blind insight

Two thumbs up for house and 'hood, one thumb down for visibility.

I love my new home. I love that I'm sitting in my very own office right now, writing at my father's wonderful old desk, occasionally peeking over my shoulder at the stunning Flatirons view out the window. I love that Steve and I made dinner at home every night last week, nothing fancy, but lovely little meals we whipped up together. I love that we can walk - barely a five-minute stroll - to the brewpub, the Indian restaurant, the Mexican place, the pizza joint, the cute cafe, the hardware store, the drycleaner, the supermarket, the liquor store, the climbing/skiing/mountaineering shop, and . . . the gym! I love that we joined this gym, and worked out there together one evening last week, so that I now have a wider range of options for getting my much-needed daily dose of sweat. I love that Shasta has taken so easily to her new abode, and to me, and seems to split her time between prowling contentedly and seeking us out for kitty affection. I love that I can head out the front door for a run and be at the foot of the mountains in under two miles. I love my huge backyard, though after raking leaves for hours yesterday and barely making a dent in the piles, I think I'll love it a bit more when Steve gets back in town and can take over lawn duty. I love my apple trees, I love the applesauce I made from their fruit earlier this week, and I hope I'll love the apple pie I'm planning to make a bit later today. I love my wood floors, my sunny yoga room, and the many, many, many closets I have already filled with my too-many clothes.

What I don't love, however, is the darkness. When I exit the bus coming home, the stop it drops me at has no nearby streetlight. The walk to the corner, maybe ten feet away, is pretty frightening, since there's a right-turn cut just before the streetlight and it's almost impossible for me to gauge it accurately, particularly with the headlight glare from the heavy northbound Broadway traffic. Once I survive that initial stretch, I have a pretty well-lit journey along a bike path, though I have to be very careful to watch for traffic entering and exiting the shopping center to my right. And when I turn into our neighborhood, it's REALLY dark, particularly on our block. I can't walk on the sidewalk, because it curves a couple of times and I can't see the directional changes (I've already fallen off the curb a couple of times and walked smack into a parked car once). So I walk in the street, in the darkness. Our house is right under the only streetlight on the block, which helps me figure out when I've reached home. But the porch light is motion-sensing rather than always-on, and it doesn't light up until I'm over the first two steps and nearly at the front door. We intend to add lights over the garage and put a better one above the front door, but we haven't had time to make a Home Depot run yet. And yesterday, I received in the mail a notice from the City of Boulder informing us of the city's "light pollution" restrictions, which may actually prohibit us from adding the kind of light I need to find my way safely home. I plan to call the city next week to inquire, but I'm anticipatorily irritated.

I'm sure the darkness will become less and less an issue as I become more comfortable in my new surroundings. I know that when I'm familiar with an area, I move through it comfortably regardless of how well I can see. But for now, it's a medium-sized fly in the otherwise honey-sweet ointment of this new life.

Please.

Today, I’ll be taking time from our regular scheduled wedding-/move-/going-blind-related posting for a message to undecided voters.

In many ways, I admire you for being willing and able to take an objective look at the candidates and weigh them against whatever criteria you base your vote. I admit that I am incapable of doing so. But one of the reasons why I cannot - simply CANNOT - vote for a Republican, and for George W. Bush in particular, is because Bush and the Republican Party have made it crystal clear that they are working counter to the values and ideals that I - and I hope a majority of Americans - hold dear.

For example, the Republican Party seeks to eliminate reproductive freedom. I think few, if any Americans are “pro abortion.” As John Kerry and others explain, abortion must be safe, legal, and rare. But a vote for Bush or for any other Republican is a vote for back-alley butchers, for a world in which women have little control over their bodies, their families, and their physical and economic well-being. It is also a vote for a party that, even as it tries to eliminate access to safe, legal abortions and to interject the government into private medical decisionmaking by women and their doctors, has sought to strip poor women of access to affordable prenatal care, and to strip their children of adequate and affordable healthcare, and to strip them of welfare benefits so that they can feed and care for their children. The Republican Party also has worked to eliminate funding for and access to birth control for teenagers. And to prevent schools from teaching young people about birth control and family planning. And so your vote for President Bush, or for a Republican, is a vote for this hypocritical, dangerous, and misogynistic agenda.

