Tapas and Sangria

Tonight I went out for tapas and sangria in honor of V's b-day. It was a night of excellent company, conversation and yes, libations, manchego cheese, garlic shrimp, croquettes, bacon wrapped dates, etc.

2006 promises to be a pivotal year ... for those at the table (or there in spirit), there are exciting developments: V is moving to Boston, M is probably moving to CO and going back to school, K & C are adopting a child from Russia (and leaving tomorrow!), A is gaga in love (or almost), and S is going back to school. As for J, E & me - well, who knows, it's only March! A lot can happen in nine months. Heck, a lot can happen in 24 hours.

With that in mind, it's nearly midnight. . .more later.

Book Club Rules

Tonight was book club. Once a month we meet, eat, talk. Usually we talk more about life than the book, which is just as great. We've been meeting for over two years - it's hard to believe. A handful of the regulars are friends I've know for five or more years, along with others who were invited by one of us. It kind of just happened - and it's really a wonderful assortment. Each month we rotate - the host recommends the book selection. Next month we're reading "Assassination Vacation" by Sarah Vowell - very fitting for S, the hostess. Probably for May we'll read some chick lit as G is hosting and she's wonderfully whimsical.

Amazingly enough, we actually discussed the book for a good two hours - longest ever. Everyone who came had actually read the entire book (not always the case) and really felt compelled to discuss it. The book was "The Handmaid's Tale" by Margaret Atwood. To be honest, I'd never been interested in reading it - the cover and the description sounded more like sci fi/fantasy to me. I did read it, and I really enjoyed it. It's not sci fi/fantasy. It's loaded with themes - about complacency, women's rights, society. I won't even try to describe it here - I couldn't do it justice in a post. I highly recommend reading it.

In "Handmaids" the narrator is the protagonist, and we learn about her world as she does. It's a dystopian world, in which she was few (if any) freedoms and the sentence structure, word choice, and so much more embody this. In book club we also read an excerpt from an interview with the author, in which she said that everything that happens within the book's world can be supported by history, fact, somewhere on Earth and she just combined all of it, placed it in the US, and took it to an extreme. Amazing and credible in a very troubling way. Plus, our newest book club member was a handmaid in the movie version so we got a little scoop on the filming, actresses/actors, etc.

So far I've read two novels by Atwood, and I really admire her as a writer. Her stories have substance, themes, and she masterfully uses words to mirror the character's world. i'd like to read "The Edible Woman" and "Oryx and Crake" next.

The other novel I've read by here is "The Robber Bride" - R lent it to me. I disliked it initially. I felt uneasy, uncomfortable with this phantom character that seemed to pervade the other characters lives. The way it's written makes you feel uneasy, mirroring the feeling of three characters who are plagued by the ghost of this other character, Zenia. There's a very foreboding sensation and an immediate dislike for Zenia, who is only mentioned, not introduced, for a long time. It took me awhile to realize that Atwood in fact does a great job of really engaging the reader - making you feel threatened just as the characters feel. I'd love to be able to convey things as intelligently and richly as Atwood, someday.

In the meantime, I'll continue reading, book clubbing and dabbling with writing!

Stormy Weather

Ever been on a turbulent flight? I've heard nightmare stories but have been pretty fortunate to have had very few, seriously turbulent flights. On those smaller planes of course nearly any flight seems to be a bit more bumpy and subject to the whims of nature. Luckily I've never flown through a storm in a puddle jumper.

En route to London this month I flew on a 757 between St. Louis and Chicago. There were thunderstorms in both cities and flights were delayed. The better part of the 45 minute flight was through a storm - even at a few hundred feet before landing the cloud cover was so thick we couldn't see the city. At one point (during beverage service, of course) there was a stomach jumping bump - just like what is felt on a roller coaster. It took me by surprise. A collective gasp was sung in unison in the cabin. And, a passenger's beverage popped up out of the cup and back in, almost like a pogo stick. A spritz of soda, popping up and back down. It was kind of cool.

