It’s probably time to start posting about things other then my job. The issue is that when people I haven’t spoken with in a while ask what I’ve been up to my mind draws up a blank…what have I been up to? Usually I respond with, “Well, um, actually my time is consumed by my job.” This sounds lame, so I’ve changed it to, “Well, my time is consumed by teaching.” This sounds a little more noble, especially when people learn that it’s kindergarten. Images of me rolling around the floor with a bunch of super cute kids comes to most people’s minds as they envision my life a carefree playground of laughs and giggles. When I start talking about the dynamics of the job, I usually include the weary hours, early mornings, and the poor health aspect of the profession that I had no idea would be involved when I started in August. I also have to mention that it’s a temporary gig, ending in June, resulting in an upcoming job search (once again). Many people shrug all this off and say anecdotally, “Oh, the first year of teaching is always hard.” To this I say, “No, it’s always pretty hard on some level.” Am I coward for not wanting to continue? I’m all for the administration aspect of education, or being a dance/theater specialist, or returning to being a buyer for a dance store, (although this job does not exist in Seattle since their dance retail is in sorry state).
When I’m not being asked about teaching, for some reason people are really into talking about the housing market in Seattle. HA! What market? It’s becoming woefully clear that there is little to nothing available for young people within the city limits. Visions of having to move to Issaquah haunt me…but I’m tired of renting. This large, looming, idea of leaving the city and setting up somewhere else must be kept in the back of my mind. Certainly, this is inevitable. Friends of Josh’s, who make over 100,000 a year are losing bids on town homes in West Seattle. It fatigues me to even think of the uphill battle house hunting will cause us, so I try to hold the positive stories of home buying in Seattle close to my heart. As our market creeps up to San Francisco prices, the anxious “We have to get on this NOW” feeling pushes at our consciousness.
Snowboarding has always been a secret love of mine. I say secret because when I started I was 23 living in the mountains of Colorado, maintaining a long distance relationship with a modern dance company, and swearing up and down I would not get hurt. Of course, several concussions later, I did not get hurt (seriously) and the dance company disbanded. I mention the company because a characteristic of most dancers is an extreme neurosis about their bodies. Getting injured always lingers in the background of an aspiring dancer, and the fact that I was performing while learning an outdoor sport was a bit of a faux paux. Now my dancing is limited to one ballet class a week, and my yearning for the mountains continues to tug at my heart. Josh, Sammy (who is now learning himself how to snowboard), and I went to Crystal Mountain four weeks ago and it was glorious! I felt like I was king of the world! After the trip I went and bought expensive gear, replacing my old heavy Vans boots with stealthy, lighter, models and trading in my pain-in-the-ass-never-coming-undone-when-I’m-totally-stuck-in-powder bindings with nice, new, easy to remove ones. Then we went to Alpental, an ancient ski resort about forty-five minutes away. The snow was glorious, the weather dark and overcast, and I was faced with all black diamond runs. In my mind, I was still the ambitious young snowbunny from my Summit County days, and I dove in face first (literally) to what the mountain could offer me. The mountain beat me back with a fierce fervor that resulted in one of the worst days of snowboarding history for me. Twice I found myself stuck, having managed to wander off the run and into a pit of powder where no amount of struggling could free me. With sweat running down my face fogging my goggles, I managed to dig myself out both times, cursing furiously the entire time. And who was I kidding? I’m not interested in black diamonds…I have no desire to tackle steep terrain. Give me a nice fast blue, one that I can roll and bump and glide upon any day. Suddenly I couldn’t remember how to turn, the result of the strange feel of my light flexible boots, and I bitterly ate it over and over again. Up until that day I had prided myself on no longer falling when I went snowboarding. After the first rocky year of learning, usually by myself, on some gloriously groomed run in Breckinridge, I resigned myself to being an average intermediate snowboarder. Sure, I enjoyed the occasional foray into trees, and briefly I explored the art of tricks–including jumping over things. But I quickly moved on, realizing that my dislike of falling and my inner dancer screaming to preserve my body, were overriding my desire to ever become a daring, risky, snowboarder barreling down the mountain. My beanie is off to Josh, who has succeeded not only as an expert rider but also an excellent trickster, and glides down the mountain as if he has made it his bitch, the snow rising to meet him with his grace and calm nature overriding any hurtle in his way. I on the other hand, became so furious and worked over by Alpental two weeks ago, that I gave in to fits of loud bawling, sobbing and struggling with my new gear and broken gloves, cursing up a mean storm that shocked every skier who sailed past. There was a point in my snowboarding history where I spent days in a furious, sobbing, stupor as my will to overcome the mountain gave in to huge failure and painful bruising. At one point I swore off Vail entirely, because every time I went I ended up sulking in the lodge. I had thought those days were largely behind me, but alas, I was wrong. Alpental, stupid little Alpental, with its rickety two chair lifts and overzealous Seattleite clientele (such a far cry from the over crowded, egotistical, tourist hell of Summit County), reduced me to a pile of snowboard nothing. Once again I found myself sulking in the lodge, this time sharing my space with a church youth group who were up skiing for a day. “Now listen, “I said, sternly to myself, “You’re 28 now, no longer a dumb 23 year old trying to learn, you need to suck it up.” But I was woeful for the rest of the day, and with a firm resolve that black diamonds are the bane of my snowboard existence, I’ve sworn to return to the gentle runs of Crystal Mountain.