Island Fever

The End...and a Beginning...

2005-04-14T14:39:00.000-04:00

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: California Fever.

What?!

2005-03-14T07:28:00.000-04:00

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.)

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.

IRL

2005-03-13T08:23:00.000-04:00

This morning I read Kate’s post (3/12) about what happens when IRL people find your site. She’s even written The IRL Manifesto. I really related to her post because I recently had this happen to me…sort of.

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.

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?)

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."

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.

Blogger has a "featured blogs" section. On the day I created Island Fever, one of the featured blogs was Alex’s. It was a total stroke of luck, because when I checked out her blog, it led me to Another Girl at Play, which led me to the blogs of so many wonderfully creative women. But the blog I resonated with immediately off that site was Andrea’s. 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! :)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. :)

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.

Photoblogs Magazine

2005-03-11T21:24:00.000-04:00

Please check out the work of two of my favorite photographers (both appear on my Blogroll), Brita at Southern Images and Lynn at Two Muses on the new Photoblogs Magazine. Lovely.

comment-ary

2005-03-11T20:22:00.000-04:00

Thanks to Blueberry Moon and Violet Is My Color 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.

life.guard

2005-03-09T16:18:00.000-04:00

Today I did the smartest thing any woman with my moving To Do list could do...I went to the beach. It was exactly 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 everything 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, perfect.

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.

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 enjoyed 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.

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.

setting sail

2005-03-08T09:18:00.000-04:00

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 state)....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.

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?!)

So that's where I am today: hand on the rudder...ready to head off in a new direction...

Family Tree

2005-03-05T07:17:00.000-04:00

Our 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.

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 of 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.) :)

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).

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 me. It's very cool.

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.

That's all just to say that I'm so glad you're all in my virtual family tree.

!0 Things...

2005-03-03T06:42:00.000-04:00

...I Have Done that You Probably Haven't - via BluePoppy:

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.

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.)

3. Made a joke about Dan Quayle on a national telecast with Clinton and Gore.

4. Had Meg Ryan dance into me. (Closed eyes and much twirling in circles were involved. Dennis Quaid was across the room.)

5. Had Bonnie Raitt tell me I'm a good dancer (and that she liked my red cowboy boots).

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.)

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."

8. Had the FBI show up at my front door to question me re something connected to the Patty Hearst case.

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.

10. Had a television actress toss me her handbag on location and say, "Keep an eye on that--my gun's in there."

Paris

2005-03-02T05:46:00.000-04:00

Blueberry Moon 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 here for details. That takes you to her profile page. Now go to her journal, scroll down to the February 26 post and check out that apartment where she'll be staying!! She's getting a check today!

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 her site for the link (the button's on the sidebar).

The Week of Firsts

2005-03-01T05:13:00.000-04:00

I'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.

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.

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 quiet--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.

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, this CD 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 this guy 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.

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 she didn't watch him load it. The result? It was put on a ferry to Tortola, 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Must. Kill. Boyfriend.

2005-02-26T00:11:00.000-04:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

Oh yeah, I'm on my period. But that's beside the point.

Bibbity Bobbity BOO!

2005-02-25T07:04:00.000-04:00

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 this book (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.

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.

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.

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!
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.

Rebar

2005-02-24T00:45:00.000-04:00

As if his Cabinet National Library wasn't off the hook enough, now Andrea's husband Matt and his pals at Rebar have come up with The Hidden Agenda. Check it out.

You can take the girl out of the blog, but...

2005-02-23T23:25:00.000-04:00

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?...

Momma

2005-02-23T20:06:00.000-04:00

"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..." ~Memoirs of an Evil Genius

bunker

2005-02-22T07:03:00.000-04:00

Just 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!

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.

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.

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.

busy bee

2005-02-20T13:50:00.000-04:00

I've already gotten so much done re the move it's not even funny, but I'll laugh anyway...HA!HA!HA!HA!

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!)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

landlord

2005-02-20T13:37:00.000-04:00

Our 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.

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 never 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.

golf nut

2005-02-20T06:38:00.000-04:00

As 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 found 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.)

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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. :)

BookCrossing

2005-02-19T11:13:00.000-04:00

I 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.

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: BookCrossing.

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.)

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.

exhale

2005-02-19T00:48:00.000-04:00

Need an AHHHHH moment? Check out Solbeam's photos of Darjeeling.

"Check...1...2...

2005-02-18T19:57:00.000-04:00

...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.

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!

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 was 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.

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 Allegra fix him up.

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 buy some clothes! 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...

(In case you're wondering which "Dummies" book that is in the photo, it's "Home Recording for Musicians for Dummies.")

papaya, pt. 2

2005-02-16T23:56:00.000-04:00

Looks like I won’t be enjoying the fruits of that papaya tree after all…

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 fifth 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.

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. :)

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.

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.

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.

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.

papaya

2005-02-15T06:54:00.000-04:00

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.

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 that job 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 don't 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.

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.

Wrapped up tight in creationism...

2005-02-14T06:57:00.000-04:00

'Creationism' doesn't have a biblical connotation for me. I think of it as the fusion of creativity and perfectionism. I fused those puppies together about 40 years ago, and I've spent the last 10 years trying to blow-torch them apart. Reading this post by Communicatrix yesterday brought the subject front and center again.

This is how bad it was: I wouldn't even sing "Happy Birthday." When I was a kid attending other kids' birthday parties, I'd gather around the cake with all the other kids, but always made sure to stand at the back of the group where it wouldn't be obvious that I was lip-synching. It seems bizarre now, since most of those kids were my classmates...and we had singing class together every day for eight years. It was technically called "music class," but most of what the nun had us do was sing. I think that's where the shame of my singing voice developed. I was (am) an alto, which is totally cool with me because I'd rather be an alto than soprano. But it was the way Sister Mary A. would say, "You're an alto. Go sit on that side (of the classroom)." She always made the four of us in the alto section feel like outcasts. I guess she thought sopranos sounded much prettier in church.

But it wasn't just being an alto (because that didn't bother me). I was convinced that the only way I could carry a tune was in a Samsonite. Even as an adult, I never sang in church, and Glide's a church where pretty much anything goes. Hell, we used to have a loud, rowdy drunk who'd come to the 9 am service and often interject drunken remarks during the sermon. But still I kept quiet. Office gatherings to celebrate someone's birthday? Birthday gatherings at someone's home or a restaurant? It didn't matter how much I had to drink--when it came time to sing "Happy Birthday," I was lip-synching. And if complete lip-synching was too obvious, then I'd sing in a sort of barely-there whisper. I made Marilyn Monroe singing to JFK sound like a belter.

Then I fell in love with the boyfriend. I'd had musician friends for years--some of my oldest friends are musicians and singers!--but I never sang, or even hummed, in front of them. It was bad enough that the boyfriend could sing. What was worse (in terms of my singing phobia) was that his ex-wife is a singer. There was no fucking WAY I was gonna sing in front of him. So there we'd be, on long road trips, flipping radio stations or playing tapes or CD's, and I wouldn't so much as hum.

Finally, three or four years (years, not months) into our relationship, I screwed up my courage. As I've written here, it's a ritual in our house to bake birthday cakes the night before and have birthday cake for breakfast. It was his birthday. I was bundled up in my zebra-print robe on a cold December morning. The cake was on the table and I'd lit the candles. I climbed onto his lap, wrapped my arms around his neck and began to whisper-sing "Happy Birthday" into his ear. Needless to say, he was surprised. He immediately pulled away to look at me and said, "You have a nice voice!" Yeah, right. But that moment freed something inside of me. It broke loose one of the 'creationism' chains I'd felt so tightly wrapped around me my entire life.

I'm blessed to have a mate who's not only extremely creative himself, but encourages creativity in others in the most gracious and patient way. So whenever he hears me say, "I can't," it's immediately met with the response, "Yes, you can." "I can't (fill in the blank)...draw, sing, design a house, etc." "Yes, you can." And you know what? He's right.

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Thank you, Blogger, for finally giving us pop-up comments.

Palm...springs?

2005-02-10T19:17:00.000-04:00

I arrived home from work today to find this waiting for me. Boyfriend asked, "How do you like your coconut tree?" It reminds me of when we were kids and would "plant" an avocado seed in a glass of water, suspended by toothpicks. Do you think this will actually grow with it sticking up out of the potting soil like that? Maybe so. It's not like it needed any 'soil' to make it grow thus far.

It's amazing how we can grow in less-than-ideal conditions. We might seem a little cracked, but there can be beauty in the imperfections. Conditions are likely never going to be perfect. Sometimes we just have to open up, let some light seep in and allow our inner beauty to branch out.

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Before the holidays, my mother sent us a C.A.R.E. package with an assortment of stuff, including a chocolate bar from Dagoba. I'd forgotten I even had it. Boyfriend's at a gig and I felt like treating myself to something decadent. But what? Then I remembered that Dagoba bar. I just opened it and started nibbling. It's forest-grown, organic dark chocolate infused with lavender essence and wild blueberries. YUM!!!

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DAD UPDATE: My father finished his 7 weeks of radiation today. I spoke to him tonight; he feels pretty well. Of course, that could be due to the Vicodin, Xanax and pain patches they've got him on. I'm surprised he can feel anything. This week they narrowed the area on the left side of his neck they were zapping. I called him every weekend to check in. Weekend before last, he was having a really hard time and said, "I really don't want to go back there for any more of that." It made me feel awful. The last two weekends, he's talked about how severely burned his neck was from the radiation. But last night he said his neck has healed remarkably in the last five days. I asked if that might be due to the reduced area they were radiating this week. He wasn't sure, but said the radiologist had commented how rare it is to see someone's skin heal so rapidly in such a short time. Other effects have included damaged salivary glands and horrendous sore throats. He was on a liquid diet for a couple of weeks, and a couple of times they admitted him to the hospital for rehydration. He talked about what a saint my stepmother has been through all of this--how she's done all of the driving the last couple of months. (The treatments were done at a hospital in the next state, two hours away.) She told me last weekend that they'd had a few moments of disagreement through this whole thing. I imagine that's to be expected when you're undergoing something that stressful, and when you're spending 7 weeks cooped up in a little hospital-affiliated apartment. (They went home on the weekends.) But it's over, and let's hope that's the end of it. He goes back in a month for follow-up.

Wendy

2005-02-09T23:09:00.000-04:00

AAAAAAACK! How did evil Wendy make it to the final three on Project Runway?! Can't wait to watch next week's show when all 12 designers sit around together and dish about each other. Hard to believe, but the boyfriend is as addicted to that show as I am.

Today is our 10-year 'anniversary.' We spent the first five years in Portland and we've been here for the second five. Who'da thunk I'd make it to the 10-year mark in a relationship? Me, the original fear of commitment gal. Even more astounding to me is that my love for him continues to grow and deepen. I don't understand the dynamic, but I definitely like it. :)

We went to dinner tonight at our favorite restaurant. It's an Italian place in a less than desirable neighborhood. Just looks like a dark, old house on the outside, but inside is an intimate room with large, colorful, funky canvases (painted by the owner/chef) gracing the walls. Great food and the service is never less than superb. Our waiter tonight has waited on us before, but I just realized tonight who he resembles. Remember the (male) 'nanny' in "Jerry McGuire"? He could be the guy's twin.

Although I'm not a Catholic (anymore), I did note that today is the start of Lent. Last year for Lent I gave up gossip. I did! No, really...I did. I haven't decided what I'll try to give up for the next 40 days this year...but it looks like it won't be gossip, based on what I just wrote about Wendy.

Once when I was a teen, my (single parent) father came home while I was on the phone with a girlfriend. He heard a few minutes of my conversation and then asked, "Don't you girls ever say anything nice about anyone?" I looked at him like he was insane. "No." Sheesh, where's the fun in that?

inspiration

2005-02-08T07:00:00.000-04:00

I subscribe to Jennifer Louden's Comfort Queen newsletter. In today's issue, she talked about inspiration and asked readers to email what inspires them. I thought that was a good question to start my day, so I made a quick list:

* Phone conversations with my 7-year-old niece - Her 'worldview' reminds me to open up and look at things through enthusiastic eyes.

* My boyfriend's creativity - Nothing like having a creative mate to make me want to tap into my own creative self!

* Walking on the beach - Letting my mind drift while I wade through the warm tropical bay waters...feeling the sand on my feet and between my toes...and letting it ground me after a day spent in a less-than-authentic workplace.

* Synchronicity - Paying attention when things start weaving together. The World Wide Web assists me in creating my own personal web...and safety net.

* Fearlessness - My own and others'...it's much easier to 'leap' if there's a net (see earlier item). I feel embraced by my online community and do my best to 'spot' them, too.

* Good writing - It doesn't have to be fancy or high-falutin'...it just has to feel/sound authentic. Do I hear someone's truth (even if it doesn't match mine)?

* 24-hour reset button - The fact that I'm gifted with a new day...and that it's up to me whether I want to maintain the status quo or re-create my perceptions and, therefore, my reality. It's like a constant universal "do-over" option, and when I acknowledge and appreciate it, things open up.

* Nature - All it takes is a look or stroll outside to remind me of how much beauty there is in this world.

* Stars - I'm fortunate to live in a place where the night sky can be seen in all its spectacular glory...a free and painless perspective shifter.

* Compassion - I struggle to find my own vein of compassion sometimes. Often the best way to tap into it is to read/hear stories of others' compassionate acts.

The first definition for inspire in my dictionary is: "to stimulate (a person) to creative or other activity or to express certain ideas." May the wand of inspiration wave over this day for you.

Dream Life...Not

2005-02-07T18:41:00.000-04:00

In honor of Pam, who had a frigging PIPE SAW going in her house today. Why, you ask? Oh, just so her radiators could be repaired. You know, those things that provide HEAT. Did I mention she lives in Austria? Did I mention that they had so much freakin' snow last week that...well, you'd have to see for yourself. (Check her slide show from last week's posts.) But, it's COLD. And here I sit in my flannel jammies and it's still in the low 70's. (Wimp.)

See that post below? The one that's all 'Oh, let's be spiritual' and crap. Know what I really wanted to post yesterday? This was what I originally wrote:

God,
Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change
the courage to change the things I can
and the patience to not go up to the 3rd floor and kill those motherfuckers who won't stop with the pounding and drilling. I mean, really. Do they NOT understand that this building is made out of concrete? Do they have any idea how frigging LOUD that shit sounds? And besides, it's Sunday, for God's...er...your sake.
Thanks. Amen.

So lest anyone think that splitting your time between Austria and Seattle (Pam) or lolling around the lazy Virgin Islands (me) is all just a hunky-dory dream life, let me just say: um, not.

