Does anyone still blog?

Today I remembered that I have this blog. It took some searching, but I eventually managed to pull it up again. It was fun to read some of the old posts, cringing at a few and feeling something akin to pride- or at least amusement- at others.

So are my six readers still out there? Just curious.

I think I might try to write a few more posts. It's a good creative exercise. I think I will continue to aim for non-weighty topics, as the weighty ones come with too much responsibility. I will avoid any subject that requires me to form or share an educated and well-researched opinion-I will leave that to the professionals, who are among the many things that I am grateful for on this Thanksgiving Eve.

I wish the world a happy Thanksgiving! I am thankful for the good people everywhere who fight the good fight and exert their positive influence in their unique way. I aim to be more like you.

backyard camping fail

It was the summer of 2013, and my family had met up in Flagstaff for a week of adventure, relaxation, and togetherness. We stayed in a cabin in the mountains just outside of town.

One night I thought it would be nice to sleep under the stars. No one else shared my fantasy, so I had to go it alone. The cabin had a spacious deck in the back that stood about four feet above the ground, with steps leading down into a sparsely wooded pine forest. I selected a spot on the deck, spread out my sleeping bag, and settled down to enjoy the starry night. It was backyard camping at its best.

I had only been asleep a few hours when I was awakened by the lights of a truck rumbling down the dirt road near our cabin. It stopped in front of another cabin about 100 yards away. As I watched, two individuals climbed out, slamming their doors. Their voices carried to me, though I couldn't make out what they were discussing. They began to walk through the forest, the light beams from their flashlights sweeping back and forth in front of them. Dismayed that the stillness of the forest was shattered, I turned to my side to block their bombarding lights and sounds.

I lay that way for several minutes, slowly drifting back towards sleep. And then I was yanked back to complete alertness. I can't say what triggered my senses, but when I opened my eyes, I was instantly aware that those two distant flashlight beams were now very close. By turning to my side, I was completely unaware of their approach, but now both beams were shining right on me from ten feet away. I sat upright, motivated equally by surprised fear and extreme irritation. What the devil?! I have no idea what I intended to say to these inconsiderate (or worse) yahoos, but it was going to be aggressive.

The beams were blinding me from the edge of the deck. So close! As soon as I stirred, one hastily called out, "Put your hands up! This is the police!"

Well there was little chance that the girl rolled up in a mummy bag was going to to be able to either put up her hands or pull out a weapon. Seeming to realize this, the light beam voice went on, and I must emphasize that this is a direct quote, "We're looking for a bad man with a knife." Oh yeah? A bad man with a knife.. And then, perhaps my favorite part, he asked, "Have you seen anyone around here with that description?"

"Uh..." I actually paused and thought about it. Why that required any thought on my part must be attributed to the fact that I really felt a desire to be helpful to the policemen searching for a bad man with a knife. But alas. "...no." Sorry.

Their parting words to me were, "We'll keep looking. " And then, "You should be alright here." And with that, they moved off again into the forest, sweeping their flashlight beams in front of them.

You should be alright here? I pondered that. They did, after all, think that I was the bad man with the knife only about 30 seconds earlier. But they said I should be alright. And the air was chilly while my sleeping bag was very, very warm. If I were to go inside, I'd have to get out of my bag first.. That settled it. I was about to lay back down and go back to sleep when my mom opened the door.

"What did they want?"

"They were looking for a bad man with a knife."

"Get inside."

Ah, yes. I should go inside. Thanks, mom.

I never did check the police beat. I hope they found their man.

miscommunication

I’m still chuckling about an encounter last Saturday. I helped guide a group of kayakers on a Potomac flat water tour and one member of the group was deaf. She was such a sweet, kind girl and we were able to communicate well enough through pantomimes and gestures and the help of her companions.

At the end of the tour, when we had dragged all the boats out of the water and were preparing to depart, she looked over at me and blew a kiss. Unsure of how to respond, I just smiled at her. She blew me a second kiss. I hesitated and then blew her one back.

It was only later that I realized she was simply saying “thank you” in sign language.

