somewhere in or around las vegas
Happy Hoover Dam!
in my dreams
I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
and presents on the tree
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
and presents on the tree
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
horses and all these things
I've been out of it for nearly a month, but I've been to the barn again recently to ride, three times in two days, in fact. I'm trying to leg myself back up slowly so as not to wake up the next morning crippled, but already I have the general lower back pains, loose leg, and that little "off" feeling after a long canter. It's not too bad, though. The horses have been radiant, despite my lack of luster in the saddle.
There has been, at various times in my riding career, a state of rapture indescribable. Most of these instances of illumination came during intense training sessions or in the middle of a competition, but not all of them. A few were very quiet moments of partnership, and even fewer were just moments of "being."
Tonight I had a conversation with an old horse I used to ride in the summers before graduate school. I never rode this horse a lot; I just picked up rides on him here and there when his busy owner couldn't make it to the barn. He quarreled a bit with me when we started out in the cold evening air under the harsh lights of the covered arena. Then, almost imperceptibly, he started to grow brilliant. By the end of my ride, he was stepping almost completely laterally, crossing right over left and left over right leg. While it's certainly fun to be fancy, I didn't think much of it until I had put my fleece quarter sheet over his rump and walked him around the ring to cool out. In the crisp winter, I sat on him and became part of the rolling rhythm of his lively walk. I thought then, at that instant in time, that if I had nothing at all in life but horses, I would love it recklessly, silently, and passionately.
Now as the year fades away, I'm reminded that I love many things. My Superstar, my creative, funny, and irreplaceable friends, and these horses, who make my world complete.
There has been, at various times in my riding career, a state of rapture indescribable. Most of these instances of illumination came during intense training sessions or in the middle of a competition, but not all of them. A few were very quiet moments of partnership, and even fewer were just moments of "being."
Tonight I had a conversation with an old horse I used to ride in the summers before graduate school. I never rode this horse a lot; I just picked up rides on him here and there when his busy owner couldn't make it to the barn. He quarreled a bit with me when we started out in the cold evening air under the harsh lights of the covered arena. Then, almost imperceptibly, he started to grow brilliant. By the end of my ride, he was stepping almost completely laterally, crossing right over left and left over right leg. While it's certainly fun to be fancy, I didn't think much of it until I had put my fleece quarter sheet over his rump and walked him around the ring to cool out. In the crisp winter, I sat on him and became part of the rolling rhythm of his lively walk. I thought then, at that instant in time, that if I had nothing at all in life but horses, I would love it recklessly, silently, and passionately.
Now as the year fades away, I'm reminded that I love many things. My Superstar, my creative, funny, and irreplaceable friends, and these horses, who make my world complete.
they sent me this
I arrived home yesterday evening to find this mysterious package at my front door. Below I have documented the three stages of discovery. Thanks guys, this is, without a doubt, beyond cool. It's a good thing I didn't buy that fleece throw I saw tonight at the mall.
| 1. |  | 2. |  | 3. |  |
crazies
Man, some of my friends are total nutcases. If you're reading this, that includes you.
happy cheesy holidays
My holiday slideshow is up. Also accessible from the main page, for a limited time only. Get your holiday cheese while it lasts.
how does it feel
Where you are seems to be
As far as an eternity
Outstretched arms open hearts
And if it never ends then when do we start?
How does it feel to know you never have to be alone
When you get home
There must be someplace here that only you and I could go
So I can show you how I feel
- Maroon 5, Sweetest Goodbye
As far as an eternity
Outstretched arms open hearts
And if it never ends then when do we start?
How does it feel to know you never have to be alone
When you get home
There must be someplace here that only you and I could go
So I can show you how I feel
- Maroon 5, Sweetest Goodbye
what we have
I once met a guy who used to be a cop, but now had oddly switched to real estate brokerage. "Wow, law enforcement must've been an exciting job," I said. "You didn't have to sit at a desk and your day was varied and new."
"No," he answered. "Actually, it was totally boring. Most of the time you were just doing paperwork, writing tickets, going to the same houses for the same calls over and over again..."
