On Graduation. And the last few months.

Today was my graduation day. Instead of going to school and sitting in an insufferably long ceremony with my classmates, I lead a Mountaineers trip to one of my favorite alpine lakes. The five of us chatted about many things along the way -- adventures in online dating, the fact that I finally finished graduate school, hikes, and other things. When we got to the lake itself, we ate our lunch quietly, just awe-struck by the beauty around us.

Lake 22 sits at the base of Mt. Pilchuck. I like to describe it as looking "almost primeval." There are large boulders on the far shore -- likely placed there by some long-ago avalanche. Pockets of snow were scattered on the boardwalk around the lake. Waterfalls tumbled from melting snow on high. Even though clouds filled the basin, blocking the view of the mountain, the view was still lovely.

I sat there, thinking about everything that happened in the past few months. Within the last nine months, I've gone from the lowest I ever felt to feeling like well, things are going pretty great. Back in November, I made one of those life-changing decisions I never thought I'd have to make. It's a long story, and probably one I shouldn't share here, but I got a nasty introduction to the dark side of teaching. It shook my faith in who I was as a person, in how I always believed one should treat other people, and make me realize that teaching's not the right career path for me. I made the decision to take the teaching certificate out of my program and just go for a straight Masters in Education. It meant leaving my cohort -- the people who I'd had every class with -- and striking out on my own.

One of the things that I know about myself is that sometimes you have to strike out on your own to get what you want. I read all sorts of job search books, and discovered several things that probably won't surprise any of my readers. First, I'm the kind of person who wants a job where I can be an advocate. I'm one of those bleeding heart liberal types that wants to make the world around me a better place. I believe I can do that by advocating for others. Second, I discovered that I desperately wanted and needed more balance in my life. I don't mind putting in long hours when the occasion calls for it, but student teaching was more draining than I thought it would be. My cohort mates were saying things like "this is so much fun" and all I could think about was "this is so much work."

Through research (and the wonderful website Idealist), I found a job that Dave Niehaus would have said was "in my wheelhouse." The position involved working with 30 different school districts, talking about financial aid with students, parents, and staff in each. I'd have to build strong relationships with the people with whom I was working. Well, as my mom would tell you, I'm the queen of networking. I'm good at building both relationships and community. And seven years of graduate school prepares one quite well for talking about college and financial aid.

I cast my hat in the ring. And I got the job. I'm doing meaningful, fulfilling work. I feel like I'm actually making a difference in kids' lives. Some days, what the kids tell me makes me want to cry. Poverty sucks. That might be the understatement of the year. Many days make me want to laugh. My job brings me a lot of joy -- joy like I've never had before. I feel like I've finally found what it is I'm supposed to be doing with my life. I often think "Of course. This makes total sense. Helping kids get into college and get financial aid for it? Yup. This feels right." It only took me seven years. But hey -- I've become the student loan expert in the office, and that means something.

So the other big thing that happened is this -- with me feeling settled and having a direction, I realized that it was time to evaluate the state of my relationship. Andy* (name changed) was a great person -- is a great person -- but I took a step back and realized that we just weren't right for each other. I'm what some friends call an "introverted extrovert." I love hanging out with my silly, amazing, one-of-a-kind friends. When it comes to meeting people, I can be pretty fearless. Especially after I've had a beer. Remember, this is the woman who walked up to Mariners pitching coach John Wetteland and told him she hoped his team started pitching better. This is the woman who saw her favorite Sounder in a bar and took it upon herself to make an introduction. And Andy? Well, several friends didn't even meet him in the little over a year we were together. And every time he needed to write his fiction, I couldn't even be in the same house. The same room I get -- I'm a writer, and used to cover my computer screen with my hands so Mom couldn't see what I was writing. But the same house? Seriously? If we were going to get married, where was going to go when he needed to write?

I felt lonely in my own relationship at times. I realized that if I kept going down the road I was going down, Andy and I would end up in the loneliest marriage on the planet. I knew he believes that marriage is forever. And I'd like to think I have a forever person out there somewhere. But realistically, marriages don't work out for many, many reasons. Just because someone gets divorced doesn't mean that this person failed at being married. Honestly, if two people have fallen out of love with each other, it's better for all involved to get divorced. This I strongly believe.

After a trip to Portland in which we bickered over little things, I'd had it. We went to Fred Meyer to get some food, and I was standing in line for the self checkout, just staring at the Fred Meyer Jewelers. I had this visceral reaction. I knew, first, that Andy was never going to get me a ring. Ever. And second, I knew that I had to end the relationship right then. Everything happens for a reason. I listen to my gut. I follow my heart over my head every single time. So we broke up in the car. I walked away. And I haven't looked back.

I turned thirty about six months ago. It seemed so old when my good friend David and I were in high school. We were walking through the mall once, and I stopped and turned to him and said, "Oh my God, David. We're halfway to thirty." Well guess what? Thirty's here. And the woman I am at thirty is the woman I've always wanted to be. Always. Strong, smart, able to think (or talk) her way out of almost any situation. Funny, friendly, and happy. Has a strong, strong sense of direction. It took me a while. It took me a good long while. But I'm here. And you know what? I kick ass!

In the last eight months, I have found a direction, written a second master's thesis, gotten my first real job, and had the presence of mind to leave a relationship that wasn't going anywhere. As of today, I am no longer a graduate student. My university bus pass doesn't work anymore! It's so weird!

In the words of the Indigo Girls, "it's remarkable the mess we make and what we can survive." In the words of Kelly Clarkson:

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger

Stand a little taller

Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone

Maybe I will get that tattoo of a compass I've always wanted. :)

A sandwich for a homeless vet

I bought a homeless guy a sandwich on Friday night. He was standing in front of the QFC in my neighborhood, bearing a sign that read "Homeless Veteran. Anything Helps." I gave him one of those sheepish smiles -- the kind that says "well, I'd like to help you, but I'm a graduate student, and I have no money..."

"You have a beautiful smile," he said. That did it. So I asked him if he wanted a sandwich.

"Yes, please. Roast beef. That would be the first meal I've had all day."

I grabbed a four dollar roast beef sandwich and gave it to him on my way out the door.

"Where did you serve?" I asked.

"Iraq. Desert Storm. The worst part was when they lit the oil fields on fire, and it smelled like constant burning. All the time. I'm surprised my nose recovered. And man, was it ever dusty. I was glad when I got out and came home."

"Thank you for serving our country, sir," I said.

There were tears in his eyes as I walked away.

I never used to buy sandwiches for homeless vets. Occasionally I would buy food for the guy outside of the grocery store, particularly if it was around the holidays. But I find myself frequently adding a sandwich to my grocery store bill and giving it to the guy out front with a homeless vet sign. See, the man I'm dating served in Afghanistan and is in the Army Reserves. If he were ever in need of a sandwich, I'd want a kind stranger to buy one for him, too.

I've changed my mind about certain things since beginning to date a guy in the military. I think I'm more critical of the way our troops are being used. I mean, did we really have to go into Libya? Couldn't somebody else have taken up the mantle of "defender of human rights and enemy of abusive dictators?" C'mon, we weren't the only ones upset about Ghadaffi. What about bringing the troops home from Afghanistan and Iraq like you promised, Mr. President?

When they found Osama bin Laden and were discussing whether or not to release the photos, I found myself 100 percent against the idea. Before, I likely would have been all for it under the principle of freedom of information. Now, I see it as a national security threat. The appearance of gloating over the death of an enemy could lead to more problems for our troops down the road. And really, I'd rather not put our soldiers in any more danger than they're already in.

I told Noah that, if he had been over there when they found bin Laden, I would have been on the phone with my senators faster than you could say "jackrabbit," telling them on no uncertain terms that they would absolutely not agree to releasing those photos. Hell no.

