Five Weeks Out: The Happenings

Oh holy moly. I'm starting to spaz out now, I think. Just over a month now, peeps!

From what I can remember of the past week, it's been a pretty good one. But these weeks are tricky things. Every day is a tricky thing because it feels jam-packed full of things and entirely too slow, all at once. Every night I go to bed exhausted, run off my feet, my head in a haze from everything I did that day. And every morning I wake up wondering why I'm still tired, because I really haven't been that busy, have I? (It's a fat lie!) Why is it that when I'm crazy busy my mind goes into defense mode and I really, truly forget everything I've done? Does that happen to you? So when push comes to shove, my list of accomplishments this weeks is pretty huge. You know?

Here it is:

-Work has finally slowed down. Eight hour days instead of 12-14. It's nice. (I hate my new cubicle, though.)

-I had a root canal on Monday. (So the tooth pain has stopped. Crown and fillings in two weeks.)

-My back and neck are well on their way to being better, thanks to my amazing Chiropractor/Bro-in-law, Dr. Eric Westover.

-I ordered a new lens for my camera, which will mean better travel photos during my trip. I'm pretty excited about this one, and you should be, too!

-I sent my passport off to have some pages added. I realized I had less than ten open pages left and that just won't do with extended travel. (Especially when some countries are page-hogs. Seriously, Egypt? Why do you need an entire page? I'm lookin' at you, too, Jordan!) Forty-eight blank pages, here I come!

-It is time to prep my big video editing computer to sell! That means transferring all files to my tiny travel laptop (and a hard drive) and doing a full wipe of said machine. (suffering from separation anxiety, big time)

-I designed my "blog cards" to match my new blog design and sent them off to be printed. I should have them next week and I'm really excited about them. They're super cute!!

-I found a great windbreaker on sale at REI. Added it to the growing pile of things to pack. I plan on spending most of my time in warm places, so I will not be taking things like a heavy jacket or hiking boots (or any closed-toed shoes save a pair of sneakers, for that matter). The windbreaker and a zip-up shell will be my go-to items for blustery days.

-Oh, I cut my hair. Again. Well I didn't do it. My stylist did, like two weekends ago. It's short. WAY short. And I love it! I've been working my way up from mid-back length hair for a few months, knowing I would need something easier to travel with. Here's what I ended up with:



Other news:
My uber-talented and altogether stellar sister went back to work for Apple
this week. Kind of amazing. She's loving it and I'm so excited to see
her so very happy in her job.

And here is what I need to do these days, but have completely managed to avoid so far:
-Complete an entire online course in five weeks. One that I suck at. Way bad.

-Sell the odds and ends that I've been putting off, vases, pictures, decorations, end tables, etc. (very time consuming)

-I'm also contemplating (finally) listing my Jeep for sale. Sadface!

-My list of other odds and ends:: replacing a rather worn credit card (wouldn't want it to stop working abroad), buy travel insurance. Insure my electronics. Arrange a safe deposit box to store my backup hard drive in case of emergencies. Switch all bills to paperless/e-bills. Deactivate local commute tags, pre-paid parking cards and other commute accounts (bridge tags, train passes, etc). Cancel my HSA savings account (to save the monthly fee). Talk to my offices' financial advisor about whether or not I'll need to transfer my retirement fund out of the office fund while I'm away...


And here is an entirely gratuitous photo of my nephew, Rhys, because, well, he's adorable and we had fun taking photos and playing with hats the other day.

What are you up to this week?

6 Weeks: Happenings

This was a big week... I mean, seriously guys, loads of, um, not much at all.
-I worked nearly 40 hours in three days.

-I stressed myself out so badly because of work (and after being hit on the head last week by a bookshelf) that I literally was unable to turn my head for two days. My amazing brother-in-law happens to be a chiropractor and he fixed me up. Well, he's been fixing me up, every day this week, because let me tell you, everything is so inflamed in my neck/back that we've had to work on it in steps. #imightaswellbeinaneckbrace

-I undertook a massive writing project three weeks ago. I finished said project one week ago. This week I redrafted said project when I wasn't working. Or sleeping. Or writhing in pain.

-I packed a box. One. Didn't want to over-exert myself, for crying out loud.

-Round two of my vaccinations happened. One more to go. And a few meds to pick up to have along the way. Antibiotics and anti-malarials and the like. All of those anti's. No one wants the pros, because believe me, there is nothing good about malaria or a screaming bout of the pharaoh's revenge.

-I realized that I have been WAY overstocking up on the things I use for my trip. That's what happens when you have too much going on and you think you're too smart for your own good by thinking that because you're going to be spending time in the South Pacific that you'll need to bring the contents of an entire makeup counter/feminine hygiene aisle/face wash case with you and you really don't, all you really need is enough for the two or three months you'll actually be IN the South Pacific... And wasn't that the most epic run on sentence ever?

-The office move I thought was happening last weekend is, in reality, happening tomorrow. Today I say goodbye to my lovely, quiet, spacious office, sadface:

And last, but not least, today I had my first monkey wrench thrown at me. Don't worry, nothing big enough to change my plans, but a wrench, nonetheless. (You can't plan to do big things without expecting these things to pop out at you from nowhere, because they just will!) I went to the Dentist for a cleaning and pre-trip check. I've had a feeling that I would need another (!!!) root canal sooner than later. (On the tooth next to the tooth I've already had TWO root canals on... Yah, I was hit in the head crazy hard with a basketball back in college, so hard my head rang like a bell for a couple of hours. The hit was centered on those teeth and they have been slowly dying ever since. #truestory). Well, root canal day has come! Plus I get the bonus of two cavities that need fillings, too. Am I lucky, or what?

Yah, that's $3k worth of dentistry that will come directly out of my travel budget. But honestly, it's a bit of a relief. I have a fabulous dentist, who is a dear family friend and I trust him to do a wonderful job. Had this happened in a few months, cringe! Picturing witch doctors and pulling teeth in the middle of a south pacific island... NOWAYJOSE.


So that's that.  
What are you up to?

