Swings and Misses: MLD

Pre-Game:
Once upon a time, back in the 60s, in sunny SoCal, there played a man - a Dodger - named Rob Fairly. Fairly was a big first baseman who had a way with a bat. One season, his magic touch failed him. He was in a horrible slump, and no matter what he did, he couldn't seem to figure out how to get out of it. For the life of him, he couldn't seem to hit a change-up, and it was really frustrating him.

His batting average got worse and worse, and finally, he was desperate. The Dodgers were in Washington DC, playing the Senators. At the end of his rope, not knowing what else to do, he approached the Senator's manager, Ted Williams. (Williams, by the way, is commonly regarded as one of the game's greatest all-time hitters.) He told Williams his situation: huge slump, demoralized, really wanting to master the change-up but striking out (literally) every time.

Williams just said, "If you can't connect, then stop swinging at them."

Simple advice, right? Maybe a guy with less of an ego would have just left his jaw on the floor for random tobacco juice rebounds to collect (ok, that was gross, but it gets the point across), and written off such a basic strategy. But Fairly took what Williams said and acted on it, and stopped swinging at those darn change-ups.

And you know what? Within a few games, Fairly came out of his slump.

Game Time:
Turns out that baseball is a lot like dating. If you are swinging your bat a lot and just not connecting...
Don't swing at pitches you can't connect with.
Lots of people, like Fairly, go through big slumps in their dating careers. But if, as a hitter, there are some pitches that you just can't make connections with this season - like Fairly's change-up - then don't swing. It could be the perfect pitch, but if you routinely can't make a connection, then stop trying so hard to hit every ball of that type that comes across the plate.

Have realistic expectations.
Don't expect yourself to be able to get on base every time you're at the plate. (Even the bestest of them rarely hit better than one in three at-bats, much less every time!)

I'll say it again, in case you thought I didn't mean it: Have realistic expectations.
Some dating hitters not only expect themselves to be able to get on base with every at-bat, but they also expect to get on base with the first pitch across the plate. And to add even more pressure, some hitters tell themselves that it's within the realm of possibility that they will only hit home runs. Newsflash: Not. Going. To. Happen.

"Small ball" wins games.
It's the hitters that consistently get on base with grounders, pokes, and lucky drops who have the best averages (generally). Besides, just remember this: there's got to be someone on base before any RBIs can be counted, and there need to be THREE in order for a grand slam to occur. Solo home runs are fine and good, but it's the grand slams and slides that really make the game interesting.

A note on Perfect Pitches:
The pitch could be a fastball up the middle, perfect height, and you could miss it every single time. It could be a pitch that every other MLD(ating) player could - and would - blast out of the park -- but if you can't, then it's not a perfect pitch for you, and you should pass.

Don't be afraid to pull a Fairly:
If what used to work for you doesn't anymore, switch it up. Chase a curve or a slider. (Please, don't embarrass yourself by leaning into the pitch so you'll get beaned and get a base, though. Also, don't chase wild pitches. Bad idea.) Look at every pitch individually and decide whether to swing. Use your gut. And if your gut doesn't work, use your mind. And if your mind doesn't work, consider asking an expert, like Fairly did. It worked for Fairly...it just might work for you.

Panda time:
So before your next at-bat, think about your strengths and weaknesses. Think about not the pitch that you want, but the pitch you can hit. Sometimes, it's the pitch that's down and out that you connect with for a grand slam. Just ask Pablo Sandoval.

Post-Game:
If you can't hit the change-up, don't panic and swing at every pitch. If you do, you're liable to get a shoulder out of joint...or at least, a lot of strikeouts. Be patient. If you can't make connections like you used to, refocus and try different pitches. Just work hard and practice and hopefully your manager will see it and not demote you to the minors. (O, horrors!)

Famous Last Words:
But remember...even if you do get sent to the minors, at least you're still in the game.

Solstice

I went to the beach on the solstice.

It was beautiful.

When I was picking my way through the brush path, I got to the top and came down, this is what I saw. It immediately reminded me of Anne of Green Gables.

I was talking to a friend of mine who lives on the east coast, and shot over a few pictures. He commented that it now seemed odd to him to see the sun set over the water...as for him, when at the beach, the beautiful thing is to see the sun rising. I had never even thought about that before. Sunsets on the beach just seem so natural.

