Blast from the past

I'm taking an online writing course this month, and today's discussion made me remember a journal I used to keep back in the dark ages when I traveled a lot and didn't have a kid (or a blog).  I took it with me to write down all those random ideas and overheard remarks that you promise yourself you'll remember, but never do.  I found it a few months ago, and it was pretty cool to see how my mind worked back then.  Below are some of my favorites, collected over about three years (and a billion miles):

" ... but that involved a much higher annoyance factor than she was willing to cope with just then."

" The only part of a museum I enjoy is the sight of it in my rear view mirror as I drive away."

"Sorry, buddy, I couldn't hear you over the accordion music."

"comprehensively sick"

"I hate it when hotels close the bathroom door when they're done cleaning - I always expect to open the door and find a dead body in the bathtub."

"She was a cleaner of inconsistent standards, one who would lecture about the evils of uncooked chicken juices while standing in a kitchen remarkable for its grease-filmed cabinets and food-splattered floor."

"Other women fall for their bartenders; I fell for my waiter.  I even know what it was that put me over the edge.  After several nights of struggling to provide English translations of the daily specials, one night he approached my table, laid my napkin in my lap, and spouted out the specials list in obviously rehearsed, perfect English.  Neither of us could understand a word the other said, but from then on, it was love."

"I think there must be one line on the job application at the DMV that asks, "Are you a bitch?" and the answer choices are, "Yes," "Hell, yes," and "What do you think, asshole?"

"Talk to your mother fast, because we have to eat dinner soon so she can go draw pictures of naked people."

"I've got a whole fuckload of fruit salad I've got to power through before it goes bad."

"'How was the meeting?' 'The speaker was boring, the food was awful, and afterwards I was surrounded by a pack of people looking for new jobs.'"

"She had skin so fair she could sunburn in a thunderstorm."

How do you spell the sound of a nose blow?

Because that's the soundtrack of my life this week.  Gah.  But it did lead me to remember a story I haven't told you yet, so I guess it's not all bad.
______
Back in the olden days - 1998 and 1999 - Jason and I lived in Japan, and it seemed like every time we would come back to the US for business or the holidays, one or the other of us would get sick.  I managed to get spectacularly ill one Christmas with a simple cold that went horribly, horribly awry.  There was mucous flying everywhere, I used up more than a full box of tissues in a day, and I was fairly certain that I was either going to dry up into a husk or flip myself inside out while honking away into a Puffs Plus.  I was absolutely miserable - couldn't sleep, couldn't concentrate to read, couldn't do anything other than blow my nose and whine.  We were staying at my parents' house, and things were bad enough that I went to the walk-in clinic to see if they could do anything to stop the Niagara Falls of Snot streaming out of my head.  They gave me some version of Claritin to dry me up, told me to buck up, and sent me home.

Now, I don't know if you've ever actually read the list of side effects on a box of cold medicine, but in addition to the normal "drowsiness" there is also something they describe as "restlessness" or "sleeplessness."  I had never had any problem with cold medicine side effects before, but for some reason, whichever version of Claritin I took had some serious issues with my system.  I got the "restlessness" and "sleeplessness" in spades, on top of an already-mostly-sleepless body that was partly dehydrated and miserable to begin with.  I wasn't able to sit still - it's like I was on crack and meth and Red Bull, simultaneously.  If this had happened today I'd just buckle down and knit an entire sweater that night, but this was 1998 or 1999, and I didn't travel with crafts back then.  Instead, I just laid on the couch and vibrated like a tuning fork.  I couldn't even close my eyes for more than a few seconds, much less sleep.

My parents, needless to say, were somewhat concerned about this development.  My mother became convinced that I was going to "spike a fever and go into convulsions" if someone didn't stay up with me (trufax! this is how her mind works!), so my father got drafted into Sit With Gretchen Duty.  All.  Night.  Long.

Did you know that the only thing on cable at 2am between Christmas and New Years in 1998 or 1999 was The Rocky Horror Picture Show?  Which I had to watch for the first time with my father ... while strung out on cold medicine ... with no sleep for the past two days?  Ever try to explain Tim Curry in a leather bustier and thigh-highs to your dad while trying to make sure you were actually seeing it yourself, not just hallucinating it?

