More Music

So I meant to ask you this in my last post, but forgot: What was your first big musical event?

Mine was Pink Floyd, the "Animals" tour, at the sold-out Oakland Coliseum. Oh how I was mesmerized by the sheer din and roar of the crowd when the colossal mirrored pinwheel rose from the stage. And when the enormous farm animal balloons sailed to the ceiling--genius! I'm sure the music was good too.

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I've read this before, but just came across it again on Sans Serif, and thought I'd remind/introduce you to it: People I'm going to sleep with now that you're gone." Funny. Well written. And yes, it's adult material.

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I'm making a concerted effort to clean out our freezer. And by "clean out" I mean consume. I can't remember exactly when I bought that tamale pie and box of vegetable samosas from Trader Joes. I can't even remember the season, much less the month. That lone bun is no longer being shifted around from corner to corner. I think there's some applesauce from last year--surely M will enjoy it on his next piece of pork? I finally finished off that last bit of extra pesto I made this summer that wouldn't fit in the jar so it sat on top wrapped in clingwrap. One thing that will remain in the icebox, along with the ice: a container with a gel-filled first-aid wrap. One never knows when one might need a cold compress.

So I leave you with another question: Anything interesting in your freezer?

Old Fogey Music

So I ushered last night. Chicago played to a sold out house. The band, not the musical, which they must've been more clear about in the pre-show advertising because no-one stormed out of the auditorium when the drums started thumping and the fresnels started flashing, muttering "This is not the Chicago I paid for!" which happened when they were here six months ago. It was an usher's dream show: no opening act, no intermission, no never-ending encores--the house lights came up at precisely 10:00 p.m. and everyone went home happy, some already sporting tie-dye tour shirts purchased at the schwag table.

It was a day of classic rock talk--we discussed Neil Young's new album at the gym that morning, my teacher rhapsodizing how his music "took her back." So I'm finally at the age that every generation goes through, looking back at the music of my youth, associating it with excitement and newness while these young folks today must hear it as a kind of bygone. I can't imagine how jazz or swing left listeners tearful or breathless when it first came on the music scene, but now that I think of it with a brain of a certain age, both styles must have been thrilling and rebellious indeed. As was Mozart, wasn't he? Well, he's still pretty darn thrilling.

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We're Not Self-Indulgent Whiners, We're Oral Historians! "What we've noticed is that bloggers aren't necessarily wannabe journalists, or people out to break news or get noticed by the public. They're writing for themselves, and their blogs serve as a recreational and therapeutic outlet for their thoughts," said Bill Schreiner, Vice President, AOL Community. "In a way, blogs serve as oral history. When it comes to sharing blogs and reading other people's blogs, we like to connect with people, learn about their lives, and find common ground. There's no pressure to write about a particular subject or keep blogs maintained a certain way, and it's not necessarily a popularity contest." Yeah, not necessarily...

I've decided that when I talk about my blog, I'm going to couch it more in terms of an "online newsletter" or something along those lines. (Dontcha love that word, "couch"?)

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I recently read an article in the New York Times about how the chef at the Google cafeteria cashed in his stock and is opening his own restaurant called Calafia, based on a Mexican myth from which the state of California draws its name. What the heck? I thought. I'd never heard of Calafia before. Shocking! So thanks to Google, here's the Calafia story (spoiler: she's a black amazon warrior queen). If a new cat ever finds its way into my home, she shall be called Calafia. Unless she tells me different.

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See those vases in the back, at left? My mom made 'em.


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It's been a long day off that somehow contained a lot of work. Time for a Bud Light taken while reclining in a chaise lounge on the deck with HMS Surprise blaring tastefully from the boombox. I'm sure my neighbors could use a little culcha.

Loneliness Vs. Aloneness, or I Vant to Be Alone

So there I was in the bathroom stall at work yesterday morning, trying to suppress giddy giggling. I had just booked my plane tickets from Amsterdam to Florence, and a happier Friday I could not imagine.

But as I contemplated the shiny stall door latch, my elation was tempered by the thought that this trip would not be as I had first imagined it--a time alone for exploration of both the internal and external variety, a chance to pick up the gauntlet I had thrown down for myself to be utterly alone in a foreign place with few language skills and a huge desire to gulp down as much gelato, fresh pasta, and Renaissance art as I could stomach. I would have to rely a little on the kindness of strangers who may or may not speak English--very difficult for me indeed. Instead, a work colleague had made plans for Florence as well, and now I have a traveling companion--a very different experience indeed.