"Oh," I said, slightly dismayed, my visions of high speed car chases and shootouts and discovered drug labs slowly fading away. I then tried to imagine a job that would be exciting and new everyday. Stuntman, I thought. Jumping off buildings into inflatable mattresses, hanging from airplane wings in flight, sprinting while on fire in a flame suit...
But no, I then remembered I had already met someone who had been a stuntman, and he had been teaching my marketing writing class when I worked at IBM. "You can't be a stuntman forever," he had said. "Besides, it was really hard work."
As is usually the case, things we don't have always seem more exciting than what we do have. I'm always subconsciously on the lookout for situations more stunning than my own. The only ordeal that stops me in my tracks is when I am forced to converse with someone who has a worse case of the "wish I had" disease than me. I met a man who, about a year ago, found out I was interviewing for a particular high-profile valley tech company (to remain unnamed). "Oh, I would love to work there. That would be SO cool." he said. "You need to tell him what it's really like, since you were there," his wife said to me. My mind flitted back to one of the haggardly looking women who interviewed me, her pathetic, crumpled up daily schedule, and her pained expression when she tried to answer my question about work-life balance at the company. "Yeah, um," I said. "I'm not sure if I should shatter his fantasy." For a living, he was a musician, and spent his off time at the barn watching his wife ride in her lessons and petting the horses. I realized then that pleasant dreams about other life venues are completely acceptable, even romantic, as long as they don't interfere with your real life. They can even be motivational, and encourage you to explore paths you might not otherwise consider if you followed the same routine day in and day out. It's when your vivid imaginings of these other possible lives make your daily existence miserable that you have to take a step back and consider the negative effect this "desire" has on your life.
A friend of mine who seems perpetually dissatisfied with her life path sent me a quote about success being getting what you want, and happiness wanting what you have. I think the expectation when reading this quote is that you will instantly think, "That's true, I'm very successful but still not happy. I need to work on that." Yet, is the inverse true? The quote doesn't actually say that unhappiness is wanting what you don't have. In fact, there are many things I want that I don't have, and these things don't cause me nearly as much agony as the thought of losing what I have now that makes me really happy.
This entry was originally titled "What We Don't Have," but I changed it halfway through writing it, because it's really about the opposite. It's a little note to remind myself that yes, I'm pretty happy with a lot of things I have, and it's a note to someone who I know is reading this that he's a big part of that.
"No," he answered. "Actually, it was totally boring. Most of the time you were just doing paperwork, writing tickets, going to the same houses for the same calls over and over again..."
"Oh," I said, slightly dismayed, my visions of high speed car chases and shootouts and discovered drug labs slowly fading away. I then tried to imagine a job that would be exciting and new everyday. Stuntman, I thought. Jumping off buildings into inflatable mattresses, hanging from airplane wings in flight, sprinting while on fire in a flame suit...
But no, I then remembered I had already met someone who had been a stuntman, and he had been teaching my marketing writing class when I worked at IBM. "You can't be a stuntman forever," he had said. "Besides, it was really hard work."
As is usually the case, things we don't have always seem more exciting than what we do have. I'm always subconsciously on the lookout for situations more stunning than my own. The only ordeal that stops me in my tracks is when I am forced to converse with someone who has a worse case of the "wish I had" disease than me. I met a man who, about a year ago, found out I was interviewing for a particular high-profile valley tech company (to remain unnamed). "Oh, I would love to work there. That would be SO cool." he said. "You need to tell him what it's really like, since you were there," his wife said to me. My mind flitted back to one of the haggardly looking women who interviewed me, her pathetic, crumpled up daily schedule, and her pained expression when she tried to answer my question about work-life balance at the company. "Yeah, um," I said. "I'm not sure if I should shatter his fantasy." For a living, he was a musician, and spent his off time at the barn watching his wife ride in her lessons and petting the horses. I realized then that pleasant dreams about other life venues are completely acceptable, even romantic, as long as they don't interfere with your real life. They can even be motivational, and encourage you to explore paths you might not otherwise consider if you followed the same routine day in and day out. It's when your vivid imaginings of these other possible lives make your daily existence miserable that you have to take a step back and consider the negative effect this "desire" has on your life.
