gypsycarol: Moving

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Moving

I love this packed-in Wallingford neighborhood with water views of Lake Union and the canal. Today, I drove slowly down my street, cars on both sides as always, waited for Debra's Penske van to get situated, and then parked carefully in my minimal garage space. Driving, parking where I live is always a tight squeeze and I see the moving van is a bit of a walk from the front door for the movers. I meet Debra in the hall; she says she is moving to a house in West Seattle.
The little rental moving van reminds me of Mill Valley and how we Marinites would try to warn the monster trucks that store a dozen households' belongings before they could turn onto the twisty, narrow Mt. Tamalpais roads and get stuck in the redwoods. As the vans lumbered by, I would wave my arms and shake my head from side to side, which is "No" in sign language. I lived in the flat, flood-prone part of town, on camellia-lined Miller Avenue, and within walking distance of The Book Depot. Other people lived on the mountain, and I never discovered how they got up there, and left, with all their stuff.
I have lived in a number of places and, for me, the perfect situation would involve the civil amenities of relative quiet, clean and healthy air, and a variety of songbirds, combined with fun urban things like great restaurants, museums, and lots of interesting people to meet and things to do. I settle for some part of this picture.

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Born in Spokane, Washington, the first decade of my life I lived downtown in the hotel my father managed. There, my friends were retired musicians, artists, dancers, and I even had trendy lessons in elocution. We moved to a tough urban neighborhood and then to a house in the suburbs where there was a swimming pool and places to ride a bicycle. School bored me and my grades were mediocre, until I began at the University of Idaho. At seventeen, I found I loved learning – I had always read – the Friday afternoon beer fests, and joined Alpha Chi Omega. I married, had two children, divorced, and, with a passion to understand people, what they are like, how they behave, and why. I went to graduate school at the University of Washington in anthropology. In Seattle, I met the inimitable Lola and began fieldwork with the Machvaia Roma. An elusive people, they piqued my curiosity. I dove into their world and became the Outsider/Insider. They called me The Djuhli. Recent publications? Lola’s Luck: My Life Among the California Gypsies and the Church of Cheese: Gypsy Ritual in the American Heyday.

Now I live again in Seattle near my family and far from Gypsies. For forty years, studying, living with, writing about the Machvaia Roma was my mission. Although I still feel part Machvanka, nearly all my dearest friends have moved along to the Other Side and, to get the Gypsy news, I must phone their children and grandchildren.

Several mornings a week I do aerobics at the local YMCA, row there on occasion with one sister, visit the Asian Art Museum with another, walk at the nearby zoo, Green Lake, or in the new habitat restoration wetlands at Magnuson Park, drive my at-work son crazy with questions about computer glitches, read The New Yorker cover to cover, shop the Coop every Tuesday for organic produce with my daughter, check out used DVDs for sale at Scarecrow – I like French movies – and work the crosswords in the NY Times.

Machvaia rituals, beliefs, and the cultural supports that kept them together are eroding. After generations in American society they have lost many of their traditions and knowledge of their past. It is my wish to preserve their history and help bridge the gap between the two worlds. They have entrusted me with their friendship, and I honor them the best way that I know how- by telling their stories. I hope those who read my blog will share some of my fascination for the people I studied and gain a modicum of compassionate regard for the Gypsies among us.