Crazy or Brilliant? Does it matter?

As most of you know, I've been teaching for a long time. Over the years, I've taught hundreds of kids, and each year there's always a kid or two who leave a lasting impression. These are the kids I'm forewarned about...the kids nobody wants because they were horrible the year before. They have a reputation before I ever meet them, and lucky for me, they seem to always end up in my class. Having always been the youngest teacher or the newest teacher in school, I'm blessed with these little monsters who spent most of their prior years hanging out alone in the hallway because they were kicked out of their kindergarten or 1st grade class for being naughty & disrespectful.

The crazy thing is, these are the kids who make my days teaching so much fun. As much as I want to strangle them at times, they are the ones who entertain and challenge me. I'm fascinated by the way their mind works, and as exhausting as their antics can get, it keeps me on my toes, and they help me to become a better teacher. I learn to be more tolerant and learn to be in awe of how different people's brain works. And usually, these are the kids who are brilliant with a mind of their own & these are the kids who question rules they are told to follow. They usually end up being the sweetest and most loving (even though they don't appear to be on the outside) and they excel in my class because I let them be who they were meant to be.

I have a friend who reminds me of one of these kids. And the reason I'm writing this post is because I just found a copy of an online chat he had with a gear expert at Backcountry.com. (I had to print it out because it was so outrageously funny.) His name is Hasen (pronounced /haw-sin/). He's crazy...but oddly, brilliant. About two months ago, he and my other friends Matt and Phil (who's also weird & talented) came over for dinner. We spent the evening hanging out, talking and playing music. We were up in my bedroom/loft playing piano & guitar while Phil tinkered on my computer. It was a pleasant evening, nothing out of the ordinary, just me getting to know the boys a little better since they were all fairly new friends.

Next morning, I remembered I'd forgotten to turn off the computer. So I went over to my desk and clicked on the mouse to shut it off & noticed an on-line chat screen still open. This is what I found:

Chat information. One moment please while we route you to a gear expert. You're currently number 1 in queue. Like hot deals on gear? Check out www.steepandcheap.com & www.whiskeymilitia.com for killer deals on the best gear on the planet. We'll be right with you.

Thanks for holding. Chat Information. Thanks for contacting us. My name is JJ, how can I help you?

Jason: I'm looking for something that can hold a lot of milk. (That's my friend Hasen. So you know, he doesn't own dogs, not even one.)
Jason: Like, a lot. I have 2 St. Bernard dogs that come camping with me and I need to feed them tons of milk.
JJ: Ok
Jason: They slurp it down like water but the other problem is carrying that much on the trail.
JJ: Let me see what we have.
Jason: Ok.
Jason: They won't drink water, it has to be milk. So it has to be lactose friendly.
JJ: MSR Dromedary Bags - click here
JJ: We have that available in a large 10L size.
Jason: Is that one lactose friendly?
Jason: Is that one alright? What's the diff between a camel and a dromedary? Is dromedary milk?
Jason: Wait, hold on, dromedary is just the name.
JJ: Yes, that is the name of the bag.
Jason: I can put any milk I want in it, right?
JJ. Yes
Jason: Got it.
Jason: So...how do I carry that thing?
JJ: You could just close it up and put it in your pack.
Jason: It's not its own backpack?
JJ: No, it is not.
Jason: Ok.
JJ: Would you rather have a backpack style, those come with a smaller capacity, usually max of around 3L.
Jason: How do I get my dogs to drink out of those? Some sort of dog straw or something? Or I could just pour it into a small dent in the ground or just bring a bowl...
Jason: But they would fight over it and they're big.
JJ: Ruffwear Quencher Cinch Top Dog Bowl- click here
Jason: And it's scary as heck when they fight.
JJ: That is a great portable bowl.
Jason: Oh.
JJ: You could get 2 of those and they will fold up small for you.
JJ: Mountainsmith Dog Trippin' Kit - click here
Jason: I could separate the dogs and tie them to a tree so they can't fight, but then they'd just cry.
Jason: One time the one, Jarb Honey, bit me cuz he got pissed at me.
JJ: That is a pretty cool kit with the bowl, food dish, bed, and dog pack so they could carry their own milk too.
Jason: No shit? Let me look at it real quick.
JJ: Ya, pretty cool, I'd always make my boy carry his own food if he wanted to come with .
Jason: Cool. My dogs are gonna be lovin that leche.
Jason: That means milk.
JJ: Nice
JJ: Let me know if I can help with anything else.
Chat Information Thanks for chatting with us today.

