Polepole

Habari from Kendwa, Zanzibar!

Story 1.
One night at the Shooting Star, we sat down to dinner next to a couple from San Diego who were also on their honeymoon. A waiter appeared carrying a bottle of champagne and four glasses. As he filled my glass I asked, "Where is this from?" He replied, "My behind". It took me a moment to figure out that seated behind him were Katie and Mark, a San Francisco couple, who raised there glasses in our direction and wished us happy marriages.

Story 2.
Yesterday we went diving. We took a zodiac ride out to an island called Mnemba, about 35 minutes of smooth sailing across postcard perfect green waters. The dives were nice - I saw a really big puffer fish in a cave (hard to say, but probably about 50cm long), a lion fish, schools of unicorn fish, a turtle with tag-along remora and what I think was a really big nudibranch. In the warm patches of water on the bottom, it was 80F. I decided that the next research project I work on will be in warm water.

Story 3.
Last night, Zack took a nap and I wandered down to the beach to watch the sunset. Dhows slowly sailed by on their way home and the boats moored in the shallows turned to sillhouettes and then faded altogether. The stars came out and the lighthouse on the island across the way started blinking. The waves curled lazily onto the beach. I realized that this was the first time I had just sat. I wasn't reading, writing, playing backgammon or scrabble. I was just sitting. Finally, the thesis, wedding and moving is fading from my body. I feel calm and quiet and incredibly lazy. It's a good thing. As they say, "Polepole" - which means slowly. I'm doing my best to heed their advice.

ohboyohboyohboyohboy

i woke up this morning, rolled over and discovered z lying next to me about as relaxed as a wooden plank, eyes blinking rapidly at the ceiling. "you 'k?" i asked. his response was something along the lines of, "boingboingboingboingboing." yes, that's right, folks. we've had our last sleep in an american bed (much thanks to larsok for sleeping on the floor last night so that we could sleep in said bed) and are merely hours away from getting in the car to drive to lax. we've sorted through our bags, repacked them and i'm about to take a shower. we're in serious, serious countdown mode. to deal, z is slumped on the couch watching tv. and i'm blogging. wheee!

yes, dealing is required. it's pretty nervewracking leaving the country indefinitely with a pack of stuff and heading for a land to which you've never been. i always get a little nervous before travel - i think everyone does. unless you're going to dayton or something.

boingboingboing.

i realize that i've been so busy i've barely had time to register the fact that i'm leaving. the lovely rr was wonderful at amber on wednesday night - she was infectiously excited on our behalf. talking to her, i rememberd that i'm g-o-i-n-g t-o a-f-r-i-c-a. uh, today. yes, that'd be today that i'm g-o-i-n-g t-o a-f-r-i-c-a.

boingboingboing.

in other good news, my cold been reduced to a lovely morning cough and the occasional sneeze. i would no longer be an assett to the tenor section of a raspy-voiced choir.

my mind is spinning too much to concentrate much longer on this post. i think i'll take a shower, change into my airplane wear, finish packing my bags, call kkr+aj and twitch some more.

boingboingboing.

Ba-bye

I have been very much over the whole bay area for the last few months. More recently, I've been trying to appreciate this place as my time here diminishes. Today, I had some errands to run in Berkeley (which, I can only hope, included my last trip to REI for a long, long, long time). As I crawled toward the bridge on I-80, I had a wonderful view across the bay to San Francisco. Some combination of afternoon light and hazy fog made the city appear as a smoky grey cardboard cutout - the kind of back-drop you'd see at a high school musical. One building, over near PacHeights, looked like it was leaning at a precarious angle toward its neighboring high rise. Even I had to admit that it was pretty. Then I got cut off by a guy on a cell phone driving a Lexus SUV, sat in traffic at the toll booths, waited for the metering lights and then got buzzed by the Blue Angels while crossing the western span. It was a fine San Francisco day. Strangely enough, I think I will miss this place - or at least I will miss the convenience of stores with food that I recognize, a bus system that mainly works, a population that mainly speaks English and a multitude of friends that are only a phone call away.

