Monday, September 29, 2008

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.

Friday, September 26, 2008

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.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

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.

Friday, September 12, 2008

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?