I feel as if I've been neglecting you, dear readers. It was not intentional I assure you. The only thing I can say is that writing to you takes a bit of mental energy, something I've been running a little low on lately. Also, while it is decently amusing to watch someone speak incoherently after a long day, it is relatively unamusing to read the blog version of the same. Anyway, enough about that, where did I leave off?
It's been about three months since I flew off into the sunset to begin my little journey out west. In that time, I've figured out the buses, the ferries, and a little bit of the BART (subway). I've got a few regular lunch places and managed to develop a habit of frequenting the Whole Foods hot bar for dinner (cooking for one isn't very exciting or economical). Mostly, I've been trying to find something out here that reminds me a little bit of normal life. But then again, I'm not sure I know what exactly is a normal life and what's so great about normal anyway? Normal is boring. And let's face it, if you're in the market for normal, San Fran may not be the place for you.
Point in fact, there is apparently a subset of individuals in San Francisco that believe in their right to be naked in public. (Does anyone else hear Ron White saying "Pub-Lic" right now?) They congregate in places to see how long they can mill around naked before the police come by to break it up. There is also apparently some kind of naked bicyclist's club, although I have no idea why you would ever want to ride a bicycle naked. Ouch and Yuck. Also true is the fact that a city counsel member recently put forth a motion that all such nudists should be made to carry a square towel that they can sit on in public places for sanitary reasons. This seems logical to me. It also occurs to me that it's time to stock up on hand sanitizer and wet naps. But I digress.
This blog is supposed to detail our grand adventures in California and since I last wrote we had a pretty big adventure. We officially moved. That is, we moved the furniture and the cats, and we all know that home is where the meowers are. A few weeks ago a large truck pulled up to 116 Dunn and left with roughly half of what we own. That's right, half. Part of the point of this big move was downsizing and simplification. Generally speaking, every place we could afford was much smaller than our current house. Also, the movers charged more by weight, so every pound had to count. Therefore, we set about the ugly business of purging our stuff.
Everyone reading this blog, do yourselves a favor. Go into your closets, cupboards, and basements and take a hard look around. Ask yourself if you even like all the stuff you've accumulated? Because trust me, we all have way more belongings than we could ever possibly need or want. I found myself multiple times in the course of the moving week saying out loud to no one in particular, "What the [bleep] in this [bleep] and why do I have it?" (edited for content as this is a PG blog). I sorted for days into piles for trash, goodwill, yard sales, and moving truck. In the end, I determined that if it didn't affirmatively make me happy, it didn't go on the truck. I also admitted to myself that I cannot keep everything because it once belonged to someone or because I made it or someone else did. I also cannot keep it just because it was a gift. If it didn't make me happy on a regular basis it had to go.
This strategy resulted in a big pile of, dare I say it, crap sitting in my dining room waiting to go somewhere else. Matt was in charge of the yard sale that followed. If the packing showed us that we had too much, the sale proved that you never know what you have that someone else would really want and make use of. Items that I figured would be trash (like plastic cups and travel coffee mugs) were gobbled up. My papasan chair, which really only the cats loved, was one lady's must have purchase. Our old and really uncomfortable mattress in the guest room went with our very lived on couches to a woman who needed to furnish a new place on a serious budget. I also learned that Matt will sell anything that you don't tell him affirmatively not to and that isn't nailed down. He did an awesome job and that made the last bit of clean up much easier.
The last bit of clean up felt alot more like saying goodbye than I would like to admit. But the truth is, at some point we all have to be brave and be willing to close some chapters, even if it is for a short time. If you can't close the door, you can't open any new ones. And as I go through that new door, I better make it just a wee bit narrower. I can't go through a purge of massive amounts of stuff like that again. It's exhausting.
Before I sign off for the night, I need to thank my parents and Matt's parents for really helping us so much more than they had to. We could not have finished or gotten to this point without your help. Truly, I don't know how we got so lucky as to have you all in our lives.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Get Busy Living Or Get Busy Dying
I've been introspective lately, trying to work out in my mind this great transition in my life. When I moved from KY, it didn't initially seem hard, primarily because I refused in any manner to say goodbye. It's not a word in my vocabulary. I find, as I think about it, that this is true not just for people or places, but times in the past that I hold on to like my life depended on it.
So today, September 11, 2011, and all the days leading up to it, has me thinking about letting go of the past.
Like the rest of you, I remember very clearly where I was on September 11, 2001. It's funny, there are whole years of my life that I don't remember more than a few pieces of. But I remember seven distinct moments from that day. I remember the class I was in prior to the attacks. I had an early estate and gift tax class. When I got out and went to my next class I had no idea what was going on. Prof. Bratt, my trusts and estates professor, told us what was happening and dismissed the class. We all went downstairs to the lounge and watched on the big screen tv until the last tower fell. I remember sitting outside the law school on the most ironically beautiful fall day talking to my dad on my cell phone. I remember watching in the library as they showed pictures of what was left of Flight 93 and I remember that we all wondered if it was an accident caused by trying to land so many flights all at the same time. I remember talking to my friends in the library and being worried because I realized that I thought my sister was flying that day - thankfully she was fine. And I remember sitting in my bedroom at the end of the day, watching the coverage and how weird it seemed that all channels played only news or nothing at all.
