Seeds

Thinking about the Martin Luther King Memorial finally being dedicated in DC soon.

Makes me also think about how I grew up in racism.

Black folks weren't openly condemned as, you know, bad; just, questionable.

Living many years with my grandparents, I heard from my grandfather every ugly descriptor one can utter about black folks.  

I won't repeat them here. 

I remember once my Grandma described a woman from church - She was 'a Nice Lady, you know, for being Colored.'

At the time I lived with my grandparents, maybe 3rd grade or so.  I had no bedroom so I slept on the couch and I had a radio, a teddy, and a box of 64 Crayolas (the one with the sharpener!).  

All I remember thinking was, Someone COLORED her? 

When I was in junior high in the late 70s I went to several dances sponsored by the CYO (Catholic Youth Organization).  That was fine with my dad until he realized the venue was in 'That side of town.'  Then he laid down the law, saying he'd spent his life getting away from .... 'that and those people'. 

Poverty?  Black people?  His own neglected, chronically hungry, beaten childhood?  I still don't know.  The one and only night he picked me up from a CYO dance, he saw who else attended and I was forbidden to go to another (not that I didn't sneak out and go anyway - that goes without saying).

In high school in the 80s, one of our cheerleaders, Edie, was very much in love with Terence, star receiver.  And he her.  It was an open secret they were involved, and when I could I'd pick them up in my old '70 Monte Carlo.  They in the back seat, me driving from Po-Dunk to the Coast.  We'd go as far as a tank of gas could take us.  We'd smoke, drink, listen to the crash of the waves, and then head back to Po-Dunk.

..........

Before I wrote this I looked up a few blogs (most out of California) to see what the Young People were saying. 

One that stood out was a wonk in their twenties, who opened a post with, "I never thought I'd live to see the day that..."

Really?  I'm sure this is a well-educated young person but s/he's been on the planet roughly two decades.  The first hardly cognizant.  Half of said life was pre-pubescent.  

Note to Young Bloggers:  Don't use a phrase like "I never thought I'd see the day" unless you've actually seen something, like, during your own lifetime.  Because if you are already chagrined at 24, the next fifty years are going to really suck for you.  To put it nicely, using such phrases undermines your credibility.  Assuming you have any beyond your diploma.

Racism is deeply woven, and often only recognized when chosen - and when open enough - to be seen.  

As is misogyny.

I try hard to be better than the person I was raised to be.  Not everyone even recognizes the racism they live with, or live by.

I want to be beyond those fifteen, twenty years of hate and judgment.  And I'm a well-educated, open, loving person, at least I like to think so.

I hope the twenty-something ivy-leagues of this affluent world, who have a policy-wonk voice, can recognize not everyone has been handed what they have been handed.

So Yay you, Privileged, Judgmental Children People.

The rest of us had to do it the hard way.

And get off my lawn! 

Welcome to my Gracious Home.

Jesus H. Christ on a cracker.  What a mess.

 I think this is the kitchen.

I'm prepping for painting so it looks extry unkempt. 

Check the ancient electronics.  

My friend Burns suggested, for accuracy, 

I have them carbon-dated.

The cats, Noah and Mister Smith*, have been a big o pain in the arse.  It's not like they haven't lived here before, and they have four times the space they did in DC, yet SOMEONE...is marking their territory.  And they are both neutered!  Gah!

I cannot stand, CANNOT STAND any smells in my house so I'm going round sniffing for cat scents.  I'm so adamant about smelliness I will go outside in snow and rain to smoke.

Not that I smoke, mind you, but if I did - I'd go outside in the snow and rain to do so (Hi Mom and Dad!).

 

That portrait you've read so much about.

But it is so great to be back home.  Yes, I am broke and Comcast sucks and Seattle mass transit is non-existent, but...lord I'm happy to be here, to be loved.  Color me a wimp, but I needs my friends.

Smith sez, it don't suck here.

