My Beginnings

Growing up, all I wanted to was to get out of Oregon. I grew up just outside of Portland. First in Tigard, then moved to Sherwood, followed by Tualatin just a few short years later. Each move was a cathartic release from the pressures of being me, but also left me even more isolated than the move before it. For a long long time, it was just me and my mom.

Me and my mom, Summer 2010

When I was 18, I enrolled myself into a womens college in Virgina. With $25 in my pocket, I took a 4 day train ride to a state I'd never been in, to a school I'd never seen, with no place to stay that first night (as far as I knew) and learned just how self sufficient I could be. I only attended for one year.

I spent the following summer in Colorado Springs with my cousin and uncle. That was a lesson in tyrannical depression. I fought valiantly to return to my school, even without any support from my family but ultimately, when I found out my best friend who was stationed in Anchorage Alaska, became pregnant it seemed only logical to move up there and help out with the baby.

A month after I moved up to Alaska, we had a falling out and we haven't spoken since.

The Sleeping Lady, 2011

Alaska is the place where I found myself, where everything started making sense. I often talk about leaving here, but it finds a way to get under your skin. My friends are here, the family I've created for myself is here. I've found my niche.

I enjoy traveling. This year I went to Ohio for a friends wedding, and last year I visited Oregon and my mother- we drove down to California and back up the hwy 101. I visited my cousin in Colorado just before she went off and got pregnant and married, and my grandfather just before he passed. In a few months I'll be heading to Hawaii for the first time, doing my first two races outside of Alaska.

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Welcome back to College! (A short story)

This is a letter I wrote to my instructor explaining my absence yesterday.

--

Hello, I unfortunately missed our first class this evening. I am fully
aware of your attendance policy, and as I was just explaining to my
supervisor, I'm currently experiencing time management issues. This is
not my normal behavior, and I certainly will do my absolute to ensure
that it doesn't happen again.

If you choose not to read further than that paragraph, then that's fine.
If you'd like to read why I was late, please continue on.

You see, I had been planning out how I was going to acquire my books
before your class started. I originally had intended to go to the
bookstore on Monday, when the time crunch wasn't an issue, but I decided
to go home instead- it was quite cold outside.
Instead, I took off work a little early today (after being a little
late, this morning) to catch a bus that took nearly an hour what a car
could have done in 15 minutes- get me to campus. I arrived on campus
within the time frame I had planned out.

Please also understand, I had planned all the major points of how this
operation was going to go: Bookstore- get books. Be in checkout line by
ten til. Be on to class- 5 minutes late tops.
Possible alternative- bookstore- get books. be in checkout line by 10
til. Wonder around lost looking for the class, until finally getting
directions- 15 minutes late.

These are the only two scenarios I considered all day.

But this is what happened. I reached campus on time, took longer than
necessary trying to cross the really slick parking lot. Then, spent a
little more time looking for certain books than intended, and was in the
checkout line with 5 minutes to spare.

I walked up to the register and the cashier was kind and greeted me like
we were old friends, even though we had never met. I was planning on
using my wolfbucks card to pay for my books, and so handed her my card.
Even after budgeting the cost of my books, I was very surprised to see
they totaled over $400 for three classes.

"Ma'am, were you hoping to pay with your credit card for the rest of it?"

Excuse. Me. What?

"Your wolfcard only has this amount available." Trust me, it was not
anywhere close to what it should been.

What am I supposed to do about this then? I'm 3 minutes late already!

"Student information desk might be able to help!" The cashier offered.

At this point, I was kind of defeated, and still had no idea where my
class was located. I wandered out of the bookstore, and after much
deliberation, decided to continue to follow the ridiculously plan I had
already set in motion, and went left, the way I imagined the class was,
each time I imagined this scenario.


The class wasn't left. I was near the Wendy Williamson Auditorium before
someone came along for me to ask directions.

Excuse me, can you help me? I'm lost.

"Sure, where are you trying to go?"

SSB. I don't even know what it stands for.

He cocks his head to the side. "SSB, you say?" Suddenly he sees
something in the distance. "You mean the Social Sciences Building?"

