Friday, August 20, 2010

Travel

I hate traveling. Travel instills an angst in me like nothing else life has thrown at me, expect maybe childbirth. I internally agonize over what to bring, what not to bring, how to baby wrangle my children for hours on end and then, of course, there is the flight itself. The dread and fear that wraps itself around my gut until the plane lands is paralyzing. And the thought of flying begins to paralyze me days before I'm anywhere near an airport. Flying frightens me enough that I am scared for others when they fly. Terrified something will happen to someone I love or care about on an airplane.

It wasn't always this way. As a child and a teenager, I was fine flying--even liked it. But not now. Not for the last 10+ years. Even the thought of flying haunts me, because inevitably, the thought of flying leads to the thought of falling out of the air in a tin can and crashing and burning a horrid death. Morbid, I know. Highly unlikely, I know. Safer than car travel, which I love, I know. I know the statistics. I am well read and educated on exactly how safe air travel really is. I have two very good friends, who are both air traffic controls at the Frankfurt airport--one of the world's busiest airports. My hometown of Renton, is home to Boeing and it is with the labor and skill of my neighbors that the planes we fly--fly. None of that helps. None of it.

It is, I have decided, a control issue. I am a control freak. I know this. I don't like it but it is the truth. I want to be in control at all times. To know that I *could* do something if I had to at the time when something goes wrong. None of that is possible flying. It is my job to "sit back and relax," as if. As my husband, "rides the wave," of turbulence, I am left gripping my arm rest so tightly, I'm sure it will break under the pressure of my unwavering grip. Left to deal with flight attendants, who all too politely explain, "it's just a pothole in the sky! We'll be out of it in no time." Their chipper shrug does nothing to calm my nerves, rather, it only serves to annoy the hell out of me--but as with everything else in flying, there is not a damn thing I can do about it. Nothing I could say would adequately express my fear of traveling at 35,000 feet above the water.

But if I don't go, I will never experience the richness that is travel. The beauty and variety of otherness that every place but home has to offer. All of my senses recognized this, which is why I go. The lure of otherness that every place has to offer is so far just greater than my irrational fear of flying. But it is always a close call. Always. As I board our flight this morning, I will try to keep the otherness of Hawaii in sight. Aloah!

Sunday, August 15, 2010

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Cobain

I was a mere 15 when Kurt Cobain died. Arguably younger than most of Nirvana's target audience. His music spoke to me in a way that no other music ever had. Perhaps it was the media, my age, or some strange cosmic conversion of everything at once but it was an awakening. Remove the lyrics. Take away the MTV spotlight, left with just the instrumentals and I remain as moved now as I was then. Kurt's lyrics were so raw and piercing they produced a bite that burned the roof of my soul.

Which is why, when I first heard of the Kurt Cobain exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum, I was giddy to attend. I wanted to see first hand what Kurt's city would produce in his memory. It has been more than 16 years since his death rocked our city--the world. The changes in my life during those 16 years are monumental--too many to even attempt to list. I am now four years older than Kurt was when he died--at a mere 27 years old. I have lived into my thirties--married, two kids, college degrees in hand. But his music lives on as I continue to grow into an old age that Kurt will never see.

What I forgot to consider upon entering the exhibit is where it was being held, THE SEATTLE ART MUSEUM. Art, is by definition, someone else's interpretation of life. This fact eclipsed me upon entering this morning. I had such high expectations for what the museum would display, or rather, what they could display, I allowed my expectations to catapult. What I found was an exhibition of posers stifling Kurt's legacy. The only song left playing over and over again, "Smells Like Teen Spirit", arguably, one of Nirvana's most mainstream over played and mass marketed commercial songs. As I walked through the exhibit I couldn't help but wonder, what would Kurt think of all this?

