Chapter 5

Like I said earlier, when foreclosure hits a family, it can’t be explained away by one event. In my case, there were many steps to the place in which we now stand. Catch up to this point in the story with Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, and Chapter 4.

Selling the Massachusetts house was a relief – doused immediately by our once hopeful spirits crashing and cascading down into the pit we found ourselves in.

1)       The Mass house finally sold for $217,000 in September 2008. It should have been a good thing. Only, I bought it in July 2004 for $275,000. And we couldn’t even afford to close the deal until Mark emptied the last 4 thousand out of his 401K and wired it over to the purchaser’s realtor in order to close the deal.

The only unspent money we had left was the remainder of my IRA, which had plummeted to $26K. I felt like I might as well take the rest out, before it was completely gone. But then I was contacted by my new Ameriprise broker, Luke, who has since then busted his butt for me and my 26 thousand. (Thanks, btw) Please please please use this man’s services. Anyway, somehow, between the bankruptcy attorney’s advice and Luke’s advice, I stopped robbing my retirement IRA.

There was no space left for decision-making, which sort of made it easier for us. No money left. It would take both of my paychecks each month to cover a mortgage payment. Up to that point we had never been late on a single payment for anything, much less defaulted. The 2008 elections were ensuring that families unable to make their mortgage payments were getting some public empathy. Public sentiment was in our favor at the moment, and it seemed to make sense that if we had to default on one bill, we should stop paying the mortgage. If we stopped paying just that one bill, it would enable us to pay all the rest. AND we could eat, too. Bonus!

2)       We made our last payment at the original amount in November 2008.

We actually had a great mortgage plan: 5¾% fixed 30-year loan for $210,000. We  had it down to $207,000 already. We were happy with the arrangement. In anticipation of Wells Fargo’s likelihood of offering us mortgage assistance, we made the mistake of using logic: this house is a fixer-upper. In this market, no one in the city of Portland would be willing to pay what we owe on it. Therefore, any halfway business-minded idiot could see that Wells Fargo’s best bet would be to keep us in here. We don’t dispute what we owe. We don’t dispute the interest rate. We aren’t trying to get out of our obligation. Just cut us a break till Mark gets a job? Knock a coupla hundred a month off for now? Make it a 35-year loan? Something?

3)        Right about then, the Bush Administration put a stop on foreclosure actions. (To be supported by the Obama Administration not too much later) We had a little room to take shallow breaths.

It was Christmas. Ugh. It would have been different if it was just us. This whole time we had been keeping the truth from our daughter. She doesn’t need to know all this. It’s her HOME we’re talking about. It was hard to hide it at Christmas. Mark and I skipped some meals in order to save up $140 for a new Toshiba adapter so we could give her a laptop, which she had been begging for. The Toshiba was Mark’s first, then mine, and now it’s hers. Other than that, we couldn’t really get her anything. We simply couldn’t afford it. Thank goodness her grandparents came through with some extra gifts. Mom and her husband brought us a truckload of firewood, and even brought us a tree from North Idaho. It was beautiful. We tried so hard to do what we could with what we had, but the disappointment on her face was obvious. I know the holidays aren’t about “things,” but it still broke my heart not to be able to make the magic she was hoping for.

Despite our ungraceful shift into a lower economic group, this is the part of the story where things started to change for the better, on a more important level. This is when I saw my own reality reflected in Stephanie’s blog title: Love in the Time of Foreclosure. Life had been so frightening for so long that we just couldn’t maintain the fear. We made some peace with our situation. Mark told me, “If we lose the house, we’ll just move. It doesn’t have to be the end of the world.” We had nothing but each other, and we liked each other. We had friends and family, of course, but still the potential of not being able to provide a home for one’s own family is agonizing for responsible people. Instead of destabilizing our relationship, we clung to each other, and we pulled our girl in to the embrace. The joy we discovered is somewhat reflected in my Christmas letter.

