West Coast Etiquette

While I cannot claim to be a jet-setter, I have travelled a bit and even lived in other parts of the U.S.--but here I am on the West Coast and to be honest, the pacing, culture and climate suit me.  It may be my region of origin, but it also where I choose to live and with that comes some definite realities about the way we do things here on the West Coast.

Teri will tell people that she is from all over, being from a military family--but she is actually from all over the East Coast.  She mostly likes it here (but wishes there was more warm sun) and thinks that compared to the rest of her East Coast family, she is pretty laid back, but she still has East Coast flare-ups on a somewhat regular basis. I actually get a big kick out of the differences.

I don't know what region of the U.S. standard manners and etiquette are created for, but I can tell you that what is expected and okay in the Southern part of the nation and what is expected and okay in the Midwest are not necessarily the same.  For example, on the East Coast people stand on line and expect others to do the same: you get into a queue, you have your selection, purchases, money, etc. ready and you do what you need to do quickly and move out of the way.  Here on the West Coast, we don't exactly do lines--everyone sort of mills about and moves loosely in the general direction of the counter, gate, etc. and then we casually slide through.  Heaven forbid any of us be accused of following the herd!   When we are forced to stand IN a line (as opposed to ON one), it better be short and our surrounding compadres are expected to be friendly and casually chatty.

As we've been planning our Wedding, we have been quite aware that some of the etiquette rules are not really tweaked for the West Coast (WC.)  First, we know for a fact that RSVPs and assigned seating are not the norm here (but we are attempting both with plenty of wiggle room and WC adjustments.)  Likewise, there is absolutely no way we could get away with a reception menu that didn't have plenty of non-carnivorous selections--it isn't about providing a little salad for the vegans and vegetarians here, it is about providing a little meat for those who still expect it.

When it comes to manners and etiquette, there are things that drive me crazy about the West Coast: timeliness is not considered necessary, people assume RSVPs are optional or left over for looks, everyone assumes that hugs are a goddess-given social norm, throwing anything away is subject to peer pressure and scrutiny, and everyone thinks it is perfectly okay to impose their food preferences, addiction issues and political ideology on whomever and whatever.

On the flip side, there are realities that I not only accept, but actually appreciate about WC culture: we genuinely welcome newbies and strangers and will always make room for more, we don't expect things to be gender segregated (no need for that old boy-girl-boy-girl seating rule), we are not daunted by rain, no one gets insulted if you start without them (since being on time is optional), we can talk about politics, religion and current events without personalizing, we'll almost always jump in to help someone move, we pretend we can't be shocked by anything, and meal times are flexible.

The truth is, as we plan our Wedding celebration, we've known that we can try to impose some etiquette onto the event, but since it is a WC affair, we've got to make room for the way things are really done around here and that includes a strong dusting of "Whatever..."

Perimenopausal Brides

I suppose I have danced around the elephant in the room long enough. The truth is, part of my pre-wedding craziness is personality, part of it is self-imposed, and, well, a big part of it I am attributing to the hormonal chaos that is perimenopause. There, I've said it. And I'm not going to take it back!

Teri and I both remember ourselves being much easier going 25 years ago when we each got married for the first time--and she happened to be pregnant at the time (pregnant=hormones).  I was just terribly young and it seemed a bit of a lark.  Not so much this time around.  While I might be a confident grown-up at this stage in my life, I am also one who spends some days teetering on the hot-flash-impatient-night-sweat-annoyed-can't sleep-WTF edge.  Oh yes!  Fortunately, most days, Teri and I take turns with our perimenopausal ways--otherwise the house could implode.

We have both been known to eat a half-gallon of ice cream while recounting a tale of how we nearly gave a snarky teenage sales clerk the shaken baby syndrome over poor customer service.  And there are days when we have each been ready to set fire to everything in our closet (the clothes are all ugly and feel gross), quit our jobs (the morons), discard all our friends (seriously?  can't she ever be on time?!) and create an entire seven course meal completely out of chocolate.  It happens, we're embracing the rights of passage at middle age because we've earned them, but that doesn't necessarily make for a smooth and uneventful life.  Perfect time to plan a wedding don't you think?

