Beach Christmas

This Christmas, I departed from the usual pattern of travel to Virginia in favor of the ocean. With a handful of friends and a week for total relaxation (look, Ma, no work!), I packed a few pairs of trousers, a fleece, and some cookies.

A few lovely things about the week. Work was split between all of us; cooking and shared meals made it all a joy rather than the normal burden it can be when cooking for one.

How restful the week has been, and how good to enjoy a few lovely people with minimal stress.

By far the most lovely part of the break was the engagement of two lovely people, Matt and Lauren. Matt is Pam's brother, and so Pam was instrumental in pulling off Matt's plan. Me, with my inability to use digression, did not find out about the plans and my small part in them until the 11th hour. Thank goodness for friends who know you are bad at keeping secrets!

Morning of the engagement (Christmas morning!), Pam and I woke up at 5:45. Pam made up tea, packed a cooler with breakfast things, and we headed out to the beach. We set up and then waited in the car for them to arrive at the scene--a swing on the beach faced toward the rising sun.

How wondrous to participate in some small way!

Now, it's packing and letter writing, and then we head back to Nashville in the morning by way of Atlanta. More excitement and adventures to follow, including baking exercises for my first wedding cake!

For a bit of joy for you all, here's a recipe for Zimtsterne, one of the Swiss cookies I made for everyone to enjoy.

Optimisim and Activism

This Sunday, I had the opportunity to hear activist John Prendergast speak about preventing genocide in the Sudan. He offered realistic steps the average person could comprehend. Essentially, by making activism available to the average person through his outline of goals, he made it sound like we all can make a difference.

Note the "made it sound".

The critical, the academic side of me asked whether his goals were realistic, or whether specific, targeted action points were too optimistic.

So I turned to my friend who works in Africa, who spends her days bringing safe water to villages which would otherwise be exposed to disease through their water supplies. While I can't remember her exact response, she did target the faith an individual must have that she can make a difference if she is going to be willing to work for bringing about change.

Academic me had to step back and think about the implications. Did I believe that?

I realized that, on some level, I did have to believe that an individual, or a set of people, can take real steps to bring about real change. I believe that this must be inherent to living in community--which we all do. We might try to elevate individualism, or to ignore our obligations to one another. But, in a basic way, our actions (and inactions) have actual repercussions for those around us. Small decisions, like how we are getting to work today, if we look the homeless man in the face when he speaks to us, whether we stop and ask how someone is doing and wait for the answer, have real influence on our lives.

Why wouldn't this be the case for fighting poverty, ending domestic abuse, preventing genocide?

These small actions I do believe are possible, they reach far beyond what I think of as a small sphere of influence.

Simply because the problem is big does not mean that it is insurmountable.

Exercising (Daemons)

Patty and the Parthenon

Fall. It's one of the most glorious times of the year.

For a few short weeks, I can set out with just a sweater over my work clothes and arrive at school without making myself totally sweaty. The air is crisp, the leaves are starting to change, and the light has changed to a markedly colder cast.

Biking as my main form of commuting helps me feel that every day, especially now when I don't have the luxury of hour long runs or whole morning rides on my road bike. The very ability to get outside and enjoy myself while wearing 3 inch teaching heels (in the photo below) makes me (and my feet) happy.





I love the shapes that a bike and its shadow cast on the road

The other wondrous thing about biking is the sense of community it instills. There is one homeless man, who rides around in a neon safety vest, has long, grey, unkempt hair, and has a yellow-y, toothy smile. We say hi roughly 3-4 times a week, as our courses always seem to meet up (he bikes a mile-loop in Centennial Park in the opposite direction of my commute in). So imagine my pleasure at not only having him compliment my red dress, but the next time he saw me, mentioning that he "liked the red one better".

I like the red one better, too.

Could this exchange have happened if I had worn headphones? Sat in my car that morning?

(Orange) Crush

So I've met someone. Steven, to be exact.

I know what you are thinking--I never blog about my personal life this extensively. But what you should know is that Steven is part beagle. Steven, you see, is my friend's (female) dog.

And she's adorable. Why the unfortunate human name? Well, she was named by kids.

So when I met her, I quickly re-christened her "Stevie". As in Stevie Nicks. And Stevie Wonder. Which is why her full name ought be Stevie Wonderful. And she's lovely, if a bit anxious because she was a stray and quite possibly formerly abused.

Oh, and smart. My friend Pam began teaching her how to sit last night (we got home from canoeing--a great adventure on its own, and one I hope to write about, after I perhaps get my hands on some pictures). Patiently, Pam had the dog sit after giving the command a few times. Really remarkable--I was surprised how quickly Pam had the dog obeying her. When Pam ran out of bread, Stevie nearly had it all figured out. That's about 5-10 rounds of giving the command "sit". And then it was my turn to continue working on her. Within a few rounds, she got it by the first time.

Joel's roommate picked that moment to come out of her room, and Joel proudly told her that Stevie could sit. "I don't believe it," responded the roommate. Roommate looks at Stevie, says, "sit", and pauses.

Stevie?

She sits.

What a dog!

Turn! Turn! Turn!

(To Everything There is a Season)

Fall seems to be a hard season for me. Perhaps it's that allergies aren't as bad for me as they are in the spring, or perhaps it's because the air is redolent with cross country races and hot cider. Of course, this requires you to forget that we had a high temperature in the mid-90s today....

