Saturday, June 30, 2007
Day 1, Unemployment: The Sequel
It's the first day of my time off between jobs. This morning I'm due for my waxing with Karen, and I'm mailing Mom's birthday present too. I found a snappy little bag at Fireworks from an Olympia company called Queen Bee - perfect. Last night I spent some time at Third Place shopping from my book buy list and picked up 4 or 5 books, except I couldn't find two I wanted to buy (Seamus Heaney's translation of Beowulf and A Thousand and One Arabian Nights). So that will happen later, as will a copy of HP7.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Tilth
We ate dinner at Tilth last night, Maria Hines' place in Wallingford. It wasn't a knock-your-socks off dinner, but it was pretty nice indeed. Three of us ate, and here's the spread:
Drinks:
Backporch (Calvados, champagne and lemon)
Manhattan (made with house spiced cherries, I think)
5 glasses of wine, 1 glass of Madeira
Appetizers:
Cured sockeye salmon
Beef tartare served with these melba toast-like crostinis
Asparagus salad (peeled and tossed in a black truffle vinaigrette), topped with shaved asparagus (in another vinaigrette). Served with a deviled egg filled with truffle oil.
Entrees:
Duck burgers served with fingerling potato chips
Spring cannelloni with preserved lemon and foam
Black cod (although she called it sablefish, which made it sound all exotic) served with a fried green tomato, baby zucchini and baby pattypan squash
Salad:
Heirloom tomato salad with 3-basil chiffonade (thai, opal, and italian - although the italian was all I could taste) served with a drizzle of sicilian olive oil
Desserts:
Cheese course (including a lovely Hoja Santa wrapped/sasparilla-soaked goat cheese from DALLAS!)
Almond financiers with a strawberry rhubarb compote
Heirloom peach crostata served with cinnamon ice cream and candied bacon (guess which one I picked!)
The damage? $270, plus tip. Service was excellent.
Drinks:
Backporch (Calvados, champagne and lemon)
Manhattan (made with house spiced cherries, I think)
5 glasses of wine, 1 glass of Madeira
Appetizers:
Cured sockeye salmon
Beef tartare served with these melba toast-like crostinis
Asparagus salad (peeled and tossed in a black truffle vinaigrette), topped with shaved asparagus (in another vinaigrette). Served with a deviled egg filled with truffle oil.
Entrees:
Duck burgers served with fingerling potato chips
Spring cannelloni with preserved lemon and foam
Black cod (although she called it sablefish, which made it sound all exotic) served with a fried green tomato, baby zucchini and baby pattypan squash
Salad:
Heirloom tomato salad with 3-basil chiffonade (thai, opal, and italian - although the italian was all I could taste) served with a drizzle of sicilian olive oil
Desserts:
Cheese course (including a lovely Hoja Santa wrapped/sasparilla-soaked goat cheese from DALLAS!)
Almond financiers with a strawberry rhubarb compote
Heirloom peach crostata served with cinnamon ice cream and candied bacon (guess which one I picked!)
The damage? $270, plus tip. Service was excellent.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Sunday, June 17, 2007
I've lost count...
So many of my friends are having babies (or have just had them) that I'm losing count. I got away with my 20s and early 30s avoiding many weddings, engagement parties, and baby showers, but it seems to have just hit me pretty late.
As of this morning, I can think of 5 friends who have either just had or are about to burst forth a new person.
It's kind of a strange feeling - I get simultaneously curious/envious while also sort of realizing that might not be for me. Or rather, I'm just not sure we're willing to give up everything for that right now.
As of this morning, I can think of 5 friends who have either just had or are about to burst forth a new person.
It's kind of a strange feeling - I get simultaneously curious/envious while also sort of realizing that might not be for me. Or rather, I'm just not sure we're willing to give up everything for that right now.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
On Again, Off Again
I have what amounts to a love affair with writing. Sometimes I want to bathe in it, enveloping myself in words, words, words. Other times I just want to be left alone to ponder and think about it. 'I need space,' I tell myself when I'm not in a writing mood. Such has been the last 10 months. And then before that, with my lame post entitled 'Accounting.' It was like reading one of those awful Christmas letters that people feel obliged to write and others feel obliged to snicker at in the company of those who know better. I've been so busy writing I haven't felt self-indulgent enough to document it. At least not here.
