The Heat is On

Hey, I have a blog!

It’s been a good summer. And now, as the leaves have turned to flame and are starting to fall, and the warm evenings turn to crisp ones, I would like to discuss a topic near and dear to my heart. That of how I’m going to keep myself warm this winter. Actually, we’re going to discuss an area a little south of my heart because I want to tell you about my heated seats.

So I got a new car. Which is very exciting, and I kind of love it, even though I feel like a tiny bit of a sellout for driving a brand new car instead of a clunker that says, “I don’t care about appearances.” Maybe if I never wash it I can send the same message. I can do that!

I had just a couple of requirements when looking for a new car. It had to be reliable, get good gas mileage, and have heated seats. That’s all I wanted.

The first time I experienced heated seats was in my teens. My parents had just separated, and my aunt had to pick me up one morning for some reason related to that--I honestly can’t remember the details, I don’t think it was anything dramatic. I do remember trying not to cry though, and it was a really cold morning, and my aunt turning on the seats, and it feeling like a warm bath. It was immensely comforting.

So apparently that’s led to some deep-seated psychological issues about seats.

I also hate being cold, and I especially like having a warm back. As a kid, coming in from the cold I’d sit with my back against the radiator to warm up. Again, comfort food for my temperature receptors.

As it turned out, once I test drove a couple of cars, I found that I also wanted responsive steering, decent acceleration, and nice looks (shhh). And then I found that the car I loved didn’t come with heated seats. Not an option.

But I found someone who’d install them after market. And my life is...well, a lot MORE complete. I adore them. I pretty much turn mine on as long as I don’t actually have the air conditioning going. If you see me sucking my thumb and clutching a teddy bear in my car, we’ll start to worry about the psych issues, but hey, maybe it’s therapy.

Mexico Pics

A few minutes before the storm hit.
During the storm.
I feel I should point out here that Jessica is perfectly capable of holding her head up, but for some reason likes sleeping in that very uncomfortable-looking position.



I don't know what these are, but my mum kept trying to get me to pet them. She didn't pet one herself, however.

Anthony deciding what to wear for a night out. Um, my brother doesn't always look this sweaty and homeless, by the way. It was very humid.


Our hotel.

Home again home again, jiggety jig.

Tonight we had dinner at the Mexican restaurant at the resort. Yes, you would think they'd all be Mexican, but remember--MexiDisney? It was delicious, and Jessica stayed wide awake through most of it, which is unusual for her. I think she knew we were leaving. So we went for a walk in the grounds, and down to the beach, and listened to the waves (and the disco down the beach playing Lady Gaga and Neil Diamond), and watched the stars and a lightning storm, and thought deep thoughts.

When we arrived, I thought ten days of this would be too much. Now it’s flown by, and I’d be quite happy to spend a few more days doing nothing. My sis-in-law says that means I’m finally unwinding, but probably need another week or so to really do the trick. She might be right, but my plane ticket says otherwise.

Ocean Dive 3. Certification Day.

Whereupon Lena learns to love diving.

This was the day when diving officially became fabulous. It was a beautifully sunny day, and the sea was relatively calm, despite the red flags still on the beach. I’m starting to suspect they’ve lost all the other colours.

This time it was Ryan, a kid called Brandon, a Spaniard called Oscar, who was also certifying that day, and me. We headed down, and my ears were being a lot more cooperative. We did our “skills” on the ocean floor--fin pivots, regulator removal and replacement, mask flooding and clearing (I hate that one), and there was a decent current, which made it a little challenging.

Then we got to swim and have fun--and see a Moray eel, lots of little blue fish, more Lion fish (“very very poison” said one of the staff later), and a mermaid. Ha! I was just kidding about one of those.

It was just beautiful, and relaxing, and fun, and Ryan very kindly grabbed my foot and pulled it out of the way of more fire coral (where was he when my hand was getting ravaged the other day?). We did “out of air” testing on the way to the surface, and then we were done. I was the last to do my “out of air,” and it involved going down and up again, while the current made us drift, so we had to hang around in the water for a while afterwards for the boat.

It was glorious not to feel at all queasy, but just to float and enjoy the sun. So we got on the boat, and unhooked all our equipment, and Ryan made the announcement that both Oscar and I had certified today, and everyone clapped, and then they threw a bucket of sea water over each of us.

I decided to buy the video of the dive, and Tomas offered to edit in turtles and sharks as we didn’t get to see them today, but I told him I liked the original version. Although it was sort of tempting to see if he could CGI me onto the back of a dolphin or something. I'll see if I can upload it. It's rather soothing to watch.

Ocean Dive 2 (or, More Drama on the High Seas)

Whereupon Lena redeems herself a little on the whole seasickness front and survives to blog about it.

If this is starting to sound a bit Ryan-heavy to you, you are not alone. Today, Chris was my instructor, as it’s Ryan’s day off, and as he introduced himself he said, “oh, you’re the one everyone’s calling “Ryan’s scuba diver.” He was saying how Ryan had done all the work to get me up to speed, but wasn’t going to be able to certify me that day. As it happened, neither did he.

It’s been raining solidly for two days. Warm, tropical rain, but it feels a lot less warm and tropical when you’re heading out to sea in it. It then turns mean and stings you through your wetsuit, as you crash up and down in waves, hitting your tailbone every few minutes. I stared fixedly at the horizon, willing myself not to get sick. We got into the water, and I had to demonstrate a few skills at the surface, like switching from snorkel to regulator underwater. I did it relatively successfully, given how choppy the water was, and only accidentally pulled off the mouthpiece to my snorkel after I had finished. A couple of divers went down, but our line to the bottom had come loose, the water was really crazy, and our instructors decided it was safer to get us back to the boat. It ended up being fairly dramatic, as we had to get to the other side of the boat, with waves throwing us about and ropes dangling free. There was one bit where Chris was yelling “Lena!” and reaching his hand out to grab me as I let go of one rope to swim to the other, and I thought (apart from “he’s pronouncing my name wrong”) how movie-like it all seemed, and wondered vaguely if we were actually in any danger.

