Open Book Blog Hop: Three Things Shaping My Voice

Winetasting in Paso Robles

What are three things that make you unique? That was the prompt for this week's Open Book Blog Hop. I think you'll see a lot of connection between my answer and my books.

Ultimately the thing that makes a writer unique is experience. Accident of birth places us in a certain range of possible experience and life directions. In my case, there are a few specific things which guide everything else.

First, and perhaps the most obvious, is the influence of my parents. My parents are both ordained Baptist ministers (it is one of the family occupations in my tree). However, their brand of religion is not exclusionary in the least. It is carefully considered, thoughtful, and deep. My father is a man of logic and learning, who enjoys everything life has to offer, from watching a finch take a bath, to winetasting, to playing electric bass or guitar in a funk band. When my friends meet him, they say, "Your dad is so cool!" Half the time they end up befriending him on Facebook.

My mother is a powerful person. She dictates the climate of every room she enters (a gift I inherited, for better or worse). She suffered prejudice in order to follow her calling. I think because of this, she determined not to pigeon-hole me into a gender label. Instead, as a child she gave me gender neutral clothes unless I asked for something "girly." She made sure I had all kinds of toys, from remote control cars to blocks to dolls. I had science and craft kits. Thanks to her, I never felt like I couldn't do something because I had a uterus.

Second, I experienced a lot of overt misogyny from toddlerhood through young adulthood. I write a lot about this in my memoir THRIVE, and while I won't go into the details of what happened here, it definitely shaped who I am and my voice as a writer (especially in the context of my upbringing). This made me hunger for compassionate justice for all people, no matter their identity or station. It definitely directs my themes in all my fiction, but especially in THE ROLLINS PACK, because I wanted boys to particularly understand how their actions can impact others.

Finally, I am an optimist. Despite whatever crazy things happen to me (again, see THRIVE for some of the nitty gritty), I look for the beauty and wonder in all things. This may be considered a quality or trait as opposed to an experience, but it definitely shapes how I view my life experience and how I approach new things. I always give people the benefit of the doubt. If I don't know I person, I never credit their reputation until I have seen and experienced it myself. If something bad happens, I always look for the lesson or opportunity available. When there is the option for adventure, I always say yes - because I see all the marvelous possibilities and potential. It's how I ended up studying abroad in Hungary at the last minute (I heard a professor talk and decided I was going a month before.). It's how I got married in India in the Himalayas (Because why not? A story for another time...).

These are the things that stick out in my head as dictating what I do and how I do it. These are the things that shape my work and my path through life. What about you? Leave a comment below or write a post and join the hop!

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Looking for a diversion this August? Be sure to check out P.J. MacLayne's books. If you like werewolves like I do, you might want to pick up a copy of WOLVES' PAWN. It explores werewolf social structure and has a love story, the kind of thing I love in paranormal!

Also be sure to read about MacLayne's Wyoming adventures. There are some super cool pics on her blog.

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An InLinkz Link-up

The House, The City: The Crunchy Hipster Dream

Mom, Dad, Baby & kitty? (wikipedia)

Lately Christian and I have been thinking a lot about where we want to go and how we want to live. It's a question that colors our thoughts daily especially as we've been living with my parents since late October. I love my parents and I love having our family close to them and to my in-laws - especially for our baby's sake; but it's also increased some stress levels for everyone (Yesterday I actually saw lights, my blood pressure spiked so high - not good!).

We have to decide where we want to go long term and how we want to live when we get there. In short, we have to have plans (seeing a trend with me these days?).

Because of Christian's job situation and me being at home, writing with our baby, Southern California (or rather California generally) hasn't really been very hospitable. California has 13 of the top 15 most unaffordable real estate markets in the country. Several of them were areas where we have lived because that's where the jobs were. The others in the state that had work for Christian had something else really unappealing (like horrible air quality or ridiculously high temperatures and no water ANYWHERE). Plus, there are some cultural things in Southern California that we're not interested in having our children exposed to.

Needless to say, California really doesn't feel like a place we can stay without increasing our stress levels enormously. But I also don't want our kids to be far from family...

That means the west coast is the best coast (though I wouldn't mind being back east, I think that wouldn't sit well with either set of grandparents). So where can we go and feel good (financially and otherwise) in the west?

Well seeing as we eat salad and recycle, and think brown people should have rights we can't move anywhere in Arizona (crossed off list). Nevada feels like the same kind of situation, if a little more...uh...seedy organized crime and less vigilante. Idaho...has some possibilities, but it's also pretty conservative politically and I'd rather not live anywhere where accidental eavesdropping could make Christian get into a brawl.

So...that leaves Oregon and Washington.

I love seasons. I love snow (especially when I can cross-country ski in it). I love apples and wool sweaters and fireplaces. I'm not a huge fan of gray, BUT if I have some awesome things to focus on, I can love a place despite gray. Christian hasn't lived in snow, or seasons, but he hates heat. He's a sweatball, and our son takes after him, so I think snow and rain is a better choice for our family than dirt and 120 F.

Plus, we have some friends up there, which is appealing to both of us.

We've played around with different locations and researched things and so far our top two choices are Bellingham WA and Corvalis OR. The question is when and how.

At this point we're thinking around a year and a half from now, or something like that will be a good time to move. This will give us some time to pay off our educational loans (or at least pay them down) and create a nest egg of sorts. Right now that nest egg could be either a micro house on a trailer base (a serious interest for both Christian and me), or a savings account for moving/down payment, or both (ideally both, but we may be able to swing things with one or the other).