I have not indulged in 9/11 since 2001. I think on the first anniversary I watched a bit of the memorial. But after that I didn't rewatch coverage or read accounts of the victims. I just didn't want to go back to that. But in an odd way, I've locked that time in my memory. I never dealt with it. To this day I don't understand the odd reaction I have to the memories of that day. A blend of horror and fascination, total denial and yet holding that time close in an almost comforting way. It was one time, the only time in my life, when we all stopped. When we all felt close to each other. It reminded us of the best and worst and for that reason it is a time that, while I sincerely wish it would never have happened, in an odd way I cherish the response to it because it reminds me that we're all compassionate. (I'm not speaking about the wars that followed.)
This year, I stopped my self-imposed moratorium and watched several documentaries on the victims of 9/11. It's still painful and I think back to how naive we all were that day, hoping it was just a freak accident. I think back to myself on that day, all that I had yet to experience and all that I didn't know. I sort of wish I could go back to that day. But then, I know that time has moved on. And that's painful for its own reasons.
Someone on Facebook today said, forgive, but never forget. It's important to learn from the past, to remember that evil is real. That bravery is also real. But it's important to carry on.
So that brings me to the title of this post, get busy living or get busy dying. I'd like to thank Stephen King for the line from "The Shawshank Redemption" and Morgan Freeman for delivering that line in such a way that it sticks with you. At the end of the day, that's really the choice that we have to make. Move forward or stay still and look backward. As I said, I don't let go of things easily. I don't think I hold grudges, but I do hold on to the past in a way that can be destructive to the future. I've spent years frozen mourning for the past.
So, this week, I've been thinking about letting go and all that entails. I think it starts with the rather obvious realization that time only moves in one direction and it will continue moving forward no matter our response to it. We can let it pass us by or we can get to it. I think that for me that means going to church here and not continually comparing it to my church in Lexington, just opening my heart to the new place. I think it means finding a bell group out here so that all the music doesn't just stay behind in Kentucky. It means trying with new vigor this week to lead the way at work instead of sitting behind my desk and wondering what I'm doing here. It means that it's okay that I've been feeling sad and missing home for a while, that's going to happen, but it's time to put down just a few roots here in California.
On this September 11, which is a day that has personal sadness attached to it for our family unrelated to the attacks, I realize that life is fleeting. And a life lived holding on to the past isn't much of a life at all. So, I'm gonna get busy living. I think it's what the victims of 9/11 (all of them) would want us to do. Who's with me?
So today, September 11, 2011, and all the days leading up to it, has me thinking about letting go of the past.
Like the rest of you, I remember very clearly where I was on September 11, 2001. It's funny, there are whole years of my life that I don't remember more than a few pieces of. But I remember seven distinct moments from that day. I remember the class I was in prior to the attacks. I had an early estate and gift tax class. When I got out and went to my next class I had no idea what was going on. Prof. Bratt, my trusts and estates professor, told us what was happening and dismissed the class. We all went downstairs to the lounge and watched on the big screen tv until the last tower fell. I remember sitting outside the law school on the most ironically beautiful fall day talking to my dad on my cell phone. I remember watching in the library as they showed pictures of what was left of Flight 93 and I remember that we all wondered if it was an accident caused by trying to land so many flights all at the same time. I remember talking to my friends in the library and being worried because I realized that I thought my sister was flying that day - thankfully she was fine. And I remember sitting in my bedroom at the end of the day, watching the coverage and how weird it seemed that all channels played only news or nothing at all.
I have not indulged in 9/11 since 2001. I think on the first anniversary I watched a bit of the memorial. But after that I didn't rewatch coverage or read accounts of the victims. I just didn't want to go back to that. But in an odd way, I've locked that time in my memory. I never dealt with it. To this day I don't understand the odd reaction I have to the memories of that day. A blend of horror and fascination, total denial and yet holding that time close in an almost comforting way. It was one time, the only time in my life, when we all stopped. When we all felt close to each other. It reminded us of the best and worst and for that reason it is a time that, while I sincerely wish it would never have happened, in an odd way I cherish the response to it because it reminds me that we're all compassionate. (I'm not speaking about the wars that followed.)
This year, I stopped my self-imposed moratorium and watched several documentaries on the victims of 9/11. It's still painful and I think back to how naive we all were that day, hoping it was just a freak accident. I think back to myself on that day, all that I had yet to experience and all that I didn't know. I sort of wish I could go back to that day. But then, I know that time has moved on. And that's painful for its own reasons.
Someone on Facebook today said, forgive, but never forget. It's important to learn from the past, to remember that evil is real. That bravery is also real. But it's important to carry on.
So that brings me to the title of this post, get busy living or get busy dying. I'd like to thank Stephen King for the line from "The Shawshank Redemption" and Morgan Freeman for delivering that line in such a way that it sticks with you. At the end of the day, that's really the choice that we have to make. Move forward or stay still and look backward. As I said, I don't let go of things easily. I don't think I hold grudges, but I do hold on to the past in a way that can be destructive to the future. I've spent years frozen mourning for the past.