In completely unrelated news, from Mr. PressingThoughts comes the following piece of wisdom: East Bay is Pig Latin for Beast.

d'oh

my new favorite picture should give everyone puase.

Wedding clothes off

In addition to the wave, the exboyfriend dance and Lumpkin getting bitten on the head, it has come to my attention that at our wedding one woman broke the strap on her dress almost leading to a janet jackson moment, and that another lost her skirt entirely during the hora. You know it's a good wedding when people are dancing so hard that they dance their clothes off.

wowzers

what a wedding! even in my most hopeful moments, i couldn't imagine that it would be *that* good. i have memories of noa spinning me around so fast amongst grinning faces that i thought i would go into orbit; my new younger brother yelling, "you only get to do this once! don't let it stop!!!"; anita telling me that i gave new meaning to circling the groom; my advisor in lipstick making fishy faces with two of my labmates; almost falling during the chair dance - twice; laughing as larry and eddie danced with the energy of four year old boys; watching my three exboyfriends dance and bow, love so evident on their faces; singing "son of a rabbi-man" to my father-in-law as we danced; miryana losing her voice; the face on my mum as she was hoisted in a chair, her arms upraised in exultation; my dad's hand appearing with a handkerchief while zack spoke to me; throwing back my head and screaming "WOOHOO!!!" again and again and again. it was awesome - in the true meaning of that word.

Geographical clarification

Just to be clear, we are not planning a trip to Tasmania. Nope. We're going to Tanzania - as in that country in Africa. Seems that at least one person (you know who you are) was a little confused - especially when I blathered on about warm tropical beaches. There aren't so many of those in Tasmania. Also, you won't find the Serengetti or Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tasmania. If you want to see those, you're better off going to Tanzania. Like us. In a very short period of time. Boy do we have a lot to do.... Now, back to working on my thesis defense...

Pick an Island ... Any Island ...

Z and I are reconsidering our travel options. Plan A will take us to Palau for two weeks at an incredible expense, then to Oz and SE Asia, with a "final" destination of India. Trouble is that - at this very late date - I have realized that I don't really want to go to Oz nor to SE Asia. India sounds OK but not exciting. Instead, I'm interested in the other side of the world: Turkey, Morocco, Egypt, Jordan, Madagascar, Mozambique, Zanzibar, Ethiopia... While we talk about getting to Africa and the Middle East eventually, I worry that we will run out of money before we make it to the places that I really want to go. While I've felt this for a while, it all came to a head yesterday. Perhaps it was learning that my god-parents just decided to come to the wedding (best frackin' news in a while!) thereby reducing the number of people to see in Oz by two. Unfortunately, all this last-minute questioning has turned Z into a lump under the covers; he's a little stressed out about having another thing to think about. I'm trying to figure out if there's another beautiful island that we could honeymoon on - y'know, one with white sand beaches, warm tourmaline waters and a cloudless cobalt sky - for less than the cost of our trip to Palau. We aren't really interested in roughing it - we even want to make reservations so that we don't have to lug our backpacks through the tropical heat in search of a room. The island could be anywhere - really, anywhere. As long as it doesn't cost us a quarter of our money to get there.

So, know any islands we should consider? When you dream about escaping it all, where do you imagine going? Help please!

Twitterpated

I had a plan. It went something like: submit first draft of thesis to advisor on day before advisor goes into the field where he has no access to e-mail and therefore no way to contact me; enjoy a relaxing ten days off from thesis-writing because there's really nothing to be done until advisor returns. This plan started to go awry when I finished chapter two early enough to give it to advisor five days before his departure. Then I finished chapter one a day early and sent it in. The plan began to unravel further when I received chapter two back before he left. The plan came completely undone when I discovered chapter one sitting in my inbox last night. I guess he got to e-mail before he got to the island. There goes my ten days of no-thesis-writing-luxury.

