I'm still here

I'm still here! I've been out travelling for just about the last two weeks, going from one end of the country to the other and back again (and coming back in between). And oh the stories...

But I'm back now, playing catchup at work and at home with errands and emails and that whole writing thing. It's a three day weekend this weekend (I think...assuming I have my dates correct as I write this trying to wake up) and I'll update you on what's been going on.

I went to Montana for a week about two weeks ago and then came back to DC for a day, and after that went to Florida for my Uncle's wedding. I haven't been to either state in years. It's been three years since I've been to Montana and well, quite possibly over a decade since I've been in Florida. In a way Florida could possibly count as my resolution to "go somewhere I've never been before" seeing as how I couldn't really remember anything about that state.

Anyway, just wanted to let you know I was still here and do have some stories to share. First up will be Montana with some pictures and links to more pictures. The first few days back are always a little crazy. Hope everyone's last few weeks were great as summer winds down.

waiting for Mr. Smith

A few weeks ago I watched an extremely good movie: Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. Despite my love of old black & white films and Jimmy Stewart, I had never seen this movie before. It was interesting to watch Mr. Smith's arrival, because my first arrival back in 2004 was similar...minus the honorary Senator part. I was still a student, the fall semester of my Senior year, and this was my first trip to Washington.

I was in awe of everything. Of the buildings, from the gleaming white Capitol to the little row houses lining the off-street and later in awe of the jewel-colored leaves as fall arrived. I loved that I could walk everywhere and see so much history and that each building had a little bit of antiquity to it. After all, as I had realized from my first trip to Boston many years earlier...the only thing that old in Dallas was the dirt. My first trip to Union Station made me think of the old train stations from the boom of Industrialization, making me imagine fictional giants of Dagny Taggert and John Galt. I even could picture some scene from an Hercule Poirot mystery, if he had ever ventured over to our side of the pond.

The awe was much the same less than a year later when I moved out here from sunny California, less than eight months after leaving that winter. I cross 16th Street at least twice a day and used to glance down the street at the White House and the Washington Monument. I went down to the Mall often and to the museums.

But...I don't do that so much anymore. I don't go out of my way to do these things. The awe hasn't gone. If I catch myself at a red light, waiting to cross, and can see the White House, I do have to pause and smile. I still grin and wonder who's inside the black cars of a caravan (they haven't yet become an annoyance).

But the film reminded me of that sense of awe that I loved. Many of us Washingtonians become jaded after living here. We complain about the humidity (a very valid complaint), tourists, ridiculously high cost of living, politics, etc., etc. Mr. Smith's secretary, Saunders, says something like that to the other Senator. She says that she came to DC with the idea of making a difference and now her eyes were green with (or for) dollar signs. But she changes, her idealism comes back. I'm not saying mine has gone, it's just...maybe currently liquefied with the humidity.

But even if we get fed up with the little annoyances, it's not hard to look for something to inspire. Washington is filled with monuments to the giants of American history and their triumphs. Their stories may have become the stuff of legends, but it's the idea of these people...it's the idea of America and even the idea of Washington that draws many of us here.

I know that jaded voice has crept in lately now that I've started my third year, but I also know that underneath it, I do still want to make a difference. And I know that once the monuments to those giants have failed to make me stop for a moment and stare, then it will be time to leave. I don't think I could live in a city as wonderful and beautiful as Washington if it lost its wonder.

fall cleaning?

I was going to be really good and do my spring cleaning this year.

Only...things got in the way and I kept putting it off. And putting it off some more. So, for the last few weeks I was looking forward to a three day weekend to really clean through the things I don't often get a chance to. Mainly...my closet and filing system.

But for some reason I really got in the urge to start last night. I went through all the tops (because my pants were good to go) I had hanging up and tried everything on to see if I still liked the fit and color, etc. I have a lot of clothes, and that comes mainly from working retail during college. And a lot of the stuff I have I haven't seen since college. Why keep them? Because I'm a pack rat.

This evening I went through my most of my drawers of folded tops and socks, finding a lot of 'lonely' socks that turns out didn't need to be so lonely.

InStyle had an article several issues back about shopping your closet. Which I guess is essentially what I'm doing because I'm pulling out things I know I'll never wear and uncovering items I used to wear but forget about when they get shoved to the back of my closet.

