little minds, little objects

Best. Thing. Never?

2011-10-19T01:18:00.000-07:00

It may just be me, BUT. When someone tells me that dazzling best-thing-ever-in-life software update will "sync" contacts between my phone, computer and their cloud, I am assuming that means = "make them all the same."

However, if by "sync," they meant "make into three slightly different versions of mostly the same information, with different permutations of duplicates," then yes. It does "sync."

strokes.

2011-09-24T02:41:00.000-07:00

After a hours-long conversation with hubby about "surviving without strokes (compliments)" as the primary learning opportunity from my last job, I receive a super nice super complimentary email from new boss.

And it's like finding that spot on your puppy that needed scratching.

Ahhhhhhh. It feels so good.

how to how to.

2011-08-24T22:58:00.001-07:00

When my mom insists that those nubby blue dryer balls need to be replaced at least annually, if not every few months, I google: "how often buy dryer balls."

As part of my search, I come across the following:

How to use a hairdryer? Hairdryer?
Not. In. Shower.
Seriously.

the dresser-shaped clot in his brain.

2011-06-14T04:07:00.000-07:00

This is the dresser that almost killed my husband.

Not from being trapped beneath it, oh no. Nor from being crushed, as it dropped from a 30th story window. No.

Rather, from the dresser-shaped clot that formed in his brain, over the 4-hour task of putting this thing together. The sharp corners of such a clot, are apt to get clogged in some artery or another, causing the head to... explode.

"I hope whoever designed this dresser dies of bubonic plague," says he.
"Sadly, it would be an insult to plague sufferers everywhere," I say.

A cautionary tale, internet. There IS NO SUCH THING AS CHEAP FURNITURE. You always, always pay.

marvel.

2011-06-13T03:21:00.001-07:00

Marveling a little at the fact that I have had nothing to say on this space in over a year.

There were the first bites and the first bubbles. First birthday and first bruises. A few exciting new kitchen appliances. Now, we are inching ever closer to potty training, and me = VERY excited to spend significantly less time talking/thinking/planning around... poop.

There is also the fun of living with a small person who can now talk. ish. Consists a lot of a series of very short conversations stuck in an endless loop:

At 5AM:
"What doing, Mommy?"
"Sleeping."
"What doing, Mommy?"
"Sleeping."

(Now repeat seventeen... hundred... times. You get the idea.)

And if I were to simply read it all on paper, it would sound insane, the idea of planning life around poop and spending the day having the same silly conversation over and over. And over. But there is something so wondrous about these little people, who are discovering the world new everyday, so joyful, so open, whose love is so guileless and so free.

That to belong to one of them, is an experience so fleeting and so lovely it almost hurts. I feel it slipping through my fingers each day, as I feel the shock anew of her growing up and away. From a squishy, blinking baby to this little person with opinions, and demands (oh, the demands!), a curly-haired soul so vulnerable, confusable, giggleable, wonderable. And mine.

Even if just for this little while.

indignity.

2010-03-18T23:46:00.000-07:00

...is paying $80 for a really bad haircut.

dinosaurus.

2010-02-19T01:20:00.000-08:00

My interns are making me feel like a 30-something dinosaur.

Me: I don't know. I feel sort of overwhelmed by facebook. It's like another inbox calling to me with a million things I'm not doing. Do I really need that in my life?

Intern: But it's awesome.

Me: And then the social networking--it seems to just jump from this NOW thing to the next. Like what ever happened to Friendster?

Intern: What's "friendster"?

Me: Sigh.

what goes in.

2009-10-23T00:49:00.000-07:00

Making my first batches of homemade baby food. Tonight? A local favorite, okinawan (purple) sweet potatoes.

Wondering: If her poop will turn purple.

Thinking: I spend waaaay too much of my day thinking about poop.

really small objects

2009-10-09T23:43:00.001-07:00

Sometimes when you're feeling in need of a life overhaul, it turns out all you really needed was to get your bangs trimmed.

Ah. Much better.

old japanese people? totally rock.

2009-09-22T00:52:00.000-07:00

Bought our first place, and it was indeed a little bit like this. Except that it turns out that a hundred thousand dollars buys you like 30 square feet in Hawai'i. Our place? Little, but good.

Our new next door neighbor lady, Mrs. S, is the kind of old Japanese person who will bring you a bag of papayas that she has carefully and individually bagged.

Old Japanese people? Totally rock.

Best. Thing. Ever. #3

2009-09-16T07:09:00.000-07:00

Spunky monkey: perfect, small, and all dressed up. Friends bearing handmade gifts? Best. Thing. Ever.

2009-09-13T17:17:00.000-07:00

Doing the once a month cooking thing, in attempt to cut food costs and eat less preservatives. Have cried "uncle" on the idea that we can cook every night. But we do seem to be able to cook once and then defrost and reheat for the following 30 days. (It does get a little repetitive, but so does Chinese take-out, right?)

The whole scheme is entirely enabled by the fact that my father-in-law has an enormous deep freeze on the property. I have to admit that there is a certain Martha-like satisfaction in a freezer stocked full of a month of impeccably labeled frozen meals.

This month? Rosemary roast potatoes. And lots of 'em.

It's an indication

2009-09-01T16:33:00.000-07:00

I have a small kukui tree in my office. It is alternatively subject to being cared for, and totally neglected, and is a total indication of how my life happens to be going at the moment.

At present? Totally denuded, but for one little new leaf bud poking out on the top.

So, perhaps things are looking up.

Reconnecting.

2009-08-27T14:33:00.001-07:00

Have spent the better part of the last two years seriously... Under. Water. Only now, do I feel like I am finally in the process of rising to the surface, to reconnecting--ready to rebuild bridges between past lives and present.

Was talking to my wonderful friend Tal the other day, and making analogies about phases of our life and "senior year." Like, throughout our lives, we progressively graduate from one thing to the next, leave shed one life to enter another. We move to another apartment, take a new job, move to a new city. We buy homes, have babies.

And as much as I love that analogy, I realize how much of the last two years has been less like graduation (the shift from the senior year of one thing into the freshman year of the next), than a truly difficult and painful transition from one kind of life to a totally new one. Like a birth. Painful, poopy, and lots of tears. But once everyone is cleaned off and sewn up... you stare into the wide light and the possibility of everything. Right there in your arms.

Best. Thing. Ever. #2

2009-08-27T02:38:00.000-07:00

Adding baby giggles to the list of best. thing. ever.

Better than Expected.

2009-06-04T20:12:00.000-07:00

So, my kid was born on a Sunday afternoon, and the birth? It was totally not as bad as I thought it would be. (I think it probably says more about my expectations than it does about labor.) But will spare you the details, internet.

And post-baby yes, there is a lot of crying and pooping, and not a whole lot of sleeping--which on the whole is kind of tough, but less tough than say, my graduate comprehensive exams. And definitely less excruciating than most of junior high.

moo.

2009-03-12T16:31:00.000-07:00

1. Give into craving for pie and pulled into neighborhood Zippy's, purchase entire chocolate cream pie for self.
2. With pie in hand, walk back to car to find person in next spot parked 7 inches from driver-side door.
3. Try passenger side door, discover cannot fit ass into car on this side, either.
4. Again, with pie in hand, crawl through back of hatchback and into driver seat.

