Peachy Pearly Birthday Cake

Last weekend I went to a birthday party for one of my favorite people on the planet. We had mac n cheese, saw Big Hero 6, and I even had a piece of "black pearl" birthday cake. Although the pearls look pretty, eating pearls is kind of an unpleasant experience and I ended up focusing more on the frosting.

On the way to the movie, I took this picture. It was raining most of the weekend, but it cleared up for just long enough for me to get this shot of a beautiful tree and my beautiful people.

Spring has come early! And, despite the allergies that it I have had, and the drought we are in, I am grateful.

And I am grateful that  I have people -- pictured or not -- who love me and want me to have a peachy pearly life and yummy birthday cake.

Albatross

A small flock of albatross has been following my boat of late.
I know Great White sharks also follow boats. I wonder if both "bigs" are always attracted to the same vessels?
Seems a bit unfair, if so.

This week, one of the birds that has been flying low and close suddenly peeled away and flew east.
Watching it fly away, I was struck by
how big the dang thing was
how powerful its wingstrokes were
how unsurprised I was at its choice to suddenly depart
how much I wanted to feel relieved by its absence

I expected more relief as I watched it depart. At first it made a shadow on the water, and then slowly it became a speck on the horizon. Then, in a matter of just a few minutes, I couldn't see it anymore. I knew it was still there -- the laws of matter and physics still apply -- but it was, in effect, gone. I wondered how something so big have disappeared in such a short period of time.

As I have pondered this, a cloud has come, and dropped misty, friendly rain on me, covering me tenderly, letting me know I am cared for and loved, leaving its evidence with little droplets, so I won't forget.

And I am grateful.

End of the Line

It's not uncommon for me to get a song stuck in my head for about a week. I call it the SOTW phenomenon. Often, it's a song I like. Sometimes it's a top 40 song that they always play about the time I leave work, permanently and indelibly etching feelings of happiness and freedom into my life whenever I hear it. This is an example of such a song. I don't know what all the lyrics are saying, and I don't care. Please don't tell me. It's just a simple elegance. Sometimes I have felt like I was drifting away in my life, and it sounds like how I imagine it would be to float away...fun at first, then going a little too fast, then slowing down and realizing how amazing life is.

*coughs* ANYWAY

This song of the week is one that I heard awhile ago but then forgot about. Thanks to Pandora and Tom Petty, it was brought back to my attention. It is very fitting for my life right now. I'm going to the end of the line. Things are a little muddy right now. I still have something to say, it doesn't matter if I'm in a purple haze. I'm still relevant. I still matter. I'm going the distance, dangit. All the way to the end of the line. I have people -- not Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty, or George Harrison -- but wonderful people in my rail car with me who love me, listen to me, help me, and genuinely desire "every goode thingie" for my life.

So listen, enjoy. Be with me on my (sometimes bumpy) journey to the end of the line.

I Got Out [of that game] For a Reason

Last Sunday was SuperBowl Sunday. (Someday I'll have to write a blog post about SuperCute Sunday. Both are high-stakes, go-win-or-go-home outings...or so I've been told.)

I think everyone in the city I live in watched the game. I heard on the radio last week that the average person consumes 2,400 calories during the SuperBowl. My jaw dropped. I'm pretty sure that's more calories than I usually eat in an entire day. I guess if you just absentmindedly chow down on seven-layer dip all night, things can add up pretty quickly.

Let me back up by saying that I used to really like college football. I watched the games almost every week, and felt deprived when I couldn't. I knew all the players' names of "my team." I knew how tall they were, how much they weighed, where they were from, how many years of eligibility they had left, what position they played, and all sorts of other statistics. I was slightly obsessed.

Then, one day, I realized that there were many glorious Saturdays that were entirely taken up by just sitting around watching a bunch of guys with future knee, back, and concussion problems play a game that I needed announcers to help me figure out what was happening -- even though I knew the rules -- because in the end, it just was a huge pile of people at the end of every thirty seconds or so. The thing was, there were just bits and spurts of action, which was really annoying. (This, from the person who loves baseball!)

Anyway, last year, Seahawk Fever started rising. #BeastMode kicked in, as did Legion of Boom. (Who comes up with these names, anyway?) This may be the only town where there are equal amounts of offensive and defensive jerseys, though. But everywhere I went, it was neon green and navy blue, neon green and navy blue. EVERYWHERE!

I admit, I caught a small case of the dreaded virus. I blame it on my coworker, who exposed me due to the fact that he has season tickets and always comes in hoarse on Monday mornings due to cheering his heart out. I was curious, and I invested enough to know what #beastmode and LOB are. I know a few stats now. I even watched the NFC game, after the fact. If there was ever a game to make you say, "It's not over til it's over," that was the game.