I must confess the flight and the storm did feel a bit ominous, forboding. I was pleased to have a window seat to look out, over the wing. The wing felt very centering, very grounding as the plane rattled and shook a little through the storm. Knowing that this 20+ foot wing was jutting out from where I sat, a flashing light, reflective strips, moving pieces that would adjust for landing and stopping was comforting. More comforting that I'd ever given thought to before.

I remember traveling to Jordan and Egypt, about ten years ago, with a group of travel industry professionals. First off, the trip was nothing short of incredible (but that's another post or three, in & of itself). One of my travel companions worked for a competitor; her job was to negotiate airline agreements. She worked with all of the major airline carriers on a daily basis. Yet on this trip, at each take-off and landing, she assumed the crash position. Her forehead nearly touching her knees, her hands behind her head. She was buckled in, but obviously fearful. A silent fear - a visual fear - no sounds, no complaining, no agonizing beforehand.

Well, maybe it wasn't fear, but rather a compulsion or perhaps even a lack of trust in the mode of transport. Putting myself in her place, I don't think I could work in the industry, much less fly. It was rather ironic, odd. By the end of the trip - four flights later as we taxied down the runway for takeoff - I looked over at her. A fellow traveler had coaxed her to relax a little; she wasn't hunched over. I'm not sure if it was a victory for her or not. I prefer to think it was. Maybe now - nearly ten years later - she can read her book, or even nap, during take off. I do.

Take Two: It's a Dog Life

On second thought, my dog might already be talking to me ... and I'm not sure she's happy with her Pavlov human training:

"Hey! Hey! When I put my wet nose in your face it means pay attention to me. Don't turn away or lean your head back farther. I'm pretty easy - it's one of a several things: time for my kibbles, time to let me out, or time to pet me.

Hey! Hey! Do I need to run around in circles on the carpet to get your attention? This training won't last long. I know your attention span is limited.

Now, when I stretch, it means let me out. My nap was good, thank you, now I'm ready for some rabbit chasing and barking.

When I sit on you, I know it's awkward. I'm not really a lap dog, but it's a cry for attention. Pet me. And don't go limp after a minute. You're my masseuse - I want the shoulder rub for a few minutes, ppppllllease.

Last but not least, I'll take treats at any time.

Thanks - want a lick?"

It's a Dog's Life

If my dog could talk, she might say something like this, every morning, before I leave for work:

"Don't leave me ... I'm bored. Daytime tv sucks.

Hey, I have an idea - let's go to the park. Yeah, yeah, the park. I promise not to chase after any squirrels or rabbits. Well, I promise not to catch any squirrels or rabbits. Well, unless they don't run fast enough.

Who needs squeaky rubber toys? The back yard offers the best toys, followed by the trash can as a close second.

I've also been wondering, why aren't you more furry, like me?

Yeeeoooowwww, gotta run. Someone just parked in front of our house."

Bookends

Old friends, like Rache & Steph, make me think of Simon & Garfunkel's Bookends song ...

Time it was / and what a time it was / it was / a time of innocence / a time of confidences / long ago / it must be / I have a photograph / preserve your memories / they're all that's left you

Last week I spend five splendiferous days with Rache and her husband. In London, in their rented flat, which had only a few personal photographs decorating the fully furnished, temporary home. And yet it felt like coming home.

Spending time - away from work, away from the daily grind - with dear old friends. Dear old friends. Friends that I didn't immediately like at our initial meeting - many years ago. My first impression, my gut instinct, was dead wrong. Living, breathing proof in the adage 'don't judge a book by its cover.'

If they came in a pill form, I'd take it as a supplement. The two of them have a calming, comforting effect on me. They're deep thinkers, they laugh with me (and at me), they're cuddlers. They're uber!

I haven't lived in the same city with Rache since college and yet she's such a near and dear friend. I had forgotten how soft, melodious Rache's laugh and voice are ... someone once likened it to Wendy from South Park. Her husband Jonathan has a fascination with identifying everyone by four letters ... Myers-Briggs is his analytic of choice.

In another year they'll probably be headed back to the States. Probably not back to California, but where? Of course I dropped a few (not so subtle) plugs for STL. I'd love to have them so close by. My motivations are entirely selfish. But, if I step back and think about it, wherever they land will be a home away from home for me. I simply am lucky to have them in my life - whether they're in my back yard or across the pond.