The Republican Party’s response to rising crime rates is to build more prisons and enact longer sentences, while stripping funds from after-school programs, drug education and rehabilitation programs, violence prevention programs, juvenile diversion programs, mentoring programs, and community corrections programs. The result: a generation of hardened criminals serving lengthy sentences, and a generation of children growing up without parents. Our tax dollars are being spent to house thousands upon thousands of nonviolent offenders who might well have been rehabilitated, mentored, trained, or otherwise guided into productive law-abiding lives.

The Republican Party vigorously opposes equal civil rights for gays and lesbians. Not only does this stem from a party platform that seeks to codify conservative religious values, it also represents an institutional willingness to promote hatred, bigotry, and discrimination. A vote for President Bush, or for any Republican, is a vote for inequality, bias, fear, and intolerance.

Much of the above boils down to this: the Republican Party is working aggressively to break down the wall between church and state that was so fundamental to our nation’s founding. The Republican Party in Bush's home state of Texas, for example, has reaffirmed a plank in its platform that disputes “the myth of separation of church and state,” and has declared that “The United States is a Christian nation.” Time and again, President Bush has demonstrated his disregard for church/state separation and his willingness to establish conservative religious principles as the law of the land, instead of allowing all Americans to make educated decisions about deeply personal matters affecting their lives and their families. A vote for President Bush, or for any Republican, is a vote that will strengthen the religious right and further erode the barrier between government and religion.

I do not dispute that there are Republican candidates who are pro-choice, who believe strongly in church-state separation, and who believe that marriage and other family rights should be available to all people, regardless of their gender or sexual orientation. But by calling themselves Republicans, and by aligning themselves with the Republican party, those candidates at least implicitly are saying, it is OK to strip women of freedom to make their own reproductive decisions, it is OK to marginalize and discriminate against gays and lesbians, it is OK to turn our backs on at-risk children and families, and it is OK for the government to impose religious values through legislation.

Nothing in President Bush's record provides support for the oft-heard argument that he is making America "safer" than will John Kerry. But his record, and that of his party, leaves no doubt that if reelected, he will continue to make America less the nation of freedom and equality it purports to be and more and more a conservative theocracy.

Please don't allow this. Please vote for John Kerry.* I already did.

_________
*A note to Nader-leaning voters: You do understand that a vote for Nader is a vote for Bush, don't you?

Transition.

Like Sherry, I am all too aware of the shortening days and the diminishing daylight. The sky is nighttime-dark when I wake, faintly grey when I leave the house, and nightime-dark when I return. I have a bit of daylight between the bus station and my office on the front end, and some days a bit more at lunch.

This is the time of year when I don't get much outdoor exercise during the week, because I no longer run or bike in the dark (not since an unfortunate incident back when I lived in Seattle, involving my nose and a rather large and solid lightpost) and I hate running in downtown Denver, especially during the lunch rush. So my weekday workouts remain indoors.

As a result, since we moved I've had a hard time fitting in exercise. I'm trying to keep my lunch hours free for yoga or spinning, but already this week it seems I have only a single lunch slot open to sweat. I'd hoped I could work out at the end of the day on occasion, but I have meetings and other obligations several days this week. I've been an early-morning exerciser for over a decade now, and I'm finding it a huge challenge both to go cold-turkey on the pre-dawn workouts and to try to find a suitable regular alternative. It's really only been a week and I doubt I've actually gained weight or lost much fitness, but I feel restless and out-of-sorts and heavy-limbed and ungainly. Coupled with the effects of shrinking daylight and disappearing sunshine, I can feel the swing of my mood begin a downward arc.

