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The smell of wet leaves
stored in my mind,
stretches back to the first time I realized
that the seasons keep going,
each tripping over the other like rushing kids to the door
who's there? what's going on?
the little things I've stored away in my mind
about falling leaves and the hushing of snow
the strange pictures that float through my mind
of tulips
pushing through it all
squirrels knowing, but not wanting to accept
enjoying packing larders
an image frozen--of gray and erect bodies of
furry hurry
oh these
little wisps
of ideas.
Like steam off the pavement in the summer
that passes so clearly from seen
to nothing.
Gone to dance with clouds and bright sun.
displaced worms and dirty, hot feet
oh, and--the hour the summer melts the world gold.
the blue hour in winter,
when the snow holds everything quiet
and sound, even the loudest melodies
mute for the blueing of the world
seasons are stored in my mind:
inevitable, predictable
harsh and sweet
necessary, lovely
smelling, touching, tasting, wondering.
but often leaving
my mind holding
onto the previous season
slow, lazy, snowflakes
wet, curling leaves
the push of tulips
the steamy pavement.
close your eyes and breathe in the season.

Kom-boo-CHA CHA CHA

I quote Hillary for this simple post. "Most often those DIY projects are easier than you think they're going to be. Especially the ones that you are amazed by before you begin."

Well, kombucha, I thought I was always going to purse my lips and rub my chin and THINK about making you in the way I always put certain things on the bottom of my TD list. Just never going to happen, but I'll put it on the next list as well. Not for you Kombucha! Congrats.

Maine SCOBY, transported in the front seat in a jar down the coast and into a big vat of sugary black coconut posssssssibilities!

Good luck I say to you Kombucha in the cupboard, and good luck to you, Christine, on the next DIY you won't make me DIE project. And thanks to you Hillary, for your continued wisdom.

Kershaw, in the Past Tense

It's pumpkin season. These big and small, hard and sweet masses impressively find their way into everything during the months of September through November. From candles and cakes, to soaps, pies, gratins, you name it. Everything becomes available in 'pumpkin.' I mark the season of gourd goodness in two ways, the most obvious being the appearance of these at the farmers market (the future will find me saying "in my garden"). The second way, the way I am less proud of, but that still makes me smile, is the pumpkin spice coffee varieties that become front and center in the cafes I love to frequent.

My grandmother picked up a giant Kershaw pumpkin two weeks ago when I was visiting. The massive green and white striped orb did not seem to fit into any particular squash family, but is much loved by families who enjoy pie. My grandma claims it's the best for pie. Pumpkin pie is one of those things that you love to love. A rarity in my mostly pie-less childhood, but a symbol of autumn none the less.

I arrived at my parents home with chunks of sweet Kershaw, awaiting the possibilities of heat and seasoning. It was a stopping point. It was my stopping point. Weeks of free post-job travel had come to an end. My toothbrush was staying. Both the Kershaw and myself were expecting answers... what will become of us now?

Two weeks went by in a molasses of uncertainty. I belong where? What am I doing here? What do I do next? Why am I doing nothing to try to accomplish something? What's happening?

I crunched fall leaves under my feet today, in slow appreciation of change. The sun warmed the earth in the front yard and a light breeze brought that fall sweetness to me in the back, crunching leaves and tossing a frisbee to a bouncing golden lab.

I let the question fall on me again. What am I doing? It's that time, yes. I realize that. I did this intentionally, I did this because I wanted to wonder, to try, to change. I want to, rather. Past tense is far from print on this issue yet. Here I find myself, crunching leaves and wondering what changes I can make for myself, what new job, new community, new friends can I make? What passion can I plunge into? And where?

I turn back inside, where a quarter of a huge kershaw still wonders in the moderated temperature of the fridge, what it will become.

I turn on the oven. Some things can't wait any longer. Something needs to cook. The kershaw pie I baked the previous weeks sits unattended under foil in the fridge. The remaining chunks of pale orange and striped skin are thrust into the oven. An hour of mashing and stirring and a giant, warm pot of kershaw and butternut squash are simmering fall flavors into the house. It feels like change, out and in now.