A friend of mine who seems perpetually dissatisfied with her life path sent me a quote about success being getting what you want, and happiness wanting what you have. I think the expectation when reading this quote is that you will instantly think, "That's true, I'm very successful but still not happy. I need to work on that." Yet, is the inverse true? The quote doesn't actually say that unhappiness is wanting what you don't have. In fact, there are many things I want that I don't have, and these things don't cause me nearly as much agony as the thought of losing what I have now that makes me really happy.
This entry was originally titled "What We Don't Have," but I changed it halfway through writing it, because it's really about the opposite. It's a little note to remind myself that yes, I'm pretty happy with a lot of things I have, and it's a note to someone who I know is reading this that he's a big part of that.
the interminable waiting
I'm waiting for a lot of things, some near, some far, some very uncertain.
I'm still waiting for it to snow here. I'll let you know when it does.
I'm still waiting for it to snow here. I'll let you know when it does.
alma mater
No Thanksgiving photos up yet as a certain someone has not yet managed to successfully upload them properly so I can get to them. I'll try not to say anything that might start a fight, but I'm really bad at that. In the interim, I would like to mention that over the turkey holidays, I did get to meet one of Superstar's charming acquaintances, who we'll call Bic, because of his titillating discourse on the possible methods of jabbing a ballpoint pen into the back of someone's head during a graduate school course, along with the consequences of not actually piercing the skull. Finally, someone with as morbid a sense of humor as me. "We're like kindred spirits," I told a disturbed Superstar, "and he plays hockey too."
Bic works at a winery in Modesto, which upon initial discovery, seems like a pretty sweet deal. Think wine at every company off site and other boozing company perks and you're probably well on your way to many a person's dream job. Of course, every ostensibly "cool" job comes with a drawback, and I guess for Bic it's the snobs who stand around inventing flowery, nonsensical adjectives that'd make a pink elephant blush blue in embarrassment.
"It's like Jean Kelly in a white silk dress," Bic said, making a motion of holding a wine glass and waving it around under his nose. "What?" Superstar and I said, looking at him. "That's what one of these guys said," Bic replied, "to describe the wine. Another one came up with 'This one is a little angular.' Angular, I mean, what is that?!" I had no idea. "Most of these freaks think they're something else because they're from Davis," Bic continued.
"Hey," Superstar said, "Jess is from Davis." Oh no, I thought, I am, but please please don't associate me with those nutcases. "Uh yeah, I said, they have a Viticulture and Enology degree there. I mean seriously, I still can't believe you can get a degree in that." I looked nervously at Bic and then back to Superstar. (And yes, I went to a really weird school for undergrad, where I milked cows and where people can get degrees in wine making; what can I say.)
The other drawback to working at a winery in Modesto, is, well, Modesto. When you have to drive 45 minutes just to play hockey, you know you're in the central valley. Bic was still remarkably good natured about it, and had managed to meet us in the city after an hour's drive and another hour's BART ride. The plus to having a guy who works at a winery meet you for dinner is that, needless to say, he picks out some tasty wine. "It's like Brad Pitt in a tux with tails," I said to Superstar, after sipping the Syrah. He looked at me oddly. "Hey, I'm just trying this out," I said. My best quotes are wasted on Superstar, who always looks at me like I'm an asylum inmate spouting Shakespeare.
All this talk of wine and Davis snobbery reminded me of my old alma mater, which really never struck me as a snobby school. After all, I can't think of a whole lot of things less glamorous than standing ankle deep in cow muck and shoveling hay and working the milking machine. I also remember some terrified students running from livestock, goats eating people's backpacks, and angry lab rats attacking my animal science TA. I don't particularly remember any cocktail parties or wine tasting events, but maybe I just slept in that morning.
