Back...

Yes, I am back from my glorious trip north, and it was wonderful, absolutely wonderful. I felt all nostalgic and homesick for my life there, but I know that I could never really live there again. It's just so much a part of my past, that I think it would be strange to make it my present again. Plus, my closest friends are gone - not that I couldn't make new friends, but it was strange to be there without them. But, I do love Sitka. Here are some of my favorite moments from the trip:
1. The unexpected sun!
2. The hike around Beaver Lake. It's not particularly long, but it's new. At least, it wasn't there when I lived there. It was very pretty - great views of the mountains, boardwalk through the muskeg, and a lake. What more could you want?
3. The boatride to and from the floathouse. There is nothing more Sitka than being on a boat, especially when it's raining and the mountains are shrouded in fog. I almost started to cry, it was so beautiful and homesick-y.
4. Staying at the floathouse itself. I'd never been there when I lived there. It was wonderful! I highly recommend it.
5. Running into people I knew when I lived there (and these people were all very friendly and happy to see me).
6. Seeing lots of the old Sitka characters out and about - the guy who whistles bird calls all the time, Jeff Budd, etc. Some things never change, and I hope they never do.
7. Watching the eagles at Totem Park.
8. Watching the sea lions at Whale Park.
9. Driving to the ends of the road.
10. Walking through the door at big Sea Mart (a grocery store). This is something only Sitkans and former Sitkans would understand. But, trust me, it is a very noteworthy door. Plus, the view from the parking lot is incredible.

There were some things that had changed, mostly just new businesses that have entered town. On the whole, though, not too much is different. I even visited my old post office box and found the same two people working there who've always worked there. Sigh. Sitka.

Something of note that happened: I decided to stop being fake. There is a certain person who still lives in Sitka, who I was never really friends with but who was good friends with certain of my good friends. I never had the impression that she liked me; to the contrary, I always had the impression that she felt she was somehow "above" me or "too cool" for me. She would only acknowledge me when I was around our mutual friends, otherwise, I would have to acknowledge her first before she would so much as smile at me. This can be awkward in such a small town. Well, on my visit last weekend, I ran into her the very first morning I was in town. I was entering the local coffee shop, and there she was - not surprising, since that's the best coffee place in town (there are only 2). We made brief eye contact before she looked away. I looked away, too, though, and did not approach her. Why should I waste my time trying to be nice to someone who so obviously wants nothing to do with me? Frankly, I always found her to be a tad snobby. It's like she decides when she meets someone whether or not she can be their friend - whether or not they're cool enough for her. Then, she acts accordingly. Well, feck it. It's just not worth my time to be fake and pretend to be glad to see someone who always made me feel uncomfortable. It was kind of a nice feeling, actually...but it sure made it funny to share such a small space. I had to make a very purposeful effort not to look at her. And, for the record, I am not the only person who feels this way about her. In fact, there are many other people who feel this way. My 2 good friends who are friends with her never understood why the two of us weren't friends. My question for them is: How can you be her friend?

But, now I am back in the bosom of Portland and starting my second year of grad school. I just had my first day of my internship, at Morrison Child and Family Services. Tomorrow night, I have my first class. Yesterday, I was in Sitka, completely relaxed and happy. Today, my life enters full-stress mode. Kind of funny how life just rolls along, huh?

Tomorrow!

This morning, I had to give a 20 minute speech to the incoming first year students of the Graduate School of Social Work. They are having their orientation today, those poor little saps. They have no idea what they're in for. He, he. They'll find out soon enough, though. Anyway. The speech. It wasn't really my choice; I kind of got roped into doing it. I volunteered to do one thing, and it turned into lots of things, and now, well, I'm running the student government. But, that's a long and boring story. The point is, the speech went really well, and now that it's over, I can focus on my upcoming trip.

But, where are you going? you ask.

