A few days ago I woke up in an antihistamine haze, my ankle swollen and covered with bites that came to a little pus filled peak. Gross, right? This, my friend, is the curse of the mother f-ing Texas fire ant.
They look innocuous enough, cute little ants carrying leaves to their cute little fire ant mountain, but once they touch you the devil awaits. They actually sting, not just bite, and I imagine them pulling out little poisoned cutlasses and stabbing my ankle while they howl maniacally with fire ant laughter.
I've had two runs ins with them, and it hasn't been pretty. I tried to read up online for some suggested home remedies, but I only came up with things like "dip your leg in worcestershire sauce", and "squeeze lime on it." These things did not work. So, I finally wised up and dosed myself good and proper with some over the counter Benadryl, and disappeared into crazy dreams for few nights until the swelling finally stopped.
This post was not actually supposed to be about fire ants.
It is about Dick's hamburgers and muffin tops and bike boxes and stolen beer and monsters in overalls and finding jobs and chocolate pancakes and the in-between.
I went to Seattle, and it was glorious. My sister Shelley and I tried to go to Eastern Washington, but we were thwarted by wildfires. It was her birthday, so we went to the outlet mall where she got a cool watch and I got some tight jeans. When I bought them they guy in the store said, "remember- muffin top now prevents diaper butt later." A few years ago when I worked in a Kindergarten class, one of the little boys walked up to me and said "Cutie. You're a cutie." Then he pointed at my belly area and said, "Is there a baby in there?", and I said, "No Matt, I just eat emotionally sometimes." Ok, I didn't say the last thing, but I sure as hell thought it. Point being, the damn pants are still too tight, but really, who gives a shit!
After shopping we ate hamburgers in the back of her volvo station wagon, then we drove around with the windows down, listening to music with the sky so perfect above us. My Dad made dinner that night- there was grilled salmon, and a roasted bell pepper salad with feta in it that is my sister's favorite.
The retirement party for my Dad was a resounding success. Gumbo and beer were consumed in large quantities, the kids loved the bonfire, and my Mom gave a speech standing on a chair that brought the house down. In it, she talked about my Dad's 30+ years of work- the shitty bosses, the long hours, the trials of 30+ years of marriage, their beautiful daughters, and what Mark (my Dad) provided for us. She said, so eloquently, that it wasn't just food and clothing and financial stability that my Dad gave to his family. He gave us a safe harbor, one that was constant and loving and always there.
I had a great time drinking gin cocktails with my Dad, going through his book collection, and listening to him play guitar for hours on end.
My youngest sister came back from Virginia for the party, got herself an adorable haircut and cooked up a storm.
It was nice to have everyone home, and I think we all felt a deep tug of sadness when 2 out of 3 girls headed thousands of miles away again. It's a hard balance- I wouldn't trade these Texas sized adventures for a rainy Seattle life, but I am acutely aware of what I love there, and where my home will always be, in one way or another.
I got to spend some quality time with some of my close friends, though there were many pals (and a few babies) I didn't get to see. It was nice to eat soup and piroshky and walk around Pike Place drinking strong cups of coffee. Amber I laid around Greenlake and Caitlin and I laid around my parents house and Kyle and I drank semi-stolen beer (it's a long story involving the self-check line in the grocery store) on the beach in Edmonds, sitting on big driftwood logs. There were mint juleps with Colleen and Melissa at the new whiskey bar in Ballard, and walking through the farmers market on another perfect indian summer day. I wish I had time see everyone I love in Washington- I hope I get to hug you next time I come home for a visit, and if you have a baby I want to hug them too. This is true.
While I was home I also read "The Hunger Games," and I talked to my Mom a lot, and I took naps even though it was blazingly sunny outside. I packed up my old road bike in a giant cardboard box (thanks Kyle!) and shoved as many sweaters as I could into the extra space.
I came back to Austin, to Steven and Guthrie the dog, and we were all very happy to see one another.