Write What You Know

They say to write what you know. Who are these people - the omniscient "they" anyway?

Considering I have a first draft of a totally unwritten story due in less than two weeks to my writers group, I need to kick start the creative juices. Today's exercise is to list, as quickly as possible, 101 places you've been. I've just dropped a handful in here, no need to bore you with the entire litany ... but hopefully my list-making activities will yield some start to a new story and not just another one of my favorite activities (list-making, as R reminded me last week!).

Places I've Been:
- The Moon (or something like it), a black sand beach, a glacier, an inactive volcano
- The Blue Grotto, the Dead Sea, the Cu Chi Tunnels, the top of the Arc de Triomphe, snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef
- Lost under the Eiffel Tower, paragliding & hiking in Switzerland, in a limo accident in DC, camel-back at the Pyramids
- Louisa May Alcott’s childhood home, Orchard House
- Project Greek Island and the Cabinet War Rooms
- Miserably sick in a hotel room and on an airplane
- In the minority
- In a bed that was previously a billiard table
- At the same restaurant, on Christmas Eve, as Helen Hunt & Hank Azaria
- Niagara Falls & Iquazu Falls
- Seen Leif Garrett perform (against my better judgment)
- Only child & a step-sister
- On crutches, on blind dates, camping (no likey)
- Adopt a Highway road cleaner-upper
- Telemarketer, receptionist & data entry person, president of an organization
- In a parade
- Two weddings/same marriage for my dad (first in a Lutheran church to wife #2, then postannulment service in “the church”)

Mapmaker, Mapmaker, Make Me a Map ...

I came across this blog - in which you can make maps based on the places you've been. According to this blog I've been to 60% of the United States and ...



create your own visited states map
or check out these Google Hacks.

... 16% of the world's countries - though I'm not sure their list is totally accurate. Still, it's a pretty nifty toy.



create your own countries visited map

Late Adopter

Let's be frank. In general, I tend to be a bit of a late bloomer. Reckless, early adopter, trendsetter are more antonyms than synonyms for me. I purchased my first DVD player and home computer in the past year or so. At present I have no plans to add TIVO, DVR or cable/satellite at home - they'd be nice to have, but hardly mandatory. Plus, if I had more channels than just the broadcast ones, I'm not sure I'd ever be able to unglue myself from the boob tube.

I am also, in some ways, a bit of a progressive traditionalist. I have delayed my dive into e-dating for a long time, hoping to meet my mate in a more old fashioned way - without the aid of technology. Many of my fabulous singleton friends are dating with their digits with success, so I've gone from just dipping my toes to full submergence.

Instead of wasting time with blind dates and set ups - strained conversation, no chemistry, the 'what were they thinking when they set me up with HIM?' - some of this is bypassed, or is intended to be. And the bar scene is better suited to 20 somethings (been there, done that). So now I wade through the virtual meat market of men in my pjs, hair up, face washed, glasses on. The convenience of online communication & initial evaluation appeal to me, and many others. A handful of years ago, people who met via the internet would often hide that fact. It was rather 'racy' or 'weird' - at least in the Midwest (also known as SloMo by Temporary Digs and is thus oh-so-slow to get into the newest trends). I'm sure I'll have my share of gripes about it - but it is the channel of choice these days. And, let's face it, dating is both exciting - first date, first kiss, the honeymoon stage - and awful - bad dates, heartbreaks, and goons. I still wouldn't mind a Consumer Reports, Angie's List, car shopping approach to dating ...

Back in the day

Traveling abroad for the first time in more than two years, I reflected on how much has changed in a mere 10-12 years. For about ten years I traveled 4-12 times a year, for a week or two at a time, usually internationally. Slowly, bit by bit, we have gone to a less paper-laden system - thankfully - though we still have a long way to go.

