Car Mechanics

I am sitting in a local Starbucks waiting for my car to get fixed.  Surprise - I need new windshield wipers and the mechanism that supports them.  Who would guess this would happen in Portland?  The weather has been bizarre.  Last week we had 7 days of gray, 3 of these with snow (short, didn't stick long, but it was there), and one afternoon so warm and sunny that Wesley and I played in the backyard without jackets.  Today I am back to a heavy sweater watching the drizzle outside.   All in one week.  I guess I now understand what they mean about, "if you don't like the weather, wait a minute."

I am getting used to a new car shop.  I loved Tom's Auto Shop in Monterey.  When I first moved to Pacific Grove, I asked a new neighbor, Lowell, for a recommendation.  He worked with me at Carmel High - the wood shop teacher - and I figured he would know where to go.  He said, "If I can't fix it myself, I take it to Tom's."  So off I went and was happy for the next 24 years.

The folks at Tom's knew my cars, told me what needed to be done, fixed them quickly, backed up their work, gently urged me when it was time to get replacements - and all this in a shop so clean you could literally eat off the floor.  Our lives became entwined.  They knew my cars and I knew his kids.  I taught Tom's two sons at Carmel High and was delighted when I would see them at the shop in the intervening years.

One of my favorite memories involved Tom's shop, my car and my dog, Murphy.  Any of you who knew Murphy are probably shaking your head right now as you recall Murphy the Wonder Dog - oh, that dog led me on a merry chase.  She was the first dog of my life and I did NOT understand effective dog training.  We coexisted.  She occasionally did what I asked but only if it met her needs as well.

Murphy disobeying tide pool rules at Asilomar

On this particular day I dropped my car off at Tom's on my way to  Carmel High.  When I came back to pick it up I was really surprised to find the work not finished - so unlike Tom's.  One of his mechanics explained, "We didn't want to finish, given the costs, until we got permission but when we called Gary, he didn't answer." With that, I burst into tears.  Other mechanics came running over.  What had happened?  What was wrong? What could they do?  This was NOT my usual response to car maintenance issues.

I don't know about the rest of you but I have a really hard time talking while I cry.  I gulped and sputtered and tried to get words out.  "I guess you didn't know," (sob, hiccup, sniff) "that my husband died last month," (dawning horror on their faces as they understand why Gary didn't answer), "and I didn't think," (gurgle, hiccup) "to give you the Carmel High phone number." At this point I was  sobbing and thoroughly embarrassed by my emotional outburst - it happened whenever I was blindsided by unexpected reminders of my husband's death.  As I tried to contain myself, they scurried about fixing my car.  I have never seen work done so quickly.  While some worked on the engine, others gave me tissues to dry my face, pushed Tom's Automotive trinkets (a little calculator, notepads and a calendar as I recall) into my hands, and looked away while I desperately tried to gather my wits.  I have never loved these men as much as I did that day.

As I got into my finished car, one of the mechanics came over to hand me my keys - and a box of See's candy.  He said how sorry they were about Gary's death.  I drove away, touched by their concern.  About two miles into the drive I started to giggle, recalling the whole scene.  It really was funny if one could unemotionally step away and watch it unfold.  Not the sweet men but the situation.  The tears, the scurrying, the handholding, the tissues, the gift-giving, the repair work and then the candy.  If Gary had been alive this is a story I would have enjoyed telling and one he would have loved hearing.  His world was so small -  bed bound from his MS, unable to move, a bright mind trapped in a body - but thankfully his sense of humor remained undiminished.  As I looked over at the box of See's sitting on the passenger seat I said aloud, "Well, Gary, I know you would have enjoyed all this, especially the candy, but unfortunately for you, I get it all myself."

I spoke too soon.

