All's well in the land of Denmark

So... it looks like HSBC has finally gotten its facts straight. This week, I received a letter confirming the Robert Osborne agreement. Which is a good thing, since I found some folks to rent the house to, who seem like the type to actually take care of it (unlike the last tenant disaster). Also a good thing.

I also finally finished building the main database for my work. FileMaker Pro is fairly user-friendly, if a bit tedious. I am, by no means, an expert; but I do feel like I'm becoming marginally competent. I tried reading the manual first, but talk about mind-numbing. Instead, I just dove in and used the manual as I hit road-blocks. Clearly, I'm a learn-by-doing kind of girl. I just hope that it turns out better than my first memory of learning-by-doing:

When I was a little girl and it was just my mom and I living in a trailer in rural southeast Arizona, mom was doing some weeding and ended up disrupting a fire ant nest. She had to go inside rather quickly, but told me in no uncertain terms to stay away from the ants, or I'd get hurt.

I smiled. I nodded. And as soon as the door closed behind my mom, I squared my shoulders, hunkered down and pedaled my Big Wheel as hard as I could, determined to destroy the invaders.

Helas, I woefully underestimated the enemy and before long my mom had ran outside, swooped me up and all but hurled me into the tub, where she ran the shower on me - fully-clothed - until not a single ant remained.

Hopefully my FileMaker Pro interlude will end on a better, less painful note.

The dissertation is still a work in progress, but at least, this week, I felt like I was making some really good progress. I changed my sleep/work pattern, to relatively good success:

• I go to work from 8:30-5:30/6;
  
• stop by the garden to harvest greens, cukes, eggplant and/or squash (and let me say, I don't know WHAT I was thinking when I planted two zucchini plants, spaghetti squash, butternut squash, acorn squash, summer squash and TWO pumpkin plants);
  
• go home for dinner and phone calls;
  
• then to bed by 7:30 or 8 for a two-hour nap;
  
• followed by two or three hours of late night dissertating, before heading to bed for 6 hours of sleep.

It sounds insane when I write it out, but it works. Fridays are my dissertation days, when I don't go in to the office. Most days, it's a combination of dissertation and household chores, but yesterday it was sweltering misery all-around, since it was 84 degrees inside the house, triple-digits outside the house and my roommate has a strong antipathy to air conditioning at home (have I mentioned his room is for rent?). Needless to say, yesterday sucked. And both today and Sunday will be in the triple-digits. Yay. My roommate and I may well have to have a chat about that air conditioning attitude.

Well, gotta go: chapters to tweak, cold showers to take, and all that. But before I go, I must share the one thing that tore me up this week:

Hamlet on Facebook (courtesy of the folks at McSweeney's)

This is just...too...funny!! It is, IMHO, funnier than Long, Singer and Winfield's "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged)" (1, 2, 3, 4)

Beyond Fear and Longing: On Burning Barns and New Moons

I bought a card yesterday, with a haiku by Masahide:

Barn's burned down,

now I can see the moon.

That pretty much sums up my life right now.

This Friday, will mark the third year of my life in Washington. I came here for work: the opportunity to teach in an innovative program and develop my teaching portfolio around themes of social justice, multicultural American literature and research writing. That it didn't really turn out to be as glorious as suggested has already been discussed in my other, password-protected blog and can certainly be gleaned from my angst-laden post below.

I stayed in Tacoma, trying to make my first house into my first home, and stumbling through that minefield called, "Love," hoping to find someone with whom to settle down and share a life and family. Family was threatened by my two-year saga with the cantaloupe-sized fibroid tumor, which made my uterus look like that turkey Monica had stuck to her head in that episode of Friends (even though, my ute was actually about the size of a roasting chicken). Love ... was not particularly loving. And, I almost lost my house.

Which brings me to the last five months.

My post on February 9th really did tempt The Fates, or reminded God that there were still more fun and fabulous ways of making a "testimony" out of me (to use my mom's word). I've generally kept the resulting grief either to myself, or saved it for occasional venting with my mom, friends, select colleagues, or my (now ex?) boyfriend.

But I googled myself recently and found that proof of my latest and greatest shame has been posted online, and so, I decided, what the hell, let's come clean.

But to do that, I must recap the "lowlights" beginning in May 2007.

• First myomectomy in May - unsuccessful, with a $200 copay
  
• Contract ends with my previous employer in June 2007, and despite applying to over 50 positions, I received no interviews
• Spent the summer on unemployment, while enduring medically-induced menopause, 3 medical trips to Spokane (the third for my second surgery), and receiving assistance from my mom to cover my COBRA insurance because my roommate/tenant moved out when he found a cheaper place to live closer to work
• The night I returned from my second surgery, some pricks crashed a stolen car into my property, destroying a large section of the cedar privacy fence and ripping open my cat's chest
• I drained my retirement account in early Fall to get caught up on mortgage payments and help pay fees for what I'd hoped would be my last year as an A.B.D.
• My cat was shot in the leg in October, as she sat in our front yard, during a spate of cat shootings in Tacoma
  
• I tried to set up a Debt Management Plan in November, but was told that I made so little that the best option was to file bankruptcy. I didn't. I just began applying to jobs out of state.
  
• My previous employers failed to communicate changes in my paydates, due to changes in my contract status, and paid me late, resulting in some additional late fees for me. I ended up making just over $900 in the month of January.

So, when the opportunity to join my current employers presented itself, I leapt at it. It was an AMAZING breath of fresh air... potentially the moon to my burnt barn... and it presented the opportunity to give back to a program that gave a lot to me when I was an undergrad.

That was supposed to be my happy ending. And I think, in some ways it is and will continue to be, but unfortunately, that barn blaze has been ... like ... a ten-alarm fire ... and it just ... won't ... die.

The day I moved to my new town, in fact, while I was unpacking the moving truck (my new employers paid to relocate me!), I was ambushed by an irate realtor who accused me of squatting. I showed her the lease agreement I signed with a guy who went by the name "Mark Stephens" and she scoffed, saying she knew the guy, but that he was a shyster who bilked the true owner of the house out of thousands and that, as a result, the house was in foreclosure and I would have to leave. That explained the good deal I got on the house, though since I was going to help the shyster develop that property and the one next door as retreat centers, I hadn't felt that it was that big of a bargain. No matter. It was a fraud. And his real name isn't even Mark Stephens.

