A Celebration

First publication in a major mag: The Sun picked up a short essay I wrote (on the topic "Borrowing") for the Readers Write section of their February issue.

Best part of this news: it's my favorite magazine. Real beauty, real ugly, RealPolitik life. Literary bluecollar, almost-always-respectable.

Check it out.

One Lap Saved

Sam has been very snuggley lately, launching at me with open arms when I pick him up from school, curling himself into my lap whenever I sit down at home. It seems impossible to me that his body is so gangly and long, bizarre that he is so heavy when his wings entrust his full weight to my arms.

"Do you think you'll always love me this much?" I ask, not fully attending to the fact that I actually said this aloud.

"I don't know," says Sam, without worry in his voice. He jumps up to get something from the living room.

"I think that's a very wise answer," I say.

"Save your lap for me!" he calls.

The Grand Finale

Setting: Monday of the final week of closing on the Collier's refinance of home pending all final inspections.

Kristin: What?! We can't get the final inspections done this week! We are missing a vent pipe for the composting toilet that is on order. It won't be in until at least next week.

Banker: Oh, no problem. The bank is not going to hold up the loan over a piece of hardware. Just do the best you can and give me a call.

Later....

Electrical Inspector: So are you guys ready to insulate?

Kristin: Insulate? Yeah, that's done, and the sheet rock's up and painted.

EI: Well, there's this memo that says I need to check out some work that didn't pass inspection that is in the walls. This is important stuff. I need to see it.

K: Let's call Seda. (Seda doesn't answer her work phone.)

EI: Do you understand what an important thing this is? I need to see in those walls for you to pass.

K: Well (pointing) is this the memo? With these initials that it's been done?

EI doesn't get it, keeps frowning, calls the office, gets word that the work he's concerned about has been approved since and initialed as K pointed out.
EI: Hmmm. Well, all these outlets will need to be changed out. They aren't to code without the child tamper resistant part integrated on.

K: Oh.

Kristin returns and buys 22 new outlets (how can Home Depot sell this stuff?), and various other required parts, some of them apparently impossible to retrieve, but acquired in the seedier districts of Eugene where they sell "Gorilla Nuts -- torque me!" Seda returns home from work feverish and coughing, Kristin bursts into tears trying to get supper on the table, and Ben offers to reschedule his evening in order to install outlets with Seda. At 10 p.m. all electrical is complete, but K is not done crying. The loan, it seems will never come, there is not enough money to pay next months mortgage without the refi, lost waterbottles and keys will never turn up, dinner is burnt, and Seda may never get her vagina. All, it seems to K, is likely lost.

Tuesday.Final, Plumbing and Mechanical Inspector-in-one: It looks like you need a back-flow vaccuum for this hand-held shower unit and a vent pipe for this toilet. Then I can sign you off.

K: Okay.

K calls all local warehouses desperate to find vent piece sooner, but to no avail. She returns to seedy districts for back-flow vacuum piece.

Proprietor (whose breath smells of liquor): Inspector get you on this?

K: Yes.

P: Well, here it is, the piece you need -- $25. Take it off when he leaves, it'll restrict the flow of your shower otherwise. Then you can use it as a fishing weight, get your moneys worth out of it.

K: Thank you.

While in seedy district, K debates and finally surrenders to the urge for serious decadent support: a coconut cream filled chocolate cupcake from Sweet Life. If that broke the bank, there would be no sweeter irony.

---

K(on phone to Banker): What shall we do? Everything is done but the vent pipe. Will the loan be held up?

Banker: Oh, no, it's no problem, as I've said all along. Look, all we need are the final inspections. I'm sure the inspector (K's NOTE: not the lender as aforesaid.) won't hold up the finals for one piece of hardware. You just tell him your situation. I'm sure you're in good stead. Just get those documents signed and over to the title company by tomorrow and we'll get you your check on Friday.

K: And if they won't sign?

Banker: Oh, it's not going to happen. But if it does, you'll lose your interest rate we locked into and we'll have to start the process over again. Let's not do that.

K: Oh.

---

Last day for inspections. Seda has finally taken the day off sick. K answers the door prepared to beg for vent pipe forgiveness from the inspector, but, surprisingly, the inspector is a young man she's never met -- a temporary fill in as all inspectors were booked.

Seda: Did you see the memo?

I: No. What did you do?

S: I put in this vaccuum breaker piece.

I: Is that all?

S: That's all I did.

I: Okay. (Miraculously, he doesn't appear to take notice of the toilet, signs off, and leaves.)

Kristin: But what if he takes it back?

S: We wait and see.



The last inspector arrives and signs off on Mechanical. He casts a backwards glance at the toilet.

I: Well, you're not going to use that toilet without the vent piece, so I'll trust you to put it in.

S: It's nearly arrived.

