Learning to sail my ship

My life has been packed of late, mostly with very good things. My days are a mix of work, homework and Write Around Portland that, if only I had a little more time for sleeping, would be near perfect. Making the move was a fantastic decision and the house is working out very very well so far. WAP has been a hoot, especially since I just took a workshop, so now I'm getting a behind-the-scenes view. It's amazing how much planning and forethought goes into the workshop sessions and how many things one needs to keep track of and remember when facilitating. This weekend marks one of our last sessions, when we'll each get a chance to attempt facilitation and see what works and what doesn't. I've chosen a poem to distribute to the group, to initiate a discussion and get them thinking about the writing element I'm aiming for:

Eating Alone

I've pulled the last of the year's young onions.
The garden is bare now. The ground is cold,
brown and old. What is left of the day flames
in the maples at the corner of my
eye. I turn, a cardinal vanishes.
By the cellar door, I wash the onions,
then drink from the icy metal spigot.

Once, years back, I walked beside my father
among the windfall pears. I can't recall
our words. We may have strolled in silence. But
I still see him bend that way-left hand braced
on knee, creaky-to lift and hold to my
eye a rotten pear. In it, a hornet
spun crazily, glazed in slow, glistening juice.

It was my father I saw this morning
waving to me from the trees. I almost
called to him, until I came close enough
to see the shovel, leaning where I had
left it, in the flickering, deep green shade.

White rice steaming, almost done. Sweet green peas
fried in onions. Shrimp braised in sesame
oil and garlic. And my own loneliness.
What more could I, a young man, want.

Li-Young Lee

So sad. But beautiful too, in its own way. I'm taking a poetry class at Marylhurst and I'm becoming a real sap for the stuff. It makes me weepy, some of it. So far I'm doing pretty well in the class despite having no real poetry background or aptitude. I'm a little nervous about an assignment I turned in this week, though. We were to interpret a poem by Marianne Moore called "The Fish", and the interpretation I came up with doesn't seem to be shared by anyone else in the world, or at least on the internet. I suppose there's something to be said about art being open to different interpretations, but I do so enjoy being simply correct instead of having one of many valid opinions (or being way off in left field). I suppose I'll adjust.

Children's Lit is another fun class. We're reading Little Women these first two weeks and, though I'm pretty sure I read it once when I was a girl, reading it now offers a vastly different perspective. My adult cynicism makes it hard to entirely buy into Alcott's portrayal of these four angelic girls but it is sometimes nice to read about people who are largely polite and good to each other. Poor Beth. :(

Remember that entry I wrote last summer about my visit to Marylhurst where I met with my advisor and finally felt like I was in the right place and was so excited? It's real. Every time I step out of my car on campus I feel it, the belonging thing that I've not felt in many (if any) other places. My one on-campus class and two online classes are all filled with students who genuinely want to be there, who don't think trying is for chumps, who aren't just doing the minimum to get the grades and get on with it but who actually want to learn. It's almost like I'm living in my own version of Little Women's ideal universe of earnest nicety. I have to say it's not bad. Not bad at all.

In transition

My Prompt workshop ends this week, which makes me sad. I had a lot of fun meeting everybody in the group and listening to their (brilliant) writing. I won't say that participating in the workshop alleviated all of the trouble I've been having getting myself to sit down and write, but it did help me open up the way I write when I do. Also it got me involved with Write Around Portland which will be another interesting evolution come January. That's also when school starts again. Three classes this time, two online and one on campus. I haven't even let myself think about it much, since my brain has been so busy with everything else like moving. The big men with the truck are coming on the 30th to move me into the new house. I still haven't packed a box, though I have made many optimistic packing schedules.

I frequently find myself looking for a moment in which to rest and forget that all of this change is swirling around me. Thus far there are none to be found. Next week I'll get a respite from work when half of our team is sent on furlough to save the company money. I plan to use at least one of those days to do absolutely nothing but read a book, watch a movie or two, and vigorously deny to myself that anything is amiss.

Home again

We did see the inside, we did love it as much as we thought we would, but then we found out there were six other applications on the house already. We were tempted to just give up but decided to throw our hat in the ring anyway, just in case. We submitted our application and wrote a nice letter explaining to the landlords just how much we would love to be their tenants. We crossed our fingers. They chose someone else.

Luckily while we were waiting for them to decide we continued our search for perfect houses. We found one that came damn close two days later. Three bedrooms/one bath, a nice big fenced backyard, a basement, a kitchen with fancy new appliances, a walkable neighborhood with amenities. We liked it a lot, but this was our rebound house. It couldn't possibly compare to THE ONE. We applied anyway, since it's nice to have a backup even when you're pining for the one who got away. Then, as the hours and days passed, we started thinking more about the new house. Thinking about the possibilities of the backyard and whether the shed would make a good writing studio. I started thinking about being able to plant a garden and wondering how much it would cost me to set up a burner for glass beadmaking on the back patio. I mentally planned the layout of my bedroom and my office, and William and I started talking about paint colors.

Then we got the call. They wanted us. It had finally worked. We wanted them, they wanted us, we were all very excited. I drove by a few times to make sure, then tonight we went over to the house to sign the lease. It was even more perfect the second time. Bedrooms were bigger than we remembered, the yard was in better shape, the basement much more spacious. The landlords were even more friendly and easygoing than when we first met them. They even drew out a little landscape plan of all of the plants that are growing in the yard. In short, everything was awesome.

Tonight, a part of me that has been stressed for about three months has finally relaxed. I'm so pleased to know that the weeks of struggling are finally paying off. Now all I have to worry about is the actual packing and moving part. Piece of cake.