look it up on line, mom

Jonah called today at 10 am in the middle of my workday, the sounds of voices and dishes clanging loud in the background. He's at breakfast, post-surfing. Says he's talked to Kalei and agrees she's doing well, is immersed and engaged in the life there. "Look it up on-line, mom" he advises, "there's stages kids go through when they go away to college: first stage is immersion, next they get homesick, etc". Yeah, good idea, i say (surprised) I haven't done any reading on this for some reason. So cute, this isn't the first time he has advised his mom on how best to cope with his little sister, combining a college education with his powerful intuitive insight into the workings of the human psyche.

full

I feel full tonight. We had our first long and satiating phone conversation with Kalei tonight, somewhat reminiscent of the long rambling conversations we often enjoyed over dinner BC (Before College) . She called just before 8 pm, our usual dinner hour. Peter answered the phone and when I came downstairs, signalled me to pick up another phone. Guess he didn't want to get scoldings from me like he did last Saturday when he hung up from a short conversation with her before I could say hello. What a long two weeks this has been in all our lives. I can hear it as she speaks with detail and intensity about classes, teachers, assignments, readings and powerpoints on line, difficulty in locating fast and compatible printers, the cost of textbooks purchased used, walks through the redwood forest to a friend's dorm, the gorgeous weather she's trying not to take for granted, berries for the picking on the side of the road, the amphibious pet she plans to adopt, , the music on campus, including upcoming performances by the likes of BBKing and John McLaughlin. wow. Just today, upon hearing of my too-silent cell, a friend at work described how her daughter asked for less frequent phone calls when she first went away to college, but now, as a recent graduate, calls mom everyday. I don't expect this every day, but on this day Kalei called when she was ready to talk, choosing a time she knew we were usually ready to talk. So, tonight I am sleepily enjoying the sensation of being full and yearning for nothing more.

Our Bodies, our Cells

I have a changed relationship with my cell phone. It seems silent these days. I rarely look at it intensely wondering when she will call, or if I should call (Hi Kalei, just checking in...). I don't pick it up at the end of the day before leaving work to see if she's catching a ride home with me or taking a bus home later. I no longer take it to bed with me as I did religiously on the nights that she slept at Jonah's house; I would change the ring tone to soft, place in next to my pillow, and sleepily awaken when she called to report she'd arrived (safely) at his house (me: You're at Jonah's? Anyone home? Kalei: Uh, Jonah's at work, his roommate's up, Milo's here. me: Ok, good night, honey. K: goodnight, mom. I'll call you tomorrow). These calls were sold as for her safety and my peace of mind, and she must have decided they were a small price to pay for freedom, because she was consistent. When Kalei lived at home (oh how strange it is to write these words) this cell was my connection to her, like some small silver surrogate daughter, and now it feels a bit like the phantom limb one reads about. I know I can pick up my silent cell and call anytime, but the daily expectations and rituals of contact we set up are no more. And that is how it should be. It seems oddly natural that she makes the call about when to call...at least some of the time. I had an urge to call at the end of my work day today, but then thought, nah, it's already Friday night there, not the best time to talk with your parents. So tomorrow, I'll pick up my quiet little sidekick and give the girl a call... after Mark and I come back from early morning snorkeling at Shark's Cove on the North Shore. Yeah, this empty nest thing has a few benefits after all.

sleep on it

okay, this entry won't make any sense if you haven't read the two before it--start with the entry titled "disconnect".

My first thoughts as I awake this morning are of Kalei. what time is it there? what is she doing right now? did she send me an email? Before leaving the house for work, I check. No email from her. I'm not really surprised, but still a touch disappointed. Mark and I are commuting togther while one car, our old grey van, is in the shop. This vehicle, which transported us through our family's most active ozone depleting years, days of hockey, camping and remote control car racing, is clearly aging--along with our cat our dog and yes, good old us. In our first empty nest week, we unexpectedly emptied our wallets of $1000 between the garage and the vet. sheesh!

