I Got A Car

I have a computer now (have had it for some time, in fact) but we don't have WiFi at home so I usually end up writing blogs in my bedroom and forgetting about them for some time before posting. This one is from March 28, 2011.)

I got a car! I got a car! I got a car! I got a car and named him Johann! He is a navy blue 2002 VW Jetta. When I started looking for a car, my folks insisted that I go to their mechanic Ali who often buys cars, fixes them up, and then sells them. They’ve been doing business with Ali for about eight years and he’s helped them through about three vehicles now in addition to looking after my brother Drew’s Jeep. So, naturally, he’s got a good relationship with my folks.

We went up last week and he had one car in his lot ready to sell. It was a ’97 Mitsubishi somethinernuther. It was in my price range and I was assured that it would get me to and from work. It was okay but nothing that great. I sat in the driver seat, kicked a tire, and looked under the hood but that spark was definitely not there.

Ali’s assistant said that he had a couple other cars that they were working on but neither would be ready for a few days. One was a Suzuki whose price he wasn’t sure of and the other was a VW they’d just gotten but he was almost certain it was out of my price range. With Dad’s blessing, I asked to look at the VW anyway since I’ve always liked them. Hell, it doesn’t hurt to look, right?

They brought around this little blue Jetta with a busted rearview mirror, a glove compartment that didn’t close, dirty upholstery and about a pound of tree pollen covering its body. I fell in love immediately. I sank into its driver seat, held the wheel, and let out a long, contented sigh. And then they said it was about $1500 more than what I had set aside for my car budget. Well, damn. I hemmed and hawed. I shuffled my feet. I talked with my bank, scrounged up about $550 more, and still pouted some more because, well, damn it, I wanted that car. My Dad and I discussed the options over the next few days. I could settle for another car or I could get the car off the lot and let it sit in the driveway until I could afford the insurance premium and tabs.  I opted to get the car and let it sit.

Dad called me to the table after Elijah went to bed and asked about this plan. See, he’s going to Gulfport with my Mom at the end of April and he wanted me to have my own wheels by then and the Jetta was a much better car than anything in my range. So, he offered to loan me the rest of the money to get the car. I have not slept well since then because I’ve been so excited.

We drove Johann off the lot this afternoon. Our first stop was to the car wash. Then, we cruised around, ran some errands, and bought some stuff to clean Johann up a bit. Now, my pretty blue boy is sitting in the driveway and I’m awake because I really want to go driving.

Foodie Rant

I have a computer now (have had it for some time, in fact) but we don't have WiFi at home so I usually end up writing blogs in my bedroom and forgetting about them for some time before posting. This one is from April 7, 2011.)

Foodie Rant

                I know it would seem odd to some of you that I, of all people, would rant against foodies. So, maybe this rant should include a bit of an apology and an explanation. As you may or may not know, I am a bit of a foodie. I’ve made my own ice cream, candies, sausages, cheese, sourdough, and pasta just to name a few of the adventures I’ve had in the kitchen. I beat the fresh/local/slow food drum just as loudly as anyone. Hell, I work in the kitchen at Whole Foods specifically because I love food and I love the Whole Food philosophies concerning fair trade and responsible stewardship of the land. My love of those ideas is so strong that I’ll gladly spend my money on food grown down the road before buying it from a chain like Whole Foods whenever I can.

                Lately, though, I’ve come across a different breed of foodie. I’ve come across the hoity-toity foodie- the one with the fancy degree, impressive resume, and massive frickin’ ego. And it kills me. Great, you went to some illustrious college and spent $35,000 a year learning mise en place and the proper way to serve bone marrow and beef cheeks. Woohoo! You worked a million hours a week at some restaurant serving stuffed shirts a deconstructed pot pie with celery foam and puff pastry discs. Good on you. But we’re here now. Whether your fall was self-imposed or not, you’re working right alongside me and everyone else in the kitchen. Regardless of if we were at the top of our class at the Culinary Institute of America, got our training by asking the higher ups a million questions and staying up well past our bedtimes reading cookbooks and practicing recipes, or are just here because it’s the place to be at the time, we’re all here together and most of us really want to do a good job. So, stop with the stories of your former glory and bragging about the crap you’re going to do when you get home because it doesn’t fly with me.