There's no getting around it: While I'm secretly relieved to not have to travel alone, I was also secretly looking forward to the somewhat-stressful-for-me rush of figuring out the plane, train, and walk to the hotel alone, of standing outside my hotel door and setting off in whatever direction suits my heart at that moment without having to think of another person. I feel like I need to do that, to find my way alone, literally and mentally. I think that was what I love about New York so much. No-one knew me. I could be whoever I wanted to be, project mystery or extravagance just for a little while. I've missed that.

So I'm mourning that vacation vision a little, because I won't be able to help myself--I'll be concerned with my traveling companion and her needs and won't be able to have the perfectly delicious, selfish vacation I had intended. I can be as clear as a bell with her that I want to spend some time alone, but I'll still worry that I'll hurt her feelings. I'm already worried. She says, and I believe her, that she's up for anything, but that means it's my responsibility to plan for her now, too. While I like her very much, we don't socialize outside of the office, and I don't think this will change after the trip. Why did she choose Florence, I wonder? Because I was going, and she didn't want to travel by herself? It's funny to have that perspectional (yes that's not a word, but do you know what I mean?) realization that some people would never have an adventure alone--it wouldn't be an adventure without someone to share it with as it unfolds.

But another realization came to me as I checked my teeth in the bathroom mirror: my tendency is to be alone, to do it myself, because that is indeed easier for me. I don't have to talk things out, bounce ideas around with another person. So maybe the greater challenge after all is to travel with a companion. Maybe that's a better gauntlet for me.

At least, that's what I'm telling myself. She's booked her plane tickets too and that's the hand I've been dealt by the Flying Spaghetti Monster, so time to suck it up. To enumerate the benefits of traveling with someone else, for my own sake:

- If something terrible happens to me, I won't be a continent and an ocean away from my family and friends alone.
- I'll see the city and its offerings through someone else's lens, and perhaps learn something or see something that I otherwise would've missed.
- I'll hopefully partake of something at her suggestion that I never would've thought of on my own.
- Maybe having a friend at my side will embolden me to reach out to more locals, since I won't be so worried about my own security.

But I'm really just making mental lemonade from lemons.

On a side but perhaps related note--maybe being an introvert helped sway the child-free decision. Not only are there fewer people to in my immediate life to take into consideration, all those peripheral people decisions are nipped in the bud--sleepovers, birthday parties, playdates--no large groups of talkative people to worry about when all I want to do is putter about in peace. No need to worry about my extroverted child's exploits or activities. I realize how important it is for a significant other to balance one's own proclivities for excess one way or the other, but the idea of living in a household where everyone else is an extrovert. Oh. God. No. Now that's something that I would've paid a geneticist for--"Make me an introverted baby." I'm grateful of course that other introverts are rising to the challenge of procreating so that our line can continue.

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Happy blogiversary to me. It's been a year since I took up the digital ink. Amazing that I've stuck with it for a year, I'm such a dilettante.

An appropriate anniversary meme by way of Josh:

1. Go into your archive.

2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).

3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).

4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.

From November 2, 2004--Election Day: "Yes, we have lots of issues to sort out still, but this will be a little bit of closure."

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Happy autumn!

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Letter from a Young Poet

My nephew Ryan sent me the following poem:

Can you read the Christmas tree that stands so strong and bright?
Can you read the Christmas tree that glistens in the night?

Oh the pumpkins strong and bright,
That is a very fright.
When it goes out haunting,
it’s sure to give you a fright.

When Santa Clause does meet his reindeer, very strong and true
When the night fades away, Santa Clause is home to me and you

He added that he plans on dressing up as Harry Potter for Halloween.

Talk Like a Pirate Day

...is almost over, but you can always carry that rebel spirit with you the year 'round by visiting this hilarious treasure of a site.

Blue Dog Relief

My stepmom and I are both Blue Dog fans. She shared this with me. I don't think I could have this Blue Dog chez moi--it would just make me too sad and angry.

George Rodrigue presents a silkscreen benefiting the victims of Hurricane Katrina.

