For the four years that Jeff and I lived together in D.C., we lived in a condo building that had eleven units. It wasn't big, but somehow it wasn't small either. Though I recognized the cars in our lot--a green Escort sticks out in my mind--I couldn't have put driver with car. There were only a few people in my building that I could recognize with certainty. I didn't know any of them. In the four years we lived in our unit, we never knew the people with whom we shared a wall. On the day we moved out, as we loaded up the moving truck with our couch and TV, sheets and towels, they introduced themselves to us. I don't know if they thought we were moving in or they were doing that D.C. thing--the thing you do on the Metro when you see someone you know but you avoid making eye contact with them until you're about to get off and then, as you walk toward the door, you stop next to them, say hi, and then exit.
Though there are things about D.C. that I miss, I don't miss that. I don't miss the distance people kept, the preference for not making eye contact and not saying hello, the bubbled existence. When I'm asked how I like living in Durham compared to how I liked living in D.C., this is the difference that most readily pops into my head. Here I have neighbors who are not just people who live next door. Here I have neighbors that I say wave to and stop to say hello to, neighbors whose houses I've had dinner at, neighbors who I've gone to ball games with or walked to Ninth Street with for ice cream.
So this past weekend, in celebration of neighbors and in hopes of meeting more, Jeff and I hosted a block party. About half of the residents on our twenty house block came. They brought homemade pickles and store bought cake, homemade hummus and store bought chicken salad. We set up tables and chairs, lit citronella candles (oh, the mosquitoes here), and grilled hamburgers. Neighbors we knew came, and neighbors we hadn't yet met came. We ranged in age from twenty-five to senior citizen. We were born and raised in this area, and we were from as far away as Honduras. We had moved in last month, and we had lived on this street when the first houses were built here. I met a neighbor who runs a popular local blog, the man to go to when I want to know what they're doing with that empty building downtown or when the new restaurant I heard about it going to open. I met a neighbor with nine-year-old quadruplets (!!!). I met a neighbor who promised to alert me to any and all Greek festivals and to bring me some of any Greek pastries she might make.
We came from different backgrounds and had different interests, but we were united by where we live. Each of us shared a love of older houses and all the character they have, a preference for urban living over suburbia, a desire to live in close proximity to restaurants and bars, the farmers market and Durham Bulls. Our neighbors arrived at 5:30, mixing and mingling over the course of the evening. As it got later, people drifted off, but at 10:30, a group of us were still sitting there, chatting, snacking, finishing off a bottle of wine and a growler of beer.
There's lots of things I've come to like about Durham. I enjoy Durham Bulls baseball games, Saturday mornings at the Farmer's Market, picnics at Duke Gardens. I like the city's diversity and the way it prides itself on being a little bit funky. I like all the local restaurants and the many food trucks. I like the DLC and the library's culture series and finding good talks to go to at Duke. But most of all, I like the people that call Durham home, and I like that I have a really good set of them to call my neighbors.
Thursday, September 02, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
The School of Life
During the years we lived in D.C., I forgot about the cycle of the school year. The anticipation, in August, of a new year. The joy of getting fresh school supplies, pencils that hadn't yet been used, notebooks that weren't yet marred. The anticipation, again, in May of being set free for a summer. The thrill of the final bell on the last day of school. We didn't live particularly close to a school in D.C. or know people with kids. We rode public transportation almost exclusively, so we didn't get stuck behind school buses. And though it is full of colleges and universities, D.C. is no college town. The influx of students was not noticeable in a city that always seemed pack, and the fact that so many students came to D.C. each summer for internships and summer jobs meant that, really, numbers did not change that much. The bars in Foggy Bottom and the shops in Georgetown were packed regardless of what the calendar read.
But here in Durham, the school year imposes itself on you. In the morning, the brakes of the school bus, which picks up the girl right across the street, act as a sort of time piece. If I look out the window, I see parents walking their kids to our neighborhood school. I love that. That we have a neighborhood school and that kids still walk to it, lunch boxes swinging in their hands, backpacks bouncing with each step. On Monday, Duke freshmen arrived. Their older counterparts will join them next week. The track around the East Campus is full now whenever I drive by, girls with bodies they don't know they should be thankful for and boys wanting people to look at them as they run without shirts now outnumbering moms with jogging strollers. Next week Ninth Street will grow more crowded. It will be harder to get a seat at the Federal or the James Joyce. The line at Chipotle will be long no matter what time of day you go.
I've seen the freshmen already. They're instantly identifiable. They still have their room keys and IDs on the lanyards Duke gave them, and they wear them around their necks or twirl them around their index fingers. They wear Duke t-shirts everywhere. They move in packs, with no idea yet of who their friends will be, who they will still be hanging out with next summer, next year, on graduation day. They look young. But I guess, compared to me, they are. As we walked past a pack of the freshmen last night on our way into the Bulls game, I thought back to my own Orientation Week, when we went to the Astros game, and I realized that it was eleven years ago.
That realization took my breath away. "Eleven years," I said to Jeff, not just once, but twice, three times. Eleven years. More than a third of my lifetime. It doesn't feel that long ago, not really, and I don't know why. I don't know if it's because that's just the way life is, that we can never quite believe how quickly it passes us by, or because I still sometimes feel like a freshman, it not at college at least at life, uncertain of what it is I want to do or how to get there.
Though technically this school year has nothing to do with me--I'm not taking classes or working at a school--I've decided to embrace it. I've decided to look at those freshmen at Duke, to look at the elementary neighborhood kids on their way to school and to see myself. I've decided to take the time to remember what it is I wanted and hoped for way back when I was starting first grade, six grade, high school, college, and to brush off those goals that I had then that I still care about and to say a resolute goodbye to those that no longer interest me but that I have for whatever reason clung to. I'm going to ask myself what it is I want to learn this year, who it is I want to hang out with this year, in what ways I want to grow this year. Then I'm going to set myself some goals and go after them--even if my pencil has already been worn down to a nub and my notebook is already a good bit full.
But here in Durham, the school year imposes itself on you. In the morning, the brakes of the school bus, which picks up the girl right across the street, act as a sort of time piece. If I look out the window, I see parents walking their kids to our neighborhood school. I love that. That we have a neighborhood school and that kids still walk to it, lunch boxes swinging in their hands, backpacks bouncing with each step. On Monday, Duke freshmen arrived. Their older counterparts will join them next week. The track around the East Campus is full now whenever I drive by, girls with bodies they don't know they should be thankful for and boys wanting people to look at them as they run without shirts now outnumbering moms with jogging strollers. Next week Ninth Street will grow more crowded. It will be harder to get a seat at the Federal or the James Joyce. The line at Chipotle will be long no matter what time of day you go.
I've seen the freshmen already. They're instantly identifiable. They still have their room keys and IDs on the lanyards Duke gave them, and they wear them around their necks or twirl them around their index fingers. They wear Duke t-shirts everywhere. They move in packs, with no idea yet of who their friends will be, who they will still be hanging out with next summer, next year, on graduation day. They look young. But I guess, compared to me, they are. As we walked past a pack of the freshmen last night on our way into the Bulls game, I thought back to my own Orientation Week, when we went to the Astros game, and I realized that it was eleven years ago.
That realization took my breath away. "Eleven years," I said to Jeff, not just once, but twice, three times. Eleven years. More than a third of my lifetime. It doesn't feel that long ago, not really, and I don't know why. I don't know if it's because that's just the way life is, that we can never quite believe how quickly it passes us by, or because I still sometimes feel like a freshman, it not at college at least at life, uncertain of what it is I want to do or how to get there.
Though technically this school year has nothing to do with me--I'm not taking classes or working at a school--I've decided to embrace it. I've decided to look at those freshmen at Duke, to look at the elementary neighborhood kids on their way to school and to see myself. I've decided to take the time to remember what it is I wanted and hoped for way back when I was starting first grade, six grade, high school, college, and to brush off those goals that I had then that I still care about and to say a resolute goodbye to those that no longer interest me but that I have for whatever reason clung to. I'm going to ask myself what it is I want to learn this year, who it is I want to hang out with this year, in what ways I want to grow this year. Then I'm going to set myself some goals and go after them--even if my pencil has already been worn down to a nub and my notebook is already a good bit full.
Monday, April 05, 2010
"I never met a Kentuckian who wasn't coming home." --Gov. A. B. "Happy" Chandler
Today, I sat on my back porch and ate my lunch, looking out at the beautiful flowers blooming in my backyard. Last night, we had friends over for an Easter dinner, which was a tasty success. On Saturday, we enjoyed a lovely day of biking to the farmers market (which was bustling!) and then biking to the Durham Bulls stadium where we watched the home team take on their major league affiliate Tampa Bay Devil Rays, for whom Jeff's college teammate and roommate Jeff Niemann pitched the first four innings. On Friday evening, we met an old high school friend of Jeff's (who we just found out lives on our street!) for some drinks and conversation at a neighborhood bar. As spring blossoms and the city comes back to life, Durham grows on me. Yet still, even in the moments when I'm enjoying myself and finding positives most places I look, I know that this isn't home...at least not permanently.
You see, today as I sat on my porch eating my lunch, I thought about how I wanted to have my mom come over and help me turn my front yard into something half as nice as my backyard. I thought about how much more fun it would be to cook out and play a few games of cornhole if my brothers could come over and join us. I thought about the Easter cookout at my cousin's new house that I missed and the baby showers for friends and family members that I've been unable to attend. I thought about how my grandpa just turned 85 and instead of being able to wish him a happy birthday in person, I could only send a card.
When I left Kentucky, way back in 1999 at the age of 18, I did so because I thought there weren't enough opportunities for me in the Bluegrass State. The state's universities didn't appeal to me. I couldn't conceive of a job that I wanted to do that I could find at home. I was ready for change. Now, more than ten years later, I've had lots of change. I've lived in three states (Texas, Maryland, and North Carolina). I've lived in two countries (Germany and Greece). I've spent time in dozens of other countries.
And while I've been away, Kentucky has, in some ways, changed. On simply the experiential level, Louisville is definitely a more interesting city than it was when I left. In other ways, Kentucky is still the same. If I wrote down all the characteristics I'd want in an place to live, it probably wouldn't be much of a match. It's much too conservative and much too fundamentalist. Outside a few select fields, it's been slow to attract new companies and new jobs. Its public education system leaves much to be desired. Its international airport is only international if you're willing to go via UPS. It's still poor (46th in per capita personal income with a poverty rate of 17%), falling behind in education (only 17% of Kentuckians have a bachelors degree and only 74% have a high school diploma; compared to 27% and 85% nationally), and overwhelmingly white (87%). But rejecting a place to live based on a set list of characteristics is like rejecting a potential life partner because they don't fulfill every single quality on your dream spouse list. No one and no place is perfect. It's about the total package, the feeling you get when you're with the person/place, not their ability to match 100% with your preconceived notions.
And while the fact that I see Kentucky changing, progressing (even if the facts don't prove it) is important, what's probably more important is the fact that I've changed. As I've lived in different places and held different jobs (some with "wow" factors, some without), I've realized that it's highly unlikely that there's any job in the world that is going to play a truly determining factor in my happiness. There are jobs I will like better than others; but there are no jobs that make everything else irrelevant. I've also come to see that successful people can be successful anywhere. There may not be as many opportunities to do the things you want to do in some places versus others, but there are opportunities (or opportunities waiting to be created), and sometimes it's better to be the big(ger) fish in the small(er) pond. I know lots of smart people in Louisville leading successful lives. Finally, as I mentioned in the credo I published at the beginning of the year, I've learned that when it comes right down to it, people matter most. I can do awesome things and see amazing places, but if the people I love the most aren't around to share it with, how great can it be?
And so, I've decided I'm coming home.* It won't be tomorrow. And it might not even be our next move.** But sooner, rather than too much later, we're coming home. I want my future children to see their grandparents once a week, not a few times year. I want them to learn how to fish from my dad. I want them to be close to their uncles, their cousins, and the family members that they don't even know how to quantify (greats and once-removeds and so on and so forth).***I want them to celebrate birthdays surrounded by people who know the second verse of the Happy Birthday song and to know what it means to give someone down the road, even if that also means they sometimes say "worsh" when they mean "wash," call Detroit "DE-troit," and carry an UM-brell-a instead of an um-BRELL-a. And when eventually, they too leave Kentucky, I want them to go out and experience amazing places and do awesome things, and then, having grown up in the embrace of family and close friends, know that while it's all well and good (and necessary, in my opinion) to see what all is out there, what counts when the day is done is people, pure and simple.
*The good Lord willin' and the creek don't rise.
