Powellhurst

Meet the Family

2012-02-03T12:46:00.000-08:00

If you know anything about me, it is that animals are high on my list of happy making things. I do not just like animals. I LOVE them. By the time I started school, I had already developed a habit of bringing home strays. This habit has stuck with me into adulthood. I have no use for people who are treat them badly. I always feel a certain amount of distrust for people who don’t like them. A person who can be cruel to a dog, can be cruel to a person too. My belief about pets is that they are family. Once you adopt them, you are responsible for their health and well-being for the rest of their days.

So, you can imagine how hard it hit me when our sweet old man, Toby, died this fall. I love all dogs and would save every stray, if I could, but Toby was special. He had this gentle nature that was so loving and sweet that you couldn’t get mad at him when he (as a puppy) ripped a whole branch off our cool new dwarf apple tree that sported three varieties of apples, leaving it to sport only two. I remember the time (also when he was a puppy) when I couldn’t get out of the front entry of my house, because the reason he had been so quiet for so long was that he had been busy digging all the dirt out of a giant brick planter in an effort to refashion it into Mt. Porch, whose soily slopes were so close to the storm door, it wouldn’t open. Or there was his first romp in the snow. He was so excited he knocked me down, then kept doing so as I was trying to haul myself up off the ground. In the end, we landed in a pile of laughter and wiggly dog. It is one of my favorite young memories of him. He quieted down a lot as he grew up (so much so that we used to joke that he was so mellow because he had a stash of weed in the back yard). He was sweet to everyone and everything. He left a huge (this time metaphorical) hole in our hearts.

It has been almost five months, and I still miss him and expect to see him laying in his spot in front of the window. The other day I watched a video of him howling along to Bizet’s Habanera with me. He loved to do that, but only if I sang it with only “beak beak beak” as the lyrics. I thought I was ready, but watching it still made me cry, despite the ridiculousness of the bad operatic beaking. If I remember later, I will post the video here and you’ll see what I mean. If there’s one thing dogs know how to do, it is bring out the best and silliest in us. It is one of the things that make them so awesome.

Although Toby wasn’t our only dog, a few weeks after he died, we decided to adopt a puppy. It just seemed like the right place to direct all that emotion. Saving another homeless pet (Toby himself was rescued from animal control) seemed like a good way to honor all the wonderful things that he brought to our lives. In looking for a new friend, our only criteria was that he or she be young and of a relatively mellow temperament, because it would be easier to integrate such a dog into our family, which already features enough high strung neurotics, including myself and a terrier, who even after seeing an expensive dog therapist takes YEARS to make friends with anyone and doesn’t like it when strangers acknowledge him or look him in the eye.

As we were searching for the right new friend, I scanned Oregon Humane Society’s website regularly, contacted a few animal rescues and filled out a few applications. Then, one day, we were out having lunch and decided to make an impromptu trip to OHS. It was there that we found Gizmo, aka Gizzy and Lord Gizmogar (but only when he’s plotting to take over the universe). He is a terrier mix who has the personality of a Toby wrapped in the body of a snausage. What he lacks in leg length (and that’s a lot!), he more than makes up for in charm. I even forgave him for defacing my library copy of The House on Tradd Street. We’ll see if the Multnomah County Library is as charitable. And, in his defense, it is the only thing (except for a thankfully unplugged string of Christmas lights) that he has ever destroyed. He was young. It was a different time.

He was 10 weeks old when we brought him home. Now, at almost 6 months, he is everything I could hope for in a dog. He is sweet and loyal and gets along with everyone. He hangs so close that I am convinced that I will never again go to the bathroom alone. His hobbies include cuddling, idolizing Lily the papillon and melting hearts (even Baxter the neurotic terrier likes him). He is, of course, not a replacement for our beloved Toby, but a funny, sweet, loyal little personality in his own right. Adopting him is one of the best decisions I ever made.

But my story doesn’t end there. Remember back in the beginning how I said that I had gotten on some lists at rescues? A few days before Christmas, I got a call from someone who was fostering a labradoodle puppy who sounded like he would be a good fit for us. As difficult as it was, I said “No, we already found our puppy, but thank you and good luck finding a home for him.” But then, I started feeling bad. What if he didn’t find a home? Then my mom (who lives with me) started talking about how nice it would be to have a puppy that would sleep with her. My resolve when it comes to animals is shaky at best I do not believe in breeders or puppy mills, but am so weak that I have to ban myself from any pet store that carries actual pets, because I can’t be trusted when faced with a little kitten whose feet keep falling through the grating of those horrible cages they sometimes keep them in. At the same time as I don’t believe in funding these operations so they perpetuate the cycle, my immediate reaction is to want to save them from their pet store prisons where no one cares if they are adopted into a good home or by some beast who won’t take proper care of them. My mother is no better. She makes me look like Old Iron Fist. It is from her that I inherited the genetic predisposition to being a sucker for strays and other lost souls. And so (did you ever doubt where this was going?), we now have not one puppy but two. Saying this always makes me think of the “Two Ladies” song from Cabaret… Beedle dee, dee dee dee, two puppies! Beedle dee, dee dee dee, two puppies!

But I digress…Meet Teddy, aka Filbert (I don’t know why, it just is) and The Muppetman:

Teddy’s hobbies include looking like a muppet, slobbering, eating shoes, getting wet, tracking mud into the house, learning that neither my desk nor the coffee table is an appropriate place to stand, and playing with his BFF, Gizmo. It is impossible to get mad at him for anything, because he constantly has the above expression on your face. We don’t yell at our dogs anyway, but it would be like yelling at Supergrover. He has no concept whatsoever of his size and he is as sweet as he looks. I defy anyone with a soul to not like him.

At first I felt a little weird that I was becoming some kind of canine loving spin on the classic crazy cat lady, but then I decided that it’s not like we have twelve dogs. The ones we do have are well-fed, go to regular vet appointments, don’t bother anyone, are all licensed and are not over any legal limits. Moreover, the dynamic in the house has noticeably changed. The existing dogs are calmer and sweeter and channel their energy into playing with the puppies instead of acting out in less desirable ways. As it turns out, while having two puppies is a LOT of work, it is also insanely fun. If someone doesn’t like it, they can suck it. While we are at capacity (any future animal helping for a long, long while will be via volunteer work and donations!), what we have works for us.

More importantly, it feels good to give someone who might have had an otherwise bleak future a home. Gizmo is so quiet and sweet he shouldn’t be around people with diabetes. Teddy fits in like he was destined for this house. He looks like a total muppet, and if I have learned one thing in life, it is that you should never turn down the chance to live with a muppet.

Beedle dee, dee dee dee, two puppies! Beedle dee, dee dee dee, two puppies! And I am one of only two hu-MANS. Oh, Beedle dee, dee dee dee, I like it! Beedle dee, dee dee dee, they like it! Beedle dee, dee dee dee, this two for one!

January 2.0

2012-02-01T13:38:00.000-08:00

Happy Imbolc, St. Brigid’s Day and New Year and welcome January 2.0 (known in some circles as February). January 1.0 sucked like an industrial grade hoover, so I have decided to start 2012 over again. TODAY is the first day of the rest of my life (possibly yours too). Here are my reasons why this seems like a good idea:

FACT: My post-a-day for a month project failed miserably after day two. My friend Jen’s was a shimmering success. This has done nothing to help me cultivate a feeling of superiority.

FACT: The second week of January, they laid off 100 people at work, including my favorite co-worker/primary helper.

FACT: On January 15th, I took the day off because I was catching a cold. Three weeks later, I am STILL coughing.

FACT: The diet I started at the end of January was derailed after a couple of days. February feels much better for salads and pre-packaged meals.

FACT: I barely read, wrote or made a thing all month.

FACT: Like Angel, who was doomed on Buffy never to find true happiness, January was probably cursed by a gypsy. I bet it was a Prometheus Unbound loving on who begins all of her curses with “I curse thee! Let a sufferer’s curse clasp thee, her torturer, like remove; Till thine Infinity shall be a robe of envenomed agony.” (TM Percy Bysshe Shelley, fine lyric poet/curser)

All of these signs point to February 1st being a great day to start over. It is Brigid’s day. Brigid! My favorite goddess and patron of healing, poetry and smithcraft. I have no beef with smithcraft and I KNOW I could use more healing and poetry in my life. So, Happy New Year! Here’s to new beginnings!

Hello 2012! A new year’s meme

2012-01-02T17:42:00.000-08:00

Last year, I stole this meme from another blog and posted it on my blog. This year, I am stealing it from myself!

What did you do in 2011 that you'd never done before?
I visited Houston (NASA!), toured the Temani Pesh-Wa Trail, attended Portland Revels (which will definitely become an annual holiday tradition going forward…you should all come with me, it was a blast and I've been humming "The Lord of the Dance" song ever since!), and I started working on creating 100 pieces of art (an ongoing project that will carry on to the new year).
Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
No to keeping them; yes to making them. Hope springs eternal.
Did anyone close to you die?
Yes, two somebodies - Toby, the sweetest dog ever and Loki the freeway cat. We have since adopted two new rescues, but I still miss them both every day.
Did you take any trips?
I went to Texas in January, which is almost like visiting another planet! I also visited Troy, MI a few times.
What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?
A cleaner line between my work and personal life and no guilt about drawing it with a super fat tipped marker!
What dates from 2011 will remain etched your memory, and why?
I hardly ever remember dates, but some events the will stick with me are:

My mom's birthday in August, just because we had such a fun day walking the Temani Pesh-Wa Trail, having a picnic, visiting Maryhill and stopping for a lovely dinner of cherry, chorizo and goat cheese pizza on the way home.

The night I went to Portland Revels, because it was a perfect blend of most the things I love - arts, singing, friends, good company, and a delicious shrimp korma and dinner conversation.

Losing Toby and Loki will be another less pleasant memory I will carry with me. It was heart breaking to see Toby fade the way he did over the course of a week or two and Loki's death was so sudden and came just a week or so later. It was really hard on everyone in my house.
What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Professionally it was being the only person in my office who wasn't let go in September. As a result, I've been home officed since then (which was a goal for this year!). I LOVE because it eliminates about 300 miles of driving a week and I get to work in the same room as my dogs! Good for my sanity AND the environment!
What was your biggest failure?
Letting my job affect my personal life. I am still learning to separate work stress from my family life. That is the one drawback of the lack of commute – there is no time to decompress. I'm thinking I need to create a little space between the end of my work day and the beginning of home life. Maybe that would be a good time to meditate or work on an art project!
Did you suffer illness or injury?
Nothing too serious. As with last year, when I finally got some vacation, I started feeling a little crappy – this time my neck.
What was the best thing you bought?
Puppies (tops on the impractical purchase list…but, hey, the money went to non-profit animal rescues and they make me happy! I've never had TWO puppies before! On the more practical side, having extensive blood work done to pinpoint vitamin deficiencies was one of my better, more sensible ideas in a long while.
Whose behavior merited celebration?
Gizmo – he responds to every situation with the perfect blend of sweetness and kindness. He is just a puppy, but I could learn so much from his approach to life.
Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Every single person who ever mistreated an animal.
Where did most of your money go?
If we're counting fun stuff (i.e. not living expenses), it would be restaurants and pet supplies. The rest was all about food, insurance, bills, etc.
What did you get really excited about?
I've been studying alternative (aka non-Abrahamic) religions, which has been fascinating (and sometimes amusing…I 'm amazed at how much "You're not a real [insert path here] there is among Pagan religions) . I will probably continue that research into the new year.
What song will always remind you of 2011?
There are two: That Mozella song "Love Is Endless". It was my favorite for quite a while (until they started using it in those commercials). Also Audra Mae's "The Happiest Lamb".
Compared to this time last year, are you:
1. happier or sadder? Happier – no scheduled work trips on the horizon
2. Thinner or fatter? Slightly thinner
3. Richer or poorer? About the same, though I feel poorer having gone a little overboard with Christmas this year.
4. What do you wish you'd done more of? I wish I'd better used the nice weather during the summer – more meals outdoors, more outings, etc. Also more writing and creative stuff (though that did improve a bit during the last quarter of the year).
5. What do you wish you'd done less of? Work and worry
6. How did you Christmas? Christmas eve with friends and Christmas day with other friends
7. Did you fall in love in 2011? No, unless it is literally puppy love and that is pretty okay with me.
8. What was your favorite TV program? I am obsessed with Psych (old news I know, but I'm loving it now that I'm getting caught up), also Grimm (which is filmed here in Portland)
Do you hate anyone now that you didn't have this time last year?
No, hate is a waste of energy. I do, however, find myself less bothered by a couple of individuals at work, having chosen to change the way I respond to them. The stern talk I had with myself about not having to like everyone or want everyone to like me seems to have worked! It made more confident in dealing with the couple people who felt like a thorn in my side, which has made them less likely to run me ragged.

Now my for the answer that makes me sound less noble: If I hated anyone, it would be the fucktard around the corner who uses New Year's Eve and 4^th of July as an excuse to blow things up that make my floorboards shake.
What was the best book you read?
Probably A Discovery of Witches or Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. I went through a witchy/spooky l phase earlier this year and those were my two favorites.
What was your greatest musical discovery?
MoZella…I love the upbeat vibe to a lot of her music. I would say Audra Mae, but technically my friends Jen and Becky discovered her and shared her with me.
What did you want and get?
A new iPod and to work from home.
What did you want and not get?
A new body J
What was your favorite film this year?

I don't know. I can barely remember seeing anything new besides The Help. It was a big year for Netflix at my house.
What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I went for dinner with friends and on a mystery road trip, which was AWESOME!
What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
There were some difficult pet related milestones this year. Greater balance between work and home.
How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?
Let's just say that working at home has allowed me to wear out my favorite Nick & Nora pajama bottoms. (RIP Sugar Skull pajamas.) Now I'm excited whenever I can find a reason to dress up.
What kept you sane?
Who said I was sane?
Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
I don't really have that much interest in celebrities, but am a little fascinated by Russell Brand.
What political issue stirred you the most?
The death penalty
Who did you miss?
Toby and Loki
Who was the best new person you met?
I really do not know how to answer that.
Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011.
We are capable of much more than we ever thought possible. Don't let fear of not being perfect paralyse you.

Happy New Year!

2012-01-01T17:42:00.000-08:00

Can you believe it's already 2012? Twenty…..twelve! It wasn't so long ago that the year 20anything sounded like we'd all be commuting to work via personal hovercraft. (By the way, why am I still driving a Matrix?) Wasn't Y2K like yesterday? Time goes so fast. The Bangles said it was when you are having fun, but that's only half true. The truth is that it just goes fast in general. No one tells you this when you're young or if they do, it doesn't sink in, because you are young and they are old and what do those geezers know anyway? When you're 20, getting older is something that happens to other people. The other thing they don't tell you, by the way, is that you don't feel older. I mean, sure, I'm not as big a dumbass as I was at 20, but it's not like you wake up one morning feeling like you've finally achieved all the wisdom and maturity. But holy crap on a cracker, does it all go quickly looking back!

2011 was no exception. Frankly, I'm glad it's over. I'm ready to move on. It was in some ways a tough year – dog drama, big changes at work, too much travel and the loss of two beloved pets within the span of a couple weeks. Toby and Loki had been with us for well over a decade each and it was heart breaking to have to say goodbye to two such sweet and loyal family members. I still expect to see them around the house. We also said hello to two new rescue puppies (Gizmo and The Muppet, who is so new his name is still in negotiations). They certainly don't replace our lost friends, but having a couple of babies to love (and keep from chewing or peeing on everything in sight!) certainly brings some joy to temper the emptiness they left in their furry wake. It also reminds me that joy and even beauty can evolve from even the most difficult transitions. The truth is that passings wouldn't hurt so much, if we didn't have the immense joy of loving a being. And I wouldn't trade that for the world, even a world without the pain of loss.

Still, even with life's normal ups and downs, I feel pretty lucky. I have great friends and family, a warm place to sleep and have of late been experiencing a renaissance of personal creativity (more about that another time, but there's been a lot more writing, music making and even exploring other creative media of late). I am still working on my goals for the new year (I am approaching them a little differently this year), but if there is one overarching goal that I have, it is to fill the corners of my life with the kind of inspiration Kurt Vonnegut was talking about when he wrote:

Practicing an art, no matter how well or how badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something."

And I guess that's the wonderful thing about new years. They offer us an excuse to start over; a reason to grasp for new possibilities, to start singing in the shower, dancing to the radio and forming all kinds of new habits to fill our lives with enjoy joy to carry us through the hard times. My wish for myself (and for you, if you're reading this) is that we go forth into a soul growing, joyful 2012.

Sometimes I really love SNL...

2011-03-06T10:45:00.001-08:00

I used to love books...

2011-02-26T21:22:00.000-08:00

There was a time when I used to read like crazy. I used to go to the library pretty much weekly and couldn't leave a bookstore without an armload. I even kept a list in the back of an old journal of all the books I'd read. It was always interesting to go back and look over the list a year later to see which ones stood out. Some I'd remember vividly, others I could barely place. Now I am an affront and should have my library card revoked.

Lately, I have not been a very good reader at all. I don't know what it is, but I have a hard time sitting down and focusing. Mostly, I think working long hours with lots of overtime has gotten me out of the habit. I have a theory about pre-sleep laziness and the current lack of a bedside lamp also being a factor, but we won't go into that here. It is too slothfully shameful.

For a bit after I got the Kindle for Droid app, there was an upsurge in my reading - The Woman in White (so good!), Letters of a Woman Homesteader, the first few chapter's of Paulo Coehlo's Brida). Reading via Kindle is no book, but it's not as heinous as I'd anticipated and you can read in the dark even if it will never become dog eared with love or replace the tactile sensation of paper against your fingertips.

I finished a book about Islam around Christmas and did spent a couple weeks in early November listening to Bloodroot on cd (if you have a long commute, I recommend the audio version). Since at least January, I've been reading the first Flavia de Luce mystery for what seems like an eternity. I burned through most of it on a round-trip flight, but have been stuck a few chapters away from the end for months. The worst part is that it's not due to any fault of the book, which is in fact is charming and well written. Normally, it would be the kind of book that left me wanting to start a new one with the same author and characters immediately upon finishing. Really. I even checked the second volume out from the library in anticipation of wanting more.

So, in addition to the perennial "write more, lose weight and get in shape" (progress is being made - more about that another time!), I am adding "read more". My norm used to be 4-5 books a month, but I don't know if I can do that much. Finishing one would be nice for a start (yes, I'm looking at you, dear Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie). Mmmm pie . . .

Good news

2011-02-11T17:23:00.000-08:00

It must be starting to look like the end of my January blog-a-day project meant the end of my blogging, but it's not! There was just a blip when a work deadline got in the way this past week. Despite the stress, I managed to savor that it was the last of the (foreknown) ugly deadlines for the next few months. It helped that I also had my annual review and there are some good (if approved) things potentially coming my way, if things work out as I hope.

Let us pause for a moment to celebrate with a picture from last year's birthday trip to Maryhill. Aren't the trees pretty? Even though it was taken in mid-March, it looks an awful lot like it does outside right now.

But my personal work stuff is not the only cause or even the most important cause for celebration today. Can you believe the news from Egypt? The beginnings of a government transition mostly through peaceful demonstration. I am fascinated by the scenes and stories from this revolution. Mubarak has been in power for longer than I've been alive, longer than many of the Egyptians who brought about this change have been alive. Whatever happens next, today is a monumental day.

Here there are already pundits trying to guess which direction things will take. It's obviously not just a matter of ousting a government and then everything is okay. It is now that the work begins. This will be a journey for the Egyptian people, but for now I am simply happy for them and their victory. Every time I turn on CNN and see the demonstrators, first protesting and now celebrating, in Tahrir Square, I am reminded of my own relatives in Berlin and the jubilation when the wall came down. My mother and grandmother never thought they'd live to see that day, and yet they did. I remember what that felt like and how we sat in front of the t.v. at home crying tears of joy for our relatives thousands of miles away. I have no real connection to Egypt, but somehow that memory does make me feel connected to these people today.

January

2011-01-31T08:37:00.000-08:00

So I've done it! I've posted approximately every day for a month. It was a different experience this time from past years. On the one hand, I didn't skip weekends and decided that as long as I posted approximately 30 posts, it didn't matter if some were back dated or if I missed a couple. (Hey, life gets in the way sometimes!)

On the other hand, I don't feel like I posted anything very exciting. Last time, there were a few posts that ended up springboards for new writing. This time, I don't really feel like there was anything like that. A lot of it is just crap I posted to post something. Even if it wasn't particularly creative, though, it did start getting me in the habit of writing every day. So, I say, so far, so good!

Party in the USA

2011-01-30T20:32:00.000-08:00

My headache went away just in time to go to the boy's party at Chuck E. Cheese. Being a childless adult, it is not a place I visit too often. When I think Chuck E., I think hyper kids, greasy pizza, and about when my cousin Charlene worked there and was reprimanded for spelling out dirty words on the counter in pepperoni. Eventually, she was demoted from handling the food to wearing the rat costume, but that is a story for another time.

As it turns out, the pizza wasn't as bad as I remembered (the veggie one was pretty okay), but I was right about the hyper, screaming kids. And when Chuck E. says your party will be two hours, let me tell you, he means two hours. Things got a little off schedule when the birthday boy disappeared just as it was time to cut the cake. I swear Chuckette (our party planner) would have cut it without him if we hadn't made her wait until he was located at the ticket counter trying to turn in tickets for a prize.

Ultimately, they ended up having to take the presents along to open at home, because there was no time and it was clear Chuck E. was going to call in his goons if we didn't vacate the party area asap. I think Antonio's parents spent quite a bit of money on the festivities (not just on the kids, but also extra food for the parents), which makes that a bit unfortunate, but I'm sure that there was another party after ours. They were probably just trying to stay on schedule. Still, it looked like the kids had fun, which was the point.

Auntie

2011-01-29T19:30:00.000-08:00

Friday's headache spilled over into the weekend. So I did the only sensible thing and stayed on the couch in my pajamas, eating leftover pizza (Bellagio's, your Mother Earth is awesome!) and watching I Love Lucy reruns from her European vacation era and Auntie Mame until it was time to go birthday shopping for the boy. As his adopted aunt, Mame seemed a fitting choice.

In the end, I did get up and go out for birthday presents - a razor scooter, a Sonic game for his Wii, candy, silly string, and a snow globe. I know the snow globe is weird, but he has a little collection and he loves elephants. The heart loves what it loves. Who am I to get in the way?

Headache

2011-01-28T21:15:00.000-08:00

Abandoned in The Dalles, originally uploaded by Martina.

If my head were a house, it would be the one in the picture above. Today it head aches like someone has been repeatedly hitting me with a bag of hammers. My neck, shoulders and arms feel compact, like pieces of paper that have been wadded into tight balls. I feel like I need to be stretched. It was one of those days where I could think of nothing at work but going home and taking a hot bath before flaking out on the couch with a dog and a quilt for comfort.

I have been pretty tired lately. At first I thought I was not getting enough protein, but I think the headache and fatigue are probably just stress. I was looking through my flickr pictures earlier and noticably absent were any vacation pictures from 2010. This is not because I forgot to upload any or even to take any, but because I never took a vacation last year. I was so busy working, I didn't even notice!

This year, I will have to remedy that. Maybe it's time to resurrect my annual birthday road trip. Or maybe I need to plan a real vacation to somewhere better reached by plane for later in the year. Maybe I need to do BOTH. Either way, my headache epiphany underscores my feeling that more non-work activity need to be ushered back into my life, because a life where you don't even notice you never took a vacation is just wrong!

Little Boy

2011-01-27T21:49:00.001-08:00

The Grotto - Antonio, originally uploaded by Martina.

This weekend the boy turns six. It seems like yesterday that he first pushed his little stroller up to the fence, so he could climb on top of it for easier fence scaling. He was two then. After that first day, every time he wanted to come over, he stood at the fence bellowing until someone came out to lift him over the fence.

Who would have thought on that first day that this funny little boy would become part of my family? It's really because of him that I got to know his family. We would have all gone on with our busy lives, waving and smiling when we went out to get the mail, but never pausing long enough to really get to know each other. I might have never experienced a quincinera or sopes with cactus leaves and I certainly would never have watched any Chipmunks movie going a dozen times.