(I said to Ryan the next day that it probably was nothing compared to what they’re used to, but it seemed quite bad to me. And he said no, he’d heard it was pretty crazy out there.)

We got pulled back to the boat, and they hauled us in with only minor bruising after I got slammed into the ladder by a wave. Then there was more fixed staring at the horizon, as we hovered around looking for the other divers, got them on board, and then went back to shore, and I am SO very pleased to say I did not throw up.

This scuba thing is reminding me of a notecard a friend once gave me with a picture of a girl with her legs around her neck and the caption, “Yoga. Not as relaxing as I’d been led to believe.”

Drama on the High Seas

Ryan was talking to one of the instructors as we went out to sea.
“That’s the one who took the money out of my wallet.”
“Which one?”
“The one with the flashy new sunglasses.”
He says he can’t prove it, but he can guess from the sunglasses, plus the look in his eyes when he grabbed him by the neck, shoved him up against the wall, and waved his wallet in his face, saying “does this look familiar?”

Did I mention he’s Navy trained?
They said that, as there’s no proof, they can’t drown him. I said, “I guess you can’t accidentally bump into him and knock his glasses into the water, either,” whereupon they brightened up.
“No, we can do that.”

Loud Americans

It’s pretty peaceful here, but there are some loud Americans who drink all day at the swim up bar. Actually, it’s a little odd, the Loud Americans sound decidedly British, but we have decided that it must be a phenomenon of how sound travels over water, because of course they must be Americans. Americans are famous for being Loud.

Ocean Dive 1

Wherein Lena definitively proves that she suffers from seasickness and discovers why Fire Coral is so named.

Sometimes I think I should take up knitting, except I’d probably stab myself with the needles. That, and I’ve never seen a Lion Fish, two stingrays, Chromafish, or any other sea creatures while knitting.

I headed down to the beach bright and early for my first dive in the ocean. Ryan gave me a bunch of detailed info about what to expect, and why I shouldn’t be scared, but if I was scared, just to be honest about it and not pretend there’s a problem with my ear or something instead, because that would just “p!ss him off.” I assured him that I had not intention of faking or even being genuinely brave. He summed our plan up by saying, “Basically, we go down, we go for a swim, we come back up. It’s pretty simple.”

And it was, on the whole, and was pretty fabulous. He had me take my snorkel off, because they don’t wear them in the navy, and he pointed out how crap the other instructor’s entry was, and told me to do it properly, and off we went.

As it happened, I did have a slight problem with my ear--probably a little infection from swimming in warm, child-infested pools. It made it a little difficult to equalise, so I had to go down extra slowly and swallow a lot, which became relevant later.

Being under the sea is just like it looks in all the nature videos, except with surround vision, and sound, and being able to touch things--don’t worry, I only touched things Ryan showed me and touched first. The exception to that was the Fire Coral, which I accidentally brushed with the back of my hand, and was a good lesson in why you keep your hands close to your body while diving, as it immediately left me with burning pain that lasted for a day or two, and a welt that is still there. It’s sort of the undersea version of stinging nettle, as one of the instructors explained it to me, or a jellyfish, which is how a website explained it.

But it was so pretty down there. There are a lot of disturbances in the area (hurricanes), so the coral isn’t the loveliest ever seen, but there’s a lot in the way of fish and Creatures of the Deep.

It’s sort of interesting. I had this image of diving being very effortless and floaty, and it is in a way--the swimming isn’t strenuous at all, and the breathing is easy enough, but there’s definitely a bit of a trick to using your breath to keep you at the right level. I will say, though, that I was quite prepared to feel scared or claustrophobic, and I didn’t. There was even one bit where Ryan gave me the option of swimming through a sort of tunnel (a short one) or going over it, and I was quite happy to go through and see fabulous coral formations and pretty white fish.

Every so often Ryan would beckon or point to something, like a fish blowing down at the sand, which looked like something out of Disney, or a nothingness in the sand that gradually resolved itself into a stingray and swam off. Or some kind of sea anenome that folded shut when he snapped his fingers in front of it. Or big spongy, rubbery...things.

The dive was going well, and I had lots of air left (I am proud to say I am an efficient breather), which we established after a moment of confusion after I checked the wrong gauge. And then. I realised I was drifting up, away from Ryan, and I was getting closer to the surface, as I started to feel sunlight. I think there was a little current. And I realised I was also being rocked side to side. And realised I felt quite sick. Ryan came up and asked me if I was ok. I pointed thumbs up, for let’s go up, he wanted to know why, and that’s when sign language failed me, as I don’t know the sign for “I think I’m going to barf and I’d greatly prefer not to do so into my regulator.” So we headed up.

We got to the top, and I explained, and he had me float, and asked if I was “going to belly.” I said I thought I might, and so he swam to safe distance and told me not to fight it. And then...

And then I hauled myself into the boat. As it happens, some of the other guys had already come up, so we didn’t cut things too short. We did miss seeing a shark on the bottom by a few minutes, but apparently that’s not a big deal because they’re “boring.” Ryan said so. He said, “THAT’S more interesting to watch,” poking one of my fins with a deprecatory toe.

So Ryan says I won’t get sick next time, but I’m not sure that my faith in Ryan is as yet quite all-encompassing enough to take that as fact. He thinks it was butterflies, and swallowing a lot of air, and he poured some hydrogen peroxide and alcohol in my ear and told me not to eat breakfast next time.


