Thank you for the lovely wintry send off. I truly appreciate your thoughtfulness in putting a number of inches of the white stuff on the ground the day before I leave, thus complicating my evening and inevitably my next morning commute, and most likely screwing with my flight out tomorrow evening. Love you so much!
Smiles (through gritted teeth and a little bit of an evil sneer)
Jen
Monday, March 31, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
I'm not there.....
The title for this blog comes from the movie about Dylan, (Bob that is, from the great city of Cloquet, MN or really is it Hibbing. Minnesota nonetheless.) that I tried (and failed) to see in uptown an embarrassing number of times. The premise, for those of you unfamiliar with this indie flick (which I have incidentally still not seen), is that several actors portray Dylan at different stages in his life, including the late Heath Ledger and Cate Blanchett (Oscar nod) as well as a young black boy. If you squint I guess you can sometimes look at these actors and see how well they portray the idea of Dylan, but he's "not there."
This is how I'm beginning to feel about myself.
Despite my best efforts, in some ways I am a woman without a place. I've got one foot almost in the door of Botswana and one not quite leaving the door of Minneapolis. During my hospice training last spring, there was extended conversation about "the place between" life and death, where people on their deathbed would have visions and conversations with people who were already dead. It is an interesting psychology of transition I am learning right now, everything is so between. I feel the most clarity and confusion. the most happiness and melancholy. I feel the sharpest I've ever been and the most scattered. ALL AT ONCE. I feel excitement and dread and fear and anticipation and everything and nothing. I feel numb and yet, overfilled with emotion, as though I'm walking around the world with both a slow leak and a gushing waterfall, whilst filled with the pressure of an overripe tomato.
I'm not quite here and not quite there, so where does that leave me?
I'm not quite here and not quite there, so where does that leave me?
The other day I met K-train on the sidewalk in front of the house. I was walking to the busstop, she was walking O-dog, and I called out to her. We chatted for a brief minute as we walked the few feet past my house to hers and she turned to me and said, "I can't imagine being happier to see anyone walking down this street toward me." I made a lame joke and we parted ways. I got on the bus, and couldn't read- no surprise-, it's been weeks since I could hone in on anything more stimulating than a People magazine- but looked at the passing city and it's busy inhabitants as though someone had just resealed the flaps on my corneas after my lasik. Everything was beautifully clear and somewhat tragic, and I sort of wanted to cry as I had after I woke up and could clearly see the alarm clock for the first time. It seems things nearly always seem this way when you're looking at them wistfully.
I'm hesitant to meet new people for the fact that I'll immediately have to leave them, and I'm wary of connecting with old friends for the stress and emotion of the goodbyes, which I'm incidentally sometimes lacking (-see above re: emotional numbness) I usually don't want to talk about the Peace Corps at all now as it takes too much out of me to be catching people up to speed. Fine thanks and how are you? I have a deeply intensified interest in talking about other people's anything, if it can help me avoid getting into myself and the inevitable dramatic conversations that ensue, or even talk about "areyouexcitedareyounervous?" conversation which I stare like a deer in the headlights. (in case anyone was wondering the answer to both is yes, in addition to nervous scared and slightly sick to my stomach at times...)
I'm hesitant to meet new people for the fact that I'll immediately have to leave them, and I'm wary of connecting with old friends for the stress and emotion of the goodbyes, which I'm incidentally sometimes lacking (-see above re: emotional numbness) I usually don't want to talk about the Peace Corps at all now as it takes too much out of me to be catching people up to speed. Fine thanks and how are you? I have a deeply intensified interest in talking about other people's anything, if it can help me avoid getting into myself and the inevitable dramatic conversations that ensue, or even talk about "areyouexcitedareyounervous?" conversation which I stare like a deer in the headlights. (in case anyone was wondering the answer to both is yes, in addition to nervous scared and slightly sick to my stomach at times...)
Monday, March 24, 2008
You can't always get what you want......
I recently learned that all grey's anatomy episodes are titled after songs, and decided to do the same with my blog.... for about this one, after which I will most likely abandon the idea. This was just the song that was on replay in my head as I formulated this entry. The subtitle might have been "Packing and Moving....On."
It has been a very emotional, productive weekend, one of my last in Minnesota, involved a great deal of packing and family time. I think these two themes can do a lot to bring a person to their knees in general, and this was my reaction several times this weekend.
I had my happy hour-evening on Thursday, one of the last times I will see many friends and co-workers and launched straight into a busy workday with snowy conditions and heavily scheduled time. I slept at my mom's on Friday, and finally fell into the deep REM sleep I have been missing and craving. It was like the change of scenery and the knowledge that my bags were far far away in uptown and I couldn't repack them if I wanted to that allowed me the chance to finally relax. I slept a solid 12 hours, and woke up to spend a little time with the fam before heading down to south Minneapolis for a massage. This was a wonderful, relaxing experience, my body has been hording incredible amounts of stress and tension and just as I felt it might be releasing some of it, that time was over and I was launched back into the reality of the small amount of time that is left to do so many things. My mom and sister came over and helped me pack (or really repack because I sort of had my bags packed or at least stuff pretty much prepared to pack) and at first is was fun and lighthearted, showing all the things I was bringing, the new t-shirts and the outfits I had planned and it was fun to laugh about some of the more ridiculous things I was planning to bring (yoga mat, foam roller, nail polish) then came the heaviness. In more ways than one. No more giggling and poking fun. The time had come to weigh the bags.
And they were overweight.
Not by a ton or by any ridiculous amounts, but enough that things definitely had to be removed. I had packed and repacked a few times already and thought I had done pretty good to get myself down to the bare minimum. And it wasn't enough. More had to go. To most this wouldn't seem like too terribly big of a deal. For those of you that know me, you'll know that I am a reformed (??????) hoarder. As with any addictive type personality deal, once you have certain behavior patterns that reward you or give you a charge in any way, they are hard to break and may haunt you your whole life. I personally have found that I have a delusional thinking pattern that means if I just have enough stuff and products and food around me that things will be ok, I will be secure, and life will be easier and more manageable. As long as I have enough toilet paper, nothing unexpected can happen. I will not have to be inconvenienced by going to the grocery store, because I will have that can of coconut milk that the recipe calls for (which is incidentally all the more ridiculous because I neither cook, nor know of any recipes that require coconut milk.) It just must have seemed like a staple to me at some point-in my defense when I found the bugger I brought it directly to my new neighbor K-Train's place, and in retrospect I think Jack bought it but.. whatever....
