Category Archives: summer

On Change, Seasonally

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I feel fall coming. I’ve been smelling it on the morning air since early August, but now I’m really feeling it. The morning air is crisp, a reminder of the cold bite that I’ll be complaining about in a few months. For now, it’s refreshing. I roll down the windows and feel the warm sunshine and the cool air and I am content. I drive, watching the rolling ribbons of brown leaves part to let me through, and I know that the time for warm summer nights and sunshine will soon be a thing of past and something to look forward to.

I think of the changes of this summer – the adventures, the love, the friends, work – and I can’t believe it’s gone so fast. Did I take advantage of it as I used to? No. I used to relish summer, staying up all through the night and watching dawn break over the sleeping city. Now I count late hours as borrowed from the next day, and wake to rejoin the rush. Swim attire has been replaced by business casual, the need for adventure replaced by a longing for a comfortable couch.

Growing up is a strange process since it doesn’t happen all at once. It’s the small changes that happen season by season, so subtly that you don’t notice them until you look back to see where you’ve come. Not that I’m grown up, by any means, or that relishing late nights is an activity left only to the young. Just that there are little bits of my maturity that seem to be slowly falling into place. Or perhaps I’m just spreading myself too thin and the lack of time stretching in front of me to be filled with adventure is shrinking as a result of obligations that I never imagined I’d have rather than the reality of adulthood.

I know that it is my responsibility to make sure that I maintain the work-life-me balance. And in that precarious juggling act is time. I need to carve out time for me to do nothing. Perhaps I need to be more strict about that, reminding myself that the busy everything can wait. But the busy everything is so pressing, so nagging, and at times, so incredibly fun. The busy everything doesn’t wait.

I long for hours – I wish I could waste them again, the way we used to. We’d lay around the apartment, we’d take walks, we’d adventure. What’s an afternoon drive to Wisconsin when you’ve got nothing else to do? Now, I have to schedule laundry strictly in order to ensure it will get done.

I wish for evenings. For weekends. For unplanned, unscheduled, unmarked time. And when I have it, I will do nothing. I will not do the things I’ve been meaning to. I will not clean, or cross things off my to-do list. I will draw a bubble bath and grab a novel and sit for hours, until the water is cold and my toes resemble shrunken heads. I will watch endless episodes of everything on Netflix. I will become bored. I will relish that boredom by painting my toes and face-masking. I will spend a long afternoon napping with Carlos curled around my feet. Ah, that would be lovely.

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 Almost, Miserably

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Clouds over Denver International Airport at Sunset

(That’s what half-relief looks like.)

It’s a touch melodramatic, but whatever.

No one wants to fail. Or even come close to almost failing. But brushing the sharp edge of great accomplishment and even greater ruin is something that must be done. It builds character.

This particular task was a big project at work. We didn’t have to do it, but I pushed. I wanted to prove that it could be done. And we almost had it. I was there. I spent my Friday night typing answers into spreadsheets (damn you, spreadsheets!). I emailed updates to my team, as we had previously discussed, so that everyone would be on the same page. I was ready. I sat down this morning and I started the remaining pieces. I was prepared. I coordinated work efforts. I printed ahead to avoid the same conflicts we’d run into previously.

But as it always does, time slips away when I most need it to linger. The final pieces didn’t come together until way too late. The printers are like prehistoric beasts that amble on at their own speed (well obviously, they’re machines. You can’t make them go any faster). The humans who feed them (imagine me as zookeeper here) are caught up in the middle of a million things, and so the beasts spit out the wrong pages, printed on the back of the right pages, or worse yet, you survive printing only to meet a downfall somewhere else.

I hate team efforts. In theory, they’re so great. Everyone will work together, and it will all be good. But in the end, something always goes wrong. Then there’s the inevitable finger-pointing and attempts to come up with new plans. (Not that I’m saying that happens all the time to all people, I’m generalizing. But I’m also not wrong.)

Not that I’m so afraid they’ll fire me. I mean, I live in a constant state of fear of termination – even though I’ve never been fired from anything in my life – so much so that every time my boss emails me and says, “Come into my office,” even if it’s a meeting I’ve called, a jolt of panic shoots through my heart. I imagine that by the time I finally quell that fear, I’ll be called into an office somewhere only to enter entirely nonchalantly and given the news that I’m being let go. So instead, I think I’ll just keep letting the tiny panic happen. It’s reassuring.

