to be so blessed, or, I want to be that zen

Our new-place grace period seems to be drawing to a close. In just over two months, we've become a big part of the community down here, and the days fill up fast. More on that later.

Yesterday morning, my aunt Jennie called and said that she and her family were flying from Orlando to Louisiana, and so they might drop in for a night. When I say flying, I mean flying: Jennie flew planes for the Red Cross in Africa, and her French husband flies both planes and helicopters. They arrived in their plane around four-- a sporty small thing with blue stripes-- and laden with baby girls.

Jennie-- who is only 11 years older than me-- married a few Junes ago and promptly had four children (almost 6; almost 5; almost 3; 8 months). After stopping for folding chairs from K's office and diapers at a Walgreens, they came out to the house and ate homemade pizza and salad with us. It was delightful, although when they left, we all collapsed into bed. I have never seen such a good-humored family, and the control-freak in me is in utter awe.

I WANT TO BE THAT ZEN.

But enough about me-- look at my cousins!

Me with the eldest:

The second, named for our grandmother:
Jennie with the third and fourth:
and a blurry picture of the papa:
They flew out this morning, after commanding the town's largest suite.

I am very conscious of not being a mother now, and am rethinking a short story I finished where the pregnant mother is overwhelmed by one child. Because they have FOUR under the age of six!

"Satisfaction is an emotion that captures the uniquely human need to impart meaning to one's activities," Berns concludes. "While you might find pleasure by happenstance--winning the lottery, possessing the genes for a sunny temperament, or having the luck not to live in poverty--satisfaction can arise only by the conscious decision to do something. And this makes all the difference in the world, because it is only your own actions for which you may take responsibility and credit."

--Gregory Berns, "Satisfaction", taken from here .

This makes a great deal of sense to me.

socially speaking

K. coaxed me into signing up for his company's soccer team. He'll be playing as well. I'm not nervous about my ability (which is probably pretty darn low)-- more about having a team sports commitment. Historically, despite the fact I've played lacrosse, basketball, soccer, and rugby, the last time I enjoyed team sports was...well, soccer. When I was about ten. No practices, just Sat am games, which we invariably lost, with all the public school kids with whom I got to hang out.

Maybe this will be fun.

We've gotten pretty used to having all of our friends long-distance. On weekends when we're home alone, we cook up something good, read on the couch, or watch downloaded sitcoms or Sherlocks Holmes dvds.

On Thursdays, I catch a ride in with my elderly retired friends and meet K. at Thacker Mountain radio, where we join the community in watching an entertainment show that's broadcast on air (super-fun-- lots of good music, authors, and whatnot).

On Fridays, I meet the Literary Club at the drugstore and drink coffee while gossiping with the retired women at high volume.

On Sundays, we head to church, and in the afternoon, I potter while K. plays volleyball with that rag-tag group over at Poprock Canyon.

We have lots of friendly acquaintances here, but no true friends our own age-- probably because when we meet people our age, they're living with their parents, heading to late-night concerts, already have tons of friends, and are busy anyway doing whatever groovy twenty somethings do. A couple we invited for dinner three months ago finally invited us over, but had inadvertently double-booked themselves, so they ended up rescinding their own invitation. People seem so very busy to me.

I'd like to find some people with whom we could have bonfires and howl at the (early evening) moon, but for now, it's mostly us. And on Saturday nights, when my hubby wanders around in his torn pajamas and asks if I want popcorn, that's more than alright.

A week of pictures

A home-made and uber-cheap Valentine's day:


The dawning of K's 26th birthday:

We headed west through the delta to see the Missisippi River:

And because the water recedes wherever we go, we had to ford a ten-foot area and walk across hundreds of yards of sand and pebbles to actually stand on the corner of the river, on which there were barges going up and down. Apparently, the part we walked across had been covered in river water three weeks ago. Which would have made it look a whole lot more impressive. Nonetheless, the dogs had a ball.

Upon arriving home, K. took out the clippers. We've been waiting until it warmed up, and this coming week is supposed to be in the sixties, hence:

And for funsies:

good times

While it's chilly, it's also a sunny Friday.

K's heading home with stacks of books (I'm reading Algonquin-published authors, as I have the biggest publishing crush on them), we're going to clean the house, and then eat tomato soup and steak and READ.

That's what we call good times.

because...

I'm interviewing my first person today.

Why I shouldn't be nervous:

--I've had time to prepare

-- the editor of the newspaper says that "he wouldn't know where to begin" so I can write it "however I want", including length

-- he's an elderly man who loves to talk

-- he lives two steets over from me so all I have to do is walk over


Why I am nervous

-- because EVERYONE in town reads this paper. Example? Well, approximately an hour-and-a-half after yesterday's paper came out (the one introducing my new feature with a picture of me), the post lady recognized our dogs who were barking in the windows 30 ft up a hill from said picture.

