Amber L. Carter's Blog, page 80

Being there.

It was fall, I thought to myself. The afternoon was sunny, but the breeze - certain-smelling, comforting in its' coolness - floated across my cheeks and through my hair as I walked through the parking lot on the way to my car, one hand resting on my leather crossbody bag, the one that makes me feel like a traveler or the honorary girl warrior in the Lord of The Rings gang. Getting into the car, I pulled my seatbelt on and sat and stared out the window for a moment before pulling out of the space. Maybe I should go back to therapy, I thought to myself as I checked the air behind me. Maybe I should try to cry on the way home. Maybe I shouldn't even really think about it. 
I read this thing the other day that warned me that I was keeping my emotions too tight. Locked in. Forced down. I kind of rolled my eyes and stood up and got back to what I was doing. Things have been exhausting, lately. I get up at 5 in the morning to train on dispatch until 2, then go to Mooselips to manage and hostess and bartend and promote and charm until after night falls. I don't get enough sleep, and there are days when I come home and realize I've forgotten to eat. The things I was looking forward to - visits from friends, project completions, festivals and trips...have all fallen by the wayside due to conflicting schedules. I haven't been able to write much of anything since the end of August. I haven't emailed Erica in over a month. And my friend Ang has breast cancer, I thought to myself as I focused my weary eyes on the road, and I don't know how to be there for her.

I used to be really good at this. That. Swooping in, taking care of everything, holding vigil by the bedside. Being there, for that. But after it ended up that none of that even really mattered, it felt like I just couldn't do it anymore. And now I don't even know how to. I don't know what's too much, or not enough, or what's the right thing to say, or what the thing is that everyone is waiting for me to do, the thing that if I don't or do do, it will just make it worse. I can't see you in pain, because then I'll just start crying and make this about me and so maybe it's best if I just stand here in the doorway and watch and pretend like it's not happening, or make a joke and throw up some jazzhands. Which makes me an awful friend. Which is how I've been feeling in all sorts of ways with all of my friends lately, but especially with this one. When the chips were down, where the fuck was I.
And it's the big fear. All the friends I've made, all the people I love...what if I just end up losing them now? By either moving up here or them going away or things happening. Or making mistakes.

My roommate came in the door to find me lying on the floor, eyes closed. Exhausted, I had finally arrived home and thrown on my red '70's "I should wear these to a roller disco" shorts and my "Vote For Pedro" t-shirt, intending to immediately climb up to bed. A single plaintive meow from Deloris Pookerton made me instead decide to lay on the floor in a weak attempt to spend some time with her. Adam put his stuff down on the counter, stepped over my half-slumbering body, and sat down in the chair, both of us quiet for what felt like a long time. Adam's not verbally great with the emotional stuff. He's the kind of guy you try to tell all of your daily problems and issues to, only to wind up with a response somewhere along the lines of a look, a nod, and a single utterance of "Shitty." But he tends to offer comfort in other ways, like not making you talk about it, or just getting it without making you talk at all. So I folded myself off of the floor, padded over to a chair on the other side of the table, and after another long span of companionable silence, suggested we go out for a drink.

We live two blocks from Main Street. Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my down vest, I walked with Adam to the bar and thought about how this was kind of nice...being able to just walk two blocks in the fall night to the bar. Which is something I used to do all the time, I reminded myself. But in Hayward, that kind of convenient foot travel is hard to come by.
"I think I'm depressed, being back here," I told him.
"I know," he replied.

Fall panic.

