Gobble Gobble

Thanksgiving, part two. Yesterday (for the "real" thanksgiving), we went upstairs to have dinner with our landlord and the family. Lovely- so nice not to have to drive anywhere. Today, we did it our way- incorporating Kingston family Paxo tradition (stuffing seasoning) and our own homemade gravy tradition. Jack loves the stuffing (yeah, he's our son), and oh! he loves Yams, too - so, yeah's he's definitely my son. So many blessings. Can't count. Giving thanks as we digest....

Hello, My Name is Laura....

My fingers bleed on occasion. Well, at least once a day. The skin around my nails is in a constant process of healing- fresh red pus, a new scab, or a faint scar. I don’t think I’m in the minority of people who bite their nails (or, more precisely, the cuticle and skin around the nails). My sister does it, as does a good friend of mine. We talk about it now and then, laughing away the silly habit. Like eating too much chocolate in one day, we are nonchalant about this nervous skill. The truth is, I’ve been biting, chewing, spitting, and swallowing the skin around my nails for longer than I can remember- at least since middle school. At 31, I think it’s time to face reality and admit this habit is out of control.

Back when I was still living under the impression that biting my nails was more of an eccentric action (rather than plainly destructive), I was actually somewhat proud of the damage I could do. It’s not too far from hearing alcholics or drug addicts talk about how much Vodka they could down in a few hours or how many lines of coke they could snort and still function. Even when they may have admitted the problem and endured rehab, there would still be some distant pride in surviving the self-inflicted ordeal. The greater the damage, the stronger the spirit must have been to survive. My fingers must feel that way. I can hear them now, “Back in 1996, right after a spectacular day kayaking in the Puget Sound, mouth went to town on us, biting each side of each cuticle for at least a half an hour, working the skin just before the bleeding, trying to savor the calluses left over from last week’s binge, prolonging the inevitable need for Band Aids. Oh, but we are still here. Typing away.”

Okay, so when I think about it, I am fairly ashamed of my actions. Maybe the drug and alcohol abusers are, too, when they have to recount the details of their actions. But, I do remember the day when Ed, who had only recently married me, engaged the morbid fascination of my biting (now it’s just a nuisance for him, like any repeated action you live with for nearly a decade). He asked me to bite his nails like I bite mine to better understand my process. Unabashedly, I bit the skin on the side of his cuticle, just like I do mine, hard and precise. His hand recoiled. Shocked at the realization that I actually bite the skin, and not the nail, like “normal” people, we never really addressed the issue again.

For the last two weeks, I’ve taken a page from the AA handbook and decided to take my nail biting day by day. I wake up most days, and say to myself, “I won’t bite today. I might bite tomorrow, but I will just focus on today.” Unfortunately, I’ve yet to get through an entire day without biting. I don’t even know my record. Four, maybe six hours, tops, I would guess. The trouble is, I don’t even know I’m doing it. It’s not like I have to call a dealer (“got any fresh skin?”) or pour a drink. I just have to zone out working, thinking, watching t.v., and my teeth crave their pacifier. I’m still trying, though. I’m thinking about putting picture of beautifully manicured hands from jewelry advertisements in all the places I’m prone to nibble.

Damn, It's Getting Cold

This morning on the news the nice Boston weather man said that tonight's low would be 16 degrees. I promptly turned to Ed and told him that I was "out" - pack my bags, I'm heading back to the balmy northwest.

Yes, I am a weather wuss. You see, I've grown up in Tacoma, Washington- where we really don't have seasons, where it stays around 50 degrees for nine months out of the year. Yes, I can take the 40+ days of rain and the rare glimpses of sun. And, yes, while I do greatly appreciate the gorgeous fall colors, I just looked up yesterday and discovered that winter is indeed HERE. And, I can assure you, I have no idea what WINTER means - not yet anyway. The trees are bare. I miss my evergreens. I miss wearing the same coat from September to April.

Tomorrow we are going shopping for winter coats and such. I've already spent nearly $40 on hair products to keep my hair from turning into the straw the cold, dry weather (and radiator heat) is turning it into.

Cheers to everyone out there who endures and survives the seasons. I'm planning on spending much of my time viewing it all from inside the house- working those extra hours to pay for our gas bill.

Tomorrow is promised to no one

I had just walked in the door from the grocery store and put the bags on the counter.

"You're Dad just called," said Laura in the tone that signals Bad News is coming.

A dear family friend had died. She was a close friend of my Mom's and the mother of a high school buddy of mine.

How is it that Bad News always seems to cut through the "everydayness" of a busy day? One minute you're consumed by thoughts like, "damnit, the car carpets are really dirty," and the next you're reminded of how fleeting, this, really is. After 9/11 I told myself I should tell those I care about how much I appreciate them. Put some thought into it too. Of course, Life slogged on. School and work started up and I was right back to focusing on the "car carpets" of my daily life.

I will say a prayer for the family. I'll call my Mom to check in. And today, I'm going to keep my mind off the carpets and on those things that really matter.

Reflective Shopping

Not that I need a reason- but because I spend the majority of last week cooped up with a sick child and was fighting off my very own cold - I decided to take a holiday Saturday afternoon. People were coming over to watch Notre Dame defeat Tennessee - and, as with most football games, my emotions were tied only to how the outcome affects Ed's mood. In other words, I had absolutely no interest in watching football, especially IN THE HOUSE, which is where I've been for the last week.

I've had a Macy's gift card- given to me by my students from EDCC last spring- that I have been meaning to spend. I heard that there was an actual mall in Boston- more than one, but hadn't ever actually been to any of them. I've always prided myself on preferring the smaller, independent shops- maybe that's the organic Seattle snob/idealist in me, but lately I'd been craving some good, old fashioned consumer indulgence. Like my love for cable, I am what I am - a channel flipping consumer. So, I headed to the South Shore Plaza without a care in the world, ready to browse my brains out and, if something caught my eye- perhaps even purchase.

While roaming Pottery Barn and Crate & Barrel looking for ideas to spruce up our home, I realized that it hasn't been since before I went to WWU that I actually had the time to do something that I chose to do. For the last five years, if I needed to take a break from studying, writing papers, grading papers, planning class, having a baby and nursing him, I had to MAKE the time - which usually meant foregoing some crucial task (you know, like pumping milk so my breasts wouldn't explode or sleep). I gotta say, it was NICE to cruise around a mall, try on perfumes, wander into stores that I would never go into unless they were on my list of needed "stuff," and basically just hang out.

I stopped at the Gap to buy jeans (seems all that "moving adjustment" adrenaline that kept me in my wonderful post-nursing weight has calmed down, that plus my recent ravaging of all the leftover halloween candy is making my current jeans a bit snug). I know that I'm old because I don't like buying jeans anymore- not because I don't like trying them on (that's bad enough), but because it's nearly impossible to find any jean that doesn't leave your ass crack hanging out anytime you're not standing up straight. Trying to figure out if "regular" meant regular, or 1/2 inch crack as opposed to "full crack," I asked a gap gal which jeans were the ones with the lower waist. Assuming I was looking for the more "trendy" (ass cracking) jeans, she pointed to the "low" section saying "oh, these are the ones you want," hinting that anyone who wanted anything else was next in line at the PTA meeting. I clarified that I wanted the ones that came up higher on the waist, she recovered as only an experienced retail salesgal could and pointed me in the right direction. I got my jeans, didn't (and don't) care about the fact that the sit only an inch or so below my belly button and wonder if I'm being "classic" or "out dated" in my fashion selections.

Oh, well. The afternoon was lovely. And Jack survived the five hours without mommy (of course). I came home replenished. I don't think it was that I needed time to shop - but just some TIME. I don't know how I would have made it out here teaching. It seems like the last five years in grad school and teaching (oh, and becoming a parent) have completely overrun personal time. I started to become a bit proud (read: martyr) about how much I devoted myself to two distinct roles: mommy, instructor. Wife, friend, sister, woman came in a very distant second, if at all. Is it in our culture to champion such inbalance? Whatever, I'm so glad that I decided to not teach, even if it meant I was in job limbo for a while- I was DONE. It wasn't until my little Saturday siesta that I understood just how "done" I was with that life.

I worked at a UCC church during grad school. One of the pastors there said that there are no coincidences. I'm inclined to agree. In all the change and turmoil of the last five years, I continue to move forward. I still can't reconcile why things work out for us - because I know there are millions if not more folks out there for which things DON'T work out. That's something to ponder and write about in my next five hour break.

-Laura

Little Things

The volume on my alarm clock was somehow set to its highest setting this morning. Needless to say, Laura and I were jolted from our sleep this morning. Who changed the setting? We have a suspect. We'll be questioning him later today.

The ride in to school was unusually pretty today. The leaves are techinically past their peak foilage (is that the right term?) but it didn't matter. I ride along several parks where the backdrop was a mix of bright yellows, dark reds and oranges. Coming from the Evergreen State, I forgot the smell of leaves in the fall.

Locked the bike up and took the T the rest of the way into school. Decided to walk a different route to school. I love it when I have the time and energy to just try a different way to a destination. Maybe could save me some time, maybe it couldn't. Walked along Beacon, sun coming up over downtown, Fenway Park in the sunlight, the Pike (I-90) busy below me. Cut through an alley way and came out on Comm Ave across from the School of Ed. Perfect.

Non-Rhetoric Coffee, please

The coffee place I go to near school was closed today. Something wrong with the pipes said the sign on the door. No water. I went to Starbucks.

Actually, I don't why I go to this coffee shop in the first place. It's staffed by the type of smug, snooty undergrads that act bothered by you even being there. I was told they don't recognize terms like "short", "tall", "grande" because, and I quote, "It's bad enough Starbucks is taking over the world." Sure. Fine. Whatever. I'll have a medium, non-fat mocha. It's still ok to call it a mocha, isn' it? Or did The Man invent that term too? In that case I'll have a medium-calorie-challenged-people's-chocolate-coffee drink please.

Damn if they don't have good pastries and bagels though. [gritted teeth] So I put up with them.