As I turned into the alley behind my house I saw a neighbor, Mike, standing by my garage.  When he spotted me, he began to wave frantically.  Well, he waved with one hand - the other was holding Murphy by the collar (yes, remember, Murphy is part of this story).  I rolled down my window and got an earful.  It seems that earlier that day Murph had worked her way under my back fence and escaped down the alley.  Mike, good friend that he was, grabbed her and tossed her into his dog run along with his own sweet Labrador, Billy.  Here is where the story got messy.  Murphy, the master escape artist, quickly figured out how to outwit Mike's system.  Not only this, she encouraged Billy to join in.  Billy was a dog who had happily spent much of the previous 5 years in this dog run with never a thought of making a run for it - until he met Murphy.  And now, Murphy had both a co-conspirator and an avid learner. The result was that my neighbor spent much of the afternoon trying to stay one step ahead of my dog.  He would improvise a plan, Murphy would find a way around it, would leave with Billy in tow and Mike would have to go chase them.   And it happened over and over.  By the time I got home Mike was so mad I suspect he would have let my dog go except that I was a new widow. This is what saved Murphy.  Mike was just too decent to let the miscreant run off.

This, however, did not prevent Mike from enumerating all of Murphy's failings of which there were many.  I realized decisive action was needed.  I grabbed the box of See's candy, waved it in front of him and said, "Oh, please, Mike, take this.  I know it won't make up for your troubles but it might help."  I was right.  A chocoholic stood before me. His eyes lit up as he zoomed in on the easily identifiable white box with the gold stickers. He scooped that box away from me as fast as Murphy escaped from his dog run.  As much as I regretted the loss of the candy, I knew not to press my luck. I whisked Murphy out of his sight, into my garage.  Murphy, true to form, had no regret. She pranced ahead of me into the house.  I shook my head as I followed Murphy in. Let's see, I got the dog, Mike got the See's, and Tom's Auto Shop ended up fixing far more than my car.

I wonder what my relationship with Barrett's Automotive here in Portland will be.  They seem nice, have done previous work promptly, recognize that I am waiting for my car so move it up on the list of jobs to be done - no complaints.  But do they have See's candy waiting if unexpected outbursts occur?  This is the kind of thing not covered in online reviews.   Only experience will tell.   I am not counting on it - there are only so many Tom's in one's life.

Murphy teaching Stephanie the correct way to mouth a ball 

(okay - to be fair to Stephanie - she had a clean ball in her mouth)

My First Report Card

I can’t believe 6 months have passed – 10% of my planned 5-year stay in Portland.  Impossible.  Seems like yesterday I unpacked the first carton.  It is, therefore, time for an assessment - a report card on how I am adjusting to my new life.

Goals:

1. Spend time with Wesley and his parents, Stephanie and Dan.
2. Enjoy the relaxed life of a renter.
3. Get to know Portland and become part of an urban environment.
4. Lead a quieter life than the one I led in Pacific Grove.  Do what Dr. Ravishankar in India demanded of me: Take time to smell the roses - or the Indian equivalent.

Reality:

1.   Spend time with Wesley and his parents  A+

Love my time with Wesley, Stephanie and Dan.  I pick Wesley up from preschool every weekday and usually spend some weekend time with the family.  We have dinner together about once a week.  I can pat myself on the back on this one.  “Good job, Gramma,” as Wesley would say.

      2.   Enjoy the relaxed life of a renter   B-

It’s a B- because I had to jump through a LOT of hoops to get this place.  It was very odd, at my age, to be put through such a process.  My landlady wanted proof that I owned my house (how do you prove this when you are in Oregon and all your papers are in California?).  I thought going online to my bank account and showing her my mortgage payments would work – “No,” she said, “You could have set that up yourself. “ (Why would I do that?).  I had my accountant email a copy of my taxes to show my property tax payment – same thing, “No, not proof.”  (WHY?????).  Showed her my investment portfolio.  She sniffed – doesn’t prove anything.  She called my former employer (I have been retired for 8 years) to check my reliability.  (Really?  Thank you Carmel Unified for your cooperation). My favorite was when she asked for the names and phone numbers of my last 3 landlords.  I explained that: a) it had been 40 years since I rented; b) I didn’t remember their names; and c) certainly didn’t have phone numbers – if they were even alive. My credit rating finally convinced her and she accepted my application.

