where books go to die

i have always loved reading. i don't have a discerning eye for books, i just devour them. i read way too fast and miss a lot, just following the plot. i want to know how it ends, what happens, who lives and who dies. i have a laundry list of favorites - everything from faulkner to mrs. piggle-wiggle; steinbeck to mcmurtry. i read Harry Potter. i read War and Peace. i love books.

recently i've noticed a trend. when there is a book that i am not ready for, or just can't seem to finish, it ends up on the floor next to my bed. at first it started with James Herriot's All Creatures Great and Small. it isn't because I couldn't get into it, it's because Dan and I were "reading it together." yeah, shut up. we read to each other. but with long work hours and multiple vacations, we can't seem to get in more than a chapter a week. so began the bedside stack.

next, i read a fantastic book about China called Wild Swans. so i bought the companion Mao. i read four chapters, and they were all great. but i was stalled. maybe by Harry Potter? not sure. but Mao has been keeping Herriot company since last winter.

after these two made their homes at the bedside, suddenly Fiasco (should I even bother now with the election?), Reading Lolita in Tehran (I should probably read Lolita before reading Reading Lolita), One Hundred Years of Solitude (I was supposed to have an online book club, but got sidetracked by pulp fiction), The Know-it All (I know everything already), and The Canterbury Tales (saw some performed and thought it would be a good idea to read the tales that we saw in the theatre) all ended up stacked in a little pile next to the bed.

now i'm reading essays by Freud and Jung for my next master's class. will i ever get to start again on the stack? do i want to? there is something about these books that makes me not want to read them at all. either they're not worth it or the bedside is where books go to die. maybe if i put them on the bookshelf again they will have a whole new appeal.

kill the wabbit

shhhh....i am wabbit hunting....well, maybe just digging out its little hard kidneys and wondering aloud whether all lung tissue is so silken-tofu-esque. we went to a little farmer's market in one of the country village halls and this actual British farmer, wearing his three-piece, pea-green wool/tweed suit, was selling fresh rabbit and pheasant that he catches or shoots on his family farm.

of course we bought one. we brought it home (already skinned, beheaded, depawed, and disemboweled), and I took out the organs, poked at them a bit, chopped the bunny into meaty pieces, and cooked it up for dinner.

why? well i had a girl i knew from college come stay for a few days and spent the summer working on a small farm in Wisconsin. she was telling stories about milking goats, chasing raccoons out of the sweet corn, and killing chickens. i got to thinking, even though half of my family hunts and fishes and i have friends whose livelihood is farming, i have never really had much to do with the food-to-table process. i'm not particularly soft-hearted when it comes to killing Bugs and Daffy, but i get all teary when Bambi is hanging upside down in my garage. does that stop me from devouring the venison salami? no way.

after we'd been chatting about it, we came upon our little flopsy friend and i thought, what better way to begin an education than to start small? i wasn't grossed out, really (big surprise for me), but i didn't really like the smell/taste of rabbit. coincidence? not sure. maybe i'll try to "clean" a quail or chicken next, food i know i already like. or actually pay attention next time Ol' Red takes me fishing. or even grow more than basil and oregano this summer. knowledge is power. next thing you know i'll be teaching myself how to knit!

as an aside, the farm that cassie worked on is part of the "community supported agriculture" movement. if you like farm-fresh veggies, eggs, honey, and a variety of other goodness, google "YOUR CITY" and "CSA" -- for about $25 a week you get a box of fresh-off-the-farm veggies delivered to some central pick-up point (generally 22 weeks during your local growing season). although i generally have a fine time with my Tesco and market fruit and veg, i have to admit the prospect of having fresh-from-the garden tomatoes, sweet corn, and a reason to try rutabaga and fennel, is pretty tempting.

maybe this year i'll say 'yes' when the local milkman makes his annual rounds.

guilty by reason of

do you judge people? i totally judge people. i am probably judging you right now. i also dish, gossip, vent, share. you do it, too. don't lie. it feels totally normal, sometimes bad, mostly normal.

spending time with friends includes some dishing, gossiping, venting, sharing, and judging. judging ourselves, each other, other people. it is interesting. my friends (i.e. "you") are so different in personality, habit, and beliefs, but so similar in values. we can discuss my spiritual neutrality or my lifestyle, and argue over whose position is 'right.' it can get heated. you people have convictions, you may even judge me. and that seems ok.

the part that makes it ok for me to judge and be judged is because we trust each other. i have complete trust that your judgement, guidance, worry, and advice comes from your wanting to help me have a better life, be happy, even make the world a better place. you might only have had me do it differently because you could see how doing so wouldn't have hurt me. you want to protect me. you want to make it better, easier, for me and for those around me. we want happy! and once it's done, you are right there ready for the next conversation, taking what we've learned and using it to help each other navigate. at least that's how i use the term: to judge, pass judgment. get the verdict, hear the advice, take it or leave it, and move on. together.

rarely do i judge and sentence to life. it is fleeting. a quick "i would'a" and "why." most of the time the conversation itself leads to a better understanding of the person, the decision, and maybe even a change of course. sentence suspended for lessons learned. and maybe i still disagree, but that doesn't mean we can't still get along.

why the blog, then? i was just thinking about how much trust this friendship thing takes. how much you have to trust that the friend is on the same page as you are. know the laws. the procedures. and the optimal outcome: mutual support and life lessons learned.

what happens when someone judges you and you aren't ready for the verdict? can i make an appeal? i often accept that it's my own insecurity and uncertainty that is causing the feeling of 'being judged' while the other person is simply trying, and failing, to help or share. or their certainty makes me (uncomfortably, but necessarily) reassess my own beliefs -- are my beliefs as solid as i thought or do i need to adjust? in all, the judge is probably trying to help. i will always give the benefit of the doubt. it is faith in friendship.

but when is it time to tell the judge that they're breaking the law of trust? i've trusted you with my feelings, lifestyle, choices, habits, and now your judgement is hurting me? you are questioning the very fundamentals of my life based on your own perspectives without any hint of trying to understand them. or maybe you do understand completely, but are still quite certain it is your right and duty to point out their weaknesses. my weaknesses. and, hell, maybe the judge is right! the civil rights activists were right to pass judgement and take action against racism, right? but between friends that law of trust doesn't need to be broken. taking cheap shots at my personal foundation doesn't sound like friendship, or even judgement. it sounds like righteousness, which goes hand in hand with insecurity itself.

einhorn and finkle, finkle and einhorn

after studying spanish for four years in high school, i am pretty comfortable traveling to western europe. i can barely get by in spain, i can read the menu in italy, and if you say bonjour to a french person he or she will be 30 percent more polite. but, polish! that was a laugh! try saying this in polish: wroclaw. (vrohtz-wahv). riiiiiiight. dutch. nope. and then german, no way.

in switzerland the national languages are german, french, and italian. i thought i had a good chance of things going my way. not where we went. it was all crazy german words that i'd never heard of. the voice on the train would announce the next stop: "nachste stade zurich." one of the stops was "Blllaaaargh," at least that is how they pronounced "Baar." luckily phil, cissy's BF, took german in high school, so we had some balance on our team.
we abfahrted england on monday afternoon and flew to zurich. the next morning, we took the ever-so-efficient swiss railway to the charming town of luzern (or lucerne if you speak french, which they didn't). it was freezing and cloudy, but with buckets of melted cheese and swiss beer and wine, we were prepared for a disappointing trip, weather-wise, but good company to balance it out.

