moving on, moving out

I will no longer be updating this site. All of my previous posts will remain here, but any new material will appear at http://downanotherroad.wordpress.com

Fly Away Home

On Friday morning I gathered all of my luggage together near the front door of the apartment in preparation for my departure for the airport. I realized my phone battery was half dead and decided to charge it, because I didn't want it to die before I could contact my family and take a million pictures of my first flight in over a decade. It didn't occur to me that in our technophile society there would be charging stations everywhere at the airport. I moved my charger from the bedroom to the kitchen counter so I wouldn't forget to grab my phone before I left. I forgot to grab my phone before I left, anyway. I didn't realize this until I stepped out of my friend's mother's Ford Escape at the airport. By then it was too late. I pushed my luggage cart into the terminal in a daze. I couldn't believe my own idiocy.

I approached the Delta counter a short while later and was told that because I was checking Winston as baggage I would have to go down to the "Special Baggage" counter, rather than the First Class counter. So I began to push the luggage cart which was now holding Winston in his crate with my large duffel bag on top. As I followed the Delta representative down the row of counters, Winston shifted in his crate. I saw it happening, but there wasn't enough time to stop it. His crate (with him in it) and tumbled off the luggage cart in front of a young couple trying to check their baggage. The water that was in his bowl spilled all over the airport carpet. My duffel bag thudded to the floor. The next few minutes were chaos.

The young woman laced her fingers through the wire door of the crate to lift it. I immediately panicked, knowing that Winston sometimes nips at people when he is under a lot of stress. The Delta representative began repeating "Is he okay? Is the dog okay?!" in a high pitch. Winston appeared to be fine. I showed the young couple the handles on the side of the crate and we got him back onto the crate with the duffel on top. The Delta rep led us the rest of the way to Special Baggage and instructed us to stand behind what appeared to be a family of 3 and 10+ enormous suitcases. After  a few moments of me standing around feeling nauseous and wondering what else was going to go wrong today I was hailed by one of the Delta reps behind the counter. Hailed is a polite way of describing it.

"Hey! You need to stand over there!" She shouted, gesturing to the end of the roped off area, where no one else was waiting. I was in a daze, but Darla responded, "No, we were told to stay right here."

"No! You need to go over there!" I repeated what Darla had said.

"No! I thought you were part of this big group. You have to wait over there!"

I turned to push Winston's cart, but Thomas yelled, "Oh no, you did not think that!" I told him not to worry about it and the three of us pushed my numerous pieces of luggage to the place the Delta rep had pointed. "She had better not be the one who helps us, because I will stab her in the face," muttered Darla next to me. A moment later were beckoned forward by a different rep. She checked my luggage in with no problems and even exclaimed over how cute Winston was when she came around to place the necessary stickers and paperwork on his crate. She explained to me how on each of my two flights (I was connecting through Salt Lake City) one of the tickets would be pulled off the crate by the cargo men and given to the flight attendant, who would then give the ticket to me, assuring me that my dog was on board the plane. Grateful for her help and kind demeanor, I followed her instructions to take Winston's crate to the TSA checkpoint for oversize baggage.

After I removed Winston from his crate, the TSA agent inspected it and found it safe, so I replaced Winston in the crate (with some struggle). I left quickly, afraid to say goodbye to Winston or tell him I was not leaving him forever because I knew I would break down and never stop crying. As I walked around the corner I reached into my purse to pull out my boarding pass so I could find my gate. It was not there. Neither was my wallet. The tears I had been holding back disappeared as pure panic overcame me. I muttered a few choice phrases and sped back to the TSA agent's desk. There were my wallet and boarding pass, right where I had left them. Apparently stress makes me an idiot.

Boarding pass, wallet, and purse in hand I headed toward the Jamba Juice I had spotted. I realized Darla's arms were full of my stuff and she was pulling my carryon. "Why do you have all my stuff?" I queried. "Because I'm afraid you will lose it. You're going to turn around and be like, 'Where's my suitcase?!'" She's a smart cookie. I probably would have lost my carryon if it weren't for her.