Antonio changed all that. He is in Kindergarten now and calls me his aunt and my mother his "favorite grandma", and I like that. On Friday nights, he often shows up with his little backpack tow, so he can spend the night. When I come home from work trips, guess who's conveniently waiting to visit, so he can help me unpack (the presents he rightfully assumes I've brought back for him)?

He never ceases to amaze me. He makes me want kids of my own. He is so goofy and sweet and sometimes even reverent. Last summer when he and I took my mom to The Grotto to go for a walk on her birthday, he disappeared. For a moment, I panicked, then I looked over at the altar to find him all alone, praying, hands folded, eyes squeezed shut tight.

I wonder sometimes what it is he was praying. I hope at least some of it was thanks for having so many people around who love him. I know that I am thankful that he is there to love!

Rooted

2011-01-26T20:20:00.000-08:00

Family Roots
Around Christmas, I decided to start researching my family history. My dad is gone, my grandfather is long gone, and I don't know much about his people. I’ve since learned that they landed in Oregon after a few generations of Westward migration from Tennessee. As it turns out both my great-great-great grandfather and great-great grandfathers were both preachers. How funny that the woman with such conflict about organized religion is descended from a family of conservative baptists.

As it turns out, the research is a lot of fun. Despite my ambivalence about certain more recent ancestors, I see how people become addicted. Tracing a family line is like eating Pringles, you can't stop at just one. Each new discovery makes me want to go a little deeper, a little further into where we all came from and what made me as I am.

Bloodroot
If it hadn't been for the Tennessee connection, I might never had found Amy Greene's Bloodroot. I started listening to it on a CD from the library to fill my long commute to and from work, but realize now that I need the book (to own!). I find myself wanting to spend time in the car at lunch, so I can have a little more time with the story each day. If that is not a good reason to buy a book (not that I've ever needed much of one), I don't know what is!

Greene's characters and even the places featured in the story are so alive.
I am only about half way through, but it has already become one of my favorite novels of recent years, which means that I think everyone should read it.

Family

2011-01-25T20:24:00.000-08:00

Sometimes when I look at old pictures, I wonder what happened to her to make her so mean. She was so bitter. I wonder now, was she always that way? Was there ever a time when she was young when she was sweet or carefree? Did something happen to her?

I never think of her as "grandma" or even really as my grandmother. She was so different from my maternal grandmother, my oma, who spoiled me rotten. The closest I can get to her is "my father's mother". Even that chokes in my throat. She is DNA, not family.

I remember on one of my rare visits to her house when I was a little girl how she told me, "You have eyes just like your father's. They always could stare a hole through a brick wall." Maybe it was guilt that made her remember. Whatever it was, she seemed to disapprove of me, because I looked like him. My dad didn't talk about his childhood much, but I remember once when I was older he told a story about how she'd punished him for something. When he'd finished, my mom said "today that would be considered child abuse". His response was to look sad and quietly say, "It would have then too."

He had left home at a young age to get away from her. I don't think she ever forgave him for that. I was just guilty by association. Even worse, I was the spawn of a woman she insisted on referring to as "the foreigner".

And that's why it feels more comfortable to keep the distance of at least a generation between myself and that bitter, old woman who seemed to hate everyone. Even though she lived only a few miles away, I only saw her a handful of times when I was growing up. The last time was when I was in my teens. I had gotten a part-time job. I don't remember why, but I took it into my head to spend my sad little paycheck on a present for her, because I thought she might be lonely after her second husband died. As it turned out, a neighbor was visiting when I got there. This gave the old lady an audience to complain to about how most of her family was worthless and to make pointed remarks about how she'd be lost without my uncle, even though I knew my father regularly offered his assistance as well. Looking back, I am not sure why he did. I suppose as nasty as she was, some part of him wanted her approval.

She never saw, but I went home crying that day. After my father heard what happened, he decided that if she couldn't accept and be kind to his family, he didn't need her either, but I know it hurt him. In some ways, though, I'm grateful for having experienced her. She shaped my ideas about family. Without her I might have never known that family is not necessarily the people who carry or blood, but the people we love and who love us back. I wonder if I would have ever really understood that, if it hadn't been for her.

Freaky Little Dogs

2011-01-24T08:41:00.000-08:00

Liline C. Papillon, originally uploaded by Martina.

Lily, who is the best and freakiest smallest dog in my house, has a skin allergy. I swear in her two short years she's had more antibiotics and anti-inflammatories than I've had in a lifetime. We think it's either her food or fleas, so she is on a food trial. Actually, ALL the dogs are on a food trial, because it's really difficult to keep them eating different things, when she insists on getting into everyone else's food. Plus, the others are all suckers. One of them actually lets her take food OUT OF HIS MOUTH.

Despite that, the new Salmon and Sweet Potato diet (I know, it sounds weird, but she needed novel protein and carb sources for it to work) is going well. What's not going as well is treating her for fleas. Administering Advantage is NOT a painful process (it just involves dabbing a little at the hairline), but you'd think we were trying to skin her alive. Every time she sees the little vial, she heads for the hills.

I think you know your dog is spoiled when having a drop of liquid put on her constitutes discomfort.

Random Sunday

2011-01-23T23:05:00.000-08:00

Today brought to you by random scraps...

Diet: I have lost 8 pounds since the first of the year. Go me!

Diet 2: While I am still trying to avoid animal products, I still crave them. We had veggie sausages for dinner last night and all I could think of was that while it looked like a sausage, it didn't taste like one. It's the same feeling I get when I eat a Boca Banzai Burger at Red Robin. I think sometims it's better to stay away from faux meats and just eat things that have no meaty tasting expectations.

Sometimes I think that if you're craving something that badly, maybe you just make an exception that day. But then I think of the hypocrisy in that. If it's just about health, the occasional exception works, but if it's about cruelty, then meat can't be "wrong" except for when I'm craving a burger. Stupid conscience! Food becomes complex with you really think about it. Someday I will work it out...

The point for now: some things just cannot be faked. Maybe it's better to just replace them with other things.

Alpacas and Llamas: Cute! I have heard that they are very smart. When I lived on The Prairie (sadly, it wasn't in a little house, but a crappy apartment), there was a farm that used llamas as herders.

Red

2011-01-22T20:33:00.000-08:00

Today I went to the hairdresser and we began phase one of my new hair plan. While my life itself seems to have become a haphazard mix of waiting, then flinging myself out to see where I land and I can't seem to stick to a budget to save my life, but my hair has a plan.

And the plan is to lighten.

For the past few years, my hair has been dark with the random bright streak - sometimes a bright red or fuchsia, sometimes an orange, but always on a dark purplish base. The plan now is for a lighter, brighter red all over with some blonde mixed in. First, though, we have to work on lightening it up a little, so today we began the reddening. By my birthday in spring, it will be ready for phase two (adding blonde streaks).

It's like a follicular metaphor for the the new outlook I need to cultivate. It's amazing what a lift a new hair can provide. It doesn't solve everything, but it's a quick, easy change that makes me feel a little less down, a little less bloated and a little more attractive. Sometimes it's the little things that make you happy. And that on its own makes them them worthwhile.

Happy Making Music

2011-01-20T23:09:00.000-08:00

*In addition to having excessive happy making properties, this also makes for perfect cleaning music. Vaccuuming is much more fun if you can get your groove on while doing it! This makes me want to go see Burlesque again at Kennedy School where I can do so with pizza and Ruby Red!

Revision?

2011-01-19T18:53:00.000-08:00

Lately, I have been feeling depressed. It all started after my trip to Houston.

Since returning, I have been feeling increasingly blah about a lot of things (weight, money, myself, my life, my lack of children), but especially about work. It kills me to get up and go each morning. I find myself wondering why I do the job I do. I think I'm probably just burned out. I work so much overtime over the fall and winter and spend so many of my work hours trying to make people happy. Even when I think they are jerks, I can't help myself. I just want everyone to be happy.

Lately, though, I've been starting to wonder, what's in it for me? It's certainly not money. While I work overtime making sure other people get their bonuses, I'm not exactly overcompensated for my work. But the minute someone is even a little discontented, I feel the need to go out of my way swoop in and fix things IMMEDIATELY, then find myself feeling frustrated when they don't appreciate it.

Don't get me wrong. Most people aren't a problem. Most people aren't even selfish. I have enough pride in my work to even want them to get what they have coming. The majority are even appreciative and pleasant. The thing is that when you're overly sensitive and prone to taking things personally, one person's bad vibes can negate the good vibes the other nine put forth.

Some people are hell bent on finding problems and start conversations with phrases like "I demand..." and "I expect..." Sometimes I want to tell them "And I expect you to not be such an asshole. I guess we're both going to end up disappointed." Sometimes I wonder if they think their heads will explode if they say "thank you". But, of course, those are the sorts of unproductive thoughts I usually keep to myself.

Still, it frustrates me. I place incredible value on doing things "right" and not being the kind of person who is unresponsive or uncaring about my work or the people I serve. I like helping people. I like advocating for them and making sure they receive what they are due. It's a principle thing. I don't even mind going beyond what they're due to what is simply right and kind. I have never felt better at work than the day I managed to talk a director into allowing to pay one of my reps early on some business that hadn't closed in time for a cutoff. He was helping his father-in-law who had cancer but no insurance pay for his chemo treatments. It wasn't my job to do that, but it made me feel so good that I played a small role in helping relieve a little bit of stress for that family at least for that month.

But I'm tired. It makes me question what I am doing. It makes me wonder if it isn't time for a change. Or maybe it's just time for a vacation. It's definitely time for something. The good thing is that if there's one thing you can count on in my workplace, it's change. I have my annual review in a couple weeks. I'll have a better sense of where things are going then. After that, maybe things will improve or maybe it will be time to take the sage advice of Dusty of Wenatchee. Who knows, it could be fun...

Birds who can sing a million songs without any words

2011-01-18T22:05:00.000-08:00

A few years ago when I saw the documentary The Ground Truth, I became completely obsessed with the song that played over the final credits. It became my mission to find out who wrote those heartbreakingly beautiful lyrics.

Mary
You're covered in roses
You're covered in ashes
You're covered in rain.
You're covered in babies
You're covered in slashes
You're covered in wildernis
You're covered in stains

This is not Mary, the idealized virgin miracle mom, but Mary the real, suffering woman who had the son she loved taken from her in the most brutal manner. It was a powerful close to a movie about war. I've since learned that the writer and singer was Patty Griffin, who is an amazing storyteller gifted with such a simple, pure and honest voice.

The song has made me think a lot about the role of women and Mary in particular in religion. I am no Bible scholar. Until recent years, I probably spent more time actively avoiding anything even remotely churchy than going to it. We weren't super religious when I was growing up, but there was a period when I was carted off to Sunday School each week. My memories from that time of Mary are that while she was definitely on the side of the Goodies, she was always seemed to show up as a pregnant donkey rider, an idealized archetype of motherhood or as a "Jesus' mom is in the house!" footnote, but rarely as a fully fledged personality. No one ever talked about her feelings or her suffering.

But Patty Griffin did...

I'm late! I'm late!

2011-01-17T08:17:00.000-08:00

Approximately half way through my January post-a-day project, I have fallen behind, but I think that is okay. Despite being an unrepentant cheater, I'll make it up. I'm not above back dating either, as you may have noticed. Sometimes it's more important to remain true to the spirit of an agreement than the letter. Even if it doesn't always turn into bits I can post, I have been writing each day and then filling in later with things I can post. Besides, what am I going to do, sue myself?

What I can say at this mid-point is that it has been good to sit down and just write a little each day. I used to noodle around with taking pictures, making music and writing stories, essays and (bad) poems all the time. Somehow as work started to consume more of my life, I moved further and further away until I just stopped. It is a sad thing, since I find far more fulfillment in creation than I do in my job. Funny how we can so easily slip into robbing ourselves of the things that give us the most pleasure. Reclaiming that neglected part of my life is really the point of this whole blog exercise. I'm not trying to write the great American novel (yet), the first step is simply to develop a habit. That seems to be happening and everything's comin' up Millhouse.

Meanwhile, I'm really glad that Jen (who is MUCH better about updating her blog than I am) is doing this too, and not only because it means I have ~~a reader~~ TWO readers!

Dancing with Myself

2011-01-16T23:59:00.000-08:00

Ever since discovering Tito Puente back in grad school (Tito Puento and the Latin Jazz All-Stars at the Hollywood Bowl, still probably the most fun I have ever had at a concert!), I have had a thing for Latin music. A few years later, when I was living la vida boring on the prairie, music from the late 90's Latin explosion was one of the few things that cheered me up during a pretty miserable time in my life. I remember talking to a friend 2146.55 miles away over the phone while we watched Ricky Martin sing "La Copa de la Vida" on the Grammys and it was good.

There is something about the drums and rhythms that just makes me happy. It's hard to hear it and not want to move. That's probably why I was sucked in by the late night Zumba commercials on t.v. I have never been one of those people who just loves working out. Even during those times in my life where I have done it regularly, it has always been something to get out of the way rather than something to look forward to. Most of my dancing these day involves butt dancing in driver's seat of the car when a good song comes on. But, hey, it was worth a shot, so I ordered the DVDs.

I won't lie. The box sat unopened on a shelf for at least a month after it arrived. Then, today, I got the urge to get my groove on and opened it up. As it turns out, it is totally FUN! I am really out of shape, so I didn't made it through the whole thing, but I made it through enough to be sore afterwards. More importantly, I'm kinda looking forward to doing it again tomorrow!

Until then, here is some primo butt dancing music from Ricky Martin.

Rainy Day Reading

2011-01-15T09:37:00.000-08:00

People sometimes complain about the Oregon rain. It does get kind of grey and depressing in the winter, but there are days when I really like that. I love the sound of the rain on the roof over my back deck, I love building a fire and nestling down with under my favorite quilt with my little Lily dog. On such days we read or watch movies and eat popcorn.

Of late, it's been reading. As it turns out, I may be the only person on the planet who could not get into The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, so we are dividing our time between two other books:

1. Letters of a Woman Homesteader by Eleanore Pruitt Stewart.

I am reading my version on Kindle for Droid. Originally, I thought I would hate reading on a screen, but I'm kind of digging it. It will never replace holding a real book in my hands, but it is pretty cool for those times when you're waiting somewhere and need something to pass the time. It's also great for those times when you are in bed and want to read, but are too lazy to get up and turn on a light. Hey, it's not pretty, but when you don't have a bedside lamp, it happens.

If you don't have a Kindle or the book, you can also read it for free online.

The letters were written between 1909 - 1911. My favorite letter so far is the one in which the widowed Pruitt (she doesn't become a Stewart until later) takes off with her young daughter in the middle of winter to go camping. I love how independent and adventurous she was. And the letters are so good humored and descriptive. They're great fun to read!

2. Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer

Eating Animals isn't fun in the same way, but it's definitely well written and an eye opener, if you have never allowed yoruself to think too hard about where the stuff at the grocery store originated. I am feverishly trying to finish it, because the library wants it back and I am only about 2/3 of the way finished. A lot of it, I already knew, but reading it makes me happy about the dietary changes I've been making. I find the more I inform myself and keep the reality in my mind, the less easy it is for me drop the curtain that allows me to push it all out of my head. I've said it before, but we do some pretty vile and cruel things in the name of factory farming.

The Kale Imperative

2011-01-14T23:59:00.000-08:00

Earlier today one of my Facebook friends posted a status about how something about her cold was making her feel it was imperative that she make kale chips stat. My first thought after hearing "kale" was about the delicious kale and root vegetable salad I got out of Vegetarian Times a couple months ago. It has candied pecans and instructions about "massaging the kale", which make me feel vaguely dirty.

Naturally, my second thought was that if I ever write a series about a vegetarian sleuth or spy, the first installment would be called The Kale Imperative. I don't even have a cold, this is just my natural genius at work! Hey! Don't look at me like that! If Lilian Jackson Brown can spend 40+ years publishing "The Cat Who . . ." books, I can fill the shelves at Barnes & Noble with tales of vegetable murder and mayhem.

Speaking of vegetables, how awesome does this recipe for Beef Tagine with Butternut Squash look? I've been thinking I might like to try making a variation of it with some manner of soyified "beef". I'm also excited to try this Butternut Squash Lasagna. Both would go well with the aforementioned kale salad. Oh, kale, my friend, it always comes back to you, doesn't it?

Powellhurst meets Houston

2011-01-13T14:45:00.000-08:00

January 2011 010, originally uploaded by Martina.

One of the more fun things about traveling to Houston last week was getting the chance to visit NASA’S JOHNSON SPACE CENTER. This would have been cool on its own, but was made even more fun by the fact that my dad worked on the space program back in the 60’s. My childhood was peppered with stories about all the people who came to watch the rocket launches at the facility where he worked. Somewhere in a box, I have a letter he kept that was signed by some astronauts, thanking him for the blood he donated for one of their missions. He worked at Cape Kennedy (now Cape Canaveral), which was responsible for launching craft, whereas Houston serves as mission control once they’re in the air, but it was still exciting to see.

One of the cool things about the space center is that it’s not just a museum, but a living, working facility that is still involved in training and mission control. Of course, there are parts of the center that are clearly there solely for tourist purposes, but the ones that interested me most were the working areas, like the old control center.

I was born exactly four months before Neil Armstrong proclaimed to the world “Houston, the Eagle has landed.” It is amazing to me to think that within my lifetime man took his first steps on the lunar surface. I wonder sometimes the way we have messed things up here on earth if we really need to be establishing a presence on the rest of our solar system, but when you are standing there looking at that room, thinking about all of the planning, work and excitement that went into that first step, it is hard not to be impressed by it.

The funny thing about the facility (once you get past the tourist center) is how normal it looks. Except for the occasional tourist tram running by and the number of bicycles you see parked in front of the doors, it looks like any other office park. As it turns out, the bikes are provided to employees for use in getting around the campus. They offer a quicker means of transportation than walking that also saves on gas and is healthy for the employee too.

The bikes I saw all had baskets, which allowed me to imagine low level space couriers rushing super secret documents from one building to another. In my imagination, they just put a stack into the basket and set a moon rock on top, so the papers don’t go flying around willy-nilly. Imagination NASA can launch a man into space, but has not yet entered the internet age yet. This is good for space courier job security!

The other thing I noticed is that the trams all had advertising placards, like public busses do. The one I rode in had a number for the Discount Tire Co., which now makes me think of NASA as not just NASA but “NASA! Now sponsored by the Discount Tire Co.!” Maybe we could supplement all of our government projects and bodies in this way. “The Oval Office, brought to you by Nike! Just do it!” “The McDonald’s Department of Health and Human Services?” You get the picture. Think of all the tax dollars we could save if some corporations would help foot the bill. They already get too many breaks. It’s time to make them pull their weight!

But I’m getting off topic. Soon I’ll be ranting about lobbyists, and nobody wants that. The point here is that the Johnson Space Center is worth a visit, so you should go. Really. Right now. I mean it. The Internet will still be there when you get back. You know you want to! Get out and see something…

Meatloaf

2011-01-12T20:09:00.000-08:00

For the past few months I've been flirting on and off with vegetarianism. While I am not 100%, I have cut down considerably on my consumption of animal products. When I do eat meat, which happens at most a time or two a week (if at all), it's usually lean and in small quanities.

For some bizarre reason, though, yesterday at the grocery store I got it into my head that meatloaf sounded good. Maybe it was the cold weather, maybe it was nostalgia for the meatloaf and mac & cheese my mom would make when I was a kid, or maybe it was that I hit my head harder than I thought when I fell down last week. I don't know, all I know is that at that moment it sounded comfort-filled and good.

So, somehow I came home with a package of ground beef yesterday, thinking I'd make it later in the week. As it turned out, I ended up making it tonight. When you haven't touched a lot of raw meat lately, mooshing ground beef into something loafy is pretty disgusting. This is even more true when you can't get out of your head that the matter squishing between your fingers is ground flesh. Not meat or beef, but the flesh of a formerly living, breathing animal that felt cold, discomfort and pain.

Before Christmas, I went about five months without eating meat. This isn't the first time I've toyed with vegetarianism, but it seems that each time a little more of my ability to disassociate what I am eating from its living origins slips away. I sometimes think if I try it often enough, one day I will get it right and there'll be no going back. It wouldn't be the worst thing. I like the way it feels when I know that no living thing had to suffer for me to find nourishment. And just think what it would do for my cholesterol levels, my ever present struggle with weight.

As it is, I find myself thinking more and more about where my food comes from. I notice things like the amount of cow juice a meatloaf sweats when it's cooking. I don't know if the beef I bought was mislabeled or if it's just that I haven't made it in so long that memory of how much fat drips out of it was not generous enough. All I know is that the thing currently sitting on my counter seems like a big, greasy blob. I tried eating a little and it made my stomach turn. I'm not sure if it's the grease or the conscious awareness of where it came from. It's becoming more difficult to seperate the calf from the cow, the cow from the beef. Like I didn't have enough guilt in my life, now I have added this feeling of uneasiness to my emotional sphere every time I eat an animal product.

You'd think that would be enough to stop craving it. Food is a funny thing, though. It has so many social and emotional associations. It's not just nourishment, but it's tied to the way we live, how we interact, how we celebrate. Decades of programming aren't as easy to overcome as one might think, even when one is intellectually on board with the idea of changing. At some point I'll have it all figured out. For now, I'm just doing the best I can.

Gift

2011-01-11T20:48:00.000-08:00

Work has been NUTS since returning from my travels. I've already worked almost 25 hours this week and it's only Tuesday! I'm pretty pleased that I've managed to keep up with my post a day (ok, I've posted a couple things late, but I think that's STILL pretty good, all things considered!), even if I've not been able to offer anything too earth shatteringly amazing.

Anyway, the nutso week has been making me think . . .

Have you ever worked for a crappy boss? I've generally been pretty fortunate over all, but I have had a few who sometimes made me want to run screaming for the hills. By the same token, a great boss can make a crappy situation so much more bearable.

My job is pretty stressful, but when I think about the good luck in my life, my boss is pretty high on my list. After working for years for a woman who, despite being a decent human being, was a total micro-managing freak as a supervisor, I switched my current department a couple years ago. I've been amazed at how much happier it makes me to have a boss who stands back and lets me do my thing. It is so great to work for someone who is supportive and accessible when I need her, but trusts me enough to let me take ownership of my work.

If that isn't enough of a gift, she bought me an awesome Amazon gift certificate for Christmas. For the first time in ages, I am at a complete loss for what to buy myself, but I am sure I will find something fun.

10 Things that are good

2011-01-10T21:06:00.000-08:00

Too tired to write a real post, so I shall make a list to remind myself of things that are good:

1. Lemon Coolers - I am SO excited that I found some at Safeway tonight. I haven't seen them in ages

2. Coming home after a week away

3. I Capture the Castle (both the book and the movie versions - completely charming)

4. Dogs - especially spoiled ones. They have so much more character!

5. New clothes

6. Libraries

7. New pajamas

8. Using the Wii to watch Netflix

9. Vacations (I need one NOW!)

10. Sam Cooke

Spellbound

2011-01-09T13:44:00.001-08:00

Wilsonville in the Snow, originally uploaded by Martina.

On of my favorite things about the Academy of American Poets is that you can sign up with them for a Poem-A-Day email. I look forward to getting my email from them each day. It's a great way to find poetry that you have never read before. Today's poem was Emily Bronte's Spellbound, which I love for its quiet fortitude. Resolve is not about loudness but constancy. It always makes me think of how I felt when my father was dying. I was so tired, but could not leave him to go sleep myself for fear that he might die alone.

Reading it, I could almost convince myself that it was written as a reflection of my own feelings. But that's the beauty of poetry. Good poetry manages to somehow touch the eternal. It unlocks the gates of time, allowing a reader like me to share her own experiences of strife and grief with a woman who died over a hundred years before she was born. That is pretty powerful, when you think about it.

Spellbound
by Emily Brontë

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow.
And the storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing dear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.

A stinkweed by any other name . . .

