this has been a different winter than those I've lived before. I'm not sure what the difference is. The air was so cold last week, like one of those spray cans you use to clean keyboards, right down your nose into your lungs. There were snowflakes Sunday morning. I played fetch with Suzy on frosty grass and I hopped ice patches while doing my "sprints" during workouts. But, that's not what makes this feel so different. Maybe it's because the rain is pounding a different window and my feet are facing west while I sleep. Maybe it's the two panting dancing dogs that always greet me when I come home and the huge responsibility I feel to make their lives not suck. Maybe it's my inability to cook for myself even though I love cooking or how much I love time spent driving alone in my truck. But, I think it might be the sadness that's hanging like moss around this Christmas. The seriousness of it all, the one huff of breath it takes to blow out a candle. I have never felt so indebted to music or my family and how wonderfully predictable they are. This winter feels like a motheaten wool blanket, like burnt buttered toast. It seems wrong that you can go through a whole day and not even be aware of what you are doing. But it happens, and it happens regularly. Yet, by the time you have realized what's going on the minutes have already passed. And, I am finally realizing what makes living in the city different than the country. The violence never seemed present but somehow this winter it's that damn wolf at the door. And maybe it's the recession or just a bad winter or timing or the way things have always been. But, it doesn't seem so. And when I get in the shower each morning I am a little surprised that I am still doing the same things. Still rushing, still waiting. But the backdrop feels darker, like how they change the stadium lights depending on the season and occassion.

Another Police Shooting

Someone shot and killed four police officers in Lakewood this morning. They were sitting in a coffee shop on their laptops before their shifts. A man walked in and shot two in their seats, shot the third standing up, and wrestled with the fourth before shooting him and escaping the crime scene. What the fuck? Four cops killed for no apparent reason. Almost one month on the heels of the equally cowardly killing of Officer Timothy Brenton in the CD. I couldn't believe it when I heard the news at work. Still can't. I mean, the guy has to be nuts to shoot four cops. Obviously. Anyone capable of violence of this magnitude has to be crazy. If he isn't crazy than he's living proof of evil. I can't believe each one of those cops got up this morning and got ready for work like it was just another day. Shot sitting. Jesus. I mean, this has to bother everyone who hears about it but I can't get over the insanity of it. There was a moment before this d-bag pulled the trigger when everything was fine. And then it wasn't. I argued with a friend recently about trying cop-killers harder than those who murder the rest of us. I argued that it was fair that those lowlifes have the book thrown at them. I know there are hundreds of creeps out there; rapists, molesters, murderers... they all deserve prosecution to the limits of the law. But, to kill a cop is to strike out against the people who are in place to protect the rest of us. Of course there are flaws within police departments as with any public institution (or any institution, period). But, ultimately, these are the men and women who go to work every day in order to uphold public safety. They are the ones you call when the shit hits the fan. When they are the ones the sirens are whining for it's scary, it's terrible. Cops aren't untouchable but it often feels as if they are. It seems unfair that they would be victims, ever. It feels perversely backward.

I am so sorry for the families of these four police officers. May they all rest in peace. And I hope the fucker that did this is toast very very soon.

So close I can taste it

Freedom is just around the corner. Three of the five big boogeymen are out of the way (Maddie and the traffic ticket and the pile of rot in the garden). Now I just need my truck canopy on and Lou to be out of my sister's driveway. The details will fill in... November will be glorious!!

Hell Week: ThursdayMorning

Okay. So, chippin' along. I am so excited for this week to be over!!! I mean, Friday night is all I want. But, I have accomplished a bit off my list:

• Printed up everything I needed to file a suit against this gal with my horse and was going to fill it out today. She emailed me back though when I checked my email this morning. So, finally some communication there. Looks like she wants to sell the horse but just having some sort of idea what's going on puts my mind at rest. I still don't trust her but I would rather go this route than court.
• I bagged up all my green tomatoes. They need to sit in the basement and think about what they've done. Or not done more like. Like ripening. Hopefully I will be able to do something with them in the next couple weeks.
• Was able to check cleaning the house off the list not because I did it but because Roni got home before I thought they would so I didn't need to get it sparkly for them because she already saw it as is.
• Have not mopped the damn basement yet but took the crucial first step of buying a bucket for the mop.
  
• Gave up on washing the dogs. Although, walking into my bedroom this morning after getting coffee made me think twice about that. They are a stinky bunch.
• Also gave up on the backyard. I do want to putter around the house but I don't feel like it has to happen ASAP now that I ripped out all the vegetables.
• And, also gave up on donating clothes right now. Needs to happen but not this week.
  

So most of my accomplishments are non-accomplishments. But, as long as it means it's something I'm not worrying about that's all I want.

... Tuesday of Hell Week ...

Okay... so today I accomplished a bit. My freaky to-do list is not as marked up as one would hope (one being me, primarily) but I still have three days of outrageous productivity.

• ripped all the plants out of the garden. this was necessary. there were loads of moldy tomatoes. and one giant pumpkin. and armloads of green tomatoes, lots of green peppers and a handful of a few ripe tomatoes and one orange bell pepper. maybe a couple jalepenos and some little eggplants too.... The yard is less panic-inducing now. It is just grass, with bare beds, minus the broccoli, beets and cauliflower that are still chuggin' along. I like it.
• I mailed in my traffic ticket to get a court hearing so I can only pay for my speeding fine ($144) instead of the lack of registration and insurance ($550). Still need to drive to Chehalis in a few weeks for the hearing and will still have the speeding on my driving record (hello insurance increase!). But, that is what it is and I can't speed in my truck anyway so... here's to that not happening again.
• Threw a load of laundry in. Badly needed. Dog hair was all over my bed. No more cuddling, as cute as they are. 160lbs of dogs is too much for a full-sized bed. That's 300lbs of creatures on an old mattress. Now I just need to chip away at all the unfolded laundry on my floor...
• Swept the basement. Need to mop it but there is not container for water. Will get a bucket later this week and that should take just a few minutes to finish. REALLY DIRTY. Like, pounds of dirt from those creatures.
• Ordered my lifting shoes for my cert next weekend. I coughed it up and spent $30 more to get the ones I really wanted. Super excited for them to show up!!
  
• Started a pile of clothes to donate. This has been a long time coming. I wear about 4% of what I own. And I wear that to death. The rest just hangs there or piles up on the floor. And then I wash it because it laid there long enough to get dirty. And then it goes back on the floor. Awesome.

That's it so far.

Hell Week

Turns out I did a fantastic job of procrastinating this month. Too bad that is not a valuable life skill because I would be set if procrastination was the new productivity. So, I made a pact with myself. I will let this week, the last week of October, be the worst week ever if, in return, I can take the month of November off. Like, I don't want to lift a finger next month. I want to go to the Atlantic Crossing and the Kort Haus and play Buck Hunter and Rock Band and cook delicious fall food and make mulled cider and go on long walks in the rain with the dogs and stay too long in the gym trying to do handstand push-ups and muscle ups and play cribbage and watch movies and make playlists for my shuffle and visit my family without an agenda. But, in order to do that, I have a ton to do this week. It looks a little like this: clean the house really well, clean my bedroom (= folding all the clothes on the floor and washing my comforter cover that both dogs slept on), pull up all the moldy tomato/pepper/eggplant plants and clean up the yard, set a court date for my traffic ticket, get the stupid wax out of the carpet where it spilled out of some plug-in smelly thing, order lifting shoes for next weekend's lifting cert, clean up Molly's backyard, file a suit against the creep who has my horse and has yet to pay $1 for her, pay rent/utilties, remove the stereo from my old dead truck (RIP Lou!!) and donate him to public radio (gay! Seattle! liberal!), put fenders on my bike and batteries in my lights so I stop driving the 1.5 miles to work, put the canopy on my truck so the dogs aren't riding in the open bed, move the couch from Molly's, go downtown for a top secret mission. Yeah, so not too much, just the ushe. And, on top of all that, I signed up to work two extra shifts this week so I could earn vacation hours for November. And, to seal the deal, I want to not have to do any of this on Saturday so it can be a scary rugby day instead of a stress basket day. Let's see how it goes... I am a psycho.

Otis Redding, orange leaves, snotty face... must be fall.

I've got slippered feet kicked up on the coffee table, my head is swimming with too much black coffee and too little water. It's golden outside. (I just realized what my next tattoo is going to be) The sky is perfect blue, the trees are perfect brown, the leaves are on fire and the grass is green and poofy before it turns into a winter old man's combover. I'm sick, struggling with a resume and managing to not think about good answers to predictable interview questions I will undoubtably be answering Tuesday morning. I took the CPAT yesterday for Burien Fire. I was sick, tossing and turning from 3am-5am with a fever before I got up and popped a bunch of advil and slept until 6:30. I've taken the CPAT before, no problem. I guess you could see it as a test of if A) you're alive and B) have muscles somewhere in your body. But, that's about it. I passed with 3 minutes to spare, my best time so far, (we're not supposed to know our times but I always sneak a look, the psycho Crossfit mentality wins every time) and I was definitely not in tip top shape. So, there's that. And I have an interview Tuesday morning. There are still 30 of us (unless someone managed to fail the CPAT, which I strongly doubt) competing for one job. But, shoot, that's a better chance than the 50 or so people that Tacoma isn't hiring or the 100 or so people Seattle isn't hiring. Not to mention the lack of phone calls/interviews from every other department I've submitted scores to in the past year. Burien is close to home, urban, and a shot at becoming a career firefighter. I'm stoked/terrified for my interview on Tuesday. But, today, I am home in Carharrts and slippers, sore from this stupid cold and the 8 minutes of activity from yesterday. If you type "Into the Mystic" into Pandora you get a pretty sweet soundtrack to write a resume to. Or register for your Level 1 Crossfit cert to. Or blog to. As it turns out. It's a pretty awesome day, even with this snot in my throat.

