So much to say, and yet, I'm not sure if I want to say anything because I don't know where to start. So ... here's some mushy brain splatter:
Joined a gym. I'm just so thankful I can run in cool AC, I don't even care that I'm using a stinking treadmill. I actually think I am motivated to run longer because it means I get to stay in the coolness longer. Don't get me wrong. I still sweat like a maniac. The gym also has great perks: good hours, towels/bathroom stuff, yoga, bikes, spin, other classes, foam roller (My BFF), the - ahem - spa area: 3 separate saunas, this rock amphi-theatre seating thing that's heated rocks. I guess you lie on it and it feels good to have hard warm surface on your post-workout muscles? There is also this shower thing where you stand under the water but the faucet makes it feel like it's gently raining on you. There are hot and cold rain showers. A-mazing. Will try tomorrow and report back.
People here (in D.C.) ask weird questions and are super career-oriented. After work, people talk about work. People establish within 5 minutes what your job is, where you went to college, and what you see yourself doing in 5 years. I especially like, "What's your dream job?" Cookie-cutters make boring art. Not sure I'll fit in for the long haul, but still giving it a go for now.
I have been working hard to save money. This calls for drastic measures like no cheese or meat and lots of biking in absurdly hot 100 degree/80% humidity. Speaking of, I got a flat tire on Rhode Island Ave the other night as I was sprinting home in the first drops of a massive thunder/lightning storm. Made it home, but had to change the flat this morning. It was the back tire, too, so I was particularly proud of myself. Don't ask me how long it took.
Take note: when you live in a swamp and you leave your wet laundry in the washer overnight, it will smell like nasty mildew after you eventually take it out of the dryer. I had to wash it all again, it was so gross. Thankfully, laundry is free.
Our downstairs basement neighbors smoke pot and play video games all day. No really, ALL DAY. I can't believe anyone smokes pot that much. I now can believe, however, that video games lead to seriously violent people. The pot smell comes up through the vents to my 3rd floor bedroom. Unfortunately, very unfortunately, I have to walk through their apartment to get to the laundry. Most unfortunately, I saw the dude pulling up his pants and jump off the couch. Gross.
The all-important question: Do you have a job? No jobbie, yet. But I'm feeling encouraged after a few "nibbles", as my grandmother likes to call them. My grandma is 94, lives alone, is sharp as ever, but quite hard of hearing. This is how our phone conversations go:
G: Any good news?
C: No, nothing yet.
G: I said, did you have any nibbles?
C: Nope, no nibbles.
G: Huh?
C: Increased volume and slowed word speed. NOoooo.
G: Wait, hold on. High-pitched squeal of hearing aid tuning. Any good news?
C: Screaming as loud as possible, NO, I ... DON'T ... HAVE ... A JOB!, which, for the record, in one's own head sounds like "I ... AM ... A ... LOSER."
Good times.
Showing posts with label grandma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grandma. Show all posts
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Monday, December 13, 2010
Visit to Grandma
We visited Grandma today! She's such a cutie. We made lunch. She tells outrageous stories that I can't repeat in this forum. We read through the cards my grandparents received when my mom was born. We hung up her clothes, discussed the details of the humidifier and cleaning the curtains. We had tea and snack. We prepared her dinner to be waiting for her when she woke up from her nap. I organized, alphabetized and filed her old prescriptions (see above photo). She told me I looked like a gypsy, which I considered a compliment. I was thoroughly exhausted after our day!
Thursday, August 12, 2010
(air)Port Post
7:58 p.m
Logan Airport
Gate C36
I ended my internship in D.C. I may or may not have cried while walking to work on my last day. I loved my D.C. summer life, my coworkers, my daily routine, the big black woman, Monty, who worked at my gym (the JCC). I loved stopping off at the farmers market on my way home to pick up veggies. I loved going for walks. I loved visiting my grandmother on weekends. I loved hopping on the MARC Penn Line to visit my friend in Baltimore. I loved Baltimore. For once, I had an internship where I got to do the job I would have if I worked there. And, for once, I loved the job I got to do. But, my time came to an end. I scrubbed my apartment, left some wine and a gift card for SweetGreen, packed my bags and headed North.
I saw my eye doctor in Boston before jumping on a bus down to the Cape. Carrying all my stuff from the last 3 month, eyes dilated with the 4:30 p.m. sun setting in my eyes, I staggered grouchy, groggy and blind around the J-Way streets trying to find my way back to South Station. I was a sorry sight, for sure. I made it home -- real home -- and powered off my cell phone, tucked away my computer and swore off communicating with the outside world (not so hard, as Verizon is spotchy at my parents' house). I had a lovely, hectic few days with my family. I read two books. I slept with no alarm. I got new contact lenses and had my teeth cleaned. We got sand in our shoes and ate homemade ice cream. We went sailing. We had fresh fish, smooth as butter, and baked blueberry crisp. We visited my aunt and walked her dog. We had dinner with my 90 year-old grandmother who still swims laps in the ocean. We saw my grandfather's closet, still part full a mere five months after he passed. We went for runs and walks. We saw shooting stars at the bridge down the street.
