California Dreamin'

On such a winter's day. Oh, man.

Last Thursday, Patrick and I drove down to San Francisco with one New Hampshire native, five or six bagels, and one bicycle wedged inside my trunk. Our friend Harrison, who we met at UNH, is the kind of cyclist that bikes for 9 hours straight, the kind that wears "kit" (or "a kit" depending on whether or not you think "kit" is a non-count or count noun) when he rides, and thinks that the Tour de France is the most exciting televised sports program ever. Ever.

He's spending the next month in the San Francisco/Oakland area, training and riding on the California hills, at a time when his competition back in New England is still knocking snow off their car roofs at least once a week.

We're spending the next month underneath cascades and torrents of rain in the Pacific Northwest.

We stayed in Berkeley, with two of Harrison's friends from high school. I tried not to let the fact that Berkeley just rejected me from their comp lit PhD program and the fact that one of Harrison's friends was a current PhD in English student at Berkeley phase me.

(It did.)

We spent only one day in the Bay area, driving Harrison and his girlfriend Moe around the city, over bridges, down Lombard street, near City Light Books, to Golden Gate park. The sun was shining, it was March 9th, I was in a dress with bare legs and yes I did get cold at night but there was sun! On my bare shoulders! A bottle of wine shared in the park and a burrito at El Farolito later, and Patrick and I are moving to San Francisco, and living on a houseboat in Sausalito. If you'd like to come visit, please send your requested travel dates and a number to reach you at, and we'll get back to you as soon as we check the calendar.

Springtime/cleaning

A few weeks ago, I read a blog post about blog posts. I can't remember the blog or the author--I think I probably found it via Pinterest, read a post or two, then moved on--but it was a woman whose personal blog had become well-known and had acquired more followers and readers than her sisters (Hi guys!) and two overseas friends.

But because of her wide readership, or because the internet is a scary place where you never know who is reading or following you (virtually or in person...), or because you can should never be as honest as you want to be when putting something out into the world, her internet presence had changed, morphed into something not personal, something detached and distanced from her real life and self. Which for some, is okay. For others, it defeats the purpose of keeping a blog.

All of this to say, things are about to get personal.

I spent the last month away from social media, away from blogging and liking comments and perving on people's photos. I was still pinning crafts and recipes like a boss, but I hardly think that counts. In the past month, I have been poorer than I have ever been before, which has led to some creative meals and juggling of bills. And you all know how much I hate juggling. In the past month, I have lost my best friend of seven years and have been living in an empty apartment that is about to become even emptier. In the past month, I have quit my job at the underwriting firm and begun work from home as a program coordinator for a non-profit that provides tutoring to under-privileged children around the country. In the past month, I have had only two terrible hangovers, which, with the month I've had, is really not shabby.

In the past month, I have been rejected from the comparative literature PhD programs at both Berkeley (dashing my notions of actually being intelligent) and the University of Oregon (dashing my notions of being moderately smart). I'm still waiting on Chicago, but I'm not sure that this is my year, nor am I sure that I am ready to make the commitment to any PhD program, ranked number one in the country or fifty. We have had two visitors from New Hampshire in the past month, and decided that with my inability to not tell it like it is, New England is, for the moment, the best place for us. Nobody appreciates frankness better than a Bostonian, let me tell you. Plus at least in New England they can drive.

Truth be told, Seattle kicked my ass. Completely and unexpectedly. And I'd like to say I can take it, roll with the punches, give it one hundred and ten per cent and all that jazz, but I'm tired. And broke. And I needed to step back and breathe. It's early March now, and though it's not quite spring yet, and though metaphors of rebirth and regeneration are tired and wholly unnecessary, I am just glad the sun is shining, and that I'm starting to breathe again.

When Gravity Fails and Negativity Don't Pull You Through

Today is February 1st. I have been at my job here at the underwriting firm for just under six months now, which marks the longest time I have ever worked full-time in an office before. Generally, it's been one, two, three months stints, over Christmas and summer breaks, between degrees and adventures and teaching positions.

My week began with a man chirping, "Happy Monday!" into the phone when I answered his call early Monday morning.

We talk about traffic a lot. About the weather. About the lack of sunlight and the fact that a certain yoghurt has a certain number of WW points.