**We'll be here in Durham for at least three years. In an ideal world, Jeff would then be offered a full-time job (with long term potential). In that case, we'd be looking for that job in Louisville (at U of L most likely, unless anyone knows of anywhere in the city else hiring research scientists). In the realistic world, it's likely that Jeff will end up having to do another post-doc. In that case, we would not be looking at Louisville. It is rare in the science world to take a job at the same place you did a post-doc, and since a job is the long-term goal, we'd want to look elsewhere for the post-doc.
***Yes, I do realize that not all of our future children's grandparents would be in Louisville. But, if we're in Louisville, that means we only have to travel to see one side of the family, not both, meaning we'll have more time to make the trek out West. I also realize that there is no guarantee all, or even any, of my brothers will end up in Louisville. I do know, however, that they, like me, love Louisville. I hope that they will at least be close. I know, for certain, that even if they don't live there, it is someplace they will return to often, meaning I'd still see them more if I'm there than if I'm anywhere else.
****And yes, by "I" I do mean "we." Jeff is aware of and onboard with this plan.
You see, today as I sat on my porch eating my lunch, I thought about how I wanted to have my mom come over and help me turn my front yard into something half as nice as my backyard. I thought about how much more fun it would be to cook out and play a few games of cornhole if my brothers could come over and join us. I thought about the Easter cookout at my cousin's new house that I missed and the baby showers for friends and family members that I've been unable to attend. I thought about how my grandpa just turned 85 and instead of being able to wish him a happy birthday in person, I could only send a card.
When I left Kentucky, way back in 1999 at the age of 18, I did so because I thought there weren't enough opportunities for me in the Bluegrass State. The state's universities didn't appeal to me. I couldn't conceive of a job that I wanted to do that I could find at home. I was ready for change. Now, more than ten years later, I've had lots of change. I've lived in three states (Texas, Maryland, and North Carolina). I've lived in two countries (Germany and Greece). I've spent time in dozens of other countries.
And while I've been away, Kentucky has, in some ways, changed. On simply the experiential level, Louisville is definitely a more interesting city than it was when I left. In other ways, Kentucky is still the same. If I wrote down all the characteristics I'd want in an place to live, it probably wouldn't be much of a match. It's much too conservative and much too fundamentalist. Outside a few select fields, it's been slow to attract new companies and new jobs. Its public education system leaves much to be desired. Its international airport is only international if you're willing to go via UPS. It's still poor (46th in per capita personal income with a poverty rate of 17%), falling behind in education (only 17% of Kentuckians have a bachelors degree and only 74% have a high school diploma; compared to 27% and 85% nationally), and overwhelmingly white (87%). But rejecting a place to live based on a set list of characteristics is like rejecting a potential life partner because they don't fulfill every single quality on your dream spouse list. No one and no place is perfect. It's about the total package, the feeling you get when you're with the person/place, not their ability to match 100% with your preconceived notions.
And while the fact that I see Kentucky changing, progressing (even if the facts don't prove it) is important, what's probably more important is the fact that I've changed. As I've lived in different places and held different jobs (some with "wow" factors, some without), I've realized that it's highly unlikely that there's any job in the world that is going to play a truly determining factor in my happiness. There are jobs I will like better than others; but there are no jobs that make everything else irrelevant. I've also come to see that successful people can be successful anywhere. There may not be as many opportunities to do the things you want to do in some places versus others, but there are opportunities (or opportunities waiting to be created), and sometimes it's better to be the big(ger) fish in the small(er) pond. I know lots of smart people in Louisville leading successful lives. Finally, as I mentioned in the credo I published at the beginning of the year, I've learned that when it comes right down to it, people matter most. I can do awesome things and see amazing places, but if the people I love the most aren't around to share it with, how great can it be?
And so, I've decided I'm coming home.* It won't be tomorrow. And it might not even be our next move.** But sooner, rather than too much later, we're coming home. I want my future children to see their grandparents once a week, not a few times year. I want them to learn how to fish from my dad. I want them to be close to their uncles, their cousins, and the family members that they don't even know how to quantify (greats and once-removeds and so on and so forth).***I want them to celebrate birthdays surrounded by people who know the second verse of the Happy Birthday song and to know what it means to give someone down the road, even if that also means they sometimes say "worsh" when they mean "wash," call Detroit "DE-troit," and carry an UM-brell-a instead of an um-BRELL-a. And when eventually, they too leave Kentucky, I want them to go out and experience amazing places and do awesome things, and then, having grown up in the embrace of family and close friends, know that while it's all well and good (and necessary, in my opinion) to see what all is out there, what counts when the day is done is people, pure and simple.
*The good Lord willin' and the creek don't rise.
**We'll be here in Durham for at least three years. In an ideal world, Jeff would then be offered a full-time job (with long term potential). In that case, we'd be looking for that job in Louisville (at U of L most likely, unless anyone knows of anywhere in the city else hiring research scientists). In the realistic world, it's likely that Jeff will end up having to do another post-doc. In that case, we would not be looking at Louisville. It is rare in the science world to take a job at the same place you did a post-doc, and since a job is the long-term goal, we'd want to look elsewhere for the post-doc.
***Yes, I do realize that not all of our future children's grandparents would be in Louisville. But, if we're in Louisville, that means we only have to travel to see one side of the family, not both, meaning we'll have more time to make the trek out West. I also realize that there is no guarantee all, or even any, of my brothers will end up in Louisville. I do know, however, that they, like me, love Louisville. I hope that they will at least be close. I know, for certain, that even if they don't live there, it is someplace they will return to often, meaning I'd still see them more if I'm there than if I'm anywhere else.
****And yes, by "I" I do mean "we." Jeff is aware of and onboard with this plan.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
A Contest Worth Entering
Part three of my rambling series about figuring out what I want to do with my life is coming soon, but I'm interrupting it to let you know that Epiphanie, the creator of some very cool camera bags, is sponsoring a rather awesome contest. The winner gets to choose between a Canon 5D and a $2,500 Southwest gift card. Think of all the places you could go or photos you could take. Insane!
And though I usually refuse to enter all the contests that require you to do one million and one social networking tasks (argh!), this one was too good to pass up. Plus to get one entry (which is all it takes to win!) you just have to comment on their blog, which isn't so difficult. And I decided that it was such an awesome giveaway that it was worth blogging about too (in the hopes that if you win, you'll come visit me with your Southwest gift cards...they fly to RDU!...or pay for me to come visit you.) Anyhow, the deadline is tomorrow, Wednesday, March 31, so leave a comment on their blog and hope that you (or I) get lucky.
And though I usually refuse to enter all the contests that require you to do one million and one social networking tasks (argh!), this one was too good to pass up. Plus to get one entry (which is all it takes to win!) you just have to comment on their blog, which isn't so difficult. And I decided that it was such an awesome giveaway that it was worth blogging about too (in the hopes that if you win, you'll come visit me with your Southwest gift cards...they fly to RDU!...or pay for me to come visit you.) Anyhow, the deadline is tomorrow, Wednesday, March 31, so leave a comment on their blog and hope that you (or I) get lucky.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Finding Focus
(Continued. Read Part 1 Here.)
Officially, I am now a writer. That's what I tell people I do when they ask, though a note of hesitancy always slips into my voice. What really qualifies someone to claim to be a writer? Do you have to have a certain number of things published? A business card? A website? Or do you just have to churn out word after word after word with the hopes that some day someone will read it? Writer is what my taxes will say for 2010. It is my only (sometimes) paying job. From the outside it looks like I'm finally doing exactly what I set out to do back when I was young enough to believe that you really can be anything and everything you want to be. But from the inside, things are still confused.
You see, writer, though containing only six letters, is a big word. It has so many meanings. There are newspaper writers and television writers. They are speechwriters, screenwriters, press release writers. There are bloggers and website writers. There are travel writers. There are essayists. There are poets. There are playwrights. There are biographers. There are novelists. Behind every single thing we read--from bestsellers to the back of the cereal box--there are writers.
So trying to sort out just what kind of writer I am, just what kind of writer I want to be, has been difficult. Because as I said before, I'm a rational person, and I can't ever escape the thought that what I do has to make money (and in the here and now, not the somewhere down the road). No matter how many times Jeff tells me that we're fine without a reliable paycheck from me, no matter how many times I smile and nod, I can't let the thought go. And so when I sit down to write, I usually don't find myself lost in a story, but instead find myself pondering what kind of writing I can do to make a buck. I peruse websites that aggregate freelance writing jobs. I consider churning out how-to articles for Demand Studios. I delve into the idea of monetizing my blog. But always, I reject idea after idea. Because when I really take the time to find my voice amidst all the noise, I realize that none of those jobs embody the type of writer I want to be, that if those are my options for writing, I'd honestly rather just take a desk job. Writing what someone else wants me to write has as little appeal to me as entering data all day ... and at least data entry pays better.
And then there's travel writing. The road most of you probably think I want to go down. The road I myself thought I might want to go down. I've had a bit of luck getting some articles published in magazines and newspapers. I'm at work on my second guidebook. I lovingly keep up a blog dedicated solely to travel. But as I said to Jeff while we sat in a plaza in Cartagena and had a drink, "I don't think I want to be a travel writer." You see, I could care less about top hotels, best restaurants, the 10 most romantic spots in the world, or the most fashionable carry-on bags. I don't like interviewing people. I hate querying, following up, and waiting for responses that rarely come. I'm going to cancel my subscription to Budget Travel if I see Italy on the cover one more time. Writing service pieces (where to go, what to eat, where to stay) interests me once in a blue moon. I don't like working (or feeling like I should) while I'm on vacation. I hate social media (the bloodline of writing these days it seems). I prefer paper to online. And I can probably count on one hand, in this world of shortened attention spans and rapidly dying print media, the number of publications I'd actually like to work for.
On the surface travel writing seems like the perfect fit. I love to travel, and I love to write. But it's not. When I travel--as I see new things and meet local people and come to understand once foreign cultures and histories--I take tons of notes. I file away images, both in my mind and on SD card. But when it comes time to sort through them all, what I find myself creating is not articles but stories. I don't want to tell you the facts; I want to tell you the bigger truth. I am not a journalist. I am a storyteller. Fiction is what I love.
(To Be Continued...)
Officially, I am now a writer. That's what I tell people I do when they ask, though a note of hesitancy always slips into my voice. What really qualifies someone to claim to be a writer? Do you have to have a certain number of things published? A business card? A website? Or do you just have to churn out word after word after word with the hopes that some day someone will read it? Writer is what my taxes will say for 2010. It is my only (sometimes) paying job. From the outside it looks like I'm finally doing exactly what I set out to do back when I was young enough to believe that you really can be anything and everything you want to be. But from the inside, things are still confused.
You see, writer, though containing only six letters, is a big word. It has so many meanings. There are newspaper writers and television writers. They are speechwriters, screenwriters, press release writers. There are bloggers and website writers. There are travel writers. There are essayists. There are poets. There are playwrights. There are biographers. There are novelists. Behind every single thing we read--from bestsellers to the back of the cereal box--there are writers.
So trying to sort out just what kind of writer I am, just what kind of writer I want to be, has been difficult. Because as I said before, I'm a rational person, and I can't ever escape the thought that what I do has to make money (and in the here and now, not the somewhere down the road). No matter how many times Jeff tells me that we're fine without a reliable paycheck from me, no matter how many times I smile and nod, I can't let the thought go. And so when I sit down to write, I usually don't find myself lost in a story, but instead find myself pondering what kind of writing I can do to make a buck. I peruse websites that aggregate freelance writing jobs. I consider churning out how-to articles for Demand Studios. I delve into the idea of monetizing my blog. But always, I reject idea after idea. Because when I really take the time to find my voice amidst all the noise, I realize that none of those jobs embody the type of writer I want to be, that if those are my options for writing, I'd honestly rather just take a desk job. Writing what someone else wants me to write has as little appeal to me as entering data all day ... and at least data entry pays better.
And then there's travel writing. The road most of you probably think I want to go down. The road I myself thought I might want to go down. I've had a bit of luck getting some articles published in magazines and newspapers. I'm at work on my second guidebook. I lovingly keep up a blog dedicated solely to travel. But as I said to Jeff while we sat in a plaza in Cartagena and had a drink, "I don't think I want to be a travel writer." You see, I could care less about top hotels, best restaurants, the 10 most romantic spots in the world, or the most fashionable carry-on bags. I don't like interviewing people. I hate querying, following up, and waiting for responses that rarely come. I'm going to cancel my subscription to Budget Travel if I see Italy on the cover one more time. Writing service pieces (where to go, what to eat, where to stay) interests me once in a blue moon. I don't like working (or feeling like I should) while I'm on vacation. I hate social media (the bloodline of writing these days it seems). I prefer paper to online. And I can probably count on one hand, in this world of shortened attention spans and rapidly dying print media, the number of publications I'd actually like to work for.
