catching up

[Exhale.] I’m back to full-time freelancing, and wow, does it feel good. Even though I was aware of the massive stress I was under at my recent staff job, it wasn’t until I left it that I realized just how much it was affecting every last fiber of my being. Freelancing has its own stresses, but they’re stresses I’m more willing to live with. The flexibility is allowing me to branch out and pursue some tech writing in addition to my established editorial services, and also to spend more time with my jewelry and other art.

Flexibility has also been a necessity in catching up on wedding plans. We’re just over four months away, and there’s still more left to do than I would like, but over the past two weeks I’ve been able to get a lot accomplished. Mom and I spent some time last Tuesday and again today doing the legwork on cakes and invitations so J and I could make our decisions. We settled on a photographer last week and figured out what we’re doing for favors. The next major obstacle is finalizing the guest list, probably the most difficult thing we have to do and something almost all couples struggle with.

My plate still overfloweth, but in a good way. It’s good to be back.

double pfffft

I *knew* I should have migrated to WordPress long before now. Seems there is no easy way to migrate posts from new Blogger to WordPress, and the one set of (many-stepped, convoluted) instructions I found online won’t work with the current iteration of new Blogger settings. Oh well. I was tempted to burn the existing archives to a CD and start fresh anyway. Looks like my decision is made for me.

migrating…

Patience, please, while I figure out how to migrate six years’ worth of posts to WordPress.

whoooooo’s in my house?

I came home Tuesday night just in time for the start of Gilmore Girls. I was looking forward to a quiet night on the couch after a stressful couple of days. I threw my stuff on the kitchen table and went over and flipped the TV on. A minute or so later, I went back to adjust the volume. As I did so, I heard some rustling coming from the plant on top of the CD case in the corner. It struck me as odd, since Fiona (the cat) is not able to get up there, and even if she could, there’s no room for her anyway. I went to shoo her away, because two of my favorite ceramic pieces live on the top of that case, as do some other breakables.

Much to my surprise, it was not Fiona up there, but a good-sized screech owl. A quiet, mellow, Fiona-colored screech owl, but a screech owl nonetheless. After a moment of panic and trying to remember if owls have a tendency to get pissed off and peck your eyes out or something, and being paranoid about how it might have gotten in, I decided to just call Mom to ask her whom I should call. She didn’t believe me at first. After I convinced her that it was for real, she suggested calling the police. I’m not sure that they believed me either, but they put in a call to the dogcatcher (?!?) to call me back.

Sometime in the middle of all this I saw Fiona saunter casually into the bedroom, and promptly shut the door so she’d stay in there. I don’t know how she managed to not notice Screechy’s presence, as she gets hyped over birds on the outside of the house all the time, nor do I know why Screechy wasn’t more upset about Fiona’s presence. Maybe there’s some kind of owl/cat nonaggression pact in force that I don’t know about.

While I was waiting for the callback, I grabbed the camera and took a few pictures so that I could prove it happened, and propped the front door open, hoping Screechy would take the hint and fly out. He showed his rather large wingspan and moved from the plant to the curtain rod. Then I called my friend Sara to see if she could send her brother over. He didn’t believe her, but nonetheless came over. As we stood there staring at Screechy (whooo was quite content to sit quietly on the curtain rod and follow me wherever I went with his eyes) trying to figure out what to do, the dogcatcher called back. His helpful advice was to prop the door open and try to shoo it out. Thanks.

Screechy was entirely unfazed by my waving magazines in his general direction. I didn’t want to get close enough to be in pecking range. Bill went to fetch his fishing net, while I went downstairs for the broom. Bill nudged Screechy with the broom while I held the net in one hand and a magazine in the other. Screechy took a lap around the living room before he decided the best place to perch next would be on Bill’s pant leg. Once the surprise wore off, Bill started moving slowly toward the door. Screechy hopped off about halfway there, at which point I was able to put the net over him and trap him in there with a newspaper. I took him outside, where he was quite content to sit in the net and stare at me some more.

