My college roommate flew into Anchorage this morning for jury duty, so Greg and I were at the airport at 7am. Because it is Halloween and because it is Heather, we dressed up in our Cameroonian outfits. We have the same fabric from head to toe. It is a lot to take in and we look somewhat ridiculous. In fact, when we wore them in Cameroon people made fun of us because of our pale skin and overwhelming fabric. Heather loved it, though.
I wore the skirt to class the other day. The outfits aren't too much in moderation. In fact, when separated, they're fantastic. One of my students came up to me and said that he liked my skirt and that it made him think of home. I could tell by his accent that he was from Western Africa, but I couldn't decipher the country. I told him that I was given the outfit while visiting Cameroon last winter and found out he was from Nigeria. And then he said, "thank you for wearing that and reminding me of home. It made me feel good."
I was relating this Greg this on the way to the airport and mentioned that I was glad he said something to me because it made me feel connected to Africa again, but that I was surprised that he officially thanked me. Greg looked at me for a second and said "why does that surprise you? That is the culture. When you unknowingly made someone happy, they tell you. You may not know you deserve the thanks, but they acknowledge each way you touch their lives. The culture is freer with Thank Yous and I think that is tied up in the idea that everyone is family and interrelated."
Isn't that great?
Tuesday, October 31
Monday, October 30
S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night!
Greg just got word that he has to go to Fairbanks. Tomorrow. I am left here. Alone. You think I am a crazy cat lady now, you just wait until I go a day or so without having anyone to talk to. Condolences and words of encouragement are welcome.
We were in Fred Meyer this evening buying a new DVD player because we have been using Greg's playstation and he is taking it with him. I was lobbying hard for one that could record tv shows, my reasoning being that the new Take 5 season is on Saturday nights. Greg looked at me and said, "do you have somewhere to go on a Saturday night? Won't you be sitting at home anyway?" A low blow, don't you think? But I couldn't argue with the logic. So, we got the one he wanted.
We were in Fred Meyer this evening buying a new DVD player because we have been using Greg's playstation and he is taking it with him. I was lobbying hard for one that could record tv shows, my reasoning being that the new Take 5 season is on Saturday nights. Greg looked at me and said, "do you have somewhere to go on a Saturday night? Won't you be sitting at home anyway?" A low blow, don't you think? But I couldn't argue with the logic. So, we got the one he wanted.
Saturday, October 28
ET Can't Phone Home
My cell phone has been broken for over two weeks and I cannot get anyone to take responsibility and help me. I've been to the local place twice, gotten a new battery, called the company that made the phone, waited half an hour on hold only to leave a message that has never been returned. Called again and they were closed.
So, if anyone has called me recently, I haven't got your messages. Try calling my home phone.
I have only one thing to say: aarrgghh!
So, if anyone has called me recently, I haven't got your messages. Try calling my home phone.
I have only one thing to say: aarrgghh!
Friday, October 27
'Homer Sweet Homer' or 'Kenai Come?' or ''Get Some Studs, Stud' or 'Off The Road Again' or 'Soldotna Smoldotna' or 'Seward Ho!'
I couldn't decide on a title, so I chose several.
We have so much to talk about. I haven't sat down in a while to give a good, long monologue relating the inner workings of my head. I've provided a few tidbits here and there, but nothing of real substance (although one could make a strong argument as to whether anything I have posted thus far has substance, but that is a conversation no one (including (especially not) me) wants to have). But the timing seems right now to give you some undivided time. All of my grading is caught up (except for the stuff I got last night and this morning, but I have a whole week to do that), I know what I am doing in class tomorrow (because I've already done it twice), and I am sitting in my faux office waiting for students to come in for help. We all know the likelihood of that happening, so I am getting paid (meagerly) to write to you.
Greg and I went on a whirlwind tour of the Kenai Peninsula on Monday and Tuesday. It was our third anniversary and he was actually granted time off of work, so we high-tailed it out of town.
It was a beautiful day and both of us were in a jovial mood, even though Greg had only gotten a minimal four hours of sleep. We danced, we sang, we stopped on the side of the road for bad pictures, and had the only dipped cones available in the state of Alaska. As I was in a romantic mood, I wore the good love karma sweater - I was wearing it when Greg proposed to me and my sister-in-law wore it on her first date with my brother. It is enormous and warm, both literally and figuratively.
I realized once we got passed Girdwood that it is not Alaska that I dislike so much, rather Anchorage. I think Alaska as a state is beautiful and has a lot to offer visitors and residents alike, myself included. Anchorage is what upsets me. There is something about the city (well, it is more a combination of things that fit together perfectly to upset me on several levels, but that is irrelevant to the point I am trying to make) that makes me feel bad. I felt physically better leaving the Anchorage area and found myself calmer and happier.
Greg hadn't been to the Kenai Peninsula (aside from Seward) since high school so we spent a good portion of the drive reliving the Glory Days of high school athletics, which included not only run-downs of all the games played, but each fast food restaurant eaten at. Apparently Taco Bell is a huge deal if you grow up on Kodiak Island. As a result I spent a good portion of the time rolling my eyes at him while at the same time exaggerating a mock-interest. It was fun.
I had great expectations for Homer because all I have ever heard about it was how wonderful it is. It is supposedly a hippie-haven in the lots-of-local-galleries-high-quality-of-life kinda way. I read somewhere that Homer is the place that all Alaskans secretly wish they lived. Our arrival did not disappoint. I had never seen Alaska more beautiful than as we neared the end of the road and the Peninsula became my new favorite part of Alaska. It incorporated the rugged Alaskan survivalist nature in the forests of stunted black and white spruce trees that dominate the interior's landscape, while in the same breathe providing wondrous views of the Alaska Range and various dynamic bodies of water.
