Stay of Execution

Update: Coffee

Here's where I am on coffee.  I've been drinking two cups a week -- Thursdays and Sundays, generally.  Zippadee doo dah!  I like it, I really do.  I look forward to those days all week. 

I'm also currently limiting carbs, which is giving me mad cravings.  I permit myself alcohol (I'm not crazy!) and if I'm on a boat or at someone's house I'll eat what's available without being fussy.  But on my own I'm avoiding sugar and bread and rice and everything that's yummy and good in this world.  So on Monday I had to pick up a couple of dozen donuts and muffins and coffee for a seminar I was helping run.  Oh, I wanted a donut so badly, and it seemed so unfair that I had to cart all of these elusive sweet pastries all around.  So I compromised and let myself have a cup of coffee on a non-coffee day instead.

This is the slippery slope.  Now I have broken my strict two-cups-a-week plan, and as I feared, I now wheedle with myself every single day.  You already broke the rule, so why not just give in, and have a cup every day?  The new rule is, a cup on Thursdays, a cup on Sundays, and a cup on national holidays.  It's like the old rule, with very rare exceptions.  That's a stupid rule.  Why are you even doing this to yourself?  Just drink coffee when you want coffee, like everyone else in the world.  No!  I want coffee all the time.  It's bad for me.  No, it isn't.  There's no evidence that it's bad for you, in moderation.  In fact, it's probably good for you.  But it makes me amped up and gives me exciting dreams.  All the more reason to drink it!  No, it can't be good.  Just drink it, just go have a cup.  You know you want it.  I'm afraid of how much I want it.  That can't be good for me.  Plus, I like being a tea-drinker.  It seems so much nobler and healthier. You're being a ridiculous control freak.  Have a cup of coffee. 

Ack.  I am about to go to a coffee shop to do some writing before meeting some friends.  Will I, or won't I? 

They're Hiring

If you've always wanted to work for Anonymous Lawyer, now you can.  Think of the money, the prestige! 

All Requests: Reflections on High School

My old high school pal Bill requested a post about high school.  I've dilly dallied because I'm not sure what to say about high school.  It's funny.  I think as adults we use "high school" as code for what we think is a universal shared experience -- pettiness, drama, insecurity, strict yet whimsical social rules about how to act and be.  I hear and even say "what are we, in high school?" or "this is like high school," as though high school was a particular thing and everyone knows what that means.  But when I think about my actual high school memories, it wasn't so bad.  There wasn't so much drama and rebellion, teen angst and social stricture and wobbly sexual experimentation.  Or, I guess there was plenty of that, but there was plenty of other stuff, too -- significant, interesting, authentic friendships.  Space to be myself.  Good people, doing a variety of different kinds of things, and the chance to get to know them.  Learning, both academic and social.  I guess that my kneejerk response is to roll my eyes and say, "I hated high school, just like everybody else."  But I didn't really hate it. 

Tuesday Night Racing Begins

The first night of our Tuesday night series started last night.  When we arrived there was decent breeze from the east, but it started to die and clocked about 10 degrees as the evening progressed.  Our dazzlingly beautiful blonde friend joined us as our third, although she drove the race committee boat out, anchored it, and stepped aboard the Hooked on Tonics only for the race and stepped off to drive the RC boat back in when racing was done.  She proved an excellent tactician and the three of us worked well together.  Ruby, the redhead, and I had decided we could call her "Cinderella" and have her be our scullery maid for the race, but she somehow evaded any and all rigging and derigging responsibilities and was inside enjoying tonics before we made it off the water.  Outsmarted again.  She definitely has the makings of a HOT girl.   

We got a second, behind the nefarious Schadenfreude, who is the fleet favorite to win.  We've been scheming ways to sabotage Schadenfreude, including stealing the skipper's shorts and altering the name on the stern, with electrical tape, to something else.  (Can you think of a long word that begins with Sch and ends with de?  I can....)  As instructed in paragraph 9 of the racing instructions, we all had to give the winning crew a beer. 

I'm surprised we did as well as we did, because the boat is a mess.  Most of the problems are little ones that we can work around and fix over the course of the season, but there's something wrong with the rig.  I have only the slightest bit of weather helm on port tack, which is fine, but I have noticeable lee helm on starboard tack.  I can reduce it a little bit with sail and backstay controls but it's still there, decisively.  Not fast. 

