Happy trails.

There must be a quote by some kind of sagely person floating around out there in the sea of collective wisdom that says something to the effect of "Life is better when traveling." If there is not, then I will be the person to declare that life is better when traveling. And by traveling I don't mean getting on a plane and flying across time-zones, or even staying in hotels. I just mean leaving your cats and your chores and your life behind for a little fun away from home.

Doug and I have had a bit of that lately. We spent the weekend of the October nor'easter in Provincetown and it was wonderful. Granted I was just coming down hard with a bad headcold, and we only had about five hours of dry conditions before the winds and rain kicked in, but we enjoyed each and every minute of being near the water.

We had such fun daydreaming about buying a small condo on the far east or west end of town and spending weekends near the water. I pictured myself sitting in a light and airy room with my sewing machine, sewing whatever new creation was inspiring me that day. Artists abound in P-town (even those that compose their art right on the beach), and Doug and I like the creativity in the air there (not to mention the fresh, ocean air).

I came home to a week of feeling like poo, which is what bad colds usually do to people, and unfortunately no amount of Halloween candy could make me feel better (believe me, I gave it my all). But the bright light at the end of the tunnel that week was a trip to New York City to see Doug's band play at Arlene's Grocery. Initially I was not that thrilled about seeing him play and then having to make the drive up to his parents' place in Monroe (I'm notorious for going to bed early), but I'm glad I stayed awake for it and paid my $10 in support of his cause.

Hot Molasses played well, considering that both Doug and Julia were sick. They looked good on stage, and, even though this wasn't their best show, they had energy and sounded so much better than the band that played before them.

Doug is funny about these shows. He acts like they are no big deal, but the need to debrief is always very strong. I'd like more Doug in the songs; more Doug-driven songs. A song about Puritans could be a great addition to the set list.

What was potentially more exciting (for me, at least) was walking around SoHo. This was my first trip there, believe it or not. I've been to NYC before but never to the Lower East Side, and I think I'll be going back. I made it to Purl SoHo and The Strand! That may have been worth the lack of sleep for me. I now have two and a half more yards of fabric to craft into something very useful

and have a souvenir from one of the most overwhelming (in a good way) bookstores I have ever been in.

How much are rents in SoHo? Could we afford to live there? I could get very used to walking the twenty or so blocks up Broadway between Purl SoHo and The Strand, though I may not have any money left for rent (or any room in my minuscule apartment for all the fabric, yarn and books I'd buy).

Keep traveling. That's what I say. Those are the words I will live by.

Just stuff.

I'm not blogging from my phone today, so maybe I'll spell things correctly and use correct grammar this time. Maybe.

Life has been chugging along at a nice pace. We've been doing stuff (I'm not going to say that we're busy, because we are, but we always are so why dwell on that. And I'm not even sure if busy is a bad thing anymore. I think that it just is.). I mentioned in my last post that we had friends over for a end-of-season cookout, and you saw the remains of the beverages consumed. What's funny is that I don't think I had even one glass of wine or a sip of beer all night. I was spending my time talking, or eating, or swatting mosquitoes. Man, oh man, the mosquitoes are still deadly, even this far into October. Another effect of global warming that we have to contend with.

After our cookout two Saturdays ago my family came up to visit. We went on a walk in Boston and then ate dinner along the Boston Harbor. I am amazed at how little Doug and I go into the city. Even when we lived in Allston we rarely went into the city. However, when we're there, we ask ourselves why we don't spend more time there. We complain an awful lot about it, but what do we really know about it? For example, there was a movie being filmed right outside the Old State House. A big-budget flick, too, with Ryan Reynolds and Kevin Bacon. Who knew? Probably people who spend their time enjoying their city rather than wishing they lived anywhere but here. So we are going to change our mindsets a little and we are going to start saying things like, "I like Boston," and "What a nice place to live," and we are going to see how this goes.

We learned that Maria, my youngest niece, wants to live in a city when she grows up. And she wants to be on Broadway. So this means that she wants to live in NYC. She is pro-city and knows this with 8 year-old certainty. I like that.

Maybe this will be our backyard someday; the Boston Harbor.

It fills Doug's requirements of being near the water. It could fill the requirement of being near a public transport line that runs more frequently than the commuter rail. It could also fill the requirement of allowing for a better commute. If the Boston Harbor were in our backyard, do you think we'd actually go on a cruise of the Boston Harbor Islands?

