Emma

Recently, I finished reading "Emma" for the first time. The book is so much better than any movie adaptation. Though I admit, for the longest time I had a crush on Jeremy Northam, and I really want to find a copy of Emma so I can see him say, "Badly done, Emma! Badly done." Haha.

It was a thoroughly enjoyable experience. I laughed, I had my heartstrings plucked, I squirmed at the social situations portrayed, and generally felt really involved with the experience. It doesn't happen that often anymore. I have to hand it to Jane Austen. I know her style isn't in vogue anymore, exactly, but I find the refreshing conversations -- the everyday conversations that people still have, even if not exactly the same, as the class differences, etc., have evolved somewhat since then -- but there are Miss Bates in every person's life, and little petty disturbances, and people who we feel we need to cater to. Perhaps not as much as Mr. Woodhouse is catered to, but still! I am grateful for good books -- books that are well-written but I also feel good after reading them.

Mr. Knightley is amazing. I want someone like him. A Knightley Orange. (See my post about orange relationships.) Although Mr. Darcy grows on you, Mr. Knightley is the real deal.

I'm impressed by his ability to tell Emma how it is, but still be sensitive. There were so many lines I loved, but perhaps one of my favorites: "Emma, if I loved you less, perhaps I could talk about it more."

Hip Hop Heat

It's been a crazy few weeks. I feel like I haven't gotten anything done...really, I have, but not the normal sorts of things that I usually do. I've been a little more social than usual and I have been listening to new music. A lot of music. And I've even gotten started on another song; when I have it done I'll put it up.

On Sunday I went south for my nephew's hip hop dance recital. He stole the show. He choregraphed his own solo and it got the loudest in-number applause of any dance recital. Perhaps he had the most people there representing him as well (he is well-loved: eleven people came to see him). It made me wish I had danced more as a child -- indeed, that I danced more now. There were some adult classes and the ladies were definitely getting up there. I liked the confidence with which they danced though. I wished there were more boys dancing, too. It seems in our culture we shame boys into thinking that dancing isn't cool. It IS cool. Very cool. I hope he continues, because he has such a talent, it would be so sad to see him not develop it.

It has been so hot. SO HOT. I get home and I roast. I can sweat by just standing still. It's ridiculous. Today I wore SHORTS to work. I have never done that in the history of ever. But I knew I had to stay at work all day (no escaping to the relative cool cave of the library) and so I just bit the bullet and did it.

And yesterday we had an outdoor chess tournament. I lost, as I always do, but I did it with a smile on my face.

If you're looking for some good songs to listen to, I recommend "You Don't Know Where Your Interests Lie" and "Punky's Dilemma" by Simon & Garfunkel. You who know me best know that it's hard to get me to laugh out loud -- I'm more of a smiler. I laughed out loud to BOTH of these. My favorite lines are "Obviously, you're going to blow it..." and when the English muffin makes the most of a toaster. Or perhaps "I'm a Citizens for Boysenberry Jam fan."  Either way, good stuff.

That's a lot of small almost-nothings that I hope turned into a something. In any case, life is going well. And that's something to write about.

Mars

Recently, a friend recommended a CD to me: a version of Holst: the Planets. I wasn't so sure I would like it -- after all, I am one who likes /the very version/ and all other versions that I hear afterward I am less likely to like.

It was probably because I listened to this first thing in the morning, when I was fresh and the temperature was just right. I was in my car, on the way to work, listening to it on a CD, old-school style. This song is the first on the CD.

You should listen to it, and then listen to it again while reading along with my journey. Or just listen and experience as I did. But I would really suggest doing the former. 

I started listening and it sounded like space travel. It already had me hooked, before the music box came on and made a lullaby from another Planets selection.

Then came the part I loved. It sounded like two aliens talking to each other, and then, seconds later, they're dolefully singing. And then real life comes in -- the alert. Help! Bad people are on the way. We're being invaded! Counterattack! (And then the alien not-counting counting that gets more and more animated before....mushroom cloud. Even though I know mushroom clouds cannot happen in space, my media indoctrination will not allow me to not have a mushroom cloud in my mental space.)

All the fallout! The ash is going everywhere. And then suddenly the ginormous ships are coming -- the big Empire ships from Star Wars, all angular and threatening in their relentless press through the stars toward their target. Then first army release their weapons, and they approach, and then all the other little ships and suddenly the second army is surrounded. The massive  first army just keeps assembling. Hurry up, you say. Gather an opposition! No, we will push you back. Yes, take that! We just hit five of your ships in succession.

Then comes more communication. "Yay, we are victorious!" And then off into hyperspace they go.

But! Little do they know, they are being followed. The insidious Death Star-like ship that is the End of All Enders is stalking the little hyperspeed space party. It's gaining creepily.

And as the general of the first army discovers the Death Star is behind, he says, we will not retreat! We are calling reinforcements! Look! Here they come!

Battle ensues for about a minute.

Then, at approximately 9:55, the climax happens. The Death Star has regenerated all its weapon power and now everything is aflame. Explosions on both sides. There is death and sadness everywhere. And then the Death Star just can't help itself and puts the final hammer down. End of all life. It seems like it even catches itself on fire in one big conflagration of an inferno that only one little tiny ship survives, sending its distress signal out to the world...

