Monday, August 06, 2007

Holy Moley

I took this shot inside the Memorial Church at Stanford last week. It doesn't do justice to the beauty of this building. I have a lot of issues surrounding organized (or disorganized) religion, but I LOVED being in this sanctuary. I can see myself using this gorgeous space for meditation. They set up a labyrinth to walk each Friday on the huge marble area by the altar (which has, I am sure, some particular and outside-the-common-vernacular name).

Hey, I went to Stanford! It was. . .hmmm. It was absolutely overwhelming. The Good Man and I arrived in Palo Alto (the ritzy little town on the outskirts of the University) as it was getting dark, and the enormity of what I am about to tackle came over me like a fever. We found a lovely sidewalk cafe and had a bite, and were both feeling the upcoming separation as a reality that is right around the corner. I am crazy in love with this man and not being able to be in the same room on a daily basis is a sad thought. We have shed some tears over this, yet we are both firm that me NOT doing Stanford is out of the question.

The next day was the Transfer Visit Day on campus. I drove over and promptly got turned in some bizarre direction, despite a decent map. Stanford is the largest college campus in the U.S. and second-largest in the world (topped only by the University of Moscow). Getting lost on campus seemed to be a common theme throughout the day, mentioned by pretty much every person that chatted with us, from faculty to staff, to recent graduates. The Good Man arrived on campus after lunch and even with cell phones it took us a ridiculous amount of time to run into each other.

The welcome showered on the transfer students was humbling and heartening. Stanford only accepted 22 this year, out of 1400 applicants from around the world. That number made me a little swimmy in the head. Two acceptees will not be attending; one deferred so he can do a tour in Iraq (may he stay safe and sound) and one person declined. Declined?? I would shave my left eyebrow to know what other offer could have come up.

I saw a fraction of the campus, a few of the many fountains, some of the incomparable Rodin sculptures. What a day! By the time I drove back to the hotel, I was massively overwhelmed. I wanted to weep, but kept holding it at arm's length.

Finally, discussing the day over a glass of good California Zinfandel at dinner with the Good Man, the multitude of feelings culminated in a wave that I could barely contain. All the things that I have overcome in my life to get to this place: half-assed parenting by my folks, 18 years of marriage to a man who made it his mission in life to grind me down so far that I would never find my way back; the devastating loss of my little girl. I was crying, and I wanted to slam my fist down on the table and shout:

"I AM! STILL! HERE! AND HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW??"

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Life in the Blender

Tensions are running amok here in the Northwest.

See this guy? He rocks. He is MY rock. We are slogging through a nuisance lawsuit cooked up by his deranged ex-wife, the attorney fees of which have necessitated my 51-year-old husband getting a second job. As the old saying goes: Some days you eat the bear; some days the bear eats you. Maybe a bear will eat the ex-wife.

We are pushing my youngest son (18) ever closer to the edge of the nest, while my oldest son (27) is going to be back in the nest tomorrow, needing to get his bearings and re-settle in California after a fairly miserable stint in Arkansas. My stepdaughter is heading back for year three of a college education that is making her mother loony and her father a pauper. Blended family? Blenderized is more like it.

Seven weeks to Stanford, and counting. Have I mentioned lately that my scholarships and financial aid are paying every penny? I stare at the beautiful campus picture on my desktop and try to get through my head that I will soon live there, will soon be walking those hallowed halls with these tired old feet and laying my trifocals on wonderfully tough class syllabi. It barely seems real. I will be traveling there in ten days for a transfer student get-together/tour/advising opportunity. I am pinching myself repeatedly to ensure this is not a dream.

You know all those woo-woo new-agey theories about visualizing success and asking for what you want? IT WORKS! Of course, the visualizing takes place simultaneously with working your ass off.

In the meantime, I make little piles of stuff to take with me, and I tell people how to find the really big trees. Repeat after me: Newton B. Drury Scenic Parkway. . . Newton B. Drury Scenic Parkway. . . Newton B. Drury Scenic Parkway. . . .

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Where am I ??

