Livin' in a Moment

You know that pause when you're driving in the rain and you clear an underpass (or is it an overpass? whatever.)? That half-beat where there's no longer the sound of the rain pelting the windshield?

That's my favorite moment.

No really. That pause stops me in my tracks every. single. time. And I say that it's my favorite moment because it's always exactly the same, regardless of time or place, regardless of the road, the rainstorm, the rest of what's happening in Life just then... I hear that pause loud and clear and I am, out of character mind you, slowed down and quiet and focused. If only for the .000001 seconds before being thrown back out into the storm. Plenty of time.

I'm rarely ever in a quiet place. So much so that silence is quite startling at first. After a spell though - a quiet place has its intended effect and I breathe more easily and start to appreciate things like trees and clouds and stars. But day to day, the noise that surrounds us blends into the background. Until it stops, suddenly, swept away into that pause under the overpass where time is stretched and fluid, allowing any number of random thoughts to surface. Thoughts that were likely there all along, but that couldn't push their way through the noise.

Tonight I thought of my mom. In those flashes of quiet on a drive home in the rain, I couldn't stop thinking of her. Or trying to anyway...

I've recently run into a new and paralyzing fear -- that I'm forgetting her. Forgetting what was unique and outstanding and too-good-to-be-true about Marie Wheat. I sort of forget what she looked like, have no idea what she smelled like and can't, for the life of me, tell you anything that she would've chosen to do on a rainy day like today.

Yeah. Sucks, right? Jezus - it's only been 6 years, what kind of mind-trick is this? I remember my phone number from the 3rd grade, but not these details.

Please don't misunderstand. I have, cherish & tell many a story where she features prominently and proudly. But those all revolve around me, or me & Josh, and how she reacted to, taught, inspired or led us in one direction or another. What I no longer have is the picture of Who She Was, independent of being our mom. What did she love to do? To eat? To read? Where did she go for her own quiet moments? What made her laugh 'til she peed her coolots? (Those friggin' coolots!) What music did she love? Who were her "people"? What intimidated her? Who did she intimidate? Who & in what way did she scold or encourage or impact while teaching? What did she want to do when she finally grew up? What in the world was her real hair color?!?

Which brings me back to you, dear reader. For those of you who knew and loved and were lucky enough to have been in her life, I'd love to hear what you remember. What are the moments, the tidbits, that stand out in your memory? Don't be shy and don't hold back. This particular pause in the rain will last as long as we let it...

Old Friends

Old friends
Sat on their park bench
Like bookends
Can you imagine us years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be seventy

I often joke that I don't have time for new friends. Seems nearly impossible to keep up with and to be a good friend to the ones I already have. Who has the extra time & space for new people? Aristotle said: "A friend to all is a friend to none". Now, before you get on my case for trying to justify my hermit-y ways, let me 'splain some things.

I'm an incredibly lucky, well-loved girl. The people that I've tripped across, been thrown together with, sought out, or just plain haven't been able to shake yet are -- to put it simply -- The Most Loving and Wonderful, Patient and Kind, Direct and Bold, Brave and Wise group of people you ever did see. What I did in some distant past life to deserve this team is beyond comprehension, and I'm daily grateful for this chosen family.

These gypsy feet of mine bring a double-edged sword to having such a rock star group. On the one hand - I've built this gorgeous family from a wiiiiiide range of people & places. On the other - we're scattered world wide and, as I've mentioned, are not yet all living on that private island together, basking in each others' fabulousness. Boo.

Which brings me to Old Friends. Recently had the distinct pleasure of spending an evening with a friend from childhood that I'd not seen in many years. Not only have we not seen each other in ages, but we've both been lazy and in contact only a handful of times since leaving high school (ahem, oh soooooo long ago).

Wendy Bigler and I were inseparable then. We finagled it so our lockers were next to each other, joined the same clubs and teams, and did our best to not crush on the same guys. Those were the surface similarities. On a very base level, we just got it. We felt loved and safe in each others' homes, with each others' families. We laughed about and were hurt by the same things. We couldn't imagine a life without each other.

