How many of these am I gonna do?

Okay, cyber world, and all you out there viewing this (by the way, feel free to say hello! I usually don't bite til well after my first cup of coffee, and even then, tis just a flesh wound love!), I have a bit of updates to throw out. Now that the next of kin has been notified. Now that my closest of friends are in the circle of trust. Now, now, now.....


I'm gay. As in, a lesbian. Mike and I are separating. Because I'm gay. Phew. Okay, they say admitting it is the first step.  Of course, this has been a long time in coming. Eleven years of marriage has taught us a lot, has taught me a lot, and in a lot of ways, has made it possible for me to be honest with myself and the people I hold dearest. So, we are making an amiable split. I'll continue living in Yakima, near my boys, but we're giving each other permission to move on. It's a lot harder doing than saying, but this is what is happening next. I understand you're all gonna have your different reactions to this, but I'd hope that most of you know I'm not the sort of person to make decisions lightly. A least, not these kind of decisions that affect my family the way this decision will. Of course, I have no say over anyone's response to this, your opinions or beliefs regarding what's happening. I guess I only post this because I can no longer justify hiding  or pretending. This is my life, and for whatever reason, you are reading about it. Yeah!



To segue way, has anyone met anyone who felt the need to tell you they were straight? Just wondering.

Place

I was realizing today that we have been living in Yakima for close to five years. I know that doesn't sound like much, but it is the longest I have lived anywhere for the entirety of my adult life (which I count from 19 on, since that was the year I started paying my own bills).

After a two year stint in Cheney, which is basically Spokane valley with slightly less, younger people, it was off to Davis, California, which I hated with the heat of a million suns for almost the entire three years we lived there. Then we moved back to Mike's parents' basement for 9 months, followed by another 9 months in income based housing in (yet again) Cheney, then off to Yakima. That's five addresses in the first five years of marriage. I really don't want to ever do that again. But, here we are, into our next 'planning' phase (I bunny eared that to signify planning to mean either starry eyed BS or serious mature goal setting, however you wanna look at it--- I myself vacillate), which means another bout of moving is upon us. Only this time we don't have the excuse of school or a job transfer. I just don't want to spend another five years here if I have a choice. Which is a funny concept. Remember when as a kid, the retort whenever someone told you to knock something off was the ever witty: "it's a free country dude! Lay off!" Yeah. Well, kids, when you actually grow up and start tying yourself down by Owning Things, that concept of freedom gets a bit iffy.

Anyway, this is all a long way of saying that I'm homesick for my next Real home, while suffering through real bouts of attachment for both past and present versions of that home. Today, as I was taking my run through the neighborhood of good old Franklin park, I realized that I really do consider this my home, which immediately sent my mind to images of downtown Vegas (not really sure, except that the sun was shining straight in my eyes just the way it would on my summertime trips down to see grandma, and also maybe because Yakima is basically a northern version of a Vegas dessert ghetto, except with seasonal snow and a surprising lack of squirrels), which, also, in a way I consider a sister home, as it was my mom's home.

This might also be a result of (once again) believing everything I read the first time I read it. This time? Gary Snyder got me. Shoot me, but people who can convey their thoughts through writing? I'm a sucker for that kind of special skill. I think mostly cause I'm jealous. Anyway, this Snyder guy makes a big deal about our sense of place and responsibility towards our communities, which made me think (dammit), but I think I've come to a relative agreement between my wanderlust and my craving for Place and that is that I really do consider the northwest my home Place. Right now, I'm very much attached to the desert portion of that particular locale (for those of you ignorant of the northwest geography, that of Washington state in particular, we go from coastline, rain forest, mountains, and back down to arid desert-- all in one day's car trip without breaking a sweat), but I'm feeling the pull of the south deep right now. Which is to say, Oregon. Yes, oregon is South.

In other news, did anyone else know that pussy willows are a native species of the shrub steppe region? That's me baby! Pussy willows for everybody!

