The Good Dirt

want. want. want.

...is it possible to use that as an adjective? as in, "i'm feeling lurgy"? or does it have to be, "i feel like i have a touch of the lurgy"? erg.
anyhow. that's how i feel right now. i feel so icky that instead of having intelligent classical or good jazz on the stereo, i have thoughtless pop music.
i feel so icky that i haven't read the paper and couldn't even be bothered to fill out most of the crossword puzzle. i have not gone for a run, or even a walk, or even had my morning coffee. i've not bothered to get out of my PJs or combed my hair. i've not even bothered to put on my glasses or put my contacts in.
my morning is badly disrupted: i didn't even get up until 9:30. yuck.
jim and i are staring a highly possible move to indiana in the face. i know that it'll be fine, but right now it feels like garbage. it's terrific for his career, no question about it--it's a product development position, and i definitely want him to take the position if it's offered to him on monday. also, if one more person tells me, "at least you'll have jim," i am going to pitch an all-fired fit. i am so sick of hearing this. i will *not* "have jim," jim will be busy in his new job, as right he should be. he will be busy making inroads into his new lfe and an mportant step towards what he ultimately wants to do; and it will be up to me to find the arts community; the best museum and galleries; a new FUCKING CRITIQUE GROUP...
so please, don't give me any of that garbage, okay? jim is not and will never be as interested in the arts and letters as i am, and that's perfectly OK, but when building a new community around oneself, this is what i'll be looking for first.
great. now i'm angry. one more thing to go wrong.
there is a small chance i will be able to keep the critique group. we only meet once a month anyway, and if i can get them to switch to a weekend meeting, maybe i can swing it. leaving this group would be horrible. i really don't what i'd do. i was counting on them to read my next book, and since they've already read three partials from me, they've watched the evolution, and i really dont' think i could do without them. argh.
argh.
argh.
argh.

it is truly awful to think about the fact that i have lived in southern california for as long as i have and not ever seen the best parts of it.
this weekend, after a fairly late arrival in santa monica on friday evening, there was a plethora of things to enjoy and discover! rachel and i had desert and tea with marc pachon before taking off, which was nice..i hadn't seen him in about a year, and rachel hadn't seen him in about SEVEN.
in the early morning i met rachel to go down to the beach for the Santa Monica/Venice Beach 10K. while there were a good number of folks there, i was only relieved to be running in not-too-hot weather, and to notice that my legs were feeling a-okay after the marathon.
it was also really nice to just run and not worry about pacing--that kind of thing can be a drag after you've been running double-digits for a few weeks. i don't ahve any photographs of that, unfortunately, but i do have nice memories of a run that started in middling cloud cover and ended with a nice drizzle.
i also ended up waiting at the finish line for rachel for 45 minutes, knowing that she'd walked part of it, but unawares that she had also made up a lot of time on me and, in fact, finished just behind me by about two minutes. i ended up with 9:33 splits--good enough for a post-marathon jog.
we went back to bor and laura's for a shower and a rest before gearing up to go to breakfast, which we had at the very charming jack and jill's in downtown santa monica. afterwards, we dropped off rachel at her car and then drove off to the Getty Center, where Bor took the very charming second photo down below.
i'd never been there. what a terrific arts center. it's a place i'd want to visit over and over again if i lived here. really, really lovely and welcoming, with some excellent works of art, and some lovely grounds, which i'd seen before in model form at architect richard meier's studio, but if it was breathtaking in size and scope in his workshop, it was obviously even more so in real life. the space is extraordinary. the gardens yielded enormous trumpet flowers, which i'd learned about on our hike to macchu piccu but now apparently are only good for me and laura to hide our faces in (3), and big leaves (4), which apparently are the model for the nouveau vague of millinery.
we saw lovely exhibits on carleton watkins and some really ugly but ingenious baroque-themed decorative arts, which only served to re-awaken my desire for either a roll-top of secretary desk.
then there was a quiet evening at home.
sunday bor and i saw laura off to work at the Kodak Theatre and then drove off to a wonderful excursion on the coast and in the santa monica canyons, where we visited Solstice Canyon, which was full of trail-maintenance volunteers, a nice walk, and a bizarre relic from when the land was privately owned: the foundations of a house defended so well against fire that eventually succumbed to fire. here, a remnant from its former days (5), and the waterfall that the house's kitchen looked out upon (6).
then we went to look at the beach from a sand dune (bor grew a charlie chan moustache for the occasion; 7), and marvel at the low-flying pelicans playing in the wind (8).
we went back so i could have a glass of wine with a friend i haven't seen since we graduated from university back in 1996, and then it was off to collect laura for the Laker's game (9). i know! pro basketball! i've never ever seen a game! it was really, really fun. (i think i could get behind rooting for a basketball team. it's really fun live.)
then the next morning, it was off on the train to head back to claremont. it was raining like gangbusters, and here's the proof: the LA river, ordinarily just a concrete channel with a pathetic dribble of water running along it, was