In case you wanted to know what the effects of fire coral look like.

Fambly

My brother and sister-in-law, but most importantly, their baby, Jessica, have arrived! I freely admit to bias, but I think she really is an exceptional baby. She is very happy and curious, and sleeps a lot, and is pretty, and we are all pleased to see that she has her mother’s nose and didn’t get the D___ nose, which we are hoping to breed out.

She really is adorable, and Anthony and Becky say they’re considering “showing her,” which I had to point out isn’t necessarily a joke in the states. She smiles all the time, and her favourite thing to do (besides “reading” her dots and squiggles book) is to stick her tongue out at people and get a response. She was getting a little frustrated the other night as she was sticking her tongue out at the dog pictured on her pram lining, and he was completely failing to stick his out in response.

Scuba

So, one of my 101 goals for 1001 days is to scuba dive. And the Mayan Riviera has the world’s second largest barrier reef. And I’m here! It’s like a cosmic sign or something. So I tried it out in the pool at first (they offer free intro lessons), and it was kind of fun, although I found I have a pretty strong instinct against inhaling under water. It’s presumably related to the same instinct that makes me unwilling to get close to or step over the edges of cliffs, and which a friend recently pointed out is a pretty functional impulse, despite being a challenge in rock climbing.

There was almost an international incident the very first time I tried it. There was some waiting around for private lessons to be finished, and then another delay, and another, and a few people were getting a bit shirty about having to wait. I’m not especially patient myself, but my as only other plans that morning were to a) lie by the pool and drink a refreshing beverage, and b) read a book, I felt I could safely push those agenda items a little later without my holiday being ruined.

So then, finally, one pair, including Toby (one of the shirty persons mentioned earlier) got to go, and I was next. But then Ryan, the Australian instructor, said he had to take another pair who’d just showed up and were leaving for their plane in 20 mins. Well, Toby didn’t like that, and neither did the couple after me. They were all up in arms and harangued the instructors, who clearly deal with sunburned tourists all day long and weren’t remotely discomposed by this. Ryan just scowled a little and ignored us. Toby flatly refused to hand over the gear to the new couple and gave it to me instead, whereupon I thanked him and the others and agreed that it was indeed very annoying and rude but that I felt confident that my life would resume its happy course eventually, and dropped the flippers and mask in front of the new girl.

So we scuba’d, and it was fun enough that I signed up for certification classes at the water sports office, run by some fellow British ex-pats. I asked the first one how he ended up here. “A job. Well, actually, i meant to go to Glasgow, fell asleep on a plane, and then next thing I knew, I was here.” I may adopt that smart alecky answer for future use.

Signing up, I had to fill out a bunch of health questions, including one about sea sickness. I hesitated and confessed my secret shame (see Oregon Coast, Whale Watching). Paul explained that that was only for extreme cases. He said he sometimes gets people who want to scuba but say they can’t go on boats. At which point he suggests they MIGHT want to think about another hobby.
“Such as hiking.”
“Exactly. Or mountain biking.”
“Perhaps rock climbing.”

The next morning I reported for class, and Paul said a cheery hello and announced that my instructor for the morning would be Ryan the laconic Australian. Hm. I was a little worried that he’d try to drown me after the fracas yesterday, but we actually got on very nicely--we even arranged it so that he’d be my instructor for the whole course. It works out nicely for him as he only he’ll only have one student to worry about, and it is nice for me because he’s an excellent instructor. He spent six years diving for the Australian Navy, so he’s quite good (and isn’t shy about pointing out where other instructors may lack knowledge). He told me a few things that he thinks are pointless that the course teaches, and taught me one or two things that aren’t in the book, like how to kill people using only my thumbs. No, really, he didn’t teach me anything too crazy and different, but there’s something sort of fun about feeling that you’ve got special inside Navy knowledge. It’s a bit like how my friend Christy taught me to slice melons in college, and I will always remember it because she said she was taught by the Amish (she’s from PA). A bit like that.

Lena Takes a Real Vacation

I’ve got some catching up to do. This travel blog has been travelling, and though I couldn’t post while I was away, I had my trusty pen and paper to record all, for my trusty reader. I'm still waiting for some of my pics, so I'll have to update with those later.

Playa del Carmen

It’s all fountains and hibiscus and humidity and virgin piña coladas here. And there are hammocks on the beach. And coconut trees.

Being at the Iberostar in Mexico is, I think, rather like being in Disneyland in California. Disneyland is certainly geographically located in CA. It has CA’s wonderful climate. Many of the people who work there are from California, especially those who work on the cleaning and maintenance, while those with some of the more glam jobs are transplants. And yet, by visiting Disneyland, I do not feel that one gets a real sense of what it’s like to be a local and shop, work, and live in CA.

It’s similar here. And it was a little disconcerting for a day or two, and almost a little claustrophobic. Being in this magical Mexican kingdom with perfectly groomed lawns, and signs all in English, and not a single stray, scrawny dog in sight. But as soon as I started using the MexiDisney comparison, I felt a lot better about things. I could just enjoy the show and not think too hard.

Love and Loss and California

Let’s get the bad news out of the way. Our trip to California began with me almost missing the plane, a) because I stayed late at work talking to my brother on the phone and hadn’t packed, and then b) rushed home and packed in a hurry, leaving various semi-important items out like moisturiser and swimsuit (which was ok because it gave me an excuse to buy a trashy bikini in H&M), and c) still left with Mara with just enough time to make our flight, but d) while staring at my boarding pass trying to work out why I didn’t have an “A” or “B” on it, realised that I was at the wrong gate, and it wasn’t “our” flight after all, but that I d) needed to run like mad to catch my own flight in a different concourse, which I e) did.

Mara made a comment later about how she'd always thought I was more together than that.