I said goodbye to her and Thomas, feeling so overwhelmed there was hardly room for sadness. After they left I sat at a table sipping my Mango-A-Go-Go smoothie. I felt incredibly isolated there without my best friend, my dog or my phone. I began to cry, but quickly stuffed the emotions down. I wasted some time in Powell's Books before heading to security. I tried to be like George Clooney in Up in the Air, you know, slip off shoes, laptop in a bin, carryon on the thing, no jewelry or anything, but I am not George Clooney. I'm an idiot girl who was trying to move most everything she owns across the country on one flight. Still, my hiccups were minor, nothing like that time on the sixth grade trip to Washington, D.C. when I forgot I had a tin of Altoids in the ankle pocket of my jeans and set the metal detector off 3 times before being pulled aside in tears to be searched with a wand.

Once past security I bought some gum to help pop my ears on the plane and so I would have enough change to use a pay phone to call my family to let them know I didn't have my phone. I could only remember my father's number so I left him a voicemail asking him to please tell my mom and sister (who were supposed to pick me up) that I didn't have my phone and could they please meet me in baggage claim? After arriving home I told my dad I wasn't sure if he had gotten my message about not having my phone and he responded, "Well I texted you back right away saying 'okay'." I come by my ditziness honestly.

I found my gate and sat down, but then had doubts about whether I was supposed to check in at the little desk there. I asked a fellow passenger, explaining that I hadn't flown since a field trip when I was twelve. Apparently you only have to check in once, which I had already done at the Delta counter. I boarded the flight when first class was called and found my seat. The lady next to me gestured to the Broncos hat in my lap, "I assume you're headed to the game."  I told her I wished whole heartedly I was flying to Denver to watch the Broncos play the Chargers in the divisional playoff game, but no, I was moving home to Indianapolis. We chatted a little bit and she gave me each section of her Wall Street Journal when she finished it. I watched out the window as baggage was loaded onto the plane, hoping to see Winston. The cargo men finished loading and I still hadn't seen him or received my ticket so I asked the flight attendant about it. Despite being a Boston based crew, she had a genteel southern accent. I was told a short while later that Winston was on board, but I never received the ticket. As the plane taxied down the runway, I began to cry again, fearing what Winston was thinking and feeling as the plane rattled along, gaining speed. I worried that someone else's dog was on board but Winston was still at the airport in Portland. Once the flight reached the clouds my worries were abandoned. It was so beautiful. I discovered that the screen in front of me offered a map with a little moving airplane, showing my location in the sky. It also listed altitude, external temperature, speed, what time it was in Portland and Salt Lake, how long the flight had been in air and what time we were expected to arrive. I was fascinated.

As we approached Salt Lake City I could see mountains and the Great Salt Lake out my window. My nose was plastered to the glass as we landed. I love Salt Lake City. When I drove from Indiana to Oregon I took a detour to see Denver because I had always wanted to see Denver. I wanted to see Mile High Stadium, of course, but I also thought I would just love Denver. I thought the city would be nestled into mountains and everything would be beautiful and crisp and clean. It wasn't like that. It was like Indianapolis but with more traffic and a distant view of mountains. Salt Lake City was what I had wanted Denver to be. There are beautiful mountains every way you turn, standing against the skyline in the most beautiful charcoal lavender you'll ever see. There is a giant lake with an island full of bison and cragged rocks and white sandy beaches. I absolutely love it.

There was a greek place in the airport that smelled amazing, but I knew that being in an airport meant inflated prices and that I would be served dinner on my next flight so I just grabbed a double cheeseburger from the McDonald's next to the greek place. I once again approached the Delta desk at my gate and asked the lady if I needed to check in or anything. I didn't, so I waited a little while, staring at the mountains outside until it was time to board.

Next to me on this flight was an older gentleman who was immersed in A Team of Rivals when I boarded the plane. It's on my Reading List, but I haven't gotten around to it yet. I settled into my seat and began reading the copy of Sports Illustrated I had picked up the week before because it was about Peyton Manning being Sportsman of the Year. As I read the articles about Peyton I cried multiple times. I was overwhelmed and scared and sad and defeated, but I read about how much he overcame to get back to playing football, how dedicated and kind he has always been, and I felt inspired. The guy next to me probably thought I was a nutcase, crying over Sports Illustrated.

After a while the flight attendant asked if we would like a hot rueben or chicken chow mien for dinner. Both my seat mate and I asked for the reuben. We were served a little bit later and it was awesome (to me anyway). The food was mediocre, but the flight attendant had taken off his jacket and put on an apron instead. He brought us little wooden trays with our sandwich, a pickle, potato chips, corn chowder, and a double chocolate cookie. As I was munching on my cookie the pilot announced that we were passing over Denver.