The gift of hope.

Now that we're in our new house, Steve and I have started thinking about setting up wedding registries (and by we, I mean me, except when discussion turns to the Home Depot list and the gadgets section at Williams-Sonoma). We've added a few items to our wish lists so far, and I'm having quite a lot of fun exploring all the goodies we might hope to receive from our wonderful circle of well-wishers.

But the best thing I've learned on this topic so far is that WeddingChannel.com and the I Do Foundation have created an easy way for guests to make charitable contributions in honor of a bride and groom. And at my request, they agreed to create a charity registry for us to support the Foundation Fighting Blindness. We even have a snazzy link on our wedding webpage providing quick and easy access to the donation form.

I love the idea that the joyous occasion of our wedding will help fund research that may save or restore my sight. I can't think of a better wedding gift than this. Except, of course, for the KitchenAid Mixer.

Excuses, excuses.

I'd like to take a quick moment to apologize for just how boring this blog has become. Two-thirds of my brain seems to be entirely consumed with wedding planning, real-estate transactions, cohabitation, and home decor. That leaves some left over for work, which needs to nudge its way into at least part of a second third because boy-oh-boy do I have work to do these days. Part of the preoccupied portion is handed over at night to tormented dreams about the state of the Union after November 2 if John Kerry does not win the presidency. But not a whole lot is left for clever phrase-turning, razor-sharp observation, or even random musing.

On the other hand, I anticipate that living with a BOY for the first time in years (living with anyone for the first time in years, actually) will open all sorts of new opportunities for bloggity merriment. And after Friday, the Love Shack will be outfitted with wireless 'net access, dramatically expanding my available blogging time. So bear with me during this temporary zombie stage - I'll make it up to you as soon as I snap out of it.

A moving story, redux.

Now I remember why I never wanted to leave the carriage house. Skylights and exposed brick and huge closets and great location aside, the real reason I fully intended to stay put was this: moving sucks. Every muscle in my body aches, my thighs and arms are covered with box- and wall- and furniture-inflicted bruises. I have a hole in the top of my foot from a mattress frame and a gash on my shin from an errant printer. I've been up until the wee hours every night since Thursday (first sorting and packing and cleaning, then sorting and unpacking and setting up and rearranging), which coupled with the massive amounts of dust I've sucked up over the past four days has left me fighting a losing battle with illness.

But at last, roughly 99% of the insane quantity of crap I have accumulated over the past six-plus years, plus 97.5% of Steve's significantly more manageable quantity of crap, is somewhere in OUR house, garage, basement, or storage shed. Bit by bit, rooms are starting to look liveable, boxes are being emptied, furniture is finding its place, and a home is emerging from the clutter. Steve spent hours last night putting back together my father's wonderful oak desk and setting up my computer, and I now have a lovely home office from which to blog once our wireless network is installed tomorrow. My "engagement boxes" are finally displayed on a special shelf, having been tucked in a corner for the past six weeks. Shasta Cat has survived her initial terror at being displaced and is happily roaming the house, wiggling her way into the myriad new hiding places it offers. My clothes have all found their way into closets, drawers, and shelves (admittedly in four different rooms of the house, but I did leave Steve an entire half of the bedroom closet!). And for the first time in my adult life, I have an actual guestroom, with an actual guestbed, which serves no other function than to house actual guests (the first of whom, Steve's parents, arrive Friday).

And I'm never moving again.

A moving story.

The move commences! We've successfully acquired our third (hopefully not for too much longer) mortgage, a relatively painless process at least until the first payment comes due in December. We met the lovely seller on Thursday, and she passed on a bit of the house's lore. She seemed pleased to be handing her home to us, satisfied we would love and care for it as she has, and she left us with many small items that help the place feel a bit like home already.

