On Packing (oy)

There are at least four things that my husband and I will always have arguments about:

1. Towel folding*
2. How late I was to our wedding**
3. The yard tools I sold in his garage sale***
4. How much to pack for (long international) trips.

Kent, raised as an army brat, has lived in at least 31 different houses. He has moved so much that within weeks of moving into a new place, he grows so restless he has to rearrange all the furniture in the house so that the space feels new. As our old landlord said, it’s in his DNA. Our old landlord continued on to say, that he felt kind of sorry for me, because moving so much is not in my DNA, especially since giving birth and breastfeeding, all my hormones are telling me to nest and create home. Yet I have moved a fair amount myself, and have gotten rather good at moving and moving often. Still, it stresses me out a little more than Kent. I generally spend a week oscillating between dread, tense stress and general funk. I don’t get excited about our new location or potential adventure until mid-transit.
Consequently, Kent and I pack very differently. I have a few habits that are not conducive to moving. One is bringing stacks and stacks of books home from the library and used book stores. Books are my security blanket. Even if I know I will never get around to reading all of them, I like to have them around. I also have a love of odd collections of dishes. Really, I love odd collections of anything that make my space feel cozy and homey. So when it came time to pack our suitcases for Singapore and our house for storage I had to be closely supervised as I fought temptations to stick my favorite coffee mugs not into boxes but into my suitcases.
Kent, on the other hand, abhors clutter and collections of anything (especially – and I agree with him – collections of ducks). He packs for a month or six months the same way he packs for a weekend. Before moving or traveling, he goes on a rampant purge. His ideal is to get rid of everything and start over fresh, keeping only the absolute favorite things. The arguments/discussions start when he’s trying to throw anything not nailed down away, while I’m trying to shove it in my suitcase.
In coming to Singapore, we brought two bags each (including two for the baby) plus one extra (we paid for) plus our carry on (my smaller rolling suitcase, and our respective back packs). Truth be told, in comparison with a lot of expats, we didn’t bring very much at all. But now, we’re at the end of our stay in Singapore, and for the moment, plan to put most of the things we brought to Singapore in storage, and then take just a bag or two with us to Vietnam for a month. We each agreed to not take many clothes because Vietnam is a relatively cheap place to buy clothes (and when you’re essentially only alternating between shorts and your swimsuit, how much do you really need?). I do feel I am making progress in packing, in that I no longer have to bring everything I own. And I did go to Thailand and Cambodia for a week, with one suitcase for both the baby and me(including the diapers! Impressive!)
Yet I still have two urges battling with each other. One is the urge to pack as lightly as possible; the other is the urge to create home for us, but especially for our son. I want him to have his favorite toys and books. I also have things I like to have: my good knives, my favorite salt shaker, my favorite salt, and, of course, my dictionary. I have yet to achieve the delicate balance, of having what makes a space feel like home while still traveling lightly.
My sister, however, seems to do this effortlessly, though she hardly moves at all. When I traveled with her around Italy, she traveled with a footstool in her suitcase. I had bought her the footstool I think at a Siena flea market. Now, I think of this every time I travel or move. I think, after traveling with her around Northern Italy, that I too should be able to travel internationally with my favorite piece of furniture wedged into my carry on.

*The towel folding argument: K folds towels like a man. He brings the short ends together, then folds that in half, then I think the remaining part either gets folded into thirds or half again. It is a lovely fold. One the Gap would be proud of. Problem is when you go to actually hang the towel on the towel bar, (you see where this is going right?) it requires refolding the towel so it hangs properly. Which is why I fold towels in the same way hotels do, so that you can just hang the towel on the bar with no refolding. I say it’s like a man, because I argue that women, especially women with children attempting to climb up the walls, don’t have time to do things twice.
**I was an hour late to our wedding. K says it was an hour and a half, but actually, whenever he tells the story, my arrival gets later and later. Whatever. I was late. But I was late because my sister’s plane was 2 or 3 hours late. Not because I had cold feet or anything.
*** I sold K’s yard tools at his garage sale. In my defense, I have this to say: where I come from, when you have a garage sale, you sell things that are in your garage. So if you don’t want to sell something, it should probably be moved out of the garage. I also sold his tools for cheap. Because, again, where I come from, when you have a garage sale, it is generally because you are trying to get rid of things, not get a return on your initial investment. Finally in my defense, since I sold said tools, we actually haven’t lived any place that had a yard where we would use them.

My Favorite Singapore Interactions

1. Up the street, at the cafe where I ordered a sandwich
Waiter: We don't have the kind of bread you want for your sandwich.
Me: What other kind of bread do you have?
Waiter: All the other kinds.

2. In a taxi, around 1 o'clock, on the way to the Botanical Gardens
Me: To the Botanical Gardens, please.
Taxi Driver: Really? You know it's going to rain around 4?
Me: Yes. I know.
TD: Are you sure you know?
Me: Yes. It has been raining at 4 in the afternoon for awhile now.
TD: But are you sure you know that?
(It did indeed rain at 3:30, by which point, F & I had seen the gardens and were sharing a cup of mango sorbet and waiting for our taxi home.)

