Worst dream ever.

Well, maybe not, but it was close . . .

I rarely get enough sleep to actually reach a cycle of dreaming, but last night I did. Did I have a lovely dream about living in New York, or about being a full-time writer, or about traveling in Europe as often as I would like? No. Instead, I dreamed that I was sitting at a table with the judge and opposing counsel in one of my cases, discussing what the deadline would be for a particular filing. And for some reason I cannot fathom, I chose this moment to apply to my face a white substance that resembled my favorite facial mask stuff from Origins. So I was sitting there throughout this conference, wearing a facial mask. At some point, I decided to get up and go to the restroom to wash it off. When I reached the restroom, it was spacious and comfortable, with an outer waiting room (completely unlike the restrooms one actually finds in a courthouse, with are nothing if not utilitarian). Someone had left her purse sitting on the floor of the outer waiting room, and I informed those in the interior room that it was not safe to do that at the courthouse. Then there was some discussion among those in the restroom of a rumor that a man we all apparently knew (though his name is not familiar to me) had been raped. Thankfully, I woke up at this point.

Any dream interpreters out there care to comment?





(My dogs on my bed, wondering what dreams are . . . )

In the event that it is relevant to the dream analysis, before I dropped off to sleep last night, I had just finished reading a bad book. Maybe not a bad book, but definitely not a good one. It is called "Kissing Your Ex," by Brooke Stevens, and I will freely admit that I mainly kept reading just because I wanted to know how it would end. When I got to the end, I was ticked that I had wasted the time reading the middle to get there, as it wasn't worth the wait. While the nugget of a good story existed, it was as if the author was so eager to tell the story that he didn't take the time to write well along the way. Something felt vaguely off to me throughout the book whenever the writing was about the main female character, and at the end, I finally learned why . . . the author is a man (before you guys flame me, I recognize there are some men who do a good job of writing about women . . . John Irving would be one of them). Bizzarrely, in the notes at the end, which included a Q and A session with the author, the suckup from the publishing house asked him how he can write women so well. His answer was not nearly as memorable or charming, if offensive, as the one Jack Nicholson's character gave in the movie "As Good As It Gets," which was something to the effect of: "I think of a man. Then I remove reason and accountability."

On to the next book on my pile, which is "The Opposite of Fate," by Amy Tan. Hopefully, it won't leave me with crazy dreams!

P.S Here is a riveting video of a dog eating a bone, and a mysterious intruder who attempts to steal the bone. Don't miss it! Via flea, at One Good Thing.

Friday funnies and tidbits.

I can't focus enough this morning to write a single-themed post because I am deeply immersed in something at work and my brain has its limits. So here you go, Friday readers . . . random tidbits of things that interest and/or amuse me:

I wish I knew this man . . . via Eric Zorn's blog.

I have discovered a new favorite wine, which I believe I found during my one-day stop in the wine country in September. It's a Beringer 2001 North Coast (please note the correction: I initially called this "North Country," which was incorrect) Sangiovese. With the red wines, I cannot usually tell much difference, but this one really stands out. It is like drinking velvet. The strange thing is, I can't seem to locate it anywhere, even on Beringer's own web site. I haven't looked very hard yet, but will this weekend . . . I believe this will be my new house wine.

Speaking of wine, have you seen this web site? Bar Man, as he calls himself, has the goal of visiting 1000 bars this year, with a sometimes partner in crime being his wife, the Mysterious Chinese Woman, as he calls her. He is up to bar number 863, which he visited on a trip to Barcelona. However, most of the bars he visits are in New York City and his web site is a valuable guide to charming, strange and excellent places in the City.

If any of you are in Texas or simply interested in what is going on in the civil rights arena in Texas, you shouldn't miss this new web site of the Texas ACLU. It is chock-full of information! Also, reading it makes me feel heartened that progressives have not yet given up on this Reddest of Red States.

Lots of buzz these days about Joan Didion's new book, "After Life." The New York Times has an appetite-whetting excerpt for your reading pleasure.

The New York Times helped stoke my appetite in another way as well, with this story about the jitters at the White House in light of the potential criminal indictment of Karl "Turd Blossom" Rove and "Scooter" Libby. It's a must-read that will brighten even the gloomiest of Fridays.

I desperately want to live in this city.

This little one, my darling Orley dog, is having a teeth cleaning today, which for some bizarre reason is considered dental surgery, so please think good thoughts for her, and for all dogs undergoing procedures of the veterinary kind:



Here's some Friday hobo humor for you, via Overheard in New York:

It Means He Intends to Begin Courting

Hobo: I wanna tackle you! I'm gonna tackle you girl! I'm gonna tackle you girl! You hear me? I'm gonna tackle you!
Girl #1: Did he just say he wants to tackle us?
Girl #2: Oh my god! What did he mean by that?

