We made salads last night and settled in for an evening of writing, closing the house down early because of a nearby skunk that I didn't want the puppies to get to know. It was actually a pleasant day though I couldn't really say we did anything.
Today, though. Sheesh.
We woke up early and played chase for quite some time. Yesterday, I could have sworn that Fusilli was the faster of the two, but I think that Celsoa has been letting him win. Today, though, she turned on the afterburner, and she put the distance between them that they had yesterday, in different order. She's also more cunning. She'll stop and make him go around the long way, or she'll turn where he'll miss. His cornering isn't as precise as hers is, either. At one point, they ran back inside from outside, and he ran chest first into the dining room table leg, bouncing off. I stopped him to make sure he was ok, but he complained that I was letting her get away.
They're great fun to have here.
At noon, I informed them that I had shit to do, and I gave them treats and told them to enjoy their afternoon without causing too much of a ruckus.
After yoga, I got in the car to make the voyage to Ojo Caliente. Ojo Caliente is a natural hot spring miles from anywhere, and someone brilliantly put a spa there in 1905, I think. There are two ways to Ojo Caliente from Taos. One is using the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge, which you may have seen in a few movies, most recently, Paul. The other is going through Pilar, climbing down into the Rio Grande Gorge, crossing a much smaller, lower bridge, and then climbing up again. One way is paved and relatively safe the entire way. The other has four narrow miles of unpaved, un-guardrailed, terrifying switchbacks that could have you plunging into the rocky gorge at any second. Guess which way I chose? Oh yes, and there was a nasty thundercloud behind me that was threatening to kill me by making the road slippery on top of treacherous. Any relaxing effects of the yoga class were mitigated the second I pulled onto the gravel part of the road. I'm not sure that I cleared 8 miles an hour that entire four miles. When I got to pavement again, I thanked the gods and Volkswagen, and I foolishly followed Google maps instead of my instincts. Google, five miles before the hot springs, had me turn down a dirt road that was literally falling apart. I stopped listening to Google when I came across an impassable mud puddle that was going to make my car stuck for years. I turned around, went back to the highway, traversed until I saw a sign, and five minutes later, I was pulling into the spa.
The spa feels like a spa. I mean, a spa in the olden days, when people were sent to spas to recover from tuberculosis or the like. It's based off of some mineral hot springs, and people travel from all over to soak in the waters. I'd forgotten to pack a bathing suit when I came, but I had a sports bra that more than did double duty, with a pair of short shorts, no one was the wiser. I had an hour before my treatments, so I chose to spend 15 minutes in each of the three mineral pools that were open. I started in soda, moved to iron, and finished at arsenic. The lithia spring wasn't open for some reason, and I wasn't particularly interested in the process of getting mud on and then off of me. I think that soda and iron were my favorites, but that may be because they were the least crowded and slightly warmer than arsenic. There were a fair number of people there today, but I didn't feel crowded. I very much relaxed in the pools.
At 3:20, I wandered over to the desk to wait for my massage and scrub, and a lovely woman named Marcela took over my body for the next hour and a half. She rubbed and she scrubbed and I could feel all sorts of tension just melting away from me. It was a perfect amount of time, and I was feeling just wonderful when she told me that she'd prepared a shower for me so I could get the rest of the rub material off of me. Lovely, lovely afternoon.
I drove back to Taos using the non-terrifying route, and feeling guilty about the amount of time they'd been left alone, I got the puppies some knuckle bones from the butcher at Cid's. They were overjoyed to see me, and they showed me that aside from a few crooked rugs, the house was in good shape. Celosa took her bone for immediate chewing, but Fusilli had trouble deciding what to do. He went outside with his, chewed for a few minutes, and then he buried it. Then he forgot where he buried it. Then he remembered. Then he brought it under the apple tree for chewing. Then to the deck. He was very much a little busy body about it. After an hour or so, I had to take the bones away from them, because I could see that fights were brewing.
And so we spent the evening writing and cooking and fighting over bones. I'll probably go to bed early-ish, as I'm still feeling relaxed (the half bottle of wine is helping me along that front too).
Graham seems to be having a great time in London, and I'm so glad for that. I miss him terribly, and I wish he were here, but I know that he's doing an awesome thing.
I'm going to have difficulty explaining to the pooches that we have to go home eventually.
At any rate, for a variety of reasons, it didn't make as much sense for me to go on tour with him this time around. But I didn't want to stay home while he was having a blast, either. So, I called my mom to make sure the house was available, and I made arrangements at work to take off this week. And on Friday, after work, the puppies and I kissed Graham and wished him the best time ever, and drove to Rhome, Texas where we stayed at a Motel 6. Saturday, we woke up early, got in the car for ten hours, making friends with motorcycle gangs along the way, and arrived in Taos in time for a quick grocery store run and a lot of running around in the cool(er) mountain air.
If Graham blends in London, I blend in Taos. I have somewhat hippie sensibilities, along with a practical streak. I found myself not the only one in a prairie skirt and Birkenstocks at the grocery store the other day. It's a town that I could live in easily if I could figure out how to pay the bills. I always feel a sense of belonging here, and every ounce of stress that I'm carrying seems to melt off my body.
I have no real goals while I'm here. I made a vow to myself that I would not play any computer games while here. I want to take the puppies up to the mountain to go hiking one day. And I want to take myself to the spa at Ojo Caliente for some TLC. I sort of promised myself that I'd try to make a yoga class once a day, but I'll be ok if I miss a yoga class for something else. I want to take the puppies on longish walks while we're here, even if we don't make it to the mountain. There's a farmer's market on Wednesday at the pueblo, I'm told. And I want to go to the flea market in Santa Fe on Friday. I saw a sign for a craft fair on Saturday in the plaza. Though there are some awesome restaurants here, I'd rather cook more than go out.
And I want to write. Last fall, I took a fiction class at Inprint, and I found that I wasn't really horrible at it. I didn't have time in the spring, with classes at the School of Public Health, to keep writing as I would have liked, and this summer, I've been more preoccupied on other things. But, I knew that creative writing was something that I wanted to explore a little more seriously with a little more discipline. A week to myself in one of the environments where I'm most comfortable in the world with nothing else to do seems like a good a place as any to impose that discipline.
So far? Not as successful as I would like, but I'm going in the right directions. Yesterday, I was pretty beat up by the travel and the altitude. (I almost always get headaches the first day I'm here, but this trip has been fairly decent.) So I took it easy. I finished a book that I'd been reading. I cooked some delicious salmon and couscous and spinach. I drank a half a bottle of wine. (I'm finishing it now.) I walked the puppies to the square and back. I did some straightening up around the house. I settled into my home for the week.
Today has been a little more successful. I went to a yoga class, which I was a little nervous about. I think it's been about five years since I've been in one, and I was afraid I was going to make many mistakes. But the instructor and my classmates were great, and I felt very welcomed and I remembered what it was that I liked about yoga. That I'm pretty flexible helps. I also went to the hardware store to pick up some annuals and a hand weeder to get rid of some dandelions. The annuals won't last that much longer, but they're on sale, and the two pots on the deck were barren. My parents will be up here in two weeks, and I wanted it to look nice for them. Fusilli helped me get rid of some of the dandelions, and Celosa supervised. I caught up on some reading. Later, I walked to one of the grocery stores for some ingredients for my Thai green curry chicken. And even later, the puppies and I saddled up for a longer walk. We would have been out even more, but a nasty cloud looked to be coming our way, and I didn't want to get caught in the rain with them. We cooked dinner, and we were pretty happy with our efforts. I'm sort of focusing on foods I like to cook, but Graham doesn't really like.
And now, I'm sitting down to write. And I've written quite a bit. More than I've written in awhile. It feels good to put my thoughts down, and I wish I had more confidence about this whole process. I suppose most "writers" don't. And the ones that can make themselves go through it to the other side are the ones that get to take the quotes off the title.
We'll see if this week helps me do that a bit.
SB 5, among other things, bans abortions in the state of Texas past 20 weeks. It also requires that physicians who work at abortion clinics be credentialed in a hospital within 30 miles of the clinic. It also requires that all non-pharmacological abortions take place in an ambulatory surgery center. Effectively, this bill would shut down all but five clinics in a state the size of France.
This monstrosity came up because Rick Perry is under the delusion that he can win a Republican nomination for President of the United States. The state legislature only meets for four and a half months every other year. That ended at the end of May. But it can be called back for a special session for so-called "emergency" legislation. The legislature came back to supposedly work on redistricting, because the courts still weren't happy with the Texas maps. But halfway through the session, Rick Perry made whatever decision he made about his future, and did a bunch of noxious "pro-conservative" things, like veto the Texas version of the Lilly Ledbetter act. And put abortion on the agenda.
For a variety of procedural reasons, Democrats were able to kill most of the provisions of this bill in the regular legislative session. But the special sessions have different rules.
So the bill easily went through the Senate, and then on Thursday, it went to the House. And that's when the call went out. Hundreds of women from all over the state descended upon Austin to testify on the bill in committee. 700 women signed up to testify, and they went until four in the morning. The committee chairperson at one point called the testimony "repetitive", but that didn't stop women from telling their stories over and over again. The bill did get out of committee and went to the House, and the Democrats did everything they could to delay and add amendments and otherwise make this horrible thing not so horrible. This process led to another Republican horror statement about rape, with Jodie Laubenberg saying that "In the emergency room they have what's called rape kits where a woman can get cleaned out," in denying a "rape and incest" exception to the 20 week ban. In the meantime, more and more Texas women came to the Capitol to get their voices heard.
Time was running out. The special session ends today at midnight. And if the legislation doesn't pass by then, then it's dead. There were some nice procedural barriers, in the legislation had to be read a few times before the final vote in the House. And yesterday at around 10:40, it passed and was kicked back to the Senate. There was a 24 hour waiting period before the Senate could take up the measure. And at 11:18 a.m. Senator Wendy Davis began her filibuster as her last chance to save Texas women from a horrible fate. (And the State of Texas from years of litigation, as I imagine that the injunction paperwork is being drawn up as I type.)
I've been pro-choice since the first time I gave such matters thought. I got into an argument with my 6th grade religion teacher about it the first time the subject was brought up in school. No matter how much she explained it to me, I could not grasp that I (who'd just started having periods) would have to have a baby if somehow I got pregnant. I first got involved with Planned Parenthood formally in 1992 during the Republican National Convention and the descent of the Christian Coalition upon our local affiliate. I've been a leader at Lobby Day for four sessions. (This year was the first I'd missed in nearly a decade.) I've been a clinic escort. I've chaired fundraisers and sat on committees. I've given some pro bono legal advice. I've marched in the Pride Parade with Planned Parenthood.
