TSO, baby!

Last night Sweet Hubby and I went to the city's big sports/concert arena for the first time since it was renovated several years ago, so that's one Something New.

We were there to see the Trans Siberian Railroad, which I'd never even heard of until I saw an advertisement recently for this concert.  Some good friends, including a dear cousin, really like TSO and so, without knowing much of anything about it/them(?), I bought us tickets.

The music didn't do much for me.  It was harder, more electric rock than I tend to like.  It was a Christmas show, so there were new interpretations of some classic carols, and also some songs I'd never heard, all of them sung jazzed up and rock-y.  The performers were talented (one man held a note for what felt like 2 minutes without wavering) but it just wasn't quite my cup of tea.

The tech, however, was amazing.  There were projections, moving stages, every color of light going in every direction, and big set pieces moved on and off stage so skillfully, I was never aware of them appearing nor disappearing.

All in all, I'm really glad we took this night out on the town to see Something New.

Well. That was different.

I haven't posted in a while because I was on a cruise to Hawaii during which I caught my second bout of COVID, then a trip to upstate to NY to visit Sweet Hubby's dad and family, then rehearsals for and leading a program for journalism students at the U to give them an experience of interviewing people going through a traumatic experience.  Whew.

I was about to post about Something New I did last Friday, which was seeing the movie of Taylor Swift's Eras Tour.  Here she is, the biggest recording star of today, and I hadn't heard a single song of hers (except one my traveling companion played while we were cruising), don't own any of her CDs, have simply managed to miss her as an entertainer.  So I saw the movie and was going to post about it when

Saturday morning the lower half of our split level house was flooded.  There had been a day of rain, which isn't unusual in Seattle, and sometimes when it rains the creek that flows along the back border of our backyard overflows into the yard, making sort of a bog of the back half.  This time one of the creek outlets must have been clogged because our backyard had turned into a deep enough lake that ducks were swimming on it.  How on earth the ducks managed to find us, when there isn't usually a lake here, is a mystery to me.  It was kind of cute to see - until the water started seeping into the garage, the storage room, the laundry room, and Sweet Hubby's carpeted office, which happens to be the largest room in the house.  What a mess!  Our two south neighbors were likewise flooded.

We live in a small Seattle-adjacent city, and fortunately for us the city responds almost immediately to calls for help.  They must have managed to unclog the creek because by the end of the day, the water was already receding.  But the damage had been done.  We spent the next day working to pump out the water, suck it out of the carpet, save what hadn't been ruined.  Today was all about moving everything out of the office room so that our carpet guy could pull up the soggy carpet.  The room was stuffed with all of Sweet Hubby's, well, everything.  This room has needed a thorough going-over for a long time; a fiesta of sorting and recycling and donating and throwing away and re-organizing was long overdue, so the silver lining of the flood is that SH has been forced to take stock of what he owns and how he wants it organized.  

We're still a long way from being back to normal.  All the other rooms in the house are now home to boxes and boxes and boxes and boxes of stuff.  We still need to decide if we want to re-carpet downstairs or just live with the linoleum that has been revealed by the removal of the wet carpet, or put in hardwood flooring, or what.  And then we'll need to put all the furniture back in order and find a place for everything that's been moved out of the room.

This event has made me much more sympathetic to those people who have gone through or are going through similar and worse disasters.  At least in ours no one was hurt, and we have the resources we need to deal with this mess, and neither of us is traveling for a few weeks so we can continue to face this trouble together.  At some point, this will just be a story we tell, a more dramatic than usual chapter in our usually quiet lives. For now, I have to go back to carrying boxes.  Cheers!

The circus - sort of

Two days ago I went with a friend to see a performance at one of this city's big professional theaters.  Neither of us really knew what to expect, which is how I like it - coming to an event without a preconceived notion of what I'll see and how I'll feel about it.

It turned out to be an absolutely delightful circus-y show, sort of like Cirque du Soleil in that it had a minimal through line and performers from all over the world, but without CdS's elaborate costumes and make up.  The troupe is called The 7 Fingers, comprised of incredibly talented performers/dancers/acrobats.  There was a segment of almost magical hoop dancing, and some very clever, comical juggling, and aerial silks, and a trapeze act, some singing, some direct audience address.  All done with grace, and mindboggling flexibility and strength, and a whole lot of personality.  Very enjoyable.

I've discovered about myself (will I ever know everything about me?) that I'm a terrific follower and companion.  If someone says "Hey, let's do/go/try---", as the friend did who suggested this performance, I'll almost always say yes if my schedule allows.  But I notice that I don't instigate many of these adventures.  I am not condemning myself for that, only noticing, and being grateful that I have friends who do come up with these wonderful ideas of what to do.  For example, in a few days I will embark on a cruise to Hawaii, something I would never have thought of myself, but which was suggested by a good friend.  He's someone I always have a great time with, and I'm excited at the prospect. So  I guess I'd better pack.  'Bye for now.

More Somethings New

Yesterday provided the opportunity for several delightful SNs.

A friend and I walked through a park I've been in many times before, but yesterday we took a path I'd not been on, one which took us away from the lake coast and into the forest.  So delicious, fragrant and quiet.  Afterward we went to a Vietnamese café for lunch, and I tried an iced matcha green tea latter for the first time.  It was good enough that I was happy to drink it, but not so good that I'll be searching out others of its kind.

In the evening I joined two friends in one of their backyards to sit around a fire canister and talk over snacks.  One of the snacks was dehydrated plums, which are like plum jerky: a bit sweet, a bit tart, a lot tough and chewy.  A few bites of those was plenty, but I'm glad I gave them a try.

The most important recent SN, however, happened night before last.  As I was getting into bed, I suddenly began to feel anxious and panicky.  (I don't like to use the word 'attack' for such feelings because it sounds too aggressive and unmanageable.)  There was no true basis for these feelings, so they attached themselves to whatever was on my mind.  If the feelings had had a voice, they would have sounded like "Oh no!  Oh no!  Everything is bad, ruined.  I don't know what to do.  I'm a bad person.   All is lost.  I'm so scared."  Something like that.

But just as quickly as those feelings grabbed hold of me, I deliberately found another voice to talk them down.  "You're all right," I said aloud.  (I often refer to myself in the third person when I am under the sway of conflicting feelings or voices.)  "There is nothing actually wrong.  These are just feelings.  Look at your life.  Do you see that everything is all right?  If something goes wrong, you will handle it.  You have help.  You're not alone.  You're safe."

In the past when I have felt especially anxious, I have usually either hidden my head under the covers or asked Sweet Hubby to calm me once he comes to bed or just trembled and cried until the feelings went away in their own devilish time.  This was the first time I can remember becoming my own advisor and caretaker so quickly and with such assurance.  I guess I was metaphorically (symbolically? not quite sure of the right word) taking care of that 7-year-old girl I turn into in times of fear or stress or anger.  It really helped.  Because when I look at my life, there usually really isn't anything wrong, at least nothing concrete.  When I have actual problems or difficulties, I spend my energy thinking of how to solve them.  This anxiety is something else, something deep-seated, irrational, all the more uncomfortable for its inchoate nature.  I hope I will remember this recent night, and remember that I can be my own best ally and counselor. 

A few Somethings New

I recently visited Star, ID to spend time with a friend who is battling leukemia.  I've been to Boise several times, but hadn't seen any of the rest of Idaho.  It's a beautiful state, but I saw more than one F.J.B. sticker on cars or trucks, so was reminded that these are not necessarily like-minded people.  Still, it was so good to be with my friend for what might or might not be the last time.

Today I went to the city's largest art museum and, although I've been there quite a few times, saw exhibits I have missed in the past.  I was with a friend who makes a part time home in Seattle, and she and her husband do a lot of exploring of the city, the kind I did when I first moved here but about which I have become a bit more blasé.  So nice to see the museum through fresh eyes.