So I have no excuses and I won't give an accounting. You'll have to figure it out for yourself.
What's happening now? Immediately, I'm working on a blog for our garden and I'm about to quit my job at the Port and take a month off (see the right pane for a list of some things I want to work on during July!). We're starting the search for another dog. I still expect to hear Papa's voice answer the phone when I call Granny. It's the same thing as everyone else, life.
Stay tuned for more changes.
So I have no excuses and I won't give an accounting. You'll have to figure it out for yourself.
What's happening now? Immediately, I'm working on a blog for our garden and I'm about to quit my job at the Port and take a month off (see the right pane for a list of some things I want to work on during July!). We're starting the search for another dog. I still expect to hear Papa's voice answer the phone when I call Granny. It's the same thing as everyone else, life.
Stay tuned for more changes.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Couplet
Outside this morning in the wet I saw
Leaves dipped in the gilded ink of autumn
Their tips glistening red orange gold
Stems still green, clinging to the warmth of yesterday
Burning wood mingled with smoky coffee
Shiny hay-like grass tinged with verdant moss
Crows flown into the cloud-draped landscape
The muffled sounds of the season arrive.
Leaves dipped in the gilded ink of autumn
Their tips glistening red orange gold
Stems still green, clinging to the warmth of yesterday
Burning wood mingled with smoky coffee
Shiny hay-like grass tinged with verdant moss
Crows flown into the cloud-draped landscape
The muffled sounds of the season arrive.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Accounting
Spring has arrived, and with it longer days and fewer posts. My weekends have been filled with plants, dirt, and the occasional dandelion, and I've been catching up on my reading too. The last couple of books have included Chang and Eng as well as The Great Pretenders (see the link to the right). Last weekend we made mortadella sausage and this weekend we had an unsuccessful attempt at a Hoegarden Belgian-style beer (ice baths + hot glass containers = 5 gallons of mess), but we'll try again until we're feasting on our own concoctions.
We're also about 6 weeks from a vacation - a much deserved one - and one that has seemed far away for a long time. We're spending 9 days in Hawaii, 6 on Kauai, 3 on Oahu and despite the rain and the sewage leaks and dam bursts, we're really looking forward to it. We have a little pink house on the sunny side of Kauai, right across the road from the beach. In Oahu we're blowing a little bit of change on a room in the Outrigger - but hell, it will be worth it.
For those interested, work is work is work just like it always has been, and nothing's new on that front save a few layoffs today and a few resignations. I don't expect anything to change for me, so I'll sit quietly and work hard and go on my happy vacation and that's about that. My parents are coming out for a visit next weekend - the same weekend Lucy Bland's playing on KEXP (woo-hoo!) - and they'll make a trip to Olympia to see the Mikado.
What, you came here today expecting some great thoughts? I've been gone for a few weeks and this is all I come back with?
Yes, for now.
We're also about 6 weeks from a vacation - a much deserved one - and one that has seemed far away for a long time. We're spending 9 days in Hawaii, 6 on Kauai, 3 on Oahu and despite the rain and the sewage leaks and dam bursts, we're really looking forward to it. We have a little pink house on the sunny side of Kauai, right across the road from the beach. In Oahu we're blowing a little bit of change on a room in the Outrigger - but hell, it will be worth it.
For those interested, work is work is work just like it always has been, and nothing's new on that front save a few layoffs today and a few resignations. I don't expect anything to change for me, so I'll sit quietly and work hard and go on my happy vacation and that's about that. My parents are coming out for a visit next weekend - the same weekend Lucy Bland's playing on KEXP (woo-hoo!) - and they'll make a trip to Olympia to see the Mikado.
What, you came here today expecting some great thoughts? I've been gone for a few weeks and this is all I come back with?