This isn't to say that I don't understand or even respect the other perspective on abortion. I just strongly believe that each of us should be able to make our own choices about such things.
Until this year, though, I never really had to think personally about abortion services. I'd practiced safe sex all of my adult life until January 2012, when I went off the pill for the first time, and Graham and I decided to try to have a baby. Having always been "good", I just assumed that I'd be pregnant immediately upon discontinuation of birth control. That didn't happen. In July, I started taking more pro-active steps, like checking my basal body temperature and charting my various fluids and generally understanding my own reproductive system a little better. I started putting "appointments" on the calendar for the optimal times to have sex so I'd get pregnant. In November, I went on a drug for a few months that was supposed to help with my luteal phase. In January, I had an x-ray taken of my uterus to see if there was any blockage. In March, I started acupuncture and Chinese herbal medicine along with some other vitamins.
This is to say that I really, really, really wanted to get pregnant.
In mid-April, we were just about to take the next steps to seeing fertility specialists when I peed on a stick and it was positive. We couldn't believe it, and I peed on a stick for six days in a row to confirm that yes, I was pregnant. We were over the moon.
I called my doctor, and I didn't have an appointment scheduled until my 8th week of pregnancy, which was May 20. We told selected friends and family. We started trying to figure out how to reconfigure the house. My boobs started growing(!) and getting heavier. I'd have lightheaded spells. I was suddenly tired all the time. We bought a few baby items. And we just impatiently waited for May 20 to get here so we could see the baby.
Finally, four days after my 40th birthday, Graham and I went to see the doctor. I was 8 weeks and 2 days pregnant. We were so excited! The nurse came in and took a lengthy medical history, and we hurried through because we just wanted to get to see the baby. Finally, I stirruped up, flashed my cooch for at least five people, and was stuck with the magic wand.
It took awhile to find the placenta. And I remember saying "phew, there's just one!" But the nurse said, "not so fast." And the next thing I knew, Graham and I were staring at not one, but two yolk sacs. There were twins! But they were small, the larger one almost a week smaller than it'd should have been, and the smaller one even tinier. The nurse said that maybe my dates were off. But I'd been downright anal about record keeping. I knew what my dates were. Then, she asked the student if he'd get the doctor. That's when I knew that things weren't going well.
The doctor didn't take much time. He took a look, told me to get dressed, and we met in his office a few minutes later. He explained that he had trouble finding a heart beat, but he wasn't sure if that was because they were so small or because something was wrong. He cautioned us that this might not be a good pregnancy, especially for the smaller one. But he referred us to a maternal fetal specialist that had better equipment and might be able to see more clearly what was going on. Graham and I left the appointment in a state of shock. Twins! But will they be ok? Holy shit, we're really pregnant! But they were so small! Maybe it's going to be ok. Maybe it's not going to be ok.
I was able to get an appointment with the specialist that same day, and I went by myself to his office. I didn't know until later, but he and my father are close colleagues, and my father thinks that he's the best there is at his job. I just wanted to know if my twins were going to be ok. The drill was more or less the same. Strip down, legs up and open, and wait for the insertion. His screen really was clearer than the other, and we could see the embryos better. He found a very faint heartbeat on one of them, but it was extremely low for what it should have been. The other may or may not have had a heartbeat. In addition, I learned that monozygotic, monoamniotic twins (identical twins that share an embryonic sac) are very rare and very high risk. He told me that we should wait a few days and check again.
I went home as confused and upset and numb as I've ever been. This had been one of the most roller coaster days of my life. And for the first time, I started thinking about abortion. What if they lived but there was something so wrong with them that they weren't going to make it? Obviously, there were some developmental problems early on, but what if they were severe, but not severe enough to trigger a miscarriage. What if the big one makes it but we have to terminate the little one? How does that even work? I knew that if something was terribly wrong with them, I'd want to abort, but this was something I'd wanted so much and worked so hard for. It was emotionally draining.
I started looking for signs that I wasn't pregnant any more. Did my boobs feel lighter? Did I feel like I had more energy? Was I cramping? None of these were conclusive.
When I went back to the specialty doctor's office on Friday May 24, I wasn't sure what I wanted to see. A strong heartbeat on both was my top scenario, but I knew that wasn't likely. What would I do if there were still a heartbeat but it was still low? What if one but not the other? I also knew that even if things looked good(-ish) that I wasn't out of the woods. There were still genetic scans and 31 more weeks of pregnancy where something could go terribly wrong. This happy, breezy pregnancy that I'd had for 8 weeks was gone, no matter what the outcome of the sonogram.
With my mother and my sister at my side, I found out that the heartbeats had stopped on both embryos. I wasn't going to have to make any decisions.
Graham came immediately home from Flipside, and we spent the weekend together waiting for me to miscarry.
On May 29, I had a D&C and was officially not pregnant again.
I REALLY don't want to talk about this. This was hard to write. It's hard to think about. I'm better than I was a month ago, but it's still pretty raw.
There are a few people who know about this, but it's not something I was yelling from the rooftops. It's extremely personal and painful and private. But the Texas legislature and governor don't really care about that sort of thing. They want to politicize this. The want to insert themselves in the discussion I had with my husband and doctors and family. I thought with dread about the sonogram the state of Texas would make me have to if I had to terminate the pregnancy. In this process, I'd had four of them. But the state of Texas doesn't think that's enough, and they would have forced me to have another, meaningless test just to shove (literally) the point home that they are in more control than I am over decisions in my uterus. That bullshit can't be dealt with right now, but the stuff that Wendy Davis is fighting can.
I'm over 40 years old. ANY pregnancy I have is by definition high risk. I WANT to have a baby. But I also know that I'm more likely to have something go wrong later in the pregnancy than younger women. I am grateful that the genetic screening can be done earlier, but there are some things that aren't going to come up on the MaterniT21 or equivalent tests (which are done around 10-12 weeks). I live in a huge, dense metropolitan area, and I think that the clinic close to me will survive if this bill passes. But the waits will be ridiculous, the lines will be long, and there won't be enough clinicians to serve the population.
This is extremely personal, but it's also too important for me not to talk about. I'm not interested in sympathy or expression of sorrow for my loss. I'm interested in a fight to ensure that women in my state--that I--have the resources that we need to take care of ourselves. Support Wendy Davis in her filibuster, and fight .
Sometimes pet owners feel like the worst people in the world.
Graham's working tonight, so the puppies were terribly excited to see me when I got home. I hadn't seen them since early this morning, and I decided that we'd enjoy the outside as much as possible while it was still daylight. They played chase and ran around a little, and then Celosa retreated to the deck to chill out. She was so pretty and calm and serene, that I decided to take a few pictures of her.
In the meantime, her brother was exploring the yard. He go off and sniff something, and then come back to try to get us to check it out. He'd then go back out again.
Soon, he came trotting by with an eggshell in his mouth. I'd seen it on the deck and noted how tiny it was earlier. I quickly pulled it out of his mouth, threw it under the house so he couldn't get it, and sent him on his way.
Celosa and I resumed activities.
A minute later, I looked up in to the yard and saw Fusilli diligently chewing on something. He's never paid much attention to the oleander leaves before (and they're everywhere), but he was sitting under one of the trees. They're pretty toxic, so I went over to see what he was chewing.
I removed the leg of a baby bird from his mouth.
This baby bird was not the recent resident of the egg, or if it was, it'd grown considerably since vacating the egg. I had no idea where he found it or what state of decomposition it was in when he found it.
I quickly picked up the puppy, high tailed it to the bathroom, and poured hydrogen peroxide into his mouth. I haven't had to use this method in awhile, but it worked like a charm. Poor little chap was so trusting, so eager, so willing to please, he gulped down the hydrogen peroxide I shoved down his throat like a champ.
And then the upchuck. He didn't know what hit him. It was just awful to watch. The treats his daddy gave him right before he left were there. Plus a lot of foam and bile and other remnants. And then he threw up again. And then once more for good measure.
The happy, playful puppy of just minutes ago was sick and upset and terribly confused. Celsoa and I could do nothing but watch and offer encouragement and soothing noises.
He retreated to the bedroom for a minute, and then I picked him up and took him to the water bowl. He drank voraciously. He refused a treat.
His heart told him, "yes, I do want dinner." His stomach told him, "whoa there, buddy, are you sure you wanna rush things?" His stomach won.
For the first time since Fusilli came home, Celosa ate without someone hovering over her food.
It's been about a half-hour now, and Fusilli's stomach has decided that it's ok to eat. Still, it's not the voracious, "this is my last meal" rigor that such occasions usually warrant. It's a cautious, "will this stay down?" approach.
I know he'll be fine, and my actions may have been a slight over-reaction. Poor baby.
It turns out that Sky has cancer. She's been in chemo for awhile now, and she's been staying with our neighbor's mom. (He is also Noir's family, and there are three other cats and another dog in their household.) I don't know how well she's responding to chemo, but I imagine that this was a bad shock to the system.
At any rate, she's as ok as a pooch can be in this situation.
A picture of a badly injured dog pops up. And in the comments section, a friend posts "I'm pretty sure that Graham and 'stina know this dog." Dammit. I did.
About an hour ago, Graham called me asking for a neighbor's number. Skye, the great Dane across the street, was out of her yard, and we don't have her owner's number. (Skye's owners, btw, are also Noir's official owners.) We do have the number of another neighbor who has their number, so he wanted to talk to her so she could talk to them. Graham tried to catch Skye, but she was either too scared or too excited or too gun-shy to go anywhere near him. He tried treats, he was really soft with her. He called her. Every time he got close, she bolted. Whenever he followed, she sped up. He realized that if he chased her, she'd just run faster. Graham realized he wasn't going to catch her, so he needed her owners right away.
Graham vented on facebook about the whole thing.
Half an hour, 45 minutes later, the facebook notification from my friend popped up. A great Dane had been hit by a car in River Oaks and could anyone identify the bloody dog in the picture. The signal was boosted. Two separate friends saw Graham's rant on facebook and the picture. And both friends got in touch with both of us, hence the image hitting my inbox.
It took me awhile to find information, but I finally found a number for the person who posted the picture, and I called. Skye made it all the way to the River Oaks Shopping Center. And several people tried to catch her, but she wouldn't come. Finally, she got hit by a car. The lady I talked to was the manager of a pet business, and it sounded like she was instrumental in organizing immediate care. There was a vet's office not too far away, and they picked her up immediately. At the very least, Skye has a broken leg. I gave her my neighbor's name and address and said that we'd do what we could to get in touch with the vet's office.