On the surface travel writing seems like the perfect fit. I love to travel, and I love to write. But it's not. When I travel--as I see new things and meet local people and come to understand once foreign cultures and histories--I take tons of notes. I file away images, both in my mind and on SD card. But when it comes time to sort through them all, what I find myself creating is not articles but stories. I don't want to tell you the facts; I want to tell you the bigger truth. I am not a journalist. I am a storyteller. Fiction is what I love.
(To Be Continued...)
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Plunging
You know how some kids just know what they want to be when they grow up? They determine at age five they're going to be a doctor and twenty years later are graduating medical school. Or they spend their childhood mimicking the news anchor and then land a broadcasting job after college (after interning in the field all four years). Or they run for class president in second grade and end up a career politician. Well, that wasn't me. Not exactly at least.
There was one thing I've always wanted to be--a writer--but I haven't always been true to that tract.
Through grade school, I remained primarily dedicated to my goal. I excitedly scribbled a Young Authors story and proudly accepted a medal for my writing nearly every year. I worked on the student newspaper. In my eighth grade autobiography, I wrote that I intended to study writing and become a novelist.
But in high school, I lost focus. Though I'd never considered a career in science up to that point, in fact hadn't cared for the subject one bit, I was suddenly finding myself being encouraged to pursue that field. Apparently, I was good at it. The knowledge came easily to me, and my teachers were eager to discuss the possibilities. They didn't mean any harm. They didn't know that I really wanted to be a writer. They were just showing me all the doors that were open to me, doors that led to good jobs with good pay. Come the summer after my junior year, I was studying astronomy at Governor's Scholars rather than creative writing at the Governor's School for the Arts. At senior day for the soccer team, it was announced that I wanted to pursue a degree in engineering. My world had flip-flopped, but that just seemed a part of growing up. Most of us, after all, don't grow up to be the firefighters or astronauts or baseball players we imagine we'll be when we're children.
In college, the conflict came to the fore. As I trudged through biology, chemistry, math, and physics classes, I looked forward only to the lone English or German class on my schedule. Late at night from the floor of my dorm room closet, I'd call home crying about how much I hated physics. When I officially submitted my declaration of major form, changing from bioengineering to English and German, it felt like a failure, but I also felt free.
In the end, owning a piece of paper that declared me to be the holder of degrees in English and German didn't make it any easier to be a writer, or to even dedicate myself to that path. You see, I am a rational person, and being a writer did not seem like a responsible decision. Writing is a path fraught by uncertainty. It is a career that does not come with a guaranteed paycheck. It is a lifestyle marked by failure more than success. And so I meandered. I hemmed and hawed. I tried teaching. I tried research. I tried non-profit work. I tried editing. And while some of those jobs were more palatable than others, it was often again like college. While I made my way through the day, I dreamed about the creative writing class I was taking that evening or worked on the story I planned to present to my writing group. I entered a contest here or there. I won prizes for a few essays and a short story. But writing remained always on the sideline.
Until this year. When faced with a new city and no job, I decided to jump into the cold, murky waters, bottom depth unknown, of writing. Yet still, a few months into this new career, I still don't think I'm where I want to be, doing what I want to do. I still feel like I'm treading water, pondering the descent to where it is I want to be, sticking my mask into the water to see the amazing life that's right there waiting below the surface for me, but holding on to just the slightest little bit of air in my BCD. But you know, I think I'm ready. It's time to orient myself, do one last final check, signal that I'm A-okay, and plunge in.
(To Be Continued...)
There was one thing I've always wanted to be--a writer--but I haven't always been true to that tract.
Through grade school, I remained primarily dedicated to my goal. I excitedly scribbled a Young Authors story and proudly accepted a medal for my writing nearly every year. I worked on the student newspaper. In my eighth grade autobiography, I wrote that I intended to study writing and become a novelist.
But in high school, I lost focus. Though I'd never considered a career in science up to that point, in fact hadn't cared for the subject one bit, I was suddenly finding myself being encouraged to pursue that field. Apparently, I was good at it. The knowledge came easily to me, and my teachers were eager to discuss the possibilities. They didn't mean any harm. They didn't know that I really wanted to be a writer. They were just showing me all the doors that were open to me, doors that led to good jobs with good pay. Come the summer after my junior year, I was studying astronomy at Governor's Scholars rather than creative writing at the Governor's School for the Arts. At senior day for the soccer team, it was announced that I wanted to pursue a degree in engineering. My world had flip-flopped, but that just seemed a part of growing up. Most of us, after all, don't grow up to be the firefighters or astronauts or baseball players we imagine we'll be when we're children.
In college, the conflict came to the fore. As I trudged through biology, chemistry, math, and physics classes, I looked forward only to the lone English or German class on my schedule. Late at night from the floor of my dorm room closet, I'd call home crying about how much I hated physics. When I officially submitted my declaration of major form, changing from bioengineering to English and German, it felt like a failure, but I also felt free.
In the end, owning a piece of paper that declared me to be the holder of degrees in English and German didn't make it any easier to be a writer, or to even dedicate myself to that path. You see, I am a rational person, and being a writer did not seem like a responsible decision. Writing is a path fraught by uncertainty. It is a career that does not come with a guaranteed paycheck. It is a lifestyle marked by failure more than success. And so I meandered. I hemmed and hawed. I tried teaching. I tried research. I tried non-profit work. I tried editing. And while some of those jobs were more palatable than others, it was often again like college. While I made my way through the day, I dreamed about the creative writing class I was taking that evening or worked on the story I planned to present to my writing group. I entered a contest here or there. I won prizes for a few essays and a short story. But writing remained always on the sideline.
Until this year. When faced with a new city and no job, I decided to jump into the cold, murky waters, bottom depth unknown, of writing. Yet still, a few months into this new career, I still don't think I'm where I want to be, doing what I want to do. I still feel like I'm treading water, pondering the descent to where it is I want to be, sticking my mask into the water to see the amazing life that's right there waiting below the surface for me, but holding on to just the slightest little bit of air in my BCD. But you know, I think I'm ready. It's time to orient myself, do one last final check, signal that I'm A-okay, and plunge in.
(To Be Continued...)
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Finding My Voice Amidst All This Noise
Sometimes I wish I could move somewhere where being connected required real effort on my part, where I had to make a conscientious decision to check in and see what's going on in the world. I'm not sure such a place exists, however. I've heard cell phones ring on a spit of land in the middle of the Okavango Delta and in the depths of Bwindi Impenetrable Forest. I've been approached by beggars sending texts. We're nothing if not connected.
There's a lot of noise out there. And at the risk of sounding old, I'm going to say that it's too much and it's too loud. There's Facebook. And there's Twitter. And there's some new Google Friend program-a-ma-bobby. There's blogs of friends and blogs of family and blogs of people I have never and will never meet. There are iPhones and iPads and iDon'tKnowWhatElses. There's CNN.com and WashingtonPost.com and NewsNoOneCaresAbout.com. And of course there's Wikipedia with its bottomless pit of information.
Without putting any active thought into it, with only the twitch of a muscle, I can find out that a girl I probably never even said one word to in high school is going to have sushi for dinner tonight. I can browse the vacation photos of someone I last saw at my eighth grade graduation. I can learn that Reese Witherspoon is now dating someone new, that Heidi Montag (who the hell is she?) has reached the limit for breast implants, and that some jackass Congressman from Texas yelled "It's a baby killer" not just "baby killer" during the health care reform vote.
Whew. What a lot of useless information. The age of information has made us repositories for junk, turned us into junkies for crap. And I'm (finally) saying enough.
Upon turning 29 nearly two weeks ago, I decided to make this a year of taking stock, of cleaning house, of finding focus. I'm cutting out on the things I don't care about, cutting back on things that suck up my time. I want to spend my time tending a vegetable garden, riding my bike, reading good books, making ice cream. I want to live my own life, not be a voyeur in someone else's.
And so today I'm clearing my cache, cleaning out my bookmarks, letting go of bad Internet habits. You'll still find me on Facebook (but only once or twice a day, not every time my cursor is in the address bar). I'll still be keeping up my blogs and checking in on others (though I'm whittling my visits down to the blogs of friends and families and a very few select others). And I'm sure that every once in a while I'll click on a stupid CNN.com article. But overall I'm breaking the bond. The Internet and I have been spending way too much time together recently, and I really don't like where the relationship is going. I just have too many things I want to do here in the real world.
There's a lot of noise out there. And at the risk of sounding old, I'm going to say that it's too much and it's too loud. There's Facebook. And there's Twitter. And there's some new Google Friend program-a-ma-bobby. There's blogs of friends and blogs of family and blogs of people I have never and will never meet. There are iPhones and iPads and iDon'tKnowWhatElses. There's CNN.com and WashingtonPost.com and NewsNoOneCaresAbout.com. And of course there's Wikipedia with its bottomless pit of information.
Without putting any active thought into it, with only the twitch of a muscle, I can find out that a girl I probably never even said one word to in high school is going to have sushi for dinner tonight. I can browse the vacation photos of someone I last saw at my eighth grade graduation. I can learn that Reese Witherspoon is now dating someone new, that Heidi Montag (who the hell is she?) has reached the limit for breast implants, and that some jackass Congressman from Texas yelled "It's a baby killer" not just "baby killer" during the health care reform vote.
Whew. What a lot of useless information. The age of information has made us repositories for junk, turned us into junkies for crap. And I'm (finally) saying enough.
Upon turning 29 nearly two weeks ago, I decided to make this a year of taking stock, of cleaning house, of finding focus. I'm cutting out on the things I don't care about, cutting back on things that suck up my time. I want to spend my time tending a vegetable garden, riding my bike, reading good books, making ice cream. I want to live my own life, not be a voyeur in someone else's.
And so today I'm clearing my cache, cleaning out my bookmarks, letting go of bad Internet habits. You'll still find me on Facebook (but only once or twice a day, not every time my cursor is in the address bar). I'll still be keeping up my blogs and checking in on others (though I'm whittling my visits down to the blogs of friends and families and a very few select others). And I'm sure that every once in a while I'll click on a stupid CNN.com article. But overall I'm breaking the bond. The Internet and I have been spending way too much time together recently, and I really don't like where the relationship is going. I just have too many things I want to do here in the real world.
Monday, March 01, 2010
Six Things I Like About Durham
Because I love a good challenge, I'm taking on Lisa's assignment from the comments to my post on Six Things I Miss About D.C. So without further ado, my list of Six Things I Like About Durham.
1. Our House
Though it still needs a few pieces of furniture, though we still haven't emptied all the boxes, though some of the walls still beg for decor, I like our house. It's cozy and comfortable. It's got great architecture. It has a nice backyard. It has room for guests. It feels like home.
2. The Durham Literacy Center
In searching for a way to meet people and get involved, I found the Durham Literacy Center, and recently I've started volunteering there as an ESOL teacher. I love it. The center is really well run, with a training program that empowers volunteers to really be effective. The students are amazing--smart, funny, enthusiastic, and hardworking. They work hard all day, yet manage to be eager students in the evening. A combination of refugees from countries such as Iraq and Burma and immigrants from Latin America and Africa, these people came to America for a better life and are working hard to make that happen for themselves. And the other people who volunteer at the center are like-minded individuals who I enjoy working with. I really look forward to the nights I get to teach at the DLC.
3. How Friendly People Are
In D.C., not talking was the norm. It was a rare occasion when you talked to the person sitting next to you, legs practically touching, on the Metro. Passing on the sidewalk was not cause for hello. Heck, half the time you could get on the elevator at work and your co-workers wouldn't even bother with small talk. Here, everyone says hello. Everyone asks how you are. Everyone talks to each other. Sometimes, after all those years in D.C., it's a bit unnerving. I want to swivel my head around to see if there's someone else behind me they're talking to. And sometimes when I really just want to grab a gallon of milk and go, the chatty cashier having long conversations with everyone in front of me makes me impatient. But overall it's nice. Not to mention that we have great neighbors. In D.C., we never knew our neighbors (even though we literally shared a wall). Here, despite the crappy winter that's kept everyone inside, we've already met four sets of neighborhoods, and they all seem great. (Not to mention that the woman across the street is also from Louisville. Small world.)
4. All the Stuff within Walking/Biking Distance
Since we don't have good public transportation here, and since driving involves taking your life into your hands, it's particularly awesome that we live within walking or biking distance of many things. The library, the farmer's market, the Durham Bulls stadium, Duke University (Jeff's work), and a slew of restaurants and shops are all within easy walking and biking distance of our house. Once the weather warms up a bit, we're going to be able to leave the cars in the driveway the majority of the time and explore by foot and bike.
