Diary – Page 20 – p i x e l s c r i b b l e s

Challenging myself

I noticed when I was writing my last post, which was pretty much a middle school essay on a movie I like, that I got tired of writing it pretty quickly. I had points I wanted to make, but I was getting bored while trying to make them.

That’s not a good sign.

For most of my life, I’ve been a writer. I started keeping diaries and writing stories in elementary school, and even though I didn’t write daily, I wrote enough that it was obvious I loved writing.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped writing regularly. I’m pretty sure “somewhere” coincides closely with my joining Twitter in February of 2007. I have spent a lot of time pouring my thoughts out there…but what I do on Twitter isn’t writing. It’s stream of consciousness, and often it isn’t worth reading at all. I even avoid using @ mentions sometimes so I don’t have to worry about someone important or smart seeing what I’ve said about a subject that concerns them.

I don’t try to write on Twitter. If anything, Twitter gives me an excuse not to try. And as I’ve continued not writing, my writing skills and endurance have atrophied almost to the point of nothing.

This isn’t what I want for myself. It’s not how I’ve spent most of my life.

So I’ve decided to start writing regularly. If not every day, every other day. I won’t worry about length, but I will worry about quality. If what I write is something I could have dashed off in 30 seconds on Twitter, it won’t count.

I want my writing to have meaning again. So here goes.

Study abroad memories

The University of Kentucky Office of International Affairs recently asked past participants of its programs to post their favorite memories on their Facebook Wall. Here’s what I wrote:

Thanks to UKIA, I spent roughly six weeks in Japan in 2001. It was my first time outside the US. I was really impressed with how well the trip was organized, leaving my fellow students and me free to just take everything in and learn all we could. The whirlwind rail tour put me in touch with Japanese history and culture in a way I never could have experienced in a traditional classroom. I’m still friends with the girl whose family I stayed with in the small town of Yatsushiro. There are so many memories that it’s hard to choose a favorite, but ranking high are the dusk view of the lighted port city of Hakodate from the mountains, swimming at the base of waterfalls, writing a short essay on the aesthetics of haphazard power lines (really!), and strolling through preserved historic areas in tiny mountain towns. Ten years later, I’m still “homesick”!

Scalini’s

Sean and I are slowly searching out haunts in our new Atlanta-area home. Tonight we discovered our first Italian place, a lovely restaurant that combines a hole-in-the-wall feel with casual elegance.

Scalini’s is located on Cobb Parkway in the same shopping center as the Best Buy, just above I-285. A huge green light-up sign stretches across the restaurant’s section of strip mall, proclaiming “Scalini’s Italian Restaurant” to the deep parking lot and the roadway beyond. A purely decorative awning runs above the front window, which looks into the dimly-lit bar, and a windowed front entryway provides a glimpse into a cheerful foyer.

Upon entering, we saw a high-ceilinged room dominated to the left by a long refrigerated glass case, displaying its meats and vegetables before a wall filled with dried goods and spices. To the right, past a towering Lady Liberty statue, was a passage through to the bar, and the hostess was straight ahead, guarding the way to the rest of the restaurant.

At this point I was wondering if we were underdressed…but we were greeted warmly and escorted back beyond the bar to a very casual seating area with private booths. There, most surfaces–the walls, the backs of booths, even some light fixtures–were covered with graffiti, messages from past guests, just like at Rhinehart’s back in Augusta. The area was cozy and private, too, with a narrow walkway running between rows of booths so small they could almost be called cramped, their seat backs going almost to the ceiling. The table was plenty big enough, and the booth seats just, so we settled in comfortably.

The menu was expansive, with appetizers, pastas, meats, seafood, and several desserts. Each meal was served with a large salad that included lettuce, tomato, and beets. I was pleased to discover that I found the beets delicious. Meals also came with a bowl of delicious freshly-baked rolls, served with oil and garlic.

We started with a stuffed mushroom appetizer that was the only disappointing part of the meal. Maybe the kitchen was rushed, as it was a bit late in the evening. Maybe their recipe wasn’t great. Whatever the reason, the mushrooms were passable, but not wonderful like the rest of the meal.

