San Francisco

In general, I don't fall in love with cities. Venice, New Orleans, and Savannah are exceptions, while NYC, Boston, Montreal, and Paris didn't compel me to pack up a bag.

S.F. didn't make it into the top 3, mainly b/c it's in California, which-- being a snobby Virginian-- I can enjoy but not take it seriously. Quite alluring, but not suitable, honk honk. Despite my east coast prejudices, we had a wonderful weekend.

K. and I met at the Cartwright hotel in Union Square (recommend it-- cheap, clean, and old-world European-style) and moseyed northwards. It was raining, but we went up Montgomery and stopped at William Stout's Architectural Bookstore.

AWESOME. We curled our sodden selves into funky little chairs and he read about stone houses while I speed-read Swedish and Finnish architectural books. Must move to Finland.

Walking the one block over into Chinatown, we discovered the dim sum is in fact middady dining and my research had been for naught. We wandered around, looked at crazy-expensive mushrooms and herbs and whatnot in jars, avoided the ppl trying to hand us menus, and ended up eating somewhere unremarkable but satisfying.

Saturday, we took our camera on the walk between us in Union Square and Ella's, a groovy brinch place on Presidio. Hence:

Brunch was fab, even though K. got up every three minutes to talk to N., his best friend, who graciously got up before dawn so he could drive from LA and spend the day with us. I just stole sips from his fresh-squeezed oj and concentrated on my bacon, havarti, and apple scramble.

Gorged and happy, we wandered northwards and found ourselves on the corner of the Presidio park place...

After walking up a remarkably steep hill, we ventured downwards to Broadway, where I'd been told there were some mighty fine houses. There were, and also, to my glee-- a view of salboats! And super-steep steps in a park thingie!

Notice the copper garage door. K. was aghast.

We walked along Broadway, passing some arty forms of yard art, and met Nicholas.

We went up to a park, ate sticky bins from Ella's, and caught up for a while, then headed towards Japantown for our appts at Kabuki Springs and Spa. K. and I got our first-ever shiatsu massages, which were...divine. This little Asian lady hopped on the massage table and rolled her knees around my hips at one point. I probably left saliva marks. Meanwhile, K-- who DID enjoy his-- came out in wonder because his small elderly Asian man would touch him with a single finger and my big brawny lumberjack of a husband would recoil in pain.

Nicholas, however, experienced the tradional Japanese baths. Unfortunately for him, no one there was actually Japanese-- or traditional. Eh, he loved it.

Later that afternoon, K. took us to the top of the Fairmont, which is where his conference was held. We took the elevator to the room where they'd brunched and whatnot to see the views.

I know, this is the longest day in the world. But we were determined to see as much as we could!

The view of the most crooked street in the world and the view from the top of it:

I was trying to herd the troops toward North Beach, but first we "had to see the sea lions." After K's one hundredth bathroom break here:

We saw the stinking seals. Unfortately, I can post no pictures, as it was DARK and we couldn't actually SEE THEM.

We then trudged up a hill, found an Italian place, and gorged ourselves.

Sunday's installment will post tomorrow.

Tuesday afternoon

It's a sunny over-sixty today.

After a morning in town doing errands, I'm home. I took the dogs-- all three-- for a long slow walk and brought them back panting.

And now, I'm cleaning up chapter eight, Puccini in the CD player, Shadow splayed in the sunlight behind me, Soco curled up on a dog bed, Dido-- well, let's hope she's not on the couch. They haven't so much as whimpered in the last hour.

It's a good life.

snow in mississippi

On Friday morning, we woke to snow. Of course, it was gone by nine am. But nonetheless: snow!





My mama left at noon. We had a nice long visit, and now she's heading back to Virginia, sans Soco (her dog), because she may or may not be going to Costa Rica. Next week. To attend Spanish school. Though she's not yet sent in the application. And I'm obviously a gigantic control freak because I find this behavior baffling.



Though not this behavior:

Sidenote:

We passed at least two homeless dogs today alone. We've tried to coax them home, but they seem quite uninterested in humans and food. Though not our girl-dogs (the strays being very un-neutered males). Since the county shelter euthanizes roughly ninety animals a week and we live in a rented house, we leave them be. I'm not sure what else to do.