I consider myself to have come leaps and bounds from the girl who used to keep a year (or two) supply of shampoo and products on hand and would have bought more if it were on sale at Target. I moved out of my old house two years ago in a u-haul and could now probably fit all my worldly possessions into a geo metro (ok maybe not but how's that for metaphor!!!) I have been throwing away and giving away and selling anything and damn near everything. I have gone from the girl who couldn't pass the Clearance rack without grabbing a few things and had t-shirts from high school to the girl who would literally give you the shirt off her back if you asked for it- and the matching shoes and purse (hey I'm getting rid of it anyways! do you want these boots, too? I can't take them with me and you certainly do look like a size 6!!!! ) I have a list of people who can attest to the fact that this has actually happened- my stylish and lucky friends! and sometimes strangers! I gave a homeless man next to the 35W overpass a can of pears the other day. I had been carrying the buggers around for a week meaning to eat them. I guess I know why I was dragging them around now...anyhoo
I've come a long way baby, and at this point the idea that all I would have in the world for the next two years would have to fit in these two bags at 80 pounds was just a little more than overwhelming. Yes, a big part of my inspiration for joining the Peace Corps was to have the opportunity to face some of these dysfunctions I carry head on. But it's not easy. Before I embarked on this adventure an certain elements of my life were boring. There was not enough forward motion and change, I wasn't learning and challenging myself. I had no firm direction that I passionately believed in with my heart, soul and mind. This path has given my life a kick start and already taught me so many wonderful lessons, and has helped me begin to face some of my demons. I wouldn't do anything differently.
But I would be lying if I didn't sometimes stop and think (or really, stamp my foot while crying hysterically) that I'm ready for a rest now. I need a break. I want to get off this carnival ride that my life has become. I just want a pause and for things to be simpler, or to not have to take care of this, that, and the next thing because I am on a magic carpet ride of a schedule to get my ass out of this country. My body has become a physical manifestation of my mental state and I am barely sleeping and nearly constantly in some sort of pain or another. I spend a great deal of time pissed off or irritated and overwhelmed.
When I think I cannot handle one more ounce of anything, I suddenly look back to realize while throwing my fit, I just have. That things have fallen into place and all the effort I had mustered up in planning to deal with something was unnecessary, and can be redirected to the next thing on the list. I have suddenly become better at letting others take the wheel, letting things go, compromising, and taking less than 150 % as good enough. I've come closer to realizing and accepting that I can't have, or do, it all.
Except, apparently, when I am packing.
My sister, who can occasionally be ruthless and was thus good at this sort of cutting back, (and who may have just gotten a little bit of joy from this particular task) yanked open the suitcases and carefully scrutinized everything in them, weighing items in her hands, questioning them, challenging them, or just plain tossing them out. (After which she generally put them in her purse or hid them from me so I couldn't sneak them back in.) She quickly and efficiently got the bags down to the correct weight while I whimpered in the corner and my mom promised to send many, many care packages. It nearly killed me to have my baby sister do this, but she is the only person on Earth who knows me well enough to be trusted with it. She cut straight through my bullshit items and their lame reasons for being included, knew where I was trying to sneak in some extra luxury things, and narrowed down my O.P.I nailpolish selection to a measly two bottles. She threw out drink powders and made me defend the number of shoes I was bringing (Hey some things are non-negotiable. I've heard the shoe quality is horrible in Africa as a whole).
So I'm packed. Crisis averted. I can't say I feel completely at peace with it....
Because really, generally at the moment I begin to feel gratitude and think I have my shit together, something else falls apart. But it all boils down to what The Purple One calls "this thing called life." This weekend I realized that although I thought I had transcended my hording issues, they're still there. And I may never be the girl who can fit all her shit in the geo metro.
Having realized that security is somewhat an illusion and deciding to throw everything (sometimes literally) into the wind by joining the Peace Corps doesn't mean that my issues surrounding security (amongst other things!!!) are dealt with. They will continue to rear their ugly little heads throughout the course of my life. Even though I thought I had anticipated and dealt thoroughly with leaving Minneapolis, my family and friends, and any number of the possibly scenarios that could occur while I'm gone, this is a job never done. Shit will always be going down. My family/friends/job/life will never be in the "perfect place" from which I can easily leave. I will never be able to wrap up any portion of my life neatly with a bow and say "there, finished" and feel completely settled about it and move forward without an ounce of angst or hesitation or even panic. From a point long in the past, and into a point far in the future, I will never have every single person I love in one area. I will always be missing someone, or something. No matter what, I have to give things up to embark on this new journey. You can't always get what you want.
The lesson with which I will fall asleep tonight lies in the rest of the lyric. Maybe a key to happiness, or fulfillment, or whatever it is that we are searching for as residents of this world lies in the idea of knowing that whatever you want, or think you want, or have, or are trying to get or get rid of, you'll still be in exactly the place you need to be, on the path that will get you there. You just have to move forward and trust that you can fall back.
But if you try sometimes,
you might find......
You get what you need.
It has been a very emotional, productive weekend, one of my last in Minnesota, involved a great deal of packing and family time. I think these two themes can do a lot to bring a person to their knees in general, and this was my reaction several times this weekend.
I had my happy hour-evening on Thursday, one of the last times I will see many friends and co-workers and launched straight into a busy workday with snowy conditions and heavily scheduled time. I slept at my mom's on Friday, and finally fell into the deep REM sleep I have been missing and craving. It was like the change of scenery and the knowledge that my bags were far far away in uptown and I couldn't repack them if I wanted to that allowed me the chance to finally relax. I slept a solid 12 hours, and woke up to spend a little time with the fam before heading down to south Minneapolis for a massage. This was a wonderful, relaxing experience, my body has been hording incredible amounts of stress and tension and just as I felt it might be releasing some of it, that time was over and I was launched back into the reality of the small amount of time that is left to do so many things. My mom and sister came over and helped me pack (or really repack because I sort of had my bags packed or at least stuff pretty much prepared to pack) and at first is was fun and lighthearted, showing all the things I was bringing, the new t-shirts and the outfits I had planned and it was fun to laugh about some of the more ridiculous things I was planning to bring (yoga mat, foam roller, nail polish) then came the heaviness. In more ways than one. No more giggling and poking fun. The time had come to weigh the bags.