She also recommended a Bolivian restaurant for lunch, which was quite good and, since we sat on the second story deck, afforded a lovely view and nice breeze.

I have recommitted to finding more ways to explore new places and new experiences.  Inertia and habit have a gravity all their own, and it takes something, a certain energy and determination, to overcome that gravity and get out there and shake up my life.  If you have any ideas for me, don't hesitate to share them.

A park, a walk, and a museum

Today was a pleasant day, not too hot, not bad air quality, although we are supposed to start getting smoke soon from wildfires burning around us.  Sweet Hubby was on errands most of the day, so I decided to get out of the house and go exploring.

I decided to go to a park I'd seen on a map in a part of the city I seldom go to.  The park itself didn't offer much; a lot of dry grass, a kids playground, an art installation dedicated to Jimi Hendrix.  But as I wandered, I found a paved trail, part of a long walking/biking trail, so I followed it.  

Along part of it were large stones set upright in cement footings.  On the footings were engraved wise words from people like Lao Tzu, Nietzsche, Rita May Brown, Horace.  The trail went through a long tunnel, the walls and floors of which were decorated with graffiti.  It wasn't just tagging, though, but all kinds of messages ("It's never too late to get sober", for example), words ("Tooth"), images (Bender, the robot from Futurama), etc.  Someone had repeatedly stenciled on the floor of the tunnel "I'm not okay", and on top of or under or near that, the stencil "But I will be".  It was almost like walking through a folk museum, quite entertaining and sometimes moving.

Coming out of the tunnel, I found a lovely view of Lake Washington and one of the bridges - clogged with traffic - that crosses it to the Eastside.  I hadn't realized I was that close to the lake, and took a moment to enjoy the sight, and the air.  Then back through the tunnel to the park.

I discovered that this park is the site of the Northwest African American Museum.  I couldn't be that close and not go in, so I did, and was greeted most amiably at the ticket counter  There was hardly anyone else there, so I took my time looking at the exhibits, which largely highlighted the many historic moments and accomplishments of African Americans in the Pacific Northwest and in the country.  One of my favorites was a slideshow that gave a timeline of firsts, such Norman Rice, the first Black mayor of Seattle; Arthur Ashe, the first Black player selected to the US David Cup team and the only Black man to win the singles titles at Wimbledon, the US Open. and the Australian Open; Barak Obama and Kamala Harris, for reasons I assume you know.

I have this to say about my experience at the museum: Ron DeSantis, you are a small, cowardly, ignorant man, and so are the others like you who don't want true Black history taught because you claim it will make white children uncomfortable.  It's your own discomfort you can't abide.  You really need to grow up or go away.  

More music

I have listened to the second CD I picked up recently at a Little Free Library (see blog post from Aug. 2).  This one was 2 tracks each by 6 Seattle punk groups.

I really put some effort into listening to the music, listening for the lyrics, trying to hear the emotion under and inside each song.  I don't want to be an old granny who dismisses current music styles, who says "It's too loud and I can't understand the words", as so many people did in the early years of rock 'n' roll.

A couple of the numbers on this disc were more fully instrumented than I expected, meaning they used horns; most of the songs used amped guitars and pounding drums only.  I could make out the lyrics on a few of the cuts; the others sounded garbled to my ears.  Which is a long way to say "It was too loud and I couldn't understand the words."

I think it's safe to admit that I don't care for punk rock.  It's harsh.  I believe it's meant to be harsh.  I believe it is meant to be hard to listen to, or at least hard for people like me to listen to.  After all, the composters, musicians, and singers call themselves punks.  To them, I'm probably a dismissible old lady who doesn't count, who has little to offer, who doesn't understand them.  To me, they are young folk working very hard to express themselves, express their anger at people like me, who have left them a poisoned world filled with a few uber-Haves and a preponderance of Have Nots, like themselves. 

I gave it a try, and I heard more than expected, but it's just not for me.  On we go.

Listening (really) to music (really)

Yesterday evening Sweet Hubby and I joined friends for a concert in the park.  The terrific music was provided by an Earth, Wind, & Fire cover band.  (I wonder what happened to Water.)  Our friends have a house in Los Angeles, but several years ago bought a condo here in Seattle and come up here during the summers to escape that dreadful SoCal heat.  Maybe because they only live here part time, they are really good about sniffing out fun, and usually free, things to do.  The concert yesterday was their idea.

It was glorious to be sitting in beach chairs on the grass in the shade of a big tree, eating cherries and homemade hummus, listening to great music, and, when I wasn't eating, dancing my ass off.  I was reminded of a long ago playwrighting mentor who started her sessions by saying "There's nothing that can't be solved by Earth, Wind, & Fire".  She'd put on music and have us all up and dancing to get our blood pumping and our brains oxygenated.  I was also reminded of an all-day blues festival I attended in the late 80's.  It was a killer line-up (Etta James, BB King, Stevie Ray Vaughn, to name just a few of the acts), and I don't think I sat down once that whole time - maybe to go to the bathroom - but was up dancing all day and into the night.  When I hear music of almost any kind, I can't help but move.

I've been noticing lately that summer is my least favorite season, which is so different from when I was a kid and summer meant, of course, freedom from school.  I do enjoy the long days, and there is always so much to do.  But I just don't do well in the heat any more.  Even though this area is a great deal more temperate than a lot of the rest of the country, and the world, (triple digit water temp off the coast of Florida!?!?), and there is plenty of shade from the many, many trees, I just don't care for being hot.  Maybe it's the 17 years of hot flashes that have me more sensitive to heat.  I just don't feel like doing much during these long warm days, so it's a good thing I have friends who invite me to join them for one adventure or another.  Speaking of which, gotta run.  I'm joining a friend to see an evening of cat videos.  Sounds like heaven. 

Listening (mostly) to music (sort of), plus other stuff

I recently noticed two DVDs in a Little Free Library, and since both are of kinds of music I don't usually listen to, I brought them home.  I listened to one of them today.

The musicians are a local quartet.  I'm not enough of an aficionado of current music to know if they played rock, hard rock, alt rock, emo, or what.  I really did listen with as much concentration as I could muster, but I didn't much care for what I heard.  The singing was mushy so I couldn't make out a lot of the lyrics.  The instrumentation landed on my ears for the most part like an undifferentiated wall of sound.  Not really to my liking.

I did find myself musing, though, about what must have gone into the making of this DVD.  Someone or someones had to write the songs.  The group had to practice practice rehearse rehearse.  There was the expense of studio rental, the designing of the cover, and goodness only knows what kind of marketing the group or it rep has been doing since 2016 to get this collection into the public ear.  How many thousands of musicians manage to make one DVD?  How many fewer make a second?  How many fewer actually become known and successful?  It boggles the mind.

I guess I shouldn't be curious about any of this, since the path of a musician or group is probably not too different from that of a playwright.  I've been writing plays and having them produced around the world for 35 years, and can only claim a minimal - nay, miniscule - level of success.  I've done better than people who have written fewer plays or had fewer productions, but I am leagues and miles and light years away from what anyone would actually call real success, the kind that makes a title widely known and brings financial rewards.  And yet I keep writing, keep sending my plays out into the world, keep getting my little productions here and there.  I wonder if this group is still making music, writing their songs, rehearsing, maybe considering a second DVD.

Other stuff: Today I want to the art museum with a friend and saw an exhibit of work by an artist I was not previously familiar with, Amoako Boafo.  I liked his work a lot, so much so that I found I hadn't any taste for nor interest in any of the other works in the museum.  I just wanted to be absorbed for a while by the feelings his paintings evoked.  After the museum, we had lunch in a place I've known about for a long time but patronized for the first time today.  And I got off the light rail at a station I've never visited before.  So, despite the fact that I haven't completely lived up to the promise of this blog's title, I'm still looking all the time for how I can stretch and experiment and grow.