What goes around comes around

I told a sixty plus year old man yesterday to grow up and swallow his disgusting liquid stool softeners.
To be clear, he started it.
Also, he's a strong older gentleman, who, I am certain, has done Lots of hard things in his life. Like face down prostate cancer. Like live through world war. Like raising kids. And now he can't build up the gumption to swallow 10 millimeters of crappy medicine? Medicine that will bring life to his beat up colon and restore function to his latent flatus? Come on man! Grow a pair!
Oh. Right. You lost them two surgeries back.
I really should learn to be a little more sensitive. But, really.....you can't handle THIS? If that's true my friend, you have much bigger problems than a cranky obsessive nurse.
This is where my mother should chime in and recall what a good pill taker I was in my younger days. Yes, I was that bad. I used to spew Tylenol across the kitchen. Til I was ten. Okay, twelve at least.
Still...at least I always had the decency to point my spew AWAY from anyone else.
Geez.

You know I'm right.

I think we should go back to forcing left handed individuals to become right handed members of society. Not only would it save millions in streamlining supplies, it's also highly symbolic. I mean,how many times does the bible reference 'at the Right hand of God', 'choose the Right', and etc, etc? It really only makes sense.

And I really believe that being left handed is a choice. If you really wanted to, you could learn to use your other hand. What do you think all the amputees do? Go through the rest of their lives not writing, throwing baseballs or giving handshakes? Sitting around Not Contributing? I don't think so. And when you think about it, hand dominance is such a minuscule part of someone's identity. I mean, really, you think God made you that way? Please. So, learn to do it naturally, get a job and stop shoving your left handed sacrilege in our faces.

I just can't even think about this anymore, it's so upsetting. Thank God all my kids are right hand dominant (no worries, Cole will grow out of it. We're pretty sure he's ambidextrous anyway.)

Where never is heard a discouraging word

I am off of nights! My strawberries are doing great, and my boys are almost off for the summer. I think life is good. Tomorrow, I get to have a kindergarten picnic with Andrew and then, I get to accompany Cole on his class field trip. I haven't been able to do that for a little while. So... Outside of nearly slicing the tip of my middle finger off while slicing apples the other day (seriously probably should have got stitches), not much going on here. A lot of me trying to get someone (anyone) to get my stuff in print, very carefully *not* killing my garden, and generally trying to find balance in the universe--- although not exactly in that order. :)

Mike asked me what I wanted for mother's day, or if I had any plans for "my" day. I don't know about you, but the question itself was a gift. Of course, I answered that we'll be going to the farmer's market, where he will buy me a fresh baked good of some kind (preferably with chocolate), after which, we will be heading into the hills for a good old fashioned mushrooming trip. Ah, no. Sadly, no euphemism. I really do just want to go looking for some edibles in my friendly neighborhood forest. The weather is trying so hard to be agreeable. I just can't ignore that kind of effort. The lilacs are in full bloom, which always gives me all sorts of goosebumps to see. For dinner tonight, I actually used our thyme, sage, cilantro, rosemary and chives out of MY garden to go in our spaghetti sauce. Didn't turn out half bad, if I do say so myself. And..... I think that's all I have for tonight. Between the last four days or so, I have accumulated a good 8 hours of sleep, between my five year old turning six, a mother's day lunch-classroom-program, and two convienently scheduled night shifts. I don't care who you are--- tired can make anyone stupid in the head. Which, of course, is why one of ,y patients decides to throw off some nice old cardiac-related chest pain in the last thirty minutes of my shift the other night. What? Do they think I'm supposed to know what to do about it? What? They think I'm trained for this sort of thing? Just.... Come on! You couldn't wait a lousy twenty minutes? My other guy, my paraplegic trach guy, at least had the decency to wait til 8 to code. Geez. Some people, I tell you.

lift off!

Ladies and gentlemen! For the first time ever, I have created.... plant life!

That's right! My starts have started! Not only did my lettuce come up, but I have a tray of artichoke starts, and some valiant scraggly spinach that is really trying hard.

Totally not their fault to be lagging behind though. I did just about kill them by forgetting to water them for a week or so.

Okay, maybe it was a little longer than a week.

Mike showed me a neat trick though. This after he stole my seedling soil mixture for his own basil starts under his fancy-smansy plant lights.

Considering I only had egg cartons and our open window area in the back (plus batting away 4 curious kiddos, who, for whatever reason, seem to believe that anything not physically in the garbage can is theirs to mess with), I was not doing that bad on my own, but Mike's little trick of putting the cookie sheets under the egg cartons seemed to really do the trick.

Now I need to figure out how to get them in the ground without killing them.

I think people would actually be amazed how often I use that phrase. Hmm.