The Weather

One of my writing professors at Long Beach once told my class that the way they narrowed down six applicants from 200 was by reading the first paragraph of the story; if there was any mention of the weather, they set it aside.

Being from the Midwest, I am prone to have long conversations with the peeps back home about the weather. My aunt has said it's because I come from farmers whose whole lives depended on the weather. Thus, they liked to dish about it. I tend on the side of boredom during these conversations, where the temperature is relayed at least three times with a vocal exclamation mark. This is happens especially with my grandma. She obsessively watches the Weather Channel, although now that she's lost most of her hearing, she watches it on mute. This is just one of the many things I love about her. While I have always enjoyed watching the "Tropical Update," I've never watched it for seven hours consecutively.

So since this is all in my blood, this weather talk, let me tell you how lovely it's been around here lately. Russ and I spend a lot of our minimal free time outside in the backyard, trying to make it sustainable, edible, and beautiful. It feels good to pull Bermuda grass, battle earwigs (which we have in legion), and exorcise lurking alley cats and their ass faces. But Russ took it to a whole new level this weekend by providing a lunch for about 150 people that was all sustainable, edible, and beautiful. Using produce grown on Cal Poly's campus, meat from a semi-local California ranch from a local butcher, and all recyclable-compostable dishes and flatware, he threw a lunchtime gala without the usual trash bags that follow. He didn't do all this himself, of course -- he had help from volunteers, but when it all comes down, he was the hands carrying it all out, from harvesting the veggies to designing the menu to barbecuing the meat during the event. For me, it was a new way to experience from the farm to the table -- and let me tell you, it's a lot of work. Processing lettuce and cabbage is especially taxing. The snails and slugs hide inside the deepest layers and most of the leaves need to be removed in order to get at them. I have a new appreciation for farmers, especially the herb lady at the Pasadena Farmer's Market.

Russ had to plan a menu around the weather -- he was hoping for peas and beans, but because LA had a little bit of chill-n-rain over the last few weeks, they hadn't grown as fast as expected. He had to rearrange the menu at the last minute, figure out how to pull it all together without what he expected. But he was excited about that, strangely, becaues it reminded him that we're so used to having what we want available, we rarely have to rearrange in such a way. And I was struck by just how good it was to chat about the weather and not be bored.

Extended Eulogy

When I first read Kurt Vonnegut, I was in college. Someone showed me the cover of Breakfast of Champions - I think it was Melissa, Carlos, or maybe Natalie - and then opened up the page to one of the famous drawings -- the one that looks like this:

*

If you've ever read Vonnegut, you know what that means.

And that was all it took. Life-long fan.

Working on a Full House

My house is like a Garth Brooks song right now. We found a dog last week and this dog has been living here for the last two weeks, disrupting the delicate balance of small housedom in which Russ, Tanya, and I exist. The three of us are like one pulsing mind -- we each know that space is sacred, as is downtime, and we each take it in our respective corners. Me with a book, Russ with his computer, and Tanya with her giant pillow. People always say that having two dogs isn't so different than one, but I beg to differ. This new dog does not need this sort of alone time or space. She is not so much chilling in her corner as under my feet, scratching me with her claws, which I haven't cut because I'm afraid of animal claw-cutting and the splurting blood that usually follows.

But, she is sweet and wonderful and full of cuteness, and she doesn't walk on a leash as much as skip. She is an incessant shaker. She loves to prey on birds and has the bad habit of wandering into people's houses when not supervised. She has a mustache, a clear identity crisis for a she-dog, which is also endearing. We think she rather looks like one of the founding fathers as well as Robert E. Lee. We've been calling her "Puppy Goo-Goo," as a tribute to the best Simpsons character of all time. And now that she has a new owner which she'll be joining this weekend, I realize that despite her I-don't-quite-fit-into-your-separate-corners household, I will miss her cute little antebellum face.

Eulogy

God Bless You, Mr. Vonnegut.

