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Below are the 25 most recent journal entries.

	2009.05.26  09.58 Flashback to Spring Break Day 1: Fly into Southern California, pick up rental car, arrive in Palm Springs just before midnight. Day 2: Lounge away the day poolside with beer cans and books. Nate reads Wendell Berry while I read my developmental English teaching book, in preparation for next quarter's new job, English 099. We have an animated conversation about teaching and farming, writing and marriage. I generate a half-dozen new class ideas. I go up to the room and find a message from my soon-to-be-employers: due to low enrollment, your class has been canceled. Sorry, maybe next time!. Damn. Foiled (and unemployed) again. Day 3: Drive out to Joshua Tree Nat'l park. Get told by a man at the trinket desk that the entry fee is cash only. We have a card. We must drive all the way to the other park entrance in order to pay with our card. A nice couple slips us a ticket. We buy no trinkets. The park is a long stretch of winding desert paths, high wind, twisty green-antennae bushes, bulbous rocks. Occasionally a stand of palm trees sprouts from the earth. Back in Palm Springs, we stop at an Irish bar for a beer and snack. The flavors are true to Ireland, the prices a little more forgiving. In early evening we wander the open-air ghost mall, slurping ice cream shakes before seeing I Love You Man at the nearby multiplex. Day 4: Head into Santa Monica to see Tory and meet Stav, his lady love. Stop at a bar on the peer, have some Tecate, wander the peer for another bar before returning to previous bar. Drink more Tecate. Lay the smack down on Tory for dissing my new show, Dollhouse. Back at Tory's, gawk at his roommate's ginormous TV and other techno-gadgets strewn around the living room. Enjoy the pre-fame soft porn that is Excalibur, then continue to Robocop. Tory expounds Robocop's philosophical subtleties. Day 5: Have breakfast with Nate's college friend Kristen, sideswipe nostalgia, take a picture. Return to Tory's for some city-pool lounge time. In evening, he and Stav take us to an amazing Israeli restaurant with the best hummus on the planet. On The Planet! Day 6: Drive south, kill time at a Starbucks near Jenn and Bobby's. Look at the calender, debate a stopover on our flight home (suddenly jobless, I can now extend our vacation to look at our two potential grad schools). Marvel at our ability to make last-minute decisions. Meet at Jenn and Bobby's condo, then head to a restaurant double date: bucket of Corona and delicious fish burritos. Back at the condo, play Wii tennis. I decide it's overrated, and Nate, swinging his Wii stick, launches a beer across the carpet. Day 7: In Salt Lake City, pick up a rental van and head straight to Pocatello, home of Idaho State, and our dual acceptances into the English PhD program (no funding offers, but affordable tuition and a promise of second year fellowships). The town's size and character reminds Nate of Gunni, and we're both won over by the rough mountain feel, the casual people, the practical program, the low cost of living. Day 8: On the drive to Salt Lake, discuss Pocatello like we've already signed on. (Utah's tilted in favor of Nate. It's a prestigious program, and they're offering him a generous fellowship. My program, the Asian Studies department, has accepted me but with no word on funding assistance. We can't afford to go to the U if only one of us gets funding. If we come out of our department meetings and he's excited, I'll feel that I'm taking the opportunity from him.) In Utah, split off to our respective meetings. I meet with the department head and some faculty members. Everyone is enthusiastic and informative, the program intriguing, interdisciplinary. I'm offered a teaching assistantship to include a Chinese component in my studies. Exciting! Nate's face also glows, post-meeting. I tell him about my teaching assistantship. We shake our heads, marveling. In evening we meet up with Susan's friends for drinks, still wide-eyed. Day 9: On the plane home there's no discussion, just a nod. Utah it is. A month later we make an offer on a house, establish our bike route, the kind of fish we'll catch on the weekends. Olympia takes on a new shine as we begin our goodbye rituals. Mood: hopeful

	2009.04.29  17.39 Razor Clams Saturday 7am. I tumbled out of the back passenger seat of Dale's Durango, grabbed a pointy shovel and a net bag, and prepared to show Copalis my razor clamming skills. As Amanda and I put on more layers, Jake and Dale stood by in shorts and sandals, hands hanging loose in the chill ocean breeze. I thought they were crazy, or maybe that I was crazy for giving up Aikido in favor of this. Who drives two hours to the ocean to dig up wet sand? Everyone, apparently. As we walked from the parking lot to a winding path of cold sand and grass shoots, people were all around us - families, couples, dogs. We passed a stream of returners, carrying heavy nets, sand trailing from their shovels. Dale smiled and greeted each of them. "Catch your limit?" he'd ask, and they'd beam, "In 20 minutes." The whole situation was baffling. I'd only been clamming once before, last year in Hood Canal. Then it was butter clams, and gathering them was just a matter of digging and casually sifting through the upturned sand. Not so the razor clam. The razor clam, I was told, moves quickly downward you as you dig, spitting in your eye as it retreats. The beach was busy with scattered clam hunters, mostly off toward the surf, some knee deep in the waves, doing who knows what. We found a happy midpoint and spread out, Dale and Jake immediately bending into their shovels and straightening with palm-sized clams. Dale looked at the three of us - the newbies - and said, "Anyone want to use the gun?" "The gun" was a long piece of gray plastic piping, maybe five inches around and two feet tall, with a hole in the top and two handles sticking sideways from the top of the piping. Nate tried and broke his first clam in half. Imagining myself cracking each one, I decided to go the shovel route, mimicking Dale's movements. First I found a hole, a kind of mini sand doughnut, and proceeded to dig around it, three quick, desperate stabs. Then I tossed aside my shovel and hit the beach, thrusting my hands in the sand, thinking he's getting away, getting away, coming up with...more sand. After my third miss, I was so frustrated I was ready to try the gun. Then Jake, who's been doing this since he was eight, showed me the shovel technique: back to the surf, shovel deeply, deliberately, until the clam spits, then dig downward with your hands, alternating left and right, paddling the excess through your legs. No need to panic. "They're fast, but not that fast," he said. And so I got my first clam, then my second, then the fifteenth, my limit for the day. While everyone ended with sandy knees and hands, I managed to get it all over my fleece hat and in my hair. Filthy and proud, I carried my limit out with the others, amazed that we'd managed to get so many of these monsters in less than half an hour. In the car we ate clementines, Nate hurling the delicate orange peels at Dale's head. Dale pulled over to ask a man on a saw about yellow cedar, did a u-turn in pursuit of a garage sale, stopped to admire a sign about the Japanese, and took us on a detour of the old highway, the untended asphalt gradually losing to swamp. Amanda wondered if this is where the locals bury their (accidental/inconvenient) dead. Once we got into town proper, we stopped at two garage sales, Dale being a junk connoisseur. Jake scored an Oly glass for 50 cents, Amanda a Neko tin for 10 (which she later stepped on). Nate bought a pair of galoshes from an 82-year-old black man who called all the men Little Brother and, consummate salesman that he was, tried to add any number of fishing poles and cast iron skillets to the sale. I milled around taking pictures of the creepy bric-a-brac. In the old man's front yard, I eyed the half-dozen antique windows listing against trees and shrubbery, fascinated by the curled paint and hinge rust. Our appetites raised, we moved on to breakfast, a greasy spoon with only one option for Nate's new diet: oatmeal. He took it well. Outside the restaurant was a strange green statue in a cage. On our way home, we stopped at Estrella Farm, a world famous, family-run cheese farm. In the tasting shop, the owner's son cut us thin slices of half a dozen cow and goat cheeses, the brim of his tan hat tipped slightly back. The amazing flavors lingered as we wandered back outside to pet the striped cat luxuriating in a nearby flower bed. After a long afternoon nap, we gathered in the cabana to prepare the clams: cut the shell from the white body, rinse, slice open the siphons, snip the digger from the organs, push out any remaining dark matter, bread and cut as needed. We attempted clam burgers, which fell into a dish of calamari-and-batter-bits that was homely but tasty, and Dale's sister pulled fritters from a pot to accompany the salad, chips, salsa, and huge store-bought chicken. Evening was an endless pile of dishes and a short fall into long sleep. Sunday Andrew came over at noon and piled into the wagon with me, Amanda, and Nate, dogs in the far back. We dropped the mutts in Tukwila and made a beeline for Amanda's house, an old high school friend and new mommy. Her husband Ben was holding two-month old Anna, whose faux-hawk was almost as thick and fluffy as Nate's. I foresee a rivalry in the near future. We passed Anna around until she started to cry, then Amanda L packed her into a stroller, and we walked down sunny Seattle to a pizza place that was, alas, closed for a private party. The manager gave us a few free pizza cards, and we wandered off to another place, the Rusty Pelican. I had a delicious chicken gyro with salad and fruit, and we talked about Ben's easy 8-mile run, Nate's tendency to pick on Panda, and Nate tried to bring up Andrew's feeding tube, but he resisted. After a wonderful meal and a sunny, slightly breezy walk back, we headed to the $1 book sale at Half Price Books! So exciting. With only an hour to fill our totes ($20 for all-you-can-carry), we scattered. The sale started Saturday, so I'm sure we missed some gems, but there was plenty left over. We barely spoke, feverishly scanning bookcases, passing, bumping each other's bags. As I eyed the swarm of people around the VHS tables (!!), a fuzzy voice announced the sale to $10 a tote. People started moving more quickly. Unlike Black Friday (which I observed from the safe distance of CNN), I found this shopping frenzy almost heart-warming. We loaded the wagon with 5 bags full of around 200 books and headed downtown to meet the parents for a celebration dinner on the cheap: happy hour at Wann Izakaya. I chose the place to compare with its neighbor, Saito's Cafe and Bar, which also has an excellent happy hour menu. We savored tons of sashimi, edamame, takoyaki, salad, and green tea, discussing our recent jackpot, and our upcoming move to Salt Lake City. Nate managed, after some obvious prodding, to get Mom to speak her j-inflected "awesome," and Dad called him out, causing Nate to call Andrew out. "I don't did it because Andrew wanted to hear you say it." After that wonderful treat, we said goodbye. The wagon's rear full of purchases, we put the dogs on Amanda and Andrew's laps. Mood: impressed