Please come visit soon. I really want to share my nice little house, my wonderful friends, my beautiful city.

After I find the coffee pot and the toilet paper.

*Real names.  They don't care.

Not the Least Bit Girlie

I can't believe I forgot to write about this.  Actually I can.

My friend Chippy sherpa-ed one of my cats here to Seattle, so me, Chippy and the two cats were picked up by Autumn to stay at her place when we arrived.  That night was a bit of a party with friends, beer and I think someone was smoking ciggies.

Autumn and I had discussed Chippy taking the guest room and Autumn and I sleeping in her room, so as the night winded up (after a very long day, let's be honest) I hit the bed.

I offer this background because it might make me look less ridiculous as I tell this story.

In the morning, I wake up blurry-eyed and No Autumn.  I lurch around and start making the bed.  Autumn swings into the room.

"Hey", I said, "You must've hit the couch...?"

Now, Autumn is full of love and laughter, but I have NEVER seen her bordering on giddy hysteria like I did that morning.

"OH. MY. GOD!" she announces, barely able to contain herself she's so tickled.

Which of course I start getting tickled, just seeing her.

"What is so funny?"

"Elle!"

"WHAT?"

"Don't you REMEMBER?"

All I remember was toddling up to bed and putting on my boyish but sexy jammies (is there anything more appealing than a girl in pajamas, pajamas that...okay well...).

Anyway, as far as I could recall I pulled on my little pjs, crawled into my side of the bed and went very sweetly to sleep.

Which cracked Autumn up to no end.

"You were splayed all over the bed and SNORING LIKE A SAILOR!"

"WHAT?  No way, dude!"

Apparently I was flailing around and there was no room for her; I even flung a leg over her, and she tried to get me to turn over ("Elle, ELLE!  MOVE!") but I'd have none of it.  My snoring was SO LOUD she could only take it for like ten minutes.

So she retreated to the downstairs couch.  Even then she was grateful she CLOSED THE BEDROOM DOOR, that's how obnoxiously I was snoring.

Yeah, I'm a Hottie.

Neighbors, Dungies

My neighbor Joe came round to welcome me home and gave me a Dungie he had caught earlier in the day.

Hello, Dinner.

I grew up catching blue tips in the Texas Gulf Coast, which are fantastic but it takes about a dozen for a meal.  But Dungeness are massive.  Boyfriend and I used to go down Cannon Beach in Oregon and one evening he suggested, as we walked that beautiful beach, Let's get a Dungie for dinner.

I ask, A Dungeness?  As in, One?  Which he totally laughed at.

But I do know how to clean a crab, Dungie or otherwise, courtesy of Grandma.

It involves your foot (preferably enclosed in a shoe), a strong stream of water and, um, an axe.  To split the carapace.

Yep.  This is how it's done.  

Apologies for the soft focus - I get a little nervous when exposed toes are near live crab claws.

Or a shovel.  Less classy but serviceable.

Here's a tip, learn from my fail:  I don't care how dead you think that crab is, those claws work.  Especially if the crab is only mostly dead.

Anyway.

Clean that bad boy out, get that boil going with a potato and some corn on the cob and life is good.

Also, be from Texas so you know how to spice n butter it.

Thanks Joe, thank you for the welcome.  

I'm so happy to be home.

Storing Your Life

Recently I tried to explain to a friend how, when letting go of part of my life, I try to make a little mental box of memories, and put a small tag on it (hopefully something positive).  Then I stash it away and say good bye.

But then sometimes, there are real boxes you bump into.

My home in Seattle is up on a hill, like many are.  The street is about 10 feet or more below the house, so when you look up to the big picture windows you see the living room walls.

Being an anal-retentive art director sort, it took me two years to decide on a color for the living room.  Even then I didn't know what artwork to hang that folks could see from the sidewalk.

My boyfriend at the time solved that for me.