It occurred to me that almost my whole life, I have had easy access to seeing the sun set over the water. You can see the sun set on the water from the front porch of the house I grew up in. I have lived within a few miles of water for most of my life after leaving home, and so I could easily make the effort to see the sun set over the water if I wanted to. There's nothing like it. (Now, I'm kind of curious to see what the sunrise over water looks like...but chances are I won't be curious enough to actually get up in time to see the black to grey to pink to yellow of the dawn. At least, I assume the sunrise pinks. (Horrors, what if there is no pink?!?!)

I feel the urge to note that these have not been photo-shopped at all, seeing as how I don't have the software, because, as we have mentioned before, I am a little too much like Scrooge for the Bob Cratchets in my life.

Here I am, looking at the beach, sitting on my newly-finished quilt. Now it has sand all over in it. I suppose it was a good maiden voyage. Now I won't worry about whatever else gets on it in the future because I took it out, and it survived the Sandy Beach test. So bring it on! Many more adventures will be had on this quilt, I'm sure.

My favorite part of the night was talking to my friend Peeks. It was her birthday party, and her car, like many others, got stuck in the sand. (Why they ever decided to drive on the beach, I will never be quite sure, but there were at least 20 cars on the sand. It doesn't seem very environmentally friendly to either the beach or the cars, but hey, whatever...) In fact, while we were walking toward the party, we saw a car drive by and splash itself in the water....seemingly just for the fun of it. My car and salt water don't really like each other, but I guess this is like the cat that likes to go swimming.

We were talking about silly boy stuff and then I said, "there's no need to sully this sunset with such nonsense" and she just looked at me and proclaimed that I had been speaking Shakespearean not-sonnets to her and laughed. As we watched, the sky turned an almost steel blue, and a line of six pelicans came and were swooping up and down over the water in a delicate, almost mathematical curve. Up and down, never diving...skimming close to the water, rising about ten feet above it. Pelicans are big birds. Even the brown ones (which I'm pretty sure these were), that are the smallest of all pelicans, have a wingspan averaging seven feet. It was a treat to see them, wings unfurled, undulating up and down on the air currents I could feel, but couldn't see.

Aside: I think I'd have to be very trusting to be a bird. After all, you're being kept aloft by something that you assume will keep going, that you can't see, that's unpredictable, that you have zero control over. So while you're learning to fly, trust is a big deal. It's not like you can hold it against your mommy bird that the doldrums suddenly decided to appear and that you plummeted headfirst tens of feet toward a flat hard surface before wildly squawking and somehow finding purchase (or not, with my luck).

The moon was so bright and beautiful. The stars were small and, though visible, seemed far away because of all the light. It was gorgeous...no flashlights required. :) Though with my little point-and-shoot you can't see the details of the moon, they were there...it wasn't just a ball of reflected light upon which no life can be sustained. It was an embellishment to good times with good friends.

Life is Like a Drama

So, I started watching a T-drama last night. It's one that I've seen before...one that was the perfect medicine for me during a hard time in my life. Since I've kind of been struggling for the last couple of weeks, I thought it might be fun to revisit it.

Some of the episodes are hilarious. Others are so painfully cheesy that I just want to gag. The swelling of the mournful music as the lame ex-girlfriend (or girl who wants the guy but clearly isn't going to get him), and the happy, upbeat theme songs...there are many things to like in dramas; also many things that will make you want to roll your eyes.

But this drama has had a lot of nuggets in it.

There's a guy who's a lawyer (has his own hotshot firm at 32ish) and he's had a long relationship with an actress who has insisted on keeping their relationship under the table. He meets a girl we'll call Adorabella who is a 10 in personality but not quite the brightest kid in the class, but of course she is hard-working and diligent and loyal and adorable. Long story short, Hotshot realizes that he doesn't want to be with someone who shoves him under the couch whenever company is over, so he breaks up with her, saying that a few hours of happiness doesn't make up for months and years of loneliness. As Chris Titus would say, you don't get a rebate on life, so you shouldn't stick with someone who's always belittling you or who isn't fully supporting you in a relationship.