We Will Rise Again shows the American flag covered with water. The blue dog is partly submerged, and its eyes, normally yellow, are red with a broken heart. Like a ship's S.O.S., the red cross on the dog's chest calls out for help.

Because our goal is ambitious, the print We Will Rise Again is limited by time, rather than by number. For one year, Rodrigue will sign every relief print purchased for $500 or more through his website or gallery. Afterwards, any remaining prints will be available unsigned only. Sales of this print benefit the relief effort--specifically our charity of choice, the Southeast Louisiana Chapter of the American Red Cross. On our website www.georgerodrigue.com, we will post a continuous record of the funds given. If you are a resident of Lafayette, you can visit our temporary Lafayette gallery location, at 2021 Pinhook Road, Lafayette, LA (337) 233-3274.

Another Life

As I drove into the Borders shopping center today, with the intention of spending several hours in the Italian travel section, I spied evidence of a former life: the diesel-powered Mobile Animal Center, at Petco to perform a mission of pet adoption.

When I first moved to Sonoma County, I decided that volunteering would be just the ticket to making new friends and connections. The nice folks at the Volunteer Center helped me pick out the County's animal shelter as the place for me. It was a mixed experience, to say the least. It took me a year not to drive away in tears after a volunteer meeting, the constant and despairing howling of the dogs breaking my heart. But it wasn't the sadness of so many animals treated like toys outgrown or punching bags that finally drove me away for good. It was the divisiveness of the people that I couldn't take.

When I first joined the volunteer board, they had just undertaken a project to raise funds for the Mobile Animal Center, an adoption and surgery unit on wheels. I promised myself I would stay on until it was completed, and kept that promise--barely. I stopped volunteering just weeks after the MAC rumbled into the Shelter compound. When I spied the MAC today, I wish I could've felt satisfaction at helping to bring that goal to fruition for the Shelter; instead, I wanted to run away.

So while I needed cat food at Petco, I first settled deep into an arm chair in the children's section at Borders, taking notes on cheap but charming lodgings in Florence. Like a gambler in a casino, I lost track of time and emerged blinking in the sunshine hours later. The adoption was finished, though the MAC was still in the parking lot. Heading over to Petco, I did say hello to the Volunteer Coordinator who was getting ready to drive the MAC back to the Shelter. He and I had had a good relationship, and I was glad to see him. Standing close to the MAC, it looked even better than we had envisioned it in our board meetings--it was a powerful, professional looking vehicle, a tool that could accomplish all the adoptions and neuterings we had intended for it. Again, I wished that I could associate some of my fundraising and emotional efforts with that vehicle...but shame was mostly what welled up. I feel I like fled the Shelter as if it were a sinking ship, leaving my fellow volunteers and all those animals to drown.

But y'know, writing that--they aren't drowning, are they? The MAC is rolling, volunteers are still volunteering, and while animals are still being put to death every day at the Shelter, at least some are finding homes. And that's a good thing.

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I wish I could do justice to the conversation I overheard in the chair next to me at Borders. Parents were trying to introduce their young son to the fact that there are different religions.

Father: "Remember when I told you about the Greek gods? These are like Indian Greek gods. See, this one has four arms."

Son: "Four arms?"

Father: "Yes, see, one, two, three, four. And these are the Zoroastrians." Turns page.

Mother, interjecting over Father's shoulder: "See, this is a bible like your dad has. Just like your dad."

Father: "And this is Buddha. He's kind of like Jesus."

Mother, angrily: "No, he's NOT like Jesus."

Father: "He was a teacher like Jesus."

Mother grumbles.

Son: "I want to worship Buddha!"

Parents: "What?"

Son repeats: "I want to worship Buddha."

Mother: "Just because you're learning about other religions doesn't mean you have to change your faith."

So true.

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I've indulged myself today: french fries (fie upon thee, Cancer!), blackberry pie a la mode, and Chardonnay all before 5:00 p.m.; I bought a pack of those letter press note cards I admire so much at Borders--they were 75% off, so it seemed like a rendezvous with Destiny. Also while at Borders, I picked up an Italian CD and phrase book. But will I really need more than gelato, vino, and caffe in my vocabulary?