7 Weeks Out

Here's what's been going down this week in my preparations to leave the country:

Travel Vaccinations 
I started six courses of vaccinations for HepA&B, Yellow Fever, Japanese Encephalitis and Rabies. I've collected meds for malaria and some antibiotics for the occasional bouts of "Pharaoh's Revenge." And I got poked full of more needles for bloodwork to test my immunity to measles, mumps and rubella.
Fun stuff!

Not So Fun (har-har)
While I'm packing and moving everything in my home, there is also some heavy-duty restructuring and remodeling going on at work. Because of the new corporate structure, I have to move out of my beautiful, spacious, private corner office and into a cubical. This weekend. I'd make a fuss about it, but I'll only be there five weeks and I'll probably spend just as much of that five weeks working from home as I do in the office...
Nevermind, I'll make a stink about it. It SUCKS. Feels like a demotion, even though I've not been demoted.

Moving/Getting Rid of Home
-This week I took down all of the photos, vases and artwork in my house and stashed them in my garage. Most everything is being added to the garage sale pile.

Electronic Cleanup
-I've nearly finished cleaning out my massive photo collection and will begin migrating my photos from iPhoto to Lightroom soon. Next up: Cleaning out the iTunes music and movie libraries. What joy is mine.

All the Rest
-Only 5 more weeks of work! I can hardly believe it!

-The Blog redesign is well underway! I've seen the designs for my homepage and a variety of other things and am working with my fabulous designer on perfecting them. You're going to love them!

-There are a ton of other little things going on: writing projects, photography projects, packing projects, giving things away projects, craigslisting projects, work projects... I am literally deficient of several hours per day and making up for that by not sleeping. Not a great idea.

PS:
Between moving my house and my office, my sister just announcing that she and her husband will soon be moving, and my bestie also moving... there's  a whole heck of a lot of moving and shaking and changing going on! What the heck? (It's awesome!!)

Are you moving, too?

What are you up to these days?

Human Pincushion! Five of my six vaccination spots. Sorry, no go-go-gadget arm to reach the underside of my arm for the last. :(

8 Weeks Out

8 Weeks from today, I'll sail away from LA and leave behind the US for the unknown... which is only kind of true, because I know exactly where the cruise ship I'm leaving on will take me. ;) But beyond that... I have no clue, and I love it!

Postings will be scarce from here until I leave, but my bestie, Mary reminded me that I should post at least 1x per week just so I can remember what this time is like later on, so here goes. (Thanks, Mares!)


I've got zillions of things to do, for my upcoming trip and for life, in general:

-Vaccinations and medication (5 weeks out)
-Work, work, work
-Pack up what I'm keeping (a gradual process that will only be completed in the last week)
-sell my car (again, not doing that until much later... as  much as possible)
-Don't forget to eat, breathe, sleep, work out and brush my teeth daily.

I'm working 30-40 hour workweeks right now and the stress is crazy. When I'm stressed, my body responds in all kinds of whacked out ways. My spine alignment, hips and ribheads all go out. Way out. So far out that my chiropractor kind of freaks out and the ribheads press against my lungs, making it hard for me to breathe. In the past, I've mistaken this for panic attacks, but now I know all I have to do is see my Chiro. I usually go once every two weeks. But when I'm on vacation I don't need to go at all, even with all of the unusual activity, flights, bad beds... my back seems to love it! This week it was so bad that my jaw was even out of alignment!

I've already begun to miss my sister and her kids. I'm spending tons of time with them, whenever I can find a spare moment between working and packing. (So I'm not getting enough sleep.... I'll catch up on the boat!) I'm not sure it's a good thing, but I can't help myself. Technically I should probably be dialing down the number of visits to distance myself. That's just not going to happen. Love those faces!

Speaking of my sister, she will soon be returning to work (sadly, a necessity for their family, and pretty standard in California. Dual income families are the norm out here) and I'm excited to share her employment news with you all when it becomes official!

My blog redesign is well under way! I've just seen a preview design and let me say, I LOVE IT. It's really going to change the way this space looks/acts/feels/functions.

Happy Travels!

Yes, I'm Still Here

Hi there.
It's me. Christy, the girl who writes this blog.

Sure, you're probably thinking. Not so much lately...

Yah. It's true. I've been distant. It's not you. It's me.
'
Forgive me?
Okay, phew!

Now that we've got that settled. So much going on!

-Only 9.5 weeks until my grand expat adventure begins and I am officially a world citizen.

-Every summer I write about how crazy work is. Well, that's hit. Summer is officially the craziest time of the year for me at my job. (Think 60-80 hour workweeks and loads of scrambling to crank out videos for a ton of corprorate meetings.) I love it. I hate it. It's exhausting and elating. And it just is. Now.

-This blog will soon be entirely reconstructed. That's right. From the ground up. In the next week I begin construction with a fabulous designer who will make all of my blogging layout and design dreams come true. Wordpress, yo. I think you're gonna like it here when we're done.

-My house is still being deconstructed and that is pretty exciting and chaotic. It went from looking super comfy and cozy and lived-in to this:

 Yup. That there's my redneck sofa. 

(With my sister testing it out. She say's it's pretty comfortable, actually.) 

Be jealous, y'all... :{

But it's all part and parcel of my plans and ultimately, this is only a transition, so que sera and stuff!

-Other stuff is going on, too. And it's great. Except when it's not.

And that's about it for now.

Stay tuned for a new look, coming soon!

Anatomy of a Perfect 1st Birthday Party

For a *perfect* first birthday party:

First you take the sister's twins.
Add twelve months.
Add one adorable, pinwheel-themed birthday party.
Add chocolate cake.

Mix babies with cake until well combined.

Results may vary.

 Rhys: Hey, hey what's going on. What are those big things up there? I like 'em.

Avery: What's going on? Where are my clothes?

Avery: Okay, I kinda like this naked stuff. Ya KNOW?

Rhys: Heh.

 Both: Twin High Five! Cuz we're awesome!

 Rhys: This is delicious. If you don't want yours...

Avery: Someone feed me. I don't know what to do with this.