After dinner I stared out the window for a while and finished my magazine. By the time the captain announced that we were flying over Kansas City I was beginning to feel a bit anxious. I wanted to walk around (or at least to the bathroom) but the seatbelt light was still on (we were passing through rough air for most of the flight). I decided I would try to sleep, but every time I laid my head back and started to drift off a little I would stop breathing. I began to have something that I assume was like an anxiety attack. I became convinced that my body had forgotten how to autopilot and that if I stopped making a conscious effort to breathe, I would stop breathing. I found that keeping my spine very straight and leaning forward just a tiny bit was the best position to keep breathing. Laying my head back seemed to constrict my airways. I must be a crazy person. After about a half hour of this I had started to slip into sleep when the pilot announced that we were beginning our initial descent into Indianapolis and would arrive in about 30 minutes.

My breathing seemed to have returned to normal, but now I encountered a new problem: my ears wouldn't pop. As the plane slowly descended pressure built up in my head. No matter how many pieces of gum I crammed into my mouth or how often I opened my jaw wide, tugged on my ears, nothing alleviated the pressure. I began to feel slightly panicked again, thinking my head, or at least my ear drums, would explode from the pressure. It was starting to be slightly painful and I couldn't figure out why the plane had not landed yet. Finally the flight touched down and I saw the snow everywhere. It made me really happy. I love snow (as long as I'm not driving in it) but there hadn't really been any in Oregon.

As we prepared to exit the plane, the flight attendant asked my seat mate if the Colts were going to win. My seat mate replied that he didn't think so and somewhere inside me my anti-Colts fan rage began to growl. I don't even like the Colts, but I thought they stood a chance against the Patriots. Have a little faith in your team. The guy sitting in the row behind me stated with a smug grin that he thought they would win and then the Colts would have the pleasure of going to Denver and defeating Manning. If I hadn't still been struggling to hear properly I would have told him off then and there. In my head I was yelling at him, "Peyton built this town you ungrateful little turd! Without him there's no Lucas Oil, there's no Super Bowl in Indy. Downtown would not be the same if he hadn't been here." Instead I just shook my head vigorously and later glared at the giant advertisment featuring Andrew Luck that was plastered along the tunnel leading to the airport shopping area.

I headed to baggage claim and paced uncertainly between the turnstile where my bags would come out and the oversize baggage conveyor where Winston should appear, all the while my eyes searched fruitlessly through the crowd for my family. The panic and loneliness I had been fighting most of the day made a resurgence as I wondered if my message had made it to my mother. Perhaps she had been trying to call me all day and having not heard back, didn't know if I was alive or on my flight or where to go. I spotted one of my suitcases and pulled it off the turnstile. I glanced back at oversize luggage, but Winston had not emerged yet. I spotted my other two bags, but still no family. The panic was choking me. How was I supposed to get four bags, my water cup, coat, and Winston out of the airport? Where was my family? I resigned myself to paying four dollars for a smartecart and loaded my luggage onto it. As I turned and pushed it towards the oversize luggage, I spotted Winston's crate.

As I approached the conveyor I cried out to him. He stared at me and I could tell he was upset about the plane, but he seemed to be physically fine. I had fully expected the inside of the crate to be covered in diarrhea and/or vomit, but there was nothing. I struggled to pull his large crate off the belt on my own, but managed it. As I was checking again to make sure he was okay a couple of airport employees approached, one of them gesturing towards the oversize baggage area and leading the other one, who was pulling a red cart. They saw me with Winston and asked if he was mine. I said yes and they immediately turned to leave, explaining to another employee who was approaching that the owner was present. I was left alone with a cart full of luggage and Winston in his crate, as far as possible from the doors, with no idea if my family was even coming. I had told them to arrive around 10:30 and it was now 10:47. I tried to push Winston's crate across the floor with little success. Another passenger saw me and laughed. I immediately approached him and asked to borrow his phone for a minute, explaining that I just needed to call my mom because I didn't know where she was. He acquiesced and as I was dialing his girlfriend asked in a stressed voice, "Wait, what happened? What is going on?!" He told her it was fine, I was just calling my mom. I dialed the wrong number. A male voice with a slight southern accent told me so. I tried to call my dad but accidentally dialed my own number. It rang once before I realized what number I had dialed. Finally, I reached my dad, who said my mom and sister and grandfather should be there any minute and that his run had been cancelled so he was on his way as well. I gave the phone back with several exclamations of gratitude and turned back to my luggage.

