All the Single Ladies - No Coats or Pillows

On a sunny winter day a new friend came over and we worked in the yard. As we excavated three months' worth of weeds, we talked about relationship stuff and she asked questions that unearthed some hibernating assumptions inside me. 

Honestly, I had sorta given up on meeting a romantic someone. She and I discussed the unnaturalness of online dating but that really, that was the best way to meet men who were also looking to connect.

My friend was so kind and complimentary that after awhile, I started to wonder why I hadn't again attempted online dating sooner. Besides the timing was good. I'd recently gone to an event where they'd taken pictures. And I now had the...

Full of confidence and optimism, I created an online profile....

...added my best picture ever

...and in the first week

....got pretty much no responses.

I find that in situations where I feel rejected, dejected and like a complete loser the best thing to do is to compare myself unfavorably.

So I thought of my friend who had recently tried online dating and found success in a week.

After a week in the match.com sahara, I gave up.

{Ed. note: The pictures reenacting this week - sitting on the couch eating Chicken in a Biskit crackers, then lying on the couch recovering from said crackers were too depressing to include.}

I know there's a formula to find your person. Online dating? Friends of friends? Leaving your house? All of the above? I just don't know how to crack it.

Within a few days, I began to recover. I realized it's not a black-and-white proposition: just because I'm single doesn't mean my existence has less meaning. 

The best way to describe it is this: being by myself is like sleeping without a pillow. I still have a cozy bed, but having a pillow would add a bit more cushion, comfort. 

One of my close friends is single and says all the time that she's okay being single; she loves her life. She is also my only friend that won't live anywhere that she needs to own a coat. However, she happens to love Chicago but the no-coat rule eliminates the possibility of her living there.

This reminded me, for a long time, whenever I'd stay as a guest at someone else's house, I'd always refuse a pillow: "Oh no, I don't like them. I'm really okay without one."

* * *

If I was Carrie Bradshaw (which I am gladly not and I'm sorry I have to invoke her name but I am apparently channeling her), I would say 'Are we single ladies because we have learned to live without coats and pillows?'

This post is also syndicated on blogher.com. 

The Stuff of Life (part 2 of 2)

Click here for The Stuff of Life (part 1 of 2)

As I got older, my relationship with my dad followed a pretty typical trajectory.

We saw each other pretty regularly, but our stubbornness and different opinions about how to live our lives remained.

Then as my dad got older, his health began to deteriorate.

He was in and out of the hospital. 

Finally, his wife called and told me that the doctor had determined the cause of his latest sickness was a tear in his heart. It was a risky surgery and my dad didn't want to do it. 

The doctor was going to send him home and set up hospice.

I drove down to Portland, knowing this could be goodbye.

***

My dad was in surprisingly good spirits. He was happy that my aunt and uncle drove over to see him, and that he was surrounded by family. 

It made me happy to do little things for him. He was frail and not eating much, so I was happy to bring him pumpkin shakes from Burgerville and that he would drink them. It felt like my special job.

Shake on Monday

But on Wednesday when he didn't want the shake, I put it in the fridge. I noticed he hadn't touched the shake from the day Tuesday, or finished Monday's. He was getting worse.

My brother and I dealt with our grief the best way we knew how. 

A hidden gift was the time I got to spend with my dad. Now I understood the lollygag. We'd just sit there, sometimes talking, sometimes holding hands, me usually crying.  His heart was so open. It was a new phase of our relationship.

On his last day, dad told the hospice nurse he was ready to go. She said it was pretty unusual that he would say that in front of us. It was a privilege that we were there up until his last breath, as heartbreaking as it was to see him go. 

***

In the days after my dad died, the richness he left became more apparent as we told friends and family and they shared their memories. 

***

We all agreed unanimously about the spot to spread Dad's ashes.

It was in Oysterville. You can smell it before you arrive.

It felt like the richest, most fertile spot along the peninsula.

Dad would have loved it.

My dad's wife, her daughter, my brother, his wife and their two daughters all joined in.

The fast moving water and the windswept blue sky felt like vibrant life, still moving. The mounds of oyster shells gave off their fecund smell while they waited to host the next generation. 

The Stuff of Life (part 1 of 2)

After my dad died, my family gathered on the Washington Coast to spread his ashes.
We only had general ideas so we drove around to feel out the right location.

Too marshy at this spot. Only my brother and my dad's wife even got out of the car here.

* * * 

Growing up, we joked that I must belong to a different family.

My family was always late. I have many memories of waiting until it was a reasonable time to leave for school.

So when I could, I'd latch onto the other family, living next door.

Which was great, because my family was on a completely different schedule.

When we took a family road trip to Montana for my great grandmother's birthday, I spent about half the trip  riding with my cousins because they were traveling on a timetable. 

My family wanted to stop and check out ghost towns, have picnics, experience the countryside. 

There is a whole subset of family vacation photos taken while I was traveling with my cousins

 I wanted to leave on time, I didn't want to lollygag.

At Halloween, we couldn't ever buy costumes.

My dad always designed our homemade costumes.  

I wanted things tidy, inconspicuous and normal. 

I wanted to live in a suburb, eat at McDonald's in 15 minutes and have parents that watched 'Happy Days'.

My parents, and in particular my dad, had strong ideas about how we were going to live: we were building our own houses, living communally with another family in a rural, conservative town, we were weird and didn't even have a TV for four years.

My parents were preventing me from Living My Best Life....

--- to be continued...