= Sequence of events that will inevitably make you feel like a cow. (But totally worth it. Pie. Mmmm.)

big box love.

2009-03-04T15:45:00.000-08:00

Yes, yes. Big box stores are bad for local small business and our island way of life. But if we have to put up with having Walmart on this rock, we might as well have a Target.

And at least (as far as we know) now we can shop at a big box that hasn't been storing iwi under its parking ramp. Sigh.

34 weeks

2009-02-24T14:51:00.000-08:00

If it looks uncomfortable, it's because... it is.

Misnomer.

2009-02-04T19:10:00.000-08:00

So we went to the first of our birthing/childcare preparation classes.

Because I am apparently the kind of person who will take classroom instruction on just about anything, I signed us up for every class offered in our health plan's Health Education catalogue. K has wisely said nothing about this crammed class schedule, though he could probably have reasonably asked me if I was "on crack or something." But this is why I married the man.

Anyway, after two hours of lecture and videos on labor and delivery, I decided that this class should be more accurately named "large plastic items that we can fit up your manko." Yeesh.

this one.

2009-02-03T14:44:00.000-08:00

Now, THIS is what I want in a baby shower cake.

Best. Thing. Ever.

2009-01-04T01:02:00.001-08:00

"THIS shade of yellow? It is, the best thing ever! Ever! In life!" exclaims N.

"I thought you said organic coconut milk shampoo was the best thing ever in life," he quips back.

When N gets excited about something (which in my experience is about once a week, if not more often) it almost always described in terms of: "the best thing ever."

Because we are not at all about the overstating of things.

My favorite thing about this superlative, is that N uses it so inclusively--any number of a dozen or more things can, and are, the "best thing ever" at any given moment in time. It isn't about picking a "best" among many, but about the sheer joy and excitement in whatever shiny object happens to be directly front of you.

So, new series: Best. Thing. Ever. Which is basically whatever I happen to be obsessed with at the moment.

This moment?

Best. Thing. Ever.

getting hitched.

2008-12-27T21:56:00.000-08:00

We got married mostly the way we wanted--outdoors, with friends and family, minimal fuss, locally-made, and plenty of wine.

What we couldn't control, was the weather. It was a little like trying to get hitched in the middle of a hurricane. It was chaos, and I don't know that there was a guest who didn't leave the wedding soaked.

Common wisdom in Hawaii says that rain on your wedding day is a blessing. We took it as proof positive that you CAN, indeed, have too much of a good thing.

The food, however? Was grinds.

it's like i don't even recognize you.

2008-12-27T21:46:00.000-08:00

This year, I had two unfortunate beer-in-bag incidents, one while trying to sneak a grolsch into a public fourth-of-july fireworks event, and one while toting around a mis-capped bottle of rootbeer from a staff meeting. One resulting in the death of my blackberry, the other in the demise of my trusty little fujitsu lifebook laptop.

And this is how, in the year I moved 3,000 miles, changed jobs, got married, and got knocked up, I also became... a Mac person.

The jury is still out on whether the conversion was a good thing or not. It is all, however, evidence that I like my change in large lumps.

funny faces.

2008-11-22T22:31:00.000-08:00

Fred "inanimate" stickers--waterproof peel and stick eyes and mouths for your stuff. Received them as birthday gift a couple of months ago, and just now beginning to make friends of surrounding inanimate objects. You could probably do similar damage with a sharpie, but there is something about stickers that is just. good. fun.

all is right.

2008-11-19T12:22:00.000-08:00

Alberto and Dick indicted. Stevens no longer in Senate. Woke up to CNN news ticker and felt a little more right with the world.

21 weeks.

2008-11-15T09:52:00.000-08:00

on travel.

2008-11-15T09:08:00.001-08:00

Coming to the end of a week on the continent. My last, for a while. More tired than I'd like to admit. This week has been yet another opportunity to marvel at the new limitations of my pregnant body. Sleep--for which I have always had a particular talent--is becoming more difficult. My back aches more. Am still waiting for the alleged "glow."

Travel fairly productive, both workwise and as therapy. Place and perspective often go together.

Other things to report: Wine country is not as much fun when thou canst not sip. Have affirmed that room service, is indeed, in the list of the 10 best things ever. Wet hair in cold, continent weather? In the list of ten worst.

Woke up in San Francisco and so many shoes, waiting to be bought.

20 weeks.

2008-11-10T09:18:00.000-08:00

we win.

2008-11-05T14:35:00.000-08:00

Yes, Hawaii votes last. And yes, despite our illegal annexation to the continent, more than half of Americans think that Hawaii is a foreign county*. Yes, the election gets called practically before our polls close. AND despite the fact that we have just as many electoral votes as say, Vermont, no, there aren't many who bother to waste time or money wondering much about what Hawaii voters are thinking.

But let it be known that, in Hawaii? Last night? We voted for Obama by the highest margin of any state. He's our guy. That means that while YOU might love Obama, WE love him more. So there, continent.

*Statistic based on the fact that it, um, feels true, rather than actual fact.

equivalency

2008-11-05T14:27:00.000-08:00

One thing that they do not have in Honolulu: corn dog stands. You know, where they sell you a batter-fried hot dog impaled on a stick? And fresh lemonade?

What you can get, however, is affectionately known as "the waffle dog." It is exactly, exactly, exactly what it sounds like.

19 weeks.

2008-10-31T13:18:00.000-07:00

knowing.

2008-10-30T10:16:00.000-07:00

People can make a lot out of certain kinds of choices. N and I have several systems for ~~judging you~~, er, categorizing you, based on the left to right order in which you program the preset buttons on your car radio (numeric order, or by most favorite?). Also, do you prefer your sandwich cut in squares or triangles?

There are any number of different versions of such questions by which people size each other up. You know: Boxers or Briefs? Liberal or Conservative? Longboard or short? Crunchy or Creamy?

And: Are you going to find out? Because deciding whether to find out the sex of your baby is apparently the choice which will mark you forever as either a need-to-knower or a wants-to-be-surprised.

So, internet. Because I am indeed the kind of person who puts my faith in ultrasounds, and so that you may judge me accordingly, I am letting you know that... my kid? Is a girl.

remedy.

2008-10-29T12:51:00.000-07:00

In the end, what made it better (or at least, less homesick):
K played a silly, made-up song on the guitar. And let me cry. Then we ate ice cream and played Wii.

homesickness.

2008-10-28T20:25:00.000-07:00

It is a gray day in Honolulu. Which is a nice change of pace when you live some place that is so perpetually humid and sunny.

But today, there is something about the weather that is making me feel quite homesick. A longing for Los Angeles. For home.

-----

There is this sensibility that is prevalent among certain sets that one place is just as good as another. That a byproduct of a more globalized world is a more mobile society. What does it matter where people go?

P was of this mind. We argued about it from time to time--why I was so stubbornly rooted within the radius of space bounded by Hawaii, San Francisco, and the California-Mexico Border. There actually is a formula, something like:

Willingness to Stay = fn(average temperture, number of places to comfortably be invited to eat Thanksgiving dinner, proximity to good Chinese food, z.)

But I could never articulate it in a way that was acceptably reasonable or rational to him. To him, it should have all been the same. He was a hermit crab. Picking up each shell in succession and discarding this one for the next. He would have been as happy in Tibet as in New Hampshire.

