"Kanye West has the potential to be a [musical] genius, if only he weren't so annoying."
--My sister, Caryl

I couldn't agree more. However...

The afore-mentioned artist's "Diamonds from Sierra Leone" is reverberating in my bedroom as I type. The repeating, sampled refrain "diamonds are forever" haunts the rapper's overlayed lyrics about his former state of socioeconomic disenfranchisement and his ongoing battle for artistic validation (e.g., he alludes to his temper tantrum at the American Music Awards a year and a half ago when he didn't win anything).

My foray into rap music has given me a real appreciation for the lyrical construct its empresarios have erected--to wit, that they are emporers, ambassadors, scribes, the urban clergy of the church of the streets, feudal lords of the fifedom. They fully consider their collective flow to be part of a dynasty, the stuff of legend, the veritable smackdown that will stop any foe. I have to admit. Sometimes I get caught up in the hype.

This past winter when my grief was its most accute, rap was the only music that could speak to me. This is because beneath the bravado there is real pathos, the need for vigilante justice, the fear that the lyricist will be overtaken by his own past, his own insecurity. A line that resonated for me deeply at that time was Jay-Z's lyric "What? you gon' box me homie? I can dodge a jab."

The anger intrigues me, because it's sadness flipped inside out. The stuff of Russian tragedies.

There was a bird trapped on the bus. I handled it remarkably well, considering that few things unnerve me like birds (or insects, especially moths) flying around in enclosed spaces. Several passengers opened windows to give it a way to escape. I'm not sure, but I think it may have ultimately gone out the front door.

After my hair appointment on Friday night, I came home and got a very late (for me) carryout dinner from the One World (Baked Enchilada Rojas w/Chipotle vegetables) and watched a bit of tv while I read a few chapters in Pride And Prejudice.

On Saturday, since the gym was closed, I went out for a half-hour or so power walk, then came home to do laundry, and to write a poem and work on my short story for classes this week. Later, I accompanied Sarah to Williams-Sonoma to pick up some items for a coworker's wedding present. After that we went to Crate & Barrell, which, I have to say is more reasonably priced than W-S. I got some round candles and a cocktail shaker Christmas ornament.
While we were out Sarah got a call from a coworker who invited us over to hang out at her place. I enjoyed all the attention I got from this woman's dog, who at one point, put her huge paws on my neck, and licked me full in the face for about a good minute. Apparently, this is the dog's version of a hug and kiss.

On Sunday I was able to enjoy breakfast with Sarah and another coworker of hers... afterward we retired to this person's house and talked for about an hour or so. While there, something truly kismet happened.

I was admiring the papasan chair in the corner (I have wanted one forever), and just as I was pondering how I might acquire one, our hostess said "I have a quandry." The basic gist of the story is that she was wondering if we knew anyone who wanted one, because she was looking to get rid of hers, and its companion piece ottoman. So I scored an almost new papasan without even trying for a mere fraction of a fraction of what it would have cost at Pier 1, where she originally got it. I'm picking it up today!

After the gym yesterday I spent the better part of the day moving the bookshelf from my bedroom into the entry way, and getting rid of the pink easychair rocker I received gratis a year or so ago... all to make room for the new papasan, which will be a nice addition to my spare bedroom. The creamy cushion of the chair will offset the deep red of my bedding and curtains.

Life and All The Ways It's Weird...

I had made my peace with the fact that my hairstylist had broken up with me [my hair], so to speak. It was one of those breakups where the other party starts acting distant and non-commital, all the while assuring you that everything is fine, and that of course they still love you very much. You are left to deduce that you've been dumped by adding up the clues of his unreturned phone calls, his palpable absence from the routine of your life, his sudden inability to make it to anything that is even remotely important to you...

She'd simply stopped calling me back to set up appointments. After about 8 attempts (I am nothing if not dogged), I gave up and tried to be philosophical about it all, my hair becoming increasingly wretched for the lack of care.

There were a few issues:

1. Who could style and cut my hair like her? No one, that's who. Maybe I just wouldn't get my hair done ever again, I decided. I'd be one of those self-sufficient types who just goes it alone.

Nevermind that this tactic has NEVER once worked for me. My hair, left to its own devices, will dreadlock. Nothing against dreads, but it's different when it's unintentional...

2. If I wanted to find a new stylist, where would I start? Just randomly pick someone out of the phonebook and hope for the best? Go on a blind salon appointment? How desperate was I, anyway?

3. How could I ever trust another stylist to not ultimately reject me and my hair the way we had just been summarily dissed? I didn't think we were strong enough to handle that again.

In recent weeks I started to get desperate. The kerchief has become my best friend, covering a multitude of sins. But it's a fine line between being chic with it and it just becoming a ghetto crutch for having bad, bad tresses.

I was wearing one of said kerchiefs on Wednesday when I ran into Connie in the parking lot at Whole Foods. She recognized me first.

"Kate? You look really good; really good."

I smiled ambiguously, not sure what I should say in response.

"I haven't seen you in a long time!" She exclaimed.

"I tried to call you at least 8 times, " I said. "You never called me back." I'm sure I sounded bitter.

Once the look of incredulilty left her face, she said:

"And you left messages?"

I assured her that I had.

The long and short of it? I have an appointment this evening at 5:30.

I wonder how many relationships have ended because both people were under the impression that the other one no longer cared.

Regrouping

Tuesday and Wednesday were these lovely days during which I was not at work (I extended my vacation through this morning), and over the course of which I have realized that my current job, despite its many advantages, gets on my freaking nerves.

Fortunately, my manager, who has been passive-aggressively demonstrating hostility lately, is out today, tomorrow, and Monday. So vacation part II for me. I had actually liked this particular manager, but like her predecessor, she's lost it. My plan was not to avoid her so much as not to pander to the awkwardness. She may just be preoccupied or something.

Even though I've been resting much better lately, I find that I am often tired. More than likely this is an issue of diet. I've really been pushing the water today, and will continue to do that. I'm sure I need to detox after my weekend of indulgence in Boston.

I may leave a bit early today. A nap before the women's prayer meeting I'm attending might do me good.

Please Come to Boston Reprise

A little over two years ago I set out to visit Catherine in Boston. Two years. A very long time ago, and also not that long ago. This visit was enhanced by Sarah's presence. We drove, and I must tell you that the 8 hour drive to MA was less stressful and felt like it took less time than our drive to Philadelphia a little over a week ago.

We pulled away from Sarah's apartment building at 5 a.m., and were on the NJ turnpike by 6:15 (to which I said: "how in the heck are we in New Jersey Already?!"), and were pulling up to Catherine's door by 1:00 p.m. Thanks to S's creativity, we were treated to her recently compiled "Please Come to Boston" cd mixes (volumes I and II), and when not grooving to that, we cracked up listening to David Sedaris's Dress Your Family in Denim and Corduroy on cd (ready by the author).

When we walked into Catchka's sunny apartment, we were greeted by the warm sweet scent of pumpking loaves (which our dear C enhanced by including chocolate chips!). Big hugs all around, and then...

We began our weekend adventure at Louisa May Alcott's house in Concord. We took the tour of the actual property with 80% of the Alcotts' actual furnishings and artifacts. I have to cop to never having read Little Women, and yes, I do consider this a failing on my part. I am familiar with the premise, I saw the movie, but did not have the great fortune of having my girlhood influenced by the wonderful book. Louisa May Alcott was always most noteworthy to me because she knew Emerson (and Thoreau), whom I consider to be one of the most quotable thinkers/public figures, second only to maybe Churchill. I knew that she and her family were transcendentalists, but that was about it.

After walking in and out of their rooms, seeing her desk, her handwritten pages, and in some cases, the clothing she (or her sisters) wore, she became very real to me, and I was charmed by her writerly life.

Also, the intrigue of this: She totally had a thing for Emerson!

On Saturday, The rain poured, but it did not, it could not dampen our spirits. After a delectable sushi lunch at a shopping plaza, I accompanied Catherine into the Gap to pick up some sandalwood perfume, and we both came out with chocolate trench coats and matching corduroy hats. I cut quite a nice figure in that ensemble with my new boots. I had just been lamenting my lack of a fall coat, and this purchase was truly serendipitous because the trench was marked down about 55%.

Sarah ventured over to an Asian art store where she got a lovely ceramic bowl with a painting of bamboo in the center of the dish.

At Pier 1, where they were having another tremendous sale, I got wooden salad spoon& fork servers, pumpkin bread room fragrance, and deep red olive oil bottle (Catherine got the same one!)

I had been craving a skim pumpkin latte from the coffee monopoly (Starbucks) for more than 24 hours at that point, so we took shelter from the downpour inside the spacious cafe in Davis Square, took impromptu photos, and ate yummy desserts (S and C both got Chinese pastries at the shopping plaza; I got us a chocolate peanutbutter stack to share from Starbucks).

Once we were again ready to brave the elements, we headed across the street to the Used Book Store, where we easily spent an hour or more, poring over the thousands of titles. I added to my Jane Austen collection by picking up Emma; not wanting to leave out Toni Morrison, I picked up the never-read-by-moi Sula; Kafka reasserted himself, so I grabbed a volume of his short stories; A totally spontaneous purchase chosen both for the title and the first line, Stephen McCauley's True Enough rounded out my purchases (along with about 6 black and white photograph post cards).