Sixth grade had started. I was getting grief from my work supervisor, so I focused sharply on working. A lot. Mark became master of the house, and became involved with our girl’s life to a degree he had not yet come close to. He had previously held back because he was unsure of his place in this family as an adult figure in her world. He’s also burdened by painful memories of men in a stepfather role when he was a child. When our family needed him, Mark stepped up. I still smile to think that the BEST thing about foreclosure for us is that our family came together. Those two became so comfortable with each other that they would hug each other goodbye, share jokes, and ask me to stay home when they ran errands, so they could have more fun. Ha.

She went from a barely average student to over-achiever by the second month of school, then got a reputation for being a brainiac. Mark directed his angry frustration at the house, and did TONS of work that took a lot of brawn and almost no money. He cleared out all the walls and carpet from the basement and made it a giant, open, lighted space. He tore up the horrible carpet in the living room and sanded down the wood floor. He picked up some tools at yard sales and craigslist and began building stuff like amazing workbenches downstairs, and then a new buffet and bookcases in the dining room.

It snowed 22 inches the week before Christmas. I was feeling love, and gratitude, and then December provided the magic. Snows that cover the ground and stay there are rare in Portland, but in a 10 day span we received two feet of the stuff and it shut the city down, and even impressed New Englander Mark and Idahoan me. We wrapped ourselves in blankets in front of our roaring fireplace and prepared for New Year 2009.

 

 

My baby girl's first party without adults. (well, they hovered quietly in the house, while the kids had their party outside in the back yard) She was very very excited all week, and then came home hyped up on grown-up-ed-ness and sugar.

A neighbor's kids threw the party for their 12- and 13- year old friends. They had obviously been planning it for at least a month. Invitations came out, with tickets for admission. The place was decorated to the hilt. It was so great.

As luck would have it, we had a warm airmass move in early in the day, and it stayed with us through nighttime while only dropping a light sprinkle here and there. So the outdoor Halloween party had excellent weather. Well, for the season and the particular holiday it was excellent. Though there were no stars, no one had to wear a jacket.

My work day was sorta fun. Our boss invited people to come dressed up. It was surprizing to me, because it's normally such a STODGY office. But currently we are in between Regional Office Managers, and our Service Center Manager is out of town. And the acting officials covering for the missing bosses are much more employee-friendly.

I'm not a company girl. I despise The Man. The way government runs itself is a constant embarrassment and a travesty to me, a government employee. But I try to make my points in supportive ways. If we dressed up for Halloween every year, I would ignore the event at work. But since I am highly in favor of treating employees like people who deserve some fun and respect, I came in costume. Hardly anyone else did, but that was ok by me.

The fun part actually, was the reaction to my costume. People loved the wig! I had three different people tell me I should do my hair like that permanently. Ha ha. My cube was a popular spot during the day, as visitors came by to say Wow. I went out to lunch with work friends, and the woman who knows us said, "I just want to keep looking at you." I said "Oooh, hey, tonight will be my lucky night! I should go out!"



Actually, it was a lucky night, after Mark and I shipped our kid off to her party. But... that's another story. He thinks I'm gorgeous no matter what I'm wearing. (happy dance)

Chapter 4

My story of how we arrived at this fearful point is a long one. (Sorry!) I am sure that for many people, financial insecurity is not the result of one factor. In our case, it was a dreadful chain of events filled with bad luck and bad choices. I’ve chosen to tell it in chapters. Today (October 2009), we are in negotiations with Wells Fargo that began around October 2008, and progressed significantly around March 2009, yet today remain unresolved. Will the three of us be forced to leave our modest little fixer-upper home? Right now, no one knows.

Catch up to this part if you like, by reading Chapter 1, Chapter 2, and Chapter 3.

Unable to sell my Massachusetts home the Spring of 2007, I found a renter. I asked for a rental fee that was reasonable for the blue-collar community I was in, but didn’t come close to matching the mortgage amount.

12)       The problems with my renter began immediately. She was almost a month late for her FIRST month’s rent. After a few sporadic payments, she stopped paying altogether. She eventually stopped answering her phone, and when I called her workplace, they told me she was no longer working there. I began researching how to evict a tenant in Massachusetts.

