Love in the Time of Cooties

Last Sunday I began to throw my life away.  Figuratively and literally.  Down an apartment trash shoot (and into a recycle bin, so don't call the green police) I dumped the contents of nearly my entire worldly existence - books, shoes, files, frames, letters from past loves, DVDs, paper towel rolls (hey, they cost money too), discolored photographs, yoga mat, even a toaster.  Luckily, Monday afternoon an entire new sparkling life came my way.  Not up a trash shoot but via Video Skype.  But more on that to come...  First, the deluge.

When I found out my apartment had a case of the bed bugs (let the screaming, itching and gagging begin), I went out of my freakin' mind.  Mainly because the final confirmation came only a handful of days before I left for Belgium.  I remember calling Hannes about 6am in the morning crying and insisting that if he didn't want me to come to visit I would understand.  I was the California plague, and I wasn't going to spread it abroad!  Thankfully he was in his right mind, unlike my panicking, sniffling, loathing self, and brushed the notion aside.  I was, however, going to buy all new luggage and have every stitch of clothing dry cleaned.  I wouldn't wish these devilish creatures on even my worst enemy, let alone my true love.

The worst part of this atrocity is that these creatures like to hide.  Even if you catch them early, as I did, you can never be sure one might be hitchhiking in your bedside alarm clock.  So as I pack up to move to San Francisco on the 1st, everything that can't be cooked in the newly purchased Cootie Cooker (not the copyrighted name), washed or dry cleaned must be tossed down the shoot or hauled away, including every last piece of furniture.  And let's face it, a cooker that takes nearly two hours per load means most stuff you say 'to hell with' and toss away.  I mean, what do you really need to get by?  If the Camino taught me anything (of which it actually taught quite a lot), it was that all you need can fit into a single stained and stinky backpack.

I won't lie, though; it's hard.  Saying goodbye to the old life in such a permanent way takes some guts.  When mom and I did the initial purging before I left for Belgium, we both - now keep in mind we were very unstable emotionally at this point as things were fresh - broke down in tears when we realized Bunny, whom I've had since I was five, had to be incinerated.  Bunny, you should know, is part of the family.  Twice my stepmother has made outfits for him when I was well into my 20s.  He even spent some time without me in Molokai enjoying the ocean view when dad asked for him to be shipped to his Hawaiian house to hang out.  I realize I'm making myself and my family sound crazy, but there you have it.  The end result is that mom and I couldn't bear the thought and tossed the rabbit (this is a stuffed animal I'm talking about, not a 25-year-old graying rabbit) into the hot wash with the rest of the danger zone clothing items and crossed our fingers he'd make it out alive.  My stepmom plans to make him a new outfit to cover the bald spots.

Yet, at the same time, getting rid of these things was freeing.  Every time I threw something away, I thought of Hannes leaving behind so much of his stuff to come to California to be with me.  If he could do it, so could I.  Sure we may end up with zero furniture and limited kitchen supplies (I asked him to spare his juicer), but slowly a new Ikea adorned life would eventually take shape.

Perhaps it was my acceptance (no matter how begrudging) of losing my old life that allowed the new one to knock on my virtual Skype door.  On Monday in my PJ's and glasses, my Camino love (in his bike jersey) gave a mischievous grin and invited me to a life of adventure, love, gypsy travel and lots of Belgian beer and waffles by becoming his wife.  As a girl who used to claim I would never marry, my exuberant 'Yes!' may come as a surprise.  But if you could have seen inside my heart and head the first time Hannes and I kissed on a bench by the river in Leon, you would know that this 'Yes!' appeared instantaneously and was already waiting there this Monday ready to be freed. 


At risk of sounding wise beyond my years (hehe), the beauty of living is that we are offered opportunities to reinvent ourselves all along the way.  Like the cat, nine lives are truly possible.  Living and embracing them all is simply a matter of being open to change and accepting the dualities of life... In my case, that true love in the form of a magical life-altering proposal, has come in the Time Of Cooties.  It wasn't just material things falling down that shoot, it was the girl who used to be.  The Camino changed me, and although I wish this newest lesson had come via something more mild mannered than bed bugs, like,say, a flood or armed robbery, I am so happy to be starting fresh with the man I met in the Meseta mud.  In the arms of Jay the Hauler went Ms. Gypsy.

Looking forward to meeting Mrs. Gypsy.  She may not have furniture but you can bet Sint Bernardus will be stocked in her fridge.