Then we got the rental car, which smelled like smoke, so we switched it for one that didn’t, in the process leaving one of our bags behind with someone’s laptop in it. And then we got somewhat lost driving to Mara’s sister’s house. But not really lost because we had gps! Just a lot of “hold on...yeah, do a u-turn here.”

I think by this time, Angie had probably started wondering what sort of travelling companions she’d landed herself with.

So there was much calling of airlines and rental companies to try to track down the laptop, which sadly did not happen. And then, unbeknownst to us, we apparently committed a $450 traffic violation (seriously, if I’m going to do something $450 worth of naughty, I would sort of hope that I’d be aware of it. And I thought we were pretty careful about the u-turns!), which we’re still trying to resolve.

So.

But the rest of the trip was so lovely! We were there for Tricia and Stephen’s wedding, and that was truly wonderful. It was great to meet their families, especially as talking to Brits in America always makes me feel a little bit at home. And the wedding went beautifully, and everyone looked very happy ever after.

Then Mara and Angie and I played for the rest of the weekend. Angie left a little earlier, presumably heaving sighs of relief to get out alive. Mara and I went to stay at her brother and sister-in-law’s place, and we went out for Indian food the first night.

I’d told Mara that I sometimes get sick of people asking me the same old questions about where I’m from. Very kindly, she tried to save me from the ordeal by telling her brother while I was out of earshot that he shouldn’t ask me a bunch of questions about where I’m from, which I’m sure he thought was totally normal.

I know she told him this because as soon as she’d left the table, he said, “so Mara says I’m not supposed to ask you a bunch of questions about where you’re from.”
I said, “Yes, I’m very sensitive about it. I like to think people don’t notice I have an accent.”

They’re a fun family, and we had a very amusing evening, partly because we ended up talking about the region where I’m from and Bristolian accents (it’s not that I object to talking about my homeland, it’s just that the same. old. questions. again. and. again. get old. And it’s not always fun to feel like the novelty act).

We had a delicious French breakfast in Berkeley, with citron presse’ and gingerbread pancakes; we scenically drove to Half Moon Bay, and looked for shells; we wandered around San Francisco, and the sun shone, and flowers bloomed, and we went to the Legion of Honour and the De Young, and saw a Giacometti sketch exhibition, and a Masterpieces from the Musee D’Orsay exhibition, and one of Amish quilts, and they were all uplifting and beautiful. And we saw brides everywhere. It was a weekend theme. Brides in white, and purple, and with green umbrellas, and with pretty bridesmaids, and stunning scenery.




You always hear that people in California never get out of their cars, but it's not true!



The reason for the season--Tricia and Stephen were married at the Oakland temple.




Brides everywhere...



View from the Legion of Honour



Angie, me, and Mara. Angie's a bit cut off here, but I looked hideous in the one where she wasn't, and it's my blog!

A Study in Contrasts

I spent last weekend backpacking in Escalante with a group of friends. It was beautiful and tiring and dirty...SO dirty. There was a lot of wind one day, and it whipped the fine, dirty sand into our tents and sleeping bags and fingernails and toothbrushes and food. We hiked out and drove back on Sunday, got home quite late, and I was up first thing the next morning to drive to Midway for a conference at the Zermatt, which is a fairly swish hotel.

In Escalante we bathed in the river, and dried ourselves in the sun. At the zermatt, there were appropriately fluffy towels, a bathroom considerably bigger than my own, and the gym shower made me want to cry I wanted one of my own so badly. It had 13 jets, sides, back, overhead....it was a thing of beauty.

In Escalante, we cooked over propane stoves and tried to avoid getting sand into our meals. We had pasta and Indian food out of packets, and oatmeal and hot chocolate, and semi-melted string cheese, and lots of dried fruit. At the Zermatt, I ordered room service, and ate delicious pastries, and didn’t have to filter my own water once.

In Escalante, I hiked through streams with 37lbs of backpack, did yoga in the morning in the sand, saluting the sun in the outdoors, and I have a scratch on my bottom from using the woods as my bathroom. At the Zermatt, I worked out on the elliptical machine overlooking pools and mountains, while Dancing with the Stars played on the TV, and then melted my muscles in the steam room and sauna.

In Escalante I got to spend several days and evenings with wonderful women, and slept in a (sandy) tent with a good friend. At the Zermatt, I got to network with some great colleagues, and spent most of the evenings relaxing alone until I fell asleep in my king-size pillow-top bed.

And I want to be clear--the moral of this story is NOT that luxury hotels are overrated and I would much rather rough it all my life in the outdoors, in case that’s where you thought I was heading with this.

(Although I have to say, NOTHING tastes better than a meal in the outdoors after a long day hiking, and the Zermatt room service was a bit rubbish, to be honest.)

The experiences were both wonderful, and there are things I can take or leave about both. I prefer waking up in a soft bed to waking up on a sleeping pad, even if the pad is on sand. I definitely prefer waking up without sand in my bed. However, I prefer waking up to the sound of birdsong and the sun coming into the tent to the sound of air conditioning, an alarm buzzer, and a stuffy head. And being alone is wonderful, but the company of good friends can’t be beat.

I just love the life of variety. That pillow-top felt all the more soft and...pillowy after a few nights on the desert floor. And we all know how good it feels to take a shower when you’re really, really dirty. I like some chiaroscuro in my life. I guess it’s that whole principle of being able to appreciate good things after going through hardships to get there. I hope to learn more life lessons in the lap of luxury very soon.

100 Random Thoughts..

...typed as they come.