It's Cold.

Fall settled in hard this week. One week ago I had to wear shorts to work so I didn't roast on my Wednesday night shift. Now the windows are frosted over and it's time to pick the green tomatoes because they are definitely not ripening in this frigid air. I have to say, the past few days have been eventful, to say the least. But, I feel like I am paying some penance now and trying to make good choices for myself and others. Monday was a rough workout that I deserved, considering how low my tank was when I did it. And I slept almost 10 hours that night. Tuesday was way wholesome, a sub 4 minute workout (thanks, Laura) and a visit to Dad's in PT that included an hour on his new sailboat. We did run out of wind right in the path of the ferryboat. But, lived to tell the tale. The sky was a deep purple bruise to the south but somehow the sun was bursting through it all. And I realized that my dad must know a lot about clouds. Thirty years as an airline pilot has to leave you with some sort of sense of what a good cloud looks like and what clouds are out for blood. I learned that the hairpiece type clouds that usually sit on Mt Rainier are naughty clouds, since they indicate a lot of upward moving air. And, Dad let me steer the boat, which I enjoyed much more once I learned how to do it. There is something real special about being on small sailboat clipping through a bay. I'm just saying. Especially when it's just you and your dad and you are both okay with silence at times. I had a really great visit with him yesterday. I couldn't have asked for a better day. And seeing Paula, even if only for long enough for us to wolf down our Mexican food, was the best way to end it. So, wholesome it is for the week. I am going to try to cook all my meals today. I'm trying out the Crossfit nutrition assault thing again. We'll see how long it lasts. But, for now, I'm okay with being a dork about food for a while because I obviously don't have the self control needed to pave my own way.

So that's where I am at now. I'll have to see if I can soldier through the rest of the week with some semblance of self-respect since I tend to fall apart the closer the weekend draws...

Why Today is Great...

1. 6pm. Dawgs v. Cardinals. Let's do it again...
2. 11am rugby. Saturday is a rugby day.
3. Smoldering fire in the driveway = smokey clothes and a chill night.
4. Lots of tomatoes to harvest for Mom's sauce.
5. A new fridge that won't freeze our vegetables!
6. Morning run with the dogs + the shuffle.
7. A long overdue clean bedroom.
8. Fight Gone Bad!
9. Waking up to tired muscles.
10. Country music.
11. Sun in late September.
12. I always love driving my truck. Doesn't matter where.
13. Great roommates. Sometimes you just get lucky.
    
14. I don't feel like crap because I finally had a low key week. Also long overdue and my body is super thankful.
15. Good people.
    

swinging back

I think every fall I find myself in the same place. This is usually my time to regroup and come down from the high of summer. (Although last year there wasn't much of one since there wasn't much of a summer). And this summer is all the more pivotal in this transition. I feel a little like I need to re-learn how to be an adult. This last summer was awesome but I have definitely neglected plenty of responsibilities in the duration. I think that's okay every once in a while, as long as you come back to earth and reclaim some sort of claim on your life. And these transitions are always the best for me. A chance to live up to my full virgo potential (or so I hear) and attempt to organize the shit out of some as impossible to organize as living. But a challenge I'll accept nonetheless! I can't get over how much I love fall, I think more than summer even. Summer is a time to live without excuses or apologies, even though you should probably be making plenty of each. Fall is a time to cut back the garden, clean out the gutters, mow the lawn one last time and then know that you are relieved from the responsibility of outdoor work. It's one last hurrah for all the stuff you were "going to do this summer" and then a wonderful peace that comes with knowing that this is the time for soups and walks and decorations and pies and family and friends. Three months of it! January and February are their own problem but, until then, it's the best time of the year. And this year (2009! dear god) it's a chance to recover from some blunders (ahem, Public Safety) by hopefully putting it all out there when it counts (Burien) and keep that ace in the hole with fungers crossed (Tacoma). But, this year, as opposed to years passed, I feel more in the driver's seat. I think I know more what I want and am trying to learn the patience that is necessary when you have a narrowly focused desire. Patience has never been a strong suit of mine. I mean, I'm actually super miserable at it. But, this year, more than most, I am learning it or it is learning me, but regardless, I'm getting it.

Almost fall...

This is my favorite time of year. The leaves are turning. College football opened last weekend, nicely timed with the arrival of the first crop of Honeycrisp apples (the best way to blow $3 on a single food item). I have to turn the heat on in the truck in the morning or at night. The dogs have an extra zing in their step as the air gets a little more crisp. The damn pumpkin still won't produce, even though it's taken over the back corner of the yard and much of the garden. Obviously it's in no rush to save us some money and give us a couple giant pumpkins for Halloween. The smell of woodsmoke filters through the air randomly, giving the folks downtown an itch for burn bans probably. It's gold and cold and everything tastes better in the fall. We're still 11 days away from the official start but the seasons seem to turn earlier in our hearts than on the calander. This is the time of year when I trade cheap lagers for microbrewed dark lagers (big step!) and the grill for a soup pot. I listen to NPR in the mornings instead of KMPS and I leaf through fancy home magazines and wander off to bed at 10:00 instead of doin' it up until midnight or later. It's early mornings that feel like night and that soft sense of looming hibernation we all share. The wind blew in from the north yesterday, ruffling all the papers on my desk. That hasn't happened since last fall.

As the seasons click by it's hard not to wonder where the time goes. But now we have things like Facebook and Blogspot to track the time, to remind us where we were a year ago, or two months ago. And, even though I choose to not reflect much, if at all, on olden times, I like that the option is there. Although, somehow, and maybe it's the change of seasons, I feel way more at peace with today than I usually do. It feels more like an old pair of jeans than I am used to.

Last thing before I go to work. It's hard to believe that eight years ago those planes crashed into the towers and all those people died. Eight years. I woke up this morning to a man on the radio who had lost two sons, both New York City firefighters, in that tragedy. He was oddly at peace with it. He had the chance to one of them as he was riding to the site. Their last words to each other were, "I love you." It was a horrible and beautiful thing to hear, still groggy from sleep. He said that he wouldn't change anything. He spoke about the pride of both boys being firefighters and how lucky he was to have his last communication be words of love. If nothing else, this day should be a day to appreciate everyone in our lives. It's scary how quickly things can change. But, knowing that we love each other is what makes this time we have together as awesome as it is.

Really I am procrastinating right now. But, rather than putter around the house anymore, slightly agitated, I thought I would give this blog a little revival and actually write down some of the things on my mind. Sometimes I find myself trying to control every tiny thing in my life. Everywhere I turn I feel like I am disappointed by what I see. Usually (almost always) I fail to recognize that this means that I'm really worried about some 800lb gorilla that I can't bring myself to acknowledge. Today that gorilla is the damn Public Safety test. I've taken it 2-3 times before. I've always scored in the 90s. But that's not enough on this test. And I can imagine even 100% right now is going to be competitive, especially since no one I know of is hiring yet. I feel like I am living my life as if it belongs to someone else right now, like I'm waiting to step in and take over when I get this shot at a job I really want. I'm starting to feel like a dweeb, a wannabe. And it's getting a little old. I mean, I want this all more than ever now. And I feel ready in every respect. But, every chance I have to submit an application or take a test I get amped up, agitated, nervous. I mean, of course I want to do well, but I'm more nervous about the aftermath. The eagerness that eventually mellows into disappointment. It's been less than two years since I started testing but I assumed it would be easier than this. And I didn't think it would be easy. I just thought I'd have at least one or two interviews under my belt by this point. I don't want to be the person that lives with their life on hold while waiting for one thing to come through but I have a hard time going one day without this returning to the forefront of my mind at least once. I hate emo people and those who hint all around their emotions to get attention but, shit, every time I hear a fire engine roar by I feel like my stomach is preparing for the day I get to be onboard. Mostly I am eager for the complete feeling that it must be to love your job, to feel a part of something productive and necessary. Even those days you don't want to go to work it must be the shit to do so knowing you're a damn important cog in the wheel. I'm excited to be proud of my career and to know it fits perfectly with the rest of my life. I can wait until then. I have it just fine right now. But, something is missing and every opportunity I have to compete for a position I get damn nervous. So, definitely enough procrastinating. Time to cram some more studying into my head before getting some rest.

change

It's funny how life tricks you into thinking you're making radical changes when I'm pretty sure moss grows fat on all of us. Like, in the next two months I'm going to move out of this house. That's crazy. Seriously, it feels really weird that I'll actually live somewhere else. That I'll walk up another set of stairs and put my key in a different lock and set my bag on a different kitchen floor. Before any of that happens though I'll have to wade through the attic, knee deep in class notes, ugly clothes, gadgets and gizmos aplenty. And, here's where the moss grew. It's everything I've ever moved from a different house. The same way there are chickens in the backyard and I still have too many animals. It's like my inability to show up on time to anything, no matter how many punctual resolutions I make. It's my sporadic visitations to my mom and my growing guilt about not seeing the Belfair fam more. It's the laundry on my floor and the grey polo shirt my dad bought me in sixth grade that is still too big. It's how quickly the grass grows and how there are already green cherries on the tree and how the birds have already eaten them, greedy little bastards. It's time to get the dogs spring shots and time to worm the horses again. The details are like sand between stepping stones. But, I'm planning on making cottage cheese pancakes tomorrow morning. My dad made breakfast for us every morning he was home. And these awesome red pajamas still fit, a present from Grandma gone right. I still have no idea how to not make my hands look like a peasant's and I still don't care. I add a few boxes to the mix each year but even though the packaging changes the product is still the same. And, who am I kidding, I'm too cheap and distracted to even change the packaging? That should make this next move fine.

