Seattle 9, or Delights

When I was homesick in Prague, I thought about Sesame Street. Here, I'm not exactly homesick, but I'm definitely getting some delight from this little piece of public performance art:

Seattle 8, or New Acquisitions

I almost didn't make it to the house I was visiting today. The buses were running late (as usual), the rain was cold and getting through my sweatshirt, and I wasn't crazy about the place anyway. But, my mind reasoned, what else did I have to do?

The house is not perfect, or even close. The room is nice enough, with good windows, hardwood floors, and a deep closet. But the kitchen is depressing, even if it is a nice size and has a gas stove. The ceiling is low, the lighting fluorescent, the floor dingy, and the house is entirely undecorated. It has, one might say, a lot of potential.

It also has a lot of stuff left by the previous tenants. The woman showing me the place (she lives there) has been working with the landlord to get rid of the extra couches and the closet full of stuff that seemingly belongs to no one.

Among these things was a dark green men's Schwinn mountain bike, 21 grip-shift gears, big juicy tires and only a tiny bit big for me. My dream bike. Not perfect for Seattle's massive hills - one really needs road tires - and in need of some decent chain lube, some air, fenders, and maybe a little rear brake adjustments but good enough. She asked if I wanted to take it right now.

I had to tell her I wasn't sure about the house, but she let me take the bike anyway. It's sitting outside in the drizzle right now, and once Easter is over, I'll take it down the street to the bike shop and ask them if they can help me tune her up. I hope she looks something like this when I'm finished:


Serendipity shows up in the weirdest of places.

Seattle 7, or Why You All Wish You Had *My* Roomate

Exchanged:

One lunch of roasted leeks, matzah with almond butter, and tomato-avocado-lime salad

for

A 20 minute massage that undid about three years worth of damage to my upper trapezius muscles (I had an ugly shoulder spasm this morning)

Seattle 6, or Pesach

Wow. That was the longest and latest seder I have *ever* been to. We were still singing at nearly 2 o'clock in the morning! (Then again, we also started around 9.) I missed my last bus and spent the night at the Ravenna Kibbutz! We used seven different haggadot simultaneously! We sang the entire Chad Gadya, complete with animal noises! There were matzah balls! And fresh horseradish that nearly gave me a heart attack! We dipped! We leaned! We drank! It was a wonderful seder.

Here's the best new thing I learned: the word chag does not actually mean "holiday." It means "pilgrimage," and refers to the times in which the Israelites who lived outside Jerusalem would journey in for major festivals.

This word, chag, shares an important root with an Arabic word: haj. According to the Jewish Reconstructionist Federation, "Just as Haj to Mecca is a requirement for the Moslem (if one can afford it) so is the Chag to Jerusalem if one is a Jew." (citation)

During benching, I sang "Harachaman hu ya sim shalom ben b'nai Sarah u'vayn ben b'nai Hagar" - May the Merciful One make peace between the children of Sarah and the children of Hagar.

Abrahim, the one mizrachi at the table (or maybe he was Muslim. I couldn't figure it out the whole night), smiled at me for that one and added an "Amen."

It feels like Pesach for real now.

Seattle 5, or Next Year In...?

Davey wrote an excellent entry over at "Sometimes Davey Wins" about his favorite part of the Passover story. It got me thinking. For the last four years, I've spent a significant amount of time working on a Haggadah in the weeks leading up to Pesach - sometimes mine, sometimes a different one. It always makes me feel really grounded and connected with the holiday. I usually focus my edits on one or two sections each year, trying to find new meaning in a ritual, or in a retelling.

This year, what with the moving and packing and all, I haven't had much time to sit down and really focus on the Haggadah. Most of the edits I made this year were about improving the flow of the seder, adding an explanation here or there, and updating certain sections so they would appeal to a group of 20somethings instead of 4 year olds. Not wholly engaging.

I didn't even go to a seder last night. Instead, I chose to go to the poetry slam. That's why I'm here, isn't it? And I'm going to one tonight, so I don't feel bad. I just feel disconnected. Tonight's seder promises lots of good singing. I hope it brings me back to the holiday. It's one of my favorites.

