What a Girl Wants
I have always loved the beauty of pool balls. They are so strongly pigmented, so shiny. I’m a terrible pool player, but something about the pretty, pretty pool balls captivated me.
So when I spotted one at the bottom of a mesh ball bin at the thrift store today, I plunged in to get it. I had to remove soccer balls, semi-deflated footballs, faded basketballs, all manner of scuffed and filthy sports balls that stood in the way of my pretty.
But finally I got to the bottom, and I was richly rewarded – not only was one pool ball down there, but many. Not a whole set, which is actually better, because then I could work them down on price. I offered $5 to the puzzled cashier, who had no item on her price list that covered this eventuality.
$5 lighter and much much happier, I am the proud owner.
2 Girls, 2 Days, 4 States
Friday, May 18, 8 pm
Me: The eclipse is this weekend
CC: We should go see it
Me: Haha, yeah, right
CC: Seriously. Why not?
Me: We’d have to drive for like 6 hours to get there
CC: Are you doing anything else?
Which is how CC and I ended up going to Nevada on Saturday. We had a route planned out scrawled on a Post-It to get to Las Vegas. We followed it almost perfectly, except for me missing an exit and taking an impromptu trip through Arvin and Tehachapi.
The detour only added about, oh, an hour to our journey, but looking on the bright side (as we tend to do) we got some excellent paletas (Mexican ice cream pops) at the gas station in Arvin. Do not ask me where Arvin is, because I’m not sure I could ever find it again even in the unlikely event that I would have a reason to try.
CC, prepared for adventure
Thanks to our friends at Trip Advisor, we found clean, comfortable budget lodgings in Las Vegas at the Super 8. Not anywhere close to the real Strip, but that’s ok by me.
I recommended the Super 8, mostly for the neighbors, which include both the Little White Chapel and, directly in view of the motel lobby, the incredibly busy Elvis Wedding Chapel, which specializes in costumed theme weddings. There was a long line out front of people wearing togas and witch hats and what-have-you, all waiting to get hitched.
I dunno if Michael Jordan and Joan Collins are the best ambassadors for matrimonial bliss. Only in Las Vegas do you find a “Wedding Chapel District.”
As we were checking in, the desk clerk shared stories of weddings she has seen from her unique perch behind the counter. Like the guy who went and bought massive amounts of alcohol and got drunk in the parking lot while his bride got made up and dressed. He then proceeded to puke on the bride’s dress – who married him anyway.
“I told her not to do it, but she did it,” said the clerk. “They don’t listen, then they’re back the next day.”
The “back the next day” part refers to getting a divorce, the site for which conveniently located on the same property. Ah, the sanctity of marriage is alive and well in Sin City.
Poetry reading on the patio, Art+Bistro
Because we are complete party freaks, during our time in glittering, crazy Vegas, we went to the Arts District for a nice bistro paella dinner (complete with poetry reading and live music); we went to church; we went to Chinatown for dim sum and to the 99 Ranch Asian market – but we never set foot in a casino.
We got out of control with a crisp glass of Yeawood Sauvignon Blanc. It was a party in my mouth.
We also did not order beautiful girls sent to our room in 10 minutes, though many people tried to convince us to do so.
I did almost get thrown out of get asked to stop taking photos by a polite young man in 99 Ranch Market, but that’s about as Hunter S. Thompson-esque as things got. It’s a mild, mild life.
Paletas, Asian style – mung bean jelly flavor.
On Sunday, we headed out to the full eclipse zone, which was in a band beginning about 55 miles outside of Vegas on Hwy 15. The area surrounding Las Vegas is the kind of landscape where you aren’t surprised that they did nuclear tests, because if you had to put a nuclear test somewhere, that is exactly where you would put it, too. It is so dry and desolate and empty that you’d look around and think “Well, a 50 megaton explosion can’t hurt THIS!” (Sorry, Nevadans. I’m sure you love your state. But wow. There really is an excessive amount of desert out there).
There is no town 55 miles outside of Vegas, so we headed some more miles out to the nearest town, Mesquite. The town was boring and hot. How boring and hot? We went to a big community park that had zero other people there (in the middle of a weekend Saturday) AND it had artificial turf because it was too stinking hot for real grass.
We looked at each other and drove another 45 miles to St. George, Utah, where we knew an eclipse event was taking place.
This is as fun as it gets in Mequite.
We were laughing all the way at how nutty we were, driving 8 hours to see an eclipse. But onward we spun, only vaguely realizing how screwed we were going to be when it came time to drive home later that night.
St. George from the Water District Building
The county water district in St. George (which was blessedly red-rocky and gorgeous after the Nevada wasteland) had opened its doors to eclipse-watchers. The water district building is located on the side of a ridge, with ample second- and third-floor balconies. Hundreds of people showed up.
There were a couple astronomers with big telescopes, getting their geek on and showing us the view. One apologized because all the sun had to offer prior to the eclipse was sunspots, which still seemed pretty exciting to me. US Park rangers were on hand to explain the nature bits.
They were showing space films and had exhibits up – all well-organized, as is the rest of the state. Leave it to Mormons to organize stuff. There’s a reason their state symbol is the industrious honey bee.