In the 90s I carried traveler's cheques - with each $100 cheque requiring my signature before packing the wad away into my large, leather ticket wallet. To redeem them for cash, you had to sign them again. In additional to traveler's cheques I had a wad of tickets, paper tickets, one per flight. Granted TWA existed back then and it usually took less connecting flights to get out of the States from STL, but still I carried a tome of tickets and receipts.

Needless to say, these stacks of paper tickets and traveler's cheques were (almost) irreplaceable - or at least a headache to reissue if they were lost or stolen. Not like these days when you can withdraw cash from any ATM from any credit card in your wallet and simply show your id to get your boarding pass. Back in the day too you could be gate greeted by friends and family, your luggage could be on a different plane than you were, you didn't have to remove your shoes and belt to clear security, and so much more.

Also in the early 90s, Wang computers sat in the aisles outside cubes, communal, DOS like with amber words on a black screen. There was a fax center with Fred the fax man manning the few machines and a Word Processing center with a dozen people who worked on computers all day, typing & formatting your handwritten edits to documents. I remember when Microsoft products were introduced in my office, and training sessions included playing solitaire to learn how to use a mouse!

It's only been 12 years but so much has happened. When I think back it makes me feel old. After all, that length of time marks 1/3 of my life! Back then too when you "*0" out of voice mail you actually got a live person rather than an automated directory which sent you into a neverending loop of directories. Business communications seemed more consolidated - instead of a barrage of voice mails and emails, impulsively sent throughout the day as the idea comes to mind, communications were condensed into one fax or one phone call per day. Typewriters were still used, the internet was new, spam referred to Monty Python or food in a can, and "business casual" was uncommon in the workplace.

Ahh, the old days...interesting to see how fast technology can change ... faster than my gray hairs are popping up, thankfully!

Les is More (part 2)

Reminiscing this weekend with R&J I was reminded of Steph's comment to me before their wedding. Steph flew in during the rehearsal but was able to make the rehearsal dinner later that night. Steph & I were both bridesmaids, and the wedding ceremony itself was going to be very personalized by the bride & groom. Not your typical church service. Steph was troubled that she was missing the practice run, so from the airport she ordered me to "Take notes at the rehearsal. I don't want to look like a jackass tomorrow."

Probably one of those 'you had to be there' moments, but it cracks me up.

Don't Try This at Home

In college I broke my glasses and superglued the frame for a temporary fix. I also superglued my fingers to the frame.

New Vocabulary

I didn't want her to keep it. When I heard she was feeding it, I knew it was all over.

She, Rav, was my new BF (best friend). We both had visions of our single parent marrying the other's parent. At 16 I wanted Rav and Rav's mom to offset the imbalance in my world. If I was getting a replacement part, I was putting in my order for the two of them to fill the void, please. No substitutes allowed.

It's funny to think back to high school and life as a teenager. Within months of meeting her, years ago in high school, Rav became pregnant. She decided to carry to term, but planned to give her baby up for adoption.

Then she called me from the hospital, talking about something called an "epidural" and saying that it was the best thing. That if/when I had kids, I had to ask for one of those. I had no idea what she was talking about, but made a mental note. Still haven't forgotten, even if it is a big-ass needle.

I remember telling my dad that my new best friend was the "p word." He was fairly stoic. Later, after he'd soaked in the enormity of the situation, he strolled down the hallway, stood in my bedroom's threshold, and stiffly mumbled something about doctors, pills, etc. Definitely vague - no direct mention of sex, pregnancy, gynecologist - just a mention of Rav's name along with his parental offer.

At 15, Rav's life changed. Before she had her driver's license she had a baby. She dropped out of high school and became a single, teenage mom. She got her GED, driver's license, a part time job. We remained close - though saw less of each other when I went away to college, for obvious reasons. But she's very much like the sister I never had. She's younger than me, but bossy and forgets that I'm a year older. So I still haven’t had an epidural, big deal? I'm older, dammit!

She's married now, with four monkeys. Her firstborn, Allie, is now 17 years old. I’ve known her since she was in the womb. I can't imagine life without her - I'm sure Rav can't either. At 16 I thought Rav was making a big mistake, her teenage life ending abruptly. Boy was I wrong. What Rav did - keeping her child - took courage, sacrifice, love and so much more. At such a young, vulnerable age I can't imagine facing such a situation and making such difficult, life altering decisions.