Dreams of water views and twenty-minute commutes don't stop us from keeping things alive and cooking at home. In an effort to live our values, we rearranged some of our living spaces. I don't have many photos to share with you because I'm waiting until the rooms are "complete" to show you the final product, but here's a photo to give you an idea of what we're doing:

Where's the giant TV? In the basement. Where's the bookcase? To the left of the plaid armchair. Where's the computer and table? Out in the sunroom again. Now we have a more formal living space, but I hesitate to call it a formal living room. We are not the kind of people who have "formal" spaces. It is really more of a library, or a study zone. I have been sitting in the armchair to study. Doug has been sitting in the vinyl chair to read. And, without the couch and TV in the living room, we are eating meals at the dining table. The change has been good for us; helps us to structure our time better. We aren't watching less TV, either; we just have it on more infrequently. We use other things, like the radio or record player - or nothing at all - as background noise. There's something very civilized and natural about this arrangement.

But there's nothing natural about Sherman's arrangement with his cone. He has a new one now, because he destroyed the cone he came in. Scratched it to death. Last Saturday when one of our friends came over to our house, he took one look at Sherman, who he had never seen before, and said, "Ew." Maybe it was the ratty cone that elicited that response. Maybe it was the crinkly ear. Or the runny eyes (which are runny because he can't wipe them, thanks to the cone). Regardless, the poor guy needs help. And we just can't decide if we want to pay for it, because it seems that the kind of help Sherman needs is expensive.

Decisions, decisions. Life is all about decisions. Here's one decision that I just made and it was so terribly easy to make - I'm going to bed now. I wish they were all this easy.

Having people over.

(Warning - like my last post, this post is being sent from my mobile device, so please pardon all typos.)

I really don't like the word "entertaining." Or, more specifically, I don't like the verb "to entertain," and the phrase, "perfect for entertaining." Or the phrase, "We love to entertain." I hear these phrases all the time on home and garden shows, the ones that showcase the people shopping for the home of their dreams. Their forever home. Their overpriced, top-of-their-budget, cookie-cutter home on the end of a cul-de-sac, with plenty of yard for the kids and dog to run around free. What does entertaining mean to these people? Bringing people over for some kind of song-and-dance routine?

Doug and I like to have people over to our house. We like people to come over and sit around and enjoy being in the company of other friends, family, or similar-minded people. We like to make sure they feel welcome and taken care of when they come to our home, meaning fed and watered. We like to make sure they have a clean place to sit. That's what we like to do. We like to open our house to others.

We did that tonight. We had friends over for an end-of-season barbecue. Hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill, a couple of types of salad, chips, appetizers courtesy of our guests, and plenty of wine and beer (most of which was consumed, as you can tell by the above photo). It was nice. Very nice. We really like having people over. We like bringing people together at our house so that they can enjoy it as much as we do.

I was thinking as I was baking and cleaning and preparing for the cookout that our house is too small for having people over. That we need a bigger kitchen. That we need a deck or a more convenient door to the patio for more seamless use of the outdoor space. But then I checked myself. Because our house is just fine. Better than fine, even - it is great. It is small and compact so people are forced to be close and socialize together. It is colorful. It is clean and comfortable. It's a home that reflects our personalities. Anything larger, anything more, would be too much. We don't need more. We have enough.

This is why I never say that Doug and I "like to entertain." That phrase reminds me of women who covet dual sinks in the master bath and granite countertops in the kitchen. Doug and I like to have people over. We like to bring people together. We like to do it in our little house with our over-turned plastic totes as tabletops. The day we start "entertaining" is the day we give up hot dogs. That would be a tragic day indeed!

Testing, testing.

I am trying out something new - blogging from my phone. If this is successful then imagine the possibilities! I could blog from anywhere about anything, and even post pictures (like the one here). Maybe, if I can blog anything from anywhere at anytime, I will actually keep up with this blog more.

I took the photo in this blog the other day when I got to work. I pulled my lunch bag out of my tote bag so that I could put it in the staff refrigerator, and I was struck at how elementary school it looked. I have mentioned this at various times on this blog, but as a kid I never wanted to be anything in particular when I grew up. Had no career aspirations, and, really, my only dream was to "be old," which to my ten year-old mind meant retired. I did, however, when thinking about being an adult, think that it would be exciting to have to get dressed up for work and wear shoes that clicked along the ground as I walked. I wonder what my ten year-old self would think about my latest choice of lunch bag. And maybe it's not the bag itself that seems so elementary school, though that pattern certainly screams first grave; it's really the label. My lunch bag is labeled in the same way it would have been labeled back in the day.

Maybe this is just more evidence to help make the case that one never really leaves one's childhood behind, and every day one is, at least a little bit, one's grade-school self. If this is true, then I am glad it's being expressed through my lunch bag and not my aqua-blue high-top LA Gears.