What's really astonishing is that upon reviewing the manuscripts, I've realized how little work I have left to do. It might take a day to finish up chapter one and a few more to make changes to chapter two. That means I'll have them back to him when he gets back, therefore not giving him a break just like he didn't give me one. Given how quickly he's able to turn these things around, it's likely that I'll be able to send a draft to my committee by the end of the month. And, here's the really big news, defend my thesis before the wedding.

Yes, that's right: I think I'll be able to defend my thesis before the wedding.

Do you have any idea how phenomenally fantastically awesomely wonderful that would be??? I would be DONE, almost completely, before the wedding. Afterwards, I would have some formatting to take care of and some printing up and turning in of the final thing. But that's it. There wouldn't be any more stress and panic. That part would be over. Over as in done. Done as in no more. As in over. Gasp.

This realization left me all twitterpated last night: I felt like someone was running a light electric current through my innards. After realizing just how wound up I was and that Z's deep-breating-hippy-visualization did nothing to calm the rising nervous excitment, I took half a xanax. I slept fairly well but when I woke up, I was A-wake.

Oh my. Done. What a wonderful sound that word has to it.

Unelation

My new favorite quote:

Give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day. Give a man a religion and he'll starve to death praying for a fish. ~Judith Bandsma


Speaking of fish, I just sent the first draft of my thesis to my advisor. I'm strangely unelated. I think the pain in my shoulders, hands, elbows, wrists and neck has detracted from the experience somewhat.

Kaya just got back from a few weeks with Roberto. She appears unelated to be home. Now she's whining at Zack. Great.

I'm going to go eat (faux) ice cream in celebration. Whoo.

For the best?

When I need to take a break from fish statistics, papers and writing, I go on-line. I like to read friends' blogs and check out the www.sfgate.com Day in Pictures. Lately, none of you (and you know who you are) have been bloggin very often, leaving me with a very limited suite of procrastination options. While I would like to curse you all, I realize it's actually for the best. And like most things that classify as, "for the best" it totally sucks.

(Anyone who points out that this counts as procrastination can shove it.)

Bitterness - not mine

My heart spits at their version of love.

- Arm tattoo, J-line

Discrepancy

On Sunday, we sat on Pemberbutt's roof admiring the fact that we were sitting in the sunshine while being surrounded by fog. We could see that our house was right where the fog began to evaporate as it poured over twin peaks. This morning, up at Kite Hill, I sat right on that fog line. I was bathed in hazy sunlight; the city below was brightly lit; the houses 50 yards behind me were shrouded in fog.

On my way down from Kite Hill, I noticed a man standing on the sidewalk with his dog, staring across the street. I followed his gaze to see about eight green-bodied, read-headed parrots hanging out in a cypress tree in someone's front yard. It's strange enough to see such bright tropical birds in this cold, windy city when they are sitting in a eucalypt - but when they're in a cypress, it's even stranger.

First Grade Math

Good lord, am I ever sick of looking at otoliths and counting rings! It's all I've been doing for a couple of weeks: counting. At this point, I think that I have proved my ability to count - well, at least to about 30. This is a good thing considering I turn 30 next year. It does not, however, bode well for any future birthdays - though getting stuck at 30 can't be a bad thing.

I can even count repeatedly for hours at a time while leaning over a computer and pointing at lines on the screen. How I highlight this valuable skill on my resume beats me. Perhaps it goes under the section, "Ability to apply first grade mathematics"?

And to think that I turned down another project (one that has since received much funding) because it required that I watch video footage in a dark room. That's right, I didn't want to spend hours in a darkened room. Instead, I took on a project that involves spending hours and hours and hours in a darkened room crouched over a screen. This has lovely side effects like waking up this morning feeling as if someone had been pummeling me in the back all night. (Z, do we need to talk?)

It's enough to drive a woman completely mad. Raving mad. Loony. Nutsy cookoo.

