Hello Stranger (It Seems Like a Mighty Long Time)

Gordon finally made it over to Sarah's apartment to talk art, but came without any of his drawings or watercolours--the perusal of which had been Sarah's point in scheduling this appointment with him. Unbeknownst to him I was here (and would have been anyway), so the three of us had a visit in which he and Sarah talked around scheduling another time for her to actually look at real pieces of his (for her place). We were treated to an anecdote about his frustrations with his dad (I found it entertaining); Sarah was bored stiff (she told me this after he was gone).

I felt a little bit unsure of myself around him tonight. I haven't seen him in awhile and because of anxiety I've had about that I reverted back to the old formality that kept me from really feeling close to him before. I tried not to be too prim, but I felt the way I used to feel, like I was in danger of begging, and to compensate, I reigned in some of my warmth.

Nearly finished with She's Come Undone. I feel as though I'm at the same old cross roads I always eventually come to. I need to go the other way this time.

The intimate Dinner Party is by far my favourite social venue. Catchka's sister and her roommates share a vintage Baltimore row home about 11 blocks north of my apartment. This place has 3 wonderfully spacious bedrooms (bay windows and a spacious window seat in one of them), complete with a sunroom, and explosed brick walls in the livingroom. Since Lady C is in town for the autumn holiday, and her lovely sister was hosting a small supper gathering, I was invited over to partake and to visit.

Sarah dropped me back off at my place at about 4:30. I changed clothes and braved the torrential rain and windy gales. I was finally able to hail a cab after about 10 minutes (unusually long for my part of the city), and made it there in plenty of time for wine and appetizers. I was soaked through.

I've been in such a foul funky mood lately that I didn't think I'd be up for staying more than an hour, but the atmosphere was lovely, complete with gooshy couch, candles, and a fat grey cat (Annabelle Lee), who was winsome and liked to have attention paid to her. I was convinced to stay for dinner, the central piece of which was the tenderest, plumpest sea bass I've ever tasted. Karen drizzled extra virgin, basil, and diced tomatoes on top.

It felt good to be in a new place, feeling capable of negotiating a room of people much younger than me, seeing a friend I don't get to see too much, not feeling the weight of my own insular, boring existence.

Now I'm just sleepy. But before I go to bed I want to try to read some more of Wally Lamb's debut She's Come Undone.

I had a quiet day with Sarah and her parents. I chatted with her dad while she and her mom made a miracle of a meal in the kitchen. I guess I was an honorary male for the day. It wasn't too keen a thing, but I found myself missing Gordon. I imagined him--bored with his family--drinking coffee, smoking, playing indulgently with his nieces and nephews. And I wished, on some level, that I could be there with him, even though he feels like a stranger to me at the moment.

An unsettled stomach kept me home today. I already feel a lot better and am happy to report that my Thanksgiving with Sarah and her parents won't be affected. I woked up and got ready for work as usual, but made the decision to use one of those hard-earned sick days of mine. I went back to bed (in my turtleneck, slimming black slacks, and chocolate brown trouser socks) and slept till noon.

I woke up in the mood to eat leftover chicken and to watch "When Harry Met Sally." I also tried to work on my vanity project (an unapologetically autobiographical short story), but felt no inspiration. After 10 minutes of staring at the last thing I wrote a week ago, I got up to empty the dishwasher.

I talked to Victoria last night. It seems that she's having a birthday gathering on Saturday and mentioned the possibility of me hitching a ride down to dc (with Gordon or someone) for the festivities. I feel hesitant about that for several reasons and at this point I am on the mindset that I won't attend.

Funny, I've been going on and on about not having plans. It seems that my exile is at least somewhat self-imposed.

Vidalia Fig Sauce

My tears this week have been torrential, and come from such a deep place in me, that they seem incapable of doing anything but pouring. Like Vermeer's Milkmaid's milk, they seem to be in a permanent state of streaming.

