Sur la table:
Tent by Margaret Atwood
Speak softly, she can hear by Pam Lewis
To do list, c. last weekend, mostly completed
Lint brush
Newspaper, today's
Believer
Torn up junk mail
Stilton
Meet the Fockers
Bills
Cooking the Norwegian Way
Waning vodka tonic (with biodynamic lime)
Bandaid wrapper
Tax forms
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Sixth grade is bad for your posture
My capacity's post reminded me today how hard sixth grade was. How many tiny rules one had to abide by in order to escape embarrassment. I have to admit that I survived fairly well, thanks to parents who could afford Guess jeans (golden on nearly that alone) and a street-savviness garnered from thorough reading of Sweet Valley Twins and Babysitter's Club books.
However, here's the code of conduct I remember living by:
1. Slouch just enough to have your bra strap hit the top of your chair (to avoid snappage). Under anything at all light colored, wear a tank top over the bra so no one can tell you're wearing one (however it is very important to wear one, whether you need it or not).
2. Before sitting down in the caf, do a light sweep the chair with the hand (to avoid the grape-on-the-seat trick)
3. For lunch, do not eat the a. sloppy joes b. spaghetti c. hamburger d. beans e. anything with enthusiasm.
4. Beware of the potential for the kick-me sign. (If excess laughter occurs, a subtle sweep of the back will confirm that it's not you. No matter how popular you are, you're at risk. Slouching also prevents against the sign).
5. "Best friends" half-heart necklaces are not exclusive.
6. While it's cool to have your period already, never show any other sign of menstruation. Re: pads, emulate Russian nesting dolls: makeup bag in purse in Espirit bag, etc.
6. At sleepovers, never be the first to go to sleep. Best to be near the end. Be sure to ration water to avoid the hand-in-the-water pee trick (which you're pretty sure doesn't work, but you want to be safe). In truth or dare, while both are risky, truth is safest. Better to confess to kissing that boy in the lake last summer than running naked around the house.
However, here's the code of conduct I remember living by:
1. Slouch just enough to have your bra strap hit the top of your chair (to avoid snappage). Under anything at all light colored, wear a tank top over the bra so no one can tell you're wearing one (however it is very important to wear one, whether you need it or not).
2. Before sitting down in the caf, do a light sweep the chair with the hand (to avoid the grape-on-the-seat trick)
3. For lunch, do not eat the a. sloppy joes b. spaghetti c. hamburger d. beans e. anything with enthusiasm.
4. Beware of the potential for the kick-me sign. (If excess laughter occurs, a subtle sweep of the back will confirm that it's not you. No matter how popular you are, you're at risk. Slouching also prevents against the sign).
5. "Best friends" half-heart necklaces are not exclusive.
6. While it's cool to have your period already, never show any other sign of menstruation. Re: pads, emulate Russian nesting dolls: makeup bag in purse in Espirit bag, etc.
6. At sleepovers, never be the first to go to sleep. Best to be near the end. Be sure to ration water to avoid the hand-in-the-water pee trick (which you're pretty sure doesn't work, but you want to be safe). In truth or dare, while both are risky, truth is safest. Better to confess to kissing that boy in the lake last summer than running naked around the house.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Holy mackerel
I ate a tuna sandwich this weekend.
A few months ago I decided that after 11 years as a vegetarian, I should start eating fish. It's so good for you, I reasoned. And I'm tired of going to fabulous restaurants on vacations and having something pedestrian and American.
The interesting thing is that I don't like fish. Tunafish sandwiches aside, I've always hated it. Abhorred the smell of it, the texture. Had difficulty eating bread and most everything when I arrived in Japan because it all seemed vaguely fishy. Don't like overripe melons for the same reason.
So on New Year's, I had shrimp for the first time in my life. It was fine as long as I didn't inhale. I had a bite of crab cake last week. Same thing.
So when my mom offered egg salad or tuna sandwiches for lunch at the cabin this weekend, I brazenly made myself a tuna sandwich. The first bite went fine and soon I stared down at my empty plate and thought, Wow, I just ate a tuna sandwich. How strange.
And now I need to move on, because if the health properties of fish is why I started, canned tuna is not where it's at.
A few months ago I decided that after 11 years as a vegetarian, I should start eating fish. It's so good for you, I reasoned. And I'm tired of going to fabulous restaurants on vacations and having something pedestrian and American.
