Her big, almond shaped green eyes focused and stared as she looked up at me from her position on the kitty-shelf at the spca. One of the volunteers was rubbing her belly and she flipped over half-way on her back and gave me a once-over. I looked at guy. He looked at me. I looked back at her. Suddenly i was biting my lip, trying to hold on to my "shit." Huge tears filled my eyes and i felt that lump start to move up my throat. I had to keep it in, but the emotion was huge.
I tell guy, this is the one. He looks at me. He is worried, as we have only seen a handful of cats out of the 75 that are there. He might be thinking i only love her because she looks so much like syd. Like syd has been reborn.
He tells me this with a look. I look back at her and i see the intelligence and the love and i know that she's the one i want.
Of course, she's not syd, and she's got her own cute thing going on. She's got her own endearing traits to learn about, and her own annoying habits we'll have to deal with. It's been two days since we got her, and i'm already seeing her in her own way, and less like my old cat reincarnated. The fur is thick on her head. When you give her a scratch the tops of your fingers disappear. She's young, her whiskers are black. She's petite, she's a girl, 21/2 years old. Guy and i immediately calculated that we could likely still have her on our 50th birthdays.
She lives under the bed for now, coming out for pets, or to tear the house apart while we sleep. This morning we awoke to dirt on the kitchen floor. She had some digging to do around 4am. The ficus tree was the perfect spot to do it. Guy is not even irritated at the mess. We are pleased at everything she does. At this moment, she is perfect and we are in love with her.
Introducing clementine.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
About a girl
She was 3 when i met her, at my school, the 2nd biggest party college in california, San Diego State. her mom, my friend and manager of the healthfood on-campus store where i worked, put her on the cold, hard, stainless steel countertop of the commercial kitchen. i looked at her. she was bigger than most small children. she had long legs and a big head. and bigger eyes that looked out through blue, full of clarity and knowledge. but pure, she knew, and yet her eyes had only seen what they had seen, which wasn't much. i didn't know then that she, her mom and i, would stay so close for years to come. i didn't know i would watch her grow from a curious kid, into a teenager with braces, into a college graduate with a double load completed in half the time. or a dentist, which is the plan.
I have letters she wrote as a teeny little girl, in a child-scrawl, right after she learned to write, and paintings from an older age, drenched in sparkles.
i remember giving her a pink stone necklace at age 6, a beaded one that i had made because i was a hippie deadhead, and then at a friend's wedding in LA, when she asked me what i was smoking and i said, It's like tobacco but different, and she said, "Oh yeah, T. smokes that." T. is her step-dad-figure, i think she was 8 then. she wasn't shocked or suprised and this is normal for her, always has been. her mom kept no secrets from her, and talked with her about everything. she was not a child that was ever lied to, or had things glossed over for her. at age 10 she knew what a vulva was. i know this because she gave me a painting and her mom proclaimed, "Well, A! that looks like a vulva!" and she looked at her painting and said, "Oh."
i remember A. at 10 when she and her mom came to visit and she was already as tall as me. i gave her some rings from my ring collection. and then at 12.5, she gave a speech for me at my first wedding, one she had written herself, all about how much she loved me. she had balls that my 20-something sisters and bridesmaids didn't have. i was so proud of her.
and then i turned 30 and went to san diego to celebrate, and she was 13.5 and had braces and came to the beach with my friends, TJ and G. and D. and me. and then i remember her when i was 32 and i went back to san diego for TJ's second wedding and A. was my date. we danced like elaine, from seinfeld, on the dance floor and laughed so hard. she was becoming show-stoppingly gorgeous then, already. at 6'2" as her final height, she has always gotten attention, but even more so once she reached her teens.
i saw her again on her 16th birthday, when i visited her mom and her. she was very quiet and spaced out. i made her a crazy purse from tape. we sat on the back deck at their house late into the night, because i said something that suddenly released her and she talked nonstop for three hours.
and then she was 17 when she came to no.cal to look at colleges, and now she's 20 and about to graduate with a double major in philosophy and biology in only 3 years time.
we have such a special relationship. when she was little, she was like my niece. then when she was in her teens, she was like my sister. now she's an adult and she's one of my best friends. she isn't anything like me in so many ways. she is smart, and steady-handed, and level-headed, and not self-destructive in the slightest, and moderate in her activities and disciplined and not ever selfish or self-centered or self-consious, or shy. she's not obsessive or nervous and anxiety-ridden. so much of this is because of her mother, my friend, the best mother i've ever witnessed.
A. grew up far from me but so incredibly close in my heart. this is why i can remember every single time we hung out. maybe also because it was never quite enough, i treasured every moment.
cheers to a wonderful girl, grown up. and to her mother, my beloved friend and inspiration.
New favorite "5ives" by Merlin Mann
(my favorite local humorist...)
Five nicknames I would find unbearable:
1. Li’l Plug
2. Baloney Maurice
3. Chicken Hitler
4. Penis McGarnicle
5. Nacho
(you can find more of his genius at http://www.5ives.com
and a few other places...)
Aging quickly
5 ways in which i am 55 years old.
1. menopausal
2. stringy hair
3. soft fingernails
4. orthoses in my shoes
5. bad sense of balance
when the year 2007 started, i was 36.
1. menopausal
2. stringy hair
3. soft fingernails
4. orthoses in my shoes
5. bad sense of balance
when the year 2007 started, i was 36.
A mildly disconcerting case of growing up
top five ways in which i am not myself
1. got vitamins on my kitchen table sitting on a tray. this is 100% my mom. Last weekend while a friend was visiting, i found myself taking them after dinner, and had a wicked flashback. when i do that, even my hands look like my moms.
2. i stopped eating sugar. for just a while. throw off a few extra pounds. not putting sugar in my coffee is wrong enough, but then today, i put sweet-n-low in it. now i am my grandfather.
3. last weekend, i bought underwear and socks. i haven't done this since 2001.
