Family

One of my college roommates, M, got married in Lake Tahoe on Saturday. To be honest, I had been dreading the trip. It was a long drive, and M and I are very very bad at keeping in touch. In fact, part of me was sure that somewhere along the way I had mortally offended her and she hated me now. Because we simply don't talk anymore. But at one time we were close. We lived together for four formative years, and for three of those years we shared a bedroom. Can you even imagine? Actually, it's even better. There were three of us in that bedroom. Our third roommate, C, is a master at keeping in touch, truly skilled. And I felt like I had to go to this wedding for her. So I went. And the three of us came together at the reception, laughing and chatting, and grinning like fools. Like no time had passed. Like no time ever would. Because no matter what happens now, for four years we shared everything. For four years we did almost nothing alone. None of us had a typical college experience. As C and I discussed, we sort of failed at college. We got excellent grades, but we didn't form the sort of memories most people share of those years. We were shy and we were insular, and the three of us just leaned on each other and kept our eyes forward and waited for it to end. Anyway, we're family now. And I no longer worry when M doesn't call me back. Because I just saw her get married on a beautiful day. And I know she's very happy. And I know, for sure, that we're family.

Magnet

That's the only thing I can come up with. Some joker at a Subaru plant thought it would be funny to embed a high-powered magnet in the rear driver's side wheel of my car. How else to possibly explain the fact that I've had three punctures, leading to three completely destroyed tires, in a little over a year? And every single one of them was the rear driver's side tire. I just don't get it!

In Which I Totally Succeed at Summer

Maybe you don't think of summer as something you can fail at, but a person can absolutely fail at a season by not taking advantage of it (for instance, ahem, a winter without skiing. Sigh.). If one's summer is distinguishable from winter only by the number of layers one wears: fail. And I have been determined not to fail this summer. I go hiking almost every day I have off and spend hours and hours basking in the sun (while wearing a hat and spf 30 of course). I've gone swimming in the river (quickly, it was very cold), and, most importantly, I've searched, high and low, for huckleberries.

Huckleberries had become my nemeisis this summer. The thing standing between me and a successful season. I could rationalize away not going rafting (too expensive), and not swimming in the lake (too cold) but not finding huckleberries? That was failure I could not live with. Yesterday I even climbed over a gate, prominently posted "NO TRESPASSING" and with three locks reinforcing the sign's intent, to look for a patch that my mom remembered as a gold mine 20+ years ago. A patch where we'd seen a black bear sharing our harvest. I didn't find it. I called my mom and she told me told me all I had to do to find them was drive over to West Mountain, slow down, open the windows, and stop when I smelled their unforgettable tart sweetness filling the air. So, I did. (But first I went home and baked a loaf of bread and made black cherry jam from a recipe in my Grandma Ann's ancient Boston Cooking School Cookbook. Another thing to tick off my checklist for summer. I made jam!) I crossed the valley, pointed my car up the mountain, followed a terrifying one-lane twisty dirt road with no guard rails, slowly, and stopped when I found a wide spot to park near the top of the mountain. I sniffed. Nothing. I was about to get back in the car to drive a little further, when I spotted it. A small bush about three feet away. Covered in those small purple berries that look so much like blueberries and taste so much better. I spent the next hour moving from bush to bush, slapping mosquitoes and eating about twice as many as I kept. I ended up with just a cup of berries. I may try and go back next week and see if any more have ripened, but for now. Summer: you did NOT beat me.

The Bats of August

I don't like it, but I have no problem understanding why and how mice get into my house. Crawlspaces, foundations, vents . . . there are ways. And while I do my best to keep my house clean there are crumbs. There are incentives. But bats? How the HELL do they find their way in? Certainly not through the crawlspace, and last summer we sealed up all the holes we thought they might fit through. But, more importantly, WHY? There is nothing for them here but panic and death and perhaps a little torture if Freckles catches them before their little hearts give out.

For whatever reason, bat season officially began yesterday when I came home from the spa to find two bats. One already dead, the other flitting, panicked through the loft. I've already shared too many horror stories here, so I'll spare you the details of what happened when Freckles caught the second bat. If last summer is any guide, this is only the first wave of a months-long invasion. I will be pulling my mosquito netting out of storage before bed tonight.

Intermission

I got a plea from a relative to post again, but I just don't feel like I have much to say.

My grocery budget has doubled as I gorge myself on cherries and nectarines and blueberries and any other fresh, reasonably local, fruit I can get my hands on. It's one of the greatest joys of summer. Although, sadly, it's not all good. Today I spent $13 on inferior cherries and I'm very bitter about it.

The weather has been fabulous, much cooler than last summer (in a good way), and significantly less smoky (in an even better way). I've gone for three hikes since Saturday, and one yoga class. I've seen twin spotted fauns and an enormous five point buck crashing through the underbrush. I've watched several really big birds (osprey? some kind of hawks?) circling above the pines, riding the drafts. I read half of Friday Night Lights sitting by the river on a particularly hot, Summer-2007-style day. I just kept dipping my feet in the icy water and splashing my arms and applying sunscreen because I didn't feel like being inside.

I think I might be a little depressed. I'm sleeping a lot. I still haven't looked for a job that pays more than $10/hour. I do have a complete cover letter, edited by a real lawyer and everything, but I can't bring myself to send it out. I just can't see an upside. The first option is that someone will want to hire me and I'll have to go back to real work, and work scares me. I don't want to go back to crying all the time. Alternatively, maybe no one will want to hire me and I will be destitute with no prospects. And . . . that doesn't sound so great either. So things are on pause right now. I'm reading books and eating strawberries and sitting on warm rocks. I'm listening to the wind in the trees and smelling the scents of an Idaho summer, old pine needles and newish mountains and the very faint sweetness of huckleberries. And I'm generally OK. Just not quite OK enough to think more than a day or two ahead. I've pushed pause, because this, right here, is good. Thanks for understanding. And not worrying.