The interesting thing is that I don't like fish. Tunafish sandwiches aside, I've always hated it. Abhorred the smell of it, the texture. Had difficulty eating bread and most everything when I arrived in Japan because it all seemed vaguely fishy. Don't like overripe melons for the same reason.
So on New Year's, I had shrimp for the first time in my life. It was fine as long as I didn't inhale. I had a bite of crab cake last week. Same thing.
So when my mom offered egg salad or tuna sandwiches for lunch at the cabin this weekend, I brazenly made myself a tuna sandwich. The first bite went fine and soon I stared down at my empty plate and thought, Wow, I just ate a tuna sandwich. How strange.
And now I need to move on, because if the health properties of fish is why I started, canned tuna is not where it's at.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
24 days
Until yesterday, I had a migraine headache every day for the last 24 days.
The first week, I figured, oh, jet lag.
The second week I called my doctor. I ruled out blood pressure (med-low), pulse (fine), and pregnancy (nope) for her.
The third week I called my doctor again and got an appointment. Her only guess was that a change we made in November to the way I take the pill (designed, ironically enough, to give me less headaches) started causing me headaches in January. I left with my old pill prescription, "try not to take pain relievers/supermeds every day because they'll lose their effectiveness," and "it'll take a month for it to work it's way out of your system, so hang in there." And also a prescription for a medication that slows my pulse to provide short-term relief.
I wanted desperately to write about it while I was in the midst of it, but it's easier for me to pretend it isn't happening (hence the rather stilted blog entries as of late).
So, sorry about any crabbiness or preoccupied-ness of late. It's good to be back, for real this time.
The first week, I figured, oh, jet lag.
The second week I called my doctor. I ruled out blood pressure (med-low), pulse (fine), and pregnancy (nope) for her.
The third week I called my doctor again and got an appointment. Her only guess was that a change we made in November to the way I take the pill (designed, ironically enough, to give me less headaches) started causing me headaches in January. I left with my old pill prescription, "try not to take pain relievers/supermeds every day because they'll lose their effectiveness," and "it'll take a month for it to work it's way out of your system, so hang in there." And also a prescription for a medication that slows my pulse to provide short-term relief.
I wanted desperately to write about it while I was in the midst of it, but it's easier for me to pretend it isn't happening (hence the rather stilted blog entries as of late).
So, sorry about any crabbiness or preoccupied-ness of late. It's good to be back, for real this time.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Winner
of the personal gold medal is the scratching pole, for helping me oust Husband out of the blog closet.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Buried treasure
Stilton was so excited to wish us Happy Valentine's Day that he was up at 6 jumping on the bed and meowing, then bolting downstairs, then running up again and meowing.
Cadbury is a genius kitty. We should call NASA. He is playing fetch, neatly retrieving the crumpled receipt, trotting back to drop it in our hands, then flying off to attack it again.
Johnny Weir is on the tube (not the subway kind). Husband is fondly remembering when he [didn't] see him pee.
Things that I did not get on Valentine's Day:
A Weimaraner
A blizzard
My ofuro
Things that I did get on Valentine's Day:
Takeaway Indian food from our favorite place
Spa time
One doting Husband
A "personal gold medal" to the first person who gets why I might have alluded to buried treasure in this post's title... it's right in front of you! E-mail me to collect.
Cadbury is a genius kitty. We should call NASA. He is playing fetch, neatly retrieving the crumpled receipt, trotting back to drop it in our hands, then flying off to attack it again.
Johnny Weir is on the tube (not the subway kind). Husband is fondly remembering when he [didn't] see him pee.
Things that I did not get on Valentine's Day:
A Weimaraner
A blizzard
My ofuro
Things that I did get on Valentine's Day:
Takeaway Indian food from our favorite place
Spa time
One doting Husband
A "personal gold medal" to the first person who gets why I might have alluded to buried treasure in this post's title... it's right in front of you! E-mail me to collect.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
What I didn't write about
Some days it just isn't there.
I've been trying to write for awhile tonight... thinking that it's been a bit since I've written.
Taking a suggestion from Husband, I wrote a post about my athletic history. Then it seemed too complicated, so I turned it into a post about my confidence in my athletic ability, concluding with a reflection on broomball, but then it seemed weird to mention broomball. So I condensed and then expanded that into a reflection on when I first felt strong (15, carrying a canoe) and when I first felt pretty (first week of college), but it seemed too overly-dramatic-personal-introspection.
Then I exceeded my half-hour limit on writing posts.
So here are my thoughts:
1. I read somewhere about how Swedes and Norwegians can go somewhere and speedskate for hours on some unless path, and how no one talks when they skate, it's just you and the endless ice. I'd like to go there and do that.
