If music be the food of love, play on...

Music, for a while, let all your cares beguile...

Standing in the middle of Best Buy, behind two easy chairs set up facing a HUGE flat panel hi-def television with the most sophisticated audio and video equipment arranged beneath, I stood entranced.

On the screen was a live Dave Matthews Band performance, in the middle of a tenor sax solo. These few minutes given over to dreaming, and making all the other weekend shoppers disappear from my world. Only music, only dreams, and behind them, silence and darkness.

I needed those moments. It's been a long day after a long week.

What I really needed today was a new phone. But the T-Mobile store didn't have any old (cheap) phones, and I'm not ready to buy the latest greatest. Besides, I'm not eligible for rebates on upgrading to the latest greatest until three months from now. Wish I'd known when I renewed my contract that my antenna would get lost. I'd have just gotten the new phone then. So, balked in this desire, I turned to something... more expensive.

I was at Best Buy to test drive laptops. I did not intend to buy one this weekend. But frustration of one wish will so often drive us into fulfilling what we can, even if it's the less desirable option. I am typing this entry on a brand new Toshiba Satellite. It's pretty spiffy, really. It only cost a *little* more than one month's rent... And hey, it's not the teeny-tiny Vaio I almost fell in love with. THAT would have hurt. This I needed anyway.

Of course, now I'm going to go on line and look up what phones I *can* upgrade to. Hopefully I'll stop hemorrhaging money by sunset...

Then I'll find more music to beguile away my financial cares.

Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.

Bad Otto!

All right, I love my car. I really do. Otto rocks, and I've been known to approach him singing to myself, "Little white car, little white car, little white car!" the same as that cat in the Mutts strip and his little pink sock. But he's got a *few* bad habits, and one of them got me into trouble today. *pout*

This afternoon, as I headed out from Mom's to come back home, it was a great afternoon for driving. It's a lot cooler after last night's rain, and the sky is overcast with those high, soft gray clouds. Otto had a full tank of gas and got his oil changed yesterday, so he was feeling feisty, and he *really* likes hills, which we don't get to see many of here in Houston.

So we came down over a hill, and I wasn't paying enough attention to his paces, apparently. Because we got to the bottom, and I noticed another car going slower, and I braked, but then I saw the sparkly blue and red lights in my mirror. Sigh.

So, I only got a warning (only because the cop's computer was acting up, he said). I'm glad, because apparently I haven't changed my address on my driver's license. I swear I did something about that, but now that I think of it, I don't have a new license yet, so it must not have gone through. Drat.

But my pristine driving record is now a bit smudged, and I have to laugh because for all the stupid stuff I've done, it seems only fitting that I almost got a ticket for driving a hair over 45 mph on a nearly empty road. Ah well. I'm not going to argue with a warning, and I'll just have to be more careful in Schertz, Texas. :-P

Trust

It’s getting late-ish, and I should really put away laundry or pack to go out of town tomorrow. But instead I’m sitting on my couch thinking about trust.

I was driving home today when this came over me. People have commented on my innocence. I try to cultivate innocence. I cling to a child-like sense of wonder and awe. That’s how I want to encounter this world. It’s not ignorance. It’s a choice. It’s what’s helped me bounce back from everything that’s knocked me sideways in my life. The joy of living this way is… what I live for. It’s something I actually work at, because there are so many things going on that could make me bitter and cynical. There would be no joy for me in that.

All of these thoughts tonight congealed around the notion of trust. Whom do I trust? Well, for starters, I’ve been known to have some angry, one-sided, rebellious-teen-ager type yelling matches with God. For a while the only way I could tell I did believe in God was that I was incredibly angry at Him, and blamed Him for where I was in my life. But I always knew that He’s a loving parent, and I could never damage the love He has for me. That it wasn’t even a matter of forgiveness, because that was mine already. Held out freely. And this trust in His love is what saw me through the worst crisis of faith I’ve ever had. I still don’t like everything about where I’m at, and I still pray that he will lead me along the best paths SOON. I prefer my time to His. But I’m willing to accept His, because I trust Him to be right. Even when it hurts.

I also thank Him every day for giving me the ability to trust myself. I know myself better and better each day, and I’m not sure that’s something everyone can say. For a long time I was more interested in changing myself into what I thought I should be than in finding out who I actually am. Like my trust in God, my trust in myself has hit a few snags lately. It’s hard to unmake decisions you were so sure were the right ones. And having to do that shook my faith in my ability to make good decisions. But I know now that I can trust myself to make the best decisions possible with the knowledge, the wisdom, and the love that I have, and that I can’t do any better. They may end up not working out. But I will do my best. Always. It’s who I am. I have a lot of faith in that.

And I trust my closest friends to love me even when I screw up. Everyone’s been so supportive of me, even when I waffle and whinge and whine about the same things over and over. I know they wish they could help, just like I wish I could help them in their troubles. I’d give a lot to fix things for everyone I love. And they do help me so much, just by being there. So I trust them, and I’ve never been let down.

Who else do I trust? Who do I not trust? These are more difficult questions.

I have made a habit of believing that all the people I meet are caring people. And I tend to assume that people are like me in many ways, and getting to know someone has a lot to do with discovering where and how we diverge. Honestly, I’m fascinated by the divergences. I feel like everyone I meet gives me a new perspective, and expands me into something a little bit more than me. There are differences that come out immediately, but some things I only learn slowly, and they can be a surprise. One of these surprises lately has put me into a new sort of crisis of faith. How on earth can I maintain that child-like trust in other people, people I don’t really know, now that I know how badly I can be mistaken?

You see, being single again, I’ve started poking my nose out and sniffing the winds of the dating world. I’ve never really done this before. Since I was about fourteen, the longest I went without being in a committed relationship was measured in months. And each new relationship was with someone I’d known or at least known of for a while. Now it’s been over a year since I really had a someone, and I’m not likely to find a someone among my close friends. Those winds out there can be pretty darn dry and searing, I find. And just when I knew I could trust myself, and was ready to open up my trusting little heart to that world, certain that I could protect it, I got kind of turned upside down.

[...]