 Rhys: Sugar rush! Is the macarena back in? Cuz I'm totally doing the macarena!

Avery: Umm, this is yummy. I think I'll face-plant in it.

 Rhys: OHMYGOSHTHISISAMAZING. IMEANREALLY,WHYYYYYHAVENTWEHADTHISFORDINNERBEFORE,GUYS???

Avery: I've had... an apostrophe!

 Rhys: OHHHHHHHITSSOOOOOOGOOD.

 Avery: *Plop*

 Quinn: I want some, too! Hey this is fun!

 Cupcakes all around!

 One proud twins'mama, and my gorgeous sister, kellywestover

Success!

3 Months Out: The Careful Deconstruction of a Life

With exactly three months to go until I weigh proverbial anchor and sail away to the South Pacific to begin the next stage in my crazy life, things have (finally! at last! already??!!) begun to seriously progress and let me tell you, it's getting fun!

It's funny and amazing to me how, when things are right, they just work. I had planned on leaving for this trip two months ago in April, and going straight to Europe to begin my grand adventure. For some reason, December came around, then January, February... and I knew I should be packing/planning/buying airline tickets/selling my belongings, and yet, I just couldn't bring myself to do any of it. None. So I pushed back to September and things began to click, whir into motion and become really, really easy.

This past weekend, out of the blue, I began the (what I expect will be) lengthy process of getting rid of my stuff. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Things that I thought I'd need right up until I left, I don't (like wifi routers and cable modems, because my roommate had her own...) and I've listed them for sale online. My roommate has a couch in storage, so I'll start selling my furniture as opportunities arise (thank goodness for craigslist, right?). My car *may* sell (a lot earlier than anticipated) and I *may* have the use of a friend's spare until I leave... crazy, right?

It's all working. And it's really exciting, liberating, terrifying and at times a bit cringe-worthy. You know? Like getting rid of my stuff: the things I selected carefully, researched and meticulously placed in the perfect spot in my home. All of this same stuff that I'd see every time I'd come home from a big trip, sigh to myself and think: OHMYGOSH, WHYDOIHAVESOMUCHSTUFF???? IT'SALLGOTTOGO! Is there a happy median somewhere? I sure haven't found it yet.

It took a long time, six years, to create the nest I live in, and in the next three months I'll be entirely deconstructing that home and having less than the amount of belongings I went away with to college at 18!

Meanwhile, this is exciting stuff:

 You know, it's just a picture of my kitchen without a kitchen table. Because I sold it. Really, who needs a kitchen table anyway? Desks and ottomans are perfectly good alternatives for vagabonds like me. ;)

PS: If you know of anyone in the California bay area looking for stuff: living room stuff, kitchen stuff, a bed, maybe a 2007 Jeep Wrangler, send 'em my way!

A Walk Through Jerusalem's Souk

In Israel, the bazaar, or marketplace is called the souk (pr: shook).

Old Jerusalem's souk is a glorious maze! It winds from the Via Dolorosa, sprawling along every street and every corner until one reaches the Jewish and Armenian quarters. It is truly one of those places on earth someone could get lost in and never be found again. It's like the shopping world's equivalent of the Bermuda triangle. There are many parts to the whole. Nearest the Christian quarter and the Stations of the Cross in the Muslim quarter, you'll find shops set up expressly for the tourists. Beads, carpets, juice vendors and schwarma stands, baubles, t-shirts proclaiming "Welcome to Palestine. Don't call it Israel" and I heart Jerusalem can be found everywhere. Every so often, you'll find a really cool store so packed full of trays, lamps, and other metal wares that you'll think you ended up in Aladdin's cave. Leather goods, jewelry, electronics, sweet shops: all can be found in the touristy part of the souk.

But should you venture deeper into the recesses of the souk, in the heart of the muslim quarter, you'll find the inner workings of daily life in Israel: homeware stores, spice shops, butchers and fishmongers, clothing sellers and fabric stores. Here you'll be harassed by eager shopkeepers less than you would on the outskirts of the souk. Here is the real, beating heart of the souk. Grab a falafel and go for a wander.

 A pair of doves for purchase in the market. I wonder if these have been trained to fly back to the shop keeper when released?

The best spice shop my friends and I found in the whole of Jerusalem. The shop keeper (pictured) chatted with us for nearly an hour, telling us what each spice was, what it could be used for and telling us recipes. He even invited us to eat with his family, sadly, we were leaving town and couldn't accept.

 

 Women shopping for their meat. Lamb, anyone?

 A tailor, using one an old-school sewing machine. They don't build 'em like they used to.

 Near the Christian quarter, we found this fantastic textile shop. Absolutely gorgeous fabrics, table dressings, scarves, etc. The owner was trying to sell Rebecca a "dancing outfit." (If you go into this man's shop, beware, he's sweet and friendly, and handsy!!)

Heidi and Rebecca with the shop keeper in their finds.

It's All Happening At Once

Things started to happen this week. The universe began to speak to me, I guess I can say, living only 10 or so miles from Berkeley... But really, things in my life began to shift, pushing me toward other things. Ya know? It suddenly became time to get crackin'! And that's both exciting and terrifying.

It started Tuesday when I booked my cruise. Wendesday my roommate texted me to tell me that she might be moving out in May, which I knew might be coming, but still, it freaked me out a bit because it was earlier than I hoped it would be. In an ideal world, it wouldn't have happened until October. We'd both move out at the end of September. Easy. Neatly packaged. Done.

Life is messy, though, but in that mess everything usually works out so much better than we could have ever imagined.

After my roommate texted I began to tear apart my bookshelf and my closet. Piles of things to give away and things to sell have appeared in my house in random places. My neatly constructed life is being deconstructed. I am doing the thing I wished I would do. Seriously. After every trip I'd come home, observe my house, and just all of the stuff I have and wish I could get rid of it all. Bam. It's happening.

I have a million, trillion things to do. Tomorrow I'll call my doctor and start making appointments for vaccinations and travel medication. And every day I'll pack a box, or two, and sort out more things to get rid of. Eventually I'll sell my computer and my Jeep. And have a massive garage sale.

