BACK IN SEATTLE ... SORT OF
Well, we made it back. Got in late Saturday night. And went to an amazingly perfect music show by flamingbanjo and the half brothers on Sunday. I was still jetlagged and emotional and tired, but really happy to see people and hear music with humor I get.
But then on Monday I got a horrible cold/flu something and haven't been able to bring myself to call anyone or even leave the house. It's no fun at all.
Now that I'm back in town and my readers are mostly all around me, I find myself reluctant to talk about anything here on my blog. I'll get over it. For now, it's enough to say that I'm really bummed out that I'm here finally but feel so bad I can't even have a conversation with people, let alone go see them. Sleeping most of the last two days doesn't seem to have fixed anything either. I'm hoping tomorrow things will get better and that it's just a cold and not dead fear of hanging out with people I haven't seen for a year and a half.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Thursday, December 14, 2006
AUDI, AUDI, I'M A COWBOY
So, we're out of our apartment today. As soon as our landlord's lackey can make time for us. In true Cardiff style, we have no exit appointment, just a promise that "Peter" who we've never heard of before, will call us to come by and do a walk-through. It was implied that it would be morning, so we went to bed at 3am and set an alarm for 8am so we could finish cleaning, packing up odds and ends and dropping things by the charity shop. But I have a feeling, as we're finishing up here, that we'll end up sitting here most of the day waiting for him. Argh.
Moving is hard on us. We're sentimental like you wouldn't believe. We've lived here nearly as long as we lived in our apartment before moving, and longer than anywhere we've lived together before that (we lived in four places in 3 years before we bought our condo). And each time we work really hard to make a place feel like home. We get attached to the tiny things that gave us comfort in a strange place. Remember my first or second post on this blog, about living in separate dorm rooms while waiitng for our flat to be ready? I hung up magazine pictures, bought a desk lamp and two small ceramic cups, just to make it not so cold and alienating. Even before that, when we had to spend a night on the bare beds in the clothes we were wearing because our stuff was in storage, we bought two towels and a cotton blanket. Yesterday, we sold the lamp to a co-worker, along with random kitchen things, and we gave the blanket to the local Cancer Research charity shop. But we shipped home the two small cups and we're keeping the towels, and I tucked the magazine cutouts into a book we're taking with us. See, sentimental. And that's just one tiny example.
The thing is, as much as it sometimes seemed like we'd never leave here, and as much as we settled in to daily life and developed new habits, I'm pretty sure that when we set foot in Seattle again, this life will rush away into the distance and be hard to fathom. Like hard to believe we were ever here at all. That makes me sad, because I want to remember all the details and all the relationships, and I want it with clarity, surround sound and smell-o-vision. So we try to give things to people we like, so we can imagine them being used, and we're taking home probably more little things than was quite necessary, and I've walked the city with memorization in mind. But still, scared it will all disappear.
But I guess I don't really have time to ponder and fret--I need to go make the back yard presentable to non-hippies. Who are going to live in MY house and neglect MY garden and never even notice that there are herbs (with a silent "h") planted there.
So, we're out of our apartment today. As soon as our landlord's lackey can make time for us. In true Cardiff style, we have no exit appointment, just a promise that "Peter" who we've never heard of before, will call us to come by and do a walk-through. It was implied that it would be morning, so we went to bed at 3am and set an alarm for 8am so we could finish cleaning, packing up odds and ends and dropping things by the charity shop. But I have a feeling, as we're finishing up here, that we'll end up sitting here most of the day waiting for him. Argh.
Moving is hard on us. We're sentimental like you wouldn't believe. We've lived here nearly as long as we lived in our apartment before moving, and longer than anywhere we've lived together before that (we lived in four places in 3 years before we bought our condo). And each time we work really hard to make a place feel like home. We get attached to the tiny things that gave us comfort in a strange place. Remember my first or second post on this blog, about living in separate dorm rooms while waiitng for our flat to be ready? I hung up magazine pictures, bought a desk lamp and two small ceramic cups, just to make it not so cold and alienating. Even before that, when we had to spend a night on the bare beds in the clothes we were wearing because our stuff was in storage, we bought two towels and a cotton blanket. Yesterday, we sold the lamp to a co-worker, along with random kitchen things, and we gave the blanket to the local Cancer Research charity shop. But we shipped home the two small cups and we're keeping the towels, and I tucked the magazine cutouts into a book we're taking with us. See, sentimental. And that's just one tiny example.