When I was in Seattle I started checking Craigslist for jobs back in Austin, and came across an ad for a host position at a restaurant about 4 blocks from my house. I took my resume in the next day, interviewed a few days later, and was offered the job at the end of the week.
The restaurant is called Eastside Cafe- it's something of an institution in Austin, an old converted house which serves up casual and high end fare, with a beautiful garden in back of the restaurant. It opened when I was 5 years old, and is still going strong.
The serendipity of this is not lost on me. I was very lucky to get a job, in fact the first and only job I applied for.
The universe cut me a break on this one, and I am relieved that I listened to my gut and made a big change by quitting my job at the little grocery store. It all worked out just fine, and for that I am extremely grateful.
I am trying to view this process of throwing myself back into uncertainty with a mix of trust, gentleness, and curiosity. There were a number of times I felt panicked and sad this past month, even though friends and parents reminded me that finding a job has traditionally been easy for me, and I always manage to land on my feet.
The lurking sense that things "will not be okay," is a kind of catastrophic thinking that accompanies moments of transition for the anxious mind. Too much possibility equals a feeling of being unmoored, and an overactive mind so easily counters one's trust in the ability to make choices and roll with the results, whatever they may be.
I am starting to view my anxiety as a Jim Henson style monster, no doubt influenced by being a disciple of Sesame Street from the ages of two to nine. My monster is 6 foot 4, with faded overalls and oversized, overbite fangs. He has shaggy brown and blond fur, and sad eyes, and he is very chubby. He eats a lot of hot dogs and he gets really weepy and he just wants to stay inside.
I went on a 3 and 1/2 mile run with Steven and the dog the other day, and when we were running up a hill I was thinking about this monster anxiety guy. I thought if I ran away from him he would leave, but instead he howled louder. So, I let him run with me up the hill, and I was gentle with him, and that quieted him down and tired him out.
I love this idea- instead of making the anxiety monster sit outside in the rain on the curb when you go into the bar, just invite him in and buy him a beer. Then you may both realize there was nothing to worry about.
This is the way it is with our monsters- we will live with them our whole lives, so instead of trying to eradicate them, it may be wiser in the long run to accept them, be gentle with them, and work to change our responses to them.
I read a fantastically powerful book by Cheryl Strayed called "Dear Sugar," a compilation of her work as the anonymous advice columnist for the literary website, "the Rumpus." She talks at one point about how all the things we may want to throw away: the shitty jobs, the in-betweenness, the mundane, are actually our becoming.
This is powerful for me now because I do not feel like I have "arrived," but I do feel like I have a very good life, and that is a beautiful thing. I keep coming back to this- to find a way to be present with uncertainty is to relish some of the best parts of life. The in-between is just as important as the arriving.
Steven and I realized the other day the we met a year ago and started dating. So, we went out and ate fried oysters and had pumpkin ricotta cheesecake, and we spent a day driving around the hill country looking for a state park, and when we found it we walked in the river and took pictures of the trees.
He came over the other morning and made pancakes, they had chocolate chips in them and there was orange juice and a little bouquet of purple and yellow flowers that is still sitting next to my bed.
I don't know where this canoe is headed, but it's been a great trip so far.
I will leave you with this quote by Bill Watterson, who is the creator of Calvin and Hobbes. This was part of a commencement speech he gave, and boy does it ring true. I think underneath it is an encouragement to DO THE WORK, and don't be so preoccupied with the possible results. For me this may mean writing- thinking about writing is not the same as writing. Do the work, every day, and in the meantime let your life be big and messy and quiet and small and imperfect and full.
" . . . It is worth recognizing that there is no such thing as an overnight success. You will do well to cultivate the resources in yourself that bring you happiness outside of success or failure. The truth is, most of us discover where we are headed when we arrive. At that time, we turn around and say, yes, this is obviously where I was going all along. It's a good idea to try and enjoy the scenery on the detours, because you will probably take a few." (Bill Watterson)