4. i told the dentist it was ok that the portion of my cavity treatment i have to pay for, $1056, is perfectly fine. excuse me? who said that is fine? me? who am i?
5. only drinking occasionally. it's so controlled. that's not very me.
and a bonus:
6. telling guy that we should get Police tickets so we can feel like teenagers again. now, that's really offensive.
This is my job
walk in, usually a little late. say good morning to the girls in my writing cube, some of them say good morning back. i'm the only one who initiates "good morning." i find that lame. sometimes these girls don't talk to each other. ever. all day! weird!
sit down at computer, wait 7 minutes for the mofo PC to boot up. practice zen at this time, keep blood pressure down. log into yahoo, read mail, write mail.
open up latest work in word. stare at the words. look at my work order, make sure i've got...
oops, i'm already distracted. open up any one of fifty fashion magazines on my desk. it would take a year to read them all. read about new york socialites and their clothing design businesses that their rich husbands paid for.
look back at word doc. maybe i should really check work order to make sure i've covered all the...
back to magazine. check that out. that's a good phrase. write down a few phrases from the new GQ that i can steal for the next promo email. start reading article on hot victoria's secret supermodel who is a virgin. this takes a half hour.
go back to word doc. ok, this is good, but does it follow the work...
get up, go to the bathroom, fix hair, get new water, sit back down. pick up magazine, oh wait, email. haven't checked email in a while. write some emails. go back to magazine...
this is my routine for the first three days out of the week. somehow, the powers think that it takes that long for me to actually make sure that the promo copy i'm writing doesn't just sound good, but matches what they want it to say. i must hit on the primary message, secondary message and tertiary message. for some reason, i don't like this part.
truly, this is the easiest job i've ever had, and the highest paying to top it off. it's just more proof that the rich don't have to work as hard to live better. but, also that it takes a while and a lot of work and "work" to get to that place.
"Look at me! Look at me!"
the other day i had an instinct that turned out to be true and pure. i had a feeling during the day, that i needed to call my sister. the one with an infant. the feeling persisted, but i ignored it. later that evening, said sister called. she sounded concerned. she said, "why did i feel like i needed to call you today?"
the thought had gone through my head that day as i pondered calling her, that when i do call her, i should be careful to say, "how are YOU?" and resist asking about the perfect precious child that she would be holding. i let the fantasy go in my head for a while. i thought about how we talk a lot more now because of the baby, and i've even visited her more, because of the baby and i wondered, is this a pain in her ass? that everything is about the baby?
that night she called me and as usual, we talk about me first. all my problems and over-thought thoughts and so on. afterwards, i remembered to ask, "how are you?" of course this lead to talk about the baby during which she said, "you know he's very popular!" and she gave the laugh i know, the laugh that isn't because something is funny, but because something sucks that doesn't seem like it should suck. something that makes her nervous to say. i asked her what she meant and she explained how everyone always calls and immediately asks about the baby and no one wants to know how she is!! it's like she's a baby reporter, not a real person!
i couldn't believe it! i had totally nailed it. i asked her if she noticed how i didn't do that and she yelled into the phone, YES! she was so relieved that not only did i understand what she felt, but i had pre-empted and fixed it before she had to say anything.
two lessons here:
1. instinct is almost always right, so listen to it.
2. give new moms some special attention and try very hard to not mention the baby all the time, every time.
the end.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
About an anniversary
It's February 13. It was three years ago that Gavin Newsom gave county clerks permission, against the law, to grant marriage licenses to same-sex couples, and I was there.
I have to admit, I voted for that hippie, Matt Gonzales. I liked his Fillmore-style rock poster advertisements and I was very against Gavin. I had met him and I did not like his big, plastic hair, phony smile, and pretentious body guards in black suits and white shirts.
Now, I am glad that Gavin won.
I never imagined he would do something like grant same-sex marriages, in such an abrupt rebellion against the federal government. That is so punk rock. Who could have ever imagined such a thing from a rich, straight, Pacific Heights white boy? It makes me feel proud. It makes my heart soar, this idea that people who are in love, yet not allowed to get married because of some blind and confused religious right, were allowed to on two days in February, three years ago, in my town.
On February 13, 2004, my friend (D), married her boyfriend of 13 years. We arrived in a limo that day; just me, her fiance, her brother, sister and another couple of friends. Upon arrival, we saw an ever-widening line of people going all the way around the block. It was tremendous. (D) fretted when she saw the line, commenting on her bad judgement, to somehow pick the worst day in history to get married at city hall. All she wanted in a wedding was simplicity. But it wasn't long before we realized 8000 gay people are never a bad thing.
We entered the building and were led straight past the never-ending line, straight to a county clerk's desk, where we were immediately assigned a chapel. It was clearly unfair, but we held our breaths and did as we were told.
Once inside, the horde could not be heard and the ceremony was short and very sweet. Of course, I cried.
Afterwards, the big chapel doors were opened and we emerged: A very small party following a handsome couple - the girl in a pale pink dress, the guy in a black tuxedo with bow tie. We were met with something unexpected: a huge cheer rising up from the endless line of gay folks. They clapped and screamed and whooped and overwhelmed my friends with greetings of love and congratulations. It was unbelievable! The best reception one could ever dream of! As we walked the long hallway past everyone, the screaming and cheering and congratulations never died down. It was such a beautiful thing. I have pictures of my friends and they have the biggest smiles on their faces and their mouths are wide open in expressions of hilarious laughter and pure joy.
The true meaning of love was shown to us that day.
I will continue to support the idea that anyone who wants to get married, should. It's not who you marry, but that you love, that's important.
Cheers to Gavin, that plastic-haired frat boy. And love to my friends on their anniversary.
We are blessed.
I have to admit, I voted for that hippie, Matt Gonzales. I liked his Fillmore-style rock poster advertisements and I was very against Gavin. I had met him and I did not like his big, plastic hair, phony smile, and pretentious body guards in black suits and white shirts.