5. Being Able to Grill
In D.C., local ordinance prohibited grilling within 100 feet or something like that of a building, and our condo rules prohibited grilling period. It sucked. No chargrilled burgers. No steaks. No beer can chicken. Our poor grill had to be put in storage. But not anymore. Now it's out on the porch, ready for backyard barbecues and heavy summer use. In fact, last night we grilled up a pair of steaks, and oh my were they good.
6. ......
I'll have to get back to you on number six. I'm at a loss. I'm hopeful that once summer rolls around I'll have many more to add to the list. I really should be prohibited from moving to a new city in winter, because I hate winter, and I find it very, very hard to find good things about a place in the winter. But in summer everything is so much better. And also, I heard that the beach is less than three hours away. If true (and if the beach is good), then my glasses might turn out to be rose-colored after all.
1. Our House
Though it still needs a few pieces of furniture, though we still haven't emptied all the boxes, though some of the walls still beg for decor, I like our house. It's cozy and comfortable. It's got great architecture. It has a nice backyard. It has room for guests. It feels like home.
2. The Durham Literacy Center
In searching for a way to meet people and get involved, I found the Durham Literacy Center, and recently I've started volunteering there as an ESOL teacher. I love it. The center is really well run, with a training program that empowers volunteers to really be effective. The students are amazing--smart, funny, enthusiastic, and hardworking. They work hard all day, yet manage to be eager students in the evening. A combination of refugees from countries such as Iraq and Burma and immigrants from Latin America and Africa, these people came to America for a better life and are working hard to make that happen for themselves. And the other people who volunteer at the center are like-minded individuals who I enjoy working with. I really look forward to the nights I get to teach at the DLC.
3. How Friendly People Are
In D.C., not talking was the norm. It was a rare occasion when you talked to the person sitting next to you, legs practically touching, on the Metro. Passing on the sidewalk was not cause for hello. Heck, half the time you could get on the elevator at work and your co-workers wouldn't even bother with small talk. Here, everyone says hello. Everyone asks how you are. Everyone talks to each other. Sometimes, after all those years in D.C., it's a bit unnerving. I want to swivel my head around to see if there's someone else behind me they're talking to. And sometimes when I really just want to grab a gallon of milk and go, the chatty cashier having long conversations with everyone in front of me makes me impatient. But overall it's nice. Not to mention that we have great neighbors. In D.C., we never knew our neighbors (even though we literally shared a wall). Here, despite the crappy winter that's kept everyone inside, we've already met four sets of neighborhoods, and they all seem great. (Not to mention that the woman across the street is also from Louisville. Small world.)
4. All the Stuff within Walking/Biking Distance
Since we don't have good public transportation here, and since driving involves taking your life into your hands, it's particularly awesome that we live within walking or biking distance of many things. The library, the farmer's market, the Durham Bulls stadium, Duke University (Jeff's work), and a slew of restaurants and shops are all within easy walking and biking distance of our house. Once the weather warms up a bit, we're going to be able to leave the cars in the driveway the majority of the time and explore by foot and bike.
5. Being Able to Grill
In D.C., local ordinance prohibited grilling within 100 feet or something like that of a building, and our condo rules prohibited grilling period. It sucked. No chargrilled burgers. No steaks. No beer can chicken. Our poor grill had to be put in storage. But not anymore. Now it's out on the porch, ready for backyard barbecues and heavy summer use. In fact, last night we grilled up a pair of steaks, and oh my were they good.
6. ......
I'll have to get back to you on number six. I'm at a loss. I'm hopeful that once summer rolls around I'll have many more to add to the list. I really should be prohibited from moving to a new city in winter, because I hate winter, and I find it very, very hard to find good things about a place in the winter. But in summer everything is so much better. And also, I heard that the beach is less than three hours away. If true (and if the beach is good), then my glasses might turn out to be rose-colored after all.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Six Things I Miss About D.C.
1. The Metro
Sure, I got frustrated when I was on a train that broke down, and I hated those winter days when I missed the train by just a second and had to wait in the freezing cold for the next one to appear (I got on at an outdoors station), but I'd gladly take the occasional Metro upset over driving any day. With the Metro, you didn't have to worry about traffic, parking, gas, or designated drivers, which is certainly nice. But what I miss most is my reading time. With a 30 minute commute in each direction, my daily Metro rides added up to an hour of guiltless reading time.
2. Eastern Market
Part farmers market, part craft market, part flea market, Eastern Market is a place I never got tired of. There was always something new to discover, always interesting people to watch, always something tasty to try. There was never nothing to do on the weekend, because there was always Eastern Market.
3. Sushi
Okay, Durham has sushi. It's not something that I can't get here. But good sushi, well, that's another story I'm afraid. I've tried different places. I've sampled from all over the menu. And it's not bad; but it's not good either. It's just kind of bland. The fish that is, and since sushi is all about the fish, that's not good news. And also, rather oddly, about 9/10 of the offerings are tuna. I like tuna, but I like variety more. Oh what I'd give for dinner at Raku...
4. The Writer's Center
Tucked away on a side street in downtown Bethesda, you'll find the Writer's Center, home to a plethora of affordable, interesting, and helpful writing classes taught by published writers. I took a class there nearly every semester and loved it. I got valuable feedback. I learned new tricks. I felt motivated and inspired to write. The area where we live now is supposed to be a hotbed for writers, but there's no writer's center or any other similar organization. The best I've been able to find so far is a few writer's groups, but the huge group sizes and very, very broad assortment of skill, interest, and style make them less valuable to me than the Writer's Center.
5. D.C. Drivers
Seriously. I know all you D.C. residents are sitting there slack-jawed wondering if you read that correctly, but you did. Now I'm not saying that D.C. drivers are good (and Lord knows there are way too many of them), but at least, in my opinion, they were bad in a predictable way. Everyone was trying to get ahead. Here, drivers are just freaking oblivious. In the few months we've lived here, I've had way more close calls than I've had in the entire rest of my life. Driving here is downright frightening. (Makes me miss the Metro even more!). Just in the past couple of weeks, we've encountered someone driving the wrong way down a one-way street (and not an alley, but the very large, very busy one-way street parallel to our own one-way street with its own Interstate exit); a person making a U-turn in the middle of the road without looking to see if traffic (aka us) was coming in the way she now wanted to go; a person who pulled out of Wachovia and almost smack into the side of my car because the two lanes nearest her were clear and who actually bothers to look both ways; a person who decided that even though his lane ended and the cars coming entering the Interstate on-ramp from the other direction had the green light he did not need to slow, stop, or merge, and instead tried to plow right into me; and a person making a turn into the wrong lane (aka the one I was in) at about 35 mph in the library parking lot. And honestly, that's no where near a comprehensive list. It's insane...and only proves the point that the driver's test here is worthless.
6. My Friends
I miss chicken salad sandwiches with Jessica, pub quiz night with Jeff's lab, dinner with Lisa, drinks with Tiffany, game night with Phil and Rian. I miss having around me people who know me well, people I can make plans with at the last minute, people I can meet at a cafe for drinks, gossiping, and bitching, people who I can invite over even if the house is a little bit messy and I haven't cooked anything special, people I can ask for a favor, people that make my life more interesting and more fun.
Sure, I got frustrated when I was on a train that broke down, and I hated those winter days when I missed the train by just a second and had to wait in the freezing cold for the next one to appear (I got on at an outdoors station), but I'd gladly take the occasional Metro upset over driving any day. With the Metro, you didn't have to worry about traffic, parking, gas, or designated drivers, which is certainly nice. But what I miss most is my reading time. With a 30 minute commute in each direction, my daily Metro rides added up to an hour of guiltless reading time.
2. Eastern Market
Part farmers market, part craft market, part flea market, Eastern Market is a place I never got tired of. There was always something new to discover, always interesting people to watch, always something tasty to try. There was never nothing to do on the weekend, because there was always Eastern Market.
3. Sushi
Okay, Durham has sushi. It's not something that I can't get here. But good sushi, well, that's another story I'm afraid. I've tried different places. I've sampled from all over the menu. And it's not bad; but it's not good either. It's just kind of bland. The fish that is, and since sushi is all about the fish, that's not good news. And also, rather oddly, about 9/10 of the offerings are tuna. I like tuna, but I like variety more. Oh what I'd give for dinner at Raku...
4. The Writer's Center
Tucked away on a side street in downtown Bethesda, you'll find the Writer's Center, home to a plethora of affordable, interesting, and helpful writing classes taught by published writers. I took a class there nearly every semester and loved it. I got valuable feedback. I learned new tricks. I felt motivated and inspired to write. The area where we live now is supposed to be a hotbed for writers, but there's no writer's center or any other similar organization. The best I've been able to find so far is a few writer's groups, but the huge group sizes and very, very broad assortment of skill, interest, and style make them less valuable to me than the Writer's Center.
5. D.C. Drivers
Seriously. I know all you D.C. residents are sitting there slack-jawed wondering if you read that correctly, but you did. Now I'm not saying that D.C. drivers are good (and Lord knows there are way too many of them), but at least, in my opinion, they were bad in a predictable way. Everyone was trying to get ahead. Here, drivers are just freaking oblivious. In the few months we've lived here, I've had way more close calls than I've had in the entire rest of my life. Driving here is downright frightening. (Makes me miss the Metro even more!). Just in the past couple of weeks, we've encountered someone driving the wrong way down a one-way street (and not an alley, but the very large, very busy one-way street parallel to our own one-way street with its own Interstate exit); a person making a U-turn in the middle of the road without looking to see if traffic (aka us) was coming in the way she now wanted to go; a person who pulled out of Wachovia and almost smack into the side of my car because the two lanes nearest her were clear and who actually bothers to look both ways; a person who decided that even though his lane ended and the cars coming entering the Interstate on-ramp from the other direction had the green light he did not need to slow, stop, or merge, and instead tried to plow right into me; and a person making a turn into the wrong lane (aka the one I was in) at about 35 mph in the library parking lot. And honestly, that's no where near a comprehensive list. It's insane...and only proves the point that the driver's test here is worthless.
6. My Friends
I miss chicken salad sandwiches with Jessica, pub quiz night with Jeff's lab, dinner with Lisa, drinks with Tiffany, game night with Phil and Rian. I miss having around me people who know me well, people I can make plans with at the last minute, people I can meet at a cafe for drinks, gossiping, and bitching, people who I can invite over even if the house is a little bit messy and I haven't cooked anything special, people I can ask for a favor, people that make my life more interesting and more fun.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Mmmm Bread
Is it possible that there are people on this earth that don't love bread? Who are able to sit down at a table at which there is a loaf of warm, fresh bread and not have any? I don't believe it possible. I believe that any normal human being seated within arm's reach of such a loaf will eat not just one but many, many slices. At some point, they'll realize what they have done and for a moment be dismayed at all the carbs they've consumed, but then they'll reach out and take another slice. Good bread is just impossible to resist.
Which is why we're in big trouble here.
For Christmas, Jeff gave me this book.
In case you can't tell the title is "Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day." He'd sampled two loaves made by people who owned the book and was sold. He wanted this kind of bread in his life. And so I got the book for Christmas. That's how boys work in case you didn't know.
And so, one weekend in January, when there wasn't a darn thing to do but sit inside and moan about how darn cold it was outside and how everyone we knew in North Carolina was a liar because they all claimed the winters were mild, so, so, mild, we decided to make our first batch of homemade bread.
I was suspicious of the five minute claim. But churning out the dough turned out to be simple: throw some yeast, warm water, salt, and flour into my mixer and let it go.
A few twists and turns of the dough hook, and we've got dough. Lots of it. The awesome thing about this book and its recipes is that when you make the dough, you make enough for about five loaves. And the dough can be stored in your refrigerator for up to two weeks, meaning all you have to do when you want a fresh loaf is pull out a bit of dough, not start from scratch.
And for all you sourdough fans, the bread gets more sourdoughy over the course of the two weeks without requiring you to maintain a starter or anything difficult or time consuming like that.
Now though the book claims you can have artisan bread in five minutes that's not really true. Though making the dough itself definitely took five minutes or less, you've still got to bake it. This part takes longer. For starters, you've got to heat the oven.
Then comes the very, very, very hardest part. You have to sit and wait while your bread cooks. You have to be patient while your house fills with the smell of warm, delicious bread. You have to continually wipe the drool off your face. It's difficult. But if you can make it the twenty or so minutes it takes for your dough to transform into a loaf of delicious bread, warm and chewy on the inside, nice and crispy on the outside, then you will be rewarded greatly.
Mmmm.
Which is why we're in big trouble here.
For Christmas, Jeff gave me this book.
In case you can't tell the title is "Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day." He'd sampled two loaves made by people who owned the book and was sold. He wanted this kind of bread in his life. And so I got the book for Christmas. That's how boys work in case you didn't know.
