Diary of a Transplant

Great Sand Dunes

2007-05-21T16:35:00.000-07:00

Missed you this weekend, C-Philly. You would have loved it.

1/5 of the WWG

2007-05-11T22:45:00.000-07:00

Hey Carrie,

Our moms are visiting this weekend. They arrived last night and we had dinner at the Cowgirl, something that amuses and pleases most visitors. My mom took your mom around downtown today and tomorrow I think we are going to Bandelier. So far it has been fun playing the tour guide, and seeing your mom has not been as hard as earlier visits in California. We made shrimp tacos tonight with spicy chipotle cabbage slaw and perhaps freaked out some friends from the East Coast and Midwest who were perplexed by the use of seafood in tacos, but it was a standard Lydon-family-style dinner with non-stop conversation and our old friends gin and tonic. No, your mom had diet soda but still seemed to enjoy herself.

She was practiced at the art of deception

2007-04-27T14:15:00.000-07:00

I can see it on the horizon- the day I become my mother. It’s on its way.

The event that first hinted at this new direction was innocent enough. We were in college, living on Midvale. I did not have a lot of money for luxury items such as food that did not come in a Rice-A-Roni box, 10 for $10 (I love you Ralphs Club!). In an earlier life I had been terrified and disgusted when my mom used cream cheese from a block that had mold on one end. She insisted that she wasn’t touching the mold, and that the rest of the cheese was fine. Living in Westwood I learned that she was right- I did not die if I ate bread from a loaf that had grey fungus on the slices near the back of the bag. Milk was still good if it smelled okay. You wanted to eat yogurt that you feared had gone bad. I said the famous words that were later repeated many times in the history of Livewire—“It’s the sell-by date, not the eat-by date!” Out of frugality and necessity I had adopted my mother’s standard for throwing out food. I learned to be more careful two years later when I ate the three-day-old leftovers of the Moroccan Chicken we made in the crock pot, which is another story for another day.

I was in a doctor’s office earlier this week and saw the New York Magazine from late March in the reception area. The cover story delves into the rivalry between New York and London, in everything from food and art to finance. I didn’t have time to read much more than the opening paragraph before my appointment. When I came back to the waiting room I picked up the magazine and took it with me! I stole a magazine from a doctor’s office! I’m sure people do this all the time (they do, don’t they?), but I am flooded with the memory of being completely mortified when my mother walked out with a Smithsonian from Dr. Kuhn’s office after an orthodontic appointment. I mean, what would the next person read? Did anyone see her grab the magazine? Couldn’t she just take her chances and hope to finish the article while waiting during next month’s appointment? I couldn’t take my chances, I needed to know now about London. I needed to know if it beat out my choices/activities of where to live/what to do next year (currently on the top of the list: buying a house in a Mexican fishing village or working as an au pair for a former Soviet official; I am also accepting offers to be a professional tango dancer Buenos Aires). You can see that I need some direction.

So I brought the magazine to my office and flipped through it at lunch. Before even reading the London article I found a piece on Joan Didion’s new play, which is based on her book, The Year of Magical Thinking. I loved this book. I needed this book. I am reading other books to give myself space just so I can read this book again. And now I need to go to New York and see Vanessa Redgrave, as directed by David Hare, portraying Joan Didion. And I’ll have to get some cupcakes while I am there. I am pleased and amused when I go after something I want and instead get something I need, like more Joan Didion. Also, I am not yet my mother because she is far too practical to consider *just consider* booking a trip to New York to see one play when you already know the ending.

This post has too many words, so I’ll leave you with this:

Spring!

Ed. Note: This picture was taken last year around this time, but I promise the tree across the street really does look like this! I just don’t have a picture to prove it.

A grey sky, a bitter sting

2007-04-22T23:00:00.000-07:00

Carrie,

Tomorrow is your birthday. I have been trying to think of a fitting tribute, something I can do to honor you. As if anything I do tomorrow or anytime will sufficiently honor you. Since you are in my head all the time I want there to be a physical manifestation or action to mark your birthday, something that is outside of me. Even though I can’t celebrate your birthday with you in person, as we have done many times, or even over the phone, which I would settle for, I want to outwardly note how grateful I am for our friendship and your presence in my life.