Sometimes, you just "feel" it. It's like your team is in a groove, and although you're tense, you just know in your bones that they're going to pull it out. I had invested, but the day of the SuperBowl, I just had a feeling that there would be no RePete. I watched the game, and was thinking, "noooo, don't do it. Don't dooooo it! Don't fall apart!" It was one of those things where you cover your eyes and then peek anyway even though you know the bad guy is coming and is going to kill the person they were stalking in the mirror.

So, I'm here to say this: I got out of the football-watching game for a reason. I let myself be suckered back in for a little while, but it's totally not worth it. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: The pain of watching your team lose is so, so much harder than the happy of seeing your team win. For some reason, for me, the emotion is amplified with football. Don't get me wrong, I was totally on the edge of my seat when my Giants were playing in this last World Series (as you know), but the emotional roller coaster is a lot bigger with football.

So, from now on, I am going to do my best to bow out of the football watching game. For good.

Hair, Hoar::Etymology, Entomology

The other day I went to a meeting with my boss. Although it has mostly been a really mild winter, there were a few really cold days last week, and this was one of them. We went outside to get in the truck, and lo and behold, there was hoar frost on it. It had sprouted up on the edges of the pickup and in the bed like hair grows on a head. It reminded me of someone I knew in junior high who used to "frost" his hair. (He once frosted his eyebrows, too -- made them bleached, when he had black hair. It looked kind of interesting for awhile, especially since he stopped about halfway through and decided he didn't want to go through with it.)

It looked like little frost grass had grown up, as almost all hoar frost does. I was struck by the uniformity of it -- the little crystalline warriors marching up and down the truck rail. I wonder why they call it hoar frost instead of hair frost. Maybe it all started as a misunderstanding...someone said, "This looks like hair!" and his or her friend thought something else had been said. Probably someone with a more serious interest in linguistics could tell me. Etymology, not entomology, right? Just like hair, hoar. (And I know some of you reading this wanted to add, "Har," as in hardy hard har NOT FUNNY, after that last sentence.)

What's that Noise?

Yesterday, while I was walking around at lunch in the neighborhood, I was talking on the phone with the insurance guy. It turns out he was unable to help me (a fact of which we are not surprised) and that there will be many more lunchtime phone calls to get my predicament sorted out.

I was perambulating along at a not great but not little rate when I heard a noise. It was too big to be a squawk, too loud to be a squirrel, too abrupt to be a cat (cats always seem to have to ease themselves into their vocals; everything slips and slides for them).  It decidedly was not a dog. I had never heard it before, and I had no idea. I thought it could have been a mangled crow, but it would have to be a BIG mangled crow that sounded nicer than a murder-wannabe-sized crow could make.

I looked up, as that was the direction the noise came from, and up in the tree, I saw something i had never seen before. If you look in the picture, maybe you will see it, too. (It was better in person, but alas, you all cannot be with me all the time.)

There were herons in the tree. One had its big beak open and was attacking the other one. He snapped it shut and it looked like the other one had to do some fancy neck work to avoid a serious injury. They flapped and fought their way through the tree. I wished I could hang up on the insurance guy, as this seemed much more entertaining and useful. But I was grateful that I got to see them. In the tree, they're not very graceful at all. They seem like they should be called lurchers, not herons, given what I saw. It was like they were those shooters on planet Hoth, lurching about. Not the four-legged ones, the two legged ones with shorter-range blasters, but more aim/mobility.

I was sorry they were fighting, but glad that I got to see a spectacle. They settled down and agreed to ignore each other after awhile, so peace in the neighborhood was restored, and I perambulated back to work. So, if a heron fights in a tree, and nobody was there to see it, did the heron fight still happen? I'm writing this as proof that it *did* in fact happen.

Of High Import

There are a few things that really, really matter to me.

1. My family. 

I like spending a lot of time with them, doing things for them, laughing with them, playing games with them, and just generally hanging around. I always get new ideas from my sisters regarding cooking, and they always listen to me and love me, even when I'm being utterly ridiculous. I'm telling you, you can't buy that dedication and love. You also can't force someone to play approximately 15 rounds of games with you during the holidays. My brother can always be counted on for a good round of gaming! 

2.  Comfort. Especially furniture and clothes.

I cannot abide being uncomfortable. Couches that have faux cushions, pillows that have rough or hairy finishes, chairs that have backs that only go halfway up your spine, or are not the right shape for my little non-bony behind are just wrong. I'm not saying your couch has to be more comfortable than your bed. I'm just saying that if I can't watch a movie on the couch without aching at the end, the couch isn't comfortable, and you should get a comfy one, if at all possible. 

