Visualizing success

Isis has progressed in her training to the point that she can be in a class with other dogs. I’m so proud of her and she’s doing really well. She hasn’t been around other dogs in about a year. Especially other reactive dogs and while on leash. Other dogs are working at a more “advanced” level, but Isis doesn’t seem to be too far behind.

We’re having people over tonight and for the first time since, oh, Dec. 2006, I’m not worried about how she’s going to act when they walk through the front door. We’ve got a pretty good routine where she barks like crazy at the knock on the door (we’ve taped over the doorbell so we don’t use that). I tell her to go to her bed, she lies on it, sometimes lets out a few extra barks, but mostly sits eagerly while the guest enters until I tell her to go say hi.

We first started practicing this with Rob’s parents, but then I started to worry that she thought going to her bed meant Grandma and Grandpa were coming, and what was she going to do when a total stranger turned up.

The first time that happened, she started to bark and get up, I panicked, shoved our friend out the door and put Isis in the backyard. But since then, if she barks, I get in between her and the guest and she usually backs down. She’s not perfect, she still gets up several times, and has to be told to lie down again. But she doesn’t act aggressively toward the visitor, and that is the key ingredient.

Each of the people coming tonight has been in the house before, so I’m confident.

Last night I had a dream that we had Isis off lead at a park and a bunch of off-lead dogs ran up to her. A couple of the dogs actually had leashes on, but no owner on the other side of them. I called for Rob to get between Isis and the other dogs and I guided her by her collar back to the car, treating her all the way. In the dream, she did not bark at the other dogs.

It’s like my “Next year in Jerusalem.”

Reference material

I made some progress last night on the novel. At about midnight, I thought of a couple of life experiences I wanted to draw from but couldn’t remember the details. Specifically the internship I had during my first quarter at USC.

I looked through my journals, put them in chronological order, and was surprised to see that every single entry in the journal from that era was about my disintegrating relationship with my boyfriend. Imagine that, not one gripe about the internship.

I found a couple of nice lined journal in which I had written barely anything. Most of the pages are blank. I want to use them for something now, but of course I have three or four lined notebooks that I’m already using, and it’s kind of weird to start writing in a notebook that starts with ticket stubs and memories from the summer of ’95.

On schedule

And by on schedule I mean I’ve reached the point when I feel like quitting my 30-day novel exercise.

I’m woefully behind in my word count. Awfully far behind considering it’s the sixth day. I’ve got about 3,000 words and I should have 10,000. I’m hitting “word count” after each 100 words and thinking there’s no way I can catch up.

I think I have a pretty good, marketable idea. I probably shouldn’t quit just because I can’t finish in 30 days. If I only eke out 100 words a day, I should write 100 words a day until I’m done.

Already behind

I’m in stage four of a mild cold: sinus congestion. (stages 1-3 are: throat sensitivity, sneezing and sore throat). I don’t think I’m going to be getting any worse.

I planned to take yesterday off as a sick day to take my dog to the dentist. I consider this a completely appropriate use of sick time. I was also going to use some of the time to work on my Nanowrimo novel. But wouldn’t you know it, I actually got sick! And then didn’t feel like working on my novel.

Don’t feel like it today either. So it’s Day 4 and I’m behind. I don’t feel like doing any of the other things I should be doing either. 1. Cleaning the kitchen. 2. Doing laundry. 3. Training the dog. 4. Feeding the iguana.

Speaking of which…I’m thinking of giving Stew away. Is that awful? I love her, but I don’t give her the attention she deserves. I’d hate to have her go to a home that doesn’t know how to properly care for an iguana, but she could be living a happier life, maybe, if she were the apple of someone’s eye, the way Emerald was, or Isis is.

At least I was able to accomplish a few things so far today: 5. Eat crackers. 6. Check e-mail and Facebook. 7. Blog.

Reading out loud

I attended the first meeting of my book group last night. A friend of mine attended the last session, where they selected books for the next six months, and warned me that the other ladies were, “uhm… older.”

While I’d prefer to socialize with more people of my age group and exact life stage, I kept an open mind. After all, when I encounter people through work or Rob’s class and think they’re potential friend candidates, they usually turn out to be in their early 20s. Nothing wrong with making a few friends who are 10 years older, versus 10 years younger.

Some of the ladies are in fact 60-plus, but several others were in their 40s and 50s. Without a doubt, my 30-year-old friend is the youngest. There was nothing awkward about it, except maybe after we were done discussing the book and a few of the women started comparing menopause notes. Seriously.