I'm going to continue to buy sandwiches for homeless vets. They put themselves in harm's way for us, and a sandwich is the least I can do. And I'll probably continue to get upset by TV episodes (like Law and Order or Bones) that use fictionalized events involving dead soldiers.

I guess it hits a little too close to home for me these days.

On the Death of Osama bin Laden

(Note: I wrote this in response to something my pastor posted on our church blog, "The Comma.")

My first reaction was one of disbelief. They got him? They actually got him? The boogie man the government has been warning us about for 20 years? The one who caused so much heartache and grief on 9/11? Wow.

I never felt any joy at his death.

And then I suddenly felt empty. It was like the wind got knocked out of me. As the president came on television, I found myself starting to cry. Maybe there was a little bit of closure with this news, but I'd much rather they'd caught him, brought him back alive, and put him through the American justice system. Let him be judged by a jury of his peers before he is judged by God. Because I want to know why. Why did Osama bin Laden direct terrorists to fly planes into the Twin Towers? What have we done to deserve this? And how do we make it right?

And the ideal sentence? Not death, but life in prison in a cell with a television where the pictures and stories of the ones he's killed flash over and over again. The families of the 3000 killed on September 11th are awaiting their own reconciliation.

How do we even begin to talk about reconciliation with people who don't listen? How do we begin to reach out to those whose hearts are filled with such hate?

I remember quite vividly where I was on September 11th. That event was nothing like anything I had ever experienced. I had just begun my sophomore year of college. Never had I felt that the world was so off balance. We gathered together on a big field at Whitman, holding hands in a circle and singing "Amazing Grace." We sang and sang until it grew late, and the circle grew smaller, and one by one we trickled back to our dorms. We left the candles burning.

That event, more than anything, has defined the conditions in which I have lived my adult life. It led to restrictions at the airport, a heightened sense of fear, surveillance, the persecution of Muslims, the persecution of anyone who dared to question the Bush administration's actions, the Patriot Act, and war. In a way, the terrorists won. We altered how we live our lives. The death of Osama bin Laden doesn't change the last nine years. We can't go back to our normal lives. I wish that we could. I don't like living my life feeling like I'm supposed to look over my shoulder, in fear those around me. I don't like it that it's socially acceptable for an American woman at the Dublin airport to get my attention, point at a man in a turban, and whisper "I hope and pray he's not on our flight." My own stunned reaction was to tell her (in my normal speaking voice) that I didn't see anything wrong with a man wearing a turban.

I wish we, as a nation, could take time to reflect. I wanted to be with others last night -- not to rejoice, but to have a conversation. What do we do now? How do we move forward? How do we address the conditions that fuel terrorism in the first place? There is deep disparity in this world. And I believe that there will always be people who hate Americans for what we represent. How do we meet that hate with reconciling love? How do we change our country and our policies back to something we can be more proud of?

Because I'm tired of constant vigilance. I'm tired of surveillance. I'm tired of the culture of fear that has sprung up all around me. That was not the culture I thought I'd exit into after graduating from college.

Most of all, though, I'm tired of being told that I'm supposed to be afraid.

Two Thousand Women

So, I know I haven't finished my travel blog yet, but I am hopping mad by this story out of France. And also really upset by peoples' intolerance.

France's ban on the burqa went into effect today. The Guardian has a summary of what happened: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/apr/11/france-bans-burqa-and-niqab

Why did Sarkozy choose to do this? Because he sees these women as a threat. They could hide explosives under their burqas and become suicide bombers.

But couldn't kids with baggy pants do the same thing?

And how many people does this law effect? 2000 out of an estimated 5 million Muslims in France.

You read that right. Two thousand women.

Now, I don't like the burqa. I see it as a symbol of Islam's oppression of women. And yes, it's absolutely unsettling to talk to someone when you can't see their face. But a quote from this woman who chooses NOT to wear a burqa, and wore a niqab (similar full-body covering) to protest the ban sums up how I feel "This is the first time I've ever protested over anything. I'm not in favour of the niqab, I don't wear it myself. But it's wrong for the government to ban women from dressing how they want. Islamophobia is on the rise in France. First it's the niqab, then they'll ban the jilbab, then it will be plain headscarves outlawed."

Two thousand women. Why should the decision about what they wear be in the hands of the French government or the police? And, according to an editorial from the Toronto Star, these are private citizens, not those in public positions.

France's attack on Islam isn't going to do anything to promote favorable Western relations with Islam. If the West really wanted to do something about suicide bombers and extremists, it would attack the underlying conditions that give rise to extremism. It would mitigate the conditions of world poverty, stop invading places where we really have no business, and send food, not bombs, to the Third World. Do this, and I betcha extremism would die down.

Make two thousand women into scapegoats for a larger problem, and extremism rises.

I got in a Facebook debate with someone who didn't see it this way. She passionately argued that Muslims should follow the customs of the countries in which they lived. She said that France was doing this in order to combat terrorism. She thought that the US should force conservative Islam to change by banning the burqa.

Nowhere have I been more thankful for the First Amendment. "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

We can't ban the burqa. Thankfully.

I've been thinking a lot about the kind of teacher I want to be -- and about my teaching philosophy. I want to be a teacher who is committed to social justice. And when my students see women wearing burqas, I don't want their first reaction to be "what if she's hiding explosives underneath?" I want my students to be ethical and passionate and recognize an injustice when they see one.

Two thousand women. Seriously, France?

From Belgrade to London

NOTE: This was written on Sunday. Haven't had a chance to post until now!

I’m in the Atlanta airport, waiting for my next flight. The WiFi here doesn’t work, so I’m typing this up on my computer, hoping to be on a flight with free WiFi. Cross your fingers folks!

We had about a half day in Belgrade before making our way to the airport
and boarding a flight to London. We decided to go to the House of Flowers – the Museum of Yugoslavia and the complex where Josip Broz Tito is buried. When I’d visited before with my parents, we were basically the only people in there, save for a few Japanese tourists. This time, I was in for a surprise.

Our city bus pulled up right before a bus full of people on a tour of the complex. At least three buses full of pilgrims unloaded at the complex while we were there. While in the museum, I spotted one man wearing his Pioneer scarf and hat – basically declaring his allegiance to the former socialist regime. The Pioneers were kind of like socialist Boy Scouts. Many boys and girls joined the Pioneer associations all over the former Yugoslavia. I found it really interesting that he chose to wear his uniform to the House of Flowers. Old allegiances die hard, I guess.

The new museum, where previously they’d had an exhibit about Tito’s staterooms, was closed this time. The old museum and the House of Flowers were both open, although they were doing some renovation work on the latter. I still got a sense of how loved Tito was by Yugoslavs, but I think the effect was stronger when the new museum was open.

The way the complex is laid out, you walk past many statues of Tito or other statues in the style of “socialist realism.” Socialist realism is not the most imaginative of styles. It might be easiest to look it up on Wikipedia, rather than have me try to describe it. Think big, blocky people with large muscles in plain, simple clothes in poses venerating work and you’ve pretty much got the idea. Anyway, after walking past the statues, you go into this little house, and there’s the grave. It’s in a large, open room surrounded by smaller rooms full of stuff. Tito’s grave is marked by a large marble stone that reads “Josip Broz Tito” with his birth and death dates. It’s simple and tasteful.

In one of the rooms at the House of Flowers was a display of race batons. On Tito’s birthday, May 25th, a large relay race was run all over Yugoslavia. People made batons and gave them to Tito when they finished the race. Representatives of different social groups and nationalities all ran. The museum collected the batons and they are now on display. It was really interesting, seeing what people made to honor Tito.