Not My Fantasy

I got a call Sunday night from a friend in Seattle. I asked him how his newborn (2nd child) was doing, particularly his wife. I got some details, but when pressed for more was reminded that he couldn't focus on anything other than the task at hand: draft night.

For those of you blessed enough not to know about it, fantasy basketball (and football, baseball, probably hockey, soccer and diving) is what all the men are doing (or thinking about) these days (it hasn't trumped sex... yet). Matt had called for Ed's conference call with the other fantasy basketball mangers? coaches? for this year's draft. Ed had printed out his list of names, was studying them at the coffee table (despite the last few days panic about *all* the work he had to), distinctly agitated that the draft was starting an hour earlier than established.

Fantasy sports irriate me. I'm not sure why. I know some of my irritation comes from a guarantee of more sporting television hours. I used to enjoy college football season because it meant I'd get a break from the predominance of sport on television when the season was over- and Ed doesn't watch that much, really. Fantasy basketball annoys me in a special way. First of all, the basketball season is at least as long as a school year (I swear), so from now until NEXT JUNE, Ed will be checking out BB highlights (he never used to be so diligent- something I miss). And not just ONE team - rather a bevy of teams for which ALL of his fantasy team plays on. My own special torture. Last year, up half the night with Jack, exhausted from being new parents, Ed would STILL find time to check his team - I think he even woke up a few minutes early to see how "his" guys were doing. What the hell?

I've talked with other women about this (and just so you know, I don't know any women who play fantasy sports with the vim and vigor that our male counterparts invest- or any women who play for that matter) and we don't have an equivalent to fantasy sports playing. I think this is why I get so annoyned. You know, we don't have a daily "thing" that we're equally invested in(other than a freaking phenomenal wife/mother/woman/domestic balancing act), thoughtful about, and, frankly, something that can make or break a good or bad mood. I know the $ aspect helps, but for 7+ months of checking scores, trading players, reading/researching new players- I don't think it's the $100 prize (or whatever it is) that's inspiring these guys. I think I'm jealous. I want to be so intrinsically inspired and devoted.

Anyway, tonight, Ed was flipping through the channels as I was setting out some pages to edit. Bothered by the color and chatting jolting, I asked for the remote and finished watching an episode of Law & Order - just to maintain some order while I got organized myself. When the show was over, I stood up, engaged in a discussion about the death penalty with Ed (spurred by the show)- how I am definately against it because if there ever was a CHANCE that a mistake could be made, we should take it off the table since death is (duh) irreversible. He asked how I felt about abortion (we both assume that life is life from the get-go-micro cell). Still unsure about that, but my argument leaning towards having it allowed - which, yes seems hypocritical - but, hey - the government needs to stay out of our bodies- to either NOT allow someone to be killed or ALLOW someone to be killed.

Near the end of our light early evening chat, I noticed that Charles Barkely was talking from a podium desk- the kind sports analyses spews from. WHAT? You're already watching BB highlights? I went off for about 30 seconds before Ed gently (read: smugly) reminded me that I had taken the remote and that this was the show that came on after L&O - that, in fact, I had in a sense, allowed this show to be watched.

I promptly walked away to vent on our blog.

-Laura

Snow for Halloween?

It snowed 2 inches on Saturday and today it's 67 degrees and sunny. Go figure. I was sad for a millisecond Saturday night when the snow started to melt. I say a "millisecond" because I remembered right away the calander still read October. I mentioned this to our neighbor, a Boston native, and he looked at me with a mix of disgust and bewilderment.

"ya haven't seen much snow in yor time, have ya?"

School is at that point in the semester where I'm not quite sure how everything's going to get done. I went through this in grad school at Western. I'd reach a point where I'd think, "damn, I got a lot of crap to get done....how's it going to happen?" Of course, December (or June, if it was Spring) would come and everything would be done and I could finally exhale. It's just that right now December seems really far away.

Not that I'm complaining about school. Or "exhaling", as Laura might tell you, it's not like I DON'T find the time for a game on the PS 2 or some quality time with my helmets.

So school is busy: papers, projects, presentations, the usual. My internship with the soccer team is winding down as the season comes to a close. Winds down for now, because college sports are year-round basically, and my sport psych work really picks up during the off-season. The coaches have liked my stuff so far, and in sport psychology consulting, that's half the battle. The Very-Cool part of it is I really enjoy the work I do with the team.

My fellowship is going well too. It's for a Intro to Teaching class for underclassmen. On Mondays I lead a discussion section and on Wednesdays I supervise some of them at an elementary school in town. "University Supervisor" sounds official, but really I sit in the teachers lounge and finish my homework for the week.

I'm still riding my bike to school at the start of every week. It's gotten easier and the traffic doesn't scare me as much. The weather is still pretty good, so I'll probably keep riding until it gets really cold and snowy.

When will I ever use Algebra when I grow up?

There are plenty of questions from experience we spend our whole lives trying to answer:

Why am I here?
What's the meaning of life?
Why do we drive on parkways and park on driveways?

Why do we do our math homework in junior high?

Tonight the answer to that last question came to me: It's because one day your wife will come home from work and ask if you want to make a couple thousand dollars by checking the answers in a junior high school student math book she's helping to edit.

Scratch that question off my list.

Oh, so Giddy

Okay, in two days we are getting digital cable. THANK GOD. I have realized these last few months that not having cable DOESN'T necessarily mean that I watch television any less (the "less" part came with juggling work and Jack) - what it means it that I watch more BAD television. Case in point: I was actually interested in the preview for this week's Martha Stewart's Apprentice. Yes, the show I watched last Wednesday night instead of grading SAT's online. Not that I wish I would have worked that night- I just I would have had a better television excuse to crash and avoid work.

I'm so genuinely giddy about guilty pleasure television (like Gilmore Girls and all those evening syndicate shows like Sex and the City). I am excited about getting HBO "free" for a month so that I can watch all the hit shows that everyone talks about - the ones that I never watch. Like, Sex and the City- in the last year I spent oodles of $5.00 bills renting all the episodes, hating that I missed them when everyone saw them the first time. I am also pleased as punch to return to food tv (Rachael Ray, Bobby Flay) - as is Ed (who is still on his quest for that holy bbq experience) No doubt Jack will squeal with delight now that we can watch a FULL episode of Blue's Clues (not that he will) as opposed to the jerky snipits online - which, by the way will also change now that we are taking down DSL and its poor performance and replacing it with the magic cable line as well.

Friends are coming over Saturday to watch Notre Dame- Ed is THRILLED. He told me the other night that he hasn't been this excited to watch the Irish play since before we were together (that's over a decade, folks). He would have missed this game since it is not on one of our four current (bad mainstream) channels.

Cheers to the opiate of the masses.

Not Such a Big Deal

I'm no longer upset about missing the DM concert. I think I was just tired and craving my alter-ego's life - the one where me and Ed travel to big cities and tour the east coast with all the money we've saved by not going to school all the time.

What sealed the deal (my "no big deal" about not going to the concert) was that we heard the new album last night. Ed played bits of the songs. Only one good one. Seriously. The other stuff is quite dark and somewhat robotic (the music).

So, for all you folks who were feeling bad about my missing the experience of a lifetime, I think moving to Boston will fill that void for now. For those of you who might be/are attending Depeche Mode's concert in the coming months, don't tell me about it.

Faithful yet Grouchy

So, I'm trying to balance the freelance editing gig with the online SAT essay grading job. I had planned on having Jack in day care from 9-4 this week to give me a lot of "day" space to do both jobs. But, the kid's had this crazy fever so, Ed & I have been doing the "Jack shuffle" - I coordinate the editing office visits with Ed's classes so one of us his home with Jack since he can't go to daycare with a fever. My first thought when Jack has a fever is - "oh, my God, he's got Triple E (that mosquito-carried disease affecting a handful of people in the Northeast). My second, more rational (and self-centered) thought is, "crap- how am I supposed to get all my work done? I took the "day" off from SAT grading yesterday because I was tired from worrying and caring for Jack and juggling two luxurious jobs. As I sat on the couch watching Martha's Apprentice, I thought the better person would suck it up, and get to work. Honestly, I was exhausted. And, even though not grading for those four hours could potentially keep me from future scoring jobs (they are only picking the top 1200 scorers to continue grading. top 1200 out of how many? don't know - I tried to find out, but no one who helps us scorers seems to know), I'm not going to worry. Driving home today from the South End (publisher location), I had a strange thought/emotion: things will work out. Granted, that's easier to think when things indeed ARE working out, but my this freelance job is nearly over and I don't have a lead on anything else. And while I should be worrying about securing a online grading job every other month, I can't force myself to competently read a hundred essays at the end of a long day working and mothering (not that mothering isn't working).

This blog wasn't intended to justify a lazy evening (or, maybe it was). I originally started writing to say that I'm actually learning to let things be and happen - balancing listening to instinct and working for what is needed and what I want to happen.

I was feeling all of this gushy, cosmic warmth about the paradox of fate and free will when I decided to check out ticketmaster for upcoming Depeche Mode concerts. Ed & I are silently ecstatic to purchase DM's new single and album (out this week and next)- the single is AWESOME. It harkens back to "Enjoy the Silence" era, promising the stripped back authentic kind of DM music that creating these fans in the first place. Well, guess what? Tickets are, for the most part, sold out at any of the venues worth traveling to (they aren't coming to Boston so I checked out Atlantic City, Montreal, and Las Vegas- I mean, what the hell). I checked out Ebay and we could purchase tickets anywhere from $299 (for crap seats) to $1100 - with at least 12 hours left to bid. Just when I was feeling good about our place in the universe, I find out that I want to go to a concert that I KNOW will be AMAZING- something that is bigger than our little lives - a moment that I AM SURE that if I was apart of would be one of those fleeting memories that flash in front of you before death. Yeah, Jack and Ed, my childhood and college might make it in there - maybe even some grandkids, but this DM concert is bound to be in the top 5. Is that sad? Whatever it is, I'm pissed that there's something out there that can make $1100+ bucks - it just confirms the fact that everyone knows how incredible the experience will be and that I won't be apart of it. I'll be home scoring student essays that use the word "your" for "you're."