	2009.02.21  14.15 Distracted I'm sitting in a vacation home trying to write. Yesterday I started drafting the first piece of writing I've done for myself in MONTHS, and it felt wonderful. I turned the music up, had a couple bloody marys, and wrote and wrote and wrote! But today, Tom's occupying the house with me, pacing on the porch while he talks on the phone, and I can't concentrate.

	2008.12.19  18.25 with a quickness やっぱり、久しぶりに仲良しの友達と一緒にいると色んなことを考えるんだ。昨日洋子と散歩したら留学の生活、米子の生活、そして将来のことを一杯話した。でも話よりも、おしゃれな店でコーヒーを飲んだり、笑いながら家で鍋を食べたり、日常の事を一緒にする方が心に伝わるかな。。。言葉にならない事はその空気に現れる。 だから言葉のことを考えてるのかな。大事なことは言葉だけで伝わることが出来なくても、一所懸命話す。一生懸命書く。だから私はブログと詩を書き始めた。最近全然書かなくて、何処が悩みや喜びか分からなくなっちゃった。ただの言葉が足りなかったら何で言葉を書くと安心するだろう。。。変な人間だ！ これから英語と日本語を使って、なんとなく言葉にならない気持ちを触りたい！日本の友達、変な日本語を教えてくださいね　（＾＿＾）きっと一杯間違いがあるけどよろしく～！ I've said it so many times it's become a mantra: this is the last time i'll come back. It's funny to be leaving (again) like Kat, every meeting accompanied by a sense of deja vu. There is something about Japan that pulls you back, and Taka's expressed skepticism about Kat's departure--戻ってくるでしょう!--and I'm sure my Yonago friends and host family are rolling their inner eyes--sure, sure, never see YOU again--but I feel a distinct difference in this trip, not in the country but in me (and in Kat). Though I spent the first year mired in the circus of self-legitimizing (must get a job, must act like an American, must not dream of living a cool yonago mountain life), my inner body was always slightly tilted. I wanted back into that ease of living, the kindness of strangers, the wonder of being valued for my native language. Now I'm fully in sync with the American pace. I did my time waitressing. I constantly fear my class being canceled. I eye the weekend's dog-hair snarls with resignation. so easy, Japan was so easy and yet... Here are the stupid details: my favorite Yonago hair salon is gone (and after going to a new guy, I look like Fraggle Rock is my 出身地). Spice Magic is gone (noooooo, tandori chicken salad, I loved you). I had a heartfelt reunion with Teapot English's mailbox. I nearly forgot the name of my host family's bus stop. Mike took the LSATs! All this amounts to is time passing. My Kansai will always be full of pitas, kamo-gawa drinking, big host family dinners. My Yonago will always be full of tandori, empty-classroom dancing, GS karaoke, granny bikes and Lawson's salmon rice balls. Some of my favorite people still live there (some were just passing through). Some of my favorite cafes and bars still recognize me. But if I come back to this strip of Asia, it'll be for family, not for the ghost of my 20s. holy old lady になったみたい! I love you, bitches! Mood: good

	2008.08.07  11.16 what falls away recently i've been in sasebo-land with 35 Japanese koukousei　...　in strange fights with germans　...　at shorty's losing pinball to neil　...　drinking purple things with rob ... running running running with the dogs ... writing poems ... reading sylvia's head ... shopping guiltily in the economic "headwind" ... rediscovering my crush on jon stewart ... eating ... laughing at/with nate ... sobbing at the dark knight ... riding the bus with mi mama ... watching all my friends get pregnant(!) ... job hunting ... planning important impractical glimpses of the uk and nihon ... things on the map: redneck bbq (tonight) havi's birthday AUG 11 tess' visit AUG 20 keith and pauline's wedding AUG 24 england-wales-scotland-ireland SEPT 2 - 18 kansai-tottori-kyushu-kagoshima DEC 9 - 30 Mood: 忙しく嬉しく不安！

