tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57558072024-03-08T13:09:53.930-04:00Island FeverMusings and Rants from a Tropical RockMarilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.comBlogger397125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1121366471081045892005-04-14T14:39:00.000-04:002005-07-17T12:40:36.756-04:00The End...and a Beginning...<span style="font-size:130%;">We left the Caribbean on March 31, 2005 and moved to California. I created a new blog to go with a new chapter in my life. You can find it here: <a href="http://marilyn.typepad.com/california_fever/">California Fever</a>.<br /></span>Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1110801096861637552005-03-14T07:28:00.000-04:002005-03-14T08:07:18.273-04:00What?!Boy, are we ever packin' up! We got a LOT done this weekend. Yesterday the boyfriend said, "I'm gonna have you packed in three days, baby!" And by god, I think he means it.<br /><br />Saturday my pal took me out for a lovely lunch at the neighborhood resort (I use the term loosely). She came by afterwards to pick up the items she'd purchased. While we were at lunch, boyfriend had sorted through the cabinet on the balcony that serves as sort of his toolshed. By the time we returned, he had a bunch of tools laid out and priced, and she bought quite a few of them for her husband.<br /><br />SIDEBAR: So we're sitting under an umbrella next to the pool at lunch and she says, "Did you hear that Oprah's either here or was here?" "NO. I didn't see anything about it in the paper!" Her, giggling conspiratorially, "It wasn't IN the paper. But evidently her production team or magazine staff was here to do a shoot. They did a swimsuit makeover with (local attorney who's the ex-wife of an a very prominent attorney here)." "What?!" "Yeah, she was having dinner at (THE RESTAURANT THAT'S RIGHT BEHIND OUR CONDOS) and they (Oprah's team) asked her if she wanted a swimsuit makeover. She's going to be in the June issue." "What?!" (My verbal skills are unmatched.)<br /><br />But back to the packing... Saturday we did a quick run to K-Mart for packing tape, etc. and to shop for luggage. Scored two American Tourister (red!) 3-piece sets for $70 a set. We've both gone through all of our clothes. We've got several large Hefty bags full of clothes ready to be donated to the Humane Society thrift store. I phoned them yesterday to find out what their hours are. Ready? Sundays from 2-4 pm and Wednesdays from 10-11:30 a.m. Okaaaaay.<br /><br />Boyfriend and I have developed a good system. I sort and organize groups of stuff to be packed, and he does the actual packing. And I'm lovin' it. In our previous two moves, I had to do all of it myself because he was at work. (I was able to get us packed up in a day during those moves...which means we've accumulated a lot of CRAP in the last four years.)<br /><br />He's got his 'honey do' list for the day. I'm off to the storage place to park my ass in front of the TV for nine hours. In other words, I'm going to work to get a little rest.Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1110717372934054542005-03-13T08:23:00.000-04:002005-03-13T10:30:42.930-04:00IRLThis morning I read <a href="http://www.selftaughtgirl.com/">Kate’s post</a> (3/12) about what happens when IRL people find your site. She’s even written <a href="http://www.selftaughtgirl.com/IRLmanifesto.html">The IRL Manifesto</a>. I really related to her post because I recently had this happen to me…sort of.<br /><br />For the first three years we lived in the tropics, I would compose long (sometimes semi-comical) "island update" emails about life here in all of its goofy glory. I sent those emails to about 50 relatives and friends on the mainland. It was a lot more efficient than having to rewrite it over and over in individual emails. The recipients seemed to enjoy them, but not that many of them would respond. Some would and I always appreciated hearing about news “back home"--whether that was in California or in Portland. But as the years wore on, I grew tired of feeling like I 'had' to write them, like they were expected. So I’d send them less and less frequently and often add at the bottom that it was likely to be the last "island update." And then suddenly I’d be flooded with emails in response. "Please don’t stop sending them! I love those! They’re so funny!" etc., etc. But it had long since stopped amusing me to have to live with the annoyances inherent in island life. And I had been going through a lot of changes in my inner life and wanted to focus more energy on that part of my life.<br /><br />In 2003, the only blog I'd ever heard of was the one Kevin Sites' kept during the Iraq War, which CNN made him take down. ("Bastards!" in retrospect.) Several months later, I saw an online news article about blogs (can’t remember now where it was--nytimes.com?) and it must have mentioned Blogger. And it hit me: here was my out from those damn "island update" emails. I could start a blog, and if family and friends wanted to read it, they could. And if it didn‘t interest them, then they wouldn‘t have some silly island email showing up in their IN box. It seemed like a perfect solution…except, of course, the "perfect" solution would have been to not feel obligated to supply anyone with news in the first place. (Can you say codependent, boys and girls?)<br /><br />So I started Island Fever, on Labor Day, 2003. I distinctly remember being sprawled out on the love seat, with the laptop next to me, looking across the room at the boyfriend and saying, "I’m bored. I think I’ll start a blog."<br /><br />Keep in mind that 18 months ago, free Blogger blogs didn‘t have comments. The only readers (I imagined) that I would ever have would only be those I gave the URL to, and since the original intent was to use the blog to replace my "island update" dispatches, I gave the URL to some of the recipients of those emails. But a funny thing happened--none of them seemed to be reading the blog, as far as I could tell. Because whenever I would email back and forth with one of my old pals or a member of my family, there was never any mention of anything I’d written on the blog. I appeared to be writing simply for my own pleasure, and that was okay, too.<br /><br />Blogger has a "featured blogs" section. On the day I created Island Fever, one of the featured blogs was <a href="http://www.alexthegirl.com/">Alex’s</a>. It was a total stroke of luck, because when I checked out her blog, it led me to <a href="http://another.girlatplay.com/">Another Girl at Play</a>, which led me to the blogs of so many wonderfully creative women. But the blog I resonated with immediately off that site was <a href="http://www.superherodesigns.com/journal/">Andrea’s</a>. So I started reading Andrea’s site and began checking out sites I found on her links page. Many of the links that are on my Blogroll, and that I still enjoy reading today, are sites I initially discovered via Andrea‘s links. I don’t know if I’ve ever told her that, so I’m telling her now: A, you are my blogging Godmother! You are the queenpin in my blogging family tree! :)<br /><br />There was this whole blogging WORLD out there that had been going on all these years and I’d had NO idea! I was absolutely thrilled to learn about it, particularly since I found myself living in a place where I had no friends.<br /><br />My first eight months here (boyfriend came down two months earlier to set the stage), we lived at two "band houses" and played host to visiting musicians, many of whom were already friends of ours, so I was able to enjoy the company of others in that setting. But once we moved to the condo and were on our own--and boyfriend had stepped away from the club he’d helped to build up and where we’d both once worked--our lives grew very quiet. And we welcomed the quiet after the chaos of the club and the band house, but I suddenly felt very isolated. My life consisted of going to work and coming back home. We didn’t socialize--who would we socialize with? We didn’t have any friends here to speak of. It was just the two of us, and that was fine, to a degree. But I missed having girlfriends. I missed getting together with someone occasionally for coffee or breakfast. So on top of missing all of the conveniences and cultural wealth one experiences on the mainland, I felt like I was missing out on having a life. And it was a hard time for me. I struggled with some pretty serious depression during that time. And worst of all, I began to experience anxiety attacks again, and they’d been absent from my life since I’d stopped drinking 12 years before. And they were bad anxiety attacks, as they had been previously. And (as you all know) I was in a job that I detested. It was a dark time, not that anyone outside of my boyfriend and my mother would have ever known that. True to form, I kept up a kick-ass front.<br /><br />But back to the blog… So I started Island Fever, telling myself that its purpose was to replace those "island update" emails. But in truth, I really just wanted to dive head first into the blogosphere (and that was long before I’d ever heard that word) and see what this whole blogging thing was about. I wanted to read what others were writing on their sites and to link to sites that I enjoyed. And I wanted to see how it would feel to write my own--maybe it would be a place I could document some of what was going on with me internally. I felt like a double agent, because I kept my blogging secret from everyone here (save the boyfriend, of course). And that‘s still true today. To my knowledge, not one single person in the Caribbean knows that I blog. And I honestly never knew if any of the people I’d originally given the URL to were even reading it, because if they were, they never indicated as such in their emails or correspondence or phone calls.