2. I'm pleased the world has discovered kakuro, the "new" sudoko, as I have loved these puzzles for years.
3. My new favorite anytime food: Bob's Red Mill 10-grain hot cereal. Husband had to sell out today and downgrade to the 8-grain, as both the 10- and 9-grain were sold out. But he knew better that to degrade himself with the 7-grain, even though they only had one pack of the 8 left and we go through one a week. [To eat, add one scoop natural chunky peanut butter, one splash soy milk, and a swirl of maple syrup. Mmm.]
I've been trying to write for awhile tonight... thinking that it's been a bit since I've written.
Taking a suggestion from Husband, I wrote a post about my athletic history. Then it seemed too complicated, so I turned it into a post about my confidence in my athletic ability, concluding with a reflection on broomball, but then it seemed weird to mention broomball. So I condensed and then expanded that into a reflection on when I first felt strong (15, carrying a canoe) and when I first felt pretty (first week of college), but it seemed too overly-dramatic-personal-introspection.
Then I exceeded my half-hour limit on writing posts.
So here are my thoughts:
1. I read somewhere about how Swedes and Norwegians can go somewhere and speedskate for hours on some unless path, and how no one talks when they skate, it's just you and the endless ice. I'd like to go there and do that.
2. I'm pleased the world has discovered kakuro, the "new" sudoko, as I have loved these puzzles for years.
3. My new favorite anytime food: Bob's Red Mill 10-grain hot cereal. Husband had to sell out today and downgrade to the 8-grain, as both the 10- and 9-grain were sold out. But he knew better that to degrade himself with the 7-grain, even though they only had one pack of the 8 left and we go through one a week. [To eat, add one scoop natural chunky peanut butter, one splash soy milk, and a swirl of maple syrup. Mmm.]
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Nurse Husband
One thing I really miss about being a kid is having someone pick you up and take care of you when you're sick. Somedays the thought of driving myself home from work is enough to... well, enough to make me want to stick it out, oddly enough, although the drive can never be avoided. And while when I get home all I usually want to do is crash in the guest room bed with the cats and sleep, occasionally I've really wanted someone to pick up comforting food and a good movie. So it was a treat today, on migraine day #7, to finally throw in the towel and come home and to have Husband here to dote on me. He fetched me water (with a lime), brought me flowers (purple tulips-excellent choice), ran the errands that needed running (including getting me some cash), and is in process of procuring comforting food--soy cheese pizza, from local hip pizza joint. With Anne of Green Gables, The Sequel on the screen and the cats in my lap (it's kind of hard to type, actually), what more could a girl ask for?
Monday, January 30, 2006
Chocolate
I feel like something out of those terrible chick lit novels. The ones that are pink or yellow with cartoon girls or close-ups of shoes and lipstick fonts. But I was reminded today that I am, truly, a chocolate addict.
Husband and I annually embark on a detox diet that forbids such things as chocolate, among other sweeping categories like dairy, refined sugars, and processed grains. Not because we think detox is necessary, just because we like to remind ourselves of how we want to eat (and to fit reasonably well into the swimsuits that are a regular part of our spring vacations). But today when I realized at 2 p.m. that I couldn't nurse my headache/jet lag/something-I-picked-up-on-the-plane? with the handfuls of mini-Butterfingers from the treat basket that I've become accustomed to, I became very sad.
Note: Immediately after writing the previous entry (where I described just how lead-filled my head felt), I stumbled out of the 80-degree computer lab, pushed through the double doors of the bathroom, and beheld a row of urinals. Shaken out of my stupor I rushed back through the doors, did a quick sweep to see if anyone saw me, and dived into the ladies.
Husband and I annually embark on a detox diet that forbids such things as chocolate, among other sweeping categories like dairy, refined sugars, and processed grains. Not because we think detox is necessary, just because we like to remind ourselves of how we want to eat (and to fit reasonably well into the swimsuits that are a regular part of our spring vacations). But today when I realized at 2 p.m. that I couldn't nurse my headache/jet lag/something-I-picked-up-on-the-plane? with the handfuls of mini-Butterfingers from the treat basket that I've become accustomed to, I became very sad.