Summer rolls on, and Stanford still seems like looking at Denali from many miles away: It’s kind of lost in the mist and seems more like a rumor than a reality. So I just concentrate on getting up every day to work at the visitors’ center, telling folks all day how to get to the sights. The questions tend to rank as follows:

1. “Where do I go to see the really big trees?” (A close second is “Where am I?” I point to the map. A lot.)

2. “Isn’t there a tree here that you can drive a car through?” (There are three, but not in the National Park. Call us crazy, but we tend to shy away from cutting holes in ancient old-growth forest.)

3. “Can we get the permit for the Tall Trees Grove?” (A great question about a long, rigorous hike. Unfortunately, often asked by perfectly coiffed and manicured folks in expensive leather shoes/coats, or those carrying oxygen and recovering from hip replacement surgery.)

4. “Do you have bumper stickers?” (Or hats, postage stamps, film, batteries, vending machines. . .the answer to all these being, no, no, no, no, no, aaaand….no.)

Most of our visitors are truly delightful. We get to hear how wonderfully cool the coast is (while the rest of the country broils, poor dears, we are basking in our usual summer temps of 63-68°.) They are thrilled to be in the midst of the tallest trees on earth, walking among giant coast redwoods that tower well over 350 feet, taller than the Statue of Liberty. They are excited about the accessibility of the Pacific Ocean (our center sits directly on the beach with a wall of windows overlooking the surf.) They get to see California quail, brown pelicans, osprey, and Stellar Jays. On many days, sea lions, seals, and gray whales make an appearance. On great days, folks spot a black bear. On the best days of all, no one sees a mountain lion.

There are, of course exceptions to the delightful visitor rule. There are visitors who have driven through the entire park without taking any of the scenic routes, are irritated that they missed the sights, and staunchly refuse to drive backward just seven miles to see the most incredible coastal redwood forest on earth. I mean, come on, people! This is Return of the Jedi and Jurrassic Park II scenery, for crying out loud!

One gentleman, when I started to tell him about fabulous things to see, stopped in mid-sentence and looked at me like I was trying to sell him a used car. “I already went to Yosemite and…how do you say that? Moor? Meer?” (It’s Muir.)

“I’ve already seen some nice trees,” says he. Now, I have a snide side a mile wide, and oh, how I wanted to say, “Well, gosh, you should probably just GO HOME NOW.” But I was good. I was professional. I smiled like a flight attendant on Demerol and said I knew that if he just drove seven miles up the highway he would not be disappointed. For a minute, I sort of hoped a mountain lion would show up and maybe play with him just a little bit, but I was feeling some hostility, you know. Abraham Lincoln got it right about not pleasing all the people all the time, and not being able to beat them unmercifully.

I think that’s how it goes. It’s all worth it, though, when a visitor gives you a big smile, and thanks you profusely for being so helpful. When they ask your name and shake your hand. When they happily tell you how glad they are to be here from Germany, France, Japan, Ireland, Australia, Missouri, Montana, and Maine. One dear lady came in and was exceptionally effusive. This grandmotherly woman was absolutely giddy, happily buying postcards and redwood seedlings. She told me it was her lifelong dream to see the redwoods. I told her, in all sincerity, that I was honored to take part in the fulfillment of her dream. She had come with her sister and brother-in-law from somewhere in the Midwest. When she went outside to see the ocean, her sister put it in perspective for me.

“My sister is so happy to be here,” the lady said. “She’s always wanted to see the redwoods. Last year she got breast cancer, and she said that if she pulled through, she was coming out here, no matter what.” People come in sometimes and say, “You’ve got the best job in the world.”

And sometimes they are absolutely right. Come see us.

Friday, June 29, 2007

Stress and Affirmations

Yesterday, moments after waking, my heart starting flailing around like a bird trying to beat its way out of a box. After ten long minutes, laying there in the five a.m. gloom, breathing deep and waiting for my pump to shift back into gear, I decided I had to go to the ER. I brushed my teeth, then leaned over my sweetheart to deliver the news.