we toured the charming city center, ate fondue aboard a boat, slept in a jail, and learned that einhorn literally means one horn. one of the best things about cissy is she's a dictionary of random song lyrics and movie quotes, so when i busted out with the einhorn and finkle, she was totally on top of it. it was aaaawwweesome. (sorry 'bout your car). it's like having someone who can speak my language, only more fluently. (what the deuce?). hahaha! ok, back to the weather...
the druid gods of stonehenge and the swiss gods of chocolate must have had a conference and decided that we were A-Ok. on wednesday morning we got our first glimpse of a swiss alp. a real alpine peak. we furiously (side by side) took photos through the windows of our train from luzern to interlaken as the clouds passed around the peak of what we think was Pilatus. and it just kept getting better.

valleys, lakes, alps, chalets. it was the land of christmas cards and gingerbread villages. we showed up in the famous alpine resort of interlaken and after lunch, took a train, a gondola, and another train to our town of murren high up on the cliffs of an alp where we slept in a mountain view room at 5,000 ft. it was the off season, so there was, literally, one hotel (ours), one restaurant (yummy), and one taverna (convenient) open for business. we were four of about 10 tourists in town. a winter wonderland all to ourselves.

on thanksgiving day we ate a great continental breakfast and took the TRAIN to the "Top of Europe" station at Jungfraujoch. a train station at 11,333 ft. above sea level. and there was barely a cloud in the sky. that's what i call tappin' the rockies.

as i looked over the alps toward germany, the sun glittering off the snow, with the -10 degree wind blowing in my face, i thought, "damn. i am freezing. if it weren't so cold up here, i could reflect sentimentally about all the reasons i am thankful this thanksgiving day as i look upon this glacier."

but i didn't. i ran inside when my camera threatened to freeze. ate a hearty sack lunch. took more photos. drank more Lager Hell (light beer). and headed back down the mountain. it was amazing. really amazing. we then toured the Lauterbrunnen Christmas market where they were giving away free mulled wine -- now there's a true reason to be thankful -- and spent another night in murren.
more touring the next day to see some cows in a traditional swiss town, and back to zurich for cheese shovels, beers, and some sweet accordion music. it was a fantastic thanksgiving week and i'm so glad that cissy and phil could join dan and i on our turkey day trip.

ciao, bonsoir, and auf wiedershen.

not your average henge

i've heard so many neutral, if not negative, things about visiting stonehenge. it's small. it's unimpressive. it's lame. it's a letdown. well, i liked it. so there.

we took a day trip, so we didn't have to sit behind the wheel for the six-hour round trip. that definitely helped. maybe people who live close to stonehenge like it better because they don't spend all morning sitting in traffic on the M25 trying to get there and then not being able to have a pint of beer in salisbury before making the three-hour trip back to suffolk.

on the way there, it snowed. it rained. we were stuck in traffic for an hour. a baby cried. the heat didn't work, and then went on full blast. but by the time we got there it was the middle of a dramatically brilliant sunny spell with an icy winter wind that made me happy to have worn my hat. it was a beautiful sight on a beautiful day with good company and someone else to drive us home so we could enjoy a pint in salisbury together after seeing england's tallest church spire.

at around 5,000 years old, this is my oldest european toppled stone columns yet.

cheering vicariously

i can't watch the ducks on TV (except when they lose to Cal, apparently), but i always cheer vicariously through my friends back home. i'm up early to check the scores. and i am wearing my green right now.

did i think the ducks could beat the red-hot beavers? the ducks, with their ugly uniforms, fourteenth string QB, and an offense that has turned the ball over just as many times as they've scored with it? no, not really.

did i still have a candle of hope? a little tiny burning candle of hope that the ducks have recently licked their finger tips and -- pssst, out it goes? yes. no matter how many times they lose bowl games to oklahoma, i still have hope.

and they finally did something i could be proud of. really proud of. in front of 35,000 angry beavers, they not only won, they destroyed them in the civil war. (commence whining about jaquizz rodgers and his bum shoulder).

i will hear none of it. who the hell is jeremiah masoli anyway? enough said.

tricked out

ever since i went to amsterdam last september, i've been obsessed with european cruising bikes. i told dan about it, my mom, my friend erica, the botts, carrie -- whenever we were in a "bike friendly town" i was on and on about getting one of these tricked out rides with the full fenders, wicker basket, and mandatory bell. finally my parents got tired of hearing me, so they pitched in to the holly's third, and hopefully last, bike fund as a thank you gift for my tour guide services.

dan sort of didn't get it, why in the hell did i need three bikes? well, my road bike is for long distance riding and exercise, my mountain bike is for off road action, and this bike will be for going to the supermarket or when i have to go home late from erin's house all by myself and feel like being on a bike will make me fast, and thus impervious to knife attacks in dark alleys.

i was hoping for a classic rusty cambridge model, but old bikes are at least twice as expensive as new ones. and my town is quite hilly, so i thought having a few gears would be a better plan. walking my bike up a hill isn't going to be effective against those drunk knife wielding brits.

so, i finally found my lovely new tricked out ride. on sale, some rusty parts, a new wicker basket and i was off to the Tesco for some arugula and aubergines.

2 out of 8 ain't bad

i had to call dan yesterday to report that "i've done something bad." it wasn't that bad, but it was just another in a series of bad things that happen when i get behind the wheel. i am that guy who will volunteer to put the first dent in the new car. it is the curse, and every time i think i've broken it, it rears its ugly head.


1. my mom's 1996, at the time brand-new, honda civic. i was being a little 16-year-old hot shot and came around a corner a bit too fast when someone blinded me with their brights. since i was a new driver, i overcorrected, hit some gravel, and careened into the ditch where the car hit some grass, followed by a huge rock, and then gently rolled over on its top. this was my first and only legitimate crash. i drive very carefully now, but the curse has mutated and remains. *kill 1*


2. after the civic debacle, i was given a 1985 ford F-350. if you aren't familiar, this is a huge beast. the biggest truck ford makes for the average joe. the old ford was painted black with accents of primer and rust. it was a tank. i never ever ran into anything seriously (except for going forward into a fence instead of reverse and "brushing" someone's car in the high school parking lot), so i count this as one of my two "not damaged" rides.


3. the blue toyota. now here is where it gets technical. first, i personally never damaged Chewy, the extra winterfresh gum colored '95 toyota that i drove senior year. sure, some lady pulled up right behind me and i backed into her, damaging her car, but not doing any damage to my bumper. also, i allowed my then friend, now sister-in-law to drive one evening and she rammed it into the side of my friend ryan's little POS honda and royally screwed both cars up. thank god for brush guards. so, i put this in the *kill 2* column simply because there was damage and my decisions led to it.


4. the '91 mercury tracer. wow. this car and i spent six years together. we drove around eugene in the rain, over snowy mountain passes for holidays, to L.A. for spring break, to Florida from Oregon, to Oregon from Florida via Montana and Minnesota, all around Idaho, and Dan drove her all the way to San Antonio before we passed her to our friend Ox. with six years of driving, i took very good care of this little go-getter. i only ran one yellow light and some hotshot 18-year-old in his Dad's fully restored '64 camaro gunned it through the yellow, too, whilst turning, and tagged my rear driver's side door. now, it's just me, but i can run yellow lights in mercury tracers because if they hit things, i'm only out a few hundred bucks. but if i'm driving my dad's sweet '64 camaro (which after this blog i will probably never do, even if he had one), i am going to be pretty cautious. anyway, the police decided he was at fault and i got a $1200 check. ha ha, d-bag. i did accidentally scrape the headlight against some guy's totally dangerous sticking-out metal pole on his camper, but it was just a headlight and it wasn't my fault. and someone backed into us in the albertson's parking lot and left a note. i wasn't even in the car, so that wasn't my fault either. we got another $1200 check for that one. officially totalled, but still ran great. i give myself *kill 3* on the tracer because i know better than to run lights.


