Category Archives: adventure

On Resuming, Blissfully

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I rarely lose my voice, so the silence that fell over me this week was uncharacteristic and unsettling. I have fully recovered and am back to being my bright, very busy, and occasionally grumpy self. Of course this means I’m exhausted.

On Tuesday night, I met a friend for tea at the coffee shop where I spent most of my high school and early college years. A cup of steaming Earl Grey with a touch of honey and a moonlit walk to the park near the coffee house led to hours of discussion and ended with me spinning on the playground apparatus that they don’t install at playgrounds anymore because of safety concerns.I spun around, growing dizzier and dizzier while I stared up at the trees.

I always used to mark the coming of summer by how the leaves grew. In the middle of winter, you could see straight up to the sky if you were laying on the spinning thing, and as the spring stretched into summer, the leaves grow until they form a thick foliage canopy until you can just make out the glint of the moon through the leaves. It’s so predictably cyclical – the growth, the death, the empty, the emergence, the growth…and so on. It’s the best. Apparently, adulthood has made me less prone to enjoying the dizzying stomach sensation, though, because I had to steady myself after I wobbled off the spinning thing, and I felt a wave of nausea rush through me. But I smashed the feeling with the glorious nostalgia, and we walked back in the middle of the quiet, dark street.

Last night, I played arcade games at the 1Up, a bar downtown. I didn’t grow up with video games, so I’m not sure how to play them, or even comfortable playing them, particularly in public. My friend Ely came down from Boulder because he’d never been to 1Up and because we’ve been meaning to hang out for like three months. (We do this regularly – we’ll be like, hang out soon? and we’ll keep pushing back plans until we finally manage to meet up. The system works, though, and I imagine I’ll see him again some time next quarter.)

I was hesitant to play video games. Normally I just watch. (I think it’s cheaper and less embarrassing.) But Ely wanted to play games with me, so we played Rampage (maybe it’s called that, maybe not) – where you are a donkey thing and have to jump and smash and stomp and kick buildings and airplanes and people. It was awesome! And I was not bad at it considering I was just randomly pushing buttons.

Invigorated by my success at building-smashing and general mayhem, we went and played shooting games. I’m terrible. I would get like 19 kills and Ely would have about 85. I also kept shooting our guys – a big red X would appear every time I did it. I complained that I had no problem hitting our team, but that I couldn’t hit the enemy to save my life. Still, super fun.

But we were really there for giant Jenga. Keep in mind that Ely is 6’6″. This tower would eventually get up past his eye-level. I won 2 out of 3 games. He would stand, incredulous, after I would gently pull a block from the tower. “Fairy fingers,” I told him. Actually, I’m just very lucky.

 

On the Weekend Adventure to the Grand Canyon, Impressively

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I didn’t think he was serious. I think we were watching Donnie Darko when it came up that I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon. “Let’s go,” he said. (For the record, they all say that. We make tentative plans and then we don’t go.)

Friday night, I left work, went to babysit, and then flew home to shower and pack. By 10pm, we were on the road, headed west. He drove until Vail – where we encountered the full force of the law, so I drove until Moab, where we switched again, and then I promptly fell asleep. When I woke up, it was 7am and we were somewhere in Arizona.

We got to the gates of the park at 8:30. After a quick change of clothes in the parking lot, we went. And for the first time, I saw the Grand Canyon. It was beautiful.

We climbed around on rocks. Neither of us had brought an insane amount of hiking gear, so we stayed near the top and just looked around. Wandered through some ruins. (Not really ruins, more like signs pointing out trees and what things might have been. Underwhelming.)

(We were staring into the sun. Terrible idea. Both of us are squinty and look miserable.)

By noon, the awe surrounding the immensity of the canyon was wearing off and the annoyance caused by fellow tourists was beginning to wear on us, so we decided to bail on the park (and the already purchased camping reservation I’d purchased).

We had lunch. (I’ve been eating salami, cheese, and bread for weeks on end and it still tastes just as good every time.) 

I asked that we find water, and he pointed to Lake Powell on the map. So off we went. Driving past the North Rim area of the Grand Canyon as you head toward Page, Arizona is like viewing the Wall in Game of Thrones. It’s amazing. It looms over everything.