(I wonder what JJ was thinking chatting with Hasen.)

The thing is, I don't think any of us knew he was having this on-line chat while we hung out. When in god's name did he do this, and why in god's name did he decide to query about a leche bowl for his imaginary dogs in the middle of us hanging out, I'll never know. But like I said, it's fascinating to be around people like him, and I bet he was loathed and loved by his teachers, depending on how crazy they were themselves.

Watch him dance:

Little Miss Molly

Just had a little visitor. Normally when people knock on my door, I duck & hide. (My front door has glass panes & you can see in.) I can never say no when they want me to buy something or sign up for a "good" cause, so I've resorted to hiding. Also, you never know if it's going to be a Jehovah's Witness or a Mormon Missionary trying to give out stuff for me to read. Last time, it took me four months to get rid of the Book of Mormon this guy left me. Didn't want to throw it away & I couldn't get anyone I know to take it.

I've also tried pretending to be Chinese not speaking any English or broken English at least, but that never works because I'm awful at it. I should take lessons from Hasen since he's so good. Speaks to me with the oriental accent when he thinks I'm having a difficult time understanding him. So rude. (He doesn't get that it might have something to do with him talking 100 miles per hour.) Anyway, I inevitably end up laughing or turning bright red from being embarrassed & feeling guilty.

That reminds me of this time I was at the beach with a friend of mine. This creepy looking dude (okay, not creepy, but no matter how hot they are, I hate being approached at the beach...don't ask me why) came over to us. I was laying on my stomach so it was my friend who ended up talking to him. Since I wasn't participating in the conversation, the guy says, "Your friend's really quiet," to which my friend Grace replies, "Oh, she's a foreign exchange student from China. She doesn't speak much English. I'm in the Chinese class she TA's in." I had to put my hand over my mouth so I wouldn't bust out laughing.

Dude: Oh, so you speak Chinese?
Grace: A little. Enough to hang out with her.
D: Will you tell her I think she's beautiful?
G: Sure. To me, "#$%^&*()__)(*&^%$%^&*"

To which I can't help but bust up with my hands over my face.

G: She's shy, but I think she's flattered. Look at her turning red and giggling.
D: What's her name?
G: Sheshuan.
D: Hm, Sheshuan. Does she have a boyfriend?
G: Not that I know of. Why don't you talk to her? She understand a little.

D: YOU HAVE A BEAUTIFUL NAME!
(Why do we all yell when someone doesn't speak English. I find myself doing the same thing...it's not like they're deaf.)
Me: Thank you, (with the best foreign sounding accent I could muster up.)
D: YOU SPEAK VERY WELL! I DON'T DETECT AN ACCENT! WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO OUT ON A DATE SOMETIME?

I look over to my friend who's sitting there with a straight face. I wanted to kill her for putting me on the spot & as funny as it was watching her speak to me in "Chinese" I started to feel guilty. She pretended to interpret for me with a few more @#$%^&*($#$%^&* and finally told the guy that I had a man waiting for me in China.

Sorry, went on a tangent. Back to my little visitor.