If we can pull this off, we'll be in really good shape. We'll have a mountain of debt off our shoulders. We'll own our home (if not the land it's on...yet) and we'll be in our dream location (at least for this part of life). We're focusing on it, which means it will happen, for sure, right? :-D

Written Word is Forever Performance

Last night I was in Pismo Beach singing.

It's been a long time since I sang with my dad playing guitar and I forgot how good it could be. I didn't remember how on I could be while performing. It really made me feel like I belong on stage.

That's odd...mostly because I am a writer. People don't think of writers as performers, but we are. In some ways it is a more difficult performance. A singer can alter her performance each time. A singer's worst performance might be ignored or forgotten if it is mediocre (assuming it isn't recorded), but her best performance can become even better in the warmth of memory (and shared virally if it is recorded).

The written word is forever.

For-ev-er.

It feels so final.

No matter how many times I alter my words, I still feel the mistakes of the first time, especially if those less than stellar pages were published.

I like performing on stage a lot. I like it for a lot of reasons. I like the flexibility and living in the moment. I like the rush of adrenaline I get in the moment. But I also like the finality of words. I like the timelessness and thoughtfulness inherent in crafting a story.  They are quite different and feel good for very different reasons. If all things were equal (meaning I didn't have to tour constantly and endanger my hearing on a regular basis) and I had to pick one, I'd pick the stage. In all seriousness, I really love being on stage. I am a performer.

But all things aren't equal. I can't run outside and find a stage (I'm not a street musician - the stress is too much!). I can't handle the idea of touring for months on end in a bus, living with a schedule that rivals most teens' wildest dreams. I'd become a crazed zombie. It would be ugly.

Writing, on the other hand, is my home. It's a homebody craft. It's something I can do at any time, in any place (at least in theory). It's effect might be forever, but it's also instantaneous. In a moment I can reach millions (again, in theory) whereas a stage performance will only reach as far as the last row of chairs. 

For these reasons, and the love of my inner ear, I choose writing. I choose forever. I'm that kind of girl.

When You Lose It All

If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you already know I asked for positive thoughts and prayers in the last day or so. If you've been keeping up with my various blogs, you know we've had a few hurdles this summer, except none of them was as big as the one that appeared this morning.

Christian lost his job.

I'm taking a deep breath now, so I can let that sink in again. It doesn't seem completely real. If I stop to think about it, I begin wondering about the logistics we face in the next month.

There are the bills we have to pay. There is the food we need in order to live. There is the fact that rent in the Bay is exorbitant and now, even with our loans on forbearance we don't have the income to support the measly loft where we currently reside. There's the fact that we have a baby on the way and I'm not sure what our insurance situation is going to look like, or if we will have to move out of the area and look for a new care provider in the last few weeks of my pregnancy. Oh, did I mention we don't have any baby gear AT ALL right now? There is no car seat, no diapers (cloth or otherwise), and no place for kiddo to sleep.

We are, more than ever before, at a crossroads. We have nothing. There is no emergency fund. There is no job waiting in the wings. We have fallen as low as we've ever fallen and there is no net (Thanks America for not believing social democracy is a thing worth pursuing! You've made this possible!).

We have three main things we can do (and I'm not even sure if they're doable):

1. Christian can file for unemployment.
2. Christian can apply for jobs.
3.  We can try to start our own business.

These could all happen at the same time. They're not mutually exclusive, and frankly, I think they're all worth pursuing at this point. As such, my writing and publishing goals are going to be put on hold while I help Christian get things going. Being able to eat, having a place to sleep, and taking care of the baby are my top priorities. I don't think I'll completely stop working on book stuff, but I doubt that I'll be able to be nearly as aggressive as I wanted to be. If I can get 3 or 4 books published this summer, considering the craziness surrounding our living situation, I'll be amazed and incredibly proud of myself.

Granted, if I still pulled off publishing 7 books I would call that something near miraculous.

Whatever the case, print versions of the books are going to be put on hold until I have money to spend on purchasing proofs (you have to order a proof of each book to check for errors, formatting etc). The cost of the proofs varies depending on the type of book (binding and size), as well as the number of pages, and whether it is in color or black and white. I'm disappointed by this, but I don't have a choice at the moment.

I can't submit stories to magazines with reading fees.

The reality of my present situation is starting to set in, especially as how this will impact my personal goals.

And it hurts.

Even though I know practically what will happen on Monday (we'll put our loans on forbearance or deferment, start the unemployment papers, apply for jobs, and begin developing a business plan) I don't know what will happen to us after that. So much hangs in the balance. This is such a big change and it is incredibly scary and painful. I have to believe there is a reason for all this. I have to believe this was a way to clear the slate, to allow for something bigger and better. After all, I have been feeling like this year was going to be a big year. Maybe this had to happen to allow for the really good stuff to come into our lives. I hope so. I don't know that I'll be able to handle a lower fall.

The Nightly Pregnancy Freak-out v. Reality

The last few hours of every day while I've been pregnant have been rough. Every day I do the same thing. About 2 hours before I go to sleep I start freaking out about some aspect (or multiple if I'm having a spectacular day) of my life.

Then about an hour before bed, I go on a 20 minute rant on how that thing is falling apart and how I want life to be better or different. Last night it was my body and my body image. Usually it involves finances or our living situation.

And it's horrible.

It makes Christian feel horrible (which honestly bothers me more) and it doesn't really make me feel better, except to voice my concerns. But I can't stop myself from doing it.

I have a theory why it happens the way this nightly negative rant does. First, I *do* tend to be more negative when I'm hormonal. It's something I noticed before pregnancy, so it makes sense that during pregnancy when my body is being flooded with hormones I would have some of that same freak-out factor.

