Friday, September 30, 2005
Go. Go. Go.
I remember a particularly bleak moment of my senior year in college, when a friend from out of town asked me how I was doing. At the time, ‘doing’ was my thing; I was taking 21 credit hours of classes, bartending, running a small and disorganized (yet somehow profitable) freelance design business, overseeing the production of an underground literary magazine, and trying to determine what I’d do after graduation. On top of that, I just didn’t feel very close to any of my friends. My answer to this query was, “Overextended and under-friended.”
I was so proud of that phrase.
These days, I’m great on the friend front of things, but even four years later, I’ve found that I give myself a little too much to do. In the next three days, I’ll be single-handedly manning a booth at a public trade show, hosting a fundraiser for the Library, hosting a cocktail party at my house and ushering two coworkers onto television, while still trying to maintain somewhat healthy communication with a dozen or so people, eating, sleeping and showering.
It’s been like this for a couple weeks, now. When something ends, something new begins. I schedule breakfast, lunch and dinner meetings to see friends. Most phone calls happen in the car.
I had a high school teacher who lived her life like this, always on the go. Her daughter and husband were dictated each day by lists. She lived from meeting to meeting. She never had time for rest, and she still doesn’t. She and I are friends, and I’ve told her multiple times that she needs to relax. But I know that she can’t relax; I know that unless she’s ‘doing’, she doesn’t feel useful.
We’re similar creatures, she and I.
Although she’s high-strung, flighty, and nearly never available for more than half an hour, I absolutely adore her. She’s not lazy. She’s making a difference in the world, one student at a time, one meeting at a time, one fast food dinner consumed in the driver’s seat at a time.
If things keep going at this rate, I will be her in about ten years or so. I just hope that someone will be able to adore me.
I remember a particularly bleak moment of my senior year in college, when a friend from out of town asked me how I was doing. At the time, ‘doing’ was my thing; I was taking 21 credit hours of classes, bartending, running a small and disorganized (yet somehow profitable) freelance design business, overseeing the production of an underground literary magazine, and trying to determine what I’d do after graduation. On top of that, I just didn’t feel very close to any of my friends. My answer to this query was, “Overextended and under-friended.”
I was so proud of that phrase.
These days, I’m great on the friend front of things, but even four years later, I’ve found that I give myself a little too much to do. In the next three days, I’ll be single-handedly manning a booth at a public trade show, hosting a fundraiser for the Library, hosting a cocktail party at my house and ushering two coworkers onto television, while still trying to maintain somewhat healthy communication with a dozen or so people, eating, sleeping and showering.
It’s been like this for a couple weeks, now. When something ends, something new begins. I schedule breakfast, lunch and dinner meetings to see friends. Most phone calls happen in the car.
I had a high school teacher who lived her life like this, always on the go. Her daughter and husband were dictated each day by lists. She lived from meeting to meeting. She never had time for rest, and she still doesn’t. She and I are friends, and I’ve told her multiple times that she needs to relax. But I know that she can’t relax; I know that unless she’s ‘doing’, she doesn’t feel useful.
We’re similar creatures, she and I.
Although she’s high-strung, flighty, and nearly never available for more than half an hour, I absolutely adore her. She’s not lazy. She’s making a difference in the world, one student at a time, one meeting at a time, one fast food dinner consumed in the driver’s seat at a time.
If things keep going at this rate, I will be her in about ten years or so. I just hope that someone will be able to adore me.
Friday, September 23, 2005
I'm Back.
So, let's see. I went to the beach and had an incredible time. I bought 150 live blue crabs and killed them, gleefully, in a pot with corn, potatoes, shrimp and sausage for thirty of my closest friends. My First Crab Boil. I got invited on my first double date since high school, when Sarah and I drove to the river with Justin and Brent, fighting the entire time over which one of us was on the date with Brent. (In retrospect, it was Justin who gave us the roses and turned on Sunny 95.) The beach date was just as entertaining, and involved fewer fart jokes and more petty theft. The week closed with a Luau and a large man playing ukelele for us, while boys served the ladies food on a stick. Nice.
And then I fell into a slight depression. After being away from work for two weeks, I wasn't quite ready to come back, especially knowing that my small gourmet grocery would have to face the reality of a new store in town. Ugh. The depression is the reason for lack of blog action. (I needed *some* excuse.)
Live music got me out of it. I went to Cleveland to see Sufjan Stevens (and almost got arrested for expired tags) last week, and saw Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! this week. Throw in a Library concert, and I'm just a good ol' music supporter. (I always think of Grease, with the line "I'm a huge athletic supporter.")
Okay. So tomorrow I'm going to a turkey farm. And there's nothing you can do to stop me.
So, let's see. I went to the beach and had an incredible time. I bought 150 live blue crabs and killed them, gleefully, in a pot with corn, potatoes, shrimp and sausage for thirty of my closest friends. My First Crab Boil. I got invited on my first double date since high school, when Sarah and I drove to the river with Justin and Brent, fighting the entire time over which one of us was on the date with Brent. (In retrospect, it was Justin who gave us the roses and turned on Sunny 95.) The beach date was just as entertaining, and involved fewer fart jokes and more petty theft. The week closed with a Luau and a large man playing ukelele for us, while boys served the ladies food on a stick. Nice.
