And Life Was A Ball, And Wasn't It All So Cozy And Fine?
Bet you thought I'd forgotten all about you, didn't you?
Yes, I remember what I said several months back, about doing a better job of keeping track of things over here. Turns out, in the New Net Paradigm where TwitterBookSquare and its ilk rule, multi-sentence postings on a personal web site are just soooo 2007. But, since I'm coming up on the anniversary of starting this here blog, I figured it was time for a bit of a check-in, just to let you know the lights are still on, even if there's seldom anyone home these days.
Live Alone In A Paradise That Makes Me Think Of Two
Today is the 25th Anniversary of my arrival in Seattle (well, technically I spent a few months living in unincorporated Sea-Tac before officially moving inside the city limits in the winter of '86, but I worked in Seattle, so you know, semantics and what-not).
Hard to believe two and a-half decades have passed since I left the northern wilds of Bellingham, trekked south down I-5 in a 1972 Chevy Impala 4-door carrying everything I owned, to meet up with an ex-college roommate from Ellensburg, who had already secured us lodgings in what turned out to be probably the largest living space (as defined by total square footage times number of occupants) I've lived in during that entire time. We were both dirt poor, and knew probably only a handful of people in the city, mostly people with whom we'd gone to school, and had our sights set on breaking into the local theatre business.
And here it is, 25 years later: Kevin moved back to Shelton probably 20 years ago, bottomed out, and eventually got his act together, in the process becoming a substance abuse councilor (a subject he definitely knew a thing or two about, at least based on my own personal observations). Me, amazingly, I'm still "in the business", although not doing what I figured I'd be doing at this point in my life.
Funny how things turn out. At the age of 24 I was setting my sights on an artistic career (which has come true), but all the other more traditional goals: marriage, family, home buying, etc., etc. seem to have fallen by the wayside. And here I am on the cusp of 50, having to acknowledge that, barring some unforeseen miracle, most of those things are simply never going to happen. Not that I'm complaining - for the most part - because, all things considered, I've built a pretty good life. I live in a beautiful city (it has its problems, but what city doesn't?), have an interesting and challenging career, a passionate avocation, innumerable colleagues, and a handful of true-and-trusty friends, none of which I would give up for anything.
But still, one can't help but reflect, at least a bit, on what I may have missed in the process. For all intents-and-purposes, my particular genetic line ends here. That's a pretty sobering thought: I have several nieces, but you know, patriarchal blood-lines being what they are in Western Civilization, it means no more Comte's - at least on this branch of the family. Other branches will continue, but I'm not going to be contributing anything new to my own. I've become an evolutionary dead-end.
Do I regret it? Only slightly. I wonder sometimes about the experience of parenthood and the question not having been one inevitably brings up, namely, would I have been a good one? It's such an integral part of human existence that it's easy to take for granted, but for myself at least, knowing it's never going to be part of MY experience does make me feel somewhat, well, almost guilty in a way, like I've let down my genetic team somehow by refusing to get into the pool as it were.
But, one can only wallow in "woulda, coulda, shoulda's" for so long without risking becoming insufferably maudlin, and I don't have it in me to try for some ersatz emo/goth attitude, which would probably only end up making me even more insufferable, so there's that.
On the plus side, I've got some pretty good genetics working in my favor so far as longevity goes (three of my four grandparents have lived until well into their 90's), and therefore it's not unreasonable to anticipate I could hit that - or beyond. So, in a very real sense my life is truly only half over; with luck, I've got roughly another 50 years in me, which in and of itself leaves open all sorts of possibilities.
Although I seriously doubt shooting for "World's Oldest Dad" is going to be one of them. For one thing, what kid wants to walk down the aisle for their high school graduation to see some old geezer who rightfully should be their great-grandfather waving at them - unless of course he WAS their great-grandfather.
I suppose, in the end, there are some things you just can't quite let go of, regardless of the reality...
Yes, I know - long time, no blog. Frankly, things have been rather slow around the old moorage of late; life, work and art have all nestled into comfortable, albeit somewhat predictable ruts (not necessarily a BAD thing), and frankly, there just hasn't been all that much excitement going on to convey to the masses - or all six of you still reading this.