And after all these years, they're still asking me for money. I got a call yesterday at my desk phone at work from someone claiming to be from the U.C. Davis alumni association. He said he just wanted to confirm my contact information with me and my occupation for the big alumni directory they're putting together. "It's going to be hardbound and contains images of the school, and has an accompanying CD." "Uh huh," I said, as I continued to type. "So thanks for confirming your contact info, you can reserve your copy of the directory for only $79.99 which includes the CD. We won't be printing a new version for another five years." "What?" I said. "No, I don't want a directory." It took me another five minutes of convincing this guy to shut up before I could end the call. After taking my financial aid away my last two quarters of undergrad, now this school has the nerve to ask for $80 for a phone book. My word, even Pac Bell gives out the phone books for free, and they charge you for everything. This is not to mention that in five years, my current contact info will most certainly be 100% outdated and useless. Of course, maybe they need the money so the viticulture students can keep coming up with new and ridiculous ways of describing mashed, fermented grapes in a bottle. Amen to that.
Bic works at a winery in Modesto, which upon initial discovery, seems like a pretty sweet deal. Think wine at every company off site and other boozing company perks and you're probably well on your way to many a person's dream job. Of course, every ostensibly "cool" job comes with a drawback, and I guess for Bic it's the snobs who stand around inventing flowery, nonsensical adjectives that'd make a pink elephant blush blue in embarrassment.
"It's like Jean Kelly in a white silk dress," Bic said, making a motion of holding a wine glass and waving it around under his nose. "What?" Superstar and I said, looking at him. "That's what one of these guys said," Bic replied, "to describe the wine. Another one came up with 'This one is a little angular.' Angular, I mean, what is that?!" I had no idea. "Most of these freaks think they're something else because they're from Davis," Bic continued.
"Hey," Superstar said, "Jess is from Davis." Oh no, I thought, I am, but please please don't associate me with those nutcases. "Uh yeah, I said, they have a Viticulture and Enology degree there. I mean seriously, I still can't believe you can get a degree in that." I looked nervously at Bic and then back to Superstar. (And yes, I went to a really weird school for undergrad, where I milked cows and where people can get degrees in wine making; what can I say.)
The other drawback to working at a winery in Modesto, is, well, Modesto. When you have to drive 45 minutes just to play hockey, you know you're in the central valley. Bic was still remarkably good natured about it, and had managed to meet us in the city after an hour's drive and another hour's BART ride. The plus to having a guy who works at a winery meet you for dinner is that, needless to say, he picks out some tasty wine. "It's like Brad Pitt in a tux with tails," I said to Superstar, after sipping the Syrah. He looked at me oddly. "Hey, I'm just trying this out," I said. My best quotes are wasted on Superstar, who always looks at me like I'm an asylum inmate spouting Shakespeare.
All this talk of wine and Davis snobbery reminded me of my old alma mater, which really never struck me as a snobby school. After all, I can't think of a whole lot of things less glamorous than standing ankle deep in cow muck and shoveling hay and working the milking machine. I also remember some terrified students running from livestock, goats eating people's backpacks, and angry lab rats attacking my animal science TA. I don't particularly remember any cocktail parties or wine tasting events, but maybe I just slept in that morning.
And after all these years, they're still asking me for money. I got a call yesterday at my desk phone at work from someone claiming to be from the U.C. Davis alumni association. He said he just wanted to confirm my contact information with me and my occupation for the big alumni directory they're putting together. "It's going to be hardbound and contains images of the school, and has an accompanying CD." "Uh huh," I said, as I continued to type. "So thanks for confirming your contact info, you can reserve your copy of the directory for only $79.99 which includes the CD. We won't be printing a new version for another five years." "What?" I said. "No, I don't want a directory." It took me another five minutes of convincing this guy to shut up before I could end the call. After taking my financial aid away my last two quarters of undergrad, now this school has the nerve to ask for $80 for a phone book. My word, even Pac Bell gives out the phone books for free, and they charge you for everything. This is not to mention that in five years, my current contact info will most certainly be 100% outdated and useless. Of course, maybe they need the money so the viticulture students can keep coming up with new and ridiculous ways of describing mashed, fermented grapes in a bottle. Amen to that.