I think each in our own way, we felt a strange kind of pity for each other. Him for me, for being so fenced in. Me for him, for never feeling deeply, undeniably at home.

-----

It has officially been a year since I moved here to Honolulu. I have a life here now--a job, a fiance, a baby on the way. Plants and, of course, a couch. Plans, too. Plans to build things, and grow things, take classes, start things.

I'm not sure when it is that your homelights shift. When, or if, you ever trade one in for another. I love my life here. But it's not home. Not yet. People ask me about our plans, if I'll ever want to move back to LA. I find myself saying, "We're here. For now."

Looking out at the gray and the ocean out my window today, there is a longing for thick, cold, glassy waves and kelp smells. California ocean announces its presence--it is in the air, reaching. Aggressive, salty. Hawaiian ocean smells more constant, subtle. Less irrascible. Less fishy. Of course, it is all ocean.

And yet.

In the end, what there is to say on a gray, homesick day:
We're here.
For now.

monday morning.

2008-10-27T15:36:00.000-07:00

favorite honolulu thing #11: Sunny morning with after-rain smells.

week 16

2008-10-27T14:58:00.000-07:00

China.

2008-10-21T21:40:00.001-07:00

One of the small joys in my day is receiving E's in-time, live text messages from China.

Today: "Just saw a guy walking down the street with five monkeys."

Not three. Not four. But five.

Conclusion? It either has to be monkey basketball or a chamber quintet.

angry sausage.

2008-10-14T02:49:00.000-07:00

So what nobody told me about being pregnant is that the first half of it pretty much sucks. Ass.

Yes, yes, I realize that everyone is different and that it is always a unique experience. But let me just say that for me? It was a bleary, slow four months of barely making it out of bed and barfing. A lot.

The very best gift that I received for my 30th birthday was in fact a large bucket of philipino-brand saltine crackers, individually wrapped in packages of four.

There are these hormones which apparently take over your body and ooze out your pores. You can smell everything. And everything smells. Bad. Bad, bad. People are constantly asking you how you're doing and expecting you to express joy at your good news. When all you really want to do is punch them (for no good reason, really) and take a nap.

On top of which, I discovered that throughout these four months, you slowly get just fat enough to feel like a sausage in pretty much every piece of clothing you own. It is a stage of my life we have come to kindly refer to as Miwa's "angry sausage period."

K: How are you feeling?
Me: Suck it.

All the barfing and wanting to stab people around you with something sharp? This is really what they should have in those teen pregnancy safe sex ads. Kids, this? It could happen to you.

oh. my.

2008-10-14T01:06:00.000-07:00

My mother seriously sent me an email today which started "OMG..."

I think it is one of the signs that the universe is folding in on itself. The world, as we know it? It. is. ending.

sometimes, these things just happen.

2008-09-24T20:18:00.000-07:00

(Yes, yes, E. It's been a while.)

It's just been that kind of year. The kind that sort of swallows you up and spits you out. And while you're still the same you that you always were, you are also fundamentally changed in ways you can't yet put words to.

So, internet. In a few short months from now, I will be someone's wife. And then, a few more months from now, I'll be someone's mother. Crazy, I know. My own self-perceptions are still running to catch up to the reality of events.

Happy? Yes. Scared? Totally. I bought a couch for the first time a year ago and the commitment to a large, heavy piece of furniture truly freaked me out a little. I can only describe marriage and a kid as feeling kind of like purchasing a groovy-looking couch you can't return. Freaked.

On the other hand, my life is becoming what it is I've always deeply wanted--a little house near the beach, a garden, a scratchy-faced someone for kissing and mutual understanding, and someone small to bake disastrous buttercream iced muppet-shaped birthday cakes for.

It is yet another chapter. It will be, as was most of the last ten years, improvised, imperfect and by the seat of my pants. I also hope it will be just as much fun.

my mail is fuzzy

2008-02-21T21:00:00.001-08:00

I found in my mail at home today something small, red, and fuzzy with happy wishes from home. A good day.

what there is to report

2008-02-21T20:48:00.000-08:00

There is waking, and there is work. And that is most of all that has happened in four months or so of Honolulu.

petitionwatch 2007.

2007-11-14T15:17:00.001-08:00

So, our first direct call to action since my advent at this little grassroots non-profit--it has gone out. I have been obsessively watching the numbers of signers creep up ever since.

The only thing keeping my head from exploding is the fact that season four of this debuts tonight. Nothing like a little bit of catty fashion reality television to take your mind off all you're not doing to make the world better and consequently poking out your brain with a stick.

Like, who names their kid VictorYA? These are important questions, folks.

I have also taken to egging my german biologist friend into saying "you're in? or you're aus!" Which, if you know him, is... hysterical.

what is radical?

2007-11-11T03:25:00.000-08:00

One result of my moving from government work into advocacy work, is that I've been thinking a lot about radicalism. Radical ideas, radical action. What does it mean to be "radical"? It can mean "out there" or "crazy." For others, radical means "passion," "movement" and "the cause." I work for an organization whose identity is deeply tied to the idea of radicalism. So. How radical am I?

I saw my old buddy Capt. Charlie's appearance on the Today Show the other day, and it occurred to me that perhaps radical is simply about "new." New ideas, new approaches. What is radical one day, is commonly accepted the next.

Posted some thoughts on GGG.

Radical or not, what I CAN say is that both advocacy and change happen to be a lot. of. work. Like, endless hours of it. So for everyone and anyone I owe a call or email, please know that you are in my thoughts! With radical love!

Sometimes, what "saving the environment" really looks like is lots of paperwork!

form improved, function the same.

2007-11-07T02:48:00.000-08:00

The amazing Vicky of makehay has just released the new, improved Green Girls Global site. I just posted about my move, please go check it out!

innocent balls.

2007-11-04T12:43:00.000-08:00

I like to think that anyone who might find there way here, does so by way of searches like, "brilliant observations on organics," or even, "dogs in clothes not good."

It turns out that the top searches to this blog are "bull haircut" and "innocent balls."

As a public service, internet, I am letting you know: there is no such thing as a bull haircut. And there ARE NO innocent balls. All. Balls. Are. Guilty.

...the more things stay the same.

2007-11-02T16:41:00.000-07:00

In my old job, I sat in an office at a government agency and spent the bulk of the day writing and reading reports and responding to emails. Now I sit at an office at a grassroots environmental organization. And spend the bulk of the day writing and reading reports and responding to emails.

I kid. A little. (Have I mentioned that that environmentalism is an astonishingly LOT of paperwork?)

Certainly, some things have not changed. But many things have. I have never felt such a sense of purpose and urgency in my work--not simply that the work I am doing is meaningful, but that the work I am doing is truly part of something greater, a small contribution to things that might actually change the future of this place. And for the better.

Perhaps unconsciously, I have always considered myself to be "from" here--three generations before grew up and lived and worked in Hawaii. I am finding that I am a true Californian in ways I didn't know, and that in me is a heart for Hawaii in ways I hadn't expected.

Other differences? Well, it rains a lot more in Hawaii than LA. I walk to work, instead of driving. I eat more chinese takeout than I used to, and it's harder to find organic greens. There is no Trader Joe's (the horror!), but the mangoes are much, much cheaper. And the papaya is much better. Oh, and rainbows. Lots and lots more rainbows.

because nobody gets it.

