A Mouse in the Pantry

Somewhere in...between.

I like to add the "dot-dot-dot" to things I write these days. This is probably getting really annoying and overused, and sort of lazy looking, but this "..." has become my fall back. I have mom brain, moving brain, island brain, and dot-dot-dot really covers all the stuff you leave out or can't express quickly and eloquently enough. In Hawaii I would insert "da'kine" instead of ..., if I were having a conversation.

I am insane this week.

Island life is not at all just paradise and beaches. Ok, that's totally not true, there are a lot of beaches and my tan lines (and burnt part on my scalp) are proof, but it's taken lots of work in between to stay afloat.  Some of the work is required, because living here is expensive, and because family obligations are just kind of over the top this last couple of years.  So I work.  But some of it is a kind of crazy busy-ness that I have created, that I always create, to quiet the demons. 

What strikes me this morning is that with this move, and with every transition before this, I must fight to get back to a level playing field with myself, similar to the one I have just left.  No one here cares if I "was" a food blogger. No one cares how much time I spent volunteering at our last school, or how many pies I baked at the holidays. No one cares if I threw myself head on into urban gardening, or whether I was a preschool teacher, a pastry chef, an instructor, a camp leader, a writer, a friend... I am this blank canvas, and first impressions take a long time to wear away.

Because of this, and because of this fear that I will be viewed as something other than what I feel I am and have worked for, because I hate being marginalized as a housewife or "military dependent," I throw myself at everything with gusto.  Sometimes gusto is exhausting.

This week I am fighting my internal demons as I venture into that last dizzying month of my children's school for the year. Even though we've spent six months now offering our blood sweat and tears (and money) to my son's school, I still have this aching feeling of being an unknown.  I feel I must look like some crazed hover-parent, when in fact what I am, is this totally devoted mom who believes in pulling things up from the ashes, and i'm ready to give my all to support whatever is needed.  But no one calls.  I have tried to throw myself at each large event, school outing, education bonus, fundraiser, bake sale. I've tried to say "hey, I have an AA in Early Child Education, you know, if that helps". Crickets.

When the idea of an enrichment camp on another island came up I said "hey, I have spent years working as a camp counselor for children with cancer, and running a marine biology camp once too. I'm your girl!". Silence.  Maybe a slight "That's nice" followed by an awkward smile and a once over as they gauge just how crazy a hover parent/military wife I am (and the military bit gives them plenty of material to make judgements with).

When the issue of the big year-end fundraiser came up, I hurled myself at it body and soul. This would be my shining moment. I would drive this ship, relieving all the weary travelers and inspire mass fund-raising. "Hi, I have lots of event and catering experience, and I would love to help!"(even though, technically I am so overworked I couldn't possibly easily handle this). Nothing. In fact, I'm working a two hour shift at the face painting booth.

Yep.

What the hell is the problem here? I mean with me, not with them, or Hawaii.  Most of us Mothers of Perpetual Exhaustion would be thrilled to sideline for awhile, but I'm not. I feel invisible. I feel vacant.  

My child, the brilliant and quirky being that he is, flaps around campus like a seagull, bumping into things, shouting out trivial thoughts, being called the human dictionary by new friends, only slightly more quickly winning over his crowd. That might be it. That might be the root of it.  I know he's a bit different, and I think somewhere deep inside, that I can win them all over, and endow him with their favor. I can make them all see how fabulous "we" are.  It will be smoother for him that way.

Maybe that's it, maybe.

But I also think that this life of transition, ill prepared by early life for me (and the middle-child syndrome). A constant flowing family situation with little to no boundaries as a child, has left me unsure of Me. I am re-building my foundation over and over again in each new spot, and often lacking very much grace while I do it.  I flounder about like a fish out of water, or a seagull with a broken wing, until I land in a good spot, and then I start to show them my nice feathers, or the baubles I've collected at sea. It takes awhile though for each new school of fish to see me.

It's just that eleven months on an island, and six months in one school, seems like a long time to keep taking the backseat.  How does one just know that life will be ok, and that not everyone needs to see who you are or what you've accomplished? How does one just say,"I'm awesome, I'll be over here in awesomeville if you decide you want to hang out?"

Nothing will make you feel more aware of how small we each are in the grand arc of life, and the universe, than moving to a new home. If we're lucky I suppose we land in a network of acquaintances, a schedule of work built in with social time.  If we're the support staff however, it's very likely we will fight all over again to show what we are outside of our mommyness, and our husband (or spouse).We'll take extra shifts of social life to find that perfect niche. We'll get tired.