Meanwhile, as I only had two weeks to relocate for work, I tried to find someone to whom to rent my house, who would also help me finish a few projects around the house. I interviewed a few folks, and settled on a guy, R.E.L. who had good references, a solid grasp on the mechanics necessary to complete the jobs, and he was old friends with a neighbor, whom I hold in very high regard.

It turns out, he completely misrepresented his financial situation and not only did he fail to pay his rent on time (i.e. paying in the middle of the month, rather than at the beginning, as he agreed to), but near the end of our five month entanglement, he didn't pay rent or utilities AT ALL. Dealing with R.E.L., was a nightmare, made trickier by the two-hour drive between us! Especially since, at the same time, I had to deal with my mortgage company and needed R.E.L.'s money in a timely manner, in order to save my house.

Three days after I moved to the Shyster House, I met a counselor to set up a debt management plan. This time, I made enough money to insure that I wouldn't have to file bankruptcy and we started the process of contacting my creditors to set up the plan. Unfortunately, the next week, I received paperwork from HSBC, my mortgage holder, saying it was beginning foreclosure actions against my home. Needless to say, I freaked out.

I knew I was behind, and had kept HSBC in the loop all along about what was going on. But, with my new position, I was clearly in a position now to do something about it. So I called HSBC and instead of finding a customer service agent who actually wanted to help, I found a jerk, Daniel Surls, who balked at restructuring my loan, said that if I put the house on the market I would still be liable for the prepayment penalty, and claimed that the only way I would be able to save my house would be to pay about $8000 in attorney fees and back payments by the end of March. I told him that I wouldn't receive a full paycheck from my new employers until March 25th, and that I'd received only $900 from my previous employer in January and about $1700 in February, but would net over $4000 a month starting in April.

Could we please set up a payment plan? No. If you can't pay the $8000, then we could possibly make something work for $4000. If I had $4000 lying around, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Can I resume paying the mortgage, until we resolve the situation with the back payments? No, we'll return the payments. Can I pay the attorney fees, since they're about $1900 and have the back payments tacked onto the loan? No. Well, then could I do a Deed-In-Lieu of Foreclosure, since it was one of the options listed on the letter you sent me? No, those are illegal in the state of Washington. So then I got pissed. Why was it listed as one of the options available to me if it is ILLEGAL? I don't know. So what can I do if you don't help me?! First, we don't have to help you. You knew you had to pay when you took out the mortgage and the only way we can make something work is when you pay the attorney fees and back payments. Then I got REALLY pissed. I didn't choose not to pay. My life fell apart and I couldn't pay. I've explained this repeatedly over the last months, I've even offered to provide the police reports and medical records. How DARE you suggest that I CHOSE this!

Probably not the most productive response, but definitely merited. At this point, I decided not to bother with them anymore. My debt management planner is a HUD-authorized representative, so, I decided to let her deal with HSBC. And she tried. But the customer service dude she contacted, Robert Osborne, gave her the run-around and insisted that she have me call back and ask for him. So I did... or at least I tried to. As one customer (dis)service agent informed me, HSBC is a multinational corporation and I can't expect to simply ask for someone by name; I need his extension number. Apparently, HSBC is too big to have a functioning company directory. Or maybe not, because when I called back, I spoke to a database-savvy woman named Anita who was able to find Robert's extension and .... TRANSFER me! Wow.

By the time I got to Robert, I was in a justifiably foul mood. I've never been impressed by HSBC's shoddy customer service and was absolutely appalled by their behavior when they first bought my mortgage, so I admit I had very low expectations of the man ... like Australopithecus low. But he was actually ... humane and treated me with decency and respect and actually offered solutions.

By the time I found him, a month and a half had passed (my uncle passed away suddenly, which has continued to effect me in a host of. ways) and the attorney fees had almost doubled. But, he assured me that if I paid the attorney fees by the end of the month, then my loan would be restructured to $1460/month and the back payments would be tacked onto the loan. At first, I scoffed, since this was exactly what I had asked Surly Surls for, back when the attorney fees were a fraction of what they were 6 weeks later, but Mr. Osborne assured me that it was real. And so, the only bill I paid for the month of May was a power bill and my debt management payment. I paid nothing else, and still had to borrow money in order to pay the over $3000 in attorney fees by May 31st. But then, near the end of the month, a different guy from HSBC, John Martinez began calling, claiming that Mr. Osborne's offer was not in the system. John returned to Surly Surls script and insisted I pay a lump sum of 3 months payments plus attorney fees, and then my loan would be restructured. I ... PITCHED ... A ... FIT!

No profanity, exactly, but I may have said something about HSBC being a den of liars and cloven-hoofed jerks ... or I might have just been thinking it REALLY loudly.

Finally, I said, "Fine. I will file bankruptcy and you can keep the house. Good luck selling it in this market." John changed his tune then. Suddenly, Robert Osborne's numbers would work. In fact, he's even over-calculated since the attorney fees were only $3163 and not the $3175.50 as Robert Osborne had claimed. Oh and that bit about Deed-in-Lieu's being illegal in Washington? Well, Daniel was just mistaken. It's not that they are illegal in Washington, rather, since Washington is a non-judicial state, HSBC won't accept them. But, if I make the attorney fee payment via Western Union Quick Collect by May 31st, then the Notice on Deferment will be prepared June 1st and the Ancillary Adjustment Notice will be sent out the next Wednesday, reflecting the $1460 a month. Oh, and there will be no payment for the month of June. So then I made a silly request. I asked for the terms of the restructure to be put in writing and faxed, emailed or mailed to me.

Oh, we don't do that. What? You expect me to pay a huge sum without something in writing that confirms our agreement? It's not how we do business. Well then how can I know that you will honor our agreement? You have to trust me. I don't. Well you have to. This is unacceptable!! Hold on.

At this point, he gets his alleged boss, John Golden, on the phone, who was a throwback to Surly Surls' rude, dismissive and denigrating manner. When he also went down the path of suggesting that I chose not to pay them and should accept whatever they give, I just about threw the phone against the wall, but it's expensive. Instead, I told him that I would have to file bankruptcy and he back-pedaled, just enough to give John M's spiel about trusting them about the restructured payment as outlined by Robert Osborne. I acknowledged that my back was against the wall, and that I would trust them, but if they shafted me, they would not hear the end of it.