After I closed the door so he wouldn’t be tempted to go back in, we nudged him enough to get him to hop out of the net. He hung out on the lawn long enough for me to worry that he had been hurt, then took off and settled on a branch in the dogwood tree. I thanked Bill profusely for his help.

Throughout all of this, Screechy made no noise at all, other than a little wing-flapping. He didn’t seem particularly upset about being in the house, or being in the net, or anything at all. I told him that he was a beautiful bird and a nice addition to the decor, but would probably be much happier outside.

Best I can figure, he came in through the chimney. There’s an open vent near the furnace in the basement that goes into the chimney, and there was a bunch of dirt and debris under it when I went looking Tuesday night. I’ve temporarily made it less open with some strips of duct tape, but I need to get someone up on the roof to rig some kind of wire mesh contraption up there so critters can’t get into the chimney in the first place.

the end of the journey, and the beginning of the next

I am here. The whole update thing fell apart a bit at the end there, but all is well 5345 miles after beginning the driving portion of this journey. I saw some truly beautiful places, and felt blessed to be able to spend a day or so with so many friends and relatives along the way.

T was upset that I didn’t go to Graceland when I was in Memphis, considering that it was the 25th anniversary of Elvis’s death and all, but really, Elvis — dead or alive — just doesn’t do it for me.

Monday the 12th was the longest driving day of all, timewise. I was curious to see the place I was born, since my family left there when I was all of 18 months old, so I planned my route to circle through a big regional park before swinging back down to my birthplace then most of the way across Kentucky. My map book deceived me again, letting me believe that it would be a mere side trip to visit the Land Between the Lakes, but it was a journey in and of itself. And at the end of it, there wasn’t much unique scenery in the park itself; it could have been any old park road winding through the trees. I didn’t even see any buffalo in the buffalo range.

The place of my birth was like any other middle-of-nowhere military town: pawn shops, fast food joints, scary-looking bars, military surplus stores, and lots of dust. Strangely like Wahiawa. Sadly, there had been some confusion as to when my arrival would be, so they had planned the parade and festival for Tuesday, and by their account I was there a day early. Not really wanting to stick around and partake in the funfest that is Oak Grove, Kentucky, I disappointed the entire town by telling them that they would have to have their Welcome Back Lori party without me, as I was pressing on to Lexington that afternoon.

The Kentucky parkway system is fantastic driving and apparently underused. It was smooth sailing the whole way with little traffic and lots of speed. If it weren’t for my forgetting about the time change in the middle of that fair state, I would have actually been early to H&W’s house. Alas. We all had a great time. W & I took a side trip to Berea, Kentucky on Tuesday. I have always wanted to go there for two reasons: (1) I spent most of my childhood in Berea, Ohio, and wanted to know what Berea, Kentucky, is like and (2) I’m an artsy-craftsy person and Berea, Kentucky, is an artsy-craftsy town, complete with artsy-craftsy shops and an artsy-craftsy college, appropriately named Berea College. I bought a few little things and had a little chat with a dulcimer maker.

Wednesday I made the switch over to E&D’s house, and had a great time there as well. We all saw My Big Fat Greek Wedding — highly recommended. E & I took a side trip to Shakertown on Thursday, where we poked around and took some pictures and then had a really good lunch. We bought a whole pie of their famous lemon variety to take home for dinner, but consensus was that it really was, well, kind of weird and not much to our collective liking. At least there was ice cream to take some of the bitter edge off.

Friday I left the fair town of Lexington, which I like very much, and headed for Cincinnati. I stayed with J and her parents, who were very welcoming despite my not having met them before. We people-watched at a trendy restaurant and a trendier bar on Friday, where I was reminded how much I never want to have to partake in the stereotypical singles scene. We had some truly excellent fish & chips at a pub in Newport, Kentucky, on Saturday and bought some Powerball tickets while we were there (didn’t win).