We are the fourth owners of this house, and the two before our seller were related. At our closing, the receptionist at the title company came bursting into our closing room, bubbling over with excitement to tell us that her husband had grown up in our house. His parents had lived there for 25 years, and then either he or his brother (I was confused as to which) had owned it for a few years before selling it in 1989 to the woman from whom we bought it yesterday. So now we know where to go to learn about all the hidden water sources and secret passageways the house conceals.

Last night was the last for me in the carriage house. I lay in bed staring through the skylight into the darkness, feeling a mix of panic, delight, and anticipation. But for the moment, I don't have time to process these emotions. For there is stuff to sort and toss and schlep and boxes galore to pack and load and take . . . HOME!

A slight change of plans.

Well. So. As it turned out, the weekend veered more to the middle-of-the-night-in-the-ER side of the spectrum than the beautiful-mountain-wedding realm. Steve was feeling sub-par long before we left for Estes Park, and we figured he was sufering from a mild case of food poisoning that had mostly worked its way through his system. Though he'd barely eaten since Tuesday night, Steve seemed to perk up when we reached the rehearsal dinner, and he even managed to down some apple pie and cider at the casual hay-loft gathering. But when he left for a break and hadn't returned an hour or so later, I wandered back to our cabin and found him prone on the bed, moaning in discomfort.

After some water and a tummy rub, he seemed to feel better, and we tried to sleep. But at 1:00 a.m., he jostled me awake to tell me he was increasingly miserable and really wanted to get medical attention. Because it was the middle of the night, we discussed trying to make it to the morning before leaving. I thought I could manage to drive his car down to Boulder in daylight, but I knew it would be far too dangerous for me to try to drive in the dark on those winding mountain roads. We turned off the light and I rubbed his back, trying to soothe him into sleep, but it was a fruitless effort. Around 1:30, we threw all our stuff in the car and drove off into the night.

Steve did fine on the drive down to Boulder. We were able to enjoy the beautiful, clear night and we distracted ourselves by keeping up a lively conversation and marvelling at the many elk and deer we saw crouched in the shadows. While I don't think he would have been able to keep going much longer, Steve was holding up well when we pulled into the hospital parking lot at 2:30. The ER staff was lovely, but ridiculously overworked, and it was over two hours before we saw a doctor. The first hour was one long uncomfortable wait in the drafty sitting area; in the second Steve was moved to a bed and started on IV fluids. We'd been frustrated about missing the presidential debate, but I don't think either of us expected to be watching it replayed at 4:00 a.m. in a hospital room.

Sometime around 5:00, the doctor arrived, with little to offer in the way of diagnosis or treatment. After pumping more fluids into Steve and taking an assortment of fluid samples, the hospital staff finally turned us loose shortly before 7 with nothing more than a prescription for Immodium and a fistful of "could bes." We drove the few blocks to my parents' house, let ourselves in (they were away), and collapsed.

Instead of spending Saturday celebrating our friends' marriage, we spent most of the day (or what was left of it after we awoke) wandering slowly around town and taking care of all the errands we've procrastinated because we prefer to spend our weekends playing outside (season ski passes - check; transferring Steve's cell phone service - check; overdue wedding and baby gifts - check; exploring possible gift-registry items - check). We also stopped in to a sports bar for a little while to watch Steve's Wisconsin Badgers trounce Ohio State (and, less happily, my beloved CU Buffs experience the receiving end of an OSU trouncing). My own stomach started misbehaving at some point during the afternoon, although we never managed to determine whether this resulted from a milder form of whatever was plaguing Steve or from the fact that I kept forgetting to eat or drink in the midst of it all. Still, by Sunday, we both felt markedly better, but neither of us was up for much more than wandering through the mall and sitting in the sun.

Today, I am relaxing and recovering and enjoying the federal holiday. I'm feeling better, managed a short run this morning, and have a stack of wedding magazines to while away the afternoon. And Steve must be on the mend, because he called to tell me he ate an entire Illegal Pete's burrito for lunch.

