Puppy!

Just a couple shots of my parent's new puppy, Tanzi.



Just a couple shots of my parent's new puppy, Tanzi.

Cracked

Today I broke my helmet. I did this by bashing it with great force between the pavement of the road and my skull. Fortunately, my head is intact. Although I'm sad to see the helmet go (it was still rather new and matched by carbon fiber bike perfectly), I'm glad it took the impact instead of me. Even with the helmet there doing its job, it took me about twenty minutes after the fall to fully remember where I was and how I'd gotten there. Scary stuff.


I am further pleased to report I am only missing a little skin, my titus is fine and, although I freaked Brian out pretty bad initially by asking alarming questions like, "where are we?" and "which way's north?" repeatedly, he seems okay now too. Although I do feel a little bad for stealing the spotlight on his new Surly's maiden voyage.

In other news, I was also... in the news today. Check out the article A fiesta of art, with bugs. I'm quoted at the end.

Heavy Bag

I put my new brake levers on my fuji yesterday. They are a vast improvement as far as comfortable gripping is concerned. Yesterday, as I rode my bike up the hill from the co-op with two full gallon jugs of water, a bottle of wine, two pounds of dinner meat, an avocado and a cucumber in my backpack, I was quite pleased with the new amount of squishy leverage the little white-hooded dears afforded me - although it never ceases to amaze me how much steeper those hills seem with a 20+ pound load.

My entire weekend (Sunday and Monday, that is) went into the labor intensive task of sewing my bridesmaid's dress for Autumns wedding. After investing much sweat, a little blood and thankfully no tears (yet), it's almost wearable (needs a hem and a few minor sizing adjustments).

And Friday Brian and I will take to the skies and fly home for a visit.

The Ants Go Marching

Growing up in the desert, we grew used to continually encountering the extremely hardy native inhabitants of the land. Most plants around our house were not at all pleasant to touch, and the animals reacted to human interference in a variety of ways, from squirting fake blood all over, to attacking with poisonous stingers.

Ants in the desert come in several varieties, and in our childhood we learned the range from semi-indestructible to completely-indestructible. Once, engaged in one of those illogical acts of childish generosity, my siblings and I decided to help a funnel-web spider by feeding it an ant. We captured and dropped a fire ant into its web. The fire ant promptly ripped the web to pieces and attacked the spider when it appeared to see what was going on. When we pulled the ant away with a stick and tried to smash it for its impertinence, it refused to be smashed. It continued to rampage in blind anger, until we relocated it to an area where there was nothing around for it to harm and finally left it alone.

In spite of what this childhood anecdote might suggest, I am not an insect killer. Truth be told, I am ridiculously soft-hearted as these things go. I can't stand to kill anything, not even a bug, unless it is a mosquito trying to inject me with a deadly virus. So, when ants here invaded our kitchen, we reacted with non-violent resistance. We blocked their entrance. They found another away in. We sprinkled white and red pepper on the counters. They marched right through. We made every effort to peacefully communicate that they were not welcome. Still, the little invaders persisted. I do not, on principle, mind sharing our leftovers with ants. But I definitely don't enjoy picking little stinging insects out of my salad during dinner.

You can imagine my surprise when I finally grew irritated one day and flicked one of these small Iowan ants across the counter - only to see it crumple against the kitchen wall, jerk spasmodically a few times, and die. I'd never seen an ant expire that easily in my life. I was used to ants that would continue to come at me in a terminatoresque fashion, pulling themselves along by their front legs if they lost the back half of their abdomens, or continuing to bite with their jaws if they actually lost their entire body.

Since then I've paid more attention and discovered these ants die with appalling ease. They die if they fall into a drop of water. They die if a small slice of tomato falls on top of them. They die if you bump them with a sponge when you're trying to wipe off the counter. They die and die and die, and leave their grotesque little bodies all over the place, to make you feel guilty for the loss of life, when they are clearly the invaders here.

I will never understand how such a delicate derivative of a species has managed to survive all this time. However, perhaps I will take a few home with me when I visit Tucson next week to make amends with the funnel web spiders.

!

Two pieces of good news. 1) The rain has stopped. 2) I'm 2/3 done with my novel. Book Two is complete and online. This means it's all downhill from here. I have less than half of what I've already written still to write. Sometimes silly little facts like that are profoundly encouraging.

Way hey, it's stormy...

Well, it's been raining for over 12 hours now. By raining I mean steady, sometimes heavy, water pouring from the sky, with pretty much constant thunder and lightning. Brian and I made a dash for the co-op last night to fill up on drinking water, the downpour started literally as we were hoisting our bikes onto the porch. It hasn't let up since. Tornadoes and baseball sized hail were featured in some neighboring counties yesterday. I would just like to take this moment to say - this weather is crazy.

I'm excited to go home next weekend. I've been hearing of big changes on the homestead. I'll get to meet the new Blue Merle Aussie Shepherd pup who's joined the family, as well as the Missouri Fox Trotter who's taking over for Tommy in the family stables.