Just when I think I couldn't possibly hear a story that would top all of the other stories I've heard here about government corruption and ineptitude, along comes another doozy. Last week the attorney in our office had two deeds that she needed to have attested. The (ONE-PERSON) office that handles that service recently instituted "expedited service" for an additional $100 fee per document--"expedited" being defined as 24-hour turnaround. She dropped off the documents at 10 am on Thursday, along with payment of the appropriate fees, including an extra $200 (for her two documents) for "expedited 24-hour" service. She went back at 4:00 on Friday to pick them up--30 hours later. She saw the ONE PERSON who works in that department standing in a hallway, chatting up some coworkers. This woman is notoriously ill-tempered and rude and literally does almost nothing, even though the government has employed her for god knows how long. When she saw the attorney, the worker gave her a disgusted look and asked what she wanted. The attorney replied that she was there to pick up her "expedited service" documents. The government worker sucked her teeth in disgust (as only West Indians can do) and said (imagine a thick West Indian accent here), "They only 8 hours in a workday! Twenty-four hours! Three days!" Let me repeat that: 24 hour service = 3 (8-hour) workdays. The attorney went to the woman's supervisor and had her documents 15 minutes later (after explaining what had transpired). But 24 HOUR SERVICE EQUALS THREE WORKDAYS!

I'm familiar with "island time," but come on!

hotline

2005-02-06T16:14:00.000-04:00

"God is not stingy with His miracles; it's a pity we ask for so few." ~Marianne Williamson, "Everyday Grace"

I'm not a Christian (eight years of nun teaching cured me of that--actually, it never really took in the first place) so I squirm a bit when I read/hear someone use the whole "Him" and "His" thing. But I do have the word "God" in my vocabulary--although it may mean something different to me than to many others. I think of God as a higher power or the universe or my highest self or nature or something that's bigger than me. For me, it's not important to have a clear definition. The only precept I need to cling to in order for it to work for me is that whatever it is, it's bigger than me.

I love the idea that Marianne expresses in that quote. It's like her famous quote that's often misattributed to Nelson Mandela which begins: "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." Why do we ask for so few miracles in our life? Why do we most often ask for a miracle only when our backs are against the wall? Why do we not ask for miracles to unfold in our lives on a daily basis? It's as if most of us consider miracles only in terms of crisis management.

So I'm here today to say grab the mike, people. Let's start speaking up and asking for some miraculous stuff to be thrown down in our lives as the normal course of business. If you look around your life and think you're pretty damn lucky and have a lot to be grateful for, then give thanks and ask for something that seems out of reach. Not to be selfish--quite the contrary. If there's one thing I've learned in my 50 years, it's that the best miracles are the ones that not only assist me, but allow me to assist others. Ask for miracles in your life so you can know the joy that comes from making miracles happen in other lives. The greatest joys I've ever experienced have come from being of service to others. So just know that when I'm on the mike, I'm not only going to be asking for miracles for myself, but for all of you, too.

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I just threw this on the CD player. We're goin' old school now! I do love me some black gospel music. And although I live with someone who grew up playing in that tradition, this is my album. Hell, I used to own it on vinyl. Rance Allen is an amazing singer, with unbelievable range. This album takes me back to my San Francisco days... :)

Communicatrix

2005-02-06T07:47:00.000-04:00

Yet another reason I'm loving 43 Things...

First I met the fabulous Pam. I mean, come on, who else lives her own version of a bicoastal lifestyle by splitting her time between Austria and Seattle?

And then yesterday I went to my pathetic little list of (far less than 43) things at 43 Things and forced myself to add one goal. After doing that, I noticed that 13 other users shared the same goal, so I took a glance at the group as a whole. But I only checked out one of them and, boy, did I pick a good one.

[Insert sidebar]: About a month ago, I was at home when the words "O-Lan Jones" suddenly popped into my head, because, well, that's how my head works. I thought, "Hmmm, wonder what she's up to these days?" A Google search turned up her IMDB listing and a snarky Fametracker post. (How dare they mock O-Lan?!)

So back to yesterday... At 43 Things I clicked on a link to site called Communicatrix. Anyone who not only references, but (apparently) knows O-Lan Jones is more than okay in my book. As of this writing, I have now read the Communicatrix's entire archives. Okay, she's only been blogging for three months, but still, that should tell you something. Go there. Now. Yes, NOW. I promise, you won't be disappointed.

Floating on the river Link...

2005-02-04T03:41:00.000-04:00

Another night spent surfing the 'net in the wee hours, due to sleep arriving way too early. Tonight (this morning?) I visited some sites I hadn't been to in awhile. I started at Lorianne's wonderful Hoarded Ordinaries. She had a link to Journalisimo (back to analog!) and Ivy's blog, having recently met Ivy and Beth in person. It reminded me that I used to read Beth's journal regularly, but hadn't been there in awhile. And I learned of The MacDowell Colony, where Ivy's currently in residence.

I stopped by Blaugustine, another place I hadn't visited in a good long while, and was delighted to see her Egypt photos and to read about her recent trip there. I grew tickled thinking that her experience of the country was probably quite different from the experience being had right now by the two I know who are traveling there. Let's just say that if I ever make it to Egypt, my travels would likely more closely match Natalie's. :) Go read it--great stuff. She's convinced that she was Hatshepsut...she learns of, visits and is deeply moved by Sunshine Project International...she finds remarkable beauty in unlikely spots during her caleche rides...and for a silly little fun, use Virtual-Egypt.com's Cartouche Creator to see your name in hieroglyphs.

Mental Health Day

2005-02-03T19:30:00.000-04:00

You could feel things slipping away from you as the day progressed. Maybe you’d even felt it coming on for a few days. But yesterday it hit. Subtle, yet so there. You convinced yourself it couldn’t possibly be hormones, unless your cycle had suddenly gone completely wacky. But then you remembered: oh yeah, you are that age. Maybe this was a preview of what it’ll be like for the next few years--unexpected and unsettling and annoying and disquieting.

When you left work, you rolled down the window to feel the tropical sun and breeze, and as you climbed the hill, you heard a report on NPR that made you feel like a self-absorbed, ungrateful shit. The one that said that in Aceh province an average of 1 out of every 1,000 tsunami victims has access to a toilet--and about the havoc that’s wreaking on people’s health, not to mention their sanity. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to slap you out of it.

Your mate was home when you got home, and when you walked in, you mentioned you were feeling a bit out of sorts all day at work. He’d spent the day at the beach with his coworkers as a reward for work on a special project. And you weren’t even jealous that he’d gotten to spend the day that way--you knew he deserved it. He’d brought you a plate of food from the catering at the beach so you wouldn’t have to cook dinner. And then he left, because he had an early gig.

You didn’t feel like being online, or even watching TV or a movie. You felt like going to bed, so that’s what you did. You climbed into bed at 6:00 with Marianne Williamson’s “Everyday Grace.” For awhile you simply laid still…until the tears came. And it felt good to cry. Maybe a good cry was overdue. Maybe you’ve been trying to hold your shit a little too together lately. Maybe you needed to unravel a little bit, to come a bit undone. You always try to be a good mate and friend and daughter and auntie and sister and worker. But sometimes you just need to be you. And lord knows, that’s not an easy thing to be. So you cut yourself a break. You gave yourself permission to let your guard down and just feel.

You vaguely remember your sweetheart coming home and lying down next to you to see if you were really asleep. When you mumbled that you were, he quietly picked up the book you’d left in the bed and set it on your bedside table and turned off the lamp. And you went back to sleep…only to awaken at midnight. You got up, thinking it was much later, went to the living room and sat down at the laptop. And you spent about three hours sitting in the darkness, trolling through your blogroll and thinking what a gift it is to have this whole world out there that you can tap into when you want to fill your head with someone else’s thoughts for awhile.

You eventually went back to bed, but sleep didn’t come easily. You snuggled up tight next to your love and wrapped your arms around him and let his body heat warm your heart. You thought for the zillionth time how much you love him and how thankful you are to have him with you. You know you dozed off at some point, because you had panicky dreams of being chased and hunted. You were clasping a baby to your chest and doing your best to protect her while trying to avoid being detected by your pursuer.

When the alarm went off, neither of you felt like moving. But you dragged yourself out of bed to go make coffee. You moaned to yourself that it was probably going to be a long day, but you knew you’d make it through if you simply put one foot in front of the other.

You drove your man to work before the sun hit the horizon, and as you kissed him goodbye and turned around to head home, you could feel it already--that today would be a little better, even without enough sleep. You knew the best thing you could for yourself would be to wear things you love. So you pulled out your 501’s and your favorite white shirt and Andrea’s Superhero necklace and your funky pink watch and the crimson sandals your man gave you for Christmas. You stood in the shower and tried not to think, while letting your mind drift.

As soon as you pulled out of the entrance at your gate, you joined a line of cars behind a student driver. You were 8 or 10 cars back, so you couldn’t tell if the driver was male or female, but either way, they were driving very slowly. So slowly, that you had to drive part of the way in first gear. But you sort of didn’t mind. Your sunroof was open and the windows were down and the radio was off. The only chatter you wanted to hear was between your ears. And you suddenly remembered the last passage you’d read in “Everyday Grace” before you fell asleep:

From a spiritual perspective, while we can lose our earthly employment, we cannot lose the job God gave us. We are the permanent holders of a spiritual career, for it is what we are and not just what we do that represents our greatest work in the world. As long as we remain vigilant at building our internal abundance--an abundance of integrity, an abundance of forgiveness, an abundance of service, an abundance of love--then external lack is bound to be temporary.

When you got to the office, you found the visiting CPA waiting on the steps. You proceeded to unlock the office and get everything turned on, while trying to extricate yourself from the conversation he was trying to have with you about Bush’s plan for Social Security and why he thinks it‘s a bad idea. An hour later he was gone--off to audit your coworkers at a sister company.

At lunchtime you grabbed a New Yorker to read while you ate your chicken Caesar salad. And when you saw a particular cartoon, you had to laugh. It pictured a man in pajamas and robe, sitting in front of a TV, a dog at his feet. He was on the phone and the caption said, “I thought I’d stay home today and accept the things I can’t change.” It occurred to you that maybe that’s what you were doing at 6:00 last night, when you were lying still in bed: accepting that which you cannot change. Because sometimes overt action isn’t required…sometimes a little covert acceptance will do the trick.

nada

2005-02-02T17:13:00.000-04:00

Wouldn't you know it? We finally get our phone connection back...and my emotions take a real dive. Maybe tomorrow will be better...

I'm baaaaaack...

2005-02-01T18:03:00.000-04:00

Yes! We finally have a working phone line at home! It's been a long 11 days...

Cabinet National Library

2005-01-28T13:13:00.000-04:00

The boyfriend and I are enamored lately of all things associated with the Land of Enchantment (New Mexico, for the uninitiated). If you haven't already seen it, please go to Andrea's site and check out her husband Matt's art installation where he built the Cabinet National Library (1/26 post) in the New Mexico desert. LOVE. IT.

"We interrupt your regular programming to bring you this special message..."

2005-01-28T08:47:00.000-04:00

Let me explain my absence from this site for the last week. Sometime last Friday morning, our phone line went dead. We know it was working early that morning, because I remember the boyfriend phoning me and asking, “Have you left yet?” I laughed and said, “Evidently not, because you called me on the land line.” (We both have cells.) But by the time he arrived home from work at noon, the line was dead. When he let me know, I immediately called the phone company and put in a service order. The technician told me the earliest they’d be out to fix it would be the 1st. I thought: yeah, yeah, you guys always say that, but then usually show up in the first 24 hours. But this time I guess they really meant it.

I called the phone company’s business office first thing Monday morning to make sure there was nothing amiss in our payment records. It hadn’t occurred to me until last Friday night to think that that might be a possibility. The last time this happened, they’d mistakenly disconnected us for non-payment. (I purposely pay the bill well before the due date at a bank to avoid those kinds of mistakes.)

We have a rather uncomfortable history with this phone company. They took six months (let me repeat: SIX MONTHS) to install our phone in the first place. I’d call them periodically and ask why it was taking so long, and they’d explain to me once again that there were only so many connections (or something) in our neighborhood--that basically we’d have to wait for someone to move before we’d get a phone. I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell kind of ‘tin can and string’ place I’d found myself.

Finally one day a phone company guy arrived to install our phone at our previous residence…one week before we moved. As soon as we moved, I called in a move order. (And we were, of course, charged a move fee, even though we’d only had the phone a week after waiting SIX MONTHS.) A week went by at our new place (where we still live) and still no service. Maybe I should have thought something was up before a week had transpired, but, hey, after waiting six weeks? Pssh, a week was nothing. But after a week I called to check on the status of the move order and was told there was no record of it. So I went to the phone company and sat with a representative and placed another one.

When we first got our phone in our current place, the line used to be really static-y. It grew worse and worse, so we finally called for service. It turned out that one of the connections in the house was really funky and needed to be replaced. Then there was the time that some nimrod doing construction in the neighborhood severed a line and knocked out our service. And then of course the “We disconnected you because you didn’t pay your bill” (even though we did) episode. So I don’t have a lot of faith in this phone company. Let’s just say I don’t think they’re aptly named: Innovative.

And since we have dial-up internet service at home, we’ve been WITHOUT THE INTERNET FOR A WHOLE WEEK! The agony! The panic! Until I reminded myself that until two years ago, we didn’t even own a frigging computer. Hmm. How the hell did I used to entertain myself? Oh yeah…reading…walking on the beach…watching movies…listening to music…doing other stuff on the computer (which lately for us has meant fiddling around with the boyfriend’s new architectural software)…browsing in the bookstore…writing ‘real’ letters (the kind you put a stamp on)…

Truthfully, I think we’ve both welcomed this break from the internet. We spend a lot of time online…because there’s not a helluva lot to do here. I get a social connection fix; boyfriend can tap into all kinds of music and golf stuff that’s out there. I’ve only stopped in at cybercafes twice in the last week to do a quick check of email. The first time, boyfriend was breathing down my neck because he was anxious to make his tee time. And the second time, at the cool cybercafe downtown on my lunch break, the connections were so godawful slow that it was almost too aggravating. But today I’m going to walk with our laptop. (It’s a West Indian custom to say “walk with” rather than that you’re going to take, bring or carry something with you.) Our office uses the same ISP we do at home, but the set-up is out of the dark ages. The computers aren’t networked (in any way), so for any of us to access the internet, we have to first pick up line 4 on the phone and make sure no one else is connected, and then connect. And since my employer uses his laptop only for email and internet surfing (and he spends a lot of time surfing), it’s hard for me to get internet access for work use, let alone to check my personal email. And I like to keep it that way, because he uses my PC regularly (he’s on it every morning when I arrive and kicks me off routinely to check the office email which he insists be stored on my hard drive instead of his, even though 99.9% of the mail is for him.) Remember, I’m incognito here. No one in the entire territory knows that I blog, so I never blog or read anyone else’s blogs from my computer at work. But my employer flies out today; he and his wife are heading overseas and will be gone for almost four weeks. So I’m going to walk with the laptop and plug in when I get to the office. Then I can see what all of you have been up to for the last week. I’ve missed you guys…

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Quote of the Day

I took a random peek at Shakti Gawain’s “Creative Visualization” this morning and saw this:

We need to realize that after our basic needs are met, the experience of abundance has more to do with expressing our creative gifts in satisfying ways, and learning to give and receive in a balanced way, than it does with extravagant consumerism.