Tonight, thinking about trust, I find that one of the things I’m most afraid of is losing the ability to trust. Of not being able to lay my heart in someone else’s outstretched hand in an act of faith as simply as a child does. I’m afraid I’ll be too scared. [...] I feel like a little bit of my innocence has been eroded away. Maybe it was inevitable, but I’m still so sad to see it go. I want it back. But how do I find it again? Is that even possible? Where do I go from here? Besides back inside my shell. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see. I’m still pretty sure I can get over anything and still be the same confident, confiding me.

First Breaths of Autumn

It's an absolutely beautiful day outside. This is the sort of weather that always makes me want to jump in the car and drive west. I'll be doing that this next weekend, so I hope it holds. It's warm but fairly dry, and not nearly as hot as it has been. The sky is clear and bright. The sun is golden. There's that certain subtle something in the air that stirs up memories just below the surface of my mind. Texas fall does exist. It's just as subtle. The trees don't change into firey oranges or dazzling golds. It won't get really cold for months probably. But when you grow up here, you learn to know autumn by the way it smells.

It smells like football games with the afternoon sun slanting over the field. It smells like a new year of school settled and underway, with all the busy comings and goings of college life. It smells like carving pumpkins and dressing up to walk over the grass fields at Ren-Fest. It smells like family gatherings and a drawing inward for thought and quiet reflection.

As I walked to my car this morning, images rose up in my imagination like a wave that rushed over me. I was on the field in orange and black out at Fredericksburg for a marching competition. I was on top of Fondren library to see the lunar eclipse through a telescope. I was on a trailer loaded with hay in a black cat costume driving through a neighborhood trick-or-treating. I was reading Plato on a tree limb before musical rehearsal. I was looking over Canyon Lake from the porch of a three-story split level with the smell of Thanksgiving turkey and spiced pies drifting out of the windows.

This tang in the air makes me both sad and eagerly expectant. Autumn starts the end of the year. But when the year ends, a new one begins. A lot of beginnings mean we have to leave something behind. Something we know, we love, we feel safe with. All the autumns I can remember seem tinged with this strand of excitement and sadness. What is it that I'm always leaving behind? What is it that is always just over the horizon?

All That Jazz

So I've never been in a jazz band before. I've been in marching bands, wind ensembles, chamber groups, and played solo, but I've never been in a jazz band. Now after ten full years of sitting in the audience, I've joined the crew. Tonight I had my first rehearsal with the Rice Jazz Ensemble. Wow.

If I don't grow musically through this experience, then my musical pituitary needs to be checked. If I don't grow as a person through learning to feel this kind of music, then I may as well hang it up. Not that I've never felt a physical pull at my gut listening to the blues. Not that I've never wanted to become a musical note my self and slide into the swing of a fast shuffle. But I'm not sure I've ever given myself over to that. Some part of me is held back. And I don't know why that is.

First, improvisation scares me. Like, not nerves or stage fright. Something deep in my soul pulls back into a shell and slams it shut at the idea. It's probably mostly a confidence issue. The structure of music is something I feel I only barely understand. I've gotten to where I can make up my own harmonies in choir by finding the notes I hear that aren't voiced. It's a start. But these chord structures... They aren't your grandmother's chord structures! I was having a helluva time just finding the pitch the music told me to hit sometimes. (Concert F# was being particularly bothersome.)

Maybe part of it is an inner rebellion against being pushed towards it so much by a friend I had a while back. Encouraging a shy person is a delicate business. Supportive is okay. But I remember not wanting to read *books* my Godmother kept saying were so good, just because she kept encouraging me to read them. So if that fine line gets crossed, I tend to flip from shy to stubborn. I still haven't read those books.

There are a lot of things that I don't hold back, but the ones that I do are tied so tightly to something inside me, and on such a short chain, that there must be something more than just my usual shyness going on. I wish I knew what it was. Maybe that's something jazz band can help me learn and understand. Even if I can't conquer the fear, I'd rather understand it than be puzzled and therefore even more shy and insecure every time it comes up. I still don't think I'll take any non-written solos. :-P But in just learning to feel the music more, to let it wind more intimately into my mind and soul, until I flow with it, and understand the tongues it speaks in... That's challenge and reward enough.

Back to something more concrete. Jazz band has already taught me that my reading sucks. Oh. Wait. I knew that. But it's taught me how bad it really is. I fully intend to nullify this with diligent practice. I just have no idea when I'll find the time. I've never been in so many musical groups before. I do, however, have my strengths! Yay! All three of us trumpet players there showed some particular ability that deserved a nod. Erik played really high really well, and expressed the style of each chart with confidence. Even Larry was impressed at how solid he was on lead so much of the time. He's been working on it a lot. :-) I think Zev read a lot of the running eighth notes a lot more accurately than either Erik or myself, and did some fun solo stuff, which both Erik and I were honest about *not* wanting to do.

As for me, at the very beginning of rehearsal, during tuning, Larry commented on my stance and horn angle. I try to stay straight and open and keep my bell up, and he likes it. I was on third part, which, when I wasn't completely unable to find the notes, gave me a chance to really anchor some of the chords, and stretch my ear for chords I'm not familiar with. But the thing I'm personally most proud of? The last piece had one of those trick rhythms that lulls you into complacency, then surprises you into an inadvertant solo. Is it on the upbeat of 4 like the previous one? NO! Hah! It's on the and of 1 this time! Gotcha! Only *I* wasn't fooled one single time. :-D

Now if I could only find that darn elusive concert F#....

No one exSPECS this much beer in Laura's fridge

So I had a small party, at which only Frank drank beer. And he brought his own, and it was a Heineken mini-keg. So now there's that on top of the Newcastle and the Woodchuck pear cider I bought at Specs. Definitely going to have to throw another party...

But it's an ill wind and all. To get the Newcastle and cider I went to Specs. The big one downtown. I've been there before with friends on a mission for specific things. This was my first time to wander the store on my own, with nothing too specific in mind.

First unexpected and thoroughly blissful discovery. Nutella. NUTELLA. OH my gosh. I fell in love with Nutella on a sidewalk in Paris, when it was handed to me surrounded by a warm fluffy crepe. I've heard some regular grocery stores sell it too, but I hadn't really had time to look for it. So when it jumped out in front of me like that, what could I do? I bought some. May have to make crepes next... Heh, and they're so much fun to make! They go FLIP, PLOP, hopefully back in the pan. :-P

Second unexpected yummyness. The cheese aisles. I'd heard they were extensive, but honestly I hardly knew where to begin! All I needed was Brie. But how could I resist wandering the entire section, just to gawk at the myriad of kinds and flavors. That place could very well be deadly. I was lucky to get out of there with *just* the Brie. Will have to go back when I have a clearer idea of what I really want, so I don't end up spending a king's ransom on dairy products.