A new look for a new month

And that's all for now.

until February

Hey y'all

Everything and everyone is fine, but I've got dogs to train, articles to proof, a column to write, and a novel to revise, not to mention an impending maternal visit (yay mom!) and a trip to san francisco.

So I'm not going to be posting for awhile. Check back in right before Valentine's Day, and I'll tell you lots of stories.

In the mean time, ponder this:

1. Crude oil under $50 a barrel

versus

Congress taking away rollbacks to oil companies
and
Walmart pledging to start solar-powering 5 stores

2. quantum physics apparently refers to things going on sub-atomically (who knew?)

3. And as always, the more research I do for my book, the more I implore you to buy non-hormonal milk and grass-fed, hormone-free beef. The cheap stuff is cheap for a reason.

every morning

I took the dogs on a brisk, half-hour walk this morning. I do this every morning. I then came back, toodled around on the sites that I have to check before I can begin work, while Shadow lay snoozing at my feet. After the obligatory ten minutes of compulsive site-checking, I rose, gathered the notes I'd made over breakfast, and prepared to work on my novel. This involved getting my binder, moving a chair, grabbing a blanket b/c I get very cold sitting at a desk without moving, and retrieving my stone-cold cup of coffee from my bureau.

It also involved Dido.

Dido is a dear, sweet dog, with a massive anxiety complex and more than a touch of OCD. Because I was moving, she felt compelled to follow me, stopping whenever I stopped and looking up with very mournful black eyes, as if to say 'but what about me?'

Which is why I sat down, patted her head, and said, 'my turn. it's my turn. you already had your turn.'

and then I dragged her bed into the study so she can lie in the corner and beam dog-walking/patting thoughts at me in comfort.

It's been a trying, overly emotional day.

But all is well.

Here's an old picture to tide you over til Monday, you rabid ableponders, you-- it's of K. the first time he played volleyball in that strange hidden sand court, entering a game that's been in continuation since 1984. With a lot of the same people.

context

I've been chided for making Mississippi sound too good.

To tell the truth, the two times I've driven back and up the East Coast convince me that we won't settle here forever. But we both have the strange feeling of being in an unfamiliar land that makes quirks seem charming and inconvcniences part of the new landscape (don't get me started on the labryinth of drivers lisences and vehicle registrations).

For clarification, our new house is in Water Valley, Mississippi, a small town 20 miles from Oxford. Oxford is the cultural powerhouse of north Mississippi, with crazy expensive real estate (for these parts), a coffeehouse, a kicking bookstore, and great restaraunts. Water Valley, on the other hand, has a drugstore that's straight out of the 1950s, soda fountain and all, an antiquestore/cum tea shop, a hardware store, a post office, churches, and a recently closed restaraunt whic has elected to keep its bar open until the owners make some decisions. However, Oxford used to be a backwater and Water Valley was a thriving railroad town, so it's stocked with beautiful turn-of-the-century houses. Queen Annes and some really magnificent Victorarians, as well as columned brick mansions that can be had for pretty much a penny and a song. The biggest house here sells for about what a townhouse in DC goes for.

Anyway, K. and I are happier to be in Water Valley because it's a smaller town, with lower rent, and the people are falling-over-themselves happy that we're here.

A girl told me that the only meeting place here is at the aforementioned bar. K. and I are not bar people-- in fact, I lay awake last night trying to remember if we've ever gone to a bar-- but we're lonely. And so we went last night, which apparently is "the" night.

We walked in, and the ten or so heads clustered around the counter turned. For the next hour, we met everyone in the room.

An elderly gentleman named Snooky said he'd lived in Water Valley for fifty years.

"Where'd you move from?" I asked.

"Philadelphia."

"How'd you get down here?"

He winked. "Philadelphia, Mississippi."

We chatted a while longer and somehow got on the topic of safety.

"Hit's a pretty safe town," he said. "I've been walking around for fifty years and never got raped."

Trust me, it was funny.

On Friday, I'll be attending the literary club, which meets at the aforementioned drug store and swaps paperbacks. Apparently, they can get right rowdy, but I feel obliged to join since they waived the customary five thousand dollar joining fee "on account of your youth." (Really, I can't wait. And they were joking, in case y'all don't get southern humour.)

