Friendly People

Do you know those people who are strangers but who are very candid with personal or historical information about themselves with out any provocation? They sort of make you feel uncomfortable because with no previous relationship formed it is a little unusual to be hearing intimate details about their lives. Most of the time this information begins with a health issue that they need to talk about with others. Like the woman who sat next to me on the plane smelling of stale cigarettes and perfume and eating cold pizza. She told me all about her recent back surgery and how it has debilitated her, keeping her from work and which then lead the conversation spiraling down into how her and her brother just don't talk anymore and how they've grown apart. She has remained fairly close with her parents, however, which shed a little brighter light on her somewhat sad sounding life.

Then there was the woman in Target who told me I should not stray from my cart since I had left my wallet in it (I have been cautioned by others before her for the same transgression). Instead of stopping at the warning, she told me that she gets warned about the same thing, but it is usually by her boyfriend. She said to me, in front of several other people in line, that she is just not used to someone caring about her like that since she left home at 14 years old. Wow, I said. She went into detailed stories of her living situation and how she survived on wit and the kindness of others. She told me about the different people she ended up meeting and said jokingly that no one would probably miss her if she were gone, not even her grown children, except that her new boyfriend really seems to care. I must admit, I did encouraged this person to talk more by asking questions, but when it was time to go we simply said good bye to one another. All that information shared, and then a simple nod and mumble of good bye.

Pilot's Butt & other musings

As I was boarding a plane home from Washington D.C., I was following a pilot who was only commuting on this flight and couldn't help but notice that he had one of those strange male behinds that is wide with hips, but is flat. His blue trousers were pulled up high around his waste. I thought to myself: Pilot's Butt. Years of bad airport food and little exercise, the shape comes with the job -- poor guy.

I did not see the pilot who was flying the aircraft (or his behind), but he was very talkative over the loudspeaker, and even with a dry sense of humor, came across friendly. He explained all the staff's credentials and reassuring features of the plane. He also reviewed some of the rules: "please store items in the overhead bins; please observe the seatbelt signs; and please no conjugating in the bathrooms, I mean congregating near the bathrooms." The commented startled me and I looked around even more startled that NO ONE was laughing. No one even snickered, flinched, or seemed to notice what he had said. I started to wonder if I imagined it, but I replayed the speech in my mind and nope, that is clearly what he said. He went on to tell a few more dry jokes, albeit clean ones, that landed equally as flat.

Later I fell asleep briefly and had a dream that the last three rows on the plane were designated for people who wanted to have sex -- as though there was a section for first class, a section for the mobility impaired, and a section for conjugal activities. I woke up slightly bewildered by this dream.

Along with sleeping, I also like to listen to music while flying. I have discovered that the soundtrack to "Amelie" can make even the most dull connecting flight seem like an adventure; or at the very least leave you with anticipation that fresh croissants and espresso await you at a beautiful sidewalk cafe (instead of a crowded airport offering bad duty free shopping). The "Best of Blondie" makes a great soundtrack to landing at night in a big city. The bedazzling lights, the anxiety/excitement of descending, and late 70's disco/punk playing in your ear gives you a bit of that rock/glam feeling -- you know the one?

Then, you land at Gate C7 and try your hardest to avoid the vulturous sky caps who chew you out when you tip them your last two dollars, even though you really didn't want their service, only directions to the hotel shuttle. Hmmmf.

Beef: It's what's for dinner

Cooking tip: generously pour balsamic vinegar over any choice cut of meat and it will attain a nice, bright red, fresh bloody look when finished fully cooking. Savory.

Driving Miss Lazy

I do a lot of driving for my new job. Please, for the moment, let us not discuss non-renewable resources and air pollution (I can not take the guilt). I mostly get to drive to "beautiful" and peculiarly fragrant places like Stockton and Fresno. The other day, however, I was lucky enough to schedule a drive to Mariposa, visit a small hospital in that quaint town, then continue on through Yosemite, over Tiago Pass and on down to Mammoth Lakes. It was really beautiful (without sarcastic quotes). The landscape was breathtaking as I wound up, through, and under rocks (seriously under rocks. If anyone has ever entered Yosemite on that side of the Park, you know what I mean), mountains, trees -- and bears. As I was driving away from the sunset at the top of the pass I saw a small, puffy, brown mass step out on to the road. A bear cub! I started to slow down when I saw an impressively large Momma bear rise up and snatch her youngling off the side of the road. I am sure I saw her scold the brown fur ball; and as I passed the two in their familial moment, I said to Momma bear: "I know what you mean. Those darn kids playing near the road. . ." I think she nodded back in a bonding moment of agreement -- at least in my imagination.