M has definitely indulged me lately, too. After threatening darkly that he would come home one day to find me torn and bleeding beneath the closet door, he fixed the track so it now glides smoothly. After five years of doing battle just to open it, it's strange and wonderful to have it sliding at my will. He replaced the Wonder Wagon's radio antennae so that now the Roberts hearings are coming in loud and clear. And he spoiled me today, coming home from work in the middle of the day to drop off the prettiest little copper butter warmer from Sur la Table, an instrument of culinary beauty that I had eyed for years but could never bring myself to drop the cash for. And now it's mine, all mine! "Imagine golden butter sinking slowly as it melts..."

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It's been so busy at work and home lately that I haven't had time to surf my favorite blogs. Feels like there's been something missing in my life these past few days!

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Are you a liberal? If so, you should read Bad Reporter regularly. Well, conservatives might find it amusing too.

"Introductory Fluff" It May Be...

...but this podcast on InformationWeek begins with a minute or so of my fame. Fourteen more to go!

What Would You Do?

"Pete. This is Tony. It's about a quarter to 2 Phoenix time. Could you give me a call, please? I've got some bad news for you. Bye."

There's one other person in the phone book with the same surname, so sometimes I get his calls. Should I call John and let him know that he didn't dial Pete's house? What if it's some sort of trap or scam?

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Scenes from a suburb:


I love waffles. And I particularly love waffles made in my beautiful waffle iron from the 1920s. It's a little tricky to operate--the "thermostat" is judging whether or not it should be unplugged for a while to cool off--but oh how tasty to eat.



M has a new way to blow off steam: his potato gun. Even I fired it off once, into the hillside behind our house. Thank goodness we have open space nearby. I don't think there are any more homeless people back there, but as a friend at work cracked, at least we'd be sending food their way. The potato gun has proven deadly--M dispatched a rat with it (the rat had the misfortune to be rummaging through the garage garbage can). Eew.

Animation Splendor

Have you seen this? The 30-Second Bunnies Theatre Library? Hootier than any ol' owl.

Filling the Well

Saturday was a day to call out the Muse. Shake out the ordinary. Remember that there is a whole world of poetry and literature and beauty out there. I forget that sometimes, wrapped up in my own little neighborhood of busywork and sloth.

We don't have much "kulcha" here in the hinterlands of the North Bay, but there is an annual Sonoma County Book Fair. So I went. I attended a poetry reading featuring the new Sonoma County Poet Laureate, Geri DiGiorno, who founded the Petaluma Poetry Walk (which I will be partaking of with Rebecca and possibly Julia, childcare willing); Al Young, California's Poet Laureate; and Kay Ryan, a poet Rebecca introduced me to, funny and charming. It was an incredibly lovely day, Saturday was. A number of poetry enthusiasts crowded into the poetry tent. Sadly, I was just about the youngest one there, and it was a little difficult to hear--guess the organizers didn't want to blast poetry onto the main drag. Or maybe I'm not as young as I'd like to think, and my hearing is going.

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Fountain at the Luther Burbank home
Originally uploaded by suzipaw.

I'm finally getting the hang of the digital photography phenomenon: take pictures--lots of pictures. So after the reading, I perused the tables then walked down to the Luther Burbank Home, he of the Russet Burbank potato and champion of the artichoke, among many other culinary creations. There's a lovely fountain there that I wanted to share with you.

More Burbank Home photos on my Flickr page.

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I walked back to the Book Fair (see photo above) to hear a panel on literary blogs. I was prepared to be smug and disdainful (really, jealous) of the panelists. But lo and behold, I learned something, and all four were so sincere and seemed so kind. They were:

Colin Berry (kind of a "Green Acres" themed blog, sans Eva Gabor)
Michelle Richmond (lots of links to lit blogs here)
Martha O'Connor, author of Bitch Posse
Jordan Rosenfeld (she has a local radio show here, too)

...and I think any one of them would fit well into our writers group. Which is saying a great deal.

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Just to cap the day, I met with three dear friends for drinks, discussions of a personal and political nature, and dessert. Had I seen M for more than five minutes that Saturday, I think it would have qualified as a Perfect Day.

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So, the fourth anniversary of September 11 has passed. I did have a few crying moments yesterday morning, and I wasn't even in NYC at the time. If you have the stomach for a first-hand account, here's one by Meg Cabot.