Sidenote:

I had an adventure trying to find matzah today. Trader Joe's was all out, the not-fancy supermarket only had whole wheat and onion flavor left, but the co-op had a few boxes still sitting next to the matzah ball mix when I got there. It was in the cracker aisle. Oh, Jewish neighborhood grocery stores, how I miss your Kosher Aisles, your Jewish Holiday sections...but at least now I'm very well stocked with all of the aforementioned list items (except almond milk - but I bought almonds to make my own milk with in the super-powerful blender!)

Back to random Pesach musings:

If you asked me today what my favorite part of the Pesach story is, I'd say the story of the Gentile midwives, Shifra and Puah. In the traditional seder, they're given about two lines of text and three seconds of thought, but I wrote a longer version of their story for my own Haggadah two, maybe three years ago. These women put themselves at immense personal risk to continue delivering Jewish babies and finding ways to hide baby boys. The recognition of their righteous actions not only echoes through Jewish history, but reminds me of the risks and sacrifices people have made for me. It's humbling.

And at the same time, it pushes me to not only support my communities (Jewish, family, poet, friends) in all the ways that I can, but to support others who are struggling under unfair and oppressive rules/laws/customs/situations/governments. I had a job interview yesterday at a residential treatment center for younger (6-12) kids who've been abused and neglected. In all honesty, the job description is scary. It's messy, and sometimes violent, and is full of things I'd rather not deal with. And yet, I'm feeling called to it. Partially to learn, and partially because it's righteous work. And, in doing it, maybe I will learn not to be afraid. Or maybe I will start to understand what it means to keep going in spite of fear.

Seattle 4, or A Pesach Shopping List (not including Seder)

Almond milk
Chocolate Almond milk
orange juice
Quinoa
vegetables and fruit
eggs
cheese (The white cheddar is wicked expensive here. Maya says to get used to orange.)
yogurt
matzah

Actually, food is more expensive here in general. Washington taxes the hell out of everything it can get its grubby paws on, but there's no income tax. Joel, from the Ravenna Kibbutz, writes letters to the state government, begging for an income tax (and tax relief on things like food and clothing) so that poor people don't have to make up for the state's deficit as much.

In other news, I have an interview tomorrow at a residential space for battered and neglected children. I'd be working nights, staying awake in case anything went wrong. I don't mind the idea of this. I'm good at nightmares.

Seattle 3, or Some Public Letters

Dear, Veracruzana, Bueno Y Sano, Rosa Mexicana, and every other "Mexican" restaurant on the East Coast,

You have officially been dumped in favor of the Pacific coast states. Even the most lowbrow burritos here are invariably delicious. They're not completely gigantic (ahem, Bueno), nor are they completely filled with rice (right, that's you, Veracruzana), but have mouth-bursting, throat-burning, yes-that's-fresh-cilantro flavor.

I am in love.

Maybe we can still be friends?

~Dane

**********************************************

Dear Rain,

You're a shy little minx, aren't you? I haven't seen your pretty face since the day I landed. No, it's been sun, sun, and clear skies. I can see Mt. Rainier from Maya and Ela's porch today. It's beautiful. It feels like spring.

Really, no pressure. Come back when you're ready. Stay wherever you are for a little while.

Love,
~Dane

**********************************************

Dear Jason,

I've decided to take you up on your generous offer to let me stay with you guys for a month while we all try to figure out our next housing moves. I will especially enjoy being allowed to use your vast collection of Le Creuset pots and pans, your adorable kitchen, and your beautifully clean and artistic house. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. So sorry it has to kick off right when Passover does - don't blame me for the grumpiness, it's just my digestive system.

Namaste,
~Dane

**********************************************

Dear Faire Gallery and Cafe,

I love your space. Having a second-floor gallery to look down on the open mic performers is kind of genius (especially since there's also enough room on the bottom floor to not make it feel like one is performing from the bottom of a swimming pool.) I enjoyed the warmth and camaraderie of your open mic, especially the rousing cheer I got when I told everyone I'd landed in Seattle a day and a half ago. It was a poet's introduction.

Au Revoir,
~Dane

***********************************************

A poem.

Jake, that sneaky bastard,
found out where I was staying
in Seattle
and sent me a letter
that said mostly nothing.

It came with a CD he'd made;
I knew a lot of the songs.