Of course, Adorabella is full of insights into people, so she is always noticing when people are angry or happy, how they're dealing with problems, and how they take their coffee. So how she gets to be so unobservant that she doesn't realize Hotshot is into her, I will never know. But Hotshot's best friend, who used to like the actress, likes Adorabella, but uses her to get back at Hotshot by pretending they're in a relationship. Adorabella likes the best friend, but she feels caught in a lie and eventually everything becomes clear and it comes out that Hotshot's friend was using her because he secretly still liked the actress and he wanted her to be happy, so he was using Adorabella so that Hotshot would realize she was taken and that he should go back to the actress. Not going to happen, since the actress is annoyingly petulant and almost stalkerish, which you think she would know to avoid since she is a big-time celebrity and has people following her all the time.

So.

Don't be with people who don't appreciate you.
Don't pretend to like someone because the person you really like is longing for someone and you want them to be happy so you bend over backward trying to make something that isn't going to happen, happen.
Just don't do stuff that will make you miserable.
Don't do stuff because you think it will make someone else happy, but makes you miserable in the meantime. ASK, for heaven's sake!
Be yourself. 

End of story, but not end of drama.

long day, not in reseda

A few weeks ago I made a trip from P-town to Sea-town. Oh, city on the water, how I love you!

It was a long day:

0600: wake up
0615: out the door
0725: call nephew/niece. IGPM told me the story of the Tortoise and the Hare, but he modified it. He had a storytelling project at school, and his mom helped him pick the story. He rehearsed it, and then decided that he really didn't like the traditional ending. So he changed it instead, and although the hare does fall asleep and the tortoise passes him, the tortoise and the hair cross the finish line at the same time, so they are both winners, and they are friends! (This is with no encouragement from the teacher, or his mom.) I wonder if Aesop's Fables lose their potency when changed?
As an aside, I talked to IPGM on Monday and he told me that he and K had gone a whole day without fighting. I said that was most impressive. He said he wanted to go TWO WHOLE WEEKS without fighting. I wished him best of luck. He promised me a hug when he sees me in October. I'm going to hold him to it.
0912: breakfast at Toulouse with MLB
1035: haircut!
1145: bellsquare shopping w/ Two Ace
1400: thai food
1500: migrate to Seattle again
1600: purchase every bottle of DRY cucumber soda the local QFC had
1700: meet RW
1745: score an awesome parking spot, courtesy of truck driver
1800: Mariners vs. As.
2100: Bases loaded in the 8th, one run behind, leads to nothing
2200: back to QFC
2230: EC's house
2300: Surprise!!!!!! Here are my ladies. We're all a little tired in these pics. It was like girls popped out of the woodwork. RoJo and Ronron surprised me, at the request of EC. They came over and we got caught up. But first we sat in chairs with swimming noodles and snuggies and laid on the floor. We laughed, and laughed, and laughed so hard. I don't even remember what about...except for one thing that will always be an inside joke: "Is she, or isn't she?"

And then suddenly, even though only five girls live in the house, there were ten girls in the room and a movie was going and I was dying, dying, dying of tired. I managed to make it until 0045 and then I just made room for myself on the couch and turned my head to the cushions. Girls giggling, lights on, movie going...I didn't care. I was so tired I barely even stirred as they all left. EC woke me up at 6 so I could sleep in her bed (she's an angel) and I slept until 10!!!!!! I never do that anymore. But I kinda needed the sleep. It was such a long, good day!!!

Rolling

So...last night I had A Cultural Experience: I went to Roller Derby.

It was loud. The speakers were like to blow my ears out. I felt sorry for the teeny tiny baby five rows in front of me. Her mother's bangs were in a doubled-over ponytail. I also felt bad for the girl in the charteuse plastic pants, mostly because they didn't fit well and because her top was something a six year old should never wear. I saw all sorts of characters. I'm just glad Derby ended when it did so we missed the naked bike parade that P-town experiences every year.

It took me one "bout" to figure out what in the heck was going on and how it was scored. Both teams saw wild comebacks. There were some mean girls! I am telling you, I would not want to be a jammer for love or money. Some of the names were slightly risque, but I was actually rather impressed at the cleverness of some...especially the ones that looked one way on paper, but when you said them out loud, you "got" it. There were a lot of animals featured...Scald Eagle and Blast Unicorn were just two.