By the way, Jack's fever is down. If it wasn't, I wouldn't be romanticing about the parallel life where Ed & I are in Boston sans child, willing to drop a few C notes to fly to New York for what I've made out to be the experience of a lifetime.

One Good Thing about Harwood Floors

When one of the cats throw up (and one of them does at least twice a week), I don't have to worry about a carpet stain.

The Worst Thing about Muggy Weather is how DIRTY everything feels

And not in the good way. By noon, it feels like all the dirt clinging to the surface of the concrete sidewalks is also desperately clinging to me. I dread walking into the house where our hardwood floors and immense (to us, anyway) cream tiled kitchen floor are a week away removed from a good cleaning - and who knows when they'll get another scrub since I've been putting off buying more swiffer wet things because they don't work that well and I don't like to spend the money on things that don't work very well- and yet I won't buy a mop because it costs more than the nearly useless wet mop wipes. So, I grabbed a cold shower before dinner - hoping to cool off enough to appreciate the muggy warmth (nope) -- and then after dinner (thanks, Ed, for cooking at the hot stove), was wiping up the dirt spots with a washcloth. My hair is still wet, so that helps.

This isn't complaining by any means. I'm just trying to accurately relay the weather here. Things are going well. The reason for my unwanted heat communion with the city sidewalk is because I'm traveling to the South End every morning for my freelancing editing gig. It's going well, but I have a feeling that there are NO MOMS (or DADS) in the office. By 11:00, when I'm scrambling to get through the production edits of some lesson-- in order to get take the bus, T, bus to pick up Jack from day care in time for him to take a nap before his "sleep window" closes and before the incessant hammering and sawing form our landlords' endless home improvement projects ensue after a lunch break-- I can hear the laxidasical (my god, is that how that word is spelled- call me editor queen) conversation in the adjacent cubicle about where's the best place to go for lunch. Lunch? Here's my Odwalla bar crumbs.

I'm starting to think that a relatively hectic life means a successful one. Without trying to beat the clock, I don't appreciate the time we do get- like tonight. Ed's got a shit-load of homework looming over him, but because he has Monday off (Columbus Day - apparently a much more appreciated holiday in Boston than Seattle), or because it's the end of his long-ass week, we're popping in a DVD: "Good-bye Lenin." As long as it is somewhat interesting, we'll be happy. Just lull us into a a mental place where we aren't thinking about next week's work load so we can sleep soundly tonight.

By the way, the weather is going to be cold and rainy this weekend. Thank goodness. It might even feel like the Northwest at times: 57 degrees and wet. Now, that's more like it.

-Laura

Soup, Swimming, and Chocolate

Before we moved, we talked about making more soups. We thought- hey, a whole food genre yet untapped - and one that will most likely taste particularly good when the cold hits (and I KEEP hearing about how it will it and hit hard - hard enough that I've been advised to buy SNOW BOOTS- no, the regular stylish leather boots won't do). But, about the soup (because soup really is more interesting than snow footwear). Tonight, we made a broccoli sausage bean soup. Ed copied the recipe from Rachel Ray's "30 minute meals." He said it looked "SO GOOD." Well, it's on the stove right now, heating up - and I gotta tell you, I JUST HAD TO make some brownies to inspire me to eat the stuff. It looks ghoulish - all green and smelly. I'm sure it's good for me (otherwise, what's the point). I feel like a second grader, needing an after dinner snack to inhale quickly (so as not to taste) dinner.

As this is my main complaint, you may guess that things indeed are working out. Nothing is secure (OF COURSE- I'm beginning to think nothing is EVER secure - despite all of our efforts to create such an allusion), BUT- I did pick up some freelance editing work and connected with a reputable (and, dare I say, pretty cool) temp agency whose clients include publishing companies. So, with the editing gig (two weeks and about the same amount of pay I'd make teaching one class for four months- ??X@#@@!!), the online SATs coming up next week and the temp work, we at least have legitimate income coming in for the next few weeks - which was more than I could say last week. After that, who knows, but it can't be any worse than the last few weeks.

Maybe it's because of all the hammering, sawing, drilling, and pounding that I've jumped at the chance to get out of the house. The other day, I practically slobbered all over the mom from upstairs when she asked if Jack and I wanted to go with her and her three girls (4 years, 18 months, 2 months) to Sears and iparty for baby clothes and halloween costumes. I was so ready to leave the house that I forgot that the woman who hired me for the editing job was going to call with details about the job (yeah, I missed the call, but it's okay thanks to email). Today, we drove out to a small "farm" with ducks, turkeys, a fox, otters, and turtles. The kids loved it. Just as we turned onto the street home, upstairs mom said her motto comes from Dori (?) on the kid movie, "Finding Nemo." At some point, Dori chants, "just keep swimming, keep swimming." I feel like Ed & I have been doing the butterfly stroke (or the hardest stroke there is) the last six weeks- but we get moving, not looking back - just plugging away at life and adjusting to change. This last week it began to feel more like the line from Jodie Foster's directorial stint, "Home for the Holidays" when Holly Hunters' character is sitting on the toilet, emotionally spent from Thanksgiving Dinner with the family. She's talking to her daughter (gal from "My So Called Life") who is telling her to remember the fish (from a vacation) and to "just float." We're beginning to float along instead of swimming upstream. A lot sooner than I thought, I tell you. Of course (to absolutlely drown in the metaphor), we'll hit some heavy currents and sharks, but for now, I'll lay back and float.

Oh, and eat soup. The brownies only have a few minutes left to cook, so I'd better get some hot nutrition before I eat the chocolate for dinner.

-Laura

The Zen of Parking Meters

At some point a couple of nights ago, Summer said, "ah, the hell with it.." and let Fall take over. Yes, yes, as I'm sure some of you are saying, "Ed, we know, Fall began last Friday..." Ha, ha. I know. But it really did suddenly switch over to Fall here. One day, it's warm, sunny, gentle breeze, we got our fans going throughout the house, then I go outside the other day and boom- Fall's here: still sunny, but definitely cooler. The air's got that crispness that you know is only going to get cooler, and- hey, when did the leaves starting fall off the trees and blowing down the streets? Sheez.

BU is on this long city street called Comm Ave. There is one indisputable law of driving around the school and is: Thou Will Pay To Park. It's a $1 an hour to park along Comm Ave using the traditional parking meter. My goal every time I drive to school - find a meter with some time left on it. Of course, it's never that easy. There's a 4 hour limit on the meter, which means I usually have to run out and keep feeding the meter quarters....which leads me to this observation, in an age of modern wonders, why, God, does this city still rely on machines that only takes quarters? You can only ask the poor undergrad working at the coffee shop for change so many times before you're face is plastered on a poster by the register with a sign below it reading, "Do not give change to this man."

So driving in takes some planning. One needs to avoid the meters that are Out of Service (they only have a 1-hour limit). I'm convinced the meters work on a kind of Karma system, where if you leave a meter with let's say, 30 minutes on it for the next driver, you will be rewarded with extra time at some point in the near future. There's even a rumor of a magical meter that's permenantly stuck on "45 minutes".

Sometimes the meters don't tell you they're out of service. Like yesterday, when like an idiot, I started to put quarters into the meter without noticing the time on the meter wasn't advancing. Now, like most people, you'd probably advise me to stop putting quarters into the meter, but I'm not that bright. What do I do? I put another quarter into the meter just to be sure its broken. It was. Crap. No use hitting the meter. I've tried. It hurts. In retrospect, I can imagine this might have been humorous to watch. "Oh, the meter's brok- wait, is it broken, maybe if I put one more quart- damn! [slapping front of meter with palm] come on, are you kidding me-"

Yup, very funny.

There is no radiator in the bathroom

Which is probably good, because that’s one room in the house where Jack won’t accidentally burn himself. We looked into radiator covers, but they are about three hundred bucks a pop (each one has to be custom made). Anyway, it gets cold in bathroom. I took a bath this morning to fend off my weary knee joints – hoping the hot water would help. Really, I just wanted to start reading Jeanette Winterson’s book, “Oranges are Not the Only Fruit” and the bath seems to be one of the only places I allow myself to read for enjoyment.

I’m not completely irresponsible – just this morning after dropping Jack off at day care, I came home to check email and do a quick job search (I’ve pretty much taken a break from sending out resumes- I think the key is to focus on networking). Of the 20+ cover letters and applications I’ve sent out in the last three weeks, my only real job bite has been through a woman that Ed knows at school. She teaches in the education department, but also works at Mazer, a company out of Ohio with Boston offices that produces educational materials. Two weeks ago I sent my resume to the people in Ohio, received a writing sample to edit, sent it back, confirmed its receipt, but haven’t heard back. This week I tried to connect with the executive editor in Boston, but no luck yet. This morning, the woman who works with Ed emailed me to let me know that she might have some freelance work available. Tomorrow I meet with a temp agency in downtown Boston to take a myriad of computer tests (bought my “Excel” study guide at Brookline Booksmith the other day to study). Friday I meet with a guy who worked at Pearson Publishing and is working for a literary agency (thanks, Nicole, for the contact). Next week I start the re-training for scoring online SAT essays. So, maybe the job situation is coming together, hey?

With all of this in mind, I activated our new cell phone with a Boston phone number (thus adding another layer of concrete on our Boston-as-home foundation), put the kettle on and ran the bath. Of course, with the workers hammering the hell out of the house – putting on vinyl siding—my sore knee joints ended up taking a back seat to an emerging headache. I persevered through the first chapter of “Oranges,” turning up the jets to drown out some of the construction, popped a Naproxin to knock out all the physical pain and focused on the mental relief of “things working out.”

It Might Be Cold in Boston, But it's Freezing in Seattle

Being the calm (?!@%!), laid back northwesterners that we are, Ed & I were on the anxious side of curious to discover how people interacted in Boston. We assumed that all those tales we heard about crazy driving and the "fast-paced" east coast would mean that everyone here would be too busy or bothered to acknowedge--let alone speak with-- two rain soaked Washingtonians.