I shouldn't tell him
how I lifted the thin blue pages
to my nose,
closed my eyes,
and thought hard about
our last hug.

How lucky I am to have a friend
who understands the comfort
of familiar handwriting,
no matter what it says.

Seattle 2, or CHESED!

I just spent my first Shabbat in Seattle with the Jews of the Ravenna Kibbutz. I've been telling everyone that they're a Moishe House, but this isn't true. The Kibbutz was there long before it adopted Moishe House status, and has a much broader scope of programming and focus than do the Moishe Houses.

Here is the first image I want you to get: after getting off the bus, I have about a fifteen minute walk to find the Kibbutz. The sun is just beginning to go down, and the light is catching every window and tree. It's cool enough to walk briskly, but I'm warm. I'm walking - no, striding - through a neighborhood of wide sidewalks, large, arching trees, houses of many shapes and colors. I see people with dogs, a gray-haired man playing catch with a young boy, the unmistakable thwap of ball hitting glove. There are gardens, already in bloom. About halfway through the walk, I think, "If only some ridiculously triumphant song were to play right about now, this would be the greatest cliche in the world."

And, as though some god were chuckling at my thoughts, Bruce Springsteen's "Born In the USA" comes pounding through my headphones.

Enjoy that. I did.

Dinner and Shabbat were just as golden. Dinner was a thick vegetable soup and lasagna, salad I helped make in their little kitchen. Everyone talked loudly, like Jews, marveled at the fact I'd landed less than 24 hours before finding them, urged more food around the table. We sang three different tunes to Shalom Aleichem, including my favorite Smith Hillel tune. There were jokes, stories, advice, prayers, thanks.

(this paragraph is mostly for the benefit Smith-affiliated people)

I led benching, loud and raucous, from the same old blue B'Kol Echad benchers I learned on at BCHSJS and Smith. They even knew "the man in the moon" song, Sparrow!! I threw in every joke, every additional line, and one guy matched me for each one: "rachamim" became "sour cream", and "asher asher bara" became "I swear I saw your bra", and of course, the controversial "l'olam va'ed/l'olam drop dead". Joel, one of the organizers, went into spasms of laughter when he saw my hand motions for "rohhhheinu" and nobody noticed me shout "CHESED!", but I did.

And then I taught them the version of Lo Yisa Goy I learned in college, and lo and behold, a good fistful of them can sing and harmonize! I, for once in my life, got to sing the Tzur Mishelo part. And then they invited me to a Sing-Along Shabbat, some unscheduled time in the future.

And slowly, the pieces start to come together...(now, if only that little nagging employment/housing thing would fall into place.)

Seattle 1, or Arrival Post

I'm here. I'm happy. I'm starting to get excited.

I'll let you all know more as it comes up - I'm going to see an apartment tonight.

Later...

Well, here's the bad news: the landlord of the house I went to see tonight has changed his mind again, and has decided he's actually going to turn the house into a triplex (read: total remodeling), and he's not going to let his current tenants (of three years) renew their lease.

This is particularly bad, because I liked the house and the housemates almost immediately. The guy I've been in contact with is a massage therapist (AND he's familiar with/has taken workshops about Bowen!!). He and I and one of the other housemates sat and talked for an hour, swapping stories and sharing jokes. The house was warm, beautiful, and inviting. They told me that if I want the room for the month of April, for some place to stay while I (and they) look for other housing, they're not going to show it to anyone else. There's a bed in the room, and space for my stuff. When I told them that I was most anxious about receiving/transporting the boxes coming from Jersey, he smiled and said, "Honey, it's okay. The universe did not just drop you on my doorstep for no reason. No matter where you end up living, we'll take care of you."

(Did I mention the part where everyone in that house radiates gayness? And friendliness?)

And then he gave me a ride back to Maya and Ela's, where we're now relaxing while I cook rice and beans.

Feels good.

New Jersey 40, or So Kiss Me and Smile for Me

I'm so lucky to have the mother I do. Not only have we made really good roommates for the last six months, she plunged headfirst into helping me pack last night. And together, we put my life into nine boxes, one big duffel bag, one small duffel bag and a backpack.

I'll let you all know when I get in.

It's time to get going.