Birretes y calabazas

I need a vacation. Not even one in which I do things or go anywhere. One in which nothing is supposed to happen. A vacation in which I am not called upon to plan or organize or be in any way responsible for any kind of accomplishment or logistic. One day on which I could wake up to sunlight instead of an alarm without feeling the crush of all the things I am meant to be doing for my own academic and professional good.

Falling asleep on the bus on the way home from class today I felt the slightest hint of wistfulness for my days of employment, during which I could come home and not be working.

I am looking forward to the Friday evening on which I dare to skip my Salsa dancing class in the name of sanity, or the week mid-October when I'll be through with my water class, at least. Or when my Spanish class will slow to half its current frantic pace. Only to be replaced by the endurance test that is applying to graduate school.

It's all so good, and yet there is just too much of it.

Literary afternoon

Walking the block of Webster just north of Mosswood park often reminds me of the lazy southern streets of Carson McCullers' Member of the Wedding, especially when I hear the occasional twang of a stray banjo string, like I did today. I always liked her.

The tallest and smallest

It would seem that the Tallest Man on Earth is playing at the Fillmore tomorrow night, and I believe I will try to see him. Would that the stars might align to make it possible.

I am listening to Shallow Grave again in preparation and am struck by how strongly I react to those songs even now. As I sing along to The Gardner, I can feel the muscles in my face tighten and release through the series of memories that have come since the first time I heard this record in a dark room in Escondido, its windows papered and taped to keep the light out. It's as if each of the cells in the bit of stuff beneath my skin are retracing all the stretching and contracting they have done from then until now, like a three minute dance.

I was feeling hesitant to go -- lest my concert-mate catch a glimpse of what-all this is humming from my nerve endings -- but, having given in it a few hours' consideration, I would like to go. I would like finally to see this Tallest Man for my own.

Estudiando español

Ahora cuando me hablo en mi apartamiento, en el invernadero, o mientras de andar en bicicleta, me hablo español. Creo que es una buena señal. Quisiera hablar español como una latinaamericana un día. De verdad. Esto es el comienzo. Puedo entender y puedo escribir, pero hablar... Pienso que tengo un oído para los idiomas -- ¿es posible de decirlo en español? -- pero puedo sentir la diferencia entre aprender un idioma el la escuela secundaria y aprender un idioma cuando tiene casi treinte años. Que me gusta aprender lenguas todavía.

Même en français, je crois que je parle comme une americaine. La forme de mes phrases trahissent toujours un cerveau qui pense en anglais. Mon accent et mon intonation pas résister. Je n'ai pas assez lu pour être une vrai française -- même si des français me demandent si je suis française. Si j'avais dit plus qu'un mot ou deux, ils ne l'auraient pas dire.

Agus tá mo chuid Gaeilge an-beagán.

Garble

It's either the last day before the onslaught, or one of the last days of the onslaught, or I suppose it could be an ordinary day mid-onslaught. In any case, I am busy. School starts tomorrow, and I'm already thinking of dropping classes. I am still working on this summer research project. I still need to apply to graduate school, and, before that, to research graduate schools to apply to. Next week will be all experiment harvest, all the time, followed by a whirlwind trip to Los Angeles for a wedding.

Have been keeping to myself with a cold this last week and some. Reading, reading and reading. Getting some things done. Feeling the dwindling of the piggy bank creeping up. Not really having enough time to think anything fully through. Still hearing good things about my performance from the lab folks, for which I am grateful.

My sister moved here yesterday, which is highly exciting. I just wish I wasn't so tired so I could revel in the excitement. It's been oddly quiet lately, partly à cause de la grippe, partly because summer is such a good time for getting away, mais tout le monde reviendra cette semaine des vaccances que je n'ai pas pu faire cette année, et c'est bien ça. En même temps, I'm feeling a hint nervous about it all -- surtout la retour du Canada de ce mec à qui Sarah m'a présenté. Pas de raison, mais le voilà. J'ai appris comment ne pas avoir besoin de rien. I really need to learn to speak better French.

I do like being busy and being productive, and I feel I've been both most of this summer, but nothing takes the place of a good mental holiday. Def missing that right now.

Upon having discovered that I truly am a nerd

I am really, really enjoying reading this Primer of Ecological Statistics. There's no denying it now. Will I ever be invited to cocktail parties again? Wait, have I ever been invited to cocktail parties? Gasp.

