I'm pretty good at packing. Every time I pack a suitcase, I pack it more efficiently, effectively, and wiser than the last time. I remember my first suitcase. It was green, red, yellow and blue, meant for little kids, with wheels and a handle. I used to pretend it was a Hoover vacuum, and I would "vacuum" the carpet of the elevator in my Dad's apartment building as we waited for it to climb the eight floors. I really grew to enjoy packing (maybe not for every weekend, but for other trips and adventures). I would always leave it up to about 8:00 the evening before I left, when the sun was down but the day wasn't too heavily invested into the night. I would lay out freshly laundered clothes on my bed and put them in my suitcase just so. I never felt like I was forgetting anything, and I would always have the smallest and lightest bag.
So, naturally, packing for Barcelona should be no big thing.
"Ha, oh yes, no, I plan on taking one suitcase, midway filled, as well as a backpack to carry onto the plane with my paperwork, some toiletries and a change of clothes. Oh, what's that? You're taking two enormous suitcases? And a carry on? Oh, how droll!" --Me about 48 hours ago.
What a douchebag. We've come a long way from packing up our trusty Hoover vacuum, people. No more pleasant 8:00 Packing With Adrienne. No, no, gentle reader. The house has been turned into a war zone as I've snatched up what I'm taking and left the rest for casualties. Piles of clothes and Spanish/English dictionaries explode out of the cushions of the couch, and the dining room table has become a POW camp for abandoned art supplies. I have to get up stupid early tomorrow to finish it all up.
But beside all that, I finally have one suitcase, weighing just over 40 pounds. I have several well-assembled piles of important documents and miscellaneous belongings waiting for me around the house to grab before I go. I kind of, kind of have things under control. Kind of. I just can't shake the feeling that I'm forgetting something. Or lots of somethings. And not just "Damnit, I forgot my pink tee shirt!" but like, "Damnit, I forgot my pink tee shirt and my visa, my computer, my cell phone, my plane ticket, the directions to my sister's apartment, and my wallet."So, yes. I am currently packed in one suitcase, But at what cost?
I don't know, maybe it's just my anxiety. I guess I just didn't expect it to be that easy to pack for Spain. I mean, packing to live in a foreign country for almost four months? Where if you leave something at home, it is not getting shipped to you. Where if you need more of that thing you're going to have to find your way in the city and figure out how to get it using a different language and a different currency. And, really? After I shovel a few extra things into that enormous bag I'm done? Huh.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Autumn comes early in the mountains
It's been overcast all day, and the wind's picked up quite a bit. Even a few hours after having breakfast, I've been checking the clock to see if it's time to start making dinner yet. Up here in the mountains, the tail end of summer is always nipped off too soon by fall, which comes rich with the suggestion of both beginnings and endings. After finishing various chores (yet with many more still to go), I've curled up on the couch with the cat, a book, and a quilt. I'm reading a gothic right now, which fits the weather and timing perfectly. It's fun enough for a summer read, yet possesses the thrill and suspense that so superbly complements autumn. My toes are chilly from being exposed, and as I tuck them under the blanket I am considering closing a door or two to prevent the wind and increasingly cool evening from slipping in. But then, why postpone the inevitable? Fall's coming. It's a good season. One that I rarely give enough credit to.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Wichita Falls
The name of that town even sounds like a black and white horror movie. As I write this a coyote is freaking out outside. Atmosphere? Oh yeah.
************
SCENE 1: THE HOTEL ROOM
The time is 9:30. The place, a small dimly lit hotel room in Wichita Falls, Texas. Our protagonist, Adrienne paces the room as her mother finishes a phone call to someone back home. Upon hanging up, Adrienne sits on the edge of the bed and bounces anxiously.
Adrienne: Let's go! I'm starved!
Mom: I am too! I'm thinking... Denny's?
Adrienne: Yeah that sounds good. I could go for some pancakes.
Mother and daughter collect their belongings and exit the room. The door shuts violently behind them, making them jump.
SCENE 2: THE LOBBY
The two women make their way through the deserted lobby. A fly buzzes loudly over the desk, where an small vase of dying flowers sits. In theory, there is supposed to be someone working at the desk, but considering the town and the time, they are probably off doing something more productive with their time. I know I'd be watching TV in an empty room. Or taking a nap. Anyway, so they're walking through the lobby. They reach the automatic doors, which open slowly and begrudgingly, as if they're doing a real favor.