3. Today, in Chinatown, walking by a temple with my husband, who said: "I can't tell if they play this music to wake the gods up or scare away the evil spirits for the day. Either way, it's a ruckus."

On the 1,000 word a day front

Overall, I am doing well. Technically, I am behind because of life happening - we moved, both my husband and I got colds and there were a few nights that instead of staying up after he and the baby were asleep, I really just had to go to bed too. (Currently, both he and the baby are napping, and I am still getting over my cold and would like to be napping too, but I am in that place of either I stay up now, and have a coffee later or I stay up tonight. I opted for the former.) If I had written my 1,000 words a day, I'd have 15,000 words and probably over 30 pages. I don't have that. I'm more around 25. But the point of the exercise is not to come up with something new to flog myself over. The point is to develop a habit. I am developing the habit.
Still, there are things I want to ask Michael Chabon: a 1,000 words a day even when you're sick? Do you ever call in sick to your desk? On days that you move? Days that you have the all over achey feeling? Days that you take your family to the zoo? Even on weekends?
I also want to ask how long it takes him. And then, how long does he spend revising and when does he go back and revise?
My 1,000 words are coming pretty easily right now, but when I go back to read over what I have written, I find I have ended up with a story where I have thrown everything and the kitchen sink into it. I don't have a story that's finished that I could send to my sister and other trusted readers and say, "read this before I send it somewhere." I do feel like part of my 1,000 words and developing the habit is also figuring out my process, and right now I feel like I'm expelling a lot of crap. I almost feel like I should be writing 2,000 words a day just to get it out of my system and have things to manipulate, revise, edit, delete, focus in on.
I told my sister this, and she said, "Right, like cleaning out the cobwebs." This is generally what it feels like for me when I write in my journal and purge. Like I am cleaning out the cobwebs of the attic. And this is the image I saw in my mind when she said this. Of that ideal old attic full of cool family furniture and vintage clothes, and me dusting things off and cleaning out the cobwebs.
This morning when I was waking up, I decided that cleaning out the cobwebs is not what this feels like. This feels like what my body is doing at the end of this cold: mainly, coughing up nasty tasting gloppy greenish phlegm and blowing my nose, draining my sinuses until I see stars. Writing right now is expelling sticky stuff that hurts when you cough it up. I suspect most of it will get deleted and thrown in the little trash can on my computer.
My sister reminded me of Elizabeth Gilbert's talk on creativity at the TED conference. Gilbert says our job is to just show up and the creative genius who sits in the corner that gives you stuff to channel will eventually come. So I am showing up. But still. This is where I hate being a day and 12 hours ahead of my sister. If I was in the states, I'd be pestering her with phone calls, asking, "Really?" "I just have to show up? Should I lit a candle or make an offering like people here do when they want to please the gods?"
National Novel Writing Month begins on Sunday. Tomorrow for me. I emailed my husband my first draft and various other notes and writings for him to print off at work today so I can rewrite the thing over the next 30 days (not quite the aim of the project - I am adapting it for my needs - we all agree that it's time for me to finish something in my life). So beginning tomorrow, I have to write more than my 1,000 words. I suspect there will be a lot more phlegm in my life. Maybe mid-month, I'll hit the cobwebs.

The New Thing in Life that Makes Me Happy

are these hands. I found them in a Chinese antique store in Chinatown. Everything in the store was 50% (so these were S$10 - in USD $7.50) for a limited time only. When I asked the sales lady how long her sale was, she said, "Until Christmas."
At home I have an odd collection of doll hands and feet that freaks out my husband. These hands are growing on him, and I often find them arranged in various positions. They are just the right amount of cool and creepy. I keep hoping I'll find more things like this in my explorations of the city and I probably will in some of our travels, but in Chinatown it is rather a challenge. I mean, a little Chinatown in your house can be nice (the dishes, Chinese silk pajamas, even a kimono, a nice pair of chopsticks) and some of the kitsch can be cool in the right house (those weird plastic cats that wave their paws), but dear god, I fear the house that was furnished only out of Chinatown.