Last year I was determined to finish a knitting project that I had started for your 25th birthday and I planned to send it to your mom. I thought that working on it, for me, and using it, for your mom, might somehow bring this elusive notion of “closure” that everyone was talking about. Well, in typical Stacey fashion, the project is not finished. My grandmother’s birthday present is two months late and my mother’s present is now over a year late, so this might have happened even if I could have sent the final product to you in Santa Monica. But in the past year I have also realized that knitting something until the pattern says it is done was not going to bring any sort of closure. Time changes things, mostly your relationship with the pain, but the pain is still there.

A few days ago I received the reminder e-mail for your birthday from one of those online calendar services. I am still surprised when things like this happen. It’s a reminder that life goes on and most other people don’t know that you are gone. I know your parents had to do a ton of insurance paperwork and our old apartment still gets credit card offers in your name. I was shocked and offended when Todd still had to file his father’s taxes. Even though our lives have gone on, we recognize that they are now different. It seems like the rest of society should recognize this too.

Everyone knows I’m over my head

2007-04-20T21:03:00.000-07:00

It’s one of those times when I want to pick up the phone and call you. I am feeling totally unsettled- the next few weeks will require that I make a big decision about what I’m going to do (or not do) in the fall. While it is my decision I feel like everything is out of my control. I know, it makes no sense. I guess I’m just scared of making a decision.

Should I go to school in San Diego? Should I go to school/work in London? Will going to London help me get back to Africa? Should I go straight to Africa and work in the field? Should I study in Canada? Should I look for a job in New York or DC? Should I indulge my desire to eat cheese and drink wine and teach English in Italy? Should I stay in Santa Fe? Where will the dogs live if I leave the country? Should we sell the house? How come Laughing Cow cheese is so much cheaper at Trader Joe’s than anywhere else? Do they have an “in” with the Babybel people? Why can’t I finish knitting my grandmother’s birthday present? How can songs by The Fray be so whiny and yet so catchy? Why have the local radio stations stopped playing anything else?

As you can see, I need you for these pressing questions that keep running through my head. Well, they are in my head when I am not stuck on “Or he’ll say he’s just not the same/ And you’ll begin to wonder why you came.” Can't. Stop. The Fray.

I fly SWA

2007-03-29T14:10:00.000-07:00

Hey Carrie,

A little something I thought you might find funny, considering the Southwest flights we took together. This is from Mason-Dixon Knitting (I know it is a knitting blog but I promise it doesn't bite, go ahead, try it):

"On a Southwest flight, the rule of "open seating" is the law, and none of the seats are assigned, which adds a little drama and potential for disappointment if you're in Boarding Group B. Group A is all smug and "oh I printed out my boarding passes last night"; back in the day, they were all student council presidents and extra-credit suckups. Group C is the Land of the Lost--a more fatalistic and resigned group you'll never see. They're all going into the middle seats. One guy said to me, "I just want a seat inside the plane." But Group B, my group, are the Strivers, the ones looking at Group A and kicking themselves for not printing out their boarding passes twelve minutes earlier yesterday. The Strivers hope against hope that they don't get stuck in the middle. The Strivers want only to be Not in the Middle. They want to be Group A, yet they are not."

I remember sitting in the Oakland airport waiting for our flight back to L.A. at some horrible hour of the wee morning after Jen and Sean's cat had attacked us all night. I was reading David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day, attempting to stay awake, and I started laughing out loud. I tried to read you the section but was laughing too hard to get the words out. I think you read the chapter for yourself and then all the way home we kept repeating the phrase "Sure, I'd love to go for a walk around the lake, just let me get my artificial leg."

Love and Basketball

2007-03-25T20:57:00.000-07:00

Hey Phillips,

You would be so proud of me- I played basketball this weekend! I know that is not a big deal for most people, but I think it was the second time in my life that I have played when not under duress in a P.E. class. I should probably clarify that by "played" I mean we borrowed a ball from the front desk at Ft. Marcy and went into the empty gym and threw the ball at the hoop. We were terrible. We decided to play a game with our own rules and the winner would be the first to make ten points. I lost, 10 - 4, but there was a moment after my second basket when it looked hopeful. What is so sad is that our goal was to get 10 points- I mean who sets up such a short game? Two really out of shape people who cannot make a basket if their life depended on it!