Applying to this graduate program is my heart on a plate. I have let my writing languish on simmer on the back burner because I don't want anyone to reject it. I haven't applied before now because I've been afraid of not getting in. And if I didn't get in, I wouldn't know how to not take that as a statement about my artistic validity and talent.

I know what actors and actresses mean when they say "it's an honour just to be nominated." I am pleased with myself for simply taking this personal step of bravery, but I want what I'm seeking. I don't just want the experience. I've been crying because everything I yearn for is lingering in the world between already and not yet.

There was not one thing in my life today that the mere thought of did not absolutely terrify me. It wasn't helpful terror (the catalyst kind). It had me frozen to my desk chair, and I almost forgot how to function.

Some distance and time later, I am eating chicken smothered in vidalia fig sauce with potatoes and spinach--feeling that I nearly didn't escape the screaming of my own doubt.

You are Spearmint.
You are quick-witted and sharp. You pay close
attention to details and you can tell what your
friends are feeling. You are always the first
to understand a joke and you are valued for
your insight and advice. However, you
sometimes isolate yourself from other people,
afraid to share your own feelings.
Most Compatible With: Cinnamon


Which Tic-Tac Flavor Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

You are naturally born with a gift, whether it be
poetry, writing or song. You love beauty and
creativity, and usually are highly intelligent.
Others view you as mysterious and dreamy, yet
also bold since you hold firm in your beliefs.


What Type of Soul Do You Have ?
brought to you by Quizilla

Redeeming the Time

These days I don’t really have plans (other than the one night a week I tend to spend at Sarah’s place), and while that is a bummer on many levels, it has forced me back into a lifestyle of contemplation and writing. An evening out would be rare indeed, now. I’d be much more likely to see it as a special treat these days than I did this summer and early fall. I guess I could have tons of plans, if I weren’t at all particular. I have one friend who just recently asked me to do something, but I want to keep my dealings with her limited. This person will try to take a mile if you give an inch—and I am not interested in being entrenched in her society again.

I am in a place of waiting again. The ball is not in my court right now. So, how will I redeem the time? I will keep laying the foundation of what I’m building one square at a time. I have a vision. Now I pray for myself the visionary’s oblivion to whatever is not her concept.

I have been known to suffer from tunnel vision for less worthy causes than the one I’m championing now. Myself.

Leftovers

These days I buy food and plan meals with one question in mind. Am I going to be able to eat this at least three times? Belt-tightening has its own degree of chic. It gives me a sense of adventure. Just me and Hamburger Helper against the world. For the gourmets out there, I know that was shudder-inducing. You want to pretend like you didn't just read that.

I love elegant, exquisite food--and I also know it doesn't have to be that expensive. And believe me, I'm not surviving off of boxed fare alone, but sometimes it just needs to be quick, simple, and abundant. Enter Hamburger Helper stage left.

My sister and I just feasted on leftover deep dish pizza and knock-off spaghettios. We've had a slow, leisurely morning of coffee, donuts, and Ella Fitzgerald (John Coletrane was a bit too discordant and spontaneous for her tastes at that hour). I feel happy.

The server for the financing page on the website from which I was going to try and order furniture is missing in action. I have decided to wait on getting new pieces till I move anyway. Something about trying to put new wine in old wineskins, etc.

Let Them Eat Cake

Courtesy of Cathcka’s sister, I have quite a nice Cake Collection, and I am presently eating a Krimpet. I see a theme.

Progress Report

I have sent packets of information to each of my recommenders to help them write informed, balanced letters. The deadline for application is January 15th. I feel so fulfilled just participating in this process. It has given my hours a shape, and meaning beyond the seemingly endless list of things I usually worry about.

Won’t you sit down?

I’m going to try to score some furniture, via financing. We’ll see if it works.

In Other News

My youngest sister is visiting me this weekend. We will feast on deep-dish pizza and other fun meals I manage to rustle up for us, watch a lot of tv and movies, and talk about her future. She is going to start at my undergrad alma mater during the Spring ’04 semester.

