Off the beaten path.

After a much-needed R&R in Tucson, it feels great to be back home at la casa, sitting on the patio with Miz K, both of us playing on our laptops and sipping on High Lifes. (High Lives?)

Tucson is a fabulous town -- hip and quirky, dry and hot, with fantastic hiking, food and people-watching. It was so lovely to see the culmination of Miz K's first year of work with Voices Inc. Her students, photography novices all, produced some amazing work, which is testament to both their own perseverance and their instructor's mad skills.

Went for two short but great hikes -- Gates Pass to the west, at sunset, and Catalina State Park to the north. A town surrounded by mountains and home to one of my BFFs ... why am I so eager to move overseas when I could just move down to the desert?


The Tucson trip was capped by a perfectly lovely evening listening to samba music at The Hut with K and her friends Sean and Monica. The musicians were mostly a bunch of gray-haired white men, flanked by a more traditionally rasta-styled drummer and a beautiful flutist of indeterminate heritage. Despite their anglo looks, the band was fantastic. Everyone -- all ages, all body types, all socioeconomic levels -- grooving together. We danced and danced and then went to The Grill for bad tater tots and sophomoric, giggly humor. Such a fun night.

Then we hit the road. First to Phoenix to see the Fabulous! Miz J and Mr M, as well as K's adorable extended family, then 2o+ hours to Lincoln. The drive from Phoenix through New Mexico is just phenomenal.


We saw many amazing sights along the way. Most defy description.


Miz K drove the whole way, by choice. She's quite the multitasker.


Now we're back, as if things had never left off last August. Amy's here with a pack of smokes and a bottle of Piesporter. William's on his way over. All is right with the world.

Now with soundtrack!

Spent an idle Sunday afternoon ... after another lovely Sher-E-Punjab brunch with Meleeska and the Bookstore Maven ... figuring out how to add music to my blog. Playlist/controls at the bottom of the page. Found a site that both makes it easy to upload a playlist and has many of the songs I was looking for. Let me know if anything seems to be misbehaving.

The significance of each:

1) Evolve -- This came out just as I was making a mental 180 and finally figuring out that my life could be what I wanted it to be, not what was expected of me.

2) Free -- From around the same time; the two songs go hand-in-hand for me, for obvious reasons.

3) Girls Like Me -- From the "Valley Girl" soundtrack, like, duh!

4) Bicycle, Bicycle, You Are My Bicycle -- If this doesn't get you in the mood to go tear up the trails, nothing will. "We're on two wheels, baby!"

4) Floorboard Blues -- for one of the best lyrics ever: "It's a fucked-up world but this ol' girl, well, she ain't givin' in."

5) At Last -- for another go-to lyric: "I own every bell that tolls me."


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Did you know there's an anti-torture act in Congress? It needs more support to get it to a vote. Can you believe we need to push for support on this?

From Common Dreams: Since the War on Terror began in 2001, detainees in the "care" of American forces have been urinated on, doused with phosphoric acid, sodomized with batons, had their lungs forcibly filled with water, shipped abroad to even more brutal regimes, and so much worse. That's not my America.

You can click the link below to send your representative a message on how you want her/him to vote:

Tell Congress: My America doesn't torture!

Wouldn't hurt to check out how your presidential candidate stands to vote as well.


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Rang Miz Amy's doorbell last evening. The inimicable Miz Grace answers the door, with huge fake black glasses, a cute little knit cardigan, floaty skirt, maryjanes.

"Nice hipster librarian look you've got going there," I told her.

"Thank you! That's exactly what I'm going for," she said. Turns out she's practicing her part in the school play.

She returned the compliment: "Did you cut your hair?" she asked.

In nearly a month, she's the third person to notice -- or at least to comment, unsolicited -- on the fact that I've gone darker and chopped a good 3-4 inches off.

It even came up recently at dinner with my family. "Either it's too subtle or it's really horrible," I said.

"Oh, I don't think it's too subtle," my brother shot back.

I love that man.

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From her place, Miz Amy and I ventured downtown, met up with Miz Shannon and headed over to Knickerbockers to see the Killigans.

I like Celtic music. I love punk music. I should like Celtic punk, no?

Maybe it was just that I was having one of those "I'm too old" days ... my back so tight and stiff I had trouble even swaying to the music ... and stupidly wearing heels that made my feet scream by night's end.

Even so, I managed to lure a charming gentleman, in full-on biker regalia, who swayed next to me for awhile, whispered an inappropriate compliment into my ear, then introduced himself as "Gascap."

Suddenly we three ladies all had babysitters to get home to -- even me. Plan A was to introduce him to my TWO lesbian lovers, but I was afraid that'd just lead him on.