1. So I’m going to do the 100 thoughts thing again.
2. It was pretty popular last time, and Jessica did it again and reminded me.
3. She’s really witty.
4. I’m worried that I only HAVE 100 thoughts total, so won’t have much to write.
5. And it might be like trying to remake...hm.
6. Can’t think of famous movie with bad remake.
7. See, have lost mojo already.
8. Oceans 11!
9. No, what am I thinking, I really liked that film. Hello, George Clooney. And good day to you, Matthew Damon.
10. The Italian Job. Not a patch on the Michael Caine version.
11. There you go.
12. People were saying Obama had lost his mojo too, and now look.
13. Health reform=Change, suckas!
14. That wasn’t very gracious of me now, was it?
15. But I do think that a few years from now most people will wonder what all the fuss was about.
16. So now health reform has passed, what would be next on the list of my personal priorities for change in the US?
17. Besides, you know, ending poverty.
18. And war.
19. And...actually, I think it would be plug sockets.
20. Mind did a little spark just now when I plugged in my laptop.
21. I hate it when it does that. Scares me to death. I want switches, like on the British ones.
22. And then America would be perfect.
23. Well, I could probably think of a few more things--ending strip malls, etc.
24. But I’d be digging.
25. Enough with politics!
26. Hmm.
27. “Give a man...ten thousand...”
28. That’s a song we’re learning in Citrine.
29. “Give a man...ten thousand...words.”
30. It ain’t easy.
31. And the general opinion seems to be that it sounds like cats being tortured.
32. But I rather like it.
33. Though I’m not sure that I believe the thesis, which is that if you give a man the said ten thousand words, he will write you a love song. You could give some of the men I know the Oxford English Dictionary, Encyclopaedia Britannica, and the collected words of Shakespeare, and you wouldn’t get a Valentine’s Day card out of them.
34. I actually like all the songs we’re singing. Fun rhythms and melodies.
35. Rhythms is a hard word to spell.
36. And I’m an excellent speller.
37. Which is kind of a useless gift in the era of spell check.
38. I find quite a few of my gifts are wasted on my current era.
39. Like having really white skin.
40. It would have been highly valued back in the 19th Century.
41. Now it’s just a risk factor for skin cancer.
42. And being able to embroider.
43. And...well, maybe that’s it. Oh, I like to read aloud. Not that I have a gift for it, but they didn’t have TV back then, so I bet people got sick of reading aloud.
44. Course, I don’t have a TV now.
45. Not yet. Maybe soon. It's my current dilemma. Everything I want to watch is online anyway.
46. It’s just if I want to watch something with someone else.
47. Which happens, what, once a year.
48. And my current, pretty much inoperable, TV doesn’t look pretty.
49. Which, let’s be honest, is probably a more pertinent factor in my desire for a new one.
50. Ooh, halfway there.
51. I brimmeth o’er with thought, apparently.
52. “oooooooh,,,,ah.” (More “Love Song”)
53. I’m up late again. Bad habit.
54. I heard that Margaret Thatcher only needed about 4 hours of sleep per night or something insane.
55. I wish I could get away with that little sleep. Except I LIKE to sleep and relax.
56. But things have been so busy lately, that I could use the extra time. And it wouldn’t kill me to make it into work on time once this month.
57. And then the silly people messing up my order at [business name redacted] means I’ll be running errands tomorrow in any spare seconds I have.
58. I posted something on Facebook to do with that, about wanting to write a scathing letter, and I think people overestimated my rage level.
59. Wasn’t planning on going postal, just a little indignant.
60. I think Facebook, although a time suck, is actually a positive thing socially.
61. Apart from people feeling left out if they know they’re not invited to parties and all that.
62. And the occasional person writing indiscreet or passive aggressive things on their walls.
63. But I actually have been in meaningful contact with some people I really like and probably wouldn’t have had meaningful contact with otherwise.
64. And really, even if it’s just a frivolous time suck, it’s a fun one.
65. Sleeeeeeepy.
66. Maybe I don’t have as many thoughts as I thought.
67. I can’t wait for vacation.
68. And hanging out with my peeps.
69. And ordering myself new shoes for my birthday.
70. This selfish buying-stuff-for-one’s-own-birthday thing probably contributes to the decline of Western civilization.
71. But at least I’ll be well shod when picking through the rubble!
72. So it’s been over a week since I spent most of my Saturday in purchasing and installing a new light fitting, and I still don’t like it.
73. So I think I’m going to forget searching online for something special and get something simple and cheap from Ikea.
74. And count this one as a $70 Learning Experience.
75. I must say I’m pretty proud of myself for installing the dratted thing.
76. Because it baint be easy, and don’t you be fergitting it.
77. (Not sure why the random lapse into country dialect. Lateness.)
78. Actually, installing the dratted thing twice, because I did it wrong the first time.
79. And so I do actually feel pretty confident about doing it again, which is good.
80. Except if I get overconfident and forget to turn the breaker off, which would be bad.
81. Very bad. Mustn’t forget.
82. “No I mustn’t forget. To say a great big thank you, I mustn’t forget.”
83. Random song flashback from Junior School assemblies.
84. They used to make us sing hokey Christian folk/pop. (It was a Church of England school).
85. I don’t think it made anyone any more religious, but some were quite fun.
86. I remember being alone in the house with my brother when he was doing some electrical stuff for my aunt, and he shocked himself. Scariest moment ever when I heard him yell.
87. (He was totally fine. Luckily.)
88. “Autumn days when the grass is jewelled, and the silk inside a chestnut shell!”
89. THAT’S how that song began. It was one of my faves.
90. Ah, Autumn. Actually, Ah, Spring.
91. It has been fantastic to have some sun and longer evenings, despite some minor complaining I might have done about getting up an hour early.
92. And I went on a bike ride today after work.
93. With my helmet.
94. You’d think I’d be mature enough not to be embarrassed about wearing a helmet on a bike, but I’m afraid I’m not. I think they look dumb, and I don’t like wearing one.
95. But am safety conscious so I do anyway!
96. I’m really glad Spring is here. The new year ought really to begin in the spring, it would be a lot easier to get into the mindset of new beginnings.
97. I wonder what this year will bring. Hopefully less crap than last year.
98. No, last year had a lot of good stuff too. Be positive, Lena.
99. Bring on 2010! I’m belatedly excited about it.
100. And now I have to sleep on that.