Further evidence that bicycles are sexy

A man in a black Volkswagon nearly hit me trying to hand this little slip of paper to me while driving yesterday. I wonder how often he tries this tactic and what his success rate is. Also, does he carry pre-written slips of paper with his phone number on them just in case? Or did he somehow manage to also tear off a bit paper and write his information out, also while driving? As Matt would correct me, there is at least one way to find out.

Good karma

Working will call at the annual SF Botanical Garden sale is definitely a far more athletic assignment than cashiering -- lifting full boxes of recently watered plants above your head, scurrying back and forth. I LOVED IT! Plant sitting, running around, and chatting with people is way more fun than counting tags and calculating change.

One woman even gave me the best compliment ever. She reads my name off my name tag and says I should be a writer. Or a philosopher. Made my day.

That and a little catching up with John this morning. I'm glad you could top off your April with a bit of sun time.

And! The rest of my seeds came in the mail today! I can't wait to try out some of these ground cherries and the stevia.

Not only that! The SFSU folks got back to me today finally. I guess by 'early April' they meant 'before May.' But they accepted me! I'm two for two on internships! I'm sad to have to turn them down, but I've decided I'm still happy to be doing grassland plant ecology stuff with a shorter (and bikeable!) commute and a little more money even though marine microbiology would have been cool. If the rainforest birds guy had said he needed me to come to Africa to do a little field work it would have been tough, but this will be good.

Mini me

After a whirlwind Regents Scholar overnight and Cal Day tour, Tatiana is pretty much decided on coming to UC Berkeley in the fall! Woo hoo! Mission accomplished!

I have already planned out our life together many times over. She is going to move up early. We are going to watch Examined Life in Moffitt Library. We'll have a little sleep over and watch Dr. Strangelove. We'll have tea/coffee and study times at the I-House, which I have never been to. She is going to join GiANT (the film club) and make movies and invite me to screenings. She will play music, possibly in the Cal Band (which I just finally learned is the same thing as the (other) Cal Band - craaazy). She will tell me all the good books to read and invite me to her best lectures that are on Mondays or Fridays or at other times convenient for me. We will have dinner parties and tea parties and play music together.

My mother has also requested that she make friends with her grad student TA's and shop for manfriend material for Julianne and me. Ha.

In any case, life is going to be good!

Good news Thursday

Unless there is some last minute complication, I shall be working at UC Berkeley in my ecology lab for a solid 12 weeks full time this summer! With the potential to possibly maybe continue on in the fall! Woo Hoo!!

Paid internship! Or 'lab training position,' they are calling it. I shall make more in one week than I've made this entire school year! Granted that's not saying much, but still!

A year ago I knew zero about this stuff and had no idea how to get closer to where-ish I want to go, and now I'll be getting paid to do Science! How great is that??!?!

Old pals

I met up with an old friend from the co-ops here in Seattle who I haven't seen or really chatted with in probably five years. Last night we went to a lecture on the role of aerosols in climate change, which, in this case, is slowing the rise of global temperatures. Then today lunch and chats about Life and The Future. All of which is looking bright!

And then tonight waayyy too much Chinese food in the International District followed by a totally unnecessary dessert in Capitol Hill with Nat. It was so good to see him. Yay for reconnecting with old pals. I love keeping good people. I will also never need to eat again! Then again, we're meeting up at the Farmer's Market tomorrow morning...

Of ribbon and things

My turquoise ribbon finally fell off in the shower last Thursday.

I'd gotten the idea in my head that that ribbon was my connection to John, the same way the red yarn tied around his wrist was a connection to me. I'd watched that little bit of yarn wear thinner the last few times I went down to visit, and couldn't help making a connection between that wisp of red yarn and what seemed to be a steadily growing distance between us.

It had been just over a year since he tied it on my wrist at David's wedding to Kayo last March, replacing the rubber band he'd given me, that I lost a few days before the wedding. Everyone at my table had a ribbon tied to his or her wrist that night, and all of them had fallen off by the end of the evening -- except mine. It seemed obvious that some kind of love-magic had gone into that knot. John caught the garter at that wedding, you know. We danced the lovers' dance. No one had ever seen me with a boy before. I suppose it gave people ideas.