Sadly, this is the most significant romantic assignation I've had of late.

And, in my hurry to escape, I apparently left my favorite scarf behind. Just a $5 Target knit scarf, an acessory I hope not to need again for a very long time ... but I really like it and am debating whether it's too geeky to call Knickerbockers tomorrow and see if they have it.

Shannon and Amy were grooving away, and that was lovely to see. These ladies deserve a good time!

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My evening:

Gym = Good.

(After Indian brunch, followed by an afternoon on the sofa with cookies, which = Bad, but also Good.)

Old men in tuxes singing doo-wop instead of Jane Austen on PBS = Very Bad. (This is how they're trying to solicit Begging Week donations??)

Scrabulous with Miz K = Very Good. My favorite way to end/start the week!

Emotional whiplash.

I owe so much to the friends who've indulged my moping and listened to my rants and fears over the past few days. I've been pretty low, and y'all helped bring me out of my funk. Thanks and love to each of you.

But, as the indomitable Miz K points out, the labor pains are forgotten once the newborn is in your arms.

Came home this evening to find a Peace Corps envelope in my mailbox. WTF, I thought -- they've rejected my appeal already?

Well, no, they didn't. Quite the opposite.

I'm cleared for medical. One more piece of unrelated paperwork to get signed and returned, but it's just a formality.

I'm kind of in shock.

Rushed over to the brother's house so I could tell someone in person -- have them read the letter to make sure it really said what I thought it said. And it did.

As Matt and Paige were congratulating me, Emma came in to see what the fuss was about. "That's great!" she told me. "This calls for gum!" (Aunt B is just a giant gum factory for her favorite 8-year-old.)

After the celebratory gum, Paige took me for a celebratory beer. Third Stone has never tasted so good. We read the letter again and again and traded ideas about where I might end up, and for the first time in ages someone even made eyes at me from the bar. (The bar at Brewsky's, but still...)

I still have to receive an invitation -- the when and where. Until that happens, I can't really believe this is really happening. But I'm 90 percent sure it is. You'll know when I know.

Now it's on.

Bust the lock off the front door
Once you’re outside, you won’t wanna hide anymore
-- Grandaddy

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Bigger adventures to come, I hope (more on that below), but for today, at least, I am exactly where I want to be: On the patio, surveying my domain over a High Life. It's been a much-needed day of solitude -- a 20-mile ride this morning, followed by several productive hours in the garden ... clearing out weeds, clearing up the soul. Quiet, sunny but not hot, dirty fingernails ... perfect.

Here's another late-summer garden shot:

Seems like it looks more impressive in photos than it does in real life. Maybe that's true of many things? Good to remember.

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I've just sent off a resume and cover letter to the Cambodia Daily, an English-language daily in Phnom Penh. Have I mentioned this before? I applied on a whim just before I moved to New Hampshire; when they actually offered me the job, T and I discussed moving there together, but in the end I turned down the job and went not quite so far east. Always regretted it. A colleague on my Nigeria trip, it turns out, worked there a decade ago; he had high praise for the paper and said I likely hadn't burned any bridges. We'll see.

As for the Peace Corps application, it's ready to go as soon as I can make contact with my recruiter in Denver; I have some technical questions I need to get answered before I hit Send.

Found a copy-editing position in Abu Dhabi this week ... but I think that may be too repressive an environment for me. Can't really see myself wearing a hijab.

What might rise to the top? I have no idea yet. I'll miss this little life I've created for myself. But I'm ready for another, bigger one.

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Though it's been mostly solitary (by choice), the weekend was punctuated by some charming get-togethers with friends. I finally met my online friend vmh (author of this lovely, poetic blog) in person on Friday afternoon; on Saturday I met Meleeska and mini-Meleeska at Jones Coffee; just got off the phone with my new buddy Vance in Austin, who'll be coming this way this week before leaving on a monthlong tour of Europe. Come see his badass band at the Zoo on Thursday, and I'll buy ya a drink!

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Oh, and I'm reviewing Edwidge Danticat's new memoir, "Brother, I'm Dying," which comes out next month. Left until age 12 in Haiti with her pastor uncle while her parents forged a new life in New York, she draws on much of her early life in her amazing first novel "Breath, Eyes, Memory." "Brother" recalls her early life, punctuating it with her father's fatal illness and her uncle's detention, in post-9/11 America, while visiting on a routine visa ... he dies without charges (as there are none to bring) and without the medication he desperately pleads for, in vain. I haven't read far enough yet for details, but that's enough to enrage me, once again, at how far we've come from the values we supposedly hold so dear.

And the second chapter's title a question we all should ask ourselves now, before it's too late: Have You Enjoyed Your Life?