<br /><br />So I got a little braver. I began to be a bit more confessional. And I began to leave comments on other sites. And that took a lot of courage for me to do. Because like many of you, I suffer from "outsider-itis"--not quite fitting in anywhere, even though I ACT like I do. I’d read comments on others’ sites and was just SURE that they all knew each other and were members of some cool blogging club. I was convinced that if I left a comment, it would elicit some sort of ostracization. ("Who the hell is Marilyn at Island Fever and why is she trying to join our 'club'?") But I began to leave a few comments. And sometimes I’d get even braver--I’d send an email to someone who’d written something that had particularly moved or touched me. And a funny thing happened--they’d usually email back. And some of the bloggers I'd left comments for began to comment on my site. Oooooh, I get it, THIS is how you draw readers to your site. Okay, cool.<br /><br />But then an even cooler thing happened. The more I began to reveal my warts--the more I exposed my less-than-desirable traits--my readers didn’t run away in abject horror, instead they wrote incredibly supportive and understanding comments and emails. What the hell?! Because it began to feel suspiciously like friendship. Genuine friendship. But how could that be? I’d never even MET these people! I’d never even spoken to them on the phone!<br /><br />And then six months ago, we went through that hard time with H. Not with H. himself, but with his mother. And it was heartbreaking for the three of us (and I just realized I dreamed about H. last night) and the support I received from my blogging pals overwhelmed me. Many times it brought me to tears. How could I be so lucky to have such incredibly supportive friends that I’d never even met?! But I did and I do and you all rock my world in the biggest damn way.<br /><br />Fast forward to about 10 days ago...I got a couple of comments from someone who clearly knew me IRL. I wasn’t sure at first who it was because the comments were signed with only initials and there was (I realized later) a typo in one of them. But I thought I knew who it was, and then she emailed me. She had come across the URL that I’d given her long ago (when I first started the site) and had started reading. She wrote how much she loved what I was writing and how much she was enjoying reading the site, so that she was reading through the archives. She left several subsequent comments on older entries--all very kind and supportive and flattering, and it was very sweet. But then it occurred to me that if she was enjoying it that much, she might want to tell other IRL people we have in common about the site. And I began to panic…because my blog had morphed into something other than what I had intended it to be when I started it. It was more of an online journal now, a diary of sorts, and I wanted to keep it that way. I wanted to be able to write without censoring myself based on the preconceived notions of what IRL people thought I was like (true or not). I wanted to be my own free self in the blogosphere.<br /><br />So I wrote to my old (high school) friend and told her that I was glad that she was enjoying the blog and asked her to please keep the URL to herself. She wrote back that she only planned to tell a few people. I wrote again explaining much of what I’ve written here and told her that having an audience of IRL readers would take much of the enjoyment out of it for me, because then I’d revert to doing what I do in so many IRL situations (like that job I just finished)--I’d ACT like I was what they wanted me to be, rather than just being who I really am. I had given the URL to a handful of old pals and relatives when I first started the blog. If they eventually came across that information and decided to start reading the site, so be it. But I preferred to not be "outed" at this point. Whether or not that was her intention, that’s how it felt. She initially responded that she would agree to not share the URL, but then later sent me a brief, rather terse email to another email address (the one she’s used to using) and asked me to un-publish her comments.<br /><br />So that’s where it stands. She may or may not be reading this post. I got the impression from her last email that she was angry over my request. Some would argue that if I’m going to self-publish on the web, then I should accept that anyone, anywhere can read it. And I do accept that. I would just prefer to not have someone give IRL folks a road map on how to reach it.<br /><br />Unlike Kate, I don’t have to worry about when or if to reveal my site to men I’m dating. My boyfriend is well aware of my blogging life, but has no interest in reading my site. And that gives me even more freedom. He simply accepts that blogging has become an important part of my life. He sees things arrive in the mail and marvels over how I’ve somehow managed to make friends not just in the States, but in other countries, too. I simply tell him, it’s a wonderful thing. :)<br /><br />I’m curious to know how all of you feel about the IRL issue. Comments welcome, if they're working! And if not, see "comment-ary" post below.Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1110590941393792412005-03-11T21:24:00.000-04:002005-03-11T21:29:01.393-04:00Photoblogs MagazinePlease check out the work of two of my favorite photographers (both appear on my Blogroll), Brita at <a href="http://southernimages.my-expressions.com/">Southern Images</a> and Lynn at <a href="http://www.two-muses.com/">Two Muses</a> on the new <a href="http://www.photoblogsmagazine.org/">Photoblogs Magazine</a>. Lovely.Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1110587313315166822005-03-11T20:22:00.000-04:002005-03-11T20:28:33.316-04:00comment-aryThanks to <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/blueberrymoon/">Blueberry Moon</a> and <a href="http://valentinois.typepad.com/violetismycolor/">Violet Is My Color</a> for the heads up that my comments weren't working. I've notified Blogger of the problem, but they seem to be working now. If they're still wonky, you can always email me. Click the"View My Complete Profile" link in the sidebar to get to the email link. Thanks.Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1110399501058028092005-03-09T16:18:00.000-04:002005-03-09T16:42:23.920-04:00life.guard<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/131/961/640/116_1624.jpg"><img style="border: 1px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 2px;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/131/961/320/116_1624.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Today I did the smartest thing any woman with my moving To Do list could do...I went to the beach. It was <span style="font-style: italic;">exactly</span> what I needed. I had spent two hours yesterday morning running errands and the afternoon at home trying to get organized (making a list on the computer of <span style="font-style: italic;">everything</span> we need to do before we leave). And then the boyfriend was home from work and he was on the balcony making golf clubs...and the phone started ringing like crazy...and then we had dinner...and suddenly I was asleep in front of the TV. I woke feeling like I didn't get that much accomplished yesterday, but I felt well-rested and ready to continue tackling the To Do list today. I was up at 4, in fact. Drove the boyfriend to work at 6:30. When I got back, I lingered over my coffee while getting caught up on some overdue email replies and then read a few blogs. All the while, I kept thinking about walking at the beach. Then I thought, screw it, I'm just gonna spend the day at the beach. So I loaded up my sand chair (it has a large backpack pocket) with a towel, three books (two partially read, one yet-to-be-read), a yogurt, cereal bar and plum, sunscreen and lip gloss. I filled my insulated mug with Tazo's Zen tea and set off. I was on the beach by 8:45 (although it felt later, having been up for so many hours already.) There were very few people on the beach when I arrived and I enjoyed the early morning hours before the throngs of tourists arrived. The weather was perfect, the water fairly warm and I was able to be alone with my thoughts. I walked up and down the beach at least three different times, went for a couple of swims, had a fat slice of pizza for lunch, finished the partially read books and started the third, and took a nice little nap under my favorite tree. All in all, <span style="font-style: italic;">perfect</span>. <br /><br />But the best part was that I just got to BE. Just me. Alone. I spent several days at the beach with our visitor last week, but it wasn't the same--there was a lot of conversation during those days and I wasn't moving to my own rhythms. Today was the first day in weeks where I felt myself just go AHHHH. Everyone talks about their AHA! moment--this was an AH moment...a big giant psychic exhale. I knew I was in need of it, but didn't realize just how much until I got to experience it.