On wildflowers and dog custody battles

My favorite volcano, Mt. Rainier

Returning to Seattle is so bittersweet. There are so many things I love about it (the mountains, the clean streets, the way people are so nice to pedestrians).

The fact that I can teach writing classes at Hugo House again, drink Peet's Coffee, walk around Greenlake, ride my bike with less fear of getting run over.

And so many other things.

Yet, there is a lot more crapola I have to deal with here than when I'm in Mexico. A million doctors appointments and -oscopies and -grams to make up for the ones I didn't do to in Mexico. Spending  fortune on my poor, aging car. Avocadoes that cost $3 piece.

Worst of all, perhaps, is dealing with my ex.

Now my ex, deep down, is a nice person. A kind, empathetic, loving person. But in the latter years of our marriage, he did not act that way for various reasons.

He definitely has not acted that way in the last few months, because since my return to the U.S. in April, he hasn't let me see my dog, Sugar.

Legally, we share Sugar. Up until recently, we have more or less amicably shared her, trading weeks with her when I am in town. And she, being the cutest pug (and possibly the cutest dog) on earth, is one of my greatest joys.

She is smart, fun, cuddly, friendly. Sugar is also much more bonded to my ex than she is to me, and it was like that even before we got divorced, but no matter.

I love her and I miss her so much when I am gone. I look forward to returning to Seattle so I can see her and walk her and hug her and kiss her and play with her.

Now, instead, I am in a legal battle with my ex just so I can see her.

Many wise people have told me just to walk away. To give up. That's it would be better not to have him in my life anyway.

They are right. I probably should. But I haven't been able to.

I have also been asking my mom, in her ethereal state, what I should do. And even she thinks I should walk away. She who loved dogs very much and was never without one.

So along with all the good things about life here: stunning strolls in the mountains, Shakespeare in the park, walking around Greenlake, catching up with friends, camping on islands, and biking on lovely bike paths, I'm gonna be fighting my f*cking ex in court. And missing my lovely little dog so much.

But that's just life isn't it? Always the mixture, the bitter, the sweet, the good, the bad.

In Mexico, it's just a different mix of stuff, maybe a little more on the habanero-chile-flavored side. At least there, I can pretend like the bitter aftermath of this divorce isn't happening.

Here, at least lately, I come face to face with it every day. Not only in with the load of memories that press down on me when I'm here, but now with the glaring absence of Sugar.

Avalanche lilies at Mt. Rainier 

Oh well.

As I battle my ex and miss my dog, I'll try to keep appreciating the good.

Like wildflowers, which almost always boost my mood.

Just another day in Mexico

Mexico is such a land of contrasts.

It has a vibrant culture, systemic corruption, a joyous spirit, abject poverty.

The feelings that it stirs up in me are a jumble of contrasts too. Love, hate, annoyance, longing, disgust, sadness, admiration.

I love it because it's beautiful and welcoming and epic, and because Ian is here. I hate it at times because...well, I'm a spoiled American and things don't always go the way I want.

Let's take Monday, for example. I was in Mexico City to see some friends who were visiting from the States. Our big plan for the day was to dine at Pujol, the #13 rated restaurant on the oh-so-trendy list of the world's top 50 restaurants.

Because I had to work  til lunchtime, my plan was to go to the café-bookstore right near the restaurant and work from there until it was time to eat. Although I had never been to this particular café, it has several locations in Mexico City, and I always like to work from there when I'm in town because of the great food, welcoming vibe, and stable Internet.

I managed the Metro ok. This in itself was a bit of a triumph because the metro in Mexico City used to make me claustrophobic and panicky. Now I can handle it with mostly no problem AND actually get places I need to go (which is no small feat for someone as directionally challenged as me).

Then came the first annoying part of the day. For this, I have no one to blame but myself. I popped out of the metro in the swanky neighborhood of Polanco and started following Google maps to the bookstore/café. I saw a panaderia and popped in for a concha, my favorite pan dulce. 

Conchas, mmm

Unfortunately, the concha was both terrible AND overpriced. But that wasn't the annoying part.  (At least with an overpriced pastry in Mexico, you're talking $1.50 instead of $7).

The annoying part was that 1)I left my jacket in the bakery 2)realized it almost right away  3)but then couldn't find the bakery again even though - I SWEAR - it was right around the corner. Mexico City is not always the easiest place to navigate!

I knew I would find it eventually but the problem was I had to start work ASAP.  After searching fruitlessly for the panaderia for 10-15 minutes, I was threatening to make myself late. OK, fine. I would find my jacket later. Hopefully no one would have stolen my jacket by then (because that concha really wasn't worth it!) 

Then I got a little lost trying to find the bookstore. When I rushed in, it was about 11:01. I was one minute late for work. I logged on, worked for two whole minutes, and then - BAM - there was no Internet. 

"Oh, the Internet isn't working right now," the server said to me casually when she brought me my coffee. 

*&$!*! %$ 

The Internet continued to not work and not work. For the whole two hours I was supposed to be working, I got online for maybe 10 minutes total, thus losing a a bunch of money because I could not bill for that time. This I blame squarely on Mexico. 

Thank you Mexico and your terrible Internet. 

So that was the morning. But then there was lunch. 

And lunch was a miracle of deliciousness and beauty. None of the hustle-bustle and heat of Mexico City or the country's problems was to be found in Pujol.