Paging Doctor Freud.

I am taking a psychology class this semester. I'm just a few weeks into it and we're already learning about Freud. First we learned about research methods (to remind us that psychology is indeed a science) and then we moved on to biological psychology (to also remind us that psychology is indeed a science). Now we are learning about Freud and psychoanalysis. Unlike some intro psych classes that stick strictly to the textbook, we dive right in and read a primary source. Freud, probably for a variety of reasons, has a difficult style. Takes twelve words to say what could have been said in two. But I'm sloughing through, thanks to being able to read aloud to a seasoned student of psychology.

I am not taking this class because I plan to become a psychologist or a therapist or anything like that. I just thought that this would be a good way to kill off a pretty standard pre-requisite for a potential career change, if that were to ever interest me. Teaching, dental-hygiene, nursing, speech therapy, even counseling - all of these things appeal to me, and all of the additional schooling I would need in order to pursue these careers requires a psychology class. So. I'll have my bases covered.

In the meantime, it's fun to learn about the brain and about different theories of psychology. I'm learning that Freud was one whacked-out dude, but some of his overall themes I actually think are useful and relevant. Even the idea of the id, ego, and super-ego. The idea of the self, of me, trying to create and maintain a balance between the more basic, biological needs that are battling against the bloated conscience of the external world. I like that. Maybe this is why some days feel like a struggle.

Of course, now whenever I look at something I'm reminded of some kind of psychological ideal or theory that was briefly touched on in my class. I just went through the photos on my camera to dump those I wanted onto the computer and saw this one:

I immediately thought of Freud and the possibility of Tyrone unconsciously exhibiting repressed sexual tension towards my mother (one can see Freud in anything). And then I saw Sasha trying to bust into the bag of catnip that came with her new scratching post

and was reminded of those doctors, like good Doctor Freud, who experimented with the medical possibilities of cocaine, morphine, opium, heroin, and other narcotics, on themselves and wound up, in some cases, dope fiends.

So I'm enjoying this class. It's fun to learn again, to do homework assignments, to be forced to read things that I may not otherwise have read. But let's just see if I'm singing that same tune in a few weeks when I have my first mid-term exam in something like six years. I'll have to get my seasoned student of psychology to do some review sessions with me. It will be like UCONN all over again.

Postscript: A little more, a little less.

I owe my fair readers, my mother in particular, some additional, clarifying notes on my last completed post. I got an email from my mother when she read my post in which she stated, and I quote, "I can't figure out why you are always so unhappy in your jobs. You have had some very nice jobs. A lot of people would love your job." When I read that part of her email, I immediately wanted to call her up and exclaim, "I don't hate my job! I am not unhappy! No, no, no, you misunderstand!" But, in fact, is she misunderstanding? I believe I am at fault here. I believe I am putting out false impressions about my current mental state. And I believe that it deserves clarification.

Clarification: I do not hate my job. I repeat - I do not hate my job. I will even venture to go so far as to say that I like my job. Yes, that's right. I like my job. My job allows me to have a workable schedule. I like all the people with whom I work, even the ones who I feel have talents that are best suited to a different role and are maybe not appropriately matched to their position (that's my code for people who frustrate me and who I vent about (if I do actually vent, because I am doing that so, so much less now) when I come home to Doug). I feel less like a fish out of water in academia than I did in corporate finance, so I feel much more comfortable and confident when going to work each day. I am learning new things each day (different things than I learned in my research job, but still, my mind is being stimulated). I am not as sedentary in my new job. I can walk underground through a tunnel system directly into the stacks of one of the nation's most revered library collections and borrow whatever I want from it for a whole semester. I am lucky. I have a very good job. No job is perfect, but this job is closer to whatever professional perfection is for me than my last job. So please, yes, I do not hate my job. And I am not unhappy in my job.

I am beginning to think that I am just a perpetual "venter" (I hesitate to call myself a complainer, because I really don't feel like I am complaining when I talk about what I talk about. I am just getting my feelings and reactions to life out in the open.). Like I just said, I have a need to get my feelings and reactions to life out in the open and a forum for this is my blog. I am also opinionated, strangely enough, since if you have the pleasure of hanging out with me in person you may not really gather that. I tend to be more opinionated if I feel that the company I am keeping will be receptive to my opinions, and in the case of my blog, it is always receptive to my opinions. That's the great thing about a blog. So maybe that's why I tend to do a lot of venting here.

