More tales from a small island

Yesterday I walked into and exam room to check a patient for one of my students. I introduced myself. The blonde girl in the exam chair said, "We've met before on a bus a long time ago." I looked at her and thought she looked vaguely familiar, then it clicked. In late January, I was waiting to ride the bus home from the main university campus when I ran into her with her girlfriend. She'd cut her finger and was bleeding quite badly and also had a clotting disorder (which I don't know if I knew at the time). They were taking the bus to the hospital and were panicking and talking about 100 miles a minute. I told her to apply pressure and keep her hand elevated. We talked the whole bus ride until they got off at the hospital. Who'd think I'd run into her again? So better be nice to all those "strangers" you meet!

In other news, I think I've finally hit my groove here. Or something. I had about a week or two of sleeping 10 hours a night (was starting to wonder if I was a bear going into hibernation) but I think it was just regeneration. We've moved into a very cold spell, which means I see my breath outside. If I don't get my space heater going way before I get home, my place is a giant refrigeration unit. When the temperature first dropped, I had to sleep with my hat on. New Zealand doesn't have insulation or heating in their homes, so I have a little unit that's plugged in to heat my entire place. Recently in the news here, they said the number of deaths is much higher during the four months of winter and they think it could be reduced by improving insulation and heating. You think?

I also advised the university this week that I would not be staying beyond this year. Financially, I cannot reconcile the pay and working hours. But also mentally, I don't think I would achieve much more by staying and I don't want to stay in New Zealand long term. One year of living as a student is fine, but not a lifetime of it.

So next year I will be travelling and volunteering around the globe. I'm open to itinerary advice. If anyone would like to meet up somewhere in the world, let me know - it would be lovely. Tentatively, I would like to start in SE Asia, do a month of volunteering in Ghana at a cataract center and then I am not sure--- I also think I will try to do some Woofing- which is Willing Workers on Organic Farms. It's something I'd like to learn about so when we start our family compound in Montana, I can help with the horticultural end of things!

To Her Eyes

(Written for a wager)

And when I said your eyes were always bright

I knew that I said nothing new, but I

Meant it myself for the first time. Yes, all right, 

Your mirror told you too: we both can't lie.

All light lies there (what if it doubly lies?)

And there your eyes, speakingly looking on me

In love's concern and sometimes in surprise,

Found me, though wanting, wanted explicitly.

I can but trust your eye that trust in me,

I can but answer back a candid blue, 

Foolish perhaps, trusting that we maybe be

Loving again tomorrow- again, nothing new. 

What's more to say with the now's flattering breath

Than testify in these words transient faith?

Denis Glover

This guy's from Wisconsin!

What does life mean to you? (in 500 words or less)

I was reading "Roses are Red" an anthology of Portland writing and it posed the question, "What does Portland mean to you?" I was walking today around Auckland thinking about it- seems like an interesting question, but then I thought why not substitute life instead? So here goes.

If I go way back, life was building an igloo in the driveway with my dad in Manitowac and hauling in wood when I was the only child. It's the anticipation of my sister Carrie coming into the world and later sharing a bed with her even though she had her own bed in her own room. Mom's pudding in the four matching dishes on the counter in the corner of the kitchen waiting for us to finish dinner. Dad building our table and chairs in the garage out of plywood and mom painting them up. It's mom and dad running up and down the stairs with squirt guns and dad tickling mom on the bed upstairs. Later, after we'd moved to Alexandria, the four of us shared the secret of Molly in mom's belly before anyone else could know. Then she came into the world, all dark haired and beautiful and yellow. Mom and dad said we were a "full house".

Seven months later, I learned that we weren't going to go on forever like "Little House on the Prairie" as I'd thought. It was 10 years wishing my dad would come back alive. After watching the Challenger blow up in fourth grade, I felt the loss for Christa McAuliffe's daughter and son. Then telling my friends that we were moving. I didn't want to leave Minnesota.

Our new hometown came out of the magic valley, Minot, the metropolis with a real shopping mall, even though the stores weren't open on Sunday yet. I was shy and didn't want to tell my story. At 16, I admitted to the world that my dad was dead. But I ran away from it to the locker room in the basement of Bishop Ryan after they read his name out loud on All Soul's Day, also the anniversary of his death.

I headed off to UND with a fully loaded Buick Century and was completely enthralled with university life. UND was the greatest time- learning there was like eating candy. Meeting new people, proving myself to my physics professor, walking through the North Dakota art museum. Young love by the coulee. The grand finale was sandbagging until Grand Forks was under water, then leaving at 3AM back to Minot and waking the next day to the downtown burning down.

The next fall, I headed off alone for Portland, this time with the Chevy Lumina and my bike strapped to the back. Homesickness and confusion visited me. I came home at Christmas and didn't want to return. But I did. Life became tests and dress-up parties. Learning to live off ramen, frozen peas and eggs. Roasting marshmallows under the broiler with Lourdes. Walking in the rain. Riding my bike to school. Graduating without pride.

Then moving to my first apartment in the west hills of Portland and starting my first real job at Kaiser. Feeling nervous about signing a contract with a 90-day notice. Walking to Susan's house for berry pie. Loving someone and then letting the dream go.

Buying my first house, then working night and day to make it "me." Carrie arriving at my door on December 17th with my mom. Feeling helpless as she put her life back together. Learning to love Oatie. Then moving to Auckland after selling most of my belongings and renting out my house.

Life is the passage of time. Walking. Talking. Reading. Looking at the sky through the skylights in my little space. Laughing with Ursula as we impersonate colleagues in our office. Singing in my blue shower. Hoping for the best.

Questions

Someone asked me, "If the move to New Zealand were looked at symbolically, what would it say about the inner journey?" So I wrote it into my journal.

I guess this move is about change, rethinking what's important. Rethinking life. Shedding materialism. Creating space to be. Seeing who I am. Understanding the world. Accepting life.

This week, the week after Jim died, life seems very still.

I wonder when life is going to have real meaning. Did I move here for real meaning? Probably I hoped I would find it. But moving isn't going to bring meaning to life. Life is meaning. Just living is meaning. Isn't it?

Moving to New Zealand has allowed me to shed some of my peripheral layers and see the world more clearly. I guess that's good.