Blissful dining in Pujol

No, Pujol represents only the best of Mexico: fresh Mexican ingredients welded into amazing lovely-to-behold creations. Attentive service. An architectural design that makes you feel both energized and relaxed.

Then, after three hours, it was over. I was dumped back out onto the street with the hoi polloi. I proceeded to have an experience that was almost the exact opposite of my decadent, leisurely interlude in Pujol.

I went to the doctor.

I had a female problem. And, it became obvious during lunch when I visited the bathroom five times, that I needed to get it looked at urgently. And so I did what a lot of Mexicans do when they need to see someone quickly and cheaply, and they don't have health insurance: I went to a farmacia.

When you go to a pharmacy, you pay $0 to $3 to see the doctor, and then you inevitably go into the actual pharmacy and spend a lot of money on whatever they prescribed to you. And they always prescribe something because the doctors who work there are subsidized by the pharmacies.

Anyway, at this particular pharmacy, the waiting room was broiling hot and packed with people. To make matters worse, due to my female problem, I had to pee like a mo' fo but there were no public bathrooms available.

So I waited. And waited. And sweated. And waited. Finally I got into see the doctor, who turned out to be a lovely, friendly overworked young woman stuffed into a stinky, windowless and dirty office.  Even though I liked this doctor very much and was relieved she was a woman, I did not like wondering what the pinkish-reddish stains on the walls and floors were.

Was it BLOOD?

I tried not to think about it as she examined me. As she wrote up my prescriptions, I wished for her a better job - something less hectic, more peaceful, where she at least at time to clean up the bloodstains (or juice stains), look out a window, or let a breath of fresh air in the office before the next patient.

Then I ran back to my AirBB, trying not to pee in my pants. Meanwhile, I passed by Parque Mexico, one of the loveliest and most peaceful urban parks anywhere (and even though I wasn't in the best frame of mind to enjoy it, there was still part of me appreciating it just like I always did).

So, really, it was just another typical day in Mexico for me.

OK, so maybe going to one of the world's best restaurants isn't exactly typical. But the way the day encompassed both beautiful and ugly, hectic and calm, warm and difficult -- all these contrasts, for me, are Mexico in a nutshell.

(Oh, and by the way, I did find my jacket again.)

The Summer of my Discontent

Must. Have. Fun.

Summer has always been a challenging time for me. As an adult, anyway. So much pressure to have fun.

No one (at least in Seattle) ever says "Have a great winter!" or "How's your fall going?" Oh no. Summer is THE moment! That glorious time when Seattleites crawl out of their caves and blind you with their pasty white skin.

As my  erstwhile alter ego Breakup Babe the Younger put it, summer is the "moment when everyone else is living out a sun-drenched Coke ad, and you're a broken-hearted, miserable wretch."

(She was good at whining, that BBTY).

Breakups always seem to happen for me right on the precipice of summer, too. So that instead of looking forward to the endless days and balmy nights, I'm cowering in dread.

HOWEVER. We are in a slightly different situation now.

Seen in upstate NY

The edge of The Abyss

My breakup happened 10 months ago.

And then, well, I figured once that happened there would be The Abyss. That I would fill with anti-depressants, crying jags, cocktails, dating apps, and  men equally crippled by emotional baggage. Kinda like my younger self did (but without the apps or the fixation on marriage [gag!]).

That did not happen.

Instead someone decidedly not crippled showed up. At a time when the last thing I expected was to fall in love. At a time when I probably shouldn't have fallen in love because I hadn't yet escaped the towering inferno that was my marriage.

But, there he was,  like a sexy fireman, pulling me out of the wreckage in his strong, tanned arms. And. I. Could. Not. Resist.

Girlfriends on the more sensible end of the spectrum (that is, my complete opposites) counseled me not to rush into anything new. If you get your heart broken now, it will only make things that much worse.

I know, I know! Don't you think I know??

But because I'm not sensible, I fell hard into his waiting arms. (a story I'm still figuring out how to tell).

 For now, I'll just say that this relationship  has sustained and grounded me through a period that would have otherwise been complete SH*T. (Remember when I said the last six months were the most bittersweet of my life? Now you know where the "sweet" comes from.)
.
Now suddenly, however,  I'm alone, because he's working all summer in a camp upstate New York and I have so much baggage around effing summer camps, but let's not even go there right now. Because it's IRRELEVANT, ok?

Comes a time when you're drifting, comes a time when you settle down...

Leaving Seattle

Anyway, without him, I feel very...displaced. Not at home anywhere. Except airports, airplanes (kind of) and other liminal spaces that have to do with travel. I feel comfortable traveling between places, but once I'm there I pretty quickly feel out of place.

That's because he was my home for the last six months. Not Mexico. He was in Mexico, which made it a warm safe place for me to be. A place where, for a while, I just relaxed and forgot about my identity crisis.

Who am I now if not a wife, a home owner, a soon-to-be adoptive parent?

Bring it on, summer. I can take you.  

Now the identity crisis is back, thanks very much. Which isn't a bad thing. It is what it is. In fact, I'm sure it's HEALTHY for me to be ALONE for the SUMMER figuring out who the f*ck I am and where I belong.