5. dan's jeep wrangler. now, like my dad's imaginary classic camaro, i know better than to be an absentminded retard whilst driving dan's jeep. i drove it every other day for a year when we were in idaho so he could take the tracer down to base to save on gas money. the only incident that ever happened was that someone broke in, stole his CDs and our garage door opener. i changed the garage code that night and kept the jeep locked up tight after that. but not a scratch thank-you-very-much.


6. holly's hot rod red ford F-250. after spending 18 months driving the jeep and having nowhere to put the dog, the tent, the cooler, and our food and clothes, we added a beautiful 1999 ford F-250 to the family. it was so pretty with chrome accents and mint condition interior. i got to drive it because dan wanted me out of the jeep and the tracer was still driving to mountain home three times a week. i was soooo careful, especially pulling in and out of parking spaces and ensuring that i had enough room for stoppage. after about two months, the curse rears its ugly head. backing out of the garage one morning, i must have not been aligned from the night before and screeeeeech, i crumple the left driver's side front tire fender arch (luckily there was this nice piece of chrome arch covering the actual red paint. it only cost me $30 to have it replaced and back to good before i even told dan about it.) "honey, i ran the truck into the garage, but it's fixed already! haha! see, i am safe. don't take it away from me!" *kill 4*


7. currently we have a 1996 red Rover saloon (sedan). it is exactly like a honda accord of the same year, but called a Rover here for some reason. it's sort of our junker, but that doesn't mean i'm not careful. i just have this problem with parking it in our tiny space. i've bumped the trash cans, scraped the front along a brick wall, tagged the garage door, and sort of brushed up against some lady's car at the salon once. just once. no real harm done. the best, though, was when my parents were visiting and we were on a one-lane road and a huge semi came upon us. i thought i would just reverse and swing into the driveway i'd just passed. scrreeeeeeech, as i turned the wheel right and punched it in reverse, i didn't take into account the pretty little stump-lined flower bed that some guy had built in his yard across the street. i ripped one of the stumps out and sort of dislodged the Rover's bumper. oops. dad said that the garden display looked better with that little splash of red paint. *kill 5*


8. my little min-min. the mini has enough problems without me running it into things. it is old. it is british engineered. it is rickety and shaky and the advice my mechanic gives when something goes haywire is "well, jiggle the wires, and see if that helps." hm. already we've had a clogged fuel filter, a broken heater, a squealy fan belt, a messed up immobilizer, and a dead battery. but those are all general repairs on any aging ride. i just had to add to the record by not paying attention while backing out of my teeeny garage yesterday and ripping the front bumper halfway off. holy CRAP i was so angry. i am SO FREAKING CAREFUL with my little mini. and the sound of twisting metal was like a reminder that i am an idiot that can't be trusted with nice things. a replay of all the fender-benders of old went rushing through my brain. DAMN IT! I SUCK! ARGH! *kill 6*


to conclude, i have to have some pride in my safe driving record since 1996. although my father has joked that we have a revolving account at the body shop due to mine and my brother's handy driving skillz, in my case, it is just stupid body damage. stupid garage damage. i drive nice and slow, i am defensive, i keep a nice distance. But when i get below the 5mph mark it it like all objects are magnetized to my ride. i blame it on my legitimate lack of depth perception, but it is probably just me not paying attention. hopefully Iain will be able to rustle me up another mini bumper soon!

pinnacle of my career

i made left-handed hook in PE bball on friday afternoon. if you know how horrible i am at basketball, and that i am right handed, this does, in fact, mark the pinnacle of my basketball career to date.

i've been volunteer coaching the JV girls team lately trying to get in shape as part of the post-USA-italy-cruise Muffin Top Reduction Program (last year i was "head JV coach" but i took the season off to concentrate on my academics and passport stamping agenda). so far i've jammed my finger, caught a virus from one of skillet-handed kids, have a painful ingrown toenail, had the basketball shoved into my eye by an awkward sophomore, and lost a pound.

i'm headed to practice again today and am seriously considering taking up an offer to work with the local british girls team and play some ladies league ball, too. me = addicted. too bad my skills don't match up with my enthusiasm.

no comment.

so i've been doing some blog research and have discovered, at least i think, that if someone posts a comment on your blog, then it is entirely kosher to then post another comment on your own blog to respond to that comment. am i right?
of course i totally love getting comments, especially when they are surprises from people i didn't even know were reading up on my b-log. but then if i respond to the comment, on my own blog, it is an expectation of them to return to read my response. i guess this is blog-etiquette -- click, click, click. let me know if i'm wrong.

the grand finale: corfu, olympia, and athens

note: these run chronologically in reverse, so if you want to read it as it happened, start with turkye and go up.

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after our day at sea, we landed in corfu (kerkyra), on the western side of greece, one mile from albania and 50 miles from italy. a totally different island than the arid bits in the east. corfu was lush, pine forested, and full of more dramatic beaches and beauty. we rented some 50cc scooters and went out to find a beach for the day. as we cruised uphill at a zippy 13mph, it was so nice to smell the pine trees and get the egypt garbage stench fully out of my nostrils.

we kayaked and snorkeled in the unbelievably clear waters of the Ionian sea. ate more greek food. and faced the dreaded reality that our vacation was rapidly coming to a close.

after corfu, we hit olympia and ran some windsprints at the site of the original olympic games. drank greek coffee. ate more greek food. and wept a little bit as each hour ticked by.

as we headed to athens, we had little heart left. we packed up our bags and worried about being over the weight limit with our souvenirs. luckily i'd drank all the pepto, so that helped keep our luggage under 23kg.

how can two weeks go by that quickly? how am i ever going eat feta again without comparing it to greece? how the hell did they get me to yell jihad in the middle of an arab nation? how many more marble columns can i take before i die of ancient-world over stimulation? doesn't turkey seem like ages ago?


in athens, we toured the acropolis, ate one more amazing meal with a few rounds of mythos (beer), marveled at how bad the greek wine really was, and boarded our plane to rainy north.

a top-three all-time vacation, for sure.

at sea: the pharoh's curse

yep. that's right. somebody in egypt did something that brought an evil virus onto the ship, and i caught it. i was sicky-sick the day we left egypt, and a few days afterward. i became the jackson pollock of toilet art. the hot tub helped the chills and body aches. the corona helped the headache. and the proximity to the loo was a bonus.

luckily we were at sea in luxury, not in egypt anymore. maybe that's why i loved cruising? one day in horse carcass land, the next day in a four star mobile resort.

i felt much better after36 hours, but opted to stay close to the W.C. during our trip to Corfu and packed my own T.P. for the rest of the vacay. doh! erin got a strain of it, too, albiet with different symptoms. poor girls.

for the rest of the trip the buffet lines were all closed to self-service (the restaurant crew served us all with rubber gloves, tongs, and, i'm assuming, copious amounts of hand sanitizer). i'm now virtually clean of all weak bacteria, but the perfect host for a new superbug.