After purchasing some swag for my now-famous Commie shelf, we made our way back into the city to catch our shuttle to the airport. I’d never flown through Belgrade’s Nikola Tesla airport before – and honestly, after this experience, I might never do so again. The security guards all had submachine guns out. Seriously. It was rather intimidating just to see serious-looking soldiers with large weapons casually walking around the airport.

We went through security not once, but twice – entering the airport and again at our gate. Smiley and I had made the decision to fly Wizz Air, lured by the promise of a $100 flight from Belgrade to London. Well, we learned that you get what you pay for. In a big way. They announced “priority boarding” while we were all crowded into one tiny gate. In order to separate those who paid for priority boarding from those who didn’t, they checked us in, sending some people to the left and others to the right to be held at the gate. We went to the left. This meant that we went downstairs and boarded a little bus. We thought that the bus would take us to our plane – like it did when we were in the Prague airport. Instead, we sat there. For a good fifteen minutes. When the driver got the signal, he drove us under the plane’s wing to the back of the plane. This was the same plane that was sitting at our gate.

We boarded from the back while other folks boarded from the front. Smiley and I found two seats together. I surmised that the flight wasn’t full, and asked him to move over and claim an aisle seat. Now, I’m about 5’11” with long legs. I usually fit in most planes, and have a bearable amount of legroom. My knees hit the back of the seat in front of me. That’s never happened before. They had crammed a ton of seats into the plane. I felt bad for the Serbs on the plane – Serbs are generally pretty tall, and I don’t know how guys who were 6’7” fit in that small space. It was worse than the SkyEurope flight my family and I took from Prague to Dubrovnik, where my hips touched the arm bars the entire time – and I should note here that my jean size is below that of the American average. I’m a tall person, but I wouldn’t call myself a large person. My hips shouldn’t touch the arm bars on a flight.

Making matters worse was the fact that the woman sitting directly in front of me didn’t have any deodorant on. And she slept with her arm raised during the whole flight. Honestly, every time she moved, I felt like I was going to throw up. Also, the seats didn’t recline.

I could go on and on. I’m never flying Wizz Air again! We did, eventually, make it to London. Three hours later, I was touching down at the Luton airport, getting ready to see a city I’d only flown through and never experienced for myself.
More on that later. We’re boarding in 15 minutes!

Belgrade, my old friend

Fair warning for blog fans -- this may be my last post for a bit. I brought a Netbook with me with which to blog, but do not have the right kind of cable, plug, or converter for Europe. If I have the opportunity, I will take it to the Samsung store in London to see if I can pick up a converter or adapter there. If it's prohibitively expensive, however, I won't buy a European adapter. We don't have free Internet at the hostel in London (although it is supposedly inexpensive).

We've been in Belgrade since Wednesday afternoon. Flew on the smallest plane I have ever been on between Prague and Belgrade. It was an ATR-42 -- a turbo-prop plane. And we sat right next to the engine. It felt fitting, flying between two formerly Communist countries on such a small plane.

There were another pair of Americans on the plane. I wanted to talk to them to ask them what they did, and I should have. As we got off the plane in Belgrade, we saw a man holding a sign for "Ambassador Stephen Rapp." Turns out the ambassador-at-large for war crimes issues was on our flight. It would have been really interesting for me to talk with him. Too bad. Next time.

Belgrade is as gritty as ever. It was amazing to me how familiar the city felt after three years. Our driver, Severim, picked us up at the airport. He explained that there has been a lot of renovation work over the past few years. They are doing much needed work on one of the bridges over the Sava. As a result, there was a lot of traffic coming into the city, with Serbian drivers making their own lanes on the shoulder. Some pretty crazy driving!

The big Partizan-Crvena Zvezda soccer match was on Wednesday night. We thought about getting tickets to the match, but then I remembered that anti-American violence can break out after these games. Smiley and I watched it on TV instead. When we were out walking, every cafe in Belgrade had it on. The whole city was watching.

Spent the first night wandering around a bit. I had decided I wanted to eat my way through Belgrade, so we found čevapi and burek. Yum! I had really missed real čevapi.

We spent most of our time in Belgrade just walking around. On the way to Trg Republike, I stopped at a trafika stand to purchase the mobile number I'd promised everyone I would get. While in line, a man asked me in English if I liked Tito and proceeded to explain that Tito was a fascist bastard who lost Kosovo for Serbia and that NATO is also full of fascists. Wow. I kept repeating "I'm sorry" in English, and eventually he gave up trying to get a rise out of me and moved on. The woman at the trafika stand and I exchanged a funny look, and I proceeded to get my mobile number.

Belgrade felt like a familiar old friend I had not seen for years. Some things have changed, but much of it is the same. There is definitely a lot of construction, particularly in the center and in the city parks. St. Mark's Church and the Federal Parliament building are both undergoing renovations. These are likely much-needed, as many of the buildings are covered in a layer of grime, likely from pollution. The facades of others are cracked and falling down. Restoration is needed.

After our encounter with the Tito-hater, we began walking around Belgrade in earnest. Our walk took us down Skadarska street. Somebody had put in a sign showing the distance between Belgrade and other destinations, including the moon. Ha!

Stopped at Trattoria Košava for lunch. The pizza was so tasty. But the waiter spoke Serbian so quickly that I had to keep asking him to repeat himself. I did okay when people spoke to me slowly, but had a tough time when people talked so fast. After the meal, I thanked him for speaking Serbian with me, as I am trying to learn the language. He told me he could tell that I speak some Serbian, and spoke it so I would learn. He said that many Japanese people can speak Serbian well after just 3 months here, but for Americans it is more difficult. Nice conversation.

We followed the walk listed in the guidebook to Kalmegdan. We walked out to the terrace and took pictures of the view. I ended up taking off my little cardigan because I was warm. Back inside the fortress, an older man asked me in Serbian where my jacket was because it was not super warm out. I showed him my sweater and asked him the word for it...and we got into a 30 minute conversation. He asked me how we were enjoying Belgrade, what we thought of Serbia, etc. We then started talking about the global economic crisis, the catastrophe in Japan, and how more American investment is needed in Serbia. He said that Serbia has so much opportunity for agriculture and I agreed. We kept switching between Serbian and English for Smiley's sake. He mentioned that he had had a conversation with Milošević about seeking help from the U.S. instead of from Israel. It sounded like he was in the know. He gave me his name and address and told me to write next time I come to Serbia. He said he'd show me some important cultural sites. I swear I'd read his name in one of my textbooks about Serbia. I think he may have been in the govt or something.

The chat with the guy in the park made Smiley's trip, I think. He got to experience some of that amazing Serbian friendliness I am always raving about. It was cool.

From there, we walked to the Tesla museum. They were about to close, but generously let us join the last tour to see the demonstrations. On the way, we mailed our postcards from the giant Pošta by the Parliament Building. The post office worker complimented my Serbian and was surprised when I said I was really enjoying Belgrade.

Ended our very full day with drinks at the Federal Association of World Travelers, a bar that kind of looks like a grandmother's basement. It's awesome. Between drinks there and eating my way through Belgrade (made sure to find palačinke and potato burek today), it's been a good, albeit short, trip. Looking forward to coming back sometime soon.

What has changed in Belgrade besides construction? Well, there are way more hostels now than there were in 2008. I knew of just a couple back then, and now they are everywhere. Also, many of the cafes have wifi now. That is new! And Tašmajdan Park is being restored with funds from the government of Azerbaijan. I never would have expected that!

Today, we figured out how to get from Luton airport to our hostel in London, and took the tram out to Tito's grave. There were some nice, new signs in English at the House of Flowers. The main museum was closed, but you could still see the room with all the batons and the grave itself. Neat stuff. I managed to pick up more buttons for my Commie shelf back home! Yay!

Ate more čevapi in town, and wandered back to our hostel. I would definitely stay here again. It's clean and reasonably quiet -- and small. I like small hostels better than large industrial ones. Unfortunately, I think we may be staying in a large hostel in London.