But, I do think it's incumbent to acknowledge a milestone that occurs today (well, technically it would have been yesterday but - ), that being the 5th anniversary at the job. Yes, five years in; hardly seems like the blinking of an eye, but there you go.
I wouldn't say things are at exactly a lull job-wise at the moment, but there is definitely a bit of a dip in terms of activity load, although I don't expect that to last for long. We've got a major internal organizing campaign just getting started, and between that, planning for our 2011 national convention which will be held in Seattle next summer (along with whatever other little projects come down the pipeline in the meantime), and I'll have plenty on my plate to keep me occupied; even if they're not the sort of exciting things I'll necessarily feel compelled to write about.
Out Into The Cool Of The Evening Strolls The Pretender
If you're reading this, you probably already know that my Gmail account has hacked sometime early this morning and used to send out a Spam message saying I was stranded in London and please, please call the listed number to arrange to send me money to get home.
Would that I could fly to London for the weekend on a whim, but unfortunately, it's just some scammer in Nigeria "phishing" for a bit of cash from you-all.
My Gmail account is back up, but also unfortunately, the scammers stripped out all of my contact information, as well all the emails in my inbox. So, if you sent me an invite to a show or a social event recently, my apologies for the unsolicited spams.
So, if you get the chance email me with your current address.
Drivin' Home This Evening I Thought We Had It All Worked Out
Spent Sunday at the theatre helping to decide our next season of productions. This is an annual event that, over the years has come to be known euphemistically as "The Afternoon of The Long Knives" (which, despite the unsavory connotation, is actually a much older term than many might realize.
But, the desription is nevertheless fairly apt: after receiving and reviewing some two dozen proposals for productions, we go through a series of "pitch sessions" wherein the proposers are interviewed in-person, and at the end of that process members of the Company lock ourselves in a room for an afternoon and don't come out until we've reached a consensus on what shows we want to do. At times, it can get brutal - the first thing we do is scratch off the roughly 50% of the projects we pretty much know we DON'T want to do - and it can also be somewhat emotional, particularly for members of the Company submitting proposals for the first time. The end result, though, is that, by the time we're done, we not only have mutual agreement, but generally the shows that are selected are ones for which either the entire Company, or at least a significant majority, have some outright enthusiasm for doing.
Of course, this is no guarantee that the actual productions that result from these proposals will always meet our expectations; frequently, they don't. But, taking risks is quite literally part of our Mission Statement ("creating bold new work in an environment of improbability, resourcefulness and risk"), and it's one of the things that separates us from most of the other "fringe theatres" (and some would argue, successfully IMO, from most other theatres, period) around here: the willingness to take chances, to embrace uncertainty, and to nurture the new, the weird, and the unconventional. In short, it's what makes Annex, Annex.
"E" Is The Ensign, The Red, White, And Blue, "F" Is The Fo'c'sle, Holds The Ship's Crew
Took a couple extra days off to bookend the already extra-long weekend to get some very needed boat cleaning accomplished. I've been rather neglectful over the winter and things had gotten to the state that, well, three full days were required just to get the basics accomplished. But, she's now yare topside and below decks, replaced one battery, got the bilge pump switch problem figured out, and ordered a new hatch cover, among other things. Have to bring in a mechanic in a couple of weeks to suss out a recurring engine problem (which I hope won't be too costly), and then in a couple of months I'm hoping to get her hauled out and have some serious cleaning & maintenance done below the water line.
On the plus side, it was nice to spend a few days - and nights - aboard, something I really haven't had time to do recently. And who knows? Maybe I'll even find time to get her away from the dock a bit this summer.
Old Man Take A Look At My Life, I'm A Lot Like You
I've been thinking about aging a lot lately. My grandmother's recent passing was a major catalyst of course, but a few other events have kept the subject bubbling in the front part of my brain recently as well.
When my grandmother's memorial mass was scheduled, I got an email from my aunt informing me that I had been "selected by my cousins to represent the 'younger generation'." I'm turning 50 this year, and "younger" is not a term I would have used to describe my position within the familial hierarchy. I have younger cousins, I have younger nephews, nieces, second and third cousins. When your genetic heredity allows for five generations to occupy the room at the same time, you get a pretty clear sense of where you fit in age-wise.