The thing is, as much as it sometimes seemed like we'd never leave here, and as much as we settled in to daily life and developed new habits, I'm pretty sure that when we set foot in Seattle again, this life will rush away into the distance and be hard to fathom. Like hard to believe we were ever here at all. That makes me sad, because I want to remember all the details and all the relationships, and I want it with clarity, surround sound and smell-o-vision. So we try to give things to people we like, so we can imagine them being used, and we're taking home probably more little things than was quite necessary, and I've walked the city with memorization in mind. But still, scared it will all disappear.
But I guess I don't really have time to ponder and fret--I need to go make the back yard presentable to non-hippies. Who are going to live in MY house and neglect MY garden and never even notice that there are herbs (with a silent "h") planted there.
Monday, December 11, 2006
BUT WHAT ABOUT THE FOUR POTATOES STILL IN THE CUPBOARD???
You can always count on me to make moving all about the food. I've been planning for weeks to run out of foodstuffs just in time to leave Cardiff. Our canister of sea salt has mere tablespoons left in it. Our soy sauce has only drops left. Today was the day to make a mad dash to clear out the oatmeal, dried currants and apples, the bulgur wheat, the lentils, the brown rice and whatever bits and bobs of vegetables and tomato sauces are still around. Porridge with fruit for breakfast, lentil stew(with carrots, onions and potatoes) and brown rice for early dinner, and pizza with a bit of onion, pepper and zucchini for late dinner. Oh, and tabouli for tomorrow's packing sustenance. That's alot of home cooking for a day when I should be packing, but I like to think I'm doing my part. And besides, I have a cold/flu something and so am not good for much else anyway. For some reason, when I'm sick, with flu or even with migraine, cooking makes me feel temporarily better. I credit it with the energy burst that got me through sorting the random rubbish on my desk. Tomorrow I'll be using up the butternut squash, the walnuts, the onions and the honey.
Phil, Jason's partner in crime for the past year, came over from Bristol to visit tonight, so the two of them burned the furniture in a garbage can in the back garden. Well, okay, not most of the furniture, but all the ones Jason made from pallets last autumn--the ironing board that was attached to the kitchen wall, the printer and TV stands, the goofy little gadget that was supposed to let me hang journal articles from it so I could look and type at the same time. A couple of days ago we ninja-smoove took the windows we stole from rubbish tips last year back to illegally leave them in some other rubbish tip a year and some months later. The rubbish tip (basically a dumpster that a truck picks up and carries away when you're done with your demolition project) was in exacly the same spot, so maybe it belongs to the same guy. At any rate, the windows don't take up much space, so it shouldn't mess with their fees or their ability to fit in all the perfectly good stuff they're throwing away there.
Last night the excellent Uli came to adopt our worms and their grimy wet bin. He's enthusiastic and will be an amazing worm-carer, I'm sure of it. He was even kind enough to e-mail me the update about their new bedding this morning. To set my mind at ease, I imagine. Jason and I get rather attached and concerned about our worms. He says they work hard for us and it makes him want to protect them. I legitimately find them kind of miraculous and even cute.
Tomorrow I'm hoping to pass off my plants to my friend Chloe, and hopefully an assortment of kitchenware to Yoko, my research colleague, who's just moving to Cardiff this month. I'm hoping to convince Uli to take my garden tools, one of which is a really cool ancient forged digging fork Jason got for me at a junk shop. Uli says he and Francesca are getting an allotment soon, so I'm sure these tools will be used if he takes them.