                 

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Lala-land_and_what_i_did_there.zip (12625 KB)

maybe just one random thought.

my trips home are not usually good ones. sometimes they end well; usually there are plenty of ooky memories that temper any good feelings. typical occurrences preceding a trip to california include:

pimples
massive clothing shopping
late nights
boozing
not eating

these actions are all self-defeating. they result in the following parental comments, respectively:

"you lead an unhealthy lifestyle! that is why your face is such a mess!"
"so many clothes, no style. so sad."
"you must be unhappy. otherwise, why do you go out so much?"
"skin is dry! moisturize!"
"too skinny. look sick!"

ok. so here's what i'm getting at. i've got my houndy with me this time. i must confess to harboring a little superstition about hounds. i believe they are magical beasties. mum has not been nearly as strident, and when she has been, she usually calms down right quick. when she comes back from her morning walk (she goes for about an hour every morning with a friend), she comes back full of stories about how sprocket did on the walk. she's been percolating not about the state of my miserable life, but about how funny the houndy's butt looks when he's walking, and how she thinks he's been doing better about not pulling on the leash. she marvels over how well behaved he is.

when we come back from a trip to the grocery store, if she's been yelling at me about something in the car, she forgets all about it when he comes galloping to the door to greet us, all perked up ears and swishing rear end and lolling tongue.

and when she yells, he skulks away. she thinks that both unfortunate and charming, so she keeps the anger to a low, since he is follows at my heels. when i walk out of a conversation, he does too.

on my end, i seem to have a longer fuse. i either have somehow come to terms with the fact that some folks will never see within the same spectrum as me, or maybe i've just learned to filter, or maybe i'm better now at changing the subject. by any measure, this is a much better go of it.

anyway. i've never said so here, but i believe everyone should know the friendship of a dog at some point in their lives. you will know what it's like to have someone think you are the best person ever. everyone needs to believe that they are loved and that someone thinks they're terrific. you will learn rapidly what it means to forgive, and what it means to teach with positive reinforcement, and what it means to let someone off the leash every once in awhile. you will learn what it's like to trust a being to do right when you leave it alone, and that's a good lesson too.
 
dogs are never angry, although they may sulk, and they do get jealous. but they will love you and love you and love you. and who among us couldn't use some of that?

1. The "crowd" in front of the start "structure."
2. scenery. jim is waiting waiting for us to show up.
3. hooray, people! (i am in the red cap, white top, and blue shorts. which, by the way, i forgot to pack. jim had to bring 'em when he flew out.)
4. me and gary, the furry guy.
5. me at the finish line. don't look too closely. i look like i'm crying.
6. repeat after me: peeeeee-nooooh greeeeee-geee-ohhhh.

yay! hopefully it'll let me send all of these!