Still, I got the point. We sometimes tend to perceive ourselves, not as occupying a present space, but in terms of occupying some former space, particularly as it relates to a significant individual or period in our lives, and for my cousins and myself Grandma was always the center of our family universe for so many years that it's natural to contextualize that relationship in terms of our formative years. So, okay, younger generation, got it.
But, I have to say, standing in front of a couple hundred people, roughly a quarter of whom were clearly younger than myself, brought home what should be perhaps an obvious point: every day I'm moving closer and closer to the older end of the spectrum. There are still quite few family members who, thankfully, continue to occupy the late middle-aged and elderly bracket, but I now find myself much closer to them than I do to the youngest on the other end; I'm somewhere just past the peak of the bell-curve and am looking at the downhill slide. I've got another 50 years, maybe more, based on genetics, health and whatever advances are made in the field of medical technology in that time, but the simple fact is that I'm on a cusp: at some point it will be an unavoidable circumstance that more of my life will be behind me than ahead of me. Which is not to say there isn't plenty more to look forward too (a half century is still a pretty long time!), but you can't ignore the reality, either.
This was brought home to me again just recently, when the son of a friend requested my presence at an "Elder's Tea" at his private elementary school. Meaghan and Ron have been friends of mine for more than 10 years, although I haven't really had much contact with their kids during that time. But, it turns out I'm probably one of the oldest people Owen knows aside from his grandparents, and since I'm more-or-less in the neighborhood, through some process my name came up to the top of the list of "elders" to invite.
Elder. I still can't quite wrap my brain around the concept.
A few days later I was chatting with my friend Molly about this, still trying to mentally reconcile myself to this inevitability. We'd got to talking about people moving away or traveling abroad for extended periods, and what sort of impulses compel people make such huge life-changing alterations in their circumstances, and I said I really couldn't envision myself living anywhere else but where I am. Travelling would be one thing, but I simply don't have any desire to pull up stakes at this point in my life and start anew in some strange place. After all, I said, everything - and just about everyone - I care about is right here; why would I ever want to leave that behind? Then I said something that resonated back to all this aging stuff: "I'm actually starting to look forward to being 70 or 80 years old," I said, "and since most of the people I know now will be in their 60's by then, that 10 or 15 or more years age difference won't seem very significant."
It wasn't so much the idea of being 70 or 80 that appealed to me as much as it was the idea that these people with whom I've chosen to associate would still be around, still together in some fashion, and that it was the security and stability of those relationships that attracted me more than anything. I suppose that's a very simplistic notion, but one I would imagine most people could embrace; the desire to maintain friendships over time, especially since so many of us seem to have had our lives uprooted in so many other ways.
My friend Stephen once said his dream was to make enough money to buy a huge house where all his best friends could live together. A few of my friends already live in similar group settings. But, it occurred to me that we're all already doing that right now - only the house is a city, and we can stay in it for as long as we choose.
I think I'm going to choose to stick around for a while...
Presented April 24, 2010, St. Patrick’s Catholic Church, Portland Oregon
When I was informed of my participation in today’s celebration I was given two specific instructions: One. Prepare something – which, as you can see, I have done - and; Two. Keep it short. I will leave it to your own judgment to decide whether I have accomplished the latter. If you find this too long, I hope you will at least not find it interminable. The words, except where noted, are my own. If they spark some glimmer of recognition within you, then I will have successfully completed my task; if they do not, then the fault is mine alone.
We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Justine McMenamin Comte. As the oldest child of the oldest child of Grandma Justine, who was herself an oldest child, I have been asked to speak as a representative of the “younger generation”. You will pardon me I hope, if I take note of the irony of this.
The task is a daunting one, for in her nearly 95 years of life, Grandma Justine was many things to many people: child, sister, wife, mother, grandmother, great grandmother, great-great grandmother, colleague, acquaintance and friend. How can a mere handful of words possibly quantify such a life? The simple truth is they cannot, and so I will not presume to do so here today. At best, I can only offer a paltry sketch of how I saw her, and hope that will suffice.
The Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw once said: “We do not stop laughing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop laughing.” In this regard it must be said that Grandma Justine was never truly old. For in my mind, laughter was at the core of her being and the key to her personality. Those of you not fortunate enough to have experienced that laugh have truly been deprived of something special. I will attempt, as best I can in these few words, to convey to you some small sense of what you have missed.