We took replacement arc welding glass, which we shared with others to see the eclipse progress.
Everyone was in festive mood. The eclipse itself took about an hour, maybe more. First, you could just see a tiny nibble out of the sun, then a crescent that grew bigger and bigger. We were glad we took welding glass to look through, because there was no way to see what was going on by glancing at the sun. I don’t know if you have noticed, but that thing is bright.
Our eclipse-watching compatriots
We pulled out of St. George about 7:30 Utah time (6:30 Los Angeles), saying goodbye to our newfound friends. I drove for a couple hours to Primm, where we switched drivers. CC lasted about 45 minutes until she began to yawn every few minutes. I knew I’d have to take the wheel back.
We could have stopped and spent the night somewhere, but I had work the next day and I didn’t want to be late for a stupid reason like taking too long from coming back from an eclipse viewing. At a certain point, I decided to just gut it out. Midnight, 12:30, 2 a.m….the road wove on an on, just us, a few other psychos and a whole lotta trucks. My eyes grew heavy. My legs ached, public radio droned on and on.
I almost gave up a couple hours from home, but I bit my tongue to keep myself awake and drove on with a buzzy head. At 3:15 a.m., we finally pulled up at CCs house and by 3:30, I was at my home and in the shower, washing the road grit off so I could sleep for 3 hours or so before getting up for work.
Totally nutso. Totally fun. Would do it again in…another 11 years or so, which is good, because that’s when the next eclipse will be here.
Purple for Lupus Awareness
Lupus is horrible. My dear friend Erin has been battling it for the past few years. She has gone through round after round of long treatments with drugs that seem to have as many side effects as curative properties. The good news is that it seems the drugs are starting to do some good.
She talked about wearing purple for Lupus Awareness Day, but I wasn’t sure what an impact that would make. So I decided to turn my blog purple with these photos, and point you to the Lupus Foundation of America if you have questions or want to make a donation.
From their website:
Lupus is a chronic, autoimmune disease that can damage any part of the body (skin, joints, and/or organs inside the body). Chronic means that the signs and symptoms tend to last longer than six weeks and often for many years. In lupus, something goes wrong with your immune system, which is the part of the body that fights off viruses, bacteria, and germs (“foreign invaders,” like the flu). Normally our immune system produces proteins called antibodies that protect the body from these invaders. Autoimmune means your immune system cannot tell the difference between these foreign invaders and your body’s healthy tissues (“auto” means “self”) and creates autoantibodies that attack and destroy healthy tissue. These autoantibodies cause inflammation, pain, and damage in various parts of the body.
And as Erin said, in one heartbreaking post:
My body needs relief, badly. I’m begging my doctor for relief today, and am begging the universe for a break. We’ve taken more than we can handle, and while reinforcements come soon, it’s not soon enough. My brother doesn’t need to be changing my sheets and trying to carry me into an ER all in a span of a few weeks. My husband deserves to train for his race. The kids deserve a Mom that can be present mind, body, and soul…not in bed hoping to lift her head off the pillow.
I don’t think that is too much to ask.
So here are some purple things for her. It’s the least I can do.
Banana flower (those little yellow things will become bananas)
My grandmother died many years ago, but her peony still blooms!
Santa Cruz Island Lupines
Kohlrabi, a delicious little vegetable.
Purple comes in all different shades, and Lupus comes in all different forms, too. Here’s hoping for an eventual cure for Erin and for all those with lupus.
Where are you going?
I’m going my own eccentric ways!
Groundwork
For six years, I met every week with a group at my church. My church wasn’t fancy. We had bought an old office building and it looked like it. The group met in a storage room full of old carpet and filing cabinets and playground equipment.
It was dusty and ugly and the folding chairs were hard metal. We took up a collection and eventually bought some tables and better chairs, but we still met in a cramped, ugly room.
We came back week after week, fed by our teacher, Mary Hill, who taught that class for over 20 years, week in and week out. We met and read and shared and learned, tiny bit by tiny bit. We confessed our weaknesses to each other. We laughed at stories of out of control egos, of times we got on our spiritual high horses and were suddenly brought low.
People got sick and died. Babies were born. People fell in love and got married, fell out of love and got divorced.
But week after week, we showed up.
When I moved, I found a new church and a new class, much the same. The chairs were a little more comfortable, but the progress was still as slow, chipping away at attitudes I had build up over years.
Most of the time it seemed like no progress was being made, but I knew I needed the spiritual food that just meeting with other earnest seekers provided.
Tonight I had to have a difficult conversation with a friend. We both had enough hurt to build a wall, but we didn’t build a wall. Both of us have been doing our work, taking these classes where it seems like nothing happens, praying, changing in tiny ways.
So there we were. We let ourselves say the truth, be open, vulnerable, share our fears, our resentments, look each other in the eyes, hug, talk, change.
It is at moments like these that all the hours spent in cluttered rooms with texts that seem impenetrable prove their worth. All that study, all that willingness, comes to fruition in one moment of truth and vulnerability, a moment when love wins out over fear. Then it is all worth it, every uncomfortable moment, because real love, the kind of love where you can feel God step into the space between you, is worth any price.