Turn-Offs

As a single person, I have encountered a few things that are just really turn-offs. They're not necessarily deal breakers, but when the person I'm dating does them, it makes my blood pressure go up or my bile level rise slightly, or both. Not great reactions, I'll grant you, but sometimes you have to take some superficial things you don't like in order to get a heart of gold you do like.

I decided to make a list, in case it will help me later.

1.  Spitting in public.
I think this is gross. Especially if you hack first. It is particularly nearing unpardonable if you happen to spit /across/ me in order to get your spit to the ground in the place you are aiming for. What if you miss? Eew. Just, eew.

2.  Calling me "dude" or "man" on a frequent basis.
I am not a dude. I am not a man. Even dudes do not like to be "dude-ed." I know, because I did it once to someone I was dating without even realizing what I had done, and he immediately called me on it. I'm not saying it's a turn-off to all of them, but it is a little casual and also not accurate (in my case).

3.  Wearing flip-flops year round.
I know this is slightly ridiculous, and truly peevish. But if your uniform is flip flops, shorts, and an (optional) sweatshirt, even when it's snowing, I'm not interested. (This was more of a problem when I was in college. Now, most people I'm remotely interested in do not dress like this. It could also be a function of where I live.)

4.  Commenting on how much a date does (or doesn't) cost while we are out.
If you planned the date, then you probably had an idea of how much it would cost to go out before we actually got out. I am a moderate person. I generally do not order the most expensive thing on the menu, just kind of out of principle, even though sometimes it does sound the very best. Please do not comment on how poor you will be after the date while we are on the date. This has happened to me many, many times and I just think to myself, "We don't have to be here. You didn't have to choose this restaurant. We could have gone somewhere free, and I wouldn't have cared. But now I think that you don't like it here, and you don't like being with me, and I'm a burden." Who wants to be a burden? Besides, talking about money matters at dinner, especially in initial courtship phase, is just in poor taste.

5. Always telling me what to do.
This needs no further explanation. I realize men like to solve problems! I do. But you can solve problems without talking down to me.

FFF

It occurs to me, on this F-is-for-Friday night, that the bulk of all my culinary wants can be categorized in the triple-F category:

Fat
Fiber
Fructose

I think if I could only ever eat three things, triple F is what I would eat. (If you wanted to be very lawyery and say that "bacon" does not fall in the "fat" category, I might have to file a countersuit. But I believe any reasonable fairy godmother granting three food wishes would let me have bacon as a fat, all leafy greens (and other things) for fiber, and all fruits for lettuces.

Sometimes it's better to be broader in your language so that you can let more of the good stuff in. I've discovered that life often tastes better that way.

Bits of Honey at Breakfast

A recent breakfast conversation:

K: "Mom, have I ever eaten any candy you didn't want me to eat?"
W (her mom): "You do that all the time."
K: "No, not like that! Candy that you think is super disgusting."
--pause--
W: "Bit o Honeys."
Me: *shudder of horror* "Yes! Bit o Honeys!"
K: "What are "Bit o Honeys?"
W: "They're candies that taste disgusting. When we were kids, nobody wanted to eat them at Halloween. All of us (her and her siblings) would eat everything else and then the icky Bit o Honeys would be all that was left."
K: "Why are they disgusting?"
A (her dad): Because they're made with only a little bit o honey!"
K: "Yeah"
--then, with all the derision a ten year old can muster--
"I bet they are made with PASTEURIZED honey!"
W, looking at A: "Wow, we have successfully raised food snobs, haven't we?" in between bursts of laughter. K looked extremely pleased with herself that she had managed to amuse the whole table so easily. 

Then, a couple of minutes later:

K: "Mom, what is pasteurization?"


---
Note: K had heard several times from her mom and other families of the health benefits of eating raw honey. She knew raw honey was superior, but hadn't yet picked up on all the nuances of exactly /why/ it is preferable. I am proud of her that she asked, later, why pasteurization is not preferable when choosing honey products, instead of just assuming that because someone said it is superior that it is, just because they said so.

This House of Sky

There's nothing like the beautiful sky of the Pacific Northwest.

Recently I took a trip northwester in the northwest. The sky was low, and the clouds were heavy, but it didn't rain all day.

There were two ferry rides and two pieces of pizza and two kids and two galleries and two museums.

There was also a a sketch artist and a Victorian costume festival and and five adults and one lighting museum and three galleries.

Furthermore, there were wet plants, gun batteries more than a hundred years old, pitch-black tunnels to wander in.

I even saw a whale on the ferry ride home. The thing about whale watching is that your eyes think that the whale is going to come up exactly in the same place that it did before. Even if your eyes track the direction it's going, depending on how fast the vehicle you're in is going, your eyes will never be able to accurately predict where the blowhole plume will appear next.

Green rocks and a thousand seagulls jabbering at each other as they floated along the swiftly moving current were also highlights. The light is beautiful. The old houses of the Port towns are beautiful. The northwest sky is just amazingly gorgeous. No filters. It fills me with such contentment to walk by the water. I hope you feel even a little of the joy I felt as you look at the pictures.

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.