	2008.07.03  22.36 self date july 3rd (read: day before excessive flag waving day among americans) and i'm having a date with myself and the best puppies ever. we've had some food and drinks and lots of dancing! and i'm listening to franz ferdinand real loud, and on my sunny bike ride home i listened to arctic monkeys, and all of this makes me bounce like no patriotism can. especially when i think about kat, my ex-roomie (but always with a room in my heart ;). happy belated canada day! tomorrow i work the 4th of july breakfast shift. let's see if my good mood can withstand the work. or better, if olympians will chill out about their coffee and eggs. :) minna genki de ne! Mood: tipsssy

	2008.05.16  08.55 The Size of Your World I just read a beautiful essay that all writers and teachers should read. I often struggle with the balance between self and work, between work and purpose. Anna Sopko manages to articulate this struggle with lovely writing and powerful juxtaposition. Her insight is a necessary shot in the arm for those of us teaching in and writing about the world, especially in times of professional disenchantment. You matter more than you know. http://www.twc.org/assets/anna_sopko_39-2_2007.pdf

	2008.05.16  08.00 The Good Fight My second post-MfA publication! Yay :) Issue 45 of The Pedestal Magazine: http://www.thepedestalmagazine.com/ Mood: busy

	2008.04.07  08.49 filling holes Here's a metaphor: yesterday we filled dozens of holes around the property, courtesy of Paige, who likes to hunt moles. Which coincides nicely with my temp jobs here and there, and my teaching applications everywhere, to compensate financially for losing my Japanese II night course. There's something so satisfying about being in the damp air, sunlight peeking through the cloud-heavy sky, while you crunch into a wheelbarrow with a shovel and fill the earth with more dirt.

	2008.04.04  21.14 the relief My positivity is coming back! after a disturbing downward spiral, I've decided to say "push off, bad vibes!" On to the good stuff. Mood: accomplished

	2008.02.26  12.28 oh sheeat... For anyone who doesn't know of my deep admiration and affection for Will Smith, Obama got a cheap smile from me for his comment about my favorite super-human celebrity. I love you, Will! I love your ears! Mood: chipper

	2008.02.05  13.05 National Baby Is there something in the Olympia water? Because all of the shallow selfish ravenous demands of the worst parts of our culture seem to be converging on the population. I can't decided if I want to stay and hold my positive flag, or run screaming to the nearest border. Maybe it's me. Maybe this young attitudinal shift is neither good nor bad, but natural, and I am part of an old, useless value system. Mood: crazy

	2008.02.05  11.02 If I'm Shot, If I Ruin You I may have been too harsh this morning with a student. I struggle between understanding the need for balance, for caution, and following the heart. Maybe I take my role as "teacher" too seriously, maybe I have delusions of making a difference, but when a student makes every effort to stomp out education with passive-aggressive narcissism, there's no easy way to respond. I reprimand him in one breath and ask him to take my class in another. I want him to stop living defensively and entertain the idea of learning as a form of wonder. But I can't do that by letting him walk all over me, as it appears many people have allowed him to do. Lying still under this disrespect is damaging to both of us, to everyone who agrees to this pact we call school. I can't help but project the sucking, black hole of American ambition onto this one kid, who displays all the symptoms of a culture unable to connect its disparate parts, too caught up in the strategy of becoming successful, the desire to beat the system. Soft and hard are different ways to the same place, but which one is the right choice? Is there ever a right choice? Will I be fired or gunned down or slapped on the wrist for demanding students bring as much to the classroom as I am willing to offer? Will I make him feel written off when I should've reached out with more softness? I fear the act of sitting still, of what it implies about students and their individual worth. Mood: worried

	2008.01.10  15.59 Stole

	2008.01.05  10.08 rain! wind storms and rain make for the perfect day of writing after a long dry spell... Mood: calm

	2008.01.02  21.23 call me sensei I just taught my first official Japanese class. (^0^)/ Mood: pleased

	2007.12.21  10.50 ritual I lose my wallet somewhere between my hair/make-up appointment and the beach ceremony. It probably slips out of my hands as I'm fidgeting in the shuttle bus, desperately writing and scratching out the first words of my wedding vows. One hour before ceremony. Everyone is surprised by how Asian I look in full bridal make-up, and it makes me wonder about the different ways we see strangers, the subtleties we respond to in a person's face. I sit on Christine and Kelly's bed, tapping my laptop keys and looking at the clock, still in my sundress and waiting for the outpouring of vows. Ritual words. When they finally come I start to feel the significance of ritual, of the greater thing it represents. I throw off my blue dress and put on the white, pace back and forth, then get in the car. Dad is in the lobby when I arrive, and I'm gripping a bouquet from Havi. The tears start as soon as we hold hands, both a little shell-shocked, standing next to an elaborate Christmas tree and blinking hard. We descend the cool concrete stairs, remarking how like a castle it is. The resort sprawls out into so many swimming pools and suites that it's all connected by a network of bright red golf carts, and we make our way down to the pick-up station. We climb in and ask for what we hope is the pool leading to the beach. The driver races down a winding path, past black swans and wet bars and manicured gardens, to the beach below, a long swath of pale sand and crashing waves. The rip tide prohibits guests from swimming, so the beach is virtually empty. Most vacationers are lounging in the pools and sun chairs. They turn curiously as my father takes me over the pool bridge that arches toward the beach. Everyone is waiting on a lip of sand. We stand there for a moment, father and daughter, two awkward, overtly honest hearts sweating at the palms in this inconceivable construction of paradise in the middle of a vast desert. I feel warm and everything behind me falls away. I find myself in two places, at the top stair and the curl of sand I'm looking out over, between the two most important men in my life. The waves are loud when we stop, and there are small grains tumbling across my blue flip flops. Dad puts my hand in Nate's, hugs him, then me. Ritual is, in this breath, the sum of my existence, my life tumbling and dying and being reborn and meeting the horizon. Nate and I thank everyone for coming. We're missing Neil, who was supposed to marry us, but had a tonic-clonic seizure at the ATM - "He objected to the exchange rate," - and was raced from airport to hospital, to San Diego by private charter. Nate tells everyone he received an email from Neil and the MRI results were fine, and we think of him in this untidy collection of friends and family. Then Nate reads his vows, funny and touching. He manages to get through two pages without crying, but I am a mess, expensive make-up job running down my face as I laugh and cry and sniffle into snowmen tissue. I can hear Amanda crying beside me and it makes me feel encircled by family, wonderful heartfelt people who make the parts of me. I can barely read by the time it's my turn, and the funny thing I planned to open with is garbled and slightly hiccupy. Then, in front of everyone, I tell him about my actual love, about the inarticulate, terrified body of my love and how it carries us both. We take so many pictures. Sibling pictures, pictures with the groom's family, the bride's family, the men, women, funny faces, serious faces. Then family moves up to the restaurant where our reception will be, and Tory takes pictures of us, the newlyweds, clowning and laughing, lips desperately chapped from wind and nerves. We are so euphorically relieved to be done with this silly, vital ritual. At The Bistro lots of toasts are given. Eric, our best man, reads a Robert Bly poem, and with uncharacteristic brevity, moves us with his recognition of our third body, and what he shares of our relationship, the deep connectivity that's sometimes hard to acknowledge. Havi mentions our rough start, and how it brought us here. She makes me feel embraced. I cry some more. Dad stands up to give a toast, then sits down, choked up, only to stand again later in the meal, determined to speak from the inside, and I see how perfectly similar we are, how we are bull-headed and determined and so soft inside. Mom and Amanda are silent, though I think Amanda wants to make a toast, I'm not sure. Mom sits in the sun like the strongest of us, white hair and brown skin, smiling, her eyeballs glimmering just a little long after we've bawled and sniffled our way to dessert. I couldn't be more proud of my family, or more surprised by how much they're a part of me, how they shape the thoughts and feelings that brought me to Nate. I wish that more of my tribe could be here, but I'm pretty sure they're thinking of us, and that's more than enough. It's nice to have Kai, Grace, and Dan at the ceremony, and though it's a short time together, it means a lot to look across the table at them and see good people who are part of Amanda's life, and so are important to me as well. I feel it with Tess and Tory, Nate's friends who've come to be part of our ceremony, and Emily, who struggles through 36 hours of traveling to finally meet up with us after the reception. Surrounded by good friends, I try to shake my mid-day champagne headache so we can all go downtown to blow off a little steam. But the champagne wins. Instead, Emily heads back to my parents' villa for well-deserved rest, while Tess and Tory take one for the team and, along with Amanda's gang, encounter the Tom Liederbach Dance Experience. Nate and I go back to Pacifica, our foo foo honeymoon resort, where I swear never to drink champagne again, right before my head hits the pillow. Mood: positive