Life is irregular, our periods are irregular, our appetites, moods and energy levels are irregular.  And yet I find the fact that we get each other is incredibly helpful. Since we are so close in age, we are compadres on this lumpy, bumpy perimenopausal ride.  There are differences, of course, since we are each putting our individual spin on it, but it is nice to not have to say anything other than "I can't explain why I am so crabby" or "I'm working on three crappy hours of sleep here" and know that the other one knows exactly where one's coming from!

We are able to joke, tease and appease each other as only the empathetic can.  There is compassion with the fact that some nights one of us needs the hint of a sheet for cover while the other wants the full comforter Monty.  The next night, it might be totally switched. I remember over ten years ago, I had a boss who also happened to be a lesbian and she and her partner were in their late forties/early fifties and both going through "the change."  I asked her what that was like: "What is it like for two women going through all that together?" I guess the universe thought it would be a fun idea to let me experience the answer to that one myself!

Stop the World! I Want to Get Off (but Only to Catch My Breath)...

There is a great deal to do.  There is a great deal to think about. Some wedding related, some work related and some, well, just life related.  This is not a time that feels peaceful and calm and manageable.  No siree ma'am.

So, I decided yesterday that I was going to just let go (that was yesterday, this is today)--no more fussing over dog poop or work tasks I cannot possibly accomplish.  I decided I wasn't going to beat myself up over prioritizing or staying on top of every tiny detail.  What's the worst that could happen?

As I tried to get to sleep last night after bowling terribly as a sub on Teri's team (they ask, I say yes, even though I am not a stellar bowler and I embarrass myself)--all the letting go seemed to come unravelled.  What's up with that?  I must work harder at relaxing (ha!), make a to-do list for all the ways I'm not going to worry--well, you get the picture, I am not rocking the big Let Go.

The wedding seems monumental on a personal level, but the local racism and homophobia, increased white supremacist activity, poverty, homelessness, human services de-funding, and war in Afghanistan all seem pretty monumental too.  By the end of the day I can't imagine attending another meeting OR figuring out what to do about flatware for our celebration.  How does one do a decent ranking of what one can and cannot address? 

As I laid there fussing last night, perspective was a hard thing to come by--what I need is a break, a vacation, a personal assistant and a little bigger dollup of letting go...

The Name Game

With the filing of our Domestic Partnership papers, I have embarked on the final leg of de-het-i-fying my name.  I'm not finished yet, but I am getting closer.

When I got divorced many years ago, my divorce papers said that I got my "maiden" name back.  My kids were quite young at the time so I didn't really pursue it.  They had somewhat strong feelings about us having matching names so I just kept using both names for more and more things.  In the last couple years, however, with my kids becoming adults and no longer having those same feelings, I have pondered and fussed about the how, the expense, and the practicality of getting rid of the "Irons" on the end of my name.  Finally, it just became important enough to me to go through the trials of making it happen.

Now begins the process of actually getting it changed on all my documents, records, and accounts.  It is a bit daunting so I gave myself permission to take it slowly--one step at a time.  I know that it won't really be long until my Social Security card, passport, bank account and driver's license reflect the change even if I would love it to be a more streamlined process (wouldn't it be great if I could just send in information to one place and get back a kit of changed documents?) It is not without expense, of course, but I decided I wasn't going to let the expense limit or deter me from doing what felt right.


Teri is keeping her previous married name and she has a different perspective.  She doesn't want the expense or the trouble and she feels she's had it longer than she had the name she was given at birth. (I've also had the "Irons" attached to my name longer than any other, but since I have a choice, I'm going to exercise it.)  Plus, she feels her eldest daughter does have strong feelings about her keeping it. Since we neither of us feel compelled to have the same last name or to take each other's name, this is an area where we are each just doing what feels right on a personal level.

So, for me, the transition begins and slow and steady will be my mantra.

Ladybug Get-Away

How amazingly lucky were we to be able to get away to the Oregon coast on the first warm weekend of the summer?  All of it came together somewhat spontaneously.  Teri and I decided to escape for a couple days, then we realized we could both make time on Friday to go down to the courthouse and then, as we'd talked about a couple months ago, we were able to have a little private getaway to commemorate our new status.  Woot!