We got into the park, wandered around looking for a spot to swim, and landed at a very sandy beach. We crossed a very nasty looking inlet and then hiked through some spiky bushes to an empty sandy beach area. It was empty, and so it became ours.

We decided to camp there, so we hiked back across the muck and got our stuff. And hiked back across the muck and back through the spiky bushes and down to our beach spot.

Swimming and a sunset walk rounded out our evening. We finished off the meat and cheese by the lake and fell asleep just after the sun went down. (I am a little bummed about that – I was looking forward to night swimming.)

I usually don’t fall asleep very well when I’m camping. I’m too jumpy and nervous. As 1:00 am rolled around and I was awake for the fourth time, I finally pulled out Mike’s sleeping bag and threw it over me. Snuggled into that, I fell asleep and stayed asleep. I woke up to an empty tent and a beautiful sunrise (ish).

Britt swam out to that giant rock you saw above, and I nearly had seven heart attacks once I stopped being able to see his head above the water. (I used to be a strong swimmer, but am really out of shape now and couldn’t have gotten out there even if I’d had to.) My consolation was a boat floating near the side of the big rock. In my mind, they’d give him a ride back, and that’s exactly what ended up happening. The boat came directly at me, someone yelled “Man overboard!” and he jumped to swim back to me. I waved, yelled, “Thank you!” and felt my heart start to beat again.

We packed up camp and headed home, but not before getting the car stuck in the deep sand and being towed out by a shirtless man with a cigarette dangling from his lips. “You kids have fun,” he said before climbing back into this truck and heading back to the beach. There was even a shower involved! It was outdoors with no warm water, but it may have been one of the best showers I’ve ever taken. I was so happy to stand in the spray and feel the soap slide down me and drain away into the sand.

The redness of the rock and the blue of the sky reminded me of our road trip through South Africa and made me miss the country. The Native American land that we drove through made my heart ache. Handwritten signs spelling out “Tire Shop” looked just like the ones in the South African townships. If you could replace the tract housing with metal sheets, it could have just as easily been Capricorn or Vryground. Even the roadside markets, with their handmade stalls and hand-painted signs were similar. I could sense the rawness of the whole thing, and I felt simultaneously moved and unmoved. It was interesting. It was the same mix of emotions I felt in Cape Town. Respect for the situation but understanding of the complexities that have made it so. Realization that there can be no swift change, and that the emotions that haunt those involved will not fade for generations to come, if at all.

I drove while he slept. I threw my phone on shuffle and listened to music and just let the road take me. I was happy. Once I started to ache, I pulled over, got food and gas, and then switched spots with him. I didn’t sleep on the way home – he’d brought me his Kindle to read since I mentioned that I wanted to read The Hunger Games. I got engrossed in the book while we still had daylight.

We landed in front of my apartment before 10. I hauled my stuff in and made noodles while Carlos yowled and rubbed against me, apparently surprised to see me return home. Instead of falling asleep immediately, I read a few more chapters of the book and then finally turned out my light.

The weekend was fun. I’m surprised that we traveled so well together and I genuinely enjoyed myself. I was stressed before we left because of my natural pre-trip stress and the fact that I felt like we weren’t communicating well, but as soon as we were on the road that all melted away. This continues to unfold in an interesting way, and I am quite curious to see where it leads.

On New Opportunities, Sadly, Fondly, Excitedly

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This post is a love letter to one of my best friends, who’s off to intern abroad for the next six months. I hope she has an absolute blast perfecting her Italian while eating gelato and canolis and kicking ass at what she’s doing.

I’ve known her since I was fourteen. We got close during geometry class our sophomore year – we were absolute hellions to our teacher – and then traveled to Europe together on an amazing forensic science trip between our junior and senior years of high school.

We went to Chicago together our senior year. She was visiting her boyfriend, and I was falling in love with the lake. We ended up going to the same university. Even though we’ve had very different life experiences, we’ve been able to maintain and strengthen our friendship through the years.