Once that was settled it has basically been good.  I love my little place.  It is small – a teeny living room, decent size (but odd shaped) eat-in kitchen, adequate bedroom, small bathroom, small (but delightful) upstairs attic room and a washer/dryer in the basement.  What I do love is my landlady’s immediate response when a few things have gone wrong.  I really appreciate that. 

My unit is on the right.

However – and the other reason for the B- rating - I have not been able to forget being a homeowner in California.  Right before my tenants moved into my Pacific Grove home last October, a surge of 170 volts shot through the house (caused by a tree branch scraping the line) and fried most of the wiring and appliances.  I am thankful no one was living in the house at the time because anything plugged in (computers, TVs, etc) would have also fried.  PG&E claims no responsibility and my homeowners insurance did not cover much because most appliances were older.  This has been a financial and emotional drain but, thankfully, everything is now working, the cause has been corrected, the tenants seem happy, I have a wonderful property manager and, when I have driven by the house, they are keeping it impeccably neat.  Phew.  This grade should go up in the future.

3. Become Urban in Portland   C-

This is my lowest grade.  I have been surprisingly lazy when it comes to getting to know more about Portland.  I had already seen most of the highlights from earlier trips up here and have become quite confident about the Southeast quadrant where I live but I am on the un-hip east side of the river.  The west side is the happening place  – trendy restaurants, major stores, most of the museums, Powells Bookstore, the cool stuff - and I rarely go.  Parking isn’t easy, don’t know my way around, I have to be home to pick up Wesley – see all the excuses I have come up with?

It is getting better.  I have started taking the bus so I don’t have to deal with parking and traffic.  Last time I flew back here from California I took MAX (their BART) and a bus home from the airport – with my suitcase.  Felt VERY urban and it was so easy I know I will do this in the future.  Portland transit has made the whole process simpler with a free app for my phone that identifies the best route for a trip, tells me which busses arrive at a stop, identifies how many minutes I have to wait before my bus arrives and, once I am on board, lets me set an alarm (very discreet) that will chime when I am 1/3 of a mile from my chosen stop.  It even includes a flashing light I can turn on to let a driver know I am waiting if it is dark at a bus stop.  Amazing.   

Now that I am volunteering at the main branch of the library I will be in the heart of downtown once per week.  Tomorrow is my first Saturday morning shift.  Up until now I have worked on Tuesdays and I had to get right back to pick up Wesley.  I look forward to spending my upcoming Saturday afternoons exploring. Oh, I sense I am getting more and more urban by the second.

4.   Lead a Quieter Life than the one I led in Pacific Grove  A

One thing I know for sure is that, in the past, I almost automatically said Yes to invitations to join a club, committee, volunteer assignment, discussion group, whatever.  Yes just slipped right out; I had trouble saying No.  That is why my life got so complicated in Pacific Grove.  Three book clubs (adored each of them), classes at the community college (so much fun – French, Italian, gardening, technology), volunteer work at the Multiple Sclerosis Quality of Life Project (many, many, many hours as the Executive Director), part time work mentoring new teachers at Carmel High School, art classes (anyone who knows my artistic inabilities is stunned at reading this but, oh it was fun!), a writing group (wonderful women), volunteer work at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, covering my neighbor’s art gallery when they were in a bind, lots of travel to visit friends and see new places, etc, etc, etc.  I loved every single bit of it but, together, it was a LOT.   

When I spent almost 3 months in India in 2008 (volunteering at a home for abandoned children at an ashram in the far north of India) a colleague, without asking, made an appointment for me to see an Indian Auyervedic doctor (yes, his name really was Ravishankar) who was visiting the ashram.  I went along with it – hey, a new adventure – and was deeply surprised by the experience.  I had not met him before our appointment - and joked about it at the time - but am still amazed at how perceptive he was after feeling my pulses for about 10 minutes and asking only the most basic questions about my general well-being.  It was shocking, actually.  He nailed me on the way I was choosing to live my life and had many suggestions on how to improve it.  The main one was to SLOW DOWN. 

I wanted to include a description of that meeting because it was life-changing.   It’s at http://www.donnainindia.blogspot.com/ but it's hard to navigate (you have to go backwards through the entries) and, in reality, I think I may be the only one who still has access to it.  I, therefore, cut and pasted a copy and placed it at the end of this entry.  Easy to skip, if you're not interested.  