I called Graham and gave him what information I had, and he said that the neighbors were just getting home, obviously in a panic. He relayed as much information as he could (without getting angry), and they took off to the vet. I hope she's going to be ok.
The likelihood of something like this happening to one of our dogs is slim, as they don't hang out outside unsupervised. One of us is usually with them when they're outside, and they're not particularly interested in not being with us. Even on the rare times when the gate has been open, they haven't shown much interest in leaving. They both have tags, and Celosa is chipped (Fusilli will be chipped soon).
Still, this doesn't mean that accidents don't happen. My parents' first puli, Pisco, died because he was hit by a car. He had horrible separation anxiety, and once, when my parents left for some event or another, he opened the sliding glass door, got out of the yard, and went to look for them. He got hit on a busy street near their house. Fusilli is still new, and he might decide to get some bug up his butt about entry or exit to the rest of the world, and I really don't want to go through what Skye's parents are going through right now. Celosa in the accident was enough of that for me.
So this weekend, we'll go through the yard like a fine toothed comb and look for any exit points. Skye got out not because the fence was insecure, but because she could crawl under the house. But she couldn't remember how to crawl back the way she'd come. I know a few spots that need some attention. It'll piss off the cats, but they're pretty good about figuring their way around things.
Of course he has no idea that he did it, or how to replicate it. He was being chased by his sister at the time and didn't stop to think about the mechanics. But a few days from now, he'll get it better.
And then, the only refuge will be the bed. That's usually at around three months or so, so he has a few weeks on that.
I keep meaning to note his mile stones more here. I did that with Celosa and Crianza, and those recollections are so useful with Fusilli.
At any rate, he grows, and gets along great with his big sister. They're laying on the floor next to me, side by side. And they enjoy the hell out of each other's company.
I'm so glad that we got him for her. She gets annoyed with him very seldom, and she's very patient. She's also having a blast playing with him. He's bigger than she was at that age, but a little quieter. They don't bark at each other like Crianza and Celosa did when Celosa was this age.
He's a voracious eater, finishes his bowl in about a half minute. He's always irate that he goes straight outside after a meal, and can't muscle Celosa out of her bowl to grab her food. Celosa sort of rolls her eyes at this.
He's terribly cute, and we're awfully glad to have him. And we're so grateful that Celosa is here to do the hard work with him. If she rubs off even a little on him, he'll be an amazing pooch.
I haven't been to Mexico in probably 20 years, and I'm actually getting pretty excited about the prospect. I've never been to Isla Mujeres, but I spent tons and tons of time in the Yucutan when I was a kid. Aeromexico used to have a deal where kids flew free with an adult, and for my parents, Mexico was the easiest vacation to take. You could leave the house and be on the beach about four hours later.
We went to a place called Akumal most of the time, which I wrote about 9 years ago. It's about 75 miles south of Cancun, and it was a coconut plantation before they started turning it into a resort about 40 years ago. It's not a resort in the sense that it's at all organized. There are a bunch of condominiums and small hotels and casitas arranged along the coastline, with a few restaurants, a small grocery store, a dive shop, and an amazing bar on the beach. We'd usually stay in one of the condos, since I think they were less concerned with the number of people than just renting out the unit. That they had kitchens was a selling point too, because we'd cook in for breakfast and some dinners. We'd take cassettes with us, and there are some songs of the soundtrack of my youth that are associated with Akumal. At night, we'd play with the hermit crabs we'd find on the beach and bring "home" or we'd play gin rummy or otherwise entertain ourselves. It was too far away from any towns for television signals, and I don't think there were phones in the condos. We were cut off entirely, but we didn't mind in the slightest.
The beach is sugar white, and there are tons of coconut trees. (There was a blight in the 90s that killed most of the trees, but I believe that they've recovered quite a bit since then.) About 200 yards off the beach, there is a coral reef. Which means that the water is amazingly calm, and mothers of kids under the age of ten don't worry too much about their kids playing in the ocean. My dad always said that the water was so clear that you could not only see your toes when you were standing in it, but you could see the dirt in your toenails. And of course, the reef was gorgeous, with lots of pretty, colorful fish and lovely corals. I believe it was a national park. My parents would hang out at the bar and talk to the others there. My dad once spent an afternoon just chatting with Ridley Scott (having no idea who he was) about whether or not the Hunt For Red October would make for a good film. ,The kids would play on the beach or in the water. It was an amazing way to spend time. I really loved it quite a bit.
Tulum, Chichen Itza, and Coba were all archaeological sites that we went to as well. I desperately wanted to be Indiana Jones, and in those days, we could climb over any structure that was standing. We'd scramble on the pyramids and temples and dare each other to get close to the cenotes. I actually went into college thinking of becoming an anthropology major because of those trips (and to the Museo Nacional de Antropología in Mexico City). It was with great pride (and some fear) that I climbed el Castillo at Chichen Itza when I was ten years old. Tulum was closest to Akumal, so we went there the most. There was a little tourist market there, and we'd look at all the souvenirs, conning my parents into letting us bring something home with us.
There were also a few lagoons, where underwater rivers in the Yucutan would meet up with the ocean. One was right in the Akumal complex, called Yal-Kul. We'd go there to snorkel at least once or twice a trip. It was deeper than the reefs by the beach, and there were some amazing fish there. I once spent 15 minutes following what I thought was a dolphin, until it turned and I realized it was a 4 foot shark. I've never swum so fast in my life after making that discovery. I don't think I was in any danger.
I went to Mexico City and Acapulco and to some of the border towns in the Valley also when I was a kid, including my grandfather's funeral. I loved those trips as well, but I didn't know them as well as I knew Akumal in the Yucutan. Mexico City was for years my favorite city in the world.
The last time I went to Mexico that I can think of was in 1992, when I was 18. I was in college, and I went with some friends for Spring Break to Mazatlan. It wasn't anything like the Mexico I knew. Everyone spoke English, the hotels were like fortresses, and everyone was American. I had fun, I suppose. I partied at Senor Frogs. My first one-night-stand happened on that trip, with one of the nicest guys to introduce a girl to such things. I learned a lot about myself. But it could have been anywhere, not necessarily in Mexico. I went to Tiajuana also when I was in college, but again, it wasn't the Mexico I grew up going to.
Afterwards, Mexico sort of fell off of my radar. There were a few times that I thought about going, but I never wanted to do something like that trip to Mazatlan again. There've been a few family trips down to the Valley in the last 20 years, but it's gotten so dangerous on the border towns that even locals don't cross much anymore. In 2006, my dad and sisters went to Mexico City for a quick weekend trip, but I was dealing with a broken heart and didn't want to go anywhere then. My mother-in-law was living in Guanajuato when Graham and I first started dating, but she moved back to the US a year later, after her husband passed away. I keep thinking about going on a trip to either Copper Canyon or Michoacan for the butterfly migration with my mom, but those are hard trips to organize. I think my sister Olivia would probably like those trips as well, but I don't know.
This trip is purely for fun, not culture or experience. I suspect that I won't have to speak much Spanish, though I am looking forward to it if I do. I don't think we'll be leaving the resort much, since everything is included in the fare. My purpose in being there is to celebrate my friends', and we'll have a good time.
But I'm getting excited about going back to Mexico after all these years. I suspect that the ocean and the beach will be familiar, and tons of memories will come flooding back as soon as I take a look at the water.
As far as I could tell, there was something wrong with just the case, not the screen itself.
So I started hunting online, and I figured out what parts I needed on ebay. They were not ridiculously expensive, and definitely were better than getting a new laptop.
They got here last week, and I was still not sure what I was going to do. Take them to microcenter and have the tech people there repair my laptop? Call one of my more tech enabled friends to help me?
Nope! I found a step by step instructional video, and armed with my ipad and a screwdriver, I took apart my computer and put it back together again. Working laptop for about $50!
Not really a big deal for a lot of people, I know, but I was pretty terrified throughout the process. I screwed up one connection on my first try, but I was able to hunt it down and fix it, and now I know what to do if that ever happens again.
In related news, I took a quilting class a little over a week ago, and it turns out a) I don't suck and b) I actually liked it. I'm starting a project next week! The not sucking part was a surprise, but so was the liking it. I was a little worried that the many, many (many!) steps involved would be too labor intensive for me. But I think it's something that I could easily get into.
In semi-related news, I have four more classes before school is over, and so far, it looks like I'm doing ok! I don't know why I was so convinced that I wasn't going to finish. I do, actually. It's because I haven't finished so many times before that I sort of have it in the back of my mind that I won't fisnish now.
But most importantly, Fusilli discovered a MUD PUDDLE. Oh what fun! After its discovery, he went to it every time he went outside. And he was terribly put out that people kept removing him from the mud puddle. But no worries, he knew where it was! Even the Christmas tree cutting party sign on top of it didn't deter him! The mud puddle was amazingly fun!
Antique Weekends, and Graham's mom is visiting. So we took off on Saturday with my parents to see what there was to see. We weren't looking for anything in particular, but we did find a new coffee table for the TV room. The dealer builds furniture out of old barn wood, and the table was just stunning. For some reason, he was having trouble selling it, and he'd slashed the price to get rid of it. The wood was outstanding, and we were happy to take it off his hands. Our coffee table in the TV room is a little battered, and it'd actually work better as a side table for a room at the ranch. Since my mom had been hunting for the side table, this worked out perfectly. I think that Graham's mom liked the antique festival, though it was as chaotic and overwhelming as ever.
Aside from some of the bigger furniture that the dealer had, there weren't a ton of items that I coveted this year at the festival. We saw the dealer who sold us my engagement ring, and she had some lovely items that I could easily add to my jewelry box. And there were a few items that I could have seen re-purposing and selling later on, but by and large, I didn't leave the festival unsatisfied. I suspect that would have been different if the high end tents at Marburger farms had been open, but they don't get going until Tuesday. Fusilli hung out in a crate while we were gone, and after some initial "oh woe is me"s, he seemed well rested when we got back.
Fusilli's cousin Zapata turned out not to be as enamored with Fusilli as the other way around, so he stayed in the closet (by his choice) except when the coast was clear. And even then, there was always a danger of being attacked by the ferocious puppy, so he was wary. Zapata did the same thing the day after our wedding when he got overwhelmed by the number of people in the house. We couldn't find him at all, and it turned out that the closet seemed like a safe spot. That Fusilli can't yet climb stairs makes the closet in my parents' room even more appealing as a hide out.