Readers Digest Roller Derby 101: (skip if you are not interested)
There are two teams of girls wearing roller skates and protective gear. Each team fields five players...1 "jammer" (basically like a running back in a run-only offense), one "pivot" (the relay anchor), and three blockers.

The jammers have stars upon thars -- that is, they have little shower cap looking things on their heads with big stars on them -- so the blockers know who to block. All the blockers start together in a "pack." The jammers start about ten feet behind. Whichever jammer bullies her way through the pack and passes all players first is the "lead jammer."

The whole time, everybody is skating forward. The jammers skate around the rink and catch up to the pack again (since they're a pack, they move more slowly) and they score 1 point for each person they legally pass after they make it through the pack the second time. (Going outside the lines isn't legal. Shoving someone down and stepping over her isn't legal. A host of other things, including use of elbows and kicking legs out from under bodies, are not legal.)

Each Jammer has her own ref who skates around and around in the innermost circle, counting the points the jammer racks up. Every jam session is 2 minutes or until the lead jammer calls it off by putting her hands on her waist. (Strategy tip: If you make three points and someone else is about to make five, you call it off first.) Then you line up and do it all again. "Bouts" consist of two thirty-minute halves. There are 30 seconds between each jam (mandatory) while the players line up. There are also time-outs and "official reviews" and lots of other nonsense.

One minute minors are served in the penalty box for each illegal block. Yes, jammers can get put in the box, too. When jammers are put in the box, it's a power jam, since the other team doesn't have any way to score any points. But both jammers can't be in the box at the same time (or else the blockers are out blocking nobody) so if both jammers get minors, the penalty is over for the jammer who is already in the box. Even if you only have two blockers skating in the rink, every time the jammer passes you, they get five points.

After, I had a pulled pork sandwich with cherry cole slaw on it and a fresh strawberry shake. Yum. And then we had a discussion about possessives and "'s," and the significance of "ye olde" and j and i and other linguistic historical factoids. Basically, it was a crazy evening! But at the end, when I actually had figured it out, and there was a major upset about to happen, it was really actually fun to watch. Not sure I'd do it again, but it was definitely a Cultural Experience.

Of Sheep and Taxes

This is what a sheepish girl's hair looks like when it's shorn.

If this were England in the 1500s there would probably be a tax on it.

Baa. 

"I like your shirt."

Rule #1: If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.
Rule #2: If you can't say something that would sound nice on paper without snarling in anger or jealousy when you utter words, don't say anything at all.
Rule #3: Run the filter three times before speaking...kind of like Mom's "how many times you must wash the vegetables before eating them" rule.

This morning, I was thinking about being warm. My phone says it's 43 degrees outside. In the motherland, and Austin, and (it seems) pretty much everywhere else, it's 73 degrees (or higher). I wore a coat to work today. And I wished I had another blanket last night. Being 1 blanket short is never fun.

Thinking about being warm made me think about two days ago, when it was warm, and I complimented someone on her shirt. It was cute -- a salmon baby-doll style contraption I probably would wear if it was in my closet. And then I thought about warm summer nights on the porch in the homeland.

Thinking about warm summer nights on the porch in the homeland, and shirt compliments made me think of An Incident.

About ten years ago I was sitting with a boy on a porch on a warm night. It was his porch, not mine...though we had spent many hours sitting on my porch. It was a fairly rare occurrence for me to be sitting on his porch, and I didn't really love to do it, as the first time I did, I got stung by a bee, right between the eyes. But that's another story for another blog post.

*Background: He always sat to my left. I always leaned against the post. Eventually, I would move down from the top stair and start dead-heading the petunia bush that mom always kept by the front planter. We would talk until it was time for him to go home or until he got bored of sitting still and wanted to go for a walk or a drive.*

Earlier that evening, I had been telling him a story about a mutual friend of mine.

**Interruptus: I was in high school when this happened, and I could be kind of mean-spirited. Please keep the folly of youth in mind as you read this. Also, I hope everyone in the story forgives me for telling it here.)**

The story went like this: A few weeks ago, I had been walking with said friend in the foyer of our high school. A boy I had known for years, but who was a relative unknown to her, approached her and started talking to her.