"Honey," I whispered. He tried to crack one eyelid. Sleepy. Very sleepy.

"Don't freak out," I said. Both eyes sprang open wide. "I need you to take me to the emergency room." He sat up and immediately, but quietly, freaked out.

It's called atrial fibrillation, which means the small valves on the top of my heart lost the beat they learned when I was an embryo, and started slam-dancing around to little circulatory effect--quivering, was the term my ER doc used.

I'm much better now, after meds to remind my little atrium the trick of synchronicity. My doctor has ordered me off caffeine, and wants me to find more effective ways of dealing with stress. Let's see: my youngest son is moving from high school dependent to college/job/I can do as I please; I am gone from home for almost 11 hours a day for work; and I am negotiating the unfamiliar waters of "approaching Stanford."

To ice the stress cake, my husband's ex-wife has decided that what my husband paid in child support for ten years wasn't okay after all (although they had full agreement at the time.) Now (even though their daughter is almost 20 years old) the ex feels she should get a fat arrears check. Said fat check falling into the "let's squeeze blood from a turnip" category.

So I am to replace my looming worries in the watches of the night with an affirmation, something along the lines of: "My heart is at perfect peace," or "Everything will work out all right." Not to be confused with my former mantra: "I hope that mercenary harpy develops bleeding piles."

I think I'll go have a cup of chamomile tea.

Thursday, May 31, 2007

The Good Life




An hour-and-a-half up the road from my home, and look where I got to have a picnic with my husband. This is Bald Hills, an area above the redwood forest filled with natural meadow land created in large part by fires (lightening-caused, and human-caused). The view is panoramic here, and this picture is of the yearly bloom of purple lupin. This shot was taken about a week after the flowers were in their reproductive prime, but the hills were breathtaking. Birdsong and a bit of wind were the only sounds. I'm making this a desktop for my computer, and it will be one of many photos to sustain me through my time in Stanford-land.

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Summer Jobs

This is the first time I've ever gone out looking specifically for a summer job. Usually I am concerned mostly with the perks of job longevity: how soon do benefits kick in, pay raise increments, health insurance. The summer job is all about just making some money until school starts in the fall, and trying to save some of it.
I think I found the perfect summer job. For 12 years I've backpacked into Redwood Creek, in the Redwood National Park (this photo is from one summer trip.) This year I have a job at the National Park visitors' center, showing people where to hike, where to find the biggest and most beautiful old-growth redwood trees, and selling them books that fit their outdoor interests. In the past few days I've gotten to talk with visitors from Germany, France, Japan, Korea, China, South America, England, Ireland, Scotland, and from all over the United States.
If you're travelling into beautiful coastal northern California this summer, come see me at the Kuchel Visitor Center just south of Orick, and I'll show you how to get to the Lady Bird Johnson Grove and the Newton B. Drury Scenic Bypass.

Next step to Stanford: send off financial and scholarship paperwork, and find out if any of my community college credits work for my major course work. Find out what kind of Stanford math class I have to take. Try not to quail in fear at the previous statement.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Next Stop: Stanford

Surely someone is about to wake me, but I'm going to hang out in this amazing dream state as long as I can!
Three weeks ago, I won an incredible scholarship that will finance the remainder of my undergrad degree. Five days ago, I was accepted to Stanford University. Yes, it happens every year to lots of people, but not to ME! I'm a 50 year old re-entry mother of four, who spent 12 years going to community college and working mostly as an administrative assistant. Now I'm going to Stanford, and it is completely paid for. For the past five months I have visualized myself being accepted; I would look at this picture, put my finger on the chair, and say, "My butt HERE." And now it's happened.
Now that the dream has materialized, I have to figure out how this all works--it was just theory before! My wonderful husband is staying home to hold down the fort while I chase the white rabbit. He'll be a loooong 7 hours away, so time together will be at a premium, especially with gas at damn near $4.00 a gallon.

My heartfelt urging to any reader: dream the big dreams, work your ass off, and never, never, NEVER give up.