Well, the day before the Ancillary Adjustment Notice was supposed to be mailed out, I found out that the house on which I had signed a year-lease had been sold and I would need to find yet another place to live ... in less than two weeks. So, needless to say, impending homelessness, combined with the never-ending saga with my flaky Tacoma Tenant, R.E.L., and the rapidly increasing pace at work, meant I had NO time to follow up with HSBC. But, I made sure that they received my July payment of $1460 within the grace period and assumed that the paperwork had simply been lost in the mail. Back in the day, my fifth-grade Social Studies teacher tried to teach me the error of assumptions ("Assume makes an ass out of u and me"), but here it is, some 20+ years later, and I still have not learned.

I didn't receive the Ancillary Adjustment Notice, because, apparently, no such adjustment has been made. Rather, I received a letter saying that I was behind a payment of $1787.28 and that another payment of $1687.28 "will soon be due." I have tried calling the 800 number listed on this latest missive, but even though I call during the hours they have listed (but after I get home from work), the customer (dis)service division is always closed and of course, there is never an option for keying in an extension number and reaching someone directly, as I would very much like to revisit my conversations with Robert, John and John. Oh and the funny thing: the recording claims that HSBC received my recent payment (so much for missing a payment) and the amount due is $1680.28, not $1687.28... a piddly difference, I know. But seriously, can this company keep any of its facts straight?

One would think that I'd.be pissed. Or even blinded by rage at this point. But I'm not. Between dealing with these Highly Suspect Business Cads and dealing with R.E.L. who abandoned my house sometime earlier this month, owing me a good chunk of change and leaving a host of work unfinished, I'm just tired, and determined to choose my battles.

If the Tacoma house is destined to be my burning barn, then I'm about ready to pull up and toast some marshmallows.

I would like to have HSBC honor Robert Osborne's offer, so that I can make things right with my debts and my credit, and so that my neighborhood, which is in the midst of a wonderful renaissance doesn't suffer any blight because of me. Barring that, it would be great to have the pre-pay penalty waived so that I can put the house on the market. But these assume that HSBC knows the meaning of "honor" and knows how to act honorably, which it's pathologically unreliable behavior thus far, suggests otherwise.

I find it stunning that a company whose representatives cozied up to Senator Christopher Dodd, last year, to reassure him that they were in fact helping homeowners in distress (in accordance with the Homeownership Preservation Summit Statement of Principles), would so clearly NOT be helpful. I find it especially amazing that HSBC's shareholders LET the company behave in this manner. After all, I suspect that many of the people who finally let the foreclosure process happen only due so after their own lengthy sagas with the Surly Surls and Golden Boys of their respective mortgage holders.

So what, pray tell, is the moon to my burning barn of fiscal shame and misery?

A yurt!

I've longed for one as the first step towards building my own strawbale home for many, many, many years. Now that my credit is shot and the cows will come home to the fat lady's bellow before I ever apply for or receive a mortgage again, I am curiously free to reconsider my progressive-green-libertarian-Smith-Family-Robinson-wannabe core. It also helps that where I am living, there is reasonably affordable land, a culture of owner-financed land contracts, a variety of natural and green-built homes and ample sun and wind for alternative energy. In short, I think I've found my Mecca.

I've had my experience with conventional home-ownership and am unimpressed. Why sidle oneself with a huge expense for 30 years when one can spend 5 - 7 years creating an intentional home-space, in a manner that costs less and means so much more? Why misdirect ambition to focus on scoring the job that will pay the big bucks that allow you to buy a bigger house and have a greater vulnerability to the vicissitudes of health, employment, natural disasters and corporate pathologies?

For some people, the answer is clear:

"Shut up you pinko commie!"

But for me, it's not so clear, and never has been.

For years I've yammered on about wanting to live a life of intention and creation. And so I've taken up crochet projects, crafted pretty cool collages, entered writing competitions, and have become a bit of a Fascist in the garden. But, I've really been living a life driven by fear: fear of being alone, fear of being unemployed; fear of being homeless, fear of illness... But having experienced each of these in some degree in the last two years, I've learned... that there is life beyond fear. And it can be a rich and fulfilling life, even if it looks a little different than the one for which I was taught to strive.

An Embarrassment of Riches

The last four days have been nothing short of miraculous. Even if, as I write this, I can barely talk, am totally exhausted and am reasonably certain that I have finally capitulated to The Crud.

Tuesday Night:
I "enjoyed" a 5 1/2 hour white-knuckle drive through two snowy mountain passes (the last occuring at night, on a road I've driven only once ... during the day ... in the summer). As much fun as that was, my favorite part had to be lying down in profoundly nasty snow to put on snow chains, only to lie down a couple of hours later in deep powder, to take them off. Good fun. But soaking in the jacuzzi hot tub and sleeping in the middle of a pillow-topped king-sized bed in the Inn at Goose Creek, TOTALLY made up for it.

Wednesday:
As I ate breakfast, I reviewed the copious notes I'd made about the position I was interviewing for that day. I was a little bit nervous. But a rather surreal calm descended upon me: I just knew that I had what it takes to not only do this job, but kick ass at it. I'd even identified the external resources I would need to help me navigate the bits I'm a little weak on.

So as I drove towards town, I simply focused on taking in the scenery. It's a lovely little town, literally in the middle of the state. There was snow - both fresh and old - covering the wide valley, and ... the best part ... it was SUNNY!!

Anyway, my interview day went as follows:

10:30 - 11:30 Interview with Search Committee
11:30 - 1:00 Lunch with Search Committee
1:00 - 1:15ish A partial campus tour
1:30 - 2:30 Meet with one of the VPs
2:30 - 3:30 Meet with interested faculty and exempt staff, for more questions

The whole day felt like one long conversation, in which I carried myself pretty well. I made it clear that I'd not only researched the school and the resources available at the school to help me do the job. But I'd also researched the federal requirements that dictate much of the position, regional and national resources that could support broader campus initiatives and had looked up the history of the community where the school is located (i.e. addressing the Elephant in the Room: are there black people in Central Washington, or would my moving there significantly change the statistics).

The two interviews about which I was most nervous, were the last two. After all, the VP has the final hiring decision. And anyone with any sense knows that if the Staff aren't happy, the School isn't happy (universal truth). Overall, the VP was most concerned about my ABD status. I explained that my degree progress was kind of hindered by an 18 month freak out over my fibroid, followed by employment instability and criminal assaults on my home. But I am sick of being ABD and am making steady progress (even though, I admit I've been a bit bad about communicating with my committee). I will graduate by summer. It's time to move on. He agreed.