We arrived in Homer about 5 o'clock and checked into our little suite. I had done some research and fell in love with this family run Inn and Spa that had fantastic winter rates and incredible service. The room was lovely, but check out the view:
The next morning, however, was a different scene entirely. I took this photo from bed when I woke up the next morning:
Blech. The weather had done a complete 180, and what was high-tide and sun-shiny was now low-tide and very rainy. We weren't deterred and I proved my ruggedness by dressing Alaskan style: a warm, fuzzy sweater, jeans, the HUGE (and ugly) jacket I had as an undergrad in Fairbanks, and big 'ol fatty hiking boots. I did, however, put on really cute earrings and the sweater did fit well. Our morning walk on the beach was nonetheless canceled, so we headed downtown for breakfast.
Herein lies my first disappointment. I had expected a quaint town-center a la Kodiak and Seward, but instead found the business district to be a road shaped as an arc. It was not conducive to walking about, and instead was based on driving convenience. The shops themselves were nice, and I am sure it would be a lovely place to live, but it didn't really feel like the sweet small town I was expecting. We had breakfast and planned on stopping for a cup of tea, and maybe lunch, in Kenai.
A few hours of sometimes snowy driving later we took the turn-off for Kenai from Soldotna, two sister cities that are often spoken of in the same breath. On the way to Homer we had driven through Soldotna and faced the barrage of strip malls and fast food, but I was under the impression that Kenai was the original town and that Soldotna had grown around it, thus, according to my calculations, Kenai would be the charming small town. I mean, everyone loves Kenai, it didn't really occur to me that I wouldn't. I was psyched to find MY place in Alaska - and I was sure it would be just that. While Greg had been to both towns several times, he had only been to the gyms and Taco Bells. We drove around Kenai for 45 minutes and found the central area, only it was a series of box stores and strip malls. We sat in the car for a while in defeat and discussed how Kenai/Soldotna feels like a mini-Anchorage. After some silence, some talking, and some more silence we decided to drive out of our way to Seward for dinner and arrive home late at night.
This was a great decision. We arrived in Seward and stopped at my favorite Alaskan coffee shop and had some nice tea and a few games of cards. We then walked (yea!) through the little bit of snow to Greg's favorite place in Seward: Yoly's Bistro. Greg spends a fair amount of time in Seward for work and is familiar with the best places in town. Yoly's recently opened and the co-owner, Yoly, is a boisterous Greek man who always recognizes Greg and sits and chats with him. Unfortunately, Yoly wasn't there, but we managed to have a great time anyway. It was our actual anniversary, so this was our big shot at dinner,. We got ordered an app (apps! we got apps!), entrees, and dessert. We also got a bottle of wine, and because Greg was driving the responsibility fell on me to drink all but one glass. Combine that with the fact I hadn't eaten since breakfast and the pictures in flickr will make some sense.
We had a wonderful dinner and heading out of town. The snow began to get thicker and at one point Greg actually turned the car around to get a hotel in Seward. He then turned back toward home after I told him I didn't mind if it took us longer than normal to there. I must admit, though, that I was minding my own business and not really paying much attention to the fact the roads were quite snowy and slippery. We were both singing Andy, You're a Star by The Killers when the right wheels went over the bumps that warn you when you cross the white line. Then the left wheels cross it. Up until right then I assumed Greg was in total control, but I quickly realized that Greg was, in fact, trying to make the curve, but the car was not responding. In a moments of peace I thought, "huh. This should be interesting." Neither one of us said a thing as we skidded into a patch of alders. Greg told me later that he didn't feel panic either, but was unusually calm.
We got out and surveyed the situation. Winter has come late to Alaska and we procrastinated and had not yet prepared the car for it. The flashlight batteries were dead, we didn't have a shovel, etc. Greg found a frisbee golf disk and started digging the snow away from the wheels while I stood in front of the headlight so to reflect some of the light back on him. Two good Samaritans showed up and let us borrow a flashlight and shovel. I was monumentally thankful for my HUGE (and ugly) jacket and big 'ol fatty hiking boots as I was crushing bushes and moving tress with lots of snow falling all over me while digging out the other tire.
Finally Greg had the chains on the tires and we were ready to try to drive out of the ditch. I got into the car and started driving it up the hill. I got about halfway up and was directed to stop so Greg could adjust the chains and those pushing could get better traction. While I was pulling forward a cop showed up and, while Greg, was messing with the chains, walked up to me.
Me: Hi. How are you?
PO: somewhat sternly Fine. How are you?
Me: Oh, you know, I've been better. I must have sounded too chipper.
PO: very sternly Gimme your ID.
He turned around and walked away. I wanted to yell after him, "but I wasn't driving. I swear!" I think I held my composure, though. I would like to point out that this is the second time in about a month that I have had to sit in my car while a police officer walks away with my ID. I would also like to point out that up until last month I had never done that before. Ever.
The chains were fixed so I pulled the rest of the way on the road, got my ID back, and with Greg again at the wheel headed back toward Anchorage. At the first gas station we got out and checked the car for damages and there was one small scratch. We ran off the road and slid into a bunch of alder trees and barely scratched the car. That, my friend, is good luck.
(The next day we switched our tires to studs, the day after that, it snowed and there were over 50 accidents in Anchorage. We were not one of them.)
We have so much to talk about. I haven't sat down in a while to give a good, long monologue relating the inner workings of my head. I've provided a few tidbits here and there, but nothing of real substance (although one could make a strong argument as to whether anything I have posted thus far has substance, but that is a conversation no one (including (especially not) me) wants to have). But the timing seems right now to give you some undivided time. All of my grading is caught up (except for the stuff I got last night and this morning, but I have a whole week to do that), I know what I am doing in class tomorrow (because I've already done it twice), and I am sitting in my faux office waiting for students to come in for help. We all know the likelihood of that happening, so I am getting paid (meagerly) to write to you.
Greg and I went on a whirlwind tour of the Kenai Peninsula on Monday and Tuesday. It was our third anniversary and he was actually granted time off of work, so we high-tailed it out of town.
It was a beautiful day and both of us were in a jovial mood, even though Greg had only gotten a minimal four hours of sleep. We danced, we sang, we stopped on the side of the road for bad pictures, and had the only dipped cones available in the state of Alaska. As I was in a romantic mood, I wore the good love karma sweater - I was wearing it when Greg proposed to me and my sister-in-law wore it on her first date with my brother. It is enormous and warm, both literally and figuratively.