So glad Rav didn't teach me about episiotomies, tucks and those mesh-like post-delivery underwear. I learned about those in our 20s when she was married and having baby #2. Thank heavens.

A Year in Provence

April 1997. Avignon, France. A small boutique hotel steps away from the Pope's Palace.

After a a belly full of red wine and French cuisine, I called it a night. My first night in Provence. My little guest room. Everything was so very French - the faucets, the duvet, the large, French door-like windows. I loved it.

4 am. I rolled over. I heard a sound. I opened my eyes and saw light flickering through the heavy curtains and a man's silhouette. I heard two blood curdling screams as his feet hit the pavement, two stories down.

Bolting out of my room, eyeglasses in hand, I frantically knocked on my colleague's door, calling her name 'Martha. Martha, it's me. Open up.'

It was a tiny hotel - 20 rooms, 3 floors - more like a big house. Yet no one opened their door. Except Martha. She turned on all the lights in her bedroom. She said something about thinking the screams were outside, not next door; something about my having good set of lungs.

The front desk clerk came upstairs to her room. He hadn't seen the thief, though my room was directly above the lobby. He asked me to go back into my room with him, to see if anything was taken. Lights on, bright as daylight, it still scared me. I realized my small purse was gone. I had left it on a table by the window. The night visitor had nabbed it on his way out. Luckily that's all he got - and what was in it was my house/car key, a nail file, a contact lens case. My passport, wallet, airline tickets were, luckily, across the room in my tote.

We went to the big windows in my room, leaning out and locking down at the ground below. The hotel's exterior was flat, smooth. Spiderman had climbed a pipe, in the shadow of the Papal Palace.

Unfortunately the swap with Spidey wasn't a fair shake. He took my empty purse, and left me with miserable anxiety. During the week-long trip, falling asleep became nearly impossible. Faced with a whacked out digestive system, sleep deprivation and emotional exhaustion, I worried that this fear would overcome me, that I wouldn't ever want to travel again. But first I had to make it through the three remaining hours till daylight, not to mention the rest of a weeklong business trip.

I developed a few coping skills in addition to living a year's worth of worry in a week. I was fortunate that the only thing the thief took was my purse - keys to a Mazda and an apartment somewhere wouldn't do him an ounce of good.

Eight to Twenty

I recently heard an interesting statistic – a consumer makes eight to twenty decisions just to get to the purchase stage - for anything. In a world where we have shelves and shelves of different types of toothpaste, lotions, and even WATER, sometimes I’d like to be told what to do, or what to buy. But not by paid advertisements or suggestive selling.

A few weeks ago I received a summons to appear in court for failing to make the required improvements to my house within the city’s designated time frame (three months).

When I called the city inspector, I did sound like Stupid Single Girl – but he sounded like Bureaucratic Bob. Here’s how it went down:

“Yes, I’m calling about the, um, the, uh, citation I received in the mail.”

“You mean the violation.”

“Yes, ok, the violation,” as I cringed. While it's only a word, I did not like it. Citation was a little bit softer, and apparently inaccurate. And thus began a week’s worth of mental self-flagellation. The world wasn’t crumbling – nor was the house – but I still felt guilty about my procrastination, which lead to the citation (I mean, VIOLATION), which lead to my temporary disintegration into an indecisive being.

Then I got my “I am woman, hear me roar” homeowner shit together. Within a week I had the two projects completed. I just dragged my feet because picking a contractor overwhelms me. The expense, the unknown, the worry that I pick the “wrong” one and don’t know it. Till a year from now when I come home from work, or vacation, only to find my home, my big mortgage of a house, in a heap - all because of a fatal error. Just like what happened to my great aunt’s friend’s neighbor’s cousin’s sister-in-law who hired the cheaper contractor who ripped her off - and look where SHE is NOW?!

I’m not always this indecisive. I knew I wanted this house – my house - when I first drove by and saw the ‘for sale’ sign, five years ago. I’ve known what job opportunities I did want and did not want. I know what friends I want surrounding me, etc. It’s just these damn house projects that sometimes make me feel like such a girl. Guess I got over it with car repairs, I can get over it with the house. But, for the record, it's still a pain.