I decided that now was not a safe time to impulse-buy myself into a mini-bar. After all, not that many people would want to drink hard stuff on a Sunday afternoon. (I was definitely right about that!) Besides, I've got a bottle of wine on the way from California, so I really don't need anything else. Heaven only knows what this almost-teetotalar would have come home with. Grand Marnier seems likely. Maybe next time.

Found the beer fridge, and was pleasantly surprised that I was able to remember, upon examining the pear cider options, which one the folks order at Brian O'Neill's when we're there. So the entire trip was a wonderful success, and tons of fun.

Only no one drank the stuff *I* bought, and now I've still got Frank's mini-keg. Sigh. I suppose I could have worse problems. :-P

Aaaaaand we're back!

I have legos!!! I can't tell you how happy this makes me, or why, and you can call me a doof if you want, but I don't care. For the first time in my life I own my own legos!

And I bought them at DISNEYLAND!!! Along with a pin for my fedora commemorating the 50th birthday of Disneyland. Just think, the 50th anniversary of the park that started it all. And by all, I mean the incessant and inevitable conversations between my father and my uncle Tom in Donaldese. Their grandparents took the three boys to Disneyland once to get them out of their parents' hair during a move, and Tom and Daddy taught themselves some mean Donald impersonations on the way. Sigh. :-) I may have only shopped in Downtown Disney, which wasn't there when Daddy was, but somehow... seeing the desert scrub mountains and palm lined hills coasting down into the pacific as they must have seen it, knowing it was getting closer, close close closer until... WE'RE THERE! Disney must be so much about that childhood anticipation of what you can only imagine, it's so magical, and even my tiny little side trip gave me that.

Teebs is a pill, cuz he stood us up for HOMEWORK that day. :-P Amy and I had to get by with just our own combined levels of snarkiness at the La Brea tar pits. It was incredibly cool and fun and stinky and fascinating, but man, the cheesy educational films and moth-eaten animatronix were ASKING for snark. Don't worry, we were cool, we could deal, we got by. ;-) Would have been cool to chat with some of the workers from pit 91 if they'd been around and chat-with-able. They seemed to have their own dimension of snark, judging from the whiteboard at the excavation. Among listing numbers of fossils found, etc., it answered some very important questions up front.

"No dinosaurs are found in the tar pits. Dinosaurs became extinct about 65 million years before the tar pits formed."

"Tar is not hot."

"Fossils are not found in liquid tar."

"We are NOT graduate students."

"What smell?"

When we did finally catch up with Teebs, he showed us around Mudd and Scripps and we got to visit a cool library with a cool expanded stacks thingy, and shelves that you could open and close and move by spinning a wheel that looked like the ones on safes that get cracked in movies. Very fun. Then we ate dinner at Buca di Bepo, sang happy birthday to about three people, and stuffed ourselves in general. Amy and I went home and watched The emperor's New Groove which I had somehow never seen, and I was wearing my Eeyore shirt, so it was a thoroughly Disney day, really.

Monday was my last day in Cali, so we had to pack a lot in. We grabbed caffeine and breakfast in the form of a chocolate chip scone and a cinnamon roll. Then we headed out towards Ventura, through fruit orchards and soy fields. We passed a sign that said, "Free honey tasting, 1 mile on the right," and broke into a simultaneous "Ooooooh yeah."

There was sage honey and avocado honey and orange honey (my favorite). There was buckwheat honey, a little traditional clover honey, wildflower honey, cactus honey, which was really granulated and thick, and finally molasses, which is not honey, and is not made by bees, but which they had some of, so they bottled it. I cannot tell you how happy I was to be standing around eating honey off of little wooden popsicle sticks. It was... divine.

Further on down the road was a sign for a winery. It seemed like a tasting kinda day, so I said, "Hey, let's go taste wine." Amy was nothing loath. :-P We walked into the white-washed cave of a tasting room, walk up to the bar, and were greeted by Rosie, who I don't believe stopped talking for longer than it took to draw breath from the moment she greeted us to the moment we left her with other tasters.

We learned all about her family, her boss (a German-French Ph. D. laser physicist whom she described as working with Sponge Bob Square-pants, AKA Rosie herself), and a little about the wine. Not all of them were very good, but I really did enjoy one of the dessert wines, and even ordered a bottle, that will probably ship tomorrow. I tried port, cuz it was there, and Chuck said I might like it, but I dunno. It might be a *little* too sweet. There was another really interesting wine that was as sweet and heavy as the port, and had a definite taste of chocolate and strawberries. Very interesting, but really not for me.

We were a little light-headed at that point. Okay, *I* was a little light-headed. Amy was pretty much fine. So we decided it was time to head back and eat lunch, since I couldn't remember the exact time of my flight, but thought it was around 5:30ish. We went back and had some very yummy steakhouse fare, returned to Amy's apartment, and found out that my flight left at
6:40.


That meant time for another movie. :-P We watched Drop Dead Gorgeous, a mockumentary about a Minnesota beauty pageant. It was pretty funny. Three movies! Three new movies I'd never seen before! Yay! Then we bundled me off to the airport where the security guard minding the walk-through metal detector grinned and told me I had cute socks. (For those who know, I was wearing my orange/red/pink striped ones with an orange t-shirt.) I met a guy headed back for Houston who's in the Rice MBA program. He looked kinda familiar, so I'll have to see if I see him around.

Then I got home incredibly late, fell into bed, got up way too sleepy, smumbled through a day of work, and here we are!

Go West. . . Now What? :-P

Writing from about 40 miles north of Los Angeles. Sitting in Amy's spare bedroom at the end of a fun fun day. Amy's apartment is wonderful, the surrounding terrain is gorgeous, and the barbecue place about a block that way has made me a very happy camper.

The trip here was fun. About the time we should have started boarding, the sky opened up over Houston Hobby, and the tarmac turned into a wind-tossed sea. Albeit a shallow one. Only a minor delay, though. The second the wheels of the plane left the ground, a weight fell off. I'm on VACATION! This is the first trip in years that I've taken by myself for myself. I'm going to have to do this more often!