Look out 2011

Reflecting on my year, this drawing blog has ranked high on the 'What's Good' column.

Because I'm working on another drawing post, I'm channeling my pictures there. So now I must try to use my words. I have so much heartfelt gratitude for those of you who have encouraged, read, commented on, talked to me about and shared these drawings. I've loved doing the drawing but your responses and feedback really turn it into something vital.

New post -- part one of two -- coming this week.
thank you all
Eileen

Outsider Yogini - Busted by the Bottle

On a recent delicious day off, I had the whole day ahead of me and could do whatever I wanted.

I practice yoga mainly for the inner benefits. But going to an advanced class can make me feel outwardly insecure.

For one, my prototypical yoga ensemb doesn't include cute Lululemon togs.

And I'm not BUILT like an advanced yoga class yogini.

Typical yoga gun versus my hamhock gun

I rushed to the studio. But once I arrived, I saw lots of yoga instructors in class. I felt a bit self-conscious in my yoga outfit (let's be honest: pajamas).

As promised, the class was tough. As the room began to heat up, the familiar smells began to blossom throughout the room. But I was hanging with the advanced crew.

When we had to pair up for handstands, the woman next to me didn't want to partner. I felt like the last one picked for dodgeball. Or not picked.

"I'm not in the right state of mind to support someone else"

So, the teacher and I paired up for handstands.

When she first saw me in class she narrowed her eyes and repeated it was an advanced class. I earned slight street cred working with her; even though I was wearing pajamas and had non-lithe yoga but more hamhock guns, I still could do a strong handstand.

And I made it through 10 of the 13 backbends. I was feeling pretty good. 

When I returned from a bathroom break, the scent of the room hit me again.  I did a smell check around my mat to ensure that my failure to shower wasn't apparent.

Yoga is an opportunity to learn more about yourself. 

I learned that my late night grilled cheese the night before wasn't really a secret anymore.

But I made a good showing at the two-hour advanced class and maintained my low profile status with some dignity. I said goodbye to the teacher before I left. 

Then I remembered, the water bottle I'd just bought.

Living with the Risk of Earthquakes

Living in California, the fear of earthquakes are never too far. Specifically, the Next Big One.


Here's where I think about it:


The Transbay Tube
Every time you BART between San Francisco and the East Bay, you travel through 3.6 miles of underwater tunnel on the bottom of the bay. 

I find that three-point-six miles is enough time to halt any commute distractions I've got going for some worst case scenarios. In fact, I don't recommend Googling 'transbay tunnel' and 'earthquake' as I just did.

The Waldo Tunnel

Right after the the Golden Gate bridge, you travel through this tunnel in Marin County. It's beautiful scenery. The eucalyptus smells glorious. I sometimes hear angels, as I feel so grateful to live here. 

Either the happiest tunnel in the world or the gayest. Unclear. 

This cheerful tunnel amidst gorgeous countryside also triggers terrifying earthquake scenarios.

***

So as to not live in denial, I have water and canned goods set aside. 

I also have a dog. 

After I got him, it occurred to me he could be my early detection system, since animals have extrasensory perception about natural disasters.

Then I talked to someone who experienced the '89 earthquake, with his dog. 

***
After seeing a picture of earthquake damage in my 3rd grade social studies book, earthquakes joined UFOs as one of the main terrors I imagined before falling asleep at night.

As a little girl, I couldn't understand people so cavalier to live in California, where they were risking their lives (and their glorious swimming pools), living near a fault. 

As an adult, I've come to realize you weigh the benefits and the risks. 


There's so much about Northern California, the Bay Area, San Francisco and Oakland that reward me everyday. For me, it's not worth it to play it safe. 

(And just so I'm not tempting fate, a little shouty for St. Emydius, who I just learned protects against earthquakes). 

I took Project Runway a little hard this year

I think I got too invested in Project Runway this year.

When the winner was announced, I couldn't let it go.

I found myself reading about the final episode after I'd already watched it. Not just one article.  

(If you don't have a TV or didn't watch Project Runway, the finale came down to two contestants - Mondo and Gretchen, and Gretchen won. )

Mondo's clothes were always bright and full of patterns -- self-assured and happy. 

Gretchen's clothes were current, but they were also a little dreary and a lot brown. They looked like they were too cool to engage.

I had a synthetic brown dress with a similar print in high school. If she is trotting out what I bought at Nordstrom in the 80s, not impressed.

Okay, so the judges made a subjective decision. That's fine. It's a TV show. Moving on. 

Or not...

Realizing I was still upset about the fact that Mondo lost, I had to uncover why this had such a lasting effect.

* * *
Mondo proved his badassness in a few ways over the season...

He befriended the guy everyone else picked on. He was so unabashed in his self-expression. Everyone else could sort of suck it.

This outfit was an homage to The Cotton Club. It freaked me out at first, then I respected the badassness to pull this off.

He revealed the secret he'd kept for 10 years, that he was HIV +...

He designed this pattern to represent his history, and his HIV + status

* * *
It occurred to me that the qualities that Mondo exhibited are ways that I aspire to be more badass -- not falling prey to the crowd mentality, and expressing oneself authentically, even if it's risky.

Those qualities seem prizeworthy. But he didn't win.

I take solace in the fact that my extensive research found lots of other vehement Mondo fans. So maybe his prize is fierce fan loyalty and knowing that he's inspiring others.

But let's get back to the numbers (and a bit of cattiness):
Monda Guerra Facebook fans: 5,700
Gretchen Jones Facebook fans: 12