The first (and probably last) cup

I've just come back from Boise, where I was acting in a series of commercials with my faux family, a group of delightful actors I'd bonded with when we worked together a year and a half ago.  As always with travel, there were lots of new sights, restaurants, social interactions, etc.  A great experience overall (reported with more details in my other blog, Musings from Granny Owl).

Now that I'm home, I'm back to being on the lookout for my Somethings New, and found quite a few yesterday and today.  Yesterday, after we ran errands, Sweet Hubby and I were thinking of possible lunch places.  He suggested we try a diner near us, one we've passed a thousand times but never stopped into.  I'd always assumed it was a tavern, and indeed half of it is saloon, but the other half is an old timey coffee shop, the kind where the wait staff has been there forever and a salad consists of chopped iceberg lettuce and some dressing.  We both had hamburgers, not particularly special but quite good, and we've determined to go back there to try their breakfasts.

After lunch, I opted to walk the mile and a half home, which of course meant walking through neighborhood blocks new to me.  I passed tiny, rundown homes and great big new builds; yards choked with weeds and sculpted yards full of flowers; stretches of relentlessly hot pavement and stretches of treesy shade.  No big discoveries; just the joy of being where I hadn't been before, as well as the satisfaction of walking.

Today I walked to the market to buy our usual Sunday paper and pastries.  Nothing new there.  But I walked home a different, longer way, taking advantage of the cooler morning air.

The big Something New today, though, was drinking my first cup of coffee.  I've had a couple of iced mochas (heavy on the chocolate, light on the coffee, please) and about half of one heavily hazelnutted latte, but this was the first time I have ever drunk a cup of coffee.  Just coffee - at least for the first few sips.

I kept asking SH, "Do you actually like this?"  Which he does.  Most people seem to.  I guess I can imagine the possibility of getting used to that bitter taste, but I figure why bother to get used to something I don't care for and don't need?  I stuck with it for about a third of the cup, then added some vanilla iced cream, which helped considerably, although I still didn't care much for it and didn't finish it.

But I gave it a try, which is, after the all, the whole point.  Now I want to/need to brush my teeth.  Nasty aftertaste.  People really like this stuff?

Are strange people strange?

Yesterday as Sweet Hubby and I stood in line at a bakery for our Sunday morning paper and pastries routine, I noticed that the young woman ahead of us in line had designs of lumps on her arms, clearly put there on purpose.  She and her friend were both pierced all over their faces and tattooed on the rest of their bodies.  The front half of this woman's hair was shaved, and she also had little lumps on her forehead to represent horns.

I was so curious about those lumps.  Were they scars that had been treated with something to make them stand out?  I couldn't see incision markings.  Had something been inserted inside or under the skin?  I was fascinated and wished I could ask, but wasn't sure how she would take curiosity from someone like me, an older, plainly dressed woman who has never been bolder than to have my ears pierced (although I shaved my head several decades ago).  We seemed almost to be different species, she and I, and I didn't want to be rude or risk being rebuffed with a sneer.

But still, I thought, she's human and I'm human, we speak the same language, we're at the same bakery, we (probably) live in the same city.  Maybe we're not really as different as our appearances suggest.  And after all, it wouldn't make sense to cover one's body with art and then hope people don't notice.  So instead of talking myself out of approaching her, I talked myself into it.

I tapped her lightly on the shoulder and said "Excuse me".  She turned around with a friendly smile, and when I expressed my curiosity about the lumps on her arms, she quite gladly explained that they were silicon implants.  She even let me touch them (smooth and hard).  I told her I got a giggle out of the 'horns' on her forehead.  (It crossed my mind to say "Good thing you didn't go full out Loki", but I didn't.)  I confessed that I had hesitated to speak to her, but remembered that most people are nice and kind and that I hoped she didn't mind.

I need to remember that more often, that people who look very different from me are still people, made of the same stuff I'm made of, with the same organs, probably a lot of the same emotions, maybe even having had a lot of the same kinds of experiences.  No doubt most of us want pretty much the same things: to be happy, or at least content, in our lives.  To survive without too much struggle.  To be healthy.  To be connected.  To belong.  To be seen and accepted.  To be loved.  I'm glad I talked to her.  It was, all in all, an interesting and satisfying exchange, and I came away from it with a lot more than information.

Walking more slowly

Yesterday I went with a friend for a lovely walk in a nearby park.  I've been to this park before and had thought I'd seen it all, but because I asked her to choose which paths to follow, which turns to make, I learned that there were parts of the park I had missed.  

Usually when I walk, I keep up a brisk pace in order to get my heart pumping and to get lots of steps.  But my friend is in her 80's so we walked more slowly, which meant that I was seeing and hearing and smelling my surroundings in a way I often miss.

So today while I was walking the 2 miles home after dropping my car off at the mechanic, I chose a different way than usual and walked more slowly so that I could truly be present to my surroundings.  There's a part of me that rebels at slowing down because my self-image demands I keep up with my younger self.  But when I choose a slower walk, it doesn't feel so much as though I'm making a concession to age but am rather giving myself a time of more meditative, reflective exercise.  I can't help but wonder what sweet sights or luscious fragrances I might have missed when I was pushing along at my usual pace.  

Wing Luke

This city, probably like most sizeable cities, is home to a host of specialty museums.  Yesterday I knocked another item off the Someday list by going with a girlfriend to one of them: the Wing Luke Museum in the International District.  It describes itself as the only pan-Asian Pacific American community-based museum in the United States, which focuses on the culture, art, and history of Asian Americans, Native Hawaiians, and Pacific Islanders.

Wing Luke himself was a ground-breaking, quietly inspiring lawyer and politician.  He was bullied in school as the only Asian in his class, but was able to transform his bullies into friends by doing drawings of them depicting them as superheroes.  In fact, he became so popular that he was voted Student Body President.

After much-decorated military service, he served as assistant attorney general of Washington state in its civil rights division and was later a member of the Seattle City Council.  He was the first Asian-American to hold elected office in the state.  Sadly, he was killed in a plane crash at the age of 40.

The museum is mostly historical in significance, offering perspectives from quite a few different Asian cultures.  A tour guided us through an adjacent former grocery store that has been preserved just as it was when it was active and open, even including its stock of glass jars of various dried or salted herbs, candies, fruits, etc, and actual packaged and jarred items from that older time.  We also toured what was left of an old flophouse above the store and museum, a place that used to have 155 single occupant rooms, which sometimes housed entire families.  All occupants of those 155 rooms shared 4 bathrooms.

The collective information offered, without bitterness, by the museum was challenging to me as a white/European American, because of course this country's deep-seated racism is highlighted at every turn, on every placard.  My girlfriend and I later had a conversation over dim sum about guilt and discomfiture and how to deal with them.  My attitude toward guilt has always been that it's a complete waste of emotional energy.  When I feel guilty, I look to see if I've done something wrong, and if I have, to correct it, and if I haven't, or if it's so far in the past as to be uncorrectable, to let go of the guilt and move on.  I guess the same is true of discomfort.  What is it that I'm uncomfortable about?  What does it reveal to me about my assumptions, opinions, values, and beliefs?  I feel very strongly that rather than trying to protect children from discomfort, as seems to be a GOP trend these days, a more effective approach is to teach them to examine their discomfort, to learn to understand, address, and navigate it.  But that's just me.  I'm not a parent nor a teacher so I suppose my opinion about it doesn't hold much water.

Cookies!

Being laid low for several weeks with COVID, not terribly sick, but fatigued and coughing, I admit that I haven't done an much that's new for a while.  I did read several books I've had on my radar since forever (Sinclair Lewis Arrowsmith, Zora Neale Hurston Their Eyes Were Watching God, and about a third into All Quiet on the Western Front), and although I turned to a lot of old favorite movies (Shane, Rebecca, Stupid Crazy Love), I  did watch one we've had in our collection for decades, the documentary Grass, which is about this country's history with and attitudes toward marijuana.

