Them

After over a year here in Reedsville, WV, I finally ran into an unsettling moment, much anticipated but never experienced up until now. I've been, of course, unpacking it ever since. 
I was getting my hair cut, which meant not some hip place on Capitol Hill where no one noticed me but one where ladies' hair gets puffed up real high and sprayed into oblivion. My neighbors -- who are gay women! On a four-house road we are 50%! -- had recommended this place and by god they were right. I got the best hair cut I've had in years and was charged, no this is not a typo: $15. Must be more when you add hairspray. 

But this time our favorite stylist was out on maternity leave so I got the shop's owner. Within a few minutes the air was aflutter with F bombs and bold statements, delivered with the confidence of one who knows it's her shop. 

The guy she was talking to was shaking his head, ranting about somebody who had unfriended him on Facebook, and I paid no attention until I heard: "He called me a racist!" 

I immediately became aware of being trapped in my chair with someone messing literally with my head, and began to brace myself, hoping it didn't go there. It did. I never heard what he actually did to deserve the title but it was a big fight, with a former friend, and while of course he objected to the epithet, what I can't forget is his face. 

He looked completely stricken. 

He said, in disbelief, "and he hates Trump." He appeared to be completely baffled by both being called a racist and that someone could hate Trump.

I waited, aware of my body stiffening and hoping my mouth didn't open for any reason, but also getting a little freaked that I could get so scared just sitting in a hair salon with people just talking.

I keep thinking about that look. Of all the looks I thought I'd see on a real live possible racist, hurt, scared and baffled were not among them.  

He's four.

I can't believe how slow my processing has been because not only do I have a firm belief system but it is built on layers and layers and layers of assumptions that have gone unquestioned probably since my birth.
So the first piece I got was that "racist" is a really strong word. What does it mean exactly? It's huge. It has such a broad and deep spectrum. I've spent so many years exploring the subtlety of north and west coast racism. How insidious and institutional it is, all with a liberal presentation that says all the right things and votes all the ways. And yet so much is right there to see: plain and simple racism. But after you hurl the word then what? Scream it at each other? I mean, what is the goal?

It's very hard to see that look of hurt and not want to do something different. Surely there is something to work with there.

Parts of West Virginia changed hands between North and South during the civil war over 50 times. It depends on who you ask whether the state is The South or The North. As usual, and they are proud of this, it is not one thing but many things. Things that don't fit in a neat straight line; just take a look at the shape of the state itself on a map. 

But other things are hugely important: being nice, giving your kids the best you can, taking care of your family and neighbors, and keeping The Man out of your business. This last part has made me feel so much more comfortable than I ever though I'd be. Keeping out of someone's business is a very difficult thing. Not relying on passive aggressive jabs and "helpful suggestions" and notes left on doors and on and on. What if you just let a barking dog bark? What if someone's car is in the road? What if that stop sign fell down 5 months ago and no one put it back? What if the sign fell down and someone finally did put it back up, only 3 feet lower? What if the hose from the spring that provides so much beautiful, pure water fell into the mud? You come back in a month and someone has fixed it. No government around to be seen or see you.

So it comes down to something like: you may be queers but you're our queers and we'll look out for you, too. We've interacted as a "we" with all kinds of people, every one of them nice and polite and friendly. The hostess at our favorite restaurant calls us "you two" or "ladies" and always seats us at a booth. Her hair is piled up to there and never moves.

So anyway I went looking online for "how to talk to a Trump supporter" but all I found was vicious, hateful rhetoric that looked like it came from Fox news. Yet it was CNN, Slate, HuffPo, etc. There was not one article that suggested how to find common ground, what to do if you get baited, how to not bait, and all the other pitfalls that comprise the polarization that has become the new normal. (Btw, Yes Magazine's latest issue addresses exactly this; I highly recommend it.)

Reading the hate-fueled crap produced by "my own side" caused a small implosion. I was ashamed. And again, realized I had never even listened to anyone about why they thought Trump was a good option. Not really. 

