'Til it Hurts

It was the fall of... um, 1999. November, maybe. My friend Jason and I went up to New York City for the weekend. It was my first time in the city. More accurately, it was my first time in the city without my parents. But being 19 and traveling to a place like that without any supervision is such an adventure in itself... it was my first time in the city.

We met up with Jason's friend on Friday night. She was interning at one of the many companies located in the World Trade Center. Jason and I stood outside and waited for her. While we waited, a pigeon crapped on his coat.

The three of us made our way to Chinatown for dinner. Jason's friend (Kristen? Katherine? I only met her once and have unfortunately long since forgotten her name) was great, and the three of us cracked jokes left and right. Things came to a head at dinner, where a combination of sarcastic banter, aggressive waiters snatching away our plates and an obscene joke involving Santa Claus drove us over the edge. I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. Tears streamed down Jason's cheeks. We were completely incapacitated for a good 5 minutes.

* * *

August 2002. I had just entered the world of work, and went out to Seattle for my first-ever business trip. It was a total thrill. Seattle had always fascinated me, and seeing it in person was even better than I had imagined. The work was great too - we were distributing 250,000 books to area nonprofits that worked with children from low-income families. The combination of working with my hands and doing this enormous "good deed" gave me a very wholesome buzz.

A coworker was along with me on this trip, as was her husband. He was a great guy, and his sense of humor matched up perfectly with mine. The three of us had a great few days, and in the car on the way to the airport the joke planets aligned perfectly. I don't remember exactly how the banter went, but I do remember holding my sides and wanting to die because if heaven was this funny, I needed to get there right away.

* * *

Late August 2008. We went up to Algonquin Provincial Park to meet up with friends from Canada. After canoeing to our campsite we promptly cracked open a few bottles of wine to celebrate. A glass here, a glass there and before anyone realized it the sun was beginning to set and we were done for.

The evening that followed might have been one of the greatest of my life. I laughed so hard, for so long, that I started to make this serpent-hissing sound. Someone else laughed until she fell off the log she was sitting on. Our alpha male got up at one point, stuck a 6-foot-long branch into the fire, then ran down to the lake where he beat his chest and doused the flame in the water. We all knew - at that precise moment - that nothing in the history of time had ever been, or would ever be, so hilarious.

* * *

Do I laugh every day? I don't keep track, but I hope so.

Serious Toronto Nostalgia Tonight

Can I use stronger language? Can I say I miss it? I think I'll say that today.

Our Thorncliffe Avenue on a snowy day. Great big trees that made a green canopy in the fairer months. Housecats sauntering down the road, lounging under parked cars.



Our friends. Wonderful people who know how to live life. The hardest part of Toronto to leave behind.



Our neighborhood. I miss you Paul's Milk, Sak's Fine Foods, Magic Oven, Lily 88, Store with the Smiling Paper Bag Sign.



Downtown Toronto and its many streetcars. When's the last time I saw two streetcar drivers with crowbars in the middle of the road, trying desperately to fix the frozen/broken tracks? It's been too long.



Carefree life. Work until 5. Saturdays and Sundays all to ourselves. What do we feel like doing? Let's go do it. Right now. Or later. Because we'll have time later too.



Shoveling snow before work. Last winter was a snowy one, and I did a lot of shoveling. It was my one non-traditional-gender chore, and it always reminded me of my Wisconsin childhood. My mad shoveling skillz also impressed Oliver like nothing else.


Nostalgia is one of my favorite things. My own personal brand of nostalgia usually involves a bit of heartache too, and I like it that way. Nothing should be black and white, right? I like the pleasant memories mixed with a pang of sadness.

Remembrance of Falls Past

My mom's dad passed away when I was seven, so my memories of him are fuzzy. I remember him napping on the dining room floor with a newspaper over his face, and him taking us out to the fields in his old green truck. I can remember the sound of his voice.

At this time of year about five years ago my mom, brother and I went to visit our relatives in North Dakota for a long weekend. In the course of whatever it is family does when it gets together, someone brought out Grandpa's old farming vest. It had been hanging in the basement of Grandma's house, just like the rest of his things, for almost 20 years. It was a big suede and wool monstrosity with a faint tinge of '60s hippie to it - a fitting vest for a man who had NOT A TRACE of hippie in him.

Someone ended up trying on the vest and discovered a handful of corn kernels in one of the pockets. Dried corn, years and years old, put there by Grandpa some fall in the late '80s when he was checking out the crop. Right there, in the pocket. Like a still-smoking pipe or a half-drunk cup of coffee.

Happy October.

