was impressed.

Next was a trip to Fred Meyer. I smelled the earthy fragrance of patchouli on at least three fellow customers. We weren't the only ones with reusable grocery bags in our cart. I think we'll fit in just fine.

If you're taking the Freeway from the south, the exit before ours says, Portland Airport 25 miles. PDX to ORD will be a breeze.

The House on California Street

A moment of joy,  one that flits in and out of the frame, teasing, and it's Christmastime on California St.

A drop of sadness stemming from a time gone by and suddenly we're belting out the lyrics to Post Mortem Bar in a house full of woodwork and smelling like incense.

Why is it that all my life contains, every part, takes me back to a time that spans only a year of my 27? I still say, "I will never be that happy again". I am cheating my husband, my daughter, and myself when I say this. Still, it is my truth at this moment.

I have not since looked so forward to coming home, at least not with such regularity. Was it the dwelling? I have a vivid memory of Christmas Eve. Everyone else had left for family visits, but I wanted to stay one more night before traveling only a few miles to be with mine in the morning. I stared out my window. The grayness of the day was starkly contrasted by the large-bulbed, multi-colored lights that we had strung on the roof, almost losing one of our cats in the process. I took a picture, knowing this had been one of those great life-altering moments, and now have it framed in my baby's room. 

From The Hours, based on the novel by Michael Cunningham:

I remember one morning getting up at dawn, there was such a sense of possibility. You know, that feeling? And I remember thinking to myself: So, this is the beginning of happiness. This is where it starts. And of course there will always be more. It never occurred to me it wasn't the beginning. It was happiness. It was the moment. Right then. 

************************

We're moving to Portland this weekend.

We've Reviewed Your Resume...

and would like to speak with you. Please contact me at your earliest convenience. 

-Hi, thanks for calling. I'm looking for a nurse with Occupational Health experience. Do you have specific Occupational Health experience?

-Ah, no. I thought you said you reviewed my resume. The job posting said Occupational Health experience preferred, not required.

-I should probably change that. Thank you for your interest.

I hate nurse recruiters. I still don't have a job, but only 19 days left in our lease. :)

Heading through the Stargate

Quacky now has an internal gyroscope that tells her exactly what orientation in space she wants to have. Tilt her too far one way, she quacks in protest. She leans too far forward, she whines. Don't dare place her so that her feet are higher than her head.

It also seems that she always knows exactly where she does or doesn't want to be, and what she should be playing with at any given moment. We used to be able to trick her by taking the dangerous plastic wrapper away and replacing it with her neigh-bear or something equally exciting. This no longer works. Expect to surrender your potato chip bag for at least 15 minutes before snacking in peace.

I wish her parents had one ounce of the certainty she possesses. Counting down the days...

30 day notice

It's official. Our landlord has been notified that our apartment will be vacated, cleaned, and our keys will be turned in by January 26th. Neither of us have jobs, we don't have a place to live, but we're headed north to Portland. The strange part is that none of this feels strange at all. We pride ourselves on our spontaneity, and somehow always figure things out without much anxiety. 

We've survived poverty, nine months of being on crutches followed closely by nine months of vomiting daily, unemployment, a wedding with our dysfunctional families,  depression, and homelessness. Things like finding jobs and moving stuff, a dog, and a baby are simple tasks. Blindly starting over only five hours away from here does not phase us. 

The hard part is trying to decide whether living in a place with unsurpassed outdoor recreational activities, near an amazing friend from the Midwest, is still better than going back to our hometown to be near family and even more friends. So far, all we can do is move onward. Attempting to find a place to fit in. Giving our dream of living "out West" another chance before possibly dragging ourselves with our tail between our legs back to a place we never could appreciate when we lived there.

Our relocation has taught us so much about ourselves and the people in our lives. We have no regrets. Let's get packing.

Attractive, Inaccessible People

I place all of the following people in the same category in my brain. I believe the title might be: If Pornography Were Made Tasteful, Here are the Stars. It seems strange, but I think says a lot about me.

Mary Louise Parker

Justin Kirk

Meryl Streep

David Hyde Pierce

Gregory House, MD (not Hugh Laurie, though, he's too nice in real life)

Angelina Jolie, (but not Brad Pitt, nice guy but kind of gross)

Julia Styles

Ennis Del Mar (but not Heath Ledger, only sexy when gay and wearing a cowboy hat)

I usually can't stand the typical straight commercially "attractive" people making out scenes in movies. I'm more of a Nicole Kidman and Jude Law in Cold Mountain kind of girl. My friend Lassie and I have discussed an idea of porn for smart people, which involves a mixture of some of the above actors, written by Alan Ball and directed by Michel Gondry. 

I wonder if I'll be in trouble for telling our secret.

Corner of Terror

I appeared in my Grandma's living room, which is actually the combination living room/dining room/breakfast nook/kitchen due to the (strange) open floor plan. Grandpa was sweeping out one of the corners, which was full of cobwebs, which were full of dead bugs and things. At this point, I was pretty sure I was dreaming. Not because I live 2,500 miles away from that house, but because the Grandma I know would never have a corner full of yucky things.

For a while now, Grandma has had this mental and/or maybe physical breakdown, so maybe my subconscious was worried about who is cleaning her house. At any rate, suddenly Longitude was there, and he said he would sweep out the yucky things, and I was supposed to discard them once they got to the center of the room.

First, a dead pill bug. I don't know what they're really called, and I could easily look it up, but you know, those tiny black things that curl up when you touch them. Fine, here's a picture. It's curled, dried carcass was gently swept to the center of the room. I turned, and suddenly it became a massive slug bred with a hermit crab, alive and sliming a trail. I was incredibly terrified, but I knew it was my job to get rid of it. 

As I pondered a way to deal with the first creature, (salt it? chase it? can you flush a cat-sized object down the toilet?) the second one, an ant sized locust-type shell, was brushed near my feet. I looked down and it had become a huge serpent, coiled and angry. Over and over, small mildly gross particles turned into increasingly ominous animals. I woke up before I had formed my extermination plan.

I worry about my emotional well-being after dreams like this. But I don't dwell on it, because my physical well-being is so much more compromised. Still working on Maslow's Safety, and even some days success in the Physiological category is all I can hope for.