What I can say is that I HAVE slowed down.  I live a very small life, smaller than I ever have lived in the past, and am surprised at how much I am enjoying it.  I have deliberately chosen to add few friends, experiences and commitments. Yes, I have two volunteer jobs but each is only a few hours per week.  When one of them – the social service agency that helps the poor – asked if I would consider joining their board, I actually said the magic word, “No.”  I smile and wave at neighbors when on a walk, and love engaging the kids when they are up to interesting play, but have not tried to get to know any of them better.  I didn’t get to know my duplex neighbors very well until a bit before they moved to Hawaii (actually regret that) and have been slow to get to know the new neighbors who recently moved in. It is very odd to know so few people.  At home I ran into people I knew every day – former students, friends of my children, people with whom I volunteered, neighbors, etc but here in Portland I know no one except the families of my daughter and some of her friends, a sister and a sister-in-law.  I have met a few people at my volunteer jobs but don’t see them outside of those commitments.  And, guess what?  I am really enjoying the realities of this small life in Portland.  I like being anonymous.  I like having time to do nothing or choose to read a book or go for a walk or sit in the rare bit of sun.  Perhaps Dr Ravishankar was onto something.  And, of course, equally possible, perhaps this will get old and I will get bored.  But for the time being  I am quite content.

If interested, here’s my India blog entry about my visit with Dr Ravishankar.

 The Ayurvedic Experience  (India, February 9, 2008)

We met in his bedroom – interesting, eh? Actually, Dr. Ravishankar (yes, I know, amusing) was staying in one of the 4 apartments in the VIP building. He will be here for a short time and decided to see clients in his unit. Indian beds are platforms on legs – with about a 3-inch very, very firm mattress on top. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed and invited me to join him. I told him I can’t cross my right leg (the knee won’t bend properly) so I sat with my left knee crossed with my right leg hanging off the side of the bed. “If you are comfortable that is all that matters,” he said.

Once settled, Ravishankar asked me to take off my watch and any jewelry that might have an astrological significance. I told him I had no idea because I don’t know much about astrology (Unenlightened One, here). He looked at my two rings and bracelet and asked me to remove the rings. He took my left wrist and felt my pulse. I closed my eyes and frantically tried to meditate so I would be oh so calm for this reading. (I am fine, I am fine, there is nothing wrong with me. No, wait, that’s visualization. Okay, Sha-ring, Sha-ring, Sha-ring – I am fine - Sha-ring, Sha-ring, Sha-ring . . .the darn mantra never seems to help when needed!) His hand stayed on my wrist. I tried to breathe calmly and he kept pressing gently. After the longest 7 minutes imaginable, he wrote some things on a form. Then he held my right wrist and felt its pulse for another 3 minutes – again jotting things down. Then he looked at my tongue, felt my fingernails, asked some basic info about urine/bowels. Finally, he paused for a very long minute and then began to speak.

Ravishankar: Dough-na (I am getting quite used to the Indian pronunciation of my name), why do you live this way? Why do you try to do 10-12 things at once? You don’t really do any of them well, you know, because you are so scattered. I know you are grieving about past losses (how does he know this?) but this won’t help and you have been leading this scattered life for at least 20 years (again, how does he know?). You are a Kapha (or whatever is the Ayurvetic name for my type) but you have been trying to transform yourself into a Pittta.  You are not a Pittta. You are a creative Kapha but you aren’t giving yourself time to be who you are meant to be. You eat too fast. You don’t chew your food enough. You don’t eat at regular times. You are eating too much raw food (HOW does he know this?). You must stop eating meat. Tell me about your eating schedule.

Dough-na: Well, I grab breakfast - when I eat it; I often eat lunch in front of my computer - but I usually fix dinner – and it is often made from fresh foods, lots of salads. I really don’t eat much packaged stuff. Well, there’s the packaged snack stuff I eat on the run – but some of it is good – oh, well, yes, it is often raw – veggies, salad, and so on.

Ravishankar: Dough-na, listen to what you just said. You are not focused. When you live this way, you end up doing nothing well.

