It’s my youtube debut!!!   

With all our money being channeled into the boat, we need really cheap entertainment

I am queen of the overactive imagination.  And my imagination gets particularly active at really inconvenient times like, say, when we are out in the middle of nowhere, high up in the mountains, with no one to see or hear us for miles.  Of course, those cold, dark evenings are when my brain kicks into high gear and begins creating all sorts of Stephen King worthy scenarios involving murderers and rapists and torture of the goriest kind.  Once I finally do fall asleep, I often wake up and lay in bed (i.e. the back of our X-terra) for hours, my ears straining at every noise, my eyes wide and alert, watching for any subtle shift in the shadows.  I admit I frequently wake up my sexy man, whispering, “Did you hear that??” in a voice that maybe isn’t exactly a whisper.  I have also started a habit of doing my nighttime peeing right in front of the car (I know, TMI) so that I can protect my backside and keep an eye on the world at the same time.  I’m a frickin’ genius.  No more nighttime sprints (out-running any weirdos-in-hiding) to the closest bush for me!

 

Recently, my sexy man suggested that I actually follow through on one of my imagined scenarios and see if writing it out and playing it out in my mind somehow helps me overcome my fears.  Intuitively, I knew this wasn’t going to work, so I flat out said no! Not gonna do it.  A few days later, when I was freaking out over some rustling leaves outside, he mentioned it again.  I said no.  But, this weekend, I got a great book on writing and it has since inspired me to write things that I may not otherwise write and to give in a little bit to my thoughts – regardless of what they are.

 

So, I did it.  I started writing out one of my most common plots about us being woken up in the wee hours of the morning by a crazy man with a gun, who orders us to get our naked selves out of the car and proceeds to do all kinds of horrible things to us, and then after torturing us in the most awful, horrendous ways, leaves us to die in the forest where no one finds our bodies for years.

 

So far, I’ve got as far as us getting out of the car, and it’s (no pun intended) killing me.  I nearly started crying on the BART shuttle tonight.  I don’t think that this is the answer.  Maybe it’s entertaining on some strange level, but I’m not convinced that this is going to make me any LESS nervous, perhaps it’s even going to make me more so now that I’ve put words and descriptions to the whole event instead of it just being a general “oh my God, what would we do if – ” type of thing.

 

I’m curious – do any of you out there also have overly active imaginations?? If so, do you give your thoughts any leeway like this? Do you write out the scenes? or let them go very far in your mind??  How do you rein in the crazy???

It’s Monday night and I’m watching Matt gently slice a cucumber.  His eyes are twinkling with delight and he’s giddy with excitement.  “WOW!  Look at this!  This is AWESOME.”   He holds up the shiny new $300 chef’s knife he purchased the day before at Sur La Table and runs his finger along the blade again. 

He hands me our old knife – “So, try this one first.”  I saw back and forth at the remaining cucumber before the thin green circle finally slides off.  Then he hands me the new knife – “And, now watch this…”  The knife slices easily.  I am not *quite* as enthralled as he is, but I do have to say that the knife is pretty spectacular.  It’s beautiful, for one.  Made with a technique that leaves a lovely wavy design embedded on the blade, and having a nice thick rounded handle, the knife is by far the prettiest piece of cutlery we will probably ever own.   (Wait – let me correct myself – it’s DEFINITELY the prettiest piece of cutlery we will ever own because spending $300 on one item of silverware is definitely not something we do everyday…)  Two, the blade is amazingly thin and stunningly sharp.  It also has a curved design and a wider blade surface that makes it easier to use when chopping and ensures that you’re less likely to cut your fingers off.  All in all, the quality is easily worth what we paid, it just makes me laugh that the *knife* cost more than Matt’s wedding band and almost as much as mine!   