Irony

Is prevalent. Most people are missing it, especially in their own lives.

Last night for supper I enjoyed breaded whiting, garlic and olive oil-tossed eggplant, and butter sauteed spinach. I pored over my collection of poems dating as far back as 1994. I am preparing a representative sample of my work to send to the professors who've (both) agreed to write letters for me. This weekend I will work on my personal statement, and start putting together the packets I want to send to them to help them craft the most informed letters possible. I also need to update my resume to reflect my current job's efforts and responsibilities.

Oh, and I've solved my living situation/moving quandry.

I am going to wait till the Spring, and move into some quaint, vintage apartments (Sarah lived in them years ago) that are very close to the campus I hope to be attending. Vintage inside a secure building, with onsite management and maintenance. I actually looked at them a year and a few months ago when I was moving back to Baltimore, but it wasn't practical to live there then.

Everything at the right time, Kate.

I once said my life reminded me of a Jane Austen Novel...


I believe you belong in Pride and Prejudice; a
world of satire and true love. A world where
everything is crystal clear to the reader, and
yet where new things seem to be happening all
the time. You belong in a world where your
free-thought puts you above the silly masses,
and where bright eyes and intelligence are
enough to attract the arrogant
millionaire/prejudiced young woman of your
choice.


Which Classic Novel do You Belong In?
brought to you by Quizilla

Nancy With The Laughing Face

Sunrise on a foggy morning looks just the same as twilight, which is my favourite time of day. I'm sipping coffee to the backdrop of a sonorous horn--not a melancholy horn--a sonorous one that is in awe of Nancy, whomever she was.

I received a reply from one of my former professors. He would be delighted to help me. Now I need to send him several pieces of my work (a representative sample), a CV, and any other pertinent information. The ball is squarely back in my court.

On Thursday evening I am attending a Poetry reading on the campus I hope will be like a second home to me by this time next year.

In the words of Christina Aguilera "I've waited a long time for this; it feels right now."

Mood: Accomplished
Soundtrack: G. Love and Special Sauce

Okay, so I threw out the microwave. Then, I e-mailed two of my undergrad professors who had a substantive impact on my writing, and asked them each to consider writing me a letter of recommendation for the grad program I would like to enter next year. Now, I'm about to have my requisite cup of evening tea.

When my microwave died, it was all I needed to know it’s definitely time for me to move out. I’ve been praying through the big issues in my life for the last couple of days, and I’d started to wonder if I shouldn’t try to stick it out in my apartment. I wondered if I shouldn’t spare myself the inconvenience of moving, even at cheaper rent, when I’d just have to start paying utilities instead, and deal with the inconveniences of a vintage style apartment. Older buildings don’t have round the clock maintenance, they are more likely to have mice, they can be drafty (or too hot), they have all the character and all of the primitive elements that are throwbacks to a simpler, better time.

Maybe this was as good as it was going to get for me. A couple of friends had been remarking to me that it was too soon to move, that I needed to wait, intimating that my present apartment was fine (and why do I hate it so much?). Then I thought about my awful furniture. I cannot, in the foreseeable future, buy new furniture. I hate the idea of taking the furniture I have now with me to a new place, especially one with character and charm. I can’t bear to do it, and yet if I throw out my sofas and dining set upon taking up residence in a new place, isn’t that the least bit prideful? Who am I to be too good for this black, plastic furniture my sister slaved to buy?

Anyway, Sarah came over for an autumnal brunch on Sunday morning. I made pumpkin spice muffins (with melted butter and a pumpkin & pecan puree), fried potatoes, onions, and garlic, bacon, and eggs (Sarah made herself eggs. I didn’t care to have any). I stuck half of a cup of butter in the microwave to melt it (for the muffin batter). It handled this one last task, then unceremoniously shut off its digital display, and died quietly. It didn’t seem to suffer.

