Poetry Month 2

Cards

I am a table of cups
(some call them hearts.
I've been given a different deck)
The Ten
The Three
The Prince and the Queen.
At the end, the Ace;
All of it leading back to me.

No matter how the ground of California
should crack it's knuckles
and try to roll me from my bed,
      a lover waking up and groaning beside me
I remain stable,
holding that one vessel against
this belly
Trusting this soil
even as it tries to buck me from
whatever footing I've gained in these years.

One last time
this City of Angels will lash out at me,
even as I dash,
sipping at the sweet, heavy wine in this
the cup that's been given to me.

Poetry Month 1

April in National Poetry Month and many of the lovely women and men I have participated in writing communities with over the years are joining the call to write a poem every day this month. Poetry has never exactly been my creative voice of choice, but being a part of a larger group of creatives tugging words up from streets of our lives excites me, even if we are all spread out in ways we couldn't anticipate way back when. So I'll join in as I can!

--

Harbors

I am dreaming of leaving
Late into the morning.
After I should have been awake hours ago,
I am heavy in my bed, visiting the other apartments I have left.

Last night
I found that I had left behind two birds
together in a cage.
When I returned to sweep the last of my life
they looked at me weakly,
their eyes sad and their feathers fatigued with hunger
and I had no idea if I should just kill them right then
or release them to find a new home without me.

In my panic within the dream, I walked away,
choosing nothing.

Perhaps we are ships,
put into a harbor now, swaying next to the kitchen sink
watching each other as we rise and fall
through the tides of our lives, thinking
"but we came here for a quiet night away from the seas!"
Feeling cheated by the one truth of life.
So to make up for it
we grab hands from across the bed,
hold one another by the hips and hair and shoulders
Crying out "ah, isn't being in love as hard as going without!"

These women and I.

As our desert city heats up,
we open bottle after bottle of red wine,
sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor
passing slurred stories of our fears
round the circle,
Knowing these sweet nights will end
once we untie ourselves from the harbor
and move back into the higher seas of life.

My Packing List

When I left Minnesota, I was lightweight. Light from dropping off the last bits of a heavy heartbreak, light from selling all of my furniture and light from fitting all that I needed into a suitcase, a backpack and a carry on bag. I took off with my one-way plane ticket running that muggy August day, off and away towards the ocean. I hope that in some way I feel the same relief of the weight of my possessions when I leave California, but only time will tell for sure. I only have a 4-door '98 Volvo, which is much more space than when I came West, but probably less space than I anticipate - how much will I really be able to carry?

Then comes the actual packing of the backpack which I will take across Europe for at least six months. I've started to make a list, hidden in a google doc that I steal away to from time to time and think about all the things I want to bring with me. I've done research on the "best way to fold your clothes" "how many articles of clothing do you really need for an around-the-world trip" and "must haves for the fashionable female traveler" but in a lot of ways, I'm waiting so badly for the time to come when I can actually begin rolling up the wrinkle-resistant clothes and go for it.

What can I carry on my back and what will I leave behind?

Slowly, I've begun to slip my fingers into the ground, find the pathways these roots have grown into and begin to pull them forth from the earth. I've found - and I should not be surprised - how many roots I've grown here which I did not expect. I've been touching the sorts of soil and memories I had happily ignored until it was time to leave. I've been finding deep deep holes of love and emotion I was not prepared for in this dry soil of the foothills in California. I've always known this would be a hard transition and that I could not rip these roots from the ground, but we're honing in on 2.5 months left and there are a lot of things still to do.

I feel like I'm suspended above my emotions right now - looking down at the transition I'm going through and wondering why I'm off kilter. So much is so good. But there's no point in trying to understand the way life is pushing and pulling tonight. I accept that this place is one I don't need to understand and let time move around my fingers like a river. I'll be swimming in the current, my hair being tugged and tangled again soon enough. Coming in and out of focus and riding waves to and from high tide is a part of life, another thing to embrace and lean into. So I'll try to stop digging my fingers into opening the door to happiness for now, and allow myself to sit with my dear friends, eat good food, look up at the mountains when the sun shines just right. Collect the joy and the sadness like pebbles in my pockets, carry them in the seams of my clothes.

For now I'm plotting out maps, highlighting a guidebook, finishing up the packing list. My bag is ready, I just need to wait a little more before I can pack it up. And there are so many lovely people and places here, I'm happy to do just that.

