The Solo Camp - Lake Pepin

June 19

I continue to surprise myself. I'm surprised by how comfortable I am out here. Families all around me. Do I miss mine? Strangely, no. This is different. A different feel from the campsites I've shared with family over the years. Different, even, from camping with friends.

One chair. One tent. One cooler. One sleeping bag. One. One. One. Sometimes when strangers cross my path here and give me that friendly half smile ... I feel like they know something about me. Know I am out here on my own and that's where I want to be.

I already made a best friend forever. Her name is Quinn. She's about four feet tall and rocks the kind of blond, angelic locks that I used to have as a kid. I helped her learn how to ride a bike. While asking for my help, she told me "I'm not used to my new 20" rims". Ahhh, Quinn.

I had a book discussion with a mother on the beach. She thought I should give The Yiddish Policeman a try.

I've only been here for like 5 hours! I'm already talking to anyone that will listen.

At the doctors office the other day, getting a shot, the nurse asked about my plans for the weekend. I told her I was taking myself camping. She sounded surprised by my solo adventure. Told me she'd be scared to do something like that herself. Then she said the most peculiar thing, "I bet you're the type of person that makes friends where ever she goes."

I laughed at that ridiculous thought. I've never been one to make much of an impression on strangers. Never really liked strangers as a matter of fact. Never had many friends... That's what drives me to Belize alone. To join stupid clubs. To hike 14 miles alone. To camp solo. To throw myself into online dating hell.

But somewhere alone this quest to be comfortable in my own skin. To stop waiting for the world to come to me. Stop waiting for opportunity and create my own. To live free of everything else and live happily solely within myself ... somewhere along that quest... I'm getting better at everyone else.

I'm flipping talking to every stranger I meet!

GEEK TALK

Marita would be proud of me. I finally bought that pair of binoculars that have been sitting in my Amazon shopping cart since I returned from Belize. I even rush delivered them to get a trial run in this weekend. A package appears just before I leave town at noon. I have officially geeked my pants!

All that's left is the bird book. That's one bit of Belize I will keep with me. My sudden interest in birding! Oh LORD! I got to use them today. Starting my cooking fire I noticed a giant bird swooping into a nearby tree. I run for my binoculars. Yes, run. Binocs in hand (that's what we cool folks call them, binocs) I set to check this beast of a bird out. A mere 20 feet from my site has a dozen, giant turkey vultures perches on it's low branches. A worth first magnified siting.


The beach is beautiful. The cold water has a sudden drop off, free from the tottering two year olds and splashing nine year olds. Beyond that drop off is a wall of sailboats. Past the sails are green bluffs that stretch further than you see.

A muggy, sweaty day is always better lakeside. Except when it starts to snow from the cottonwood trees. The pollen clumps are sticking to every inch of my sweaty skin. With my face half buried in my beach towel I couldn't help but think, "Wow, that's beautiful but man is it disgusting".

My walk back to camp was a route less traveled. The park is a bit of a peninsula and you can follow the beach all the way around to the far sites. I don't know why everyone goes for the main road. Local Native Americans are fishing right off the beach. A pair of men were perches on a piece of drift wood and smiled as I approached. I asked what they were catching. In broken English he told me he wasn't sure but held his hands up to show a decent sized catch. He waves his arms to tell me to follow him. He's pointing into the water. Water that just looks like water. No bucket of fish or anything. I follow him and for a second wonder why I'm talking to strange men and doing what they ask of me. He walks me up to a piece of driftwood when I notice a white rope attached to it. He lifts the white line and pulls up a good sized fish (I learned nothing snorkeling, I can't tell you what it was... I'll pretend my ignorance stems from the freshwater). The mutually unknown species of fish is lassoed through it's gill. I've never seen a fish on a leash before. I have since learned there's a name for this... it evades me. Not a very good student.

And .... another train passes....

The last 26 hours...