Yes, for now.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
And more about Dora
A couple of days after Dora opened the box, after she threw up from the anxiety of knowing, she had a moment of clarity, of true sadness. For all that she had seen had given her perspective, one not so personal but more accurate. And she was humbled by the depth of feeling that she hadn't known before, and she vowed to respect that sadness and honor it with her heart.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Do the Math
My grandmother was 40 when my mother had me. That's four years older than I am this year, and that means when my mother was the age I am now, I was almost 16. That's a lot to digest. I'll break it down.
By 40, my grandmother had lived in three countries (China, Cuba, Texas) in abject poverty and in ample comfort. She had three children, one of whom was in college and the other two on the way there. She and my grandfather were running a successful business, they owned a home, they were becoming US citizens.
By 40, my mother was visiting me at college, grieving the loss of her father, and still working 60 hour weeks for 30 hour pay, running a law office nonetheless.
I was a good kid, I had loving and happy parents - I had access, education, and opportunity that both sets of grandparents had provided. I had no shortage of affection, and while both my parents worked, I never felt they weren't there.
But I can hardly imagine having a 16-year old as the person I am today. Of course, I would have had 16 years to become that parent. But if I were to become a parent, what kind of parent would I be? Would I be the kind of mother that my mother was, that my grandmother was? Could I even be that kind of mother, having 16 more years of experience than they did when they first gave birth? Would that extra 16 years do me any good? Or would I be a neurotic, controlling grown-up with no business having kids, like many people I know?
In some ways I envy my mother and grandmother for having done it so early. They got to grow up - sometimes the hard way - with their daughters. When I went to prom, my mom was the age I am today. I remember shopping for the dress, the jewelry, the makeup. I remember my mother buying me my first razor (that was years before prom, but go along with me here...), my first bra, going with me to my first gyn visit. It was probably terrifying for her, but she never showed it. And our trials were nothing compared to those she and my grandmother went through. When my grandmother was pregnant with my mother, my grandfather left for Cuba, looking for a better life for all of them. My mother was 5 when he came back for them. All that time my grandmother had to find food for this tiny baby girl, sometimes giving my mother the meat from the fish while she sucked the bones. Anything to survive, anything not to starve.
Knowing that, do I have what it takes? I'd be a great girl scout leader - I can show you how to paint pottery, to make pipe cleaner crafts, to make peanut brittle. I'd probably be a pretty good older sister too, revealing the naughty little secrets every girl should know. Heck, I can even put together model cars, hit a baseball, and help with a science project. But could I be the kind of mom I'd want to be for my kids? I don't think you can ever know that before you do it - it's the kind of thing you look back on years later and say, 'yeah, I think I did okay there.' I think this weekend I'll call my mom and tell her what a great job I think she did.
But wait a second, what about my dad?
In many ways, I am the person I am because of my father. Where the women in my life gave me passion, energy, and the shape of my ass, the men showed me the quiet strength of reason. Of planning, of hard work, of patience. Lots of patience. That was the side that got me to 30. As I grow older myself, wondering about my future, I see my father more for his sense of humor, for his kindness and his gentle nature. He is strong and quiet, but never unfair.
And I know that if I'm to become the person I want to be, and maybe even the parent I think I can be, I won't be doing it alone. I don't have plan. Heck, I don't even have a clue. But I'm getting there.
By 40, my grandmother had lived in three countries (China, Cuba, Texas) in abject poverty and in ample comfort. She had three children, one of whom was in college and the other two on the way there. She and my grandfather were running a successful business, they owned a home, they were becoming US citizens.
By 40, my mother was visiting me at college, grieving the loss of her father, and still working 60 hour weeks for 30 hour pay, running a law office nonetheless.
I was a good kid, I had loving and happy parents - I had access, education, and opportunity that both sets of grandparents had provided. I had no shortage of affection, and while both my parents worked, I never felt they weren't there.
