The Eyes Have It

Last night I was sitting around the table with my kids last night and I began to notice that they all have the same odd eye color - grey/green/yellow/blue/what the hell?

I took pictures to prove it.

Whaddya think?

I also think that I'm to blame for their weird color....could just be me.....

Faces and Bodies

I was at the beach yesterday (it was a scorching 80 degrees) with my kids. As I strolled up the beach to use the facilities, I glanced around me and pondered (as I am wont to do - seriously, someday I'd like to just have quiet time when my brain wasn't thinking anything; is that possible as a woman? Or is that called "sleep?"). I saw all these people from infants to the elderly in all different states of dress (although the wee children were the only ones who were completely naked) and they all looked beautiful: young girls with no curves; middle aged women with curves where there shouldn't have been any; chubby prepubescent boys getting ready to shoot up; grown men with muscles or beer bellies; and a few hot chicks in bikinis (yes, even in Alaska they are there at the beach, although decidedly less than Waikiki I'm sure).

My point, and I do have one, is that all these people looked wonderful too me. I didn't stop and criticize any of their shapes and faces; I didn't wonder, "Holy Hannah! Should she really be wearing that?!" And yet...and yet, when I look in my own mirror I see my stretchmarked belly that still looks like I have a nine month old baby inside. I see my chubby thighs through which no daylight can be seen. I see all my scars and my Relief Society arms. I see my zits and bad skin, my stretchmarked breasts with enormous (too big in my opinion) aureoles. I see my rosy cheeks that are always too big, regardless of my weight. I can't see my neck because it's short to begin with and is currently hidden by at least two chins. I see my sloping shoulders and my burns from the beach yesterday, my swollen hands that have too many lines and look too short and stubby when I wear rings or nail polish. I see my thin lips and my squinty eyes. I see my cellulite dimpled butt.

And I sigh.

I'm too fat, too short, not pretty enough, not this enough, too much that.

Why is it that I can look at the varied masses of humanity and see their individual beauty and then I look at myself and see nothing but flaws?

I think too that this applies to more than my body image; it applies as well to my vision of my inner self. I see all the strengths in others and nothing but my weakness.

I am determined to change this (not that I think I'm losing weight anytime soon). But I'm beautiful. I'm important. I'm loved.

And I will wear my swimsuit on the beach without a cover-up, damnit!

The Arm of God

It's odd to me, surely one of those God things, how when I'm really struggling with something, everything in my life seems to start coalescing around that issue.

Lately, shocking I know, I've been struggling with God and trials and this move to Alaska (though I am dearly grateful not to be in 100+ degree weather). The last two weeks our Gospel Doctrine lessons have been about trials and the comfort/chastisement God gives during these times.

I have been trying to "Let go and let God," for some time; usually, I snatch it back as soon as I can pray, "Dear Father...." While I've learned over the years that trusting in the arm of flesh, even my own (perhaps especially my own), leads to nothing but disappointment, I still want a fleshy arm of comfort. I know that God offers comfort and I do receive that when I pray but there is still, at times, the hollow emptiness of no flesh nearby. While I frequently imagine Him rocking me and holding me, it is often hard to receive the comfort from Him that I am used to receiving from my friends. However, it seems that the older I get, the less I am able to get the comfort I need from my friends. I know that this needs to come from God Himself but I am unsure as to how to bridge that gap....

Does this make any sense?

The Move and Our Current Situation

I woke up at 4:30am on the morning of the 6th to pack out last few items (those minor things like sleeping bags, my bed -you didn't think I would sleep on the floor did you?! - and our telephone). Of course, I'm not good at getting up at 4:30am so I woke up again at 4:40am. And 4:50am. And 5:00am. At which point I actually managed to get out of bed.

The boys left at 7am in a 26' U-haul truck with a 6'x12' trailer attached. I tried to go back to sleep but all I had was carpeted flooring, Lulu's pillow and her baby blanket. I wasn't tired enough for the set to work. Yet.

The drive went well but Robert had problems connecting with the movers at the dock in Seattle. Turns out they were sitting a few yards away from each other not knowing with whom they were supposed connect with. I had to call the movers' main office to figure everything out, meanwhile, all that time got wasted (about 1/2 hour) and we discovered that not only did we have to pay for the 4 hours worth of work but we have to pay for their drive time - another hour. Oh well, at this point, thousands of dollars spent on this *&#@$ move, what's another $100?

The boys barely got everything loaded in our containers on time - the place closed at 5pm and Robert put the last lock on at 5:05pm. Quinn worked his little tushy off hefting boxes that weighed as much as him. Rhys helped out too, just a bit less enthusiastically.

Meanwhile, Lulu and I cleaned house with the help of some dear friends, went to lunch with Pam who then took Lulu back to her house for one last play date with Becky while I ran around doing some errands and saying two last good byes and then it was time to go; the day had passed much more quickly than expected (particularly since I was cleaning and packing for most of the day).

My SIL Julie drove me to the airport. Would you believe that I managed all of this without crying? (I know. I am impressed too. Perhaps I should add this to my "Year of Miracles" list?)

I got to the ticket counter to discover that both our bags (one suitcase with clothes and a cooler with meat) were slightly overweight; the agent let it slide. However, we did have a third bag to check - some raspberry and rhubarb starts Robert picked for our Alaskan neighbor which were all packed in a styrofoam box. Turns out that styrofoam is not an acceptable container for checking goods on the airlines, something about being packed inappropriately. I totally felt like a hobo traveler:

"Do you have a knife or some scissors so I can open the container?" (It was sealed with hot pink duct tape because that's the only duct tape Safeway had, believe it or not. And of course, I didn't have any such items on my person as I would then be labeled, "DANGEROUS!!!")