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Ah, Stinky Youth: As I was trying to purchase a bottle of wine the other night via the Albertson's self-serve check-out, I had to track down an employee to approve the sale. As we walked back to the check stand, the little upstart asked for my ID, and I just laughed. After a pause, he laughed too and said, "Just kidding!" Hahahah. Hah. Kids these days.

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Well, one wonderful thing happened during my 12-hour work day on Friday (yeah, I can hear the hinges creaking on those tiny violin cases, but it was the second one in a row): I purchased my airline tickets for our conference in Amsterdam in October! I tacked on a few extra days because I want to get down to Florence. I've never been to Italy, have no Italian whatsoever, but it just sounds so lovely. A perfect place to be utterly on my own, despite a bit of trepidation at being utterly on my own.

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Owl is hooting. The days are growing shorter and chillier, aren't they?

The New Normal

Well, Netflix and I will be renewing our affair--M has started school. The second year is supposed to be the most demanding. It certainly is hard on us--I'll only see him a couple of hours per week from now til the end of next summer. Sigh. Facing all this time alone has made me--gasp--consider returning to toiling on my novel. Like Rebecca, artistic inspiration in the form of a chapter structure came to me while I was chopping tomatoes for a salad I consumed today. While alone. That's how bad it is. Sigh.

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Domestic Update: M and I went on our first bike ride together today, making our way through the dry golden field by the fairgrounds, Rex running between us. It was lovely, I love bicycling! But as we finished and were preparing to put the bikes back in the truck bed, I began pulling thorns out of the tires, and it was like I had turned on a fan so much air was shooting out of the inner tubes. M has promised to fix the tires. And buy me streamers for the handle bars.

Wasps are building a lovely nest under the eaves above the succulent post.

And our neighborhood has rats. Apparently they descend from the field behind our house, through our yard, across the street, and gnaw their way into our neighbor's living room. Ugh. I think rats as pets are perfectly fine, but the feral rat thing gives me the icks. M has set out traps baited with cheese and peanut butter, but after exulting in four kills in 36 hours, the cheese stands alone. Smart little furry guys. At least the mystery of Rex's nightly fascination with the scrap wood pile along the side of the house has been solved.

%^!@(*&*!!! Writing this blog entry has made me neglect my steamed vegetables, and now I've burned my saucepan, the potatoes and carrots are more smoked than steamed. Well, perhaps it's all for the good--it's an Emeril brand pan, and I've always felt conflicted about owning it, since I despise his show.

Time, then, for "Mansfield Park" and a bowl of cereal...

Another Grandma Photo

Grandma at 96
Originally uploaded by suzipaw.

My uncle Lloyd took this photo at Grandma's birthday party. I'm so glad he and my aunt were there for her celebration. Wish I could have been there too!

Ah, Sweet Youth

Friday night I decamped for the interior, arriving in Redding in time to see my niece cheering on the football team. It felt both a little exhilarating and a little foreign to be surrounded by Today's Youth: low-cut fashions and spirit attire, in this case in hand-crafted tshirts and fuzzy accessories in shades of yellow and black--my niece is a Hornet; an excellent school band led by a very popular teacher sporting a Viking helmet; a fence and track separating the players from the crowd, which apparently can get quite passionate, mostly on the part of parents. I sat with my brother and his wife and their friends, ate snack-shack pizza, bought a black and gold Hornets tshirt and changed into it in the bathroom to show my support. My nephew was sitting with friends but stopped by to give me a hug--every time I see him, he's a little taller, his voice a little deeper.

The visit has prompted me to revisit my child-free decision. Not that I've wavered from my chosen path--it's just that I know that there are many worlds that I don't intersect with mine, but I particularly miss being around a younger generation regularly. Later as we hung out in the living room with several of my niece's friends ("Aunt Suzi, you better sleep in my room--we're going to be pretty loud"), I felt so awkward, an unhip aged galumph of a 'dult, as I used to call grown-ups in my teen years. I wanted somehow to impress them, be the cool auntie, a supermodel or rockstar, something bright to attract them from their own trajectory which is fast diverging from mine. How often will I see them once they leave home?

This seems like such a particularly fragile/fleeting/amazing time in their lives. They were children for so long, and now they aren't. They aren't exactly adults, either, but it's a transition that goes by in the blink of an eye, doesn't it? My niece is talking about college. And it's so wonderful seeing her taking control of her life, taking responsibility for how she spends her time. The day after the game, she cleaned the house and then ran some errands, driving her own car. She scolded her brother for leaving the cap off the toothpaste, demonstrating how the cap should be applied, like a flight attendant with a seat belt. Woe betide her college roommates!

