Friday, August 22, 2008

i sort of need that toe, thanks

Yesterday morning I managed to bash my left pinky toe into my coffee table. I hoped the combination of ibuprofen, wine and sleep would banish the pain by today, but it still Hurts. So. Much. If I did a "Things I Hate Right Now" list*, this would be number 1.

The pain's not really the problem, although I can't say I enjoy it. The bigger issue is that my primary mode of transportation is through the courtesy of my two feet. So impairing my ability to walk is the equivalent of wrecking my car.

* I've thought many times about creating this list, but I'm always reminded of the C&H strip where Calvin starts a list of "A million things that really bug me" and Hobbes says "How about excessively negative people?"

Thursday, August 21, 2008

nihongo wa sukoshi shika dekimasen

("I can only speak a little Japanese.")

I thought it would never happen, but Tuesday night I finished Book I of Japanese for Busy People -- the equivalent of finishing a year of college-level study. Up next: Book II, which will prove to be a bit more of a challenge because parts of the book, including the dictionary, are written in kana; and starting the daunting challenge of learning to read and write kanji, the alphabet consisting of thousands of Chinese characters. I'm working from a book called "Easy Kanji," which is a ridiculous oxymoron. It's from the same series as the "Easy Hiragana" book I mocked in an earlier post, but I have to admit, that book, and its companion, "Easy Katakana," did teach me those alphabets. So I was kind of superstitious about sticking with the same series for kanji. But I've already realized -- I'm going to need a LOT more books. Muzukashii desu! (It's difficult.)

Monday, August 18, 2008

photos from my korea vacation

I'm leaning toward posting pics on Facebook rather than on Flickr these days, because Flickr allows only a few uploads per month unless you pay for a premium account. This album is accessible even to people who aren't on Facebook:

http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=37486&l=2a87f&id=720561445

Enjoy!

Friday, August 01, 2008

gain a fortune, lose a kettle

I started this morning the way I've started every work day this decade: put the kettle on to make tea; check e-mail while I wait for the water to boil.

The e-mail held the news I've been waiting nine months to hear: my house is sold. I've been afraid to even mention that it was under contract -- I know all too well that real estate contracts can fall through right up until closing. But it's done: all the i's are dotted, the t's crossed, every one of the 10,000 documents required to transfer a house is signed, by some guy named Carlos (the buyer) and by Mary Ellen (acting as me, through the magic of a power of attorney).

I'm 99 percent ecstatic about the sale. I wanted to sell for a lot of reasons:

1) My infernal ARM was due to adjust in November (yes, I'm one of those people who took out a hybrid ARM with the intention of flipping the house before the interest rate went up, thereby contributing heavily to the mortgage crisis. You're welcome.)

2) The mortgate, along with the various expenses of maintaining an empty house, were eating up a lot of the disposable income that was supposed to be one of the perks of working in Japan.

3) Most importantly, I didn't want to move back to that house. One big thing I learned from living there is, I am not handy, and I'm not a person who gets any pleasure from yardwork or gardening. I grew to hate the huge yard, which always needed to be mowed, or raked, or sprayed for ants, or have a giant nest of angry bees removed. I think my happiest moment in packing up the house was when I pushed my flimsy snow shovel into the trash bin and vowed that, as God is my witness, I'll never shovel again. On top of that, after living car-free in Tokyo, I can't imagine ever going back to a lifestyle that doesn't let me walk to nightlife, grocery stores and public transportation. It was a cute house and I'm glad I owned it, but next time around, I'll be looking for something very different.

The 1 percent is a bit of unavoidable melancholy that I always feel when I have to give up something that's been a part of who I am. (I think my bitterest tears were shed for my 1976 cobalt blue Corolla, with the rotting floorboards and the sticking carburator that stranded me on so many cold winter nights.) The melancholy is mixed with a soupcon of fear -- I literally can't go home again. I've cut my last physical tie to D.C., as well as giving up my biggest adult achievement and my primary source of equity.

But the fear yields something else: freedom. With that chain unbound, the world is my playground -- when my contract at Stripes ends, I can live anywhere I want. (Anywhere with gainful employment, that is.) Into the great wide open, and all.

Wait a minute, you're saying. Was there a kettle in this story? Was there a point to this story?

Yes, and yes. Getting there.

So, I read the e-mail. I did cartwheels. (Mentally.) I let out a breath I've been holding for nine months as the housing market descended to lows even Dante couldn't conceive. Then I put my last Earl Greyer teabag into a cup and picked up the kettle.

I should mention here that the kettle is, I believe, older than me. It's a sturdy old Pyrex percolator that my mom made her breakfast tea with, my whole life, until she got a bigger one and gave me the old one.

Ah, here it is, and it appears these were made between 1952 and 1960. Damn, it's older than I realized:

Just as I started to pour, the kettle broke in half. Just under the metal band -- suddenly I was holding the handle and the lid, and the bottom of the kettle was on the stovetop, and boiling water was everywhere. I got lucky -- most of the water ended up on the counter and the floor, although some of it did splash me, and I have a pretty nasty burn on my stomach. But it's small.

Somehow, though, the loss of the kettle hit me much harder than the loss of the house. Part of it was the shock -- the house has been under contract since May. (Also, physical pain played a role.)

I didn't mean to turn the kettle into a metaphor, but I just now did, in my mind. Because even though I'm sad to lose my heirloom (I maybe cried a little bit), I'm also excited to shop for a new kettle. Just a couple of weeks ago, I was eyeing jewel-toned OXO kettles at FrancFrancFranc, an awesome housewares shop. I coveted them, but turned away because I had a perfectly good kettle at home. And now, out of the loss, comes freedom, to buy a new one. So it's just like the house. And that's enough of this tortured analogy. Good night.