I. Am. Going. To. SITKA!!!!!!!!! Yes, that's right. Sitka. That darling little town where I lived for 2 1/2 years. Sitka. The place of many grizzly bears and unending rain. Sitka. Where I grew so much as a person and really, truly, healed. Sitka. Where I met the love my life. Sitka. The town that's got a population of 9,000 and runs 15 miles from end to end. Sitka. Ah, Sitka. Am I excited? You bet your bippy. My one last chance at relaxation before school starts and I am faced with hellish and neverending stress. (I must admit, though, that giving that speech today did make me a teensy bit excited about school starting back up again - but don't tell anyone). Sitka has taken on almost a mythic quality since I left it 2 1/2 years ago. While I vividly remember that it was not always a rosy place for me, my memories of it are overwhelmingly positive, and I cannot wait to go back. It will be very interesting to see it through my current eyes. Just so you can be jealous of me, I included the above photo of Mt. Verstovia, which looks out over Sitka rather nicely.

*Sigh.* I can't wait to be there...

Poo in the Pool!

My boyfriend recently told me a story about his niece's birthday party...she turned 10 a couple of weeks ago, and had a pool party at her house in Phoenix, Arizona to celebrate. Apparently, some kid pooed in the pool, and there was this little log floating and bobbing along in the water. All the kids freaked out, and my boyfriend's sister fished it out of the pool, added some extra chlorine, and all was again right with the world.

This story reminded me of my dear friend, Megan. We've been friends for nearly 20 years, which is unbelievable to me. Anyway, Megan and I have some history together involving swimming pools. To save her some embarrassment, I will only share the part of our swimming pool history that has to do with the above story. When we were around 13 or 14 years old, Megan, her mother, and her sister moved into a townhouse. This townhouse is located in a little development of townhouses. Nestled among these townhouses is a swimming pool, meant for use by residents of the development only. Megan and I were delighted at the prospect of having this pool, because it meant we got to avoid using the more crowed (and more expensive) public pool. We happily went to swim in it one day, elated to find that we were the only users. We swam around for a bit, and I noticed that there was something at the bottom of the pool. We ignored it for a while, then swam down to investigate (thankfully, we had goggles). Lo and behold, there were several mini poo logs resting gracefully on the pool's cement floor. Naturally, we freaked out. There was much shrieking as we scrambled out of the pool and into the showers at Megan's house, which was thankfully not too far away. Needless to say, I declined to return to that pool. Megan, however, did return. I believe it was the very next time she visited that pool, with a different, unsuspecting friend, that she found a dead rabbit, floating in the center of the water.

I do not believe she ever went to swim there again.

I'm 28 - very appropriate, since I'll be that age soon

You Are 28 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

Hmmm...

Your Birthdate: January 3

Being born on the 3rd day of the month is likely to add a good bit of vitality to your life. The energy of 3 allows you bounce back rapidly from setbacks, physical or mental. There is a restlessness in your nature, but you seem to be able to portray an easygoing, "couldn't care less" attitude. You have a natural ability to express yourself in public, and you always make a very good impression. Good with words, you excel in writing, speaking, and possibly singing. You are energetic and always a good conversationalist. You have a keen imagination, but you tend to scatter your energies and become involved with too may superficial matters. You are affectionate and loving, but sometimes too sensitive. You are subject to rapid ups and downs.

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Love

I watched the movie The Notebook a couple of days ago, and, although the acting wasn't the greatest and the story somewhat cheesy, it really affected me. Despite its shortcomings, it is still a beautiful love story. And, it got me thinking about my own relationship in a way I never had before. I think I've been taking it for granted. I realized, for the first time, that what I have is so incredibly special and precious. I have this wonderful man, who loves me deeply, and with whom I will grow old. As the years go by and I get wrinkled and gray, he will still look at me and see the pretty young girl he fell in love with. This is at once wonderful, and amazing, and scary, and comforting. I feel like such an idiot. Why on earth did it take me so long to fully appreciate the beauty of what I have? I've been very stressed out and scattered lately (like, for the past year or so), but I should never take this for granted. This wonderful, wonderful man loves me. He really does, with all his heart. I'm glad I finally got my head out of my ass long enough to realize and appreciate this. Why is it that we can sometimes be so blind to that which is closest to us? Life certainly is a mysterious and wondrous thing.

Numb.

