national take your girlfriend to work day

yesterday marked the second annual take-your-girlfriend-to-work-day. Last year I was working on my thesis and spent the day in the corner of a tiny trailer on Andrew's boss's property. There was no heat and very little light. I froze and my brain shut down. Then we went home.

But this year, I got to tag along on a site visit. We hopped in the car and spent the better part of the morning driving through the mountains to the rugged Sonoma coast. We headed north for nearly an hour more before I dropped Andrew at the site and headed a few miles in the direction we had just come from: south to salt point.



I plunked around through the trees and down to the rocky shore, where time, salt and water has eroded the surface of the rocks. I watched the turkey vultures soar on the currents, the gulls resting. Abalone shells everywhere, deep blue water, mussels on the rocks.



It seemed like only minutes had passed since I left Andrew to his work, but as I looked at my watch, I realized I might be late in getting back for lunch. I clamored up the cliff side, camera and new found treasures in hand, back towards the car. I would be on time after all if I hurried.

I turned on some Otis Redding and started back northwards. Until I hit a dear. I saw it fast enough to slam on the breaks, hitting it at a fairly slow speed dead-on. I sent it flying into the trees like a cartoon character, legs splayed out. There was no place to stop, and I was well into a blind curve, so I drove away slowly, listening for scraping, dragging, general malfunction, but heard nothing. I pulled off at the next turnout and inspected the damage. No flat tires, no broken lights, deer hair caught under the crunched hood.

Nothing I could do. The deer was gone, the car's nose slightly smaller and bumpier than it was seconds before. I was going to be late.

But, fortunately, Andrew was late in getting out of his meeting as well. I waited and stewed and tried to read. Then I met the contractor and toured the project site.

For some reason I felt fortunate for the luck of having had enough time to brake. fortunate the car was still drivable, that the airbags didn't go off, and happy I was safe.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful: lunch on the rocks, curvy drive back to the office, and calls into the insurance company. Then it hit me, $500 deductible. surely more than $500 worth of damage. Trucky wouldn't have bat an eye at that deer, but little Ollie couldn't take the impact. Back to the shop for hood #3.

patriotic

Only three days in my life have i experienced an overwhelming sense of patriotism. THREE! Most other times I am embarrassed to call myself an American.

I know many people would criticize me for this, and I have to say upfront that I feel very privileged to have been raised in a free country, in a country where I almost always feel safe, in a country where the water is safe to drink, the food plenty and safe to eat. I'm embarrassed because we take every bit of it for granted.

I'm also embarrassed because we feel a sense of entitlement: freedom to do as we please, when we please, without regard to ecosystems or other people. I grew up in what should have been a reservation. I was reminded daily what our early government had done, and what our current government is continuing to do to our native tribes. Beyond what we have and haven't done at home, I'm embarrassed because our government has staged not one, but several coups in other countries in order to implement governments WE think are more appropriate. I'm embarrassed that we have chosen war over building schools, libraries and homes overseas.

I am angry at how our system has destroyed ambition and physical activity and thinking for yourself. I am angry at the lack of health care, the lack of care for our veterans and elderly.

My rant could go on. I realize no country is perfect, but I rarely find myself feeling giddy about my citizenship. Three times, only three times in my life have I felt honored to be a part of this country.

1. the flight home: August 1998
The summer after my freshman year of college, I traveled outside the country for the first time. Not only was it my first international trip, it was the first time I had flown by myself and the longest time I had ever been away from my family. It was an amazing trip, but perhaps one of the most amazing parts was the flight home. As we approached Portland, the sun was setting; the clouds hung low over the city, obscuring everything but the tips of three gigantic snow covered mountains: Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Adams and Mt. Hood glowing pink in the light of the sunset. After landing I was picked up by my family in our own personal vehicle and we drove home without stopping. yup, straight home. I had this overwhelming feeling of privilege, I could drink the water, I could eat the food. I understood the language, the roads were clear and smooth and we could have gone wherever our hearts desired. I was proud to be part of it.

2. November 4th, 2008

On November 4th, 2008 we elected a president that would promise something more than war and fear. We elected a president the WORLD was proud of. I voted. I watched as the polls closed. I cried when he was elected, and I cried again when I saw the faces of the men and women and children from around the world, overwhelmed with joy and relief and wonder. I was proud of our country.

3. January 20th, 2009
Our new president is sworn in. His speech is not one of celebration, but of the grave realities of our country and our world today. He spoke of our challenges, and of the need for unity, he reminded us of how far we have come, and how we can move forward. I feel that three moments of overwhelming patriotic sentiment may well turn to a general, daily feeling of patriotism.

Congratulations to our new president, and congratulations to the world. Now we have to remember that he can't do it alone.

round

Sometimes it amazes me the things that come and go, leaving you wondering if you'll ever experience them again. I wonder about people I used to know or people with whom I shared adventures, hard times and fun times, or just time itself. In the past few weeks I've been reminded of how things come back around when you least expect them. I can't do justice to the details of these events and people and places converging, diverging and crossing again, but two events in particular will help me express my curiosity and gratitude for all those serendipitous moments.

1. boy Y

I was in high school, a senior, when I finally met this boy I'd been hearing about. He was funny and smart and cute, and foreign. We'll call him boy Y. We only met for one night, several family friends were over for a post-rafting-trip feast and slumber party. We ate and laughed and told stories till late. Then we all settled down and my sister, Chamise, Cayenna boy Y and I were all piled into my room for the night.

It turned out to be an amazing one. boy Y and I shared quiet, excited conversation, giggles and a few kisses. Needless to say, as I was in high school, my crush continued long after he left. He was living in a different state, and though he was a friend of a very good friend, we never really spoke after that. I would wonder about him often, and would imagine us being together someday in the future, as many humans tend to do with their girl- or boy-hood crushes.

