Low sleep

I didn't sleep very much last night, but I told myself that I would write every day, so here it is.

The thing about sleep is that it enables you to do things and think clearly. Lack of sleep turns me into a slug. I gaze at a pile of things or a list of bills to pay but can't bring myself to begin on any of it. I might meditate for a minute on its importance, standing, swaying slightly, considering a possible action. That's what low sleep will do.

The low-sleep state is deceptive, too. With coffee, first thing in the morning, I'm on a kind of no-sleep high. I think of myself as tough; it might even be fun. I start off on errands to beat the traffic (especially important this morning, four days before Christmas). Driving is good. It doesn't take much energy; you can float along without being a danger to others. You can accomplish things. You can go to stores where you're unlikely to see people you know, and your awful appearance will still be a secret.

But when I return to my maze at home the no-sleep state returns. I get mesmerized by news websites and can't move easily between projects. One project becomes the whole day.

Ah, well. The good thing about low sleep is tonight's good sleep.

Interior Life

Yesterday was the birthday of my college friend, DB Dowd. He is a great blogger and writer in general, not to mention an accomplished artist. In fact he is a prolific artist and author. I saw recently on Facebook that he, Lori Dowd, and Alyssa Schier were nominated for a mid-America Emmy for their work on StoryTrack, a documentary film initiative.


DB lives in St. Louis. A few years ago we met for coffee over the holidays (my sister is in St. Louis as well) and after talking for a few minutes, he said, "I see you still have your interior life." That's a compliment! If we lose reflection, humor, and creativity, whatever that may be, we've lost a lot. It must be cultivated (which I guess is what I'm trying to do now).

In early January I start a job as an instructor for Savannah Technical College in their Adult Education program; I'm teaching a GED prep course. What, exactly, do I remember about fractions? The point is, that I'll be helping people pass their GED, obviously, and maybe, though this might be too lofty a thought, I'll be helping them attain the chance to support their creativity, their interior life, whatever that may be, whether through employment or something developed on the side.

There is, in fact, an organization in Savannah dedicated to directly helping minority youth 

 express and achieve through the written and spoken word and artistic forms. DEEP was started by Dare Dukes, a local musician. Maybe I could help them out once in a while after the GED class. After all, when you read other people's writing, you're at the same time helping your own.

Ah, Tony

I'm living in a high rise in Belo Horizonte now ("Flat Horizonte") for a few weeks. Apparently it has reminded me of apartment living in Louisville because I've been thinking about Tony ... with great satisfaction.

The complex was very nice from the outside -- townhouses with outside stairs and walkways, the exterior all wood with landscaped walkways. There was a pool next to the club house office and it was in a nice suburb of the city.

What could go wrong? I was in my first job after graduate school and finishing my dissertation.

Soon after moving in I noticed that the complex wasn't very sound proof (a.k.a. poorly built) and odd noises coming from the apartment below. Admittedly, I'm sensitive to sound (must have my noise machine at night). But these were "thumps" and crashes against walls or furniture, and once even muffled cries of the wife saying, "Tony, don't! (crash!)." I called the police that night.

The situation became alarming. I complained, making note of every visit to the manager's office. I asked if they'd pay for a hotel until the issue was resolved. They wouldn't. I tried sleeping in my car after work one day (it was a nice office park nearby, don't worry.) I even tried sleeping in the bathtub.

On a holiday weekend, I remember being at a coffee shop in the nearby shopping center trying to work on my dissertation. I was delirious with lack of sleep and kept repeating Tony's name, like a chant.

Finally, the manager with some sympathy told me that the apartment next door to mine was currently vacant; I could try it out for a night. She gave me the key (amazing, given their strict rules). 

That night I ate dinner at my kitchen island listening to the sounds below (they started early evening and increased until about one or two AM), now with some detachment instead of the usual trepidation about the night ahead. I had certainly fueled his anger by telling the manager (who required a meeting with him), not to mention the call to police. But why did this start in the first place?

I did the dishes and began getting my things together. I remember that I had an inflatable mattress. It may have been for the bathtub experiment.

Sneaking out, while he was on the usual rampage, was incredibly satisfying.

I quietly opened the door and tiptoed along the outside walkway, staying close to the wall in case he would come out of his apartment and see me from below. I arranged my alarm clock, book, and blanket with huge relief.

Tony eventually found out that I moved next door. I heard thumps in my dining room coming from the direction of this apartment. He was just saying good bye, I'm sure. I think that he also called me from what sounded like a bar. There was no one on the other end, just bar sounds.

I guess I was Tony's captive audience and my escape frustrated him. There are sounds all around me at night here at Flat Horizonte, but I have my ear buds -- not that they would have helped much at the time. Tchau, Tony. 

Bom Dia!

