It is way too freaking noisy in this café.
Time to take a breather. Good time to start documenting the bittersweet sentiments that characterize the stresses of relocation.
So here we are. This move has been quite an experience. Overall, the transition has been pretty mild, with the exception of a few road bumps along the way. Thus is the nature of far travels. Of course I mean that metaphorically. The Midwest is very, very different from Northern California. The people are friendly and move at a much slower pace which I, as a Californian, have grown to appreciate. Much more quickly than I’d anticipated. Certainly, I have my moments (such as the time I yelled at the lady at Target who had no freaking idea what she was doing), as of course they say, “you can take the girl out of California, but you can’t take California out of the girl”. Isn’t that the truth?
The diversity of the social and cultural landscape is also a nice surprise. Overall, I would have to say that it’s more colorful than I imagined it would be, and that most people here are pretty modest. I do enjoy seeing more of a random assortment of grocery totes than Coach bags while I’m out running errands or working from the café. Minneapolis of course is a little different (it is after all, home to the Mall of America– the single-most emblematic representation of American consumerism at its best), however enjoyable. It reminds me a lot of San Francisco. A less-congested version of it, anyway.
As far as the political climate here, I would have to say it seems to me a little schizophrenic. On the one hand, many subtle hints of conservatism and on the other, a glimmer of a liberal attitude struggling to take its place in Minnesotan politics. I suppose that could be a result of the comings and goings of medical students, interns, and residents alike each year, which would suffice to explain the fluctuating nature of politics in this little medical microcosm, but of course I know little to nothing about that and am just beginning to get a little taste of whatever it may be. All I know is that I have begun to take greater note of the number of (subtle and not-so-subtle) pro-life advertisements that seem to permeate the county, as well as the peaceful anti-abortion protests taking place outside of the Planned Parenthood clinic about a half a mile away from my home. All I know is that there is a small aggregate of Obama supporters canvassing our neighborhoods enthusiastically and recruiting (or trying to recruit) new volunteers (ie., yours truly, on a Saturday afternoon thesis-writing session at the local café). And that sadly, there was a poorly publicized Gay Pride festival earlier this month that we missed because we didn’t know it was happening. Inicidentally, it was held on the same day as St. John’s annual block party. You take a stab at which was better attended.
In restrospect, “schizophrenic” doesn’t quite capture the magic of the moment. Divided is perhaps more accurate.
In terms of environmental awareness, I am happy to report significantly less traffic, more individuals travelling by foot, and a very bicycle-friendly atmosphere complete with a thriving community of cycling enthusiasts. The Minnesota Welcome Center was the first among all six states we traveled through to have a small recycling center on its premises. Sadly, a composting program has yet to be implemented and integrated into our weekly trash collection, however it is nice to know that there is a collection site nearby where we can deliver our scraps ourselves in the event that we are willing to implement our own system at home. Here is where I admit that we are totally dragging-ass on that one. Research is necessary to do It right, however I can’t imagine that it should be so complicated.