So, the universe is conspiring.
I had a loose plan...come up in the beginning of the summer. Write. Meditate. Swim. Hang out with my family, write some more, bike, run, focus. I didn't know, exactly, where I would be going when October rolled around – probably back to the cities, but maybe somewhere new. Life has a way of hitting me with a flat iron when it comes to future plans...so I wasn't worried when it came to figuring it all out.
But then the days got long. The writing was great, the meditation was swell, the swimming and biking and running were welcome diversions. The hanging out with my family stuff...tough. Not as I had expected. Daniel was working all the time, and too much time with my mom and dad usually plays out to tense arguments and the airing-out of years-old grudges. I love my family, but I think we could all agree that we love each other a lot more when we're not forced to be around each other all the time.
So then you already know the story: A barista job opened up at a local coffee joint that I had always wanted to work at. I figured it would be a good way to get me off the compound and earn a few extra dollas to put towards my books and business(es). And then I found that I really liked it. And had a lot of ideas for it. And had a boss who was really enthusiastic about all of those ideas.
And then (we're gonna go through a list of "And Then's" just to take all of us through the process of this:)
An Emergency Dispatch job opened up in Hayward. Emergency Dispatch is something that I've wanted to get into for over a year now, because it greatly supplements my disaster relief aspirations. And as soon as I saw the position in the paper, I remember thinking to myself, "Shit...I'm gonna end up staying here, aren't I?"
Which is one of those thoughts that you have and then immediately push out of your head, because the truth is kind of unbearable and you don't want to believe it and why don't you just go fuck yourself, brain, and stop trying to tell me stuff I don't want to hear.
And then:
I applied for the Em. Dispatch job, and the next night, I had my first "What am I going to do in October?" I could do anything, I told myself...I could move to Washington, I could go back to Minneapolis, I could fly to Australia and be a homeless person living on the beach just like my mom has always expected me to turn out to be. But the thing was, I realized as I stared up at the ceiling, I had all these options, yet no real plan. And with that, the little beads of panic started to rise up.
And then:
The next day, I'm asked to come in and interview for the Em. Dispatch job.
And then:
That same night, my friend Adam tells me that he's moving back into what is only the 2nd most dope place in Hayward (the #1 is beyond - think penthouse, think model home, think Dwell - and is currently being used for eternity by its current inhabitant). This is the apartment that I told myself, years and years ago, that the only way I would only ever even consider moving back to Hayward was if I could live in this apartment. And then Adam asks me to be his roommate. And then tells me what the rent will be. And then mentions that it's fully furnished. The memory of me selling off and giving away most of my possessions this winter and spring rushes through my head.
I give him a loose yes. Yes, if I land the opportunity I'm going for, then yes.
And then:
I do a book reading at a local library, and my boss at the coffeeshop tells me to bring my books in and sell them there. I do. Within the two days, they're flying out the door.
And then:
I do a little research on the local Red Cross chapter and their disaster relief training. I find out that out of all the relief volunteers who deploy out to disasters, their chapter is responsible for 60% of them. I email the lead of the chapter and get this string of totally doable dates upon which I can start training to join the corps.
And then:
I get an Emergency Dispatch job.
And then:
I tell my boss at the coffeeshop that I'm probably staying, and she offers me the opportunity to implement some of the ideas that I had come up with for the place. It's an exciting endeavor that will allow me to flex all the skills that I've been carefully crafting over the past year in terms of social networking and promotion and build other skills that will come in handy for future projects. It's an opportunity that I can't turn down.
So. I guess I'm staying at least through the winter.
The thing is, I don't want to stay here. That's the most ironic thing to me...the fact that this is the one place where I never ever wanted to live again, and for some reason everything is aligning to keep me here. This eerie feeling that everything in the past year was merely a build-up to bring me here and make me stay...it's kind of creepy. Like the apartment thing...I knew I wanted to get rid of most of my stuff after the epiphany last summer. And the thought that kept floating through my mind, through the Craigslist sales and trips to Goodwill and the packing and all that was just this constant, "You won't need this. It will only weigh you down." And now I've moved into an apartment where I'm grateful and glad that I only have what I ended up with. The apartment is beautiful and comfortable (and I get to sleep in a loft again!) but it's small. Everything that I have? Fits. Anything else that I might have kept? Wouldn't have.
And that's just a small part of it. The connections I've made up here for the book, the businesses, and other ventures have kind of made my head spin. I won't go into it right now, because it will get exhausting, but. 10-69, universe. Noted.
So I gave in about two weeks ago and made the final decision to stay here through the winter and see how this all plays out. It is still a struggle, though. It's not that Hayward is absolutely horrible – there's actually a lot of cool people and things about this town/area – it's that...it's hard to find the center, here. And I keep waiting for that moment of panic, revulsion. That "What am I doing here??!!" moment. Which is coming. It's going to happen. And I already know from the last time I was here that the panic can be palatable. There has to be something to look forward to, there has to be an anchor. It's easy to get lost, here. You need a list of things to wake up to in the morning to remind you of who you are. And it has to be a good one, otherwise all I'm going to feel is that sense that I'm growing older by the day, I'm going to waste away here, the best years of my life will be spent in this dead end town, I left all my friends and all those possibilities for nothing...
So I'm banking all of my spare time into writing and building out my businesses (because, if you've at all been following my Facebook or Twitter these past few months, I sure as hell will not be spending that time on finding a soulmate up here). The good thing about my booming social life in Hayward is that I'll probably get so bored that I'll just write every single book in my head within the year. And travel. Adam – my friend and now roommate – and I are making plans to go to Italy in the winter (or rather, he's making plans to rent a flat there for a month and I will be joining him for a week or two during that month). I'm keeping my eye on the international relief goal, which is crucial during the 5 am wake-ups on my dispatch training days. I sometimes, though, feel a little bit like Adam and I are working the logging camps or Alaskan fisheries, putting in long hours and suffering through so we can bank the pay that will get us somewhere closer to where we want to be. Impermanent. A means to an end. Take full advantage of every second of your spare time, because this is the one time and place where you don't want to waste it.
I've got my North Face jacket. Things should be fine.

