Archives for July 2004

No time to “really” post today. I’m off to talk to a woman about a house. Well, I’m actually off to discuss financing a teeny-tiny condo. She will most likely laugh me out of the office. Listen for her — you might be able to hear her in about half an hour. Even you, La Brainy.

I have high debts (school and credit). I have no savings. (I have two very darling cats and lots of yarn, but somehow these aren’t treated with as must respect as a, say, down payment would be.) And people still say, eh. Go see what she says. Okey doke. Watch me roll. At least the meeting this afternoon is free.

Dear Reader Allison asked me a great question:

I have a question for you- though it’s actually about running. I saw in your earlier posts that you started recently. The thing is you make it sound like so much fun, but when does it become enjoyable??? I’ve been doing couch to 5k from coolrunning.com. I’m on week 4 and my brain is still screaming “stopstopstopstop” the whole time. How do you get from there to running in the pool because you’re hurt but want to run anyway? Sorry if this is a weird question to ask a knitting blog. 🙂

First, this ain’t no knitting blog. Had you noticed? (Anne killed me a couple of days ago: “Knitting content: I have been knitting. Ok, now on to other things.”) I’m so knitting, I swear. I’m almost done with another pair of socks. I’m almost done with that Brick Joy, the cabled Debbie Bliss hoodie. I’ve just lost all motivation to photograph yet another sweater in progress. Here’s what it looked like, here’s what it looks like now, two inches longer. I actually enjoy seeing this progress on other sites – I just bore myself silly with photographing such activity.

Where was I? Oh, back to the excellent question. Allison, I’m not sure WHERE the craziness that inspired the running came from. There’s never been anyone more anti-running than me. Completely unable to hide my disdain, if someone said to me, “I went running this morning,” I would howl in disgust. “Why do you DO that? How awful! Are you all right?”

Then I woke up one day and wanted to run. Quite literally, my body said, RUN. Not from anything, there was nothing I was avoiding, it just wanted me to move. I called Marama and told her I needed her help in buying running shoes, and she said, “Wanna run the AIDS Marathon?” I said, “Okay.” WTF?

My body screams “stopstopstopstop,” too. Loudly, in an annoying whine. But one day when I was going around the lake, I realized that it was full of crap. Shin splints aside, I don’t have to stopstopstop. Even though I felt like I was gonna DIE, I just kept running and eventually I forgot about that voice for a minute. I just tuned that part out and starting thinking about my writing, or what I wanted for dinner. I’m not saying that I’m not terrified to do the marathon. Actually, I’m terrified to do the seven mile run this week, since I skipped the six mile one last week so my legs could heal. Aargh. It’s kinda like when I quit smoking. I would throw myself on to the couch and absolutely Know For Sure that I was going to die if I didn’t have a cigarette. Then I would forget about it and have an okay evening. All mental, baby.

Thanks for the question, Allison.

And might I add, I was right. I’ve gained five pounds. Don’t anyone tell me that’s muscle weight or nothin’, because I know it ain’t, it’s all the ice cream I’ve suddenly felt much more free to eat. Well, I’m running a marathon! Pass the cake.

Sheesh.

Whew. I had a marvelous birthday weekend (the celebrations rolled all the way over the three day weekend) and now I’m exhausted. On the fourth I went to a great barbeque up in the Berkeley hills at my friend Christina’s house, and we had a little impromptu knitting party — here are Amy and Christina.

We watch the fog roll closer, and then I went down the hill to a party in Jack London Square, where we stood on the roof and watched the fireworks in the harbor. Then we turned around and looked into the heart of Oakland, E.14th Street, and watched the same size fireworks, none of them sanctioned by any city manager, and therefore MUCH more exciting.

I’m ready to go back to work, just to get a rest. Bethany’s in town, too, house-sitting a coworker’s house, so we’ve been playing. Yesterday she and I drove out to Marin where we did a little yarn-fondling at Dharma Trading, followed by clam chowder on the deck of Sam’s in Tiburon, watching the boats rock and the fog bank swell over San Francisco. It was a gorgeous sunny convertible-top-down kind of day. Followed by a fabulous dinner with both sisters and friends, and Baskin Robbins sundaes for desert, who could ask for anything more?

Here’re some of my favorite parts of my haul – Christy framed this strip of photos we took, and it was perfect, one of those things I had completely forgotten about and that utterly delighted me when I saw them again. And Bethany got me real Shaker yarn (and a color card, she’s no dummy). Look at these edible colors! Whoo hooo!

Today is devoted to getting ready to go back to work – things like laundry and grocery shopping. Ew. And I’m throwing in a little pool running, with Bethany. I’m letting my muscles heal, giving them a good ten days. I don’t like it, but I have to quit being stoopid about it. I just worry that when I go back to my pace group on Sunday I’ll be so far behind them in the training that they’ll all laugh at me and leave me crying in the dirt. Well, I don’t really think that’ll happen. But it’s a midnight fear.

Bother. My head will not cooperate with the rest of my body. I’ve just been sitting here, staring. I’ve got the second load of laundry in, but I’m going to have to skip doing the sheets today, because the kitties are on them, refusing to let go. Of course they’re sleeping now. They weren’t at 5am, but now? Sure, out like two little lights. Usually I like to wash the sheets and put them right back on the bed, since I only have one set I like. Oh, it’s worth sleeping on the second best set, I suppose. They look so happy. In a zonked out kind of way.

I am so hopelessly boring today. Post-party dullness. Yawn.

Hah! Snuck that in on ya, didn’t I? (Most of you, that is….) I’m 32. And may I say that I LOVE my thirties? The twenties were cool. But the thirties rock.