26 hours ago I was leaving work. That was 3.5 hours past the time I was supposed to leave work. 26 hours ago I could have been at the much anticipated Books and Bars. I could have been a participant of a group discussion on a book I suffered through. Ok, admittedly, half suffered through. Looking forward to it non-the-less. When the clock struck 6pm and I hadn't yet hit the icy roads ... I knew the night I had been looking forward to wasn't going to happen.

13 hours ago I stood in the bitter cold for 15 minutes waiting for my carpool. It was around frigid minute 14 that I thought to check my voicemail. I then waited the additional minute with a cold flip phone against my ear and the voice on the other side telling me "no need to rush this morning". My ride wasn't coming for another 20 minutes.

9 hours ago I rolled my eyes.

5 hours ago I was sweating.

4 hours ago I was outside, bearing the cold once again ... loading a truck to max capcity with the previously mentioned activity of 5 hours ago turning my clothes into crispy icicles against my skin. That lasted until 2.5 hours ago.

2.25 hours ago I wrapped myself in my robe and cranked the heating pad to warm my little fingers and tiny toes.

2 hours ago I started in on a decent dinner.

1.9 hours ago a newly purchased bottle of olive oil decided it couldn't live without the nearness of my sexy marble floors. It lept to it's death to be near it. Romantic in a way.

1.89 hours ago I swore.

1.8 hours ago my neighbors heard my screams and thought I had a gentleman caller over. Screams of ecstacy. They knocked on my door anyway to make sure I wasn't dead.

1.7 hours ago I learned how to skate indoors.

1.6 hours ago I was gifted an Elvis Presley style accordian serenade.

1 hour ago I turned my stove back on to restart my cooking.

15 minutes ago I bailed on fajita night.

5 seconds ago I bitched about my day.

Dooms Day

In no particular order my day contained:

Bad Hair.
Bad Sleep.

Two blood blisters.
Putting a load of laundry and realizing I didn't have enough quarters to dry them.
Dropping a half full jar of tomato sauce on the marble tile; a glassy,saucy explosion.
Having to give up theatre tickets.
Oh and lay offs....

We were all expecting news that we could only speculate about. A day planned with meetings for musicians, staff, governing members ... must mean big, bad news. The storm clouds were scheduled to pass the Saint Paul area around 3:00pm.

Didn't expect the shit storm that starting around 10:00 this morning.

Didn't expect the e-mails from co-workers we had just seen smiling in the hallway to send a departmental e-mail informing us they were immediately going home for the day.

Didn't expect my own, overworked department to take the biggest hit on people.

Didn't expect to still have a job.

I'm still standing but at what cost, for how long and why the fuck me?

Amazing people were fired. People who worked hard their whole lives. Friends were fired. But their talents, their skills, their personalities, their everything went unheard to the screeching economy. And this is just Bad Day # 1 for them ... they are going to wrestling in this economic muck for ... who knows.

Am I more grateful than ever before to still have a job ... of course.

Am I terrified of what my job will become because of the vacant seats ... absolutely.

Do I feel secure at all with my employment ... not a lick.

Am I looking forward to the dreary, dismall work environment I have to trudge to each day ... fuck no.

I am tired of listing grey thoughts ... but no one will call me back.

on the lighter side

I hate to leave that last post lingering with it's negativity ... So I thought I would type up some ramblings I jotted down a few days ago.

Somewhere along my quest to meet new people I realized that new people don't exist in my awesome apartment. Weird, right? They don't come across my dirty dishes or sit down on my shrunken couch. My solitaire outdoor adventures are hardly promising either ... New people certainly don't have the same stride as me on the trails. People do things. We all exist, at least in part, in public.

I suppose I left the house to be seen. Why else would I choose to do the private, quiet act of reading in a busy, public space that provides anything but concentration. I can't read here. But I can pretend to read here. And I can definitely write with my brown Sharpe here. Best of all I can subconsciously, semi-intentionally ease drop here.

At first the group of three older, eccentric men (leopard print hats, leather bomber jackets, flannel and snow pants eccentric) and one young, attractive girl in her twenties intrigued me. What brought this unlikely group of beings together?? Now I have heard enough of their institutional banter and think I will return to pretending to read my over-priced books. Better yet... I'll move onto eating my apple.

economy hits home

The conversations have been circulating around my head for months but have mostly flown in one ear and out the other.