Well, my kershaw is done. It feels good. Time to make the list a bit bigger. Time to find my heat and my spice. Time to love fall and not think I've fallen. It's what I wanted, and even in the loneliest moments I need to realize that a lot of this intense uncertainty with one day, in the nearish future, be written about in the past tense.

Tone Check

Really?

I went into McDonalds to get internet, already feeling like a terrible person for supporting them as I purchased a coffee and a medium fruit smoothie. It took awhile (in McDonalds time) for my order to come up, the restaurant filled and I waited. I plugged into the wall with my drinks on the table and an older couple came over to me.

"Why did you take those?" They asked sharply, pointing to my drinks.
"These? Because I ordered them." Was my reply. I thought maybe they wanted to know why I was having a coffee and a cold fruit drink simultaneously. But there tone was harsh, so then I assumed they had something against the combination. I looked at them, puzzled, "Why do you ask?"
"She put those out for us. Those are ours!"
"This is exactly what I ordered."
"Ridiculous!" And they walked away, abruptly.

I got up and went over to make sure I had not indeed taken their food. Their tray had food and the same combination of drinks as I had.

"I'm sorry, perhaps we ordered the same thing?" I said, confused why they were so upset.
"Whatever."
"I ordered expresso and water, would you like to make sure that's the coffee you ordered?"
"No, whatever."

I realized after sitting down, that I had their coffee and their small smoothie and they had my expresso and medium smoothie. After all this, I feel guilty and I don't have what I ordered.

But really, after all this, I just pondered to myself the way people communicate... really? You need to be startled and aggressive by a simple order mistake? How about a little tone check America?

Rains and Change in Budapest

I'm in Budapest right now, sipping some mint tea and hoping for a room of ten to be a quiet place for a weary traveler. Hah, jokes on me, ms. save-a-buck.

Right now I'm on the must-save-every-cent, as I have zero on the cash scale. Well, that's an exaggeration, I have about 10 dollars in Fint... or huf, or whatever its called. 10 dollars of fint, or huf, or whatever it's called is actually about 5000, numerically... which feels incredibly lavish. Oh, how much is in my wallet, a mere 5000 dollar bill. What??!?

I want to recall all the moments of my journey, but my tired shoulders and blistery feet tell me i should be horizontal and leave this 'chair' business to the man next to me who is actually being paid to sit and type. So, I shall only back up to the morning.

I woke in Paris, too early for my liking with about 6 hours of sleep under my pajama belt. I begrudgedly showered and packed my stuff, mostly. In a whirl of what was less than 3 minutes Anne and Jo were ready and at the door, and I was shoeless and flustered.

We got the car from Jo's parents,' and I felt very lucky to have a brother-in-law (almost) who drives in Paris (and is also an awesome guy). They were tired, the fiance-ed couple and they hauled my quiet and tired petoot to Orly, the airport disconnected from connections to Paris. Well, Orly is actually two airports, South and West... but my ticket did not indicate any difference. So, suffice it to say, I felt like even more of a jerk sister.

They dropped me off in a flurry which felt a little bit like the curtains had been drawn open and light flooded back into their life. I thought I heard a sigh of relief as I shuffled into the EasyJet crowds and they turned back to their life of two. Not two, and a bumbly sister living in the living room and not having her own schedule, but just two. The more time I spend with them, the more I feel like life has a long road for their relationship, and they are all too ready to get on that road, whatever it may bring. Bless his heart, that Jo.

Hunger and cramps ate at me as I waited in line and were easily replaced by the feeling of smugness that I had traveled lightly, ahhhhh... yes one duffel, one 'sac a main.' I gave easyjet my duffel and grabbed a coffee, sweet nectar of life, and proceeded to play "pajama-ification." This is a game where I guess everyone's favorite pajamas and place them into them as they walk by me. Simple, and fun. This is a great way to make the cool kids, well, just kids.

A few aironautical bumps and some unecessary screams from the back row and we'd landed in Budapest. CRAZY TALK. I got off the plane, and that's when it started to rain.