Also in sporting news, our Bruins are in the Final Four! (Austin Powers imitation) Yeah baby!

2007-03-15T10:24:00.000-07:00

I miss you.

Love, Stacey

About 3% of pet owners will give Valentine's Day gifts to their pets, and my dogs will be eating cake tonight.

2007-02-14T11:49:00.000-08:00

CP- more cupcakes- this time they are red velvet with cream cheese frosting. I got the recipe in an e-mail from the Food Network (I know I'm a dork, but who doesn't love food?!). Magnolia Bakery is apparently famous for their red velvet cupcakes but they have been out of them every time I have been there. I think my batch turned out pretty well, but since I made 30 last night I'm trying to give some away. I don't think the two people in my house need to eat them all by themselves again!

Miss you and your snide comments about a commercialized holiday, and the big bag of candy you would bring home from your students.

And don't ever come down! (Freebase!)

2007-02-13T20:12:00.001-08:00

Hey Phillips,

Jeanette started her film career last night, playing a cheerleader in a new Lindsay Lohan movie. They were supposed to start filming a few weeks ago but La Lohan was in rehab. Tonight they are filming a college party scene.

Stacey: "Just remember, if Lindsay offers you nose candy just say no."

Jeanette: "Oh, that's cocaine, right?"

Stacey: "Right."

Jeanette: "You know coke makes you skinny and pot makes you fat because you get hungry."

Stacey: "Yeah, I guess so."

Jeanette: "You know if I had to choose a drug, like if it was life or death, if someone said to me 'you have to do a drug or your whole family will die,' I would do cocaine, because at least then I'd be skinny."

It's good that she knows the fringe benefits of doing blow, right? Sounds like she's ready for her career in Hollywood.

Yeah, this is as good as it gets.

2007-02-08T21:27:00.000-08:00

Ahhh, cupcakes (Homer Simpson drooling sound)...

Don't you love my grandma's retro dishes? I love that in our second apartment together we both had cool dishes handed down from family members, and if I remember correctly both sets heavily featured orange flower patterns.

This is one of at least 3,578 things I have to thank you for: thank you for introducing me to Magnolia Bakery on our trip to New York. I think KC had told you that you had to go, so we went! We spent the morning walking from the Brooklyn Bridge, through lower Manhattan, to Battery Park, to the Irish Hunger Memorial (you didn't find the representation of fallow potato fields nearly as interesting as I did, but they're my people! The Irish are my people!) and wandering through the West Village to find the bakery. It was worth it! And now when I read about it everything online says the bakery became famous because it was in Sex and the City. I must have missed that episode. I'm so glad we took KC's advice and searched it out.

When Todd and I went to New York for the first time I dragged him to Magnolia, and I’m sure he was grumbling as it was our last day in the city and we had to head straight to the airport, but after he had a cupcake he agreed it was worth the effort. We carried a few cupcakes back on the plane, and T-Willy and I brought one to you on your lunch break at ER the next day.

So on our trip to New York in December we made time one night to go to Magnolia and get a few cupcakes to eat, a few to take to M and her roommates to thank them for letting us camp out in their living room, and a few to take on the plane. And we have been craving them ever since! I’m sure a lot of bakeries make excellent cupcakes, but I haven’t found any around here that are equally good. I find that often a cupcake only excels in one area, frosting or cake, but not both. That is why Magnolia is so good- every part is fantastic! And they taste like they are made of real, old-fashioned ingredients!

Last Saturday was one of those days where you have big plans to clean the whole house and wash the windows and organize the cupboards and darn some socks (I have no idea how to darn socks, I just like to say it) and instead you do a little work on a few things and then realize you want a cupcake. A really good cupcake, not something with pink Valentine’s Day frosting and dry, tasteless cake like you get in bakery case at Albertson’s. Not that I am above buying and eating such desserts, but I wanted something that tasted homemade. So I opened up the big red Betty Crocker’s Cookbook that my mom gave me (thanks, Mom! Full of so many good things- why didn’t I try to cook real food before?) and looked up a recipe for yellow cake. I also looked up buttercream frosting, and it has the same recipe my mom taught me when I used to try to “help” in the kitchen. So I made twenty-four yellow cake cupcakes with chocolate buttercream frosting on Saturday afternoon. On Monday morning there were only three left (see photo above), and none by Monday night. I think I had six of the 24. Turns out Todd likes cupcakes more than I do.