The best plan I could come up with was to push the luggage cart across baggage claim and unload my bags near (but not too close to) the door. Then I pushed the empty cart back to Winston, loaded him in his crate onto it and pushed him over to my luggage. I was just checking that everything was there and okay, when I man approached me and asked about how Winston had done on the flight. He was friendly enough and said he had never flown his own dogs so he was curious, but I was stressed and began to worry he was going to murder me. Luckily my sister showed up and saved me from talking to him anymore or becoming a murder victim. She helped me push all my suitcases out and load them into mom's car. Then my mom, dad, sister, grandpa and myself all headed back to my grandfather's house, where I left my checked baggage. We visited for a while, but it was nearing midnight, so I headed back to my parent's house where I spent the weekend.

The Day I Met the Pacific Ocean

"Swim in the Pacific Ocean" is on my list of 30 Things to Do Before 30. When I moved to Oregon, I thought achieving that goal would be a piece of pie. Little did I know I would be broke and lazy and just a boring human who didn't go places or do things. Then I found out I had to leave Oregon. That news really kicked my butt into gear. Darla and I have been making the most of my last days here by exploring local parks, taking pictures, and finally, today driving to the coast.

Our first stop was in Seaside, Oregon. Darla had visited the little town the last time she visited her biological mother here and wanted to see it again. It was so beautiful and wonderful. I immediately took my shoes and socks off and ran into the water. It was freezing, but I didn't care a bit. I frolicked with Banjo and Winston in the water. After a while we decided to find a beach that looked more like our idea of "the Oregon coast", you know, with rocks and cliffs and such. I had seen a picture of Tillamook Rock Lighthouse posted by Ravyn Stadick (a fellow Hoosier now living in Portland) and researched it a little. I fell in love with its story and decided I wanted to see it myself. As it turns out, it was a scant seven miles south of Darla and I's location in Seaside, so we drove to Ecola State Park and explored there.

The lighthouse isn't operational or open to the public, so the pictures of it are limited. (You should read its Wikipedia page.) We did see amazing rocks and waves. We stopped at Indian Beach to watch the sunset. After the sun disappeared below the horizon we made the drive back to Portland. It is so strange to me, having grown up in Indiana, that today I played in the Pacific Ocean and tonight I will sleep in my own bed. I'm going to miss Oregon a lot.

Darla seaside in Seaside

Me and the sand and the hills. 

A raven is attacking my head as we frolic. 

Winston is so cute. 

They are also cute. 

This is my favorite view. 

I ached to get down onto this beach, but the path was too steep and muddy for me to make it down without bodily harm. 

Sunset at Indian Beach 

There's the lighthouse. 

Update on an Airplane

I was scheduled to fly home this Sunday, January 5th at 1pm, but my flight connected through Minneapolis, where the forecasted high on Sunday is -11. Delta won't fly pets as checked baggage if the high is lower than 10 degrees, so I had to call today to change my flight. After haggling with the airline and being told something different by every person I talked to, I finally have a flight connecting through Salt Lake City on Friday, January 10th (and for only $211 more dollars...dammit Delta). I will arrive back in Indianapolis at 10:15pm. I have been very fortunate to meet a few wonderful people through Darla and one of them has agreed to drive me to the airport, a favor for which I will be eternally grateful. My flight home wouldn't be possible without the help of my brother, my family, and the generosity of two of my very good friends. I am sad that I have to leave Oregon, that I won't get to see and do all the things I dreamt of when I moved out here, but I am grateful beyond words that in my time of need so many people have offered their kindness and help to get me home.

Seasons Greetings

Dearest blog readers, I will no longer be attempting to disguise the truly pitiful state of my life. Read at your own discretion.

 As the New Year approaches, Darla and I are transitioning into a new stage of our lives. Darla is working on becoming an alcoholic while I will be leaving her to it and moving back to Indiana. We are two black holes trying to coexist, but science can tell you that such coexistence is impossible. There are only two possible outcomes when two black holes approach each other: 1) the two black holes merge, forming a supermassive blackhole, which will suck in the entire universe, ending humanity and life as we know it or 2) one black hole will repel the other and it will careen off in a different direction. Only the second possibility has been documented, and Darla and I are no exception. Our lives have become so dismal that we are currently sitting at a McDonald’s in order to use the internet to pay some of our past due bills (we can’t afford to pay them all) and rewrite essays which professors deemed unacceptable.