Dough-na – Well, yes, I do try to do 10-12 things at once – but, in my defense, I think I get at least 9 of them done, and I think they are done well.

Ravishankar: And how much time is left for living in the present, for enjoying the moment?

Dough-na: Uhhhhhh (voice fading off into nothingness as I review my typical day back home - up by 8, going from task to task, getting to bed between 1 and 2 each morning). Well, I find time to occasionally have tea with friends, and I belong to 3 book clubs (oops – maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that I belong to 3 – I notice his eyebrow just went up a bit), and I have traveled a lot, and, ummm . .

Ravishankar: Dough-na, think what you would become if you focused on 1 or 2 things. Your creativity is great but you have stretched it to cover all the things you try to do. You are NOT living in the present. You jump from concerns about the past to tasks for the future, back to the past - but where is the NOW? Where is the quiet time to enjoy the present? Stop and think. What are you doing? Help me. Please describe a wonderful day in your life.

Dough-na: Oh, that’s easy. The very best day of my life was my daughter’s wedding. The whole family was together. It was beautiful (I start to drift off into the memory of weaving the flowers into the arbor, watching the lights come on all over the garden - in awe at its beauty, etc)

Ravishankar: And during that day did you worry about past events or future tasks?

Dough-na: No, it was perfect from the minute I woke up until I went to bed. I just enjoyed each and every minute. (Damn, I see what’s coming. I’ve just proved his point.)

Ravishankar: Dough-na – that is how you should live every day – in the moment.

Dough-na – Wait a minute, I had to plan that day. It didn’t just happen.

Ravishankar: Did you enjoy planning it?

Dough-na – Loved it. It was lots of fun – every minute of it (Oh, crap, I guess I was living in the present those days too – proving his point AGAIN).

Ravishankar: Dough-na, you have to slow down. What are you doing here at the Ashram?

Dough-na – Well I am only teaching 2 classes per day, oh, and doing the 5th grade study session each afternoon – oh, and meeting with some teachers (that eyebrow of his is starting to twitch again).

Ravishankar: Dough-na, why did you come here?

Dough-na: Well, I wanted to help in the orphanage but it seems like the school needs me more.

Ravishankar: Dough-na, let me say it again. Do one thing and put all your creativity into it.

Dough-na: Hmm, I hate to tell you this, but when I was only doing one thing I was so bored I was actually thinking about going home early. That’s why I’ve been looking for more to do.

Ravishankar: Do one thing, Dough-na. Do one thing you really want to do. Enjoy it. Then take a walk, and enjoy the walk. Notice everything. Before each meal, inhale the aroma of the food and enjoy it. Savor each mouthful. Chew it well. Find time to meditate if that’s what you want to do. Enjoy the sun. Be quiet. Take the time to listen to what your inner self is telling you. Have balance in your day. You have no idea what is waiting for you when you finally allow yourself to be who you are meant to be. Stop trying to be what you are not.

Then he reviewed my diet:

No more raw food

No meat

Anything sweet (including fruit) is not to be eaten with a meal but one hour after

No water with meals – drink it one half-hour after.

Fish is okay

He will send me the specifics in an email

Then we practiced breathing. Yes, a consequence of hurry-hurry-hurry is that I am a shallow breather. I have to start by expanding my chest, then my stomach – and do it for 5 minutes, 6 times a day. I should be taking 7 breaths per minute, not more. And LIVE IN THE PRESENT.

My time was up. I paid him 500 rupees ($12.50). He asked me what I was going to do next. HAH - I knew the answer. “I am going to get up and walk out of the room.”

He laughed.

I have much to think about.

Recreating My Grandmother's Attic

I have very strong memories of my grandmother's attic.  First, the entrance. There was no inside access - no pull-down stairs, no hole in a closet ceiling to boost ourselves through.  No, instead we had to run around to the back of her house in the woods outside of Mendocino and climb a long flight of stairs.  Once at the top, we had to open two sets of double doors - first the screens and then the wood ones.

