Riddle me this, Batman

I unearthed some riddles from 1971 today at work. I came upon a crew report from Acadia National Park which included pictures and tales of rain and lean-to work, strapping young men and beans in cans. This report was written by L. Mills after co-leading a crew of seven high school and college boys for two weeks in the Park's backcountry. After the last page of the report, I found tucked into the binding a folded piece of paper, type-written, produced months after the fact and stowed there, presumably, to keep track of these things which corresponded to the same experience. L. Mills had compiled the notes and updates she'd received from the boys during the months after their crew in Maine, and she included their comments and witticisms in a letter she dispersed to all.

Dave was in his first semester at Michigan State, playing Varsity squash and struggling with Physics. Bill was still in high school and was buried in work, applying to colleges and requesting a letter of recommendation of L., which she obliged. Bob had joined the glee club and would be working on a fishing rig the following summer. Eric, it became apparent, was the smartass of the bunch. He wrote that he'd be pursuing capitalism this summer after last summer's brush with the hippies in the woods of Acadia. He declared, "Down with the environment! Screw 'em all!" His words smirked through each typewriter letter. I pictured him as he must have looked all summer to his crew, goading them just to get a laugh. At the end of his note, he included what looked to me like some mysterious code:

"Some more--
Stink Pinks:
coma
escaped waterfowl
nasal drip
hippie seat

Stinky Pinky:
fat lady's nightwear
irate diner
ill-tempered down-Mainer
tea pot
unsuccessful sculpture

Stinkety Pinkety:
hysterics"

I scratched my head. I then noticed that in the margin it had been noted that the answers were to be found "elsewhere." I flipped through the letter and then through the pages of the report, and found wedged in the spine on the last page a list, a list of answers to Eric's apparent riddles. Each phrase above is a clue, and each answer is a pair of rhyming words. The answer to the first, "coma," is "deep sleep." The other answers follow in this vein and I can only presume that as you move down the list, from Stink Pinks to Stinkety Pinkety, the riddles get more and more difficult.

I don't know who's reading out there, but if you've got some guesses or some brilliant riddle-solving abilities, come out and play. Leave your answers in the comments below and I'll respond. Later, I'll post the whole list of answers.


Edit 7/13/06
The Answers
coma: deep sleep
escaped waterfowl: loose goose
nasal drip: beak leak
hippie seat: square chair
fat lady's nightwear: mighty nighty
irate diner: waiter hater
ill-tempered down-Mainer: cranky Yankee
tea pot: metal kettle
unsuccessful sculpture: chisel fizzle
hysterics: emotion commotion

A Little Photo Action

Click to see photos at Flickr.
This is our new apartment. Weee!

Whimsy, Coincidence and Circumstance

I was eating lunch today at the picnic table under the big tree, and a woman who works in the other building came out and asked if she could sit. She did, and we talked. She's new too, and comes from a background of working with environmental organizations. In Russia. It's not the type of response I'd expected when I asked her what she'd done before coming here, but dude. Russia. She's American too, through and through. I asked her if she'd spoken Russian before moving to Moscow, where she lived for three years, and she told me it was something she'd picked up in college and had spent most of her career chasing, looking for reasons and excuses to get back to Russia and speak the language again. It hit me that this is how things happen, how careers are made, how paths are forged. Most directions in life are really just haphazard and happenstance, clinging to a wing and a prayer. It seems to have worked for her, though I didn't ask why she'd left Russia and ended up here, sitting with me during lunch at a new job in America. She told me about government policy and muttered about Putin's regulations making is hard for non-profits. I imagined Chernobyl and the refuse of the Cold War. I like to think she was in the thick of it, but I don't really know.

When I told her about the desert, she told me she'd spent some time guiding kayak trips in Baja and could swear she'd driven by signs for the Yuha along the highway. Russia and Southern California, all the way to New Hampshire.

***

I was listening to Vermont Public Radio as I wound my way home on I-91 and a story about Lance Armstrong and the recent accusations against him came across the waves. I listened as strands of old, worn friendships, hospital memory and competition's edge came forth. It left me feeling less than delighted, but the story that followed did quite the opposite. It was a brief anecdotal story written and read by an author from New Hampshire.

The story is about the kid's softball team this woman coaches, and her seven-to-ten year old players who helped her to name the team. She explains how one girl had brought her donkey to practice and suggested "The Donkeys" as the name, how another danced and threw her hands in the air, proclaiming "The Whiz" as the apt team moniker. Another waited patiently with her hand in the air and finally, when called on, suggested "The Doors." The coach and narrator pauses here in the story to insert a personal reflection and psychedelic aside on her own '70s recollections. Her amusement at this kid's suggestion carries the story and delights the heck out of me. I smile to myself and hope that Ed is at home, listening to this story too. I think he would like it as much as I do.