Be Careful Out There

So, I’m in the temple, and a guy I don’t really know brings a young man up to me, and says, “this young man is going on a mission to London--you’ll have to give him some tips!’

My first thought is “Oh my poor child, they will eat you alive,” just because I think London would be a TOUGH mission. But I couldn’t say that, and unfortunately my actual response wasn’t more helpful: “Tips? Well, I don’t suppose giving you a list of the best nightclubs is such a good idea, ha ha.” (must...not...make...flippant remarks...to baby missionaries...in the temple).

So then the guy sort of gave me prompts, like “I hear the Indian food in London is amazing,” and I’d say “yes, definitely, eat Indian food. Yummy.” But the trouble is, I'm a) in the temple and not really in tourist information centre mode, and b) I’m a bit vague on what missionaries are allowed and are not allowed to do, other than be alone with women (I remember in Italy one of the missionaries teaching Sunday school walked out of the room for a minute and the other one got all panicky--I thought for a second he must be really shy, and then realised...).

So of course all the things that come to mind involve pubs (can they go in pubs? Americans sometimes get confused about what pubs are. I remember later they CAN go in pubs), or musical theatre (can they go to the theatre?), or visiting other spots in Britain (can they travel?) and wanting to warn him about going out late at night in Soho, or the East End, or...(or actually anywhere, as he looks about my niece’s age), or remind him not to read the Sun. It is only afterwards that I remember nice safe, touristy and interesting things like the Tower of London and the British Museum, and the National Gallery (except they have nudes--can they look upon nudes? Actually, if they can’t they’re out of luck because they're bound to run into a starkers statue at some point).

I am so full of admiration for these young men and women who have the guts to give up their time and youthful frivolities to go wherever they’re sent to share their faith, believing that faith is something pretty exciting and important that other people might want to hear about. Especially when you know they are highly likely to be mocked or disrespected or door-slammed in the process.

I hope my people are nice to him. I hope someone out there is looking for what he has to share. I hope he finds his own way to the British Museum.

Banff

My friend Liz and I have gone for the last several years to the Banff film festival together. We decided tonight that the theme of Banff is “Watch more television.” For the last three years, the main features have been about:
A woman who got paralysed.
A couple who failed to cross the north pole and nearly died.
A man who kayaked across the Tasmanian sea and died.

So on the face of it, it doesn’t exactly seem to be about the joys of the outdoors. And yet we still left talking about our plans for adventure. Just not kayaking.

The kayaking story was fascinating. You start out not knowing the outcome, but it becomes gradually clear that this story is not going to end happily. The friends and family members of Andy, the kayaker, talk a lot about how some people need more stimulation to get that natural rush that some of us feel when we look at our credit card bill. It’s hard for me to understand taking such huge risks with your life, for something that seems (quite honestly) relatively unimportant, especially when you have a wife and child, as he did (not that I don't value the single and childless, but, you know). However, as one of his team said, the world has been led by explorers and adventurers. And we all take risks every day--how we calculate, perceive, and need those risks is very personal and varies hugely.

Another, lighter, film featured noboarding, which looked very cool. Like snowboarding without the bindings. As the idea of my feet being locked into position by the bindings is what’s always put me off snowboarding, this sounded like an excellent idea for about two minutes. Then I remembered the last time I tried skateboarding.

It was at an ad shoot, and my friend and colleague, Brian, had just got a longboard and brought it to the shoot. While the crew was setting up between shots, he let me play on it. I think I rolled about four feet, hanging on to him, and I still fell off. Mark came out and shook his head, “If you get her hurt, Brian...” (This was back when I was the client and they cared about my well-being). So no, noboarding probably not the sport for me.

Rockclimbing is much more appealing to me, because you can do it in nice weather, and (the way I like to do it) you have a rope attached to you, which gives me great psychological comfort as well as genuinely increased safety. One of my favourite films showed Paul, a man recovering from an accident that had left him unable to walk for a while, climbing “The Rainbow” in Tasmania (I think) with his friend. He had the use of one arm, and imperfect use of his legs, and as his friend pointed out, things that would be quite easy for many people were a bit epic for him. He made it to the top, and they sat there in the sun, looking out over the spectacular view. His friend asked him if he longed for his old body back, and he said no, this was who he was now.

“Some people say they’d rather be dead than in a wheelchair,” he said, matter-of-factly. “It’s...it’s not true.”

Soul Mates

Once in a while I like to see how people found my blog through the interwebs.

Here are some of my favourite keyword searches that led like-minded thinkers here:

Fungal jokes
Fungal jokes
Friendliest people in the world
Travelssex [that was one disappointed googler]
Big spozzo
Leprosy and fungus
Last man on earth funny

From which I deduce that if you are lonely and infested with skin disease (or possibly thirsty in Italy), my blog is the place to be!

I must say that I am disappointed that Colin Firth Colin Firth Colin Firth was nowhere to be found in the search list. I'm going to work on remedying that. Colin Firth. In the mean time, I'll take pride in my status as the web's #1 source for fungus/fungal jokes!

Did you hear the one about the guy walking into a bar with fungus?

Me neither, but I'm pretty sure the punchline would involve a pun on the word "mushroom." I'll get back to you if I think of one.

World's 100 Wonders

I copied this from Cindy, who copied it from someone else...