Sean’s main dish was a seafood alfredo that looked absolutely divine…scallops and shrimp with fettuccine dredged in that amazing creamy sauce. I had Cannelloni del Mar: lobster, scallops, and shrimp with cheese, baked in a pasta tube with rosatella sauce. It was an extraordinary medley of flavors.

We managed to eat about half of the shared salad, all the mushrooms, a couple of rolls, and about a third each of our entrees. I did find room for some fantastic spumoni, which I think was pistachio and chocolate, served with a cookie of lower sweetness to temper the taste. Finally, full and happy, we strolled back to the car with three to-go boxes.

Tonight’s dinner was a fantastic experience. I was captivated, both by the food and by the ambiance. It looks like Scalini’s is going to be a favorite!

A new adventure

As you may have gathered from my previous post, Sean and I have made the move to Marietta, Georgia, a suburb of Atlanta in Cobb County. Sean found a job here last fall; I’m telecommuting to my job back in Augusta for the time being.

We’ve mostly settled in to our new apartment–the furniture’s arranged, the kitchen’s functional, and we just have a few boxes left to unpack. The last few weeks have been a whirlwind, dealing with moving and adjusting to our new place. I think we’re finally getting comfortable and falling into a good routine.

One of the nice things about working remotely is that my commute time is zero. Another nice thing is that I’m able to do things around the house on my lunchbreak. What makes it especially nice in our particular location is that I chose an apartment complex nestled in the woods, a cluster of cozy buildings scattered across hillsides carved out by streams leading down to a river, walking distance from a nature preserve.

I’ve walked down to the river and through forest trails twice now, once alone and once with our friends Charles and Heidi. Yesterday, I decided to explore the apartment grounds themselves.

The complex boasts the standard luxury apartment amenities, including a gorgeous clubhouse. It’s on the far side of the property from our apartment, and uphill to boot, so I got a good workout strolling over there on my break.I took my time, stopping for pictures everywhere, and I wandered off on side trips, enjoying the lovely landscaping and exploring what amenities the grounds have to offer. It almost felt like being up in the mountains, but warmer and busier what with the traffic from residents and the relative closeness of the buildings.

When I got to the clubhouse, I found most of the rooms manually locked–my key card worked, but the doors still wouldn’t open. The fitness center was available, and that was about it. I went up to the lounge and tried my key and was met with the same frustration.

“Do you have a key card?” asked a voice behind me. I turned; it was a cleaning lady.

“I tried it already,” I said, but dutifully pulled it out and tried again.

The lady tried the door too, using her own card. “It’s locked from the inside,” she said. “I don’t know why someone would do that.”

We walked to a different door, and she managed somehow to get that one open. “There you go.”

“Thanks!” I said, and went in.

The room’s very nice. Cozy isn’t the word, since it’s so big, but it’s comfortable. My attention was immediately drawn to the pool table in the back, and after a bit of looking around, I played a very weak, but fun, game of 8-ball with myself.

As I was racking the balls for a second game, the girl I’d passed at the desk on my way in opened the door.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I was just playing some pool,” I said.

“This room actually isn’t open right now.”

“…oh,” I said. “Well, I’ll just rack them back and be on my way!”

I wasn’t particularly embarrassed, which is impressive for me. I tidied up the pool table and hung the rounded triangle back on the accessories rack, then followed the girl back out of the room and downstairs. She let me know the hours the room is actually open (too few, really), and I thanked her and went on my way.

As I was strolling back towards my apartment, taking in the warm sun and tall trees, a silver car pulled up and honked lightly. I glanced over as the window rolled down.

“I’m so sorry!” the cleaning lady said. “I didn’t know it wasn’t open! I’m just the cleaning lady.”

“It’s okay,” I told her cheerfully. “At least I got one game in.”

She laughed, and I smiled and waved, and we both continued on our separate ways.

Terror!

Last night when I opened the dishwasher to set my dinner plate inside, I saw movement at the place where the door meets the washer.

My eyes were there in a flash, in time to see a cockroach skitter out in a mad, looping retreat.

I screamed my I’ve-just-seen-a-cockroach scream and slammed the washer closed.

