Time Flies!

We’ve been in our new rental house for two weeks. The time has gone quickly, and most of our free time has been devoted to unpacking and finding the right place for our stuff. Funny things happen when other people do the packing…you get aerosol can lids (no aerosol cans…they can’t be shipped), random bits of string, jars of hot sauce with an eyedropper of contents, and every spare rusty nail that might have been laying about in the garage. Unpacking has been a bit like Christmas, with a sense of humor!

Our rental house is nice, and it reminds us a lot of our home in San Diego ~except that it’s on a very quiet street and the neighbors keep stopping by to say “welcome to the neighborhood”. Spring here has been amazing. It seems like people try to fill their yards with as many spring colors as possible, as if to reward themselves for the long cold winter. (I don’t think winters are that long and cold here, but ask me again this time next year!) Just on our block, there are pink, red, purple, and white azaleas; white and pink dogwoods; purple redbud trees; luscious white cherry trees; orange-red tulips; purple irises; and then plane ole trees with colorful green, purple, and red spring foliage.
The bird has been enjoying my new schedule of working from home. I think she feels grown up getting to "go into the office” every day. She likes it so much that she doesn't care if I'm there or not. For example, today (Saturday) she begged to go in...even though I wasn't there.

Our San Diego house finally rented. We tried hard to rent it to a nice, small family or a young couple, but in the end it rented to three young guys in a rock band. They say they don’t practice late at night and that the band has its own studio for weekly practice, but it sure sounds like a recipe for angry neighbors! We're keeping our fingers crossed.

That's it for now. Things here are good. Summer is coming, and we're excited for warm, mosquito-ridden nights with the top down on the Mustang. Work continues to go well for both of us. Holly, too, if you count the hours she logs "in the office".

We miss you all.

The Sound of Freedom: Week 2

The Sound of Freedom has been relatively quite this week, possibly due to the turbulently windy days we've had (some with 30-40 mph gusts).


Most of this week has been spent getting into a routine. We started running again, I started back to work, and Chris has been cooking for us every night. There were a few smoke-filled moments earlier in the week as we learned to cook on electric, after 10 years with gas.

For those of you who know Chris well, you won't be surprised to learn that he found a grill near the apartment. Last night we had ribeye and asparagus off the grill. It's not easy cooking on a park grill, but after two weeks of cooking on electric, I think fire made him feel at home.

Monday evening, when I opened the door for Chris, a wide-eyed tabby who seemed to think he lived here burst into our apartment. Holly's never seen a cat in her living room, but it was clear she knew it was something to be concerned about. Luckily she was in her cage, and the tabby was friendly enough to be scooped up quickly. No harm, no fowl. I mean, foul!

After the tabby incident, we visited a house we were interested in renting. It was as close to perfect as our money will get us, so we made a verbal agreement with the owner, and we'll submit our application tonight. It's similar to our San Diego house: three bedrooms, 1.5 bathrooms, hardwood floors, and a large backyard. And, now that we think we have a place to live, we can get down to the business of exploring this new region of ours...

The Sound of Freedom: Week 1

We've been here most of the week, and I'm beginning to get a grasp on a couple of the major routes around town. Don't get me wrong, I still have a map and the Garmin out and ready anytime I leave the apartment. I love GPS! Having the Garmin makes me remember how found my way around San Diego when we first moved there: I circled help wanted ads, wrote down addresses, plotted addresses on the map, decided which order the map dictated I visit them, wrote directions to each place in the most linear fashion...

Other than local roads and how to calm a frenzied parrot, I have learned that I've been spoiled by living in a house my whole life. Here, I need to take my trash to one of the two giant trash compactors on the premises. The closest one is 2/10 mile, round trip (and ours is one of the closest buildings). It's not about the walk; it's about walking 1/10 mile with my garbage!

The weather's been beautiful all week, but it's supposed to rain this weekend; our official welcome to the east. I think my favorite part so far is that we made it just in time for the break of spring. There are trees full of white blossoms and baby leaves, and there are golden daffodils everywhere!
We're getting settled in the apartment. It's comfortable and quiet, except for the Navy jets taking off from the nearby Naval Air Station. Apparently, Chris read my shock (at the noise) when the first one flew over Monday evening, and he cheerfully exclaimed, "That's the sound of freedom"!