Meanwhile, I at least temporarily have the freedom (thank you, flexible job!) to jet around feeling uncomfortable in various places. So I don't have to be stuck in just one! So far this summer, I've been in two different countries, 3 different states and five difference cities, seeing friends and dogs and spending insane amounts of money on AirBBs.

Also, drinking way too much coffee, not exercising, crying less than I thought I would (but still enough), and looking out the windows of various modes of transportation at the ever-surprising, usually-beautiful U.S. countryside.

Speaking of which...I'm just about to get on another bus (aah, my comfort zone) to drift a little more.

*OK it's totally not undisclosed. All you have to do is look at my Instagram feed to know where I am.

Weirdly mustachioed ex-husband denies pug visitation rights

Getting divorced is so much fun! I wish someone would have told me how fun it was because I would have done it much sooner.

Just the other day, for example, my ex-husband (who is now weirdly and apparently un-ironically handlebar mustachioed) TURNED ME AWAY when I went to pick up my pugs for a visit.

Yes! Those two snuggly pugs that we legally share custody of. And whom I have not seen in three months. Who are the lights of my life. The whole reason, practically, that I came back to Seattle for a visit, smooshed between two huge dudes on a middle seat in a germ-infested aluminum tube.

I LOVE MY PUGS.

They are the only family I have left in this city. And YET. My ex, the professional victim, decided to take his revenge on me for all evil I've wrought, by denying me opportunity to see my dogs.

Even for him -- an accomplished bully - this was a low and unexpected blow.

And yes. I thought of fighting back somehow.  Of calling the police. Of harassing him somehow. Of yelling and screaming and causing a scene.

But here's the thing. He has guns. A lot of them. And, at the moment, he's clearly full of self-righteous anger. He is, in fact, scary just to look at because the anger just pours out of him, infecting the air around him.

Turns him into this hard, flinty person and smothers everything that is soft and (yes) beautiful about him.

Yes, yes, I'm angry too! Everyone's angry in a divorce! You disappointed me too, you know!  But I deal with my anger in a healthy fashion! By crying and writing vicious blog posts and bitching to my friends and running off to Mexico! Not by being deliberately cruel!

So I did not chase him down or harass him or even write him a scathing text message. All I could do was call my lawyer and seethe.

Meanwhile, in his  anger-infested state, my ex is undoubtedly basking in his victory, feeling very smug that he both surprised me and deprived me of something I loved. That will teach her.

Not only that, he invited a friend over to witness the whole thing, some fat gun-freak looking guy named "Gil"  who looked on with prurient interest while my ex shouted down to me from his balcony and left me standing there empty-handed and stunned in the chilly Seattle twilight.

Yes, I can take him to court. No, I can't do it now because I'm only here for two weeks.

Is it worth it?

I don't know.

And yes, this divorce is sucking more than I ever imagined possible. Even though I'm well aware it could be MUCH WORSE.

How Breakup Babe become Married Babe became Breakup Babe (again)

Photo by Sara Tro

Hear ye, hear ye, I have achieved my life’s dream of being middle-aged and divorced!

But what does this mean, exactly? Especially for someone who was once Breakup Babe, wearer of slinky clothes, owner of a karaoke machine, writer of a salacious blog-turned-novel, failed but enthusiastic pursuer of innumerable commitment-shy men?

• Does she go back to being Breakup Babe (only a slightly more wrinkly, beaten-down version), chasing men across continents?
• Does finally publish another book, the sequel to BreakupBabe: A Novel that all three of you have been waiting for?
• Or does she curl up and die from loneliness and boredom just like Breakup Babe was always threatening to do?

How Breakup Babe  became Married Babe

For BB, being alone equaled loneliness, and loneliness led to lots of other unpleasant emotions that she tried to blot out with compulsive dating and blogging about dating. What she learned that was you don’t make good choices in relationships when you’re terrified of being alone.

Photo by Sara Tro

(She also learned that when you’re in the throes of loneliness, you do write entertaining prose).

One day, however, BB finally met someone who was not commitment-shy. They fell in love, got married, adopted some pugs, had lots of adventures, and applied to adopt a kid.

Things were looking up for Married Babe (formerly BreakupBabe), who not only had a husband now, and a possible future kid, but a whole new set of relatives to love.

Why, she might never have to be lonely again!

True happiness comes from inside (duh)

MB knew (at least, in theory) that no one else can make you happy. That true happiness comes from INSIDE. From doing things that make you feel good and help others.

For her, this meant writing fiction, climbing mountains, traveling to exotic locales, and reading stories to kindergarteners. Plus lots of other stuff. All of which she did in abundance.

So she wondered, after a couple years of marriage, why she didn’t feel happier. Because, not only did she have a life partner now, she was doing all these things she loved.

So what was missing?

Two can be as lonely as one

Eventually she realized it was because she was lonely in her marriage.  First a little, then a lot.

(NOTE: THAT SENTENCE IS A HIGHLY ABRIDGED AND SANITZED VERSION OF A VERY COMPLEX SITUATION THAT I'M ONLY JUST FIGURING OUT HOW TO WRITE ABOUT. APOLOGIES FOR LEAVING OUT ALL THE JUICIEST DETAILS.)

Early on, the loneliness would come and go. Because, even with the lonely times, there were still so many good times. There were the pugs and the garden. Playing guitars in the living room and cuddling in front of Netflix. Sunday night dinners with the mother-in-law who was like a second mom.