I’ve dealt with cockroaches before. I’m not really sure why I scream when I see them, or why I recoil from them the way I do. I can handle them dead–well, not handle them, but I can deal with throwing them out, but when they’re darting at inhuman speeds across my floors to potentially hide among my belongings, scurrying into little cracks where they can’t be killed and just waiting for the opportunity to terrorize me, then, well, yeah.

The cockroaches here in Marietta are different from the ones back in Augusta. They’re black rather than slightly reddish, and while I have seen one on the ceiling I’m not sure they do much flying. (Wishful thinking?) They also look like they would crunch a lot more when stepped on, but as I haven’t actually caught one yet, I don’t know for sure.

Regardless, one of these abominations had been in my dishwasher, probably because I’d left it open a crack rather than fully closed, and now I had no idea where it was.

I armed myself with shoes, just in case, then pulled the dishwasher door back down. No sign of the thing on the bottom or among the dishes. I slid my eyes upward…

…and there it was, on the back wall of the dishwasher, nestled right near the corner with the left wall and ceiling.

I had, of course, been giving Sean the running commentary, and as I went for the broom I informed him, “You know, guys are supposed to handle this stuff.” He made some sort of noncommittal noise and I sighed and opened the dishwasher a third time.

Sliding the broom in above the top rack of dishes, I jabbed it forward as hard as I could at that awkward angle, hoping to catch the roach in the bristles of the broom. But maybe Marietta roaches are harder and slicker, or maybe I didn’t jab hard enough. Whatever the reason, the thing simply fell down the wall into the bottom of the dishwasher, and then, as I leapt back, preparing to guide him out with the broom and stomp on him, he crawled with impossible speed into a two-inch wide hole on the back of the dishwasher door I hadn’t noticed before, a place that had apparently been broken out accidentally.

Furious, I closed the dishwasher again.

And that’s the situation as it stands now. I apparently have a cockroach in the door of my dishwasher. Not only that, but there’s a hole in the door of the dishwasher where just anything can crawl in and hang out. Ew.

Today, irritated, I opened the dishwasher, loaded it, put in a detergent sac and ran the thing. There was no sign of the cockroach. No water spilled out of the dishwasher, so I have to assume the closure is airtight…so where’s the roach, then? Still in the door? Did the heat from the drying cycle kill him, or can roaches withstand that much heat? If I open the dishwasher now, will the roach scurry out and get all over my clean dishes?

Or is there a dead cockroach in my dishwasher door…and if so, will he at least serve as a warning to the others?

Five years

Five years ago today, I became the web producer at an Augusta television network affiliate.

When I first started, I’d never worked in TV or news before. I’d traced 3D map features from aerial photography, worked night desk in a few college dormitories, performed office assistant and data entry duties, blossomed into a fledgling print and web designer and editor, and briefly (perhaps prematurely) attempted freelance web design. I’d always had an interest in news, and for some reason, my mom always thought I’d be a newspaper reporter. But I’d never pursued journalism, for whatever reason, and I’d certainly never learned anything about broadcasting, so when I came in as web producer I had a bit of a learning curve.

What I did know, though, was the culture of web and design fundamentals, so I started there and I learned. I learned a lot about Photoshop from our graphic designer and later, after she’d moved on, from online tutorials. I quickly became proficient in the content management systems used at the station, so much so that it wasn’t long before I was making enhancement suggestions–many of which were implemented. I made mistakes and I grew. I took leaps. I redesigned the website again and again as I discovered new things and as the standard layout changed group-wide.

And I edited news stories, and eventually even wrote a few myself. I learned from reading some great writers, both at the station and out in the wilds of the internet. I began to learn more and more about journalism, ethics, and legal issues. I started to form strong opinions about what news is and what it should aspire to. I started to think about ways in which the internet could help people come to a true, contextual understanding of the news of the day.

These are all things I might not have done, might not have thought of, had I not chosen this path. And I’m yearning to know more. I want to make videos, good videos. Maybe podcasts. Maybe music. I want to create and share information in other media.

Now it’s time for the next great adventure. Sean and I are moving from Augusta to Atlanta. After a period of telecommuting, I’ll move to new work, too.

Will I stay in news? Design? Web? Writing? Will I branch out into another untried field? I don’t know.