Apart from the Texan who's going to work on an oil refinery in Panama and a rather elderly Elvis, I also met a man who's had three wives and who wrapped his arm around me before he left. Luckily, K.'s bigger than him.

We emerged an hour or so later with our two glasses of wine anonymously paid for-- since anonoymous doesn't have much meaning in a town of this size, the bartender had been instructed not to let us know who had. My bet is on the lady who brought us spice bread the other day and vows to get us to join her church.

I am getting pretty fond of all this local color; we just need a farm. And speaking of, I met a gal at the gym who has friends with a 1920s farmhouse on 11 acres of land who are thinking of selling. I jotted my cell number down on a class schedule, and now we're touring her friends' property in early February.

It's all a long shot, but we'll see.

I can't help it. I tried to convince myself that y'all would figure out that there are THREE new posts below this one, but I just don't trust you.

Read them all.

day of the blog

The sun finally peeked out (it poured all yesterday), and so here's the house. By the time I was inside, it had retreated again, thus not adequately conveying the amount of sunshine the living room and the study get...but we're loving it, at half the price of the townhouse and gazillions times the pleasure, and it's a good place to call home while we wait for our farmhouse. Ignore the mess, remember we only unpacked last weekend, we are in dire need of bookcases, rugs, and a large desk for moi, and enjoy. (We're going to visit the Amish chairmaker this weekend! We only have one!)

Christmas pics

Christmas Eve, all a bit tired, on our way to the midnight service.






The Pierce girls are all a bit bleary-eyed as we shuffle into open our presents before driving to auntie j's.

But spirits soon pick up as caffeine and presents give their respective highs. (how cute is my husband?)

And then we toddle off to auntie j's, where we kind of stopped taking pictures, but note my adorable cousin, pictured in the last photo with sometimes adorable sister (who luckily for me is such a college brat that she never reads this, so I can lampoon her to my satisfaction):

It was a really nice Christmas, filled with K's pies, too little sleep, too much driving, and just the right amount of sentiment. K's family being so far away was the only sour note, but it's their turn next year.

Mississippi Miracles

On Monday, after a weekend of unpacking and being in the house, K. and I were ready to start off the New Year with a little.. adventure.

Being nosy non-drinking types, we headed to Sardis Lake, a lake north of Oxford that apparently everyone and his brother goes waterskiing on.

Lakes are different down here. They're manmade for sport. Because of cottonmouths and other water nasties, ppl don't really go swimming in them. Although thank heaven we're too far north for alligators.

But a lake is a lake, and so we drove to it. I had my nose in a book, planning our San Fransisco vacation, and so when K. broke into laughter and slowed the truck, it took me a second to look up.

He was laughing at the lake. Or rather, the absence of one.

Sardis lake, boat ramps, signs, picnic tables and all, consisted of a vast sea of...mud. Dotted with dead standing trees and occasional glimpses of flat blue water. It looked like an alien landscape under the big blue sky.

"Maybe we're on the wrong side," said I.

"There's a road," said he, pointing to a gravel road that streaked through the mud.

Being in our Tundra, the dogs in the back, we elected to take the road.

And we crawled along appily enough for a full five minutes, until we reached a dip that was filled with shimmering blue water. The earth, cracked and fissured, looked sturdy enough to go around said dip.

So we did, and promptly, despite me bouncing in the back, despite K. sinking in the deceptively soft mud to get pieces of wood for the tires, despite our kick-ass four wheel drive, we got stuck.

The air was very cold and clean, the sky very blue, and we were marooned in the middle of this vast mudpit. I laughed, and luaghed, and laughed. And bless his heart, K., inches of clay stuck to his new sneakers, laughed too.

Then I spotted them on the horizon. Four-wheelers. They spotted us, and within moments, we were surrounded with eight four-wheelers laden with big men and boy-men, all decked out in camo, with two dogs accompanying them.

"Why didn't you stay on the road?" The biggest one asked.

"It's full of water," K. said, and I nodded my Virginian head.

"Lined with concrete," the man said. He held his hands about a foot and a half apart. "Ain't but that deep anyway."

We felt very dumb, and even dumber a minute later when we asked where the hell the lake was anyway.