Honestly, some of my best memories from college are from my senior year. The Irish, the Ginger Summer (parts one and two), bar trivia, adventuring, accidentally driving to Wisconsin, the Boston trip, the last night and the sunrise that wasn’t – those are the moments that shape the beautiful memories of my time in Chicago.

I have come to rely on Madeline for advice, for adventure, for a good laugh. Sometimes when I’m really stressed out, she’ll appear in my dreams and yell at me, so I’m pretty certain that she’s my super ego. She is the logical half of our duo, the rational one who always has the right answer. I respect and value her opinions at all times, and have looked to her as a source of strength when I need it most.

I’m so lucky to have a friend like her.

There was a flaming bowl of rum punch involved. That may explain why the picture is so off kilter.

San Francisco, summer 2010, singing “Wonderboy” at a karaoke bar. Are we awesome at karaoke? Absolutely not. Did we rock? Of course.Wonderboy, what is the secret of your power?

The Chicago Mustache Bash:

Spray painting the Irish’s van. Sally, as the van was called, had no working speedometer or gas gauge. The Irish had gotten her for $400 and paid a guy in beer to fix her when she broke.

The first night we went out with our new Irish trivia buddies, they picked us up in the van. I was certain we were going to die when they opened the sliding door while we were on Lake Shore Drive and yelled “air conditioning!”

(The Irish got stopped trying to get back into the US from Canada because they had spray painted “We’re here illegally” on the side of the van.)

South Boston, 2010. A trivia adventure.

Downtown Chicago, 2009. Maddie’s family was in town. Things got wild. This is my favorite picture of us. 

On the Weekend Full of Children, Not as Creepily as that Sounds

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None of my friends want children. I want them. At least I did, until I spent the last three days herding twenty-one three and four-year olds around. They’re adorable, I swear, but oh my goodness, so many tears. So many bathroom breaks. Such a challenge to keep them happy, make sure they all have their stuff, and then on top of that, try to keep them entertained.

I don’t know how parents are able to work eight hours (or more) a day and then go home and be rockstar parents. I have enough trouble trying to manage the work-life balance myself (apparently a glass of wine does not count as dinner and cleaning is something you have to do 24/7).

But they’re so cute. During the nap time that wasn’t, I was playing with a little boy who had a stuffed zebra. I would make kissing sounds and “kiss” him with the zebra on his face and arms. He took the zebra and did the same thing to me, laughing. Zebra kisses are the best kind.

Another little boy was telling me all about his family. “Mommy said that some daddies don’t want to be daddies and that some mommies don’t want to be mommies,” he said, so matter-of-factly. I hope that his mom also explained that being adopted means that your biological parents wanted the absolute best for you and made a brave and beautiful choice to give you to another family. (Or as Avery, my neighbor would say, traded you in.)

My brother is a fascinating human being. Very wise and observant. The most kind-hearted individual you will ever meet. The kids in South Africa loved him and I have no doubt that his group of middle-schoolers loved him just as much. Mike was thrilled at the prospect of being able to do some field research. Both of us were adopted, and Mike is studying sociology and biology in college. He wants to focus on the nature vs. nurture question that plagues us all. (Does it plague you? Perhaps not. But I see so many similarities between myself and my birth mother, but also a great many similarities between myself and my mother.) He was excited to see how adoption has played a role in the lives of these children, particularly because of the race difference between them and their parents.

Camp was great. I hope that the parents got a lot out of the sessions, and I hope that all of the kids had enough fun that they’ll be willing to come back next year.

After camp, I babysat. (Child overload, mind you.) We went to Chuck E. Cheese. (Ha, the middle child used to call it “Yucky Cheese” before she could pronounce it. I find her description to be rather accurate.) Flashing lights, colors, the smell of pizza, the terrifying guy in a Chuck E. suit (mascots are one of my biggest fears – no idea why). The girls were thrilled to go home with tiny prizes – a ring for the baby, a magic trick for the middle one, and a bracelet for the eldest.

The mom and dad are some of my favorite parents. They’re always asking me about my life, and have been so incredibly supportive (and curious about) my ADHD diagnosis and the ways in which I’ve chosen to address it. (They’re dealing with it too.)