It's not about returning home either. If I returned right this moment, I would face a whole other set of foundation building, question answering, life establishing. It's the in...between. That's where I am.

 

 

 

 

It can't be all bad.

No, really, it can't. Honestly it has taken eight months, with lots of journaling behind the scenes about eccentrics, and bad food, and weird climates, and no friends, but living in Hawaii clearly cannot be all bad.  So today I give you exhibit A - the sky.

Blowing shit up and other things that have ruined Hawaii

For real yo, that's what the title said.  I'm sitting in my living room, doors closed, and the earth is rumbling.

No, it's not an eruption from some ancient but totally epic volcano. No, it's not an earthquake, something I'm equally as cool about, because seriously folks, I'm from San Fran.  It is in fact the United States Army of the good ol' U. S. of A testing artillery at Schofield Barracks. 

Now wait, I don't want anyone thinking I'm some liberal hippie with no respect for our sisters and brothers in the Army - because that's not true.  I live in a place so absolutely saturated with Army employees and Army families it would be asinine for me to lump these beautiful faces under a blanket "I don't like".  Hear me straight on this one, I have huge amounts of respect for what they do during the course of their careers.  What i'm speaking to is the long history of our occupation of this island and as it stands now, the effects of our military practices here. I'm talking about blowing stuff up!

Nearly weekly there is a rattle, a low rumbling. Gut wrenching rumbling like you're hearing a war zone getting closer to you. The kind of noise a tornado makes when it's approaching your small town in the Midwest, or the sound of dinosours stomping in a nearby jungle.  In truth, it's just practice. Someone, somewhere, just over the rainbow and there under the Waianae range of mountains, is blowing shit up. Big Shit.  Exploding bombs I would guess. 

Now, as much as I can get all tingly over some manly shows of bravado, and girl, don't think I don't look twice when a  hummer full of rugged men drives by (this is, by the way, my morning commute to school everyday), but when you don't live on post, when you don't even live within two miles of a post, and your house rumbles from bombs, or you hear the "rap-tap-tap-tap" of gun fire, it's disarming.  It's weird.  I hate to say it, but it feels wrong. 

Hawaii's just been along for the ride, corrupted by it's financial dependency on the military (That's a serious political and economic view, I have formed, and I am clearly the authority in these matters, but please incase you haven't already, insert my sarcasm here). In some real sense there is fear that the government's of other countries may want this stretch of land - even still. But the intensity with which this tropical place has become a militarized zone is kind of out of this world.

I don't know where this blog post is supposed to lead? We're here with the military. We use the same "company store" that the other military families use, the same doctors, the same bank. I don't for one second think we are above the rest of Hawaii's "visitors", the transient masses who come and go each year. I just felt compelled to say my house is rumbling, and the dust on our jealousy windows is rattling, and I don't think that's normal.

That, and Jesus.  But Jesus is a whole other blog post...

 

Manoa is for fools.

Good lord. Start. Stop. Start. Stop. It feels foolish to even begin sometimes because I promise to begin all the time. In fact, I have had "this" conversation with my blogging audience way to often. How do I let myself off the hook and just share what I see? How do I shed the fear of what some might think, or what others might not? Blogging, yes this is blogging, but it's also called writing. Writing is an art form - sometimes - and in that sense it's hard not to feel all the potential to disappoint. There is a constant tug of war between writer and her self conscious saying "Oh my god, we must tell them about this!" and then in response "why? who cares? It's been said."

