Merry Christmas!

I've finally finished wrapping gifts, and I've unwrapped the ones addressed to me, and now I'm sitting in my old wool bathrobe in front of the fire watching Sugar try and fit in a box half her size while Freckles chases scraps of ribbon and tries to kill some paper with her teeth and claws. It's all very peaceful.

Unlike last year, I will be spending the rest of Christmas day with family (fingers crossed). Even though it means everyone will have to wait for me, I'm not starting until ths sun is up. Rain on the 23rd followed by a freeze last night has turned the driveway into a solid sheet of ice. So . . . I will be installing chains, by myself, on my tires before I make the attempt, and then taking them off, also by myself, when I safely (fingers crossed) reach the bottom.

I hope you all had a really lovely holiday.

One Year

December 22 was the anniversary of my last day as a lawyer, and even though I haven't written about it, I've been thinking about it a lot. I really thought more would have changed in this year. I thought I would have found a purpose. I thought I would have a plan by now. But I don't. After a really lovely, lazy year, I'm still me. Lazy and purposeless and floating through the days in a haze of denial. My hair has more gray. I have two cats instead of one. Distressingly, I think both my pores and my thighs have gotten larger. I've been to SE Asia and read a lot of books and learned how to put mud on drywall. But shouldn't I have done something, learned something, well, grander? Wasn't I supposed to be working on myself? Designing a life?

The bottom line of my savings account is getting very close to the number I told myself would mark the end of this lark, the signal to get serious and get a real job. I know I want to stay in Idaho. I guess that's progress. I'm studying for the Idaho bar, but I still don't really want to be a lawyer, and I honestly don't know if I'll be able to find a job as one. Or any job that pays more than $10/hour when it comes to that. It's not like I'm going out into a great economy. And now I have a big old gap in my resume. It's Christmas Eve and my year is over, but I'm still holding on to it. I'm not ready to let it go. I've loved it too much. Even if it wasn't quite what I imagined.

No Snowman

In case you were curious. Instead I shoveled snow. And shoveled snow. And then? I shoveled some more snow. I don't think I'll be able to pick up so much as a paperclip at work tomorrow. Winter is really healthy. Except for all that shortbread.

Can you see my driveway? Yeah, me neither.

Yesterday, with 6 inches of snow in the driveway, and the flakes falling steadily, I called my boss to let her know that I might not be able to make it in to work today. And then, last night, I heard my neighbor plowing the drive and thought "FOILED!" But that was premature. Becaue I woke up this morning to another 6 inches of fresh snow. And even after someone plows again, I'll have to spend an hour or so digging out the few feet between my car and the area the plow can reach . . . so I'm snowed in. All official like. Yippee!! I really wish I had a sled, or some cross country skis, or snow shoes. I want to bundle up, and go outside and play. I might have to build a snowman or something.

Um . . .yeah. Well.

Remember how on Monday I was so pleased about not being stuck in a snow bank? Well, on Tuesday that little chicken came home to roost but good. Oh, I didn't get stuck in a snow bank. It was better than that.

I was coming home for a little trip to the Post Office and my friendly neighborhood bakery (where I read Contracts and tried not to kill myself from boredom) when, while backing up the final twenty yards of my driveway, in the snow, I sort of . . . drove off the driveway and into the field. Oops! Yeah. I didn't slide off the driveway as I first reported to my mom while I was sitting in the car, thinking "Oh Shit". Oh no. On closer inspection, I realized I didn't turn enough, and just backed straight off the road. In my own defense, everything was white, and it was snowing, and who the hell has depth perception in those conditions? But. Still. I drove off my driveway. After I'd waded up to the house and called AAA, one of those awesome neighbors of mine called to ask if I was stuck, then told me to cancel that AAA bat signal of distress, and pulled me back on the road with his truck. He then traffic directed me all the way back up my driveway and into my carport because clearly I can't be trusted to do it myself.

Needless to say, the whole incident left me feeling a little STUPID and like I never wanted to leave the house (in my car) again. Or at least not until this snow is gone. I had to mask my feelings of incompetence through brisk employment of that snazzy new snow shovel on my porch and the path to the wood pile. It made me feel a little better.

We've gotten at least another 5 inches of snow since I got pulled out of the snowbank (meaning, I'm really getting my money's worth out of that shovel). And this afternoon, after a scintillating three hours of sitting on my butt listening to a Contracts lecture on my ipod, I went for a little walk in the lightly falling snow. Look at the little Santa hat on the grave marker! How festive!(Those are fox tracks in the photo by the way.) I am absolutely loving this snow. (Caveat: When I'm not driving off my driveway.) We're supposed to get another 4-6 inches of snow tonight, and then a few more inches tomorrow. Which is all great, except I'm supposed to work tomorrow. And . . . I still am not over this little trauma of driving off my driveway. And seriously. I don't ever want to leave the house again. It would be wrong to call in "sick", right?

I finally have a snow shovel!

Today I had my first experience with a car stuck in a snowbank. Thankfully it wasn't mine. I woke up this morning to four inches of fresh snow and the threat from weather.com that "this is just the beginning because there are storms piled on storms and holy hell stock up on canned goods because the end is nigh!" Or something like that. I figured with as much as a foot of snow forecast for the next two days, it might be about damn time for me to buy a snow shovel.

So I eased my car down the driveway and into town. I picked up some groceries, then poked on down to the hardware store where I spent some time staring in complete confusion at the 50 different shapes and sizes of snow shovel on offer (they're two aisles down from the cookie sheets in case you're curious) finally grabbed one that looked like it was sort of in the middle of the pack shape and size wise and made a quick stop at the spa (closed on Monday) to get directions to this thing I'm supposed to be going to tonight.

And found Bethanie. Who had gone to our bosses' Christmas party the night before (I had an attack of social anxiety lameness, not to mention irrational terror of the copious amounts of drinking everyone had kept reminding me to expect and had stayed home in my pyjamas watching a marathon of Dirty Sexy Money with Sugar and Freckles. Yes. I am COOL.) and had managed to get her car stuck (in that snowbank I mentioned) on her way down the mountain from our bosses' bachanal. Oops. Armed with a new snow shovel and delusions of my own competence, I offered to take Bethanie back to her car and see if we couldn't get it out of the snowbank our own damn selves. Yeah. We couldn't. Mostly we stared at it. And for some reason the power of our hopes and wishes did nothing to move that damn car. So we called our boss. And he sucked up what was undoubtedly, from all reports, a killer hangover, and like the hip father figure he totally is, he met us in his Astro Van and pulled Bethanie's poor little car out of the snowbank.

And I stood there shivering, with wet feet, thinking . . . I'm really really glad I didn't go to that party. Because, while I really like the people who I knew would be there, I don't really drink much any more. (To be fair, other than a brief period in law school, I never really have. And certainly not when there's any chance I might have to drive.) And is it really fun to be sober around fun drunk people who you know will be getting behind a wheel? I have to say I come down on the side of "no". BUT this thing I'm going to tonight? Isn't so much a party. It's a bunch of women getting together to exchange cookies and maybe drink a hot toddy. It's a gathering. And I love gatherings. Especially with dessert. See, I'm not anti-social, I'm just 80.