Good times, Dad, good times.  Have you gotten "Let's Do the Time Warp Again" out of your head yet?
________

I'm reminded of this because, until recently, I was unable to take any cold medicine at all because it would give me the same sleeplessness, no matter what time I took the pills.  I could take Nyquil at 8am and vibrate until 8am the next morning.  The effect had worn off somewhat in the past year or so, and I was just getting to the point where I didn't fear for my sanity every time I cracked open a blister pack of pills ... and then I took some DayQuil yesterday morning and paid for it all last night.  I am now intimately familiar with every detail of every wall and ceiling in my bedroom, and I think I've managed to solve both world peace and the energy crisis all at once (if I could just find the slip of paper I wrote it down on).  I also had a sort of lucid dream where I discovered that a mixture of vodka and cranberry juice was perfect for getting out the mildew stains around my bathtub - or at least making it so I didn't care about them anymore.

On the positive side of things, this time I wasn't craftless, so I now only have about 6" of the yoke left on a sweater I'm making for myself.  Can't feel my fingers or my forearms thanks to the carpal tunnel action, but at least my lifeless hands and arms will be warm when I'm done.

**honk-shuuuuuu-phththththththtph**

Gesundheit.

And a last one, this time from just under a decade ago

One more post from way back when - a recounting of my adventures getting (the first of three) lasik surgery to correct my hideously bad eyesight. The squeamish should bow out now, I think.

---

Ok, so I'm back, have slept off the worst of the valium, and am ready to tell my tale, for those of you who have strong enough stomachs to read any further. Here's how my day went:

9:15 am - suffered power blackout at work; since I work in a lab where the loss of ventilation can be hazardous, all of us trooped over to the cafeteria to hang out. Nothing better than time to sit around with nothing to do right before surgery, so you can dwell on exactly how scared you are. Contemplated the possiblity that the power wouldn't come on in the next hour or so, which would cause the plant manager to send first shift home early for the day, which would mean that I could save 1/2 a vacation day. That was the bright spot of the morning.

10:55 am - power restored, first shift had to stay. Darn it!

11am - bid farewell to coworkers ("See you Monday . . . hopefully!). Felt sense of elation that in a few hours, I'll be able to stop worrying about the damn procedure. Thought about taking my safety glasses with me in the car so I could pitch them out the window on my way home after the surgery, but decided that littering wasn't the best idea.

11:15am - choked down a light lunch at Subway. Contemplated which toppings would look best if circumstances caused me to regurgitate them all over the laser technician. Fretted.

11:55am - arrived at doctor's office. There were only two cars in the parking lot, a parking lot that is usually full. Is the place closed? Has he been sued for malpractice? Or are they just slow because of the lunch hour? Remembered to bring inside the bag of pre-surgery stress reducers I've gathered (stone I use to keep my hands occupied instead of biting my fingernails; photos of loved ones; handkerchief from my grandmother who breezed through several cataract surgeries with no difficultes, and whose estate made the surgery financially possible for me; plastic baggie and napkins to use in case of nausea).

12pm - signed in. Signed disclaimer that boiled down to "anything that goes wrong ain't the doctor's fault." Took 10mg valium. Tried to read engaging book to keep my mind off of impending procedure (
i O is for Outlaw;
very good book so far). Held husband's hand. Fretted.

12:15 pm - young woman who just arrived is scheduled for the surgery slot after mine. She looked calm and ready to go. And skinny. Wished fervently that I was more like her, or at least looked that good in overalls.

12:30 pm - assistant came to prep me for surgery. "I'm supposed to be feeling less anxious, right, because that isn't happening yet." "We'll get you prepped and get you another pill."

12:40 pm - Began crying. Just a little. Reassured by assistant, who had laser surgery herself, that everything will be fine, but I don't have to continue if I don't want to. Gulped down another 1/2 a valium, preying for some dopiness to start soon. Eye area was swabbed with betadine solution, and I had to put on a little blue shower cap to keep my hair out of the way.

12:50 pm - Waited in small waiting room for doctor to arrive. Assistant stopped by every few minutes to make sure I was feeling ok, which interfered with my stress-reducing yoga breathing techniques. Panic was still there, but manageable.