You'd think we were done, but we weren't. Another hour in CD Spins, where I got a used copy of the Jude Law remake of "Alfie," Craig David's (British R& B) "Born to do it," and Erykah Badu's cd single of her song "Tyrone," which tickled me to no end about 8 years ago whenever I heard it.

Rounding out the night at a local BBQ joint, I felt tremendously tired, but also very satisfied to be with two people I love so dearly, knowing we had another full day to explore (and drop more cash).

Sidebar: I must say for the record that Boston has more truly attractive men per city block than any other city I've visited. I probably noticed that on some level two years ago, but I was otherwise engaged where that sort of thing is concerned then, so I wasn't aware of it in the same way I was this time.

It was poignant and significant that we were able to eat ice cream at the shoppe where Sarah and her cousin, the summer she was 13, went (often? a few times?). Her aunt and uncle used to live in a rather large house in Arlington Heights (not very far from C's place in Somerville), which were also able to find and drive by, just up the hill from the ice cream parlor.

On Sunday, the weather that had been tropical the day before, turned bitter and cold. The air snapped and the little rain that did fall was more like hard pellets. After breakfast with a childhood friend of Sarah's (and her husband and baby), Catherine pointed her car in the direction of Rockport, where we knew we would find incredible chowdah. It was somewhat miserable to walk about, but we managed to visit quite a few shops, and posed for several pictures in front of the whitecapped surf (love those Rocky New England beaches).

Sarah was kind enough to buy me some fig & ginger jam at one of the quaint stores. She and Catherine both got these lovely handbags at a place called "Oriental Pearl." I would have purchased one, but I was getting low on dispensible cash by then.

At Ellen's, we each got a bowl of clam chowder and half a blt (I added my leftover zucchini muffin from breakfast to the table for us all to try). We got hot cocoa to go. It scalded, but the heat was comforting in the bitter cold. Sarah finally got her coveted silver claddagh ring.

This morning at 5:30 we rose with our alarms, and made quick work of leaving Catherine's house and Boston under the cover our darkness. And save for several stops to use the bathroom, our trip was uneventful and completely devoid of traffic. We were back in baltimore by 2 p.m., just about 8 hours exactly from when we left.

Why do I feel like Tom Cruise is going to be even more of a pain in the collective ass of the world now that he's procreated with Katie Holmes?

There is a girl in my Tuesday night class who is decidedly awkward. She never speaks unless absolutely necessary. That is to say, I had never once heard her speak until she had to read her short story aloud last night. It was truly funny and finely crafted--and I'm relieved, because I had no indication, one way or the other, about her sensibilities. I thought it possible that an utter lack of sensibillity might be the motivation for her dogged silence.

Oddly enough, those who shared last night were given the option of having someone else read the work. The prof gave her the same option, but she simply said "I prefer to read it." Maybe she just refuses to be complicit, no matter what is at stake.

In any case, she, every week, wears exactly the same thing (0r so it seems). And she holds her long, spindly arms close to her body, which appears to be crooked in the seat. Her fingers are also incredibly long and tapered, the nails clean and manicured. Her glasses are of the thick variety. I have a sense that something horrible happened to this woman, the way she's shut up so tight inside herself, reminding me of gangly bird with twisted wings. A very palpable feeling of disturbance seems to hover over her, but not because of her, but more because of something she's seen or experienced.

She isn't simply reticent. Every ounce of her energy is concentrated on not stirring, not moving a muscle. Having grown up in a household with its own emotional and physical trauma, I recognize that look on another person.

In any case, it will be my turn to share in a couple of weeks (I was going to go next week, but since I'll just be getting back into town, the instructor said I could submit a week or so after that), and I feel woefully outclassed. As a poet, my short stories and vignettes are decidedly weak. And I don't have many to choose from, anyway. Talk about a painful experience for everyone!

Who Can See Me?

I went out to the bus stop at 5:50, as per usual on a Tuesday (or Wednesday) morning. I waited for the 6:00 a.m. bus (that usually doesn't come until 6:04) until about 6:12 before I gave up and went back inside to take a cat nap until it would be time to come out for the next one.

At 6:35 I ventured back outside to wait. It is still more dark than light at that hour, but signs of the city's wakefulness were prevalent. People were out running and jogging, others were walking to their cars, steeling themselves for a frustrating commute. And the garbage truck that services the grand apartment building on the corner was out in all of its maloderous glory. I took my place at the stop.

After a few minutes I noticed one of the garbage men making his way across the street. 'Is he coming to talk to me?' I wondered. He stopped in front of me, and said, without preamble, "What did you do to lose weight?"

Instead of answering him right away, I asked "how do you know I lost weight?" He simply said "I know."

So I told him.

You may recall that I've written before on this type of interaction with my mailman. The main thrust of my comment [in that post] was that he didn't have any hangups about addressing anything as potentially sensitive as weight (with a woman), and that because he and I had a predetermined level of friendliness between us, I wasn't offended. Beyond that, though, I should assert that there are different sets of cultural norms in play, depending upon the person (or people) with whom you are interacting.

The garbage man from this morning and my mailman are both black. Being an overweight woman does not mean the same thing in African American culture that it means in other cultures, not totally. Body image is very differently conceived, though that is not to say that black women are any less negatively affected by the predominant images of beauty.

Anyway. I say all of that to say that these two men, one of whom I know marginally, the other not at all, both felt confident in his right to comment on the evolution of my body. Not in a proprietary or demeaning way. Not in a sexual way. But in an objective, almost fraternal way. I would have assumed that I was invisible to both of these men, who are by and large invisible to me. I assume that I am invisible to most men, not that I even think of it. It hasn't been that conscious until this morning. Most people don't see anything unless they have a reason to see, unless something is pointed out to them.

As the garbage man was making his way back over to his truck, I thought about the mailman, and the bus driver from some months ago who complimented me very specifically and substantively. His appreciation, too, was encouraging, not shaming. Thinking about the bus driver led me to recall the bakery truck driver who waves to me every morning when I'm crossing the street to get to my office...

All of my life, I have wanted a certain type of man to see me, to no avail. But these men, all of them black, all of them service professionals, all of them between the ages of 35 and 55, have no trouble picking me out of a crowd, and noting how I change and when.

I am feeling especially reflective about personal and collective invisibility just now. Having been steeped in Conversations with Toni Morrison, in which that theme keeps repeating.

And lately I have begun to worry that I am going to die old and alone, with no one to see me for who I really am. No one to take note... not "no one." No man, more like.

What does it say, then, that I am seen, but not by the kind of man I want to see me? Is it time to simply go where I am accepted and acceptable?

I've recently decided upon my wintertime reading project. I am going to read the canon of Jane Austen's work, beginning with Pride and Prejudice, which I purchased last night. I've never read any of the books before, and with the exception of "Emma" (and "Clueless"), I've never watched any of the film adaptions. I guess you can count "The Diary of Bridget Jones," since it is based on P&P, but still...

The weekend was characterized by emotional upheaval and busy-ness. I got into bed at about 3:00 a.m. on Saturday morning (the drive back from Philadelphia was lengthened by about 2 hours because of late night traffic). I woke up at 6:45 for Race for the Cure, and all things considered, I was remarkably clearheaded, and my energy was up for the 5k walk. Afterward,
E and I went to the Broadway Diner in Highlandtown, where several other racers were also gathered. Clearly, everyone had the same idea.

(On Friday evening, I had a doozy of an existential crisis. I did not expect it, but I crumbled thinking about Saturday, what was to come...)

Once back home, I slept, albeit a very shallow sleep. At about 2:45 Sarah and I rejoined to hit the mall. I stocked up on the new Bath & Body Works Brown Sugar and Fig fragrance (in body wash, lotion, and spray perfume), and got some hand soaps and pumpkin lotion, too. After that I went to the Naturalizer shoe store to pick up some vintage style granny boots that I'd spied on Thursday when E and I went there prior to the Os game...

I have always loved the school marmish granny boots--loved the severe bun, high collared blouses, and long skirts with ruffles such marms wore. Of course, I wore mine (yesterday) with flare-legged jeans and a black sweater, but it thrills me that I finally have an approximation of these classic shoes. I got them in brown, because brown is the new black. I have that on very good authority.

(I tried bubble tea for the first time. Not quite sure how I feel about it.)

I slept like the dead on Saturday night (stayed over at Sarah's place), but had a disturbing dream in which I lived back in the highrise apartment I occupied when I first moved back to Baltimore 3 years ago.

On Sunday there was the play (a musical) which was quite good, but was difficult for Sarah, because of its theme of recent heartbreak. I thought it would have more of a comedic bent. Comedy and tragedy are only a hair apart, but it's a definitive hair, I suppose.

Take me out to the ball game (again)...

E e-mailed me yesterday afternoon with a crisis. 4 free tickets to the last Os game of the season and her friends had bailed. Was I interested?

After traveling with her to Owings Mills to pick up our Race For The Cure T-shirts for Saturday's race, we made our way back down to Camden Yards to see our beloved birds play the Yankees. As was the case with the Red Sox game last Friday night, there were more New Yorkers (or at least New York fans) than Baltimoreans. The section I sat in was easily 90% Blue and White (as opposed to Orange and Black)...

sidebar: These days, of course, you can get your team's isignia on hats and shirts of any colour or design, so you can't always take the colour-recogntion at face value.

I had been fairly warned that Yankees fans are, by and large, a problematic, unpleasant group. I'm happy to say that the people around me were good-natured. In no way obnoxious. It was beautiful, people, to see Os fans and Yankees supporters engaging in light banter. Up to the right of me, there was a truly obnoxious baltimoron all decked out in Os paraphenalia that was suffered gladly by the enclave Yankee fans near him.