**Interruptus: Looking back, he reminded me of Napoleon Dynamite. He wore sweats to school four days out of five, and moon boots every day in the winter. This particular day, he was wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt that had definitely seen better days, and a pair of green sweats. He was tall and gangly, and had Nerd with a capital N written all over him. He's the sort of guy who will never let go of his LEGO collection and can be a little awkward in social situations, but has phenomenal brainpower and can solve crazy hard math problems in his head. He'll probably win awards someday, if he hasn't already. I liked him -- liked to talk to him, and I thought he was interesting, though at the time, I thought of him as an intellectual equal and not as a creature with a y chromosome...if that makes sense.**

The boy approached my friend, who is very pretty. He said "hi" to her. I'm not sure he looked her in the eye -- he rarely did so with anyone, and I got the impression that he liked her, so he would have been intimidated. He was probably looking at a spot just over her shoulder or at the floor. (This girl, it should be known, was so captivating that one time when she was out, her date was so busy staring at her that he forgot to drive, and subsequently was in a minor car accident, which put a slight damper on their outing.)

My friend looked at him and said, "Hi," in her friendly way, and then she said something that (at the time) completely flabbergasted me: "I like your shirt." I don't remember his response. I just remember thinking..."what the ?!?!?! Girl, what are you thinking? His shirt has at least three holes in it, and considering he was probably at least half a foot taller than he was when his mom bought it for him, it isn't the most glamorous of looks." He moved away, past us, down the hall toward the band room (which thankfully I only had occasion to enter twice in my whole high school career) and I turned to my friend and said, "Did you really like his shirt?" I couldn't help it. It seemed completely incredulous to me that this girl, who had probably never even seen an episode of TMNT in her life, would be complimenting his shirt. Her reply, "No. But he looked like he needed a compliment."

I think my jaw dropped. The idea of telling someone you liked his shirt when you didn't actually just seemed to be sticky icky...a form of lying. If you think he needs a compliment, tell him you dig his curly hair, or tell him you like his posture, or tell him it's good to see him, or tell him something that's true...but don't tell him you like his old ratty shirt when you really don't. It could be his favorite, yes. But you're not doing yourself, or him, any favors by making false statements.

Interruptus: People who know me know that I'm not shy to give compliments to people about their clothes. I'll tell strangers in the elevator I love their coat, or shoes, or luggage. I'll tell people I hardly know that the color of their shirt matches their eyes. I'll walk past guys at church and make eye contact and then move my fingers down my chest in an outline of a tie and make a thumbs up. But only if I really like the article of clothing!!! Perhaps I am so free with compliments in part because of this friend; although I did not/do not necessarily agree with her method, I did appreciate the fact that she thought about someone else and what kind of day he/she was having and if he/she needed a pick-me-up, and my friend wanted to help.

So I was sitting on this boy's porch, telling him this story, and laughing a little about it...asking, "why would she have done that?" And then, out of nowhere, the girl (who happened to like the owner of the porch I sitting on...most of the time) drove up. The boy and I looked at each other. (He happened to like her back...most of the time). He was wearing a red shirt with the logo of a nearby university on it (#1), which had a bitter rivalry with another nearby university (#2)...and her family were staunch University #2 fans. The look on her face as she got out of the car and walked toward us was priceless. She clearly was wondering what I was doing there, and why I was sitting on the porch with him. (There was at least two feet of space between us, as there always was whenever we Porchified.) She seemed a little irritated, but seemed equally determined to hide it. She walked up the sidewalk toward his house and said, "Hey, (boy). I like your shirt." If the word "shirt" was venom, it probably would have been lethal-injection grade if she had been close enough to get the needle in.

It was horrible.

It was horrible, because sometimes the Sneaky Snark comes out of me. I really don't like it when it does. But this time I let it slip out: I turned to him and said with a straight face, "Yes, (boy). I like your shirt." Between my tone, and a raised eyebrow, the boy got what I was digging at and we started to laugh hysterically. I had literally just finished telling my tale of shirt-liking-fakery, and then she appeared, and told he of the university #1 shirt that she liked his shirt in a tone that said she didn't care a flying fig about his shirt, but she wanted to know what he was doing sitting there with me. And it was even more horrible because she had no idea why we were laughing. I couldn't very well tell her, but I knew she would ask, and "nothing" was definitely going to be an insufficient answer, in addition to being untrue. I said something that slightly mollified her, but I still felt horrible inside. At least she had good intentions when she told TMNT boy that she liked his shirt. I was being nothing but petty by telling Boy She Liked about the story. (There were lots of relationship politics between the three of us. Frankly, it would take too long to detail, and I really don't want to go there.)