Pyramids of Egypt, Chichen Itza, Pompeii, Mont St Michel, Great Wall of China, Petra, Kashmir Valley, Topkapi Palace, Taj Mahal, Nile River Cruise, Prague Old Town, Carnival in Rio, Serengeti Migration, Easter Island, Golden Temple, Stonehenge, Galapagos Islands, Cappadocia, Amalfi Drive, Angel Falls (does the one in Provo count? No?), Grand Canyon, Colosseum of Rome, Meenakshi, Yellowstone NP, Machu Picchu, Fjords of Norway, Chartres Cathedral, Santorini, Antarctica Cruise, St Peter’s Basilica, Mezquita Cordoba, Matterhorn (does the one at Disneyland count? No?), Iguazu Falls, Egyptian Museum, Damascus Old City, New York Skyline, Bali, Borobudur, Dubrovnik, Marrakesh, Amazon Rain Forest, Valley of the Kings, Uffizi Gallery, Eiffel Tower, Ngorongoro Crater, Hong Kong, Rio Panoramic View, Ladakh, Great Barrier Reef, Sistine Chapel, Golden Pavilion, Niagara Falls, Angkor Wat, Burj Khalifa, Delphi, British Museum, Victoria Falls, Alhambra, St. Basils Cathedral, Burj al Arab, Forbidden City, Louvre Museum, Abu Simbel, Yangtze Riv. Cruise, Bagan, Canals of Venice, St Mark’s Basilica, Yosemite NP, Karnak, Versailles, Florence Cityscape, Ayers Rock, Teotihuacan, Carlsbad Caverns, Kremlin, Hermitage Museum, Banaue Rice Terr., Mecca, Varanasi/Ganges, Chambord Chateau, Bora Bora, Kathmandu Valley, Li River Cruise, Lijiang/Shangri La, Acropolis, Metropolitan Mus, Shwedagon Stupa, Neuschwanstein, Potala Palace, Mt Everest, Sahara Desert, Banff NP, Jerusalem Old City, Temple Em. Buddha, Leaning Tower Pisa, San Francisco, TerraCotta Warriors, Hagia Sofia, Baalbek, Portofino

Clearly I've got to get out more.

Where have you been?

Whale Watching

Last weekend a few friends and I took a trip to Oregon to celebrate Lisa’s birthday. We rented a beach house, cooked together, walked on the beach, read, hot tubbed, and drank hot chocolate. It rained most of the weekend, and it was all very lovely and cosy.

On Saturday, however, the weather was relatively fine, and we had the bright idea of going whale watching. We chartered a boat, and headed out to sea.




Don’t we look cheerful? I wish there were “after” pictures.

The captain reminded us that if we were sick, to make sure the wind wasn’t in our faces, and that we’d be more likely to get sick up top than down on deck. I never get seasick, so neither warning really applied to me.

After about an hour, I came downstairs to see a couple of my shipmates looking a bit queasy. The sea was pretty rough. I was feeling a little uneasy myself, but then I had a cold. I never get seasick, so that couldn’t be it. The sea was pretty rough, though.

A few minutes later, I saw Lisa reach for a plastic bin--her back was to me, but there’s only one reason you stick your head over a plastic bin, heave your shoulders, and then reach for tissues. About a minute after that, I leaned over the side of the boat, wind away from my face, held my hair back, and broke my record for never being seasick.

Just to seal the deal, I threw up a few more times after that. Rather stupidly, none of use were wearing life jackets, and you know how weak you feel after getting sick. I was clinging on for dear life with one hand on the rail, leaning far out as the boat threw itself up and down and back and forth, the other still holding back my hair (upon reflection, it would probably have been a more sensible priority to have had two hands saving me from drowning). Catherine very kindly came over to make sure I didn’t go overboard.

We were all ill except Ann, who eventually told the captain to turn around and head home. We finally made it back to port, and there was some messing around with ropes, while Catherine murmured, “get me off this damn boat.” I was about ready to jump over the edge and swim for it. Lisa said, “Well, that was a completely miserable experience.” “Happy Birthday,” I said.

We wobbled back to the car, and Lisa and I begged the others not to drive anywhere until we felt a little more steady. We were pretty drenched by then, and cold, and the dry ones piled clothes and hats on me. I get cold pretty easily, so was shaking rather a lot, and being on the pale side to begin with, I’m told I look rather dramatically white when I get sick, so I gather I looked a bit pathetic. I remember trying to reassure them that I was ok and I didn’t have hypothermia, but as my lips were numb and I was under the strong impression that if I opened my eyes I’d throw up again, I think I was a little unconvincing. Eventually we drove home with no sudden turns, and with the heater going full blast, and I was soon in the bliss of the hot tub.

It was about 24 hours before we could mention water without Lisa experiencing waves of nausea, and before we all had our land legs again. But as Catherine said, it’s a birthday we’ll all remember, and makes for a good story.

Oh, we saw some whales, too. I so didn’t care at the time, but upon reflection, it was actually pretty cool.




The group.



Watching a lightning storm over the sea.



Sunny morning, our last day.



All of us.

Power and Love

A couple of years ago I was chatting to my dad, and mentioned that there’d been a power cut in my building. I got home, and the hallways were pitch dark, and I had to fumble my way to my door, imagining murderers jumping out at me along the way (because murderers can see in the dark, apparently, which, if it were so, would make “Wait Until Dark” a very different film).

A week or two after that, I got an envelope in the post with a little torch in it (flashlight for you of the United States). My dad said he thought it would be a good idea for me to keep it in my handbag in case of future power cuts.

Tonight, I got home, and the power was out. Of course, it happened to be the one in a thousand time that I’d gone out without my purse, so I repeated the whole fumble-door-murderer-jumping experience.