We were living at The Uncles outside of Portland while we looked for work. Mark’s unemployment check went to rent at The Uncles, and the mortgage payment, and I continued to rob my 401K to make up the difference. We spent the summer of 2007 just trying to make ourselves get up and be productive each day, and not succumb to fright or despair. Mark couldn’t take the daily reminder of his perceived failure, and took off into the desert for awhile.

All summer I filled out applications till they made me numb. I was invited to only a couple of interviews, and was not offered a position.

13)       In September I got a job with the VA. Not related to my degrees, but it was at least employment. In October, Mark got a job.

14)       School loans came due. I went into forbearance on the greater sum, and began paying Sallie Mae. They required a huge fee for a short deferral, and it was simply cheaper to make my monthly payments.

I was sent to Baltimore for training, and while I was there, Mark found a house he wanted to buy. (We love The Uncles, but after 8 months, were ready to be on our own)

15)       We still had faith that the Mass house would sell someday, and made an offer in January 2008. By the last day of the month, we owned our own home. It was a 1925 home, basement crumbling, roof mossy, stained walls and stinking of dog pee on the carpet, but… it was large and we could afford it! Well, we could as soon as the Mass house sold, which had to be soon. In the meantime, we made two mortgage payments every month.

16)      February 2008, my daughter’s father decided he wanted to move back to California and take her with him. I disagreed with the plan. Since we had no money left, Mark put the attorney’s retainer on his credit card.

17)       Still no communication from my renter, so I hired a Realtor in Mass to put the home on the market in March, and plunked down the credit card once again for a cross-country flight and got the lady out of my house with relatively little pain. I spent a few days putting the property back in order. The electricity had been shut off. She had drained the heating oil and the pilot light went out. The water was off. The toilet leaked. There were mountains of construction rubbish in the back yard. I hired a guy to pick up everything inside and out, and haul it away. I hired a landscaping company to take care of the lawn. $$$$$$$ I went back home about a foot shorter, shrinking under the weight of the world.

18)      June 2008, Mark lost his job. It was a shocking blow. Poverty hit hard. There was no way we could survive in the new home on my paycheck only. I was earning $42 K a year. We put up a clothesline. We washed and reused baggies.

19)      The custody skirmish was over only a few months after it began. We only spent $5000. That was a MIRACLE compared to what had happened to us in California. AND, for the first time the courts ruled in my favor. Barney moved to Cali like he wanted to, but our daughter came to live with me finally. For good.

20)       I asked my family law attorney to recommend a bankruptcy attorney. Both of them were fabulous and I would highly recommend either! I was advised that bankruptcy wouldn’t work for me. My major expenses included $60 thousand in student loans, which I would still have to pay. One of the only things that didn’t cost me much was my car, and they would take it from me. They wouldn’t even wipe out my credit card debt… just rearrange it and put me on a payment plan.

We put our heads down and pressed on. We focused on getting my girl into school for 6^th grade, settling in the house. Mark looked for work and tried not to sink into depression. We called Wells Fargo and explained that we were not going to be able to make our payments much longer. They told us that as far as they were concerned, our account was in good standing. We had paid every month, and on time, and our credit was great. “We can only help those people who have been delinquent for three months in a row or more.”

We began giving that statement some serious thought.

I'll get back to the foreclosure story shortly.... but amidst everything; amidst all the drama and trauma and even amidst the joys.... life goes on without us.

And if we just stop a moment and take a look, everything else gets smaller in comparison. Look at this gorgeous planet of ours! Just look!

with happiness and love

Faith.

And no, this has nothing to do with any deity. I am the poster child for atheism. ha ha.

I am a dedicated believer that humans are all powerful, and the only thing that limits us is our inborn fears and lack of confidence. People who are powerful are those who BELIEVE!!!

Chapter 3

This is a continuation of a brief history of what led up to our current threat of home foreclosure. We don’t have one of those crazy risky loans, and we found this modest home for a reasonable price. The problem mostly boils down to the fact that we managed to lose all our savings for other reasons (notably another home that sold for a loss), followed by Mark losing his job.