Untitled.

We are heading to the mountains this weekend for a wedding. We will be staying very near where we got engaged a few weeks ago, and the main event will take place at one of our favorite spots, where dear friends of ours wed last fall in a joyous and memorable celebration. I am very much looking forward to this excursion, which takes us to beautiful places filled with happy memories.

The weekend promises to be ideal for mountain-going. The weather is suddenly glorious and the foliage heartbreakingly vivid. The bride and groom will be treated to sunshine and warmth on a day they were fully prepared to see blanketed with snow.

In my newly-affianced state, I am particularly looking forward to this wedding. I always love such events, and while I often conclude that my own wedding would be very different from the ones I attend, for years I have filed away details and ideas and special touches for possible future reference. Suddenly, the reference is actual and immediate, and I expect I will view this wedding through an entirely different lens than I might have several months ago.

Also, despite the madness of recent days, I am in an oddly peaceful and introspective place at the moment. I'm not entirely sure what has precipitated this letting-go and turning-inward, but I became aware of it just as I emerged from the fog surrounding the brief I filed earlier today. The past few weeks have found me distracted, scattered, and alternately glowing with the excitement of good things to come and panicking over the details and dollars that must precede them. But somehow or another, many of the biggest and scariest pieces have slipped into place, leaving me with a growing sense of peace, a feeling of right-ness, and a certainty that whatever lies ahead, it will (as Steve keeps telling me) be OK.

This old house.

The nostalgia pangs have attacked. With ten days left in The Carriage House, they have started tickling my skin, whispering into my ears, and poking at my heart. On Saturday, we made our last late-night shopping run to the Queen Soopers (you locals know the reference), and shared a little sigh of regret that we will not see quite so many Goths and drag queens and what-the-hell-is-he-wearing/muttering/doing types in our Boulder grocery. Then, on Sunday, we walked through the beautiful Country Club mansion district to Cherry Creek North, gaping at the enormous homes and crunching the leaves beneath our feet. On the way home, as the light was fading, I realized it was the last time I would walk this walk, and a little cloud dropped over my mood.

Yesterday morning, waiting for the bus at 5:30 a.m. with the nice white-haired gentleman who always stands aside to let me board first, I realized that I'll only wait at this bus stop at this ungodly hour perhaps another six or seven times. At the gym, I stood back for a minute and thought about how many mornings I've spent dressing, putting on my makeup, and chit-chatting with this same group of women over the past seven years. I will miss them, though I hope the change to comfy, professional-laden commuter busses and lunch-time workouts will be for the better.

This morning, I woke groggy and decided to skip spinning in favor of doing yoga at lunch. I lay in bed for a litle while, staring at the emerging shadows through the skylight over my bed. Soon, there will be only ceiling above me, and I won't be able to gauge weather, watch lightning storms, enjoy the pattering of the rain on glass, or gaze at the stars without leaving the cozy warmth of my covers. More than anything about this house, I will miss the skylights.

At the same time, I am also counting down the last few days of true single-girlhood. Though we will not marry for nearly a year, in ten days we will merge our lives and our households in a far more practical sense. I am bubbling over with excitement about this, and truly can't wait until Steve and I and Shasta and all our gear and clothes and STUFF live under the same roof. Still, I'm savoring these last few days of sleeping diagonally (at least a few nights a week), making weird pseudo-meals of leftover brie and a microwaved sweet potato, and watching train-wreck TV dramas to which I am secretly addicted (oh, fine - Nip/Tuck, if you must know).

I've grown up, in many ways, in this house. It is a symbol of my independence, the home I bought when I realized that waiting for a man to sweep me off my feet was a losing proposition. It has sheltered me through three job changes, two bouts of the flu, assorted sports injuries, and too damn many breakups. Steve kissed me for the first time in front of the french doors downstairs, and much of our relationship has unfolded within these walls.

Now, would somebody please buy the place already?!