The End.

Last Monday was an odd day. The morning and afternoon were blissfully warm and breezy, and my mom made a comment that this was the last day that would feel like summer. I kind of huffed a little in response. We always say that, in the Northwoods. We are quick to make declarations on the weather - "It's gonna be a long winter"..."Spring isn't too far off, now"..."Fall has begun!"...and it never really ends up being true. There's always some surprise, tucked down deep in nature's pocket. Sometimes it's a good one. Sometimes it makes you wanna tell Mother Nature to go fuck herself. But the lesson is usually just this: Don't think you know what's coming up next, because you never really do.
The skies were still sunny and clear when the thunderstorm warning rudely interrupted the show I was watching. I stared outside and sighed. A thunderstorm had not only ruined almost every meteor showers we were supposed to see this summer, but now it was going to ruin the Harvest Moon...and it didn't even look bad outside! WTF. 
It came during dinner - a sprinkling, then a breezy rain, then the wind. Hard wind. We sat at the table and watched, and then, as if on cue, all three of us jumped up and ran to different windows in the house. Hail. Balls of hail were plummeting down to the green ground and grey lake. The power went out, and within a few seconds the deck and ground were covered in white. The wind and pounding hail made the lake look like a rolling sea that was about to rise up and crest over the land.
When it was over, we took pictures of the hail, and I walked outside to see if there had been any huge damage. The first breath stopped me in my tracks: The hail had stripped the trees, leaving an overwhelming scent of pine mingled with the fresh chill of the hail. It was literally all I could do, to just stand there and breathe in and out.
For hours I laid on Daniel's bed, holding up a book and a flashlight, waiting for the power to come on. When it finally did, around 9:30, I walked outside to see that the skies had cleared, leaving a few sparkling stars and the Harvest Moon, hanging in balance over the lake.
I pulled my wellies on, grabbed a plaid flannel, and walked down the little hill to the dock. The Harvest Moon is my favorite. It always feels more like a living, breathing thing than during any other phase. The light reflected off the chilly lake, and I stood on the dock, thinking about this summer. It was finally over, I thought myself.
When I first got here, I wrote this post about it, about making it into this magical thing. And it actually worked. Looking back at the things I wrote, the pictures I took, and the memories I created...I kind of want to cry. I was lucky, this summer. It wasn't always awesome or perfect or exactly how I thought it would be, but it was definitely a one kick-ass season in my life.
Here is a sort of collection of sorts. 
When I first got to the cabin in the beginning of May, it was flippin' cold. I'm talking seeing-your-own-breath, hands-and-nose-cold, can't-even-stand-to-be-there-for-longer-than-20-min cold. So I taught myself how to build fires in the fireplace. And I got pretty good, too...although my super sweet ARTCRANK volunteer t-shirt ended up laying victim to an ill-fated match-lighting session.
Every day, I would take my family's dog, Dutch, for a walk with me in the woods. These became so beloved that I often did it twice a day - I'd throw on my plaid flannel, a pair of jeans, strap on boots, cue up the Nerdist podcast, and set out with Dutch down the snowmobile trails. Most of the time I would zone out on the podcast and start formulating plots to YA novels I wanted to write...seriously, where better to think up a kick-ass YA Fantasy than in the middle of the woods, right? And what better inspiration for one than an evil demonic tree:


The deck, dock, and lake were also a huge part of the summer. The deck, of course, was where I learned that my dream of being like Snow White had finally come true, and the forest animals had finally seen into my good, kind soul and decided to be friends with me. ("Forest animals" meaning "hummingbirds.") And, as often as I could, I took down to the dock to read, meditate, swim, flip off wave runners, stare at clouds, drink beer, watch the sunset/sunrise...






