Mike.

My brother, Mike, died four days before Christmas 2011. I got the call from our brother Rick, his voice hard to hear, his words not making sense.

Mike was always a happy boy, one who loved telling stories. Stories that drew you in to his exuberance of reliving the facts, even if somewhat exaggerated. You smiled not only at the tale unfolding, but the shine in his eyes.
Mike was a very intelligent boy. He was always the banker at Monopoly, his two older siblings never challenging him. He moved his token, always the race car, to the appropriate square without even counting them. He yelled out, "You owe me $90.00 for landing on Marvin Gardens," before we could add the dice. Nobody wanted to play chess with him and he'd beat mom at cribbage all the time.
He talked about scientific things that made you scrunch up your eyebrows and shake your head, but he kept talking because it was super exciting to him. But if you asked him if he wanted to go play kick ball or go sledding he'd say, "Sure!" and he'd be a regular kid again.
Mike was gentle, didn't fight, didn't swear, just shrugged off things that weren't right. I wasn't so good at that. There was this kid at the bus stop, isn't there always a moron at the bus stop that looks for the quiet kid? Anyway, this guys name was Beaver. And he was mean. He scared me, but when he pushed Mike around it pushed my buttons. I always wore these big clunky "waffle stompers" and that day that Beaver had gone too far with my brother, Beaver had fallen to the ground grabbing his shins and covering his stomach. I got a red slip from the bus driver so Mom gave me and Mike a ride to school and she never scolded me once.
Mike and I were very close. Literally. Seven months apart. I was adopted and while the adoption was finalizing Mom got pregnant with Mike. They called us calico twins. We did everything together up to the sixth grade. That's when I started to think more like a preteen and Mike stayed just Mike. Then I went on to middle school and Mike had one more year of grade school.
In high school, hung out with my own friends as teenagers do. I grew impatient with Mike because he didn't do things like every one else. He wasn't bad or totally weird, just different. After school I left for college, came back home, met a guy, got married, had kids...One by one we left the nest to do our own thing. Except Mike. He stayed around, enjoying living with his parents. He never married. He liked being home.
And then, one day, he just left. Not just the house he was raised in, he left the town. He left the state. He left! We were obviously concerned, Mike hadn't ever done anything on his own like this. He was vulnerable, easily taken advantage of. But, he did it. He found work. He found a place to live. He found his way in the world. Then he came back home.
He was there while our mom was dying of cancer. This was very hard on Mike. I think he left town again after she passed away. Then he came back again. About ten years later, Dad had a stroke. Mike lived at home, helping to care for him. Dad's illness and eventually death, was painfully debilitating for Mike. Life was more challenging as he dealt with depression and anxiety. Our sister, Amber, and Rick looked after Mike, eventually helping him get his own place to live. Then, without telling anyone, he sold his trailer and moved. Again.
He called one day to check in and let us know everything was fine. And it appeared to be so. He was happy. He was living in Nevada. He was working on an invention. A top secret invention. As crazy as it may sound, it was good news. He was excited to be working on something. He was creative and focused. This went on for over a year. Life was good!
Then he bought a car and he and a friend moved to Arizona. He talked with Rick and told him about all this. He sounded good. Three days later, Mike called 911 from a gas station parking lot. He said he had a knife. He said he was going to hurt someone or kill himself if, IF, the police didn't get there fast. When asked why, he said he was tired of being schizophrenic. The police showed up. They claim he "charged" at them. Mike was shot three times.
He told them he suffered from a mental illness. He told them he only had a knife.
I sit. And I think. I ask, "How....?" I ask, "Why....?" I don't understand.

Tsunami

My NOAA alarm went off at 11:27 pm. I ran down stairs and listened to it's announcement. An earthquake hit Japan and a tsunami is coming our way. I quickly turn on the t.v. and watch, over and over again how that massive wave wiped out Sendai. We have seven hours to evacuate before it hits our beaches.

I've heard about this. I knew about this. Our small coastal town practiced this routine. I tear myself away from the horrific repetitive scene glowing in my entertainment room and start the laundry. There's no going back to sleep so I might as well have clean underwear for when it's time to go. Who knows when I'll be able to do laundry again. Seriously. That was my first thought. And I did it. Then I cleaned up the kitchen. There were just a few dishes to be washed, but I didn't want them in the sink. I wanted them clean and put in their proper places. Perhaps it was the video of houses floating down streets, one with a car resting in it's front room window, that instilled this desire for neatness. There was really no rational excuse for my behavior, it was just nervous energy. Nonetheless, when everything was tidy and the clothes in the machine, I was able to get the plastic tub out and fill it with canned tuna, powder milk, and coffee. And water and dog food. And batteries. And yarn.
Sunny, who recently moved from a tsunami save zone to join me in my beach house, shakes her head and attempts to go back to bed. We both now know how we each respond to intense situations.

I move all the vehicles, there are four between us (damn Americans), to free up the garage and I back the Westfalia van out. Our emergency home is semi ready for such an event but I add a few reinforcements, including my collection of knitting needles, as the news team is not certain whether the wave will diminish in size or grow in it's travels to our coastline.
At 5 am Sunny, the dogs, and I leave our beach home and drive five miles to my aunt and uncle's home that is out of the tsunami zone, kind of. It's out of a little tsunami zone, but not a big tsunami zone.
Because we've all been up all night, we are momentarily uncertain whether to drink wine or coffee. I join my aunty and her friend Carole in a glass of Cabernet. My nerves could use a little relaxing. Then we sit back in front of the television and wait to hear the outcome of Hawaii's hit while keeping an eye on the water line on the pier in the bay below their home.