Zapata and Celosa did go running with mama on Sunday morning, and that was an adventure too! Celosa discovered a HUGE pile of stinky fresh cowshit and she rolled and rolled and rolled until she was covered! Almost as much fun as a 9 1/2 week old puppy in a mud puddle. Zapata helped with the cow shit, and she wouldn't get out until mama stopped her run, went to the dogs and physically got them out of the pile. Celosa thought it was so much fun that she didn't even mind the post cow shit bath.
Other than the antique festival, there wasn't really much done. We spent a lot of time outside, because the weather was so perfect. Celosa and Zapata joined me on the hammock for awhile, but Fusilli thought that hammocks are boring. You just sit there! You don't DO anything. So he preferred to frolic in the grass and chase his daddy and find the mud puddle and otherwise cavort and have fun.
I think Graham's mom enjoyed not having a massive wedding to prepare for, so she could relax while we were at the ranch a bit more this time. It's still pretty cold in Wisconsin, where she lives, so she enjoyed being able to sit in the breeze outside without needing more than light clothes. It was beautiful, with green grass and wildflowers everywhere, and the temperatures didn't get too high. I think I might have gotten a little sun.
But of course, the focus was on the puppies. Celosa is a very good big sister, though she does get annoyed every now and then. Instead of hiding in the closet, she chooses to tell her baby brother NO! and then hop somewhere that he can't reach yet. He's pretty good about getting the picture. And so far he hasn't destroyed anything or focused on anything too inappropriate. And housebreaking seems to be going well. He's getting into the habit of peeing every time he goes outside, and I really think that he tries to tell us when he has to poop, even if we're not good about picking up his signals. The thing we need to work on the most is leash training. He HATES the leash.
A few months later, we were on our way to Irma's house for one of her periodic "puli parties," when we got into the accident.
We saw Irma later on in July at the big dog show, but she was busy showing Eve (Celosa's litter mate, also known as "Piroskai Original Sin"). We did get to meet Snitch (who was in the Q litter and has the best pedigree name "Piroskai Quidditch"), who was just an adorable 9 month old puppy at the time. No word of a litter.
And so we waited. We exchanged birthday greetings with Eve in December 2011, and I checked in on the possibility of a litter in January. Nothing on the immediate horizon, but there were plans to breed the next time everyone went into season. Then we went about planning out the wedding. Given that we had all the wedding plus kitchen renovation things to do, we thought that a puppy later in the year would be best at any rate.
In July 2012, we were asked to do the Debra Duncan Show as part of the promotion for the dog show in general. And when I say we, I think everyone understands that I mean Celosa. I was just there to hold the leash. Celosa did GREAT on TV.
"We" also volunteered for the "Meet the Breed" part of the dog show, where each breed has an hour to interact with the general public. Pulik are notoriously not particularly interested in "the public," and of course, the public is very interested in pulik. But, Celosa is an unusually friendly puli and rather likes meeting strangers. She was welcomed with open arms, and she was GREAT with the questions and pulling and pictures and everything. While we were there, we found out that Eve had a false pregnancy about a month earlier.
In October, we went to a puli party and had a grand time! (Celosa is in the middle of the photo below.) I talked at length to Kudos (Kudos to Chance) and Lexi (Kloak N Dagger) and Kai (Kowabunga), who are all Crianza's littermates. Kai and Lexi look so much like Crianza that it almost hurts to be around them. Celosa thought we should go to more parties with pulik, and she even tried out some of the agility equipment in Irma's yard. We also found out that Irma was planning a breeding soon. Another couple had recently lost their beloved puli, and they were hoping for a puppy as well. They were very much wanting a boy, while we would prefer a girl, given how great Celosa and Crianza had been.
Shortly afterwards, I joined the "Happy Global Puli Tales" group on Facebook, which is very international in its reach. I discovered there that while homeless pulik are pretty rare in the US (though there is a puli rescue here), they aren't uncommon at all in Eastern Europe, especially Hungary. I LOVE the group. It's one of the first dog groups that I've ever been around where everyone understands each other so well. Our issues are pretty unique. Over time, I'd fall in love with pulik that were looking for homes, but usually in places it was cost prohibitive for me to get them.
Finally, in late December, four years to the day that I found out about Celosa, I exchanged birthday greetings with Eve. In her return greeting, I found out the amazing news that puppies were expected in about three and a half weeks! Of course, there were no guarantees, and who knows what the litters would be like? But chances were very good we'd be getting a puppy soon. The waiting sucked. Celosa was an oops puppy (she was planned, but everyone thought that the pregnancy didn't take), so there was no waiting for her to be born and THEN to get old enough to come home. Here, we had to wait FOREVER for the puppies to be born. Ok, it was a little under a month. Fusilli was born on January 22 to Mojo (Mojoman Put a Spell on U) and Lola (Lollapalooza) with three brothers.
All boys? At first, we weren't quite sure. We thought we wanted a girl. Of course, my beloved Relampago was my soul mate, and he was wonderful to me. But both he and Zapata had aggression issues that we weren't quite sure about. And both Crianza and Celosa was just amazing. We realized, though, that socializatoin had a lot to do with it, and our puppy would be amazingly social no matter what the sex was. We decided to take one of the boys.
In the meantime, I and most of the Happy Global Puli Tales group fell in love with Adam, a puli that had been either hit by a car or impaled and found on January 5. He was found on the side of the road somewhere in Hungary, and he was rescued by an amazing vet student who works for FAPF (Foundation of Animal Protection in Füzesabony). The photos of him were gruesome, but he had an amazing spirit, and Caroline did an amazing job bringing him not just back to health, but to LIFE. People in the States and Australia were trying to figure out how to get him to their respective countries. We all watched as he recovered from a pretty bad gash in his front shoulder, and he became more and more active in the videos that Caroline would post. Two weeks ago, he went to his forever home in Finland, and fortunately for his international fan base, his new owner posts videos of him frolicking in the snow.
Additionally, some puppy mill in Missouri got out of the puli business and sold her entire stock at auction on February 16. (Seriously, Missouri can go fuck itself when it comes to puppy mills.) There were a lot of puppies in the auction, and there was considerable debate on the boards about whether it was a good idea to rescue the puppies (and therefore give money to the mill) or not. Ultimately, two rescue groups in the midwest got them, and they're still being homed.
Meanwhile, we would get weekly reports on Fusilli and his brothers. We looked at the pictures and wondered which one would be ours? Irma always ties the Hungarian flag colors (red, white, and green) first, and then there was a blue. All four were roughly the same size, and from the pictures we couldn't tell much. Celosa was the smallest of her litter, and she had a light blue Crianza's was white. What were we looking for?
Irma invited us to visit at just under four weeks old (February 16). We knew that the other couple was also coming, and because they were most clear about the boy thing, they were getting the first pick. They were also going to be having a (human) baby soon, so we suspected that their criteria was a little different from ours. Still, we knew better than to fall head over heels with one that day.
I'd never seen a puli that young before. They'd just that week started moving around and making their opinions about life known. Graham and I gravitated towards the blue and the green. Green had looked at us first when we walked in, and blue was just a sweetheart. Irma told us that Green was the most active, and he did seem to squirm a lot. Blue climbed up on my neck. Green fell asleep on Graham's chest. White was the most laid back of all of them. And Red was something of a combination of Blue and Green, sweet but also active. Red also had a little tiny white spot on his chest, which reminded me of Chispa. I sort of avoided falling in love with Red because he sort of looked like the type that someone else would pick. He was the first born, and he was pretty distinctive.
Lexi, the puppies' grandmother, was there with Lola, their mama. She looks so much like Crianza it's almost frightening. I realize that most people can't tell pulik apart, much less see how a puli would look or not look like another puli, but the K litter was quite remarkable. Lexi could sense that Graham was drawn to her, so she hopped on his lap, breaking his heart a little.
Irma told us to think about the two we liked the best, so we didn't get attached to a puppy that the other couple would pick out. Since we weren't sure which one we liked best at any rate, that was an easy charge. We came home debating the issue, but didn't really have much in the way of conclusion except that we were pretty sure that we'd be happy with any of them.. We'd see them again in two weeks.
Irma always has a party to socialize the puppies at 6 weeks old. This is how we met Celosa for the first time four years ago. Lots of people come (mostly the entire local puli community) and we get to play with puppies and have a good time.
And then this happened:
He spent five minutes crawling around my skirt and on my legs and getting his tummy rubbed and otherwise saying "pick me! pick me!!" Without talking about it much with each other, Graham and I started gravitating more and more towards him.
Finally, when it was time to go, we talked to Irma and said actually we really liked Red a lot, and if he were available, we'd love to have him. If not, we thought Green had the most personality. We drove to the ranch from the party, and we had no idea who was coming home with us.
Two days later, we got an e-mail from Irma letting us know that the other couple had picked White, so Fusilli would be Red. We were really happy how it worked out. I suppose we could have let facebook and LJ know about all of this then, but we'd been keeping quiet (except on Happy Global Puli Tales and in person) so long, we sort of liked the surprise.
In the meantime, Irma continued with socialization. A troop of Brownies came over a few times the next week to hold and play with the puppies, so they got used to children. And Celosa cat-sat Jacques and Noirette (another story for another time). Fusilli continued to grow.
The timing for Celosa we think is pretty good. Before Crianza died, she was quite outgoing at the dog park. She played with anyone who came near, and she lived pretty much without fear. The first few times without Crianza, though, she wasn't a very happy puppy. She stuck with us, and didn't talk to many of the other dogs. Over time, she got a little more adventuresome; she talks to pretty much every person at the dog park. But her play with lots of other pooches has never been quite like it was when she had a canine she trusted guarding her. She also has this weird chatter that sort of sounds like a howl/cry. Of course, she only uses it when she's out and about and in public and it seems to have gotten worse in the last few months. I think she just gets nervous (and she had the trauma of losing her sister and the accident happen pretty closely together). At the same time, she loves to play so much. She harasses both Chicken and Zapata into play every time she sees them, and lately, she's been trying to engage the cats in play.
On Tuesday, we went back to Irma's house to pick up Fusilli. He was an absolute wiggle worm. He'd been separated from his brothers to get his first bath and to wait for us to get there. He seemed terribly excited to see us, hopping up on his hind feet saying "pick me up! pick me up!" I could barely get pictures of him because he was moving so fast. He ran around a little outside to get rid of some excess energy, said goodbye to his brothers (two who will be in the area and I'm sure he'll see relatively regularly), and got ready to go to his new house. As he's in the "S" litter, his registered name is Piroskai Silly Pasta, and his call name is Fusilli. (Crianza was "K," so she was Piroskai Krianza, and Celosa was "O" Piroskai Osa es Celosa. Relampago was Prydain Stardust. We don't talk about it much.)
