Wide and random

The last two weeks have been a blur. There has been work (boo hiss!) and photo shoots (woot!) and this.   I have let my 365 photo project lag along with my various blogs. I have been sick. (Hack, hack!)

I am exhausted.

Which means I am totally ready for our upcoming vacation to the U.K. and for using my rented wide-angle on the English countryside and streets of London.

This is me playing around the house with the Tokina 11-17mm.





















I adore it. I can totally tell I will be a wide-angle-obsessed photographer. I love the distortion, the inclusiveness, the freedom in small spaces. I think it's entirely likely that I will not take it off my camera at all in England. I just feel that photos with a wide-angle lens have a certain majesty. Maybe subjective, but that's just me.

Oh and wish us luck on a 10 hour flight each way with Ms. Daisy. Actually, pray for us... we're gonna need it!

Game ON.

Cripes. What a 7 days it's been!

Since the last time I posted: Daisy turned two, went to her very first theme park and had her first day at pre-school; our new couch arrived; and I got the opportunity to cross yet another bucket-list item off.

Let me elaborate on the latter.

I'm grabbing my purse on Wednesday afternoon, getting ready to pick Daisy up from school for the very first time. I had butterflies in my tummy, Hubby was antsy, and both of us were a little groggy from an impromptu afternoon snooze on the new couch. (We took the day off - we don't slack like that on work days.)

My phone rang and I saw that it was my L.A. friend, E (of The Gurly Life fame). My first thought was: "Oh, how sweet, she called to see how Daisy was doing." So I picked up.

"Weeeeeeeeeeell..." she said, at length. "Remember that contest you told me to enter for a trip up the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu?"

"Uh, huh," I said, absentmindedly. My brain was on my kid waiting for me in the school yard, so I admit I wasn't 100% tuned in. Plus, it was an odd beginning to a conversation - like it started in the middle. So, I was thrown.

"Weeeeeeeell..." E said again, waiting for me to take the bait.

Slowly, the cogs in my mine turned and I tried to switch gears from Momma to friend. Which is when I stopped at my front door. "No way! You won!?"

"Way. I won! And you're coming with me!"

{GULP}

That's right, folks. My friend won a 4-day trek up the Inca Trail and I am to be her plus one!

Right about now you're thinking that I'm all kinds of lucky and am not going to deny this but let me pick out one word that should bring you up short, as it did me: TREK.

trek/trek/

Verb: Go on a long arduous journey, typically on foot.

Arduous. On foot. And they're not kidding. Here is a description of the trip from the tour provider's website, Global Basecamps.

Inca Trail Classic
This is the classic four-day trek along the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. This magnificent hike is for travelers who are in condition to hike up to ten hours, with breaks, in a single day. The pace may be daunting for some...

Um, did I forget to mention that, in an ironic stroke of fate, both E and I share the same hip and S.I. joint issues? We even had the same hip surgery, within 3 months of one another. When we go on our legendary photo jaunts, one of us invariably has to sit down to rest our back at some point - and I'm talking after an hour or so. 

So, hiking for ten hours a day, at a "daunting" pace does not sound like something either of us are cut out for.

Funnily enough, when I suggested she enter the competition (which is something I frequently ask my friends to do - enter vacation sweepstakes in case they win and decide to take me) we exchanged laffs on Facebook about how it was totally likely that one of us would win because, you know, we can barely walk some days, let alone hike.

Yeah. Funny. That's the word.

Further, the winner's email that E received, mentions that the trip includes the following:

• Camping Equipment:
• Spacious North Face tents
• Dining tent
• Toilet tent, tables and chairs
• Oxygen bottle
• Cooking equipment. 

Like we should be soooo relieved that there is a tent for pissing in.

I'm sorry but I just can't help but have visions of sitting in the toilet tent, half-dead after ten hours of hiking, hugging my oxygen bottle.

So, not only will be hiking 10 hours a day but we'll be sleeping our bad backs on the floor, in a tent, and going potty in a toilet presumably small enough to carry up a mountain.

Did I mention E and I also don't like to rough it?

But I say this all in jest (well, not totally, I am a bit concerned) because, really, who gets this opportunity placed in their lap? Not everyone. And if you know anything about me, you'll know that I'm up for a challenge, especially when it comes to traveling. If it means I have to hire a personal trainer to get my sore ass in shape, just so I can make it up that hill, then that is what I am going to do. Machu Picchu is on my (as yet to be revealed/completed/published) bucket list and, dammit, I am going to scale that mountain, take my awesome pictures and come back victorious (or paralyzed... one or the other.)