So I started to. Freed from having to argue or convince, I started listening in on a lot of conversations. And all I heard were painful stories of being left behind, made fun of, misunderstood, and more saliently, colonized. Ripped off. Used. Adding insult to injury, one of colonization's best weapons is to demonize the people you're ripping off, the better to justify the crime. Stop me if you've heard this before.

The coal legacy here is deep but there is a distinction between coal miners and the coal industry. There are so many people "all buggered up" as Ann would say, from industrial accidents and lack of health insurance. Kicked out when they can't work anymore, not compensated for loss of limb and life. And then on top of it, made fun of. The money goes straight out of state. 

It has all left me confused. 
And grateful.
And more open minded.
And humble.
And protective. 

Local marching band competition..

I do like things complicated, as much as I often search to make them simple. So I have plenty of things to chew on. And I keep wanting to share them with you, my nearest and dearest and newest. So:

Folks here go to their kids' high school marching band competitions. No matter what. 
Haul people's cars out of the mud.
Rescue animals.
Hunt animals.
Buy really cheap bad food that makes them fat and sick.

Loyal parents

Transport goats in cars.
Attack drag queens. 
Raise hundreds of thousands of dollars for the same drag queens.
Pull off the biggest teacher's strike in the history of the country. 
Own a lot of guns but have THE LOWEST crime rate in the country. 

Confusing.

Goat yoga at the local Arthurdale Heritage Inc, the town founded by Eleanor Roosevelt on a tip from her LOVER Lorena Hickok.

I intend to keep it complicated, or at least not succumb to simplifying. 

Goat transport

Look at those hills

PD Pancake

Birdfeeder season

Since I last wrote I don't think we'd gotten PD. She would be classified as a Helper by a cat shelter. She is into everything and LOVES being inside, a good thing, because for the first time in my life I am insisting on an indoor cat. Her last name is actually Sullivan or Sullicake but you can't beat PD Pancake. 

She loves her Mica

Cabin

It's finally finished! What was supposed to be just a little ol' tiny house became a local contractor's project and we have one solid little cabin!
Fully insulated, better shower than the one in the house, a comfy chair and a full table to write on, a kitchen and fridge and best of all, a lovely front porch!

Before

During

I should have stood someone next to this unearthed stone. It's huge and can only be moved with a bulldozer. 

Big damage to the lodge space, very disheartening.
So Ann painstakingly reseeded it and slathered on hay.

Ready for you to come visit! 

We're here!

Hi folks,

Photo by Elea Carey

We have landed safely. We are so happy but also exhausted. So the writing will not be great but hopefully evocative. I'm sorry I am not writing individual hellos, I just want to catch you up on the general stuff and then will start checking in.

Ann took off with Bodie and met up with her friend Elea a week ahead of Caitlin and Sailor. While Bodie was a great traveler she was unable to go many places as it was too hot to leave him in the car.



Hence, his utter relief at having his own fenced yard and own cool concrete slab to lie on.

.

















So far, he lies on that much of the time when he's not romping through the fields

Sailor escaped the night before he and I were to fly out. His calming drugs turned him into a maniac. Hence any of you neighbors who heard me calling him from 3 to 4 to 5 to 5:30 when he finally came home, forgive me.

We caught another flight a few hours later and he was largely a good kitty as he eventually realized he was destined to lockup forever in his little kennel without ever seeing the sun again.

He peed twice, but fortunately I had pee pads and my friend Diane advised making a stack of them which I just removed as needed. Smart!




The house is beyond expectations. You may recall we bought it without my ever having seen it before. It feels much like our Seattle house but with two extra rooms and a huge
huge
huge
yard.
Field. Four acres. A big honkin plot of land.

It has its own racetrack and hoceka. We could have our own Dance there!

First meal at home.

We've just learned the truck won't get here till Friday. That means camping some more which is tricky but we're getting used to it. Who brings a card table in her trunk on a cross country trip? Ann Pancake.

We have been to Walmart four times, three times more than I've ever been in my life.



Sailor can't go outside till at least tomorrow. I think he will come back but I know I can't keep him in, that's our agreement for him coming back.

We are checking each other for ticks.

We slept in about an hour just lying in stunned silence touching feet. We made it babe, was the gist of the conversation.

