Post #75 – Women’s Memoirs, Writing Prompt – Kendra Bonnett and Matilda Butler
Memoir Journaling: The Emotional Terrain
As promised last week, I’m concluding the series of journaling blogs focused on my move from California to Oregon. This major life adventure began last summer when we decided to sell our home of 13 years — a home on 10 acres of land that we loved and will always miss.
Rather than repeat any of the story, here’s a link to last week’s blog journal entry.
Note to Memoir Journal: January 8, 2011 – The Fog Lifts
By the 7th of January, we were almost half way into the second month of our grand adventure and I had persuaded myself that I was well settled in our new home. Sure, I was still unpacking, but that was a routine effort managed in a daily pattern along with writing, cooking, and enjoying our new town. And speaking of that:
Corvallis is a town with history — the football game between Oregon State and the University of Oregon, referred to as the Civil War, is now 116 years old. Even the OSU-Corvallis Symphony is currently in its 105th season. And although Corvallis was not the destination of the Oregon Trail, its population was possible because of the number of settlers who moved from Missouri to Oregon over the rugged Oregon Trail.
Corvallis is a town with culture — an active library community, music, and the arts. In any given week, it’s possible to find a live performance to attend. We’ve already been to a number of events and eagerly look forward to the time when we are able to go to even more.
Corvallis is a town with a state college — always an asset. Young people add vitality to an area and help create a community spirit. We’re pleased that Corvallis has a higher education rate per capita than any other city in Oregon — a marked contrast with our previous city.
Corvallis is a town with restaurants — and I say this as a gluten-free vegan. In Gilroy, we rarely ate out for two reasons. First, I love to cook so why would I want to go out. Second, even if we did want to go out, there options were quite limited. Perhaps only three places — a Thai restaurant that wasn’t particularly good once new management took over, a branch of Panera where I relied on their black bean soup for something to eat, and a Japanese restaurant with a good bowl of miso soup and salad with a tangy ginger dressing. Now Corvallis is a completely different picture. There’s Nearly Normal with an abundance of tempting dishes including half-price falafel Wednesdays (they even substitute a brown rice tortilla for the wheat pita bread), Evergreen with their Indian buffet and ample vegetarian dishes, Cafe Yumm with their Yumm Bowls (brown rice, black beans, avocados, cilantro, and their signature Yumm sauce), Sunnyside Up Cafe featuring good food and local music two evenings a week, McMenamins (historical buildings are purchased and each is turned into a distinctive restaurant), and the list goes on and on. We’re still exploring our options.
Corvallis is a town ranked 48th in the 100 best places to live and launch a business (Fortune Small Business, 2008). We’ve met people here who chose it as a place to retire because of its mix of nature, culture, and education. So we’re feeling lucky that our decision, based on proximity to our two sons rather than research, worked out so well.
Corvallis is a town with wiggly streets — a little difficult to figure out, but we’re getting the hang of them. Streets bend this way and then that way rather than go straight, the way a midwesterner prefers them. Well a major street is named Circle, so you get the idea.
As you can tell, we have become Corvallis enthusiasts even as we adjust to differences between our current and our former towns.
But that is the world outside. What about my interior world? What was happening to me?
The Fog Was There, But I Didn’t Notice – Memoir Journaling Helps
I was taken by surprise when I suddenly felt the fog lift on January 8. We do have fog in Corvallis, but I’m talking about my inner fog. I’m reminded of the question: Does a fish know that it’s wet?
We were driving to our local Trader Joe’s and I noticed that I felt lighter, happier, more at ease. Everything seemed manageable. Until that moment I was constantly thinking about all the tasks to be done and wondering how I would ever remember then all much less get them accomplished. In the 13 years since the last time, I had forgotten how much work was involved in a move. It was only by contrast that I realized the weight of the burden I had felt.
It’s one thing to think you’ve embraced a change and it is entirely another to feel comfortable in the embrace. When the fog lifted, I had more clarity of thought and felt more energy. I can’t imagine anyway in which I could have caused the fog to lift. It simply did so in its own time.
It reminded me of August, 1997, 13 years ago, when I fell down several steps and broke the bone under my eye as well as the bone below my elbow. We had just moved to Gilroy when my favorite uncle called to tell me he had been diagnosed with leukemia. His wife had died several years earlier and I had started having dinner with him once a week. I enjoyed his stories of World War II (he was a Major on Eisenhower’s staff with responsibility for visiting journalists), politics (he was a Roosevelt Democrat who became a Republican later in life), and his childhood in Oklahoma and Arkansas. He shared family stories that I’d never heard before, stories that I relish knowing today.
After he called me from the hospital, I spent every day with him in the weeks until he died. Then I spent every day in his apartment, along with his wonderful sister-in-law, sorting his belongings and preparing the place for sale. I was bone weary (an seemingly appropriate expression) and so when my husband suggested a movie on the first day when I had no more responsibilities with the estate, I jumped at the chance to have a little fun.
That’s when I fell down the three steps on the approach to the movie theatre. After the x-rays and the weeks of recovery (never did see the movie), I finally decided that I would always feel old. I was surprised that it could happen so quickly — young one minute and then old the next. But there it was. I had little energy and seemed mentally sluggish even after the bones healed. Six months later, just like on January 8, 2011, the fog cleared and I felt young again. My energy way back, my enthusiasms, my focus.
So now, I begin to glimpse the interdependencies of massive change and our psychological well-being. Now, I’ll try to be more gentle with myself and others as we make our way through this marvelous adventure called life.
Memoir Writing Prompt:
1. Think about a major life-changing event in your life — a marriage, the birth of a sibling or your own child, a death, a move, a divorce, a new job, etc. Write for five minutes about the specific event. Then write for another five minutes about your psychological state and how long it lasted. Did you ever feel the fog lift?