This wasn’t fireworks or histrionics, just the last year and two months of my life winding down in yet another tangible way. I wasn’t particularly close to the microwave. I was glad it was there. I got it for free from the friend of a friend. It was crucial to the base of operations at Chez Krupnik, but I didn’t love it as though I, myself, had worked to buy it, and had chosen it. Still, I needed it to keep working. It was among the last of surprisingly few helpful items that I own.

Its passing has given me permission to hope for something different.

Devika, thank you for your letter! I e-mailed you about getting together on the Friday after Thanksgiving... sometime in the late morning or in the early afternoon in DC? are you available?

I've just had the best shower of my life. I used the honey and brown sugar exfoliant Sarah gave me for my birthday. My skin feels like silk. I need to pamper myself like this all the time.

After writing checks for the mid-month bills I am left with just enough for bus fare for two weeks, grocery money, and about three loads of laundry. But it feels good to have life on my own terms.

One thing I've discovered about living alone. It'd be a lot more interesting if I went out more, had more of a busy schedule... then I'd know just how nice it is to come home.

I'm tempted to feel that I need to wait to move to create a feeling of sanctuary for myself in my home, but I'm tired of my "real life" always being just around the bend. The time for sanctuary is now.

Sidebar: I requested transcripts from my alma mater. I'm applying to a writing program for the Fall of 2004.

An aggressive wind rattled my windows all night long. I became conscious of it at about 2:47 a.m. I slept through most of it, but there were moments when I wondered if the glass was going to shatter.

I noticed while I stood on the corner waiting for the bus this morning that my life is like the movie “Groundhog Day.” My alarm clock wakens me every morning by sounding the same opening notes of a Chet Baker song; I shower from 6:15 to 6:23; I leave the house at 6:57; I wait on the corner for the bus, and the same people (many of them from my building) come out, in the same order, every day, to walk to their cars, to the train, or to other bus stops. The man with the pug on too long a leash comes shuffling by for his morning trip to 7-11. If I look just over my shoulder, I know I will see the balding gentleman with the pony tail and bookish glasses, all clad in leather walking westward. My bus, just having missed the light, waits a block and a half north of where I’m waiting. I have the fare in my hand. I board, and see the exact same people I saw the day before—that I will also see tomorrow.

I wonder what happens to everyone in between these brief places of overlap (their lives with mine).

By and By

The sun’s final brightness is reflected in the hotel room windows across the way. Selma Blair’s blinds are drawn (in truth, I’ve only seen her silhouette on cloudy mornings of late). It’s been more than a week so I can acknowledge this: there is a peculiar loneliness that is the result of absolute freedom.

Still More Small Pleasures To Enjoy

Tomorrow will be the first Saturday morning that I wake up in the apartment alone—the first Saturday morning where I know my puttering, coffee grinding, and Classic Jazz music won’t be disturbing another person. Sometimes the small implications of freedom are the most staggering. I did have last Sunday morning to myself, but it’s not quite the same. Saturday equals peace of mind to me.

It is finally chilly again here! Tropical temperatures late last week and all this week were messing with my Autumnal expectations. It was also just hot, especially at night, which made it difficult to fall asleep a few times.

Here’s a happy thought: When I look back over the course of the last year, I see that my dreams have materialized, or are materializing, one by one.

In Search of Vintage

Now I have started combing the City Paper's ads for antiquated apartments in Baltimore city--something to the tune of high ceilings, hardwood floors, arched entry ways, etc. Believe it or not, these beauties open up every day for about a hundred dollars less than what I pay now.

My shroud is hanging nicely from my stucco ceiling courtesy of Gordon. He came over on Monday night with some handy hole-punching tool (not a drill), and did the job quite nicely. He said to me "all of my masculinity is wrapped up in this tool... did I ever tell you about that, Kate? How every man should have a tool that he carries with him at all times?"

We did have to borrow a hammer from my neighbor though, to add force. It was charming. At one point he said to me, "So stucco is like stone..."