"spray me all over" -- harley, to hand sanitizer applicator girl, trying to keep germ-free.

egypt: pyramids and poverty

egypt was the most interesting place i've been to since China. it is definitely part of North Africa vs. Europe, and markedly poorer than even Turkey. sure, we saw donkey carts and goat herders in Turkey, but the standard of living there was much higher than that in alexandria, and definitely of that in giza where the roads are dirt, carcasses are floating in the irrigation canals, and a few people live in palm-leaf houses.


for this trip we opted for the cruise-led excursion. our guide, Zara (it means 'flower' in arabic), lived many years in California and was eager to prove to us that egypt is modernizing and full of culture.

• "the head scarves, they are culture, fashion; it is not a religious thing. women in egypt do not cover their faces." false. sure, most of the women use scarves as fashion accessories, but we saw a few head-to-toe pseudo burkha wearers.


• "alexandria is a cosmopolitan european city -- clean and modern." unless you consider horse carcasses clean, also false.


• "there are many religions in egypt. in one muslim tradition, if your daughter is not a virgin when she is married, the family kills her. yes, it is culture. just culture." um, that sounds like murder, not so much 'culture.' sorry, Zara, egypt has a ways to go.


• "there are no terrorists in egypt, except for in that huge prison complex where the Muslim Brotherhood members are kept." yeah, except them.

nonetheless, it was amazing seeing the pyramids -- 2500BC and absolutely amazing. come to find out, there are more than 125 pyramids in western egypt, we saw about a two dozen, give or take. surprisingly, the sphinx is teeny compared with the pyramids. the photos one sees are quite deceptive.


but the pyramids are not like going to a national monument in the U.S. imagine heading up to mount rushmore and having 6-9 twelve-year-olds hawking postcards, insistently, for a euro, add in three or four dudes on camels trying to give you a ride, or charge you a euro for even taking a photo. picture a few dozen tour buses and at least a million empty, sandy, crushed soda and water bottles. the place was a garbage dump. yes, folks, the last remaining wonder of the ancient world is home to pepsi bottle caps and camel dung. luckily we have young legs and sprinted past the melee to enjoy our 30 minutes with ancient history.

after the pyramids, we had an "interesting" egyptian lunch followed by a pharoh's tomb, a jeep ride through the dunes of the sahara, and a camel ride back to our bus. it was a long freakin' day, but worth every penny.

the next morning, we decided to venture out on our own into the port city of alexandria. as soon as we left the secure port, the egyptian cabbies swarmed us like flies on camel dung. it was insane -- about four dudes were fighting over who could take us on a 'tour' of the city, for just 10 euro! they followed us up and down the street, grabbing the arms of the guys and trying to lead us about. it was horrible. a testament to the desperation and competition for business in a country where the average male earns just $250 a month. after about 20 minutes, taking a detour through a food market (my favorite part of the day) and yelling 'no' in the faces of these guys, we were left alone, sort of.

as we walked down the street, every single horse-drawn-carriage driver would call to us, tail us if he could, yelling out the price of his one hour tour. no-no-no-no-no. thank you.

we found our way to the alexandria library -- actually a pretty cool place, the second largest biblioteca in the world after the library of congress -- where we took a little tour. as erin went in to submit some homework, i sat outside enjoying the people watching. this was a better egypt.

one woman called out "welcome to egypt!" as she passed, waving and smiling. as i stood up to take a photo of the rainbow of headscarves, a teenage girl walked right up to me and said "hello!" and then stood there awkwardly, because that was the only word she knew. i tried to pantomime that i thought her scarf was very beautiful, but i'm not sure if she got the message. "hello! thank you!" she said and re-joined her friends, again, more smiles and waves. and right before we left the library, a teenage couple sitting next to us on the bench politely shared their snack with us -- a sweet date bar. so, just like china, even though you can be appalled at the conditions, the poverty, and the insanity, the people can be warm and friendly.

it seems there were quite a few people that were truly happy to have us visiting and enjoying egypt. although, there were also quite a few that glared at us for wearing short sleeves. ying and yang i guess!

side note: we happened to stop by a hookah bar to have a couple-a egyptian beers. after casually drinking 1 liter of Sakkara, my friends somehow steered the conversation so as i accidentally blurted out the word "jihad" in the middle of the fine establishment. oops, holy crap. we split soon thereafter.

the boat

the norwegian jade, a 900-foot-long 14 story mega boat was full of experienced life-livers, 1,000 employees, a bunch of restaurants, two pools, four hot tubs, a gym, some sun decks, a horrible cover band we called The Nametags, and much better bathrooms than those found in the United Kingdom.


many people claim that cruise cabins are teeny with teeny bathrooms. we loved our bat cave -- a huge comfy bed with high thread count sheets, a sweet porter named "michael" (not his real name, he was indonesian) who made us towel puppies and monkeys and left us ice twice a day, and a bathroom that makes my british loo look like something out of 1945 (which it most likely is).

nine reasons i love my cruise ship bathroom over my UK loo

1. the mirror in my UK toilet is the size of a porthole, while the mirror in the cruise toilet is the size of a window. ironic.
2. the shower temperature is controllable and stable and hot all the time.
3. the toilet has a power flusher, instead of the multi-pump, consta-drip POS in UK
4. the shower uses maximum space in a small area, unlike my bill-and-ted-excellent-shower-booth in my rather large bathroom upstairs.
5. the shower door prevents water from leaving the shower area and splashing all over the bathroom
6. there was an exhaust fan. it even worked.
7. there was counter space. sad that there is more counter space on a cruise ship than in an actual house
8. there were towel racks and storage shelves to put things like toothbrushes and lotion and pepto
9. someone else cleaned it every day

greece: taking the bus to paradise

day four thru six: greece has a fantastic bus system. instead of paying the cruise company $200 a day to take an "excursion" with 39 members of the AARP and spend 40 minutes at each and every touristy spot, we opted to head to port, take the bus, and find out what these islands were all about.

mykonos lives up to its reputation as euro hot spot. it is small, dry, and full of beautiful beaches and great places to have cocktails. we spent a whole day on free sun chairs, drinking corona and heineken, swimming, and being glad that there were only a dozen or so people on our piece of paradise. are you jealous, yet? sorry about that. it is the nature of my blog right now. wait until february.

santorini was the most dramatic island i've ever seen. it's the remnants of a volcanic explosion in 1300 BC. the island is just half of the caldera that is sticking out above the water, and the cruise ship parked right in the middle of the lagoon. no sh*t, like crater lake/ocean. awesome. we hopped on some donkeys and rode the 1200 feet from the dock to the town above, found the bus, and went to Ia where we enjoyed ocean views, Greek beer (Mythos), and the best tadziki and feta i've ever tasted in my life. there was probably more in santorini -- museums or learning, but we need balance in our lives. for every day of learning, there must be a day for beer and beautiful relaxation.

crete. unfortunately, the boat dropped us off at the biggest city in crete, heraklion. a city like every city. so we opted for learning. we went to knossos, a minoan palace, and a museum. the minoans were the ancient-er greeks (wiki-wiki-wiki, learn, learn, learn). at this point as we go back in history (1500-1100BC), it stops having meaning. time compresses and i get a crisis of mortality. a perfect segue to a day at sea...

turkye: if by more fun you mean....

day one: turkey is a fairly modern place, it seems. istanbul is a huge city of 9 million, second only to paris in europe, boasting a skyline of minarets, an amazing history, and men who stare unabashedly at blonde women like me. our travel team included jonathan and erin (brunette with highlights), jeff and erica (really brunette), and dan and holly (sorta blonde-ish). as soon as we got off the boat, jeff started counting the shifty eyes and head turns as dudes checked out my pseudo-golden locks. we went to the Spice Market for a bit of shopping and one dude asked me to touch him and another asked me "do you want a baby? i will give you a baby!" holy cow. i don't know if blondes have more fun in turkey, but they sure do get more attention. stop trying to smell my hair, please.