Second, I am always at least a little uncomfortable. Right now, for example, my hip is in pain (now a nightly occurance) and I have moderate heartburn/acid reflux. Even though my eyes are tired and I want to go back to sleep, I doubt I can because of my physical discomfort. Physical discomfort is something that batters against a person's mental state. It's hard to be positive when I'm physically uncomfortable. Of course it will make me a little cranky! I'm in pain!

Third, being tired is a fast track to negativity. It is one of the states in which you should never attempt negotiations. It is one of the things they tell educators to look for in children misbehaving in class. It is something visible even in the youngest of babies - being tired makes us cranky. It's hard to be positive when we're cranky.

Put these three things together, and you have a recipe for a nightly freak-out. And it is only nightly. Because when I wake up, even though some of these thoughts are at the back of my brain, I don't really entertain them. I expect things will work out just fine. I expect kiddo will be born and while things will be a little tight initially, my writing will have started to gain serious traction allowing me to relax a bit more (at least financially). I expect in 5 years, Christian will have his own business doing *something* and it will be successful and fulfilling. I expect we'll have a reasonable little starter house, if not something bigger, and we may even have a little cabin in the woods for camping vacations with our kids. I expect I will be in good shape physically. I expect we will have a supportive community surrounding us, including a cadre of close friends that live where we live.

When I wake up every morning, and during most of the day, that is what I see for us in 5 years.

Today even, we drove past a potential community for us (we're seriously thinking about moving to a bigger apartment for less money). As we drove down the main street of the municipality I had to kind of smile as I caught my breath.

You see, I've seen that place. Don't get me wrong, I've never been there before in my life. But I've seen it - every day for the past 3 years. I've imagined myself walking down that main street, wearing a baby on my belly and holding the hand of a toddler. In this vision, the three of us are walking home to our house from daddy's successful business, in order to eat lunch and take the subsequent nap. I'm talking to my toddler about something - answering questions. It is a boy. The baby is in a woven multi-color sling or Moby wrap, but the main color is blue or teal.

While I have tried to visualize other things, this particular image stays with me. I see it, as I said, daily. It is a strange mental video clip, playing over and over in the back of my mind. I have told Christian about this little vision before, and I think he didn't believe it was real. And I tried to explain it to Christian, why I wasn't happy where we were. But "happy" isn't the right word - restless is better. It was more like, we had movement that needed to happen. Steps needed to be taken. I couldn't just sit still when I knew things needed to move to bring this vision to reality. And I knew it would be reality.

So when I told Christian this same thing today, he said, "I think we have to move then. Obviously this is where we need to be."

I'm writing these things because I feel, just as I felt back in January, that 2013 is an important year in our lives. I feel it in the deepest parts of me, and not just because of the baby. I feel every part of our lives will be affected - shifted into a new and exciting place. This is what I really believe, down below the fear, anxiety, and resulting nightly freak-out. I believe this is the result of efforts we've been making for some time. I believe it is something that has been actually destined.

Some people will think I'm a little crazy for saying these things. That's okay. They may blame it on pregnancy, though anyone who knows me also knows I was this way before. My life moves mysteriously, guided by gut instinct, dreams, and kismet. It is affirmed by deja vu and subtle signs too perfect to be coincidence. It is not a straight path and it is shrouded in the unknown,  making it trying for even the most faith-filled person.

Still, when I follow it, it is always good. Always.

So tonight, when I freak out (because I will), Christian will remind me (because he will) of these things - things I know deep down. I'll get over my momentary panic, and drift off to sleep, while playing my mental movies of what is to come.

Pregnant Apartment Living: What to do About My Smoking Neighbors

Secondhand smoke during pregnancy alters children's behavior. — Environmental Health News

I read articles like the above link and I freak out. I lived with an ADHD child growing up, and while he's awesome now, it was *difficult* then to say the least, not only for him, but also for everyone around. I've seen other ADHD kids suffer through social and school issues that appear to be outright painful. I don't wish that on my child. I don't want anything I do now (or ever) to cause problems for my child later in life.

As a pregnant woman, there are so many ways I could screw up my kid. I eat balanced meals as much as I can. I try to exercise regularly. I've never been a heavy drinker so not drinking during pregnancy is easy. I've never been a smoker, so steering clear of cigarette smoke is easy...

Ha! Lies!

It seems every other person who lives in Oakland smokes. It drives me crazy. When I wasn't pregnant I didn't like it, but I could suffer through it. But now? I feel like secondhand smoke is a personal assault on my unborn baby. This is made worse by the fact my neighbors, just 2 doors down, are heavy smokers.

They smoke several times a day when at home that I've observed. During certain times of day, thanks to water and air temperatures near the estuary, the smoke wafts right into our loft if the windows are open.

I know what you're thinking - just close the windows. Problem solved. Except it's getting hot. I can't just close the windows every time because I'll fry in here with my pregnant lady body temperature. So, the question is, do I become *that* lady? The one who asks my neighbors to smoke somewhere else because I'm pregnant? Do I ask management to do this for me like a crazy person? Do I just force myself to suffer through the heat several times a day like a wimp because I don't know these people?

So far I've been going the wimp route, mostly because I don't know them and I only see them when they are outside smoking (and I really don't want to approach them putting myself in direct contact with the smoke). I've asked Christian to talk to them for me, but so far he has refused, saying I should do it myself. I think after showing him that article I may convince him it's better for the non-pregnant man to take care of this, just this time.

Sheesh. Who knew the pitfalls of being pregnant in an apartment would include this?! Oh to live in my own house!

Another Nesting Solution: Cleaning

This is one way to get the crazy obsessive mania of pregnancy under control - clean.

Whatever motivates you to clean (a friend coming over or just a bit of stray bbq sauce in the wrong place) should be used. Then break out the products and implements.