I realized once we got passed Girdwood that it is not Alaska that I dislike so much, rather Anchorage. I think Alaska as a state is beautiful and has a lot to offer visitors and residents alike, myself included. Anchorage is what upsets me. There is something about the city (well, it is more a combination of things that fit together perfectly to upset me on several levels, but that is irrelevant to the point I am trying to make) that makes me feel bad. I felt physically better leaving the Anchorage area and found myself calmer and happier.
Greg hadn't been to the Kenai Peninsula (aside from Seward) since high school so we spent a good portion of the drive reliving the Glory Days of high school athletics, which included not only run-downs of all the games played, but each fast food restaurant eaten at. Apparently Taco Bell is a huge deal if you grow up on Kodiak Island. As a result I spent a good portion of the time rolling my eyes at him while at the same time exaggerating a mock-interest. It was fun.
I had great expectations for Homer because all I have ever heard about it was how wonderful it is. It is supposedly a hippie-haven in the lots-of-local-galleries-high-quality-of-life kinda way. I read somewhere that Homer is the place that all Alaskans secretly wish they lived. Our arrival did not disappoint. I had never seen Alaska more beautiful than as we neared the end of the road and the Peninsula became my new favorite part of Alaska. It incorporated the rugged Alaskan survivalist nature in the forests of stunted black and white spruce trees that dominate the interior's landscape, while in the same breathe providing wondrous views of the Alaska Range and various dynamic bodies of water.
We arrived in Homer about 5 o'clock and checked into our little suite. I had done some research and fell in love with this family run Inn and Spa that had fantastic winter rates and incredible service. The room was lovely, but check out the view:
The next morning, however, was a different scene entirely. I took this photo from bed when I woke up the next morning:
Blech. The weather had done a complete 180, and what was high-tide and sun-shiny was now low-tide and very rainy. We weren't deterred and I proved my ruggedness by dressing Alaskan style: a warm, fuzzy sweater, jeans, the HUGE (and ugly) jacket I had as an undergrad in Fairbanks, and big 'ol fatty hiking boots. I did, however, put on really cute earrings and the sweater did fit well. Our morning walk on the beach was nonetheless canceled, so we headed downtown for breakfast.Herein lies my first disappointment. I had expected a quaint town-center a la Kodiak and Seward, but instead found the business district to be a road shaped as an arc. It was not conducive to walking about, and instead was based on driving convenience. The shops themselves were nice, and I am sure it would be a lovely place to live, but it didn't really feel like the sweet small town I was expecting. We had breakfast and planned on stopping for a cup of tea, and maybe lunch, in Kenai.
A few hours of sometimes snowy driving later we took the turn-off for Kenai from Soldotna, two sister cities that are often spoken of in the same breath. On the way to Homer we had driven through Soldotna and faced the barrage of strip malls and fast food, but I was under the impression that Kenai was the original town and that Soldotna had grown around it, thus, according to my calculations, Kenai would be the charming small town. I mean, everyone loves Kenai, it didn't really occur to me that I wouldn't. I was psyched to find MY place in Alaska - and I was sure it would be just that. While Greg had been to both towns several times, he had only been to the gyms and Taco Bells. We drove around Kenai for 45 minutes and found the central area, only it was a series of box stores and strip malls. We sat in the car for a while in defeat and discussed how Kenai/Soldotna feels like a mini-Anchorage. After some silence, some talking, and some more silence we decided to drive out of our way to Seward for dinner and arrive home late at night.
This was a great decision. We arrived in Seward and stopped at my favorite Alaskan coffee shop and had some nice tea and a few games of cards. We then walked (yea!) through the little bit of snow to Greg's favorite place in Seward: Yoly's Bistro. Greg spends a fair amount of time in Seward for work and is familiar with the best places in town. Yoly's recently opened and the co-owner, Yoly, is a boisterous Greek man who always recognizes Greg and sits and chats with him. Unfortunately, Yoly wasn't there, but we managed to have a great time anyway. It was our actual anniversary, so this was our big shot at dinner,. We got ordered an app (apps! we got apps!), entrees, and dessert. We also got a bottle of wine, and because Greg was driving the responsibility fell on me to drink all but one glass. Combine that with the fact I hadn't eaten since breakfast and the pictures in flickr will make some sense.
We had a wonderful dinner and heading out of town. The snow began to get thicker and at one point Greg actually turned the car around to get a hotel in Seward. He then turned back toward home after I told him I didn't mind if it took us longer than normal to there. I must admit, though, that I was minding my own business and not really paying much attention to the fact the roads were quite snowy and slippery. We were both singing Andy, You're a Star by The Killers when the right wheels went over the bumps that warn you when you cross the white line. Then the left wheels cross it. Up until right then I assumed Greg was in total control, but I quickly realized that Greg was, in fact, trying to make the curve, but the car was not responding. In a moments of peace I thought, "huh. This should be interesting." Neither one of us said a thing as we skidded into a patch of alders. Greg told me later that he didn't feel panic either, but was unusually calm.
We got out and surveyed the situation. Winter has come late to Alaska and we procrastinated and had not yet prepared the car for it. The flashlight batteries were dead, we didn't have a shovel, etc. Greg found a frisbee golf disk and started digging the snow away from the wheels while I stood in front of the headlight so to reflect some of the light back on him. Two good Samaritans showed up and let us borrow a flashlight and shovel. I was monumentally thankful for my HUGE (and ugly) jacket and big 'ol fatty hiking boots as I was crushing bushes and moving tress with lots of snow falling all over me while digging out the other tire.
Finally Greg had the chains on the tires and we were ready to try to drive out of the ditch. I got into the car and started driving it up the hill. I got about halfway up and was directed to stop so Greg could adjust the chains and those pushing could get better traction. While I was pulling forward a cop showed up and, while Greg, was messing with the chains, walked up to me.
Me: Hi. How are you?
PO: somewhat sternly Fine. How are you?