So. I might move out in June. I don't know yet. I might find another roommate. I have no clue. But something will happen. And it's scary, and it's so cool.

What scares you? What are you going to do about it?

When you leave everything falls apart...

It is no small thing, for a mother to entrust someone else with her child/children. So when the sister took off with our mum to go and meet with the doctor about my father on Friday, leaving my bed-ridden, unable-to-move father and her three year old and 8-month twins with my brother and I, it was a great show of trust. And it was a big accomplishment, for both of us, I think.

It started off great. Smiling children. Playing MarioKart with Uncle Mike. And then everything went pear-shaped.

The toddler wouldn't go down for his nap. The babies started to cry. Then my Dad needed to use the restroom. No big deal, normally. But Dad had experienced another stroke on Wednesday morning, and had since deteriorated to not being able to walk. My brother and I had to carry him to the restroom and then carry him back to his chair. If my dad were a 5'7", 150lb man it wouldn't be a big deal, after all, my brother and I are strapping, strong people. But dad is 6'4", 250+ and practically carrying him to the restroom is backbreaking, time-consuming, sweaty, painful work.

All the while, the babies were bawling and I was panicking, and wondering how on earth, how.in.the.world. was my mother going to manage this with only my brother to help her after my sister and I left? Really? How?

Later, when the drama died down, I issued an edict to the sister: "You're not leaving again. When you leave, everything falls apart." (That was proven not once this past week.)

On Tuesday, I went for a walk with my father. We walked slowly, hand in hand, in his neighborhood and chatted. From Wednesday to Friday, Dad lost the ability to walk on his own, to think clearly, to talk, to sit up in bed.

By Sunday he was paralyzed on his left side. Finally, my mother and brother got him to the hospital (he point-blank refused to go until then) after brother injured his back in trying to pick Dad up off the floor again. After a CT scan, it was discovered that Dad had at some point hit his head and was hemorrhaging in his brain. Emergency surgery went well. And that's all we know at this point.

Being adults means that we all survived childhood. Our parents trusted us at times to the care of others, but mostly as children our care fell to them. Our upbringing, every decision about what to feed us, how to clothe us and how to educate us fell to them. It took long suffering, tenacity, long, long, long, grueling hours and short nights. It took trust. So much. Now my sister and I are "grown up" and trust is again required in our parent-child relationship. But this time it is not for our care, but for the care of my father.

Life is a writhing, lively, circuitous thing, isn't it?

The sister wrote a beautiful blog post about the trip, click here.

All Evidence Points to...

There is nothing like going on holiday while you're sick. Nothing.

If you read this blog regularly, you'll know that I wrote a post about a similar (or the exact same subject) not so long ago.

This new post is not redundant. Rather, my being ill is redundant. You see, I've been sick since November. Truly.

I left for Israel while in the last stages of developing a full-blown (pun intended) apocalyptic head cold.

By week two in Israel, I felt decent. By the time I got home, it was gone. BUT, within four weeks I caught not one, but TWO more of the same. TWO more drippy, coughy, fevery, nasty head colds.

And then the drippy part never went away.

That was November/December. It's now the end of January. And this past weekend, I had a weekend away in Monterey scheduled for my sister and I. Wednesday my teeth began to hurt and I lost my appetite. Thursday the fevers/chills/night sweats started. My body temperature just couldn't regulate. And all the while I still had energy. I wanted to go for walks. I needed to exercise. But I tired very easily, and I couldn't commit to long activities out in windy, cold weather. I wasn't exactly sick. Not precisely well.

So our girl's weekend transformed from a getaway of exciting things like hiking, sea kayaking and sailing to a non-adventurous weekend of massages, lounging around a spa sipping orange infused water in alcoves filled with over sized sofas, jacuzzi soaks, watching season one of The Newsroom (which is AMAZING, BTW. Mares & Luis, I owe ya!), sleeping in until the middle of the afternoon and going for long walks along the coast.

And somehow we came to Saturday night, which found me blazing hot feverish and basically incapacitated, lying in bed, unable to get warm. And around 1am, when my alarm woke me to take antibiotics (and also ibuprofen and colloidal silver) I found that my fever had broken, finally, and I was basically a puddle of sweat, finally warmed through and cooling off to a normal body temperature for the first time in nearly a week.

Which brings me to my point, which is this: For some reason it took FOUR WEEKS of being slightly ill while in my normal work schedule, and so stressed out that the gunk wouldn't go away and yet couldn't come to a head because I didn't have the energy to devote to it, but it only took TWO days of being out of my normal life to get me to relax enough to really get over being sick.

Does your life do this to you? If so, perhaps you ought to consider joining me in the whole leaving-my-job-and-traveling thing, or at least in making a change of some sort.

Who's with me?

Small Changes

When I was a kid, perhaps ten years old, I caught a glimpse of myself in passing, and in that moment I saw myself with long, wavy hair. It was a vision. A glimpse of the future. Perhaps it was simply my eyes playing tricks on me. Maybe not.

I'd always been a girl with short-ish hair. I determined in that moment that one day I'd grow my hair out to be like that, long and flowing and wavy.

Well, the wavy part never really happened. I wasn't blessed with curl. But at the age of twenty-seven, I determined that I would finally do it. I'd grow my hair out. That was five years ago. For five years I've kept up those tresses, believing in that glimpse from childhood, secretly fulfilling that longing for a one-beauty, like Jo from Little Women.

This weekend, I walked into my stylist's salon with every intention of simply trimming the ends of my hair and walked out with short hair. It was surprising, how little time it took to chop off five-years worth of work. And liberating in the respect that what is left is much healthier, and more vibrant than it had been. That one-beauty hadn't lived up to my expectations for a while, and yet I clung to that long hair for months longer than I should have. It was security. It was inertia. But it was holding me back from the vision I have of myself for the future. You see, the me I envision for the future is a traveler. She lives out of a backpack and goes where the wind takes her. And she doesn't care to spend an hour, or even thirty minutes each day tending to things like the fixing of crazy-long hair because she'd rather be photographing Angkor Wat. Or kayaking over a sunken city in southern Turkey. Or riding an Elephant in India. You get the gist. I'm not advocating going granola, growing dreadlocks and giving up showering. Just re prioritizing.