Until life got in the way.

The other night though, sitting on her couch and across the dinner table, it was as if we were still there, still in the Rabbit, still packing for away games, still laughing ourselves silly on 44oz Big Gulps of Mountain Dew. Only now our gossip is more grown up, our hurts all the more painful, and our lives so much more complicated by all this damn adult stuff we all have going on. Still, to pick up the conversation exactly where we left it is impressive... just as it should be with an old friend.

I'm proud of Wendy. Proud to see her with her husband and her boys (ah-dorable!), proud of what she's accomplished and all that she's setting out to do next, and proud to say that I knew her when. Most of all though, I'm proud that, at 15, we made such good choices in our closest friends and allies. The kinds of choices that prove true and solid and strong, even all these years on.

So, I'll remain stubborn (lazy?) on the new friend front. I have some catching up to do with the friends that I have been neglecting. Watch out - you may be next.

You've got to change your evil ways, baby

There are some things about myself that I should get around to working on. Suppose we can all say the same - but today I'm saying it. Maybe writing it down will help hold me to it, unlikely, but worth a shot. Feel free to add to the list below people - Lord knows I've barely scratched the surface.

I gotta stop:
* making snap judgments about people
* thinking I know better
* being a hermit
* mocking everything and everyone
* getting frustrated so easily

I gotta start:
* giving cheesy a chance
* getting off my ass now & then
* doing things that scare me
* being patient and more thoughtful in both speech and actions
* sticking to commitments (even if no one else knows about them)

All a true story, all important to get around to. But for now - I'm gonna bail on my dinner plans and go up to my room to hide out while writing a whole separate post where I skewer the pompous asses and the DUHorks that I've been surrounded by for the past two days. I'll get to The List tomorrow...
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Where the blacktop ends

Dirt roads. They've come up twice in as many days, so I might as well write about them, right? Go where this leads me?

Yesterday I made the drive from Phoenix to Albuquerque (en route to Denver). Along the way, it so happens, lies Camp Verde, AZ -- a town that we called home for much of my childhood: 3 years old thru the end of 4th grade or so. I haven't been there in ages and couldn't resist a drive-by of the old house.

Odd thing #1 -- I knew how to get to the house. Duh - that may seem an odd observation but it's been a decade or more since I've been there and we moved away when I was 9-ish, so it's not like I drove that road all the time so blah blah it's-like-riding-a-bicycle doesn't count. At any rate... I knew exactly which twists and turns to take and the landscape along the way let me know I was in the right spot.

Odd thing #2 -- There were the signs. First the "No Outlet" sign. That's right, we lived at the dead end of a dead end road. I'd forgotten. Forgotten that we tended to live as far away from anyone else as possible. And then, there it was, the "Pavement Ends" sign. Funny how something so small, so plain can trigger a memory or highlight a trend.

(if you squint, there's a left arrow sign at the end and the pavement ends there)

My parents, in their 32 years together, never lived on a paved road. As someone who has since lived in cities like San Francisco & New York, that's just outrageous crazy talk. But it's true; we always lived on a dirt road. What? Now, they're not here to defend themselves, but I have a handful of theories about why my folks dug that dirt so much.

Today though, is not the day to hash out those theories. Instead I remind myself how far I've come from those dusty dirt roads. More importantly though, I'm reminded of how much I love returning to them. As much as I pose and pretend by living in big cities -- I'm a small town girl, with a love of the back road and the unseen. When I'm telling the truth, I'd rather get lost down a dirt road than be backed up on the blacktop any day.

It's also good to be reminded that what I once thought were dead end dirt roads were in fact only the start lines - I was just facing the wrong direction, that's all.

Baby Bumblebee

Gotta stop squashing my own bugs.