We originally had planned to just sell things (books, kitchen ware, gardening tools, lamps and things) when we left, but there's not so much of a used market for things here, so you can sell appliances and tools to the Cash Generator (yep, it's really called that) and we'll do that since we got most there anyway. But pots and pans and books and clothes are generally just given to charity shops. There's one bookstore that buys used books, but they nearly always have a sign that they're not buying at the moment. So I'd rather give things to people who will use them. It's slower, but things are going to good homes daily.
The countdown is on. Two more days to pack, one to clean, and then we're out of here on Friday.
You can always count on me to make moving all about the food. I've been planning for weeks to run out of foodstuffs just in time to leave Cardiff. Our canister of sea salt has mere tablespoons left in it. Our soy sauce has only drops left. Today was the day to make a mad dash to clear out the oatmeal, dried currants and apples, the bulgur wheat, the lentils, the brown rice and whatever bits and bobs of vegetables and tomato sauces are still around. Porridge with fruit for breakfast, lentil stew(with carrots, onions and potatoes) and brown rice for early dinner, and pizza with a bit of onion, pepper and zucchini for late dinner. Oh, and tabouli for tomorrow's packing sustenance. That's alot of home cooking for a day when I should be packing, but I like to think I'm doing my part. And besides, I have a cold/flu something and so am not good for much else anyway. For some reason, when I'm sick, with flu or even with migraine, cooking makes me feel temporarily better. I credit it with the energy burst that got me through sorting the random rubbish on my desk. Tomorrow I'll be using up the butternut squash, the walnuts, the onions and the honey.
Phil, Jason's partner in crime for the past year, came over from Bristol to visit tonight, so the two of them burned the furniture in a garbage can in the back garden. Well, okay, not most of the furniture, but all the ones Jason made from pallets last autumn--the ironing board that was attached to the kitchen wall, the printer and TV stands, the goofy little gadget that was supposed to let me hang journal articles from it so I could look and type at the same time. A couple of days ago we ninja-smoove took the windows we stole from rubbish tips last year back to illegally leave them in some other rubbish tip a year and some months later. The rubbish tip (basically a dumpster that a truck picks up and carries away when you're done with your demolition project) was in exacly the same spot, so maybe it belongs to the same guy. At any rate, the windows don't take up much space, so it shouldn't mess with their fees or their ability to fit in all the perfectly good stuff they're throwing away there.
Last night the excellent Uli came to adopt our worms and their grimy wet bin. He's enthusiastic and will be an amazing worm-carer, I'm sure of it. He was even kind enough to e-mail me the update about their new bedding this morning. To set my mind at ease, I imagine. Jason and I get rather attached and concerned about our worms. He says they work hard for us and it makes him want to protect them. I legitimately find them kind of miraculous and even cute.
Tomorrow I'm hoping to pass off my plants to my friend Chloe, and hopefully an assortment of kitchenware to Yoko, my research colleague, who's just moving to Cardiff this month. I'm hoping to convince Uli to take my garden tools, one of which is a really cool ancient forged digging fork Jason got for me at a junk shop. Uli says he and Francesca are getting an allotment soon, so I'm sure these tools will be used if he takes them.
We originally had planned to just sell things (books, kitchen ware, gardening tools, lamps and things) when we left, but there's not so much of a used market for things here, so you can sell appliances and tools to the Cash Generator (yep, it's really called that) and we'll do that since we got most there anyway. But pots and pans and books and clothes are generally just given to charity shops. There's one bookstore that buys used books, but they nearly always have a sign that they're not buying at the moment. So I'd rather give things to people who will use them. It's slower, but things are going to good homes daily.
The countdown is on. Two more days to pack, one to clean, and then we're out of here on Friday.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
PACKING DETAILS
We're packing up around here, slowly. It's hard to put things in boxes or sell them, or give them away, before the last minute. This is always true for me, but is particularly so this time round, since we've only bought the bare minimum for living here and that means anything we pack is something we can't use in our last week here. So far, we've only been willing to let go of summer clothes and books. We've had conversations about which kitchen things can come with us and which need to stay here. I'm off to London again for interviews on Thursday and Friday, and we're seeing friends this weekend, so we're really getting down to the wire.