Now I realize this isn't the most riveting post I've had, but the cleaning and organizing is making me feel really good. It's good to get some things in order, especially if you're not feeling like your whole life is in order. I'm about 2/3 of the way finished with my closet (maybe about 1/2 of the way through if you count all the sweaters and sweatshirts that are folded neatly up top...but I may leave those until I'm feeling more 'sweatery' in the cooler fall weather) and looking forward to having a neat, organized closet. Which is good when you've grown up having a huge walk-in closet and now have about a shoe-box size.

I will have some more riveting posts later. Despite the artist stereotype, I'm actually a very orderly person. I like my closet organized a certain way, at work I need a clean desk in order to function, I need my files in certain ways and, yes, I alphabetize my books, first by category and subject and then by author. I had my DVDs alphabetized until I no longer had shelves and now they're just stacked up on the floor and I can tell you it's driving me crazy.

paris

I almost bought a ticket to Paris a little earlier today. It took a lot of willpower not to hit the purchase button on cheaptickets.com. Last year, right around tax refund time, I planned to take a trip to Paris sometime in the fall. Earlier this summer I thought I'd shelve that idea and use those funds to pay down some bills.

But I'm tired of waiting.

Years ago I had the opportunity to travel around Europe, and came pretty close to doing that until I had an epiphany: I can't experience Europe (Paris, Vienna, Rome, Venice) in a week. I can't enjoy the cities when I'm spending, at most, a day and a half in those cities. I need to spend at least a long weekend in each city. Especially Paris.

So I didn't go. And I don't regret not going. Because I know when I can stroll leisurely through the Left Bank and visit maybe one museum a day and spend the afternoons drinking espresso near the Seine and reading Hemingway or Voltaire that it'll be worth it.

But I'm tired of waiting.

25 is a good year, I think, to off and go to Paris. And I have a several months before I even turn 25. And if it gets to be towards the end of 2008, well...then I can impulse buy a trip to Paris. As it is, the idea of going isn't completely shot for this year. It's going to be highly tempting and I'll have to work to see what I can work on and see if I can convince a friend of mine to meet me there, but we'll see.

In the meantime, I satiated the need to impulse shop with buying a pair of shoes. In my defense, I do need them. I have a wedding to go to in two weeks and the best summer sandals I have are a little scuffed since they're my most comfortable and I've gone out dancing numerous times.

I needed these.

thoughts springing from the portrait gallery

I went to the Portrait Gallery for the first time yesterday. I know, I know...two years here and I haven't been. And what's even sadder is that I go to Chinatown a lot, so...I walk past the museum a lot. Anyway, I figured I'd kill the early part of an afternoon and check it out, especially because of the American Presidents Portrait exhibition.

I really liked the second floor. I went upstairs and first came across the sculpture of The Dying Tomahawk (excuse me please if my memory has failed me here. The name was along these lines) which reminded me of The Dying Gaul. Allow me a moment to get off topic. I just have to profess my love of this statue and maybe because it is such an incredible and, yes, even a little triumphant, portrayal of my Celtic heritage. Because, when you look at it, the Celt is dying but he's still strong, raising himself up and fighting against his defeat. Which is something I think the Celts did until the very, very end. I will definitely be making a trip to Rome to see this in person.

Anyway...back to the museum. There was another painting that I didn't get to see the title of, but it's in an enclave all by itself (it's huge, for one) and the room was draped with red velvet curtains. It's of the Sierra Nevadas, I heard someone say, and is breathtaking. Looking at it, you just have to wonder about what this country looked like to the first explorers. I think occasionally you can still get a glimpse of this, but...well, you'll have to take a look at this painting. Go to the Portrait Gallery if for nothing else than to see this painting. Second floor, you can't miss it.

On to the American Presidents: What I liked about the exhibition was the statues and portraits and busts of the first presidents. I have always been enthralled with the start of "American" history, with these giants of American history. They were brilliant and articulate and courageous and while walking through these portraits I had to wonder: Have they simply become legendary to pass on the dream?

Is it possible that they really were larger than life even during their time period? And I don't just mean the very early Presidents, but all those early figures. And even throughout history there have been extraordinary people: Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, Cleopatra, Boudicea, Napoleon, Socrates, Aristotle, Chief Seattle, etc., etc.

I'm reminded of that Shakespeare quote from Twelfth Night: "Be not afraid of greatness: some men are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them." Which speaking of Shakespeare, he is definitely included in the above list.