Winter Wildlife

On Friday evening, just as it was getting dark, I got an excited voicemail from one of my neighbors telling me to look out my window because there were six elk grazing in the pasture between our houses. Unfortunately, I was working and by the time I got home they were gone. But yesterday I went for a walk and just as I was approaching a bend in the road, two elk leaped across my path. I stopped and watched in awe as a steady stream of them came bounding up from the river and started climbing a ridge where my mother pastured horses before I was born, and where, when I was a child, we had a memorable encounter with a black bear while picking huckleberries one fall. I lost count at 15, and they just kept coming. There must have been at least 40. I was both too startled and too slow to get a decent picture. Can you even see them in the trees?

On a smaller scale, but just as startling, I saw this tiny creature skittering through the snow 15 yards or so from my front door when I set out for my winter walk. Guess what direction he was traveling? It had never occurred to me that spiders could survive in the open in such cold. He made good time. By the time I saw him on my return trip he'd covered about half the distance to my significantly cozier home (where, sadly, he'd find plenty of other creatures to keep his strength up until spring when I wouldn't feel so evil about banishing him back outside).

Why didn't anyone warn me that shortbread was a bad idea?

I've been shoving it in my mouth non-stop since it came out of the oven on Monday. (Ok, I waited for it to be cool enough to cut.) I really don't understand. Shortbread has never been my thing. I've never made it before, it's the last cookie I turn to in a cookie assortment, I've certainly never paid money for a piece of it and yet, for some reason, I am now turning up my nose at the tub of fudge sitting next to it in favor of these tiny squares of crumbly, buttery sweetness. I'm completely addicted. I'm eating it for breakfast right now. It's almost as if the demerara sugar I sprinkled on top was secretly replaced with small rocks of honey-colored crack at some point when I wasn't looking. (And if that is the case thank god the sentencing guidelines have finally been lowered, because I have sent this stuff THROUGH THE MAIL people and I'd prefer my stint in a federal prison be as brief as possible thankyouverymuch.)

It's definitely starting to feel like Christmas

I made fudge yesterday, and cream cheese mints this evening. I was really feeling more like bed and a book than an hour rolling little balls of yummy goodness in sugar, but I put my Netflixed copy of Die Hard (the original) into the DVD player to get me in the proper spirit. What? It's totally a Christmas movie! Now I just have to make some shortbread in the morning and my first round of Christmas cheer will be ready to package up and entrust to the USPS. Except I haven't written any cards to go with the candy. Do you think people will mind?

I Hurt

Just so you all aren't picturing me in a beautiful snowy wonderland, I should let you know that Tuesday, the day after the big snowfall, the temps reached the high 30s and it rained all that night, melting most of the snow and making everything (very much including my driveway) muddy and gross.

BUT! Not all the effects of the snow have disappeared this week. Oh no. One, very personal reminder, lingers. I actually pulled on my completely inadequate footwear and went out on Monday and shoveled the dense, wet, very very heavy snow (using a normal shovel, because of course I haven't gotten a snow shovel yet) and now, almost a week later, I still ache. Isn't that pathetic? The muscle soreness is finally gone but my neck/shoulder region is seriously janked. (I know, I should take advantage of the spa discount and get a massage. But . . . it feels strange to get a massage from someone I work with. Brow waxing? Facial? No problem! But a massage just seems too . . . I don't know. Something. It's my own hangup. The therapists are always getting massages from each other, so I know I'm being stupid. I'm sure I'll get over it before this little interlude in my life ends.) Of course, the fact that the snow had mostly disappeared the day after I had killed myself shoveling it out of my way just adds the proper coda of wasted effort to the physical discomfort.

Valley County Scene

I took my garbage to the solid waste transfer station this afternoon. Dangling from the rafters of the gatehouse was a dead coyote. I don't know if it had been caught in a trap, or hit by a car, or shot. And I didn't stick around to ask. I kept my head down, tossed my bags in the dumpster, and got the hell out of there.

Definitely NOT snowed in

Because one of my awesome neigbors is plowing my driveway as I type. Thank god I'd just finished baking cookies so I could give him something in return. It's really not nearly enough. When I ran out in the snow to give them to him, and thank him, he said "Well, we're all in this together!" Which, yeah. But some of the "we" who are in this are fucking useless and end up relying on the rest of the "we" a whole hell of a lot more than the useless part of the "we" is entirely comfortable with.

Snowed in?

Maybe. I'm not sure. It's possible that I could get down my driveway without getting stuck, but I have grave doubts that I would be able to make it back up. Luckily, I don't need to try. Because I have nowhere I need to go!

A classic winter storm has been hammering the Oregon coast for the past few days, with winds gusting over 80 miles an hour and buckets of rain. (Poor Zach lost power in the middle of a game of literati yesterday afternoon, and the power was still out when he got home from work last night.) That same system reached my little corner of the world while I was sleeping. I woke up to five new inches of snow (on top of the three we got yesterday), and a power outage of my own. But I was prepared. I'd filled my lamps with oil, baked bread, and made a big pot of squash and bean soup that I can reheat on the wood stove if necessary. But so far it hasn't come to that. I made my tea on the wood stove and read Sales by lamp light and just as I was starting to think that it was awfully quiet without my usual background of NPR, the power was back. And I stopped reading Sales and got on the internet to check the forecast (and blog).

Of course, I'm not entirely prepared for this storm. I still don't have boots. Or a snow shovel. But I have fresh bread! And lots of books! And now that the power is back, I can make cookies! Who needs a snow shovel when one has cookies and atmospheric mystery novels?

Brrrr

You know what is a really great way to start your morning? Wake up at 5:30, an hour before your alarm is scheduled to go off, because your nose, the only part of you not covered in something fluffy and filled with down, senses that the temperature in your house has dropped below 45 degrees. Oh, but it can get better. After you get the fire blazing again, and the kettle on for tea, you might find when you go out to start your car, the car that you parked so poorly the night before in the dark and snow that you have to climb on top of a pile of firewood to reach the driver's door . . . you can find that door frozen shut. So then you might have the chance to climb back over the woodpile, and around to the passenger side which is miraculously not entombed in ice, and clamber over the gearshift and the emergency break, only to realize that, yes, as you suspected, these jeans really are too tight to see the light of day.

And did you know that on a really frosty morning, when the pine trees look white and the fence posts and every blade of grass is sparking with frozen fog, even horses, living, breathing, moving mammals, can be covered with a glittery skin of frost?

Notes on a Norwegian Walk

My friend Zach has been taking a lot of what he calls Scottish walks lately. He goes out in the miserable, raw dampness of November on the Oregon coast in an effort to keep his ass from getting winterized.

My metabolism seems to have adjusted to the drop in temperature and I'm no longer magically shedding pounds as my body tries to keep itself warm. In an attempt to keep the truly horrifying things that started happening to my own ass on my 30th birthday from progressing any farther or faster than necessary, I put a pair of polar fleece long underwear on under my jeans, slipped on my only waterproof pair of shoes, grabbed my camera, and ventured forth on a Norwegian walk of my own.

I didn't go far. I walked for maybe half an hour, and here's why: (1) Just because a pair of shoes is waterproof, does not mean they're good for walking in the snow. I need to get something with superior traction. Do they make studded snow shoes with good arch support? (2) Just because one's ears don't get cold on a few short sunny trips between the woodshed and the back door does not mean that one's ears will not begin turning purple after walking a few dozen feet along a shadowy lane when the temperature is well below freezing. Little tip from me to you. (3) I didn't get more than 20 yards before my back started hurting from the many many many hours I've spent sitting in my cozy leather chair next to the fire over the past few days. One might think that walking would be the perfect cure for sitting induced back pain, but one would be WRONG as I know from bitter past experience. The only cure is ibuprofen, time, stretching, and moving my lazy ass a little more around the house. I don't know if it's my stride, or my posture, or the general perversity of my body, but something about the way I walk just turns mild twinges in my lower back into agaonizing spasms. 4) I'd forgotten how much the sound of shoes squeaking on dry snow makes me want to beat my head against a particularly sturdy pine. Oh my god. Annoying. Maybe someday I'll write a fascinating post about all the sounds that make me clench my jaw and want to kill myself from the overwhelming annoyance. Or not. But next time I walk in the snow I'll be carrying my ipod.