So, this week, I've been thinking about letting go and all that entails. I think it starts with the rather obvious realization that time only moves in one direction and it will continue moving forward no matter our response to it. We can let it pass us by or we can get to it. I think that for me that means going to church here and not continually comparing it to my church in Lexington, just opening my heart to the new place. I think it means finding a bell group out here so that all the music doesn't just stay behind in Kentucky. It means trying with new vigor this week to lead the way at work instead of sitting behind my desk and wondering what I'm doing here. It means that it's okay that I've been feeling sad and missing home for a while, that's going to happen, but it's time to put down just a few roots here in California.
On this September 11, which is a day that has personal sadness attached to it for our family unrelated to the attacks, I realize that life is fleeting. And a life lived holding on to the past isn't much of a life at all. So, I'm gonna get busy living. I think it's what the victims of 9/11 (all of them) would want us to do. Who's with me?
Monday, August 22, 2011
Objects in Mirror May Be Closer Than They Appear
If you regularly read my facebook posts, you may have picked up a tad of melancholy with me lately. I suppose that is why there have been no blog posts of late. I enjoy telling funny little stories about the City, but it is interesting how when your perspective changes that quirky story becomes a plain old sad depressing story.
For example, you all know my love of the people on the ferry. In case you were wondering, the Man with Ponytail got a new messenger bag last week so I no longer have to worry about his laptop falling out of his backpack. Also, there is a new guy I'm going to call Dude with Kindle, who everyday wears the same khaki cargo shorts and black fleece jacket. Is it a uniform? He is always reading on his Kindle, which has a business card taped to the back. One day I'm going to successfully read on that card where he works so that I can discover where I can wear khaki shorts and a north face jacket to work everyday.
On a good day, I think the people on the ferry are endearing and funny. But when the loneliness of a new place wears on you, the ferry starts to seem lonely too. Everyone gets on, plugs in their headphones and goes into their own world. You have to wonder if anyone notices you the way that you notice them? And the monotony of it all: get up, go to work on ferry, work, ride home on ferry, eat dinner, go to bed, repeat five times - is maddening. Seems like this plan was so much more exciting from 2300 miles away.
Another example is the house hunt. I've never been one to enjoy house hunting. In fact, it took Matt and I two years to find the last house. But you try to get excited about starting over and finding a new place. This worked for me for a little while, approximately four weeks, before I lost my mind and almost burst out in tears in the world's smallest one bedroom shoebox in Berkeley that honestly smelled like dog poop. Could they not smell the poop prior to the open house? Did they think no one would notice? I expect patchouli in Berkeley, not poop. Although at this point, I suppose anything goes. And most recently I looked at a house that had homeless people pushing the carts on the sidewalk out from. Not quite the view I was hoping for. It makes me laugh now when people at work ask me if I'm considering Berkeley; I have to smile and say something polite when I'd much rather tell them that I think Berkeley is overrated.
Also, with regard to house hunting, I have come to be amused by the way people talk about neighborhoods here. We all know that California, specifically the Bay Area, is a liberal stronghold. Therefore, it's a bastian of political correctness. I have learned that you're supposed to say that that neighborhood you'd never leave your car in is blighted. Or gritty. Or my favorite, in transition. Of course, the sentiment is all the same, but I guess people feel more compassionate by the use of gentler terminology.
So my friends, I found myself in a real slump last week. Everything that I had looked forward to about the City was starting to look dirty, crowded and expensive. Everything back in Kentucky was basking in the glow of fond memories and things do tend to look perfect from a distance.
So what's my point? The point is that, as with all things, it's a matter of perspective. Nothing is perfect here and nothing is perfect there. You can wallow in the bad stuff anywhere you go, or you can remember the things that make you happy.
What actually drove this home for me is something I saw weeks ago outside my office. I work in the Financial District, which is a lovely part of town that is unfortunately home to many homeless people. It's unfortunate because no one should live like this, stray dogs do better I think. They move around and don't stay too long in one place. There is one person who was sleeping on the corner across from my office for a few days. Sadly, I'm not sure if this person was a man or a woman because they bundle up so completely, but I thought he was a young man. A very small man, very thin. Every morning he would get up and sweep his corner with a broom he kept with his shopping cart. Then he would put out his various "treasures" - cups, flowers from the stand across the street that had been thrown out, etc. I know that these people generally have refused to go to a shelter. Most probably have drug problems. But still, I don't always clean up my apartment, would I clean up my corner?
That's what I mean by perspective. If he can clean up his street corner and try to make it nice than surely I can look on the bright side of life (and do my own dishes). Not to mention the fact that the next time you feel down and out about your situation, be very glad you have a bathroom, a shower, food to eat. The next time you're tempted to feel sorry for yourself, be glad that you're not laying on a street corner surrounded by people that act like they don't see you.
So, with a little change of perspective, I face a new week. And I'm feeling pretty hopeful about it.
-A
For example, you all know my love of the people on the ferry. In case you were wondering, the Man with Ponytail got a new messenger bag last week so I no longer have to worry about his laptop falling out of his backpack. Also, there is a new guy I'm going to call Dude with Kindle, who everyday wears the same khaki cargo shorts and black fleece jacket. Is it a uniform? He is always reading on his Kindle, which has a business card taped to the back. One day I'm going to successfully read on that card where he works so that I can discover where I can wear khaki shorts and a north face jacket to work everyday.
