Rest

• When I am foolish enough to leave home for a few days, I pretty much always come back to little piles of throw-up strategically placed around the house. Oh, it's strategic. Trust me. (The cat.)
  
• I spent a quick weekend up in Small Town, WA, with my Mom. We had such a nice time taking little walks and relaxing in the sunshine on her deck. We talked and played Scrabble and wondered how she got to 63 and I got to 40. It was a really nice visit.
• I slept better at my Mom's than I have in six months. Every night. I didn't even know that kind of sleep existed for me anymore. Honestly, I think it was because school and work were hours away and I couldn't have done much about either even if I'd wanted to.
• The final leg of the flight home was holy hell. I think I caught the pilot on his first ever flight. My GOD, just cancel the damn thing if it's going to be like that.
  
• I signed up for a beginner sewing class. I'm going to make a pillow :) I don't know; my Mom is a really amazing seamstress and she has all kinds of lovely things around the house. Also, I got a kind of obsessed with these cute little bags on Etsy and now I want to know how to make them.
• Fifteen years I've lived in Portland and not one day has the weather gotten to me. Until now. I am OVER IT. I need sun. People aren't supposed to live like this. For the first time in all these years, we finally have the weather that everyone thinks we always have. And it rots.
• On Wednesday I finish a literacy class (that I've liked). I just finished a small paper for that class, and now I have a big project I'm working on that is due that night. On Friday I take a two-hour, state-required civil rights test. Next Wednesday I have a pretty big paper due for a practicum (that I've hated). It's why I've been volunteering at the homeless Center, which I have coming up 3 nights next week (5 1/2 hours a night, after I get off work) as well. I just finished reading 2 books for those two classes - The Glass Castle (which practically gave me PTSD) and Zeitoun (which convinced me that every New Orleans resident must have PTSD) - and I can't freaking wait to be done with all this bullshit and just go back to one class at a time. This winter/spring term has been a bitch.
  

• It took 40 years, but I finally beat her. (And then she promptly put me in my place. No surprise there.)
  

At Home

I surfed today. I surfed. I surfed without anyone telling me what to do or how to get better. (Ungrateful little shit, aren't I? I love you, Costa Rica. Call me.) I can't believe I surfed today. It was amazing.

I felt pretty nervous going into it. I've gained some weight, so I was pretty sure I was going to split my wetsuit in two, or maybe get barred from the ocean altogether for looking very un-surfer-like. I also worried about conditions - what if I made the drive only to find the swell had dropped? With intense family drama, insomnia, strife with Huntington Beach, staff expense reductions (oh no they didn't) at work, and coming out of four simultaneous classes at school (only because I couldn't get my shit done on time), I honestly would not have dealt well with a wasted day off.

So I woke up waiting for the sky to fall every step of the way this morning and it didn't. I suited up, waiting to feel bitterness over having to wear a wetsuit when all those kids down in Costa Rica don't have to . . . but I didn't. I hoisted my board on my head and brought her down on the sand, and then I knelt by her and applied some much-needed wax. I put on my leash and waded into the water, having finally picked out a good spot to start in.

The whole routine was such a meditation. From the second the water level crested the top of my booties (booties = 7 mil, wetsuit = 4 mil, so I can always feel when it passes my feet), it felt so good. I don't know why or how, but this is where I can most be myself. This routine - the drive, the suit up, the wade in, the paddle, paddle, pop - the whole thing. It has become part of who I am. Being out of my comfort zone there has become my comfort zone.


It felt like there were a lot of people in the water today, but there were probably less than 10 at all times. I think I was just feeling self-conscious about being in people's way because I couldn't find my groove. It was like my board knew I'd been riding other boards since the last time I held her. She threw my ass off the deck every single ride. I kooked it up out there, and while there were definitely some swears, there were a lot more laughs. I rode a different size of board in Costa Rica, so for about the first 15 rides in today, I positioned myself way too far forward on my board, and for the next 15 rides, I was way too far back. I just couldn't remember how to work with this board. Not super productive, but I had the best damn time in the water.