From the beginning, Matt and I have promised to not sacrifice all immediate enjoyments for the *hope* of this far-in-the-future sailing trip.  It has been a constant struggle between saving money and still doing those things that make us happy – camping, going skiing, going to the movies, out to dinner, etc. – so we don’t forsake all short-term joys just for the boat.  Our lives are becoming more and more one-dimensional as it is, so these little “extras” have allowed us to feel like normal people.  That said, we normally don’t splurge to this extent!   And, if truth be told, Matt is not the “impulsive” spender in the family  (although, I really did NEED new face wash…even if it was $40…)      

Matt first fell in love with this particular knife after reading an article in the New Yorker about Bob Kramer, Master Bladesmith.   Kramer, a former circus clown and knife sharpening expert, is now one of the few and likely the most well-known master bladesmith in the U.S.  One becomes a master bladesmith by making a knife (from raw materials) that can pass the following four tests:

1)      Slice through a 1-inch diameter rope with one swipe of the knife  (to test geometry and sharpness)

2)      Chop through a 2×4 at least two times without any nick or deformation of the knife blade  (to test edge toughness)

3)      Shave a section of arm hair with the same edge of the knife that has passed the first 2 tests   (to test edge retention)

4)      Bend the knife 90 degrees  (to test the competing qualities of steel – hardness and maleability)

Bob Kramer made a knife that successfully passed these tests and he now has a reputation for making quality knives (although not of the above-described caliber) for Sur La Table.   When registering for wedding gifts, we selected one of the $300 Bob Kramer knives as the only item on our Sur La Table registry.  Shockingly, nobody opted to throw down the money for us. 

So, when Bob Kramer came into town this past weekend to give a lecture, I decided that Matt needed to be there. 

Before we left for the city, I said, “So, guess you’ll be coming home with a knife tonight, huh?”  

“No,” he said thoughtfully.  “I mean… it would get ruined on the boat, and there’s no point in buying one now when it’s just going to sit at your mom’s house in storage for a year.” 

I nodded in agreement, but secretly, I knew he was full of B.S. 

So, it didn’t surprise me one bit when I saw him after the class, grinning like a school boy, and standing impatiently with a long, thin box tucked under his arm.  We talked knives the rest of the night, Matt enthusiastically recapping the course highlights.  

Prior to attending Kramer’s lecture, Matt had his heart set on purchasing a fancy $500 radar for the boat (with a LCD screen and everything) even though we already have radar (sans screen) and there is a good chance it works perfectly fine.  Though I am clearly not an expert on the various radar devices, I discouraged the new purchase because I thought we should see if our current set-up worked first.  Matt felt that the other deal was just too good to pass up. 

Sunday evening, after the Kramer lecture, we went to dinner, and as I twisted the beautiful new knife in the candlelight, I smiled at Matt and said jokingly, “So, this is the new radar, huh?” 

Matt shrugged sheepishly and began to reconsider the wisdom of his purchase, hoping aloud that our current radar works and that he hasn’t somehow compromised our safety.

“Are you kidding??” I blurted out,  “Anytime you’re out of town, I’m sleeping with this thing under my pillow!  And,”  I lowered my voice, “We’re in the ghetto Mission right now…I feel safer already.  I mean, I could hack off someone’s hand…”  I put the knife back in the box and slid it towards him.  “I love it.” 

And that’s why he loves me.

Last night, I pulled into the local gas station to fill up the car.  As I’m removing the gas cap, a young boy dressed in an over-sized basketball jersey and holding a large box, approached me.  “Excuse me ma’am,” he begins, his voice already dragging with obligation and boredom. “My name is Jamar and I’m trying to raise money for…” blah blah blah.  I looked down at the large box he was holding and my eyes were drawn to the words in bold:  “$8.00 per item.”  First of all, WHO is letting their child (I would say he was maybe 9 or 10?) hang out at a dimly lit gas station at 7:30 at night?   I convinced myself his mom must have been the cashier.  Second,  EIGHT DOLLARS??!?!!?  Honestly, I don’t even know what he was selling, but, seriously, EIGHT DOLLARS??

Anyway, I didn’t buy anything.  I couldn’t have bought anything because I didn’t have any cash on me, but I also didn’t buy anything because it never crossed my mind to actually entertain his request.  I’m so used to people here constantly asking for things – money, food, beer, cigarettes, pot – that I always say, “Sorry, not today” simply out of habit.  Even on BART, people go around trying to sell various things, asking for old tickets, or begging for spare change.  I’ve trained myself to avoid eye contact, tune out their supplications, and just automatically respond with a sympathetic nod and “No thanks” when addressed directly.  I mean, someone could offer me a million dollars and I would probably just give a quick, insincere smile and say, “Not interested.”