-- because I have to majorly fake my way through talking with people I don't know.

-- and lastly, mostly-- why give up a good reason to be nervous? That's not what nervous people do.

natterings

What's with the lack of blogging lately, yo? Elbows into the sides of everyone on my links page (with the exception of Bluepoppy and Farmgirl).

**************

I've powered through Chapter 10; 6 chapters to go before my first novel is officially done (I'm aiming for March 1st). Of course, if I'm lucky and someone wants to publish it, I'll have to revise it probably 18 more times.

**************

K's birthday is this Sunday, and I think I'm more excited than he is. Last week he called me from work and said "Give me a reason I can't go to this conference with S--- next weekend."



I said "because it's your BIRTHDAY!!!!!"



He laughed and said, "Right. That'll do."



He forgot his own birthday. Man, I'm fully aware that mine rolls around in slightly under seven months, and if past trends continue, I'll be insufferable for the preceding three months.



I got him presents today. They are all going to be surprises this year, unlike Christmas (which was so fab I couldn't resist telling him), and last year's (don't order something a month ahead of time because that's way too long to keep your mouth shut).

*******************

Here's the pic that's coming out in this week's Herald announcing the upcoming feature (the one where I interview people). Note the dog drool on my shirt, courtesy of the great white beast that is my mother's dog. I couldn't actually open my eyes much, as I was staring straight into the sun for the fortieth time, since Sweetie McSweetie took forty pictures before this one (I call him Sweetie McSweetie, and he calls me Spendy McSpend-a-Lot. Though not when it concerns his birthday).

Good news

I went down to the local newspaper on Monday, and I'm their new features writer (on a freelance basis).

In every week's issue, I'll be writing a profile/interview with interesting locals. My first subject hand-typed an autobiography, available in the reference section of the local lobrary.

It is AMAZING. Not only because he's had an interesting life, but also because he provides a clear, first-hand account of life in Mississippi in the 1920s. The econonomy, the social structure, race-- it's all in there. This stuff needs to be part of the Library of Congress, because it's priceless. I'm meeting him next week, and I think it'll be great.

Talk to ye elders, people! And elders, write your stuff down! Think of it as community service.

San Francisco, Take 2

Sunday I hassled with the concierge for a bit, and after some bureaucratic nonsense and a quick trip to my cousin's house (I'd stayed there Thursday night as K. was still in conference-mode) to retrieve the coat, glasses, face wash, and contact case I'd left, we headed over the Golden Gate Bridge northwards.

Marin County's beauty was only slightly marred by me hollering at K. to slow down so I could take a darn picture.

We arrived at the Muir National Forest after lots of map-reading and amicable bickering...one of the very steep roads made even K. nervous because it had no guard rail.

Upon arriving at the park, we paid and then in true American style, we ate. Organic tomato soup with gorganzola cheese and super-good trail mix.

Much happier, we than wandered into the woods, feeling a wee bit out of place as everyone else had fancy hiking shoes and backpacks.

After an hour and a bit, we hopped back in the car and headed east along a bay and then north into Napa valley. K. wouldn't stop since we were due at aunt Mimi's, so all grapevines are blurred.

(The yellow stuff is mustard.)

Napa valley was beautiful, but kind of a disappointment after all the press. I didn't realize that the vineyards would be so close to one another, right off the main road, like a vinicultural main street.

St. Helena, however, was fab. While now priced out the wazoo, it was an actual little town, with 19th century buildings, a quaint downtown, and beautiful stonework. We lollygagged a bit-- I ordered a whole gallon of olive oil from a store where we chugged paper-cupped samples of the different varieties-- and K. got very upset with the misleading public bathroom sign.

We then got back in the car, and drove the three roads out to Aunt Mimi, aka Seavey Vineyard (seaveyvineyard.com).

The last picture (above) is of the winery at aunt Mimi's. Although we tromped around the vineyard (which is beautiful-- 40 acres in vines, all of it steep) and admired the grassfed cattle that had wandered among the vines, we didn't take any more pictures. But imagine a room, a concrete vault really, with row upon row of french oak barrels, stained red around the middle. A most incredible smell. Her two small dogs, one of whom trotted in during dinner preparations with a dead bird. The best chocolate tart thingie I've ever eaten.

After a really pleasant dinner, we drove back to San Francisco, dropped off the rental car (thereby leaving all the stuff I'd retrieved that morning from my cousin's), and walked the eight blocks to the hotel, passing an Asian prostitute with one exposed breast as she hung out on the corner.

Quite a trip.

not mine, but still:

the divine economy of salvation.

isn't that a great title?

Mississippi

Just now, I looked up from my desk through the window to see a black man on a four wheeler pulling a flat-bed trailer with a bathtub on it.

It made me smile.

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.