In other counting news, I am so much happier now that I have only two things on my plate. Yes, wedding + thesis is quite manageable. Wedding + thesis + coursework + middle school is not, as it turns out, a feasible work load. Well, it's possible to do it all but at a cost of sanity, vivacity, and happiness. Not quite the price I want to pay as I am of the opinion that sanity + vivacity + happiness = good life. And I would like to have a good life, thank you very much.

In other very happy news I found a pair of shoes for the wedding. As pottyparty pointed out, this is more of an accomplishment than finding a dress. Not only do the shoes work with the dress, but I also happen to really like them. And they fit. Added bonus that last part.

And now, back to the one ... two ... three ... four ...

Oof.

Afoot Change Is

Things are changing here at a rapid pace.

1. I have started to eat red meat. I grew up vegetarian and didn't try red meat until a few years ago when I had a bite of someone else's steak. Since then, I've had a bite here, a taste there. Last week, I ordered lamb. Yes, a plate of lamb all to myself. It was phenomenally good! Last night I had meatballs for the first time ever. They were also exceptional. Both times my meal has been accompanied by a drink, so it's hard to tell if the high I feel is associated with the alcohol or the red meat. What I am sure of, however, is that red meat is really, really good. Why did I wait 29 years to eat this stuff???

2. I'm about to turn down an all-expenses paid (plus $600 stipend) trip to Belize. Yes, you did read that right. Perhaps it will help if you understand that I would not be going alone, but would be trip leader for a group of thirteen 8th grade girls. The trip sounds great - lots of hiking, canoeing, spelunking, horseback riding (as opposed to horsestomach riding?), snorkeling and exploring. At the end, we would spend about three days on a caye (small island) at a marine station where I would teach marine biology. It's a dream job for me. But the timing is impossibly bad. See, there's this thing I'm working on at the moment called a thesis (THEE-sus). It takes a lot of time. And there's also a plan involving a marriage and a departure of these united states. If I go to Belize for 11 days, I risk delaying the plan again. A certain man in my life would be very much less than thrilled by any further delays. I think this may be the first time that I have made a decision for a relationship that's at direct odds with what I would do were I single. Welcome to the world of compromise and long-term relationships. Ultimately, the decision comes down to this: 11 days of exhausting but fun activities in Belize and a summer of incredible stress with no time to spare for fun OR passing on the fun in Belize, taking a couple of long weekend backpacking trips, working on my thesis at a less-than-frantic pace, not risking another delay to our departure, and getting to see friends on evenings and weekends. Sigh. See? There's one right answer here.

3. I am done with classes and teaching at middle school. What a fucking relief! I loved my classes and I usually loved teaching, but I'm really ready to have two things on my plate and two things only: thesis (THEE-sus) and wedding (WEH-ding).

4. Kaya is going to spend the weekend with Roberto, her probable future owner. I'm dropping her off at his home in Sausalito this afternoon. I feel strangely nervous - like a mother on the first day of school. I hope she won't get into any fights or throw up on the couch.

5. I am thinking about careers. This was spurred on by the realization that one of us in this couple should give some thought to earning a decent salary at some point in our life. If you know Z at all, you'll realize that that someone needs to be me. I'm once again considering a Ph.D. and future professordom. Perhaps you should start calling me doctor now so that I have time to get used to it. (Does that sound kinky or is it just me???)

6. I think we're all growing up. Last night, I had dinner with A&A who are leaving for at least a year SE Asia next week. Over dinner we chatted about what it's like to grow up. I feel like my parents' generation tended to get married younger and tended to have few jobs (the exception being my dad). Despite our resistence, my generation is getting married and talking about/having children and buying houses. I just don't know what "settling" down will look like for us. It's all so very much up in the air, and will be for quite some time. It's exciting and also a little confusing.

As for right now, I think I'll dream about settling back with a rum-filled glass on a beach in a beautiful tropical location without thirteen 8th grade girls.

The beginning

This morning, like every other morning, I brushed my hair. One hair in particular caught my eye because it was so very blonde - kinda white-blonde. Later, Z came and said good-bye. He stopped mid-sentence and stared at something on my head. I instantly knew that that hair was not in fact blonde: it was grey. My first grey hair.