And so, one weekend in January, when there wasn't a darn thing to do but sit inside and moan about how darn cold it was outside and how everyone we knew in North Carolina was a liar because they all claimed the winters were mild, so, so, mild, we decided to make our first batch of homemade bread.
I was suspicious of the five minute claim. But churning out the dough turned out to be simple: throw some yeast, warm water, salt, and flour into my mixer and let it go.
A few twists and turns of the dough hook, and we've got dough. Lots of it. The awesome thing about this book and its recipes is that when you make the dough, you make enough for about five loaves. And the dough can be stored in your refrigerator for up to two weeks, meaning all you have to do when you want a fresh loaf is pull out a bit of dough, not start from scratch.
And for all you sourdough fans, the bread gets more sourdoughy over the course of the two weeks without requiring you to maintain a starter or anything difficult or time consuming like that.
Now though the book claims you can have artisan bread in five minutes that's not really true. Though making the dough itself definitely took five minutes or less, you've still got to bake it. This part takes longer. For starters, you've got to heat the oven.
And you've got to shape your loaf and let it rise.
Then comes the very, very, very hardest part. You have to sit and wait while your bread cooks. You have to be patient while your house fills with the smell of warm, delicious bread. You have to continually wipe the drool off your face. It's difficult. But if you can make it the twenty or so minutes it takes for your dough to transform into a loaf of delicious bread, warm and chewy on the inside, nice and crispy on the outside, then you will be rewarded greatly.
Mmmm.
We're addicted. Which, I guess, explains the fact that we have a 25 pound bag of flour in our hall closet.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Irrelevant Questions from the NC Driver's Test
Question 1: How many points do each of the following traffic violations incur: passing a school bus, reckless driving, littering from a motor vehicle?
Answer I Would Have Given If It Were Write-In and Not Multiple Choice:
Who cares? Before doing any of them, am I going to stop and think, "Oh, passing a school bus, that's 5 points, guess I better not," or "Littering, 1 point, no biggie, I'll just toss this soda cup right out my window." Does it matter how many points each incurs? They're all illegal, and if you get caught doing any of them you're going to be in trouble. Period. End of story.
Question 2: For how long is your driver's license suspended if you're caught driving while impaired?
Answer I Would Have Given If It Were Write-In and Not Multiple Choice:
Probably not long enough. And again, does it matter? You shouldn't operate a motor vehicle while impaired by drugs or alcohol, because A) it's just plain stupid, and B) it's also illegal. If you're dumb enough to do it anyway, the length of time your license will be suspended probably doesn't figure into your decision. Can we just make this a true/false question stating that your driver's license will be suspended (Period. End of story.) if you drive while impaired? Thanks.
Question 3: What percentage of traffic fatalities are caused by drunk drivers?
Answer I Would Have Given If It Were Write-In and Not Multiple Choice:
I have no freaking idea, but I do know that even one death is too many. Beyond that, numbers are irrelevant. Period. End of story.
My main objection to all three of these questions is that they have absolutely no bearing on your ability to operate a motor vehicle. Because someone knows that reckless driving is going to result in four points on their license doesn't mean they're not going to do it. And it's not a fear of raising the percentage of deaths caused by drunk drivers that's going to stop someone from getting behind the wheel after drinking. These trivia facts may win me a round at pub quiz one of these days, but they're not going to make anyone a better driver.
Why not ask questions that matter? Such as when do you not have to stop for a stopped school bus? (A: When on a divided highway or a four-lane or bigger road with a middle lane). Or who has the right of way when two cars approach a four-way stop at the same time? (A: The car to the right). Or when is it okay to run over pedestrians? (A: Never.) From my experience driving around here, those are the questions that people really need to know the answers to.
But, I guess I shouldn't expect better. When has anyone ever known the DMV to make sense?
(For the curious, the correct answers are: 5 points for passing a school bus, 4 points for reckless driving, 1 point for littering; 1 year; and 38%. Of course, except for the drunken driving fatality statistic, those are the answers just for here in North Carolina. You could be wrong if you provided these answers on another state's test, which I'm sure has some equally irrelevant questions.)
Answer I Would Have Given If It Were Write-In and Not Multiple Choice:
Who cares? Before doing any of them, am I going to stop and think, "Oh, passing a school bus, that's 5 points, guess I better not," or "Littering, 1 point, no biggie, I'll just toss this soda cup right out my window." Does it matter how many points each incurs? They're all illegal, and if you get caught doing any of them you're going to be in trouble. Period. End of story.
Question 2: For how long is your driver's license suspended if you're caught driving while impaired?
Answer I Would Have Given If It Were Write-In and Not Multiple Choice:
Probably not long enough. And again, does it matter? You shouldn't operate a motor vehicle while impaired by drugs or alcohol, because A) it's just plain stupid, and B) it's also illegal. If you're dumb enough to do it anyway, the length of time your license will be suspended probably doesn't figure into your decision. Can we just make this a true/false question stating that your driver's license will be suspended (Period. End of story.) if you drive while impaired? Thanks.
Question 3: What percentage of traffic fatalities are caused by drunk drivers?
Answer I Would Have Given If It Were Write-In and Not Multiple Choice:
I have no freaking idea, but I do know that even one death is too many. Beyond that, numbers are irrelevant. Period. End of story.
My main objection to all three of these questions is that they have absolutely no bearing on your ability to operate a motor vehicle. Because someone knows that reckless driving is going to result in four points on their license doesn't mean they're not going to do it. And it's not a fear of raising the percentage of deaths caused by drunk drivers that's going to stop someone from getting behind the wheel after drinking. These trivia facts may win me a round at pub quiz one of these days, but they're not going to make anyone a better driver.
Why not ask questions that matter? Such as when do you not have to stop for a stopped school bus? (A: When on a divided highway or a four-lane or bigger road with a middle lane). Or who has the right of way when two cars approach a four-way stop at the same time? (A: The car to the right). Or when is it okay to run over pedestrians? (A: Never.) From my experience driving around here, those are the questions that people really need to know the answers to.
But, I guess I shouldn't expect better. When has anyone ever known the DMV to make sense?
(For the curious, the correct answers are: 5 points for passing a school bus, 4 points for reckless driving, 1 point for littering; 1 year; and 38%. Of course, except for the drunken driving fatality statistic, those are the answers just for here in North Carolina. You could be wrong if you provided these answers on another state's test, which I'm sure has some equally irrelevant questions.)
Monday, January 04, 2010
Why Moving Sucks
1. Packing. Loading. Unloading. Unpacking.
2. You have to to take all the furniture and decorations that fit so nicely in and went so well with your last residence and try to find a place for them in your new residence, which is a completely different size and style.
3. You have to get a new license, which means going to the DMV. Which means dealing with people who, if not actually stupid, are trying very hard to convince you that they are.
4. You have to activate all of your utilities, which might mean that you have to go to the actual office of the cable/Internet service where you get to stand in line behind a crapload of people who are there to inquire just how much they have to pay to avoid having their service shut off.
5. You have no idea where the grocery store, or anything else, is.
6. You have to spend all kinds of time and all kinds of money fixing and changing things, no matter how "move-in ready" your house is.
7. You have to make new friends.
2. You have to to take all the furniture and decorations that fit so nicely in and went so well with your last residence and try to find a place for them in your new residence, which is a completely different size and style.
3. You have to get a new license, which means going to the DMV. Which means dealing with people who, if not actually stupid, are trying very hard to convince you that they are.
4. You have to activate all of your utilities, which might mean that you have to go to the actual office of the cable/Internet service where you get to stand in line behind a crapload of people who are there to inquire just how much they have to pay to avoid having their service shut off.
5. You have no idea where the grocery store, or anything else, is.
6. You have to spend all kinds of time and all kinds of money fixing and changing things, no matter how "move-in ready" your house is.
7. You have to make new friends.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Getting Married Small Town Texas Style
On November 14, my good friend Tiffany married her now-husband Robert in a ceremony in her hometown of Hallettsville, Texas. Never heard of the place? Well, I'm not surprised. The population of Hallettsville is 2,700, less than the undergrad population of Rice University, where I met Tiffany on our very first day of college.
Jeff and I made the trek to smalltown Texas, meeting up with our friend Cristina, to celebrate the special occasion. Our weekend started out with a welcome dinner at Tiffany's parent's house. If I'd been a good photographer, I would have photographed the food, because it was ridiculous. We had barbecued beef, ribs, shrimp wrapped with bacon and stuffed with jalapenos, and mashed potatoes with bacon and cheese. It was meat heaven, and it was all delicious. The next day at the wedding, the meat feast continued with grilled beef and chicken, green beans with bacon, and spinach salad with bacon. Good thing we were not vegetarians! I don't think that goes over so well in a town of cattle ranchers.
The next day we had all morning to explore Hallettsville before the 3 p.m. wedding. We began by driving past the water tower to the Wal-Mart. Though still in the old-school style, it is open 24 hours a day and is thus probably the most happening place in town.
From there, we stopped in for kolaches (a Czech pastry popular in these parts) at the locally famous Kountry Bakery. (Again, I failed at photographing food.) We then drove by the donut-deli-Chinese food shop with the liquor store next door (now that's multi-tasking!) and tried to figure out just what a "drive-in" grocery is.
With a bit of time left before the ceremony, we stopped to check out the reception hall. The people in Hallettsville are magic, ya'll, because they took this building
and turned it into this.
Beautiful, huh?
That's not where the beauty ended though. The bride was stunning, and Cristina and I managed to steal time from her busy schedule for a photo. I'm usually not a fan of strapless dresses, but this one was amazing. A perfect choice.
The reception, which was attended by nearly all of Hallettsville it seemed at times, along with many of their out-of-town friends and families, was fun. We started the evening with the Grand March. Apparently a local tradition, the Grand March involves everyone at the reception coupling up and marching around and around the reception hall. At some point, the lead couple (the bride and groom) stop and put their arms together making a bridge that everyone must pass under. The next couple follows suit and so and so forth until everyone makes their way under, including, at the end the bride and groom. They then end up in the middle of the floor where they do their first dance. It was pretty funny. Though also quite tiring. By the time we were done, Cristina and I were out the door to get our flats from the car. Our feet were done.
Later we got to march again. This time, in honor of the groom's New Orleans heritage, we did the Second Line, which involved us marking around waving white handkerchiefs (or Kleenex as the case may be) behind the bride carrying a white parasol all while the New Orlean's style big band played "When the Saints Go Marching In." They definitely did a good job of personalizing their wedding, and I think we all had a great time.
The personalization didn't end at the wedding though. The hotel did their part too, offering Texas-shaped waffles. What more could a person want?
Capping off our very Texas style adventure was the woman we saw set up right at the interstate on-ramp offering photos of her longhorns. I stole one from the car window, because seriously, what's more Texan than that?
Anyhow, congrats Tiffany and Robert! We had fun at our Hallettsville wedding adventure, and we wish you two a long life filled with happiness, adventure, and love.
Jeff and I made the trek to smalltown Texas, meeting up with our friend Cristina, to celebrate the special occasion. Our weekend started out with a welcome dinner at Tiffany's parent's house. If I'd been a good photographer, I would have photographed the food, because it was ridiculous. We had barbecued beef, ribs, shrimp wrapped with bacon and stuffed with jalapenos, and mashed potatoes with bacon and cheese. It was meat heaven, and it was all delicious. The next day at the wedding, the meat feast continued with grilled beef and chicken, green beans with bacon, and spinach salad with bacon. Good thing we were not vegetarians! I don't think that goes over so well in a town of cattle ranchers.
The next day we had all morning to explore Hallettsville before the 3 p.m. wedding. We began by driving past the water tower to the Wal-Mart. Though still in the old-school style, it is open 24 hours a day and is thus probably the most happening place in town.
From there, we stopped in for kolaches (a Czech pastry popular in these parts) at the locally famous Kountry Bakery. (Again, I failed at photographing food.) We then drove by the donut-deli-Chinese food shop with the liquor store next door (now that's multi-tasking!) and tried to figure out just what a "drive-in" grocery is.
With a bit of time left before the ceremony, we stopped to check out the reception hall. The people in Hallettsville are magic, ya'll, because they took this building
and turned it into this.
Beautiful, huh?
That's not where the beauty ended though. The bride was stunning, and Cristina and I managed to steal time from her busy schedule for a photo. I'm usually not a fan of strapless dresses, but this one was amazing. A perfect choice.
The reception, which was attended by nearly all of Hallettsville it seemed at times, along with many of their out-of-town friends and families, was fun. We started the evening with the Grand March. Apparently a local tradition, the Grand March involves everyone at the reception coupling up and marching around and around the reception hall. At some point, the lead couple (the bride and groom) stop and put their arms together making a bridge that everyone must pass under. The next couple follows suit and so and so forth until everyone makes their way under, including, at the end the bride and groom. They then end up in the middle of the floor where they do their first dance. It was pretty funny. Though also quite tiring. By the time we were done, Cristina and I were out the door to get our flats from the car. Our feet were done.