And last but not least, the application to adopt and the dream of being parents that was in process.

But then the lonely times got longer and the good times got shorter. The fights got worse. Attempts at counseling fell apart.

Yet they kept on keeping on, like you do when you can't envision another future.

Until finally the application to adopt got rejected.

The Great Mexican Escape

Another turning point quickly followed. In April, 2016, MB went away for a few months to study Spanish in Mexico.

She thought she might feel even lonelier there. And she did, at first, but then slowly she felt better and better.

There was a strange feeling growing inside her and at first she wasn’t sure what it was. Finally she realized: it was happiness.

She was happier being away from her husband than being with him.  It took three months of feeling light and unburdened in Mexico to make her really face this fact. To make her realize just how weighed down she'd been by the struggle to keep her marriage alive.

Because she loved her husband, there was no doubt about it. Loneliness, doubts, and all.

But after all the space and sunlight (and fighting with her husband from afar), she realized just couldn't struggle for her marriage anymore.

The end and the beginning

So she stopped struggling. Went back to Seattle and asked for a divorce.

Then she quickly turned around and went right back to Mexico, which welcomed her with open arms. And there she lived through the most bittersweet six months of her life until the divorce became final on May 22, 2017.

As for what's next, your guess is as good as mine. But as the sign at left says, "When nothing is certain, everything is possible."

Which about sums it up for now.

Handing over the cash and saying goodbye

Compared to many, I’ve had an easy divorce. There are no kids involved. No huge sums of money. Just two innocent pugs who seem to have settled happily into their life of sloth with my ex while I gallivant around Mexico, trying to outrun my feelings.

Photo by Sara Tro. My doomed but beautiful wedding.

 There’s been plenty of ugliness and drama, that’s for sure. But it could have been way worse. As I know because we went to court at the beginning of this.

And I saw other couples who once loved each other get up in front of the judge and tell stories about violence and lies and restraining orders gone wrong and children caught in the middle. Trying to make their soon-to-be-ex-spouses look as bad as possible. Abuser, liar, cheater, out-of-control, drug addict.  

You have to hope that it all started well, at least. That maybe, like us, they had a sun-dazzled wedding on a gorgeous dock with sailboats floating by, and Uncle Norman on the saxophone, and champagne flowing, and everyone smiling. That maybe, like us, they had hope and love in their lives for at least a little while before it all started to go awry.

We split up nearly 7 months ago. On our fourth anniversary, to be exact. The divorce has dragged on, mainly because my lawyer has uglier divorces to deal with.

But now, finally, we seem to be nearing the end. Where it’s all coming down to a pile of cash that gets exchanged. And that seems so sad to me. A wad of cash and goodbye. Here’s what our relationship was worth.

I’ve been waiting for it to end and yet I don’t want it to end (even though it's over).

This is everyday tragedy to be sure. There are much bigger messes out there. But  that doesn't make my broken heart hurt less. I started out with so much love and hope and champagne and sunshine and music and here I am.

Here's your money. See you later, person I once staked everything on and thought I would be with for the rest of my life. Don't spend it all in one place.  

Even in Mexico, there are Mondays

Tasha is tired of Mondays

Yesterday was such a Monday.

My pants were too tight, my hair was bad, and my (flexible) (well-paid) work (that lets me live anywhere in the damn world that I want to) was destroying my soul.

#Firstworldproblems


Yes, I know, what a whiner I am. Here in a country with desperate poverty and a corrupt government, all I can do is complain about how tight my pants are because I've indulged a little bit too much in queso fresco and tacos al pastor.

Mmm, tacos al pastor. Actually, better yet, TORTAS AL PASTOR.

But  I digress.  In general, life in Puebla for a privileged gringa such as myself is idyllic.

I rent a little apartment with a Mexican family where I get 1)cheap rent 2)delicious homecooked meals 3)a clean room every day 4)Spanish practice and 5)canine companionship (shout out to my homies Tasha, Dolly, and Coco!)

It's also sunny. All. The. (Effing). Time.

OK, I love sun, don't get me wrong. Especially after 25 years of the endless winters in Seattle. But I'm starting to recall my love for rain too, and a bit of cloud cover in which to hide.

I'm also realizing how much I crave the presence of  water. In Seattle, you're never far from it. Throw a rock and you find a lake or a bay or a channel. At my ex-mother-in-law's house, I could literally launch myself into Lake Washington from here backyard (which I did often and enthusiastically).

Ah, Isla Mujeres.

Here in Puebla, we're landlocked.

(Though I did get a splendid dose of agua in Isla Mujeres in December, which seems like eons ago now).

So it's a good thing I'm headed to Seattle in a few days. Besides seeing my friends and my dogs (oh, the pugz, how I miss them!) I will get to quench my thirst for clouds and water and rain.

Unless, of course, there's a freak stretch of sunny weather.

Good hair days in Oaxaca

Has anyone ever made a decision about where to live based on how good their hair looked in a given location?

If I could reasonably do this, then I would move to Oaxaca city.

Art from one of Oaxaca's many galleries

Not only is it full of stunning art, delicious food, strong drinks (including the best strawberry margarita I've ever had), colorful cafes,  and many other attractions, my hair looked fabulous there.

I mean, if I do say so myself.