Which is not to say that there weren't problems. At one point about 12 cops came into the stands (to the far left of where I was) and escorted some less than exemplary stadium goers out of the place.

All things considered, I preferred this crowd to the Bostonians from last week. It's all about where you sit, though. The toxic, rabid nature of the fans near me last Friday night produced some nasty vibes, even though nothing unpleasant happened, I was keenly aware of that.

The highlight for me:

Getting a pink Os cap on my way into the ballpark for 5 bucks!

"...it's gonna be so great; it's gonna be just like my wedding day..." (Rosie Thomas)

Prologue: Random day in 1986

At the age of 13, I looked at a calendar to pick the date of my future wedding. Having 365 days at my disposal, I scanned the months and settled on the one that smells like smoky apples, sweet wood, bread baking and honey & spices... the month of longing and fulfillment.
I had a perverse need to flout the trappings of convention, too, so no weekend wedding for me. October 1st, 2001. A Monday.

October 1st, 2001:

Sarah and I were on the Bar Harbor Whale Watch tour. Every single person on the boat heaved over the railings, blue from the cold. Most of us missed the one whale who made an appearance. At the height of my personal misery, I remembered that I should be doing something else that day... what was it? My 13-year old-self whispered to me "Today's the day you were going to get married." "Oh yeah," I nodded. "sorry I let you down, kid; I know this isn't what you had in mind."

October 1st, 2003:

A dear friend of mine and her intended marry. It strikes me again, the possibility that exists on the first day of the month, the strength of beginning a venture right at the beginning.

Late September, 2005:

This year I expected to be robbed of the fall, just a bit. Another wedding, I know, is to take place. The last I heard, "sometime in November." And of all that is painful about this wedding, the blows were somewhat dulled by November, the mere vestiges of Autumn... things begin to take on graying shades. It is the first of the bleak months.

I am haunted by so much...I have always envisioned being a fall bride, walking on a carpet of rain-slicked leaves toward him, inherently certain of my footing...

When the unfortunate news of this wedding broke, the 13 year-old I used to be was silent, defeated. So I reasoned with her irrational silence. For God's sake, we don't own the fall, do we? Anyone can get married anytime they want...

Yesterday, through convoluted circumstances, I stumbled upon a vague piece of intelligence. I turned it over in my mind, knowing what it meant, but choosing to refrain from apprehending, fully, the knowledge of it.

I believe in fate. I knew, as I have known so many other disastrous truths, that it would find me out if it was indeed what I believed it was.

Tonight at the gym (I nearly talked myself out of going), I saw reflected in the glass Gordon's former roommate. I suppose I could have averted my eyes, not made eye contact with him, maybe he would have missed me (life always comes down to split second events, have you noticed?)... but I know I willed him to look at me. In the narrative of my life, I know operatives, foreshadowing (I saw this guy last week, too, but that night he stayed outside the gym and did not enter, just suddenly pivoted, deciding on a dime not to come in. I was on the same elliptical machine then that I chose tonight.), and irony when I see them. I knew what he was doing there.

"So are you going on Saturday?"

I asked him to repeat himself to stall for time.

"What are you doing on Saturday?"

"Race for the Cure."

"Oh, I thought you'd be going to Gordon's wedding."

"No. I'm not."

"So, Race for the cure, huh? That's great..."

The familiar heat of grief rose to the surface of my skin. I wondered how it is that everything I chose for myself, even before I knew Gordon, could be stolen this way.

It's as though I live in a house that was burglarized, thoroughly decimated, and then the thief came back to see me standing there surveying the damage, saying, almost apologetically, "whoops, I almost forgot this!" smiling in relief as he picks up the one item I thought had been spared.

So I gave myself one option. Stay on this machine. Do not get off until your 50 minutes are up; you are not slinking off anywhere in despair. Run on. See what the end will be.

I'm right here!

I've not abandoned you, pumpkins! Just been buried under a mound of reading and editing... and when I've not been doing that, I've been cavorting with the Sarah-one. Our stop at Normal's on Sunday yielded me this treasure for a mere 4 dollars. Having recently finished The Jane Austen Book Club, I started it immediately, and it has done more to fuel my imagination, and has fired more of the coals in my fingers for writing and artistic expression than anything else has in a very long time. I love listening to or reading about an artist's thoughts on her work. I have some thoughts percolating that I'll talk about later (they're too new and tenuous to go into just now), but I can tell you this: My life's work is going to be revolutionized.

The non-stop/gotta-go parade continues. On Friday, I'm heading up to Philly with Sarah to see this lady, on Saturday morning, I will be Racing for the Cure, and on Sunday, a matinee at the Everyman Theatre. Between those two things, on Saturday evening, a nice family dinner with Sarah and her parents in DC. They are always so great about letting me tag along on their family outings to shwanky restaurants.

What a great morning! I'm listening to india.arie's debut, Acoustic Soul, enjoying the Hopperesque light of this hour.

I have never seen so many bostonians outside of boston as I did last night at Camden Yards. Accents aside, it was just clear from the cold-weathered skin, the demeanor, the affect of 90% of the people around me that I was sitting in enemy territory on home turf.

The Red Sox gave us a beating (the hits just keep coming for the Os on and off the field), no doubt, and I know Bo Sox fans are still on the high from their landmark series win last year, so there was no competing with their momentum.

The highlight of the game for me is when I turned around and engaged a guy and his buddies on the Sox/Yankees rancor. He was taken slightly aback to have to actually give a reason for this deep-seated, inherited hatred. He said (goodnaturedly) "What? the Os don't have a rival?" I assured him that we did (the Yankees, actually, are our rival, but they so far outdistance us, that it's an insult to them for us to say that). In any case, this kid, God bless him, has no reason for hating the Yanks so much. They're just "an evil empire." It was fun, I have to admit, to say to him "...but it goes so deep, can you talk to me about that?"

I'm just going to state it right now for the record. I in no way hate the Yankees. I have mad love for that ball club, because they are good, and the very fact that they inspire such unadulterated hatred says better than anything else just how much a threat people perceive them to be. But you are reading the girl who, once in 1998, wore a Yankees hat to an Os home game. Just my way of shaking things up a bit.... The irony of this? I'm not even a baseball woman. If I had to pick a sport, It'd be football all the way.

I'm on my way out to a women's prayer brunch. If there are anecdotes from this event, I'll share them!

The Week In Review

Monday: I don't remember, except that I went to the gym. Wore a shirt to work that is reminiscent of a mixed berry smoothie. Oh! wait! My bedding arrived.

Tuesday: The Jolt!

Wednesday: A poor showing from Professor Genteel (PG, hereafter) who made comments on my poem all based on a misreading of its intention. Admittedly by him, not my fault, but due to his own poor reading. I still like his manner, but he's a loose cannon. His syllabus, finally given to us on the third week of class, is a paragraph long. He's obviously an INFP.

Thursday: At work, I lent my voice to the recording of some more of our online lessons. After work, a Graduate Christian Fellowship Dinner. The hosts sent everyone home with leftovers. I went to the gym afterward. They live on Pastel row, apparently the most photographed street in Baltimore. Why didn't I know this?

Friday: Am wearing a new sweater (the black one) that can only be described as sexy. More recording of lessons. The young gentleman engineer in our, um, "studio," may have a little thing for me... or for the sweater. It's hard to tell. This thing is so flattering even other women are commenting, but they don't know what it is... "did you get a new lipstick or something?" No, dahlings. It's the sweater!

Friday night: An Os game.... I'll post about that later, if I get the chance. I will be stone occupado all weekend!

Exquisite

I finished Beloved this morning. I know this from reading The Bluest Eye, Song of Solomon, and Love, but it must be said again for the record. Toni Morrison's prose employs such a staggering, masterful overtone of the best lyrical poetry there is...anywhere.

I am very much looking forward to exploring her technique(s) for affecting a distinct voice in her narrative in class.

My new lamp and bedding arrived yesterday! Remarkable, since they shipped on Friday afternoon. Now I'm waiting for a few various and sundries, of which these two are the only fun things (I also got an additional sheet set and some new sleeping pillows).

Oh, I also got new curtains from Pier 1 on Saturday afternoon....for 9 dollars, total! They were having a major "Bedroom Sale." While there, I couldn't resist their seasonal candles. I got a pillar, a huge round, some votives, and tea lights all in the pumpkin bread scent (so that I have a cohesive olfactory autumn theme going in the house).

Thanks to Sarah's mother's generosity, I am wearing a new ribbed sweater--I'm having a hard time deciding what the blue is--it is light, but somewhat electric. Definitely not pale blue. Anyway, it suits me. She found it, never worn, in her closet, and thought I might like it. It's not one of the hues on my personal palette, but it works. Cut and texture often have a lot to do with these things...

Am more than half way through "Beloved." It's actually the third or fourth book on the syllabus for class, but I want to keep the momentum I have going. Am really anxious to start "The Jane Austen Book Club," which Sarah bought at a White Elephant sale (at her job).

On the horizon: An Os game on Friday; A Chile party on Saturday!

Reclaiming the Apartment

The weekend was productive. That is to say, I dropped some cash... on necessary things like food and clothes (either washing them or purchasing them). Friday night, I did four loads of laundry (including towels and linen), but since all of the machines in my building were available, time-wise, it was the equivalent of one load.