Later we got to march again. This time, in honor of the groom's New Orleans heritage, we did the Second Line, which involved us marking around waving white handkerchiefs (or Kleenex as the case may be) behind the bride carrying a white parasol all while the New Orlean's style big band played "When the Saints Go Marching In." They definitely did a good job of personalizing their wedding, and I think we all had a great time.
The personalization didn't end at the wedding though. The hotel did their part too, offering Texas-shaped waffles. What more could a person want?
Capping off our very Texas style adventure was the woman we saw set up right at the interstate on-ramp offering photos of her longhorns. I stole one from the car window, because seriously, what's more Texan than that?
Anyhow, congrats Tiffany and Robert! We had fun at our Hallettsville wedding adventure, and we wish you two a long life filled with happiness, adventure, and love.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Don't Move In Without...
In less than two weeks, barring any major disasters, Jeff and I will take ownership of our house. We'll be moving in with practically nothing, literally an air mattress, some clothes, and a bit of food. Our full-fledged move-in will be after Christmas, when we'll drive our belongings from Louisville to Durham with the help of family. We're moving from a one-bedroom apartment to a 1900 sq. foot house, so let's just say that there's going to be a lot of empty space. We're okay with that. We plan to gradually fill it all in as we find items that we really like and the money to buy them with.
But there are some things you just can't live without. Toilet paper for instance.
We want to be sure we have all that necessary type stuff on hand when we move in. I've been brainstorming and making lists, but I'm sure I'm overlooking plenty of things. So let me know, what was the one thing you ran out to get as soon as you moved into your house because you'd forgotten all about it but desperately needed it? Or what did you forget for months but then need and wish you had had it on standby all along? What will I need that I have no notion of? What can't I live without for even a few days? And what should I do or arrange to have done in the time span from when we close to when we actually move our furniture in?
All ideas appreciated.
But there are some things you just can't live without. Toilet paper for instance.
We want to be sure we have all that necessary type stuff on hand when we move in. I've been brainstorming and making lists, but I'm sure I'm overlooking plenty of things. So let me know, what was the one thing you ran out to get as soon as you moved into your house because you'd forgotten all about it but desperately needed it? Or what did you forget for months but then need and wish you had had it on standby all along? What will I need that I have no notion of? What can't I live without for even a few days? And what should I do or arrange to have done in the time span from when we close to when we actually move our furniture in?
All ideas appreciated.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
To Paint or Not to Paint
The house Jeff and I are planning to buy (inspection today went well, closing date set for 12/15) has two small rooms, both of which are in the very back of the first floor, that are wood paneled. As you may have heard me say before, nearly every single house we saw in our weeks of househunting in Durham had at least one wood paneled room. It's apparently rather in style in this part of the country. The paneling ranged from cheap to expensive, grody to not bad.
Considering there was practically no chance of getting a house without paneling, what we ended up with is pretty darn good. The rooms with the paneling are small, and the paneling itself is of the high-end variety and in good shape.
Here's room #1.
It's the family room, a 12 x 12 room off the back of the much larger living room. The two rooms are connected by a French door style opening in the middle of the wall connecting the two. This means that the rooms are pretty well open to each other, the yellow-painted living room giving way to the wood-paneled family room.
Here's room #2.
It's the study, a tiny 9 x 8 room off the back of the kitchen. A smaller than average doorway connects the two rooms, so you can't see much of the study unless you step all the way into it.
Upon first seeing the house, our plan was to paint the paneling. We're not really into wood paneling, and with hardwood floors, it seemed like total wood overload. Seeing it first on a gloomy, rainy day, the rooms also seemed really dark. At home in Louisville last week, I began the search for paint colors for the rooms while on a trip to Lowe's with my parents.
Today, when we went to the house for the inspection, I took the paint chips I had picked out with me to get an idea of how they'd look. We want to get the house painted before we go home for Christmas so that when we come back with all our junk, we're ready to move right in.
At the end of the day, I still like the colors I picked out. But at the end of the day, I'm also less certain I want to paint at all.
I don't know, but painting wood paneling just feels kind of wrong. Maybe it's the Zimmerman in me. My grandpa was a varnish man and thought painting wood was about the worst thing you could do to it. I'm also worried that painted paneling might just look cheap.
What do you think? I've got myself all confused, and I'm desperately in need of opinions. Would you paint the rooms? Would you leave them as is? Would you paint one and leave one?
Considering there was practically no chance of getting a house without paneling, what we ended up with is pretty darn good. The rooms with the paneling are small, and the paneling itself is of the high-end variety and in good shape.
Here's room #1.
It's the family room, a 12 x 12 room off the back of the much larger living room. The two rooms are connected by a French door style opening in the middle of the wall connecting the two. This means that the rooms are pretty well open to each other, the yellow-painted living room giving way to the wood-paneled family room.
Here's room #2.
It's the study, a tiny 9 x 8 room off the back of the kitchen. A smaller than average doorway connects the two rooms, so you can't see much of the study unless you step all the way into it.
Upon first seeing the house, our plan was to paint the paneling. We're not really into wood paneling, and with hardwood floors, it seemed like total wood overload. Seeing it first on a gloomy, rainy day, the rooms also seemed really dark. At home in Louisville last week, I began the search for paint colors for the rooms while on a trip to Lowe's with my parents.
Today, when we went to the house for the inspection, I took the paint chips I had picked out with me to get an idea of how they'd look. We want to get the house painted before we go home for Christmas so that when we come back with all our junk, we're ready to move right in.
At the end of the day, I still like the colors I picked out. But at the end of the day, I'm also less certain I want to paint at all.
I don't know, but painting wood paneling just feels kind of wrong. Maybe it's the Zimmerman in me. My grandpa was a varnish man and thought painting wood was about the worst thing you could do to it. I'm also worried that painted paneling might just look cheap.
What do you think? I've got myself all confused, and I'm desperately in need of opinions. Would you paint the rooms? Would you leave them as is? Would you paint one and leave one?
Sunday, November 15, 2009
A Sneak Peek at Our House
Assuming all goes well with inspections, we'll be moving on December 15.
We're excited. We'd looked at about 20 different houses by the time we saw this one, many of those documented in an earlier post, but when we saw this one we knew it was the right one for us. I'd actually seen the house online before and liked it, but at the time it was a good $25,000 out of our price range, so I put it out of mind.
But then the sellers dropped their price significantly, putting it in the range in which we were looking, and it showed up in the set of new listings our agent sent us. We immediately made plans to see it. And as soon as we walked in, I was hooked. It was what we'd been looking for: an old house with character, in a neighborhood within walking/biking distance of Duke and downtown, two stories, three bedrooms, and in move-in condition.
The Kitchen
The Dining Room
The Living Room
So after seeing it for the first time on Tuesday morning, we returned Wednesday at lunch time for a second look. We received answers to a few questions Wednesday night, and then on Thursday at lunch time, we made an offer on the house.
The Durham market isn't much different than any market around the country at the moment, and there are a lot of houses sitting a long time on the market. We'd seen a lot of houses that had been listed for 200+ days. This wasn't the housing market of a few years ago when you had to make an offer the moment you saw a house and sometimes even offer more than the list price.
But I guess a good house is a good house, regardless of the market. As soon as the sellers dropped their price, the house started to see a lot of traffic, at least according to the listing agent. We had time to see it twice, but this wasn't a house for sitting on. In fact, as we were putting in our offer, we learned that another couple was seeing the house for a second time at that very moment. Hoping to beat them to the punch, we put a short expiration on our offer. But we still took a gamble, offering them $7,000 less than list price. We are in a buyer's market, after all.
All evening, whenever the phone rang, my heart seized up. But we didn't get any news except that one of the sellers was on the way home from out of town, and we wouldn't hear until the morning. The expiration on our offer was noon. At 6:10 am, we had to be on a plane heading to Texas for a wedding. We let our agent know when we'd be available while on layover in Houston, and when we'd finally land in San Antonio.
Through our entire layover, we held onto the phone and checked in for messages a few time, but it didn't ring and we were told over and over no new messages. Then we get on the plane and go to turn the phone off and are suddenly told we have two new messages. We dial up and listen.
The first message: They've countered with an offer $3,000 higher than ours.
We're thrilled. We expected a counter-offer, and this will work for us. We're ready to call our agent back and say accept. But first we check the second message.
The second message: As our agent was conveying their counter-offer to us, she got another call. Deal off. The sellers were getting a second offer. We now had to put in our best and final offer.
Elation to disappointment within a minute. Of course at this point the plane is about to take off and the stewardess is making us turn off our phone. There's nothing we can do but spend the entire flight thinking about the situation and what we want to do.
Once safely on the ground in San Antonio, we're on the phone. First to our agent to talk about our options. Then to our parents in search of some advice. We weren't really looking to get in a bidding war. Damn it, this is supposed to be a buyer's market! But we feel really strongly that this is the house for us. We think and ponder and debate. We pro and con. I try to rationalize my emotional response. In the end, we go for it. We put in an escalating bid, offering to pay $1,000 more than the other people placing a bid, but capping our offer at $1,000 over list price. We want the house, but we decide that if the other people are willing to pay well over list, then it just isn't meant to be. We also figure that if we do win, we'll be paying full price + $1,000. Knowing they're in competition and have to put in a best and final offer, we figure they'll put in full price. Why would you do anything else?
Well, I still don't know the answer to that question, but the other couple offered $3,000 less than list price. This means the house is ours, and we still don't have to pay full list price in the end. Woohoo!
When the call came, we were thrilled...and relieved.
I have to say that I hated the whole experience once we got into the offer phase. I am not a gambler and that's what this felt like to me. That kind of anxiety is not for me. I also don't like that kind of disappointment. So thank goodness we won. I love the house. I love the location. I love the neighborhood. It's an exciting new move for us.
But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I have some reservations. A house is so permanent, so tying. I can't just call up my leasing office and say I'm moving out in 6 weeks. I'm stuck with it. And the financial responsibility is pretty darn big too. I have to say that when we signed the contract, I felt thrilled, as well as completely sick to my stomach. Do you know how many times we could go around the world with that kind of money?
We're excited. We'd looked at about 20 different houses by the time we saw this one, many of those documented in an earlier post, but when we saw this one we knew it was the right one for us. I'd actually seen the house online before and liked it, but at the time it was a good $25,000 out of our price range, so I put it out of mind.
But then the sellers dropped their price significantly, putting it in the range in which we were looking, and it showed up in the set of new listings our agent sent us. We immediately made plans to see it. And as soon as we walked in, I was hooked. It was what we'd been looking for: an old house with character, in a neighborhood within walking/biking distance of Duke and downtown, two stories, three bedrooms, and in move-in condition.
The Kitchen
The Dining Room
The Living RoomSo after seeing it for the first time on Tuesday morning, we returned Wednesday at lunch time for a second look. We received answers to a few questions Wednesday night, and then on Thursday at lunch time, we made an offer on the house.
The Durham market isn't much different than any market around the country at the moment, and there are a lot of houses sitting a long time on the market. We'd seen a lot of houses that had been listed for 200+ days. This wasn't the housing market of a few years ago when you had to make an offer the moment you saw a house and sometimes even offer more than the list price.
But I guess a good house is a good house, regardless of the market. As soon as the sellers dropped their price, the house started to see a lot of traffic, at least according to the listing agent. We had time to see it twice, but this wasn't a house for sitting on. In fact, as we were putting in our offer, we learned that another couple was seeing the house for a second time at that very moment. Hoping to beat them to the punch, we put a short expiration on our offer. But we still took a gamble, offering them $7,000 less than list price. We are in a buyer's market, after all.
All evening, whenever the phone rang, my heart seized up. But we didn't get any news except that one of the sellers was on the way home from out of town, and we wouldn't hear until the morning. The expiration on our offer was noon. At 6:10 am, we had to be on a plane heading to Texas for a wedding. We let our agent know when we'd be available while on layover in Houston, and when we'd finally land in San Antonio.
Through our entire layover, we held onto the phone and checked in for messages a few time, but it didn't ring and we were told over and over no new messages. Then we get on the plane and go to turn the phone off and are suddenly told we have two new messages. We dial up and listen.
The first message: They've countered with an offer $3,000 higher than ours.
We're thrilled. We expected a counter-offer, and this will work for us. We're ready to call our agent back and say accept. But first we check the second message.
The second message: As our agent was conveying their counter-offer to us, she got another call. Deal off. The sellers were getting a second offer. We now had to put in our best and final offer.
