The itch

Every now and then I go a little craZy. This craZy, with a capital Z involves feeling an almost irresistible urge to travel, or uproot and move. I'm hoping with all my might that if this happens, boy will find a way to follow me asap, or I'll have to come back. But I'm not feeling at home where I am. I'm not feeling like I should be here, not feeling like this is my place.

Sacrifice sacrifice... blah blah blah. Both of us have career goals. Neither of our goals are really being met. Neither of us really loves it here. So I've started looking for jobs in the city. I figure if I work far enough away i'll have an excuse to get my own place, a place where we can make a big mess together and not have to clean it up for housemate. A place where housemate isn't invited by default to every outing. If I live near the city I'll still be close enough to visit boy on a whim, and he'll be able to visit me.

I've also started looking for jobs in other states, I've started looking for jobs in Australia, New Zealand and Canada. And I've finally found firms I'm interested in. I'm finally feeling a sense of excitement about going somewhere new, somewhere with less family history, somewhere different than here. Don't get me wrong, I've not stopped looking for excitement and adventure and LIFE here. but some places just don't fit.

I don't want to sacrifice a year or two of my life at a firm I'm just not interested in; in a city I just don't feel at home in; with a housemate I'm not excited about. The details all seem to be adding up.

So here I go applying to jobs in the city, Australia, New Zealand and Canada: off with the first portfolio today. I'm really hoping for that golden ticket OUT OF HERE.

you keep that dime.

I'm going to write a song entitled: you keep that dime. I think it will be a country song. I think it will go something like this: well, I can't think of how it goes yet, but it makes me laugh to think of it.

A while back, when superstar Jenn was a barista (this is the thing to do, I hear, when you get a masters in something... take a break, have some fun, meet people, make coffee), she wrote a blog. This blog was about the amazing customers that throw a dollar in the tip jar after they have spent only a dollar + on a small cup of coffee. Why? Who knows, but they rock, and I'm thankful for every cent.

My philosophy is this: tip if you can, if you believe in it, if it makes you feel good to make other people feel good, if you appreciate the service you have received. And some people just throw in whatever change they get back, and others throw in nothing at all, and still others get free coffee because they are wonderful, and are with little more than the clothes on their backs.

Still others pocket that dime they get back from their $1.90 coffee, and walk away without tipping. Why? I don't know, but if I'm in a good mood I think it is hilarious, and if not, I'm thinking to myself, what are you going to do with that dime? Buy a gumball?

Perhaps some think that tipping a dime in a coffee shop is as bad as tipping with pennies, nickels or dimes at restaurants. I disagree, but maybe they feel guilty to contribute so little, or maybe not.

hermit crab

Small and soft in the middle, hermit crabs have undergone a series of adaptations that have allowed them to squish their little abdomens into salvaged seashells for protection. As the young hermit crab outgrows its first set of armor, it will abandon them for a new model, one more suitable for roaming about the seashore. Should there be a short supply of armor, crabs may be forced to fight to the death. Fortunately for them, they can willingly abandon limbs to escape from a fierce hold. However, the point of this blog is not hermit crabs. But they might be a decent analogy for the walls we, as Homo sapiens, erect to protect ourselves.

From what? I don't know, deviant cave men? Selfish shellfish? Bug zappers? At any rate, my salvaged seashell is in need of an upgrade. Or a downgrade, a major downgrade. In fact I would love to have a much smaller shell than I currently have. My shell is so thick I don't even want to be friends with people who are trying to be friends with me. I've been trying to get to the bottom of this, but I'm not sure how to remove myself enough to understand why I'm feeling so walled-in.

But, I have a theory: walls beget walls. Why is it that when one person is unwilling to let down their guard, the other person is just as stubborn about it? Is there really a shortage of armor? Not likely. People are comfortable with others who are comfortable with themselves. This, as I have learned can be very deceptive. And this is nothing I've come up with, but it has taken a lot to drill it into my head.

I suppose this talk of hermit crabs was provoked by the fact that I can't separate my friend-world now from my work-world. I also haven't been as confident as I would like (possibly because I've been rejected in the work world so many times recently). I haven't been as open and happy as I would like.