<br /><br />I basked in the sun, lounged in the shade, felt the weight of the water as I swam in the bay, smiled at all of the little kids having the time of their lives, greeted fellow walkers with a smile and quite simply <span style="font-style: italic;">enjoyed</span> myself. I had gone with the intention of possibly trying to start to get a handle on what I might like to do once we hit the mainland. But truthfully, I didn't even think about it--I was too busy nurturing myself. <br /><br />And as I saw the occasional lifeguard strolling the beach I began to think about that word: lifeguard. And it dawned on me how sometimes I don't stand guard over my own life...sometimes I choose instead to wander over and stand guard over someone else's. And that can be an honorable thing to do at times, but not to the exclusion of my needs and desires. Because after all, if I'm not going to guard my life, who will? So I made a vow to myself: from here on out, I'm not going to vacate my post. <a href="http://www.hello.com/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif" alt="Posted by Hello" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a>Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1110285972174665382005-03-08T09:18:00.000-04:002005-03-08T15:44:59.276-04:00setting sail<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/131/961/640/117_1766.jpg"><img style="border: 1px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 2px;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/131/961/320/117_1766.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />It's about time for our ship to set sail (so to speak). We leave in 557 hours. (Okay, okay, 23 days and 5 hours...but who's counting?) I'm feeling such a myriad of emotions right now. Anger at myself for not honoring my promise to myself to take the last month we're here for myself (instead agreeing to allow a visitor to spend the first 8 days after completing my job camped out at our place)...nostalgia for the physical beauty and weather here (even though we haven't left yet)...sadness over our impending loss of privacy (since it's been just the two of us here and we'll soon be in a houseful of family...but it's only for the very short-term and I'm looking forward to spending time with them...still, it's an adustment because we're a couple of hermits here)...anxiety over wondering what it will feel like to go back to an area where I've lived before (and didn't imagine living again...and maybe we won't be living there because we still don't even know where we want to live, even which <span style="font-style: italic;">state</span>)....relief that the six days I agreed to help out at the storage facility won't be so bad after all (I was there for nine hours yesterday and the time passed quickly...there's even a TV to watch!...plus I've already been prepaid and it covers our airfare to California)...irritation that people want to get together with me before we leave (I don't want to have these lunch dates I've scheduled...they break up the entire day!...I know they're wanting to have lunch with me thinking it's something nice to do for me...I view it as just one more interruption)...stress over thinking about everything we need to do in the next 557 hours (and not feeling like doing any of it...wishing I could instead spend my remaining time here plopped down on the beach with my nose buried in a bunch of introspective books)... You get the picture.<br /><br />Most of all, I want TIME. Time to think about who I am and who I've become at this juncture in my life. Time to think about the possibilities that this newfound freedom gives me. Because I was playing hostess for all of those days (and working yesterday), today is my first chance to let it really sink in that I'm done with that job. Four years is the longest I've ever worked anywhere, in any capacity. I'm looking forward to getting back to my more unconventional lifestyle. It's funny--one would think the tropics would be the place for that...instead I'm returning home so I can get back to being a gypsy. (Hard to be a gypsy when you live on a 13- by 3-mile island...where the hell are you gonna go?!)<br /><br />So that's where I am today: hand on the rudder...ready to head off in a new direction...<br /><a href="http://www.hello.com/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif" alt="Posted by Hello" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a>Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1110021480865262722005-03-05T07:17:00.000-04:002005-03-05T07:18:00.870-04:00Family TreeOur houseguest arrived last Saturday afternoon. After picking her up from the airport, we dropped the boyfriend at home and I took her for a walk at the beach. When we returned, boyfriend said I'd received a call from a man in Indianapolis (I'll call him Indy)--someone who was working on the genealogy of my family, the Italian side. Whaaaa.....?! He said he told the man I was out but would return shortly; the man said he'd call back at 6:30. And he did...on the dot. <br /><br />I had a nice chat with him. He's married to a cousin of mine. She's my 2nd cousin, once removed. (Can anyone explain that 'removed' part to me? I've never understood it). I've never met his wife and didn't even know <span style="font-style: italic;">of</span> her. This man, with the assistance of a couple of others, has traced our Italian roots all the way back to my 5th great-grandfather...in the 1700's. (That's Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandpa Domenico to me.) :)<br /><br />He had found information on my Dad and first phoned him. Dad suggested he speak instead to his sister (my aunt), so he called her. She suggested he call me because I'm the only one in the family who's been to my grandmother's birthplace in Italy. My Dad and Aunt were happy to cooperate, but felt I would probably remember more familial information than either of them. Indy was looking to flesh out the family tree by gathering information on our branch. He filled me in on what information he had and what he needed, and followed it up with several emails with attachments (a genealogy report, an index of names and several photos of my grandmother's birthplace--he's been there a few times).<br /><br />I called my Aunt the next day and between the two of us, we put together the bulk of the information. I emailed what we had to Indy and he sent me a revised report. I called my Aunt to discuss it so we could make any corrections, and then we each went off to collect some missing pieces via email and phone calls. As of Thursday, I had most of the information compiled for our branch of the family. I emailed the last set of corrections to Indy last night. Our branch is now nearly complete. He's going to send me a revised report Sunday night. I don't know what software he's using, but the report is personalized--so it tells me how every single person in the family tree is related to <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span>. It's very cool.<br /><br />All of this genealogy stuff got me thinking about the blogosphere, and how it's sort of a fabulous combination of genealogy and "Six Degrees of Separation." Through linking, we're creating our own virtual family trees. There are marriages and divorces and children (blogs the owners have created because they've been inspired by reading other blogs) There are definite branches to the tree, even though many of us hop from branch to branch.<br /><br />That's all just to say that I'm so glad you're all in my virtual family tree.Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1109847300317800722005-03-03T06:42:00.000-04:002005-03-03T06:55:00.316-04:00!0 Things......I Have Done that You Probably Haven't - via <a href="http://bluepoppy.omworks.com/">BluePoppy</a>:<br /><br />1. Woke up (nekkid) in the sofabed in my boss's living room next to our best client (also nekkid) on the morning of my performance review.<br /><br />2. Had my legs used as B-roll in a rodeo telecast. (Black denim mini-skirt, red cowboy boots, legs draped across a Marin County fence.)<br /><br />3. Made a joke about Dan Quayle on a national telecast with Clinton and Gore.<br /><br />4. Had Meg Ryan dance into me. (Closed eyes and much twirling in circles were involved. Dennis Quaid was across the room.)<br /><br />5. Had Bonnie Raitt tell me I'm a good dancer (and that she liked my red cowboy boots).<br /><br />6. Got stranded at Gilley's in Texas after hours with a producer from New York who wanted to do me on one of the pool tables in front of the cleaning crew. (His fantasy, not mine.)<br /><br />7. Started a staff meeting I was moderating by having everyone move to the loft to dance to MC Hammer's "You Can't Touch This."<br /><br />8. Had the FBI show up at my front door to question me re something connected to the Patty Hearst case.<br /><br />9. Had footage of me in a Wang Chung-judged hot legs contest appear as the 'tease' on the 11:00 news, which was seen by my boss...on a day I had called in sick because I was too hungover to work.<br /><br />10. Had a television actress toss me her handbag on location and say, "Keep an eye on that--my gun's in there."Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1109757534326344572005-03-02T05:46:00.000-04:002005-03-02T06:19:50.190-04:00Paris<span style="font-weight: bold;">Blueberry Moon</span> is going to Paris for two weeks in May. To help finance her trip, she's selling tickets to raffle off one of her wonderful paintings. Tickets are $2.50 for one or $5 for FIVE. Go <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=blueberrymoon">here</a> for details. That takes you to her profile page. Now go to <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/blueberrymoon/">her journal</a>, scroll down to the February 26 post and check out that apartment where she'll be staying!! She's getting a check <span style="font-style: italic;">today</span>!<br /><br />And don't forget that my adorable pal Secret Agent Jo is off to Paris next month. You can help finance her trip by shopping at her CafePresss "PARIS SHOP." Go to <a href="http://secret-agent-josephine.com/index5.htm">her site</a> for the link (the button's on the sidebar).Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1109668406889362192005-03-01T05:13:00.000-04:002005-03-01T05:25:01.466-04:00The Week of FirstsI've had absolutely no time to blog since our houseguest arrived. I've managed to steal about 10 minutes to check email between driving J. to work and when our guest awakens. Of course, that means I have to remember to take the laptop into the bedroom the night before. (She's sleeping on an airbed in the living room.) Sunday we went to the beach and St. John, so that was shot. And yesterday, when our guest and I arrived home after running errands in town, boyfriend was on the computer...and he stayed there until bedtime. Grrrrr. I took the laptop to bed with us last night. Boyfriend immediately conked out. I set it on my lap and got ready to catch up on all of my favorite sites. Two minutes later, I was struggling to keep my eyes open. I'm only managing to post this because I woke up to use the bathroom and forced myself to wake all the way up so I could sit here under my little pillow fort (to keep the light from waking the boyfriend) and do it.<br /><br />After we grabbed our guest at the airport on Saturday afternoon, we dropped the boyfriend at home and she and I went for a walk on the beach. He had a gig that night; we stayed home to make dinner and catch up.<br /><br />Sunday was GLORIOUS--a postcard-perfect day. When the boyfriend arrived home from his brief stint at work, we packed up the sand chairs and made a beeline for the beach. We had breakfast sitting at one of the picnic tables. Then boyfriend took a nap and we went for a swim. I hadn't been in the water in a long time; it felt wonderful to be back in the bay. Our guest continued to swim and I went for a brisk walk up and down the beach. Then we dashed home to change clothes and found our landlord in our bedroom when we got there. He was installing a new celing fan. YAY! We'll finally be able to get some uninterrupted sleep without having to battle mosquitoes all night. And it's so <span style="font-style: italic;">quiet</span>--the fan, I mean. I hadn't realized the other one wasn't. That poor old thing was the original fan--it had to be at least 25 years old. Boyfriend quickly helped the landlord finish the installation, and then we all changed clothes and piled back into the car to head to the ferry.<br /><br />It was a perfect day for a ferry ride to St. John. On arrival, boyfriend got his drums set up at the bar. Then we walked a few doors down to the pizza joint for a couple of slices. He went back to start playing and I took our guest on a tour of St. John's shopping district (all three blocks of it...ha!) We picked up a few things. I grabbed some Spanish passionfruit-flavored lip gloss, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00023GFT0/qid=1109665978/sr=2-1/ref=pd_bbs_b_2_1/103-1851580-3941408">this CD</a> and a St. John t-shirt (since I don't own one) and a tan and black canvas bucket hat, since I can always use another hat. I picked up the t-shirt and hat at Big Planet, which will always be remembered as the place where my visiting parents had their lone USVI celebrity sighting when they saw <a href="http://www.kelseylive.com/">this guy</a> paying for his purchase there. I have a hard time finding hats that fit my big-ass head. It's embarrassing to try on hats in stores--they all just sit on top of my head. I don't know how such a skinny gal can have such a BIG head, but I do.<br /><br />After our shopping spree, we headed back to the bar and caught part of the boyfriend's middle set. There was a steel pan player sitting in because the keyboard player had lost her gear. When the keyboard player boarded the ferry on St. Thomas, she allowed one of the porters to load her dolly carrying her gear (keyboard, amp, etc.) BUT <span style="font-style: italic;">she didn't watch him load it</span>. The result? It was put on a ferry to <span style="font-style: italic;">Tortola</span>, not to St. John. She didn't discover the mistake until she arrived on St. John. She made three critical mistakes: 1) she let a porter transport her gear (boyfriend never lets them load his gear and after months of refusing their service they don't hassle him about it anymore--he loads it himself); 2) she didn't watch where the porter was taking it (I would have been accompanying him and watching to make sure it was loaded safely); and 3) she didn't look when she boarded the ferry to see if her gear was in the cargo area (which is on the lower deck right next to the gangplank). By the time we boarded the ferry to return home, she still hadn't tracked it down. The folks at the Tortola ferry terminal were claiming no one there had seen it. We felt horrible for her. I hope she managed to get it all back, but it wasn't looking good.<br /><br />On boyfriend's last break, the three of us walked across the street to my favorite St. John gift store and got decaf lattes. We sat at their little outdoor counter. When he walked back across the street to play his final set, we stayed right where we were, since we could see the stage from there. We finished our drinks and enjoyed the last set girl-talking. Then we went back across the street while he loaded his gear and walked the one block to the ferry terminal.<br /><br />On the ride back to St. Thomas, we sat on the upper deck of the ferry on a bench next to the wheelhouse. At night, they turn on a huge floodlight on the upper deck. It shines right in your face, which can be pretty annoying. They turn it off once you're in open water, but then flip it back on before arrival. But the bench where we were sitting was forward of the floodlight. so we got to enjoy the ride back sitting in darkness and gasping over the fantastic display of stars. It's a pretty special thing--to be riding on a darkened ferry across Pillsbury Sound on a warm night with the night sky looking like a planetarium.<br /><br />When we got home, we piled into our respective beds with bowls of mango sherbet and over-sized snickerdoodles our guest had brought from Portland, and turned on the Oscars. Boyfriend didn't make it much past the opening monologue. I dozed off at one point and missed the middle of the telecast, but I did wake up in time to see Hillary Swank get her award. And when Best Actor came up, I woke the boyfriend because I knew he'd want to see Jamie Foxx's acceptance speech. Once it was over, I had a hard time getting to sleep (it was after 1:00 here), so I didn't have much poop yesterday.<br /><br />I spent yesteday morning helping our guest set up a Yahoo account. She's never had her own private email account. (She just retired from her job, so will no longer have access to her work account and she shares a home email address with her husband.) We downloaded all of the pictures I'd taken of her thus far, and she had fun sending emails and photos to friends back home. Then we went into town and had lunch on the patio of a restaurant at the cruise ship dock, went to the post office so she could mail her postcards, did some grocery shopping, hit K-Mart for a few things and came home. We thought about going for a walk on the beach, but we just felt like sitting. And that's what we did the rest of the afternoon and evening--just hung out at home with the boyfriend. He was on the laptop doing golf-related stuff. Our guest made us a dinner of penne tossed with olive oil, sauteed spinach, diced tomatoes and feta (yum)...we watched Oprah's post-Oscars special (our guest had never seen Oprah's show before--she enjoyed it)...I popped in my DVD of Albert Brook's "Mother" (she'd never seen it and I thought she might like it--she did)...and then we went to bed. Day 3 of my 'vacation'...over.<br /><br />Our guest (I think) is having a fabulous, memorable time. She's already had several new moments in her first few days: her first time traveling alone (ever!), her first trip to the Caribbean, her first experience of Magens Bay, her first trip to St. John, her first private email account, her first time watching an "Oprah" show and I've almost got her convinced to buy her first digital camera. I'm having fun watching her expand her horizons.Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1109434311981605052005-02-26T00:11:00.000-04:002005-02-26T12:40:21.553-04:00Must. Kill. Boyfriend.I should never be allowed near firearms. Truthfully, guns scare me to death. But if I'd had one this morning, boyfriend might not be breathing right now.