Then and Now

My first day(s) of school. I am now officially a class-taking, book-and-article-reading graduate student. It's a little hard to believe. A little fantastic. A little overwhelming.


Please note:

1. I had no van to lean against this time around, so the fence in front of our apartment had to fill in.

2. If I were firm in all the right places and threw a sassy little scarf around my neck, I could TOTALLY wear my little kindergarten outfit on the streets of Manhattan today.


Additionally, please note:

1. I am blogging out of chronology here. We just got back (late) last night from an incredible Labor Day weekend. I really want to write about it and post pictures, but am out of gas this evening. And I've got homework to boot. Homework!

High Shool Photos

Do you ever get absorbed by a project? It's fun, isn't it. I've started scanning the pictures from my photo albums and saving them on our computer. Almost through Volume One, I realize that what started out as an attempt to compress four photo albums into a hard drive has morphed into a love/memory fest.

"Volume One" chronicles my high school adventures. Maybe I should rephrase that - adventures I had while in high school. I didn't have a camera for the normal, day-to-day part of high school, so my photo album only captures the big trips and happenings. Vacations, summer camps, etc. It's funny to open up the photo album, all these years later, and see mainly pictures of people I met briefly and then never saw again.


This photo is from the Caribbean cruise my parents took me on, Easter Break of 1996. The Macarena was big that year, and as you can see I had mastered the steps and was eager to pass on my knowledge. That's Erin to my right and Kim to my left. They were sisters... or were they cousins? They were from Ohio I believe, and their grandparents had brought the extended family on a trip together. The three of us hung out all week, along with the other teens looking to lose their parents and flirt the nights away in the ship's teen lounge. I was always a little amazed that they wanted to hang out with me, because they seemed so much cooler. They had better clothes, they were better with boys, and they had that easy manner all cool people seem to have. They liked me though, and we even corresponded for awhile after the cruise. Kim even gave me a little decorative box from her trip to Spain. I still have it.


I love this photo. It's Scott, one of our group leaders for my first church-group canoe trip in the Boundary Waters. Summer 1995. We were camped on an island high over the water the day this picture was taken, and he was the only one (?) brave enough to jump off the cliff. He caught a fish that night too, and I think we all ate some of it. His son was also a part of our group, and if I remember right the son was starting to veer off with the "bad crowd". I think he might even have gotten his girlfriend pregnant the next year. Maybe that was just a rumor. I liked Scott.


Ah, my Georgetown summer school experience. The best three weeks of my teen years. Tons of kids who liked school, a world-class city to explore, and no parents within a thousand miles to tell you what to do. We went wild. By "wild," I mean that we went to all the monuments on the National Mall, and stayed up late writing foreign policy papers and spraying each other with silly string. This picture is, let's see... John from Tennessee... Jen from Utah whose boyfriend was about to go off on a Mormon mission... Mitch from Texas who had a cheerleader girlfriend back home... I forget the names of the next two guys... Jason from Chicago, who ended up becoming a real, long-term friend. He was my senior prom date, student at a college a mere hour and a half from my own, and an usher at my wedding. This photo was taken at Washington DC's Hard Rock Cafe, which seems pretty dang classy to a bunch of high school kids. Seemed classy to me at the time, anyhow.


And Ned, from Turkey. The alpha males at the summer school treated him pretty badly, and I'm embarasssed to admit that at first I didn't see anything wrong with that. Ned turned out to be a really neat guy. I wonder what he's doing now. Maybe he's married, maybe he has some interesting job where he does good things for people/makes a lot of money (whichever one he's after).

I wonder whose photo albums I'm in, out there somewhere. Are there people that come across my picture and wish me well? Do they remember things about me that I've forgotten?

Pamphlet / Time Machine

I brought in a few books to donate to the book cart at work yesterday. Opening the cover of one for no real reason, I caught a flash of printout. It turns out that every time I've moved since 2003 , I've brought a pamphlet from a Montgomery County Council race with me.

I got a real kick out of seeing this. I don't remember anything about Ms Rubenstein, I have no idea whether or not she won her race, and I have no memory of getting the pamphlet. I can picture how it wound up inside the cover of The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, though. Exactly. I can see myself walking into the Takoma Metro station in DC on a late summer morning. I probably made eye contact with one of the campaign volunteers who were handing out papers. Come to think of it, volunteers? Would a campaign this small have the manpower to staff subway stations with supporters? Maybe I met Ms. Rubenstein herself, maybe I got this handout directly from her.