So far, it's been pretty good. I don't think she was really prepared for something like this, but who is? They've gotten relatively well, and Wednesday morning, Celosa discovered that Fusilli can play. That made her like him a lot more than she did earlier. It took Crianza four days to play with Celosa after bringing Celosa home, and I was expecting it to take about as long for Celosa and Fusilli, but they got down to business fast.
Celosa can be a little irritated that he's ALWAYS there, but she can also jump on the couch/bed/chairs to get away if she wants.
He's a joy and a love. He cuddles and wiggles and is always underfoot. He's pretty smart and likes to chew on things, so we get creative with ice and rubber toys and other chew-able things. He's terribly active, but he's also terribly cute.
Graham's mom came for a visit on Wednesday, and she's been an awesome help. Fusilli hasn't been alone for much time at all since coming home. My parents came over on Wednesday night, and we had fusilli for dinner in his honor. He and Zapata seemed to get along. This weekend, we're going to the ranch for the first time, and I'm sure he'll love that. I'll take lots of pictures and hopefully get a flickr set or two organized.
I had my third day in London half drafted, but I've other things to talk about so maybe I'll get it later. Perhaps I'll have some sort of Lenten vow (on top of my "work out every day" and "eat less crap" vague notions) to post more and London can be recapped then.
Today, though, I talk about school.
Back in 1997, I started the classwork for a Masters in Public Health. That spring, I took Epidemiology and Biostatistics. I was halfway through law school, and I was overjoyed to be studying something that didn't make me angry and depressed and just plain miserable. My school was a hippie school. Grading was qualitative rather than quantitative. Public health people are by definition do-gooders. And I got along with my classmates much, much better than I did with those at the law school. Granted, I was still taking two interesting courses over at the law school (as well as an internship with the Harris County Attorney's Office). But, I could just breathe better at the School of Public Health.
That summer, I took a healthcare policy course while still at the County Attorney's Office, but for pay! Pitiful pay, but pay nonetheless.
And the next fall was the semester that I look back with awe. I took 20 hours of classes: 17 at the law school (which included a research position with one of my professors) and 3 at the school of public health. Plus another 10 or so hours of work for the county. How the fuck I did that, I will never know. But I was highly motivated because I wanted to get the hell out of law school a semester early. And I did. I graduated from law school in December 1997.
The next semester was all public health. Four lovely classes: Administration and Public Health, and Social and Community Aspects of Behavioral Health and my awesome awesome awesome Overview of Environmental Health. And a really cool seminar on Dialog, Deliberation and Democracy. Oh, and the bar exam. I loved, loved, loved my classes, but by the end of the semester I was truly burned out. And I couldn't find a job. I had three more credits to finish up, plus a thesis, and then I was done. But I didn't have it in me. I'd been to four elite institutions of higher learning from the fall of 1991 to the spring of 1998. I'd written more papers than I can count. I'd studied and worked and labored and done everything I could to learn. But for some reason, I couldn't get this one paper out of me.
I went through a year and a half of pretty awful depression. I wrote a paper on healthcare compliance for credit somewhere in 1999, but I just couldn't get motivated to work on my thesis. I tried a few times, but I just couldn't find a topic that worked for me. Most of my efforts were spent looking for a job.
And so, when I was offered a job in December 1999 and moved to California, I always sort of thought, Ok, maybe I'll finish later on.
I moved back to Texas in 2002. And I tried again two or three times. I got pretty close in 2007, but then a paper came out that covered everything my thesis was going to cover. I got dejected.
Somewhere in that year, I got a letter saying that I was going to be dropped all together if I didn't register that semester and if I wanted to come back, I'd have to reapply. I decided to let it go.
Fast forward the early part of this decade. A few friends had recently gone back to school to finish up projects that had been started decades ago. My brother leaving for graduate school had parted by daring me to finish my masters before he finished his. At a Planned Parenthood event a year or so ago, I'd heard from a current MPH student that the thesis was now optional, and you could take a class instead. Finally, my friend James restarted a degree he'd started in the early 90s. Most of his current classmates weren't even born when he was last in the program. My husband decided that he would like to go back to school too.
In September, having seen all these signs, I made an inqury at the School of Public Health about readmission. I got an immediate e-mail back telling me that I had four days to reapply. Holy crap! I quickly got a hold of my old advisor, who retired last semester but is coming back to teach this semester. And he wrote a letter of support. I got all of the other documentation in right in the nick of time.
And the next thing I knew, I was back. The requirements had changed. Instead of 36 hours of class, I needed 45. But they now accepted more courses from the law school than they used to. I was four hours short, but I needed to take this culminating experience class and an ethics course anyways. I met with someone in student affairs who helped me fill out the paperwork that I needed to demonstrate that I'd taken everything I needed to.
I was in New Student Orientation on January 8. And I've been in class for the last five weeks.
Today, though, was when I truly felt back.
Public health is a really broad discipline. It can be anything from data analysis to community intervention to policy development to working in a lab. We generally choose an area of inquiry, while having a passing knowledge of the rest of the discipline. The capstone class is supposed to be a synthesis of all of the learning that we've spent our Master's study on. There are a number of projects that we work on in the class, but we also are tested on the five core subjects of public health: epidemiology, bio-statistics, environmental health, health promotion and behavioral sciences, and management and policy sciences. We have handouts that are basic reviews of the courses, but our professors encouraged us to "review our notes from those classes" to prepare for the tests.
Needless to say, it's been over 15 years since I've taken any of these classes. I honestly started to panic.
Fortunately, I'm anal, and I have all of my papers from my previous masters study on my computer (plus all of college, all of Oxford and all of law school). Bless my environmental health professor who made us turn in summaries of the lectures after each class. And apparently, I wrote nothing for Social and Community Aspects of Behavioral Health, because I have nothing.
So though I barely remember what a Chi-Square is or how the hell to do regression analysis (or hell, even a standard deviation), I began to sort through stuff last week. I decided that since I do the management and policy stuff every day, I'd ignore that and hope I wasn't missing out on some new theory. And I went through the environmental stuff pretty quickly, really remembering how much I loved that class. It was when I got to the behavioral stuff that things started to click. I remembered specific lectures, and I remembered getting excited about a variety of theories. Then, epi started coming back to me. Of course I remembered the well and John Snow (not a Game of Thrones reference), but I also started seeing stuff in the review material that I deal with peripherally every day: Clinical trials and research methodology. Various rates and cohorts and case studies and more. I looked at biostats, but I decided to punt on that aspect for now. I had enough other stuff to worry about.
So I studied for the first time in 13 years. Really studied. The last time I studied for anything was the California Bar in 2000.
Our first quiz was today. It was done on the learning management software (this is new to me) during the first 30 minutes of class. And the results were immediate. I was well above passing. We have to pass two of four of these tests to pass this course. I'm much more confident that I'm going to have my masters in May than I ever have been. I still have a ton of work to do, and I have to pass my ethics course as well. But, I'm feeling good about this.
And my over-education will be complete.
For now anyways.
For the last six years, I've been keeping track of my unread book pile in a post in Livejournal. I add books as I acquire them over the course of the year, and I cross them off as I read them. I have a Goodreads ccount that also keeps track of this sort of thing, but I kinda like the original.
At any rate, here's the list. It's very similar to last year's list, because I didn't read all that many books in 2012, and I tried not to buy toooo many books last year. It'll change over the course of the year, but I'm pretty good about noting when I get new books.
You will note that my mother is the source of many of my books. She almost always gives me her books when she is done with them.
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( Non-FictionCollapse )
We settled into a lovely pattern the next morning. Graham would get up before me, and he'd wander around our immediate surroundings in search of coffee. I'd steal the rest of his blankets and snuggle in for a few extra minutes of sleep. That first morning, he found a coffee shop around the corner called Anita's run by a man from Kosovo. It turns out that Kosovar people are still pretty psyched about Americans, and the owner of the shop chatted with Graham a bit about how grateful they all were to Bill Clinton. Graham actually was in the military back in the early 90s, and nearly went to Kosovo at one point, so he was conversant on the topic.
By the time he got back, I was ready to embark upon an adventure.
We dressed, and consulted our maps. I'd made a google map f our hotel's location, the location of the clubs, and places that we might want to see. This map proved invaluable throughout the trip, especially because we could zoom in on our immediate location and see what was around there.
The British Museum was a ten minute walk away, through a University. We sort of stumbled upon it, walking in through a back door, and we didn't realize we were actually in the museum until we got into the massive atrium that surrounds the reading room. We'd gone through a few exhibitions, but for whatever reason, we thought we were in a subsidiary building.
I stopped at a kiosk for a scone (with amazing butter!) and we consulted a few floor plans. My object was Egypt, since I've been reading the Amelia Peabody books for well over 20 years. Graham's interest was more Rome and Greece. We were pretty lucky, because outside of Rome, Greece and Egypt (and the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York), we were in probably the best place in the world to see artifacts from those countries.
Our timing was almost perfect, too. We were about 30 minutes ahead of most of the tour groups that descended upon the museum en masse and with little regard for the other museum goers.
After orienting ourselves, we turned into an exhibition hall and came face to face with the Rosetta Stone. I've been in the same space as important artifacts and pieces of art before, and I've always been suitably impressed, but this one is so important to human understanding that it was a little breathtaking to be standing right in front of it. Of course, it was surrounded by tourists at almost all times.
There were halls upon halls of rooms from Egypt, and the artifacts were extraordinary. Lots of sculpture, lots of parts of rooms. HUGE pieces of rock. I didn't realize when we first walked in that this was just part of the Egyptian collection. The mummies were in a different part of the museum.
And the Greek stuff was equally impressive, if a little funny to read about. There was a little plaque somewhere describing how there was "discussion" about the appropriateness of some of the artifacts being there. "Discussion" is a bit of a mild description of a debate hat has been going on for nearly two centuries now.
Still, it was hard to argue that the pieces were in disrepair or otherwise in bad shape because they were in a Museum in London rather than on the Acropolis in Athens.
The Roman collection wasn't as extensive as the Greek and Egyptian. We went upstairs to hunt that part of the exhibit. And while there were plenty of artifacts, a lot of them were clearly acquired over time rather than directly from the source by the Museum's own scholars / looters. My guess is that the Italians weren't as keen on exploration as the Greeks and Egyptians. Still, there was plenty off really awesome stuff for my Romaphile husband to gawk over, and we spent a happy time pouring through statues, arms, pottery and other assorted items from the Roman era. I was happy because the mosaic collection was quite extensive, taking up an entire stairwell in part of the building.