On a good day, I think the people on the ferry are endearing and funny. But when the loneliness of a new place wears on you, the ferry starts to seem lonely too. Everyone gets on, plugs in their headphones and goes into their own world. You have to wonder if anyone notices you the way that you notice them? And the monotony of it all: get up, go to work on ferry, work, ride home on ferry, eat dinner, go to bed, repeat five times - is maddening. Seems like this plan was so much more exciting from 2300 miles away.
Another example is the house hunt. I've never been one to enjoy house hunting. In fact, it took Matt and I two years to find the last house. But you try to get excited about starting over and finding a new place. This worked for me for a little while, approximately four weeks, before I lost my mind and almost burst out in tears in the world's smallest one bedroom shoebox in Berkeley that honestly smelled like dog poop. Could they not smell the poop prior to the open house? Did they think no one would notice? I expect patchouli in Berkeley, not poop. Although at this point, I suppose anything goes. And most recently I looked at a house that had homeless people pushing the carts on the sidewalk out from. Not quite the view I was hoping for. It makes me laugh now when people at work ask me if I'm considering Berkeley; I have to smile and say something polite when I'd much rather tell them that I think Berkeley is overrated.
Also, with regard to house hunting, I have come to be amused by the way people talk about neighborhoods here. We all know that California, specifically the Bay Area, is a liberal stronghold. Therefore, it's a bastian of political correctness. I have learned that you're supposed to say that that neighborhood you'd never leave your car in is blighted. Or gritty. Or my favorite, in transition. Of course, the sentiment is all the same, but I guess people feel more compassionate by the use of gentler terminology.
So my friends, I found myself in a real slump last week. Everything that I had looked forward to about the City was starting to look dirty, crowded and expensive. Everything back in Kentucky was basking in the glow of fond memories and things do tend to look perfect from a distance.
So what's my point? The point is that, as with all things, it's a matter of perspective. Nothing is perfect here and nothing is perfect there. You can wallow in the bad stuff anywhere you go, or you can remember the things that make you happy.
What actually drove this home for me is something I saw weeks ago outside my office. I work in the Financial District, which is a lovely part of town that is unfortunately home to many homeless people. It's unfortunate because no one should live like this, stray dogs do better I think. They move around and don't stay too long in one place. There is one person who was sleeping on the corner across from my office for a few days. Sadly, I'm not sure if this person was a man or a woman because they bundle up so completely, but I thought he was a young man. A very small man, very thin. Every morning he would get up and sweep his corner with a broom he kept with his shopping cart. Then he would put out his various "treasures" - cups, flowers from the stand across the street that had been thrown out, etc. I know that these people generally have refused to go to a shelter. Most probably have drug problems. But still, I don't always clean up my apartment, would I clean up my corner?
That's what I mean by perspective. If he can clean up his street corner and try to make it nice than surely I can look on the bright side of life (and do my own dishes). Not to mention the fact that the next time you feel down and out about your situation, be very glad you have a bathroom, a shower, food to eat. The next time you're tempted to feel sorry for yourself, be glad that you're not laying on a street corner surrounded by people that act like they don't see you.
So, with a little change of perspective, I face a new week. And I'm feeling pretty hopeful about it.
-A
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Who Are The People in Your Neighborhood?
Do you remember that song from when you were little? Of course you do and now you're singing it.
As most of you know, I take the ferry into work every day. I usually take the 7:50 ferry in and the 5:50 ferry back out. I head for the back door, go straight to the bottom level, head for a seat in the front and on the aisle, pop in my headphones and relax for the 30 minute ride home. I'm a creature of habit. And so are the other people on the ferry.
When you take the same ferry everyday you start to recognize the other people that take the same ferry every day. I don't know any of their names, but I see them every day:
Lady with Floppy Hat is middle aged and always wears the same hippie floppy hat. The style of it makes me wonder if she's very eco-conscious or a left over Charles Manson follower. I can't ever figure out why she wears that hat everyday and why she wears it inside on the boat. Fashion statement? Skin condition that she has to avoid the sun? Lady with Floppy Hat sits in the middle of the boat and normally chats with another lady, who I guess I'll call Lady with Floppy Hat's friend. I believe that Lady with Floppy Hat's friend likes to do cross word puzzles.
Man with Ponytail I never see on the ferry, but he passes me everyday as I walk from the ferry terminal. I've figured out that he must be on the boat with me, but perhaps he is a top floor guy. Man with Ponytail is always in a serious hurry. I can't figure out if he just needs to set his alarm for an earlier time or take an earlier ferry, but apparently he is always late. He also walked all the way down Mission the other day with his computer hanging perilously out of his backpack. However, he was hauling and I didn't really want to run him down since it looked like ultimately his laptop would stay put.
There is also Boy with Reflective Sunglasses. He sits everyday at a table with his friends and wears these Wayfarer type large sunglasses that have a yellow reflective coating. He seems to always be resting his head on his propped up arm. Was he up late? Is he hung over? Is that why he wears the sunglasses everyday even on board?
Not a persistent regular is Guy with the Bike. Guy with the Bike sometimes shows up dressed like he is planning to bike a marathon and sometimes shows up in a suit. So on the days that he is wearing full bike attire, does he change at work? Does he drive on suit day? How does he decide, or does he just drive when he oversleeps? Maybe he and Man with Ponytail should set up a phone tree to be sure they get up on time?