And they were overweight.
Not by a ton or by any ridiculous amounts, but enough that things definitely had to be removed. I had packed and repacked a few times already and thought I had done pretty good to get myself down to the bare minimum. And it wasn't enough. More had to go. To most this wouldn't seem like too terribly big of a deal. For those of you that know me, you'll know that I am a reformed (??????) hoarder. As with any addictive type personality deal, once you have certain behavior patterns that reward you or give you a charge in any way, they are hard to break and may haunt you your whole life. I personally have found that I have a delusional thinking pattern that means if I just have enough stuff and products and food around me that things will be ok, I will be secure, and life will be easier and more manageable. As long as I have enough toilet paper, nothing unexpected can happen. I will not have to be inconvenienced by going to the grocery store, because I will have that can of coconut milk that the recipe calls for (which is incidentally all the more ridiculous because I neither cook, nor know of any recipes that require coconut milk.) It just must have seemed like a staple to me at some point-in my defense when I found the bugger I brought it directly to my new neighbor K-Train's place, and in retrospect I think Jack bought it but.. whatever....
I consider myself to have come leaps and bounds from the girl who used to keep a year (or two) supply of shampoo and products on hand and would have bought more if it were on sale at Target. I moved out of my old house two years ago in a u-haul and could now probably fit all my worldly possessions into a geo metro (ok maybe not but how's that for metaphor!!!) I have been throwing away and giving away and selling anything and damn near everything. I have gone from the girl who couldn't pass the Clearance rack without grabbing a few things and had t-shirts from high school to the girl who would literally give you the shirt off her back if you asked for it- and the matching shoes and purse (hey I'm getting rid of it anyways! do you want these boots, too? I can't take them with me and you certainly do look like a size 6!!!! ) I have a list of people who can attest to the fact that this has actually happened- my stylish and lucky friends! and sometimes strangers! I gave a homeless man next to the 35W overpass a can of pears the other day. I had been carrying the buggers around for a week meaning to eat them. I guess I know why I was dragging them around now...anyhoo
I've come a long way baby, and at this point the idea that all I would have in the world for the next two years would have to fit in these two bags at 80 pounds was just a little more than overwhelming. Yes, a big part of my inspiration for joining the Peace Corps was to have the opportunity to face some of these dysfunctions I carry head on. But it's not easy. Before I embarked on this adventure an certain elements of my life were boring. There was not enough forward motion and change, I wasn't learning and challenging myself. I had no firm direction that I passionately believed in with my heart, soul and mind. This path has given my life a kick start and already taught me so many wonderful lessons, and has helped me begin to face some of my demons. I wouldn't do anything differently.
But I would be lying if I didn't sometimes stop and think (or really, stamp my foot while crying hysterically) that I'm ready for a rest now. I need a break. I want to get off this carnival ride that my life has become. I just want a pause and for things to be simpler, or to not have to take care of this, that, and the next thing because I am on a magic carpet ride of a schedule to get my ass out of this country. My body has become a physical manifestation of my mental state and I am barely sleeping and nearly constantly in some sort of pain or another. I spend a great deal of time pissed off or irritated and overwhelmed.
When I think I cannot handle one more ounce of anything, I suddenly look back to realize while throwing my fit, I just have. That things have fallen into place and all the effort I had mustered up in planning to deal with something was unnecessary, and can be redirected to the next thing on the list. I have suddenly become better at letting others take the wheel, letting things go, compromising, and taking less than 150 % as good enough. I've come closer to realizing and accepting that I can't have, or do, it all.
Except, apparently, when I am packing.
My sister, who can occasionally be ruthless and was thus good at this sort of cutting back, (and who may have just gotten a little bit of joy from this particular task) yanked open the suitcases and carefully scrutinized everything in them, weighing items in her hands, questioning them, challenging them, or just plain tossing them out. (After which she generally put them in her purse or hid them from me so I couldn't sneak them back in.) She quickly and efficiently got the bags down to the correct weight while I whimpered in the corner and my mom promised to send many, many care packages. It nearly killed me to have my baby sister do this, but she is the only person on Earth who knows me well enough to be trusted with it. She cut straight through my bullshit items and their lame reasons for being included, knew where I was trying to sneak in some extra luxury things, and narrowed down my O.P.I nailpolish selection to a measly two bottles. She threw out drink powders and made me defend the number of shoes I was bringing (Hey some things are non-negotiable. I've heard the shoe quality is horrible in Africa as a whole).
So I'm packed. Crisis averted. I can't say I feel completely at peace with it....
Because really, generally at the moment I begin to feel gratitude and think I have my shit together, something else falls apart. But it all boils down to what The Purple One calls "this thing called life." This weekend I realized that although I thought I had transcended my hording issues, they're still there. And I may never be the girl who can fit all her shit in the geo metro.
Having realized that security is somewhat an illusion and deciding to throw everything (sometimes literally) into the wind by joining the Peace Corps doesn't mean that my issues surrounding security (amongst other things!!!) are dealt with. They will continue to rear their ugly little heads throughout the course of my life. Even though I thought I had anticipated and dealt thoroughly with leaving Minneapolis, my family and friends, and any number of the possibly scenarios that could occur while I'm gone, this is a job never done. Shit will always be going down. My family/friends/job/life will never be in the "perfect place" from which I can easily leave. I will never be able to wrap up any portion of my life neatly with a bow and say "there, finished" and feel completely settled about it and move forward without an ounce of angst or hesitation or even panic. From a point long in the past, and into a point far in the future, I will never have every single person I love in one area. I will always be missing someone, or something. No matter what, I have to give things up to embark on this new journey. You can't always get what you want.
The lesson with which I will fall asleep tonight lies in the rest of the lyric. Maybe a key to happiness, or fulfillment, or whatever it is that we are searching for as residents of this world lies in the idea of knowing that whatever you want, or think you want, or have, or are trying to get or get rid of, you'll still be in exactly the place you need to be, on the path that will get you there. You just have to move forward and trust that you can fall back.
But if you try sometimes,
you might find......
You get what you need.
Friday, March 21, 2008
In gratitude...
Thank you to all who came out to my going away party last night, and to those who were there in spirit. I'm blessed to have such great peeps in my life. I will deeply miss you all.