With the staff and other faculty, there was pretty much one person who grilled me the most. Which makes sense, since she's the interim program director and was instrumental in the school winning the grant.

But, as luck would have it, there was another Search Committee meeting a half hour after this last interview started (this one for a Provost), so we cut my last interview a bit short.

As I drove home, racing to beat the incoming storm (I made it ... barely), I realized that in the course of the day, there were many folks who made comments like, "When you come.." or "Oh, you'll want to work with so-and-so...," you know, like I had the job already. But I didn't let it go to my head. After all, this was a position I almost didn't apply for because I'd thought it was out of my league. It took getting the interview and really scrutinizing the expectations of the position for me to realize that I am totally suited for it. But I worried: if my initial suspicion was that the job was beyond me, what did they think?

But, I did not have a lot of time to worry about it.

Thursday:
Between 8:00am and 1:30pm, I had 13 one-on-one student conferences, and taught my lit class. Then I had to go home and grab some professional-looking clothes, because by noon, I had received TWO interviews for the next day at nonprofits in the Bay Area! And not just any nonprofits, but two of the three that had really jazzed me.

So, after grabbing some clothes and patting the cats so hard on the head that Chester actually swiped at me, I broke some serious speed laws to get to my 3:45 flight to San Jose. I got there in time ... just barely, sat in my seat and began drafting Thank You notes to my interviewers from the day before.

But I was a bit confounded. Every time I'd try to write a simple "Thank You," it turned into an action plan, with specific things I would do if given the job. I guess it makes sense, because they need someone who can start asap. But still, it's not like I'd been hired, yet; no need to come across as presumptuous, or desperate. So I changed gears and flipped through Alaska's magazine (now I dream of staying at a lodge on the Copper River).

As we approached San Jose, I looked out the window and was stunned by the cloudless sky, the bright setting sun and the pall of smog. The woman sitting in the row with me made similar observations, and we began chatting about our respective experiences growing up in the valley back when it was mostly orchards. Though she's closer to my mom's age than mine, we had a lovely conversation and I learned that she lives in Selah, a small community a mere 30 minutes away from where I'd interviewed. She'd also graduated from the school, as did her son, and had nothing but wonderful things to say about the experience.

We talked so effortlessly and amiably with each other, that we didn't even notice we had effectively closed the plane, until the flight attendants began to smile at us with a little too much urgency. When we got to the terminal, we exchanged contact info and she offered to be a neighbor and a guide to central Washington, if I do get the job. Oh yeah, and her name is Grace.

When we parted ways, I checked my voicemail. The VP had called me during my flight. I called him back, and got his voice mail and immediately began to panic: Is he calling to tell me that I got the job? Or maybe he needs more information? Or...? So I did what any sane person would do: I called my mom and proceeded to analyze every bit of intonation in his 10 second message.

Then my phone died. What does that mean? Did I get the job, and this is God's way of telling me to chill? Did I not get the job and this is God's way of telling me, "Psych!"

I wasn't any calmer by the time I met up with a dear friend for dinner. But I couldn't freak out too much because I had the finishing touches of a presentation to put together for Saturday and two interviews on Friday.

Friday:
As I organized my notes for the two interviews, I received a call from the VP: I GOT THE JOB!!!!

I was still riding high off of that call, when, like 10 minutes later, I received a call from a third Bay Area nonprofit, FacingHistory.org, offering me an interview with them. The voice of caution in me told me maybe I should go ahead and interview, because until I have a written offer, the offer doesn't legally exist. But when the interviewer explained that their hiring process would take 6 weeks and 3 rounds of interviews, including one at the headquarters in Boston, I turned down the interview. Instead, I turned on the networking. The work that they do resonates with the work done at PSEC, and I plan to put the PSEC director in touch with the new Program Associate in Seattle.

As for the other interviews, the first was very short. He discerned, really quickly, that though the position is for a Research Assistant, my research passions would be better served in academia than as his Girl Friday. But again, I totally respect the work of the organization.

After a brief attempt to walk up Telegraph from Oakland to Berkeley (man, I'd forgotten just how huge the Bay Area is), I caught a bus to Berkeley where I walked around, soaked up some very nice 66 degree sun and plopped down at one of my favorite Berkeley cafes to do some more work.

But as I sat there, alternately people watching and working, I realized ... I am complete with the Bay Area.

I still love the plethora of amazing restaurants and cultural events. I covet the diversity of dance classes. And the sunshine ... my Lord, I was walking around in a tank top in FEBRUARY! Hard to beat.

But when I looked at people going by, you'd think they were all at a funeral. Living in the Bay Area is a hard-scrabble life: it's more crowded than ever, and only getting worse; it's ridiculously expensive (what $650000 buys in Oakland vs. Ellensburg); and it's dirtier. So, I decided: the best way to love the Bay Area, is from afar, with occasional pilgrimages (like for Stern Grove). Nevertheless, I still went to the interview and learned a lot more about the organization. It's definitely a group that I want to support however I can, as they provide basic Green job training for young people and are poised to join the Ella Baker Center's Green Collar Jobs Campaign.

Anyway, the day wrapped up with my friend treating me to yet another dinner and some kick-ass Turkish desserts (I love all things with rose water. Seriously).

Then, at like 11:30 at night, I finally got some substantive feedback from my colleague and tried to finish the PowerPoint for today's presentation. Due to my financial limitations, I wasn't able to register in time, so I will be there virtually. I tried to narrate my presentation, but about 1/3 of the way through, my voice gave out. For some strange reason, my body seems not to like it when I go from a plodding pace to a frenetic one, in the midst of cold and flu season. At any rate, I should find out later today how it went. Right now I am WRECKED.

I need to take a nap and then resume grading. I'm also going to have a double shot of Emergen-C, because I REALLY want to meet the new baby some of my church friends recently had.

Recap:
So yeah, in the last few days I have been blessed with:

• Traveling mercies;
• Four interviews and one seriously awesome job offer;
  
• Providential encounters;
• Time spent with a dear, dear friend; and
  
• Clarity about where my home and heart should be.

Here's hoping that I will shortly be blessed with a soothed throat and perfect health.

What is Just Teaching?

I have had many occasions recently to contemplate this question, with different plays on "just."