I looked at the airline requirements for baggage and I'm pretty annoyed with American Airlines at the moment. When we came over, we invested in the biggest size suitcases allowed on planes, and we packed them to within ounces of the weight limit. We also carried our hiking backpacks full to the top. And I had my fiddle in its case. We were loaded down and it wasn't much fun to get from Heathrow to Cardiff, but hey, everything we carried was something we didn't have to ship or leave at home. And we saved lots of money and lived in relative comfort by having the things we brought. The weight limit was 70 pounds per bag, on both airlines from Seattle to Heathrow. That weight limit is still true within the EU and on the first leg of our trip home. And the weight limit is allowed on American Airlines, the second leg of our trip BUT they now charge $25 for any bag weighing over 50 lbs. So, we can pack the same amount as we did coming over, but it will cost us at least $50 to make good use of our huge suitcases, the whole point of which was to avoid shipping charges and extra cargo flight miles and stuff.
Now, this is really a matter of principle, mostly. We knew the trip home would be expensive, and we've planned for it. But really, charging extra for what is standard elsewhere in the world annoys me.
I'm sure you're going to tell me that extra weight means extra fuel use and extra carbon emissions and my jet-setting self should have to pay for that. Probably true. But american airlines should also have to pay fuel tax and they don't, so whatever. I'd feel so much better about this whole thing if we'd been able to take a cargo ship home.
UPDATE: Our internet friend, DG, whose wife is a baggage handler for a major airline, wrote the following response:
"Extra weight also means extra chance of injury for the people who have to throw literally thousands of bags a day. Unfortunately, most airlines have been trying to get the same number of agents to throw more bags in less time... making Ramp Agents more likely to get injured on the job than any other job in the country (including long-standing favorites fishermen and loggers).
Not that I think AA gives half a shit about their workers, if it weren't for the union they'd be making them throw 800 pound bags and paying them a nickel a day. But I can't complain about anything that gives my wife a greater chance of making it through the year without winding up in traction."]
We're packing up around here, slowly. It's hard to put things in boxes or sell them, or give them away, before the last minute. This is always true for me, but is particularly so this time round, since we've only bought the bare minimum for living here and that means anything we pack is something we can't use in our last week here. So far, we've only been willing to let go of summer clothes and books. We've had conversations about which kitchen things can come with us and which need to stay here. I'm off to London again for interviews on Thursday and Friday, and we're seeing friends this weekend, so we're really getting down to the wire.
I looked at the airline requirements for baggage and I'm pretty annoyed with American Airlines at the moment. When we came over, we invested in the biggest size suitcases allowed on planes, and we packed them to within ounces of the weight limit. We also carried our hiking backpacks full to the top. And I had my fiddle in its case. We were loaded down and it wasn't much fun to get from Heathrow to Cardiff, but hey, everything we carried was something we didn't have to ship or leave at home. And we saved lots of money and lived in relative comfort by having the things we brought. The weight limit was 70 pounds per bag, on both airlines from Seattle to Heathrow. That weight limit is still true within the EU and on the first leg of our trip home. And the weight limit is allowed on American Airlines, the second leg of our trip BUT they now charge $25 for any bag weighing over 50 lbs. So, we can pack the same amount as we did coming over, but it will cost us at least $50 to make good use of our huge suitcases, the whole point of which was to avoid shipping charges and extra cargo flight miles and stuff.
Now, this is really a matter of principle, mostly. We knew the trip home would be expensive, and we've planned for it. But really, charging extra for what is standard elsewhere in the world annoys me.
I'm sure you're going to tell me that extra weight means extra fuel use and extra carbon emissions and my jet-setting self should have to pay for that. Probably true. But american airlines should also have to pay fuel tax and they don't, so whatever. I'd feel so much better about this whole thing if we'd been able to take a cargo ship home.