I feel that way a little about Hawaiian food.  Whatever that is. No, really, if you want Hawaiian food you may not want to come to Hawaii because it's pretty hidden under a lot of other layers of cultural mix-ups.  But it's not all bad, no. I know I used to think that, a far off six months ago when the world in Hawaii was bleak, and the food bleaker. It was wrong of me. Wait, nix that, no it wasn't. It was real of me. I was living in Waikiki long enough to totally corrupt my thinking on the subject. And, even now, gulp, eight months, gulp, into living here (eight months is way too close to a year), I live in the mostly suburbs of Hawaii. A dismal place with very little real life.  Again, that's not fair of me, people love it here. It's quiet really, except for the drunks two houses over, and the old lady next door who uses the bathroom quite loudly. Otherwise, it's perfect mainstream America. Green grass, matching mailboxes, sidewalks, you know, the Midwest.  But, it's safe (so a lot fo military families move here), and it's supposed to have good schools (so a lot of young families move here), and it's less expensive (because you can't see the ocean), and it has recreation centers every mile or so (because you also can't recreate in the ocean easily if you live here, or pretend to be in middle America without this).  This is all a very bad sell for an upcoming house swap. It's actually a really bad way to advocate for "my house for yours for a week", so I better add this:  Our house (you know, the physical thing) is one of the best I've ever lived in.  It's totally Hawaiian, with jealousy windows and redwood paneling. Built in the 60's over a pineapple field, it was one  score of a big lot, which means my kids and their few friends have tons of room to roam and play. It is only 20 minutes to the beach, which on island seems endless, but truly - it's not that far. And the Rec centers? We use them. Liberally. All the time liberally. We swim, we take ballet, we do dance class...it's a bit endless.  So there it is, the truth of my not so favorite, yet totally perfect, Hawaiian village in the mountains.

Okay, wait, back to the moment.  I also want to say that there are a lot of perfect mothers out there who seem to balance it all, I however do not, and come 9 pm when the kids finally shut the H--- up and pass out, I am just kind of pooped. I want to watch netflix into the wee hours, or drink a glass of wine, or just stare at the wall. And sadly, not even that is happening much, because we have sandy laundry to wash, and studying to be done for my online courses, and oh yes, I've taken on production work for a local eccentric radio host, and it's also consuming.  These are all the side tasks. The funny life stuff in the way of other life stuff.  I'm geting a real grown-up job as we speak, at a publishing company. If all goes well I'll be doing for others what I don't tend to spend time doing for myself (kind of a theme repeating itself don't you think?), I'll be proofreading books. Actually, this may be the most exciting Hawaiian adventure yet.

But here, how to write about here? What do you want to know?  I miss my homeland, terribly. I miss my friends even more.  I'm less depressed about this place now than I was two months ago, and way less than four months ago.  I see hope. 

I hiked manoa valley the other day and realized I might want to live there. Like I really might love living there for a long time. Alas, it's hours of commute traffic from my kids private school, my husbands work, and therefore our priorities. It's also ridiculously expensive. Marin County expensive. It's a bit like going to Ross or San Anselmo and saying, "Gee, if I lived here I might like living in California", and then you step back and realize that you have a Novato, or a Rohnert Park, or a Petaluma East side Salary, and a 1997 4runner, and private school to pay for and well, you kind of tuck that silly idea away and drive back to Rohnert Park. Manoa is for fools. Rich fools. Rich fools who get the nice hiking trails, good schools and really expensive housing. Fooey.

So, here. Here I am keeping this blog alive by a thread. 

But, I'm here, and writing. Writing like it's art. It will come.

*Here are our Lab-Lab Beans. How cool is that? Okay, truth alert. This is a picture of some epic Lab-Lab Bean vine at the Urban Garden Center. This Lab-Lab vine must have come from Manoa or something because it's far superior to mine. Mine's a bit of a spindley wreck, but i'm working on it.

Something to be Thankful For.

Is it possible that our mouse family has been stationed on a rock in the ocean for five months now?  Wow, it really doesn't feel like it's been that long, and for so many reasons I think I should know a lot more by now about island life. Oh well, next week.

It is with great joy that we welcome our fifth set of visitors though this coming few days, for a very, very special Thanksgiving Day. Two dear friends have chosen Oahu to commit there lives to each other as one.  A wedding people, we're having a wedding!  A tropical wedding to boot.

As Mouse does, I have slid into the roll of caterer once more, running to hither and yon (how do you spell hither and yon?), to pick up all the making of a thanksgiving Hawaiian wedding.  Purple hawaiian fabric for tables: Check.  Wooden platters for authenticity: check. Pineapples by the dozens: check. Makings of Mayhem Mai Tais: double check. Imu roasted Turkey: Check me out!

And in an attempt to not only honor Thanksgiving, but spoil the bride rotten with her dream Hawaiian luau buffet, I'm working on some serious cultural fusions.

A favorite of mine on island is the sweet potato.  They are the most brilliant purple here.  It's not as if they couldn't be "there" too (wherever there is for you), but it's common place on island to serve them in all their orchid colored brilliance.  The only issue i've found is that they are a bit drier than your typical yam, and so to support mouths everywhere (or those eating at the rented East shore ranch on Thursday), I'm drenching them in butter, brown sugar and toasted coconut. Yum-yum-yum! 

