Sick girl

So, I've been a little sick for the past, oh. FOUR DAYS (and I'm about ready to be done with it all, thank you very much!). I don't really know what I've done to attract such a state of malaise, but my head has been filled with all sorts of pressure (I don't get allergies) and everything that comes out of my body seems slightly green. Perhaps my other senses are feeling underappreciated, since I've been putting so much emphasis on listening lately. In fact, my ears were the first things to fill with pain, then my throat, then my head...I could go on and on about my aches and pains, but I want you to know that I'm usually pretty good at moderating illness. Sometime when I was young, (it may have actually coincided with the time I was checking out a lot of books from the library concerning ESP, witchcraft, and telekinetics), I discovered that I could put off being sick. This usually occurred when I had a big swim meet on the weekend, and I knew that I had to swim a faster 100 yard butterfly than I had the previous week so that I could qualify for age groups or something, and all the signs of a cold were making a case for me to be bed ridden in my pink room instead. Now, as much as I liked my unicorn-filled pink room back in 1983, I preferred being in the water, with the way it felt as I rose from its depths and broke its surface to breathe, with two arms lifting behind me like wings, only to aide me in diving back into the buffered sounds of cheering voices and moving limbs. So, I'd negotiate with my symptoms, and put them to bed with a good mantra that went something like, "just wait until Monday, just wait until Monday!" and Monday would come, after I'd placed well in my age group for my 4 events, and I'd find myself coughing and sneezing and taking refuge with the one-horned beings, some ginger ale and saltines while my sister had to get on the big yellow school bus at the bottom of the hill alone.

well, sickness, I don't think I need you as an excuse to not be here right now. Perhaps I did a few days ago, when I didn't want to deal with finding a job, or telling my housemates that I was going to move out of the Fairhouse, or being a dutiful project person, writing down all the details of my trip and finding some sort of useful outlet for the general public. I'm okay with it all right now. I had a good, long talk with a relative stranger who reminded me that nothing really needs to make sense, nothing really has to have a universal meaning that everyone gets and appreciates, you just do what feels right, and everything else follows through. And I know I believe this, deep down--it's what allows me to get up everyday. So, thanks for showing up, for giving me an out or three, I appreciate your awareness of what I thought I needed (and perhaps I did need it): a break from my doubts and mind-altering fears, a reason to sleep late and go to bed early, a release for my moaning agony and an opportunity to appreciate my own body when its in good health. I get it, and I thank you for giving it to me. So, you're relieved of your duties, please, feel free to go on your way, dearest malady. Be well.

I didn't do anything today!!!

I'm ridiculously proud of myself. Of course, I had to get sick in order to really let myself go there, and be okay with it all. See, today really hasn't been a lot different from the past few days: I've had only a few plans, if any, and, in comparison to who I know I myself to be in the world (very busy, moving all the time, NEVER at home), I was terribly unoccupied. But I've been sick (valid excuse, right?). And in the time of being still and being okay with it, I noticed that my entire being seemed lighter, despite the heavy ache in my head, the coat of lead on my shoulders, and the pebbles in my ears. I feel a little bright spot growing inside me...You see, I want to be alive! It's a good thing.

well, in my freedom of not HAVING to do anything, I found that I was quite capable of doing the things that seemed so hard yesterday: I watered all the rose bushes, pruned the lavender, went grocery shopping, cooked myself a really yummy, simple, healthy meal with lots of garlic, ginger, and shitake mushrooms, and wrote in my blog. Taking care of myself actually felt good enough, job enough, worthy-of-life enough. What a concept, eh?