--Spring & Mercer

Overheard by: Spooner

And here is a Friday photo for you . . . Little Boy Waiting in Rural Massachusetts:



UPDATE: Check out this fun version of my photo above that Canadian Brett created with his SPS (Super Photoshopping Skills):

Oh my God.

The world is ending. How do I know this, other than the reasons set forth below with respect to the Chimp's "accomplishments" while in office? I know this because I just read a column written by Ann Coulter, Satan Incarnate, and agreed with every word she wrote about the nomination of Harriet Miers for the U.S. Supreme Court. This is so troubling to me that I am not sure I can go on . . . must ponder whether life is still worth living.

UPDATE: Okay, I have found a way to go on living. After rereading Coulter's article, I realize that I disagree with one of her points--that not going to a top law school should be an automatic strike against a Supreme Court nominee. There are a variety of reasons why incredibly smart people do not attend top law schools. Among them are finances and the lack of prodding and/or information that would lead them to apply, due to being from a family that knows nothing about such things. So long as I can continue to differ from Coulter in some way, even one as small as this, I can feel that life is worth living. Whew!

Happiness.

If this picture doesn't show it, I don't know what does:



Photo by Kay Westhues of Fourteen Places to Eat.

**UPDATED 3/12/07** I just realized I called Kay by the name "Kate" and corrected it. Could someone please tell me why a gajillion people have searched Google for "Kate Westhues" today, of all days, ending up at my blog? Just curious!

The funniest pants I've ever seen.

Today I stumbled upon this site, via the blog of the gentlemen of the Cleveland Park Men's Club. "Cordarounds" are sold at the site, and if you go there and click on the box marked, "The Phenomenon," then watch the text that pops up in the box on the lower right hand corner, you will laugh and laugh and laugh some more. And, as I discovered, the pants have a blog. It's pretty funny, too.

I don't know about you, but I needed a laugh today, and these pants provided it.



Who would have thought pants could be funny?

Security.

What makes us feel secure? I find myself thinking about security today . . . specifically, all that helps one have a feeling of security. So many people have been feeling insecure lately, due especially, but not solely, to what feels like an especially long run of natural disasters. I know my own current feeling of insecurity is due in part to the fact that a Chimp is running our country who, during his tenure, has overseen:

--the most deadly terror attack ever on our soil, which occurred after he ignored a PDB that said Osama Bin Laden was determined to attack inside the U.S. (the warning was apparently too subtle for him to catch);
--a war he began based on lies that resulted in thousands of deaths of Americans and others;
--a disaster that wiped out the Gulf Coast, the majority of harm which could have been; minimized or avoided if not for the cost of the aforementioned war;
--a burgeoning of the national debt, a hole out of which I fear we will never crawl;
--the application of a religious litmus test for Supreme Court justices; and
--a dumbing down of the U.S. Supreme Court due to cronyism and political gamesmanship.

This isn't the end of the list, I'm just too mentally and emotionally exhausted to go on. [Political rant over now.]

Anyway, I have pondered what makes a person feel secure and here are a few things I came up with:

physical safety for ourselves and those we love
good health for ourselves and those we love
the knowledge that we are loved and accepted as we are
living in concert with our own values
feeling confidence in our own abilities

Wise readership, what would you add to this list?

What do I need?

Just as I was pondering that very question, Kate and Frog have assisted me in finding an answer, by suggesting that I Google "Lisa needs." Here is the result, a list of the most common results from that search:

Lisa needs braces (had them)
Lisa needs help (true, oh so true)
Lisa needs to handle lower conditions (what?!)
Lisa needs to get a life (definitely! but i'm trying!)
Lisa needs to more clearly communicate to clients how they can benefit from LISA membership (well, yes)
Lisa needs to give it up (what, exactly?)
Lisa needs Khan (hm)
Lisa needs a tree (got it!)
Lisa needs a beach (YES!!)
Lisa needs a one or two parent family (huh?)
Lisa needs to go to the museum tomorrow (sure, if you'll take care of this work for me)
Lisa needs more feed for her cattle (yes, if cattle = canines)

By far the most common reference found from googling was "Lisa needs braces," apparently thanks to Lisa Simpson of "The Simpsons" fame. I happen to have already had braces, courtesy of a fine orthdontist in Aurora, Illinois, who delighted in untying my shoe in one swift tug of the shoelace on each visit, as his little joke.

I did it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

No, not that. This: I finally sent in my resume for that job I've been dreaming about. Please keep your fingers crossed for me!

Oh, and I had a really nice weekend. Not in the way I expected it to be nice, but nice nonetheless. My evolution as a human being continues . . .

A new best-seller in the children's literature market.

I was chatting today with my friend Beth, and we struck upon the perfect title for a new children's book: "Your Mama is a Whore." Don't ask how we came up with it . . . it's a long, long story and I'm not even sure I could fully reconstruct how whatever we were discussing circled around to this book idea. But we giggled like there was no tomorrow at the pure genius of it. We're thinking of marketing the masterpiece to the Jeff Foxworthy-loving crowd.