As a child, the sound of her laughter helped me in large measure to chart my way amidst the hazardous rocks and shoals of grown-up relations. That sound: high and brilliant, like the beam of a lighthouse piercing the dark fog of adult conversation. And despite whatever fears or uncertainties I might otherwise experience, her laughter reassured me that, for the moment at least, all was right with the world.
As I grew older, her laughter also became a sound of welcome, and over time I began to hear it in the way I’m sure many of you experienced it. For, if ever there was a person whose fundamental nature embodied the qualities of fellowship, goodwill, and hospitality, it was Grandma Justine. Whether at a large family gathering, or a one-on-one visit, she would welcome you with open arms, a gracious smile and that unabashedly joyful laugh. Her sense of taste and style was simple, but impeccable; never a hair on that radiant silver mane was ever out of place; dressed at least to the eights, if not always to the nines; the table groaning with food, whether it was an Easter rack-of-lamb or a bucket of chicken from “The Speck”. Friends were always welcome; family, from the oldest to the smallest, always had a place. Her love was unconditional, and her embrace of everyone who came within her sphere knew no bounds. She was a fixture of the northeast Portland neighborhood she and my grandfather called home for so many years, known as much for her gregarious nature as for her impressive memory: there was not a shopkeeper, cook, grocer, counterperson, waitress or customer from her many years working at the Rose City and Hollywood Fred Meyers whose name she did not know, and who in turn did not seem glad to see her. Anyone to whom you introduced her instantly became her friend. She was unselfconsciously sociable, a woman who loved the company of other people, and who naturally, effortlessly endeared herself to everyone she met.
But above even these admirable traits, Grandma Justine was a woman of fierce strength, conviction and optimism. When I last visited with her this past Christmas, she expressed a desire to see her 100th birthday, even despite the numerous recent close-calls, the increasingly frequent trips to hospital and the dire pronouncements of the doctors. She admitted to being frustrated that her body was slowly, inexorably breaking down, but the sheer force of her will was sufficient, for a time at least, to overcome the inevitable dissolution. A few weeks ago, when once again she was hospitalized and we were informed she was not expected to recover, she somehow found a final burst of strength, and her condition improved enough to persuade her doctors to send her home. No one could ever say “no” to Grandma Justine once her mind was set. And set it was. She was going home, and that was that. She died a few days later, peacefully, without pain, in her own bed and on her own terms. I can only speculate, but I can imagine that must have delighted her; she’d got the last laugh on them, after all.
I will miss hearing that laugh, but I am also heartened, because I do not believe it has gone from us entirely. I believe it still reverberates around us, echoing through our memories, resonating in the deepest spaces of our beings. One theory of Quantum Physics posits that everything we can perceive: from clusters of galaxies, to the smallest of sub-atomic particles, are created from the vibrations of infinitesimally small filaments of energy. These filaments in turn give substance to all matter, from quarks and muons, to atoms, to cells, to living beings, to stars; they form, in the most simplistic of terms, the basic, underlying fibers from which the entire cloth of the cosmos is woven.
If this theory is correct, then surely laughter is a vital thread in this perdurable garment, for what is laughter in its most fundamental aspect, but a vibration? Waves of sound we feel in our chests and hear with our ears and experience in our minds. But, I believe its influence goes farther even than this: all those joyful vibrations emanating from a single source for so long must needs resonate ever deeper into the unperceived weave of time-and-space. The thread of her laughter not only connects her to us, but to each other and from each other to all things; it sews us stitch by stitch, into the very fabric of the universe.
This is the gift Grandma Justine has given us. And it is the reason our memories of her will not be burdened with sadness and regret, but will be exalted by joy and hope. Because, so long as we remember, so long as that delightful sound still rings in our hearts and minds, we will be reminded that we are never truly alone, and once again all will be right with the world..
And so, at the end, this is all I am able to give you by way of perspective: a small, personal and imprecise accounting of the value of a single human life amidst an infinite cosmology. If my poor attempt at taking its measure has proven unsatisfactory, then let me leave you with the words of someone more capable than myself of expressing them.
The American poet and philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson described the successful life thusly:
"To laugh often and love much; to win the respect of intelligent persons and the affection of children; to earn the approbation of honest citizens; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to give of one's self; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exultation; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived - this is to have succeeded."
