Through a Veil... Lightly.

I am sitting on my couch.  The couch that we almost didn't bring down from Canada because we weren't sure if it would fit inside our townhouse in Oregon, let alone fit inside our moving truck along with all our other belongings we weren't prepared to give away yet.

We moved.

We did it.

We had a lot of help, and we needed it.  Folks in Rosebud came out to help us pack, tetris the truck, clean up the empty house, deal with things we were not taking with us, providing a place to sleep, food to eat, lovely send-offs and farewells and good wishes... and we arrived after two days of travel...

and our new place was not ready for us.

So disappointing.

But we had a ready crew of helpers to unload so....

We cleaned a spot on the living room floor from all the dust of painting and plastering and new flooring and other turn over tasks that were not yet done, and brought everying inside.

The place was worse than we thought.  Granted, they were trying to get it ready for us, and having to work extra hard (the horror story of the tenant evicted before us was pieced together over the next several days), but it was especially disappointing because we had just worked so hard trying to make our old place so welcoming, and the prospect of doing that all again, only with even more history of grime, was a heavy thought.

But when I looked out from the tiny kitchen and saw Gutenberg College students on their hands and knees mopping the floor with my dish towels, I was moved by their humble generosity.  Once again, we were aided by helpful humans to nudge us forward into uncertainty but also community.

So yes, I am sitting on my couch -- the only part of it that is accessible that is, because our flat screeen tv which is still wrapped in mattress eggshell foam which used to line the wall of our small voice studio in Rosebud, Alberta, is protecting said tv of any damage, but also from any viewing for the past month, is also sitting on the couch.  That's okay.  I really haven't missed it much, yet.  But the point here is that we are still unpacked... for the most part.

That is because even though we have planted flowers in the entry (after bringing in soil and mulch to give the roots a place to breath), we have given notice.

We move again July 12.  The thought is overwhelming if I don't take a deep breath right after.  We will move closer to Eugene, closer to potential work, closer to family, closer to familiarity... closer to neighborhoods that resemble what we value, generally... we think.  

The privilege and possible entitlement of this last paragraph is not lost on me.  It is offering much food for thought these days as the marijuana drafts in again with the heat and argument from outside the back sliding glass door.  They don't allow a screen so we bought a fabric magnetic thingy that kept falling down but now is secured with extra packing tape.  I don't mean to complain as much as be curious.  The "screen curtain" is actually a lovely lacelike white and even thought it's not made to stand up to wind or ants, it veils the outside just a bit.

Our tiny concrete patio was the work station for the local turn around crew and cluttered high with supplies, old doors, old appliances, trash, tools and debris when we first arrived, and now much of that has been removed.  I'm told there were several truckloads that they pulled out of our townhouse and took to the dump.  Like... 13.

As you can imagine, the doily barrier doesn't actually shield me from much, but I'm struck with the image as it gives the illusion of separation -- a flimsy white line of privacy.

But,

I had wanted to be more free to connect and know more diverse people and foster goodwill when I came here.

Why am I shying away?

When David and I go on walks, people seemed surprised and almost suspicious when we greet them.  Drivers do not yield to us.  One woman hissed at me.  Others ignore us and don't mean anything by it.  And some are kind, some are bossy, some are inebriated and some are just tired.  I'm tired too.

Some ditches are full of trash and others have huge grasses.  The land is teaming with life -- it's almost a jungle.  Springfield and Eugene are so rich in velvety roses, you can smell the fragrance when the wind is south.  Glorious.  Broken roads, and then painted bike lanes, and then evergreens everywhere, and then angry shouts, and then silence, and then birds and squirrels and more and more flowers.

Over where my folks live it's a very different vibe.  Immaculate lawns and beautiful spacious homes and water and grass and wildlife... where the biggest concern is the poop the Canadian geese leave behind.

I feel sometimes that I have failed here in this first neighborhood.  Even though I am still friendly, I have not ventured out too much when David is away in Eugene at night at rehearsals, I have stayed inside, among the boxes, remaining in trasition/limbo/liminal uncertainty experiencing life through the sieve of my white flimsy curtain.  Last night I was sure I heard gunshots and someone getting beat up.  I wasn't sure what to do... and then I realized it was a neighbor playing a video game quite loudly with an open window.  My romantic of vision of diversity has not been granted, in fact there is little diversity in this neck of the woods.  I would have to apply myself to look and learn closer between the layers of what most might call "white trash."

My goodwill and patience are in need of tanking up and I don't yet have purposive work that feeds us.

Do I not have a thick enough skin to tough it out in a poor neighborhood?  Am I so used to comfort and quiet and small town hospitality that I can't weather a night walk without fear?  Well, maybe.  Maybe not.

I keep putting out feelers and resumes and dreaming up hopes and visions for theatre and it's hard to find a place for those dustballs to stick on the velcro of possibility and mutual interest.  

Everyone seems busy and holdiing their place.  Some are interested in collaboration but are slow to respond, and some are demanding to start something new since and draft me into their resentful charge because what is already in place is supposedly too narrow.  I am open to connecting to whoever responds at this point, but one thing is clear -- it's all volunteer.

Sigh.

However, we are asserting a show at the local Springfield theatre this Christmas and we have some wonderful souls joining us and that is something to be grateful and excited for.  Heck, there are actually many wonderful things and possibilities coming up, it's just that the foundation of provision is cloudy.

I could go on and on.  And I should for my own clarity because this is tough and fine and strange and scary and sad and good and true.  And I am in one neighborhood while preparing for another while trying to get settled and then feeling stuck -- not sure which good thing to work on first.  I still feel like I'm visiting and on vacation -- taking advantage of family nearby, old haunts, great food and local entertainment for the first time in 28 years.

I still hope to continue to connect to a few more of my neighbors and leave graciously, without them worrying too much about the Canadian poop we might leave behind.

Where we're going to has a small pool.

I can't tell you how much that makes me weep with joy.

I hope I can find work to afford to live there long, if need be.

And I hope to keep learning, from everyone and everything around me.

Thanks for listening to my part of my story.