It was bright and sunny, and to stay that way for several more hours. However, the atm machine decided instead to provide some storms. No money for you Christine. How about you remember your pin number? I swear that I do, evil machine, I do, I do, I do!

Thank you foreign money exchange and my good sense not to use up all my money (Annie and Jo must be thanked on this as well). 50 exchanged euros and I bought a train ticket and 30 minutes of gut gnawing concern (and real gnawing, as food was needed). Money, how will I live without you? Cash, the bread and butter of gluten-loving Budapest. Damn!

Country side, lacking country, rolled by as i sat in the ticket checkers booth on the train, which pleased them about as much as my blisters please me. I listened and enjoyed the softness of Hungarian which I thought would have sounded like rice getting stuck in the throat. It was rather pleasant. I would have enjoyed it more had it not been for that dreading "i suck at traveling" feeling which was enhanced by many factors listed so aptly by a man named Maslow.

Some confusion at the train to tram transition and some more on the street of the hostel, and finally, I lugged myself into a cool and calm and ancient building to find my hostel. Big Fish, it's called, and I could kiss this fish.

After a few hours online with ESL and some people who spoke some english, I realized that cash was not coming. I was a fool, and I would pay. No changing that sometimes.

An orange and some peanuts smuggled in from Paris changed at least the hungry part of my hungry foolishness.

My roommates arrived and I immediately was granted the serenity that I can find in well-timed human interaction. Laughing, sharing, all that jazz. Portugese kids on an eastern europeean whirlwind tour. And some overly curious and overly nice Nigerian guy who now resides in Sweeden (he appeared much later).

A not-so-friendly girl from LA asked if I wanted to go to dinner, and I pounced on the idea. This is how I would make my wallent jingle with change. I would buy her dinner on my credit card, she would give me cash. Cha ching!

I doubled my 5 dollars, for the price of boring conversation and the refreshing feeling of not being from LA. Oh, you drank too much last night and the night before that and so on and so on.... NOT interesting.

I returned to the hostel, deposited my food and hit out again. I was to stroll before night fell.

I laughed to myself about silly signs and calmed my feet with promises of a hot shower as I walked to the 'second largest' synagogue in Europe. Before that, however, Budapest's big buda belly rumbled with anger. Rain was coming, and I was happy.

It would ruin my walk's length, but not it's quality. I passed many restaurants and funny signs that I wanted to dwell on, pronouning them slowly and giggling in a way that only a foreigner could. It's like the joy that the french get when an american says "do you want fries with that?"

I picked some ginko leaves, and let rain push me back towards a shower, some tea and some blog debriefing. Now, I will read in bed, and awake early in budapest to have some coffee with the big fish and plan my day with the big Buda.

It took just some rain and the realization that I would be fine. After all, a deep breath, some coffee and the ability to ask for what you need from the universe can sometimes really work. If not, there's some free candies at the reception desk, you can live on those.

An Ode to Sonia, Brian, Allison, Margaret, Marsha and the Pet Announcement

So JFK, is now a past thought, as I sip my Americano in a comfortable coffee shop on a day so sunny it makes snow seem like a laughable thought.

If you read my previous entry you would deduct that JFK was a miserable experience, but alas, life changed that emotion. It was miserable to miss my flight, and sleeping on the cold floor was miserable, but enjoyment was also present in what could be recounted over several entries.

To be realistic, I likely will not take the time to detail the two days I spent getting to know the "Gate 16" community (yes, our very own gated community!). But, know that in the face of what could have been a very miserable day there were silver linings.

Often mentioned, the silver lining, became a focus of our bonding. It became how we settled a clearly uncomfortable situation (why do the chairs all have arm rests?) into a place of reason and humor. "What's the silver lining... do you want a cookie?"

It never fails. It never fails to use humor in a situation where you've lost all your 'power.' Okay, you can't make those planes fly, or stop that beautiful snow from falling so heavily, so, we learned at Gate 16 to gripe together, problem solve together, eat tiny bags of airplane food together and, most importantly, laugh together. That might just be the simplest of all the silver linings.