Shtopping Wrap-Up

You guys, remember Shtopping?  Remember how I was going to not shop for 90 days to see if I could break the habit of vegging out in front of an online shopping site and instead process some feelings and be more present in my life?  Remember how I had a shopping accident in the middle of Shtopping?  But I vowed to recommit, and then I went to Thailand to ride elephants?  You were like, what?  What happened to Shtopping?  Did you shtop shtopping?  Are you still shopping?

Well, I'm here to share some profound cosmic lessons with you.  Or maybe just one.  And that is:

I like doing so many things better than shopping, and if I can remember that, I'm good.

Yep, that's it.  What shtopping taught me is that when I don't shop I have more money, sure, and less anxiety, sure.  But what I really like about not shopping is that I have more time.  Is there anything more precious?  I don't think so.  If I can remember that not shopping means I have a half hour to meditate, read, write, hang with E. and the girls, walk the dogs, or call a friend, then it all seems very, very worth it, to give up the shopping.

Of course, if I just fill that time with more work, or chores, or things I don't really want to do, then the whole thing falls apart.  I think I shop when I feel like I'm on a hamster wheel, so time spent off the wheel (but not shopping) is key.

The other lesson is this:  Enough.  I have so much!  And I mean this in a very nitty gritty, material sense.  Our house is furnished.  I've got great clothes and shoes and jewelry and makeup.  Getting more stuff isn't going to "fix" anything, and it's less stressful to have less stuff.  Spending time taking care of stuff is, in fact, exhausting.

And yes, I've seen the Story of Stuff.  It's one thing to know it, another thing to know it.

Example:  as you read in my awkward last post, we had to give up the 40-year-old camper we thought we had been gifted.  I was more than a little cranky about that.  I thought the camper symbolized us being able to be out in nature and leaving when we liked and maybe, even, being part of a family.  Building traditions, that sort of thing.

But guess what?  Looking out my window this morning and seeing emptiness instead of that camper?  I felt free.  I was so glad to not have to see Oldy Moldy.

We'll still go camping.  We're still free to leave any time we like.  Maybe moreso, because our plans don't have to involve that gas-guzzling behemoth.  Possibilities are open anew.

Yes, more space (less material goods) actually means less stress.  I love that.  There's a wall in my dining room that has no pictures or decorations on it.

This is a major feat for a clutterhound like me. But it's my favorite wall in the house and I protect its blankness with my life.  It's a reminder to keep space--in my brain, my calendar, my life--for new things to happen.  And to slow the movement of THINGS in and out a little.  I'm not a freaking thrift store.

The thing is that, of course, sometimes I forget these very important lessons.  Sometimes my doggie brain just wants the treat.  These other, more profound treats don't look quite so good when the doggie brain takes over, and those old habits are buried deep.  So I still have my moments of justification and rationalization and acquisition.

Plus, come on.  I'm an American woman with two kids and a husband.  Some acquisition is going to happen.  It just doesn't have to be me acquiring All the Things.

So I'm pleased to report that for the most part, the experiment stuck.  I spend very little time shopping online, and almost none shopping in stores.  I feel happier and like I have more free time and more control over my actions.  That turned out pretty good, huh?

Gah, Drama

I'm not going to beat around the bush.  I'm just going to say it:  I have been involved in some gnarly family drama these last few weeks.  It's ugly and hard to explain, and that's probably why I haven't been here to write much lately.

No, no.  Everything is fine with me and E.  Fantastic, actually!  We're doing great.  We survived another domestic apocalypse this year and came out the other side stronger, hallelujah and amen.  Marriage!  You're hilarious!

This particular family drama has to do with my grandma, and her will, and inheritances, and how some of us might be interested in controlling people with money, and how I'm naive and assume people are going to do the right thing, and then I feel like a chump when they don't.  And how I also have to face the greed and entitlement within myself, and try to let those things go, too.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I'll tell you one of my very, very private secrets, and that is that when I was fifteen or so I inherited money from my great-grandmother.  This is scary to admit because then people think things about you that are somewhere in the ballpark of ParisHiltonLand and KimKardashianVille, and let me tell you those are for sure places I've never even been close to.  In other words, this inheritance was not a ton of money by some standards, but by others--and I'm trying to acknowledge my tremendous privilege here--it was a lot.  I didn't have direct control over it, of course, but I do remember that the money was used to buy me a car, and some clothes, and to cover some other bills as a teenager.  I think it also covered my room and board for my two years of college in Idaho (the rest was covered by scholarship) and my expenses so I could study a year abroad for my final year.  I wouldn't have had any of those things without that money.