The mom was like, “What’s your boyfriend’s name again?” I started laughing. “I guess [her husband] didn’t fill you in….” I said, and proceeded to give her the quick update. Unlike a lot of people who give me endless amounts of crap about my dating habits, they’re fully supportive of them. She’s always reminding me that this is exactly what I’m supposed to be doing at this point in my life. I love it because instead of feeling that what I am doing is a negative thing, they totally see that you date, you change your mind, and you find something else more exciting, challenging, and fun. It’s so good to have people in a happy marriage who support me so much.

She also said some things that made me glow inside. She told me that they think I’m adorable (surprising, considering that I show up at their house on a weekly basis with no makeup on and generally disheveled), and she pointed out that she sees me as being more mature than my peers, and said that she absolutely understands the frustration that comes with trying to date within my age group.

Agreed. But all the old ones are a touch crazy: a 43-year old once asked me to dinner – which I was totally down for – but then told me that his wife left him for the tennis instructor (note to self: never let my husband get a tennis instructor) and texted before our dinner to tell me that he had some weird “viral rash” and that he was fine, but uncomfortable. First of all – what’s a “viral rash”? and second, this is a statement that falls under the “way too much information before the first date” category. Obviously, you can imagine my reaction: there was no first date.

That was a terrible story to end such a happy, rambling blog post.

So here’s this:  My first task upon returning to my desk: looking into buying 500 units of logo-branded silly putty. I love my job.

On Volunteering, Excitedly

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Exhaustion to end the week, but the exhaustion is the best kind.

Mike and I have volunteered to be counselors at an adoption camp this weekend. We started today, and will go until Sunday. Mike will be working with middle and high schoolers, and I’ve been assigned to Pre-K. (I can’t even tell you how excited I am! Pre-K is the best time. They’re still so cute and baby-ish, but you can see their future grown-up selves starting to shine through.)

The camp is an African Caribbean Heritage Camp – it’s been held in Denver for 14 years now. Most of the counselors are of African or Caribbean descent, but since Mike and I were both adopted, we fit the counselor profile as well. This year’s theme is: The Colors of Us: Celebrating Transracial Adoption.

We meet the kids tomorrow morning, and Mike will be up early to go on a day-long white water rafting trip. (White-water? Not so much. We had terrible snow this winter, and it’s already August, so I feel like it’ll be more like a float trip with some bumps along the way that will stand in for rapids.)

While the counselors are keeping the kids entertained, the parents are attending different sessions and workshops all centering on adoption, race, and culture. One of the sessions held on Saturday will be discussing white privilege through the lens of transracial adoption. The high school kids will be attending the session with their parents and the counselors, and I think that’s an awesome opportunity for discussion and reflection. I’ll be curious to hear what Mike has to say about it.

Mike and I haven’t gotten to do anything like this since we were in South Africa, and I know that we’re both really looking forward to this weekend.

Cute stories, quickly, before I fall asleep on my keyboard:

My mom’s little neighbor, who’s still working through adoption in her mind, asked me how old I was when I was “traded in” the other day.  Hah, I had such a good laugh about that. Traded in, like they just wanted a newer model or something.

AND…..

Guess what I got at Costco today? (Besides a Polish sausage covered in spicy mustard.) Both seasons of Party Down for $11.99. Life is beautiful (and so is Adam Scott).

Going to be a hectic – but very fun – weekend!

On the Zoo, Over-Heatedly

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My mom’s five-year old neighbor is one of the most adorable human beings I’ve ever met. (Last summer, while playing Capture the Flag, she came to let me out of jail – an overturned boat in our shared backyard – and she informed me that “that’s what best friends do.” My heart cracked and overflowed.)

For the last six months or so, she’s been reminding me that I promised her that we’d go to the zoo and have a picnic in City Park and that she’d get to meet Carlos. “I’ve never met a cat before; I’ve never met Carlos,” she tells me.

So on Sunday, my mom, my neighbor, and I piled into the car – she wanted me to sit next to her in the backseat, so I did – and headed to the zoo armed with a picnic lunch. It was too hot, so we didn’t last very long at the zoo. We were able to get about 100 feet into the new elephant exhibit, and we didn’t get to see any penguins.