UPDATE: Our internet friend, DG, whose wife is a baggage handler for a major airline, wrote the following response:
"Extra weight also means extra chance of injury for the people who have to throw literally thousands of bags a day. Unfortunately, most airlines have been trying to get the same number of agents to throw more bags in less time... making Ramp Agents more likely to get injured on the job than any other job in the country (including long-standing favorites fishermen and loggers).
Not that I think AA gives half a shit about their workers, if it weren't for the union they'd be making them throw 800 pound bags and paying them a nickel a day. But I can't complain about anything that gives my wife a greater chance of making it through the year without winding up in traction."]
Sunday, December 03, 2006
FUTURES TRADING
And you thought the Welsh snails were pretty. France's got the best snails in the world! My theory is that they're preserving species diversity to provide premium escargot for future generations, while the rest of us are killing them so they won't eat our swiss chard. It all comes down to food preferences, really.
So, anyway, I was gonna post this series of pictures of animals in the French Pyrenees, without comment, because I hadn't gotten around to writing anything for it. But of course, as soon as I started uploading them, I also started writing commentary and even some tangents. So, I'll keep working on that post, and leave you hanging for another day or two. (I gave you the snail above to keep you from feeling too teased.)
Instead, I give you .... the tangent:
In college, my friend Jenny and I had this elaborate plan wherein her brother would have a sheep farm in New Zealand, Jenny would be an environmental activist and live in the Pacific Northwest wildnerness and I would have an awesomely cool loft and direct theatre in New York City (yeah right, I know). The plan was we would just trade lives every now and then. You know, because we wanted all three lives but in our youthful wisdom figured we'd never have time to do all three. I think we were right, mostly.
I don't think her brother ever even knew he was a key part of our life plans, so I'm assuming he hasn't fulfilled his part of them. As far as I know, Jenny still lives in Charlottesville, sans sheep or environmental activism, though I think she did work for PIRG at some point. I've given up theatre for the time being, but I do live in the Pacific Northwest and I am working on getting a career related to farms and the environment, so I've done my part better than any of us would have guessed! I mean, I've been to New York and I did theatre for years, though mostly as a dramaturg and only rarely as a director. And, yeah, I lived in Wales, which is in many ways like living on a sheep farm. If you see Jenny tell her its her responsibility to fit New Zealand in somehow.
Snail, St. Bertrand de Comminges, France
And you thought the Welsh snails were pretty. France's got the best snails in the world! My theory is that they're preserving species diversity to provide premium escargot for future generations, while the rest of us are killing them so they won't eat our swiss chard. It all comes down to food preferences, really.
So, anyway, I was gonna post this series of pictures of animals in the French Pyrenees, without comment, because I hadn't gotten around to writing anything for it. But of course, as soon as I started uploading them, I also started writing commentary and even some tangents. So, I'll keep working on that post, and leave you hanging for another day or two. (I gave you the snail above to keep you from feeling too teased.)
Instead, I give you .... the tangent:
In college, my friend Jenny and I had this elaborate plan wherein her brother would have a sheep farm in New Zealand, Jenny would be an environmental activist and live in the Pacific Northwest wildnerness and I would have an awesomely cool loft and direct theatre in New York City (yeah right, I know). The plan was we would just trade lives every now and then. You know, because we wanted all three lives but in our youthful wisdom figured we'd never have time to do all three. I think we were right, mostly.
I don't think her brother ever even knew he was a key part of our life plans, so I'm assuming he hasn't fulfilled his part of them. As far as I know, Jenny still lives in Charlottesville, sans sheep or environmental activism, though I think she did work for PIRG at some point. I've given up theatre for the time being, but I do live in the Pacific Northwest and I am working on getting a career related to farms and the environment, so I've done my part better than any of us would have guessed! I mean, I've been to New York and I did theatre for years, though mostly as a dramaturg and only rarely as a director. And, yeah, I lived in Wales, which is in many ways like living on a sheep farm. If you see Jenny tell her its her responsibility to fit New Zealand in somehow.
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