The mainstays of the exhibit were not artifacts of Kurt's actual life, or even his music, but rather, how other artists interpreted him. How they exploited his life, his music, his fame for their own liking. What I was expecting was a glimpse into his life--not an artist's rendition there of. I left bemused at best, and severely let down by my own, overly ambitious expectations of SAM.

Depression began to set in as I walked toward the last portion of the exhibit--a darkened room with a video of Kurt playing, "Negative Creep". My senses were peaked but alas, left to fall again. In this room, where they could have played a series of Nirvana music videos, a variety of Kurt's music, which could have stood on their own to represent him in death, as he was in life, instead played a looped version of "Negative Creep," over and over and over and over and over again. Perhaps it was the museum's way of insinuating what they really thought of Kurt--a Creep. The music, the man, none of it was displayed in ways that allowed Kurt to speak for himself--to us. It was all about how others viewed him--and I just wasn't interested in an artist's rendition of the Man or his music.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Surviving NYC...from Seattle

So Rod's gone this week. All.week.long. That's hard on a gal with two kids under 3. But I am more than surviving NYC because his parents have been staying with us, helping immensely with both kids. It's been so nice having them here to help out while Rod's away on business.

I've had the opportunity to do a few things on my own and to get to sleep at a normal hour--most nights. So thanks, Grandparents! Thanks for sticking by us, and me, this week. It's nice having you here!

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Forgiving the Past

FYI: This is the third blog entry I have written on this topic and the only one I can bring myself to publish. Each has been unique and each a bit more reticent of my feelings, my hatred and hopefully my ability to forgive...


I had a long "chat" yesterday with someone buried deep within my past. It was a cathartic kind of chat that frankly, left me feeling a bit numb afterwards. We have all inevitably hurt people in our lives. Hurt is part of growing and sometimes it is that hurt, which leads us to where we are supposed to be in life. Frequently, when we hurt someone, we know it. The person we hurt tends to tell us what we've done to disappoint them. Not this time. I said nothing for 14+ years.

It feels good to let go. Let go of the anger and the resentment that have been hiding out in my psyche for the last 14 years or so. I found a quote from one of the most moving authors I have ever read, ‎Alan Paton says, "When a deep injury is done us, we never recover until we forgive." This quote resonates within me. Because as I read Paton's quote, I began to think of who Alan Paton was and the events that led him to offer such a profound statement to the world. Alan Paton, for those who don't know, is the author of Cry, the Beloved Country, a wickedly moving tale of apartheid in South Africa. I am quite sure when Paton uttered these words, he was not thinking of the wrongs done to a 17 year old girl. Yet, they still rung true.

My hurt is nothing compared to the collective agony felt by millions of South Africans during the reign of apartheid. It was a cruel and oppressive hatred of mostly Dutch white settlers against native South African blacks. And yet, his quote is rivetingly fitting . It was a familiar oppressive hatred and hurt, which I felt living within my past that led me toward forgiveness. A forgiveness, that will hopefully lead to peace, not forgetfulness. Much like the people of Paton's South Africa, I have no intention of forgetting. To forget only positions one's self to be placed at risk again. Rather, I hope to find an inner peace that 14 years of hatred and resentment merely served to shun.

I have no idea if my act of forgiveness will instigate any change in the person I'm trying to forgive. That is not my problem, nor is it within my control. I want to believe that it will change this person--for the better. It has already changed me. And that, is at the crux of what I can control and what I am most worried about. ME. So, in an effort to incite a change within myself, and to breathe deeply and freely from the grip of resentment and hatred, I forgive you. Thank you for finally apologizing...even 14+ years late.

Friday, August 6, 2010

More on Iced Coffee...yum!

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2010/07/11/FDGQ1E3P60.DTL

Adventures in Summertime

The last two weeks have been pretty amazing! I've had the opportunity to catch up with several friends and enjoyed a long weekend north of Spokane. Rodney and I took the kids to Loon Lake, to spend the weekend with quite possibly, my oldest friend in the world, Christina "Teenie" Janssen. We've known each other since I was three and she 5. We've had strong opinions about the world and each other, ever since.

