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August 21, 2003
When I was pregnant with Ella, my mother bought us a gorgeous Molly West hand bound baby book, and I’ve been too afraid to ruin it with my handwriting to actually write in it. I want to compose my responses to the book’s questions before I attempt to neatly transcribe them into such a beautiful keepsake. So, I’d like to dedicate this entry to filling in a few of the blanks in Ella’s baby book.
How Did Ella’s Parents Grow-up
Let’s start with Matt. Matt was born in Riverside, CA (in the same hospital as my mother—we thought it was a VERY weird coincidence) on January 14, 1962 to Shari & Jack Morgan. After a brief stint in Olympia, WA while his father was in the military, Matt spent the majority of his early-early years in Los Banos, CA—not the prettiest place on earth, to be sure. You know those barren towns off the I-5 corridor between L.A. and San Francisco—you’re really better off sticking to freeway. His sister Jill was born two years later, and after another two years they discovered that she had ulcerative colitis, a horrid disease of the colon that feels as awful as it sounds, namely, ulcerative. Imagine a two-year-old dealing with that kind of pain. In and out of the hospital for years but too young for a colostomy (colon removal with a bag replacement), the doctors finally realized that Jill was much worse in the winters and recommended that the family move somewhere where it was summer all year round.
Lucky for everyone in the Morgan household, that 365-day summer paradise just happened to be the Big Island of Hawaii. They moved to Kona when Matt was eight, and he still thinks of it as home (in the sense of where he grew up, that is). Jill faired much better there, and managed to hold out until she was in her teens for the surgery. Matt’s father owned and operated a gas station in Los Banos and later owned a construction company that built many of the major roads and buildings in Kona. His mother ran an in-home daycare, where she often watched upwards of 20 children at once, in both California and Hawaii. Growing up in an in-home daycare has given Matt a loving appreciation for children and an excellent sense of child rearing, even though I absolutely hated hearing him talk about how much he knew before Ella was born. He was one of those obnoxious people at dinner parties who thinks he knows everything about raising a child even though he doesn’t have one of his own. You know the type.
When Matt left the islands for college in California, his parents entered a very rocky period and ended up separating and ultimately divorcing. Concurrently, his father’s business completely fell apart, and Matt’s college tuition disappeared. Fortunately, Matt’s “Uncle” Ben, his father’s wealthy best friend, stepped in and footed the bill—for the next 6 years (Matt hated school and spent a long time getting through it, but that’s another entry altogether). Matt moved from California to Tempe to attend Arizona State University (isn’t that like the number one party school in the country?) where he changed his major too many times to count and settled on Political Science. Does he use his degree, you ask? You guessed it, the man doesn’t even vote.
During and shortly after college, Matt ate through jobs as fast as he eats his lunch. Here’s the abridged list: deli clerk, sailing instructor, furniture craftsman manager, waiter, restaurant manager, computer seminar instructor, windsurfing bum, graphic designer and small business owner. When I say abridged, I’m not kidding. You’d think that when you’ve been married for three years, you’d know all the jobs your spouse has had. Hell, you’d think you’d know them before you get married. Not if you marry Matt. I’m still frequently learning of some random, off-the-wall job he held years before we met.
I realize the title of this section refers to “growing up,” and I think it’s safe to say that Matt’s still working on that, which, by the way, is one of the reasons I love him. This leads me to present day Matt, whose small business has taken on new shapes and sizes since we met. Currently, his business provides web, software and management services to musicians and their fan clubs, but I’m quite positive it will morph into something entirely different before he’s done busting his hump for good.
On to the Mama. I was born in Fairbanks, Alaska on February 20, 1976 to John and Dal Asher, who at that point were an Air Force grunt and a medical assistant respectively. We moved from Fairbanks to Anchorage and then on to, of all obscure places, Manhattan, Kansas (or as they like to call themselves, the Little Apple). When I was almost five and we lived in a tiny duplex on Leavenworth St., my mom gave birth to my brother Rob, a healthy, rascal of a baby brother. When I was seven, my dad decided to join the Defense Attaché Office and work with the US Embassies around the world. Our first post: New Delhi, India. I remember telling my friends in my third grade class that we were moving to India, and they all (probably to this day) thought I was moving to Indiana.
India, Sweden, Pakistan, The Philippines, Israel, Jordan, Barbados, and now Romania: that has been my parents’ path across the globe. I left for college during the move from Pakistan to The Philippines, but spent summers and holiday breaks in Manila, Tel Aviv and Amman. Idiotically I never went to see them when they lived in Barbados. And yes, I’m still kicking myself about it.