2011-01-08T21:00:00.001-08:00

If you want some good people watching, camp out in a hotel crammed full of loosely affiliated strangers brought together for a week long annual corporate meeting. Working in a position that touches the work lives of a few hundred employees, I know a LOT of my coworkers by name. I see them on reports, we correspond via email, we IM, we talk on the phone. Some of us are Facebook friends. Essentially, except for annual meetings like the one I've been attending this week, we do everything but meet each other in person.
I spend a lot of time at these meetings watching and scanning crowds for individuals I want to meet. It is interesting to see how people interact at these functions. Some are on the prowl for a hook-up, others only have eyes for people with fancy title. Some people are minglers, comfortably flitting from group to group. Others are more reserved, sticking like glue to the same little cluster of people every time I see them.
The latter are my people, the ones I get. I too am not a good mingler. I am friendly, but I'm also not good at approaching. I've never been comfortable breaking into an already established cluster of people. I take too long to come out of my shell to be good at schmoozing. My parents apparently had deficient schmoozing genes that skip a generation. So, I spend a lot of time talking to coworkers I already know, people who approach me or ones I have friendly relationships with and wanted to meet in person. I figure with them it's a pretty safe bet that their response will be "It's so nice to finally meet you!", so they're safe.
Sometimes people surprise me, like the guy who literally chased me down to hug me and tell me how awesome I was. I had no idea he felt that way. I saw him running toward me from far away, but assumed he was late for a meeting. There were also two upper management guys who yelled my name from across the hotel and came over to tell me how much they and their teams love me. I got a lot of that and it felt pretty good to see that I have a good reputation with my coworkers and that they think of me as someone who will fix things for them when they have a problem. Even our supreme overlord chatted me up for a bit and then made a point of acknowledging me (or high fiving me) whenever we ran into each other. I find this somewhat amusing. While I really do believe it was his way of being genuinely friendly, except for with my five year old nephew, I'm not a big high-fiver. Secret handshakes sure, but I'm not so much a high five kind of person.
The generally positive vibes I got from people made my experience with one of our regular overlords all the more surprising to me. We're not best friends or anything, but we've been on conference calls together and I work a lot of his employees. I'm not being arrogant when I say that I think he'd know my name. When I finally tracked him down and introduced myself to him on our final night there, he looked at me like "Who the fuck are you, and why do you dare approach me, worthless worm?", quickly inquired which office I work in, then turned his back to me and started up a conversation with someone else. Talk about awkward! I am no smooth operator, but even I was completely stunned at his lack of social grace. At first, I thought "Well, maybe he just doesn't recognize me. My voice isn't the loudest, maybe he just didn't hear the name right." The thing is, even if those things are true, that's no excuse for treating anyone like that.
I've had a few instances with people like him when I was younger and working as a nanny to put my way through college. There are always going to be those people who look right through you, if they decide you're not "important" enough to acknowledge, but I have never experienced it so openly in a professional environment, especially someone in a position and culture that's supposed to spout the "Every member of our team is important" line, even if they don't really mean it.
I've never understood why some people think a title or an financial statement renders them more worthwhile as a human being. A title may prove that you know your field, it may prove that you've worked hard and paid your dues, or sometimes even just that you know who to suck up to, but it says nothing (hear me, NOTHING) about your value as a human being. I'm not really hurt by his behavior. My job is my job and not my life, and I'd certainly never seek out someone that douchetastic as a friend. The funny thing is that I only introduced myself, because I thought it would be kind of rude of me to be there all week in the same building with him and not do it. I'm more bummed that an otherwise mostly positive trip ended with a reminder that mean people do indeed suck.
Ah well, at least is it all over now. I am exhausted by all the meeting support stuff, but I did get to spend time with some pretty cool people this week. More importantly, now I am home where my little dog will tear anyone who looks at me cross-eyed limb from limb. She would do it really slowly, because drawing and quartering is a slow process when you only weigh 10 lbs, but I know she's got my back!

Finally, what the world has been missing!

2011-01-07T20:32:00.000-08:00

I am HOME (hurray and huzzah!), but too tired to post much. Trust me, you wouldn't enjoy anything I could come up wtih at this point more than this anyway...Josh Groban, I proclaim thee awesome!

Sound Advice

2011-01-06T19:29:00.000-08:00

Sauvie Island 5, originally uploaded by Martina.

The picture is from last summer (I miss you summer! xxoo), the poem is one that comes to mind as I sit in meetings about aspirations and who we want to be as a company. Frankly, I'm more interested in who we want to be as human beings, so this keeps popping into my head as I'm doing sound checks, tracking down catering staff and feeling like one of a few non-schmoozing weirdos in a sea of schmoozers.

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

~ Rudyard Kipling

New Year’s Meme

2011-01-05T00:01:00.000-08:00

This year, I started the new year off with a trip. It's a work trip, but a trip nonetheless. Today, I escape the hotel to go to a super secret offsite meeting. I am not supposed to know where it is, but I do, and it's COOL! I can't post it here yet, just in case anyone I work with sees (doubtful, since none of them know about this blog, but it's not worth getting fired over, so I think I can keep my mouth shut a few more hours.) Knowing that it will be another late night with work to do when I return, I flagrantly pilfered the following meme from justabunchofsilliness.blogspot.com and filled it out before I left for my trip in case I didn't have time to write anything.

Dateline Houston

2011-01-04T00:01:00.000-08:00

I have arrived in Texas and I am SO tired. I can't even begin to explain how tired I am after getting up at 3 a.m. (my valiant attempt to force myself to go to bed at 9 p.m. did not pan out), but I made it. Oh well, who needs sleep anyway?

Apparently not the ten year old who was sitting by me. Upon plopping down next to me, she announced that she had been up since 1 a.m. and had drank two Monster energy drinks. The energy drinks explain a lot. She was this little strawberry blonde, freckled whirlwind hair metal band afficionado who talked my ear off the whole time. Most of our conversation went approximately like this:

Her: I'm going to visit my mom

Me: Really? Are you excited to see her?

Her: No, not really. Do you know what an Xbox is?

Me: Sure

Her: Do you play?

Me: No, not so much.

Her: I am OBSESSED with Xbox! Do you have kids?

Me: No, but I have a godson and he plays video games.

Her: I don't know what that is but I'm in third grade, but supposed to be in fourth.

Me: Well, sometimes we need a little extra time to learn things.

Her: Do you like rap?

Me: Some.

Her: You do????

Me: Sure, I like most kinds of music.

Her: Well, my favorite is 80's rock. Do you know who Brett Michaels is?

Me: Sure…

Her (suspiciously): What band is he in?

Me: Poison

Her (thinking): Who sang Cherry Pie?

Me: Some blonde guy with long hair

Her (mildly disgusted that I didn't give a better answer): I'm going to put my ipod on and listen to my favorite song over and over again, but I'll be right here.

Me: Ok, then

[I close my eyes to take a nap]

Her (the minute my eyes open): Do you watch Lifetime?

Me: Not really

Her: Have you seen The Wizard of Oz?

Me: Lots of times

Her: Is the Wicked Witch East, North, West or South?

Me: I think she was the Wicked Witch of the West

Her: Did you know in the old days they used to pull your tooth out with a string?

Me: Yeah, I think I heard something like that.

Her: In the old days when you were little, did you wear those things?

Me (trying not to laugh): Yeah, we wore things all the time back then.

Her: No, I mean those things with the straps and the thing in front that you attach.

Me: You mean overalls?

Her: Yeah

Me: I think that is more of a farm thing. I grew up in the city.

It went on like this for about two hours. In between she had time to quiz our other neighbor in much the same manner and also fill us in on her feelings about math (no good!), reading (even worse!), brothers (she hits hers with a bat(!) sometimes), ATV's and any number of things I am too tired to remember now. She also wrangled us into helping her with the book of word search puzzles she'd brought along and told us her favorite colors (there are seven, in case you wondered) and provided a list of her favorite movies.

If only I had an eighth of her energy. I would not be about ready to nod off right now.

More later. Tomorrow (Tuesday) we go on an offsite adventure, which actually sounds kinda fun.

On the Road Again

2011-01-03T09:00:00.000-08:00

Dear Internets,

Do you ever have to go on work trips? I do, and that's why I am writing this post in the past to post in the future as though it were the present.

This time, the trip is to Houston for a national sales training. My flight leaves at 6 a.m., which means getting up at a time when even a rooster would tell you to fuck off and let him get some sleep, because I have to be ready for the coworker who is kindly giving me a ride to the airport, but wants to pick me up at 4 or 4:15 a.m. I don't even want to think about how early this means I'll have to get up! Surely it is cruel and unusual to force anyone to be up at that hour of the morning when it is not because they are just coming in from a night out!

As much as I love to travel, going on a work related trips always fills me with dread. Once at my final destination, things are usually fine and I even have fun. Before leaving, however, I always feel like I'd be willing to cut a deal with the Devil himself to avoid having to go. Nothing turns me into a homebody faster than forced travel.

To make matters worse, once I get to the hotel, my responsibilities are also going to be a bit out of my comfort zone. I am still not 100% clear on what it is that I will be doing beyond "meeting support", which as far as I can tell means assisting some executive with handouts, taking notes, making sure his mic works, projectors are working, etc. I don't know when it is I moved from administering compensation to being president of the AV Club, but I want to go back! I do not like this not knowing. I get anxious about screwing things up, even though none of it is rocket science. Even I don't know what I'm so worried about, but I am.

And don't even ask me how I'm going to provide meeting support all week AND get my normal job done, because no one else is going to be picking up the slack on that for me either. Guess who's going to be working some overtime the weekend she gets home? Just what everyone wants to do after a week away. I haven't even left yet and all I want to do when I return is spend the day watching movies in my pajamas while eating Chinese food right out of the carton.

Clearly, I need an attitude adjustment about this. Travelling is fun, right? Surely there are some reasons to look forward to this trip. Perhaps I can think of a few now:

It is warm and not grey in Houston right now.
Going through TSA security will probably be more action than I've seen in months!
Going to a state where the airports have Fox News stores will make me appreciate my lovely, liberal Portland all the more.
I will get to see lots of coworkers with whom I normally only get to communicate via phone and email. A few of these people are ones I've become friendly with but never actually met in person.
My roommate for the trip is awesome and will tell me about her recent vacation to South Africa.
The trip will take me out of my usual environment and allow me to kickstart some of the changes I want to make to my regular routine.
Travelling always gives you stories to tell.
I am not allowing this trip to interfere with my resolve to post something every day for a month.
It will all be over and I will be home in my pajamas eating pot stickers with my dogs before I know it!

First Quarter

2011-01-02T07:51:00.000-08:00

If there's one thing I love, it's a good personality test. So, back when Strengthsfinder was all the rage, I finagled my way into taking the test through my work. In the post-test interview, I was told by HR that I am a good person to have around at the beginning of a project. I think this may be Strengthsfinder's way of gently telling me that I start things with much gusto, then peter out and lose interest after a time.

And it's true! I am great at brainstorming, planning and starting projects, but not so good at finishing them if there is no pressure to do so. You need only to look at my writing notebook to confirm this. I have a whole mystery novel outlined. But how much have I actually written? Maybe five chapters and that has taken years. Then there's my progress on the longest interior redesign in history. I have been redecorating my bedroom for so long that the whole color scheme and style have changed multiple times without there ever being a moment when it was complete. I love the excitement of finding a new vision and planning it out. It's when it comes to execution that I fail. Too often, I find myself diverted by some shiny new idea and never finish.

Maybe that's why I love the start of a new year so much. It's like time's way of putting new sheets on the bed. Everything is so crisp and new and filled with spring-fresh possibility. At New Year's, I am not a slacker who doesn't finish what she starts, I am a visionary! People actually encourage reevaluation, resolve and new beginnings. This time of year is a planner's paradise.

At the same time, I don't really like the idea of New Year's resolutions. If I am ready to start eating healthy or looking for a new job today, why wait? Still, it's good to have goals. A year is a long time and some of my goals are big, so I've decided to break my year into manageable quarterly goals that advance me to my main goal, which is simply to be happy.

So, here are the three things I think will most contribute to my general sense of well being at this time:

Lose 20 pounds by March 20.
Finish the longest redecoration known to man.
Create something every day (starting with a month of blogging in January).

Blogstravaganza 2011!

2011-01-01T00:56:00.001-08:00

Welcome to 2011 and welcome to my attempt to blog every day for the month of January. It is time to shake things up a bit. It's been so long since I've posted or even written anything with any kind of regularity that I am excited to start doing so again. I'm also a little nervous. There are some logistical challenges with the first week of January due to a work trip. I'm still not sure if I'll be able to post every day or just write every day and post later. But that is not the real reason for my apprehension. The real reason is that for a long time I've felt dried up, like I just don't have anything interesting to say. I start to write, find myself unable to find a hook, wonder "what's the point?", then give up in frustration.

I originally created this blog to coax myself into becoming less freakish about writing in a forum other people could read. While I never got too far into posting any creative writing, it really did help bolster my confidence. It feels natural to come back here when I again need that boost.

Frankly, this whole endeavor is kind of a cliff hanger for me. What if I really don't have anything to say? What if I say something and you think it's stupid? What if we're all allotted a certain number of words at birth and I've used mine up? Can I find a month's worth of topics? Do they have to be novel? Do they have to be interesting? Do they have to be good?

Do I have to care?

I think the answer is probably "No, it's not my job to worry about that", but that's not how I roll! I am a growing snowball of anxiety about being "good enough". I roll like a gold medalist in the Worry Olympics!

At the same time, there are so many great things about life! How could anyone not have anything at all to say? Maybe I just need a little push.

When I was a kid, I used to like to climb up on top of the jungle gym and jump off. But I never just climbed up and got down to business. I always stood there for a moment to work up my nerve. My little thrill seeking heart was always at war with my rational head.

What if something went wrong? What if I fell and got hurt instead of landing surely on my feet?

But if I didn't jump I'd miss the thrill. So, eventually, I always did jump and I always hit the ground happy and running.

And that is what I am doing tonight in these first minutes of the new year, taking a leap. It's no accident that I orchestrated my evening so I could be writing at midnight. I feel dried up, but what if it's just that my rational, analytical day job mind has caused my creative, playful, flowering, fearless mind to close down?

In some ways, I am not a big fan of New Year's resolutions. Not because they are bad, but because I believe we should make changes as they are needed without being bound by dates. Still, if I think about what I want of the new year, I think it may just be the courage to be unapologetically me – to not worry about whether I am good enough, thin enough, smart enough, creative enough, likeable enough and instead just be and enjoy being.

And part of who I am is someone who enjoys playing with words and ideas. So, here I go…

If you care to join me in my month of writing, let me know and I'll happily read along!

Carol of the Blahs

2010-12-04T12:03:00.001-08:00

And so it has begun – that pre-Christmas blah feeling is settling in. It happens every year and every year it sneaks up on me like it's something new. Then I have to cajole myself by decorating, singing, exposing myself to uplifting books, movies and Christmas carols, anything that will remind me that I like Christmas. I do like Christmas, right?

I know that I don't like the commercialism or that Christmas means being inundated with advertisements suggesting that what Jesus really wants is for me to spend $90 on a giant, plastic, remote-controlled sasquatch that was probably made by Chinese orphans working for .17 an hour. I also don't have the big Norman Rockwell scene of a family (frankly, they make me jealous!) to gather around the tree, singing Silent Night before going to bed to wake up in an international coffees holiday commercial where we make Christmas memories over steaming cups of Irish Mocha Mint as the kids tear open gifts some fat dude left behind for them. Any other time of year, some geriatric trying to break into your house by wedging himself down a chimney would be sad and a little creepy, but frame it in a legend about a kindly old man who flies around the world, delivering happiness to small children everywhere and the story somehow becomes magical.

It is in the hands of advertisers that it loses its soul. Suddenly its sweetness is lost in how many toys your credit card will accommodate before it maxes out. Even kids (especially kids) fall prey to the greedy commercialism that dominates the season. My once innocent little godson has certainly fallen prey. Two words best sum up his feelings about Christmas – "I want". His letter to Santa this year begins with those words. And his list isn't modest either. It reads like a love letter to the inventory of FAO Schwartz with a token "Hope you have a nice Christmas too, Santa" thrown in at the end for good measure (but only after being reminded) before going on to three post-scripts concerning other wants he previously forgot to mention. Don't get me wrong, I love the kid and I get that a lot of his wording is fueled by excitement. It just saddens me that his lust is not tempered by much else. In fairness, one of his later wishes was for Santa to finally remove me from the naughty list, so I guess I can't be too hard on the kid. If nothing else, he has my back. All of this reminds me, if you haven't seen What Would Jesus Buy?, now is a great time to watch it.

Meanwhile, I am trying to get my cheer on. It is not always easy. We put so much pressure on the holidays being a certain way that it's almost impossible to live up to the picture of perfection the advertisers seem to start painting ever earlier each year. There were stores that had started putting out Christmas stuff before Halloween was even over. With exceptions for Dickens and Tim Burton, I don't want ghosts in my wassail. It doesn't help that I just don't have the big, warm family whose happy memories the advertisers are telling me to buy. Don't get me wrong, I have great friends, but my holidays, while generally happy, are often non-traditional. I'm no Bible scholar, but I don't think the birth of Christ was supposed to inspire in me a familial version of penis envy.

I have no idea what we will be doing for Christmas this year, though I sense it will involve food (because, let's face it, most worthwhile things around here do involve food!). We had a really lovely and delicious Thanksgiving at Jen's house that has inspired me to want to cook some fantastic feast. I've been toying with something with eastern spices that would go with the camel caravan rhythms of Lorena McKennitt's A Midwinter Night's Dream. I love this reviewer's description of it:

"It's like a pre-Christian celtic band performing in the Alhambra, accompanied by a couple of local singers and a Dickensian caroler, and it works!"

It really does work. I think it may be my favorite Christmas cd and I think it may also be what I want Christmas dinner to be like this year – dried apricots, spices, pomegranates, plum pudding. Great, now I'm hungry! Just thinking about it is lifting some of the blah away.

My New Manifesto

2010-11-22T20:03:00.001-08:00

Sometimes you've got to let everything go – purge yourself. If you are unhappy with anything . . . whatever is bringing you down, get rid of it. Because you'll find that when you're free, your true creativity, your true self comes out. ~ Tina Turner.

The other night I was watching Conan and they were doing a gag wherein Bruce Jenner, some crabs, and a hoarder (from the A&E show "Hoarders") welcome Conan O'Brien to basic cable. I just about died laughing when the hoarder came into the frame. Her squirrely expression was just priceless. Without saying a word, she managed to convey a kind of crazy covetousness. If I ever become a hoarder, I vow to adopt just such a paranoid expression. If you're going to be balls out weird, you might as well make people laugh, right?

In the present day, even though I am not too worried about anyone taking my crap, I can relate to how hard it can be to get rid of things. There are so many potential blocks – sentimentality, frugality, uncertainty, fear that we might throw something away and then need it later. If I am going to be honest, I definitely have some messy, packratty tendencies. At the same time, I don't like it. It makes me feel bogged down and eventually even tense and unproductive. Somehow an environment just feels less peaceful when there is too much stuff vying for space.

When my environment gets too cluttered, it starts to become distracting. I find it difficult to work or even think. So, I have decided that the best thing I can do to encourage the new period of productivity I hope to start is to let go of some of my clutter. I mean that both figuratively and literally, but since it's easier to clear my physical space, I am starting with that. So, I spent the greater part of the morning cleaning out my closet and developing my manifesto. Why? Because it was overflowing with things I neither wear nor need and everything is more fun when a manifesto is involved! Plus, if I don't give myself some rules, I will just end up getting stuff out and putting it away again without getting rid of anything.

So here is my decluttering manifesto:

Be merciless. If it is ugly, has bad associations, makes me feel bad, or if I haven't used it in a year or don't plan to use it in the next, get rid of it.
Be realistic. If it is doesn't fit, doesn't look good or doesn't fit my life- or personal style, it needs to be released.
Be generous. Sometimes we outgrow things. If that's the case, let them go and don't be a hoarder. If I am done enjoying something, donate it and give someone else a turn.
Be discriminating. I don't have to get rid of everything. It is ok to keep something simply because I like it or because its associations make me feel good. Just make sure it is something I really want and that it has a spot.

This approach has lightened my closet by three large trash bags full of clothes. Stacey and Clinton would be proud! I didn't quite get to shoes, but there is always tomorrow. This is just one piece of a multi-step decluttering process, and that is okay. Tonight I go to bed with my clothes arranged by color. Now I can actually see what I have, know what I need, and can feel confident when I pull something out that it fits right and is flattering. Funny how something as small as organizing the closet can even make you feel better about not just your environment, but yourself.

Change

2010-11-21T13:59:00.001-08:00

No river can return to its source, yet all rivers must have a beginning. ~ Native American Proverb.

Change feels like it is in the air these days. Everywhere I turn, the institutions in my life are on the precipice of something new. The Republicans tell me they won back the House, because people are hungry for change. Personally, I'm hungry for a cheeseburger, accessible healthcare, fewer lobbyists, and more liberal representatives with a spine. Guess the GOP and me, we both want changes, just not the same ones.

But it's not only the political landscape that is changing. In my workplace, the CEO has "decided to explore other options". People are afraid this might herald yet another reorg, even though it appears that for once they are making management changes instead of just kicking a few more worker bees out of the hive. Some coworkers were surprised, even though the writing has been on the wall since last summer, when our parent company installed two of its major players to create a new "office of the CEO" leadership team. Maybe I'm just weird, but I know I would be updating my resumé if my boss and her boss moved into my cubicle with me, so they could more quickly second guess all my decisions. Does the change carry with it a sense of instability? Sure. But surprise? No.

Even the church I belong to, but at this point rarely attend, is in the throes of preparing for some as yet to be determined new leadership structure. There too, something has felt off kilter to me for some time now (hence my diminishing attendance). Thoreau said that "Things do not change, we change." I am not sure if the community has changed or my perception of it has. Maybe it's what I need from it that has. I have always struggled a bit with that.

My beliefs are broader than the framework provided by the Christian church, but it worked out, because it was a progressive community and the path was more of a wide avenue than a narrow, one-way trail. While I am still very fond of many members, and even of the place itself, I no longer feel the connection I once did. I feel like a visitor and not part of the community. There is a part of me that desperately wants it to feel as it did in the beginning, but some of the sense of hominess is lacking. Perhaps it is because you only get as much out as you put in (and I haven't put much in lately) or perhaps I have just floated too far downstream to return and am on my way to another destination. I am not sure, but that that part of my life too feels unstable.

And that brings me to me. You had to know it was coming. It is, after all, all about me, right? Perhaps it is just my annual early holiday malaise rearing its ugly head, but I find myself craving change. I want it to swoop down on me like a giant, good-willed bird, carrying me away at an exhilarating pace to something wonderful and new. I feel like something is missing but can't quite put my finger on what it is. Over the past few months, I've made some big changes to my diet, I need to make more to my level of activity (in the physical, spiritual and creative senses), but I need something else too. I need to be fed by something more profound than going to work, coming home exhausted, watching a little t.v. and going to bed again in preparation for more of the same. I used to do things, create things, now I just watch and wish.

Maybe that's what this urge for change is, an invitation to figure out what it is that that is missing. I have been thinking that perhaps I needed to start writing again, maybe even resurrect my blog and play here a bit, in order to do just that. What changes do I want/need to make to my life? What is missing? Where do I want to go?

Then, in a moment of synchronicity this morning, I happened to check my yahoo email, which opened up with a funky sort, making the first email an undeleted two-year old notification about a comment on this blog at a time when I was doing a lot of writing. It was from a stranger, Aart Hilal, referring me to Paulo Coehlo's blog. At first, I didn't notice the date on the email, because I was too busy typing Coehlo's name into the search engine. And where did I end up? At the following quote:

When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not ready. The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back.

If that isn't the universe blessing my endeavor, I don't know what is!