BIUB -- Broward International University Brazil

I'm in Brazil now, but will be between jobs soon when I return to the U.S.

Carole said to savor every moment. Right now I'm savoring a torta de fringe c / requeijao, which is like a mini chicken pot pie, but with this amazing crust and chicken filling. It seems like I haven't had chicken in a long time -- since Douglas and I made it for Savannah's annual Picnic in the Park, which actually wasn't that long ago, but in a different country.

My short-term job is also amazing. It's at BIUB, Broward International University Brazil, which is on floors 5 - 10 of a building on Rua Desembargador Jorge Fontana. Thankfully, it's an English speaking school because in Portuguese I can pretty much only say that Pedro orders beef and I don't eat carrots. I know a few other words, but not enough to carry on a conversation with my uber drivers who take me back and forth to BIUB.

Also amazing: The school is across from Belo Horizonte's major shopping mall, actually two: BH Shopping and BH2 Mall. When I started writing this I was at a chocolate / coffee shop in a string of stores across from the malls. Pure bliss. I spent the next couple hours walking in and out of the places that my uber has sped by for the last two weeks. I happily explain, "Falo Inglais" (I speak English) and try not to knock things over with my back pack and shopping bag.

A major rainstrom came ("tempestade," pronounced tempe-stad'jey, with a little lilt in your tone at the "tempe"; this language is no joke) and, watching everyone else, tried not to let it bother me.

Learn more Portuguese, savor every moment, and fill out job applications for January.

Rats

I was talking to my potential property manager yesterday afternoon (I'm planning to rent my house for a year) when a rat strolled outside (thankfully) of my sliding glass door.

I told him I had to go (it seemed unproductive to blurt out a rat siting). The rat had stopped in front of me and put its front paws up on the window.  It was a Ratatouille moment, pear-shaped little rat body and all.

Thankfully, my exterminator answered his phone for some counseling. He had been here just a couple days earlier when there was rampant rat activity, or at least three. They strolled around as James and I surveyed my small courtyard. I know that adding the second bird feeder in downtown, rodent-attractive Savannah is a bad idea. But you should see the cardinals!

James left four large-ish black boxes where rats go in and feed off of a block of food that makes them  die, hopefully elsewhere. I was relieved that I didn't have to go picking up rat traps. And James said I could call him if I find any dead ones.

In recounting my saga I found out that boyfriend Douglas had not seen Ratatouille -- finally, a movie that I've seen and he hasn't. Movie night is coming up and the rats might be in the past, with any luck and one less birdfeeder.

Gems from the Road

I think I like road trips more in theory than in actuality. I plan and plot, do laundry and get maps from AAA (I'm pretty old school when it comes to directions), but then there's the anxiety of knowing that a long drive alone is ahead of me. I'm fine once I'm on the road, and sometimes find a few gems on the radio.

The best are from local radio stations, as in small-town local. One of my favorites was probably in Illinois on a drive between Columbia, MO and Louisville. A newspaper box had been stolen. Any information?  Please call ...

A couple Saturdays ago, when I started out in the morning from Knoxville up to Kentucky, I heard "Trade-io."

"I've still got that screen door for sale. I'll sell it for $98. And I'll throw in two closet doors." Apparently Trade-io has a following that could reference the screen door.

After that, one of the regular callers read a verse of scripture.

"That's a short one, this morning, isn't it Bill?" the host responded. The caller read with admirable emphasis and pacing.

When Trade-io got scratchy, I found another station, advertising an event that evening. Cocktails would begin at 6 PM, dinner at 6:45, and there would be a guest chef. It was probably a successful charity fundraiser -- I didn't catch those details -- but the announcer's matter-of-fact tone and the 6:45 Saturday night dinner time gave it that timeless, small town feel and kind of lonely, too, somewhere beyond the exits of I-75.

Serendipity

I guess I believe in serendipity, those unexplained happenings.  My dad used to like that idea; he also liked "synergy" -- the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. He was an idealist.

I don't really think of myself as an idealist (impractical at times, yes), but I've found serendipity easier to accept as simply part of how the day unfolds, than brush it aside as unrelated coincidence. (That seems so cold!)

Today the mail carrier rang my doorbell with a certified letter. It was from my school's insurance company, offering me COBRA coverage. The mail person also handed me a padded envelope with my sister's handwriting, which isn't too unusual; we're always sending gifts to each other.

The serendipity?  The COBRA offer came because I'm leaving my current job for a new adventure in Brazil (although it's only for seven weeks). Anne's package was Starbuck's Brazil coffee and a congratulations card.

I'm so busy wrapping up the quarter right now that I don't really have time to think about it, but I must be okay with leaving one thing that was pretty much for sure (the current job always felt a little tenuous) and beginning a new adventure.

Everyone has new adventures. Mine will be easier if I can learn some Portuguese.  

