One of those Gym People

Well, I did it. With the parents' help, I just joined a gym. I'm going to be one of THOSE people. No, I don't think that I will run a marathon, or get all hyped up on energy smoothies, or open a yoga studio. But hopefully I will try to balance out the fact that I can't afford organic, fresh fruits and veggies or convenient Lean Cuisines for emergencies (ie lazy times), and still be able to lose some weight on tuna sandwiches, apples, bananas, and cottage cheese.

Do you think it's cheating to drive to a gym that's .8 miles away, since I'll be working out there anyway? What if the wind chill is below zero?

An End of 2009 Confession

I am gripped by fear of graduating and publication submission. I have thus far been choosing to listen to the half of my faculty who tell me to wait until I graduate. But who says graduation will magically turn on a confidence switch? I haven't even been seriously pursuing freelance assignments. What's my problem? Is it something I can actively turn around in 2010 or will I be writing a similar confession next year?

Well, if the first step is admitting you have a problem...my name is Kate, and I have no confidence in my chosen career path.

Hence, Haiku

Looking back at my last three blog posts, I realized that all I've been doing is writing haiku. I don't even consider myself a poet, nor do I write other poems outside the realm of the blogophere. But sometimes the things I want to say are too big, or too obvious, or too whiny for prose. Hence, haiku.

I do have some ponderings in the works, so I shall be posting those shortly. In the meantime,

How I love to say
quite a bit in fewer words
to keep you guessing.

To Melt a Glacier

Sometimes it seems like
trying to melt a glacier
with a hair dryer.

You try anyway,
even though you will be pained
from hard work unpaid.

You try anyway,
'cause maybe you'll discover
a secret weakness.

And maybe you won't.

Haiku for a Good Wednesday

The boy never saw
the tiny mushroom behind
the giant oak tree.

How he would have missed
its succulent, hearty taste
had the oak not fall'n.

Why I Write Relationships

I deconstruct them
then put them back together
'cause I can't for real.

The more I do it
maybe it'll be simpler

off the page.

Welcome to the 21st Century of Relationships

In this day and age, when we are all so aching to let everyone in on our personal failures and triumphs, technology has kindly given us neat little paths on which to do so. But I say, why not step it up a bit?

Take Facebook. Kudos are in order for the site, which has now (in cause anyone's missed it these last few months) added a "In an Open Relationship" status in the fold. But what good is this status if you can only add one name? Do you have to pick your favorite open relationship and snub the others? Do you rotate every month? I say give us multiple slots! In an Open Relationship with Jim Bob. In an Open Relationship with Mary Kay. In an Open Relationship with Your Mom. Then there will be no favoritism.

And while you're at it, why not add some new relationship statuses? "Still Not Over" and "Desperately Wants but Can't Have" are some that come to mind. What about, "Used to be Married to but Now Trying Friendship with," or "Friends with Benefits with"? Oh, and to avoid gender-preference confusion, how about the ever-popular, "Pretending to be Married to Just for Fun but Neither of Us are Gay" feature?

Might as well, right? Then we could all save time on hiding secret angst in our statuses (come on you know we all do it) and just come out with how we are feeling! Who's with me?

The Sloth Hole

I have now entered the Fancy-Scmancy Phone world. For real this time. That one time, in April: that was a pretend fancy-schmancy phone. This is a Droid. And thanks to the generosity of my awesome parents who put me back on their family plan (welcome back to childhood, Kate!) I'm paying less per month for my F-S Phone and all its perks than I was paying for calling and texting only on that Chinese RAZR I ordered on Ebay after my pretend F-S phone broke. (Although I will miss how amusing it was that the RAZR didn't speak English...)

Now, this new phone could be helpful and it could be harmful on my new quest: not to fall deeper into the Sloth Hole than I have already fallen (Sloth Hole: (n) Reminiscent of Alice's rabbit hole, although instead of pulling you into another world, it makes you complacent with sitting in front of a computer all day.) I am constantly worried that I am missing something as I am stuck here in front of my laptop all day, although there is little I can do about it at the moment. Unlike some who have fallen into the Hole, I have reason to be down here: as a writer and online tutor, my job lies on this computer. It is a part of me, like gaff tape to a theater technician.

So here's where the Droid comes in. Yes, I will have access to e-mail, weather, maps, my calendar, contacts, Facebook, Pandora, even Blogger from anywhere I can get a cell signal. But does that mean that I will spend less time checking these things once I get home to my computer, or more time checking them on the Droid when I should be doing other things away from my computer?

I live in the #2 walking-friendly city in America. I should probably try and stay out of Sloth Holes when I'm walking around out in it, lest I fall and break something (most tragically, my new phone).

Slackening the Reins

I was having a discussion with my friend this weekend about life. He told me that lately he's come to the conclusion that while he's doing almost everything to work toward his dreams, the one thing that he cannot work toward is love. No matter how hard he can strive for happiness and greatness in all else, this is one area where he cannot prevail with hard work. Happiness in this area must come from something else. Chance? Hope? Being open to new pathways that may lead to love? It's sad to think that in our can-do American world, there are some things that cannot be accomplished with hard work and perseverance alone. Some things you can work and work at and still have them crumble before your eyes, sometimes by your doing, and sometimes not.

It's scary to let the reigns go on something as important to me as love. As much as I've wanted to embrace my independence this past year, I've been lonely when I don't feel something there for someone. But I can't work so hard anymore. Unexpected encounters brought me all the joys of the summer, so I have to trust that the universe will bring me more again, when I'm not searching so hard for them.

Meanwhile, I am going to follow my friend's example of working hard on my own dreams, and hopefully things will fall into place after that, when they are supposed to.