Has anyone else made that mistake? It doesn't stretch the imagination much to see all the problems with the similarities between these two gestures. What if she thought I was flirting with her and behaving totally inappropriately in a professional setting? There were plenty of other ways for me to respond. A nod and a wave would have sufficed. But I blew her a kiss back. 

breaking down barriers/ a new low, or alternatively, a new high

Want to know what I did on the 4th of July? I'll tell you. I visited Boston! We saw historic sites and took tours and watched street performers and ate yummy food and generally had a smashing American good time.

It was pretty hot. Want to know what I did to cope with the burning sun and the stifling heat? I'll tell you. I used my umbrella! (I called it a parasol.)

Some friends preferred that I walk at a distance from them. Others wanted to get underneath the umbrella with me. The only others who had brought their own umbrellas were the Asians.

Those Asians know how to celebrate the 4th properly, while the bulk of America exercised their freedom to get skin cancer.

Perhaps I reached a new low. All I need to complete the image of hopeless eccentricity is a fanny pack. (I wouldn't rule those out. They are quite practical.) But I prefer to see myself as a pioneer. A trend setter! A leader! I bravely and stoically flaunt what the Too-Cool wouldn't be caught dead with, and in so doing liberate myself from the shackles of style and normal behavior. Won't you follow me?

Eloquent

My friend Kay just left to be a missionary for the LDS church. This is what she posted on her facebook page the day before entering the Missionary Training Center:

“Tomorrow. ....Oh my hell.”

On so many levels, what a thing to say! Am I offended? Au contraire, I think she summed it up quite succinctly. Her phrase is a poem that could be quoted and dissected.

And also, I think the poor thing could use a hug. Honk if being a missionary was one of the hardest things you ever did!

 

May God bless you, Kay.

Human Encounter/ Social Fumble/ I Felt So Bad

As I was biking home on Friday I came to a place in my route where two paths intersect. I needed to turn left but there was another biker approaching from the other direction, right there in my left-hand turn path, and he needed to turn right. In other words we were right in each others' way. 

He was there first so I slowed down. He saw me coming and, perhaps acting as a gentleman, he also slowed down. Realizing that he was going to wait for me to go first, I sped up and rounded the turn. The other man's bike slowed nearly to a stand still as he waited for me to pass. Without warning, he uttered a low, "Oh, sh__!" and he and his bike fell over sideways to the ground, his feet still locked into his pedals.

Yikes! I've never actually witnessed that before. I've never felt personally responsible for it happening to someone else, either. It was so sad! There was nothing he could do to break his fall.

I considered stopping to see if he was OK, but I was afraid. Maybe he would feel ridiculous if a girl who really couldn't do anything to help him anyways and whose fault it was that he fell over stopped to make an even bigger deal about his embarrassing fall.

Should I have stopped? Yeah, it was probably the courteous thing to do. Instead I exclaimed, "Oh no! I'm so sorry!" and stood up in my saddle to pedal quickly away (to gain more speed for the ensuing incline...)

Why do I do the things I do? I sincerely hope that someday my rational thoughts will compute fast enough to govern my split-second decisions. Someday. 

Human Encounter/ Social Fumble/ What would YOU have done?

Etiquette class didn't prepare me for this.

I was having an animated conversation with a co-worker while at a party. We were discussing something about which we were both quite excited, and my friend started to spit a little as he spoke. Just a little, not really a big deal. Then it happened again, and this time the drop of spit flew out of his mouth and landed on my lower lip.

I didn't know what to do. The drop felt about the size of a medium-sized crumb and it kinda stuck there. Perhaps there were some actual crumb components because there did seem to be some substance to it. Anyways, I didn't know what to do. Did he know he had just done that? He certainly didn't acknowledge it. He kept looking steadily at me with unmarred excitement about our discussion. Should I call attention to the fact that he had done it, perhaps in a humorous sort of way? Maybe he wouldn't find it humorous. I could just calmly wipe it off my lip with a napkin, but that might draw attention to it and perhaps make him feel bad. What other options did I have?