GAME ON!

Image Courtesy of http://www.travelphant.com/2010/05/manchu-picchu.html

You can read E's amusing account of her epic win here: http://thegurlylife.typepad.com/gurly/2011/04/machu-pichu-really.html

What a difference a week makes!

Last Thursday I took pictures of the rain (see here)

This Thursday, bright sunshine and new little buds on the trees.

Mother nature has been seriously PMS'ing this year!

It's raining, it's pouring!

Yes, still.

Finally, I said "I've had it!" I grabbed my camera at lunch time, threw on my rain coat, and went out to practice trying to make the wet stuff look pretty.










I would have preferred an urban environment with people and umbrellas but there ya go. You take what you've been given.

You can see a few more pics here

Things that go dry in the night

A couple of weeks ago I had a really stupendous head cold. It was a real doozie. Sinus pain (yes, not just pressure but actual pain) like you would not believe and orifices that continuously dripped all kinds of nasty junk. It crept up on me and then, it seemed, disappeared after a few days.

Except it didn't disappear. It just migrated to my chest.

I now have a cough. It's not that bad and I must hack no more than five or six times all day. If you spent the day with me, you'd think I was just clearing my throat. No big deal.

But come the nighttime, well that's a different matter. I can sit in bed and read for a full hour without coughing once and then, as soon as I turn the light off to go to sleep? WHAMMY, this dry, prickly, tickley cough assaults me out of nowhere. I try sitting up, laying on my side, drinking lots... but it takes a while to dissipate.

Unfortunately, last Friday night and then again last night it did not. I had to get up and come downstairs to cough into a pillow (because, you know, you don't want to wake your toddler.) And finally, I had to admit defeat and take some Robitussin.

Cough medicine - pretty much any cold/flu medication - is an absolute last resort for me. It makes me drowsy and woosey for 24 hours after just one dose. So now I feel like someone stuffed cotton wool in my head and then made me down several shots of brandy. I am all warm inside, yawn constantly, and often find myself staring blankly into a void for minutes at a time.

So, I did stop coughing and finally got to sleep around midnight but the price to pay will be trying to power through a webinar presentation for 25 people this morning, when all I want to do is drop to the floor, close my eyes and drift into a morning snooze.

My gray hairs

If you've hung out with me in person over the last month, you're no doubt groaning about the title of this post. Because you've heard it. You've seen it. You've practically communed with it. But if we're just online pals then you're still sweetly innocent and an open book upon which I can paint my woe.

I. AM. GOING. GRAY.

{sad face}

I'm not just talking one stray hair somewhere, I'm talking about a broad smattering of silvery-white hairs, speckled throughout my head.

Now this may elicit nothing more than a shrug of the shoulders from you. Which I kinda get because us women tend to obsess about the aging process all the time. We see every little wrinkle, every little blemish, every little hair out of place and then we run out and purchase expensive creams that we are convinced will reverse the aging process when, in fact, we could probably rub a jar of Vaseline into our crow's feet and get the same effect.

Going gray is kinda like that. You see a gray hair, you freak out, you color it, you move on.

I'm not moving on.

I have tried.

For some reason, this is a BIG DEAL to me. I am wholly disappointed in my body.  I'm not exactly the world's most physically vain person. It's not like I'm a girl who can't have her husband see her without make-up, or won't leave the house without mascara. I live in yoga paints most days, rarely wear make-up, and have given up heels except for parties. So, I consider myself pretty down-to-earth and, these days, practical about this skin I live in. But, still... I am not ready.

In my 30s I expected the beginnings of crow's feet, frown lines, a more squishy physique, some aches and pains, a lesser ability to survive a night on the town... I realized all of these things would creep up on me. And they have been creeping. I've noted the change. I'm not surprised.

Yet I was not expecting gray for at least another 10 years. I mean, what woman in your 30s do you ever see running around with gray hair? Ok, maybe one in those third-world countries where they've got sun-leathered skin, been through civil war, and endured starvation. Clearly, not me, however.

My point is: it's much too early.

And too much, too fast.

One minute I'm examining this odd, shiny hair catching the light at the top of my scalp, the next minute I'm staring at a bunch of them appearing throughout my hair, no matter where I part it. It was literally within the course of a few weeks that this change occurred. Literally. I do not exaggerate.