Catch up to this point in the story if you like, by reading Chapter 1 and Chapter 2.

Viola! I found myself in a Boston suburb in July 2004. All alone, didn’t know a soul there, and was 34 years old preparing to enter college as a sophomore transfer from California. People said, “Wow, you are so brave.” But I knew the truth is that I can go to extremes to run away from my problems. Left my career, ex-husband, and beloved Pacific Northwest behind, in order to start out on a new track and see where it would lead.

7)      As I mentioned in Chapter 2, I put my sophomore year at Brandeis on my credit card because I was scared they would kick me out if I didn’t pay. My financial aid package finally kicked in around November, but by then I had a $17,000 balance with Bank of America. (Thank you Rita Fine '55 Memorial Scholarship people for keeping me from having a $34,000 balance!!)

Since my student loans were insufficient to cover the mortgage, the credit card payments, filling the heating oil tank (OMG!! New Englanders heat with OIL?!), buying monthly passes on the commuter rail train, etc. etc. Not to mention cross-country flights so that either I could go see my kid or she could come see me (because the custody and visitation was still unresolved), I was constantly broke. Because of her young age, flights for her also required a ticket for another adult, or huge chaperone fees. Because of unresolved custody, my flights usually included a bonus payment to Family Law Court in California for one reason or another.

8)      I was forced to begin pulling out money from my IRA. Twenty thousand here, Fourteen thousand there.

By the end of my junior year, the infallible courts of California had decided that my daughter had to stay with her father as long as I was going to be out of state. I was crushed and angry, and forced with an awful decision: quit school and go dragging back with my tail between my legs so that my girl could have me more often? Or bear the continued separation another year, in hopes that being the first in my family to get a classy degree would be the key to pulling her out of the white trash sludge I couldn’t seem to pull myself out of.

OK, ok, yes. The whole truth also includes the fact that I did not want to go back to live in the same small town as her dad who drove me crazy, and also the fact that I would have zero chance of getting my old job back, so I would have to scrounge around for whatever job was available there.

9)      I chose to stay in Massachusetts.

For her part, my daughter seemed fine with it all. I talked with her about it in kid terms, and – in kid terms – she begged me to stay in Mass. She loved the house, loved her friends there, and seemed to be healthy and happy. Happier perhaps, without her parents’ unspoken animosity charging the atmosphere. Her winter visits afforded her snow vacations for the first time in her life since she was a baby in Vermont. She felt very grown up to consider cross-country flights a natural part of life.

I took advantage of my distress, and piled on the schoolwork. I got myself into a program wherein I worked on both my Bachelor and Master degrees at the same time. I lived and breathed school, every waking moment.

10)       I never did find a renter, but Mark, my Massachusetts boyfriend, eventually moved in and began splitting the mortgage payment with me.

11)       In my last year there, and especially the Spring of 2007, I tried to sell my home but it didn’t sell. Something funky was going on in the economy. The stock market was faltering, real estate values were actually falling, and people weren’t so interested in buying. I heard that one of my neighbors had to move because her home was foreclosed upon. This news was my first exposure to foreclosure. It was disturbing to have it so close to me. I knocked thirty thousand off what I had purchased my home for, three years earlier, and still no one was interested in the asking price. It was a beautiful, new home. What was the problem?

Finally graduated in May 2007 with a BA in Cultural Anthropology summa cum laude, minor in Peace, Conflict, and Coexistence studies. I also had an MA in Cultural Anthropology, with a focus on International Mediation. (Read this awesome profile my friend Dave Nathan wrote.)

For all the sacrifice, and the coveted sheets of embossed paper that apparently heralded my achievements… I was full of fear and doubt. I had so much debt it was staggering to think about it. Approximately $80 K in student loans, $230 K on my house, $26 K on credit cards. No job.