Note: Immediately after writing the previous entry (where I described just how lead-filled my head felt), I stumbled out of the 80-degree computer lab, pushed through the double doors of the bathroom, and beheld a row of urinals. Shaken out of my stupor I rushed back through the doors, did a quick sweep to see if anyone saw me, and dived into the ladies.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Oslo
is the pure white crisp cold snow-covered cloaked-in-darkness city that you always imagined. Fjords and fishing boats everywhere, red-checked Norwegians toting skis around the city (presumably heading to catch trains out of the city). To be fair, there was more racial diversity in the city center than I'd have guessed. K and her friend NB and I walked along snow-covered sidewalks all around the dark city--by the icy harbor, through the fortress still guarded by gun-toting sentries (seriously, there have been guns everywhere I turn the last few weeks. And people say Americans are the ones with guns), by the palace and shops.
The motherland, as my brother called it, looked surprisingly like the hilly parts of my home state. The streets shared names with the class rosters of my youth.
I was left wanting, of course, and will go back once I've become a millionaire. I feel like I'm talking about $ all the time, but you can't pay $10 for a glass of local beer, $2 for the use of a toilet, or have noticed that the local pizza chain offers individual pizzas for $40 each without mentioning it.
Before crossing the North Sea, K showed me a fabulous time in England. She took me to the Bronte moors and the Peak District. She and her friends took me out drinking, twice, during which I had a stomach-churning mix of drinks (from Pimms and lemonade to Mojitos to chambord martinis to Aftershock shots and absinthe shots) but managed to keep my feet on the ground and not be hungover for the 7 a.m. 90 mph drive to Newcastle to catch the plane.
Although our time in Oslo was pretty tame, I feel today as if most of my brain has been removed and replaced by lead. The twinkling dizzy spots are a regular part of my existence.
I think I need to go home.
The motherland, as my brother called it, looked surprisingly like the hilly parts of my home state. The streets shared names with the class rosters of my youth.
I was left wanting, of course, and will go back once I've become a millionaire. I feel like I'm talking about $ all the time, but you can't pay $10 for a glass of local beer, $2 for the use of a toilet, or have noticed that the local pizza chain offers individual pizzas for $40 each without mentioning it.
Before crossing the North Sea, K showed me a fabulous time in England. She took me to the Bronte moors and the Peak District. She and her friends took me out drinking, twice, during which I had a stomach-churning mix of drinks (from Pimms and lemonade to Mojitos to chambord martinis to Aftershock shots and absinthe shots) but managed to keep my feet on the ground and not be hungover for the 7 a.m. 90 mph drive to Newcastle to catch the plane.
Although our time in Oslo was pretty tame, I feel today as if most of my brain has been removed and replaced by lead. The twinkling dizzy spots are a regular part of my existence.
I think I need to go home.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
English countryside
Today I decided that having only become minorly lost on my last two ventures around town, I could finally go on a run without stopping every 100 ft to consult my map in frustration. So I set off, jogging through campus and then finding myself alongside a beautiful green field. "Mmm... English countryside," I thought, ignoring the creepy vine-covered brick wall to my right that a sign confirmed enclosed a Quaker Retreat (a.k.a. graveyard).
Then I turned the corner and followed the path into some sort of industrial area. "Hmm," I thought, as I spotted barbed wire curls and army trucks. Then I nearly ran into a sentry carrying some large automatic killing machine.
I stopped. The other walkers and bikers carried on, the picturesque path apparently wandering right through the middle of an army station. Since this didn't fit in with the merry-countryside-pleasant-run thing I had going, I turned around and followed the path signs to innocent-sounding Osbaldwick instead. Mmm...Osbaldwick.
Then I turned the corner and followed the path into some sort of industrial area. "Hmm," I thought, as I spotted barbed wire curls and army trucks. Then I nearly ran into a sentry carrying some large automatic killing machine.
I stopped. The other walkers and bikers carried on, the picturesque path apparently wandering right through the middle of an army station. Since this didn't fit in with the merry-countryside-pleasant-run thing I had going, I turned around and followed the path signs to innocent-sounding Osbaldwick instead. Mmm...Osbaldwick.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Edinburgh
Edinburgh is the most amazing city I've seen yet. I walked out of the train station and found myself in a teeny valley buttressed by huge old grey buildings and castles. After finding a hotel I sat at my little table and made myself a cup of tea (not surprisingly I've become an addict) and just gaped. Then, of course, I set out and climbed up to the castle and gaped some more. The next day I climbed up this craggy old bit called Arthur's Seat and gaped again.
In between gaping I ate (trying to get some protein, I tried the veggie sausage. It was the same as the veggie burger I tried previously: veggie bits mixed with mashed potatoes, breaded, and deep-fried. Mmm... healthy,) went on a ghost tour (all the gory lore of Edinburgh punctuated by people in costume jumping out and scaring you. I.e., fantastic,) and shopped.