My personal favorite all purpose cleaner is Simple Green. I was introduced to the stuff by my print-making professor at Bard. It does amazing stuff. You can fiddle with the concentration to make it as strong or weak as you need. It cleans just about everything and does it well. The nice thing is it is also non-toxic. While it is a cleaner and does have fumes, it's not noxious like so many cleaning products out there.

So I took my Simple Green and my microfiber cloths and went to town.

Then I moved on to dusting. While Simple Green might work well for things like tile or counters, it's not ideal for wood. There's something that should be said for a nice lemony polish. I'll be honest - I'm not brand loyal on this one. I get the cheapest generic stuff and use that (though I've heard there are some homemade options that substitute quite nicely - I'm lazy). I use this not only for wood surfaces, but also my leather couches. I *hate* dirty leather. With all the different textures that are fashionable these days, it's a good idea to keep up your leather polish routine.

I think I just heard your jaw unhinge.

I know what you're thinking - who is this person excited about domestic tasks? Where did the hipster writer chick go who used to brood about her starving artistry? Sorry, but I've always been this way. I just hide it well (thanks to the internet). My college friends can attest to the tidiness of my room, and how I would apologize if a pair of pants was out (This somehow made my room "messy.").

My 1st trimester was actually torturous because I didn't have the energy to maintain a clean and tidy apartment. Christian can vouch for the whining and regular pouting that ensued.

You can imagine the GLORY that shone down on our apartment when I got my energy back. I've been cleaning several times weekly (which is actually more often than pre-pregnancy). I don't always clean the whole apartment, but I do clean portions of it - whatever I find offensive at the time. Today was a whole other story however.

Once I'd moved past dusting and rearranging things, I vacuumed and mopped. I cleaned the bathroom (not the tub as it's a little harder with fumes and balance these days). I cleaned fixtures. I even vacuumed our bathroom fan (we have a Dyson - the best vacuum I've ever used and if you value your floors and have the cash, I really recommend them.). I revealed surfaces that had not seen sunlight for over 4 months!

Christian came home and wasn't sure what to do. The place looked completely different. Of course, I cleaned to the point of exhaustion. I was moving slowly, my joints almost creaking, and there was no way I could even attempt to cook dinner (incidentally I do *not* advise cleaning to this point). Normally I wouldn't have been as thorough as I was. Normally I wouldn't have checked and double and triple checked to make sure something was spotless and streakless.

But I'm not normal right now, well not for pre-pregnancy anyway.

The nesting instinct was satisfied, at least temporarily, by my exertions. I will likely sleep through the night again, for which I am grateful. The question is, how will I satisfy the beast tomorrow? I feel a bit like Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors looking for any way to pacify Audrey 2. Thankfully my nesting incident isn't a human-eating talking plant.

The Best of Both Worlds: To Great In-laws

One of the pleasant surprises about being pregnant has been the bonding it has fostered between my in-laws and myself.

I always liked my in-laws, but because of time and space, I never really got to spend much time with them. Since being pregnant, I find myself texting and messaging my sister-in-laws much more regularly. I'm talking with my mother-in-law on a much more frequent basis.

For whatever reason, the pregnancy has brought me closer to my beloved's family...which frankly is AWESOME!

I cannot explain how good it is to have not only positive relationships with one's in-laws, but also to ENJOY them. I know, without a doubt, they will be super helpful and supportive with the baby. I know I can count on them if I need advice, or a laugh, or a listening ear. This is a blessing because my own extended family is much further away (though the pregnancy has brought us closer as well, for which I am also grateful) and I have often yearned for the closeness I see in other families (physically and emotionally).

I hear about other first-time moms freaking out about the prospect of "dealing" with their in-laws. They go back and forth about what kind of relationship they will "allow" their child to have with their spouse's family. That sounds awful. It feels awful to me.

Now more than ever, I am sensitive to the fact that family is important. Those ties between us should be nurtured and strengthened. We should support and encourage one another and work through whatever obstacles come our way. And it is important to remember, when we marry, we gain another family. Our family grows.

I didn't just marry my husband, but his family.

Often in America we forget that we cannot separate our spouses from their families. We forget that while we can choose our husbands and wives, we cannot choose their families. And if we don't like those families, it doesn't matter. You marry in, you've got 'em.

While this concept has been brought home even more by my pregnancy, I have also never been more pleased with my situation. Not only do I enjoy my husband's family, but they get along with my own. We've done joint holiday celebrations and Christian's family has even gone to my dad's church for Christmas Eve etc. That we can all be so close is such a blessing. It makes the prospect of spending time with each side a lot easier, because they're more understanding and willing to share (which will be REALLY important once the baby is here).

For you gentle reader, I recommend you foster good relations with your in-laws. It makes everything so much better. I guarantee you'll be a happier person (if only because holidays won't be nearly as stressful). And once you have that awesome relationship, let them know how much you appreciate them.

As such, let me say, this post is for my awesome in-laws. I love you guys and am so glad I'm part of your family! :-)

Minimalist Motherhood: Why Nurseries Are Pointless

Whenever people think of getting ready for a new baby, nurseries come to mind. The funny thing is, nurseries are completely pointless, unless you're a masochist and also hate babies.

Let me explain.

Babies don't need a room. They can't even focus their eyes. They need to eat every couple hours and poop themselves constantly. When they don't eat upon waking, they fuss. If left long enough, they cry. If you don't clean their butts soon enough, they get a rash which...(you guessed it!) can lead to crying.

All this means if you put a baby in a separate room at night, you're going to be getting up and down a lot more with a whole lot less sleeping than if you had the baby co-sleep in the bedroom with you. Less sleep means more zombie. More zombie means you will be cranky and less able to deal with the demands of your new eating and pooping machine. This is why having a nursery is a kind of excessive hate-filled endeavor. However this doesn't even touch the ridiculous amount of money spent on furniture that will not be used after the baby's second year.