This all would be fine with the exception of once certain someone, T. who seems so interested in OUR friendship, so confident, so open, yet some days seems to have no respect for how hard I work. Don't get me wrong, she works her ass off, and she is much more efficient than I, as she has been working there 3 years. But I don't really know how to take it when our assistant manager always thanks me sincerely for the good work, and T. always tells me I've done something wrong. Thanks! I'll try to remember that. Thanks, I'll try to do better next time... But the stubborn side of me rebels and admits that I do much better work under people who give me more responsibility, under people who respect how hard I try.

What it really comes down to is this: I'm tired of the superficiality I've cultivated in my relationships with people here. I've tried to open up, to let down my guard, but I've been unsuccessful in many cases (though I feel I have made quite a bit of progress in others). But I don't know how to appropriately confront these issues without alienating anyone; without hiding permanently in my shell.

biology is winning

my ovaries are quivering, Sarah would say if she so much as heard a child's voice. I've always considered children to be quite fun, open minded, honest. Often my favorite part is giving them back to their parents when I'm done. I've never wanted kids. I've always wanted the freedom to pick up and move across the world if I feel like it.

I had a friend in Colorado that described children as parasites. They feed off of your body when you are pregnant; they steal your nutrients and your figure. They steal your time and money as they grow. Though I thought (and still think) her perspective has some truth in it, it neglects to recognize the rewards; the many rewards.

For the first time in my life the thought of being pregnant doesn't scare the shit out of me. What scares the shit out of me is how comfortable I feel with the idea, not only of being pregnant, but of actually having kids. It feels familiar and exciting. It is interesting to me from a biological perspective that well past the beginning of my biological kiddy prime my body finally decided to start screaming for babies. My brain was too logical for my ovaries. My brain said no no no, kids are expensive, time consuming, etc. Your boy is not the right boy. You wouldn't be a very good parent right now... and my brain, i believe was right in all respects. But I now believe it is the right boy (my brain and body say so), I believe I wouldn't be a terrible parent (and boy would be amazing), and I believe that kids should travel the world, wherever we feel like going.

So recently I've been craving kid time. I've noticed myself (and quickly recovered I might add) smiling at the kiddies that come into the coffee shop. It probably doesn't help that I work with a rockin' mom of one adorable boy, and she's 5-6 months pregnant. Her hormones must be rubbing off. Or that my nephew is crazy and kick ass. My biology is kicking in, saying reproduce, reproduce!! I had a dream last night that Andrew said he wanted kids.

AHHHHHHHHHH! And part of me is running away from this strange phenomenon. And part of me isn't.

visitors

Five years ago I took the train halfway across the country, from Denver to Emeryville, California. This train, the Zephyr, runs through the Rockies making a slow circuitous climb up, through canyons, across the Utah and Nevada deserts and through the Sierra. In the middle of the night, on our way through the desert, a man started shouting. Shouting at us, at the passengers. How did you get in here? How did you all get in? I'm guarding this warehouse, how did you get in? He had no idea he was on a train. He had no idea we had been there all along, no idea he wasn't in a warehouse in Vietnam. I'm not sure I've ever been so scared. I covered myself and slunk down in my seat, as I was kitty corner to where he was. I was afraid even to reach up and hit the help button.

The man behind him was unaware of the confused vet's condition, and he taunted him. I cringed, yet couldn't bring myself to call his attention my way. The vet was taken aside for a chat with the police at the next stop. Apparently the cool air brought him back and he was able to have a normal conversation with the officers. They allowed him back on the train. Around 2 am the man through the stool out the window of the exit door. Then he jumped through the window.

The word was passed in the morning when I was sharing breakfast with strangers. He had jumped. The train conductor could do nothing about it. We were traveling through the flats of the Utah desert. We were moving nearly 80 miles per hour. The train stopped somewhere in Nevada, where the police boarded the train, and collected the man's jacket; His leather jacket with badges and pins.

It makes me sad what we've done to so many people. It makes me sad that there is little being done for them when they return. I try to feel only compassion for them, and make a serious effort to learn from their stories, to try and understand what they must have gone through, what it must be like for them now.