1:10 pm - Doctor is here, ready to go.
* Sit in something like a dentist's chair, only it tilts so far back that you feel like you're going to slide off headfirst onto the floor. Head was positioned just so, then held in place with an inflatable donut-shaped pillow. They moved the laser in place over my eye, and the focusing ring around the outside was so bright I could barely look at it.
* They put a patch over my left eye. Had to stare at the light while they attached a suction ring to my right eye. This caused me to lose all vision in that eye, which was probably a blessing, but it was really uncomfortable - like someone pushing fairly hard on your eye with their knuckle. The keratome (translation - knife) attached to the suction ring, and after a few seconds of vibration, the flap was cut. They removed the suction ring, and I breathed for the first time in several minutes, or at least that's how it seemed. Probably would have been impossible at that time to pry the lucky stone out of my hand.
* Also luckily, with the flap cut I couldn't really see what was going on too well. First they attached a speculum to my eyelids to keep them open. Then they flipped back the flap, made sure everything was ready, and started up the laser. The trick to the laser is that you have to look right at that super-bright area (with a pulsing red light in the middle; that's the actual laser) without moving your eye, or it gets all screwed up. Unfortunately, to me it looked like the damn target light was moving, so I kept trying to follow it with my eye. Luckily the doctor has a view of the whole thing, and every time my eye started to wander, he'd flip off the laser. After the fourth or fifth time that happened, he was probably getting a little annoyed. Meanwhile, the laser technician was counting down how many seconds I had left to go. Longest 48 seconds ever recorded in the history of mankind.
* Once the laser was done, they flipped the flap back in place and used some sort of spatula or brush or something to smooth it back into place. Thanks to the negative pressure in your eye, there are no stitches necessary to hold the flap back in place. Then I had to sit there with the speculum holding open my right eye (so the flap could get nicely dried and stuck down before I blinked) while they started on my left eye.
* So the right eye was bad, but the left eye was even scarier, since I knew exactly what was coming. The suction hurt worse on that eye - was bordering on pain, instead of just being uncomfortable. I'm hoping that whimpering uncontrollably doesn't mean that I wasn't brave, since I made it through the whole procedure for that eye, too. Of course, I may be picking rock fragments out of my hands for a few days, but hey - at least there was not vomiting!
* After the left eye was done, they put some drops in my right eye, then took out the speculum. Then I had to wait for another few minutes with the speculum still attached to my left eye (and it pinched!) while the doctor and technicians made small talk. Then they put in the drops, took the appliances off, and damned if I couldn't see! Well, I could see pretty well until they taped some clear eyepatches over my eyes to keep me from scratching at them overnight - they blur things a little bit.

1:30 pm - All done, including the post-operative counseling to let me know what types of pain and/or problems are bad enough for me to call the doctor at home and drag him with me to the hospital. Arrived in the lobby, triumphant, and looking unbearably stupid with both eyes tremendously bloodshot from the suction

Another post from the way-back e-mail machine

Found this one still online at the cooking forum I used to haunt back in the day ("the day" being 1998 and 1999, while I was living in Japan and was using the forum as a substitute for actual friends).

Oh, one more thing. For those of you who are interested, here's a copy of the message I sent out to friends and family, to let them know what our last few weeks have been like. Hope you enjoy!

This week's topic: Sayonara!

Well, it's been a long, hard road, but we've finally made it - our last day at the lab! Thank you, dear readers, for giving me a place to vent and explain our life abroad. It's so nice to share our thoughts with our friends, without having to tell the same anecdotes over and over again. I hope that you have learned a little, and laughed a little, and will miss the messages a little now that they're done. Better hold on to printouts of these little gems . . . you never know, maybe someday I'll become famous and they'll be worth something as records, rather than as kindling! Anyway, as a public service to you, I leave you with a step-by-step list of instructions for closing down your life in Japan, in case you ever need to do so.

** Allow two moving companies to bid on the move, as required by company policy. Explain to moving company representatives what will be sent by air, what will be sent by boat, and why your cat has its own bedroom in your apartment.

** Cram in day trips to all the places you meant to go see, but never got around to visiting. Shop for potential Christmas gifts and last-minute home decorations; add several more little paper weeble-wobble dolls to your now-extensive collection.