So, we lived in India through the 5th grade, and moved to Stockholm, Sweden for grades 6-8. Fortunately, I was able to do all four years of high school in Islamabad, Pakistan. I use the word “fortunately” with regard to not having to move mid-high school, and actually, when I think about it, I really enjoyed it there. People always ask me, “So, what was your favorite place to live?” And to this I always respond that having been in each place at such different periods of my life, there can never be a “favorite.” I gained such unique perspectives in each place, and most it had to do with my age and capacity to learn and appreciate what I was experiencing. India opened my mind to the world outside small-town Kansas; a world of color, crowds, extreme poverty and disease and rich culture different from my own. Spending my adolescence and pre-teen years in Sweden was overwhelmingly influential to the woman I am today as I learned comfort with my body (being a quarter inch shy of six feet, it was wonderful to be surrounded by other tall girls), punctuality (Swedes are notoriously punctual), and most importantly an overall sense of openness and ease about my sexuality and body. Pakistan taught me so much respect for other cultures and to try to look beyond face value. For instance, so often we assume that Islamic women are enslaved in purdah (meaning “the veil” and all that it entails), when most of them are happy in their cultural lives and traditions. Adapting to all of these places, and all that goes hand-in-hand with moving frequently as a child, has certainly formed the person I am today, and I’m very grateful for the experience.
After Islamabad, I left for the University of California at Santa Cruz (isn’t that like the number two party school in the country?) where I was mostly good, up until that last quarter anyway. And now, I have to mention an old boyfriend because without him I would have never moved to Washington… I dated Tony in high school on and off for about a year, and coincidentally both of our families moved to The Philippines in 1994. We went off to separate schools, he to Western Washington University and me to UCSC, and when we got back together (thinking it must be in the stars for such a crazy coincidence to occur and bring us together again) I moved to him. Fast-forward three years and you’ve got one sort-of unhappy, cohabitating couple, with me graduating with two B.A.s (one in Fiction Writing and another in French—I use those degrees as often as Matt votes) and him procrastinating and changing majors in the middle of his senior year. Considering that the job market for “writers” in Bellingham isn’t top-notch, I went off to live in Seattle with Jess (yep, you guessed it, of Mom’s Today). Jess and I met in our writing classes, and although we never spent time together outside of class, I think we both always knew we’d be friends if we ever took the time to hang out. So we were sitting next to each other at Bob’s Burger’s and Brew (what a fortuitous location!) during our last writing workshop class ever (with the professor with whom we were both in mad platonic love, Kate), and I mentioned having a job interview in Seattle and not knowing what I was going to do if I was offered the job because I had no place to live in the city. As is so in line with Jessica’s generous nature, she said, “Why don’t you stay with me at my parents place?” Ba-dum-bump, we’ve been friends ever since.
Which leads me into the next baby book question…
How Did Ella’s Parents Meet
In classic I’ll-be-whatever-you-want-me-to-be fashion, I bombed that first interview and many interviews later ended up getting a job at a PR firm called Pyramid. The only, and I mean only, good thing about that job was the graphic designer with whom they frequently worked, Matt Morgan. Somehow I started learning a lot of technical stuff at that job, which was a massive surprise because when I started I didn’t even know how to make a photocopy. Eventually I graduated from photocopying and collating, and began learning basic graphic design production skills.
I should mention that Tony and I were doing the long-distance relationship thing at that point, and the fact that we only saw each other on weekends gave us a nice jolt of rekindled affection. I should probably also note that I always thought we would get married when he finally graduated from college and moved to Seattle, even during our rockiest moments. That made meeting Matt very confusing and my decision to end things with Tony all the more difficult and lengthy.
So, Matt and I started to speak more and more on the phone and in the office regarding work issues, but I never thought of him in any sort of personal way, except that he would be a great guy for someone. It wasn’t until we met at three consecutive Christmas parties that we started to get to know one another. The first party was Pyramid’s, at the Baltic Room, and we barely got to speak. The second party, given by Parsons in the Chinese Room on top of Smith Tower, was the first time we had a real conversation. I remember talk of education in the U.S. and the way Matt tried to avoid telling me that he’d driven to the party in his Porsche (the car thing deserves elaboration, but it’ll have to wait). Afterwards, we went to Belltown Billiards with a few other Pyramiders, and I remember telling one of the women that she should date Matt because he seemed so interesting and genuine and fun. Obviously that didn’t happen.
