Saturday, March 21, 2009

A Layover In Condorstown

As with every city we've temporarily called 'home' over the last five seasons, I can't quite picture myself ever being completely permanent here in Bakersfield. Maybe it's the fact that Dave and I are both thousands of miles from our families, maybe it's my need to be near fresh water, maybe it's my innate fear of natural disasters. But in the journey of life that we are taking, this is the hockey-centered phase, and Bakersfield is a great place for us to set up shop and enjoy another season. Let me tell you why...

The weather.

I've mentioned before that the sometimes monotonous, sometimes dangerously polluted weather in Bakersfield drives me a little crazy. At heart I'm a four-seasons girl, the smells and sights of a quarterly change make me feel in sync. But I'm no fool, and I do not dream of the long, frigid, snowy and really, really long winter my Midwestern homies have been enduring. It's mid-March and I've been wearing flip-flops for some time now, we stopped using our heat (which we only had to use for a few hours in the evening) a month ago. I lay by the pool in my bathing suit last week and sweat profusely. Sure the summer is like a blistering, hellish inferno, but I don't miss dressing like an Eskimo to attend games in the partially open-air rink in Crimmitschau or riding a bike while holding an umbrella during the rainy winter in Tilburg.

The fans.

There is something to be said for the drums and soccer-style chanting in Germany or the always-thrilling use of flaming torches indoors in the Netherlands. The crowds are raucous and crazy and wild and drunk in that overly-enthusiastic way that Europeans posses at sporting events.

But here in Bakersfield, a.k.a. Condorstown, they have their own brand of hockey-lust. They come in droves, sometimes over 7,000 strong on big weekends, sporting paraphernalia while roaring with joy or booing with hate in their hearts depending on the occasion. Just like their European counterparts, these fans have a love for their team and a distaste for losing that makes it challenging to be the loved one of a player sitting in their midst. Challenging in the sense that I have to hold back from giving some people a serious piece of my mind. I just the mantra 'it's just a game, it's just a game' to bring myself back to a peaceful state of mind.

There are some differences though, positive differences in my opinion, that can be seen in the arena here. Firstly, no smoking in the arena. You have no idea what a room full of chain smoking hockey fans can do to kill the desire to attend games. I've had enough second-hand Marlboro Reds to last a lifetime. In California the law literally protects me from such smoke indoors. In Germany, all I could hope for was some kind of SARS mask.

Secondly, the people filling the stands here are MUCH more diverse. It's not exactly a secret that hockey is still a very Caucasian sport, making even the golf scene of recent years look like the United Nations. But at the Rabobank I watch the game in a rink full of men, women and children from all over the skin-color spectrum. That kind of racial and ethnic diversity bodes well not only for the business aspect of a sport that struggles to grow in a NASCAR-flooded American market, but also for the future of the on-ice appearance of a traditionally rather white roster. Certainly there is more diversity within the ranks of players than ever before, but it definitely doesn't represent the proportion of the Condor's fans who are of color. Hopefully the young ones who are so excited by the spectacle that is Condor's hockey get inspired and become players themselves.

Finally, did you happen to notice that I wrote men, women and children of all colors? The smokey, riotous atmosphere of European venues where Dave played weren't necessarily the most 'family-friendly' places to be. In contrast, the hockey-portion of the games in Bakersfield are only the opening act for Dora or Scooby as far as the little ones are concerned. I, for one, only have eyes for the Zooperstars on that particular night of the season. (Sidenote: if you don't know what the Zooperstars are, get with the times)

The ability to understand.

Living in non-English-speaking countries was an awesome experience, a humbling, exciting, adventurous experience that I hope to be able to continue someday. But after two years, being back to where the dominant language is my mother-tongue is very comforting.

I can understand everything. I can read road signs and ingredients and menus and newspaper headlines. Granted, I am proud of the efforts made by both Dave and myself to learn Dutch then German, but the full comprehension of fluency in a language is something you take for granted until you lose it. As far as hockey goes, I can read the team website, understand when the goals are announced and what the other wives are saying to me at all times. Certainly, the women of our team in Crimmitschau spanned three languages to come up with some kind of Czech-German-English mish-mash that was most easily understood after three bottles of wine...and we had some very interesting conversations late into many a night/early morning. But the effort was tiring and sometimes made for feeling a bit isolated. I even appreciate being able to understand insults that are hurled at our players in English, the imagination can really run wild when trying to guess at the meaning of angry German epithets.