A Request

Dear Friends,

As many of you have heard: I have made some big decisions and I am approaching the beginning of a life-changing adventure. I have decided to leave Los Angeles and move home to Minnesota, but before I do that I am taking some personal time to travel and work on the book I have been writing for the past several years. 

I am writing to you today to invite you to help me with this journey, in any small or large way you can or wish to do so. Anything you are able to give would humble me and push me to do better. I am NOT asking you to help me to go on vacation (all of the beginning part of this trip can most certainly be classified as vacation and I am paying for that.) From October 2014 until at least January 2015 I will be in Northern Ireland, working on my book: working title Dear Bird. I have decided that I want to devote myself to my artistic self and to this project I have already given so much to. Frankly, I will never finish the book until I go back and spend a significant amount of time in Northern Ireland, learning with and from the people, as well as devoting time to do some serious writing work. There is no time like the present to take a risk and go for it. 

I am currently arranging a location where I will be able to volunteer in exchange for room and board, in order to keep my costs low. However this most likely means I will be outside of Derry, the city where my novel takes place. The group I am hoping to volunteer with would provide me with a myriad of opportunities to learn about the history and culture of Northern Ireland, but I will also need to see different places and feel them out with my hands and soul. The funds I am requesting will be for travel expenses to get around the country, hostels, food, living expenses, etc for the 3-4 months. Depending on where I am at at the end of the volunteering stay, I may wish to find a writing residency where I can work for a few weeks to a month while it is all fresh. 

My goal is to not limit myself because of resources, but to keep my costs as low as possible. 

Your help will allow me to fully engage with the culture and experience without worrying about my ability to afford any trips, meetings, excursions or living essentials I need along the way. I will be able to fully engage with the writing of the story, wherever that leads me. 

I have created a Go Fund Me campaign page, where you can donate to me and the money will come to my bank account where I will allocate it only towards this portion of my upcoming trip. Unlike other crowd funding websites, I do not have to meet my goal to receive the donation you choose to give me. The link to this page is: http://www.gofundme.com/76york

Attached to this email you will find a writing sample from the book, as well as story of how the novel formed and where I see it going now. 

Please ask me questions, tell me stories, help in any way you feel is appropriate. I thank everyone for the love and support and promise to keep my little corner of the world posted on the journey I am about to embark upon. Feel free to pass the message along, and to follow my blog as I keep it updated on the journey as it happens. 

Peace, joy and love always,

Katy Cashman 

The Big Annoucement

It's not exactly news. And it's not exactly been a secret. It's a story I've been whispering into my friend's ears, passing around like a good wine and letting everyone I love sip at. Now it's time to open these fingers and give you all a better look. Because I'm so excited about what I've got growing in the warmth of this rich, fertile life.

I will be leaving California in June. I've been calling it the "grand escape". I'll be driving my little car through the desert, the mountains the plains and back home to fall into the lap of a warm, muggy, mosquito-filled summer day in Clover Valley, a bird bone-weary from a long migration.

I've told my job, so now I can tell you. I've told my dearest friends here in California, I've told the nonprofit I sit on the Board for. I do apologize if there is someone out there whom I have overlooked and somehow hurt in the public telling. But I'm not keeping this joy in any longer. Though it is bittersweet, there is strength and energy for being on the right path. And God, is that path below my feet now.

I'll say more about this later, but there are bigger plans in the works (of course. It's me, Katy, at the end of the day.) These include a one-way plane ticket through Iceland landing in Amsterdam, leaving Minneapolis on my birthday. This part of the story is for later, though.

For now, I'll tell you about California.

This summer I read a book, the self-help kind I never really find myself picking up, but it came to me and gave me some deep clarity. I was in the process of thinking it was time to move into the next step of my life and wondering if that included grad school, maybe another couple of years in another new city or the thing that seemed to me to be the admission of defeat: moving home to the city I've known I always wanted to live in long-term. I've always known I wanted to end up in Minneapolis, but there is also a large part of me that want's to try just one more thing. So I was conflicted... because, honestly, how many one more things can we do?