Sunday morning I drove through a bit of rain to Columbus, where I marveled at how much perfectly good stuff the infernal Campus Partners had knocked down in the name of “progress” around Ohio State and had a nice lunch with J (not the same J as above), before merging onto the bone-familiar stretch of I-71 that would take me home. The old joke that a friend sent me several months ago held: What are the four seasons in Ohio? Almost Winter, Winter, Still Winter, and Construction. I don’t think that there has been a single summer in my entire driving existence that there hasn’t been major construction on at least part of that stretch of 71.

I cut off onto 83 — a new move since the family has shifted west — and laughed at the alpalcas on the farms on the way up. They’re such ungainly but cute creatures. I came through the newer part of Avon Lake into the older and caught my first glimpse of the lake, and it did feel like coming home. I loved Hawaii, the climate, the beaches, and especially my friends, but this feels right to be here now. Mom was of course happy to see me, although shockingly not too teary.

The past two days have been busy with me clearing all the stuff out of my car and trying to impose some order on it, doing laundry, seeing relatives, going through my mountain of mail, getting information on banks, figuring out where the post office is, and taking a preliminary run through a few neighborhoods to see what areas I might be able to afford a house in. It should all settle down a little by next week, I hope.

Texas to Tennessee

Had a really good time with C & MK.

I crossed the Mississippi today at Memphis, officially crossing into the land where you’re asked whether you want your iced tea “suhweet or uhnsuhweet, hon?”

Watching CNN makes me twitchy. All that crap on every inch of the screen is just ridiculous. It makes it hard to focus on anything at all.

Today was my longest drive in terms of point-to-point distance: 470 miles, from the Fort Worth area across the whole of Arkansas to Memphis. Tomorrow’s leg to Lexington will not be quite so much distance but will be almost as long timewise, as I plan to take some back roads and take a little detour through the area where I was born.

Grand Canyon to Texas

Hanging in the Dallas area with C & MK. Not much time to update and no pictures today (I hear the cheers from the dialup section).

The Grand Canyon was so breathtaking. I can’t come anywhere close to describing it, and the pictures don’t capture even a fraction of it, so you’ll get neither from me now. Everyone should see it at some point in their lifetimes. Staying in Grand Canyon Village was a good call. It made parking and getting to the rim and easy. The lodge was rustic but not at all bad, and not that much more expensive than outside the park.

Decided to head to Santa Fe instead of Albuquerque, and was glad I did. I really like Santa Fe. Bought a bauble that I really couldn’t afford but also couldn’t live without, a gorgeous turquoise bracelet.

Headed across Texas — big, hot, dusty state that it is — with an overnight stop in Amarillo. Stopped yesterday in Archer City to browse the Booked Up stores. Huge, amazing bookstores owned by author Larry McMurtry in this nowhere Texas town. You have never seen so many gorgeous books in one place. Got to C’s last night in time for the jam session. To the joy of ears everywhere, I declined their exhortations to sing.

On to Memphis just to overnight on Sunday, then to Lexington to hang with more friends.

Later, then.

California, Baby!

I left the San Francisco area without actually going into the city, save the drive through on 101 on the way down. The course sucked up so much time and energy — as y’all know since I managed only one quick update while there — that the one half-day off I had I spent in mindless mall wandering and getting my poor, dirty car washed.

From Stanford I headed over to Santa Cruz. I had hoped to park and take a walk on the boardwalk and grab some real breakfast, but parking was outrageous and nothing seemed to be open anyway. On the way out I cruised through downtown proper, and again nothing seemed to be open. It might be a fun place another time.

From there I drove around the bay to Monterey and Pacific Grove just beyond, and fell in love. Pacific Grove is everything you imagine a California coastal town to be, except even more expensive than you think it is. I have decided that when I have my billions, I will have a little house here. I did the obligatory 17 Mile Drive, which lives up to its hype and is worth the $8 it costs to drive it. Stopped in Carmel for some gas on the other side; would have liked to have wandered a bit, but there was not a parking spot in sight for miles around. Seems like a grand little town, though.

People had warned me about Highway 1 south of there, but I have to say that it was a piece of cake compared to the northern California section. It was twisty-turny, but mostly well-paved and wide and just a gorgeous, gorgeous road. There was more traffic than on the upper part, though.