The next party was given by the Ames Bros at a loft on Virginia Ave. Matt was there with his friend and work associate Tim, and I stood with them for most of the early evening, ignoring the friends with whom I’d come to the party. At one point, Matt said he was going to get another drink, and I eagerly said I’d come with him (leaving poor Tim all alone). This seemed to convince Matt that I was crazy about him, and I have to admit it wasn’t very subtle. We spent the entire night talking, off by ourselves, about our backgrounds, about the reverse culture shock of coming back to the States/Mainland after living in what literally seemed like other worlds, about our older siblings who were given up for adoption (his was found, mine has not been), about both going to Riverside, CA as kids in the summers to visit our grandparents (all four of our parents grew up there), and on and on. Near the end of the night Matt kissed me on the cheek, and I remember the sensation so clearly because it felt like a slap in the face—I had a boyfriend and what was I doing getting so carried away in giddy conversation with this much older man.
Somehow he talked me into giving him a ride home, and I clearly remember the walk to the car and seeing his large frame crammed into my little Nissan (which I’m sure was filthy and completely appalled his anal sense of car cleanliness). By the time we reached his house, he had to use the bathroom but, since he couldn’t convince me to go inside with him, he was reluctant to get out of the car and end the evening. He made me promise to stay there, sitting in my car in his driveway, while he went in to pee. After he came back out and we had been sitting there talking for over an hour, he convinced me to come in, just for a minute. I ended up staying until almost 5 am. We sat on his green sofa, with his two cats Ricker and Batta keeping watch, and talked and talked and even dozed off for a little bit. In the wee hours, I remember kissing him and the electrifying affect it had on me. I also remember driving off as the sun was coming up feeling very, very guilty about having spent such an intimate evening with someone other than my boyfriend of so many years.
The following few weeks were spent having numerous harrowing, mind-numbing conversations with Tony, as sudden break-ups of long-term relationships typically involve, particularly when other, older men are the instigators. It sucked, but I knew it was the right thing to do and for all the crappiness of a break-up, I was also wrapped up in the excitement of a new beginning. I would like to be clear, for posterity’s sake, that nothing physical happened with Matt until I had ended things with Tony. But I think intimacy is the real issue with cheating, and I was definitely guilty of that much. Eventually, Tony stopped calling at all hours of the day and night, my roommates forgave me for putting them in the middle of it (having to hear the phone ring incessantly, that is), and Matt and I were off in the whirlwind of falling in love.
Our first weekend getaway was spent lounging about at Lake Quinault Lodge on the Olympic peninsula: going on a few hikes, eating egregious amounts of food, and waking up to watch the sunset, wrapped in sheets, on our porch. Matt took me on many mini-breaks during our pre-married courting period, and all of them were equally romantic and relaxing. I say that “he took me” because I was extremely poor and irresponsible with my money, a fact to which I’m sure my roommates would attest. Jessica and AnnMarie would often come home to find my unopened mail piling up around the answering machine that would inevitably contain a message from the Federal Student Loan Repayment Program asking when the hell I was planning to send them a check. I was a mess, but hey, I was in love.
So, yeah, in case you aren’t a math whiz or failed to subtract our birth dates, Matt and I are 14 years apart, but honestly if you knew us, you’d never think twice about it. He’s a kid at heart and I’m kind of an old soul. So, it works. I fixated on it for a bit at first mainly because I thought other people were going to think it was crazy, particularly my parents (who are only 8 & 9 years older than him) and all of my younger friends. I remember telling everyone the same spiel about how he’d never been married and didn’t have any kids, which in my mind meant that he wasn’t as “old” as other 37 year olds (me being only 22 when we met). Now that I’m married and have kids, I don’t think I was that far off to associate those kinds of responsibilities with acting older…
Matt and I quickly slipped into a serious relationship, and within three months he was asking me to move in with him. I surprised myself and told him I wanted to wait, and it definitely made the getting married part that much more exciting. Hmm, maybe I should write about our wedding for posterity as well—that’s a monstrous project.
Anyway, I think I’ve marched on down a long tangent at this point. I'm sure all of this will not fit in the alloted space of Ella's baby book. Oh well. I might try to do a wedding entry next time, or I may just jump straight to pregnancy and birth story. I’m dying to jump into present day Ella-mania as well. So, I’d better get cracking.
Until next time,
Melissa
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