Nod.

"The one that's like, part of the library..."

On the other side of campus.

"Yeah."

You know I just came from there, right?

"Yeah."

From there, it was just a short hop skip and a jump through the up and
down sky way bridges, until I reach the social sciences building.

I'm hot. I'm tired. I take the elevator. I wind around the second floor,
until I find 258. I pull out my ipod, turn it off, unzip my coat so I
make as little ruckus as possible. I pull out my phone to make sure its
on silent, and to check the time. Its 6:21. Whew. It felt like an hour
had gone by.

I peak my head around the corner of the room.






No one's there.



There was no one there 21 minutes later.

I took one of each of the handouts I saw on the table.

Again, I just want you to know, this really isn't my normal behavior. I
would always prefer to be 20 minutes early, than 5 minutes late. I'm
really quite excited about this women's studies class, and the only
thing that makes missing your class worse, is that I wasn't able to take
any of my books with me either. I promise to see you next week.

I. Am. Brilliant.

I headed up north, and I though of you. I though how I would get close, but not really and I was surprised that the sun was still up while my mind was winding down, down down away from the drama, my friends and their emotions bouncing in waves on to me, making me uncomfortable. I thought perhaps if I stretched my hand out from Healy and you stretched yours from Barrow, in some cosmic plane we would meet up and not feel so alone – perhaps Barrow would become bearable if only for a moment.





And then I fell and sprained my ankle.

Everybody is Guilty at Least Once in Their Life

I walked out of Rite Aid once with a Christmas tape under my chin. Once I realized I had it there, I ran back in and apologized profusely to the first employee I could find, (a tall skinny kid with red hair, and bad acne... though I probably figured it was freckles at the time) and begged him not to arrest me.

Glad you were here, see you later. Hopefully.

Som this Methodist Bishop guy seems like a real cool dude. Stood up for the rights of Homo's everywhere, when it was especially unpopular, back in the 70's and 80's. Did some cool things like put an openly gay minister on a pulpit in Colorado.

Unfortunately, we have lost him to the cycle of life. His work lives on, and I hope he will not be forgotten.

He sounds like a real cool dude.

RIP Snowzilla

Snowzilla has been where no snowman has been before. And now, he is gone.

Most unfortunate. I'm not impressed.

Funeral Beans

I've only been to one funeral in my life. It was my grandmother's and I was nine years old.

I've always thought it was odd the things I remember, and the things I don't from my childhood. I remember being shoved outside in the blistering heat every day when the nurse stopped by. I thought it was wholly unfair to be outside just because my grandma needed quiet. I could be quiet, but they wouldn't hear any of it.

Someone finally told me that the hospice nurse was stopping by to help my grandma let go and pass on.

I remember watching my aunt rush out of the house duing one of these exiles, tears running down my face. No one needed to say anything, because we knew. There was a breeze during that moment, that had not been present our entire stay in Colorado Springs.

There were no tears on my part. I could even remember feeling confused; why was everyone so sad, and chain smoking when all the wanted was for her to finally be at peace, and knowing that cigarrettes was what started her health problems in the first place.

We sat in a church. It was possibly the first time I had ever been in a church. It was big, with a balcony above and stained glass windows. Everyone was crying again. I felt broken that I couldn't work up the tears. What could be worse than my grandma dying? But the tears wouldn't come. I watched. I wanted to take in every second of it, hopeful that I would remember every detail until my own death.

I don't remember the details.

I don't remember anything of what the preacher said, of what family memebrs said of her. I don't know what we did after. I imagine we must have gathered at my aunts house, and had some sort of pot luck. I don't remember if there was a green bean casserole. I do remember watching family members smoking and thinking to myself, "I could pick up a cigarette right now, and do it right the first time, thanks to the studying I've done these last weeks." I didn't of course. Cigarettes were bad. They killed my grandma.

I remember days later being at a gas station miles from The Springs, possibly not even in Colorado, and seeing my grandma's car. Same interior, same exterior. Same white hair sitting behind the wheel.