Missouri Summer

The leaves were long, the grass was green

The Queen Anne's Lace tall and fair

And in the glade a light was seen

Of a thousand fireflies shimmering

We crossed over a gate, walked along a high rocky ridge and down into a river vale, frightened a flock of deer, sat on an old railway bridge looking down at the river.

Nights like this I think I love Missouri too much to ever leave it.

Groceries and a Heart Split in Two

Time for summer foods, away with the heavy curries. But now my heart is torn between the sunny flavors of the Mediterranean and the light fresh delights of a Scandinavian summer...

So of course I buy:

- Hummus
- Olives
- Pita Bread
- Italian Bread
- Chevre
- Tomatoes
- Salmon
- Sour Cream
- Fresh Dill
- Tiny Shrimp
- New Potatoes

Change

Becoming an adult is a curious mixture of happy and sad events, mundane accumulation of experience and dramatic accumulation of experiences. In a way I've grown from winter camping in Norway, from canyoning in Spain, from mastering the German public transit system like any native. And I've grown from the day to day tasks of paying rent, and filling prescriptions, and studying, and balancing, and I'm actually looking forward in a way to staying in this summer and working and saving. And in a way I've grown from graduation, from that beautiful 17th of May, from standing underneath the Miyajima gate, from watching the Missouri river freeze. And I've grown from fights and heartbreaks and what's going on right now.

And then there are moments, checkpoints where you realize things have changed a lot, and you make real choices for yourself beyond what you could have imagined before. When you 'casually' book a last minute plane flight no one told you you needed to take, which won't be easy and won't be fun, but it's the right thing to do and in a way, it's where you need to be.

And you realize things have changed quite a lot. And half of you says its good, and half of you says its bad but it really doesn't matter, it's just inevitable. Because childhood had its charms but also its chains, and we can't just live in a fairy land of fjords and fjells and fantasy forever. The process is painful. But there are always beautiful moments. To think only of the good or the bad is a mistake. Don't forget, you had sad days, even in paradise. Don't forget there was joy, even in the darkness. There will always be people to be there for you, and there will always be people who let you down. Sometimes, usually even, they are the same people. With some of them I'd like to say that I passed the love, passed the pain, passed the poison and now I see it all clearly, but we always think we see clearly from the place we're standing, don't we? And you see, they don't realize how inconsistent they're being, because they are, all of them, consumed by their own infinite complexity - just as I am. It's a weird sentient thing.

And choices are still ahead, and they stretch wider and wider as all the old structures, restrictions, safety nets are all breaking down. Funny how its the same things in life that hold us close, keep us safe, keep us down. And when they start to break down, wear out, fall away you start to see the world in that sort of terrible beauty they always called sublime, and realize that, really, all that's stopping you is the frailty of your body and the inflexibility of your mind.

Driftwood

Everything is open
Nothing is set in stone
Rivers turn to ocean
Oceans tide you home

Home is where your heart is
But your heart had to roam
Drifting over bridges
Never to return
Watching bridges burn

And you really didn't think it would happen
But it really is the end of the line
So I'm sorry that you turned to driftwood
But you've been drifting for a long long time


- Driftwood, Travis

Just East of Nowhere

"A Missourian gets used to Southerners thinking him a Yankee, a Northerner considering him a cracker, a Westerner sneering at his effete Easternness, and the Easterner taking him for a cowhand." -Blue Highways

You want a movie set in a city, you set it in New York. If you really want it in the Midwest, then, fine, Chicago. Never St. Louis. Never Kansas City. And forget about ever setting a movie in a city like Columbia. You have to go Wilderness, Super Rural, Stereotypical Small Town, or BIG CITY. Those are the choices, that's how it feels anyway. The in-betweens are not as poetic, not as interesting, not as archetypical.

You want a book set in the South, you set it in the South. You want a book set in the North, you set it in the North. Eastern settings demand, well, eastern settings. Western settings demand, well, western settings. And if you really want to aim for the middle of nowhere, pick Kansas. Every once in awhile they decide to go colder, and hit Wyoming instead.

Missouri, now? Forget about it. Where's the drama, where are the extremes, where are the easy archetypes? It reminds me of the dilemma of the Madonna and the Whore, the Maiden/Mother/Crone. What's an archetype, really, but a prettier word for Stereotype? But I digress.

Nothing ever happens here, to hear them tell about it. Even nowhere has a name. Superman's from nowhere Kansas, and so is Dorothy. What does that make us, sitting here in Missouri? Somewhere Just East of Nowhere. Less than nothing. Invisible.

There's no legend for me to live on, no story whose plot I can follow. Sometimes at crazy parties across the world, I get laughs telling everyone I'm an Ozark Hillbilly. I can talk about Meth with the best of them and adopt a pretty good hick accent, too. Other times, instead, I play the cowgirl. After all, I am most comfortable in plaid shirts, jeans, and good boots. When none of that suits I, instead, pontificate on the horrors of my childhood, the dangers of my hometown, St. Louis - nevermind, please, that I grew up in a squeaky-clean suburb.

There's no drama in a suburb.

Suburbs are just where people are from.

And I don't even mean the hero.

The hero is from NOWHERE, don't you know that?

The hero is not from a 'somewhere' that lacks a vital confidence in its identity, a some place that's east of west and west of east, north of south and south of north, not a capital, not a cowtown, not a backwaters, just an ordinary, decent place where ordinary, decent people live.

That hero from NOWHERE archetype is pretty old. When they came to America they saw Kansas, and recognized a new NOWHERE.