I roll into the driveway and he opens the front door for me. I drop my bag and hear the sound of VPR coming from the kitchen. I shriek, I'm sure, as I proclaim, "The Doors!" and he laughs, and we laugh, and it's good.

Later on, we've changed the station and we're making pizza. He quotes a ridiculous line from a ridiculous song and almost immediately, the same song plays on the radio.

Our pizza, our pretty kitchen, crazy cookbooks, sweet spice rack and rad red tea kettle.

***

We ate pizza and drank Blackbeary Ale, and then we went out for a walk. I love the light at this time of summer, the way it lingers in the clouds and settles into purples and blues before sinking below the treeline entirely. We walked up and up and up the hills, around cul-de-sacs and through swarms and bunches of gnats and mosquitos. We found the old cemetery and inspected gravestones, compared life spans of husbands and wives and then trotted through the elementary school playground. We walked for over an hour and came back weary, but I like this. I like doing things after work, getting out and using my time and staying conscious of it. Too often, already, I feel like the time when I'm not at work whizzes by and suddenly I'm back at it again. I feel rushed and busy, but I don't ever get anything done. The madness of moving and settling is taking its toll, but I think I'm getting the hang of it. I'm avoiding the television and making priorities. I'm committing myself to spending time with Ed, and also, time away. I'm figuring out what needs to be done, and I'm doing it. Tonight, I'm writing. Next up, I want to start a good book. I've got a million on my list but haven't found, no, made the time to get myself immersed in one to stick with it.

It's been a busy month, but Friday starts a new one, and things are looking good.

Yay

Ed is back in town as of Wednesday and things have been busy ever since. We've been scouring the town for cool stuff for the apartment--bedside tables, lamps, rugs. It's all very domestic around here. We're finding great stuff for cheap at the local thrift shops and some super sales. It's starting to feel like home, slowly but surely. I'm trying to savor this time when things still feel new, unsettled, a bit strange, rather than get frustrated that our place is constantly a wreck of cardboard boxes and settling-in refuse. We'll never move into our first apartment again, see. This is one for the books.

***

We went to a party! Erin and Jeff moved into a new place a little over a month ago and so invited us and other friends to a house-warming party in Amherst. They made pizza and sangria and we brought the fruit salsa (recipe courtesy Aunt Cathy a la last Christmas) and it was a delicious time. It's great to be within driving distance along the same river as them. We'll have them here soon and will seal our identities as tres chic and social twenty-somethings.

***

We found an independent radio station that plays every manner of awesome music, all day every day. Earlier they played an All-Canadian music scene playlist, and tonight it's World Beat, a great mix of saucy music from all over the globe. Finding local radio stations I like and saving them to my car radio's memory buttons is another one of those marks of staying and permanence, like pickles in the fridge, I've been looking forward to. Luckily, we're back in the land where people speak and sing in English on the radio, and there's not a bit of mariachi to be found.

***

I found out at work last week that the office will be closed on July 3. It's closed every year on the fourth, but this year the fourth is a Tuesday and apparently we've all been working so hard, so the big boss man sent out a happy email announcing the extended holiday. Did somebody say four-day weekend? Sweeeet.

I got home from work with the sky threatening rain and the weather report offering severe thunderstorm warnings for my county. I ignored this, of course, and looked instead for my running shoes, which I put on and headed out the door with iPod in hand. I glanced upwards and decided that the clouds were positively getting brighter and that the rain wouldn’t come; at least not yet. I ran across the street and down to the light, then up the hill into the neighborhoods beyond the main drag. My legs felt strange, tight, unused to this kind of repetitive strain which, of course, they are. This was my first run of the year. The year! School year, calendar year, fiscal year, you name it. My feet haven’t seen the inside of those shoes and hit the pavement since well before I left Chicago. The meantime has found me straining my muscles in other ways, mind you, but my jogger-self was an image I’d left behind.

Today though, the power went out at work at four and our network, accordingly, crashed. We couldn’t do much in the way of business, so they told us to go, to catch a few more minutes at home. I’d debated this morning about trying to make it to 5:30 yoga and decided against it, thinking I would be too rushed leaving work at 5, finding the studio and parking. At 4:30, as I strode out of the office, I cursed this decision and lamented the fact that I could, in fact, have made the class. Oh yoga. When will I see you again...