Or were they simply ordinary people doing ordinary things and legends, like chopping down the cherry tree, started to spring up to make them larger than life? I find this difficult to believe, and I don't even want to believe it. I like believing there have been towering people roaring through the pages of history. Going back to Shakespeare, when I've heard people spout the theory that it was several people writing under the name of Shakespeare, I want to refuse to believe that. Why couldn't one man be so intelligent and eloquent that words flowed from his pen in lyrical brilliance?

Which leads me to wonder about today. Are we too cynical to recognize and encourage that one-man greatness? Or is it something that will only be recognizable generations later to historians looking back? If the circumstances create the man, then I think the circumstances are there. And in today's world of instant news, I would think we'd be able to pick him out in an instant. Or if he's out there, are we, the cynical society, just looking for an excuse to knock him down?

In other news, also sparked by my trip to the Portrait Gallery, I did have a new idea while on the second floor. I won't say anything about it now, mainly because I don't really have anything more than the seed of the idea that I really need to work on fleshing out. But I love the rush that comes when a new idea hits me, the excitement and the urgency of needing to write it down. As it came to me, I just wanted to run home and start typing. Luckily I had a piece of paper and a pen and could jot down the few key ideas so I could enjoy the galleries a little longer. But...that's what I'll be working on today probably.

happy anniversary to me

Two years ago today I moved into my apartment in DC and, if I remember correctly, spent the evening putting together my futon so I could sleep that night, and using a packing box as a dinner table with a Whole Foods ready-to-go meal being served out of the plastic containers.

Oh yeah, it was that classy.

And now, two years later, my apartment is packed with bookshelves full of books, proper and clean plates (they were still in the boxes when I ate that first dinner).

So I have survived for two years, though there were a few periods where survival was questionable (usually right around December or January). And, last year as well, as the end of July starts creeping up and it's time for me to decide whether or not I want to sign on for another year, I think about and think about it and think about it some more.

And I made the commitment (and actually added a few extra months) because even though the last two years have been good, you know what they say: Third time's the charm. So...I have a feeling my third year in DC is going to be great. I feel like some things are finally starting to get in order, which I think will give me some more opportunities to do some more of the things I want to do (I know...very cryptic), and I've got some ideas as well for the upcoming year.

Once again...happy anniversary to me.

I have a new goal

I love to travel and even dream about traveling. I like thinking up new places that would be incredible to see and add them to my list of places to visit. Which...that list is now practically every country in the world. But I have a more definiable goal to state (and state it so I will eventually keep it...theoretically). I want to visit the 7 Wonders of the World.

Eventually I'd like to up that to the 21 short-listed wonders, but I figure that those 7, along with Paris and Greece, aren't bad places to start.

It just may take awhile, and some other trips may come up in between.

I know these were announced almost two weeks ago, but my colleague and I got to talking about them while discussing August's National Geographic. I don't think it's out on stands yet, I just got mine the other day, but right now I'd suggest picking it up. I'm already ready to plan a trip to Mexico (and hey! then I could cross Chichén Itzá off my list!)

words inspired by...

BookEnds had such a great post today on the inspiration behind the agents' love of books. I've decided to add my own thoughts on those who inspired me to love books and become a writer. Because...well, I'm not so sure it's something innate. Talent may be, but I'm not sure about the passion. And so, we have:

My Mother It must have been every night that we stayed up reading when I was little. Sometimes it was a novel with a chapter (or two or three if I was on top of my persuasion game) and other times a short book. And I also saw her with a book, or a crossword puzzle, during downtime. Which, with little girls, probably wasn't very much. And of course that fostering of this love by buying me books. I had my own little library going back in the day with Nancy Drew and The Baby-Sitters' Club, among others.

My grandmother She inspired a love of story telling, even if our tastes have since diverged. Primarily I credit her with getting me interested in mythology with a story of Thor. And of course she also did, and still does, have stacks of book lining the living room.

Robin Williams Growing up I was in love with Dead Poets' Society. I wanted a teacher like Mr. Keating and I wanted, at one point, to become a teacher like Mr. Keating. And even though it was more about thinking for yourself instead of reading, you can learn so much by reading. And of course, there is that one scene where they're beginning to read poetry and he has them rip out the "how to measure poetry" section from their books, to teach his students to delve beyond, to the feeling inside the words.