Now, I am glad that Gavin won.
I never imagined he would do something like grant same-sex marriages, in such an abrupt rebellion against the federal government. That is so punk rock. Who could have ever imagined such a thing from a rich, straight, Pacific Heights white boy? It makes me feel proud. It makes my heart soar, this idea that people who are in love, yet not allowed to get married because of some blind and confused religious right, were allowed to on two days in February, three years ago, in my town.
On February 13, 2004, my friend (D), married her boyfriend of 13 years. We arrived in a limo that day; just me, her fiance, her brother, sister and another couple of friends. Upon arrival, we saw an ever-widening line of people going all the way around the block. It was tremendous. (D) fretted when she saw the line, commenting on her bad judgement, to somehow pick the worst day in history to get married at city hall. All she wanted in a wedding was simplicity. But it wasn't long before we realized 8000 gay people are never a bad thing.
We entered the building and were led straight past the never-ending line, straight to a county clerk's desk, where we were immediately assigned a chapel. It was clearly unfair, but we held our breaths and did as we were told.
Once inside, the horde could not be heard and the ceremony was short and very sweet. Of course, I cried.
Afterwards, the big chapel doors were opened and we emerged: A very small party following a handsome couple - the girl in a pale pink dress, the guy in a black tuxedo with bow tie. We were met with something unexpected: a huge cheer rising up from the endless line of gay folks. They clapped and screamed and whooped and overwhelmed my friends with greetings of love and congratulations. It was unbelievable! The best reception one could ever dream of! As we walked the long hallway past everyone, the screaming and cheering and congratulations never died down. It was such a beautiful thing. I have pictures of my friends and they have the biggest smiles on their faces and their mouths are wide open in expressions of hilarious laughter and pure joy.
The true meaning of love was shown to us that day.
I will continue to support the idea that anyone who wants to get married, should. It's not who you marry, but that you love, that's important.
Cheers to Gavin, that plastic-haired frat boy. And love to my friends on their anniversary.
We are blessed.
Monday, February 12, 2007
The Wild White Yonder with Girl and Guy
Part I: Motel 6 and the staging area
it's friday night. we're all packed up, with brand new gear. i've got a new down jacket, and new gloves and new, tall snow boots. i love them. i have always wanted my own snow stuff and never had it. california girl. east coast boy is solid with his gear. we buy him new gloves. we both get new sleeping pads - the best kind for the snow, the "thermarest." they partially self-inflate and then we give them a little blow-up boost at the end. we lay on them and sigh. it's amazing, our bodies do not touch the ground, and yet they are only a half-inch thick. we read manuals from online sources as to how to deal with sleeping in the snow, what-all we need, what to expect. guy might regret showing me, because i won't shut up about certain details. guy has researched, reserved and rented snow shoes. we pick them up at REI on our way out.
we get in the car and head towards cameron park. a little town not far from tahoe but beyond sacramento. we stay in this little town at a motel 6 because it's only $50, any motels or hotels closer to tahoe immediately jump to $100 and up. we are not satisfied with any idea less than leaving friday night and staying in a hotel. we love hotels. and motels.
we arrive at the motel 6 at 9:30pm. it's funny, we laugh at it. there's a big empty spot in the room, where the second queen bed would normally go. they have not used the particle board table and two chairs to fill up the spot, they have left it open. guy gasps in pure delight: a staging area! he says. he loves staging areas. it satisfies his need for order. he can spread all the goods out and pack up our backpacks in a detailed fashion. i am lucky here. i don't like doing that, and i don't have to. he works it all out. we drink some wine and comment on the terrible tv choices. sure there's HBO but all the network channels come in with snow. not the real kind. we'll get enough of that very soon, but we don't know that yet.
Part II: Carson Pass and the Wild White Yonder
saturday morning. we wake up and check out at 11. we've never not stayed until the absolute check-out time. sometimes we request late check-out.
we go to 3 brothers restaurant for breakfast, right in little cameron park, and then head northeast to lake tahoe. we choose, on the way, which sno-park to visit. when we get to meyers, ca, a little town at the sierra foothills, on the tahoe side, we stop to buy permits and we ask which would be the best one for snow shoeing and camping. the guy behind the counter doesn't blink. ah, it's nice to be around people who do what we do. another store worker confirms counter-guy's suggestion of trying the highest point to avoid all rain, and get just snow. store worker says it's beautiful there at Carson Pass, and silent too. they both check with us to make sure we have thought through everything we need. i love this. it's caring for your fellow human. they say, "well, you sound prepared. more so than most."
i know this pleases guy, and i smile at the thought of how.
upon arrival at Carson Pass, we park and start to dress. i get livid over a prepubescent boy who insists on standing right by the car door as i pull on tights and ski pants in the front seat. guy calms me about this too.
upon dressing, we do a short scout-about of the area and see that there is a clear trail leading off into the snowy distance. we are thrilled. excited. yelping loudly. guy says suddenly, OH no, we forgot covers for our packs. guy has our sleeping pads strapped to the outside of his pack and they're getting soaked in the pouring snow. i am panicked and obsessed with staying dry. because i am feeling confident due to guy telling me i look sexy in my new get-up, i approach three men who are also packing in and have garbage bags over their packs, i ask boldly, "excuse me, do you have any extra bags?" they all look at me amused. they probably think, "ha, this will be funny. a girl snowshoeing and sleeping in the snow." instead they condescendingly say, "Yes. we have extra bags. maybe next time you'll have extra bags and you can impress someone who needs help." i look at their faces peering out from under heavy wool caps. they have glasses and overly long beards. they are skinny and tall. i recognize this condescension as something a very smart person would say and not mean it. like scientist humor. i say brightly, Yep! That's what we'll do! THANKS!!
we cover our packs and head off into the wild white wonder.