This also reminded me of something that happened while I was in high school. With it being the 80's and all, I was quite fond of the hair perm:



Because perms were so expensive and I received them so frequently, I struck upon the idea to receive mine from a local hair school's student-run salon. (Ironically, my friend Beth is now the manager for this very chain of hair schools). While whiling away the time in a stylist's chair there one day, I heard a small boy seated in the chair next to mine announce that he wanted all of his hair shaved off. His stylist, stunned, checked to see if she had heard him correctly: "Did you say you want it all shaved off?" Said the boy: "Yes, my mommy says that will look great for next Saturday, when I'm going to be the ring bearer in daddy's wedding."

I don't know what made me think of this in conjunction with the children's book title idea . . .

New post alert: Part II of the birthday visit to Northern California

and great times catching up with old friends, found here.

First, know thyself.

I recently realized I desperately need to be more aware of what I am thinking and, even more importantly feeling. I want to become reacquainted with these and other aspects myself so I can do a better job of listening to my heart and giving it what it needs and wants.

As a first step along what I am sure will be a long and winding road, I have borrowed a list from Tequila Mockingbird and made it my own . . . though there are some snippets that she and I have in common:

i actually like speaking in front of large crowds . . . though I will be heart-poundingly nervous beforehand.

i have total confidence in my interior decorating abilities, which seem to come to me naturally.

i am a devastatingly talentless cook, being impaired by a lack of imagination and food knowledge . . . but I think my homemade lasagne completely redeems me on this one.

i have no idea what kind of mother i would be and i'm not sure i will ever have the opportunity to find out.

i sometimes let my head overrule my heart, and almost always regret it.

i am loyal toward and sentimental about old friends, but am terrible at keeping in touch with more that a few.

i am my own worst critic.

i can easily become bogged down in the status quo out of pure fear, even as i long desperately for change.

i love singing loudly in my car.

i like to be right.

i do not often tell people i love them.

i am a libertarian.

i wish we could have a do-over on the last 2 presidential elections.

i know a lot about a few things, but have a strange ability to remember useless details (especially involving baseball).

i have tended to have more male friends than female friends . . . but i stay in touch with the female friends longer and my friendships with them are deeper.

i am capable of being really mean and nasty, but i fight it. hard.

i am a lifelong cubs fan, which has helped me build a tremendous ability to bounce back from disappointment.

i have been known to hold a grudge.

i have hips.

i miss my brother.

i am my own worst critic.

i am an outdoor kind of gal, though i enjoy an indoors with an awesome bed, a warm fire and an engrossing book.

i am a frivolous spender when it comes to things i really, really want.

i am a kaleidoscope of many colors.

Those Crazy 20's: Airport Clothing Incidents

I traveled to Albuquerque and back today for a business meeting.



I overheard a snippet of conversation between two ladies in the airport this morning that reminded me of my crazy mid- to late-20's years. At that time, I was a young lawyer who traveled often for work, but was young and energetic enough to party hard with my friends and co-workers at night, with minimal impact on my work performance. (This is no longer true in my mid-30's, when I am almost always in bed by midnight.) Things were moving so fast and furiously, however, that I began to notice a disturbing pattern in my personal life.

I was working on a project in Dallas (but living in Austin) and needed to get back to Austin on a Friday night so I could attend an early Saturday morning defensive driving class (I also liked to drive fast--this habit survived my 20's). My oh-so-bad-influence Dallas colleagues talked me into staying for a night out on the town, which would necessitate me taking a 6 a.m. flight on Saturday. We were out until the wee hours and had a great time, which left me with only 2 or 3 hours of sleep before my cab came in the morning. I slept as late as I could and dressed hastily in the dark, then hustled to the airport. Upon my arrival, I stopped in at McDonald's, the only vendor open at that hour (strangely enough), in search of the largest Coke that could be had. When I ordered it, the kindly counter lady said, "Oh, honey! Your shirt is on inside out!" I looked, and she was right. Not only that, it was on backwards, too. This was easily rectified in the bathroom, but not before I blushed. I vowed not to let this happen ever again!

The very next week, I was in the Dallas Love Field airport yet again, flying back to Austin (at a decent hour this time). It was one of those crisp, clear days that are so rare in Texas, and I reveled in it. Not only that, I felt like quite the sharp-dressed woman, wearing my favorite black dress that was as hip a dress as one could possibly get away with wearing to work in a conservative law firm at that time (my old friend Odean called this my "Welcome to the opera, Mrs. Brezhnev," dress--I'm sure he meant that as a compliment!). I am sure that I strutted just a bit as I walked down the long walkway from the entrance lobby to the security checkpoint. I roused myself from my contented self-absorption just long enough to realize that two gentlemen walking behind me were snickering, perhaps even giggling. I looked around and saw nothing amusing. I even did the reflexive "brush one's backside to ensure it is covered" move with my right hand, with which every woman is familiar. Nothing to be amused about there, either. I shrugged, thinking they must be laughing at some inside joke. And when I reached the security conveyor belt and took my briefcase off my left shoulder, I saw that my skirt was hiked up over it and that the two guys had enjoyed a clear view of whatever sexy yet tasteful underwear I had chosen to wear that day during their entire walk through the airport. I couldn't even turn around to look and just hoped like crazy that they were not on my flight.