That money?  It was essentially my ticket to freedom, my ticket out of Idaho and into the larger world and the life I have now.

Which is somehow back here in Idaho, now.  Life!  You're hilarious!

I also want to say that there was lots I did on my own.  I took out loans to cover grad school and worked full time the entire time.  After my 21st birthday I never saw that money again.  I think it atrophied on the stock market but I don't know, to be honest.

But the larger point is that my great-grandmother, who I spent a lot of time with as a little kid, left me that money, and though it ended up not being a ton of money at the end of the day, it was enough.  The last few thousand of it E. and I used to put a down payment on a ramshackle squatters' house near downtown Denver, and we turned a decent profit on that when we sold it, which in turn allowed us to move up a bit in the world.

So thank you, great-grandma.  My life would be unrecognizable without that.  And especially:  thank you for never telling me about that money, for never holding it over my head, for never using it to control me.  I have seen the effects of that on other family members in other contexts, and it is ugly.  How incredibly blessed I am to have never had that.  And my immediate family has also been kind in never throwing it in my face, either.

To add to this incredible luck of mine, my grandma (my great-grandma's daughter for those of you not paying attention) had always also promised me an inheritance.  Again, nothing major.  But she owns a handful of investment properties in our neighborhood, and since I was a kid, I was told one of them would be mine.

And this week, thanks to what I see as the greed and finagling of one of my relatives, that is no longer true.

Basically, the shit that has been going down looks a whole lot like Falcon Crest, you guys.

No, I take it back.  It's definitely more like Dynasty.

Get your 80s references straight!

I had no idea how it could be.  I also realize it's crass to talk about inheritances before someone has passed, or to bemoan someone else getting theirs.  It wasn't my choice to open these cans of worms, I promise you that.  But this is my life at the moment, and I try to bring honesty to the blog.  Because this shit happens.

You've figured out by now that my gram is still alive, but she's not in good shape, which is how some of this stuff came up to begin with.  She doesn't leave her bed much, she's on oxygen, and she's not really of sound mind, though she is pretty lucid.  She has almost died several times this year but somehow keeps beating the odds to come back.  But this makes it very difficult to determine what it is she wants, and whether she's being manipulated, or if she is in fact the manipulator, which she has been known to be.  I go see her several times a week and try to help grocery shop, do laundry, and generally keep an eye on her, but let's be real.  I'm not a full-time nurse, and she won't allow one in the house, so things are in rough shape over there.  I don't want to be having conversations about money and wills and who gets what.  It makes me so uncomfortable.

But this is the hard part to admit:  I will say that having a rental property would have helped us out a lot.  I did think about it occasionally and dream.  We've seen a lot of our friends have them and it provides some extra security that we could use right now.

But the bottom line is we are just fine without it, and always will be.  Who knows?  Maybe we will have one at some point.  Or maybe our life is just crazy complicated enough without it, and I should be thanking my lucky stars.  Like I said:  life is hilarious!  Who can predict?

What I do know is that I wouldn't trade one second of the freedom I've had these last twenty years for a house, or a camper, or a ring, or whatever else I thought was mine but now, overnight, is not.  I had to do some mega-processing on the whole thing because, like I said, I'm not immune myself to greed and wanting.  The one Big Solution looked tempting, the deus ex machina come to save the day.  But this is not it, and releasing that--and the drama that goes along with--has felt fantastic.

I'm also glad I had a chance to write here about how incredibly lucky I have been, and what an amazing life I've been able to lead, and how happy I am to be here with my family, and our extended family, and our friends, who have shown us tremendous love and acceptance.  Those things make me feel super-rich.

Screen Time and Angie Drinks a Half Cup of Coffee

My kids spend too much time with their faces in screens.  I know that many parents feel the same way.  It's not just the guilt of recommended guidelines, it's also that Josh and I noticed that our children act like perfect little assholes when they've had their faces in a screen for too long.  After hours of numbifying screen time they're much more likely to argue with each other, slam doors, cry, yell at us.   And since we feel like our kids are more likely to abide by rules when they've had some say in creating them, we brought this screen time issue to a family meeting.

