Walla Walla, Warshington!

Walla Walla...it's name is so famous, most people think its almost a joke; a non place.  But I promise you, it does exist!  Walla Walla was one of the first settlements in Washington State (or Warshington State, if you pronounce it the way they do in Walla Walla, different from Kiwis, who have always been economical with their r's).  It was started by Dr. Marcus Whitman and his wife in 1836.  The Whitmans wanted to "tame the wild native" and bring the teachings of Christ to the Cayuse Indians.  

They did not have a good time of it.  Narcissa Whitman's only daughter drowned as a small child in a stream just outside their house.  The Whitman's opened their home and mission to new settlers on the Oregon trail.  They lived in relative peace with the Cayuse Indians until an outbreak of measles hit the community and the Cayuse had no immunity to the disease.  With half the tribe dead, the Cayuse were, shall we say, suspicious of all the non-dead white folks living happily in their mission.  

After weeks of tension, the chief of the Cayuse came to talk to Dr. Whitman and well, it all went downhill from there.  Both Dr. Whitman and his wife were killed.  Mission residents, the ones that weren't killed, were held for ransom.  Then the U.S. government came in to create a territory out of Oregon and Washington and well...the rest didn't go so well for the Cayuse.

Mom and I visited the old mission; none of the original buildings stand but there are artifacts and other interesting stuff to look at.  The Park Rangers looked pretty bored in the hot sun...but there was a Cayuse man there who was doing a demonstration on dancing.  His brightly colored costume was covered in beads and eagle feathers.  He showed us a wonderful, full War "bonnet".  

It was wonderful to hear him tells stories and share his experiences; the U.S. has a whole different type of relationship with its native peoples compared to New Zealand.  While you simply cannot separate Maori culture from New Zealand's identify, the same cannot be said for the U.S.    It was great to take the opportunity to learn more about the Cayuse and the Plains Native Americans as a group, if only a small window into their culture.     

Walla Walla itself is a wonderful little city of 30,000 souls with old Victorian style mansions lining streets. The whole place is pretty chillaxed; its also a foodie/wino's paradise with lots of local fare to choose from.

The rest of the day was pretty relaxing, just hangin out with Mom and soaking up the sun and making plans for my next few jumps.  

Charging...charging....clear....

 Outside there is a thunderstorm thats been raging for the better part of two hours.  One thing that happens a lot here is dry thunderstorms; no rain but lots of lightning and thunder.  But outside my window, I can hear a few small splatterings of rain, rare in this desert.

I've always had mixed feelings about the place of my birth but now I've come here to recharge for a few days before continuing on my journey.  Over the past few years, I let the hits and immense responsibilities and resentment take away my fun and drag me down.  I've come back to reconnect with that part of myself, the fun part of me, the carefree "I have no one to answer to, no one I'm responsible for" me.

One thing I am really happy about is reconnecting with my old friend Tim.  Tim and I were friends since elementary school (primary school for you kiwis), but we lost touch after high school, as good friends often do.  By shear luck, we were both in town at the same time and got to hang out for an evening.  It was really cool to just chat and see how things had been for the both of us.  There is a part of me that will forever be drinking slirpees at 7-11 or hangin out at the park during school and its good to be around people who remember what that was like.  With Tim came the awesome Mark Harper, also a friend from school.

Got to see some good live bands at Jackson's, a local pub.  Some excellent local music that would be what I would call satanic country music that Tom Waits vomited up after a night on the piss (booze).  Bob Wayne (a local boy) and the Outlaw Carnies (could there be a better name for a seedy country band???) are a three piece band with upright bass, rhythm guitar and electric lead guitar.  Outside, their stretch Cadillac limo with steer horns as a hood ornament waited outside for the end of their set.  A true Tri-Cities moment.

On a different note, another thing I got to reconnect with is my grand piano.  I hadn't played her in years and my Welte was a beautiful as ever.  Recently I started playing again, reconnecting (ooo see the theme??? aren't i a clever chicken???) with music.  Music gives me real joy in life; I tell all my secrets to the piano.

Being with family, seeing my little nephew and regaining energy from my roots here has been a fantastic experience.  I feel more rested, more at peace than I have in several years.  It is good to be home, if only for a few short days.

Strange Loops

After the big fishing trip, we spent the night in Westport again, eating more chowder from the One Eyed Crab (and, could there be a better name for a seafood resturant than the One Eyed Crab???).  I was pretty tired and spent most of the night coma'd on the couch.

