I Hope the A-hole Who Stole My Stuff is Getting Good Use Out of it.

So this weekend I went grocery shopping on my bike as I often do. I needed to go to both Trader Joe’s and a normal grocery store because some things are just so much cheaper at TJ’s but they don’t sell things like Swiffer dusters.
At Trader Joe’s I park my bike in front of the Pannera Bread located in the same building. Standing there, selling Street Roots (the Portland homeless paper) is a man who I assume is homeless. I admit, I totally avoid eye contact because I have no intention of buying his paper. But it never once occurs to me that he would steal lights and things off of my bike. Of course I take my bags in with me, but my saddle bag with flat repair stuff in it, and my lights all get left on my bike.
Then I go shopping.
Then I come back to my bike.
Then I get on it, and ride it to Safeway.
No problems.
When I get to Safeway, I am primarily concerned with what to do with the items I purchased at Trader Joe’s. Clearly they are from TJ’s because they all have quirky names like “Trader Darwin’s multivitamins” and also I have a receipt, but I am still uneasy about taking the previously purchased groceries into the grocery store. As I decide how to arrange things and I walk away from my bike, a shady looking guy on a rusted out Magna rides up and leans his bike next to mine on the rack. I am over ½ way to the door by now but this guy makes me nervous and I consider for a moment going back to my bike and removing all the lights and things. But it would be so obvious that I think this greasy haired, unshaven fellow was going to steal things from me. I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt, and I continue into the store.
Then I go shopping.
Then I come back to my bike.
Then I realize that all but one of my lights have been stolen.
Also most of the contents of my saddle bag.
Now, I don’t KNOW it was that guy but I do feel pretty stupid. And the unfortunate consequence is, that next time I park my bike at Trader Joe’s I will consider the blameless homeless man a potential thief and I will strip my bike down before going into the store.
I just really hope that whoever stole my stuff really needed it because if they have given me this newfound distrust of humanity just to make a few bucks selling bike lights on Craigslist, well that makes me sad on top of being angry and disillusioned.

For Now. . .

Christmas is over. We have a new president. My sister is in India. My brother is in Kuwait. Save-the-Dates and wedding invitations for the coming spring/summer have started to arrive.
All of these things are the start of a new year. I know that as the year progresses, my sister will come home, my brother will be moved to Iraq, friends and family will make life long commitments, our new president will be tested, and Christmas will come again. I know that as the days and weeks pass, events large and small will have implications for my day to day life. But today, in the warm afterglow of one of the most public and inclusive inauguration celebrations in the history of the United States, I am content.
Tomorrow I will be a bit worried and a bit scared. I have mostly been dragged into politics kicking and screaming. I do not like the frustrating task of maintaining well informed opinions on large and contentious issues. I have often wished that I were more able to ignore these issues. I have even tried. I was hopeful that having a good president who I could basically trust to at least not be a fear mongering, self righteous zealot, would allow me to go back to ignoring politics.
Tomorrow, I will think about Obama’s call to action. I will consider his position that as a citizen I am obligated not only to think about these problems but to do things that make me part of the solution. There is a large part of me that honestly wants that to go away. There is a large part of me that feels entitled to my laziness as a citizen. I did not take any oaths. I did not volunteer to tackle these big issues. Sigh.
Tomorrow I will consider how all that has changed around me should inform my actions and my decisions, and even my thinking. But for today, I am just going to focus on the happy fact that an age of deepening darkness has come to an end. We may still be living lives with little daylight, but the solstice has come, and regardless of what is to be required of us, brighter days are ahead.

