Is It Safe?

Years ago I had a friend who had seen the movie Marathon Man and used the "is it safe" question as his own method of torture. He would look all glittery eyed and ask the question for no particular reason. We were, at that time, all trying to believe that the universe was going to take care of us in all ways if we had enough faith. We wanted it to be safe. But we weren't really sure it was.
Last week I noticed a post from the Hood River News on Facebook. There had been a bank robbery and schools were in lock down. I got an email from a friend with the heading: Don't go outside! I hadn't really been planning on it so I wasn't too worried.
A little while later I got email from the HOA guy saying that a homeless guy had entered our building somehow and tried to get into one of the units. He's a known homeless guy. I've seen him from my window. He seems harmless but it would be disconcerting to have him walk in the door.  
All this while the news from Colorado became increasingly grim. The news about Syria became increasingly confusing. The news. The news. The news.
The day felt weird. It wasn't that I felt like the robbers and homeless people of the world were on their way to me with mal intent. I wasn't even really worried. But I was something. Disconcerted? Maybe.
I've been trying to get a non drivers ID from the state of Oregon. I went on line for the paper work and filled it out. I brought two non driver IDs from the state of Colorado. I brought my long expired passport. I brought the xerox copy of my state issued birth certificate. None of that was enough. I need a specific state issued birth certificate. I talked to Mom. She sent my birth certificate. I went back. Not good enough. It was issued by the hospital. Not the state.
It's the death of common sense.
Since I have two state issued non driver IDs there must have been a time when the things I have were enough. But not now. And here's why it's pissing me off. There are states requiring state issued IDs before you can vote. I'm not entirely sure if that's true here but when I went on line to register it asked for my Driver's licence number. And you hear people talking about how it's not that hard to get an ID.
Well.
I will eventually get what I need. Maybe the third time will be the charm. I'll get my ID. I'll register to vote.
The burglar was taken into custody the other day.
Haven't seen the homeless guy walking around.
Is it safe?  

Then what?

Kristina came for a visit. That was a very good thing.
It seemed like once or twice a day we'd be talking and I say something about a post I was going to write. When she left I assumed I'd be writing up a storm.
But.
No.
I assumed I'd be writing because we'd had so many great conversations. And we'd met up with Marcia in Portland and had more great conversation. My brain was sparking. I can't really explain why I never got to the page.
Since I've been here my days have been filled with unpacking and general settling in activities. My back has knocked me down a few times. Not terribly surprising since for months I've been moving boxes around. Mostly boxes of books. I found a really wonderful chiropractor but her adjustments are somewhat different than Barbara's. It all added up and I spent so many days on an ice pack that I burned my skin. But I was reading a lot and that also usually stimulates writing.
I think there's a writing guru who says something about "butt in the chair" as a big part of writing. Maybe. But for me it's always been about words building up and repeating in my head. It's often a reaction. I often have a post written in my head long before I sit in the chair. And I did have a few. But they seem to flattened.
The nest is pretty close to settled. I've bought and been gifted a few things but most of the stuff is the same stuff I've been living with and yet it all looks new. Every book on a shelf. Every picture on the wall. I feel more and more ... at home.
I've been asking myself what I'll do when there's nothing left to unpack. It's going to be awhile before that's true.  

That'll do pig.

My living room makes me happy.
During the worst ten years of my life (that would be the last ten years) I began to wonder if I'd come to identify with being unhappy. I wondered if I was able to be happy. It wasn't that I liked being unhappy I just ...wasn't. I wanted to be able to feel my real emotion and tell the truth about it. Einstein said he thought well being and happiness shouldn't be an absolute aim. He compared such "moral aims" to the "ambitions of a pig." I took some kind of validation and comfort in that idea. I felt authentically unhappy. I wanted authenticity.
And now.
My living room makes me happy.

         

I am, generally speaking, happy these days. That doesn't mean I haven't had bad moments or bad days. 

For a few weeks unpacking got slowed way down. The nest was a vacation rental and full of furniture most of it was taken to a very nice consignment store before I arrived but there was a table, some chairs, a bed and some art. The very cool woman from the store had been busy and took awhile to come back. Once that stuff was out of here I could do some unpacking but I was also waiting for the guy who is helping me with things like repairing my desk and painting the walls and stuff. He got busy with other jobs and a vacation. I was set up enough to cook and sleep and watch TV and use my computer but I wanted things to be in place. So I've had some frustrated days. Some grouchy days. Some lonely days. But then he showed up and so much fell into place. I still have more books to shelve and stuff to put on the wall and more to do but the living room is in pretty good shape. It makes me happy. The kitchen is coming together as well. There are no more boxes in the hall way. 

It's not like I was never happy during the last ten years. I was. And it's always been true that I can fill up with happiness over really random things. Like books on a shelf. Or plants looking healthy. I've never been so far gone that I couldn't see beauty and feel sentiment. But it was harder. 

I'm almost as worried about this ... happiness... as I was worried about my lack of it. But it's not an absolute aim. 

Heh. 

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.