My 401B doesn't scare me. The price of groceries is a bummer but I can afford them. I work for a financially sound nonprofit. Relatively safe, right?

There's a hushed tone around the office these days. Days have been dismal since the last staff meeting where upper management wouldn't confirm or deny major cut backs. We know next season is significantly butchered but we are waiting to see if there will be any of our necks on the chopping block.

As the sound board operator for our board meetings I usually get a ticket to the inner workings of the organization. Tuesday was one meeting I got kicked out of. Next Tuesday the rest of us will find out what 'dismissals' the Board approved.

I'm nervous. Nervous that even a cut in pay will take away all the things I worked for these last two years. How far I've come could be erased.

A few years back there was a recession that forced five of our staff out the doors. Old timers are fearing a repeat. So... who goes? They survived without my position up until I invented it. There are other positions that could be combined or reduced, but that's a friend gone then.

For the first time... I'm nervous. I'm nervous that life is deceptive in its security. That a person can live their life nobly and have it taken away for reasons beyond their control. That the life I built could be undone.

Drunk, drunk, drunk

I feel hung over.

I honestly don’t know if I have ever felt the feelings of being hung over.

But this is how I would imagine it.

I am groggy starting the day.

My mind is rather hazy.

My body is refusing its normal actions.

I’m unsure how long these feelings with stick with me.

Or if there is a brighter day ahead of me.

But in my bones it’s hard to imagine there is a better experience waiting for me today.

I doubt it was that half of a beer I had last night that did it. Yeah, a beer! My day was really that wildly ridiculous… that I came home and opened one of the weird, random beers that someone left in my fridge ions ago. But the idea was better than the beer itself. So the beer sits on my coffee table; flat, warm and half full.

I simply feel hung over from my bad day.

Turns out my analogy is applicable.

Documented by the Webster Handy College Dictionary “hangover” is defined as “the belated effect of a previous act or condition”

Which means that yesterday when all the crazy shit was happening around me and I was reacting to this crazy shit … I was reacting in a superficial kind of crazy shit way. But today is when yesterday is settling into my little brain and making me feel… well, shitty and unwanting to return to work. I haven’t had one of those days at work in a long time. The days when it seems a truck just ran you over and then put itself in reverse and laid on the gas. Again, gear sift. Last night I was the unluckiest whore in Whoreville. I probably used the F*Bomb one hundred and three times. That averages out to once every five minutes for the duration of my shift.

But like all hangovers... I suppose this one will subside as the day ticks on. Or perhaps I should give that warm beer further consideration.

I do have to say that my silver lining of the night … or more aptly phrased to my ongoing analogy… the buzz of my downer last night was … in walked the mountain man I had publicly wished for on facebook a few nights ago. Really he worked for MPR’s Performance today. But he looked the part - Red plaid jacket, wild curly hair and a beard to boot. Nice.

The Holiday Season

There are a lot of things about the Holiday Season that I embrace whole heartedly.

Christmas lights and Charlie Brown trees.

Snowflakes and bell ringers.

Hot drinks and warm hearts.

Tradition, tradition, tradition.

The list goes on and on. The pitfall of this time of year was staring me in the face for a few too many hours this afternoon.

When people get glamed up for a night on the town, woman's attire gets more and more glittery as December creeps on.

I am an anti-glitterist. I feel so strongly that I created my own word. I spent the later half of the day .... sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, adhering off Christmas' jewels.

The rest of this entry is thanks to Google image.


Things to avoid:







Glitter in the hair. Itchy and rather whore-y.

Glitter scarfs - toxic and decapitating.

This one. Never a good idea.

So... for the good of Holiday spirit. Save my mental stability and wear cable knit instead. Happy Holidays!!!

Word of the day would be AWKWARD

It's quarter to seven and I'm killing time while the quartet on stage finishes rehearsal before the show tonight. I am well into my second shift of the day and I'm curious if it will keep up with the word of the day "Awkward".