	2007.12.02  23.46 Broke, and then some Things that are broken are the driver's side door of our wagon the bathroom faucet which drips and drips without the right angled touch the toilet seat (our newest edition) the Brita water filter our bank accounts which fix things and pay rent my brain after the Japanese test, which kicked my ass so hard this afternoon However, one thing down and a few more to go. Exactly two weeks to Mexico. Update: also broken our pots and pans the panel to my office door the screen for the sliding door. the front door Is this some sort of subtle hint about the fragile nature of doorways and transitions? Mood: pensive

	2007.11.29  20.50 precious dead things This afternoon I got out of the shower fully intending to bike into town for my doctor's appointment, until Amanda came back from jogging with the dogs and informed me that all three of them had rolled in squishy dead frog. I knew exactly which frog she was talking about, since last week Nate ran after her with it dangling from his fingers, then tossed it in prime rolling territory. Amanda and I grabbed the Herbal Essence conditioner and hosed them down on the front lawn one by one, all of us covered in suds and icy water while each dog tried to squirm away. After toweling them off and putting Akus up in the tower, we left Paige and Roya at home, damp and still a little stinky. Nate says they roll in the rotten goo to mask their scent from prey. Whatever the cause of this ecstatic habit, it always leaves us swearing hard and muttering, our hands all blue as the puppies shiver on their backs in the cold, tails tucked between their legs because they feel the meaning of our harshness, but not the reason. I thought about dead and dying things again when, warm and full of Nate's homemade soup, I read the only negative review posted on Rotten Tomatoes about No Country for Old Men, the new Coen brothers film. Andrew Sarris of the New York Observer called the Coen collaboration with Cormac McCarthy a match made in hell, a film so nihilistic that "I cannot look at it and write about it in any other way than as an exercise in cosmic futility." He also apologetically bows out of McCarthy's dark perspective by saying: "So, I suppose, I have chosen to live out my life without getting involved with Mr. McCarthy’s literary outlook." The Article: http://www.observer.com/2007/just-shoot-me-nihilism-crashes-lumet-and-coen-bros So, I suppose, Sarris is as entitled to his opinion as any human being (his status as a film critic notwithstanding). But this sort of flinching let's-not-deal-with-the-unpleasantries attitude is exactly why I think the movie is so important. Sarris seems to think the overwhelming violence and the supposed nihilism is a reflection of our ever-devolving society into a group of fatalistic brutes. He writes it off as personally distasteful and unhealthy to the general public. But how funny that he's soft in his "criticism." Is it his overwhelming minority that causes him to shrug off what seems to be a sign of the apocalypse? Theaters are full of atrocious movies, pointless violence, blah de blah. Knocked Up? A terrible collection of non-acting and genital humor that somehow tried to convince me with sweet pop music that relationships can form out of humorous one-night-stands (we turned it off so I have no idea how it ended). 300 was a special effects-laden glorification of violence masquerading as a tribute to an ancient society. But No Country was gut-wrenching because it splayed open the unfathomable source of our lurid entertainment. I felt like the blood was on my hands and in my lap, and though there was no moral voice over, no narrative guide, there were hard moments where inhuman characters blinked some primal insecurity that I recognized within myself. And there were moments when the "good guy" had opportunities to be clever or heroic - those higher concepts we value in plot and action - and he failed us, or himself, or who knows. And did he fail? Who's responsible? What will you be forced to to do when you fall into in your deepest self, that place that exists but is rarely visited in the comfort of modern life. In a time when we're inundated with temporary adrenal highs, it's nice to be made uncomfortable, to pull up our skins and contemplate what's beneath, to question deeply rather than sneak a peak and giggle at the naughty bits. To look at something desolate and not easily dismissed. Mood: contemplative