the walking isn't too hard. we are following a trail that has been made already by snow-shoers and cross-country skiers. it's about a foot wide and two feet deep. we shuffle along in the snow, sometimes dragging our ski poles, because it takes extra effort to use our arms. i am familiar with this kind of pain. the thirty pound pack on my back and uphill climbing is old news for me. strangely, i love it. the head rush one can get from endorphins is lovely and intoxicating. it feels like natural LSD, to be specific, and guy and i are big fans.
we are joyous at being in the woods. sometimes we stop and kiss and say, "oh it's so great to be here!" it is breathlessly beautiful in the white wonderland. thick, smooth, powdered sugar snow is everywhere. when we step in the fresh snow, we sink almost to our knees. it's important to stay on the packed-down trail, although our plan is to pitch the tent somewhere slightly off-trail way down the road. we have vague ideas that we're only allowed to sleep overnight in the national forest and not the sno-park, and we figure we'll see a sign telling us when we're there.
along the way there are blue markers on the trees. they are visible and reassuring. we also see lots of couples with dogs. we stop and talk to one older couple hiking out with big packs on and a beautiful golden lab. i pet the lab. i am starved for animal attention. i can't help myself. we continue on and i think they must think i'm crazy. that too, is a familiar feeling.
along the way, we stop every few minutes, exhausted. we realize there might be an elevation sickness going on at 9000 feet, that we didn't think about. no one talked about it as a possibility. none of our research said anything, but it's for real. the exhuastion is specific. it feels like hot, thick blood rushing up and down, in and out of our extremities. like tomato soup without milk or water diluting it. full of sugar, blood like syrup. we get dizzy a bit but pay no notice, just take it slow. the snow is blinding too. the white white white starts to take on different colors. the holes we make with our ski poles are undeniably blue, like there's a perfect stream of blue hawaiian ocean running underneath us. we see squiggly wormy lines across our eyeballs, squiggling along like teeny maggots in our corneas. it's distracting so we focus more on the larger picture. the larger picture is one of absolute gorgeousness. white perfection. we are stunned again and again. stopping and staring. i start to feel so tired, that i can fall asleep at any given second, just leaning on my poles. my plantar faschiitis feet are killing me too. i knew this would happen. i don't care. i sweat and pull down my hood and open up the neck of my jacket. my hair gets soaked by falling snow. guy says, Your head should not be exposed when wet. i say, I'M HOT! he says, Well, it's bad, that's all.
i agree, but stay hoodless.
after about an hour, we both feel that we would like to stop soon. guy keeps saying, "Right up here" and "Around this corner." he wants our tent to be hidden from the road. i agree mostly, but insist, finally, that this is IT. we are HERE. he agrees and we go off trail with BIG steps, stepping up and over each new valley we make with each gigantic step that sinks a couple of feet in.
after just a few minutes, we find the spot and tear off the bags. i yell in an exaggerated voice, "Praise Jesus!" when my pack hits the ground. the loss of 30Ibs is shocking and desperately pleasing. guy throws off his pack. we are both breathing heavily. i feel that i am going to faint. i announce this and look at guy. right as i'm getting my steadiness back, he says, "i'm going to faint. i'm going to fall over." he sounds weird and his eyes are spinning. like a paralyzed tazmanian devil, his pupils are perfectly round and huge and seem to be moving from side to side. i run up to him to hold him steady and his head drops in full weight on my shoulder. he does not fall. we are surprised by this. i can barely speak, my mouth is frozen, i have a touch of hypothermia in the face, i say to guy, "i think we have evelation sickness." i can't even get the word right. snow is falling on our stuff, making it wet. we are too cold, tired and wet to make dinner. we immediately set up the tent, and set it up wrong. the three poles aren't working. i've set this tent up in the dark before and guy is a natural with tents. we stare at the tent like two idiots. we have no ideas how to fix it. we just stare. nothing is coming to us. our brains are frozen. suddenly i know what happens to people who get lost in the snow, not very far from a road, and yet can't find their way back to it. the cold makes you stupid. you simply cannot think.
this was our problem now.
finally, we figure out the tent. the brain-freeze scares us and we know we need to get inside as soon as possible, and get very warm.
Part II: Soup can toilet and the obnoxious god
my job is always setting up the tent and guy's is locking down the exterior space. any other time of the year, this means collecting wood and making a fire, besides setting up the stove and making seats. this is typical HUMAN in action: woman make home, man make fire, collect food.
i get in the tent and guy hands me stuff: thermorests go down, sleeping bags get unstuffed and zipped together (we made sure they could do this when i bought mine last year), blankets get unfolded and placed inside bags, pillows are made with soft sweaters, packs are stuffed in the bottom of the tent, key flashlights are put in accessible side pockets. we crawl in, unable to cook anything on our little bunsen burner because of continuous snowing. sometimes the snow even turns horizontal. we have decided to not only camp in the snow, but during a snowstorm. true, i start to question the intelligence of this mission. too late now.
after the tent is set, guy crawls in. i have already stripped off all clothing and changed into pajamas. i am in my bag getting warm. guy changes and gets in. we start giggling. we feel high. guy says, I feel like i'm tripping. we laugh and laugh. it's true. i feel so dumb, i can't even figure out how simple window functions work inside the tent. something i've done a million times. our vision is funny too. our voices sound weird and slow. we lay next to each other, wrapped up, laughing. we rest for a bit. then talk for a long time. we have no idea what time it is. i have brought playing cards and a book for this time, but it is too cold and our brains too frozen to do anything but be still. guy attempts to take my picture, but it is so foggy in the tent due to our heavy breathing, that the camera cannot focus.
after a while we fall asleep, only to be startled completely awake by something slamming into the roof of the tent. it's snow falling from a tree. it comes from so high up, that it hits hard enough to feel like a softball being chucked at us by an obnoxious god. it's so startling that i experience adrenaline spikes to my heart. it also makes us laugh in true startled fashion. we huddle closer to each other, as if it's possible to get any closer. guy reassures me over and over that everything is fine. i believe him. i go back to sleep.