"They drain it every winter," another man said. His boy-child said, "we just come out here to play."

Three of the fourwheelers winched and towed us out within minutes, while another boy-child stared in the windows at me, snapping madly away, and Shadow and Dido. "You have two fat dogs," he said, and though I smiled, that's just not true.

When we were back on the road, the four-wheelers wheeling around us like mechanical herding dogs, we gave them our sincere thanks.

"Welcome to Mississippi," the boss one said, and then they streaked away.

We ended up driving on and letting the girls play. Despite the mud, it was a better beginning to a new year than I could have dreamed up.

a bone

I'M AT THE DAMN LIBRARY.

pictures tomorrow, I promise, I swear.

In other news: I finally found a good eyebrow waxer. I'm reading the Dalai Lama's "Art of Happiness" like the good little yuppie I am-- and I like it. I'm trying to train the dogs to a-- stay off the couch/armchair and b--do the invisible fence thing. Which so far means that they're pretty much afraid to go outside. But we're only in day two, and according to my manual, this is normal. I'm working on a few short projects before revising the novel, and all is going well. I fried the motherboard on my laptop, though, which apparently costs nearly what I paid for the darn thing three years ago, so we're not getting it fixed. I'm waiting for K's battered laptop (cabin-building in VT took a toll) to die, and then I'm going to pressure him into getting us a desktop that we share for internet/word processing.

IN THE MEAN TIME, I love my new system. Two binders. One for random stuff, one for writing. Here's what I love about it: no commitment. I can write whatever wherever, and then ORGANIZE IT because the paper has HOLES. I LOVE IT LOVE IT LOVE IT. And unlike the darn laptop, binders are truly portable. AndI get to feel productive typing it all up later. The catch about being self-employed is that so far, there's little built-in busy work, so I'm actually happy for the mindless addition to my routine.

I have a great story, but I want to save it for tomorrow so pics can accompany it. So check back tomorrow, peeps.

Happy New Year!

We've driven 1700 miles and moved to our new house. But, alas, the internet doesn't get turned on until Thursday.

Blogging will resume and pictures will follow.

Oh Tannenbaum

At 5.05 tonight, we're driving northeast for the holidays. I've got the presents packed, the pooches ready, the luggage together, and now, per my sweetie's request, I'm posting pictures of our very first Christmas tree (we didn't have one last year).

This tree was stolen from the side of the road in the dark. It's decorated with cranberries, handstrung by moi, silver-frosted pinecones, K-baked gingerbread cut-outs, and candycanes. We're very proud of it.

Merry Christmas everyone! Traveling mercies and much love to all.

vacay

I finished drafting my novel today.

Now, there's a heck of a lot of re-working and revising to do, but there's a manuscript to do it with.

Have a very merry Christmas.

here comes the sun

The funk hath lifted-- maybe because it just left, maybe because I got to turn down another job yesterday (apparently, I don't have to be a secretary), but probably because K. surprised me by coming home for lunch because he's the best husband ever. And we cleaned the house.

In other news, I'm wildly excited about the small Victorian we're moving to come New Years. It's not quite definite yet-- but I'd be surprised if it fell through. A proper yard (albeit not fenced), three porches, beautiful tall windows and ceilings, shiny wooden floors, funky old cabinets, and all in a quieter town 20 minutes from Oxford, two blocks from downtown, and on a peaceful side street. For a paltry amount of rent and a month-to-month lease, so we can move out the minute we find our farm.

The bad-- well, the yard ain't fenced. There's no garage for sweetie's workshop, the bathrooms are far from my ideal, and the guest room's gonna be quite small. Plus I don't think there's a washer/dryer.

But you know what? It's super-nice anyway. Everyone, visit come spring. I CAN'T WAIT. In this one, we're going to hang pictures and unpack our boxes. Myabe I'll even get a proper desk rather than boards on sawhorses with an old stool that's broken for a chair. Here's hoping.

I love y'all. Thanks for reading.

mental health days

K. and I had an illuminating conversation recently. While not strictly accurate, it went something like this:

Him: I'm really impressed you get up early every day. And that you're writing every day.

Me: I have to or I feel guilty.

Him: You write because of guilt?

