"Life is a banquet, and some poor fools are starving to death".....Auntie Mame
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This section will be added to randomly, and unlike the others, it is in chronological order.
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Introduction
My daughter asked me to tell her about my life. It seems like an undertaking of gigantic proportions. And, do I really want to open that Pandora's box of memories? There is a feeling of apprehension in my body, even now, as I think of it. Why is that? Is it because those things are gone -- never to return? There have been so many good things in my life -- a wonderful life really. People have said to me, "If you don't write a book about your life, I will!"
Part II: Girlhood in Seattle
Part III: College
Part IV: On My Own in San Francisco
Part V: Marriage and Children (Seattle and Moses Lake, Washington)
Notes for this part:
As I left Seattle on this trip, I left my past behind -- again. So many memories. I went to high school in Seattle and college at the University of Washington. I did my student teaching there. I owned my first home in Seattle, and my two children were born at Virginia Mason Hospital. It was difficult to leave -- to leave all those memories -- but the pouring rain encouraged me.
I was not quite finished with the past because from Ellensburg (where my supplement were awaiting me at the post office general delivery), I would drive to Moses Lake where I lived when I was married, and we owned our second home. Memories persist and again tug at my heartstrings. We moved to Mose Lake when our two children were little. My former husband found his second teaching job there. Our two children, Jonathan and Heidi, started school in Moses Lake and went all the way through college there (and graduated in Ellensburg) where my son still resides. My daughter moved on to Portland, Oregon. They are both still single, have good jobs, and own their own homes. I think the "single" part is in the genes (mine) as my former husband remarried soon after I left.
spending time at Montlake Park near my old home. This is a beautiful, small, green park right on the lake. I can park within five feet of the water where cattails and reeds edge the lake. There is a very large picnic shelter here now where I can sit and write. Even thought it is getting quite dark, there are lights in the open-air shelter. It's cold. I have on a jacket zipped up and my knitted cap. I took a nap at the park today and then did my dishes out the back door with a view of the lake. I decided I'd bring this journal up to date before leaving for the college to write. Moses Lake is apretty good-sized lake. I can see the houses on the opposite shore, outlined now against the evening sky. I watched the sunset form start to finish. There's no one in the park but me. Occasional groups of wild geese fly by having conversations in the sky while the ducks do the same in the water.
Tomorrow as soon as I wake up, I'll head for Idaho where I'll turn south. There is a lovely rest stop before Spokane where I'm looking forward to making some organic, multi-grain pancakes while enjoying the view of the coulsees. Idaho will be a new experience for me, and I'm glad to be leaving the Northwest after four months - too many memories here of a time gone by, much of which I miss, but I've talked before about how I wouldn't want to live it again. One has to take the bad with the good, you know.
The two days I've spent here have been the prettiest ever: sunnny with clea, blue skies and warmer than Ellensburg's 38 degrees. I'm really getting better. Yesterday, instead of doing my dishes or putting away last week's wash, I walked in Montlake Park one way until thepath got too wet and then in the opposite direction. I told myself I wouldn't be back this way for about 3 years and asked myself who would waste this unusually gorgeous day to do dishes? it was hard to tear myself away from the "ought to" and the "have to," but I did it, and I'm so glad. Besides, I said, I need the exercise.
The walk was the same walk I used to take with my two children and the family dog, Joy Totheworld, when I lived here. Every day, when the children got home from school, I would put on my walking shoes while Joy danced around me in anticipation. We would walk from our house on the top of the hill, through the neighborhood to the open country where houses now stand. We'd arrive at the railroad track and follow it along the park. When we got to the expanse of green, Joy and the kids would take off at a run. I remember it as the happiest time of my day. What I would give to have it back just one more time. Un-oh, tars are running down my cheeks. What is it about age that brings back the past? I feel as if I should rejoice in all the memories, but instead they make me cry.
I'll add one final thing before leaving the park. Maybe I've written about this before. When my children were young, there was never enough time. You know -- dishes to do, clothes to wash, lessons to plan, meals to cook, etc. I remember one time my daughter asked me to do something with her, and I had so much other "stuff" to do (and I emphasize "stuff" for that's about how important it was). I asked myself this questions, "In 10 years, which do you wish you'd done?" You know the answer. And that's exactly the choice I made.
Another memory is the long winters here. On Halloween you never get to see the kid's costumes because they're so bundled up. A favorite time was when the lake froze over. We'd walk down carrying our skates, and if it didn't snow skating days would last a long time, but once it snowed on the ice, our skating days were over. Everyone owned ice skates. Sometimes there would be a big bonfire on the shore where we could warm our frozen bodies. There was no danger of falling through the thick ice, but the sound of the ice cracking was like thunder -- scary enough to keep us close to shore. Yes, long cold winters from October through March before one began to see signs spring was on its way. And extrmemely hot summers from June through August. Those kinds of days make for beautiful mornings if you got out early enough to avoid the heat. Air conditiioning and a good furnace are necessities in Moses Lake, both in houses and cars.