I think I have some more "hair cutting" to do in my life. It's time to get to work, downsize and sell my stuff in preparation for my move, actually finish my online course... 

The haircut was never intended to be a life lesson. It was never meant to be more than doing a mundane thing to keep my hair healthy. And in the end, that's exactly what it was, but it was also much more. While it's fun to fulfill our childhood dreams, we must also make room for the dreams we dream in adulthood. Make them happen.



*On another note, also on the same subject of change, I've pushed back my tentative departure date for my move cross-continents to September. April was always tentative and now that it's January, I've a few things to take care of that will take a bit longer than three months. Also, I'm constantly revising my tentative itinerary. Exciting things are in store, my friends.

Acting Our Age

"Do you want to come over after your kids are asleep and get caught up on Downton Abbey?" I asked my sister. It was 7:30pm on Friday.

"YES!" came the exuberant reply.

At 9pm we began our marathon of Downton Abbey, season two, complete with sparkling water and a massive slice of yummy chocolate cake from the Cheesecake Factory. (If you like amazing, rich chocolate cake, try their Chocolate Tower Truffle Cake!)

It was going to be grand! It was going to be like when we were teenagers and we'd sneak the tiny tv/vcr my parents bought for road trips down to my room and watch the five-hour BBC version of Pride and Prejudice until the wee hours of the morning and then get up and have an adventurous weekend. Glorious!

Five and a half hours and two aching bellies later, we'd made it through episode 7, and the cake, with only the Christmas episode left to watch. 2:30 AM, and we were both straining to stay awake.

"I can't do it. I'm out," was the communal consensus and I staggered to my bed and she to her car.

It's Monday now and we both have yet to recover, she because she has kids that wake up at 7am no matter when she went to bed, and I because I had appointments and commitments that prevented me sleeping in, or napping the entire weekend.

And all of you twenty-somethings, enjoy the boundless energy while you can, because it goes.

I have a theory. I have a theory that we're born with a certain supply of energy. And as a child, not knowing any better, being so full of that energy and rearing-to-go, we use it as though it will never wane. This energy inhibition lasts through your twenties, after which, you slow down and you just keep getting slower and slower. That's my theory. It's not scientific. But I'm not a scientist, so what did you expect?

The sis and I laughed and laughed when we read this meme this weekend, because it's just oh-so-fitting. Except for the being nearly 40 part. That's a decade premature.

All late-night activities may now be postponed until sister can once again sleep in. It's gonna be a while.

32 and Counting...

I've written before about how I grew up thinking that when I turned 32 it was going to be the *BEST*YEAR*EVER.*
I'm not sure why I always thought this. But I did.
And now I'm 32. I have been for more than six months. And these past six months have been no picnic. Not even close. Sure, life has it's ups and downs. They're to be expected. But this year has sure been loaded with downers and hard times!
First, the 'sis had her twins three months early. They were in the NICU for three months and are doing splendidly now, but those three months were CRAZY. Like insane. Like every extra minute spent either driving the 20 miles to the hospital to see the twins, or driving out to watch my two-year-old nephew so that my sister or her husband could be with the babies. Once the two darlings came home, there was a bit less driving, but oh-so-much insanity. The sister has three kids at home under the age of three! Can you even comprehend how many diapers that is every day? Zoinks!
There were several months of feeling poorly and suffering through sinus infection after sinus infection and fevers of 103F, culminating in the re-doing of a root canal which hadn't been done properly in the first place.
There was job instability and loss in the family.
An extended family member had a heart attack (a very young family member! like 34 years old!) 
Just before the twins came home, my sister and her little family moved to a new home.
Anyhoo, once we all made it through that, my Uncle died.
Then just before Christmas my Dad was hospitalized and had to have surgery for a massive infection. (His health has been horrid the past couple of years. Strokes, etc.) He had a stint put in and that resulted in a second surgery on New Years' eve. The results of which were abnormal and he had to be hospitalized overnight, but no one would say what the abnormality was. Until today.
Today I found out that my Dad has cancer. 

32 and I are not on good terms.

But just to prove that amidst all of the heartrending things, there are happinesses, this little love note was left on my desk the other night by nephewQ, which is all kinds of adorable (He's only two, you know. And brilliant.):

It's the little things that really get us, don't you think?

The Light at the End...

... of the proverbial tunnel looks more like the spotlight used in dark interrogation rooms than a welcomed bit of lucid salvation at the moment.

The past few weeks have been rather brutal. It's been a batten-down-the-hatches-and-hunker-down kind of time. And now that things have calmed down, I find myself rather nervous, perhaps a bit untrusting that I can, indeed, stick my arms, legs, head and body of of the cave I've crawled into and take a peek at the sunshine without fear of being bombarded again...

It's a curious thing, to try and re-enter one's life. I've experienced this phenomenon many, many times. You know, the feeling of being an alien in one's own skin (or house, or job, or whatever...) I feel as though I need to jump up and down and test every floorboard in my home for soundness, kick the tires of my car and then dust, polish and clean everything around me thoroughly.

Actually, my house probably could use a good spring cleaning now that I think about it... Is it still spring? No? August, you say?

Close enough.

The odd thing about this time around, this time of testing and cleaning and renewal, is that I don't feel like jumping in headfirst. I know that there's a hard-stop ahead. I'll be moving abroad soon, and I don't want to throw myself back into my old life, caution to the wind and all that. I want to bottle up all of that creative energy and save it. I want to throw it all into a new life, one that I don't have yet.

And I don't think that's quite healthy. What do you think? I think I have to get over this over-abundance of caution that I'm feeling right now and keep living the heck outta this life, every day.