Me: Oh, you know, I've been better. I must have sounded too chipper.
PO: very sternly Gimme your ID.
He turned around and walked away. I wanted to yell after him, "but I wasn't driving. I swear!" I think I held my composure, though. I would like to point out that this is the second time in about a month that I have had to sit in my car while a police officer walks away with my ID. I would also like to point out that up until last month I had never done that before. Ever.
The chains were fixed so I pulled the rest of the way on the road, got my ID back, and with Greg again at the wheel headed back toward Anchorage. At the first gas station we got out and checked the car for damages and there was one small scratch. We ran off the road and slid into a bunch of alder trees and barely scratched the car. That, my friend, is good luck.
(The next day we switched our tires to studs, the day after that, it snowed and there were over 50 accidents in Anchorage. We were not one of them.)
Thursday, October 26
It Snowed
We woke up to a light dusting of snow in the Anchorage bowl. Everything is much prettier with snow.
Friday, October 20
Ten Things
Per thelizabeff's request.
ten things i really liked when i was a teenager that i don't much care for now:
1. competitive sports
2. competition in general (although I still have a tendency to be competitive...)
3. big cars
4. going to full priced movies
5. Britney Spears
6. Southern California
7. watching boys, thinking about boys, searching for boys, anything to do with boys.
8. pink cookies from 7-11
9. driving whenever possible
10. staying up all night and sleeping 'till noon
1. knee-high socks
2. yoga
3. feminine attire: make-up, high heels, skirts, etc.
4. arty/indie movies
5. spinach
6. going to classes
7. NPR
8. tea (!)
9. PSU
10. diet soda
ten things i've never much cared for and very likely never will:
1. cleaning - especially deep cleaning
2. grapefruit
3. suburbs
4. running
5. math
6. brussel sprouts
7. comic books
8. errands
9. feet
10. cleaning the kitty litter
ten things i've always really liked and very likely always will:
1. adventures
2. Portland
3. romantic comedies
4. New York City
5. Pride and Prejudice (both the novel and the BBC mini-series)
6. musicals
7. hanging out with my girlfriends
8. reading the paper
9. John Cusak
10. Christmas carols
Thursday, October 19
Tea With Mary
My strikingly beautiful friend Katie has always been one of those people that can take something plain and make it into something spectacular. She is crafty in the very best sense of the word and I have always admired her for it.
Well, she lives in Truckee, California (and, like me, is struggling with leaving the city she loves for the man she loves - in her case, the city was Denver and the man is Hayes) and during the day works at a non-profit that helps find affordable housing for families who have a hard time affording to live in a resort community. She also has a hand-made card business and sells her cards in several stores in Denver and Truckee. I recently received a packet of the above card in the mail with a lovely letter telling me that this is her latest creation - inspired by me! It's called "Tea With Mary" and is supposedly selling very well.
If you are interested in purchasing the above cards or getting more information about her cards, send her an e-mail at kwpgraham@hotmail.com.
My advertisement is officially over.
Hurray for Taya and Scott
I got a phone call the other day that my friends Taya and Scott are getting married and I was so happy that when I hung up the phone I had tears in my eyes. I am all for the living-in-sin option and was even surprisingly happy when I recently learned that non-traditional households (non-married couples) now constitute more than 50% of American homes. But I still love the romance and bravery of two people deciding to get married. Especially when it is two people I adore and believe are good to and for each other.
To celebrate Taya and Scott's engagement, Greg and I skipped out on the gym (yea!) and shared a bottle of wine at a bar instead. While there we came up with lists as to why we love them so much.
Reasons We Love Scott
- From Lewiston, Idaho (compare with Taya)
- Smokes like a European
- Drinks straight whiskey (not wussy drinks like us)
- His laugh - deep and reserved
- Made Taya a kid-friendly White Stripes cd to play at her preschool
- Worked at Goodwill for the books
- Gets up at 6am to write before going to work
- Asked Greg to be his friend at Taya's birthday party
- Said that he wants to have the kind of friends that feel more like family
- Grew up a belly-dancing commune in Coos Bay
- Gives GREAT hugs
- Drinks straight whiskey (not wussy drinks like us)
- Her laugh - audible inhale that makes one wonder if she's about to fall over
- Let me copy her tattoo spot (let's call her my muse, shall we?)
- Immensely wise and dispenses great advice
- Her writing is inspiring
- She keeps trying to organize her friends for a Family Fun Night with boardgames
- Asked if our kids (when we have them) can call each other cousins
Tuesday, October 17
Pictures in Today's Paper
These photos are copyrighted, so go to the website to check them out. They really are too much for me to handle. The bear one was front page, top story.
Walking Down 4th Avenue
How Many Bears Are There?
Let the record show I am very impressed about the woman's escape and in no way judge anything except her decor.
Walking Down 4th Avenue
How Many Bears Are There?
Let the record show I am very impressed about the woman's escape and in no way judge anything except her decor.
What You Think of Us
Alaska's governors office just released the results to a new poll about how the rest of the the US sees Alaska. Here are some of the highlights - if you're lucky I might add some commentary.
- Sixty percent of all Americans believe that most of Alaska is frozen year-round
- Five percent think Alaska is still a territory.
- Four percent say that Alaska is a separate country
- Two percent think it is a commonwealth
Um, This Isn't New York
I was talking with a local today and mentioned that I just moved up here from Portland. He said he'd been to Portland before and didn't like it very much, especially the mall downtown. Apparently people were snobby and he was snubbed several times. He looked at me and said "I mean they're in Portland. OREGON. I was being treated like I was in New York."
My response was to think to myself (and really want to say out loud): "Um, you live in Anchorage. ALASKA. If someone from, say, New York wants to talk about Portland as too big for its britches, that's fine. I understand that standpoint. But for someone from here saying that? No way. You think that this is a great city, which proves my point that you don't know what you're talking about."
Perhaps I am too sensitive. Perhaps he did have a bad experience. But this is the problem that I keep encountering here. Folks really do think this is a thriving metropolis and who am I to disagree? Except that I cannot find what everyone loves so much no matter how hard I look.