In the last year, my daughter and her father had moved to Portland, Oregon in hopes of finding a community that offered more job opportunities. He needed work and knew I would soon be needing work. It was a rare moment of cooperation. Approximately 72 hours after I graduated, I was moving West.

Portland seemed large enough to contain her dad and me together. It was exciting to anticipate my new town, my new career, new friends. I also was lucky enough to have a loving partner who had decided to leave his home state of Massachusetts and try out a new life on the West Coast with me.

Chapter 2

This is Chapter 2 of the story that led to our current state of not really feeling as though our housing situation is stable. Read Chapter 1.

3)      During the 2003/2004 school year I used the profits from the sale of my California home to live on, pay court fees, and to hire an attorney. The GI Bill paid for my classes, which were $11 a credit back then – nice!

I chose my classes so that I had a regular daytime, Monday through Friday schedule, for the first time in my life. It was great to be able to attend morning assemblies with my daughter at Ridgewood Elementary School before she started second grade classes each day, and to be home to meet her at the end of the driveway when the bus brought her home. I was free for weeknight book sales and free to schedule parent-teacher conferences at a normal hour. If for no other reason, being able to participate this way in her expanding life was worth giving up my well-paying job as a weather forecaster with the National Weather Service.

Other than that, I had my doubts.

I wasn’t rich, but up until then, I had plenty. The kind of comfortable life where I could go buy a new winter coat for my kid when she lost hers (that seemed to happen a lot). When I fell in love with some real leather, knee-high boots, I could take them home. We could go to the movies on the spur of the moment. On a particularly lovely Fall afternoon, we took a Humboldt Bay cruise on the Madaket just because we wanted to, and then stop for ice cream at Bon Boniere on the way home. It was a very good life.

After I decided to leave my job and go to school instead, I made serious cuts in my lifestyle where I could. But life can be expensive.

At the end of the school year in Cali I was able to move to Massachusetts. I considered living in Brandeis dormitory housing on campus to save money, but just couldn’t bring myself to rent after having been a homeowner for so long.

4)      I took the gamble, which tends to be my personality. Big Chances = Big Gains (or Losses, as the case may be) I bought a house that was shockingly expensive for me, but I wasn’t worried. Real estate was shooting upwards like a rocket. Property values in the Boston area were DOUBLING every 12 months. Besides, this was my fifth home purchase, and I had learned that buying and selling a house was a sure thing. One year I lost $30 thousand of my retirement savings…and in that same year I gained $30 thousand in the value of my home. There was no way to lose in Real Estate.

I was a bit surprised to get the loan without a job. But… I put over 20% down, had thousands in savings, had thousands in retirement account that I could borrow against, I had a work history of 11 years of federal service, and my credit score was stellar. So it wasn’t that hard for me to believe a lender would take a chance on me. The lender asked me how I intended to pay the mortgage, and I said “with student loans.” I was serious. And ignorant. Everyone who goes to school gets a loan, right? At great rates right? In my mind it made total sense to get student loans to pay the mortgage.

5)      I thought maybe I’d rent out the lower level of the house. It was a spacious split level, and the lower level seemed like a decent space to rent. That would definitely help with the bills. But I couldn’t find a renter.

6)      I had some difficulty getting my financial aid into place. I got a threatening letter from the school that said something like, “If you don’t pay your tuition now, we will kick you out!” Having been out in the world long enough to think I had to handle everything on my own, I didn’t realize that the best option would have been to go to the Financial Aid Office and ask for help. Instead, I put my first year’s tuition on my credit card. Nope, not just a semester – the whole damn year. Duh.

Turns out, I didn’t get to live on student loans like I had assumed. (You know, there are a lot of assumptions to overcome when a person is the first one in her family to go to college) Turns out, there is a cap on how much a student can borrow. Turns out, owning a home is reflected as wealth when the Financial Aid Office crunches your numbers. Though I had a $1600 a month mortgage payment, the house was considered an asset, and thus reduced my ability to borrow.

My first bout with poverty struck, and it was a blow.