Hopefully I'll be back in Belgrade again within a couple of years. I miss this city when I'm not here!

Isn't there a rhyme about the rain in Spain?

Zdravo iz Beograda! Smiley and I made it here this afternoon and are chilling in the hostel tonight, trying to find the Chelsea champions league match against FC Copenhagen. We may have to stream this on my computer, so I'll likely only have enough time to write about our last day in Barcelona.

It poured yesterday morning. The rain was unlike anything I'd ever seen. We counted lightning every 5-10 seconds. Even Barca residents were taking shelter. We huddled under the big overhang of the Liceu to wait it out, along with about 50 other people. Residents were peering out from their balconies and taking pictures of the rain -- it was that wild. I thought for sure there was going to be a flash flood in the streets.

I'm from Seattle. I thought I knew rain. I'd never seen it rain that hard for so long. The streets were just covered in water. People kept walking by peddling black market umbrellas. We bought ours at a news stand for 6.50 euros. It was so worth it.

We stayed under the overhang for a good 45 minutes. The temp dropped at least 2-3 degrees while we were standing there. There was some crazy hail, too.

When it finally stopped raining, we got some amazing hot chocolate in the Barri Gothic and then walked around. The narrow, wet streets made for some neat pictures. We tried to go to La Seu, the big cathedral, but had just missed the free hours. So we wandered around a little more and tried to go to the Barca history museum. It was closing in an hour, so we decided to come back after the afternoon siesta. All the museums close between 2-5 during the winter months for siesta time.

The rain had stopped, so we went up to Parc Guell to see more Gaudi. It was really cool. The modernist architecture was just fantastic. We wandered inside a blue house that had beautiful lines of architecture. The houses were decorated with lovely ceramic tiles in imaginative colors and shapes. Thankfully the weather held long enough for us to wander around the park. I took a bunch of pictures of kids playing tag in the large entryway columns.

Back to the history museum once it reopened. The real draw here for us were the Roman ruins. They were incredibly well-preserved. There was a laundry room, wine pressing room, and fish sauce making room. There were sewage lines and drainage areas. Even some wheel ruts.

Afterwards, we walked through the Gothic cathedral at La Seu. It's got beautiful art inside. It's a pretty standard large Catholic cathedral, with many chapels and a rather large nave. Instead of candle votives, though, they had these little lights. I thought the lights were kinda lame.

Finished the day in a tea house, drinking choco chai, writing, and talking about where to get food. Our flight this morning was at 8 AM, so it was a rather early night for us. Woke up and wandered into a conversation that we thought sounded like a couple breaking up...whoops.

OK -- I gotta go stream the Chelsea game now. Low-key night tonight. More about coming "back home" to Belgrade later.

Las Ramblas, La Boqueria, Camp Nou, and other Barcelona Wanders

We began today's wanders with a walk down Las Ramblas. We stopped at La Boqueria market -- an awesome market that puts Pike Place to shame. Such color! Such variety! There were stalls everywhere just full of new and interesting fruit, sweets, and other wares. We picked up bread, cheese, and chorizo for lunch for about 5 euros. That's right -- 5 euros. One of my top travel tips for y'all is to find the local market and make use of it every time you travel. You can save yourself a load of money and sample great regional breads and cheeses, too. It was so cheap and tasty!

We then made our way out to Camp Nou, the home stadium of FC Barcelona. I covered that visit pretty well on my sports blog, Sportsology. You can find more information about our Camp Nou tour here (http://sportsology.wordpress.com/2011/03/14/camp-nou/). Needless to say, it's hard for me not to root for Barca after that. Not only are they the best team in the world (winning 6 European cups in one season definitely qualifies this statement), but they also safeguard Catalan identity in a big way. I will wear my FC Barcelona scarf with pride, and scoff at all of you who call them the "Yankees" of soccer.

While at Camp Nou, it started raining pretty hard. The nice thing about Barcelona rain is that it's warm -- unlike rain in my Seattle hometown this time of year. Or any time of year. So we took the Metro over to Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's unfinished church. Wow. It's unlike anything I've ever seen. Really. I'll post pictures once I get back to the states to show you. It's almost modernist in its style. The interior is just awe-inspiring -- large vaulted ceilings with built-in lights. There are stained glass windows everywhere.

Gaudi took over the project in 1884. He used the church to explore his own spirituality. After his death in 1926, there was a debate over how to best finish the church. Some wanted to leave it unfinished, while others decided to keep going and try to stay true to Gaudi's spirit. The original plans were mostly destroyed during the Spanish Civil War -- a period of history I'd really like to find out more about. They've been working on the church for more than 100 years. Wow.

We spent the rest of the rainy day in the Maritime Museum. It was pretty cool. It had a neat exhibit about all the languages of the Mediterranean. A portion of it showcased the sounds of places such as markets and temples. The language geek in me found it awesome. There was also an exhibit about sharks and overfishing, and one about travel and seafaring. Cool stuff.

Dinner tonight consisted of tasty traditional Catalan food. Smiley and I split a tuna and potato pie. And I had chicken covered with emmentaler cheese. The chicken was perfectly grilled and wonderfully tasty. Yum!

A word about Barcelona residents -- they are some of the nicest people! I know that Spanish is not the main language here (as mentioned before, Catalan is a very different language), but most people speak a little Spanish. They are quite patient when I explain "hablo un pequito espanyol" (can't make a tilde with my keyboard...sorry Spanish speakers). I hit my head on a low-lying ceiling (Spaniards are also rather short), and the folks in the cafe were so nice about it. They asked me several times if I'm okay. I'm fine -- no concussion, just a rather large bump. Soy alta chica! What can I do?

Hopefully the weather will be nicer tomorrow for our planned wanders -- the Gothic quarter, Park Guell, and possibly a couple of museums! I may try to find a Spanish team World Cup scarf while I'm at it as well.

Adios for now!

Touchdown Barcelona!

First, it's really difficult to blog when Firefox automatically translates instructions on webpages into Catalan. I remember a little bit of my high school Spanish, but Catalan is completely different in some ways. I brought my little Netbook for blogging, and even though my language is set to English, Firefox still translates everything!

Anna and Smiley's Most Excellent European Adventure has officially begun! We are in Barcelona, Spain, after about 15 hours of traveling yesterday. My key to beating jet lag is to sleep as much as I can on the plane (thank you, Tylenol PM) and then to stay up as late as I can once I get to where I'm going. It worked pretty well, except I started fading around 5 PM local time.

We took a bus to our hostel, the Hostel Sant Jordi Arago. It's just a short walk from Las Ramblas, a major walking street in Barcelona. It's a nice place, and I would recommend it to others traveling here. The rooms are comfortable and quiet.

We grabbed a tapas lunch (yum), and started walking Las Ramblas. The buildings around here are pretty interesting -- they remind me quite a bit of Morocco. It's a neat mix between Spanish and Arabian architecture. On Las Ramblas, we saw a bunch of people dressed up as human statues -- butterflies, and even Gene Simmons from Kiss! Passing tourists give them coins to make them do things. I snapped a bunch of pictures.

After a nap, we went to a cafe down the street to watch the Barcelona-Sevilla match. Sports fans the world over make the same rooting noises. So I fit right in. One thing that I found really interesting happened when Barca scored a goal. Rather than preemptively celebrate, the fans in the cafe waited until the ref confirmed the goal before cheering. We all got really into it at the end of the game. Sevilla had some good looks, and at times Barca's defense really broke down. (Just like the Sounders!) Barca was pressing hard at the end, but the game ended in a 1-1 draw. It was fun.

Today, we plan on walking Las Ramblas, checking out La Boqueria market, and touring Camp Nou, the Barcelona soccer stadium. It's going to be an awesome day!