Summer project

2010-07-08T20:22:00.000-07:00

Dear Powellhurst,

I don't know how to tell you this, but I want to see other blogs. A few weeks ago I started quietly posting on a summer blog that I am calling The Peacock Project. It is my attempt to combat what I know will be an ugly summer and fall at work. It is my place to celebrate what it right, positive, beautiful and important in the world and makes my life happier even though I feel like a lone miniature pony carrying the load of two dozen pack mules at work. Last year, during the same period I spent more drives home than I'd like to count crying, my blood pressure went up, I developed a slight twitch in my eye (I wish I were joking!), and I lost 20 lbs (which have been subsequently gained back). Obviously, this is not a recipe for health and happiness, even if I was happy to lose some girth. So, in an attempt to, as his purple badness would say, "get through this thing called life" (or maybe just the tail end of 2010), I am forcibly channeling my inner Pollyana and accentuating the positive before the negative eats it away completely.

You have been here for years, and I will always come back to you, but I need something fresh, maybe even funky fresh. I don't know. What I do know is that I will still be posting here, but if you would like to come hang out with me and my new bird, I'd invite you to stop by.

xxoo
Martina

None for tea, but two for BBQ

2010-05-16T11:40:00.000-07:00

It feels like summer is finally here. The birdhouses on the front porch are overflowing with tentants (sometimes literally - rip little unfledged baby) and yesterday we had our warmest day of the year thusfar. Despite my failed last minute BBQ scheme (the first few people I invited all had the temerity to have other engagements, so I lost interest and will plan better next time!), it turned out to be a lovely day. My little white dog woke me up early enough that I had my grocery list and shopping done by noon and was already making a mini-BBQ for my mom and me. On the menu: Black Bean and Mango Salad, Raspberry Shortcake, and Country Ribs.

This is probably something everyone but me already knew, but being relatively new to doing the barbequeing, I discovered my new favorite way to make ribs last summer. If you boil them ahead of time, they are so tender they fall off the bone AND they hardly require any grilling time at all. To sweeten the deal, boiling them renders the fat, which makes them slightly less artery clogging, which means you can put more whip cream on your dessert and without inflating your health risk. Silver lining with nary a cloud in sight!

I am still tweaking to find the perfect blend, but so far my recipe is to fill a large stock pot with water, a couple tablespoons of pickling spice, a quartered onion (yes, an onion - I still think they are the devil's condiment, but am willing to accept their utility for some recipes), a whole bunch of garlic (the more, the better - crush it a little before throwing it into the pot), a bay leaf or two (or whatever herbs you like), a bit of salt and boil the ribs in the for an hour and a half or so. Then all you need to do is baste them with your favorite sauce and throw them on the grill for a few minutes. After that, all that's left is to drink a mojito made with mint from the back yard and enjoy! Aaah summer!

Gentlewoman's Agreement

2010-05-12T23:36:00.000-07:00

So I've been trying to think of something to talk about as part of the gentlewoman's agreement I struck with Jen back in April. Per the terms, we each agreed to post five times a week. We even renegotiated at the beginning of May declaring amnesty for all slackers (aka people like me), restarting the project and setting the blogging bar at four times a week. We are nothing if not flexible.

While I have thought about posting at least four times a week (sometimes even more, champion thinker that I am), the actual doing it has not happened. I'm telling you, when they finally invent the program that translates good intentions into organized writing, I am going to be SO freaking productive, you won't even believe it! There is probably a lesson here for optimistic, encouraging people like Jen: Never enter into any kind of accord with a known slacker. She can be happy that is was just blogging and not a suicide pact or something like that. It would really suck to be the one who follows through on that, while the other person is all "Oh, I don't know. I'm too tired to kill myself today. I think I'll go eat Cheetos and watch American Idol instead. Maybe tomorrow…"

The thing is that I am just not feeling like I have much to say lately. Sure, I think of things, but then when it comes to posting them, I think "Why the hell would anyone else be interested in this? Isn't it a little narcissistic to think that my navel gazing is so fascinating? Why don't I just keep a journal?" Then, yesterday I followed a link from Freewill Astrology to Jason Mraz's blog. And I read it and thought to myself "Except for being talented and famous, what is so special about him?" Don't get me wrong, I love Jason Mraz, but...

Why can people like him incite themselves to sit down and play, but I can't? One of my sometimes slightly pretentious writer friends (and sometimes judgmental shithead) is happy declare that some people are just serious about their art and some are not. Frankly, I think there is more to it than that. Creativity and self-expression shouldn't be vehicles for oneupsmanship. Sometimes we are just blocked. A vessel with a clogged spout is not necessarily an empty one.

I still don't know what I have to say or why or even if it will be of interest to anyone. Maybe it doesn’t have to be. Maybe it is just about the self-discipline to power through it and form a habit. Maybe it is about stopping to really look at the crazy, beautiful world around me and writing about it, because that will inspire me to play and create things that fill it with just a little more beauty. Sometimes maybe you don't have to understand. Sometimes maybe you just have to do and see where it takes you.

P.s. In totally unrelated news this made me laugh.

Terrible Tilly and some less terrible things

2010-04-18T09:32:00.000-07:00

Does this not look like the best spot for a ghost story? Tillamook Lighthouse (aka Terrible Tilly) sits isolated and abandoned, perched upon a rock a mile offshore. The lighthouse dates back to 1887 and wasn't exactly built under the best working conditions (dangerous, crashing waves, flying debris, etc.). While it operated for 70 years, it was never open to the public. There are legends about a child's grave left by an early keeper, a grey lady, a former keeper who loved the lighthouse so much that his ghost roams the structure, and Native American stories about the haunting of nearby underwater tunnels. Even without ghosts, it wasn't always the safest workplace. Being closed and essentially inaccessible just makes the place all the more intriguing, which is always good for the imagination.

Seeing it last weekend made me want to dig out the beachy ghost story I started a few years ago as part of a failed NaNoWriMo attempt. These days I don't seem to make a lot of time for writing anymore. The truth is that it's only through a hastily made gentlewoman's agreement under the thrall of the road and sea air that I have recently even resurrected the idea of updating this blog more often. At this point, doing so still feels a little creaky and awkward, but having the deadline of five posts a week helps me in the same way that my past January blogstravaganza project did. It even has a bonus in that the agreed upon "five posts a week" sounds far less daunting than blogstravaganza's "every day" did. Even God took a day to rest and we all know that I am WAY lazier than God ever was!

Bug-eyed Azaleas

2010-04-17T12:51:00.000-07:00

I found this poem by Dorothea Grossman today as I was tripping about the Internets, looking for spring poems to inspire me. I like it, don't you?

Spring

by Dorothea Grossman

The murderer, on his way to work, stops to admire the wisteria framing his doorway, and waves to the bug-eyed azaleas.

I've no plans to murder anyone, but I there is a particularly attractive purple azalea in my yard (and a half-dead wisteria, but we won't talk about that). The weather here in the NW has been gloriously springy these past couple weekends, prompting beach trips and garden center purchases. It's the perfect weather for sitting outside, listening to Pandora while my godson builds a tent city of boxes and old sheets on the lawn. One tent is apparently not enough for the child. He is intent on erecting a whole housing development. If you're going to dream, dream big, I guess.

P.s. The Pandora playlist you get when you put in "Thao & the Get Down Stay Down" has a lot of good stuff on it. I'm particularly fond of Miniature Tigers' Tell it to the Volcano.

2010-04-15T08:59:00.001-07:00

This is a test from my new droid

I'll take "Breakup Songs that make me happy" for $1000

2010-04-15T08:44:00.000-07:00

Thao with The Get Down Stay Down - When We Swam

W.S. Merwin

2010-04-14T20:57:00.000-07:00

Because April is National Poetry month, I've been reading and researching, W.S. Merwin. He won his second Pulitzer Prize for The Shadow of Sirius last year. Hearing him read from it at one of last years Wordstock events was one of the highlights of the festival, especially because Merwin himself comes across as such a lovely human being. It is always disappointing when someone one admires turns out to be arrogant or unpleasant, so it was doubly rewarding to have it confirmed that Merwin is neither.

I first came in contact with Merwin in grad school via his translations of Pablo Neruda. As a student of language and dabbler in translation, I admired his facility with language and ability to create translations that captured not only meaning but spirit and emotion. Literal translation is easy, but it is not such an easy thing to convey the feel of the original. Good translation is a fine art unto itself.

For a long time, I went along blithely unaware that Merwin was a gifted poet in its own right. It was only many years later that I ran into one of his poems, fell in love, then realized that it was my old friend. For a great piece on him (including some examples of his poetry) from Bill Moyers Journal, click here.

"The Nomad Flute."
W.S. Merwin, from The Shadow of Sirius

You that sang to me once sing to me now
let me hear your long lifted note
survive with me
the star is fading
I can think farther than that but I forget
do you hear me

do you still hear me
does your air
remember you
o breath of morning
night song morning song
I have with me
all that I do not know
I have lost none of it

but I know better now
than to ask you
where you learned that music
where any of it came from
once there were lions in China

I will listen until the flute stops
and the light is old again

2010-04-11T17:17:00.000-07:00

As road tripping season begins, so do the road mixes. With mp3 players and Pandora and all the technology that exists, I suppose they aren't really that necessary, but there's something really pleasing about putting them together. Back when I was growing up (and walking up hill to schools both ways in the snow, even in summer), I remember creating mix tapes from the radio. You old people know what I'm talking about. You'd sit in front of the radio, fingers poised over the record button, waiting for the song to come on so you could get it on a cassette tape. And once you got it, it mostly didn't matter that you weren't quite fast enough to catch the beginning or that dipshit DJ talked over the first 1/4 of the song, because you had captured it and sweet, sweet victory was yours!

Now, with iTunes, it is all so much easier. You can get exactly what you want and they are fun to put together. I love it when friends give me their mixes. Each song is like a little surprise. Will I like it? Will I not like it? Will the next song be something new and exciting? Something familiar, but well loved? So much anticipation!

My friend, Jen, makes awesome mixes. I am always delighted at the stuff she manages to find. So, with a mini-motor to the coast with her on the horizon, I decided to re-purpose the birthday mix I'd made into a beach trip mix. I think I might still make a few changes to it (maybe replace some of the stuff that was put on for my godson who was supposed to accompany me on my birthday outing), but was over all pretty pleased with the results:

1. We've Got Scurvy - P!nk. This is from Spongebob's Greatest Hits. While I am now going to tell you that it was put on for my godson's entertainment, the truth is that I like it. I mean, it's a song about scruvy, for pete's sake! Plus, it has pirates in it and P!nk. What's not to like?

2. Eight Miles Wide - Storm Large. Silly, yes, but fun to belt while you're driving down the highway, because you can be a kickass bruiser and be feminine (and it makes me laugh to think of myself as a kickass bruiser...I can't even kill a spider). I also like the message of being big (in personality) and unapologetic about owning who you are. I don't know about you, but it's something I could be better about. It also doesn't hurt that Ms. Large actually has a really good voice. It's funny, I wasn't that into her when she was on Rock Star, but she's really grown on me in the ensuing years and now I think she is pretty awesome.

3. Sunshine Song (Live) - Jason Mraz. I really like Jason Mraz's voice (if not all his music...he has one song on his most recent offering that really annoys me). He has such easy control over his vocals. He has his own, unique intonation and it never sounds forced or strained. I love this song for its bouncy, happy melody and I love that someone is described as "cerulean". I would take it as a compliment if someone described me as such!

4. This Little Light of Mine - James Horner & Sweet Honey in the Rock. For someone who does not think of herself as particularly religious and has limited experience with any non-reserved protestant kind of church experience, I have always had a weird affinity for big-voiced black women singing gospel. This version is just so joyful and happy that it's hard to listen to and not be in a good mood.

5. How Do You Do? - Mouth & MacNeil. Is this the greatest song ever written? No. Is it even what could be called "good"? Not really, BUT this song cracks me all the way up, because it was (along with Bad, Bad Leroy Brown) the first song I remember really digging when I was a kid. It also cracks me up, because I can totally see it being performed by The Electric Mayhem on The Muppet Show. I think it was actually recorded even a few years before my time, so you know it's old! The thing is, I can totally remember being three or four in the back seat of my dad's GTO and getting excited when it came on. Why the radio was on any station that would play it is beyond me, because this was so NOT my father's kind of music. He was all about country and blues, so I can only assume that he had it on to entertain me. "And then we can nananana just like we did before" indeed!

6. Ride a White Swan - T. Rex. Again, I love this because it is fun and happy and quirky. Marc Bolan had a kind of odd quiver to his voice sometimes, but it is the kind of thing that grows on me. The song makes me want to take his advice and wear a tall hat and tattooed gown and run around with a cat on my shoulder like the people of the Beltaine (which is coming up, by the way!) It also makes me wonder where I can find a swan to ride and whether swans are traditionally ridden bareback or if one needs a saddle to do so. Is there licensing required or can one just take to the waterways? Could the cat and the swan live peaceably or would there be friction? So many questions. Oh why, Marc Bolan, can we not all just get along? Bonus aside: I read somewhere once that Marc Bolan never learned to drive, because he feared dying prematurely in an automobile accident. And guess how he died? Car crash. I wonder if it's really true that he was so prescient or if it's just a good story?

7. Me and Bobby McGee - Crystal Bowersox. American Idol and I have a weird relationship. I watch it, despite thinking it generally sucks the artistry out of any unique contestants, and (barring a couple Kelly Clarkson downloads) don't ever purchase anything they release after it's over. That said, I think Crystal Bowersox has a pretty amazing voice and I love that she (so far, the high heel episode excluded) remains mostly unstyled. This song has been covered a million times, but I think this version is pretty great and I hope she does well.

8. That's Not My Name - The Ting Tings. Again it's not the most brilliant song ever written, but it's fun and the boy LOVES it (as he loves anything rhythmic and drum heavy). If you have never ridden in a car with a four year old boy sing-screaming "That's not my name" at the top of his lungs, well, then you haven't lived.

9. Take a Chance on Me - Abba. This went on my birthday mix, because I totally remember having an Abba's Greatest hits 8-track when I was a kid and Take a Chance on Me was my favorite song on it. I would hole up in my room for hours watching the disco lights on stereo (that's right, it had disco lights!) and rehearsing my stage show.

10. I Think I Need a New Heart - The Magnetic Fields. I love the contrast between the light, bouncy arrangement of this song in combination with Stephin Merrit's deep, almost ascerbic singing voice and slightly testy personality. Seeing him in concert for the first time not too long ago somehow cemented in my mind this image of him as a besweatered (but weirdly lovable) curmudgeon. I know that doesn't sound so complimentary, but I respect a good curmudgeon and really do like him, because 69 Love Songs is one of my favorite cds ever.

11. The Way I am - Ingrid Michaelson. Remember when the sweater song was all over the place because of those t.v. commercials? It almost got played too much, but I still really love it, because it is just so sweet.

12. Cupid (Live) - Sam Cooke. I don't even have adjectives to describe how much I love Sam Cooke. He is a silver voiced god. It is so sad to me to think of all he could have done had he not been taken so early, because the catalog for the time he lived is pretty amazing. I love this version of Cupid, because it's just a little raw and shows a different side of Sam's voice.

13. A Little Bit of Riddim - Michael Franti & Spearhead. It's a little repetitive, but, oh man, does this song make me butt dance in the car whenever I hear it. Franti is another one who got some airplay because of one song that got picked up by pop stations, but actually has a catalog and established following. I downloaded their whole cd from iTunes on a whim, because I liked Say Hey when I heard it on the radio and ended up liking the whole thing for its socially conscious lyrics. It shows that popular music can be fun without being stupid (says the woman who likes "That's Not My Name").

14. I Love Rock n Roll - Joan Jett & The Blackhearts. If you want to talk about badass, that was Joan Jett in the early 80's. Jen and I talked on the way to the beach about how this song totally screams things about our teen years and roller skating rinks whenever we hear it, which is pretty funny, considering we both grew up on opposite ends of the country and I totally remember skating to this at Skate World.

15. Suddenly ... (I Miss Carpaty) - Gogol Bordello. There is so much that I love about Gogol Bordello. Their violinist is amazing, but I've talked so much about them the I feel I should probably just cool it, but they are a quirky mix of gypsy folk and punk and so awesome that I almost can't stand it.

16. The Story - Brandi Carlile. I love the notion that the lines on our faces (well, those of us who aren't botoxed beyond recognition, anyway) are a map of our experiences and I love the lyrics in general, especially the part about how "friends think that I'm blessed but they don't know my head is a mess", which speaks so accurately to the crazy I (mostly) keep just below the surface. Preach on, my whackadoo sister, preach on!

17. Pretty Flowers - Steve Martin. This is such a sweet little love song. Even though Steve Martin wrote it, it sounds like something you'd hear in The Songcatcher or find in an anthology of folk tunes. It's just so authentic and unassuming, pretty and unexpected from someone who built is early career dressing up like King Tut and wearing an arrow through his head. Hooray for Steve!

18. Drunkard's Waltz - Joel Savoy. If I could have a theme song, this would be the melody. It skips along so happily and free of care that I think it would please me for people to think of me when they heard it. We've have to do something about the name, though.

19. Cajun Song - Gin Blossoms. I have had the cd this came from since grad school. I received it as a gift and think I've probably listened to the full thing a grand total of once. Still, I've always loved this song, because as a companion piece to my old school gospel affinity, I have an inexplicable affinity for Cajun and Zydeco music. How some 1/2 German kid growing up in the NW with no ties to the bayou developed a fondness for this kind of stuff or why the Gin Blossoms were singing in the height of the grunge years it will always be beyond me.

20. The Lonely Goatherd - Julie Andrews. I don't know what is up with my goatherd fetish lately, but I love singing this song, because of the part at the end where I get to really ham it up, but that will just remain our little secret, Internets. I'm trusting you with this information, so please don't tell anyone!

Cleocatra

2010-03-27T18:52:00.001-07:00

The Watcher in the Window
Originally uploaded by Martina

My sweet little Cleo cat died today. I will miss her.

Happy Anniversary to Me!

2010-03-21T20:49:00.001-07:00

One of the many wonderful things about living in Portland is that two of my favorite places ever - the Columbia River Gorge and Maryhill Museum of Art - are within easy road tripping distance. Since nature saw fit to shine her light in all its glory on the first day of spring (which also happens to be my birthday), there was no other choice but to celebrate with a mini-road trip. So, I got together some of my favorite people and hit the road.

The day started with a lovely brunch with my adopted nephew and his family, who are slowly being absorbed into the auntosphere. It started with the boy. I keep his allegiance by buying him toys and feeding him copious amounts of sugar when he comes to visit, but the older daughter now makes occasional references to me as "Aunt Tina" too. The middle child is a tough teen nut to crack, but I am confident that I will win her over one day too, if I can get her to put down her cell phone and stop texting for long enough to notice there are other people in the room.

Aside from the company, the great thing about brunch was that it was the only meal I've had to cook in the past five days. Thursday lunch was Italian with coworkers and dinner came in the form of happy hour with my friends Goth Girl and The Tattooed Lady, who kindly treated me to pre-birthday porter and a roasted garlic burger. And the dining out has not stop with the weekend either! That's right Portland Area Restaurant Association members, my crew and I are keeping you afloat, so you better smile when you see me waddling up to your front door!

But, back to my story. Picture this. Portland, the first day of spring 2010. The sky is blue, the sun is shining, and people's stomachs are full of maple sausage and apple breakfast casserole. The brunch shift clocks out and the road trip shift arrives. The sun is shining so hard I want to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. I am not. If it were a dream, I would be thinner and George Clooney would be accompanying me.

Even Clooney free, it turns out to be one of my favorite days ever, mostly because my mom and the friends I was travelling with really are a lot of fun. You know how some people can be good friends, but not good road friends, because their pace is too different from yours or because you like piddling around and they have to have a plan? Well, these people are perfect as friends AND road tripping buddies.
As the day progressed, we visited Starvation Creek State Park (I totally want to go back for a picnic one day!) and stopped for lunch at Big Jim's in The Dalles, where the lady at the counter surprised me with free birthday ice cream, which she brought to our table BEFORE lunch came. If there's one thing I've learned in my many moons, it's that you don't mess around with waiting for after lunch when you are full to start with dessert. Big rookie mistake. It's much more efficient to go for the good stuff right off. That way you can be too full when it comes time for the lima beans and not the hot fudge. It just makes good birthday sense and I am ever so happy that Big Jim and I are of one mind on this!

After Jim's it was off to Stonehenge and Maryhill, where we wandered around taking pictures of the peacocks, which really are sexy birds and not just fancy turkeys no matter what some members of my party would have you believe. Then, as the day drew to a close, we sat at a picnic table on the grounds while my people showered me with amazing gifts before heading back to the city for the evening. Looks like this is my lucky year!

Blue Steel: A Love Story

2010-03-21T20:04:00.000-07:00

It has recently come to my attention that all peacocks are named Derek. Well, all but they white ones, which are named Hansel. Like Tyra Banks and their namesake, Derek Zoolander, they are consummate models, who have mastered many looks.

Behold, Magnum:

But while stunning, it is not quite enough,

And so he unveils

Blue Steel

She pretends not to notice,

but eventually succumbs, because

he really is really, really ridiculously good looking

Hello Spring!

2010-03-18T22:16:00.001-07:00

P1010018
Originally uploaded by Martina

The magnolia tree outside my bedroom window has just started to bud. The past few days have been so sunny and pink that I've been craving picnics and days at the beach even though there was frost on my windshield when I left for work this morning. Although it's my birthday this weekend and everyone knows you should get whatever you want on your birthday, I'm guessing that it's going to be hard get anyone on board with celebrating my naissance out in the cold, even if it is sunny cold or sunny cold with cake.

I've often considered moving my birthday to a month more amenable to picnics in wildflower filled meadows or maybe having a birthday and birthday, observed like some dead President from day gone by. Ultimately, this just seems like too much work. For one, I am horribly indecisive and it would be difficult to decide on a day, then once the day was chosen and then there'd be the bother of retraining everyone to shower me with gifts and well wishes at a different time of year. Who needs that kind of headache? Not only am I old(ish), but I'm lazy too. So, I'm sticking with the first day of spring, which has always seemed to me a very good day to start a new year.

There is something promising about pink buds and sunny days when you've already braced yourself for a few more rainy, gray weeks before summer returns. As luck has it, it's supposed to be in the upper 60's/low 70's on Saturday. While that's a little cool for sitting outside for long periods of time, it is perfect weather for a trip to visit the peacocks at Maryhill Museum of Art, which just happens to be celebrating its 70th season opening on my birthday this year. I like to think of it as my season opening too!

stressbusting tips for goatherds

2010-02-27T11:18:00.001-08:00

I am neither a goatherd, nor do I play one on t.v., but I do know a little about stress. A year ago, I moved into a new role at work. At first, it was all rainbows and unicorns. It was something new to do, I loved my new boss (and still do), and it got me out from under the thumb of the well meaning but micromanaging woman who had been my boss for the past seven years. Then came the news that there would be a pay cut, no fancy new title and a workload that increased by month. By summer, it was not uncommon for me to be working nights and weekends of overtime. There are days now when I feel myself on the verge of just giving my notice, even if I have no new prospect on the horizon yet. That is just not the sort of thing I do, which says a lot.

Over the course of the year I have stopped writing, playing my violin, singing, reading, taking pictures, going on mini- (and maxi-) roadtrips, and hanging out much with friends. While I know people who have aspirations of clawing their way to middle management or becoming directors before they hit 40, I don't feel any of those things about my job. What I feel is that I want to do something that makes more of a difference and that the job I have is slowly robbing me of all the things that make life worth living. Not that I'm well paid, but no amount of money is worth that. I also feel (and know, thanks to my doctor) that my blood pressure has gone up since I started doing this job. There are times when the whole thing overwhelms me so much that I cry my way home at night.

Frankly, it's not worth a stroke or heart attack, so I have been trying to find little ways to ease my stress level while I look for a new job/figure out if I'm too old to go back to school and make a total career change/determine if my situation at the one I have is worth salvaging. Meanwhile, here are some things that have kept me from jumping off a bridge on the worst days (in case you were wondering, this is where the goatherds come in):

1. Sing. While I love music of all sorts, I find that show tunes interspersed by the occasional up tempo Sweet Honey in the Rock song work best for this. My current favorites by far, however, are The Lonely Goatherd from the original Sound of Music soundtrack (as opposed to the muppet version above, but who doesn't love muppets?) and Storm Large's vagina song, because it's difficult to take anything too seriously while yodeling or belting about vaginas. Usually by the time I get to Julie Andrews' big yodeling finale or the "just the boys" part of the vagina song I'm at least laughing a little. Ultimately, that's really what it's all about - not taking things so seriously. It could just as easily be any kind of silliness that make you feel good.