day two: blue mosque (wow!) and aya sofia (wow times two!!) and grand bazaar. i won't bore you with the details. use wikipedia if you are a learner-type.


late in the afternoon of day two, we had our first "at sea" overnight as we cruised to our next stop, izmir (google maps: turkey). we soon noticed that not only were we bringing the average age on the boat from 69 years old down a few decades, but we were easily dropping the average weight down a deuce, deuce-and-a-half. these folks were not our peeps. they were mostly our parents peeps, but not as fun as our parents. we found out that it was best to hole up in Tankards and ask our friendly bartender to put on some hip-hop to keep the crowd at bay. they were especially not thrilled when, during the mandatory emergency life jacket drill, dan and i brought our Coronas to the staging area -- why sit through safety talks if you can't enjoy yourself? we're on vacation, people!


day three: izmir where we bartered for a couple of cabs to take us to ephesus -- aahhhhhh!!!! -- little english, crazy driving, and a few moments of uncertainty when the other cab suddenly stopped mid-freeway and ours kept going. luckily we had the walkies to keep in touch and we didn't pay until we were safely back at port. (you know, ephesus where the Ephesians lived in bible land. riiiiight. well, it was pretty awesome if you like toppled marble columns and history. i was duly impressed. they sure built things to last back then.)

vacation from vacation

my type of vacation usually entails shlepping luggage onto public transportation and hefting it through foreign streets whilst trying to find an unmarked hotel or driving down bike paths as directed by my GPS to find a hidden gem of a restaurant or an elusive but expensive parking space. this time we went on a cruise. i wasn't sure if i'd like cruising at first -- there are little asian women literally around every corner spritzing you with hand sanitizer to prevent the cruise ship sh*ts (mission not accomplished, thanks), there are two hefty life jackets in the closet, and the whole idea seemed sterile as compared to the hectic or slightly uncomfortable up-close vacations i'm used to.

but, in all, cruising was the way to go for this vacation from vacationing -- a relaxing, fun, easy, worry-free, with my husband, no planning required, no hotel finding, no restaurant disappointments, way to see three countries, four islands, a few pyramids, and a ton of toppled marble columns.

i could write a seventeen page blog about our 13 day trip to turkey, greece, and egypt, but that seems excessive. instead, i am going to download my pictures and maybe write a few short blogs, like this one, about things that were especially interesting (turkey, greece, egypt) or uncomfortable (like almost missing the sunset because i was stuck on the toilet on deck 12 aft).

this is actually the reason i started this blog in the first place -- because i travel. i started it so i could look back and remember some of the places that i've visited, not just to talk about toilet cleaning (white vinegar, trust me) and rainy british days. i already tried a conventional travel journal. talk about BORING. so this is it: my cruise journal. hopefully i can stick to it like an egyptian cabbie to a group of american tourists.

is cuddling possible?

after a long absence from one's partner, there is a tendency to idealize the reunion -- it will surely be chalked full of engaging conversation and comfortable silence, laughs of things forgotten and familiar about each other, additional extracurricular activities, and hours of cuddling. i have found 75 percent of this to be true; however, i have concluded after years of research that cuddling is in fact an impossible activity perpetuated by Hollywood and Hallmark.

i have an interesting inability to regulate my own body temperature, i.e. i am the same temperature as my immediate surroundings within 45 seconds, and dan is a personal furnace walking around warming the air around him. you'd think this would be good as he could keep me warm.

oh no. as he sleeps on his back, and me on my side, i try to casually drape my arm across his chest in a cuddly goodwill way, and within two minutes, my arm is en fuego, melting into him. we sit on the couch watching a movie and i lean into him, his arm around me. after a few minutes i shift positions. and then a few minutes more another shift. by the end of the previews, the only part of my body touching his is when we accidentally reach for the glass of ice water at the same time.

and the ultimate -- spooning. we don't have the heat on in our bedroom, even though the windows are drafty and the outside temperature is regularly dropping into the 30s at night. with only a couple of light blankets on the bed, you'd think it would be the perfect spoon environment. oh, hell no.

but we keep trying. me on my side, he scoots up next to me as i am usually freezing. he drapes his arm over my hips. minutes pass. i warm up. he's putting out 4,000 BTUs of heat. suddenly our legs are a pool of lava, and because of our unique position, my fine neck hairs are sporting icicles as a cold rush of air hits me every time he exhales. i have my head in the freezer and my legs in the oven! arrgh! i squirm away, he rolls over.

these days we sleep comfortably together, knowing cuddling is impossible and we shouldn't feel bad for failing at it, completely intertwined from the ankles down.

emotions? hand me a bottle

author's pre-post-script: ewwwww...this seems un-quippy and not at all funny.
don't read it. and if you do, let me know if i am a stupid sentimental POS.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

not the drinkin' kind of bottle. the hide-away-your-feelings-until-they-suddenly-burst-out-unexpectedly-at-your-mom-husband-or-friend bottle. you know, that kind of bottle.

or maybe a bucket.

this may seem like an odd topic. and maybe it is. maybe i am not sure where i'm going with this. let me think....

ok, well first, i realized today as i was driving that there is nothing like seeing your life as reflected by others to help appreciate it. the grass here is so green. the lorries are like box faced, not like semis at home with their long noses. the road is curvy, for no reason. the clouds are huge and puffy and when the sun comes out it makes you wonder why you are wearing the blue scarf you so carefully picked out. but then it goes back behind a cloud, and you remember.

the hedges make it impossible to sight see, but then there is a sudden break and i see my favorite spot in england. it's nothing special, really. just a stone church in the back of a field of this green-all-year-round grass. in the field there are two bay horses, always grazing.

it is a standard charming spot, but to me, more because it is like a flash as i drive along the hedge-lined roads. a peek. a spot too dangerous to stop and take a photograph, but that makes it more special because every time i see in, i feel happy about england. my life here.

why was i so emotional as i drove along belting out a pop song from 2004? i think it was two-fold. first, my parents just left. all of these familiar things that i have begun to take for granted, were new to them. charming. exciting. british. i could explain things like funny road signs and Norman architecture. i shared stories about my coming to this place and growing as so i could begin to take it for granted.

and second, because dan was supposed to be home sunday afternoon and isn't home. not monday. maybe not tuesday. i was upset when i heard this on sunday morning. not devastated. not my-life-is-over-without-one-more-day-with-him hysterical. more irritated, frustrated.

this morning when i found out it would be yet another 24 hours, or more. i actually laughed. it was silly! how can we have this? why is one more day after months so much harder? ha! haha!

then i got in the car. i popped in a CD from '04 and saw my commute to run errands as my parents saw it last week. saw this extra 24 hours as a way to get all of these emotions, that i would ordinarily tend to bottle up or burst forth (both unhealthy, i might add) just exist. i sang! i got teary! i laughed at how silly i felt! i put my face up to the sunny window and really took a minute to let my cheek get hot. i let myself miss dan. i let myself get excited for him to come home. i noticed things. i let irritation, frustration, anxiety, sadness, happiness, silliness, sing-a-longy-ness, and aloneness, especially aloneness, all exist.