We carried on our way to Mt. St. Helens, my favorite of all volcanos.  In my excitement, I slammed the car door on my thumb.  I waited for the pain and realised, yes there was pain and yes there was blood.  More blood than I had seen in a long time. I surpised myself by not a)swearing like a shearer/trucker and b) being calm enough to tell my mother where my first aid kit was and what bandages to use (which was pointless because she is, of course, a nurse practioner). The rest of the trip was spent with my thumb encased in a gigantic bandage.

We arrived at the mountain, walked around for an hour or so, lost dad completely (no suprise there) and then began, what I like to call, the "Strange Loop akin to that Star Trek episode that one time that I can't ever remember the title of).  So we go down the highway, make one turn and promptely return the way we came.  And then we tried a different route...which took us again to the mountain.  It took about four attempts to actually leave Mt. St. Helens...after much cursing...

We drove through White Pass, a place I hadn't spent much time at but wouldn't mind having a strange loop expierence in.

As trees gave way to sloping, dry hills, a sense of calm washed over me.  The desert is a barren place, void of green but it is strangely serene.  For the last nine years I have never really looked at my home with anything but comparring the beauty surrounding me in New Zealand and found it wanting.  But now, I find the hills, which always looked liked dinosaurs lying on their sides, comforting to me.  I forgot how I missed the long shadows in the evening, the warm nights, the sunsets.  The big sky, with nothing blocking the views.  The dry thunderstorms.

I thought about the strange loops. Almost nine years ago to the day, I travelled to New Zealand for the first time and despite my assertation that I was only there for "six weeks", I left many years later.  Life takes us on strange loops that return back to where we started. 

But finally I can see this place with very different, kinder eyes than before.

The one that got away

Seattle was scorching for two days and my parents picked from my cousin Amy's house.  We  made our way for the coast, where it was 20 degrees instead of 35.  Westport is a small, beach community famous for its seafood and salmon fishing.

Dad and I booked a salmon charter, which was interesting because I had never gone salmon fishing before.  We had a nice long walk on the beach and ate at the One Eyed Clam.  Fantastic seafood; I had a bowl of seafood which looked like something out of Star Trek, with limbs poking out of the bowl.  Actually, despite it looking fairly disgusting, it was delicious.

The charter left bright and early in the morning at 530 a.m. so we woke up at 4 to get ready.  The conditions were bumpy and three people became seriously ill on the boat.  The fishing was slow and hard work, constantly reeling in and reeling out.  On the third cast of the second set of fishing, I felt a slight tug on my line; I started reeling in and it became extremely difficult.  I called out the famous words "fish on!" and it was all on.  The deck crew scrambled around me and we moved around the boat, trying not to tangle up other fishermen.

The action continued for about five minutes as I fought the fish.  It was very tiring work; until finally, the fish was on the boat.  I let out a little shriek of delight; my fish was large, about 14 pounds.  I was happy with my catch.

The rest of the day continued on until I had another fish on my line; again the scramble, the screaming deckhands.  The fish was a surprise to me; I hadn't been paying attention.  The deck hand brought up the net but missed the shiny fish and it flopped happily back in the ocean, taking my bait with him.

Secretly, I was happy to see the fish go back to sea.  I had my big fish; did I need another?  And this got me thinking about regret and how we obsess about the job, the person or that thing that slips through our fingers.  Dad was upset with the deckhand but I saw no point; what is gone is gone and you just can't get it back again.  Sure I might get lucky and catch the same fish again but that's a long shot.

After all, there are plenty more fish in the sea...

Damn Sarah, you one crazy bitch!

Auckland was amazing; Kiri is a wonderful friend and we spent a great deal of time talking, eating and generally getting messy.  As I made the last of my less than sober phone calls, I realised it was time to get off the islands and go on my way.

After a pretty cruisy 12 hour flight, I arrived in the maddest place on earth: LAX.  Everybody was angy, the flight was delayed for 3 hours to San Fran.  It felt so bizarre to know that I had no one I needed to call, no work needed to get done and no bills needed to be paid.  Everything was tied up in a nice bow and it felt really, really weird.