2007-11-01T23:47:00.000-07:00

For Halloween, I was one of a trio of "Super Ferries." An attempt to be topical, and a spoof on the recent Hawaii Superferry debacle. For the record, I am ALL FOR clean, affordable inter-island transport options. I'd just rather those options actually be clean and affordable, and not require the legislation of special exemptions from Hawaii's environmental laws. Er, please.

The costume consisted of fairy wings and a t-shirt with the superman emblem on it. Oh, and a small bloody cetacean. JR's also came with a Super Fairy manifesto across the back. Something about the inalienable right to spread invasives and run at high speeds over marine mammals and dirty hippies.

We were all feeling quite clever, before we went out in public.

Them: So what are you, a super princess?
Us: Sigh.

change your life.

2007-10-28T21:28:00.000-07:00

A month or so ago, I was out at happy hour with a friend, and a call came about a job with an environmental non-profit in Honolulu. A hot day, we were outside, on the bar's patio, and I was sipping a glass of white. The phone rang, and life changed.

"Yes," I said.

It's been a year for changes. In many ways, for many reasons. It's in keeping with the theme then, that I should pack up a couple of cardboard boxes, heft on my backpack, jump on a plane, and move to Hawai'i.

A month later, here I am. I've been living in Honolulu since the end of September--have leased an apartment, bought a car, opened a checking account. All the things you do when you are living some place different from the place you were before.

Life sometimes pivots wide angles on seemingly small acts. You say, "yes," and the next thing you know, you're starting over, 3,000 miles from home.

the change-your-life bus.

she never listens.

2007-09-12T03:56:00.000-07:00

And back in the states, there was 10-year-old niece, watching news of hurricane approaching central Mexico:

"Isn't Miwa in Mexico?" asks niece, with concern.
"Are you worried about her?"
Says niece gravely, "I told her to, but she didn't PACK A JACKET."

Whatever weather we did encounter was more tropical storm than hurricane, but admittedly, a jacket? It would have been nice.

disaster in our wake.

2007-09-10T18:50:00.000-07:00

Inevitably, if you are going to go on a surf trip with E, there will be flooding, missed flights, food poisoning, and perhaps a broken board. I won't say much more about our trip to Mexico, except that it was with E. And for that reason alone, it was... awesome.

it was almost all worth it.

2007-09-10T01:20:00.000-07:00

So, payoff for all that painful studying was a weeklong field study trip on Catalina island. By my own design, much more field, much less study.

Yes, some observations on surface kelp cover were made. But more so, Catalina was: amazing morning runs, afternoon snorkeling, sunset swims, and many hours of happy cruising around Two Harbors in a small skiff.

Oh, and also, two of my favorite "B" words: Beer and Buffalo.

Our campus buffalo, whom we will call Billy.

we ARE them.

2007-07-28T12:33:00.000-07:00

Current marathon studying with S has also meant an extraordinary number of hours spent hanging out in coffee shops with study materials. You spend enough time at these places, you begin to see the same faces on a loop--the guy with the duct-taped laptop and cigarette, the guy with the paper and bulldog with red collar, screenplay writer-guy, girl studying for real estate exam. Guy with hat who spends all day on YouTube.

"You notice how some of these people are here, like, ALL the time?"
"Mmmm-hum." She nods, absent-mindedly.
"I mean, who are these losers? They spend ALL day here!"
She looks up, and makes a face.
"My dear, WE are these losers."
"Oh my god. WE ARE."

the third lap.

2007-07-28T11:59:00.000-07:00

Ten-year-old niece picked this out for me from the grocery store: "Sorry you have to study this weekend!" Yar. A nice gesture from someone who is on summer break and spends most of the day slip-n-sliding. She thought, bitterly.

We are hitting the homestretch on the whole studying thing. More correctly, we are on the painful third lap of the mile--the one where you are beginning to really feel the first two laps you ran, and still have another 400 meters to go.

"Surf on Saturday?"
"Can't, I'm meeting S. We both have a ton of studying to do."
"That sucks."
"Thanks. Because THAT makes me feel better about it."

Granted, I have not been in school for a few years, but this whole eschewing-fun-for-learning feels about 10 times more painful than I had remembered. Apparently, learning? Is always the hard way.

it becomes self-evident.

2007-07-24T18:24:00.000-07:00

If you are taking this quiz, you already have your answer.

cats + cattle

2007-07-21T14:13:00.000-07:00

Another weekend of crash studying, this time with buddy. She is studying for her medical boards, which (I discover) is mostly cheesy memory techniques for endless lists and lists and lists of medical terms.

We select Cattle + Cats + Cilled or Conception = Coxiella as mnemonic numero uno. (It's the small sad face that really does it, don't you think?)

"How's it going?" I ask, looking up from my geography notes.
"This section isn't so great, but the renal stuff was awesome."
"Renal?"
"I'll stop talking now."
"Mmm. Maybe it's for the best."

We then order more coffee and cookies--the only really proper snack to accompany the study of renal function.

And yet more E.

2007-07-21T08:00:00.000-07:00

(The following post involves E trying to catch a feral parrot and may slightly offend both Mark Bittner and fans of synchronized swimming.)

E's world is organized by long lists of specific minutiae and odd categories, culled from little bits of information she gleans, mostly from the internet. Lists like "Gross But Fascinating" (includes bot flies, peeling sunburns, Britney Spears) and "Things I'm Not Sure Have Eyes" (earthworms, amoebas).

"So a pickle is REALLY a cucumber?" she asks.
"It's a pickled cucumber," I reply.

And then witness her filing this fact under: "Similar to Previously Noted Relationship between Grapes and Raisins."

(For me, this entire process falls under: "Things I Love about E.")

I bring this up, because E has been getting very bent lately on native and non-native species--zealously observing and mentally placing common organisms into the categories: "Non-native" (must eliminate) and "Native" (must preserve).

So, E stumbles upon what she describes as "a NON-NATIVE parrot" (!!) in the bushes outside her apartment the other day. ("Non-native." Most eliminate.) E is not, it should be said, really a bird person.

She tries to get close enough to take a picture while mentally calculating the likelihood that the bird is also a vicious non-native BITING parrot, when the bird turns to her, and calmly says, "Hello."

She almost pees in her pants.

This story, as she recounts it, concludes with her attempting to report the presence of creepy NON-NATIVE talking-and-possibly-vicious-biting parrot to a police officer and calling someone at the Nature Conservancy to see if she should have the parrot eliminated.

"Should I kill it? I don't think I can kill it."

In the end, she decides that the talking feral parrot--while creepy--is probably not ecologically detrimental. And is spared.

Talking non-native parrots are consequently filed as: "Mostly Harmless and Slightly Less Creepy Than Synchronized Swimmers." (also includes Hanson, dogs with shoes.)

Life with E. Issue 2.

2007-07-20T12:15:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, E volunteered (in a military draft sort of way) to fly her 3 year-old nephew from Los Angeles to Honolulu. That's six hours. In a confined space. With a small someone who is very squirmy, and whose hobbies include legos, ice cream, and high pitched squealing. Knowing said nephew, and knowing E, I promptly booked a ticket on the same flight. Lest E's head burst into flames. Or nephew arrive in Honolulu minus, er, arms.