I felt really embarrassed about these incident until I shared them with one of the secretaries in my office. She shared with me a similar skirt story, this one involving her strutting through downtown Houston. Unbeknownst to her, her skirt was tucked into her hose in back. And she was wearing elephant underwear that day. Not this kind:



She was wearing underwear with elephants printed on them. She swears this is true. Whether or not it's true, it sure made me feel better!

UPDATE: My friend Beth's greatest fault and asset as a friend is the fact that she knows and remembers everything she ever learned about me. She has reminded me of yet another (better forgotten) clothing incident from my 20's. In this one, I was getting ready for work super-early and was so sleepy that I just dressed in the dark. I put on my skirted suit (this was before the glorious days of business casual) and experienced a momentary frisson of excitement when I realized the the skirt was looser than I remembered . . . I had lost weight! About an hour later, when everyone else was arriving at work, I was sitting at my desk downtown and, looking down at my outfit. I realized I had accidentally grabbed the skirt from a different (larger-sized) suit than the suit whose jacket I was wearing, which left me wearing a brown fitted jacket with a purple skirt! I didn't want to pass all of the people arriving at work while wearing my mismatched outfit, so I hid in my office until most people were at work, then dashed off to change into a matching suit. Sometimes I amaze myself with my absent-minded abilities.

Don't you trust me?

My dog Kip, who has been my family for nine years now, trusts me totally. He doesn't react at all if my hand appears near the food he is devouring, sleeps deeply next to me for hours on end and will even permit me to hold him on my lap like a baby while I scratch his belly . . . if that isn't trust, what is? I also trust Kip--specifically, I trust that any time I am careless enough to leave out a Starbucks cup with coffee in it, Kip will find it, knock it over and lap up the coffee from the floor. I also trust that Kip will run through any open gate because he cannot wait to explore the world on the other side of it. One of the many things I love about Kip is this bond of trust that we have forged from living together for so many years.

I have been thinking about trust often lately, while embarking on my first serious romantic relationship since the one that ended early last year. In that encounter, my heart was treated carelessly, both by me and by him, until my companion-turned friend, who had sworn he wanted to be my friend always, decided it was easier to simply stop communicating with me with no notice whatsoever. For obvious reasons, this was an unpleasant experience (understatement of the year) that left me doubting many things, including my own judgment.

Fortunately or unfortunately, this new relationship has been one of quick decisions and whirlwind intensity and soulful interaction revealing that he has already--in this short period of time--figured out a good number of the things that make me tick. This leaves me both blissfully happy and extremely nervous. While I cannot block out the tiny voice inside me that squeaks out a constant and plaintive refrain of, "Be careful!," I am seriously opposed to permitting last year's experience to risk or ruin what could be a beautiful connection now and, perhaps, for a long time, with a great person.

So, while I summon the courage to pursue the new life I want from a career perspective, I am also enlisting that courage to keep my mind and heart open to the possibility of a new love. As much as I want to rise to this task, it is one covered by the proverbial "more easily said than done." If the Wise Readership of This Blog has any words of support or optimism, they are very welcome here.

Priorities.

When I wasn't deeply focused on work-related stuff today (which I found refreshingly stimulating and challenging), I was seething with anger over Shrub's nomination of Harriet Miers for the U.S. Supreme Court. Hasn't he dumbed down our government enough? Even Miers' friends and supporters consistently describe her by stating only how nice and hard-working she is--with nary a mention of her mental firepower. That is very telling. Whatever I might think of new Chief Justice John Roberts' ideology (if he had been so gracious to share it with us), I am wowed by his intelligence, as demonstrated by his facile handling of all legal issues raised in the confirmation hearing. That is not the case for this nominee, whom I heard speak earlier this year, at a luncheon in which she had to read with her nose practically pressed to her speech in order to tell us about the Administration's fine accomplishments. At least her dimness will make this confirmation process entertaining . . . that is, if one pretends the outcome is unimportant to the future of American jurisprudence.

I think part of my anger may be based upon the fact that such an unworthy successor was chosen for the seat of Sandra Day O'Connor, the woman who made me want to be a lawyer. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Justice O'Connor made me realize it was actually possible that I could be a lawyer, because no one in my small town talked about girls being lawyers, even girls who were smart enough to be in a special math class that consisted of just that one girl and two boys. When Justice O'Connor was appointed to the Supreme Court in the month when I celebrated my twelfth birthday, I realized that anything was possible for me.



If Miers survives the confirmation process, Justice O'Connor's seat on the Court, as well as her strides of accomplishment that benefited all women, will be cheapened by the appointment of this exponentially less qualified individual.