I hope I can find a place where I am free to grow, free to learn and experiment and take ownership of my position and change the very nature of it. I’ve been lucky enough to enjoy that kind of environment for the past five years, and I’m so grateful, and so excited to see where my path takes me next.

I have a niece!

Ben and Manda had their first child, Daphne Rose, on November 5.

Daphne
I was unfortunately unable to be there for her birth–I missed it by a week! I’d had it all planned out; her due date was October 27, a Wednesday, so I took my last three vacation days for the year and went to Kentucky. I had a great visit, getting to spend time with Mom, Dad, Ben, Manda, AJ, Faye, Connor, Logan, and Uncle Steve. I helped Mom out by doing a little painting, I hung out with AJ while he worked on a construction project, and I spent time with Faye and her sister Viota after all their kids went trick-or-treating on the 30th. But I had to leave on Sunday, October 31, and there was still no baby.

Manda actually had to be induced on November 4, and she was in labor until Daphne was finally born at 12:26 am the next day.

I was pretty dejected towards the end of my trip and during the week until she was born, but since then I’ve been able to see lots of pictures and a couple of videos, and I know I’m going to get to hold that sweet baby over Thanksgiving, so I’m feeling happier. I really wish I lived close enough to pop up to Kentucky over a normal weekend, though.

While I was up there waiting for her to be born, I dropped off a few presents. One was a funny puppet I bought at Arts in the Heart while Yoko was here visiting. The other two were Totoro products, since Ben and Manda have a Totoro theme in Daphne’s bedroom. The first one they opened was a pretty little jewelry/music box that plays the theme from the movie and has a little Totoro who spins in a circle. The second was a stuffed animal Totoro, which both Ben and Manda was completely enamored with. (“I didn’t know I needed to get three of them!” I said.)

Now that Daphne’s here, I’ve been thinking more and more about what her life will be like and what sorts of things I can do for her. I’m hoping one day to be able to help all my nieces and nephews study abroad (assuming their parents are cool with that), but that’s way down the road. This past Saturday I saw the Columbia County Ballet perform The New Nutcracker at the Imperial Theatre, and it was so neat to see all those kids dancing so well, I started to wonder if Daphne might try ballet. I was in ballet classes for awhile as a kid, but for some reason I hated it. I was very shy back then and preferred to be at home with my family rather than out with strangers, and I was terrified of performing…so that’s probably why. But Ben and Manda aren’t shy people, so their daughter might not have the same hangups I did. If she would enjoy ballet lessons, I’d love to help out with that too.

But even that is still way in the future. For now, she’s a tiny, beautiful baby :) I can’t wait to meet her.

Daphne

I have so much I want to say…

…yet I never seem to find the time or energy to write.

Every day I think of something cool or interesting or important to me that I want to share, and every day that thought gets lost in my little gray cells. Sometimes it doesn’t even make it to Twitter.

So while I have a few free seconds, I’ll mention some of the things on my mind.

Grandma’s funeral and burial and the lunch much of the family had at Cracker Barrel afterwards were all so cathartic for me. I’m so glad I was able to be there for all of it, and so glad Sean came with me. I was able to celebrate Grandma’s life and mourn her death, and now I remember her and what she meant to me all the time, and with a smile.

My first niece will be born at the end of this month, and I am so thrilled. As a feminist and a tomboy, I’m shocked at how much I’m finding myself wanting to buy Daphne cute things and have tea parties with her. I guess all I can do is resolve not to treat her differently when it counts, when it’s a matter of fairness.

My best friend has moved back to Augusta after three years abroad. It is so nice to have her here, so nice to be able to call her up and have lunch or drop by and see her after work like I used to. It’s not exactly the same, of course; she’s married now, and living in a house rather than an apartment. But it’s pretty damn close, and I love it.

Back in September, my host sister from when I lived in Yatsushiro, Japan for three weeks in 2001 came to visit me! Yoko stayed an altogether too short three days; we went to Savannah, enjoyed Augusta’s Arts in the Heart, and went out for Indian food in Atlanta. We got along famously; she’s a huge fan of Arashi, and when I realized who that was and said “Matsumoto Jun!” we immediately bonded ;>

Not too long ago Sean and I went to a family dinner with Sean’s mom and dad, grandmother, grandmother’s sister (great aunt?), and grandmother’s sister’s daughter (second cousin?). It was really nice. I love family dinners. We had great food and looked at family pictures and just had a lovely time.