At the family meeting we compelled the children with science, like this article about how children who spent too much time in screens had trouble reading emotions in people.  By consensus we all decided that the kids would refrain from any home use of screens during their school week, which is Monday thru Thursday, but then would have free screen time reign on the weekends.  Josh and I were pleased with this, it afforded much more time in the evenings to get everything done for the next day.

Everything was great, until I noticed that my kids, kids who love to play outside in ditches, thrill at being up for hours in their treehouse, revel in the freedom of their bicycles, were spending ALL weekend with their faces stuck in a screen.  We had to revisit the issue.

Again at a family meeting we discussed the screen time, and how it was taking away from so many of the fun things they like to do.  This time through painstaking negotiations we came to a 6 hour limit on the weekend.  We didn't do a per day limit, because the kids felt there might be days when they'd like to spend the day stuck in a screen.  However they chose to spend their time (6 hours, we decided on 2 hours per weekend day, taking into account they always have 3 day weekends), when their time was up, it was up.  We kept the no screen time during the weekday rule, with one exception, 15 minutes per day, intended to motivate a child in school, but he is still limited to a total of 6 hours per week.

I was so happy to have this defined number and feel like we had some control, and consensus, and that I might actually see my children playing outside again, until I realized that I was going to have to find a way to track this time.  I was having a really hard time coming up with a plausible, workable idea.

Then on Tuesday, I was set to volunteer in the kids' classrooms, and I was feeling extremely drowsy.  I had given up coffee a year ago, (I don't need any help in the irritable, sweating, and jittery department), but I decided maybe I needed a little pick me up to deal with the torture of 24 seven year olds.  I drank one half cup of coffee out of the smallest mug we had in the house.  I completed my volunteer duties with a fervor and unluckily for the students with a slight irritable edge.  Then on the way home, I started getting bountiful, manic driven ideas for how to track this time.

We now have a system.  Each child is going to get a terra cotta flower pot to decorate to their liking. And I decided I would break their time into 15 minute increments.  They each get 24 coins in their flowered pot on Thursday evening, each child's coins are a separate color so they can't steal from each other (I found margi gras coins, green, gold and purple, which should have been on clearance, but I guess the dollar store doesn't roll like that).  When they want to watch tv, check email, play minecraft ect.  they give Josh or I the coin and set a timer for themselves.  When the coins are gone the time is gone.  If they have coins leftover (I don't anticipate this being a problem), good for them, but either way, next weekend they start fresh with 24 coins.

The best part about this plan is that they all agreed to it, they each have a part in it, and we find in our house that's the best way to get rules to stick.  Hopefully, this will stick, and my children who are growing up in the digital age, will live with a little more balance.

Choices, Choices

For the last month, I've been consumed with paint color cards, filling nail holes, and cleaning paint brushes.  I've been painting each of the kids' rooms.  We moved into this house nearly two years ago, and since that first weekend, I've been promising to paint their rooms.  This process has taught me how much my neurotic, control freak tendencies are interfering with my children's ability to trust their guts, and that I'd really rather they had confidence in their choices, than my house look like a Pottery Barn catalog.

We started with Luke's room.  Luke and I had already discussed color, and much like any choice we make with him, he was easy.  Now, I've discussed how parenting Luke is not always easy, but making these kinds of choices with him is always easy.  He and I had picked out some navy blue paint chips, and he told me which one he liked, so like I said, the process should have been easy, except it wasn't.  You see, as much as I like to think of myself as a "free-range parent"  I'm really more of a psychotic control freak.  I had a blue in mind, and when Luke chose between the two blue paint chips we'd narrowed down, I was convinced he picked the wrong one.  I went with my first instinct, and immediately began to talk him out of it. Well, that one is nice, but don't you think this one will go better with your window coverings?  He, being easy about these things, said, Sure.  Then I started to feel bad.  I hate this parenting quality I have, and I know it results in my children questioning themselves.  I've seen it many times, and even though I know I contribute to their waffling, I'm constantly asking them to tell me what they really want, then going back and telling them why they're wrong.  In an effort to change, I covered up the names of the paint colors, and asked him again what he wanted.  Sure enough, he picked his first choice again.  I resigned myself to paint it, and it looks great.

You would think this one interaction would have given me all the insight I needed into myself, and I would have made changes.  Like most people, though, I don't learn things easily.  Maybe, that's not like most people, but I don't learn things easily, and many of these habits are so entrenched, they take repeated, gloriously ugly screw ups for me to learn what I need to learn.  And in this instance I hadn't screwed up gloriously enough.  Luke was generally unscathed by this interaction, and although I felt bad about second guessing him, I didn't get the deeper message.