Adrienne: Would it be weird if I got hot chocolate and bacon? Like, just those two things? That's kind of all I want.
Mom: Get whatever. I want to get those crepes. Are those at Denny's or are they at IHOP? I can never--
Adrienne: grabbing Mom's arm and looking down in horror. Mom! Don't move! Do you see that?
Mom: looks down at the ground and moves back several spaces, back through the glass doors. She is followed by Adrienne. What are they? Oh my god-- they're crickets!
Adrienne: They're EVERYWHERE.
Camera pans down to the ground, which is alive with hard shelled black bodies leaping about and squirming. The pavement is completely covered. Some more unfortunate members of the cricket party have hopped inside and have been crushed. Their squashed and mangled corpses liter the floor. Although their legs are pretty intact. It's actually pretty gross; their insides totally spirted out over everywhere, but their freaking legs were still propped up, totally ready to jump around. Now I'm kind of grossing myself out. Anyway, back to script-mode.
Mom: Okay, let's make a run for it, I want my strawberry crepes.
Adrienne: looks longingly at car parked about 50 feet away. Ehhhhhhhh.
Mom takes off outside the doors. After a beat, Adrienne looks behind her at the empty front desk, and follows after her. Splitting up in horror films is the stupid thing to do, you know.
Mom: from the cricket pile OH IT'S SO BAD BECAUSE THEY JUMP AT YOU.
Adrienne: Don't open your mouth, they could jump in there!
An audible crunch and a near jump-attack send Adrienne into full board linear panic, and she begins to run. Mom follows suit. The car is so close. Mom fiddles with the keys, but not as long as most people in movies do, and unlocks the door. They fly into their respective seats and slam the doors closed. Adrienne does a quick check to make sure one isn't in her hair or in her pants. You never know, people. Those things are cheeky. Breathless, the two look at each other and do a kind of half laugh, like heroes do at the end of the movie. A sort of, "we made it by the skin of our teeth. Boo ya," moment.
Mom: When we get back, let's park at the other entrance. It doesn't have as many lights, and the crickets probably won't be as attracted to it. That's the scientific breakthrough part of the movie.
Now here's the dramatic cliffhanger ending:
The next morning, driving out of Wichita Falls. The sun is shining, Mom and Adrienne are sharing a joke. All of a sudden, Mom points. A lone grasshopper clings to the passenger side rear view mirror. IT'S NOT OVER.
But it totally was because it fell off like 50 miles later, so all's fine.
*******************
Finally home! It's good to be home!
************
SCENE 1: THE HOTEL ROOM
The time is 9:30. The place, a small dimly lit hotel room in Wichita Falls, Texas. Our protagonist, Adrienne paces the room as her mother finishes a phone call to someone back home. Upon hanging up, Adrienne sits on the edge of the bed and bounces anxiously.
Adrienne: Let's go! I'm starved!
Mom: I am too! I'm thinking... Denny's?
Adrienne: Yeah that sounds good. I could go for some pancakes.
Mother and daughter collect their belongings and exit the room. The door shuts violently behind them, making them jump.
SCENE 2: THE LOBBY
The two women make their way through the deserted lobby. A fly buzzes loudly over the desk, where an small vase of dying flowers sits. In theory, there is supposed to be someone working at the desk, but considering the town and the time, they are probably off doing something more productive with their time. I know I'd be watching TV in an empty room. Or taking a nap. Anyway, so they're walking through the lobby. They reach the automatic doors, which open slowly and begrudgingly, as if they're doing a real favor.
Adrienne: Would it be weird if I got hot chocolate and bacon? Like, just those two things? That's kind of all I want.
Mom: Get whatever. I want to get those crepes. Are those at Denny's or are they at IHOP? I can never--
Adrienne: grabbing Mom's arm and looking down in horror. Mom! Don't move! Do you see that?
Mom: looks down at the ground and moves back several spaces, back through the glass doors. She is followed by Adrienne. What are they? Oh my god-- they're crickets!
Adrienne: They're EVERYWHERE.