My Dad only started going grey when he hit his 50's. He and I both have very fine, dead straight hair. My mum, on the other had, was white by her mid-20's. She has thick, wiry hair that's ranged in color from blonde to auburn to brown (all natural). I figured that because I had my dad's hair and was not yet grey, I had a long life of hair color before me. Perhaps it is not to be.

I know, I know - it's just *one* hair. And yet, there's nothing "just" about discovering a grey hair. It is one of the many "grown-up" things are happening to me this year. They don't add up to me feeling like an adult, though. I wonder when that will happen. Perhaps with the third grey hair?

Twoo Wuv

A few weeks ago, we were awoken early by a shrill beep followed by a silence long enough that I thought I'd imagined the noise. Kaya, who hates the sound of fire alarms, immediately came over to wake me up and cower by the bed. The second beep assured me that yes indeed, our alarm was low on batteries. I got up and removed the fire alarm from the ceiling, stumbled sleepily with it to the kitchen only to discover that it had no batteries in it. Confused, I went back to bed.

BEEEEEEP.

Then I remembered that we also have a carbon monoxide alarm in the bedroom. I pulled out the foot stool again to retrieve alarm number two from the ceiling. A very anxious Kaya followed me to the kitchen as if to make sure that I pulled all the batteries out of that awful, shrieking thing.

We finally replaced the batteries last week. Last night as I lay in bed unwinding from the day, Z noticed the comforting green light of our now functioning carbon monoxide alarm.

"At least we know we won't die of carbon monoxide poisoning during the night," he commented.

There was a pause as my mind whirred. Then I began to laugh.

"I wonder how many times you'd have to fart to set off the carbon monoxide alarm?" I asked. "Could you hot box a room? What about if you farted directly onto it?"

Laughing, we traded fart stories until we fell asleep. Aaah, true love.

(This post dedicated to my dear friend Kevmo. For some reason, talking about farting onto carbon monoxide alarms made me think of you.)

My best John Hancock

I just returned from downtown, specifically 630 Sansome Street where I met with a very nice lady at the INS. It was my citizenship interview and test at the ungodly hour of 8:20am. Actually, it's very good (from "godly") that i was scheduled so early as it meant little time for lengthy delays to build up.

She, the very nice lady, asked me many questions like: What's your name? Where were you born? Have you ever been a member of the communist party? Would you like to listed as 5'5" tall or 5'6" tall on your naturalization form? and Which was the 49th state? I got all of the questions right, even that last one. The only thing I had trouble with was signing my name.

Yes, signing my name.

It turns out that my actual signature is (and I quote) "too complicated" for the INS. I need to write my name out - all of it. But not like that! It needs to be in cursive, with all of the letters connected. The first time I tried this, I was told that I was printing my name though it was as good a cursive rendition of my name as I've ever done. I was given a blank piece of paper and told to practice. Practice! My signature! My *new* signature. I eventually got it right.

And that's it. They will contact me in one to two months with the date of my swearing-in ceremony. And then, I will be an American (and an Australian and a Brit). I still don't know how I feel about that.

A friend of mine - someone who shares my political values and with whom I often get into rants aobut the current state of affairs - learned yesterday that I had this test this morning. We got into a discussion about the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and its Preamble. She finds these documents to be eloquent and just, and she believes that the ideas upon which the US was founded were fantastic. Since then, however, she said that democracy and republican government have become synonymous with capitalism resulting in things going to hell. Her patriotism was the first I've been able to stomach and to agree with.

Oh my. Look at that. I almost - *almost* - sound patriotic. I better stop writing.

Having your cake

Z and I went to our first cake tasting on Saturday. The cake maker was someone that one of my stepmum's patients had recommended and we were pretty excited because the cake was actually affordable. Plus, free cake! I mean, really, what could be bad about free cake?

Well, it turns out that lots can be bad about free cake. We arrived right on time, astonishing considering that we had to budget for the vagaries of bridge and 101 traffic. And we didn't even have to do a single u-turn. Things were looking good.