Daily travels are increasingly more comfortable the more I get to know my way around. I hate using maps. The theme of my life—no maps, no cookbooks, no sheet music. It’s all intuition. I am after all, right-brained. I am getting better with the cookbooks, however, especially as I have significantly more time to play in the kitchen as a summer housewife, which I LOVE. Getting around town can be a bit challenging because we have numbers for street names, all organized by N, S, E, W, NE, NW, SE, and SW suffixes. Which means the numbers start all over again once you’ve covered NE territory and forge ahead into the NW. Which does nothing for my efforts to participate in fuel conservation. Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke?? Anyway, I think I know my way around pretty well, but have yet to find my hidden treasures. Of course, the thrift shops were first on my list and I found those within the first three days of my time here (a girl’s gotta prioritize, right?). A few weeks later, J and I would find the Good Foods co-op (you wouldn’t believe our excitement. Sadly, Whole Foods and TJ’s are about an hour and a-half away from our neighborhood). For now I must be appeased by “Super Target” for all the this-and-that my life demands. The other day I discovered it was time for a new planner and made the trip out to find myself in the midst of Back-to-School sales, which I absolutely loved as a kid. Before China made its way onto my shitlist, that is. WTF, China? EVERYTHING was Made in China. Not one freaking planner in that entire behemoth of a Target store was made elsewhere. I was forced to settle on the cheapest thing I could find. Giving $3.00 to china is a lot better than $13 (the price of the one I REALLY wanted until I discovered those three blasphemous words hidden on an inside flap). Still, I was irked and found myself in a bit of a state of self-loathing. And now I am walking around with a freaking planner called Varsity Club (I have expeditiously concealed with an Amnesty International sticker) that bears the words “parent’s name/home phone/cell phone/home address” on the front page. I am 29 this coming winter and on my way to getting my masters in less than one year. Varsity Club has no business soliciting such information from me, but China and its ludicrous antics have created for us what is widely known as a VERITABLE SHIT SHOW. Thank you, China. Thank you, Target. Thank you, American politics. Thanks for playing. Because honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass about my Varsity Club planner. You can eat my $3.00 and I’ll put the other $10 back into the community via Good Foods and the corn I plan on making for dinner tonight. It’s going to be DELICIOUS.
How’s that for a double entendre?
In other news, Thesis A Go-Go is honestly not really going anywhere in terms of writing. I somehow imagined the writing process to have taken on much more of a prolific nature by now but it has been one of the most challenging pieces of writing I have ventured into. Partly because I am so obsessive about it. I have carved out time to journal each morning or afternoon and continue to read each night before bed, which has been helpful. The problem is in addressing concerns specific to both the victim and offender populations, as well as in organizing and separating psychological and developmental concerns from social and criminal justice concerns, etc., etc., etc.. A lot to pare down each day, and a lot to iron out. I am getting there. Slowly but surely. The writing will ebb and flow after I have proceeded beyond this road bump, I’m sure.
A lot of breaks. The material is often graphic. The statistics are sad. I recognize how cyclical the process is and understand why the rates of recidivism are what they are. I recognize human suffering in statistics, which is the most important part and dually, the most difficult to absorb. Becoming detached would be detrimental to the art and skill of this writing, to the goal I work hard to achieve in anything I write. Anything less would be insulting. Anything less would limit the truth of the human experience. This is always just within the mind’s grasp, no matter how determined we are to hold it at arm’s length. Which is often a behavior I find myself engaged in when the material feels too heavy. A little kick in the pants reminds me that this is not my daily reality. All I have to do is read and write. Ironically, two of my greatest pleasures in life.
I settled on research on child molestation. Theory, aetiology (contributing factors, anyhow), treatment and intervention. I love it, but the more I sink my knuckles and teeth into the material, the more I am reminded that our understandings of the human condition are still so limited, even with all the blood, sweat, and tears that are devoted to research. Which is not a bad thing. The mystery keeps us interested in our neighbors and it keeps us alive and kicking, too. In our practice, the total absence of linear relationships between causation and condition serve as an eternal reminder that every person is an individual and bears the right to be treated as such.
Finally, Dr. J, ever-the-brilliant. In four and a-half weeks he has learned the following:
Reese should not use a loofa (bugs).
Reese should not be using fabric softener (allergens).
Reese may have a melanoma.
Reese should not be using Kiehl’s products (additives. OH NO!!!!!!!!!! It’s my favorite thing!).
Reese should apply hydroquinone to her post-inflammatory hyperpigmentation.
All of the above make for the most pleasant dinner conversation. We all know J to be quite the deipnosophist. And then there is derm talk. Those are two entirely different things.
Ha! A funny!
Things are going well and I am oh so proud of him. He is so dedicated. He’s enjoying what he is doing, enjoys him time here, and is also part of a great team that he gets along with quite well. I like them too. Very much. All wonderful people. Incidentally, I have taken an interest as of late in botox injections. Who knew? I never thought I’d ever become That Girl, but wow. It is pretty amazing stuff and I might have to let him practice on me one day. Could you just see me laying on the couch in our living room, with J towering over me, needle in hand and squinting? Ha!