With wedding bells ringing and ukuleles playing, we set off on this week of thanks.  We're not fully feeling our stride here yet, so I can't ignore the fact that having familiar faces for this holiday will be a huge deal for our family.  And on top of that, a wedding! A celebration of love. One really good reason to be thankful for Hawaii.

 

Checking in from a new land

Four months ain't half bad right?  Well, poor Mouse has been wearily traveling and searching for the perfect spot to set up her keyboard, and four months is what's it seems its taken to check back in.  I can't lie, its been a long four months.

This last few weeks has had me reading back over this blog, and missing it.  Maybe, probably, absolutely missing the people related to the content.  The magic of our old home.  We have, to say the least, not had a smooth entry into our new life and are still fighting tooth and nail to find what we love of this new place (apart of course, from the obvious tropical beaches, etc.).

You see, one can only drink so many tropical drinks to blur the muckiness of it all before one notices her bathing suit getting too snug.  In fact blurring it doesn't help you adjust at all to the blatant fact that you are living on an over-populated island that is lodged at least 15 years behind the mainland in it's green ways, organic foods and generally healthiness. 

Now, that's not very fair of me is it? No, there are actually a remarkable number of incredibly fit people here.  Take a drive down any traffic congested, palm tree lined road and you will see dozens of folks jogging and sweating off all the carbs.  I'm not a jogger. Perhaps that's the issue.

And though it's true that I've had my opinions of late about the food in Hawaii (and am trying to develop that into a whole other set of posts), it's more than that, that's affected us here in this new land.  We haven't found our footing or our sea legs and it's not fair not to say that. 

What and where is our home here?  How do you survive a tsunami warning? And why, why, why doesn't anyone recycle?

As immature as it may be, little things, like envelopes addressed to us (and not one of the many military families gone through this home before us), have warmed us.  We are clinging to our old home still, as we try to fall in love with here.

I have met many folks to be sure. I'm not very good at not meeting people.  And so many have been very sweet. But where are my people?  And work, what is the deal?  I've spent this last several years mostly being available to my kids. Working odd jobs, still doing field trips, making dinner.  Here, everyone works long, long hours for little pay.  It strikes me still as odd. There are just so many tourists and such a high cost of living, how are people surviving?  How will we survive? (the answer is that some brilliant publisher will decide they need a correspondent from the Hawaiian island chain and hire a slightly chubby mouse to report on all things tropical and historic - it hasn't happened yet, but I'll let you know when it does).

So there it is, the truth.  the beginning again for the seven millionth time it feels.  New Mouse in a new land, searching out what life really is like on an island.

So far? Dismal, very warm, and expensive, but I'm working on it.

 

A goodbye

Well, last time I checked in here I was beginning this brilliant plan to bring you picture after picture, and word after word of all that I love about Petaluma/Sonoma/California.  This seemed, at the time, like a small and important task. It turned out however, to be a monumental emotional roller coaster that I just couldn't step onto to ride. It was overwhelming.

Every piece of our lives this last 8 weeks has felt overpowering. As if, if you will, we were caught in a riptide that was slowly pulling us away. We've maybe even been yelling for help, "Please! We didn't mean to go insane and say yes to Hawaii. Please Petaluma, we love you!". But, Petaluma just keeps milling down the beach, picking up shells shaped like eggs.

And so here we are, the movers are packing, the house is emptying, we're saying goodbyes left and right and letting go is becoming very, very hard.

No, I didn't manage my multiple posts of goodbye to this town. A town that has shaped our lives, this blog and our future. But let it be known that we are in a complete state of mourning. This is home, a home we are choosing to leave (god knows why?), for a tropical paradise. Ouch. it's like ripping off a band aid as it all settles in.

All I can imagine to do now is to say, without hesitation, that we will miss it all. All of town, all of this lifestyle, all of YOU!

Perhaps there is more Mouse in the Pantry to come. Maybe mouse will morph. I'm not commiting to anything just yet. Either way, this journey through small town self publishing, blogging, freelancing, catering, mothering, friend-finding, growing up, has been lovely. Amazing.  The best!

Thank you Petaluma and all of you who make her so lovely.

We LOVE you.