** Prepare cat for trip. Attempt to put cat into the carrying case he used on the trip to Japan; realize that he can't fit all four legs and his tail in at once. Visit hardware store to purchase crate large enough for a medium-sized dog, because "we want him to be comfortable." Sigh with relief when huge crate actually fits in the back seat of your car. Take cat to vet for pre-move checkup and updated shots. Watch as cat goes ballistic at the sight of other animals in the exam room; almost receive rabies shot instead of the cat because he squirms so much. Wish you had a tape recorder to capture the sounds coming out of the cat's throat, some of which could be marketed to the folks who make sound effects for horror movies. Vow that when you have to take the cat back to the vet again right before you leave the country, for another round of shots and the final certificate, you will either drug him into a stupor or wrap him up tightly in a towel.

** Purchase airline tickets, remembering to reserve a space in the cargo hold for the cat, and to get the animal-approved flight from Cincinnati to Cleveland (which involves a 3-hour layover in Cincy, rather than the standard 1-hour layover). Make hotel reservations at cat-friendly hotel. Reserve mini-van rental car to tote luggage and cat home from the airport.

** Begin disposing of Japanese appliances. Sell washer, dryer, and refrigerator at bargain-basement prices. Arrange to borrow company minivan to transport large appliances to their final destinations. Purchase large amounts of aspirin to alleviate hernia you anticipate will occur after you lug the refrigerator downstairs. Give away hair dryer, telephone, and light fixtures to strangers who make eye contact with you on the street.

** Begin sorting out what will actually be sent by air. Bring home boxes of work-related papers, and empty boxes to use for sorting. Watch in amusement as cat goes partially psycho when furniture is moved from one room to another . . . try to record the highest spontaneous vertical leap he performs when he hears a loud noise.

** Begin disposing of excess food. Offer American canned goods to fellow expats at reasonable prices. Devise delicious meals to use up foods that have already been opened ("Hmmm, a box of frosted flakes, a can of tuna, a bar of white chocolate, and two boxes of baking powder. Looks like we're ordering another pizza!").

** Ask secretaries to find a Japanese hotel which allows pets, for your last few nights once the apartment has been vacated. Determine that the closest one is two hours away from work, and three hours away from the airport. Decide to stay at a hotel in Nagoya and either smuggle in the cat, or leave him with a friend for a day or two.

** Deal with the movers for the air shipment. Explain, in a horrible mixture of English and Japanese and without the benefit of a map, how the movers should get to your apartment ("We're near the Meito Ward post office, and across the street from an elementary school. Does that help?"). Explain to the movers that the piteous noises coming from behind the closed door are not from a human sacrifice, just from a spoiled kitty. Try not to feel awkward as you sit on the couch watching a rerun of professional wrestling - it's the only English-language show on - while the movers grunt and strain in the next room. When movers ask if they may take a 10-minute break, consider the question carefully just to worry them, then say "yes." When movers ask if they may use the bathroom, consider the question carefully just to make them squirm, then say "yes."

** Deal with the aftermath of the air shipment packing. Let the cat out of his room, then watch as he actually does a double-take when you let him into the room the movers have emptied out. Notice how he jumps two feet straight into the air anytime you move or make a noise, for about 2 hours after the movers leave. Decide to get all the psychic cat damage done at once, and bring the dreaded suitcases out into view.

** Decide that to make things easier on the cat, you will leave the country one day earlier, thus eliminating the need to board him at your friends' house. Rebook airplane tickets, hotel, car rental. Notify everyone in the expat division of the changed date. Reschedule apartment inspection for the morning of the day you leave Japan. Schedule necessary maintenance on newly-purchased home (being certain to schedule the chimney cleaning BEFORE the carpet cleaning, and the cable tv installation AFTER the delivery of the television in the air shipment).

** Deal with Japan's farewell present to you, in the form of one last Unpleasant Seismic Event (we don't like to say the E-word). Think to yourself - and I'm suggesting based on experience here - "God, what are they doing downstairs? Ok, this one does feel like a truck hit the building - several times - and it's still going. I don't want to be trapped in the post-earthquake apocalyptic rubble wearing nothing but spandex tights and a sports bra - should I put my shoes on now and get crushed to death, or put them on later and risk having to run through broken glass barefoot to escape? Huh, the china cabinet sure is rattling - good thing we packed up all the photos and breakables earlier today. Maybe I'd better go stand by the door with the earthquake kit and see if this is going to stop soon. JASON!!!!!" Wait for 30-second temblor to finish, wait for a few seconds. Find husband, half-clothed and trying to pry the cat out of the box spring of the bed. Remind husband that in the case of a real emergency, it's better to have a dead cat than a crushed husband. When he disagrees, remind yourself that his life insurance policy is large enough to provide for a comfortable life for you. Remind yourself to check on whether he's covered in an earthquake, and if the "Accidental Death or Dismemberment" policy would apply in that situation.