So, anyone who knows me knows that I have horrible teeth. I am cautiously thanking my mother for that, since I recently learned that bad teeth are the most heritable thing you can get - more so than looks, personality, high cholesterol, etc., and I know that my mother has terrible teeth. I have had more fillings than I can count, and several (actually, most) of my teeth have more than one filling. Fun stuff, eh? Even more fun when you can't afford to go to the dentist for several years. This was my situation, and I finally was able to afford to get a cleaning this past May. Prior to that, I had not been to the dentist in....well....more than 5 years.

I was only able to get my teeth cleaned at that time because my lovely university opened a dental clinic on campus, with very affordable rates. During this appointment, I was told that I had 6 fillings that needed to be redone. I thought, 6 fillings! You've got to be kidding me - I already had them done, why should I get them done again? Apparently, the fillings were wearing down. They were old and starting to, I guess, break down. Great. Lucky for me, the affordable rates of the dental clinic were on my side. I had two of these taken care of about a month ago, and I had three more done today. Only one more to go - yay!

Unfortunately, it's only affordable for me if I get the metal amalgam fillings, not the white composite fillings. The metal is sturdier, lasts longer, and is a better deal all around - plus, all 6 of the fillings that needed replacing were the white stuff. But...the metal fillings have mercury in them. I mean, it's only a trace amount, but it's still worrisome. Alas, I am broke and can only afford to fill my mouth with mercury. It's a huge difference in price, actually - over $100 per filling. That would be over $600 extra dollars if I went with the non-mercury ones...way too much money for me right now.

This all leads me back to why I hate the dentist. Really, it's a matter of money. I know it's important to go to the dentist, but, dammit, it should be more affordable for the average bloke like myself.

I also hate the dentist because they stick these huge needles full of strange medicine into your gums, and - presto! - your mouth is numb. Like mine is now. In fact, the entire left side of my face is numb, from my ear to my nose, including most of my tongue. I cannot talk. I'm lisping, slurring words, not pronouncing the letter "r" - it's really quite amusing. Or, at least, it's amusing if you're my boyfriend who just called me on the phone and tried to have a conversation with me. I feel like I'm perpetually drooling, which I'm not; I just feel like I am. Oh, the joys of the dentist...

Lies, Love, and Weirdos

Yesterday, a man with a charming British accent called me from the Portland Opera. You see, last season, I purchased tickets for Madame Butterfly. I was able to purchase them specially, ahead of time, because I had attended a performance of Miss Saigon. Unfortunately, I was not able to go to Madame Butterfly - but gave the tickets to friends who very much enjoyed the performance. The problem is, because I bought the tickets ahead of time, I got put on some list, and now the people at the Portland Opera are trying to get me to buy lots of tickets for the upcoming season. I previously spoke with this British man in June, when I told him that I did not know my schedule for the fall and did not want to commit to anything just then. So, he called me yesterday to see if my "sheshule" (gotta love the British) had been straightened out and to see if I would like to purchase any tickets for the upcoming opera season before the tickets go on sale to the general public. I could have said, "No thank you, I'm not interested, please take me off your list." But what I said instead was, "Actually, I'm moving to Chicago." Why on Earth did I do that? I mean, it worked - his response was, "Oh, well they do have nice symphony and opera there, as well. We'll take you off our list here, then. Best of luck to you." How funny that I would just lie like that. I have no idea what possessed me to do that. Very out of character.

On another note, I just found out that the 7th of September was National Feel the Love Day. In honor of that, here is a list of things that I love (in no particular order):

1. Cool, crisp fall days.
2. Chocolate.
3. Dogs. Specifically, black or chocolate labs, especially puppies...although yellow lab puppies are cute, too.
4. My boyfriend (of course).
5. Sitka.
6. Sleeping in a tent.
7. My friends, especially the ones who have been there for many years. As it turns out, all that crap about silver and gold is actually true.
8. Sleeping in general.
9. A good, long hike.
10. Tazo Wild Sweet Orange Tea.
11. Cracking my toes...and my back.
12. Doing things for other people.
13. Reading (as long as it's a good book).
14. Peeling the lint out of the dryer. I love how it all stays together and how you can sometimes get it all in one piece. (bad grammar there - sorry.)
15. A good rainstorm.
16. Kenyon.
17. Dear Prudence.
18. Laughter.
19. Cuddling - a very simple, yet highly underrated, activity.
20. My nephews.