2. New pajamas to wear while an evening at home reading or watching movies while eating Chinese takeout. I've said it before, but the Nick & Nora line Target carries is an awesome, inexpensive resource for this. Current fave: My new confused gnome pajamas. They have not only gnomes and mushroom caps, but rainbows and pots of gold, because they are apparently part of the Irish gnome diaspora who have adopted social customs from the leprauchans. This does not make them any less fab or any less a part of my birthday month pajama ensemble.

3. Plan a trip. Even if I can't exactly take it now, somehow thinking about where I could go always makes me feel a little better, especially when combined by google earth sightseeing. How cool is that that you can type in an address anywhere in the world (that has pictures loaded, anwyay) and actually see the place. I can amuse myself for hours, just looking up the houses of people I know, the places I've lived, and the places I've travelled and want to travel. It reminds me that there is a whole world outside of whatever passing "crisis" is currently raising my stress level. The truth is that most things that cause drama in a corporate environment are passing and really not that important outside of that microcosm (and that's really true of any microcosm we're in).

4. Leave the real world for a while. This can be via reading, watching a movie, making something, even playing a video game. While I don't find a whole lot of time for these things anymore, when I do, the distraction can be a sanity saver, especially for someone like me who tends to zero in on a problem and obsess over it to the point that she can't eat or sleep. I actually lost 12 pounds during the month of December simply by forgetting to eat, because I was so busy worrying. While I need to lose weight, that wasn't how I wanted to do it!

5. Meditate. Sometimes just taking some deep breaths and meditating or praying (if that's your deal) or even just having a quiet, little talk with yourself can make a world of difference. (And it's even better if you can do it in a hot bath filled with bubbles!)

6. Journaling. It's been ages since I've journaled or blogged regularly at all, but when I do, it helps. Sometimes just putting things in writing can make you feel a little less burdened. It's definitely worth doing more often.

7. Don't let the stresser take over. This is the one where I fall off Mellow Road. I do let it take over my life. I stop hanging out with friends, stop making time to do the things I enjoy and find myself feeling constantly worn to the bone. It's something I need to work on. In the end, I know I won't look back and wish I'd worked more. I mean, who does?

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

2010-01-07T13:47:00.000-08:00

The wind has been blowing like crazy around these parts today, which reminds me of Shelly's Ode to the West Wind. The poem is not really as much about meteorology as it is about change, but on a blustery January day, poems involving wind and change still seem apropos. As much as part of me wants the wind to calm down, there is another part that likes to think that it is blowing away the last remnants of the old year to make room for the new. It seems like a good (if fanciful) theory, so I am going to roll with it.

I like to think that the wind is sweeping away some of my laissez-faire attitude about keeping my personal life happily organized, directed, and filled with the things that bring me satisfaction. At work, I am a organizational machine that has an action plan for everything and tracking sheets for tracking sheets, but at home...Let's just say that I am a little more relaxed - and not always to my betterment!). I don't know about you. Maybe you are one of those people who never lets things slides, draws firm boundaries and doesn't get distracted, but I'm constantly confounded by why it is so easy to stay on track when someone pays me to (or even just when someone else needs my help), but less so when it comes to doing things that are all about me! Well, no more, I say!

This week I have continued to think about goals for 2010. I am liking the idea of approaching them as a To Do list with some deadlines, rather than a vague set of resolutions about how I really am going to lose weight this time or spend more time with friends or take a real vacation or get off my ass and exercise regularly. This year I am taking a more intentional approach, thinking about what is important to me, how the goal will improve quality of life, and, most importantly, and how to attack it. I expect to have a list by the end of the week, but have already begun by organizing the Christmas decorations when I took them down instead of just throwing them into a random box not unlike the metaphorical one I keep filled with the well intentioned, but ultimately failed plans of years gone by. Wish me luck!

I've been thinking...

2010-01-01T21:50:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! As someone who has great energy for beginning new things (sometimes moreso than for finishing them), I love the start of a new year. There's something satisfying about archiving the old year and starting the new one on a fresh, blank page. It's definitely time for a change.

It's been ages since I've posted anything of substance, because my work has been positively soul sucking for the past six or eight months. After a great start to 2009 with a wonderful new boss (who is still wonderful), my job has snowballed into this monster that can't be caged. There have been pay cuts, expanded responsibilities, weeks where I've worked 30 hours by Tuesday, and times where I couldn't enjoy the little time I did have off, because my mind was so riddled with work dross that it just wouldn't shut down. And for someone who firmly believes that a job is just a job and not life, this is not a tenable situation.

It's funny sometimes how long we keep plodding along on in a situation that does not make us happy, simply because we are so immersed that we don't have time to think of change as an option. Little by little, the things we love fall out of our lives. We don't sleep right, we don't eat right. The next thing we know there is a dirty rumor circulating that we are workaholics. Despite our philosophy that work is just work, we realize that we're no longer doing things like writing, finishing projects, reading, taking pictures, playing the kazoo, hanging out with friends. Your list may be different, but you get the picture.

Fueled by two glorious weeks of vacation and the resolute tenor that accompanies the dawning of a new year, the CEO of Me, Inc. has decided that it's not only okay to want to be happy, but that striving to be so is important and should receive as much energy as we put into the things others pay us to do. The thing is that I don't really love resolutions. Resolutions sound like something you start and then allow to peter away as the year progresses. So, this year I am setting goals - SMART goals, even. If it's good enough for the projects someone else pays me to do, it should be good enough for me!

As it turns out, the Internets are as full of advice on goal setting as they are of everything else. While some of the tools come through expensive life coaching programs or for a more modest subscription price of $19.95 a month, there is a ton of free stuff out there - like these worksheets and that's just the tip of the iceberg. After all, I've only spent a couple minutes researching and we haven't even talked about the library yet! The tools are all there. It's just a matter of putting them together.

So, instead of making a ton of resolutions this year, my only resolution is to come up with a few well thought out goals and a plan to achieve them. Meanwhile, I hope that this new year fulfills all of the fresh, new potential it holds for me, for you, for everyone.

Thank you, merci, danke, grazie, etc.

2009-11-26T10:43:00.001-08:00

There was a time when I almost hated holidays like Thanksgiving. It's not that I don't like the idea of getting together with loved ones or the copious amounts of comfort food. If there was ever a hobbitesque, second breakfast kind of people, it's my family. It is more that I always felt there was something missing.

Growing up, my family felt small. My paternal grandparents died when I was young. There were relatives in Germany, but they were too far away to come for holidays, especially Thanksgiving. Oddly enough, Germans don't care so much about the pilgrims or their wild poultry. So, most of the time, it was just the three of us. My dad would watch football and my mom would cook like she did every night. The preparations just took a little longer. Thanksgiving felt like any other day, but with turkey, yam casserole and a hollow sense of being this lonely little familial island in a neighborhood full of packed driveways and holiday cheer. Of course, now I know that it is not the size of the family, but the love in it that is important. Spend a Thanksgiving on the prairie eating fettucine alfredo while watching an interminable movie about a lonely beekeeper with an almost stranger who also couldn't afford to fly home for the holiday, and you will know how true it is!

It was not until I was older that I realized that we make our own families. I have a few relatives in the area, but my blood family itself is small. At this point, there is just my mom left. I do, however, have a huge family of the heart. This year I had more Thanksgiving invitations than I could attend. It pains me that there are not four of me, so we could go to each one and that I couldn't accept the invitation I most wanted to attend, but it also makes me happy to know that I am blessed in having such a big adopted family.

So, wherever you are and whoever you area, if you are reading this (and even if you are not), I hope this autumn night finds you warm, happy and, most of all, with the people you love.

Pajama Day (October Style)

2009-10-11T11:18:00.000-07:00

I love October so much! I think we should do it twice, maybe thrice and get rid of one of those dead weight months like April. Rain, taxes? April showers bring May flowers? This is Oregon where it rains like a mofo nine months a year, there'll be plenty of time for rain! Nothing good ever happens in April! But October...Now there's a month for you! Sunny, windy days, pumpkins, spooky stuff, and license to wear costumes without anyone looking at you funny. It's like October was made for me! It's such a clean, crisp month.

I don't know what it is about autumn, but it always turns me into Robert Post's child. I want to reevaluate things and make them neat and pretty. That goes for my closet, my my head, my life. I am on vacation this week, which is good, because work was getting me to the point where I felt like I was about to break. There was one day where I actually cried my way home from Wilsonville to Portland. This weekend is the first one I have had off in something like three weeks. A couple weeks ago , I had a Sunday where I spent 12 hours at work (TWELVE HOURS!). It's been so long since I've seen some of my friends, I don't think they'd recognize me, if I bumped into them on the street. I work to live, not the other way around. I want my life back!

Lucky for me (and probably everyone around me, because I seriously was close to snapping), I am on vacation this week and have a whole host of soul restoring plans. Vacation week kicked off with a pajama day. Pajama day is a wonderful, cleansing thing. It was almost perfect except for that around 3 p.m. a friend called, wanting to come over. While I adore him, the sanctity of pajama day is such that it demands that one not get dressed for a full day, not just part. Those are the rules. I don't just make them up here, people! (Except that I totally DO!)

Pajama Day is serious. It only comes when there is a code red mental health situation. You know, what I'm talking about. It is for those days when you are so worn down that if someone were to fuck with you, it would be anybody's guess whether you'd just burst into tears or try to gut them with carving knife (but, of course, crumble into a heap before anyone really got hurt, because you're not the kind of person to actually stab anyone). And I was ready! I had my sock monkey pajamas (I'm saving my black dia de los meurtos skull ones in case I have a meltdown a little closer to Halloween!), plentry of beverage, marshmallow pinwheels, and enough Chinese food to fill all my eating-out-of-the-box needs for a day.

But, then, because we had nothing in the house suitable to offer a non-diet coke swilling guest, I was forced to actually get dressed and go out among the living. The first rule of Pajama Day is that you don't talk about Pajama Day (or anything else), while wearing real clothes and you certainly don't go to Safeway! I have to admit that having to go out put me in a bit of a foul mood. Thankfully, it only lasted for about a half an hour. Once I saw my friend, I was happy to see him and really enjoyed our afternoon together. Sometimes rules, even pajama rules, are meant to be broken.

Frankly, I really love it when people drop in or call unexpectedly to see if you want to do something. It's such a nice, spontaneous, "oh, look, they were thinking of me!" surprise. I wish it would happen more often! In the end, it turned out to be a perfect Pajama Day, because it reminded me that rules and schedules are for work, not relaxation. So, here is to spontaneity, letting go of the rules, and enjoying a great vacation week!

Little Birds

2009-09-27T09:17:00.000-07:00

A thousand stories run through my head, but remain trapped there. They are caged birds that have been denied the room to fly. Their wings have a way of starting to flap at the wrong time - at work when there is no time to let them out or at night when I am too tired to let them dart about to finally land on a page.

The draft list on this blog is not much better. It is a graveyard of incomplete posts about camping trips, outdoor Andrew Byrd/Decemberists concerts, and other events so far gone that it seems silly to try to recapture their excitement now. And you don't even want to see the shambles of my half-completed home redecoration project. Seriously.

The older I get, the faster time goes and the more quickly the time that once seemed so abundant slips away. This feeling rules this moment when my work is insane, even for my place of business. Last week, I worked 22 hours over the weekend alone and the work is not yet done. My mantra has become "It will all be better after next week" (aka the day the project is due and my vacation begins). I am fortunate to have a job working for the best boss ever. Frankly, I don't think I could do I worked for some total douchebag, but it still wears me down. If I can hold out to the end, there nine glorious days of vacation to reward me. It is a shame my sanity won't be along to enjoy it.

While I am not at all inflexible, I have always had healthy boundary when it comes to work infringing on my personal time. I don't fuck around. My traditional stance has been this: I work hard when I'm at work, but my free time is mine and mine alone. Lately, however, I suspect I am becoming one of those workaholic people I used to scoff at. It's just a job right? Truly, maybe even verily.

The thing is that it was a lot easier when my responsibilities were fewer. Couple a Protestant work ethic with a strong sense of responsibility and add a dose of perfectionism and it becomes too easy to cross the line between "While I am here, I will strive to be the best possible professional I can be" and "Oh my God! Oh my God, I have do get this done. There's no way I can take a vacation! Oh, and p.s., the sky is falling!"

And, then, I wonder: Why can't I apply the same kind of diligence and dedication to my personal life? I had a recent (but blessedly benign) health scare that has made me think about this a lot). There are so many places where it could use the kind of discipline and organization I employ at work. Pay me to do something for someone else, and I am not happy unless it is perfect. Ask me to do something for my own well being (eat better, exercise, carve out some time for myself) and suddenly I'm all about starting tomorrow (if at all). Somewhere in there, there's a profound Stuart Smalley statement pertaining to a pretty jacked up sense of self-worth. I mean, I really am good enough and smart enough, aren't I?

But that's the beauty of fall. For some reason every fall as the seasons begin their autumnal descent toward the death of another calendar year, I find myself thinking about ways in which to improve my physical and spirtual home. And it's a good thing, because there's a lot that needs attention, a lot of birds that need to get out and fly.

A is for Aggie whose fuel pump went dead

2009-07-12T10:29:00.001-07:00

It will always be a great mystery to me how the tow truck driver and stranger to dentifrice who rescued my car last Wednesday managed to rot only his top row of dull yellows. He was a winker and a smiler, who misguidedly thought flashing the little brown stumps he called teeth in a cheeky grin would charm me. It did almost charm the breakfast out of my stomach, but that's not quite the same thing. I didn't have time for developing a more than a professional relationship with a tow truck driver, let alone a toothless one, for after 85,000 miles my sweet blue ride had its first bout with car trouble.

It is always a strange milestone in the life of a car to see it on the back of a tow truck for the first time. As cars go, I LOVE my Toyota. The Saturn I had before it had starter trouble on a regular basis and it would take less time to tell you about the times the piece of shit Dodge I had before that actually ran than it would to chronicle its breakdowns. My Matrix, Agamemnon aka Aggie (don't ask me why, because I only remember that its maiden voyage involved a friend shouting "You have angered Agamemnon!" every time we passed a pokey car on the highway), has been a dream in comparison. I drive a lot, and it had had nothing but routine maintenance thusfar. Now it also has a new fuel pump, battery and tires to go with the new front breaks it got about two months ago. This all comes at an odd time, when I find myself aching for the road.

Lately, something deep inside me wants to just hop in the car and go - just drive with no destination in mind beyond where I end up. I think it may be the adult version of running away from home. I like to think that my car's demand for maintenance means that it too has designs on a road trip and wanted to be in tip-top form (kinda like seeing a doctor before starting an exercise regimen!). Now that everything is fresh and healthy, we are BOTH ready to go.

My last good road trips were last summer. My urge to hit the highway is further bolstered by my friend Jeff's current project wherein he hits the road in his van with his two dogs and a trailer filled with books (his and his friend Kurt's) and travels the country doing readings, selling novels and blogging about it all. And he won't come back until the trailer is empty. The freedom is like a siren song trying to lure me from my desk in search of an adventure of my own.

And I do have a weekend long beachy road trip to a cabin not unlike the one in the picture coming up at the end of July. While I am sure it will be lovely, I can already feel that it won't be enough. It is, however, a start. My car is ready and I've got the whole week off, so we'll see where we end up.

Ferris Bueller's Day Off

2009-06-27T19:00:00.000-07:00

The question isn't "what are we going to do," the question is "what aren't we going to do?" - Ferris Bueller

Sometimes you just need a mental health day. So one day last week I gathered together some (but not all) of the members of my gang (my mom, Mexican Jenny and Antonio) and we had an impromptu day out. It started with an early lunch at Portland's wonderful and summery Island Café, a floating restaurant in McCuddy's Marina on Hayden Island*. It's nothing fancy - just your basic brew pub and burger fare with a couple fish dishes thrown in (the lobster salad wrap was tasty!), but still surprisingly affordable given its location right on the water AND it looks like a great place to go for happy hour on a warm day. Even better, it is the kind of place where you can get a four year old to pinky swear that he will buy you a houseboat one day when he is grown up and wealthy. I already have mine picked out. Meet my future neighbor:

After lunch, we fed the birds until Antonio fell down and had to be medivac'ed to the Jantzen Beach Target for Spiderman Bandaids and a medicinal ice cream bar. Somehow he also got a soda and new pair of Transformer pajamas (which he insisted on wearing IMMEDIATELY) out of the deal, but what can you do? The newly unsick have to be coddled or they might relapse. Here he is convalescing at our next stop - Portland's International Rose Test Garden.

The rose garden in summer really is one of the loveliest parts about living in this city. Even the bathrooms look like fairy tale cottages. Walking past, you half expect an old crone to come limping out of the door to offer you a poisoned apple or some freshly baked gingerbread that can be yours, if you're just willing to come within pushing distance of her oven.

But, of course, it is the roses themselves that are the star of the show. Can you think of a prettier place just minutes away from a downtown area? If the roses alone aren't enough for you, there are beautiful views of downtown and eve Mt. Hood.

AND it is within walking distance of what my four year old friend tells me is the apex of modern civilization as we know it - a train. This particular track runs between the garden and the Oregon zoo.

Sadly, it was one of the later trains of the day, so we were only able to stay for an hour or so, but we did get to see the bats, which is awesome because they are BATS! and bats are considered good luck in some cultures.

I am inclined to believe it is true.

*Note: If you live in Portland, and you decide to visit the Island Café - and you totally should - know that they are only open during the summer months through October and only between 11 a.m. and sunset. Also, even though their website shows pictures touting "family fun" and it IS family friendly in terms of not being inappropriate for children (at least during the day, I haven't been at night - yet), they don't have much in the way of a kid's menu and the waitress seemed a little put out when we asked, so be prepared to share or pay full price for a meal, knowing your little rugrat will probably have a lot of leftovers. On the other hand, the four year old we took LOVED being on the water and watching the boats and feeding all the waterfowl, so it's probably still worth it.

The Secret Ingredient is %$#@*!

2009-06-21T12:35:00.000-07:00

Today as I was making solstice soup (because nothing says summer like eating a steaming, hot bowl of soup under a grey, Oregon sky), I decided that what I really need is my own Food Network cooking show. Of course, because of my penchant for emphatically yelling things like "mother fucker!" when a can of fire roasted tomatoes explodes all over me because the magnet on the electric can opener is not nearly as magnetic as it would like for me to believe, there would have to be a parental warning. But that's ok, because I am pretty taken with the idea of actually having a cooking show that begins with the "this program is intended for mature audiences only" disclaimer. I'm telling you, I think think there's a market for me and my keepin' it real style of culinary magic. It's not like you'll ever hear that fussy looking Sandra Lee yell out "son of a bitch!" when she drops a platter of semi-homemade chalupas all over the floor.

Of course, the best episodes would be when my mother came on as a special guest chef. It would be just like when Giada flies her nonna in from Palermo (or wherever she's from), except for that my mom would just walk in from the living room. The fact that she lives with me would keep our show low budget. We'd (mostly) good naturedly bicker over how things were properly done. Eventually, something would go wrong, I would swear, she'd flip me off, and then we'd laugh. Seriously. I have never met a 70 year old more ready to go "birding" at the drop of a hat. Her fondness for her special finger - especially when there's a camera around - is all the more surprising given her otherwise strong feelings about "acting like a lady". A lady dockworker, maybe. But I digress...

The point is that we can cook and, thanks to a youth spent in the company of my father, I can also swear up a blue streak when the conditions are right. There can be something positively liberating in a well placed curse word, especially for those of us who spend 90% of our time with our tongues on lockdown. More importantly, however, while cookies might taste better when made with love, everyone knows that soups (especially the spicy ones!) taste better when made with passion.

p.s. Happy Solstice!

Could my dog be any cuter (or weirder)?

2009-06-17T19:19:00.001-07:00

Sept 08 - May 09 261
Originally uploaded by Martina

While fully acknowledging that other people's pets and kids are rarely as cute as they think they are, I have to say that my dog Lily is pretty stinking cute. It's not because she's a perfect papillon (not that I care about that in the slightest - I LIKE her floppy ears and gigantic 11 lb frame), but because of the unmitigated willingness to be all the weird little dog she can be. Like all spoiled pets, she is not shy about sharing her personality quirks, chief among them that she is a complete stranger to the "thou shall not covet" commandment.

Not only will she steal anything that is not nailed down (and I do mean ANYTHING - shoes, books, pens, pillows, plastic bottles almost as big as she is), but once it is in her possession she will hide and guard it with the ferocity of a dog six times her size. And that brings me to my wake up call this morning. After falling asleep on the couch watching t.v. last night, I was awakened this morning around 6:30 to the odd sensation of something scratching in my hair and behind my back.

Still half asleep, I wasn't too concerned, but vaguely remember mumbling something like "Lily go away" and going back to sleep. About an hour later, I was awakened to the sound of soft growling and realized that Lily had at some point after the hair scratching perched herself on my shoulder and was now grumbling at any cat, dog or human with the temerity to come within a three foot radius of the couch.

And why would she do that, you ask?

Because the early morning hair scratching was her, hiding three dog treats (probably stolen from the other dogs) in my hair.

How do people live without pets?

Reading in the Garden (The Fun Summer Book List)

2009-06-16T08:34:00.001-07:00

The best thing about summer is that it is nice enough out to spend a lot of time outside. It's what puts it among my top four favorite seasons. During the rainy winter months, my head often strays to wistful thoughts of barbeques, concerts on the lawn at the zoo, walks in the woods, and reading in the shade. It dawned on me yesterday that my favorite place in the world right now is my back yard. While the age worn back deck needs some work, the yard itself is, quite frankly, one of the prettiest yards I know.

It beckons to me when days are long and work is stressful. On those days, I find myself looking forward to grabbing a book and a beverage (lately a Radler or a Diet Coke) and heading straight for a chaise longue. Lately, my reading of choice is light - mysteries, Regency period zombie novels, and young adult offerings. And so, I've been thinking about what I would recommend to someone looking for a summer reading list.

So far the list in my head looks something like this:

1. Anything by Elizabeth Peters or Barbara Michaels (aka Barbara Mertz): These are all fun, sometimes spooky mysteries. The Peters books tend a little more toward spooky with a rational explanation, the Michaels ones are happy to leave ghosts ghosts or at the very least leave the question open. Some of the early ones can feel a bit dated with their plucky, feminist heroines, but both are great fun.

2. Mary Stewart's gothic novels à la Thornyhold, Nine Coaches Waiting: Although best known for her Merlin books, it's her gothic fiction that I adore (if you can't tell already, I am a fan of gothic!). Written largely in the 50's and 60's, they manage to escape the kind of dated feel that sometimes rears its head in the Peters/Michaels books.

3. Dodie Smith's I Capture the Castle: Words may not exist to adequately capture just how charming this novel is. It tells the story of an impoverished family's life in a ramshackle castle on the English countryside via the perspective of the smart and witty younger daughter's journal. Set in the 30's, the novel brings to mind it's 19th century English cousins written by Bronte and Austen (alas without zombies) with a little bit of Stella Gibson thrown in.

4. Young adult/kids novels like Cornelia Funke's Inkheart, JK Rowling's Harry Potter series, etc.: Having just recently read it, Inkheart readily comes to mind, but there is something really pleasing about reading a kids' book when you just want to get away from the real world. I think that's probably why the Harry Potter books and the dreadfully enticing (until book 4) Twilight series are so widely read among adults - even those without children. Even now there is something I find vastly comforting about reading The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe when things are not going well and my childhood copy of The Hobbit is so worn I'm not sure how the pages still manage to hold together, but they do and they are there waiting for me anytime my mind needs to escape from something horrible that has happened, like life.

5. Anything by Neil Gaiman, but especially Stardust, Neverwhere, The Graveyard Book. Oh, and American Gods and that delightfully funny one he wrote with Terry Pratchett (the Discworld guy), Good Omens. Really, you're pretty safe with any of his novels. All of them are imaginative, well written and a great escape.