Evolution of a Writer

Preschool:
First poem is written. "Down went the celery, down went the cat. Down went me but not dat dat." Very proud of self.

First Grade:
Cute furry animal is happy, cute furry animal gets into trouble, cute furry animal gets out of trouble. The end.
Writing method: Dictation to mom, original artwork by me.

Third Grade:
Joint story with best friend about the misadventures of bat and flying squirrel.
Writing method: Two heads better than one. Original artwork by both of us. Giggling abounds.

Fifth Grade:
Possibly embarrassing time-traveling story involving middle school gym teacher.
Writing method: Mechanical pencils and legal pads. Inspiration hits anywhere and everywhere.

Eighth Grade:
Painfully cliched natural disaster story inspired by hit mid-nineties movie. Stilted dialogue and too many adverbs. Lots of fun to write, though. Flew through it.
Writing method: Mechanical pencils and mead notebooks. Lots of Mead notebooks.

High School:
Mushy stories about having lots of free time with my boyfriend. Writing as coping mechanism and escape from "overly strict" parents.
Writing method: Sparkly pens in secret journals and notebooks, scribbled behind illegally-locked doors.

Senior Year:
"Real" fiction as learned in college creative writing class. Previous writing shown to be positively awful. Damn, this stuff is hard.
Writing method: Parents' slow, slow, computer.

College:
Character development, plot, theme, setting, description? Story arcs...inspiration and ideas coming slower, pushed out by craft. Am I actually going to major in this?
Writing method: Laptop at Village Coffee Shop, caffeine addiction begins.

Senior Year of College:
Tackle novella for senior honors project. With 3 weeks left before due date, decide to completely switch from third-person to first-person POV. Write straight through spring break. Accomplishment. 130 pages. Phew.
Writing method: Village Coffee Shop, Granville Coffee Shop, Library, Quad, Maine, on Floor of Room, on Ceiling of Room, on Top of Fridge. Caffeine IV inserted.

(Almost) Last Semester of MFA:
Write a paragraph. Check Facebook. Walk away. Write another paragraph and decide that character isn't flushed out enough, so write a character interview. Make coffee. Decide that that character wouldn't do what I wanted him to do so change what he does. Do laundry. Research antelopes. Stare at the ceiling. Check Facebook. Write another paragraph. Wait until the last weekend before submission to write the majority of the story and then wonder why I'm developing an ulcer.
Writing method: Survival.

Five-Year Journal, Year One

One year ago today, I started a 5-year journal. I get 6 lines to write a short summary of my day. This was my first entry:

"For the first time, the future looks back at me, as vast and open as the endlessness of space, and as one vision of how to fill the space ends, I must create a new vision of how I will fill it back in. This is very scary."

Though I haven't had the best autumn so far this year, I am happy to say that my future is not so scary as it was on November 3, 2008. Now every night when I open the journal to set down my day, I will also get to read about what happened last year.

This, my friends, is my secret for remembering everything.

5 Randoms for a Halloween Weekend

1. My parents decided to come up for the weekend, and while I had a good time with them, I was ready to get back to normal after I dropped them at the airport today. As I observed my interactions with them this weekend, I wondered if other peoples' parents (especially mothers) talk about the past as much as mine do:
"Do you remember when we brought you to Boston when you were 7 and we ate at that place with the checkered tableclothes at Quincy Market and had baked beans?"
"No."
"You DON'T!?"
Or, even more curiously, "Do you remember when you were one and we used to dance around the dining room table singing nursery rhymes?"
"Kids don't remember anything from when they were under three, mom."
"They DON'T!? You don't remember that?!"
I've come to the conclusion that my mother never quite got over me growing up.

2. I saw the Post-Meridian Radio Players' production of "The Big Broadcast" last night, and forgot how much I love live theatre and concurrently am embarrassed for loving live theatre so much. It's so corny. But I don't care.

3. I realized that as much as I miss being a child, I wouldn't find walking around getting free candy from strangers as entertaining as I did when I was little. I can go to CVS down the street now and buy whatever candy I want. Kind of a bummer, really. Now if as adults we could go door to door asking for money, or beer, or electronics...that I could get into.

4. I can't believe it's been almost a year that I've been here on Parker Street. I've now witnessed all the seasons here, and still maintain that this is one of the best neighborhoods to live in. Now, if I could get a couch and maybe an area rug in my living room, life would be near-perfect.

5. Autumn seems to be, once again, a time for endings and re-assessing life goals. I think I am better equipped to deal with such things this year, although am still quite sad at the current outcome. Hopefully if this trajectory continues similarly as last year's, I will see a resurgence after Christmas, and for that I am very excited.

And a bonus 6th...

No matter what kind of mood you are in, seeing Chewbacca riding around on a Seguay in the North End will always, always bring a smile to your face. Especially when he growls at everyone he passes.

A Quick Note

My new cell phone has a section in the "Messages" menu called "Quick Notes." I always just thought these were for business matters: "I'm in a meeting," "Meet me for lunch," "Sorry can't talk busy now" kind of thing. But today I noticed one I hadn't seen before: "I'm sorry/I love you." Ah, I thought, nothing like really showing remorse and love like sending a pre-packaged message you didn't even have to type yourself. And it's not even a comma, or a period, or an "and" - it's an either/or slash. Like either "I'm sorry" or "I love you" or perhaps you're meant to erase the one that doesn't apply...

This...is an apology fail. If you ever receive this text, I would be dubious of its sincerity.

Fall

This weekend was quintessential fall:

Apple picking and leaf peeping, tree and rock climbing, movie-going.
Festival-attending, beer sipping.
Dancing to tubas and trumpets and trombones and big drums.
Cart Indian food.
Sleeping in, breaking out the fleece.
Long talks on long walks.
And, of course, having to turn on the space heater first thing in the morning...