And so, we gather today to celebrate this successful life. It is my hope each of us will leave this place committed to achieving the same success in our own lives she achieved in living hers. For that would be her greatest legacy: each of us harmonizing our own laughter with hers, encouraging others to do likewise, weaving together these threads of our own love and hope and joy binding us more closely to each other, and through each other to the very weft and warp of the universe itself. We can do her no greater honor.
Should Five Percent Appear To Small, Be Thankful They Don't Take It All
Oy.
It's been a crazy couple of weeks up here. One of my co-workers has been on vacation since the 19th and, in addition to picking up her work-load, late last week I got hit with THREE major projects to clear all at the same time, one of which involved 60 actors and another 30. And of course, all the clearances (basically checking to see whether they're eligible to work on a union-contracted production) HAD to be turned in by Friday, because they were all shooting over the weekend. It was literally one of those situations where: I'd get a fax with a list of names, enter them all in my database, check their status, generate a report to fax back to the production company, and by the time I got back to the fax machine, they'd be sending through a new list of names. And on top of this, I have to deal with actors who are delinquent in their payments (they have to be "in good standing", meaning all paid-up, to be cleared), as well as those who are "must-pays" (meaning they have to tender dues and fees before they can be cleared). Finally got out of the office around 7:30 p.m. on Friday, only to look forward to a weekend that involved:
Saturday: Drove up to Edmonds to do a seminar on Tax Preparation for Artists at an arts business conference run by an old colleague, then had to hit the office supply store, then Costco to pick up things for the office.
Sunday: Week Three of income tax prep, starting with the first appointment at 10:00 a.m. and running straight through until about 5:30 p.m.
Monday: The normal busy work-load (co-worker is still on vacation), then more taxes in the evening, while there's another meeting going on next door in our resource room.
Tuesday: Work (still getting names from the producer of the big weekend shoot, which they neglected to send to me the week before), plus setting up for a social event for later in the evening at which I needed to run the A/V equipment. But, at least I could drink beer whilst doing it.
Which basically means that, between work and tax prep related activities, I put in a solid 34 hour work-week in four days, which included pretty much my entire weekend.
And although I only have about an hour of extra-curricular activity at the theatre after work tonight, and absolutely no after work things scheduled again until Friday night, it's going to be another weekend of the same this week, because I have a board meeting Saturday morning that will run until 1:00 p.m. or so, another full day of tax prep Sunday, more after work tax prep on Monday, meetings & tax prep on Tuesday, and then I think I get a teensy break on Wednesday through Friday evening before - oh, right more tax prep on the following Saturday and Sunday, and then more of same Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday, which is April 14th, which is the END of tax season.
Hi there, miss me? Yeah, I know. But really, I've been pretty darned busy the past several weeks, what with lots of extra work at The Day Job, gearing up for tax season, coming down with a flu/generic upper respiratory bug that kind of took me out of action for the better part of two weeks (although it was never bad enough to prevent me from going to work - I just slept a lot when I got home), plus a bit of a short-term family crisis, along with the usual mix of theatre things, miscellaneous after work meetings, and the occasional social outing.
But, now I'm feeling better, tax season is officially under way, I've gotten out from underneath some of the more pressing work-load, my 95 year-old grandmother is doing better, we've Sprung Forward - and what the heck, it's sunny outside, so what's not to blog about, amIright?
Discipline Will Make Me Stronger, If It Doesn't Kill Me First
Seems like everything in my life has reached a bit of a plateau lately: work has been steadily busy during what has traditionally been a post-New Years quiet period; extra-curricular theatre activities have settled into a manageable cycle that hasn't required huge amounts of extra time; and the diet regiment has resulted in a (hopefully, temporary) equilibrium state. I'm currently running in the 191 - 194 range, bouncing between the two, with a once-in-awhile day of being either slightly over or slightly under that range.
Even though I'm averaging gym visits about two times a week, I've also been a little less disciplined about my intake, so I need to just knuckle-down and get that side of things a little more back on-track. Hopefully, with what looks like a return to unseasonably clement weather for the near term (anyone complaining that the blizzard conditions in the Northeast MUST be "proof" that Global Climate Change is a myth need only look at the fact that, in mid-February, the Olympics organizers up in Vancouver are being forced to truck in snow from remote locations in order to keep the slopes in good condition), I'll be able to increase my activity level even further, which should help matters somewhat.