The knock on my door was strong. I knelt to the floor up on my loft and crawled over to the short wall. I slowly moved my head up so I could peek below without them seeing me, but couldn't make out anyone. Then the knock, again. It had to be a dwarf. A kid couldn't knock that hard. I was curious to see what the dwarf may be selling and ran downstairs. When I opened the door, there stood Molly, a cute little red head with freckles- a student of mine from this past year. She stood there with her arms out with a large card she had made for me in her cute little hands. (Have no idea how she knocked so hard.)

Molly had missed me as much as I've been missing her and stopped by with her grandma to say hello. I picked her up and twirled her around and we hugged for a long time. She and I were all smiles and I listened to her as she timidly told me what she's been up to all summer. (Kids get weird when they see you outside of school...hence the timidness.) Sadly, her family is moving to Red Lodge, Montana so her dad can manage the ski resort up there. (And she had promised to teach me how to ski next season so I wouldn't get stuck on a black diamond like I did last year.) I was heartbroken to hear the news, but she assured me she'd come visit.

So that was my little visitor today who came not to sell me anything or talk me into changing my religion, but to just give me lots of love. I miss that about being a kid...just going over to friends' to say hi just because. When did we get so uptight & weird that we have to make appointments to see our friends?

Locally Grown, the Easy Way...

I need to move back to San Francisco. Remember my farming post? (My Farming Fantasy) Look what my friend just sent me... a link to an article about a hired backyard farmer.

Getting Aquainted with the Mormons

Before I met my ex (he's the first Mormon... well, ex-Mormon I had ever met & the catalyst for me being in Salt Lake City,) I thought Mormons were Amish/ Jehovah's Witnesses. Basically I didn't know the difference and thought the tall, skinny bike riding guys with the white helmet & backpack in the city were called Jehovah's Witnesses when they came knocking at your door, and became Amish with seven wives when they returned home to ride their buggies and work the land. (I was obviously confused.)

So the first time I went to Provo to visit my ex's parents (who unlike my ex are still LDS) I was excited to spend a week in a house with no electricity and wondered if I should bring a full skirt, cape, and apron so I didn't stand out in my New York winter garb. But to my disappointment, his childhood home looked more like a page out of Architectural Digest and his parents looked as though they had just stepped out of Bloomingdales.

To help me better understand the culture he had left behind (in seeing my confusion), my ex showed me Southpark's season 7: All About the Mormons. That's where I learned everything I know about the Mormon church and Joseph Smith. So when I moved to SLC against the wishes of my friends, my ex, and my parents to wait for the housing bubble to pop so I could move back to San Francisco, I promised I'd stay away from the Mormons and their divine inspiration from the golden plates, aka the Book of Mormon. The move to Utah was strictly a business venture in my eyes and a way of making another fortune through real estate so I could go back to the city I adore.

For two years, I was pretty successful at staying away from the non-drinking, perpetually happy, Book of Mormon toting populous of this City. Then I met HasenPfeffer. He showed up at my house one night (I had thrown a party for a friend's birthday) uninvited with my friend Phil's ex-wife who I also had never met. Being the gracious host that I am, I walked up to them and said, "Hi. Hmm... I should know you, but I can't seem to recall... Where do I know you from?" When in fact, I was thinking, Who the h*ll are you & why are you on my property? Well, he ended up staying, drinking and partying with the rest of us and even entertained us with a song. Then I found out he was Mormon. A church going Mormon who drinks and parties. I was intrigued...really intrigued.

He was Mormon alright. Without me asking, he came over with his friends and took all my empty bottles from the party to the recycling place at the golf course. In all the parties I had thrown, no one had ever really helped me clean up the mess; and this Mormon I hardly knew volunteered to help. Not only was he nice, but as I subsequently found out in hanging out with him & his friends (he lives pretty close), he turned out to be incredibly cool.

He and I had many discussions about the Mormon religion while getting intoxicated with vino & beer over the next several weeks, but it was never really in-depth as we were partying with friends. Then I met Beau. He is Hasen's friend, and a real Mormon meaning he not only goes to church every week, but follows the church doctrine to a T. But unlike the gray-suit wearing church goers I see on Sundays, he is hip. The first time I met him, he was on his way to church, but looked more like he was going to a young, hipster fashion show in Soho.