Despite the brevity of the walk, and the few little errors in judgment on my part that made it a little less lovely than it could otherwise have been, it was beautiful. And as always, it made me wonder why the hell I don't do this more often.(

One might start considering oneself underemployed when . . .

for a not-so-brief instant, one legitimately feels deserving of a freaking medal for managing to both wash one's hair and shave one's legs (though only to the knee, I mean, come on, it is almost December!) on the same day.

Thanksgiving Update

My grandmother called this morning and told me that about half the family was meeting for breakfast tomorrow at Cracker Barrel and then a matinee of Bee Movie. Seriously. That's the plan for Thanksgiving. God love them. Anyway, I jumped at the chance. Not because I really want to get up at 6 am to drive 100+ miles to eat at a Cracker Barrel on Thanksgiving, but because it saves me from the consequence of my poor planning. Yesterday, in a GREAT example of not thinking clearly when in the midst of social panic I told my neighbors that yes, I did have plans for Thanksgiving, I was spending it with my bosses. (Which, at the time, was not true because I'd already decided to spend Thanksgiving doing nothing.) So . . . I lied. Which . . . is not unusual. I do it all the time to avoid social occasions. (I told my bosses I'd gotten a last-minute invitation from my step-brother.) But it was a STUPID lie. Because . . . they're my neigbors. They can see whether I'm home from their front window. Their dogs bark every time I set foot ouside. So . . . before my grandmother called I was honestly trying to figure out what to do for a couple of hours tomorrow afternoon so that my neigbors wouldn't realize that I had no plans. I'm an idiot.

It's Addictive

Once I start taking pictures of the cats I just can't stop. These photos are pretty representative of the differences between the two. Freckles is such a little ham. An adorable ham, but one just begging for someone to rub her belly. And see what I mean about the complete destruction of the carpet?


And then there is sweet, elegant Sugar. Has there EVER been a cat as skilled at posing? I mean she takes the effort to choose the most suitable background available! Unlike Freckles, she would never be photographed rolling around in carpet shreds. Sugar would totally win ANTM if Tyra would stop being so obsessed with only letting people compete.The camera loves her.

Go Brown

Red Fraggle and I were just IMing, and for some reason I mentioned that FedEx doesn't deliver to my house. She was aghast. I explained that it was OK, because UPS does deliver, and I've always liked them better anyway. The big brown trucks remind me of the excitement of getting a package when I was a child . . . and she totally couldn't relate. So I explained that when I was young, seeing the UPS truck was exciting in the same way that the arrival of the Sears catalog was exciting. Her response: "LOL! Sears catalog! I always wondered who that was exciting to. I remember reading a story when I was young about someone waiting with anticipation for the Sears catalog and thinking 'REALLY?!'"

See, Red grew up in the crowded northeast, near New York. For her, the ability to go shopping for a new skirt or to a toy store wasn't a big deal. But in the 1980s, in this part of the country, it was a HUGE deal. In some ways, my childhood bears a stronger resemblance to the average American childhood of the 1950s than the 1980s. The available shopping options, as I remember them, were Shavers, a sort of dry goods store combined with a grocery store, (sort of a smaller precurser to SuperTarget without the high-falutin obsession with "design" for the masses) and the old-fashioned drug store across the street that sold cards and tchotchkes and stuffed animals in the aisles between the drug counter and the soda fountain.

And even making the 200 mile round trip Boise didn't net much of an improvement. Back then its population was well under 200,000 and the shopping opportunities were accordingly slim. Boise didn't have many of the big chain stores . . . I think there was a JC Penney and a Sears . . . and the only mall in the entire state was in Nampa (another 30 miles away) and it boasted a Bon Marche, a fabric store, a three screen movie theater, an Orange Julius, and maybe a Foot Locker? It was TINY by today's standards. And that was it.

So for the things my mom couldn't make herself (she made lots of my clothes), and the things we couldn't find in town, the Sears catalog was IT. I remember poring over the pages and pages of toys for hours. And on the rare occasions that my parents could justify the expense of purchasing something from that glossy book of delights, the package would come via a big brown UPS truck struggling up our horrible driveway. And the excitement was real, and it was gleeful, and I still feel a little faint echo of it every time I see a man or woman in brown polyester shorts bearing boxes.

More photos to relieve the monotony

I don't think I've posted a photo of Freckles since she had the kittens have I? Well, here she is. She was purring during the photo shoot, even though I hadn't touched her. I think strays have to be ingratiating to survive, and she is a pro, purring as soon as I look at her. And if I'm walking around the house, she has to be under my feet at all times, or at least until I acknowledge her existence by pausing in whatever business I have to pick her up for a quick cuddle and chin scratch. Then, satisfied that I still like her and don't intend to throw her back out into the wilderness, she'll run off and attack the carpet some more. Good thing I hate this carpet, because Freckles is destroying it.

And here's the oh so pretty glass and tin chandelier type thing I got on my last trip to IKEA. I love it. Its shiny glamorousness looks so out of place, but pretty, with the rustic post and beam construction of the house.

Non-Procrastination Post

As my friend Red Fraggle pointed out recently, there has been a bit of a procrastination theme to my posts/life lately. Sorry to be the one note pony (intentionally mixed metaphor), but you know me . . .

***

In non-procrastination news, I have a big decision to make about Thanksgiving. I'm not going home to Newport for the holiday for a couple of reasons: (1) I don't necessarily want to spend more time with my stepsiblings than necessary. One visit every couple of years seems about right. (2) It's a long-ass trip to take twice in three weeks. (3) The weather there has turned from fall beauty to crappy constant rain, and I've seen enough of that to last me a lifetime. (Of course, as I type this it's 38 degrees and pouring buckets here. You can imagine my mood. If it were just a few degrees colder, it would be an awesome blizzard, but no. Must be rain. Ugh.) (4) I have to work on Friday, so even if I made the trip to Newport, I'd have to drive back on Thanksgiving Day anyway.

My Dad's family (minus my dad and stepmom in their Belizean paradise) always celebrate Thanksgiving on Saturday (my grandparents' thought being . . . "let the kids have Thursday with their in-laws and not have to choose sides." That way they get to see all their kids (except my ex-pat dad) nearly every year. They're smart like that. This is also why it took me YEARS to figure out why I associated Thanksgiving with college football, even though there were never any college football games on Thanksgiving Day.) So I will have a traditional family holiday, just not at the officially sanctioned time.

Here's the decision: do I spend the day alone (which I've done on many many years and really could not care less about) or do I accept my bosses' kind invitation to celebrate with them? They're great people, I vaguely know some of the other people who are going, it would probably be fun, and it would be one more opportunity to start really creating a life here but . . . I'm anti-social. The idea of driving on my own to a party with tons of people I don't know sends me into a blind panic. What if no one likes me?! What if I don't have anything to say to anybody?! What if I just sit in a corner like a lump and feel pathetic all afternoon?! (None of these are unprecedented occurrences.)