I'll try to persevere. Sorry if this posting is too negative - its just that I am frustrated.
My response was to think to myself (and really want to say out loud): "Um, you live in Anchorage. ALASKA. If someone from, say, New York wants to talk about Portland as too big for its britches, that's fine. I understand that standpoint. But for someone from here saying that? No way. You think that this is a great city, which proves my point that you don't know what you're talking about."
Perhaps I am too sensitive. Perhaps he did have a bad experience. But this is the problem that I keep encountering here. Folks really do think this is a thriving metropolis and who am I to disagree? Except that I cannot find what everyone loves so much no matter how hard I look.
I'll try to persevere. Sorry if this posting is too negative - its just that I am frustrated.
Monday, October 16
Trees
I was watching The Travel Channel the other day, which for me provides both tremendous excitement and despair. Excitement that there is so much this world has to offer, to experience - and so many things that can alter and enrich me in simple and complicated ways, perhaps even at the same time. The despair seeps in because I cannot help but want to be doing and experiencing these wondrous places, and instead I am unable to see or touch them because I am firmly stuck here.
I am reminded me of a political science class I took in college in which the teacher had representatives from each of the geographical regions of the country draw a tree on the board. Being the Pacific Northwest spokesperson I drew a doug fir - a Christmas tree. We had all drawn different trees and illustrated her point about different perceptions and understandings of things often seen as the same or universal. A tree is a tree. Except it's not the same if you're from the South or New England.
Whenever I am in a foreign country I always notice the trees and they seem to be a marker that tells me that I have arrived and the way I think and understand things will be altered as a result of what I will experience. The first time I remember thinking this was in a cab driving from the airport into Melbourne, Australia. I saw an Australian tree. A real eucalyptus tree. The same thing happened in Cameroon with the mythical African trees. When this happens my chest seems to swell and I am aware of my breathing. The best part, though, is that I notice that I am deeply happy.
I am reminded me of a political science class I took in college in which the teacher had representatives from each of the geographical regions of the country draw a tree on the board. Being the Pacific Northwest spokesperson I drew a doug fir - a Christmas tree. We had all drawn different trees and illustrated her point about different perceptions and understandings of things often seen as the same or universal. A tree is a tree. Except it's not the same if you're from the South or New England.
Whenever I am in a foreign country I always notice the trees and they seem to be a marker that tells me that I have arrived and the way I think and understand things will be altered as a result of what I will experience. The first time I remember thinking this was in a cab driving from the airport into Melbourne, Australia. I saw an Australian tree. A real eucalyptus tree. The same thing happened in Cameroon with the mythical African trees. When this happens my chest seems to swell and I am aware of my breathing. The best part, though, is that I notice that I am deeply happy.
Anniversary
Next week is Greg and my third anniversary, so I have spent a good portion of the day looking into places within driving distance that we can escape to. The whole thing has me thinking about weddings and anniversaries and love and other stuff like that.
When I was done pondering such deep thoughts, I sat down for my daily dose of blogs. One entry from Citizen of the Month really touched me, and I don't think it is just because I was in the mood for anniveraries. Take a look.
When I was done pondering such deep thoughts, I sat down for my daily dose of blogs. One entry from Citizen of the Month really touched me, and I don't think it is just because I was in the mood for anniveraries. Take a look.
Top Five
Top Five Coffee Shops
1. La Crema
SE Ankeny, Portland, Oregon
2. K&F Coffee
SE Clinton, Portland, Oregon
3. Haven
SE Division , Portland, Oregon
4. Random Order
NE Alberta, Portland Oregon
5. Ressurection Bay Coffeehouse
Seward, Alaska
1. La Crema
SE Ankeny, Portland, Oregon
2. K&F Coffee
SE Clinton, Portland, Oregon
3. Haven
SE Division , Portland, Oregon
4. Random Order
NE Alberta, Portland Oregon
5. Ressurection Bay Coffeehouse
Seward, Alaska
Tuesday, October 10
It's Like Looking in the Mirror
I have a friend named Steve and he is a writer/writing teacher/private investigator, a combo which I think is fantastic. He sent me an e-mail the other day, a snippet of which follows:
Maybe you should concentrate on becoming an overnight literary sensation, the voice of cosmopolitan young women who are forced by their husbands to live in backwoods hovels and do menial labor. You could write a memoir and turn it into a movie and become filthy rich and then move back to Portland where your husband could cook and clean while you hold court at some fancy Pearl District bar.
I figure the very best way to concentrate on being an overnight literary sensation is to figure out who would play me in the movie. The only actress I've ever been compared to is Claire Danes, but I think we've lost our similarities, so I'm stumped. Can you help me out? Who do you think would play me in a movie? (And while you're at it, who would play you?)
Maybe you should concentrate on becoming an overnight literary sensation, the voice of cosmopolitan young women who are forced by their husbands to live in backwoods hovels and do menial labor. You could write a memoir and turn it into a movie and become filthy rich and then move back to Portland where your husband could cook and clean while you hold court at some fancy Pearl District bar.
I figure the very best way to concentrate on being an overnight literary sensation is to figure out who would play me in the movie. The only actress I've ever been compared to is Claire Danes, but I think we've lost our similarities, so I'm stumped. Can you help me out? Who do you think would play me in a movie? (And while you're at it, who would play you?)
Monday, October 9
Coats
I have been resisting the urge to get out my big coats. As a result, I have been freezing my ass off everyday in a variety of different sweater ensembles. Yesterday I decided that I was acting crazy and that I should just put on a stupid coat.
But I can't find them. I have three coats (my pea coat, my Paris coat, and my snowboarding jacket). They are not where Greg and I thought they were, they're not in any random closet, they're not tucked into any luggage, and they're not in our storage unit with the bikes.
Now I'm not wearing a coat because I can't find one not because of some silly principle about denying the fact that I live in a very cold place. This reasoning makes me feel not only very cold, but very silly as well (I have a sneaking suspicion that this is actually a better excuse for not wearing a coat, but not in my pretty little head).