This morning we had a education program at Wayzata Community Church. The concert was an over the top, ridiculous portrayal of Orchestra music through the ages. Geared towards kids 4-10. The education program is the only situation where I go off-site with the orchestra. I am guaranteed to see at least one of our musicians make a fool of themselves for the laughter of the kids.

Though I love the casual nature of these shows, one encounter today was just a little too lax. Hence... awkward.

It's a little past eight in the morning and I am sitting on a pew waiting. A strange sentence to write... I rarely find myself seated on pews, but if there is any time to find oneself there I suppose it would be at eight in the morning. To my right there is perhaps sixteen inches of space to the armrest. My left has a stretching ten feet. One of our violist, a flirty Hungarian man, comes to say his hello's per usual. His friendly nature leads him to sit down next to me. Not in the gaping space to my left, but snugly, uncomfortably on my right. I could have been Santa Clause. A grown man in a tiny space pressed against me with our knees practically overlapping. Our faces were maybe eight inches from each others. My bubble is much larger than eight inches. Trying to make conversation when I am that close to someones face is just unpleasant. Then I wonder... what his topic of conversation was going to be in this intimate, awkward encounter.

He proceeds to tell me about the drugs he took last night. How him and the visiting banjo guy got messed up with some potent shit. I can only assume marijuana, but I didn't want to encourage the conversation and ask. Is this really a conversation I am having with one of our musicians? I am curious as to why he thought he'd share this with me. Two thoughts come to mind. Either... he sees that I'm a young adult and assumes I get fucked up on a regular basis. He is missing one key ingredient in that assumption and that is the total, complete Nerd that I am. Yes, with a capital N. The other reasoning I could justify would be that he wanted to look cool in front of this young adult. To which I say.... really? Sad.

The second awkward encounter with a strange man came as we were loading out of the church. Hauling away all of the gear that I brought into my sweet, sweet mini-van. One of the building engineers, whom I can't read and don't know how to respond to, pulls me aside and quietly asks if I am in the Union (stagehand union). I reply with an honest no and he responds with a saddened response of "You can't move that equipment. Only our guys can touch anything. We're talking fines". I would never have guessed that a church be union and I doubted the truth in his voice...but in a work situation is it worse to call his bluff and be wrong about a serious offense, or play along apologize and feel stupid afterwards when he tells you he was kidding. With my cheeks flushed red, I chose the later. He was kidding... but coming from a creepy, weird man I didn't know how to respond. So I walked out of a great concert feeling stupid and gullible.

Let's see how the rest of my night goes...

post secret

The freshly built Minneapolis Central Library is a site to see in and of itself. The new modern shelves are lined with spines of every shade. The Dewie decimal system is nonexistent here. The endless rows are ordered and labeled by name only.

The glass staircase led me to the next floor and the second reason I crossed the river today. The library had selections from the community art project, Post Secret exhibited. I had vaguely heard of the postal phenomenon, but had never seen the collection before.

I wish I would have had someone there to experience it with me. As I read through people's realizations of their lives, their confessions and purgings ... I just wanted to talk. A lot. I don't think it was the voyeurism that compelled me. I walked from postcard to postcard with goosebumps from the thought that these people discovered their own brutally honest truth. Not only discovered it, but live up to it, faced it ... then created these powerfully beautiful images to boot. I couldn't stop thinking about each individual process.

What it would be like to pick out the picture that best draws your most painful experience.

How to capture their situation in a sentence fragment.

How carefully those words are chosen.

How other words would mean something entirely different.

Whether they laughed or cried writing out those words.

Some of the mailings are utterly depressing stories of rape, hate, fear, betrayal. Others are personal quirks and embarrassing habits.

Most show the human conscious at its most unforgiving. Measuring bodies and love.

I walked away saddened and inspired by man kind. Strange feeling. I can't even fathom what my secret would be if I sent mail to Frank's home address. Interesting to think about I suppose.