However, yesterday I did something that definitely goes on the Something New list.  I had a recipe for rugelach cookies that I've been wanting to make, but a) it seemed sort of complicated and b) I don't bake cookies much any more because Sweet Hubby and I don't want to have them around too often.  But friends were coming over for a nice visit on the deck, so I did it.  I made rugelach.  

They're not really complicated so much as time-consuming and difficult to work with.  They entail rolling some very stiff, sticky dough into a circle, adding the fillings, and rolling wedges into croissant shapes.  They came out delicious and rich, but didn't look at all like the recipe photos, and were instead all sorts of sloppy, saggy, lumpy shapes.  Still, I got a lot of satisfaction out of doing something I'd been avoiding, and fortunately there are only a few left.  Which SH will eat one bite per day and I'll wolf down if I'm not very, very strict with myself.

It's nice to be almost back to human.

New, new, nothin' but new

The last month or so has been so packed with new experiences, I haven't even had a chance to blog about it all.  Mostly good and great, some a bit more yucky.

For almost two weeks I raced from one film to another during Seattle's annual film festival.  Such a glut of cinematic possibilities; I only managed to see about a tenth of what was being screened.  I saw, in no particular order: documentaries about whales, Donna Summer, Mary Tyler Moore, the first 20 days of Russia's attack on Mariupol, an extraordinary photographer named George Platt Lynes, the history of the movie camera, fishermen in India, the Chopin piano competition, a dance program that is brought to children in homeless shelters in New York.  And narrative films: a Spanish film about a young boy who knows he is actually a girl but doesn't know how to tell his family; a Croatian film about the aftermath of the Bosnian war, played out during a dating event; another Spanish film about ancient times in the Pyrenees when Basque warriors turned to a pagan girl in order to find a treasure; an Japanese film which imagines a future in which old people are invited to let themselves be euthanized in order to decrease the financial burden on the younger generations.  Also a collection of short films by and about women, as well as two films I can't say anything about because of a legally binding NDA.

Soon after that, Sweet Hubby and I went to Seward, Alaska for his best friend's daughter's wedding.  SH and I have not traveled together much in the past because we don't like to leave the kitties, but thanks to a wonderful friend who was willing to come stay at our house while we were gone, we were able to leave with confidence that Angel and Bandy would not just be fed, but also given the attention they crave.  Even my wary SH knew he could trust this friend to be careful, considerate, and honest.

Seward is a small town of not quite 3,000.  There isn't a lot to do if one isn't in AK for the hiking, boating, camping, and other outdoorsy activities, but there is a great Sea Life Center where we spent several hours.  We took walks, went out to eat, and of course there was the wedding.  The ceremony itself was outdoors in the woods, beautiful despite a light rain.  The reception was in a big tent, lots of food, including king crab legs, and dancing to a live band.  Jolly fun.  I enjoyed spending time in this town, getting to know it a bit.

We got home late after a delayed flight, and the next morning I had to get up at 5am to get to a university by 7am where I was one of several standardized patients taking part in OSCEs (observed standardized clinical exams) for nurse trainees.  My character was an older woman (of course) with a urinary tract infection, so for 10.5 hours each two days straight, I got to talk to one nurse trainee after another about my pee, as they were observed by an examiner.  This was definitely the most rigorous of any of the standardized patient work I've done because of the long hours and repetition of the scenario, but each trainee brought in a different personality and level of skill, so it was tiring but not dull.

The training was scheduled for one more half day, but the night of the second day, what I thought was a bad cold came on fast and hard.  And yes, it was (and is) COVID.  We found out later from SH's friend that the wedding ended up being a superspreader event.  I had one of the worst days I've ever had, but thanks to Paxlovid, I'm already feeling almost human.  SH has been such a helpmate, picking up meds, doing laundry, running errands.  Now we're sort of holding our breath to see if the ogre bites him too.

I've been taiyaki-fied!

I went early to an evening rehearsal this afternoon, partly because I knew the traffic would get worse as the day moved toward quitting time, and partly to give me a chance to explore a neighborhood I don't know well.  As I was walking around, I came upon a little store that advertised Soft Serve Ice Cream and Taiyaki.  So of course I had to go in and find out what taiyaki is.

It's an ice cream cone in the shape of a fish, more oblong than round, with the mouth wide open to receive the ice cream.  It is filled solely (pun intended) with soft serve, or a layer of some sort of paste, such as Nutella, can be glopped in first.   I decided to get one, of course (in the name of doing Something New and not because I have a Sweet Tooth).  And to expand the Something New aspect, I chose red bean paste as the first layer, followed by Thai Tea ice cream (also new) and graham cracker sprinkles.

It was all gloriously messy and tasty.  I don't know that I'd make s special trip to go back just for that, but since it's near the tavern where my plays are sometimes performed, I might just find myself trying some new flavors.  For science and exploration, naturally.  

Sometimes they don't work out

 As my schedule becomes more crowded, I find my Somethings New tend to be comprised mostly of exploring new cafés.  I'm always hopeful, often disappointed.

There was the coffee house whose tea was bitter/sour and whose very few cookies were dry.  Since I don't drink coffee, iced tea and snacks are my go-tos in a coffee house.  I went to this one because it's non-franchised and has a cute name, but alas, it was a disappointment.  Hey, I just realized, one day I could order a cup of coffee for my Something New.  Note to self.

I had lunch at a Korean café because its food as advertised looked so tempting, but ended up being made with cheap ingredients, such as tough meat and lackluster vegetables.  

I thought lunch at a Venezuelan café looked promising, and I don't believe I'd ever had Venezuelan food.  I hope this place was not representative.  What I tried was all fried crust, gooey cheese, and dry chicken.  Blecch.

I believe I need to shake myself up a little more in the Something New department, make more discoveries, experiment a bit more daringly.  I fear it was hubris to call this blog I Do Something New Every Day.  But I'm trying, I really am.  

3 in 1 or I Enjoy Being a Girl

Today had 3 Somethings New in it:

I met a writer friend at an Italian restaurant I've never been to before.  I known this man since long, long ago when we both lived in L.A. and took acting classes from the same teacher.  My friend has written a roman a clef  (which I now know means a memoir masquerading as a novel).  I'd read it and wanted him to sign it, which was mostly just a opportunity to get together.  We had a long lunch with great conversation, quite a treat.

I also tried kombucha for the first time.  It was raspberry-lychee flavored, and had an underlying tang I suspect is a notable feature of kombucha.  I think I'm going to have to try several versions to see if I like it or not.  I hear it's quite good for one's intestinal biome because it's fermented.

The biggest SN was getting a pedicure.  71 years old and I've never had one before.  A friend and I had decided to get together after my lunch, and she suggested this as a different sort of activity.  Oh, it was just wonderful (except for one moment when the tough skin around my left big toe was clipped a little too closely).  The hot towels, hot stone rubs, hot soaking water, ointments and soaps, and all the time being massaged by the massive chairs we sat it.  How luxurious.  

I chose a pearly purple for my nail polish.  Next time I think I'll go for a deep, deep red..  The color really doesn't matter much, since no one sees my toes.  Even around the house I wear slippers, and don't have any more of the sandals I brought with me to Seattle from the desert of Los Angeles.  Still, it makes me feel sort of girly and ever so slightly naughty to know that my toes are painted.  And how nice it's going to be, for a while at least, to have my rough, crusty heels be soft and smooth.  Why have I never done this before???  Now I want to get a pedicure and facial, too.   

Satisfying the ear worm

 A couple of nights ago, Sweet Hubby and I watched "Ralph Breaks the Internet", one of our favorite animated films.  Under the end credits played a song so fetching, so catchy, so ear wormy that I went right into the Internet (which was not broken, thank goodness) and bought two CDs by the group responsible for the song.  The song is "Zero"; the group is Imagine Dragons.