Carrollton-Farmers Branch Public Library Anyone who knows me now knows that I prefer to own my books. Yes, somewhat of an expensive addiction. But when I was little, I looked forward to summers and the...I don't want to say contest, but I guess that's what it was, that the Library had to encourage reading. You got little prizes and maybe your name on the wall for finishing a certain number of books. It didn't take me long to finish, but it was one thing I looked forward to (and yes, I know...I was a nerd and probably still am one).

Ayn Rand As an adult there are several authors I'm drawn to. I'm listing Ayn Rand because I love the story and the philosophy behind her novels and I love the characters that she creates. I don't think I could ever write a philosophical novel, but Atlas Shrugged is my favorite novel. Along this same line then, other authors that have drawn me to read more and write are Anne Rice (her worlds are incredible!), Thomas Jefferson, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and I could really go on and on here.

Mrs. Morris My high school Creative Writing teacher. I took her two creative writing class and loved pretty much every minute of class. Well...except the reading part. Reading aloud terrified me, but I did it, in class and in some of the few Writer's Group meetings I was able to attend. When I was home over the holidays I went through this old trunk of stuff to do a little cleaning and organizing and came across an award for Creative Writing I received my senior year at the Senior Awards Ceremony. Each subject gave an award out to an outstanding senior and I hate to say it, but I'd forgotten I'd received this one. I remembered I got one in Economics since that's partially why I changed to an Econ major, but I didn't remember that I received the second one, which I think at the time may have meant more. I was almost tempted to bring it back to DC with me and hang it up next to my degree. :) My teacher knew that I wanted to be a writer, and with that award, she told me that she thought I could be one. That was a nice thing to remember.

Ok, I'm done. I know there are others, especially writers I love since there are so many, but these are the few who came to my mind first. I know several of the people who read this also love to read. So...who has inspired you? Or if it's music or...art, etc., that you love, what are your inspirations behind this?

a little warm

It was more than a little warm outside. So what do I do to add to the heat? I make pasta with an Arrabiata sauce, which apparently means "angry." Basically it means I add a lot of crushed red pepper (and I think I may have added too much). It definitely had a little kick to it. I like my food spicy, but I did have to get a glass of milk in order to get rid of the tingly feeling along my lips. It was great to cook something again as it's been a few weeks since I've really done something in the kitchen and I miss that. I don't know if I'd go so far as to say I'm a good cook, but I do love it.

I'm also having fun with the new digital camera.

I went back down to the Mall this morning/afternoon to check out the new exhibtion at the Freer and Sackler Galleries: Encompassing the Globe: Portugal and the World in the 16th and 17th Centuries. This is another exhibition that I recommend. There were boxes and swords made of intricately carved silver and ivory, and others made out of tortoiseshells that were nearly translucent. There was this globe that turned into two goblets by breaking in half, with the Southern Hemisphere supported by Atlas and the Northern Hemisphere supported by another, smaller globe (or something...I was caught by Atlas and the idea that this sculpture broke into the two goblets).

It's interesting because I don't think Portugal was really thought of as a major player back in the day. They started off strong, but when we (or at least me) think of the colonies, it's England, France and Spain. But Portugal had influence not just in the New World with Brazil, but also throughout India, Japan, China and Africa.

There's a lot to see at the exhibition, and it's broken up into the spheres of influence. And if you are looking to escape the heat, you could do worse than to spend a few hours in a musuem. It was freezing inside!

And of course the Folklife festival is still going on. I cruised through it on my way to the Freer. I visited last weekend and walked through it more, but today I overheard some Irish singing and some Mekong drumming. I wish I could get my voice to mimic the Irish singers, but I think I'd sound ridiculous if I tried. So I'll leave that to Enya.

if a tree falls...

Last night I met an old high school friend for dinner, and since it's been about six years since I last saw her, we obviously had a lot to catch up on. We met for some delicious Thai, tasty, fruity drinks and about two hours of conversation. When I left her at Dupont and turned to walk down P Street, I saw the flashing lights of a cop car blocking P at 18th.

My first thought was: "Oh dear Lord...what happened?" Especially since I saw flares, no smashed cars and the yellow police tape stretched across the street.

No one seemed to be panicking, so...whatever it was, couldn't have been too bad.

As I walk down P I see the tape at 17th Street end of the block stretched out across the sidewalk on the side I was on, so I crossed over to the other side (strange to do that without having to look for oncoming traffic) and that was when I saw it: half of a tree stretched out across the street, it's leaves brushing the opposite sidewalk in a frenzy of green, possibly half the height of one of the walkups it lay in front of.