Second, when we stepped inside our senses were assaulted.  It was dark. Yes, there was a window at the far end but you couldn't see much until we switched on the lights. Then we had to be ready to bend our heads - we could only stand in the middle of the long narrow attic.  The ceiling sloped down on both sides.  The smell was that unique attic mixture of mustiness and dust with a little mildew from all the Mendocino fog thrown in. There were rugs on the floor and two twin beds tucked under the sloping ceilings.  This is where we spent the night if the house below were full of guests.   Beyond the beds were bureaus and a table with chairs.  The contents of the bureaus were our focus.  They were filled with glorious things - Betsy McCall paper dolls, toys from the childhoods of my mother and her two brothers, boxes of old greeting cards, books, blocks, dolls, trucks, old clothes - it was WONDERFUL.  I still remember the musty smell that would rise up as we turned pages of books and magazines that seemed hundreds of years old.  We would play by the hours up in that attic.

Spending the night up there created a mixture of feelings.  It was a little scary way up at the top of the house - especially as there was no immediate access to our parents below. But you had to balance this with the recognition that no one "down there" would know if we had the lights on into the wee hours of the night - and there were all those old-fashioned toys waiting to be played with.  There was one additional challenge to staying overnight in the attic - no bathroom.  We had two choices - go down the outside steps in the dark or use the chamber pot Nana provided.  We used the chamber pot.  There was no way I was going outside by myself.  Interestingly, what I don't remember is who emptied the chamber pot.  I can't imagine one of us carrying it down the steps.  Oh well, it's clearly lost in the fog of my memory.

I want my grandson to have a similar set of memories about visiting my house.  When he is older (and I am back in California), I think he will like to visit my house - it's a good "Grandmother Cottage" in a wooded part of Pacific Grove   But that's then and this is now - so what do I do?  Well, guess what?  I have an attic room here in Portland.  In fact, this room was the reason why I chose to rent this unit of my duplex.  I have loved making it a space for Wesley that is an updated version of my grandmother's attic.

Note the slanted ceiling and a bed tucked beneath it.  Also note the little door to the right of Wesley's bed.  It provides creepy under-the-roof access.  I truly hope he never explores it - but how likely is that?  I would have; assume he will do the same.  My fear is that he won't want his bed next to it once he sees what is behind that door.  Thankfully, he's not strong enough to open it now.

Here is the opposite side of the room - again, note the sloping ceiling.  I forgot about this slope when I chose furniture to bring from California.  I couldn't fit the tall file cabinet and a bookcase that I brought with me. There are our two rocking chairs where we read books together or talk about our days while we rock and rock.

This is Wesley's "desk" where we color, do legos or put puzzles together.  

These are the two bureaus filled with favorite toys of Stephanie and Lee - and yes, some of them have a slighty musty, a bit moldy smell - remember, Pacific Grove is foggy.  We have only gone through a few of the drawers - Wesley doesn't realize that other toys are waiting until he gets a bit older. My grandmother stenciled the bureau in this photo (you can see a little bit of the stenciling in the close-up below) and it was in her attic.

Now, look closely at that bureau - at the white pot on top.  Here's a close up.

Yep!  It's the actual chamber pot my cousins and I used!!!  Don't ask me how my sister Mary ended up with it but when I told her I was trying to recreate the attic, she handed it over.  I have told Wesley how we used it.  His eyes got quite big.  I assured him that he did not have to use it that way - my bathroom was just down the stairs.  I also want to assure all of you that I sterilized it before I used it to store toys.  Granted, it was a long long time ago but I wasn't taking any chances!

This little nook (to the left of Wesley's rocking chair) has my desk.  I love looking out at the front of the house when I should be doing something significant like paying bills.  Bah.

So, if any of you come to visit me  - this is also my guest room.  Wesley is willing to share and you don't have to use the chamber pot.  Just don't look inside that little door. 