I’m heartbroken – penguins are my absolute favorite things. Here are penguin pictures from Boulder’s Beach in South Africa:

(Can you tell I’m missing South Africa? Always.)

Anyway, the zoo.

We saw lots of sleeping animals – lions, tigers, kangaroos – it seemed like everyone just wanted to be left alone to sleep in the heat. We rode the zoo train. We had ice cream, and our little friend desperately wanted popcorn, so we had some of that too.

After we left the zoo, we went to my house so she could meet Carlos. I was nervous – Carlos is skittish at best around new people, and he’s never been around a 5-year old.

Carlos loved her. At one point, she kissed him right on the nose. He didn’t flinch. We fed him some wet food (is there a better way to get a cat to sit still?), and she got to scratch his back while he ate.

Then we had a picnic in the park, under the big arches.

We had turkey sandwiches, cucumbers, carrots, leftover popcorn from the zoo, and gummy bears. Then we chased each other around with squirt guns and played frisbee until we were exhausted and ready for sleep.

All in all? A great day. I hope that it was everything she imagined it would be.

On the Beginning, Vibrantly

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Even though I am stunned by its suddenness, the seemingly fortuitous arrival in my life, I am embracing this tentative relationship wholeheartedly, spurred on by the feelings of comfort and the little flutters that start somewhere below my stomach and wrap their way up my spine to settle against my heart. More importantly, my mind is alive. Too alive, apparently, since I keep finding myself wide awake, mid-conversation, far too late into the night.

It is the reemergence of the bliss of youth, those nights that I thought would never end, the feelings accidental and organic and so real. They don’t carry with them the cautionary tales, the envious inquiries, the panic of potential neglect. I am no longer seventeen, waiting to hear from the boys who don’t yet know that they’ll never grow into better men.

There are whispers of this continuing to grow. But I, in all of my awkward glory, have sidestepped the conversations. I cannot imagine what he must be like, what he ultimately wants, whether or not our pleasantly contentious conversations about feminism and military will lead to many happy disagreements or the bitter resentment of difference. But I do know that each of us is captivated by the other.

And for now, that’s enough.

On the Best of Craigslist, Inspiredly (not a word, whatever)

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I’m not sure how much time you spend on Craiglist. I visit the site a few times a week to read the “Missed Connections” because I think they’re sweet, but super weird. I once saw a missed connection that was directed at one of my friends! They had both been walking their dogs in the park, stopped to chat, and then parted. He wrote a missed connection for her, and then I saw it, and they went on a few dates. It didn’t turn into anything, but the possibility that it could have remains.

I also get most of my babysitting gigs through Craigslist. I’ll post something, then weed out any weird responses – and the grammatically incorrect ones – and then interview a couple of families.

In addition to the awesome community and flea market that is Craigslist, there’s also a “Best of Craigslist” website. That’s where I found the sweet Pontiac Grand Am ad you just saw. I think this is hilarious. It’s also going to be great inspiration for my own used car ad when I finally decide to sell Simon in eight years. “Duct tape!” “WOW!” “Glove compartment!” “AMAZING!” “Wheels!” “FOUR OF THEM!”

You’ve got to admire the chutzpah that went into the creation of this ad. You’ve got to admit that even though women do not want to get all up in your business when you drive a car like that, they might appreciate your sense of humor and still date you. I mean, I’m walking proof that a thriving love life can still exist when you don’t drive a Bugatti Veyron. Not going to lie, that car looks a lot like a HotWheel that I had and loved as a child. Not sure I’d want to get in a car that reminds me of being 8. On second thought, it does make me want to find that town/road mat we had and play with toy cars.

 

On Breakfast in Bed and Bitches, Pragmatically

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I changed my mind about the potential chauvinism deal. I mean, I didn’t change my mind, exactly.