Everything seemed to be cooperating to make the weekend both easy and memorable.    Not to mention, everywhere we looked, there were fat, flying ladybugs.  I've considered ladybugs my totem for decades and, legend has it, they symbolize luck and abundance.  How fabulous is that?!

As Teri and I stood on a warm beach, we commented that what we really wanted to do was cling to the light, fortunate feeling we were experiencing--bottle it up for when we know we are going to need it.  As Teri commented while we were weaving and sliding along the Oregon Coast highway--in another month or two, things are going to get stressful and crazy and, chances are, there will be some crabby words going down.  We both wanted to be able to access our memories of this weekend and how connected and peaceful we felt.

So, we took in the views and soaked up some sun.  I managed to get my first sunburn of the season.  We wandered shops and explored tide pools. All the while trying to let the fact that we were now actually legally partnered settle in.  Typically, we reminisced and talked about first dates, early struggles, and older versions of ourselves--at the same time wondering what the next forty years might bring?

The universe was offering up many gifts and we were in just the right frame of mind to be both receptive and appreciative. This process is not without it's bumps and detours and Teri and I can be snarky and snappy with the best of them--but it is these little rewards and reminders that give life its delicate and delicious flavors!

To the Courthouse, Peggy and National Donut Day

In all honesty, we were braced. Instead of a bounce in our step, we had a manila file full of documents and paperwork as we head determinedly out the door. I got to thinking after the fact that at least we had some idea of what we were trying to accomplish yesterday, the folks at the County office of Deeds and Records had no inkling that they'd be seeing the likes of us on a sunny Friday morning in June...

As some of you know, the process for applying for Domestic Partnership in Lane County is not the same as getting a Wedding License.  It does happen at the same office, however.  We printed the form off from the web site (as directed on legal paper) and filled it out, we then took it to our bank where we signed it and had it notarized.  Most banks will do it for free for account holders, but we found out after the fact that our good friend (a marvelously genial gay man is a notary too).  Anticipating trouble (and honestly, what person facing government bureaucracy wouldn't?), we had a folder full of our birth certificates, passports, divorce papers and anything else we thought we might need to show in order to appease discerning bureaucrats.

The two women sitting at the information desk never moved, but sat stern and plump with arms crossed when we asked where to go for a Domestic Partnership: "Deeds and Records, through those doors" one squawked without so much as a smile or a nod.  Fortunately the other one swung her eyes toward the sign so we could at least see which doors to go through and which direction to head.  The first sign we saw as we looked down the hall said "Marriage Licenses" under Records and Deeds and I typically started to mumble about unfairness.  Teri pointed out that it did say "Domestic Partnership Registration" at the very bottom in an attached, swinging sign (but I still maintain it was a smaller sized font!).  We each took a breath and waltzed in.


As I set our fat folder down on the counter, a smiling woman came over to us: "Hi Teri!" she said beaming.  While I had an instantaneous wonder that this might be an old flame, turned out that she and Teri used to work out at the same gym.  Just for the record, Peggy was great (and straight.)  She was warm and friendly and completely efficient.  While I don't think she belongs in that low-ceilinged cement room at the Court House, I was grateful to have her guide us through!  Amidst catching up and gym culture recollections, she informed us that while we had printed the form off on the right size paper, it was a little off in comparison to the form the state prints and that it might not be acceptable. About a half-inch lower printing the bottom section. Seriously?  I asked, braced for a protest, a rally and cries of homophobia. Peggy smiled: "Let me put in a call and see if we can get pre-approval."  Lesson to those who come after: while it says on the web site to print off the form and you might think that is the only option--it is not.  Go down to the Clerk's office and pick up one of their forms to fill out.

Peggy suggested that while we were waiting for a call back from the state office, we go get lunch or coffee or something.  I was crabby, I was tense.  Teri was not.  We had anticipated getting a donut at Voodoo Donuts to celebrate after and commemorate National Donut Day so we decided to walk the two blocks and have a donut mid-filing instead.  Teri's idea since I was ready to call PFLAG.  The mantra: It was going to be just fine.