This is not to say that E is bad with kids. E is a wonderful Aunty and nephew adores her. But anyone who thinks of children as small, innocent balls of joy... has not spent much time with kids. Children, like adults, have all their own stuff going on. And some of them are... well, actively out to get you.

"Stop it." E turns to give nephew the evil eye.
"No," he retorts.
"I said to STOP it."
"YOU stop it." He scrunches up his face.
"What?" she fires back. I begin to see smoke.
"Stop being a PEST, Aunty." He makes a face. "I'll stop being a pest if YOU stop being a pest, Aunty."

I would have burst out laughing, if I hadn't thought it might undermine E's authority.

A few hours later:

"Can't we give him rum or something?"
"I don't think so."
"What about NOW?"
"Well, we can get us some rum or something."
"But will that make HIM quiet?"
"No, but it might make us mind less."

So you can see how it was. In any case, nephew was delivered safely and no worse for wear. E and I? Well, that was another story.

"After all that, I think I may have my tubes tied." E rolls her eyes.
"That is, if our ovaries haven't already shriveled up from all the screaming."

mo-rockin.

2007-07-08T16:21:00.000-07:00

At breakfast study session, another "huh?" moment:

"Uh, and I think he's Moroccan."
"More rocking than... what?"

constructive criticism.

2007-07-06T16:31:00.000-07:00

Why so many copies of War and Peace go unread:

"This is kind of hard to read," she says, wrinkling her nose.
"In what way? Is the font too small?" he asks, with concern.
"Nooooooooo," she says thoughtfully. She holds the page at arm's length, tilts her head, and sighs. "There are just, like, so many... (pause)... words."

mission, er, accomplished.

2007-07-02T16:18:00.000-07:00

As soon as I claimed victory over the disobedient dog, he retaliated by chewing up and leaving in the front yard the following items:

1 phone charger
3 pairs of shoes
1 bag of potato chips
1 pink disposable razor
1 report on steelhead restoration
1 pair of underwear

To my credit--or perhaps to his--none of these items were left out or stored anywhere near within his reach. I believe the dogs spends 75 percent of his time at home alone scheming ways to get up on counters.

The rest of his time he spends trying on my clothes. (Kidding. Kind of.)

We are now in the course of negotiating terms of a new co-habitation agreement. Presumably one where he chews things less, but is allowed to sleep on the couch.

(To Sam, now with MBA: I mean, does it say something about my management ability, that I am making iterative concessions... to a dog?)

own world.

2007-06-29T14:12:00.000-07:00

"See that red boat over there? Isn't that weird?"
"What boat?"
"You didn't see the boat?" (Sighs loudly.) "Honestly, sometimes I think you live on a different planet than me."
"And what planet would THAT be?"
"Me? I live on the same planet as everyone else. YOU live on some other parallel planet that exists only in your head."
"But my planet is more fun?"
"Only to the extent that it appears to populated by ponies, puppies, and singing gnomes made from gummy bears."

would you Jimi?

2007-06-26T09:18:00.001-07:00

Have been in the process of reviewing a few products for GGG. My first review--of the Jimi Wallet--is now up.

Jimi is a small company that manufactures recycled, recyclable plastic wallets. What makes them particularly special? "Like more and more small businesses out there, Jimi is about doing business in a way that is concerned not only with their customers, but with the world their customers live in. And not just as an afterthought. With Jimi, you get a sense that environmental and social impacts is a key concern around which their business is built."

Please check it out!

the goodness of life.

2007-06-26T08:48:00.000-07:00

Feeling bogged down by school work and much in need of a change of scenery, I opted to spend the weekend visiting a friend. Two days spent together of quiet and studying, and fabulously mooching internet and swimming in the pool. It finally and really feels like summer--and time for barbeque chicken and popsicles, both of which have been in generous supply over the past two days.

The weekend has allowed me to finally get a little caught up on all my school assignments, an exercise in learning about spatial data set matching, topography, and raster data sets. If this sounds painfully dry to you, believe me, it IS. (Which perhaps in part explains why I am so behind in this class to begin with.)

But then I stumbled across a little gem of algebraic topology called the theorem of hairy balls. To know that we live in a universe in which such a theorem exists, is bound to make just about anyone's day a little better. At least, it did mine.

A hot day and the smell of chlorine and wet cement, wet towels and melting popsicles. The goodness of life is often in the small things. Oh, and the small, unexpected, round things. Small, unexpected hairy theorems of joy.

cynicism.

2007-06-22T09:18:00.000-07:00

E: Think we could take over the world by making $25 micro-loans?
Me: More likely, we could help the micro-finance company take over the world by making $25 loans.
E: Good point. We should start a site that gives out $25 "loans."
Me: Ah, thus making world domination in $25 increments much more likely.

when factual accuracy isn't enough.

2007-06-20T13:54:00.000-07:00

So, let's put aside the fact that: no, I have not posted in almost a month, and yes, you have emailed me to bug me about it.

Instead, let's focus on this bit of nerdy marine science humor:

We pass by a promo poster for the new Disneyland ride for the movie Finding Nemo. You know, the one about the adventures a cute, lost, presumably Australian clownfish who must find his way back to his overprotective father and the relative safety of his reefy, CGI home. And all those anemones.

"You know, I don't think you typically find clown fish swimming out in the open like that," says scientist friend. "They live symbiotically with several species of anemone."
"That would be an interesting observation..."
"Would be?"
"Would be. If that weren't, like, the entire premise of the movie."

I told him the only way it could have been nerdier is if he used the latin name for clownfish.

To which he gave his professional, scientific retort: "Whatever."

eating weeds.

2007-05-22T20:34:00.000-07:00

Because I am apparently the kind of person that can be talked into almost anything (especially anything involving "wilderness"), Jay recently convinced me to sign up for a series of Friday evening lectures at a local community college on "wilderness survival." The series is by this guy and the content is in fact interesting. (10 points for Jay.) However, we have discovered a subclass of people that will turn out for *anything* with the word "survival" in the main title and who are totally, and completely OUT. OF. THEIR. MINDS. (-50 points for Jay.)

When asked why they were interested in the course, approximately 50% of our class answered, "the coming apocalypse."

The rest of us just tried not to make eye contact.

The first lecture was on edible plants--the growing and green things around us and in our own yards that actually serve as food. I've posted some pictures and descriptions on flickr. I'm not officially endorsing any of this info--you can eat this stuff at your own risk--but I tasted everything that I took a picture of. It IS sort of fascinating to think about how narrowly we define what is "food." Many of the plants covered in the lecture are commonly used ornamentals, but not-to-be-found in your local grocery store.

Personally, I found the carob pods surprisingly tasty. And the sow thistle? Unsurprisingly not.

helpful. ish.

2007-05-14T12:08:00.000-07:00

You know how "truthiness" is all about things that bear some semblance of truth, without necessarily meeting the annoying requirement of actually BEING true? Well, there ought to be a word for services that give the appearance of being helpful, without actually providing any help at all.

This word should then be used as a synonym for "modern customer service."

it smolders.