It was a large, lively group of about 15 people, but I bet not everyone shows up all the time. I thought everyone was going to have adored the book, Border Songs, although I was ambivalent about it. I enjoyed the writing style and the characters, but was underwhelmed by the ending. I like a satisfying ending. It seemed to me that there are several moments in the book where something really major could happen, but then it turns out not to happen. Is there some meaning to that, or did the author just not want to go there? Note to self: Good novels require that you go there.

My ambivalence made me excited to discuss it. When I finished The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, I was desperate to talk to other people who had read it so I could express my dissatisfaction. I wanted to know why characters did what they did. I learned later, through the author’s appearance on Oprah that he didn’t know why the characters did what they did. Fail.

Several of the book club ladies disliked the writing style but sort of liked the story. Since it took place in their backyard, everybody related to certain things. People unanimously thought the main character never would have been hired by the Border Patrol. The leader of the group said a few times, “Well, it was a fun read,” as though that made it pointless to dig too deep into the meaning or discuss it as literature.

I felt validated as we left when one of the oldest ladies told me she appreciated my comments. (I’m reminded of a “young reader” panel I sat on 20 years ago, when I publicly admitted to reading Sweet Valley High books. My candor was lauded.)

I would say that the discussion gave me some additional insight about the book, and gave me a venue to share my ideas. I can see how certain louder individuals might get on my nerves, or that it could be frustrating trying to get a word in edgewise, but fortunately, I felt confident enough to squeeze my voice in there. I look forward to our next meeting in November, where we will discuss Tobias Wolff’s Old School.

Oniongate

Since last I wrote about my lunchtime issues, I’ve been indulging phases such as the Subway tuna sandwich fixation, which was followed by the similar yet different Quiznos tuna “bullet” obsession, wherein I eat the same thing several days in a row.

Last week, I made a return to the local co-op deli. I first started going there years ago for their vegetarian soups, but lately the soup choices haven’t appealed to me. For a while, I was obsessed with a cold sesame kale dish, which semi-repulses me now. Last week, on two occasions, I had a twice-baked potato, and once had clam chowder. Today I had a mushroom bread pudding and a sampling from the salad bar.

The co-op is nice because it’s fresh food, unprocessed, usually organic, and it’s pretty inexpensive (although I did have a combination of hot entrees add up to an astounding $11 a few weeks ago). What it is not known for is customer service. The checkout people at the deli in particular are suh-low. I frequently get my food and eat it, then go to the front register and pay for my meal there, rather than balance my cup of soup while I wait in a line that wraps around the baked goods display.

I don’t go there expecting efficiency, OK?

So I was amused when a crotchety guy asked the woman behind the counter if someone could get more onions for the salad bar. “You’re completely out of onions.”

She nodded, “Yeah, we’re actually out of onions today.”

He said, “Well, then I’m not getting a salad then. What do I do with this?” handing her the plastic container of plain greens.

“You can’t have a salad without onions,” I told her as she shrugged and served up my plate of bread pudding. I made my way around the onion-less salad bar. I took a bit of caesar salad, dollop of egg salad, some Moroccan garbanzo bean thing…Frequently, you’ll find leftovers from the deli cold stuff in the salad bar, maybe when there’s only a little bit left? Maybe it’s old, whatever. Point is, you don’t expect them always to have the same thing behind the counter, as hot entrees or in the salad bar.

I got in the rather long line (couldn’t eat first because they needed to weigh my self-serve salad), and crotchety guy came back, asking to speak to a manager.

“I asked for more onions, and the woman who was standing here (who was by this point working the register) said you were OUT of onions,” he raged. “Well, I walked over there,” pointing to the produce section. (This is after all, a grocery store.) “How many onions do you want??”

He had a good point. How can they be out of onions if they’re selling onions in the produce section?

Kinda like yesterday when I stopped at the fish stand on the way home from dog class, and they told me they only had one prawn left. As they were frying up my calamari and halibut, I noticed in the fresh fish window (right next to the “from the grill” window), they had plenty of prawns, heads still on.

I didn’t get angry, I don’t expect you to move your fresh prawns to your fried prawns section, and I don’t think the co-op needs to harvest onions from the produce section for the deli. I mean, sure, you’re going to lose the customer who cannot eat a salad without onions. But he could buy himself a damn onion and chop it himself if it’s so important. And he probably wasn’t going to be patient during an interminable wait while the dreadlocks chick took forever to ring up three people in front of him in line, either.

Spawning thoughts

I’ve decided to do Nanowrimo again.  Apparently this is an odd-year thing, like pink salmon runs. I did it in 2005 and 2007, writing a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. I had pretty good ideas both years, and yet, each time struggled just a little to make my word count. The first year, I took excerpts from news stories I’d written. It’s not cheating if I wrote it, right? I mean, I wrote more than 50,000 words that month, it’s just that most of it was for my job. It’s not cheating if the stories actually fit into the plot of the novel, right?