10 weeks

Well here we are, 10 weeks from lift off (approximately), and way more than 10 weeks of things to love about Petaluma (or fear about Hawaii...). This will be a truly bitter-sweet departure.  Who doesn't want adventure in their lives? (oh wait, my eight year old doesn't, and by about 6 pm everyday i'm pretty sure I don't), and who doesn't like the idea of a fresh start?!  But endings come with goodbyes, in this case, a hopefully temporary goodbye to a small city that we are head-over-heels in love with.

And just recently, a cupcake (one of my known enemies), reminded me that there is so much that will be missed here. A tray of cupcakes actually - beautifully large, landmark cupcakes.

In this case cupcakes at The Tea Room, a wonderful local gathering spot owned by my pal Kate, and attracting hundreds each day with the lure of her fabulous breakfasts, freshly made pastries and coffee in towering cups. A small shop, one of so many lining Western avenue. A shop among antiques, amazing children's clothes, local groceries...a small slice of what makes P-Town glow. Just one of many I need to part with for awhile.

So let's begin with this cupcake because it's less painful, and it's friends the cranberry scones, the biscotti, the bread puddings and the church bells across the street. We'll begin here, saying goodbye to Petaluma - for now.

I will miss The Tea Room while I'm gone!

 

Domo Arigato Mr. Roboto

Ok, as it turns out, using a line from an 1980's pop song as your main form of communication with someone who only speaks Japanese, is probably not the best way to start making friends in new places. And beginning this summer, we'll be living smack dab in the middle of a small island filled with faces from across the globe - many of them, no, a majority of them from Japan.  As I tend to do fill in jobs in hospitality when helping balance the books, including some writing for the tourist trade, it seemed like a golden opportunity when a friend mentioned her high-schooler would be taking a six-week intensive in Japanese, effective immediately. 

"I'm in!" I shouted, as I often do, without considering the, ahem, consequences.  But it's done you see, Mouse will be trudging up the freeway once a week to immerse herself in a new language - a really foreign, foreign language! For six weeks. Oh my, I can do this right?

"Daijyoubu desu!" (no problem).

It is rather amazing how quickly your entire world can/will shift.  I'm not, by any means adventurous (even if outward appearances are deceiving), and as good as "Hawaii" seemed on paper six months ago shuffled in with many other worldwide/statewide choices, it's a whole different bag of potato chips (or seaweed rice crisps), when it's actually at your front door, knocking and waving it's hips in a hula skirt.  My mind has been a little preoccupied of late with all the coming details, events and changes, and perhaps immersion in something new is actually just what the doctor ordered. It's that, or anti-anxiety medication, so we'll try sushi and simple phrases instead.

Our California public school choice for second languages is most often inspired by our European neighbors, that is when it's offered at all anymore. The extent of my immersion so far has been in Spanish, maybe a little French, and occasionally some German (but only for parties).  Japanese is totally out of my comfort zone, except that I am one of those spoiled Marin County brats who grew up quite comfortable with Japanese food.  So here I go, clinging to what I know (sashimi), and looking forward to knowing more ("Hello, my name is Meloni and I'm sorry if I'm slaughtering your language", or "Watashi no nihongo wa heta desu").

And my husband and kids? Well, no worries for them, as sushi is big round these parts, and this means mom can practice while we eat out.

Hey, any excuse for sushi, right?

 

Clinging to This

Well, there's no easy way around it - we're packing the Mouse den.  The dearest chief is being transferred, and so with him we mice will move too.

It's been six years here in lovely, lovely Petaluma. Six wonderful years in the place we will likely come home to someday, whenever Mr. Mouse is done gallivanting around the world.  Petaluma my friends, feels like home.

There is much to get excited about, namely that we are moving (for a few years), to the great state of Hawaii.  Oh my God, yes, that's what I said. There will be haupia pie, and coconuts, and beach after beach. These are all very good things.

But there is also, several weeks into mulling this move, an incredible amount of fear and anxiety.  Hawaii is wonderful. Moving two kids away from their home-sweet-home, is not.

So I'm clinging to this, this week: Travel builds character.

Good lord, if nothing else, hopefully my kids will come out of this as adaptable folks, something I fear will be a challenge for the older one. Transition is hard, really hard, and we're forcing a big one on him.  But wish with me, if you will, for a speedy adaptation and a successful adult (someday), full of world experiences. 

Yes, this is where I'm living right now.

So as these months whip by (early June is move time), and they surely will, Mouse will undoubtedly be reliving what is most precious in this place called home, and what lies ahead in our new adventure.

You are part of that, dearest Petaluma.

Aloha.