Sean has a new job teaching IT, which is just what he wanted, so we’re ecstatic. He starts soon, and more details about that will be forthcoming. Things will stay the same for me for awhile, though.

However, I have really ramped up my Japanese study. I study a little every day, with Spaced Repetition Software (SRS) called Anki, the myriad iPhone apps I’ve purchased, and/or James Heisig’s Remembering the Kanji. I also listen to Japanese-language podcasts about humor, pop culture, and cooking and watch Japanese-language media like anime, dramas, music videos, news, and documentaries. But the biggest thing I’ve done is join the Online Speaking Exchange and befriended/followed dozens of Japanese people on Twitter. Reading and responding to their tweets has really helped me overcome shyness and get a good feel for the flow of the language. Plus, I’ve made some really good friends.

As I’ve been looking into various language-learning resources, I ran across Benny the Irish Polyglot’s Fluent in 3 Months, wherein he speaks a lot about Couchsurfing. I am fascinated by the idea of letting people from around the world stay at our home; it sounds like a great way to make friends, practice language skills and learn about different cultures. I may try to talk Sean into it at some point in the future.

To motivate myself a little to become functionally fluent in Japanese, I’ve signed up to take the Japanese Language Proficiency Test (JLPT) at level N3 (there are 5 levels). The test is in December and I’m really excited to see how well I’ll do.

That’s probably not even the half of everything I want to share–I haven’t even mentioned the running!–but it’s all I have time for now. Till next time…

Chiyosuke

I made this animated gif of Chiyo-chan for Sean, who was pretty obsessed with this particular scene of Azumanga Daioh episode 10 ;) Enjoy.

Grandma Aubrey 1919-2010

I last saw Grandma three weeks ago, on the final day of my most recent visit to Kentucky. She seemed…like Grandma. Perfectly lucid, dressed nicely, smiling, happy to see me. She gossiped about her neighbors and talked about gardening just as she’d always done as we sat at the patio table in her backyard with my mom and Uncle Steve.

Yesterday, unable to do anything for herself, she was admitted to hospice care, and this morning, she passed away.

I was on the treadmill at the gym when I saw Mom’s note to me on Twitter: “Call me this morning.” It was 7:49. I spent the next hour in a kind of Schrodinger-inspired denial. As long as I didn’t call, there was a chance Grandma was still alive. I finished up on the treadmill, went for a dispassionate swim, came home and took a shower. Throughout these mundane activities my mind whirled with tangential, fragmented thoughts: things I wanted or needed to get done at work, what I needed to do to get home for the funeral. Finally, at 8:47, I called.

“You probably know what this is about,” Mom said.

Eula Florence McCormick Aubrey died at the age of 91 with her daughter Evelyn at her side. She was a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, and a great-grandmother. She was preceded into death by her parents, her brothers Bill and Lewis, and her husband Walton, and is survived by daughter Evelyn, sons Ronald (my dad), Stephen and Jeffrey, and numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Grandma grew up on a farm in Mt. Sterling, Kentucky with her two brothers. She did farm chores and cooked and cleaned and secretly wished her mother would let her sit on the nice couch reserved for guests. Eventually she moved to Lexington to go to school, taking out a room at the YWCA. After marrying my grandfather, who served in the military, she lived in Texas for a time in a white shotgun house. Later the couple moved back to Lexington and Grandma took an accounting job at Bryan Station High School, where she worked for decades.

Grandma was unhappy as she entered her 90s. She was used to doing everything for herself: writing checks, tending to the garden at the very back of her long yard, cooking Sunday dinner. As the years passed she lost not only the ability to do those things, but even the strength to get herself around the house. I can only imagine how frustrating it must have been for such a self-reliant person to be so dependent on others, and how strongly she must have felt like a burden on her children. “I didn’t know it would be like this,” she told my uncle Steve despairingly. She was independent and strong to the end, her mind perfectly clear as long as her heart was pumping enough oxygen, and she knew she was ready to be done with such frailty.