Camera pans down to the ground, which is alive with hard shelled black bodies leaping about and squirming. The pavement is completely covered. Some more unfortunate members of the cricket party have hopped inside and have been crushed. Their squashed and mangled corpses liter the floor. Although their legs are pretty intact. It's actually pretty gross; their insides totally spirted out over everywhere, but their freaking legs were still propped up, totally ready to jump around. Now I'm kind of grossing myself out. Anyway, back to script-mode.
Mom: Okay, let's make a run for it, I want my strawberry crepes.
Adrienne: looks longingly at car parked about 50 feet away. Ehhhhhhhh.
Mom takes off outside the doors. After a beat, Adrienne looks behind her at the empty front desk, and follows after her. Splitting up in horror films is the stupid thing to do, you know.
Mom: from the cricket pile OH IT'S SO BAD BECAUSE THEY JUMP AT YOU.
Adrienne: Don't open your mouth, they could jump in there!
An audible crunch and a near jump-attack send Adrienne into full board linear panic, and she begins to run. Mom follows suit. The car is so close. Mom fiddles with the keys, but not as long as most people in movies do, and unlocks the door. They fly into their respective seats and slam the doors closed. Adrienne does a quick check to make sure one isn't in her hair or in her pants. You never know, people. Those things are cheeky. Breathless, the two look at each other and do a kind of half laugh, like heroes do at the end of the movie. A sort of, "we made it by the skin of our teeth. Boo ya," moment.
Mom: When we get back, let's park at the other entrance. It doesn't have as many lights, and the crickets probably won't be as attracted to it. That's the scientific breakthrough part of the movie.
Now here's the dramatic cliffhanger ending:
The next morning, driving out of Wichita Falls. The sun is shining, Mom and Adrienne are sharing a joke. All of a sudden, Mom points. A lone grasshopper clings to the passenger side rear view mirror. IT'S NOT OVER.
But it totally was because it fell off like 50 miles later, so all's fine.
*******************
Finally home! It's good to be home!
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
If ANYONE Ever Tells You BBQ Isn't Good For The Soul...
I pulled the pillow Mac had left at the house out of the backseat and stuffed it between my head and the car door. There's nothing like a nap in the car. I take naps when the scenery around me is boring or ugly, and when I shut my eyes, I do so with the hope that the next time I open them I'll be somewhere prettier, more exciting. And I don't know about you, but when I think about those adjectives, I definitely don't think Willie's Woodhouse, a barbeque joint adjacent to a Shell gas station somewhere between Houston and Fort Worth. And it was here, in the most mundane of barbeque joints that I found the kind of beauty I was looking for.
For this to make any sense, or maybe to just convince you all I am a crazy, or maybe just to brag about this awesome sandwich I had, let me describe this lunch. Imagine yourself sitting on an enormous picnic bench, across from your beautiful and amazing mother, who seems almost comically far away on the other side of the table. There's a sweet tea on your red tray next to a steaming chopped beef sandwich in a little box. You open the box and proceed to dump nearly all the barbeque sauce you have in your little plastic cup onto your sandwich, and after deciding the best place to take that first bite, you begin to eat. Sauce, sweet and sticky and just a little spicy, drips down your hand and nestles itself into the cracks of your fingers and hands. The meat's okay, but the sauce is so damn good you would probably eat dog food if it had this shit on it. Little kids sit by their moms and their dads and their uncles and neighbors all around you, and ask innocent questions, like "what does wonder mean?" or "why is your tea not as sweet as mine?" They're not annoying, which really is something to marvel at, that many kids in one room and not one of them is screaming or driving everyone crazy. It's not a special place, you remind yourself. It's connected to a Shell gas station. But it's light and it's clean and it's friendly and you know exactly what to do there, and what everyone expects of you and Goddamn, isn't that a comfort? And it's not you sitting on that bench in the middle of God Knows Where, Texas, it's me, and the thoughts that are racing through my head are mine, and they are for the first time in several days not terrified ones. Instead they are memories, memories of things that make me so happy I start to laugh. Mom looks up and smiles. I can't stop giggling at everything. A little girl sneezes and I almost lose it. My sweet tea-- it's hilarious. The butchered remains of my sandwich-- hysterical. The moist towelettes-- oh God don't even get me started on the moist towelettes.
