Chilé and Peapod circled around my feet or stared at me with anxious excitement from across the room. At these moments I was their best friend, their favorite person in all the world. They loved me. Must be suppertime. I spooned out generous portions of fowl smelling “venison & green pea” or “ocean fish” and they were as happy as can be. Then they forgot about me altogether and wandered off to their favorite sleeping spots.
Chilé is a big affectionate, handsome boy with pale orange fur and a crooked tale. He purred loudly next to me while I slept. Peapod is a small and skittish girl with bold bengal stripes. She followed me or ran past my feet careful not to get too close. But when she was hungry I was her BFF.
I was on house and cat sitting duty recently for a friend of my sister’s just down the street from her own home. The close-in, inner city neighborhood is filled with treelined streets and craftsman style houses stylishly painted with muted tones of putty and olive or yellow and rust all trimmed in contrasting colors. Front gardens are proudly tended with bursting rhododendrons and lilac, Japanese maple or peonies. Cats migrate through backyards and dogs walk their owners by the leash. Families toss a ball in the street in front of their homes. The neighborhood intersection of streets has antique stores, coffee houses and bakeries, cozy restaurants, and a single screen independent movie theater.
The house itself was small, simple, clean and masculine. Since I’ve been surrounded by lace and dolls and pink, I was relieved. The owner is an architect who, in the process of redoing his kitchen, installed a fantastic Dacor gas/convection oven. Since I like to cook, having such a great tool to work with can be inspiring. Although I practically incinerated my dinner under the convection broiler. There was a kick-ass motorcycle parked in the living room that I wanted to ride up and down the street shirtless whooping it up.
It was the first time in 8 months that I felt like an adult. A weight lifted and I felt like I was on vacation. Since I returned to Portland I’ve been feeling like a 6 year old, reverting to the tensions of sibling conflict and dynamics combined with the faithfulness of motherly attentiveness. I watch “Jeopardy” with mom on most evenings (which I can defend because I might learn something), “Wheel of Fortune” (which is completely un-defensible) and “Dancing with the Stars” (please don’t tell anyone). She wants to make dinner and sew a loose button on my shirt even though I protest. Daily agitation and discomfort still hover between me and my brother which has existed along with resentment that’s been aimed in my general direction for at least 40 years.
I have lost some power in these 8 months. The independence and resourcefulness that one can develop while living in New York (or just away from family) went out the window. I’ve hung on tightly but memory and history have edged their way into my daily consciousness. The life I had made for myself was fading into the distance. My house sitting excursion was a wake up call, though. I have always cherished my autonomy and self-reliance. My need to move through life on my own terms. I was surprised by my ability to quickly slip into this state of mind in my temporary home. Even if it was just for a moment.
I was alone for most of my week which was fine. I worked on my design projects, went for walks in the neighborhood, hit the gym. Drank coffee in the sunny kitchen and Malbec as I cooked on the Dacor at night. Mainly I just reveled in the freedom I felt, feeling like my own person. And I knew it was time to step forward. Not as the 6 year old and not as my former New York self. But someone with a new viewpoint and new direction. So I enjoyed performing my tasks of watching over the house, feeding the “kids,” heavy petting, and cat box duty. I savored Chilé and Peapod depending on me for attention and food, speaking anxiously to me at suppertime. I looked forward to the days being my own. And I was as happy as can be.