My clothes must also be comfy. Soft is the byword. No little beads that can scratch my sensitive skin. No constricting materials to keep my legs so they can't breathe. Rough material is verboten! Supima or bust! And my shoes. Oh, my. My shoes have to fit. (Shoe shopping with me is a nightmare. Ask anyone! They'll tell you I'm telling the truth.)

3.  Food

The older I get, the more I appreciate good food, and the effort it takes to put food together. Recently I took up reading cookbooks. I thought only boring people read cookbooks for the first 27 years of my life. Ha! I was wrong. I have benefited many times from cookbook readers. I used to have a swanky job where my boss' boss was a foodie. We went out to all the fashionable restaurants in San Francisco when I had occasion to go there, and I had some great food. I had sea bass at a dim sum restaurant that I still can almost taste. I had halibut that melted in my mouth. I had partridges that were skewered and had arugula and risotto with it. I had ginormous corn at a Peruvian restaurant. I also (not work related) have lovely memories of eating Rainbow Salad. 

Now I read cookbooks. I think about the things I eat. I think about the lives of the animals I eat. I think about what the animals I eat eat. I think about the farmers who farm what I eat. I think about the hands that pick the food I eat. 

4.  Time to myself.  

Sometimes, I get "like butter over too much bread." It's important to take time to be myself, for myself, as myself. The older I get, the more "recovery" time I need. Hmmmm. I'd prefer for that to be reversed, but I'm making do with what I have. 

5.  Sleep.  

I love it, I hate it. Can't live without it, don't like taking the time to recharge. I'm working on my attitude about sleep. I've made almost no progress on it. I'll try to improve a little every day. 

Whaddaya bet?

I was at my sister's house. I was talking to her about something...I don't remember what. Seems like I talk a lot, so it's sometimes hard to remember exactly what I was saying. We were standing by the kitchen sink, and the kids were in the next room -- in eyesight, just a few feet away. I was getting passionate about something, and I said, "well, if it were me, I would do it. You bet your booty I would!"

IPGM piped up and said, "Auntie, you just said "bet your booty!" (He is rather fond of all things body and bodily, currently.) I said, "oops, sorry..." not sure that I had overstepped the line of propriety. My sis assured me that I had not.

The kids were playing Minecraft. I thought they would just ignore me and go back to their sheep-making, zombie-smashing ways immediately and forget about it. But then, after a few seconds, both kids softly started singing, "bet bet bet, bet bet bet, bet your booty, bet your booty!" IPGM has all the dance moves and he was grooving along while he was singing it. K was keeping it on key and at a good tempo. It was all their mom and I could do not to roll on the floor laughing.

The kids realized the adults were trying to hold the laughter in so they started singing louder and more exaggeratedly. It was hilarious. I had no idea they had ever heard the original, but I just thought to myself, "I love my family. I love that we do things like make song parodies. I love that we make time for each other. And I love that we aren't self-conscious about being silly!"

Signs (I love my job!)

Sometimes, for my job, I travel to nearly-faraway tiny towns to have business meetings. It's one of the reasons I really enjoy my job.

Yesterday was such a day. My boss and I took a ferry ride and then drove along winding two-lane highways for an hour to get to one such town. It took nearly all day just to have a one-hour meeting. As he drove along, I saw several signs that made me smile. I was too slow with my camera to capture any of them, so you may doubt the veracity of this post, but I assure you, all these signs exist.

1.  Fern Gully Drive NW (a private road)
2.  Egg and I Road
3.  Uncharted Paranormal Services Offered
4.  Old Nip Lee Road

Also, at one intersection, there were some lovely old trees. To protect one tree, which had grown up like an Ettyn, someone had taken two or three construction barrels -- the things that are orange and white and reflect at night (I'm sure you know what I'm talking about) and chopped the tops off and fit them around the (very large) limbs of the tree that were slightly protruding onto the road. I guess the idea was to increase visibility and keep people from running into them. For whatever reason, I found this highly amusing. Maybe they had to resort to slicing it up the back and sewing it around the branch, but it fit quite snugly (so you can imagine how big the tree branches were).

I did manage to take a couple of photos from the car. I like how in the first one, all the grass blurs together, but the fog is still distinct. It makes a pleasant contrast in my mind. Perhaps such things are an eye candy flavor that needs some time to percolate in order to be developed/appreciated. Hmm.