The summers were great for gardens. We always grew tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, zucchini and yellow squash, canteloupes, and corn among other things. You've never tasted corn until it's ready for the table within ten minutes of being picked. One yar was had so many tomatoes that I even made catsup. It took hours and hours to boil down to catsup consistency, but it was the best catsup I've ever tasted. During apple season, I would make lot sof pies for the freezer and fruit leather from all kinds of fruit. My former husband built a big platform in the back yard for the fruit leather. I would cover it with plastic wrap, blend fruit in the blender without sugar, and spread it over the wrap. A screen protected it from the birds and insects. it sat outside until the sun dried it to fruit leather. So good! Well, it seems I could go on and on about Moses Lake. Besides the beautiful lake, I loved the sand dunes: huge dunes close to town. One time when the kids were little, they were near the top of a dun when I heard a getting closer. With some urgency, I called them to come to me. Seconds later a dune buggy came bareling over the dune right where they had been playing. That scary memory stays with me to this day. yes, I love Moses Lake. For beauty and tranquility, it's hard to beat, but I could never consider living here because of the extreme weather -- true of all cities in Eastern Washington.
Part VI: In and Out of Survival
I suppose there were other messages from the universe before this one. But I was busy then -- too busy to notice or take them seriously or even know that life sent messages pointing us in the right direction. I call this the first message from the universe because it was so significant. It was so supportive of what I was doing in the most difficult time of my life.
I went to Seattle for a few days to take a break from a very unhappy marriage. While I was there, I knew that I could not return to that house, to that man, to that life. I decided to ask my friend Lois if I could stay with her. I lived in Moses Lake, Washington at the time, and Lois was a good friend with a very large house on Moses Lake. When I called from Seattle, she said my timing was perfect because she was going away for a few days and needed someone to housesit. That was the beginning of my "life support." I arrived on her doorstep with tears streaming down my cheeks. She poured me a glass of wine and listened silently while I blurted out the whole story: how I simply could not go back to my marriage even though I had no job, no money, no place to live, and two young children. I always felt that Lois was the one friend with whom I could let it "all hang out" and not put on a happy face. I can't count the times over the next few months that I just sat with her in her living room and cried. (My eyes are misty now as I write this; it's not something I enjoy reliving.)
I also remember the time she offered me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich left over from her kids' lunch. I was so poor that I ate it, even though I had just eaten lunch. In those days, I wasn't quite sure where my next meal was coming from. I found a job eventually. Even though I was a college graduate and former teacher (preschool through college), I took the only job I could find: driving a sugar beet truck for six days a week for about ten hours a day for $3.00 an hour (back in 1978). I was thrilled to think that every three days I would have almost another $100. I put every penny back into a business I was starting: "Jane Finley Temporary Help." I had business cards and flyers designed (red ink on orange paper) and posted them all over town. I did any job that came along: house cleaning, office organization, typing, childcare, etc. When the sugar beet job ended, I went to the local orchards, bought fruit, and sold it out of my camper. My days consisted of buying fruit, selling fruit, buying more fruit. I always took the fruit to nearby cities to sell it because I was too embarrassed to have my friends from the AAUW (American Association of University Women) see me. All this while grieving for my children. I missed them terribly, but I was in survival mode and had to put a roof over my head and buy food to eat. I was living on the edge, but I was making it, barely. I am not sure how I did it -- just putting one foot in front of the other, I guess. Surviving this moment; not thinking of tomorrow. I can smile now thinking back on it, but I wouldn't want to do it again!
Lois left on her trip, and I had the whole house to myself. It was a serene, quiet, and beautiful setting, a welcome calm in the hurricane that was my life. It was the perfect kind of place I needed to decide what I would do. I remember sleeping alone that first night, something I had seldom done during 16 years of marriage. I remember how I had to learn to sleep alone again, just as I had to adjust to sleeping with the man I married.
I've learned over the years that I do well in crisis. Not that I'm not scared, but I brace myself and am able to focus on what needs to be done and do it. Now, I knew I needed to find a place to live. I remembered a house down the road, less than a mile away, where I had gone to a garage sale. It was a big house with several bedrooms for sons, who had since moved away. I thought I would just walk down there and ask if they had a room to rent. I did just that, but when I got to the house and part way up the walk, I made a fast U-turn, thinking, "I can't do this. It's crazy -- even for me." I started back down the road, turned around, marched right up to the front door, and rang the bell.
Now here's the really amazing part: The door opened, and the owner said, "Are you the one who called about the apartment?" I was speechless. When I regained my voice, I told him that I hadn't called, that I was staying in the area, remembered their house from the garage sale, and thought I'd inquire about a room to rent. The couple was as surprised as I was but charmed by the story and what I call the "cosmic serendipity" of it all. As it turned out, it wasn't a room that was available but a darling, little house next door. I describe it as "early Tennessee Williams," painted a kind of dusty rose on the outside. It was perfect for me. The best thing about it was it was on a wetlands bordering Moses Lake with abundant wildlife, especially red-wing blackbirds (my favorite). And the owners, an elderly couple, were sympathetic to my situation and kind of adopted me. The charming cottage, the picturesque setting, the kind owners -- for the first time, since I left home, I began to see a bit of light at the end of what seemed like a long, dark tunnel.
Part VIII: Retirement on the Road