I made the stop at the famous Nepenthe for a late lunch and a refreshing beverage. The food was merely okay but grandly overpriced and the service was amazingly slow, but wow what a cool place. Its decks are perched 800-some feet above the sea below — straight below — and the views are surreal. I chatted with the couple next to me at the bar, he from LA and she recently arrived from Colombia, and realized how woefully bad my Spanish has become. I need to do something about that.

I made it to Hearst Castle in San Simeon an hour before closing, and an hour after the last tour of the day. I inquired about tours the next morning, and was told that they were already sold out until the next afternoon, so decided to give it a pass until next time. My hotel was in San Luis Obispo, about an hour farther south. San Luis Obispo is another California town that I like a lot. It has a nice downtown area with some nice cafes and coffeehouses, *two* old-style movie theaters, and a Spanish mission (where Mass was taking place, so I didn’t get to poke my head in). Being that it was Sunday evening, all the shopping was closed, but I had a nice time wandering around anyway.

Killer breakfast was to be had the next day at the Apple Farm restaurant. Highly recommended, should you ever find yourself traveling 101 though San Luis Obispo at breakfast time. South from there I stuck with 101, and made it to Santa Barbara in about two hours. Santa Barbara really is the turning point into southern California. It has the same expensive downtown shopping area as Monterey and a great assortment of restaurants, but something about it is intangibly different. It was worth an hour or so of wandering around. I called M to finalize directions to her place from there, and was routed way around LA — or so I thought.

I really don’t understand how anyone can live in LA. Yes, it has some cool stuff going on, but it is just a horrible city to get around in, and the smog is evil, and it is just endless, monotonous sprawl. What looks like the highway around town is still in town, and bumper-to-bumper traffic almost the whole way. I made it before dark, though, and we got to spend the next couple of days catching up with each other.

I compromised on my compulsion to complete the whole (U.S.) West Coast: Rather than drive myself and stay overnight in San Diego, M & I took the kids to the San Diego Zoo on Wednesday, which is what I really wanted to see there this time anyway, and called it good. The youngest panda was out taking a nap in a photogenic position, much to my delight.

The San Diego Zoo is awesome, terrible map and overpriced food aside. Very hilly, though, and thus not for the faint of heart.

I cruised across the Mojave Desert on the traditional I-15 on Thursday, and have been hanging out with Cousin Kurt in Las Vegas these past two days. I’ve stayed away from the Strip, since I plan to be back here with friends this winter. Mostly it’s just been hanging out and relaxing and having a couple of good meals. I leave here in about two hours, on my way to the Grand Canyon, where I miracle of all miracles managed to get a decent hotel reservation in Grand Canyon Village for tonight and tomorrow night by calling yesterday.

No chance of Internet access there, so until Albuquerque, then…

West Coast coasting

No, I have not gone plunging off Highway 1 into the ocean, although it certainly was a possibility this week. I failed to realize how isolated the coast roads (101 through Oregon and 1 through northern California) were from civilization. No net access anywhere that wasn’t long distance, and I had no luck at all getting the computer to work with the funky calling card.

I don’t have a lot of time right now to fill in the details, so here’s just a short take on my trip through Washington, Oregon, and northern California.

Washington, from Bremerton over to the coast: Little traffic on a weekday, and a longer journey than it looks on the map. I’m glad I took T’s advice to skip the drive around the top of the Olympic Peninsula, as it would have added weeks to the journey, I’m sure. Nice drive, though.

Oregon, part the northern: Big, wide, windy beaches, practically deserted. Ticky-tacky tourist trap towns. Fog. Many, many motor homes (campers, as we call them back east), with no white-trash stigma attached.

Oregon, part the southern: Less big but equally windy beaches. Eternal dunes. Fog, fog. Fewer, smaller, less tacky towns.