2019

2005-01-21T06:55:00.000-04:00

Each morning as I snake down the steep hill that takes me into town, I (like a gazillion others) stop where the "paper lady" stands by the side of the road to buy a (local) newspaper. She causes horrible traffic backup, but she's not alone. We have paper ladies standing by the road on all of the major arteries taken into town on weekday mornings. You can find a newspaper in stores, but there are no kiosks or newstands. There are no sidewalk machines where you can plop in your 75 cents, lift/open the lid and grab a paper. And of course there's no home delivery. (Put the "paper ladies" out of business? And let traffic flow freely during the morning commute? Yeah, like that's gonna happen.)

So I stop each morning when I reach the paper lady and buy a paper...but it's not for me. It's for my employer, because he refuses to buy one for himself. He reads the paper each morning--and practically runs over a paper lady on his way to the office--but will absolutely not stoop to stopping and putting his hand out the window. For 15 years, an attorney in the office bought his newspaper each morning. When she moved to the States over a year ago, I assumed that duty. The only reason I assumed it is because it's a way to read the newspaper without buying it. I glance through it when I reach the office, and then give it to him.

There's not a lot that's very interesting in our local paper, so I usually zip through it rather quickly. I almost never read my horoscope. But for some reason, yesterday I did. And it said, "The next 14 years of your life will be very eventful. In many ways, the last 15 years have been in preparation for what's to come."

I can scoff at newspaper horoscopes as well as the next person--as if that's going to apply to all of the gazillion people in the world who are Capricorns. But then I did the math and thought back to where I was, and where my life was, 15 years ago. And damn if it didn't feel true.

Through the Looking Glass

2005-01-20T05:52:00.000-04:00

Once I was strolling along Union Street in San Francisco and saw what looked like a hip little boutique below street level. It was a store I’d never been into, so I thought I’d check it out. I walked down a few steps to the door, which was to my left, perpendicular to the street. I entered, went down a few more steps…and then found myself in the path of a woman. You know that awkward thing that happens sometimes where you mean to go around someone, but you both try to veer in the same direction? So you’re sort of doing this awkward ‘dance’ until one of you realizes you’ll have to zag instead of zig? It was like that. I said, “Excuse me” or “Sorry” every time we found ourselves face to face. But she looked really familiar and I had that odd, “Do I know her from somewhere?” feeling. We bumped into each other several times…until I realized I was ‘dancing’ with my image in a wall-sized mirror. (And, yes, I laughed about it for days afterward. Lord only knows what the sales clerks must have thought to see this woman moving back and forth in front of a mirrored wall, talking to herself.)

I thought about that moment last night after a phone conversation with an old friend who was commenting how he hates looking in the mirror these days. (He’s turning 50, too.) I understand the feeling. I’ve been avoiding mirrors like the plague for the last few years. I’ve never been a vain or primping sort of gal. But in years past I’d check out my reflection and think, “Mmm, okay, I guess.“ But in the last few years the stresses of my life (and yes, even life in ‘paradise’ can have its stresses) have played out on my face. And it was uncomfortable for me to witness and a shock to my system--because the image staring back at me didn’t match what I thought I looked like…or had looked like. But just lately, I’ve begun noticing that self-reflection is getting just a tiny bit less traumatic. And I realized the other day (and I’m sure this is why after years of terrible insomnia I’m finally sleeping soundly…and a lot, for me) that as situations in my life have changed-- and as I’ve let go of long-held resentments as a result of those changes--my face has begun looking more relaxed. It’s hard to look bright and chipper when one has spent years lying awake half the night seething. And those years were like that moment in that Union Street boutique: I was looking, but not seeing me. Because on a deeper level, it wasn’t just the discomfort I felt when I saw how circumstances had aged me, it was that I didn’t recognize the person I’d become--someone who would allow others to mistreat her and stay stuck in such a situation. And I let location influence my power of choice. I fell into the ‘This is a small place and there’s not much here’ trap that can easily suck you in if you feel deprived of mainland stimulation.

I’m a bit of an anomaly. I look to others on the outside like I’m a ‘straight’ sort of person. I look ‘normal.’ I know this, because people have often told me that some of my life experiences seem unexpected for someone like me. But I don’t conform easily, and I never have. Yet I have at times in my life appeared, at least superficially, as if I'm adapting. I don’t like to play by the rules, but I will sometimes force myself to become chameleon-like in an effort to seem like I’m fitting into a situation. (Notice that I said “seem” to fit in.) I look on the outside like I’m willingly going along with the program, yet inside I’m kicking and screaming the entire time. It’s not a pleasant way to live.

I said in an entry I posted around the New Year that I’m going to stop ‘trying’ to do what I want to do and stop ‘trying’ to find the money to have what I want. That’s scarcity thinking, and it goes hand in hand with forcibly adaptive behavior. I’m going to coin a new phrase here: Forcibly Adaptive Behavior. FAB. I’m going to let go of FAB…and just be fabulous.

this-n-that

2005-01-19T07:01:00.000-04:00

This happens every morning. I'm late. But only in others' eyes. I'm right on time for me. Because I'm operating from my timetable, which has nothing to do with some workplace. I glance at the clock in the corner of my screen and see that I should already have showered and dressed. And then I think, "But I haven't even started. My morning's just begun..." So I count the days. Only 27 more days of doing this. This particular this. And the day after that 27th day, a friend will arrive--a friend who will also have said "So long!" to her this on the previous day. And we'll spend a week reveling in our 'freedom' and lounging at the beach and swimming in the bay and talking and laughing...and toasting each other that for all our days, we'll never again have to do that.

Six (or fewers) Degrees of Separation

2005-01-16T07:35:00.000-04:00

Check out "The Blogroll Small World Experiment" at Mulubinba Moments - where you choose a random blog and then see if you can link back to yourself in six or fewer clicks. As suggested, I went to www.weblogs.com* and chose a random recently-updated blog. But to make it a little harder, I chose a French site, C'est Moi Qui L'ai Fait. She has Chocolate and Zucchini on her blogroll...who has NYC a Paris...he links to La Coquette...she has This Fish on her blogroll...who links to Secret Agent Josephine...who links to me! It works! Give it a shot. See for yourself!

(*I'd post the link here, but it sometimes comes up "Directory access denied"...just keep trying. Or choose a random blog any-old-where.)

* * * * * OR * * * * *

One of Mulubinba's readers has come up with the idea of determining one's "Mulubinba Number" - where you choose a site from Mulubinba's blogroll and continue linking until you link back to yourself to determine your Mulubinba Number. I chose Hoarded Ordinaries...she links to Animated Stardust...who links to me. So I guess my Mulubinba Number is 3! And isn't it fun just to say "Mulubinba Number"? :)

This one's for KDunk...

2005-01-15T15:53:00.000-04:00

Did you sign up to be in KDunk's postcard club? No?! Then you missed out big-time! She sent out over 40 postcards to her readers around the world with original art on each one. This is mine. Isn't she cute? And she was having an awfully good time at the beach today...

When you get to KDunk's site, scroll down to her January 7th post to see more postcards.

Thanks, KDunk!

Meme

2005-01-15T12:36:00.000-04:00

I typically don't do memes, but I liked this one for some reason. Saw it at Kat's Paws and liked her variation on it. Rather than the first line of the first post of each month, she took the LAST line of the LAST post of the month. So, herewith, my parting shots for each month of 2004:

January: Why, oh why, must we choose?

February: I love my man.

March: And that in the face of such natural beauty all that other crap was really petty and meaningless.

April: I see enough of that at the beach.

May: My mother also informs me that said niece has already decided she's going to live with us.

June: Then read the link that discusses the rise of the Protestant work ethic.

July: Not that I'm not seeking a "sure course," but fiction provides me with such a powerful portal to my dreams and imagination that I hope it will always hold sway over me in that way.

August: We may be old....but we're not that old!

September: It's called wanting to have a life.

October: After all, the show must go on.

November: So, what have you got your nose buried in these days?

December: Here's a list of organizations providing aid.

Hmm...I guess that about sums it up...

Can't go home again...

2005-01-15T08:22:00.000-04:00

Surfing my hometown newspaper this morning, I wasn't really shocked to read this story--about how real estate prices have skyrocketed in my home county. I'd heard as much from my Dad and also from my cousin, who works for a title insurance company. But the part that had my jaw dropping was reading that there were recently NINE homes listed in the $500,000 to $1 million range. I can't even imagine where those homes might be...but I'm sure as hell gonna find out!

It's so sad to see my little hometown going through this, because it's gotten to the point where locals will no longer be able to afford to buy in their own town. But that's the reality. Want oceanfront property in California? Then you have to head all the way north to the northwest corner of the state. Looking at these prices, I realize that the dream the boyfriend and I have had for years of someday having a little cabin in Gasquet (my favorite place in the whole world) is probably not a realistic one. Oh well, there's always camping! And our favorite campground's there anyway. (I'm a wussy camper...this one has flush toilets and hot showers.) :)

low blood sugar

2005-01-14T07:01:00.000-04:00

Me, to the Secretary after everyone else had left the office, “Jeez, it’s been almost an hour. I think I’ll call and see if our food’s on the way.”

(dialing number of delivery place from memory)

A West Indian girl answers the phone and says something distorted and unintelligible. Lots of background noise.

Me: “Hi, this is Marilyn at (extremely boring workplace). I was calling to check on our order.”

Girl: “Um…(sounding baffled)…what did you order?”

Me, huffily, “A chef’s salad and a veggie burger pita pocket. I ordered it from you an hour ago.”

Girl, against lots of background noise and sounding increasingly confused, “I didn’t take your order. Can you tell me again what it was?"

Me, thinking, “What’s WRONG with her? What does she mean ‘I didn’t take your order’? We order from them ALL THE TIME! Where’s the owner when I need her?!"

Me, saying in a very pissed off voice, “A chef’s salad and a veggie burger pita!” (Dammit!)

Girl, turning to coworkers and asking in a loud voice, “Did anyone take an order for (extremely boring office) for a chef’s salad and veggie burger?”

(Lots of muffled voices.)

Me, seriously ticked off, “DO I HAVE TO PLACE THE ORDER AGAIN?! DID YOU LOSE OUR ORDER?! Hello? HELLO?! DID SHE PUT THE PHONE DOWN?!”

New voice on phone, “Hi, may I help you?”

Me, recognizing the voice of the owner of the OTHER lunch place…the one we DIDN’T order from, “I’m sorry, I have the wrong number.”

(click.)

Remind me never to show my face at the other place again.

Mehlman for a Day

2005-01-13T05:58:00.000-04:00

So I’m sitting on the john, flipping through Entertainment Weekly. (What? Like you don’t read in the bathroom.) I could say it was the current issue, but it was just the most recent issue we received, since they sometimes show up in our mailbox six or seven weeks after the publication date.

I see this article by Peter Mehlman (former Seinfeld producer and writer) called, “Notes from the Sitcom’s Deathbed.” It’s about his compulsion to be such an observer in his own life that he sees possible sitcom ideas everywhere he looks. (One of my favorites? “77 Gaza Strip”) I'm highly amused by this. Check it out here for yourself. It gets me thinking. I’m always whining how bored I am here--maybe I could entertain myself by adopting Mehlman’s pastime.

So I head off to the beach for a walk after work. By the time I’ve strolled to the western (typically deserted) end of the beach, I’ve got my first idea. It’s “The Terminal meets Cast Away." About a foreigner who becomes stuck while on vacation, but instead of being stuck at the airport, he has to spend his time stuck on a beach on a tropical island. (No, I don’t know why. Details, schmetails. Leave me alone, I was just getting warmed up.) Title: Sand Trap.

(I wasn't clever enough to come up with an idea related to the enormous “FUK BUSH” that someone had carved in the sand.)

Or maybe a show about a wedding coordinator on a gorgeous tropical island--a destination where people from all over the world travel to get married because it’s easy to do there. Crazy antics ensue as she must try to deal with a myriad of nationalities and personalities--and uptight brides of all stripes. Title: Mixed Knots. (And, yes, I walked by a wedding happening on the beach, as I often do there.)

Or, how about an older Chinese couple who sell their restaurant, buy a sailboat, pack up their woks and set sail for the tropics? Hijinks (as opposed to crazy antics) ensue as they stop off at various islands. The whole ‘fish out of water’ angle. Title: A-Soy! (And you’ve probably figured out that dinner was going to be a trip to the food court Chinese buffet.)

Or how about this: a very sophisticated middle-aged woman has a high-powered career as a concierge at an extremely exclusive hotel. It caters to upper-crust types, high rollers, celebrities and muckety-mucks from all over the world. There’s just one problem--she has bladder control issues. Wackiness ensues as she strives to keep her cool behind the concierge desk and not have an accident. Title: Incontinental. (No, it’s not autobiographical, but it did occur to me as I ran for the bathroom at the end of my walk having consumed vast quantities of water all afternoon.)

Alright, who wants to play with me? Let’s be Mehlman for a day. Whaddya say? Take a look around your daily life and see how many sitcoms are just waiting to be made. Report back here and let's compare notes. If nothing else, we'll entertain ourselves.

grazie

2005-01-11T06:49:00.000-04:00

Thank you for all of your kind and sweet comments and emails and e-cards and phone calls to wish me a "Happy Birthday." The blogosphere helped to make this big birthday an especially sweet one. I had a lovely day, despite torrential rain which nixed the beach plans. The boyfriend showered me with cards and gifts and lots of affection (and just the right amount of adoration). :) He gave me SEVEN birthday cards, which he handed to me in the order he wanted me to open them. Six of them were funny/silly; the last was sweet and romantic. I think my favorite was the first card he gave me. It said, "So...you're having another birthday! How old are you now? 30? 40? 50? 60? O.K. You don't have to tell me..." (open card) "Just bang your cane on your rocker when we get close!" And he wrote, "No cane banging here! YOU ROCK! And I don't mean in a chair!"

There was a time in my life when I did rock. Lately, not so much. But that's one of my goals this year--to get back to that rockin' gal I used to be.

I've said it before, but I'll say it again: You all definitely rock! Thanks for hangin' out with me.

---------------------------------------------------

Meet Pam at Nerd's Eye View. Get ready for great writing and a big dose of envy. (She has a fabulous life.) I met Pam through 43 Things. If you haven't been there yet, check it out. It's a fun place to post your dreams. (And she's a Capricorn, too. Her birthday was January 4. Go say "Hi.")