And Babies, you are my hero.
And Babies, you are my hero.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
While I'm away....
Please fill me in on your lives. Email me at jennyinlondon@msn.com, or send snail mail to
PCV Jennifer Katchmark
Peace Corps
Private Bag 00243
Gaborone, Botswana
I will update this address as it changes, but the Peace Corps will always forward mail from here.
Tell me about your joys and sorrows, triumphs and defeats.
Help me feel connected to all the magic you offer the world, and the place I know as home, which is with you.
Love you,
Jen
PCV Jennifer Katchmark
Peace Corps
Private Bag 00243
Gaborone, Botswana
I will update this address as it changes, but the Peace Corps will always forward mail from here.
Tell me about your joys and sorrows, triumphs and defeats.
Help me feel connected to all the magic you offer the world, and the place I know as home, which is with you.
Love you,
Jen
Friday, March 14, 2008
Jen + Minneapolis=true love???
Or an abusive relationship?
Minneapolis has been flirting with me. No, scratch that, Minneapolis has been straight up- all out hitting on me, and begging for me to come back. I don't know how she heard I was leaving, but she knows. I haven't even fully gone yet and she wants me back.
After months of the kind of cold and snow and ice that has you slipping and falling and freezing and questioning your will to live, and the kind of inhumane nights that have your teeth chattering like a lover pounding on the door to the bedroom, begging you to let them come back in and forget about whatever abhorrent thing they've done to get themselves kicked out in the first place, the sort of temperatures that makes the rest of the nation justifiably question our sanity (and look at us sort of cautiously, with those side eyed sneaky glances where you can just TELL they're thinking Minnesota nice??? what DOES that mean?? These people live in a meat locker most of the year for God's sake) as Minnesotans, the unthinkable happened, and it happened on Monday.
Spring came.
As Minnesotans, we've come to know and live by that annoying red headed freak Annie 's credo, joining in with her obnoxious, earnest singing of "the sun'll come out tomorrow," and jumping right on her delusional bandwagon that if we're just happy enough, and clap your hands if you believe in fairies enough (oh wait, that's Peter Pan, another crazy weirdo ...) and surely after winter will come spring. We are so hard up for the warm weather and the onset of summer that we will jump at any chance to call any sort of weakening in the armor that is winter's character "spring"- (I just did it after a few days of 40 degrees!) Each year we dread and deny that the winter is a bad thing, and some of the real crazies even look forward to the pending snowfalls and outdoor activities- the snowshoeing, the ice skating, the sledding, snowmobiling and cross country skiing. The snowmen, the Winter Carnival, the hot chocolate and cider, the wonderful fluffy snowflakes gently falling from the heavens like drunken fairies softly drifting to the ground. Perhaps a polar plunge or two here and there.
It started Monday with the kind of amazing weather that people from Hawaii and Florida get out their blankets and electric heaters for, and the kind and sends Minnesotans out in droves inappropriately underdressed. Being born and raised, I laced up my sneaks and went for the run around Lake of the Isles that I have been craving since late January, when the snow (and ICE) became too much for me. the sun was moving toward setting and shown over the frozen lake as purty as a picture, not unlike the gorgeous postcard your friend sends you from Hawaii in the dead and winter that you rush without even reading to put up in your office at work, both to show off that you have friends cool and rich enough to get to Hawaii in the winter and to subtly brag that they love you enough to send you a postcard from their exotic vacation locale.
Monday I smiled at Minneapolis, politely thanked her for the day and steeled myself for the inevitable onslaught of freezing rain that was sure to follow. I knew I was making the right decision to live in the desert, and I wouldn't be missing Minnesota one bit, thankyouverymuch.
Tuesday I was at work, another day of unseasonably warm weather (the kind that makes you have complete amnesia as to why global warming is a BAD thing if it brings this kind of heat in March -sidebar I am talking 40 degrees - just for perspective) when I began reading the local paper. The articles in the Star Tribune and the City pages were good. Really good. It reminded me how forward thinking and open the residents of Minneapolis are, or at least the people we allow to write in our newspapers without tarring and feathering them. People in Minneapolis in particular seem to really care about things and Minneapolis is generally known as a place that is open to growth and change. Perhaps we accept change because we have been shaped by it's inevitability. The seasons will come and go and try as we might to stop them, they are going to change. And as we have no other options we accept the change and learn to embrace the beautiful possibilities and complete contrasts and activities that each new season brings.
On that day's walk, I was out around the Isles with my friend and her dog, everyone enjoying the nice weather and everyone's dogs saying hello and people smiling at each other and I thought "hmm....." Minneapolis people are kind of nice. These can't be the same people that block the entrances to every bar, restaurant and really building in Minneapolis smoking and bitching about the weather, stealing your cabs and your parking spots.
Tuesday I smiled at Minneapolis, thanked her for the on time bus, pleasant bus driver, and seat on the bus, and thought about the next day's inevitable freezing rain, the increased probability of falling, and return of the asshole person taking my parking spot at the Wedge. (Now those of you who know me have found me out! I never park at the Wedge, I live insanely close and should always be walking there...- that last sentence was purely for dramatic effect. Did it work?)
By Wednesday I was a wreck. Over the weather. It was still warm. With Minneapolis it seems I had settled into my familiar pattern with relationships of breaking up with someone and then wanting them back, even though the bigger part of me knows I should keep walking. Could it be that I have been overreacting all these years? Look at this balmy warmth! 45 degrees! In March! (in the sun, at the brightest part of the afternoon). Have I been delusional and overreacting (not me! no!)? Were Minnesota winters not really that bad? The memories of how bone chillingly cold it had been all winter and every winter previous were becoming foggier, as I conveniently forgot the hot chocolate and hot cider scalds on the hands as a kid, the feeling of a shower of snow freezing off your face or that little area of the back of your neck where the scarf didn't quite cover, the sting of a properly packed snowball (or really ice chunk disguised as a snowball) skillfully and cunningly thrown cracking against the well aimed target that is your skull. I revised the memories of the multiple (-cut me a break, I lived in Duluth!) car accidents caused by slippery roadways (and the shitty driving on the part of Minnesotans across the board, to say nothing of the driving done by other people in other states who "just don't know how to deal with these types of conditions"-as if we're much better) cars not starting due to freezing cold temps, the preemptive need for HEET, and how dirty and salty and nasty everything is all winter other than when it is actively snowing. And really even then it's a bitch because there's plows and shoveling and sand and salt and slipping. I imagined that all those days of ice fishing on the frozen lakes (with the gaps between my sleeves and my mittens burning with cold and the wetness of my gloves as I inevitably got them wet and they refroze, we won't even start on the wet, smelly boots) as a child were either a dream or something I watched on TV, or that there was an ice house to stay in. These memories were forgotten, and the memories I was grasping on to seemed so pleasant and lovely.