My whole point here is: where the hell are my coats?!?
But I can't find them. I have three coats (my pea coat, my Paris coat, and my snowboarding jacket). They are not where Greg and I thought they were, they're not in any random closet, they're not tucked into any luggage, and they're not in our storage unit with the bikes.
Now I'm not wearing a coat because I can't find one not because of some silly principle about denying the fact that I live in a very cold place. This reasoning makes me feel not only very cold, but very silly as well (I have a sneaking suspicion that this is actually a better excuse for not wearing a coat, but not in my pretty little head).
My whole point here is: where the hell are my coats?!?
Sunday, October 8
Ingredients for a Good Evening With a Sick Husband
As stated by sick husband.
1 Sandy Bullock romantic comedy (The Lake House)
1 cup of tea
2 doses of kittens
12 votive candles
1 wife on same couch
1 Sandy Bullock romantic comedy (The Lake House)
1 cup of tea
2 doses of kittens
12 votive candles
1 wife on same couch
Punishment
I wasn't going to blog this, but I cannot seem to get it out of my head. Perhaps if I share the information it will stop haunting me (like the only way not to get killed in The Ring was to show the tape to someone else - same basic idea).
We were watching The Daily Show the other day and David Rakoff was on promoting his new book. He began talking about an interview he had with Robert Knight, who is the founder of The Culture and Family Institute, and they were talking about the homosexual "agenda," which consists of 1. recruiting children, 2. having sex with children, and 3. spreading AIDS. When Mr. Rankoff reminded Mr. Knight that "HIV is transmissible by good 'ol fashioned, red-blooded, normative, heterosexual sex," Mr. Knight replied, "yeah, but not as much, I mean, the vagina can take a lot of punishment."
You know what? Just watch the clip here.
*I don't like to blog political issues, but I think of this less as a political issue than one example of a complete ignoramous who spreads lies and hatred under the guise of morality. It makes me want to vomit. He's not just insulting the homosexual community, but women as well. How do people take him seriously?
We were watching The Daily Show the other day and David Rakoff was on promoting his new book. He began talking about an interview he had with Robert Knight, who is the founder of The Culture and Family Institute, and they were talking about the homosexual "agenda," which consists of 1. recruiting children, 2. having sex with children, and 3. spreading AIDS. When Mr. Rankoff reminded Mr. Knight that "HIV is transmissible by good 'ol fashioned, red-blooded, normative, heterosexual sex," Mr. Knight replied, "yeah, but not as much, I mean, the vagina can take a lot of punishment."
You know what? Just watch the clip here.
*I don't like to blog political issues, but I think of this less as a political issue than one example of a complete ignoramous who spreads lies and hatred under the guise of morality. It makes me want to vomit. He's not just insulting the homosexual community, but women as well. How do people take him seriously?
Saturday, October 7
Reading List
Books I've read lately:
1. Cry, The Beloved Country by Alan Paton
2. Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee
3. Things I Like About America by Poe Ballantine
4. Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding
5. Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason by Helen Fielding
6. The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien
Working on: Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
1. Cry, The Beloved Country by Alan Paton
2. Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee
3. Things I Like About America by Poe Ballantine
4. Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding
5. Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason by Helen Fielding
6. The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien
Working on: Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
Thursday, October 5
Holding Hands
I was browsing the New York Times again today and came across an article on holding hands. It got me thinking about the simple act of holding hands and who I have held hands with. There is, of course, my parents and other important adults when I was a child. My friend Soli and I used to hold hands all the time in high school without a second thought. I've held hands with teammates and previous boyfriends. Nowadays I hold hands with my husband and my niece and nephew.
In the article a sociology professor from NYU says that hand holding is "less about sex than about a public demonstration about coupledom.” Until I read this article I hadn't noticed that I always attributed hand holding to romantic couples, but the quote spurred me to make the above list and I realize that, for me, holding hands really isn't about sex, or even coupledom, as much as making a connection. Soli and I were certainly not making a statement about a sexual relationship - there wasn't one to make a statement about. But we were great friends and it felt right that we would hold hands. I never really thought about why, but Tiffany Field from the University of Miami says that “based on what we’ve seen, when we get more physical intimacy we get better relationships," so maybe our hand-holding has something to do with why Soli and I are still friends.
In Cameroon it is customary for a men to walk down the street holding hands and everytime I saw it I couldn't help but smile. They were happy men who were sharing a connection and a friendship. Anytime someone was showing you the way somewhere, they would lead you by the hand. As a result, Greg spent quite a bit of time walking around holding other men's hands. We were at a fair and a woman came up and started talking to me and immediately grabbed my hand. She took me around to the booths and I loved it because I felt welcome, accepted, and safe. It was one of the many cultural aspects that I wish I could incorporate into my life at home (I came home with about a million).
This summer I was sitting at the Cup and Saucer restaurant on Hawthorne in Portland with Megan and I saw two women walking down the street holding hands. As we are in America where holding hands does equate coupledom and we were near the epicenter of Portland's lesbian community, I felt a sense of pride that these women felt safe enough in the environment to make a public connection with thier partner. Perhaps they were just friends and not a couple - I don't know. Either way, it made me happy.
The article points out that "to hold someone’s hand is to offer them affection, protection or comfort. It is a way to communicate that you are off the market. Practically speaking, it is an efficient way to squeeze through a crowd without losing your partner. People do it during vigils, marches, weddings and funerals." I would add that it is a way to tell your partner that your attention is on them and you're not afraid to let others know about this connection. Like when Jordan Catallano grabbed Angela's hand in the hallway after months of making out in the boiler room (My So-Called Life, people).
New research has "'found that holding the hand of really anyone, [makes] your brain work a little less hard in coping,” Dr. Coan said, adding that any sort of hand-holding relaxes the body." Furthermore, “if you’re in a really strong relationship, you may be protected against pain and stress hormones that may have a damaging effect on your immune system.”
So what is the moral of this little posting? Go out and hold someone's hand. Grab your partner's hand, your kid's, a friend's, or perhaps a stranger's that is in need of some support (but make sure they won't bop you on the head for it).