I try to keep these feelings with me as I'm back to work for the week, waiting until the next weekend of fun, when I get to let loose again. Sometimes I wonder how some people do this their whole lives - working weekend to weekend, trudging through until they get two special days where they can actually live their lives. This is what I'm working towards, I tell myself as I get up at 5:30 and lumber from the red line to the green line with the masses. I'm working for every day to be just as fulfilling as this past weekend.

Good luck to me, you say. Thanks. I'll need it.

It's a Good Thing the Past is Passed

This is the intro to a really really really bad sci-fi short story I started (but never finished), circa mid-1998. There is a reason it was never finished.

100 years ago, our Earth was unknown and new. Although we had been around for billions of years, this number didn’t even compare to how old some of the other worlds were. 100 years ago, we found out there were other worlds. 100 years ago, other worlds found us.

I was around 100 years ago. I’ve only been around 18. The year I was born was 83 years into the Reconstrcution of our world. My name is Wick Putnum, and my name means “new” or “full of life.” I was totally oblivious of what was going on around me and what my world had been through. 100 years ago hadn’t mattered to me.

It does not. 100 years ago, our planet was blasted by a force of what can only be described as “wind.” This “wind” blanketed the Earth in chemical tonxins, causing every living thing to die. Only two hundred survived – the 200 that were underground in an experimental housing project. These 200 lived underground for thirty years, starting new lives and sadly laying to rest the ones that lived out their last years in that living grave. Finally, they ascended to the surface, finding a barren wasteland, and nothing but dry sand, which was actually the dehydrated bodies of all living organisms.

Here they began the Reconstruction. Here they build cities anew. And here I was born, live, thrive, and grow. 100 years have passed, and we have discovered we’re not alone. We were blasted with what we affectionately refer to as “intergalactic hairspray” by what we affectionately refer to as an “ant.”

Unknowing if the ants will ever strike again, we’ve built up an army to protect our land. We’ve developed spaceships to defend our bases. And we’ve send up thousands of our willing men to man them. We hope they will never come again to this place.

Weird Dream

Things are changing around here, and I don't yet know how, but I had a weird dream last night that I hope is, if not prophetic, at least can act as a comfort.

I was at a Catholic church, but it was huge, like a complex almost. There were helicopter pads and stuff. I was in an outdoor arena, waiting for a speaker to begin. A helicopter landed very close to the arena, at about the same level as our heads, and the blades were very close. The helicopter didn't sound too good, so we all decided to leave quickly, and it's a good thing we did - it blew up just as we were leaving the grounds.

We entered the city and, lo and behold, it was like War of the Worlds - tripods everywhere. I was running with the priest and we both kind of looked at each other like, "Here we go again." We hid in a bar, behind the counter (think Shaun of the Dead). A friend brought us a party pack with a disposable camera and some chocolate, I'm guessing to capture our last few moments alive. The fighting sounds died down and we decided to get in the car, and as we were driving away from the bar we realized we didn't see any of the tripods. I called my mom, to tell her goodbye, but as we were talking we realized there really wasn't any reason to say goodbye. The tripods were actually just men in paper mache suits, and now they were all falling over. There was no real threat. We actually bumped the car into one and it sort of grunted. Dream over.

So in both parts of the dream there was a threat, and then we dodged things, and then there was a threat again, and it turned out to be not as bad as we thought. So I'm hoping this is to be applied to my current situation. Maybe, in the long run, when I have some ability to look at it closer, this isn't as bad as it now seems. At least, that's my hope.

My Time in Iowa

The other night, Myque’s mom Carole asked me what I would tell people was great about Iowa. At the time, I didn’t really know what to say, because I think just about everything is great about Iowa. But thinking about it more I realized I should say what I couldn’t verbalize to Carole the other night: for her, for all of them, and for you, my readers who might not understand the appeal. So without further ado, please enjoy

What I Did on My Summer Vacation, or Why I Loved Iowa (Other than the Obvious)

Every morning, sipping coffee at the same table Myque’s family has sat around since he was a child, I could look out the back window at the big tree on the edge of the yard and watch the sun rise. My first morning, the sunrise was so beautiful behind the corn, barn and tree that I couldn’t help but tiptoe, barefoot, out onto the dew-heavy grass to photograph it. Yesterday morning a blood-orange sun captured my eye so thoroughly that I didn’t even manage to reach for my camera. Then in the evening, I could peer out the front door at the sunset, sinking below the beans and subtle hills of the surrounding farmland. The other night, as Myque and I relaxed with his sister and brother-in-law in town, he received a call from his dad encouraging us to get in the car and drive to where we could enjoy a postcard-perfect evening sky. On the way, we ran into some people they knew and ended up talking right through the sunset, but that was okay. That’s Iowa.

And Iowa, especially where Myque’s family lives, is a tight-knit community like that. Ever since I set foot in the Franz household, I have greatly enjoyed being allowed to help. This past week I did bait, cooked, helped set up and tear down a wedding reception, cleaned, hauled tables and chairs, planted grass seed, herded first graders, and socialized a kitten. I learned how to drive a skid loader, a riding mower, and a four-wheeler. I watched Myque’s dad at this farm or that farm, bailing or raking or exterminating rodents, helping neighbors, getting help from neighbors, and not thinking twice about it. That’s just how things are. Myque and I didn’t go anywhere in town without running into someone he knew, and stopping to talk is par for the course. Sure, sometimes you miss sunsets, but the closeness felt between members of the community makes everything worth it.