The familiarity.

The six months that we lived in Bakersfield in 2006 were a fun, exciting time. Dave's team made playoffs, I had a job, we had great friends and we were preparing for our wedding. The friendships we made during that time endured, and when we arrived back here for the reunion tour it was comforting to see the Hofstrands, the Venedams, the Fahsbenders and the Ianieros. It is nice for Dave to be able to play with Balan and Andrew with Marty and Mark as his coaches, because people who move every 8 months like anything familiar. It's nice to know your way around the town, know where to grocery shop and where to find the dog park, to feel a bit like you're returning somewhere you already enjoyed once instead of arriving somewhere completely new.

The season is getting older, hopefully with the extended life of playoffs ahead of us, so pardon me if I wax nostalgic over our current position in life. With four more games, all at home, I hope to be able to fully enjoy the way this place has fit into our puzzle.

Source.
Posted by Lane at 5:43 PM 1 comments
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Tuesday, March 10, 2009

The Calendar Says Winter

But in Bako, it's Spring.

Posted by Lane at 7:56 PM 4 comments

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Walking Around, Looking At Stuff


Sometimes, for me at least, it's easy to get bogged down in the sprawling stripmall-esque nature of Bakersfield. Sometimes the dry, dull colors of the desert, even when the beautiful mountains can be viewed on pollution-free days, are a bit depressing. At least for me and Dave, two people raised in colorful, well-watered grasslands, forests and lakes. Even the river that runs through this town is just a dry bed. But sometimes I think it's too easy to compare everything to our ideal, homey version of beauty and comfort. And as the sun shines in Bako after the rain came for a few weeks, it's becoming a little difficult to ignore the natural beauty of this over-developed, oil-field of a town.

Having two dogs who take extreme joy in any kind of walking, especially the kind where they don't have to wear their leashes, is a great excuse to leave your house and actually get in the proximity of nature as it exists nestled between suburban developments. So, on a Monday afternoon, we took to the riverbed, and got off our Midwestern high horses to admit that even the dry pastels of the desert can be really beautiful in their way. And appreciating greenery is actually somewhat easier here, since anything budding and blossoming is working extremely hard in less than ideal conditions. Any old flower can grow in rich, black soil with rain and lakes and snow melts and rivers flowing regularly. But on the dry, sandy bottom of the Kern River there are yellow, pink and orange flowers looking their most fabulous despite drought conditions. There are shells, empty houses of former water creatures, scattered everywhere in the sand and gray trees that lost their battle with thirst years ago, and even those dusty skeletons take on a certain beauty when it's a no-work weekday that you can spend walking with your dogs and your David.

And a walk with your boys and your girl, in addition to bringing you closer to nature, can do wonders to lift your spirits. No matter what city we live in, no matter how lucky we are to have friends, a backyard and good Mexican food, we are still far away from home. You get homesick, a bit blue, a bit desperate for familiarity. But all that can wash away, can seem irrelevant, when you're walking, breathing fresh-ish air, seeing the smiles on the faces of your dogs and solving the world's problems all in the span of an hour.


Posted by Lane at 2:37 AM 5 comments
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Border Patrol

video

If you walk past our neighbor's front lawn, you'll notice that it is peppered with holes, dug by a mysterious mole and then filled in by my neighbor in a futile attempt to salvage his lawn and banish the beast. As is evidenced by the new, rather large hole in our back yard, the mystery mole has found it's way under the fence and into our yard. And Falcor doesn't like it, doesn't like it one bit. He currently spends his day sniffling, snorfling, and digging until he finds the intruder. An act just as futile as my neighbor's hole-filling, I'm sure.