	2007.11.24  11.44 time travel, the color of friendship, thanksdrinking day November is a good month for reflection. Something about the earth in its dying cycle sends me back through old neglected selves, and having read posts from Kat and Andy, I'm clearly not the only one affected. Last night I watched Donnie Darko and bawled like a baby. As the credits were rolling Nate asked "Are you ok?" *nod* "Did you like it?" *emphatic nod* "Do you know why you're crying?" *head shake*. That confluence of euphoria and sadness. Maybe it's because, like the earth, I felt the symbiotic nature of growth and death in my own life, that heightened awareness of the spread of time. Kat, I think that friendships rise and fall. They have their own perpetually changing structure, and though you may miss the gold, the silver friendships are just as important, in their way. As long as you're making connections, doesn't it all stay with us? And don't those deep-rooted friendships always grow back in the right environment? They just need a little nurturing, and your downshift in emails and blogs and phone calls doesn't make you any less loving as a friend. Everyone knows that :). I feel the same moments of regret that you and Andy are feeling. This is a season for candid self-exposure, and any reflection we do on our relationships is one small step toward maintaining them. I believe this with an optimism that grows small sometimes but never completely disappears. Nate and I had a court wedding ceremony on November 7th, and promptly went on a mini-moon. I didn't expect the ceremony to be anything beyond some paperwork and a curt service, but it was unexpectedly sweet. We rushed to the courthouse on the secretary's order (she said if we were one minute late the ceremony would get canceled), Amanda skipping work for the few minutes and Eric dragging his sickly body out of bed to witness. We waited for fifteen minutes in the empty courtroom, speaking into the microphones and giggling, pondering whether we had to sing the judge out of her quarters. Finally she came out, and after signing paperwork, we stood in front of her and repeated the vows. She read a lovely native american story, and I was rushed with tears, surprised by my own reaction. After the ceremony Eric almost killed us, driving at twice his normal speed behind a line of break lights. All I could say was "umm..." until Amanda jerked him out of his tonsillitis-clouded head just in time to hit the breaks. He dropped us at The Perfect Cup, and I took Amanda's car home, newly married but with the same name. Our mini-moon was crowded with funny pebbles. I forgot the voucher for our free stay at the Edgefield. I realized this just around the 205 exit, and while rooting around my bag in hopes it was hiding somewhere, we missed the turn-off and ended up staring at Portland bumpers for a good hour of downtown. Starving by the time we arrived, we threw our bags in our room and rushed over to the Powerstation for pub food and cold beer. Service was curt and rushed, and we were disappointed since (a) I expected the same level of service I give to my customers, and (b) every other time we've been there was a good experience. Still, we were together and that was what the mini-moon was all about, so we decided to make the rounds, having drinks at Jerry's Ice House and the Little Red Shed, talking and talking and talking. Breakfast the next morning was delicious and (finally) our waitress was excellent. But at check-out I had to fight to get my employee discount, which annoyed me to no end. Still, the Edgefield is, over all, a great place to stay, and we've decided to make it the location for our stateside wedding reception. It's perfect for us because it's an historic (by American standards) property with an affordable on-site hotel, two restaurants, several great bars, a winery, vineyard, golf course, etc etc. I hope to have it during Golden Week and Kat, I promise I will get it nailed down asap so you have time to buy tickets without selling your kidneys. Thanksgiving followed quickly after the mini-moon, and we made a giant bowl of cheesy, garlicky, rosemary mashed potatoes and green bean casserole. My parents arrived in mid-afternoon, along with Steven, Eric and his mom, and we all took chairs from our house up to the tower, where Jess and Dale had set up a long line of tables for 18 guests. Dinner was supposed to be three smoked turkeys and a roast duck, but Akus (Jess' dog) ate half the duck while it was cooling outside, and promptly threw it up all over the floor. Meat and potatoes were also accompanied by asparagus appetizers, gooey brie-bread, stuffing, sweet potato, spinach and apple salad, and four different kinds of dessert. There was also some alcohol. We spent most of the evening stuffing our faces until Eric and Nate got up to dance for everyone. Tamara joined in, and I followed for a bit until the speakers blew out and everyone broke into their small groups to chat, drink, and cry (sometimes simultaneously). Steven held his own with the boys, taking double shots of whiskey and asking for more, but Amanda, having to work at 6am, tired quickly, so they snuck out before anyone could badger them into staying longer. Work was insane the next day. I walked in to an over-flowing dish pit and an hour-long wait for food. I spent the first part of my shift madly clearing dishes so we could bus the tables all over the restaurant that were littered with napkins and half-eaten plates of food, then finally, once I got a section, ran around until 2:30, when the post-holiday stream died down, and I had a chance to clean crackers off the floor, bus the nine-top I left sprawled in the back of the restaurant, and finally stop for a drink of water. By 5, when I was cut, things were clean and quiet. I ordered a cajun cobb salad and took it home, shared it with nate, along with leftover potatoes and turkey soup. Then we watched Donnie Darko and I cried over all the incomprehensible, terrible wonder of being human. We now have three weeks til Mexico. In that three weeks I'm taking the level 2 Japanese test (dec 2), Nate and I are taking the GREs (dec 6), and I am applying to the UW Masters program in Japanese Linguistics (dec 15). Nate's deadline for his UW PhD program in media studies is also December 15th. My pretty wedding dress is supposed to arrive 3-5 days before our flight takes off, hopefully leaving enough time for alterations. Then it's all sunshine, delicious tacos, and avoiding tap water from the 16th through Christmas. When we come back from Mexico, I prepare for my first job as a Japanese teacher at the community college. I am full of ideas for lesson plans and educational games. I am excited and nervous and fully committed to being a teacher again. Hopefully in the near future I will be teaching and enrolled in a grad program that will allow me to teach English and Japanese at the university level. Fingers crossed! And in the midst of all this ruckus, I'm constantly reminded of all the ways old, quiet friendships and experiences affect the shape of things to come. Here's to being hectically, emotionally, responsibly, thoughtfully human. Mood: busy

	2007.10.03  07.42 translplants - Gunni and Yonago Gay dance club meets father-in-law The curious incident of the Tom at night time Jitsuko and Ian meet our menagerie Mood: curious