But I can hardly imagine having a 16-year old as the person I am today. Of course, I would have had 16 years to become that parent. But if I were to become a parent, what kind of parent would I be? Would I be the kind of mother that my mother was, that my grandmother was? Could I even be that kind of mother, having 16 more years of experience than they did when they first gave birth? Would that extra 16 years do me any good? Or would I be a neurotic, controlling grown-up with no business having kids, like many people I know?
In some ways I envy my mother and grandmother for having done it so early. They got to grow up - sometimes the hard way - with their daughters. When I went to prom, my mom was the age I am today. I remember shopping for the dress, the jewelry, the makeup. I remember my mother buying me my first razor (that was years before prom, but go along with me here...), my first bra, going with me to my first gyn visit. It was probably terrifying for her, but she never showed it. And our trials were nothing compared to those she and my grandmother went through. When my grandmother was pregnant with my mother, my grandfather left for Cuba, looking for a better life for all of them. My mother was 5 when he came back for them. All that time my grandmother had to find food for this tiny baby girl, sometimes giving my mother the meat from the fish while she sucked the bones. Anything to survive, anything not to starve.
Knowing that, do I have what it takes? I'd be a great girl scout leader - I can show you how to paint pottery, to make pipe cleaner crafts, to make peanut brittle. I'd probably be a pretty good older sister too, revealing the naughty little secrets every girl should know. Heck, I can even put together model cars, hit a baseball, and help with a science project. But could I be the kind of mom I'd want to be for my kids? I don't think you can ever know that before you do it - it's the kind of thing you look back on years later and say, 'yeah, I think I did okay there.' I think this weekend I'll call my mom and tell her what a great job I think she did.
But wait a second, what about my dad?
In many ways, I am the person I am because of my father. Where the women in my life gave me passion, energy, and the shape of my ass, the men showed me the quiet strength of reason. Of planning, of hard work, of patience. Lots of patience. That was the side that got me to 30. As I grow older myself, wondering about my future, I see my father more for his sense of humor, for his kindness and his gentle nature. He is strong and quiet, but never unfair.
And I know that if I'm to become the person I want to be, and maybe even the parent I think I can be, I won't be doing it alone. I don't have plan. Heck, I don't even have a clue. But I'm getting there.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Ignorance is Piss
Oh, I mean bliss.
Pandora. She fucked it up for all of us. Now all we have is a reference and enough awareness of the story that we use it in business meetings all the time. Except instead of saying, 'better not do that, you'll open a Pandora's Box...' we say, 'that's not really a shitstorm you want to deal with is it?' Okay, close enough.
What do you imagine really happened? Do you think some sort of ghostly spirits of unanticipated stuff flew out of that box?
No, I think Pandora didn't see a thing, but I bet she felt it in her gut. That nauseating ick, the low-level fever that burned her heart, the guilt and dread seeping from her pores. Why? Why did she have to open that damn box? And why haven't we learned?
Pandora. She fucked it up for all of us. Now all we have is a reference and enough awareness of the story that we use it in business meetings all the time. Except instead of saying, 'better not do that, you'll open a Pandora's Box...' we say, 'that's not really a shitstorm you want to deal with is it?' Okay, close enough.
What do you imagine really happened? Do you think some sort of ghostly spirits of unanticipated stuff flew out of that box?
No, I think Pandora didn't see a thing, but I bet she felt it in her gut. That nauseating ick, the low-level fever that burned her heart, the guilt and dread seeping from her pores. Why? Why did she have to open that damn box? And why haven't we learned?
That Chance Encounter
I had a dream last night, a good one I think.
I finally said goodbye to someone who needed to go. It was that odd meeting that I hadn't expected, if only because I thought I was done. But the mind has a sense of humor, and try though I might, I can't forget.
So when the chance came, I said goodbye. I remembered him the way I saw him, but myself I saw as I am today. He looked puzzled. Angry. I turned and walked away.
I finally said goodbye to someone who needed to go. It was that odd meeting that I hadn't expected, if only because I thought I was done. But the mind has a sense of humor, and try though I might, I can't forget.
So when the chance came, I said goodbye. I remembered him the way I saw him, but myself I saw as I am today. He looked puzzled. Angry. I turned and walked away.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Huh, wait...did that just happen?