And then of course there are the little things, the things that are so obviously awesome that they could go without mention but I’ll do it anyway: Fresh Iowa beef (and cousins who grill it perfectly), sweet corn from the family’s garden, pulled pork sandwiches so tender they melt, fresh air whipping through your hair from the back of a motorcycle, exploring Iowa wildlife with first graders. Birthday parties with castle cakes. Card games with old friends. Favorite coffee shops. Wild kittens. Lightning bugs. Watching a couple’s first wedding dance and later impromptu dance recitals. Journaling as the sun inches over the barn and the dog and cat snooze at your feet. Morning dew. Being included on the growth chart wall with amazing people you’ve only known for a few days. Accomplishing something, learning something, loving everything.

That’s Iowa. Or, at least, that’s my Iowa. All of these things, I’m sure, can be found just about anywhere. But I was lucky enough to find it all in the middle of the country in a little state most people confuse with the state famous for potatoes. No matter if I go back once or (more preferably) a million times, I will always love these things about Iowa. And I’m excited to find more!

Haiku . Independence, Iowa

The moon, a pumpkin
hanging o'er hazy mud skies
behind the red barn

Rural Girl Makes a Comeback

I really hate worn, overused phrases, so I will attempt to use something a little different. Let's see...

You never knew you even liked cheese curds until they show you some good old Midwestern hospitality and you realize there aren't any where you live, and this makes you bawl like a baby on the way back to your cheese-curdless existence.

Wait, I don't think that worked.

Having lived here almost a year, I have made many friends and found myself involved in a lot of communities. I have my writing group, my work friends, my Lesley friends, and the occasional friendly game night. But over Christmas and then again last week, I was reminded what it was like to be a part of a family of friends and loved ones who have known each other forever, support you almost no matter what you do, and make amazing food. Even more than missing MyQue, although I certainly am doing enough of that, I was sad to come off the plane alone last night alone after being surrounded by MyQue's family the whole trip. While I've learned to enjoy my solitude, I mourned something I forgot was there, and now I look around and realize it's something I'm definitely lacking here.

Since I graduate next July, I know that I will definitely want to be here for another year at least, so this is something I'm going to have to remedy. I don't know how; I think it just has to do with spending more time with those I already know. But since I can't live around my own family (who is spread around the Midwest), nor can I go to visit MyQue's anytime I want (he will be leaving them for grad school at the end of the summer), I am going to have to surround myself with my own motley crew here, and enjoy these little jaunts into the heartland as much as I can.

Although the Northeast's lack of cheese curds is not literally making me cry, I do miss being able to see the sky all 360 degrees, real thunderstorms that shake the siding of the house, the call of a red-wing blackbird, and eating fresh sweetcorn right out of the garden. I guess you can't take the Rural completely out of the girl after all.

Why You Should Not Go to McDonald's with a Writer

-Did you want fries with that?
-I didn't before, but I do now.
-So...no?
-No, I do want fries with that. Now.
-Are you going to want fries with that or not?
-Listen, I don't know if I'll want them in the future, but I do want them now.
-What are you talking about, in the future? I just want to know if you wanted them.
-When?
-NOW!
-Oh NOW? I'm sorry, I wouldn't have known. With the tense changes and all.
-Sorry?
-It's okay, you don't have to apologize. Just be more careful next time. Tense is important.
-Whatever. Your total is going to be $6.03.
-When?
-I'm getting my manager.
-Now?
-Yes.
-Excellent. That's all I wanted to hear. Here, keep the change.

Happnestance Happiness

On one of the first warm days of spring, I got an itch to skip the subway on the way home from work. It ended up being quite a lovely evening (mostly) and so when I got that same itch today I decided to try it out again. This time, I shot for Kenmore Square, and while I didn't take any pretty flower pictures on the way, I did enjoy the sunshine and watching the hoards of people making their way to Fenway for the game (lucky bastards). After finally boarding at Kenmore, I made my way lazily to Harvard, and once there I still wanted a little outdoors before I got home and crashed. So I decided to cut through the commons, and ran across someone I'd been wanting to see.

This happenstance encounter (which was pretty happenstance considering she doesn't really live near me and is moving out of the country in a month) only occurred because I walked at just the right pace, caught the right train, and waited for the right stop lights. I veered from my usual path. I don't believe in an omniscient God, but I do believe in a bit of fate. And I'm glad that I listened to my instincts tonight, even if it only meant a short talk with a familiar face. I've been lonely since Myque left, and this was just the kind of push I needed to keep up my spirits.

Thanks, fate. I appreciated it.

Day Job Hell

I found this, and it speaks better about what I am currently going through than I could. Enjoy.

Re-Vision

A few weeks ago, I was very disconcerted to discover that I no longer have perfect vision. While a display on eyesight at the Museum of Science is not the end all be all of ophthalmology, I muddled through the last three lines on the chart and decided it's probably time to start thinking about a trip to the real eye doctor. This has yet to occur, but I find it ironic, considering my metaphorical long-distance vision just keeps getting clearer.

This has been the best MFA residency yet. I feel like I have finally grasped the concepts of point of view, character development, and revision. I feel like I can actually make a career of this in one way or another. No, I don't know exactly what I'll be doing when I graduate one year from next weekend, but I do know that no matter what it is, I will be on the path to publication. Just a couple months ago I would have said that it would probably take me years to finally decide on a writing career, but I think I can finally see it on the horizon, even if the economy hasn't been too forgiving as of late.

Oh, and if this vision thing keeps up, I will probably be wearing sexy librarian glasses by then, too. That helps, right?

Another Kick

It's finally time to start trying to sync spending less money with eating less food and eating better food. Any additional kicks in the rear would be appreciated.

Kick in the Rear

There's nothing more motivating than being surrounded by people who are doing more for their careers than you are.

A side effect of that is that there's nothing to make you feel more lazy...