Posted by Lane at 12:56 AM 4 comments
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Sunday, March 1, 2009

What's In A Name: The Clonk Edition


Working these recent months as a substitute teacher, after quitting my job, has given me a new understanding of many things. The importance of proper hand washing techniques, the propensity of second graders to tattle on each other and feel proud of it, and the alarming number of middle school students who can (and do) grow mustaches. One insight I never would have expected, however, was how much explaining has to be done about my name. I've always been lucky to have a name that is easily pronounced and spelled. Even in October when I legally changed my name, I wasn't exactly adding anything complex with those four new letters. An onomatopoeia to be sure, fodder for some raised eyebrows, but nothing a 9-year old can't sound out.

What the students I sub for couldn't know is how odd it still seems to me when I write my name on that whiteboard. (Newsflash that I hadn't received until recently: Chalkboards are a nearly extinct species) It took two years and two months for me to find the courage to HYPHENATE my name, and changing it by way of deleting my maiden name was never an option. And even though I know it's not especially common, especially around these parts, to hyphenate after marriage, the reaction I get has still been surprising to me.

From kindergarten to 8th grade (I haven't had the courage to sub for high school yet) I get similar confused looks when they read the board with my name on it. It's not like I wrote a name that is all consonants or rhymes with genitalia or anything. So it's become standard when I introduce myself to give a brief explanation, something like this:

"Good morning! My name is Mrs. Clark-Bonk. It's a hyphenated name. This is a hyphen. (points to hyphen) A hyphen takes two names and makes them one. (to preempt questions) Yes, you can call me Mrs. Bonk. Yes, you can call me Mrs. Clark. I answer to either."

(inevitably) " Can we call you Mrs. C.?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. B.?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. C. B.?"

"Sure."

(and the fateful) "How do you get a hyphenated name?"

(stifling a heavy sigh) "Well you see, when you get married your name doesn't change automatically. You only change it when you decide that's right for you. What I decided is that I like my maiden name and want to keep it, but I also wanted to add my husband's name."

Responses include:

"You can DO that?"

or

"I didn't know that was allowed."

or

"Cool."

or

"My wife won't be doing that."

Yikes. As their adult figure of the day in a public school, I can't reply the way I'm naturally inclined. I wish I had the ability or opportunity to describe how sad it makes me to hear those replies. I'd love to introduce, simply suggest, the idea that changing your name from one man's to another's is slightly antiquated. Even if it doesn't imply ownership anymore, it still implies something that most people never ponder.

I know that if I ever were to say this many of those students would have a counter argument. They would, like many of my friends have said to me, say that changing your name is symbolic, an act of love, a nominal way of becoming a family with your husband. And I get that. I really, really get that. And I respect that line of reasoning completely, it's same line of thinking that led me to, albeit a bit tearfully, to add that hyphen. And I know that more than a few of my newly named friends shed that same tear, despite above-mentioned symbolism, love and family ties.

What bothers me really isn't that women change their names in general. What bothers me is that sometimes, oftentimes even, women are questioned accusingly if their decision is to leave their name unchanged. What bothers me more is that men are not even expected to ponder this huge leap of symbolism. I'm sure you can tell me a story of your friend's cousin's brother's friend's uncle who changed HIS name instead of her changing HER name, but overall we know that's not the case. Dave, a loving, chivalrous, sensitive guy, never even fathomed considering taking on the act of symbolic love or becoming a nominal part of MY family instead of vice versa. And if he had, he would have received quite a ribbing for it, I can assure you. The circles he runs in aren't exactly feminist enclaves.

All I'm saying is that I wish, perhaps someday, that women who hyphenate their new names or leaving their maiden name untouched are regarded with as much disinterest and normalcy as those who change theirs. The reasons for wanting to keep all or part of your name are just as valid as those who take on a married name. I want to maintain a nominal connection with MY family, in addition to adding one to Dave's. I want to be recognized for who I am, which for most of my life was Clark and only Clark. I went to university, then got my Master's, all as Clark. And I can't bear to lose all the Superman references that Lois Lane Clark Kent brings. People always think they are the first one to ever think of it, and I love the look on their faces when that bubble is burst.
Posted by Lane at 9:26 AM 6 comments
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