I have the opportunity to go to several activities and retreats in the next few months. Sailing lessons. A trip to Tahoe. Camping the coast. Normally I'd jump at the opportunities. But I feel slightly... blasé about everything right now. Perhaps it's the self-preservation instinct still going strong. And if so, I need to something drastic, like hurl myself out of a plane with a parachute strapped to my back to overcome it. Maybe. Probably not.
Why not?

But meanwhile, while I'm getting over the interim doldrums and preparing for so many things all at once, I'm stretching my legs, poking them cautiously out of my silk cocoon and testing my newfound wings, getting ready to fly, in this life and keep on going, all the way to Italy next year.

What are you up to, lately?

My Grandma’s Garden is Bigger Than Your Backyard

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On a working farm there are two businesses run simultaneously: the business of farming and the business of living.

The modern farmer plants crops in large, cleared fields with heavy machinery, tends them with more machinery and harvests them with even more machinery. The crops that are planted each year vary according to market price, and the farmer gambles each season by planting what he or she thinks will fetch the best price. Sometimes crops fail. Sometimes the market changes before harvest. Sometimes it all works out.

Nearly every farm you see will have a garden as well as crop fields. Not a city-style garden, all trim with lattices and Tomato wires and stakes for creeping plants to grow up. But a large plot, usually plowed over by the same tractor the farmer uses on the fields, planted full of good things: Corn, Broccoli, Kale, Spinach, Tomato, Dill, Cucumber, Cabbage, Onions, String beans, Butter beans… use your imagination. It’s big enough to feed the family from all year. (Of course, these days country gardens are supplemented by trips to Wal-Mart, but everyone knows there’s just nothing like farm fresh.)

This morning I stood barefoot in the garden, working beside my grandmother. She picked baby spinach leaves and fresh kale (it's spicy! who knew?) for our supper this evening (and also to thin out the plants so they’ll continue to produce) while I hoed weeds.  I listen to my tiny, white-haired Grandmother hum in her high pitched, slightly off-key tone, the tone I’ve grown to love over the years, she hums to the vegetables and talks to them, interrogating the weeds in her garden bed. “What do we have here? Just what are you?” And then her deft, sweetly gnarled hands reach quickly down and futz with the invading plant, pull it up and toss it aside as she moves on down the garden row.

My neatly kept, mulch covered garden back in California doesn’t compare in either size or quality - with the amazing produce Grandma will pick in the summer months. The clay dirt in California is tough and hard to work with compared to the loose sandy loam in Virginia. It seems that here on the east coast all you need to do is stick something in the ground and it will grow. Back in California I fight with the earth, condition it, add eggshells to it, water daily and fertilize it weekly to coax tomatoes out of the ground. In Virginia, Grandma fertilizes once with cow manure and then nature does the rest. No watering. No conditioning. At the end of the summer Grandma and everyone else will have picked all they want, eaten all they can hold, canned all they can store, and traded a surplus of one thing on one farm for a surplus of another on a different farm. At the end of summer, vegetables will rot on the plants in Grandma’s garden. And then the large tractor will come again and turn it all under the earth to compost and get ready for next spring.

That’s just the way of it.

Hmm. The mason jar I’m drinking ice water out of tastes briny, of pickles. Guess I know what Grandma canned last year. 

Tastes like home. 

I am blessed.

Nat The Fat Rat and Travel Nightmares

I'm a big fan of The Rat. As in NatTheFatRat. Found here:http://www.natthefatrat.com/

She's funny and that's all there is to it.
Plus we've got some things in common.

(And some things not-so-in-common. )

Like she was banished to the wasteland of Idaho at one time. So was I. (She grew to love it, I guess.  I never did.)

She longed to have a fat gurgly baby for years and years before finally having one this past year. (I never did and still don't...) I long (sometimes) to have a cute, non-gurgly husband. (But then again sometimes I say to myself: Christy, You've got a pretty da*&ed good life. Don't F it up by marrying the wrong guy. And then it's all good.)

Nat the Fat Rat has adventures. All the time. Adventures living in New York City. Adventures exploring the city. Adventures riding the subway. Adventures visiting family in Wilsonville, Oregon. I (don't live in NYC) have adventures (only most of the time) live in a suburb of San Francisco and have adventures riding (not the subway) BART. Adventures traveling the world (take that, Rat). Adventures visiting MY family in Wilsonville, Oregon.

Seriously, small world, eh?

So I think we must have known each other in some life. Am I saying we were besties? Meh. Probably not. We don't have that much in common (aside from everything aforementioned), though that doesn't stop me from reading all about our not-commonalities. (I'm not into fashion or lipstick or false eyelashes and I don't have a kid...). I wait for her posts with bated breath.

And well, 
the long preamble to this post is leading up to THIS point: Nat had a horrible, awful, no good, very bad travel experience flying United lately (Haven't we all?).

And it's inspired me to tell you about my favorite horrible travel experience. (Isn't that an oxymoron?)

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Once upon a time (Or in Italian: C'era una volta... don't you just love that?) I transferred from one University to another. (Actually I did that three times... yah.)

But I had three months to kill between semesters. So I needed a job. It was winter. I'd spent the previous summer working my second summer contract on Cruise ships and thought - what the heck, I'll see if they've got anything open now.

Turns out, they did. Less than a week later I boarded a plane in Spokane (I was staying with my parents in the area) bound for SLC, then on to LAX.

All was well for about ten minutes. And then we sat on the Tarmac. Forever. When we finally landed in SLC an hour late I had just enough time to run and catch my flight to LAX. And I made it... but my ginormous suitcase packed for three months at sea didn't. (Back then you could pack up to 80lbs per suitcase and were allowed two free checked bags! FYI.)

Conundrum. Because I had to get to my ship in the next two hours and sail away with it. I filed a claim with the airline baggage rep, who asked where they could deliver the suitcase when it made it to LAX....

And that's where the fun started.
"Um, you can't. I'm going to work on a Cruise ship and we'll be at sea for the next 14 days."

The airline rep just looked at me, his general disinterest turned quickly into horror and panic. He filed a claim and then I gave him all sorts of important information. The phone numbers for the cruise line port agents. The ship's schedule, where and when and for how long my ship would be at each port... etc. And then I had to leave.