So that's what I'm thinking about this damp morning.

Things were looking a little text heavy

I'm procrastinating. Contracts is exactly as boring as I remembered. Here are a few photos I took a couple of weeks ago on a little walk along the river near my house.

Before and After

My very expensive collection of study materials for the bar exam arrived yesterday. Life was different before I heard the UPS guy drop that very heavy box on the porch. I was sitting on the floor, making some simple earrings to try and sell through the store my mom manages, feeling content, creative, the sun shining through the windows, Freckles being amazingly good about not batting around the pearls and iolite rondelles I'd scattered right at cat level. And then I heard that thump. And now everything feels a little more real, my year of easy living feels dangerously close to over, and I've started thinking about all the many many things I kind of thought I wanted to do with this time off that I haven't done. Like learn to sew. And write a book. And figure out what I want out of life.

Because now there's a large pile of study guidees sitting in the corner, by the door, reminding me of what I was, and that if I don't get my act together soon, what I'll have to go back to. Procrastination isn't just for household chores.

As soon as it came, I pulled the box apart searching for the schedule - that list of assignments and lectures that will rule my life until the end of February. When I studied for the California bar I treated the BarBri schedule like a bible, and for once in my life I acted like a fundamentalist. But this time, I have more time, so it will be a little different. BarBri condenses the entire formal study schedule into a 6 week program. So if I followed the program exactly, I wouldn't have to start until sometime around New Year's eve. But since I have the time to do so, I'm going to start a little earlier, stretch it out a little longer, so that those first two months of 2008 aren't quite as all consumingly all law all the time. Because . . . to be honest, I don't do all law all the time. That's kind of why my last job didn't work out so well.

Yesterday afternoon, all I was consciously avoiding was delivering a gift basket to a neighbor and scrubbing my bathroom. Now I've got a stack of books reminding me of all the other things I've been avoiding all year, and will probably continue to avoid, knowing me, until they refuse to be ignored any more.

Last Minute

So, I did finish cleaning out the carport this morning. Fever and all. It didn't take as long as my whining would have suggested because I had done a lot of the work a month ago when I first got back from Belize. And I was just in time, because look - it's snowing! This sight won't be so exciting in a couple of months, or maybe even in a few weeks, but right now the snow is still novel and delightful and I love watching it come down from my cozy chair by the fire. Especially knowing that my car is safely tucked away and I won't need to unbury it when the time eventually comes that I need to leave the house.

Have I mentioned that I haven't gotten around to buying a snow shovel yet? EVIL procrastination. EVIL.

I Suck

For oh so many reasons. But today, the suckage is a result of my evil EVIL tendency to procrastinate. Thwo subjects of my procrastination are coming back to bite me. First, the dreaded, hated, unpleasant task of taking my garbage to the landfill. (More accurately, the "solid waste transfer station", since nothing is actually left at the "dump" of my childhood anymore. I don't even want to know where they take it.) I put off going all weekend, even though I really need to, and then got all psyched up to go today, only to remember it's a holiday. So my THREE BAGS of garbage will just have to remain on my over-crowded porch (I can't leave it outside or animals will rip it apart) for another day. Gross. (Luckily it's so fucking cold that it doesn't actually smell, but still, GROSS.)

The second thing I've procrastinated on (well, there are way more than two, but the second one I'm regretting today)? Well, cleaning out my carport. I really really need to make enough room in the carport to park my car before snow starts accumulating. And once there's enough room, I need to use a magnet to pick up all the nails and screws and other things that could destroy my tires. And hahahaha, guess what, this is so funny, it's supposed to snow five inches starting this afternoon. Oh, HAHAHAHA. God. And of course, could I do this unpleasant but necessary task when it was warm, and sunny, and otherwise comfortable? Of course not! No, I have to wait until the last possible minute, when it's 15 degrees outside with windchill, and did I mention that I have a fever?

Another Reason To Stay in Idaho, or One Less Reason to Leave

I just found out that an Anthropologie store will be opening in downtown Boise sometime soon! I'm doomed. I wonder if there's any way I could survive splitting my time between working at Anthropologie and a spa? I'd be dirt poor, but I'd have adorable clothes and home accessories and my skin would be fabulous.

The facial was excellent by the way. I adore the woman who gave it to me, and she's phenomenal at her job. I came out feeling slightly drunk with relaxation, the way I've seen people look after they get a hot stone massage or one of the spa's detox wraps. And my skin looks great. I think this might have to become a regular indulgence.

Indulgence

Because we're in the slow season, the spa is letting members of its unlimited yoga club and, more importantly to me, its staff, get services at 50% off the regular rate. Of course, I always get 40% off, but that extra 10% . . . I'm getting an inexpensive high-quality facial this morning. And I have the next 5 days off. I love my life.

Not Very Green

I'm doing my damndest to speed global warming and not feeling very good about it. Since I bought my new car in May, I've driven almost 14,000 miles. In FIVE YEARS I only put 28,000 miles on my last car. This is . . . not good. But I can't help myself. I want to go places! This week I drove to Newport for a very very short visit. I left on Sunday and returned on Tuesday for an almost 700 mile roundtrip. Ridiculous. The weather was perfect, I had some stuff I needed to retrieve from my old bedroom, I wanted to see my mom and play scrabble with Zach before winter sets in and the roads get bad and I'm too nervous to do more than drive to work or the grocery store and I don't see anyone on the days that I'm not working. Anyway, I needed to confess that ridiculous extravagance. It was a lovely trip, really perfect, but . . . I feel bad.

***

In other news, my BarBri materials are on their way. Can you feel my terror and dread through your computer?

Just When I Was Feeling Accomplished . . .

I was feeling pretty proud of myself for a relatively productive day. I'd finished painting the closet (primer and two coats of color), I'd done a little clever re-arranging in the laundry room (rearranging that involved the use of a cordless drill, so handy of me!), I'd put up a hook by the fireplace so that my bellows wasn't just laying on the carpet all the time. I was even installing some new weatherstripping on my back door when my neighbor stopped by to ask if I'd be willing to housesit once in awhile. Since I've noticed he has DishNetwork, my answer was a HELL YES! And then he pointed to some long-ass pieces of wood that have been stacked by my house since the aborted siding project of this summer and casually asked if I needed to put those away before they got ruined by the weather. Shit. YES. I DO need to put them away if I don't want them to be useless by spring. But . . . I'd kind of just decided . . . I didn't really care and wasn't going to do anything about it since did I mention they're REALLY long and cumbersome and a pain in the ass to move not to mention there's a hell of a lot of them and the only place to really put them is on some shelves below the ceiling of the carport which requires some really awkward maneuvering. But. Fuck. I've been shamed.

I am Not a Perfectionist

This is not a new revelation, but every once in awhile it strikes me afresh. I mean you all know this about me, especially if you're a former co-worker. But all these little home-improvement projects I've signed up for . . . yeah.