** Say goodbye to coworkers. There should be plenty of opportunities for this, since you'll have a farewell staff meeting, farewell luncheon, night out with the secretaries, and official Soubetsukai on the evening of your last day of work. Begin thinking up excuses why you are unable to sing karaoke that night. Mentally review the useful Japanese phrase, "I cannot drink much tonight; I am on a diet." Lay in a supply of Tums, aspirin, and cool cloths for the next morning.

** Supervise packing of sea shipment. Stand around awkwardly while the movers do all the work, gradually taking away all the comfortable places to sit and interesting things to do. Remember to buy earplugs for yourself and all moving company employees, so that the noise from the cat - who will be locked into an empty room by himself - does not drive anyone insane. After movers leave for the day, watch as cat becomes completely psycho as he views the boxes and rearranged furniture one day, and the completely empty apartment the next day. Partially open doors between the connecting bedrooms, so that cat can run circular laps around the apartment. Feel really guilty when you leave him alone in the apartment and check into a hotel.

** Last day in Japan: 6am - wake up, check out of hotel. Travel to apartment; clean like maniacs. 9:30 - apartment inspection. When apartment owner and management company try to charge you for the tiny holes in the wall where you hung pictures, point out that they were going to have to re-wallpaper the whole apartment anyway, since there are so many 4-foot-long cracks in the walls. Remember to stand directly over the spot in the carpet where the cat tried to chew his way under a door (so that inspectors don't notice the frayed area). As inspectors make unreasonable demands for compensation, whisper hilariously menacing catch phrases you learned from the professional wrestling show under your breath ("He wants $500 because we didn't sanitize the oven? Yeah, right, I'd like to take that oven, shine it up real nice, turn it sideways, and stick it straight up his roody-poo candy a** "). 10:30 am - apartment inspection complete; turn apartment keys over to apartment owner. Turn company car keys over to secretary from work. Throw yourself on the mercy of your neighbors, whom you will visit until it's time to go to the airport around 4:30 pm. Check watch. Realize that you will smell like sweat and bleach all the way back to the US - that's another 20 to 24 hours. Check watch. Hope that the Business Class amenity pack contains refreshing moist towelettes, which you can use to give yourself a sponge bath in the airplane bathroom. Check watch. Cram yourself, 400 pounds of luggage, and the cat, into two taxis and head for the airport.

So long, farewell, sayonara, and good night!

Blast from the (way, way) past

We're going through some totes full of old mementos, and I found an e-mail correspondence I had with the owner of the company I worked for in July 1991. This is the first recorded instance of me using the computer to be funny, so I thought I'd share it here. Of course, the boss came up with much funnier material, but he'd had decades more practice than I had at the time (I was 17).

Backstory - Our company was on two floors of one building (five and six), and someone had recently sent around a message complaining that people were leaving the fridge door open in the break room near where I worked.

From me:

I found that the best way to make sure the fridge door closes (see Ley's e-mail) is by pressing on the lower lefthand side of the door with your foot as you close the door. This makes sure that the gasket around the door seals; if it doesn't, air leaks out and you may as well not close the door. Give it a try next time you use the fridge on six. Thanks!

From Andy:

FYI. Personally, I have found that getting a running start from the file cabinet and slamming my head into the lower right hand corner of the door seems to work just fine ... except for the one time that someone opened the door and I didn't notice ... it took me a half-hour to get that Tupperware container dislodged from my head.

From me:

Sometimes I go up to the seventh floor and do a Tarzan-type swing out their window and in through ours, kicking the door shut on the way. Of course, we usually don't have the windows open, so it's pretty painful and probably not as effective as your method.