There's more, really, but I think I'll stop now. You get the idea.

Today, however, is Wonderful Weirdos Day! Happy day to pretty much everyone I know - you all fit in this category, as do I. Enjoy the day!

Eyes.

So, most people probably know that one is supposed to go to the eye doctor once every year, even if one does not wear glasses/contacts. Everyone who wears glasses or contacts knows this, especially those who wear contacts - you need a new prescription each year in order to get more. I just returned from my annual jaunt to the local Lenscrafters, where I happily learned that my eyes have not changed as radically as they usually do from year to year - this is a good thing, because it means that I am going blind more slowly. Okay, so I'm not really going blind, but sometimes it feels like it. Especially when I'm not wearing my contacts. I did, however, get some disconcerting news: my nearsightedness has gotten worse. I already have reading glasses, which I often refuse to wear as a form of denial of their necessity. Lately, though, I've had a creeping feeling that they've become more...necessary. You know, more frequent headaches when reading, especially with small print or late in the day. And, as it turns out, I'm right. When the doctor told me that my nearsightedness had worsened, I quickly changed the subject so as to avoid the B-word. That's right - bifocals. I am only 27 years old! I do not need bifocals! I am too young! And, I will stick my fingers in my ears and shout, "la la la la la la la" for as long as you discuss the possibility of my needing them. Okay, realistically, I know that it is inevitable. One day, probably sooner rather than later, I will need them. I mean, genetically, I am doomed. (thanks, mom and dad! oh, and, while I'm at it, thanks also for the bad teeth that are also costing me too much money! really, thanks!) But I just don't want to have to get bifocals now. Sometimes, I look at people who have 20-20 vision, and I am overcome with jealousy and hatred. I've had glasses for 18 years. That's right - 18 years. I know that's not as bad as some, but it's still 2/3 of my life. And, really, the first couple of years don't even count, so it's actually more than 2/3 of my life. Gee, don't you just feel so sorry for me?

But, here I am complaining of petty things, when, in reality, I've got it pretty damn good. I've got shelter, food, clothing, and a lot of people who love me. So, I guess in the grand scheme of things, bifocals are not the worst thing that could happen.

Not so long ago...

...I was here. (see above)

I wish I was still there, contemplating Mt. Hood and, specifically, the Coe Glacier. Such a nice place to be. Sigh.

Unfortunately, I am back home. And, being back at home means being back at work. I do enjoy my job, and it makes the days go by faster than they would if I were home doing nothing, but, still, standing for 8 hours is not as easy as you'd think. Especially when you have...uh...well, as a friend from college used to put it, "the fiery tooth of Satan in your uterus." It was especially bad yesterday, and I think I took enough Advil to permanently sedate a small child.

Speaking of children, I just returned from a 3-hour volunteer shift at the local children's hospital. I really enjoy it. I am sad that next week will be my last week as a volunteer. Being around sick children is a very powerful experience, especially when I spend time on the pediatric hematology/oncology unit. I really like volunteering there, because I get to help these kids be, well, kids. I get to build lego towers, play board games, pretend to be a dinosaur, make bracelets, and have tricycle races in the hallways. At least for a little while, they still get to have some semblance of a normal childhood. And, their parents get a break. I am very interested in pursuing medical social work once I have my MSW, and my time at the children's hospital has only strengthened this interest. However, I think I need to sort out my feelings and beliefs about death before I could do any kind of medical social work, as death would certainly be a big part of my job. Right now, I don't think I could handle it. Sometime in the future, perhaps.