You know, I'm thinking that growing up in Kansas wouldn't be so dull, after all, with neighbors like those and strange things coming out of the sky every day.

I don't mean tornadoes. We've got those here too. Not that anyone ever notices. 

Look, maybe there's a new nowhere. Nowadays even farm boys get a certain amount of street cred. They're no longer the ignorant peasants they once were.

If you really want an unprepared, unnoticed and unassuming hero, how about sending them out of a new nowhere, not the great NOWHERE of Kansas or the outskirts of the unnamed country where the nothingness is so great it develops a presence and a quality all its own - the roar of the so-called big sky, the infinite yearning of plains that stretch on forever - but the true unsung nothingness of bland, cookie-cutter suburbs and the places that exemplify neither this not that, not even nothing.

How about a reboot of the archetype?

Maybe it's already happening.

I've noticed something interesting, you know. The only thing that ever puts Columbia on the map - this city exports storytellers, wanderers.

I'll be reading a book, any book, and, entirely coincidentally, I often upon certain eerie, all-too familiar references. And I realize that although the story takes place in China's Three Gorges, or the highest regions of Tibet, or the homes of the African pygmies, the author knows where I'm coming from - because he, too, is from Just East of Nowhere.

Impending Graduation

I feel nervous because I'm about to graduate, first in May and then, most likely, again the next May, and then I'm not sure what to do. The dream life seems so far away and the path in between is more confusing than I ever thought. And I'm not sure I have the drive. I'm sad because I miss the mountains. I lack energy; I don't exercise; I've lost my Norwegian muscles. I dream about Norway too often and then I wake up feeling sad because I don't know when or if I'll be able to go back. I miss being able to go on a short afternoon hike and finding the ruins of fortresses and castles or else views over high mountains. I miss sea-breezes and snow and history and learning a thousand new things every day. And I feel like my road map ends here. There's no longer a checklist of how to be a big girl and do well. Its more subtle and complicated and confusing and wide open than that. Just right now I'd like a slightly more linear storyline, or maybe a strategy guide, or you know, maybe one of those silly characters whose only purpose is to give you a hint, point you in the right directions. Because life is simultaneously long and short, too short to try every path before I find the right one. But then, they say the right path is the path you choose, as long as you can be content with it.

On the other hand: I love my classes this semester. They seem hand-chosen just for me, all except Magazine Design. Even there, the teacher is nice, my TA is nice, and its something I need to do, and its far from awful. Then I've got Advanced Writing with a memoir-focused professor, Food and Wine Writing (!!!), and Travel Writing (focused on old dead British writers, but oh well...). Even my Spanish capstone exceeds all expectations. Instead of reading Cervantes or some other dusty dry literature, as I'd expected, I'm learning about the Andes! The Incas! Did you know they had this super-elaborate system of exchanges and roads and inns and oh, it's just wonderful, reading about this huge lost empire. Although I almost wish I had yucky classes so I could be more eager to be done with this whole undergraduate thing!

Memories

Funny how people remember things differently:

Thinking back to Winter Semester 2011 in Germany, I asked Corbin,

"Do you remember how it became spring just as soon as we arrived, and kept on being beautiful for months? Easter was just a dream..."

"I suppose it did get warm for awhile. But I remember 2011 as 'The year without a summer'."

Semester and Photo Problems

This fall has sped by faster than any other season I remember. Despite the drought the leaves have been pretty. The weather is even sillier than usual and we've had several late, lovely days. The chaos of the beginning of the semester has leveled off, and going into the final stretch I can shoot for A's and be assured of B's.

I watched the election at Ragtag with Tina and Nash. Kind of funny to see Obama's first and second elections during my first and last years at Mizzou.

I don't have proper internet this year, just 3G bluetoothed over from my iPhone. So that's meant less surfing, less Facebook, less emailing, less Skyping, less blogging.

I somewhat lament the blogging. I definitely lament being in such poor touch with various internet and far away friends.

But there are good sides to it, as well. I've read more and watched more movies. I've definitely been enjoying living in an apartment and being able to cook.

I'm slowly, slowly working through the knot of all my photos. It's tricky, trickier than it should be. I should have just been more careful and organized along the way. Here's what happened, basically -

I ran out of space.

Several times, really, but most critically in my final month-or-so in Scandinavia, post-Faroes.

Pretty much out of money and wanting very much to spend my last kroner on Icelandic pony rides rather than outlandishly expensive Nordic storage medium taxes, I threw pictures everywhere I could. I filled up my two external hard drives. I filled my macbook so full that, as I've later found out, I'm lucky it never corrupted and crashed. In the last stretch, pictures of my farewell parties, those last mountain hikes, my trip to Stavanger and Liisa's Iceland pictures got crammed onto my netbook.

My own Iceland pictures were left on the memory cards.

In D.C., I bought another hard drive with excellent intentions. I put the Iceland pictures on there, as well as various photos from my time in D.C., as that went on. I also backed up the Faroese pictures, which were precious to me and which I hated only having one copy of. I had intentions of sorting the rest of it, too, but I didn't have much time and it's all way more time consuming and difficult and confusing than I reckoned, so my half-hearted attempts only made things a bigger mess.

I'm honestly amazed that I (knock on wood) never lost a single photo in all of this, in lugging external hard drives and laptops across borders and messing around with them and moving stuff here and there and cramming stuff here and improperly labeling this and putting these folders in the completely wrong album and blah blah blah. No hard drive crashes (though there were scares!), no accidental formats, no deleting one folder when I meant to kill another.