From Andy:

Yes I have tried that method also and it is not nearly as effective as my first method, as you so correctly state. Another method that has also proven effective in the past has been to attach a come-along to one of the support beams in the ceiling (or actually, a portable engine-lift also works in a pinch) and then I have wrapped the fridge in a sling and pulled it up to the ceiling. Then comes the tricky part ... you need to position the refrigerator such that the door is facing down while suspended six feet above the floor. From here you simply cut the cable and let the fridge drop to the floor - slamming the door shut and safely sealing the contents for the next user. This method is a little tricky but it has never failed me yet. Give it a try and let me know how you like it.

Nostalgia strikes at the oddest times

I was driving home from the movie theatre around 10:30 Friday night, cruising from stoplight to stoplight with the windows down and the radio up. After a long stretch of muggy nights, it was finally cool enough to raise goosebumps on my arms. A car pulled up next to me at a light, packed full of teenage boys goofing off ...

... and I'm 17 again, cruising Concord Pike with my version of Lloyd Dobbler after going to see a movie. We're in his mother's Celebrity, listening to the radio and talking to the other misfits on the CB he bought with the money he earned working as a grocery store bagger. I'm wearing my only "sexy" outfit, which was a tight-fitting black t-shirt (with a neckline low enough that my black bra would peek out if I wasn't careful which way I stretched) and a pair of jeans with a really cool black leather belt from Banana Republic. I can faintly smell the perfume I dotted on behind my ears, and the chill from the night air is raising goosebumps on my arms. He's holding my hand as we pull onto the twisty roads in the valley, back to the reservoir and the one-lane bridge where you have to flash your lights before you go across because you can't see the other side, and all the other landmarks I could never find on my own. We're getting lost and getting sort of found and realizing that it's 15 minutes to curfew and somehow we ended up in Toughkenamon and oh crap we'd better find a phone booth so I can call my parents.

Last night, almost 20 years after cruising Concord Pike and the valley, I drove home with the windows down, taking the longer way home on the road that winds down into our own little valley. I turned the radio up and drove with one hand on the wheel and wondered what had become of the grocery store bagger.

And I vowed to throw out that damn belt from Banana Republic, because really, 20 years is too long to keep an accessory, and in retrospect it wasn't that cool to begin with.

Wacky

Every time we go on a trip, Jason insists on taking a photograph of himself somewhere along the way. We've started dubbing these "wacky Jason shots," because there is no way to look serious when you're photographing yourself by blindly pointing a camera from arm's length. For example, here he is at St. Mary Falls in Glacier National Park, July 2004:

Of course, most of the time when we're out hiking there's not a soul around to take a picture of us together, which has led to the inception of "wacky Gretchen-and-Jason shots," like this one from Grinnell Glacier:

And this one from Goat Lick:

The worst thing about these is that at the time I had a camera with a cool lens that swiveled around so you could have it facing the same direction as the viewscreen, so that you could see yourself when lining up wacky shots. So I knew I looked this bad when I took the shots ... Also, I think the only piece of clothing in these photos that we don't still own is my red shirt in the bottom shot. I miss that shirt ...

And one final shot before I wrap up this week of reminiscing. This is probably my third-favorite shot of wildlife from the trip. It's a ground squirrel we saw near the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park.

It has always reminded me of this shot that I came across when I was writing about malaise (long story), and it makes me giggle every time.

photo from https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_86m9RRCYv-EZT_cwJfPbR-aUHlNqShSzQvSocyGSLUNThYLZreGrpRDikV9z61h62SRaGlXHVcJzjUm2piiHPCpD4ylQXLowE3gLRTJVFhXFIRqmUBd3bhMpWJU5PZF3oj_j/s400/squirrel2.jpg

Anyhoo, thanks for playing along with me during this trip down memory lane. And who knows, maybe we'll do this again the next time the cats pee all over the toys in the basement and force us to clean up after them for three hours and reorganize the whole thing so that nothing absorbent is at ground level. After all, that's what brought the CD of old photos to the surface last Sunday, so maybe it will happen again.

Wildflowers? Weeds? Depends who you ask.

Roadside color, Waterton Lakes, July 2004

Not much to say about this, other than "Look! I've been taking plant pictures for five years now!" Someday I'll get myself organized and either make a photo book out of them or start selling them on etsy (probably the latter ... I've already come up with a name for the shop and everything).