Summer '09

Two weeks until the official start of summer. But, Summer09 has been cranking for over a month now. Mostly it's been a lot of cheap beer. A lot of beer pong (or, more lately, water pong). A lot of nights crawling into bed late, dirty, covered in dry sweat. (I never said it was going to be a clean summer) So, that's good. I mean, the drinking and sweating and getting dirty. Except the almost getting choked to death at Golden Gardens by a WSU winger. THAT sucked. But, the rest, great. I do hope to expand my repertoire though. I am stoked to be playing rugby again. I mean, it's all muscle memory, right? It's like coming back home. I like playing with a different team, new people, new ideas on how to do things, new ways of cheering each other on. I like that. And I am warming up to 7s, even though I think it's going to be a little tough to dismantle some of the habits by the end of the summer. I am interested to see what it looks like next weekend when we actually play a game. Should be interesting. But, yesterday, getting out on the hike, that was the best. Seriously. It was what has been missing. There's something too perfect about only thinking about your next step, your next handhold, keeping balance while you're scrambling up a small mountain. And having buddies and dogs out there (really one and the same...) rounds it out. Getting to the mossy top of that ridge was the best part of my day. The clouds hip-huggers on that mountain across the way, riding low like a basement ceiling, making it feel like we were higher than we really were. The dogs were so satisfied, just like us. I could have done that all day long. I want to hike every chance I get this summer. I could drink a whole lot less if it meant getting up early to get out on trails. I think my body would probably appreciate that. I want to hike with my dogs, and my sister, and my friends and my dad (although he gets annoyed when I get out of view so it means taking a lot of breaks). So, I have to figure out the next hike for sure.

Meggie.

I have been putting off writing about this. When I went to my mom's yesterday it took me over an hour to walk over to the place they buried Megan. Seeing that huge spread of tore-up ground still didn't jar anything in me. It was like looking at a construction site before the rebar. I didn't know where her head was, if, maybe as I crouched there, I was really talking to her butt. I didn't know what to say. Like I hadn't known her these seventeen years. Like she hadn't done her best to raise me right, using every trick in her pony book to get me off her back and get herself back to the barn. So, I just said that I was proud to be a product of her schooling, sorry I hadn't been there for her in her old age the way she'd been there for me in my young years. And then I couldn't shut up. You saw me through divorced parents, twelve different addresses, third grade through my bachelor's degree, through wanting to be a professional rider, a vet, a cop, a teacher and then a firefighter. I've ran from you and chased after you. I've shared peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies with you, and you've stolen your fair share as well. I've risked life and limb riding you loose in the pasture and we won that red ribbon down in Chehalis that summer. You've thrown me into mud puddles, fences, jumps, and soft grass. You've tried to knock my head off by running under low-hanging cedar limbs and take my legs off my cutting it too close to the barn posts. You let me wear spurs and carry a crop and only bucked every once in a while. You stopped slamming on the brakes at fences and started jumping over them. Then you realized you could eat the hay bales we tried to jump. You put up with every friend I put on your back and sent galloping up the driveway. You were the trustiest steed in poker-stabber-stick. Well, maybe not trusty, unless trusty means I could count on you to always stop and start snacking when I least expected it. You scared the shit out of me when you got sick and ended up needed surgery to unclog your dang guts, just because you were an equine vacuum cleaner and couldn't let any tiny piece of grain escape you, along with all the dirt it was laying in. I still remember coloring in the waiting room in those early hours, coloring like a psychopath while I waited for the surgeon to come out and show me a handful of the sand that had almost killed you. And then two days later, belly full of staples holding you shut, you were pulling the vet techs like they were full of helium when you'd spy a patch of grass in the hospital parking lot. Your star got wild and huge on your face, like a supernova and you were so aggressive about getting your udders scratched, single-minded to the end. I wish I'd spent more time with you, even if it was just scratching you. I still couldn't keep my seat if I hopped on you, me twice what I used to weigh and you ten years older. You'd still take me for a ride and swerve dangerously close to Jewel, knowing she'd try to kick you, and probably knowing just how you'd maneuver so I was the one that took the hoof. You were pretty quiet but your knicker was my favorite. I'm sorry that my kids will never meet you and I can only hope that I'll be able to find them a teacher half as good as you were. I don't think there's every been a scrappier, tougher-than-nails, verocious creature out there. You were the one, Megs. You raised me right and I owe you my childhood. All my love. I hope the grass is delicious wherever you are.

May 30th.

Every once in a while I hit my limit of my current line of employment. Ask Molly. I’ll suddenly lose it and swear that I’m going to quit. And I never have the guts because I am paid well, treated like family, have great benefits, and would feel terrible pulling the rug out from under all these people who have looked out for me for the past four years. Also I verbally committed to three to five years and I only just passed my two-year mark. I always knew that a job offer from a fire department would mean I would break that commitment but I also imagined that I would have had one of those offers by now. I don’t know why I figured I would get an offer in the first year or so of testing, not that many people are that lucky or that good, but I just assumed it was destined to be so I didn’t imagine myself turning 26 and working at a desk for a large part of my job. Now I just feel like the openings are going to be few and far between and there will be even more people competing for them, a lot of awesome, over-qualified people. I mean, I’m going to keep the faith, but this trip is making me realize that I need to figure out something in the meantime. This trip doesn’t at all represent where I work. But, it just makes me think of what it’s going to be like to spend another summer outfitting people with athletic stuff when the sun is beating down its limited-time-only rays and I’m under-stimulated mentally and physically. I feel like such an ungrateful creepy for wanting out but it’s just not me. I mean, it never has been me but there are a lot of aspects about it that I can appreciate and I’ve been treated so well that it’s kept me working. But, I have a hard time working hard when my heart isn’t in something. I’ll work out of duty or because I’m worried I’ll get yelled at. But, most of what I’ve done in my whole life I’ve done because I’ve absolutely loved it. I rode horses because I loved it. I worked at barns as stable hands and grooms because I loved it. I went to college and studied relatively hard because I loved it. I played, and later coached, rugby because I loved it. I volunteered as a firefighter because I loved it. When I look back on my life and see what took up the bulk of my time, these are those things. And now, I have something taking up the bulk of my time and I don’t love it at all. At times I’m resentful of it and definitely have not put my all into it the way the job should be gotten at. And it’s a job a lot of people would be super proud to have. I feel like I’m hogging a spot that someone else would shine in. Like an imposter. An imposter with a salary and health insurance though so it makes it hard to just drop it like its hot in this down economy. And I’m not a princess that thinks that everything in life should be neat and fun and there should be no sacrifice. I haven’t loved every job I’ve ever had. But, I don’t have a mortgage or kids so I don’t have those outer responsibilities that might keep someone else at a job they don’t love. I’m in a part of my life where I only really have to answer to myself and I feel like I’m squandering it while I’m waiting for something I have limited control over. So, I e-mailed my advisor type person. She’s a firefighter who I met at Camp Blaze a six years ago and her advice means a lot. I asked her if she had any thoughts on what I could pursue while I was waiting to get hired, like what would look best on a resume. The way I see it, if I were to quit my current job, I have four options: get back into fire as a resident, probably at North; get re-certified as an EMT and work for private ambulance; get re-certified as an EMT and apply to paramedic school; or go back to community college for my fire science degree. I don’t know what weight each of those holds when applying to fire departments. I would ideally like to work for a large enough department that they plan on training you, in all regards, themselves, but I know the smaller departments value prior training and I can’t be picky on departments now. Going back to work as a resident would be both good and bad at the same time. I mean, I would love to just do the job again, even if it means not being paid for it. But, I wouldn’t be ale to hold any regular job to actually make money because the shifts aren’t on the same days week-to-week. I could work for myself or my mom and probably make enough to pay rent and buy groceries but there wouldn’t be a whole lot else leftover. But, it would allow me to maintain my EMT-cert and have my name out there for the smaller departments. Working for a private ambulance would mean a huge decrease in pay and being treated like shit at work. But, I’d be interested in the work and would maintain my EMT-cert. Going to medic school would mean I’m not only not making money, I’m paying a few thousand bucks to spend my time elsewhere. And it wouldn’t start until September ’10, if I were even accepted. That’s a long ways off and I would hope to have things sorted out by then. But, being a medic would mean my pool of competition would shrink a ton and I’d start at a higher pay grade. I would also be looked at as a nurse and having snuck my way into a fire department though the back door and that would piss me off until I could prove otherwise. I want to enter as a firefighter but I want to get my foot in the door no matter what. And, going to school for my fire science degree seems like it could look good and definitely refresh my memory, and I’m sure I’d learn new things too. But, I’m still paying money and time to go to school when I do have to bring home at least a little bit of bacon. So, it’s a dilemma. But, I’m going to ponder it for the next couple weeks. I know myself well enough to know what this is though and it’s one of those times in my life when the tides turn. I have ‘em every couple of years and this one has been way overdue. I gotta git after what I want because no one else is going to do it for me.