The base of the 'branch' (even though it could well have been it's own tree) was still connected to the tree and it must have happened shortly before I left my friend at Dupont, seeing as how the cop was only just setting up the flare at one end. The 17th end already had flares going and the tape secured.

It's been a very busy day so I haven't had a chance to look at news and see what exactly happened. There was one car you could see a little through the leaves, but any damage was difficult to tell. I passed one woman who commened on her car being on our side of the street, just before the tree.

But despite the danger, the trees are gorgeous and in the heat and humidity they at least provide brief respite from the sun.

recommendations

I must have slept funny last night because I woke up this morning and my back just ached. Either that or I'm just getting old. But anyway...

I do have a couple of recommendations as this weekend draws to a close.

The first is the current photography exhibition at National Geographic, from the photo camp in a Ugandan refugee camp. I went to see it with some friends yesterday and I highly recommend. What I remember most from the captions of these pictures was one girl saying that she was 17 and didn't even know how to read or write her own name. Can you even begin to imagine? Another younger child said he wanted to go to school and become a doctor, but that would never happen. That statement saddened me. Here we're taught to imagine that we can be anything we want and there's a child that wants badly to become a doctor, but at such a young age he's already abandoning his dream.

Others wondered if their parents were still alive after the Rwandan genocide which, if you know your recent history, was 13 years ago. Imagine going for over a decade knowing this horrific event happened and you had no news of what happened to your family. There was a picture of a machete describing the importance of a machete for survival but also the horror because of the damage the weapons did in Rwanda.

After taking in the photos, we sat in for the film God Grew Tired of Us, which is something I've often wondered. Not of me, but of the world. Somehow I'm inclined to think that we we do to each other today is far worse than what happened thousands of years ago when we were first almost wiped off the face of the planet with a flood (if, of course, you happen to believe that story). The film was wonderful, and I somehow managed to hold back tears for most of it, until the end.

There were a few lighter moments in the film as well. Most of these were with the relationships between the Lost Boys. One refugee who was headed to the US was discussing electricity and how he's never used it. He thought it would be very hard for him since he never used it. Imagine going through life with these things we take for granted. I have joked with my parents wondering how they managed to grow up without computers or the internet. But imagine not growing up without electricity or running water, especially when those things are available.

I think it was John Dau in the film who talked about the End Days in the Bible and how when he traveled from one camp in Ethiopia back through Sudan to another camp in Kenya that he wondered if that was what was happening, if God had grown tired of the people on Earth to make them go through what they did.

If you get the chance, I very strongly recommend watching this. I'd like to read the book but right now I've got a few in my "to read" pile and several on my shelves that I would like to reread.

Since I've already gone on long enough, my final recommendation is A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini; I finished it yesterday. I'll admit there were a few moments when I didn't want to read anymore because it was just so depressing, but I kept reading because I kept thinking that it just had to get better. The lives of these women who didn't deserve their hardships had to get better. But the writing was poignant and the story heart-wrenching. I won't go further because, again, I've gone on long enough, but suggest if you're looking for something to read, check this book out.

favorite composer

While waiting for some tea to steep, I sat down at my keyboard and practiced a little piano. I moved the lesson book and as the pages flipped back to my current piece, two words caught my eye: March Slav. Oh, I was stoked.

Those who know me should know my favorite composer. Yes, Beethoven has beautiful and powerful pieces and there's a Bach concerto that I love in its simplicity, but Tchaikovsky...well, this may sound lame, but Tchaikovsky moves me. And it's not the piece that people might think, it's the Overture. It's the March Slav (Slavic March).

Granted the piece in my lesson book is a simplified version, I still played it over and over and now I have Tchaikovsky on my stereo with a full orchestra playing the March Slav. It's...sultry, and hypnotic and powerful all at the same time.

Now...I've had several very cool experiences here in DC, some of those once-in-a-lifetime things. I've been to a few receptions with some very important people, I was on the White House lawn last summer for the welcoming ceremony for Prime Minister Koizumi (no Elvis impersonations though) and have danced for hours to top, international DJs. But the coolest experience by far was opening night for the National Symphony Orchestra at the Kennedy Center and hearing the March Slav. Along, of course, with the Overture of 1812 complete with fireworks.