And, two new hard drives later, I'm finally getting somewhere with the organization. At least the macro organization of being able to see all my photos (sort of) in the right place, have the presence of mind to know they're all there, back up that collection properly, and, maybe, this year or next, getting ready to start ACTUALLY sorting them.

All 200,000 of them.

O.O

Fall

It's October, and fall is here. Due to a combination of dry summer and slightly damp autumn, it's not very spectacular. The sky's as blue as ever and the smells are right, but the leaves aren't as vibrant - only the yellow ones are really making a go of it (the big tree next to Rollins is still, by far, the loveliest on campus) and I don't see much red or orange in the forest, only green, not-green, and the bit of yellow here and there.

I literally can't process the fact that I'm halfway into the semester. I've never had time fly by this quickly. I've just been busy, busy, busy - almost every day is full and when I do take time off I feel like I'm purchasing it dearly, can't just relax with friends and build the emptiness of days - we have to each steal a costly hour to spend together, to prove our worth to each other - and it's almost too stressful to enjoy. I don't like this part.

Things are better, now that I've recovered from the conference. If I work my butt off during the week, I can rest on weekends. I only have four classes, but they're trying their best to take me down. I'm actually getting organized out of sheer necessity.

My place feels like a home by now even though I've only unpacked 2/3s of the boxes and the map poster keeps falling down. Also the oven still doesn't work, which is obnoxious.

But living downtown is still great. I get annoyed with early morning construction noise (sometimes its so insanely loud, and I can't even figure out WHAT they are doing - sounds like a truck but louder than any truck I've ever heard - certainly not just a hammer or a drill or GAAAAHHH WHAT IS THAT!!) and I get annoyed with people partying at 2 am in the alley right underneath my window (really guys?) But I have such a nice, short walk to class, and I love being able to go get Sparky's Ice Cream or India House or whatever. Btw Columbia is even more diverse and perfect now than ever. The Middle Eastern Market has a huge new location, there's a French bakery with Macarons and a Korean barbecue place downtown with $5 Kimbap. 

Tutoring is blarggghhh. I'm scheduled for 9 hours a week but people keep not showing up. Oh, they're sick. Oh, they have car troubles. Oh, they just don't show up and later tell me they overslept. Is this just my bad luck? I didn't have these problems last year. Two students have even cancelled. I'm not even hurt or sad - hopefully the new ones will be better. 

I went camping last weekend with Nash and Isa, who is my American Life partner this semester. She's tall and German, a biologist, and the way she talks reminds me a bit of Rachel. She's a nice girl.

I'm thinking about graduate school next year. Not sure what to do.

I'm reading a bit. I don't have a car and there's no exciting hiking to be done here anymore and it can be hard to get friends together at the last minute, so I'm discovering this ancient old-fashioned past-time of spending time with paper and ink. Last Places is the kind of travel book I want to write, but maybe a bit too exaggerated for my taste - or have Iceland and the Faroes really changed so much in 30 years? Probably a mixture of the two. Travel journalism has certainly changed. Sometimes I think the title refers to the "Last Places" you could get away with writing about like that - certainly the last places in Europe.

My friend Jerry from Florida turned 100. Still writing, still learning all the new internet tricks. He's an inspiration.

And now, I have to run again...

Damage Assessment and New Plans

I'm not doing so great right at the moment.

I've neglected my friends, I've neglected my sanity, I've neglected my family, I've neglected my nutrition. I've neglected my bandwidth limits.

I've neglected the honor's society I'm president of, I've neglected my boyfriend, I've neglected my blog, I've neglected my tutoring job. I've neglected other work possibilities. I've neglected my organization, which in turn has affected everything else.

I've neglected my stories, and I've neglected my studies.

So I've said it, admitted it - I've neglected everything.

This will have consequences - some in more cases, less in others.

My friends, family, and boyfriend will forgive me. My blog will have to cope. I've managed to keep my head just above water for the tutoring and the honor's society. I probably won't take any other work this semester, tempting as it might be for both money and experience. The bandwidth issue is only a ten-dollar fee, as long as I'm careful the rest of the month.

Sanity is slowly returning - and I got an overdose of protein and veggies and yum in Indianapolis.

My grades will take a hit. This will not be one of my better semesters. I might be looking at B's instead of A's and C's instead of B's. It depends how the grades come in and how resilient the overall marks are, and whether I make a strong recovery.

My Spanish professor in particular is disappointed in me - I've missed quite a few classes, my essay was not up to par, and I'm sure I've missed homework assignments as well. My gun story is not all I wanted it to be, not for myself nor for my professor nor for those I'm writing about. I'm managing in German, but need to play a little catch up and I don't know when. Editing is a mess. Not sure how much of a mess but it's not what I want from it. Managed not to miss any homework, but today was an exam and I learned the hard way that missing a week of class was not actually such a small matter, and that I need to take better notes because yes, it's one of those classes where if they mention 'types of magazines' or 'qualities needed in a good editor', there will actually be a huge blank space on the test for you to regurgitate the list you were given.

But but but - The others are stressed out too. Some have done worse than I have, and with fewer excuses. I've done worse myself with fewer excuses. I've had tests where I guessed at almost everything because I skipped the classes for no good reason.

I had good reasons, this time, that I either couldn't help or can't regret - Moving into a new apartment and having lots of problems with that, attending a travel writing conference where I learned a lot about my career and made good contacts, and writing a major feature story for Vox, which I'm very proud of. I haven't been slacking off.