On Turning 50 - The Philosophy of C.

2005-01-09T07:21:00.000-04:00

My mother spent a couple of weeks over the holidays with my brother, sister-in-law and their three kids. On New Year’s Eve, she asked my 7-year-old niece, C., “What’s your biggest heart’s desire for this next year?” And my guru, otherwise known as my niece, responded, “To be a good girl. Or else an angel.”

I’ve been “a good girl” for 50 years. I hold a Ph.D. in People Pleasing. Need someone who’ll morph into whatever you need her to be at the moment--to help YOU succeed? Then I’m your gal. But I’m hanging up my shingle, starting today. Like C., I’d like to be “a good girl” this year, but from now on, I’m going to be good to myself first. That’s where the “angel” part comes in. Because I’m still going to be an angel in other people’s lives. But instead of loaning you my wings, I’m going to show you how to grow your own. (And by “you,” I hope you realize I’m not speaking literally. My blogsisters who visit here have been the most special angels in my life this year!)

Some who know me might argue that I already lead a pretty selfish life. After all, I haven’t passed all of the ‘normal’ mileposts one usually tags on her way to 50. I didn’t graduate from college (I’m a smarty-pants who hated school)…didn’t get married (I’ve been with my mate for 10 years but still feel my inner rebel kick in when I think about getting that piece of government paper)…didn’t have babies (I didn’t meet the right guy until I was 40 and decided I didn’t want to spend my perimenopausal years changing diapers, but I adore kids and I’m very good with them)…didn’t buy a house (the thought of a 30-year mortgage sounds like a prison sentence to me, but we did just buy some land)…moved dozens of times (for a few years, I traveled with all of my stuff in the trunk of my Monte Carlo)…and held so many “permanent” (ha!) and temporary jobs that I couldn’t possibly list them all (so no retirement plan). I’ve lived an untraditional, but often fun and interesting, life and lived it on my own terms. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. That’s all on the outside.

But on the inside, I’m a good girl. I like to help people. And I don’t do it with some ulterior motive. If I see something that I think would interest or delight or assist someone, then I pass it on or willingly provide it. Few things in life make me happier than helping someone pursue her dream(s). But there’s a flaw in that scenario. I often do it to the detriment of my own--not because the other party asks me to, but because I always end up feeling like their dreams matter more. They don’t, I just haven’t valued my dreams enough.

And it’s not that I don’t have dreams--I have loads of them. You don’t lead the kind of life I’ve led if you’re not a big dreamer at heart. But I’ve let their stock price drop way too low. So today, I’m starting over. New stock, new price. You think Google had a hot-shit IPO? You just wait.

huge sucker

2005-01-08T22:27:00.000-04:00

People, right now there is the BIGGEST cockroach(?)...beetle(?) I've ever seen in my life clinging halfway up one of our screen doors that lead to the balcony. The balcony lights are off (and the golf course is pitch dark beyond that) so I really only caught the outline of it reflected behind the Xmas tree lights when I first spotted it. (Shut up, we always leave the tree up through my birthday.) I"m not kidding--this thing has to be 4 inches long.

Shit! Now it's gone. That means I DON'T KNOW WHERE IT IS!!! I'm sure he must have fallen because he couldn't possibly have held his own weight that long. (Dear god, please let it be that he FELL...and didn't FLY.) The landlord provides exterminator service every month, which is great. So it's not unusual to stumble sleepy-eyed out of bed as I make my way to the coffee pot and find a big ol' cockroach that's snuck in under the screen door now lying legs-up-in-the-air dead on the floor. But I've NEVER seen one anything close to this size. (I just stuffed a wad of about 4 paper towels into the 1/2" gap at the bottom of the rubber stripping on the screen door.)

F**********CK!!! He FLIES!!!! He just flew back onto the screen. HE FLIIIIIIIIIIES!!!

Would it be tacky to call the boyfriend at his gig to beg him to come home?! It's only a wedding at the Ritz-Carlton. I'm sure the bride and groom wouldn't mind.

-----------------------------------------

When the boyfriend walked in after his gig, I sleepily asked if he'd noticed that huge THING on the balcony. He hadn't, but said he has seen one in the past, but not for awhile. He chuckled and said, "They are a little intimidating." Intimidating? Yeah, I'd say so.

Bagels-n-Boots

2005-01-06T19:41:00.000-04:00

Jo cracks me up. Her eulogy for her favorite boots has made me wistful for all of the great pairs of boots I've owned over the years.

There were the white go-go boots that zipped up the back in 1965. I thought they were the BOMB. Until I wore them to the beach (shut up, it's cold where I'm from) to hang out with my pal Tracy, whose brother Clay was two years older than me and awfully cute to a 10-year-old. We were climbing on rocks and, of course, trying to shove each other into the water. He managed to push me in...the boots got wet...the zippers rusted...life was never the same.

There were the seriously slutty black leather knee-high boots with stiletto heels. Those babies were BAD. My boyfriend at the time picked them up in N.Y. for me. Of course, once I started dating THIS boyfriend he forbid me to wear them.

I had a pair of red and black suede, Beatles-style ankle boots in the 80's. I'm just grateful they couldn't talk...

My mother bought me a pair of chocolate brown, plastic(?...some weird material unknown to nature) knee-high boots when I was 15. I wore them to death with a peasant print dress that had a dark brown cinched waist and puffy sleeves. Wanna see J.V. cheerleaders in street clothes? Check the 1971 yearbook and look for that outfit.

There were the fake leather black ankle boots that laced up the back above the stiletto heel. I think I may have paid all of $15 for them. Amortized over the length of their shelf life, I figure I paid about a penny a wearing.

In Portland, right before we moved here, I had a pair of dark brown and black suede ankle boots. They looked awfully tasty with my dark brown and black suede jodphurs. (Like I'd know a horse if it bit me...)

Aaaah, my mid-calf, flat heel, black leather die-hards. I wore and wore and WORE those suckers. I can't even remember how many times I had them re-soled and re-heeled. They were SO comfortable. Portland uniform: turtleneck, 501's, those boots, long black coat. Done.

I've got a pair of yee-haw! real-live red cowboy boots (with white inserts) boxed up in my Dad's attic right now. Bought 'em at the boot store in downtown Petaluma. $125 boots...got 'em for $25.

But the boots that belong in the Marilyn Hall of Fame are my first pair of red cowboy boots. They weren't even real cowboy boots. They were Capezio and I bought them in a shoe store in Noe Valley in San Francisco. Those boots did some LIVIN'!! (And, oddly, they invariably drew compliments.) I finally let them go when I left Portland. They were like a car that had over 200,000 miles on it. But, man, I almost wish they could have talked. San Francisco uniform: long shirt, 501's, red cowboy boots, long black duster. (St. Thomas uniform: t-shirt, 501's, flip-flops...picking up a pattern here?...)

If you're wondering about the title of this post, it refers to one of numbers I had planned for my musical. I've never mentioned the musical I was going to write about 15 years ago? It was called "Elvis Schmelvis." About a nice Jewish boy who really just wants to be the next Elvis. I had the lyrics to the "Elvis Schmelvis" song. A good drummer friend (this was when I lived in San Francisco before I knew my REAL drummer man) said he'd write the music for it--he was thinking sort of countrified version of Hava Nagila. But we never got around to it.

Boots - R.I.P.

permission

2005-01-05T06:56:00.000-04:00

I was reading Keri Smith's Wish Jar Journal this morning and she had posted a link to the 52 Projects site--a site I'd visited some time ago, but had forgotten about. That got me thinking about Keri's book, Living Out Loud, which has been gathering dust on the shelf, since I hadn't cracked it open in quite some time.

I opened it at random and came to the page that talks about "permission cards." She even provides you with the little cards to tear out and place in a jar. The idea is to say "I now give myself permission to _________" and pull a card.

Permission is a funny thing, isn't it? We're all grownups--we shouldn't have to ask anyone's permission for anything, for the most part (as long as we're conducting our lives in a way that's respectful of others' feelings.) I think for most of us, we tend to freely give permission to others if they ask something of us...but often deny it when we ask something of ourselves. So today I'm going to think about all the things I deny myself because I haven't given myself permission to do them. Maybe you'd like to think about that, too.

And if you don't have a copy of Keri's book, pick one up. It's adorable.

Shakti Quote of the Day

2005-01-04T06:56:00.000-04:00

On Christmas Eve, we hit the bookstore and treated ourselves to a stack of books. One of my purchases was Creative Visualization by Shakti Gawain. It's a book I first owned when it was originally published in the late 70's. I haven't read it in many years, although I've given away many copies over the years. I opened it at random this morning and saw the following quote. Thought I'd share it since at the beginning of any year, we often tend to look at where we are in our lives--whether or not we call the result of that examination "resolutions." (She's a big believer in affirmations.)

If you have a lot of heavy emotions riding on whether you attain your goal (that is, if you will be very upset if you don't get what you want), you will tend to work against yourself. In your fear of not getting what you want, you may actually be energizing the idea of not getting it as much or more as you are energizing the goal itself.

If you do find yourself very emotionally attached to a goal, it may be most effective and appropriate to work first on your feelings about the matter. You may have to take a good look at what you fear about not achieving the goal, and do affirmations to help you feel more confident and secure, or to help you face your fears....

Of course it's perfectly okay to creatively visualize something to which you have a lot of emotional attachment--and it will sometimes work quite well. But if it doesn't, realize that you may be attempting to visualize something out of fear of what may happen if you don't get it. In this case, it's important to relax and accept your feelings, accept the idea that you may not immediately realize your goal, look more deeply into your fears, and understand that resolving the conflict is probably an important area of growth for you and a wonderful opportunity to get to know yourself on a deeper level.

T Minus 5 Days...

2005-01-04T06:38:00.000-04:00

Fuck it. There's not a goddamn thing I can do about it, so I might as well embrace the shit out of it. (Told you I swear like a longshoreman.) On Sunday, I'll be 50. A HALF CENTURY OLD! How could this BE?! I swear I still feel about 24 inside.

Yesterday it occurred to me that if I stop trying to hide it, maybe it won't feel so horrific. Because, if you think about it, I'm already 50. We don't say a baby is a year old until she's already been on the planet for a year. So actually, I'm wrapping up my 50th year. Looked at that way, it wasn't so bad.

I guess I can comfort myself with the knowledge that no matter how old I get, the boyfriend will always be 8 years younger. So I must be doing something right. (Just call me Junior Sarandon.) Shit. I just realized I'm going to have to change that tagline over on the sidebar. I wonder how many new readers will bother to scope out the site if the first thing they see is "old broad living with her long-time boyfriend..." :)

43 Things

2005-01-03T23:53:00.000-04:00

Before Christmas, I spotted this post on Caterina's site. I thought, hmm, that 43 Things thing sounds pretty cool. So I went to a link in her post and sent an email asking to be a Beta tester. I did get my email invite, but by the time I saw it (since I'm not always very good about checking my Gmail account on a timely basis), the site had launched. (It just launched last Thursday.) I finally spent some time at the 43 Things site today...and it's fun! If you like Flickr, you'll like 43 Things. It's a similar sort of social software.

The idea is to list 43 things you want to do--goals, dreams, fantasies, items on your "before I die" list. You can simply list the goal, or add an entry (a la a blog post). And like Flickr, you can add tags. Find others who have similar goals. If you've accomplished the goal (and it's fun to list a few you have), then you can indicate "I've done this!" and rate it. Was it worth doing, or not? Once you mark the goal as an accomplished one, it moves from your 43 Things list to your "I've done this" list. You can edit and delete your goals at any time. You can post a photo to go with your user ID or list your blog, if you like.

If you'd like to try it out, here's the home page. Have fun!

Life 102

2005-01-02T19:28:00.000-04:00

Hopefully at this age I’ve already passed Life 101. Let’s hope, anyway. Now that I’ve laid out some things that I want to focus on this year, I thought it was time to look back. Some of these things I finally *got* in 2004; some I was reminded of (for the zillionth time).

That as much as it pisses me off, humiliation is often a precursor for a blissful moment of humility.

That nothing is more important to me than my family (my mate coming first).

That in a work setting, it really is a lot more efficient, emotionally, to do the most dreaded task first.

That it’s okay to let go of friendships, without feeling like it represents failure of some sort. People change. And drift apart. And sometimes there are reasons…and sometimes there doesn’t even have to be. And surprisingly, sometimes letting go is a lot easier than one dreads it might be.

That I can roll with the punches. When it looked as if H. might suddenly be living with us and attending school here this year, I never blinked--I simply switched gears and went into overdrive to try to make it happen. I’m much more adaptable than I give myself credit for most of the time.

That sometimes when you’ve just about given up hope that what you most want will ever come to pass, the universe (or God or fate or whatever it is at work out there) comes through…and it’s SO worth the wait.

That I swear like a longshoreman…and probably always fucking will.

That I still look better than most 49-year-old women in a bikini, despite my non-exercised flesh.

That I really hate looking in mirrors to see how different I look than I did even 10 years ago.

That it’s hard as hell to let go of some resentments, but I’m getting better at it.

That I’m not nearly as uptight as I used to be. Living in the tropics has given me a sense of ease that I’m sure I didn’t have before. (Don't underestimate the power of weather on mood.)

That I’ve reached an age where it really, really, REALLY matters to me how I spend my time.

That ethics in the workplace are more important to me than I thought they were.

That I’m blown away by how much I love my man and by how that love has grown and deepened over the years. I spent the first 40 years of my life equating “commitment’ with the sound of a cell door slamming. Now I can’t imagine ever leaving his side.

That even though I don’t understand the dynamic and why it seems to work this way, most of my ‘real’ friends this past year have been women I’ve met through blogging.

That, as William Hurt said in the “The Big Chill,” I’m still “not into this completion thing.”

That I crave land more than water. I miss getting in the car and just…going.

That ellipses are my favorite form of…punctuation.

That walking on the beach works my heart muscle…and I don’t just mean aerobically.

That I miss being funny. I miss having any sort of life so I can relate madcap adventures to my pals. The shit that happens here isn’t funny, just annoying.

That I’ve learned to think about moments of miscommunication with my mate, and go back and talk about why it might have occurred in the first place…instead of playing the blame game.

That I miss dancing.

That I really hate dressing up. (Can someone find me job where I can wear 501’s and flip-flops every day?)

That I have almost no vanity for a woman my age.

That my boyfriend is unbelievably gracious. I could learn a few things from him in that regard.

That I wasn’t taught to be compassionate when I was young. I’m still learning, but I’m getting better.

That I’m not so sure I’d like it if the boyfriend went back to touring. And I think he’d miss being away from home just as much as I’d miss him. (We’ve only been apart 7 nights in the last 4-½ years.)