May 29th.

I bet something that’s weird about me is that I like/love zydeco, swamp pop, creole, Cajun, whatever you want to call it. Like, smack a fiddle and an accordion together and someone wailing in American French and it makes my heart soar like an eagle. I want to get tickets to the Port Townsend Fiddle Tunes again this year on whatever day the Cajun bands are going to be there. I would totally plan an accordion. It would be an exercise in the strength of my friendships. Also, I am finally tired at an appropriate time. Like, I’ve been getting tired mid-day lately. And I’ve also had these insane neck/headaches. I’ve sort of had them popping up over the past couple weeks. But they’ve been more intense on this trip and I’m not sure if it’s the sun (like eye strain?) or boredom or lack of good exercise or what. But, it kills and I haven’t had neck problems for a while now and suddenly they are back, along with a headache. Shitty.

May 28th.

Eff it is hot as balls in this hotel room. It’s midnight. I am exhausted but this heat is like starring in a high school musical wearing a wool sweater. I am also a touch done with luxury. I can’t hang with these peeps. It’s ungrateful and I apologize to my karma but I’m not cut out for business. I think when it comes down to it I’m too simple for this sort of thing, and not in a good way probably. I just don’t get it. I don’t care. And I’m pretty sure something just darted behind my curtains. Like a creature of the dessert that probably came in during one of the many hours I’ve left my door open. I hope it stays on the floor while I sleep. If I sleep. This damn heat is over exuberant and a little too persistent. But, like I was saying about this convention. I really appreciate all the trouble that the company went through to put us up in this really nice hotel and to feed us way too many calories all day long. And to take us to the ballgame etc. But, by day two (today), I am toast. Like, I can’t talk shop this long, or really at all. I have the utmost respect for my company. I think it’s probably one of the best-run businesses that exists, anywhere. And I am grateful for my job, especially in this climate. Yet I’m still unexcited for anything beyond my day-to-day duties of unpacking boxes, putting shoes on the shelves, and then putting them on peoples’ feet. That’s the end of it for me. I don’t have a greater vision or greater intention beyond that. And, really, I’d rather be putting out fires and getting cats out of trees. Or, I thought on this trip, it might be fun to teach PE. Like, teachers are getting laid of left and right and I doubt that PE is a field that has many openings in the best of time seeing as how kids aren’t even required to do it half the time. So, that’s a pipe dream for sure. And I’d still WAY rather be a firefighter. But, I think PE teacher would be a second. How gay is that? I mean, right? I mean, why fight the stereotypes when they are so true. We definitely had that PE teacher in my high school. Also the basketball coach. And she was dating one of the science teachers. I think. But, it would be fun to teach kids how to play games all day long and maybe get the awkward girls to unfold their arms and maybe enjoy one game every once in a while and to get the awful mean boys to stop trying to throw baseballs with enough force to kill someone and have an ounce of team spirit. I think middle school would be the place for me. The center of hell. The worst time of everyone’s life. It could be a good time. Just sayin’. And summers off would be saweet. But, I still want to be a firefighter. I’m too stubborn and single-minded to get past that any time soon. June will definitely be a time for more tests and a lot of studying for them this time. I love studying in the summer. I love my short attention span and being inside while it’s 75 and sunny out and then saying I’ll just study outside and then throwing the ball for the dog and then maybe weeding and then cleaning the chicken coop and then maybe mowing and weed whacking and possibly going to the beach or getting drunk or both. But, seriously, this trip makes me realize how important it is to me to not be in this position in the very near future. And I can’t keep saying that the way I sometimes say a lot of things for a long time but don’t actually do them. Like clean the attic. Or fold my laundry. Or get a haircut. Or wash my truck. Or clip Suzy’s nails. Becoming a firefighter, or at least not continuing in a job that I’m unfulfilled in, is more important than any and all of those things. To the hundredth power. So, another night where I write about the same thing. But, like I said, I’m pretty single-minded. I’d say I have about six or seven rotating thoughts that are passing through my mind at any given point in the day. Sort of like an animal, but maybe they only have three or four? I hope. So, it’s either rugby, or outside, or dogs, or chores, or firefighting, or working out, or people. That’s pretty much it. Those are the things I think about. And thusly the things I write about. Pretty endless. Darn it. It happens.

May 27th.

I am sitting outside my hotel room in Scottsdale. It’s pitch black and not even nine o’clock yet. But the weather is incredible. The air is thicker than at home but it was ninety degrees today so I guess that makes sense that that blanket would linger past dark. It’s the perfect temperature to sit outside in shorts and a t-shirt and forget that temperature even exists. I’m sitting here drinking tea and writing and it feels like something that I would try and set up at a different time but not be into the tea or the writing or the sitting. The fact that I can just be here right now is so good to me. And those are the times that I really feel life is all about. For as much as I plan what I really want are these times where its all right in front of you. Everything is satisfying. Like right now I really like the way it feels to type. Somehow that’s enough. I like the sound of the crickets and their different volumes. I like the really quiet country song coming out of my computer. I like this luke warm tea and how easy it is to drink. I like how tired I am right now and knowing that I am going to bed in just a few minutes. I know it’s not possible to maintain this immersion but I am thankful for the times I get it. Every corner of life has texture and some strange velocity that you hadn’t noticed before. It’s winter drapes and crushed ice and butterscotch pudding. I just wish I could see that more than I do. But, then I’ll try to make a point to ‘be in the moment’ and that’s just super douchy to do that. Next think you know you’re slacklining between trees at Green Lake and then running into the lake with all your clothes on, or maybe you’re totally naked. Because everything needs to be an Experience. Stupid. Everything is an experience. It’s just that a lot of the time we’re so worried about what’s on the horizon we forget to look at our feet and see that we’re somewhere beautiful or terrifying or somber. And we lose our ability to know up from down. I think that’s one of my biggest fears in life. I don’t want to be walled off from what’s happening. I think I’ve done that a considerable amount in my quarter century. I can really focus on what needs to happen in two hours or tomorrow or next month or ten years from now. Every once in a while I give myself a swift kick and realize it’s crazy to treat time like an octopus because you are not in control of those arms and there are way more than eight. Our neighborhood paper always did a section on graduating seniors, with a short profile on each one. It asked where you saw yourself in five years. In a rare moment of no foresight I said that five years ago I was 12 and I never would have expected to be where I was at 17. So I had no idea. And at 23 I was that different person my 17 year-old self wouldn’t recognize. So, why force it? I mean, I ask this question to myself. I am the biggest culprit out there.

I do have to get to sleep. My thoughts are definitely getting sandy. But, I am thankful for this Arizona night. There’s a note on my balcony door reminding me to close it so the dessert creatures don’t help themselves to my complimentary toiletries and take up residence in the second (yes there are two) bed in the room. But, I’m thinking the sound of crickets is not something I want to keep out. And, so what if I wake up with a lizard on my chest? The don’t have teeth. Do they?

Tryin' to get it. It's hard.

I sat down with this intention to write and it's just not happening. Okay, and wow, it somehow smells straight up like chicken shit in my bedroom. I am not understanding how this can be. Yesterday Suzy blew ass chunks all over my bedroom while I was at work. I mean, mission burrito style layered in my laundry. I cleaned that like I was Cinderella. And now I'm here, in bed, sort of wanting to sleep soon, and wafts of eau d' chicken shit keep waving over me. I don't understand. I mean, my window is open but, really? I don't think it smells like that outside. I think it is in here. Maybe on a dog? Maybe on me?? Jesus. Too much.