And it turns out that, due to a bit of luck, I've only missed one Spanish assignment. I still have the weekend to massively improve my essay, and when I met with the professor in his office hours I realized that he thinks all the essays are crap, and at least he can see that I'm trying. I thought my Magazine Writing professor was disappointed with me, but after talking to the other students I realized he's criticized me perhaps the least. I could do better - I agree myself, completely - but apparently even with the Vox story and the conference crowding me from every side, I did better than some of the others. There was a lot I didn't know on the exam today, but there was a lot I did know. And part two is tomorrow, and I think I can do better on that.

And in exams and essays and what have you, Even a worst-case scenario 50% is a big improvement over 0%. I haven't dropped the ball on anything that big.

Yes, it's discouraging to start a semester this way. But I still have a lot of room and chances to recover and improve. Later work is usually weighted more heavily.

Yesterday, I cleaned my place. I can see more clearly now, think straighter.

Today, I'm going to go buy the school supplies I should have bought a month ago - folders at least so I can organize my papers properly. I'll make a point of going through the syllabuses nightly so I don't lose track of anything else. I'll take better notes. I'll find study sessions and understand my professors quirks better. I won't miss class again.

It's been a rough start. There will be consequences. But I have reasons, if not consequence-altering excuses. I can't truly regret or blame myself, and even if I can - there's no point. I just have to take the wake up call, mitigate the damage, organize myself and move on more strongly.

Leftover Management

Back in school for my last year at Mizzou.

1.) Everything is going fine.

2.) I am insanely busy.

I also have to cook for myself now. This should be - I get to cook for myself now. But, see number 2 above.

And anyway for me it's always a matter of leftover management.

I don't eat enough at one time.

But I'm not complaining, it's cheaper this way and faster after the first time. I've really only made three seperate meals here:

1.) Spaghetti with ground-turkey marinara sauce -) leftover sauce over rice with fried egg (5 meals)
2.) Leftovers from Indian restaurant with more curry seasoning, tomato sauce, added chickpeas and mushrooms (3 meals post-restaurant)
3.) Thai tomato-vegetable soup with bamboo shoots, carrots, and peas (4 meals).

This last is non-intuitive but pretty damn tasty.

Tidbit

 Tidbit was so fat.

Tidbit had a big grey naked belly with lots of speckles on it. It was wrinkly in places but when she rolled over it got stretched pretty much taught like a drum. Dad liked to give her raspberries. I just liked to give her little kisses. But when you did she would freak out and start kicking to turn herself back over again. Sometimes she kicked us in the face accidentally with her little paws.

Tidbit had little hairless places behind her ears and on her elbows and even little patchy places on her tail. It got worse as she got older but she never had thick fur like Tootsie. I always thought of her like the Velveteen rabbit, worn out with love over the years.

When I cried, Tidbit used to get very serious, but she would lick the salty tears off my face.

Tidbit loved opening presents.

Tidbit loved laying in the sun that came in through the windows. 

Tidbit loved laying by the fire in the winter, and out on the pool deck in the summer.

Tidbit loved laying around. :)

Tidbit loved riding in the car.

Tidbit loved going out on boats even though it freaked her out a little bit, she wouldn't be left behind. Once we went out on the kayak, and found some fish lines hung out to catch bass. I messed around with them with my paddle, and got some fish to jump out. Her face was hilarious! Intrigued and yet frightened. Getting her up and down from the boats was hard but we did it anyway, held her tight.

Tidbit didn't like to swim but she would sometimes let herself be put on a raft and set adrift in the pool on a lazy day. And once or twice when it was really hot at the Ozarks and we were coving it, she let me lower her into the water and hold her tight. 

Tidbit had routines - a bedtime routine where she would stand up when we turned the tv off, stretch, then jump off the bed and head towards the door, ready to go potty, come back in, get bedtime snack, then go to bed. As she got older she would decide it was bedtime for us, sometimes mid-movie, stand up and start stretching. We'd all laugh. After all, it's not like we were even keeping her up - she was passed out as we watched the movie!

When she was young, Tidbit would leap off my bed every morning! I tried to teach her to at least go down to the wooden chest first, but she didn't learn fast. Both the dogs used to jump on and off the beds and the sofas and up and down the stairs as fast as they could. It was great - you could say, "Go outside go potty?" from the kitchen, run across the floor and down the stairs and to that door, and they'd run right behind you, nails over hardwood then marble and then thundering down all the stairs in a rush. So much energy! 

Tidbit was incredibly vocal and would - not whine exactly - but grunt and moan and make the cutest little noises, almost like talking. She did this more and more as she got older.

Tidbit used to strut around hotel lobbies like we owned the place. Don't know where she got that sense of entitlement!

Tidbit cried the first night we had her home, but the second night we put her in with Tootsie and she never cried again. Tootsie took care of her, but Tidbit got fat and big quickly and soon was dominant. They used to stay close together in the woods and wrestle together in the living room. But Tidbit was a bully and ate all the food and was the boss. The big ugly bully boss. Dad and Mom secretly liked Tootsie better, but afterwards they said Tidbit was the best dog they'd ever known.

Tidbit fit in my arms perfectly and always wanted and expected to be held. 

Tidbit was good at tug-a-war when her teeth were still good, but she never figured out fetch.

Tidbit would eat everything in her bowl. Then she'd have a nice long drink of water. Then she'd lick out what was left in the bowl. Then she would burp. Then she would go back to sleep. You didn't have to see it to know. You could hear all the sounds and they became as familiar as anything.

Tidbit lifted a leg to pee, like a boy dog... but she was so short you could hardly tell. 

For a long, long time, Tidbit loved going for walks. She'd freak out if you asked her, "Wanna go for a walk?" and she'd run towards the leash and almost wouldn't settle down long enough for you to get it on her, especially once we started using the harness. 