2007-05-10T23:11:00.000-07:00

From my paper and pen journal, on the Griffith Park fire:

"Before the sun set, we walked to the reservoir to see the helicopters dipping down. In they came, to sip hungrily at the water, bright yellow birds extending their dark proboscises, slender plastic hoses. It was hot that afternoon, and sweating neighbors on bikes, with dogs, children on their shoulders, gathered to watch. We pressed ourselves against the chain-link and watched as swirls of leaves and dust and water spray circled towards us, passing through the fence and showering us all in a fine mist of mud. We shielded our eyes and turned away and squealed, but still we stayed, to watch the spectacle, to be there. Maybe it was to feel like part of something. Or at least, to not be left out. Maybe so we could say to our friend the next day: oh yes, we saw it. We were there, yes.

---

Later that evening, we walked outside and down the block for another look. The sky was dark and heavy with smoke. It filled our nostrils with the smell of burning and stung our eyes. The hill behind the house, which had always been present, a distant hulk of lighted points, was suddenly swallowed up by the dark. It was no longer. Until we walked closer, and could see the many points of light replaced by a smoldering, red angry glow.

I had left my window open, and when I returned, my pillow was dusted with ash. The remnant of a tree, of someone’s couch? Now made to snow. It was one thing, now transformed to something else. This tree, this flake of couch, it floated down the hill, and rested on my pillow. And through the roaring buzz of helicopters and blare of unending live news coverage, I dreamed that night of precious things on fire."

you.

2007-05-10T22:48:00.000-07:00

I found this string of small bells and birds shapes in many colors. It was sweet and jingly. It made me think of you.

almost.

2007-05-01T09:34:00.000-07:00

Perhaps the irony of my taking a geography course is that I have such a notoriously bad sense of direction. Among the familiar, I am well-known for being lost, getting lost, and sending others in the wrong direction.

"So, where's the concert hall?"
"It will be on your right."
"Uh, isn't that the concert hall up there on the left side?"
(I shrug.) "Oh. Yeah. Well, I was almost right."
"Yes, Miwa. If you define 'almost right' as not right at all."

But I always get there. Eventually.

what am i doing here, again?

2007-04-27T00:50:00.000-07:00

"I have no idea what I'm doing," I tell her.
"Yeah. Well, me either," she replies.
"You know, I heard someone say the other day that your twenties are like a personal Vietnam--people are shooting at you from trees and you have no what the hell is going on."
(We pause. She looks at me.)
"So. It's not just us?"

he's right, you know.

2007-04-26T08:59:00.000-07:00

Interactions with random people: yet another reason why we should all use public transportation! Conversation with kid on the train today:

"I went to the zoo today!"
"You did? What did you see?"
"I saw a camel! And I got to feed it!"
"Wow! So, what do camels eat?"
(pauses, thoughtfully.)
"Camel food!"

maybe we can't save the world.

2007-04-24T09:01:00.000-07:00

But maybe we can at least save the chocolate. Because, you know, there just isn't enough stuff in the world to get bent out of shape about.

Post about petition currently before the FDA to re-label waxy, oil-based choco-imitators as "chocolate," now up at Green Girls Global.

"Because what we SHOULD be asking of our chocolatiers (a.k.a. “Big Chocolate”?) is to make chocolate that is sustainably produced and slavery-free, rather than more waxy and less tasty."

Small chocolate covered treats need your help!

putting it off.

2007-04-12T10:20:00.000-07:00

So, I signed up for a few graduate courses at this place this semester. Being "back in school" has put me squarely back in this awkward place where I mentally skate around the idea that I have papers to write and readings to do. Mainly by developing a keen interest in all activities unrelated to whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing.

Ah, my old nemesis. Procrastination.

"What are you doing, Miwa?"
"Avoiding a paper I'm supposed to write."
"A paper?"
"For this geography class I'm taking."
"Geography?"
"Geography."
"Couldn't make it though a whole year in life without being graded, eh?"
"Erm, yes. Something like that."

Procrastination tends to throw off my schedule, eat into my sleeping time, and generally do some sucking of the joy from my life. I do it anyway. Perhaps the only good thing about recent experience with procrastination, is: Flickr. VERY addicting, internet.

Recent research has put the price of procrastination by Americans at somewhere around $650 billion. I would venture to guess that Flickr can claim a decent chunk of that. On the other hand, maybe we should be looking at procrastination as the reallocation of time/welfare/dollars from WORK and THE MAN, and back to ourselves. For, um, things like flickring. At least, that's what my ranty inner economist tells me. And I have two degrees in econ. That's right. TWO.

So, a little flickrphotowebzen for your day:

To distract dog from eating shoes, fed panda. Panda is understandably freaked!

the world, it is ending.

2007-04-10T10:54:00.000-07:00

Don't get me wrong. I love public radio. I love it so much that I am a member of not one, but TWO, public radio stations.

But maybe what I love most about public radio is that you can tune in--as I did this morning--and hear some humorless hipster from some northeastern state say that something is, "like, the neo-existential prelude to the end of the world."

And know that he is referring to an ipod.

happy bunny day.

2007-04-08T12:12:00.000-07:00

This is mostly just an excuse to post a picture of a bunny. Because it IS easter, internet. And because studies show that viewing bunnies lowers blood pressure and stimulates high level brain activity. (I may have made that up. But isn't he cute?)

Actually, Motz and I met this little guy yesterday, as part of an intermediary exchange--between a professional boxer turned bunny breeder and a middle school teacher--that took place in my driveway. Don't ask.

In other bunny news, Motz has discovered that he can buy a harness leash for his own bunny--whom we will call Stinker--and walk him around the neighborhood. He is delighted. Stinker, on the other hand, is still a little unsure about the whole idea. I haven't yet met Stinker, but I imagine he is the type of bunny who will cast a dubious eye on the outfit you picked out for your blind date--Like, really? You're going to go out in THAT?--before chewing through all of your computer cords.

Here's wishing you all an Easter filled with good things. Like bunnies.

Oh, and candy. Lots, and lots. Of candy.

making up my own double standards.

2007-04-05T15:15:00.000-07:00

"Miwa, this girl is psycho. I've got to get her to stop calling me."
"You told her you just want to be friends?"
"Apparently, 'being friends' involves her calling me all the time and getting mad when I don't want to talk."
"Well, tell her you just can't be the kind of friend she needs right now."
"Can I do it in a text message?"
"No."
"But didn't YOU do that once?"
"When I do it, it's humorously harsh. When YOU do, it's just mean."
"You sure?"
"Yes. I already checked the bylaws."

it's all relative.

2007-04-03T12:17:00.000-07:00

This story was all over everywhere last year, and my friend Jay and I just never got over it. "Nude man on crack in alligator rescue" is now our code for "could be worse." Because, you know. It's all relative.

"Jay. You realize it's noon on a Wednesday and I think we're drunk?"
"Yup."
"But we're still not nude man on crack in alligator rescue. Right?"
"Nope." (pause) "At least, not yet."

miss helpful.

2007-03-29T07:32:00.000-07:00

"I don't think this is working."
"Did you try pushing the on button?"
"Of course I tried pushing the on button. Thanks, Miss Helpful."
"I like to think of myself more as 'Miss Moral Support.'"

life with E.

2007-03-29T07:26:00.000-07:00

I think I'm going to start a new series here, which I am going to call "Life with E."