The trouble with the novels of 2005 and 2007, along with my first novel, the only one that’s “complete,” is that they’re far too derivative from my actual life and I get scared about having anyone read them. Defeats the purpose a little.

I’m determined to get my writing juices moving again. So do I write something that is again so personal I don’t want anyone to read it, just to get the words flowing, or do I really make an effort to write fiction this time?

Because so far, what I’m thinking is a story about a woman building an enormous shop in her backyard.

hansen spawners small (43)

Speaking of pink salmon, I watched some spawn yesterday in a creek that is the focal point of a restoration project. While taking pictures of the site, I glanced at the stream to see if there were fish, assuming there wouldn’t be because someone would have mentioned it if there were. I heard a splash or two and didn’t see them at first, but sure enough, the creek was loaded with pinks. Steelhead too, I think. It’s tough to get good pics of spawning fish and I trudged through the sludge back to the car to get my polarized filter. I shot about 100 photos of fish. (and slightly fewer than that of the construction work I was supposed to be shooting.)

It was wonderful. No rush to be anywhere. I had a chance to enjoy the view without self-consciousness. I love this part of my job: “reporting,” getting out there and observing something, seeing something that I wouldn’t have otherwise. Appreciating something. Documenting it. Attempting to create art out of it. And I did wind up with a few photos I like.

I hadn’t seen pinks spawn before. Chinook and coho yes. I liked that I was able to identify them definitively by the humps on their back. I watched them nuzzle up against each other and whiz around and I tried desperately to get a shot of one with its head out of the water.

hansen spawners (27) copy

I succeeded but didn’t know it until I got back to the office to view the files.

I could have stayed all day if I’d had more photo cards on me and if I hadn’t gotten really hungry for lunch.

Google takes over the world

I don’t use Word to write anymore, I use a website called Google Docs that lets me share my stories with my boss and counterparts so they can edit and see changes as I edit. I also can access the stories from any computer with Internet, so when my computer at work dies (any day now), I won’t lose any material. This doesn’t account for whatever disaster that could erase my stuff from the Internet, but anyway.

When I draft a story, I send the draft to various people for editing and approval. I tend to cut and paste the entire document into the body of the email. It just seems easier to me to read something in the email than to have to click on something else and wait while Microsoft Word opens. Sometimes it’s handy because you can track changes in Word, so I can see what edits have been made, but my email program (Outlook) makes my edits a different color when I reply to an email, so that works too.

I don’t mind when someone else takes the story, puts it in Word and then sends it back to me as an attachment, but I think it’s really weird when they ask me to send it again as a Word document. All I’m doing is cutting the text from the email I just sent and pasting it into Word. Can’t they do that themselves?

Today was a pretty typical Friday at my job. I have not spoken to or Instant Messaged a single coworker today. I just sent an email to my boss and that was the only work-related communication I have had. None of my officemates are in today.

I said “Thank you” to the woman at the dry cleaner next door who accepts UPS packages for us when our office is closed. I answered one phone call (for one of the absent coworkers). I spoke to the drive-thru people, the guy at the post office, and the jerk cashier at Fred Meyer who watched my 55-cent coupon get trapped under the conveyor belt and told me I shouldn’t have left it there. And then, unable to retrieve it, did not give me 55 cents off the Swiffer WetJet refill.

I exchanged emails with the dog trainer. Rob’s coworker emailed me inviting us bowling tonight (We accepted). Rob called. I replied to a comment someone left on my wall on Facebook.

Don’t get me wrong, though. I worked on a design project for the better part of the day. It wasn’t all Facebook and post office.

But that is all the communication/human interaction I have had as of 5 pm Friday. I feel all right about it.

Reading list

I recently listened to two audiobooks set in the Pacific Northwest and am I reading with my eyes a third book set in my very own home turf. The actual book I am reading is called Border Songs, and it is written by the author of a book I read a few years ago that was set in Olympia, where I lived at that time. Coincidence, no?

I am reading Border Songs for a book group I am joining with a girlfriend. A book group I hope will lead to many evenings of intelligent conversations with glasses of wine on the side.

The book depicts a real Washington town along the Canadian border with a great deal of accuracy, in my opinion. Dairy farms, Indian casinos, pot smuggling (or so I’ve heard), quirky characters. The places, street names and ways of life are true.