I was picked up from the airport by my lovely Aunt Dominque and spent a lovely day with her, talking and walking around. She lives in San Jose, near the famous Winchester Mystery House.  Now, those who know me well, know my love of ghost stories, the macabe and anything slightly weird.  I had always wanted to visit the house that Sarah Winchester built over the space of 38 years.  Despite my pleadings with my auntie, we couldn't go as we had to meet with my brother and his partner for dinner.

It was a lovely evening; San Jose was cooler than expected. 

In the morning Auntie and I went for a lovely walk around the hills.  Tina, my friend from Hawai'i, who I hadn't seen in five years picked me up.  She aksed what I wanted to do and I said, of course, the mystery house.  She jumped out of her seat and screamed "Oh my god! I thought that too!  Wahooo!!!!

We proceeded at a quick pace to the crazy, 160 room mansion.  Sarah, in an effort to avoid more than her fair share of pain and suffering on this planet, consulted a psychic regarding her future.  The psychic told her that the reason she had expierenced so much loss was because the ghosts of all those people killed by the Winchester rifles had come to haunt her.  In order to break the cycle, she would have to move to the west coast and build every day for the rest of her life.

Which she did.  The Winchester house answers perfectly the eternal question:  what can you do if you have bucket loads of cash and are absolutely insane.  Sarah built until the day she died for 38 years.  She built crazy shit like stairs that went no where, doors that opened into walls and rooms that had lots of 13 windows.  (Oh wait, did I forget to mention that 13 was her favourite number?  And we visited on Friday the 13???)  OOOOOO SPOOKY!

Anyway, the house was full of crazy.  Tina and I spent the rest of the day catching up on life.  We picked up the Dave (her husband) from Apple and had dinner at the Auntie's house.  Then visited my brother (hey, wait, are you guys getting bored yet???)

Flew to Seattle in the morning (the plane, as predicted was an hour late).  Seattle is...HOT.  Like 39 degrees hot.  And dry.  But I am enjoying spending time with the cousin and meeting up with people I haven't seen in a decade or more.

I think it brings up the eternal nature of some friendships, where you can sit down and just start talking like no time has past (even if 5 or 10 years have passed)....those are friendships (like Tina's) that I treasure with all my heart.

Angels in my apartment

As tears ran down my face from packing up my wedding dress, Fiona climbed up my staircase.  I burst into further tears seeing her; she came just in time.  Boxes, bags and clothes were everywhere and I just wasn’t coping with the enormous tasks ahead of me AND dealing with my past.

She looked at the mess and decided to tackle the kitchen. In 30 minutes, my kitchen stuff was packed up in boxes, organized and sorted.

 

Louise was shortly behind her, vacuuming up and sorting through items to give away to the Sallies, as I tackled the back room.

Fi left my kitchen spotless.  We stopped, smiled, laughed and David walked on.  Fi tagged him in and walked out.

David, the fashionista that he was, sorted my wardrobe quickly with a "that's outdated" "that looks like a table cloth" or "ooo LBD; you HAVE to take that!"

By the end of the day, my life was sorted into different rooms : one to take to the sols, the other give aways, the last in storage or take to the states.  It was time for the saddest of all the tasks; taking Mr. Dot Dot, my loyal and loving kittie, to the cattery.  After his brief stay, he will be adopted out to friends.  That was very hard, to say goodbye to my wonderful kitty.

On Monday, Antony came in and we sorted more until the rooms became empty.  He was wonderful and I couldn't have done the move without his help.

On my last day of work and living in Christchurch, my coworkers thought it was a good idea to have tea and scones and make me cry in public (BASTARDS!). Lovely speeches by Mitch, Mick, Murray and others.  Very moving and it was amazing to think that four years have passed by so quickly.  Goodbyes, hugs and tears were shared and promises to stay in touch.

By 7, everything I owned was either living in other places, packed off to the Solomons or in two suitcases.  I said goodbye to Carlton Mill with sadness; a lot of things went down in that place.  But I could see it was certainly time to move on.

Had a morning of errands and said goodbye to the lovely Gaynor.  It was a beautiful, sunny day in Christchurch and as I flew over the snow capped mountains, I said goodbye to the place that had been my home for the greater part of nine years.  

I feel very grateful having all these lovely people in my life and all the experiences, while some have been very painful, I value.

I left my heart in Christchurch...

I'm a blue person on a map!

Check it out:
http://www.vsa.org.nz/what-we-re-doing/

Click on the Solomon Islands...go to Guadacanal (am 3rd blue person on the map!)

9 days till I hop on the plane...