I'm still focused on the goal of getting down to 180 lbs., but I just have to acknowledge the last 10 - 15 pounds are going to take a lot longer to shed than I anticipated.
Seven Miles To Travel Down A Twisting Track Of Gravel, Seven Ragged Miles To Town On Unpaved Road
I had planned to get this up a few days ago, but frankly, the six days off rather ate into my ambitious plans. Plus, I think I caught some sort of low-grade cold, or possibly even a mild sinus infection somewhere early in and I've been feeling a teensy bit under the weather ever since; not enough to prevent me from doing things, mind you, but just enough to require prioritizing what sorts of things I was up for doing.
So, the mini-vacation turned out pretty well, with the sole exception of the speeding ticket I got in some podunk burg outside Bellingham on Thursday afternoon. 31 in a 25 zone, and me in the middle of a line of cars all going the same speed. Yeah, I know municipalities across the land are cash-strapped, but seriously, could you-all be just a little less blatant about hitting up us hapless out-of-towners to cover your revenue shortfalls? Especially, when it goes on our driving record? Thanks!
Otherwise, speeding tickets and stuffy noses aside, it was a pleasant time off. I spent two days in a very nicely appointed cabin just outside La Conner, overlooking Skagit Bay with Whidbey Island due west. The weather was a little chilly (although still rather warm for January), but not too cold that I was uncomfortable, especially during the occasional sun breaks. Spent pretty much spent most of the two and a-half days I was there sitting on the porch or walking on the beach. Lots of wildlife on-view: bald eagles, hawks, seagulls dropping oysters onto the rocky shore, little brown squirrels, birds galore - all very peaceful.
Except however, when the jets from NAS Whidbey did fly-overs, which on Wednesday at least was pretty much all afternoon. Mostly appeared to be EA-18's (a variation on the F-18 Hornet), along with what I presume was a large cargo jet, with a couple of air/sea rescue helicopters and some fancy close-formation aerobatics thrown in for good measure. I think they were just taking advantage of the relatively clement weather to practice touch-and-go's (simulated take-offs and landings) and turnouts into the Straight of Juan De Fuca, heading up the narrow gap between the U.S. and Canada that leads out to the Pacific Ocean.
The evenings got decidedly colder, but a very efficient wood-burning stove (and back up electrical heating) kept the inside of the small space nice and cozy.
I lolled around until about noon on Thursday then "broke camp" and headed north along the coastline to Samish Island a little spit of land that juts out into the Sound - with some insanely large (and presumably quite expensive) homes dotting the shoreline. From there I caught the scenic Chuckanut Drive, which hugs the shoreline and drove north to Larrabee State Park, just south of Bellingham, for a quick hike, then hopped back in the bus and drove north and east through B-ham heading in the general direction of Mt. Baker, whereupon I had my meet up with the aforementioned revenue enhancement official.
After that minor setback it was relatively smooth sailing: I took State Route 542 to S.R. 9, then turned south passing through Deming, Van Zandt, Acme and Sedro Wooley, before finally turning east onto Hwy 20, which leads straight into the heart of the North Cascades. I ended up stopping a few miles short of my goal for the evening, a campsite just outside Concrete, and found instead what turned out to be an even better (not to mention actually open!) location at Rasar State Park, where I overnighted.
The next morning I continued east to Concrete, then turned south to Darrington until I hit what's known as "The Mountain Loop Highway", which is something of a misnomer, since: A of all) it doesn't make a full loop without considerable effort, and; B of all) the middle 14 miles is in reality an unpaved single lane U.S. Forest Service road, which at certain times of the year (and generally that means now) is unpassable due to snow. But not this January - I checked at Darrington, which was the last place I could have gone in another direction other than back the way I'd just come, and was told the pass was clear, if somewhat muddy in places.
So, the bus and I trekked up the mountainside, following the Sauk River (and passing two trucks coming from the other direction on a muddy, narrow, one-lane dirt road - some days you just can't get away from traffic!) until we reached Barlow Pass, then cruised down the other side, making a quick rest stop at Big Four Mountain Viewpoint, before completing the long, meandering coast down out of the foothills into Granite Falls, then south through Lake Stevens, Machias, Snohomish, Cathcart, Maltby and finally into Woodinville, where I stopped for a quick snack at the local DQ, and where I finally, reluctantly, took to the freeway for the last few miles back home.