There is No Excuse for Not Blogging...

...however, since you're already here, I might as well give it my best shot.

In the past few weeks I have been coping with charging far too much on my first credit card (out of necessity), trying to prepare for school (which is next week), spending time with/packing with/saying goodbye to Myque, continuing to move up the chain in a job I really don't like or find satisfying, and trying to sell my car but continuously finding things wrong with it that I have to fix first (hence the credit card issue).

I have been writing, mostly in my journal, mostly at work, and mostly just to keep all the things I have to do straight in my head so I don't go insane.

As soon as my thoughts un-jumble a bit, and my heart stops pounding, and my feet stop hurting all the time, and my brain takes a rest, I will find something worthwhile to blog about. Until then, I need time to spew the stress onto actual paper with actual ink and hide it away so no one will have to endure listening to it, as I have just forced you to do.

My apologies.

Returning to Maine

June 2005 – The rain beat a staccato rhythm on the roof of my old Nissan Maxima as mom and I drove the last few miles to my first “real world” home after college. It rained as we drove her to the airport the next day. It rained as I unpacked the last of my things three days later. The rain stayed for two more weeks after that. Welcome to Maine, it said.

It wasn’t that I hated Maine, I just didn’t have a very happy life there. I was in such “real world” shock that I spent too much time missing college and not enough time making friends. So to me, the rain that stuck around for the first 2 weeks of my post-grad life in Maine really summed up my entire time there, despite the moments of fun we had at Profenno’s getting drunk and stumbling home, at Vinny T’s eating roasted garlic on bread, or at various firefighter functions. Kind of sad, really, that the gloomy parts are what I remember the most.

May 2009 – Appropriately, as Myque and I pulled off Rte 1 onto Main Street in Westbrook, it was just beginning to drizzle. The sky was gray. We’d had a great time driving down, looking at all the crazy antique stores along the road, and getting hungrier by the minute. But now that I pulled into town, into the rainclouds that I remembered so well, and I became a bit gloomy.

I didn’t know how I would react four years, three houses, two states and one marriage later. Especially since I was taking someone who had absolutely nothing to do with Maine the first time. So when I rolled through town, seemingly on auto-pilot, it surprised me that stories just started pouring out of my mouth faster than the rain. Here’s our first apartment, I wonder if the family still lives there. Here’s the CVS where we used to walk to late at night for candy. Here’s the pub. Here’s the falls. Up there is where our friends lived. Here’s my old office and here’s the new building where they moved right after we left. Patient, wonderful Myque listened with honest interest. By the time we reached the Oldport, it wasn’t a place I had once lived anymore – it was a new adventure.

After eating lobster rolls (something I’d never done when I lived there) and wandering around knick-knack shops for a few hours, we drove to the Portland Headlight on Cape Elizabeth (where I’d never gone when I lived there). It was beautiful walking on the sea cliffs, climbing down to the rocky shores, and taking pictures. I wondered why I had not been here before, but then I wondered if I would have appreciated it this way.

Driving back we sang at the top of our lungs and I decided that I was okay with going back to Portland again with someone else who would see it all as new. At the same time, I was content if I never did have the opportunity to go back. I think I made my peace with Maine. And, as the sunshine decided to come out (and stayed out for the rest of the day) while MyQue and I feasted on beer, fried clams and lobster, I think it made its peace with me, too.

Another Conundrum

Okay so I didn't spend all day today thinking of gender-specific bathroom rants, but this is another big one -

Why in the world are women so pissed off when men leave the toilet seat up? What, are we so weak as a sex that we can't bother to put it back down? And why can't guys complain for us leaving it down all the time? Life is far too short to complain about something that takes less than a second to do. Just be glad they're putting the seat up at all.

Phew, thanks, I think I'm done for the day.

Conundrum from a Chick

Why do men read in the bathroom? Are their bodies so vastly different from ours that they take that much longer to do their business? I've been known to pick up a tube of toothpaste and try to sound out monosodium-whatsis in my day, but I've never stood in front of my bookshelf and thought, "What should I take in today?"

Can anyone else please try and explain this phenomenon to someone who takes literally less than 2 minutes in the bathroom no matter what I'm doing?

Hit by Spring

It's my day off, and I'm currently sitting at my desk smelling the flowers on the tree outside. Funny, that tree didn't smell on Monday. Must be that when spring makes up its mind to come, it hits all at once, and I daresay this is what has happened to me the last couple of days. Yesterday, Boston saw record highs - it reached 92, and we could feel it - so much so that I couldn't stand the thought of getting on a crowded Green Line trolley when I got out of work.

I wandered down the trail in the Fens, toward the Fenway stop not too far away, thinking I might just be ready to get on the train once I got there. But no, I still wasn't ready. So I kept going, down Beacon Street, the Comm Ave, passing stop after stop until I was almost to Copley Square. Thinking it would be silly to arrive at my friend Joel's building just as he was getting out of work and not make an appearance, I stole him away for dinner and one of the best salads I've had in a while (the Harrington at Parish Cafe - I added steak). After a Ben and Jerry's cone, we walked to the station in gathering rain clouds, and I was thankful for my adventure.

But the insistence of spring and the rapidity at which it hit us leeched over into my personal life, and as I walked home from the station I met up with Myque, who I've been excited to spend the summer with before he leaves for school in the fall. He found out yesterday that his job can't keep him through May, so his departure will be moved up two months. Even though I should have known better, I've gotten close to him and was very disappointed. So this spring will be a rebirth, sure, but also bring with it another lesson in packing a lot of life into a short amount of time.

I think with my walk home yesterday I did that, so it will be a challenge to continue the trend.

