I survived

Okay, that's not true: I thrived. Driving home from Tahoe, I had on a mixed-up playlist, and a Pretenders song came on where Chrissie Hynde sings, "You've changed... your place in this world" and I sang along really loudly.

So here's what happened. After a bit of dithering, I got on the road just before 4, and I made excellent time. Really, like "was I speeding?" kind of excellent. The cabin was easy to find, and I could see by the GPS map that it was very close to the lake itself. It was a charming little place, and I parked, grabbed my bags, and knocked.

I was warmly welcomed, and I soon sat down to talk with the other three women there. I don't think I need to hide their first names, so I'll just use them. Jennifer is the woman whose cabin it was, and she set the tone and the agenda. She was a lovely blonde in her fifties with two teenage sons, and when I Googled her later, I learned she had been in the publishing industry for years, written something like fifty books, and been an editor. Pam was in her late sixties, had nine children, and wrote mostly journalistic stuff -- articles on parenting and the like -- but was working on a sort of memoir about her childhood home. And Colleen was ten years younger than me, but quite successful. She had gone to film school and works for the company that made The Lorax and Despicable Me in their development department. In fact, I promised that I wouldn't tell, but she shared a file with me of a novel that hasn't yet been released. The author is someone that several of my friends would absolutely pee themselves over. She's writing and illustrating a children's book that I found charming.

We drank wine and ate crackers and cheese while getting to know one another, and then we had a late dinner of a frittata and homemade bread. After dinner, we walked to the lake. It was only a few blocks away, and although it was dark out, it was nice just to smell the air and hear the gentle lapping of the waves. We then walked back and re-convened around the wine to set official goals for the weekend. I thought about writing for a bit then, but it was actually quite late, so I retired to an upstairs room with a daybed and a small desk. I wrote down a couple notes, then read a couple pages of "Beautiful and Pointless" and went to sleep.

In the morning, we enjoyed coffee and a light breakfast (cereal, yogurt, bananas), then did some writing to two prompts. I ended up with a very short story that Jennifer encouraged me to submit somewhere right away. Then we were free to write for a few hours. I had been so nervous about not being able to write anything, but in fact, I wrote three poems in that time. Lunch was curried pumpkin soup and cheddar-apple panini. Jennifer apologized for the soup -- it hadn't blended quite smooth -- but everything was delightful. She then walked us to the meadow. I was thinking, "meadow? Meh." But in fact, it was a lovely windswept amber expanse with views of the mountains and the lake, trees turning yellow and red in the distance. And we followed the path all the way to the lake, where there was a very narrow strip of sandy beach. The water was cold, but I can't resist getting my feet wet. We walked back and wrote for a few more hours until dinner. I spent some time outdoors in the backyard, but it was a little windy and sap was dripping from the pines. I also walked once more to the lake via the street, but it was cold and I thought of something I needed to write down, so I wasn't gone long. And I actually completed my goal of six poems early!

That night, Jennifer told us that at our cocktail hour, a friend of hers was stopping by. I actually found that a little odd. Wasn't this our writing retreat weekend? But as it turned out, not only did I genuinely like her friend Kim, she is the owner of a small press, so we got to talk about both sides of publishing, and we questioned her at great length about what she did and what her upcoming projects were. Dinner was getting very late, and at length Jennifer walked her out to her truck (she declined to stay, as her dog was with her). She came back in and reported that Kim had a lovely time, and was surprised that we didn't have a hidden agenda in inviting her. And although it doesn't seem to be something we could, in fact, capitalize on, I think it added to the overall interest of my weekend. And I got a chapstick with her press's logo on it!

Dinner was pot pies from a local bakery, plus a nice salad and more wine (her pillows on the couch read "Write by the lake" and "drink by the lake," and they weren't kidding!). Again, it was quite late, so I just read for a bit and went to sleep.

Sunday morning I slept quite late (well, for me). I had awakened in the night and couldn't get back to sleep, especially after I discovered the cool light-up blanket on my bed! It sparkled when you moved it. (I realized in the morning that it was static electricity.) We had coffee and breakfast, and then writing time. Of course, I had actually finished what I wanted to write*, so I instead decided to do part 2 of my organizing project. Part one was taking the mishmash of unnamed and duplicated files from three different places (an app I use, my Word program, and Google documents) and giving everything a discrete file name in a folder called "writing." I at that time also created within that folder four others called "works in progress," "ready to submit," "submitted -- pending" and "published." I felt good about being able to drop ten files into that last folder right away, but the others I hadn't touched. So part two was moving things around a bit. I knew that some could go into "ready," and all the rest should visit "in progress" for a while. But once I did that, I started opening up and polishing some of the "in progress" ones and moving them into "ready." And at that point, I still had some time before lunch (I could smell something wonderful, but I could also hear Jennifer periodically informing Pam, who was also downstairs, that the vegetables were taking much longer than she expected), so I went ahead and submitted a few poems.