Sitting in the East Bay

As many of you know, I am presently housesitting for my friends Roger and Jen while they eat all sorts of wursts and schnitzels and things in Germany. I, however, am in the East Bay, and last night, prior to settling in for a few more episodes of Six Feet Under, I decided to be festive about my screen watching and make a bowl of popcorn. As any good Californian knows, when you make popcorn, you always dress it with tamari (sometimes mixed with Bragg’s in the essential spray bottle, for that perfect light coat of saltiness) and a dusting of nutritional yeast. As the corn was popping on the stovetop, I opened the cabinet to find my ingredients. Roger and Jen have a very well stocked kitchen. They buy everything in bulk, put right into tare-weighted mason jars and recycled plastic bags, and everything is properly labeled and organized. So it came as quite a shock when, after searching high and low, I could not find nutritional yeast in the cabinet. I held my breath, and then I realized, Why, Of course! Nutritonal yeast is a condiment that joins the ranks of salt and pepper here in California, so it will be right next to the stove!…except it wasn’t there, either. The popping sounds from the saucepan began to lag behind the ticks of the of the clock, and still: no jar of yellow flakes. I couldn’t believe it. What kind of crunchy, vegan, environmental activists are these people??? And then I realized that I was in Oakland. Not Berkeley. See, nearly every house that I know of in Berkeley has, at one point or another, been inhabited or at least frequented by a person who has left a mason jar of nutritional yeast (okay, I’ve heard it called “hippie dust”, too) in the kitchen. But Oakland, now, has a much different history.

Had I just presumptiously leapt into unfair criticisms of my own friends due to my own regional blindness? The whole idea that popcorn with Nutritional yeast and tamari is a" California Thing" --who am I to say such things? it could just be me, my sister, and the crunchy liberal, back-to-the-landers that do this. Am I elitist for assuming that EVERYONE should know about nutritional yeast?

Okay. If I sound a little touchy, it’s only because I learned today that, according to a 40 year study of California birth certificates, Amy is one of the Whitest girls’ names (meaning that, of all names given to children in California, Amy was given more often to children of Caucasian descent than to children of other ethnicities than nearly ANY OTHER girl name). Can you guess what name is more white than mine? Maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow (thank God there IS one!!). But reading that article brought up all those issues of privilege and concern that I have to make up for all the injustices created by my racial ancestry that I struggled with when, in 11th grade history class, Mr. Heim pointed me out as the _sole_ example of a WASP. While the issues are different, they are, in effect, the same: how do i come from a place within that has an openness that is not dictated by my privelege? how do i create a presence in the world that is not predicated by people's judgements of who I'm going to be, given my appearance, my socio-economic background, my schooling, my place of birth? how can i be confident in my being in the world without that confidence being given by a false sense of knowing my place in relationship to what my culture has taught me to be? how do i own everything that this world says i am, and still make room in my being to become something entirely outside of it all?

don't worry, i'm going for a run now.

Please Note:

if i ever ever again write an entry like the one below, would you please call me--or better yet, come and kick my ass-- and holler, "FOSTER! get out of your tiny self-absorbed head and go to yoga! go for a run! do something pleasing with that useful body of yours!!"

my god, i'm ridiculous. i wrote down, last night, in a meaningful effort to structure my time today, "go to yoga". as i dutifully checked off my other listed items, i made my way around THAT one, until 4:30 approached and i knew it was the last class i could go to today. so, because the bank was on the way and i HAD to check "go to the bank", i got into my truck, towel, shorts, tank, and yoga mat crumpled in one hand, and half a nalgene of water in the other. (i'm a sorry-assed yogi wanna-be). i thought about getting a nice iced latte at the peet's next to the bank. "it's too hot to do yoga today," my brain whined. the door to peet's opened and a gust of chilled, mocha laced air fanned my face. thank goodness for my spirit guides (apparently, i'm chained to the shoulders of one of my guides, and i'm convinced he turned around and i was forced to turn away as well) because they called my attention back to my intention, and i got into yoga just a minute before class started. of course, it was hot as hell and i felt like throwing up a few times, but when i left, the whole world opened up! marin is beautiful. the weather is such that i can wear a tank top all day, and by evening, it's cooled to a managable temperature that allows one to sleep under covers and in clothes, without sweating profusely. the health food store carries blueberries grown a county away and has raw kombucha galore (this was hugely missed by me and my body on my trip. i can't convince anyone on the east coast as to why it's so good, but it is!!!). the local brew pub makes perfectly good beer, the avocadoes and salsa are fresh and the cilantro is from my garden (dinner is served). yay. life is good. and it takes a body to experience it sometimes.