Tidbit stopped wearing her collar after awhile. Then we thought, maybe she should wear it to lose weight? Then we realized it was a ridiculous thought and laughed until we cried.

When Tidbit got cold by the campfire we'd hold her inside our jackets. She would shiver and shake so much it was silly. :P 

Once Tidbit was scratching at a snake, and when I saw it (she was on the leash), I jerked so hard she went flying through the air! She was so young, then.

Tidbit was so proud whenever she would get a treat! She would parade it around grunting and wagging with her head held high. And when she wanted a treat, we would always act confused, "What is it, Tidbit, what do you want?" She'd fall for it and try to show us again and again how to open the cabinet. She must have thought we were idiots sometimes. :)

Tidbit got so excited whenever dad would fire up the grill. We used to give her steak bones. But later they were too rich for her and we ate less steak anyway, so she started getting salmon skins. We'd break them up into little pieces for her because we wanted her to enjoy them, but she just gobbled them down as fast as she could. 

When we went for walks I would bring water for Tidbit. Stephanie used to say, "It's important to water your dachshund!" When Tidbit got overheated she would stand in a puddle or plop down in some shady grass and pant. She loved to run! And she would eat every dried worm and berry off the sidewalk. Even grass. She refused to lose weight. 

I used to sing to Tidbit all the time. A lot of sweet lullabies. And a lot of random shit. When mom was out of the house, Melissa and I used to turn on music and sing it loudly to Tidbit, replacing every other word with her name. XD

Tidbit used to fall asleep on my lap when I studied and when I ate. All through high school I kept these insane hours and she kept them with me. She'd wait for me in her bed in the kitchen while I worked and played Racquetball and then I'd come home and she'd be in my arms from then until I left for school in the morning, shower the only exception (and sometimes she'd wait in the bathroom then.) But when I left she adapted well to sleeping in her little bed at the foot of mom and dad's. 

Tidbit actually got cuter as she got older. In the old pictures she looked like a mobster dog and a bully with that thick neck and barrel chest. But when she got older she just got so dear. And when her little face and paws turned white, it undid me. Almost until the end, some people still asked if she was a puppy. I guess because she was small. Like me.

Tidbit used to sit with me while I folded laundry, and I would start placing it gently on her. She never decided if she liked it or not. The warmth relaxed her, but the act confused her. I would always do it anyway, a piece at a time like Zanga to see how much she would tolerate before it got 'too weird' and she moved away with an indignant grunt. 

Tidbit loved the four of us and a select few others. Our grandparents for example. She tolerated a range of others to various degrees and learned that she had to be nice to all people, even strangers. But she never did learn not to hate other dogs.

I used to hold an umbrella over Tidbit when it rained and shovel out a space for her in the snow. She never figured out how the umbrella worked through and always looked at me like I was crazy for getting so close to her while she peed, and always ran back to the house so fast I couldn't keep up, and she got soaked anyway. When she got old and fragile dad built ramps for her everywhere out of plywood and old carpets. She didn't like to use those either. She knew she was supposed to but she didn't know why, so sometimes she'd go over and tag them as an afterthought, mid jump, as if they were springboards.

When we moved to Florida Tidbit's bed was placed precariously in the back of the Armada, surrounded by crates etc. She found a big black snake in Ocala and was like, "What have we done?" (like the rest of us, at the same moment!) and she was always a bit unnerved by the big salty water. And she always got the painful sandburs stuck in her feet! (Luckily dad was good at taking them out) But she loved the warmth and the lack of steps was good for her. And when we first arrived she chased lizards all the time! Even caught a few. Once she charged a big pelican, who didn't budge. She decided she didn't see him after all. 

Tidbit had a funny, rolling, sideways run, like she was always about to fall over. I think to her right. How quickly we forget...

Tidbit had a swagger and a strut until the very end. 

Tidbit snored and sneezed and burped and it was all adorable. 

Tidbit had skin tabs and I loved those too. 

I carried Tidbit home when I was 8 years old. We put her to sleep 14 years later. I'd gotten though middle school and high school and four years of college. Everything had changed, except Tidbit. She was like something from another world and another life, by the end. I almost kept forgetting she was still around. A little link to my past. But I was so different, it was like she was different too. But now it's hard to realize she's really gone. God, I loved that little puppy.

I'm so happy I had her for all those years. When I think about how we so easily could have not gotten her, or sent her back, or how she could have died from the poison as a little puppy, or in the river that day both dogs almost drowned, or when they fell into the cold spring, or that time she had the neck spasms and we almost put her to sleep... it's really amazing that she lived so long. A blessing that she could grow old surrounded by love and comfort and even got to retire to Florida. I wasn't there for her at the end - something I'll always feel a bit sad about - but at least she had Melissa. And mom, and dad, of course.

But I loved her, and I miss her. And it's hard to believe that nothing's left now but a collar she hadn't really worn in years, too many photos, and a lot of memories. Memories every one of us will carry until our own last days, memories of a little red-brown dachshund who was as much a part of our family as anyone else. Memories no one else will ever be able to understand.

In many ways, Tidbit was my childhood. She taught me to be a mother, and a friend. First we grew up together, and then I blossomed as she got old and started wasting, slowly, away. She saw me through some of the hardest times of my life, and she was closer to it all, in so many ways, than anyone else. She's seen more of my tears and more of my sorrows, alone in our room, than anyone. But she's also seen more of my joy - the happy days I would run home, throw down my bag, and as soon as she came running to see me I'd throw on her leash and collar and we'd run out together, like the whole world was waiting, the big blue Missouri skies and the endless green lawns of suburbia waiting for us.