Big Boy Underpants

I am here in Portland because of my wonderful grandson, Wesley.  When I visited last June, Stephanie suggested I ask Wesley what noise an elephant makes.  I asked and he responded by holding his wrist in front of his mouth with his fingers dangling down.  Then he drew his head back, his wrist went up, and he let out a ROAR - the hand being the elephant's trunk.  I was enchanted.  That night, when thinking about it again, I had one of those epiphanies (like when I decided very suddenly to retire 10 years early).  What if I had not been here and known the right question to ask?  What other things have I missed between visits?  Yes, I fly up every 2 months but a lot happens in that time.  Am I a fool to stay in Pacific Grove?  Although I truly love living on the Monterey Peninsula, in a wonderful house, with many friends and activities, would my life be enriched if I moved to Portland?

I talked with Stephanie and Dan.  Would they mind if I moved here?  (No, it was a great idea, they said).  How near to them could I live?  (They were very polite when I looked at one place a few houses down  - and maybe they were thankful that it didn't work out!) How could I help?  (Babysitting?  Pick him up at preschool?  Date nights?).  The end result was that I flew back to California, started the process of undoing my current life, flew back to Portland a month later to find a rental, flew back to California to pack up the house, flew back to Portland to meet the moving van, flew back to California to finalize renting my PG house and then drove my car to Oregon.  Phew.  It was a somewhat chaotic summer.

But now I am here and am so in love with the wee one.  Right now we are in the middle of the introduction of Big Boy Pants.  Stephanie would have preferred to wait until later (he is 2 1/2) but preschool wanted it.  All his classmates are somewhere in the process. He got his big boy pants last month.  He told me that he wanted purple undies - his favorite color right now.  I wondered what he would end up choosing knowing that the stores would have many options.  I happened to call right when the 3 of them were at Kohl's helping him make the big decision.  He ended up with one packet of Thomas the Tank Engine undies and one with his beloved Mater and other Pixar cars.  We are now in that stage of asking frequently, "Do you have to go potty?"  He almost always answers, "No," even when his answer is accompanied by that universal potty dance.  It is best when he announces, "I have to go" but it can also be too late at that point.  There have been some accidents but, on the whole, the process is moving forward.

This momentous development aside, what has most fascinated me is his language development.  All of us with children remember how geometric the progression is.  They know 1 word, then 2, then 4, then 8, then 16, then 25, then 60, then 150 and so on.  It is amazing to witness this acquisition.  But Wesley has an additional challenge.  His preschool is taught in Spanish and he has been attending since he was about 6 months old.  This has made it doubly interesting to watch.  In the first months of speech most words came out in English but water was always AGUA.  We all went along with it.  As he learned more words, Spanish and English were sometimes mixed together.  He had to "wash his manos", "Bye, Gramma, hasta la vista", his shoes were "zapatos," grapes were "uvas," if we talked about animals it was "horse, cow, chicken, elefante, horse."   I suspect that 97% of what he said to me was English, 3% Spanish and I found the mixture charming.

Today, 7 months into year 2, he rarely uses Spanish when speaking to me.  The two languages seem entirely separate in his mind.  However, when we are flipping through videos on You Tube (do you know how many versions there are of Wheels on the Bus, The Itsy Bitsy Spider and Five Little Monkeys?), he will sometimes ask for a Spanish version of the song.  When he sings the alphabet he does it first in English and then follows it with the Spanish pronunciation of the letters. At preschool, they rattle off instructions to Wesley in Spanish and I see him respond appropriately.  He listens to stories in Spanish.  What I have not heard is him speaking Spanish in sentences.  He will tell me the Spanish equivalent of a single word but not a whole sentence.  I find it absolutely fascinating.  It seems as if he, and all his classmates, have completely compartmentalized the two languages.  English at home; Spanish at school.

What I now notice is the beginning of his understanding of grammar. If I ask him something about himself, "Who was the helper at school today?" he answers in the third person, "Wesley was." Only occasionally have I heard him use the first person, "I was." Today he said, "They is there," but again, I have heard him use "are" in other sentences. I assume the same thing is happening with Spanish grammar.

My only fear in all of this is that I have taught teenagers and I know what they can do.  I suspect that, in the future, when Wesley is upset, we might get an earful of Spanish and will have no idea of what he is saying.  Ah, what power!

All in all, I am amazed at our brain's capabilities.  These little ones are learning so much each and every day.  Their brains just keep chugging along noticing, absorbing, categorizing, understanding.   Phenomenal.  I am so glad I am here to witness it.  