and we are awakened again by snowballs. this time we see flashes of light across the roof of the tent. guy panics. he says quickly, "Did you see that?" actually i didn't at first, because i'm wearing a cashmere scarf around my face, protecting my nose, eyes and ears from the cold. i pull the scarf up and look. he says, "I must have imagined it" and lies down. i stare into the darkness trying to figure out how he could have seen light, when i see it too. i tell him. he jumps up and unzips a side door to poke his head out. at this time, i am so scared that there is a flashlight-wielding maniac in the forest, that i am no longer getting slight adrenaline spikes to the heart. now my heart is awash in panic. i wait for guy's reaction. he pauses and looks into the darkness. then - FLASH FLASH - there it is again. guy breathes deeply and zips us back in. he turns to me and announces that it's lightning. that's all. just lightning. "Without thunder? that can happen?" i ask. he says yes, it's ok. and we go back to sleep.
we both wake up twice in the night to pee. even though we have had barely anything to drink, this is inevitable, a happening at the absolutely most inconvenient time. i have no choice. i have to undress, suit up and get out. guy asks me to dig a trench around the tent to catch snow that is falling on us. this is so it won't pile up and bury us. i am extremely put-upon to do so, but i do, mainly because he's done everything on this trip. of course, he doesn't have to leave the tent to pee. he fashions a toilet out of a soup can.
i stumble out of the tent into the snowy darkness. it's completely silent in the wilderness. a beautiful sound. i walk a ways and drop my drawers. my pee burns a singular tiny hole, the exact diameter of the peestream and nothing more, straight through the snow for several feet. i wonder how far it has to go before it hits the ground. i dig the tent out of the snow. snow is several inches thick along the top of the roof, and piled up all around the edges, crawling up the sides. the snow is threatening the integrity of the fly, and a pole is getting bent. i dig and purge, dig and purge. my hands are frozen. i am pissed, but when i get back in the tent, somehow managing to avoid bringing the snow with me, guy holds me and speaks reassuringly. he is being a champion at the art how to deal with me. we settle in and sleep.
Part III: A quick exit and return home
this repeats a few more times in the night. i tell guy this might be the longest night of my life. i pose suggestions to him like, "What if the sun never came up again?" and "what if we fall, in an avalanche, all the way down the mountain and get buried?" "what if we can't find our way out in the morning? what if the trail has disappered?" he answers all of my questions calmly with reasonable and logical answers. phew. i need that. my mind is racing with heinous scenarios.
but morning does come and we lie in bed dreading the pack-up. it's going to be cold and wet and difficult but it must happen. we get the courage after much deliberation and set about it. guy gets out and deals with snow control outside, re-carving pathways and clearing a staging area. this means i pack up, consolidate and hand him stuff to put in the big packs, outside. the tent must go in the pack first, but everything must be out of the tent before we can pack it. this takes a deliberate course of action, performed quickly. we succeed. we get in a little fight about snow coming in the tent, but we are both so tired. i know this is why and don't get upset. we let it drop and continue to pack. an hour later, we're ready to go. guy's hands are frozen from packing without fat-fingered gloves. my toes are numb from standing still in the storm, waiting for him to finish. there is horizontal snow all around us. it is crucial to get moving. we do.
our trail is fortunately not covered on our way out. it is largely smoothed over, by what we later learn is 14 inches of fresh snow, but still visible. we have a GPS machine to help us get out if it had it disappeared completely, but it lacks topo maps, so our homemade route out would have undoubtedly been highly challenging. it's challenging enough as it is. we go slow, stopping every few minutes to catch our breath. the elevation sickness is not nearly as bad now. our bodies have magically adjusted. there is a bit of sun peeking through heavy storm clouds, but it is still snowing. it has been snowing for something like 16 hours, straight. we start our hike back and have to pick our feet up high, like we're marching, or like clydesdale horses prancing. up down, up down, it is so tiring, muscles throughout my legs start to spasm. i just take it slow. this becomes my mantra.
about an hour later, we are almost there. we are overjoyed. we can hear the engine of the snow plow clearing out the sno-park parking lot, and our car. i don't take as many breaks at this point, i just move it along. we get to the lot. we see our car. it is covered in snow. only the very bottom of the carriage is visible. the snow plow has already dug a bunch out. he yells at us to get in the little corridor leading to the bathrooms, while he plows one more row closer to the car. we do as he says. the plow comes by and shoots snow balls and snow spray straight over the bathroom half-wall, all over us! i crouch down protecting my body, with my back facing out. we get completely covered. it's like adding insult to injury at this point. we deserve prizes for what we have accomplished, not punishment at the finish line! he's a nice man though, and checks first to make sure we're ok. again, good to the fellow humans...it's nice and makes me smile. guy gets the car open, pushing past snow blocking entry. he starts very quickly piling everything in the back of the subaru. we are only one of three cars in the lot. he tells me to get in the car. this i do without hesitation. as i peel off all the cold, wet layers to put on the softest jeans i can remember, and the softest sweater of my life, guy is outside, sweating profusely, working until he's red in the face, clearing all the snow out of the way. i feel grateful. upon finishing he jumps in the car and puts it in drive. he changes nothing, just gets us moving out of there. we are starving and dehydrated and headed straight for the nearest restaurant.
after a massive pigout in meyers, we drive home happy. and fast! we get home in record time: 3 hours and 15 minutes, from south lake to the city. that night i dye my hair red and upload photos. we are in terrific moods. we have accomplished a lot.
i have proven that disease and fallen arches will not demand that i have a sheltered life. guy is happy. his girl will do any crazy thing he suggests. we have more than survived.