And I'll never, ever, forget that feeling.

I'll never, ever, forget my little girl.

Things that happen

I hadn't seen her since Christmas.

Every time I left, I knew it was for a long time - a long time even for a person, much less a dog... and still less for an old dog like Tidbit.

Still, she was healthy for her age. Doing okay. Still had a little bit of attitude and a lot of appetite.

They called me Sunday. They made the decision last Monday and they put her down Friday.

They talked about it and decided it was best not to tell me, that it would be easier on me to wait until Sunday. Didn't want to ruin my weekend (who gives a shit honestly). Thought it was better that I didn't try to fly down or anything.

Yeah, well. I'm trying not to make a big stink about it. They thought they made the right decision, and it can't be undone. I feel like dad should have known, I thought he felt the same way when we put Tootsie down, but I guess not. And it's not like I can ask them to do something differently 'next time' - there will never be a next time. I guess I should have been more explicit, about what I wanted them to do. But I don't think I myself knew until it happened. I knew she would die, I didn't know it was coming that soon, but I knew it was coming soon. I was ready in some ways but not in others. I hadn't thought out the details. I hadn't realized that I wanted to be there, that I wanted to hold her for her last minutes.

But I hadn't seen her for months. I never said goodbye.

And she was my girl.

I carried her home, I fed her under the table, I told her everything, we had all our secret places, she slept in my bed for 11 years.

I should have been told. I should have had the choice. I should have been there.

I wish she could have had her mommy come home, one last time. 

I held her all the way home, and I wish I could have held her, at the end of all things. 

I wish I could have sung her one last lullaby. 

Last night, I sang to her, into the darkness, thousands of miles away and days too late.

Just close your eyes
The sun is going down
You'll be alright
No one can hurt you now
Come morning light
You and I'll be safe and sound

Don't you dare look out your window darling
Everything's on fire
The war outside our door keeps raging on
Hold on to this lullaby
Even when the music's gone
Gone

Sure, this way was 'easier'. But it wasn't right. Tidbit deserved better from her mommy...

Iceland to Internship

Iceland was great, really fantastic, I lived hard and had six incredible days clambering over glaciers, hiking over lava fields that reminded me more of the moon than of the earth, watching seabirds swoop in and out of their cliffside homes, soaking in remote hot springs and standing awe-struck at the power of four enormous, thundering waterfalls. I ate whale sushi, sheep's head, and rotten shark, strolled down the city street's of Reykjavik and the line between Europe and America at Thingvellir. Liisa and I put some serious kilometers behind us as we drove our 'too pretty for Iceland' little red rental car from Reykjavik to Hofn, Hofn to Arnarstapi, and back again to Reykjavik.

But the trip didn't seem real until my flight landed in Keflavik, and it faded back out of reality somewhere over the Atlantic.

Suddenly, I was back home.

Loud, smiling, friendly, lovely Americans everywhere.

I could understand everything - it felt invasive.

I was suddenly eating every meal out - the extravagance was almost too much.

The heat is cutting me a break this weekend, it's only in the low 80's, but still it's weird to leave the house with a t-shirt without scarves and jackets tucked into my bag.

Arrival Friday.

Saturday was clean up day, cutting the extra hair off the mountain girl, scrubbing the dirt and callouses off her feet, painting her toenails pretty pretty red, and shopping for clothes that haven't been dragged through heaven and hell and everything in between. The shopping mall - my god. Talk about culture shock.

Sunday I went with Nash, Aunt Rhonda, and Uncle Chris to the 200th anniversary of the War of 1812. Boats and barbecue and scenery bursting with Americana. Skyscrapers, flags, airshow, military displays, corn on the cob.

More culture shock - moving from impoverished student accomodation to a cushy, luxurious set up at my relatives. The towels and carpets are white and soft. The room is big, dark, quiet. I have my own bathroom and the shower is lovely. The pantry and fridge are full to overflowing. We drive in nice cars from one garage to the other and hardly notice that it's raining.

The end in sight

You can't actually spend two solid weeks saying farewell. As the very last days arrive, it's actually getting a bit easier. 

Reluctantly I accepted one last couchsurfer. He was in a tight spot, so I helped him out. We joined Ffinlo and Jens for an acapella concert at Kvarteret, then drinks at KAOS. Next morning, I toured Bryggen one last time and finally made it to the Bryggen museum.

Then I met Lukas and Monika for Vidden. Monika came as far as Ulriken with us, then ran down to cook with friends. As promised, the hike took 8 hours. It was pretty cold up there and sometimes sun, sometimes threatening clouds. But we didn't get wet, and there were a thousand shades of green looking down towards the lake, and new perspectives on all the old familiar places, and at the end we managed to get lost at a place we should have known well by now! And there was a lovely sunset shining through all the cotton-puffy plants whose names I never learned, and we found an old burned down cabin and the ruins of a huge ski slope under the full moon, and walked back along Svartediket.

Slept in late today after all of that! Then we had a Dugnad cleaning of the kitchen with all the suitemates, and got a picture of everyone together! And then I ran downtown to Friday's to see Monica and some of her friends one last time. How funny to eat at Friday's, everything was super American except the Bergen scenery out of the window, the people from this semester, and of course the Norwegian prices! Gave Monica back the movie she lent me, as well as a Florida magnet and postcard and an American flag. We walked back together along the harbour and said goodbye... :)

Now tomorrow morning I leave early for one last trip. Destination: Stavanger. The primary reason I'm going, at least why I'm going now, is to see an old friend from my first trip to Norway! :) But I'll also enjoy seeing the city, might meet up with the couchsurfer again actually, and am planning to do Preikestolen on Tuesday.