Because of my Good Hair, I was exuding so much confidence (and possibly cleavage) that young waiter even asked for my phone number! Unfortunately I made the poor guy repeat himself several times because no one has ever asked me for my phone number in Spanish before.

And though I didn't actually I give it to him, I wanted to tell him how flattered I was and how he'd made my day, but my Spanish wasn't quite up to the task. Because I was flattered and it DID make my day. (I mean when was the last time a random stranger asked for my phone number?)

The minute I returned to Puebla, my hair started to droop again. Even though there are many things to love about my adopted Mexican city, good hair, alas is not one of them.

A love letter to my left knee

Me and left knee right before fateful tree collision

Dear Left Knee, we've had many great adventures together.

We made it to the top of Mount Rainier and the bottom of the Grand Canyon. We hiked the Wonderland Trail. We completed a triathlon and a couple half marathons. We biked across the state of Washington. We ran away from a bull on Maui. We climbed a 250-foot tall Douglas Fir.

 The list goes on.

But all that fun has come with a price. You’ve always been touchy. Even back in 9th grade, when I first started running cross-country you would easily get sore. Later when I tried to train for a marathon, you balked. No likey run more than 8 miles!

Still, you were a good sport with most everything else. You hiked, you climbed, you skied, you biked, you walked the dog. And you didn’t really complain seriously. Until 2011. When I skied into a tree.

OK, I know, that was dumb! And totally unnecessary because I was already down the hard part of the hill and had just gotten cocky!

 But you recovered even from that, or at least you seemed to. And everything was just fine until I decided to revisit my childhood dream of horseback riding. (Because of course hiking and backpacking and swimming and skiing and biking and Yoga and working full time and writing a novel and learning Spanish and taking guitar lessons just aren’t enough activities for me).

 And one day, early in my lessons, I jumped off just a little too hard. I landed funny. And you pretty much gave up the ghost then even though it took a few more months and an MRI for me to realize it.

Left Knee, do you remember how when I was 13, we used to do horse vaulting at camp? How my “signature” trick was to run alongside the horse, mount it at a trot, dismount, then mount again, all while the horse was trotting?

We were young then. But now we’re not. And you need help after all the good times you’ve given me. That’s why soon you’ll be getting a new ACL (or anterior cruciate ligament). It won’t actually be NEW so much as it’s actually a gift from my left hamstring. (Hey Left Hammie, shout out to you!)

 This isn’t going to be much fun, Left Knee. It’s gonna hurt and we’re gonna be seriously hampered in our hedonistic pursuit of outdoor adventure for a few months. But they say it’s for the best. That we’ll be almost like new afterward, and can have many more years of activities together.

So, Left Knee, I guess this is both warning to you about what’s to come and also a love letter. I want you to know how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me over my life. I’m truly sorry that I haven’t expressed it before, but better late than never, right? Xo Rebecca

Warning: Do not read Lorrie Moore upon returning from Hawaii!

 Bleh! Who wants to come home from Hawaii? To a Seattle winter? Technically it's still fall for a couple more weeks, but who can tell the difference when your two hours of daylight are obscured by leaden clouds?

Hmmph.

Note to self: Upon returning from future visits to Hawaii, wait until winter gloominess has settled back in before picking up a book of Lorrie Moore short stories again.

Yes, she is brilliant and hilarious but depressing, OH. MY. GOD.

Take this paragraph from her haunting story "Referential:"

"Living did not mean one joy piled upon another. It was merely the hope for less pain, hope played like a playing card upon another hope, a wish for kindnesses and mercies to emerge like kings and queens in an unexpected change of the game. One could hold the cards oneself or not: they would land the same regardless. Tenderness did not enter except in a damaged way and by luck."

Thank you Ms. Moore for jolting me back to this mortal coil!

I would like to add that when you're on OAHU, life IS one joy piled upon another. Ahem. As the pictures in this blog post so demonstrate.

Greetings, Earthlings.

Me and mom in the old days

This has been a wacky fall and winter. I've been a bit under the weather and keeping a lower profile than usual. My mom was diagnosed with metastatic lung cancer a year ago and it seemed to hit me all at once this past October.

First with a cold that never went away. Then the tension headaches that ate Manhattan.  Oh and let's not forget the back injury I got working on my laptop IN BED (the most unglamorous injury ever) and also the knee injury earned backcountry skiing last April (a tad more respectable) that have kept me from hitting the snowy slopes and neon lights with as much fervor as I usually do.

Oh, poor me, right? Meanwhile my mom is going through chemo and losing her hair and having many awful symptoms, on top of worrying when this stupid cancer is going to kill her. She has always been so robust and active (like me) and now this monster has laid her low.

But not TOO low. Because since her diagnosis she quit her job, traveled to the Galapagos with my sister, and to Alaska with me (on the worst-weather-ever-but-at-least-the-boat-didn't-sink-cruise.) Soon she's headed to Hawaii and Russia.

Best news yet, her doctor told her this week she was in remission. Yes, remission! That was a word none of us expected to hear ever. Not that she's cured, her doctor sternly told her. This thing could rear its ugly head in another three months or another year. It will rear its ugly head again, says Dr. Oncologist.

But while the monster is in hibernation, she can take a break from chemo. Yay! She can get back the two weeks out of every month that she loses from being poisoned. Yay! Her eyelashes can grow back and food might taste normal again and she'll regain some of that vibrant energy that has made her such an unstoppable force for creativity and social justice and adventure all her life.