it's friday night. we're all packed up, with brand new gear. i've got a new down jacket, and new gloves and new, tall snow boots. i love them. i have always wanted my own snow stuff and never had it. california girl. east coast boy is solid with his gear. we buy him new gloves. we both get new sleeping pads - the best kind for the snow, the "thermarest." they partially self-inflate and then we give them a little blow-up boost at the end. we lay on them and sigh. it's amazing, our bodies do not touch the ground, and yet they are only a half-inch thick. we read manuals from online sources as to how to deal with sleeping in the snow, what-all we need, what to expect. guy might regret showing me, because i won't shut up about certain details. guy has researched, reserved and rented snow shoes. we pick them up at REI on our way out.
we get in the car and head towards cameron park. a little town not far from tahoe but beyond sacramento. we stay in this little town at a motel 6 because it's only $50, any motels or hotels closer to tahoe immediately jump to $100 and up. we are not satisfied with any idea less than leaving friday night and staying in a hotel. we love hotels. and motels.
we arrive at the motel 6 at 9:30pm. it's funny, we laugh at it. there's a big empty spot in the room, where the second queen bed would normally go. they have not used the particle board table and two chairs to fill up the spot, they have left it open. guy gasps in pure delight: a staging area! he says. he loves staging areas. it satisfies his need for order. he can spread all the goods out and pack up our backpacks in a detailed fashion. i am lucky here. i don't like doing that, and i don't have to. he works it all out. we drink some wine and comment on the terrible tv choices. sure there's HBO but all the network channels come in with snow. not the real kind. we'll get enough of that very soon, but we don't know that yet.
Part II: Carson Pass and the Wild White Yonder
saturday morning. we wake up and check out at 11. we've never not stayed until the absolute check-out time. sometimes we request late check-out.
we go to 3 brothers restaurant for breakfast, right in little cameron park, and then head northeast to lake tahoe. we choose, on the way, which sno-park to visit. when we get to meyers, ca, a little town at the sierra foothills, on the tahoe side, we stop to buy permits and we ask which would be the best one for snow shoeing and camping. the guy behind the counter doesn't blink. ah, it's nice to be around people who do what we do. another store worker confirms counter-guy's suggestion of trying the highest point to avoid all rain, and get just snow. store worker says it's beautiful there at Carson Pass, and silent too. they both check with us to make sure we have thought through everything we need. i love this. it's caring for your fellow human. they say, "well, you sound prepared. more so than most."
i know this pleases guy, and i smile at the thought of how.
upon arrival at Carson Pass, we park and start to dress. i get livid over a prepubescent boy who insists on standing right by the car door as i pull on tights and ski pants in the front seat. guy calms me about this too.
upon dressing, we do a short scout-about of the area and see that there is a clear trail leading off into the snowy distance. we are thrilled. excited. yelping loudly. guy says suddenly, OH no, we forgot covers for our packs. guy has our sleeping pads strapped to the outside of his pack and they're getting soaked in the pouring snow. i am panicked and obsessed with staying dry. because i am feeling confident due to guy telling me i look sexy in my new get-up, i approach three men who are also packing in and have garbage bags over their packs, i ask boldly, "excuse me, do you have any extra bags?" they all look at me amused. they probably think, "ha, this will be funny. a girl snowshoeing and sleeping in the snow." instead they condescendingly say, "Yes. we have extra bags. maybe next time you'll have extra bags and you can impress someone who needs help." i look at their faces peering out from under heavy wool caps. they have glasses and overly long beards. they are skinny and tall. i recognize this condescension as something a very smart person would say and not mean it. like scientist humor. i say brightly, Yep! That's what we'll do! THANKS!!
we cover our packs and head off into the wild white wonder.
the walking isn't too hard. we are following a trail that has been made already by snow-shoers and cross-country skiers. it's about a foot wide and two feet deep. we shuffle along in the snow, sometimes dragging our ski poles, because it takes extra effort to use our arms. i am familiar with this kind of pain. the thirty pound pack on my back and uphill climbing is old news for me. strangely, i love it. the head rush one can get from endorphins is lovely and intoxicating. it feels like natural LSD, to be specific, and guy and i are big fans.
we are joyous at being in the woods. sometimes we stop and kiss and say, "oh it's so great to be here!" it is breathlessly beautiful in the white wonderland. thick, smooth, powdered sugar snow is everywhere. when we step in the fresh snow, we sink almost to our knees. it's important to stay on the packed-down trail, although our plan is to pitch the tent somewhere slightly off-trail way down the road. we have vague ideas that we're only allowed to sleep overnight in the national forest and not the sno-park, and we figure we'll see a sign telling us when we're there.
along the way there are blue markers on the trees. they are visible and reassuring. we also see lots of couples with dogs. we stop and talk to one older couple hiking out with big packs on and a beautiful golden lab. i pet the lab. i am starved for animal attention. i can't help myself. we continue on and i think they must think i'm crazy. that too, is a familiar feeling.
along the way, we stop every few minutes, exhausted. we realize there might be an elevation sickness going on at 9000 feet, that we didn't think about. no one talked about it as a possibility. none of our research said anything, but it's for real. the exhuastion is specific. it feels like hot, thick blood rushing up and down, in and out of our extremities. like tomato soup without milk or water diluting it. full of sugar, blood like syrup. we get dizzy a bit but pay no notice, just take it slow. the snow is blinding too. the white white white starts to take on different colors. the holes we make with our ski poles are undeniably blue, like there's a perfect stream of blue hawaiian ocean running underneath us. we see squiggly wormy lines across our eyeballs, squiggling along like teeny maggots in our corneas. it's distracting so we focus more on the larger picture. the larger picture is one of absolute gorgeousness. white perfection. we are stunned again and again. stopping and staring. i start to feel so tired, that i can fall asleep at any given second, just leaning on my poles. my plantar faschiitis feet are killing me too. i knew this would happen. i don't care. i sweat and pull down my hood and open up the neck of my jacket. my hair gets soaked by falling snow. guy says, Your head should not be exposed when wet. i say, I'M HOT! he says, Well, it's bad, that's all.
i agree, but stay hoodless.