The book, The Defining Decade by Dr. Meg Jay is a rebuttal against the idea that my generation seems to adopt: that getting married later and starting careers at different times in life, the 20's are a throwaway fun time that are to be simply enjoyed. Not that one shouldn't enjoy their 20's, those free-wheeling, comparatively-debt-free times where you can really try out a hundred different personas and discover who you really are. The bottom line seems to be that with a little intention and awareness of long-term goals, as well as how quickly mindsets can change and panic can set in once women especially hit 30, the 20's can be used as a building block to a future that is more inline with what you have envisioned.

I was on my way home for my sister Anna's graduation from the Perpich Center for Arts Education in Minneapolis, and I had been trying to determine what the next step for me would be. More time in Los Angeles, or maybe even moving to San Francisco, or working on a winery on the Central Coast for a bit? A stint of grad school in Portland, OR, Seattle, WA or maybe even abroad? Looking for a new job in another TOTALLY different location, like North Carolina or Maine? Call it a big cheese fest, but I stepped off the airplane, saw a big poster with a loon in a lake that said "Welcome to Minnesota" and I nearly fell down and kissed the ground with tears in my eyes like a sailor: It was time and this was it.

That being said, my ducks were not in a row to come home right away, not to mention there was more to see and do in California. Plus, the nature of working at a school is that you're basically a huge jerk if you leave at any time other than the summer with several months notice, and I have no interest in being a huge jerk.

I may be young and another two-ish years in another city might not be the worst idea. I'd probably have a great time and wouldn't regret that at all. That being said, the math scares me. I'll be 25 when I leave Los Angeles. If I went to grad school, I'd be 27 when I got done. If I had a great job because of professional connections and networks which was worth holding onto for another few years, that's 28 or 29. Then there's weddings? Babies? Ultimately I want a partner who wants to be in Minneapolis/Minnesota and the chances of finding that outside of that place is significantly lower. Lots of women my age are starting to look at the 30's with a little panic, wondering about fertility and all those studies showing how much more difficult it can be to have children later in life. I'm trying not to feed into that, but realistically I should at least have all of this in the back of my mind.

Not to mention the very thought of gently tugging out and replanting all of these roots I've got growing in California is hard enough. Though I may be a wanderer and want to live in as many cities as I possibly can, when I am fully honest with myself, I see that of course community and connections are the most important forces in my life and that growing and nurturing these is essential. There will only be so many times that I can replant everything in my life this way (especially as a single woman) and I know that I ultimately do not want to live in Southern California for a myriad of reasons that all boil down to it's not really me or my home. So much fun in my 20's - the sort of adventure I never would have thought I would take and which still seems surreal to me - but every time I go home I am reminded of who I really am and what I truly love and cherish, as it were.

So I'll be coming home. I've got a California bucket list which I'm working through quickly filled with the places I still haven't seen or want to get to one last time before I go. I'm trying to spend as many nights sitting up late, surrounded by the lovely women I live with who I will miss more than I care to think about right now. I've been singing songs about things changing, about going home. I've been making lists and drawing maps in permanent marker. I'll say more about my emotions and conflicts and experiences of this whole journey soon. But for now I want to rest in the truth at it's most basic level:

I'm coming home. 

2013

I began the year in the same place that I ended it, a home which was built deep in the valley where I was born, surrounded by the people I have known and loved the longest. It was a quiet celebration this year, the air outside frigid and the fire small. But for those who braved the roads and the possibility of dead car batteries, the evening was one of laughter, food and merriment of all kinds. I rewove my story of the last year into many people's hands, giving them the bits of myself that I could when it had been twelve months since we'd been in this house in the forest, relaying our last years.

2013 began in routine. I began with a fast of waking in the earliest hours I could muster to keep creating this book I've been working on so earnestly, going on and on about being a writer. In all other parts of my life, I had found a place and a path and was determined to keep at it, made plans and decided to see them through. There was a house and a plan I had decided were mine; I had put my things into the cracks and decorated the windowsills slowly and I was driving back and forth across town to make my own. As all of it began to unravel, I held hard against the moving dances of the rip tide. But life is a system of waves, spins of the wheel, moons filling and pouring out their hearts upon our weary heads, and if you don't give into life, it will steal out from under you and trip you regardless of your trying to slow it. By the end, even though I had held so bravely and fought so hard, I realized I even wanted an earth quake to come through and take down the house I was making; to leave me be in the place I still had for myself.