 

The thing about all these requests is you can see in their eyes that they KNOW you’re going to say no.  For them it’s like the request has become automatic, too.  It’s a very strange, yet ancient and somehow still accepted societal ritual we have – the obligatory request, the obligatory apologetic no.  Neither of us gets any joy out of the exchange and we both are left feeling a little slighted – one that we were denied, the other that we were petitioned.

On my drive home, I thought about this little boy at the gas station and promised myself that I would never ever make my kids do that “door-to-door” sales stuff unless they really really wanted to.  As a child, I HATED doing that and I think the only time I ever did it, I knocked on 4 doors then turned around and ran home.  I think expecting children to raise money that way is akin to torture.  There’s just something about the entire excruciating experience, and it’s not simply the fact that almost everybody says no…

But, my dad always said yes.

 

I had forgotten that until last night.  As my thoughts were gearing up to protect my yet-to-be conceived children from the horrors of fundraising, my memory suddenly freeze-framed on an image of my dad standing in our doorway, talking to a young kid who was selling candy bars.  No matter what they were selling (with maybe the exception of magazine subscriptions), my dad always bought something.  It became a joke in the family -  my dad:  such a sucker, can’t ever turn a kid away.  I even remember coming home one afternoon and finding a boy sitting on our couch with his candy box on his lap talking to my dad about who knows what.  If it was hot, my dad would offer the kids a coke while he decided what he would buy.  He was always interested in what they were selling and why they were selling it and did they like their school and were they a good soccer player and did they get good grades…  He realized that the value of his dollar was nothing compared to the look on their faces when he said, “Yes, I’ll take one.”

The power of this memory shocked me.  I could feel my dad’s disappointment at my response to the little boy – like I had somehow missed or forgotten a very important life lesson my dad had tried to teach me.

Sometimes I feel like living in the Bay Area has made me an awful person.  That these years of fighting to get on crowded bus lines, and wandering dirty stench-filled streets, and sitting in traffic, and dealing with all these urban impatient, angry and judgmental, dismissive people has made *me* impatient and angry and judgmental and dismissive.  But, if San Francisco is a microcosm of the world (as some declare), then what does it say about me that this bad attitude – this negative, selfish, tunnel-visioned persona – is my response?  Maybe it’s not what the city has made me, but worse, it’s just who I’ve become.

It wouldn’t be so telling, perhaps, if the situation were different.  But, I now feel ashamed that I didn’t at least give the kid a chance to give his spiel – I didn’t even LISTEN.  I can’t tell you what he was selling or where he was from or what the money was for (or even that his name was Jamar – I just made that up).  When I saw him, if I even *saw* him at all, I simply replaced his face with the dozen other faces that had approached me that day, also wanting something, and I said no.

But, this boy is just a kid.  Just a kid who is sitting on the curb at a gas station at 7:30 on a Thursday night, trying to sell stuff so he can raise enough money to do that something that is important to him.

And I didn’t even look him in the eye.

 

I should know better than that.  I should BE better than that.

 

Sorry Dad.

Today, a good friend of mine from law school was offered a position as an attorney for the International Justice Mission.  IJM is an organization that sends US attorneys all over the world to assist with prosecuting international human rights crimes.  My friend A will be moving to Mumbai in the near future to work with local agencies and the Indian government to investigate and prosecute sex trafficking offenses.  When I got the news today, I cried.  I cannot think of a better person to take on this sort of challenge.  Her heart, her courage, and her faith are equally ENORMOUS and I know that this is the opportunity of a lifetime for her. 

 

At the same time, my heart is reeling for this poor girl, the victim of a gang rape just down the street from us in Richmond, CA.  This FIFTEEN YEAR OLD girl, who was leaving her Homecoming Dance, was pulled aside by a male friend, became intoxicated extremely fast, and was then gang-raped (including with foreign objects) for TWO HOURS in a “shadowy corner” just off the high school campus, a short distance away from the dance.  

 

I cannot determine whether the worst part about this whole thing is the fact that she was raped, GANG raped, raped with “foreign objects”, raped for TWO HOURS or that as many as TWENTY people just stood by and WATCHED while it all took place. 

 

What is wrong with these people?!?!!?!?

 

My heart breaks for this girl, who will never – can never – be the same.  How do you even begin to recover from something like that?!?!?  And these stupid ^&##$&&@##%$% kids (can you even call them that?!?!)  What kind of monsters get off on this sort of violence?  