And that dinner party? Yep, it was a birthday party. And I’m gonna photoblog it, because really, who doesn’t like a photoblog?

It was…. ready for it? Awesome. You know how I worried and fretted and stressed? Two people kept me sane and made my party fun for me — my sister Christy and my friend Marama. Christy came early and went shopping with me (and paid for the Safeway run even though she shouldn’t have). Then she came home with me and started cutting up things and didn’t stop for a LONG time. She gathered blackberries for the fruit salad, and chopped heaps of things like garlic and tomatoes and other things needing chopping. She made things pretty while I showered and fretted. Then Marama came over with her daughter Kalea (who was the best party favor EVER; I wish you could all have Kalea at your parties). Marama took over backstage. Every time I looked, I caught her wiping something down or washing something with nice soapy water. I felt awful about it, but she kept smiling and pushing me back into the mingling fray, with sweet wishes for me to have fun.

Which I did.

I had SO much fun. I couldn’t decide who to invite, so I invited a select group of my favorites from all the different segments of my life. I think thirty or forty people filtered through the house over the course of the night, which went from five till almost midnight. And I loved looking around and seeing A from work talking to B from the bar, who actually knows C from knitting, but didn’t know that they both knew D from high school. Much, much laughter. I tried to mingle as best I could, but I would find myself deep in conversation with one person, only to realize I was neglecting a whole group. Then I just decided to never mind it and keep having fun.

Without further delay:

Marama and daughter Kalea, setting up for the party.

Kalea with my sister Christy. Kalea fell in love with her, and fast. But who wouldn’t?

I am so happy it’s my birthday!

Strange people were doing odd things with my camera:

It was at this point that I gave my camera to Kalea, and appointed my five-year old friend my staff photographer. It thrilled her to her sandals to have such an important job, and I got a brand new look at my house. Like my purse, for example:

The best part was how people had to bend down to her level. (This picture made me howl.)

She took lots and lots of pictures of her feet. I don’t think this was on purpose.

Some photos are centered:

Some are not so centered:

Scary thing is I don’t know whose hand this is around my waist:

My favorite boy Winter was there, seen here with Kira (in her fab new tank):

My dude is WAY high on sugar:

I, on the other hand, have had a LOT of champagne (seen here with Don, of the Dude sweater):

See?

Kalea’s still snapping shots, but now people are coming down to her level:

And even posing for her!

I think Kalea might have gone a little sugar-happy too (or it might have been the booze), because the shots become at this point more avant garde:

My pre-Marathon gams, in my fabulous Diner Floor shoes:

Finally the camera is reliquinshed at the end of the night, and we’re looking at a very happy Kalea:

And some of my favorite gals are still hanging out at the end of the night:

It was the best birthday party EVER. Oh! The clock just clicked over to Monday! Officially, happy birthday to me!

THIS is funny (thanks, Amy!). I’m in Portland’s Craiglist!

I’m also, let me admit, in a wee bit o’pain. I pushed myself running yesterday, and I KNOW I shouldn’t have. I should have been doing the pool running but I missed the road running (that’s the craziest phrase I’ve ever written) so I went around the lake. I thought I was doing great, but I could feel the shin splints hurting again, and when I stretched at the end, I think I pulled something. Damn it.

So I iced all night and arnica gelled and ibuprofened (let’s see how many other irritating verbs I can create), and I’ll do the same today. Sigh. I know once they heal I’ll be fine. It’s just having the patience to let ‘em heal. (Where the hell can I buy some patience? Right now!) So no running for the next ten days. Pool running, yes, which they say is 90-100% as effective as real running. But honestly, it feels like cheating to me. For one, you don’t sweat, or at least you don’t notice you’re sweating. Ew. For another, it’s so flipping BORING! The only thing I can pick up on my headset radio is the local right-wing talk show which makes me run all the faster. Again, ew.

It’s Friday! One more night o’work, and then I’ve got a fabulous weekend planned. Fourth of July is my favorite holiday in the whole wide world – I love fireworks like I love cashmere. It’s something about that boom and that report and that glug you feel deep in your chest when a great big one explodes and lights up the faces of the people next to you. I’ve got a friend with a loft in the embarcadero in Jack London Square, so we’ll hang there and walk down for the show.

And tomorrow I’m having a Real Party at my house! My first one! I’m not thinking about it. Really, I’m not. Not even a little bit.

(Okay, I’m making pasta with veggies, and garlic bread, and a big salad, and Christy’s bringing devilled eggs and a cake. None of that a-little-bit-of-this-and-that, because I’ll end up spending a hundred bucks at the grocery store only to have a fridge full of leftovers that no one will eat. This is what I want: a dinner party where people can fill a paper plate with simple food (no barbeque, too complicated) and then take it to the backyard and balance it on one knee while they drink their [beverage of choice].

I need to: Clean the house, string the outside white lights, wash the outside chairs, oh hell, wash the INSIDE chairs, or at least de-fuzz them for the more allergic guests, go grocery shopping, and NOT freak out.)

But honestly, I’m not really thinking about it. Ahem.

Enjoy your weekend. Mwah!

You know what I’ve learned through this blog? Or rather, what I’m in the process of learning on a daily basis?

How to say thank you.

It’s never been easy for me; I’ve always been the “oh you shouldn’t have” or “what I got you isn’t half as nice” kind of person. But lately, with the donations, and the compliments on the article, and virtual hugs, and all that dang love that I feel from all sides, I ain’t got no choice. It whittles my words down to just:

Thank you.

(After being whittled, she just goes on typing, doesn’t she? Yep.)

Now. Go see Bethany. She’s at the end of the chapter, and this last entry made me get a little weepy. I’m so proud of her, so proud of both my incredibly accomplished sisters.