Cooking a la Estrop

My early attempts at cooking were, in a word, atrocious. It is only natural to assume they were probably on par with everyone else’s early attempts, but I think I had my struggles later in life because my mother was such an avid cook. We ate a square meal every night after everyone got home, so I never really had the opportunity to cook for myself. In fact, I found it a treat to “cook” an afternoon snack of Kraft Mac and Cheese at my friend Jenna’s house every now and again (there was no way mom would ever let me make that at home). It wasn’t until the summer between my sophomore and junior year of college that I started to cook for myself, since I ate at the cafeteria during the school year.

Tom remembers, without much zeal, I’m sure, an early meal I made for him – grilled chicken breasts that were flavorless and charred, rubbery steamed broccoli, and crunchy, microwaved potatoes. At home, I was experimenting – half-heartedly – with pasta, olive oil, and garlic powder. I ate it because it was there, but I really didn’t get into cooking anything more complicated until I moved in with Tom and we started following recipes.

Ah, recipes! Why hadn’t I really followed them earlier? They made food taste good! Soon we were amassing recipes from America’s Test Kitchen, thanks to Tom’s dad, and later we joined Brian and Kela four to five nights a week for dinner and my cooking advanced more. For a long time I was cooking a la Hamilton, and things were more delicious than ever. Chicken Teriyaki and Beef Stroganoff, Chicken Piccata and Crab Legs – I had really moved on from half-cooked potatoes and charred chicken.

Now that I’m living on my own and cooking for others very rarely, I’m sort of developing my own style. Cooking a la Hamilton is far too much for just one person, although I have been known to pull out the America’s Test Kitchen cookbook on more than one occasion. Thanks to Tom, I’ve developed a taste for Strawberries and Cream. And thanks to my mom, I know how to pick out good salmon. It’s kind of cool to have my own ways of doing things, and I think that as I cook more, I will become better at certain things and there will be a style, a la Estrop, all my own. Until then, I’m experimenting with my own buffalo wing sauce, the tastiest method for cooking asparagus, and re-discovering my good friends Ben and Jerry.

And what good friends they are…

New phone. Trying out mobile blogging. Slowly getting the hang of the touch screen. Can now share random thoughts from the t. Beware!

Bad Joke Challenge UPDATE

Thanks for the idea, Brian!

Q. Why did the turkeys cross Longwood Ave?
A. They thought a trip to the otolaryngologist would keep them from getting stuffed.

Rurban Girl

Rural Girl has now made a full metamorphosis into Rurban Girl! Full urban transition is not expected, as long as I still like petting zoos and wide open spaces.

How had this transition finally taken place, you ask?

I rode my bike. In traffic. To go somewhere. Not just for exercise! I filled the tires. I locked it up. I carried it back down to the basement. I even beat the rain home! All on the bike I've had so long that inside the helmet it says,

Katie Estrop
829 S. Lincoln St.
Springfield, IL 62704
(217) 546-0835

My old friend's happy to be out in the world again, although my thighs and butt will probably complain for several days.

Bad Joke Challenge

Q: Why did the turkeys cross Longwood Ave?
A: _______________

I am now accepting punchline suggestions!

What I've been doing (instead of blogging):

Writing
Reading
Annotating
Dining
Dating
Hiking
Brewing Coffee
Taking Pictures
Talking to Friends
Planning my Summer
Budgeting
Being Patient
Smiling
Listening to Spoon
Cooking

I promise I'll have something coherent for you after the 6th.

Flying Solo Part II

I had a good time. But I feel like I cheated because another coworker showed up halfway through the show. But I went, and I had a decent time even before she showed up, and Matt was happy I was there. Plus I made plans with the two of them on Thursday. I would consider the night fairly successful.

Perhaps I'll be less anxious next time...

Flying Solo Part I

If you know me well, this may come as a shock. Prepare.

In certain social situations where I only know one or two people, and they know a million other people and are not going to be able to spend much time with me other than a few moments, I am painfully shy. I try my best to avoid these situations by inviting friends along. But tonight it looks like I'm on my own. It's good for me, I know, but I'm uncharacteristically nervous all the same. And if I hadn't promised my coworker I'd see his band, I'd be snuggling under my covers with The Office as we speak, not freaking out about what jeans I'm wearing, if I'll be able to find a parking spot, or if I'll be able to hug a corner fast enough without being stranded in the middle of an empty dance floor. Doesn't sound like me, does it?

I'd like to say I'm going to take a stand tonight and make everything different, be bold and go talk to people I find interesting, and end up meeting friends. But I've gone out with these aspirations before and come home alone with a Starbuck's hot cocoa for comfort. I don't need to meet a million people, but it would be nice. We'll see.

Update to follow post-show.

I appreciate this. A lot.

Too Soon

My sincerest apologies to Beantown today. I unwittingly evoked the winter monster upon us again with my corny and badly-written ode to spring yesterday. I paid for it this morning, walking to the bus stop as slush fell on me, having lost my umbrella.

Remind me to hail the first snowfall and maybe we'll get a week more of autumn.

Spring

There's something that happens when the weather turns warmer: everyone seems to have new springs in their steps, the cafes and restaurants fill up, people drive faster with their windows down and their radios louder. We don't have to hide anymore, from the weather. We have been released from our salt-choked prison and can once again see the sun. Every summer, just as we forget how bitter it can be in the middle of January, we face a similar surprise at the first warm day of spring. Oh, we say, I remember.

And in this memory, we throw open the windows, let light into our homes, and try to forget how it will be dark and freezing again in just 8 months' time.

Information Age v Age of Privacy

With the development of sites like Twitter and Facebook, where you can literally update the world on your whereabouts and condition every thirty seconds if you have that much time on your hands, it's no surprise that people have become a lot more public with their private lives. I'm quite guilty of this myself, obviously - I just updated my Twitter, Facebook, Dailybooth, Frappr Map, and am metablogging right now this very second.