Saturday was a big grocery shopping day for both Sarah and myself. She stayed with me through last night, but in preparation for reclaiming her own living space, she decided to stock up on food stuffs. A new Trader Joe's opened in her neck of the woods. We headed there after buying a few basics at Whole Foods. I will shop at almost any grocery store, but I'm finding more and more that I have developed brand loyalty to many items that I can only find at specialty stores like the ones I mentioned. I'm also accustomed to produce that isn't bruised and old-looking. Having shopped a bit mid-week, I didn't buy much in the way of food-food on Saturday, but I stocked up on things like balsamic vinegar and spices.

During the afternoon, A long-time friend of Sarah's met us over at Sarah's apartment. We had a light snack with her, Sarah caught her up on the latest, and we eventually made our way back to my place so that I could walk Babygirl, who had been alone for several hours by that point. My guilt and anxiety were pretty intense because I knew she was perplexed and upset at us being gone for such a long stretch like that. It was quadrupled b/c I knew that after her walk, I'd be leaving her again for an evening outing.

Just as her days with me were drawing to a close, she started to get used to the people in my building. She's been barking to a significantly lesser degree lately, which has eased my stress about being out with her. Anyway, Sarah and her friend waited at the One World while Baby and I ran the paces and bonded a bit.

Then, after another delicious meal at the OW, the three of us headed over to see these guys (thanks to Sarah's impetus). It was a tremendously fun evening. Once back at home, I cuddled and kissed Bg within an inch of her life. She reveled.

On Sunday morning, I woke at 6 (per the usual on weekends) and took Babygirl out for a very leisurely walk (40 minutes!) to commemorate her last morning with me. Because it was early enough, and no other dog walkers were out and about, we trekked over to campus, and celebrated our time together by tromping through new grass and really doing it up right.

About two hours later, Sarah and I had a quick breakfast, then headed out to Lane Bryant (the place where I will soon be unable to shop) to buy some necessities (like more shirts/sweaters) because I had hella coupons from them, and If I didn't use them, it would be the equivalent of losing 100 dollars' worth of free stuff/savings.

First we stopped at Sarah's place and dropped off the lion's share of the things she'd had with her at my place, then over to the store where I got two new shirts, two new sweaters, etc. I learned from my mother that morning that she didn't have any ready cash to buy the doggie any food, so I stopped off at the store to get our little Bg a mammoth bag of Kibbles 'N Bits, then back home to do one little "etc." load of laundry, and to bond with Baby for a few more hours while Sarah worked on a freelance project (I wanted her on hand to say goodbye to Bg, who has come to adore her).

My mom and her friend showed up at about 4:45. Bg about had a conniption, so excited was she to see the two of them. Fortunately, we'd already had our second, and final walk together, so it wasn't too jarring for me when they corralled her things and her into the car (after visiting for about an hour, I guess). She was confused, I could tell, about why I was not getting in the car with her...

I later learned from my mom that she whimpered for me for a significant bit of the ride home, but I know she was torn. My mother is really her home, and as soon as she got inside my mom's townhouse, she immediately knew where she was, and seemed happy.

I spent the evening dusting, polishing furniture, and sweeping up mounds of dog hair. I'll probably get the last of it right in time for Bg to visit me for the weekend in late November when my mom next goes out of town...

I went to collect Minas's painting Memory Lapse, and to give him the money for this abstract piece that reminds me of a series of grenades exploding. A kind of chaotic order. I think I've found a place for it.

Stopping in at Atomic Books (see their linked blog under the "Strictly Baltimore" section on the right), I also procured this beauty. Next, I may get her companion action figure. But... I passed him on this go round because I got this instead.

After our Hampden jaunt, Sarah and I met up with a friend and coworker of hers at the illustrious One World Cafe. I had garlic risotto cakes with zucchini and green tea (later, though, I was so chilly that I ordered a hot chai). Sarah's friend J was feeling brave enough to meet BabyG, so we took her up to the apartment. It took all of about 30 seconds for BG to decide that she loved, loved, loved this new visitor.

Just before bedtime, I got online and ordered new bedding and other accoutrements from target.com. I didn't remember curtains, but it's just as well. It's not the end of the world, and it may be better to pick those out in person (I'd already seen the bed-in-a-bag that I purchased at the store, so I know I like it) anyway.

Covered in Rain

Ambient torrents from the lesser-than-Katrina-Hurricane Ophelia are dousing Baltimore's streets. I have been craving a good deluge lately, and even though it had been predicted, I didn't believe it was really coming. The path of Katrina's rage didn't lead to much for us up here in the cul-de-sac of the Mid-Atlantic. I'm obviously grateful (naturally, I am also regretful for those who did not escape harm), yet it is somewhat ironic. It reminds me that just a slight turn to the left or the right equals destruction or escape, depending.

Ophelia is an especially literary, tragic name for a hurricane. I wouldn't dream of making light of it; it will certainly make someone's life a hardship, but she also seems destined to slink off quietly after a few comparitively minor disturbances, much like the heroine for whom she is named.

I remember thinking, about 3 weeks ago, that Katrina was not going to be any big deal. It was the name. All I could think was "that's my cousin's name. She's harmless and ineffectual. This storm will probably lose its steam once it hits land." Irrational and ridiculous, I know.

Walking the dog this morning, the unmistakable scent and feeling of the breezes arrested me. Reminded me of that other lady, Isabel, from 2003, who sent large sheets of slate roof down N. Calvert street. I watched her show from the window of my 7th floor apartment. It is an odd thing to say, but I am grateful for that hurricane. For all of her damage, she is singlehandedly responsible for two of the happiest days of my life. I won't go into it here. But you can view my archives from two years ago (almost to the week) if you want to know...

So those breezes I mentioned. They begged the question of rain, but I have grown accustomed to promised things that aren't delivered. I left my apartment without an umbrella. At some point, I looked out the window of the #61, Inner Harbor-bound bus I was on, and saw the city through streaky lines. Red traffic lights amorphously shaped, bleeding into blobs. It was still night. I began to steel myself for the onslaught of water when it was my time to disembark, but then I remembered that the rain would be warm, the way it is in September.

Standing at the connection stop, the site of my de facto baptism, I debated getting a cab the rest of the way to the office, but then I thought to myself 'why should I be exempt?' Kurt Elling's baritone swirled in my ears, I get along without you very well...of course I do... I stood there drinking my Awake Tazo tea, feeling glad of my life, not minding that I was soaked through.

I am so not into these freaking anime graphics, but this is amazingly accurate...


You're hiding from love and or commitment. You
don't mind people in general. In fact, on the
outside, you're rather good with people. But
when it comes to getting closer than just
friends, you get worried. You don't like pain,
and you especially don't like being the cause
of it. You want the people you care about to be
happy because it makes you happy to know that
you've done nothing wrong. The only problem is
that you're feeling guilty because you think
that the only reason why you want to protect
people from yourself is so that you won't feel
bad about yourself and it's not that you
actually truly care about them. Don't beat
yourself up though. If someone truly cares
about you, then they should be willing to make
the same sacrafices you have.

What are you hiding from?
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Nothing in Particular

I could listen to him all day... and have been thanks to one of the presents Sarah gave me. I also own this one.

In other news, in addition to starting our own business and networking to that end, the Sarah-one and I are bursting onto the Baltimore Society Scene by becoming Charm City's "It" Girls. Our first stop? The theatuh!

In other news, Caryl and Crystal have switched roles. I now talk to Crystal at least twice a week. Caryl is as about as slippery as a greased eel.

Interesting. the instructor has changed the script a bit. I thought I had his syllabus routine down: two short papers during the semester; one long one at the very end. This time, we actually have to turn in writing exercises (fiction, not exploratory reflection papers), four of them to be exact, conduct one 10-15 minute presentation on a work not covered in class, and finally, turn in a short story or chapter of a novel with a 2-3 page commentary on said work at the last class meeting.

Even though it's more intense and more work, I'm relieved. This is my third class with him, and I worried that his style might go stale on me, not because the man isn't a literary lion, but because, well, three back-to-back classes with anyone prof could get old. He gave us a crazy amount to read for next week, mostly short pieces. Full court press. Assignments give my life such meaning. My dream is to turn into an exceptionally busy person, but one who is only busy with things that truly stimulate me.

He told me that his life has settled down a bit since the summer, so on some Monday or Friday night he and I will get together to discuss my paper from last semester. The man does try.

Have to turn in my first poem for Poetry Workshop with Professor Genteel tonight. I'm going to sumbit my Anna Karenina piece written this past April. I thought about trying to churn out something new today before I leave work, but I doubted my ability to get that rabbit out of the hat. Further, I want the AK poem to be part of my final thesis, and I can only include pieces that have been workshopped in a class taken in the program... so that's settled. I just printed out 12 copies.

My finances are fluid at the moment (Praise the Lord), so I finally ordered my sister the birthday present she most wanted--a beginner violin. I had it shipped to her at school. It's only 3 weeks late.

I'm hungry, y'all. Cereal just doesn't do it for me most mornings anymore.

Speaking of eating (and weightloss and all that jazz), my gym attendance is still spotty. I'll get the rhythm back next week when the dog has gone and when Sarah is no longer bunking with me. It's just hard to get motivated to go ride the elliptical when I have my best friend and my best canine at my disposal... and naturally having class again has thrown in a monkey wrench. I'm not down for the count or anything, just need to get readjusted.