On a side note, one other curious thing about the people on the ferry. When you board, you have the option of going through the front door or the back door. I have noticed that people are serious about which door they take and will cut across five people to be sure they get in the line for THEIR door. Ultimately I can't believe it makes that big of a difference (in fact I've tried both and it really doesn't). But some people are very very particular about their seats and I can see that if you HAD to have YOUR seat, then you better pick a direct route and run for it. And more to the point, if you want to see a bunch of grown men in full suits acting like children, watch them board the ferry and scurry to a seat just like when you used to ride the bus.
So, I just have to laugh at the way that although I know no one here, and no one really knows me, I know a few familiar faces on the ferry. It sort of adds to the rhythm of the day. So, Lady in Floppy Hat, Man with Ponytail, Boy with Reflective Glasses, and Guy with Bike, thanks for making me feel not so alone. And I'll see you in the morning.
Yours truly,
Girl in Red Coat
As most of you know, I take the ferry into work every day. I usually take the 7:50 ferry in and the 5:50 ferry back out. I head for the back door, go straight to the bottom level, head for a seat in the front and on the aisle, pop in my headphones and relax for the 30 minute ride home. I'm a creature of habit. And so are the other people on the ferry.
When you take the same ferry everyday you start to recognize the other people that take the same ferry every day. I don't know any of their names, but I see them every day:
Lady with Floppy Hat is middle aged and always wears the same hippie floppy hat. The style of it makes me wonder if she's very eco-conscious or a left over Charles Manson follower. I can't ever figure out why she wears that hat everyday and why she wears it inside on the boat. Fashion statement? Skin condition that she has to avoid the sun? Lady with Floppy Hat sits in the middle of the boat and normally chats with another lady, who I guess I'll call Lady with Floppy Hat's friend. I believe that Lady with Floppy Hat's friend likes to do cross word puzzles.
Man with Ponytail I never see on the ferry, but he passes me everyday as I walk from the ferry terminal. I've figured out that he must be on the boat with me, but perhaps he is a top floor guy. Man with Ponytail is always in a serious hurry. I can't figure out if he just needs to set his alarm for an earlier time or take an earlier ferry, but apparently he is always late. He also walked all the way down Mission the other day with his computer hanging perilously out of his backpack. However, he was hauling and I didn't really want to run him down since it looked like ultimately his laptop would stay put.
There is also Boy with Reflective Sunglasses. He sits everyday at a table with his friends and wears these Wayfarer type large sunglasses that have a yellow reflective coating. He seems to always be resting his head on his propped up arm. Was he up late? Is he hung over? Is that why he wears the sunglasses everyday even on board?
Not a persistent regular is Guy with the Bike. Guy with the Bike sometimes shows up dressed like he is planning to bike a marathon and sometimes shows up in a suit. So on the days that he is wearing full bike attire, does he change at work? Does he drive on suit day? How does he decide, or does he just drive when he oversleeps? Maybe he and Man with Ponytail should set up a phone tree to be sure they get up on time?
On a side note, one other curious thing about the people on the ferry. When you board, you have the option of going through the front door or the back door. I have noticed that people are serious about which door they take and will cut across five people to be sure they get in the line for THEIR door. Ultimately I can't believe it makes that big of a difference (in fact I've tried both and it really doesn't). But some people are very very particular about their seats and I can see that if you HAD to have YOUR seat, then you better pick a direct route and run for it. And more to the point, if you want to see a bunch of grown men in full suits acting like children, watch them board the ferry and scurry to a seat just like when you used to ride the bus.
So, I just have to laugh at the way that although I know no one here, and no one really knows me, I know a few familiar faces on the ferry. It sort of adds to the rhythm of the day. So, Lady in Floppy Hat, Man with Ponytail, Boy with Reflective Glasses, and Guy with Bike, thanks for making me feel not so alone. And I'll see you in the morning.
Yours truly,
Girl in Red Coat
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
The Mis-Adventures of Mister and Lady
It's been a little bit since I last wrote, but I seem to find that once I get up, catch the ferry, go into work, feel sufficiently like I know nothing about dental insurance, catch the ferry again, brave the 101 home and make dinner, there's very little left in terms of inspiration.
That being said, I realized today that I had failed to share with you the first of the mis-adventures. It all started with a rental car.
We did, if you recall, have a pretty nice Mustang rental car, which barely fit all the luggage. However, it was a better deal price wise to exchange the car mid-week, thus avoiding the week-long rate. Car number two ended up being a Chevy POS. I say that because I have no idea what this car was, but it was little and clearly powered by hamsters. Thus it was called the Hamster Wagon.
The Hamster Wagon had brakes that squealed and sometimes locked up. It also had no suspension. If you've ever driven on California roads you probably know that shocks are a good thing. All of this was nothing compared to the smell. Apparently one of the hamsters powering the car died at some point and the smell permeated the interior. This meant that you had to ride with the windows down. Sure, I could have traded it in, but that involved a trip from Marin County to the airport and that was not going to happen mid-week. So I braved the Hamster Wagon. And it was all made worthwhile when I picked up Matt in the horrid vehicle and he got to experience the squeal, shocks, and smell first hand.