I thought a lot about what it would mean when that ribbon fell off. I noticed that it had gotten looser recently and hoped it would at least come off somewhere I'd see it. I knew it would happen some time before my next scheduled wedding appearance in June. Because I knew a pilly knot of turquoise ribbon wasn't the sort of thing a bridesmaid is meant to wear.

And then, before I'd come to any conclusion, there my naked wrist was in the shower, as fitting a place as any to discover the nakedness of your own body.

As I wonder what has become of those struggling red threads, and I run my eyes over the white stripe a year of ribbon wearing left on my skin, I'm left with the question of whether his ribbon and my yarn were the result or the cause -- the manifestation of or the inspiration -- for that connection.

In any case, I believe I'll make the ribbon into some sort of book mark. I'll sew it into a book if I can. Maybe a copy of Baron in the Trees. Fiction is our strongest link these days.

Confession

I will just come right out and say that March has been a fabulous month for picking up vices. Not only have I started drinking at home alone, I am tipping back a glass of red wine (or a nice cold beer, as the case may be) with that most addictive of vices, INTERNET TELEVISION.

I have watched every episode of Community, and am eight episodes in to the six year saga of Lost. I even made myself a little account on Hulu so that I can watch Archer. I am loving every minute of it. Watching funnies over the internet, it turns out, is just about the best thing ever after a good day of hard core studying and other mental aerobics.

I expect I will still read myself to sleep now and again, but I am highly pleased with my new vices.

Mornings at home

It looks like warm winter in my kitchen this morning, and I can see rain streaking down the apartments next door.

We walked past what looked like co-ed ROTC students playing football. Every so often one side or the other would erupt in howls when a good pass was made or a goal was scored, and I wanted to scream along with them. I wanted to let out a deep monstrous sound of my own and camouflage it among their various shouts.

Instead I've been enjoying a Grizzly Bear sing along at home this week - Veckatimest at the computer and Yellow House in the kitchen. I haven't sung quite as loud or as passionately as I want to, but there is something so satisfying about letting my voice glide along their vowels, clearing space for what feels like an endless magician's handkerchief of colorful notes drawn from the depths of my chest, past my vocal chords and out from my lips.

Escapism

I have this tendency to escape to science the way I run off into novels. There is something so comforting in the smooth walls of Science, the invisible infinity of it. Nine novels into this year, I still have that tingling sensation behind my knees that makes me want to run. To run, to leap, to dive. Into anything.

I just find it curious that the tight corset of math and science feels as comforting to me as the loose silk of literary indulgence. Like hands gripping your waist or brushing over your skin.

Standing in the lab on Tuesday, seeing the light filter through the differently shaped bottles on the shelves between the benches, it struck me that I want to make science romantic. I want to have a love affair with Science, that stubborn Darcy of disciplines.

Molasses

Biking against the wind on the way home today felt like a good physical manifestation of the thick muddle my mind has been in lately with thoughts pouring slow like molasses instead of the usual electrical storm. To fly down to LA or not to fly down to LA seems to be the question tripping me up. By all accounts the answer seems to be: go. I could be on a plane now or at least on my way to the airport, but I'm not.

Saturday night a girl sitting a few feet from me had an episode on BART. Between 12th Street and West Oakland station, she stood up in the aisle and started frantically removing her outer layers saying it was too hot and she couldn't breathe. Shortly thereafter she fell to the ground as if in a faint, but did not appear to lose consciousness. I was so close but another passenger much farther away sprang to her feet and took charge of the situation. She sat the girl down and started interrogating her friends. Has she taken any drugs? No! they exclaimed, we only ate chocolate cake. The girl still claimed to be having trouble breathing and at one point started screaming as much, or, rather, alternated shouts of 'I can't breathe!' with high pitched screaming. I found this to be a somewhat comforting affirmation of her ability to breathe, at least for now. What do you think is the matter with her, the woman asked the girl's friends. Paralyzed! they answered in unison. I could see the girl's hands locked stiff with the fingers straight out. Another passenger contacted the driver to report the emergency and called 911. The girl appeared to be improved by the time we reached the station, though she was still acting in that funny way people act when they're not all there. The woman who had been on the phone with emergency services was visibly shaken and collapsed against the wall after re-boarding the train. Tears dripped helplessly from the corner of her eye. Will she be alright?? she wanted to know, feeling a cocktail of shock at having witnessed what could have ended much worse (and still might for all she knew) and guilt for not having somehow done the impossible and fixed everything herself. We guessed that it might be some sort of diabetic shock. By 'we' I mean other voices on the train. I thought about how I could get up and hug that woman to say out loud that she'd done all she could and to reassure her that the girl will be alright. But I just sat there and called the friend I was supposed to meet in San Francisco to tell him there had been a delay.