We wandered the rest of the museum with less purpose, just letting the exhibits come to us as they caught our fancy. We lingered a little bit in the European collection, and we spent way too little time in the Middle East, except when we found all the mummies in the secondary Egypt part (which I adored).
It was nearly lunchtime when we figured we'd absorbed as much as we could, and so we figured we'd eat in the museum cafe. I found a sandwich, and Graham some chicken. Lunch was passable, but we'd come to regret it in about an hour.
After lunch, we sought out the gift shops, but we didn't find anything that really caught our eye, so we ventured out into the pretty day.
Pulling out the map, we realized we weren't that far from Covent Garden. Of course London's streets are maddening in their ability to change name three times in the course of half a block. And in their inability to stay straight for any decent amount of time. And the lack of "blocks". 3000 year old cities and their lack of central planning.... But we were really happy that Graham sprung for a data plan on his phone, so he could always access the map and figure out where the hell we were. We did a pretty good job of navigating overground through tourists and locals at lunchtime.
And soon enough I had to resist reenacting scenes from My Fair Lady, because we were passing the Opera House and at Covent Garden. It was charming and touristy and all decorated for Christmas. Street performers were all over the place: an opera singer in the lower level, some guy with a boom box and some props making crowd members dance to Village People on the steps of St. Paul's Church. A string quartet at some point. And there were stalls and shops open all over the place.
Instead, we found a place to have a coffee and planned out our next move, enjoying the bustle around us.
London really feels like a city. There are people all over the place. The streets always seem full, and I don't think I saw more than a half dozen parking places in all of the places we went in London. A ton of the places we went were quite touristy, so there were people from all over the world around us. But even without the transient visitors, we thoroughly got the feeling that London was an international city. Certainly everyone spoke English, and a good hunk of the population looks Anglo Saxon. But a good hunk does not. But on the other hand, Graham, of Anglo Saxon ancestry, blended beautifully with the Brits. Apparently, the olive tones in my complexion was more pronounced in a place where there aren't as many olive skinned people. That's ok. I blend very well along the Mediterranean. Graham, I fear, would not.
We decided our next step would be Harrods, and this would require a tube ride, our first since leaving the airport. A helpful nearby map directed us to the tube, and in what turned into a humorous "will it never end?" commentary, we decided to take the stairs to the Underground instead of waiting for the lift. All 192 stairs. At least it was down.
Harrods. Yes, it's a department store. Yes it's ridiculous. But my god that food court! I went in search of the only thing my mother specifically requested: decaffein
And then the meats, the beautiful, beautiful meats. A humorous exchange between Graham and one of the butchers near some beef:
Butcher: May I help you, sir?
Graham: No thanks. Just drooling.
Butcher: Mind the glass.
In another section, a turkey was all trussed and prepared, presumably for homesick Americans. The red currants garnishing the turkey were a nice touch. I'm guessing that there aren't that many cranberries on the island. We'd more or less forgotten about Thanksgiving until seeing this, and the butcher asked us when it was.
We ventured to the toy section after leaving the food halls. I had read that they'd made the toy area gender neutral, and I wanted to see how that all panned out. It was great! Extravagant and full of stuff, like the rest of Harrods, but lovely to walk through. Some parts were still pink, because the packaging for those toys (*ahem* Mattel) was pink. But it certainly didn't feel like they were pushing girls in one direction and boys in another
Of course, Graham and I were drawn the most to the ridiculous Harry Potter section. It was like catnip. Authentic scarves, jumpers and cardigans from all the houses. Wands from every conceivable character. Maps and prints and random scraps from all the movies. Horcruxes, snitches, flasks, broomsticks, and marauders maps. It was ridiculous.
And of course we spent a ton of time there.
Later, we wandered through the electronics, and we saw some of the movie memorabilia on sale in other parts of Harrods. And after that, we sort of wandered aimlessly, eventually finding ourselves in the basement at the foot of the Egyptian staircase and the permanent memorial to Princess Diana and Dodi. It looked unchanged from the last time I saw it in 2005, though it's beginning to feel a little dated. I'd forgotten about it until we stumbled upon it again.
After Harrods, we headed back to the hotel for a nap. It was mid-afternoon, and we were still jet-lagged and tired from the night before. We'd walked a considerable amount that first day, well over 17,000 steps according to my pedometer. But we were sure to set an alarm so we didn't sleep too much.
It was dinner time when we woke up, so after getting re-dressed, we embarked upon a quest for food, deciding to head back towards Camden and where the club was the night before. We walked up and down the Camden High street looking at various restaurants and pubs, and we ultimately settled upon the Lyttleton Arms, which turned out to be absolutely perfect. It was a warm and cozy, with plenty of seating and fantastic service. I got cider and Graham a glass of wine, and we settled in for a lovely meal.
They were doing a lovely fixed price menu, so I ordered off of that, starting with Chicken and Chorizo skewers with red pepper dressing that were to die for. It took all of Graham's self-control to not devour them. For my main, I ordered free range Glouchester Old Spot sausages on this amazing kale mash with red wine gravy. I'd heard about the Glouchester Old Spot from some pork people here in Texas, and they were mighty tasty. The kale mash, though, was to die for. I immediately started searching for recipes online as soon as I got back to the hotel, so as to ensure that I could make something like that later. Graham had the Shropshire Roast Chicken with herb butter, red wine reduction, and fries. To die for.
I splurged for dessert and ordered an apple and rhubarb crumble with custard, and I do not regret a solitary bite. We really had a lovely experience there. Our waitress was attentive and nice, and she wrote "Happy Thanksgiving" on our bill. We stumbled back to the hotel sated and happy, though a little wet as it rained a bit on our way.
Of course it did, this was London.
And so, I document again.
London was absolutely fabulous and more than we could have ever hoped for.
It was touch and go for a little while on whether we'd go, or whether we'd both go. I was pretty insistent that Graham make the trip no matter what, because it really was an amazing opportunity for him. But, my own status was a little iffy. Due to a contract being about half of what was expected, we had funds for one of us to go comfortably, but two of us was a stretch. At the last second, my parents kindly gave us frequent flyer miles for one ticket, and we were off!
We left on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. My mom was flying to San Francisco that same day to see my sister, and we ended up hanging out in the airport with her for a few hours because her plane ended up being delayed.
Due to separate tickets, Graham and I weren't seated together, but no one else ended up sitting in my row, so Graham moved in, and we sprawled. It wasn't a particularly eventful flight. I slept a few hours, but not enough to really qualify as a real good night's sleep. But soon enough we were landing at Heathrow, and Graham and I got to go through customs together for the first time. I beamed "we're on our honeymoon" when the customs guy asked the purpose of our trip. It was cute.
The tube ride into town took awhile, but it wasn't bad. The last stop on our line was "Cockfosters," and every time the lady announced it, Graham giggled. And then I admonished him. The American couple sitting across from us did the same thing.
Our hotel turned out to be very close to the Euston Square tube stop. Graham had downloaded a tube map to his phone, and it helpfully navigated us through King's Cross (sorry, we never made it to platform 9 3/4), onto another line, and to our hotel. I'd found the hotel on Priceline by searching around the neighborhood that Graham's performance would be in. This place turned out to be perfect. It took us about four minutes to find it from the tube stop, and we were checked in to our tiny studio by noon. It was a double bed, chest of drawers, some shelves, and a wardrobe. But the wardrobe also had a microwave, mini fridge and sink. There was a small table and a folding chair, and all of this fit into a room smaller than my office. The bathroom was equally compact yet functional. Perfect definition of "efficiency."
Graham and I unpacked, and we set forth to explore the neighborhood.
I don't think that we were any particularly defined neighborhood. Euston was nearby, as was St. Pancras (which I always want to pronounce as the organ) and Kings Cross. It seemed that Camden started on the other side of the railroad tracks. And though we sort of knew that it was very close, we never felt that we were IN the Regent's Park part of town. It was really nicely located, since there were two tube stops within minutes of the hotel, and they were on different lines, so we could head out in multiple directions. And later, we ended up walking several places directly from the hotel without having to use any transport.
After orienting ourselves, we set off in search of food. The airplane swill was worse than usual, and we were hungry. After looking at several Indian menus and a few small sandwich shops (and hearing Graham's laughter as I declared that I REFUSE to eat Mexican food on this particular island), we stumbled upon a pub that looked promising. I ordered the fish and chips, which were good, but I probably should have ordered the pork and cider pie, since this pub was touting it's pie making ability. Still, a pint of cider with some decent food in a pub was certainly appropriate for our situation.
At this point we started feeling the travel, and we knew we had a long night ahead of us that would eventually end around 4:00 a.m. So contrary to ordinary accepted jet-lag fighting methods, we decided to mid-day nap for a few hours before Graham had to get to the show.
I woke up and finally made my outfit decision. I'd brought at least three things that would work, but I still was a little disappointed that the dress I'd ordered (ironically, from the UK) hadn't gotten to me in time for the show. I ended up wearing a pink cashmere sparkly cami with a black lace mullet skirt along with a black cashmere wrap and a feather headdress I'd bought at the Renaissance fair the week before. Graham, of course, looked hot in the pants from our wedding, a black checked shirt, and a cap.
We needed to get there a little early so Graham could work out the logistics of how the show would work. It turns out our hotel was PERFECTLY placed. We just had to walk up the road about ten minutes (running into an honest-to-goodness urban fox on the way), turn right, and suddenly, the Koko theater was there, lit up and ready for the show. Scalpers saw us and immediately started making pitches to buy/sell tickets. The club where the after-party that Graham was djing was right across the street from the theater, and as soon as we walked in, they knew who we were. The manager of the club gave Graham access to a back room, so he could store his laptop and dj gear during the show. And Ed, the guy who'd organized the after-show, introduced himself.
Afterwards, we went to a coffee shop for a chai latte and orange chocolate tart (me) and regular latte (Graham). Of course, Graham couldn't sit still, so he went back over to double check on something.
When it looked like they were letting people into the theater, we walked over. We were directed to a person with "the list" and of course, she couldn't find us. So she called someone and then looked at us and said, "I'm supposed to say 'howdy'."
The theater was gorgeous. It opened in 1900, and it was still gilded with gold and red. The seats were mostly gone, but there were bars on various balconies. And there were tons of different levels and nooks and crannies.
