It would appear like any other morning...any she's had for the last 1.5 years.

Waking to a quiet alarm, an internal alarm, the very best alarm.

Putting on a pot of boiling water, poaching two eggs for 3 minutes precisely,

sneaking a cup of Earl Grey from her saint's personal pot.

Showering, writing, cleaning, talking to friends, cooking, caring.

A leisurely existence, for sure...but still...a learned one.

To be home, to be one's own boss...

though amazing, ideal even,

it's a lesson to learn.

It might appear like any other afternoon...

watching an episode (of anything BBC) with him on his lunch break,

sneaking a snooze, chatting on the phone,

loading the dishwasher, planning dinner, sweeping the floor,

nesting.

But today, though likened indeed to many others

is unlike them underneath its surface.

A bookend

A creaking door

A gush of westerly wind

A costume change

Today was the last day she spent at home.

Fulltime work begins tomorrow.

A new adventure begins...the dread subsides...
and shifting into 5th gear
feels smooth and sexy.

But only after a completely ordinary day
unlike any other.

Here's the front room...I am just over the moon about that glass!

Turn left to face north, and you'll see these curtains covering a floor-to-ceiling window.  The light in this place is divine.

Do an about face to the south, and you'll enjoy a view of the mantel.
We are toying with placing the TV in the fireplace, but for now...it's just a jumbly mess.


Little Miss Octavia is settling in more quickly than expected...though she is an now a hybrid outdoor/indoor kitty, we'll keep her inside for a week and then she can start to explore outside.  She's been rather frisky because she usually exerts quite a bit of energy outside...but she's literally a caged cat. Well, not literally.  But kind of.


A lovely kitchen scape, one to replace my favorite part of the trailer.


And the other kitchen windows.
I guess they'll do.
[smirk]


The view of the light cascading onto the bed (and unpacked shiz)
from my bedroom.  It has another (two) window(s).
[double smirk]


Here's an example of what happens when a girl packs way too late at night...after working 8 hours...when that girl is unaccustomed to the energy necessary to work again.  She forgets how to spell some of her favorite things, and then proceeds to use proper proofreading symbols to correct it.  On the box.
Sidenote: Don't you think jewels and letters make such a dreamy combination?

Well, this week I am only working a few days...so I'll be unpacking, sitting in this cafe until our internet gets installed, and soaking up the last week of leisure before it's back to work full time next week.

I'll be keeping you posted on the house and the state of my soul as I attempt to put into practice all my self-care tools without the free time to spare.  I think it's entirely possible, but I admit that I am daily swimming in a pool of fear...

And it may be all the surprising and shocking transitions of 2010
(learning that anything can happen at a moment's notice)
but I feel as if I am standing over a trap door, gasping for one more breath with every inhale,
as if it will be my last chance before I plunge into an abyss
and the floor falls out under me.
It's a dread...something making me feel like another transition (good or bad) is just around the corner.
That good news will be reneged.
That bad news will reoccur.

I am grabbing blindly for anything to hold that won't come crashing down with me.
Call it paranoia, call it portent,
or call it self-fulfilling prophesy,
I am just noticing a continual need to remind myself to
breath, stare at light, and get plenty of rest.
Plus,
Milk Duds.

The end.

I've been kind of waiting for it to go away but since it's lingering, I suppose I shall extract it thus.  This aforementioned it is this gnawing, annoyingly cold-sore-like discontent that keeps distracting me from enjoying my life.  The little bits, the big bits, they both seem to be growing and swirling in the balloon-sized wine glass of my psyche...and the sulfites are giving me a headache.  Ensue rant:

Well, I've returned to snowy  Maple Valley after a 3 week hiatus wherein I gallivanted all along the West Coast.  After spending two glorious weeks with my niece Clara (and her parents, they're pretty great too, I guess), the saint flew down to join me in driving our new car back to Seattle from San Diego.   We expected horrible snow showers and icy conditions, but the weather couldn't have been better.  A peaceful trip indeed.

Thankfully we have friends and family all along the way so we didn't have to make the 23-hour drive in one straight shot.  We had such enjoyable times visiting people; I'm counting right now and we visited 7 homes and 30 people (12 of them kids) 6 dogs, and 4 cats.

So you can imagine that this introverted lady is soaking up the quiet familiarity of her home like the solitude-sponge she is.

After the 10-hour stint from Redding to Seattle yesterday, I arrived home sleepy and thankful.  I rested in the hottest of scalding baths, lighted a candle, and ate a tortilla with butter (I often eat while in the tub, it's so luxurious!).  I noticed that I was indeed spent in word count and thought-process, full well knowing that when required to extrovert myself, the fatigue manifests itself both in cerebral function and physical fatigue.  It feels like I've just ran a 10-mile race.

Now I've returned and am eager to catch up with those here in my home; also knowing that I will need some time to recapture my social stamina and here's the great part about all of this that hit me while I was in the bath...