Having conveniently rewritten the history (reality?) of the harshness of a Minnesota winter, I began to feel as if I would be completely and totally missing something essential to my DNA were I to leave and live in the dessert for 2.25 years. I don't remember EVER having this early of a spring. Have I been a big baby all this time? How can I leave this place with the amazing springs? The springs that make me think of the summers and how fun and warm (OK sometimes unpleasantly hot, and humid- which is another blog completely- but still) and all the fun warm weather things we get to enjoy as Minnesotans- the boating, the beaches, the fishing, the cabins and outdoor concerts and Farmer's Markets and softball games and walks around the lakes, the State Fair, the Aquatennial, all the little cities and small town's county fairs and carnivals, the fireworks, the sparklers ,the sprinklers, the fresh fruit and sweet corn, the mosquitoes that give you something besides the weather to bitch about.
And how could I want to leave Minnesota? The perfect, caring, kind lover that gives you such good things and only wants the best for you. What was possibly wrong with me? I was in a panic, not that the Peace Corps was the wrong decision for me, but that Minneapolis would miss me and I would be abandoning her. (None of this was at all was influenced by all the other emotional upheavals I was experiencing, of course. )
In the midst of all this waffling and emotional angst about leaving the city and state that raised me, and loved me, and has fought with me and for me and has frozen me and put me at my wit's end, Thursday came. I was rushing around uptown on foot, running errands, paying no attention to what was going on around me as I was plotting and planning in my head and organizing and running late, balancing two boxes of strawberries that were of course extremely overpriced. And suddenly something shiny caught my eye in the melting snow and mud. Thinking it was a quarter for the laundry machines I grabbed it and shoved it in my pocket. Later that night, as I was emptying my pockets and reveling in the lovely, relaxing, healing space that all that rushing around earlier had evolved into at dinner with friends, I looked at the coin I had snatched off the street. It was a token. For the light rail. The last Minneapolis experience I will have before going to California and then onto the Peace Corps will be taking the light rail across the city to the airport. I realized then that Minnesota and Minneapolis are still my loves and my home, through good and bad, and ugly and beautiful, she has the truest kind of love for me. The kind that wants what's best for you even if it means leaving her. She's OK with me leaving and is joyful about it, and rather than conniving and tricking me to get me to stay, she has given me beautiful, sunny, unseasonably warm and gorgeous days as a parting gift, and something beautiful to remember her by. She has given me a token by which to leave her. She knows that in leaving, I will come to know and love her more thoroughly, and come to represent the adaptability, acceptance and appreciation she instills in her people. I will miss her and I will long for her, but that doesn't mean that I shouldn't be moving forward.
To Minneapolis, to Minnesota, and to all of her people, thank you. Thank you for all you have given me, all that you have taught me and how you've helped me prepare for this journey and for life. I love you, I hate you, and I'll be back.
Minneapolis has been flirting with me. No, scratch that, Minneapolis has been straight up- all out hitting on me, and begging for me to come back. I don't know how she heard I was leaving, but she knows. I haven't even fully gone yet and she wants me back.
After months of the kind of cold and snow and ice that has you slipping and falling and freezing and questioning your will to live, and the kind of inhumane nights that have your teeth chattering like a lover pounding on the door to the bedroom, begging you to let them come back in and forget about whatever abhorrent thing they've done to get themselves kicked out in the first place, the sort of temperatures that makes the rest of the nation justifiably question our sanity (and look at us sort of cautiously, with those side eyed sneaky glances where you can just TELL they're thinking Minnesota nice??? what DOES that mean?? These people live in a meat locker most of the year for God's sake) as Minnesotans, the unthinkable happened, and it happened on Monday.
Spring came.
As Minnesotans, we've come to know and live by that annoying red headed freak Annie 's credo, joining in with her obnoxious, earnest singing of "the sun'll come out tomorrow," and jumping right on her delusional bandwagon that if we're just happy enough, and clap your hands if you believe in fairies enough (oh wait, that's Peter Pan, another crazy weirdo ...) and surely after winter will come spring. We are so hard up for the warm weather and the onset of summer that we will jump at any chance to call any sort of weakening in the armor that is winter's character "spring"- (I just did it after a few days of 40 degrees!) Each year we dread and deny that the winter is a bad thing, and some of the real crazies even look forward to the pending snowfalls and outdoor activities- the snowshoeing, the ice skating, the sledding, snowmobiling and cross country skiing. The snowmen, the Winter Carnival, the hot chocolate and cider, the wonderful fluffy snowflakes gently falling from the heavens like drunken fairies softly drifting to the ground. Perhaps a polar plunge or two here and there.
It started Monday with the kind of amazing weather that people from Hawaii and Florida get out their blankets and electric heaters for, and the kind and sends Minnesotans out in droves inappropriately underdressed. Being born and raised, I laced up my sneaks and went for the run around Lake of the Isles that I have been craving since late January, when the snow (and ICE) became too much for me. the sun was moving toward setting and shown over the frozen lake as purty as a picture, not unlike the gorgeous postcard your friend sends you from Hawaii in the dead and winter that you rush without even reading to put up in your office at work, both to show off that you have friends cool and rich enough to get to Hawaii in the winter and to subtly brag that they love you enough to send you a postcard from their exotic vacation locale.
Monday I smiled at Minneapolis, politely thanked her for the day and steeled myself for the inevitable onslaught of freezing rain that was sure to follow. I knew I was making the right decision to live in the desert, and I wouldn't be missing Minnesota one bit, thankyouverymuch.
