Doggy-back ride

Yes, it is just that cold. We took our dog and the neighbor's for a long walk to the university library so I could drop off my books from finals, and then walked all the way back. Took us about 2 hours and by the final third of the trip, the neighbor's dog was over it. Poor pup kept getting ice stuck in between her toes, causing her to limp, and when we went to clear her feet for the third or fourth time, she lay down and looked at us with eyes that begged, "ARE WE THERE YET?"
We weren't, but fortunately S has a sturdy set of shoulders, so Kali got the Steve's eye view of most of the walk home. It is a testament to how miserable Kali was that she only struggled a couple times against being carried like a little lamb. Tika had her momentary ice-limps as well, but being the half-husky she is, shrugged it off and forged ahead. If we'd had a sled, she probably would have towed us all the way home.
I went home with the realization that I need to invest in long underwear. Turns out it was about 10 degrees out during the whole walk, and any part of me that had more than one layer was fine. My thighs thus took about an hour to thaw out completely, and last night I noticed a slight rash on my cheeks from the cold.
S is the only one of our little snow posse who proved not to be a delicate flower -- on the outside at least.
A couple hours after I snapped this camera-phone photo, all four of us were fast asleep. That was some walk.
(*~ _ ~*)

Hope is the thing with whiskers...

An entire childhood of hope has been vindicated at long last, at the tender age of 29, in the most unexpected way.
Last Tuesday evening S hollered "the dogs have something!"as he ran from the house. Turns out Tika and her "BFF" (our neighbor's dog, Cali) had decided to be cats for the night and caught themselves a field mouse. I pinned the dogs as S, with gloved hands, pulled the drool-covered little guy from certain death. Its whiskers were twitching and its chest was heaving, with no visible puncture wounds.
How many times have I picked up a bird, a mouse, a vole, its chest heaving, with no visible punctures wounds, and stood there with it on the very edge of death, wondering if this time, this one time, it would pull back?
Too many times to count. And every time it was game over. Even if the physical injuries were nonexistent, the shock was always too much. The next morning I'd find a stiff carcass where a freaked out little rodent used to be. I know why the caged bird doesn't sing -- because it's dead by morning.
Despite the impregnable evidence to the contrary, S and I did the unthinkable and decided to build an out-patient mousie hospital. I found a shoebox. Lined it with paper towel. Bundled up some kleenex for nesting type materials. Put in a bottle lid with water and a tiny pile of bird seed. And we placed the mouse inside -- still paralyzed, still heaving its chest, not moving a voluntary muscle -- partially under the kleenex, crossed our fingers, and closed the box for the night.
A couple hours later, no noise from the box.
A couple hours after that, we head to bed. S says he thinks he hears scratching.
The next morning, I tiptoe to the laundry room, ready to accept defeat. I tilt the lid back...
...and there is the mouse, not so much dead as confused, rising to his hind legs, whiskers ablaze with alarm and curiosity, looking at me as if to say, "WHO THE HECK ARE YOU AND WHERE AM I??"
Later that day S would text me to say he'd set it free in the woodpile and it left with all the joyous panic of a survivor to points unknown. The mouse and I would share a rare moment of symmetry; just as he described it LEAPING from the box like it was shot from a gun, that morning I put the lid back down before the thing escaped and LEAPED across the house to my still sleeping husband to greet him with the rooster crow: "IT LIVED!! IT LIVED! IT LI-II-III-IIVED!!"

Denver

So many little things to note about Denver that I think of in the moment and then forget to write down, and can't think of when I sit down in front of my blog.

But why not try anyway? Here, some miscellanea:

1) It is supposed to snow tonight. In October. Wha'???

2) Having a real fall again is AWESOME to behold. We have two huge maple trees in our front yard that are just barely starting to change -- I can't wait. And it's brisk and cold now too. I baked chocolate chip cookies today, and warm chocolate chip cookies on a cold fall day may just be the exact composition of Heaven.

3) Fermenting crab apples (almost wrote that crap abbles, lol), such as those that have fallen off the tree in our backyard, smell delicious. Don't worry, I have not tried to fashion a drink out of them. They sell pumpkin beer here that does the trick. I just like the smell.

4) We are truly a swing state. I have never seen such a diversity of political lawn poster endorsements in my life. Our block alone is evenly divided.

5) Denver's large interstates are designed such that you have to constantly keep merging left; all right lanes become exit only lanes. It's annoying but perhaps it's meant to keep you vigilant?

6) The curbs in our neighborhood are slanted such that if you ride your bike parallel to them and steer ever so slightly on to them, you can glide right up them.