The picture at the bottom is mostly sky, to be sure, but it looked quite lovely from the car. I had to chop off some of the bottom of the pic because we were trundling along at 60 mph and so the rails would have blurred the picture. The light was positively sublime in person...one of the reasons why I love where I live.

This trip also gave me many ideas for a future day/road trip and I now have many tiny stores I want to poke my head into, just to see what's there. Hopefully I'll do it soon and you'll read about my adventure here. :)

Still What I Want For Christmas...

Is not my two front teeth. Though I did go to the dentist recently and so I am thinking about teeth and dentistry and being grateful for what I have.

I recently had a request to update this list. Unsurprisingly, some of the same things are on it -- but I have managed to cross a few things off the list. I'll highlight the repeats in red. Here's a link to the original list, as well.

1. Super awesome recording equipment.
2. DSLR
3. A new phone
4. Boyfriend. Might seem lame-o to actually put this on a Christmas list, but oh well. I've been known to do lame, potentially embarrassing things before. I've turned out okay anyway.
5. A Miele vacuum. Probably a Marin.
6. An awesome SmartWool sock collection
8. Someone to go to Italy and Britain with.
9. Vacation days enough to visit above countries.
10. Lots of board games.
11. an awesome wall garden
12. time with family

Here's what I crossed off my list:
4. Nintendo DS Lite with Mario Bros. game and Brain Age.
5. No more accounting!
6. New job. Preferably in Utah or Seattle or San Francisco. Since this is a wish list, pay should be >$70K/year, 40 hrs/week, with 4+ weeks vacation. Unreal expectations, yes, I know... (location and new job)
7. Real furniture. None of this twin-bed-without-a-real-bedframe-put-on-risers-so-it's-three-feet-tall-and-wobbly garbage. Or the fakey "desk" I've got.*

Neighbor Nostalgia

I don't always love my neighbor. Sometimes she plays Justin Timberlake & soundalikes all day, really loud. Sometimes she has loud parties. By her own admission, she can be a little wild.

We've always been friendly, though, and said "hi" when we pass each other on the street, etc.

Last night, I was working on a project and I could hear her music perfectly well through my wall. She had turned on Frank Sinatra's Christmas album and listened to the whole thing. It was the first time I haven't wanted to tear my hair out at her music choice. Actually, for a little while, it made me smile, but it also made me feel a little bit like I was invading--like I was listening to her memories, peering into her mind, being her Ghost of Christmas Past.

I would not have expected her to be so sentimental in her music choice, from the very little I know of her. (We have had perhaps two or three conversations longer than a minute.) But, as I got her secondhand sentimental Sinatra floating through the walls, I felt a Christmas connection with her. Frank Sinatra would not be my sentimental album of choice for the holiday season, but I appreciated that she was celebrating Christmas, and that she is sentimental, just like me.

Maybe today I'll play Mannheim Steamroller really loud and she will get some neighbor nostalgia back. ;) 

No Air

Two songs:

No Air
She's An Angel

These two are both running through my head. TMBG is beating out Sparks n Brown, by a lot. The only thing they really have in common is lyrics that overlap with the title of this post.

Today, I went to put air in the tires of my car. It got cold, and it became time for the Yearly Yuck. (There are lots of Yearly Yucks, but this was the one I was going to tackle today.) It was 22 degrees on Monday, so I didn't do it then. Tuesday, it was 24 degrees and I still didn't want to do it. Today, I decided I would go at lunch. I was on my way home, and I failed to stop at the first gas station I saw. (A fatal mistake, in terms of the eliminating the Yuck plan.) I thought, "I need to go to the bank, so I'll just go to the gas station closer to home and then go a block down the road to the bank after."

Well, I'm telling you, it was a fruitless endeavor, because where I live is a giant construction zone, and apparently they dug up the bank in the last month without me noticing, and due to the subsequent construction all the parking at the gas station was full. Not only that, but the air was "out of order." I'm cursed with Out of Order signs on air compression machines when I need them most. I'm not kidding. This is at least the third time this has happened to me in the five years I've had my car.

I don't like filling my tires up with air. When I have a Mr. Darcy, I will bat my eyelashes or make some otherwise prohibited treat or do something in exchange, but he will handle the air tire car thing. Always, because:

1. it's cold and my hands always freeze up and it makes getting the little caps off hard, and then I always drop them and they squiggle away from me.
2. it's at a gas station. I don't like gas stations.
3. I'm vulnerable. I'm bending down and it would be easy for someone to run me over or come up and bop me on the head or something.
4. the air is always out of order!!
5. pulling out the little air thing is always awkward and I worry I will run out or yank the tube off.
6. it must be one of the only quarter-driven things left in the US. (I have quarters. but still!)
7. I always worry that i'm not using my gauge correctly and I will over/under fill as a result.

