Please Don't Clean the Bear Food

Ahhh, sweet tea from a Ball jar.

I've been in Yankeeland for over a month now. Nate and I are doing so well together that I'm still very happy with my decision to move up here. It's starting to feel like home. Though I missed my family at Christmas, Nate and I enjoyed spending Christmas morning here with our cats and dog and then visiting his family in Vermont and New Hampshire.

So far I have not found the stereotype of the rude, pushy Yankee to be true. For the most part, people here are, if anything, overly friendly. I think the better stereotype for the Pioneer Valley in particular would be Liberal Hippie. Let me just paint ya a little picture...


My job hunt isn't going well. At the moment, my most promising opportunity is a possible full time nanny job for a family about 8 minutes down the mountain. While they claim they need in-home childcare, I think what she really wants is a full time housekeeper. Maid. Doer of all things nobody wants to do. Whatever, I need the money.

So after interviewing with the couple, I spent half a day getting to know their two little girls, ages 4 years and 18 months. Everything went fine with the sweet girls. We played and colored and the normal activities. Snack time was a little disturbing. These hippie families don't give their kids regular food. You won't find a Little Debbie or a Capri Sun. These kids don't even know what they are. Mom pulled open the tab on a can of sardines and the 4 year old excitedly gobbled up the whole fish, slurping down the spine and innards like they were candy. Mom constantly shovels supplements, vitamins, drops, and who knows what down their mouths, which the girls take in stride.

If you want to throw something away, you have six options. There are three tubs for various recyclables, a compost bucket, a bag in the freezer for meats that spoil, and then the *gasp* non recyclable waste. This means I stand in the kitchen staring at the garbage in my hand trying to figure out where it goes.

I stayed and had dinner with them (homemade chicken soup full of bones, ugh) and then I did all the dishes. Mom had to go to a meeting so she asked me if I could clean the oven. The chicken she cooked had made a greasy mess. According the fancy oven's handbook, as she pointed out, the only recommended way to clean the baked-on grease was a soft cloth and a mild dish soap. So I went at it with the organic crap everybody insists on using up here (I mean literally EVERY product in hippie houses is organic, green, free trade, fragrance free, dye free, effectiveness free garbage) and a wash cloth. Eighteen hours later, with the oven in virtually the same condition, I gave up and started tidying up the kitchen.

The island in the middle of the kitchen has a fancy shmancy cook top and a little bit of counter space. The counter was cluttered with toys and crumbs so I thought it would show initiative to clean it up. Upon inspection, I found several small bags and purses and a variety of little, carved stone bears. Each bear was sitting on a leather pouch and they were arranged on the counter in a semicircle. I figured the four year old had set them up and I didn't want to upset her by moving them, but there were crumbs all over the counter. Not a clean cooking space. So I carefully lifted each bear, cleaned around it, and put it back. As I was finishing up, Dad hesitantly approached and said that in the future, they will just handle the bears themselves. My first thought was that the little girls were particular about their toys. I must have had a confused look because he explained...

These bears are not, as it turns out, toys. They were hand carved and given to him (probably sold to him) by a medicine man in Pueblo and they hold special powers. The little stones tied to each bear  protect the bear, and by association, the person who owns them.

Ok, kind of superstitious but no biggie.

The crumbs, he went on, were actually food that they give the bears. The corn meal is kept in the little  purses and they sprinkle it all around the bears and then, at some point, they take what the bears didn't eat and do something intentional  with it.

Hmmm.

I tried to appear intrigued. Maybe even inspired. I apologized for the mistake and asked if there was anything else of this nature that I should know about. He pointed to a statue perched in the corner of the kitchen.

The water goddess. He leaves her food offerings in a little bowl. I am not to touch the bowl or the food offerings. He will clean it after doing something intentional with the food.

....um



The South may not be the epicenter of healthy eating and earth consciousness, but I've never wanted to be there more than I did at that moment. I'd have killed for a Swiss Roll and a Diet Coke. Probably wouldn't have even recycled the can. Take that.  

Wicked Smaht

If I closed my eyes and focused on the swishy sounds of the washing machines here where I'm literally airing my dirty laundry in public, I could believe I'm back in Lexington at the Chevy Chase Coin Laundry.

The reality of laundromats doesn't change no matter where you are.

But something inside of me is different now. When I was in Lexington, I a) had a job and a purpose b) knew how to get home from where I was c) was in some perpetual, pitiful emotional state because of Nate. I was at any given time oozing glee because I had him, grieving because I lost him, or wallowing in guilt because I had him when I wasn't supposed to.