While in Redding I also saw my nephew's football game--he plays defense and offense, so lots of field time--which happened to be a game where the cheerleaders are coached by my niece. It was truly a football coupla days--my brother is the local college's athletic equipment manager, and that evening we saw the college game. Another opportunity to be a voyeur of youth, how they laughed, tossed their hair, rearranged their cliques in the bleachers. But I think my favorite part of that game was the half-time, when the kids took over the field to play catch. There was one pair, a father and his young daughter. She was perhaps ten or eleven years old, tanned, no sign of hormones protruding, a joy to watch. She never flinched as the pigskin flew towards her, waiting for it with a casual grace, raising her arms to catch it at the last moment. She was so at ease with the ball, launching it perfectly at her dad, even when he was running a pattern. And she ran beautifully too, starting slow then digging in and accelerating like a pro receiver. I wonder how long her game of catch will last.

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The trip was a good visit for TV, too. I had some downtime alone when the rest of the family was off suiting or wrapping up, so I was able to take in Iron Chef America, The Sopranos, and an Agassi match in the US Open. And I missed it, but during the post-game party, my niece was on TV, shown with her squad--the local station gives the school teams lots of air time, and she's quite photogenic.

We also looked at Hurricane Katrina coverage, which I couldn't take for very long. It reminded me of September 11, 2001, when I fled work and came home to glue myself to the tube so I could watch reruns of the devastation over and over again, thinking it would help, but it only made me feel worse. The disaster aftermath is making me very angry, too, and a little scared. How would this bluest of states fare if a disaster, natural or otherwise, befell us? I'm starting to gather my emergency kit together this week.

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In this time of blessings-counting, I am reminded harder than ever that I am so very lucky to have an incredible family, both immediate and extended, to call my own. During my few days with my brothers and their families, they showered me with kindnesses. My younger brother tucked a bouquet of flowers from his garden into my dashboard, the gardenia scent keeping my company all the way home. Stopping at my older brother's place in Chico, I was greeted with gifts and treated to lunch. I was also treated to a peek at another wonderful time in a young life: my other nephew learning to spell. "Harry Potter" and "Star Wars" are his favorite phrases. He drew me an owl-themed birthday card (Hedwig on one side, the Owl in the Shower on the other), which I am quite enamored of.

While in Redding, I particularly enjoyed morning time with my brother. We were the earliest risers which afforded us several hours to just sit and talk and gossip together. How I wish I could do that more often. It's hard being hours away from my family...but would we have these conversations if I lived down the block? Would we take our time together for granted if we were neighbors?

(Confidential to DoJers: We'd like to propose a Descendants of Julia reunion at the Lake in '06--any thoughts?)

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It's Monday, Labor Day. Car, clothes, dog, and floor all needed to be washed. Well, 50% is not too bad. I've been roundly cursed at by the hummingbirds several times this morning (who knew they could be so loud?) and Rex and I were cruised by the vultures while sunning ourselves on the deck this afternoon as I finished off Harry Potter. I should've written something for writers group tomorrow night rather than spending so much time on this blog. Oy, I don't think I've brought anything in for comments in months...sorry, girls.

Happy Birthday, Grandma!

Grandma Beulah, 1924
Originally uploaded by suzipaw.

Labor Day Approacheth

It's a little gloomy around Casa de AxCock. M did not get the job. That, combined with his general despair of the car biz and immediate assignment of a great deal of homework is weighing him down, no surprise. And just to top things off, his laptop died.

On the bright side, he bought a bike this week, and a friend gave me his, so now we have a new activity to embark upon together. I took Rex for a little ride-and-run the other evening--he certainly gets more exercise, since he's just a little dog.

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But Lest We Think We've Got It Sad: My stepbrother is one of the lucky ones affected by Hurricane Katrina. He got out of his recently restored (representing several years of labor for him) historic home in New Orleans' 8th Ward in time, and was able to travel to safety with a very few possessions to Pensacola. He had just gotten a new job that was a telecommute, so he has an income too. All things to be very thankful for.

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Happy Birthday, Ginny!