 

Thinking about this… (incident is too nice of a word)… this… attack… makes me sick to my stomach.  Rape.  With and without foreign objects.  For two hours.  While people just stood there and watched.  My God…  

 

While I am so grateful for my friend’s opportunity to address sex crimes on an international level, here at home, we still have such a long long long way to go.     

 

 

So, as of December 18, I will no longer be gainfully employed as an office manager or a panel attorney.

 

I talked to HR, our CEO, and my supervisor today at work and will be sending a letter to CCAP in a few days.

 

This is the first major step *I* have taken towards fully committing to this sailing trip.

 

And, if I wasn’t before, now – I am ALL IN.

 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

 

 

As October comes to an end, we head into the last leg of preparation for our big winter departure on the boat!!  There is oh-so-much left to do, but when I lay it out like this….  I get more and more excited!!

 

TIMELINE:

 

ASAP: Send in my passport application!!  (with my new name! )

Oct. 29:  Tell HR I’m leaving  (yikes!)

Nov. 2 – Nov. 6: Tell CEO, supervisor, colleagues I’m leaving

Dec. 1: Give 30-day notice on our apartment (am I ready for that?!?!?!)

Dec. 18: Last day at work!

Dec. 29-31: Move onto the boat

Jan 1: Happy New Year, Happy New Life.

Jan. ????: Sail away under the beautiful Golden Gate

 

 

I’m almost afraid to post this for fear that all kinds of things will happen to derail our plans…  but, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that everything will go *relatively* smoothly and we’ll actually be able to pull this whole thing off 

 

** Meanwhile, any advice as to how to get my boss to keep me on payroll in ANY capacity while we’re on the boat?  I’m wondering if I can convince him that making postings to the company blog is worth a couple bucks……

 

 

 

If you remember, in the months before the wedding, I was a workout machine…  Then, the month before the wedding, things got crazy and we were wine-tasting every night, and the week before the wedding, we were eating out a lot, and the week of the wedding, I was eating anything and everything and now, well, I’m paying for it.

Overnight, the belly bulge re-emerged.

I keep sucking it in and sucking it in, convincing myself it’s just “the leftovers” and I’m not pregnant (like this chick who didn’t know?! until she was five months along).  If I understand correctly, when you’re pregnant, your belly is tight, not all flabby and stuff.  So, I think I’m safe.

Anyway, now that the fun is all over, it’s back to the butt-kicking by Jillian and more frequent trips to the gym.  I did level 1 of the Shred the other night and barely made it through without passing out.  It amazes me how quickly I can go from feeling AWESOME and toned and strong to barely being able to do some lunges without falling over.

But, I can still do a pull-up.  That gives me hope that there is still some muscle left.

So, I’m officially off the market!  The wedding was SPECTACULAR.  You know, back towards the beginning of the summer, I had to stop looking at bridal magazines because all the featured weddings were so perfect, I was getting a little overwhelmed with jealousy. My wedding could never be like that because I didn’t have the money/time/energy/creativity to make it happen.

Yet, lo and behold, on October 10, 2009, I stood on the patio of my mother & father-in-law’s home, looking out at a scene that resembled something right out of Martha Stewart Weddings.  I couldn’t have asked for a more picture-perfect day.   Granted, I certainly cannot take ANY credit for it, seeing as how my MIL, her 5 sisters, my mom, my friends, and my *husband’s* brother and sister all played major roles in making it all come together.  It was sad to clean it all up simply because the tents, the flowers, the lights, the lanterns… it was all so gorgeous.

Hard to believe that it’s all over now, but at least we have some fabulous photos to commemorate it!

Woo hoo!!  It’s finally here…

Posts will be intermittent (if at all) since tonight we start the big cross-country drive back east for the wedding.  We’ll be gettin’ hitched, sayin’ goodbye to our awesome X-terra (just for now) and will be taking a huge leap towards our big sailing adventure.  Leaving the car and a LOT of stuff behind (including all our wedding gifts, probably)    so that we’ll be ready to live in a 30×9ft space come January.

CRAZY.

It’s funny, people who don’t know about the sailing trip are like, “wow… you’re so calm about the wedding…”  little do they know that the wedding is the LEAST stressful thing going on right now!!

Anyway, I hope you’re all still here when I get back – a married woman!!!

cheers

K