So that's what I've got for you.

Plus:

• I'm speaking at the AWP conference in February (along with some staggeringly famous authors). Who-hoo, freezing Chicago, here I come!
• I'm teaching an online blogging class for the Editorial Freelancer's Association starting Feb 15.
• I just finished my first screenplay, called "Planet of the Ex-Boyfriends."

Ok, maybe "screenplay" is a stretch. It's a  five-minute script. For my class at Experimental College called "Let's Make a Movie!"

Tonight we'll be voting on a script to make movie out of (anyone in the class can submit one) and I want mine to win! If it doesn't, it was hell of fun to write, which is more than I can say about a lot of things I've written recently.

Computer problems and snoring pugs

Oops. It's Blog-Every-Day Month and I forgot to blog yesterday.

I have an excuse, which is that I was having computer problems last night. My $%(ing laptop, sole source of all my income, wouldn't charge.

(This is after spending way to much on a power cable for it a couple months ago AND getting it a pricey"check-up" at Office Depot.)

Time to bring it back to PC Doctor, that rather disreputable-looking little place under a brothel on Aurora Way with the nerdy tech who talks endlessly.

Pug Alarm Clock
In other scintillating news, here's  how my morning has gone so far:

6:20 a.m. - Dog starts caterwauling in his crate because he wants to get out / have breakfast / come on our bed.

6:30 - I give up on the hope that he'll stop the racket. I get up, give him breakfast, and put him on the bed.

6:33 - The dog commences to groom himself vociferously, with much smacking of lips.

6:40- Dog stops grooming himself and walks over me to the side of the bed, where he lies down in the six inches of space between me and the edge. He will fall off if I make the slightest movement. I pick up up and put him back in the middle of the bed.

6:45 - Repeat.

6:50 - I have momentarily dropped off to sleep when dog starts licking his lips loudly. Then he rolls around enthusiastically on his back.

6:57 - After dog at last quiets down, I make heroic effort to go back to sleep. Try not to dwell on the million things I have to do and the fact that I really should have gotten up at 6:20 when he woke me up in the first place.

7:00 - Drop off to sleep.

7:01 - Dog starts snoring loudly.

7:05 - Dog is still snoring.

7:09 - Dog is still snoring.

7:10 - Get up.

So there you have it.  A morning in the life of a spoiled pug owner.

P.S. I recently watched On the Waterfront for the first time in my life. Whoa - what a great movie! If only I could come up with a plot like that. You know how, with some older movies, you immediately feel their age when you start watching them? Not so with this one. The story and the characters instantly grip you. I didn't even notice it was in black and white until close to the end.

Yours truly,
Rebecca "Two Thumbs Up" Agiewich

Bleh. I am in a post-vacation funkaroo. After five sun- and fun-filled days in Mexico, I now have a cold and too much work to do.

Plus I have to start cooking for myself again.

While staying on Eric and Valerie's boat in La Paz, we were treated like royalty - eating fresh Mexican food prepared by Valerie every day, including (but not limited to): fish tacos, tamales, grilled shrimp, tostadas, tropical fruit salad, homemade guacamole, and margaritas.

Lots of margaritas.

Besides eat and drink, all we did was sleep, read, swim, snorkel, sail, watch movies, and hike on deserted beaches.

And now my brain is expected work?


Ha ha.

Since there are no cute pictures of me in a bathing suit or mixing a margarita (sorry Teahouse Blossom!), I instead give you Dave enjoying a margarita (on the wave-lashed Pacific), along with some other photogenic moments.

Happy National Novel Writing Month!

Darlings! I hope you had a fabulous Halloween!

I an on Day 2 of National Novel Writing Month and keeping up the pace so far. It will be tricky as the month wears on and I start a new job. But I'll take that as it comes!

If I can write a novel on the beach in Mexico, like I did during 2007 Nanowrimo, I can do anything. (Because believe me, it's not easy to write in a lounge chair in the tropical sun with a Corona in your hand. It's much easier in a cafe in rainy Seattle when you're hopped up on caffeine and surrounded by depressed, pasty people).

I'm writing a brand new story that I can't tell you about quite yet but have tender hopes for. Meanwhile I have various personal and travel essays in the hopper which I hope you will see someday soon. Once someone realizes what a GENIUS I am and publishes them.

This is one of those periods, folks, where I just try to keep the faith. Yes, it feels like forever since I was last published. Yes, I endure horrible fits of jealousy over writer friends who seem more prolific (and profitable) than I. I question my career path all the time. Yet every single day (almost) I write. And I beat down the stupid voices that tell me I'm a loser and ask me why I bother and tell me to just give it up already and take a job where I might actually get a paycheck.

So! To all you writers out there who might be despairing: fine. Go ahead and despair. For a little while. Then start over again tomorrow with a strong cup of coffee. And tell the voices to shut the eff up while you get to work, even if its only for 10 minutes. Or just keep working anyway even if they DON'T shut up.

Because, believe me, they will haunty at you for as long as you let them. And look at it this way: at least you're not being forced to wear a male stripper costume like my justifiably angry pug Snuffy up there.

Or - and here's a novel idea - take one of my upcoming classes! Then we'll laugh and suffer together.

