Attention

Jeane was visiting me years ago. We'd been out to dinner. When we walked in we turned on the TV looking for a movie or something. On every channel there was live coverage of a car chase, a white Bronco. We turned it off. And that was how I dealt with the entire epic of the O.J. Simpson trial. I turned it off. I had no interest. I had no opinion. Until the day of the verdict. On that day I was glued to my television. It was so interesting to watch the variety of reactions. Heartbreaking in some cases. Confusing in others but so compelling.
My experience of the Zimmerman trial was slightly different. I watched bits of because it was always on MSNBC. I found it hard to watch and I usually didn't watch for long. On the day of the verdict I was again glued to the television until it was announced. My first thought was, "Not again." I was so angry I had to turn it off. I couldn't shake that anger for days. I haven't really shaken it yet.
The two trials don't have much in common but they were both a hyper public spectacle. I won't argue that we have a right to see what happens in the courtroom but I have mixed feelings. The courtroom is a theater space even when it's not on television. But it should be a pretty boring theater. It should be about flat narratives and details of legal structures. I think it is most of the time. But not this one. This one was about bad jokes and Twitter reactions and endless analysis and chunks of concrete. And a weary ending.    
At some point a friend changed her Facebook picture to the Trayvon icon seen now in so many places. I grabbed it myself. I'll probably change it soon.
I used to write more about issues of the day. I've stopped because I worry about the culture of opinion. I want to be sure that if I'm going to write something it's going to feel useful in some way and I'm not really sure it's useful for me to add my angst. But the aftermath of the trial has held my emotion. I'm not even sure what there is to hope for but it feels like there are reasons for hope. There is a conversation happening. There are people sitting in and marching and making demands. I think real change happens slowly and happens in heart and minds. Spectacles can be fodder for change.
I'm still nesting. It's slow going but steady. I get frustrated and then I get over it. Every day the nest feels more like mine. I'm still overwhelmed with gratitude.
There is a pub up the street. On weekends they often have bands. It's loud and goes on into the night. The night of the verdict there was a metal band. Lots of whooping and hollering. It grated on my nerves. I wanted quiet and reflection.
Some times.
Most times.
All I feel I have to offer is my attention.    

Peaches and Lillies

I'm sure there will come a time when the nest is just where I live and I no longer go into a swoon when I see the washer/dryer. The other day I was sitting at the sink eating a cup of cold shrimp and avocado soup and noticed a shadow of the plants on the ceiling. The ceilings are cement and covered with industrial-ish markings. I love them.
There are things about my life that are still difficult. I'm still in pain. I can take out my own garbage but by the time I get back inside I'm in pain. I can't go for a walk around my neighborhood. Pain is an internal thing. I'm not always sure my friends understand how much of it I experience. And then there's my wobbles. I always feel like I'm walking on a tight rope.
A handful of things have slowed down my unpacking. I think next week things might pick up. At least the things that are about other people. Things having to do with my ability or lack there of will no doubt stay slow. Heh.
Pattie has written about the issues of disability for awhile. I've been reticent to understand myself as someone who is disabled. I keep thinking if I could swim more, or do more yoga then I could walk better and there's some truth to that but my knees are too far gone. The nerve bundles in my feet make me wobble. Even surgery might not help.
I just need help. So often. And I hate it. I hate needing help. I hate asking for help.
Maybe the thing that's the hardest for me is when someone does something that seems to be oblivious to my disability. This happens a lot in stores. People walk in front of me, slow me down, send me into a wobble. I think I'm more impatient about this kind of lack of awareness because I grew up with my grandparents so from a very early age I needed to be aware of their needs. I had to be there when they needed someone to lean on. So I am confused when people don't get it. And vulnerability is not a mood stabilizer. My emotions are always extreme and reactive when I feel my own need.  
I'm hoping to get a scooter. A scooter will increase my independence by yards.
No matter how bad I may be feeling there are things about the nest that make me smile and feel better. I am anxious to have things in place. Books on shelves. Pictures on walls. But Jane brought me bounty from the Thursday market including a bunch of flowers that would have not been affordable in SF. When I woke up the nest smelled like peaches and lilies.