One of the many projects that my uncle began (and really, "began" is the operative word here) when he was here last time was the creation of a real, honest to goodness, coat closet. It was a great idea. This house has NO closets. Of any kind. But under the stairs there was this area that vaguely resembled a closet, in that it was kind of tucked away and had its own light. But it wasn't walled in, so anything you stacked under the stairs, was visible from everywhere in the living room, sort of defeating the purpose of a closet (which is to let you throw crap somewhere it can't be seen and therefore can be forgotten.) Anyway, my uncle took down the shelves which were in the living room sort of shielding some of the crap under the stairs from view, stacked everything that was on the shelves in my dining room, took out all the outlets and switches and lights, walled in this space with drywall, and bought a door to put on it, and my very kind and helpful neighbor came down and put on the first couple of layers of mud to smooth the walls. And then my uncle left. So for the last month I've had this unfinished useless closet where there formerly was a very functional, if ugly storage space. Sigh. My carpet has been rolled away from the wall, my couch has been in the middle of the living room, and the bookshelves that used to be outside the closet are sitting out in the carport making it impossible to park my car there (they're really big shelves), and my dining room is full of boxes of crap that really belongs in a closet, unseen.

The big hold-up in finishing this closet, is that the living room bookshelves can't get put up until the walls are painted. And the walls really shouldn't be painted until they're textured to match the rest of the living room. Which is a messy job, and mixing mud is a pain in the ass. So today I finally said "fuck it". I don't like the texture on the rest of the walls anyway. The closet walls are smooth enough. I'll paint them, and I'll get the neighbor down to help me put the shelves back up, and it will be FINE. And, more importantly, finished.

So yeah, I'm not even a proponent of "the perfect is sometimes an enemy of the good". I'm really more a "why bother reaching for good, when with a little less effort you can achieve good enough" kind of girl.

Sociability

The main reason I got a job wasn't to ease financial pressure, or to finance trips to Alabama that I no longer need to take, it was to give myself a chance, meagre though it might be, at a social life that wasn't entirely dependent on some form of long distance communication. It's hard to make friends, or even acquaintances, as adults. It's even harder when you don't take a class, volunteer, have a job, or have any other reason to see the same people on a regular enough basis to learn their names.

I haven't really had a chance to feel isolated here. I had all that family staying with me, I had trips to look forward to, I had this bizarre long distance relationship taking up a (definitely too large) place in my emotional life. But I could see the very real possibility of lonliness setting in with the snow and the cold of a mountain winter. So I got a job.

Last night I went out for a drink with two girls from work. They're both 26, funny, and interesting. In the bar, between them, they knew 80% of the people there. And it was pretty crowded. In spite of feeling very very aged (don't even get me started on the lectures on how to stalk MySpace cuties I got from one of them while killing time at work), I had a good time. We talked about Christmas trees, and going out for sushi next Friday (yes, you can get sushi in the inter-mountain west . . . and yes, I agree that this is not necessarily a good plan but . . .) And I felt, like maybe, if I really try, and I master my anti-social tendencies, I could cobble together some sort of social life here. Right around the time that I run out of money and have to move.

Expensive

Working at a spa when it's slow is kind of expensive. There were only three appointments all damn day, and once I'd done all my little routine tasks, and done as many non-routine tasks as I could think of . . . I mostly just chatted with the therapists and . . . bought stuff and scheduled treatments for myself. Even with my discount, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to break even when this is all said and done. Oh well. At least I'll have well-cut and shiny deep-conditioned hair and plenty of fancy face creams.

Tragedy

I sent a box of CDs and DVDs to my mom via media mail while I was preparing to leave DC, and it never arrived. I keep discovering new things that I'm missing. The latest discovery . . . While You Were Sleeping and About a Boy. I love those movies. Those are my main, go-to comfort movies. This is truly a tragedy. If I'd just noticed yesterday, I could have picked up new copies while I was down in Boise. I guess this requires a trip to Amazon. I'm so disappointed. I wanted to watch a double feature while folding laundry and putting up curtains. Sigh. I guess this means I have to go to the back-ups Notting Hill and Ever After.

ETA: I'm also missing Bridget Jones. This is getting expensive. HATE the post office.

Uncontrolled Email Checking

Ok, so the Relationship is dead as a fucking doornail as I mentioned yesterday. And I'm really not all that torn up about it. I'm sad, because we did really click, but I'm also sort of . . . relieved I guess because, as Zach keeps reminding me, spinsterhood gets a really bad rap, and a big part of me believes it really is my natural state, and when a relationship ends I always sort of sigh as the stress of NOT being a spinster melts away. I like cats. I read old-lady books. I like living by myself. I love gossipping with my fellow old biddies. I haven't managed to maintain a romantic relationship for more than three months since I was 19. Come on, the evidence is pretty damn overwhelming.

So why do I keep checking my email every 5 minutes? I know he's not going to write. I don't expect him to. Dead as a fucking doornail. But the pre-breakup pattern remains. So . . . I had this BRILLIANT money-making idea. And I'm sending it out free over the internet so someone with the skills can actually develop it. Someone needs to create some sort of software that could be installed that would allow a computer user to access any websites they choose at only pre-determined intervals. Now, a little google search produced this software, but it's for KIDS and doesn't do quite what I have in mind. Surely someone could create something similar for adults! And think of the marketing opportunities! Businesses would love it, internet addicts, the recently broken up . . . I tell you, a gold mine.

Obituary

Yesterday was pretty great in a lot of ways. I did just what I planned and sat by the fire reading books (and watching a little TV, YAY!) for most of the day. But I also got caught up with several friends on the phone (Hi Another DC Lawyer!) and did just enough clearing up of construction detritus to make me not want to throw up every time I look around my living room. (I still feel a little queasy, but it's bearable.)

In sadder news, I'm sorry to announce that after a brief illness, the new long-distance Relationship I was in died yesterday. The cause of death was determined to be lack of care and feeding and, well, insurmountable distance. Poor Relationship! The wake was sparsely attended via AOL, and the dear departed was interred in my gmail archive late last night. In lieu of flowers, friends of the bereaved are encouraged to send themselves, c/o "Corina".

Winter

It's been raining ever since I got home late Thursday night, but last night it finally got really cold and this morning I woke up to my first real Idaho snowfall.Today I've got big plans of enjoying the snow outside my window by drinking tea, eating lefse, and reading by the fire.

Spa Days

I spent the last two days working at the spa. It's the slow season, so it wasn't terribly busy, which gave me lots of time to get slowly acclimated and figure out how to do things, and where things are, without a whole lot of pressure. But even without stress, it's exhausting being someplace all day! I was totally worn out by the end of today and the most physically demanding and complicated task I performed was folding a bunch of fitted sheets. Other than just the ugh factor of, you know, working, I really like it. The people are fantastically nice and fun, and there's always something to do so the days don't go too slowly. Right now I'm only going to be working two days a week, which seems like really the ideal ratio to me. I'm trying to work up my nerve to go in one one of my days off next week for a yoga class or two. I really need it.

First Day

I made it home late last night to a cold house and some seriously lonely cats. A fire took the edge off the first, and a night of interrupted sleep (mine) and snuggling (Sugar's) and random pets (Freckles and the last remaining kittens) took care of the second. And now, I'm getting ready for my first day of work. This is so weird.

Last Hurrah

I'm off to Poulsbo, Washington for a few days to meet my mom (bearing a full tivo positively stuffed with unwatched television - I'm practically giddy); visit my grandmother, aunt, and the uncle who just left yesterday; deliver a kitten to its new home (I'm going to miss this one, we've bonded); stock up on lefse at the Norwegian bakery; catch up on my unlistened to audiobooks; with any luck drive three hours out of my way to do a little tax-free IKEA shopping; put another thousand+ miles on my car; and just generally exhaust myself before I start my new job on Friday. Woohoo! Hope you all have an equally exciting week ahead.