E lives a secret life fraught with danger and inexplicable disaster, whereby her hair is dyed orange and set on fire, her bike is stolen by mongolian midgets, and she inadvertently smushes a little-known but endangered bug on a forest conservation fund-raising hike. Within the span of a week. (Okay, those examples are a bit of an exaggeration. But close.)

This is not to say that life with E is one of hapless mis-adventure. E is in no way hapless. She has an uncanny ability to sniff out bargains, beat out inhuman bureaucracies, and has been known to orchestrate small-scale corporate take-downs in her free time. No, it's not that E is incapable of managing the ordinary day-to-day of the universe. It's that the universe, in often extraordinary ways, is simply out to get her.

My life with E has been one of many emergency room visits. Punctuated by review of the occasional police report. For all of that, I love her with all my heart.

So, internet. Installment one of Life with E:

Last week, on a short ski trip and in the middle of my first ride up the lift, I pick up my cell phone to hear E's voice: "I hate to bother you, but if you were trapped on the hotel balcony in your underwear, would you call housekeeping, or the front desk?"

Ah, life with E.

when god closes a door...

2007-03-17T15:08:00.000-07:00

Okay, I admit to this tiny, painful--but small--internal zit of guilt that has developed over my neglect of this space.

I think it's that so much has changed in the last couple of months--changes that I haven't been able to piece into any sort of coherent narrative that makes much sense to me. I suppose a different sort of person than me would be bothered by this less. Life, after all, isn't much of a coherent narrative, and there is often little that's very personal that really makes sense. It bothers me, nonetheless.

The only cure, I think, is to just lay it all out. So here it is:

After much discussion about the way our lives appear to be heading, P and I decided to part ways. It was an ending much more like a terminal illness than a car wreck. Slow, steady, sad--but also full of an awareness of the impermanence of things and the way in which good things--like love--should never be taken for granted. Though we are arranging our lives in a different way now--and that is significant--he and Bird remain in my heart.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, I decided to take a new job--which in practice is very much like my old job. But it makes life a little more compact and is different in a dozen very small ways that seem to balance out to something better than what was before.

I am living in Los Angeles now--in a house with two large dogs--closer to my new job (a bike ride away!), and down the street from a lady who hangs brightly glazed pottery from trees, and across from a large reservoir. For the first time in my life, I have a garage opener.

An old friend who lives just up the road made a list of things in the neighborhood she thought we might enjoy doing together, which turned out to be composed entirely of local restaurants. We have jointly pledged to expand our field of interests beyond, er, eating.

In short: where a few months ago, I was living on a boat and mastering the art of packing school lunches, I am now single, in a house, walking dogs, and eating out. Life is funny that way.

I'm not sure what there is to observe about these developments except to refer loosely to the singing nun in the very popular musical movie about Hitler and gazebos and favorite things. Yeah, you know the one--where she says something in the beginning about God, and doors closing and windows opening. As strange as it is to be here, what I can say? The windows are wide, wide open.

not mutually exclusive.

2007-03-05T18:52:00.000-08:00

We pass a woman talking loudly to herself on the street.

Me: "I think that woman is suffering from schizophrenia, or something. Mental illness can be so sad."
Mom: "I don't think she's crazy--I think she's talking into one of those cell phone earbud things."
Me: "I don't see a headset. I really think she's mentally ill."
Mom: "No, no. She's just on the phone."
Dad (interjects): "She could be BOTH, you know."

Crazy woman shares crazy via cell phone? Yes. Totally possible.

because it's lunchtime.

2007-01-17T12:17:00.000-08:00

A little food for thought, over at Green Girls Global.

interpret this, please.

2007-01-09T11:24:00.000-08:00

I had a dream last night, in which the President and First Lady came to my parents house and my dad served them the entire contents of a pot of coffee that I had brewed for myself. And I was annoyed mostly because I didn't get any coffee and my dad? He is a kind and generous soul who gave all my coffee to a republican that we didn't vote for.

I think it means something, but I'm not sure exactly what.

and it tastes good.

2007-01-04T16:11:00.000-08:00

I have no New Year's resolutions this year.

The beginning of a new year is a big thing for the Japanese, of which I happen to be one. Lots of eating of lucky things (lucky soup, lucky beans), and lucky rituals of visiting and gift giving and remembering the dead. But the New Year rolled around, and I just didn't feel very lucky. Or very up to making any promises to myself.

But at dinner last night, my friend said something to me about the world and oysters, and I woke up this morning for the first time in a while to a world looking very full of possibilities.

"You got any resolutions?"
"No, but I do have a new motto."
"Okay, let's hear it."
"I announce: the world, it is my oyster."
"Isn't that Shakespeare or something?"
"Wilde, too. Yes, and it's going to be a wonderful year. You know why?"
"The world is your oyster?"
"Exactly."

on n.

2006-12-27T12:23:00.000-08:00

It occurs to me that I haven't written about N here yet. So I thought I'd repost a bit that I had written around her birthday a couple of years ago.

On N:

Celebrated St. Paddy's with my oldest friend N, who cannot get enough of the Irish. I believe she hooked up with an Irish guy while we were backpacking in SPAIN. And ITALY. And FRANCE. It must be the accents. Or maybe the drunken singing.

Anyway, I met N in the 5th grade, when she was cool and popular, and I was totally not. Somehow, that ended up not mattering so much. She taught me how to put doritos in my sandwiches. I am forever grateful.

There are people you meet in a certain place and time, and you're friends because you (a) know the same people, (b) have the same interests, or (c) hang out at the same places. But sometimes, when you're lucky, it's that elusive option (d): They just get you. And you, them. With N and me, it has always been (d). It's not so much that she understands me perfectly, or that we've been best happy buddies always. We've had fights. BIG fights. But we always come around, eventually. She's stubborn, and challenging--as much as she is amazingly loving and smart and generous. She isn't easy, but I love her for that.

Writing her birthday card this year, I counted it up: N and I have been friends for seventeen years. Two-thirds of our lives, to date. And it will be another seventeen, as long as when we're 50, we can still have conversations like this:

N: "I think the mohawk may be making a comeback. I'll have to write that down in my journal."
Me: (incredulous) Your journal?
N: Because shut up, that's why.

[N looking up at the Parthenon in Rome. One of her favorite places.]

for the longest time.

2006-12-27T10:51:00.000-08:00

Sam flew down for the holidays, and she and N and I spent happy hours drinking wine and trying on shoes. The three of us have been friends for so long, we no longer have to pretend to each other that we don't secretly spend our time and money on things like this and this and this. These people remember what I looked like in junior high. There is little left to hide.

And it's something when you can watch an 80s flashback movie together and it goes like this:

"Oh, my god, I HAD that sweater!"
"The purple one, with the hearts? Or the green striped one?"
"The purple one!"
"Oh, my god. You DID."

those little old ladies.

2006-12-22T14:29:00.000-08:00

A couple of years ago, Motz and I decided to join the Friends of the Library. Officially, the Friends of the Library is a 501(c)(3) dedicated to supporting our local library. Unofficially, they are entirely female and over 70, and really, really like to drink tea. Lots and lots of tea.

