Coffee with breakfast

I'm sitting in Claudia's living room, listening to Dead Can Dance and drinking coffee from Bagel Brother's in Oly. She is in the kitchen, making smoothies and eggs. Her kitty, Elliot, is regarding me from her post on the tweed-patterned seat in the living room. Last night, Claudia and I missed the last bus downtown. We were at a friend's, enjoying a potluck and movie, and lost track of time reading Sherman Alexie. I often lose track of time reading Sherman Alexie.

So, we woke up this morning at Jack and Toru's, missed another bus, and made our way back to her apartment to eat breakfast and prepare for the day.

Claudia, whom I met a year ago in the Russia program, is now again in my program, Eye of the Story. We've become close since the field trip during week three to the Long Beach Peninsula. We have quite a bit in common, and seem to be working with the same membrane. It's a good friendship, and I see it lasting for a long time.

Jack and Toru are two kids from the Russia program as well, and the potluckers consisted of the four of us and another friend from the program, Peter. It was a group of the nerdiest Russia programmers, and it was fantastic. I miss my old program. The new one is riddled with pretentious idiots. I hate them. I know it's strong, but I do. I can't stand being around them for so long. So it was nice to be in a group with such a great atmosphere.

Anyway, that was my night.

Art for Art's sake!

Disclaimer: I am not a hipster.

The trees around town have been burnt by the autumn weather. They are golden, reddish, brown, and white. Yes, even white, like the white poplar near the corner market on Fourth. The undersides of its leaves are velvet (where the distinct coloration lies), and the tops are green. These leaves do not change color, as far as I can tell. They simply fall when they are ready. (Apparently, according to wikipedia, these poplars are native to Northern, wetter climates. They are often seen in swamps, wetlands, etc., and are famous in Russia. Many people consider them weeds, for they need a lot of resources and nutrients to grow. When not surrounded by the rich environments of the wetlands, their roots will become like refuges, like pioneers, searching out the wealth of others. In essence, when not in their proper environment, they are destructive - but, oh! so beautiful.)

But the other deciduous trees carpet the sidewalks and lawns of East Olympia in fall tones. Some leaves age from the center out, some from the border in. Some are fully golden, reddish, or brown; some are marbleized mixtures of each. Some are still pure and varying greens.

In all of this, it is beautiful.

I am now sitting inside with Amanda, my roommate, at Leah's, our dear friend's, reading Virginia Woolf. She is taking a twenty-four hour vacation from the kids to do homework, rest. I have noticed lately that I put commas in strange places. It's a hard habit to kick, but I think I can do it.

So, as I sit, breaking from Woolf, I will update you all: Franny is well, but going to the vet on Thursday to have her teeth checked; class is excellent, but stressful (not a good thing, as many may argue...); I am well, my living situation is good; Olympia is lively despite the natural hibernation of life (and the sun) in the North in winter; I am feeling more and more lately my paradoxical lazy ambition (or ambitious laziness? or simply laziness on one side, ambition on the other); and then there's the comma thing.

Outside again, the light is pale, sinister, calming outside. It is, like all things, complex and inexplicable - yet infinitely describable. I won't, however, bore you with infinite descriptions of the sunlight. You, I'm sure, have seen, maybe are seeing it. I don't mean to exclude here my congenital blind friends (of which I have none). There are other ways to experience the sunlight than through sight. It is felt, it is sensed. The sunlight, really, is not sunlight in itself. When we talk about it, we often include (subconsciously, unconsciously) the smells, the temperature, the winds, the other sights. The air, how it feels in our mouths and throats and lungs. It all comes together to create the sunlight.

In any case, I am only writing for the sake of writing. I have no power in my to entertain right now (others, that is, for I am certainly entertaining myself). I hope all is well in your lives!

peace&love

Self Gratification and Discovery

Blogs really are a form of self gratification. Becuase of that, I hardly ever post. Sorry, faithful reader(s)(if any exist).

Anyway, in an effort to connect better with my program (Eye of the Story: ethnography and creative writing), I'm going to attempt to blog more frequently. I should probably set a limit. Three a week? Think that's doable? We'll see.

So let's get to the life update: I am now living with a family. Mother and father, both twenty six; three year old daughter; six month old son; two cats; and Franny. Franny is my cat of twelve years, and it's excellent having her around. I am studying, as previously mentioned, ethnography and creative writing.

Right now, I am with the preschooler, K, and my good friend, Leah, watching a School House Rock episode about checks and banks.

"What's this about?" K asks.

"This is about checking accounts." Leah replies.

Leah quilts, K watches, I blog, and all of us learn about adjectives. "Boys are dumb, or else they're brainy," we learn. The narrators leave no room for mediocrity. But soon, K is tired and heads to Leah's room for a nap. How long she will be there, I do not know, but I am glad for the break from School House Rock. As great as it is, one can only take so many songs about prepositions, deficits, and discovery.

A song starts when she has left describing the pilgrims and the history of colonial America. The plight of the Indians during this time is referenced only by a caricature which appears at the landing at Plymouth Rock. But before the song ends, Leah turns off the DVD player.

This is a familiar afternoon. Whether it's watching the kids (I do part-time nannying), hanging out with Leah in her craft room, or both, I have found constancy in my life. I have people, I have place. And every day, I learn something new. Like yesterday, for example, I felt the sting of my own prejudices. And today, I realized that writing makes me feel alive. Certainly, I've learned this before, but I forget. Sometimes, we can learn the same thing over and over, and still never know it. I hope that I know this now. I hope things will change.

And I hope that people, place, and vitality exist in all of your lives as well. Until next time...

peace&love