About the time we reached cruising altitude, one of the two high school boys sitting next to me asked me what I had been reading. I've started George Eliot's Middlemarch and I'm thoroughly enjoying it. This led to a conversation on my degrees, my interest in Victorian literature and the way it explored the social issues of its day, his interest in film, the colleges he's looking at, Myers-Briggs typing, religious faith, and so on and so forth. For an introvert, I sure ended up spilling a lot my life experiences out to a perfect stranger. But hey, I've learned too much in the ten years since I was where he is to keep it all to myself, and he asked me all sorts of questions.

So, Rice opened the football season against U of H today. We lost 31-30. Drat. I told Amy, "You know, something? Rice football is a lot like guys. It's easy pretend you don't care . . . until you start winning."

Amy and I spent the evening watching Brigette Jones' Diary and eating chocolate ganache. Good times. I feel utterly girly. Tomorrow we'll counter this by visiting the La Brea tar pits and the Lego store. That oughta put things right back to normal. ;-)

What's WRONG with my hair? :-(

So the apartment warming party was tons of fun. I think I'm going to throw another for all the folks who couldn't come or forgot. FORGOT. Forgot ME! The nerve. ;-)

My grandma came, and brought my Aunt Shirley, and that was nice. But then Grandma looked up at me as she sat in a straight-backed antique chair, folded one hand over the other, and laughed, as only a disapproving southern woman can, "What *have* you done to *your* *hair*?"

Um....

Well, I've done a couple of things over the past year. I got it cut a few times. I dyed it a few different shades of red. It's been like this for months. Did she just now notice? Doesn't it look good? Everyone else seems to like it....

I suppose it might have been a compliment, but it didn't feel like it. And when Aunt Shirley said she couldn't see it, and maybe that was a good thing, Grandma didn't contradict. All of a sudden I felt at a loss, guilty, like a child that's gone wrong somewhere, and honestly doesn't know how to put it right, while everyone frowns down. I hate that feeling. I was that child too many times. Every time someone was upset with me, I was that child. So yesterday I shook my hair around and grinned and said, "Hey, I look great!" Certainly enough people have told me so to outweigh one disapproving grandmother. Including my other grandmother! But still, why did she have to say that? Of all the things she could criticize me for...

Or is that it? Is it the things I've done that she *can't* come out and criticize me for, so she has to start in on my hair? She's never said she disapproves... But she's certainly hinted... And I know I've made mistakes. Who hasn't! But dangit, I'm through with feeling small and guilty over them. And dangit, how many grandmothers can brag on their grandkids as much as she can?

Heh... maybe I should get a buzz cut and die my hair blue just to give her some perspective. :-P

Give Me Strength

Give me strength to weep the willow's tears

And bend beneath the weight of passing years.

Until my sorrows ripple on the breeze

And float away among the golden leaves

To drift and spread, and spreading, free my heart

And with each breath of wind breathe a new start.

Night Train

Every sound trains make seems desolate and lonely.

I pulled up to the tracks under the orange glow of the sulphur street lamps. The warning lights blinked like harsh red eyes, and the alarm bells clanged like a funeral knell, only too harried to hold the sublime dignity of a slow toll.

The deep whistle filled my ears with a mournful wail, sweeping over me like rushing water mixed with the thunder and the lightning flashing on the horizon. A rusty screech followed one of the cars like a thin, high, dreary cry. A few drops of rain began to show on my windshield, as the monotonous clatter of the wheels on the rails jarred just off the tempo of the bells.

I sat in the dark filled with a sense of endless, lightless emptiness. I don't know where the train was going, or what it was carrying. Sometimes I've felt like there's a romance in the melancholy, and a gypsy glory to the cars that creak across my path and disappear, only to haunt a blues melody or a rambler's dream.

But tonight the train filled my mind with a gritty, sordid sort of sadness without even a longing for light or joy.

My life isn't like that. Even when I'm down, I can grit my teeth and look up. This isn't a feeling that stays with me. It touches me sometimes, fills my mind, and then winds away as the crossing arms lift and the dream fades.

But what if all my life were like a train in the night? God keep them and bring them to the morning.

Oh, was that rhetorical?

Okay, I've been writing a crapload lately. Now I want to hear from you. Yes this is my new ploy to find out who reads my blog. Why? Because I like to know my audience. You all know me pretty well!

Rules of engagement:

• Pick a song that asks a question.
• Answer the question.
• Provide artist, genre, album, any other info you like, but that's not necessary.
  

Here, I'll start.

"Why do birds suddenly appear . . .?"
Because you're sitting on the beach, and you held a dorito up in the air. (Mine?)

Ready. . . . . . . . GO!

Left Over Chinese Food and Other Good Things

I have yummy chinese food, left over from yesterday, to eat. I have more pictures up on my wall, and drapes hung in the living room. I have hardware to hang curtains over my very stubborn bedroom window, and paint and spackle to fix the stray holes. I have new locks on my doors.

I had a big client meeting this morning, and I wore my little gray suit from Express, and I looked *fabulous*. Very professional and sharp. And I was incredibly competent. I exuded confidence. I mean, the stuff was oozing out from under my fingernails, I felt so good about life. :-P

I'm sitting on my couch snuggled into my soft pillows and my extra soft blanket feeling like today was *mine*. I got a fortune cookie yesterday that said, "You will be a dragon of creative fire this week. Watch your aim."

I'm starting to believe it. Just give me a target!

One Whole Week in the New Place

And it's been one helluva week. I've kept account of it elsewhere while I was finishing up the Glacier journal, and now seems like a fitting time to bring you all up to speed on current events. Here are the entries from my OTHER blog. No, no, no need to run out and find it. I'll continue to put all the important stuff here.
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Sunday, August 06, 2006

Zev, Erik, and the movers did all the real work, so why am *I* sore?
Current mood: confused

I am moved! Relocated! In a better place!