By the way, in case you didn't know, when you get into such a terrible car, you simply have to make fun of it in order to bear it. So, we would usually say, "Hamster Wagon AWAY!!! Doodle-loodle-loo" (picture the old batman serial for that sound effect). Followed shortly by, "Oh, urgh, roll down the windows."
Thankfully, my car arrived on Monday, which led to the mis-adventure I was speaking of. Having a car delivered is like having someone come your house to put in cable. "We'll be there between 11 and 1." Sure, 11 and 1 in some other time zone maybe. In actuality, they came at 2:30.
The problem being we were attempting to meet them so I wasn't lounging at home waiting. Oh no. I'm cruising Oakland in the Hamster Wagon. I finally picked up Matt at his interview (which went well by the way) and we proceeded to the final destination to pick up the finally arriving car. So where's the mis-adventure you ask? The car was being delivered in West Oakland. In a place that I later found out is known for "violence and blight". It was a bit gritty. You have to picture, in your mind the worst neighborhood you've ever been in, and then picture me and Matt in a white Chevy Hamster Wagon circling the block waiting for a tractor trailer to pull up with my car. It was not one of our better moments. I kept thinking that we must be a sight to the locals. Actually they were probably thinking "what a horrible car they have there and what the heck are they doing here." (this might not be the correct phrasing...)
Ultimately, the car was safely delivered. And in point of fact we met the nice lady that lived in the neighborhood who was having her car delivered as well. Now, I'm not gonna sugar coat this, that neighborhood is bad news. I strongly suggest you not take a recreational trip through there in the wee hours of the morning. But just to give the story its full flavor, I must say you can meet nice people anywhere.
So, I have my car and learned where to park in the city and that it's expensive. I also can now state with all certainty that San Francisco and the surrounding areas have the most narrow lanes I have ever seen.
And I can report that the Hamster Wagon was returned.
We really wanted to leave a note in it that said:
"You've just rented the Hamster Wagon. This is the most horrible car ever made. It smells of something indescribably awful. The brakes squeal. Don't drive over rough roads. Good luck and God bless."
That being said, I realized today that I had failed to share with you the first of the mis-adventures. It all started with a rental car.
We did, if you recall, have a pretty nice Mustang rental car, which barely fit all the luggage. However, it was a better deal price wise to exchange the car mid-week, thus avoiding the week-long rate. Car number two ended up being a Chevy POS. I say that because I have no idea what this car was, but it was little and clearly powered by hamsters. Thus it was called the Hamster Wagon.
The Hamster Wagon had brakes that squealed and sometimes locked up. It also had no suspension. If you've ever driven on California roads you probably know that shocks are a good thing. All of this was nothing compared to the smell. Apparently one of the hamsters powering the car died at some point and the smell permeated the interior. This meant that you had to ride with the windows down. Sure, I could have traded it in, but that involved a trip from Marin County to the airport and that was not going to happen mid-week. So I braved the Hamster Wagon. And it was all made worthwhile when I picked up Matt in the horrid vehicle and he got to experience the squeal, shocks, and smell first hand.
By the way, in case you didn't know, when you get into such a terrible car, you simply have to make fun of it in order to bear it. So, we would usually say, "Hamster Wagon AWAY!!! Doodle-loodle-loo" (picture the old batman serial for that sound effect). Followed shortly by, "Oh, urgh, roll down the windows."
Thankfully, my car arrived on Monday, which led to the mis-adventure I was speaking of. Having a car delivered is like having someone come your house to put in cable. "We'll be there between 11 and 1." Sure, 11 and 1 in some other time zone maybe. In actuality, they came at 2:30.
The problem being we were attempting to meet them so I wasn't lounging at home waiting. Oh no. I'm cruising Oakland in the Hamster Wagon. I finally picked up Matt at his interview (which went well by the way) and we proceeded to the final destination to pick up the finally arriving car. So where's the mis-adventure you ask? The car was being delivered in West Oakland. In a place that I later found out is known for "violence and blight". It was a bit gritty. You have to picture, in your mind the worst neighborhood you've ever been in, and then picture me and Matt in a white Chevy Hamster Wagon circling the block waiting for a tractor trailer to pull up with my car. It was not one of our better moments. I kept thinking that we must be a sight to the locals. Actually they were probably thinking "what a horrible car they have there and what the heck are they doing here." (this might not be the correct phrasing...)
Ultimately, the car was safely delivered. And in point of fact we met the nice lady that lived in the neighborhood who was having her car delivered as well. Now, I'm not gonna sugar coat this, that neighborhood is bad news. I strongly suggest you not take a recreational trip through there in the wee hours of the morning. But just to give the story its full flavor, I must say you can meet nice people anywhere.
So, I have my car and learned where to park in the city and that it's expensive. I also can now state with all certainty that San Francisco and the surrounding areas have the most narrow lanes I have ever seen.
And I can report that the Hamster Wagon was returned.
We really wanted to leave a note in it that said:
"You've just rented the Hamster Wagon. This is the most horrible car ever made. It smells of something indescribably awful. The brakes squeal. Don't drive over rough roads. Good luck and God bless."
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Letting go of Perfection and Finding Perfection
As I tried to undertake another blog entry, I realized that following through with an actual web diary is difficult. Primarily because a new blog starts out with promise and then normally ends up with a resounding thud. So I started an entry and then started it again. And again. Then I gave myself a talking to about how this is not meant to be a perfect work of literature. So, I might as well get on with the imperfection.