A few months ago on my way out of New York, my doctor said offhand, 'oh, you're 35. It's time for your baseline and I'm going to write you a script.' For the less fair sex reading this entry, that's a baseline mammogram. A pancake test. A true test that you've hit the age to start worrying. Just that casual comment threw me for a loop - for years I'd heard that women don't need a baseline until 40, but here I was getting written up that I needed to have one before my next birthday. For a moment it was sort of exciting - I got to go first, I get to tell the other younger women in my life what it's like, what to expect. But after that excitement faded, the subtext of what she'd ordered set in.
The script has been attached to my fridge for months, curling at the edges next to the Eat Me magnet from Crif Dog. My first mammogram. This is the gateway test, the one that starts it all. From here on out, it's colonoscopies, bone densities, and other miserable exams to prove you're not yet dying but you're on the way.
But when are all of the things that usually happen at this age going to start happening? I didn't freak out when I turned 30 - and given the circumstances I had every right to do so. That first (and as of now only) silver hair? I protected it feverishly, proud to finally have earned a stripe. But it fell out soon thereafter and I've not found another since. And what about the clock? The oh-my-god-please-don't-let-me-fall-victim-to-my-body alarm clock? That's my name for it, the phenomenon that takes perfectly rational women and suddenly makes them hormonal and unpredictable. This, to me, would be like Spock getting Bendii Syndrome (look it up in Wikipedia!) - after a lifetime devoted to study and reason, the ultimate curse is losing one's mind. I have never been able to comprehend how a woman could wake up one day and suddenly decide it was time.
And then I realized it's a slow process, losing one's mind. It doesn't happen overnight, it's not so easy to see. Somewhere along the way while you've been struggling against it, you realize the struggle is the change. And that all of the hallmarks are there, that somehow you've subconsciously made changes in your life that you think will make you happy, but they've been stepping stones on a path your body tricked you into taking. But as soon as you wrote that you think, 'but I don't really feel tricked, I am really happy.' And then you realize it's already happening. It may not be the same for everyone; god forbid I wake up thinking ineedababypleasenowihavetogetpregnant. But there's something, I know it's there.
So here I sit in my kitchen looking at the yellowing script. Mortality is a post-it on my fridge and the tone in my alarm that will never let me sleep again.
The script has been attached to my fridge for months, curling at the edges next to the Eat Me magnet from Crif Dog. My first mammogram. This is the gateway test, the one that starts it all. From here on out, it's colonoscopies, bone densities, and other miserable exams to prove you're not yet dying but you're on the way.
But when are all of the things that usually happen at this age going to start happening? I didn't freak out when I turned 30 - and given the circumstances I had every right to do so. That first (and as of now only) silver hair? I protected it feverishly, proud to finally have earned a stripe. But it fell out soon thereafter and I've not found another since. And what about the clock? The oh-my-god-please-don't-let-me-fall-victim-to-my-body alarm clock? That's my name for it, the phenomenon that takes perfectly rational women and suddenly makes them hormonal and unpredictable. This, to me, would be like Spock getting Bendii Syndrome (look it up in Wikipedia!) - after a lifetime devoted to study and reason, the ultimate curse is losing one's mind. I have never been able to comprehend how a woman could wake up one day and suddenly decide it was time.
And then I realized it's a slow process, losing one's mind. It doesn't happen overnight, it's not so easy to see. Somewhere along the way while you've been struggling against it, you realize the struggle is the change. And that all of the hallmarks are there, that somehow you've subconsciously made changes in your life that you think will make you happy, but they've been stepping stones on a path your body tricked you into taking. But as soon as you wrote that you think, 'but I don't really feel tricked, I am really happy.' And then you realize it's already happening. It may not be the same for everyone; god forbid I wake up thinking ineedababypleasenowihavetogetpregnant. But there's something, I know it's there.