Real Magnolia cupcake, held by you, photographed by you, when you stayed with M in New York, August 2005.

I've got peace like a river in my soul*

2007-01-30T12:42:00.000-08:00

Hey Carrie,

I just heard they are making a movie of Peace Like a River, by Leif Enger. If I remember correctly, that was the first book we read together in our Livewire Book Club™. Man, we are such nerds! I love that we named our book club, and I love that the name came from a place of great importance to us that no one but our old roommates would know. I remember that we both bought the book (I think I still have mine, though I have been trying to donate or give away books to simplify my life and my over-stuffed book cases, so I’ll have to check) and both underlined similar passages, and sometimes the exact same passages, of writing that were incredibly beautiful. When we finished we were both hesitant to admit that we were disappointed by the ending, because neither one of us wanted to bring down the other one in case she loved the book all the way to the end.

At this moment I am missing you so much because I wonder if anyone else will ever be so close to knowing how I think. Or maybe it was that I was close to knowing how you thought. It is not that we thought the same, but you knew what I was thinking. This may make no sense, but I’m sure you understand (he, he, see the humor in that?).

Anyway, they are making a movie with Billy Bob Thornton. I assume he is playing the father. He’s not my favorite actor but this could be a good part for him. I’m usually against changing stories from books when they are made into movies (something about not being honest to the book really bothers me, usually because I have loved the book as it is), but in this case they might improve the story when they make it into a movie. The ending was just so unsatisfying that a change could be good. The best part of the book, though, was the incredible writing, usually displayed in Rube’s thoughts as the narrator, or the writings of his younger sister, Swede. I guess visuals will take the place of some or all of Rube’s descriptions, but the words used were so beautiful that I would take them over an image.

As hinted at with the donating of books, I am trying to simplify my life and get rid of unnecessary things. To do this I have started changing my definition of necessary. After all, I could be moving many miles away in less than a year, and last time I moved it was a nightmare to go through my stuff and box it up. Perhaps you remember that weekend when I planned to leave for New Mexico at 8:00 am on a Saturday and instead left after 8:00 pm. Twelve hours wasn’t a big deal, but renting a storage space for all the stuff that had to stay in California until Todd came out a month later was about $200 worth of a big deal. I have re-joined Wardrobe Refashion to help me make the most out of what I have and to cut down on my waste. Consider me now in training for my future life as a poor graduate student.

*Don't you love the lyrics from church songs? That song was always a hit at summer camp, and every time I looked at the cover of the book the song went through my head.

We can fly off into the sunset together, A rusty old American dream.

2007-01-23T15:19:00.000-08:00

Phillips,

Today three of my favorite things came together in a wonderful way.

The three things:

1. Anderson Cooper
2. A good friend
3. Mail

The Necessary Info:

You know about my fondness for hot news anchors. Remember that night during our senior year when I was wasting hours online trying to make you understand how hot Peter Jennings was?

Hot, right?

That was the night I discovered that I was not alone in my admiration (and fantasies) of the smart and beautiful men who often deliver the news, and that fellow admirers had given them a name: Infohunks. While no one can replace Peter, I have elevated a few other infohunks to special status, and at the top is Anderson Cooper. My mom sent me his book as a distraction last year, and it worked in small increments, as I just opened to the center where the color photos were and let my imagination take over. I did read the rest of the book, which was interesting and a quick read, but the best part was my vision of walking with him on a Kenyan beach. Why Kenyan, you ask? Because we will meet in Kenya while I am there doing research or development work, and he’ll be there covering a story, or recovering from another story elsewhere (he used Nairobi as his home base while doing freelance work in Somalia after college- see, I did read the book!) and we will get to know each other while spending some quiet time outside of the big city.

Now, this affection for Anderson is something I shared with a work colleague while in China. That colleague became a friend and I think was quite amused with the whole thing, almost as amused as when I shared my love of Yao Ming (who, by the way, was on giant posters for health care in the tunnels of the Beijing metro system, mmm good, a glimpse at him every time I took the train!). The obsession with the Yao Ming Visa commercial is a discussion for another time. Back to the topic- my friend grew up in New York City and went to school with Anderson Cooper!