Of course, I am going to color it out. None of that box color, either. I don't want this left to chance. I need a professional and I'm off to my hairdresser next week to take care of it, don't you worry your pretty head. I just wonder what would happen if I let it grow out naturally. I mean, would I be completely gray by 40? Yikes, maybe sooner?

Part of me is curious to find out, in peculiarly masochistic way. Perhaps I could start a trend?

Yeah, ok, I'm not much of a trend setter these days. Plus, I would likely punch out the first woman who asked me how old my "granddaughter" is. (People say the most bizarre things to you when you have a kid, so I would not be surprised. I've already been asked if Daisy is adopted because she's blond. SERIOUSLY!)

No doubt, after posting this, I will get a slew of comments from women telling me all about their gray hairs in an attempt to make me feel 'normal' again. (Or not, in which case, reason to panic.) Yet, the thing about that is: if it's so freakin' normal then why am I so unprepared?

Perhaps it's because almost everyone colors their hair these days. Who really knows what natural hair color is under those highlights? Perhaps it's because the aging process is an almost taboo subject for many women? Who knows. But nobody and nothing prepared me to go gray this early.

I am sideways about this. Completely sideways.

I will put this in the box of life experiences I plan to better prepare my own daughter for. I've got a list. I'll share it some day.

Random in the Hood

It rained again today. As I said yesterday, it's going to be raining for a while. So when, by a stroke of luck, the clouds parted right at mid day, I seized the opportunity to head out for a walk with my camera.

We live in your typical suburban track, circa 1980. You know, 4-5 home plans, now slightly disguised by years of home improvement (or neglect) and grown-in vegetation. It's a relatively nice neighborhood that backs onto a large greenbelt and sees it's fair share of wildlife but it also has it's share of funkiness.

So, here it is... my Hood.

One of the nicer pathways leading up to my favorite home on our street


A little patriotism.


I call this "Shabby Chic" outside


We have a thing with rocks around here. (Don't even get me started on the volume of river rock that has been carted out of our own back yard!)






There are fun little inlets to wild little areas you dare not go


We love our bike lanes that lead right down to the American River bike trail. Can't wait to get out there this summer!


Large palms mingle with cypress trees and pines


The changeable weather has brought an early spring to front yards




Then there is our equivalent of the Christmas fairy lights that never come off the front porch - the Holiday mail box wrap. There's another one several blocks away of a snowman


And finally, the funky-colored homes that really "elevate" the hood

The "Whoah-Nelly!" blues




The baby-poop monotones


And finally the Easter Egg House (not just themed for the season, sadly.)


Oh, but who could forget the "cute" planters. (As if we need FAKE dogs in this neighborhood of 2 canines per house.)


Two for the road - some fun details from my own front yard




And there you have it.

What did I realize on my walk? My neighborhood is not very inspirational to me. I was pretty bored taking these shots. I was pretty bored looking at them. Thank goodness for the digital editing process that made them look a lot more vibrant than they actually were.

Random at Starbucks

It was a DREARY day in the hood today and the forecast aint looking much better for the next week. Ugh. It's the kind of weather that, if I was without-child, I would use as an excuse to curl up on the sofa with my box of tissues (because, you know, to make matters better, I have a KILLER head cold) and watch chick-flicks, while drinking hot chocolate. Sigh... I dream.

However, I have a 2 year old who is having none of that and who has been home all day.

And so, we go to Starbucks.

First, to mentally stimulate said 2 year old. Second, to pump some caffeine into her parents so they can make it through the rest of the night. And, lastly, because Mummy can bring her camera and snap some photos that don't involve the dreaded 3200ISO that is required in our living room.

Meanwhile, Hubby is waiting for an important call for one of his deals.



The impatient foot... tap, tap!



Yes, it's THAT wet.



BISCUITS!



Looking for trouble (which she found, near an electrical socket. Super!)



Do we know how to have fun around here!!!

Actually, yes we do.

Because we couldn't enter the house without some puddle-jumping. Daisy said "Puddles Daddy!" Daddy said "No, let's go inside, it's wet!" and Mummy said "Oh what the hell!" (Of course, I was thinking about the photo opportunities.)

Random Monday - dreams and parties

A dream remembered

Last night I had a very vivid dream. Back when I was pregnant I had all sorts of crazy dreams that I would wake up and retell but I so very rarely remember them these days that I just had to post this one.