There was also a lot of stellar time on the pontoon with my family. And beer. But mostly, my family.



 My friend Erica and my friends Katy and Melissa all made a trip up to the cabin, and we had an AMAZING time. Erica and I got up super early to watch the sunrise on the lake...
Photo Credit: Erica UlstromAnd Melissa and Katy and I learned how useful our Groucho Sports Supply water bottles could be for keeping bugs and other things of nature out of our wine when having a campfire.
 If that's not a stellar endorsement to buy one, I don't know what else is.

In an effort to maintain my sparkling social skills and ensure that I did not become a crazy lady who wanders the woods at night, I participated in a writing group...

Made a few trips down to Minneapolis to see my friends...


Took on a barista job...
Met friends for stuff in the surrounding area... With Jon Vick at Tom's Burnt Down Cafe on Madeline Island
With Dave at the 4ontheFloor/Willie Nelson concert at Bayfront in DuluthAnd ended August with an amazing four days with the Bauschy crew up at their cabin in Longville, MN, where I proceeded to do nothing but take pictures of my niece-by-proxy Maelyn during her every waking hour.






As for the things that I did not do this summer, the list is as follows:
Finish my book
Get laid
Morph into Heidi Klum's body double
Make a million dollars by sitting around on the internet
Befriend a mystical wolf
Write a box-office-busting teen movie
Get eaten by a demon from the Evil Tree 

So goodbye, summer adventure in the woods.

It was pretty magical, wasn't it?

Remembering.

A lot of people are going to be talking about Sept. 11 today. And while that would usually mean that I would steer clear of the subject...
I, like most of my peers, remember exactly where I was when the planes hit the Twin Towers. I arrived at my client's house (I was working as a behavior therapist for WEAP, leading a team of therapists in Hayward, WI) and was greeted at the door by my client's grandmother, Oma. "Oh my god, a plane just hit the World Trade Center," she told me, as she pulled back the sliding glass door. And I remember walking into the living room with her while my client played quietly in the corner, and we both stood, stock still in the middle of the room, watching in silence as the news and footage of a second plane hitting the towers came roaring over CNN.
At the time, though, it felt like how Columbine felt...this expectation that you should be horrified and glued to the news and will want to hear and talk about it all the time. Which tends to make me want to stay far away from it. And I remember being slightly annoyed...this stuff happened all the time in India, in the Middle East, even in Ireland, for god's sake. Buildings were bombed every day, mass numbers of people were killed in suicide bombings and street wars...and yeah, it happened to us, so I got it, but could we please just stop acting like this was the most cataclysmic event in the universe just because it did happen to us? And it was so much that I felt almost blinded to it. Desensitized. So I pulled away. I didn't watch the news, I ignored reports about it in the paper, and I switched the radio station every time that goddamn Alan Jackson (or worse, the one by Toby Keith) song came on the radio.
And I stayed comfortably ensconced in that attitude for years. And then, last year, two things happened in-  literally - a week. I read Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close and watched the movie "Remember Me." I had initially picked those two diversions after coming home from a trip to New York - a trip that made New York feel familiar to me. A kinship. So, wanting to explore that feeling, I chose a book and a movie that had New York as the location, not really realizing that both centered around 9/11.
And I got it. I mean, I had gotten it before, but after those two things, I got it. "Remember Me" made it human for me, not in the least because it was story centered around a boy who was my age when it happened (and you don't even see it coming, so you get to know him and then there's just this, and you're shocked and dumbstruck and sobered by all of it). Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, besides just being an all-out brilliant book, told the story - and some pieces of that day that I hadn't fully heard about before, such as the pictures that exist of the people who had jumped off the roof of the towers -  in this way that was so matter-of-fact and quietly heartbreaking. And after these two things, it was like I could finally feel it. It felt like I had had enough distance from the sensationalism and the groupthink and it had been a long enough time that now I could pour over the footage of it and feel it and get it. Part of that, I think, is the fact that things had quieted down enough where I felt like I could actually have my own reaction - just mine, and not what everyone else in the country expected me to have.And I'm glad I finally got it. Not because I now understand what a complete tragedy this was for our country or how important it is for us to be united or any of that other bullshit, but because I felt like I was able to finally see through all the "This happened to US, OUR country" self-absorbed crap and finally let it sink down that this happened to people. It's hard, sometimes, (at least for me) to realize the personal when the fatality is a mass number. That this didn't just "happen" to 1,000 "people." It happened to people with stories, whole lives, families, friends, lovers, plans and goals and dreams. And they were our kinsmen, but mostly, they were all people that we knew, even if we didn't *really* know them.
So today I'll be watching the footage and listening to the stories and paying my respects like the rest of America. Not because this happened to me or my country...but because this happened to them, and I feel like the best thing I can do is to try remember them as individual faces, as breathing, pulsing, swelling lives that were cut short by something that is still hard to fully comprehend.
I will still be switching the radio station if I hear the Alan Jackson or Toby Keith songs, though. That still hasn't changed.