I swear, I'm going to have my own episode of "When Animals Attack!" someday

We were hiking near Waterton Lake in Canada in 2004 and saw this on the trail like 100 feet in front of us, and my first response was not OMFG A BEAR RUN FOR YOUR LIFE BEFORE HE SMELLS THE GRANOLA BAR IN MY BACKPACK.

Instead, it was OMFG A BEAR - JASON, HOLD THE BACKPACK WHILE I DIG OUT THE CAMERA AND TAKE HALF A DOZEN PHOTOS OF IT RIPPING THAT DEAD TREE TO SHREDS WHILE IT TRIES TO FIND FOOD THAT ISN'T NEARLY AS GOOD AS THE GRANOLA BAR IN THE BACKPACK YOU'RE HOLDING. WAIT, WHY ARE YOU DRAGGING ME BACK DOWN THE PATH? I WANTED TO TAKE VIDEOOOOOOOOO ...

Next thing you know, I'll be smearing honey all over my kid's face and trying to get coyotes to lick it off so I can get a photo of that, too.

Oh, did somebody say 'coyote?'

Okay, this one was far enough away (can you say, 12x digital zoom?) to not be a threat, but it was really cool to see, anyway.

Twisted!

Twisted tree (and tiny Jason) on the trail back from Grinnell Glacier, Glacier National Park, July 2004.

I love this photo because it reminds me of the hike we took to Grinnell Glacier. The glacier itself was a bit of a disappointment, but the trail was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous for almost its entire length.

And, at 12 miles round-trip, it's the longest hike I've ever done. I know, it's not majorly long for experienced hikers, but since my usual hiking area includes a paved trail and flush toilets, this was a big deal.

Runner Up

Again with the goat pictures! This one comes in second in my estimation only because the whole "inquisitive-looking fluffy animal" thing is such a cliche. A fluffy-wuffy little wubberkins of a cliche, but still overused.

Just about my favorite picture EVER

The Smiling Goat, on the Highline Trail at Glacier National Park, 2004.

I'm pretty sure this was the trail that was only open for the first quarter or so of its length because a goat or sheep had fallen to its death somewhere farther along, and the park rangers were afraid that the corpse would draw too many dangerous animals near the trail. And it's not like the rangers were going to hike out the corpse, so the rest of the trail was closed until the carrion eaters were done with it.

I've got so many awesome photos from our trip to Glacier and Waterton Lakes (in Canada) that I could spend the rest of the month on them. I won't (spend the whole month ... just a couple days), but I will urge you to run, don't walk, to Glacier for a beautiful hiking vacation. If you walk, the glaciers will be gone by the time you get there. Jason was pretty proud that we made it there in time.

Just kidding! That's a snowfield, not a glacier. But the biggies are melting, too, so get your butt out there pronto if you want to see them.

Beach babe

Again with the picture from Florida in 2005!

I love this picture because a) you can see how petite I looked for someone who was 7 months pregnant (small baby, lots of real estate to stretch out in without having to put on any additions), b) Jason is still wearing those ratty sandals all summer, and the baseball hat I'm wearing is the one that's in the back of my car for emergency park use, and c) the sarong I'm sitting on has been in Liza's bag of silkies for years, and it's the first one that gets pulled out whenever she needs a tent, or an ocean, or a river, or a dress for me. So every time she hauls that thing out, I get to think about Florida. Hurray!

Memory Lane

Certain Events (which will be discussed later when I'm not so tired and angry) made it necessary to completely clean out the part of the basement where Liza's extra toys are stored, and while I was moving some old travel books, I found three CDs of pictures that I'm pretty sure never made it onto the portable backup hard drive. I've been copying them over to my computer so I can save them for posterity, and it's been a trip down memory lane.

There are so many cool pictures in there that I'm going to devote this week to sharing them. Item one: me having a dolphin encounter at Discovery Cove, February 2005.

This picture was taken about two and a half months before I delivered Liza, and yet I managed to cram myself into a wet suit (not to mention an airplane seat for four hours each way to get down there and back). In fact, we found out the day we left for Florida that we were expecting a girl, a fact which we hadn't been able to confirm in any of the previous exams. Knowing that it was a girl really made the whole pregnancy thing seem very real, and the entire trip to Florida was sort of surreal as a result.