<br /><br />He had promised me he wouldn't play golf today--that he'd stay home and help me tidy up the condo. My friend's plane lands at 3:00. I did some laundry last night, but I was just too spent to do much else. I told the boyfriend after work yesterday that I felt like a balloon that had been deflated. Pshoooooosh. I think it was all just too much at once. Finally leaving that job (and it still hasn't fully sunk in that I don't have to go back there on Monday...or EVER)...our sudden decision to move...and having my employer hand me an envelope as he left the office which contained a check so large I was shocked.<br /><br />That's all just to say that by 8:30 last night, I was asleep. I was up at 5, but waited until 9 until I started putzing around. I didn't wake up the boyfriend, but knew the noise would eventually wake him. He strolled out to the living room about 9:30. I thought he'd be ready to join in with the cleaning, but instead he sat down at the laptop. Okay, I thought, I'll give him a few minutes--maybe he just wants to check his email. But an hour later he was still sitting there. Meanwhile, I was cleaning all around him with maximum sound effects--grunting, groaning--letting him know how much energy I was expending. Nothing. Then I walked behind where he was sitting and saw that he wasn't surfing the net or checking his email. He was in a software called Photo Impressions and he was making photo collages of fucking golf club heads. We have a club-making business on the side. But still. GOLF CLUB HEADS. By now, it was T-minus 4 hours until my friend arrives. I truly hated him. Mind you, he wasn't saying a word. We weren't speaking. He was just sitting there quietly at the laptop with a look of such intense concentration that you would have thought he was nearing a cure for cancer. But, no...GOLF CLUB HEADS. I was drinking a glass of water as I stood there behind him and honestly, I fantasized about what a satisfying clunk the glass would make if I lobbed it at the back of his head right then.<br /><br />Then I moved to the bedroom to start tidying up in there. I was in the process of hanging up all of the clothes I had piled atop the seat of the exercise bike (because that is what it's for, right?) The entire time I was thinking how much I hated him right now and wanted to kill him. Just then, as I reached into the closet for a hanger, something (I still don't know what) on one of the hangers jammed under my right thumbnail. Oh.my.fucking.god did that hurt. I've had plenty of things jam under my fingernails over the years, but NOTHING that hurt like that. I was literally doubled over for a couple of minutes--gasping, applying pressure to my thumb because that seemed to feel better, groaning. Do you think my boyfriend came running to see what had happened? To see if I was seriously injured? Nope. Just kept printing out his photo collages of fucking GOLF CLUB HEADS. Then it really WAS too much. I burst into tears, flung myself onto the bed and bawled hard for a couple of minutes--all the while holding my now-bleeding thumb. (How can our noses create so much snot so instantaneously?) It did sort of cross my mind that it might have served me just a tiny bit right for thinking such murderous thoughts, but I quickly scratched that from my brain.<br /><br />Once I finished tidying up the bedroom, I moved to the bathroom. I could still hear the printer cranking out photos of fucking GOLF CLUB HEADS. As I was standing at the vanity, having just finished cleaning the entire area, he suddenly showed up. He stood extra close to me, looked at me and smiled. I pushed him away and told him I hated him. He laughed and asked, "Why?" I thought, how can he possibly be so dense? I asked, "What's the last thing that needs to be done right now?" "Wash the car." "NO! What's the LAST thing that needs to be done RIGHT NOW?" He looked mystified. "Printing out photos of FUCKING GOLF CLUB HEADS!!!" He just laughed and said, "But that's for our business. I'm trying to make us some money." "AFTER the work is done."<br /><br />Then he walked out to the living room, put a tape on (which I mysteriously had never heard, but he has gazillions), pressed play and I heard, "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Rhythm Safari recording artist..." and I knew it was a show he'd done with my old singer pal. Turns out it was a show in L.A. where they opened for Steve Miller. And then he stepped outside and began tidying up and sweeping the balcony.<br /><br />Don't let that sweet demeanor fool you. The boyfriend's a wily man. He knows I can't stay mad at him for too long if I'm listening to him play music, and playing music that I like. But I still hate him. Sort of.<br /><br />Oh yeah, I'm on my period. But that's beside the point.Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1109329962977262702005-02-25T07:04:00.000-04:002005-02-25T07:19:41.533-04:00Bibbity Bobbity BOO!Today is my last day in that office, four years to the day. Can't say I've done a helluva lot of work the last couple of days. My replacement returned to the office on Tuesday for good, having spent three days with me a couple of weeks ago. She's been doing all of the work--and hasn't wanted my help, even though I've offered countless times--so there really hasn't been much for me to do. I've been camped out at the spare desk in the front office for the last couple of days. Yesterday I spent a chunk of time reading <a href="http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?inkey=62-0440509211-0">this book</a> (adorable). Late in the afternoon, my replacement wandered out by where I was sitting, laughed and said, "Hey, M, no reading on company time! You're supposed to be making yourself available to me." I thought, "Is she JOKING?!" I certainly hoped so, since first of all, how I spend my time in that office my last few days is none of her fucking concern. And secondly, I've lost track of the number of times I've wandered into my former office and asked, "How can I assist you? Do you have any questions you'd like me to answer? What can I do to help?" and the like.<br /><br />SIDEBAR: She and the female attorney used to work together--the 'last place of employment' for both is the same place--and they're tight. When the attorney would arrive for work (always much later than the rest of us), she'd rarely say anything as she passed my office. No Hi, Good morning, anything. But since my replacement's been there? It's all (insert sickenly sweet voice that's a sharp contrast with her "I'm a bitchy, snotty wench" voice that's used with the rest of us, including our employer), "Hiiii, how are youuuuu?" to the new gal. Gag.<br /><br />I do feel sorry for the receptionist though, because she's a dear woman and my pal. And the last time this woman worked there, she made the receptionist's life a living hell. Our employer has assured her that won't be the case this time--that my replacement is different than she was six years ago. I think that remains to be seen. I've already seen glimpses of the bitchiness that they said colored her previous stint there.<br /><br />But all I have to do is show up for one more day. A day when the receptionist and I are being taken to lunch by my employer and one of his partners at one of the best restaurants on the island. At the end of the day, I'll get my final check. Wish me luck--I'm hoping he's gonna pad that baby!<br />----------------------------------------------------<br />Yesterday I took our list of sale items to work and passed out a few copies. By the time I left the office, I'd already sold half the items. The receptionist joked, "That's the easiest 'yard sale' I've ever seen!" I highly recommend it if you're moving: compile a detailed list of items to be sold, including prices, pass out copies to friends and acquaintances, and get ready to make some money. (Of course, it probably only works well if you're able to deliver the items to your workplace and/or live in a small place where delivery or pick-up isn't time-consuming.) Boyfriend and I have loaded several items into the car this morning for delivery today (one load to the receptionist and another to be dropped off at one of our sister offices). And boyfriend has already sold both of our TV's to one of his coworkers. The buyer will pick them up right before we head off-island.<br />-----------------------------------------------------<br />My almost-houseguest retires from her job today, after 20 years of employment at the headquarters of an HMO in Portland. She boards a red-eye to Chicago at 11:30 tonight and arrives here at 3:00 tomorrow afternoon. Then it's fun-in-the-sun for these two old gals for the next week, as we chill out at the beach and catch up on the last five years of our lives.<br />------------------------------------------------------<br />One new development: The resident managers of the island's lone self-storage facility (which is owned by my employer and his partner) are heading off-island for a month-long vacation. They had asked me a couple of weeks ago if I might be available (once I leave my present position) to offer some back-up to the woman who staffs their office. (She works full-time--they sometimes just need an extra pair of hands.) I notified them immediately when we decided to move, since we'll be leaving before they return from their trip. They asked if I'd still be willing to help out. If it was anyone else, I'd likely have said no. But they're super-nice people, I'm very fond of them and they want a minimal commitment. I said yes for four reasons: 1) we're already way ahead of our sort/pack/move schedule five weeks out, 2) it would only be two days a week, 3) it'll pay for our plane tickets to California, and 4) I don't know when I'll have a chance to generate some income again. Plus the boyfriend will still be doing gigs, so it's only fair that I should be doing something to add to our coffers if I have the chance. So starting Monday, March 7, I'll be working there on Mondays and Fridays only for three weeks. We'll still have our last full week on-island to lounge and relax. Boyfriend plans to do his last gig on March 24.