P.S. I still have cows grazing in my front yard. (My mom gets so irked when I say that, because apparently not all cows are cows, only the ones with udders are cows, the others are steers. Whatever. I like saying cows. But to soothe my mom, the bearer of the aforementioned tivo (and several buckets of kindling because she really is the best mom ever) I still have two steers and a cow grazing in my front yard. What do you wanna bet their owner won't "find" them until they've had their fill of free feed?)

Cows!

I looked up from taking some cookies out of the oven to see three cows (!) in my front yard. They're not supposed to be there. But I can't say I mind. I like cows. I think they're kind of decorative. They're even better than a grouping of pink plastic flamingos. Plus they're useful; they keep the grass from getting too long. Really, it's a win-win.

Lottery

I'm (possibly unhealthily) obsessed with the idea of winning the lottery. Everybody reading this knows that I truly believe that someday I'll win so much money that all this torturous indecision about what I'm going to do with my life will turn into torturous indecision about how I'm going to save and invest and spend the huge piles o' cash that the fine folks at Powerball will be depositing into my checking account. And part of the completely illogical thinking behind this absolute certainty that someday I will win a jackpot, is that I've never won so much as a dollar with all the tickets I've bought. Not once. (Can you see where this is going?) Well, I've gotten my retired uncle, who has a nice fat government pension and no real need for a lottery win, addicted to buying tickets too (he wants to win so that my mom and I can retire. Say it with me, "aw!") So last night he realized that it was almost time for the drawing, and ran into town to pick us up two tickets. And godDAMN if my ticket didn't win three fucking dollars. ARGH! I mean, nice, three more tickets paid for, but . . . what does this do to my accumulated store of lottery luck?!?!? Was it wasted on winning THREE DOLLARS!?!?!

I know how insane this all sounds. Really, I do. But . . . still. Three dollars. Crap.

Self-sufficient

When I moved into the cabin, I had lots of grand ideas about home improvement projects I'd take on by myself. I'd teach myself how to do all sorts of things and the cabin would look amazing. After all, home improvement runs in my blood. My parents were always doing handy things and surely I could be handy too if I had enough time and no TV to distract me.

And then, all of a sudden, I got lots of help. My uncle came for over a month this summer, and my mom was here while I was in Belize, and my uncle is here again now . . . and somehow that spark just faded. I tried at first, really I did. But my uncle, while a fantastic teacher, doesn't really need a lot of help, so there was a lot of just standing around watching him do things and occasionally handing up a tool while he was on the ladder. And then, when I got back from Belize, it was easier to just hide in the loft, playing with the kittens and reading the internet, and generally just keeping out of his way except when I had to come downstairs to play the girly supportive role - making sure he ate, and keeping him in cookies, and when there was something decorative to do, like painting, getting my hands a little dirty.

As I woke up this morning, I could see the sun streaming through a seam in the wall in what would be a closet . . . if I had such things as closets. When I'd moved in, this little triangular section of wall had some ratty old insulation covered by a 1980s era floral sheet. While my mom was here, and I was in Belize, she'd discovered a wasp nest in the insulation (I know, it's mortifying, don't you want to come visit?) and had ripped off the sheet and disposed of the insulation, leaving only thin sheets of rotting exterior plywood between me and -20 degree winter. So this morning, I thought . . . well, I know how to caulk, I'll just seal up that seam. So I did. And then I thought, you know, there are spare slabs of drywall laying everywhere, I bet I can put one up. And amazingly enough, I did. Now, I didn't do a great job, but I put up nailing strips and insulation, and cut a piece of drywall to fit the hole, and now, now that little corner of what should be a closet is weathertight and doesn't look all that much worse than the rest of the naked drywall lining the walls of the loft. It's a little cattywampus, because I didn't bother with using a level to make sure the nailing strips were even, but . . . I did it myself. No help. And I feel ridiculously proud of myself for it.

(Not proud enough to post a photo, because it actually looks kind of like shit.)

I'm employed?

Really? Are you sure? I . . . got a job? For reals? Apparently.

Starting next Friday, I'll be working three days a week as a receptionist at a spa. And, awesomely, I do get a discount on spa services. I also get free yoga classes. So . . . I'm going to have to be someplace three days a week. Working. This will be interesting.

Um

I just applied for a part-time job as a receptionist at a spa. What do you bet they don't even consider me because my resume is so screwy? A little retail work here . . . three years as a lawyer there . . . a big long stint of doing absolutely nothing productive . . . the woman I spoke to on the phone did like my phone voice though, which if nothing else was nice to hear.

But the weird thing is, part of me really wants this job! I think it would make the winter less lonely, especially as I study for the bar, which is a horribly solitary thing. I could meet some people, have the constant human interaction that I didn't get as a lawyer, get out of my pyjamas and wear some of my cute business casual fall/winter wardrobe, have a little extra spending money . . . and I didn't ask, but I wonder if I'd get a discount on spa services? The occasional facial could be nothing but good.

ETA: Well, I got an interview. The guy who called asked if I could come in today, and all I could think was . . . . but . . . I haven't washed my hair in three days and I have no idea which boxes my work appropriate attire is in . . . so . . . how about tomorrow? Wish me luck!

Contentment is . . .

Sitting on your bed playing literati online with one of your best friends, with a storm brewing outside, and a kitten purring between your feet.

More signs of Fall

I woke up this morning to ice on the windows, and the sounds of Canada Geese migrating south.

Walking

I went for a little walk today, determined to get a few photos of the beautiful leaves before they're gone. I didn't walk far, maybe two miles round trip, but . . . and this is embarassing, it's probably the farthest I've walked since I was in S.E. Asia. Now I haven't been entirely lazy since then, I've done some hiking since I got back, but that's different. For me, hiking means driving someplace for the express purpose of walking once you get there. But just stepping out my front door and going for a walk? Haven't really done it since I moved to Idaho.

I loved to walk in DC. I walked to and from work every day, rain or shine. I'd walk into Georgetown; I'd walk to movie theaters, brunches, book stores. Often the destination was just an excuse to get out of the house to go for a walk, but there was always a destination. And when I was in Oregon I walked every day too, I'd take the dogs and we'd head out into the maze of logging roads in the hills behind my parents' house.

But . . . it's different here. Walking without a purpose, without a reason, strolling along the dusty empty roads makes me feel exposed and vulnerable in a way that walking in the city never did. It feels aimless and somehow shameful, and I can't figure out why. When I was in college I'd often wake up in the middle of the night, put on my shoes, and wander through a dead and quiet city, with no goal, no purpose, other than to be outside, feeling the thrill of being alone in a public space. I felt exposed and vulnerable then too, but I liked it. What's changed? As I've gotten older, I've generally gotten more willing to feel vulnerable, not less. This difficulty stepping out my front door feels like a regression, and one I don't like.

The walk was beautiful. It sounded like quaking aspens and moaning cows, and smelled like pine needles and dust. I'm going to make myself go the other direction tomorrow.

Could this be a harbinger?

Will there be peace in our lifetime?