I think a normal person would have just wiped it off their lip and said nothing. And if they didn't do that, they would have called out their buddy and laughed together about it.. and then wiped it off their lip. But not me. I just let it sit there. Rather than burst his apparent blissful ignorance, I pretended that nothing had happened. I tried to redirect some of my focus back to him while most of my attention was devoted to the fat spittle-blob hanging out on my lip, wondering if he had noticed it yet and was thinking how gross I was for slobbering like that and not wiping it off.

Police Week motorcades escort themselves!

As I biked across the 14th street bridge yesterday morning I suddenly became aware that the normally bustling bridge was completely void of cars. How unusual. Then I saw a lone policeman on his motorcycle approaching, lights flashing. He lacked the urgency of one headed to an accident scene, so I suspected the next most likely thing in D.C.- a motorcade. A motorcade! They will never cease to be exciting to me. I pulled over my bike.

 

The motocop kept looking over his shoulder, as if he were waiting for something. Indeed, he was waiting for his cronies. Two more motorcycle-police approached. Next came a whole troop of motocops, with lights and sirens wailing. I was having a blast. See, they are riding in formation! Look how, when I wave timidly, they completely ignore me! They are not on parade they are in a motorcade. It must be unprofessional to wave while you're in a motorcade. At last I could see the escortee: tour buses. I really wished that I could see the occupants of the buses but they had darkly tinted windows.  Well, that's nice, I thought. It's Police Week and I'll bet the attendees must be headed to some event in Arlington. Maybe at the Pentagon? That's great that they get escorted by their fellow policemen.

 

Other bicyclists wizzed past me and I wondered, don't they notice that an exciting motorcade is passing?? Why am I the only nerd to stop and watch this thing? The show ended and I pedaled on my way.

 

Not five minutes later, the whole scene was repeated in front of the Washington Monument. I was joined by more and more cyclists as we waited for the second tour-bus motorcade (also headed to Virginia) to clear the intersection. I could hear another cyclist explaining what Police Week was to the man next to him. As they passed in front of the sun, I looked to see the silhouettes of the people inside- but with the sun glinting through I could see that the buses were empty! No passengers. Now why would they create multiple significant traffice disruptions to escort empty tour buses a la motorcade?

 

It is so odd! But I've figured it out. All those motocops were supposed to be riding inside the buses. But of course, what cop would opt for a seat in a bus when they have the option to ride on a motorcycle and wear cool sunglasses instead? So.. they were escorting themselves. Ha, those clever cops.

an exciting new use for an ordinary object

A coworker and I were chatting about this and that as we washed our hands in the ladies room. Then she did something I've never seen before.  She went back into one of the bathroom stalls and retrieved one of the tissue paper toilet seat covers. She proceeded to use it to wipe her face. Perhaps I looked a little stunned, because she offered an explanation, "It's just like the tissues you can buy at the store to mop the oil from your face." I see.

I’m baaaaaack! Please enjoy my first post in almost two years, in which I enquire whether tis better to be a chicken or a goose

During my bike ride to work last week, I came upon a large Canadian goose blocking the bike path. I aimed my bike directly at the goose and pedaled harder. As I accelerated towards the goose, he remained standing defiantly, majestically, suicidally resolute, directly in my path. As the distance closed to less than ten feet, rather than hustling off the path, the goose took a menacing step towards me. At the last moment I swerved, ending the game of chicken and avoiding a collision with the goose. As I rode away, I thought to myself, "I was chicken to a goose."

Now I ask whether tis better to be a chicken or a goose? I (the chicken) backed down from the face-off, choosing to avoid a conflict in which I and the goose would both undoubtedly have been injured to some degree. The goose (the goose) courageously stood in the face of imminent danger, winning the show-down.

 

When that goose stepped towards me rather than away, I was thrilled. I thought it was so awesome, so goose-y. And he won. He was no chicken. He has goose-nerves of steel. But what if I had also decided not to back down, to be a goose instead? Would he have survived that collision? Maybe. He surely would have drawn some of my blood with his raptor-bill in defense and retaliation. But I might have broken his neck. My bike is big, and so am I. So did the goose do well by being such a goose? I suppose, because he's no chicken and he's also unharmed. But that was risky on his part! That's courage for you.