Gardening as an Act of Gratitude

A much-welcomed warm day provided me with a chance to get my hands in the ground. It has been rather chilly and wet in Seattle as of late. Two weeks ago, I was dodging snow squalls while on my way to class in Bothell. At this time last year, my first batch of peas was starting to sprout, and I'd planted a second batch in containers. Mother Nature is fickle, and my planting date will likely change from year to year.

I turned over the cover crop in the containers, as well as in half of my raised bed. I'll be planting things in shifts this year, depending on the month (and on the date of the Seattle Tilth plant sale). Using a too-small bucket, I shuttled back and forth between the compost pile and my garden, humming to myself while I put a layer of compost over the upturned winter cover. Using my favorite tool, the one that looks like a bent fork, I worked the compost and the cover crop leavings into the soil. My soil looks good this year. The cover crop kept it light, loose, and airy. It didn't seem as compacted as last year.

After this work was done, I planted sugar snap peas, sugar daddy peas (hee hee), Champion radishes and rhubarb chard. My spring crops are officially in the ground!

It took me a couple of hours to do the work, and I gave thanks for the lazy Saturday. I'd managed to write two of my four papers during the week, and wrote the third for an independent study in just two days. I decided I deserved a break. This morning, I went to a yoga class. And this afternoon, I gardened.

Gardening can be an act of gratitude. I kept saying thanks for things today. Thank you for my brain. Thank you for a dry, sunny afternoon. Thank you for good dirt. Thank you for the food I will grow. Thank you for the difficult lessons I learned in the past year. Thank you for being forgiving.

I can't wait until my little sproutlings come up again! I wonder how big my peas will get this year?

All the Love in the World

My Kindle keeps resetting itself, making it difficult to work on my papers. If it keeps it up, I may have to reset to factory defaults. C'mon little Kindle! Stay on! This is the second time this has happened. Third time's the charm, and then Amazon gets a phone call.

Some wonderful friends are taking me out tonight to celebrate the anniversary of my unexpected singlehood. After sitting for (hopefully) my last set of WEST-Es this morning, I was reflecting about things I wish I'd known a year ago -- lessons that maybe only a really awful breakup can teach. My early morning Facebook status read something like this "Today I am thankful for friends who held me when I cried and brought me food and for the parents who let me come home a year ago. What a difference a whole year makes!"

Lesson #1 -- All the Love in the World is within reach.
Most of my friends know how much I love them because I tell them I do. Wow -- I just teared up thinking about this next sentence. One of the lessons I learned is how loved I am by my friends and family. I have a pretty amazing cheering section filled with people who will bring me food when I'm sad and will share my joy. All the love in the world is within my grasp -- it surrounds me daily. Words cannot express how blessed I am and how grateful I feel for all of my people. Thank you for laughing and crying with me. I love you all.

Lesson #2 -- Sometimes God puts blessings in unexpected places.
I'm not sure if I've written about God here before. I have a quite strong belief in God. Some things happened to me when I was younger that I took as proof of God's existence. My faith has been shaken and tested at times, but I always return to it. I'm not shy about being a very liberal, progressive Christian, but I don't really bring this up in everyday conversation. Sometimes being Christian in Seattle feels very lonely.

Anyway, with my very unexpected singlehood came many blessings. The biggest one was that I discovered a confidence and a fierceness I didn't know I had. Another was lesson #1 -- realizing how much I too am loved.

Lesson #3 -- Grieving is healing.
My pastor Catherine listened to me while I sobbed. She told me "God teaches us that this will get better. But you can't go around your grief. Nor can you go over and under it. You just have to get through it." She reminded me that joy awaited me on the other side. Grief sucks, but it gets better. And the joy awaiting me on the other side of all that grief was so joyful that it was worth it. I'm a person who lives her life joyfully. I've learned recently that this is an aspect of my character that new people pick up on rather quickly. Grieving is hard for me because I usually live a joyful life. But I think that, through the grief, I learned how to have empathy for others going through similar situations.

Lesson #4 -- When you're knocked down, you come back stronger.
A year ago, I was broken. And now I climb mountains. If that's not coming back stronger, than I don't know what is!

Those are the big ones. As I pause to reflect, I am reminding myself that this will be my year of living joyfully. My "new year of happy," so to speak. It's easy to live joyfully when you're surrounded by all the love in the world.

Thank you.

Happy Birthday, Garden!

It's been a year since I started chronicling my gardening and life adventures. A whole year since I put my first little pea seeds in the ground. A year since my house looked like a grow house -- it glowed in the dark because of all the tomato grow lights, and I must have looked like the worst pot grower ever.

And yes, it's almost one year to the day of the worst breakup I have ever experienced. On a study break on this cold cold Seattle night, I am thinking about what a difference an entire year has made. I wrote in an earlier post that I have become the woman who climbs mountains in this past year. I think I've regained my groove. I'm not as afraid to try new things, and to live life with the joyful abandon I thought I'd lost. I feel more alive now than ever before -- back to being 100% truly me. 29 has been a good year, and it's only going to get better.

I am currently having a text message conversation with a cute, neat guy about Mardi Gras, which reminds me that it's almost Lent. I wrote him "it's almost Lent, and I have to think about what to give up!" Maybe I shouldn't think about what to give up. Maybe, instead, I should commit to something. I should commit to doing something for myself -- to set an intention for the period of Lent for how I want my life to be. I'm writing this a bit on the fly, but I think I want to commit to living joyfully. I want my Lent to be a time of laughter, joy, singing, and new experiences. I know Lent is supposed to be a thoughtful, pensive period -- and a period of self-denial. But I had a lot of pensiveness and a lot of sorrow last year around Lent. And this year, I think God would be okay with a little more joy in the world. I may write more on this later.

Back from rambling to the title of the post.

Happy Birthday, Garden! Thank you for teaching me that strawberries are resilient (and so am I). Thank you for your bounty. Thank you for being forgiving of your often wayward gardener. Thank you for teaching me the sheer joy of putting my hands in the good dirt. Thank you for allowing me to taste a tomato that I grew from a seed that I put in the ground. Thank you for attracting those great fat little bumblebees. Thanks, most of all, for being my therapy. For Garden, you kept me grounded (literally) during this tough year. And even though snow is currently falling from the sky as I write this, the calendar is reminding me that spring is on the way, that little green pea shoots will emerge from your depths (once it is actually warm enough to plant some seeds), and that my year of renewal has come full circle.

Thank you, my Garden, for everything. Even for Peazilla, my giant snow pea plant monster.

I can't wait to see what this new year of growing will bring.

Called Home

So, I had the most interesting experience in the tea house yesterday. I no longer have an office on campus this quarter, so I study at Teahouse Kuan Yin in Wallingford. (They have a fabulous selection of teas, for those of you who also need remote offices.) Being Wallingford, Seattle's hippie neighborhood, I was privy to an interesting conversation at the table next to me. There were two women, both middle aged, who were at first talking about trying to get their kids into middle school. And then one woman said the following:

"Yeah. I put my occupation down as spirit healer. And if they don't like that, well, that's not a community my child should be in."

I was intrigued. The women kept talking about the journey, honoring your core, and all sorts of other new agey stuff. It seemed like one of them really was a spirit healer, and the other was a spirit healer in training. I'm trying to be better about listening both to my core and to my nomad's heart, and this was exactly what these women were discussing. I couldn't help eavesdropping some. And then I went back to my work.

On a study break, I happened to check my email. I have a trip to Europe coming up over spring break (which is why I've decided to grow from starts and not from seeds this year, but that will be discussed in a later blog post). My amazing mom, who does all sorts of genealogy work, had emailed distant Irish and English cousins to let them know I was coming. My cousin Eiblhin had written back the following: "I mentioned to your Mum that there is a flight to Donegal if you were interested in seeing the Cannon homestead. The flight from Dublin is operated by Aer Arann and takes approx 40mins to Donegal. My father would be more than happy to show you around the Cannon homeplace."