Weak

I've spent the last 40 minutes addressing and stamping envelopes to send to the kind people who've agreed to provide references for the Idaho Bar. It's a bad sign that now I want to cry, isn't it? Maybe, maybe not. I've been on the edge of tears almost constantly since I got back from Belize. But I haven't cried. There are plenty of silly, inane reasons, stupid insecurities, petty inconveniences, small frustrations triggering the chemicals that lead to a low-grade depression that makes the back of my throat clench and my eyes ache. I can't indulge because I have company once again. My uncle is back. Installing a new storm door as I type. I want to wail, feel small and hurt and weak and disappointed with myself and my life and my choices so that in the idiocy of my tears, the sheer melodrama of it all, I can get over it. Get my perspective back. But I have to wait until I'm alone. I have a process for dealing with this depression, honed over many many years, and the process requires space, and solitude, and lots of sugar. And for now I only have the last ingredient. Which isn't all bad I suppose.

Cat Update

I'm down to two kittens, both of them spoken for, YAY! While I was off galivanting, my mom took three of the kittens to the local shelter. Apparently, they don't have a ton of kittens right now, and they were sure they'd be able to find homes for them. I'll wander in next week just to see if they're still there.

Freckles seems thrilled to have fewer kittens around pestering her. She's eager to get outside and go hunting . . . which means I really need to get her in to the vet to be spayed. Don't worry, I will. There's no way I'm going through another kitten crisis if it can be prevented.

And Sugar . . . well, Sugar is an apartment kitty. She's never lived in the mountains before. This is all really new for her. Which background I'm providing to pre-empt all of you who might call her "dumb" (and yes, I'm talking to you DAVID) for jumping, with all four paws, onto a brightly burning wood stove last night. Don't worry, she's going to be fine. I took her to the vet this morning and apparently she only burned her toes and not the main paw pad, so barring an infection, she should heal just fine. She doesn't seem to have any trouble walking, the only indication that she's been injured is the occasional disgusted look she directs at her right front paw once in awhile.

Home

Remember before I left for my awesome Portland/Alabama/Belize vacation and I was all "wah, the trees are starting to change color and it's getting kind of chilly at night boohoo woe is me?" (Ok, maybe I didn't share it, I don't remember, but I do remember feeling that way.) Whatever. I'm home. And the drive up into the mountains was beautiful, all red and yellow leaves and dramatic cloud formations and . . . beautiful! And the view from my living room? Even more beautiful. Yellow aspens and snow on west mountain. Wait, did you catch that? Let me back up. There is SNOW on the MOUNTAIN. And the forecast for tonight? SNOW. Not on the mountain, on ME. And tomorrow's projected high? 44 degrees. Holy crap. I'm not ready for this. I haven't worn shoes regularly since I left for Myanmar at the end of January. I don't know if I can do cold. Guess we're about to find out.

Almost Perfect Rainy Day

The imperfection? Losing in spite of the inspired use of "quoit".

Perfection

No photos today, because it's the same view. But . . . it's beautiful. Today the world is giving us the most perfect "caribbean vacation" weather - postcard worthy, sunny and hot. I went for a swim around 11 (and just to be clear, when I say "swim" I mean float on my back and occasionally wave my arms to propel myself from one end of the pool to the other but not so strenuously that I splash water on my sunglasses), and instead of immediately showering, and putting on real clothes, for the first time this trip I just sat around the pool, reading a mystery novel and sipping cold coca cola from a glass bottle until I got too hot and had to go back into the cool water. Then more sitting around the pool. Eventually I slipped on a loose cotton dress over my bathing suit, ate a yummy lunch prepared by one of the housekeepers - a local green called calalou stir fried with garlic and onion topping steamed rice.

I just moved my things into the bigger room that I'll share with Zach for the next few days. For the first time in the 5 years I've been visiting my parents in Belize, I've managed to get a friend to come with me. Zach's arriving tonight,, on the 5:00 flight from BC, and I have a feeling that his arrival will stir things up a bit, or at the very least force me outside the walls of the hotel. We already have a date to visit the local butterfly farm on Wednesday. I saw it years ago, but it's now owned by friends of my parents, and is apparently doing a booming business. So check back on Thursday; with luck I'll be able to show you a Blue Morpho.

(P.S. I can't bring myself to talk about it yet, but I finally gave my mother permission to mail in the Idaho Bar application I completed before I came down here. So I guess it's semi-official. I'll be looking for a job in Idaho sometime in the next few months.)

A little rain

Before
After

Action Shot (Almost)

A fair few intimations of mortality today.

Geckos are one of the cooler things about tropical living, or at least I think so. I mean, as lizards go, aren't geckos pretty darn adorable? And they also eat bugs. Which are one of the less cool things about tropical living. So it's a win-win. I'll choose more cute geckos and fewer biting insects any day of the week. I was taking this shot of a gecko and moth and mosquito for a friend who likes such things and just as I pulled my camera down the gecko made a lunge and took a chunk out of the moth. Of course, I couldn't capture that on my crappy camera. This last moment of the moth will have to satisfy my photojournalist urges.

My parents' place has plenty of little geckos scuttling around the walls and on the ceilings. They used to have a lot more before they got a cat named Emma. This morning I saw Emma skulking into the house with something yellow, little suckers on its toes. That part of the predator-prey cycle makes me sad.

This afternoon the crypt that was being built next door by the digger singing Goodnight Irene was filled in a traditional Garifuna ceremony, there was a blocks long procession from the church to the cemetary with chanting and singing and just a little wailing. I didn't take any photos of that - it seemed a little insensitive. The Australian medical students sitting around the pool didn't have a problem playing voyeur however. Maybe I should have just given my camera to one of them?

Pool

Hammock

Vacation

It's been a pretty gray day. This is as sunny as it's been. Not that I'm complaining. It's beautiful. I woke up this morning after a long night in bed, making up a little sleep deficit I'd built up on my lovely trips to Portland and Alabama and the annoying early morning flights and drives that they'd entailed. I dressed, headed down to the dining room and had myself some fresh creole bread and a cup of tea. I'm not a paying guest at my parents' bed & breakfast, but I do get some of the perks. Maid service, someone to wash the dishes and clear away the crumbs . . .

After breakfast I read for awhile. Then I changed into my bathing suit and swam a few lazy, slow laps under the gray skies. Some online chatting out on the balcony (I brought my laptop and the place has wireless . . . god I love it here) rounded out my morning. The afternoon: more reading, a nap, and a quick perusal of the job boards at the resort across the valley from my Idaho home. I'm broke. I hate it. I think I need to do something part-time, answer phones, make coffee, book appointments, greet guests . . . something to pay for more plane tickets to Alabama. To make it possible to stay in Idaho, my beautiful ridiculous cabin, for as long as I'd hoped. To postpone the need for a full-time job, a real job, a real life. I like this fake life a lot. I'm not ready to give it up.

Right now, I'm sitting on the balcony again, this is my view, listening to the rustle of the palms and banana trees, listening to the grave digger (really a crypt builder, but grave digger sounds better) in the cemetary next door singing "Goodnight Irene". Who would want reality when their fantasies look like this, even in gray?

Highlight of My Day

Tomorrow I'm leaving on vacation (is it really a vacation if the rest of your life is spent pretty much only doing what you want to do anyway? is a vacation just a trip at that point?)and I've been spending all morning working on really annoying chores preparatory to a fabulous jaunt that will take me to Portland, Alabama, and Belize. One of those chores had me tied to my computer, and what did I see when I looked up a few minutes ago? A big red fox limping across my front yard. Look. Photographic evidence.

Gratuitous Kitten Photo

The kittens are getting too big to corral in the guest room. My makeshift doors aren't working anymore, and since I don't have an actual door . . . here's a cute picture of three of them making themselves at home on my unmade bed. Sugar is not pleased.