I so desperately want to prove that I can handle it. I like it. I like challenge and projects, and being busy. I so desperately want to be able to handle it. “It” is the crushing weight of projects right now. I want to think that they’ll all be perfect, that they’ll be shipped off quietly and early, that we’ll manage to finally get one done where no one has to stress, but I don’t imagine that will ever be. That’s the problematic nature of team efforts. They don’t get easier with more hands, but they don’t get easier with fewer hands, either.

For my part, I swear I’m trying. I’m trying so damn hard. I worked so hard to avoid any of these problems this time. I corrected. I made adjustments. I thought ahead, but apparently, not far enough.

I found myself driving to the airport at 7:30 pm, pushing the accelerator down with abandon, gripping the steering wheel and staring intently into the distance, wishing that I could somehow close the gap between my location and my destination with sheer will.

[Of course, my gas light came on. With 50 or so miles to go, the gas light is a terrifying thing. I never let the tank get low. I’m the type of person who fills up at a quarter tank. This was, of course, just another inconvenient error in a month that’s seemed to be an endless tragic comedy of all things unintentional and yet so disheartening. Think of the new tires immediately after Las Vegas. Another example? Yesterday, I put my ice cream in the fridge instead of the freezer. Perhaps it’s early-onset dementia, but perhaps it’s just life overload. On the plus side, I made it back to my neck of the woods without running out of gas.]

I arrived with time to spare. For the second time in as many months, I got free packaging. The address checked out. Everything fit neatly. In less than five minutes, I was on my way out the door, finally headed home. So that’s a relief. We made it. Hectic and hellish, but done.

Through a series of misfortunate events (both of my own making and of the kind that fate likes to throw in just for fun), I keep coming up short lately (in life, too, not just work). Tomorrow, I’ll walk in there and take responsibility for everything, and I’ll feel like a failure.  I’m just so frustrated. With myself. With this summer. With all of it.

But at least now I can look forward. Hopefully tomorrow will bring something wonderful. Tuesdays are usually such good days.

On Hot Cats in the Summer, Vigilantly

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It’s been a while since I’ve subjected you to cat pictures, but I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten how much you all just love to stare at pictures of cats.

black cat

I realized last night that I’ve become the stereotypical female cat owner. Sure, he’s adorable, but I’m way over the top with how much I love him. I ordered him a cat bow-tie off the internet, which he wore for about twenty minutes one day. (In all fairness, the bow-tie was $3, including shipping, and it was twenty minutes of adorable, so I don’t regret it.) I catch myself referring to myself in the third person when I’m talking to him, as in “Mommy doesn’t have any wet food for you.”

I also realized that I don’t care whether or not anyone thinks that is ridiculous. He’s my son. I rescued him and I will love him. Seriously (and so incredibly selfishly), I love that he loves me.

In college, my roommate Emily used to call all cats “chicken nuggets”, so it was only a matter of time before it was shortened to chicken. Last week, Swisher said the word “chicken” and Carlos turned his head, confirming my worst fears that he may think his name is actually “chicken.” But then again, maybe not. It’s not like he responds to anything that isn’t “tsk tsk tsk” or the sound of a can or package of wet food being opened.

Wet food is like crack. He can’t resist; it gets him every time. Now that he knows that we have wet food in the house (it’s hot, and I like knowing that he’s getting a little more hydration and also some good protein), he won’t even run. He’ll bound out the door, but once he realizes that I’m not following, he’ll sashay back in and start the begging.

Swisher accidentally shut the door to my room one night, locking Carlos out and forcing him to sleep in the living room. Mike said that when he got up to go to work, Carlos was scratching at my door. Since then, he won’t sleep in my bed when Swisher is over. (But the minute Swisher leaves, he’s right back on his side of the bed, stretched out territorially, his head cocked back as though he’s wondering when I’m going to come keep him company.)

long black cat

The one drawback to loving a cat in the middle of summer? The shedding! Everywhere! White sheets? Don’t even think about it. (Yes, those are white sheets. The bottom, where Carlos likes to sleep, is no longer white. It’s cat-gray. It’s unpleasant for all of us.) Since all of my friends are allergic (except Jacob), I have to change my sheets or put new sheets down when anyone wants to sleep on our giant bean bag or on the couch or on the futon mattress. I have been doing so much laundry! I started to say, “On the plus side…” but then realized that there really isn’t one.