When I got to the ship, I checked in with the crew office, did all of the official contractual stuff, got my Ship ID and then explained to the Crew officer what had happened with my bag, gave him the contact number for the airline, my claim numbers, etc. (I must say that when Crew Offices on cruise ships are good [and they're not always], they really know how to take care of business.) The Crew Officer immediately got on the sat phone and began making calls for me, while I reported for work. I was paged back to the office a few hours later and told that my bag would meet me at our first stop in Acapulco, Mexico.

Meanwhile, I had only the promise of monetary compensation for expenses (from the airline), and the clothes on my back (which wasn't too much of a problem as I was issued uniforms to work in) and had just been thrown into the swimming pool as a "welcome onboard" joke. Then I went immediately to my cabin to hand wash and dry (with a hairdryer) my only pair of undies, socks and bra for the first of many times that cruise and then rush back to work...

I zoomed around the ship in my off  time those first two days trying to gather necessities: a formal dress for formal night (from the ship's shops), basic makeup, socks,  shampoo, conditioner... The guy who had my cabin before me (Luke, the DJ who I was replacing for that one cruise while he was on vacation) had left some t-shirts and basketball shorts, which I commandeered as workout clothing. (He wanted them back when he got back to the ship a few weeks later, but I wouldn't give them up...) Other crew mates lent me things, And I even met some amazing passengers who sent me some their own clothing. (Seriously. What great people.)

It all worked out.

Except for the fact that that the first cruise of that contract was the WORST time of my life. (Not having my suitcase wasn't even a big deal compared to the job.)

Seriously.

Normally on ships I worked as youth staff, but for this contract I was to spend the first cruise as Cruise Staff (Specifically as DJ, which I'd been promised by the home office I wouldn't have to do. The Cruise Director had other ideas.) Then, after that I would switch over to work with the youth because the normal DJ would return from vacation.

I. HATED. WORKING. CRUISE STAFF. Hated it. With every fiber of my being. It didn't agree with me. Every day was a huge challenge. (Word even got around to my Dutch (now ex) boyfriend all the way in Holland that I was not a happy camper. He emailed me to tell me to cheer up. Ships are a small world and Officers are THE WORST gossips you'll EVER meet. LOL.)

Working with adults on a ship is SOOOOO hard compared to working with kids. They're whiny and demanding and ridiculous. Also, the Cruise Director was a complete dillweed. I'd known him on another contract, and he'd constantly made advances to me, which I refused.

This contract he flat out sexually harassed me and made my life miserable. I was assigned EVERY extra duty possible, never given enough time to put activities away between assignments, purposefully not told about mandatory meetings and then accused of being late or not present.  Later on in the cruise, when we reached ports of call, I was given IPMs (In-port manning, meaning I had to stay on the ship and be on-call for anything that might arise) as often as possible. (along with the guy I became fast friends with, who the Cruise Director decided he hated... so sorry Dale!)

The staying on the ship part was especially excruciating because I needed to go ashore to get some clothes and personal items!!! Ugh.

Oh... back to the suitcase. Acapulco came and went. No suitcase.
Huatulco, Cabo San Lucas, Guatemala, Costa Rica... No suitcase.

It wasn't until nearly three weeks into the cruise (on our way back to San Diego, the home port) when we made an unscheduled, emergency stop back in Acapulco (to medically disembark a passenger who'd had a stroke) that I got a phone call at 5am. The gangway officer had my suitcase and I should come and get it.

Acapulco. It was there the entire time! I gleefully threw on one of the commandeered t-shirts, a ship logo'd zip up sweat shirt from the ship shop and ran down to the gangway, picked up my suitcase, went back to my room, opened the suitcase and... pow!

Half my stuff was missing. The new formal dress my aunt had purchased for me. Some of my clothes. My favorite perfume, jewelry, shoes, etc. The vandals had skipped trying to break the luggage lock and just slit open the back of my suitcase and grabbed stuff.

The upside was that I still had two formal dresses, coordinating shoes, jewelry, under clothing and enough casual clothing to make it for the rest of my contract. PHEW.

And I did make it. The hardest part, as I mentioned, was making it through the first cruise. After that I rolled into the Youth staff position, working with one of my favorite people and life became MUCH easier. Not as great as normal ship life (the Cruise Director was still trying to make my life miserable because I wouldn't sleep with him.) but ever so much more tolerable than before.

I disembarked that ship a week or two after Thanksgiving. And you know, the crazy times weren't over. I had a feeling that the only way to end the bad streak was to make it home. And that was spot on. My flight out of San Diego was canceled and I stayed the night in the city. The next day I flew into Portland, Oregon, where one by one, flights to Spokane were canceled ALL. DAY. LONG. At 6pm I finally boarded a flight, flew the hour + to Spokane and then the plane turned around and flew all the way back to Portland because something froze and they couldn't un-freeze it (Spokane was covered in snow, Portland wasn't) and couldn't land.

So, 8pm, back in Portland once again. Yah. I hate that airport to this day and avoid it at all costs. At that point I have ZERO confidence in that little partner airline (after all, the bulk of cancellations that day, and the turnaround were due to mechanical issues... wouldn't you have problems with that?). I asked them to refund that portion of my ticket price so I could rent a car and drive the four hour drive to Spokane. I managed to get a reasonably good deal on an awful car (Ford Mustang - front wheel drive... and I was headed to snow country!) and I headed up and over the mountain passes for home. (I only spun out once on an off-ramp, luckily.)

About halfway there, headed through a foggy, narrow portion of road I was pulled over and given a $150 ticket for speeding. The thing is that I wasn't speeding anywhere near as fast as the officer said I was. I was speeding, I'll fess up to that, but not horrifically. Oregonian cops are jerks. True story.

At that point I'd been traveling (via airports, planes and cars) for two days. I was exhausted and traumatized. I found a local supermarket and curled up in the front seat of the blasted Mustang to sleep for a few hours, then I finished the drive and made it home without any other complications (thankfully!).

And then it was over. I'd finally made it to base. PHEW.

The end.