But, back to writing, I feel like I write about the same stupid stuff always. So, I'm sort of over it. I need greener pastures. Just kidding. I'll write about that same stuff tomorrow. But, I do wish I had something new today. Although that would probably require me to have done something different today to write about. And I didn't. I worked, surprisingly little for being gone for a week but there was not as much to do as I expected. And then I came home and played fetch with the dogs. And was grumpy for a bit. That was different. I haven't been a grump for a while. Then we went to Rob and Tara's bbq and that was good times. I ate food off a grill and drank beer, sort of like Saturday. But it was awesome to see all those guys because I have not done that recently and they are terrific folk, worthy of seeing way more than I actually see them. Playing drunk softball was fun. That I have not done before. I am not good at softball I think. If I could change my beer pong throw with my softball hit then I'd be money at both. But I got the pop fly and the line drive in the wrong sports. What was amazing was the spectators. Like, there were some good plays I suppose if you're a sports fan, but really, it was a bunch of awesome drunk people trying to move a big fat white ball around a field, fairly unsuccessfully. And people watched, like the whole game. Amazing. I would like to continue playing this. Although it's pretty labor intensive. Like, you need multiple people. Multiple multiple people. And I feel like all my friends actually played softball at some point and I think I'd probably get pissed if I couldn't just suck at it and enjoy being terrible. I'll have to play with them to find out I think. But, that was the day. Laura came over and played some beer/water pong. We tossed a rugby ball around in the street. I think she's going to be a baller. And that was my night, seriously. Beer, friends, beer pong or rugby. Dogs. I mean, I'm not complaining, but at some point I don't know what to say about it. I have a lot of different thoughts every day but they are gone by the time I can sit down in front of the computer and then it all blends into the same shade of good times and general happiness. There is nothing wrong with that. I mean, it is summer 09 so it's to be expected. But, I sort of want more thoughts. Maybe I should have less beer and there will be more thoughts.

One thing I am excited about is hiking. I hiked the shit out of the Olympics with my dad when I was a kid and I just haven't gotten back since it's become my job to choose the hike and get the hiking pass and figure out the route etc. But I decided that I am hiking this summer, above all else. I think most free Saturdays need to be spent in the mountains. The only part of hiking that sucks is hiking in the damn crowded Cascades. The Olympics are so great because when you run into people on the trail you feel comradery, like, oh hey a person, and it's a person who also likes being out in the woods in their free time. In the Cascades it's like a fucking freeway. People are in passing lanes and there are damn trail runners whizzing by with fanny packs of water bottles. And people scowl at you if you have your dog off leash, like your off-leash dog is scaring off all the wildlife, not the hundreds of thousands of people that are basically running all over the mountain. No one makes eye contact and they definitely have never heard of the hiking rule where if you're headed down the mountain you step off the trail to let those coming up keep going. Douchebags. So, I sort of hate the other hikers in the Cascades but I think the change of scenery is neat and different than the Olympics for sure. And this hike I want to do next week has a super terrible road up to it so I am hoping that will deter all these freaks in their fancy cars that'll get roughed up in the potholes. That was fairly negative, all in all, but I mean to sound exicted for hiking because I miss the smells and the burn in the legs and the camp robbers.

This blog is ridiculous. I need to try again later.

awesome

The best thing I have heard today (it might only be 7am but I bet this still stands true when I go to bed tonight). "It's like a disease you want to have." - Leah, on rugby.

today

I am so glad to be home. I really am. I love seeing my family but home is where I belong. I was called a "lady" today at work. I love Seattle. So much better than being a man on the east coast. I don't have much to say tonight because I am tired. But, I love home. I love friends. I love my family. I love my dogs, even though Suzy shit all over my room and my nice clothes. I love Charlie, he's a carebear and a bear cub and has become my friend. I love the wild yard and how I'm going to tame the shit out of it once I'm done flying all over the effing country. I'm going to mow the grass and plant a garden and paint that fricken fence white again. I love those trees we planted out front and how big they've gotten in the past two years. I love the patio and it's stupid divet that is not perfect. I love our shitty beer pong table and the one I am going to replace it with. And the mountains and dogs and rivers and goal posts that will be painted on top of it. I love Lake City and it's shitty stores and dive bars and the weird awesome people who live in them. I love not hating and thinking that most people and things are good, even if I talk shit in the meantime. The bad makes the good, you know? I am learning to love the grey, along with the black and white. I am learning to love the middle ground and its vastness and possibility. I love that every piece of clothing I love is covered in stains. I love taking long showers even though it kills the environment. Isn't water all over this damn city anyways? I love my big red truck even though she also kills the environment. I love that she appeared just like I knew she would since I was a kid. And that's she's shinier and louder and more perfect than I imagined she would be. I love getting compliments from old men in parking lots and they are probably unclear as to my gender and why I own such a badass truck. But she's mine and always will be and I will love learning how to fix her myself and make her life long and important. I love that The End plays good music again and that I can listen to it in my truck because it's not raining much so my radio works again. I love that stupid radio and how I have to smack it (with love) each time it cuts out and that it's cheaper and better to just keep it, even though it sucks. I love the way the dogs look when they are sleeping. How it's peacefulness at its most perfect and their dreams are probably wild and full of creatures and sticks and mud. I love when my dreams are like that too. I love sitting in an inner tube on a hot river and drinking a beer and then dropping my can in my tube and cracking open another one and probably flipping over later even though the river is calm and I'm just drunk and happy. I love the way it feels to take off a heavy backpack at the top of the mountain and having to pull your sweaty shirts off your shoulders because it's stuck there and you feel like you could float off the top of the mountain because the air is thin and quiet and the best thing you've ever put into your lungs. I love the big hearts of strangers and their good ways. And I love fishing, even though it scares me to kill creatures that think they are just gettin' a delicious snack. Surprise! No snack, just a barbed hook and a quick trip to the surface and a hungry human. Shocking and exciting for all involved. I love how brief and violent the blooming season is, all the colors and falling blossoms and pollen. I love how it turns into the greenest you've ever seen until August makes the grass hard and mean and something you don't need to mow anymore. I love the smell of Value Village and how it means that they probably don't wash any of their donations and you are just putting on another person's clothes that they are too fat or skinny or old or young for. I love the ridiculous potholes and bumps in all the side streets and how you can ride them just right so you feel like you're offroading in the city. I love that the city is just the country condensed sometimes and you're in it with a lot of other people and that's okay to share this space together. I love the quietness of the real country and how it will be the way it is long after we're all gone and it'll remember us the way you remember being barefoot as a kid. I love the trees that want to be climbed and the old ones that have pulled their branches twenty feet off the ground because they're done with climbing and our foolish monkey ways. I love the brambles and how picking blackberries is like eating hot fried food because it hurts but you can't stop because you just want it and the pain is an okay trade off. I love that. I love the smell of leather and how you can turn something old and dry back to soft and functional if you just use the right amount of soap and water and time and you have to use your hands because sponges are for fools. I love the smell of horses, like hay and breath and sweet grass in the spring. I love that they let you just stand with them, almost better than riding them because they're into it to. You just stand there and that's it, you and them, and they are probably twitching their ears and flicking their tails and you aren't doing any of that but they're okay with it because you give them grain that's appreciated so you can be a part of the herd for a couple minutes. And something will probably spook them and they'll gallop to the other end of the pasture to stand there with their ears and tails ticking like a wristwatch. I love johnny jump-ups that will grow in a driveway or a bed of roses because they just roll like they, calm and cool as purple cucumbers and okay with who they are. I love that. I love the way your blood feels when you really love a song and how you listen to it because it makes your heart beat stronger and with such honest purpose. I love drinking out of glass bottles and jars and how real and heavy and good glass is when plastic is so much cheaper and already taking up too much space in our oceans. I love driving up a driveway and being excited to be at that place and I love parking on a hill and putting the truck in first or reverse and turning the wheels to the curb and the sound the emergency brake makes. I love remembering to turn off my lights every time because I've killed many a battery for not remembering that simple task. I love the challenge of breaking into a car I've locked myself out of and all the different things that can be used to unhitch that lock. I love the smell of fire and its loyalty the next morning. I love that this was supposed to be a short post and it wasn't.

May 22nd.

Yesterday was the one day I left my camera (cell phone) behind and it was the one day I really wanted it with me. We went down to Rowledge Pond just to hang out and it was the best time I have had on this trip. We tried catching frogs for about two minutes but I think I’ve lost my touch. I don’t know if I had more patience or grace or stealth as a kid but I definitely have none of those things now. Also, the frog pond was a steep-banked mudhole that I wanted no part of and the waterline was covered with super dry leaves. Those frogs are super smart for choosing that muck hole as their home – it’s like a fortress. So, we gave up on that pretty quick. But, the pond has a dock on it that’s nice to hang your feet off of. Which was a nice way to pass about two minutes until we got distracted by a bunch of mussel shells in the water. Greedy fat human? Or a neat pond creature I have not heard of? After Dad and Paula were done canoeing around the kids (we’re in out 20s but we’ll always be the kids on these trips) got their chance and we went around as close to the shore as we could. I had the honor of paddling, which is a feat in and of itself that we even made it around. But, we saw water snakes, some sort of water mammal (otter? Beaver? Muskrat?), turtles sunbathing, and we heard something huge drop off a branch above the water but we couldn’t see it and didn’t know if we wanted to from the sound of the plop. Then, the best part was when Dad and Uncle Frank took me out to teach me how to cast the bait-and-cast fishing pole. I was terrible. I mean, I still am terrible. But they were awesome and patient and gave me about an hour tooling around the edges of the pond. I probably casted that thing a hundred times and, near the end, started getting a little better. I only had a few casts that I didn’t need to unravel but, lo and behold, about five minutes before we were done, I caught the one and only fish of the trip. He was just a little guy and I swung him right over to Uncle Frank to de-hook. It was a large mouth bass and he did have a huge mouth, like on the fishing shows. But, he was less than a foot long. We weren’t going to keep him anyway, at least I don’t think that was the plan since there was nothing but the fishing pole and a cell phone in the boat. So, I told him that he knew what to look out for and better luck next time and plunked him back in the water. That made my night for sure. So, there’s that. Al and I got to make dinner when we got back to the house. I’d started some bread before going to the pond and had put it in Aunt Carol’s car to raise since it was super hot in there. It had done its job so we made the pasta mom always made us growing up and Dad made a salad. It turned into a decent dinner, if not a massive carbo overload. Delicious. And that was the day.