Again, clarification: I am not unhappy. I think that I may be bored, and I may have room in my life for more (more activity, more interesting-ness, more satisfaction), but I also may just have learned coping and protective habits during my development that cause my mind to run away with its thoughts. I'm overly-analytical. I think too much. And that causes a somewhat gray and swirling cloud to form above my head, not unlike that that trails Pigpen, that can be mistaken for unhappiness. I think that I have mistaken that cloud for unhappiness at times. At a lot of times. Like, fourteen years of my life. But it's not unhappiness. I enjoy my life. I like my house. I like my cats (depending on the day). I like to do my crafty hobbies, I like to read, I like to watch the movies and TV shows that I choose to watch, I like all of that. Of course there are things that I don't like, and of course there are things that I would like to change, but they are small. They are small and somewhat inconsequential, and they hardly constitute an unhappy life.

Let's just say that I am continually searching. I'm continually thinking and searching, trying to always live up to the standards that I have set for myself (and hoping that others will live up to the standards I have set for them). My mind is often tired from this, and many, many, many times I have wished that I could just have a quiet mind. That the thinking and searching could end. But it can't. I am who I am, really, and I can't change that. I can just learn how to cope with it. I suppose what you witness, either by reading this blog or my tweets or my emails or by talking with me and hanging out with me, what you witness is my learning process. Aren't you lucky?

Okay. Because I made you read through that long diatribe, let's show some more stimulating visual content. Stimulating visual content that show some of the things that make me happy.

Last Sunday I went to work at 2pm and I left work at 8am Monday morning. (Please note: I am not complaining, or even venting. Simply stating the facts). Before Doug went to bed he sent me this photo of him and Sherman to provide me with some distraction on my very long night.



I laughed out loud when I opened this photo. It made my night. Doug was so thoughtful to send me that.

And just today I opened up my email and found a series of photos from Uncle Jimmy that are documenting the progress on his house in New Hampshire. He is having some major construction done to it, including fixing up the porch and creating a second floor in the attic space. Here's a shot of the work so far:



I can't wait to see more photos!

A little more, a little less.

What's in my backpack?

I look at job ads all the time because I am still trying to figure out what one can do with a library degree. There are all kinds of jobs out there and they are all over the place. Berkeley, Middletown, CT, Maryland, everywhere. I just saw a posting the other day that made me say, "Cool!" Associate Archivist at Biltmore Estate in Asheville, NC. Of course, the job may not really be cool when you discover what it actually involves, but if I read the posting with my Antiques Roadshow goggles and think about being in Asheville, then I become very excited and I wish I had stayed in the archives program at Simmons so that I could have had a job like this. Wishes and regrets about my professional life I have plenty.

The job, you'll note, is in NC, which is not within commuting distance of my current home in Dedham, MA. The vast majority of the jobs that I see posted that make me go, "Hmmm...." are not within commuting distance of Dedham. This is a bit of a problem, since we own a home in Dedham and the market right now is pretty poor for house-selling. And, as I have said time and time again on this blog, we really like our house and we've grown used to Dedham. But this doesn't change the fact that our house ties us down. Weighs us down and keeps us in one place. Makes our backpacks very heavy.

What do we do about that? Not quite sure. We go back and forth on this topic each day. Sell or not to sell. Move or not to move. It's the same old, same old. Blah, blah. But Doug and I are in the process of lightening the load in our backpacks in other ways. Like going through our bookshelves and pulling books that we won't read or don't have any attachment to.



Doug's going through all of his pedals and is selling some. I have started a bag for clothes and shoes give-away. We are donating two chairs to Uncle Jimmy's house in New Hampshire for when the construction on his addition is completed. We have started a tag sale pile and have several things in it already, including some pots and pans that we haven't used once since we moved into this house. Things like that.

Our "Lightening the Load," our "Great Leap Forward," was side-tracked a bit while we were dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Irene. A microburst went through our neighborhood and several extremely large and old trees met their maker because of it. Also because of it we spent four days with very limited power. No power to the main parts of our house meant that I spent a lot of time crafting. I finally made my new curtain for the kitchen:



Matching placemats:



A stupid sock creature:



What's ironic is that all of these things add weight to my backpack and so counteract what I am actually trying to do by getting rid of stuff. Because all of this is just more stuff. Now I have a spare set of curtains in storage, more placemats to store for use when the company I never invite over comes over, and a stuffed sock with button eyes that sits on the dining room table and collects cat hair. But all of it was fun to make, and I think the window looks much better with the new curtain. So maybe it's worth it to add to my backpack? Or maybe it's a balance. I can add to my backpack as long as I take more out than I am adding to it. Isn't that what life is about? Balancing the good with the bad? Yes, I think it is. And so the trial for me continues.