Beau and I have had extensive dialogues about his faith in the last few weeks. I even went to the Mormon church with Hasen-Beau last weekend. Even last night I was on the phone with Beau until 2 a.m. exchanging our ideas and beliefs about god. I'm finding out that Southpark might have not been the best source for learning about the Mormons. I'm also realizing Mormons aren't freaks as so many people think they are. They don't have seven wives, they don't have tassels on the nipples of the undergarments they wear ( I don't know where I got that idea), and they actually are quite fun to be around. (Oh and not everyone wears those undergarments.)

Not to worry, I'm not converting. However, what I am being is being open to the people I swore I'd keep away from. Instead of judging and excluding a group of people just because they don't drink coffee & believe in some golden plates, I've decided to embrace them for who they are. My non-Mormon friends here think I'm crazy & on a mission to deflower all the Mormon boys, but that's not it. I've found that a lot of things I believe in are in sink with what the Mormons believe in. It's just that we use a different language to explain our faith.

I love my new Mormon friends, and as my friend Kevin (a native Utah-n who was raised Momorn) from SF always says, "Utah-rds are people, too, you know..." And they really are.

Underpaid & Underappreciated

Teachers get so much slack for getting the summers off. Everyone always says how easy we have it... getting off work at 3:15, working 180 days out of the year, and getting paid during the summer. But that's total bullsh*t. We don't get paid during the summer. They just stretch our nine-month pay into twelve months. What's more, most teachers attend workshops during the summer on their own time, sometimes even forking over their own dough to be there.

I just got back from my summer workshop. It started last Thursday night with a 3-hour, torturous viewing of one of my least favorite operas, the Magic Flute. It was done as a modern adaptation by the NY Metropolitan Opera. They probably spent millions, but it was crap. It felt like the medieval coffin torture and it didn't help that we had to watch it on one of those ancient, large screen TV (the size of a refrigerator) some douchebag invented (the quality also sucked making the viewing even more painful)... you know the one - the ones most meatheads used to salivate over so they could watch football with their buddies screaming bloody murder. (I wonder how the landfills are doing with those suckers now that we can't watch TV on them starting February of next year.)

This week, it was a painful 8 hour day deal (which I must admit I was a few hours late to on one or more occasions, but that's only because I've been to them before & they're very similar except for the Operas we study), just so my students can have a fabulous learning experience. If you were lucky enough to have teachers who did cool stuff with you, you have to realize, they spent many unpaid hours, days, and summers preparing for that sh*t. So don't give me this crap about teachers getting paid plenty for having the summers off!

My friend just emailed me who's spending her summer with her two boys at home for the first time because they are no longer on a year-around school schedule. She writes: I'm going nutso with my kids home 24/7 for the whole summer...I'm not sure I am going to survive!!! And these are her own children she's talking about. We have to deal with 25-34 kids, 7 hours a day for 180 days. What do you think will happen to us if we didn't get the summers off!?

So those of you always giving me crap about how little I work & how much I get paid...shut it. Plus, I'm tutoring a kid who struggled all year with her math without pay, just because... I would like to know how many of you work overtime without pay unless you have to, just because...

And so you know, I stayed up many nights without sleep and without pay so my kids could have this experience at the Rose Wagner Theater. (It's a small clip, but enjoy. Watch the parrot on the right.)

Officially Deflowered

The first time I thought I went on a real camping trip was when I sailed over to Catalina Island from L.A. with a reservation at Parson's Landing campgrounds. What made it "real" to me was that there was no shower and I had to lug my own two large bottles of Evian mineral water on my back like a one-humped Arabian camel in the desert. (This was before Nalgenes.) Luckily we were camping by the beach & the only other thing in my "pack" was a towel, a toothbrush & some sunscreens (SPF 55 for my face & 30 for my body), because not only was my school backpack too small for anything else, but we had to hike 7 miles to this secluded beach. It also helped that my camping companion was a 6'2" rock-climbing instructor with hands of David & body of god who carried everything else we needed.