May 21st.

Traveling always makes me think of home. I think that’s why I am so bad at it. I love seeing new things and I like talking to different people. But, even though I’m not scared of being lost, I don’t like outsider status and always feel like I look like a tourist, even if I’m wearing whatever clothes I normally wear. Seattle style (not that I actually have any inkling of style at home) just doesn’t translate to other places. For instance, I have been a girl way less than a boy on this coast. Baggy shorts and t-shirts don’t cut it for a lot of these peeps, with their miniature inseams and huge boobs (tiny shirts made of spider webs) and huge sunglasses and make-up. I don’t think people think twice about setting me in ‘man’ category since I got none of that. I’m used to it but I forgot bathroom clips and I’m seriously getting ready to carry a pink bow to smack on top of my head before entering any women’s restroom. But, I didn’t mean to write about that, it just tangented away on its own. What I was thinking about was how much being away from home makes me appreciate it. I miss my dog. At home she can get on my nerves but I miss her huge smiling face (whether its from happiness or craziness) and playing fetch with her and watching her run like she’s on fire just to get a nasty tennis ball and bring it back for another go. I get excited when the sun comes out here because it makes me think of what summer is going to be like at home. I think that’s the best thing about May. This summer is as endless as a prairie, it’s touches the horizon and you know it goes further than you can see. It’s always different in August, when you realize you’ve done almost none of what you wanted to do and you’re just hot and sweaty and probably at work. But, that’s August and this is May. I’m looking forward to hiking to lakes with the dogs and barbequing in the backyard and running in the morning because it’s too hot in the afternoon and weeding the garden (planting the garden!) and eating all the good stuff that comes out of it and going to Molly’s cabin on the one weekend her parents aren’t there and swimming in rivers and ponds and hopefully riding my horse without getting bucked off and going fishing and maybe catching something but, if I do, I want to cook it over a fire and visiting Miranda in Paisley when the sun is out for blood and drinking in bars with air conditioning and drinking on the porch without it. My Dad said he’d give me this build-a-boat kit that he’s had for years and done nothing with. He said I just needed a hammer and drill and screwdriver to build it so we shall see if that’s the case or it its much more complicated than that. I am banking on the latter. But, if I do get the damn thing built, and it actually float, then I have a fishing boat and that is awesome. I’m not sure how big it is but I am hoping I can put it in the back of my truck, although I feel like that is tiny, even for a dinghy. I look forward to the naming and christening of it. I think I’m supposed to break champagne over the bow but I think it’ll more likely be a bottle of Rainier. Those are tough to come by but I bet I could buy one from the Sloop, they would understand. I’m definitely not much of a sailor though. I’ve only ever capsized small boats in the Puget Sound. It sort of freaks me out to be skittering along the water like a water beetle on crack. You tack or jibe the wrong way and suddenly you’re flipped like a turtle on its back and your sailing instructor, a grizzly bearded old guy named Barney who smells like sweat and seaweed, has to come haul you out of the water into his powerboat and you end up wearing his ripe old t-shirt the rest of the day because the Sound is damn cold. I like rowboats and little speedboats though. And I really liked this old sailboat named the Unicorn that was docked at Eagle Harbor. When I was staying with my dad on his boat we’d always walk by her at night and I’d imagine buying her one day and being a liveaboard like my dad. But, again, I love the water but I don’t see myself as a great sailor. I can drink and tie knots and smell like salt but I think I’d only enjoy sailing in the storms and I’d want a purpose, like fishing or rescuing people or pillaging other vessels, because sailing just to sail seems like too much for me. I’m like a sheepdog – give me something to herd and I’m happy but if I don’t have a job I’ll make up my own and it’s probably biting ankles or rounding up chickens.

On a separate note, the coffee out here is absolutely terrible. It’s like the worst gas station coffee you can imagine back home, but worse. And it’s everywhere. I always assumed the stereotype of Seattle coffee was blown out of proportion but, oh no, it’s very much to scale. This coffee is thinner than water and flavored only by whatever milk or nasty creamer you decide to cut it with. I am looking forward to grinding my own beans and making the thickest, blackest sludge I can on Saturday morning.

Last thoughts because it’s amazing outside and I should be out there instead of writing in here (just can’t stop the beat)… I’m seriously obsessed with this summer. Not in a wild and crazy way (although my drinking habits have been ridiculous as of late) but in an outside way. I always get sucked into too much city and too much work and too much boring bullshit during the summer. And I am going to do my very best to do my job, do it well, but to get out of the Jock as much as possible this summer. I only have one night shift until September. Even though it makes sense to work nights so you can be outside during the day I still hate it because it’s this gross wart that just lingers at the end of a beautiful morning, knowing I have to go into a busy, sweaty, dark place with no air conditioning. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an awesome place to work, but I’m past my time there and have been for quite a while. I was so cockily sure that I would be a firefighter before I turned 26. Now it looks like I’ll be lucky to get the job before I turn 30, if ever. I’m already starting to think of contingency plans. I don’t want to because since I was 19 that’s all I’ve imagined myself doing. It wasn’t so much that I was wishing and hoping to be a firefighter. I KNEW it was going to happen, just didn’t know when. When we were drilling at the tower at North one day the chief and my captain and a couple administrative staff were standing outside smoking. They called me over and I hopped to. They asked me how old I was, I said twenty, and they told me I could get back to the drill. Later, one of the LTs asked me if I knew why they asked me that. I said I didn’t and he said they were making bets on when I’d be hired and they figured right when I turned 21. That was when the economy was roaring (only five years ago) and it was a good time to get hired. Now, with shit the way it is, it’s more competitive than ever for less positions than ever. They are still out there though and I might not have as much of an edge as I used to have (EMT cert, current FD status) but I want it more than I ever have and am in better shape than I ever have been in so I’m champin’ at the bit to get this in the bag. I think I’m going to re-test for all the Seattle metro departments when I get back (Shoreline, Renton, Bellevue, etc) and study my brains out for those writtens so I can be on the top of the list. The thought of another summer at the Jock kills me but it is what it is I suppose. If fire isn’t in my future than I’ll look at teaching or nursing or woodworking I think. But, I hope to god it’s fire. There’s no adrenaline in any of those other fields, even though I’m sure they are satisfying in their own way. But, I remember when I knew I was going to be a firefighter. I was a camper at Camp Blaze and they’d lit up Cars on the Curb (a prop of three cars on a slight grade). I was on the nozzle and the instructor popped the hood on one of the cars and you really have to shove the nozzle in there and move pretty quick to catch all the fire coming at you. There was this thin shield of water and then this loud rippin’ fire right behind it and time was slow and fast at the same time and all you’re thinking is where it’s moving next and stopping it and slowing it down and working it up the hill and that’s when I knew I was going to be a firefighter. I hate this economy like the devil but I hope I can get ‘er done in the next year because I’ll work my ass off for whoever hires me. I will drill and study and stop playing rugby if it happens. Now, I’m going outside.

May 18th.

We drove through some of Connecticut today looking at places important to my family. We saw the house where my dad and uncle grew up, the school they attended, the church my uncle was married at. We saw Paul Newman’s house, somebody Dow’s rolling estate (of the Dow Jones Industrial Average) and the president of Duracell’s super humble abode. Connecticut feels pretty much like Fall City. It’s way green out here right now, like more green than Seattle. More green than Forks! Just kidding, I haven’t been to Forks yet this year. I haven’t gotten bitten by the Twilight bug (get it? bitten? don’t be intimidated by my puns, please). But, Connecticut is very lush, like Western Washington, except the woods are more clear and have broken rock walls strewn about them. Paula said it best when she said it was very Blair Witch. Guess who will not be wandering these woods at night? That movie scared the shit out of me. I am the only person I know who was terrified and not at all motion sick. But, I am also super gullible and didn’t know it was fake. Yeah, I know, wow. It happens. Also, my attention span is about half an inch long right now so I am all over the place with this writing. That also happens, and I apologize to all my readers out there. The point I originally sat down to write about was my thoughts about rural versus suburban towns. I’ve always been unclear where to draw the line. Like, is it by tooth count? Subscriptions to the Wall Street Journal? Instant or whole bean coffee? Crack versus coke? I mean, I suppose that’s just economical stuff (plus a whole lot of stereotypes) but I know some pretty poor suburbs that love instant coffee and crack. But, as we were driving through all these trees, with these mansion tucked behind fences it didn’t seem super suburban. It definitely had a rural feel, like Dabob I’d say. But there is no economy here, none that I can see any way. And I get that this is no epiphany for the rest of the world but the suburban/rural divide has to be based upon local economy. Is there one? If people live and work in the same town than it’s rural. If they live one place and work another than it’s likely they live in a suburb. I know this isn’t a perfect litmus test but I think it makes sense for a lot of places. Loggers, farmers, fisherman live in remote places but they are able to work in those places because that’s their livelihood. Obviously people work in suburbs (someone needs to bag your groceries and steam that latte milk) but there isn’t an economic engine outside of service jobs. A rural community would likely have something outside of the service industry to supply jobs or… it’s a washed up town like so many rural communities. People still live there, sort of, but it might be welfare, crime or scrappiness that gets them by (or some combination thereof). So many fishing towns on the Washington coast have gone this way, same with the logging communities and small farming towns. Anyway, I am sort of full of shit right now and I think a lot of this is borderline lies but I was surprised today by how obvious it is that rural just means people are trying to make it work where they are whereas suburban means you don’t expect home and work to be the same, or maybe you don’t want them to. This is the sort of stuff I think about in the back of a seven-person van driving down two-lane Connecticut highways. It’s super action-packed, I know it is. But, I tried to think about gentrification and that always makes my head spin so I couldn’t go there today. This had to do.