At that point, I shut down the computer, packed my things, stripped the bed, and brought down a glass and a mug and the sheets. Lunch was on -- some lovely roasted veggies with apples and grilled cheese sandwiches. We shared a few of the things we had written, said our goodbyes (and our keep-in-touches, which I hope we will), and I packed the car. It was only two, but I had nothing I needed to do, and I missed my family. I drove the short distance to the lake, stood for a minute and took a couple pictures, and then I hit the road.

And so I'm always a teacher and a mom and a wife, and those things are important, but I'm a writer too. For real. I've changed... my place in this world.

*For reference, I was working on a series of thematically-linked poems called "Eleven or so songs for a disorganized mind." It just struck me as funny to use such an un-round number as eleven, undermine even that by adding "or so," and have the theme be disorganization, then write all the poems in strict form and meter. It is probably remarkably stupid to have written eleven poems as a series, because nobody publishes more than about five or less than a book. Still, that's what I wanted to do and I did it, so if I want to market it, I'll have to be creative. 

Fingernail-biting-time

So... I read about this writers' retreat. And before my rational self could talk me out of it, I asked Sweetie and emailed the lady and wrote a check.

And it's this weekend! I leave in two days! And I'm FREAKING THE HELL OUT. Because I'm not a writer, I'm a teacher. I'm a mom. I don't deserve to spend a weekend in the quiet, scribbling in notebooks. How ridiculous. What nerve. What gall to even fancy myself a writer.

I started organizing some of my poems for submission, and I put the published ones into their own folder (most places won't take previously published work). And I realized that of the things I submitted this last year or so, I actually got more published than were rejected. And I did win a contest put on by the Sacramento Poetry Center. Okay, actually, I won both first and third prize in that. I've given multiple readings and had positive receptions.

Maybe I'm a real writer, maybe I'm not. But the check is written, the childcare is arranged, and I'm going.

Coffee!

I love coffee. I actually started drinking it in junior high on a semi-regluar basis (if you don't count the kid coffee I was occasionally allowed). Back then, I'd get it at the McDonald's by my junior high. In high school, I drank my first good coffee, a Sumatran, from the Java City downtown, and I was soon drinking cafe mochas at the Village Express coffee and doughnut shop by my house.

 In college, I had an espresso machine, and I would basically make four shots and call it a cup of coffee. I soon realized I needed to cut back, and by my late twenties, it was an occasional thing, but I didn't have a coffee habit. I had actually moved back to my old neighborhood and was still grabbing a cup at the Village Express a couple mornings a week.

Then I met Sweetie. He is a coffee guy, and sometimes I would wake up at his house to the smell of bacon (what can I say, even some vegetarians can understand the appeal of that smell) and toast and coffee. I've been a regular drinker since with a brief caffeine-free interlude while I was pregnant.

We used to use a French press, and then we got an AeroPress. It's a little tricker, but faster, too, and it makes great coffee. Our regular beans are from Naked Coffee, a roaster in Oak Park. I used to buy the beans at a coffee shop called Tupelo, and one day I saw a sign indicating that their coffee was half off on Mondays at the roasters. Ever since, I've tried to make it a point to get a few pounds when I have time on a Monday. It used to be $6 a pound, and now it's $7. They're nice guys, and pre-baby, I sometimes took a book, let them make me an Americano, and read outside on a dingy thrifted couch.

We've always gotten occasional bags from elsewhere, including Temple, which is highly regarded for their beans. But Naked Coffee is our staple coffee. The owner also owns a cafe called Orphan, and there, they have a couple different coffees on the menu. I'd read the descriptions and tend to go for ones that said things like "warm and nutty with hints of chocolate." But I never liked them as much as the ones that said "citrusy and bright." I decided I'd set myself a taste test: I'd try coffee from every local roaster, and to keep the comparisons among fairly similar coffees, I'd try to pick South American ones with "citrusy" in the description.

I began with Capricorn Coffee, which actually isn't that local -- it's from San Francisco. But they sell it two blocks away from here, so ya know... It was $11 a pound, and I found it very smooth and tasty. We were off to a good start. They only sold half-pound bags, so it didn't last long.

I bought a bag of Naked Coffee, at $7/lb. It is perhaps my ideal coffee. It has a rich aroma, is a little citrusy without being at all acidic, and tastes like I think coffee should taste.

Then we went to Insight and tried their Guatemala. It was very acidic and fruity. It had a great flavor, but it was so overpoweringly acidic that I thought it would be a better occasional weekend coffee than an everyday brew. Sweetie noted that it wasn't a good match for his preferred cup -- which is white with half-and-half.

Then we tried the Orphan Columbia. I loved this one. I found it both citrusy and bright without being acidic or bitter.

Next up was Chocolate Fish. I got their Panama, and it was one of the more expensive ones we tried, at $14.95 for 12 oz. I find that 12 oz bag thing to be a little deceptive, even though it's clearly labeled. I mean, usually a BAG is a pound. So it takes a little math to discover that a pound of their coffee is actually about $19.95. OUCH. I wrote in my notes, "very tasty, light citrus, not at all acidic. Great flavor." Sweetie disagreed. He was on about week three of coffees that he thought practically curdled his cream.