I am REALLY BAD at unpacking. Here was my thought process this morning, as I stood in the middle of my rather disheveled living room:

First I'll unpack books. Oh, cards and stuff go with games. Crap, I hate 52 card pick up. CRAP, now there are only 49 cards. I bet the other three fell behind those video boxes. I'm going to unpack my videos and DVDs, then, and put them there. Oh, but first I should glue that piece of wood back. Ugh, and the glass is really dusty, I should windex that first. Where the hell is the windex? I had it just . . . . Well, maybe if I get some of these boxes unpacked I'll find it. I guess I'll just keep going with the books. Oh, but the bookshelves aren't where I want them. But I can't move them because book boxes are stacked in front of them. Maybe I should set up my TV and stuff. But the shelves have the video boxes on them! Oh Lord.

Meanwhile I've half-unpacked several boxes of books, have undone work I did yesterday setting up my stacking bookshelves, have wandered aimlessly all over the apartment in search of windex, wood glue, and a clue. My dining table is covered with piles of books because I want to organize them before I shelve them, and I keep having to rein my brain in from thinking about curtains and all sorts of stuff that can WAIT until I'm UNPACKED. If I ever am. Oy.

Help? Please? Anybody?

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Monday, August 7, 2006

Why am I sore? Because I'm sick. Yay.
Current mood: sick

Yeah, so I went home Friday from work sick. But I thought by that evening I was better. Then I woke up again Saturday with a fever. But I had to move regardless, so I did. Then Sunday I didn't have a fever, so I figured a good night's sleep had kicked it.

Nope. I now have a fever again. I feel like crap. I'm working from home because I've already need to make up the billable hours I lost Friday. And my apartment is, of course, a wreck, and I can't go to the hardware store, so I can't fix my bookshelf that got a little broken, and I can't really do any of the stuff I want to do to make this place livable. I cant even go to the grocery store to buy soup and vitamin C drops and gatorade. And all the friends Ive called are busy. And my apostrophe just stopped working. This sucks. Hrmph.

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Tuesday, August 8, 2006

Do most hardware stores carry machetes? Current mood: sluggish

Cuz it seemed weird to me. But I got my C clamps, I got a level, and I patronized a family owned business that has been selling hardware for over fifty years, or something. Feels good.

Plus I found out where to buy a machete, should a jungle ever spring up in my apartment. *looks around*

Hmmm. Might actually be useful . . .

Feeling better, but . . . the grocery store will have to wait until Thursday. Hope I'm okay playing trumpet tomorrow. I feel fine, just nooooo eeenerrrrgy.

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Thursday, August 10, 2006

No Beachin' Current mood: sick

Well, I don't think I'll be going to the beach with my mom and sis this weekend. Came home from band last night, and yep, had a fever.

Going to try to make it through the whole day at the office, though. Got my vitamin C drops!

I wish this meant I'd be able to get stuff done around the new place, but I dunno. We'll have to see how much better I get.

Sigh.

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Friday, August 11, 2006

It's Progress Current mood: Ebullient, as Frank would say

I actually sound worse than I feel. Yesterday I nearly lost my voice, but I felt much better! I've got about 75% of my voice back now, and I'm coughing some, but it's not bad. Better yet, I have energy! Not tons, but much more than earlier in the week.

The best part is, I don't think I'm contagious, so while I'm still in town for the weekend instead of at the beach (), I can at least hang out with people as long as I don't feel too tired.

Yay for not being a hermit! Yay for Friday!

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Friday, August 11, 2006

Too much excitement Current mood: relieved

Not, like, *tooooo* too much. But still too much.

I decided to come home right after dinner tonight. Because 1) my friends were being a little boring, and 2) I've been sick, so turning in early sounded good.

So I get out of my car, and I go and get my mail. And I walk back and up the stairs to my door and . . .

It's open. I look at it, with my head cocked and my eyebrows drawn together. I nudge it with my foot like it's an animal I think might be dead. It swings back, and I see that the bolt isn't shot, and the door frame looks fine.

I nudge it again, and reach in and turn on the lights, and peep around.

Then I remember. I *did* lock the door this morning. I *know* I did. I had to go back to get my Hawai'ian shirt to put on after work cuz it's Friday, and Chuck and I always wear a Hawai'ian shirt to Valhalla. And I had my shirt in one hand as I locked the door with the other. I remember looking at the lock, turning the key, and having this red shirt in view. So I *know* I locked it, for sure.

So I turn around, walk back down the steps, and call the complex to see if they have a security service. They do not. I call 311 to ask what I should do, because, mind you, I'm in denial that this is an actual emergency.

311 hands me over to the police department, and they dispatch a car to my location, take my phone number, and tell me they'll be there soon.

So I try to call Kerri. Who doesn't answer. So I try Erik, who doesn't answer. So I try Terri, who doesn't answer. So I just start going down the list and figure I'll call the first person who seems to be a good person to call. I end up with Joe.

Joe reassures me I've done the right thing, and keeps me company while I wait.

In about a half hour the cops show up. Much to the chagrin, I'm sure, of the woman walking her (absolutely lovely and friendly) dogs by on the sidewalk. I wish I had had time to stop and make friends. I explain to them that I came home, my door was open and unlocked, and that I knew for certain that I had locked it this morning. And that I don't know if anything is missing, because I didn't go in, or really look.

It's not a big place. It doesn't take them long to search it (with me hovering frightened outside the door, poised to run if any sounds of a struggle break out). They check all the rooms, they check my doors and windows. And no one is there, and I come in, and my TV, stereo, computer, are all intact.

One of the officers asks concernedly, "Is the the way your apartment looked when you left this morning?" I shamefacely laugh, "Yes, I just moved in." The place is a wreck. It really is.

They laugh, and say okay, and head out the door. No forms or anything. Complete and total false alarm.

And frankly, I'm happier that way! So here's a shout out to the men in blue who made it safe for me to come back into my home. I still love this place, but I'm going to raise a little hell in the apartment office tomorrow, and get my locks changed. Once is enough!

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So that was my week. I get new locks on Monday. I hope to be completely recovered by then too, since I have a big client meeting. To that end, I do believe I'll go to bed now.

Trip to Glacier - Day 9

A long day begins with a long drive. During which we stop to get me dramamine and ginger ale. Just remember, when life gives you drama, take dramamine.

The road is lovely, and after my dose, just seems to float by as I doze, never really asleep, but never really awake. Fortunately this wears off as we near Spokane, just in time for lunch at IHOP, since we're really early for Will's flight.