And I loooooove them!  I am a complete convert to this group.  They are great to dance to those evenings when I have a puff and then dance my ass off.  It isn't very often that I will buy one CD, much less two, on the basis of one song, but I'm so glad I listened to my impulse.  SH and I have a CD collection almost as vast as our DVD collection, and I've listened to every single disc, sometimes culling as I go.  It's such a treat to have new music to listen and dance to.  If you are not familiar with Imagine Dragons, I recommend you give them a try.

I'm still at it

I know I haven't posted here in a while, but that doesn't mean I'm not still looking for new things to do and try.  It's just that lately none of them seems particularly interesting to write about.  I've been to several new restaurants, tried some new dishes (including ox tail in a pastry shell, quite delicious and rich), and have walked through unfamiliar neighborhoods.

I guess I feel as though I should be doing more daring, interesting, blog-worthy activities, and certainly I'm going to keep an eye out for those, but this past month or so have been dominated by rain, kitty rapture, and a persistent, undiagnosed pain in Sweet Hubby's back, which has taken some tending to.

However, SH's back is better now, and spring has definitely arrived in a wild burst of color.  It's still rainy, but I can tell that longer, warmer days are on their way, and I'm looking forward to doing more exploring, more adventuring, more discovering.

The kitty rapture persists, of course.

Batteries and beeps

Today I tested all our alarms: smoke, water overflow (laundry room and kitchen), and carbon monoxide.  This is part of the training Sweet Hubby is taking me through in order to get me ready for the possibility of him predeceasing me.  This was my second time for testing the alarms, but my first time replacing the batteries in the smoke alarms, which SH does once a year.  And I must say, although this was a tiny accomplishment, I felt quite self-satisfied when the task had been completed. 

SH is incredibly organized, in a way I expect I will never be.  He's got a multitude of ticklers set up to remind him when to do chores like this one, tighten the screws in his glasses, replace this, refresh that, review something else.  I suppose I would do well to follow his example.  It's funny, though.  I have been an accomplished, independent woman for most of my life.  I was a carpenter, and damned good with a screw gun.  I was the office manager for a real estate company in Beverly Hills, and took care of a thousand details and a hundred egos every day.  I was a bank teller, and took pride in my cash always being accounted for to the penny at the day's end count.

But I admit that living with SH has made me a bit flabby in the arena of taking care of details.  He does so much for us that I don't have to think about, so I've gotten used to being able to live loosely-goosely, dancing down the road humming with my little hobo pack of dreams and fantasies while SH handles the the hard facts and tangible business of life.  These trainings, which are a splendid idea, are  not very comfortable for me.  I'm sort of like the Tinman, rusty and creaky, not used to having to call on my executive functions.

Really, I would just prefer to die first.  So much simpler - for me.

Almuerzo con mi esposo

Yesterday Sweet Hubby and I decided to try a new Mexican restaurant for lunch.  But that's not the entire Something New.  The most important part of the event was that we spoke only Spanish to the staff, all of whom were most gracious about our clumsy accents and hesitant delivery (and our mistakes, since it's likely we made one or two).

We asked for a table for two, ordered our food and drinks, verified that my order didn't contain cilantro, specified flour tortillas and no rice for SH, asked the waiter his name, asked for more iced tea, complimented the food, and asked for the check, all in our primitive Spanish.

I rather despair of ever becoming truly conversational in this foreign language, even though I take a lesson every day and have for almost a year.  I can certainly read a lot more of it than I used to be able to, and am even just beginning to dip my toes into past tense.  But I know that true fluency will only show up if I/we actually speak out loud with other Spanish speakers.  We run the risk of embarrassing ourselves, but not much is achieved without risk, after all.  I'm grateful to our camarero Gabriel for being so kind and good natured about our attempts.  And now we have another favorite Mexican restaurant, so it was a win all around. 

The Fancy Feast

Sweet Hubby and I had our anniversary dinner at the uppitiest restaurant in Seattle, and it was glorious,  dimmed slightly, but only slightly, by the fact that my upcoming colonoscopy (so glad that's over with!) meant there were a few things I couldn't eat.  The food was magnificent.  Six courses, and the first course consisted of three different bites.  

Seeing the extensive wine list (think telephone book or Cheesecake Factory menu) had me almost wishing I drink wine.  It seems like a lovely habit to have for one with a trained palate.  But I settled for a single glass of champagne and a glass of non-alcoholic Riesling.

I can certainly understand why there are some who recoil from the idea of paying so much for something as ephemeral as a meal, but of course it's not just the meal one pays for, it's the experience.  The food and wine are only parts of what makes this place special, and has allowed it to survive through three generations of a family.  The service is what really made the meal.  Although it was formal, it wasn't at all stiff.  Even though I'm sure SH and I were instantly recognized as Nouveau and Not Very Riche, we were treated as honored guests, with humor and grace all around.  We tend to interact with waitstaff at eateries of every kind, and all the people who came to our table (and there were a handful of them) were lovely and smiling and never seemed rushed and absolutely never snooty.

It was a beautiful evening, and the restaurant has a great, unimpeded view of the changing, darkening sky.  To top off the excellent service, when we walked out, the valet had already brought our car to the door.  I'm not sure exactly how that was managed, but it gave a sort of magical ending to what was a very nice splurge.

The broom closet and a fancy meal

Yesterday I did one of those Someday I'll Get To It chores, and it felt soooo good to accomplish at last.  I took everything out of the broom closet in the kitchen, wiped down the shelves, threw away a bunch of stuff (including 10 containers of coconut water which were so old they had turned the color of pee), and re-organized for the first time in the 14 years Sweet Hubby and I have lived in this house.

Once I get to a task like this, I almost always end up enjoying the heck out of it.  If the actual doing isn't fun, then the satisfaction of having done is exquisite.  That seems to be true of just about everything: starting is often ridiculously difficult, but once started, the doing ends up being no big deal.  That's certainly true for me with writing, and I know it's true for a lot of people about exercising.  If I look at everything I need to accomplish, an immediate discouragement sets in, but when I focus on one specific task, I become energized.

Today's Something New is taking Sweet Hubby to Seattle's most hoity-toity restaurant.  It's so posh, it's actually got a dress code, which is highly unusual in this casual city where people will wear jeans to the opera.  I've been hearing about this place since I moved here, and finally decided we should go.  We've just celebrated our 17th anniversary, after all, and what better reason than that to treat ourselves to a fine, expensive, snooty meal?  I didn't time this reservation too well, because I'm having a colonoscopy in two days and there are quite a few foods I'm not supposed to eat today (corn, tomatoes, berries, nuts, and seeds), but I figure I can still make a fine meal of whatever is served.  This is one Something New I am really looking forward to.

Cables and wires and phones, oh my

Today Sweet Hubby and I went to the Communications Museum, sometimes known as the phone museum.  This specialty collection of old telecommunication equipment is open to the public only on Sundays for a few hours every week.  It's run by knowledgeable volunteers who take small groups through the 3-story building, explaining the complex wiring and cabling and gauges and switchboards and old telephone models that fill the space.  It's a messy place, apparently still evolving.  It was like walking through a scene from the movie "Brazil".  I'm in awe of those who are able to make sense of it all.

I don't have any particular affection for the history of telecommunication, but I do have a particular connection to this museum.  A friend of mine is one of the docents, and years ago he hired me to record some of the narrative material that used to be used on the tours.  Now the tours are led by humans, because they are able to answer the many questions we visitors have during the tour.

I was surprised that SH wanted to come with me because it meant forestalling our usual Sunday paper-and-pastries ritual (he reads the paper, I do the puzzles, we both eat the pastries).  I think he was originally just coming along in solidarity so that we would have more of the day together, but it turned out he was much more interested than I in the information and demonstrations presented.  That shouldn't have been a surprise, given that he has a Bachelor degree in Electrical Engineering.  He speaks the same language the docents spoke, if in a slightly different dialect.  I had had only about one hour of sleep last night, and we hadn't eaten anything before arriving at the museum, so my energy flagged noticeably about an hour into the 2 1/2 hour tour, while SH remained curious and engaged.  Still, I'm really glad we went, as it had been on my Someday list for quite a while.  