On the ride home, I considered my evening as it shaped up to look much like yesterday’s. Eat dinner. Talk to Ed, who is still home in New Jersey, on the phone. Watch too much worthless yet enthralling television. Sleep. Meh...this was boring the first time. I was determined to change it up, to do something. So running it was.

I wheeled into the driveway and tossed my bag and keys on the counter while stripping my work clothes away and wriggling into running shorts and t-shirt. I was back out of the house within 3 minutes and headed up the hill when the sky, it opened up.

It didn’t happen slowly. Thunder crashed as rain drops the size of water balloons plummeted toward the earth in a dizzying moment of sudden rainfall. My legs kept running because they didn’t know what else to do, not to mention the fact that I was somewhat terrified and running seemed appropriate. The worry for my imminent demise quickly shifted to worry for my beloved iPod as I tucked it securely into my waste band where it stayed dry for roughly .4 seconds. As rain streamed down my face, I ran by a little league baseball diamond where kids and moms alike were scurrying like sea crabs toward the safe havens of their minivans. I rounded the bend and turned back toward home, back onto the main drag where rush hour traffic, all seven cars of it, was speeding by with wipers whipping backandforth backandforth. I felt valiant then, running with athletic prowess and dedication while they, pithy bunch, cowered in the safety and comfort of their automobiles. My pace quickened. I sloshed through puddles for the fun and daring of it. I crossed the street haphazardly, sprinting for home and turning my face to the sky.

It was quite a moment.

As I barrelled into my yard and through the porch door, my sneakers squished and my lungs ached. I walked in circles on the rooved porch, dripping and gasping. I sat and took off my shoes, which released my feet with the sound of giant suction cups, and leaned back against the clapboard. That was something, I thought, and the rain kept pourring down.

Man...

Guster and Counting Crows have new albums, and Guster's coming to Vermont in August.

Where have I been?

Productivity Prowess

I spent today getting things done like nobody's business. I was up before eight and crossing things off my list like a fiend by ten. I don't know what's gotten into me. It could be the forty-hour workweek forcing me to take advantage of my weekend, or that Ed is gone and not here to distract me with fun outings and general loveability. Either way, my to-do list ate it, hardcore, today, and now I can go to work tomorrow worry-free.

THE LIST
run dishwasher
clean bathroom
organize office stuff and apartment
do laundry
make magnets
fill and label spice jars
create menu and go grocery shopping
clean car, empty tail light water pool (erghgh...) and retape
deposit check at bank
cook dinner and clean up

Done and DONE, my friends.

For dinner, I made stir fry in the wok with red and green peppers, sweet potatoes, broccoli, peapods, tofu, onion and garlic. I added a great peanut ginger sauce which I cooked up from a recipe in my lovely How It All Vegan cookbook, and some rice noodles. Yum.

And now, I am le tired.

Yard Sale Super Sleuth

Today I bought things with nickels and quarters in yards across New England. Oh dear, it's yard sale season and we are moving into a new place while everyone else is moving out, selling their junk to us as treasure. I started this morning innocently enough, heading out before 10 on my way to the bank like any responsible poor young person does. I came upon the first sale not a mile from my house, snooped the scene and jammed too-big objects into my trunk with the help of a borrowed bungee cord. I continued down the road and rolled across a whole freaking neighborhood FULL of yard sales. "Multi-Family Moving Sale!" Dear lord. It was chaos. I pulled up to the curb and was almost backed into by a woman whose passion for junk-sifting had gotten the better of her as she raced in the direction of amazing bargains. I beeped, and after she got out of her car she turned to me and mouthed, "I'm sorry!" to me through my windshield. I got out and we exchanged nice words and we laughed and she was sort of old and I told her not to worry, I know how these things are. These multi families who were selling their stuff found me shelling out dollar bills and sending urgent ecstatic voice messages to Ed, who is home in Ner Jersey, regarding the wicked awesome stuff and I can't wait for you to and under $10 and eeeee! He called back later and was equally excited and called me a super sleuth, implanting in my brain an image of myself in a trench coat with a magnifying glass. I played this character for the rest of the afternoon..

I finally made it to the bank and got turned around by the madness that is Dartmouth College freshmen orientation. Yikes. That little town around the green was bumping with smart-looking young folks and their weary, wealthy parents. I made it out alive and zoomed south to visit my parents. My mom was ignited by my morning purchases (I had brought her an elephant-candle-holder...a trick , I guess, to make her want to pursue more sales with me...) and we found three more around town where I scored some other snazzy stuff.

The list of awesomeness goes something like this:
bookcase
crock pot
spice rack with jars
martini glasses
cannisters for flour, sugar, etc.
vase
pots for plants
tea pot with steeper and warmer woo!
paper towel holder thingy
napkin holder
candle stand
yellow serving plate
blue water glasses
computer mouse

The damage was somewhere near $30, not a cent more. GO frugality!