To anyone, anyone, who has the opportunity to go hear an orchestra perform Tchaikovsky, I say Go! Go and enjoy and be mesmerized. The percussion will get inside you and warm your blood while the strings will send chills down your spine and give you goosebumps.

Ok. I'm done. I don't think I reveal my "nerdy" side very often, but it comes out with a couple of things: books and music.

And maybe British comedy.

out of practice

The great thing about living in Washington is that everything is pretty much within walking distance. The downside is that my four-inch stilettos are not necessarily the most comfortable pair of shoes to go traipsing around down to the mall and back. In Dallas where I used to wear heels all the time there really isn't anywhere to do a lot of walking...except maybe the Galleria or from one end of the parking lot to the mall.

I do have several pairs of cute, comfortable shoes, such as my Coach tennis shoes, a pair of stylish black tennis shoes and of course, my all white Adidas for jeans and Sunday afternoons. However, I felt Sunday brunch with a good friend I haven't seen in months called for something...a little different. I wore a pair of dark wooden sandals with a three-inch heel. I figured brunch was only a few blocks away.

Now that I'm back home and wanting to give my feet the rest of the day off, I realize I may have been a little too hopeful. The decorative leather did rub a little skin off and of course, hard wood is not the best thing to stand on and walk for several blocks.

I am not the sort of girl to give up after one try. I may bring these shoes with me to work and try them around the office to break them in, eventually hoping to wear them out and about again. Besides...they're super cute and chic!

And I'm female. I'm a short female. It's the price I am willing to pay. It's like guitar. When you haven't played in awhile it hurts because your callouses are gone and you just have to wait for them to build back up...or so I'm told. I remember the first few (and only) times I played my friend's guitar, my fingers hurt very much afterwards.

for you Dad

I remember you taking down Atlas Shrugged from your bookshelf and telling me that it was "the best book I've read," and telling me that I would enjoy it just as much. Four reads later and I still love it. I love it even more when I tell you that I would like to be Dagny Taggert, and you tell me I already am.

I remember the condo and you buying your Harley and taking me out for a ride, years and years and eons after the first time I rode one and me clinging to you, terrified of the speed and the wind rushing past. And then I remember I could never get enough of riding on the back with you, wanting so badly to learn how to drive one (although...I also remember trying to support that huge bike in your garage all on my own and realizing a Harley might be a little too heavy for me).

I still remember the first time you introduced me to sushi and I wondering how on earth that little amount of food could possibly sustain anyone and how chewy octopus was (and I haven't eaten octopus since). And of course the last time I saw you was in Little Tokyo in Los Angeles over sushi after my graduation.

I only vaguely remember the old Virginia house, but my only clear memories are the late nights when I couldn't sleep and I could always find you downstairs. I can't recall my bedroom, or the living room or the kitchen of that house, but the downstairs living area I can still picture.

I like that I inheritied your quest to learn how things work, and to make it on my own and to work hard for what I want. I have to admit that I'm a little dismayed I inherited broad shoulders but without your height. Although...you've heard me complain about this nearly every time I go shopping.

When I was little, the only bedtime stories I wanted were your personal stories of a certain troublemaker. I can only imagine your confusion at being dragged through the mall, having been "blessed" with only daughters, and trying to figure out what on earth MAC cosmetics were, or listening to me try to explain why I had to have a Kate Spade wallet for my birthday. I'm sure you must have zoned out if we ever tried to discuss the merits over Armani over Versace, just as I have to admit I zoned out through all the Home Depot and Sears trips.

Dad...you survived having "girly" girls and all that entailed. You came to all my recitals: the piano, dance, band concerts..., and to many of my soccer games, even if I could never discuss football with you or tell you the purpose of a wide reciever.

I'm sure you're still bewildered where this little vegetarian girl came from.

I will think of you whenever I come across a Brugger's Bagels or hear Friends in Low Places. I think of you whenever I pick up Atlas Shrugged, the book that did change my life (Father knows best, right?). I will always think of you when I catch a whiff of Old Spice or see any little blonde haired girl dancing on her Father's toes. I still eat my pancakes in silver dollars and sometimes "city sidewalks" are the only lyrics I remember too. Sushi Awaji just isn't the same without you.

Happy Father's Day! I may not be that little blonde haired girl anymore, but I have a feeling I will always be a Daddy's girl.

women renaissance artists

First of all, I'm glad I went yesterday to the National Museum of Women in the Arts. I had thought about putting it off today, but as I sit here with my cup of coffee on my couch, I look out the window and see sheets of rain pouring down.