There are many homeless, mentally disabled men and women that begin their mornings at our coffee shop. Ours is the only shop open in the early mornings. We have hot water and bathrooms and coffee and tea. We have warm chairs and warm company.

But today something happened. There was a shudder in the orbit of the planets or something. Every homeless person in Santa Rosa ended up in our shop. The morning started with one of the more intimidating men pacing outside the doors, punching the air and yelling at someone who exists only in his mind. We hid in the back of the store and called the cops.

There were 4 or 5 people that walked in with their comforters and ordered hot water, managing only for a moment to communicate with us, then reverting to talking to someone else, someone we could not see.

One of our regulars often comes in and asks for a cup of hot water for her tea. Her tea consists of cocoa and cinnamon, honey and some milk from the condiment counters. She usually sits quietly, occasionally getting up to ask the time, use the restroom, get more tea. But today she brought in her own cup, and spent the next 4 hours having a loudish conversation with someone. She stared with determination towards the wall, stay away from my family, you just stay away from me and my family over and over again.

Another man, whom we did not recognize, stood at the counter for around 15 minutes trying desperately to tell us something he thought was important. The only words I caught in all that mess was recession, and taxes. Eventually Louise, the tiny pregnant woman that I opened with, asked politely, would you like to take a seat?

The more violent man showed up again, and again the police came to remove him from the store.

Meanwhile a man in the corner was sipping his coffee, picking up and putting down something that wasn't there, and talking to someone about it in a very mellow, relaxed tone. He continued to diligently pick up and replace the object as if he were cradling a baby, sliding it into a highchair.

One of my favorite regulars, who comes in later in the morning and usually has nothing but happy things to say showed up at her normal time. She looked at me behind the bar and said Hi! And proceeded to yell for at least 5 minutes in my direction about how she's never done anything wrong, and she is catholic and the nurses wouldn't do something and all this without pause or even a breath... she eventually sat down and enjoyed her coffee. As she was leaving she stood up again, walked to the counter and told us more of a word-salad life history. Something about sterilization, tubes, the hospital, they wouldn't work on her, she's never done anything wrong... and without so much as a pause tacked on: can I use your bathroom before I go?

stuck on repeat

Every now and again I feel myself giving up. Giving up on trying to find work, make friends, finding fun and exciting things to do with my time here. I know this problem is mostly if not all in my head. I have a great job. Being hired was like meeting 11 new friends instantly. But I have not made enough of an effort to initiate playtime with them. And so I feel lonely, longing for the friends I could call up without a plan and expect a great adventure or a quiet cup of coffee or a crazy night out dancing to wonderfully terrible music.

A few days ago I sat down to put the endless stream of uncertain thoughts down on paper and to release them from the swirl in my brain. I opened my journal accidentally to the section for January of last year. To my surprise and relief I found almost exactly what I was about to write: sleepy, unmotivated, frustrated with myself for not feeling more outgoing, feeling guilty about feeling guilty about doing nothing. And I realized how hard winter has been for me when the gray skies and shorter days creep up on me. For the record, there have been many years with happy winters, but usually they involved snow, lots of dancing, groups of close friends helping each other through the cold months. It is only when I forget to allow myself these necessities that I fall into this pattern.

The entry was both unsettling and reassuring. Unsettling because I realized how hard some winters are for me; reassuring because it doesn't feel permanent, because I know when the sun comes out I will be myself again, because somehow this news is empowering me to do something about how I feel.

H-bond magic

This past weekend we opted to chance the weather-induced road closures, jumped in the truck and drove to Tahoe. We sat somewhere on I-80 waiting for the road closure to be lifted for a good 3 hours. We were antsy, our feet tapping. Last week's storm dusted the Sierra with 3-4 feet of perfect little snow crystals.

Every year I am constantly amazed at the perfection of each little 6-armed hydrogen-bonded buddy. I sometimes choose one way up in the sky and try to catch it in my mouth as it falls. I roll around and make snow angels and snow chairs. I dip my candy cane in for a snow dessert. The gentle flakes fall onto my lashes and slowly melt.

So on Sunday, I could only surrender to my need for snow. I hiked through thigh-deep powder with snowshoes, built a snow bed and gazed up at the sky, the trees heavy with diamonds, the ravens.