I don't remember if I got up to leave, or if she did, or if the three of us sat there awkwardly (for it surely could have been nothing but awkward) for awhile. I am kind of glad I don't remember.

So, for Rule #1, it's okay to compliment. Just mean whatever you say.
Rule #2 is still a challenge sometimes. Sarcasm in all its forms is a touchy thing, and should be used sparingly.
Rule #3 will help with both Rule #1 & #2, and will help you avoid feeling horrible like I did at the end of The Incident because I was snarky in response to someone not following Rule #2.

But you can be sure that if I ever tell you I like your shirt, I really do like it.

Journey in a Truck

Four weeks ago I went for a road trip. With my boss. In a truck.

(Waits for those of you who actually know me to recover from your boggled brains.)

My boss told me he bought said truck with the idea to buy the smallest truck possible to haul the maximum amount of cargo he'd ever need to haul at one time. When he said "truck," I was thinking something like a Toyota Tacoma. Then he told me that he was going to pick me up in the truck for the weeklong road trip. I was, admittedly, not very excited about the prospect of riding in a tiny cab. It became obvious to me as soon as I saw him standing next to his vehicle that he is not from the South or from Texas or from anywhere else but New York. I say this because in New York, "quarter" is qwah-tah and water is wah-tah. His truck was a Honda CR-V.




These scenes remind me of the "Hanover Winter Song," wherein the ice-gnomes from "long - forgotten Norways" march. It was a bit late in the season, but the way the snow fell on these trees made me think of thousands of arboreous (yes, that is now a word) soldiers were marching in their Norways, the snow elegantly sticking to their backs as they crested one ridge and resolutely marched down the other side. No undignified windmilling of arms or galloping down the hill for these chaps. Nope. None at all.

We drove hither and yon: over hill, bridge, and dale. Through mountain passes and fertile valleys, we wended our way. We chatted and schmoozed and did our road show approximately twelve times.

I can now do it in my sleep.

Here's our arrival to our second resting place, and the sun setting over it:

Here's the view from my hotel room (below).

Then on the way back, I saw something beautiful: what looked like it was a former river bed. I also ate a fresh strawberry shake at a place that was right across the street from this sign: I wonder if you read it the way I did. I kind of hope so. My boss thought I was kind of lunatic because I laughed so hard and insisted on taking a picture of it with my camera.

Clearly, he didn't read the sign the way I did.

Then, we drove and drove and drove some more.
Basically, the whole day was about eating and driving. We got caught in a microburst and pulled off the side of the road. I really wanted to get home as soon as possible, but under the circumstances, it was probably safer to pull off the road for a few minutes.

It just so happened to be our luck that the nearest pull-off was Multnomah Falls. So I looked at the falls through the windshield, and then, ten minutes later, after the rain had abated somewhat, I rolled down the window and took a picture that was clear...that is, so the waterfall looked like a waterfall and not like spilt milk.

Oops...I did it again (spendaholic version)

I think I did it again
I convinced myself it's okay to spend

oh money

yes I'm sure it's a steal
I know that I've found a true, real deal

cause to open my wallet
That is just so typically me

oh! spending money

[CHORUS:]

Oops!...I did it again

I found a great deal, got lost in the thrill
oh! spending money

oops you'd think that I'd stop
But I'll shop til I drop
Or till they take my card

You see my problem is this:
I can shop all day,
Online or in stores, Wal-Mart or E-Bay

I cry, paying the bills
I say I'm all done, I'm through with deal thrills

But to open my wallet,
That is just so typically me...

[Repeat CHORUS]

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah


Please note:
I'm not trying to make light of people with the very serious habit of overextending themselves financially on a regular basis. It's a serious thing, and I'm not recommending it. I just couldn't resist the parody that popped in my mind one day at work. Also it's kind of ironic because anyone who knows me knows that in a past life I was related to Ebenezer Scrooge in his pre-Christmas Carol days.