Whereupon I spent the remainder of the weekend doing as little as possible - with the exception of teaching a tax workshop and going to the gym Sunday afternoon.
But, now it's Monday again, and I'm back in the real world. Thanks Vacationland, it was nice visiting you - maybe we'll do it again sometime.
Life In The Fast Lane, Surely Make You Lose Your Mind
Well, so much for that promise to maintain more regular blogging hours. It's just that work has been insanely busy, what with trying to catch up from all the short weeks since Christmas, including this past weekend, which, as seems to be the case lately, turned out to be rather less than the anticipated "three day weekend" for which I'd been hoping. Mind you, I got quite a bit done on Monday: did most of the taxes for my "second job", processed all the W-2 forms I need to send out, and got some filing done; but I really would have preferred to have not been there at all. And this week has just been more of the same, including the usual round of evening meetings, which generally leaves me only a couple of free nights at home, and those have been spent mainly trying to catch up on domestic chores. Plus, I've had to tackle a good portion of next week's workload on top of everything else, since I'm actually taking a bit of a mini-vacation.
Yes, you heard me: something vaguely resembling an actual vacation, although I'm not planning to travel any farther than La Conner (AKA "The town where that crazy writer lives"). Still, I've booked a little cabin in the woods next to the Sound for a couple of days, where I intend to do little more than walk on the beach and stare at the sky - maybe I'll take a book along, but that may be about it. The rest of the week will be spent (hopefully) just lounging around the home base, maybe get a couple of household projects done, but in general engaging in as few scheduled, structured activities as possible, which for me will be a pleasant change-of-pace.
On another note: apparently, the return to the gym, even though I've only been managing it a couple of times a week, seems to be paying off. I've initially been limiting myself to cardio work: half an hour on an eliptical trainer, half an hour on a recumbent bike, followed by fifteen minutes in the dry sauna, but I'm back on a weight loss track after several weeks of holding steady at around 195-197. As of today, I'm solidly in the mid 193's, and seem to be dropping roughly a pound every ten days.
So, definitely not losing it as fast as my previous track, but as someone pointed out to me the other day (and which I guess should have been obvious if I'd given it more thought) I weigh 30 pounds less than I did six months ago, so my body doesn't require as many calories to maintain the lower weight, which means in turn that the lower calorie diet I've been on is in fact no longer enough to cause me to lose more weight, just to stay at where I am; in short, I'd reached a state of more-or-less equilibrium. And in order to get back onto a weight loss regimen I need to do one (or preferably both) of two things: either further reduce my caloric intake (and I have managed to find a few ways to trim off a bit more without feeling like I'm sacrificing anything), and/or increase the number of calories I burn, which of course is where the return to exercise comes in.
The bottom line is that it looks like I'm definitely going to miss my mid-February target for hitting 180. But, the good news is that I'm still losing weight, albeit more gradually than before. As I continue, I think I also have a better sense of needing to ramp up the activity level accordingly, and with the (temporary, but timely) return of warmish weather (thanks, El Nino!) to the Upper Left-Hand, and a determination to increase my gym visits to three a week, I think I can still get there by maybe April or May.
Being a native Mossback, I generally like the rain, whether it's drizzling down in a fine mist or pouring down in a deluge. But lately, rain seems to be a lot like that one guy who always shows up first to your party, and he's really funny and charming - for awhile. But, after several hours you realize he keeps telling the same joke over-and-over again, and he keeps hitting on everyone else's girlfriends, and he drinks all the vodka, even though he didn't bring any himself, and he tries to pull off some sort of stunt that goes awry and puts a scratch in your coffee table, and suddenly you realize it's 3:00 in the morning, and everyone else has left an hour ago, but this guy just keeps yammering on-and-on, even while you're trying to shove him out the door - and then he just suddenly passes out on your couch, but you're simply too exhausted to try to wake him up and make him leave, and the only thing you can think of as you close your weary eyes is: "I just hope he's gone by the time I wake up, and that my TV is still here!"
That's how I've been thinking about rain lately...