6. William Golden's The Princess Bride. The book is as charming (maybe even moreso) as the movie, which is pretty faithful to the original. If you have not read it, you owe it to yourself. Your brain will thank you for the escape into a fairy tale world.

7. John Kennedy Toole's A Confederacy of Dunces. One of my favorite pieces of fiction, and definitely my favorite bit of Southern fiction (God bless whoever came up with the idea of categorizing, because it allows me to proclaim pretty much allows me to proclaim all my bookish loves favories in one way or another!). Sadly, its author committed suicide barely into his 30's, which is not very summery or fun, but before he went, he left behind this amazing, wonderfully entertaining and well written book about New Orleans that posthumously won him a Pulitzer and has subsequently influenced another generation of Southern writers.

8. Joe Keenan's Blue Heaven and Putting on the Ritz . It has been ages since I read either these, but I remember loving both of these light hearted novels from Frasier producer and writer, Joe Keenan at the time. The books are laugh out loud funny, with a style akin to P.G. Wodehouse meets Will & Grace (though that is perhaps unfair, since Will & Grace came later). Apparently Keenan has released another title (My Lucky Star) since the last time I looked at either of these, so I may be adding him to my summer reading list as well. Bonus recommendation: They also share much in madcap spirit with Marc Acito's more recent, but equally zany Edward Zanni novels (How I Paid for College, Attack of the Theater People), which I've talked about here before. They also make for some good summer reading and have cheered me up considerably when I needed a lift!

11. Sarah Waters' Affinity. For someone who is straight (but not narrow!), I apparently have a fondness for the gay fiction. Personally, I prefer to think of it as a fondness for a good book - period. But I digress . . . Affinity has all the makings of a good read - it's smart, spooky and centers around 19th century spiritualism, which also reminds me of another fun non-fiction book about the real life New York spiritualist community of Lily Dale.

12. Christine Wicker's Lily Dale: The True Story of the Town that Talks to the Dead. Founded in 1879, the community has been a center of Spiritualism for the past 130 years and still offers workshops and programs centered around mediumship, healing, and psychic phenomena. Over the course of the book, reporter Christine Wicker explores not only the history of the town but the reasons why people flock to such places, looking for love and connection with the departed (and in doing so her own beliefs about spirituality - but don't let that scare you away it's subtle) as she visits with its residents and visitors of the community. (Just as an aside: Man, do I wish that place were closer! If it were, I would be feeling a serious road trip coming on. Hmmm. A cheap flight to the East coast, a good deal rental car. It's not beyond the realm of possiblity. All I need now is some money and a cohort!)

And thus ends (part 1?) of my summer reading list - not because I have run out of books, but because I am peckish and feeling a deep need for lunch. But, while I am away (and knowing my erratic commitment to blogging of late, it could be an hour it could be a month), what are your favorite summer books?

Fat Bottomed Girls

2009-06-10T22:28:00.000-07:00

Last summer was not a banner year in the battle against lardosity. (Like the war against terror, it is an ongoing battle concurrently taking place on many fronts.) Things started out pretty well with a June beach trip that involved lots of walking, swimming and outdoorsy stuff, but then fell apart pretty quickly after I decided to join the LA Fitness down the street. Call me crazy, but being called fat (and DUH, why did he think I was there?), hit in the face with a medicine ball, and told to "mush" like a sled dog by an employee who was trying to sell me an add on fitness package, all while a group of gym rats looked on, did not exactly leave my motivation to go back at a high point. Add to that a dog and flipflop related foot injury and the War on Lard was all but lost.

Back in college, a friend and I used to go to the gym together almost every night. At the time, we used to joke about how most of the gym's male employees would climb over a fat girl passed out on the treadmill just to get in better flirting range of a blonde with implants. Finding myself in the role of fat girl embarassed me, then pissed me off sufficiently enough to pen a Grandpa Simpsonesque "Dear modern bride..." type membership cancellation letter, which was then completely ignored by the customer service drones at their headquarters. After that, I swore I'd never have anything to do with corporate fitness again.

Slowly as my foot has healed, I've started working my way back into exercising a bit. It started with some walking, then Wii fit, and last weekend I got my bike back out of storage. Then, my friend finally succeed in her nine month crusade to get me to join her gym. After my experience at the other place, I was really reticent, but her gym was running a special online (no initiation fee, $29 month to month membership, and I can go to any of their locations in the country), so I figured I didn't have anything that wasn't already jiggly to lose. Tonight we went to work out for the first time. Much to my surprise, it did not make me feel self-conscious, but really good. The woman who processed my membership card did not exactly overwhelm me with information about how things work there, but that was actually perfect for me. At this point, I prefer to just do my own thing. I basically know what I need to do to get in shape.

The low pressure approach left me feeling excited about what I was doing. It was actually fun to go work out with a friend. By the time we were done, a lot of the stress that had accrued during my work day had melted away. That alone is worth a lot! Hopefully we will be able to keep each other motivated. If we can (and why wouldn't we?), this summer is poised to be a much healthier one than the last. No doubt, I have a long way to go, but ultimately, you have to meet yourself where you are. Where I am today is feeling pretty good about having begun to do something good for myself!

A Day of Rest

2009-06-06T11:58:00.001-07:00

Do you ever get to the point where even though the past few weekends have been almost unbearably fun (barbeques, basketball games, foreign visitors, etc.), your work weeks have become so hectic and tiring that the only left to do is call a moratorium on all mentally and physically stressful activities and proclaim a day of rest? That is exactly what things have come to this weekend.

A day of rest is not for everyone. My 70 year old mother would sit down for five minutes, then next thing you know, she'd be out back cutting down a tree or adding an East wing onto the house. This happened a few weeks ago, when we were "relaxing" in the garden after a really lovely barbeque with friends. Nose deep in a book, I looked up from my chaise lounge in the shade of our dwarf apple tree just in time to see her stride by with a bow saw. Suffice it to say the ailing Chain of Gold tree that once graced our back yard has been saved the trouble of a slow wasting away. I won't even tell you about the time she single handedly brought down a large blue spruce, but I will say that it is this kind of unsavory "getting things done" that causes me to live in constant fear of waking up one morning to a hole in the ceiling with her waving down at me while cheerfuly proclaiming that she's almost done with the second story and my room is the lucky winner for where to put the staircase.

My idea of rest is something quite different. It requires pajamas, a large quantity of refreshing beverage, a snack (today it is cherries), a faithful companion (example pictured above, but any manner of dog or cat will do - even a rabbit or ferret is acceptable, so be creative! Caution: I would, however, not recommend a goldfish - or any manner of fish, really - as they are not good cuddlers), and (most importantly) a good book. If additional eating must be done, it should really be takeout or, at the very least, cooked by someone else. I may eventually get dressed if I feel like it, but the rule of the day is: If it is not in some way satisfying or relaxing, I don't do it. As a result, it is well past noon, I am still wearing my new surf monkey pajamas (I highly recommend the Nick & Nora line for the kind of whimsical patterns that make staying in your pajamas all day worthwhile!) and I don't care, because studies have shown that sock monkey pajamas have great restorative properties. After only one night of wearing them, for the first time in weeks, I was able to sleep in on a Saturday morning instead of waking up at six or seven. I don't think I need to point out how wrong that is. Praise the Holy Sock Monkey, I am cured!

Today's book of choice is Cornelia Funke's Inkheart, because I often find that young adult novels make for good escapist reading. They take me back to my youth when my mind could become so absorbed into a story that I could spend hours imagining myself as one of its characters, long after the actual reading of it was finished. And this is a book about books and characters who love books, so I know it will be thoroughly loveable:

Stacks of books were piled high all over the house - not just arranged in neat rows on bookshelves, the way other people kept them, oh no! The books in Mo and Meggie's house were stacked under tables, on chairs, in the corners of the rooms. There were books in the kitchen and books in the lavatory. Books on the TV set and in the closet, tall piles of books, books thick and thin, books old and new. They welcomed Meggie down to breakfast with invitingly opened pages; they kept boredom at bay when the weather was bad. And sometimes you fell over them.

Maybe it's because this sounds a lot like my last grad school apartment or maybe it's because it is filled with characters with names like Dustfinger and Silvertongue (who can bring fictional characters to life just by reading aloud!), but I have high hopes for this book that cannot even be dashed by the existence of a Brendan Frasier movie version that I never saw, but suspect could have done better with a healthy dose of Johnny Depp (mostly because I feel that Johnny Depp ca. Chocolat should play some role in all movies and I had already developed a Deppian picture in my head for Meggies dark and devestatingly handsome, bohemian father and he looks nothing like old, thick-necked Brendan Frasier who was fine in The Mummy, but has no role in the Inkheart movie in my head).

Later, if I can work up the energy to find the remote, I may watch a little Buffy or Angel while eating Chinese takeout directly from the box, but for now, my day is Inkheart, pajamas and wearing an ass groove into the couch. But that is all for now, because I have a whole lot of nothing to get done and I'm already behind schedule.

Let's start at the very beginning...

2009-05-24T09:33:00.000-07:00

The overwhelmingly glorious and sunny weather here in Portland has for the past few weeks been in large part responsible for my unplanned vacation from Blogland. Late spring and early summer always a bit of a crap shoot as we move from the rainy season into the less rainy season and, finally, the two weeks we call "summer" here in Oregon. This year, however, we have been blessed with May weather fit for the gods, which made our first bout of sunshine the perfect time to skip the bike ride I'd had planned with a non-Captain loving (but very understanding) friend to stay inside and go to a movie.

Crazy, I know. But this wasn't just any movie! This was Cinema 21's singalong showing of The Sound of Music, an event I've wanted to go to for ages. In years past, I've always managed to find out about it just after it was over. This time, however, I faithfully remained on heightened Code Red Von Trapp alert from March-May until Portland's non-Nazi answer to Rolf (aka Willamette Week) provided me with a telegram (aka advertisement) for the showing. After singing a duet of "60 going on 70" (because I'm slightly albeit still depressingly closer to 60 than 16), we went our separate ways, but not before dancing in a gazebo to promises that WW would look out for me, because I'm just a dumb girl who needs a newspaper of masculine intelligence to take care of me.

The thing about singalong Sound of Music is that it's The Sound of Music AND you can sing along with the movie and - get this! - NOT GET KICKED OUT OF THE THEATER! These things were made to go together, like peanutbutter and chocolate, braised red cabbage and apples, alpenhorns and stupid hats! So, on the big day we headed off to Muu Muu's for lunch (even after many years, a Muu Muu Burger and fries with and a side of brutus dressing are a thing of great delight!) and then got in line with a lot of other people to wait for the show.

Inside we were offered little bags containing plastic edelweiss and champagne-shaped confetti poppers for the party scene and advice for how to make the viewing more fun (like the singing along wasn't enough!). Still, the announcer was charming and it's hard not to be entertained at a movie where the audience includes a girl wearing a teapot on her head (she'd rode in on Max that way and won a prize for her costume!) and a family who had brought along a cardboard boat and waves to go along with their "play clothes" made from real curtains.

The cool thing about seeing a movie that I've seen a million times in that environment was that for all the silliness and talking back at the screen, it actually made me see the film with new eyes. For example, I'd never noticed how progressively darker the sets and lighting become as the story turns toward dealing with Nazism. As a kid I was too busy mooning over how handsome Captain von Trapp was to be bothered with such details. Back then it was all about the music, the Ländler (still my favorite scene in the movie, because the dance always reminds me of my Oma and the folk dances she loved) and the love story.

Like many little girls who grew up watching it, that movie always takes me back. I remember the first time my mom took me to see it on the big screen. Even then it was already at least a re-re-release. Afterwards, my little neighbor friend and I played the soundtrack album over and over, singing to it until we'd learned all the words. Then we took our show on the road, singing "Do re mi" at the top of our lungs as we played on the swingset in the back yard. And that's what's so fun about singalongs and silliness - it lets us be kids again.

How many times do you get to go out as an adult and yodel with reckless abandon while sitting in a crowded movie theater? Almost NEVER, that's when! Trust me. People don't like it! And, even if you did try, how often would someone yodel back at you? Sure, maybe if there were a particularly bold representative from the Helvetian Singing Society in the audience too, but how often does that happen? And you KNOW that you'd both be invited to leave before ever learning how to solve a problem like Maria. That is why the next time the hills are alive with singalong Sound of Music you should go. That way you'll get the yodeling out of your system and no longer be in peril of having a lonely goatherd attack at in a wrong cineplex at the wrong time. The audience at Pirates of the Carribbean 46: Yo ho ho and a bottle of Metamucil will thank you!

The darling buds of May

2009-05-01T07:36:00.000-07:00

Helllllllllloooooooooooooooooo May! Hello Mayday! Hooray workers! Hello Beltaine and Walpurgisnacht! As someone who has recently determined that what the world needs is for me to have a Solstice picnic next month, I am deeply saddened that I did not remember about Beltaine or Walpurgisnacht until today. I feel like I should have thought ahead about the bonfire. I had planned to go to Ikea tonight, and I bet those Swedish killjoys won't let me light one there. Why must life be so unfair?

But I've got news for you, Ikea! It may be a little windy this morning, but the weather is getting nicer, the garden is bursting with blossoms and we are on the precipice of the sunny season. There are plenty of spring flowers to be gathered and candles to light for impromptu celebrations at my house. So take that, lye eaters! Thwarted again! (Not really, Swedes are lovely, Ikea has a computer armoire that I really want, I don't need to invoke bad shopping karma on such a momentous day, and I am sure lutefisk is "special". And, hey, who am I to judge? I come from people who smoke eels and eat pickled herring.)

Back to the Future

2009-04-11T17:29:00.000-07:00

Because it is Saturday evening, my feet are swollen, and my beverage spilled all over the floor while I was painting my bedroom (if you've never played with Behr's Color Smart application, by the way, it is totally filled with painty goodness...it helped me find my color scheme!), I am taking a break. Instead of sitting and watching the paint dry, I have stolen a 2005 iTunes meme from Jen's blog.

Don't worry, she won't care. She's too busy admiring the BEAUTIFUL origami crane I recently mailed her. If origami crane making were American Idol and Paula Abdul were the judge, she would say "Well, first of all, you look incredible tonight. The paper was crumpled and backwards in parts, but you really made the crane your own." Randy, on the other hand, would have called me "dog" and kept it real by saying "It just isn't good," but what does he know about art?

Set your iPod/iTunes on shuffle and use each song as it comes up in order to answer the following questions:

Question: What do you think of me, iTunes?
Apple Blossom - The White Stripes: iTunes LOVES me and wants to marry me. In typical me fashion, I didn't even know it felt that way! Apparently iTunes thinks I'm a little bit of a mess, but it is willing to fix me: Come and sit with me and talk awhile/ let me see your pretty little smile / put your troubles in a little pile /and i will sort them out for you. You're so chivalrous iTunes! I'm totally batting my eyelashes at you.

Question: Will I have a happy life?
Sugar Daddy - John Cameron Mitchell (from the Hedwig and the Angry Inch Soundtrack) : Apparently I've underestimated the value of looking for a man to make me happy, but I've seen the error of my ways. I'm not going to get every item in the Lillian Vernon catalog by paying my own way! If hitching my star to a wealthy, handsome (I added that part, but I know iTunes won't mind!) beau is the ticket to happiness, I guess I'll just have to take one for the team. (The team being me.)

Question: What do my friends really think of me?
Drunkards Waltz - Joel Savoy: Ok. Before I remembered its title, I was completely charmed by the idea of having this as my theme song. It involves a violin and has such a sweet, dancey melody. It reminds me of stars and summer nights and dancing outside, and that totally makes up for the fact that people apparently think I'm a lush. On the up side, based on this song, I am a fun, happy drunk. And you KNOW you'd rather be around that than a mean one!

Question: Do people secretly lust after me?
Is that you, Modean? - The B-52's: Possibly, but only because they think I am Modean. Should I be offended that they think I look old enough to have been away for 987 years in outer space time?

Question: What should I do with my life?
L'Accordeoniste - Ute Lemper: Prostitution!?!? That was one that did NOT come up as a career path when I took the Keirsey Temperament sorter! Then again, I always have wanted a job where I could set my own hours. Still, I don't know. When I said "corner office", I wasn't so much thinking "street corner".

Question: Why must life be so full of pain?
Musical Key - Cowboy Junkies: This song has such a pretty, haunting melody and lyrics (favorite line: My mother's hands were always cool and soft / And like her eyes they would caress with every touch.)Even though it doesn't mention it, it always reminds me of someone remembering someone she has lost. Way to bring me down, iTunes!

Question: How can I maximize my pleasure during sex?
Si j'aurai des ailes - Ann Savoy & Joel Savoy: Go to the bar, laugh and drink, but under no circumstances get married! O quand on se marrie on est là après s’ennuyer / Toujours en regrettant nos jolis temps passés

Question: Will I die happy?
Brown Eyed Girl - Van Morrison: Looking back, I will have many happy memories of making love in the green grass, but only if I get some colored contacts.

Question: Can you give me some advice?
Perhaps - Cake: Oh, iTunes, are you just being coy or are you trying to say that I am indecisive? Me? Indecisive? You know me too well, iTunes. If you can't make your mind up. We'll never get started . . . if you really love me, say yes, but if you don't dear, confess and please don't tell me: perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Question: What do you think happiness is?
A Little Less Conversation - Elvis: Hee. A little more action indeed!

Question: Am I complete freak?
Dance with Me - Justin Timberlake. If it's on the dance floor, I am! I mean well, even if my pervy goal in life is to get people nekkid on a 3 minute time table (aka before the song is up): No disrespect, I don't mean no harm."

Walking in Washington

2009-04-05T20:40:00.000-07:00

Sunday's walk was (if I'm going to be honest) more of a drive. There was a little walking, but the outing was mostly just about getting OUT and away from town. After a winter inside, it was so nice to just hop in the car, open the sunroof, put on some tunes and head out on the highway for a mini-motor along the Columbia River. I should have been home planting the plants I bought on Saturday (my quest for hellebores has ended victoriously!), but couldn't resist bypassing my normal exit on the way home from church in favor of heading away from town.

Before gas went up to a jillion dollars a gallon last summer, the weekend day trip was a common one. As prices climbed, however, the trips became fewer and further apart. This year, I really do want to try to get out a little more, even if it means selling a kidney for gas money. To mix things up on this first spring drive, we drove out the Gorge on the Washington side and back on I-84. Every time I am out that way, I am reminded of how lucky I am to live in the Northwest. All this beauty within a half hour of my house! How much luckier could I be?

Ubiquitously Pink!

2009-04-03T19:53:00.000-07:00

The weather here in the Portland area has been absolutely gorgeous and springy these past few days. While my coworkers in the upper Midwest have been dealing with spring snow storms, it was a balmy 80 degrees when I left work last night. Blue skies. Pink blossoms abound. Everywhere you look there are magnolias and Japanese plums blooming.

In my quest to do lot of things (lose weight, walk more, make it up to 10,000 steps a day on my pedometer, take more pictures), I have decided to try to go for a daily (or maybe just daily-ish) picture walk. My first official walk was last Friday, around the area where I work. Here is what I saw:

A cluster of small fir trees growing next to a freeway offramp

Pretty pink blossoms on the hill behind my office

And, my favorite photo of the day. Pink. Delicate. Lovely.

"...we should treat all the trivial things of life seriously, and all the serious things of life with sincere and studied triviality."

2009-03-31T08:06:00.000-07:00

As literature goes, one of the best things ever is well written satire. And that is why I have loved Oscar Wilde since I first read The Importance of Being Ernest a million years ago. I've always thought he would have made a riveting dissertation project. My dog, Baxter, was even almost named Bunbury. (Sadly, my mother, who was at the time woefully unfamiliar with the whole concept of Bunburying talked me out of it. I owed her one since she did allow me to pressure her into naming her cat Rudiger based on my fondness for a particular Simpson's episode.)

So, I was pretty excited to see Ernest was playing at PCS this month. Not only was it a chance for me to see a favorite play, but if I could get a ticket for my mom too, I could rub in her nose the error of her Bunbury-hating ways. And so it was that we were able to make it to the Armory over the weekend just in time for one of the last few performances of its run. One of the great things about the venue is that it is just the right size. There is no Goldilocksian bullshit about "too big" or "too small" or "too close" or "too far away" because the whole place cuts right to "just right". Just about any seat you get is going to be a good one.

As it turned out, our seats were very close to the front. While my neck and I have to admit to a preference for seats just a little further back, sitting close enough to see the detail on the costumes (which were great!) was lovely too. It was also close enough to see the occasional bit of spittle fly from the actor's mouths, but what are you going to do?

It's all part of seeing a live performance. There is something so different from seeing a play as compared to watching a movie. You hope it won't happen, but there's always the chance that a tongue will trip over a line, a note will be a little off key. And when it doesn't, you feel part of the performance's success. A play seems somehow communal, while going to the movies feels like one of those inward, lone experiences that just happen to take place in a darkened room with a lot of other people around. Not that I don't like movies, but movies and t.v. have become so slick that there can be a distinctly human element missing from them. That humanness is part of the beauty of seeing a play. It is what creates the exchange of energy between performer and audience, and that is a special thing. Watching t.v. is (barely) an activity. Seeing a play is an experience.

If the play were still running, I would recommend it. If I were the kind ofperson prone to gloating, I would gloat that I saw it and you didn't. Instead, I will just say that if you have never read Ernest, you should. If you ever have a chance to see the play performed, you definitely should. And if you ever see it is again playing at PCS, you super should, because they are awesome that way. In fact, you should buy season tickets. You should buy me season tickets. Wouldn't that make you feel good? Giving is the greatest gift of all...

P.s. I think my parking karma still holds. I parked in the lot without doing a lot of searching for a parking spot, because it was pouring and it's just across from the theater, but it was a really good spot and it wasn't that expensive.

Winter Adieu (the "I bought you something, but I ate it!" edition)

2009-03-22T10:54:00.000-07:00

Spring is finally here and snow (like my youth) is but distant memory for the guyliner sporting gnome that lives in my garden. A remnant from my childhood, he has been around since the tail end of the disco era. Luckily, neither of us has ever cared particularly much about age. It is a good thing, because it makes birthdays SO much more fun.

One of my favorite things about my birthday is that it falls on the first day of spring, which also coincides with Nowrūz (Persian New Year). While all birthdays are technically the beginning of a new year, having one that falls on the Vernal Equinox just seems symbolically lovely - spring starting, snow melting, flowers beginning to bud, everything awakening after the winter. That is not to say that I am not a little jealous of my summer birthday friends who get to have sunny picnics and barbeques to celebrate their existences. They don't have to deal with nature during "Faces of Eve" month.

I have seriously considered moving my birthday to May when the weather is warmer and more predictable. "March"/"May", it's only a few letters. And what are a couple months between friends? No one would even have to know. New friends would be easy. I would just tell them my birthday was in May. And the old ones? I'd borrow a page from the Bush/Cheney playbook and simply deny it despite the abundance of previously recorded evidence to the contrary. "I don't know what you're talking about! My birthday has always been in May. You are seriously misunderestimating how the calendar works, my friend! Say, what do you say we bomb an innocent country on Thursday and tell everyone they were plotting against us with our most hated enemy?"

But, you have to deal with what life gives you and what life gave me was the month when nature apparently has PMS ("I am sun and sweet little lambs frolicking in the meadow! No, I am rain, black clouds and gale force winds! What are you talking about? I'm NOT in a bad mood. I'll show you a bad mood! Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go watch t.v., so I can cry at the sheer cuteness of the puppy in the "ain't no bugs on me" commercial...).

Life also gave me turning 40 this year. For the most part, I don't really care, but it still feels weird on my lips. "I am 40." Weirder still would be to lie about my age. I don't want to be one of those women to botoxes and surgically sculpts herself beyond recognition, so they can insist they're 29 when they're really 50 (though maybe I should keep my not yet duckified lips shut until I know how I will feel when I start looking old...). It is, however, weird to suddenly find myself "in my 40's". It's really not so much that I mind being 40, it's more that I wonder how it happened. It seems like a little monster crept up while I wasn't paying attention. ("Look! Over there! Something shiny! MWAHAHAHAHA! You are 40!!!)