During the morning commute, we listen ambivalently to an NPR morning edition story on stricter laws regarding cell phone use while driving and bascially how unenforeable they are. As one man said "I'm always complaining about people driving while talking on their cell phones... except when I'm driving and talking on my cell phone". I drop Mark off at Ft Shafter, and as I'm exiting the base, my cell phone rings. It's Kalei; safe-cell be damned (but Officer, I had to take that call because it was from my daughter who just left home after 18 years and is thousands of miles away and I had a fight with her last night and wouldn't you do it too if it was your baby girl?) In my own defence, I will add that before turning onto the freeway, I switched the phone to "Speaker" and plunked it on my lap--two hands on the wheel!

Kalei said she got my email and called to say she was sorry about last night, she was tired... and then launched into a pre-emptive and satisfying description of her classes and credits and how she's handling her money, new friends she's hanging out with, food she's eating. The best thing we taught our children is to apologize, forgive and move on.

So as dark as it all seemed last night, things can sure look better in the morning.

new day, ok?

last night, post-blogging to y'all, I sent this email:

Kalei,

I feel so junk about our call tonight. I've enjoyed your emails, really appreciated your lovely text message this morning and was looking forward to talking with you tonight. I know it was late and you were tired and I didn't mean to start an inquisition in my eagerness to hear how things are going for you. I also didn't mean to question your judgement about the classes you have chosen. I know you have been through an intense time taking in lots of information and advice, but we really haven't talked to you about any of this, and would like to hear more about it (if you are willing--and at a better time). I know we were both frustrated to find ourselves looking across this chasm of miscommunication when we really called each other for a few words of comfort and kindness. I'm sorry for my part in this. I hope you didn't go to bed angry at me, or at herself. And I hope you have a good day tomorrow with your (easy) (challenging) (whateva) college classes! wow, college..damn, Kalei's in college...(still absorbing).

Love, Mom

disconnect

I feel so junk. Today I get this lovely text message in the morning from Kalei: Got done with my 1st class, will call later. Love you. I text back to call after 7 and with my primitive 2-finger typist style it takes forever. So I'm looking forward to this call tonight. I put in a call about 7:10 and she calls back about 8-- or 11 pm her time. She sounds a bit tired, it is late there. A few minutes into the call I ask about her first class; she replies, "oh, it was easy, this will be an easy class"; I reply (oh so predictably) "I hope the others will be more challenging" to which she instantly reacts defensively and we're off to the races. We've done this a million times, and at home we'd be over it a few minutes (or hours) later. Both of us really tried to struggle back from that chasm of differing priorities, frustrated to find ourselves here at such a tender time. We managed to end the conversation with well meaning goodnight's and I love you's. Still I suspect we are both left licking our wounds (I know I am) when we really called each other for comfort and kindness in this strange world. This is new, this is hard, I don't want her to go to bed angry at me or at herself, both of which I heard in her voice. This too I will have to learn to live with--the bitter with the sweet and no quick resolutions.

today is the second day of the rest of your life

well, it's not exactly an empty nest-- Mark's mom is visiting from Hilo and we're puppy-sitting Jonah's rambunctious dog Milo who still has accidents and competes for territory and attention with our sweet old dog, Lily, and grouchy Jade-the-Cat, as the neighbor kids call her.

One of Kalei's bags, the new LBean rolling duffle, the one with most of her clothes, and assorted personal valuables, did not arrive in Arcata with her. I squelched the desire to google the CEO of Alaska Airlines and make repeated calls to his home and office, and practiced my mantra over the phone "Sounds like you guys are handling it well". oi vey!