Today that box, which I had not seen in 5 years, was unwrapped.  The moving guys brought in a skinny 4 foot by 6 foot box, with the usual, "Where does this go?"

We cracked it open and I saw the frame, a very traditional gold frame, with the portrait itself covered.

"Ah! Yeah, don't unpack that."

It's a portrait of me, painted by my artist boyfriend who is incredibly talented.  A nude, me draped on a chaise lounge.  It really is quite beautiful - not that I am beautiful, but he is an excellent artist and it was painted with love.  And there is no doubt, it is me.

He gave it to me for Christmas, keeping me out of the house until he could hang it in the living room.  In...The Living Room.

Where anyone on the sidewalk, at the bus stop in front of the house, or passing by on the street can see it quite clearly.

I thanked him profusely, and indeed what a lovely gift....but o dear.

A few weeks later, the cable people had to come to the house.

Me, seizing the opportunity:  Hey Boyfriend, can you let cable people into the house for me?

BF:  Yes, sure!

.....

BF:  Um.  Cable dude came by.

Me:  O good!  Went okay?

BF:  We're moving the portrait.

Molly, Minion of Satan

I love animals, cats in particular.  And they love me, never met a cat that didn't like me.

Until Molly.

Molly is being fostered by my friend Autumn, who is one of the loveliest people I have ever known.  Kind, strong, funny, thoughtful (she writes Thank-you notes, people), Autumn is beautiful inside and out.  Me and my two cats are staying with Autumn during my transition here in Seattle.  We have the extra bedroom, which has a small balcony off the second floor.

Molly was terribly neglected and weighed about four pounds when Autumn took her in.  Half Siamese, half calico, half feral, half insane.  Actually I shouldn't say that - I'm not sure about the calico part.

 Molly:  The Culprit

She has nailed me with both fangs and claws no less than 12 times.  She starts out all loving, batting at you a little, then BAM.  Once she was lying in wait next to the staircase, scheming, planning, for me to come down the stairs.  When I turned the corner she attacked my knee and tried to move up my leg.  I think she was going for the femoral artery.  I now look like I was bitten by a very short vampire.

Autumn was out of town last week so it was just me at the krazy kat house.  My cats do not interact with Molly, they stay in the bedroom and the litter box is out on the balcony. 

One day I decide to shift my cats into Autumn's room, just so they could have new things to sniff.  Once closed into that bedroom, I then went downstairs to wash out their bowls.

I heard some mao-raowing from outside.  I went out, and the maoing seemed to be coming from above.

Apparently Molly decided to explore the open bedroom where my cats had been.  Then the balcony.  Then the balcony railing.  Then up to the window eave.  Then the ROOF OF THE APARTMENT BUILDING.

HOLY SHIT.

My heart seized up, my adrenals went into overdrive, and my life flashed before me (including the part where Autumn beats me to death with a blunt object).  

I'm pretty sure I peed myself a little.

The escape route.  That's one of my cats, Mister Smith. 

Smith is almost too fat to get on the futon, forget the roof.

Molly moved over to the neighbor's part of the roof and thank goodness she was home.

She let me in and I raced up to her balcony.  There is Molly on the eave.

Neighbor (who is also named Molly, oddly enough) calls from outside downstairs:

Just grab her by the scruff!

Oh sure, you down on terra firma where there are no claws and fangs.

I couldn't reach her so I stood on one of those low plastic beach chairs - which are great for lounging but not so great to stand on and lean over a balcony to grab an unpredictable cat.

I had a towel on my shoulder and in the sweetest voice I have, I said, "Hey Molly!  Hey pretty kitty!  Let's go home, you evil possessed cat!  And guess who is giving Elle a heart attack?  Who?  Who?"

I picked her up by the scruff and supported her chest, trying not to think of my exposed jugular.  I got her back home, she completely indifferent to the whole adventure, me hyperventilating.

She had a small snack.  I changed my underwear.