Oh Crap

I think I just agreed to go trekking with llamas tomorrow. How do I get out of this gracefully? On second thought, to hell with graceful, how do I get out of this? I am lazy and out of shape. It will KILL ME.

Pen Pals

I have a thing for pen pals. I love them. Like, literally, I have a weird tendency to fall in love with them. I have an uncanny and undoubtedly destructive ability to write my way into emotions. Since I was 21, I've had a string of male pen pals, with some of them I've exchanged long hand-written letters, with others long emails. And they have been, without question, my most satisfying romantic relationships. None of these relationships has worked out in real life. I have a long history of that too.

Some of them, most of them I destroyed. Without wanting to, helplessly watching from a distance as these men dared try to find a way to connect with me in some way that didn't involve the written word. I have snubbed my pen pals by phone and cold-shouldered them in person. Crushed the connection beneath my heel as soon as one of my pen pals ruined a perfectly satisfying and emotionally fulfilling relationship by wanting, like Pinocchio, to be a real boy. I think I've gotten over that. In fact, the last pen pal turned real person I actually gave a chance. It didn't work out either, but it failed in a healthy (um, maybe I should say healthier) way. In a real way. The real, non-written relationship didn't work, not because I wouldn't give it a chance, but because it didn't. And the real failure didn't hurt nearly as much as I thought it would all those times I was deliberately crushing budding romances. (I think, at 31, I'm finally getting over some of my heaviest romantic hang ups even as I've become enthralled with the idea of spinsterhood. What a . . . coincidence?)

Anyway, this is all to say that the original pen pal/love, the one to whom no other ever lived up, has gotten back in touch. And it's fabulous! He's hilarious and crass and he loves writing letters as much as I do. We could not be more different apart from our shared love of words. But after 10 years, we can still write pages and pages about nothing. And best of all, he's in love with a woman who desperately loves him back, so I can write my crazy, long, wackadoo letters to someone who actually WANTS to read them without fear of falling into that trap I've set myself time and time again. I hadn't even realized how much I missed having a person, as opposed to the internet, to write to, someone who will write me back.

Jinx!

Yesterday was awful. I got bad news about a family friend from my mother, and about three elderly relatives from my grandmother, and the final horrible thing that could happen to L, happened. Inexplicably I was already exhausted, and each successive wave of bad news made me cry and left me less able to cope with the next. By five o'clock I couldn't deal with one more human drama.

That sounds so horrible. My mom, my grandmother, and L had far worse days than I did, but I'm the one who couldn't deal with any more. It made me realize how fragile my current mental peace really is. Sure I can be calm and reasonably competent so long as I am well rested and facing only a mild, manageable form of stress. But throw me into a highly emotional situation when I'm a little tired? I become a basket case.

So I mowed my lawn. And I apologized, and said I just couldn't go out to dinner even though L needed the support. And I felt like a bad friend, but I sat on my newly mown lawn drinking iced tea and reading a mystery until I couldn't even do that any more and I went to bed at 8:45. I've been finding myself in the position of advice giver a lot lately, and I keep telling people it's OK to be selfish, necessary even. And now I know I'm right. Because this morning I'm well rested, and I feel capable of providing support if anybody I love needs it. Last night, I couldn't. Last night was awful.

Mercury Is No Longer in Retrograde. . . I hope.

I've got my fingers crossed that I didn't just jinx myself by writing that. The new battery charger/grass hog appears to be working so far. I've managed to plant a little herb garden for myself before the plants died in their pots. Which is huge because usually? I get excited and buy plants, get distracted, forget to water them, and they die before they're even in the ground. I also bought an old-fashioned rotary lawn mower, which I'm not sure will even work on my lawn/prairie what with all the weeds, but I hate relying on my neighbors so . . . worth a try. Despite my broke-ass brokeness. I've got to start looking for a real job. I started a cover letter to the law firm I worked for in Boise after my 1L year. And by started I mean I saved a file, found their address and the name of their hiring partner, and wrote a single sentence. A week ago. It's a start. But summer is so fun! I'm actually enjoying working outside, planting, watering, and grasshogging. I love drinking iced tea in my new vintage lawn chair while birds I can't identify dive bomb for bugs on my prairie/lawn. And walking down by the river is just fabulous.

Broken

So the brand new sewing machine my mother bought me randomly decides it will only sew in reverse and then just as randomly changes its mind. Oh, and it also changes stitch sizes every two inches. Which is clearly fucked. And now, the battery charger for my brand new weed eating grasshog decided to stop working after charging a single battery once. What the hell is going on in Chinese factories? I mean, I knew about the toothpaste, the tainted clams, and the lead paint, but those were just poisoned products, not non-functioning ones. This impacts ME and it sucks. Royally. I just discovered that I actually kind of LIKE this particular form of yard work and now it's barred to me until I drive 200 miles to exchange this broken machine.