Having to use the port-a-potty was totally roughing it for me, and I boasted about having gone real camping for years, until I moved to Utah. When I told the story about having gone to Catalina to camp out for two days without running water, people laughed. "Rachel, sleeping on the beach with a port-a-potty is not camping!" mocked my friends. So I was really excited about my road trip last summer when I heard we'd be camping out, and bought all my camping gear from Backcountry.com including a portable toilet seat which I was going to use over the hole. (I was told we'd be digging a hole in the ground for our nature's call.) But to my disappointment, every camp site had a shower and a toilet, and I never did get to have that real camping experience in the wilderness. Only thing real about the experience was that I was eaten alive by mosquitoes, and those vicious, carnivorous black flies took chunks of my skin and left it bleeding like bullet wounds from an assault rifle.

Then came an invitation for a real camping experience this weekend from my new camping buddies, the A-Team. Well, it was going to be car camping, but not to fear... no running water & no toilets. As we drove up to the Uintas, I couldn't believe I had never ventured east of Park City in the three (well, almost three) years I'd been here. The scenery was breathtaking. Huge reservoir (right in my backyard!), and green & purple trees covered the mountains like a soft mossy blanket on a slippery slope against the backdrop of crystal blue skies with puffy cumulus clouds... and I'd thought all of Utah was dried-out, red, and bare like an overcooked, tasteless lump of pork roast.

As soon as we turned off the paved road and hit the rocky terrain, I knew I was in for an adventure. I was being tossed in the truck like the dice in the pop-o-matic, die rolling bubble on that board game called Trouble I used to play as a kid; and at one point, our little red pickup was centrifuged, stuck on a rock with the other two cars nowhere in sight. By the time we finally made it up to our campsite, my ass hurt from squeezing it so tight for over an hour of rumble & tumble in the car, but it was all worth it. (Get your mind out of the gutter. Plus, that imagery only works if I were a gay man.) We had our little slice of heaven - a quiet, pristine lake all to ourselves surrounded by tall, majestic trees. (Okay, not majestic, but that sounds better than tall, skinny, half dead trees.)

We drank, we sang, told scary stories, and made curry over the fire in our dutch oven 'cause somebody forgot the fuel for the most awesome JETBOIL cooking system ever. (That was me.) We had too many bossy cooks, including me, and no knives to cut the half-rotten onion (that was me, also) & the potatoes. But we managed by using the 1-inch foil cutter that comes attached to the wine bottle opener (of course we'd remember the tool for the alcohol); and after about two hours of mayhem in our outdoor kitchen (very much like Hell's Kitchen if you've ever seen that show), we devoured the curry like a famished Ethiopian. In the end, we congratulated each other for the perfect meal and sat under the dazzling stars telling more ghost stories and bonding over the fire that kept us warm.

So short & sweet was the trip that I didn't need to dig a hole, but my bare bums did flash the trees a few times. Teeth didn't get brushed, no washing of the face, but did have a toasted bagel with cream cheese for breakfast. I was shocked to hear someone had brought a toaster at first & wondered who had sneaked a generator to our wilderness trip ruining my real camping experience, but I soon found out that all it was was a long handled metal box that closes at the end with hinges to put over the fire. Awesome! Too bad I didn't bring any eggs. Could've had the perfect egg-mitt bagel for breakfast.

So now, I've officially gone real camping. I'm no longer the camping virgin. But am I ready for a 3-day Fourth of July backpacking trip, meaning no cars? Hmm... does anyone know a tall, muscly dude who'd be willing to carry the extra stuff that won't fit in my pack like my tent, sleeping bag, stove, and food?