Holly doesn't appear to be bothered by the Sound of Freedom. She watches the seagulls flying overhead, but it seems that jets aren't something a parrot needs to worry about. She likes to look out the window to inspect the resident mallard and plump red-breasted robins in the grass below, and she's very curious about the apartment. I carry her from room to room (there are only 2), so she can investigate her new surroundings. It's magical to watch her eyes brighten with curiosity. I'm convinced that cat owners beat parrot owners to the curiosity quote ("...killed the cat"). Parrots are intensely curious creatures!

3000 miles and a parrot

The moving vans pulled out of the driveway around 2 pm on Saturday. We finished cleaning the house, ran a few errands, loaded the car, and hit the road.

(Holly took the trip well)

We spent our first night in Yuma in a spruced-up, ''60s-style roadside motel called Best Western. The room was way too small for two adults and a parrot, but it was comfy and clean.

(The famous saguaro cactus ~somewhere in Arizona)

We spent Sunday on the road in a giant dust storm. The winds made our '07 Mazda whistle like an old VW bus. We made it to El Paso feeling a little gritty and exhausted from dodging flying cardboard boxes and suicidal tumbleweeds.

(I'm still finding dust in the crevasses of my car!)

(suicidal tumbleweed, but not the 4' one that attacked the car)

We drove across desolate west Texas in more strong winds and blowing snow on Monday. Fortunately, there was no sand...just snow and hail. The scenery was more exciting than I expected. There are spectacular mountains that extend hours east of El Paso, and there was snow over much of the higher elevations of west Texas.

(snow & sleet in west Texas)

(probably the Sierra Juarez range, striped with snow)

We arrived in San Antonio in time for a hearty spaghetti dinner with family. We'll spend a few days here, before continuing eastward again...

(my brother and sister)

. . .

...We spent two warm, sunny days in San Antonio with family, and then began our travels again by driving northeast through Texas on back roads. The small towns passed the time quickly, and I never knew there were so many different shapes of cows! After a BBQ stop in Nacogdoches, Texas (all those cows must have slipped into our subconscious), we picked up the interstate in Louisiana and headed toward our day's destination (Jackson, Mississippi).

We spent another wonderful evening with family in Jackson and hit the road Friday morning under the threat of snow. Good sense told us to beat a path to Memphis -or beyond. But we had been looking forward to spending this day in the Mississippi delta and so, after giving the winter storm warning careful consideration, we made a backup plan and headed for the delta anyway.

Our first stop was Satartia ~pronounced "Satasha" (yes, this is where I get my name). Satartia is a very small town along the Yazoo River; downtown has a cotton gin and a small general store. There are a couple small churches and some scattered houses on the wooded approach to town. After passing the cotton gin, the road curves, crosses the Yazoo River, and flattens out into the agricultural fields of the delta.

(The general store in Satartia)

(This sign used to hang in the question mark-shaped holder in the picture above)

For lunch, we happened upon a great meal of cornbread, fried okra, and catfish. While we were eating, it began to sleet, so we hurried the rest of our day…as much as one can hurry in the delta. We followed the main delta routes in the snow, directly to Memphis. The rarity of snow in Mississippi kept most people indoors this day, and the snow added a hazy layer of gray over the barren winter fields, making them appear desolate and cold.

(The Mississippi Delta in winter)

We reached Memphis without any trouble, but it soon became clear we wouldn't leave until Mother Nature cleared the roads. We found a restaurant within walking-in-the-wind-and-snow distance from our hotel.

(Snow outside of our hotel room)

(The snow is license plate deep!)

By mid-morning, the main roads were clear enough to meet an old friend for breakfast, wash off the 5" of snow from the car, and hit the road. We spent the next two nights enjoying great food and conversation with San Diego friends who have just moved to the mountains of Virginia.

(Fun with friends!)

(Man, it's cold out here!)

We arrived in Virginia Beach around 3:30 Monday afternoon, unloaded the car, and headed for our favorite crab cake dinner (crab cakes and broccoli, with an appetizer of broccoli and crab soup).