Tuesday I was at work, another day of unseasonably warm weather (the kind that makes you have complete amnesia as to why global warming is a BAD thing if it brings this kind of heat in March -sidebar I am talking 40 degrees - just for perspective) when I began reading the local paper. The articles in the Star Tribune and the City pages were good. Really good. It reminded me how forward thinking and open the residents of Minneapolis are, or at least the people we allow to write in our newspapers without tarring and feathering them. People in Minneapolis in particular seem to really care about things and Minneapolis is generally known as a place that is open to growth and change. Perhaps we accept change because we have been shaped by it's inevitability. The seasons will come and go and try as we might to stop them, they are going to change. And as we have no other options we accept the change and learn to embrace the beautiful possibilities and complete contrasts and activities that each new season brings.
On that day's walk, I was out around the Isles with my friend and her dog, everyone enjoying the nice weather and everyone's dogs saying hello and people smiling at each other and I thought "hmm....." Minneapolis people are kind of nice. These can't be the same people that block the entrances to every bar, restaurant and really building in Minneapolis smoking and bitching about the weather, stealing your cabs and your parking spots.
Tuesday I smiled at Minneapolis, thanked her for the on time bus, pleasant bus driver, and seat on the bus, and thought about the next day's inevitable freezing rain, the increased probability of falling, and return of the asshole person taking my parking spot at the Wedge. (Now those of you who know me have found me out! I never park at the Wedge, I live insanely close and should always be walking there...- that last sentence was purely for dramatic effect. Did it work?)
By Wednesday I was a wreck. Over the weather. It was still warm. With Minneapolis it seems I had settled into my familiar pattern with relationships of breaking up with someone and then wanting them back, even though the bigger part of me knows I should keep walking. Could it be that I have been overreacting all these years? Look at this balmy warmth! 45 degrees! In March! (in the sun, at the brightest part of the afternoon). Have I been delusional and overreacting (not me! no!)? Were Minnesota winters not really that bad? The memories of how bone chillingly cold it had been all winter and every winter previous were becoming foggier, as I conveniently forgot the hot chocolate and hot cider scalds on the hands as a kid, the feeling of a shower of snow freezing off your face or that little area of the back of your neck where the scarf didn't quite cover, the sting of a properly packed snowball (or really ice chunk disguised as a snowball) skillfully and cunningly thrown cracking against the well aimed target that is your skull. I revised the memories of the multiple (-cut me a break, I lived in Duluth!) car accidents caused by slippery roadways (and the shitty driving on the part of Minnesotans across the board, to say nothing of the driving done by other people in other states who "just don't know how to deal with these types of conditions"-as if we're much better) cars not starting due to freezing cold temps, the preemptive need for HEET, and how dirty and salty and nasty everything is all winter other than when it is actively snowing. And really even then it's a bitch because there's plows and shoveling and sand and salt and slipping. I imagined that all those days of ice fishing on the frozen lakes (with the gaps between my sleeves and my mittens burning with cold and the wetness of my gloves as I inevitably got them wet and they refroze, we won't even start on the wet, smelly boots) as a child were either a dream or something I watched on TV, or that there was an ice house to stay in. These memories were forgotten, and the memories I was grasping on to seemed so pleasant and lovely.
Having conveniently rewritten the history (reality?) of the harshness of a Minnesota winter, I began to feel as if I would be completely and totally missing something essential to my DNA were I to leave and live in the dessert for 2.25 years. I don't remember EVER having this early of a spring. Have I been a big baby all this time? How can I leave this place with the amazing springs? The springs that make me think of the summers and how fun and warm (OK sometimes unpleasantly hot, and humid- which is another blog completely- but still) and all the fun warm weather things we get to enjoy as Minnesotans- the boating, the beaches, the fishing, the cabins and outdoor concerts and Farmer's Markets and softball games and walks around the lakes, the State Fair, the Aquatennial, all the little cities and small town's county fairs and carnivals, the fireworks, the sparklers ,the sprinklers, the fresh fruit and sweet corn, the mosquitoes that give you something besides the weather to bitch about.
And how could I want to leave Minnesota? The perfect, caring, kind lover that gives you such good things and only wants the best for you. What was possibly wrong with me? I was in a panic, not that the Peace Corps was the wrong decision for me, but that Minneapolis would miss me and I would be abandoning her. (None of this was at all was influenced by all the other emotional upheavals I was experiencing, of course. )
In the midst of all this waffling and emotional angst about leaving the city and state that raised me, and loved me, and has fought with me and for me and has frozen me and put me at my wit's end, Thursday came. I was rushing around uptown on foot, running errands, paying no attention to what was going on around me as I was plotting and planning in my head and organizing and running late, balancing two boxes of strawberries that were of course extremely overpriced. And suddenly something shiny caught my eye in the melting snow and mud. Thinking it was a quarter for the laundry machines I grabbed it and shoved it in my pocket. Later that night, as I was emptying my pockets and reveling in the lovely, relaxing, healing space that all that rushing around earlier had evolved into at dinner with friends, I looked at the coin I had snatched off the street. It was a token. For the light rail. The last Minneapolis experience I will have before going to California and then onto the Peace Corps will be taking the light rail across the city to the airport. I realized then that Minnesota and Minneapolis are still my loves and my home, through good and bad, and ugly and beautiful, she has the truest kind of love for me. The kind that wants what's best for you even if it means leaving her. She's OK with me leaving and is joyful about it, and rather than conniving and tricking me to get me to stay, she has given me beautiful, sunny, unseasonably warm and gorgeous days as a parting gift, and something beautiful to remember her by. She has given me a token by which to leave her. She knows that in leaving, I will come to know and love her more thoroughly, and come to represent the adaptability, acceptance and appreciation she instills in her people. I will miss her and I will long for her, but that doesn't mean that I shouldn't be moving forward.
To Minneapolis, to Minnesota, and to all of her people, thank you. Thank you for all you have given me, all that you have taught me and how you've helped me prepare for this journey and for life. I love you, I hate you, and I'll be back.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Tiny Feet...
It has been a lovely, amazing weekend, full of Mommas and Babies and good vibes. As Jack would say, it was a breast fest. This weekend was the ceremonial last goodbye as three women go their separate ways, on journeys that will fill their sails and their spirits. My apartment was filled with love, organic food, babies sleeping in bathtubs and one shoving her tiny feet into my back as I slept. There was Chinese food and fire and sparks and smoke (literally) and tears and more love and lots of orange juice and one fun foam roller (gross motor skills!!). We got matching pink hair and painted pink toes and wore altogether too much pink (which is fine, because she can pull it off, she's two).