The IHOP is very crowded, but we have time. Our group takes up a fair amount of the waiting area. We finally get seated, and find that we have been assigned to the waiter on turbo charge. He is a short latino with only one speed - super-fast - and he calls everyone "my friend" except for Amy. He calls her "boss." Twice. Me he calls "sweety" once, and I think he finally calls Mark boss, or at least something other than my friend. But the guy nearly runs around the table, filling water, bringing us a carafe, etc. It's awesome.

We go to fill up the cars before returning them. We figure if we drive down this major-ish looking road, we'll find a gas station eventually. Well, we do, but it's absurdly far from the airport. We console ourselves, as we drive and drive and drive without seeing a station, that at least we aren't lost. We can always u-turn and end up right where we came from. When we finally find a pump, it's a pay first, no credit cards, old school sort of job. But hey, it's an adventure. And it works. And we finally head for the airport.

Will's flight leaves, and the rest of us wait around for a bit. We catch the end of the world cup on TV. Italy wins. We find out that Ken Lay has died of a heart attack. People ask us where we've been that we hadn't heard. It really was fun to drop off the face of the earth for a while. Going back is going to be a bit harsh.

The Houston crew leaves Teebs and Amy behind to wait for their flight. We get to Phoenix, only to find that weather in Las Vegas has delayed a lot of the connections, and the gate area is in chaos. We've got plenty of time, so we find some neutral ground to park in while we wait to find out which gate our plane will actually be at. We pull out the lap tops and connect to the wireless. We all take turns checking e-mail, and it's just about business as usual already.

Our flight is delayed, of course, and by the time we get on it, I'm regretting that I didn't request tomorrow off from work. I'm going to be pretty ragged tomorrow. As I expect, I don't sleep much on the plane. We land in Houston around 1 A.M. and the first thing I notice getting off of the plane is, of course, the humidity. I knew it would be bad, but the air actually *smells* like water. Not to mention feels like a sauna.

We collect our baggage. Mark and Joanna drive me home. I drag everything into my aparment, and, already half asleep, shut out the world and the stray cat that apparently wants to come live with me. I fall into bed at 2 A.M. and my trip to Glacier National Park is officially over.

Trip to Glacier - Day 8

The entire trip I've been vaguely intrigued by what I can't see of the park without leaving the paved roads. The vastness just off the beaten path tugs insistently at the corners of my mind, and today I welcome the chance to turn around and take it in.

To get to Bowman lake we leave the paved road quite decidedly. Dirt roads are nothing new. They're my way home, to the places I feel most at home. This dirt road is longer and more winding, though. And stranger.

The dust billows up around us and the cars that pass us, hiding the mountains and the forest to either side. We drive through the bare matchstick trees, killed in the 2003 fire, that stand on the north side of Lake McDonald. The road winds and jumps and shakes itself beneath us for miles. Suddenly we begin to see signs.

Burgers

Pizza

Coffee!

Internet

The road smoothes into pavement beneath us, and we pass driveways and the cafe that contains these advertised wonders. Some of the driveways have for sale signs. For an amount of money that won't buy more than a postage stamp of land in West University Place, here I can buy myself 51.3 acres of at the foot of the mountains. I begin to seriously consider my ability to tough out the winters and escape potential forest fires. The pavement doesn't last for long, and we're back on the wilder side.

We pass through Polebridge, where gas from the large above ground tank is bought on the honor system, and a sign says "Slow, People Breathing." The dust from the road is thick on our cars.

We reach Bowman Lake, park, and walk to the waterside. It lies like a small turquoise in mountains' lap, nestled there like a child. It seems like such a little lake, after Lake McDonald. But like all the lakes here, the water stretches out and down, still, peaceful, magical.

But the bugs are terrible.

Lunch, a short hike, sitting in the sun and skipping rocks. I spend a lazy day on the edges of this gem. The group splits up. Will rests in the shade, not feeling well. Amy walks back to Polebridge, later met by Erik, Kerri, and Will in the car.

Mark, Joanna, Teebs, and I finally start back. We stop in Polebridge for cookies. Very very *good* cookies. Because I ask, we stop in Apgar Village, where Lake McDonald empties itself back into a creek. It does so with a nonchalance that seems strange. But then I live in Texas, where lakes are mostly what happens when you dam a river. Instead of any dramatic break between still and streaming waters, there is simply lake, then creek. More impressive is the large water spider and its sprawling web among the rocks.

My curiosity about the beginnings of things and the roots of things satisfied, we get back in the minivan and head to the cabin. Our last day in the park is slow and relaxed, just as it should be, and I'm sad to be leaving soon.

We begin to pack up our things, and to eat as much of the food that's left as we can. It feels, at the end, like a day of endings.

Trip to Glacier - Day 7

Today I ride the Red Bus. The guide is very knowledgable. Talks the entire time. And I take notes. Yes, I am a nerd. Here's what I learn:

• The trees that lie like pickup sticks amid those still standing in the forest were probably knocked down by wind. And probably fell 30-40 years ago! The cold temperatures keep the wood from degrading, and dead trees seem to hang around forever.
• The forest around Lake McDonald is a cedar hemlock forrest.
• Going to the Sun Road was originally going to zig zag up to Logan Pass, but the route they finally chose, making one sharp turn then scaling the garden wall, was much cheaper (not to mention less nausea-inducing). It still cost $80,000 per mile to build.
• Bird Woman Falls does not flow from Hidden Lake.
  