"Oh, yeah, sure."

"Umm....do you have a bag that I can put the plants in?" (Rob had placed them in wet dirt and there was muddy water every where inside the styrofoam box.)

"Well, we only have really big bags..."

"Oh, that's okay."

She got me one of those really thick, really big plastic bags they use to wrap around car seats and other oddly shaped items.

I rolled the bag down do about half size, threw the starts in the back, repacked Lulu's and my carry-ons (which were by now HEAVY - it's a wonder the poor girl didn't fall over backwards when loaded up) and was left with an empty styrofoam container.

"Umm....can you throw this away for me?"

"Sure."

She took the container and another ticket agent looked at her with wide eyes, "You're not accepting that for loading are you?" Apparently she was quite concerned.

On the upside, the cat, due to a glitch in the computer, was only $86.73 instead of the $100 fee for taking her on the plane.

By the way, in order to get a cat through security, you have to take them out of her container, place the container on the belt to go throw the x-ray scanner and carry the cat through the metal detector. It's a good thing she doesn't have a metal plate or something in her skull. Between our carry-ons, the cat, my laptop and our shoes and coats we used about 6-7 of those plastic bins....I'm very grateful that there wasn't anyone in line behind us at the time as I'm sure that internally, they would have been calling us a lot of names.

The plane ride to Seattle went very smoothly. Jenny did not meow at all. In fact, as long as we ignored her, she would just lie there. It was rather surprising. (She's the chattiest cat I've ever met. She even caused me to google "de-meowing a cat.") Lulu was extraordinarily talkative. Can't imagine where she gets that from.... And I was tired. Where's the carpeted patch, pillow and baby blanket when you need them?

We hooked up with the boys at Sea-Tac. I was really hoping they would meet us at our arrival gate and help us lug everything to the next gate. No dice. I ended up hauling everything across the terminal (we arrived in the C concourse and had to walk to the D concourse) because Lulu was done hauling anything except her blanky and pillow. Picture it: backpack with raspberry plants poking out the top on my back; a laptop bag packed to the gills with computer and paper work on one shoulder; a live cat in her carrier on my other shoulder; a pink-plaid back pack with heavy items such as my camera, cat food and Lulu's precious items in my hand or on my forearm; and my coat dangling from my backpack straps. Not. fun. But I'm sure we drew a few stares.

We arrived at the next gate and, as I couldn't see Robert, I assumed he wasn't there yet and collapsed in the nearest chairs. Once I was sitting down and had unloaded all my baggage, Quinn comes running over, "Mom! We're over here."

"Dear Lord," I prayed....

The ride to Juneau went well. I was sitting by myself in an aisle, the boys were behind me in the aisle and middle seat sitting next to a woman whose shoes Lulu just adored and Robert and Lulu were sitting in a row of three to themselves as the third person had gotten up and moved to give them more space.

Lulu fell asleep, hard, in-flight and, of course, peed the seat. This time we cleaned up the mess ourselves and didn't say anything to the flight attendants. Coincidentally, there were no 30 min. "mechanical delays" for the next flight.

The cat didn't start meowing until we were standing ready to get off and which point all my fellow passengers began wondering, "Is there a cat?" "That sounds like a cat?" "Where's that noise coming from?" Turns out the gentleman in the seat in front of us whom Jenny was sitting under is terribly allergic to cats. Of course, he complained. Of course, I'm thought, "Dude, you weathered the flight without complaint and had no idea the cat was there, why start griping now?" And of course, all I said was, "Mmmm..." with a polite smile.

The short story: we arrived safe and sound with everyone and all limbs accounted for.

Our current situation:

Our Oregon house has not sold and we extended our contract with the realtor for two extra months, meaning that we can't rent it out until October. As we're still paying the mortgage on that house and the cost of living is so much higher (seriously! I can't look at prices when I grocery shop because I wouldn't buy ANYTHING!), we will be living with my dad indefinitely. I'm hoping we'll have our own place by next spring or fall at the latest but who knows?

Living with my dad has been pretty easy. He's mellow and lovely and easy to get along with. The kids have been fairly well behaved and I'm trying to whip them back into shape after 6 months of my tired single parenting (I SUCK as a single parent; if they whined long enough and hard enough, I would give them almost anything they wanted!).

The kids are almost daily at their cousin Ian's house (he lives less than a mile away and they can walk up by themselves). The shop is busy, busy, busy and I've already had lots of salmon (which for me is a good thing). So, overall it's good. I miss everyone from Oregon and I miss having a place of my own, but I'm trying to be patient (read: trying not to cry on a daily or hourly basis) and to look for the good here. It's all surreal for me and I feel like I'm just on summer vacation and not living here yet, but I'm sure that will change as I get to know people here and settle in.

So until then, I will keep my rose colored glasses firmly in place and believe that I am on a lovely cruise ship ride as opposed to my perspective which is that we are on the garbage barge headed to Staten Island.

Business Cards

The shop has not had new business cards since I was a wee child. The card is pure white with black lettering and the name is written in cursive, not quite appropriate, in my mind, for a business based in boat, outboards and repair work. It also bear the name of my parents, which could pose a problem for someone calling and looking for Janet.

This morning I began to look online for some business card designs.

I'm thinking that for a business with a predominately male clientele that this business card would be a sure success; they may not quite know what it is we do, but they'd probably pop in just to find out.

P.S. Don't forget to click on the link for the "back side" view.

P.P.S. Who would actually use these cards? I didn't think people in that kind of profession would need business cards....