7) S and I are totally acclimated, which makes me think that we are going to drink our cousins and my brother under the table this Christmas. Not that we don't anyway. And not that drinking competitions should be endorsed. Still, the thought is personally satisfying. Altitude adaptation for the win!

8) The difference between morning and afternoon here is often 30 degrees or more. Riding my bike to school, I can get near-frostbite on my fingers at 7am and be sweating in my t-shirt by 3pm.

9) The food in this city is strangely bland. Seriously. You have to work to find real flavor here. This phenomenon is very distinct from San Francisco, where everything was seasoned, a lot, and brilliantly.

10) Our neighbors are the most neighborly neighbors we've known, with the last apartment building we were in being a close second, and that's only because we hang out and drink beers with our neighbors here all the time.

To be continued!

Marriage...!

What length we lacked in warning people we made up for in explaining...

What volume we lacked in planning we made up for in exuberance...

And what procrastination we truncated by way of City Hall, we'll certainly make up for at the Wedding Celebration still to be planned!

Oh My Grand

S and I went out to lunch today. I had a mild throat spasm, so I got up to go to the bathroom (sometimes just walking it off helps). In the bathroom was a young woman and the restaurant hostess. As I walk into a stall, I hear the young woman say, "are you okay?" Then a lot of thudding. (At first I thought the hostess was upset about something and crying and slamming on the soap dispenser.) Then the woman says, "excuse me, EXCUSE ME" and I realize she's calling out to me. I come out of the stall and the hostess is in a full grand mal seizure: flat on her back on the bathroom floor, arms, legs, head flailing, eyes bloodshot, mouth open; her feet had kicked through the plaster in the wall.
I recall what my Mom has told me about seizures and immediately stabilize her head while the other woman runs to get help. I talk to her and tell her she's okay. (I know that during a seizure people black out but I figure anything soothing I can do can't hurt.) The manager, a woman, comes back with her and immediately puts us at ease -- I would not be surprised if she had RN training. The first woman wets a paper towel with cold water and kneels on her left, gently wiping the hostess's forehead. I'm kneeling at her head, keeping my hands on either side of her head and gently stroking her temples with my thumbs. The manager is to her right, talking to her. The seizure is easing -- she's gaping like a fish, and jittering, but not flailing any more. The manager keeps in good humor and rubs her sternum and tells her to breathe, and tells us there will be maybe another minute of this. The manager is watching the two of us to be sure we're not flipping and when I look over at her, she says, "Women are great, aren't they??" with pride and kindness in her eyes. (Definitely.) I ask the manager what kind of seizure this is and she says epileptic. Finally, the hostess' body and face goes slack, she takes her first full breath, and then her eyes start to track the manager's, who continues to talk to her, often in a playful manner ("you're looking at me now, aren't you hon?"). The manager is very good at relieving everyone's tension.
When I feel the hostess's head is safe, I hold her hand and squeeze it every now and then. The first words out of her mouth, heart-breakingly, are a slow, thick, "I'm...sorry..." to which all three of us are immediately like, "don't be silly, honey!!" Then, "water?" The manager goes to get her some and the woman and I help her slide a little away from the door so a few women who had tried to come in can finally enter. We reassure them that she's okay, and she is. The manager comes back with water, and the woman and I help her sit up, and the manager kneels behind her so she can lean back against her and helps her stabilize the glass -- the hostess' hands are still shaking. (The manager tells her it's okay to lean back and says, "don't worry, I'm wearing non-skid shoes.") At this point the manager says we can return to lunch, it's under control, and she says she's going to comp our lunches, to which of course both the woman and I say, "not at all."
I return to S., poor guy, who's seen women running to and from the bathroom and is starting to worry that I choked. He's relieved to see me. I tell him what happened and a few minutes later the manager and a waitress walk the hostess over to a booth and sit her down. She still looks a little lost -- a little like she's moving underwater -- but otherwise she's fine. I want to run over to her and verify that she's fine and soothe her and also ask her a million questions about her condition, but I decide to respect her privacy instead. It's her place of work and we eat there a lot, and I don't want to embarass her. The manager comes over again to thank me, and of course ends up comping our meal anyway.
Afterwards, I shake and tremble from the adrenalin rush as my muscles slowly release their tension, and for the next few minutes eat like I just fought all of Sparta. My throat spasm disappeared instantaneously the moment that woman called for my help, and is all but forgotten as my body's fight or flight response makes way for its renew-lost-energy response.
I suppose it may seem sentimental but my emotional response in the moment and in the aftermath was gratitude. As frightening as the seizure appeared, I knew she'd be okay, and I felt strangely grateful that I got to understand something I'd never witnessed before. I recall hearing about certain cultures where epileptic fits are taken as shamanism, and I wonder what she saw and felt when she was gone from 'this' world. In the meantime I took my instantaneously appointed role as her guardian as a welcomed education in the human body, compassion, and my own ability to stay calm and focused when chaos drops in on lunch.