If that weren't enough, the accents were dreamy. All men sounded like that cute John Hannah from Sliding Doors and Four Weddings and a Funeral. Mmm.
In between gaping I ate (trying to get some protein, I tried the veggie sausage. It was the same as the veggie burger I tried previously: veggie bits mixed with mashed potatoes, breaded, and deep-fried. Mmm... healthy,) went on a ghost tour (all the gory lore of Edinburgh punctuated by people in costume jumping out and scaring you. I.e., fantastic,) and shopped.
If that weren't enough, the accents were dreamy. All men sounded like that cute John Hannah from Sliding Doors and Four Weddings and a Funeral. Mmm.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
London minute
I've meant to post more but we're so busy, busy, busy! all the damn time that this is the first chance I've had. So far we've been to London (5 days), Bristol (2 days), and now we're in York for the rest. We're also visiting Liverpool and Hull, and I'm going to Edinburgh and Oslo on my own for the next two weekends.
Brief highlights:
London - Am so impressed with my savviness on the tube. Thank you, Japan. Am a real pro at finding quick routes and also putting on my bewildered American face when oops! my train ticket is expired. I don't know how many exits I passed though on this pretense alone. Spent a lot of time with Brit friend K, who saved me from many solo travels by taking me out and getting me very drunk and then trying to help us recover with dodgy curry. Made the last train home - yikes. Also shopping and went to loads of museums and ate yummy food.
What else... the guy to my right is spending $6/hr to play video games at an internet cafe. How lame is that. It's not even a good game.
I'm learning a lot--my brain is very very tired. I've been to an average of at least one museum per day. Ahh. Am also drinking a lot of tea and eating a lot of sandwiches and digestives (but was very unimpressed with Jaffa Cakes, EC and SQ).
It's bloody damn cold here. My fingers are frozen at all times. Also so expensive (bus ride $5, regualr curry dinner $20, etc.) Will be poor just on food alone. Oh well. Must live it up while I'm here, eh.
Brief highlights:
London - Am so impressed with my savviness on the tube. Thank you, Japan. Am a real pro at finding quick routes and also putting on my bewildered American face when oops! my train ticket is expired. I don't know how many exits I passed though on this pretense alone. Spent a lot of time with Brit friend K, who saved me from many solo travels by taking me out and getting me very drunk and then trying to help us recover with dodgy curry. Made the last train home - yikes. Also shopping and went to loads of museums and ate yummy food.
What else... the guy to my right is spending $6/hr to play video games at an internet cafe. How lame is that. It's not even a good game.
I'm learning a lot--my brain is very very tired. I've been to an average of at least one museum per day. Ahh. Am also drinking a lot of tea and eating a lot of sandwiches and digestives (but was very unimpressed with Jaffa Cakes, EC and SQ).
It's bloody damn cold here. My fingers are frozen at all times. Also so expensive (bus ride $5, regualr curry dinner $20, etc.) Will be poor just on food alone. Oh well. Must live it up while I'm here, eh.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
And we even speak the same language
-----Original Message-----
From: XXXXXXXXXXXX
Sent: 28 December 2005 20:56
To: university@some uk city
Subject: RE: accom question
Regarding this reservation, do we need to bring towels or pillows? thanks!
-----Original Message-----
From: university@some uk city
Sent: 01/03/06 2:37 AM
To: XXXXXXXXXXXX
Subject: RE: accom question
No towels, pillows etc are provided in the room.
Regards,
Central Reservations
-----Original Message-----
From: XXXXXXXXXXXX
Sent: 03 January 2006 16:37
To: university@some uk city
Subject: RE: accom question
Thanks so much for this reply. What else is not provided? Or, to put it another way, what is provided?
-----Original Message-----
From: university@some uk city
Sent: 01/04/06 2:37 AM
To: XXXXXXXXXXXX
Subject: RE: accom question
All bedding and towels
Coffee & tea making facilities
Colour TV
Hairdryers
From: XXXXXXXXXXXX
Sent: 28 December 2005 20:56
To: university@some uk city
Subject: RE: accom question
Regarding this reservation, do we need to bring towels or pillows? thanks!
-----Original Message-----
From: university@some uk city
Sent: 01/03/06 2:37 AM
To: XXXXXXXXXXXX
Subject: RE: accom question
No towels, pillows etc are provided in the room.