May the Fourth Be With You

May 4, 2013:

12:00 am: pack with PK while listening to music
1:45 discuss upcoming move with PK
2:30 sleep
6:30 wake up because of sunlight
7:00 get out of bed
7:20 roll out cinnamon stacks
8:05 pull cinnamon stacks out of the oven and hand them to incoming movers
8:20 move commences
9:00 truck full, on to storage unit
9:30 storage unit paperwork that was supposed to take five minutes is now complete
10:00 truck full
10:30 done unloading at new apartment
10:45 egg break
11:00 clean while listening to poppy music on repeat. SOTD: "Boyfriend" by JBiebs. (I know.)
1:30 pizza break, watch 30 min of "starman" (lame!)
2:00 clean in zombie-like manner
3:45 derby day party
4:30 delicious chicken
5:45 muddy horses are through; Orb wins
6:15 library drop off
6:45: nap on the bed
7:45 clean
9:30 party; 2 of 4 on Just Dance
10:30 elevate feet
11:00 sleep

Notes:
1. Molasses and bourbon marinated chicken is super yum.
2. Fig trees are awesome.
3. Always do paperwork before moving day.
4. Jonners birthday is May the 4th.
5. Eating breakfast is always a good thing.
6. People who volunteer to help other people and who are patient and kind are the absolute best.
7. Roads in Oregon make no sense.
8. Take your time and do a walk-through or you'll end up regretting it.
9. Always know where your sheets, packing tape, scissors, and a screwdriver and wrench are.
10. Star Wars is still awesome.

Once Upon a (Beach) Time

Once upon a time, a mom and her girl went to the beach. The purpose of the trip was a vacation for the mom, and a working trip for the daughter. They drove to the coast late one night and listened to songs that soothed the daughter and made the mom wonder what in the heck her child was listening to. (With a few exceptions.)

The daughter worked in between bouts of extreme ear disease, wherein she lay near expiration on the bed while the mother, being a mom, took care of her offspring.

When the daughter was working, the mother borrowed said daughter's car and drove up and down the coast, seeing what there was to see, stopping where there were places to stop, and generally enjoying herself.

In some places there were outcroppings of rock. In others, there was plenty of foam. 

In yet other places, there were trees mostly blocking the view, which made for dramatic photo settings.

Seafoam's like the sea's whipped cream...except whipped cream shouldn't hiss.

One day, the daughter left work and decided to go to the state park with her mom. It was late in the day, but they wanted to make every minute count. Although they couldn't see the tide pools, they drove down to see the lighthouse anyway.

The daughter had been so intent on going to play that she forgot to take her name tag off, and as it was cold and time was short, she didn't notice until it was too late and the white blob was in all the pictures.  

Oh well. At least she's labeled!

The fog around them was fast and thick, moving not with little cat feet, but with slithery snakiness. From the time these two pictures were taken, no more than five minutes had elapsed. The lighthouse went from being picturesque to fulfilling its purpose while they were there -- if you look hard, you can see the beacon of light at the top of the house.

The mom and daughter had been having a discussion about this blog. The mother told the daughter that implied presence was very important. (They had a discussion about proper office decor. It was a suitable segue.) The mom wanted to be the implied presence for the rest of the photos.

Here's the mother's implied presence.

Then they went to dinner, and had calamari and crab cakes, some prawn delicious salad (the daughter found that although prawn are tolerable, it was really the rest of the salad that was magnificent), and some Brazilian stew concoction with coconut milk. They shared with each other. :) (The mother said the crab cakes were in her Top Five Ever.)

Thank you, Yelp, and Local Seafood, for helping them achieve this yumminess.

The pair shopped in bed in the hotel room (a surprisingly fun novelty). They evaluated crockpots and used a color/frame wheel to put their favorite prints with the very best combinations of framing combinations. They ate salad out of plastic containers and pre-peeled boiled eggs. The daughter ate vast quantities of potato chips and the mom ate lots of everything else.

This just goes to show you that while you can lead by example, you can only lead a horse (daughter) to healthy food; you can't make her drink (partake).

On their way out of town, they spied a tree that had been trimmed to avoid the telephone/electricity poles. And they stopped at a little gallery. Black and gold bowls and glass intricacies caught the mother's fancy, and a series of oils of the coast were the focus of the daugher's experience. There was also the ultimately comfortable rocking chair for the mother, which was not the most comfortable rocking chair experience ever for the daughter (unsurprising), and there were an awful lot of contemporary abstract lamenesses, regardless of whose point of view you take.