The Big Apple

New York, you're out of control. You like to divide yourself into "boroughs" instead of using the term "neighborhoods" that the rest of the country likes to use (excuuuse us!). Sometimes you instantly smell like old underwear and hot Honey Buckets, no warning, no time to prepare, and it pretty much feels like eating trash. I have to say, I don't understand how Central Park has such huge craggy rocks in it when the rest of the city is as flat as my dad's feet. I mean, I suppose you just loved you some dynomite back in the day. I get that. You were wild and crazy in your youth, probably a little too reckless and you blasted the shit out of Manhattan. I appreciated that today. Hills would have made our travels cumbersome. I also apprecite how obsessed you are with pizza. I mean, I assumed it would be a big deal here but I didn't know that every pizza shop was "the most famous pizza in New York." That's awesome! Quite the acheivement, even if I don't fully comprehend how it's possible. The slice I had was definitely extremely delicious. Also, I was drunk. On that note, I do not like paying $5 of $6 for a bottle of Coors Light. If there were six of them nestled in a cardboard holder for that price I totally get it. But, one bottle? That's rough. Tell the Blue Donkey to keep it real with those $2 High Lifes. They made that pizza the cheesy magic carpet it was destined to be. And I can't blame you for not having a vegan option. But, it made it especially special when my sister wandered the streets looking for something dairy-free and delicious while I chewed my pizza cud and hoped for a bathroom. Oh, and it was absolutely pouring. What was that all about? Like cats and dogs. Long-haired feral pregnant cats and dogs sort of downpour. And I heard it was 75 in Seattle. Neat. Way to pull the ol' switcheroo when the Northwesterns stumble into town. But I like that about you New York, you're not super cuddly. I mean, there was no misting, no sprinking, no regular ol' raining. You brought the heavens crashing down on the sidewalks and I think that shows a lot of spunk, maybe a bit rude but I've heard rumors that you can be touchy, even aggressively anti-social. Whatevs, Seattle is straight up passive-aggressive so I can respect your directness, even if it increases creeper interactions and almost gets me drilled in crosswalk after crosswalk. Luckily we got to avoid the crosswalks today since it was Street Fair Sunday. I think you could have toned it down a little with the Egyptian sheet hawking (but $10 is such a steal!) but I liked the cheerleaders and Scottish dancers. And it was sweet of you to remember how much it makes me blush to be called "sir" in H&M. That was four years ago that I was there last but you made sure to make it happen again! You even threw in a bathroom challenge in Old Navy to spice things up a little bit. You really shouldn't have.

I have to say, I wasn't sure what you'd be like down at Ground Zero. I sort of expected nothing, maybe a vortex or wormhole or something. But, you look like you're trying to pull yourself back together. Eight years later and it's a hole with cranes and rebar and earth moving equipment. You definitely did not seem yourself there, like way more quiet than usual. I guess it's weird to expect you to be any different. I just didn't expect you to still look so rough around the edges but at the same time I didn't expect you to have done anything to try and move on.

On a less sad note, thanks for sending Tracy Morgan out to say hey. I think he got confused about who he was supposed to be waving to because he seemed to be looking at the people just to our right but, don't worry, we still fumbled for our camera phones and took a picture of him hugging that stranger anyway. We got the gesture and that's what matters, NYC. And right when we thought we were in your good graces you had to put an invisibility cloak on that damn vegan chicken burger restaurant that we tried to sniff out for a solid hour. I did learn a lot by walking back and forth in front of St. Vincent's like we were looking for a magic portal (and I really hope that lady who went in with the dish rag on her hand has all ten digits still attached, she looked nice) and I hope you weren't offended that we finally had to walk back on the other side of the street just to spice things up and keep from wearing down that patch of pavement. When we finally found those chicken burgers they were as amazing as we'd hoped for, even if you doubled the price from lunch to dinner. I was able to forgive your slight of hand when we stumbled onto The Slaughtered Lamb. After texting my friends who I placed utmost faith in having seen An American Werewolf in London, and then being told nope sorry by all, I felt an even stronger bond to you, New York City, when you placed before me the very pub from the foggy Scottish moors?? Amazing! Seriously. So what if me and sixteen other people are the only ones who relish in a werewolf-themed bar. I thought it was fantastic and enjoyed my pint of Sam Adams thoroughly. And nice touch with the fire. It made the grey worth it.

1. spring rain when it's almost humid out
2. thinking about summer before it gets here
3. tired dogs
4. a picture that turns out exactly like the moment it was taken in
5. AC/DC and Lynyrd Skynyrd with the windows down
6. crossing rivers on logs
7. sitting on the top of a hill or mountain, either is good
8. doing something you've put off forever and realizing it wasn't that bad. or that it was that bad but now it's over.
9. washing cars
10. writing list

trying for real this time

Blogging is simply a weird phenomenon. I think I can do it because I'm pretty sure no one reads this. So I have some imaginary motivation to write but no consequences since it's just out there in the forest of cyberspace just being my words in a backdrop of absolutely nothing. But, I've had the writing itch lately. Maybe because I took a couple knocks to the head so it feels like there is less room in there for thoughts and brains and words and more smeared and wasted brain tissue. Seriously, I've never had a concussion but I'm pretty sure this was one. I didn't notice it until I sobered up, probably 24-48 after the guilty impact. And life has been a bit more of a struggle since then, getting slowly better though.

Anyway, the point is that I feel like I am sort of drowning in my own thoughts lately. It's not stuff I necessarily want to blog about. I really think a lot of it is my damn headache and neck tension since this weekend. But, I feel like a crazy person when I step back and look at my life from outside of it all. Like, I am sleeping in a piece of shit old bed, poorly. I wake up a ton at night, sometimes from carpal tunnel, sometimes it might be the streetlights, other times I'm not sure why. And I have two big ass dogs sleeping five feet away on a couch I grew up on, which is steadily turning into the nastiest courdoroyed dirtbag that's ever existed. But, they sleep so damn well on it I can't kick them off of it, and it's probably bound for the dump soon anyway. My belongings are mostly strewn around my room or the attic, which I'm terrified to venture into because it's just everything I've ever owned ever, knee deep. I'm such a damn pack rat because I'm constantly moving and never really settled, even when I think I am. And all the junk from my past is procrastinated on and then just thrown back into boxes and dumped into whatever place is my next home. And I keep waking up in this mess but seem unable to take the time to clean it up. And of course I'm speaking both to reality and whatever metaphorical stupidness I can put it on. My life was so damn scripted. It was all ready for me, every square inch of it. And now, when I am driving and thinking, I pull back from it all and see it as it is. I'm 25 and that's it. There's nothing else. The geography is the same, that's it. All the details are dust and it's weird to feel it in my fingers. For the most part I'm still after the same things. There's still that farm, eventually. There's still the family I wish I saw more. There's still fire, if that ever happens. But, I feel so disconnected from where I've been. I know I'm shutting a lot of this out and just letting life sort of wash over me right now. I know I could be feeling a lot more if I had the inclination to do so. But, it's okay where it's at. I spend my days driving around in my truck, playing fetch with the dogs, writing workouts, doing workouts, going to rugby practice, drinking beer, sometimes I see family, often I see friends. And I think that's enough right now. I have high hopes for this summer. I don't know why it matters so much to me but it does. At least the hope in it all.

1. branches smooth from being climbed hundreds of times
2. driving with the windows down

1. Baseball games.
2. My dog.
3. Hiking to a lake.
4. Fishing.
5. Rowboats.
6. Changing my own oil.
7. How crazy the sun is after a storm.
8. Running, sometimes.
   
9. Having no voicemails.
10. A good old hat.
11. Jeans that fit.
12. Maggotfest. And the fact it only comes but once a year.
13. Old second-hand stores.
14. Getting really into a book.
    
15. Sweating like crazy during a workout.
16. Being done with said workout.
17. The first beer after a rugby match.
18. Southern fiction.
    