I do think that girl was probably fine, and my grandmother appears to be as improved as one could hope an 87 year old woman to be a week after major surgery, but something doesn't feel right about it.

Fog

In some ways today was perfect.

I only saw the emails about my grandmother being in the hospital as I was on my way out the door. Something about a fall, a broken hip, lots of morphine, surgery and a question about her wishes. I had a quick business-like conversation with my mother as i walked to the bus stop to get the most up to date information, which was: I don't know. Little enough information that I could set it all aside to consider later.

The bus came right away, and I got to Tolman right on time. The psych experiment I signed up for was an exercise in active forgetting - not my strong suit, but it was good practice. The experimenter made a comment to the effect of - I've got a mind like a steel trap. And I made $25, which is great. I can use all the money I can get.

And then I was off to Hilgard, a convenient stone's throw away, to work with the Suding folks. I entered my data from the past month in no time at all and was apprised of this new experiment that I may be able to very nearly take over, which would be great. I spent the afternoon writing out labels. I got carried away in the zen repetition of it all and labeled five hundred-some cones. I'd have kept going if my hungry stomach hadn't noticed how dark it had become.

And then home just in time for Fresh Air with a lovely Tuscan dinner. I tried to read about the nitty gritty of xylem, but my curtailed sleep last night and the vague question of whether I should be booking a flight to Los Angeles for some time between my class Thursday night and my midterm Saturday afternoon kept me from it.

So, dinner was followed by an evening of uploading photos to the blog I made for my tree id class. Happy work that left my mind to relax. I prepared 25 posts for the next five days.

And I've been able to sleep! Ever since giving my word over a certain handshake, no one has died in my dreams. No awful things happen that I am expected to fix. I spend my unconscious nights in Paris walking along the Seine. I think I'll see if I can't get back there now.

Plan B

If all else fails and whatever life I'm working on now doesn't work out, I will move to the hills of Santa Fe. I will find the German wizard from the farmers market and ask him to make me his apprentice. I will learn the fine art of artisan bread baking. Or I might seek out a creamery in a far off cloister that reminds me of Mont St. Michel and I will make cheese. I will bake breads and fashion cheeses and eke out a quiet but delicious life in the narrow streets of Paris.

Hearts

I was reminded today, sprawled on my blanket in the warm February sun out of doors, that these really are good times.

I'm a lucky girl to be able to make music and read and picnic out in the park on such a regular basis. To work so hard and feel like I'm not working at all. To run in with so many fantastic people.

Even valentine's day turned out lovely after all with a trip out to the farmer's market for carrots and up to the store for cottage cheese which would be fried into apple pancakes. Followed by banjo and fiction reading in the park. For it to be so warm and sunny these past few days, to be able to wear dresses and skirts, letting the sky touch my bare legs. Delicious. And then dinner at the co-op with Sarah and Jenna. Even the disappearance of two buses and the breaking down of a third and the long unintended walk through dark Berkeley streets on my way over was lovely.

I guess I really do love what little life I've made here. And it's good to remember that so clearly now and again.

My bloody valentine

I have just returned, triumphant, from the Red Cross. Advances in technology provided for me a little hand warmer in preparation of the telling needle prick, but I don't think I needed it. The few drops of blood from my would-be wedding ring finger came in at 14.2 on the hemoglobin machine. Success.

The woman in the donation room knew a professional when she saw one. I disobeyed her request to look the other way when she slipped the needle in the old vein and filled the pint sack in under five minutes. A record, she says. Any faster and she might have hit an artery.

I have neglected to make valentines cards, and I don't imagine there will be any wine or ballet or record playing this year. No Bobby Vee singing from the other room as I take my shower. But I suppose I still wanted a valentine, so I've given my blood to a stranger. Happy Valentine's Day, whoever you may be.