                Food isn’t an elitist idea- or at least it shouldn’t be. It’s a common bond that both binds us together and defines who we are as a collective culture and an individual. The meal I’m serving my son has the same purpose as the meal your kitchen has created for your client- to nourish the body and the soul. While I consider myself a decent cook, I know I’m rough around the edges. On-the-job training tends to be a bit more specialized than a degree. While what I’ve produced may be elementary in your eyes, I promise you it’s brought me and my diners immense happiness and that’s all I really care about.

                So, if I’ve ever gotten too big for my britches about anything I’ve done in the kitchen, I apologize. Damn, that’s really annoying and I’m sorry to have put you through it. Ciao! 

Death to Osama

                Late last night, we were told that Osama Bin Laden was dead. After a decade of fighting, trillions of dollars, thousands of dead American soldiers, an uncountable number of Afghani deaths, and the destruction of who knows how many families torn asunder both here and abroad, our Public Enemy Number One is dead. The Facebook status-sphere lit up like so many Christmas lights to rejoice in his death. Suddenly, patriotism broke out in epidemic across the land. Why does it always show up in destruction?

                Am I glad that Bin Laden is dead? Is “eh” an appropriate response? You might as well have told me that the Tooth Fairy took down Santa Claus in an epic gunfight at the OK corral. Bin Laden has been the boogey man in our closet, the monster under our bed, for so long he took on a mythic figure for me. He is the ultimate excuse for so many wrongs, so many injustices our government has done. They use his name the way some use God’s. Hunting for him has hurt our standing as a country, killed our men and women, and destroyed basic human liberties we should never take for granted again. And I can’t help but to wonder how many more terrorists did we create while hunting this one?

                So, go on. Celebrate if you want. Break out that dusty American flag that’s not been flown since 9/11. Chant “USA” or “Yes We Did” or some other appropriate catch phrase. Wax lyrical about the greatness of our armed forces. Then, ask yourself if all it took to slaughter this one man was worth it. Ask yourself when our troops will be coming home now. Ask yourself if you think his death has stopped anything. Does killing Patient Zero stop the plague?

X Man

                I took Elijah to Tractor Supply a few daysback to look at the baby chicks, duckling, and rabbits. While there, I picked up a book on homesteading and another on raising chickens for eggs. After Elijah went down for him nap, I grabbed my chicken book, turned on some music, and began learning/dreaming about fresh eggs.

                And then the phone rang. It rang that special ringtone that told me I was about to roll my eyes at least a dozen times in the next fifteen minutes- probably more since I’d gotten my packet of papers earlier in the week and, therefore, knew exactly why I was being called….

                I filled out paperwork and included a nice long letter to the Department of Child Support in Washington to explain to them that although I had to listen to conversation after conversation about all the shows the X was playing and all the bars he was going to and there was a website devoted specially to the work he is getting paid under the table to do, he had yet to send Elijah more than $75 of the $1000 he is currently behind in child support (That’s five months, for those of you keeping track. Yeah, the X cannot find $200 a month to help with his son but going to bars regularly is par for the course).

                So, he started the conversation saying that he’d (finally) gotten a job at a Subway but they weren’t giving him enough hours to make it worth the drive so he probably isn’t going to keep it unless they transfer him. I’d underestimated the bargaining power a guy who has the work ethic of a tree stump and a history of getting fired for threatening lives, sexual harassment, and simply sucking but apparently Paul thinks it’s mighty- especially in a sour economy. But what do I know? So, I rolled my eyes and flipped a page in my book.