So here I sit in my kitchen looking at the yellowing script. Mortality is a post-it on my fridge and the tone in my alarm that will never let me sleep again.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Tripping Over Myself
Sometimes I don't really realize I can break my own fall. Problem is, I'm responsible for the pace at which I move, the clumsy footwork and the sometimes searing, sometimes blinded focus that gets me into trouble.
I said only last week that I was having trouble writing. My friend Geoff and I talked about this a bit - he's a comedian, and it turns out, has noticed this too. When everything's good, the well dries up. The bitter seems overly bitter, the ascerbic too sharp. He joked that the best comedians were addicts of some sort - alcohol, drugs, pain, whatever - and I'd have to argue the same for good writers. Not that I fall into that category, but I understand how it's difficult to get that clarity when your world is so blindingly happy. It's when life is interrupted that the words flow so effortlessly. When things come into sharp relief it's usually a sign that something's amiss, even if it's just a little off. Or that it's all hormonal and lunar. I'll give you that.
So it's time to brace myself. I can see the ground approaching only because I know I've gotten sloppy in my walk. I don't need to be in a hurry, sometimes I forget that that's not the goal. Yes, there is a goal, but that's not the point. I don't have some Britney-driving-towards-stardom hunger. Sometimes I need to just slow down. I'm sometimes startled by my own intensity, god know what this does to those around me. If it drives you as nuts as it drives me, I'm so thankful that you're still here.
I said only last week that I was having trouble writing. My friend Geoff and I talked about this a bit - he's a comedian, and it turns out, has noticed this too. When everything's good, the well dries up. The bitter seems overly bitter, the ascerbic too sharp. He joked that the best comedians were addicts of some sort - alcohol, drugs, pain, whatever - and I'd have to argue the same for good writers. Not that I fall into that category, but I understand how it's difficult to get that clarity when your world is so blindingly happy. It's when life is interrupted that the words flow so effortlessly. When things come into sharp relief it's usually a sign that something's amiss, even if it's just a little off. Or that it's all hormonal and lunar. I'll give you that.
So it's time to brace myself. I can see the ground approaching only because I know I've gotten sloppy in my walk. I don't need to be in a hurry, sometimes I forget that that's not the goal. Yes, there is a goal, but that's not the point. I don't have some Britney-driving-towards-stardom hunger. Sometimes I need to just slow down. I'm sometimes startled by my own intensity, god know what this does to those around me. If it drives you as nuts as it drives me, I'm so thankful that you're still here.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Oregon Sunset
It was beautiful and we had a wonderful time. We didn't want to come home. This was the view from our deck.Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Getting Away
For the first time in a long time, I'm taking a day off to play. This week brings the first real break I've had since returning to Seattle from New York, and it's much deserved and much needed. Not that things aren't what I'd hoped they'd be here - they're better than I could have ever imagined - but we all need time away from the everyday, even here. So starting Friday morning I'm getting away from it all. Away from the office and its politics, away from the budget and the relocation plans, away from the phone and the computer. We're packing the (new!) car Friday morning and driving to the Oregon coast for some storm watching, some good dinners with friends, and some quiet.
In some ways I have the tiniest bit of anxiety about this weekend, if only because I may be the lone person who doesn't know (and have a history with) the others. Am I worried about comparisons? No. Compatibility? Nah, not really. Privacy? Eh, perhaps a little, but it's a big empty beach and a big house and it's only 2 nights. So no. But it's there, like a squeak in the attic somewhere - faint but noticeable nonetheless.
So what are we going to do out there? Well, this time of year the coast is supposedly deserted - it's windy, chilly, and stormy - so we'll spend some time watching storms roll in, taking in long sunsets, and perhaps catch a glimpse of the Milky Way if we get a clear night. There's a fireplace and a hot tub and we're about 100 yards from the surf so I expect plenty of clam digging and shell collecting too.
And of course I've already got a cheesy weepy book picked out - Marley and Me, by John Grogan. It's about a guy and his unruly Laborador Retriever. Not like the one who ate the woman's face in France, but one that's as loveable as he is mischevious. And of course it's a memoir and it's about a dog, so of course the dog dies in the end...but not until after he's changed the guy forever. A classic easy read, described by my friends as a Barnes and Noble book: one you read only while lounging in the big armchairs while 'shopping' at B&N because you'd never actually buy a hard back for full price even though you're dying to read the book (and you can't wait for it in paperback).