Then it's back in town for one last day, I'll meet the cleaning department, do the last bit of packing, some last shopping, give friends photos, and have a nice party on the balcony here at Alrek!

And then, the next day, I have an early afternoon flight, to....

Well, home eventually, but first... one last exciting European destination! ICELAND! A few days stolen from the responsibilities on both ends, and time with one of my best friends. :D

The Wild Woman of the Mountains

I'm tempted to pack an empty bottle, my waterproof everything and my sleeping bag into my backpack, go up into the mountains and not come down again.

Sleep when it's dark (those rare three hours).

Walk when it's not.

Enjoy the sun and blue skies and the views over the sea and the islands.

I'll get dark from dirt and sun, and grow a wild beard.

They'll never catch me alive, they'll never make me leave.

:)

It's tempting...

Summer in Bergen

It's been incredible, incredible weather lately. Especially for Bergen. Pretty much two weeks straight with no rain.

No rain, hardly any clouds, and only three hours of darkness a night.

This is becoming a problem.

I'm trying to see everyone again, check those final things off my list, use every minute...

And there are too many minutes.

And I have to force myself to stay home and pack, sleep, rest, do anything except wander around outside until I collapse of exhaustion.

I feel like a moth, drawn to the sun like a flame. Weak as it is here I feel the slight redness on my face when I come home each evening. Always gone by morning, but still.

These last days are killing me.

I will leave a lot of my heart here.

And yet I still find time for a few words, typed here and there, a short blog post.

Because there's a magic in words, in expression, and something beautiful for the future knowing I was here in this wonderful place when I chose these keys from the keyboard and wrote these last things when it was a living description of the present, not yet a memory.

Today was a sort of Rennaisance Festival thing, the Bjørgvin Medieval and Viking Market down south at the Hordamuseet alongside the Fjord. Very low-key but lovely. Cool but sunny. Harps and ocarinas, viking soup and butter with wild garlic, and delicious Israeli hummus (oddly enough). The costumes were simple but nice, and with so few tourists the percentage of people in costume was much higher than at most such events. Cute families, children playing with fake swords and drinking out of little horns. Becky and I learned how to shoot the bows and each got a bulls-eye (out of 6 tries - best not to ask about the other five. ;)) And we listened to the story of Odin's quest for knowledge in a 2,000 year old stone-circle.

Waited a long time for the bus, way out in the sticks and with the strike going on. But it was warm at the stop, and we had a view over lovely green farmland. A tractor driving about kicking up dust and followed by a cloud of seagulls. A father and a sun flying a red kite in the distance.

Living Hard

I'm living hard, want to make the most of my last days here. But I need to chill out too, or it won't mean anything.

Anyway Saturday I slept in, then Becky and I went around Svartediket to swim in our waterfall. Enjoyed the view, had a little picnic, then I came home and Skyped with my family before a barbecue with Lukas and Monika. It went until late, what with the sun still high in the sky at 10 pm. Finally though it started to disperse, and Lukas and Monika invited me and John (another random American who just arrived) to a party, somewhere far away. We had to all run home and grab our camping stuff, since we didn't know what turns the evening would take.

I had the furthest to go, so I hurried. Ran to the Fantoft bybanen stop. Got off at Kronstad and went the rest of the way to Alrek on foot. Quickly informed Becky and Nash about change in plans, then compressed my sleeping bag, threw everything I needed into my backpack, painted my face and put on party clothes, and ran out to the bus to get downtown. I was actually there ten minutes early, so I strolled through the Nattjazz festival with it's whimsical wooden constructions and the salsa dance and smell of sausages on the streets.

Then I went over and met Lukas and Monika coming off the bybanen, we found John and tried to figure out the busses, ended up making the last free one up to the northern part of town. On the same bus we met a few others headed to the same party, they helped us find the stop and then we started hiking up through the darkness on the Munkebotn path, looking for this mysterious party.

We were hiking straight up mostly, taking shortcuts instead of following the paved road, so we quickly left our new friends behind us. We kept passing groups of people on bikes, smoking pot. Suddenly, sirens and lights. As we hiked up the shortcut between switchbacks, the police car drove up and talked to some of the bikers. All very calm and relaxed. As we emerged from the woods and passed them, they didn't so much as spare us a look.

The path got darker. We started to doubt our directions. But suddenly we started to hear music - far away but unmistakable. Another few corners and a bunker came into view, lit candles on the staircase, strange music and lights, people sprawled out everywhere over a remarkable view of summer-twilight Bergen. We went back and forth from the chill viewpoint to the inside of the bunker, where banners were hung over the small windows to keep out the sun and green, red, white lights danced around us. Cloudberry liquor and tequila and Daim Chocolate.

The party was set to go on until 10 am, but we left around 4:30 and climbed the rest of the way up the mountain. It was almost fully light by then, we scrambled to find a campsite up on top of Svartediket before the sun came over the ridge. Felt like we should be packing up and making breakfast, not saying 'goodnight'. Fell asleep nearly on the path, slept about 4 hours totally dehydrated and in the bright sun. Was proud of my sleeping bags versatility. Woke up in the 'morning', and went for an impromptu swim in the perfect, cool lake water.

John was freaking out, what was this, we were so close to the city, we had walked here from a rave, and it seemed like we were so far from everything - on top of a mountain with the pines all around. Drinking from clear streams and swimming in the cool lakes. The air smelled so pure.