Fall

Two signs that summer is ending:


This very cold morning I succesfully lit my first fire in my brand new wood stove. (That sentence is misleading. It was not really the first fire, just the first successful one. My fire-building skills leave something to be desired. After my first attempt, I was sure that it was going to be a long cold winter if I didn't get my mommy to come start a fire for me that I wouldn't let go out until I was ready to move. Y'all know my only source of heat is that wood stove, right?)

In a related sign:

I've started stacking this huge pile of firewood. This isn't even all I'm getting. I have two more loads to look forward to. Fuck.

[ETA: I just tried to chop some kindling. Holy hell. I was smart enough to realize (fairly quickly) that flip-flops probably weren't the proper attire for swinging an axe. I could kill myself doing that shit. My mom and stepdad are planning to spend a week here while I'm in Belize later this month. Is it wrong to ask them to chop as much kindling as they can while they're here? Yes, they're older but . . . they're more competent than I am and, more importantly, they have health insurance. Not that I don't feel old right this minute. I can sense incipient back spasms from all the bending and lifting and stretching while carrying chunks of dead tree. I am the wimpiest wimp who ever wimped.]

Labor Day

This is how I spent my Labor Day. I don't actually have a deck, and the grass is too dry and full of grasshoppers to place a chair in directly, so I made do with this . . . I think it's a platform for saddling horses? Which I don't have . . . whatever, it worked. It was nice to sit watching the smoke blow the other direction with a nice glass of sweet tea and the cozy comfort of a Miss Marple mystery. Hope your Labor Day was equally labor-free.

Phew

It looks like Felix has turned and my parents won't have to face the worst of it after all.

If it's not one thing, it's a hurricane

Yeah, my dad and stepmom live right in the middle of the projected path for this hurricane. I'm supposed to be visiting them in two weeks. Please keep your fingers crossed that Felix weakens in the next two days . . . a lot. The last hurricane to hit Belize missed them completely. When I talked to them the next morning they said that they'd actually gotten less rain than they get during a typical summer storm. I got an email from them this morning, and they're taking Felix very seriously. They had closed their B&B for repairs anyway, so they don't have any guests to worry about as they board up and hunker down and hope for the best. It is a pretty place to hunker. But still.

Smoke-Aided Sunset

I really wish I was a great photographer with a great camera, because my skills are not adequate to give you a tenth of the beauty I see through my window right now.

Idaho the Beautiful

I made my grandmother cry this morning. Now, in my defense, that's not hard to do because we're a really drippy family, the lot of us. We cry when we laugh and we cry when we're sentimental and if you put two of us in a room for more than twenty minutes tears WILL be shed. But not in a bad way, we don't fight and we don't argue, we don't hurt each other. That's not our way. We're usually crying together. But this morning I made my grandmother cry and it was NOT a good thing.

My grandparents celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary earlier this summer. Amazing isn't it? And what my grandmother wanted more than anything was for the whole family to get together for a nice weekend in the mountains. She wanted us to sit around in piney air, in folding camp chairs, telling stories and laughing together until we cried together. And she got her wish. There were a couple of people missing . . . my dad and stepmom who live in Belize and were in the States earlier this year couldn't make it back, especially during hurricane season, and two of my younger cousins had to work. But the rest of us, over the course of the last few days, got in our cars and and headed to the mountains, and set up a big family camp, on Labor Day weekend, next to this lake. With this view.It really is amazing that so many of us were all in one place. I've been absent from most of the family gatherings for the past seven years or so, living on the other side of the continent, flying home maybe once a year. As the oldest in my generation that was sort of my role. The one bird who'd really flown the nest. But I came back. And we'd picked a spot where the cousin closest to me in age, and the one most likely to be absent after me, Tony, couldn't help but attend. He spends his summers just up the road leading rafting trips. So we were there. Most of us. Laughing until we cried. And it was really really lovely. One of the reasons I came home for this year. Spending time with these people I've known my whole life, who I don't really know that well, but who share these weird hair trigger tear ducts.

But I could only spend one night. I'm tied to this house by these damned kittens. I wasn't comfortable leaving them alone for longer, so this morning, I tried to leave. That wasn't so bad. I'd prepared my grandmother for that. She wasn't happy, but she understood. I think I could have gotten away without more than a tear or two. But I made a mistake. I tried to leave before the family photos were taken. I hate having my picture taken. It makes me feel awkward and gauche. And I'm vain enough to not want to be photographed with messy hair and no mascara or concealer and that's what would have happened. Because there was a little miscommunication and my grandmother had told me that the family photos weren't being taken until Monday so I, in my packing light obsession, had left behind all fripperies and only brought camping things. No mascara. No black t-shirt and khaki pants (the uniform of this proposed family photo. Although, now that I think about it, I'm not sure I could have found a pair of khaki pants or a black shirt to pack even if I'd known I was supposed to bring them.) Whatever, the point is that I was thrilled to have these dual excuses for not having my picture taken. I had to get home to the kittens and I didn't want to ruin the symmetry of the photo, in my grey t-shirt and jeans, with my frizzy hair and blotchy skin and puny eyelashes. And the family tried to get me to stay, but . . . I was so happy to escape. And just as I was leaving, I saw my grandmother. And she wasn't crying, she was weeping. And I felt like the most selfish, heard-hearted, bitch. I'd made my grandmother cry because I didn't want to be immortalized without my Shu Uemera. So I stayed for another 20 minutes. And I smiled. And I felt horrible. And now I'm crying just a little thinking about it. Because I'm home now. And I was right to leave when I did, because the cats managed to consume every drop of water I'd left out, but . . . the rest of the family is still at the lake. And even though I'm breathing mountain air, it's not the same. And I made my grandmother cry.

[NB: The fire is 7 miles closer than it was when I left on Friday. But they're slowly getting it contained. It's amazing how much more resources get devoted to a fire when it threatens many multi-million dollar properties.]

New Fire Pictures

Apparently the smoke clears out in the morning . . . it's getting bigger. It's already destroyed one cabin, and apparently 20 buildings are threatened. It's 30 miles away (so not as close as I thought) and 10000 acres. I couldn't actually get the entire width of the smoke plume in the photo. I just took it quickly through a window, so sorry for the quality. But . . . fucking scary. Still. More.

ETA: What a difference an hour and a half makes. Look at it now.

Chipmunker

Every once in a while I let Freckles roam around outside for a little break from the kittens. I let her have just such a mini-vacay this morning and when I let her back into the house she had a LIVE chipmunk in her mouth.

My neigbors had been planning to take one of the kittens to keep as an outside mouser, but now I'm wondering if I shouldn't let them have Freckles, who is obviously skilled (those chipmunks are fast), and keep one of the kittens myself.

There is a happy ending to this particular incident as I quickly pushed Freckles away from the chipmunk and let the tiny victim run. It didn't seem injured, just a bit moist. Freckles, however, is pissed.

Quick note on the new fire: the smoke cloud is gone, just a light haze over West Mountain.

Another Fire

Last time I posted about large scary columns of smoke my camera battery was dead so I had no photos to document the occasion. When my friend David came for a visit and saw the smoke for himself, he admitted that he'd thought, reading my post and hearing the panic when we'd talked that night, the night of the rental insurance, that I was . . . maybe being a little overly dramatic. Well, this morning we had another small thunderstorm. And this evening I see a new colum of smoke. This time to the west. And now my camera is working. It's kind of pretty isn't it? In a fucking scary sort of way.