Although I am glad our little mustang will still be around when I'm home so I can ride him a few last times, I cannot argue with the decision to replace him. I'm the only member of the family who succeeded in the hard task of getting attached to him, and even I experienced something I hadn't felt for years and years when I rode him once a few months ago. He freaked out at something I couldn't see and started to act up. I, alone, bareback, on a deserted stretch of single track surrounded by cactus and mesquite trees, felt afraid. I can't even remember the last time I was afraid of a horse, but I was scared because his fear bordered on that level a horse can reach where he just goes crazy and stops listening. At that point the reality of the situation (I cannot physically overpower an 800 lb animal) becomes very stark. After many small circles, some running backwards, some standing, more small circles, more running backwards, a lot of snorting, little bucks, little rears, and me contemplating jumping off and letting him go his own way, another horse came into view. Tommy calmed right down, and we went home.

I think the lesson I've learned from Tommy is that a mustang requires a lot of time and attention, from one person. When I was home, riding him nearly every day, he stopped spooking almost completely. But since I've been gone he hasn't gotten out as much and yesterday when my sister rode him to the neighbor's house, he spooked and bolted three times (due to two new signs and a Doberman he's seen every ride since he arrived at our house). For an experienced rider, such behavior is irritating. For anyone less than that, it's downright dangerous.

I just hope we find him a good home. And I'm excited to ride Rojo, who is apparently a "dream come true."

Ebay Makes Me Nervous

Those finals moments of an auction are just intense... even when no one is bidding against you.

The good news, I acquired some brake levers on ebay for $5. They have white hoods, and will look good on my bike, I think.

The bad news, I did not win a great deal on a Surly Pacer for Brian. Oh well.

Today, during my weekly dose of horse therapy, Jasper continued his fairly intimate relationship with the back pocket of my jeans, and I got to know a quarterhorse/morgan named Billy. He is pretty chill. At one point a student dropped a ball and it rolled under his feet and he kicked it several times and it bounced into his other feet. He didn't care. None of them are bothered by things like that. They are amazingly spook-free animals. And, whenever I go into a pasture, they all come walking to me, and half of them try to slip out the gate behind whichever horse I'm bringing in. A large, striking paint went so far as to kick a gate I closed on him. He wanted to hang out with everyone in the barn that badly.

At least they're obviously well taken care of...

Fun at the Mall

Let me reassure you all, I've not had a drastic shift in personal identity/societal values. However, today Brian and I rode our bikes to the mall, watched Shrek the Third, spent a few brief but fulfilling moments in one of those silly photo booths (which, for the record, neither of us had ever been in before, at all, ever), and then rode our bikes home. It was great fun.

Below, we have the same tale, told in photos:

First, we look at each other, unsure how to start. Next, I initiate with a demure peck on the cheek.


Brian responds and a lovely kiss ensues. Finally, we spend a moment contemplating how very alluring we are as the camera snaps its final shot.

Did I mention there was accidentally a little bit of port involved in this outing?

Just a little...

Surprise

Yesterday, I arrived home to discover my dear and lovely Brian had procured a present for me while I was away at work.


Exciting, wonderful, and unexpected. Also particularly nice since my day was a tad stressful. There's nothing like a good book to get your mind off things.

No Desert Here

As the sun sets (nearly 9:00 pm this time of year), a low fog rises out of the cornfields. I observe this after I leave the stable, my hands covered in the smell of horse and my feet clad in boots. I enjoy the drive home. I enjoy the passing moments. A tall, thin, solitary deer standing perfectly still, watching my headlights. A red-winged blackbird diving into the tall roadside grasses.

And every time I drive home from the stable, I cross the Iowa River. It's always down there, totally full of lots of water.

I wonder if I'll ever get over thinking, "Water. Weird."

Under the Radar

Today, I implemented my long plotted surreptitious recycling program at work.

Part of my job is to go in on Monday when the gallery is closed, unpack all the frames that arrived the previous week in (on average) 2 to10 cardboard boxes, join the frames, and haul all the boxes and packing paper to the dumpster outside.

There is no recycling dumpster on the premises.

Ever since my first day of work, when the girl who was training me explained how she was "really into recycling" and so used off-cuts from backing sheets to make small pieces of paper for phone messages, but then cheerfully showed me how to haul the weekly boxes to the dumpster, the system at work has bothered me. However, I have hesitated doing anything about it. I am a mere hourly employee and Nick has owned and operated the business for over 15 years. What right do I have to show up and start telling him to change?

Still, each week as I thought about how easily and beneficially cardboard and paper can be recycled, my conscience burned.

So, finally, I formed a plot. I will recycle, but I won't tell. Although I usually bike to work, on Mondays I will drive. While unpacking, I will sort cardboard and paper into piles. At the end of the day, I will take the cardboard and paper to my car and drive it to the free recycling facility that is less than a mile away. In this way, I won't have to bring up a delicate issue with my boss, but won't have that guilt around either.