	2007.09.20  23.01 Jpn but not on paper Last Wednesday, when we cleared US customs and dove into San Fran airport, I was cursing the assholes and longing for a nice piece of salty fish, a shitty J beer, a granny bike, but two Fridays later, I can't remember all the beautiful, eulogizing things I was going to blog about my former second home country. After packing out the last of my worldly belongings from the dark corners of my ex-boss' storage room, zipping through the country on shinkansen, and fighting an old man at a fox shrine, I guess it's time to say goodbye to little Nippon. Finally, I can get back to my Facebooking. Day 1: Seattle - San Fran - Nagoya - Toyokawa (whew!) We stank. In the sopping Japanese summer heat, we were lugging 40 pound packs and wearing the same clothes we wore at 4am. Kat's train station was tiny, and we were too exhausted to get ourselves to her Purple Crayon. After chatting up two old ladies who gave us directions and walking to the next intersection, we called Kat and made her assistant pick us up. Yoko made an effort to speak English in the car since Nate's Japanese consists of "nama beeru" and "hai" and recently, "chikan." Kat looked beautiful and I felt sorry for her for having to hug me. Thanks, Kat. We snagged her key and a couple cutely drawn maps, then walked to her place for desperate showers. Did we nap? I don't know. We went to (dis)gusto for dinner, walked and walked and walked and walked for beer...stopped at an italian restaurant, drank beer, argued about something, got lost, had Kat meet us, fell unconscious until 6am. The next day Kat was working, but met us at Lawson, and we venured to a Korean lunch special. We spent the evening eating and talking at Kat's. Yoko, for some reason, lapsed into completely Japanese, and her exchanges with Nate (who feigns understanding very well) sent us into hysterics. After we were stuffed, we went to karaoke with a couple of Kat's friends, got busted for smuggling in alcohol, and received discount coupons from the staff as they were reprimanding us. Friday, finally, Kat had the day off, and we celebrated by going to the shrine of the fox god, where we saw an old man verbally abusing a woman who was sweeping the feet of nearby statues. Kat and I asked if she was alright, and, almost crying, she said everything was fine, until Crazy Old Man interrupted us and started cussing her out again. I turned to him and said, "Excuse me, what's your problem?" to which he responded, "eh???" Me: I said what's you're problem? Man: This is our job, it's none of your business, you have no right to butt in everything's fine Kat: No, everything is NOT fine, we can hear you yelling. Man: This is shrine business and you don't work here so- Me: Excuse me, what's you're name? Man: Eh? Me: What is your NAME? Man: *sputtering, laughing* My name?? What's YOUR name? Me: Michelle. Nice to meet you. And you? Man: *laughing, incredulous* Michelle, huh. Well, well, let me tell you, everything is fine here, so don't try to get involved in this, I'm just showing her how to- Me: I'm sorry, but isn't this supposed to be a safe place? Isn't it? So how can you act this way- Man: Look I don't get involved in your personal business and this is none of your business! So- Me: People are people, aren't they? AREN'T THEY? Like a middle school fight, we were in each other's faces, yelling the same thing over and over, until finally he started making frustrated circles and shaking his finger at us, then grunted way, his parting shot being "do you speak English desu ka?". As our fury deflected his enraged rant from the woman, it was an overall success, especially since Kat and I engaged in our first Japanese co-fight with a maniac. Go us. Of course I was shaking and nearly in tears as we walked away. Asshole. We consoled ourselves at Denny's. Followed by miso katsu lunch with Kat's Canadian boss, her Japanese husband, and their terrifying children (more effective than any pill). That night we went to a Chinese fusion restaurant with Kat and Yoko, then Nate passed out and I went for a drink with the girls and Kat's lovely friend Kiyo. I was tired, but glad to have gone and spent time with the ladies, especially as Yoko made fun of the neighboring booth, with its screetchy young girl and her disturbing outbursts. Overall impression: wonderful wonderful to see Kat, and Yoko was a riot, but Aichi people didn't leave me aching to put down roots. So, off to kansai, where family and college friends await! Day 4: Toyokawa - Nagoya - Kyoto - Kuzuha Two Rail Passes in Nagoya station, and we were off to Kyoto, shinkansen to subway to taxi to coin locker to unload the goods and meet up with Mr. and Mrs. Tarrant, who were in great spirits. Luckily, I didn't cry this time when Mike was around. Asshole! We went to Robinson Cafe, an Italian restaurant in an old converted house with a garden, beautiful wood beams and all you can eat bread. After that, we headed off to another cafe for beer (Nate's word of the day) and conversation. I missed Yoko and Mike, and it was nice to spend time with them in the air conditioning. Oh, and here's Mike mocking me as Ted blows me off over the phone at lunch (just kidding, Ted. Hope you found that paper ;-). Then it was off the the ole Keihan Limited Express train to Kuzuha, where my host dad was waiting to pick the four of us up. Aki came on the next train, so I waited for her at the ticket machine, and hugged her for the first time in probably two years. She's still as sweet and sexy as ever. Dinner progressed and Nate switched horses, I became progressively more annoyed as he got boisterous and antagonistically friendly with Mike, refusing to let me in on the conversation, pushing the line, like y'do. Eventually I got over it, and he apologized repeatedly, and I was annoyed with him, and I got over it. Not quite the introduction I'd pictured for the Teranishis, but what's an ideal without its entertaining hiccups. Day 5: Kuzuha - Kyoto - Yonago Okaasan made us a yummy breakfast, and we sipped coffee with Katie, their current host student, inviting her into Kyoto with us for a (very little) bit of sight seeing. She agreed, so we went to a temple and a garden, took tons of pictures and had a really good time, as our pictures will attest. Then we were off, stopping for snacks at Kyoto Station before parting ways with Katie, boarding our shinkansen, our snaking Yakumo, and arriving in Yonago at 10:30pm. We checked into Universal Hotel, Yonago's loudest and cheapest hotel sign - SINGLE ROOMS FROM 2500!!!! ALL YOU CAN EAT BREAKFAST! The hallway smelled like old urine and regurgitated One Cup Sake, and our room came equipped with such video fare as Cherry Bomb: Pink Cherry, Yellow Cherry, or Green Cherry. Starving, we went to Doma Doma and ordered way too much food. Yukari keitai mailed me, and I started crying into my sashimi. Back at the hotel, a wiry black friend announced itself in our bedsheets. I ran downstairs to inform the desk clerk, ringing my hands. He started to pull out another room key, but I shook my head...after all, if our room wasn't clean, what guarantee did we have that room number two would be better? I asked for clean sheets. He gave me one flat sheet. We tore of the yuckies, laid the single sheet down, shivered, repacked our bags, and ran downstairs to demand a refund. An hour later, we sat wilted on the lobby couch, and the two minions still had no clue how to cancel charges to our card (despite running back and forth, consulting each other, consulting the telephone, scratching their heads). We asked for a promissory note and finally escaped at 1:30 to the neighboring, brand new, cheaper and vastly cleaner Toyoko-In. Zzzzzz. To keep Nate's blood sugar in check, we stopped at my old Planet (haunting grounds for pre-lesson coffee and salad crepes), before meeting little Keiko at Jun's for a tasty chicken teishoku. We giggled a lot and I felt at home, a funny word for a place I lived so briefly. Speeding around on rented bikes, we shopped, met Jitsuko and Ian for Dododo dessert, and I was reminded how bafflingly adorable they are together. It just shouldn't be allowed. They're like cartoons! Am I saying that right? It's late as I'm writing this, but I think this is a good time for a cartoon simile. After dessert, we went to dinner at Gul's. Mmmmmmmmm. Nuff said. Dinner was followed by a party with my Teapot students, five of whom are coming to visit me in November, and I am so excited. Kirsten, their new teacher, was properly genki and good friends with Ollie, grown so much in so little time. Nate got a job offer from Shinji, Raul showed up and towered over us all, then took us to Park, the new it spot, for an outdoor lounge and a beer. As we were sitting back, Cian came coasting on his bike, reminding me I was supposed to call him in the afternoon. Ah, the beauty of small towns. He and two J friends joined us for a drink and a chat before scooting off, so Raul and Kirsten took us to Hoo for one (or four?) more before Nate and I turned in, happy to be in our clean courteous hotel. Tuesday, our last real day, we met Cian and Gray for lunch at Torico Spoon (which was closed), then at Holiday in Asia, where Sachiko joined us for Thai curry lunch set and Cian ordered an extra mountain of brown rice. Brown rice in Japan! I was reminded how wonderful Gray's face is, and Nate agreed, and we brought it up repeatedly, to Gray's surprise and possible discomfort. Having devloped a deep love of English School, I promised to take Nate there in late afternoon, but plans were derailed when Yukari was hospitalized. Yes, yes, I know the Japanese hospitalize for a sneeze, but I was still worried worried. I had to check on her. After collapsing in Bali, she was, thankfully, fine, and her MRI was a routine precaution. We gave her omiyage in the hospital bed, then she and Yurara walked us out, giving us leave to go to dinner at Gambariya with her husand, Taka, and my ex-worker and friend Tomoe. We ate, and ate, and ate, and seafood chijimi almost made me float, then Tomoe said goodbye. Pink and smiling, Taka came with us to Park to meet Raul for a last hoorah. Instead, Cian and Gray were there eating dessert. So weird. So we pulled tables together with Kirsten's help, and Raul joined us, pack slung over his shoulder. We talked and drank and somehow the topic of pig urine kept arriving, as well as American politics, football, and the English countryside. One last drink. Hugs, fond goodbyes, followed by meetings in the arcade minutes later, and like that, Yonago was gone. And now what I think sometimes, what I send is peanut butter Hershey's chocolates, meow - raul's sign is amazing, he should have special art tools - cian would like those wonderful essays we read on the plane/train/bus - jitsuko and ian at the wine bar in olympia - god i hope my host family comes to mexico - aki should live in seattle - yuuuuuukari - yapon - nihon - japland, doushitemo, jikan tattemo kokoro ni nokotterunda Music: Whenever, Wherever - Shakira