We got and gave hugs. We laughed. We cried. We changed our life plans. We yelled. We made new life plans. We loved each other. We told one another we loved each other.
We said goodbye.
....
En route back to Denver. I feel rejuvenated and excited. I found myself again this summer. I was inspired. I have ideas. I have motivation and initiative. The anger abated. The confidence came back. I am myself. I am my self.
This will be my year.
Logan Airport
Gate C36
I ended my internship in D.C. I may or may not have cried while walking to work on my last day. I loved my D.C. summer life, my coworkers, my daily routine, the big black woman, Monty, who worked at my gym (the JCC). I loved stopping off at the farmers market on my way home to pick up veggies. I loved going for walks. I loved visiting my grandmother on weekends. I loved hopping on the MARC Penn Line to visit my friend in Baltimore. I loved Baltimore. For once, I had an internship where I got to do the job I would have if I worked there. And, for once, I loved the job I got to do. But, my time came to an end. I scrubbed my apartment, left some wine and a gift card for SweetGreen, packed my bags and headed North.
I saw my eye doctor in Boston before jumping on a bus down to the Cape. Carrying all my stuff from the last 3 month, eyes dilated with the 4:30 p.m. sun setting in my eyes, I staggered grouchy, groggy and blind around the J-Way streets trying to find my way back to South Station. I was a sorry sight, for sure. I made it home -- real home -- and powered off my cell phone, tucked away my computer and swore off communicating with the outside world (not so hard, as Verizon is spotchy at my parents' house). I had a lovely, hectic few days with my family. I read two books. I slept with no alarm. I got new contact lenses and had my teeth cleaned. We got sand in our shoes and ate homemade ice cream. We went sailing. We had fresh fish, smooth as butter, and baked blueberry crisp. We visited my aunt and walked her dog. We had dinner with my 90 year-old grandmother who still swims laps in the ocean. We saw my grandfather's closet, still part full a mere five months after he passed. We went for runs and walks. We saw shooting stars at the bridge down the street.
We got and gave hugs. We laughed. We cried. We changed our life plans. We yelled. We made new life plans. We loved each other. We told one another we loved each other.
We said goodbye.
....
En route back to Denver. I feel rejuvenated and excited. I found myself again this summer. I was inspired. I have ideas. I have motivation and initiative. The anger abated. The confidence came back. I am myself. I am my self.
This will be my year.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
food, my real love
Friday:
After work I skipped on over to Baltimore for dinner with my friend to grab dinner after checking out her work's impressive farmer's market and farm, Real Food Farm. They try to bring healthy food options to Baltimore, where there are basically no grocery stores, and cheap food options are essentially limited to fast food and your pick of fried-Chinese-Pizza-Liquor "carry out."
Oh my goodness. I seriously cannot remember the last time I ate such a fine meal! We went to Brewer's Art. I ate the Peppadew Pepper Polenta. It was: Miss Cathy's Mozzarella (cheese made-in-house), Local Farm Ratatouille (fresh zukes, squashes and greens), Cherry Tomato Coulis, Parmesan Cream, sprinkled with some endive lettuce and fresh baguette on the side. To drink I got the made-in-house, Brewer's Art "Wit Trash" Belgian Ale. It was light wheat beer with hints of coriander and lemon peel. Really, on the train ride home I tried my hardest to remember my last comparable meal and couldn't think of one!
All this fine dining made me search around for new places to try back in Denver. I came up with two. Both are pricey, but I truly would rather give up all crappy $10 sandwiches and $2 coffees that I could make myself to save up for a delicious, real meal. One is Fruition and the other is Root Down. I have been by Fruition a million times, but the Root Down place looks amazing and I can't believe I've never heard of it before. Here's what their website says:
We want the food at Root Down to be sensational—that is, igniting all the senses to create a full dining experience. Following a “field to fork” mentality, we prefer to stay as organic, natural and local as possible. Root Down serves “globally influenced seasonal cuisine,” which basically means we go where inspiration leads us. We’re not tied to one style or genre—we’re hoping to create one of our own.
----
Saturday:
101 degrees and 71% humidity today
I went to visit Grandma and was dripping wet for hours. I'm pretty sure I smelled, too. Fortunately for all involved, one can't smell oneself and Grandmas can't smell anything.
When I got home, I immediately stripped to my underwear and have not been able to force myself either to put more clothes on or to leave the A.C. I set it at about 79 or 80, which feels heavenly, these days.
An aside: I am feeling guilty for not carrying around my camera and posting snazzy photos for my bloggie. I know everyone loves looking at photos. The guilt is manifesting itself in this post with lots of links to other sites. You know, to make up for the lack of photos on my website, you can see photos on other people's websites. Pretty ingenious of me, no?
After work I skipped on over to Baltimore for dinner with my friend to grab dinner after checking out her work's impressive farmer's market and farm, Real Food Farm. They try to bring healthy food options to Baltimore, where there are basically no grocery stores, and cheap food options are essentially limited to fast food and your pick of fried-Chinese-Pizza-Liquor "carry out."