I guess, if I felt like putting a positive spin on things, I'd say yay, I have an excuse to go down to Boise next week. But it's now summer, and really really pretty, and I don't WANT to spend the $40+ in gas and one of my days off to exchange a grasshog. Even if I do throw in a trip to Anthropologie and a movie theater. Damn.

Happy Days are Here Again, the Skies are Blue and Clear Again!

That last photo of snow on the june grass was just the beginning. The next morning we woke up to three inches. It was . . . disheartening. Every time I tried to exclaim over its awfulness, L would give me a disgusted look and say, with more bitterness than I have ever heard anyone but Zach express, "I don't want to talk about it." Thankfully it all melted during the course of the day, and by Saturday, summer was really and truly here. L and I went into town this morning for yoga, and by the time we got home that june grass, no longer covered in snow, was shorn. One of my truly exceptional neighbors had driven his riding mower down the hill, without warning, and cut my front lawn/prairie while we were gone. I couldn't speak. I have got to find a way to pay him. I'm thinking a check would be best.

Today has been a perfect alpine day. Sunny and in the upper 60s with a slight breeze I woke up with one goal. By the end of the day I wanted to sit on my lawn, content that I had made good use of the perfect weather, and sip a gin and tonic in the endless evening. After spending as much time as my poor arms could take raking the cut grass, after drying laundry on the line, and watering the peonies, I met my goal. Here's to small victories and days that last forever. (Of course, I've only managed to clear a small portion of what was cut. I'll still be raking when it needs to be cut again.)

June in the Mountains

Snow Advisory

Jesus. I just checked weather.com and there is a SNOW ADVISORY for tonight. Three to five inches of snow possible by daybreak. This is not right. Not right at all.

31, Now With Roommate!

Because a friend of mine was scheduled to show up at 4:30 with her clothes and her dog to stay with me for a bit while she sorts out her life, yesterday turned out to be one long cleaning binge. Now she's here, and until we make the guest room habitable with primer and paint and maybe some actual furniture (soon I'll have a guest room with a door and a bed and everything, NOW will someone visit me?!?!) she's sleeping on the couch, and her dog is snoring and of course I woke up too early and have been sitting in the living room drinking my tea, and trying to type quietly and not wake her. (Have I mentioned that my wireless router hasn't mysteriously started working as mysteriously as it stopped? I am beyond annoyed.)

So what with the cleaning, and the nerves over temporarily losing some of my privacy, my birthday was not quite as peaceful as I was anticipating. But it was lovely nonetheless. My roomie and I (let's call her L) met another friend for dinner and life change debriefing. They didn't know it was my birthday until I mentioned it late in the dinner, and they were a bit pissed. But . . . all sentimentalizing aside, my birthday really isn't an occasion I like to have become a thing. It's nice when people remember and call or write (thanks to all who did!), but I don't mind when friends don't remember. I actually think a completely normal dinner out, with no one the wiser, was a great celebration. I honestly don't LIKE being the center of attention. Anyway, birthday nonsense over with, it's time to move on to just being 31. And the first order of the day is to wake up L, meet our friend Nadine, and start out the new year with another muscle destroying yoga class. YAY!

(Oh, and because I know at least one person will be curious: The cats are reacting surprisingly to this invasion. Sugar seems fine with the dog. Wary, but not scared. Freckles on the other hand, once a bold invader herself, has been hiding upstairs since this giant gentle Akita showed up in her living room.)

Happy Birthday to Me!

There might be more than one post today, or maybe not, who knows. Maybe I'll be too busy to write about all the things I have to say. I have lots of fun things going on that I want to write about, but this post isn't going to be about them. I drove down to Boise yesterday and on the two hour trip I indulged in long internal monologues about turning 31 and doing it here, of all places, and, this is totally me exposing how ridiculous I am, but I may just have made myself cry once or twice. (I'm not depressed, just sentimental!) Is it self-centered to be sentimental about one's own birth? Indulge me.

When I was getting ready to be born, three+ decades ago today, my mom and dad were in Boise. I'm not actually sure what they were doing there. Visiting my grandparents? Shopping? But they were in a donut shop when my mother's water broke. Typical. My love of the sugar/fat combination was sealed. They took their donuts, got in the car, and with my mother in labor, started driving back up the very canyon I traveled yesterday. And it was June, and green, and the banks of the river, and the hills, were covered with syringas in bloom. Do you know about syringas? They're a leggy shrub, nothing special aside from a few weeks in late May/early June. But when they bloom they're lovely. Long boughs covered in tiny five petaled white flowers with the the strongest, sweetest scent. So it was sunny and beautiful and the syringas were in full flower and they drove the narrow winding road beside the river and up the mountain. And I imagine that the water was high and if it was warm they rolled down the windows, and mist from the river and the scent of the syringas was in the car where I was waiting to be born.

And they made it to the tiny hospital in McCall and there I was, and they named me Corina Syringa. They named me after a Bob Dylan song that my parents loved. And after the sweet smelling Idaho state flower that filled the air while my mother was in labor. Have you heard the song? How could one not grow up in the comfort that she was wanted and loved when named after a song like that? How could one not want to spend her birthday where syringas bloom? And I am loved, and I am spending my birthday where syringas line the banks of the river, and as freaked out as I am about turning 31, I'm oh so grateful to have been born to those two people, in this place.