It's come to my attention that this may be the biggest obstacle that I have to finding my one true love. I can and do kill my own creepy crawlies and that just means that I don't need anyone else to do it for me... so clearly I'm not putting the right signals out into the universe and somehow all the decent, eligible guys have already gotten the memo. Damnitalltohell.

Sure, I could blame the extra 30 (fine, 40)lbs and consistent one-inch roots. Or the fact that I luuuuuv my couch and He isn't already camped out on it with me every night. Perhaps my general tepid attitude towards -- good God, gag me with a spoon -- "putting myself out there" might have a lil' something to do with all this sleeping alone. But seriously - I'm onto something with this bug thing. Really.

Have been putting an excessive amount of thought into this (mostly 'cause I've been @ Lisa's lately and therefore have been massacring more bugs than usual - so sorry little guys) and it does makes sense. I don't *need* anyone for anything. Corny as it is -- the shoes on my feet (I've bought 'em), the house I live in (I've bought it), the car I'm driving (I've bought it)... All that means is I really do just depend on me. Damn you Destiny's Child - why didn't you warn me that this independence pendulum could swing tooooo far left of center into chronic single-dom?

So it's settled. I'm gonna work on needing other people for things. Preferably other really tall, sorta geeky, kind, generous, funny and smart people who are willing to, not only squash perfectly harmless insects for me, but who might also make me pee my pants laughing, who might be able to carry His own and to keep up. It wouldn't hurt if He could overlook my many and myriad flaws while at it. Too much to ask?

Well, if you've seen Him, tell Him I just moved to Colorado and am totally ready to hand over all the flip-flops and rolled up magazines. I won't be needing them any longer once He's on the scene to handle this whole bug situation. What a relief!
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There's a Fire on the Mountain Tonight (yee haw!)

There is nothing more delicious than a burnt marshmallow on a graham cracker that's been dropped in the dirt.

Stars.
Campfires.
Hammocks.
Headlamps.
Gin Rummy.
The PK Game.
No cell service.
No Interwebs.
Peeing outside.

All good things, no? It has been soooooooooo long since my last camping trip, I'd nearly forgotten all these tiny pleasures, not to mention their cumulative & relaxing effects. As if the dirt under the fingernails wasn't enough of a good time -- the sunburned nose and the slightly long leg hair outta count for something.

Look, 6-ish years in New York (City, rumor has it that there is a State too but have yet to see any proof) doesn't make for easy camping. Doesn't make for any camping really. The last real camping I did involved keg stands and skinny dipping - Thanks Libby - not that there's anything wrong with that. Suffice it to say, I've missed all that nature (not *that* nature - the trees and the dirt and the pine cones kinda nature).

But it's really the campfires that get me. Those hours at the end of the night when there's nothing left to do but sit and stare into the flames, nursing the last few beers and hoping that the smell of this smoke is seeping into every sweatshirt and bandanna so as to prolong the magic once home. Depending on the company, it's either play silly games or tell awful truths; either way it's the whole point of the trip. It's sweetest when most of the team has zipped into their tents, leaving behind those that just. can't. bear. to see it end for the night. Seems to me those of us that hang in there are always those that need the extra quiet time, that crave the extra wide open space, that miss seeing stars in a way that we simply can not explain.

Is it city living that makes us love being out there? Or is it nostalgia from being drug along on similar trips as kids? Again, either way, same glorious result.

I'm looking forward to Colorado for many reasons. Not the least of which though is the easy, peasy access to campfires. Bring on the banana boats and point me to the trees that are precisely far enough apart to string up the hammock... it's gonna be a loooooooong night.

icouldn'tfindanysongtitlesaboutsnoringtwoyearolds

Tiny detail from yesterday -- Andi (Lisa's 2 y/o) surprised me (and made me pee myself just a touch laughing) with her master fake snoring skills.