Skip a few weeks to my daughter's room.  My tween.  She got this great rainbow quilt from a friend of ours, and she wanted her room to be fun and eclectic.  Originally we discussed a purple, but when we got a couple of the paint samples up on the wall, she was over purple (which was a color I had pushed anyway).  She decided she wanted to try a green and a yellow, I talked her into looking at a blue (which she didn't really want because All my friends' bedrooms are turquoise).   In the home improvement store, she busied herself picking out paint samples and I busied myself shooting down her choices.  She really wanted a bright yellow green, even though I tried to talk her into a more muted green tone.  I let her pick the chartreuse, thinking, I'll just talk her into the yellow and blue later (Yes, we picked a blue, which was not really turquoise, but kind of aqua like, and yes, that was all me).  We got the paint samples home, painted them on the wall, and she immediately said, I like the green.  

In that instant, I started her questioning her choice, to add insult to injury, I posted a pic with the paint samples to facebook, and asked all my "friends" for their opinions, (which of course varied wildly, and ultimately didn't matter because they weren't going to be living in the room.  No offense facebook friends, I truly do value your opinions.)  She read every stinking comment.  I later found her in her room crying at the agony of not being able to make a decision.  Looking at my daughter, crumpled in a ball of tears, and tweenage pleaser indecision, I realized what is probably blatantly obvious to everyone besides myself, that I ask this amazing, spirited, intelligent, witty, gifted girl to make her own decisions, and listen to her intuition, and feel confident in her choices, and then I go and talk her out of them.  Lame.  Bad, bad, mommy.

I snuggled her up, and we talked it through, and I realized that she really did want the green, but she was so wrapped up in pleasing everyone else she had completely disregarded her choice.  Needless to say, I painted that room green.  Yellowish green.  Chartreuse.  Almost neon.  The whole stinking room.  I apologized to my child for questioning her wisdom about her own room, and told her I thought she had made the right choice for herself, and she's still saying she loves it.  It's actually pretty cute, different, fun and full of energy, just like her.  If I have to paint it in a year or two, her learning to listen to her gut, and me learning to let my kids make their own decisions, will be worth every brush stroke.

As for Clive, he immediately said, Purple, dark, dark purple.  I had in mind a color called Swimming Pool Blue, but I had learned something from the other two.  Lucky Clive, always gets the benefit of my hard won wisdom.  Well, almost, I still couldn't help myself from questioning him, Are you sure?  And he looked me right in the eye, with all the confidence of the third child and said, YEP!

PBSD

Sometimes I am a real serious victim of Post Busy Stress Disorder (PBSD).  You haven't heard of PBSD?   Hoo boy.   Lucky you.

I got back from Thailand feeling pretty effing centered, let me tell you.  We spent a lot of time in meditation and doing all kinds of what you might call spirit work--shamanic blessings and Buddhist blessings and time in nature and breathing time and time together.  The light in the jungle is pretty soft and diffuse in February and everywhere is lush and green.  Time works differently there.  Your body is in serious danger of turning into a huge pile of smiling, relaxed, tuned-in ooze.

It was a break from mom-ing and professor-ing and all the other duties.  But I also gave myself a vacation from all of my daily worries:  answering emails, doing my hair, putting on makeup.  I packed maybe 3 outfits for the whole trip.  This meant I was completely disgusting by the end of the ten days, but it also meant I had a lot of free time to not worry about how I looked and just totally, totally experience the whole she-bang.  There was one moment at the foot of a waterfall that was along the lines of an out-of-body experience.  So that was nice.

Plus:  elephants.  All over, everywhere we went.  They are good to be around, on a soul level.

So even though it took 36 heinous hours for me to get back to the states, I felt pretty good.  I would have liked that feeling to last.

Hilarious.

I got back on a Saturday night and had to teach Monday night.  I spent Sunday puttering around the house, I think, doing laundry, straightening up, going through mail.

Then Monday happened.  And then two weeks went by, with many, many fourteen-hour work days and no days off.  A few deadlines happened.  Also, a monster NSF grant.  A conference.  Plus, my grandma was feeling really needy after not seeing me for ten days.  And my kids.  Maybe E., though he hides it well.  Definitely Peanut.  For sure Peanut.  This happened to him while I was gone, and he still hasn't quite gotten over it:

I don't know what his expression is intended to convey here, but it is along the lines of, "Why must I suffer so?"