My new 1000 words a day project: 15 October - 15 April

I have been in Singapore almost two weeks. My sister who regularly works with the Chinese says that for every time zone you travel, it takes one day of jet lag to adjust. So for the fifteen time zones or hours that we are now ahead, it should take us 15 days to adjust. We landed on the second, losing a day in travel. According to this calculation I have two days left of adjustment and jet lag. We did, I admit, adjust to the hour difference rather quickly. It seemed by the end of the first weekend – within three days that we were going to sleep at 10 pm and waking up at 7am just like we did at home. But it was also by the end of the first weekend that I realized adjusting to a new country and dealing with jet lag requires far more than getting onto the new country’s schedule. This occurred to me after I hit overwhelm when viewing a potential apartment to rent. I had been in one of those funky spaces where I just couldn’t articulate the source of my grumpiness or out of sortness and somehow saying I was jetlagged didn’t fit. It wasn’t until later that I realized – in the middle of the lease negotiations my husband had launched into - that I felt things were moving fast. And they weren’t moving that fast – just the normal rate they move when you move to a new city and are trying to get settled in. It was just my ability to process everything that had slowed down. It wasn’t until later in the week when I went to cross the street and looked the wrong way (almost getting hit by a car) that it felt like everything – all the changes from the last year – seemed to come rushing to my forehead to the cacophonous place of overwhelm in my forehead.
Singapore is a small country and while it is a densely populated city, it is not an overly large one. As a country it might be bigger than the city of New York; the densely populated area though is probably smaller or about the same size. I think there’s less subways here. At any rate, in general so far it is a pretty easy place to find your way around except that there’s an unusual amount of malls and a lot of things underground that can be hard to place or at least for me it can be hard to get my bearings.
What I’ve struggled with the first two weeks is finding things to do that entertain me as well as my baby. In Los Angeles, I had lots of friends who were moms so even if we spent the day at one of the many museums, we did so with our babies so they had someone their own age to engage and interact with and we did baby centered things too – mostly take them swimming. I haven’t yet made any mom friends. I haven’t made any friends here yet and I haven’t found much for Fyo to do. I’ve taken him to the art museum, the National Museum, a printmaking gallery, the Botanical Gardens, the National Library – probably next week we’ll head to the Asian Civilization Museum. These are the kinds of things I enjoy – But I’m a museum addict. I got addicted in LA. Singapore is new to the awareness that the arts are important; even so they’ve made an admirable effort in investing in the arts with free symphony concerts in the Botanical gardens and their museums, galleries, public art spaces, etc. Mostly, there are a ton of design schools here. There’s also a lot of things for older children to do – by older I of course mean like four. Even two. For a baby who is crawling almost walking and almost one – I’m struggling. We’re taking him to the zoo (which is supposed to be fantastic) on his birthday, in the meantime I feel like I really have to be creative thinking of things to do during the day. Today we went to the Toy museum. I let him crawl around the downstairs Starbucks so he could explore something. Today, as I was trying to think of things to do with my not-quite-year-old I realized that I was already bored. I mean, really, my biggest challenge of the day is trying to get baby and me out of the house so we can avoid the maid but still get baby the necessary naptime. Getting me my naptime is extra credit though it is most successful when it occurs during baby’s. My day and my life boil down to naptime scheduling. Naptime scheduling is what I pay (okay – what my husband pays) my student loans for and why I have a Master’s degree. Probably not ironic that I’m reading Betty Freidan’s The Feminine Mystique right now (for novel research – which I said I’d go back to November 1 as part of National Novel Writing Month).
As my sister says, I need a design problem or something like a project for my mind to chew on while I am trying to work out the day’s activities. This is not new information. I’ve known and realized for a while that as a new mom who isn’t working outside the home I do need my own project or source of satisfaction and fulfillment. Ideally, my time off from working to be with my newborn is also supposed to go to my novel or writing. It hasn’t much yet.
I just read NPR’s Guy Raz’s interview with Michael Chabon about his latest book on fatherhood. Chabon says that for him, writing 1000 words a day is as much part of his day as making all of his kids’ next day lunches before he goes to bed at night. Chabon has four kids. They’re school age but whatever. If a parent of four children can write 1000 words a day and make lunches surely I as a parent of one could write 1000 words a day. I also realized, if you can’t learn discipline from having a baby or the ability to develop a daily habit then what can I hope to teach him? How will I possibly have any authority when it comes time to tell him to do his homework? (Not to mention if we home school it would end up in utter disaster and disarray). So then I decided to launch a 1000 word a day project. For the next 6 months I’m here – October 15 to April 15 – I’m writing a 1000 words a day. It will include some novel, some new mom essayish things, probably some thoughts on losing a step-parent then abandoning the remaining parent as you move across the planet and who knows what else.
This will probably feel like flossing. Something I hate but have to do everyday anyway so that my teeth don’t fall out of my mouth. I’ll most likely end up writing my 1000 words everyday so that my brain doesn’t fall out of my head or that my sanity doesn’t fall out of my brain. Something like that. Anyway, it's more about the daily habit than anything.
My other natural inclination is to write my 1000 words a day and then to lock them up in the recesses in my journal or notebook. But ever present Rob Brezny is on to me. My horoscope this week says that usual business advice is to not tell everything you know, but it’s time to chuck that out the window and from now on tell everything I know. He says, “The act of sharing connects me to fresh sources. Open-hearted communication doesn't weaken me, but just the reverse: It feeds my vitality. This is the approach I recommend to you in the coming days, Capricorn. Do indeed tell everything you know.” Eeek. Me who tries to avoid vulnerability and public embarrassment at all costs now has to embrace her humanity, all her flaws, spelling errors and typos, and share it with the world. Yikes. So with that in mind, I’m posting my first 1000 words to my little space of internet. At least living in Singapore, I have the illusion of feeling like I’m hiding in the recesses of the planet. Oh – and this is word number 1431.

Today at the Botanical Garden in Singapore

was a white orchid.

For b

Tonight's mushrooms.
Friday's lunch: Laksa soup (a kind of curry with coconut milk, fish and noodles) some kind of toast I can 't remember what and two soft boiled eggs with coffee (K had tea).