In atypical male fashion, he didn't just punch the hole and leave. We talked for a couple of hours about our lives--I asked him what he thought working for his dad this year has "been about," I shared more anecdotes from my childhood, made us coffee, and showed him my pictures of Walden Pond (he asked about the size of Thoreau's hovel, and since I have no mind for spatial things, I had to bring out photos).

Last night I ate barbecue and bacon beans on toast for supper, and was up late enough to watch some cartoon showcase called "Adult Swim," which features animated adult content... Not pornography, but "kicked up a notch." And of course adult content always refers to sexual content. Is this the best tv has to offer after a certain hour?

I went to bed at about midnight, safely tucked inside my muslin curtain, enjoying what small breeze there was coming in through the open window.

From a Former Clock Watcher:

My current job is the single most effective teaching tool in my life. Through it I have learned (am learning, more like) what it takes to manage the work of others while carrying a full workload of my own. I have had to make decisions about the best course of action when we face crises, and much to my chagrin, I have had to make a handful of judgment calls about the contribution of people in my charge—whether or not they are consistently more of an asset than a liability—and depending on the answer, whether or not they will be let go.

I don’t single-handedly save the day at my company, or arrive at conclusions without the guidance, help, and support of superiors and peers alike, but I am responsible for more here than I’ve ever had to be at any other point, at any other place, in my professional experience. It brings much to bear on my private life.

I see very clearly now that an increase in responsibility necessitates an increase in compassion for those who help me meet deadlines and goals, and to whom I entrust precious pieces of the work puzzle on a daily basis.

Like everyone, regardless of career, I ultimately work with human hearts, spirits, and souls. Try thinking of everyone who crosses your path on the job as someone who wants dignity and respect—someone, who at some point, has had someone else try to take that away from them—just as you probably have, and it will change your perspective.

No matter who we are, we are still fighting some old battle for credibility or love. But mostly love.

“…I’m not the kind to use a pencil or rule; I’m handy with love and I’m no fool… Yeah baby, I’m your handyman...”

Now that I’m on my own and am free to cultivate my own vibe in the apartment, I’ve decided to rehang the shroud (glorified mosquito netting) that enclosed my bed before I had to share a bedroom with someone. The rehanging of the shroud, however, involves drilling a hole in the ceiling, and imbedding an anchor, and then placing a hook in said anchor.

I don’t own a drill (though I do have the hooks already), nor am I tall enough for this job, even if I did have this handy piece of equipment—so I e-mailed Gordon and asked if he would do this for me. At the risk of being a cliché, I let him know that I understood if he wasn’t up for it, and that I wanted to invite him to dinner sometime regardless. I stressed that I do not expect him to be at my beck and call for these kinds of tasks.

As a result of a few e-mail exchanges, and a remarkable demonstration of his willingness to go above and beyond to do this for me (one example is that he was going to come to my office tomorrow morning to get the hook so he’d know what kind of anchor to buy). When he realized he’d need to do this for me tonight because of his band practice commitment, he said he’d just bring over a few different types of anchors, and that hopefully we wouldn’t need to go to the hardware store.

It’s not the thought of a free meal that lured him, because he doesn’t even know if he can stay long enough to eat given that he needs some time to paint tonight—but he’s willing to come to my place to drill a hole for me, so I can have the ambience I want in my bedroom.

I just wondered if he would agree to do it sometime. Maybe, if it wasn’t too much trouble….

The honeymoon is over…

Since I last blogged, I was “spoken to” at work about some things that have slipped through the cracks. I don’t want to rehash it all here, and in an effort to be judicious, I have to say that it was not entirely unmerited—but I also think it was shortsighted, and didn’t really take certain “restrictions” into consideration.

With that said, moving on.

I finally wrote Devika a reply to her letter, and I saw two old friends this weekend. Oh, and Sarah got all new furniture for her new place. Life is good, still.