In the article a sociology professor from NYU says that hand holding is "less about sex than about a public demonstration about coupledom.” Until I read this article I hadn't noticed that I always attributed hand holding to romantic couples, but the quote spurred me to make the above list and I realize that, for me, holding hands really isn't about sex, or even coupledom, as much as making a connection. Soli and I were certainly not making a statement about a sexual relationship - there wasn't one to make a statement about. But we were great friends and it felt right that we would hold hands. I never really thought about why, but Tiffany Field from the University of Miami says that “based on what we’ve seen, when we get more physical intimacy we get better relationships," so maybe our hand-holding has something to do with why Soli and I are still friends.
In Cameroon it is customary for a men to walk down the street holding hands and everytime I saw it I couldn't help but smile. They were happy men who were sharing a connection and a friendship. Anytime someone was showing you the way somewhere, they would lead you by the hand. As a result, Greg spent quite a bit of time walking around holding other men's hands. We were at a fair and a woman came up and started talking to me and immediately grabbed my hand. She took me around to the booths and I loved it because I felt welcome, accepted, and safe. It was one of the many cultural aspects that I wish I could incorporate into my life at home (I came home with about a million).
This summer I was sitting at the Cup and Saucer restaurant on Hawthorne in Portland with Megan and I saw two women walking down the street holding hands. As we are in America where holding hands does equate coupledom and we were near the epicenter of Portland's lesbian community, I felt a sense of pride that these women felt safe enough in the environment to make a public connection with thier partner. Perhaps they were just friends and not a couple - I don't know. Either way, it made me happy.
The article points out that "to hold someone’s hand is to offer them affection, protection or comfort. It is a way to communicate that you are off the market. Practically speaking, it is an efficient way to squeeze through a crowd without losing your partner. People do it during vigils, marches, weddings and funerals." I would add that it is a way to tell your partner that your attention is on them and you're not afraid to let others know about this connection. Like when Jordan Catallano grabbed Angela's hand in the hallway after months of making out in the boiler room (My So-Called Life, people).
New research has "'found that holding the hand of really anyone, [makes] your brain work a little less hard in coping,” Dr. Coan said, adding that any sort of hand-holding relaxes the body." Furthermore, “if you’re in a really strong relationship, you may be protected against pain and stress hormones that may have a damaging effect on your immune system.”
So what is the moral of this little posting? Go out and hold someone's hand. Grab your partner's hand, your kid's, a friend's, or perhaps a stranger's that is in need of some support (but make sure they won't bop you on the head for it).
Wednesday, October 4
WTF?!?
I don't know what is happening with Dancing With The Stars this season. Last week Harry Hamlin got voted off (I was shocked) and now, Vivica A. Fox is gone (I am appalled). What is going on? How are Jerry Springer and Sarah Evans still on the show? Vivica was delightful and brought so much to the dance floor and the show - I actually teared up.
Shit. I don't know if I can handle it if something like this happens again next week.
Shit. I don't know if I can handle it if something like this happens again next week.
Tuesday, October 3
Spinning
I went to a spinning class at my new athletic club and I love it.
I was a little nervous when I first arrived at the class because the only thing I knew about spinning was that it was terribly hard (and I knew this because I had seen it on several tv shows and movies with actresses with incredible bodies who are going on and on about how hard it is). I went to the class anyway and was peddling to warm up when the instructor started talking to the very nice man next to me. I am not sure how this came up but the man told the instructor that he may just fall off the bike, to which she replied it wouldn't be the first time. Apparently a man had a full-on heart attack in the middle of class and fell off his bike. It took a year, but the man's name is Ed and he was warming up on a bike across the room.
The class was really, really hard. When it got over I noticed that I was drenched in sweat in a very refreshing sort of way. Plus, I had that high that people supposedly get when they work out, but I never seem to experience. I was chipper, folks.
So I talked Greg into going with me tonight. We had a great time and about halfway through an intense interval section the instructor told us we had one more set and Greg actually moaned "nooooo." The guy on his right turned to look at him and I noticed that he was quite red in the face. About 15 minutes later, he turned to me during a recovery section and said, "I think I am going to throw up." Because I am a nice person, I made my hand into a cup and offered it to him. He gave me the look of death.
On our way home he asked me if I remembered the spinning class in the movie Fever Pitch. When I said I didn't he recounted that Drew Barrymore and three other actresses were in a spin class chatting and the instructor started barking orders about stepping it up and going hard. One of the girls then said something to the effect of hoping the instructor dies and burns in hell. Greg looked at me dead in the eye and said, "I know how she feels and I now understand where she is coming from."
This may be my new thing. We'll see (it is pretty hard).
I was a little nervous when I first arrived at the class because the only thing I knew about spinning was that it was terribly hard (and I knew this because I had seen it on several tv shows and movies with actresses with incredible bodies who are going on and on about how hard it is). I went to the class anyway and was peddling to warm up when the instructor started talking to the very nice man next to me. I am not sure how this came up but the man told the instructor that he may just fall off the bike, to which she replied it wouldn't be the first time. Apparently a man had a full-on heart attack in the middle of class and fell off his bike. It took a year, but the man's name is Ed and he was warming up on a bike across the room.
The class was really, really hard. When it got over I noticed that I was drenched in sweat in a very refreshing sort of way. Plus, I had that high that people supposedly get when they work out, but I never seem to experience. I was chipper, folks.
So I talked Greg into going with me tonight. We had a great time and about halfway through an intense interval section the instructor told us we had one more set and Greg actually moaned "nooooo." The guy on his right turned to look at him and I noticed that he was quite red in the face. About 15 minutes later, he turned to me during a recovery section and said, "I think I am going to throw up." Because I am a nice person, I made my hand into a cup and offered it to him. He gave me the look of death.
On our way home he asked me if I remembered the spinning class in the movie Fever Pitch. When I said I didn't he recounted that Drew Barrymore and three other actresses were in a spin class chatting and the instructor started barking orders about stepping it up and going hard. One of the girls then said something to the effect of hoping the instructor dies and burns in hell. Greg looked at me dead in the eye and said, "I know how she feels and I now understand where she is coming from."