Did she ever have the opportunity to serve Wheaton, Kensington, Silver Spring and Takoma Park? Was she able to keep Silver Spring and Wheaton development plans on track with a good mix of business, retail, housing and public amenities? Did the voters agree with Fran of Silver Spring when she said that Cynthia's intelligent, even-handed approach would serve them well?

Sudden, unexpected reminders of your past are great, aren't they? In recent years I've started keeping, in my wallet, some little bit of whatever last big trip I've taken. I had a ticket to the Acropolis in there for awhile, a pass to Denali National Park, a Beijing subway ticket. I love looking for change to buy a Twix bar and stumbling upon a sudden reminder of an exotic, far-away day. Or in this case, what feels like an exotic, far-away life. I remember being 23! Sharing an apartment with Susan, riding the subway to work on sunny mornings, wearing my Payless sandals and office-appropriate sundresses. I remember the thrill of being young, single, financially independent and new to the world of adults. Heading out with co-workers on Tuesday (?) nights for $2 happy hour cheeseburgers at M & S Grill. Talking about all kinds of serious things with my best friends over a pitcher of such and such bar's cheapest beer. Catching a glimpse of the Jefferson Memorial, lit up at night, from a car or subway window. Camping trips to Shenandoah with my $15 sleeping bag that never kept me warm.

Thanks Cynthia! Hope you won.

Blue

It's another gray, snowish day here in the pits of winter. I've decided to compensate with a little ode to prettier, bluer days:

Green Gardens Trail in Gros Morne National Park, Newfoundland. Gulf of St. Lawrence at left.


Frozen water, harborside Lake Michigan, Kenosha, Wisconsin


Downtown Kenosha, Wisconsin. Everyone's favorite vintage-looking building and sign.


Fall foliage in Parc du Mont Royal, Montreal


Rented sail on Lake Ontario


Gros Morne's big fjord

Coblog Two: All About Us

Over the holidays, Brianne and I got together to try something new: coblogging. We have a long history of writing together. Song parodies, journal entries, and even a series of books called Penpals. There were four books, and they centered around four girls who wrote letters back and forth. Hey Brianne, we should start a new series! We'll call it Blogpals.

I digress. Part One of our coblogging celebration can be found here on Brianne's blog. Part Two is below:

B: As promised, Allison and I are back for Part 2 of the Coblogstravaganza. Ar first I felt kind of like we were cheating with this one, since we're not actually sitting together in a room typing on the same computer. But then it occurred to me: how many bloggers actually get together in the same room to collaborate? We went above and beyond the call of duty, by gosh.

A: Ah yes, the call to blog. If I had lived during World War II, that's what I would have done on the homefront. I would have written about myself.

B: And a great comfort it would have been to all of the boys in uniform. Just like this will be. Anyway, we thought it might be interesting to go over the history of our friendship. Not to make it sound like some huge epic, but 21 years and counting ain't too shabby. Especially when you're currently 28.

A. No Brianne, this is epic. It started at Grewenow Elementary in 1986. First day of first grade. I don't remember how we met, although I have a vague memory of lockers being involved. Did we have lockers next to each other? God, what would have happened if my locker had been next to Dustin's (the class bad boy who would years later stab someone with a pencil)? What a different life I would have led.

B: Our lockers were definitely next to each other. One (yours?) was at the end of a row, just to the left of the classroom door, and the other was next to it. I can picture us standing there - craaaazy. My other first grade memories of us are a jumble of billy goat stew and billy goat spareribs (oh I'm sorry, were other people supposed to understand this?) and playing outside at recess. Then second grade was the only year we weren't in the same class.

A: Yeah, isn't it funny? The invisible forces in the teachers' lounge always put us in class together. My favorite examples of elementary shenanigans (good lord, did I really just say shenanigans?) are the lyrics we wrote to famous songs. Really great-for-a-10-year-old sarcastic stuff like Rudolph the Hunk of Rare Meat. "What do you have in the line of venison today?" We have Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen...

B: I'm still quite proud of those rewritings. Of course, they weren't all famous songs. "The floor was so deep I fell asleep, that's how deep it was! I hit my head so hard, I saw Santa Claus!" If the readers don't recognize the source material... well, it's probably for the best. We also wrote biting, satirical top 10 lists and short stories about teachers and "enemies." I'd try to find one and give an excerpt, but I think I'd be a little ashamed of their meanness now. Kids can be brutal. (And hilarious!) Speaking of enemies, the other things that stand out most from our elementary school career are the Great Fight of Fifth Grade, and our series of books, The Penpals.