That we eat way too much ice cream.

That I’m still shocked when sometimes I stretch and suddenly realize that it’s been days since I moved in any but a frenzied, busy-ness sort of way.

That I really don’t care about watching sports on TV anymore.

That simple things can really make my day (a good cup of coffee in the morning, a good lunch, a walk, a good book read in bed…)

That I wouldn’t trade any of my past experiences for anyone else’s, because they all formed this motley version of me.

That words like “future” and “plans” and “goals” don’t scare me nearly as much as they used to.

That my 7-year-old niece tickles me no end. And I’m constantly blown away by what a great rapport we have since most of our relationship has occurred over the phone.

That I’m ready to settle down…on the inside.

The Huddle

2005-01-01T20:53:00.000-04:00

My brother recently took his family plus our mother plus a gaggle of friends to the San Francisco 49ers game. My mother said, “You know your brother--he loves being the Donald Trump of (his town).” That comment cracked us up, since it’s such an apt description of him. And I say that with utter love and affection and devotion. I love the guy.

My mother said that at one point during the game, my 7-year-old niece, C., had the binoculars. It was between plays and the teams were huddled up. My brother asked her (as she peered through the binoculars) what was going on down on the field. C. scoped out the huddle and answered, “I think they’re makin’ a plan.” And that’s exactly what I plan to do--make a plan…and stick with it. Here a few things in that plan:

To consolidate my blogs - Very few of you visit the other site anyway (sorry, Lynn!) so instead of giving up writing about my interior life, just expect an occasional post here about whatever’s swirling around in my head. (I’m not going to delete the Cari-bein’ site, I’ve just removed it from my Blogger profile. But I don‘t plan to post there, at least for awhile.) I’ve let the other site languish for over a month, and it occurred to me that it wasn’t for lack of interest in posting there--it’s that my life has become more integrated over the last year. I’d like to post all my thoughts in one place.

To finally embrace the notion that commitment does not always mean the loss of freedom - And to prove that point, the boyfriend and I are in the process of purchasing 5 acres in Southern Colorado. More on that later…

To spend more time being aware of my breath and less time aware of the knots in my shoulders - I‘m assuming that doing the first will ameliorate the second.

To reverse my financial strategy - Instead of trying to find money to pay for things I want, I plan to pursue the things I want and trust the money will show up. (So far, so good.)

To use my looming landmark birthday as a free pass to be the gal I always meant to be - I’m pretty selfish already in how I spend my time, but I may become even more so. Let me clarify. If you were a fly on the wall, you'd think I have a pretty self-indulgent life. It's just the two of us here, so we don't have to cater much to anyone's interests and needs on a daily basis other than our own. And even though we spend a lot of time together, we give each other space to do our own thing. That's on the surface. But deeper, when it comes to dreams and aspirations and goals and wants, I'm often very selfless. I almost always put others' needs ahead of my own. I plan to change that this year. I plan to start doing some things that I want to do--that will benefit me first.

To write something every single day - Even if it’s a 10-minute timed writing (for those of you, like me, who go way back with the Writing Down the Bones thing). And if I don’t, I fully expect BluePoppy to kick my ass.

To eat more healthily - I don’t consume a lot of junk food, but I don’t eat nearly enough fresh produce. As a life-long West Coaster before moving here, I got spoiled by having world-class produce available year-round. Freshness isn’t that easy to find here sometimes, but I vow to look harder for it.

To continue nurturing and valuing the friendships I’ve made through this site - You all ROCK! You’re one of the big reasons 2004 was such a good year for me in so many ways, in spite of some emotional ups and downs. If there’s anything you ever want or need from me, just ask. ‘Cause gals? I got your back.

Banda Aceh

2004-12-30T23:50:00.000-04:00

I just saw this photo. Doctors Without Borders sent their first team and supplies to Banda Aceh on Wednesday.

I agree with the lovely Lynn...if we all take even a portion of what we'd spend this holiday weekend to entertain ourselves, we can help so many others. Lynn suggests the Red Cross. I plan to make a donation to Doctors Without Borders. Here's a list of organizations providing aid.

Happy Birthday!!!

2004-12-29T19:19:00.000-04:00

He's 42 today. He took the day off from work and spent it puttering around doing stuff he enjoys: building golf clubs, setting up a 'recording station' in a corner of our living room (this isn't it--this was in the studio about half an hour before the earthquake), going to K-Mart to buy a storage unit for his new mikes and gear, visting Home Depot not once, but twice. (And he hit Home Depot a third time after his aikido class. I guess for him a happy birthday = lots of trips to Home Depot.) :)

Ten years ago in Portland, I started our tradition of making birthday cake the night before. That way, we get to have it for breakfast on our birthdays. This morning I served him a big ol' slice in bed with his coffee. The boyfriend's not much for dining out--he enjoys a fine meal as much as the next guy--but it's not his first choice of what to do on his birthday. So this year I left him to his own devices to do whatever gave him pleasure, and I think he had a good day. When he picked me up at work, we went to a clothing store downtown to exchange some slacks I'd bought him...and ended up walking out with two pairs of 501's (one for each of us). We arrived home to find H. had left a message singing "Happy Birthday" to his Dad.

I gave him a set of seven pliers (he loves any tool), three nail clippers (because he keeps losing them!), this guy's new CD (they played together in college), a red and blue striped polo shirt from Tommy Hilfiger and a Tommy Hilfiger backpack (the Nike one he stole from me years ago is ratty as hell, and he uses one daily because he walks to and from work). And because every 42-year-old man needs one, I also gave him this. His eyes lit up when he saw it. I said, "I had a feeling that maybe you liked this as a kid." "Are you kidding?! It was one of my favorite toys! My brothers and I used to spend hours playing this." Of course, now he only has me to play it with him. :)

My Dad and stepmother sent him a great shirt, an orange Titleist visor and a navy cap from my Dad's home golf course (which the boyfriend has played several times.) All in all, I think he's had a good day. He's at his aikido class, and there's still cake for dessert! :)

I gave him a card that said it was for "my go-everywhere-do-everything, like-the-same-stuff, laugh-till-it-hurts, together-or-apart, have-fun-doing-whatever, couldn't-want-a-better, always-and-forever...loving companion and friend." When he read it, he gave me a big smile...and a kiss. He's my best pal, my soulmate, my partner in crime...my love. Happy Birthday, baby. I love you with all my heart.

"I think Santa must be really tall..."

2004-12-27T06:03:00.000-04:00

One of the highlights of Christmas Day was hearing my 7-year-old niece, C. in California, breathlessly relate her experience with Santa this year. She barely got out “Hi” before she launched into her tale. My sister-in-law was sitting nearby, throwing in the occasional tidbit to add to the dramatic tension. In those moments, C. would abruptly say, “Hold on!” as in, “Wait! There’s more!”

“Hi. We left cookies outside for Rudolph? And he ATE them! And Santa put a gold star on top of our tree! And he left me presents!” “Oh! What did he leave you!” “I got a stereo! And he left me two CD’s!” “Yeah? What were the CD’s?” “One was (I've forgotten what she said) and I’ve been looking EVERYWHERE for that CD!” “What was the other one?” “Oh,” sounding unenthused, “it was a Disneymania one.” “And he left a note that he likes our new puppy!” (They recently got a pug which C. has inappropriately named Jasmine.) “And he said, ’Sorry I couldn’t hang up your stocking, but it’s TOO HEAVY!’ ‘Cause we have these hooks? To hang the stockings on? But (snickering) mine was so full he couldn’t even hang it back up! Hold on!…Mom thought she heard sort of a ’Ho! Ho! Ho!’ but she thought it was Dad! But Dad was SLEEPING! Hold on!…Mom thought she was dreaming. But I don’t think it was a dream--I think it was REAL!” “Gee, Mommy must have heard Santa in the house and she didn’t even realize it.” “Uh-huh. He came through the front door this year.” “Well I can understand that--he probably gets tired of getting all dirty climbing down everyone’s chimneys.” “Uh-huh. Oh! And he broke our chair! We have this chair? And it has a broken leg? But we put it back on? But when I got up this morning, it was broken! I think Santa must have been holding our puppy and he sat down in the chair and broke it. (pause) I think he must be really tall.” “Because you have a really tall tree this year?” “Yeeeaaaah, it’s at least 7 feet! And he put a star on TOP of it! Do you want to talk to Sissy (her 14-year-old sister) now?” “Sure! What did Santa bring her?” “Oh, they’re (her sister and brother) too old. They didn’t get anything from Santa. He only brings stuff to little kids.”

My sister-in-law said that C.’s wish list this year was for a cell phone (and I must really be out of it to be shocked that 2nd graders are now clamoring for cell phones), a computer (her sister and brother each have one, as do Mom and Dad) or a stereo. She explained to C. that Santa could only bring gifts that she approved of, so when C. saw that Santa had brought her a stereo, she announced to the room, “This is the gift that Mom preferred.”

Christmas on St. Thomas

2004-12-25T18:27:00.000-04:00

This was a glorious day. I was awake before 7:00. Spent some time on the laptop doing some organizing in my various email accounts. At 8:15, I split for the beach to go for a walk before the place was crawling with tourists. The boyfriend was knocked out, so I left him a note. There couldn't have been more than 20 of us along a mile-long beach. I saw an elderly gentleman doing a very slow crawl in the bay...a middle-aged West Indian couple who were walking very slowly (I lapped them)...7 or 8 white women who were gathered in a circle in a clump of trees doing exercises...two West Indian women who had donned their swim caps and were starting their holiday off with a swim.

Boyfriend was awake when I got home. He was lying in bed watching a drumming video. I made coffee and caught up on some email, leaving him to get fully awake. Once he was up, we opened our gifts from my folks (the only gifts we had to left to open since we had given each other gifts all week without wrapping them!) Then we put on our bathing suits, packed up the sand chairs and headed off for a day at the beach.

We were there at least six hours. I walked some more. We had lunch and then settled in for some power lounging. We read, boyfriend listened to CD's, we swam...and dozed. We called all of my family from the beach--my Dad and stepmother and then my brother and his family (and my mother was with them.) We spoke to H. after we got home. We had an early dinner, and now we're fat and happy. We thought about going to a movie, but we're so relaxed we think we'll just stay in and either watch one of the movies on cable or one of our new DVD's. It's been a beautiful and relaxing day. Hope yours was pleasurable, however you spent it.

Here are a few photos:

2004-12-25T18:26:00.000-04:00

Magens Bay today shortly after we arrived. The crowd quadrupled in size as the day wore on. (We had three ships in today.) This is the view to our right (toward the north). Tourists end up on this half of the beach--mostly because the taxi drop-off is way down at the end of this section of beach. This section of beach also contains all of the services (snack bar, bar, gift shop, equipment rental).

2004-12-25T18:23:00.000-04:00

The view to our left (toward the south). Locals tend to congregate on this half of the beach. We like to stake out a spot right smack dab in the middle. Aerial shots of Magens Bay show that the beach is shaped like the top of a cartoon heart. We park our sand chairs under a tree at the water's edge right where the dimple in the heart would be.

2004-12-25T18:20:00.000-04:00

This was the view from my sand chair today. Sorta cockeyed...gee, and I wasn't even drinking...

2004-12-25T18:19:00.000-04:00

We saw a lot of pelicans at Magens today. This is at the southern end of the beach that's typically deserted.

2004-12-25T18:17:00.000-04:00

Happy Holidays from the boyfriend and me! (He could have at least told me I had gobs of sunscreen all over my nose...)

I Heart Bloggers

2004-12-24T18:15:00.000-04:00

Boyfriend always ends work at noon on Fridays, but I was thrilled to be off at 12:00 today. I arrived home laden with goodies: a plate of cookies from the couple who are resident managers of my employer's self-storage facility (the nicest people)...a tiny box from the female attorney, which accompanied my bonus check from her...and a Christmas bouquet from my brother and sister-in-law and their kids which was delivered about an hour before we closed up. As soon as I walked into the condo, I realized the power was off. Shit! I immediately called the boyfriend (he'd said earlier he might play golf after work) and said, "The power's off." (Brilliant!) He said, "Why don't you come ride around with me? I'm just getting lunch at the 19th hole (snack bar)." So I asked him to order me chicken strips and a Coke (junk food! decadent!) and quickly changed clothes. It's been a postcard-perfect day. As he was standing on the tee at #3, which is high above a section of the course, I said, "Look how pretty this is!" He said, "Hmmm....all I see is work." :) At one point, as we were sitting on a fairway waiting for someone to finish on the green ahead of us, he said, "Listen. This is what I hear all day long. Nothing." He's spoiled! When he was midway through the 9th hole, he said, "Should we stop after 9? Let's go shopping!" (Keep in mind that I deposited all of our bonus checks this morning, so we were feeling particularly flush.) Okay! Shopping it is! We figured the mall would be a nightmare and downtown is pretty touristy, so we settled on the shopping area adjacent to the cruise ship dock. (We had two ships in today.) First stop: bookstore. I picked up a stack of non-fiction--all feel-good stuff, except for a Bill Bryson book I hadn't read. Just felt like reading some positive stuff (plus I have a stack of novels I just checked out of the library). Boyfriend picked up a couple of aikido books and this, which he's had his nose buried in since we got home. (His friend recently gave him a recording workstation. Yes, GAVE him. More on that later....) Second stop: music store. We stocked up on used DVD's and VHS tapes. Or "previously viewed," as they like to call it. We bought Igby Goes Down, Kill Bill - Vol. 1, Mystic River, The Station Agent and boyfriend bought a martial arts DVD that had three movies on it for $5.98. Merry Christmas...to us!! Third stop: Cold Stone Creamery for ice cream. I had Irish cream with Oreos (double decadence!) Final stop: the lottery office. Boyfriend felt like throwing a few bonus bucks to the gods of chance, just in case the Christmas gods feel like smiling on us extra hard this year. All in all, we've had a fantabulous week...and it's not even Christmas yet!

We have much to be thankful for, and one of the things I'm most thankful for this holiday season is my connection with those of you who visit this site. The blogosphere has been a source of great support and friendship for me this past year. I only hope that whatever comments and emails I send your way sufficiently express how much I enjoy and appreciate each and every one of you.

So whether this time of year finds you celebrating Hanukkah or Winter Solstice or Christmas or Kwanzaa or no special holiday at all, may you find yourselves surrounded by support and understanding and compassion and love and laughter and creative inspiration...because that's what you give to me.