Our New Tenant and His Attempts At Redecoration

To get the full story, go here!

Denver

As many of you know, S and I took a long weekend and visited Denver to help aid me in making my MSW decision. My preconceived notions about Denver -- mountain town, ski town, athletic town -- were all proved quite wrong.

1) Mountain Town: False. Aside from the fact that 'town' is an obvious misnomer, seeing as it's a city, this concept was proved false because Denver squats on the very last vestiges of the plains that stretch through Nebraska and Kansas. Denver is flat. Denver has gorgeous mountains off in the background. That's about it. Denver also has the flavor of a central/midwest state in that it has more strip malls and housing developments than I thought could possibly be packed into one city. There were at least four Walmart complexes in ONE city, not to mention the Target complexes, the J.C. Penny complexes, the outlet malls, and fast food after fast food after fast food chain. (If I had spotted one Dunkin' Donuts, maybe I would have forgiven Denver. But I didn't. It seems they couldn't spare the extra McDonalds and definitely needed two Long John Silvers.) San Francisco in all its high-and-mightiness tends to eschew major chain stores within city limits: we have our Walgreens and our McDonalds but they are far, far outnumbered by privately owned pharmacies and food places, not to mention all the independent clothing and furniture and art and knick knack shops. Denver was perhaps the complete antithesis, almost as though Denver eschews indepedence. It made me want to start a website listing independent stores in Denver so that if one wants to find them, one can. (Maybe I will!)

To help you understand just how much of Denver is made of "new homes" -- town houses, condos, and McMansions, all painted dull colors to blend in and avoid being even more of an eye sore, I have created this handy jpeg showing just exactly where there are "normal" brick and wood houses in the Denver area:

Seriously, that's it. Not kidding. In the South East corner on the road back up towards Parker there are a bunch of horse ranches. And in Boulder there are some more houses. Otherwise, that tiny little circle in the middle and the one in Englewood is about all we spotted. Fortunately, Englewood is where University of Denver is located, so we might actually get to live in a real house.

2) Ski Town: Inconclusive. I had half expected a Jackson Hole, Wyoming type place, but as reported above, Denver is a plains city. I'm sure the occupants love to ski. There is a train that takes you directly from Denver to the ski resorts. There is lots of skiing to be had within mere hours. But it's not a ski-town per se. It is, after all, a city, and can't cultivate that much cute and yuppie with so many other things to do. Also, I don't ski, so one might question why I care. It's not so much the skiing as it is that ski environments are often rustic and full of great food and cozy scenes, all of which I like. And I do cross country ski -- perhaps I can take that up as a hobby again.

3) Athletic Town: Inconclusive. I am used to California where the equation is something like: (warm + sunny) / most of the time = less clothing + higher levels of vanity = fitter bodies. Denver suffers no such mathematics. But it was March and still somewhat cold so perhaps the athletes were hidden under layers of wool or in the gyms getting ready for hiking season.

This post undoubtedly comes across as negative, as it is conveying my disappointment in Denver, which I foolishly thought I could compare to San Francisco. (I certainly have a whole new appreciation for San Francisco now!) There is one caveat to my experience there, and many things that I like:

Caveat: I caught a head cold the day before I left and was sick the whole time. It wasn't a full body cold, at least, but I did have to spend much of my time in Denver "toughing it out," and so I associate the city with a mild sense of post-nasal nausea.

Things I liked: The zoo. Always love a good zoo. You may recall that on my road trip out to San Francisco, I stopped at the Denver Zoo. Steve and I went again on Saturday. This time we got there around 2pm and it was overcast. Many of the animals were asleep, but many more were inside and restless to eat as the day wore on. The lions in particular were spectacular. One male and three females were in a small pen with a large glass wall and they were hungry. We were treated to lots of small spats and the male lion suddenly deciding to majestically, loudly, well, whine! Think of the ordinary housecat making those repetitive whiney meow noises when they want to be let inside or they're hungry, and then deepen the tone quite a lot and make the melody of it a lot rougher, and boom, that's what we heard. ROOOWW! ROOOWW! ROOOWW! We also walked past the giraffes, which had two babies stirring up each other and the elders, and they have the most eye-boggling run. Because their limbs are so long they appear to be running in slow motion even as they're running at a speed faster than a human can match. It hurts one's brain to watch. Very cool. We saw a lot of beautiful birds in their indoor atriums as well.