I picked up the pieces of myself that had been discarded again in a quiet, sad month. I walked forward, into a jangling and crazed Fall of wild spinning, emotional heaving and laying down, dances with strangers that tied my brain up into knots which I spent frozen nights in my parent's home trying to unravel, trim and lay flat again.

This year I climbed many mountains, and they did not exhaust me the way the Rockies did the year I lived among them. This year I lived a life I know I will look back on in years to come and think of as one of the best times of my life. This year I was constantly planning, drawing upon maps in permanent markers, making notes and putting forth hopes and dreams for what will and will not be coming my way, then making things happen. This year I drove up and down California, dragging my friends up mountains, through forests and along coasts, calling out to the world to come down upon me, and stopping for many a glass of red wine. I opened the door of this heart each night, pushed against it and heaved it slowly and carefully so that the air of change and the whispers of intuition could come in. I grasped for the hands of acceptance, reminding myself of patience and gentleness, things I worry I am beginning to lose in this smoggy City of Angels.

And so, with a mug of champagne and a clearer head, I nod to all that was in 2013. Cups filled, then slipped, dinners made and eaten, lists checked off satisfied. I stepped into the frigid air of the beginning of 2014, looking up at Orion, the winter watchman whom I have not seen from my porch in California all year because of these city lights, and I rushed towards all that will be, giddy as a plan with a new lover.

Lima Volunteering - Homestay

Arriving back in Lima after the Inca Trail was surreal. The grey city, with dirt, grime and so many people and the impending change of feeling for the trip weighed heavily on me while I wanted to be picked up by the folks from the group I was volunteering with. When I did get picked up, we took several taxi rides across town, picking up other volunteers along the way and arriving in San Miguel neighborhood, a working-class area full of parks. In each park in San Miguel you'll find a small statue of a Saint Bernard dog with a pile of bags and a hole to drop your dogs droppings after walking them. Going back and forth from the house we stayed at - Celia's house - to Lydia the program coordinator's home, we passed through so many of these parks on streets without names I could hardly get my barrings - not common for me!

Celia's home was really comfortable. Like many homes in Lima, the home that has been in her family for many years was originally two stories with a living space below and bedrooms upstairs with a small outdoor patio area. Later, at a third floor was added later on top without permits or any legal regulation. I visited several houses that felt like a labyrinth of stairs going round and round to different floors each with a kitchen and bathroom of their own. In Celia's house, there was more or less an entire detached apartment with three bedrooms at the top floor, where we stayed. There was internet, hot water, excellent food and great company: everything you could need from a home stay. 

Celia, our Mama, had two grown children who both lived at home, as well as a house maid who lived in the house with her son. Her sister, brother in law and their young daughters would come by several nights of the week. Around the house, English was being learned slowly, but luckily one of my house sisters had been studying at a school in Lima for the semester and spoke incredible Spanish. Between the two of us, my broken Spanish and Celia's broken English, even the sister who had no Spanish whatsoever felt at least a bit engaged during the long meal time conversations. 

"Our kitchen" at the homestay. Notice how cloudy Lima is in the winter...

Our homestay living room.

Our view from our third story window, looking out onto the street.

Separate stairwell down to the main gate. 

Front gate.

It was during the homestay part of the trip that I felt my Spanish truly improved. With Alfred, I could allow him to speak Spanish and on the Trail there was no need to actually converse in Spanish since we had our guide with us. When I got home, I daresay my Spanish is better than it will ever be in my life, which still wasn't fantastic, but I was moving towards pretty good comprehension and could nearly use the passed tense by the end!

Each day we would get picked up by friends of the program coordinator Lydia, young people who attended the church she was a member of who got a small paycheck to cart us foreigners around from homestay to volunteer site. We would walk through the streets of San Miguel and I'm embarrassed to say I never quite figured the neighborhood out - being so dependent upon these guides the whole time. This nearly proved to be disastrous one day when no one picked Sarah and I up from the orphanage (another story for another time) but we did make it home before nightfall, which is the most important thing. Typically our days would start around 7am, we'd come home for lunch around 2 and leave again for an afternoon/evening work day then dinner after 9. Lunch was the biggest meal of the day in Peru. Dinner was usually a delicious, warm soup - perfect before getting into bed on the chilly chilly nights. For those who were staying for longer volunteer time periods, there was flexibility to not work all day every day, but for those of us only around for a week or two we could fill all day long at different sites, getting a feel for a bit of everything. 

That's Celia and I on my last night.