We were playing with Tyler (her 5 y/o bro) and all pretending to be asleep. This passes for play, turns out. I dropped a few exaggerated snores and loud wheezing exhales and the next thing I knew -- she made exactly the same cartoonish sounds, but they came outta her tiny 2 y/o curly-headed self. Hilarious.

True - she does a thousand adorable things every day.
True - she's likely the most beautiful little thing you ever did see.
And now True - she can (fake) snore like a Mac truck, or, sadly, just like her daddy does.

Chasing Cars

Seems like overkill to write *again* about buying a car... bear with. Now that I took the plunge - I feel a love affair coming on.

Maybe other New Yorkers (or pseudo-New Yorkers like myself) will understand best the reservations and the excitement that comes with having your own car again after living in The City and being without one for nearly 6 years. Am loving the feel of my own wheels again after so long as a straphanger.

You mean I can go anywhere at anytime just 'cause I want to? And I can take extra shoes, full size shampoos and wildly sharp objects since none of that has to fit in a carry-on or make it thru the TSA madness? Fantastic. Does this mean I can swing by the grocery store and stock up on heavy things like beer & milk without having to figure out how to get them home? Hallelujah!

Was coming up with excuses to go outside and sneak peeks at him (Evan -- more on that later) tonight. I had to sit in the back seat for a while. Needed to futz with all the little compartments and cup holders and readjust the mirrors for the 500th time. Had to tweak the radio and play with the seat again 'til it felt just so. I'm thrilled that I've got a few looooooooong drives ahead of me so soon. First to Tucson, then Albuquerque and on to Denver; that should be just enough time to finish falling in love.

'Course, we all know that I do like to get lost, here's hoping that we can keep that on the figurative side of the line for now.
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I've Got a Little Pile of Tin... (soon, I hope)

Haven't bought a car, turns out, in over a decade. The only driving I've really been doing in the past 6-ish years has been enormous box trucks for events, the ERV for the Red Cross, 20 minutes or so of a rental car in London (before the girls made me switch after a particularly harrowing roundabout situation), 3 weeks of nearly sliding backwards off our cliff in Spain, and a very generous 6 months with Gretchen - Josh's 4Runner.

The impending move to Colorado (woo hoo!!) says it's time to get behind the wheel again. Tricksy business, this car shopping. Made all the tricksier by my new (read: teensy) budget. This girl loves a research project though, not to mention the need for some sort of tracking spreadsheet-ness... so off I go. And, with the aforementioned tiny budget -- I'm looking at 10 year old cars anyway so perhaps the lapse in car ownership/purchasing won't be a handicap after all.

I'm trying to be all research-y and hard facts about this purchase. Truth be told though, I've loved - LOVED - every car I've owned. Each offered me the freedom to be where I needed or wanted on my own terms. Powerful stuff if you think about it. Each car was also with me for a distinct window of time in my life and, as such, each is tied up in many memories. Memories of Friday night high school make-out sessions, getting to my first job (life guarding at Coffinger Park), leaving for college, camping in the desert, sneaking into that hot tub in the foothills, cross country (or continental) moves, road trips, road trips, road trips, drive thru daiquiri shops & Mustang Sally's, coming home, Gates Pass & stars in a desert sky, picking Josh up from Pottawattamie County Jail, moving away again, not driving in the Cleveland snow, commuting, Daniela changing the radio station, getting a promotion, falling for a few boys, wine country, Burke's Russian River canoeing, hearing the news of September 11th, looooooooong coastal drives & insanely painful breakups...

I'll still check Consumer Reports and I'll still consult my spreadsheet, but mostly I'll look forward to expanding this list with new memories that you can only get to in your car, with a giant fountain soda and the radio on (preferably Country, sorry Josh).

Betsy - my first love, may she rest in peace. No A/C in AZ, racing stripes, could barely cram people into her tiny backseat, painted her up for homecoming, nearly lost my virginity in her (what?!), bought her for $200 from my mom, sold her for $500 when I left for college.