The truth is that Bostonians are geuninely nice. Everyone we've met- in our neighborhood or on the street in town- takes the time to have an engaged conversation, as if they had nothing else to do. And yet, at the same time, they gracefully end the conversation without any awkwardness. Bascially, people get all their daily "stuff" done here while simultaneously putting people first. It's amazing. This ability for folks to be genuinely interested in you, I have to admit, is a strange phenonmenon. Think about it, if you live in or around Seattle, people are good a small talk- but that's it. No one really wants to hear about how hard it is to balance work and parenthood or why you think you and your sister are getting along so well. You've got your friends (hopefully) for those conversations. To be honest, I usually could care less myself. Sure, I'll engage in a quick conversation about the weather at the local coffee shop, but I usually don't know what else to say because it doesn't really make a lick of difference to me if the weather was 10 degrees warmer or cooler than yesterday. It's almost as if everyone in Seattle has their 'stock' discussions- enough information that everyone could respond with a few words, and without being offended (or interested); but not so much information that you dared reveal any individuality, and (GASP) make a new friend. More and more, Seattle seems to me like the Seinfeld episode where Jerry tells Ramone (the pool guy), after Ramone's followed Jerry on his errands, "yeah, I got enough friends, I don't need anymore."

Am I crazy or what? Perhaps it's the west coast (or, more specifically, Seattle) that is distant, superficial, and, well, cold. The Seattle Times captured the Seattle Freeze phenonemon in a relatively recent article. Specifically, how easy it was for newcomers to make friends in Seattle. I gotta tell you, I lived in West Seattle for nearly a year (right on California - the heart of the neighborhood), walked EVERYWHERE, and made only one new friend- another mom who I met on Craigs List. I'm not suggesting that I didn't cultivate my own reserved personality, but there were many days when Ed was gone 15 hours for soccer that I would have loved some company- I mean, I was willing to chat it up with the woman on the street in front of our apartment building - the one who reaked of cigarette smoke, had the thinning figure of a recent drug-addict, and was either homeless or jobless (or both) since Jack and I would run into her at random times during the day. Anyone else who seemed, well, more like my stereotype: frazzled middle-class mom, seemed to be too busy with their own frazzled, middle-class lives.

We've been in Boston a little over a month, have been offered to be driven around to understand the city, been given half a memebership to BJ's (like Costco), invited to dinner with folks that we continue to talk with, and participated in a block party- one where nearly everyone on the block attended, only having been invited by a flyer stuck to their door. And, as I've mentioned before, on my first night in Boston, we met a woman and her family who invited us to her son's first birthday party - and we just met. That would never happen in Seattle. (By the way, we didn't go to the party and I've been terrible about getting in touch with her- call me frozen). I'm telling you, people are more willing to add new people to their lives here. So, thanks Boston. We feel genuinely welcomed.

Leave the Car at the State Line

We've been in Boston a little over a month now. I'm pretty sure we're not leaving anytime soon, so I (finally) headed into Canton (only got lost once) to purchase car insurance. We've been putting it off because, well, it's damn expensive. Our yearly cost is roughly $1000 more than what we paid in Washington- and that's the best deal we could find. Oh, and by the way, finding a car insurance agent was no simple task; there's no State Farm here (what we had in WA), no AllState- none of the 'bigger' names you think of when you think car insurance. On top of the increased insurance is the fact that we had to put down 1/3 of our premium. I signed the $649 check (gulp) and handed it over to the nice lady at Liberty Mutal. Then, proceeded to drive to the gas station to pump $2.84/gallon gas in before Rita reaked havok on that expense.

At least we only have the one car; our landlords (they live on the second floor) have three cars - one that a teenager drives (double gulp). As far as I can tell, we should give up cars and trucks all together. Ed's biking has been going well (we do need to get a headlight for the bike, though now that the sun goes down before he gets home). Ed is the bike's fuel, he can bike anywhere you can walk, and he doesn't have to pay any bike insurance (BU is picking up his health insurance bill). Also, and we need to check out the rigid biking laws, Ed can circumvent all those pain-in-the-ass one way streets and rotaries a car must endure.

This is my last post about the cost of gas and transportation, I promise. I thought anyone thinking about moving to Boston might want to know what to expect.

-Laura

Gas Schmas

Even though gas prices have stabilized at around $2.99 (remember when gas was $1.00? oh, adult nostalgia: gotta love it), we're trying to avoid the pump as much as possible. Ed's been driving to BU for his long days (7-7 on Mondays and Wednesdays), but parking was at least $12/day. This weekend Ed bought a bike. I wasn't convinced that we we'd save money because there are only so many weeks before the weather won't allow such commuting (and then it's onto public transportation which is about $5.00/day). Ed argued the health factors (10 mile bike ride a day) and that a bike was an inexpensive second "vehicle." He left this morning at 7:10- two bags on his back (ugh), made it to BU by 7:55, showered and called to say he arrived safely. Of course.

We should probably start putting the money we save on gas aside for the winter heating bills. The neighbors (fellow counseling psych doctoral canditates at Boston College) told us that their average heating bill last winter was around $140/month. That was before Katrina. Know any great sweater discount stores?

What We'll Have for Breakfast

Before I quit my teaching gigs, I went to an orientation at one of the community colleges I was working at. I met up with my not-to-be fellow instructors and somehow we got on the discussion of blogs and blogging. One of the tenured ladies (note small hint of bitterness at the term "tenured") scoffed a bit, commenting that she didn't understand why anyone would want to read about what someone else had for breakfast. In the spirit of annoying that woman off and in the spirit that our readers actually do care about our daily lives, we thought (yes, Ed & I are writing this together) we'd update you on some of the more mundane happenings in Boston.

Without further ado, here's the "best of Boston - so far"

Best Meal Since I've Been Here

Ed - steak tips and mashed potatoes from Bases Loaded near Fenway
Laura - homemade Cuban burgers with garlic mayo

Favorite Day So Far

Our visit to Waldon Pond

Favorite Thing About Our Place

Ed - we have a yard
Laura - our lavender bathroom with jacuzzi tub

Not So Favorite Thing About Our Place

Ed - the fact that we only have one bathroom
Laura - cleaning our hardwood floors (good thing you can't see our feet)

Favorite Boston neighorhood (other than our own)

Ed - Back Bay
Laura - Jamaica Plain

Something We Didn't Expect From Boston

Ed - Friendliness of strangers
Laura - how much I like the clear distinction between seasons

Jack's Favorite Things About Boston (other than turning 14 months old today)

Sidewalks (walking them forever) and slides!

Oh, and tomorrow for breakfast we are planning on having scrambled eggs, boca sausages and tea. Jack will have soymilk (vanilla flavored), too.

Crackin' Up

Like just about everyone we know (and probably everyone we don't know), Ed & I have made mixed "tapes" since college. We used to put our favorite songs on tape, but finally caught up to the 21st century last year and began burning our mixes on CD. Ed burned his first CD mix the morning we were driving down to Seaside, OR, to stay with friends - aptly titled, "Back to Seaside 2004." I listened to "Back to Seaside" tonight while driving to rent Sex and the City DVD's (don't tell Ed, but I miss cable terribly). Annie Lennox's "Pavement Cracks" is the fourth song and I haven't heard it since last winter. I was immediately transported from a somewhat sticky Boston summer evening to a cold, wet night driving down California Avenue in West Seattle, rain drops smearing the windshield. It's a good song, but what particularly struck me tonight is how the words and the rhythm are in contradiction to one another. The song starts out almost ballad-esque, Lennox's rich and full voice emmiting hope, but the chorus is, well, depressing:

"Love don't show up in the pavement cracks,
All my watercolors fade to black,
I'm going nowhere and I'm ten steps back,
All my dreams have fallen flat."

I couldn't help but think about the last year- how I felt trying to adjust to parenting while trying to figure out what it meant to be husband and wife AND mom and dad. Plus, it was only my second year teaching and I had liked it so much, but the kind of good work I wanted to do hadn't really been possible with a baby. Dreams? Hah. Last year was about surviving. When I'd listen to this song- and sometimes I'd have to turn it off it was so painful--I would let myself imagine the watercolors of my life - you know, those individual apsirations that stay with you (hopefully) even as your "self" is somewhat absorbed into your family. Usually, I'd push those thoughts out of the way before they had a chance to turn black, remember that we were moving to Boston and that I just didn't have the luxury right now for being selfish. And, yeah, that's a bit depressing.

Anyway, after the initial bars of the song, the tempo picks up and Lennox chants in the background, her somewhat droning tone echoing her trademark voice in The Eurythmics. Later in the song, not moments after the song gets even more rocky, the following lyrics held me in the moment:

"Where is my comfort zone, A simple place to call my own?
Everything I wanna be comes crashing down on me."

Would you believe I felt exhilarated? I mean, here I am, jobless, having agreed to move to Boston even though my teaching career and professional relationships were promising, we were seeing (and cherishing) our family regularly, plus I was loving the place I was living in - and I hear a few lines from some song that remind me that I don't feel settled, don't have a comfort zone really yet - financially, career-wise, or even geographically- well, this all came crashing down on me. And yet, the realization that I didn't have a comfort zone didn't crash down on me; it was more like a warm wave washing through me. I felt lucky that there are so many "things" I wanna be. If I felt too comfortable, which is just another way of saying that if I was able to clearly define and label who I am, I wouldn't be in a position to ponder what I might be.

Just like the lyrics and tempo of the song, I was (and am) experiencing genuine contradiction. I am lost, yet certain that I'm going in the right direction. I was reminded of a sermon I heard Sunday when I visited a Congregational Church in Jamaica Plain. The pastor reminded his parishoners that being a Christian means "holding contradictory emotions in creative tension." God, I love that line (to be conistent, part of me hates it, too). Basically, I remembered an ephiphany I had in graduate school: "Emotional tension is good: it means I'm alive. If I felt too comfortable and everything felt settled, I might as well be dead." It's why I love the Everything But the Girl Song that is the title of this song. I mean, when it all comes down to it, the real miracles come when the shit is hitting the fan, but I still feel hopeful, and, well, alive. The truth is I have NO IDEA what path my life will take here in Boston (if the way the roads are out here is any indication, I should avoid expecting clear directions). Now that I'm stripped of many of the influences that might keep me from having insights I might not have-- being in the same general area I've lived all my life or keeping my tunnel teaching blinders on-- I am free to pick (or see) the shape my life can/will take. In other words, I'm ready to flash a welcoming nod to destiny.