When My Work Day Is Over I'm Too Tired For Havin' Fun
Dear Blog:
Hi! How've you been? Really? Sorry to hear that. Me? I've been really, really, REALLY busy - in like, too busy to log on and chat busy. Yeah, yeah, I know. I said I'd keep in touch, and I meant it when I said that, but c'mon, give a guy a break! It's only been - what? - ten days, that's not so much now is it? Well, okay maybe it HAS been one of the longest runs of non-posting since we started this thing together, but it was bound to happen sooner or later, right? Honestly, I promise I'll do better in the future - no, I mean it! I can change! So, no hard feelings, okay? Okay, good - whew! I'm glad we got that out of the way.
What have I been up to since the beginning of the New Year? Well, I'm glad you asked. Let's see, first off, that four day weekend turned out to be really like just a two day weekend spread out over four days, since I ended up doing some maintenance work at the theatre one day, and having to also come into the office for a few hours on another day to get some prep work done for a board meeting on the 4th. But, I did also manage to get out to a show on Saturday night.
So, there was the board meeting on Monday night, and an Equity Liaison Committee meeting the following night, then on Thursday evening I went over to a friend's house and had dinner with her and her husband, then spent three hours doing some "table work" with her for a show she'll be doing in February. Friday I was supposed to work our monthly late-night cabaret, but I took myself out knowing I had to be up early the next day for the workshop. Instead, I walked down the hill five blocks to my new gym (which is HUGE, BTW!) and spent a couple of hours on the elliptical trainer & stationary bike, then a round in the sauna and the jacuzzi (the steam room, unfortunately, appears to be out-of-commission until the end of the month.)
As I expected, Saturday turned out to be a very LONG day: 14 1/2 hours, to be precise. Got to the office around 8:00 a.m. to prep food & make coffee, did the workshop, which ran until about 6:00 p.m., did some clean up in advance of the Sunday session, then went to dinner with the group at one of my favorite local restaurants. And since I was officially the "host" (seeing as I set up the reservation, picked the appetizers, etc., etc.) it wasn't all fun-and-games since I also dealt with the restaurant staff, the waiters, et al. Fortunately, I have a good friend who's one of the sous chefs there, so I knew we'd get exemplary service - which of course we did!
Sunday, I was back at the office at 8:00 a.m., and the session started at 9:00 and went until about 1:00 p.m., after which I spent some time cleaning up - and putting bits-and-pieces of things back onto Big Red, since most of my tools are still living at the office (installed a new turn signal switch, new radio antenna, new rear running light, and new front stereo speakers), so I didn't actually get out until around 3:00 p.m. by the time I cleaned up and the last of the workshop participants came by to pick up their luggage on the way back to the train station. I (very briefly) considered hitting the gym again, but by that point I'd pretty much hit a wall, and decided the best thing to do was to go to the grocery story, pick up a few sundries, go home, fix dinner, take a shower, and finish off the day with a DVD. By 10:00 p.m. I was ready to call it a week. Unfortunately, that was Sunday evening, and I was back in the office bright-and-early at 8:30 this morning.
This week it shaping up to be much quieter: I've got a small pile of work that got neglected due to prepping the workshop, but which should be fairly easy to get through. And, so far at least, I only have one evening event on my calendar this week, a financial health workshop I'm attending tonight (always looking for new information I can impart to my tax appointments!), and that's really it in terms of obligatory extra-curricular activities. There are a couple of social events I COULD plug into the schedule, but after the past few weeks, I'm feeling more inclined to not commit myself to anything, and if I feel like I've got the wherewithall to do it when it rolls around, then so much the better.
Next weekend is another three-day off stretch, and seeing as I didn't even get a two-day weekend this week, I'm also purposefully not planning anything more ambitious than a bit of yard work (weather permitting) and maybe whatever laundry I don't get done earlier in the week.
And, I'm actually taking something resembling a vacation the last week of the month: taking the 26ht through the 29th off and spending most of that time in a cabin on the Sound just west of La Conner where I hope to three days doing nothing but eating, sleeping, reading and sitting next to a wood stove watching the rain come down.
Not to toot my own horn, as it were, but I think I deserve it.
What? No, I don't know if they have Internet access there, in fact it would probably be good for me if they don't. I'll be back, I swear! You just gotta trust me!