	2007.08.30  22.54 Catch More People than Fish in the Devil's Hole August 26 - 29 Before departing for the Deschutes, my boss kept calling me vacation girl. Every time I walked into the kitchen he'd pipe up from the line. And though it seems like I've been taking a lot of time off, summer has only just begun. Sunday morning My dad and Steven came to the house as Nate and I were madly cleaning for the doggy-sitter and last-minute packing for the rafting trip. I scrubbed the bathroom sink and threw sheets in the dryer while nate wrote emergency vet numbers on an envelope, cautioning Aimee on the dogs' idiosyncrasies, eating habits, exercise preference, etc. As we were closing the front door, he said, "By the way, if they fight-which they shouldn't-....you probably shouldn't stick your hand between them, or-and they won't do it on purpose-they might bite it off." careful of my dogs, gypsy woman! And with that, we embarked on our first rafting trip with Nate and Steven, bringing them into a well-loved family ritual if it not success, they will be execute. Nate wore Amanda's headband on the drive into Oregon (Steven's first trip outside Washington), over Mt. Hood, down through pine forest and into the stark beauty of high desert. To get the menfolk excited about the coming adventure, we ate in the new restaurant in Maupin (population 420) before driving to look at some of the rapids we would be challenging. All through the desert, Steven lamented about the brown, dead scenery, to which everyone in the car responded "it's NOT dead." Once we reached the river, with its green banks and osprey, he started to like the desert more. On the way back to camp, we stopped at a boat display on the side of the road: We camped across from River Trails, our boat company, in City Park, where the lawns are well-watered and the RVs have plenty of room to sprawl. Steven and Amanda squabbled over how to set up their tent while Nate unpacked the foodstuff for our second dinner of the evening, delicious turkey burgers. An hour and a half later, we were stuffing our faces again, burgers loaded with avocado, swiss, onions, pickles and tomato. very nice! Nate popped an antacid with his meal while my dad and Skip wandered over, vague and squinty-eyed, telling their war stories and staring in wonder at fire on the waves, the neon shapes that children in the next camp made with their glowing toys. The next morning, Nate and I realized we didn't plan our food storage very well, and pondered this while Amanda and Steven finally got up and started to take down their tent. Worried about Nate's blood sugar, we ran to get a quick bite to eat (though we'd been told to be ready as close to 8 as possible). At the restaurant we ran into my dad, Skip, and his four kids, their bellies full with breakfast they didn't invite us to share. Uzbekistani assholes! After greasy, delicious potatoes, we bought fishing passes and piled into Skip's truck, kids nestled in the cab with all the gear. The drive was punctuated by long, flat land that rose into mountain peaks on every side, purpling the distance. Dan Hicks and his Hot Licks livened up the radio. A coyote ran full speed across our path. Descending again into the valley, we stopped to buy cheese in Warm Springs, and finally met up with two rafts and a kayak, loaded them with boat bags, and shoved off (some rafts took longer than others to get ready). The first day was mostly slow water, so I got to know the oars again and Amanda and Steven tried out the kayak I like your tube very much, where did you get the donkey in the front? In between fishing stops, sprawled out on the boat bags in the back, Nate read an essay recommended by Eric. Under my father's tutelage, Nate tried rowing for a bit, then we stopped for loaded turkey sandwiches in the warm midday sun. After lunch, Nate became the teacher as he and Steven perched on the raft and practiced casting. Steven caught and released his first two fish! great success After a leisurely day of floating, we pulled off to scout White Horse, a scary class four, famous for its entry into Oh Shit Rock. I stood on shore hugging my life jacket, wondering why the rapid didn't look any smaller, though the last time I saw it was years ago, when I was younger and shorter. We made it safely by staying close to the right and avoiding midstream obstructions, pulling over in the middle of the rapids to a beautiful, remote camp ground with no bathroom to speak of. We set up camp and ate chicken sausages in the failing light, while William and Wayne ran around camp with a football, challenging the boys to play with their aggressive pre-teen friendliness. Steven called William a clown, and for the rest of the trip, William retaliated: "Where's the clown? It's the clown's fault." Nate took the wind from his sails as we were setting up the tent, asking William: "Where's your girlfriend? Amanda. The one you've been staring at all day?" I couldn't see his face, but I felt him go silent and imagined his freckles turn pink. Before the lunar eclipse the moon was at full strength, casting a soft blue light over the hills and low scrub, so bright we didn't touch our flashlights. Before the starts began to appear, Nate and I decided to head out towards the (rumored) outhouse, which my father "saw" far in the distance. We followed a thin path that ran parallel to the train tracks and wound through several other camp flats, but after thirty minutes of walking in moonlight, we decided to turn back to camp. Amanda, who'd been talking about playing drinking games all day, was fast asleep, so Nate and I leaned our life jackets against a fallen log and sipped beer with the old boys, eating Nutterbutters and listening to the signified monkey. I started to nod off in the lilt of conversation, barely gathered the strength to brush my teeth, and crawled into a deep sleep. The sun drove us out of our tent the next morning, and Nate took me out casting not so great success. The camp stirred, everyone eating their breakfast of choice (cereal or brownies), applying sun tan lotion and taking down tents, putting gear into plastic bags, then again into the red boat bags. The last of the chocolate chip cookies sat melting in the bottom of a bucket, so we saved them. The next morning began with the last half of White Horse. Our camp position made it difficult to maneuver into the safest line of current, so Dad decided to make things easier by strapping the empty kayak loosely to the nose of the raft, causing it to get in the way of the oars and impede the raft's ability to steer he have brain the size of female squirrel. Somehow, we got pinned to the side of a giant rock, with rocky, shallow water on the left, and a swift, strong current on the right. For 40 minutes we performed self-rescue, as Nate ferries across the the right bank in the kayak, then pushed the kayak back and one by one we unloaded the heavy raft, then the menfolk heaved on the bow rope until the boat made it over to the shallows, Steven slipping into the eddie and soaking his sweats and boxers. We then reloaded the boat minus two, and my dad pushed off into the main current, barely sliding around our familiar rock, the eddie in below it and pick nate and I up in the kayak downstream. We stopped to take a pee and fishing break after our close call, then proceeded down the river, into much more rambunctious waters than the first day. The day was a constant pool and drop, with small class twos and sets of standing waves to keep us busy as we enjoyed siting osprey hunting and building nests, wild turkeys in a line, Indian horses taking shade on a ridge, turkey vultures circling some potential, fish jumping, bullhead shadows flitting, quiet groups of deer, and river otters (mongoose?) coyly eying us from shore. As the day heated up, Nate and I jumped back in the kayak to try Buckskin Mary, an easy class three I hadn't seen for years. My dad warned that there are two rocks to avoid, but after that the ride is cake. As we passed the green warning ferry, Nate kept asking where the rocks are, and I repeated that I couldn't remember, but I was fairly sure they were easy to miss. As we approached, the river was flat and glassy, but the roar behind the glass, and the occasional white spit of water warned us that the rafts were about to disappear. We followed their line into a huge set of waves cascading out from giant boulders on either shore. We were knocked sideways but quickly righted ourselves before tipping over, and paddled triumphantly out of our first class three kayaking effort high five!. Nate concluded with: "Are we a team? I think we're a team." No time to rest as we were hit with a string of class twos, the water so much bigger when seen from down low in the kayak. We made it past a significant hole and, after looking into its cascading mouth and coming out safely into calmer waters, we decided Nate could take his visor out of his life jacket and put it back on his head. As soon as he did, we came across two more large holes. The current took us right over the first, and into the belly of the second as we overturned. I submerged and came up with my head under the kayak, flip flops floating away, paddle gripped in my hands as I ducked out into open air, me and Nate and the kayak still moving fast down the rapids. I clung tight to the kayak and the oar and Nate grabbed my jacket as, up ahead, Dad yelled "rock!" to warn us of another hole. We swam quickly into the left current, panting and dragging the boat beside us, until we ran into the side of Skip's raft, Nate's visor lost to the river ass hole!. Gasping and slightly shaky, I got back into the kayak and we paddled toward my dad's raft, switching off as I took the oars and he jumped in the kayak with one of the boys. Nate sat in the front of the raft, bemoaning the loss of his worldly visor, his companion through twenty countries. Skip consoled him by saying, "Sometimes the river gives, and sometimes the river takes back. You gotta give to the river when it demands a sacrifice." In much calmer water and higher ground, I was still paranoid, giving a wide berth to all interesting holes in the river, holes which would've been fine in a raft. I wasn't up for the challenge of rowing another three or four with Amanda and Steven, so we pulled out at Harpam Flats, tied the kayak back on, and Dad took over the oars as we finished the last of the river, me, Nate, and Amanda up front in the wet seat, Steven sprawled in the back seat, arms spread across the kayak like the back of a sofa king in the castle, king in the castle. It was a fun, chilly ride, as big water kept rushing over the lip of the raft and into out laps, the hill shadows getting longer across the water as we approached our pull out spot, Maupin City Park campground. Exhausted and soaked, everyone made a quick work of unloading the boats. Amanda and Steven set up their tent for the last night, and Nate and I decided we'd rather sleep in the wagon. Into dry clothes, we abandoned the site for civilization, practically running into the restaurant for a tall, dark beer and a hot plate of food. Everyone at our table of ten looked exhausted, William small and quiet beside me, staring dazedly at his chicken strips, Nate and I slightly delirious and fighting over the first beer as Nate asked Skip about vocabulary words like 'shart'. After dinner we returned to camp, collapsed the back seat of the wagon and curled up with our Thermarests and sleeping bags for a warm night's sleep. The next morning Steven slept in, so Nate, Amanda and I went to Henry's for a yummy health-food breakfast, sipped coffee and perused a book on fishing, giggling at the creepy pigs declaring it was "chow time" above the entry to the kitchen. When we returned to camp, Steven had already packed up the tent, so we made a short work of the garbage, packed the wagon tight with bags and a chest full of half-melted ice and three slices of cheese, and drove over to Skip's camp. The kids were wandering outside the RV, and when we drove up Nate asked if anybody wanted candy, to which the boys replied "I do!" running up to the window of the car, gaping at Nate wearing his women's sunglasses and Amanda's white headband very nice. Wayne decided to copy his style as the boys started to play football and I went to brush my teeth and wash off some of the well-earned camping grime. When I returned, Steven and Nate were throwing cherries hard at the boys: http://s2.photobucket.com/albums/y35/kyokoshell/2007/rafting/?action=view¤t=footballcherries.flv Then they decided it might be fun if Wayne got reacquainted with the river: http://s2.photobucket.com/albums/y35/kyokoshell/2007/rafting/?action=view¤t=Waynegetswet.flv William didn't go as easily: http://s2.photobucket.com/albums/y35/kyokoshell/2007/rafting/?action=view¤t=Williamsafighter.flv But eventually, he went: http://s2.photobucket.com/albums/y35/kyokoshell/2007/rafting/?action=view¤t=Williamgetswet.flv After the drama, Amanda decided to teach the boys the importance of honesty: http://s2.photobucket.com/albums/y35/kyokoshell/2007/rafting/?action=view¤t=cruelcamerawoman.flv Once Dad and Skip got back from car shuttling, we exchanged borrowed gear, hugs, and said our goodbyes. One stop at the convenience store for ice and beverages, and we were off, leaving behind the little friend we found in the men's bathroom, passing cows and asshole squirrels as we headed back toward the mountain and home great success! Mood: I No Get Execute