I know, I know. Can't decide if it's good for me to meet John now, hear his first impressions. This was his first trip up into the mountains. I remember mine. Partly I've gotten used to it by now. Partly I haven't. I certainly haven't gotten used to being used to it. I smiled for him, for myself. His time here is beginning as mine is ending. A beautiful sort of pain as we put our bags back on and walked the well known trails over to Fløyen. I kept asking myself if this wasn't the last time I'd see that pond, that stream, that tree. But it's useless to think that way.

Raspberry chocolate ice cream from the kiosk over the city. The place was swarming with tourists, and again there was this wave of strange feeling. 

Went down to the city and met Becky, and we headed up north by bus to Gamle Bergen, a sort of open air museum with 18th and 19th century homes and a few reenactors. There were a handful of people walking around, but most of the people in the area were there for the seaside access, with it's diving board, sunning areas, sparkling blue water.

We headed back downtown afterwards and had a very rare lunch out at Zupperia. I had Rudolph's Soup with reindeer, berries, mushrooms, and cream.

I stumbled back to Alrek and put down my things at long last. Hiking around with my backpack and just a spaghetti-strap party shirt on had rubbed my shoulders pretty raw. I wasn't sure if I had the strength, but I'd promised Ffinlo and Sylwia a hike up Løvstakken, so I put a smaller day-pack together and set off with them, semi-deliriously.

We were always sort-of and never completely lost. Paths became smaller, bigger again, joined others, split constantly. We just kept walking, uphill when possible, towards the peak when possible. The sunlight was bright and strange. We sang silly songs and made ridiculous jokes that barely made sense. Finally we reached the infamous section of the ropes and metal bars, the climby bit. Sylwia got nervous, I had to come down and help her over one section. Then she got really eager and half-sprinted the rest of the way up. My legs were a bit shaky towards the end.

Beautiful view from the top and water in all directions. I could tell why people liked it, but I guess I still prefer the views from Lyderhorn, Sandviken, Ulriken. More photogenic, this one was too spread out and there was no obvious peak in a way. But lovely. Lovely, lovely.

I've gotten so used to mountains and sea and boats all fading into a blue mist below. The painful beauty of the sinking sun. It's awful. One shouldn't be able to get accustomed to such things. It should be a rare and hard-earned pleasure. But here it's been commonplace and that's ruined me. Tea and quick lunch and brownie-flavoured milk. I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

The way down was easier, a well-worn and stony path. Our feet were killing us though and we couldn't figure out how people manage the 7-Mountain-Challenge. Still, I would probably go for it if I had company. Totally unsure as to whether or not I would be able to finish. It would be hard at least. I guess it's supposed to be.

Strange noises and a distant ruffle of black feathers. We took pictures of some strange birds doing some strange courting ceremony. 

Then we walked across the city during the sunset, beautiful clouds over the city. I showered and a thousand different smells washed off my body and down the drain. Pine and dust and more.

Then I slept, unwillingly.

Smile because it Happened

I'm freaking out a little bit. Nash just left and that was pretty much my last scheduled thing to do here in Bergen. Now I just have two weeks left, in this beautiful city where it's suddenly summer, temperatures between 60-80 degrees all day, a sun that only sets for a few hours, flowers everywhere filling the air with sweetness, people sunbathing and swimming and eating ice cream and relaxing. There's things I haven't done. Things I want to say goodbye to. People I need more time with. I can do it all. I have more than a week.

More than a week. That's a decent length of time for a vacation. Except I haven't been here on vacation. I've had months and months to absorb and enjoy Bergen. But I'm not ready to leave yet and 'more than a week' isn't going to be enough.

I've been enough places to know, Bergen is perfect for me.

I love that I can walk straight out of my door and up into the mountains.

I love that this has been the only spring I've ever lived through without allergies.

I love that I can drink the lovely, clear water straight from the waterfalls and streams.

I love the city with its many cozy cafes, a few fun clubs, all the lovely houses, and even the tiny touristy area.

I love the public transportation and the fact that it's actually reasonable if you buy a student pass for the month.

I love how you can go and go in any direction and there are islands and mountains and lakes and rivers and streams and fjords and adorable red houses and it never, ever seems to stop.

I love the culture here, the emphasis on family, nature, education.

I love the climate - four distinct seasons, and no, it's not too cold or rainy for me, I like it, actually... it makes me value the sun and the summer.

I love the location in Norway and in Europe... easy flights to, say, Scotland, the Faroes, Finland... even further south to Spain and Italy, Belgium, Germany, Slovenia. And it's not even that far from the States, hardly further from Florida than say, Oregon.

Pamplona was lovely and charming, delicious food, historic, I loved it but a semester was just right. I felt the city and it was a beautiful time in my life, but then I went home.

Bonn was my springboard for freedom, from there I travelled all over Europe. I have happy memories there, indeed, and Bonn was a pleasant city, no doubt, but a semester was just right. I went home.

But Bergen is different.

They say, "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened."

I'll try.

But it's going to be hard to leave.

And it's going to be hard to go home.

I may find another place in the world that I like as much as Bergen, but I'm sure I'll never find a place I like more.

Bergen

Yet another rainy day in Bergen.

As always, the sound of power tools and music outside my window.

Seriously, what are they building?

The Numa Numa song, Johnny Cash's I Walk the Line, and others I can't name, echo from downtown... or Odontologen... or a few floors down. I'm not entirely sure.

Starefossen, seagulls, and the skyline of the city stretch out before me.

I still can't believe I live here.

And I'm running out of time to accept it...