Yes, babies are an additional expense, but they don't have to break the bank. They don't need a lot of space. They need diapers, cloths, a place to sleep, and food. If you're breastfeeding (as 99% of women should at least try to do) one of these things is built in. So why spend 1000s on a matching changing table, crib, dresser, and rocking chair (not to mention bouncy seat and swing)?

It's a gimmick. A sham. It's something big companies in Western society want you to feel like you need so you spend thousands of dollars to feel like you're good parents.

I'm not falling for it.

Of course, I can't. I don't have the space. But even if I did, I don't know what I would do with it. Having a separate place for baby clothes would be nice, but a changing table? A huge crazy crib? Cutesy pastel curtains that match cutsey pastel crib sheets? Bleh! It doesn't appeal at all.

I'd rather spend that money on something kiddo wants, like when s/he is 3 or 4 and has preferences for a room. Then we could paint a wall mural just for them. We could have bunk beds and fun collapsible cloth play spaces to create a special and wonderous space. Personally, I don't remember a nursery. I do remember the room I had as a toddler, and I remember loving it. That seems like a much better use of resources.

While I don't have the luxury of hiding my child and hating myself, many people do. I'd urge you to reconsider indulging in such a luxury. I think a happier baby and more sleep is a better choice.

Cluttered - Rediscovering Myself Through Mess

Maybe it's hormones. I'm not sure. Whatever it is, by the end of the day today I became incredibly frustrated.

I think this is mostly because of clutter.

Clutter comes in so many forms: emotions, thoughts, objects, finances, and the list could go on. Some types of clutter lead to others. For example, having emotional clutter could lead to a cluttered living environment, which could increase your emotional clutter which could...well, you get the idea.

It's a mess.

For almost a year now I have lived in a semi-cluttered state. There is the fact that we didn't think we'd stay in the loft,  which led to a lack of thoughtful storage solutions. On our second floor there is a whole section that is basically a pile of stuff, somewhat organized, but a pile nonetheless. I look at that pile and it drives me crazy.

On the first floor, Christian has a tendency to leave half-finished projects, jackets, and shoes everywhere. As much as I try to reinforce where things go in our minute storage, he doesn't seem to feel the need to put things away.

Of course Christian isn't home much. He leaves for work around 8 am and doesn't come home until around 7 pm. The days he has off are frequently spent doing errands or the limited fun things we are able to afford after buying pregnancy snacks (which requires a separate post).

Needless to say, our living space while affecting him doesn't damage *his* psyche the same way it does mine.

The physical clutter has become unbearable to me. I truly feel it is impacting my mental and emotional health.

While I know my pregnancy hormones have contributed to a general listlessness and fatigue, I feel it has been exacerbated by my environment. For the past 3 months I've been powerless to do much about this because of my lack of energy and all day nausea/vomiting. Now my energy is returning with almost a manic fury.

Just today I weeded our tiny plot in front of our apartment, cleaned the toaster oven, microwave, kitchen counters, table top, and range. This was in addition to taking public transit to Walnut Creek for church, meeting a family friend, going out to lunch, riding public transit home, and walking to the auto parts store (Keep in mind taking the train from our place requires walking about 6 blocks to and from the station.).

Yes, I took a nap - but only one!

Already I'm starting to address the problem of clutter in small ways, but it's not enough. I want more.

That's really my biggest problem. Actually, it's the problem that probably annoys and excites Christian the most. I always want more.

This appetite has been dormant for some time. My motivation had largely disappeared. It has been this way for years. I was infinitely more powerful before we got married because my ambition and drive was so intense.

Don't get me wrong, I love my husband. He compliments me in many, many ways.

However when you get married you have to figure out how you fit together. It takes time to adjust and find out where all your pieces can work well. I honestly think it took me this long to figure it all out.

I'm annoyed by the wait, but I'm glad it's over. I have things to do and not much time to do them. When the baby comes there will be a new adjustment period and I need to have my other ducks in a row to feel good. This means tackling the space under the stairs and the pile in the upstairs corner. It means figuring out a way to organize under our sink and getting rid of those antiquated political books I'm never going to read again.

And then?

Meditation. Goal-setting. Lists. Visualization. I once knew how get whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it. It's time to use this power once again. The waiting is over. I've got 6 months to build my inertia before I'm monkey wrenched for a while.

The clutter MUST be destroyed.

To The Basil Thief

Dear Basil Thief,

I'm not sure who you are. Maybe you were hungry and decided that someone who lived in a Jingletown loft apartment could spare an entire young basil plant. Maybe you were someone who just feels entitled and thought it was easy to steal a plant from its pot.

If it was the first case, I can forgive you. After all, you were hungry and the plant was there and completely edible.

However, I'm pretty sure it was the second.

You rat bastard!

I hate your stinkin' guts for stealing my basil plant! I have nearly a black thumb which barely was able to grow the tomato plants in their current homes. As it is, my pepper plant only has a single GREEN pepper to its measly name. I was proud of my basil plant. You stole it right from under me, while I was at home writing (a very lucrative profession).

So, I hope you enjoyed your basil pesto or your caprese salad at the expense of a poor writer's gardening pride.

Seriously - who steals a frickin' basil plant that's barely 5 inches tall?!

Sincerely,

Your Unwilling Patron Gardener
Alexis

Pleasantly Surprised - Apartment Hunting in Bako

Good people, it is official. Christian and I put a deposit on an apartment and I got an interview for a really cool job with the Girls Scouts. Yes. The Girl Scouts. 