Today's lowlight: I was so excited to find a wooden dish-drying rack for our kitchen, and it cost one dollar! I brought it home and began cleaning it up tonight only to discover that it used to live in a house with a smoker. I could tell this because as soon as it got wet it started to smell. Really bad. Oh the DECEIT! I feel betrayed and sad and wish I could return it, not because of the dollar but because I feel as though some yard sale code of ethics has been violated and I, my friends, am the victim. I may just go back to the house where I bought it tomorrow and leave it in their driveway with a pouty note, and maybe some literature on the black lung.

Today's highlights: All the cool-as-shit reminders that I am back in New England. I got to drive to visit my parents today, and give my Dad a card and a kiss for Father's Day. I got to hunt for deals with my Mum. On the drive back, the trees were green and the mountains were blue and the sky was pink and the sun was bright, bright orange, burning the sunset across the sky. As I sorted through my yard sale gems tonight, I emptied a cardboard box I'd been given at one sale to stow some fragile stuff. It wasn't until that moment that I noticed some kid-like handwriting across one of the box's flaps. It reads:

1-Lowe
1- Nomar
4- Trot
2- Manny
2- Wakefield
1- Varitek

You may recognize these as names of current and former Red Sox players. I don't know what this coding or ranking is, or what it means at all. But regardless, to this tiny incidental but not inconsequential tidbit, I say hurrah. Indeed, hurrah.

Home

So it has been a month since I've been here, a month of packing and goodbyes and travel and friends and family and motion, of new jobs and apartments and hometowns, phone numbers, addresses and commutes. I've been to San Francisco and Chicago, through the Rockies and into the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Things have been busy, let's say. Let's also say that I couldn't wait to get here, to come back and write about these things happening in my life as a way to document the madness and pin down these times so they don't get away from me yet.

I left the desert; my time was done. Eight months and a million memories that make my eyes go teary each time I think of them. Seriously, I didn't know it would be like this. It's not that I miss it, really, but that I think of it as something important, something big and challenging and rewarding and wonderful, and I can't believe that it turned out to be all those things. I can't believe that it became the thing to send me down the path I wanted to follow. Eight months ago, I could not have predicted this. Eight months ago, I was different than I am now.

There's so much to say, really, about everything. Ed and I found this great apartment and we've been filling it slowly with pieces of us. We slept restlessly on an inflatable mattress without blankets for a week; I woke in the night not knowing where I was. I'm getting used to it now, and it's good. We have a bed and it's warm with blankets and darkness. We have bright windows and a laundry machine! There is a baby living upstairs who runs back and forth across the floor with pudgy baby feet. We have a yard, and a dart board, and a fridge full of food we want to eat. The library and the river are within walking distance; Vermont is just across the bridge.

I started this job where they give me challenging work and I get to write every day, and read and edit and play with pretty pages. I do research, tracking down information on Easter Island and reading up on intern evaluations, wading through quotes and descriptions and photos until I find the fitting ones. These quotes and these photos bring me to the desert, to my own internship, and make pride and memory swell in my throat until I'm sitting at my desk with the tears filling the space behind my eyes and willing myself not to get too sentimental. This is a good way to stay in touch with the Yuha and to remind myself how I got where I am. And this office is not one at all, but a big red barn with a garden in front and a forest in back. My office has a window and green walls and everyone's got Ansel Adams framed above their desks. The front room had a bowl full of watermelon yesterday. I steal candy from the guys downstairs and they joke with me without really knowing me at all. There is yoga on Fridays, free and easy, where we go if we want to wind down. Everyone wears Carhartts and t-shirts and sandals and makes a monthly group order to the local organic food co-op. Yay.

It's been raining and cold in New Hampshire since the day we arrived, as if to welcome us home from the hot, dry desert. I don't know what to make of the seasons these days, having come from the place of eternal summer and now entering what feels to me like Fall. Things are messy in my subconscious calendar, but they will get sorted out. The sun comes out a few minutes longer each day, and soon, I guess, will the heat.

I'm swimming in lists of to-dos: consolidate here and pay that there, repair this and schedule that, update info, transfer money, find this and change that. Oi, moving is busy and it seems I am catching up from the last two years of rootlessness. I just now, for the first time since middle school, have all my books and my clothing and toothbrush in one place. Last year, I swore that a jar of pickles in the fridge was some indication of stability. I didn't ever get there in Chicago, but I'll try again here. This feels like home, like staying and living and trying it for longer than awhile. This feels like it may be good.