now i just feel strange, like after a good cry, and right before one, too. it's a good feeling. a jumble feeling. i can have a most fantastic day under an un-fantastic circumstance. how odd. maybe like when people laugh and tell jokes at funerals or cry at weddings...i'm waging my battle against sentimentality or melodrama or co-dependence or hysteria or ungratefulness. dan will come home. maybe not tomorrow, but sometime. and, really, my life is f*ing awesome. i am happy. that's ok. i am sad, and that's ok, too.

for now, i'm glad to be a bucket full of good ol' fashioned jumble.

creepy, yet flattering

i've been to italy six times* now, and each time have been surprised in a different way. in april i went to take a class and stayed in napoli on the U.S. naval station. naples is a dump, but interesting. i toured around the city solo without incident, and thought that my time as "ciao bella, ciao, where are you from? hello. americana?" were long over.

this propensity of italian men (especially southern italian men) to shamelessly catcall and flirt with foreign women was quite evident when i went to the boot in 2003, as a much younger person. but on my last few trips, i concluded that my allure had worn off with age, as no one leered at me.

entri Salvatore. i took ma and pa to the amalfi coast where we stayed in an unbelievable little hotel high up on the cliffs of amalfi town. it was molto charming. the proprietor, salvatore, a good looking 20-something guy, had a little flirt with me when we first arrived, and i thought, "hey! i haven't gone completely flatline!" but, a bit of flattery went to creepy on night two.

i headed to the front desk to collect the passports and pay the bill before bedtime, and salvatore was speaking to me in rapid italian about women and beds, or bedrooms, or something.

--"salvatore, i don't speak italian."
--"oh, yes, i forget. i speak to you in italian anyway. i was hoping you speak italian. have you seen the garden on the rooftop? i take you there? five minutes? please?"
--"uh, ok." SHIT. oops. i should have known better.
--i walk to the room. "mom, put on your shoes, we're going to see the rooftop garden with salvatore. i need a chaperone."
--knock, knock. "you see rooftop garden now with me?"
--"uh, yeah. my mom wants to see it, too."
--"of course."
--we walk up the stairs, unaccompanied. apparently, mom was the perfect c*ckblock. it is pitch dark. "thanks, mom. that was odd and creepy."

we head back to the lobby, salvatore holding the door open. i go in first headed to the room. mom, behind me, stops to say something. i turn back and look. mom turns toward me. i make eye contact with salvatore over the top of my mother's head. he points at me, points at himself, points up toward the garden, points at me, points at himself, gives me the "meet me later" look with hope in his eyes.

i blush. wave goodnight. "buona notte, salvatore."

holy crap. i am on vacation with my PARENTS. wearing a wedding ring. having a different last name than them. isn't it obvious?

i had to wonder, how many times has salvatore been successful at this particular tactic? it must pay off sometimes, or else why would he be so bold?

anyhoo, i felt totally creeped out, but flattered. he was willing to take the risk that my dad might toss him off a 40 foot cliff to have a few minutes with me in the rooftop garden. how romantico and sleazy. benvenuto a italia!

*you may think i am a travel snob. if you're reading this blog, get over it. the grass is always greener, eh?

high standards

every evening that i head to bed since my parents have been visiting, i've found my it neatly made. at first it was odd, because i generally just toss the blankets up over the pillows and call it a day.
on day three i asked, "mom, have you been making my bed every day?"
"yes, unmade beds drive me crazy."
score! other things that drive her crazy include dirty dishes in the sink, messy couches, and unfolded clothes.
combine this with my dad's early morning coffee making and willingness to wash my car window at every service station, and we have the perfect houseguests!
make a note all you would-be visitors.

shyster

every wednesday and saturday in here bury is market day. at first i thought it was some sort of tourist attraction, but later realized that, if it was, why would they pick wednesday? in fact it is just the outdoor market where us locals buy our fruit and veg, fresh cut flowers, hardware, and, oddly, replica native-american dreamcatchers.

anyway, one of my favorite purchases is fresh feta, grape leaves, and garlic stuffed olives from "The Olive Guy." we have a love-hate relationship. i've sampled olives from the other vendors, and his are the best, but he's a total scam artist. and he is hardly dependable. for a while he was at both markets, but different places. then just saturday. and finally, he was nowhere to be found for all of june and july. then, suddenly, he's back, next to "Bread Lady" (who is actually sometimes "Bread Guy" on Saturdays, selling the most amazing onion bread on earth) on Saturdays only.

i hate that i am happy about his being back, because the first thing he does is try to sell me two blocks of feta when i said one, twice, and then dumps at least three times as many olives as i requested in a sack and, suddenly, i owe him 10 quid. BLAST! you have to watch him like a hawk -- our first trip dan and i dropped 13 pounds on freakin' OLIVES.

man, i wish there were better olives at the market, but until there are, i will continue to have shady dealings with olive guy and fully enjoy my 10-hour garlic breath.

catch up

it seems that whenever i am with dan, i am too googly-eyed to concentrate on blog writing. i think i was overwhelmed. we got to spend 10 days together and he only had to go to work one of the days. to the average couple, 10 days is no big deal, but to people in our little world, 10 days is very important. needless to say, we needed to make the most of it. often.

muerte las vegas
"smut, smut, smut, smut, smutsmutsmut." --dan
yeah, i am pretty much over sin city. i did enjoy the all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant and the "adult only pool" where i could bring my own bottle of whatever, but other than that i would rather be in any other sunny city.

visiting k-town
dan hadn't seen his parents, siblings, nieces and nephew for 18 months. (actually, anna, one of the nieces is only 12 months, so i guess he hadn't seen her ever.) we stayed at the in-laws new mansion and were treated like visiting royalty. full meal service. late sleeping. big screen TV for college football. a hot tub. and baby poo.

owen and kathleen are hovering around two years old and are so funny to chat with and listen to. like little parrots, they repeat everything you say (this can be tempting). but they know a ton of their own words, too. on our first night home owen says, "poopie in my leg." which meant nothing to us. how can someone poopie on or out of their leg? impossible. but he persisted. "poopie in my leg." and he starts shaking his leg.

sho' nuff' out comes poopie in one perfectly shaped pile right out the pantleg and onto the carpet. i guess his little diaper came undone and poopie was, in fact, in his leg. disgusting, yet hilarious because i wasn't a part of the cleanup crew. uncle dan and aunt holly are still on the five-year plan.

family update
gramp's flyswat has been repaired. he found out that wal-mart was all out for the season after "accosting" two employees, so he taped his back together. i will try to post a photo. so freaking hilarious.

go ducks
just as soon as i go cold turkey on college sports, i get stuck in a room with a 50-inch flatscreen, surround sound, and a case of bud light. how can i kick the habit under such pressure? suddenly i am at fred meyer picking out my new ducks t-shirt, brushing off my gator visor, memorizing game schedules and discussing rankings. i almost got off the plane in chicago and hitched a ride with a trio of duckies to the purdue game. but don't worry, pretty soon a torn ACL or broken ankle will send me back into recovery -- at least until march madness.

back on the island
after an amazingly glitch-free day, i am back in bury. all three of my flights were on time, i made it within seconds to the early bus (saving me two hours of sitting around), and arrived safely home to an overgrown garden, a clean house (thanks huz), and the pouring rain.

hopefully my luck will hold and i can pick up my parents tomorrow and enjoy some rain-free touring with them over the next two weeks.

signing off
can you tell i've been up for 27 hours? ugh. my guts are hurting and i am tired. trying to stay awake. tryeng. trng. tr....s;dafjgsdn.