My spending continued to be outrageous, but I wasn’t getting much pleasure out of it. I ate Ramen noodles, but forked out the dough to purchase cross-country flights to continue my relationship with my daughter and to make my California court dates. (Still battling family law two years down the line. Little advice – never attempt to reorganize a family in California) I continued paying my attorney. I had to spend on basic upkeep of the home, landscaping, maintenance, snow removal, public transportation passes, and school books are expensive, even when you buy them used.

Needless to say, I began chopping away at my retirement account, which had recently made it above $100 thousand, but wasn't destined to remain above. I was selling stocks to pay off credit cards. It just didn't seem right.

It actually REALLY wasn't right, as my financial advisor told me later. But... how does a girl learn good lessons without some pain?

Chapter 1

Buoyed in part by the courage of a couple in LA who have made their foreclosure worries public (as well as the fact that, despite the financial shambles they find themselves in, they remain happy and in love), I have decided to come clean publicly too.

Just reading Stephanie Walker’s blog has reassured me. No, everything is not all worked out, and no, we don’t exactly know what we’ll do and whether our home will be stable… but yes, everything is going to be ok. Well, hey, the Internet is not a place I feel comfortable telling this story, but the fact is that no matter how or where the story is told, it’s simply an uncomfortable story. Maybe one person who reads this will feel a little bit more courage in their own life, and the chance for that result makes this effort worth it for me. Here goes.

How do decent people get themselves into a mess like this?

It’s just not in my personality to blame others when I’m having a hard time. Deep inside, I maintain full awareness that I got myownself here. It was not speculators and hedge funds and risky assets that turned toxic… it was me. We made gigantic mistakes that any idiot could have identified.

Our future success was dependent upon these things occurring simultaneously: a) I would find a job immediately after graduating with my master’s degree, b) both of us would retain our full-time employment at all times, c) real estate would never lose value.

Since then, of course, we’ve readjusted our definition of success. And like Stephanie and Bob, we have also redefined happiness. It has much less to do with jobs, credit union balances, and real estate value than we had assumed.

But in order to catch up to that epiphany…. I need to back up and start closer to the beginning. Since my life today was shaped by every moment since I was born, it would be most accurate to go back to January 9, 1970, around 7:26 pm, Pacific Time. Neither of us has time to read all that, so I won’t. However, I still need to back up several years to set the stage properly.

1)      Stuck against a ridiculous glass ceiling and dragging my single mom butt through rotating shiftwork in my job as a weather forecaster with the National Weather Service, I decided to leave the job in 2003. Life was like a roller coaster that year. I got married, had surgery for a partial hysterectomy, accepted an invitation to attend University of California Berkeley, went to France for the honeymoon, sold my home that I LOVED for a huge profit and moved into a teensy apartment so that I could be ready to hit the road the moment I was able to go. My husband moved on to Berkeley to begin his PhD and to wait for me.

About right then, my whole world went wonky. I didn’t begin to recover until 2009. Which is recent. Which means I am not yet well.

Listen to this: The guy I married dumped me on our one-year wedding anniversary in February of 2004. Two days later a beloved friend of ours died at age 24. That same weekend, California courts said that if I chose to leave town to go to a University then they would award primary custody of my daughter to her recovering crack addict father.

(Can you hear the brakes of life skreeeettching to a halt?!)

2)      So, I enrolled in a local community college to earn an Associate in Science and an Associate in Arts while I dedicated myself full time to the insane California Family Law court system and to being the parent I had always wanted to be, but couldn’t previously, because of the rotating shift work inherent to the field of weather forecasting. I bagged the Berkeley idea because I no longer wanted to be anywhere near that guy. I accepted an invitation to attend Brandeis University instead, which was about as far away from all the misery of California as I could get. And then I asked for a one-year deferred enrollment so that I could work out my personal life and decide whether or not to move to Boston. Bite Me, California Family Law Courts: I will take charge of this despite you!

(Keep in mind I’m leaving all the details about personal life catastrophe out, but there are CHAPTERS I could write on what it was like to live through that. My intent is only to set the stage for financial meltdown.)