I stayed out for about 3 hours and, my god, that's a long time for me. When I finally surrendered, the wind had come up and I was chilled so deeply that I didn't stop shivering for over an hour. But I couldn't have gotten out of the water earlier; I wanted to stay in forever. It felt so good, so familiar, so right. I actually had to talk myself out of going back in the water after an hour wandering around town. It wouldn't have worked for today, but it got me kind of stoked thinking about Fridays this summer catching an early surf, lunch in town, and then a late afternoon surf. Are you freaking kidding me? Two sessions in one day? Yes, please. Thank you, sir. May I have another?

After my session, I went by the surf shop to say hi to the owner, pick up a wax comb (it's definitely time for a little maintenance) and ask about getting a smaller board. It was great to be there -- they have a new girl working the front and she was so cool. Very young, sounds like a pretty new surfer, super enthusiastic. I talked with the owner about trying some different boards, and he commented on how smiley I was out there today. (He surfed for a bit in the middle of my sesh - dude is good.) I told him a little about Costa Rica and how awesome it was, but told him it just didn't compare to here. Freaky but true: I love surfing in Oregon. The owner listened to me go on about how there's no place I'd rather be, and then he said, "Well, this is your home break."

A-hem. You guys, I have a home break. I wanted to excuse myself and get my notebook: "Dear Diary, today the surf shop owner referred to the cove as my Home Break. Love, LSL."

My heart is overflowing with stuff I want to say about today, but I'm coming up empty. Whereas I usually crash off my board when I wipe out, today I dove off it. I swam around and played in the water every time I ended up there. I wanted to run around the parking lot and grab every person by the ears and yell YOU GUYS, WE ARE SURFING IN OREGON! I loved Costa Rica and was grateful for every hammock nap and banana pancake. But there were no ear-grabbing fantasies there. I don't know what to tell you. I love surfing here.


I can't freaking wait to reconnect with Jules (maybe in about a week) and just get this season started. I think I figured out that if I get up at the crack, I can make it to the coast and back and only be a couple hours late for work, which might be ok once or twice a month. Add that to every weekend, and I might just come out of this funk yet.

One other thing: I saw the owner in the lot after surfing when we were both taking off our wetsuits and he yelled over to me, "Nice hickey." I could feel my suit rubbing on my neck in the water but I couldn't believe it left a mark he could see from so far away. He told me to come by the shop so he could hook me up with some Belly Jelly (see how I'm taken care of here?) and when I got in my car I couldn't freaking believe it.


And that's just one side. It looks like that all the way around. Good thing I didn't call in sick today, huh?

Community

I worked at a homeless center on Saturday night for five hours for a class I absolutely hate. The center is unique in that it's not an overnight shelter, but a drop-in location whose only purpose is to try to address the social isolation that comes with homelessness. Folks come by to rest, get warm, have a little food, and get stocked up on essentials (if the donations have been received). And they come to talk.

I've been too busy lately to obsess over my concerns leading up to the first night, but when I got there I did start to wonder what the hell I was doing: What do I have in common with a homeless person? What am I going to say? What if I say something wrong? What about hygiene issues? (I'm not proud of it, but that came to mind.)

There was about 5 awkward minutes in the beginning, but the next 4 hours flew by in a mix of getting coffee, handing out sandwiches, playing Jenga, chess, and more, washing dishes, listening to the piano, and discussing the fundamental theorem of calculus.

You heard me.

Let's agree it was a night where my preconceptions were challenged. And my heart was broken. I spent most of the time with two older men playing a board game one of them had invented. It was so interesting! The object of the game was to get to know the other players better, and we did. One of the men had an advanced degree in physics and the other had an advanced degree in everything, I think. He was brilliant. He was the one explaining calculus to me -- trust me, it wasn't the other way around. Before we began the game he said he needed to know what my area of expertise was, and I said that I wasn't sure, but that I would go with psychology. His eyes lit up and he said, "Excellent! I don't know very much about psychology so you can teach me." (He was a quick study.)