It made me think of my dad, of course, and about his gift. I read “The Five Love Languages” by Gary Chapman last week, being tired of everyone on the planet knowing their love language except me. It’s an interesting read, if a little simplistic. In case you are from Pluto and haven’t read it yet, the idea is that there are five chief ways to express love, and pretty much everyone has a primary love “language.” Your options are words of affirmation (saying nice things), quality time, gifts, acts of service, and physical touch. The book is full of examples of relationships that were failing because one person kept (for example) saying sweet things to the other, because that was their own love language, and the recipient only valued quality time, so they felt unloved. In the examples, the giver started offering quality time, the recipient thus received love, and they all lived happily ever after.

I don’t mean to sound cynical, I think there’s a lot of truth to it, and if one is continuously missing out on meaningful expressions of love, it is absolutely going to cause problems.

I just think there’s a little more to it. For example, I also think the responsibility is on the recipient to learn to interpret other languages other than their primary one. Just as we don’t go to Germany and get annoyed if people there speak to us in German, we shouldn’t completely devalue other people’s expressions of love or affection.

For instance, if I’d waited around for my father to give me words of affirmation, I’d have led a very sad existence. I remember getting ready for my brother’s wedding, and saying “does this look all right” to my dad. He said, somewhat reluctantly, “well, I probably shouldn’t say so, but you look very nice.” “Er, why shouldn’t you say so?” “Well, I don’t want you getting conceited.” I’m not sure why he thought that at the age of 30 I was suddenly in danger of getting a swelled head from one compliment from my father, but I let it go.

I happen to like compliments, in general, but it wasn’t my dad’s style, and I knew it, and it was ok. I still knew he loved me, because of things like the torch. And because he’d make sure I had his AAA card if I was driving further than five miles. And because he’d fix things in my house. Or make me a drink. Or tell my aunt to mind her own business if she asked about my love life.

I also think I was fine with not getting words of affirmation from my dad, because my mum is very generous with those. If ever I’m in need of a confidence boost, she will fill that need to the point of embarrassment. She’s also more physically affectionate. And I got plenty of quality time with both. So I was fortunate in getting love in multiple ways from both of them.

Now, I think quality time is probably my primary language, but I’m greedy--I want love in all languages. I think Chapman has a great point, in encouraging us to find out what means most to the people we love. I also think he’s absolutely right in believing that most of us express one or two languages most naturally. But I also think we and our relationships can only get better if we learn to speak and interpret all love languages. I love chocolate, but I don’t want it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Well, not every DAY. I admire my friends who are more fluent in some languages than I, and like the idea of increasing fluency in all, so that I can be a veritable polyglot of love. Doesn’t that sound...lovely?

Winter Nonsense

Would anyone care to sign a petition to eliminate January? No? Well, perhaps it wasn't my best idea of the new decade.

Here’s the thing. I think January is pretty much the worst month ever invented, and February isn’t that hot either, and I don’t find either New Year’s Eve/Day or Valentine’s Day to be particularly redeeming holidays, thanks for playing.

And yet. There’s something sort of satisfying about the deep midwinter. You suffer for years and years through it, and then at some point, you notice that it’s still light when you leave the office, and that your face isn’t frozen to the pillow in the morning, and you don’t have to chip the ice off your toothbrush before using it, and before you know it, birds are singing, and crocuses are popping up, and you heave a sigh of relief that Spring has sprung and morning has broken, and you’ve made it through the wilderness, somehow you’ve made it through, and you feel a sense of achievement and fully entitled to enjoy the weather for a few days before it starts all over again.

At least, I think that’s what happens. It’s been a few decades since last April.

I know it’s not all bad all winter. There are some positively glorious snow days and post-snow days, when the sky is blue, and the snow sparkles, and one sends pictures to one’s friends and family in England so they can all be jealous that you live in a winter wonderland ski resort. That’s pretty validating.

But on the days when you get a few hours of yellow-grey in the sky before darkness and ice falls again, I wonder if it wouldn’t be nice to fly south for the winter. And yet.

I think there are a few reasons why I don’t. Let’s ignore the job-related, practical ones. Let’s instead talk about guilt. I think I’d feel a little bit as if I was cheating on Utah. Like I’d come back in March and Utah would say, oh, NOW you’re back. Just because it was a difficult time of the year for me, and I got a little chilly towards you for a while, you cut and run off to some other younger, sunnier state. But NOW, when it’s convenient for YOU, you’re back. Fair-weather friend. And then it would spit on my head with April showers.

And then, could I really appreciate the spring? Could I really enjoy the thawing of the earth if my own fingers weren’t thawing out along with it? I kind of think not. Surely people in San Diego can’t constantly be appreciating and luxuriating in their fabulous weather all year long, can they? Er...can they...?

This is why I don’t really get the idea of heaven. I can’t imagine really appreciating somewhere where everything was perfect all the time. Unless they wake you up every morning with a little horror flick of a January day on Earth. Maybe that’s it. A little contrast every morning to get the blood pumping and make us appreciate all the calming harp music later.

No, I don’t really think heaven is clouds and harps (although that is the image that comes to mind in Pavlovian fashion when I hear the word). I’m not sure that I buy any of the creative depictions I’ve seen in literature or movies (Lovely Bones, What Dreams May Come, etc). I’m not sure that my childhood ideas of riding a unicorn and drinking rainbow lemonade all day are quite on the money, either. I AM pretty sure that I will be wearing haute couture cocktail dresses a LOT, and some really fabulous hats, and it’s those sorts of convictions that keep me going to church.

I kid, I kid! [looks skywards for thunderbolt]. But what is your idea of heaven, pray? And would it be winter, spring, summer, autumn, or all of the above?