I normally get a small coconut-covered chocolate cake donut when we make the trek to Voodoo, but I was feeling a bit more, uh, intense--so I ordered up the Voodoo doll.  For those who have never been to Portland/Eugene--Voodoo Donuts is a quirky and popular local romp whose slogan is "The Magic is in the Hole."   Teri pointed out that at least my donut was smiling, but I felt a strange satisfaction in pulling out the pretzel stick that was impaled on his little

body to lick the blood-like raspberry jam off the end.  (this is a puffy yeast donut, filled with raspberry jam and coated in chocolate icing).  Happy National Donut day, I mused as I chomped into his gooey belly.

Donuts finished (Teri had a Buttermilk Bear), we walked back through the sunshine, past the fountain with the leaping metal trout and the homeless people chatting on the warm steps.  When we waltzed back into the Deeds and Records office--reinforced with sugared determination--Peggy greeted us with "Good News!"  I felt a regretful pang at that moment that we hadn't brought Peggy a donut too.

The forms were a go, she entered everything into the computer, we paid our money and we got a certificate to use for the ceremony.  Teri did comment that it seemed questionable that we have to pay the same amount for a Domestic Partnership as hets while we only get maybe half the benefits (and none from a legal level) and I asked what was going to happen when Civil Marriage eventually became legal?  Would our status transfer or would we need to get married again?  Peggy was a trouper and agreed that it seemed a bit unfair to pay the same for less and expressed her optimistic hope that yes, our commitment would transfer.  She even offered to take our photo with both our camera and a cell phone and she was the first to wish us a warm congratulations.

In the end, the legal part is done.  Teri and I think of it as our pre-Wedding elopement.  It was the private, personal part of our process that we wanted to keep to ourselves until AFTER it was done.  Now it is on to the ceremony and the celebration!

Teri calling her twin sister, Pixi, to tell her the news...

The Garden

There have been times in my life when I have claimed that I am truly a gardener by vocation.  All the work I do is just to support that habit.  I have built more than a few gardens: planted trees and roses, built raised beds, crafted trellises, shaped, weeded and clipped--only to leave them behind when the time came, never knowing what became of the efforts.

There are lessons in the garden that I seem to need to learn over and over again: lack of control, appreciation for surprises, heartbreak, sharing, impermanence and patience.  I have experienced bumper crops and blight, had plants and flowers eaten by hungry creatures, pulled up by human hands, and decimated by Mother Nature.  Such is a garden and such is Life.

I have never quite made peace with the tug between private and public in my gardening.  The garden is where I go to be alone, to lose myself in the meditation of weeding and digging and yet there is something about a person alone in her garden that invites all manner of interruption: cats rubbing up against one's leg and laying in the seed basket; a neighbor's dog trouncing across fresh transplants and slapping a tail across one's face, people calling out, wandering over, and assuming that conversation is in order.  When my kids were little, they used to find me in the garden and proceed to ask me a million questions while crunching on pea pods they'd yanked off a vine or through the green teeth of lemon balm or parsley mouth.

When one gardens, visitors want to see what you've been up to and, to be honest, there are times when I am the one offering a tour: Do you want to see the garden? I don't do that with other solitary activities: Do you want to see my book?  Would you like a tour of where I take my naps? The garden is both private haven and some sort of public sphere where conversations happen.  It is creative and yet completely scientific.  I have read books and quotes where authors mused about the miracle of gardens but it doesn't seem particularly miraculous to me--it is much more a salad of science, creativity, passion and frustration. There are no made-up laws of economy or politics in the garden, nor is there any respect for invented hierarchy or predictable performance.  The garden does what the garden does and while I may move things around, the process is far bigger than me!

We are having a cool, wet Spring here in Oregon.  Last year was similar and non-gardeners complain and complain about the lack of sun and warmth.  Most flowers, vegetables and plants find a way to thrive regardless of whether it is beach weather or not.  A cool Spring and early Summer may not be great for tomatoes and melons, but it is ideal for brassicas: cauliflower, broccoli and cabbages.  Some years are sunny tomato and pepper years and others are bumper crop pea and cabbage years.


Some years the poppies bloom early or the dahlias bloom late.  Every garden is a little world connected to a bigger world.  Bees and birds and weather and spiders and worms. As our wedding approaches and my relationship with Teri takes center stage, the garden seems to be the perfect space for me to sort and contemplate and make sense of all the ways relationship building is like creating and tending a garden.  While the work is never done, there is something delightfully surprising every day.