	2007.08.15  09.04 Killing a Frog, and other Thoughts This morning I squished a frog with the corner of the porch door. I was certain I killed it. Dejected, I threw apples to the dogs for a while, thinking about how things would've been different if I'd looked at the gate before I closed it. But when I went back, he hopped off the gate and made his way across the planks. I was relieved. Panda's moved in but yet to unpack. We're working on her resume, so she can drop it off to some of the bazillion local coffee huts. Her second interview with Starbucks is tomorrow. In the meantime, she's making us mochas with our new in-house espresso machine (read: Nate shivers around the house all day and needs blue pills to sleep at night). We are good guinea pigs. My commute to work is wonderful in sunshine. Some of the sights en route: llamas, Shetland ponies, lily pad swamp, blueberry farm, man watering his lawn in a g-string. I l-o-v-e my bike. Rumor has it that today is Dale's birthday. Happy birthday, Daley-bob, Dale-ster, the mythological man. Oh, AND Nate and I are taking a little vacation to Japan, September 5-12, making stops in such places as Toyokawa, Yonago, Kyoto, and Hirakata (Kat, get ready to "oooh oooh wa wa"). 楽しみ～～～～～～～～！

	2007.08.09  09.36 Country Livin' etc We've been in our new house 2 weeks now, and already life in the stix is proving to be good times. Here are a few pictures, courtesy my Zoolander keitai: Ingredients for yesterday's family barbecue, tacos de pescado made fresh on Jess and Dale's fish fryer. Roll fish in tasty batter, fry, add corn tortilla, special sauce, and veggies. おいしかった！ Fish fry and my can of Tecate, perfect after a long day at work and a sunny bike ride home. So good, so, so good...tortillas lightly toasted on the firepit, just next to what will soon be an amazing party cabana. Jess and Dale (Nate's sister and her boyfriend) live just behind us on a long stretch of property. They decided to buy pigs, fatten and eat them. The pigs are now snorting away behind the tower (Dale's house), terrifying the dogs and eating pretty much anything that hits the pen. Including apples we picked from the yard! No manners whatsoever. Another Dale-cooked meal. Nothing like beef in the outdoors. In the morning, I walk the dogs across the lawn to play in the walnut trees. Paige digs, Akus (Jess' oversize cartoon dog) demolishes toys, and Roya attacks the trees. They have no right. (Akus not pictured) Swamp near the pig pen...mmmm. Why does Akus love to smell like frog shit and dead water? The other day, Dale brought me flowers. What a smooth guy. We shop at the Grocery store Outlet, where rejected foods go for lovin'. These pickles found a happy home with us. Eric and Roya, having bonded, now share the same habits of hanging from trees. Post hang: Paige's old hunting grounds, Priest Point Park. Major attitude. Fashionable glasses purchased in Puerto Vallarta girly shop.