Our plan had been a weekend on the lake in the boat. Alas, the thunderstorms that rolled in early Saturday morning had other plans for us. But the boys enjoyed the thunder and lightening that woke the entire neighborhood just before 5am on Saturday. As Teenie, Jim and Rodney scrambled to take the boat out of the water, I enjoyed my morning by finishing breakfast and watching lightening scorch the sky at dawn. We tend not to get very much lightening in Seattle--so even though it ruined our plans for part of the day, it was a treat in a different way. The weekend was filled with old time remembering, good time memory making, shuffled in with a few trips out on the boat, as the weather permitted. Brayden tried very hard to coax Alex into the lake...but didn't have much success. Alex must be Rod's boy, as he is not a fish unto the water like me. Brayden, however, is very much my kind of kid--"Lake? Water? Where!? Let's GOOOO!" Needless-to-say, it was a great weekend.

As we returned home to Kirkland, I had the opportunity to reunite with several friends from high school--both in person and via Facebook. April and Rodney are beginning to plan their 15 year reunion from Hazen High School (gosh we're getting old) it's prompted me to begin digging through old photos and even posting some of them online. We were young, we were beautiful, lots of memories from a lifetime ago. Memories which are stored in boxes we never bother to look in anymore. It's funny how a picture can bring back a 1000 emotions from a time before our lives ever really began. I guess that's what reunions are for--remembering--if only every 5-10 years.

Today was a day of firsts for my kiddos. It was their first trip to Kennydale Beach. A beach I spent quite a bit of time at as a teenager. It was a little bitter-sweet. As I watched the lifeguards from afar, I couldn't help but think of Tracy. Kennydale was Tracy's beach. She guarded there for several summers--even part way through college. I remember hot summer days coming to visit and play--stopping for lunch breaks as we would chit-chat about boys, gossip and plan our summer nights and future lives. It is a special beach. Watching Alexander and Joseph dig in the sand, as the Blue Angels roared by this afternoon, is how I hope to continue remembering Kennydale.

As I posted in an earlier blog, it's been a while since I have really spent anytime in Renton. But as my son, Alex, gets bigger and I begin to think about things to do and places to share with him, many of them are in Renton. Perhaps, it's because I don't have a big enough imagination to think out of my "Renton box". Lord knows, I love living in Kirkland. Or maybe I'm just a mushy geek who is overly in-love with her own history. It was a good history. Either way, I find the older I get, the more I like visiting Renton--at least North Renton. Hehe.

Next week shall prove to be interesting, as Rodney will be out of town the entire week for business. He gets to swelter in the humidity that is NYC in August. I thought for a while about joining him but can't quite get over myself to leave my kiddos alone with grandma and grandpa for five full days. It's just too long and Anna, at least, is still too young. Not to mention, my irrational fear of flying...but that's for another blog. Maybe next year, when she's two. Instead, I'll be home with my in-laws, who have very graciously and lovingly agreed to come and stay with us for the entire week to help out. Grandma and Grandpa both work for the Renton School District and are great about trying to spend as much summer time with the kids as possible.

My in-laws are wonderful at doing the things I don't do well. They play, they pretend, read the same story over and over and over again to Alexander--all of course without any worry of who will do the cooking, the laundry, get the mail, feed Anna, or take out the trash. As I "waste" my day with this blog, I worry that I am not using my time wisely. It's mentally fulfilling but lacks the ability to help me keep my house in order. I guess it's a win some, lose some type of deal.

So that's where I'll close for today. With the knowledge that I've had a great couple of weeks but that there is other work to be done...namely, figuring out what's for dinner tonight. Take out.



Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Iced Coffee

Every Kaffee Prinzessin needs a little caffeine uptake. Thanks to Julie for this great recipe for Iced Coffee. Yummmmm! I'll be trying it out tonight for tomorrow morning. Oh yeah!