                Then he went on about how he has X much debt here and X there and X over here. So, I rolled my eyes and flipped a page in my book.

                Then, he caught my attention. He said I abandoned the apartment. Say what? Abandoned? I set the book aside. Abandoned? Abandoned the place I’d called home longer than any place in my life? Abandoned a place for my son and me? No, no, no, no, no! I reminded him that we talked and he said that he wanted to stay in the apartment because he didn’t have any place else to go so I took Elijah (who he said he’d rather not see than give up his musical aspirations) and we started a new life. I reminded him that we had an agreement that he was supposed to get a roommate and then I would send in my paperwork to get my name off the lease. I reminded him that I couldn’t do that because he failed to be a decent enough person to find a roommate- that he chose to break the terms of the lease without consulting me first. No, I did not abandon my apartment. I upheld my part of the agreement. I was the responsible one. He ought to try taking on some responsibility some time.

                And this is what really gets me. He manipulates everything so it’s never his fault. It’s not his fault he lost yet another job. It’s not his fault can’t get his shit together enough to scrap together a life. He acts like the power and cell phone companies are out to get him because he didn’t have the money to pay the bills. I abandoned the apartment, thus giving him this crappy life, because I did what? Do as we agreed? I “took” his kid away from him. Never mind the fact that I gave him the option of watching Elijah twice a week but he said he needed “alone time.” These are things that we agreed on. He said he was going to miss his son so I found a way for him to see his son regularly and he denied it because two days was too much!

                And even through all this, I still helped him- not much mind you but a little. I told him to call DCS and work something out with them; that they’d help him figure it out. So, he called me a bitch and hung up….

                Only to call back later and demand help with his credit report as if I know anything about credit discrepancies.

So, let me get this straight? Call me a bitch, accuse me of screwing you over, act like I’m some horrible person, and then call up and demand I help you? Yeah, I don’t think so. See, between the X not helping with Elijah and him pulling the stunt with the apartment, I have enough on my plate right now. But then he knew that because I’m the meanie.

Withdrawal

Living in North Carolina is a lot like being in a twelve step program. I know I need to be here. I know that the rewards will be sweet if I can make it through to the end of the program. But damn, sometimes I just need a PNW kick. Anything, anything, please! Send me the rain, an earthquake, an Evergreener- ANYTHING! Anything but Pearl Jam, that is. Most of the time I can work through these "withdrawal symptoms." Or maybe I'll find something to ease me over. I'll cheat a little and buy a free trade organic bar of chocolate or coffee. It's my methadone. This past week, I crashed. I crashed good and hard. North Carolina is not home- not in the least- and I knew it with every fiber of my being and I wasn't sure if I could hold out to the end. So, I sent out the call and my friends, because they are awesome and resourceful and caring, responded in kind. I was tempted with a good home for E and me, my job back, a lead on possibly day care and a car. I had the money and means, I knew the way.....

And then I made that phone call that had to be made. It was like an acid flashback in it's vividness that recalled the worst of everything- without a single sharp word spoken. I hung up the phone knowing full well why we had moved away in the first place. I hugged my baby boy and promised to do what was right regardless of how hard it would be and I loved him even more in that instance.

North Carolina is not permanent any more than it is home. One day, hopefully sooner than later, I'll put the last box in my car, take a long look at the house, and move on. I have my college courses picked out. I have leads on a transferable job. I have a support group of family that I can't wait to see. There are just a few more steps to get through before we get there.

Will I ever return to Washington? Maybe. Definitely to visit and maybe to live but a lot needs to change first. I don't think I'll ever live in Olympia again but I'm certainly not opposed to Seattle or Port Angeles.