My Farming Fantasy

Ever since my road trip last summer, I've been daydreaming about living on a farm. After spending a few days on a 3-acre organic farm in Ithaca owned by Miles' best friend, and now my friends Aaron & his wife, Megan, I had a new mission in life: to find me a farm boy & to live on a farm since it would be too hard to do on my own. It was awesome to watch Aaron and his family work the land & to live off the land. (Well, kinda...Megan is a PhD student at Cornell & gets a stipend... but not a whole lot.) Our meals consisted of everything they were growing & we even had duck eggs for breakfast. It was amazing.

So for a while I researched small farms all over the country and was even thinking about moving to Oregon, specifically Corvallis, where there's a strong Agricultural Science Department at the State University & quaint farms all around. When Aaron & Megan came to SLC in January with their farm grown strawberry jam, I knew we had met for a reason. They were my catalyst for living the life of my childhood dreams, just as I had imagined when I was small watching Little House on the Prairie in the house my parents bought because I begged and begged. (It had a huge vegetable garden in the back and a half-pipe on the side for skateboarding... Sadly, both were taken out & grass put in b/c the garden went to sh*ts since none of us were farmers & too many boys came over distracting me from my studies.)

Reading Animals, Vegetables, Miracles by Barbara Kingsolver also fueled my desire; and the fact that she wrote this book while working on the farm made it even more enticing since my other childhood dream was writing a book on an old typewriter in a barn. But when the snow finally melted and I started working the land (the little patch of dirt in my backyard I set aside for my veggie garden) I realized I was in over my head. There was all this crap that took over my nice dirt area, which I subsequently found out was weed- not the kind I would've liked but the kind you have to dig out from the ground & chuck into the trash bin. So as you might recall from my earlier post, It's not who you are...but what you see, I had to bring in help from California. (No, not the Mexicans, gees... The Koreans.)

When the weeds were gone and my landscaper put in a nice, fresh new top layer of dirt called mulch, I was ready to start my little farm which was going to be a practicing ground for my real future farm out on the West Coast. The only problem was that it had been over twenty years since I'd touched dirt, and I had no idea where to begin. But not to fear. I knew a few Utah farmers who owned their own backyard farm and enlisted their help. Of course they were all busy with their own spring planting, but one was willing to lend a hand. We, meaning Shane, put up some trellises for my climbing veggies, and planted tomatoes, yellow squash, eggplant, red & green peppers, corn, watermelon, basil, rosemary, strawberries, parsley, and other cool stuff I can't remember.

I was going to be part of the new growing sector in America, the Back-to-the-Land, Slow Cookers, who not only back local foods, but grow their own organic stuff. I was ecstatic, and with my state of the art irrigation drip line, all I had to do was look forward to the gathering season when all my fruits & vegetables would be ready for my tummy.

Then as I attempted to be my own gardener mowing the lawn once every week or so (since my whining didn't bring anyone over to help), I noticed this white flaky stuff that landed all over my yard, including my little patch of farm. I ignored it thinking they were just flower petals from the neighboring trees and because they actually looked quite pretty like snowflakes on the ground. I also noticed that nothing much was happening to my newly planted crops, except for the diseased parsley that had fried in the sun. Why else would it just keel over and die since it was getting the same water & sun the other crops were getting. Then a week or two passed & I started to notice these little sprouts sprouting all over the yard, including my organic vegetable patch. I don't remember planting any bean sprouts, I thought. Then Gaby & her mom came to visit one day and told me the bad news. They were not bean sprouts but baby trees from that white flakes that fell.