Oh, yeah, and today is our 26th wedding anniversary!

today

So Kalei left today for college and the start of a new life in California. She left like a homeless person pushing a precious shopping cart, carrying on her person as many totems as possible. She wore one layer of Kalei-created clothes: a worn spaghetti strap top dyed dark green along with a gypsy rag-girl skirt fashioned from strips of fabric covered with tiny round mirrors. These she layered with newer store-bought items: black stretch pants that she searched for frantically at 10:30 last night, shin length long brown patterned socks, a good $75 pair of brown walking shoes, and a new warm dark blue sweater that she’s been wearing in Hawaii’s heat since the day we bought it two weeks ago on her 18^th birthday. In her arms she carried a warm maroon coat from Auntie Pua. She had enhanced the coat, as she does all her clothes, sewing on an elegant maroon and fur lined hood which when worn, rises to a point, like some Harry Potter wizard’s hat. On her slim shoulders, she carried a ridiculously heavy backpack with everything she wanted to be sure the airlines would not lose--- including her new white Mac lap top, a peanut butter sandwich Dad made for her, and her old pale green baby blanket, terribly worn, fragile and musty smelling. I offered to gently hand wash and mail it to her, but she doesn’t trust the US Post Office right now either.

Jonah solemnly accompanied her, wearing a beanie and sweatshirt, carrying only his backpack, and toting her three large bags, which contained mostly clothes, a rice cooker, and her little blue sewing machine. Jonah was sweet, compassionate and wise with her late last night as she panicked racing down the last minute packing homestretch: “Packing’s stressful, yeah?… Take a breath, Kalei…Breathe, girl, breathe”. He said he was feeling very protective of her just now. He reminded us how similar-- and different-- it was when he left home, moving into a decrepit UH dorm. “I was so angry I didn’t talk to you guys for like 2 weeks”. “I remember”, Kalei said quietly. Mark later added his recollection that Jonah did not want his help moving into the dorm, did not want us to accompany him on his first day there, although we did for a short time. His last year at home was a rough one for all of us. In the fall, he almost went through with a plan to go live with Grandpa and Grandma in Hilo and finish out his senior year at Hilo High, but reconsidered after his grandparents flew over from Hilo and a family conference on the issue was held. Still he needed to “soil the nest” that final year, and those last months were tense enough that everyone was relieved when he finally found his freedom.

Perhaps girls mature earlier; certainly Kalei was precocious. Curious, bright, observant, sweet and accommodating, she was “mommy’s girl” until about 7^th grade when this remarkable independent renegade spirit emerged with a vengeance, determined to be different. She rebelled early, prematurely, immaturely, pushing lots of limits, and scaring the heck out of us every 6 months, but these crisis (I can see now) brought us (Mark, me, and Jonah) closer, rather than pushing us away from each other. While Kalei stayed the indulged baby in some respects, she matured earlier than Jonah, and became happier and easier to live with during her final year at home. From the day she graduated until today, she seemed to grow rapidly, and became a delight to live with. We still had frequent squabbles and occasional meltdowns, but these did not dominate, and there was increasing cooperation, expressions of gratitude, and actual collaboration as we prepared for her move to college life. We do wonder if our disorganized daughter will be able to handle the myriad of requirements, forms and communication required of her up there. Will she be able to manage her money, multiple bank accounts, on campus accounts and debit cards? She’s come such a long way from where she was even a few months ago, but is that far enough? Time will tell, and faith is for sure required. As one parent in the college online parents network reminded us, be ready for some panicky and despairing phone calls, and for every thing to be just fine by the next phone call a few days later. Just listen, this parent advised, just listen to her. This will probably be, as it has always been, one of the hardest things to do. To listen to our children suffer, to resist the desperate desire to do something, anything, to alleviate their suffering (and ours), to experience and communicate our faith that they have what it takes to work their way through the inevitable obstacles they will encounter.