Now, Smiley and I had discussed doing this. But our time in London and Dublin is short, and Donegal would be rather out of the way. We'd decided that I'd better save visiting my ancestral home for a different trip. But for some reason -- maybe because the women next to me were talking about honoring the voice inside your heart -- Eiblhin's email got to me. Emotion spread upwards from my chest. And all of a sudden, I'm sitting in the Tea House, trying very hard not to cry. I knew that I needed to find a way to go see where my people came from while on this trip. I was being called home.

Even this morning, writing about it, I'm sitting here with my eyes watering. And I can't explain it any other way. That voice inside of me -- the one that made me fall in love with an impossible country (Yugoslavia) and the one that was practically screaming at me to teach middle school -- that same voice told me that I need to see where I came from. Why now? I have no idea. I just have to. Plain and simple.

My good friend Kevin happened to text me at the moment all of this was happening, and I wrote him a rather long text message with what happened. (One of these days, I will likely write a novel via text message. Mine tend to be long. And pretty much grammatically correct. U is a letter. You is a word.) I told Kevin "My heart is telling me that I need to go see where I came from in Ireland."

"Can't argue with your heart. It usually wins anyway," he wrote back. And he's right. In the daily battles I wage of head vs. heart, my head may be the practical one, but my heart dictates my actions. I'm becoming a middle school teacher because my heart told me that's what I need to be doing. I can't do things halfway. I either commit, or I don't. When Jason and I were dating, I remember telling him "my gut has decided that you're okay. So therefore, you are."

Same goes to all of you still reading this. My gut has decided that you're okay. So therefore, you are.

At this point in my own lifelong journey, I'm reaffirming how important it is for me to listen to my heart. It's going to win anyway. If I don't listen to it, I won't be happy.

I'm working out a Donegal visit with Eibhlin. Because my heart is telling me that I have to go see where I came from.

The Freedom to Fail (Or, Marcus Aurelius was Hot)

So, I went out on a date on Saturday. Nice guy. We'll call him Kris -- even though I doubt I'll go out with him again. Friendly, interested in the outdoors, and talked a helluva lot. The bar we were at had the Packers game on, and he didn't seem to mind when I got distracted by the game to draw his attention to an interception or a touchdown. He kinda overshared a little bit though -- said he was trying to lose a few pounds and physically grabbed his gut to show me, and mentioned over and over again how he was broke and was trying to pay off some student loans. (Um, you do not need to draw attention to your perceived physical flaws on a first date.) But I was willing to forgive that. We had a nice conversation. I had to leave rather abruptly, though. I've been fighting off a cold/sinus thing for the past week and a half, and towards the end of dinner I started getting a nasty sinus headache. He still had beer left. I apologized and took myself home. I ended up on my couch watching House (this is bad when you're sick. It makes me think I have all sorts of weird diseases.) wrapped up in a blanket. I had turned on the fire (love gas fireplaces), was wearing a fleece hat and fleece pants, and even under my Mariners fleece blanket I just could not get warm.

Until yesterday, I had been planning on going out on a second date with him. The conversation was good, and he was kinda cute and geeky -- and I like geeks. My "type," according to my good friends John and Scott, is a "geeky mountain man." When John and I were in Paris in 2006, we visited The Louvre. I saw a bust of Marcus Aurelius, turned to John, and said "Dude, Marcus Aurelius was hot. If you find a guy that looks like him, let me know." John busted up laughing. This led to a discussion of my "type." Up to that point, I'd dated tall, slender guys who were pretty geeky. "What you need, Anna, is a geeky mountain man," John said. Who is a geeky mountain man? He's preferably tall, has an awesome beard, loves hiking, backpacking, and all of the outdoor things I love, and has something he geeks out over. Be it sports, science fiction, board games, or Star Trek -- just something to geek out over.

And this guy seemed to fit my type. There was maybe a little bit of chemistry. I chalked up the deficit to me not feeling all that well. Since I felt bad about leaving early, I sent him a text yesterday evening saying "So sorry I left early. I ended up running a slight fever and went to bed early. Hope your Sunday was good!" I figured I'd get a text back saying "let's get together sometime soon." Not a phone call asking me to get together the very next day (today). I was driving home from sushi when he called, so I didn't pick up. When I listened to the message asking me if I wanted to get together today, I went from interested to overwhelmed. From interested to "holy crap, this guy is a little desperate." My fight or flight response kicked in -- and when this happens, all I want to do is go barricade myself in a corner and tell everybody to go away. Seriously. Stop asking me out. Just. Go. Away.

I texted my pastor and called my friend Dylan, who laughed at my story and said that he feels similarly sometimes. He agreed that calling to go out so soon seemed a little on the desperate side, and understood why my fight or flight response kicked in.

When I called my pastor, the first thing I said was "I'm okay." She's helped me through some tough stuff this past year, and I felt like it was important to let her know that I'm okay, but just needed to chat. I explained what happened, and asked her if I should quit dating altogether. Her response lifted a big weight off my shoulders.

"Maybe you should approach online dating this way -- you're going to fail. And it's okay. You wouldn't be feeling overwhelmed and wanting to run away if it's the right person. That wouldn't be your reaction. Something doesn't feel right about this, and you're learning to listen to that."

She's right. I have the freedom to fail. I have the freedom to say no when something doesn't feel right. I have the freedom to tell myself "he's just not that into me" when I get disappointed. Failure doesn't have to be negative. It can be liberating. Failure can open me up to new possibilities and interesting new people. I don't have to start a relationship after every good date I have. That's not what it's about. It's about getting out there, meeting people, and eventually finding the right person. It's about being brave. It's about standing up and saying "this really doesn't feel right to me" when it doesn't -- and not about trying to change the situation or changing myself to make it fit. You can't force two people to fit. It doesn't work.

Phew.

I'm not going to go out with Kris again. Something doesn't feel right. He may be perfect on paper, but my gut is telling me to go pursue other opportunities. And as difficult as that is to say to someone, I will say it. I'll be a little nicer about it, though.

And if you happen to know a geeky mountain man who looks like Marcus Aurelius...let me know. :)

Happy New Year! Or, my new year of happy. :)

This post is, in part, inspired by my friend Kmbris' Facebook question to everybody -- "What do you 'let go of and allow to transform' and what defined your year"

The sun will set tonight on the final day of 2010. And I'm so glad it's going to be done. I can't help thinking about everything that happened in this whirlwind year and how much I've grown. Every year brings growth, but this year seemed to bring more than most.

Flashback exactly one year. I was in a relationship I didn't know was dying, just a couple short months away from hitting the lowest point in my life. I was miserable, stuck in a grad school program I knew wasn't for me, waiting until I could actually pull the trigger and transfer to a teaching program. I was easily fifteen pounds heavier. I felt helpless and out of control, and desperately wanted to regain my sense of direction. Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom in order to dig yourself out and try again. I hit rock bottom this year. And I learned that, like the strawberry plant I thought I'd killed a couple summers ago, I'm pretty resilient. It took a bad breakup I didn't see coming and a long period of healing, but I'm ending 2010 on a triumphant note.

Literally, I went from rock bottom to climbing mountains. I switched careers, and am on track to become a middle school teacher. I threw myself into outdoor activities, and became a hike leader for the Mountaineers. I made some amazing friends, and strengthened some existing friendships. I got Felix Hernandez' autograph at Spring Training. I learned that I can do anything -- I just have to put my mind to it. I crossed the Olympics on a 5-day backpacking trip. I summitted all 6988 of Buckhorn Peak. I swam with sea turtles and sting rays in Maui. I also learned (through a different breakup) that breakups don't necessarily have to be horrible, awful affairs filled with crying, pints of ice cream, and hurt feelings. Just because a romantic relationship ends doesn't mean the friendship has to end too. Sometimes, two people can just look at each other and say "maybe we'll make better friends," and it works.