I then picked up a bag of Old Soul Guatemala. I thought it had good flavor and a nice balance. Sweetie thought it very acidic, but I was shocked. Acidic? This one? No. But the next day, I had to agree. It was quite acidic. I wondered what the difference could have been and realized that on the first day, I drank it while it was still hot, and on the second, it had cooled off. Sweetie always drinks his cooler. So I mentioned it to him and the next day, he drank his before it cooled too much and had to agree -- the acidity was much more pronounced when the coffee was cool. For whatever that's worth.

Next up was Temple's Brazil. Temple makes a delicious coffee. I haven't had a bad one from there. They're expensive, too, but good. It's $14.50 for 12 ounces, too, and they have even more expensive roasts than that.

Finally, I went to Coffeeworks. I go there a lot for a cup on my way to work if I have some spare time, $2, and it's a second-cup day. I actually don't like a good number of their coffees: I think they're over-roasted. The French and Italian are right out, and their signature blends, like Dark Star and Jump Start aren't my favorites either. On the other hand, I've enjoyed an Ethiopian Sidamo from there, and I always look forward to the day they have Nicaragua brewed up. I was hoping to buy a pound of the Nicaragua, but they were out, so I opted for Honduras. They don't have descriptions of the coffee up there, but I'd venture a guess that this'd be on the "warm and nutty" side. I thought overall that it didn't have much character. It was... just fine.

I made a few other observations: Chocolate Fish, though I probably wouldn't buy their beans regularly, seemed like a really pleasant place to sit. Old Soul had GREAT food and terrific people-watching, too. They also sold coffee in Mason jars, and you could re-use the jar for a discount. Temple was crowded and was the only place they didn't ask how I wanted my beans ground (that's not to say that every other place offered to grind my beans, just that if they did, they asked how fine). Insight offered me a free shot of espresso with my beans, which I took them up on. I like the decor, but their furniture seems like they went to Intentionally-Uncomfortable-R-Us. I really like Orphan's breakfast and lunch food, so it's worth it to go there for a meal and pick up some coffee, since their deal is that if you buy a pound, your cups of coffee are free (well, two cups).

I als
There was no need, really, for me to declare a winner. I was on an exploration more than anything. And yet, there was a clear winner. Not only was their coffee good, not acidic, full of character and great for every day, it was the cheapest by far -- half as much or less than almost every other place. Naked Coffee, Monday at the roasters. The taste test is over, and I bought two bags today. Can't wait for my cup in the morning. It will feel like an old friend.

Fall

Hi all, I'm not entirely ready to let go of this blogging thing yet, although it's definitely taken a back seat to other things. But sometimes I just want to tell people stuff, and also to write it down so that I can go back and look at it later, so here it is.

I love summer. It is far and away my favorite season. So fall kind of gets the shaft in my affections, because it's the one that replaces it. I'm sad when fall comes. But there are things I love about it.

• Going to the apple orchard.
• The smell of the leaves.
• Hot tea.
• Re-introducing winter foods like squash and soup.
• 75 degrees. 

As much as I love summer and the heat for the things you can do in it, like swimming, there's almost no better temperature for just existing than 75 degrees. A little too cold? Stand in the sunshine or grab a cardigan. Been on a bike ride and got sweaty? Just stand still in the shade. That's what this weekend has been like, and it's delicious. 

I took out most of the summer garden, rescuing a few green tomatoes in the hopes that they'll ripen in a box lined with newspaper. I also granted one plant a reprieve, as it still had quite a lot of fruit on it (plus, it's my favorite one, the black cherry tomato). I also gave the eggplant a reprieve, as it has one itty-bitty fruit left, and I want to see if it can get bigger. I harvested the other two. 

I also planted stuff -- lemon balm and lemon verbena, a cauliflower, six broccoli, a cabbage, and 12 chard starts, plus twelve sugar pea starts and a bunch of nante carrot seeds. 

I took out a basil and am drying the leaves in the dehydrator right now. 

I think all this gardening and canning and such has changed me a little. I am appreciating fall a bit more  because I'm intentionally living more seasonally. We put up tomatoes and pears for winter. We foraged plums and made jam, and then ate the jam, but that's okay -- I saw the first kiwis at the market today. Just a couple years ago, if I saw a recipe that called for oranges in May, I wouldn't have hesitated to just go buy oranges. Now, I may still buy some things that aren't local or seasonal, but it's not my default. I am looking forward to oranges because they will be most delicious when they're actually ripe and fresh and from my mom's backyard. So there's an excitement in the change of seasons. There are things to anticipate. 

Another change is that I've never been exactly wasteful -- I mean, I read "50 Things Kids Can Do to Save the Earth" before the term "climate change" was on everyone's lips -- but I did take things for granted. You do just have too many grapefruits on the neighbor's tree, so they get chucked into the yard waste pile. No big deal. But today I drove by a big cactus I always have my eye on, and the plentiful cactus fruit is starting to shrivel, and I thought, "Are you people crazy? Are you not going to pick that and use it? You can make JAM out of that, folks!" And I even very briefly entertained the thought of asking them if I could pick it. But I haven't changed that much... yet.