Further Up and Further In

On Sunday, I'm looking forward to getting into my car and turning on the radio.

You see, about 40 days ago I had this it-seemed-brilliant-at-the-time idea that it would be spiritually beneficial to give up all noise in the car. The thought was that since I often distract myself with NPR and sing-along-songs, if I didn't have them, I would have nothing to do but meditate, pray, center myself, commune with the universe. And that would give me at least two 45 minute times per week where I did nothing but all this wonderful, soul-improving work.

But I'm not so cool as all that. I wish that I was the sort of person who, when faced with silence, did nothing but turn her attention to her soul and God and the needs of others. Because I want very much to be that person. I know people like that and find myself astonished and admiring by them. But when I found myself in the silence, I found, more often than not, my only thoughts were about myself. And those people directly affecting me. And all situations that I would be in that day. Sometimes, I even found myself thinking about situations that I'd handled badly mere hours or even days before. I had plenty of time to catalogue my own mistakes, missteps, and bonehead moments. Welcome the mild obsession.

I've found, over the last few years, that I am like that old movie The Three Faces of Eve. I am usually inwardly and outwardly laid-back about most daily grind kind of things (Eve White), but then, there are a few that I get in my head and can't stop focusing on (Eve Black, sort of). For instance, I'm taking care of a stray white poodle right now while other friends and I look for a new home for her. She's a sweet dog, but she's had diarrhea for the last day and a half and now, our carpet is covered with small splotches of carpet cleaner and remnant stains. And I've been thinking about it and gritting my teeth over it when really, it doesn't matter because we have a guy coming to professionally clean our carpets today. This is mild obsession at its worst -- thinking about what is already under control.

This is a rather new experience for me, actually. As I get older, I find myself more and more often feeling this type of stress. It's a sucky, black-hole experience and I'd be glad to forgo it. I don't think, though, no matter how much you pray or meditate or tell yourself that you're ultimately out-of-control anyway, that you ever forgo your own bodily and/or emotional makeup. Or maybe I'm just not there yet. So I'm stuck with me and the clingy webs of reptitive details and, for the last month and a half, I've been doing this more often than not because it's either that or watch how incredibly slow LA traffic can be.

Solitude is a discipline that I've always been okay with, but never silence. I'm okay with being minus a plus-one because my own inner monologue has always been so active. As a child, I was sort of lost in my own head most of the time, writing the details of what was happening around me (and yes, sometimes rewriting with delusions of grandeur), and at some point, I think I just got used to hearing my own voice all the time. My thoughts have turned on me, though; instead of friendly narration, there's now hyperlinking between concerns of how I'm handling all aspects of my life. Damn you, adulthood and responsibility cluttering my imagination.

I guess the funny thing that I've walked away from this experience with is two-fold. One is a better knowledge of myself. Obviously, this is the point of any discipline -- self-awareness and thus, more perspective. I see myself a bit more clearly, I think, and while I may not want to, this is clearly a good thing. And two is a realization of the sanctity of NPR. No really. Cutting NPR out of my life, even for forty days, has really turned my focus inward. What I thrive on, what I gain energy from, oddly enough, is extending out and hearing about people all over the country, nee the world -- it continually pulls me out of my own skin, exposes me to newness and thus, I grow. I learn. I cry with other people and laugh a little bit, too. While the same thing happens at church, NPR is with me daily in my car. It's a form of the great commandment, to love others as yourself and when I'm aware of what's going on out there, I'm excited, grieved, empathetic, and above all, more concerned about the world around me instead of the world within me.

One Angry Sarah

I got served today. My first jury duty ever.

I figure it will finally put to use all my detectiving skills from years of Nancy Drew and the Boxcar Children. Currently, my skills are pretty much put to use solving cases involving missing chocolate chip cookies that I put in the refrigerator for a day and time of my choosing. But with Tanya lacking opposable thumbs, it's a pretty open-and-shut case in a house of two.

So this should be much more challenging.