Speaking of the dumbing down of the U.S government, I am reminded of a very funny Albert Brooks quote in the movie Broadcast News. After proclaiming the character played by William Hurt, newly hired as a news anchor by Brooks' TV station, to be the "devil," Brooks explains further to the character played by Holly Hunter:

He'll be attractive, he'll be nice and helpful...he'll get a job where he influences a great God-fearing nation...he'll never do an evil thing, he'll never deliberately hurt a living thing...he'll just bit by little bit lower our standards where they're important...just a tiny little bit.........and he'll get all the great women.

While Brooks was speaking to the newfound concept of news anchors who do not understand the news they deliver, that is how I feel about what Bush has done to our country (though I can't speak to the greatness of Laura Bush). That is why I devoted all of my energies last year to defeating his re-election (or election, as the case may be). That is why I am now, once again, seriously considering moving to Europe or Canada. This time I may just do it. Or, I could adopt the attitude of my friend Beth, who laughed at herself today because she was more incensed about Macy's plan to place its own moniker on all of the Marshall Field's stores it recently acquired than she was regarding the recent hurricanes and other national calamities.

Even on a day on which I have been in an inexplicably cruddy mood,

this snippet from Overheard in New York made me laugh:

Hobo: Sorry miss, can you spare any change? I haven't eaten all day.
Girl #1: ...Oh I so hate it when they ask me for money. I mean, like I work all week and then I'll just give away my money?
Girl #2: Yeah, I know, it's crazy. I once told one of them, "Hey, do you have any idea how much NYU costs? I had to take loans!" But he didn't even care! He just kept on coughing to pretend he couldn't hear me or something.

--L train

The good thing about being in a bad mood while cleaning one's house is that you are able to throw out junk you have been hanging on to way too long, which on any other day you would keep for sentimental reasons. My house has not looked this good in a long, long time.

People are interested in that Tom DeLay Character . . .

Wow. At one time, I was a frequent poster/commenter on the Daily Kos web site, a clearing house for progressive thought, news and ranting. Earlier this year, however, my interest in the site tapered off and I took a break . . . I was tired of what felt like circular tail-chasing and childish arguments (some of which I permitted myself to be drawn into, I am embarassed to admit). I was gone for so long that I lost my "trusted user" status, which brings with it prizes and fame, OK, really just the ability to assist in monitoring the site for off-the-charts level inappropriate comments and such.

But I have been dipping in here and there lately, due to my uncontrollable curiosity about what the Evil GOP Wing Of Our Government May Be Up To, and yesterday even found that I was moved to post a diary. My diary was about a Dallas Morning News story concerning GOP Leader/Texas Exterminator Tom DeLay, in which the foreman of the grand jury that indicted him last week says essentially, "Hell no this isn't a political conspiracy--there are stacks of evidence to support the indictment!" Much to my surprise, that diary spent most of the day on the "recommended diaries" list on Daily Kos and, based on the number of people taking the poll in the diary, nearly 1000 people read it.

I thought I would mention it here, in the event that you would like to check out the Daily Kos or my humble little diary, which has now been recycled to the back of the long list of diaries posted there daily.

Canton: Melting Pot of East Texas

. . . check out my other blog for more about sights like this:



I also have updated that blog with an account of the early part of my birthday, which I spent in San Francisco.

Yes, there were happy times, too.

After that last post, I feel that I should reassure my readers (all 2 of you!!), and perhaps even myself, that there have been happy times as well. I recently dug out some old photo albums and ran across these*, which are representative of some of the happiest times of my life:



No, I was not off to war. Rather, I was attending a "War Party" in the days before my generation realized war could be something the United States actually did, and not just in the movies. My friend Tony is standing by, clearly ready to yank my ass up if I fall from overindulging in whatever it was that I was drinking from that huge mug. Tony was an excellent friend who always had my back and I always had an excellent time when hanging out with him.



Dancing wildly, for a reason I can no longer remember, at some point during law school. There may not have been a reason, as Glenn and I had a tendency to photograph ourselves in funny poses; we were very vain that way. I know for certain that no drinking was involved in this one; I have no idea why he was even in town for this picture. It may have been to attend the wedding of a mutual friend, but I'm really not sure. As you can see, I remember a lot about the law school years.



With friends Rafe and Paul, at the party they threw in celebration of my law school graduation/completion of the bar exam/departure on a backpacking trip in Europe before beginning life in the working world. These guys were treasured friends and I felt very loved and cherished by them and everyone else who attended these festivities. I was also in a zen state of happiness at this time in my life, not looking back and not looking very far ahead either.



With my friend Colleen, at my 10-year high school reunion. I didn't want to attend, thinking that I would not enjoy myself. But I actually had a great time and loved catching up with everyone. Afterward, I spent the night with my friend Beth and her family and we talked over all of the happenings from the reunion, savoring the details, a practice we continue to this day.