Today's entry falls in the category of "let me catch you up on the mundane details".
We landed at Oakland's airport on Friday and were greeted with a rather overcast and chilly day. For those of you who haven't been to California, let me give you a piece of advice. Pack warmly. All those movies with babes in bikinis on sundrenched beaches are, in my opinion, a total figment of Hollywood's imagination. Maybe in southern california you can bounce around like a David Lee Roth video - although even in LA I think it's way too cold for that kind of attire. NorCal can be downright chilly. It was maybe 60 when we landed and felt like relief after the blistering weather in the east. Every day since has felt like a perfect fall football day. Which I'll admit is disorienting as it is July.
We loaded up a smart cart with five suitcases and a golf bag (Matt's) and we headed out. You have to be somewhat impressed that I got my wardrobe in four bags - or you should be completely disgusted because really that's still a lot of clothes. Matt gallantly took the bus to pick up the rental car, which turned out to be a Mustang. Okay, I know, it's a cool car I guess, but recall I mentioned five suitcases and a golf bag? Man am I glad that I married a UPS man, they sure do know how to load a trunk.
So we loaded up the car (otherwise known as "they packed up the truck" Beverly Hillbillies style) and headed for the studio/cottage/room in Mill Valley that I would be renting on a short term basis. I admit that I was pretty wary about the whole thing. I know that Craigslist is how you find a place to live out here, but in Kentucky you look at Craigslist with a suspicious eye. Well, I worried for absolutely no good reason. My landlord had fixed up a coverted garage into absolutely the most welcoming and cozy space. She had covered every necessity in a sweet and thoughtful way - including tea in the cabinet and a kettle. Matt and I definitely breathed a deep sigh of relief. A major bonus is that it is in fact bigger than a shoebox. It's at least a breadbox.
I expected a move to a big city to teach me to be wary of people. I had no idea that it would also remind me that no matter where you go people are capable of generosity and kindness. I guess I had no idea that I needed to relearn that lesson, but apparently I did.
The beauty of the location of the studio/cottage/room is that it is a just a few blocks from restaurants, grocery stores, biking trails. It makes an amazing difference in how you feel if you just walk to the grocery to get dinner. Or walk to a restaurant. Even if said restaurant is a thai place where you can eat your weight in basil fried rice.
We spent most of the weekend exploring Mill Valley and Corte Madera and Tiburon. My general thoughts on all three are they are a little slice of near perfection. They each have a small town feel but are within thirty minutes of San Francisco. Honestly, I've seen more Porsche's parked on the street with the windows DOWN than I have ever seen anywhere else. I usually double check the Honda in Georgetown and these people are leaving luxury automobiles completely unsecured! People are laid back to say the least and frequent small bistro like restaurants and the whole foods. Tiburon, which is clearly out of my price range as I saw two Aston Martins parked in one neighborhood, even has stores, offices and houses with little farmhouse type half doors because the weather is conducive to leaving the top half open. It's idyllic. In a way it's so charming it's ridiculous. About the only thing that makes these places less than perfect is the home prices.
I'll close this rambling entry with one last picture of true perfection. My landlady put an orchid in the living room/bedroom. Orchids are sold all over San Fran. They are perfection. Elegant, fragile, beautiful. This one is a soft white. The petals are ruffled like a fancy party gown. It makes the studio/cottage/room feel like an exotic hideaway. And that just can't be bad.
Today's entry falls in the category of "let me catch you up on the mundane details".
We landed at Oakland's airport on Friday and were greeted with a rather overcast and chilly day. For those of you who haven't been to California, let me give you a piece of advice. Pack warmly. All those movies with babes in bikinis on sundrenched beaches are, in my opinion, a total figment of Hollywood's imagination. Maybe in southern california you can bounce around like a David Lee Roth video - although even in LA I think it's way too cold for that kind of attire. NorCal can be downright chilly. It was maybe 60 when we landed and felt like relief after the blistering weather in the east. Every day since has felt like a perfect fall football day. Which I'll admit is disorienting as it is July.
We loaded up a smart cart with five suitcases and a golf bag (Matt's) and we headed out. You have to be somewhat impressed that I got my wardrobe in four bags - or you should be completely disgusted because really that's still a lot of clothes. Matt gallantly took the bus to pick up the rental car, which turned out to be a Mustang. Okay, I know, it's a cool car I guess, but recall I mentioned five suitcases and a golf bag? Man am I glad that I married a UPS man, they sure do know how to load a trunk.
So we loaded up the car (otherwise known as "they packed up the truck" Beverly Hillbillies style) and headed for the studio/cottage/room in Mill Valley that I would be renting on a short term basis. I admit that I was pretty wary about the whole thing. I know that Craigslist is how you find a place to live out here, but in Kentucky you look at Craigslist with a suspicious eye. Well, I worried for absolutely no good reason. My landlord had fixed up a coverted garage into absolutely the most welcoming and cozy space. She had covered every necessity in a sweet and thoughtful way - including tea in the cabinet and a kettle. Matt and I definitely breathed a deep sigh of relief. A major bonus is that it is in fact bigger than a shoebox. It's at least a breadbox.