But instead of telling you about the job, which may or may not happen, let me delve into the beautiful world of rental properties in Bako. Like many ignorant bright eyed prospective renters, we scoured Craigslist, Padmapper, and the various free periodicals available in local Bako supermarkets. We came upon several initial options which we called last Friday in order to visit yesterday.  The phone calls went like this.

Apartment complex 1: "We don't make appointments. Just come by."

Apartment complex 2: "We don't make appointments. You need to come by and fill out a form."
"A form? We're not planning on renting, we just want to see it."
"You need to fill out a form."
"Okay, thanks...."

Apartment complex 3: "We have 6 pools, 3 BBQ/picnic areas, a community area, and hold parties for our tenants once a month. We don't have appointments, but you're welcome to walk in and we can show you the place right then!"

Apartment complex 4: Recording "We have espacious estudios, 1 bedroom, and 2 bedroom apartamentos for rental. Pleaze leaf a message an we will call you back..."

Needless to say, we wanted to check out #3 first.  Unfortunately, that complex had income maximum caps. The owner gets tax credits for providing low income housing, which meant we were out.

So we checked a few more places on the fly which sent us on a wild goose chase until we found a place in the middle of everywhere with a month to month lease for a reasonable price. Lucky for us, the manager of the property was super awesome and helpful. She even put us on the priority list to get all of the paperwork through as soon as possible.  And then when we went to lunch we discover the cheap theater (1$ matinees, 1.50 night, and .75 on Tuesdays! AND they have 3D!)! It was one good thing after another.

I say this because anyone who has searched for an apartment knows, it's not easy.  When we looked for a place in East Bay, we checked out over 17 different properties before settling on the apartment where we lived in Hayward. Assuming everything goes through well (and as expected), we will have only seen a total of six apartment complexes.  So, I'm going to cross my fingers and hope everything does just that - go exactly as expected.

Home Sweet Home? Bakersfield!?

I am moving to Bakersfield. It's true. When we compared the shop and the cost of living to other places, the offer they made to us was just so much better, we couldn't turn it down.

So here I find myself on the brink of an adventure I didn't expect I'd be having - Bakersfield. Bakersfield. Bakersfield.

For someone coming from Santa Barbara, East Bay, or even Scottsdale, Bakersfield doesn't seem very attractive.  And the reality is, it isn't. I mean, let's be honest.  The economy hit it hard. It's in the middle of corporate farms, and it's a shipping center for the central valley of California. When you go into mall bathrooms, it smells like the lovely burnt Barbie hair smell of recently enjoyed Meth.

All these things ARE true. BUT, Bakersfield is a city of over 300,000 people. There are all kinds of things to do there. I will be able to not only be financially solvent, but close to family, and find people I can be friends with.  It will happen. Definitely. It just won't be like East Bay where I walked into a pub and felt at home instantly. This is mostly because I don't wear Stetsons or embossed riding boots.  I don't listen to Country music. I didn't even know who Buck Owens was until we started looking at living in Bakersfield.


So, Monday I'll go there again, look at apartments and get ready to learn a lot more about Country music. Because it's going to happen. I don't think I could stop it, not in home sweet home Bako.

Technically, I'm Homeless

I'm a prideful person.  It's true.  But there comes a point where you have to acknowledge your situation in life - facts are facts, and the reality is, I'm homeless.

What is homelessness? Most simply, it means not having a home.  But what exactly does that mean? When do you become truly homeless?

Most people think of cardboard boxes, sleeping bags, and shopping carts filled with cans when they hear the word "homeless." But homelessness is more complicated than the common street person, especially in this economy.  Many people are living on couches, floors, or in garages, or tents in yards of relatives because they are no longer able to pay a mortgage or rent.

I'll be honest.  I haven't checked into my eligibility for government benefits too thoroughly.  But the reality is, I don't have any income right now.  I'm here through the goodness of my parents' hearts.  I think food stamps and medicare are probably services I could get.  The problem is, I don't have proof of my income.  I don't have proof of my situation.  How do I explain my financial situation to a service provider?

"Are you working?"
"No." Though I would consider my writing to be something of a job.
"Are you married?"
"Yes."
"Does your husband work?"
"He's a student." Well, except he's not a traditional university student.  He's doing a summer program across the country with BMW which doesn't make him eligible for federal aid. 

I don't have any pay stubs, any check stubs, or anything proving my story.  So what does that mean if I get sick? I don't know.  All I know, is it's not a clear cut place to be. And I don't like it.

Normally I keep my living situation fairly clean and tidy, but since sleeping in my parents' office I can't bring myself to completely put things away.  Part of it is I know this situation is temporary and I don't want to get too comfortable with being homeless. Part of it is that I hardly spend any time there and when I get back to my little room, all I want to do is crawl onto my futon covered in fleece blankets and drift into oblivion.  But it doesn't soothe that part in the back of my mind where I feel adrift.  And I do.  I feel how much I'm coasting.

I think I speak for everyone in my situation, and those who have it so much worse, when I say it would be amazing to have a home.  This is one of the big reasons July can't come fast enough.

P.S. If you live in Alameda County, get hooked up with the nonprofit, EveryOne Home that is working to end homelessness in Alameda County.  They're great people and they do great work.

The Armpit of California - Bakersfield

When people told me Bakersfield was the worst place in California, I didn't believe them.  I thought they were lying to me, or it was a matter of perspective.  It still might be a matter of perspective, but I'm more inclined to side with the people who gave fair warning.

My parents, being the good parents they are as well as withholding judgment until they experience something for themselves, decided we would take a drive to check it out.  Bakersfield was one of the shops that was looking for a master-tech, and it's better to get as much information as possible. Man, am I glad I actually checked the place out because wow - I'm convinced.