 

When I swerved and became the chicken, I chose to admit defeat rather than to face the consequences of triumph. If the goose had been a chicken and waddled off that path in time, it would have been ok for me to be a goose. But if both of us chose to stay goose to the bitter end, both of us would have been sorry. I decided I didn't want that so I sacrificed courage for safety. Am I doubly chicken because I stepped down not to another human but to a goose- a mere fowl- something smaller and dumber than me? Or rather, did I actually display courage in willingly losing to an inferior opponent? A different type of courage, maybe, but courage nonetheless? Maybe I'm just trying to justify my chicken-ness.

 

Well, here's what I've decided: whether it was courage or cowardice that motivated my actions, I am glad that I was the chicken, and I am glad the goose was the goose. I was so delighted to see that goose be so defiant and brave and cool. And I am so glad that I'm not the jerk that hits a goose with a bike. That would have been horrible. I think we both came out winners; the goose on his spectrum of goosey-ness was fully goose, and I on my humanity spectrum am humane. Phew.

little mistake with big consequences II

I may get alot of mileage out of this article title. Here's the second installment. Last Sunday I sent this email to several dozen of our friends:


Hi Friends,

We have accumulated obscene amounts of meat, chips, cake, etc. due to yesterday's happy event (the union of Kate and Kaleb). We would like to invite you to come over and help us eat the leftovers tonight at 7:30 pm. Bring your own plate and your friends.

Sincerely,

Kate's roommates


Today, I sent this additional email out to all those included on the original invitation:


Friends,

Please accept our sincere apologies. We really didn't intend to give you all food poisoning. (For those of you that were too discreet to ask around, an alarming number of us fell ill the next day.) Hopefully it didn't disrupt your schedules too much.

Yours (even in culinary disaster and digestive unease),

Kate's former roommates

little mistake with big consequences

I was quietly working in my office this week when the calm was shattered by an earsplitting fire alarm and a loudspeaker voice ordering us all out of the building. Then Ms. Pearl came running down the hallway, crying, "It's just my popcorn- I've burned it!" An entire building was being evacuated because Ms. Pearl burned her popcorn.

We gathered across the street and watched as two fire trucks and a big, black official-looking car with flashing lights pulled up. I stood next to the woman who caused the whole ordeal and thought how lucky we were that the weather was not 99 degrees that day, as it had been.

Most of the attorney's took it in stride- even when it meant that all several hundred of us had to pass through security at the same time to re-enter the building once it was cleared of the offending popcorn.

The occurrence also caused the head of our team to make some changes to our emergency procedure. "As I sat at the corner tavern, I realized that I had no way of knowing if all of you had made it out of the building safely. To make it possible for me to keep track of all of you, please proceed directly to the tavern during our next emergency."

We didn't survive (well, technically we survived because we're still alive but metaphorically we didn't make it)

On Saturday night we participated in the largest game of tag I've ever seen (reference SurviveDC.com). Beginning at Dupont Circle, 1,000 runners used whatever route they chose through the city to reach six checkpoints in order, trying not to get caught. The games began with just fifteen chasers, but their numbers swelled as runners got tagged and became chasers.

I haven't run so hard since perhaps elementary school! And my body didn't like it. There's this muscle on the top of my shins that kept me limping for three days afterward. It was very fun, nonetheless. I think my favorite part was sprinting down the sidewalk on 18th Street by all the fancy outdoor restaurants, with bewildered diners gaping at us. I felt so conspicuously out-of-place, yet much too scared of getting tagged to really care. Strangers kept stopping me and asking, "What is going on?"

Our entire gang was tagged out just three blocks from the second check point. We didn't stand a chance. There was a chaser in every direction we turned, and soon we were all split up, and finally when Matt and I didn't realize that the entire mob of people at the other side of the intersection happened to be chasers until they all broke into a stampede in our direction, I knew we were goners. I was finally run down on a bridge over I-395 by a tall red-haired man.