So, I was a rookie lawyer, in Manhattan. I assume it was Manhattan of the somewhat-future because my office was on the {gulp} 680th floor. (Clearly 9/11 was far back in the rear view mirror.) I had replaced another female lawyer at this hip law firm, who had been found to be sleeping with the boss. (Tsk, tsk!) 


Immediately upon my arrival, I began being hit on by co-workers and - get this - good looking judges, the latter of which I made a date with - something that got me a pat on the back from my firm's owner. 

In the middle of one of my key meetings and presentations, I felt something stinging my left elbow. When I looked down I had some hideous ladybug/leech thing stuck to me and I had to pry it off. I asked everyone in the room if this was some kind of initiation or hazing and they just laughed. Later, when I went to my car, parked in the garage for my seedy apartment building, I found the ladybug-leeches crawling all over my seats. Ewww!

Fortunately, I remembered, I didn't need a car to get to a date with my hot judge. {score!} This was NYC after all... I could hail a taxi or even walk. All of which pleased me because this meant I could drink without having to worry about driving. To top it all off, I bumped into the law firm owner on my way out and he gave me five black, carbon crayons. Apparently, in the NYC of the future, these were the exclusive currency of the rich - worth more than money itself - and this meant I could buy my hot judge lots of cocktails. Woot!

And then my alarm woke me up. Dammit!

A party!


Yesterday, Mum, Daisy, and I went to a good friend's son's birthday party. Hudson West Prior (great name, right?) turned four and it just so happens that his mother is an amazing cook and her boyfriend is a professional DJ. Which meant it was a not-to-be-missed opportunity to dress Daisy in a party dress and paty shoes.. Plus, of course, I just love that kid and his cheeky face.

The birthday boy on his bounce house




Brian, DJ extraordinaire - complete with flashing lights and atmospheric smoke!


Ms. Daisy, out on the floor all on her own, getting down to Black Eyed Peas - boom boom pow!


The birthday boy and his mama blowing out candles.


For more photos, click here.

Daisy had a fab time, despite the party being smack-dab in the middle of her nap time. (Nap schmap!) She danced almost the whole time, in the middle of the floor, on her own, with an audience (I LOVE HER!) Then she made a real fuss when we left and then proceeded to beg for cake the whole way home (which she promptly received upon arrival - toddler heaven!)

Sacraghetto

It's no secret that, while I love my life here in Northern California, I am not especially in love with Sacramento specifically.

The issue of whether the local basketball team, the Kings, will stay or go has sort of underscored my frustrations with the region lately and this morning I heard this commentary on NPR that said it well.

You can listen to the podcast here

The Kings Question
(Sacramento, CA)
Monday, March 14, 2011

By Bruce Maiman

Why do I get the feeling that all this Rock the Casbah consternation over the Kings is really more about Sacramento than the Kings?  Does anyone in Sacramento really know what Sacramento wants to be? It's a cow town, a government town, a town full of people who move here from somewhere and who don't even live in town but in some kind of randomly planned suburb built in the middle of nowhere --maybe in a flood plain-- where, when people talk about going to the city, they mean San Francisco, not Sacramento.

Sorry, but Sacramento is not a World Class City, nor is it likely to become one. We're just a place on the way to or back from Lake Tahoe. For that matter, so is Vacaville, but at least they have the outlets. We're a capital building surrounded by people raising families. We're a shopping plaza at every major intersection, a nail salon in every shopping plaza, and a chain restaurant on every corner, and sometimes on all four corners. Do people actually eat out that much?

Today, Sacramento is less about a city and more about a vast suburban empire, a sometimes happy, humming confusion of freeways, malls and cul-de-sacs with pretentious street names and overachieving school districts and oversized, overpriced houses constructed to one of four designs.  By all the standards of contemporary American developer-driven sprawl, it is a great success story. It's just not a place people think to visit when they think of California, unless they're a lobbyist looking for favors.

That's not to say we don't have nice restaurants, a quirk or two, a museum or three and a few hidden gems, but those things aren't changing whether the Kings stay or go. But if a city with an identity crisis thinks the therapeutic answer to their woes is to latch on to some sports franchise whose mercurial owners have to be bribed with your firstborn to stay here, I've got some waterfront property in Elko, NV, the mayor might be interested in. 

Maybe the cowbells will just have to go back to the cows.

Bruce Maiman is a former radio host who lives in Rocklin.