I'm ending 2010 happy and healthy, surrounded by my wonderful friends and family. I get outdoors every chance I get. And while I know that 2011 is going to bring its ups and downs, I'm declaring it my new year of happy. For me, it's really going to be a Happy New Year -- emphasis on the happy part. So, with that, here are my new year's resolutions -- the things I'm going to try to do to stay happy.

1. Keep the butt (otherwise known as stay in shape). All of my outdoor adventures in 2010 brought me a great surprise -- a butt! While I have been blessed with hips and height, I've never had much of a butt. According to my dear, departed, great-aunt Ruth, whose hand slipped one Thanksgiving while she was giving me a goodbye hug, "you don't have much of a butt there, do you kiddo?" I'm not as blessed as JLo -- I have one of those body types where I actually have to work to get one. Now I have one. And I'd like to keep it. This means I need to stay in shape in 2011.

2. Read one fun book a month. I love to read novels and narrative non-fiction, but all the reading I do in graduate school makes reading for fun seem like a chore. I never read novels anymore, and I'd like to. So, I'll read one fun book a month -- on the bus, before sleep, while on planes, etc.

3. Continue to have adventures. My friend Hillary said I had an "Anna-appropriate adventure" with a birthday snowshoe last Monday. I already have a few adventures in the works with my scrambling class, a planned trip to Europe, and an ambitious summer backpacking trip where we will cross the Olympics the long way (south to north). I want to have a few more.

4. Summit something awesome/interesting/challenging. Like a volcano. My eventual goal is to summit Mt. Rainier, but I don't think that's going to happen in 2011. This year, I aim for something a bit more accessible like Mt. Adams or Mt. St. Helens. We'll see which one my climber friends drag me up.

5. Remember that grad school isn't the end-all, be-all of my existence. I will take time for me. I will not feel guilty for going snowshoeing on a gorgeous blue-sky day instead of doing my homework. I will not feel guilty for taking time to hang out with friends. I will not be a hermit -- I won't allow myself to be one.

So, that's it. 2011, you will be my new year of happy. And that's all there is to it.

Love to all of you on this Happy New Year!

On 29

"Eek!" That's my first thought when I think about turning 29 on Monday. My second is -- "quick! I must do everything left on that "before I turn 30, I will do these things" list I made when I was 25!" And then I start thinking about where I am now, and where I thought I'd be at this point.

My friend Ned asked me about this over lunch yesterday, during one of our annual catch-up sessions. One of the lovely things about continuing to live in the same city as my parents is that I don't have to travel anywhere for Christmas. Just a 20 minute drive, and I'm home. I get to catch up once a year with a few friends of mine who only make the long trek to Seattle for the holidays. Anyway, long digression aside, Ned asked me yesterday how I feel about turning 29.

Part of me wonders where all the time went. How did the last few years in particular go by so fast? Time plodded along at this wonderfully lazy pace, and then all of a sudden I was out of college and trying to find my sense of direction. I think I've spent most of my twenties trying to find that direction -- trying to find something to grasp onto to point me down my path. I've taken quite a few wrong turns, but I think I've finally found it. Becoming a middle school teacher feels like coming home, and I think that's how I know I've found my direction.

When I got out of college, my dad insisted that I have a plan and stick to it. My initial plan was to go to grad school in sociology, get my PhD, and become a college professor. Since I wanted to teach at a liberal arts college, I would have likely ended up in a small town in the middle of nowhere. I became miserable on the PhD track. I can't explain it -- I just didn't feel like me. I felt myself turning into a heartless narcissistic person. So, long story short, had I stuck with that plan, I would have been a narcissist living in a tiny town somewhere, lonely, sad, and unable to change her situation. While I love my dad dearly and inherited his linear engineer's brain (sometimes I call phone conversations with my dad "speaking engineer"), I couldn't stick to that plan.

Should I have changed my path earlier? The little voice that told me to teach middle school was practically shouting before I finally listened to it. Well, yes, but then I wouldn't have fallen in love with a country that no longer exists. I wouldn't have learned Bosnian, Croatian, and Serbian. I wouldn't have danced in the rainstorm that broke the European heatwave in 2006. I wouldn't have experienced my first mosh pit at the Beastie Boys concert in Novi Sad. I wouldn't have taken my family to the Balkans. I wouldn't have sat in a rural village in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco and talked about religion with my host sister in the language only she and I understood. And I can't imagine a version of me who hadn't done all these things. I can't imagine a version of me who doesn't recognize (and start speaking in) Serbian when she hears it in the grocery store.

Plans can and do change. Sometimes I wonder what happens to the versions of me that made opposite choices to what I've done. Would I still be on the verge of challenging myself to learn the skills to climb Mt. Rainier? Am I living in a foreign country? Most importantly, am I happy? Right now, at this moment in my life, I am truly happy. I've been spun around like a top, and I followed my heart -- the best compass I have. I've found this quiet joy, this sense of doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing. And I don't know how many people in this world find that. I'd like to hope that I didn't just get lucky, and that my friends and family will get to experience this feeling at some point in their lives.

29 is approaching rapidly, and I hope the last year of my twenties is a good one. I've got some exciting travel plans, and I'll start student teaching towards the end of it. I'm going to begin learning the skills I'll need to climb Mt. Rainier. I'm surrounded by laughter and the love of my amazing family and friends. That "eek!" about turning 29 is turning into "yay!" I've accomplished over half of the big things I wanted to do between 25 and 30, and I think I can cross a few more off that list. :)

It's nearly Christmas, and tonight I will be at my aunt and uncle's house, enjoying the company of my relatives. May this Christmas also find you and yours happy, healthy, well, and loved. Merry Christmas, Feliz Navidad, Sretan Božić i Cpeтaн Бoжић cви мojих пpиjaтeљa.

Cover Crops are Awesome!

Happy Longest Night of the Year Everybody!
Wow that makes me feel a little depressed. Where I live, the sun goes down at 4 PM this time of year and when it is actually up in the sky, people attempt to soak up as many rays as they can. We barely get eight hours of daylight -- not enough to really grow anything substantial. True, our long summer days make up for these dark winter ones, but it's still hard. I have a tough time motivating myself to get moving when my alarm goes off and it's still dark.

Fortunately, there is a solution. Three solutions, actually. I'm not really overwintering any crops unless you count the carrots and onions I forgot to pull up at the end of the summer. I'm kinda curious to see what happens to my onions -- it looks like the old onions are breaking down and giving birth to new onions. We'll see. I did plant a cover crop in the fall. It's so nice to look outside and see little green shoots coming out of my garden. Cover crops are great -- they're good for soil health. And who doesn't like little green shoots?

OK -- so solution #1 is overwintering (which I didn't really do). Solution #2 is a cover crop. And solution #3? My roommate's AeroGarden! He's got it set up on top of the refrigerator. It's timed so the lights are on at night -- making it once again look like we're growing pot in our house. It's not as bad as it was when I started my plants in February -- then my entire living room was glowing. But the backyard glows in the dark because of the direction of the light. It's funny. But nice to have green things in the house, too.

It's almost time to select my seeds for next season. I've got seed catalogs stashed all over the place. Can't wait for it to be planting time again.

As for life? It's good. I survived my first quarter of the UW Bothell teaching program! I passed my classes with flying colors, and was actually surprised by my high grade in one class. Wasn't so sure how I was doing, but I guess it wasn't that bad. (My UW Bothell peeps will know which class this was.) I'm enjoying my stay-cation quite a bit, and have been hanging out at home, working on Xmas presents, watching House, reading fun books, and just relaxing. Next quarter will be busy with outdoorsy classes and my own classes. But it will be fun.