We knew by the twitter feeds that most people had been tagged out by about 10:30 pm, at which point we forsook the whole thing and went out for dinner. The next day we learned that out of the 1,000 runners who began the race, only 79 actually 'survived D.C.' Next year they should re-name it the D.C. massacre.



Upon getting tagged, I had to exchange my blue runner arm band for an orange chaser arm band. (I also had to call everyone else so that we could re-group, since we had been scattered in every which way.)



Here we are with our chaser arm bands on. Every last one of us got tagged out.

Unlucky, and really unobservant

I am resolved to post more than once a quarter on this thing. By posting today, after posting so recently, I am exceeding even my own high blogging aspirations.

Today, my thoughts are with the poor UPS driver who fell down an elevator shaft this week. When this happened to a character in Kate and Leopold it was a little comical. The occurrence in real life is very unfortunate- it seems doubly so because it has been portrayed in a humorous light.

The man was on the third floor of a large office building off of Monument Drive in Fairfax, VA. For some reason, the elevator doors opened even though the elevator was not there. The man failed to notice this as he proceeded to back his large cart of packages into the empty space through the doors.

He fell three flights, shattering the bones in both his arms, breaking his pelvis, and cracking his skull.

I learned of the poor man's mishap through his colleague, our office's UPS driver. When David collected our packages yesterday afternoon, he said that the man is not doing well. I am anxious for today's update. I pray that he is able to recover!

the cop used sirens and flashing lights to pull me over (i was on my bicycle)

Last night I decided to ride my bike to the tennis court to hit on the backboard. As I turned right at the top of a large hill, I noticed a police car turn onto the street behind me. As I coasted down the hill, I waited for the car to pass me by, but it never did. It stayed behind me the whole way down. At the bottom of the hill, I suddenly hear the cop's siren and see its lights flash. As I was the only "vehicle" around, I supposed I must be the culprit. Bewildered, I pulled over my bicycle.

My surprise was compounded when I saw the face of my tormentor. The officer was an elderly woman, and she was driving a minivan. Not your typical law-enforcement image.

"Your bike lights aren't bright enough!" she told me. "Oh." I wasn't sure what to say. Did that really merit a siren? I considered telling her that I didn't have any bike lights, but thought better of it. There must be some ordinance in Arlington that requires cyclists to have bike lights. She went on for a bit, and then concluded, "Other than that, you're doing everything right. Thanks for wearing a helmet!" With that, she smiled and drove away.

And that, folks, is my first experience getting pulled over on my bike, and my first experience with a police grandma driving a cop minivan. Of all the police, the police grandmas must be my favorites.

'tis the season to be...surfing

I went home to Florida for Thanksgiving- for the first time since high school. It was everything I remembered it to be and more.

Jenni and Scott and I decided to brave the holiday traffic and drive down there. After a luxurious stopover for the night at the Disney Resort at Hilton Head Island (SC), we arrived in Mims on Thursday, just in time for the big meal.

I really didn't expose Jenni to the wide variety of activities the area has to offer. We knew what we liked, and we didn't stray far from it. We went to New Smyrna Beach, Playalinda Beach, Cocoa Beach, and Wekiva Springs. I never took her into Orlando at all. We may not have gone to Disney World, but we did get to see the ocean in the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening, and at night.



Ajay and Angie and their friends enjoyed many of these activities with us. Angie documented the experience with her camera. As her pictures demonstrate, there are a few advantages to not having four seasons.

In loving memory of summer

As we are in the throes of winter, I fondly recall days with friendlier temperatures. Six months ago, I enjoyed a summer season that fulfilled all the most cherished ideals of balmy weather and long, carefree days. This was made possible by a spell of unemployment.

When I completed my internship on Capitol Hill in May, I could postpone reality no longer. I now had to confront the question that haunts many students: School is over- what do I do now? I joined scores of others in the quest for employment. This terrifying experience taught me a lot about the value of humility, perseverance, self-promotion, and sheer good luck.