We fell in love a little, with those old ladies, and spent a month drinking tea and skipping work and organizing this enormous booksale fundraiser with them. Those little old ladies worked incredibly hard, as did we, and in the end, almost everyone in town--from the Mayor down--had done found themselves doing something for the library booksale.

I think that experience, at its best, taught us about what is possible at the very smallest scale. We found that the desire in people to help and to contribute is all around us. And when we find it in ourselves, we can begin to see it and find it in others, too.

For Christmas, I hope you'll give yourself this: a moment to reflect and to see in yourself all that is good and all that is possible.

And, as we let our own light shine, we consciously give
other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our fear
our presence automatically liberates others.

(Excerpt from poem by Marianne Willamson, read by Nelson Mandela at his 1994 inauguration.)

This is probably my last post before the Christmas holiday. And while, yes, holiday season can be commercial and tiring and plastic and obligated and stressful... it's also a time for seeing the best in the world. That which is hopeful, and generous, and charitable. I hope your holiday is much more of the latter, and less of the former.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

ladies love libraries.

2006-12-22T14:27:00.000-08:00

My ode to the local library, now at Green Girls Global.

despite the bad hair.

2006-12-20T14:04:00.000-08:00

My old boyfriend returned from Europe a few weeks ago, and we met up to grab a drink. By "old" boyfriend, I mean high school old. Ten-years-ago old. A-different-world-ago old. OLD old.

He was the cool kid in high school--intense, focused, fun--the guy who planned spirit week, wore a kilt to prom, and made the state championships in swimming. Me? Well, I was the editor of the yearbook.

The senior class voted him: "Most Flirtatious."
I was voted: "Biggest Nerd." (Okay, it was actually something like "Most Intellectual"--but you get the idea.)

So you can see how it was.

I worshiped him in high school. I was seriously in AWE. For the two years we dated, I had no idea why he wanted to go out with me, and wasn't about to ask. In fact, I think I tried to speak as little as possible. Lest I accidentally reveal what a complete dork I was. It was nerdy little me with the braces and the bad bangs, and superstar jock him, and I went to school every day and held his hand in the hall and pinched myself a little.

Sitting across from him ten years later, I'm happy to see him, but the old sense of awe is gone. Like meeting the lead singer of the band you've followed for years, and thinking, "Oh, is that it?"

We sipped $2 cape cods at this divey orange wood-paneled bar, and chatted for several hours.

"I don't think you were like this in high school," he said.
"Like what?"
"There was always so much of you that seemed to hold back. Like you were afraid, or nervous. It made me sort of sad," he said. "You seem less afraid now. It's nice."

I am. And it is.

If I could write a letter now, to that former Miwa, it would say something like, "Stop pinching yourself, nerdo. " He went out with you because he wanted to go out with the school's Biggest Nerd. Because he found her worthwhile.

Ten years later, I find myself wishing I had, a little more, too.

And former Miwa, while we're talking? Lose the bangs. Seriously. Yeesh.

break.

2006-12-11T13:01:00.000-08:00

Taking a little break from blogging.

It may not be true of all blogs, but it is true for mine--blog posting tends to go up and down as life intervenes. I used to feel guilty about these periods of not posting, until one day I realized that my blog follows my life and not the other way around. And felt quite satisfied with the arrangement.

Back in a week or so!

green girls global.

2006-12-07T11:21:00.000-08:00

My first post is up at Green Girls Global!

Talking about polystyrene plastics and why the world would be better off without 'em.

Please go check it out!

what's that stuff called?

2006-12-06T11:33:00.000-08:00

Over lunch:

"Oooh. That guy over there has grilled corn! Where did he get grilled corn?"
"I love grilled corn. With butter? Mmmm."
"Oh, and that red chili powder stuff. What do they call that?"
"I think they call that... chili powder."
"Conversation should be kept to a minimum this afternoon. I see."

ahoy, there.

2006-12-04T11:20:00.000-08:00

Because we are the impatient sort when it comes to presents, P and I exchanged our Christmas gifts last night.

He, from me, a 7' fish. In a lovely shade of yellow.

To me, from P, SAILING LESSONS! A whole series of them, for the spring. Though I live on a boat, my solo boating savvy is is, er, quite not. I can tie the occasional knot and read a radar... but to really sail? My head, it exploded.

So looking forward to blue water sailing adventures, and misadventures. Coming to this blog in the coming months!

Ahoy!

munchkinland.

2006-12-01T14:59:00.000-08:00

Just finished a run through a couple of Gregory McGuire books. He deals a lot in fairy stories--in the benign but wicked, in the ugly souls who try at beauty. What if the fair princess in the story was not so fair? And the wicked witch not so wicked? It has me thinking a lot about looks--yes, the outside kind--and how it shapes who we are and who we become.

Would Snow White have been Snow White if she were dark and heavy with a crooked nose? Would you be you, in a different body?

If I had to choose, I would have to say that the most defining thing about my appearance is the fact that I am so small. I am little, yes. Sixty inches even, on a good day. A bit less when I'm feeling schlumpy.

The more we allow appearance to define us, the more it, er, does. I know the ways in which I bank on being small--the fact of its littleness, its cuteness. Maybe even its insignificance.

In this small package, I imagine that my clumsiness is less clumsy. The aggressive parts of my nature, less threatening.

The tricky thing about appearance, I think, is that it is so immediately defining. I will never be tall in the world. But might I, if I chose, be tall in other ways? Could I walk into a room as if I were six feet tall? Could I wear long earrings? Take long steps? And if I did, would that really be me?

How would you still be you, if you weren't?

sometimes, it's the small things.

2006-11-28T11:24:00.000-08:00

A friend just emailed me out-of-the-blue and asked: if I was (1) feeling crazy? and (2) up for a 8-day, spur-of-the-moment trans-Pacific cruise. And even though my work schedule will keep me firmly grounded in SoCal--crazy though I may feel--it made my day that someone randomly wanted to spend eight days on a boat with, you know, me.

That, and it's nice to think that I might be that person that people think of for such things. Randomly have an opportunity to live for a week with indigenous peoples in Peru? Call Miwa!

Yeah. That's me.

even if you're far away

2006-11-28T10:36:00.000-08:00

In a few weeks, Birdie and P are leaving for the opposite coast. They are there for the winter and spring.

Me? For lots of reasons, I am staying behind.

Me, and the boat.

What happens after that, is a bit unsure.

"Bird, you know we'll be kind of far away from each other this winter."
"But you'll come visit, right? All the time?"
"Of course."
"And, Bird, no matter how far away I am, you know I love you, right?"
"You'll always be my Miwa."
"Yup. You know I'll always be your Miwa."

Mountains can be moved and great canyons dammed. Canals may join oceans. But some things can't be changed, no matter what the geography looks like.

reading is fun.

2006-11-27T14:52:00.000-08:00

P and Birdie try to read the word "olive oil" on the tricuit box.

"ahhhhhhhhhh-live."

"Good, Bird! What does that sound like?"

"ahhhhhhhhhh-live. Olive?"

"Good job! And what do you think O-I-L spells?"

"oh-eeell. oh-eeeeeeel."

"Good! Olive oh-eeeel. What does that sound like?"

"oh-eeeell. oh-eeeeeeeeeeeel. oh-eeeeeeeeeeel. I don't know!"

"Bird. What do you like to dip your bread in?"

She pauses to think.

"Cheese?"