I'm tempted to go on, but that would be the PBSD talking.  One terrible symptom of PBSD is the desire to list everything you have accomplished from your to do list on social media.  Part of this is wanting someone to notice that you are dying inside while maintaining an exterior of gettin-er-done-ness.  It's also because when I'm suffering from the throes of EBD (Extreme Busy-ness Disorder) my life is run as one large to do list, and then I start communicating with people in list form, even when the Extreme Busy-ness has turned into PBSD and I am no longer heinously busy.  I can feel this happening to me.  Rather than connecting with the human in front of me, my eyes glaze over, and I either start thinking about how I can check one more thing off the list or I feel a compulsive need to go over with them what I have already checked.  As if this is important.

It's a sickness.  I know that I have done this to many of you, my loved ones.  Dear All of Facebook:  I apologize.

The other really bad symptom of PBSD is when, even as the Extreme Busy-ness has passed and life is just it's old kooky, full self, you still feel and act as if you are suffering from EB.  For example:  I woke up this morning with an open calendar and many things on the list.  This is a happy occurrence, because for the first day in a long time, I would actually have some time to accomplish the things on the list before bedtime.  I might even have an hour of free time!

Boy, did I have some plans.  Let me tell you.

But then a bunch of wee little piddly emergencies happened that required emotional decision-making and clarity on my part, and one thing list-making does not give you, usually, is emotional clarity.  For that, you have to sit still for a while or talk to someone who might be able to listen and perhaps even offer useful advice.  You need some space.  You need to be in touch with your center, your feel good, your north star.  Not in touch with a list.

Then a meltdown occurred because I was not, after all, going to get the things on the list done.  And I very badly needed some space.

I can see now that this meltdown was, oddly, a happy occurrence.  Because I did call someone (thanks Dad!) who was able to listen to my emotional quandary and, in fact, offer some very good advice.  I was able to handle my quandary (which was never on the list) from a place of integrity and clarity and then, as if by some miracle, I felt the hold of PBSD, and the list, loosen its grip on me.

Yep, a meltdown brought some clarity.  Hallelujah.

Which brings me here.  Because every once in a while it is good to do something not on the list, like blogging.  It is good to listen to what you want and need in the moment, and not just to what you must do.  I am happy to have my perspective back.  And some space.

Strings: All You Need for a Happy Marriage

What's a happy marriage?

One day Josh was telling me that a friend of his confessed, "If it wasn't for the kids, I think we would have gotten divorced by now.", and I said, "Who wouldn't have?"  Josh smiled an all knowing smile and nodded his head in agreement.

Josh and I were high school sweethearts. We had an intense and passionate relationship.  I sometimes say when I'm trying to explain how I felt about him, that for a time, I really think Josh replaced Jesus as my savior.  I knew he was EVERYTHING, and that we were destined to be together forever.  I knew that nothing would ever make me question my choice in him or my devotion to him.  I knew that we were predestined, meant to be, the only two people on the planet to ever really be in love, and I knew that no one else understood this feeling.

On a Christmas morning the year after we graduated from high school, Josh proposed.  I knew this was the beginning of everything I'd ever wanted.  I also understood that there would be trouble.  All that, for better or worse jazz, I knew that we would face bad times, but I also knew that the all consuming love we felt for each other would get us through anything, and keep us "happy".

You see, I believed that any unhappiness would come from outside of ourselves.  I never suspected that either one of us would ever question our decision to be together.  I was wrong.

Now, you're worried, you think I'm going to announce my divorce.  Sit tight, I'm not.  I love Josh in a much deeper and more spiritual way than I ever loved him before,  because I have learned a lot about marriage in the last 17 years and 8 months.  And one thing I've learned is that sometimes the bad times come from within.  They come from you, they come from your spouse, and those can feel worse than the bad times that come from outside.   They might even make you question whether you should be together.

In my marriage, a marriage I would clearly define as a happy one, there have been countless times where the only thing keeping us together was our children, or our mortgage, or the business we own. There have been plenty of times when through tears I've thought, "What if we would have both been happier with someone else?  What would my life be like without him?  Should I leave?"  And I'm sure Josh has had the same conversations with himself.

At the end of these conversations, when we've made up, and we've told each other why we choose the other, and remind each other about how much love is between us, and all is right with the world, I look at him and know that I've made the right choice.  I know that we can indeed get through anything together.  I know that time and again, through all of these bad times, inflicted from outside or in, we end up choosing each other.  We will always end up choosing each other.  That's commitment folks.