At any rate, this was our last trip as a couple, and I have photographic proof that I got to pet a smiley dolphin, so it's all good.

She's come a loooooong way

(but don't call her baby)

February 2006 - first ride-on toy

April 29, 2009 - first big-girl bike

May 2005

April 29, 2009

Happy birthday, baby girl.  May you find as much joy in the rest of your life as you did in a $2 bottle of bubble solution today.

Sense memories

I just got back from a nighttime jog, for the first time in, oh, years. Don't ask me why - my body tells me to go jogging at 9:30, I'm going jogging, especially considering how snug my jeans have been getting.

Believe it or not, I used to jog all the time, and always in the evening. Of course, we lived in Japan at the time, and it was the only time I wasn't at work or commuting back and forth, and the crime rate in Nagoya was about 0, so jogging at night over there was a little different than doing it over here. It's funny, though, how the slap of shoes on concrete and the damp night air on my clammy legs brought back a bunch of memories of running in Japan.

My route over there was a large loop that started and ended at our apartment building. Our neighborhood was insanely hilly, and I purposely routed myself up and down the hills because the downhills gave me a (very brief) break. Don't get me wrong - I suck at running. I have bad knees, I get winded walking uphill, and I have the determination of a banana slug. But jogging in Japan was one of the few ways I could be by myself in a socially acceptable fashion, and after a few weeks of gradually running more and walking less, it became a lot less painful. There was even one or two nights when I ran the whole way, a much longer route than normal, because I finally got the fabled "runner's high." Okay, it wasn't a "high," more of a "not nearly so sucky," but it was fun all the same. After we moved back to Cleveland the weather was so bad - and my need for solitude was so reduced - that I gave it up pretty soon, managing to straggle through one 5K sponsored by my employer in spring of 2000 before hanging up my shoes for good.

I last jogged in Japan in November or December of 1999, and I can still picture virtually my entire route, one stride at a time. I carried a flashlight, but that was mostly so I could turn it on to warn cars I was there when they infrequently came by. Mostly I ran in the dark, the glow from the television sets shining through front windows and lighting my way on the sidewalks and streets. I knew where to shift left and right to avoid cracks and potholes, where the curb wasn't nearly as tall as it looked, and which neighbors cooked the best-smelling dinners. I saw another runner every couple weeks, usually the same guy running on the opposite side of the canal.

I'd start uphill from our apartment, walking to the corner before I started to jog. I'd jog uphill for a few blocks, then it leveled out, then it went up again before dropping off steeply on the back street where the VW bus used to park. When I took the longer route I'd swing past a few shops that I never went past when I wasn't running, past the izakayas where I'd have to dodge the drunk salarymen if I had waited too late to start running. Back down past the school, the grocery store/supermarket, the tennis courts where the bats flitted in and out of the streetlights. Stop running at our corner, walk up the block past the new construction on the street behind us, then circle around to the front of the building and stretch on the steps before buzzing myself in.

Where am I going with this? Heck if I know. I just had half an hour of mindless exercise, and it all came flooding back, and I thought I'd better write it down before I forgot.

Next time: Why stretching my quads makes me think of earthquakes :)

Note to self: I realized today that most of my sports bras and some of my spandex exercise shorts are the same ones I wore in Japan. Eyech. If I keep up the schedule for two weeks, I get to go to Target and buy some new duds. And if I keep up the schedule and can complete a 5K before my birthday, I'm buying the biggest freaking brownie sundae in the state and eating it all by myself.

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Edited to add: I've been futzing around on Google Earth. If you want to see where our old apartment was, here are the coordinates:
Latitude: 35° 9'54.68"N
Longitude: 137° 0'15.73"E

If you search for Nagoya, Japan, then zoom in on Meito-ku, it will get you to the right area. We're just a little west of the highway and the canal which runs parallel to it, just north of the big dirt courtyard in the elementary school across the street from our building.

My god, it's a trip down memory lane. There's the temple with the dragon water spouts. The Denny's where I had my first Japanese curry. The McDonalds where we used to get pancakes. The park where we had a nice rural walk until we found the huge piles of condoms behind every shrub or large rock.

Good times, good times.

Speaking of which, I kinda miss this place: http://www.shooters-nagoya.com/index.asp . Oh, Fowl Balls, how I miss you!