Lots of little Somethings New

My days have become as full as before COVID shut down the world.  Taking walks, socializing, writing, taking part in nurses' training programs, tunnel flying, etc.  I don't often have the time to do a bigger new adventure, so my Somethings New have been the kind I can fit into my schedule.

For example, I take a long walk from the train to the medical complex where I do the nurses' trainings, so every time I choose a different path there and back.  I'm often rewarded by coming across an unexpected piece of civic art, or seeing a house with a bright red door or marvelous garden, or stopping to talk to someone with a nice dog.  (It's always so easy to start a conversation with someone who has a dog.  Why isn't it easy with the dogless?)  I have also discovered a lot of new little cafés and restaurants this way.  I almost always take myself to lunch before the trainings, which are emotionally very draining, so I've been trying different places to eat.  My reward for that is having some really good meals from places I would never have discovered without taking these walks.

Last Sunday Sweet Hubby and I had planned to go to a specialty museum, one of the many mentioned in a special full-section focus on local museums in the previous Sunday's newspaper.  However, we woke up to a layer of snow and decided to stay in.  I do want to go to this museum, though, which is only open on Sundays for visitors.  A friend of mine who is actively involved in this museum years ago asked me to record some of the informative narration explaining the exhibits.  I'd like to hear that, because I don't really know what I sound like.  I think visiting some of the boutique and specialty museums listed in the paper sounds like so much fun, and may comprise my Somethings New in the future on those days when I have the time to go out exploring.

It's the little things

I know I don't always blog about it, but I really am doing something new every day, sometimes several times a day.  It's just that so many of these Somethings New are small, ordinary; they don't mean much, except to me.  To me they mean that I really am stretching myself, really am exploring and expanding, really paying attention to how I can break up my routines, get some new perspective, think or look or feel differently.

Today (actually yesterday, since it's after midnight) I made a frittata.  Not a big deal, but it was my first.  Even though I've made quite a few soufflés, which are famously intimidating to a lot of people, I have always sort of avoided frittatas.  I don't even know why.  So this morning I made one.  It was pretty good, perhaps a bit overcooked (Sweet Hubby truly hates undercooked eggs), but tasty and filling, made with spinach, mushrooms, and asiago cheese.

Yesterday, when I got off the train to walk to the training program I'd been hired for, I turned left out of the station instead of right, had lunch in a burger joint I'd never been to before.  Not a big deal, but it gave me a chance to walk through a neighborhood I hadn't explored since before the pandemic lockdown, to see the ways in which it has and hasn't changed.

I have no idea what new I'll try tomorrow.  I often don't plan ahead.  But I'll do something, I promise.  I will keep my word faithfully.  And that, sad to say, is sort of new as well.  I know about myself that my integrity can be flabby sometimes, so this campaign to do Something New every day is partly about strengthening my integrity, keeping myself honest.

Thanks for listening.  

The hospital and #302

Today had quite a few firsts in it.  The primary, which paved the way for the others, was going to a hospital to participate in a training simulation for nurses.  I've done quite a few of these scenarios, but this time was a bit different.  Instead of playing a role in the simulation, I'd been asked to watch from a booth.  The patient in the simulation is currently played by a mannequin, voiced by a simulation technician.  This is a new scenario, designed for nurses early in their training.  The person who creates these scenarios wanted to see if I thought the simulation could be strengthened by adding a live person to play a family member of the patient.  I was quite honored to have been asked for my opinion, which is that the trainees are already so nervous and flustered by the scenario that asking them to deal with even one more element might be more than they are ready to handle.  I am going to suggest, though, that a live person could play the patient.  That would give the trainees plenty to work with but without complicating the simulation.

Because there were lengthy breaks during the program, I used the time to walk through the hospital, exploring different corridors, looking at the artworks, becoming more familiar with the layout.  And because I was paying attention to what I was walking by, I noticed a rack of bus schedules, and found a bus that goes directly from the hospital to the transit station near where I park my car, so I took that bus when my work was done.

Not Somethings New, but other noteworthy parts of the day: I finished reading C.S. Lewis' "The Four Loves" and did what I hope is a final rewrite of the short fairy tale play I've been working on.  And I just learned I have an audition coming up for a TV show, a really nice role.  I auditioned recently for this show for a smaller role, so it's exciting to have been called back for a larger role.  All in all, today has been splendid.  And I get to finish it by spending time with Sweet Hubby and the kitties.  Ahh, life is so good.

Grinding my meat

Sweet Hubby and I can live happily on leftovers, but I also love to cook.  I have about 30 cookbooks as well as stacks and stacks of clipped and copied recipes.  In fact, the day I stop collecting recipes is the day I'll know I have finally accepted that I'm eventually going to die.

Anyway, I felt like cooking this evening, but the recipes I was considering all called for ground chicken, and I only had thighs.  I really didn't feel like going to the grocery story.  And then I remembered.  In a big shoe box high up on the top shelf of a cupboard I don't use very often, there is a big iron meat grinder.

I don't know where I got it, although it's a good bet my mother passed it along to me and her mother had to her.  It's heavy and old and takes a bit of setting up - and it works just great.  I felt like Mrs. Lovett, turning that big handle, watching the bird muscle going in one opening whole and coming out the other opening ground up.  (This is probably making my vegan and vegetarian friends sick.)  I felt like a pioneer, like an elemental woman, like someone who could make jam or pickled okra from produce she grew herself.  It was delightful to discover what a pleasure such a simple act could be.  

I've been lugging that grinder around for decades, but it certainly earned it's keep tonight.  Next time I go to the store, I'm going to compare the cost of a pound of ground beef to a pound to good steak.  I may have some more grinding to do. 

Shish Taouk, beavers, and a good deed

A friend took me out today for a belated birthday lunch at my favorite Indian/Mediterranean restaurant.  Inspired as I am every day by this blog, I ordered something I'd never tried before, a dish called Shish Taouk, which turned out to be big pieces of spiced chicken and green bell pepper roasted on a skewer and served with vegetables over basmati rice.  It was quite good, and so was the conversation, especially since my friend is also a cat lover and allowed me to burble on and on about our two darling kitties.

After lunch I decided to take get my steps in by walking to a library to drop off a DVD, a distance of something over a mile.  On the way, I saw a rustic looking staircase across a parking lot, and, once again inspired by this blog, decided to investigate.  A sign at the top of the stairs told me I was entering Beaver Pond Natural Area.  The area was, indeed, left natural, not manicured at all but cluttered with twisted trees, many of them fallen.  I followed a muddy path alongside a creek, full of hope but no expectation that I might see beavers.  Whatever critters may have lived in the area surely knew I was there, but none revealed itself to me.  It was peaceful, though not particularly quiet since there is a main street nearby.

After leaving BPNA, I made my way to the library, then headed back toward my car for the second half of my walk, which took me past the light rail station.  A car pulled up and a flustered woman asked if I knew where she could drop off her daughter for the train.  I said "Let her out right here and I'll walk her to the station."  I might normally simply have given directions and been on my way, but I remember how daunting I found my first visit to the light rail, even though it's laid out quite sensibly.  It wasn't out of my way, and afforded me some of that Good Samaritan glow that comes from being nice to someone for no reason.

And there you have it, some, but not all, of the best parts of my day.

Brrrrrrrr

I have a book offering 365 suggestions for Somethings New to try.  One of the entries I marked to try but hadn't yet is "For the last minute of your shower or bath, adjust the water temperature to as cold as you can possibly stand it."  Then, in yesterday's mail, came a postcard from our real estate agent touting the benefits of a 30 second cold rinse, those benefits being: Stimulates white blood cell production and increases circulation in the blood and lymph systems; Heightens awareness and attention, and stimulates the release of endorphins and noradrenaline; Stimulates hair follicles; Makes it easier to get out of the shower.