We have not been to Dairy Queen yet.

When a chip reader did not respond, the disgusted clerk said "did it just froze again?

We have a barn and a root cellar and a riding mower.

Okay, here's the most important part. It is a quiet bred of absolutely real living. Yes there are cars going up the road but you hear each of them at a time, no steady droning. The birds are loud and boisterous and happy in the morning. They are free to be.
The air is very fresh and if you get hot you open a window and it immediately cools. There is green everywhere, from trees to grass to bushes.

People are incredibly friendly. It is calm. I feel my shoulders unhunching

Taking over the one surface....

View from the house

Shitake mushroom growing thing

W 

I am going to lie there most of the day tomorrow. 

Still our field.

Where would you look for a light for this hallway? If you said inside the closet you'd be right...

Original coal chute!

View from the field.

House on left, root cellar in the middle, barn on right. 

Daisies Ann had waiting in a cup for me. 

View as you do the dishes.

Sailor freaking out again. 

We miss you. Come see us. 

Change is bad! Change is bad!

Having lived with cats all my life I was quite surprised to learn how much dogs love routine. Cats love routine as well of course but they're usually the ones to create it and then cause you, with mind control, to perform it. Unless of course they don't like it anymore and stop suddenly, leaving you to feel like the fool they know you to be.
But dogs' routine is practically choreographed; they can literally trip you up if you change the sequence of the food and the water bowl in the morning. They might even spend a second or two looking confused, perhaps staring at you compassionately to see what is wrong with you.
The last few mornings in the Sullicake household there was big clinging from both pets. We couldn't figure it out. Had there been a loud explosion while we were gone? Had we been neglectful in our hourly ministrations throughout the day? Was it perhaps an impending disaster only they could sense?
Nothing so dramatic but nonetheless disturbing.
One of us had been having trouble sleeping, and so was lying abed while the other got up and did the morning ritual alone.
But it was not the same! It was different! It was bad!
And so, to mitigate the disaster, we began re-enacting the morning ritual when the other person got up. 
Clinginess stopped. 
Part of me says oh good lord. Another is secretly pleased that our ritual means so much to them.
So here it is, our morning ritual.
Morning alarm. A stirring from all beings but Elder Cat.
Snooze button.
Second alarm. Bodie sits up, listening for stirring. There is none. He lies back down.
Humans lie in bed talking. If this goes on too long Bodie puts his front paws on the bed, which we think is cute but try to discourage. Wonder why he keeps doing it.
Finally one of us says "Ready?" and all creatures move into motion to the Staging Area.
This is where the humans sit down on the rug and pet and pet and pet the animals. You're probably beginning to see why clinginess happens if this step is skipped.
Bodie does Paw and Dimitri does drive-by head-butts and if Bodie is particularly happy, such as after Ann has been gone on a long trip, he will do roo-roo-roo to the ceiling and then we all get up and move to the kitchen where the exact same meal as yesterday is prepared and served into one large bowl and one tiny bowl respectively.

If only one of us does all this and then the other finally gets up, even if the pets have had breakfast, we must return to the Staging Area for petting.
There is one alteration that is welcome, however, which is new treats. Change is good!

How about you, what are your morning rituals and who created them? 

Elllen! Ellen! Ellen!

http://www.wimp.com/animalvoiceovers/

I am breaking my own rule about making fun of animals because well, I can't get the squirrel and a few others out of my mind.
Forgive me, my friends (you people ones, too).

(Thanks to Barb O for the link)

Sport balls replaced with cats

I know it's silly.
I know.
Still.

Carried

Anyone who knows me has had to listen to my rants against technology, despite my making my living with it. But a recent flu helped me nail down what exactly I object to most. The insistence on the binary. Computers are so literal. Most of us grew up hearing stories of how machines would take over, becoming smarter than us. What's become apparent is that we are simply growing more to think like machines, in the binary, no shades of grey. What makes us human-animal. We get impatient when we can't get an answer right now, or the answer isn't definitive. No need for machines to take over, we're almost them. Human-machine.