The last weeks of this summer with Kalei living at home had some amazing moments. Kalei and I actually went shopping together and were happy with the clothes and shoes we purchased at mainstream stores, as opposed to the thrift shops she’s accustomed to trolling. Mother-daughter shopping trips have never been our thing. I have never been a talented shopper, and finding and creating her own clothing became an integral part of her identity, values and art. And, as a very petite slender thing, Kalei had largely given up on finding clothes that fit body and style, relying on her sewing machine to make quick and dirty alterations. I told her it would make me happy to send her off with new underwear, and we miraculously found the kind she favors. A minor melt down followed one discouraging visit to the Macy bra dept where one finds oneself awash in a bizarre sea of under wire, foam and push up cups, most way too big for us little folks. It took two trips, but again, miracle of miracles, we did find satisfactory coverage.

My hair began showing strands of gray, and Kalei, hearing my sighs, encouraged me to use her hair-coloring tonic (“Brunettes! want to drive blonds wild with envy?”). To my surprise, I did. On her birthday, we had a post-shopping lunch at a quiet wooden table overlooking the watercress farm that graces our Aiea suburban jungle. There she told me ("Oh, by the way...") the test came back negative for a diagnosis we’d accepted well over a year ago as an unfortunate consequence of choices made, games played, bones laid. Halleilujah! The weekend before departing, she joined Mark and I in the last row of the Hawaii Theatre balcony for a Steven Stills concert amidst a boisterous crowd of long haired grandmas and grandpas. And in the back seat of the van, on the way to the airport, Kalei and I held hands and cried quietly.

When was the last time she wanted to hold my hand? when she was 10? I clearly remember the last day Jonah, now almost 23, took my hand to hold it as we walked in public—in a parking garage at the mall. I don’t recall the date or his age, but I remember holding my breath, thinking—this is probably the last time he’ll do this. How many times I held the hands of my children, taking their hands and the moment for granted, never knowing there would come a day when I would have to let go Time and relationships slip through our hands like sand and we somehow must learn to loosen our grip on those we love the most.

rabbit poop

Countdown-- 8 days till she leaves for college...

Ok, I know this leaving home thing is what the young have done since time immemorial -- walking off into the wilderness in search of new frontiers, mates, food…and college; I know it is as natural as the seeds of the dandelion puff balls of late summer being blown by an evening wind to the next yard, and the next, and into the dusky beyond. But knowing that sure don't make it easy...

Kalei has yearned to get away from this island since 8th grade, and has long thought California the promised land. She became happier, maturing so much in this past year, even more so in recent months. Was it sensing freedom within reach? the realities of leaving sinking in? or did her parents mature and become more secure? For whatever reasons, as my daughter moves on and out into the world, she has been able to do so kindly and lovingly, without the classic need to "soil the nest" which we experienced when my son moved out at this same age. She has moments of devolving into a 6-year old, but for the most part these days are graceful and we are grateful.

Kalei promised me that when she left home she would buy me a rabbit. Today, however, I am not sure a rabbit is the answer to my...what? a clichéd, reductionist "empty nest syndrome”? So far, this syndrome turns out to feel not so much like an empty space that needs filling; in fact, right now I do not want to fill it with anything, I want nothing to distract me from this passage, this passing, and yes, the pain of it. How it feels to me right now is this: as she pulls herself up by the roots, I am coming unearthed; a tumultuous movement of solid ground within me leaves me unsettled, on edge, and certainly not the same. It is hard to know what new seeds to sew; is this soil now barren or fertile, I cannot help but wonder as another hot flash washes in. Is it a coincidence that they remind me of (mild) labor contractions?--a wave that rises up, takes over the body, and then wanes in the course of a few minutes.

I had a flying dream a few weeks ago. It is a rare occurrence, perhaps once every few years, but when it happens it is so real, I am convinced that, in some dimension, I can fly. And it usually means I am moving to a new level. I am not sure what that level is, but I know I will be looking for new things to plow into this soil to keep it rich and loamy. Right now I’m not sure what or how-- I will need to find out, but just don’t rush me, right now I am sad and unsettled, suspended in this netherworld of almost but not quite there. Perhaps the answer is rabbit poop… perhaps not.