Just the other day, a woman left the office at 4:30, yelling back to those of us still inside, "see you in twelve hours!" She meant 16, but it's just as well. Sixteen hours away, eight hours here. 13.5 hours away, if you're counting commuting times & preparation for work. I am.

As the receptionist, past whom everyone must walk to get to the bathroom, I hear a lot about my co-workers' urinary habits: how much water they're drinking, how much they usually drink, and their commitments to staying hydrated. As the receptionist, I sit next to the candy jar that the semi-retired owner of the company keeps stocked with Werther's Originals, peppermint rounds, and those strawberry candies with the ooze in the middle. I hear a lot about my co-workers' lack of self-control, about the weight they've recently gained, and about how their grandmothers used to keep candy jars filled with very specific treats during their childhoods. In the words of my esteemed gentleman friend, "Shit don't change."

Since starting as the receptionist here, I have been sick approximately nine times, which--if you're counting (I am)--is four more times than the number of months I've worked here. I think I may be fighting something off right now, to add to that list. If you have been paying any attention at all to my health or my immune system in the past few years--and, of course, I have--the number of times I have been sick since starting this position is approximately seven more times than I normally get sick in an entire year.

I may be more than a little skeptical about third eyes and chakras, but I can take a hint. Oh, Lord, can I take a hint.

Snow in Seattle, Where we Name our Snowstorms

Last week was "Snowpocalypse." Or "Winter Blast 2012," depending on what news station you prefer. In preparation for the week of weather, Patrick, Kili, and I spent Tuesday night in Ballard at The Sexton with Caro, a fiction writer from the program at UNH. (I recommend the brioche slider with house-ground chuck steak. I do not recommend staying for five hours, if you do not want a horrendously high bill and your clothes to smell like bar)

On SnowDayOne, we were stuck. Those hills in Seattle? They'll get you. Here is my street:

That snow closure sign has been waiting at the bottom of the 45* grade since November. NH might call us soft, but NH has things like snowplows and flat terrain.

To induce the feeling of being snowed in, but stave off any cabin fever, I decided to make pot pie for dinner, but had some dill to use.

And, it turns out, some mushrooms & onions. And garlic.And ground beef,

and. Wait. Some yoghurt.

But that, you might argue is beef stroganoff, not pot pie. Not pot pie at all.








Which is why, of course, I simmered it down and stuck it in a pie crust, baked it for a while, and served it with Scrabble. This shot is after my record-breaking eight-letter, all-tiles-using word "greedier" (I had to make up for the time I got beaten by a nine year old...).

To be honest, the pie wasn't an entire success. When the yoghurt baked with the meat, dill, and mushrooms, it kind of...disappeared? For lack of a better word. Rather than a gravy-sauce based off greek yoghurt, with meat & mushrooms in it, it turned out to be a pie full of meat & mushrooms, with a taste of yoghurt. Kili suggested that next time--because it was tasty enough to warrant a next time, even with the imperfections--we serve it with the yoghurt or sour cream on the side, so that the flavor, consistency, and plating look similar to traditional beef stroganoff, just in pie form. This leads to all kinds of exciting opportunities, like hand pies with dipping sauce! And...okay, hand pies with dipping sauce is my only idea so far. But I imagine that the possibilities are endless.

Oh! I almost forgot! It won't taste right unless you follow it up with this:

Obviously.



And finally, some pictures from our snow-week.

Adventuring

Last weekend, Ari, Patrick and I drove east into the Cascades to find snow and sunshine. I told Patrick I wanted to get out of the city, and we were considering making the five hour trek to the ocean, or driving north to Deception Pass, but the mountains are so close by, and Ari's house was on the way, & the allure of two puppies was too much to pass up. We drove east and east and east, past the summit, past Snoqualmie pass and the skiers, past wet trees and shrunken piles of old snow.