I searched high and low for suitable employment, but as the weeks turned into months I grew quite fond of the ample free time I enjoyed, and realized that I am not one of those people who need meaningful employment in order derive satisfaction from existing. As long as I was able to ignore the feelings of worthlessness and rejection, I never once got bored or tired of my membership in what we refer to as the "day club". My unemployed status made it possible for me to have one of the funnest summers ever.

I kicked off my summer 'o fun by going to the French Riviera with my parents. We were in Cannes for the film festival. We also glimpsed the Grand Prix in Monaco through the barricades. The rest of our time was spent wandering along the coastline or through the French Alps.

This is the Mediterranean coast.

These are the foothills of the Alps.

This is the view from our hotel.

This is a narrow street.

Back in the homeland, I enjoyed a number of civilized/uncivilized activities in the D.C. region.

We climbed at Carderock.

The Air Force musicians played at the Air Force Memorial.

We camped in the Shenandoah's and played in the waterfalls.

We toured the Capitol Dome.

There was a protest going on during our tour.

The view from the top was spectacular.

We hiked around Great Falls.

We marched at the head of the Washington, D.C. Fourth of July parade.

We rafted the James and the Yauckaghanee Rivers.

We went to New York City. (And walked across the Brooklyn Bridge.)

We wake boarded on Lake Anna.

We visited Monticello.

And toured the University of Virginia.

(Why are those pictures so small?)

We went to Palmyra. We visited all the historic church sites in the region, we saw the first half of the Cumorah pageant before it was rained out, we even attended the Palmyra Temple.

One afternoon we took off and drove up to Niagara Falls.

I slept with wild horses on the beach at Assateague. (Unfortunately, my camera broke during this trip. Hence, no pictures.)

My camera was out of commission for the rest of the summer. But I had a lot of fun creating many unrecorded memories.

In the end, the lifestyle was too good to be true. It's just not sustainable, or I could have gone on indefinitely. I got two part time gigs until I found full time employment. When the long-awaited offer finally came, I had the beautiful dilemma of having to juggle three jobs until I could let one of them go.

In an ironic twist of fate, two positions I had anxiously sought all summer finally became available- after I had already committed to the job I currently have. "It always happens this way," my old supervisor told me, and added "But it always works out for the best." I believe she is very wise.

Nowadays I work long hours, often not getting home until 10 pm at night- and it is cold outside. While I am very grateful for my employment, I am also very grateful for long, warm summer days and free time.

Going Public

Alright folks, I have now made my blog open to the public.

Come one, come all!

Capitol views

Sicko

A short while ago I noticed a bite on my leg. Bites aren't that unusual, but this one caught my attention because it was somewhat swollen, yet still completely painless. I showed it to a few people; they all dismissed it as harmless. I ignored the bite for a time, but noted with increasing interest that each time I saw it, rather than appearing a bit fainter, the bite was actually getting larger! A week later, when the bite had swollen to 5 inches in diameter, I started to get a bit uneasy.

I told Joelle about it on the phone, and she was the one to actually to suggest that it might be lyme disease. We googled images of 'lyme disease' and sure enough, they all looked exactly like the strange, bulls-eye rash on my leg. The girl at the doctor’s office agreed with our diagnosis but explained that they can't be sure until the disease has been percolating in your bloodstream for 6 weeks, at which point they perform a blood test that yields only shaky results. They normally just diagnose it symptomatically, which is why all she did was glance at the bite before giving me my prescription and sending me on my way.

So, I can't be certain, but apparently I contracted lyme disease. I took the round of medication for three weeks, and the rash faded almost completely away. All I can see now is the small red mark where the tick got me.

I didn't know much about the disease to begin with, but have now learned enough to be deeply grateful for that nasty rash. Had it not shown up, I never would have been able to diagnose the disease so quickly through the other, more ambiguous symptoms. My friend Michelle never had a rash to help her identify her lyme disease, and so it had advanced so far before being treated that she will be experiencing the effects of it for the rest of her life.

I assume that I am completely whole at this point, although when I struggle to wake up to my alarm I am very tempted to blame it on the lyme disease and use it as an excuse to sleep another hour. This could be a useful scape goat.