I was astonished by how much the flu laid me down. As with everyone else who got it, it seemed to work with whatever they were prone to, a customized presence in the body that stayed for a brutal three days or so, then left slowly, reluctantly. Every time I'd try to get up, I'd have to lie down again, and wake up a few hours later wondering what had happened and where the day had gone.

Of course, this was completely excellent for the pets. Yes! A human lying down all day. For 17-year old Dimitri, it meant a full body of places to rest, from chest to feet. For 14-month old Bodie the pup, it meant many opportunities for surprise licks (dead sleep to wide awake via tongue is a very favorite sport).

But at some point, when I was at my sickest, they stationed themselves in a perfect harmonic convergence, one small old one at my feet, one large young one at my head. I was vaguely aware of sighs and then nestlings, and a large paw draped over my own sticking out from beneath the covers. There was a deep stillness, and I slept as if carried on pillows by animals, through a gentle path that ultimately let me back to health. 

The crux of it was the floating, then rising, then licking, petting, more floating, gazing, then deep sleeping. All nuances with no edges, all without any "parameters," "settings," or "end date."  Just drifting. A guest in the house of animal.

Deepening

For this little tangent you will need: the image of an animal stretching. That deep, amazing full-body elongation. Every toe on every paw, eyes closed shut in the overwhelming pleasure of it, completely lengthening, tail out, ears up or flat, and just when you are marveling at how pleasurable the whole thing looks, they reach out just a bit more, maybe arch their backs and go flat out, or spread everything so wide you can see every little hair stand up and get completely involved. And then a quick tuck into a spiral, they are ready for the grand finale--a nap. Just watching them makes you want to stretch and maybe you even do. So:

I had been coordinating a bunch of logistics including taking care of someone who needed help at every step. I was anxious as hell, fretting over getting to the right spot, directions in hand, the person in place, chatting easily as if nothing were fraught, racing because for once I was a little late and might actually miss getting the person to the next caretaker. As I raced I noticed there was almost no gas in the car. The little light had even come on. With all the anxiety around the whole scene I knew this was like the final, dumb sitcom joke but still I let myself get completely floored by the possibility that I would not only run out of gas but would make my friend miss her ride. 

Two seconds later it was over; I found the site, the ride was still there, and out of the parking lot I tore, still racing. Out of sheer habit. 

Of course there was a gas station right down the next block. And of course plastered all over its pumps were out of order signs. 

I jammed the gas pedal (for some reason when I'm lost or out of gas I actually drive faster, which is several shades of stupid) and raced down the next block. There, in full corporate glory was a bigass gas station, with 10 pumps to choose from. I filled up and headed back down the road, flipping on the radio. Some perfect song played and I realized I hadn't been breathing normally for probably hours. I slowed down. Inhaled a huge breath. Took stock of all the logistics of the last half hour and realized I had done every one of them.

But instead of being saturated with relief I had hurriedly started a new list, the next hour's list, the endless list. And not just of tasks, but of things to worry about. Most not under my control. The voice known as the-one-that-I-wish-would-come-more-often said, slow down, take a minute and bask in this.

So I did. It was spring and the sun was truly out, the air so sweet I could almost feel it suffusing my cells. My body began to relax and I thought of those animals stretching, how they do it with every corpuscle involved. So I did that with every thought and sensation of that moment only. And everything that had already been wonderful simply got better, like when you stretch. Oxygen and blood flooded the body of my mind until it expanded into pure pleasure. I lingered, amazed that while it felt fantastic, the longer I stayed, stretching into it, it kept getting even better. I realized that right there in the car I was getting high. With merely an orientation.

Later when I thought of this marvelous moment I pondered how when something terrible happens it's seared into your body and your memory. That's partly why it's so terrible. You never forget it, you remember every part of it, how your body felt, what you were thinking or doing, where you were. Because you stay with it, and it deepens. But not so the great moments, at least not so much with adults. I realized I had done that instinctively, had seared the pleasure right into my body. Like animals do. Why we love to watch them do that so much. I find myself waiting now for just an ordinary, good moment, so I can try it again.

(Please visit this site for more pictures by this wonderful photographer.)