We were shown past the ceramic cherubs on the front porch into the baker's commercial-grade kitchen at her house. She asked us all sorts of questions about the kind of cake we want - flavors, design, how many tiers, what kind of frosting, flowers or not, etc.. To all of these questions we provided answers laden with uh's, er's, um's and we think's. Yeah, we had no clue.

Then she brought out the cake - four different kinds plus two small tubs of frosting. There was carrot, lemon, white and chocolate, plus chocolate chip and custard frostings. All of the cakes had different fillings. They all tasted like ass. And let me tell you, there's only one thing worse than eating bad cake: eating bad cake while seated two feet from the person who made the cake, a person who is intently watching your every move. In a valiant attempt to be nice, Z asked me which cake I liked best. For the record, this tactic was only nice to the cake maker and incredibly un-nice to me. I stuttered something about the lemon because it actually had flavor. My all-time favorite kind of cake is chocolate and raspberry. Knowing this, Z had asked the cake maker to bake us such a sampling. I have never tasted such raspberryless raspberry frosting. Blech! While we sampled and muttered, "Mmm's" the cake maker talked about how much she loved baking - she's been making cakes for 29 years. Her husband recently began to talk about retirement but, she explained, she can't imagine not making cakes. It's really what she loves to do. It's a pity that her cakes suck.

To be fair, I'm sure that there's someone out there who probably loves that kind of cake. We are not those someones. As we left, we agreed that were we to be given a slice of such a cake at a wedding, we would take one bite and put it down.

As we finished nibles, she asked us if we would like to take the remainder of the cake with us. Zack shot me a look and said yes - we couldn't really say, "No, ma'am, because we think your cake sucks.". Later that night, we brought the cake out for Z's sister and brother-in-law. Everyone agreed that equivalent cake can be found in your local Safeway deli section. I guess you pay for what you get - meaning that we're going to be paying a lot more for cake.

*************************************

On an entirely different note, I overheard the following while walking across campus today:

There's a difference between starting a war and starting a holocaust.

Adding the word, "Discuss" to the end of this would make for a great essay test question.

The List

Again last night, for probably the twentieth night in a row, I had trouble falling asleep; my mind was clinging to The List. The List contains all the things that need to get done between last week and October. Items get added to it at a far faster rate than they get removed resulting in what feels like exponential growth. Come to think of it, it probably is growing exponentially because every single item added triggers a small landslide of other items that Must Be Done. It is so overwhelming that sometimes when I think about it, I get the mental equivalent of the Blue Screen of Death. It's either that or I achieve sudden Enlightenment, though the severe back, jaw and neck tension seem to indicate the former. Some malfunctioning part of my brain seems caught in an eternal loop through the items, repeating them to ward against forgetfulness. Z appears to have the same problem, at least when he's not snoring. Last night I suggested that it might be helpful if we wrote everything down. He laughed, pointing out that it is about a billion items long. The world does not contain that many post-it notes and we do not have enough wall space.

I usually try to replace thoughts of The List with images from an imagined life after October - an after-life of sorts. I usually place myself on a warm beach under a warm sun next to a warm ocean. Invariably, something in these images takes me back to The List. For example, Z leans over to rub sunscreen into my back as the birds sing and--- don'tforgettoaddsunscreentothepackinglist which reminds me that weshouldgetourwebpageregisterysiteforourhoneymoonup and before I know it, I've left the serenity of the beach and am instead scrolling through a list of wedding guest accomodation options.

I cannot wait for October. How all this shit is going to get done between now and then is anybody's guess. Sometimes I'm reassured by the fact that it will all get done because, quite simply, it has to. At other times, I can't see how I'm going to complete next week's assignments, let alone my entire thesis. I find myself doing things like walking Kaya up the hill chanting, "I have so much to do, I have so much to do, I have so much to do." This is not helpful at all.

Perhaps it's time to rediscover all those meditation practices that I grew up with. It's definitely time for something - perhaps another cup of tea.