We stood inside and laughed and told stories and teased one another.  It feels great to be back in summertime again.   We talked about getting Cinderella a boat of her own to sail.  I used to race against her in junior sailing -- she used to trounce me.  She should be driving.  There are a few boats in our fleet that haven't been launched -- owners too busy with new houses or babies.  We'll get you a crew, we'll find you a mooring, we'll help you launch, we promised her.  She got excited.  Maybe we'll have another boat on the line in a couple of weeks.  Excellent. 

Question

Last night at dinner someone brought up the Myers-Briggs test.  I perked up and so did Neighbor.  Our hostess pulled out her test results.  517 chimed in: "Do men find this stuff interesting, or is it only women?"  The other two men at the table shrugged.  Apparently not.

Men, women?  Who cares about the Myers-Briggs test? 

I think it's interesting.  I am an ENFP.  Way, way off the charts in the P zone.  Borderline T/F. 

Dear [ ],

On my walk today I smelled sweet fern and it made me think of you, and that memory took me by surprise with its softness.  Since we broke up I've tended to think of you as "the jackass," and to be honest, I've felt mostly dismay and regret about the fact that I dated you at all.  But today as I walked along past the sweet fern I remember standing with you in a sandy field of scrub and sweet fern and all kinds of good things about you came back to me.  Maybe you were a jackass, but you were a lot of other things, too.

You knew a lot about plants: you taught me the name of the sweet fern, rubbing it between your fingers so I could smell it.  You taught me the name of pachysandra, too, and I remember how full of color and play your garden was.  You hid small treasures in the garden and the woods -- you made tiny sculptures and hung them in the tree branches and I found sweet little ceramic coins you'd made among the birdhouses and the flowers.  I remember you teaching me to shoot and the fun we had aiming at clay pigeons and targets.  I remember racing along a woodsy path on mountain bikes with you, our dogs crashing along beside us, and playing soccer in that clearing.  I remember how you cooked, marvelous peppery meat and fish, perfect salads, while I sat engrossed with a book.  I remember the great granite fireplace you built and those wonderful kinetic metal sculptures you made, and how your house was full of flourishing plants.  I remember speeding along country roads in your convertible, to that brown-green lake that smelled shady and fresh and felt so cool to swim in.  I remember sailing with you on a slow light-air day, diving off the bow and floating gently back to the stern to climb back into the boat.  I liked the way you could set the anchor from the stern. 

We laughed a lot together, carelessly.  You were fun.  You live in a world full of playful beauty, sounds and smells and tastes and visions.  Yes, there's a recklessness about you, and something else.  But this letter isn't for finding fault with you.  I know exactly why we aren't dating anymore.  But over the last few years I've forgotten why we ever did.  And today, the smell of sweet fern reminded me of some good reasons. 

I'm sorry I've been cold to you.  I hope you are well, and happy, and that your garden is flourishing. 

With affection,

Scheherazade

Today I Went For A Long Walk

It was a sunny day, warm and bright and breezy.  I saw lots of pretty things.  I brought my camera.  Here are some pictures I took.

All Requests: My Favorite Things

I forgot to mention that one of my favorite things is my small cast iron pan, that's just perfect for cooking one over-easy egg at a time.  (A breakfast including eggs over easy is another one of my favorite things.)

And here's a picture of the painting I bought a couple of years ago from a local artist and baker, Stephen Lanzalotta.  That's one of my favorite things.

Summer Begins

Neighbor and I got up this morning and did a fitness test -- the one that I gave to my sailors back in March.  Whew!  I'm pooped.  We got the same total score, even though she outmatched me on the run and the plank and the wall sit.  I did more crunches and pushups.  We were pretty even and both of us are a little spacey now.

Spent the day so far mowing the yard -- the project that is always waiting to be done -- and planting seedlings and seeds in window boxes.  About to do a bunch of invitations for a bridal shower I'm organizing.  Tonight, grilling some meat and having drinks with a dear friend I've known since elementary school, visiting from NYC.  Tomorrow, more yard work and some boat maintenance. 

In The Clearing Stands A Boxer

Those of you expecting a full-blood boxer will be surprised by these pictures.  I hope you won't be disappointed.  She is a very good looking dog.  More pics to come.  For now, enjoy these.