So, you also know about my penchant for sending and receiving mail. I’m talking about real mail- not e-mail, not credit card offers, not free address labels from non-profits (I feel bad about using them if I don’t actually give money to the charity, but they do come in handy for paying bills!). Real mail addressed by hand- it’s like a present you are not expecting!

The Union:

In the mail today I received a letter from that good friend. I opened the large envelope to discover photocopies of my friend’s elementary school yearbook with pictures of Anderson Cooper and his brother Carter. Anderson looks the same except that his dark (probably brown, but it is a black and white picture) hair has now changed to that crowd favorite “gunmetal grey.” I love getting mail and I love that my friend thought of me and I love Anderson Cooper, so getting a photo of the young Anderson in the mail was fantastic!!! I won’t share the picture of Anderson circa sixth grade because, you know, some things are special and you want to keep them private, but here are a few classic shots for you to feast on:

And a little something to help you understand where I’m coming from- Anderson Cooper’s 360 Degrees of Hotness

I just mailed a card to your mom, sans Anderson, to spread the joy of receiving mail and “pay it forward.” Plus your mom made me strawberry jam for Christmas and I’m way behind on my thank you notes.

Side note, I just noticed the comments on my last post. I had stopped checking for them because you were usually the person leaving the comments, but Marion and Phil hooked me up! As you and Rich would say, “they’re good people.” I didn’t even know Phil was reading this. Hi Phil!

Any minute now, my ship is coming in

2007-01-02T21:39:00.000-08:00

So Phillipa, it is a new year and I just wrote to our friend M* that I don't know if I should feel bad that 2006 is over because somehow moving on seems like I am moving away from you, or if I should feel better that it is a new year and a chance for more healing. I was very anxious about Christmas and the holidays without you, and more anxious about seeing your mom and feeling like I would fall apart when faced with the enormity of her pain, but it was better than I expected. Your mom was so quiet and sad, but when I first saw her she hugged me for a long time and it felt like we were acknowledging each other's grief and ache. I don’t know how she can try to be there for me when I feel that I need to be there for her- how can she see past her own grief to reach out to me? I feel consumed by grief at times, but then I remember that your mother’s pain must be greater than mine. It is like I want to reserve the title of “most grieving” for her. This whole worrying about the amount and way I grieve and others grieve is completely strange, but that issue is for another time. Back to the important things- I saw your mother twice while I was in California and it broke my heart each time. Then she blew me away when she gave me homemade strawberry jam (I had it on my toast this morning, mmmm, good. Where was that stuff when we were roommates?), and even brought pig ears in a paper bag with “Wolfie and Bella” written on it and tied with a bow. She gave my dogs Christmas presents and I still get nervous when I call her because I am weak and she is strong. But she’s your mom and you already knew that she was awesome.

Tonight I was watching Scrubs on Comedy Central, as a little reward for getting two more applications in (I have two more due in two days, but I am going to tempt fate and watch Scrubs, damnit!). I started crying, CRYING AT SCRUBS, A COMEDY, because a pregnant woman had a heart defect and was either going to die or had to deliver the baby, who would then be premature and would probably die. And in other news, I have turned into my mother who cries at Hallmark commercials and, apparently, network comedies when pregnant women and children are in danger (I will not even mention the crying that happens when I get the Heifer International newsletter, but you can guess). On Scrubs J.D. goes on in his monologue about balance in the hospital and how when one person dies someone else gets to live, and then instead of either the mother or baby dying a woman waiting for a new heart dies down the hall. And then her character comes back in a ball gown and starts singing, because earlier in the episode she had said that she hopes death is like a Broadway musical. Now that you have a lot of background information, here is the kicker: she is singing the Colin Hay song “Waiting for My Real Life to Begin.” You put that song on the last set of mixed CDs you sent me about a year ago. I knew I recognized the song and I could sing along to the words, but I couldn’t place it- was this song on the radio? In a musical? How did I know it? And then I figured it out and was touched by your thoughtfulness and incredible taste in music. You and Zach Braff would be so good together.