really?

i forgot about this one! dan and i took a friend up to the ER in july and found these handy instructions on the counter. do we really need this ladies?

war of the flies

whenever i am home at the same time as Ol' Red, i.e. grandad, Hunt, i like to mooch a breakfast or two. this summer has been especially rewarding, because in addition to the waffle, canteloupe, potatoes, ham, bacon, sweet potatoes, wild mushrooms, coffee, and milk (yes, this is all a single meal), it is huckleberry season! we've had huckleberries and cream, huckleberry pancakes, and homemade huckleberry preserves...mmmm...

well, visiting grandad is an exciting treat. after breakfast he'd discovered an infestation of houseflies in his living room. we later attributed it to his putting the trash in the fireplace for a later burning and forgetting that there was some food remains in there. but i digress....the real action came when we decided to declare an all-out war on the two dozen or so flies.

unfortunately, gramps had somehow melted his flyswat into something resembling modern art, so we went guerrilla. armed with three or four heavy-duty rubber bands, we came at 'em from all angles. gramps is a rubber band sniper. he used to be able to hit my uncle's earlobe from three pews back when he would fall asleep in sunday service. he can knock a quarter out of your fingertips. and if he's being a pest, you better cover your bum.

it was totally awesome. he would shoot and reload -- SPLAT "ah, ha!" he'd say, "i got that ol' bugger. ohhhh, there's another one." -SPLAT- "good riddance, you son-of-a-gun. oh, get 'em, Holly Annie. i think you got that one's leg, i'll finish him off." -SPLAT- "pull back that curtain." -SPLAT- "i think we done 'em in. oh, but now i've gotta clean all the windows!"

kill stats
gramps: 8 kills, 2 wounded
me: 1 kill, 2 wounded

descent

you know when you talk to people who climb things, they always refer to the actual climb of the said thing -- "i climbed Everest, i climbed the Sears Tower, i climbed a ladder, i climbed a tree." well, what they forgot to mention, is that they also probably descended those things, too, and it also probably sucked ass in a major way!

well today i fulfilled another Oregon "Not Dead Yet" Adventure by climbing Mt. Mcloughlin -- a 9,495-foot, million-year-old volcano that is about 30 miles from my parents' homestead. the actual hiking trail is 2 miles to the base of the mountain via the PCT and then the ascent involves making 4,000 vertical feet over 3.5 miles (in other words - straight up).

i've always wanted to climb Mt. M, partly because i can see it, and partly because very few people die there (as opposed to Mt. Shasta, which i can also see, but seems to have a tendency to kill people). so i somehow convinced my mom that we could do it, and we f*ing climbed the shit out of that mountain!!! straight-up, boulder-hopping, out-of-breath, jello-leg, climbing action. it was awesome. we even took Ray, my mom's semi-retarded new puppy, and he climbed, too! i made it to the true summit; mom and ray stopped about 500 ft. below because it was loose lava gravel that was pretty un-fun. don't get me wrong, this isn't a technical climb, but at the same time it was not easy, either. it was a real challenge. a fun challenge.

but then comes the real meal deal -- getting off the damn thing. the trail from the tree line to the summit was a total sham. there were so many foot tracks, so many marks, so many false leads. we spent at least 30 minutes on the wrong trail and had to shimmy across an unbelievably rockslide-friendly slope. it was sand dune-esque. we did find the actual trail after our brief detour, but still had 3 miles of rocky, downhill trail to contend with. going down is much, much more difficult than going up.

my feet are blistered, my neck is sore for looking down at my feet for hours, my knees ache, my quads are jelly, my hands are scratched from holding tight to lava boulders, and my entire body is covered in dust.

but mom and i did it. i almost cried when we got back to the car -- the whole "i just won Olympic Gold" sort of cry. the "holy crap i just climbed a volcano and didn't die" sort of cry. the "i will remember this forever and i am so happy it was with my super awesome mom who i love so much" sort of cry.

so, that was my sunday. now i'm going to take a shower, band-aid my blisters, and descend into bed.

identity crisis

so, i recently read a blog post of my friend erin, who is also on an American vacation and staying with her parents in Alabama. she mentioned that she feels like she is at home for college summer break. i totally get that, too.

it is so surreal -- living in my old bedroom in my old house, hanging out with my high school peeps, doing chores with mom and dad. dad referred to me by my maiden name and i did a double-take because at first it didn't seem odd.

last night my friends kimmy and tara came over for a BBQ and to challenge my mom and i to a rousing game of Monopoly - Electronic Edition. other than the half rack of BL that we tore through, it felt like second grade when tara and kimmy would come over for slumber parties and rousing games of Memory and Go Fish.

it is nice to be old enough to be comfortable being a kid again. i am not compelled to bar hop at the Howdy Doods Tavern or the Kaz-Hole. i don't want to socialize for the sake of. i just want to have slumber parties, play board games, and maybe stay up past bedtime. plus Bud Light, of course.

i only have a week until i'm off to see dan for the first time in six weeks, and i hope that i easily adjust to adulthood as i've adjusted to childhood here at home. but, just in case i'm packing my night light.

alfalfa in my underwear

i've been called frugal, cheap, a bargain hunter. i am certain that i got this thriftiness from my mom's side of the family, aptly called "the Hunts." some of us hunt soda cans whilst fiercely protecting our canning territory, solely for earning the 5 cent deposit; others fix, patch, mend, and jury rig using duct tape, wire, goo, and rope, solely to avoid buying something new; most will pick wild blackberries, mushrooms, and huckleberries; and i tend to scour the sale racks, bargain bins, and clearance caves. all of the Hunts do it. all are proud when we find an especially good deal. all of us brag and show off our latest finds.

today mom got an early morning tip of some broken alfalfa bales in the neighboring hay field. "they're turnin' the water on soon, so you better get after 'em now," said the friendly farmhand next door. alfalfa runs $10.50 per 110 lb. bale on the open market, but broken bales are worthless to the large-scale farm operation. mom was eager to haul in (see also "scavenge") whatever could be had. we fired up the diesel, packed up our pitchforks, and gleaned $100 worth of dairy-grade alfalfa from our two hours of effort.

i've got scratches, scrapes, dry eyes, and am itchy all over, but seeing the six-foot-high pile of goods in the barn gives me a sense of accomplishment that one normally wouldn't when referring to dead plants.

way to go, us. can't wait for the potato and onion harvest to start.

america the big

depart k-town, drive to boise, depart boise, drive to coeur d'alene, and tuesday, depart CD'A and drive back to k-town. in all it will be the equivalent of driving from brighton to the very tippy-top of scotland and back -- 750 miles each way, and i'll only hit three states!

the very best part is driving in north idaho and really, really having to pee and not being able to find a rest area. i cruised into Moscow and thought there would be a McD's for a McPee break, but i musta been on the wrong street. fifteen miles out of town and the situation was getting urgent. finally, i had to stop in some wheat field before i ruined my day and dad's truck seat, and sure enough, eight miles later was the first rest area in 290 miles. d'oh!

sad sap

i just spent the best weekend with my friends in boise. i am so lucky to have such fantastic peeps in my circle -- strong, independent women who can equally be happy for themselves, admirable and supportive of others, and able to share their insecurities and challenges openly. holy crap. it's like the secret life of the pabst blue ribbon sisterhood. talk about homesick!

not dead

if you were given the choice to spend 16 hours in the car with your parents (after having spent 14 days living with them) or to go on a five-hour drive on the back of a 600 lb. two-wheeled death machine piloted by an 82-year-old, nearly deaf, grandfather with pop bottle glasses in 90-degree weather whilst wearing an ill-fitting helmet, which would you choose?