So I finally had a chance to go see the exhibtion of Italian Women Painters from Renaissance to Baroque. I'd recommend going, especially just to see the inside of the museum. The entrance hall and grand staircases are incredible! In the exhibition, I will say I preferred the end of it, especially the different paintings of Judith. The reason I liked these best is because the colors were so vibrant. In the beginning, the paintings were dark, and that may have been because they were mainly portraits. I think the text said something along the lines that women made their commissions from portraits, unlike male artists who were able to do these great, elaborate scenes.

The paintings and drawings were very good though, especially the skin tone. I could get the shading on colors, but skin tones always tripped me up, so I love seeing how smoothly these great painters are able to do this. But I'm still partial to the colors that almost take your breath away (there's this painting that I love seeing at the DMA because the cloaks are incredible! The light blue on the cloak is so vivid, along with this deep, rich red).

I have more to say about what I've done this weekend, but I'll end here so this post doesn't drag on. If you're looking to escape the heat and humidity, I'd suggest checking out the exhibition. The other nice thing is that even though it was a Saturday afternoon, it was kind of empty. Since it's not really by anything, there weren't many (any?) tourists. It may also have been because unlike the museums along the mall, this one has a $10 fee ($8 if you're a student, and free if you're a member).

Back to writing. I love writing on rainy days, perched in the corner of my futon with my coffee. I tend to make large pots on the weekends, aiming to spend a lot of time sitting and writing.

new favorite coffeehouse

The best vanilla latte I've had was at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, that sadly has no locations in the metro area (or on the East Coast, for that matter). I guess a runnerup would have been Ground for Enjoyment. I think I may now have come close to finding a substitute: Murky Coffee.

I end up in Arlington once a week for a writers' group and have met up with a friend who lives there a few times. Today he introduced me to the Murky Cup, claiming it to be incredible coffee. Now...as I said above, I've firmly declared my love for Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf*, and I'm pretty picky about my coffee, so I was a little skeptical.

So I order my vanilla latte (I drink enough regular 'drip' coffee at home) and I am so not disappointed. It was almost, if not just, as a good as CBTL. At least as good as GFE. It was warm, not thick, but not watery, and the foam was wonderfully silky smooth and was practically blended with the coffee. Sometimes at some places you can really taste the seperation between foam and coffee. But not this afternoon. And it wasn't too sweet either, which is another problem I've had with some vanilla lattes.

I got there a little early and it was so wonderful to sit back with my book (The Agony and the Ecstacy by Irving Stone...very good so far) and enjoy the early evening. Virginia was much cooler and a little less humid than DC. Or maybe that's just because we were sitting close to the street and the rush from the cars created a nice breeze.

I look forward to going back and suggest that if you're in Arlington, check it out. It's on the corner of Wilson and Washington, I think. My friend enjoys the drip, I am currently in like with the vanilla latte (check back in a few weeks...it might be more serious then. Who knows? It could be love).

*On a side note, a CBTL opened up near campus my senior year and I had a card where if you bought so many coffees, you got a free one. And because I was so in love with this coffee, and knew that there wasn't one in Texas and this was my last time to get it whenever I wanted, I dragged my friend V to it nearly every day before class during Mayterm. I got my free coffee a few days before graduation, I think. Oh Coffee Bean...I miss you.

titles

I'm usually pretty good at coming up with titles. Sometimes the title even comes first, a word or a phrase...and then the idea develops further from that. I have several documents with a title and then a few sentences about the idea, maybe a few opening paragraphs, and then that's it. I'll come back to them later, but it was an idea that gripped me at the time and I couldn't wait to put it down so I wouldn't forget it.

Now...whether these titles themselves are any good may be up for debate.

Unfortunately...I'm finishing up a draft for a story and I have nothing. Not even a thought of a title. Well, ok, that's not completely true. I've thought a few but they seem far too cliché to use for this type of story.

And it needs a title. In a few days. Preferably in a day. Send positive thoughts my way and maybe the perfect one will come to me in a dream. I should just make sure I write it down the moment I wake up, otherwise I'll be kicking myself for forgetting.

Hope everyone had a nice Memorial Day weekend!

By the way, if you're looking for a couple of hours to kill, I'd recommend going to see Shrek the Third. I saw it this afternoon and even though it has its cheesy moments (and of course we saw the cheese coming), it was cute and I laughed a lot. And I about froze in the theatre which was a great way to escape the humidity clinging to your skin outside.