           

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more_marathon_photos.zip (18277 KB)

Mom: So you walked to the grocery store just now.
Me: Yeah.
Mom: And where you live, all you have to do is step out the door, whenever you want, and go, right? It's really close?
Me: Yeah. I love cities.
Mom: But you don't live in a city.
Me [puzzled]: What do you mean?
Mom: You live OUTSIDE of Chicago. Your area is considered NEAR Chicago.
Me: No, Mom, we live in Chicago.
Mom: But you're not on Michigan Avenue.
Me: Mom, when you send me things, you still have to write Chicago on it.
Mom [shakes head doubtfully, disparagingly]: You have to take a bus to go downtown.

an old friend recently posted a brief entry to his blog about his children. this one was about audrey, his 2.5-year-old, and about how she described sparkling water. she calls it "spicy." while i totally get what she's saying, i'm more interested in what john had to say about gin (refrain from commentary, please).
john noted that most adults would say that gin tastes of pine needles, but when i thought about this, i had to really think hard. i know gin is made from the juniper berry, but when i looked back to all the different drinks i've ever had, both alcoholic and non-, what came to me first were the circumstances. and i found that i had a really hard time separating them. ergo: coffee "tastes" to me like a winter morning over the newspaper with one or two friends nearby, struggling with the crossword; gin "tastes" of a back deck in summertime maine and the fine tingle of pond water in your sinuses; scotch "tastes" of a long, deep conversation about food, friends, and the unmistakeable reek of haggis nearby and cigar smoke somewhere not so nearby, perhaps woven into the garbardine of your dining companion.
i have one or two younger cousins with whom i'm in touch. they have all asked why one drinks. i have always told them i like the taste of alcohol. i guess i was being sort of loose with the terminology.
by the by, john also commented that he hoped no one had ever eaten a pine needle. but if you've ever crashed headlong into a pile of snow while skiing...yes, you've eaten a pine needle, or at least tasted its distilled essence.

There are a very certain number of things you'll carry with you for the rest of your life. Most of these things, you hope, will be positive, or, at least, useful.
For some reason, I have three words that I've used to put things into perspective ever since I learned them in the dorkiest of all venues, the high school debate club.
Someone wrote down someplace that "Perception is key." It was on one of the briefs that had been long used and photocopied and regurgitated from generation to generation of debater. Although I wasn't sure, at the time, what it meant, I find that it's come up more and more often as I make my way through life.
It only means that the way you look at something is the key to finding out everything about that something, whatever it is. I've found it most useful when puzzling over someone whose opinion differs radically from mine, and when trying to find some way to work around that specific issue: If you don't know where the other person is coming from, you'll never ever be able to puzzle out how to reconcile your differences and work towards a solution that's amenable to both of you.
In my immediate personal life, I'm finding this much harder. I'm at home in Clarem0nt. My parents have lived here for over 25 years now. We have a house just down the street, which is in the free and clear, and it's sitting empty. When things go bad in the current house my parents are in, they just simply stop using that area of the house (this is not always true; the house is 5400 square feet, way too much space for two folks, and sometimes they just stop using certain areas). They don't repair, they don't reduce their usage; they just let things lie. I am having a terrifically hard time understanding how they live, and why they live this way.
The age-old complaint, of course, is that they're trying to impose their lifestyle on me. Their lives are constructed considerably different from mine, and they refuse to see another solution. All of this leads to several occasions of strife, and plenty of opportunity for bitter words to be said and groundless accusations to be made.
Thus, three more things I've learned to put into use here: First, If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all; second, something far more important that my good friend Andrew put so succinctly: Kindness is a function of time; third, some things you just can't change, no matter how badly you want to.
In other news, my coffee maker has pooped out on me.
Here are some photos from Death Valley:

1. Death Valley is below sea level. Here's our first indication.
2. These ravens were everywhere. "Them's ornery birds," said the guy at the gas station. "I've seen 'em fly off with underwear, car keys...you name it." This one is waiting for me to fail miserably at the marathon so it can pluck out my eyeballs.
3.  brekkie. toast and jam and bacon. yum.
4. the start and finish "structure." heh!
5. and we're off!

more in a later post. stupid size limits.