So today I did that, stood in cold water for the last 30 or so seconds of my shower.  And you know, it wasn't bad at all (although I admit I didn't have the water turned as cold as it can get).  There is the first shock, which is what does all that stimulating mentioned above, but then the body adjusts and it becomes easier to tolerate.

When I go to a women's spa north of here, I always alternate sitting in the hot pools with dipping into the cold pool.  I can almost feel my pores snapping shut, and it feels sort of painfully good.  I think ending showers with cold water is something I'm going to continue doing now and then.  Maybe it's a vestige of Calvinism, or maybe just the pioneer spirit, which has me associate something being hard and painful with it being good for me.  A nice antidote to all the ways I live in warmth, sloth, and comfort. 

E Line - and, do birds yawn?

After being woken up by yet another kitty love fest, I did some around-the-house stuff: a bi-weekly conversation with my siblings, a Spanish lesson, putting away my laptop after Sweet Hubby finished with some sort of tech-y voodoo; refilling a prescription; writing a condolence card to the husband of a friend who died recently; that sort of thing.

Then came the fun of the day.  I took my car to Costco for fueling, then caught the E Line bus at the nearby transit center.  This bus runs down one of Seattle's few long, straight streets, which is home to cannabis shops and hookers and fast food joints and car repair garages.  I got off near my favorite park, which has a 3 mile walking path around a lake.  I've walked this path many times before, but seldom alone.  It was very relaxing to go my own pace, not have to make conversation (not that I mind conversation, as anyone who knows me will concur), just breathe and walk and see what I saw.

I noticed a blue heron crouched on a branch overhanging the lake and stopped to observe it for a while.  At one point, it stretched out its neck, which had been coiled up against its body, spread its wings, and I swear it looked as though it yawned.  Its great beak opened wide for a moment, and I thought I saw a skinny tongue curling up at the tip, as cats' do when they yawn.  It had never before occurred to me to wonder if birds yawn.  

I've just asked the Internet that question, and, if the information I found is true, all vertebrate animals yawn except for giraffes.  I never would have guessed.

Anyway, more walking, then back on the bus and the ride back to the transit center.  And now I know one more bus line than I had before, plus did a lot of walking, plus did some reading (C.S. Lewis' "The Four Loves").  And that has been my day so far.

WHG

This evening Sweet Hubby and I had dinner at an Italian place I've passed probably a hundred times but never tried in the 21 years I've been living here.  It was a good enough meal, as in good enough for once but not good enough to inspire a return visit.

The more important Something New, however, is a request I made to SH that he and I start setting aside a day every week, or bi-weekly, or once a month, for us to spend together.

SH recently instigated weekly hour-long WIG (When I'm [meaning him] Gone) conversations.  During that hour, we talk about those areas of our life which he handles (mostly finances and tech) that I would have to take on in the event he predeceased me.  He has promised I get to die first, but of course we both understand that is one promise he might unwillingly break.  These conversations are really tough, and sometimes emotional, for me, partly because they require me to pay attention to and understand things I would so much rather not deal with, but mostly because they force me to envision a life emptied of the love, affection, companionship, security, and joy he brings to our marriage.

And so I have asked that a day for us to spend together be regularly set aside, to do whatever strikes our fancy at the time.  We live in the same house and sleep in the same bed, naturally, but even so there are many days when we don't actually pay attention to each other, both of us being engaged in our separate pursuits.  And I know, with all my guts and soul, that if/when the day comes that I have to live without my SH, I will regret that I didn't pay more attention, that we didn't share more pastimes, that I sometimes listened with half an ear and looked at him with half an eye.

Right about now he might lighten the mood by saying there will come a time someday when I might be glad to be rid of him.  But we both know that will never be true.

My kitty teacher

Today after lunch, I came into my office to handle a slew of those little thises and thats which make up so much of our lives and which can pile up if not attended to.  I was planning to stay head down and accomplish quite a bit.

Moments later, sweet kitty Angel wandered in and climbed into my lap.  She twisted and turned and clambered a bit before finally settling belly up in my arms, closing her eyes, and going to sleep.

So I decided to sit there with her, still and peaceful, for a full 20 minutes.  It was reeeeeeeally challenging because I was surrounded by things I needed to do, and there was a load of laundry ready to be moved from the washer to the dryer, and the Costco purchases were still in the trunk of the car, and the dish washer needed unloading.  It was just about all I could do to keep from jumping out of my skin.  So I sat. 

I've heard it said "Sit in meditation for half an hour every day.  If you're very busy, sit for an hour." 

These exercises in sitting still have been some of the most difficult Somethings New I've attempted, but are probably also the most valuable.  They remind me how much of life I miss by going going going, or by sitting in front of my computer or the TV screen, lost in those and unaware of my surroundings.  Not that any of those times are completely wasted by any means.  But I know it's also good for me to stop, to breathe, to listen, to pay attention.  So I sat and enjoyed Angel's darling face and her little tremors as she dreamed.  

After all, if I had moved, Angel's nap would have been disturbed, and we can't have that.  Better I should sit and suffer the agonies of being still than to bother my kitty.  If she can sit and do nothing, by golly, I can, too.

Naked on the floor

A lot of today was spent having lunch and then watching "A Man Called Otto" with a girlfriend.

And by the way, if you haven't seen "AMCO", I  highly recommend it.  I loved it.  I laughed and I wept; I felt something, which is exactly what I go to the movies for.  Which is why I tire of sci fi, fantasy, CGI battles, etc.  They sometimes offer a sense of excitement, but I don't really feel anything much beyond tension or adrenalin.  Give yourself a treat and see "AMCO".  And take Kleenex.

Anyway, back to Something New.  Lunch and the movie didn't leave enough time for a trip to a museum or a long bus ride, and it was raining all day, so the weather didn't lend itself to a walk in a park or through a neighborhood.  But I was determined to think of something I could do that I haven't done before.

So I lay on the living room floor naked for half an hour.

The idea was to awaken all my senses: to feel the carpet on my back and the air moving on my skin; to hear whatever sounds there were, such a passing plane or car, or the muffled tapping of Sweet Hubby's fingers on his laptop keyboard; to notice when  my thoughts went galloping into the past or future and keep them as much in the present as possible.

I had planned to lie still, and if the kitties came snooping around, I was going to let them explore without reacting or reaching out to them.  But when Bandy kitty's sharp little claw accidently hit, shall we say, a certain sensitive area, I modified my intention to include protecting my sweet bits.

One thing I noticed is how much less tense I am than I was during the 26 years I lived in Los Angeles.  Several times in L.A. (and once in London), I spent an hour floating in an isolation tank (also called a Samadhi tank), and each time, throughout the entire hour, groups of clamped up muscles would release, muscles I hadn't even known I was clenching.  Even floating in body temperature water, I was not able to completely relax.  But today I was aware of how little time it took to mentally run through my body and release any tense places I found.  It was quite delightful and relaxing. 

#347

Today was another ride-the-bus day.  This one took me to a town which I'm not familiar with, a bit north of home, so once I reached the last stop, I got off and walked around for a while, then had a tasty chicken bahn mi sandwich, walked around a lot more, then caught the same bus in the opposite direction.  I got off at a coffee shop near home and had a really good writing session, working on my latest full length.  Then another nice long walk home.

I know these bus trips, and walking around un-extraordinary neighborhoods, must not seem particularly daring, and maybe not even all that interesting.  But for me, there is a certain thrill in riding a bus on an unfamiliar route, noting where it goes and therefore when I can use it in future.  And I love walking around neighborhoods, either commercial or residential, seeing houses and yards, discovering new restaurants.  It's the best way I can think of to multiply my steps for the day (11,494 so far today!).  In a way, this bus riding could be seen as not terribly productive (besides helping me stay true to the Something New promise), but in another way, it feels like a really good way to spend a few hours, getting to know more of the area I live in, and it keeps me from sitting in front of a computer all day, which I can easily do if I don't keep an eye on myself.  