I don't know what came over me, but something in that barbeque joint let me know that everything was going to be alright.
"Are you laughing at anything in particular?" Mom asks, knife and fork hovering above her brisket.
"No... I'm just happy."
************************
Now that you all think I am looney-tunes and totally unfit to leave the country by myself, I picked up my visa today! SO IT'S OFFICIAL!!! I think I look like an international spy in my visa picture. Mainly because it looks like a mug shot, only it has sweet stamps all over it/my face. It's pretty rad.
For this to make any sense, or maybe to just convince you all I am a crazy, or maybe just to brag about this awesome sandwich I had, let me describe this lunch. Imagine yourself sitting on an enormous picnic bench, across from your beautiful and amazing mother, who seems almost comically far away on the other side of the table. There's a sweet tea on your red tray next to a steaming chopped beef sandwich in a little box. You open the box and proceed to dump nearly all the barbeque sauce you have in your little plastic cup onto your sandwich, and after deciding the best place to take that first bite, you begin to eat. Sauce, sweet and sticky and just a little spicy, drips down your hand and nestles itself into the cracks of your fingers and hands. The meat's okay, but the sauce is so damn good you would probably eat dog food if it had this shit on it. Little kids sit by their moms and their dads and their uncles and neighbors all around you, and ask innocent questions, like "what does wonder mean?" or "why is your tea not as sweet as mine?" They're not annoying, which really is something to marvel at, that many kids in one room and not one of them is screaming or driving everyone crazy. It's not a special place, you remind yourself. It's connected to a Shell gas station. But it's light and it's clean and it's friendly and you know exactly what to do there, and what everyone expects of you and Goddamn, isn't that a comfort? And it's not you sitting on that bench in the middle of God Knows Where, Texas, it's me, and the thoughts that are racing through my head are mine, and they are for the first time in several days not terrified ones. Instead they are memories, memories of things that make me so happy I start to laugh. Mom looks up and smiles. I can't stop giggling at everything. A little girl sneezes and I almost lose it. My sweet tea-- it's hilarious. The butchered remains of my sandwich-- hysterical. The moist towelettes-- oh God don't even get me started on the moist towelettes.
I don't know what came over me, but something in that barbeque joint let me know that everything was going to be alright.
"Are you laughing at anything in particular?" Mom asks, knife and fork hovering above her brisket.
"No... I'm just happy."
************************
Now that you all think I am looney-tunes and totally unfit to leave the country by myself, I picked up my visa today! SO IT'S OFFICIAL!!! I think I look like an international spy in my visa picture. Mainly because it looks like a mug shot, only it has sweet stamps all over it/my face. It's pretty rad.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Goodbye to San Antonio
I just watched Mac drive down the street. Probably one of the hardest things I've ever done, watching him leave and knowing it's going to be four months before he's tangible again. Sitting on the couch, I try to kid myself into thinking he's just in the other room, or that he went to work and will be home in a few hours. It's not really working.
This summer has been amazing. I've met so many new people and grown very close to some brilliant and vibrant individuals, I've gotten to know San Antonio better than ever, and have had more fun than most summers can shake a stick at. And yet I find that I am ready for change. Something new. A new place, new foods, new language, new streets. The possibility terrifies and intrigues me, and now that saying goodbye to Mac and my adopted brothers, Eric and Scott is over, I feel like I can fully look forward to the future.
Knowing (and yet completely not knowing) what's in store for me is exciting, and I'm up for the challenge. And knowing what an awesome place I'm leaving, the upcoming months will be exactly that-- a challenge.
I'll keep you guys posted.
Love,
Adrienne
This summer has been amazing. I've met so many new people and grown very close to some brilliant and vibrant individuals, I've gotten to know San Antonio better than ever, and have had more fun than most summers can shake a stick at. And yet I find that I am ready for change. Something new. A new place, new foods, new language, new streets. The possibility terrifies and intrigues me, and now that saying goodbye to Mac and my adopted brothers, Eric and Scott is over, I feel like I can fully look forward to the future.
Knowing (and yet completely not knowing) what's in store for me is exciting, and I'm up for the challenge. And knowing what an awesome place I'm leaving, the upcoming months will be exactly that-- a challenge.
I'll keep you guys posted.
Love,
Adrienne
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