I stayed in a lodge-like hotel called Mammoth Inn, taking my dinner in the dining room while pouring over call schedules and utilization reports. The next morning I woke to the mountains, ate breakfast in a coffee shop in the village and then had a very satisfying meeting with two laboratory department heads of the Mammoth Hospital. I drove home 395 then over to 50. I stopped and waived to the pristine Echo Lake, which I hadn't seen in years, and it started to rain, leaving lovely dimples in the water. I came home to a warm house and kids who had just made hot chocolate. Some days at work can be really great.

Whirl-winds

Wow. My brain is spinning with this new job. One minute I am listening to a PhD. give a presentation on molecular biology and in turn the diagnostic testing that we are supposed to inform our hospital clients about -- and the next minute I am listening to a conference call dealing with a 6 million dollar project -- and it sounds like these are people playing Monopoly as grown-up kids. Sometimes this all very surreal, and very different from where I had ever imagined myself to be (like, when I was ten years old, I thought I would work on a ranch by the ocean and climb and hike and play forever).

But since I have grown-up, responsibility calls. Sometimes I say to myself, self: "this is not my busy sales job. . . this is not my blue company car. . . this is not my 401K plan." Then the days go by, same as it ever was. . .

Email to a friend:

The girls and I (Molly, Amy, Donna and myself) met at Molly's house and then headed out on a jolly romp to the movies only to return with heavy thoughts and hearts. The Constant Gardner should've gardened more constantly. The movie was chalk full of cheery topics such as genocide, greed, secrecy, betrayal, love, loss and murder. Whew! The chatty, giggly pack that started out that night drove home in mere silence and ended in hugs all around. Top that off with the novel, Lovely Bones, that I had started, but may not be able to finish, dealing with such difficult to swallow topics as rape, murder, death, ghosts, and of course, the human condition and I am ready to hear some good news. After a nice weekend, it has been a little bit of a heavy week. . . for more reasons than one.

I am very nervous about leaving my family for a week. I am so used to being their only source of care and support that I have clung to it like a muscle on a rock. I think I am going to suffer for the absence far more than I imagine they are. Anytime someone (or more likely two or more at the same time) calls out my name for any kind of assistance, be it large or small, I think: how are they going to survive without me? I think our mutual need for each other, which is obviously real, has become habit as well and as my friends remind me -- people live without each other for a week all the time. My children are going to survive.

There are so many changes going on right now. I am transitioning from my old job into . . . I don't know. My new position is a bit of an unknown. I can't picture how my new schedule will be and what impact that will have on my life. This is unsettling because I tend to like to know where I am going and what it will look like. I love adventure, so that is nice. But at the same time, I like security -- lifestyle is so important. I am looking forward to becoming familiar with my new career and then all the contents settling into place and the rearranging becoming a very nice life. This kind of adventure -- not just the occasional meandering hike or new sights and destinations -- can be a little less enjoyable, but it I am going to make sure that it is a very positive change. It's just a little scary right now.


Well, I hope I have not taken up too much of your day. I am going to head out now on a small bike ride and then ride into the magazine for the last day. I have so much I want to accomplish before I leave on Sunday -- grocery shop, clean house, laundry, attend Cole's soccer game, paint the entire interior of my home and plant fall flowers so my family has something pretty to look at to remind them that I care -- just a few things to do. I must pack and shop for luggage and business clothes as well. I have to leave Sunday morning at 9:00am because all the later flights were booked. I am so bummed out about that.

I will email you again when I get to San Juan Capistrano. Take care my friend!

An Afternoon at the Salon

Today I went and got a manicure and a pedicure, something I had never done before and is pretty out of the ordinary. I felt uncomfortable and pleased at the same time. The women who provided our service (Hannah and I went) were very nice, and spoke little English. I had a very odd feeling as I sat in the vibrating-back chair with my feet soaking in a whirl-pool. The "nail technicians" sat lower than us and meticulously cleaned and trimmed our cuticles and painted our nails. On one hand this seemed totally wrong and I wondered if they enjoyed their jobs. On the other hand, it felt pretty good to be pampered and I knew I was paying for this service. As the woman was massaging lotion into my feet, an older, heavily made-up, loquacious woman across the room said loudly to me, "sweety, you really look like you're enjoying yourself. Why, you look like you are having an orgasm!" She started laughing the gravely laugh of a smoker. "Whaaaaaaat?!" I thought to myself. I was very embarrassed, especially because I was just sitting there. I just gave a weak chuckle and diverted my eyes away from her so as not to invite any more comments.
I probably did enjoy the pedicure somewhat. But not to the extent the woman across the room accused me of.

Back in Blog Saddle Again

I took a break from blogging for a while, but I heard the call of the blog and decided to answer. (It sounds like this . . .)