<br />----------------------------------------------------------<br />And now? Excuse me while I squeeze my 50-year-old ass into my 501's, slip on my favorite pink striped shirt and kicky hot-pink sandals, and grace them with my fabulousness one last time.<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span>Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1109220628752024572005-02-24T00:45:00.000-04:002005-02-24T00:50:28.753-04:00RebarAs if his <a href="http://www.rebargroup.org/">Cabinet National Library</a> wasn't off the hook enough, now <a href="http://www.superherodesigns.com/journal/">Andrea's</a> husband Matt and his pals at <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Rebar </span>have come up with <a href="http://www.rebargroup.org/hidden_agenda/project/index.html">The Hidden Agenda</a>. Check it out.Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1109215507213406782005-02-23T23:25:00.000-04:002005-02-23T23:31:06.666-04:00You can take the girl out of the blog, but...<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/131/961/640/116_1645.jpg"><img style="border: 1px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 2px;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/131/961/320/116_1645.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />So I'm out walking around the downtown shopping district on my lunch hour on Tuesday. I ring the boyfriend on his cell, since he's also on his lunch break. I tell him I've left the office to take a little walk. He asks, "Are you shopping?" "Shopping??" "Yeah, you need to buy yourself a few souvenirs before we leave here." Hmm, that hadn't really occurred to me. A short while later, I wander into a cute store called Local Color. I've found several gift items there in the past. Lo and behold, but what do I see?... <a href="http://www.hello.com/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif" alt="Posted by Hello" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a>Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1109203756383014732005-02-23T20:06:00.000-04:002005-02-23T20:09:16.386-04:00Momma<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms, verdana, lucida sans unicode;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">"I kept trying to convince her to go out to dinner with me, because I really wanted someone to ask me about the wicked-looking incision on her neck..." ~<a href="http://blofeld.diaryland.com/">Memoirs of an Evil Genius</a></span><br /></span></span>Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1109070375000487672005-02-22T07:03:00.000-04:002005-02-22T07:06:15.003-04:00bunkerJust last week it hit you like a ton of bricks: this is why people take Xanax. You suddenly realized how frequently you’re filled with anxiety, and how much of the last four years you’ve spent feeling that way. You’ve become so used to keeping everything so bottled up here; you’ve forced yourself to be so tightly contained. There’s a tempest raging inside of you, but no one bears witness to it. If others only knew--how you’re screaming inside. Screaming. But no one hears, not even those closest to you, because you maintain such a good front. That’s always been your M.O. Keep up a good front, no matter what--until it finally collapses in on itself from the sheer weight of it. Some build fake exteriors of wood or tin. Not you. Yours is made from concrete and rebar. No one’s getting past that motherfucker. But damn, it’s heavy. And there’ve been a few earthquakes over the years that have reduced it to rubble. But FEMA’s got nothing’ on you, baby! You are the Rebuilding Queen!<br /><br />But it’s not like you’ve spent your entire life hiding behind your fortified bunker. There’ve been moments, passages, when you’ve set it down and stepped in front of it. And oh, how light you felt in those moments. So very, very light. And you liked the feeling. Truly, you did. But the world is not to be trusted. Why must you keep learning that lesson over and over again? And how can you possibly be the person you were meant to be, and aspire to be, with all of that concrete blocking your view…and your light? Surely there’s a way. You keep trying to find that way, and sometimes you even get a glimpse of it. A moment, a shadow. You turn your head quickly because you’re sure you saw a fleeting image of it out of the corner of your eye. You know it’s there; you’re simply trying to get it front and center.<br /><br />You told almost no one about ‘the prayer.’ Not because you were embarrassed by it, but because it scared you a little--that it might actually have been answered. You’re not one for any sort of organized religion, but you do try to keep hold of your own quirky brand of spirituality. You still don’t know what possessed you last Tuesday morning to offer up that prayer. Because that’s what it felt like--an offering. Sometimes praying feels to you like pleading. But this time, you simply offered it up.<br /><br />You were in the car and had just pulled away from the condo. You flipped off the radio. You always listen to the radio during your morning commute, but you were craving quiet. You went up the little rise and back down again, went behind the restaurant and through the guard gate. It was as you drove up the little slope that leads to the main road--it was in that moment that you heard yourself offering up that prayer. It surprised you, because you hadn’t been feeling depressed or even out of sorts really. But you heard yourself say that you needed a sign. That you were feeling a bit lost--like you weren’t sure which direction to head. You didn’t know what your purpose is in this life, and how best to serve that purpose. You didn’t even know where to go to begin to find it. Should you stay here? Should you go? If you should go, where should you go? You heard yourself ask for a sign and you promised that if you got one, you’d pay attention to it. Twenty-four hours later, you got it--the email from your landlord telling you that you have to move. But how could that be? You’d only just asked for a sign the day before. Could this be it? You know that it could, and that it was. But this time there was no earthquake. This time it was easy on you. Your bunker wasn’t reduced to rubble. Instead you quietly set it down…and began beating the shit out of it with a sledgehammer.Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1108922458492253902005-02-20T13:50:00.000-04:002005-02-20T14:00:58.493-04:00busy beeI've already gotten so much done re the move it's not even funny, but I'll laugh anyway...HA!HA!HA!HA!<br /><br />Yesterday I went through my dresser--even went through my jewelry drawer. I'm not one for fine jewelry, although I do have a few things. So a lot of it is/was costume jewelry. I found stuff I forgot I owned! And I tossed a bunch of stuff. I showed up at the clubhouse yesterday to pick up the boyfriend after his round of golf and asked, "Notice anything?" He smiled when he saw I was wearing a necklace he bought for me in Switzerland about eight years ago...and that I haven't worn in probably three or four years. (Bad girlfriend!)<br /><br />I also went through all of my books and beading supplies. I'm giving most of the beads to a friend here who makes her living selling her beading products.<br /><br />Today I did a good purge in the kitchen--clearing out the fridge and cupboards and tossing some stuff we no longer use. We're not shipping any kitchen items. We may sell a few items and will leave the rest in the condo.<br /><br />I also gathered up some art supplies to take to my friend at work to give to her grandkids. I''ve got a bin full of all kinds of stuff to give away to my coworkers on Tuesday.<br /><br />Boyfriend and I spent time this morning making price lists for the items we're going to try to sell: one list for general household items and one for his music gear. <br /><br />That's all just a long-winded way of saying that when he heads off to his gig on St. John today, I'm not going to feel the least bit guilty if I spend the rest of the afternoon and evening doing nothing more productive than flipping through magazines and watching TV. Unless I get inspired to start tackling my clothes... But right now? I hear some ice cream calling my name.Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1108921573698979552005-02-20T13:37:00.000-04:002005-02-20T13:46:13.700-04:00landlordOur landlord came downstairs to meet with us this afternoon. She's going to use our security deposit for our March rent. (That saves us a little dough, since the deposit was less than our current rent.) She wants to keep the phone service on (getting a phone turned on here can be a royal pain, as evidenced by the fact that the phone company took six months to turn ours on), so we'll transfer our number to her. She and her mother plan to renovate and totally refurbish the place, which is why she's applying our security deposit for rent. She's not concerned with any damage we might have done because she knows we've treated the place (and its furniture) as if it was our own. ALL of the furniture and linens are going to be tossed (should give you an idea of how old the stuff is), so that takes the pressure off of fine-cleaning everything.<br /><br />She thanked us several times for making this so easy for her. She said she felt horrible having to ask us to leave and that she would have <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> asked if it wasn't for her mother's condition--that as far as she's concerned, we could have lived here forever. She said they'll miss having us here, and we told her we'll miss living here but totally understand about family coming first. It's hard to feel that this move is anything less than absolutely right when everything's falling into place so easily.Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1108896447268478872005-02-20T06:38:00.000-04:002005-02-20T13:49:49.496-04:00golf nutAs boyfriend was just leaving for work (he works 2-1/2 hours on Sunday mornings), he mentioned that he spoke to one of his coworkers at the golf course yesterday about his golf balls. They've agreed to buy them, at 50 cents a pop. I was like, "Woo hoo!" THEN, he said he wanted to find some more. That's right--these are <span style="font-style: italic;">found</span> golf balls. (Thank god for bad golfers.) Keep in mind that there are two LARGE plastic tubs full of golf balls sitting in the corner of our balcony. But, no, he wants to rustle up some more "...because I only have about 800." I countered, "But that's $400!" (of pure profit). Hell, that'll probably cover our shipping (at the rate we're getting rid of stuff)...yay!! He mumbled something about "two thousand" as he was heading out the door. Two thousand balls (netting him $1,000)? If he thinks he's gonna go off gallivanting in the shrubs looking for another 1,200 golf balls while I sit here and sort and pack...well, Mister had better think again. (Why, oh why, do men get so obsessed with the unimportant things? It's like the time he insisted on spray-painting the barbecue moments before H. was scheduled to arrive instead of helping me clean the condo.)<br /><br />******************************************<br /><br />UPDATE: When he got home from work, after searching for a few golf balls while making his rounds at the course this morning, boyfriend said he was reminded what a pain the process is--searching for them in the shrubs and brush, cleaning them, etc. So no more golf ball hunting for the boyfriend--he'll sell what he already has on hand. :)Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1108826052472904042005-02-19T11:13:00.000-04:002005-02-20T06:49:21.606-04:00BookCrossingI remember hearing about/checking out the BookCrossing site when I first started blogging. It didn't pop into my mind again until 3 am this morning when I was wondering what to do with my books. I don't have tons of books, because I read library books when possible and give away a lot of books I buy. But I have way more books than I want to ship to California.<br /><br />I could donate them to our tiny library, and they could surely use them because their selection is beyond pathetic. But the library gets so little action (I learned, having checked out many books that had been on the shelves for years only to discover I was the first user to check them out) that my donated books might never get read. We have only two bookstores--a tasty little independent and a tiny store on the east end that specializes mostly in used paperbacks, although they do carry a small selection of new books. I've sold a handful of books there in the past, but it's almost not worth the gas to drive out to the east end. I thought of selling them on eBay or through this site, but that seemed like it would require more time and expense than I want to expend. Finally it hit me: <a href="http://www.bookcrossing.com">BookCrossing</a>.<br /><br />I was up early this morning and while having a big mug of decaf, I became a BookCrossing member and began registering books. I've registered nearly 30 thus far and I (surreptitiously) released five of them while walking at the beach this morning. It was fun--sort of like being a Book Fairy. I've always been a big believer in the idea of enjoying a book and then releasing it into the world for someone else to enjoy, so BookCrossing is right up my alley. I respect those who choose to accumulate large home libraries--I'm just not one of those people. (Keep in mind that I've moved dozens of times, so I tend to like to keep my load rather light, too.)<br /><br />BookCrossing's site says that only 20-25% of released books are 'caught' (or registered as having been caught.) That's okay. I'll feel good knowing that five people showed up at the beach today for a day of fun-n-sun...and found a free book.Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1108788594871787652005-02-19T00:48:00.000-04:002005-02-19T00:49:54.873-04:00exhaleNeed an AHHHHH moment? Check out <a href="http://www.solbeam.com/">Solbeam's</a> photos of Darjeeling.Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1108768806523846232005-02-18T19:57:00.000-04:002005-02-18T20:01:55.523-04:00"Check...1...2...<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/131/961/640/116_1633.1.jpg"><img style="border: 1px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 2px;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/131/961/320/116_1633.1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />...testing...testing...is this thing on?" I've been in rehearsal mode the last couple of days--trying out California to see how it sounds...and feels. So far, so good.<br /><br />My brother is making this WAY too easy for us. Because they were expecting his mother-in-law to move in with them (temporarily) at the end of this month, they repainted one of their bedrooms (although I can't imagine it really needed it--it's a nice house). When I spoke to him yesterday, I told him we'd be checking the classifieds of his local paper before we leave here in an effort to line up a used car. He said, "No! Don't buy a car! I've got cars here for you." He's got a car and a truck that he's not even using. Then he made mention of a maid who cleans their house once a week. Maid service?! Good god, I might never leave!<br /><br />We got our plane tickets today. As the boyfriend said, "There's no turning back now." Yesterday afternoon I made a list of our personal effects (because I'm obnoxiously organized that way). We took a good hard look at that list and thought about what we really care about keeping, and whether or not the rest is worth the cost of shipping (because Viking has a 1,000 pound minimum.) We decided it wasn't worth it (although I <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> drooling over the prospect of, for once, having someone else pack my stuff). So it's back to the original pack/ship plan: we'll sell as much as we can, give a bunch of stuff away and ship only the stuff that really matters to us. We can store our boxes in my brother's garage--he said they'll make space--AND they have two storage sheds next to the garage. So, storage problem solved.<br /><br />Boyfriend's even selling his (custom) drum kit. Of course, that's just an excuse for him to get a new one. :) I suppose he's entitled--he's had this kit for four years. So he'll have his buddies at <a href="http://www.allegradrums.com/">Allegra</a> fix him up.<br /><br />As for me, I went for a walk downtown at lunchtime today. As I took a stroll past the few boutiques that have even remotely cute clothes, it dawned on me that one of the first things I'm gonna do when we hit California is <span style="font-style: italic;">buy some clothes!</span> Man, I've missed having any cute clothes. There's simply nowhere to shop here--at least not for my taste. And shopping online is too hard for me. I have to try stuff on, because the same size seems to vary so widely among different designers and manufacturers. Did you hear what I just said? "Designers." Yeah. This from the woman who's purchased the bulk of her wardrobe the last five years from a store whose front features a giant red K. Oh how quickly that quirky California snobbery sneaks back in...<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(In case you're wondering which "Dummies" book that is in the photo, it's "Home Recording for Musicians for Dummies.") </span></span> <a href="http://www.hello.com/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif" alt="Posted by Hello" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a>Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1108619732583921412005-02-16T23:56:00.000-04:002005-02-17T07:06:53.096-04:00papaya, pt. 2Looks like I won’t be enjoying the fruits of that papaya tree after all…<br /><br />Yesterday morning at work, after checking the office email account, I thought to check one of my own email accounts that I hadn’t checked at home. I had a message from my landlord (she only lives upstairs but we almost always communicate via email). She’s asked us to vacate our condo by March 31. Her mother’s sight is failing rapidly and they want to move her down here from the States since she‘ll be unable to drive or live independently. They want to put her into our unit.