i chose (b) and, by the power of greyskull, i'm still alive. i've always loved summer motorcycle trips with Ol' Red Hunt. maybe saying yes is my way of being in denial that he is, in fact, getting really old. maybe i should find a safer way to be in denial.

as an aside, i also took a plunge into the 55 degree water of the deepest lake in north america this weekend, crater lake itself, and didn't die there either. of course i jumped off a rock that was submerged and then almost hyperventilated because the water was like a fricking vice wrapped around my lungs. i think my friend cissy said my first words upon surfacing were something like "f-f-f-f-fucking c-c-c-cold" or similar.

well, i'm obviously making the most of my northwest vacation. back to scratching the hell out of the mosquito bites that cover most of my body. more later!

hotties

i'm talking about the horses of course.

views from an airplane

crater lake in summer is the bluest blue i've ever seen.

sentimental

i went to my 10 year high school reunion this weekend. at first i was apprehensive -- who knows what people are going to be like after 10 years, really? right? but it was unbelievably refreshing to see so many happy, and really beautiful, people that i hadn't seen in 5 or more years.

i think that the nature of the class reunion only really attracts those that are confident and happy or freakishly obsessed with something to prove. i am happy to report that we didn't really have many of the latter. although that made the reunion less interesting overall, it was pleasant to catch up and celebrate each others' successes and adventures.

morning chores

the neighbor called this morning to let us know that another neighbor's cows had gotten out of their pasture and were on the road heading to god-knows-where. dad and i jumped in the pickup and cruised over to track down the escapees. using a piece of garden art (a giant pinwheel), a push broom, and a lot of arm waving and yelling, we faced down the trio of 1200 lb. beasts and got them back safely home. just another day on the ol' homestead.

a typical situation

to perfectly illustrate the characteristics of my charmingly predictable hometown, i would like to bring forth a character from my Horizon Air flight from portland to klamath falls today. a middle aged white male with a pleasant, encouraging, but not overly friendly demeanor whose reading choice was none other than the good book itself. and, even more ironically, the karmic world had him truly and honestly reading the first page of the book of psalms:

Psalm 1:1Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly...1:4 The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away... 1:6 For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish.

i hope the wind doesn't pick up...

only me

i travel for almost 40 hours to Oregon to try and find the sun for july and what do i get? cloudy and 65 degrees. what the f*ck? this is bullshit. my luck: it's sunny in england right now, isn't it? argh.

five down, five to go

i am exactly halfway done with the class portion of my master's degree as of right now. i hope i can actually finish it. i get overwhelmed with self-directed projects. it is so much easier when someone just tells you what to do. any directives, anyone?

swim, bike, run, drink - 1:29.09

yeah, i know it's not a world record or anything. i actually finished 33rd of 50 in the women's race, but BACK OFF! i did it! what did you do this weekend? drink beer and make/watch stuff explode? not exactly the thing to do in England in early July. so i had to explore other options.

the swim was pretty easy, really. i just absolutely suck at swimming. no kidding. i suck. it is not a joke and i am not exaggerating. as a matter of fact, one of the girls that did the event with me DIDN'T TRAIN at all and she beat me by two minutes in the swim. i think if i ever want to do this again i will need a few lessons. i might as well have doggie-paddled for as fast as i was going.

and the bike was sweet, except for the part where i was cookin' on a straightaway and my f*ing chain popped off. lost about a minute there. damn equipment. then i showed my skillz on the run where i passed a few of those peeps that out-swam me an hour earlier.

i like triathlons. short ones.

rich and famous

ok, well that's a stretch. but i did just get paid REAL money for my travel to drink beer article that is currently available for everyone to read on the world wide web . woohoo! it was the first time i've ever submitted anything to be published and not assigned it by t.d.k. from the h&n or by some other boss at some other job, and i didn't get rejected! i feel pretty good since i am currently an unemployed leach on my husband's bank account. ha!

is this the start of a promising new career? uh, no. probably not, but it will help make a dent in the beer budget.

Travel to Drink Beer: There is More to European Beer than Just Germany

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how i'm feeling right now: ever so lucky to lead this jumble life!

infinity pool

i don't know why they call it a "sprint" triathlon. in my opinion, a sprint is about a minute of doing something at high intensity like chugging beer (a drinking sprint) or trying to get the phone before the machine picks it up. this so-called sprint triathlon is more like a half marathon -- almost two full hours of activity. damn. i'm already tired and hungry just thinking about it.

but, i found a sweet deal on a wetsuit online -- top of the line Orca for 80% off -- but even with its magical powers, i still can't swim. and when i first put it on, i totally felt like maggie simpson in her snowsuit with my arms all askew because it was so rigid. erin and i did our first (and only) open-water training session -- 800m in a murky lake. we didn't get eaten by anything, but it was like being in an infinity pool. you can't see where you're headed and you don't know if you're making progress, zigzagging all around the water cuz i can't go in a straight line, but after awhile you arrive somewhere. a bit like life.

only seven days until our big event.

small victory

in the bathroom: last month i was on my knees in front of the porcelain god for 20 minutes -- not puking, that was soooo 1997-2007 -- but trying to get this crazy thick brownish greeen layer of limescale OUT of the toilet bowl. it was disgusting. i had some cleaning product that is made somewhere in eastern europe (VIAKAL - μεγάλε ςεπιάειες!) that was burning my eyes and i could swear that the chemical was eating away at my elbow-length yellow rubber gloves. i had even drained the water out using a cup and was seriously going at this stuff, putting my back in to it if you will, but to no avail. it had won the battle.

but THEN i went online last night, and who knew? some chap recommended plain ol' distilled vinegar would do the trick. i poured about a gallon in my stubborn bowl, and this morning i woke up and with a quick toilet brush sweep it was all gone! i wish i had taken a picture. it was magical.

yes, these are the things that make me feel like i've accomplished something. i'm off to the store now to restock my vinegar supply.

should i switch to googlemail?

well i have a secret account, but i don't actively use it. is gmail the future?

i have had my e-mail address at hotmail since 1998. 10 years. that is brand loyalty.

should i switch?

why not tri?

try blogging: well, i have never been good at keeping journals. someone once said i have an eight-second attention span. that's about - oooo....shiny....... wait. ok, i'm back. well that's about right. i start something and then start something else. i'm not an expert at, say, anything, but i'm a good starter. so this is my first try at blogging. will we see another post? no clue.

try accessorising: angie said i could do it. update: i'm wearing earrings right now -- and it's just a casual monday afternoon. a big step for me.

try freelance writing: i've submitted my first freelance travel article. will they post it? more importantly, will they pay me? who knows. topic: beer.

try gaming: well, since my husband is in alabama for the month and erin's husband is gone for a bit, too, we switched on the uber-testosterone-filled Xbox and did some first-person shooting. well, erin did the shooting, i mostly tried to figure out how to make my dude walk whilst simultaneously not make myself motion sick from looking at the screen.

try triathlons: erin thought it would be a good idea to train for a sprint triathlon (750m swim, 20k bike, 5k run, my goal: 2 hours.) in just 5 short weeks. i feel exhausted from training, but i can eat and drink whatever i want. will i DNF or will i make a time? if i almost drown, i might kill erin. maybe my next blog will be "try finding new friends."

just kidding. i love erin. BFF.

blogging

i'm not sure i really want to do this.