I also spent time with an ex-soldier, 30-something, very handsome, who talked a lot about his time in the military. I think because he was closer to my age than many, and probably because he had served our country, it made me particularly sad to think about him living on the streets. We were having a pretty normal conversation and I was thinking, "This guy could be any one of my friends" and then at some point it took a turn and he went into a monologue about one of his tours of duty, and it kind of got more non-sequitur the longer he went on. That happened a few times: I'd be talking to someone, thinking, "This person is perfectly normal; he could be the guy in the cube next to me at work" and then the conversation would shift and I would realize there were other issues at play. Sigh.

It was sad to see the women. I guess because women are supposed to be soft and a little pampered, and these women were neither. It was sad to see the mentally ill. Mental illness is such a trigger for me. I don't understand why we can't do more. It seems like a prison cell without a key. I wish I had the time to write down every story, or at least the stories of the 5 or 6 guys I spent time with. I did write down their names and a few identifiers once I got in my car at the end of the night so I would remember them if I see them next time.

Honestly, if I stop and think about the evening, I start to cry a little. None of these people started out in life thinking, "I hope I end up begging for food or asking strangers for socks." It makes me wonder about our system, and it makes me wonder about my life -- not only, what can I do to be part of the solution?, but, if these folks didn't plan this, could it happen to me?

I don't want to say that it was all sad. I truly enjoyed the evening, and several of the interactions were only pleasant and positive. I admire the organization deeply for knowing their niche and doing their "one thing" very well. I think that by having a narrow mission, they're able to work toward their goal without distraction. And in the end, I would say the evening was a success - it definitely helped eliminate a bit of social isolation.

And hopefully it helped some of the homeless guests, too.

Constant Craving

I am craving surfing. Craving surfing. During a massage the other day I flipped over onto my belly half-way through as instructed, and I found myself pushing up with my palms and toes, making sure I was exactly centered on the table. After I carefully lowered my body, I held my arms up just a second to see if I was balanced. Like I do on my board.

Craving.

It's unsurfable out there, and I should know: I'm checking the report three times a day, just in case. I'm in terrible shape -- the subtle cut of my shoulders that I noticed after Costa Rica has gone soft. I've finally gone running again and my thighs feel like knives are splitting them in two every time I move. I'm not ready to surf even if the ocean was ready to have me.


But I hope it's ready soon.

All That Is Left

One of my favorite designs from wonderful Fresh Words Market is a great quote by Robert Fritz:

Where I'm From*

Sizzle tells me it's National Poetry Month. Good enough for me.

I am from K-Tel records and 8-track tapes. I am from leotards and Charlie.

I am from cigarette butts and perfectly groomed flowers and silver and copper sleeping bags thrown across lounge chairs on wet grass. I am from a new journal on New Year's Eve, and toll paintings of owls and mushrooms. I am from "Don't Give Up On Us, Baby".

I am from Michelle's pool, and Washington Park, and the orchards between here and there.
I am from houses built from leaves. I am from packing a bag and running away to my Grandparent's lawn.

I am from "Home again, home again, jiggity jog" and "Bless us, oh Lord, and these, thy gifts" and "Just take two more bites!" I am from "Peace be with you" - "And also with you". I am from "Ooooo-n Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday night." I am from, "Look in the drawer under the phone!"

I am from candy from Ernie's while our bikes sat outside waiting. I am from fish sticks and white bread with butter, from canned vegetables, from thinly sliced sandwich meat and Velveeta cheese.

I am from Pooney and Joey and Potsy. I am from 34820, long before 663-4820. I am from birch trees in every yard. I am from parents dancing around the living room.

*Thank you, George Ella Lyon.