That night turned out to be a practice run. We did pretty good. But we also had seven long hours to prepare. Word is, we're next. We're due. Next time we may only have minutes. I leave the van out in the driveway, loaded and ready to do. If we were to loose electricity I wouldn't be able to get it out of the garage. There is a prediction from really smart guys in Russia and Canada that the west coast is going to take a hit during the super moon. My truck sits at home while I drive my home on wheels everywhere, just in case. Sunny and I discuss evacuation routes and meeting places if we are separated when It hits.
My boss commented on my using the van and I explained my prepared readiness in case of an earthquake or tsunami. He says, "Where you going to go?" I just stare at him. He's right. There is no place to go. Both coastal directions, north and south, that lead to a highway exit over the mountain range first take you right along the ocean's edge. Most likely those narrow windy roads will not survive a quake. He tells me the only ones to survive here are those that grab a backpack and run up the mountain behind us.
As soon as I get home I'm upstairs in the attic digging out my bigger backpack and loading it up. It goes where I go now. I make sure Sunny has one too and that she takes hers with her everywhere she goes. The van is still ready, just in case we have time for a proper evacuation, but if time is limited, I'll grab the pack and hope I have good shoes on.

This is a new experience for me. Ketchikan is in a protected area. In the 38 years I lived there there was never a fear of natural disaster. No tornadoes. No forest fires. No earthquakes, except for that biggie in Anchorage in 1964 but we're pretty sheltered from tsunamis by all the surrounding islands.
Now I live with that nagging feeling of "If it hit right now, would you be ready?" I always know where my pack is. I've retrained myself to put my cell phone, car keys, and glasses in the same place every night. I've located the safest triangles in my home to take cover in. Then I sleep. In a warm bed. Listening to the cold rain outside and hoping it doesn't happen tonight because I don't want to be wet and cold. Then I think of the Japanese. The lucky ones are curled up on concrete floors of a school gym. I try to sleep.
In the mean time, life goes on. I finish knitting the sweater in my chair. Sunny goes back to unpacking her boxes. I call my boys to check on their well being. Japan is looking for bodies. We make grocery lists. Japan is thirsty. We talk about weekend plans. Japan is trying to calm the nukes. We keep our gas tanks full. Sendai has no roads. Sendai has no Sendai. Rockaway Beach would be gone too. Yet, we stay. We love it here. It's beauty. The beautiful ocean that gives us life could take our lives at any time. It causes me to breathe deep and notice my surroundings, thankful for every day. And my backpack.

This time last year, I was freaking out about adult decisions I was forced to make. You'd be pleased to know everything has worked out beautifully. Better than I ever imagined. If you look up Happy in the dictionary you'll see a picture of me.

I took the job at the restaurant, waiting tables, meeting people, learning the finer advantages of small talk. Connection, even when brief, is something you carry with you right along with that full stomach or the coffee in your hand. Good or bad. I have the opportunity to impact another soul. And it works both ways; as the customer's presence walks out that door I'm often left with a feeling of "whoa!" or a "wow!" Body language (75% of communication) tells it's own story. The silent couple with elbows on the table creating their own private space, staring at their food, lifting their eyes to glance out the window, seldom or never at the person across from them. Only upon finishing do their eyes connect, silently asking if the other is ready to go too.
Then there's the guy who parades in, fanning his beautiful plumage, and announces himself to the entire restaurant. He involves me in his conversation even as I am waiting on the other tables, begging for attention. All he needs is a smile and a touch on the shoulder and I've gained privilege to hearing his story and him asking about mine.
Even though we're only two states away, people love to hear about Alaska. I try to not enter that one when the floor is full because they don't want me to leave, like I am there for their dinning entertainment alone. Waitressing has been an awesome experience. It's a great way to meet community and people traveling from all over the world, and to better your knowledge of self.

Along with waitressing, I also started two businesses. One is selling yarn, notions, and my knit wears. My shop is part of another, very cool, shop here in Rockaway Beach. The Frugal Crow has six vendors, one of which is me. Ann Savage, the owner, approached me at the restaurant and asked if I'd like to sell yarn and my hats in her store. I love it!! And it's totally amazing to me. One year ago I was off to Alaska to manage a yarn shop for Cheri Pyles in Ketchikan and now I have my own in Oregon. I didn't see that one coming! It's not my bread and butter job but it's coming along. Plus it's my passion. I also teach knitting to a group of about ten ladies and one man. He is the greatest guy, knitting a billion 6 x 6 inch squares to sew together for a quilt for his mom. How many guys do you know would do that for his mom? The other gals are just a hoot too, most of them never knit before or if so, it was so long ago they might as well not have. But so far, they have completed one baby sweater, three hats, three pairs of fingerless gloves and many many ripped out rows.
My other business is actually an offspring of my girlfriend's. This wonderful woman started her own business cleaning beach houses (second homes to most) that are rented out as vacation homes. She does not advertise. The expansion of her clientele comes solely by word of mouth. She has the trust and respect of so many that last summer she started turning some folks down. Largely, they wanted yard work done and her schedule was packed with house cleans. I told her I'd take on the yards for some extra income. That offering has grown into its own and I now carry business cards with me. People stop and ask me if I have time to work on their place too! I can't believe the luck!! I love working outdoors on a yard that is so overgrown that when I'm done it looks like a new place. And it pays very well! It is hard work, keeps me fit, and keeps their property attractive and functional.
So there it is. One year later and I've found my place. In my mission statement I said I wanted to "go where my senses lead me, work where I'm needed, and give what I am able," and it has found me.