‘Normal’ Isn’T For Everyone

Living in Middle America taught me that Midwesterners tend to see the West as a land of howling weirdos.

We’re all examples of society gone wrong, from the coastal heroin grungers to the peak of oddness in La La Land, Los Angeles. I’m sure they’d have a negative stereotype for Spokane if they knew we existed.

Adding to their impressions was a national story last month of a fire-breathing woman from Olympia. She protested topless bans by dancing on a power pole near Interstate 5 in Seattle.

“So what do you think of that grunge music,” people asked me while I lived in Indiana. Strong ideals of how life should be were pressed upon me.

Being a westerner deep down, I was usually out of step with what was considered normal. So were my friends.

Of the couples I knew, men cooked most often, women handled the finances.

But as my girlfriend and I made plans to move to Spokane, we agreed to try something new, at least temporarily. For six months, I would be the lone breadwinner. I’d pay all the bills and support her until she found the right job.

Rent, groceries, pizzas, dinners, electric bills, weekend trips - it was all up to me.

I proposed those six months as her time to find herself. I painted a picture of her lounging around, sleeping in, discovering what she wanted to do and catching an occasional daytime television show.

At least that’s what I’d do if someone offered me a six-month vacation.

I can go a week without showering if I have HBO and a Learning Channel program featuring marauding insects.

It all sounded so good in theory.

I can hear some of you giggling out there. Because you see it coming. This plan was a pile of quivering intentions about to go bad.

Or at least sour.

The change spun us out of our steady orbit and sent us into nuclear winter.

In the past, we split almost everything down the middle. Sometimes I’d cook and she’d bring the wine. Or she’d pick up dinner at some swank restaurant.

In Spokane, I’d provide the food. Like the Plateau tribes and settlers who followed, I’d find a way to make it work here.

I looked at it as an investment. I am a writer after all and someday I’ll hack out something resembling a novel and she’ll have to support me.

Being the Big Man was good. When she needed a few things, I just handed over my debit card.

“Spend what you need,” I said with a deep voice.

The next time she asked for the card, there was a slight hesitation before I dug deep into my pocket. By the third or fourth time, I whined, “What do we need now?”

It’s not like she was out shopping for new shoes. Far from it. Knowing that cash was tight, she clipped coupons, and targeted sales of things we both used. She made up for any lack of income with a sense of old-fashioned ingenuity for getting by with less.

A 97-cent bottle of witch hazel replaced a $14-dollar container of astringent made by Clinique.

She did her best. I did mine.

It wasn’t enough.

Things got screwy.

At times, I didn’t know how to act or what to say.

Usually I’d just say something wrong.

“Any jobs in the paper today?” became a no-no statement.

“Do you have time to …” was also off limits.

“How was your day?” never came out of these lips as we headed into week three.

All the freedom I’d promised ended up becoming this little cage. It wasn’t working, so our six-month plan shifted as she stepped up the job hunt.

Her tenth week here, she found work. We found our orbit again.

As she began 40 hours in an office again, I could see her confident stride return as as she pulled in her first few paychecks. She kicked in money for rent and bills. I never asked for it, didn’t have to.

Just like our days in Indiana, we stand at the grocery store cashier and split our bills down the middle. We’ve perfected a technique at the stores that allows us both to use our debit cards.

And no one ever gives us a hard time. Not ever.

I had gotten so accustomed to the occasional snide comment in Indiana that came with being a little different.

Spokane has what I call the live-and-let-live mentality of the West. Here you have more space to be what you need to be.

I have no problem with the fire-breathing woman in Olympia. More power to her.