We got some drinks at the bar, and then we ventured outside with the smokers. Graham immediately made friends, and I don't think I've ever seen him so comfortable, even among people he's known and loved for years. He chatted with people of all stripes, and everyone was amazed at how we'd flown across the pond for this show. Of course, here, as opposed to the US, everyone knew Caravan Palace and electroswing, so he was in a crowd that was friendly to his cause. But still, it was amazing to watch my husband work the non-inconsiderable crowd.
We ran into Nick Hollywood, who was responsible for our being there. Nick is a dj and record producer, part of Freshly Squeezed records. He and Graham struck up an internet friendship over electroswing awhile back, and he had a lot to do with this particular concert. When he announced on facebook that Caravan Palace would be playing in London for the first time, Graham joked on facebook that he'd love to open for them. Nick answered, "play the after-party!" and the next thing we knew, Graham was on the bill. It was a treat to meet Nick and to thank him. Our being in the building was a pretty awesome thing, as the show had sold out months ago, and we just waltzed on in.
We settled in for the show on the top level of the theater, where we could still see the stage, but we weren't in the mass of people. There were plenty of people who'd taken our strategy, though, so we certainly weren't alone.
The first group on was an Italian trio called Swingrowers. Guitar, singer and dj. Their singer seemed overwhelmed that she was part of this bill, but she was really awesome. Lots of energy, lots of fun. I knew a few of theirs songs, and I really liked the others. After a few years of being the only electroswing household in a city, it was pretty awesome to be not only with other enthusiasts, but SEVERAL of the musicians and producers that put it together.
Between acts, Graham went to get some swag from the show, a tee shirt and a poster. He came back a little baffled. The guy selling the merchandise not only had heard of Graham, he'd heard some of his music on soundcloud. That sort of put this whole "you're performing for people who love this stuff" thing into perspective. Other guys he'd met while moving through the theater were promising to go to the after-party.
And then Caravan Palace.
This group is responsible for the electroswing thing in my house and, by extension, for the success of my husband as a professional dj. I don't remember how Graham found them, but one day, I came home and he said "listen to this." I listened. I thought it was amazing. I spent days watching their youtube videos and I stole music from Graham's itunes. Graham hunted high and low and found everything he could on the internet. And then he started looking for more music with a similar sound. And then he djed at Flipside 2011, and then started getting gigs in Houston and Austin, and shortly afterwards got a residency at Prohibition. History, rest, etc., etc.
While a lot of electroswing is remixed in a studio by a producer, most of Caravan Palace is live performance, with amazing musicians and an unbelievably talented singer. I was just transfixed by the show. I couldn't believe how they could play and play and sing with such energy. I was dancing my ass off way up in the rafters, and the crowd below was going insane. It was an amazing performance that I'll remember well as the rest of this unbelievable night. Here are two You Tube videos that people took that night (one, two), but of course, they don't compare to actually being there.
When the concert ended, we went back over to the Purple Turtle, the club. Originally, Graham was going to be the first dj of three booked for the after-party. But Swingrowers decided that they wanted to go first (probably so they didn't have to stay on until 2:30 a.m. given they had a show the following night too). So Graham got moved to be the "headliner" at the top of the bill.
Again, my husband worked the room. He found some of the other djs and electroswing folk, including one that went out of his way to invite us to a party on Saturday night because he enjoyed Graham's djing so much. Graham knew him from the internet and had recently put the dj's music on one of his recent soundcloud mixes. A lot of djs and producers in Europe like what Graham does, and automatically send their music to Graham when it comes out. He's established relationships in half a dozen countries, and if we'd had more time, I think we could have put together a show in Paris and probably somewhere in Germany.
He chatted a little more with Nick and the manager of Caravan Palace, who asked for Graham's contact information. Everyone was so blown away by the idea that we'd fly across the ocean for this night. We explained that it was also our honeymoon, which got some oohs and congratulations. But still, Graham's commitment to the genre got all sorts of points. The music, of course, was awesome, and the crowd got to about 150, 200 people about an hour into the show, including all of the Caravan Palace band members. I was pretty happy that we got to thank them for the show personally.
After Captain Flapcap, Graham went on. It was 1:30 in the morning, and the concert had been over about two and a half hours. The hard core were still there, but it was a school night, and Thanksgiving wasn't the next day for these people.
Graham set up a Texas flag in front of his rig. And he was off. His set was fast paced and designed to get as many people dancing as much as possible. It was a challenge, because this was a knowledgeable crowd. He wanted to please, but he didn't want to play the same stuff that a) the other djs had played, and b) stuff that everyone had heard over and over again. Of course, the good stuff tends also to be the popular stuff, and obscure doesn't necessarily mean outstanding. But Graham managed to find that center, and there was a hard core group that didn't leave the dance floor for the full hour.
I made some friends, too. The word had gotten out that we were on our honeymoon, and some girls thought it was terribly romantic. They hugged and kissed me and they danced with or near me for most of the night. This meant, of course, that the guys that were interested in these girls (and some in me!) were also nearby. It was terribly fun. Two Frenchmen coordinated an attack, not realizing I was married to the dj. Graham said it was sort of funny to watch people hitting on me from on stage.
He said later that he was nervous for about a half-second, but as soon as he started djing, it all went away. A year and a half of djing two nights a week, sometimes more, almost every weekend, helped. Plus, he was just loving every moment of it. By the end of the evening, everyone was covered in sweat, but I think everyone loved it. Graham gave his Texas flag to Ed, the guy who'd put the show together. Ed was floored, and Graham pointed out that he lives in Texas, and it's fairly easy to get another one for us. The owner of the club noted that Graham was probably the first American to ever play there.
Since it was so late, we left the club shortly after Graham's set was over. The walk back to the hotel didn't seem to take much time at all, and we were both still just amazed at this amazing night we'd just had.
I don't think it would have been possible to be more perfect. Everyone was so welcoming and nice to us. The music was great. Graham was amazing. I got to dance to my husband's European debut, and we still had another three days.
This will be my tenth year going to my friend Candyman's Halloween party. It's a pretty legendary party, and people clamor for invitations. I was at his house last night, helping to set up. I'll go over again tomorrow to throw on some of the finishing touches. My Halloween costume this year is nearly done. It's going to be a lot colder than I thought, so I'll probably need to get something to throw on my shoulders. And I have a DIY project that I need to borrow my dad's anvil for, but otherwise, I think it's pretty good.
But anyhow, these are the last ten years, plus some bonus years:
- 2011 The year of the peacock. I was working on all my wedding stuff then, and had a ton of peacock related items around the house. I ended up getting a peacock feather tattooed to my back right before the wedding. I used a slip I already had, a corset that I already had, and I bought the fans and the mask and a scarf. I really liked this costume quite a bit. And I used everything I bought in my wedding later on. I skipped my 20th high school reunion for this party. I went the night before to a football game with alumni instead.
- 2010 The throw everything costume-y on and see what happens year. I was working off of a Venetian mask and cape idea. I also was fond of the blue crinoline and the white corset. A lot of my friends thought I was going as my friend Buttery, as she tends to wear the corset / tutu combination quite a lot. She's also, er, busty and tends to show a lot of cleavage. Since she wasn't there that year, it was sort of perfect.
- 2009 Spice Girl. Specifically, Cinnamon Spice. I went to the spice markets next to Caninos on Airline market and bought a TON of cinnamon sticks. I hot glued them to a shift I found at Target. And I made a pattern on the bodice out of star of anise and cloves. I smelled WONDERFUL. I threw on a wig and a red scarf that I already had. I wish there were a better picture of the dress. It sort of resembled a flapper dress.
- 2008 Marvin the Martian. I spray painted a plastic roman gladiator helmet green. I borrowed Buttery's green tutu, and I wore a red shirt and red tights from Urban Outfitters. I also had a black mask with big white eyes I made out of pantyhose, but that came off pretty quickly due to inability to drink and / or breathe.
- 2007 Free Radicals. This was the year that Burning Man was the theme, but I didn't technically know that. We'd just come back from my first year on the playa. Buttery, Smash, Leslie and I made playa type costumes. We all did the same thing,but they were different in execution. We took strips of fabric and turned them into skirts. We wore corset tops, and we wore top hats. I made a boa out of pink fake fur, and I wore extravagant false eyelashes. The picture below is with Buttery; the four of us never managed to get together for a shot. It was one of my favorite parties.
- 2006. Go Go dancer. I found a really cute mini dress at a thrift store. So I paired that with a beehive wig and bright green go-go boots and hit the town. That day also happened to be my 15th high school reunion, so I went to that wearing the costume. Some of my classmates' wives thought that's what I normally looked like.
- 2005 Mozart groupie. I'd found this AWESOME tee-shirt from Glark.com. So I paired it with pleather jeans, white makeup and a powdered wig. I LOVED this costume. It was probably my least favorite of the parties, due to some drama, but it was a great costume.
- 2004 (no picture) I had a dinner engagement at a fancy restaurant before the party. So I wore nice clothes and I put a latex stake over my heart and bite marks on my neck. I also had a dribble of blood going down my chin. At the restaurant, people kept coming over to my table to ask how I did it. Apparently the concept of latex and spirit gum had not seeped through the masses yet. This was the first party at Candyman's house, and it was really hot. My brother went as Kenny from South Park, and he almost never breaks character. It nearly killed him.
- 2003 Montecore the white tiger. My brother went as Roy, who had been mauled by Montecore a few weeks before Halloween. I went as the tiger who mauled him. I found a latex cat face and played with makeup. I also made a white striped tank top and striped a blonde wig. It's pretty amateur, but it was a lot of fun. (Don't ask about the picture, I have no idea.) This was the first year I started going to Candyman's parties. That year, his house wasn't finished yet, so we had a roving party bus instead.
From 1998 to 2001ish (I think there may have been one in 2002, but I don't remember seeing many photos), there was a party in Las Vegas called Viva Las Buffy. I went to three of them. They were fun.
- 2002 Recycled Devil Went Down to Georgia. Still one of my all time favorite costumes. I gave the hat to gttygrl. I have no idea what happened to the jeans, though I originally got them at Hot Topic. The picture below is from 2000 in Las Vegas when I originally wore the costume. I don't remember what party I went to in 2002, but I remember re-wearing the costume. I was living in Houston, but I hadn't gone to one of Candyman's parties yet. My livejournal is not helpful. Apparently I met a guy from my lawyer board who was in town on a deposition from, and I later went to a party and was hungover the next day.