Weird Day

1. In SF I had prisoner of UPS days in which I had to sit near the buzzer and wait for a delivery. They almost always delivered in the afternoon. Of course if I went out in the morning they delivered in the morning. My first delivery here was UPS delivering books from Kristina. Of course. She's cool like that. I was worried because I hadn't figured out how to use the intercom for the building. At some point that day I heard a knock on the door and when I opened it the packages were there! They get in on their own! I sent a text to Kristina and we rejoiced. We rejoiced a bit too soon because on my birthday she sent a gift basket via FedEx and I didn't hear the knock on the door. Apparently if I'm in the front of the nest and have the TV on and the window door open there's enough noise to make my already weak ears unable to hear a knock on my door. So, OK. If I have to sign for something there may be an issue but other wise still better.
Then yesterday I knew I was getting a delivery of some dining room chairs so I propped the hallway door open slightly so I wouldn't miss them. Another problem I had in SF was that some of the delivery guys would drop and run. Packages had been lifted from our entry way and if it was a big package I had to beg a neighbor to bring it up, as in the infamous box delivery. And that tradition continues. The UPS guy dropped the boxes off at my door, which is better than dropping them off down the stairs but I had hoped he would bring them in. My door was blocked so I had to move them. It wasn't terrible. I'm doing a lot of pushing heavy boxes around these days but it was a bit of a let down. Today I was waiting for another delivery with the door propped open. By the afternoon I checked and found it had been "left at the front door", which was actually the lobby. It's a more secure lobby but still.
2. I had become increasingly dependent on friends and neighbors to carry trash down the stairs in SF. I was lucky to have very kind friends and neighbors but being able to take out my own trash has made me very happy. But. You knew there was one coming didn't you? The recycling bins are at the top of an alley, also a hill. Even if I could get up it I couldn't get back down. So I call the local garbage company and they say the recycling trucks can't fit down the alley. I call the property management and they don't have a clue what's going on and don't seem to care. I have one more email out to one more possible problem solver and if they don't help I'm back to begging friends. Drat.
3. The nest comes with Internet access although there has been a lot of confusion about how that works. The instructions I got for the WiFi didn't work. The possible cable outlet is obscured by things and will be until more unpacking occurs. In terms of cable Comcast doesn't service the Hood so I had to switch to Charter. Not a big deal. Since I needed a land line for the building intercom I decided to bundle with them. I've always resisted bundling because I hate corporate domination but I more or less gave up and bundled. Internet access is important enough to me to bypass what ever the building may or may not have. Once I was connected I was able to solve my WiFi issue by reading a bunch of tutorials. Quite pleased with myself on that. I'm glad to have both though.
The land line/intercom thing was just not working. Yesterday I noticed that when the guy installed the land line he plugged it into the modem and not the wall. Feeling pleased with myself again I called Charter to ask if I could change that. Oh. Well. No. They have to send a technician. He comes. He does stuff. He tells me there's more to do but he can't do it. I need to get the building wiring guy to do it. He leaves. The property management doesn't have a clue and doesn't seem to care. Again. Same email. Same last ditch possible problem solver. We'll see.
4. And I get an email from Comcast saying I have a credit for more than 100 bucks. Turns out I've been paying a month ahead. Who knew? So the account has been closed for two weeks or so. The equipment has been turned in. The email says I have a credit but no mention of how to get a refund. After a unreasonable amount of time waiting for customer service to answer the phone, which included being hung up on, a seriously slow witted person created "a ticket" for the refund and said it could take three to four weeks. Um.
There's even more but it's not fun to write so it can't be fun to read. These things happen everywhere and I still think that my life is better and more manageable here. I feel bit old and codgerish but why does it feel like it's so hard to get people to solve problems? And do jobs well?  I know people are often over worked and under paid. I get it. But really.
Yesterday was the weird day. I felt a bit punch drunk by the end of it. Today was still weird but better. There's a lot of revolution in the world right now and I'm all about the problems of privilege. How did that happen?  