finding fairfax

i awoke this morning in a way i haven't for some time. the light crept in an ambient way towards my eyes, shaking me ever so slightly and letting me doze once or twice before gently urging me to rouse. i saw an orange carpet, a red plaid suitcase, and a window looking out over a green hillside against a perfect blue sky. this is the view from my bed. i closed my eyes and opened them again: the sight remained the same. the sense of melancholy approached me much like the morning light, and i've been here ever since, wondering how it is that i've found myself in a place i thought i'd left, when it seems that every day has been something new for the past 29 complete turns of the earth.

all day it's been a struggle to find the joy of being home, despite all the time i've been away. the closest thing to delight has been the discovery of raspberries in the garden, and locally grown peaches at the market. my walk to town revealed a change in landscape, which interested me mildly. the path is now lined with blooming cacti, yellow crepe paper blossoms perched on prickly pears. the hillside is brown with dead grass, recently mowed down for fire prevention. i could have predicted this, however. i've tried to be open. i know this is not the place i left, as much as i'd like to sit beneath that belief and get comfortable with what it is i think i know. travelling is easy. discovering something new where you're less likely to imagine the possibilities is the challenge.

i wish for something clever to come to mind. i wait for the moment where i get excited about what i don't know. it doesn't happen. the wind whips in from the west, carrying notes from the expansive pacific ocean, but i've heard them before, and i'm uneasy with the familiarity. i feel my heart sink to a new depth. i'm going in after it.

despite all the meaning (or, let's post before we think about this)

Blogging is hard, y'all. can i tell you? i've hardly had a moment to absorb all the things that have occurred on this adventure, but regardless, i have this nagging voice in the back of my head, urging me to be responsible to this web page of a notebook that attempts to organize all the events into some sort of transmissible account of what i've been doing with my life for the few of you (and really, who ARE you? are you out there?) that Might be reading this. sigh. it starts to parallel all that creativity stuff. what's it for? does it really matter if i do this? is this some sort of convoluted ego trip? what's the deal?

well. i don't have answers, i suppose, and yet, here i am, typing. i've spent the past few days not knowing really where i was going. i left new york city on Wednesday morning, after spending the night in a Cooper Union dorm room with my roommate from my senior year at Kenyon College, who is doing an internship in the city for law school, and who just so happened to run into me on 2nd Avenue in the East Village on Sunday night. She got up and dressed in semi-formal floral; i donned sandals and road-worn jeans. she took the train to the firm, and i drove off in the Hyundai beneath the blue firmament, praying for direction. I found myself on a backroad in connecticut, just south of my childhood home, quivering like the hardwood leaves in the canopy around me.

So, i did it. I followed Taunton Hill Road to mailbox number 147, looked past the pachysandra-lined driveway to the house on the hill. i parked the car on the side of the road and sat, still. I took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped out onto the leaf mulch forest floor where i had imagined every life possible as a 9 year old girl, where i'd buried treasures and fears, where i'd built shelters of sticks and pine needles, and made meals of fern fronds and stream water. i climbed over the 200 year old rock wall and my feet took me, with agility and memory, streamside, to the places i would come to "think", to sing, to create, and to escape. my heart ga-gunged in my chest, and i heard myself grunting as if to scare off anything that might try to attack me in this vulnerable place. i was afraid to be here, with these recollections, with this space that held so much of my pain, that heard so many of my cries, that had accepted so much of my anger. But, as I scanned the scene, i could find no sign of it. The paths that Lori and I had worn between the skunk cabbage and the fern forest were gone. The 8 foot high teepee made of leaves and branches to hide my middle schooled fears was no where to be seen. Even the gravesite we'd dug for our beloved dog, Ginger, had dissappeared, rock ring and all.

I cried. The ground went away, the trees went away, the birds went away. AIl i could see was green speckled with white light, laced with a lilting 3 note song that appeared as blue as it sounded. My head fell back and my heart rose up, and there was forgiveness.

I got up, went to my car, and took the road to Providence.