We'll talk more later when I still haven't secured any interviews and our rent is due. For now, thanks, Annie Lennox for your honest words and hopeful voice.

-Laura

And I call myself a Literature Scholar

Last Sunday, we visited Walden Pond with friends (the ones who graciously let us stay at their house while waiting for our furniture). The state park has a replica, plus the actual remains of, Thoreau's cabin- the one he used to write his famous "Walden" reflections on - um, on.. well, that I don't know. You see, I never read Thoreau (but I did read and enjoy writings from his good friend, Emerson, who, apparently, used to own the very land that surrounded the pond). My literature education focused on contemporary authors, mostly women, and I left both of my degrees with a slight distain for the so-called "dead white guys." Much like the vibe in academics and politics these days, it became quite easy to have an open attitude for the "correct" authors (women, non-American cultures)- and wholeheartedly dismiss the former perspectives of those who had been in the spotlight for so many years. That's not only prejudicial, but just plain silly - to dismiss someone because they come from a particular era or group that may or may not have representated the oppression of other groups (e.g. Thoreau was able to spend oodles of time reflecting and writing precisely because his sister washed his clothes, made his meals, and tidied up the cabin- leaving little time for her own creative endeavors- if she allowed herself even entertain such thoughts). While I champion the voices that usually don't have agency to speak or be heard, I ultimately appreciate a genuinely beautiful piece of writing. So, I read some "Walden." It's not bad. Makes me long for hours to just sit and think. Reading "Solitude" was a nice break from the main writing I'm doing these days- cover letters and resumes.

Visiting Walden's Pond was also a nice break from adjusting to our new home. It doesn't look like a pond, though. I always imagine a pond as something you could walk across. This "pond" was at least a mile long (that's a guess). It's definitely a lake (we decided that a pond needs to have lilypads). The water was warm and the beach spotted with the usual assortment of sandy shoes, towels, umbrellas, and little kids' naked bums. Like our neighborhood, the park reminded me of a movie scene- particularly the scenes from the film, "Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood" (book was better, of course). If you saw the movie, the four girls grew up on the beach during summer. The moms sunned in their lounge chairs while the kids ran, jumped, and swam in the lake all day under the perfect warm sun-- as if summer was just one long day a the lake. Imagine those scenes, take out the fifties outfits, and you'll know what Walden Pond was like last Sunday. Jack played in the water; Ed took him out pretty deep. Jack would sqeal, half afraid/half excited whenever Ed would bounce him up to his chest in the lake (see picture, below). The weather was warm- perfect for swimming. About fifteen minutes after we arrived, though, a big, black cloud settled over us and spilled warm rain drops on us for about twenty minutes. At least the rain was warm, too.

After the pond, we traveled to a sculpture museum in East Concord - complete with a life-sized car from the 40s, spray-painted silver, whose windows were replaced with televisions playing David Bowie videos. All the modern sculptures were outside, so we had a picnic dinner and wandered around to look at the pieces, reflecting the sun through the recent raindrops. Like many drives outside the city, the road leaving Concord was lined with vast amounts of trees, all promising brilliant fall colors soon.

I went home, happy to have had a good day (finally). With fall around the corner, and Halloween not far away (apparently apple-picking is a big deal here), I'm getting excited about having real seasons. It's nice to have something to look forward to.

Jack & Ed swimming at Walden Pond 

Hey! Gas isn't Cheap!

So how's gas prices where you're at? (Wait, our European readers, put your hands down, we know it's always been expensive for you. I'm sorry.) Us Yanks simply aren't used to paying more than $2 a gallon. It's now hovering around $3.15 here in Boston, and for the first time this week, I've asked myself, "do I really need to drive there?" Yup, we've been spoiled.

What to do? What to do?

The great James Lileks has some ideas.

-Ed

Rules of the Road -- Boston Style

I was forced to learn the rules of the road here in Boston from Day One. Terrified as I may have been, Jay and I wanted to see Fenway Park for ourselves, so we started out to find the ballfield. Five minutes and 5 honks of the horn (not mine, other drivers) it became clear that I had some basic rules-of-the-Boston-road I would have to learn if I was going to survive. It's been 3 weeks since I arrived, so I've got some basic rules that Bostonians would want visitors to their city to know:

Rule #1 -- The car horn is a multi-facited communication device. For instance, at a stoplight that's just turned green: "Please go now" tranlates into honk-honk. "What are you waiting for, you idiot" is hoooooooonk. "That's some nice driving but your too close me right now" might be honk-honk, hooonk.

Rule #2 -- It might seem like this lane can only fit one car, but really 2 cars can use this lane side-by-side just fine. Get used to tight driving spaces.

Rule #3 -- Red lights are only a suggestion.

Rule #4 -- Yellow lights are your sign to gun it. In fact, I think you're expected to make that yellow light just out of courtesy to the guy behind you.

Rule #5 -- You'll have to turn left across oncoming traffic at some point. Therefore, it's not uncommon for people turning left to gun it as the light turns green to beat the oncoming lane. Nice and safe.

Rule #6 -- Boston has these driving cirlces called rotaries. In theory, a car already in the rotary has the right of way. In practice, the best advice is to yield regardless to the bigger vehicle, because he'll probably kill you otherwise.

Rule #7 -- Just cuz your on Washington St now, doesn't mean it's the Washington St you're thinking of....there's 3 different Washington Streets, 2 different Boylston Streets and approximaley 2 dozen different South Streets. Good luck with that.

Rule #8 -- The city emblem might have an outline of a person crossing the street. Jay-walking is a city pasttime in Boston. No one waits for the signal.

Rule #9 -- Just cuz it says 7 miles from your destination on Mapquest, doesn't mean it's close. Thanks to 17th Century designers who thought anyplace was a good place for a street, it is impossible to go in a straight line from Point A to Point B in Boston. The city is a jumbled spider web of streets. We just found the quickest route to BU and it involves an endless list of lefts and rights.

Finally, you can't take a horn, a steely glare, or a shout from another motorist personally. It's all just part of driving in Boston.

-Ed

My blog duty

Apparently it's the duty of every blogger to comment on Hurricane Katrina and its aftermath. So here goes.

The Media: good coverage during the tragedy, reminded me that they're still capable, but they also share some of the blame for hyping storms in the past. You also don't help by making people think a Bewitched-style nose wiggle would make help magically appear.

The President: It's perceptions that count, stupid. I think President Bush waited one day too late to let people know he was on the job...I know, I know, "what really could he do?" But in times of crisis, Americans need to know someone is on it.

The mayor of New Orleans: Ok, let's add this up -- 400+ city buses and 200+ school buses at your disposal in the days before the storm hit...uh-huh, I'd be pissed at me too.

The Left: You can beat Bush over the head with this all you want. It won't help. They remind me of people who see the image of Christ everywhere (in a cloud, a stained wall, a pita). Instead of Christ, they see Bush at the root of all the world's troubles. My mocha wasn't that good this morning... fucking Bush. Keep this up people and Bush'll be able to appoint another person the Supreme Cour....oh, wait.

There, that's it. I've done my blog-triotic duty. Remember: When it starts to go down, get the heck out of town.

-Ed

Leap of Faith

Not that moving to Boston wasn't a leap of faith - but I've decided to take that leap and make it a huge jump. I got a call Thursday from one of the community colleges I was teaching at -- one of my classes was taken away. I've been set up to adjunct at two colleges. "Adjunct" is the term commonly used for instructors who don't have a full time/tenure job- the "fill-ins" for extra classes. For the record, there's usually only about 6-10 full time instructors for every roughly 40-60 adjuncts- that's 40-60 people, who, like me, are paid 1/3 less than their full time counterparts and have no benefits. The numbers vary per college, but there's always at least triple the adjuncts for full-timers.

"My" class was taken away because- being new, and thus having NO seniority, a full-time person who is guaranteed a full-time job, had to be given my class because enrollment was low. That's another beautiful factor of adjuncting- even though you may sign a contract, if student enrollment is too low and a class won't fill, an adjunct can lose his/her job right before, during, or after a course starts. This on top of the fact that I have no job security other than that semester or quarter that I have the class (provided it isn't cancelled or given away). I teach the class, hope that I do well enough to be considered to teach the next term and hope that there is a class for me to teach. Ed said that my position is similiar to those men who wait in Belltown (Seattle) or at Home Depot near the Starbucks' headquarters, hoping to pick up some labor gigs. Except, I'm on the corner every couple of months with a sign: "Hey, you need an English or Writing class taught?"

I'm fed up. I like teaching and I'm good at it, but this is ridiculous. I can't take the instability anymore. So, with the goal of financial and job security in sight, I've made a decision that rocks our foundation even more than the move: I called both colleges and told them I'm not going to be able to teach ANY classes. Yeah, it's a bit crazy to turn away a job and turn towards no job, but considering that the first time I would even get paid is mid-October (yeah, SIX weeks after I started teaching), I figure I can find a good, full-time job with benefits that will pay what I'm worth (or relatively close) and get paid around then, anyway.

It will be interesting to see what happens. I am surprisingly calm (shock?) and confident (cocky?) about this decision, though also anxious about the details. But, if anything this last week has taught me, is that the details will work themselves out- sometimes painfully, sometimes with ease. Besides, if thousands of people like those in the Mississippi Gulf are finding ways to survive, I've got absolutely nothing to complain about.

-Laura

A Day in the Life

Once again, I'm posting in an effort to expunge frustration. Today was tough. At least one day a week of the two weeks we've been here have kicked our ass. Here's today's sampling of what it can be like to move to a new state:

7:30 a.m. Jack wakes up. Fine. He's been sleeping great. I, on the other hand, am not. Spending far too much energy on trying NOT to freak out about teaching four preps or the fact that I've only produced one syllabus (no planning yet, mind you) and my school "stuff" is still in boxes (waiting new shelves) has kept me from sleeping well at all. I woke up to Jack's chattering, blurry and puffy eyed. Bearable? Definitely.