When I worry about the silence that has accompanied many of my job applications, the naysayer in my head imagines faceless HR Reps tossing my resume aside:
"Oh, it's just teaching... I thought she had nine years of real experience."

And at those moments, I try to channel Taylor Mali and remember:
The best teaching, teaches justly ... and teaches justice ... and that's the teaching I have always pursued.

But Taylor, I am reminded that sometimes, it doesn't matter what we "make" in the interactions with our students. When the administrators who "make" decisions about our class assignments, our paychecks, and the trajectories of our careers decide to make decisions that leave us literally hungry, tired and poor, how can they expect us to inspire our students to achieve their dreams and have faith in meritocracy and justice?

Teachers merit just treatment ,
which is something my employers, just don't seem to get.

Transforming "Maybe" Into "Yes!"

Last night I completed a manifestation collage that represents the major milestones and foci for 2008.

And today, I received an interview invitation for a position I applied for just last night!

Woo hoo!!

Moving from Dark to Light

When I compare last New Year's Eve to this one, I am amazed by how prophetic the last one was and how hopeful this one was.

For the 2006 New Year's Eve, I was sprawled out on a couch at my friend's place in Arizona. We had just gorged on homemade Pakistani food, and spent the evening playing 80s Trivial Pursuit, while watching various "I Love the 90s" episodes on VH1. It was relaxing. Almost like cocooning. And prophetic, since 2007 was the most emotionally, financially and professionally taxing year of my life. It was like I needed a big ole dose of repose and good friends to kick off the year, because God knows, I only got through last year thanks to the grace of loving family and friends (who were, in SO many ways, the face of God for me).

This New Year's Eve was different. I was a little pouty because I had hoped to be in NYC with my cousin, my best bud from Australia, my dear friend who had hosted me in Arizona last year, and his former roommate. But really, I didn't mind. I had stuff to do, and I stayed home to do them. And it felt good. Doing work on my dissertation. Submitting more job applications. Running some errands. And when it came time to be festive, my roommate and I checked out the return of Tacoma's First Night festival. It all felt good; like one of my best days when I am my best self. And it got me thinking.

I've not been my best self IN YEARS. I've had some GREAT days and SPECTACULAR weeks and even months. But, I've not had the passion that I once had in my approach to living. For too long, I've acted like life is a chore, rather than a gift. A series of obligations to fulfill and rules to follow, rather than an opportunity to discover my gifts and put them to good use. Frankly, I've been too frightened to do so. And somewhere along the way, I lost faith.

So yesterday, as I did some photocopying in the UWT library, I had a sort of epiphany. I'm not finishing the dissertation because I have to. Or because it would make my mom proud. I'm not making a career change because it's all about the money. Or because I'm a failure. I'm finishing my dissertation because it is mine: my journey, my meditation, my achievement. I'm changing careers because I chose my current one for the wrong reasons. I accepted the position and left California out of fear. Fear is not a foundation for building a life.

It's a conclusion that I've been coming to rather slowly over the years. But I think it all came to ahead in 2007 because I had SO much to be afraid of, that frankly, I kind of burned out on it. Unemployment... intramural fibroid and two out of three gynecologists telling me I'd likely need a hysterectomy... someone crashing a stolen car into my fence and nearly gutting my cat... another person shooting that same cat a month later... really bad judgment about men... and most of this came to a head in the last six months of the year, leaving me with a pile of debt and no small amount of anxiety.

But by the time Advent kicked off on December 2nd, I had come to the conclusion: I will survive, because this too, shall pass.

And it was weird because it wasn't like I made up my mind to just put on a happy face and hope for the best. It was just something I knew. I will survive. This, too, shall pass. There is light at the end of my very dark, obstacle-ridden tunnel. And I'm pretty sure I can see it.

Of course, it helped that the homilies during Advent always seemed to function as nice little weekly reminders. You know, especially when my Seasonal Affective Crankies were in overdrive.

My favorite vignettes from Fr. Steve's and Fr. Alan's Words O' Wisdom:

• Change, especially important change, is difficult. We don't like it when we're awakened because waking up can be painful. Much in our culture encourages us to be numb and asleep. We need to pray for guidance in those parts of our lives where we are numb and asleep. We need to pray for urgency.
• Extraordinary claims demand extraordinary evidence. We need to bring the evidence of our transformation into the world.
• Whether or not the gods are in charge is an open question. The answer as to whether we are in charge is no. God's plan is often carried out by really quirky people. We need to plan for the future, but we want to deepen our faith in God's plan.
• The only way for absolute control is to be oppressive, which destroys life.

At any given moment, what these vignettes mean to me vary. On Christmas Eve, reflecting on them, combined with the fact that there was a full moon, led me to perform a little Full Moon Purge with a glass of wine, scraps of paper scrawled with the names of every bad event or action that made 2007 WAY too interesting, and my wood stove. It was nice. Satisfying. Cleansing.

The afternoon of the 8th, with the New Moon, I plan to complete a Manifestation Collage to really help me reflect on the sort of events and actions with which I hope to FILL 2008. Because I'm realizing: gestures of hope matter.

So many of the consequences from last year have carried over into this new year. So many issues are unresolved. But I hope and believe that there is light at the end of my tunnel, that the way will become less rocky. Not because I'm fond of cliches, or because I'm naive.

I just feel like I have finally rediscovered my faith. It is with that faith that I pray Henri Nouwen's prayer:

Come, Lord Jesus, to that place where I am weakest,
For that is the place where you can
Make your manger, and bring your light.

Mind Makes Matter

I admit, that in the past, I have let my thoughts and attitude keep me in a funk. Inevitably, I would find myself laden by more funkiness. Even when I thought I was being "responsible" by taking inventory of the mess where I was, so often I would find myself burdened by even more crap.

This was especially true when I was diagnosed with the fibroid. I could not believe that my body would betray me so completely, that God would further complicate my mid/quarter-life crisis, that the universe would be so cruel. Self-pity, anger, confusion, defeatism were my norm for quite awhile. Followed quickly by over-compensation and drastic measures.

In the midst of all of this externalization of blame and salvation, I began to gradually direct attention to my inner life: the type of thoughts I was having; the dreams I was nurturing; as well as the dreams I was stifling. I began to really notice how I treated my body, as well as how I thought of it. I retreated deep into my self, realizing that for all of the book learning I'd accumulated, I had very little true knowledge of Me.