after about an hour, we both feel that we would like to stop soon. guy keeps saying, "Right up here" and "Around this corner." he wants our tent to be hidden from the road. i agree mostly, but insist, finally, that this is IT. we are HERE. he agrees and we go off trail with BIG steps, stepping up and over each new valley we make with each gigantic step that sinks a couple of feet in.
after just a few minutes, we find the spot and tear off the bags. i yell in an exaggerated voice, "Praise Jesus!" when my pack hits the ground. the loss of 30Ibs is shocking and desperately pleasing. guy throws off his pack. we are both breathing heavily. i feel that i am going to faint. i announce this and look at guy. right as i'm getting my steadiness back, he says, "i'm going to faint. i'm going to fall over." he sounds weird and his eyes are spinning. like a paralyzed tazmanian devil, his pupils are perfectly round and huge and seem to be moving from side to side. i run up to him to hold him steady and his head drops in full weight on my shoulder. he does not fall. we are surprised by this. i can barely speak, my mouth is frozen, i have a touch of hypothermia in the face, i say to guy, "i think we have evelation sickness." i can't even get the word right. snow is falling on our stuff, making it wet. we are too cold, tired and wet to make dinner. we immediately set up the tent, and set it up wrong. the three poles aren't working. i've set this tent up in the dark before and guy is a natural with tents. we stare at the tent like two idiots. we have no ideas how to fix it. we just stare. nothing is coming to us. our brains are frozen. suddenly i know what happens to people who get lost in the snow, not very far from a road, and yet can't find their way back to it. the cold makes you stupid. you simply cannot think.
this was our problem now.
finally, we figure out the tent. the brain-freeze scares us and we know we need to get inside as soon as possible, and get very warm.
Part II: Soup can toilet and the obnoxious god
my job is always setting up the tent and guy's is locking down the exterior space. any other time of the year, this means collecting wood and making a fire, besides setting up the stove and making seats. this is typical HUMAN in action: woman make home, man make fire, collect food.
i get in the tent and guy hands me stuff: thermorests go down, sleeping bags get unstuffed and zipped together (we made sure they could do this when i bought mine last year), blankets get unfolded and placed inside bags, pillows are made with soft sweaters, packs are stuffed in the bottom of the tent, key flashlights are put in accessible side pockets. we crawl in, unable to cook anything on our little bunsen burner because of continuous snowing. sometimes the snow even turns horizontal. we have decided to not only camp in the snow, but during a snowstorm. true, i start to question the intelligence of this mission. too late now.
after the tent is set, guy crawls in. i have already stripped off all clothing and changed into pajamas. i am in my bag getting warm. guy changes and gets in. we start giggling. we feel high. guy says, I feel like i'm tripping. we laugh and laugh. it's true. i feel so dumb, i can't even figure out how simple window functions work inside the tent. something i've done a million times. our vision is funny too. our voices sound weird and slow. we lay next to each other, wrapped up, laughing. we rest for a bit. then talk for a long time. we have no idea what time it is. i have brought playing cards and a book for this time, but it is too cold and our brains too frozen to do anything but be still. guy attempts to take my picture, but it is so foggy in the tent due to our heavy breathing, that the camera cannot focus.
after a while we fall asleep, only to be startled completely awake by something slamming into the roof of the tent. it's snow falling from a tree. it comes from so high up, that it hits hard enough to feel like a softball being chucked at us by an obnoxious god. it's so startling that i experience adrenaline spikes to my heart. it also makes us laugh in true startled fashion. we huddle closer to each other, as if it's possible to get any closer. guy reassures me over and over that everything is fine. i believe him. i go back to sleep.
and we are awakened again by snowballs. this time we see flashes of light across the roof of the tent. guy panics. he says quickly, "Did you see that?" actually i didn't at first, because i'm wearing a cashmere scarf around my face, protecting my nose, eyes and ears from the cold. i pull the scarf up and look. he says, "I must have imagined it" and lies down. i stare into the darkness trying to figure out how he could have seen light, when i see it too. i tell him. he jumps up and unzips a side door to poke his head out. at this time, i am so scared that there is a flashlight-wielding maniac in the forest, that i am no longer getting slight adrenaline spikes to the heart. now my heart is awash in panic. i wait for guy's reaction. he pauses and looks into the darkness. then - FLASH FLASH - there it is again. guy breathes deeply and zips us back in. he turns to me and announces that it's lightning. that's all. just lightning. "Without thunder? that can happen?" i ask. he says yes, it's ok. and we go back to sleep.
we both wake up twice in the night to pee. even though we have had barely anything to drink, this is inevitable, a happening at the absolutely most inconvenient time. i have no choice. i have to undress, suit up and get out. guy asks me to dig a trench around the tent to catch snow that is falling on us. this is so it won't pile up and bury us. i am extremely put-upon to do so, but i do, mainly because he's done everything on this trip. of course, he doesn't have to leave the tent to pee. he fashions a toilet out of a soup can.
i stumble out of the tent into the snowy darkness. it's completely silent in the wilderness. a beautiful sound. i walk a ways and drop my drawers. my pee burns a singular tiny hole, the exact diameter of the peestream and nothing more, straight through the snow for several feet. i wonder how far it has to go before it hits the ground. i dig the tent out of the snow. snow is several inches thick along the top of the roof, and piled up all around the edges, crawling up the sides. the snow is threatening the integrity of the fly, and a pole is getting bent. i dig and purge, dig and purge. my hands are frozen. i am pissed, but when i get back in the tent, somehow managing to avoid bringing the snow with me, guy holds me and speaks reassuringly. he is being a champion at the art how to deal with me. we settle in and sleep.