Just remembering all of these times makes me want to reach for all that is good and happy in my life now, embrace it, and do everything I can to expand upon it.

* Yes, I realize the quality of these photos is terrible--these are pictures of pictures, due to a sad and seemingly unfixable glitch in my scanner. I am secretly hoping that someone who is coming to visit me next weekend will be able to solve this problem so that you never have to suffer through such poor quality photography again.

Love in a Green Pebbled Box

This post on JD's blog, coupled with my recent acquaintance with a person who collects, appraises and sells, among other things, the belongings of dead people, has made me think. Specifically, I have been thinking about the things I found when going through my Dad's house after his death. My Dad was what is commonly known as a pack rat. I fight these tendencies in myself, because I prefer a house that has clean lines and is uncluttered. But genetics are a powerful thing, and I am not succeeding in my efforts to pare down.

There are upsides to a collecting gene, however. For instance, when my father died unexpectedly, I was wracked with worry that he did not know how much he meant to me. I thought about all the times I unloaded my teenage angst (even extending into adulthood) on or near him, how self-absorbed I was during the last weekend I saw him alive and all sorts of other memories, all of which basically added up to me being a bad daughter and failing to tell him what a great Dad he was. But luckily for me, he saved all manner of things that reminded me of times when I showed and/or told him how important he was to me. I found homemade cards and gifts I gave him as a child, including even this free pass to a piano concert:



In his house there were also many cards I sent him as an adult, expressing the feelings I could not articulate, and postcards from afar in which I shared with him places he would never see. As I read through these, I began to find comfort, realizing that I was being too hard on myself and that in fact, I had regularly told him how important he was to me. In short, Dad's decision to save all of those little items from over the years helped me rebuild my memory so that it was more realistic and afforded me the peace of knowing that he knew he was loved, and for that I am very grateful.

Also, although I never for one moment doubted his love for me, the things he kept made it very plain to me. He kept things like this note in which I let him know where I would be:



and this old "Christmas wish list", which he marked with the year so as to remember it:



and his boutonniere from the only father-daughter dance to which I invited him in high school:



and these notes from when I called him at work to tell him about my new car, the first one I bought for myself:



and this picture of me as a stern-looking little girl:



I now have an old-looking green box in which I store all of these items and the others I found that day. I used to keep them in the wooden tool box of his that I have, but for some reason decided they were safer in the green box. When I feel the memories of my Dad beginning to fade, I lift the lid from the box and flip through some of these mementos, savoring the distinctive look of his handwriting and the memories of things like our every-Sunday talks and the way he would cry each time I left to return to Texas after a visit with him. Sometimes, when I dare to dream of a love and a family of my own, I wonder if I will be able to impart to my own children even a fraction of the bottomless love that my Dad bestowed on me.

Rescued posts!

I had the happy discovery this morning that several posts I changed to drafts a while back in a rash move were not, as I had believed, accidentally deleted. Rather, they were existing in their own little secret "draft posts" world, unbeknownst to me! I have now restored several of them . . . they are sprinkled throughout the blog. I am sure the Blogger guys are hugging themselves with happiness due to the fact that I will no longer be sending them an email every week asking for guidance as to why my draft posts are disappearing.

Have any vices?

I was asked this question last night, and I've given it more thought since then. What are my vices?

Well, in addition to sometimes eating too much and/or the wrong kinds of foods, I thought of a few others:

I take too many pictures of my dogs . . .





I like to indulge myself with fresh flowers for no reason at all from time to time:



I get bright ideas like, "Mr. Lopez, let's take down the vines on the front of the house!" and act on them without always thinking through to the end result:



I'm a sucker for live music, which sometimes leads to the whiling away of time for hours on end:



I am often a spontaneous traveler, taking off for places like Italy on a week's notice:



When I travel, I love talking to new people and finding out what makes them tick, which sometimes leads to delays in finding dinner or other pleasures, and nearly always includes long conversations with cab drivers:



I love pretty much anything that is French, including this cafe:



I photograph chairs of all kinds:





And I have the tiniest of obsessions with this professional baseball team:



Other than that, really, not many vices . . .

Oh, I thought of another one this morning . . . I never get my car inspected or my registration renewed on time:

Snoopy.

If any cartoon character dominated my growing-up years, it was Snoopy. My personal Snoopy--a stuffed one--was well-worn and loved. I never missed seeing a Snoopy TV special. I tried not to think too much about the resemblances between me and Lucy, whose directness could at times get her in trouble.

So I was delighted the other day when I stumbled upon this while driving back from a far-away business meeting:



It took all of my newfound grown-up sophistication to keep from climbing aboard with Snoopy and Woodstock and driving away with them.

A Classic Moment Between the Fans of Cross-Town Rivals

The rivalry between my beloved baseball team, the Chicago Cubs, and its cross-town foe, the Chicago White Sox, is a storied one. So storied, apparently, that it merits a Wikipedia entry all of its own!