Through the meditative space of acupuncture, singing hymns from my soul, returning to the gym and finding sanctuary in the sauna, I began to cultivate a different mind-body connection, that I believe laid the foundation for a different mind-life connection.

To be clear. I am not yet a sage. But I think I'm "getting it."

This evening, I decided to kick back a bit and watch "The Secret." A friend of mine in Santa Cruz had recommended it to me some time back. And a co-worker mentioned it earlier this week. Then yesterday, lo and behold, it arrived as part of my latest Netflix trio.

So I watched it. And for the most part, I felt...well...validated. Not because I've managed to live "The Secret" faithfully, but because I am trying to.

At its most basic, it's an argument for positive thinking...and believing. It's not enough to think good thoughts. We have to visualize them, claim them and believe in them with our whole being. We have to live our visions as if they were our present reality, because that is the only way they will be. In "Secret Speak": We must Ask the Universe/God for what we want (on a profound level, not a mere material level), then Believe that our request was heard and is in the process of being granted. Lastly, we must Receive the feeling and experience of our answered prayer, not in the future...but now.

Rather than phrase this as a list of everything I'm no good at, I will say that I am working on my visualization strategies and my faith. The visualization I do best when I collage, crochet or garden. And so, I've resumed work on a couple of collages that I started in April 2006. I make a point of working on the baby blanket that I started for my godson (who is now almost seven), and have rededicated to the child I will someday carry, bear and raise. And the garden, I plan to spend some quality time with this weekend.

I am inspired by two statements made in the film:

1. Your current state of affairs is not who you are, it's who you were.
2. Good thoughts are 100 times more powerful than bad thoughts.

I'm not going to make a list of all the things that continue to be off-kilter. I recognize that they are residuals from a very trying 18 months. Rather, I am refocusing on where I want to go and who I want to be.

I have faith that God has given me enough strength to complete the "how's" that will manifest on my journey. I'm not sitting on my laurels, expecting God (The Original Mr/Ms Universe) to magically teleport me from my current state of affairs to my vision. Increasingly, I'm learning that believing in and receiving goodness are actions.

I have to DO my belief. I have to LIVE my gratitude. After all, mind makes matter.

Like riding a bike

Transforming one's life for the better sure is hard work.

Especially when you lose your job ... and your roommate, and you have to switch to COBRA in$urance, and the in$urance company balks at paying for a procedure you need, and your car isn't getting sold, and your body wigs out because of the medication you are on & all the stress you are under, and your dream job (owning your own cafe) is both overwhelming and the only thing that has really put a smile on your face in years...

So yeah... in the last two weeks I have fallen off the hippie wagon (bye-bye pescovegetarianism, hello culinary therapy at Tamarind Tree) and damn near fell apart (Hot flashes and mood swings? In rapid, overlapping succession? Lupron...I hate you).

But thank God it's Monday. A new week and new beginning. To "celebrate" I returned to the cycle class at my gym, and unlike my effort last month, I managed to complete the whole class! I bought more beet juice and cranberry juice. I made a really tasty veggie pizza with fresh zucchini & basil from my garden, on a gluten-free crust. Small steps in the right direction; but "steps" nonetheless.

In general though, I find this whole journey to be VERY hard. It's not just a matter of changing what I eat or how I get around. It's really a whole different relationship to time.

It takes time to cook from scratch. Even with the right recipes or even raw cuisine. It takes time to coordinate travel plans via public transportation, & even more time to use it. Which is why, I suppose, I have only done so when I took the bus back from the airport and to Tacoma's July 4th Freedom Fair.

I have to admit, as a dyed-in-the-wool procrastinator, the time thing is not my forte. And as a stubborn only child who seems to grow more stubborn with each passing day, the whole "change thing" is a real pain in the ass. Kind of like Kreacher's reaction to being willed to Harry. But I digress.

The point is... I think I'm better with making changes when they come one-at-a-time, not all-at-once. And with all of the flux and uncertainty around my financial, professional, entrepreneurial, academic, and health needs and goals... well...damn it... I just feel like I'm too busy spinning and losing my bearings rather than making a coherent change for the better.

Walking my talk is a VERY frightening proposition

Today I met with a woman who REALLY wants to buy my car. Which is great since I need the money. I've been planning to sell my car to tread lighter on the planet and economize. But...it's my car. My readily available transportation. My "I-don't-want-to-cook-so-I'll-go-get-some-pad-thai" back up plan. I mean, as of now, I don't even have a bike (thanks thief, may karma visit you when you least expect it).

But I am reminded:

• I live a short walk away from the bus stop, and only slightly further away from a major transit center;
• It's summer in the Northwest and biking is beautiful (though hazardous given the number of people who got their licenses in a Cracker Jack box); and last but not least,
• I need the money. Getting caught up on my expenses from my remodel last summer will simply require sacrifices. Besides, with no car, I'll be even less tempted to impulse shop since there will only be so much room on the bike (when I finally buy a new one).

So, it all makes sense/cents...but I'm still nervous. It would be one thing if Flexcar had a station nearby. It would be one thing if I lived in the Bay Area or New York, where one really doesn't need a car. In places like that, it's easy to be "green" and lose the car. Complicating matters is that the woman interested in my car needs me to do an owner-financing for a year, since her family just bought a house and she's planning to open a restaurant (I swear, she's like my doppleganger or something). She would only be able to pay $2000 this month, about $2000 more when she sells her current car, and the rest would be $150/month over the course of a year, with the final payment being a lump sum for the remainder. My thing is...I don't know how long it will take me to find a job within biking or reasonable bus/train distance and I may need the money from the car sale to tide me over. But she is the only person, so far, who is seriously interested.

So, yeah...I really want to do my part to help the planet and my regional air quality. I really want to get on top of my finances instead of always feeling like I'm playing catch up. But it freaks me out that the car is at the center of both issues. I mean, the only time I was without a car since I began driving 17 years ago was when I studied abroad in France and Russia (1 year total) and my first year in the UCSD International House.

But I've got to do it. For the planet. For my pocketbook. For my waistline.

Common Sense Hippiedom v. New Age Narcissism

Wow... I have REALLY been a.w.o.l. from this blog.

It's "funny" how much time and energy the end of the term, end of the school year, end of my teaching contract and end of my roommate's lease have taken up.