I: Yeah. (He signs.)

Kristin, who has been hiding with Sam fully under a sleeping bag in the far back bedroom, rejoices at the news. All, it appears is not lost, even if the keys and Seda's vagina have not yet arrived.

After almost four years of living with a variable rate, interest only loan, unsure of their future on 62nd Avenue, the Colliers have a foundational loan and the space to support this uniquely structured family and their urban farm.

Hurray.

Growing Up and Growing Down

Oh, blissful day, abandoning myself and all else to the celebration of Sam, today turning seven.

I made popovers and fruit parfaits with custard (in wine glasses!) for breakfast, surprising the children with a breakfast guest from down the street. Then I took them to school and decided to stay.

I spent the entire day mostly with Sam and some with Trin doing everything they do. I even played Wall Ball at recess and impressed their group of friends by outing the fellow currently undefeated (well, I am an adult, even though I am also somebody's mom). "She doesn't really know how to play," Trinidad told his friends apologetically, "but somehow she's still pretty good at it."

My favorite quotes of the day, gathered from a variety of 1st-3rd graders:

Gym teacher: ....So you were chasing the boys instead of racing the boys, and that is not what I asked you to do.
Girl: Well, I actually WAS racing the boys.
Gym teacher: It sure looked like chasing.
Girl: Um. Yes. I did chase them, but that was to get them to run faster. So I could race them.

Sam's teacher: We are having a problem on the playground with people arguing the Ref's call during wall ball. What are we going to do about it?
(The students have a conversation, come up with a plan to have someone pulled from the game for 3 days if they argue more than 2 times/week, then the teacher asks them to vote in an attempt for consensus. 2 thumbs point down.)
Teacher (to a thumb downer): So, I'm trying to understand this better. Are you concerned about this decision because you are someone who argues with the Refs?
Boy: No.
Teacher: No?
Boy: No. They argue with me!!

Boy on the playground: We're rockstars!
Me: Yeah?
Boy: Yeah! He's Prince, he's Michael Jackson, and I'm Elvis Presley. (All assume radical air guitar positions.)
Me (to self): Dang, I'm not as behind as I thought I was!


We played Wall Ball after school for awhile, then the children took me to a toystore where they planned to buy Legos with their savings. I annoyed Trinidad and amused Sam by attacking them with stuffed animals until they both giggled. Then I played with the Jack in the Boxes as they looked at me sideways with a gleam in their eye. I am so glad they are growing up so that I can properly grow down.

Turning New Leaves

The earth and air are pregnant with spring. The plum tree is budding, and my seaberry bush has set forth 1/2 inch of new leaves -- green! -- with a brazen hope for warm days ahead.

According to my blog, we started this remodel at the end of April, and now we are surely in the last lap. Drywall, plaster and paint are up, floors are down, and the way is lit with genuine electricity. The composting toilet (many prayers offered for its correct installation) is nearly taking seats. The clawfoot bathtub, elegantly arching its white swanlike presence in our jewel of a bathroom (provided the composting toilet does not perform to the standard our building inspector predicts) rests serenely in a sea of blue marmoleum. So what if we still haven't figured out how to plumb the faucet?

For almost ten months, we have worked this remodel and our thoughts and feelings for each other. We have laughed ourselves to tears, cried ourselves into laughter. We have held each other and taken space. The children have come in close, bridging the gap into adulthood with hammers, shovels, and screwdrivers. They have taken in more screentime than we enjoy so we could finish one last thing on the building outside.

And finally, here it is: the inside. We can take shelter in this space, find quiet (!) and safety in the walls we have built. How much math went into its calculations? How many words kept us connected, reminded us of our commitment to each other within this work? How much have we learned?

The blossoming always seduces me from around the next bend. When, exactly, will it be spring?

Today, I am expected to fill in the trench that now houses a storm drain. The sun is out, the rain has lifted. The banker is awaiting completion, rapping his pen on the table beside stacks of unsigned documents. Still, I am not inclined to go out just yet. Four Bosc pears sit on my drainboard, softly reflecting the late winter sun. Four golden pears remind me that food can be cooked, one dish at a time, and not always pulled in meal-sized portions prepared weeks earlier, from the freezer. Four pears tell me that art is now.

I find myself flipping through cookbooks, furtively, as if I could be caught and hung for such a momentary sweetness. Smiling wistfully, I decide on a recipe for poached spiced pears in honey syrup. As they cool on the countertop, I whisk fresh eggs -- the chickens are laying! -- into goat milk. A baked almond custard will accompany the pears.

Dessert. Perhaps, like the seaberry bush, I stretch too much of my neck into the sun. Perhaps, in the ecstasy of imagining spring spaciousness, I lean a little too hard into creation. Is this the wisdom of a fool? Only time will tell.

And until then, we will eat dessert.