• According to our guide, bicyclists are known to the bears as "Meals on Wheels." Lest we get too complacent, he adds that the Red Buses are known as the "Easy Open Variety Pack."
• Many of the fire-scorched trees we see were killed in the 1967 fire, which was started by lightning. Many of them are still standing.
• Ox-eye Daisies (which are very pretty) are actually weeds in this part of the country, and were carried in by settlers traveling along the wagon trails.
• The purple bell-shaped flowers are hairbells.
• The fire of 2003 came up to the Garden Wall, and you can still see the blue plastic of some Port-o-Potties that were melted into the asphalt in the parking lot by the Loop turn.
• The rock in the mountains here is very old. They have found fossils dating back to the supercontinent Pangaea, and they've found Stromatolyte fossils that are very similar to ones found in Austraila and New Zealand.
• The cascade of Bird Woman Falls drops 492 feet in one fell swoop as the stream travels down the mountain.
• The odd little stream that seems to spring out of the middle of Piegan Mountain is probably from the meltwater off of Piegan Glacier, which lies on the other side of the peak from the road where we can't see it.
• Going to the Sun Road gets its name from Going to the Sun Mountain, which in turn is called after a legend reported by J. W. Schultze. Sour Spirit came down among Blackfoot tribes, and when he returned to his home in the sun, ascended Going to the Sun Mountain.
• Wild Goose Island looks very small, but is actually the size of a house, and the trees that stand on it are about 80 feet tall.
• Parts of the movie What Dreams May Come were filmed in Glacier. Specifically, the water that Robin Williams walks on was St. Mary Lake. It was very cold during the filming, and the actors had to pretend they were very hot.
• Opening shots from The Shining were filmed at Dead Horse Point.
• The rubble that the back-hoe is playing with at the Sun Point trail head is from the construction up at Logan Pass.
• When a glacier stops moving under it's own weight, it is no longer a glacier. It becomes a snow field. The snow field that we shuffled through on the way to the Hidden Lake overlook used to be the Clemens glacier, which stopped moving in 1913.

Even taking all these notes, I still take time to enjoy the ride and the views. It's amazing to ride in the Red Bus, because it has no top, and instead of gazing up to the heights of the mountains and losing them in the ceiling of automotive interior, you can look straight up at their peaks against the blue sky.

We stop at the Logan Pass visitor center, to browse the little book store and use the facilities. I hop out of the Red Bus and walk across the parking lot, and I see a gold minivan that looks hauntingly familiar. And well it should. It's the one Joanna has been driving, down to the license plate! She and Mark got up very early in the morning, to judge by the excellent parking spot in a completely packed parking lot. They must still be hiking the Highline Trail along the Garden Wall. They will catch the shuttle that picks up hikers at the Loop, but they aren't back yet, so I can't resist leaving them a note on their windshield. Ships that pass in the night.

We stop for lunch at a restraunt looking out over St. Mary Lake. I have the best bacon cheese burger of my life. Or maybe the one I am the most hungry for! A card on the table tells me that I can leave with my bill a donation to keep the Red Buses in service, so I leave $5 extra as a gift to the fun little bus that is carrying me back to the places I'm so glad to visit again.

The wind on the eastern side of Logan Pass is incredible. We scramble up to Sun Point, which had been such a peaceful overlook a few days before, and I'm afraid to go too close to the edge, in case a big gust comes along. I might get blown right off into the lake below! The wind is exhilerating in my face, but tiring to push against for too long, so I turn my shoulders to it and shut my eyes as it whips my hair stinging into my face.

Eyes shut at the top of the world, with the sun warm on my neck and the wing roaring in my ears and drowning out the voice around me, I feel like I am completely alone in a world that is rushing past at a breakneck pace, and flying on down a tumbling stream, leaving me behind. Like the water I watched in the streams and water falls felt cleansing to my spirit as it rippled in my eyes, the wind races through me, and in a much more tangible way, seems to sweep away the dust and fragments of things I want to let go, and toss into it through open fingers in my mind. They leave me and I feel lightened, and I open my eyes and make sure I'm not being left behind by my tour group!

Back at Lake McDonald Lodge, I have a few hours to kill before the rest of my group returns from their rafting expedition and someone comes to pick me up. As the Red Bus drops me off, I feel in my own little independent element as if I'm cutting loose even from them, the people I only know for the day. But my own little independent self gets set down right in the midst of a wedding party taking pictures in front of the lodge, so I scuttle off out of the way, through the lobby to the back. I wander down to the lakeside, and see that the next boat excursion on the lake leaves in twenty minutes. Perfect timing!

I ask how long the runs take, to make sure I'll be back before my ride shows up. They only take an hour, which leaves plenty of time. I ask if there are any seats left, and there are, so I pay my fair, and hover near the dock, waiting for the chain across the entry to unfasten and let me onto the boat.

The guides that speak on the boat aren't really worth listening to, but for an hour we float against the waves down the length of the lake, and I kneel at the window, with my seat to myself, lean my elbows on the sill, my chin on my arms, and let the jade and emerald waters fill my vision. I can lift my eyes to the encircling mountains with their matchstick fire-ravished flanks, but instead I sink them down into the depths, following the sun beams that travel like silver floss through the upper feet of that clear, cold, glowing water.

Evening at the cabin and we're all together again. We exchange stories of our day, and lay our plans for tomorrow. Horseback riding, it appears, is out. But it's hard *not* to enjoy the day, whatever we do.

Until then.

All Things New

This has been a week of firsts and of new things. I am flopped exhaustedly on my couch surrounded by boxes and bubble wrap, nestling contentedly into my new apartment. It's very nice! I have a lot a lot to do before it's presentable, but it's a pretty little place with a very nice and spacious patio, and all my stuff seems to fit in it just so.

I'm logged into the internet via my brand new wireless router and cable modem combination. There's another new thing I've picked up, a new bill. Now I owe money to Time Warner, but hey, I have *excellent* signal strength!

Having movers move my stuff was a new experience, but a very pleasant one. All three men were courteous and took extra special care of my great grandmother's china cabinet, which actually arrived in safer shape than it left; it locked itself en route, and I don't have the key!

My next new experience, then: lock picking. I was successful in getting the latch to slide back, and now it's taped so that we don't have this problem again. So now I just need to figure out where my stuff will all go, because I think I want to do something different with it all. Something . . . new! :-)

As if moving weren't enough, I had another very fun new experience this past week. On Wednesday, I had sushi for the first time. Now, I thought it would never be done. I mean, I don't like fish to begin with, so what on earth would I be doing eating *raw* fish? But Frank told me I could gorge myself on Yakitori chicken, and would I at least try one piece? Would I trust him? He'd select the best piece he could for me. So . . . I did!

We went to Kubos in the village. I ordered my chicken on a stick, Frank, Chuck, and Brett ordered their sushi, and we got edimome to start with. I had thought those were spicy, but they aren't. Just salty. Frank showed me how to eat them, and I like them a lot! They brought us soy sauce in a little pitcher, and wasabi to mix in. Frank insisted I try a teeeeeeeeny bit of wasabi. Yeah, not a fan. That stuff is killer!