Contrasted with True Colors, which I listened to on CD during a recent solo drive to Portland, because the library didn’t have Twilight in stock (more on this below). I had read another novel by this author, Kristin Hannah, on our trip to India, because I had heard the author speak at our local bookstore. True Colors takes place in a fictional waterfront town along the Hood Canal, and it rang pretty false to me, even though some of the story takes place in real towns and the geography is mostly accurate. The family at the center of the story runs a ranch/rodeo, and I guess that’s just a little removed from my experience in the region. There is an American Indian at the center of the story as well, but he is from another state, so I couldn’t even really relate to that either.

Then… there’s Twilight. I put my name on the waiting list for the audiobook at the library because I didn’t want to spend time reading the book when I could be reading more worthwhile books (such as Border Songs), and I didn’t want to experience it for the first time through the movie. Yet, I wanted to get caught up on the story because I want to see the sequel to the movie, New Moon. For two reasons. 1) It looks good. 2) My organization was asked to lend some copies of our annual report to the set dressers of the movie, because the werewolf in the movie (spoiler, sorry) belongs to one of our member tribes. So there’s a very slight possibility that a photograph that I took that is on the cover our our annual report can be seen in the werewolf’s bedroom.

Though I love me a good vampire romance, I sneered just a bit at the Twilight phenomenon. For one thing, to my knowledge, the author never had been to Forks, Wash., before writing the series. And those actors cast in the movie? Blah blah blah. Nothing special. What is the obsession, I wondered?

Listening to the audiobook was tricky at first, because I couldn’t help picturing those stupid actors I found so unappealing. And let’s face it, the writing’s not so great. In first-person narration, Bella tells me a hundred ways that Edward looks perfect and smells amazing…which you’ll notice are adjectives that don’t tell me much. Fair enough, he looks like a marble statue, but what does he smell like? Cologne? Flowers? Vanilla? Wet concrete?

And since we all know that Edward is a vampire, it’s a little tiresome waiting for Bella to figure it out herself. And really? We have a bad guy who monologues at length to his victim about his dastardly plan? How creepy is it too, that Edward watches her while she sleeps?

But dammit, I have to keep it real…I started to fall for it. Started to find Edward so very attractive. And Bella so very likable. I saw the trailer again for New Moon, and felt such girlish excitement to see this movie where the star-crossed heroine says to her man, “I belong with you.”

What is it? What’s the formula? The schoolgirl fantasy that an impossibly perfect guy would fall so completely in love with her without her even trying. And he would do anything to protect her, and in fact would have no life whatsoever except to spend time with her and talk about his feelings. Dream-y.

Also, the author researched it well. The depiction of Forks and the Olympic Peninsula felt pretty accurate to me.

So now I’ve got Twilight the movie in the Netflix queue and am on the waiting list for the New Moon audiobook.

But because I know I should know better, I give you Buffy versus Edward.

My flagging cedar

We have a long driveway. One of my favorite features about my house (literally, one of my favorite things, I’ve said it out loud more than a few times) is that the branches of two cedar trees on either side of the driveway converge to create a canopy over the driveway. This creates shade, cooling the house, and obscures the view of our house from the street, creating privacy.

Also, it’s pretty.

Since it is one of my most favorite things, you would think I’d have a picture of it in its glory, but I do not. Here it is during last winter’s snowstorm, seen from the street.

Here it is today, seen from the front porch.

The other day, I noticed that some of the branches had turned brown all the way up to the top of this 50-foot-or-taller tree. Seemingly overnight. Surely I would have noticed if this were gradual, I look at those branches every day.

With a little internet research, I came to the conclusion that this was called “flagging” and is either:
  • The normal result of an extremely hot dry spell, combined with a few nicks to the trunk caused by construction vehicles over the past 10 months. The brown branches will blow out in the fall and winter, and the tree will “resume its healthy appearance.” (from http://pep.wsu.edu/hortsense/), or
  • A sign the tree is dying because construction vehicles have repeatedly driven over the roots and banged into the trunk. The tree may survive, but will “never look good again, with lots of dead branches and gaps in the crown.” (from UBC Botanical Garden forums)

To look at the trunk, yes, it would appear that this tree has suffered some abuse. I’m not too happy with the construction folks who dinged up my tree.

Someone on the UBC forum corrected me to say this is Thuja plicata, not a cedar, but we here in the Pacific Northwest call that a western redcedar, even though it’s technically a cypress. Deal with it.

Someone else said, “Driving over the roots of a tree (and running into its trunk) are a way to kill it.” Yeah, well, that makes me look like a big idiot, doesn’t it?

This tree has probably been here for a hundred years. A driveway was built on top of its roots. Could our little backyard construction project be killing it?