California, part the redwoods: Huge trees. Huge. Almost spooky, definitely cathedrallike. Fog, fog, fog. Gorgeous, schizophrenic roads, 101 thinking it’s a highway, but no, it’s twisty turny through the trees! But no, it’s a highway again! No, almost an abandoned logging road! No, a highway again!

California, part the falling off the edge, aka Highway 1: Now you hear people talk about Highway 1, and I’m thinking nice coast road, like Lake Rd. in Ohio, or A1A or whatever it is in Florida, or Kam Highway in Hawaii, but no, this sucker is the road to Hana times a million: higher, faster, and with NO GUARDRAILS in most places. Most people I know could not hack this road at all, and certainly not at 55 mph. What a thrill for the most part. I had only a couple of places where I felt my stomach drop as I rounded a corner. Fog, fog, fog, fog, fog, fog. And piddly little towns! You hear about Mendocino as a great tourist destination, but I am here to tell you that it is about the size of Put-in-Bay, Ohio (albeit certainly more upscale), that bastion of partiers in the Lake Erie islands. Mom did have a good point the other day in saying that well, people have heard of Haleiwa and the North Shore, too, and there isn’t much there, either. Still, at least the North Shore is a big area and encompasses all of the surrounding beaches and stuff, whereas Mendocino is just a high-priced spit on the map. Point Reyes lighthouse: worth the 302 steps, even in the fog.

I’ve planted my butt here at Stanford for the next week at the Stanford Professional Publishing Course. I’ve met some great people so far, including some people I have talked with before through the phone or e-mail, and have made some good connections already — and it’s only day 2. But now I have to run, because I have plans for a Jamba Juice dinner, and they close in 45 minutes. (The good part about being a returning SPPC participant — and ERC, if you will — is that we don’t have to participate in the group projects. Of course, that does leave you without a built-in social group for the evenings, since most of the project groups end up hanging out together for dinners and such. But I have work to do, anyway.)

So ta-ta until later.

last hurrah on the Kitsap Peninsula

Thursday evening was my first kayaking experience, and it was a blast! T and I went out the inlet, across to the other side of Keyport, across the main channel, and almost as far as Poulsbo — a couple of miles in all. The feeling of this area from the water is much different from that by land. Like many homes situated on water, the “front” is really the water side, not the side facing the road, and there are some beautiful ones around here. We saw several seals and plenty of birds as well. On the way back over the main channel, we could see Mt. Rainier lit up from the setting sun, floating just above the water. Those pictures are on the film camera, but A did get photographic evidence of my adventure with the digital as I was trying to figure out what I was doing.

Friday we left early for Portland, where A’s parents live. We stopped on the way at Mount St. Helens. I was telling my hosts that I really don’t remember much about when it happened. I know that it made the news everywhere, but I guess it just didn’t make an impression on me. Seeing it in person from relatively close up really brought home the magnitude and violence of the eruption. I’m used to the slow-erupting shield volcanoes of Hawaii, and this was nothing at all like that.

Portland was spectacular. I love that city. Saturday we left Little T with his grandparents and A, T, & I took off to tour the city. We drove through several hip and happening neighborhoods, strolled the grounds of the rose garden and Pittock Mansion, did a little shopping at Powell’s, had lunch at a great little cafe called Cup & Saucer, and visited the Chinese Garden. A’s parents were gracious hosts, putting up with a total stranger for two nights.

This morning we headed out to see the Columbia River Gorge on the way back to Keyport. The river has been tamed by dams, but you can still get the sense of how powerful it is and how forbidding it must have been to the pioneers on the Oregon Trail. Now of course there are highways old and new running alongside the river, making it a snap to see a number of dramatic waterfalls. We stopped at Latourelle Falls, Bridal Veil Falls, and Multnomah Falls, the latter being the most dramatic and the most accessible, thus the most touristy.

Tomorrow morning I leave this place and start heading south for good. I’m aiming for Lincoln City, Oregon, with stops along the way at Astoria, Seaside, and Cannon Beach. Lincoln City itself is not supposed to be all that picturesque, but it does have a concentration of reasonably priced and recognizable hotels.