I expected a move to a big city to teach me to be wary of people. I had no idea that it would also remind me that no matter where you go people are capable of generosity and kindness. I guess I had no idea that I needed to relearn that lesson, but apparently I did.
The beauty of the location of the studio/cottage/room is that it is a just a few blocks from restaurants, grocery stores, biking trails. It makes an amazing difference in how you feel if you just walk to the grocery to get dinner. Or walk to a restaurant. Even if said restaurant is a thai place where you can eat your weight in basil fried rice.
We spent most of the weekend exploring Mill Valley and Corte Madera and Tiburon. My general thoughts on all three are they are a little slice of near perfection. They each have a small town feel but are within thirty minutes of San Francisco. Honestly, I've seen more Porsche's parked on the street with the windows DOWN than I have ever seen anywhere else. I usually double check the Honda in Georgetown and these people are leaving luxury automobiles completely unsecured! People are laid back to say the least and frequent small bistro like restaurants and the whole foods. Tiburon, which is clearly out of my price range as I saw two Aston Martins parked in one neighborhood, even has stores, offices and houses with little farmhouse type half doors because the weather is conducive to leaving the top half open. It's idyllic. In a way it's so charming it's ridiculous. About the only thing that makes these places less than perfect is the home prices.
I'll close this rambling entry with one last picture of true perfection. My landlady put an orchid in the living room/bedroom. Orchids are sold all over San Fran. They are perfection. Elegant, fragile, beautiful. This one is a soft white. The petals are ruffled like a fancy party gown. It makes the studio/cottage/room feel like an exotic hideaway. And that just can't be bad.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
The End of Chapter, the Beginning of a New One
In the last six weeks, I've come to realize how wonderful and blessed my life really is. I remember very clearly moving to Lexington, not knowing anyone, wondering how I was going to survive law school, make friends, or stay warm during the bitterly cold Kentucky winter. I never thought that I would stay past law school, I figured that I would move home right after graduation. But as it has been said, you just never know where life will take you. I met Matt right before I graduated and decided to take a chance on him and on a job with a little benefits consulting business. Now, here I am, leaving Lexington twelve years later and feeling like I'm leaving behind a rather large piece of myself.
To my dear friends, you've been so kind to me over the years. You have taught me that it's okay to be whoever you are. That there are people out there that love you for you, even with all the ugly bits. I've found more than my fair share of kindred spirits in the Bluegrass - people I plan to stay friends with for the rest of my life.
I have been so fortunate as to work in two great jobs in my time in Lexington. Each one taught me so much and day by day gave me the confidence to believe in myself. I never planned to be an insurance attorney. But what you may not know is that insurance is where all the fun people work. I've had a blast, even on the bad days. For those of you I've worked with, you made the work funny and rewarding and I am a better attorney because of you.
Lastly, being a part of Faith Lutheran Church has been the most rewarding experience of all. I never did attend church regularly before coming to Kentucky. But Matt and I have been a part of this congregation for almost a decade. This parish reminded me that Church is about God and serving others as Jesus did. Elementary I know. Lest we all forget, we are all works in progress full of our own sin and error. So, far better to love others than judge others. Something I still work on, but still true.
It is hard to close the door on this time of my life. Matt and I decided to go to California for a lot of reasons. But the primary reason was that we felt that it was time to get on with our lives. I still feel that's true. But it doesn't make the leaving any less painful.
So the Beginning of the Blog is an ending. I have told many of your that I don't say goodbye. I don't because I hate goodbyes and because you never ever know where life will take you. I am often amazed at the way people are brought back in our lives. I know that I'll be back from time to time and that many of you will visit me in my new place. So this isn't a goodbye. Instead it is a little note to tell you that I love you all, I will miss you all, I will see you all again.
Peace, A
To my dear friends, you've been so kind to me over the years. You have taught me that it's okay to be whoever you are. That there are people out there that love you for you, even with all the ugly bits. I've found more than my fair share of kindred spirits in the Bluegrass - people I plan to stay friends with for the rest of my life.
I have been so fortunate as to work in two great jobs in my time in Lexington. Each one taught me so much and day by day gave me the confidence to believe in myself. I never planned to be an insurance attorney. But what you may not know is that insurance is where all the fun people work. I've had a blast, even on the bad days. For those of you I've worked with, you made the work funny and rewarding and I am a better attorney because of you.
Lastly, being a part of Faith Lutheran Church has been the most rewarding experience of all. I never did attend church regularly before coming to Kentucky. But Matt and I have been a part of this congregation for almost a decade. This parish reminded me that Church is about God and serving others as Jesus did. Elementary I know. Lest we all forget, we are all works in progress full of our own sin and error. So, far better to love others than judge others. Something I still work on, but still true.
It is hard to close the door on this time of my life. Matt and I decided to go to California for a lot of reasons. But the primary reason was that we felt that it was time to get on with our lives. I still feel that's true. But it doesn't make the leaving any less painful.
So the Beginning of the Blog is an ending. I have told many of your that I don't say goodbye. I don't because I hate goodbyes and because you never ever know where life will take you. I am often amazed at the way people are brought back in our lives. I know that I'll be back from time to time and that many of you will visit me in my new place. So this isn't a goodbye. Instead it is a little note to tell you that I love you all, I will miss you all, I will see you all again.
Peace, A
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