Our friendship was born and fostered in the fiery do or die world of woodland hills, where we depended on each other for physical and emotional support, held each other's hands (heads, hair) as we fought to come more into ourselves whilst trying to teach the next generation about their own self worth. (and we started this daily at 6 AM... anyone who is still willing to be my friend after watching me struggle through that many morning shifts should be sainted) I can honestly say moreso for these women than for nearly anyone else that I have trusted them with my life. We learned to operate on a level without words, often moving in tandem by expressions and instinct. They were there as I was assaulted, there as I shoved snow, shit and other unthinkable piles and there as I camped..(which I by no means loved it but that's it's own special deal), there as I grew and failed and succeeded and learned what it really takes to be a role model.
As the years have passed we have shared everything we have with each other, the men have come and gone, and come back, the children and their births have blessed us, the day I imagined would be my wedding day was really hers and I couldn't have been happier if it had been my own, (and as a matter of fact I would have been miserable if it had been mine). Life has been wonderful and hard and trying and above all always sacred.
It is a season of goodbyes in my life, all painfully necessary to make room for the hellos on the horizon, but all the while hard to keep in mind sometimes; that these goodbyes are not deaths, and not permanent, but a temporary leave taking which will serve to help me become a better human being. It's tough to remember that as I walk away from these tiny feet and tiny faces and know that when I come back the little feet will be bigger, they will know more words- (or words at all, their coos and gurgles will have become little voices) and they might not say Katchy with the same little smile and occasional "confusing H" sound. They might not remember me. I'm going to leave for two point whatever years and I'm going to miss certain special moments in their lives, welcoming new babies into the world, birthdays, first steps, first words, writing their names... These are all truths and I know I will miss these and many other special moments for my adult friends and family, marriages, new jobs, big moves, births, deaths, new puppies, gorgeous long heart to heart chats with big gestures and facial expressions, candlelight dinners, but with children there's a certain magic that is sprinkled with a little extra fairy dust.
For these lost moments I cry, and for these lost moments I mourn. And as I cry and mourn I also give smile and thanks, that I have been so lucky and so blessed to have these great women in my life and that they have shared these special little ladies with me. And for all the wonderful people who have touched my life, and allowed me to touch theirs.
Three friends and two babies who would give the world for each other, and know they must, and smile through their tears as they wave each other onto their journeys. Good luck to you both, on this and all your life's journeys, and may strength and grace accompany you every step of the way.
I love you,
Your Katchy
Our friendship was born and fostered in the fiery do or die world of woodland hills, where we depended on each other for physical and emotional support, held each other's hands (heads, hair) as we fought to come more into ourselves whilst trying to teach the next generation about their own self worth. (and we started this daily at 6 AM... anyone who is still willing to be my friend after watching me struggle through that many morning shifts should be sainted) I can honestly say moreso for these women than for nearly anyone else that I have trusted them with my life. We learned to operate on a level without words, often moving in tandem by expressions and instinct. They were there as I was assaulted, there as I shoved snow, shit and other unthinkable piles and there as I camped..(which I by no means loved it but that's it's own special deal), there as I grew and failed and succeeded and learned what it really takes to be a role model.
As the years have passed we have shared everything we have with each other, the men have come and gone, and come back, the children and their births have blessed us, the day I imagined would be my wedding day was really hers and I couldn't have been happier if it had been my own, (and as a matter of fact I would have been miserable if it had been mine). Life has been wonderful and hard and trying and above all always sacred.
It is a season of goodbyes in my life, all painfully necessary to make room for the hellos on the horizon, but all the while hard to keep in mind sometimes; that these goodbyes are not deaths, and not permanent, but a temporary leave taking which will serve to help me become a better human being. It's tough to remember that as I walk away from these tiny feet and tiny faces and know that when I come back the little feet will be bigger, they will know more words- (or words at all, their coos and gurgles will have become little voices) and they might not say Katchy with the same little smile and occasional "confusing H" sound. They might not remember me. I'm going to leave for two point whatever years and I'm going to miss certain special moments in their lives, welcoming new babies into the world, birthdays, first steps, first words, writing their names... These are all truths and I know I will miss these and many other special moments for my adult friends and family, marriages, new jobs, big moves, births, deaths, new puppies, gorgeous long heart to heart chats with big gestures and facial expressions, candlelight dinners, but with children there's a certain magic that is sprinkled with a little extra fairy dust.
For these lost moments I cry, and for these lost moments I mourn. And as I cry and mourn I also give smile and thanks, that I have been so lucky and so blessed to have these great women in my life and that they have shared these special little ladies with me. And for all the wonderful people who have touched my life, and allowed me to touch theirs.
Three friends and two babies who would give the world for each other, and know they must, and smile through their tears as they wave each other onto their journeys. Good luck to you both, on this and all your life's journeys, and may strength and grace accompany you every step of the way.
I love you,
Your Katchy
Thursday, March 6, 2008
I don't deserve an Oscar....
I know this may come to you as shocking – strictly out of left field – especially for those of you familiar with my "healthy" sense of drama — but I do not deserve an Oscar. Although I would love to walk the red carpet in a fancy dress and expensive jewels (the Peace Corps may not break me of everything…) and although the kitchen sink of Hollywood gossip in my brain occasionally overflows onto unsuspecting bystanders- (hey am I not always the one you ask about "that one guy" in that movie that was nominated back in '04… and I can figure out who he is...…) not to mention my impeccable acting skillz... no, I don't deserve an Oscar.
Since we're discussing awards I don't deserve, (or rather I'm typing about and you're reading…) let's expand out the list…I also don't deserve a Tony, a Grammy, an Emmy, I'm not the "Best in Show" or most improved and I don't even deserve a little trophy with a soccer ball guy on the top… and I last I checked I wasn't up for a Nobel Peace Prize, (or any of the other Nobels for that matter …). "What are these newly developed (or more recently uncovered) delusions of grandeur about?" Ok I'll get to the point. I am joining the Peace Corps. I will be living abroad for two years on the salary of a local person. People live like this every day. I am not solving the HIV/AIDS crisis. I never owned a McMansion and thus am not giving one up. I don't even drive a nice car. When it runs. I am not sacrificing on a level of Mother Teresa. I say these things to give some perspective. When I speak about the Peace Corps, and when I answer the same questions over and over - (which I generally don't mind, much to my surprise) the most common reactions I get are shock, distaste, surprise, incredulity, disbelief, excitement, or some expression of "I wish I could do something like that, or I could never do something like that, or wow, you're so brave." Sure there's some element of truth to these statements; but I think these reactions tend to stem from a place in people where they think that they are not capable of "great things". You ARE. And, you CAN make a difference. You don't have to go live in a mud hut in Africa to make an impact, but just be aware and be willing to explore opportunities. Call your grandma. Hug your sister. Have a little more patience as you listen to that client/manager/customer service rep complain/berate/shirk responsibility. Take a deep breath and continue forward.