But since I began working at the call center I realized that the mentality of this "get it now" information age has made people assume that anyone can access anything at any time. Case in point: Almost daily, I'll get calls from people who want me to pull up their appointment time, look them up by birthdate, and tell them how much they weighed on their last checkup. Most back down when I tell them I'm only the switchboard operator, but some get huffy. "Why can't you look me up?" They ask. "Don't you know everything?"

On the other end of the spectrum, we have patients calling our answering service refusing to give us any more information than a sketchy spelling of their last names, undoubtably sending the poor medical receptionists into confusion. I know these people are probably different than the people who blab their every bathroom break on Twitter, but it's still an interesting disconnect. I'm supposed to know everything and, at the same time, nothing.

When someone complains that I don't know their information, I always want to ask themif they really want me to have it: I'm a temp with virtually no medical background who would probably only use Joe Shmoe's health history as inspiration for short fiction. But I don't. I apologize and wonder if I will show up later on Joe's Twitter: "Annoyed that no one knows anything about me."

At least I'm not shopping online for sex toys with his credit card.

Clinton and Stacy, Help Me! I think.

"You could be a hobo," Ryan said tonight, holding up a dress that looked like it was made from someone's couch upholstery. "Or a matador," he continued, and if the section hadn't said "Missus" I would have sworn he found a Halloween costume. An hour later I still hadn't found a dress for the wedding reception this weekend, and I was starting to wonder if it was everyone else, or just me. Why did everything look simply awful?

I mistakenly used to think that I had some sense of style. I think the last time that I felt "in" was in the late eighties, when anyone who had enough leg to hold up leg warmers had a sense of style. But I know somewhere down the line I lost it. I went from making fun of my mother's clothes to borrowing them. I have pants in my closet from 2005, when I weighed almost 200 pounds, that still fit me well enough to ignore that the ass sags almost down to the back of my knees. I have shoes bearing holes, underwear wearing war scars from the dogs, and socks that have been missing their mate for so long that they've begun collecting social security.

I need help. I would like to think I could throw money at the problem, but just because I have $5000 doesn't mean I won't just buy 500 Woot! Shirts. I need someone to hold my hand and point. Try that one. Don't try that one. Walk away quickly in the opposite direction.

I'm too easygoing for TLC. I would be so desperate for direction that I would put up little fight and bore all the viewers into switching to the FOX network. That is, of course, unless they tried to trash my Woot! Shirts, and then the WWE viewers would all be tuning into TLC.

So if any of my faithful readers who knows a bit more about this than I do wants to spend an afternoon helping me find some pants that hug my curves appropriately, I will buy you coffee as payment for enduing my tendencies to sigh a lot, brood, and detour to the bag department.

Challenges

It's probably good that sometimes, things that seemed like they were going to be easy end up being much harder. Otherwise, we'd have nothing to improve upon for next time.

My Temp

I say the word "certainly" at least a thousand times at work every day, and most of the time I mean it. But sometimes I don't, and I'm slowly realizing that this is okay.

In the last few months I have taken a lot to heart, about love, about work, about writing, about who I am and where I want to be. And one of the hardest lessons I've had to learn is that nothing is certain.

At this point in my life I have already decided that I am not ready to settle down. So with this decision I have to expect a level of transience, for myself and for the other members of my generation. I have already faced the fact that in this economy, any job at all is better than the mire of unemployment in which many of my friends currently stuck. And now, I am coming to terms with becoming close with those whom I know are leaving town and probably not ever coming back.

I've had a great last few weeks getting to know Ryan, and I'm sad to see him go. But I'm excited for his amazing opportunity to cruise through the Panama Canal with Princess Cruises, and his enthusiasm and dedication to his work inspires me. And even though I will miss him, my brief time wtih him has reinforced my new-found philosophy that I should probably not plan too far past tomorrow's breakfast. So far it's working just fine.

And will I make it the yummiest, most satisfactory breakfast I can? Certainly!

Best Ideas and Why My Job is Kind of Cool

It's inevitable: I always get my best writing ideas when I cannot do a damn thing about it.

When I lived in Saginaw and drove 30 minutes to and from work every day, when do you think I was most inspired to write? If I hadn't gotten a better and closer job I probably would have broken down and purchased a Bluetooth digital recorder (do such things exist?).

Now, I answer phones for a switchboard and while I do have the occasional free 40 second block between calls, I can get about three to seven words written before my thoughts get derailed with a caller looking for the dermatology clinic, to page their psychiatrist, or to find their brother who od'd and "I swear he got admitted this morning I was just too high to remember which hospital."

The good part is that I do tend to get some good ideas from such exchanges. Today a woman called in because if her neurologist didn't page her back within two hours she would get evicted. Why? What brought her to this point? I journaled about it for about ten calls before my brain bounced to something else, or I took a break to get water - whichever one came first.

An example of my work journal, while listening to random mix of soft tunes on the Muzak:

"Human? Dancers? When asking this seemingly simple question, several inferences are made quite easily: first of all, it is inferred that humans are NOT inherently dancers. Secondly, it is also inferred that dancers are not inherently human. We must be one or the other, otherwise the lyrics would be, 'Are we humans, or are we dancers, or are we both?' and that would totally mess up the rhythm scheme."

Where else could I come up with this nonsense?

A Defense of Community (for Writers)

I have discovered that the more I talk about the writing projects in which I am currently immersed, the more people will lend their own advice. Now while this may not always (or ever) be the best idea in the world, it can sometimes bring about some gems. For example, I’m writing a short story right now that borrowed a basic plotline from a story by Chekhov. I’ve explained my project to several people, and it was almost as if they could not help themselves – ideas came shooting out of them so fast with so much intensity that I had hour-long conversations about it with both of them.