8:45 a.m. Ed gathers Jack up to take to day care up the street. I'm expecting a visit from two health insurance agents, one at 9:ish, the other at 10:30ish. Jack and I have no insurance as of September 1st (Thursday), so time to get on that (nevermind that we don't have the $200+ dollars a month it would take to get us insured. Details, details.

9:15 a.m. Ed calls from the road; the day care wanted the check for September. Oops. Our new checks from Bank of America haven't arrived, and besides, we don't have the money in the bank to cover it (just yet). I called the angel woman at daycare and let her know we'd put the check in this afternoon.

9:20 a.m. I start calling around to car insurance places. Apparently, State Farm isn't in MA and the one quote we have is for $280/month - for ONE car (that's about $120 more a month than we pay now). While I'm on the phone, the first health insurance lady has left me four messages, claiming that she can't find our house. By the third message she's saying things like, "okay, I'm in the yard of someone's house, but it isn't your number. It's raining out and I'm soaked. Please call." Well, I had given her the wrong address; I transposed the first two numbers. I called back at 9:40 to give her the correct address (she's rightfully annoyed, saying that she'll need to use the bathroom to soak up all the rain- by the way, MA was on flood watch last night. She was caught in the rain that keep the flood watch on). Feeling terrible, I turn on the teapot (on medium heat), get out my favorite coffee mug- the sturdy one with the English garden that Ed's parents got me for my birthday a few years back -- and lay out all the tea in the hopes of warming up an insurance agent who I'm probably not going to buy from today.

9:45 a.m. Ed calls back; he's lost. After dropping off Jack at daycare, he headed towards BU to buy an area rug from a guy who posted on craigslist. Ed thought he'd try a new, apparently quicker (not today) way. Once he gets there, the guy has to meet him. Ed's going to be late picking up Jack (today was another one hour adjustment/get to know you day). I call day care and our angel lady is a bit stressed; she needs me to get Jack by 10:00 so she can put down the six month old for a nap. As a mom who COMPLETELY understands the sensitivity of sleep windows, I tell her I'll be there as soon as I can. Besides, I don't want to piss this woman off; we already owe her a check and I don't want to lose our spot.

9:50 a.m. I call the insurance lady to cancel - I need to walk six blocks in the rain to pick up my son. She's probably releaved that she doesn't have to deal with me again. We end the call with a curt, "we'll talk," meaning, "we're done."

9:55 a.m. I grab a coat for Jack, head towards the angel lady's house (thank goodness she literally lives about a five minute walk away). Half way there, I realize that I left the stove on. Once I get to the house, I wonder if I should bother he to call our landlords --who live upstairs-- to go down and turn the stove off (with the nice blue natural gas flame overheating my teapot). Putting pride ahead of practicality, I just hope everything will be fine. Jack is picked up, locked into his wet stroller, sucks on his blanket quietly while I look for an exploding house in the near distance.

Next few hours- "normal." Lunch goes fine for Jack- Ed & I opt to not eat, since there's no food (unless you count frozen peas).

12:00 p.m. Ed calls his health insurance company and we can put Jack on his policy for a mere $1400 dollars (all up front, mind you). We've gotten a few quotes from car insurance and the cheapest is about $2100 - about $500 more than we pay now, and they need about $600 up front. (what's with the "up front" crap- do you have to have thousands in the bank to live in MA?).

12:15 p.m. We sit down, figure out what our bills are, what needs paid, and when, and how much we have to draw on from our handy MBNA account to survive this next month (while we wait for our $2000 deposit from our landlord in Seattle who is apparently in Hungary for a month-long family reunion). Meanwhile, I'm dog tired, trying hard not to think about the three syllabi I need to type up or the seven hour workshop I agreed to attend on Wednesday at one of the colleges I"m teaching at.

1:00 p.m. As we mull over our expenses, I open my contract from the other college- oh! I only get paid three times this quarter and the first check doesn't come until October 13. I call the workshop college-which I'm thinking I won't be attending despite the $150 stipend which I probably won't get until next year since they only pay me TWICE in four months- once at the end of October and once at the end of December. Basically, this means that the main income here (mine) is delayed until mid-October. Ed writes an MBNA check to cover the basics (welcome to middle-class America, folks, where to move your way up in the world and follow your dreams, you forego a savings account in favor of outstanding debt just to survive).

1:45 p.m. After getting off the phone with our dentist in Seattle (we still owe around $400 despite insurance), Ed walks in the door - way too early, since he was going to the bank, the car insurance place, and grocery shopping. Apparently, at Bank of America, out of state checks are put on hold for five days to insure funds. Bottom line, we have no bottom line until next Tuesday-- when school and the real hectic life begins. Mom to the rescue; she works on wiring us just enough to cover our daycare check so we can live on the few hundred we have left in the bank.

3:00 p.m. grocery shopping while providing routing numbers to my mom on the cell phone. Jack grabs a green plum off the produce box and proceeds to walk around the store, nawing and talking to the world.

5:00 p.m. Jack grubs on mac-n-cheese, olives, and carrots, while Ed prepares an amazing Bobby Flay cuban burger recipe, complete with roasted garlic mayonnaise. Yum. We watch the news (no cable, but good antenna reception), listening to Brian Williams try and relay Katarina's devestation in New Orleans. All I can think about is if you have nothing, you have nothing to worry about. The bitterness is becoming second nature now. I try to count my blessings and realize I have many, but would rather soak in the stress.

7:30 p.m. After playing with Jack, talking with the landlords to explain that our rent check won't clear until next week (they are very understanding), giving Jack a bath and getting him into bed, I head to the computer to write one of my syllabi. I start to think about how I need to decide if I need to go to that workshop tomorrow, about all the new hire paperwork I need to fill out, and my eyes begin to blur. What I need is a bath (no matter how humid) and some rest.

8:30 p.m. I've just finished blogging, sending my (our) bad day off into cyberspace and am turning on the jets in our jacuzzi tub (remember those blessings...). Screw the syllabi for now. I'm not getting paid for another six weeks anyway. Hello Vogue and lavendar scented bath.

-Laura

Too Good To Be True... Unless It's True

We're here. It's only taken about a month (well, about 30 years and a month if you believe that each decision leads us to where we are- of course). We love the town we're in. We really like our house. But, enough about the good stuff (for now). Let's get the crap out of the way.

Let's see: We drove to a futon place in Brighton to buy a new futon frame to replace the one that the movers trashed (and I mean trashed- complete with staples and tape to try and hold together the torn wood), stop by Target to pick up a shelf and computer desk to replace the old ones (pause for sadness; I put our IKEA desk together in Bellingham right before grad school; that desk has served us well). Got home to open up our futon frame and realized they gave us the wrong color. Oh, well.

So, we've been spending some of the night unpacking, taking (A LOT) of photos of all of our damaged goods (bed frame, mattress, dresser, TV, table and chairs- all still usable but banged up) that will be sent in with the claims forms so that we can collect our wopping .60 per pound. Yeah, that works out right. For future reference, avoid A&G Vanlines out of California. They suck.

I just finished entering grades for my summer course (oops- a day late) and Ed is currently checking out NCAA 2006 College Football on Playstation. I appreciate that we need a break, so I'm blogging. We're trying to let go of our "stuff"- reminding ourselves that it is just that- stuff- and all replacable (at a nice interest rate- we really should just change our last names to debtson). I do feel a bit like I've been robbed; those people didn't give a shit about our stuff; they just threw it around like it meant nothing. Ultimately, it doesn't. But, now, well, maybe the throw-away society attitude thrives in the moving company world's mentality.

But, back to good. Tuesday started off terrible (the good's coming). We woke up and drove to BU so I could stand at a pay phone for 30 minutes on hold with Verizon since our phone had yet to be hooked up and we hadn't received our internet installation kit (apparently that ended up in Pennsylvania). Jack, rightly so, was cranky and easily sick of touring the foyer. After checking email in the library, and receiving no response from the potential nannys I was going to interview, I realized that I had less than two weeks to find competent, loving, part-time child care. HA. Like the woman from BU's family services told me on the phone (3 times), "you'll be lucky to find anything."

We got Jack home to take a (late) nap (by the way, he's sleeping like a rock star). I drove BACK to BU to post a panicked call for childcare on Craigslist. Within about 10 minutes of posting, Ed called to tell me that a woman in our area- who I had called earlier- called and had one opening for her day care. I called her immediately to find out that, 1) she takes part-time kids (hard to come by in the day care world); 2) the hours we need her work find with her schedule; 3) she charges practically nothing; apparently she has just kept the rates for the same for the last 20+ years she's had a daycare; 4) when we visited, we found her in this old, amazing home that is immaculately clean; 5)Jack warmed up to her right away; 6)she has five other kids, all under age 4 - perfect for Jack; 7) she provides meals, and is tight with everyone in the community, including the firemen and policemen who she often has visit in their cars for the kids. I asked her if she was an angel.

Honestly, when I was on the phone with one of the parent references, I felt a wave of gratitude upon realizing that this was a good thing-- the real deal; I knew it right away (a kind of opposite feeling I had about our moving company). Later, a bit paranoid, I explained to Ed that it seemed to good to be true. And he just said, "yeah, unless it's true."

So, even though we've lost some of our possessions and had to pull out the plastic more times than we would have liked this first week in our new town, what matters is good. Jack is adjusting wonderfully, our amazing gracious friends gave us the key to their place in Boston so we could crash for a few days waiting for our furniture, and we have the perfect childcare situation. That's enough for now. We'll think about school/work in a few days- after the unpacking.

Next post will be more about Boston- the town(s), the driving (!!@#@!), the people (quite friendly) and the weather (eek).

Good night.
-Laura

Almost There

Greetings from Syracuse, New York. Got in yesterday in time to go see a Syracuse Skychiefs game (AAA baseball). Really nice ballpark for such a small team. I love going to different sporting events in different parts of the country. I think I end up watching the fans more than the game. What do they cheer at? How do they watch the game? No dancing grounds crew here. I'm afraid that's a Seattle phenomenon. Just a good AAA game, complete with corny contests between innings.