Elation to disappointment within a minute. Of course at this point the plane is about to take off and the stewardess is making us turn off our phone. There's nothing we can do but spend the entire flight thinking about the situation and what we want to do.
Once safely on the ground in San Antonio, we're on the phone. First to our agent to talk about our options. Then to our parents in search of some advice. We weren't really looking to get in a bidding war. Damn it, this is supposed to be a buyer's market! But we feel really strongly that this is the house for us. We think and ponder and debate. We pro and con. I try to rationalize my emotional response. In the end, we go for it. We put in an escalating bid, offering to pay $1,000 more than the other people placing a bid, but capping our offer at $1,000 over list price. We want the house, but we decide that if the other people are willing to pay well over list, then it just isn't meant to be. We also figure that if we do win, we'll be paying full price + $1,000. Knowing they're in competition and have to put in a best and final offer, we figure they'll put in full price. Why would you do anything else?
Well, I still don't know the answer to that question, but the other couple offered $3,000 less than list price. This means the house is ours, and we still don't have to pay full list price in the end. Woohoo!
When the call came, we were thrilled...and relieved.
I have to say that I hated the whole experience once we got into the offer phase. I am not a gambler and that's what this felt like to me. That kind of anxiety is not for me. I also don't like that kind of disappointment. So thank goodness we won. I love the house. I love the location. I love the neighborhood. It's an exciting new move for us.
But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I have some reservations. A house is so permanent, so tying. I can't just call up my leasing office and say I'm moving out in 6 weeks. I'm stuck with it. And the financial responsibility is pretty darn big too. I have to say that when we signed the contract, I felt thrilled, as well as completely sick to my stomach. Do you know how many times we could go around the world with that kind of money?
Monday, November 09, 2009
Silly Zoo, That's What Lions are Supposed to Do
Check out this article in the Washington Post: At the Zoo, No Escape for a Deer in the Lions' Den
Is it just me or does anyone else think they should have just left the deer in there? I, for one, am happy to see that the lions, probably zoo animals since birth, still retain their natural instinct to hunt and kill. I think it would have been awesome to witness this. I certainly wouldn't have run away screaming nor would I have cheered for the deer; I'd be cheering for the lions.
Also, didn't the zoo realize that this would be one less meal they'd have to provide if they just left the deer in the cage? It died anyways, so now it's just wasted meat. Plus, anyone who has lived in the area knows that Rock Creek Park has a serious deer overpopulation problem. It's not like they're endangered. And, finally, the deer jumped into the cage. Obviously, he's not the brightest of the bunch, so let's let survival of the fittest do it's job. What do you say?
Is it just me or does anyone else think they should have just left the deer in there? I, for one, am happy to see that the lions, probably zoo animals since birth, still retain their natural instinct to hunt and kill. I think it would have been awesome to witness this. I certainly wouldn't have run away screaming nor would I have cheered for the deer; I'd be cheering for the lions.
Also, didn't the zoo realize that this would be one less meal they'd have to provide if they just left the deer in the cage? It died anyways, so now it's just wasted meat. Plus, anyone who has lived in the area knows that Rock Creek Park has a serious deer overpopulation problem. It's not like they're endangered. And, finally, the deer jumped into the cage. Obviously, he's not the brightest of the bunch, so let's let survival of the fittest do it's job. What do you say?
Thursday, November 05, 2009
The Hunt for a House
Jeff and I decided that when we moved to North Carolina we would buy a house, so before we got here we spent a lot of time thinking about what we wanted. We had a few solid ideas. We wanted an older home with character in a lively neighborhood close to restaurants and shops (think Highlands if you're in Louisville; Ballard if you're in Seattle). We wanted to be close to Duke so that Jeff could continue to ride his bike to work. We wanted 3 bedrooms and 2 baths, something with room for guests and an office but not too much extra space that we'd just have to furnish and clean. We wanted it to be in live-in condition. Though the idea of renovating an old house has its appeal, we're realistic enough to know that right now we don't have the time...or the know-how.
So our first two days here, we just rode all over Durham trying to get a feel for it, figuring out which neighborhoods looked like good fits and which didn't. On our third day, we went out with a realtor and saw 11 houses. Two days later we went out and saw 2 additional houses. On Tuesday, we went and saw 1 more. So far, that's 14 houses that we've seen in person. How many we've looked at online I can't even begin to guess. Yet we're still at square one, without a house that we want to purchase.
We've seen some interesting houses though. We've seen two that must have had previous lives as boarding houses, as none of the rooms were connected, with each and every one opening up into a hallway that ran straight from the front door down the middle of the house. They had some cool old fireplaces and doors but weren't exactly livable. One also had a styrofoam ceiling. That's a new one for me.
We've seen one that was firmly situated on the corner of Okay and Not Okay. The tricky thing with Durham is that you can cross one street and go from a neighborhood of lovely, well-maintained homes to a neighborhood you wouldn't walk through by yourself at night...and maybe not during the day. This house, if approached from the south, seemed to be well located. If approached from the north, it seemed to border the ghetto. And for us, the corner of Okay and Not Okay is pretty much Not Okay. (Props to my friend Kate for this original reference, which Jeff and I love.)
We've seen a couple that used to be duplexes but have been reconverted back into single family homes. By reconverted I mean that they simply filled the window and door areas with drywall while leaving the framing. Very classy.
We've seen a cool solar home, but it was a bit far away and more of an ideal set up for a single person, or at least a couple who never intended to have overnight guests.
We've seen one or two homes that are nice, but just aren't us.
And twice we've seen our dream house. The first one was oozing with character---beautiful wood floors, a cool closed in sleeping porch, an amazing fireplace surrounded by built in bookshelves in the living room, an updated but not at all sterile kitchen.
But it was on a busy street, set only a few yards from it (so a good bit of street noise), and with a driveway about as big as one car. It's impossible to get in and out, and the nearest street you can park on requires you traipse through your back neighbor's yard. It also only has one bathroom, and there wasn't an obvious place to put a second one. Also, near the top of our price range, we won't really have extra funds for adding bathrooms. And finally the washer/dryer was in the basement, which totally reminded me of a cave (or being on the Seattle Underground tour). It is not what anyone in Louisville would call a basement, but apparently the standard for around here. It was exposed dirt...with exposed wiring and exposed insulation to match.
The second one we adored was an Arts & Crafts style bungalow (exactly what we were looking for!). It had great hard wood floors and fireplaces, lovely crown molding, a nice front porch, cool built-ins, a redone kitchen, redone bathrooms, and a good yard. Perfect. Except for the neighborhood. The immediate neighbors looked good. (Though the house immediately next door isn't as nice, and is, in fact, on sale for $70,000 less than the house we looked at!) But the house backs up to an apartment complex that appears to house a lot of people who like to keep the majority of their possessions on their front porch. Three houses down in one direction is a house with literally 15 cars parked in the yard. Three houses down in the direction is a house with a falling down barn-like structure and a driveway filled with junk. At the end of the street is a used car lot and a checks cashed place. I really wish we could just pick up the house and move it.
And then there was the house we'd probably put a bid on if it weren't for one major thing. The house isn't our dream house, but we like it a lot. It's just down the street from Dream House #1, and it's a fantastic neighborhood of mainly much bigger houses at much higher prices. It's right across from a lovely park, a short bike ride to Duke, and best of all, just a mile walk from the newly revitalized downtown area. It's set much farther off the street than the other house, has a turnaround and garage, and has a large, terraced lawn that blocks out most street noise. The kitchen and bathrooms are a bit smaller than we'd like, but livable. The living/dining area is great as are the bedrooms. There's a nice fireplace, beautiful hardwoods, elegant crown molding. There's also a closed in sleeping porch that would make an awesome office, and a large and very light-filled sun room. It would make a great house.
So what's the problem? Well, it may just collapse on us if we bought it. You see, the first time we saw it, we noticed a bit of cracking inside by the windows and doors. We took some photos and sent them to my brother, an architect who works for a firm that pretty much specialized in this kind of thing. He got back to me and said that they didn't look too bad from what he could tell, but we should look more closely and especially pay attention to the outside. So we revisited the house, and I don't know how we missed all the cracks the first time. They were everywhere. And worst of all, they were outside. There were lots of stairstep and pyramid cracks, which indicate that the foundation has shifted (or is shifting). There were cracks that had been filled but had cracked again, a sign that it wasn't a one-time thing. There was a crack that was 1/2 inch wide, which my brother says is pretty substantial in the world of architecture. And there was a long horizontal crack, which is apparently a sign of wall failure. Fan-freaking-tastic.
Not wanting to entirely write it off, we requested info from the sellers. They were, however, completely unhelpful. They claim that they had it looked at when they bought the house 10 years ago and were told it was fine, but they can't provide any paperwork to substantiate it. They also claim it hasn't moved since they have lived there, though they haven't had it looked at any time recently and don't have crack monitors, so I don't believe they have any way of knowing, except that it hasn't fallen on them. And they don't appear to have any interest in having a structural engineer look at or in paying for any necessary repairs.
So we're walking. And it's back to square one. Though sort of fun at first, I'm already getting tired of the house hunt. It feels like it's been a long hunt already (as evidenced by this long post!). Not exactly inspiring is the fact that we're moving into the holidays and winter, which is not a popular time to be house hunting. But I guess all it takes is the one perfect house. Cross your fingers for us!
So our first two days here, we just rode all over Durham trying to get a feel for it, figuring out which neighborhoods looked like good fits and which didn't. On our third day, we went out with a realtor and saw 11 houses. Two days later we went out and saw 2 additional houses. On Tuesday, we went and saw 1 more. So far, that's 14 houses that we've seen in person. How many we've looked at online I can't even begin to guess. Yet we're still at square one, without a house that we want to purchase.
We've seen some interesting houses though. We've seen two that must have had previous lives as boarding houses, as none of the rooms were connected, with each and every one opening up into a hallway that ran straight from the front door down the middle of the house. They had some cool old fireplaces and doors but weren't exactly livable. One also had a styrofoam ceiling. That's a new one for me.
We've seen one that was firmly situated on the corner of Okay and Not Okay. The tricky thing with Durham is that you can cross one street and go from a neighborhood of lovely, well-maintained homes to a neighborhood you wouldn't walk through by yourself at night...and maybe not during the day. This house, if approached from the south, seemed to be well located. If approached from the north, it seemed to border the ghetto. And for us, the corner of Okay and Not Okay is pretty much Not Okay. (Props to my friend Kate for this original reference, which Jeff and I love.)
We've seen a couple that used to be duplexes but have been reconverted back into single family homes. By reconverted I mean that they simply filled the window and door areas with drywall while leaving the framing. Very classy.
We've seen a cool solar home, but it was a bit far away and more of an ideal set up for a single person, or at least a couple who never intended to have overnight guests.
We've seen one or two homes that are nice, but just aren't us.
And twice we've seen our dream house. The first one was oozing with character---beautiful wood floors, a cool closed in sleeping porch, an amazing fireplace surrounded by built in bookshelves in the living room, an updated but not at all sterile kitchen.
The second one we adored was an Arts & Crafts style bungalow (exactly what we were looking for!). It had great hard wood floors and fireplaces, lovely crown molding, a nice front porch, cool built-ins, a redone kitchen, redone bathrooms, and a good yard. Perfect. Except for the neighborhood. The immediate neighbors looked good. (Though the house immediately next door isn't as nice, and is, in fact, on sale for $70,000 less than the house we looked at!) But the house backs up to an apartment complex that appears to house a lot of people who like to keep the majority of their possessions on their front porch. Three houses down in one direction is a house with literally 15 cars parked in the yard. Three houses down in the direction is a house with a falling down barn-like structure and a driveway filled with junk. At the end of the street is a used car lot and a checks cashed place. I really wish we could just pick up the house and move it.
And then there was the house we'd probably put a bid on if it weren't for one major thing. The house isn't our dream house, but we like it a lot. It's just down the street from Dream House #1, and it's a fantastic neighborhood of mainly much bigger houses at much higher prices. It's right across from a lovely park, a short bike ride to Duke, and best of all, just a mile walk from the newly revitalized downtown area. It's set much farther off the street than the other house, has a turnaround and garage, and has a large, terraced lawn that blocks out most street noise. The kitchen and bathrooms are a bit smaller than we'd like, but livable. The living/dining area is great as are the bedrooms. There's a nice fireplace, beautiful hardwoods, elegant crown molding. There's also a closed in sleeping porch that would make an awesome office, and a large and very light-filled sun room. It would make a great house.