This may be my new thing. We'll see (it is pretty hard).
Monday, October 2
Who Gave My Kitties Speed?
Historically, I have had a hard time sleeping. In the last few weeks, though, I have been falling asleep easily, sleeping through the night, and waking up refreshed. Greg has been working 11pm-7am. As he gets ready for work, I get ready for bed, read for half an hour or so and then gently fall asleep. Did you catch that? I said gently. Yes, I have been gently falling asleep.
Things were going as planned and I slipped into a gentle slumber, only to be awaken after 15 minutes by a huge crashing noise. I bolted upright in bed and looked around, then turned on the light so I could actually see something. Kribi was literally jumping up and down and up and down and up and down. He was trying to get the hinge of the door. I yelled and laid back down. Then he started jumping all over the bedside table, knocking Greg's alarm clock on the floor, which started blaring music. I turned it off and scolded Kribi who looked at me as if I were telling him that he was a good little boy. I laid back down and a short time later a plastic grocery bag was being played with and the crinkling noise was stopping any chance I had to find rest. I drug the bag, with two kittens attached to the living room and told them to stay, then closed the door behind me.
They found a way back in about half an hour later. I know this because Greg's alarm went off again. I tried to stay calm. I attempted deep breathing and holding the thumb of my left hand with my right one as it is supposed to help you relax. Then a large ruckus came from under the bed. I got down to grab them and put them outside again and found that Limbe was inside the box spring and they were playing with each other through the felt. I began whining and slightly weeping. They both came over to investigate and I grabbed them, put them on the couch in the living room, and closed my bedroom door completely.
I was so aggravated and wound-up I didn't go to sleep until 2:30am.
Greg got home at 7:30am and let the cats in. The immediately sat on my chest touching my nose with their noses asking me to get up. I said no, which is an answer they would not accept.
Things were going as planned and I slipped into a gentle slumber, only to be awaken after 15 minutes by a huge crashing noise. I bolted upright in bed and looked around, then turned on the light so I could actually see something. Kribi was literally jumping up and down and up and down and up and down. He was trying to get the hinge of the door. I yelled and laid back down. Then he started jumping all over the bedside table, knocking Greg's alarm clock on the floor, which started blaring music. I turned it off and scolded Kribi who looked at me as if I were telling him that he was a good little boy. I laid back down and a short time later a plastic grocery bag was being played with and the crinkling noise was stopping any chance I had to find rest. I drug the bag, with two kittens attached to the living room and told them to stay, then closed the door behind me.
They found a way back in about half an hour later. I know this because Greg's alarm went off again. I tried to stay calm. I attempted deep breathing and holding the thumb of my left hand with my right one as it is supposed to help you relax. Then a large ruckus came from under the bed. I got down to grab them and put them outside again and found that Limbe was inside the box spring and they were playing with each other through the felt. I began whining and slightly weeping. They both came over to investigate and I grabbed them, put them on the couch in the living room, and closed my bedroom door completely.
I was so aggravated and wound-up I didn't go to sleep until 2:30am.
Greg got home at 7:30am and let the cats in. The immediately sat on my chest touching my nose with their noses asking me to get up. I said no, which is an answer they would not accept.
Men In Trees
There is a new show on ABC about a NYC relationship expert who ends up in a small town in Alaska with a broken heart and confusion as to what to do with her life. I thought this would be a good show to watch, I mean if a New York girl can love it, then certainly a girl from a small city like Portland can find something. So I watched half the show last week and all of the show this week. My plan was to write this long, deep, and insightful posting about how the show intersects with my life and how I can learn from the Merrin character. Then all of my problems would be solved.
This is not happening because a) it is not a very good show, b) the "lesson" of the show didn't match up with the "lesson" I feel I need to be learning, and c) I can't figure out how to weave my page of notes into a narrative. As a result, I am going to write a non-verbatim quote and my random thoughts on it and be on my merry little way.
Merrin: "When is the Post Office going to re-open? I would like my winter clothes that were sent to me from New York."
Post Master: "What is wrong with the clothes we have here? Fancy pants.
Merrin: "Nothing if you like hip-waders. I will just sit here and wait for the Post Office to reopen so I can get my actual fancy pants."
I have two things to say that are only tangentially related to this quote:
1) she was wearing tan fish-nets, just like my EZBeth does, and I am thinking this is something I should jump on. I used to think I couldn't pull them off, but I have recently changed my mind.
2) I was up here last October visiting Greg and had an adorable little outfit on that included: sweater, short green skirt, tights, knee high socks, cute wrestling-type sneakers. As I was standing in line at the coffee shop a woman behind me actually said, "What are you wearing?" Come to think of it, she may have been wearing hip-waders.
I aplogize for the lame-o posting. It seemed like a better idea in my head.
This is not happening because a) it is not a very good show, b) the "lesson" of the show didn't match up with the "lesson" I feel I need to be learning, and c) I can't figure out how to weave my page of notes into a narrative. As a result, I am going to write a non-verbatim quote and my random thoughts on it and be on my merry little way.
Merrin: "When is the Post Office going to re-open? I would like my winter clothes that were sent to me from New York."
Post Master: "What is wrong with the clothes we have here? Fancy pants.
Merrin: "Nothing if you like hip-waders. I will just sit here and wait for the Post Office to reopen so I can get my actual fancy pants."
I have two things to say that are only tangentially related to this quote:
1) she was wearing tan fish-nets, just like my EZBeth does, and I am thinking this is something I should jump on. I used to think I couldn't pull them off, but I have recently changed my mind.
2) I was up here last October visiting Greg and had an adorable little outfit on that included: sweater, short green skirt, tights, knee high socks, cute wrestling-type sneakers. As I was standing in line at the coffee shop a woman behind me actually said, "What are you wearing?" Come to think of it, she may have been wearing hip-waders.
I aplogize for the lame-o posting. It seemed like a better idea in my head.
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