This Christmas was truly a spectacle worthy of an A&E reality television show. Darla and I had originally planned to have a pancake brunch, see The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, and enjoy a delicious dinner. Instead we just nommed on our dinner food all day and watched pirated movies on the internet because we couldn’t afford to go to the movies and didn’t have the necessary ingredients to make pancakes or a portion of the food we had planned to make for dinner. Late Christmas evening we realized how impoverished we had become and departed for bed quite depressed.

The day after Christmas our internet was shut off because we haven’t paid the bill for many moons.  Darla received demoralizing news on both her academic and relationship fronts. Later she tried to reach out to a family member but only succeeded in contacting a man named Johnny, who was very confused about why she was texting him. The next day, Darla watered the gardens at Marylhurst with her tears.

On Saturday, I spent the day in bed, attempting to overcome a frightful illness. This illness made its first appearance on Friday, December 20^th, as a cough but rapidly deteriorated into something that has on more than one occasion been suggested to be pneumonia. On two of the three occasions I rose from my bed I found Banjo had shat on the living room floor. I knew that the following day would be my last day at work. (Yeah, I don't have a job anymore.) As I surveyed my shit-covered life, I made a decision. I would accept the help my family had repeatedly offered: I would fly away home.

So now, Darla and I have one week left together in this hellhole. Then Darla will be left to rot alone. I am so sorry, Darla.

I can't blame these people for thinking I am on drugs and/or homeless. 

Prettiest Roommate Award

Evolution of Style: Month 5

After nearly achieving the bedroom I have wanted for a long while, I fell upon hard times again. I had been expecting (because I was told it would happen) to have an increase in my freelance hours for the holidays. Instead, all of my freelance hours were taken away, leaving me with only my regular hours. My regular hours are not enough to support myself, so I had to sell all my furniture to make rent for December. I have also sold many other of my possessions to pay bills this month. So, here's what my room looks like this December. Minimalism is totally in style, right?

No more bed frame or night stands, but at least I'm not back to sleeping on the floor. 

Most the things in this picture are listed on Craigslist. 

My mom sent me a Christmas tree. It has one ornament on it. 

Evolution of Style: Month 4 (November)

I never posted one of these for October because nothing changed in the month of September. I continued to sleep on the floor and made only very small changes to my room, like reorganizing my books. However, this November edition introduces a whole new bedroom.

First, I obtained the bed frame I wanted. Someone was selling it on Craigslist and offered to deliver it for $30 extra dollars. Considering a u-Haul would cost me at least $50 and I was getting a deal on the frame already, I said yes. I still didn't have a mattress, so I slept on the floor inside the confines of the bed frame. With the frame available, I was able to rearrange my furniture to the layout I had planned months ago.

These guys napped while I set everything up. 

A beautiful bed frame! Wheee!

My nest moved from the corner into the middle of the bed frame. 

Then, a mattress was delivered to my door! I went to IKEA and picked up the duvet cover I have had on my "Room Essentials" list for months. I found a pair of the night stands I wanted on craigslist  for less than the cost of one new and the person selling them lived less than 10 minutes away.

What a change, right? 

Eventually I'd like to get the dresser that matches my bed and put it in closet, along with a little ladder of scarves.  

The shelf finally made it onto the wall! 

Details: my perfume tray

Details: I got this globe for $3 at Goodwill!
Plus, I found those vases (which I already knew I wanted) in the "As-Is" section at IKEA.
There is nothing wrong with them, but they were 50% off. 

Details: I wear Chanel Chance Eau Fraiche to bed, so I keep it on my night stand.
My sheets smell like it, and it makes me calm and happy. 

Details: I couldn't help myself when I saw that box at Target.
I just love it and it fits into my room's scheme so well. 

I'm very happy with my room right now. I mean, I get to sleep on a real bed and not the floor: that alone is delightful. I do have some little DIY projects I'd like to complete though, including: 

• painting/gold leafing my wooden tray from target 
• painting/gold leafing my jewelry box 
• changing the knobs on my night stands (I like these from Hobby Lobby) 
• making a ladder (like this one) to hang my scarves on 
• painting and hanging my Van Gogh sunflowers