This is accurate... (and yes, I am bored)


UNITED STATES - 1900'SFamous Ruler: President Franklin D. RooseveltLiving Quarters: HouseHardship: The Great DepressionThe 1900's was one of the greatest periods around.
Swing music, crazy fads... It had it all.

What Time Period Do You Belong In? (Updated!)
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Is there a more ridiculous time for me to have taken this quiz? Probably not.


simple

What Will Your Wedding Dress Look Like (Now With Pics)
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Some people need to have the truth all laid out for them because the crap they try to perpetrate is dubious at best, sinister at worst. I find that as I get older, I am all too happy to be the one who does the laying out of said truth, if I am in a position of credibility to do so.

If you are a witness, you must come forward to be counted and to give an account of what you have seen, what you have heard, and what you know. Enough of revisionist history and revisionist historians. Most people, I have learned, can endure the indignity and grief of any agony or hardship if the truth is told about it. If the record is allowed to show who they are, who they were, and what really happened.

I recently decided to decrease Babygirl's walks from three or four a day to two high-quality walks. Now that the college kids are back, it is difficult to walk her without incident--barking, lunging, etc. I have made my peace with the fact that much of this is owed to her temperament toward strangers. She can calm down after a period of time in someone's presence, but a walk-in-progress is not the time for training. I can tell she misses that extra walk at night, and the extra two on the weekends, but really, they aren't necessary. I was overcompensating at first. We have a pretty nice rhythm now, and obviously, if she absolutely had to go out, I wouldn't hesitate to take her. Limiting our outings has relieved a lot of my stress. I try to make up for it by being a bit more leisurely with her in the morning, really letting her sniff and smell everything.

This is her last week with me. I am ready to have my freedom back and my apartment back, but I am going to miss her. Oh, she has stolen my heart...

You just never know how things are going to fly together or come apart, as the case may be, at the last minute. There is very little to be banked upon, when you get right down to it. I'm just commenting. Not having a bad day or anything, just noting that it is impossible to know what's coming down the pike, for better or for worse.

I've had some good news recently. I spoke with my quasi advisor about my standing in the Writing Program. I gave him a list of classes I've taken/am taking this semester, and asked him about my chances of meeting my goal of completing my degree by the end of next fall. I am in great shape, and as it turns out, the class I took with him last semester satisfies the technical course requirement for my concentration. Sweet!

Poetry group last night featured a stunning carrot cake (my favourite) that C, a group member, made in honour of my b-day. I think I'm going to eat a piece after walking the dog, but before going to the gym. It was amazingly good. A very cakey cake, which I enjoy. Dense and moist. To die for!

Sarah and I are still muddling through her difficulty. Trying to make some plans to get her back on track, and to go forward with grace, which she has in spades. She's still staying with me for the time being. It's nicer to go through the thick of one's heartache with a friend.

To Continue the Comfortable Jeans Motif...

I had no nerves this year about starting class. I had a few concerns about my poetry workshop (last night's class), in terms of whether or not I was going to be feeling the same old tension about form vs. free verse, but other than that, I slid right back into the routine like I'd just done it yesterday, not 4 months ago.

There were several familiar faces in my class of 11. At least 8 of the people I've been in workshops with before, and of course my poetry group is representing strongly. Among the familiar faces, the kid with whom I "hung out" last semester. What a weirdo.

Among the unfamiliar faces a fellow SMC alum, but she's fresh out of the water....unlike me who's been out of that pond for 10 years now.

And a new prof on whom to dote. Professor Genteel. He's southern, calming, kind of cute, but in an endearing way. Straight up he told us that form will neither be required nor spurned. He had me at hello.

Am I ready to gear up for this again?

My first class of the semester is tonight. Another Poetry Workshop (every student has to take three in his or her concentration). I feel tired at the thought of it.

I'm so glad the gym is opening back up tomorrow...

because I ate my leftover birthday cake for breakfast this morning. Thankfully, I had a reasonable breakfast yesterday, something of a decadent lunch, but ate it late enough in the day that I didn't need dinner, and just finished out the day with coffee and cake & ice cream, so it wasn't over the top, calorie-wise.

I skipped dessert after lunch out with E this afternoon. I'm debating popping in a workout DVD before my mom and Jim show up, but I think I'll allow myself this one more day off because I'm going back to my hard core routine soon enough. 38 more pounds to go! Of course, this week will be a bit awkward because I start classes on Wednesday, and because of the dog, I won't go to the gym afterward. Then, on Thursday I meet with my poetry group for a mini post b-day celebration. The weekend will be a bit unpredictable, but I know I'll make it at least twice between Friday and Sunday. The following week I'll regain some more momentum, but as it's the last with the dog, I'll still have to forego working out on Tuesday and Wednesday (I'll have class twice a week, starting on the 13th).

Sarah went home this morning to prepare for the 4-day work week ahead (laundry, playing catch up to meet some deadlines, etc.) and to deal with some other pressing business. It was sad to see her go after a 3-day stay with me. I loved our unplanned sleep-over fest, but it was not as hard to watch her go as it has been to watch others leave lately. I know I will see her again soon. These days when friends walk or drive away, I feel an odd sadness that it could be the last time, or that they are heading out into the unknown. All of my associations feel tenuous, or if I'm sure of them, it seems that joy is so fleeting that I start to miss those I love even while they are still with me. What accounts for this odd separation anxiety at my age?

I tidied up my apartment before E came to get me, because it was beginning to get out of hand. I've also started reading Toni Morrison's "Beloved." It's on the reading list for one of my two classes, and though I've owned it for years and even started it years ago, I never finished it. It just wasn't the right time, I guess...

Relieved that my b-day has come and gone, now I can just get on with the business of living my life, reading books, writing papers, and leaving the past to itself...I wonder if there will ever be a day that I won't feel this dull ache. It is beneath every happiness, tinges the sky, just a bit. Grief like broken in jeans that wear so well to every line of the body, the shoes that you cannot differentiate from your feet, so comfortable are they... just a little thumping, the skip in the groove that you anticipate, considering it part of the music.

While It is Still Called Today

I'll write at length later, but I wanted to check in while it's still technically my 32nd. I had a lovely low-key day of phone calls from friends, lunch and later dessert (a chocolate tower with raspberry sauce) out...walking the dog, being with my best friend, opening presents, holding the comforting thought that I made it through another year to my heart for warmth. In this moment, I believe everything is going to be all right somehow. I don't know what's next, but as the old gospel song says "I believe I'll run on and see what the end is gonna be."

Initially, my goal was to be at 150 pounds by my birthday, but after revising based upon my current rate of loss, I decided that 160 was significantly more feasible. I am happy to report that I weighed in this morning at 160, for a total of a 62-pound loss at this point.

Sarah and I went to Target to spend up the gift card her parents gave me for my 32nd; I got several things, including: two all purpose t-shirts, a smart waist jacket that will go equally well with dress pants or jeans, a sparkly purple pencil cup, a small water bottle, batteries, sponges, and other various and sundries. A nice mix of practical and fun. Important and inconsequential.
I saw several other things I want but could not afford on this trip. That's okay. Next week I will be rolling in dough (loan check).

The day got off to a slow and meandering start, but by the end, Sarah and I had taken the first steps to beginning our freelance business, tidied up her apartment, and gone shopping. Now I sip chai tea, listen to plaintive, pensive acoustic music, the dog at my feet, guarding me against all evils, both real and imagined.

1 day to 32

Unexpectedly, I was out of the office yesterday. A personal crisis (now largely dealt with) in a friend's life necessitated my physical presence as well as my emotional support, so I called in to the office. I'll just take this on the chin as a vacation day.

I saw Catherine (Catchka) last night; she came by because she's in town visiting her family and wanted to give me the luxurious, intricately woven afghan that she made me! It is very reminiscent of the thick knit burguny scarf she gave me last fall. I am keeping the blanket put away for now because I don't want Babygirl's insidioius dog hair looking for a home in it.

Sarah spent the night with me at my place. Bg and I slept in the livingroom so she could have the bed. I woke up at 6 to take the doggie out for a leisurely walk. When Sarah awakened she immediately set to getting my DVD player and VCR to cooperate with the tv. I can now watch dvds in the livingroom again. Ever since I downgraded my cable and lost the digital cable box, the whole system has been wackadoo.

I made us berry smoothies which we drank while watching the early b-day present Sarah gave me; NSYNC's most requested videos. That's right. I really wanted it... Say what you will. Without Irony, I tell you, I love(d) their music and always enjoyed watching their performances.

Am nearly finished reading Big Stone Gap. What a sweet book.

One of those mornings...

I missed my connection bus; waited for about a half hour for the next one.

The office refrigerator was cleaned yesterday afternoon; My new skim milk was thrown out.

On necessary trip to Whole Foods to get new skim milk and a few groceries was in line behind woman buying about 10 cups of coffee; naturally one of them spilled all over the conveyor belt.

I moved to another checkout line and was completely rung up before the cashier and I both noticed that the card swipe machine was not working; I relocated my wares to a third checkout line before the transaction was complete.

I'm listening to The Gentle Side of John Coltrane. It always makes me think of this time of year.

Living Testament

My 32nd birthday is just around the bend, so it seems like a good time for a State of the Union entry.