Any minute now, my ship is coming in
I'll keep checking the horizon
I'll stand on the bow, feel the waves come crashing
Come crashing down down down, on me

And you say, be still my love
Open up your heart
Let the light shine in
But don't you understand
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin

When I awoke today, suddenly nothing happened
But in my dreams, I slew the dragon
And down this beaten path, and up this cobbled lane
I'm walking in my old footsteps, once again
And you say, just be here now
Forget about the past, your mask is wearing thin
Let me throw one more dice
I know that I can win
I'm waiting for my real life to begin

Any minute now, my ship is coming in
I’ll keep checking the horizon
And I'll check my machine, there's sure to be that call
It's gonna happen soon, soon, soon
It's just that times are lean

And you say, be still my love
Open up your heart, let the light shine in
Don't you understand
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin

*Don’t you like my new habit I just started today of mentioning people by their initials? I got it from the blog of a London call girl, Belle de Jour. I figured that even though this blog is not about wild sex for money or even wild sex, some of our friends might not want their names all over the internet. I’m just trying to look out for my peeps.

He’s the man who hired all the criminals, The White House shadows who hide behind closed doors

2006-12-04T14:37:00.000-08:00

Hey Carrie,

Our little Nettie is growing into such a good Democrat! She e-mailed me an article from the Cal Poly paper, and I have to admit two things- 1) Nettie is more up to date on her Bush news, as I had no idea about this ridiculous library, and 2) my first thought, when I saw the picture of the author, was something like "wow, he looks very Republican, and exactly like an old boyfriend." He is apparently not Republican. I know, I know, I should not assume someone's political preference by his or her clothes, but something about the striped polo said "conservative future stockbroker" to me. I do not know the politics of the old boyfriend, as discussions on social security and nuclear treaties don't come up often in eighth grade, being busy with handholding and kissing in the bike racks and such.

Check out the article here.

In other news, I figured out how to put the titles in italics (turns out it is the same as for the body of the post! Why didn't I try that earlier?!), which I figure is proper since they are usually song lyrics. You know, because I like to quote song lyrics, and I imagine you guessing the song and the artist, just like before.

We are the sons of Westwood and we hail the blue and gold

2006-12-03T10:29:00.000-08:00

Carrie, I know you would be thrilled. We won, we ended their winning streak in the rivalry, and we ruined their hope of going for another national championship. Go Bruins!

Mountain passes slipping into stones

2006-11-29T15:19:00.000-08:00

Hey Carrie,

Winter arrived last night!

The whole city is transformed!

It's a private conversation No one hears you say

2006-11-12T23:12:00.000-08:00

So Livewire,

When writing a personal statement, or a letter of intent, or a "please let me into your school, I'm smart and I promise I'll work hard" type of document, there is a fine line between arrogance and stating your accomplishments to prove that you are smart and can work hard. There is also a fine line between self-deprecation and knowing your place (you want to come there to learn, so you can't already know it all right?), and sounding like your life has been a waste save for the opportunity to one day learn from people at the school to which you are applying. And just like in Mrs. Evan's first grade class, I am still not good at staying inside the lines.

Todd seems to like the very rough draft of a statement I put together, but I think he’s just saying that so I will stop asking him for help and suggestions. I don’t know why I bother, it’s not like he’s a writer or anything…

We'll crucify the insincere tonight

2006-11-07T15:03:00.000-08:00

Carrie,

It's official- I am a resident of New Mexico and I have the Voter ID card to prove it! It feels strange- there are no actors on the ballot. Jessica Simpson filmed her last movie in Santa Fe and Bill Richardson, the current governor, has courted Hollywood so that makes me feel a little more at home.

I'm off to participate in democracy.

So now the year is cold again and memory is warm

2006-10-31T14:06:00.000-08:00

CEP,

Wolfie is still our designated welcoming committee. You took this picture during your visit when we had only had him a week:

Here he is last week with my brother:

I know, I have become that person who takes pictures of her dog and puts them online. And I haven't even shown you pictures of the other one yet!

By the way, I instantly recognized your camouflage capris in that photo above. You used to wear those all the time. I can still recall many of your outfits and particular items of clothing and shoes. In contrast, I can rarely distinguish something my brother wears from one day to the next, as it all looks the same and gives off the same vibe-- brooding genius.

When the air was clear this morning, And the frost still on the ground

2006-10-26T17:21:00.000-07:00

Phillips,

Winter is here! New Mexico decided to skip fall and go straight to winter, and though this time last year I was mistaking seeds for snow in my excitement, I’m not sure I’m ready for real winter now. My windshield was covered in ice this morning. I tried the tricks I tried last winter, turning the heat up and the defroster on and then trying to use the windshield wipers to knock off the ice, but they didn’t work this time either. I had to get out the ice scraper from the bottom of the hall closet.