Machines

I didn't grow up with a dish washer. I remember the nightly ritual of someone washing and someone drying. I'm not sure at what age or if I was ever part of it. I know my job was to set and clear the table so I may have been excused from dish duty. We moved into a brand new house in Maryland with a dishwasher. I remember having to scrub the dishes thoroughly so that food wouldn't "bake on" in the dishwasher making me wonder why I didn't just go ahead and wash them.
When I left home the first time I stayed in a friend's grandmother's house and she happened to have the same dishes my grandmother had. I remember standing at the sink washing the dishes and feeling sentimental. From that moment I loved washing dishes. Really. If you invite me to a party the odds are you'll find me in the kitchen washing dishes.
So now I have a dishwasher. I doubt I have enough dishes to use it on a regular basis. It's on the small side so maybe. I use a dish or two at breakfast, wash them by hand and use them again for dinner. I have been filling up the new machine with dishes as I unpack them and I do notice a difference. I'd been scrubbing a coffee pot and not feeling like  it was getting clean. I put it in the dishwasher and wow. It looks new. But I'm still washing my daily dishes by hand.
My refrigerator might be the only thing I don't love in the nest. It's heavily compartmented and feels small and overly instructive. I'll put my dairy where ever I want to thank you very much. Because I don't drive I tend to do Armageddon shopping. Not easy with this refrigerator. And it's noisy. It makes weird thudding noises. It also so beeps at me if I have the door open too long. I actually find that part funny.
I have a washer and dryer in my bathroom. I have a washer and dryer in my bathroom. I have a washer and dryer in my bathroom. Yeah. That is the Holy Grail. I have always wanted that. Back in SF a neighbor and I talked about how neither of us knew about cleaning a lint trap. We'd both done laundry in laundromats. I did grow up with laundry machines in the house and I think my mom made an attempt to teach me how to use them in my teenage years but in my adult life I've never had them. Well once I had a washer but it didn't work well and there was no dryer. It was easier to go to the laundromat. In New York everyone I knew had their laundry done no matter how much money they made. But I dragged mine up to a laundromat on Broadway near 95th and sat there reading with the hum of the machines filling my ears. My new washer and dryer are complicated and I'm sure I'm not using them perfectly. It took me a long time to find the lint trap.
I have a notebook the size of a New York City phone book. It's filled with manuals and warranties. It's the instruction book for how to live here. I've never needed such a thing. These are the problems of privilege.
 
     

Wall of Windows

In San Francisco I had one blind that I raised and lowered every day. It was in the bedroom. There was a window in the living room, which opened on an air shaft and my neighbors could see in if they wanted to look but most of them kept their blinds pulled. I used to like to open the back door and watch people walking down Powell but if the door wasn't open there was no way for anyone to see into my apartment from the street.
One of the best things about the nest is the wall of windows. But I do live on a down town street. There are shops and restaurants and people walking by at all hours. The question of when I lower the blinds is a daily quandary. I like having them open but I am a bit on display. There's nothing to see really and most people are looking into shop windows. I am not not overly concerned. But the other night I stood up and it felt like I looked straight into the eyes of a woman eating on the patio across the street. She may have been looking at my plants or just the architecture. She may not have been looking at all. It just felt like I stood up into her view.
There is a transom-ish part of the window above which I leave the blinds lowered at all times. Nice that they work that way. I seem to have arrived at a system. The first blind I open in the morning is the one by the bookshelf and near where my desk will ultimately be. It's in a corner. There are plants in front of it. It feels obscured. The second one I open is at the other end. The table is there and I've eaten on it but lately I've been eating on the corner of my butcher block. When I was eating there I felt on display, somewhat. It wasn't a big deal but it was a little weird. In any case now I open it and if anyone looks up they may see me scrambling my eggs. Oh well. And last of all the middle, which is also a door with a Juliet balcony. I love opening it and looking up and down the street. But it is right in front of the hallway and I suppose if you were at just the right spot, at just the right moment you might see me walking from the bathroom to the bedroom in my towel. Probably not but I open it last. At night the pattern falls apart. I resist closing them at all.
Morning in Hood River is quiet. I live above a coffee shop so I see people clutching their cups on the street but not many. The day brings out the folks. Some seem like tourists. They travel in groups and look all around them. Others seem like locals. Walking dogs. Pushing strollers. As the evening arrives the restaurant patios fill up. I've been told the summer is busier and in the winter it will get really quiet.
Mom has the blind raising and lowering ritual firmly in place. It always seemed a bit hyper to me.
I like walking past someone's window and catching a glimpse of their life. Especially in the city. Not in any prurient or invasive way but just a glimpse of life.
There's a clear blue sky tonight. Not many people on the street but lots of cars. I think I'll wait until the street lights come on.