I will always remember my grandmother as a sweet, kind, gentle woman who never raised her voice. Any time she had to scold my brothers and me as children, she did so in a strong but caring voice that evoked sorrow at disappointing her rather than terror. We always felt we could snuggle into her arms.

As children, my brothers and I spent a lot of time at Grandma and Grandpa’s. One of my strongest memories is Grandma gumming at us, “No teeth!” She’d lost her teeth in her 20s, and usually wore false ones.

My brothers and I inherited the habit of humming thoughtlessly to ourselves from Mom, and Ben still does it to this day. But when we were kids, having dinner around Grandma’s table, and we were all humming different melodies to ourselves at once, it was Grandma who suggested that maybe we shouldn’t hum at the table. It was only then that I even recognized I was doing it; I was so embarrassed that I’ve been conscious of it ever since.

When I was quite young, I had an insatiable sweet tooth, and one day while staying at Grandma’s I snuck a large spoonful of sugar from the sugar bowl she kept on the table. I’d just finished licking the spoon clean (and placing it back in the bowl!) when I heard Grandma behind me.

Guiltily, I turned, head lowered, eyes downcast but flicking up every now and then to gauge the expression on her face. She gave me a gentle smile.

“You don’t need that,” she said. “You’re sweet enough.”

I’m glad you thought so, Grandma. I hope someday I’m even a tenth as sweet as you.

Click here to see a collection of photos of Grandma from 2001 to 2010.

Adventure at Aqueduct Park

I didn’t set out to endanger my own life today, but that’s what ended up happening.

Some time back, Augusta cleaned up the aqueduct between the Augusta Canal and Lake Olmstead and dubbed the area Aqueduct Park. Whitewater rapids spill down a long stretch from the canal into a swimming area that’s also fed by a trickling waterfall on the other side. That pool drains off towards Lake Olmstead, a body of water the size of a pond that sits near the Augusta GreenJackets’ minor league baseball stadium. To get to the park, you either have to travel the Augusta Canal trail by foot or bike, or drive in along a gravel and dirt road from Sibley Mill.

I’d ridden past the area many times on my bike, and even taken a few pictures of the waterfalls and swimmers from up top, but I’d never climbed down to the pool. After the park was established, some trees were cleared, making the climb more inviting. This morning, desperately wanting to swim after my run and having few options–the Family Y doesn’t open until 1 o’clock–I clambered down rocks and dirt to get to the inviting waters below.

I’d cooled off considerably thanks to the air conditioning in my car, so to get back in the mood for swimming I hiked around the aqueduct area and took pictures. I tried to capture the beauty of the place–the rushing waters feeding in from the canal, the old brick tunnels now closed off at the end, the blocks and sheets of slate over which trickling waterfalls painted smooth, wet paths. By the time I was satisfied, I’d warmed back up and was quite ready for a good swim.

Stripping down to my swimsuit and exchanging my tennis shoes for flip-flops, I carried my towel over to where the rocks gradually descended into the pool, laid the towel where I thought it would be most convenient, and then started to step down the rocks to the water.

This was my first mistake.

The rocks were smooth, wet, and covered with slime. As I felt myself slipping, two thoughts occurred to me: one, that the water was very cold, and two, that flip-flops didn’t provide very much traction. I scooted down onto my bottom to try and slide into the water without falling.

It was then that I recognized my second mistake.

Filled with enthusiasm, and perhaps overconfident after successfully climbing all over rocks and waterfalls, I’d chosen to enter the water right next to the canal ingress. Right next to where the barreling flume of water was churning into the pool.

As I sat slipping on the rock, trying to pull off one of my flip-flops, the surging water caught me, thrusting me out and down into the pool. My flip-flop was instantly sucked away. As I struggled to keep my head above water, arms pumping downward to thrust my face out of the rapids, I thought, “If I drown here, like this, I am going to be pissed.”

My efforts were not in vain. I was never completely submerged. At first there was no ground beneath me, and I thrashed in terror to stay afloat, but then, suddenly, I found myself dashed upon the not-at-all smooth array of rocks that makes up the bed of the aqueduct pool.

“Ow,” I said. And then, “Well, I’m stupid.”