After Sunday's White Sox game, we had the pleasure of witnessing the quintessential Cubs/Sox fan interaction moment. In search of sustenance (the chocolate-dipped banana had worn off by then), my Sox-fan beau introduced me to one of his favorite restaurants, Pompeii. Pompeii is on Taylor Street in the Little Italy neighborhood of Chicago. I loved the neighborhood on this inaugural visit, with its beautiful brick storefronts and wide sidewalks and random assortment of shops and restaurants (okay, so maybe I crave any city that is friendly and walkable and actually has live human beings out and about).

Anyway, while we were devouring our salad and calzone, we witnessed a very memorable interaction. Several Sox fans had stopped by after the game, and about 6 of them (three grown men and three boys around age 10 or so) were sitting at a table near us. They were all wearing White Sox clothing and various combinations of black and white, clearly revealing their affiliation. Just as they tore into their meals, a tall, lanky guy in a blue Cubs shirt sauntered up to the table next to them and, before sitting down, asked jauntily if it was okay for Cubs fans to sit so close to the Sox fans. We watched intently. I expected the Sox fans to pipe up with a friendly, "Sure, no problem," perhaps adding a jokingly taunting, "You need some happiness in your life because you were eliminated from playoff contention yesterday." That isn't what happened, however. Not at all.

What happened is that the Sox fans glared sullenly at the bubbly Cubs fan father, just as his young daughter (also clad head to toe in Cubs gear) approached the table; one of them may have grunted in response to his question. After which my beau turned to me and said something to the effect of, "That, my dear, is the difference between Cubs fans and Sox fans over the ages . . . that incident sums up the relationship perfectly."

My apologies for a prolonged absence!

My excitement at spending a weekend at home turns out to have been unfounded . . . instead, I returned to Chicago for an unexpected family thing. But it was a surprisingly lovely weekend, filled with adventures like a hideously bad hotel (limited to one night only--after which I bolted for cushier digs downtown), food made by church ladies, time spent with my grandmother's boyfriend, who is like a grandfather to me, a re-visit of some homes that have a warm place in my heart, excellent chai tea shared with an old friend, etc.

Oh, yes, and I now have a boyfriend. I'm not sure how much to say about that at this point . . . I am still savoring the simple pleasure of knowing him. But I will share this tidbit that I wrote about him while hanging out in a coffee shop this weekend (regarding our Friday night dinner together):

I had an unglamorous dinner out with a soulful, irreverent guy who seems hell-bent on taking over my heart, piece by tiny piece. And he seems to be succeeding, much to my surprised and pleased discomfort.

That's all for now.

Oh, one more thing: I actually attended a White Sox game with him on Sunday--and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Geez.

And for the record, this is something one would not find at a Cubs game, but that was plentiful at "U.S. Cellular Field"--judge for yourself whether that is a good thing or a bad thing:

The posting drought will soon end!

Yes, I'm back in town and will actually NOT be traveling this weekend! So stay tuned. In the meantime, here are a few samples of the delights my Chicago weekend held:

Cotton candy:



Cubs wins:



And fetching dogs:

Time to pack a bag, again.

If it is not clear from reviewing my other blog, I love, love, love to travel. But tomorrow I will embark on my third weekend trip in three weeks, and I have to admit there is a part of me that would enjoy staying home, catching up on my reading, hanging with the dogs, playing the Nancy Drew computer game with my friends' kids (did I say that aloud?) and taking a bike ride at the lake. Instead, I will fly to Chicago, see the Cubs play the Cards twice and catch up with family and friends. Oh yeah, and I'll also conduct a bit of business while I am there. I know I'll have fun once I arrive.

But first, I must pack. And I hate, hate, hate to pack. I think it's something about feeling the need to predict what I will want to do, what the weather will be like when I'm doing it and what I will be in the mood to wear at the time. All I know right now is that I'm in the mood to see a few of this season's last baseball games (hopefully resulting in at least one Cubs win), listen to some live music, probably at the Green Mill (one of my favorite haunts) and spend time with my best friend from home and her kids. There are worse ways to spend a weekend!

Simple thought on simplicity

From the self-taught girl's blog, these very wise words:

I forget, so often, that when something is truly right, it will often be truly simple. Things will fall naturally into place. People say that it is hard to make decisions, to make choices, but I'm learning that at least for myself (and a lot of people I know, anyway) we make them hard. We put things into our lives that don't quite fit, and then we struggle and strain to make them fit somehow. The truth is that if it's right to begin with--this is what I think, anyway--things will be simple. Not always easy, but simple.

She's a smart one, that self-taught girl.

A person cannot feel bad about her life

for very long when reading stories about the experiences of those who were in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina. Even the round-the-clock CNN stream cannot prepare one for tales like:

This (by San Francisco EMS workers who formed a small community with 200 other trappees)

and this (by a N.O. resident Black Panther who blames lack of organization for deaths)

and this (a death penalty opponent's stories of racism during the tragedy).

