The Search for Wasabi Peas and Normalcy

When I came to Portland I had a secret plan; to become a normal person-- maybe even a married person with a house, a dog, a garden and a regular bedtime. My life in the Bay Area was a zealous spin to somewhere famous and fabulous that never really happened. I wanted respite. Oh yeah, I came here to get that MFA and write the novel but that was kind of, sort of to impress my literary boyfriend at the time who treated me badly. So it doesn’t count. No, it counts. I have no regrets.

But today I found myself hunting for Wasabi Peas for my daily salad. I have this addiction to salads at lunch. Pastaworks said, ‘no, we’re out and don’t know when they’ll come again’. Zupan’s said the same thing. In search of the peas I thought about how regular I’d become. I swim almost daily, I work a regular job, I live in a stable household, I have a fish and two rabbits I tend to daily. I’m bored out of my mind!

Then I remembered my dreams (as I do often these days). To renovate a barn in rural Ca. or Vermont and have art events, fund raisers for children’s hospitals and animal cruelty, and reel in some gentle cowboy or carpenter who just happens to be a chef and masseur. When did I tell that wild girl to get off the bus? I was the one people tried shut down at parties because I read my bad poetry out loud, wore suspenders, short skirts and red rubber boots and shmooshed chocolate pudding all over men’s faces that I liked. Not the best technique by the way. Where did she go?

Today I thought of all the amazing people in my life, including my mother that are changing in ways that they’ve always wanted. One is getting married for the first time at 47 years old. And, another, is working on getting pregnant to have a baby on her own. My mother has separated from an unhappy marriage of 25 years, moved to Nevada to be near her grandchildren and is dating a man with whom she regularly attends ballroom dance classes. She laughs a lot more.

That plan, that I never said out loud, to become normal is a crock of shit!

And it’s boring.

I may have been judged, mocked, harassed, hated, loved, admired and many other things when I was ‘wild girl,’ and life was whipping me around and spanking me regularly, (and I had to take a lot of vitamins)…but it was simply who I was.

Today I saw a man in the hot tub at the swimming pool who’s right arm is longer than his left, and his left leg is skinnier than his right; his left foot turns inward. How incredibly grateful I felt to have the opportunity to stare this life experiment of normalcy down and admit it didn’t work. That this plan that on some deep seated (now this is embarrassing to admit) level I thought I had embody to move into the life so many of us do; partnership, home ownership, dogship, SUV-ship, you get my point. And family. Family is important, but isn’t true family gained when we’re really ourselves; our wild, unique, messy selves?

So, if any of you know any barns out there that could use the touch of red haired artist with 2 rabbits and a fish, let me know. In the meantime, I’m sending myself there in my imagination until it becomes true.

Dakota won't listen to these woes right now. His girlfriend just got spayed, he knows she's to be his soon, I don't exist right now. As long as the barn keeps coyotes out, he doesn't care about the details.

Comments

[Ben G.]

X-
GooooooooooGirl. Want to deconstruct normal? This is something I've been attempting of late to shut down my ill-gotton normalicy; everyday I break a tacit agreement. For years I've named insects who have chosen to live with me; now I'm into naming my furniture. Strange? Who cares, I'm not being graded. Because cooking is a favorite pursuit of mine, I've tried preparing dishes from recipes backwards. It doesn't work, but heh it's the intent. Have you tried licking and pulling on Dakotas' fur? Have fun with it....Ben

[Sage]

Smoosh chocolate pudding in my face or lose me forever!

Have no fear, my dear, no matter how many wasabi peas you seek, you run no risk of ever being normal!