Since that revelation, I've been dreading my backyard. In my excitement over living on a farm, I had glossed over Megan's complaint about having to weed all the time. I thought all I had to do was plant, water, and voila! Beautiful fruits & vegetables in the fall and late summer. Every night I'd go to sleep promising to weed the following morning before it got too hot. But no, I'd find excuses after excuses not to. I had gone underground. I started to hate the little patch of farm I started and even tried to get the Californians to come back, but my mother said, "We're not spending $500 to fly out there to weed your yard again. Sorry hon, but your father and I are going to Cancun." I always knew I was adopted! So much for the unconditional, parental love & support. I cursed my parents and I cursed Little House on the Prairie.

After hiding out & only venturing out as far as my deck for the last few weeks, I finally made myself pull out the sprouts Monday morning under the shade of my farmer's hat since I had nothing to do & was deathly bored. (I had burnt myself out entertaining way too much last week in my excitement of having the summer off.) And this morning, I went to get some cages for my tomatoes & bought some more herbs so I could start a boxed herb garden on my deck so I don't have to walk all the way out to the farm for the little basil and cilantro I seem to need on a daily basis. (Never knew how lazy I was until this stupid Back-to-the-Land fantasy began...)

Well, what d'ya know... my little patch of farm has grown in the last few days since I pulled out the weeds and cut back some of the branches from my neighbor's tree. My corn plant has grown tall (and that Miles told me it would never work!), my tomato plants are tremendous, I already have some cute little serrano peppers growing, and everything else looks robust and healthy. I could feel myself grinning ear to ear, and for a second, thought about that beautiful farm in Oregon... Not.

As much as I adore seeing my veggies grow, I've realized, I'm not a farmer. And as much as I love the idea of living on a farm, writing my memoir sitting on a hayloft in my beautiful, rundown red barn, and having mind-blowing sex with a tanned, lean, farm boy/husband, I think I've come to terms with the fact that I much rather shop local foods than grow local foods. So much for the city girl living & working on a farm.

At Home

Just got back from having a lovely brunch at the Park Cafe right by Liberty Park. What a beautiful summer day in Salt Lake City, my home. Yes, my home. Never in my dreams would I have imagined calling SLC my home, but somehow it's become just that. When I was restless & planning to leave the city a few months back, a friend said, "You know, many come here and never leave. It's a hard place to leave." To which I replied that it's in my nature to move & I'll be leaving soon. Plus, I'm a Californian and my stay here is temporary. I only came because of my ex. But as I sat across from my friend today, I realized I may just stay here forever.

As I look back on the week having entertained most of my friends on my deck, I realize how lucky I am to have met such amazing people. I adore them all. Every one of them fill me up, and I've felt more peace here than any other place I've lived. Maybe that Brigham Young guy really knew what he was talking about when he said, "This is the place!"

Even with friends, who are all fairly new friends between a few months & a few years, I'm amazed at how quickly I've become close to all of them & love having them in my life. They've become my new family in a town where I didn't know anyone, and now I understand what Tekoa meant when she said she could never leave this city because of all our friends. And that also explains why Lauren keeps coming back wanting to leave NYC for good.

I'm in love with the sweet Utahns who call cauliflower, caulaflower, and mountain, moun'un.

Becoming My Mother

So I was kinda bummed that I had no travel plans this summer, and was very jealous that Hasen, Phil, and Matt were taking off to Puerto Rico. Almost thought about tagging along to have a fling with a hot Latin man while the boys were off making googly eyes at half-naked Latinas; but I'm so glad I didn't. (Last time I decided to have a summer fling, couldn't get rid of the guy for 5 years even though I tried to break it off as soon as summer ended.) But that's not why I'm glad I didn't follow my future Latin lover. It's because I'm having so much fun just being here. I'm so tickled to death at the fact that I can get up whenever I want & do whatever I feel like that I can't even get myself to buy my ticket to San Francisco as I promised my friends.

However, it's crazy how time flies by. Summer officially started for me Monday with school being out, and already the week's almost over. Okay, it's only Wednesday, so half over...but I can already feel it slipping by. I remember as a kid how the days seemed endless... but why is it the older I get, the days seem to get shorter & shorter? My mom told me once that life goes at the speed of your age. She said I should enjoy it now because when I get to be her age, the day's over as soon as you wake up & have breakfast.