Political Debate.

You'll come in with her in the morning, when you know I'll be working. Sitting side-by-side, arms touching, you'll lean into her just as I'm walking by. Her hair, sparse and short and brown, is just a slight more messy in the back. Sleepy neglect, maybe. More likely a sign of what (who) you did last night.
I don't notice you. I do, but I won't let you see it, because I know how it will make you feel. A bit emptier, that nagging feeling of losing that slides in after an unsuccessful scheme. Why didn't that work. Your consolation will be her, of course. You might even like her, but there's only one real reason why you brought her here, this morning, this day. I wonder if she knows. She probably thinks she's won. Won what, I wish I could ask. What did you really win, except a guy who's using you, in part or in whole, as a way to show off to another. A man who can never really stand to lose gracefully.

You'll try harder next time. This is how it works. You'll pretend to hate me, or try to do what I just did to you, which is ignore me, act as if I don't matter. And I don't...not really, not to you, not in the way you might think. You probably should have listened to your friends, you'll decide, sooner than later....I can be cold, vicious. Calculating. You shouldn't underestimate the things that I can do. And do you really want the girl your other friends have tried for? And why should you have to try, when practically any other girl around here would kill for a chance at you? Those are the ones who will wait for you to kiss them in a parking lot after bar close. Who will laugh at all your jokes, look at you with bright admiring eyes, give in to anything you say. The kind of girls who will be convinced they've won something, when you take them out for breakfast the morning after. Maybe it's not worth it, giving all that up for someone who only might kiss you, who only might laugh at the things you say, who maybe wants more than what you're used to giving.

But you'll never know, will you.

It's the end, you guys. The end of Summer...of Hummers.

We will never forget the Hummers that we've shared together. 
A solitary tear runs down Randy's face as he thinks about it. But don't cry for what you've lost, Randy. Smile for the Hummers you've had.

You know how some people have Hate Sex?

I have Hate Running.

It's like this: You know how some girls scream and cry or throw stuff or stuff their faces when they get dumped or get bad news or get into a fight with their friends? I don't really do that. Instead, I run (or bike. Or lift weights. Or kickbox).

So, yesterday (when I originally wrote this post, which was apparently not good enough according to certain ball-busting readers, so I'm writing more today) I got some crap news. This week has been, to quote my friend Dave, an emotional shit bomb for some of my friends. On top of that, two great, game-changing things that were supposed to happen this weekend? Didn't.

So instead of diving down into pit of defeat and despair, I took to the trails in a heated, pulsing, "I HATE you so much right now, I'm gonna run three miles as fast as I can just because I hate you THAT MUCH" type running. It's Hate Running. When I hate a person, I don't fuck them - I run. As hard and as fast and as long as I can.

And honestly, it's the best running imaginable, which also ends up turning the frustration and anger into this kind of calm strength and focus.

Like a warrior.

A Wolf Warrior, even.

*whispers* Amber the Wolf Warrior...

Hashtag Truth.

Chels, last night at the cabin on Long Lake: "Amber, look! A bald eagle!"Me: "Big deal. I see those things every damn day."Chels: "Ha, you're right. Instead it should be, "Amber, look! City people!"

Summer of Hummers, 8.17.11

As Randy says - "Hurrah for Hummers!"
I feel differently, but whatev.

been thinking..., I am probably not the person to be writing about...

been thinking..., I am probably not the person to be writing about...: "Spoiler alert! The women are the steel magnolias. That's the name of the movie because it's about a group of women who are delicate yet strong. Basically a bunch of southern women who all hang out at the hair salon together."

The best review of "Steel Magnolias" that you will ever read. (Follow the link to read the whole thing)