- Mom thinks her Kindle Fire is going to quit working every single day, because Amazon keeps sending her the message that her Amazon Prime 1-Month Free Trial account has expired.
- The dog fell in her own poop
- I forgot the ramp to put her in the car, so I had to lift a poop-covered dog into the car
- Because she hates to be lifted, she kicked me in the bladder and I peed my pants
- So I was covered in poop AND pee from 2 different sources, all within 3 minutes
- Is that enough? Or should I tell you about the menopause? No, let’s save that one.
Because it is the Right Thing to Do
Photo by Steve Heron. Used under a Creative Commons license.
We had hired two new workers in my department, a young woman and a man. During their second week on the job, we all went out to lunch together and took one car.
Rachel, the young woman, was talking about something, and suddenly I heard her say:
“But they’re gay, so they won’t be parents.”
I drew in my breath. James, the new guy, who was driving, seemed pretty obviously gay to me. For instance, he had talked about his “roommate” of nine years, someone he had moved with to four different states.
For a second, I was pissed at her for speaking in what I thought was a ignorant, prejudiced way. Then I realized that she might not have an idea he was gay, or she might not realize she was making stupid assumptions.
I thought “I should say something.” I try to speak out in the face of prejudice, but I get tired of always having to be The One. On the other hand, I figure being the one who speaks up is easier than being the one who is the target of other people’s prejudice and ignorance. I waited a second to see what James would say. He looked straight ahead, driving. Nothing.
I also felt like I had to let James know I was on his side, that his new workplace was a safe place to be who he was.
So I said evenly, “Plenty of gay people have kids. Plenty of gay people are married to people of the opposite sex at some point. Other people adopt. Or…”
“I know, I know,” she said, laughing at my mini-lecture.
What I didn’t know that day was that not only was James a gay man, but Rachel was a lesbian. She was testing the waters to see how LBGT-friendly the rest of us were and I had just passed her test.
We became good friends, and I was eventually the first person she came out to at work.
The ironic part was that James didn’t come out to any of us until three years later.
It taught me a lesson. When you do the right thing for one person, it is often the right thing for others, too. You just never know who that might be.
*****
This post was inspired by the voters of North Carolina enshrining prejudice in their constitution with the passage of Amendment One, something that sickens me. If I had my druthers, the state would get out of the marriage business entirely and let people set up contracts to govern how they want to live their lives together. I think we could get the Bar Association to lobby for this idea!
Women kick ass. Me included.
So that steaming pile of crap named Rush Limbaugh thinks feminism was created to give unattractive women access to mainstream society.
Who knows if he believes it or not? He’s not in the truth business – he’s in the ratings business. He stopped being relevant a long time ago.
Feminism is pretty simple. I’m surprised that so many people are confused. Feminism is predicated on the idea that women should have equality, with the full rights and responsibilities of other adult humans (also known as men). Easy, right? Why do people make it so hard?
But here are the facts, cats and kittens – I have said it before, and I will say it again: feminism is a proven good. It is proven because wherever women have greater equality, life is better for everyone. People are healthier, wealthier, live longer and have better quality of life. The more equality = better life. Not just for women. For men and children and intersex people, too. Everyone.
It’s a direct correlation with very few exceptions (you can try to name some. Get busy). If you want a country to have higher rates of literacy, increase women’s equality. If you want them to be more productive, increase women’s equality. If you want to end disease, increase women’s equality.
It would seem like any dunderhead could figure that holding down half the population would hold the society down in general, but apparently idiots like Rush and his followers can’t parse that. Maybe they’d be happier in a country with less equality. Do you think we can get them to head for Afghanistan?
Aviary Sucks, Picmonkey Saves the Day
I store all my photos on Flickr. Until a few weeks ago, they had a nifty little built-in photo editing program called Picnik. For some insane reason, the wizards at Yahoo decided to kill off Picnik and to replace it with this useless piece of crap, Aviary. Seriously, don’t even try it. It will just make you mad.
You can’t straighten photos (which was my primary use for Picnik) – you can only rotate by 90 degrees.
You also can’t zoom in to see what you are editing. So if you need to remove a blemish on someone’s face, well, good luck with that.
The good news is that the Picknik folks have a new, free, service called Picmonkey. It is much like Picnik, only even more charming and cute. The only problem is that you have to edit photos first and then upload to Flickr, which I constantly forget to do.
You can do all kinds of magic and tragic things to your photos. Slap on a couple filters, and voila. The whole world is dipped in an unearthly vibrance. I don’t know if I like it or hate the end product below, but I’m having fun.
Want to be my housemate?
This is my favorite building in Ventura, 40 S. Ash Street. It is occupied by some architect or designer or something, but I’m sure they’ll move out if we ask nicely.
It is right downtown, but on a quiet side street.
The front door
It has a patio with a charming little wood gate. Drinks on the patio? Yes, I believe I will.
I covet this tiled fountain. This is what really sold me. That’s it. I’m calling the occupants. Who’s with me?
As you can tell, I’m having a ball walking around town with my camera. I didn’t realize I liked photographic buildings so much. Maybe it’s because they don’t squirm around like people do.