The daughter was so enchanted with the oils that she bought not just one, but two. She had them wrapped, like Mallow and Wallow, and they are still bundled safe in their little cradles of bubble wrap, in anticipation of next week's move.

Another road trip, another set of experiences, and another beach comb behind them, mother and daughter are now on to the next adventure.

What's next? Stay tuned to find out. (The story won't be on the 11 o'clock news. These things take more time to develop than the next headline.)

The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey

The first time I saw a version of The Hobbit I think I was in sixth grade and we watched the animated version in school. It was supremely boring and I wanted to fall asleep.

I didn't read the book until I was perhaps sixteen, maybe seventeen. I read it out of obligation, to be honest. It was one of those "should read" books, like a Dostoevsky. (Sorry to all you D fans.) I remember trying to figure out the "teeth" riddle as I read it before I read ahead, and I'm sorry to say that riddles are just not a strength of mine and I would have had a gleeful song sung over me by Gollum and been eaten up if it had been me in Bilbo's place.

The Unexpected Journey portion came out at Christmas, but I didn't have time to see it then. I wanted to see it later, but never got around to it until March. I went to see it with a friend in a very odd setting...an observatory IMAX. So the screen, though huge, was curved at weird angles and half the time I felt like I was floating. The other half, my eyes were trying too hard to focus and nearly made me sick.

I was thinking of the movie for days after:
* The dwarves theme song, which we are introduced to in Bag End, when they have solemned out after their food binge, particularly hung with me. The dark, sad, deep humming haunted me. It made me think of days when everybody knew the same songs and sang together, spontaneously. Nobody needed to cajole or beg or play modest or make excuses of "I can't sing." Everybody just did it; it was part of life; a way of entertainment, of building community;
* the goblin king looked a little too much like Jabba the Hutt for my realistic capabilities;
* the dark orc and the light orc sounded exactly alike, and how cheesy they made him (Azog) look;
* the "thunder fight" in the mountain pass;
* the white warg, and Elvish blades;
* the humor with which they did some scenes, particularly the 'play' between Smeagol and Gollum, and how well Bilbo handled the situation;
* how mad I was that they made Radagast the Brown look like an idiot; it was like they were trying to copy Jar Jar Binks or something. Utterly ridiculous;
* and wrinkles on immortal elves. To their credit, the actors aged well, but ten years weighs on anyone and it just wasn't the same; and
* Richard Armitage could probably even rock a real Dwarf beard. Of this, I am convinced. (See CCC post.)

I watched it again tonight. It seemed darker, and the humor more bleak than I remembered. Perhaps it was my underlying mood; perhaps I was just more enthralled the first time. ('Twould be unsurprising if that was the case.)

I got the movie from Redbox. My first ever. It made me think of Two Ace. :)

It's time for bed. Past time. But I just had to say that the world Tolkien created has taken me on an unexpected journey. I learned more about myself from reading the quad than I have from almost any other book...it was a felicitous combination of being in the right place, the right time, and the right frame of mind when I read them for maximum positive impact. I'll always be grateful I read it, and  look forward to the next part of the now-expected journey.

Birthday

Today's my long-time bestie's natal day.

Lots of people are upset about birthdays, especially when they get older, and it's not so much about the presents you get, but the fact that you're moving on in life. Maybe it's that they're not a fan of wrinkles. Maybe they're upset that they haven't been more productive with their time. Maybe it's a day of reminders to make them wish they'd made different choices and they could just rewind.

I haven't really been a fan of my own birthday for many years. I admit...I'm sneaky about it. I try not to mention it to people not in the family, and it's not on fb. I've even resorted to reverting to calendar years when I think about how old I am, and even tell people that I'm the year I will be turning, just so I won't have to do the mental calculation to figure it out.

On the other hand, my "new year" resolutions generally go by natal year. Last year was the "year of Me." I did really great for about the first six months and after that all my good intentions kind of went by the wayside. "Me" year was supposed to be building up myself, literally (going to the gym to rid myself of Pre-RS-arm syndrome) and figuratively, by broadening/deepening my confidence, my skill sets, and my ability to make decisions.

But I digress...as I usually do.

The point is: birthdays are not about you...exactly. They're about celebrating the fact that you have been able to spend another year with people who care about you.