For me, it's also a season of work. This time last year was particularly bad, with my grandfather passing away and me stuck in an ice-cold room answering questions I couldn't begin to do justice to.

But I'm here, one year later. And between dissertating, teaching, and the job market, along with serving on one too many committees, I'm struggling again. Thank goodness for friends who tell you to scale back, and thank goodness for those friends who let you. I've had to give up one of the highlights of my week--frolicking with a 15 month old who melts my heart--but the afternoon I now have available will be dedicated to working on grants for funding next year.

Another change I'm trying out is hiring a friend of mine (Chef Surmi) to prepare one big meal for me a week, from which I can eat 2-3 meals. He does the shopping and cooking AND cleaning. So, for what I'd probably spend eating out at a decent restaurant (something I did last Fall when I didn't have time to even go to the grocery store), I'll have nourishing meals at home. Certainly a luxury, but one I don't mind spending a little of my savings on--a good meal nourishes the body and the soul. Good food truly gives me joy!

Here's hoping that the Fall season looks good for you all, and that the crisp air and crunchy leaves have something good in store.

Mertle the Turtle

Behold the turtle shirt.



I know, I know. How many more turtle posts can there be?

Hopefully this will be it until the next triathlon season. But until then, I leave you with something glorious.

While training in Virginia, I wrote the posts about my fear of turtles. Friend Pam, keeping up to speed with my adventures, caught wind of the Maryland links, and, with Friend Joel (do the "Friend" titles not make them sound like Quakers? I like it!) arranged to make me the singlet. Difficulties of changing the Maryland "M" into a "W", getting it to scale, and ironing it onto T-Shirts...I suppose I should have one of them guest post on that. What I can say is that I suspected a T-Shirt to appear (in a conversation about, I believe, how to best embarrass me, a T-shirt was mentioned), I did not suspect nearly this amount of involvement. I thought puff paints. Glitter paints. Maybe even some horrendous patches. But my very own "Fear the Turtle" tank?

So of course I raced in it. And of course the cotton got sopping wet (thanks, water stands and 90 degree heat). Was the extra weight of a wet shirt worth the hassle on race day?

Oh, yes.

I could proclaim to the hard core triathlon racing world, with its fancy helmets and amazing racing outfits that leave nothing to the imagination, that I fear the turtle.

And hey, if that turtle has a "W" on it, they should, too.

Veni, Vidi, Weenie

This weekend, my brother came to town to see all that Nashvegas has to offer. A great weekend for him, since Labor Day meant he'd have an extra day here. Sadly, classes still go on, so I will indeed be teaching tomorrow and cursing my bad luck.

BUT

We did get some fabulous weather this weekend (hello, 70s and 80s!). So Saturday, we made a pilgrimage to my favorite Weenerie, "I Dream of Weenie". Technically a stand, not a restaurant, they offer seating through a clever loophole: their neighbour, a gallery/boutique has a picnic table on their front grass, and there are a multitude of table cloths and blankets diners can set down on the grass and munch on.



Both of us enjoyed the specialty hot dog of the day--roasted peppers on a hot dog with creole mustard. Sadly, they were out of gouda! Sitting there while I explained why all the hipsters had babies, and what East Nashville is like, my brother realized that it would indeed be a fun place to live.

Then, on to Ugly Mugs, where we worked and enjoyed the weather, thanks to the garage-door type window that opens the whole cafe to the world beyond. Amusing was the guy at the next table, who went up to the girl sitting there, told her he'd let her work, and then chatted for an hour. When he switched seats to be closer to her, he was then right in line with James' elbow. I told my brother on gchat that he should hit the guy, and low and behold, not a minute later, he did. Except for the fact that he claims he didn't see the provoking gchat. Uh huh.

The night was rounded out with a house concert, where the esteemable John Francis played. The night was a little chilly, perfect for a concert on the grass with blankets and chairs, surrounded by candles and a strumming guitar. The voice? Aching. Of course, it didn't hurt that the music also had a conscience--Francis sings about America's lost values, who Jesus really is, and how we the church need to serve the poor (this is a crap summary of some pretty good lyrics; go give him a listen. My favorites on his Myspace are "Johnny Cash on the Radio" and "Prayer in a Time of Drought") Crickets sang in the background, and the old tree with its low, wide-spanning branches was hung with candles in glasses. Sorry I couldn't take a picture, but it wouldn't have done the scene justice.

Sunday was another repeat of the working in a cafe setup; Bongo Java's excellent porch made the two hour work session enjoyable. Then on to Demo's for dinner with my sister and brother-in-law. Who knew it would take me five years to get around to eating at that Nashville institution? All of this finished up with a walk through downtown, past the honky tonks, and to the Banging Pianos, where we had a beer and looked down on the tourists below.

A news caster was trying to record a clip, dressed in typical Nashville style (really heavy makeup, horrid roots, shorts, and 5-inch heels). A group of three teenagers on skate boards enjoyed slipping by, waving at the camera, and making odd motions. It was hilarious to watch the news caster get frustrated--her black-rimmed eyes exaggerated every eye roll to the extreme.

Happy Labor Day, y'all. I'll celebrate by teaching and laboring on my gestating dissertation.