As the water continued to push me, gentler now that I was out of the direct path of the flume, I pulled off the other flip-flop for no logical reason, and, holding it, fought my way around the pond. The flume sent water churning in two directions: to the left, off towards Lake Olmstead, and to the right, forming a clockwise eddy circumscribed by the pool. I was caught going right, thankfully. The flume’s strength decreased little by little as I was pushed further and further away; I braced myself on rocks to keep myself steadily on my bottom.

Eventually the water no longer had the strength to push me, and I maneuvered myself to shore–to the spot where I should have entered the pool to begin with. There, the water merely lapped at the rocks and dirt as its final whirlwind strength was sapped away.

“I survived,” I said.

I took a barefoot walk back around the shore of the pool, hoping my flip-flop had washed up somewhere, but it was nowhere to be found. I resigned myself to throwing the other one away…but first I would wash the mud off my feet, clean out the shallow open scrape the rocks had left on my right knee, and get back into my sneakers. I was moving my shoes over to the rocks–the calm area–when I saw it. My flip-flop had somehow been deposited on the rocks right next to the flume. Perhaps during my flailing, I’d actually flung it backwards.

I laughed; somehow finding the other flip-flop was more of a relief than scrambling to shore. Maybe my brain took it as a metaphor of getting out of the situation in one piece.

I washed and dried my feet, tied on my sneakers, retrieved my wayward flip-flop, and began the hike back up and out of the aqueduct.

As I was leaving, a man walking his dog came down the pass. “Wow, I haven’t seen it rushing like this in a long time,” he said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s crazy!”

“It used to be like this all the time when I was a kid,” the man said.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.” He gestured back up to the top of the flume. “We used to slide down the rocks.”

“Wow,” I said. If that was the case, then kids have been doing essentially what I did today for decades.

Maybe my life wasn’t really in danger. I hope that is of some comfort to my mother, who is probably horrified that this happened. Sorry, Mom.

I’ve learned some good lessons. Don’t walk down slippery rocks, especially in flip-flops. Don’t enter a pool fed by rushing water right next to that rushing water. And it probably wouldn’t hurt to get a good idea of the depth of a body of water before swimming in it.

All that said…I did have fun, and I’ll probably swim there again. :)

View the complete photo gallery here.

Farmers markets: Earth Fare and downtown Augusta

Yesterday I decided to check out two local farmers markets: the Earth Fare Farmers Market in Columbia County, and the downtown Augusta Market. Since Earth Fare’s market runs from 9 a.m. to noon, and it was 11 o’clock, I went there first; after that I headed up Riverwatch to Augusta’s market, which is open until 2 p.m.

The Earth Fare market is just getting started, which may explain why it seemed small. There were only a handful of stalls; it was intimate enough that I didn’t feel comfortable using my camera, so instead I bought some tomatoes ($2.50/lb) and a watermelon ($2) and left. There were other items for sale, but I only remember the local honey.

The Augusta Market, on the other hand, felt like a mini festival. At least 50% of the stalls had nothing to do with produce. There was pottery, woodworking, clothes, jewelry, and plenty of junk food.

I purchased two potatoes and two green peppers (total: $2) from a vendor who didn’t strike me as a farmer. Later my friend Kelly told me that most vendors at the Augusta Market are regional distributors trying to get rid of excess inventory.

I then wandered over to Garden City Organics‘ booth and got some green beans ($2) and an eggplant ($4; they gave me both items for $5 total).

In all, I’d say the markets were a good experience. I think if I’m looking for local veggies at low cost and I happen to be able to go somewhere on Saturday morning, I’ll hit up the Earth Fare market. Otherwise, I’ll just go to Garden City Organics’ shop on Broad Street.

More pictures here.

What a coincidence

In a freakish coincidence, while complaining about cords being strung all over the living room, I tripped over one.

The incident underscores my general unhappiness with our apartment’s layout. I’m tired of it. It’s boring. The floor plan is a straight shot from the front door to the back door, with minimal natural light and no separation of the living and dining room areas. Sean’s computer is in the living room, and he often connects it to the TV, meaning cords are strung all across the room and computer components are everywhere.

I’d like our apartment to be functional and cozy, easy to clean with a place for everything. I want Sean to be able to use his computer comfortably without his stuff being strewn hither and yon.