A: The Penpals! The closest I will ever come to writing the Great American Novel. An epic tale of friendship, correspondence, moves to Alaska, the Witness Protection Program, movie star boyfriends, gargantuan homes (worth ONE MILLION DOLLARS), and Carribbean cruises. We finished writing the series on the last day of sixth grade, right? The final day of elementary school. Junior hight: we went our separate ways for awhile. Did we get together in ninth grade to write in the journal?

B: Yeah, we did get together in ninth grade. In high school we had a few more classes together, as I recall, at least towards the end. World History comes to mind. We didn't really do much outside of school, but we always had a good time snickering in class or chatting... in class... yeah, I guess we didn't pay too much attention in World History, did we? I remember reading a lot for it, though.

A: That world history class was great. It was the one time in my lame, rule-following life that I blew things off. I remember asking for a library pass to go study for a project, and using the pass to sneak out of the building and get snacks from PDQ. I was wild!! We did a project on the Crusades too - I remember unrealized plans to draw little dying crusaders and pipe in audio: "God wiiiiills it!" Since high school it's been emails, Christmas get-togethers in Kenosha, and the occasional visit somewhere else. You came to DC a couple times (I believe there were Wilco concerts involved), we hit up Baltimore together, and I spent an evening in Madison before I left for China.

B: Although it's not a bad supposition, only one of my visits to you in DC was related to a concert. And I'd almost forgotten our Greyhound journey to Baltimore! Travelin' in style. On one of those visits we also painted pottery - my bowl was broken in an unfortunate moving accident a couple years later, but I remember it fondly.

A: The footed bowl was broken? Damn. Anyhow, to close, what do you say we each share one more, random memory from our illustrious past. My pick: the last day of 4th(?) grade. You and I were walking out of the building at the end of the day, carrying home all the crap from our desks and lockers. Bryan was with us too. Bryan, dreamy Bryan. We'd both had crushes on him at some point in the year, and as the three of us walked out across the playground we felt giddy. Unfortunately for him, Nick crossed our paths just then. We all liked Nick - in fact, weren't he and Bryan best friends? - but for some reason we decided to rip the locker/desk crap out of his hands, tear the bags open, and destroy all his stuff. It was insane. We poured glue all over his gym clothes, tore up his notebooks, and scattered his papers across the playground. We were laughing like maniacs and he just kind of stood there, helplessly, whining "c'mon guys, don't..." When we were done, we each smiled at him and said something like "hey Nick, have a great summer! We'll see you in September." And then we walked off.

B: I had forgotten that! Reading about it now made me laugh and almost snort Bigelow Lemon Lift tea up my nose (I am drinking Bigelow Lemon lift tea at the moment. Otherwise that would just be weird.) Okay, here's my random memory. Melissa's slumber party for her tenth bithday. I remember it being a fun night in general - we all watched Hairspray (the original!) and played games and such. After the movie, when "official" bedtime came, everyone went upstairs to Melissa's room for more games of Skeletons in the Closet, Truth or Dare, hair braiding, makeup experimentation, etc. But eventually the other wimps wanted to go to sleep, and you and I actually moved our sleeping bags out into the hallway so we could stay up longer. There was a whole lot of giggling involved. Did we get shushed by her mom and Louie? It seems like we did. (Editor's note: yes, we did.)

The Early Days of our Canadian Experience

Yesterday was the two year anniversary of the day Oliver and I first came to Canada. I don't think I've ever really told anyone the story beyond a quick sentence or two... but it's actually really interesting. And I feel like writing today, so I'm going to share it.

Before we left China, and after we had decided that we were going to stay together, Oliver and I had to figure out where we were going to live next. It had to be an English-speaking country, since I wanted to go somewhere I could get a "real" job (no bartending at a beachside dive in Mexico, for example). America was out, since green cards are hard to come by, and London was out too, since it would be difficult for me to get an EU work permit. We eventually decided that Canada was our best bet, since work permits were "easy" to get, and I was staying close enough to my parents to keep them from the grisly fate of death-by-worrying.

We flew from Milwaukee to Toronto on November 29, 2005 (picture of us waiting at the Milwaukee airport above left). When we got to customs at the airport in Toronto, we knew enough to keep quiet about our plans to look for jobs, since border officials really frown on the sort of guerilla immigration that we were attempting. Unfortunately, we hadn't put together a plausible story, and the border guards were incredibly suspicious. Rightfully so, really. We said we wanted to travel around Canada for the six coldest, darkest months of the year, and we couldn't name a single place we wanted to go other than Toronto. Riiiiight.