Regards,
Central Reservations
-----Original Message-----
From: XXXXXXXXXXXX
Sent: 03 January 2006 16:37
To: university@some uk city
Subject: RE: accom question
Thanks so much for this reply. What else is not provided? Or, to put it another way, what is provided?
-----Original Message-----
From: university@some uk city
Sent: 01/04/06 2:37 AM
To: XXXXXXXXXXXX
Subject: RE: accom question
All bedding and towels
Coffee & tea making facilities
Colour TV
Hairdryers
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Reckoning
Yesterday I ate double chocolate ice cream cake, manicotti, appetizers that were little more than savory shortbread smothered in cheese, pizza, and chocolates. I drank sake, wine, a melon ball, blue raspberry Jello shots, and gin and tonic.
That was 2005.
Today is 2006. I took a shower, scouring away the symbolic dirt of the last year with a sugar scrub. I drank a pot of green tea.
Mmm.
Then I remembered that it's a day of reckoning.
Although blogging has nearly replaced my personal journal, I am stalwart about New Year resolutions. And sure enough, there is my cheerful and optimistic handwriting setting out how 2005 is going to be.
Gulp. Let's take a look. Yep, it's pretty much all-around failure. I could copy these resolutions down again for next year. I haven't been a better wife, sister, friend. I haven't learned to relax better or remain mindful of eating. I haven't really pushed myself professionally.
Hmm. Usually I kick resolution butt. I reread my 2004 goals first (since in the entry I review how I did before making new ones) and I've thoroughly kicked 2004's ass.
Maybe I need to celebrate my successes anyway, even if I didn't make resolutions about them.
- I learned a lot of new things professionally and had many new challenges
- I learned a lot of new skills. I really learned to knit and bake bread (not the half-assed efforts I lauded last year). I expanded my gardening skills, grew a good garden, and learned how to can.
- I kept up with exercise, and learned (albeit briefly, so far) a new sport, broomball.
- I took two camping trips (one short, one real)
- I expanded my palate, enjoying kale and beets, and bought locally.
- I made some new friends (yea!)
That's not bad! 2005 was a kind year, at least to my friends and family (not to the many plagued by natural disasters). I think nearly everyone is better off than last year.
So here's to 2006! May you be good to us as well, and may we rise to your challenge.
That was 2005.
Today is 2006. I took a shower, scouring away the symbolic dirt of the last year with a sugar scrub. I drank a pot of green tea.
Mmm.
Then I remembered that it's a day of reckoning.
Although blogging has nearly replaced my personal journal, I am stalwart about New Year resolutions. And sure enough, there is my cheerful and optimistic handwriting setting out how 2005 is going to be.
Gulp. Let's take a look. Yep, it's pretty much all-around failure. I could copy these resolutions down again for next year. I haven't been a better wife, sister, friend. I haven't learned to relax better or remain mindful of eating. I haven't really pushed myself professionally.
Hmm. Usually I kick resolution butt. I reread my 2004 goals first (since in the entry I review how I did before making new ones) and I've thoroughly kicked 2004's ass.
Maybe I need to celebrate my successes anyway, even if I didn't make resolutions about them.
- I learned a lot of new things professionally and had many new challenges
- I learned a lot of new skills. I really learned to knit and bake bread (not the half-assed efforts I lauded last year). I expanded my gardening skills, grew a good garden, and learned how to can.
- I kept up with exercise, and learned (albeit briefly, so far) a new sport, broomball.
- I took two camping trips (one short, one real)
- I expanded my palate, enjoying kale and beets, and bought locally.
- I made some new friends (yea!)
That's not bad! 2005 was a kind year, at least to my friends and family (not to the many plagued by natural disasters). I think nearly everyone is better off than last year.
So here's to 2006! May you be good to us as well, and may we rise to your challenge.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Personal faults
I believe that everyone is entitled to one personal fault. One simple thing they cannot and will not overcome.
For me, it's driving stick shift.
I know, I know... millions of people do it everyday. Whole countries do it as a rule. But me and the clutch do not mix.
My hatred of the H-shift began at sixteen when I tried to learn to drive Stinky, the CJ-7 Jeep that I shared with my brother. I sucked. I once stalled over and over through an entire green light, all the while being heckled by a van full of third grade boys. Even the mom laughed at me.
I was lucky to get another car and successfully avoided manuals until just after college. I was going to visit high school buddy AP in Maine, and we planned a road trip to PEI and Nova Scotia. She warned me that I would have to learn how to drive stick.