Until Colorado decides to cool down, I have a very hot, grumpy chicken on my hands, and I am one stressed out cat mother (the thought of heat stroke or dehydration, etc. is terrifying). We have fans everywhere, so hopefully when we’re gone, Carlos just parks himself in front of them and gets some good air. He has fresh water, food, and a dark closet in which he can look for quiet, cool spaces to hang out. But I can still tell he’s miserable. I gave him a cool bath the other day – just barely warm water, and he was dry in less than a half an hour. Maybe more cool baths are in store for us.

Cool baths and wet food are going to get us through the summer.

Side note:  I remember one of the vets at some point telling me that Carlos just looks like a feral cat, based on his facial features. I don’t remember what it is, and can’t verify to be sure that this statement is correct. I was doing some Googling and came across this link, in case any of you are curious about feral cats and the TNR (Trap-Neuter-Release program) that took the tip of his ear.

As I read more and more about these sorts of programs, and especially since I know that he’s FIV+ (Cat AIDS!), the more it sinks in that we are both incredibly lucky. Carlos is lucky to be alive – had he been tested earlier for FIV and found to be positive, there is a high possibility that he could have been euthanized. He ended up at the no-kill shelter that is PAWS Chicago, whether it was through the TNR program or through other means, I’m not sure. After waiting for six months to be adopted (by me!), he’s a sweet, sassy, spoiled house cat who hopefully has a much better life than the one he had before. I could not have asked for a more challenging or entertaining companion.

If you’re looking for a pet, please look at the shelters first. There are some amazing used animals just waiting to find great homes. (I use “used animals” because I think it sounds cute, and not because I think the animals have any less value. Trust me, Carlos would not be the lovable smart-ass he is today without his street experience.)

On the Weekend

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Kids Crafts

I love babysitting. Now that I’m out of college and staring down the possibility of motherhood within the next decade or so, I am looking at babysitting as the ultimate in childhood education. It provides such an insight into the world of parenting. I get to see the kids at their shiny, smiling best and at their absolute, angry worst. I get to watch their minds develop and wonder; they blow me kisses and sign “I love you” when I put them to sleep; we giggle together. Children are truly wondrous.

But more than that, I get to watch different sets of parents actively making choices. Each household does things differently, and all they want is the best for their children. I’m terrified that I will somehow raise children that aren’t independent, free-thinking, and respectful. (See this article in the New Yorker for more on that…)

It’s good practice. It’s good exposure. And I honestly think that for all of my years spent babysitting, I’ll be a much better mother.

Kiddie Pool

Denver has been HOT. Too hot. Whenever the summer gets like this, I always think of that episode of Hey, Arnold! where there’s the heat wave. Don’t ask why, I’m not even entirely sure what happens in the episode.

My apartment does not have air conditioning. The cat is angry about this, and is grateful for the fans we have set up in an attempt to circulate some of the air. So on Saturday, we bought a kiddie pool, some squirt guns, sunscreen, and a plastic jar with a spout and a handle! It’s the perfect combination for summer. Swisher has informed me that now that we own a hose together, we’re pretty much committed to each other.

After the stress that was our first fight last week, I had some more serious realizations: On Saturday, he helped me clean out my room at my mom’s house – she’s trying to reclaim our childhood rooms and I’m resisting. But there was no judgement as he picked through random piles of books and clothes and the knick knacks of my youth. I realized that even though there are things that I’m going to have to accept and learn to love about him, he’s having to do the same thing for me. Helping me clean is always going to be a labor of love (Maddie knows all about this), and one that I will be forever grateful for.

I’m going to try to be more patient and realistic in my expectations, but I also told him that I’m not going to let him slide on anything. I think it was good. Cooling off in the pool was even better. I can’t wait to spend the summer hanging out at the pool I’ve inflated in the empty lot next to my apartment building. (Hah.)

Sky clouds plane

The view from the pool.

City park jazz

On Sunday nights, they do free jazz concerts in City Park. Since it’s within walking distance, last night we made a little picnic of lemonade, bread, cheese, meat, and grapes and headed over with some blankets. It was a lovely evening of lounging on the blankets in the cooling air.

City Park Jazz Denver

(Swisher took this!)

Sadly, as the jazz was ending around 8pm, a police officer (and single mother of a 12-year old daughter) was shot and killed. We heard the gunshots, thought they sounded like fireworks, and then heard the sirens. Cop cars and an ambulance were all over the park. We weren’t very close to the shooting, and we didn’t really feel any sense of panic (I mean, it wasn’t the stampede-effect), but the stream of people out of the park was pretty consistent.