I was hit with my limits and let down into rest, knowing that I could not call or see a single soul for a few days and two good feelings took over where before those feelings would have been self-deprecating and full of toxic bile.  I used to berate myself for my own limits, but in the last few years of care and growth, I noticed that I liked myself not only in spite of these frustrating limitations, but even because of them.  No one can be Candace like I can.  The other wonderful feeling is receiving words from friends that remind me to take my time settling in, to call only when I am ready, to reemerge on my own time.  So, I shall. 

And the magic keeps coming in the form of flurrying snow falling upon my country home.  What perfect timing.

Perhaps tonight I shall decorate the house with my Christmas baubles...

~crm

I've had a few thoughts on my mind lately...my usual sprinkling of questions to do with existence, relationship, and art.    Spurred by the intelligent lyrics of Neko Case, Dostoevsky, and a young Plath, I've come to realize how my routine here includes less writing than I am used to.  I suppose this could have a lot to do with settling in and all the creativity and soul required to listen to where the objects of your life want to be placed.

But it is also something that I suspected would happen out here...without people.  I did roughly 60% of my letter writing in cafes and restaurants, whereas here...I have yet to find a place.  I am sure this requires actually LOOKING for a place, but I am still in the needing towel-racks and "what the hell am i going to do with these window treatments" phase of life.  This, up until now, has been a justification for me ignoring my own soul.

Add guilt.  In order to make this time worth it, I feel as though I must find a use, a purpose, and true meaning.  Without this directed (read 8am to 5pm) purpose, I feel bathed in guilt.  There is some sort of firebrand scathing my ass to be thankful for all I have right now.  So many people are looking at my life with puppy-dog eyes...as they should!  I mean, it's really amazing right now.  I must admit the temptation to downplay it or justify it somehow...as if me struggling with it would make it easier for them to swallow or wanting to sometimes scream that I've had enough pain to last a lifetime so I somehow deserve it.  Both of these excuses would be a gross oversimplification of all the nuances and adjustments happening right now.   My husband is working his ass off to provide this life for me, and I do not take this for granted.  But I also somehow feel the need to explain to people that I am also working my ass off.  Like Plath, I am "forging a soul amidst great birth pangs" and how this takes a non-American, non-commercial, non-paying kind of work.  So I guess there is something inside me that thinks if I just feel guilty or downplay how wonderful my surroundings are or how well I take care of myself that will make it easier for other people to swallow.  I believe I can handle both the good feelings and the bad feelings of those I love, but I also know that god gives, god takes away.  What makes my life rich is comprised of my internal work, not my external circumstances.   How privileged I am to have the pleasure of that thought, a bliss reserved for a person whose basic needs are met.  This is an admonition to myself as well as to those of you finding envy and pity riding on your backs.

And oh, my surroundings!  Yesterday, while driving into town to do a Costco/Trader Joe's run, I spied a momma cow and a baby cow (going to google to look up the appropriate word) ahem CALF.  The calf was feeding and tucked just so into the mother's underbelly.  I almost died from the distraction (these country roads are curvy and unpredictable, like the best kind of woman), and I almost cried from sentiment and beauty.    I find myself gradually getting living in the city out of my system, finding new routines and activities that replace and heal the severing.  For instance, I've been a cooking machine!  In the city, it's far cheaper and easier to eat take-out 2 or 3 times/week.  Here, there is absolutely nothing convenient about it.

But what is convenient it a life of quiet study, endless reflection, a new-found enjoyment of social activities, the building of fires, the company of my saint, the planning and execution of meals, and the saunters through the wet forest floor.  I knew these things were far more necessary than take-out.

As well as my online community, I've been the happy recipient of your happy thoughts towards me and this new life.  This amazes me.  I dream of a time where you are around my hearth, sharing my tea, and knitting (because you all knit in my mind, of course).

Thankfully,

crm

The purpose of my most recent Redding trip was to finally be a part of my best friend Jackie's delivery of child number three. I haven't been able to be there for the other two children (missed the last one by a DAY), so I took advantage of my flexible situation and went down for the two weeks right around her due date. We were hoping that fate would be on our side so I could be a part of it.

It's magical; divinity sure pulled a rabbit out of a hat with this one. And boy, after Levi came, it was the hardest thing in the world to get back on that plane. I have always had a serious case of baby fever (NOT parent fever, sadly), and this only made it soooo.much.worse. He's my new favorite 5 day old.

There was talk about me extending my plane ticket, but alas, the saint and I had made a huge decision right before I left for the trip, and I needed to get back to execute the plans. We have decided to move to the country. It's a rather long story, but Joel will be working from home next month and we do not have enough room in our little city-cave to accommodate the both of us here. Not only that, but in order to maintain my stay-at-homeness, we needed a cheaper place. These are the practical reasons.

The soulful reasons, and the vastly more important to me are these: We are slow-pokey souls. We want a simpler life, a quieter life, a more intentional life. In order to do this, we need to unbury ourselves from the debt of our early 20s. We need to be in the forest. We need space to spread our wings and test our courage in flight. We need to be closer to his parents.