A week before I left, I practiced on Husband's old car Bubba on country roads. It wasn't pretty, but I could do it if no one else was watching.
I started off OK, driving through Maine and even pulling off for gas. My second shift took us across New Brunswick to PEI. But it was in Anne-of-Green-Gables-land that I fell apart. I had eluded the evil stick shift, and now it was time to pay. AP drove us all the way up Nova Scotia and all the way back down again (i.e. a very long way).
It got to the point that on the way back, AP stopped on the on-ramp and we hopped out and swapped places. She'd driven for the last three days and there was no choice. I carefully made my way down the New Brunswick coast, dreading the evitable: the toolbooth at Saint John.
I started sweating at 100 km, watching for the "Toolbooth ahead" signs and trying to psych myself up. Finally there it was on the horizon. I slowed way down and eased in, so I didn't have to stop behind a car. I fumbled for the change, hands sweaty, and ignored the cheery greeting from the tollman. Focused intently on getting out of there without stalling, I slammed my foot on the gas. The car lept, the tires squealed, and the toolman yelled "Ride 'em cowboy!" at my jerkily departing form.
As I finally put it in fifth and let out my breath, I thought, yeah, everyone's entitled to one fault, right? It's not like I'm afraid of heights or hate puppies. I can give myself permission to fail at this.
And so I've never operated a stick shift since.
For me, it's driving stick shift.
I know, I know... millions of people do it everyday. Whole countries do it as a rule. But me and the clutch do not mix.
My hatred of the H-shift began at sixteen when I tried to learn to drive Stinky, the CJ-7 Jeep that I shared with my brother. I sucked. I once stalled over and over through an entire green light, all the while being heckled by a van full of third grade boys. Even the mom laughed at me.
I was lucky to get another car and successfully avoided manuals until just after college. I was going to visit high school buddy AP in Maine, and we planned a road trip to PEI and Nova Scotia. She warned me that I would have to learn how to drive stick.
A week before I left, I practiced on Husband's old car Bubba on country roads. It wasn't pretty, but I could do it if no one else was watching.
I started off OK, driving through Maine and even pulling off for gas. My second shift took us across New Brunswick to PEI. But it was in Anne-of-Green-Gables-land that I fell apart. I had eluded the evil stick shift, and now it was time to pay. AP drove us all the way up Nova Scotia and all the way back down again (i.e. a very long way).
It got to the point that on the way back, AP stopped on the on-ramp and we hopped out and swapped places. She'd driven for the last three days and there was no choice. I carefully made my way down the New Brunswick coast, dreading the evitable: the toolbooth at Saint John.
I started sweating at 100 km, watching for the "Toolbooth ahead" signs and trying to psych myself up. Finally there it was on the horizon. I slowed way down and eased in, so I didn't have to stop behind a car. I fumbled for the change, hands sweaty, and ignored the cheery greeting from the tollman. Focused intently on getting out of there without stalling, I slammed my foot on the gas. The car lept, the tires squealed, and the toolman yelled "Ride 'em cowboy!" at my jerkily departing form.
As I finally put it in fifth and let out my breath, I thought, yeah, everyone's entitled to one fault, right? It's not like I'm afraid of heights or hate puppies. I can give myself permission to fail at this.
And so I've never operated a stick shift since.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
As you like it
Potpourri Day!
Book: The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. Read the first page and if you can stop, do. If not, continue blissfully along.
Random info plus new vocab word: Merriam-Webster tracks which words are looked up most for a given year, and they offer sort of a microcosm of the issues that plagued the nation that year.. This year: natural disasters (tsunami, refugee, and levee). We also appear to be pretty tired of incompetence (insipid, contempt, and inept). Last year was all about the election (incumbent, electoral, and partisan) and Iraq (insurgents and sovereignty). 2004 also had "cicada" and "blog" and "defenestration," and a new vocab word! "peloton" (the main body of riders in a bicycle race).
Kittens: still pesky. To be fair, I crushed Cadbury last night because he was sleeping in the crook of my arm and I had a dream I was swimming and attacked by eels.
Knitting: a cat toy. Realize this mixes two scary personas: knitter and cat lady. But it's OK! Only one toy.
Recent mishap: Losing a needle inside my favorite down pillow. Luckily, crisis averted. Also getting stuck in the snow trying to pull into the garage from the alley. Luckily, nice boys out shoveling for cash rescued me.