Frank's sushi came, and I do have to admit it is a lovely food. So colorful and elegant. He had something that must be caviar-ish, and sparkled like tiny orange gems in the dark wrapper. Then came something or other with lovely little shredded vegetables, read and green and white, against the soft pink of the fish. There were two sockeye salmon ones, a bold red, then two tuna ones, also red. There were two regular salmon, those were orange, and two pale pink yellowtail ones. I had half of one of the tuna, and half of one of the yellowtail.

Very interesting! The fish sort of just creamed away as I pressed it to the roof of my mouth and chewed the rice. I was surprised at how soft it was. I was expecting to have to chew it, but I really didn't. Frank was very pleased with the yellowtail, but I didn't care for it, really. The tuna was better, I thought. But then, both kinda tasted like soy sauce, since that's what I dipped them in. I also tried some of Chuck's which had salmon skin in it, and tasted sort of bacony. But it had other flavors I didn't care for. So sushi, tried it. Not really a fan, but I really enjoyed the new experience. Especially since I *did* use my chopsticks and I did *not* embarrass myself by dropping anything!

So, new job status on the August 1, new food experience on August 2, new apartment today. Solomon was a very wise man, but I think he was wrong. Maybe there's nothing new under the sun, if you expect any one person to be completely original and do something no one else has. But if you approach life as an adventure, and experience things you've never met before with an open heart and a sense of fun, all things can be exciting and new!

Trip to Glacier - Day 6

Today is the day that the mountain is too much for me. Slogging through a snow field is hard, but I handle it. Scrambling around a shoulder of the mountain on dirt that is not a path is a little nerve wracking, but I handle it. I *almost* make it to the Hidden Lake over look. I see a baby mountain goat, I see the deepest blue sky I've ever seen in my life, and I see the final uphill stretch, and I turn around.

That deep blue sky means I'm also breathing the least oxygen per volume that I've ever dealt with, and the stitch in my side says, "No more!" Joanna gives me the keys to the minivan and a walkie-talkie, and I trudge back down to the Logan Pass visitor center.

I meet Teebs along the way, who turned back at the dirt-not-a-path-around-a-sharp-ridge scramble. He says he made a snow man, but it's gone already. I say we should write "Hi Amy" in the snow and take a picture for the Amy, back at the cabin recovering from the trailer hitch attack. But the photo wouldn't come out well, so we both continue down hill.

One really wants to scold the ground squirrel, who sits calmly nibbling a glacier lily. Can't he read the signs that say to be careful of them!?! Oh wait. He *belongs* here, eating lilies. I wish I could be his size, and live in such beauty all year.

Back at the minivan I curl up around some Powerade and potato chips and try to get my wind back. It's amazing how much richer the air feels down here, and how much lighter the sky is. I sit drowsing in the sun-warmed car until the walkie-talkie crackles and Kerri's voice says they'll be down soon.

We eat lunch on the sidewalk by the parking lot. Then Mark and Joanna head out for an exciting hike along the Garden Wall, which I've already decided my fear of heights will not permit. But Teebs and I aren't quite ready to call it a day, so the rest drop us off at Lake McDonald Lodge on the way back to the cabin.

We browse the gift shops then wander along the lake shore and spend a while skipping rocks. At which we are both abysmally bad. :-P Rolling gray clouds are looming up over the mountains across the lake, and we watch the storm come on until the other shore fuzzes with rain drops. Then we go into the lodge, and sit near the window.

I decide to book a seat on a Red Bus tour for the next day, since the rest of the group will be rafting, and cold water is not really my thing. A bit feline on that point.

I think this is the night where I learn how to play Nerts, a wicked game of competitive solitaire, with so much going on that I completely addle my brain trying to figure it out. I get so addled that when I try to talk, I get stuck.

"But I, but I, but I, but I, but I, but I, but I, but I . . ."
"Would someone reset her?"
*SMACK*

Which is why I can't remember if this is the right night. It takes me almost half an hour and a quiet walk as the sky grows dark to actually speak in complete sentences again after I stop playing. At least tomorrow I'll be on the Red Bus with people who don't know me, so I shouldn't have to talk much! :-P

Good, good, good, good, good, good . . . *SMACK*. . . Good night!

Trip to Glacier - Day 5

We leave the east side of the park and take the Going to the Sun Road to our new lodgings in West Glacier. We stop along the way to soak up any view that catches our eye, and to hike along the trails to the little beauties that lie just off the road.

At sun point we look over St. Mary lake to the mountains that now circle around us. We hike to Baring falls where I fall in love all over again, and decide that Glacier must be haunted by water nymphs, and that I would like to be one.

We make our way up to Logan pass, climbing higher and higher. In the pass we stop and marvel at the glacier lilies springing up through the fresh green grass like glowing golden stars. We drive by a white mountain goat posed perfectly on a rocky outcropping. We drive along the side of the Garden Wall mountain ridge and suddenly we are looking out over the most magical valley I've ever seen. The mountain sky glows jewel blue above. A vivid green cloaks the lower slopes of the mountains as they slide down into the broad glacial U that cradles McDonald Creek. The rocky upper faces still hold onto the winter and spring snows. Bird Woman Falls flows from a hanging valley carved out of the peak of a mountain, cupped like a hand offering a blessing. Made silent by distance, the rushing water looks like a tracing of cobweb, and closer by and farther off other falls glint like silver white embroidery in the green velvet of the mountain slopes.

We drive along the Garden Wall to the Loop, where the road cuts one sharp switchback and dives into the valley to follow the creek to Lake McDonald. The limestone not only gives the lakes their vivid jade color, but turns the creek to turquoise as it bubbles in surging rapids and deep pools.

We stop at the Lake McDonald lodge to browse the gift store. Huckleberry syrup, chocolates, and even gummy bears abound. Here we have our first casualty (and it's really amazing that we went so long without one). A giant boat hitch jumps off of the back of a pickup truck and attacks poor Amy, who is on the ground before we can beat it off. Stupid extra long boat hitches.

Without further mishap, we do eventually arrive at our posh new cabin, with it's two bathrooms, beds for fourteen, full kitchen, and a second story window you could jump out of and walk away without a scratch. Amy considers taking that leap, but decides she's starting out scratched so it's probably not the best idea.

Good friends, good food, good fun, and a comfortable bed. A wonderful end to a wonderful day.