Ultimately, 40 isn't so bad. I have a good life, good friends and family whose lunch and dinner invitations have ensured that I haven't had to cook for myself since I was in my 30's. Seriously! Birthday eve was Moe's with my coworkers. Friday, a shopping lunch of Chinese food and the best birthday dinner EVER with my primary birthday posse (minus one who was sick, but I hope the medicinal Black Forest Cake we sent home for her helped!) at Dar Essalam in Wilsonville. Then there was a Saturday post-tax appointment lunch salad at Marie Callender's (a new thing for a new decade, since I've neer previously eaten there) and oyster shooters and shrimp enchiladas and blackberry margarita's at El Tapatio. Tomorrow, I start a cleanse, but not before I attempt to talk someone into a goodbye dinner of Eggplant in Garlic Sauce at my favorite Thai restaurant...

P.s. I cannot say enough good things about Dar Essalam, which is my new favorite restaurant. Anyone in the Portland area seriously needs to avail themselves of a dinner there. I swear, you will thank me! And don't let the location fool you - once you step inside, the staff, the decor and the food are so lovely, you will completely forget that you are in office park/strip mall country. It is totally worth the drive!

I want to suck your blood...

2009-03-07T09:08:00.000-08:00

As anyone who knows about the saga of the multiplying Draculas knows, I do love me a good vampire story. In celebration of birthday month, I have contemplated availing myself of a copy of Many Bloody Returns, a collection of short stories about birthdays and the undead. Advancing on an age that would make me want to start counting backwards if I truly cared about that sort of thing, immortal youth just feels right. But first, there is the matter of finishing my current reading material - Stephenie Meyer's Twilight saga.

The Twilight books are something I had actually avoided reading. In keeping with not liking it when (most) people try to tell me what to do, I find myself avoiding things that are too popular. Band wagons give me hives and "popular" doesn't necessarily mean well written. But then came February. February had me coughing like Camille on her deathbed. It wasn't really a good time to take sick leave at work, which left me even more tired. This called for something light and fun but non-taxing in my free time, and reading something like Twilight definitely fit the bill.

There is a lot about the series to recommend itself. The books are huge, but read fast in the way of escapist novels that suck you in even though your intellectual brain sheepishly thinks they probably shouldn't. There are a few cheesy aspects and there is the annoying addition in the 4th book of a precocious human-vampire hybrid love child - Renesmee (a combination of the names "Renee" and "Esme"that strikes me as more tedious than clever), but over all the books are fun. There is danger, romance, occasional international travel, and a host of requisite bad guy(s) to thwart. The drive to know what happens next has helped me plow through the first 664 pages of the final installment in about a week, and it's not like I've devoted all my free time to reading.

In many ways, the formula of the novels reminds me of Buffy with a little of Charlaine Harris' Sookie Stackhouse thrown in. And it is formulaic (young, awkward, misfit who is not too misfitty but doesn't realize how pretty and fab she is moves to small town; finds brooding hottie soul mate who just happens to be a vampire but a good, vampire; heroine discovers she has hidden gifts of her own; otherworldy hijinx ensue and good triumphs over evil), but in the way of the Joss Whedon and Charlaine Harris worlds, it also sports plotlines that lend themselves to staving off the very human humdrum complaints of everyday life while at the same time exploring them (love, heartbreak, loyalty, conflict, responsiblity, growing up and leaving home) in mythological terms.

It is all very good versus evil with notions of what constitutes each turned on their heads. Bad things happen despite the best of intentions, (some) vampires are good and ethical, and werewolves protect people. Both groups have evolved societies with their own codes of ethics. And while that's all been done before, the notion of grey in matters of good and evil, right and wrong in a post-Bush cosmology is a welcome one (especially when it comes packaged in such a light, easly to read package).

Happy March!

2009-03-01T22:55:00.000-08:00

Welcome to birthday month! Tonight I celebrated the first of the last nineteen days of my 30's by going to see Itzhak Perlman play downtown at the Schnitzer. Like seeing Pavarotti sing shortly before his death, it was an unforgettable experience. There are some opportunities in life that one just doesn't pass up, and seeing Perlman play his famous Soil Stradivarius is one of them. The tone of this instrument, which was constructed during Stradivari's golden period, is simply sublime. It is truly saddening to think how few of its past owners have been musicians and how many of the gorgeous instruments is crafted are locked away behind glass in private collections, never to be played. Surely such masterpieces are made to be heard.

Perlman was in Portland as both conductor and soloist, but the high point for me really was his solo on Bach's Concerto No. 1 in A minor. The Schubert (Symphony No. 3 in D major, D. 200) and the Brahms (Symphony No. 2 in D Major, Op.73) were lovely as well, but it is the Bach that I will remember most.

Since you couldn't all be there with me, I shall share with you a clip of him playing my favorite movement of what is probably my favorite piece for strings. It is one of those pieces that is for me a marriage of free standing beauty as well as personal sentimentality, which makes me love it all the more.

Have you missed me?

2009-02-08T08:59:00.001-08:00

Dear Internets,

It's been a while, but I can explain.

Although it was actually late Thursday that marked my triumpant return to the Northwest, my body is still adjusting back to Pacific time. I started the week by getting up at 3:00 a.m. (no, it's not just a nasty rumor - there is a 3 in the morning and it can be experienced by getting up EARLY rather than going to bed late. I know! Who knew???), to make it to PDX for my flight and have been off kilter ever since. The time difference once I got to Michigan wasn't doing me any favors either. At least the cold kept me awake.

And, man, was it cold! There was one morning when the dashboard thermometer clocked in at a modest 1 degree. It actually hurt my lungs to breathe, which is a shame, because I rather like breathing. I may even be addicted to it. Maybe I need an intervention. It's too bad I'm not a celebrity. If I were I could go debase myself on television under the watchful but caring eye of Dr. Drew as a cast member of Celebrity Rehab. But I digress...

After a week in Michigan, Portland's mild climate seems almost balmy in comparison. There was snow, which meant I got to wear winter clothes like scarves and gloves that are too toasty for our generally mild climate. And, I got to see and learn a little about Detroit thanks to the Checker Sedan driver, who saw his role as not just driver, but tour guide. Within the hour drive I learned not only more than I ever knew about the home of Motown, but also that he was retired, raising his two grandchildren and that he was a really sweet man.

The Detroit area has been hit pretty hard by our tanking economy. Every time I go there (I say this, because "both times" sounds far less dramatic and if there's one thing I'm about, it's high drama!) they have been in the middle of major layoffs at the big car manufacturers. My company has gone through some hard times too and is in a season of cutbacks in benefits, pay and employees, but not like Ford, GM and their ilk. This is not to say that the American automobile industry hasn't made and soiled its own bed, but that doesn't help the non-executive employees who have kids and rent and life to meet.

The economy has affected Portland, but not to the extent I saw and heard about in the Detroit area. What I did find interesting was the number of people who not only shared my sentiments about bed making (why are we developing newer, bigger Hummers and not hybrids and other alternative fuel sources? If you are not in a war in the desert, you do not need a Hummer. The gravel patch between the edge of your suburban driveway and the street is NOT off roading), but also felt that the employment market had outpriced itself in that industry. I had expected a little more sympathy for the workers. I suppose at a time when everyone is feeling the crunch, maybe they've eaten too much tired to have a lot of room left over for sympathy. The layoffs and 10% across the board pay cut that my company recently instituted seems pretty par for the course in that area for those lucky enough to get to keep their jobs.

But it's not only industry that is different there. That part of the country has such a different look from ours. The streets are filled with the types of old brick and stone structures you get in areas whose economy is not so heavily timber dependant as ours. Missing are the towering, deep green conifers my eyes are so used to seeing against the grey sky. Instead the winter landscape is marked by a crisp, blue sky, leafless deciduous trees and old snow. You feel the cold just looking out the window and you learn quickly in those parts to breathe in through your nose instead of filling your lungs with deep, through the mouth inhalations.

Not that we got to spend that much time outside. The work days were long, but there was also a lot of socializing and dining out - P.F. Chang's, Champs, etc. AND (much to my delight) we did not return to that dreadful Tichonderoga place with all the dead animal heads lining the walls. I don't need the doleful eyes of what was once a moose staring down at me as I try to eat my butternut squash ravioli, thank you very much.

It is always funny how quickly such trips pass. When I left home at 4:00 a.m. Monday morning, it felt like there was such a long time ahead of me. Once I got on the plane, it all went pretty quickly. Even in this age of heightened security things move pretty seamlessly. I did have to step out of line while they searched my purse on the way home, but it didn't take long for them to deem that I wasn't a threat. I'm still not sure what set off their alarm but the TSA lady had on her no nonsense face, so I was glad it wasn't the time I took along my old camping backpack and forgot to remove some matches. In the before time I'd have been typing this to you from Gitmo. Thankfully, times have changed.

Flying is such a different experience from what I remember as a child. Flights seemed more cramped, the flight attendants more tired. In addition to being flying waitstaff, nurses, and babysitters, they also have to worry about shoe bombs and how to wield a beverage cart to subue a terrorist. There are personalized movies and games on board the bigger planes, but you have to pay extra for just about everything besides the complimentary beverage now. Still, thanks to my ipod, the airplane trivia game (damn you, Mr. ZZZZZZZZZ in 14F, you ruined my chance to obnoxiously sing "I am the Champion" in your face by foiling my attempts to win!) and in flight movies, even the four hours between Salt Lake Cit and Detroit went pretty quickly.

And so, I am again home and what seemed like a long week actually passed by in the blink of an eye - pretty much like the rest of life does. I hope you are doing well and that I hear from you soon.

Love,
Martina

P.s. If you see Delta Airlines, please tell them that as engaging and moving as The Secret Life of Bees was (who in their right mind doesn't love themselves a little Queen Latifah?), it made me and several women in the rows around me too weepy to be a good in flight movie. Sure, it's more appropriate than that one where the plane crashes and the surviving passengers eat each other (thanks for not showing it, because I'm pretty sure the big guy next to me would have made steak out of me in a second if he needed to and no one wants to spend a four hour flight feeling paranoid that their neighbor will gut them with a plastic spork), but if I'm going to cry at a movie, I want to do it in the privacy of my living room or at least under the cover of darkness at my local Edwards.

Reason #498

2009-01-27T19:31:00.000-08:00

Among the many reasons our new President makes me hopeful is the emphasis he has placed on diplomacy when reaching out into the world. While I am sure there will be policies with which I don't 100% agree along the way, it is so refreshing to have well spoken statesman as President. His response when questioned in an interview on Al Arabiya about his perception of the U.S. role in brokering peace in the Middle East underscores for me what a good choice this country made in electing him:

"Well, I think the most important thing is for the United States to get engaged right away. And George Mitchell is somebody of enormous stature. He is one of the few people who have international experience brokering peace deals.

And so what I told him is start by listening, because all too often theUnited States starts by dictating -- in the past on some of these issues --and we don't always know all the factors that are involved. So let's listen. He's going to be speaking to all the major parties involved. And he will then report back to me. From there we will formulate a specific response.

Ultimately, we cannot tell either the Israelis or the Palestinians what's best for them. They're going to have to make some decisions. But I do believe that the moment is ripe for both sides to realize that the path that they are on is one that is not going to result in prosperity and security for their people. And that instead, it's time to return to the negotiating table."

for the rest of the interview, click here

Raindrops on Roses

2009-01-26T22:25:00.000-08:00

Being what some people might term indecisive, but what I like to think of as open to all of life's possibilities, I have a pretty big and evolving list of favorite things. With a brain much more attuned to essay than multiple choice or true/false, I've never done well with questions like "What is your favorite band?" (or book or movie or anything) that demand concrete answers, because there are so many that are so good. How does one even begin to pick?

Of late, however, I find myself increasingly enamoured with the gypsy punk band, Gogol Bordello. They appease my soul's inner yearning for offbeat music featuring loud guitars, gypsy violin and songs about string theory. And, let's face it, that is an itch that doesn't get scratched all too often. Most importantly, however, they have a kickass violinist (Sergey Ryabtsev) whose talent I covet. Even if I didn't already love their music, my love for a well played violin transcends any allegiance to style or period. I want to listen to him over and over again, until something of his skill is absorbed through my inner ear canal and deep down into the tips of my own fingers. So far it hasn't worked, but I'll keep on trying!

Molly

2009-01-25T10:03:00.001-08:00

Molly
Originally uploaded by Martina

It is no great secret that I love animals and have little use for people who don't. I couldn't be friends with someone who didn't treat them kindly. In my house, pets are treated like family. They sleep on the sofa and in the beds, often under the blankets. Where we go, they go. It's just how we roll.

And when they get sick, we do everything possible to make them comfortable, because once you take a pet into your life, you are responsible for it's well being and quality of life until the end of its days. Sadly, the end of Molly's days came yesterday around 1:00 p.m. She had been diagnosed with chronic kidney failure back in July. We almost lost her then, but she she fought her way back. For a good six months, you would have never known that she was sick at all. She was back to her old self.

Then, about a week ago, she started to crash. After a harrowing week of IV drips and force feeding at the vet, we learned on Friday that she seemed to be taking a turn for the better and that we might again be able to bring her home this weekend. When we visited her that day, she had not yet started eating, but was sniffing and trying to mouth her food. She was weak, but alert and happy to see us. Things looked guardedly better. The vet even thought we might be able to bring her home.

Overnight, however, something happened and she crashed again. By morning, she was too weak to drink out of her water dish without her head falling into it. So when I called the vet yesterday, instead of what time we'd be able to bring her home, I learned that she was in the end stages of renal failure. We could take her home, but she wouldn't last more than a few days.

Suddenly the temporary 10% pay cut I'd just learned about at work didn't seem so important when faced with the idea that this little creature with whom I'd shared the last 14 years would never again cuddle up next to me in bed at night or squeak when she heard Little Richard Sing "Good Golly Miss Molly" or drape herself over the stereo speakers to listen to the opening bars of "Soave sia il vento" as she always did when the song came on. She would never again go for a ride in the car, standing on her hind legs, peering out the window like a little dog or sit staring lovingly at me while I played my violin for her. Frankly, I'd give the cut permanently, if it meant having her back whole and healthy. But, of course, death doesn't work that way. There are no bargains to be made.

Molly gave me too much over the years for me to allow her to suffer as she slowly starved to death. As long as it seemed that she could still get bettter, we continued the treatments, but making her suffer even after it was clear that she was going to die would have been cruel. She deserved more than to die painfully and smelling of the waste her kidneys could no longer process.

So, I spent a last hour with her before signing the papers to let her go to sleep. I held her bony little body in my lap and petted and hugged her as they gave her the shot. It only took a moment. She now rests in the back yard near the lilac bush where we sometimes sit and read in the summer. I'm glad it's still winter, because I couldn't sit there now without crying. I can't even type this without doing that.

Still, for all the sadness of the past week, I wouldn't trade a second with her or any of our other animals to avoid it. I am so thankful for that sunny day in Laguna Beach that I first brought her home. She was tiny, just a little silvery grey ball of fur with a pink ribbon tied around her neck. What she lacked in size, she more than made up for in inquisitiveness and sweetness. In the end, she brought so much joy to our lives. And that is something about which to be happy.

Taking a break...

2009-01-22T19:57:00.000-08:00

A lot of really wonderful, happy making things have happened this week. George Bush and Dick Cheney left office to be replaced by a whole lung full of fresh air as Barack Obama swept into the White House. On his third day in office, our new President signed three executive orders including a ban on the use of torture and the closure of Gitmo within a year. It is good to again wake up in a country that cares about diplomacy and human rights.

Personally, however, the week has been less inspiring. More cuts are coming at work (more will be revealed at an early morning meeting tomorrow), which was already busy. I'm pretty sure I get to keep my job (for now, anyway), but that there will be a wage freeze and more demanded of those of us left behind.

More significantly, however, my sweet, silver companion of 15 years, Molly the classical music loving cat, is horribly ill. She was diagnosed with chronic kidney failure back in July. We almost lost her over the summer, but were able to nurse her back to health. She was fine for about six months until she crashed last weekend. This time she is much worse. She's been at the vet for 5 days now and we still don't know if she will make it. I hope she will, but we're also nearing the heartbreaking point where the question of extension versus quality of life is coming into play.

I don't know what will happen yet, but I do know that I really don't feel like forcing myself to blog. So, I'm suspending my January project for a few days. Something about it really wasn't working for me anyway, so perhaps the break will allow me to come back feeling refreshed and like I want to post instead of like I have to.

More soon...

Don't let the door hit you...

2009-01-19T19:17:00.001-08:00

Tonight is the last time I will ever go to bed with the dual menace, George Bush and Dick Cheney, in power as President and Vice President of my country. The lyrics to this 5,6,7,8's song best capture my feelings about this turn of events.

The Road to Salem

2009-01-18T10:17:00.000-08:00

Summer is still months away with many rainy days to go between now and then, but this weekend has been absolutely lovely. Yes, it is windy and cold, but the sky is gloriously blue and filled with golden sunshine. This is the perfect sort of weather for a mini road trip. For a while now, my friend the writer and I have wanted to go down and visit some independent booksellers in hopes of convincing them to stock his book, so we packed a couple boxes of books into the car and hit the road to Salem. As it turns out, we were not completely unsuccessful. During our Ausflug to Oregon's capitol city, we managed to schedule a reading and to talk to someone from the Marion County Library, who is going to order books for their library system.

More than anything, though, it was good to just get out for a bit. These winter months always leave me yearning for travel and roadside diners and roads never before taken. While I'd been to Salem before, it had been long enough that city almost felt new to me. It had been years. I think the last time was probably in high school, when the great dinosaurs still roamed the earth. I pass the city often on the freeway, but stopping there is a rarely even considered as an option. Salem is located about an hour south of Portland, which means that on most road trips, it is too close to the start of the festivities to make a good first stopping place and too close to home for it to be a good resting spot on the way home either.

That said, the city really is kinda cute. Being a relatively small city, the capitol building and downtown are in pretty close proximity. There are a lot of older buildings like the lovely Elsinore Theater, which I really need to go back and photograph when I go to one of the showings in their Wednesday Evening Film Series, which I am now determined to visit (preferably sooner rather than later!). This is one of the great things about road trips (even mini ones!). They always feature things to go back and visit later.

Make up post for Friday

2009-01-17T21:15:00.000-08:00

Well, it seems that my post-a-day project has been a bit haphazard this year. Honestly, there's something about it that just feels different. Focusing on the positive has been a good experience that I've taken outside of what gets posted here as well, but the actual daily posting is, in some ways, more of a chore than it has been in the past. There are days when I come home and think "Oh, crap. I have to post something!", which really is not at all in keeping with the positive spirit envisioned for this endeavor.

I'm not sure why it feels this way. It may just be that my personal life is bit busy right now or it may be that I'm at a point where I really want to work on more formal pieces of writing than blog posts or journal entries. Still, more than mid-way through my project, I can say that January's positive spin has made my days with a lot more appreciation of the abundance of things in my life that do make me happy. I suppose that is worth it, even if I do (no longer) secretly grouse a little about having to post!

Oh how I heart you, books!

2009-01-17T20:46:00.000-08:00

No matter where I have lived in my life, the one consistent thread was that my space was always filled with books. I might even say overfilled, if I didn't firmly believe that one can never have too many books. When it comes to book stores, I have no self control and I don't limit myself to anyone section of the store. More than once I have had to declare a complete moratorium for fear that I would never manage to read all the books I already own, or, even worse, be found dead in my apartment after a stack of them toppled over, pinning me to the floor. Hopefully, one would land open before my eyes, so I could at least read a little while I faded away.

For a long time, one of my habits on trips was to purchase an old book at an antiquarian book shop every time I visited a new city. Somehow over the years I've grown out of this, but it seems a good pursuit to revive. While I love all books, there is something special about antique ones, because they not only allow you the pleasure of reading, but of wondering about all the hands, lives and stories the book has passed through before coming to you.

I'm one of those weirdos who truly believes that literature has value, that books have something important to say, and that writing is an art worthy of admiration. This is not to say that I don't read my share of fluff as well, but there is nothing better than a well written novel that I just can't put down or a piece of poetry or prose that invites me to think. I love the kinds of books that leave me considering them even after I've turned the final page. One of the best things about my life is that I actually have friends who already write such books and others whom I just know will one day!

Random things...

2009-01-15T19:20:00.000-08:00

Because I am feeling uninspired and not at all like writing, I've stolen a meme from a friend's Facebook page: Once you are tagged, write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits or goals about yourself.

1. I would really like to get a tattoo but am hindered by my own indecisiveness, because what if I pick the wrong thing and have to live with it FOREVER (in my world of forevers and absolutes, there is no room for you and your new fangled and expensive, painful laser removal procedures). I think, however, that I may have finally hit upon and idea. Now where to put it...

2. My favorite of Vivaldi's Four Seaons is Winter

3. I believe that onions are the Devil's condiment. They give you bad breath and they make people cry. Clearly they are evil.

4. My most prized possessions are a 220 year old theology book and the violin my father had made for me my 14th birthday (it is almost as old).

5. I hardly ever catch on to t.v. shows when they are hip. Somehow I always manage to discover them about four years after they go off the air.

6. My professional life has taken a turn for the better of late. I have a new job, a new boss, and will soon have a new title and raise. I am also involved with a small press during my off hours and am hoping that one day it will do well enough to be my job.

7. When I was in first grade, I wrote and illustrated a story (The Girl Who Wanted a Garden) that was almost included in an anthology of stories written by children. I think my mom still has a copy of it. The Girl Who Wanted a Garden was, however, not the best story I wrote as a kid. That would have to go to either Mrs. Schlugheimer Learns to Drive (about a nearsighted grandmother with a lead foot who is in no shape to drive, but still decides to get a driver's license) or The Magic Chamber Pot (a fairy tale about a chamber pot the plays The Blue Danube and grants wishes to those who sit on it).

8. I had a HUGE kiddie crush on Jim Rockford (aka James Garner) in the 70's.

9. I am not exactly sure what my real hair color looks like at this point, but my hairdresser tells me it is dark blonde.

10. If I have to sing alone in public, sometimes I get so nervous that my throat tightens up and I can barely emit a squeak.

11. I am not crafty unless it is for nefarious and/or "special" purposes (like the angel placecards I made for Christmas dinner, where each of the angels bore my likeness).

12. Even though I really love my city and can't imagine not coming back to it, this last stint in Portland is the longest I have lived anywhere as an adult. Sometimes it feels strange to me and I start feeling restless for someplace new.

13. I speak three languages and would like to learn more.

14. It has been three weeks since I have drank any caffeinated beverages or consumed any artificial sweeteners.

15. If I won and obscene amount of money in the lottery, I would quit my job and spend my days volunteering for a cause that was meaningful to me.

16. I think it is extremely important to become involved in things greater than ourselves and find myself feeling impatient with people who are too apathetic to get involved, probably because I sometimes feel (despite the volunteering I already do) that I do not do enough.

17. My favorite birds are peacocks and my favorite peacock memory is when Kevin and I were having a picnic at Maryhill and one of the peacocks kept sticking his head in our cooler to steal grapes.

18. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to hang glide, but my fear of becoming a splat on the earth's surface is greater than my desire to fly.

19. I have no sense of smell.

20. I write left handed, but use scissors, cut my food, throw and bat right handed. I can, however, play tennis either way.

21. The first song I ever composed was a waltz.

22. My cat, Loki, hails from a freeway off ramp near Chehalis. He is Jen's birthday buddy, because I found him on my way from Seattle to her birthday party.

23. I can hide it ok when forced, but I am introverted and feel uncomfortable in large groups where I don't now anyone.

24. I rarely ask others for help, even when I could use it.

25. People who don't know me well seriously have no idea of how silly I can be.

2009-01-15T08:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was long and heinous. And I hate to break this to you, but I think you're old enough to hear: Some people seem inclined to be assholes simply for the sake of sheer asshattery. I won't go into it, because of the "no complaining" rule. So let me just say that I am thankful that my problems are limited to the crappy attitudes of a Data Warehouse half a continent away and that I didn't allow stress to divert me from my diet and that there are light, fluffy books, peppermint tea and mindless t.v. shows like American Idol to sink into on such days.