If I can just find my own adorable, swashbuckling feline with a Spanish accent...

gazpacho...finally

No...I'm still here. I haven't gone anywhere. Well, technically I did. I spent a very long weekend last week in Texas for a much needed vacation. As far as I'm aware, I'm here through August when I will finally have a chance to go back and visit Montana (it's been three years!) and escape from the humidity.

I hate to report that I haven't been up to a whole lot. The title of this post relates to last night's activities. Two years ago I asked for, and received, a blender for Christmas because I'd really been wanting to make smoothies and gazpacho. Unfortunately, said blender was held hostage in Texas due to my lack of suitcase space and it being just a little to heavy to justify shipping costs. Realizing the only way I would probably see this blender would be to move back to Texas, I finally bought a new one here several weeks ago.

Last night I made gazpacho from a recipe in a Mediterranean cookbook, out of many recipes for it that I have and all are slightly different, and it was wonderful! I was a little hesitant about how it would turn out. I had a freak weird skin-allergic reaction to the last soup I tried making because of the chili peppers (it was some Thai coconut soup). Nothing went wrong last night, except for my lack of only having one large container for the unblended soup and dividing the blended portions up into two smaller containers.

I bought some extra ingredients to try this chilled almond soup when I finish all my gazpacho. Not quite sure how that one will taste. But I hope to make more gazpacho throughout the summer, possibly trying the other recipes and seeing which one I like best.

Sorry for the prosaic post. I'm trying to think up a title for my short story right now while editing and also reading an incredible novel. I'll post later about my trip and will probably also post about this novel when I finish.

james bond and aston martins

On my way to work this morning I saw it, the thing that makes my heart flutter and turn my head until I'm afraid I'll either run into a mailbox or can no longer see it. And no, I'm not talking about all the adorable little puppies that make me grin on the street and wish I had one (until I remember that this would require me taking it out in the middle of the coldest days in Washington). Yes...I am talking about: a car.

But not just any car. A sleek, shiny, new, gleaming black Aston Martin, the car that glides through the streets as smoothly as a shark glides through the ocean currents.

I should probably state for the record that I am not a car person. Yes, I do know how to drive a standard (and love it and may never go back to an automatic if I can help it), and I do like driving fast on near empty highways or down through the curving rocky mountains of my sweet Southern Californian roads. But I couldn't get technical and I normally don't care about horsepower, or turbo charged engines, or whatnot.

Corvettes, yeah, I like them. BMWs, take 'em or leave 'em, Ferraris...quite beautiful but they don't make my heart flutter. But Aston Martins can make me stop in my tracks. Hummers...no thanks.

Maybe it's the James Bond thing. Maybe it's the dream to live a fast, adventurous life full of mystery and drama and intrigue. Maybe it's the same reason why so many people order a martini, "shaken, not stirred" even if they're not a martini fan. I don't even think it's a status symbol because not many people tend to really think of them or notice them.

Some people have a rabbits' foot or charm bracelets to make it a good day. Others make a wish for a good day by kissing the clasp on their necklace when it reaches the front. I have my Aston Martin sightings.

Ah...it's going to be a good day.

thoughts from friday night

Sometimes you have to wonder if you're doing the right thing.

I'm writing this sitting on the steps just below Lincoln, looking at a dark reflecting pool with two Washingtons and Capitols, lit up brilliantly against an almost dark sky. I see flickers of flash splatter against the stone steps, only no music except what is filtered through my iPod that only I can hear.

I left and went out walking after a long day at the office, again questioning what I was doing, where I was and where I was going. After an hour I found myself walking through the snow of dying blossoms, blown from their perches by a faint whisper of the wind and coloring the sidewalks in pinks and yellows.

I'm sitting down now, relishing the tingling in my legs, the coolness and the amazing lack of people on an incredible spring night. I feel I could be content to just watch the ripples, the blurring of the edges of the Washington while your eyes flow up to the base of a sturdier version.

Moments like this, I realize, I live for. Pure contentment where so much doesn't matter. Just myself, this wind and these legacies...these giants of American history.

I may not know if what I'm doing is right. But I have moments that feel so right. And even though I know I will eventually move on, most likely for somewhere with a warmer winter climate, I will always have these moments.

I'm not sure I'd trade that for all the other unknowns.