My friend Ryan knew a relative that had been involved in a farming accident, which is something that I’m including in my story but don’t know a lot about. He actually called his mother to ask her more details about it, and took a page of notes for me on all the gory details. Then my friend Dan ran with the plot, and went a whole different direction from what I had planned to write. I could see in his eyes that he was intrigued with the idea, and he actually sent me a long poem he wrote, inspired by the plot idea.

I’ve decided that especially based on these two friends, I should turn to my community, writers or not, for ideas and inspiration, and think that any writer who chooses not to take advantage of their network is doing themselves a great disservice.

Red Line to Park Street

As I rode the train to work this morning, I watched the sun begin to peek out from behind the buildings of downtown Boston. The very base of the sky was a salmon pink, and then extended into a purple and then indigo blue until it met with the retreating night sky above. No one else on the train seemed to notice. Riding home I glanced back to see the lights twinkle in the darkness as we crossed the Charles back to Cambridge. I am still without a career-oriented job and money is still tight. But it's times like this, crossing the black water and looking out onto the skyline, that I realize I really love it here. I love this city.

My New Holiday

I just got this email forward from my grandma:

FLORIDA COURT SETS ATHEIST HOLY DAY
In Florida , an atheist created a case against the upcoming Easter and Passover
holy days. He hired an attorney to bring a discrimination case against
Christians, Jews and observances of their holy days.

The argument was that it was unfair that atheists had no such recognized days.
The case was brought before a judge. After listening to the passionate
presentation by the lawyer, the judge banged his gavel declaring,"Case
dismissed!"

The lawyer immediately stood objecting to the ruling saying, "Your honor,
how can you possibly dismiss this case? The Christians have Christmas,
Easter and others. The Jews have Passover, Yom Kippur and Hanukkah, yet my
client and all other atheists have no such holidays."

Th e judge leaned forward in his chair saying, "But you do. Your client,
counsel, is woefully ignorant."

The lawyer said, "Your Honor, we are unaware of any special observance
or holiday for atheists."

The judge said, "The calendar says April 1st is April Fools Day.
Psalm 14:1 states, 'The fool says in his heart, there is no God.'
Thus, it is the opinion of this court, that if your client says there is no
God, then he is a fool. Therefore, April 1st is his day. Court is adjourned.

I had to force myself not to write back and ask her if that meant I was getting an extra check on April 1....

A Sunday in Numbers

6 - inches of snow on the ground when I woke up
45 - minutes of shoveling the driveway to get my car out
10 - MPH I was traveling when I slid out of control on Corey St.
269 - Address of the house with the wall I crashed into (no injuries, thankfully)
40 - minutes we waited, in the cold car, for the tow truck
500 - dollars of deductible I'll have to pay
.6 - miles from the T stop back to the house where I'm staying
15 - percent incline of the hill from the T stop back to the house where I'm staying
2 - days it will probably take me to recover
230 - time when I got my first cup of coffee and food for the day
65 - degrees F it is in this house
99 - percent sure I am that I will take a nap very soon
100 - percent thankful I am that Kim did not abandon me during my time of need. :-)

I think I need a break.

People Come and Go

Here's the cool thing about being a writer. People come and go out of our lives, and sometimes we never see or speak with them again. And even if we do, it can never be quite the same. But somehow, even if it's years down the road, they can creep into our stories, and in that way we can stay connected to these singularly wonderful and unique souls.

Of course, we will want to be able to call them up and say, "Did you read my book? You know that larger-than-life guy on page 78? The stage director with the quirky habits? That's you!" But we can't, and maybe we shouldn't anyway. Maybe that would take away from the fun.

Yes, this is a warning. If I'm ever published, you should probably turn to page 78, and don't be surprised if you find yourself.

Tiny, Past Reminders of Encouragement

A friend once made me a little sign that sits on my desk today and probably always will. It's just two printed sheets of paper in a cheap dollar store 4x6 frame, but its message is priceless. In big print, the sign simply says:

"The single most useful piece of equipment for a writer is a bucket of glue. First you spread some on your chair, and then you sit down." (Joan Bolker)

The printing is a bit skewed, and at first when I turned the frame over to fix it, I found these words printed on the back:

"If you have time to fix this, you have time to write."

Even though my encouraging friend is no longer a big part of my life, his thoughtful gift gives me a little kick in the butt every time I sit down to my keyboard. It's a great message, and I hope all you writers take it to heart. If you sit there long enough, something good is bound to come of it.

Lesley MFA Residency, Take Two

With my MFA residency in full-swing, I have regained some confidence that I can do this writing thing. Thankfully, I am more energized and excited about my own writing life than I was before, and hope that this feeling lasts longer than it did when I got back from the last residency in June. I am having a great time with all my friends in town from Connecticut, Portland, Miami, Milwaukee, and even Jamaica. I will miss them when they head home on Saturday, and I know there will be a void in my heart while right now it is full. I am confident, though, that I am far enough along in my process of building a new life here that their absence won't diminish the enthusiasm and self-awareness that I have built over the course of these seminars and workshops so far.

That being said, I have been vastly neglecting my housework, internet social obligations, and relaxing me-time. I'll be happy to get that back soon enough. For now I'm going to enjoy the few days I have left with my friends and squeeze as much out of this residency as I can.

Need an Editor?

In this lovely season of unemployment, I'm hoping to pick up some freelance editing gigs. If you, or anyone you know, need someone to edit/proofread a manuscript, dissertation, newsletter, shopping list, etc. let me know! I have mucho time on my hands and will charge fairly.

Happy writing!