Oh my goodness. I seriously cannot remember the last time I ate such a fine meal! We went to Brewer's Art. I ate the Peppadew Pepper Polenta. It was: Miss Cathy's Mozzarella (cheese made-in-house), Local Farm Ratatouille (fresh zukes, squashes and greens), Cherry Tomato Coulis, Parmesan Cream, sprinkled with some endive lettuce and fresh baguette on the side. To drink I got the made-in-house, Brewer's Art "Wit Trash" Belgian Ale. It was light wheat beer with hints of coriander and lemon peel. Really, on the train ride home I tried my hardest to remember my last comparable meal and couldn't think of one!
All this fine dining made me search around for new places to try back in Denver. I came up with two. Both are pricey, but I truly would rather give up all crappy $10 sandwiches and $2 coffees that I could make myself to save up for a delicious, real meal. One is Fruition and the other is Root Down. I have been by Fruition a million times, but the Root Down place looks amazing and I can't believe I've never heard of it before. Here's what their website says:
We want the food at Root Down to be sensational—that is, igniting all the senses to create a full dining experience. Following a “field to fork” mentality, we prefer to stay as organic, natural and local as possible. Root Down serves “globally influenced seasonal cuisine,” which basically means we go where inspiration leads us. We’re not tied to one style or genre—we’re hoping to create one of our own.
----
Saturday:
101 degrees and 71% humidity today
I went to visit Grandma and was dripping wet for hours. I'm pretty sure I smelled, too. Fortunately for all involved, one can't smell oneself and Grandmas can't smell anything.
When I got home, I immediately stripped to my underwear and have not been able to force myself either to put more clothes on or to leave the A.C. I set it at about 79 or 80, which feels heavenly, these days.
An aside: I am feeling guilty for not carrying around my camera and posting snazzy photos for my bloggie. I know everyone loves looking at photos. The guilt is manifesting itself in this post with lots of links to other sites. You know, to make up for the lack of photos on my website, you can see photos on other people's websites. Pretty ingenious of me, no?
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Small World story
So, there I was this morning on my way to my grandmother's for lunch and an afternoon visit. It was actually raining out this morning, a welcome change from the oppressively hot, humid D.C. weather. I made a quick stop off at the Firehook Bakery because I like to bring little cookie and scone treats for Grandma (she needs fattening up!). Of course I was running a little late, as usual, when I ran down the stopped escalator down to red line at Dupont. I get into the train, which is surprisingly packed for a weekend. I figure I'll try to get a seat somewhere in the middle because I'm going all the way to the last stop and won't need to push through to get off mid-way. I excuse myself to get by the crowd. Well! I see one empty seat - lucky me - and beeline toward it. Next to the empty seat is an attractive, my-age-ish guy who is smiling at me and patting the seat. He looks at me and says, "There's a seat for you right here" ... it was my friend, Max! Max is the high school friend of my dearest college friend. They went to high school together in Israel. He was born in Egypt, lived everywhere, does International Development theater work and last was living in Sudan. I last saw him about a month ago at our mutual dear friend's wedding in Philadelphia. Turns out, he was just here in town for the weekend or something and was going to some theater plays his friends were in. How crazy is that! We happened to be in the same city, going in the same direction, on the same train, in the same car at the same time. Small world. He said he lives "nowhere" now, was just working on a farm in PA for awhile and is possibly heading back to Sudan soon.
On one hand, I felt like, See! I have so many friends here in the city that I "run into" people randomly. Of course, it was especially nice to run into Max. I always have a particular soft spot for Max because he is such a good friend of my dear friend. I also partly have a soft spot for Max because he and I seem to have similar careers and lifestyles. But, on the other hand, somehow there was something about running into Max that made me pensive and feel a bit sad. As if, out of the whole city, the only person I know is a chance encounter with a friend of a friend. Both of us just passing each other by. We have just 3 stops together before one of us is off in another direction again. And, neither of us actually has a permanent life here, or really anywhere. It was all so quick. Pretty much like all of the times I've been around Max, there was not (will there ever be?) enough time to get to talk about the real things in life.
Isn't that weird, though? Running into someone I know made me feel independent in a small world, and yet immensely alone in a large world. Who knows, maybe it was just the dreary Saturday morning rain...
On one hand, I felt like, See! I have so many friends here in the city that I "run into" people randomly. Of course, it was especially nice to run into Max. I always have a particular soft spot for Max because he is such a good friend of my dear friend. I also partly have a soft spot for Max because he and I seem to have similar careers and lifestyles. But, on the other hand, somehow there was something about running into Max that made me pensive and feel a bit sad. As if, out of the whole city, the only person I know is a chance encounter with a friend of a friend. Both of us just passing each other by. We have just 3 stops together before one of us is off in another direction again. And, neither of us actually has a permanent life here, or really anywhere. It was all so quick. Pretty much like all of the times I've been around Max, there was not (will there ever be?) enough time to get to talk about the real things in life.
Isn't that weird, though? Running into someone I know made me feel independent in a small world, and yet immensely alone in a large world. Who knows, maybe it was just the dreary Saturday morning rain...
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