Liver Spots

My new dermatologist looked at my stomach and said, "those are age marks or liver spots, and they're just going to get worse."  I kind of liked the way that the red dots formed the Big and Little Dipper. I nodded.

These days, I happily tell students that I'm older than their parents. I joke that the population is getting older -- except me, with a wink.

I'm beginning to embrace "sixty."  Sixty doesn't happen until October, and not until toward the end of the month, if anyone's counting. I might be willing to face it early (though doing anything early is not really like me). Do it now, then it's one less thing to worry about, my boyfriend would say (I might have mentioned that he's a contractor and likes the idea of "punch lists").

Maybe I'm relaxing into the idea, with my red liver dots and gray hairs. But I'm not letting go of getting a tan and staying in shape (damn it). I have to be able to stay up with all my other sixty year old friends who don't look our age at all.

There's a chance that I could be entering my prime; I always did things a little later. Imagine that -- staying in my lane more, but really tearing it up. Okay, that's too much to live up to. I do like the "lane" idea, though. That would be good for me. And doing more of what I'm good at doing.

Mid-January Sorting

I've been on this binge lately of trying not to waste food. I'm sure that it's an influence from my boyfriend, who has to be convinced that any food, ever goes bad. (He was sure that the peppers in salsa acted as a preservative).

I think I'm gaining weight, though. Pesto is quite fattening. I put it on some thin spaghetti, then had too much spaghetti left over, then bought another small jar of pesto .... I'm doomed.

I've also been going through a new stage in my life of a little less teaching and a little more writing. The change seems to have made my well-masked disorganization worse. It's not really that well-masked, it's just all on the second floor, with the exception of the messy bookcase of cookbooks, etc.

I have piles of things, but the problem is, they don't even move. They pretty much stay where they are and get bigger. I do have one clothes pile that goes from the made !! (I want some credit here) bed to the floor. I'm still debating on whether to keep that GAP shirt.

It's as if the writing has given me an excuse to not do the other-brained things (I get mixed up whether organization / logic is right or left-brained). I'm not even spending that much more time on writing!

So if you think your house is a mess, don't feel bad. Hopefully mine will all get sorted -- I've always liked that British term. I guess that I'm the kind of person who can function some in chaos.

Must go. My day job pile is calling me.

Girl Power

I'm not sure if I told you, but I took a trip to the Maldives at the end of August. It was amazing!  We stayed at a resort called The Lux -- more on that later.

Like everyone else on the twelve-hour flight from Boston to Dubai, I was movie-binging. Once we landed I realized that I had seen three girl-power movies.

First was the 2018 version of Tomb Raider with Alicia Vikander. Although greatly entertaining, I don't think that anything stood our for me, except that now I'd seen one of the Tomb Raider series (I am movie deprived and not proud of it), and it was part one of my girl-power trifecta.

The second movie, Adrift, was riveting. If you haven't seen it, Shailene Woodley (of Big Little Lies) stars in the true story of Tami Oldham and her fiancé who sail partway from Tahiti to San Diego and encounter a horrific storm (Hurricane Raymond, 1983). Tami survives and, for a short period, hallucinates retrieving her mate from the water and taking care of him on the damaged boat. When she accepts that she has to abandon the scenario in order to try and survive, she says that she'll love him always, but, "I'm going to have to let you go." With that she's able to regain strength (the spear fishing would have done me in) and focus on her own survival.

Sam Claflin and Shailene Woodley
Adrift 

I've held on to situations, still trying to compensate for or fix them. I've probably let that mindset be a drain on my potential, with guilt mixing in there too. Who needs that?

My therapist explained: With guilt often comes resentment. Uh boy.

Then I heard my boyfriend's mom mention someone who "couldn't let go" of a situation. I certainly don't want to be like that.

So much good can come from letting go. However, Now I'm a little afraid of sailing.

Kevin Costner and Jessica Chastain
Molly's Game

I think that I watched Molly's Game two and half times during the flight from Dubai to Boston. Molly faced disasters in her life: complete wipe-outs in pre-Olympic free form ski events, and nearly being put in jail for running her signature, high-stakes poker game).

I loved her determination, as she said after her first game was co-opted by a former boss: "The best remedy for losing is winning."

The amazing part, for me at least, came at the end when her father (a psychology professor) revealed an event from Molly's childhood that she didn't remember. Molly had seen her father cheating. Because of that single event (and other family dynamics that it triggered), he said that Molly was motivated to derail powerful men.

It's  fascinating to think about experiences when we were young, some we may not even remember, that have become undercurrents in our lives.

Despite the difficult relationship with her dad (not to mention his cheating), it seems that Molly at least got some discipline and resilience from him.

Letting go of situations might save your life. Be a power house in your own life (what Molly did, though she failed) and try to be aware of what's driving you.

Girl power.

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