For those days when my marriage is being held together by the string of my family, or my mortgage, or my business, I feel fortunate to have built this life with him, that keeps me connected to him. We've tied these strings to each other to keep us together when those times are tough, when like any human we wonder if we've made the right choice.  Sometimes those strings are tight, testing our ability to stay connected, and there are so many days when the strings between us are slack because we're holding onto one another.  Either way, they are strong.

I'm writing this blog post for Josh's friend, and so many others who never thought these worse moments in a marriage would come from inside the marriage.  The friends who've heard all these falsehoods about marriage and happiness.  The friends who think those questions they have about the solidity of their marriage are unique, and indicative of the end.

It's ok, if sometimes it's only the strings holding you together.  It's ok, if you're questioning whether you should have gotten married in the first place.  It's normal, and you can still have a happy marriage, as long as neither of you chooses to cut those ties that bind.  It's all your choice.  You can choose to weather the storm, letting those strings hold you to each other in an ocean that's trying to rip you apart, and if you grab onto that string and pull you'll soon be back in each other's arms.

Take heart and know that lots of happy marriages had moments when the only thing that tied them together was the the kids.

The Elephant, The River

One of the things that most convinced me to violate reason and financial responsibility and social acceptability to go to Thailand was a line from the travel agent's trip description that said "After a hike to a hill tribe village, you will go into the jungle to find your elephant, ride it into the river, and bathe it."

Basically, I read that line, and I knew I had to go.  I didn't know anything about Thailand or about the elephants, not to mention how I was going to afford the trip, but I read that line, and I signed up.  It was the one detail from the schedule I remembered in all the preparations for the trip, and for when I got there.  When people asked why I was going, I told them about this detail.

I didn't really let myself imagine it, though, me riding an elephant, bathing her, seeing what she felt like, acted like.  I kept the thought of it locked away, like a little present to myself I knew was coming but didn't want to spoil the surprise of.

But then, the elephant, the river.  Things happen.  Things turn out not the way you plan.  Things are complicated.

The trip was fantastic--every day, just an amazing collection of once-in-a-lifetime experiences and blessings.  The elephant ride came late in our journey, the day before we were set to leave the jungle.  Six of the women in our group chose to ride early in the morning--and all came back glowing from the experience, some having had near-mystical experiences.  Because mornings can be cool in the jungle in February, they hadn't ridden into the river or bathed the elephants, but riding on the necks of those big, beautiful beings, experienced deep connections with the animals.

I had felt a cold coming on and chose to have a slower morning--I wanted to ride the elephants with the other group of women, late in the afternoon.  We spent the day driving around in the back of a truck visiting some villages, taking gifts to preschoolers, hiking through the jungle, and then rafting down the river back to Chai Lai Orchid.

We got back late, and the elephants were finished with their workday, and there was a great scramble to get us on their necks and off for our ride.  I felt like I didn't even have time to think about what was happening, and four of these huge mama elephants were all crowded around a high platform--I had to decide whether or not to try to squeeze in between them to get to the platform stairs, which meant putting myself in the middle of eight giant back legs.  Plus, there were two babies who were just scampering around, and I felt hyper-aware of that, and didn't want to make sudden movements and freak anyone out.

You know:  trampling.  It's a bummer.

Plus, there's this:  elephants who work in tourism in Thailand?  They're not treated that well, usually.  They're often owned by people who make tons of money from them, and who push the mahouts--the elephant handlers--to work the elephants harder than they should be (the mahouts aren't well treated, either).  This usually means that elephants have saddles attached to their backs, and then four or five (usually Chinese) tourists take rides on them.  The more tourists, the more money.  The mahout sits on the elephant's head.

This isn't great for the elephants.  It's much more humane to have a single rider who sits on their necks.

Plus, the elephants drag their chains around with them. Chains are actually the most humane way (compared, say, to ropes) to tie the elephants up at night so that they don't wander off and cause a lot of destruction or escape, but, you know.  Chains are evocative.  They signal slavery.  So there's that.

Plus plus, one of the elephants at Chai Lai Orchid resort (though none are owned by Chai Lai--they don't support these practices) is trained to bark like a dog, put her front legs up a tree, lay down and roll around, and so on.  Circus monkey stuff.  Hard to watch.  This had been going on in front of us for a few days.