My friends and fellow bloggers, let me begin by saying that the state of the union (of my mind, body, and soul) is strong! [Wild applause; standing ovation]

After the catastrophes of emotional war (known simply as "The Debacle"), I have gained the upperhand on the battlefields, the only casualties being unhelpful paradigms and misguided expectations and hopes. I mourned those, now let the rejoicing that comes with letting go commence. [rousing applause]

Okay, in all seriousness, my heart, head, and body all seem to be in a good place, at the same time. Unprecedented. I can say, with all sincerity, what does not kill you does indeed make you stronger.

I'm grateful for the peace I have....about everything...I'm glad to go home tonight, walk my dog, and do laundry. It's a blessing that such a lovely, uncomplicated evening awaits me. Things are good. So good.

Two for the Seesaw

I watched this 1962 Relationship Drama (pre "romantic comedy" era) starring Shirley Maclaine and Robert Mitchum last night. I'd only seen the last five minutes of it, about a year ago, before last night. I was so intrigued by the final bit, that I've been wanting to purchase it since. I grew weary of waiting for Amazon.com to have it in stock again, so I asked Catchka to order it for me via Ebay.

Revolutionary in its candor and smart in its assessment of the way men and women "work" in relationships, I am glad that it's among the collection of films I own. One of the lines that really hooked me is when Robert Mitchum's character says "Make a claim on a main; he may just surprise you." The dialogue between the two principal characters is disarming and unaffected. I appreciated the subdued, steady hum of Mitchum's lines to Maclaine's borderline histrionic replies.

Before that, though, I did a truncated workout. The dog surveyed this activity for about five minutes then left the room, figuring, I guess, that she would leave me to my mania. I think that's a new level of intimacy for us.

Decisions, Decisions, Decisions...

I ultimately want to make a living on my own terms. To that end, I have decided that freelance editing may be my ticket out of the 9 to 5 grind. I'm formulating a plan to drum up business via advertising; I'll join forces with Sarah, editor extraordinnaire, and keep my day job until we develop a solid client base.

On other fronts, once I reach my goal weight (am about 42 pounds shy of that now), I am going to sign up with some type of dating service. I'm at that age where love is more a practical matter than one of serendipity. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this; the idea of a dating service (0nline or otherwise) was never my "thing," but "my thing" is decidedly ineffective.

Of course 42 pounds is another 3 to 6 months away, so a lot can happen between now and then, but at this point, that's my resolution. To take steps to get the life and love I want.

The Woody Lissauer performance in Hampden was thoroughly enjoyable. Sarah works with the artist's gf, which is how we found out about the event, held in the same locale as a few poetry events I've attended. I munched on ginger snaps and enjoyed three glasses of wine during his vocals/guitar driven set.

Before the night was over I had not only purchased one of his cds, but I also told the proprietor of the Minas Gallery that I was interested in purchasing one of his paintings entitled Memory Lapse. He'll contact me in about a month about it. It's abstract; very vibrant.

I dreamed about g in stunning clarity. We were out walking dogs (I was walking Babygirl, naturally; I am always walking her in my dreams now) in the countryside, our situation being very much what it is in real life--that he is engaged to be married--the subject was not discussed, but it was just beneath the surface of our words. Instead, he said to me, "It looks like Prince William is ready for his nap." This was supposed to suggest that he'd stopped acting immaturely. I wondered at the incongruity, since William is always presented as the straightlaced, mature one. I did't say anything, though, except, "I thought he was getting married." G had all kinds of inside information about the ceremony, for example, the reasons it was legally required to take place in Maryland.

Then he asked me when my birthday is. I told him September 4th, and he said we should get together for it sometime soon, that it would "count" as a birthday celebration.

The dream lacked the ambiguity, distant surrealist quality so many dreams have. I saw him and myself as crisp, distinct figures. His face was his actual face, not an abstracted or representational image of the face I know. He was wearing a jacket that I have seen him wear, and the interaction between us was fairly typical, in tone, to many we've had in the past.

I'm meeting my good friend and fellow poet C for brunch; I need to get dressed...

Finally saw "Must Love Dogs." It was okay. Time with Sarah was tremendous. We finished up the day at my apartment after scoring green tea frappes from Starbucks. I went to the gym after she left and paid for that and for the hot dog and Reese's Pieces I ate as lunch (no time to eat before the movie).

What is it about Saturday? I feel like I could sleep all day. After Bg and I returned from her morning walk, we got back into bed, and it was a big struggle for me to get out of bed just now, two hours later. A crazy mishmash of dreams. I need to put on some coffee, I think.

I really need to clean up, too. But after the gym. They are going to be closed, starting this coming Monday through next Monday, September 5th. I have to make today and tomorrow count.

This evening, I'm to join Sarah and Michael at the consignment shoppe/art house venue in Hampden that hosts poetry readings and performances. A music group is playing there tonight.

My stepfather, with whom I have had a strained relationship for several years, called me last night. I was genuinely glad to hear from him; today is his birthday, and I wanted to telephone him, but didn't want to go through the rigamarole of pinning my mother down long enough to give me his number. Our chat was brief, but satisfying.

His call interrupted a long overdue conversation I was having with Naomi of New Mexico. She was telling me all about her newish kitten and how it's a handful. I've pretty much decided that once Babyg leaves, I am not going to get a pet of my own. I'm so glad I waited. It's good to think things through, I guess.

Today is another half day for me, but instead of coming right home, I'm doing lunch and a movie with Sarah. So looking forward to seeing her.

My half day at the office is nearly over. I've done a bit of work, had a meeting, and grazed on high fiber cereal, and about an hour later the smallest bit of salmon left over from yesterday's lunch. There is a chill in the air most mornings that says fall is coming. I love autumn, but it's arrival is both happy and sad this year.

I can't wait to get home and walk the dog. I am starting to get used to her being around. Not so used to it that I won't be relieved, on most levels, when it's time for my mom to reclaim her...but used to her enough that I already know how much I'll miss her when she's no longer there. It's so comforting to have her around, following me in and out of rooms...knowing that she depends on me to meet her needs, knowing that i'm meeting them, and that she feels comfortable with me and trusts me. But I've become practiced in the art of watching people leave my life. It's still hard though. I'm starting to hate arrivals because of the impending departures that are suggested in them.

It occurs to me that she is the stopgap between my sister's time with me and my time alone, another indication of God's grace.

So pleased that my computer monitor was repositioned. Now my back is not facing the entry way of my cube. It didn't occur to me that it could be any other way until I saw a newer employee's configuration. Sometimes the slightest change yields a big dividend.

A beast of a project is waiting on my desk. Must go.

Who Moved My [Reduced Fat] Cheese?

My mother brought me her copy of this book to read the weekend before last (when she came to pick up some of my sister's stuff, see the dog, etc.). I'd seen it at her house on several occasions, and had even thumbed through it once or twice. It's a slim volume, but I hadn't troubled myself to actually read it.

Last night, after the gym, I cracked it open. I am pleased to report that while I used to be one to sit in a cheeseless spot of the maze, I have now gone off in search of New Cheese. And that is the crux. The Cheese will always eventually be moved. Don't sit there wondering what happened to it. Go find a new source.

Hope I didn't ruin anything for anybody out there.

Other items of note:

The dog doesn't seem as depressed about Caryl's absence (they've spoken briefly on the phone since she left); she and I got in some extra special cuddling on the couch while I watched the UPN Monday night lineup, read said book, and ate my portabella soy burger.

I'm working half days on Thursday and Friday this week. I'll come home and see the little wonder, take her out for an extra walk (she'll still fully expect her 5:30 walk, as well she should), and just laze about with her. Maybe I'll get some writing done, too.

92 Days

For the last 92 days, My sister and I shared my bed. I don't have a guest room, and I didn't want her to have to bunk on the couch for an extended period. I didn't mind at all. I understood when I proposed that she live and work with me in the city that this is what it would mean. I, who am usually so insistent on space, welcomed the invasion of another person and her stuff into my limited square footage because I knew we were going to have a blast.

Having her here was God's providence. Literally, on the morning of her first full day, the news of G's engagement broke. I remember thinking...no...knowing that God, in his grace, had allowed that information to be held back until I had the balm of my sister's presence and her sage advice and counsel. She is not yet 20 (but will be this Thursday), but her insight is resonant and seasoned with a compelling wisdom. And she is just silly.

Over the course of the summer I came to see her as a kind of 'evil genius.' Her acerbic running commentary on the inanity of the world, her dead-on impersonations of people, the ongoing comedic monologues she would do from the perspective of celebrities or just random people we'd see on the street was both arrestingly funny and indicative of a keen intellect.

With few exceptions, we ate lunch together every day at 11 a.m. Several times during the day, we visited each other's desks on official business (our departments were exclusive, so this business was the officical business of being sisters), and on truly silly errands. Occasionally, she would IM me to do her bidding (bring me some water!), or she would happen by my desk while I was away, and leave non sequitir-ish post-it notes. I need Coffee! Come see me Immediately! Her notes always bore a skewed happy face... the quasi pissed, somewhat surprised face.

I know I annoyed her with my insistence on punctuality, my obsessive planning for every contingency. She'd just look at me with not a little pity, and explain to me that she was going to do things her way, and still they would turn out all right.

I did not insist that she start packing on Friday night, or Saturday, or Sunday in the morning after brunch. This is one time, I fully encouraged her procrastination. Finally, the time came, though.

The dog and I went down to say good-bye to her, my mom, and my mom's friend. Then Babygirl and I walked on, continuing on our evening jaunt. She kept looking back for Caryl to join us. Then, once back at home, she trotted through rooms looking for her heart (that is what Caryl is to this dog; they adore each other), sniffng the hardwood as though trying to catch the remnants her scent.