Back on the Scale

I could blog about the remodel and how we have started up again. I could blog about how awesome my husband has been lately bringing home little gifts and doing the dishes without my saying a thing. I could blog about the dog and my tough decision to get him a bark collar. I could blog about how broke we are, or how excited I am to have my Dad come down and see our house in its “lived in” state, or recent developments in my ongoing quest to find a spiritual “home.” But I am not going to blog about any of that. All of that is too personal or too trivial or just pain not amusing.
So right now I am going to blog about the old stand by of agony and comedy we women refer to as “trying to lose weight.” Most the time I like to disguise my attempts at losing weight as other things. “Eating healthier” is a good one, as is “taking up running” and while I am sure that there are people in the universe for whom these goals in and of them selves are worthy and fulfilling, I am not one of them. Don’t get me wrong. I too enjoy runner’s highs and the shinny hair one only gets by eating right. I like having more energy and getting closer to keeping up with my husband when we are skiing/cycling/climbing/hiking. I really do like all of those things, I swear.
But I also like movies and books and stuffing my pie hole with cookies and chips. I like sleeping in and I truly believe that everything (except maybe things like prescription pain medication) is much better with the right wine.
So why lose weight at all? Because I am vain. Good God, am I vain. When I die and end up trying to talk my way out of all the sins I have committed, I will probably be able to make a case for being truly repentant about everything except my vanity. I know that in the grand scheme of things beauty is subjective and largely defined my societal ideals. I also know that I am really only capable of achieving an average level of attractiveness in comparison to those ideals. I mean, realistically, I am painfully normal looking. This does not stop me from going to great lengths to improve that appearance in any way. No mater how minor the improvement will be. Case in point, I quit smoking and if I am honest with myself about the reason, I did it so my teeth would be white for my wedding photos. Yeah, I wanted to stop killing myself and those around me. I wanted to smell better and reduce my risk of cancer. I wanted to save money and get fewer colds. But I had wanted all of those things for a long time and I had tried to quit many times before. So why was I successful quitting during one of the most stressful periods of my life? Vanity.
And that is the same reason I am so upset about a trivial weight gain over the holidays. So the holiday free-for-all of goodies is over and I am going to diet and exercise and lose the weight I gained so I can go back to “maintenance mode” which is what we call it when clothes fit right but you are still to terrified of weight gain to order anything that has Alfredo Sauce on it.

Home for the Holidays

As I reflect on the whirlwind of 2008 I have come to the conclusion that it was a year of creating “home.” While a certain part of the concept of home will always be my parents and the places and faces of my childhood, there is a process that one undertakes as an adult of piecing together the comforting and necessary parts of a life. And if this process is done carefully and mindfully, the results become part of you. Although they cannot replace the home of your inner child, they expand the concept.
At some point, something will happen to shake you. Maybe it’s something big, maybe something small, maybe an onslaught of things. In need of comfort you will go home to recover and you will realize that “home” is not what it used to be.
Many times as I have worked to become an autonomous person and assert my independence, I have needed the restorative powers of home and have gone back to Tacoma to recover and rebuild. And each time I made my way back out into the world, I would pack it up and keep a tiny version of it with me. Frozen in an idyllic caricature of itself, it would become worn and faded from travel and handling. And then I always would return again to repair it.
Without really realizing what I was doing, at some point I quit repairing. I started improving. I started building. And then I packed. And then I moved. And when I did I was very sure that I would enjoy my time here in Portland. I was very sure that it would be interesting and enjoyable. But I was also very sure that it would never be “home.”
But really with no fanfare and with shocking speed, part of home, the biggest part of home, is now here.
Visiting Washington these past few weekends during the holidays, I became aware that some people and some places and some memories that are home to me will always be there but the restorative and reassuring qualities of home now reside in the quiet corners of my atrociously pink colored little house in Portland.
Because no matter how enthralling the rest of the world is, its only there, with my husband chuckling over a book and my dog dreaming on the living room rug, that I can sort out the happenings of my life and leisurely put them where they belong.
On the first day of 2008 I lived in a sunshine yellow, rented bungalow in Tacoma Washington. I was surrounded by family and friends. My husband and I had no intention of leaving our good paying jobs. We had love and purpose and support and comfort all around us.
It is strange the way things can unfold, so rapidly and so painfully slowly at the same time. But though the year, all the things that came to pass; every disappointment and every challenge met, culminated in the moment I got “home” this last Saturday night. The happy mess of a New Years Eve dinner party was there to greet us. We were too tired to unpack our car. We simply turned the heat back on and collapsed into bed. “It’s good to be home!” I sighed and my husband agreed.
It was as I settled into sleep, under the soft glow of his reading light, listening to Taj turn the three circles he must turn on his doggie bed before laying down for the night, that I realized how much I meant it. Of all the places in the world, this is the most home.