(One of the tunnels coming into the city)

************
We already miss San Diego...

(San Diego)

...but we're excited about our opportunity here.

We'll keep you posted.

Running

We’ve been running together now for about a year. I got into running as a way to get thirty minutes of physical activity three to five times a week. I didn’t get into it to race; I don’t want to run a marathon, and I don’t care how fast I am.

For the first nine months or so, I really hated running…at least, right up until the point that the running stopped, and I caught my breath. And it is that feeling that gets me up before dawn to do it again tomorrow. That, and as the days get longer I am rewarded with a postcard view: the dawn sky glowing sapphire and green, increasingly distinguishing itself from the black of the mountains to the east.

Somewhere around month nine, we started gearing up for the World Famous Camp Pendleton Mud Run. My husband was signed up, and he wanted me to join him if a spot became available. The Mud Run is a 10K through the muddy obstacle course of the Camp Pendleton Marine Base. I was not interested. I didn’t like the idea of mud in my shoes and shorts.

To get him ready (and me too, he kept insisting), we challenged ourselves to hilly long-distance runs. I was surprised to find that I enjoyed these runs, and before long I had comfortably surpassed the mileage I’d have to run in the Mud Run. I still wasn’t interested. Then one morning, word came in that someone had dropped off the team and I could join. After months of resisting, I was overcome with excitement. I questioned it, slept on it, tried to resist some more, and finally gave in. It was done. My check was mailed, and my t-shirt was ordered.

Then my running partner pulled a muscle and had to stop running. He assured me he’d still run on race day, but he didn’t plan to run again before that day. I knew he could sit out for two weeks and still power through the run, but I was worried I’d wimp out along the course, if I didn’t keep working. So, I ran…alone for most of the next two weeks.

Race day came, and I was still excited. Is something wrong with me? Why am I excited about running 6.2 miles, scaling climbing walls, wading (or crawling) through mud pits, streams, and a lake, trudging through soft sand, jumping hay bales, crawling through a culvert, and stepping through a tire obstacle? I still don’t know why I was excited, but it was more fun than I could have imagined, and I can’t wait to do it again. And yes, I still don’t like mud in my shoes and shorts.

This morning, I ran a 5K with some coworkers. It was my first official “race”. (The Mud Run is, well, mainly about getting muddy.) I decided to go into today’s run with the mindset that I was out for a morning jog with a bunch of people.

What an experience to be on the road with a hundred or more runners, joggers, and walkers (dogs & kids included). There were traffic cones, angry drivers screaming about blocked intersections, and motorcycle police directing traffic ~and us. And then there was the finish line. Wait. My morning runs do not have a big blue FINISH banner; I just run to a crossroad or a local landmark like the dog up the street.

Suddenly, it was no longer just a morning jog with a bunch of strangers and a few coworkers. A big time clock under the FINISH banner ticked off the seconds as I approached, and it made me run faster to beat some imaginary time. Strangers were cheering for me, and there was music and food. I took fliers for upcoming races and read them to see which ones we might fit into our schedule. Maybe I do like this race thing after all.

Welcome to spring

It took years of living in (what most call) the land of eternal summer to recognize the subtle indications of spring. Now that I recognize it, it seems as obvious as the first purple Crocus breaking through the snow.

It begins about the same way every year. We have a week or two of gloomy skies just before the time change (even this year when the time change moved); then one morning, the clouds break, the sky is brilliant, and the morning air is soft. Within a week, rose leaves spring from their woody stumps, baby leaves illuminate the backyard trees, and the gardens begin to grow again…even this year, when freezing temperatures leveled many of my beloved plants.

We exchange the small room heater in our bedroom for a box fan, and we leave the windows open late into the evening because the air feels good, not because we seared a steak without the exhaust fan on. It’s subtle, but it all happens within weeks.

Rain in the desert

"Rain" in the desert is usually just a drizzle by most other regions' standards. It doesn't come often so, when it does, we celebrate. Everyone celebrates in his or her own way. Some celebrate by complaining about the weather, a luxury we don't often get in Southern California. Today, I celebrated by staying in, drinking hot chocolate, and cooking a few weeks' worth of parrot breakfasts. Rainy days are one of the few occasions where staying inside seems acceptable, when you live in paradise.