I'll come

It’s the sound of his voice, the way he says “Hey Baby” in between puffs of smoke he’s stopped trying to hide that send my heart stumbling over its beats. I see his name and it lights up my world. If I hear songs that remind me of him, I can’t help but to smile like a fool no matter where I am; I get so much male attention when I’m thinking of him. I remember those hands; strong, sturdy, and calloused things that knew exactly how to hold me; the memory of his fingers traversing the contours of my calves and grabbing my ankles. He is so gentle and one of the strongest men I know. It’s as if he was created with the knowledge ingrained in him- I want him lying next to me- and he cat and mouse’s with this wisdom to draw out my smiles. I want his body pressed against mine, his chest to my back, his arms cradling me, his lips hovering mere inches above my ear, driving sweet and dirty thoughts straight into my heart. I blossom like roses in June in his presence.

                I’m not ready for him; not ready for any relationship no matter how fleeting or casual and yet… and yet… and yet. And yet I’ll come to him. He’ll call and I’ll come. The world will slip away, vignette our chemistry, and we’ll belong to each other for these fleeting moments. Dawn will surely cast a harsh light upon all this nocturnal romance at some point. In the meantime, I’m torn between either prolonging what we have or delivering a swift coup de grace sure to save us both the torments of reality…. And yet… and yet… and yet…. I’ll come. He calls and I come.

Intermission

                So, I’m sitting in the middle of Podunkville, NC listening to the classic rock love station on Pandora. They teased with the promise of the Beatles and I got Mr. Big. Ugh. So I “disliked” a couple songs before falling onto “Stairway to Heaven” and the only reason I’m here is because I’ve never intentionally listened to the song. And I’ve got to say… kind of bored. Then I switch to the 60s folk station, Paul Simon starts crooning “The Sound of Silence.” It’s one of my all time favorite songs, right up there with “Let It Be.”

                Now that I’ve got the time and the music is good, I can let my mind drift…. And drift it does. It drifts home once again. It drifts to Washington. I can see the details of all my friends so well that I feel like some specter hovering just outside of their lives, experiencing the little bits they share through texts and status updates. I miss each and every one of them, the catty ones, the motherly ones, the impulsive and the Zen ones. I remember days spent with my son strolling along the boardwalk and nights spend working at the job I loved or laughing with friends. And I get sad; the dark clouds roll in as I think that all that is going on without me. My friends carry out the plans and trips we’d thought up together but never had time to do and I feel utterly alone when I see the pictures….

                And then I remember the fights. I remember screaming into my phone until my throat was hoarse. I remember the hurtful comments, the arguments, the feeling of being used and using that feeling to justify manipulations. I remember all the times that would have been so much more fun if he hadn’t been there.

                This, of course, leads me to thinking E and I could move back to Washington. We could move north- maybe to Tacoma or Seattle. We would be close to my friends again, close to the mountains and the ocean. We could start over brand new in an old home…..

                Invariable, I think of my son. I think of what his life would be like in Seattle. I wonder how he would cope knowing that, although his father would be less than an hour away, he never visits. Or worse, he would make plans to visit but back out at the last minute and break promises if a better deal came along. I look into my son’s blue, blue eyes and stroke his cheek. He’s so much happier here than he would be there….

                Yet, the other day he pointed at a man that looked like his father and said “Dada.” He grins and waves at pictures of his grandparents and cousin. I wish I knew what he was thinking, how often he thought of them, if he thinks that my time with him is better than the time his father spent with him. Is it wrong of me, then, to have put away the pictures (in part for safe keeping but also because it hurts)?

                It’s been five months and I’m still living with one foot in Washington and one in North Carolina with my eyes to a future that isn’t in either place.  I pray that when we get to where we are going, we can dive in wholly. Please, welcome us with open hearts and open arms. We’ve spent far too long in intermission….

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me, 
speaking words of wisdom, let it be. 
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me, 
speaking words of wisdom, let it be. 

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be. 
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be. 

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree, 
there will be an answer, let it be. 
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see, 
there will be an answer. let it be. 

Let it be, let it be, ..... 

And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me, 
shine until tomorrow, let it be. 
I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me, 
speaking words of wisdom, let it be. 

Let it be, let it be, .....