He was, according to my LONG list, "the perfect man". I don't recall what was on that list at the time, but he held a special little spot in my heart for a long time.

Many many years have gone by (12 to be exact), and the list has changed substantially. I have changed and along with it the memory, slowly fading to short snippets: the train whistle in the distance, my friends' sleeping breath, the laughter at the dinner table.

I hadn't forgotten that night, no, but I certainly hadn't thought about it in quite a while. Until a couple days ago, when he found me online. What was so wonderful about it wasn't that I'd found my long lost perfect man, (I already found that one), but that we could talk about that night, and how the one evening together stayed with the both of us, and never really diminished in importance, it just changed.

I think for me, the fact that I never heard from him added to the mystery, and the fantasy of someday being with him. I think it also gave me hope that there really was someone out there that I could love, that could fulfill every item on the perfect man list. Today it is a reminder of my journey through relationships, friendships and time, it reminds me that things come back around. It reminds me that 12 years is an eternity, and also a very short amount of time.

2. de la selva

In undergrad i studied in Ecuador. I played in the jungle, swung from the vines and experienced it all with a friend called Kyle. Kyle happened to be very good friends with a girl called Laura B. I didn't know Laura B. at all, but when I returned home, I needed a place to live, and Kyle hooked me up with Laura B.

Kyle introduced me as De La Selva: my Ecuadorian name meaning "of the jungle" like George of the Jungle. We lived together for two.5 years after that. We had a grand time. We went salsa dancing almost every night. I made and drank my first (illegal) margaritas with her. I went to her wedding. Then we graduated.

We have done a sad job of keeping in touch in the last 8 years, although, admittedly she has done a much better job than I. She moved as far away as you can possibly move, while still being in the same country, well, almost. I expected to never see her again.

I would receive the occasional Christmas or birthday card, and I would smile, Then set it aside intending to write back. But I rarely did. Two years ago I managed a long long letter describing all my adventures of the prior 5 years and asked as many questions as I could think of, and hoped to hear back. No letter came.

Until a couple weeks ago when I got my Christmas card... and a long email explaining that she is back in Oregon, (Corvallis, where we went to school). Corvallis! I just applied to go to grad school there! We may be salsa dancing like crazy again soon.

crazy how the world goes round.

clunkity clug flap tap

Once upon a time I used to tap dance. I wasn't great, but I had gotten to a point where I could communicate somewhat effectively with my feet. My feet generally made the correct noises and for the most part, in time with the music and the rhythm.

After my ankle injury I put away my tap shoes, as I couldn't walk in even a slight heel, and I certainly couldn't stand on my toes. For four years my little shoes with tiny metal taps on the toes lived in my dance shoe bag, in a box in a of a pile of crap in my parents' storage shed.

I was determined to find them a year or so ago but to no avail. They were not where I thought I had left them.

Over Christmas break I set out on another adventure to find all my botany text books from undergrad, you know, just to brush up before I make a complete idiot out of myself in grad school. I un-stacked, then restacked every box in the tiny little shed, building myself into the very back corner until I couldn't even crawl over the tops of the boxes. I dug through clothes and dishes and boxes labeled "miscellaneous shit" full of, well, stuff. I didn't find the final and most important book in that pile. But I did find, in the very last box, at the bottom of the pile in the very back corner under some old clothes: my tap shoes.

I pulled them out of the box with glee and tucked them under my arm like they were long lost gems. And, although I was alone, I looked around suspiciously, guarding them from jealous jays collecting shiny things.

Two days ago I strapped them onto my feet and tried to make them work. But there were people around so I just fooled around, wore them to the bar, and then set them aside.

Then an hour ago I switched on some bluegrass and sat down, and I heard my shoes calling me. So I strapped them on and flapped around the living room to the banjo and stand-up bass. Unfortunately, my left foot has forgotten how to move. It has forgotten, possibly, that it is actually attached to my body. And the tapping goes something like this:

flap tap clunk, flapityflaptap, clunkungk. Clugugtup flap flap.

Oh well, soon it will remember that it is attached, and in the meantime, the clugugity clump flap tap will have to suffice.

how low

Hasn't it been at least two years since last year?

I find it frightening and exciting to be looking back at what I've accomplished and avoided in the past year. It feels like at least 5 years have passed since I finished up my masters. At least 7 since I've been with Andrew(actually 2), at least 10 since I left Boulder in search of a new direction (that new direction being grad school in 2004). I suppose it is a sign of filling up my days and trying a lot of new things, crazy and mainstream.

This time last year I had barely finished and presented my thesis. I had lost most of my hair and my neck was one big knot. My bank account was always negative and I rarely spent a day with and for myself; I usually had some firm to contact, some letter to write, some plea for informational interviews or employment I wanted out the door.

Finally my networking paid off and my parents flew me to Portland for an interview. It was bitter sweet, getting a job, leaving Santa Rosa, leaving Andrew. But I was optimistic. It wasn't until midway through my summer in Portland that I realized how miserable I was, how much the firm had toyed with my psyche. It reminded me of how much I like to work hard, how I like to work with people, and how I really dislike business politics: sleazy through and through. I went on vacation to Virginia and when I returned to work I lost my job: two days after the official signing of the $700 billion dollar bailout. I haven't felt that relieved in a long time.

Two months later one of my best friends, in a similar situation, lost her job. Then other jobs started falling out around me. Our coffee shop customers stopped coming in for their usual. They are buying beans instead, making coffee at home or simply not coming in anymore. What have you been up to? "Unemployed, lost my job, looking for work".

So here is to a new year and a new president and more change than we have had the balls to consider in decades. Lets hope the low is low enough to convince Americans we've been doing something wrong.