         

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High_school_baggage.zip (15071 KB)

the photos from troy and shilpa's wedding came back.
they are hysterical. i love the first one, of jim and me, but i also love the second one, of jim's parents. jim looks like a little kid.
photos copyright angela swan photography, and yes, i will be buying them up.
heh.

   

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some_fun_photos.zip (679 KB)

Woot woot!
I have my wireless up and running, and boy, am I thrilled. I hadn't realized until now just how important it is for one to have a private space in which to write, but now I know. I've been thinking about this concept of A Room of One's Own for close to three years now--really, really thinking about it--and lately, it's come into real practice more than I'd like.
But you don't want to know about *that*. You want to know about The Marathon.
I've been training in sleet, snow, and wind now for at least my recent memory. It was both a treat and a shock to my system to realize most belatedly that the Death Valley Marathon would encompass none of these things. As I was packing my running shorts and light running top, I thought that I ought to have tried these things on. It had been, after all, one full season since I'd worn said shorts or top.
Anyway, the problem wasn't the shorts or the top. The problem was the Fuel Belt, which sat comfortably over my hips during training, aided in its staying power by a nice two layers of chunky winter Polartec. The morning of the marathon, as I strapped the thing on, it sagged loosely over my hip bones. Cause for worry, but not enough time to worry. Good enough.
Jim and I headed off for Death Valley from my parents' house in Claremont at about 10:30 in the morning. We were anticipating a leisurely drive and some sightseeing before the sun set, and we got both in spades. Coming into Death Valley from the long way 'round is something everyone must do. The landscape there is other-worldly. Death Valley's isolation from the rest of the world is ensured by 4000'-tall mountains on either side of it and its completely unforgiving weather system. It's an incredible feeling to both watch the sun rise and set on this place--two very diferent experiences, one awesome place.
In other races I've done, the parking lots are crammed with cars and people. Not so with this one. There were 149 marathoners who completed the race; I don't know how many started. I do know at least two dropped. There were 49 women overall. There was also a half-marathon and 10K option, but I'd glad I opted for the full marathon. I like to run quietly, in general--I'm usually not a talker, so when we stepped out of the car and felt the absolute silence of the place, I knew it'd be a very special experience, and one not to be missed.
Jim and I ate in the casual cafe of our resort (The Furnace Creek Ranch), which was called the 49er (named for the gold rush crew of 1849), and were amused over the Spaghetti-and-Meatball special that was on offer: perfect for would-be runners. I opted for the seared salmon, basmati rice, and wilted spinach meal, with a side of mashed potatos, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Jim had a buffalo burger, and enjoyed that.
We walked back to our room, a nice quarter-mile away, via a stop to gaze at the crescent moon, which was by then flanked by Jupiter and Venus on either side, and a swing by the mineral-fed pool (always 85 degrees! no chlorine!) to see what it was like.
We crashed into bed shortly after we got to our room, after I'd laid out all of my kit and set the alarm for 5;30.
Turns out, going to bed at 8 is plenty enough to wake up at 5:15 feeling refreshed and happy. I puttered about and actually took a shower and shaved my legs, of all things, and then I painted my toenails, which I always do before a race. (It has something to do with needing to feel like a girl when you're tired and covered in a fine crust of salty sweat.) I put on my civvies and Jim and I went down to breakfast at the 49er. Two thick slices of buttered and jammed wheat toast for me, with a side of bacon, and two cups of very good 49er coffee, and I was ready to go back to my room and make final preparations.
We were down at the start line in plenty of time to go to the potty one final time and listen to the pre-race instructions (turn-arounds for the 10K and 1/2 marathon clearly marked; aid stations every three miles; mile markers every mile; out-and-back course) and the national anthem, and then we counted down from ten and we were off! It was about 65 degrees at race start and would end up being in the high 70s.