But look at the pretty design the ice made on the roof of Marge:

I got to work and could see snow, not just on the mountains high above but on the hay outside my window:

My brother is in the air, as we speak, flying to visit me. When he left California today it was 85 degrees. Hope he brought a jacket!

As I am facing what appears to be quite a long, cold, snowy winter, probably much longer and colder than last year’s drought that pretended to be winter, I am trying to think of all the good things associated with the season. Like blankets and hot chocolate and slippers. And reading books in bed on Saturday mornings. And wearing handmade scarves.

I'm dangerously romantic
When the leaves are coming down
When the air was clear this morning
And the frost still on the ground
When I wore those cozy woolen gloves
To bicycle into town
Well of course I'd want to fall in love
And finally settle down

I'm hopelessly sentimental
When the winter comes a storm
When the snow is on the mailbox
And the sidewalks all are gone
But the fire in the woodstove
Can keep me so nice and warm
That of course I'd want to live with you
And share this simple home

--David Wilcox

And I knew I'd made horrible call and now the state line felt like the Berlin wall

2006-10-12T10:16:00.000-07:00

Carrie,

Apparently I can’t learn from my own experiences. A co-worker recently lost his father and was out last week. When I saw him back in the office I proceeded to say one horrible thing after another. Witness:

Stacey: How was your trip?

Co-worker: Ah…

Stacey’s Inner Monologue: How do you think his trip was? He was not off sipping mai tais on a sandy beach. His father just died and he was with his family, grieving, making funeral arrangements and taking care of his mother. That is a trip that no one wants to take.

Stacey: Uh, I hope it went okay.

Co-worker: Ah…

Stacey’s Inner Monologue: Are you the most insensitive person in the world? Were you not listening to everything I just said? Why can’t you say something sincere and sensitive like “I was sorry to hear about your father?” Why can’t you just say something short and kind and then stop bothering him?

Stacey: What am I saying? Of course it was not okay. I’m really sorry.

Co-worker: Ah…

Stacey’s Inner Monologue: Nice try. You just pointed out how stupid your earlier comments were and reminded him of how it is not okay that his father has died. Does he think you are sorry for his loss or sorry for sounding like an idiot?

Co-worker: Thanks for the good wishes.

I was on the receiving end of similar comments just six months ago but I guess I didn’t learn much about how to handle this type of situation. People meant well when they shared their sorrow for my loss and pain, even when the words came out jumbled or confused. I just ignored it when people said things that seemed less than sensitive, as I was too caught up in my grief to think about them. It is so hard to talk about death and loss and pain that it seems no one knows what to say. I hope my co-worker understood my intentions, but I still feel like I must have made the difficult situation of returning to work after the death of someone you love that much more upsetting.

The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago

2006-10-06T15:08:00.000-07:00

C-Philly,

As I pull together photos from this summer, I keep coming back to this one:

Prayer wheels outside the Potala Palace in Lhasa.

Lhasa is beautiful and photographs well, even for someone like me who finally got a digital camera nine months ago and barely knows how to use it. I know you were looking forward to seeing my pictures and I was looking forward to seeing photos from the adventures you had planned for the summer. You'd probably have a few sunset beach scenes, and the silhouette of an old building at night and a view of traffic taken with a slow shutter speed (ok, clearly I have no idea what I'm talking about when it comes to photography, but you know I mean when you take pictures that let in more light and make the tail lights of cars blurry as the camera captures them over time, I've seen you do it). Your photos would be beautiful, and perhaps if I was lucky you would give one to me in a frame for Christmas or on a card.

I’m looking forward to something beautiful in that flat, smelling-of-cows, one-stop-light-town-in-Texas sort of way. Behold:

Muleshoe, Texas. Muleshoe is on the way to Lubbock and is the highlight of the drive for me. The first time we went to Texas from here I could not believe the town’s name was Muleshoe. It amused me and amused Todd’s family that it amused me so much. One of these days we will stop in Muleshoe and I will get a proper picture of the town, not just of the sign as we drive by. It will probably not be tomorrow, however, as we have a Texas Tech/ Missouri game to get to and a birthday to celebrate and barbeque to eat. Weekends in Texas with family and old friends who tell stories of Todd when he was a wee one = good times. Plus you get to drive through Muleshoe.