So what's the problem? Well, it may just collapse on us if we bought it. You see, the first time we saw it, we noticed a bit of cracking inside by the windows and doors. We took some photos and sent them to my brother, an architect who works for a firm that pretty much specialized in this kind of thing. He got back to me and said that they didn't look too bad from what he could tell, but we should look more closely and especially pay attention to the outside. So we revisited the house, and I don't know how we missed all the cracks the first time. They were everywhere. And worst of all, they were outside. There were lots of stairstep and pyramid cracks, which indicate that the foundation has shifted (or is shifting). There were cracks that had been filled but had cracked again, a sign that it wasn't a one-time thing. There was a crack that was 1/2 inch wide, which my brother says is pretty substantial in the world of architecture. And there was a long horizontal crack, which is apparently a sign of wall failure. Fan-freaking-tastic.
Not wanting to entirely write it off, we requested info from the sellers. They were, however, completely unhelpful. They claim that they had it looked at when they bought the house 10 years ago and were told it was fine, but they can't provide any paperwork to substantiate it. They also claim it hasn't moved since they have lived there, though they haven't had it looked at any time recently and don't have crack monitors, so I don't believe they have any way of knowing, except that it hasn't fallen on them. And they don't appear to have any interest in having a structural engineer look at or in paying for any necessary repairs.
So we're walking. And it's back to square one. Though sort of fun at first, I'm already getting tired of the house hunt. It feels like it's been a long hunt already (as evidenced by this long post!). Not exactly inspiring is the fact that we're moving into the holidays and winter, which is not a popular time to be house hunting. But I guess all it takes is the one perfect house. Cross your fingers for us!
Monday, November 02, 2009
Three Things I Miss and Three Things I Don't
The Things I Miss
1. Jeff
Today, Jeff started work in his lab at Duke. For the first time in a year, we're not together all day, every day. You think that would be enough togetherness to drive anyone insane and make them long for time to themselves, but really, we have a damn good time together, and I miss him. The fact that I'm home completely alone probably doesn't help.
2. Walking
During our travels, we pretty much walked everywhere. We walked to the grocery and to restaurants. We walked to the store. We walked to the beach. We walked through town. We walked up mountains. We walked and walked and walked. I wish I'd taken a pedometer to determine how far we walked each day because it was a lot. Now, we drive. It's too far to walk most places, the road's aren't pedestrian friendly, and well, it's just not what you do. Sure, you can go for a walk, but walking as a mode of transport is not common. We're looking to buy a house in an area where our feet would be our main mode of getting around, but right now, the car is what we use.
3. Summer
Fall was nice at first. The crisp smell in the air, the crunch of leaves on the ground, the splendor of trees in full color. I enjoyed putting on a sweater, and not sweating while I slept. But okay, that was enough. I'm done, especially now that we've changed the clocks, and it gets dark so early. Winter is on its way, and I, for one, am not a fan. I want summer back.
The Things I Don't
1. The Clothes in My Backpack
The five tops and five bottoms I took with me on the trip are still in Seattle, and for all I care they can stay there forever. I love having jeans again, enough underwear to not have to do laundry every week, and clothes that actually look good together. It's a bit overwhelming though, and I have to admit that rather than decide between the many items I have, I sometimes just put back on what I wore the day before (though I do change underwear, don't you worry). If I could re-wear clothes in stinky, sweaty developing nations, then I can do it in clean, clean America.
2. Dirty Bathrooms
I walk into public bathrooms here and marvel at the cleanliness. There's toilet paper, soap and running water, hand towels or dryers! Though before I'm sure I found them a bit sketchy, I'm now quite certain I could probably eat from the floors. Private bathrooms are simply
phenomenal. The soap smells nice! The showers don't require shoes! The toilets flush! We are spoiled I tell you.
3. Eating Out
When you go on vacation, one of the highlights is getting to eat out the entire trip. When you go on vacation for a year, however, that gets old really, really quickly. You get really tired of sitting at a restaurant, only getting to eat what's on the menu, waiting for food, paying the bill, etc. You sometimes want nothing more than to open your refrigerator, pull out your favorite foods, and home cook yourself up something delicious. In South America, a lot of hostels had kitchens, and we took advantage. In Africa, these kitchens disappeared after we left South Africa, and they were pretty much non-existent in budget accommodations in Asia. Now that we have a kitchen back, we don't want to leave it for a restaurant. I'd rather cook.
1. Jeff
Today, Jeff started work in his lab at Duke. For the first time in a year, we're not together all day, every day. You think that would be enough togetherness to drive anyone insane and make them long for time to themselves, but really, we have a damn good time together, and I miss him. The fact that I'm home completely alone probably doesn't help.
2. Walking
During our travels, we pretty much walked everywhere. We walked to the grocery and to restaurants. We walked to the store. We walked to the beach. We walked through town. We walked up mountains. We walked and walked and walked. I wish I'd taken a pedometer to determine how far we walked each day because it was a lot. Now, we drive. It's too far to walk most places, the road's aren't pedestrian friendly, and well, it's just not what you do. Sure, you can go for a walk, but walking as a mode of transport is not common. We're looking to buy a house in an area where our feet would be our main mode of getting around, but right now, the car is what we use.
3. Summer
Fall was nice at first. The crisp smell in the air, the crunch of leaves on the ground, the splendor of trees in full color. I enjoyed putting on a sweater, and not sweating while I slept. But okay, that was enough. I'm done, especially now that we've changed the clocks, and it gets dark so early. Winter is on its way, and I, for one, am not a fan. I want summer back.
The Things I Don't
1. The Clothes in My Backpack
The five tops and five bottoms I took with me on the trip are still in Seattle, and for all I care they can stay there forever. I love having jeans again, enough underwear to not have to do laundry every week, and clothes that actually look good together. It's a bit overwhelming though, and I have to admit that rather than decide between the many items I have, I sometimes just put back on what I wore the day before (though I do change underwear, don't you worry). If I could re-wear clothes in stinky, sweaty developing nations, then I can do it in clean, clean America.
2. Dirty Bathrooms
I walk into public bathrooms here and marvel at the cleanliness. There's toilet paper, soap and running water, hand towels or dryers! Though before I'm sure I found them a bit sketchy, I'm now quite certain I could probably eat from the floors. Private bathrooms are simply
phenomenal. The soap smells nice! The showers don't require shoes! The toilets flush! We are spoiled I tell you.
3. Eating Out
When you go on vacation, one of the highlights is getting to eat out the entire trip. When you go on vacation for a year, however, that gets old really, really quickly. You get really tired of sitting at a restaurant, only getting to eat what's on the menu, waiting for food, paying the bill, etc. You sometimes want nothing more than to open your refrigerator, pull out your favorite foods, and home cook yourself up something delicious. In South America, a lot of hostels had kitchens, and we took advantage. In Africa, these kitchens disappeared after we left South Africa, and they were pretty much non-existent in budget accommodations in Asia. Now that we have a kitchen back, we don't want to leave it for a restaurant. I'd rather cook.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Blog Action Day: Climate Change
My friend Megan, the world's best photographer (literally), alerted me to the fact that today is Blog Action Day in regards to Climate Change, so I figured why not bounce back into posting on Spargel with some thoughts on the topic.
Over the past year, Jeff and I have been amazingly lucky; we have seen some of the world's most spectacular landscapes. We've watched the sunset over Torres del Paine, seen icebergs calf off of Perito Merino Glacier, experienced the fragility of the Galapagos Islands, come within arm's reach of breeching whales, felt the heat of geysers in the cold desert morning, stared gapjaw at the Iguazu and Victoria Falls, laughed in delight at the antics of Africa's wild animals, stared in silence at the magnificence of gorillas in the wild, relaxed on some of the most beautiful beaches in the world, climbed active volcanoes, and gone scuba diving among delicate corals and delightful marine life.
We've also seen mudslides wipe out villages. We've seen farmers stand in barren fields waiting for rains that never come. We've seen great swaths of forest stripped by logging companies. We've seen oil pipe lines destroy the Amazon. We've seen the remains of towns wiped out by floods, tsunamis, and overflowing rivers and lakes. We've watched as people throw trash out the window of buses. We've searched in vain for recycling bins. We've found toothbrushes atop coral reefs and plastic bags in the surf. We've refused to touch some waterways for the amount of garbage that is visible to the eye, not even imagining all the pollutants that we can't see.
Climate change is real. Sometimes we can feel it. Perhaps we did this summer, when normally hot parts of the U.S. end up getting drenched all summer or normally cooler parts see the mercury hit 100. Often we hear about it. Monsoons coming late or not at all. Mudslides occurring in areas that usually don't see much rain.
Some amount of climate change is natural. Let's go ahead and get that out there. The earth has not existed in the same state since it came into existence. If it had, we wouldn't be here. Or we'd be in hiding from the dinosaurs. But the speed at which it is changing in this current era is not natural. We are speeding it along. How much we can slow it back down remains to be seen, but we shouldn't just shrug our shoulders and say oh well. We need to act. Otherwise the amazing places we saw may become only memories. Otherwise the terrible things we saw may only become worse.
Recycle. Take a bike instead of a car on short errands...or longer if you're tough. Lower the thermostat and put on a sweater instead. Be thankful that you live in a country where the water from your tap is not only drinkable but probably delicious and quit wasting money on plastic bottles that only pollute our landscape. Stock up on re-usable bags for your shopping trips and forget the plastic bags. Start a garden. Eat locally. Do what you can.
As for travelers, it's not always easy in the developing world when the people's concerns often don't go beyond meeting basic needs. Unfortunately, it's these places that are most often affected by climate change, so do what you can while you're there. One of the things we took on our trip that we really, really loved was our Steripen. It's small, easy to carry, and saved us money as well as kept us from adding to the already huge plastic problem. After just one minute of sterilizing, we had a liter of drinkable water straight from the tap. If you're going anywhere where you don't think you'll be able to drink the local water without treating it, then I suggest you get one.
If you're feeling uninspired, a little too comfortable in your current life to make any changes, then I suggest you go outside. Take a hike. Go to the lake. Ride your bike through the local park. Stay up and stare at the stars. You don't have to go to one of the official wonders of the world to see how wondrous our world is. Let's keep it that way. I want my children and my children's children and descendants that I can't even begin to imagine to get to see the beautiful things I saw...live and in person, not just in a book recounting the way things used to be.
Over the past year, Jeff and I have been amazingly lucky; we have seen some of the world's most spectacular landscapes. We've watched the sunset over Torres del Paine, seen icebergs calf off of Perito Merino Glacier, experienced the fragility of the Galapagos Islands, come within arm's reach of breeching whales, felt the heat of geysers in the cold desert morning, stared gapjaw at the Iguazu and Victoria Falls, laughed in delight at the antics of Africa's wild animals, stared in silence at the magnificence of gorillas in the wild, relaxed on some of the most beautiful beaches in the world, climbed active volcanoes, and gone scuba diving among delicate corals and delightful marine life.
Climate change is real. Sometimes we can feel it. Perhaps we did this summer, when normally hot parts of the U.S. end up getting drenched all summer or normally cooler parts see the mercury hit 100. Often we hear about it. Monsoons coming late or not at all. Mudslides occurring in areas that usually don't see much rain.
Some amount of climate change is natural. Let's go ahead and get that out there. The earth has not existed in the same state since it came into existence. If it had, we wouldn't be here. Or we'd be in hiding from the dinosaurs. But the speed at which it is changing in this current era is not natural. We are speeding it along. How much we can slow it back down remains to be seen, but we shouldn't just shrug our shoulders and say oh well. We need to act. Otherwise the amazing places we saw may become only memories. Otherwise the terrible things we saw may only become worse.
Recycle. Take a bike instead of a car on short errands...or longer if you're tough. Lower the thermostat and put on a sweater instead. Be thankful that you live in a country where the water from your tap is not only drinkable but probably delicious and quit wasting money on plastic bottles that only pollute our landscape. Stock up on re-usable bags for your shopping trips and forget the plastic bags. Start a garden. Eat locally. Do what you can.
As for travelers, it's not always easy in the developing world when the people's concerns often don't go beyond meeting basic needs. Unfortunately, it's these places that are most often affected by climate change, so do what you can while you're there. One of the things we took on our trip that we really, really loved was our Steripen. It's small, easy to carry, and saved us money as well as kept us from adding to the already huge plastic problem. After just one minute of sterilizing, we had a liter of drinkable water straight from the tap. If you're going anywhere where you don't think you'll be able to drink the local water without treating it, then I suggest you get one.
If you're feeling uninspired, a little too comfortable in your current life to make any changes, then I suggest you go outside. Take a hike. Go to the lake. Ride your bike through the local park. Stay up and stare at the stars. You don't have to go to one of the official wonders of the world to see how wondrous our world is. Let's keep it that way. I want my children and my children's children and descendants that I can't even begin to imagine to get to see the beautiful things I saw...live and in person, not just in a book recounting the way things used to be.
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