And then I fell into a slight depression. After being away from work for two weeks, I wasn't quite ready to come back, especially knowing that my small gourmet grocery would have to face the reality of a new store in town. Ugh. The depression is the reason for lack of blog action. (I needed *some* excuse.)
Live music got me out of it. I went to Cleveland to see Sufjan Stevens (and almost got arrested for expired tags) last week, and saw Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! this week. Throw in a Library concert, and I'm just a good ol' music supporter. (I always think of Grease, with the line "I'm a huge athletic supporter.")
Okay. So tomorrow I'm going to a turkey farm. And there's nothing you can do to stop me.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Friday Morning - South of Camden.
Okay. So many stories to tell since the last entry.
Because we've been getting up early, we've found that our mealtimes have become synchronized with those of a certain generation. On Wednesday night, this became apparent as Maya and I, dressed in camping gear and pretty much oozing of grossness from head to foot, wandered into a fine dining establishment in (some town that I can't remember the name of) at 5.00 p.m. for dinner. The hostess looked at us, asked if we had reservations, and then seated us with a gentle reminder that we needed to vacate our table by 7.30 so real guests could eat. It was a nice juxtaposition, as the two smelly girls ate duck and pork off of a linen-clad table with fine china. At the end of the meal, I asked the waitress if we could buy two water classes to drink our wine at the campsite later in the evening. She gave us styrofoam cups.
Thursday morning was when the rain stopped. It was an amazing day. We drove south toward Camden to visit a cheesemaker. The tour was disappointing (definitely not of the same caliber as our wine tour and our meat packing plant tour from previous vacations). But we did get to wear hairnets.
Two girls wearing hairnets in a cheese factory (factory?). Both are wearing skirts. One is taking polaroids. Maine didn't know what to do with itself.
We befriended two seven year old girls while swimming in a lake near Camden. We learned that seven year old girls do *not* read Harry Potter; they *do* read American Girl books; doing math makes their hands hurt and I look 16 while Maya looks 20. I'll take it as a compliment. One of the girls lives on an island. We all held hands and jumped off of the floating dock together. I felt like I was part of Dawson's Creek or something.
Last night, we hiked up a mountain and saw the beginnings of a coastal sunset. Which was what inspired this morning's 5.15 a.m. hike up another trail for the sunrise. Maine is beautiful. It just is.
We're on our way back down to Portland, where Maya will try to convince me to eat oysters. We'll see how it works. The restaurant that we're going to tonight is dark, dingy and on the water. We checked it out earlier this week. Maya was sold on the cheap oysters. I was sold on the Tom Waits music playing from the kitchen.
I apologize for the choppiness. I'll try to write again before tomorrow afternoon, when I fly to Myrtle Beach for the second part of my vacation. (The part where I lay on the beach and read trashy novels and sip on a beer or two.)
Okay. So many stories to tell since the last entry.
Because we've been getting up early, we've found that our mealtimes have become synchronized with those of a certain generation. On Wednesday night, this became apparent as Maya and I, dressed in camping gear and pretty much oozing of grossness from head to foot, wandered into a fine dining establishment in (some town that I can't remember the name of) at 5.00 p.m. for dinner. The hostess looked at us, asked if we had reservations, and then seated us with a gentle reminder that we needed to vacate our table by 7.30 so real guests could eat. It was a nice juxtaposition, as the two smelly girls ate duck and pork off of a linen-clad table with fine china. At the end of the meal, I asked the waitress if we could buy two water classes to drink our wine at the campsite later in the evening. She gave us styrofoam cups.
Thursday morning was when the rain stopped. It was an amazing day. We drove south toward Camden to visit a cheesemaker. The tour was disappointing (definitely not of the same caliber as our wine tour and our meat packing plant tour from previous vacations). But we did get to wear hairnets.
Two girls wearing hairnets in a cheese factory (factory?). Both are wearing skirts. One is taking polaroids. Maine didn't know what to do with itself.
We befriended two seven year old girls while swimming in a lake near Camden. We learned that seven year old girls do *not* read Harry Potter; they *do* read American Girl books; doing math makes their hands hurt and I look 16 while Maya looks 20. I'll take it as a compliment. One of the girls lives on an island. We all held hands and jumped off of the floating dock together. I felt like I was part of Dawson's Creek or something.
Last night, we hiked up a mountain and saw the beginnings of a coastal sunset. Which was what inspired this morning's 5.15 a.m. hike up another trail for the sunrise. Maine is beautiful. It just is.
We're on our way back down to Portland, where Maya will try to convince me to eat oysters. We'll see how it works. The restaurant that we're going to tonight is dark, dingy and on the water. We checked it out earlier this week. Maya was sold on the cheap oysters. I was sold on the Tom Waits music playing from the kitchen.
I apologize for the choppiness. I'll try to write again before tomorrow afternoon, when I fly to Myrtle Beach for the second part of my vacation. (The part where I lay on the beach and read trashy novels and sip on a beer or two.)