- 2001 Alice in Chains. Last Buffy PBFP that I went to. *sniff* I bought a blue mini dress, apron and blonde long wig. I also went to Good Vibrations and bought as much chain related bondage gear as I could afford. The Pièce de résistance were the nipple clamps attached to my nipples. I had another party to go to that night, so I walked by myself down Las Vegas Boulevard, forgetting that there was a fetish convention in town. (sorry for crappy quality, I took a picture of the photo. We're entering pre-digital camera stages....) I skipped my ten year high school reunion for this party. The Warp Core Breech and evading the security guard in the Holiday Inn was INFINITELY better.
- 2000 The first year of the Devil Went Down to Georgia. In Las Vegas. This was the awesome year when I slept with KitCat before meeting her and there was the *nsync thing. This was also the year that I was in Vegas for 36 hours and got sleep in none of them. I'm pretty sure that this was my favorite costume.
- 1999 No idea, probably because I couldn't make it to Vegas that year.
- 1998 Angel of death. First Viva Las Buffy party. I was dating jasheffe at the time, and we had a really lovely trip.
- 1997 Scary pirate. I was still in Law School, and my cousin Nicole showed up at one of our parties with a guy who would turn out to be a great colleague of mine.
- 1996 Emma Peel. It was an awful, awful costume. I wore a lot of black.
I have no memory of Halloween when I was at Oxford, so I'm betting that we didn't do anything when I lived there. Surprisingly for the amount of alcohol that was consumed when I lived there, I remember most of the various events at Oxford.
I was Indiana Jones and an Indian in college at various points, and some years I didn't bother with a costume.
But by and large, we are done now.
When we left off, we were still waiting for the stove. IKEA, it turns out, doesn't order things. You can get items when they're in stock, but if they're not in stock, you just have to wait for them to come back into stock. IKEA in Houston, it also turns out, is independently owned. Which means that the eleven stoves in Dallas couldn't be transferred to the store in Houston. So we had no idea when the stove was going to come in. We were told that it'd probably be about six weeks, but keep calling just in case. Of course, since the kitchen special was going on, everyone else in Houston that remodeled their kitchen with the idea of putting this stove in was also waiting. This led to a series of phone calls by both me and Graham every other day to IKEA. We'd ask if the stove was coming in. They'd say no, check on Friday. We'd hang up, dejected. We'd then call on Friday, and be led on until Wednesday. This went on for about a month.
There were rumors of a shipment of five coming in on Sunday the 12th, which led Graham to get up at 10:30 in the morning (after working until three) to call and be denied. On Wednesday the 15th, I heard about a possible single on a Friday the 17th shipment. I remembered about that rumor when I was at a work lunch with my colleagues on Friday. So I slipped away to the bathroom to call Graham to ask him to call IKEA. As we were driving back to the office, Graham called to tell me that there was one at the store! I gasped. Graham asked them to hold it for us. They said they weren't supposed to. Graham begged. They'd only hold it for us for an hour. Graham agreed. My boss asked if I needed to be dropped off straight at home, but since my car was at the office, we raced back.
It was the fastest trip to IKEA ever. We ran through the store, knowing the maze by heart by this point. And gasping, we were met some by amused IKEA staff who held our stove for us. VICTORY!!! It was delivered the next day, and Graham and I put it together and into place.
That weekend, we worked a little more on the backsplash tiling, but discovered we need a real tile saw for the job. But we finished the baseboards and the floor transition trim and the toe kicks.
There were some delays in getting the range installed, because our electrician had gone MIA and there were some problems with the 220 plug. Our super plumbers, though, were able to get the gas hooked up by Wednesday, and their dispatcher, who we've gotten to know very well, recommended another electrician. He came out and had everything up and running also on Wednesday.
In the meantime, our amazing, wonderful, can't believe how awesome it is counter top for the island arrived on Tuesday. It's such a pretty blue shade, and it goes so perfectly with the rest of the kitchen. The installers said it was the easiest job this month, as it's a single slab with no cuts or seams.
We hosted Geek night on Monday making fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. It was AWESOME to have a bunch of people over watching us cook. We could both work without getting in the way of each other. And we could interact with our friends who were on the other side of the island.
Celosa and Noir are pretty happy with the situation. Celosa HATED the kitchen at first. She left the house to stay with my parents on June 27 when it was the way she remembered, and she came back on July 29 with a totally different set up. She had trouble remembering that she couldn't go outside through the bedroom anymore, and she just didn't like that her house had been screwed up. But she got over it pretty quickly, and now I think she likes that she has a lot more room to run in the kitchen/living/dining room.
Noir has been watching the renovation since it started. He would come in and say hi to the workmen and ask for food in the middle of the construction zone. Now, he comes by for breakfast and sometimes he likes to just chill out on the kitchen floor. I think he likes the tile. Celosa likes Noir.
Fortunately, around the time we started talking about "hey, maybe it's time to get off the pill", this post was published at Obsidian Wings. And, a few months later, we started "trying". Which generally involves a lot of peeing on sticks and taking my temperature in the morning and then timing (more) sex on days when charts and graphs and hormone levels and the stars are aligned.
There's this rough window of about six days when I may be fertile. Five days before ovulation, and maybe the day of. Based on the calendar estimation of things, it should start about eight days after the first day of my last period. But because I'm weird, my basal body temperature doesn't start dipping until thirteen days afterwards.
But this is the salient part for us:
That is, you get pregnant by having sex the day *before* you ovulate, not the day you do. Summarizing a bunch of technical talk: sperm are fairly tough, they can keep swimming in a congenial environment (like, say, a woman's Fallopian tubes) for maybe 4-5 days. The egg, though, has to delicately balance a huge number of processes at once. She can't move very far or fast, and she doesn't stay ready for action for more than half a day at the outside, often only for 6 hours or less.
So basically, in order to get to a pregnancy the sperm have to be all in place, milling around in the Fallopian tubes in their microscopic Speedos, elbowing and trash-talking each other (the technical term is sperm competition), while the egg is putting the final touches on her makeup and balancing that damn bird on her head. (ed note: There's a picture here in the original post)
When she finally heads out the door to the party (ovulation), the guys need to be there already. Then they can meet up and seal the deal within a few hours: conception. The zygote (aka "fertilized egg") then moseys down the Fallopian tube and into the uterus, dividing all the way, and then finally lands on the uterine wall (implantation), which is when pregnancy begins and the woman's body starts changing.
So we have lots of sex and hope for the best. But there's that period between sex and ovulation where everything is just iffy. Fertilization doesn't generally happen until a day or so after sex, sometimes more. And then implantation doesn't happen for a few days after that. Even then, only 20 percent of the time does this process work all the way through.
Now-ish, I'm in that weird no-man's (heh) land between ovulation and (possible) implantation, and for roughly two weeks every month, I have no idea if I'm pregnant or not, and there's no way to tell until next week if I skip an expected period and a pregnancy test comes back positive.
BUT, according to the way we calculate pregnancy, if I am pregnant, I am already over three weeks pregnant, even though I didn't ovulate until (probably) six days ago. And the relevant sex could have been as far out as 11 days ago.
So if I am pregnant, I won't know which of several attempts caused the pregnancy, and I have absolutely no idea when "conception"--or, the term I prefer, fertliization--occured. Fertilization doesnt happen until usually at LEAST the day after sex. Pregnancy, as defined as "pregnancy tests come back positive and the human body has started adapting itself to have this foreign body in it for about 37 weeks", doesn't happen until implantation.
So going back to the Dr. Science posted above, the sequence of events is:
So the sequence is:
- a day or more passes
- a few hours pass
- about a week passes
- implantation begins
- a week passes
- pregnancy test comes back positive
And of course, this is all plus or minus depending on a whole laundry list of circumstances. I didn't know the details of this before last March, mainly because until then, I pretty much wanted to stop the whole thing at step one in the list above. And I like to think of myself as fairly sophisticated on human reproduction with more of a bent of looking at the whole thing as a process than some magical moment.
So I'm not terribly surprised, given my own ignorance of the process, that there are a TON of people out there that have no idea how the whole process works aside from the basic "sex-->fertilization-->pregnancy" thing. And that's the people without some sort of ideological agenda that they want to insert into this process.
Now that the kitchen renovation has died down (countertop on the island will be installed on Tuesday, who knows when IKEA will have our stove in, some minor trim work to be done), I have time for other projects, and I think I really want to get a little more serious about writing.
I have a dozen half written stories and other projects sitting on various computers and clouds and blogs, and I'm hopeful that some structure to my week will help me focus on them a little more. I know that in order to write, I have to, well, write. But I also know that I'm a little terrified of the prospect. Having a structure will help.
The workshop starts in about a month, and it will last ten weeks.
I knew awhile ago that we weren't going to make it this year, even though I really hoped that we'd figure out a way to pull it off with everything else we were doing. The wedding, Graham's surgery and the kitchen renovation were all so bunched together that we never really had an opportunity to raise our heads and breathe. We wouldn't have been able to start Burning Man prep until this week, which is certainly doable, but not ideal.
In addition, from about April forward Graham sort of wanted to go to Europe for a proper honeymoon instead of Burning Man. He's done five burns, and the idea of the time and effort to haul everything out to the desert was really stressing him out. I liked the idea of Europe, but I also didn't mind the hauling stuff out to the desert as much as he did.
In early June, Graham got word of an opportunity to dj in Europe in late November. It's not finalized yet, and it's certainly not the type of gig that would be fully funded, but it's a pretty amazing once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing that we would actually regret not doing. We'll probably go to Paris for a few days and then hop over to London for the event. And we will have an awesome time. I am not upset in the slightest that we're choosing to do this over Burning Man.
But that doesn't mean that I'm not sad about not going to the playa. Our friends have started Burning Man prep in earnest, and every other post on facebook and on various lists seems to be about it. A lot of our friends are going, and their plans seem really fun and interesting. We were going to have another marriage celebration out there, because we didn't invite anyone from California Gigsville to the wedding thinking that we'd do something out there instead. I was really excited about the idea of it, especially since that is where Graham and I met. That the theme this year is "fertility 2.0" while we're trying to get pregnant doesn't help my state of mind about this either.
It's been four burns now since I've been. And if we start having kids in the next year, it will be a long time before I can go again. Sure, you can take kids to the playa or leave kids home with grandparents while you go. But not next year, when I'm hopefully breastfeeding someone under six months old. Or probably the year after that. And if Graham thinks it's a pain in the ass now, it's certainly not going to get any easier with having kids.
I know that once the Burn is over, and when we start getting ready for our honeymoon in Europe, this feeling of sadness will subside. We're going to California to visit some friends for their housewarming in September. But right now, it sucks that you can't do everything that you want to do.