You’ll get your chance to explain where you’re coming from. You will bring over brownie mix, and he’ll make brownies. You’ll watch movies, ones that you haven’t seen but that he thinks you’ll like. He’ll be right. You won’t sleep because you will be too excited. You will talk about everything. You will tease each other. You will make plans. You will talk politics and find some common ground. You will fall asleep and when you open your eyes, he will be walking through the door with the bacon and eggs that he woke up early to make just for you. You will be so happy. You will do the dishes as quietly as you can, since he’s asleep. You think feminist thoughts while you’re doing the dishes. You will leave him cherries in a bowl in the fridge. You will awkwardly say hello to his landlady on the way out, then panic and wonder if you should have made better conversation than “Hi!” as you shut the door.

***

I have been working at the same office building for a year and a half. I have never had an assigned parking spot, but every day, I park in the same spot. For the past week or so, I’ve been noticing that if I don’t get to the office early enough (ha, my definition of early is much different from yours, I’ll imagine), someone will be in “my” spot.

So yesterday, I had to park in a different spot. Our parking system is totally unintelligible and strange, so when you see a spot that has no number painted into the concrete at its opening, you assume that it’s free. So I parked in one.

I went to my car after work to see a note. “THIS IS A RESERVED PARKING SPACE.” Pssh, like hell it is. So I texted my boss and told him that it is probably time to see about getting me a real parking spot. My lovely lady boss went down to greet the very scary building secretary today, and was met with resistance. Lots of resistance.

And, to top off that resistance, the scary building secretary said something to my lady boss about how she recognized my license plate and also the fact that my car had duct tape on it. What exactly does that have to do with anything?

My car took a beating in Chicago. I was the hit part of a hit-and-run, leaving a giant jagged wound in my back bumper. My windows were spray painted. (For like a month, I had to roll down my window to turn left because the word “PAIN” was in my way. I eventually paid a guy $8 to razor-blade the paint off.) My front side bumper was hit. I was driving along a narrow street and a man opened his door, shattering my side-view mirror.

All of these things are parts of Chicago that I will carry with me until my car dies, because even though I pay Allstate a significant amount of money each month in “full-coverage” insurance and have never been in an accident that they had to pay any money for, it’s going to cost me my full deductible to fix each individual incident of damage, which at current count is 2 new bumpers and whatever else they decide that they’ll need. Duct tape, on the other hand, is $4/roll, and every time I buy it, my insurance doesn’t go up.

With the transmission starting to get janky – through no fault of my own, it’s a 3rd gear pressure switch thing, whatever that means – I’m making important decisions and stocking away money to fix that when it goes rather than keeping up with your needless aesthetic expectations.

So, scary building secretary, the reason that my car looks like it belongs to an undesirable is merely because of the financial advantages to not fixing my car (plus, no one wants to steal a car that’s not worth chopping up and selling). Don’t think that I haven’t looked into it, because I have. Stop judging people for what their cars look like. The quality of their hearts and souls is of far greater importance.

The conclusion here? I now have an assigned parking spot. I am annoyed about it. But…the parking spot coupled with my brand new dual monitors (46 inches of computer screen!) means that I am having a great week. I am so blessed to work where I do. I am so grateful. Currently bitchy, but so incredibly happy.

On Male Chauvinism, Attractively

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Let’s say that you’re “dating” someone new. (I’m using the term loosely, just like the rest of my generation. I was going to make a bad pun, but I’ll leave that alone.)

Let’s say that person makes comments that may lead you to conclude that they probably fall somewhere between “Hardcore” and “Might just be a defense mechanism” on the Male Chauvinism Scale that I haven’t made up yet. (Which is why the scale segments are strange. Deal with it.)

Deal breaker?

Usually, yes.

Your analyst/therapist might tell you that you should probably break the habit of dating guys that you want to change. Exactly right, but you might not one to listen to advice, no matter how right it is.

But you’re not one to turn down a challenge, especially not one that attractive. The red flag has been raised. It was raised that night in the bar when he made those jokes that irked you.

It’s not like you’re naturally inclined towards excelling at being a traditional woman anyway, so it’s not like he’ll last very long unless he can learn to love who you are. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get bored first and it’ll be a future crisis averted. But in the meantime, you’re not one to waste an opportunity to learn new things, try new things, and have life adventures, so have fun and remember: don’t let anything slide!