I am optimistic that today will be much, much better!

Elephant Farts

2009-01-13T20:01:00.000-08:00

One of the most entertaining parts of my days are my visits with Antonio, whose mother drops him off on her way to work each morning. He follows me around like white on rice, helping me get ready for work, telling me the kinds of stories that can only grow out of a three year old mind, and offering his opinions on the world around him. The thing I love best about him is the number of activities and emotions he can pack into a short time. I am constantly amazed at how quickly he can recover from even the worst mood, emerging with a fresh take on life within moments. (If only I could get over things so quickly!). Take, for instance, our (approximate) schedule this morning:

7:10 Arrival and opening remarks
Usually, if I am still asleep when he gets here, I am awakened by a little voice from the living room shouting "Good moooooooooooooooorning!" Today I am already awake and sitting on the couch when Antonio arrives. Unlike most days, today he is uncharacteristically quiet. I soon find out why...

7:15-7:30 Crying and Cajoling
Antonio is upset because he can't go to school. I don't think he actually wants to attend classes so much as go by the school down the street because of its convenient proximity to the playground. He is not down with the idea that I have no time to take him, because it is raining and I have to go to work. Even my argument that it is too cold and we should put it off until a sunny weekend afternoon falls on deaf, if by then somewhat calmer, ears.

7:30-7:40 Fart-off* (Antonio wins when he emits what he calls an "elephant fart")
*Note: Involves simulated farts only

7:40-7:45 The Feeding of the Bones
Concerned that the dogs are not fat enough, Antonio makes sure that each one gets a bone before settling in for some t.v. watching.

7:45-8:00 Cartoons
This is mostly just for something to do until Spongebob comes on and he doesn't really watch that closely, because he's dividing his time between the bathroom where I am putting on makeup and the living room. When I am finally finished, he takes my hand to pull me down the hall while pointing and yelling "To the living room!"

8:00-8:05 The Ceremonial Singing of the "Spongebob Squarepants Theme", followed by the Distribution of Imaginary Gum

8:06-8:07 Everyone pretends to take a nap

8:08-8:15 Pillow Fight (starts when Antonio awakens me from my imaginary nap by bonking me on the head with throw pillow from the sofa)

8:16-8:30 Lunch Preparations
Antonio assists me in making lunches - one for me to take to work, one for him to eat with my mom. He adds his contribution by slipping a snack pack of Peanutbutter Ritz crackers into my lunch. I am not sure why, but for the past week he has been bringing them for me from home like little processed love gifts.

8:30-8:45 Computer
Antonio helps me check my mail and repeatedly asks me to type his name, so he can see what it looks like. In his mind, every new time is as delightful as the first. He also intermittently hints that I could, were I so inclined, open the Thomas and Friends website without driving him to tears. Not that there's any pressure. He's just sayin...

8:45 Goodbyes
Antonio walks me out to the gate, entreating me to buy him a lot of toys (preferably "twos" of each, so both he and my mom have one). As I back out of the driveway, I see him standing on the porch with my mom, waving until I can no longer see him.

Phreddie

2009-01-12T21:47:00.001-08:00

One of my favorite things about where I sit at work is that I sit next to the owner of Phreddie, a glass penguin who could give Elton John a run for his money in the flamboyant costume department. Phreddie's original outfits were largely fashioned from office supplies. I don't even remember what the first one was, only that it we put it on him as a goof at the end of a long day, never thinking that we were participating in the birth of a tradition. Since that time, Phreddie has accumulated a collection of pretty sophisticated costumes, including the leather chaps pictured.

His first real fabric costume was a wizard outfit for the dual occasion of Halloween and the release of one of the Harry Potter movies. It was made blue lamé with silver accents and featured a long, white beard and staff. Since then, he has donned various costumes commemorate holidays and other assorted special events. He has come to work as a pilgrim, Santa, cupid, a nurse (when his owner had surgery), a bride, a Ducks fan, and a cowboy in celebration of the opening of the Pendleton Roundup. Despite my absolute loathing of rodeos (put me down as being on the bull's side!), I do think he looks awfully cute in his chaps.

I know the the whole thing is totally silly, but, like all colossal silliness, his presence really does relieve stress and lighten the mood. Who knew that afternoon when we cut his first costume out of a piece of colored paper that he would one day have whole shoebox cum closet full real clothes? The best part is watching an office full of adults take turns acting squirrely as they plot to abduct a knick-knack to dress it up and return it to its place without anyone noticing. If there is one thing that makes life better, it is unmitigated goofiness. It's nice to work in a place where my neighbors embrace that sort of thing. The world would be a much happier place if people just let go and allowed themselves a bit of silliness from time to time.

2009-01-11T23:12:00.000-08:00

It is late. Home is the one place I've not spent much time today, so I am going to cop out with a list (in no particular order) of things experienced today that make life better:

1. A book so good you can't bear to put it down.
2. Singing at the top of your lungs
3. Having a friend trust you enough to know you will treat their creativity gently
4. Reading your friends' work and finding that they just as creative and brilliant as you always knew they'd be
5. Than Thao's Eggplant in Garlic Sauce
6. Crazy little dogs
7. Knowing how to check your tire pressure when the warning light comes on
8. New cut and color
9. Gogol Bordello
10. Dinner and drinks with friends
11. Fresh flowers

Time and tide

2009-01-10T12:07:00.000-08:00

Doesn't this look like a good place to just sit, stare out at the water and think? As a person of the sometimes too often hermitous and pensive persuasion, having these sorts of spots away from the world is really important to me. These past few days have me feeling particularly pensive.

The death of my uncle has me thinking a lot about my father, who will already have been gone for 13 years this May. I've been talking with a couple of friends (Jen and Anne) about this, since they too suffer from APO (Adult Paternal Orphanhood) and have come to the conclusion that a huge part of the sadness is knowing that with my uncle died a whole repository of memory about my father's early life. There is now no one alive who remembers whole decades of my father's existence. Sure, there could be some early friends around still, but they'd be old by now too (if alive at all) and they wouldn't know him like his brother did. Then I think about who will remember him when I'm gone and my mother is gone and my nieces are no longer.

Who will remember any of us? Who will remember me? What difference will my existence have made? Will an old, tattered picture of me one day be found in a box whose owners who will have no idea who I was? What difference will any of us (you included) have made? Will we have done the things we wanted to? In the end, will they even have been important at all? It is all such a mystery. And that reminds me of that passage from Issak Dineson that I know I've posted here, but am now going to quote again because it is too lovely and aprospos to not share:

If I know a song of Africa, - I thought -, of the Giraffe, of the African new moon lying on her back, of the ploughs in the fields, and the sweaty faces of the coffee-pickers, does Africa know a song of me? Would the air over the plain quiver with a color that I had on or the children invent a game in which my name was, or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or would the eagles of the Ngong look out for me?

Such concepts, the nature of time and memory. Having spent 98% of my life thusfar completely disinterested in sciences like physics, I've never really given the time element much thought. Being in the middle of reading Jack Finney's Time and Again at a time in my life when a part of my family history has died, however, I am particularly intrigued by it. The novel is about an artist who is recruited by a covert agency of the U.S. government to participate in a mysterious project involving time travel back to 19th century New York. It takes as its premise the notion that one can step from a moment in the present and back into the past, finding oneself in the same location, only twenty or a hundred or a thousand years earlier. The implication is that what we think of as the passing of time is all happening at once and that one can move in and out of specific time periods via special techniques (which the author never - or at least not before page 272! - divulges), if one just knows what to do. I suppose, in a way, memory allows us to do the same thing, but is limited to our own experience.

Either way, the world and existence itself are such big places that there is always going to be an element of mystery attached until we can glance back at them with the eye of experience. I'm not sure what that really means. I don't know what any of it means, but I sense that it underscores part of my reasons for my January project of focusing on those things that make my life (and hopefully that of others) happier and better. Hopefully, if I can do that, one day when I am gone, there will be someone left who remembers me and that I did my best to make a difference.

Sunset, no sunrise

2009-01-08T20:13:00.000-08:00

This day on which I have learned that my uncle, my father's brother has passed away seems a good day for sunsets. It has been years since I've seen him, but I can easily picture him in my childhood dining room, visiting with my dad. He always called my dad Butch or Louie and they'd drink coffee, smoke and shoot the breeze for hours.

I remember my uncle as a tall, long-legged man who liked to tease my father, who was quite a few inches shorter at 5'10" about his more compact frame. He delighted doing things like picking up a pair of bermuda shorts when they were at a store together and yelling to my dad, "Hey, Louie! You might have to hem 'em a little, but I found a pair of pants for you!" In my teens, he told me stories about the shit my dad got up to as a boy, stories my dad would never have told me himself. When my dad was in the hospital where he died, it was my Uncle Bud who picked me up at the airport. He was there too when we picked out my father's casket. For a long time after my father passed, he stopped by to visit my mom every day, because he had promised he would make sure she was okay when he was gone. He only stopped after his emphysema got too bad for him to go out.

I may not have seen him much as I got older, but he was there for the important things and that's really all one can ask. Wherever he is now (and I like to think it's drinking coffee with my father at some cosmic kitchen table), I hope he is at peace and finally able to breathe more easily.

So wie man in den Wald herein ruft, so schallt es auch heraus

2009-01-06T23:23:00.000-08:00

My new favorite saying is a German one that translates as "Whatsoever you call into the forest will also echo back to you." It's so true, isn't it? What you put into the world really does come back to you.

Yesterday was the first day of my new job. Even though I've worked for this company for a number of years now and know my new boss fairly well, I found myself feeling just a bit nervous as the date of my triumphant return to work approached. The night before, was sleepless, plagued by the weird, creepy dreams my mind always cooks up when I'm stressed. And then I got to work and everything was wonderful. Having built up a cache of good will long before I ever had an inkling that I would ever be working under my new boss, everything went smoothly. I've sometimes wondered why it is that I feel compelled to work so hard at a job that really is just a job to me. Whatever the reason, it is paying off and I really am grateful to the individuals whose influence there helped me to progress. For the first time in ages I find myself feeling excited by the work related possibilities to come, which reminds me of how important it is to feel challenged and at the same time acknowledged for my competence at work. It also reminds me how silly it is to get worked up about new things instead of just enjoying them!

P.s. Speaking of things to enjoy, I am reading Jack Finney's Time and Again right now and highly recommend it!

Mirror, mirror on the wall...

2009-01-05T20:04:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend, my favorite writer friend and I took a little motor to visit some independent booksellers in a the Salem area. On the way, we stopped in Silverton, a lovely little Oregon town that is possibly the only small town in the country with a transgender mayor. On days when I forget how crazy making it was to live in a small town in the middle of the prairie, I think that Silverton is just the sort of small town to live in, if you're going to leave the city. The only thing that would make it better would be if it were closer to the ocean.

In addition to being small AND progressive, Silverton also has some nice restaurants, one of which is home to the cutest ladies' room ever. The best part about it is that the rest of the building gives no indication that it hides such a pretty powder room. Silverton, you keep your secrets well! Nonetheless, every time I go in there, it makes me want to go home and cover my own bathroom walls with sunny murals.

That really is one the best parts of road trips (even mini ones). You never know what you will find! Travelling by plane certainly doesn't hold the same feeling of exploration. Planes are a way to get from point A to point B. Road trips are an experience, a choose your own adventure novel written by map (or in some cases a simple "I wonder what's down this road?"). It all makes me eager for warmer weather and sunnier days. The snow was lovely, the rain less so. Hitting the road for even just a short Saturday getaway makes me yearn cameras, sunglasses, wild flower carpeted hills, road tunes and a few good travel companions. Some of my best memories involve those things. Hooray for lower gas prices and hooray for The Road!

All men will be brothers

2009-01-04T22:43:00.000-08:00

After a day filled with three separate but equally delightful sets of unexpected guests and a news cycle filled with news from Gaza that was anything but delightful, I am too tired to contemplate much of anything. So to help us all feel a little better, enjoy!

Almost as inspiring as the actual words of Schiller's Ode to Joy, no?

Books! Books! Books!

2009-01-03T23:19:00.000-08:00

If there is one thing anyone who has ever even briefly met me knows, it is that I LOVE books and pretty much anything to do with writing. Whether arranged into a poem, a novel, a short story, or an essay, words make me happy.

So, here is a list of the books I read in 2008 that (for various reasons) made the greatest impression on me. I've abandoned last year's system of listing EVERYTHING and marking my favorites with an asterisk, because I got a couple emails from authors who seemed mopey that their books didn't get starred. I don't want that on my head. I have enough writerly angst of my own without creating it in others. So, I'm only listing the ones I liked BEST. I'm all about the love, baby! This way there are only good feelings all around! As time allows, I may expound on what made some of them special or you may just have to find out for yourself.

P.s. Cookbooks are in blue

1. Deborah Wood, A New Owner's Guide to Papillons

2. A.J. Jacobs, The Year of Living Biblically

3. Karen Russell, St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised by Wolves

4. Alanna Knight, An Orkney Murder

5. Lauren Weedman, A Woman Trapped in a Woman's Body

6. Flora Rheta Schreiber, Sybil

7. Phillip DePoy, A Widow's Curse

8. Daniel Handler, Adverbs

9. Steve Almond, Not That You Asked

10. Sadegh Hedayat, The Blind Owl

11. Joan Sfar, Vampire Loves

12. Charlaine Harris, All Together Dead

13. Fritz Leiber, The Conjure Wife

14. Steve and Melanie Tem, The Man on the Ceiling

15. Marc Acito, Attack of the Theater People

16. Ariel Gore, The Travelling Death and Resurrection Show

17. Rebecca Stott, Ghostwalk

18. Anthony Bourke, A Lion Called Christian

19. Chelsea Handler, Are You There Vodka? It's Me Chelsea

20. Molly Katzen, Moosewood Restaurant Cooks at Home

21. Tessa Kiros, Apples for Jam

22. Poppy Z. Brite, The Devil You Know

23. Chris Abani, A Song For Night

24. William Goldman, Marathon Man

25. ETA Hoffman, Der Sandmann

26. Gustavo Arellano, Orange County: I've Been Taking Notes

27. Laurie Notaro, There is a Slight Chance I Might Be Going to Hell

28. Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book

29. Elie Wiesel, Night

30. Phillip DePoy, The Drifter's Wheel

31. Deborah Grabien, The Weaver and the Factory Maid

32. May Bsisu, The Arab Table

33. Williams Sonoma's Savoring... Cookbook Series (so far I have savored Italy, Portugal/Spain, Mexico, and am currently savoring China and Southeast Asia)

My Favorite Color

2009-01-02T11:10:00.000-08:00

This New Year's Eve I decided to do something different to celebrate the passing of the old year. It was a good year that seemed to deserve something better than staying home to watch other people experience some tired, old ball dropping in a town square thousands of miles away. So, in celebration of the infinite potential of 2009 (and also my recent promotion), I splurged and bought theater tickets to The Color Purple for myself and guest.

It all came about in a spontaneous way. As I was shopping for birthday tickets to see Wicked in March, I happened to notice that there were still New Year's tickets available for The Color Purple. What better way for a theater lover to spend the last few hours of a year than seeing a musical? Besides, I'd read Alice Walker's book and seen the movie and liked them both. As it turned out, while I had some slight misgivings about how domestic violence and molestation could be turned into a musical, I had forgotten how apropos Celie's story is to new years, new lives and new beginnings.

Set in rural George between 1909 and 1949, Purple is the coming of age story about a meek, young woman who has had hammered into her by both the men in her life and by society that she is ugly and worthless. When we first meet her she is a sexually abused young girl of 14 or 15, whose step- (though we don't learn that until later) father molests her, then cruelly rips away any resulting babies. Things get even worse for our heroine, when Daddy convinces another abusive tryant to take her off his hands in exchange for the bonus gift of a free cow.

I know! It doesn't exactly scream dance number! And, honestly, for the first 10 or 15 minutes, my thoughts were more along of the lines of "maybe some stories just aren't meant to be musicals" than "Somebody give me more jazz hand! What that beating needs is jazz hands!". In the end, however, it is such a beautiful, triumphant story of overcoming that I am so glad I rode out my few moments of misgiving and allowed myself to be swept away by the music, the story and the fabulous sequined dress Shug Avery wears in her juke joint act. Even if the opening scenes are nothing to celebrate, by the end of the show, thanks to the love and influence of the strong women around her, Celie has evolved into a woman of confidence and independence. Purple is such a powerful, human story about friendship, transformation (even the evil, abusive huband reforms by the end!) and transcendence that it really contains the perfect themes to consider when the year is fresh, new and full of hope. And that is uplifting!

P.s. The performances were amazing! So much talent on that stage! I have no idea what the status of remaining tickets is, but the show is in Portland through the 4th and I absolutely recommend it!

An Experiment: Happiness and the Audacity of Yes

2009-01-01T22:14:00.000-08:00

Happy new year and welcome to my third annual January post-a-day blogstravaganza! This year the rules are a little different. Over the course of 2008, the rain cloud left my parade and there was a subtle but steady shift for the better in the martinasphere. Goodbye depression of early 2007, hello contentment! I did some good things in 2008 – experimented with vegetarianism (which has evolved into an about 80% vegetarian diet), lost a little weight, started playing violin again, went to the theater more often, stuck up for myself when being bullied (don’t mess with me, I will cut you or at least think NOTHING of passive-aggressively giving you the stink eye when I think you’re not looking, because that is just the kind of badass I am!), helped friends start an independent press, gave up diet soda AND caffeine, and did a lot of reevaluating of what was important to me.

This last piece has become especially significant since September, when my mom passed out when her heart stopped while lunching downtown at Todai and ended up in the hospital for a number of days. Thanks to a new pacemaker, she is better now, but it was scary to go from pushing out of my mind that she is getting older to actively worrying that I would soon be an aging, fat orphan. My mom was always the cool mom all the other kids liked. She has been my best friend since I was young. We always had that kind of relationship, and, I tell you, it was surreal to be sitting in a hospital waiting room all by myself, worrying about her. All the other times, she was there with me and we worried together. It was only thanks to friends (one in particular who called or texted just about once an hour when he wasn’t physically present, but they were all great!) that I didn’t lose my mind.

It was after that incident that there arose in me a discontent with just feeling content. I will be hitting one of the big “0” milestone birthdays this year. While I’m not exactly depressed, I am not thrilled about it either. Life is too short to just feel okay about things. “Good enough” is for suckers! So, I (again) began thinking about how I could develop my own happiness and live the kind of life I want to live. No one else is going to do it for me. So many times we push off doing things we want to do out of fear. You do that often enough and suddenly your dreams have become side tracked and you’re sitting in a boring, uncreative environment jealously pining for the lives of others.

For me, the unavoidable conclusion is that a lot of it is a matter of having the balls to say yes – yes to life, yes to opportunity and yes to ourselves. So, I’ve decided to spend the coming months looking for experiences, things and ideas that better quality life. They may be large. They may be small. They may be old. They may be new. Whatever they are, I will seek them out and post about them. Hopefully, you’ll find in them some things to enjoy as well. If you have any to suggest, please feel free to share.

The primary and only rule is that posts must be used for or to share good (unless, of course, bad is too funny to not share or gets its ass kicked by good). No complaining, fretting or obsessing of any kind (that is, after all, why we have personal journals and long suffering friends who have become adept at rolling their eyes any time our mouths open). As always, any other rules will be made up or discarded as I go along, because if there’s one thing that is NOT conducive to happiness, it is an unbending rule. Rules should be soft and pliant, like the willow that survives by bending in the wind.

Happy Boxing Day!

2008-12-26T09:41:00.001-08:00

Christmas was a little odd this year. Not only did we decide in our immediate family to not to exchange gifts (we sometimes do this in favor of donating somewhere), but we were also too snowed in to go to the grocery store before Christmas. In a cruel twist, the fates made the packed snow and ice on our street driveable without chains in time for Christmas, but not in time for the grocery store to still be open. This meant that Christmas dinner was cobbled together from the remnants we had hanging around in our pantry.

Still, I managed to put together a pretty decent meal of mango chicken, sweet potato (only one) with brown sugar, butter and oatmeal topping, and pasta. An orange tapioca pudding was even managed for dessert. It was a little gacky having been made from over sugared juice box juice, but you do what you can. I am telling you people, I am a culinary MacGyver! The good news is that Christmas wasn't really cancelled, just postponed until Sunday when there will be turkey and presents for all!

The even better news is that it was a really nice, restful day. I spent the day with my mother, each of us doing the things we like best in between just hanging out, giggling and chatting. I took a long, hot bath, read a whole Deborah Grabien ghosty mystery novel (The Weaver and the Factory Maid - so good!), lounged around, and even wrote and roomened a little. She played games online, puttered around outside, and watched t.v. We have a lot of really nice friends and heard from just about all of them on Christmas itself. And, in the end, I'm glad for my non-traditional Christmas, because it included all the things that are important: laughter, family, togetherness, even a little joy. And I hope yours did too!

P.s. It is not only Boxing Day, but Baxter's birthday, hence the picture in his honor. Doesn't the green remind you of summer?

Arctic Blast '08: Welcome to Snowmageddon!

2008-12-23T15:22:00.000-08:00

Toby and Lily when the snow was not deep enough for Lily to get lost in it (as has befallen their gnome friend in the background).

One of my favorite things about Portland are the local winter weather reports. I have friends who play Storm Watch Bingo, so I know I am not alone in this. We Portlanders choose to contrast our many other stellar qualities by being total drama queens about winter weather. Our local news crews sometimes seem to want so fervently for some weather related news that they're all too ready to start warning about an impending snowpocalypse every time we get a 1/4" of snow. So, last week when they started talking about "Arctic Blast 2008", I didn't pay that much attention. I enjoyed the opportunity to telecommute and work in my penguin pajama bottoms and old school grey hoodie when my office closed (0h home officing, after a week working from home, how I covet thee!), but I didn't pay that much attention.

A week and a few feet of snow later and Mother Nature has my attention. It is cold and my car is stuck behind a small snow drift, but it is utterly gorgeous outside and I love it, especially now that I am officially on vacation! The only thing that keeps me from loving the snow enough to marry it is that knowing I can't stray far from home gives me nagging feelings like "I must find a way to get to the store for I am completely out of bobby pins!" Never mind that I don't actually use bobby pins. Or that if it were a normal day I probably wouldn't want to go anywhere. It's the not being able to go out if I happened to want to that creates the sense of urgency. As a long-term couple, snow and I were never meant to be. Sure, we'd put up with each other for a while, but eventually there'd be recriminations and hard feelings and our love would melt. For now, though, it makes an awfully nice Christmas fling.

More to come...

Snow Stories

2008-12-17T14:06:00.001-08:00

Growing up, my favorite fairy tale was "The Snow Queen". My favorite passage was the one in which she first appears to little Kai:

A few flakes of snow were falling, and one of them, rather larger than the rest, alighted on the edge of one of the flower boxes. This snow-flake grew larger and larger, till at last it became the figure of a woman, dressed in garments of white gauze, which looked like millions of starry snowflakes linked together. She was fair and beautiful, but made of ice - shining and glittering ice. Still she was alive and her eyes sparkled like bright stars, but there was neither peace nor rest in their glance.

(Translation is from Lily Owens' The Complete Hans
Christian Andersen Fairy Tales and not the link above)

The story goes on to describe how Kai is lured away by this horrible, beautiful creature (who was, by the way, very obviously an inspiration for C.S. Lewis' White Witch of Narnia fame). Ultimately, he is rescued by his irrepressible, true friend, Gerda, but it was always really the queen who drew me in. She fascinated me in the same way Rilke's proclamation

For beauty is nothing but
the beginning of terror, that we are still able to bear,
and we revere it so, because it calmly disdains to destroy us.

from the first stanza of his Duino Elegies has always spoken to me. It is the blurred border lands the make the line between beauty and horror or the fantastic and reality that have always intrigued me. That is where all the interesting stories lie.

And so, long before I would have explained my interests in such terms, The Snow Queen was one of my early favorites. As luck would have it, over the weekend, Portland was treated to its first winter snow, which makes it the perfect time to curl up on the couch with a cup of hot tea and maybe some chocolate and reread the story.