Anyone who knows me knows I hate flat.  I also hate dry.  Driving to Bakersfield along the 166 was beautiful, until we hit the farm land.  Rows and rows of artificially organized citrus lined the slender line of asphalt.  We turned on to the 99 and made our way into town.  We had already gone through several whistle stops that made my mother groan and say "God this is sooo depressing!".  I figured, Bakersfield is a big city.  It will have something worth seeing.  Something will be interesting about it.

Thing was, there just wasn't. 

Going into town, there was a large community of large houses that were priced in the mid 100s. That should have been our first clue.  We found one of the malls - it was all average stores - forget designer.  There was, of course, only one major university there to service a city of over 300,000 people. In addition to the lovely culture, education, and shopping available, I was disturbed by the apparent lack of zoning in a large metropolitan area.  Houses were next to businesses and industrial areas.  Classic "American Lawn Art" was everywhere in the middle of the city.  One of the malls actually had boarded up windows!  An entire shopping mall had become empty!  It just looked trashy and rundown - the entire city looked like it had taken on the full brunt of our economic troubles. 

I thought Phoenix was hellish, and that is all I can say about it.  It is at least hellish.  Bakersfield might actually be hell.  I'm not sure.  I guess it depends on how you think about it.  If Hell is meant to have some beauty about it, something insidious about it, then Phoenix is Hell.  You have some art nights, some cool clubs, Tempe, and Scottsdale.  If, however, Hell should just be the most depressing place you've ever been in your life, then Bakersfield takes the cake.

All I know is, even though the closest Nordstrom to Troy NY is in Connecticut, I'd rather have the mountains and the Hudson River than dusty flat uber-farms and Frito Lay factories of Bakersfield.

From Nowhere, With Love

Last night I met someone and I asked them if they were from the Bay area.  They said they had lived here for 14 years.  I responded that she was therefore from the Bay area.  She said, oh no - 14 years isn't enough to be from a place - she was from northern California, not here.

The longest I've ever lived in a single town is 14 years.  So I guess I'm from nowhere.  But if I'm from nowhere, I'm also from everywhere.

It hits me that I have missed out on certain things when people say things like that.  I miss out on having the really tight knit group of friends from high school that went to college together, has had baby showers together, weddings and everything.  I missed having family members close by.  People would go to their grandmother's after school, and I had to wait for summer vacation to take a two week trip to get my annual dose of my extended family.  It was isolating.  I still have that problem now.  It takes me a long time to commit to a place because part of me doesn't expect it to feel like home.  Even after being in Hayward for almost a year, I still have dreams about the house in Phoenix and half expect to wake up in it.  Sometimes I even dream about waking up in the parsonage in Santa Barbara where my parents lived (the third longest place I've lived...).

On the other hand, when I meet people that seem like they could maybe somehow be a friend, I open up and seek them out (which doesn't mean they do the same thing).  The problem with this is, I start to get my groove with the friendship and then I leave again. It's frustrating to say the least.

You'd think with my nomadic lifestyle I'd have less stuff, but the thing is, I've been expecting the situation to change.  I've been collecting furniture etc because I want to settle. I want to be from somewhere.  I want to have roots and a home that I can go to for twenty years running.  I haven't had something close to this for some time.  The closest I came was 14 years in Albany.

I did my growing up in New York, but now I look at Facebook pics of my highschool cohort, and I feel like I'm galaxies away.  Its true I sometimes slip into a New York accent.  But I also slip into a Pittsburgh accent when I'm with my family, or a southern drawl with other family members.  I've been known to take on other accents as well, depending on who I'm with, and what the situation is.  So yes, even though I grew up in New York, I really don't belong there.  Not now. 

But then, can I belong anywhere? Do I just make myself belong somewhere? It's a concern I have because I so rarely feel like I fit in a place (despite whether or not I actually do).  The irony is, that I do fit in rather well here in the Bay. We just can't afford it.  Someday I'm sure we would be able to, but by then, I hope I'm already living in a big house full of family and friends, with tons of animals and a huge garden.    No small roots for me.

How Much is it Worth? Online Price Wars

So I've been thinking about the different costs for various kinds of electronic media.  A song can cost a dollar or two with artists giving some away free in an effort to entice listeners to purchase more. The New York Times has begun to charge online readers after a certain number of articles are viewed.  E-books can run anywhere from $1.50 to $200 depending on the content and how many competitor books are available.  The question now becomes, should I package The Brothers in such a way (or some of the other works I have going) that the first chapter or a segment is free, and then the person can buy the whole thing if they like it?  I'm not sure.  It's an interesting idea.  Of course, if a book is priced low enough, many people will buy it regardless simply because the price is not prohibitive. It is however, possible to price something too low, implying that a product is not valuable and therefore not worth the pittance it costs.

I'm going back and forth in my head what price I should put on my little book of fiction.  It is getting to be about that time to publish.  I'm pretty sure I will go through Book Baby and make the book available through the large distributors of e-books.  It seems to make the most sense, but I will have to check to see what the difference would be to go through each company myself.  Then I have to check on the copyright situation.  I really don't want anyone snagging my stuff, as seems to happen these days, just because I didn't do the legwork to make sure I kept all the rights to my work.  Yes, my days are full of these questions - these along with what clothes I won't be using next month and which shoes I can pack.  Decisions like these are both exciting and mind-numbingly tedious.  *Sigh*

The Great Purge - Clearing out the Clutter

It's frightening to get rid of pieces of yourself.  That's what it feels like when I go through my wardrobe in preparation for packing.  The great purge - I should have done it before I moved to the Bay Area from Phoenix, and honestly, I did get rid of quite a lot of things before moving, but it feels like I didn't make a dent.  My current closet is the size of three regular size closets.  Still, I have a full dresser.  Christian's closet is much smaller and half the things hanging in it are uniforms - that he doesn't own - for his job. 