Lots of reasons not to like it. But mostly I'd gotten my gumption up to actually do the Yuck, and then I couldn't even take care of it, which made it even Yuckier! Sigh. And now it's still hanging over me, so I still have No Air.

Mrs. Darcy

Pride and Prejudice (I) 

I was thinking about Pride and Prejudice this morning as I was driving to the dentist. It was before 7am and the light was just starting to filter in from the east. I thought of the song, “Dawn,” from the soundtrack of the "Keira Knightley version" that has thrilled so many female hearts due to its romantic nature – you know, the one that plays as Mr. Darcy strides across the field and the sun comes up behind him and she is waiting as if called by Bronte force, wearing her nightgown and a robe, and he proposes to her again and all is right with the world.

I thought of the first time I went to see that movie, and how I was disappointed. (Having been “raised” on the "Colin Firth edition," this one seemed lacking in both length and Wyckham getting served.) I went with my parents and my little sister, and, though I had laughed and smiled throughout, there was something that was bothering me: the scene at the end. It seemed so unromantic to me at the time! I thought, “All he says at the end is “Mrs. Darcy” like ten times, with a silly look on his face. Wasn’t there anything better he had to say? I demand more flowery words! Why does just hearing that make her ‘incandescently happy?’” 

I brought my concern up to my mom, complaining as I left the theatre. She just got this soft smile on her face. I am not sure I've ever seen that look on her face since then, and I hadn't ever seen it before. I think she tried to explain to me, but I was determined to be disappointed, “Dawn” or no “Dawn.” 

Now, I am not a “Mrs. Darcy,” or a “Mrs.” at all. But being single for awhile has taught me some things. Additionally, watching my boss with his wife has taught me a lot of things. He frequently calls her “Mrs. Darcy.” (His last name isn't Darcy, but for the sake of this post, we will pretend.)

Prime example: recently, unfortunately, his lovely spouse was diagnosed with breast cancer. She’s been a champion through the chemo, but, as is to be expected, she has ‘bad’ days sometimes. The other day, she must have been struggling a bit, because my boss came into my office and said, “Mrs. Darcy isn’t feeling so great and she wants me to make her a cookie.”  

Fine. So Mrs. Darcy wants a cookie. Big deal. There are many ways he could have responded: 

1. “You should make yourself some cookies then.” But he didn’t. 

2. “I’ll go buy you some cookies from the store after work, okay?” (It was 2 pm, and we had many, many things to do that day.) 

3. “How about I pop over to the store and get you some?”  

4. “How about you wait until after work and if you still want them, I’ll make them?” 

5. “Why are you asking me for cookies?” 

But he did none of those things. Instead, he went downstairs, got out the KitchenAid, and immediately started whipping up a batch of cookie dough…because Mrs. Darcy wanted a cookie, so a cookie she was going to have, by Jingo! He didn’t put it off, or complain. He looked at his calendar, mentally rearranged, and got the flour out, because he loves her, because he cares, and because she is Mrs. to his Mr. and he respects her, her trust, their relationship, and is a true partner to her. My heart warmed enough that he probably could have baked those cookies in it. It made me want someone who would make me proverbial cookies if I were having a bad day.  

So, Mr. Darcy, I get it. I understand now why Mrs. Darcy, hearing you call her by that title, was made “incandescently happy” by that simple luxury.  

And, I might add, that since I began writing this post, Mrs. Darcy had another round of chemo today, and she again asked for a cookie. And again, he made her cookies. This is not a one-time occurrence -- I think she must be incandescently happy, despite the chemo, to have her very own Mr. Darcy in her life.

Also, Mr. Darcy was kind enough to ask the help if they wanted a cookie, too, and generously shared. 

It made me think of the line, "My dear Lizzie, I could not have parted with you for any less." (That might be a paraphrase, but I think you still get the context.) As much as I don't like being single, I have decided that my future Mr. needs to be a maker of emotional cookies when I've had a proverbial chemo day and make a request of his time. I will do my best not to abuse it, just as I'm sure the Mrs. Darcy in question doesn't. But

Perhaps the thing I admire most about this particular Mr. is that I think he would have been pretty willing to make cookies even if Mrs. Darcy hadn't had a chemo day -- even just a regular Bad Day would be enough to provoke the thoughtful gesture. 

Here's to all the Mr. Darcys and Mrs. Darcys who work together to make married life happy.