Sheltered

I walked into town to 30% chance of rain, thunder showers possible, but the sky looked bright and the sun was out and I just felt like walking. The thing about the country is the way we drive everywhere, because everything is far away. Not so far, though, if I'm just going to town and mid-day traffic is a bear. My legs work, and I needed some loosening up after last night's bike ride. I packed my burrito lunch in a foil wrap and hit the sidewalk.

Brown glass shards along the curb looked to me like shiny slugs as I headed up the street. Diesel fumes and swarms of pesky moths mingled in the air. The traffic light was backed up just past the hill and idle drivers watched me as I passed. I was making better time than them, and burning less fuel which is good for a girl whose car has been on E since Wednesday. I'll refill it when I drive somewhere, but carpooling and staying home have worked out fine so far.

I reached town and the wind kicked up just as I ducked inside. Shiny new things lined the walls and hung aisle after aisle on metal racks. I was mesmerized, touching everything and scanning for something that would beg me to take it home. I'm a sucker for shopping sometimes, but more often I am frustrated quickly and leave empty-handed feel lousy and cheated and bored. It was more of the same today, though I found my sought-after swiss exercise ball for extra cheap and could not resist. I paid, then ditched the packaging at the door and stuffed my loot into my pack.

The store's glass entrance had grown gray quickly, and moms with kids scurried in from the parking lot, dodging raindrops as they came. I considered my options. I could stay and wait out the storm, or I could go, and walk through it because why not? I went.

I ambled, made a point, almost, of not rushing to get home and find shelter from the storm. The rain was light but cold, the sky hanging in heavy pauses and shades of feathered white. Cars whooshed past, wipers counting time against the rhythmic drops, break lights reflecting metallic against the slick blacktop. I raised my chin and closed my eyes and found joy within the elements.

Last year, I lived it. I spent every day and every night outside, subject to the whims and moods of nature and weather and storms. The desert was unforgiving but we learned to cope. Cracked skin and gnarled hair were the only scars. The rewards were greater by far.

Today my skin is smooth and polished and my hair is sweet and soft. My fingernails are filed, even, and painted rusty pink. I came home to a tub of hot water and fresh squeezed lemonade, to a book and an afternoon nap. I realize how sheltered I am.

Snow in June

Outside my window, fat white flakes waft in every direction, idly falling on green grass and blooming trees. Drifts collect along curbsides and pile on shrubs and windowsills. This unseasonal flurry looks so much like snow that if I cover my ears, blocking out cricket sounds and chirping birds, I can believe for a second that it's December, the winter's first shivering snow. Instead, it's cottony bursts of summer seeds afloat on warm summer breezes, an extravaganza of pollination at its peak. It's allergens on parade, a horticulturists orgy of early summer delight. Soon, seeds will take root, trees will sprout, flowers will bloom and summer will officially begin. For now, it's snowing in June.

New Mexico

You had a thing for Spanish women and a penchant for making me laugh. We rode around town in your black car, back when we'd just met and I barely knew you. I barely do, still.

I remember you mostly in music through crackly speakers on dark highway nights. You knew every raw inflection of Talking Heads live show discs and sang in silly voices, mimicking their maddening sound. I was a panicked mess of deadlines and asshole bosses but it was fine, because you were too. It was campaign work; we were in deep.

You and Angel and I sped down highway 40 for Santa Fe, and sang in crooked harmonies with Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds. We cinema-hopped and saw the opening credits, the middle sections and the closing lines of three, maybe four movies in one night. We met friends and wandered through art galleries and abandoned malls, ate pizza with jalapenos and were chased home down the highway by a maniac in a broken pick-up truck.

Dick's was the local joint and Wednesdays were karaoke. You belted Canadian rock ballads and snickered through nasty lyrics which, according to your boss, were inappropriate. You were a minor public figure, in the public eye. You almost lost your job; you lost your mind instead.

You played Shakira at top volume with less shame than one would expect. You had memorized every foreign syllable and chorus, and liked her for more than her beauty. You were eclectic like that, and I couldn't dislike you for it. Later on, I would find a copy of the album and play it loudly on sunny days and I would think of you.

May Cause Cancer in California

A co-worker pointed me to this article yesterday in Best Life Magazine and I've been shaking my head in horror ever since. It talks about plastic and the ways it, to put it lightly, destroys our oceans, our sea life, our environment, our health and our planet.