St. John

2004-12-23T05:59:00.000-04:00

Our sister island of St. John is just four miles east, across Pillsbury Sound. It's only a 15-20 minute ferry ride from the terminal at Red Hook, an area on the east end of St. Thomas. Even so (I'm embarrassed to say), I hadn't been to St. John in a year-and-a-half. Boyfriend often plays gigs over there, mostly weddings or corporate functions. But about a month ago he signed on to play a jazz jam session every Sunday. I had yet to go to the gig with him, even though I adore St. John. Last week he said, "You have to go on Sunday. Everyone keeps asking me where you are..." So I went. And as soon as we pulled out of Red Hook--on a gloriously sunny day--I turned to my love and said, "You need to make me do this every Sunday." He told me that one of the main reasons he took the gig was so that I could go with him and 'escape' for a few hours. (Have you noticed the name of my blog?!) Below are a few photos of my time there last Sunday spent strolling...and browsing...and shopping...and just generally relaxing. I only wish I could bring you all here to enjoy a Sunday on St. John with me. Believe me, it's just what the doctor ordered for this time of year. I feel almost guilty that I'm not experiencing all of the holiday stress that I read about in other blogs and journals. Almost. :) So spend a couple of minutes with me here and imagine yourself in de islands, mon. Let all that stress just melt away...

2004-12-23T05:58:00.000-04:00

Pulling into Cruz Bay, St. John on the ferry from St. Thomas. The Beach Bar is the yellow building on the right.

2004-12-23T05:57:00.000-04:00

"Downtown" Cruz Bay. The Beach Bar is one block from the ferry terminal. Boyfriend is the dark dot on the right at the end of the street. He was pushing his drums on a luggage cart. I stayed back to walk with S., the keyboard player, since she wasn't moving nearly as fast.

2004-12-23T05:55:00.000-04:00

Jazz jam sessions every Sunday from 4-7.

2004-12-23T05:53:00.000-04:00

I strolled around "downtown" Cruz Bay and did some shopping while boyfriend played his first set. One of my stops was Mongoose Junction, where they have a lot of great shops. Picked up a funky pink watch bracelet at Bamboula, my favorite store here. Also stopped in at Big Planet to get the boyfriend a cool t-shirt and cap. When my folks were here a few years ago, we were shopping in a nearly empty Big Planet (my stepmother was in the dressing room) when we looked up and saw Kelsey Grammer and his wife at the register. My parents LOVE "Frasier," so they were quite excited by this sighting...even though they're way too cool to gush like fans. Kelsey was born on St. Thomas; he still has family here.

2004-12-23T05:48:00.000-04:00

Holiday cheer being enjoyed by all in The Beach Bar. Because it was the first time I'd accompanied the boyfriend to this gig, when I first walked in, I heard someone shout from across the bar, "Marilyn!" It was our friend S., who's been leading Sunday jazz jam sessions on St. John for four years. It was like a scene out of "Cheers"...except for my name not being Norm...

2004-12-23T05:45:00.000-04:00

If you're ever on St. John, stop in at Everyt'ing. It's one of my favorite gift shops here...AND...they have an espresso bar. It's just across the street from The Beach Bar. We walked over on boyfriend's break and got decaf pumpkin, creme brulee lattes made with eggnog. Liquid orgasm!

2004-12-23T05:43:00.000-04:00

"Can I go home now?"

Just now...

2004-12-22T16:55:00.000-04:00

Boyfriend: "What do you want to do Saturday?"

Me: Frantically thinking, "Saturday...Saturday...does he have a gig Saturday night?" Then out loud: "Why? What's Saturday?"

Boyfriend: Uh...CHRISTMAS?!

Addenda

2004-12-19T10:59:00.000-04:00

Good lord, I actually managed to post a link to my (skimpy-ass) Flickr page...as well as a freakin' Blogroll. (Finally!) You have no idea what a major accomplishment this was for this ol' gal. Simpletons can do it, I know...but it's like I'm from the Stone Age where this stuff is concerned.

I didn't like that last template. Tried to go back to the template I originally used on my other blog, but when I republished, the whole blog was mucked up. ACK!!! So I went back to one of my old favorites and added the new stuff.

Southern Images

2004-12-19T08:31:00.000-04:00

Wow. Check it out. What a joy to see a photoblog featuring people of color. (Link courtesy of Photoblogs.org.)

Annual Reports, Pt. I

2004-12-18T22:11:00.000-04:00

At 3 I had a tonsillectomy. I have a vivid memory of lying on the surgical table, as they lowered a mask over my mouth and told me to count backwards from 100 before the ether took hold. (How many three-year-olds can count TO 100, let alone backwards?) I can also remember standing in the crib in the hospital room waiting for them to bring me ice cream after the surgery, but it hurt my throat to eat it.

At 4 my mother began teaching me to sew. I sat on her lap so I could reach the sewing machine which was on the kitchen table. We made a sleeveless denim shift with a ruffled hem (for me). She later appliquéd a fish made of striped blue- and white-striped fabric near the ruffle. I liked sewing.

At 5 I arrived late for kindergarten almost every day. I have inherited my mother’s inability to get to work on time. Since she was always running late, she’d feel frenzied in the mornings. I had fairly long hair that I wore in a ponytail, held together with a rubber band. I don’t mean a cloth-covered rubber band, I mean a rubber band like you'd find wrapped around a newspaper. I have really thick hair, but it’s also very fine and it tangles easily. For some odd reason, she’d let me sleep in my ponytail, so every morning I’d have a rat’s ness of tangles wound around the rubber band. She’d be trying to rush and grabbing my hair harshly and pulling on the tangles as she tried to brush it out the next morning. I have a very tender scalp, so I’d invariably start whining and crying. Once the tears came, she’d bop me on top of the head with the plastic hairbrush and yell, “Stop crying!” (Yeah, that oughta do the trick.) I have vivid memories of her dropping me in front of the school after everyone else was already in class. I felt self-conscious that my eyes and face were all puffy and red from crying. I’d turn to her before opening the car door (a baby blue Buick with tail fins) and ask, “Can you tell I’ve been crying?” And every morning she said the same thing, “No, you look fine.” Liar.

At 6 I was a ballerina in the circus staged by my kindergarten class at the end of the school year. Becky H. (who I later knew in high school) has home movies of us dancing (if you could call it that). She never let me forget that I was haughtily letting the other ballerinas know that they were not dancing in time. I’m not exactly sure how I got the message across, but I don’t doubt that I did. My boyfriend in kindergarten was named Clark. He had a crew cut and was hell on wheels. The fact that he got in trouble nearly every day--which typically resulted in him getting a paddling in the principal’s office, before corporate punishment was illegal--was a major turn-on...the trouble-making, not the paddling. (That came later.)

At 7 I began 2nd grade with my least favorite nun of all time, Sister Mary Bosco. She was short and pudgy and a bitch. She told me I was bossy. Yeah? Takes one to know one.

At 8 I was my mother’s beauty pageant assistant, tutoring the less graceful contestants in how to properly perform their swimsuit and evening gown modeling routines. I’m sure it did wonders for their self-esteem to have to take direction from a painfully thin dorky 3rd grader with a Prince Valiant haircut. This was also the year some old family friends invited me to visit them in the Bay Area during the summer. They drove up and picked me up and I returned by air--my first solo flight. It was on Pacific Airlines (which pre-dated Hughes Airwest ,which pre-dated Southwest Airlines) and it was what was commonly referred to as the ‘milk run.’ I barfed every time we came in for a landing--which meant that after leaving San Francisco, I tossed my cookies coming into Sacramento, Marysville, Chico, Redding and Eureka. By the time we arrived in Crescent City, there wasn’t anything left to throw up.

At 9 I was forced to play the organ at church during Sunday mass. I could barely sleep Saturday nights from all the anxiety. The organ was in the balcony and I lived in constant fear that I’d make a mistake and everyone in the congregation below would turn around and crane their necks to see who the hell was screwing up the hymns. I could barely reach the frigging pedals. My anxiety level was ratcheted up significantly by the presence of Sister Mary Ancilla who stood next to me the entire time I was playing. Jesus, lady, have a seat…you’re givin’ me a heart attack here.

At 10 I was typing radio logs for the AM station on a manual typewriter, hunting and pecking with two fingers. The forms were in triplicate (that means there were two sheets of carbon paper for you young people) and this was pre-White Out. There used to be these old typewriter erasers that had a wheel of eraser on one end and a brush on the other end. My mother was the office manager and often didn’t finish her work during her allotted work hours, so she’d bring the logs home for me to type. So by age 10 I understood what it meant when someone said they did “traffic” at a radio or TV station.

At 11 the nuns at school chose me for the honor of cleaning the church every single fucking day after school. I was the lucky 6th grade girl who got selected. Julie C. was the poor 5th grade girl who had to do it with me. Some friggin’ ‘honor’--who the hell wants to spend their afternoons cleaning a church?! Okay, it wasn’t actually cleaning, per se--it was tidying up and preparing the sanctuary for the next morning’s Mass. I’ve always had a huge appetite even though I’m stick-thin. I quickly decided that the only way I was going to survive church duty was to shovel whole handfuls of hosts in my piehole to take the edge off my after-school hunger. Julie was initially horrified, until I explained in my older 6th grade manner that it wasn’t sacrilegious--they weren’t officially ‘the body of Christ’ until the priest consecrated them during Mass. At the end of the school year, Julie and I received a gift for all of our work--a cheap-ass statue of the Virgin Mary. Thanks, nuns, that really makes me want to join the convent.

At 12 I was forced to be on the girls’ basketball team at school. There were only 7 girls in our class, so everyone had to play whether we wanted to or not. (And believe me, I did not.) I finally understood what a zone defense was. It’s kinda comical that it took me this long to understand it. My father was our high school’s varsity basketball coach for 20 years and when I was a wee one, he’d lean down before every game and ask me, “Man to man or zone?” I thought ‘mantoman’ was one word and since I thought it was a cooler word than ‘zone,’ I almost always chose that. But every once in a while I’d say “zone” just to change it up a bit.

Late-Night Ramblings...

2004-12-14T23:43:00.000-04:00

It's late, but I just woke half an hour ago from a 3-hour nap...this may or may not be coherent...

* My father begins 7 weeks of radiation next Monday. He and my stepmother will be staying in an apartment associated with the hospital Monday through Thursday evenings during that time. The hospital has agreed to give him afternoon appointments on Mondays and early morning appointments on Fridays, to accommodate their 2-hour commute each way. So at least they'll have weekends at home, but it's still a helluva way to spend the holiday season.

* The boyfriend and I spent some time last night going through our CD collection looking for tunes he can sing with the rock/country trio he sometimes plays with. Their previous drummer did a lot of vocals. I opened my big mouth to the guitarist one night at one of their gigs, telling him that the boyfriend can sing, he just doesn't like to. He was flashing me an evil "SHUT UP!" look. But he's finally relented. So last night he downloaded a bunch of tunes we'd fished out and he listened to them while he was at work today. I might just sit through a gig if I can listen to him sing. It's been a long time... :)

* I got my passport today. I haven't had a valid passport in almost 15 years. Now, if only I had someplace exotic to travel to...

* My mother picked up some silly Santa stocking toy in a store the other day that plays the sound of a little girl laughing, ending with "Merry Christmas!" She bought it only because it sounds exactly like my 7-year-old niece. She called me and played it and I thought she was playing an outgoing message from my brother and sister-in-law's answering machine. It sounds EXACTLY like C's laugh. Funny.

* After dinner I laid down on the couch, watched a little TV while boyfriend looked at the photos we'd taken in the studio on Saturday...and then let myself succumb to sleep. That 3-hour nap felt good and I was dreaming like a madwoman. Of course, it won't be easy to get back to sleep, but I think I'll manage. Starting...now... :)

Rockin' and Rollin'

2004-12-11T19:32:00.000-04:00

Boyfriend had a 12:00 recording session today, so I scheduled a massage for 12:30. We only have one car, and the massage therapist I was using is downtown, as is the studio. I went with him to the studio first, and by the time we loaded all of his drum gear into the studio, I was ready for some bodywork!

The massage was wonderful. I've rarely treated myself to massages for a good decade now. This from a woman who used to get a massage every week when I lived in San Francisco, and at least once a month when I lived in Marin County. Shame on me! I deserve it, right?! The woman who gave me the massage has a room she uses upstairs from her retail shop. I didn't even feel like I was in St. Thomas. I don't know why, but I kept thinking I was back on the West Coast. She had a bamboo shade covering the window that looked out over downtown rooftops and a pedestal fan that rotated a calming breeze over me. It was almost as good as being massaged outdoors. Afterwards we chatted and exchanged phone numbers. I promised to call her for another massage and we might get together for tea. (She's only lived here a year.)

Then I went to the Hard Rock Cafe for lunch. I'm not a big fan of HRC's, but I was in the mood for a Chinese chicken salad, which is the only thing I ever order there. Then I walked back to the studio and just before I reached it, I ran into J., who was producing the tracks. He said the boyfriend was getting ready to do another tune, to make myself at home at the studio and that he was off to teach a piano lesson. When I got to the studio, I discovered that, three hours later, they'd only finished one tune (and he was scheduled to lay down drum tracks for three), the engineer, D., had gone out for some food and the boyfriend was sitting on the couch reading a magazine.

The boyfriend and I spent a few minutes taking some pictures of him in the booth. (I'll post one later if I remember.) When D. returned, they started work on the second tune. D. asked if I'd like a pair of headphones so I could sit in the booth (there was a small couch in there). I said, yeah, okay. So I sat there and listened to the boyfriend play and play and play the same tune (I'll probably hear it in my sleep tonight). And then suddenly...the earth started shaking. As someone who's spent 40 years on the West Coast, I'm very familiar with earthquakes--and they're not unusual in the Caribbean either. (I wish someone had warned me of that before I moved here.) There was a speaker on a pedestal stand right next to the couch where I was sitting. I looked to my right and it was shaking and swaying, as was the rack of headphones and cables. I kept thinking the shaking would stop after a couple of seconds, but it didn't. I looked through the window to the mixing board and saw D. run for the door. That's when I ripped off the headphones and leaned forward to grab the back of the boyfriend's shirt. HE WAS STILL PLAYING!!! He looked momentarily confused, like, what are you DOING?! I'm recording!! I said, "We're having an earthquake!" because everything was still shaking. He ripped off his headphones and we stood up to head for the door of the booth. He started yelling, "Open the door! Open the door!" I said, "I'm trying!!" It had been closed with a bungee cord (there's no knob on the door and that was to keep it shut), but I didn't know that. He reached around me, released the bungee cord and we hightailed it out to join D. on the balcony. That's right: balcony. We were bungee-corded inside a recording booth in a third floor studio. It was only after we were all on the balcony that D. realized he'd run outside without opening the door of the booth first. (Needless to say, he took some ribbing about that when J. returned and we were all talking about the quake.) I just checked the USGS site. It was a 5.1 quake and the epicenter was about 25 miles northeast of us.

We were at the studio for several more hours, but I took up residence on the couch behind the mixing board after the earthquake. I felt a little less claustrophobic knowing I wouldn't be sealed into that little chamber with a bungee cord in case there were aftershocks.