I seriously hope that this crime doesn’t deter people from coming out to the park. It’s such a beautiful place, and having free music every Sunday is a really great opportunity to feel like a part of the community. Maybe next week, they will have some sort of donation center up so that patrons can donate to the family of the slain officer.

I’m sad. Sad for the daughter of the officer, sad for the officer herself, and sad for the guy who killed her. Misplaced rage, or sad displays of masculinity, or something else led to a split-second decision that took a life, took a mother, and changed another’s life forever. This guy, who’s only 21, will have to spend the rest of his life reliving those moments. I only hope that prison for him is not so much a place of criminal education, but instead offers a place of hope and personal growth. (It won’t, but then again, our prison system has never really been about reducing recidivism. It’s more of a profit mill than anything else. I like hearing about places that really work for rehabilitation and optimism than those which breed gang violence and racially divided populations while glorifying violence.)

Night fisbee

When we got home, there were a ton of people in our living room. By a ton, I mean ten, but expecting to see one and seeing ten is still overwhelming. After a while, Mike’s friends wanted to take a walk. Which was perfect, because I wanted to play night frisbee.

Night frisbee has been on my brain for days now. It’s harder, I think, to play night frisbee because all you see is the light, flying straight at your head. The color is nice, but it’s easier to miss. I’m still awesome at it, of course.

After everyone left, Mike, Swisher, and I continued playing on the side of the building. It was such a relaxing night, the perfect end to a very hectic week. (Or the perfect beginning to another hectic week?)

In unrelated news, I love my slapwatch. I do not actually use it to keep time, and so I don’t think it’s been accurate for like six months. (Bear in mind that I’ve only owned it for like 6 months.) Also, my childhood self cheers every time I wear it. Good for her.

Money is the root of all evil

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There are days when I realize how much I really love my mom and how great a job she did raising me.
Ha, I realize that sounded a little funny, because I’m not some high-paid executive with a bright future. I’m just her daughter, the one that has all the weird issues, who lives in Chicago, who finally has a nice boyfriend, who believes in karma, whose car got smashed, who loves her life, who is going through so much weird trouble it’s insane, who can’t imagine what she’s going to do after college, who’s considering grad school, who loves her mother so much.

I sat on the phone with her for like an hour and a half today, just talking about life and everything in it. Talking about Hunter, our future, his future, my future, our relationship, Emily, the money issue, values, belief systems, life, school, the Dominick’s/Safeway regional manager, rent, money, etc. It’s hot today here, hot like I’ve not felt all summer.

Also, in relatively lame news, I may have been exposed to Hepatitis C when I was in the hospital in January for surgery. How fail is that? Some crazy nurse lady was stealing painkillers, injecting them into herself and then leaving the dirty syringes filled with saline for the patients. So I received a certified letter informing me of my possible exposure and then they told me they’d like to test me. Great. Love getting tested for Hep C. It’s going to be awesome.
Good news though: out of the 5700 people possibly exposed, only like 7 have it. So hopefully I won’t be number 8.

Ah, money, the thing we can’t live without. The thing that drives us and drives us nuts.
Hunter is stressed out right now, and I don’t blame him. He’s hoping to get a second job at Starbucks (free coffee and health benefits!), so that should be nice.
I’m hoping to survive summer school. I’ve got a small part in an independent film shooting in August and I’m helping one of my professors cast a movie this next week.

Busy enough.

The Dominicks/Safeway regional manager called me today. He apologized, listened to me tell him that I was treated like a criminal, explained the policy (which is absolutely moronic, in my very valid opinion), I told him I understood the policy, but questioned its implementation. This exchange went on for quite awhile. In the end, I got a sort of apology, the promise that the store manager will be hearing from him personally, etc. etc. I told him not to get the workers in trouble, but that it was the manager and his female goon that embarrassed me and hurt my opinion of the integrity of the store. So you know, we evened out. Whatever. At least my emails got the attention of the regional manager. I feel a little bit better about that.

Well, a nice summer party tonight. Emily is out of town, so I’m heading down to South Michigan Ave to a friend’s, where we will all hang out.

Good day.

plans

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For Mom, who counts the days until I come home:

Leaving Chicago the 13th with Becky.
We are going to try and fit all of my stuff into Emily’s friend’s car, who is coming to pick Emily up a couple of days before. In the mean time, I will ship as much stuff as I can home.

From Chicago, we are driving to St. Louis, and I will remain there with Emily until the afternoon of the 17th when I will fly home to Denver.

I start work the 19th.

And suddenly, summer is over.