Today, I finally moved undetected into the sphere of those who inhabit the dim ranks of the underground recyclers. Today, I said, "I will do my part!" - only in a voice too quiet for anyone to hear. Today, I did not show the world what I believe in, but I made a little difference anyway.

Besides, honestly, I'm sure Nick would be supportive if he knew. But, well... I'm shy and silly about some things. =)

A Really Great Article

When people ask me questions about how Brian and I are doing, this often comes with a glance at my left hand. I find this tendency somewhat annoying, but understandable. After all, even in our society, the practice of living together and happily in a perfectly wonderful relationship for long periods of time without getting engaged is still somewhat rare.

What does annoy me is when girls (sometimes people I hardly know) continue this discussion by asking what kind of engagement ring I want. I sometimes have difficulty expressing why, exactly, these conversations offend me. Well, this article did a very good job putting into words why thoughts of diamonds and expensive engagements make me so furious. I have known for a large portion of my life that any man who would give me a diamond is no one I would ever want to marry, but it's always good to know more facts on the subject.

Disclaimer: I am not saying that everyone who wears a diamond ring is deluded as to the quality and meaning of their commitment. I know of many valid relationships in which a diamond is involved.

As usual, I believe strongly in my opinions, but perfectly respect anyone else's right to reject them.

Upgrades ands Severe Weather

Today my box from Nashbar finally arrived. I swapped out my pedals and took the foamy shit off my bars (which I learned multiple times this week absorbs and holds a remarkable amount of rainwater). A few days ago, I got my little vitzy decals, so the bike is pretty officially mine at this point. Someday I want new brake levers, seat, seat post, and the bottom bracket creaks so that may need to be dealt with... but for now, it's very rideable and looks pretty nice, so I'm happy.


And now, I promise to all you readers who might not really care about bikes very much, I'll not post about the Fuji for a while.

Work was eerie today - with the crazy winds, torrential rain, and the weather sirens going off intermittently. At one point I was fitting this specialty frame that Nick cautioned me scratches with incredible ease and needed to be handled very, very delicately while the radio was talking about tornadoes touching down in Swisher (where the stable I volunteer at is located). The combination was a very nervous Robin, for a time.

But I'm home now, the storm has passed and Brian and I have had our fun with bar tape (he got some just like mine for his cross bike). All is well.

Nostalgia

In high school a friend of mine who would soon thereafter confess to me in a scattered, frightened but utterly certain way that he was gay, stated my head was slightly too large for my body. This comment disturbed me at the time. Neither of us realized, at 17 or 18, we weren't actually fully grown. My head was too big because my shoulders were narrow, my hips protrudent. I had no idea. All I knew about my physique was that my best friend was thinner.

I just finished reading a book about middle school girls. Who Will Run the Frog Hospital? by Lorrie Moore (another great Brian recommendation). It coalesced all kinds of recollections and emotions that have been knocking around my head since my best friend from that age got married in March. I have had other great girlfriends since her, but they came in threes and twos. I've never rediscovered the type of companionship she and I had in our adolescence. Although it has been years since we were really close, at her wedding I remembered her, and all the things we would talk about, lying on the porch roof under summer stars. Her hopes always made me nervous. I'd stand up and pace, my bare feet crunching on the mesquite beans deliberately. (I liked the dry snap of them against the delicate bones of my toes.) I'd say, really? That's all you want? Don't you think there are more important things?

She always said, I need money, and I always said, I need a horse and love and open space. My tune never changed, and neither did hers, and now we live vastly different lives, although sometimes we get together and drink wine in a futile effort to bridge the gap that is now far too big to even see across. Still, I dream about her helplessly. I worry about her. Friendship, my mother said once, is the oddest form of commitment. There is no blood or romance between good friends, but some ties - orthadontia, experimental hairstyles, growth spurts, and incoherent, ridiculous crushes - remain impossible, somehow, to shrug off.

Little Affirmations

I am not a big fan of tradition. I am not easily imbued with a sense of purpose by pomp and/or ceremony. I avoided going to my own college graduation, making due with my BFA capstone exhibition opening instead. (It was a much bigger deal to me. I had to speak. At a microphone. With lots of people listening.) Since my degree progress and eventual graduation was so zigzagged and unorthodox, not a single graduation program from NAU has my name in it. I slipped in between the lines, so to speak.

However, today a large, flat envelope arrived in the mail, from my parents. Inside were my two diplomas. They say, in fancy letters, that Robin Theodora Stephen has earned a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Printmaking, Magna Cum Laude, and a Bachelor of Arts in English, Magna Cum Laude.

Although it's been a good chunk of time since I officially graduated, looking at them made me feel kinda good.

All In a Day's Work

Today while framing I scratched my face with glass...

... never managed that one before.