Until this last weekend, it hadn't snowed in Seattle yet this winter. Even the mountains were dry. The slopes were sparse and the snow was probably that terrible type that is hard and crunchy--the kind that PNWers complain about, but the kind that East Coasters cut their teeth on. Possibly literally. Ari & Patrick & I drove out to one of those weird lakes that line I-90 East, the ones that have old growth tree stumps sticking out in the middle of them, one of the ones that you see on a hot day stuck sitting in the traffic over the pass and want to get out and jump in.
But we found snow, and sun--and I don't mean that heavily filtered kind that we get on winter most days in Seattle. The sun was bright and huge and fierce, that cold warmth that we got on the sunny days in New England. The kind where you need sunglasses, but you don't put them on because it's cold and you're cold and it's been grey for weeks and you turn your face into the sun to feel it in your eyeballs.

We spent a good while at the lake, trying to toss snowballs into a hollowed out tree trunk some distance away, and mucking around in the wet earth underneath the thin layer of snow. We drove to Snoqualmie Falls afterwards, to stand and watch the waterfall for a minute or two, and then headed back to happy hour at Tutta Bella in Issaquah.
This weekend, Patrick and I drove north and then east on Highway 2 for a ways, impatient for the snow and hoping to catch some flakes before they came to Seattle. We found it--somewhere between Monroe and Sultan--and got out of the car for a minute, before the cold and the cows chased us back west. I've been itching to get out of the city recently, wanting a break from city restaurants and bars and drivers and people. For now, while I'm broke (and still reeling from the 520 toll), short drives will have to do. I'm hoping, soon, to turn them into thrifting trips. If there are furs and vintage dresses to be had in Madison, AL, I'm sure to find at least a good coat in Verlot, WA, am I right?

On Trend

A few days ago, I wore my cardigan backwards to work. Nobody said anything, which is unusual because usually someone says something. I wore knee high knit socks to work a few weeks back, over brown tights and with a dress. One of my co-workers--a girl who is actually younger than myself, not just a stodgy old woman unwilling to except the winds of sartorial change (ha!)--said, "you look...different."

I had seen this backwards Kris Kross look on one of the fashion blogs I read, a girl in San Francisco who walks around in too high heels on a too-regular basis. The day I wore it to work, I saw it on several runway models in spring 2012 fashion shows, a few other blogs, and at least one "trend-spotting" site (hey, I spend eight hours a day in front of a computer. What else am I supposed to do?).

It's a funny thing, how fashion works. One weirdo in expensive clothes gets the idea to put his models' sweaters on backwards and that's "on-trend" for spring. The fashion bloggers & sartorially-minded see the runway shows and start wearing their sweaters on backwards a little early, setting the trend for the rest of us. The people like me--who peruse fashion sites and love clothes, but don't frequent NYFW--see it on models and bloggers and wear it out in real life, to their office jobs as receptionists. By the time spring 2012 is here, backwards cardigans are mainstream, normal, and so hot right now.

For me, the backwards cardigan is an easy way to remix a top, to stretch my modest wardrobe a little further, without having to go clothes shopping again. And god do I love a good low back on anything.

Clanking of Crystal

A friend--who had very good fortune in her professional life in 2011--recently told me that in 2012, we would switch: In 2012, she would get her personal life on the upswing, and I would get my life in order professionally, in terms of jobs and careers.

What's important about this switch-off isn't that I'll get out of my dead-end job(s). It isn't that my hopes for 2012 are that I only have to work one job to pay my bills. What's important isn't that in 2012, I will start on the path toward my future career.

What's important is that in 2011, despite a graduate program that didn't want me to acquire a degree, despite two bratty children who love Dolce & Gabbana and refer to the homeless as "poor," despite answering phones and teaching at ITT Tech, of all places, and working online as a tutor for a corporation not necessarily invested in education, I had a wonderful year.

I graduated, for one thing. I learned to love New Hampshire, and even learned to miss it once I was gone. I traveled three thousand miles with my best friend and cat, stopping in gas stations & parks to eat and laugh and take pictures. I moved home, to a place that even though it's strange--even though I don't quite feel comfortable just yet--is the place I was born, the place I will always come home to. I moved home to my Nest, to work with Ari and see Ardith and live with Kili. 2011 brought me closer to my niece and nephews and brought me two new nephews. And at the risk of sappiness okay everything about this whole post is sappy, but I get to spend every day with Patrick, who in the words of my oldest nephew, is great because "he's nice and wears skinny jeans."

In short, I'm happier than I've ever been, and I'm about to be even happier because I think it's about time to open some champagne. Happy New Year!