On to Boston today. Sheez. Cool thing is I feel a little like Red at the end of Shawshank Redemption. Part nervous, part anxious, but almost giddy with excitement. Ok, ok, I'm not being melodramatic here, but I feel like I've spent most of the past 6 months dreading this moment. What a bunch of crap. I feel like kicking myself for cowering at the thought of today. Live and learn.

See you in Boston.

From the road

Currently writing from Indiana, where my friend, Jay, and I are staying with my brother. It's been a long, fun, sometimes funny, sometimes nerve-raking journey so far.

Friday -- Seattle to Bozeman. The first leg of the trip. Lots of excitement, lots of chatter from both of us. Washington and Idaho seemed to fly by our window. In Montana, drove through a stretch of freeway that had just seen a forest fire. Dense smoke filled the valley we drove through and the sky was dark from the smoke. Kind of spooky and cool at the same time. Got flipped off by someone with a vanity plate that read "6 Boyz" for not going fast enough, which apparently was 95 mph+. Didn't notice if all 6 boys were in the mini-van.

Saturday -- Bozeman to Fargo. 745 miles. Long day. Realized I forgot my pillow in Bozeman about 2 hours after leaving the hotel. Crap. I don't know about the quality of North Dakota schools, but North Dakota reststop restrooms are top notch! No really, I'm serious, these bathrooms were nice. Get into Fargo and finally find the hotel. The great thing about hotels with far doors is that it's easy to smuggle in the cat. More on that later.

Sunday -- Fargo to Chicago. Another long day. Probably because it was the third day of driving all day. First encounter with a toll road. What is this crap? Pay....to use the freeway? We make the rookie mistake of leaving the toll road, which I'm told, I have to get use to calling them. Go to get back on the toll road and discover we have to pay AGAIN to get back on! Get into Chicago. Very excited to get to hotel because we got Cubs tickets and we've never been to Wrigley Field. Frontdesk at Days Inn tells us they don't allow pets. Crap, no far door to sneak through. So we go to get the car from vallet. I'm standing on a busy road in Chicago, trying to convince two guys named Jesus and Lazer to allow us to Max back in the car. See, the vallet won't allow pets in the cars. Luckily, Lazer owns a cat, so he'll allow us to park the car in front of the hotel and put Max back in the car with food and water and windows partially rolled down. We walk to the game. Wrigley Field was a really cool ballpark. No Diamond Vision. No dancing grounds crew. No Hat Trick. You'd better come to Wrigley Field wanting to watch a baseball game. It seemed like the ground was dipped in a giant tub of History. Very cool. Game ends. Go back to hotel. It's pretty humid. So I decide to try to sneak Max into the hotel. There's been a shift change so we sense our chance. Jay runs interference with the front desk and I put Max in a duffle bag and casually stroll into the lobby and up the stairs. Mission successful.

Monday -- Chicago to South Bend. Except in the morning, Max doesn't want to go back into the bag for the trip down to the car. One unhappy cat later, we make a break for it and get the heck out of Dodge. Make to South Bend and are able to get some rest at my brother's house. Car gets washed. We regret to inform you that approximately 5000 bugs met their end of the front grill of my car. It was Men in Black on the front of my car, you know, all that goo when they blow up an alien... My brother has been a great host and this will hopefully recharge us for the next two days.

That's it for now. Syracuse NY tomorrow. The movers from A & G Vanlines are on crack (that's NOT an endorsement). Our house will probably be empty for 3 to 4 days before our stuff arrives because they're late with our stuff. I miss Laura and Jack something fierce and I'm looking forward to seeing them again. My friend Jay has been totally awesome. I realize it can't be easy to be cooped up me, confined to car with me for about 50 hours in less than a week (apparently, Laura has told me I can get grumpy when I get tired or hungry or both). I'm really grateful he came along.

Moving Pains

The great thing about a blog is that it is like a letter- you can write something and send it off. I'd really like to send off the last few days of moving "stuff." So, in the spirit of letting it all go, here's what's been going on:

Last night I stayed up until at least 1:00 a.m. trying to decide which, if not all classes that I should teach. I've been offered five different courses at three different community colleges. While I am more than grateful that I've been able to choose from this many, the reality is that I probably need to teach all five in otfer to pay our bills (that is with Ed's assistanship). The other reality is that I've only EVER taught three classes at the most, two of which were the same prep, and at never more than two colleges. Plus, here in Washington State, I get paid at least $1000 more per class spread out over three months; in Boston, that $1000 less a class is spread over four months. So, basically, I'd be working nearly double to make barely as much. In the end, I decided to take three courses at Middlesex Community College and one at MassBay CC. We're still short a few hundred a month, but this way, I'll be more likely to keep my sanity (no promises) and be able to be with Jack most of the day Tuesday and Thursday, thus saving some (not much) on childcare.

Speaking of Jack, he's decided to forego day sleeping. Once a solid two-nap a day kind of kid, Jack is now barely taking one nap. Could he be feeling my stress? Maybe he's just growing out of his two day nap stage. That's fine. I'm more worried about the fact that the house we are moving to (the first floor of a duplex- the owners with their four girls, age newborn to early teens I think, live on the second flood) is basically under some construction. Apparently, they had intended on having the vinyl siding replaced by now, but the contractor skipped town. So, once we move, Jack will have to try and fall asleep to consistent hammering. Right now he wakes up when he hears a familiar voice talking - usually me on the phone trying to line up a class or find a decent nanny.

As if the hammering weren't bad enough; we talked with our moving company today and we'll be lucky if we see our furniture and stuff by the 22nd. It's guaranteed by the 25th (whatever "guarantee" means) - nearly a full week after Jack and I arrive in Boston. I'm glad we packed the pack-in-play in the car; now we just need to buy one of those aero beds and a bean bag or two so that we can wait in some comfort for all our stuff to arrive.

I spent much of the morning and early afternoon today mentally bucking up. After talking with Ed, who has successfully stayed on schedule and arrived at his brother's in South Bend, IN (despite smuggling our cat, Max, into a Days Inn last night), I tried to focus on the positive: all of the moving pains actually make my cross country flight with Mia (our other cat) and Jack seem somewhat relaxing; my mom will be able to get a special pass to help me with Mia, Jack, car seat, and carry on onto the plane (what a comedy of errors that could have been); I am having to turn away jobs at this point rather than try and find work; and I realized that all of this "Stuff" is part of the sacrifice of working towards what feels right- not what is comfortable, but what is significantly soulful (at least that's the idea right now anyway). Oh, and Ed & I are still together, our devotion established and our love steady and real and Jack has two parents who are committed to reinforcing their love for him.

Last night I read some quote about how all our basic needs-love, food, security-inform one another. So, the quote said, if we are hungry, we also want some love (aha! comfort food). All I could think of was how Ed, Jack , and I are frazzled because we are missing the security part. That is, if you count "security" as having a home, which I, and I imagine, most others do. I had to rethink my definition of security a bit. Maybe it's better to have a homebase- not necesarily a familiar bed, toys, and material surroundings, but a emotional homebase. I feel like I'm moving towards clicheville, but I'm living the reality of having to rely ONLY on the love and support of family and my faith to feel secure - a security that in only a few days will be basically me, Ed, Jack, an aero bed and a pack-in-play. Oh, and our two cats. Maybe it's a good thing; we'll appreciate getting settled (whatever that means) more- and maybe won't need as much to feel "settled." I just keep thinking we aren't the only ones to have gone through all of this- and I'm sure otheres have suffered worse moving pains than ours. While I am still attempting to live in the present, I've got my eyes firmly looking towards Christmas. If we can get to the holiday without raking up a ton of debt or having too many transition breakdowns, I 'm sure we'll be fine. Maybe my standards are too high; I'd be happy to just wake up Christmas morning with Jack and Ed and a small tree.

-Laura

On your mark......get set....

It's finally arrived. D-Day. Departure Day...at least for me. I leave tomorrow morning for Boston.

Now that it's here, I find myself still nervous, but getting very excited about what we're doing. I think Laura and I have both felt the excitement of going to a new place at different times this past year. And today is no different.

Me: Let'd DO this! It'll work itself out...no worries. Money? We'll find a way. Daycare? Jack'll be fine!

Laura: [disapproving nod and a stressed sigh]

There is still some specifics to work out: schedules, bills, paycheck amounts. But right now, I'm filled with a faith that comes from knowing the Train is leaving the station, so it's time to start looking forward (thanks Trish.) Everything's going to be alright.

Our time at my parents has been busy, but very good. We've both been able to visit our folks, see some friends, Laura's Dad even let us buy him lunch, and say some see-you-laters. Now that I think of it, saying good-bye has been pretty draining. I've come to loath thinking about this is the last time of this or the last time we'll do that, or the last time we'll see them. Laura's right, it has been tough facing the prospect of losing some of our friends to distance or conveinience. And no one likes the hideously awkward "catch-up" converstation with poeple who used to be friends, but are now some distant relic from a world you can barely remember.

So I guess I've wondered off into some Worlds-Collide line-of-thinking. Not that George from Seinfeld was right, I actually think worlds can come together sometimes. What I mean is, if we were to come back to the PNW in a few years, we'd still be recognizable to are friends and family. Boston Ed & Laura is not going to kill PNW Ed & Laura [hat tip to all Seinfeld fans out there] If we're still close with some or all of those we consider friends now, I think that'll be pretty sweet.

Was going to leave with a list of what I'll miss, but read through our posts. It'll be pretty obvious.

Boston awaits. I want to post from the road if I can, but we'll see. Bozeman tomorrow.

Pondering in Parkland

I've got about fifteen minutes to kill before I teach class and while I should be searching for reputable childcare in Boston, I thought I would touch base with our blog. Seems the blog is one of our constancies- strange to consider something from the etheral internet a constant.