*sigh*

So, I am back from my too-short backpacking trip. It was wonderful. I wish I was still out there, actually. I love the feeling that overtakes me when I find my groove, at that moment when the fact that I'm hauling 30+ pounds on my back up a steep mountainside ceases to matter. It's the moment when the heaviness of the pack, the pain in my knees, the struggle, the world - everything - just melts away. I am blissfully in a state of nothingness. Some people use yoga to achieve this, but I prefer backpacking.
I realized a few things on this trip, however - or, rather, a few things were confirmed for me. In no particular order, they are:

1. The vast majority of backpackers are male. I was trying to figure out why this is. I'm thinking that it might have something to do with the fact that, when backpacking, you do not shower for several days at a time. You wear pretty much the same clothes day in and day out, including to sleep - and these clothes quickly become, uh, ripe. You get sweaty. Very sweaty. You can't wear heels or other "cute" shoes. Makeup is completely and utterly pointless. In fact, anything you do to try and "beautify" yourself is pretty pointless. All this is not to say that all women are prissy and girly, but I think that many, many women buy into the stereotype that we're supposed to be pretty and nice and sweet-smelling. It's too bad - I could see how this could be an activity where one might meet lots of nice men. And, if everyone smells bad, it won't matter.

2. The even-vaster majority of backpackers are white. Of the 60 or so other backpacking folks I saw this weekend, only one or two were non-white. This brings up many other questions, such as: Is backpacking somehow an elitest sport? What are the differences in the value systems of the various cultural groups living in the Portland area, and how do those differences affect a particular group's view of nature? And, finally, is Portland the whitest city in America, or what?

3. Sometimes, it's really nice not to have to talk to the person with whom you're hiking. Silence is a beautiful thing, especially when your hiking partner and you are on different wavelengths in terms of the depths of your thoughts. Also, people who talk too much on the trail miss the point, I think.

4. I never, ever sleep as well as I do when I'm in a tent, on a cool night, in the middle of the wilderness somewhere.

Stupidity or Ignorance?

So, in addition to attending grad school, I also work at a pleasant little retail shop. I enjoy it quite a bit - it's nice to have such a concrete job, for a change. I know what I need to do, my tasks are clear, I get them done, and I see the results right away. Very different from social work, and very refreshing. I leave at the end of the day, and I leave my work there. I don't go home worrying about my clients, because I don't care about them.

The store is a factory outlet store located in an out-of-the-way neighborhood, so it's kind of a "destination" shop for people (unlike a store in the mall). The company is based here in Portland, and their product is known all over the world. So, we get lots of customers from different countries. The other day, a French couple and their adult daughter came in. Anyone who knows me knows that I am a total French nerd. I love the language and miss speaking it. I followed these people around the store, eavesdropping on their conversation and grinning. One of my coworkers told me I should talk to them, but I was too embarassed. However, I found the courage to converse with them while ringing up their purchases, and we chatted for about 10 minutes in French. I was glowing, because I really love speaking French, and I miss it terribly. After they left the store, one of the managers (a lovely 23-year-old woman who I really like) and I had the following conversation:

Her: Wow. That's so cool. You're like, so worldly.
Me: Well, not really. I mean, I just studied French for 10 years in school, so it's easy for me to remember. I also used to work at a French language camp and I studied abroad in a French-speaking country, so that helps, too. But, I don't think that makes me worldly.
Her: What country did you go to?
Me: Cameroon. It's in West Africa.
Her: Oh, cool. So, is that the same as South Africa?
Me: No. South Africa is in southern Africa, and they speak English there.
Her: Huh?
Me: See, a lot of western and central Africa was colonized by France and Belgium, so many of the countries in that part of Africa speak French. A lot of southern and eastern Africa was colonized by the British, so many of those countries speak English.
Her: But, isn't British the same as French?
Me: No. The British people come from England, so they speak English. French people come from, well, France, so they speak French. Make sense?
Her: Sort of. But, I mean, is the English they speak in England the same as the English we speak here?
Me: Yes. See, the U.S. was also colonized by the British, so we speak English here, too.
Her: Wait, I'm confused.
Me: English people came over to the U.S. and made settlements, so that's why we speak English here. I mean, we have a different accent, and we use some different slang words, but it's still the same language.
Her: Oh. Huh. Interesting.

This woman has a bachelor's degree from a 4-year university!!!! How does someone not know that we speak the same language as the British? Or that British and French aren't the same language? And, how does someone not understand that the U.S. was colonized by the British? I didn't want to confuse her even more by mentioning that we were also colonized by the German and the Dutch, or that there are hundreds of ethnic languages that are also spoken in Africa. I am just amazed at how....unknowledgeable some people are. I mean, really. This is basic, basic, stuff, right?