This sounds like an alarmist's litany, but the article reads more like a well-researched report on the current state of the world. In simple terms, it runs through the list of chemicals that interact and react in various ways to interfere with our reproductive processes and the healthy development of unborn babies. It states the easily forgotten fact that plastic lasts forever--that less than 5% of all plastic created in the world is ever recycled, and the remainder is tossed into landfills, leeched into bodies of water and bled en masse into the oceans. It shows photos of sea life, tangled in plastic netting and decomposing on beaches, packed to the gills (literally) with bits of plastic packaging and bottle caps.

It's always unsettling to read an article like this one. I go through life relatively aware that nearly everything poses an environmental or health threat, and to counteract all this bad stuff in the world I really have to work at it. This awareness, though, gets dulled every day because it's hardly immediate enough to warrant any constant, conscientious action on my part (and I'm not proud of this. I'm working on getting better, at sustaining my own efforts and not getting complacent and comfortable simply because I can. Because what are the consequences--5 years from now, 50, 500?) But articles like this remind me that these threats and problems are immediate, if not for me personally then for the earth, or the ocean ecosystems, or the sea turtle. It reminds me that though I can't see the chemical toxins seasoning my main dish at dinner, those toxins will stick with me for the rest of my life, clinging to the fatty tissue around my organs, just lying in wait.

The positive result of all these reminders is that I am motivated to act. I am thinking again about how to change my patterns and buy fewer things at the store in plastic containers. I am thinking about Tupperware, and how I store and heat my food and what that might mean for the interaction of chemicals in my immediate environment. I'm thinking that eating fish while claiming to be a vegetarian motivated by avoiding the chemicals and hormones in meat might be entirely self-defeating.

Whatever your take on it, I recommend the article. If nothing else, it's food for thought.

Have a Thrilling Day

We went to Six Flags yesterday and lurched, zoomed, spun, splashed, rushed, fell, dove, climbed and tumbled to near death. After every ride, a canned voice came out of a speaker in the wall and thanked us for riding Superman/Scream/Batman/The Mind Eraser etc. and urged us to have "A Thrilling Day." I woke today with less of a thrill than with aching muscles and random bruises in awkward places: the center of my back, my left hip, my right ankle, my pointer finger. I feel positively OLD. My brain feels jiggled out of place. I laid awake last night waiting for the adrenaline to subside, and felt the residual sensations of falling from 220 feet in a nose dive while strapped tightly into a vibrating steel contraption. My father says I have a death wish for even visiting this place. My mom calls it courage. I call it insanity, but damn if it wasn't fun.

Moving Weather

It's been damp and gray for a week, the same as last year at this time when we moved into our place, unpacked our boxes and slept shivering on an inflatable mattress without blankets, which we'd somehow left somewhere at one house, in one box or another. It poured cats and dogs as we hefted soggy cardboard boxes from hatchback to front porch. It rained down for three nights, ushering in a new season, a new apartment in a new town, a new life.

I remember stark overhead lights and bare walls, early dusks and the scattered evidence of everywhere we'd been. The detritus of two years on the road was spread haphazardly across every room and stacked in every corner. Piles of belongings we hadn't seen since stowing them in our parents' attics before leaving for college littered counter tops and filled closets. Later on, as the year passed and winter edged in, we would sort through and purge nearly half, parting ways with unwanted and unnecessary items.

Looking back, it feels like a privilege to be in one place long enough to know what we need and what we don't. The patterns and habits that come with staying make obvious the items that just don't fit. There is no question of whether in our next life, our next town or apartment, that kitchen gadget or sweatshirt or tchotchke might be needed, because we're not thinking that far ahead. I've been searching out this precious presence since we started moving in the first place, so we're stopping, and we're staying, and it's good. This year it's raining, but I'm not moving an inch.

Wade in the Water

93% humidity, and the first river swim of the season. Summer is HERE.

Dead Funny

Yesterday I saw I hearse with the license plate LKY STF. That made me laugh.

The New Love in My Life

I'm completely in love with my latest discovery: the cooking blog. Not only are these sites fun to read and informative, but they are absolutely beautiful. Just lovely to look at. The colors and the simplicity of the designs make my little heart sing. And the recipes, they're not hard! I feel like I could try them at home. And who doesn't love fun new ideas for what can become a drab eating routine? No one, that's who. If you've got good cooking and food blogs that you love, send 'em my way. I am hungry, hungry for more.