Part III: A quick exit and return home
this repeats a few more times in the night. i tell guy this might be the longest night of my life. i pose suggestions to him like, "What if the sun never came up again?" and "what if we fall, in an avalanche, all the way down the mountain and get buried?" "what if we can't find our way out in the morning? what if the trail has disappered?" he answers all of my questions calmly with reasonable and logical answers. phew. i need that. my mind is racing with heinous scenarios.
but morning does come and we lie in bed dreading the pack-up. it's going to be cold and wet and difficult but it must happen. we get the courage after much deliberation and set about it. guy gets out and deals with snow control outside, re-carving pathways and clearing a staging area. this means i pack up, consolidate and hand him stuff to put in the big packs, outside. the tent must go in the pack first, but everything must be out of the tent before we can pack it. this takes a deliberate course of action, performed quickly. we succeed. we get in a little fight about snow coming in the tent, but we are both so tired. i know this is why and don't get upset. we let it drop and continue to pack. an hour later, we're ready to go. guy's hands are frozen from packing without fat-fingered gloves. my toes are numb from standing still in the storm, waiting for him to finish. there is horizontal snow all around us. it is crucial to get moving. we do.
our trail is fortunately not covered on our way out. it is largely smoothed over, by what we later learn is 14 inches of fresh snow, but still visible. we have a GPS machine to help us get out if it had it disappeared completely, but it lacks topo maps, so our homemade route out would have undoubtedly been highly challenging. it's challenging enough as it is. we go slow, stopping every few minutes to catch our breath. the elevation sickness is not nearly as bad now. our bodies have magically adjusted. there is a bit of sun peeking through heavy storm clouds, but it is still snowing. it has been snowing for something like 16 hours, straight. we start our hike back and have to pick our feet up high, like we're marching, or like clydesdale horses prancing. up down, up down, it is so tiring, muscles throughout my legs start to spasm. i just take it slow. this becomes my mantra.
about an hour later, we are almost there. we are overjoyed. we can hear the engine of the snow plow clearing out the sno-park parking lot, and our car. i don't take as many breaks at this point, i just move it along. we get to the lot. we see our car. it is covered in snow. only the very bottom of the carriage is visible. the snow plow has already dug a bunch out. he yells at us to get in the little corridor leading to the bathrooms, while he plows one more row closer to the car. we do as he says. the plow comes by and shoots snow balls and snow spray straight over the bathroom half-wall, all over us! i crouch down protecting my body, with my back facing out. we get completely covered. it's like adding insult to injury at this point. we deserve prizes for what we have accomplished, not punishment at the finish line! he's a nice man though, and checks first to make sure we're ok. again, good to the fellow humans...it's nice and makes me smile. guy gets the car open, pushing past snow blocking entry. he starts very quickly piling everything in the back of the subaru. we are only one of three cars in the lot. he tells me to get in the car. this i do without hesitation. as i peel off all the cold, wet layers to put on the softest jeans i can remember, and the softest sweater of my life, guy is outside, sweating profusely, working until he's red in the face, clearing all the snow out of the way. i feel grateful. upon finishing he jumps in the car and puts it in drive. he changes nothing, just gets us moving out of there. we are starving and dehydrated and headed straight for the nearest restaurant.
after a massive pigout in meyers, we drive home happy. and fast! we get home in record time: 3 hours and 15 minutes, from south lake to the city. that night i dye my hair red and upload photos. we are in terrific moods. we have accomplished a lot.
i have proven that disease and fallen arches will not demand that i have a sheltered life. guy is happy. his girl will do any crazy thing he suggests. we have more than survived.
Friday, February 09, 2007
Elizabeth Peyton got a painting in the Whitney
i wish i had not given up painting portraits when i did. i was so self-conscious and felt like it was dumb to paint people i love. now there's this girl, elizabeth peyton, who's my age and is written up in vogue about her portrait paintings and has a permenent piece in the whitney.
what makes some people believe in themselves more than others? what makes some people blind to self-criticism and others painfully self-hating? i wish i had drive and self-belief. i wonder what part of my personality i'd have to give up to get it.
this article says that "her art is about her time." i wonder if that's like how my portraits of keith haring, grace jones and bruce willis, circa 1985, were about my time.
"Vulcanized construction with rubber outsole"
i haven't written in light years. i have been sick. i have preached and complained about it far too much. i'm done. for the last few weeks, it's been the only thing on my mind. no room for anything else in there. no ideas. no interests. just dealing. that means no writing.
that's over now. i've had some thoughts lately. like about snow.
this weekend guy and i are headed to tahoe, up high above emerald bay. we plan to camp in the snow. this is a crazy idea that guy loves, he has done before. me, i go along with pretty much anything that involves unusual realities and leaving town. as a non-driver, perhaps, leaving town is a huge high for me. freedom.
last night we shopped for necessary items and for the first time in my life i have snow gear, at age 36. how california is that? guy grew up with snow and skiied his whole life and even wanted to go professional at one point. me? i've skiied only every five years since the age of 17, and never had more than a sweater to wear over a turtleneck. and a tshirt. and maybe a tank top too. i've never had a snow jacket or my own gloves or my own snow pants. i've always worn, and will tomorrow still, my step-grandfather's ski pants made in the 50s. that's right. antique pants.
fortunately they're practically made of steel and have not disintegrated in the slightest. funny thing though, he is only about 5'5" and i am close to six feet. how do these things fit me? although they're stirrup pants, they're super tight and have no chance of falling down. so i just pull really hard and up the come. the inside feels like sandpaper, but hey. whatever.
guy has no idea how exciting my new snow gear is to me. i feel like i've finally gotten my due. growing up around rich kids is hard. they get new skis every year and hot little outfits that go together. again, i wore sweaters to ski in. on my ski trip, i even wore jeans. lame. not cool. sad. but not anymore.
i have a beautiful down jacket with a hood. down jacket! WOW! and gloves that fit MY hand. not some distant relative's hand. and snow BOOTS! not sneakers, with color that runs all over my socks and feet upon getting wet. it's simply fantastic. i feel like i finally got the bike i always wanted. yeah, that dream hasn't come true yet.
one childhood dream at a time.
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