We are staying with Ed's parents in Parkland- the place we both suffered adolesence and endured, for lack of a better phrase, Parkland pride. We walked to our high school the other day, discussing the role of our friends in our lives now that we are about to move 3000+ miles away. Ed and I have had an ongoing conversation about the role of friends in our lives- are we close to people because of proximity? Shared experiences? Common ideas/interests? Obviously it isn't just one of these things and each informs the other. I guess most of the friends I've made (and kept) are people I met in my late teens and twenties; as I get older I realize that promixity is important, but if I can meet with someone after months or years or still fall into that warm, supportive, enjoyable atmosphere with them, I know I have a -- and am-- a true friend. There are a few people I've seen and am planning on seeing where this is just the case- and I realize just how lucky I am to know such phenomenal people. At the same time, we're also realizing (somewhat painfully) that there are those cherished friends whose role may or may not stand the test of distance. Walking around our high school grounds reminded me of those friends I held dear above all else in my life (as is high school and college, no?) -- as did Ed. I hate feeling sad about things/people that I haven't had to deal with and being "home" makes it all so tough0 particularly when we're about to leave. The richness of adolensce experience (from high school to college years when we still return home for breaks and summers) is such a thick presence here in Parkland. I really don't want to be reminded of who I was; I rather focus on who I am and who I am becoming. I suppose, though, that acknowledging my family and friends' pivotal role in who it is that is Me, is bound to result in a bevy of complex emotion.

Class starts in 10 minutes. I'm sure I'll look back on this and realize how dramatic it was. But, isn't processing change dramatic? I crave the mundane.

-Laura

Logging out just for a few weeks

Tonight is our last night in our apartment, and our last night in Seattle, for a while anyway. It is late, we're exhausted from packing, and if you barely scratch the surface, a bit emotional about moving. Well, actually, I'm a bit freaked out about someone else moving our stuff. I tend to imagine the worst, and so I'm fairly certain that we'll be one of those people who wait for our things to arrive only to discover that they were lost somewhere in the Dakota's. And that .60 per item insurance- well, mmm.. does that mean that Jack's crib only gets .60? Ed was right to remind me that now is not the time to research more into our company or even think about all the possible things that could go wrong.

So, I did go out on our deck to check out the stars - without my contacts all I can really basically see is the bright red neon cross - the one that seemed to take up the entire sky line the first night I slept here last June, but now only just catches our eye when we look at the houses below our spectacular view. I went out to pray. You know, say thanks for this last year, and to ask for guidance, safe travels, and love. I don't know why, but I keep thinking about all those walks that Jack and I took when he was just born. What I know of West Seattle is pretty much within a 3-4 mile radius and most of that is an intimate knowledge since I walked it for a good nine months. I like that when I will think back to 2004-2005 I won't think about the absolutely stressful adjustment to parenthood and the anxiety about moving to Boston, but about my leisurely walks in the residental neighborhood just west of our place- how Jack would ride along (still in his "baby" stage), just looking around or sleeping. That was when we got to know each other, I think.

Anyway, in the middle of my prayer, I realized that worrying about all our "stuff" was silly. Honestly, the most important "things" to me are that Jack feels safe and loved and that Ed & I are able to stay present in the process of this transition- to embrace the newness of it all and realize we have enough just being a family. I'm not sure how regular we'll be able to post in August (not that July was a feast of words). We'll be living in Tacoma with Ed's parents and then heading off to our new place hopefully just in time to intersect our furniture. In the meantime, please keep us in your thoughts and prayers.

Until Boston-

Laura, Ed, & Jack

The Bubble Man Cometh

You can scratch "Woodland Park Zoo" off Laura's before-we-move to-do list. We went yesterday. I think we both kind of expected Jack to be visibly excited about the animals, but, just like our trip to the Aquarium, Jack thought the whole point of the zoo was the floor lights and not the animals.

Me: "Look Jack, a lion!"

Jack: [looking down and picking up a gum wrapper]

We're probably a few years off from being excited about the animals.

A friend of mine brought up her son to play with Jack the other day. I think we forget that we have to learn how to play. Jack seems fascinated by other kids anytime we encounter them at the playground. He walks up to them and stares, almost like alien-visitor might do to one of us. "..so this is a human child, fascinating..." Other kids are busy playing, so they always seem a bit put off that this one-year old has invaded their personal space in order to study them more closely.

Went and got ice cream in the early evening and the streets had been cleared in prepartion for the West Seattle Street Fair. This is when a purple VW mini-van painted with bubbles rolls up in front of where we're sitting. Licsence Plate: Dot Calm. The standard bumper stickers: Kill your television (dot calm?) Bush lied, blah, blah, something about the environment. Apparently the Bubble Man entertains the youth by making really big bubbles. No problem there.

But 10 minutes into his show, no bubbles for the kiddies. But we were reminded that regime change begins at home, of American deaths in Iraq, and something about protecting salmon. With all the promise of such bubble-induced fun, I couldn't help but feel an undercurrent of anger below Bubble Man's bubbly show. We left before Bubble Man could work Karl Rove into his act.

Blogging in a Vaccuum

We really are the most self-centered family on the planet. I was just perusing some favorite blogs, reading a handful of posts about the recent terror attacks in London, and realized that as a part of the blogging community, NOT mentioning them in some way is, well, hideous-- particularly when Ed has family in England (very few near or in London, but still).

I did wonder about the individuals Thursday morning- were any of them embarking on a new life? Maybe going to a job interview or heading to the florist to discuss wedding flowers - or even, god forbid, a pregant woman was going to a routine OBGYN appointment? Little did they know some crazed lunatic (whoever the F**K they are) intented for an appointment with shrapnel.

Seems I've (yes, me again) been craving perspective lately. I really don't need it that badly.

I think I'll focus my prayers across the Atlantic for awhile.

-Laura

Mariner Mortality

No, this won't be about how bad the Mariners suck. It should be, but I don't know jack about baseball discourse.

One the way to meeting a dear friend of mine for drinks last week, I was trying hard to imagine what it would be like if I had two weeks to live. No, it’s not that I’m looking for a clearly defined future (although that would be nice), but while browsing another blog, postsecret, I discovered a visual that rocked my world. Basically, postsecret is a place that people can send their creative confessions to- in the form of a postcard. The postcards range from witty to hilarious to painfully pathetic to just plain honest. Like most of the postcards on the blog, the one that caught my attention used the visual medium to heighten the message. It’s a picture of someone holding a piece of glass, blue sky illuminates the background. On the glass, in black ink, it reads:

“Pssst, here’s a secret… Your last mortal thought will be, “why did I take so many days— just like today—for granted?”

Okay, we all have this thought at some point (right?) Or, at least, we all try to live up to the ideal that we should live like today is our last day. But, what does that mean exactly? How do you do that when you’ve got bills to pay and jobs to find, life insurance to research and buy, and grades due? How do you actually immerse yourself in such a mindset, figure out what those two weeks would be, and then blend it into “real life” without neglecting the responsibility of life? Every now and then I try to imagine that I’ve been given two weeks to live – or one week—or two days—whatever so that I can live in the present. I visualize getting the call, the moments after, and then what I would do that day and the next. Yet, I can’t imagine it.

I drove by Safeco Field on my way to Queen Anne. The lights were on and I could see the screen lit up with the players’ names. Nostalgia (that pesky, touchy-feeling emotion I try to avoid) overwhelmed me. Safeco has always been the one place where time stands still, where I could leave everything that needed to be done, needed to be thought through, needed to be obsessed over, near the big glove in front of the home plate entrance. (Even if Fenway Park could do the same, I heard tickets are tough to come by). Then, of course, I stared getting misty over everything from my view on HWY99- the port and her ancient, yet majestic container loaders, the piers, the buildings of Seattle, the Western Ave exit… It was pitiful.

Listening to one of my favorite DM tracks, “Insight,” I realized that in a way, a part of us is dying. We are leaving Seattle and the life that is here. That is a kind of death. Boston is a kind of rebirth, no? So, instead of being sad about leaving Safeco, I embraced all that is good about the ballpark and attending Mariners’ games. I realized that I could take it with me. And, in the meantime, I have the opportunity to imprint my senses with “this” life. So, here’s how I’m going to spend the next six or so weeks:

Visit the Seattle Aquarium & Zoo
Go to the Point Defiance zoo with April, Daisy, & Lily (yeah, love the zoos)
Buy Flowers at Pike Place
Hang out at Alki at least twice
View Seattle from The Smith Tower (cheaper alternative to the Space Needle).

This is just a preliminarly list. Please let me know if you have any other ideas!

-Laura

Not Such a Big Deal

Someone recently pointed out to us that moving to Boston really isn't that HUGE. Yes, it's a big move and the transition will no doubt be considerable, but in the scheme of things- what we're doing isn't that big of a deal. It's not like everything (our happiness, our success, our wellbeing) relies on this move. Sure, some days it feels like that, but ultimately, to quote EBTG's song, "One Place" again, "you can be happy or unhappy anywhere."

I've been trying to keep this in mind at night- I've had trouble falling asleep and feeling, well, discombulated. I'm simultaneously getting excited about living in Boston while begining to mourn leaving Seattle. It's all quite confusing emotionally.

Everything is just starting to fall into place (we think). I picked up a class at Edmonds CC this summer (Tuesday and Thursday nights) and since the quarter ends the third week of August, we know we won't be moving until mid-August (we still need to work out the logistics of the moving van, getting to Boston, etc.). Ed found a potential place to move to in Rosindale. Our friends in Boston will be checking it out early next week. It's a two family home - the owner's reside upstairs; we'd live downstairs. My only concern is that they have three kids- with a fourth about to be born anyday. I hope the walls/ceiling are fairly sound proof. I do like the idea of knowing another mom who might know about childcare options. This place is the best place we've found- and it's deleaded (no lead in the paint). 9 out of 10 places we call on have lead and since it's illegal to live in a leaded home with a child, our search has been frustrating. But, this place has a washer/dryer, new appliances, is in a residential neighborhood, is in our price range and close to transportation. It is also 9 miles away from the first Community College to get in touch with me about a possible job. A woman from the Writing Center at Mass Bay CC emailed me on Friday- she wanted to see if I was interested in applying for a team-teaching/tutoring position (yes!). While it probably pays a bit less than a strictly teaching gig, it's definitely a foot in the door.

So, of course things aren't such a big deal now that they seem to be coming together. While there are still plenty of variables and countless items on our "to-do" list, the essential basics (funding, job, place to live) are falling into place. Now if I can just get a good night sleep :)