I want to be thought of as a woman taking risk in life to follow her dreams and touch some lives along with way. It is a very simple plan, and one that I would hope would be the more lasting impression on people than all the others of what a "sacrifice" I'm making or how challenging my life will be. It's true, my life will involve some level of sacrifice and hardship, on some levels I don't even know yet, but my driving force right now has a lot to do with I am still the same woman you knew, and will continue to know, on whatever levels we can reach out to each other over the time that I am gone.
So, delusions of grandeur aside, I'm going to the Peace Corps, folks. I'm going to Africa. And I'm going for 2.25 years. Aside from whatever this may mean to you, it means a lot of things to me. One of them is that I am scared. yup I have fears. I am nervous about a lot of things and spend a great deal of time being anxious. I might express these feelings to you. If I do it is because I trust you, believe you'll have helpful feedback, or sometimes just because you are there and I happen to know your name (and in all reality sometimes this is not even the case!) If (and really-when) this happens, please do not let the first thing out of your mouth in response be "well... you know you don’t HAVE to go." I realize this. I truly, truly do. I know my options, I know the choices, I signed the paperwork. I know I can back out until the minute I get on the plane, and I can get a plane out of there at any time. This is reality and I know the options, and in an attempt to put it most kindly, I know them better than you, and have already spent a great deal of time considering them. Please don't go for the easy default "solution" with me. Let me express my fears just as you've allowed me to express my hopes, my dreams and try to be with the experience as you've shared in my joy and excitement. Help me investigate these fears, and see them through and decide if they might be the big monster under the bed known as "fear itself.."
I know you're scared for me, and I am too. And I appreciate this from you, as I know it means you love and care for me. It's just that right now the fears are quite real for me, founded in reality or not. But so is the excitement, the joy, and the overarching feeling of this being my path, and something I need to do even if it scares me. Jack said to me once that good decisions do not come from excitement and good feelings alone, and doubts are part of making sound decisions. This idea has been on repeat in my head for some months. It has brought me much comfort as I've settled in to this emotional rollercoaster ride. Each day brings all of these emotions (and more) in a dizzying musical rendition of the life I've chosen. Enough blog inspired soap boxing from me. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Since we're discussing awards I don't deserve, (or rather I'm typing about and you're reading…) let's expand out the list…I also don't deserve a Tony, a Grammy, an Emmy, I'm not the "Best in Show" or most improved and I don't even deserve a little trophy with a soccer ball guy on the top… and I last I checked I wasn't up for a Nobel Peace Prize, (or any of the other Nobels for that matter …). "What are these newly developed (or more recently uncovered) delusions of grandeur about?" Ok I'll get to the point. I am joining the Peace Corps. I will be living abroad for two years on the salary of a local person. People live like this every day. I am not solving the HIV/AIDS crisis. I never owned a McMansion and thus am not giving one up. I don't even drive a nice car. When it runs. I am not sacrificing on a level of Mother Teresa. I say these things to give some perspective. When I speak about the Peace Corps, and when I answer the same questions over and over - (which I generally don't mind, much to my surprise) the most common reactions I get are shock, distaste, surprise, incredulity, disbelief, excitement, or some expression of "I wish I could do something like that, or I could never do something like that, or wow, you're so brave." Sure there's some element of truth to these statements; but I think these reactions tend to stem from a place in people where they think that they are not capable of "great things". You ARE. And, you CAN make a difference. You don't have to go live in a mud hut in Africa to make an impact, but just be aware and be willing to explore opportunities. Call your grandma. Hug your sister. Have a little more patience as you listen to that client/manager/customer service rep complain/berate/shirk responsibility. Take a deep breath and continue forward.
I want to be thought of as a woman taking risk in life to follow her dreams and touch some lives along with way. It is a very simple plan, and one that I would hope would be the more lasting impression on people than all the others of what a "sacrifice" I'm making or how challenging my life will be. It's true, my life will involve some level of sacrifice and hardship, on some levels I don't even know yet, but my driving force right now has a lot to do with I am still the same woman you knew, and will continue to know, on whatever levels we can reach out to each other over the time that I am gone.
So, delusions of grandeur aside, I'm going to the Peace Corps, folks. I'm going to Africa. And I'm going for 2.25 years. Aside from whatever this may mean to you, it means a lot of things to me. One of them is that I am scared. yup I have fears. I am nervous about a lot of things and spend a great deal of time being anxious. I might express these feelings to you. If I do it is because I trust you, believe you'll have helpful feedback, or sometimes just because you are there and I happen to know your name (and in all reality sometimes this is not even the case!) If (and really-when) this happens, please do not let the first thing out of your mouth in response be "well... you know you don’t HAVE to go." I realize this. I truly, truly do. I know my options, I know the choices, I signed the paperwork. I know I can back out until the minute I get on the plane, and I can get a plane out of there at any time. This is reality and I know the options, and in an attempt to put it most kindly, I know them better than you, and have already spent a great deal of time considering them. Please don't go for the easy default "solution" with me. Let me express my fears just as you've allowed me to express my hopes, my dreams and try to be with the experience as you've shared in my joy and excitement. Help me investigate these fears, and see them through and decide if they might be the big monster under the bed known as "fear itself.."
I know you're scared for me, and I am too. And I appreciate this from you, as I know it means you love and care for me. It's just that right now the fears are quite real for me, founded in reality or not. But so is the excitement, the joy, and the overarching feeling of this being my path, and something I need to do even if it scares me. Jack said to me once that good decisions do not come from excitement and good feelings alone, and doubts are part of making sound decisions. This idea has been on repeat in my head for some months. It has brought me much comfort as I've settled in to this emotional rollercoaster ride. Each day brings all of these emotions (and more) in a dizzying musical rendition of the life I've chosen. Enough blog inspired soap boxing from me. I wouldn't have it any other way.
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