19. Swamp pop.
20. Baking.

1. Hard rain.
2. Turning any sport into full-contact.
3. Eggs over medium and toast.
4. Pancakes from scratch.
5. Lilacs blooming in May.
6. The smell of a sweatshirt worn at a bonfire.
7. Being hydrated.

Stuff that is good.

1. Buddies.
2. That first day all the Dandelions open.
3. Wind storms.
4. The smell of fresh rain after it's been dry for a while.
5. Cold beer on a Friday night.
6. Eastern Washington fruit stands.
7. The radio.
8. A solid tackle.
9. Fresh ground coffee in the morning.
10. Fetch.
11. Blackberry cobbler and vanilla ice cream.
12. Rhodies blooming in the mountains.
13. Fast spring rivers and lazy summer rivers, one for watching, one for floating.
14. Clear nights.
15. Hammocks.
16. Fires.
17. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with Tim's potato chips inside.
18. Riding bareback.
19. A rack of hand-washed dishes.
20. Getting up early.
21. A full night of sleep.
22. Eggs in the nesting boxes.
23. Chicken therapy.
24. Horse breath.

I haven't really been doing good at this whole blog thing. I mean, it's a little weird to write about yourself on the internet. Right? But, it's also pretty fun so, why not.

The past couple months have been different. Molly and I are trying to figure out how to be buddies and that has its ups and downs for sure. But, she is pretty much the most fantastic person ever and someone I'd do anything for (except not trying to pick fights when I am lit) so we both have faith that we'll sort all this out and be stronger friends because of it. That's all I really feel like saying about that. But, that's the big thing. Outside of that, I think I found Mads a really good home. She's in a barn in Duvall being ridden by a super capable girl who's looking to show her this summer. She hasn't paid for her yet but I'm selling her pretty much for a song so I hope it all works out. What else... I am still coaching at the U. The team is looking good this year. Super coachable and from a wide variety of sports backgrounds. It's awesome to have athletes rather than teaching people to be athletes. I like both, but getting a chance to start from level two, rather than level one, is neat and a good change of pace. As for fire, no word yet from Seattle or Tacoma. I'm at the interview stage for both but neither have a definitely timeline for an academy so it could be a loss on both counts. I missed the application for Bates, which is super lame. And I have heard nothing from National Testing or Public Safety so those were both a waste of time and money I think. It's pretty awesome trying to become a firefighter during a big fat recession. It would be an uphill battle in the best of times but now it's just ridiculous since there are no funds for new firefighters and the old ones are not retiring since their retirement funds are probably jacked at this point. It makes me want to play rugby since it seems like I won't be able to get a job in the near future. I don't want to piss away my rugby-playing years waiting for something that may or may not be a possibility. Coaching and crossfit are okay substitutes in the meantime but it really doesn't get the point across like tackling and rucking. And my shoulder in in fine shape right now. I think I could probably get in some great hits on my left shoulder and be A OK. I'm tempted to play at Maggotfest but Deb had a good point in saying that it's not good rugby and not worth getting hurt for bad rugby. But, right now any rugby sounds like good rugby.

That's all I have right now. I jammed my finger yesterday playing around. I definitely drank too much at the rugby house while playing beer pong. Someone barfed in the basement, which is disgusting. And, what's even more disgusting is that Molly fell in it while diving for a ball. Sick.

So, I've been working out at a Crossfit gym for the past five months. I've definitely drank the Cool-Aid, in fact, I'm pretty much swimming in it right now. I went in for small group personal training when my physical test for Tacoma Fire was looming on the very near horizon. I was super nervous and went into Crossfit and had Jake, the owner, hand my ass to me for nine sessions before the test. I probably increased my strength a little bit. But, more than that, I was pushed to my mental limits almost every day. I can remember clearly one workout that I was convinced I wouldn't finish. He had Maria (my training partner and fellow TFD applicant) go 200 meters around the block with two kettlebells. I think mine were 16 kilos (about 75lbs total). On each corner we had to do 10 or 12 thrusters (squat to a push press) and then 20 steps of walking lunge with the kettlebells. The trick was that we could never set the kettlebells on the ground. We had to hold them the entire time. One of my co-workers and friends passed me on the street with her boyfriend. I was dripping sweat, red in the face, carrying these balls of iron (or whatever they are) and Jake is standing there without his shirt on, egging me on. That was pretty awesome. Long short is I barely finished that workout but it was in the front of my mind when I stepped on the physical abilities course down in Tacoma. I knew there was no way that something with a maximum time of 7.5 minutes could be worse than the shit Jake had us doing. And it wasn't. It turned into a game, another Crossfit workout and I had a time to beat. My confidence was huge and I was stoked at the end to hear I'd finished over a minute under the max time (and beaten my previous run-through by over a minute as well). Since then, I've been going to the gym on average 3-5 days a week. I've gotten much stronger and am constantly learning new things, new ways to punish myself. But, it rarely lasts more than half an hour. Recently, I decided to give the nutrition aspect of the gym a go. That's something I'm more skeptical about. As a vegetarian (or pescetarian, if that's the right word), eating a paleolithic diet was challenging. Pretty much just meat, vegetables, some fruit, nuts and seeds. I've reached a happy equilibrium now substituting tofu, tempeh, beans and lentils for the protein I'm missing out on in meat. It's not 'by the book' but it works for me. I just had a breakfast that pushed the envelope a little bit, muffins made out of ground of almonds, unsweetened coconut flakes, eggs and honey as a sweetener. Super delicious (dripping with butter they'd be even better). Cooking and baking is something way too near and dear to my heart for me to sacrifice that tradition for a little bit of weight loss or an increase in athletic performance. But, if I can have my paleo coconut muffin and eat it too, I'll be happy with that. The point of this whole post is that I haven't really written anything about Crossfit but it's been a growing part of my life over the past few months. It's a daily chance to make myself want to die, compete against myself and maybe others, sweat like I'm in a sauna, and then get back to whatever I was doing before I walked into the gym. It's a daily intermission that is everything a workout should be. It's the first time in my life I've followed a workout consistently. I grew up with access to a whole lot of outdoor work that needed to be done. Now, living in the city and working indoors, Crossfit has given me a chance to exhaust myself daily. I might be deadlifting instead of moving bales of hay or doing kettlebell swings instead of weilding a pitchfork. But, the end result and the soaked shirt are all the same. And, now that I've put my rugby career on hold in the hopes of staying healthy for a career in the fire service, it's a new community and a new way to beat myself up. I miss rugby often but I'm glad I have another outlet. Last thing, I was working out in a traditional gym before joining Crossfit. I had a nasty case of tennis elbow and some kickin' carpal tunnel. I still wake up to a dead right arm pretty regularly but it doesn't wake me up the way it used to. And my tennis elbow is history. I'm almost exactly one year out of shoulder surgery and I did a workout last week that involved 100 pull-ups. I couldn't even do that before I had my shoulder repaired. Like I said, I've got the Crossfit Cool-Aid on IV drip.

It's still cold out hur.

There's a serious change in this land. It is damn cold this winter. It seems like it's been raining less, raining harder when it actually does rain, and snowing or being clear and cold way more than normal. I remember straight-up rain from November through April when I was a kid. Snow was a rarity, and it always turned into slush within a couple hours, if it didn't come out of the sky that way. It's clear and cold out there. During the snow storm in December, we forgot to collect eggs one night and it froze in the shell, bursting out seams in a frosty eggcicle treat. Suzy ate it. Although, it is nice not having to wade through water to get to the street. And, Suzy can't rip up the yard when it's frozen.

Yes We Did.

He said it best.

Yesterday Newman, Gail, Ty, Chet and I crowded under the store television to watch Barack Obama replace George Bush as the 44th president of the United States. We all heard there would be crowds, possibly millions, to watch his speech. Somehow, it still seemed fake, penciled-in (or whatever the fancy digital equivalent would be) to see that stretch of humans, all there for one person, all facing the same direction, all accepting the cold and crowd in order to be a part of his inauguration. Because of that it felt like our inauguration, as if we all stepped up to the podium and acknowledged our own responsibility in pulling each other, every other different American, out of this sludge of a mess we're in, financially, morally, diplomatically. Thinking forward and imagining his voice coming over the radio, week after week, for the next four years, is reassuring in itself. He is thoughtful, well-spoken, fair, and pragmatic. And, he's now our president. He inspires us to look forward, to accept what has happened in eight years for what it is, but to focus on the solutions, on real and sustainable solutions. Can we actually move past partisan politics in exchange for more results? It almost seems possible today.

I did drink too much whisky last night in celebration. I didn't intend to, but it certaintly happened. But, being in the house and watch President Obama dance with our new First Lady, with all our damn creatures, and Molly, and good friends, was a fuzzy perfect. It was. And, now, in this new world, and I really do believe it's a new world today, I want to hang an American flag from our porch and go to city council meetings and read the news and get back to being a citizen, something that is once again valued and appreciated, no matter what small town or big city you belong to. We've been given not only hope but agency and vision. We've been spoken to as capable adults rather than scared children. We were respecfully told the hard truth rather than padded falsehoods. And, we're still listening.

Thank you, America! Yes we can. Yes we did. And yes we will. I am so proud of this country today, so proud to be an American. We've gotten our country back and we have it more than we ever have.