But that's exactly it! I am enjoying my days so much, it's gone before I know it. If I had nothing to do, I bet it would drag on, like if I had to sit behind a cubical all day. But doing all the stuff I've been wanting to do, which I didn't get to do because I had to work, is making my summer speed by way too fast. Life's so unfair!!!

Anyway, I realized today what a cool setup my mom's had all her adult life being married to my dad. While the poor guy went to work every day slaving over people's nasty mouths, she basically had a summer vacation that's never ended. I never realized, having traveled every summer, how nice it is to just get up every morning & not have a schedule or be anywhere in particular. I mean, I could never understand women like my mother. I thought how boring their lives must be, nothing to do but have lunch with their boring friends, play golf, & waste their life away at the mall. No ambition in life, hanging at the mercy of their spouse's income, rotting away under all their Gucci & Pradas until death finally knocks on their door. But it dawned on me this afternoon that my mother's life was flying by not because of her age, but because she's having so much fun.

She used to always say, "Rachel, why can't you be more like me!?" Meaning, why wasn't I dating doctors and lawyers instead of losers who didn't have jobs. And I'd reply, "Because I'm not a gold digger. Plus they're talented & passionate, and I want to support their work! I don't care about money & I'd rather be the breadwinner than be stuck with a money hungry a-hole!" (Not that my father is... but he's an exception to the successful career minded men.)

Not that I've changed my mind about being with a talented, passionate man, but having a summer vacation that never ends sounds fantastic right now. For example, yesterday, April & Nancy came over for lunch. Most of you know how much I adore cooking for my friends. But this was even more special because I didn't have to rush. I got to stroll over to Whole Foods with my shopping bag after I woke up & had made myself a wonderful breakfast. I decided on an Italian theme, so I bought a melon, prosciutto, grapes for the cheese, fresh greens they were putting out, fresh summer fruits, etc...I felt like I was in Europe and I had not even left Sugarhouse.

We had a fabulous meal with oven-fresh, thin crusted Italian pizza, prosciutto wrapped melon for antipasto, fresh green salad with all sorts of goodies like blueberries, and I had espresso ice cream for dessert. Nancy read my charts afterwards, and I have to say, I had one of the most delicious afternoons I've ever had. It was bella, bella, bella! I even had a siesta after they left, and then went to yoga to relax even more. Finished the day with a great movie & another fantastic meal. (Indian, from scratch.)

Today, April called me up while I was prepping to sew curtains for my sleeping area (so I can sleep in without being woken up by the bright sun) & we went to Gateway to have lunch & go underwear shopping. When I finally made it home, I got an email from the ladies in my book group inviting me over even though I had not gone in months. So I went & had a lovely evening drinking pinot noir & discussing the book I hadn't read about the good life in the 20's (the Gatsby Era) when friends got together every week to eat, drink, and be merry.

Don't think I'm gonna start hanging out at hospitals looking for my future sugar-daddy, (I much enjoy being a sugar-mama more at this point) but I'm definitely going to continue enjoying my mom's life, even if it's just for this summer, and see if I change my mind about the men, or rather, boys I like when it's all over.

I'm going to have lunch with friends I can muster up (so far I have two lined up...that's you, April & Louisa...need three more), read, play music, paint, sew, write, meditate, garden, walk, bike, and have friends over for dinner so I can finally make some of the recipes I've wanted to all year long. And if I could get Hasen to write plays, how fabulous would it be to put on plays on my deck like the English did during the summer months in the country? Or maybe I could find a projector somewhere & have movie nights in my backyard!

Pick a night or a day of the week, and I'll make us a fabulous meal. (And if you find out you weren't part of my summer dining group, too bad. That's what you get for never reading my blog.)