The experience/interrogation at the border really shook me up, and added to the already powerful fear that was building up within me. We didn't know a soul in Canada. We didn't have any leads for anything beyond a good hostel to stay at for our first night. There was no guarantee that I could get a work permit (as a German, Oliver qualified for a special program), which meant that I couldn't work anywhere, not even McDonald's, unless someone agreed to sponsor me. And sponsorship, as I later learned, is not easy to come by. That's a story for a different day, though.

Waking up my first morning in Toronto, I was overwhelmed. As much as I kind of hate to admit this, I spent most of that day sniffling as I walked with Oliver around town, looking for internet cafes and other logistical spots. I felt like everyone I passed on the street was glaring at me: "get out of here, dirty foreigner. Quit taking our jobs." Having just come off seven months in China where I either earned subsistence wages or didn't work at all, I had a limited amount in the bank to work with and wanted to find a job as quickly as possible. Being a foreigner in Canada though, I had a red-tape barrier that I didn't know how to get around.

We spent our first two days looking for housing. Toronto is teeming with new immigrants, and there's an extensive network of "guest houses". Guest houses are a step above a hostel, because even though you share a bathroom, kitchen and living room with a small group of strangers, you have your own bedroom. You can pay by the day, week, or month. Unfortunately, almost all these guest houses are located out in the suburbs. We spent a lot of time on the subway and buses that connected from the subway and seemed to go out further and further... We sucked it up though, and eventually found a good, affordable place and quickly moved our suitcases and backpacks in.

I can't adequately describe how good it felt to have a home base. We were still cold, jobless, friendless and unsure of what to do next, but we had a room of our own to feel the uncertainty in private. On day three I sent out a resume while the snow fell outside our window... and I went so far as to feel cozy. Three days after this, our landlordess bumped us up to her other property, and this time we even had a tv in our room. We lived on the 8th floor of a giant, boxy building and overlooked the parking lot for the commuter train into the city. This was my first experience with joblessness, and every day I watched the commuters run to catch the train to work.

After we got settled, we fell into a pattern for the next couple months: send out resumes, read, go to interviews, hoard money. That last one was mostly me. I had $x to my name, and I was going to keep track of every cent because there was no way I was going broke. We bought macaroni and cheese, large bags of potatoes, and the materials to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We stood and argued in the housewares aisle of Wal-Mart for 10 minutes because Oliver wanted to buy a $4 teapot and I thought he was being too extravagant. I obsessively tracked my expenses and patted myself on the back each time I managed to make it through the day without spending any money. I still have that Excel sheet. A couple examples:

January 20th:
$.95- mailed Grandma's card
$.67 - chocolate
$3.47 - milk

January 24th:
$3.00 - breakfast
$4.25 - Mississauga bus fare
$.76 - snack
$23.50 - groceries

Things eventually worked themselves out, of course. I won't pretend that this was a real hardship, or that I can understand what poverty or real uncertainty feels like. I will say though, that it was something that changed me a bit, and that I'm glad to have in my "stable" of experiences. I feel proud of myself for doing something that really frightened me, and awed by Oliver because it didn't phase him a bit. And even though I know it's a really cheesy thing to say I can't help myself so here it comes: Gol, isn't life amazing?

Ireland Goodness, a Little Randomly

I guess I'm still thinking about things that happened about a year ago. This time it's photos from our trip to Ireland last November.

Dingle Peninsula cemetery around sunset

Church and ruins

Cliffs and green

One Year

At the risk of stating the obvious... it was a good day. In addition to the whole "getting married" thing, our wedding day was wonderful because it reminded me once again how incredible our family and friends are. Good hearts, unique personalities. The whole thing had a communal feel to it too, which I loved. My godmother gave my maids-of-honor free lodging for the weekend; my brother and one of my cousins carved a jack-o-lantern for the reception's welcome table; another one of my cousins did my makeup; my mom and two of my aunts set up the reception hall that morning, putting all the little candles and name cards in place.

One of my favorite details of the day is the poem we had read during the ceremony. To be completely honest, it's actually a couple different Walt Whitman poems, chopped up to fit my needs. Oh! Sacrilege, right? Well... it was my wedding and I got to do what I wanted (that's what I keep telling myself, anyhow). I've read it occasionally over the last year, and I get a little misty eyed every time. Go figure.

I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes.
These are the days that must happen to you.
You shall not heap up what is called riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve.

Allons! To all that which is endless as it was beginningless,
To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you.
To take your use out of the compact cities as you pass through,
To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go,
To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them,
To gather the love out of their hearts,
To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls.
Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten and the book on the shelf unopened!

Camerado I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law,
Will you give me yourself? Will you travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?