 

The Columbia River Gorge is famous for the windsurfing and kitesurfing. And cherries. The landscape is truly remarkable, and the river large and deep enough to accommodate barges and ships from the sea all the way to Idaho – our nation’s most inland seaport. (Yes, Idaho. Seaport. I know, huh?) It’s also the route followed by Meriwether Lewis and William Clark on their sponsored trek to the Western shore. Later, it was part of the Oregon Trail, pointing the direction for many young, brave, determined immigrants who sought a better life.

Today the Columbia River Gorge draws people for lighter reasons, much of the time. Our most recent trip brought our paths across those of long-distance truckers, kids driving off to college in beat up old cars with an assortment of oddly shaped containers roped to the top of the car, elderly couples keeping an eye out for a rest stop or a vista point. On our trip, we saw mainly tourists, recreational adventurers heading either to Mount Hood volcanic peak or to the river for water sports. And, many many Dave Matthews Band fans on their way home from the Concert in the Gorge.

It was an excellent windy day as we passed Viento State Park (ha ha), so we were treated with glimpses of colour all along the river surface. The bright splashes of nylon kites practically sparkled in front of the drab yellow hillsides and slate rockslides of the eastern Gorge.

We found a restaurant in Biggs and ate while we watched with great interest as a large family began loading their gear onto their bikes. There were six of them; Mom, Dad, and a whole passel of young ones. And yes, they were all in their safety gear and ALL climbing onto two amazing, custom bikes.

The woman’s reflective vest had this: 6TZEN, on the back, and Mark tapped it into his iPhone while we watched them through the window. Four small children take a long time to get loaded, which allowed us to quickly read up on the family’s adventures. How Amazing the story!

Please look them up, this is wonderful: http://www.6tzen.org/

A kind, caring, beautiful family from Normandy decided to travel from North America to South America on bikes. Their kids’ ages range from 2 to 6, and all of them share in the pedaling except for little Eva.

Once I found this out, I had to speak with them, so I ran to the car and grabbed the camera and came back to chat. Arnaud wanted some help in choosing which side of the river to travel, and I was worthless for it because I don’t know anything about bicycling. So then he said his specific concern was that his guide showed that part of their route should be on the Interstate. They wanted to know if they should ride on the Interstate. I thought that was a bad idea. A woman was standing near and listening, so we asked her. She was also not a bicyclist, but thought that the Interstate was illegal for bikes. She and I spent a lot of time trying to explain that we were pretty sure that in America, Interstates were not bike friendly.

Arnaud finally brought out his map and I realized I had been an idiot. At least I wasn’t talking like a parent to a three-year-old, like the other lady. But I had assumed that I knew more than they did, at least about four-lane highways and bikes. I did not. They had an amazing bicycling travel guide, which showed routes along every major road, distances, elevations, and places to stop. Turns out, the southern route was not ALL Interstate. Mostly the Old Columbia River Highway, and then just 10 miles along the Interstate till they could cross on a bridge to Bingen. They had it all figured out. They already knew that the busy highway was not an ideal place to ride, but that was the route with the most gradual climbs. All they wanted was a second opinion.

They were gracious and forgiving as I stumbled through my embarrassment and offered to go call the police for them and ask. The other woman went as well, and came back first, when she found someone who could confirm that 10-mile stretch of highway was often used by bicyclists.

The kids were obviously not impressed that they were part of something incredible. They looked bored. Very polite kids, but simply not as amazed about the trip as I was. I laughed inside, thinking of how often it would happen to me that I would go out of my way to do something incredible with Tara, and her big highlight of the week would be that she found a penny, or she saw a squirrel.

I asked them, if their goal was to travel from Quebec to South America, why were they so far West? Why not head south from Quebec? Because the flights are inexpensive to Quebec, answered Arnaud, and because their original plan was to visit the Western US. So, save some money and add on a couple thousand miles, why not? Whew. What a family! They said this plan allowed them to visit Yellowstone Park, and they were very glad they had done it.