I'm "a little" stressed at the moment. I suppose unemployment, combined with health issues, and the loss of my supplementary income (roommate) are making me a little crazed. That and the lovely side effects of the Lupron I am taking to help shrink my fibroid for operation number two.

That's why I am VERY glad I'd booked a trip to Santa Cruz months ago, for last week. Southwest had a crazy fare sale, and it only cost me $70 round-trip to go back to Cali for five days.

I spent a surprisingly small amount of money while there, thanks in large part to my friends' generous hospitality. But also, I realized that there was very little about Santa Cruz that I missed, and therefore little incentive to spend like a credit-crazed nut-job.

Santa Cruz is way too expensive for what you get. I mean, the Rite Aid charged $11 for a generic 5 subject notebook!

And the town is a little over-stuffed with New Age Narcissists, the majority of whom were (at one point I'm sure) well-meaning, Agape-Gaia loving hippies.

Back when they were hippies, they articulated a solid dose of common sense:

• pay attention to what you put in and on your body, who makes it and under what conditions;
  
• the Golden Rule is a universal maxim, best embraced by all;
  
• the environment matters, because without it, we're all dead.

Just good, common sense.

But then some of them went off the deep end.

In the pursuit of deeper, more "authentic" truths, some folks cultivated a special knack for gourmand navel-gazing. They borrowed lingo and practices from every non-white tradition they could find and/or "discovered" they were one of the exponentially-improbable heirs of the Druids or the Gaels; but it all seemed to serve the higher purpose of ... the Cult of Me. What do I want? What is my purpose, independent of others? What is my journey?

Don't get me wrong. These are good questions. Vital questions that we all need to examine as we live out our lives. I just take issue with the over-emphasis on the "I" to the point of selfishness. The myth of New Age Narcissism that I remembered and witnessed in Santa Cruz, is the myth of the self-made wo/man who is not beholden to silly little things like social mores, loyalty and genuine generosity of spirit.

The poster child par excellence of this is K, a guy I once dated (that's my pathetic disclosure), and who went on to date and totally head-f*ck my dear friend, M (who, ironically, I met through K - that's my happy disclosure).

I admire folks who manage their resources well, and always seem to have enough time, money and sanity to live a well-balanced life. I aspire to that myself, having fallen off of ALL of those wagons to varying degrees over the years. I used to think K was like that. But then I got to know him. K is stingy - with his time, money and emotional availability. When I met him, I didn't really care as I was rebounding and was really only interested in a good time. But the times with K really weren't all that good. Then I began to care more about his stinginess as I got to know M better, and saw the toll his crap was taking on her. Sure, she could've left him and not gone back. But Santa Cruz is one VERY small town, and in a lot of ways, K was one of the better options.

I also admire folks who know how to set boundaries, so that they don't end up over-extended. But there is a clear difference between "boundaries" and "the Great Wall of China." K is a wall-builder. Inside his wall, is a little boy trying to figure out how much money, property, and tight young ass he can amass, while outside the wall there's ... well who cares, it's outside the wall. Unfortunately, M was outside the wall.

And it all came to a head when he made a proposal-that-wasn't that actually trumped the proposal-that-wasn't I had received from a wall-builder I dated back-in-the-day.

Finding himself in a potentially sticky tax dilemma ($45k liability) with the impending sale of his house, K suggested to M that they should get married, as that would significantly lessen the tax hit. He would give her $8k "for nothing" and once the paperwork went through and a reasonable time had passed...they could get divorced. Uh...yeah. Just what his girlfriend of four years wanted to hear. As if his earlier suggestions that they have an open relationship (all the rage in Santa Cruz, you see) didn't already convey the scope of his selfishness, he then turns around and does this. WTF?!

But here's the clincher. M is the one who feels guilty. For actually expecting a commitment. For daring to think that she deserves a relationship with someone who actually thinks with his heart, instead of just his wallet or his dick. And it doesn't help that so many of the Santa Cruz N.A.N.-crowd suggest that perhaps she should just learn to embrace an open relationship and not take things so much to heart. Let him "bring the energy home," they suggest. Which is double-speak for, "let him bring his girl-toy home, and you can enjoy it/her together." Shame on M for not being inclined to share.

Eck! Eck! Eck! And yet, as annoyed as I got with the K saga, I managed to have a nice time in Santa Cruz thanks to a $15 private tub and sauna, delicious food and hanging out with M, who had a lot of other things to talk about other than N.A.N. K.

Now I get that the B.S. with K tickles some raw spots in my own emotional baggage handler. I also get that in the time it has taken me to write this, I have had two lupron-induced hot flashes and am vacillating between tears, nausea and feminazi fury. But even taking these "little issues" into consideration, I still think he is a textbook example of New Age Narcissism, and why, so often it does more harm than good.

And with that, I'm going to lie down.

Week in Review: Week One

A New Pact

I'm an omnivore. Plain and simple. I get that the amount of grain and water used to feed cattle, piggies and chickens could be used for better purposes. But I can’t deny the carnivorous beast that pricks my spine every time I smell frying bacon, grilled steak or coq au vin.

So, rather than sabotage my transformation before it even gets really started, I decided to allow myself two meat days per month: one for poultry or pork; the other for red meats (preferably buffalo or lamb). On the other 26-29 days of the month, I will get my protein from vegetables and fish. Pescovegetarianism, here I come! Well, except for those two days a month.

It's an imperfect pact for an imperfect woman. But I have to start somewhere and I fully intend to make sure my two animal protein days only use organic and free-range animals.

It's beets, not blood

Even before committing to developing this blog, I began seriously delving into the first part of my Accidental Hippie plan: taking better care of my body, so that my body takes better care of me.

I revisited the archives of the Uterine Fibroids and Healing For Fibroids Naturally Yahoogroups, and finally began reading Dr. Warshowsky's Healing Fibroids, and began to integrate some of the things I was learning about into my diet.

Apparently beets (sometimes combined with molasses) has been used in ethnic medical treatments for fibroids, with some success. UNFORTUNATELY, having never eaten beets before, I was unpleasantly surprised to discover their effects on certain body wastes. Asparagus reeks havoc with number one; and beets bedizen number two.

What was pleasant to discover was that unsweetened cranberry juice combined with beet juice makes a rather nice drink. I now try to have it before every meal. Beet juice can be a little spendy ($6 for a 120z bottle at Marlene's). But it looks like my garden beets are doing well, so soon I'll be able to make my own juice.