Me: Yes. (Pause.) In fact, everything I do is because of guilt. Cleaning the house, walking the dogs, exercising. (Pause.) Without guilt I'd stay in bed all day reading trashy books and eating. (Pause.) Don't you feel guilty when you don't do things?

Him: No.

Heh. I don't think this is a difference between the sexes, but it's made me realize how many things I do to quiet the shrill anxious voice inside of me. And so on days like today, when it's raining, when we didn't go to church on Sunday, when the house is untidy, my purse is crammed full of papers, and the laundry's sitting in the dryer, when we haven't dealt with our Christmas cards and my writing for the day has not been finished, that voice is just plain alarming.

Good thing tonight's cleaning night. That ought to shut it up.

Hope

Lately, an unfamiliar feeling has been lapping gently at my feet when I listen to NPR during dinner preparations.

Hope.

Something has shifted since the November elections, where the balance of the House and the Senate shifted so drastically. Good news is seemingly falling from the sky.

An area the size of Alabama set aside for permanent conservation in Brazil (a country which I'm growing to admire, considering that 40% of their fuel consumption is from sugar ethanol).

GM motors giving up the carburetor ghost to the Japanese and increasing their exploration into electric cars.

A supermodel pioneering eco-fashion, where the fabrics are organic and non-sweatshop.

Justice Scalia deeming carbon as a pollutant in the case of Massachussetts versus the EPA, where Mass. is demanding the the EPA regulate carbon emissions.

And finally, Victoria's Secret, after years of attack by a certain non-profit group whom I can't remember, agreeing to incorporate ten percent of recycled paper into the catalogs, with aims to increase that number and to avoid using paper made from threatened areas of forest.

I don't want to jinx it, but man, it's nice to feel the tide finally turning.

hoves, ankles, and a merry christmas to all

heh. Who knew about cache clearing?

Yesterday was a mixed bag of chips, as my inner Anglophile says, ranging between a really pleasant walk with the dogs over at Thacker Mountain (as opposed to Friday, where I fell down a 90 degree slope trying to get to Shadow and wound up with hives on my face), then a fairly productive work day (novel and four dry-as-a-bone public health papers), topped off by a fascinating public hearing about a proposed historic district. Then the evening: a Christmas parade and K.'s weekly company basketball game.

He's still sleeping. That's not unusual; the swollen ankle propped on a pillow is. Thank heaven this other boy had had the same experience and swore up and down it's a sprain, not a break-- and he can move/walk on it a bit-- but woo, a nasty sprain tis.

In other news, I'm calling people up looking for a spring rental that won't make me want to pull my hair out, has a guest room, and a better yard for the dogs. Cross your fingers.

I've declared it to be a Christmas weekend this weekend. The Christmas cards will be assembled and addressed, our VERY FIRST TREE will get put up, and who knows, maybe we'll even go nuts and get a Christmas CD. We're too cheap to buy decorations for the tree though, so pine cones-- which we may or may not lightly frost with silver-- and strung cranberries twill be. Last year we tried to make strings of popcorn and cranberries for our fireplace, and the popcorn is just too wiley for me.

So that's what's going on. Not a bad way to be, although I'm hoping the 6'6'' boy over yonder will be able to get around with some degree of comfort. If not, well-- I've got strong shoulders.

perhaps this'll post

I feel as if there's a vacation that no one has told me about.

No one has posted since November 29th, including the two celebrity gossip columns I check daily, despite the fact that there's been gossip to post about.

And blogger is behaving oddly, allowing my last post to be seen on some cumputers and not on others. 3 comments are invisible.

It's a strange world.

And a strange weekend, come to think of it. We spent last night being nauseous with envy at A and A's tinroofed, bead-boarded farmhouse complete with three beauteous dogs and a pond. I even dreamed about it.

This morning, K. and I attended the Methodist church 5 miles outside of Oxford. He dropped all the cash we had in the collection plate (checking with me first), and after we watched our bills sail away, he whispered "Maybe God will find us a farmhouse now."

Bribing God. Luckily, she'll know that we don't really mean it.

apologies all around

aight people. Sorry for being moody. I'm madly at work on the novel, have to make minestrone and deliver for husband's lunch, and am filling out an application for a pretty sweet gig which I hope I get.

More later.