Nesting

There's really nothing good to say about moving. Everyone says it isn't fun but there was a level of un-fun-ness that seemed wrong. I'm not going to detail it because ... it's over and I want to be over it. I guess as long as I'm unpacking it's not really over but unpacking is almost fun. It's kind of like a raggedy Christmas in which you're opening packages filled with stuff you've had for a long time but you're glad to see it.
There was a moment, after the movers were gone and R was packing things into the car when I was alone in my apartment and I wept. I can still fill up with tears thinking about it.
We didn't get far that night but once we were on the road the next day it was fun. Driving across Northern California and then into Oregon is like driving through an endless post card. In the last leg of the trip, from Portland to Hood River, both of us exhausted and wanting to get out of the car, the beauty of the river and the waterfalls carried us.
And then I was in the nest. It was late. I was on the verge of a physical, emotional and mental breakdown. But I was in the nest and fully aware of the difference it would make in my life.
For so long I've felt like I didn't have any ground beneath me. No reserve. I was running on fumes. I wasn't running very well. Every hurt felt lethal. Every stress felt overwhelming. Many of my reactions felt disproportionate. Being in the nest feels like the ground has risen up under me. I still have bad moments but I recover from them.
The nest is perfect in ways I would not have imagined. I haven't fully integrated that I get to live here. This morning I had a complete melt down thinking that things were going to fall apart somehow. No reason. Just a random release of emotion. It happens every day and I suspect it will for awhile. But. I recovered.
I had set the cable/Internet appointment for two days after the movers but the movers were a day late so I wasn't really ready for the guy when he came. He was extremely fun and cool and just rolled with the chaos. Got my land line, cable and Internet set up. There's some confusion about my WiFi access and it wasn't coming from his company but he made a valiant effort and got it going. Something went off the rail and the next day, which happened to be my birthday, I couldn't get Internet on my IPhone. Whenever anyone talks about not liking Facebook I talk about my birthday. For the last few years Facebook has made my birthday fun. I post pictures of what I'm eating and people leave me happy birthday messages. So not having that access made me fairly miserable. I spent the day digging through boxes trying to find all the parts for my computer. It turned out that the WiFi was blocking the 3G. Not sure why since I've always had both on my phone. I had actually thought about that possibility and should have just turned it off but the guy had worked so hard to get it going. I was afraid to lose it. I still don't have the WiFi thing sorted.
Jane and Karen came over with a huge bunch of flowers, a wonderful cake and Chinese food. It was good.  
I pushed to get some things unpacked and in place. On Sunday Jane took me to the store. I'd been feeling like I might be getting a cold. That afternoon my intestines were acting up and I felt like crap. I got under a blanket and recovered. My entire system is a little out of whack so I do some work and then I rest. I have enough set up to feel like I can slow down.
I put a load of laundry in the machine and then go eat breakfast. It makes me happy. No stairs.
I go and get the mail. It makes me happy. No stairs.
I take out the garbage. I'm happy. No stairs.
So many things that are routine and not even fun make me happy because I CAN do it.
On either side of my television cabinet is a floor to ceiling window with a beautiful view. My eyes wander away from what ever show is on. I can watch the people on the street below. I can watch the trees on top of the hill. On one clear night I watched the moon rise.
I'm anxious for books on the shelf and no more boxes but I'm calmer in many ways than I have been in years. Maybe this will wear off. But. Not for awhile.

The Saga Continues

When I was in India we would go to a hotel and ask how much things cost and there would be price quoted. Then we'd go to a room and there was no bed and when we asked for the bed there would be a charge. And then we'd ask for a sheet and there would be a charge. Movers are kind of like that. They do warn you about the cost maybe going up once they are there and that makes sense because you can't be 100% clear about what they'll be doing. But today there was a "stair" cost and a "shuttle truck" cost and kaching kaching kaching. The price may also go down once they're here. I asked for some help moving but I doubt they'll need to do much. BECAUSE I BEEN WORKING MY ASS OFF!!!
So I'll get that money back.
I think.
Saturday night, after shopping, after the boxes had arrived, I found it hard to relax. I stayed awake until 1:00 packing. Woke up at 7:00 and started again. Jeane arrived and we packed all 25 boxes.
Packing books isn't really hard. I have the same kind of frustration with the variety of sizes as I do when I'm shelving books. It's a bit like a game of Tetris. Jeane filled a few boxes with odds and ends but most of them were books. I still have some books left to pack.Maybe two more boxes. And some other stuff.
I feel relatively calm about the remaining packing but pretty stressed about the day of the move. There's just no way to be certain about anything. The movers "will do they can do to be there in the morning". The later they arrive the later we take off to drive to the nest.
There is a really cool photo group about North Beach. Perfect timing. I've spent so much time walking those streets. Eating and working in those restaurants. Drinking in those bars. Waiting at those bus stops. It's nice for me to look at those pictures.
I am waiting for more boxes. I paid extra for faster delivery. Even if no one else comes to help I'm in good enough shape to try and remain calm. I'm not calm but I am trying to pretend.
Onward.