Revisiting Portland Couture

I wasn't kidding about Portland Couture.  If you don't believe me - look at this photo from last Sunday's  local newspaper - the Oregonian.

Look closely.  They are not meeting outside - they are in a room.  Look at the hats - inside, mind you. The hoodies of at least two of them are visible.  And I told you - lots of layers.

I love the topic - they are going to create a kitchen tool library. Of course, now I want to know where it will be located so I can borrow a mandoline.  I don't need one at the moment but I may in the future.  I gave mine away years ago when my children were young - I was sure they would scrape their fingers right off given that I almost did it to mine.

And you thought I was joking!

Driving in Portland

Drivers are much nicer in Oregon than they are in California.  I had heard this before but, after 6 months living in Portland, I can now attest to it - they ARE nicer.  They graciously wave you into traffic; they almost race to be first to pull into an available space to let the other car pass when on a narrow street; they aren't impatient when waiting for you to move into traffic; they don't honk; they drive the speed limit - I could go on and on.  It's different for me.  I had early training in New York City.  I could go one-on-one with any taxi driver I met. And have you ever driven in Boston?  They are the worst in my mind and I survived many trips there.  Although I learned to drive in California I moved to the East right after college so didn't really understand California-style driving versus any other until I returned to California with my family in 1987.  It was easier than driving in the East so I didn't think much about it - normal to me.  

But then I moved here.  They are so nice I have had to seriously revisit how I drive.  I have become a much kinder, gentler driver.  For one thing, I no longer speed.  Well, let me explain - in California I had operated on the belief that the 25-mile local speed was a suggestion and 10 miles over a speed limit wasn't actually speeding.  I believe that most Californians are right there with me.  But not here.  I have slowed down.  I actually drive the speed limit and am, many times, surprised that I am enjoying it.  I look carefully before making turns to make sure there is enough room so that I don't startle any Oregonian who is used to lots of space between cars. When I arrive at a stop sign I wait to make sure I have the right of way before proceeding - and this is usually accompanied by others waving me forward.  I am gracious in parking lots - "No, you take that space, I can find another."  I honked for the first time about a month ago when a driver was very very very close to backing into me in a parking lot - but I really thought about it and waited to the last second to give him time to self-correct.  And when I honked, it was a tap, tap - not a California HHHHOOOONNNNKKKK.  

So I was interested in what would happen when I returned for a quick visit to California.  Would I immediately revert or would Oregonian kindness override 25+ years of California driving experience?  I wish I could say that kindness pervailed but it did not.  I was pretty appalled at how quickly California-learned behaviors reasserted themselves - about 5 miles from the airport car rental agency, I would say.  I eventually excused it, telling myself it was safer to drive as the rest of them do.  Other Californians wouldn't be prepared for my new sensibilities.  It was better to not rock the boat.

However, today, back in Portland, everything changed. Another driver honked at me.  Yes, I got honked.  I was making a right turn into traffic on a local two-lane road at 3:30 - school busses, moms driving kids to whatever appointments they had, the usual.  I had to wait a long time for a space and I knew, when I made my eventual move, that is was too close to an oncoming car for Oregonian standards.  So when I heard the honk, I knew I deserved it.  I had knowingly done wrong.  The fact that I had just returned from driving in California did not excuse me.  I started to wave an apology to the driver behind me when I noticed his license plate.  Get ready - it was a California plate.  California.  Really?  REALLY?  In an instant everything changed. How dare a Californian honk at me?  What I had just done was perfectly acceptable in California.  I would go so far as to suggest that two California drivers would have fit into the space my single car elected to turn into.  If there is a California-Drive-O-Meter anywhere, I know my behavior fell completely within the normal range.  Really! How dare he?

Of course, I then had to laugh.  It was not the end of the world - just a reminder to get back to Oregonian standards.  But thinking about it now, 6 hours later, I have come to a new conclusion.  It didn't count.  If it had come from an Oregonian, it would, but NOT from a Californian.  No way.  So I have decided I remain honk-free.  I am doing just fine.