"She's gone, baby," is all I could think to say.

I woke up this morning with baby curled up by my side. She'd edged closer during the night, I guess, taking up the space my sister occupied for the last three months.

The movie was genuinely funny... not just crass, though it was certainly that in many places; not just boy humour, thought it was that, too, in several places; not just about being deflowered, though that does happen, naturally. An older couple left about 15 minutes into the movie. I have to wonder what they were thinking by choosing this particular film...what were they expecting? But really, all in all, I thought it was a thinking person's raunchy comedy.

BabyG and I awoke at 6:30, an hour later than usual in honour of the weekend, and went for our morning walk, afterwhich we crawled back into bed with Caryl (the three of us all sleep in one bed) and went back to sleep for two more hours. We breakfasted on turkey bacon, eggs, and chai tea. Baby just ate her doggie treats, which to her are so commonplace, she sees them as a very par for the course occurrence.

Delighted by a five pound drop, I hustled to the gym. On my way back to the apartment, I was greeted by my two roommates who were on their way out for walk #2 of the day. I joined them for an extra long jaunt to some new places and new grass that BabyGirl had yet to explore.

Caryl and I lunched at the One World. I had a delightful tuna on multigrain bread with wasabi mayo and China Jasmine green tea. We didn't talk much over the meal, just kind of observed the interaction between a young mom and her precocious daughter.

The afternoon has been all about lounging while watching Napoleon D, reading, and another quick turn around the neighborhood for the dog. I firmly believe that canines need a lot of exercise, and the weekends are a good time to shower the one in my charge with all the fresh air she can handle. I always feel so guilty for the amount of time she has to just wait here in the apartment while I'm at work...I leave the television on for her so she can have the comfort of voices. I don't know if it matters to her or not, but I feel better for doing it.

Ah well. It seems that Caryl and I will spend the night burning cds for her and doing laundry.

T Minus 1 Hour and 5 Minutes

The end of our last workday of Summer 2005 together. Tonight the Caryl-one and I will go to see this comedy; tomorrow it’s all practical stuff like laundry and brushing the dog’s teeth…the sadness of packing. Sunday, we brunch with Sarah, and at some point later in the day, my nearly-20-year-old-sister will leave after 3 months of being my roommate. A quarter of a year. It passed quickly, but it’s a significant chunk of time.

As an early birthday present, I picked up a copy of the coveted Napoleon Dynamite DVD and 2 slices of cheesecake (one cherry, one carrot) from The Cheesecake Factory, and gave them to her at lunchtime.

Fortunately, Catherine left me several books I can read for the next couple of weeks before school starts. They’ll take my mind off missing her so much… and Miss Babygirl will certainly keep me on my toes. I’m sure I’ll miss her like the dickens in about a month’s time, too.

Reason # 323 You know you actually consider your dog to be a person...

You think to call her to let her know you're on your way home from work to walk her, then realize that even if you still had a land line that she couldn't answer the phone. This seriously bums you out...

Impromptu

So, E calls yesterday and mentions how much she is in the mood to go back to Chiaparelli's in the near future. Since Caryl and I had planned to go there for lunch this week, I suggest to E that we go for dinner on Wednesday night, instead. It's a plan, we conclude.

This evening, she picks us up in her burgundy Explorer and couriers us down there where we met up with her sister. I see E's manager pal again. No major sparkage this time. He's a sweet guy, totally friendly, and just as personable as ever, but it is what it was, and that is cool with me. You may be thinking 'no, duh,' but trust me, in the past I have gotten invested way quick on less than sparkage. I like this new, zen me, who responds appropriately and proportionately to mundane things that would have wrenched me in the past. I see this guy not being interested in me in the light of day, and I don't mind...any part of it...in truth, I'm not interested either, and that's not Sour Grapes talking.

By the by, I have some sumptuous leftovers for tomorrow.

In other news, I think I've lost a few pounds. And Babygirl, now that I've learned how to control her little self, was a champ on her walk tonight. Yes, that's right, I'm the Alpha in this pack.

Short Leash

The dog, Babygirl, really acted out last night. She is, by nature, improperly socialized when it comes to other dogs, and most people not in our immediate family. Walking her in the afternoon, or even at night, when it's still relatively early, is always at least a little stressful. Last night, she lunged at no fewer than 3 passersby, and really went bonkers upon seeing two dogs who were with their owners.

Caryl takes our walks with us, save for the one we take at the unpopulated hour of 5:45 a.m., which is my favourite, because it is not at all uncommon for us to not see another living soul. Caryl has been trying to give me pointers about to demonstrate authority with the dog, how to restrain her when she is deliberately flouting authority, etc.

After her deplorable actions last night, when we got back in, I was truly pissed. So pissed I started regretting that I've taken her in for the month...In any case, Babygirl inside is a docile lap dog. Truly unassuming, willing, affectionate. All of it. So hard to reconcile that with her growling, posturing, lunging outside self.

This morning, I was dreading taking her out. Just dreading it. But I figured that given how much she was let know that last night was unacceptable, and a lack of other animal and human beings for her to terrorize, she was likely to be better behaved. I kept her leash short, wasn't very indulgent with letting her linger, pointlessly, and insisted that she match my pace, not the other way around.

This is like having a child.

Presenting an accurate picture...

It's not all gloom and doom in the Krupnik household. Caryl has been making cryptic comments lately, things like "I know something you don't know," and "you'll be very happy near the beginning of the week." I'd been good-naturely smiling and blowing it off. She says things like that fairly often, so I thought nothing of it.

I didn't even think anything of it when she was curiously invested in what I was wearing yesterday morning (I worked from home; she took the day off), and with whether or not I showered. I suited up, at one point, to go to the gym, and she cautioned against it. I remembered briefly her "I know something you don't know"s for the last couple of weeks, and thought there might be a connection. 'Wow, she is taking this pretty far,' I thought.

In a spirit of compromise, I asked her if I could at least go the gym to re-up my membership, but not workout, at least not until later. She cocked her head to one side and pondered this for about 10 seconds. She made the allowance, and I left the apartment with my university ID and a check for the correct amount in hand.

I could see ahead of me in the distance, a young woman dressed in a summery skirt. She reminded me of someone I knew. I thought it was a remarkable resemblance, really. Her walk was just like Catherine's (Catchka), I mused, then dismissed the thought. As I got closer to this person, I saw her smile. It was Catherine, who lives in Boston, headed right toward me.

We collapsed into laughter and hugs, and I was so thrilled to see her that I nearly cried!

She walked with me to reup my gym membership, then I took her back to the apartment to meet the dog (who is fickle, at best, in her acceptance of strangers) who loved her! Once back inside, I changed clothes and the three of us headed to Hampden for a Mexican lunch at Holy Frijoles. For a long time, we were the only ones there... We sat near the window, people watching, and eating our taco salads. She planned the trip about two months ago, and has been keeping it from me since. In town for a week, with a very full docket of social outings, she earmarked yesterday to lunch with moi.

On the way back to my place, we stopped at the grocery store to pick up ice cream and cones.
Catherine left at about 2:00 p.m. She was like this brilliant shooting star. I had to convince myself that I'd actually seen her...that she had really been there....

I had another post in mind for today...

What I did not plan on was chronicling this feeling of impending sadness. Caryl and I will go to work together only four more times, then the weekend, then Sunday afternoon/evening, and the dog and I will watch her ride away with my mom and Jim.

In a premature declaration of healing a few weeks back, I proclaimed to Caryl "I really am over him!" The thought had hit me like the solution to a particularly difficult equation with more than one variable. I. am. over. him. And I didn't feel smug or superior; I didn't feel bitter. I simply felt free. Caryl looked at me earnestly and said "No. Not yet. You still love him."

Now, I am old enough and sophisticated enough to understand the distinction between still loving someone and being over him. I know they are not mutually exclusive, but I also know what my sister was getting at, with even greater clarity now, than I did at the time.

On Saturday night I came across a picture that was fairly indicative of the best of his silly side, but one that I had not previously seen. I was poking around the Internet...on a whim, I did a more tailored search, and it yielded the photo. I know. I know. The fact that his name still comes easily to my fingertips for the purpose of Web searches is obviously telling. But believe me; it was spontaneous. I didn't expect to find much...and I had searched for others in a similar fashion.

Anyway, that photo knocked me down. It was the representation of all that was familiar to me and known by me about him...but represented, equally, something undiscovered and new, though it was from a time in our friendship when things were the best they ever would or could be, between us.

On Sunday morning, over coffee and grits, I stared at Caryl blankly. I. still. love. him. I miss him. I miss knowing that person from the photo. He will be married in two months. It would be one thing if the epiphany had visited itself upon me when I had the comfort of his ambiguous singleness, but he is soon to be legally, spiritually, and emotionally connected to another woman. I have too much self-respect to long for someone who is lost to me, which is why it's important to note the almost academic, intellectual nature of this realization...

This isn't pining. This isn't hope. It's just the bald fact that beneath the first excavated layer of grief, there is still this....this indomitable remnant.

Walking the dog this morning at the lonely hour of 5:30, I stared down my arch nemesis. The next layer of grief, far less prosaic than candid sadness... this foe is formless and has no direct object, and does not mourn the actual loss, but more pointedly the elemental, irreducible, singular points of passion...that which is pure essence. The part of loving someone else that we, ourselves, can never understand. This grief is my new houseguest.