Up next: winter sports extravaganza. Anyone looking to ski or snowshoe knows who to call. Also, risking of life and limb (and tooth): broomball starts this weekend. Also: Christmas recaps, then it's UK ho!
Book: The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. Read the first page and if you can stop, do. If not, continue blissfully along.
Random info plus new vocab word: Merriam-Webster tracks which words are looked up most for a given year, and they offer sort of a microcosm of the issues that plagued the nation that year.. This year: natural disasters (tsunami, refugee, and levee). We also appear to be pretty tired of incompetence (insipid, contempt, and inept). Last year was all about the election (incumbent, electoral, and partisan) and Iraq (insurgents and sovereignty). 2004 also had "cicada" and "blog" and "defenestration," and a new vocab word! "peloton" (the main body of riders in a bicycle race).
Kittens: still pesky. To be fair, I crushed Cadbury last night because he was sleeping in the crook of my arm and I had a dream I was swimming and attacked by eels.
Knitting: a cat toy. Realize this mixes two scary personas: knitter and cat lady. But it's OK! Only one toy.
Recent mishap: Losing a needle inside my favorite down pillow. Luckily, crisis averted. Also getting stuck in the snow trying to pull into the garage from the alley. Luckily, nice boys out shoveling for cash rescued me.
Up next: winter sports extravaganza. Anyone looking to ski or snowshoe knows who to call. Also, risking of life and limb (and tooth): broomball starts this weekend. Also: Christmas recaps, then it's UK ho!
Monday, December 05, 2005
Thanksgiving
My freshman year of college, I sort of... forgot… to make female friends.
I'm not sure how it happened.
I made a lot of female acquaintances, I had guy friends, and I had a great boyfriend, but I sort of missed the part when you spent hours giggling and telling secrets with a gaggle of girls.
I had never had a shortage of female friends before, so it took me almost the whole year to realize that I didn't really have any good female friends.
Throughout the rest of college, I'd make lists of women I wanted to get to know better. I eventually made a few good friends my junior year, then got the hang of it and made camp friends and Japan friends, then reacquainted high school friends, and finally work friends and post-college friends.
So many girl friends that when entertaining a camp friend a month or so ago I effortlessly put together a cracker jack pub quiz team of female friends. I realized that to my camp friend, we probably looked like a regular group of girls, the kind that I used to gaze at in the cafeteria at college.
As I sat there, perched on my barstool sipping Guinness, surrounded by my smart and gorgeous friends, I remembered those sad little lists. And how glad I am that I don't have to make them anymore.
Stilton takes after Husband
Who doesn't love a cat with a martini shaker? This photo could have been one in a series (cat licking beer bottle, stealing nip of vodka tonic, tasting wine) but I had exercised restraint until I saw this just hours after shooing him away from a Summit Winter Ale.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Holiday spirit
I have no holiday spirit.
Me, the person who was so taken with the clever seasonal containers at Starbucks that she wrote about it in her blog.
The tree is up. The decor is in place (such as it is, a candle and a knick-knack). I even bought a pine-filled planter for the front step (after noting that all the other houses on the block had some type of front-step decor).
Where art thou, Christmas cheer? Residing in some volunteer opportunity I should explore? In church? In eggnog? In a viewing of Love, Actually?
I think this all might have started with the discussion with my dad about the where-when-how of Christmas. It was all schedules and driving times and fitting everyone in and obligations... when what we both wanted more than anything was to spend Christmas with our family how it was a few years ago. With my uncle Fred. With my aunt and cousins, happy and getting along.
I have one good picture of it... the last Christmas we had like that. We’re all looking into the camera with pure, honest grins, it never occurring to anyone that this picture will be different from the hundreds we’ve posed for before.
Me, the person who was so taken with the clever seasonal containers at Starbucks that she wrote about it in her blog.
The tree is up. The decor is in place (such as it is, a candle and a knick-knack). I even bought a pine-filled planter for the front step (after noting that all the other houses on the block had some type of front-step decor).
Where art thou, Christmas cheer? Residing in some volunteer opportunity I should explore? In church? In eggnog? In a viewing of Love, Actually?
I think this all might have started with the discussion with my dad about the where-when-how of Christmas. It was all schedules and driving times and fitting everyone in and obligations... when what we both wanted more than anything was to spend Christmas with our family how it was a few years ago. With my uncle Fred. With my aunt and cousins, happy and getting along.
I have one good picture of it... the last Christmas we had like that. We’re all looking into the camera with pure, honest grins, it never occurring to anyone that this picture will be different from the hundreds we’ve posed for before.
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