Happy November.

xo

Rebecca

Fall Foliage and Circus Dreams

Hello from underemployment land!

Things are getting a little kah-razy around here what with the lack of regular employment lo these last many months. This economy, however, is forcing me to open my eyes wide to all kinds of possibilities, that, in my laziness, I hadn't considered before.

Why in the old days, I could shoot off a mediocre resume into cyberspace and I'd have a high-paying job instantly. Usually with my fleshy old sugar daddy, Geeksoft.

Nowadays even Daddy Geeksoft doesn't want me! So for the first time in years I've really been looking around at what's out there (Food services worker with the Ringling Brothers Circus! Language instruction coordinator with the FBI!) and thinking about what I might actually do for a living (until my book *bursts* onto the bestseller list or I finally crank out another one, which I'm working on, don't worry, it's just taking a while OKAY?!!).

And you know, it's kind of refreshing to see the wide world of jobs out there! And to imagine myself doing something other than that mind-numbing work I've done for the last ten years to support myself. Even if all the ones that appeal to me are abysmally low-paying. But, like I always say: "Do What You Love and The Money Will Drain out of Your Bank Account."

I've also been - gasp - actually working on my resume for the first time in years. I mean, of course I revise it all the time, but I haven't really WORKED on it for a long-ass time, if you know what I mean. Because I haven't had to! It's been so easy up til now.

And though it practically killed me at first (I wouldn't have survived the process if it weren't for a gargantuan maple bar from Top Pot Doughnuts), the revisions have actually made me see MYSELF as a better employment prospect.

Why did you know I received an AWARD from Amazon.com from my creativity and initiative during those brief months that I was incarcerated there? Yes I did, thank you very much and I forgotten about that until I put it in my snazzy new resume!

(I am also getting much help from a career coach, who I highly recommend if you are in the market).

Anyway, enough job-related drivel. I got some classes coming up, yo, that you might be interested in. Check them out here!

I've also been getting out and about in the mountains and spent a gorgeous two days up in the Cascades FREEZING MY A*S off a week ago. The foliage was splendiferous, the views were poetic (see photo above), and the temperatures dropped to FIFTEEN DEGREES during the night.

I was prepared with a warm sleeping bag but still had to put on every layer I had with me when I went to sleep (at 7:45 p.m.), including:

• long underwear bottoms
  
• down pants
  
• two long underwear tops
  
• fleece shirt
  
• down jacket
  
• gloves
  
• two pairs of wool socks
  
• wool hat UNDERNEATH a fleece balaclava that was cinched around my entire face (nose included)
  
• chemical heat packs on my hands and chest

I'm probably forgetting something but you get the picture. With all that I was STILL kinda cold. Not to mention I pitched my tent at such an angle that my head was pointed seriously downhill most of the night, which, along with the cold, made for many disturbing dreams.

At least when you're battling the elements you're not thinking about your stupid resume, your credit card balance, and whether or not it's a good idea to run off with the circus (as a food service worker).

xo
Rebecca

Self-Pitying Rant du Jour

Grr. Only with the help of a very strong latte on (top of two cups of strong drip coffee) have I been able to dig up my usual optimism today.

Let's just say there has been more than the usual amount of rejection lately, what with getting FIRED from my last band and getting SHUT DOWN by ye olde Geeksoft for a job for which I was way overqualified and only sort of wanted anyway, and by the way paid utter CRAP.

(P.S. Yes, that's my pug Snuffy. When you work at home, you take a lot of pictures of your pug wearing glasses.)

Oh, and the band? Let's call them "The Old White Guys" cause that's what they are - especially now without the younger, perkier additions of me, Dave, and the drummer, who also got fired because we "couldn't put music first in our lives." Seriously, everyone in that band is like 60+ and playing tired old classic rock covers. I AM MEANT FOR BETTER THINGS!!

So it's true, I was stretched way too thin and not putting any time into the music, even though I wanted to. Thus my rock star career is currently on hiatus as I do a little soul searching but never mind. I SHALL RISE AGAIN. SO EFF YOU OLD WHITE GUYS AND GEEKSOFT. JUST YOU WAIT.

There. I feel so much better. With another five lattes, I might feel even better.

SAY. You'll indulge me for a minute if I point you to an article about me and my book from 2006, when I was briefly FAMOUS. I just discovered in my so-called "files" the hard copy of an article from King County Journal that is no longer available online, and was thrilled to see myself not only a giant photo of myself on the cover of a pullout section of the but also to see a giant photo of myself on top of Mt. Rainier on the inside. Yay, me! Those were the days.

And, to top it all off (no pun intended), it was much bigger than the photo of Hannah Montana, who was the subject of the next article. Ha ha ha hahhahah. EFF YOU HANNAH MONTANA.

I just scanned this sucker and put it on my web site so that we can relive 2006 in all its glory! Enjoy! (But be warned. It's a PDF. You'll read it anyway. WON'T you?)

Welcome Home to Me!

When would a person such as moi have 1)gotten up 2)walked the dog 3)drank an overly large Peet's coffee, and 4)scribbled pages of caffeinated notes for various articles, all by 9 a.m.?

Or, even better, already have gone to a Nordstrom Rack sale and spent $150 on clothing by 10 a.m.?

When one is jet-lagged of course! Never mind the crankiness that befalls me when I have to return to daily life after a trip. Even the shortest getaway brings on this malaise, so you can imagine what it's like returning from Europe and facing my jobless future in an exhausted state.