The move happens this next weekend - so this week is me packing and taking trips out there. We've already spent more time in the car this week than we probably have all year. So there you have it, we will be upgrading Chateau Bookling into Bookling Manor.

Right around my birthday, I posted a 12-month challenge blog. The first month's challenge was to stick to my budget. Well, all I'm going to say about that is that I tried really, really, really hard. And though I wasn't entirely successful, it was remarkable how just even paying acute attention to it made me spend less. August came and went and I never got to report or tell you what September's challenge was. Well, I decided that September's challenge was moving to the country.

Dears, I hope that you put goals in place as a guideline for yourselves and not a binding contract. I am learning to give myself a WHOLE lot of room in this way...even to boast to the world that "I AM RUNNING FOR 5 HOURS A DAY" and then not doing it if it turns out that it wasn't a goal I could keep, or didn't want to keep...or whatever. Needless to say, I am not the kind of person that will ever become a body-builder or have drive to accomplish something with unwavering focus, but I tell you, I AM the kind of person that can extend myself the amount of graciousness that I can extend to those I love - and that is a rare gift.

You may have noticed a theme around these parts lately. I've been somewhat obsessed with the idea of becoming a "real woman." In the last year, I sewed my own my own dress, learned to make jam and pies, and shot guns. Though I've joked about these things being the crux of my coming of age, I realize that I've treated something rather intentional and meaningful in a cavalier manner.

Lemme s'plain.

One of the ways I've learned to be kinder to myself in the last few years is in self-definition.

In a home where there is X amount of love and Y amount of kids fighting for X amount, a child will do anything to stand out, to form her own identity. A child becomes the "smart" or the "athletic" one; she'll be named the "outgoing" one or the "stubborn" one. These labels are not put there maliciously, but they do indeed stick. We are taught from an early age to focus on one goal, to decide who we will be well before our soul's reveal their essence, be this one person so that we are easy to figure out, easy to handle, easy to love.

I looked at my soul carefully, turning over the rocks, inspecting the bugs. Turns out I had a concrete box poured around the garden of my identity. This box was suffocating my roots and killing off the new growth. For example, I used to hate pink just to hate pink, I used to be so serious because immature behavior was irritating. I never wanted to fit into any status-quo of womanhood so I decided that I don't wear short skirts, I don't draw hearts, and I'd never be caught dead doing something as boring as staring at a flower or using my imagination. Granted, I also didn't do some of these things because they simply did not interest me at the time, but I realize that if I had continued on a path that did not allow for my interests to change, my soul would be stuck. Hell, I was so cut off from my natural desires that I wouldn't even know which new things I would want to try. My opinion about them would have been formed well before I had experienced it.

And that's my point. Why do we form opinions about things we know very little about? Perhaps it's fear that breeds the desire to squelch that which we do not understand with petty definitions and wounded resentment for an identity we couldn't have because someone else already claimed that label.


I hated pink, so as an experiment, I wore pink fingernail polish for months. It made me laugh all month because of the frivolous joy of being a little girl. Turns out that I actually don't like pink after all, but at least I know that it's because of my natural taste, not bull-shit labeling.

I thought I found sewing and baking boring. So, I decided to delve into it...break some needles, get my prissy hands dirty with dough! Turns out that I love to create, but was SO PARALYZED that I would look stupid in the attempt or that the product would dash my hopes and leave me with a big pill of disappointment to swallow, that I had convinced myself that I was in no way an artist. But I am an artist. I never thought that a pie would show me that more clearly than my writing or my photographs.

I was scared to shoot a gun at first...which is totally typically girly I guess. But because I was in touch with how I felt on the subject ("Hello, anxiety and nerves. Hmmm, you must be scared to shoot off your big toe. This makes perfect sense! Let's be scared"), I was able to stop using every little thing to define myself. Here's the way it sounded in my head,

"Am I the kind of girl that enjoys shooting guns because I want to appear bad-ass to the men in my life? If that is the case, why should it be about how they perceive me rather than what I actually enjoy doing? And what the hell do I actually enjoy doing, after all? Will the other females think I am doing this to just get attention? Am I doing this to get attention? Is that bad? Why is that bad?"

OR

OR DING DING DING

"I'd like to explore shooting more. I think I started liking because it's a natural curiosity born from being a cop's daughter. Also, I am a voracious learner and enjoy the intimacy of sharing else's hobbies. I'll spend time with this person who can educate me on how to shoot AND enjoy myself in the process. I will be concerned only with what I think of myself and not drown that voice out with the PERCEIVED opinions that others have about me. Also, I like guns because I DO feel empowered, bad-ass, and sexy."

Yes. I vote for the third option.

But let me tell you, all of this filtering takes an awful lot of work. Many find it an exhausting trait in me; many find it an inspiration. This is not important, and truthfully, I wish I didn't know either way, for everyone is easily-influenced to some degree...and I don't want to be doing it for anyone else but me.

And there you have it. CRM version 9.15.09. This is by no means an exhaustive definition of Candace. Perhaps tomorrow she'll will learn to love brussel sprouts and all of a sudden despise Prada (GOD FORBID!).