Christmas came early...

2004-12-09T06:45:00.000-04:00

Last evening, I was curled up on the sofa under a blanket (I may have been dozing) and the boyfriend was across the room on the laptop...when the phone rang. The boyfriend answered it. "Speaking...this is NOT (blankety-blank)...stop messing with me!" he said, sort of chuckling. It was a good friend of ours. A friend who vanished from our lives three years ago.

We've known this man for years, and like all of his other friends, our feeling has always been, "He's SO talented...but so fucked up." We care about him deeply, but it got to the point where I simply had to stop being nice to him. His addictions were completely out of control and I couldn't handle being around any more of his drunken/loaded behavior. It was just too hard, and too sad. I felt bad shutting him out, but his downward spiral was so deep, I knew I couldn't help, so I had to walk away. The boyfriend is a much softer touch and never stopped being kind to him.

The boyfriend arranged to have him come here to give him a chance to try to start a new life...and he fucked it up royally. He abused every friendship he had here until it got to the point that no one would help him...so he went to one of our sister islands, but his time there was fairly brief. One day three years ago, I picked up the phone to call him there and his roommate said he was gone. Not just 'out,' but GONE...as in back to the States. As tough as I had tried to be with him as he got worse and worse, I was still crushed that he'd leave without even telling us. And that was the last we heard from him...until last night.

I know that it took a LOT of courage for him to pick up the phone to call us last night. I know that because he told me how ashamed he is about everything he did while he was here. He's been living with his mother in Washington state. I had suspected all along that that might be the case. We've always had her address and phone number, and we'd thought about calling her to find out where he was. But we knew what kind of pain he'd caused her in the past, and if he was still fucking up we didn't want to upset her even more. So we never called her, but that's where he's been. He's had a lot of health problems in the last few years. He told me I wouldn't recognize him--that he has severe scoliosis and walks bent over like a 75-year-old man and that he walks with a cane. Then he said, "But I still look like the same guy--I just walk bent over." He was trying to brace us, so we wouldn't be shocked the next time we see him.

The boyfriend told him that sometimes he pulls out the live CD's they recorded together here..."Man, you were killin' it!" I, too, sometimes pull out those CD's just to hear that soulful voice and keyboard playing. He's a very, very talented man. He's gigging. He said he's got a standing gig at a club up there that he's been doing for about a year-and-a-half.

But the best news is that he's been clean and sober for a year. We've been through several clean and sober times in his life, so I know that that's only good news..for TODAY. This man has a much deeper bottom than most. Mugged? More than once...in one night? Nope, that didn't do it. Have your car stolen? Nope, that didn't work. Sell all of your possessions (including your prized music gear) to buy dope? Not gonna make a dent. Have all of your friends push you away? He'll just try to make new friends. Go to jail? Well, you'll get out eventually.

Addiction can kick the shit out of some remarkable people. I just hope it stops beating up on him...because we'd like to have our friend back.

Lately, as this year draws to a close and we look forward to '05...which means a huge fucking milestone birthday for me...and a new chapter in our lives together (if we ever figure out what that's going to look like...ha!)...I've had this feeling...that 2005 is going to be a good year for us. And I have to say, getting that phone call last night?...it made me feel like the good times might just be starting...now.

Who's on first?

2004-12-06T23:23:00.000-04:00

As usual, I spent way too much time at the laptop before work, to the point where I had to literally run around to get ready to go. Nothing new, that's pretty much my daily routine. All the while I was doing my typical weekday grousing..."I hate that job. Stupid job. Why can't I just work at home?!" (In those moments it doesn't matter that I have absolutely no idea what I would actually do if worked at home. The whole point is just to avoid having to go there.) I've showered and am frantically sliding hangers back and forth, desperately searching for something unwrinkled because ironing?...yuk. Keep in mind that my non-casual Monday through Thursday wear would be too casual for casual Fridays in the States. So baggy t-shirt, baggy drawstring pants and flip-flops later and I'm good to go. Add some minimal jewelry, a quick dab of lipstick...and oh yeah, I guess I should brush my hair. (Vanity, thy name is...not me.) I've gathered up the overdue library books, put some leftovers in Tupperware and head out the door laden with my handbag, a large straw tote filled with all sorts of crap, Tupperware, cell phone, keys, coins for the newspaper. I walk out the screen door onto the balcony and as I open the front door and glance up the stairs, I see a frightening sight...our parking space is empty. I immediately panic that our car has been stolen. STOLEN! Then I tell myself: don't panic yet...maybe there was someone in our space when the boyfriend got home from his gig the night before...maybe it's just parked somewhere else. Besides, it would have had to have been stolen in the last hour...because surely he would have noticed it was gone when he left for work. I head up the stairs with a pounding heart and frantically look in both directions on our dead-end lane...no sign of the Honda anywhere. I open my cell phone and call the boyfriend at work and ask in a worried voice, "Where's our car?" "What do you mean, where's our car? I TOOK it." "Why would you take it?!" (He typically walks to work.) "What do you mean, why did I take it? I had to go do WORK!" And then he hangs up on me. I'm standing in the middle of our street, holding all this crap, screaming at him because he's left me stranded without a way to get to work...and he's hanging up on me. Why that motherfu... I run back into the house to call him on the land line...giving him the benefit of the doubt despite my fury...cell phone coverage is crap here...maybe he was just cut off. But before I can reach the phone inside, my cell is ringing. I answer it yelling, "WHY would you take the car?!" "What is WRONG with you? I told you, I had to go to WORK!" "But I have to go to work!" "On Sunday?!" "What?" "What day do you think this is?" "Um. Oh. What?"

That's right, boys and girls, the woman who detests her job more than any human on the planet woke at 6 am yesterday convinced that it was Monday. Jesus, no wonder I ran around getting dressed thinking that the weekend had really flown by.

checkout

2004-11-28T18:23:00.000-04:00

I've been losing myself in the following fiction for the last week or so:

Places to Look for a Mother - Finished last weekend.

Tomcat in Love - Finished earlier today.

Crossing to Safety - Just started it in the tub a short while ago.

About a Boy - Next up, if it can captivate me in spite of already having seen the film.

Breath, Eyes, Memory - for the Caribbean flavor...

All courtesy of our odd little library.

So, what have you got your nose buried in these days?

The shape of things to come...

2004-11-27T13:11:00.000-04:00

Michele's 11/26 post about her Thanksgiving traditions with her family--and her mention of horrible childhood holidays--brought back memories for me.

At the beginning of my freshman year in high school, my mother left our home and moved to a town 80 miles south. My father did not exactly cope well with this development. Oddly, they dated for a year or two after she left, and got along much better when they didn't have to live together. But after a couple of years, they came to their senses and got divorced.

In the northwest corner of California where I grew up, many people went into the woods and cut down their own Christmas trees. I realize now that they were probably doing it on privately-owned or even park land. I'd never thought about that until now. So forgive the environmental incorrectness of this childhood event I'm about to tell you about. But first, some major digression...

My father was a member of the Elks Club. For all I know, he still is, although he probably hasn't been to a meeting in decades. Every year my parents would go to the big New Year's Eve party at the Elks lodge. Woohoo! High times, that! My mother, in her quest to be the best-dressed woman in the county (something she accomplished despite my father's unforgivably paltry schoolteacher's salary) would glide out into the living room on New Year's Eve dressed in some fancy number. It would be a 'cocktail dress' in avocado or bright orange chiffon or a snug beige lace sheath. The all-time best was the year she made a floor-length snug gown out of turquoise brocade, with a matching wrap...AND she covered her pumps in the material, too. She topped the whole thing off with elbow-length white gloves. My father would be wearing his (one) suit, with a painfully skinny tie. They were a handsome couple. Somewhere I have a tiny photo of them with my mother in her handmade gown--I'll have to see if I can find it.

My father would have arranged for some high school girl to babysit my little brother and me. I can't remember exactly how we entertained ourselves, but I'm sure popcorn was involved. Keep in mind that this was in the olden days--pre-cable, pre-computer, pre-internet. We're talkin' big ol' boxy TV with an antenna on the roof of the house, which brought us the sum total of two channels...in black and white. We would try desperately to stay awake until midnight. (I don't think even Dick Clark's ancient ass was on TV in those days.) If we made it to midnight, we'd walk out into the street in our jammies and bang spoons on the bottoms of pots and pans. Ah, those were the days...

My parents fought...a lot...pretty much all the time. When my mother first left, the first thing that struck me (aside from the empty living room) was the silence. It just seemed so...damn...quiet. It was such a relief. My father didn't really like to do much for the holidays after my mother left, so it was really up to me (since I was a teenager--my brother was five years younger) to try to salvage what I could. My Italian grandmother (my father's mother) gave us her Christmas ornaments, since she had stopped putting up even a table-top tree. They were antique and lovely...and I wish I had them now. We still had a couple of stockings, and I dutifully nailed them to the hideous wood paneling my mother had insisted be installed over the wonderful mantle we'd had.

My father was a not infrequent visitor to the bar at the Elks club after my mother left. One Christmas, the bartender there said he was going up into the woods to get a tree, and asked my Dad if he'd like him to get one for us, too. My Dad took him up on his offer and a couple of days later we had a gorgeous 12-foot tree drying in our garage. (Sorry, environment!) The problem was that our ceilings were only 10-feet high. My father, not being the handiest guy around, trimmed it down. Unfortunately, he trimmed it in half...and kept the BOTTOM HALF. Yes, my lovelies, that Christmas my brother and I could be seen having our pictures taken standing next to a six-foot tree...that was about three feet in diameter across the top. For years, I kept a photo of my Dad standing next to that blocky tree in my wallet. Unfortunately, it (the wallet) was stolen long ago when I had my purse snatched. But I kept the picture because no one ever believed me that someone's Dad would actually give his kids an almost square Christmas tree. Even worse, he made us dismantle it the morning of December 26th. Needless to say, we've never let him forget it.

Afro-Cuban, baby!

2004-11-27T08:38:00.000-04:00

Boyfriend is lying in bed watching this video. I just watched a few minutes with him and said, "These rhythms sound so complicated, but they're not." (Ignacio first plays the groove slowly and then plays it at normal speed with other musicians accompanying him.) Boyfriend agreed that that's the beauty of them--they sound like really complicated rhythms when played layer upon layer, but broken down they're actually quite simple. I dare any of you to sit still while listening to Afro-Cuban drumming--it's HOT! Best of all, I've got a man in my house who can play the shit out of this stuff. Now THAT'S hot! :)

The DVD/CD is what I sent to Erika for Gifty, Round 1.

Nanny

2004-11-27T07:34:00.000-04:00

I've got a secret... Our dryer went on the fritz weeks ago and I still haven't told our landlords, even though they only live upstairs (although they appear to have been out of town for most of the last couple of weeks). It conked out...I don't know...last month? I keep meaning to call them to get it fixed, but then I put it off...because secretly I love line-dried laundry. That's right: given a choice, I'd choose a clothesline over a dryer any day. Granted, it can be a bit of an inconvenience sometimes, especially when you live in a condo that's situated on one of the signature holes on the golf course and you don't have a yard or a clothesline. :)

The stacked washer/dryer unit we currently have used to belong to the landlords. They bequeathed it to us when they bought a new one last year. The dryer on our previous unit conked out a couple of years ago--right about this time of year. It had a broken belt, and I suspect this one has one, too.

We had a clothesline left over from our previous house (where I'd string it up along the picket fence of the balcony), so last time we were without a dryer, the boyfriend rigged up the clothesline along our long front balcony. But we couldn't very well hang laundry during the day; the condo association would have our ass. So we waited until dark and then hung it up. That time, I reported the problem to the landlords right away, but it still took them six weeks to fix it. (He owns an air conditioning and refrigeration business--the last thing he feels like doing when he gets home is fixing another appliance.) Since we live in the tropics, it wasn't unusual to get an overnight shower, which meant we'd often wake to laundry that was just as wet 12 hours later. But I'd still have to bring it in anyway before the golfers showed up. Not to mention that my brother brought his family of five and my mother for Thanksgiving that year. Try having eight people in a teensy condo....with no dryer. :(

This time I decided to just use the shower rod. It's extra-long because there's a planter box next to the tub. You might be wondering how fresh our laundry could smell hanging in our bathroom, but we have large windows on one side of the tub and one of them is permanently open (as are all of our sliders and windows). We can get a nice, gentle breeze through there. And sheets and linens? You'd be surprised how quickly sheets dry when hung over the tub (as you can see, there's a shower rod against the window, too) and how inventive I can be rigging up drying surfaces for blankets. So even though November was once again our rainiest month, this has been a breeze. And it's not like we're constantly doing laundry--it's just the two of us. The odd thing is, I seem to be keeping more on top of the laundry than when the dryer was working. When convenience is at your fingertips, I suppose it's easy to wait until you have a shitload of it to do.

I'm the first to admit that I have a bit of a Luddite soul, but that's not the only reason I've gone bass-ackwards in this area. The real reason is that it reminds me of Nanny, my Italian grandmother. She never owned a dryer. Heck, when I was little, she still owned one of those old-fashioned wringer washing machines. Her towels always had that stiff line-dried feel to them, but even better, they had that fresh smell. No softener or dryer sheets can recreate that smell.

I have fond memories of being in my grandmother's backyard and helping her hang or take down her laundry. It used to be a treat to 'get to' hang up the laundry. Her clotheline was right next to her rose bushes. And after I'd help with the laundry, I'd take a leisurely stroll among the roses (all different varieties), lean in and inhale their fragrance and rub my grimy kid fingers over their tender, soft petals.

Yes, I'll eventually get around to telling the landlords to fix our dryer. But in the meantime, it'll be just me and my clothespins (even though they're not evident in this picture, I use them all the time). And I'm perfectly fine with that. And I'll keep imagining my little dream house...with a big yard...and plenty of room for a clothesline. And when I have my clothesline, I'll stand before it, pinning my laundry...and take a moment to lift a sheet over my head to look at the sun through bright cotton. And once again, I'll be back there in the yard behind that little house on J Street that my Portugese grandfather built. And all will be right in my world...again.

Thanks to Sunday School Rebel for inspiring this post.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave...

2004-11-25T14:11:00.000-04:00

This Thanksgiving, I'm so very thankful and grateful for the wonderful connections I've made through this medium. Blogging has been a godsend to me at a time in my life where I desperately needed just that--connection. I know I should just be grateful to live in a place that's coveted by so many, but as you know, this has been a rather isolating place for me. The blogosphere is such an amazing place. We can peek into each other's lives with no expectation or obligation. Feel like commenting? Fine. Don't feel like responding to an email? That's okay, too. It's a forum where acceptance seems to be the password...and where the rules of friendship have been redefined.