Right now Sean’s computer is on our kotatsu, a low Japanese table I bought when we first moved here, thinking it would serve as our dining table. Sean took it over pretty quickly and it’s been his “desk” ever since. But lately, as I said, he’s been using the TV for his monitor and sitting on the couch. The other day I asked him why, and he said the couch was more comfortable.

I decided to try and find a way for him to sit comfortably without taking over the living room, and the first thing I thought of was putting my large desk out in the living room and giving Sean a proper chair. As I was describing this idea to him, I started stepping away from the couch…

…and I tripped over a cord strung between his computer and the coffee table, wrenching a USB connector out of his computer and breaking the guide tab on the port.

Good one.

It’s almost comical. “I hate having wires all over the living room. Let me demonstrate my point!” I didn’t do it on purpose, but the coincidence is ridiculous.

Oh well. At least his computer still works, and he has another USB port he can use. I’m not sure a good solution to the living room arrangement problem will come easily, though. We’ve lived here four years and I’ve rearranged several times. I’m not sure I’ll ever be happy with it.

Obesity

The Trust for American Health came out with its F as in Fat report for 2010 this month, including an interactive map showing obesity rates in the 50 states and DC. I was primarily interested in Georgia and South Carolina, since I live right on the border of those two states, and Kentucky, since that’s where I’m from. A few observations:

Kentucky is 7th in adult obesity at 30.5%. South Carolina is 9th at 29.4%, and Georgia is 17th at 28.1%. Not really a huge percentage difference between Georgia and Kentucky.

Georgia is 2nd in childhood obesity at 21.3%; Kentucky is 3rd at 21%; and South Carolina is 22nd at 18.6% (interesting!).

The worst place to live in the US in terms of obesity is apparently Mississippi; they’re number one in both adult (33.8%) and childhood (21.9%) obesity. Colorado’s the best for adult obesity (19.1%) and Oregon’s the best for childhood obesity (9.6%).

The report also notes that obesity rates increased in 28 states since 2009, and only went down in Washington, DC.

According to Google Health, a BMI of 25-30 is overweight; 30-40 is obese; and 40+ is morbidly obese. For giggles (well, not really) I plugged a few of my historical weights into the BMI formula.

When I was in high school, I weighed around 150 lbs. That’s a BMI of 26.56, meaning I was overweight.

In college, I hit the 200 mark, a BMI of 35.55. Welcome to obesity.

Right now, I weigh 245 lbs, giving me a morbidly obese BMI of 43.36. How nice!

My highest weight ever recorded was 266–obviously I was morbidly obese then, too, with a BMI of 47.27.

In 2008, I got down to 215 lbs. That’s a BMI of 38.28. I remember congratulating myself at the time for getting out of the morbidly obese range.

It would be nice if someday I could attain a healthy weight. I’ve long considered my goal weight to be 138. If I hit that, I’ll be at a BMI of 24.61, just below the 25 cutoff. But seeing as I have over 100 pounds between me and that goal, I’m not sure when or if it will ever happen.

Edit: Lots of people are talking about the report. I enjoyed this analysis of obesity from a supply and demand perspective from Smart Planet.

“Girls Be Ambitious”

TV Anime “So Ra No Wo To” Outro Theme: Girls, Be Ambitious. [w/ DVD, Limited Edition]
Haruka Tomatsu

I was skimming through CDJapan’s clearance sale when I came across this CD. It’s the ending song for an anime called So-Ra-No-Wo-To. I’ve never heard of this show; what intrigued me was the name of the song: “Girls Be Ambitious”.

There’s a statue in Sapporo, Hokkaido, on the campus of Hokkaido University, with a similar message. The statue is of Dr. William S. Clark of Massachusetts, a former vice principal. Beneath his head-and-shoulders bust is a monument with what appears to be his signature, a seal, and the text “Boys Be Ambitious”. Here’s a picture of me posing with that statue in 2001. I sort of took that command as a challenge. If boys were supposed to be ambitious, what were girls supposed to do? Be completely overlooked?

May 31, 2001

I don’t know if Haruka Tomatsu had this statue in mind when she wrote her song, or how ubiquitous the “Boys Be Ambitious” quote is in Japan, but it certainly struck a chord for me!