A universal language

Friday was a beautiful day, and I was ... well, a little frazzled from the week.  So I played hooky.  I drove away to explore, and then I put on shorts (gasp! the girl's legs are white!) and took a walk around the neighborhood.  The walk included a stop by a nail salon that I'd gotten a recommendation for, and I sank into that massage chair with a sigh, since it's been entirely too long.  You know it's been too long when the girl looks at your toes and says, "you cut nails yourself?"  Yeah, so ignore the mangled mess.


I pulled out my knitting, which is infinitely preferable to the inane magazines that the woman next to me was analyzing in depth with her daughter.  I'm used to a few odd looks when I pull out knitting in public, but the nail stylist at the chair next to mine was out and out staring.  To the point I was uncomfortable.  To the point I was glad she wasn't doing my nails, she was so distracted.  She said a quiet, "me likey" when our eyes met, but didn't know much English, and that was the extent of the conversation.  Finally she finished the nails of the woman sitting next to me, smiled at me, and disappeared.  I heaved a sigh of relief, and settled into the pampering and the rhythm of the stitches.  A few minutes later, however, she reappeared, with a handful of yarn and a pair of knitting needles.  She came over to stand beside me and look over my shoulder, went away to sit and try a few stitches, and came back with her yarn and a pad of paper, on which I wrote the simple lace pattern I was working, and demonstrated a couple of iterations.  We didn't speak a common language, but we did - I finished the scarf this week, and will be mailing it to its recipient this week.  I'm curious to see if she's started something along those lines next time I go in for a pedicure.  It was a really magic pedicure.

The wispy scarf.

My first lace project.

Things that move...

Not quite a year later, and I find it incredibly ironic that my last post in DC was about an earthquake I didn't feel. In the time since, I've driven myself and that cat across country, to northern California, where I live on a fault line, and have felt quite a few earthquakes in the past four months.

The past year life has moved pretty fast.

I (didn't) feel the Earth move.

This morning the ground shook. The nation's capital had an earthquake this morning, and I slept right through it. That cat didn't, though, it freaked her out. She went berserk, running around the apartment, racetrack style, yowling. To be fair, sometimes she does this because she thinks I need to take a circuit and check the perimeter - at least, she settles down after I get out of bed and walk around. But not last night, she was not a happy camper. After checking the clock and seeing the number 5 at the front, neither was I. I convinced her - or yelled at her - and she contented herself with curling up right next to me as I rolled over. And for the next four hours, sleeping or waking, she was right there. It was only after I got to work and saw the news that I put it all together.

Poor fur, her mama's so oblivious. And planning to spend all morning tomorrow rolling over.

BNYC 2ME

That was a license plate I saw near the office last week. I thought, at first, that it was a plea based on the driving mentality of the DC area (see earlier post). It then occurred to me that the spelling could go two ways. Maybe the driver was looking for a nicer world. Alternatively, the spelling could indicate the driver's heritage - and no one who calls New York City home is looking for a more friendly driving experience. Nope, that driver is looking for commuting cohorts who know how to use the horn, and that driving slow in the left-hand lane is a cardinal sin.

In the end, I have no idea what that license plate is meant to say. I just know that one way, you've got a driver who should be living somewhere else, and another, an accident waiting to happen. Either way, it's a pretty stupid plate.

Road Warrior

As I was driving home yesterday (and that's still weird to say), I was struck by the lessons I've learned from driving in DC. During my car-free days, I was a hesitant driver, mostly because I was unused to it, or unused to the speed that was involved in not being on public transportation. There was also a healthy recognition that any vehicle I was driving was not mine, and damages are expensive. I'm overcoming that hesitancy, however, and not necessarily in a good way.

Blocking the Box. It took getting passed in the intersection twice, but I've learned that when turning left, you sit in the middle of the intersection, so that, at the very least, you can turn when the light turns red.

Kiss my Bumper. The idea of leaving a car length between myself and the vehicle ahead makes me smile indulgently at the naivete of non-city drivers. If there's enough space for a car, then a car is coming over, so ride that bumper, friend. This does, of course, lead to...

Doing the Jerk. Between following too closely, and the drivers who change lanes whether there's room or not, DC driving is an exercise in stop and start - even at 50 mph. It's a good thing I showed up early for the Prius brake recall.

Serenity Now! Whether it's a day of getting stuck behind cars moving 5mph slower than you want to be going, the guy who honks at you when you don't turn between the two Mac trucks, or the scatterbrain who almost changed lanes into the side of your new car, keeping your inner calm is a struggle. It's worth the effort, however, as I've noticed a marked change in fuel consumption depending on my mood. Because when you're angry, stomping on the accelerator and speeding away just feels good.

I know I said, "let's take a break," but...

Um, hi, Snooze-button? It's me. Look, I know I said we should take a break, that you weren't good for me, and I'd be better off without you. Here's the thing - I can't really hack it without you. Work is busy and the alarm is set for 5am. We've sprung forward, and it's dark outside. I need you. So let's give it another go, and see if we can't find a healthier balance, ok? Because I still can't use you as a crutch for an hour each morning, but it turns out I can't just leap out of bed, either.

The cost of free food.

I had a volunteer meeting tonight, for which I raced out of the office. Ok, I still left half an hour later than intended, but when my client told me, "I'll only keep you for half an hour more..." I told him he had 15 minutes. It was worth it when I made it in time to grab a pre-meeting beer with fellow volunteers. All that stress and hurry, however, to listen to a large man with a girlishly high-pitched voice talk for an hour in front of PowerPoint slides that were pictures of forms.

I wonder what folks would say if I just went for the pre-meeting beer and then skipped the meeting?

I didn't turn my phone ringer back on until I was home, so I missed the call that came in while chatting with the neighbor. An unfamiliar number greeted me, along with the voicemail, "hey, it's (stupid male), you gave me your number a week ago... what's up?" What's up is that more than a week ago I maybe thought you should call me, but more than a week later, I'm pretty sure I don't care. And don't any of you out there tell me to give him a chance, that I'm too hard on those poor men-folk. Every time I cave to someone else's "just give him a chance" urgings I regret it. I don't think it's unreasonable to expect a call inside of a week. Also, I wasn't too sure I wanted to give him my digits in the first place - that's two times uncertain, and dating is not a three-strike ball game.