NB: That trip is where I learned to pack toiletries, makeup and a change of undies in my carry on. And that knowledge has served me well over the years!


Oh and did I ever tell you about the time I flew from Salt Lake to Anchorage via MINNESOTA? Yah. That was my favorite... *rolls eyes.*

Concrete Ship and a Carcass (Yuck!)

Last weekend I headed down the coast to Santa Cruz, California. It's about a 1.5 hour drive from where I live (depending on traffic). I met up with a group of friends and spent the day relaxing, sleeping, exploring and grubbing on potluck food.

My exploration phase took me on a four-mile walk down the beach to a pier. At the end I found one of these:

(Not my photo...)

Yup, a dead seal. It was really sad. Just flopping around in the surf. I reported it to a sun-baked blonde lifeguard dude, who replied with a glazed-over look in his eye "Oh, yah, we just let nature take it's course." 

Right. Yuck. I get it, but still... yuck.

Eventually I reached the next beach over, Seacliff beach, which boasts a long pier with this at the end of it:

The SS Palo Alto. But it's called the Concrete Ship. It's very stinky. (Birds, seals, all sleeping and pooping there... you do the math.)


Here's what Wikipedia has to say about it:

The Palo Alto was a concrete ship built as a tanker at the end of World War I. She was built by the San Francisco Shipbuilding Company at the U.S. Naval Shipyard in Oakland, California. She was launched on May 29, 1919, too late to see service in the war.^[1] Her sister ship was the SS Peralta.
She was mothballed in Oakland until 1929, when she was bought by the Seacliff Amusement Corporation and towed to Seacliff State Beach in Aptos, California. A pier was built leading to the ship, and she was sunk a few feet in the water so her keel rested on the bottom. There she was refitted as an amusement ship, with amenities including a dance floor, swimming pool and a café.
The company went bankrupt two years later and the ship cracked at the mid section. She was stripped of her fittings and left as a fishing pier. Eventually she deteriorated to the point were she was unsafe for even this use and was closed to the public. Today she remains at Seacliff Beach and serves as an artificial reef for marine life. (Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SS_Palo_Alto)

Altogether a very interesting day of exploration.

Be Warned!

What a day, what a day!

Brutal honesty: grooming practices and real-life body functions in this post. Be warned.

Today was absolutely nuts!

Woke up this morning with my eye kind of bugging me. I realized when I went in the bathroom that I'd left my contact in my right eye overnight. I'd done that before, no biggie. My eye was just tired at this point. I took out the contact and wore my glasses. Bloodshot eye. No worries, I thought to myself, It'll go away.

Got to work this morning surfing the crimson tide. I'm in pain, my eye aches and I'm not looking forward to finishing a project that has been a thorn in my side. Not because it was difficult, but because my work PC has been malfunctioning for about 9 months now. I've been waiting for our very busy tech to take it and re-image it, but meanwhile, it has been less and less functional each day. Well, the last two days have and the current project have apparently been to much for my poor, ailing computer to handle because the thing practically blew up.

So amidst the computer problems, my boss comes in and asks if he can take the project I'm working on from me, to which I heartily agree, because he needs me to move on to a series of animations (based on my Macintosh computer) for a RUSH project. Glad to unload the project, but not excited for the new project, which I have been dreading for a week. Before starting the new project, I have to:
1.Copy the old project to a hard drive to give to my boss
and
2. Update my animation project and plugins to be able to work with the file formats I need to use.

Cool, so I just need to access my hard drive and copy the files for my boss.

Wrong.

The computer completely goes haywire. All of my icons dissapear and when I restart the computer, the computer doesn't recognize that I have a mouse or keyboard any longer. Tried a couple of tricks. Nada. Remember my monthly hormonal girly visitor? Its got me nearly in tears. My eye is wigging out at this point (still bloodshot). My co-worker is clearly disturbed as she watches me attack my keyboard and spasm while yelling at my computer. I got up, walked down the hall to the computer tech, who was kind enough to drop what he was doing when he saw my clearly distraught emotional instability and come and make my computer work just enough to copy those files. (While I went upstairs and sat with my sister to calm down).

Got the files copied and passed off. Updated animation program and start the animation. Get a good pace going, Feel pretty good about it, calm down a bit. Phew.

Get home. Check out my eye: still red. Tried Visine. Nada. Ran my finger over my eyeball to find a nice gouge in my eyeball. Lovely. I'm supposed to drive 3.5 hours to Yosemite tomorrow. Great.

Poked some neosporin onto my eye and covered with a patch. Tried to work on my project here at home. That's not working out because it's my Right eye covered in a patch. If you don't know, my Left eye is a lazy eye (it doesn't drift), my right eye is basically my good eye. I get peripheral vision from my left eye. As a detail-giving apparatus, my left eye is useless. I once had an eye doctor tell me to guard my right eye zealously. I never disbelieved that advice, but until tonight, I never panicked about not being able to use my right eye... Wow. Heaven forbid I lose my right eye or my graphics and video career is done. Wow. Wow. Wow. Reality check time.

So I'm not able to work on my project. I decide that I might as well wax my lip and shave my legs. Legs shaved (miraculously, nick-free! I realized later that with today's crazy vibe going I should NOT have even attempted working with a razor blade today...), check. Microwaved the wax. I punched the numbers into microwave with my wonky-vision (not to be confused with Wonka-vision). A few minutes later I realize that the microwave is still going... uh... Opened it up to smell boiling wax and melting plastic. Tried to lift the container and whoosh! Out came all of the wax all over the microwave and one of my kitchen towels. I grabbed the applicator spatula and scraped up some melted wax and then applied to my lip. Grabbed some paper towels and began to sop up the wax while still hot enough to be sopped up. It covers my hands. I'm running around, lip covered in wax. Eye covered with a bandage. Running into things half-blind with sticky fingers. Ridiculous. All I need now is for someone to come over and see this. Thank merciful heaven that didn't happen.

...I just did a load of laundry without adding detergent. Fail.

All things considered in this train wreck of a day, I'm surprisingly calm and optimistic. Wierd. And cool.