The Garden

As I am still recovering from my surgery, there's not much yard work I can do, even though there is MUCH I need to do:

But I am happy to say that my organic raised beds are coming along nicely. I have found that if I take things slowly, I can still get down and savor the triumphant rush of weeding. My next garden project: getting the worm compost bin up and running. I bought one during last summer's disastrous retail therapy, and promptly neglected it. But now that my fruit and veggie intake is climbing, it makes sense to resurrect the worms (or, more accurately, buy some new ones).

Easy Omega-3s

Prior to last week, I had a habit of eating flax meal only when I had applesauce or Soy Cream's Very Cherry Chocolate Chip. This week, I discovered that I can add flax seed to mashed potatoes for a rather nice and subtle nutty flavor. I've also added flax meal to my new weekday morning routine: fruit smoothies. But perhaps the Omega-3 discovery of which I am most proud, is the Copper River Salmon sushi I made with my dissertation group buddy on Wednesday. Sure, I now understand why brown rice rarely shows up in sushi. But that just means that the next time I make it (likely this evening, I will make the rice mixture 2 parts sushi rice, 1 part brown rice).

Smoothies in the morning help the commute pass by

I used to drive to work with a mug of molasses tea and some sort of muffin in my lap. This week, I began using the blender to make smoothies: frozen berries + cranberyy/beet juice blend + prune juice + flax meal + almond milk (I use Pacific's Almond Milk because I'm lactose intolerant) = VERY good! By the time I get to work, I've finished the smoothie and simply wash out the bottle and fill it with filtered water at work

Stocking up: some pre-hippie rules STILL apply, like DON'T SHOP WHILE HUNGRY

On Thursday, after my acupuncture appointment, I made a pilgrimage first to Marlene's, then to Trader Joe's. I brought a list, which was good. But I also brought an appetite, which was not so good. The damage: Marlene's - $83.61, and five items not on my list (I bought 28 items), including a seriously yummy raw peanut butter and honey bar ; Trader Joe's - $75.65 and three items not on my list (out of 28 items), including the oh-so-good Sharon's Coconut Sorbet.

Minor relapse: Consequences of impulse-purchasing; and ye ole "Well, I've got to clean out the refrigerator" excuse, or how I ate two hot dogs as a "snack"

Friday morning began with me being a very good girl: nutritious smoothie and packing my lunch. Unfortunately, my lunch was one of the impulse buys from Thursday: Morningstar's BBQ Riblets. Sure, it's soy-based and soy in moderate amounts is very good for my overall health and my efforts to get rid of Fi. But a soy-based product doused in seriously delicious, sugary badness? Not so much. I tried to "make it up" to myself by adding flax seeds to the mashed potatoes I made to go with it. But still, this was clearly a relapse.

And it was aggravated when I got home later in the afternoon: tired and hungry. I looked in the fridge and two relics stared out at me: left-over hot dogs.

I was torn. Do I toss them, and thereby waste them? Or do I eat them and have today count as one of my two meat days for the month?

I ate them.

Treat of the Week:
Sharon's coconut sorbet with fresh strawberries and flax meal

In The Beginning...

In some ways, it’s a misnomer to call this blog “The Accidental Hippie.” After all, it’s not like I woke up one morning and found myself in itchy tie-dye, cradling a hookah and a poorly groomed stranger.

In fact, I have long considered myself a Champagne Hippie, favoring good food, fine wine and comfortably elegant fashion & housewares – just as long as they're mostly organic and socially responsible (i.e. less sweatshops and factory pharming; more artisans and free-range husbandry, s’il vous plait).

But there were some things that I just could not bring myself to do, some changes that were just too hard to make.

But in the last year, and particularly in the last couple of weeks, I received a swift kick in the pants. Meet my "inner necessity":

No, this is not a cornish game hen. This is my uterus (dark pink mass on top) with a very large intramural fibroid (the lighter pink, veiny monstrosity at the bottom). Last week I drove to Spokane to have it removed, but when my surgeon got inside and saw this, he realized that in 30+ years of practice, he'd never seen anything quite like it. I'm "kind of" adamant about not losing my uterus (because I really want kids, hormonal balance, bladder control and uterine orgasms); but my doctor wasn't sure he could guarantee that. So instead, he stitched a couple of arteries feeding Fi, stitched me up and gave me a shot of Lupron. The new plan: hopefully shrink it over the next three months and try the operation again in August.

So, what does this have to do with my becoming an Accidental Hippie?

EVERYTHING

Fibroids apparently flourish when women don't get enough fiber, eat too much sugar, and have unresolved mind-body-spirit issues. So, after Fi was diagnosed in April 06, I began to sort of half-ass my way to a better lifestyle: I joined a gym and saw a trainer twice a month; ate mostly organic fruits & veggies; integrated flax meal into my diet at least 3 times a week; had weekly acupuncture appointments; joined my parish choir and really did some spiritual "work." But as I stared at the stills and the short video, the only coherent thought I could form was that I hadn't done enough.

In the spirit of Hunter Thompson ("Call on God, but row away from the rocks"), I took stock of my life and recognized three colossal OOPS:

1. When it comes to my body and my health I have way too often, and for way too long, chosen the path of least resistance: minimalism. If it's fast, easy and cheap, I will do it. If it requires a major paradigm and lifestyle shift ... I'll think about it.
2. When I was first diagnosed, I went into a cathartic, but in the end, profoundly counter-productive Do-Mode. I remodeled my kitchen and my office, only contracting out the plumbing and electrical work. But I financed all this change with a home equity loan, Home Depot credit and the credit cards I had just paid off when I refinanced. Beyond $tupid. Because, of course, these are debts, not windfalls and I have backed myself into a painful corner of high payments and insultingly high interest rates. Casey Serin, I am not. I am in the process of paying it all off, and tightening my belt in standard and creative ways.
3. I have subscribed to Green Guide to Go, Organic Gardening and Natural Home for years, and I am a long-standing Co-Op America member. But the extent to which I have really done my part to help heal the planet has been limited to that which is fast, easy and cheap, with an emphasis on easy and cheap.
   

So, I am making a change.

I suspect it will be full of fits and starts, as well as modest successes. This blog will chronicle my progress and my pitfalls as I try to live a healthier, more fiscally responsible and socially and environmentally sustainable life.