I'm thankful to any and all who visit this site. But today I wanted to give a special shout out to some who have been beacons of friendship and support (in no particular order)...Tonya...Jen...
Daisy-Winifred...Kat...BP...Lynn. To Michele who always understands when the boyfriend is being so, well, male...new pal Jo...fabulous Gifty maven Leslie...and Erika, my Gifty buddy. To Heather and Bethany whose comments helped so much last August when we were going through a rough time. To Andrea whose journal was the second blog I ever stumbled upon and whose life touches so many. To Violet whose blog always reminds me of the city I left behind. And lest you think I'm forgetting about the men, there's Mark.

So thank you to all of you and to all of the countless others whose sites I visit on a regular basis. Your words and photos inspire and delight and amaze and make me think and laugh and cry. May this day be full of all that brings you joy. If karma is indeed a boomerang, you've all got some seriously good stuff headed your way.

Sex Cymbal

2004-11-22T05:26:00.000-04:00

This didn't scan well. You can't even see the boyfriend's features (all the more mysterious) and the rest of it looks overexposed. The print is much nicer. But this photo came to mind this weekend because the boyfriend's been shopping online for cymbals. So I heard the sound of crashing cymbals emanating from the laptop until 2 am Saturday night (Sunday morning). It's a rather noisy (and expensive!) affair.

This was taken by the same actor friend who took the shadow photo I posted awhile back. Same time frame, too. This hot tub belonged to a big-time music producer in Malibu. Boyfriend and his bandmates (in a funk band) were staying there while the producer made an album with them. This is one of my favorite photos of him.

Bad Spouse

2004-11-20T18:28:00.000-04:00

We slept in this morning, and at one point I snuggled up to the boyfriend and apologized for being such a "bad" spouse. I rarely go to his gigs here. I reminded him this morning that it's just so different for me here. In the States I would often hear him play music that I really liked and enjoyed, and I also might see friends and/or acquaintances at gigs. Here he's most often playing music that leaves me uninspired--through no fault of his--but do I want to sit through it? Not necessarily. If it's a jazz gig, it's pleasant enough, but I miss hearing him really play--to hear him really swing hard and loud. It's all just too damn polite here. So going to a gig here means an evening spent sitting alone like some kind of loser with a fake smile pasted on my face.

But this morning I started feeling guilty. He never pushes. Occasionally he'll ask, "Are you going tonight?" Typically my only response is the look. And he knows that look means, "I'd sooner poke my eyes out with branding irons." And he laughs. But then there are the times, like today, when I tell him I'll go. But as the day wears on, I start to feel less and less enthusiastic about the idea. So I'll sidle up to him and suddenly get very affectionate, and he'll laugh (hard) and say, "That's cold-blooded. I knew you weren't going to go!" That's what I did today.

He's playing a jazz show on St. John tonight. The article in the paper listed dress for the event as "island fancy." If you figure out what that is, let me know. I only know that nothing in my wardrobe qualifies. So aside from having nothing to wear (or more appropriately, feeling like I'd be infinitely more comfortable in jeans, especially since it's on a beach where the mosquitoes will be out in force), I'd also be sitting by myself, since everyone I know there would be on stage. He's only playing a 1-hour set, so it's not like I've abandoned him for the entire evening--except that the promoter called earlier and asked if he could be on the 4:00 ferry and the show doesn't start until 8:00. So now I'm really glad I decided not to go!

As he was preparing to leave, he asked me to grab the cash in the pocket of the pants he'd had on earlier. Then he added, "I always keep it in the left pocket." I said, "I know that! I know that you always carry your cash in your left pocket because you're left-handed. Duh!" He kind of laughed and said, "But did you know that every morning when you fill my to-go mug of coffee that you snap the lid on as if a right-handed person was going to drink it?" Oh, shit. He's right, I do. So today I'm feeling very much like a "bad" spouse. (Although I do make him coffee every morning, but it's not like I'm not also making it for myself.)

I'll just have to be an extra-good spouse when he gets home tonight. :)

Gifty!

2004-11-17T06:37:00.000-04:00

Thanks to RubborSol who created a cool, new gift exchange program she's calling "Gifty." The gift for my recipient is being mailed today. It was actually ready to be mailed on Monday, but when I went to type the address label I discovered I couldn't read my own writing! I finally remembered this morning to check the email that had the recipient's address in it.

I picked up the gift over the weekend, and the boyfriend started to use it! "Wait! That's not for us! That's for Gifty!" He rolled his eyes in that "you and your blogging" sort of way (but he smiles when he does it because he knows how much I love the blogosphere). He also shot me a look that said, "Why didn't you buy (one of these cool things) for us, too?" Mind reader that I am, I replied, "They only had one in stock." Hmmph.

"Round One" of Gifty is closed. But if you want to participate in Round Two, send an email to Leslie at RubberSol and she'll hook you up!

And if you miss getting snail mail, sign up for Hope's "Snail Mail Program." I did, and got an adorable card from her this week. Just don't forget to send one back... :)

Browsin'

2004-11-17T05:57:00.000-04:00

We installed Firefox yesterday. Anybody else out there using it?

So far? Lovin' it! :)

The Magic of Humility

2004-11-16T21:12:00.000-04:00

Ever had one of those moments when you get a glimpse of an opportunity--a possibility, perhaps--as if a window has suddenly been pried open just a bit to shed a little light? Only to find it quickly followed by a fortuitous little event...a phone call or letter or email or casual encounter or introduction or...whatever? And it makes you smile, inwardly and outwardly, as if "the universe" (or fate or destiny or God or whatever it is at work) has just waved its wand over you and you wonder if, in fact, something good is about to happen?

I really do believe that "the universe" (or whatever it is) supports one's dreams--much more than we believe on a day-to-day basis. But even more specific (to my life anyway!), I believe that our decisiveness is supported. That if we simply make a decision--rather than hemming and hawing and straddling that goddamn fence--events will begin to fall into place. We could stand immobile at a crossroads for months, years....hell, decades. But once we choose a fork in the road--once we commit to heading in a specific direction--doors seem to open almost effortlessly.

The boyfriend and I had one of those moments yesterday. We had a conversation in the car late Sunday afternoon. It involved a decision, jointly reached and agreed to. It involved change. And once we made that decision--and felt good about it!--it seemed almost logical when the phone rang yesterday and handed him an opportunity for some nice short-term possibilities.

I know this is vague, and I apologize for that. But I need to be a little vague until we're ready to make public what our plans are. It's nothing earth-shattering, and yet it feels quite big in the moment because of the amount of change involved. It's one of those quirky things where the slightest shift in game plan can have large ramifications. One little ripple....

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We saw "Ray" last night. We both loved it. I thought Jamie Foxx was astonishing. And I say that as someone who's almost always disappointed with everything in life. I know that sounds cynical, but it's not really. It's just that I learned decades ago that I tend to have sort of distorted expectations, so I'm often...well, not exactly disappointed...but sort of sad that things I expected to be blown away by turn out to just be, I don't know, nice instead. But this was one instance where in spite of all of the previews and reviews and interviews and hype, I wasn't disappointed. I didn't think it was necessarily an excellent film--good, but not excellent. But there were some fabulous performances and, for me, Jamie Foxxx inhabited that character in the best sense of the word.

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Boyfriend's at a resort playing a gig tonight. So I put on my flannel jammies (even though it's still in the upper 70's...brrrrr), made a bowl of popcorn and sat down to watch "Oprah." Tonight's show was about a dream wedding she gave to a viewer couple. It was at the Hotel Bel-Air in L.A. and as the bride made her entrance, Chris Botti played the wedding march. I made a mental note to mention it to the boyfriend, a la "Oh, saw Chris Botti on Oprah's Dream Wedding show." But then they showed Oprah introducing Chris at the reception where his band played during dinner. And THEN, she closed the show by having him perform in the studio and raving how she'd just discovered him and ran out and bought all of his CD's.

When H. was here, we were in the car one day and I don't remember how we got to this, but I said to him from the backseat, "Your Dad doesn't care about being famous." H. was in the passenger seat and quickly turned to look at his Dad and asked sort of incredulously, "Dad, you don't? You don't care about being famous?" "No, son, I really don't. It (music) was never about that for me." Which means when he sees his old pals on Oprah or touring with Sting or Wynton Marsalis or directing an Oscar-nominated film or showing up unexpectedly on screen when we're in a movie theatre, well, he just smiles and says, "Cool." But honest to God, I don't think he ever thinks, "Why not me?" And that's one of the biggest reasons I love him the way I do.

Recovery Room

2004-11-13T11:33:00.000-04:00

Boyfriend has just split for the ferry to take him to St. John where he'll be spending the rest of the day/evening/into the wee hours as bandleader for the wedding of a relief pitcher for the Yankees. I say that not to name-drop (because we'd never heard of the guy), but mention it because everyone's panties are in a twist over making sure this all goes extra smoothly.

By the time we packed the car (having obtained extra gear from the keyboard player earlier this morning), I felt like he was embarking on a week-long trip. Our little Honda Accord now contains:

a drum kit
a keyboard
a keyboard stand
a piano bench (yes, the old wooden kind)
a PA system (mixer, speakers, tripods for speakers)
a CD boombox + a bunch of CD's
two sets of gigs clothes (for him and the keyboardist)
a digital camera + attachments
binders full of music charts + assorted song lists, files, etc.
one of those big orange extension cords
his Dopp kit
several beach towels (to wrap around gear in case it's raining when they're loading in and moving gear between the ceremony and reception locations, because it's been raining off and on all week)

These types of gigs pay well (especially if you're the bandleader...yay!), but, he's spent a lot of time putting this together. The bride also requested a list of songs to be played during the ceremony. He's arranged for the keyboard player to do that solo, and thankfully the list got whittled down. (Her original list had like 15 songs!)

The couple originally wanted the band to play the reception from 6:30-9:30 pm. Then they added an extra hour. No biggie. But we arrived home at lunchtime yesterday (yesterday!) to a message on the answering machine from the resort's wedding planner telling him that the bride and groom had now requested that the band play until 2 am. Yes, that's right...they want the band to play for 7-1/2 hours. (Can you say "party animals," boys and girls?) Thankfully, the other guys were up for it (just more money for them, too). Three of the musicians are ferrying over from here. I honestly don't know what they'll do between 2 and 6 am, when the ferries start running again. And the hotel is booked up, so it's not like they even have rooms available for them if they wanted them. Guess they'll just hang out for a few hours.

So I'm batch'ing it for the night. When I was at the mall after work yesterday running errands, I slipped into the music store to scour the sale DVD racks. I found "About Schmidt" for $6.99 (and we never saw it). So that'll be my Saturday evening entertainment. As for the afternoon, I plan to just putz around and do whatever--just enjoy the peace and quiet of girlie time. Oh yeah, and eat. It wasn't until after he drove away that it occurred to me that we forgot to do that all morning. :)

Happy Birthday, C!

2004-11-11T18:22:00.000-04:00

My youngest niece, C., turns seven today. This is one of my favorite photos of her. It was taken on our last camping trip; she was not yet two. What I love about it is that it was unposed. She simply loved old Stoops and thought he looked like a good place to lie down.

I spoke to her earlier today. "You know that Pooh watch and those socks you sent me?" Yes. "I'm wearing the watch right now and I'm gonna put on a pair of the socks in a little while!" I said I was glad that she liked them. "It (the watch) fits perfectly! And I love Pooh!" Yes, sweetie, I know...you've always loved Pooh.

We spent our last Christmas in the States with my brother's family. One of C.'s favorite gifts that year was a battery-operated Tigger that jumped up and down. She entertained herself for what seemed like hours that Christmas standing next to Tigger and matching him jump for jump. I can still see her jumping and giggling...

I asked her on the phone today if she feels seven. "Yes." Really? You feel older and different today? (emphatically)..."Yes." C. is smart and funny and feisty and independent and athletic and fearless about a lot of things. And I hope she always stays that way.

Kat

2004-11-11T07:34:00.000-04:00

You just have to read it for yourself.

Tax Code

2004-11-09T23:14:00.000-04:00

Dooce has solved one of the mysteries that's plagued me for the last several years.

I once worked as Training Coordinator for a large utility company which had two headquarters, one in Portland and one in Salt Lake City. As a result, there were a lot of Mormons employed by the company. I was told when I assumed the position that whenever I scheduled a morning training session or meeting that I must have a supply of Coke and Diet Coke on hand for the Mormons. Because these same Mormons eschewed the coffee and tea on hand claiming they never let caffeine pass their lips. For years I've wondered, "What the hell?!..." Now I see...a biblical loophole...

It just hit me: The Bible - The Spiritual Tax Code.

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Ashcroft resigned? Finally, some good news.

A Fine Romance

2004-11-09T05:48:00.000-04:00

I promise to (eventually) stop talking about things I found while de-cluttering recently, but one of the best finds was a handful of emails from the boyfriend. He wrote them during his first month here. He'd come down two months ahead of me to get things set up and make sure he thought we could have some sort of life here before I up and moved 4,000 miles to this place sight unseen.

He's not a romantic man in the generic, traditional ways. Flowers, cards, love notes, gifts (just because)? Not gonna happen--it's not in his nature. But he does other things that feel romantic, that make me go, "Awwww..." So to suddenly begin receiving long, loving, sweet, tender, unbelievably romantic letters from him via email? I was on cloud nine! They were the first letters he'd ever written to me and we'd been together five years!

I squealed with delight when I spotted them among our long-buried papers: "Look what I found!" I passed them over to him. He gave them a quick glance and handed them back. His response? "I used to have a Hotmail account?"

Men. :(

Jesus and the FDA

2004-11-08T23:34:00.000-04:00

Start with Heather's post, where she eloquently lays out the consequences should Bush appoint Dr. W. David Hager to lead the FDA's Advisory Committee for Reproductive Health Drugs. Then read the Time.com article from 10/5/02. Hager was appointed to the Committee on 12/27/02 and his term expires 6/30/05. Click on the PDF link by his name on the Committe page if you want to read his resume. Then please take action if you find this as scary as I do.

Little Thoughts

2004-11-08T06:46:00.000-04:00

Among the items I unearthed in our clutter excavation the other day were three pages of little thoughts and slogans I'd written over a decade ago. I wrote them with the idea of using them to create a touchy-feely line of fortune cookies. I had a product name and a tagline. I had misplaced the list for a few years. I knew it was buried in here somewhere...I just didn't know where... :) There are about 75 of them. They're not heavy--just meant to be fun. Here's a sample I just flipped to and picked at random: "Life is a picnic and doubts are the ants."

But the more I look at the list, the more I think I'd like to do something else with them. Greeting cards? Bookmarks? Magnets? Mugs? I suppose the product possibilities are, well, endless. Now if I can just get my very creative boyfriend to do some illustrations...