But I digress. This weekend is about centering, cleaning house and settling down. So in good spirit, I'm off to bed for a good night's sleep before my workday Friday is here. And then I can leave it all behind.
In some ways I have the tiniest bit of anxiety about this weekend, if only because I may be the lone person who doesn't know (and have a history with) the others. Am I worried about comparisons? No. Compatibility? Nah, not really. Privacy? Eh, perhaps a little, but it's a big empty beach and a big house and it's only 2 nights. So no. But it's there, like a squeak in the attic somewhere - faint but noticeable nonetheless.
So what are we going to do out there? Well, this time of year the coast is supposedly deserted - it's windy, chilly, and stormy - so we'll spend some time watching storms roll in, taking in long sunsets, and perhaps catch a glimpse of the Milky Way if we get a clear night. There's a fireplace and a hot tub and we're about 100 yards from the surf so I expect plenty of clam digging and shell collecting too.
And of course I've already got a cheesy weepy book picked out - Marley and Me, by John Grogan. It's about a guy and his unruly Laborador Retriever. Not like the one who ate the woman's face in France, but one that's as loveable as he is mischevious. And of course it's a memoir and it's about a dog, so of course the dog dies in the end...but not until after he's changed the guy forever. A classic easy read, described by my friends as a Barnes and Noble book: one you read only while lounging in the big armchairs while 'shopping' at B&N because you'd never actually buy a hard back for full price even though you're dying to read the book (and you can't wait for it in paperback).
But I digress. This weekend is about centering, cleaning house and settling down. So in good spirit, I'm off to bed for a good night's sleep before my workday Friday is here. And then I can leave it all behind.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Housecleaning
This week I cleaned house, for real and in my head.
After a lot of activity the last few weeks, I took a little time to clean out the stuff running around in that empty skull of mine. I'd seen some behavior from friends I wasn't too happy about and it made me think about my own manners, language and baggage. Turns out I can be sort of a judgmental shit, always on my high horse because of the path I've tread. All of that crap has been good character building kind of stuff, but everyone's tired of hearing about my horrible ex-husband and his departure and my selfish and thoughtless ex-boyfriend and his crack whores. If I can't ever let go of the things that have shaped the person I am, I will be held hostage by them. Respect for them, okay. But more time spent than that is waste.
So this weekend I gave up about 15lbs of guilt. Actually, it started with a conversation about egg plates and ended with me throwing away about 2000 pictures from about a dozen years of my life.
I'd been hanging onto pictures - perhaps thinking someday someone would want them - long after the stories in them had expired. Even my wedding dress had seen the inside of the dumpster three years ago, but the evidence remained threaded throughout my stuff. Out it went, in some ways as much for Todd as for me - and these last vestiges of the person I was then went too. I came home lighter, the welcome more welcome the kisses more ardent. The last of the boxes pulled from the dank flooded basement gone through and placed anew in a safe, lighted home.
After a lot of activity the last few weeks, I took a little time to clean out the stuff running around in that empty skull of mine. I'd seen some behavior from friends I wasn't too happy about and it made me think about my own manners, language and baggage. Turns out I can be sort of a judgmental shit, always on my high horse because of the path I've tread. All of that crap has been good character building kind of stuff, but everyone's tired of hearing about my horrible ex-husband and his departure and my selfish and thoughtless ex-boyfriend and his crack whores. If I can't ever let go of the things that have shaped the person I am, I will be held hostage by them. Respect for them, okay. But more time spent than that is waste.
So this weekend I gave up about 15lbs of guilt. Actually, it started with a conversation about egg plates and ended with me throwing away about 2000 pictures from about a dozen years of my life.