Pretty Pretty Spring

Oh my. I . . . hurt. A lot. But lets not talk about that. Today we're having a break in the rain, so I grabbed my camera and went out to get a few spring photos. It's not an ideal photo-taking day, given the threatening clouds filling the sky, but the blog has gotten a little text heavy. Aren't those flowers on the right sweet? They're tiny, about the size of a wild strawberry. (I bring up because I saw some wild strawberry flowers too. So promising for a real summer.)

And here's a view of the river (the Gold Fork River to be precise) taken from that lovely boulder by the waterfall I found Monday. I didn't take the time for a picnic today. What with the clouds and the mist and the 49 degree temperature, it was a little cold to just hang out on a rock. I admit I put up with the cold for as long as I could while I summoned the strength to walk back to my car but . . . it wasn't very long. And this last photo below I actually took a few weeks ago on one of my too frequent drives down to Boise. I wish the photo could really capture how amazingly colorful the hills were with wildflowers. Waves and waves of purple and yellow. But the scene was beyond both my skills and my camera.

Grey

No river rambling for me today. It's cold (high of 45!), damp, and unremittingly grey. I have a hard time getting out of bed on mornings like this, but today I forced myself awake after my 9+ hours of sleep and finally made it to a yoga class. The free yoga was one of the more enticing perks of working at the spa, but this is the first time I've actually made myself go. I'm so ridiculous. I was nervous about sweating in front of people I know, and I felt guilty about using gas to get into town just to exercise. But it was fabulous! The meditation alone was worth the trip, but the stretching and taxing of muscles I haven't used since I gave up private pilates sessions (at the same time I gave up a real income) was the real treat. Although, my current practically immobile state is sort of a painful reminder of just how lazy I've let myself be. But, oh well. It's a perfect excuse to light a fire, drink pot and pots of tea, curl up with the cats, and watch every romantic British movie I have on DVD while still feeling that I accomplished something real and healthy today. (You know what I love most about yoga? It makes me feel at least two inches taller.)

Discovery

Why do I never have my camera when I could really use it? I took the long route home from the post office this morning because I wanted to see just how short my usual walk is (just under 3 miles, longer than I expected) and on the way I decided to park my car and explore on foot a mysterious dirt road that had been tantalizing me since last summer. An hour and a half later I had a blister and thought I was going to die of thirst, but I've definitely found my new favorite rambling spot. The road winds along the other side of the river and it's beautiful. But that's not what's so special. I mean, you can say the same thing about the road I usually walk along. But unlike on MY side of the river, this road is not bordered by barbed wire fences strung with ominous no trespassing signs. So I can hop off the road any time I like and perch on a rock by the water, or climb up the hills into the forest, without fear of prosecution. I'm so excited! Especially about one spacious sunny rock out of sight of the road at the head of a waterfall. I'm already imagining all the picnics I'll have there this summer.

(Private note to Mom: Can I PLEASE borrow Jackson for the summer? We'd have so much fun on this road together! And with a 130 pound fiercely protective dog at my side I might not get that little needling unease that shows up when I find myself alone in the middle of nowhere surrounded by shotgun shells and faded cans of Keystone Light. I hate that fear. It makes me mad. But I can't seem to get past it. I just have to feel it and keep walking. I've read too many damn thrillers in my life.)

Overwrought

So . . . that last post was just a touch overwrought don't you think? Sorry, I get that way sometimes when I'm writing letters, emails, blog posts . . . I just sort of get carried away with the words. Not that I don't mean them, but . . . yeah, just a little over the top. What's worse is that post was a re-worked version of an email I'd sent. I mean, can you imagine getting that out of the blue in your inbox? (If you're my friend or relative, chances are you don't have to imagine because at some point or points you've received something equally ridiculous.)

Of course I don't REALLY think I won't make new old friends. I'm just impatient. It takes forever for acquaintances to turn into old friends and I'll be in my mid-30s at least by the time anybody I know in Idaho reaches that stage. And, well, my birthday is coming up very soon, and I'm turning 31, and while I'm mostly very content with my slow transformation into the 75 year-old woman I was always meant to be, it's still a weird age to be hitting me with my life so up in the air so you'll have to excuse me if I mildly freak out a few times over the next week. And . . . none of the people I'm meeting now will ever know what I looked like without grey hair and crows feet! Although, given that I started going grey when I was 21, there are only a handful of people who will remember that me. So I'm just going to have to get over that.

Speaking of new people, I had dinner with a group of the "spa girls" last night. The "spa girls" are sort of whispered about at the resort. They're fun and loud and beautiful and they're tight and protective and take care of each other. And it was great and fun and we talked about relationships and babies and haircuts and there was no pettiness or competition or one-upsmanship. Just unconditional support and love and a lot of laughter. And it was very very different from the dinner that sent me spiraling last Saturday.