So the wonderful family completed their packing up, obliged a couple of photos, and faced West with high spirits.

I found my friend Celia on facebook, who is French, and asked her to help me read the one page I found of this family. I wanted to contact them and offer them a place to stay, since they were heading toward Portland. Celia was extremely helpful in translating what I needed to know to create an account on their French site so I could send them a message. I had no idea where they would be when they checked the Internet next. I sent out my phone number and wished them well.

I never heard anything from them, but found a different site later, which I translated to English. Since then, their own site has been revamped to offer translations, and their blog explains that they found very kind families in this region who were quicker to the punch than I, and were able to share their hospitality and some respite to the world travelers.

 

Spent a leisurely weekend at my dad’s house in southern Idaho over Labor Day weekend (yes, I’m late posting this – sorry!)


Man, I love that place for its peace. The Owyhee desert is too dry, too brown, for me to really love. So it’s simply the environment that my dad and his wife create for visitors. Not to mention the incredible food.

While Mark studied for his geologist certification test, Tara and I went to visit Gramilda and Rex on Sunday. They seem to be doing well. Gramilda was active and in good spirits. She’s going blind. She doesn’t say anything about it, but just doesn’t look at stuff. You know how eyes will follow your talk or your hands in a conversation? I found that interesting, since I’ve never been around a blind person. I am really proud of her for being so strong about it and not complaining.

Tara and I drove on the other side of the Snake River to get a look at her Grandpa and Grandma’s house from that side. When we got back, Pa told me that we had passed rocks with petroglyphs, and didn’t we stop to look at them? Arggh! I would have, if I had known they were there!! It’s a long trip, so we didn’t go back then. But now that I know what to look for, I will go back another day.

We swam in their pool, which was an excellent cool-down in the hot weather. I think if I lived out there, I would have to have a pool too. Tara and I tried swimming in the Snake once. In the summer it’s full of muck and sort of disgusting to swim in. The middle is clear, where the current remains strong, but then… there’s the problem of the current.

Each morning, everyone tumbles out onto the deck in the dark with their coffee and waits for the sun to come up. It’s my favourite peaceful ritual there. Pa and Michelle have stepped up their coffee quality since my last visit. Finally, they aren’t drinking that pale, flavorless yuk they’ve had for so many years. But in any case, the quiet of listening to the birds in the dark, waiting for the sun to climb over the ridge across the water, is great therapy.


This time, however, Pa and Michelle could not stop talking. I don’t know if it’s because of age, or if they’re lonely out there, or if they were nervous about meeting Mark for the first time (except for Grandma Haley’s funeral, which didn’t really count as a visit). Blah blah blah. Mark and I are not so much talkers. We tend to prefer silence in the mornings.


I wondered what they thought of him. I’ve been having reservations about my relationship for the first time, and I’m interested in feedback. I am not so critical of Mark, as I am recognizing that I’m not happy and trying to figure out why. Mark is an awesome person. Truly the most modest and spiritual man I’ve ever been close to. He does things that drive me crazy, but doesn’t everyone’s partner drive them crazy sometimes? He can be a giant, needy, baby…but in my opinion that’s a typical male tendency. I am sure my dissatisfaction is due to my own wonky head, and the reason Mark is on the radar is because I see him every day.

So all too soon the weekend was over, and we had to make the loooong long drive back home along I-84. It’s a full 8 hours. More if you stop to eat or explore. We decided that as long as flight prices stay low, it would be worth it to shell out the money and get two extra days to enjoy, rather than drive.

Oh yeah, one funny: Mark flipped out when I told him I wanted to do a road trip on Labor Day Weekend. “Back in New England, on Labor Day you hunker down and hide because the traffic is so bad. If you can, you don’t leave the house.” “Well, we’re heading through eastern Oregon,” I said. “There probably won’t be much traffic. You know how empty those roads can be. There will be increased traffic, for sure.” Mark laughs, “Oh, so instead of four other vehicles on the road… I’ll see, what, ten?”


Sure enough; the highways were empty empty empty. Man, I love the West.