Like I said, never mind. We'll let my poor boyfriend bear the brunt of that. I'll just say for now that my trip was full of sun and adventure and bad coffee (but at least there was a lot of it.)

I "couchsurfed" with strangers who were warm and generous; biked across Finnish countryside so tranquil that it was, at times creepy; and ate far, far too much cheese.

I left determined to come back with a career "strategy" but came back only with high cholesterol, More later, when I am coherent. For now, these few pictures can tell the tale.

Sandal Season!

Last week I got my first pedicure in ages and just in time -- it's sandal season! Well, almost. Just because we are having a few sunny days here in Seattle doesn't mean that it's not going back to rainy cold nastiness. It undoubtedly will.

But I did actually take my sandals out of "winter storage" for the first time to show off my sparkly pink toes to the world. They were previously hideous due to a variety of deformities and broken toenails caused by ski boots and God knows what else. I could never quite achieve Inner Peace in Yoga class because I was always looking enviously at everyone else's toenails, hoping they weren't looking at mine.

In other news, I am sort-of-frantically preparing for my upcoming trip to Finland. I now have total of three couches to sleep, on due to my active membership in Couchsurfing.com: the generous Hilkka, Caizu, and Thomas. Why I've gotten so into it that Dave and I are even offering ourselves up as hosts now! (As long as our guests don't mind a lot of dog hair and few screaming fights with household cleaning products flying through the air.* )

And back to sandals...I have not yet decided whether to bring a pair to Finland with me, where the weather is promising to be 50 degrees and sort-of-actually-sunny. If I do, should I bring my "dressy" sandals so as to show off aforementioned sparkly pink toes, or my "sport" sandals to bring with my on my mini bike tour through the Aland Islands?

It will be one of those tough, last-minute calls. I am especially fond of the new Tevas I bought last year, the Karnali Wraptors (which they claim shows off your pedicure but most decidedly do not!) As usual I bought quickly with no previous research, for my trip to Alaska.

Had I actually been researching, I might have watched this video about Keen sandals from my pal Webtogs, who have a series of helpful videos about outdoor gear on YouTube. Since I will shortly be in the market for new hiking boots, I'm hoping they'll have a video about that soon. I imagine they will since they offer a lot of walking boots on their site.

So, back to vacation. If I don't chat with you again before my departure on April 24, perhaps we will speak again from the frozen north (even more frozen than Seattle).

[*OK, household products only flew through the air once, when we were in the midst of moving, when one can totally justify having a mini-nervous breakdown.]

Hail hail the IRS!

At least I am making an honest living these days. Except I am not actually making a living but never mind that for now.

This week I am working my a*s off (writing, teaching) and earning every one of the few pennies that I make. Whereas whenever I go to work for - well, you know who, I have so many names for the giant, bloated behmoth to the east - I am rolling in dough while hardly having to lift a finger.

I can't decide which I like better. Or worse. Or whatever. I do know I'm grateful to have work - any work! - and I like feeling honest rather than like some corporate slug.

Yet, would it not be for ye olde IRS refunding me a bunch of moola this month (Thank God for deductions! That kayak - yeah, a business expense! Trip to Alaska - deduct) I would not have enough to pay my bills in April nor for my upcoming trip to *Finland* where I will be crashing on the couches of friendly Finlandians via the rather impressive site Couchsurfing.com.

Anyway, I really don't have time to talk to you right now so goodbye.

xo
Rebecca (currently clad in dog-haired covered fleece, a stocking cap, and Tevas, thoroughly grateful that the paparazzi is not stalking her anymore because God, she looks awful)

Snow-o-Rama

This weekend I was not exactly at my sparkling best. For one, I was *supposed* to go backcountry skiing on Saturday. Then I bailed because of "winter storm warnings," etc. And because when I woke up in the middle of the night, rain was falling in Biblical proportions.

These are perfectly good excuses not to go outdoors. But I know myself better than that. I know that if I do not get out in the mountains at least once a week that my outlook on life gets extremely grim.

I secretly hoped everyone else would cancel. That weather would turn them around. That they would arrive at their destination and be so miserable that they gave up in despair.

But this was not the case. They all had fun! While I, on the other hand, stayed home and got increasingly agitated, getting everyone else (dog, boyfriend) increasingly agitated along with me so that a massive fight broke out by 8 p.m.

So I made a choice. The next day I blew off all other responsibilities and went skiing. The weather wasn’t much better. It was snowing the whole time. All the slopes were a big slab waiting to avalanche so we just skied along a road. But, Glory Halleleleujah, I got my exercise and my dose of UV rays and a few mountain views and I was golden.

I stayed toasty dry in my jaunty blue Marmot Oracle jacket (pictured above). I am one of the least gear-savvy outdoor freaks around but I do know this: if your jacket doesn't keep you dry, you're doomed.

This video from British company Webtogs actually taught me a lot about rain shells that I didn't know -- for example, that all these years I've been buying "membrane" jackets as opposed to "coated" jackets - and that Gore-tex is a type of membrane. The cute outdoorsy British dude mentions Berghaus jackets (a Euro brand) as an example of a good membrane jacket but I'll stick with my Marmot, thanks very much!

And I’ll be sure to get out it in next weekend, or else.