Also, riding a bus or train is good reading time for me, since I don't get motion sickness.  And reading time always feels well spent.  Currently I'm making my way through C.S. Lewis' "The Four Loves". 

Dancing again

When I left Los Angeles and moved north, first to the central CA coast and then to Seattle, I discovered social dancing, specifically contra and English country dancing.  Seattle is the dancing-est city I've ever been in, with both kinds of dances and many others available every week.  I was never in my life in better shape than when I was dancing robustly for 3 hours a night two or three times a week.  A lot of my new friends came from the dance community.

However, a couple of important love relationships began and ended on the contra dance floor, and after the second one, I started getting psychosomatic nausea every time I danced.  I know it was psychosomatic because I could do any other kind of dancing, and could go on amusement park rides and get twirled around upside down and backward without even feeling dizzy or sick  Finally, I gave up dancing, except for a couple of swing and line dancing classes Sweet Hubby and I took together.  I was married now and had my darling SH to socialize with.  I didn't want to be gone that many nights a week, and although SH is a terrific, graceful dancer, regular dancing isn't for him.  I stayed friends with some of the people I'd met through that community, and of course there are many other ways to get exercise, so it wasn't a terrible loss, but I did miss it.

This evening, though, I decided to go to an English country dance session for the first time in about 15 years.  And I'm so glad I did.  I do enjoy dancing, enjoy the music, the social contact, the excellent, fun workout.  I didn't stay for the whole evening, mostly because there were a lot of newbies in the room, and so a lot of instruction, which made the evening move very slowly.  But I think I'm going to start dipping into English country again, and maybe even try contra dancing to see if my psychosoma has healed.

If you don't know what contra dancing is, by the way, imagine square dancing done in long lines with live fiddle and banjo music setting the beat and a caller leading the dancers through series of movements.  If you've never tried it, look it up and see if there is a dance near you.  So much fun.

Balance

I decided to do a balance workout today.  I keep hearing that balance is very important for us elders, and more difficult to maintain as we age.  Jane Fonda always emphasizes balance in her workouts for seniors.  There are lots of balance workouts on YouTube, so I chose one at random and spent a bit of time following the leader.

I think my balance may already be pretty good, because these exercises were quite simple for me to do, even without holding on to a surface, which is what the workout leader suggested.  The hardest exercise was walking while turning my head from side to side and than up and down.  I did stagger a bit on that one.  But I can stand on one leg without holding on to anything for at least a minute.

I think I'm going to do more of these, because I agree that balance fitness is as important as aerobic and strength fitness.  I could probably try a new video every day for a month and not repeat.  And it's fun and easy to do within the confines of my little office.

I'm going to have to close my door for these workouts, though, because my new, sweet, adorable little kitties love to come in and explore, often getting silently underfoot.  One of the reasons I need to make sure that my balance is strong is that I swear to Odin, someday I'm going to trip on a kitten and take a real fall if I'm not constantly vigilant.  Being a cat lover, naturally I would take a tumble myself rather than squash my kitty by stepping on her.

Walking the campus

I have a book of stair walks all around the Seattle area, so today I took the train to the University district and did a mapped walk around the UW campus.  I got lost once - well, not really lost; I just didn't follow the book's directions well, but I'm familiar enough with the campus to find my way back on track.  At one point I had to detour because the stairway the book calls the prettiest and the authors' favorite was blocked off.  But even with those kerfluffles, I got to see parts of the campus I'd never found before, and got more than 10,000 steps in the bargain.

After this lovely walk, I took the train back to where I'd parked the car, got myself a ham crepe at a coffee house, and worked on my latest full length play.  I had put this play aside a few months ago because I was really struggling to find the story, but it has since revealed itself to me and I'm so happy to be back at work on it, even though I know there is a lot more writing and rewriting to come.

Those two activities, the long walk and the writing session, have already made this a productive day, and it's only 4:30.  Time for my Spanish lesson, some reading, and lots of kitty time.  I love my life.  

Should oughta, don't wanna

It wasn't a very splashy day today, but very, very satisfying.  I did four of the items on my "one of these days in the vague future I'm going to get around to that" list.  I'm keeping watch on what I'm avoiding and really cheerleading myself on to just gosh darned dive in and do it already.  The sense of relief and lightening is the perfect reward.  The act of avoidance does take some energy, after all.

None of these items was difficult, although a couple were a bit time consuming.  I'm not always even sure why I put them off.  Probably just a matter of "I don't feel like it, I'd rather do something funner, or not do anything at all."  Tonight I get to go to bed feeling virtuous, and that, too, is a reward.

Speaking of which, since the first day of this new year, I have been sleeping until 9, 9:30, once even until 10 o'clock!  I have no idea what has happened to my circadian rhythm or internal alarm clock or whatever it is that used to wake me up between 5:30 and 7:30.  I haven't changed my evening routines.  It's a mystery, and mostly a happy thing, but it does make the day a bit shorter, so I need to start being productive right away instead of shuffling around in my slippers wondering what the day will be like.

#330

What a good day.  I got all sorts of things done, and enjoyed myself to boot.

First I got the news postings on my website all caught up.  Good to get that done, and I must stay more caught up and post as the news of productions comes usp  

Then I took another bus that stops close to the house.  This one let me off near one of my favorite restaurants, so I took myself to lunch - a nice pear-cranberry-blue cheese salad - while I finished reading another Stephen Crane story and wrote a letter to a friend.  Yes, wrote, yes, a letter.  My cursive writing has gone to hell since I (and we all) started using computers for just about everything.  But I do have a couple of friends with whom I exchange letters, which are a treat to send and to receive.

It was a chilly, clear day, so I started walking, thinking I would catch the same bus back when it passed me, but I ended up walking the whole way, a couple of miles, on streets I haven't walked before.  I do love looking at houses, wondering about the people who live in them.  "What a pretty yellow door.  I wonder why they decided to paint it that startling color."  "What are they going to use that huge pile of gravel for?"  "Why would anyone want a monkey puzzle tree anywhere near their home?"  It's the playwright in me, always making up stories about people.  I just can't help myself. 

#348

Today I did something that I've wanted to do for a long time.  I hopped on a bus at a stop near my house and rode it to the end of the line, just to see where it went.  I'd like to do that with all of the nearby buses, and start using more public transportation, for the sake of both convenience and the environment.

This one took me to an area near the Sound, a neighborhood I seldom go to.  I found a nice little coffee shop and had an iced pineapple boba tea (also a first) and a muffin, and worked on a play-in-progress, then took the bus most of the way home and walked the last mile, thus fulfilling several of my promises for the day.  It was cold and sunny, a pretty day, so I called Sweet Hubby to come meet me on my walk home.  All in all, a sweet start to the new year. 

Welcome to the new year

Today's Something New: I have decided that this year, instead of making any resolution, I'm going to start every day by making a list of those things that I want to accomplish that day.  I think AA has it right; making promises every day is a lot more powerful, and will no doubt last longer, than making a promise for life or even for a year.  But I want this to be more than a list of To-do's.  Besides specific chores and errands, I want to have on that list what I might want to accomplish emotionally, and how I want to be in the world, and small changes I'd like to make to my behavior.  For example, the number of steps to take or the amount of time I will spend working out; how much time to spend writing, or doing something about writing, such as making submissions to theaters; continuing to look for something new I can try every day; continuing to explore and challenge myself; people I want to be sure to write to (email yes, but I also still write letters and cards) or reach out to; in what specific way I'm going to eat more healthily; something I might do for Sweet Hubby.

I wish you and those you love a year of good health and peace of mind, as well whatever you most wish for yourself.  Look for the good and you will find it.  Be honorable and goodness will find you.  And, as they say in Shangri-La, be kind.

Cheers and cheering.