So I'm real aware that these elephants are working hard all day, and then we get back late, and they're tired, and I'm feeling very ambivalent about the whole "riding the elephants into the river" thing anyway, but this is the thing I came to Thailand for.  

Even though it ended up not being what I was there for at all.  Funny how that works.

But I don't really have time to decide, and in that case the default mode seems to be to just do it, so I scramble up to the platform.  Get on the elephant's neck.  No saddle, which is good, but I still don't feel stable at all, and it's so high up.  I'm nervous.  The elephant takes off from the platform and as we pass the side of the building, I get clipped in the head by an overhang.  It doesn't hurt, but it reminds me that I have no control in this situation.  I'm just along for the ride.

Next, instead of a ride into the jungle, we hit the river.  Because after this, the workday is over.  The trick of the river is the elephant takes you in, and then the mahout orders it to roll, dumping your ass in the water.  This is supposed to be hilarious, and it is thrilling, I'll admit.  But then the elephants are commanded to stay on their sides in the river, with the idea being you'll climb back on and the elephant will roll to standing with you on it.

Except these are giant, giant animals (did I already say that?) and when they're on the sides in the water, they're moving around, kicking their legs, and they're slippery and wet.  Plus:  end of the day.  They're not really that into listening to the mahouts, who are on the river bank, watching and yelling commands in Burmese.  My elephant doesn't want to lay on her side at all, for a good long time.  Then finally she goes down, and I get dumped.  I didn't get the message that I'm supposed to get back on.  The mahouts don't speak English and I don't know what they want me to do.

Finally, after what feels like hours, she rolls on to her side, and I figure out I'm supposed to try to get on, though she's worming around, and I try to get on the elephant's back again.  This is not easy, because she's on her side, so you have to kind of situate yourself parallel to the water for when she rises.  She starts to get up, and I slide off into the river again.

The mahouts are shouting, I don't speak Burmese or Thai, and I sort of want out of the whole thing.  I want them to stop yelling at the elephant.  I feel like she's tired, and has had a long day, and is over it.  The mahouts seem to want their day done with too, and are tired of stupid tourists.  I don't know what's next, or even if I can get back on.  It's weird to me that I'm smiling in these photos (and they are funny!) because I remember feeling, um, a little terrified.

Then my friend Julia appears, as if out of nowhere.  I hadn't been able to see or hear anything except the mahouts and the elephant, but of course everyone had been watching.  So Julia, fearless Julia, who had had her peaceful ride on the elephant that morning, jumps in the water and seemingly without any fear at all climbs on our elephant.  She must have yelled at me to get on too, because before I knew it, I was on behind her, moving her hips over to the left so we'd be centered when the elephant rose, and we got out of the water.

My God, she saved me, this Julia.  You can see I was hanging on to her for dear life, after all that.

It really did feel like triumph.

But then Julia got off at the platform, and I rode "my" elephant to the top of the mountain in the jungle, her baby walking beside us the whole way.  She yanked at leaves at we went by, a hungry mama done with her day.  It was quiet.  I was still shaking from the river.  The exhilaration of getting out of the river was wearing off, and I was glad to get off at the top of the trail and let that mama elephant be, and think about what happened.  I walked back to Chai Lai soaking wet, covered in elephant mud, and unsure about all of it.

Here's what I think now:  I would have been just as happy not riding her at all.  I would have been happy feeding her, bathing her, and touching her.  This day, for example, where we bathed a non-working elephant at Elephant Nature Park, was just as awesome:

In other words, I didn't need to be up top at all, but didn't know how to stop the process once I was in it, or even what I wanted or how to ask for it once it had begun.  This seems like a metaphor for so many struggles I've had to find voice in the midst of things I'd begun but then wanted to stop.

And, as our tour leader noted, this is all really complex.  I don't mean for my experience to take away from the experience of the women who rode in the morning.  Or to blame the mahouts, many of whom are exploited refugees themselves.  Tourists make life possible there, in a lot of ways.  I don't have any answers.  I just know how I felt in that one goofy moment after being dumped in the river.

And the fact is I did ride on an elephant, did feel the wiry hair on her head, the movement of her massive body beneath me, her willingness to take me with her and not hurt me, even when she was tired and being poked with the mahout's ankus, a sharp metal hook.  This brings tears to my eyes, thinking about it, about how easy it would have been for her to really hurt me, any of us, and how she would have been justified, and yet this is not what happened at all.