Please. Click on these links. Read these stories. And do two things: (1) give money to help the victims and/or volunteer in some way to help; and (2) do not forget what happened after the excitement dies down--VOTE, and when you do, hold the government players who failed these people responsible for the result.

I'm in a fairly rotten, anxiety-filled mood,

but this picture cheered me up a bit:



Credit to a diarist at the always-informative Daily Kos.

I hope you enjoy it, too.

So I'm on a posting binge . . .

but I must share with you this poem of Tanner's that touched me:

i wonder if you ever

2005.09.01 - 10.03AM
i still feel the loss
your departure though gradual
is something i think of
the foggy morning drive
was punctuated by moments
when i wished different
times had gone our way
after the months and months
of silence
i wonder if you ever
think of me

If you are not familiar with him, Tanner is a very talented poet. His writing may be found here and his myspace page is here.

The soundtrack for my SF trip.

Before I post the story of my trip (over at my other blog), I should mention that you may want to listen to Ben Lee's "Awake is the New Sleep" album while reading the post(s):



Although I was armed with my well-stocked Ipod, I could not stop listening to this most recent Ben Lee CD. I love the tunes and the lyrics and everything about it!

Here are some of the lyrics I love most, although I really like them all (lyrics available at Ben Lee's web site):

From "Whatever it Is":

are you changing?
do you know it?
do you feel it?
do you know?
but youre waiting
while youre waiting
why are you waiting?
just do it - whatever it is

there are secrets
there are places
there are places you can go to
they might tell you
yeah theyll tell you that you shouldnt
but do it - whatever it is
go do it - whatever it is
just do it - whatever it is

and youre dancing
and youre looking kinda crazy
and your arms are making little circles
there are reasons
there are reasons you can find out
so do it - whatever it is
just do it - whatever it is
go do it - whatever it is
whatever it is

From "Apple Candy":

cos you smell like apple candy
and we're singing hallelujah
and i'm feeling so much younger than my years
but i wanna know what he knows
i wanna go where he's been
i want you and i want him

From "Into the Dark":

its not a slow dance
this modern romance
feels like we've already waiting too long

dont worry baby
about how it should be
i sent a message out into the dark
id rather talk to you
about how it could be
ive gotta find my way to your heart

From "Gamble Everything for Love":

baby are you cold?
are you cold baby i could wrap you up
wrap you up in my love
if you wanna you can gamble everything for love
if you wanna you can gamble everything for love

tell me are you feeling lost? have you crossed
into places that you never knew to get through?
tell me are you gonna cry all night?
tell me the truth and ill tell you the truth
if you gamble everything for love
youre gonna be alright
alright

make a list of things you need
leave it empty
except for number one - write love,
gamble everything
keep it under lock and key
if you wanna you can gamble everything for love

love me with an open heart
tell me anything
we can find a place to start to gamble everything
we can set this thing apart
cos were gonna
gonna gamble everything for love

tell me do you lose your way each day?
are there people you dont recognize?
do they lie?
tell me do they make you feel too real?
tell me the truth and ill tell you the truth
if you gamble everything for love
youre gonna be alright
alright

From "No Right Angles":

so breathe
feel the open space
leave it all behind
coming into grace
no right angles in my life
there are no right angles in my life

My name is Lisa and I am a photography addict.

That is the only conclusion I can draw in light of the 419 photos I took on a 5-day trip to San Francisco and the surrounding area. This plethora of photos is downloading as I write this; more detailed blog about the trip to come later. I had a wonderful time, despite the fact that I continue to experience what I believe is nausea borne of food poisoning. That, coupled with the bone-deep tiredness that is a natural byproduct of an ill advised red-eye flight, has conspired to keep me home from work today. Anyway, the trip was amazing, for many reasons. I can't wait to return to SF!

P.S. While I attempt to make order of the chaos that is 419 photographs, here are a few to tide you over:

Our friends and neighbors in the Gulf Coast region need our help.

When I travel, I feel that all I meet are neighbors and friends, no matter how near or far they may live. I have been lucky enough to visit the beautiful, warm and timeless city of New Orleans several times; Mississippi and the other Gulf Coast areas hit by Katrina were on my travel "wish list." Regardless of whether we have met them or visited their home towns, all who live in these places are our neighbors and friends, and we need to help them:







Please go to the Red Cross site and do what you can.

I'm off!

In one hour, a driver will retrieve me so that I can fly, fly away to this place:



(Photo credit belongs here).

My plans have come together in an unbelievably good way, considering the entire trip was planned with barely a week's notice. I will see four different sets of friends and, hopefully, many cool sights. I even have reservations this evening for dinner at the awe-inspiring Chez Panisse:



(Photo credit belong to the restaurant's web site)

Photographic evidence of the trip to be posted next week! Have a safe and fun Labor Day weekend, Americans. For you non-Americans, please have a safe and fun weekend! :)