Let it rock me in the arms of stranger's angels until it brings me home

2006-10-05T22:11:00.000-07:00

Phillips,

In a memory of our married life, we once shared a review with each other about David Wilcox, singer-songwriter-he-who-expressed-our-feelings -in-songs-better-than-we-could-in-any-medium. When we talked about the review we both had picked out the same sentence used to describe David’s music because we felt it put our own appreciation of his work into words for us. The review said David’s songs “dare us to remember the promises we made to ourselves of who we want to be. They offer us a guiding hand, along with the hope and courage to go forward.” I shared this memory at your memorial service, because it was yet another example of how our thought processes were alike, or at least an example that we spent too much time together to have separate identities any longer. Seriously though, I think we both loved David's songs because they were beautiful and meaningful and hopeful. You could not leave his concert without dreaming of how you were going to change the world, or least how you were going to be nice to strangers and how they were going to appreciate it.

Tonight I had the opportunity to hear Dr. Paul Farmer speak at the College of Santa Fe. A friend (I know! I have a friend in Santa Fe, exciting, huh? It took a while, but now I have actually found a small group of people with interesting thoughts and similar politics, and I realize how nice it is to feel welcomed and at home- and how nice it is to find people who will talk about economics and the wonders of the Long Island Ice Tea (which I had for the first time just two months ago- how did I get through college so unscathed?) and mothers who like to talk about marriage, grandchildren, moving closer to home, etc. Apparently mothers across the country do this, not just those in the 805)) gave me a book on Dr. Farmer and his work in public health and development, Mountains Beyond Mountains. This same friend, who doesn't seem to mind my inclusion of unnecessary detail as asides in conversations (or blog posts, as shown above), came over for dinner before the lecture. Can I just say that it is nice to have people come over, eat pasta with vodka cream sauce, and then go to an inspiring lecture that makes you want to move to Rwanda and really get going on this whole "development" thing? I really needed both the friend and the lecture, as I am trying to get my act together and apply for graduate school. Thinking about tests and essays and five years of school and possibly five years of accumulating debt can really slow you down and dampen your enthusiasm. And then Paul Farmer comes and makes it seem that finding ways to bring medicine and build schools and get clean water is not just something nice to do but it is something necessary to do. If it takes time and schooling and a lot of patience and very few and small successes and many setbacks, then it will still be worth it.

Much like our euphoria on those drives home up the 405 from David’s concerts at the Coach House, it is really wonderful to share exciting talks and ideas with people. Instead of these moments of hope just living on in my mind I get to play them over again in conversations. And even though my new friends aren’t yet ready to eat Cheez-Its at two in the morning while I quote song lyrics, we can talk about AIDS education over chocolate cupcakes. It’s a start.

New wallpaper, new shoe leather

2006-10-02T19:37:00.000-07:00

C-Philly,

You know how I keep everything, including a phone number someone wrote on a post-it four years ago that I have now stored in my phone and brochures from whale watching tours I have never taken? So today I went through a bunch of stuff and threw out bags and bags of no-longer-useful or never-were-useful papers (I finally threw out a park service flyer from my trip to Alaska three years ago- see how sick I am?). One benefit, however, to keeping small pieces of paper and putting them in big boxes that you take all the way to New Mexico is that you find hidden gems from days past, quotes that made us burst out laughing and so we knew we had to write them down for posterity. Back in the days when we had the WE channel, Women's Entertainment or something, for free in our apartment on Midvale and they showed Felicity every weekday at 4 and we didn't have anything more pressing to do because, hey, we weren't studying, we would sit on Tanya's couches and enjoy the two Scotts: Foley and Speedman. During those glory days you ran into someone with whom one of us had been romantically involved and who will remain nameless and came back to report the following:

"He looks sick, he looks like he's growing [his facial scruff] out, which is not appropriate. You're not Scott Speedman, so don't do it, ever."

As much as we hated facial scruff, Scott Speedman could pull it off. In fact, Ben wouldn't have been Ben without the scruff. But unfortunately not everyone understood this paradox. You got it, though, right from the start.