I turn 29 in a week. Yikes! I will write a post about that milestone later, but I should go to bed now. Where did all the time go?

A Field Guide to the NW Male Action FIgure

Pemco Insurance recently came out with a series of hilarious TV and radio spots profiling common Northwest stereotypical characters. One of my favorites is that of the Northwest Male Action Figure -- basically the guy who is always ready for an adventure, anytime, anywhere. You can check out the commercial here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qlku9Wzs62s

Today, while doing avalanche awareness training with The Mountaineers at Snoqualmie Pass, one of the leaders was trying to figure out how the avalanche beacon I'd borrowed from my mountain climber friend Scott worked.

"Does this thing work for normal people?" he asked.

"Not sure. The friend I borrowed it from is a Northwest Male Action Figure."

Everyone in the class started laughing. They knew exactly what kind of person I was talking about.

As a member of the Mountaineers and an outdoors enthusiast, I have many friends who could be described as NW Male Action Figures. So this afternoon, I give you A Field Guide to the NW Male Action Figure.

1. A NW Male Action Figure is a unique individual who enjoys many outdoor activities. Not only does he enjoy these outdoor activities, but he enjoys them to the extreme. He can't just hike up a trail, no. He must run up it. At least twice in a day. And beat his last "endurance hike" time by a few minutes each time.

2. He rock climbs. He tried scrambling once, but found that it was a gateway drug, and that he wanted more. So he invested in a harness, helmet, rope, and all sorts of other assorted gear for this new hobby of his. He loves to climb, and often talks about his climbs at great length, thinking that clearly, all his friends must love to climb too. Even the ones who have expressed their extreme fear of heights.

3. He skis. This is a requirement of the NW Male Action Figure. He doesn't just ski -- he does so in the backcountry almost exclusively.

4. He owns multiple pairs of skis. And snowshoes. And poles. In fact, he owns so much gear that he could outfit a 12-person party on a multi-day trip.

5. He owns more outdoor gadgets than any other person you know. And when you need to borrow an avalanche beacon for a class, you call him first. Because you know he'll have one. Maybe even two.

6. He buys new outdoor gadgets the day they come out. But he never buys these at REI, because REI is the domain of wannabe NW Male Action Figures. (And it's a little overpriced.) No -- he must go to a local store that sells local organic down bags.

7. Preferably local organic down bags where the down comes from geese who lives long, happy lives and were pampered with daily sponge baths, premium goose food, and plucked with the greatest care and sensitivity.

8. Because he owns so much gear, he drives a car with good clearance and a very large trunk. Most likely, said car is a Suburu.

9. He can fit more shit into a Suburu than anyone else you know.

10. His Suburu is always dirt spattered from his latest adventure. It likely also has a few scratches on it. He can tell you exactly where he got the scratches.

11. He sometimes speaks in a confusing lingo of gear and acronyms. He'll go on at length about the pros and cons of metal edges on touring skis for 5 minutes before realizing that the quizzical look on your face means you have no idea what metal edges or touring skis actually are.

12. He's summitted almost every NW volcano. And when you are thinking about attempting to summit a volcano, he gets a wistful look in his eyes and says "I remember when I was young and summitting my first volcano." Even though you're the same age he is.

13. Because he rock climbs and summits NW volcanoes, he is familiar with the use of a wag bag. Not only is he completely comfortable discussing how to shit in the woods, but he has all sorts of stories about shitting while rock climbing -- basically, how to take a shit when one is hundreds of feet in the air.

14. Of all your friends, he's the one with the craziest stories. This makes him the life of the parties he goes to on weekends when the weather is crappy and he doesn't go out and summit something.

15. In the winter, he literally spends every minute of every weekend skiing. He works to ski.

16. He's a great guy, a wonderful friend, and someone you can always count on to be up for hiking/climbing/snowshoeing/favorite outdoor sport of the moment.

Add any more you can think of. :)

Northwest Comfort Food

It's almost time for me to go into hibernation. Finals start a week from today. This week, I have three papers due (two of which are basically done) and a presentation on Thursday. Next week, I'll have a large paper due as well as a take home final. And did I mention that I somehow have to grade 74 essay-length finals in three days? And start my job training for my admissions job? Yeah. It feels like I'm about to enter Hell.

Which is why it's the perfect time for Northwest comfort food. I grew up on a steady diet of seafood. One of my mom's favorite stories she tells is about the time I discovered fried clam strips. I was 4 years old, and I wasn't tall enough to see over the table. But I could sure reach the table! Dad fed me a clam strip, and I reached my little hand up to pat around and see if I could find some more. I found them. So began a lifelong love affair with mollusks and crustaceans -- crabs, clams, oysters, and mussels. You name it, I'll eat it.

Two of my favorite Northwest comfort foods involve mollusks. In the winter time, we often eat cioppino, an Italian-style seafood stew. It's spicy, tomato-y, and warm. Perfect for chilly Seattle winters. Cioppino can be expensive to make, as all that seafood isn't cheap. Most recipes make quite a bit, so it's possible to have a cioppino party where guests each bring some fish or seafood to go in. The second is clam linguine. It's savory, full of tasty clams, and fills you up.

So imagine my wonder at finding a Mark Bittmann recipe that combines the two. Because the stress of finals makes me crave seafood (usually in the form of sushi, but I'll eat anything), I'd picked up some clams at the farmer's market. I decided to make Penne with Tomato-Seafood Sauce, an intriguing recipe I'd found in How to Cook Everything.

It tasted like cioppino. With pasta. The absolute best of my two favorite comfort foods. I made a nice big batch, and will be eating leftovers during the rest of this stressful week.

And tonight's dinner? Grilled cheese sandwiches and French onion soup. More universal comfort foods there. Less of a Northwest flavor.

Maybe I'll make some peach bread, too.

Here's the recipe:
Penne with Tomato-Seafood Sauce
Makes 4 rather generous servings

Salt
3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 small dried hot red chile or hot red pepper flakes
2 cloves garlic, lightly crushed
2 cups chopped fresh tomatoes, seeded (or drained canned -- note, I'll likely add another cup of tomato to the sauce when I make it next time)
1 tsp minced fresh rosemary or 1/2 tsp dried rosemary
Freshly ground black pepper
1 lb penne or other cut pasta
1/2 cup fresh parsley leaves
Any variety of seafood you have on hand (I used clams)

1. Start pasta water. Put oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add chiles and garlic and cook when hot, until the garlic turns brown -- about a minute.
2. Remove and discard the chiles and garlic and add the tomatoes. (I couldn't figure out how to remove them, so I just kept them in there. Didn't hurt.) Cook, stirring, until tomatoes begin to liquefy, about 5 minutes; add the rosemary and a good sprinkling of salt and pepper. Cook for another 5 minutes, then turn off the heat.
3. Add clams and mussels towards the end of cooking. End with the variety that will cook most quickly. Cover skillet until clams and mussels open. As you add more seafood you will be adding more liquid, so you can sauce more pasta and serve more people.

Bon Appetit!

OK. Back to work.

They're reading this in Russia?

So I happened to look at my blog stats. Apparently they're reading me in Russia. US is first by far, but Russia comes in second. And the most popular posts? The one entitled "The Sirens of Singlehood and the Single Gardener's Manifesto" came in first at 21 hits, and "The House that Griffey Built" came in at 11. Y'all like my manifesto!

I have a feeling my latest post about gifts for gardeners will also generate a lot of traffic.

Fun. I guess y'all are really enjoying reading about the trials and tribulations of a spontaneous gardener!