Once is Enough (part 2)

Things I've tried, but have no use to do again:

Ate reindeer meat
-When we asked our host what we were having for dinner, she said "Rudolph." Wrong. Just plain wrong.

Played field hockey
-We were one of the few public schools that had a team, we never won. All the private schoolers had been born with a hockey stick in their hand and a plaid skirt. How could we compete with that?

Shots and hangovers
-Did these more than once, trying to avoid both in the future.

Ate blood sausage
-Ugh.

Sat next to a very smelly man (major B.O.) on a transatlantic flight
-Scary thing was that after the first hour I no longer noticed.

Found a reptile in my bed
-Granted it was my step-brother's snake and it wasn't that big. Though we did find his boa (much larger) in the balloon valance in the kitchen. Creepy reptilians.

Saw a skinned dog for sale in a Chinese market
-Horrible visual - it had much more of a physical effect on me than I expected.

Was robbed
-Best left for another day, another post...

When the dog bites, when the bee stings ... (part two)

More of my favorite things ...

-candlelit rooms and dimmer switches
-gardenias and lotus flowers
-paris, thailand, my summer in quebec
-a great pair of shoes, on sale, my size
-words like whimsy, serendipity, and strategery
-lists, lists, and more lists (and crossing things off the lists)
-seeing the moon rise - bigger than the sun, beginning to peek up over the horizon

Les is More

My coworker MM submitted one of her bridesmaid dresses to a contest - and placed in the top five of the most hideous outfits. Needless to say, her friend (the bride) wasn't pleased as it was posted in the local newspaper. Their friendship died with the contest entry ...

Having worn eight different bridesmaid dresses in a little more than a decade I have my share of anecdotes. No runaway bride tales or award-winning hideous gowns - but rather a tale of the temperamental hairstylist and another of the droopy mother of the bride ...

Les, the diva hairstylist, was booked to do up-dos for a handful of bridesmaids and a bride. The wedding was in Denver, where the groom grew up, and the hairstylist was the mother-in-law's referral. Picture this: purple walls, black & white photos of old Hollywood celebrities, Broadway music blaring so you couldn't hear yourself think, and neighboring shops with bars on their windows. Insert Les, who managed to suck at up-do's, insult a few bridesmaids, and spent more time out back smoking cigarettes than sporking hair with bobby pins. It was a disaster. We aborted Les. Well, everyone left except me (who was presently stuck in the chair, Les trying to convince me that a French braid would be better than a French twist) and the bride's mom and youngest sister who were waiting for me to extricate myself from the chair.

The nearest mall's salon came to the rescue. Afterwards S the bride sent them a huge basket for salvaging our hairdos. Then, as we careened to the ceremony itself, the car's "check engine" light flickered on. Luckily, the biggest fiasco was Les - who is now simply fodder. The wedding was wonderful. S, R and I danced to our favorite college tunes (I distinctly remember Erasure, among others) and had a great long wedding weekend in Denver.

Halfway through my bridesmaid career, I realized the importance of alcohol, pre-wedding. For H's wedding, I brought champagne to drink while we got ready. It was the perfect pre-party. During the wedding I remember seeing H's mom drinking a can of soda in the pew. Rather odd, but ok. Afterwards, before the reception, was classic. The bride's family was posing, the photographer would give his verbal cue. Everyone smiled, except H's mom. She would be staring, deadpan, expressionless - until after the flash went off. Then she'd smile. Total delayed reaction.

Turns out H's mom, who is a nurse, took a few too many anti-anxiety pills, on an empty stomach, and mixed with alcohol. Pretty horrible, yet comical. I don't recall seeing the wedding album, but I can't imagine that there are any photos in which she's actually smiling. I have to say as an observer, it was funny even then - I'm surprised she was able to stand up, much less not drool.

Ahh, lessons on what to avoid, or try to avoid, on your big day. I'm sure I have more - but these two stand out in the annals of weddings 101.