Another great thing about this course: It's a Boston marathon qualifier, but there is no chip timing, and if you really want to stop and take pictures, just pause your watch and they'll deduct that time from your final time. Fricken awesome.
I passed a walker at the very beginning (oh, yay ME) and asked her if she was walking the whole thing. she was, she said, and then pointed out a passing coyote to me. i, in turn, pointed it out to the young lady running next to me, and she and i ran together for about seven miles, until her chest cold got the best of her and she had to do what I must believe is dropping out, as I didn't see her again on the course.
I did, however, see Jim, who drove the course and stopped every three miles to cheer me on and take photos. My splits at this point were floating somewhere between 10:40 and 11:30, and I was happy with that. It would mean about a five-hour marathon, which I would be happy enough with.
At about mile 7 and a half I collected a man who is likely the furriest man I have ever met. He was older, and running steadily next to me, talking. I wasn't too game for talking, but I felt good, and I'm never one to turn down the experience of getting to know someone great, and if the conversation wasn't sparkling (it kind of was), I now can at least say that I acquired a business card while running a marathon. Gary Levy's business card marks him as a Bus Driver first, Bon Vivant second, and Marathoner third, although it was clear from the ease with which he struck up conversation that he's a Bon Vivant through and through. I bet he's the friendliest bus driver on the Eugene, Oregon payroll.
Gary left me at about mile 12, and I realized with horror that my splits had dropped to between 12:30 and 13-minute miles. I was feeling pretty bedraggled by the time I saw Jim at the half-marathon mark, and barked at him to Stop Taking Photos and Just Get Back in the Car. :( I am terrible person. Who says that?
I made a concerted effort to pick up my pace, and then realized that I hadn't changed my stride since mile 9, so I lengthened out a bit, which helped a little bit, and I at least pulled my pace down to right around 12:30 all the way through mile 20. That's when things went really cock-eyed. The last six miles of the race are, apparently, uphill. And how. There is a big nasty hill at the end of the thing, too, and so I guess it's no real surprise that my last five miles were dismal, absolutely dismal. I clocked in between 13:53 and 15:12 for the last five, taking a whopping 18 minutes, 36 seconds to finish the last 1.2 miles. Jim ran with me, too, the last three and a half, which I thought would give me extra boost, but instead I found myself whimpering pretty sadly for the last mile he was with me, until he sprinted ahead to take photos. I forgot to mention, too, that within the last 200 yards I was passed by a woman moving at least at an 8-minute mile. She came up behind me and said, "If it sucks too much to be passed in the last 200 yards, I'll stay behind you." I told her she was insane and to just go for it, and she did, finishing beautifully.
Me, not so much. I crossed the line and wheezed at the race organizer, "Fricken California," and then, clutching at Jim, crawled over to the tangerine, T-shirt, and water table. I went and showered and then jumped into the deep end of the mineral pool, realizing as I sank that I might not actually be able to swim, but it turns out that my legs were relieved to be able to move in near weightlessness, and in something other than piston-like motion. I showered again and we hobbled over to the 49er again, this time for Chicken-Fried Steak and succotash, and then drove off to the much swishier Furnace Creek Inn, the sister resort of the Ranch, which boasts a world-class view of the valley, some awesome architecture, and a very nice glass of Pinot Grigio, at least, which you can enjoy from the outside deck. Then we drove off home.
So there you have it.
Here are my splits. I hope Jim will send me photos later on tonight, or tomorrow, so I can share them with you.
Mile number; time
1,2,3 (avg); 11:20
4; 10:52
5; 11:35
6; 10:40
7; 11:39
8, 12:20
9; 12:20
10; 12:25
11; 12:30
12; 12:22
13; 12:30
14; 12:42
15; 13:02
16; 12:28
17; 12:31
18; 12:24
19: 12:32
20; 12:34
21; 13:53
22; 13:16
23: 13:17
24; 15:12
25; 14:19
26.2; 18:26
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Total: 5:30:33