Now I have him and that burden is gone. It's replaced with the burden of making a relationship with a history like ours work. But I think we can do it. He's good about talking things out.

For example, I was hanging out at his studio the other night because he had a ton of work to do. I found myself to be in a craptastic mood. I think I was feeling jealous. I'm used to feeling jealous of other women he's friends with but I think it was more than that. This guy stood around for awhile talking to him about school stuff. He had a crazy Yankee accent, the worst I've picked up on so far. He kept saying things were wicked... and not like the witch. His girlfriend is getting her PhD which apparently makes her "wicked smart." Ok dude.

I was jealous of this silly Yankee guy. He knew things about Nate that I never will. He and the other students know School Nate. They understand the projects and professors and can sympothize with him in ways that I can't. I hate that. For as much as Nate and I have in common and the similar interests that we have, we'll always have separate school/work friends, relationships, and priorities. True for every couple pretty much. Maybe in time I'll see that as a good thing. For now, I'll just sit and listen and try to contribute to conversations about grading plans and line weights.

Anyway, Nate picked up on my mood quickly and asked me what was wrong and if we should go out and talk. I said that I was just in a bad mood and we talked about it later at home. He never lets me stay angry, even when I pout. I like that.

When it's really cold, steam comes up from all the manholes. It's neat looking.

Geez woman, put your boob away.

So far, I've learned two things from moving up here. First, people are crazy everywhere you go. Second, there are as many ups and downs in life as there are on this silly mountain road I live on.

Last night, Nate and I went to his old place to fetch the last few things he left there. Mainly, it was this monster of a desk/dresser that with all my strength I couldn't even budge. Thankfully, Nate's friend Pat came to help and we found an illegal place to dump it. But first, we had to confront his lunatic landlady to get his deposit back. We left the tiny mudroom that he rented from her in the same shape he found it so we felt the deposit should be returned. She felt that since she hadn't yet been able to find a new renter, she should keep it. Sorry lady, not our problem. Cough it up. First, let me paint a little picture of this woman for you....

Though wholly American, this crazybag decided that she wanted to completely emerge herself in the Irish culture, so she had her name officially changed to something Irish-sounding. She even tries to talk with an accent sometimes. She was artificially laden with child, so she claims, and must have picked the Irish popsicle because the kid has bright red hair and she named him Fear. Appropriate, though, because I am very, very afraid for that child. So, imagine the smallest little house you can and now cram it with so much crap you have to clear a path to walk through it. Clothes, dishes, papers... use your imagination. The kid would get lost in it if she ever, ever put him down. She promised to hook up a router so Nate could have internet at the house and never did because she claimed Nate never offered to hold her toddler so she could have time to do it. She also yelled at Nate because he didn't take out her trash and compost for her promptly enough. Or clean her house. This, of course, a house that Nate only ventured in to use the bathroom.

So last night we were there, trying to clean the room up. We were wiping down the floors and walls with Lysol wipes. Crazybat came in and told us to please not use those wipes in her house because she didn't want the baby breathing it in. Nevermind that you can't see the floor in her house for all the crap. Lysol wipes, that's what's going to harm her child. Nate says she uses Lysol to clean her floors.

After we were cleaned out and loaded up, we went in to get the deposit. And that's when the lunacy really sunk to a new level. She and Nate went back and forth about what they had each agreed to in some misunderstood conversation. Nate had, apparently, said that if he ended up staying there into December she could keep the deposit. He did not, obviously, stay into December. He gave her a month and a half notice to find a new renter. It's not our fault that she's insane and nobody wants to live in her madhouse. Give us back the deposit you nutcase! During this conversation, as we stood in the doorway and she sat on the floor, she steadily whipped her boob out and thrust her gross nipple in the kid's mouth. He clearly didn't want it, but every couple of minutes she'd yank her flabby sack back out and shove it in his poor little face. She was trying to make us feel uncomfortable. Interesting tactic Basketcase but no good. We stood our ground. I glared at her menacingly.

Needless to say, we left without the money. Only to return to our new place where our new landlady was pissed because Nate's dog barks continuously when we're not home. And we still owe her half of the deposit. I just can't see how renting is a better option than owning. I'd rather be flat broke in my own place. As it is, I'm flat broke wherever we live.

So those are some of the valleys right now. But there are peaks! Being away from Nate was miserable and now that is gone away. We still don't know for sure what our future holds or what we want it to hold even. But for now, we're together and that's good enough. And as for everything else, as Nate says, "We will get it all figured out." It's the "we" in that sentence that is my mountaintop.