I'd been hanging onto pictures - perhaps thinking someday someone would want them - long after the stories in them had expired. Even my wedding dress had seen the inside of the dumpster three years ago, but the evidence remained threaded throughout my stuff. Out it went, in some ways as much for Todd as for me - and these last vestiges of the person I was then went too. I came home lighter, the welcome more welcome the kisses more ardent. The last of the boxes pulled from the dank flooded basement gone through and placed anew in a safe, lighted home.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Blocked
Finally, a day has come when my brain is so full, my body so tired, and everything is all jumbled up that I can't write. More soon.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Not Self Promotion...
Folks, for those who can't get to Seattle to see my favorite local band - Lucy Bland - buy the EP or download from iTunes!
They played last night at Nectar after much airplay on KEXP (kexp.org), and they're scheduled to play at Chop Suey on 2/7.
What are they like? Great vocals, a Rhodes, a cello, beats and guitars - and the random accordion and trombone too. Think Zero 7, Iron and Wine, and the soundtrack to Garden State with a great warm swirly sound all around.
Their shows are listed on the Couch Calendar, but e-mail me if you have questions or want me to pick up an EP for you...
They played last night at Nectar after much airplay on KEXP (kexp.org), and they're scheduled to play at Chop Suey on 2/7.
What are they like? Great vocals, a Rhodes, a cello, beats and guitars - and the random accordion and trombone too. Think Zero 7, Iron and Wine, and the soundtrack to Garden State with a great warm swirly sound all around.
Their shows are listed on the Couch Calendar, but e-mail me if you have questions or want me to pick up an EP for you...
Monday, January 23, 2006
DeGama Would Be Proud
I feel like an explorer. You know the kind, you read about them in middle school history class. Coming to the New World in big ships full of stuff, wearing too much armor, groping blindly at everything unfamiliar, trying desperately to map their journey knowing they might not ever go back. At once it's an arrogant exercise - to assume anything needs discovering, because there were plenty of people already here. But I have to imagine that for some at least, it was more than a booty call on behalf of her majesty. To look out over a land so different from the one you left that it changes the person you are - I can't believe that some didn't discover themselves in the process.
And now I stand on this ridge looking over all that is, knowing there's infinite possibility in every direction. I've tried to make this journey before, but I wasn't ready. This time I've shed the armor, left most of the baggage on the pier.
What do you do when you have no map at all?
Somehow quite unexpectedly I found my guide to this land, though he is as unfamiliar in this territory as am I.
How do you tell someone this? That you know enough that you're willing to take the risk in what you don't know? That it won't always be easy, but that you'd rather find out how hard things could be with this person than with any other? And once you know this, what happens next? Do you plot the path or do grope through the bush?
When you've supped at St. Augustine, what do you do next?
Know the direction you want to go, then go.
And now I stand on this ridge looking over all that is, knowing there's infinite possibility in every direction. I've tried to make this journey before, but I wasn't ready. This time I've shed the armor, left most of the baggage on the pier.
What do you do when you have no map at all?
Somehow quite unexpectedly I found my guide to this land, though he is as unfamiliar in this territory as am I.
How do you tell someone this? That you know enough that you're willing to take the risk in what you don't know? That it won't always be easy, but that you'd rather find out how hard things could be with this person than with any other? And once you know this, what happens next? Do you plot the path or do grope through the bush?
When you've supped at St. Augustine, what do you do next?
Know the direction you want to go, then go.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
D'yever...
Ever stop yourself and think, 'wow, am I really here?'
When something just clicks and you realize in that moment that things are undeniably different?
When you look back at your path and wonder how you made it from that last step to the one you're on now, teetering onto the next?
When you think about all your parents taught you, everything anyone tried to impress on you - and you realize that maybe, just maybe everything aligned in a perfect moment and now it's all so clear?
Pinch me. Hmm. Seems I'm already awake.
When something just clicks and you realize in that moment that things are undeniably different?
When you look back at your path and wonder how you made it from that last step to the one you're on now, teetering onto the next?
When you think about all your parents taught you, everything anyone tried to impress on you - and you realize that maybe, just maybe everything aligned in a perfect moment and now it's all so clear?
Pinch me. Hmm. Seems I'm already awake.
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