Caryl and I helped my good friend, C move from a rowhouse she shared with two other people and her two cats, to an apartment not far from mine this morning. I love moving, or helping to move someone; it always amazes me that when you wake up in the morning, all your earthly possessions are in one place, and one or two hours later, it's all someplace else. That's it. Brand new life, sort of...

I told myself that the process of uprooting C would be my work out for the day, but once I got home, I still had a lot of energy, so I went to the gym for some cardio and lifting.

Caryl and I are about to head out to see Broken Flowers at the Charles. We'll have crepes at the place next to the theatre for dinner.

Tomorrow the dog comes!

"Don't be Afraid to Open Your Heart."

Every night before bedtime, my sister and I each take turns telling the other "something good." It's a little bedtime ritual that basically amounts to telling each other something encouraging that is relevant to what the other of us is currently worried about, experiencing, etc.

Among the things my sister shared with me last night, she also said to me "don't be afraid to open your heart." I lay there in the quiet dark of our shared bedroom and briefly pondered that statement before drifting off to sleep.

In the light of day, as the afternoon has worn on, I've given her words of encouragement/ warning some more thought. I'm actually not ready to open my heart at all. I posted about a week ago to an entirely different end. I said that I was ready for something more, explicitly.

I think the fact that I was under such a misguided impression has more to do with my proclivity toward complacency than anything else. There is a deeply rooted tendency in me to be barely healed from a bad scrape, and then to ante up again for equally devastating punishment...

Or, to refuse to hold my peace for the mere sake of enduring until the end. I just decide, half-way, that it's good enough. That I can stop now, because I've proven my point. The trap door principle.

I am terrified of that happening with my weightloss, and I am terrified that just as I'm beginning to be a better woman, that I will forfeit the game, because I'm scared of holding out.

I have no business even thinking about a relationship right now, or for the foreseeable future. I have to keep my motivation to change fresh and present. Right at the surface. And I have to be tough on myself, or I will self-distract, and end up in the same boat I was in before. the S.S. Sinking Ship.

1,000th Entry!

Not counting the entries on my first, long defunct blog, This is my 1,000th posting, just shy of a full 3 years at this url. I want to thank my friends who faithfully read and remain invested in this chronicle of my life, and who have been so through its various and sundry name changes and templates. And thanks for not believing me for that brief moment when melodrama won out and I "stopped" blogging for about a minute and a half...

There's a revolution afoot, people, and while it will not be televised, it will be blogged about. Keep reading me; you know I'll keep reading you.

Organic Peanutbutter Toast and No-fat Smoothie Ruminations and Announcements

I made an aromatically resonant turkey & black bean chili w/carrots for dinner last night. I'm sure it will be even better today since the spices and flavours have had time to commingle even more.

The remaining three gerber daisies I bought last week are putting forth a valiant effort, but I think today is their last.

I got the final Verizon bill affiliated with my now defunct land line. $1.82.

Am editing a truly silly document. Some people don't know how to write good.

Jazz Tuesday

Thanks to the miracle of Internet radio, I can listen to countless hours of Jazz (or any other genre) while I edit my life away. Thanks to the miracle of having a fairly nice-sized cubicle with a window, I can enjoy the melancholy, yet romantic grey of a late summer sky while enjoying said Jazz. A steaming cup of joe would round this all out very nicely, but I am rationing out my coffee allowance, so this morning it will be black tea with a drizzle of honey.

I had a makeshift breakfast of low-fat cottage cheese with two tablespoons of pumpkin butter (think applebutter, but better) and three slices of turkey bacon (needed a change from the cereal I usually eat). Now I'm downing some water, then I'll start navigating the rough water of hard copy editing that has flooded my desk.

I had some crazy dream I no longer remember last night, but I do recall that it involved getting some information that made me feel relieved. Maybe that's an omen of good news to come.

Enjoy your Tuesday, my lovelies. Listen to some Jazz if you can...

This Week on a Very Special "The Baltimore Chronicles"...

Last week on "The Baltimore Chronicles" Kate and her sister enjoyed a pancake supper, contemplated going to see "Must Love Dogs," and shopped for new clothes. Tune in this week as their summer of retail therapy and themed meals continues....

The arrival of the family dog is sure to stir things up in Kate's apartment. See her prepare for Caryl's farewell in an emotional good-bye scene. Tune in to find out if their evening bus comes on time even once, just how many days in a row they will they buy lunch from Whole Foods instead of bringing in leftovers like normal people, and you won't want to miss the events leading up to Caryl's upcoming birthday...

Will Kate find Love in Little Italy? Will Michael the Whole Foods Boy ever show his face again, or miss seeing Caryl forever? Will a certain wedding actually happen? Does Kate even give a rip?
How many pounds can Kate lose before her birthday in early September?

Stay tuned!

The Great Zucchini

About a week or so ago, I procured a mammoth zucchini from the prosaically named "Produce Market" in Owings Mills. I mean, it's a big as my arm around, and only slightly shorter in length.

I just cut it into about 15 gorgeous discs to roast (seasoned with salt and curry powder), and I have decided to make zucchini sandwiches with the leftovers for lunch tomorrow.

Revamped

Sarah picked up Caryl and myself this morning for what was supposed to be a day outing that featured a) shopping for a few holdover clothing items for me, b) lunch, and c) a viewing of the Diane Lane/John Cusack vehicle, "Must Love Dogs."

Well, I don't just have a few holdover items. I have an entire wardrobe of new clothes...and it took up almost the entire afternoon. I kept mentioning the movie, but Sarah and Caryl seemed to agree that new clothes trumped the picture show, since everything I owned when I left this morning is ridiculously large on me. Essentially, I'd been wearing my sister's clothes almost exclusively for the last several weeks anyway.

It was thrillig to realize that I was a size smaller than I anticpated in Lane Bryant's clothes. Within 10 to 15 pounds, I will be too small for their clothes altogether. I have so appreciated them over the years, because they make truly appealing clothing for larger women, and in some ways I will miss being able to shop there, but it's just another adjustment I'll be happy to make.

We ended up going to Hecht's too, where I bought some other necessary items, like an all-purpose, black tank top. We finished up at a store I'd never heard of, but with which my sister is familiar, called Deb. They also specialize in fun, funky clothes for larger girls/women. I scored 3 pairs of jeans! Now, I have 5 pair. My sister gave me the Jordache jeans of hers that she's lent me on several occasions, and I got one awesome, dark flare pair at LB.

Shopping makes you hungry! We went to Tony Roma's for lunch. I got a very sensible chix breast with vegetable sides meal. The three of us also shared bbq chicken flat bread for a starter.

Once we got home, Caryl and I had a little fashion show (she also picked up some new stuff), and I bagged up nearly everything that was in my closet to deposit into the yellow Planet Aid bin near my job on Monday morning.

Now I just have one worry. That I will like my new clothes so much and enjoy how great I look in them that it will cause my weightloss to stagnate. Most of this is psychological... my old, big clothes motivated me b/c I could see how far I'd come... I just have to keep going. The good thing, I guess, is that I got everything very fitted, not too big (as I usually would), so maybe that can be a new source of motivation.

Oh, and I finally scored workout gear. Not a moment too soon, because my old sweats are falling down...

I am ready for something more...

I assumed after the unrequited love debacle that reached its tragic conclusion this winter, that I would be in emotional hibernation for quite some time. Consumed by my weightloss efforts and the business of processing how sad I was, I figured it would be at least a year before I could even think about starting a relationship, should one present itself.

A few weeks ago, I started to feel a curious stirring. It ocurred to me that maybe I should pray for God to send the man he has for me...but I quickly nixed this idea. It didn't fit in with my concept of when I should put myself back in that position of hope and readiness.

Being only halfway (52 pounds!) to my overall goal, it seems premature to even entertain the idea--in my mind, the weightloss is synonymous with emotional healing. But this feeling that the time has come will not go away. My first instinct is to mistrust the notion. Nothing good has ever come from it in the past...

But for what it's worth, I'm putting it out there.

Pancake Supper

Caryl and I made breakfast for dinner last night, complete with low-fat buttermilk pancakes, turkey bacon, and her famous SouthWestern omelettes. I drizzled no sugar (organic) syrup on my flap jacks, and I'm happy to report that they were delicious.

The Graduate Christian Fellowship meeting was okay...a little lacklustre last night. We have been reading the book of Esther in the Old Testament, and I find that the group, as a whole, is a lot more interested in the anecdotal history of biblical events than the application of the message to our lives (i.e., What is God saying to us for our lives through this message?). What can I say? I'm a reformed evangelical all the way.

Plot twist:

I'll be dog-sitting for my other sister for about a month. I'm mostly looking forward to it.

Outstanding Frustration:

My apartment

The Mourning Period

One of the tenents of Judaica that I most appreciate is the acknowledgment of loss by way of the formal mourning period. The prescribed timeframe for mourning is not meant to indicate that grief is on a schedule, so much as it is meant to ensure that one take the necessary time to contend with one's loss, but also to put a limit on unhelpful sorrow that soon becomes nothing more than an excuse to stop living. Naturally, loss changes you. You never, to some extent, stop missing a loved one, or return to the exact place you were before a dear hope vanished, but the active process of wailing must have checks and balances.

At this point, I believe that my formal mourning period has come to an end.

I'm ready to go back into the fray...smarter this time, but back out there, all the same.