Harry - (named for my grandfather, a mechanic) being towed on one of his many moves with me. He was with me through college, New Orleans, back to Tucson, Cleveland, San Diego and San Francisco not to mention every side trip and adventure in between. Cried my sad little eyes out the day I sold him, true story.

No good photo of McGruderFish - the delicious VW Jetta with the super cute ass. He was my first real debt and my only "nice" car. Sold him to Josh when I moved to New York. My next car has big (leather-seated, V6, moon roofed, CD changer in the trunk) shoes to fill...
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Something In The Way She Moves

Gotta write something - each day, every day, no more skipping. It's not that I'm lazy, not really. Nor that I'm letting myself be intimidated by this whole process (OK, maybe it's a little of that). Mostly it's that I sit down to write and whoosh - all the ideas and any coherent thoughts just rush away from my fingers and brain.

So, today, I'll just steal thoughts from other people. Or perhaps it's less theft and more wool gathering. Either way - I firmly believe that to be a good writer (someday! someday!), one has to be a great reader. And here's what I'm reading, absorbing and, apparently, regurgitating today.

It's no accident, obviously, to find me reading The Geography of Bliss by Eric Weiner. I repeat myself to say that I'm Searching for Something. And those who know, know that I have a gypsy history of moving from city to city in search of that Something. It's always incredibly validating to see your thoughts in someone else's words or actions - so here are a few gems I lifted this weekend from his lovely book:

1. One way Americans pursue happiness is by physically moving. Every year nearly 40 million Americans move.
2. We are shaped by our environment and, if you take this Taoist belief one step further, you might say we are our environment. Out there. In here. No difference. Viewed that way, life seems a lot less lonely. (Weiner is quoting what clearly must be my next read: geographer Yi-Fu Tuan's autobiography in a chapter titled, awesomely, "Salvation by Geography")
   
3. When you're in the bathtub, you need to move a little to feel the warmth.

I particularly like that last point... for it's our actions and our movements and, in some cases, our moving that create the biggest ripples. It's not what we plan to do, or hope to do, or even set out to do... but what we eventually get around to doing that matters. Forget "It's the thought that counts". Time to put some of those thoughts into action... if only I can remember them long enough to do something with them now that I've committed to the follow-through.
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All the Road Running

In recent months I've been accused of Running From Something with all this wandering. Please, please let him be wrong. Please, PLEASE let me be running to, seeking out, searching for... not running from. Otherwise -- yikes.

I've also been, frequently, accused of Being Brave with all this wandering. I don't know about Brave. Confused - perhaps. Unsettled - undoubtedly. Itchy - absolutely. Lost - you betcha. But Brave? I certainly wouldn't name it that.

Truth be told, it's somewhere in the middle. Somewhere between Lost and Brave. Somewhere on that fine, delicate edge of knowing exactly where/what (who?) I want to be and having absolutely no inkling of how to get my hands & heart on any of those answers. I truly do just wander, and I've gotten really lucky so far... lucky enough to trick you, dear readers, into thinking that I'm Brave and Bold and living out some sort of gypsy dream. Somehow I stick the landing well enough each time to make y'all think I had a plan all along.

Finally though, it seems that the running and running is, for once, moving me closer to some actual goals. Instead of waiting for life to fall into my lap, I'm taking steps, making plans, setting deadlines and looking forward to something specific, rather than peering forward into murky new "adventures" and figuring it all out when I get there. Here's what I hope to find at the end of this latest road-trip rainbow:

• A job, a home, a life and (dare I say it?) some luuuuuuuv in the gorgeousness that is Colorado.
• A new direction, career, drive, and dedication in Disaster Relief, Emergency Management, etc.
• A healthier body, mind and spirit.

Wow - a plan, goals, specifics... this is big. No, this is a first -- and at this stage, firsts are hard to come by so I can't wait. Can't wait to get started, can't wait to see if I will even recognize my goals once I get to them.

Better yet, can't wait to see if they will recognize me -- after all, I have been away for a while.

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