<br /><br />We certainly understand. After all, my own mother has a pretty serious vision disability. And this wasn’t a total shock--they had mentioned it might be a possibility at some point. We just didn’t realize it was going to happen so soon. I think we held out hope that they wouldn’t need our unit until after we’d headed back to the States (probably early next year).<br /><br />I was shocked to get the news, and instantly felt a little teary. It's hard for me to imagine living somewhere else on this island, even though we lived in two other houses before this place. It's not so much the condo itself (although it's a nice place) but the setting, and the privacy and peace and quiet we've enjoyed here.<br /><br />I called the boyfriend to break the news. He was rather quiet, but assured me it would all work out. He said we could find a cheaper place to save even more money this year. I immediately began scouring the want ads in the paper. But then it dawned on me that if we move from the golf course we'd have to buy a second car, since he'd no longer be able to walk to and from work. And we'd also need to buy a bunch of furniture, since we don't own any--we lease the place fully furnished. And of course I'd have to immediately find full-time work to help pay for all of that stuff. But I kept reminding myself it was still do-able. After all, he'd said he wanted to stay through this year. But he called me back a short while later and said, "Let's just go. I'm ready to go." And suddenly that seemed the best decision. Why spend all that money on a second car and a houseful of furniture when we'd just have to turn around and try to sell it in less than a year, and probably for a lot less than what we paid for it? Better to take those funds and resettle somewhere else. Besides, we've been here five years and we're ready for a change. So within half an hour of seeing the landlord's email, we decided to head to the States instead. Although we've been looking at other areas, we decided our best bet was to head toward my brother and his family in California. We can use that as a jumping-off point. We'll see how we feel about being in California (home for me and a place the boyfriend loves) and decide what feels right once we get there.<br /><br />I phoned my mother (in California) at lunchtime to give her the news. She's beyond excited. She called back awhile later to say she'd just heard on TV that Delta had started a price war, so we might luck out on our fares. By the time I got home from work, the boyfriend had been to countless travel sites and found a very reasonable Delta fare for one-way tickets to Sacramento. (The Sacramento airport is 20-30 minutes east of my brother's house.) We decided to jump on it and bought tickets for March 31.<br /><br />We called my brother's family. They're, of course, thrilled. My sister-in-law's mother was scheduled to move in with them temporarily at the end of this month. But she called my sister-in-law yesterday to say she's not moving in--she's found a place she can afford. But my oldest niece's room had already been cleared out (my nieces were going to share a room). I suppose it's no accident that my sister-in-law was in full prep mode for someone to move into one of their four bedrooms...she just wasn't expecting it to be us. (The 'coincidence' of her mother's phone call followed by ours was not lost on her.) :) She graciously said we can stay with them for a couple of months if we want/need to. They have busy lives and we don't want to impose, but it gives us some breathing room to know that we don't have to find a place right away. We can chill for a few weeks, scope out the area (an area I already know) and see if California feels right or whether we want to look at another area.<br /><br />So we've got six weeks to dismantle our lives here and get ready for a new adventure. The boyfriend was pushing for us to sell most of our stuff, but then I reminded him of replacement value. Seems silly to sell stuff for maybe a <span style="font-style: italic;">fifth</span> of what we paid for it (if that), just to turn around and buy it at full price on the other end. His idea was to sell as much as we can and then mail the rest. But having done the Priority Mail thing shipping boxes down here, I'm not anxious to do it again. Because these post offices are really funky...lord knows when it would show up. I think we've decided instead to let Viking handle it. We box it up, they pick it up and put it on a container, and deliver it to a storage place on the other end (if we so choose). That seems like the best solution. And if we have them pick up the stuff to be shipped about a week before we leave, we can spend our last week pretending we're on vacation. Remember, we live in a fully furnished place, so all we need are some clothes, toiletries and (of course!) the laptop.<br /><br />I finish at my job next Friday, the 25th. My Portland pal arrives on the 26th and departs March 6th. She scheduled her trip last year when we thought we'd be moving to California (at the end of March!) She was going to help me pack...looks like she still can. :)<br /><br />Boyfriend is going to give two weeks notice tomorrow at his job at the golf course. He's been there 4-1/2 years. I'm sure they'll be sorry to see him go. I don't think it's a stretch to say that he's probably their most conscientious employee.<br /><br />As I've posted many times before, I often walk on the beach after work. Yesterday I asked the boyfriend if he wanted to join me. He surprised me by saying yes. We took a leisurely stroll and reiminisced about our time here. Something tells me he might be joining me more often from here on out. It's hard to believe that we'll only be able to enjoy Magens Bay for another six weeks.<br /><br />I felt teary as we walked. We've been through so much here, individually and together. I thanked him for bringing me here, even though I came kicking and screaming, and told him it's been a life-changing experience. It has been, just not in the ways I would have imagined...in even better ways.<br /><br />I'm so grateful to all of you who've entered my life through this blog. You've given me so much friendship and support and laughter and joy this last year-and-a-half. I'll decide down the road whether to keep Island Fever going once we're stateside--maybe it'll be time for a new blog to go with a new chapter in our lives. We'll see. But for now, I'll still be here...and hope you will be, too.Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5755807.post-1108463969146839282005-02-15T06:54:00.000-04:002005-02-15T06:55:51.843-04:00papaya<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/131/961/640/115_1586.jpg"><img style="border: 1px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 2px;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/img/131/961/320/115_1586.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />New this season is this papaya tree, which sprouted up below the landing next to our front door. As soon as these babies are ripe, all we'll have to do is open the front door to pick a papaya.<br /><br />I'm feeling a bit like this tree lately. I'm growing and sprouting. I'm bearing fruit...it's just not ripe yet. I've felt a bit dazed and unfocused lately. I suppose this is a cocooning stage before I emerge into the next chapter of my life. And I hate the thought of considering <span style="font-style: italic;">that job</span> a 'chapter' in my life. But like it or not, it's now a part of my history...or herstory. And truthfully, it served me well in a way. It reinforced my knowledge of what I absolutely <span style="font-style: italic;">don't</span> want to do with my time. And if I hadn't felt so unhappy and dissatisfied (and pissed at myself for doing it in the first place, since I knew the moment I saw the building where the office is housed that I would hate it--my initial reaction was that visceral), I might not have started blogging. And before starting my blog, I kept up a furious email and snail mail correspondence with an old friend in California for at least a year. It was cathartic for both of us and helped us both through some rough patches. And I wouldn't have started beading. I sure as shit wouldn't have found myself sitting at a Xmas craft show with a whole table full of stuff I'd made from beach glass and wire. Being so miserable from 7:30 to 4:00 on weekdays caused me to really focus on how I wanted to spend the rest of my time. I filled it by reading novels and travel memoirs...walking on the beach and swimming and sometimes just sitting in my sand chair and staring out at the bay...blogging and writing and connecting with like-minded souls all over the place...creating and nurturing business ideas with my mate. So everything is a gift in my life--I just sometimes choose to forget that.<br /><br />I suppose it's no accident that another word for gift is present. I know the present is a gift...but it sure is hard to live there sometimes. <a href="http://www.hello.com/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif" alt="Posted by Hello" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a>Marilynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14643045514339958007noreply@blogger.com3