We also enjoyed the Wynkoop Brewery, which we found on the first night. The top floor was a pool hall with darts and shuffleboard; the middle floor was a restaurant and bar; and the bottom floor housed an improv comedy troupe and bands. We, of course, hit up the pool hall. It was the only place I took pictures (on my cell phone -- I just kind of forgot to after that):

Steve and I played horrible pool and ended up having a better time playing darts. We have a dartboard at our apartment so both of us got some practice in, and I actually beat him the first round, after which he beat me, after which I think he beat me again, but I can't remember. It was quite close each time. The beer there was quite yummy and the food was solid.

Lastly, Saturday evening after the zoo, we finally found a cute little neighborhood that reminded us of San Francisco: Highland Square. There were real houses there! And independent shops! It reminded us of Cole Valley, in that it was basically a neighborhood centered around one intersection that had shops and restaurants. We found the 8 Rivers Cafe there by chance and I was treated to my first great Caribbean food since Wesleyan. Steve and I both got Jerk Chicken dishes, mine with the traditional rice and plantains, his over pasta. The slow burn commenced, and we were treated to a quiet and reserved snow fall while we ate.

Other things I liked: the view of the mountains was beautiful, and merits exploration time that we could not carve out in one weekend. The vast emptiness of the plains and the blueness of the sky at that altitude made me want to write. Costs are generally cheaper out there, especially things like housing and gas. And the weather is so dry that the environment feels more tolerable. Steve and I stepped out of the airport on the first day and laughed because we were comfortable in t-shirts in 50 degree weather -- no wind and humidity to creep under our clothes and our skin. Our hair and towels dried quickly. And it was, as promised, quite sunny. The horse ranches in close proximity hold the promise of me getting to ride again for the first time in years. The University of Denver has picturesque brick buildings, and holds the promise of a career waiting to be learned.

Initial shock now over -- I think we can make it work. News to follow as it comes!

a big update of small things

1) I got into University of Denver's Masters in Social Work program. They have a program for animal-assisted therapy that inspired me to apply. It's looking likely that in September I'll be going to school for the first time in 6 years, and finally pointing myself down a career path!

2) S. and I talk about some day opening up a bed and breakfast; little did we know we already have. We've become quite the rest stop for the birds in our neighborhood, many of whom troll our fabulous finch seed diner, and some of whom even sleep for the night on our carpeted porch -- mourning doves in particular seem to like our cozy housing. Our most recents guests have extended their stay -- I guess Oregon Juncos found it a pleasant winter stomping ground, perhaps recommended to them by the house finches who are our daily customers. We also are familiar enough with the birds to notice that we now have white-capped sparrows as well as regular house sparrows partaking of our sumptuous buffet. The scrub jays and humming birds seem to have taken the winter off for now, but we're hoping to see them back when the spring weather rolls in.

3) My hair is the longest it's been probably since Freshman year of high school -- that would be in 15 years! I'm getting cut and colored tomorrow though, as it's fallen into the trap of being so heavy as to lose all body. I don't think I'll go too short -- I'm enjoying the length.

4) How to tell the weather in Oakland if you were somehow unable to see, hear or feel it: the kinder the compliment, the nicer the weather; the more direct the request for money, the worse the weather. On sunny days, especially the first one after a long spell of cold, fog, or rain, I get told I'm beautiful, a supermodel, and I've made someone's day. On lackluster but not particularly ugly days, I'm always asked to smile. And on gross days, everyone cuts to the chase: spare some change?

5) I'm coaching a volleyball team of 13-14 year olds; I'm loving every minute of it. The organization is called the starlings, and I've enjoyed titillating and horrifying the girls with stories of how starlings were brought to the U.S. because they were mentioned in Shakespeare, but now they've become a veritable plague. Of course, I try to spin this as a good thing -- we can be a plague on the court! We'll be a bad disease our opponents can't shake! We'll devour points the way starlings steal resources!
No, it's not really working. But it's still fun to say. :)

6) Buckets. Buckets are the bane of corporate lingo right now. Every time finances come up here, it's bucket this, bucket that. It makes me want to put a bucket on my head and bang it with a wooden spoon until I go deaf. Just saying.