 

Clearly I'm the one who has to purge my clothes. 

 

So I asked for advice.  I read organizing articles. I took my clothes out and put them in three piles - yes, no, and maybe.  Already one garbage bag is ready for good will - but it was hard for me.  The concern that had been keeping me from the purge was the idea that my old clothes would fit me again once reaching my fitness goal.  As it is, some of my old clothes do fit, but the reality is that a lot of the leftovers are just not worth moving.  It's better to reward myself with new clothes when I'm svelte than holding on to things which I may never want to wear or may never fit again.  Fashions change and so do tastes. 

 

The thing is, I've become so frugal, I see each piece of clothing as the money it will cost to replace it.  So when I get rid of things, I feel like I'm throwing away money.  The idea is abhorent to me.  But I know that it's better to save of moving and storage than it is to save on a few shirts or pairs of pants.  Ross is there for a reason.  I should use it as necessary.

Once I had gone through my clothes I moved onto purses, jewelry, and hair things.  It was a lot easier because I had already done gone through the process with my closet (the first round anyway). Not only is it better to get rid of these things because I'm not using them anymore, but also because it declutters my living space.  Beginning was painful, but by the end, it was cathartic.  Even if you're not moving, I recommend going through the process.  I love having empty space in my closet again!

Organization - A Necessity in Your Twenties

People always talk about organizing their lives, but so rarely do they actually follow through.  For whatever reason, I've been more conscientious about it in the last few years. 

For the first time since I opened my email account, I have only 4 unread messages at any given time.  I have less than 50 messages in my inbox at any given time.  I know where everything is (at least generally) in my apartment.  The only exception is the office, which I leave to Christian's care because he uses the space much more than I do.  Although, to his credit, he has become much more conscientious of paperwork, junk, and keeping things relatively tidy.

People might wonder how I got so lucky to have a husband who cleans up after himself.  Honestly, it wasn't always this way.  Just like I haven't always had a relatively clean inbox, Christian hasn't always organized his things.  It just happened.  He bugged me to keep my voice-mail and email clean, and I bugged him to organize his things.  We still have a long way to go to in order to have our living space look the way I want it to be, but part of that is just the unsettled nature of being young and married in your twenties. Twenty-somethings don't settle.  They wander around through that fateful decade accumulating random things - both objects like furniture and paintings, as well as experiences and geographies as they figure out where they are going to eventually build their proverbial nests.  If you're lucky like Christian and I, you ended up with a great set of furniture, but you live in a place that has much less space than you have furniture.  So no matter how organized you are, you have more things than you need.

The natural inclination is to dump.  I would agree with that, in theory, except for the fact that good furniture is expensive especially when  you're starting out.  A living room that could be replaced for $3000 makes the cost of storage seem like a pittance (which doesn't account for the other rooms' costs).  For now at least, I will put up with the slight clutter of having too many large pieces of furniture in a small space.  It's made so much more bearable by our burgeoning organization skills.  Thank GOD!

Cooking a Bird - First Step of Homesteading?

I have never cooked a whole turkey.  I haven't even cooked a whole chicken.  Beyond cooking one, I've never seen an animal killed.  I've never been on a farm while animals were being killed and I've never seen a whole carcass besides the bloated roadkill on a rural asphalt shoulder.

Yesterday at the grocery store, they had freshly killed whole chickens.  This included their heads and feet, completely attached to their bodies.  I actually stopped in the aisle and stared at them, inspecting their forms - looking at the glazed coating over their eyes, their full beaks attached, and their scaly feet.  I've wanted to cook a full bird for some time.  I feel like it is a requirement as a married adult - at some point, you have to cook a full bird.  Me being me, I wanted to start small.  When I say small, I mean small - Cornish Game Hen small.  I got more than I bargained for even with the small size of such a bird.

Thanksgiving was not a day for kitchen observations.  I liked the smell.  I never watched my mother removing giblets or trimming skin.  Needless to say, I didn't realize I needed to thaw the small birds well in advance.  My little hens were still slightly icy even after defrosting in the microwave.  I took my kitchen shears to the little birds and cut into the dimpled skin.  Piece by stretchy piece I cut off the skin and fat.  Finally able to get the majority off, I stretched the little buggers open to see inside.  Lucky for me, the giblets were still frozen solid to the bodies.  So after a long shower under a hot faucet, I was able to get the giblets out, I think.  I'm not entirely sure, because I've never gutted a bird of any size before.  All I know is that it looked like the innards were out.  After a good rub down of rosemary, lemon, salt, pepper, and garlic, I finally got to use my meat thermometer for the first time. So my house smells like little cooking birds - yummy!  I can't wait to see if my experiment works!

It makes the whole process more real for me - the death of animals for human sustenance.  After watching Food Inc. and talking with friends about the food industry, I can't bring myself to eat fast food (at least not the meat kind) and I find it difficult to even buy meat in the grocery store.  My new found understanding of food production makes me want to have a subsistence farm - complete with chickens, herbs, vegetables, and maybe even some goats.  It's not for everyone.  Until now I wasn't entirely sure I could even handle the cleaning process necessary for preparing meat.  Now I know I can.  I also know, I would rather raise the animals myself than buy meat from an industrial slaughterhouse.  If everyone ate less meat, raised animals themselves, or purchased meat from ethical farmers, the world would be a lot better place.  It just starts with an egg, or maybe a hen.  ...Or maybe an egg.