Penoptic

Has it really been almost a week since I wrote? How neglectful of me. I spent most of last week, Monday morning through Friday morning, with my brother and sister in Arlington, Va. Most of the week was me running errands to the post office (again ... and again), visiting with old friends, and passing the time with my brother and sister. But a few things did happen of note. My brother had two tickets to see "Evita" at The Kennedy Center on Wednesday, Oct. 15, and he invited me to go with him. My sister got two more tickets in the same row for herself and her boyfriend, and the four of us enjoyed a jazz band before we took our seats. For a family of devoted theater lovers, we don't always get to go very often, especially by ourselves. My parents generously buy tickets for us whenever we happen to all be together and if there is something nearby we all want to see, but for just us younger generation to go is pretty rare. My sister has tried to buy us tickets for things...

Monday morning I made the drive from Silver Spring, Md. to Arlington, Va. to stay with my brother and sister for a few days. GPS and natives' advice recommended staying away from the city of Washington, DC, but that seemed rather annoying. After all, anybody who's ever been on the Beltway knows that it just ... absolutely stinks. And the district is just so pretty in the rain. I lived in two places when I lived in the district. The first was a townhouse in Capitol Hill that I shared with about nine other people, and the second was a studio apartment on 16th Street near Howard University and Malcolm X Park. At the time it was right on the edge of a seedy part of town, but gentrification has made it a lot, well, brighter if not safer, and that apartment building happens to be a straight shot from Silver Spring. So I took the scenic route to Virginia. And while I was driving, I meandered even more. I drove on Constitution Avenue past the Smithsonian and the Washington Monument...

For almost two weeks now, I've been making my way south from New Jersey with the ultimate goal of going to California. The purpose for this trip is to move in with my parents, since I lost my job and haven't been able to find a new one. I'll be in Atlanta by this time next week after visiting with a few more friends, and then I'll join up with my dad for the trip west. Moving in with my parents just in time for my 31st birthday isn't exactly what I would have liked, but this road trip with my dad has its appeal, and I've been spending time with friends that have been dear to me for years. Which is why it's difficult to remember the ultimate priority behind this trip: To find a job. It's not that I don't want a job, because I do. I've found some great postings and I'm very excited about them. But it is challenging to balance interviews with traveling and visiting. "Hey there pal, thanks for letting me stay with you in the middle of yo...

I know this sounds like there's an 8-year-old girl stuck inside my body controlling my every move, but I can't help it: I love ponies. I was one of those kids who begged my parents to get a horsey when I was growing up (despite the fact that we could walk the periphery of our backyard in less than 30 seconds, and that at Californian walking speeds.) When I went away to summer camp in the mountains, my favorite feature was the horse rides. We rode Western saddles and took rides up the trails to the mountaintops. It was magical. I went back to that camp throughout my childhood and into my adolescence. By the time I stopped going, I considered myself a fairly accomplished rider--not by professional standards, you understand, just by the standards of almost-everyone-else-I-know-has-never-been-on-a-horse-and-I-have-never-fallen-or-had-a-problem. Hey, it was mine. By the time I finished high school, my parents started taking us on vacations where trail riding on horseback was...

Well, not me so much as Leila. But one thing at a time. I must admit that I am pretty useless in the kitchen. I know how to make about five things, three of which are chicken. Luckily, however, I have some friends who are absolutely brilliant in the kitchen. Sometimes, when the things they make are very simple and require no more than about three steps, I can remember long enough to try them myself. But most of the time I just sit back, relax, put on some music, serve up some sparkling conversation and wait for dinner. Which was pretty much my role at Leila's on Monday, and at Katie's tonight. Leila made manicotti using a homemade marinara sauce and ricotta that she seasoned herself, and oh man, was it amazing. Katie made an old favorite from the months I lived with her, a simple biscuits and gravy, but with the kind of homemade lovin' that only meals from a personal kitchen can have. Tuesday morning before I came to Baltimore, Leila woke up early (don't ask me ...

After I got to Leila's home in northern Maryland Monday (yeah, I'm a couple days behind--I'll try to catch up), I was forced to confront the most difficult physical manifestation of this cross-country move I'm doing. That's right: The sheer amount of stuff. I've never been one of those people who could pack light or get rid of things. I'm not a hoarder--I'll get rid of newspapers, (most) old magazines, clothes that don't fit. There are no jars in my apartment of my nail clippings or errant hairs. But when it comes to things like books, pictures, even kitschy old gifts, I just can't bring myself to divest myself. I keep thinking things like, So-and-so gave me that, it means something to me since so-and-so is now living thirty gazillion miles away. I also blame my mother in part for this, too. She used to get fed up with the state of my room (she called it "messy," I called it "organized chaos"--you know, the kind where noth...

After bidding goodbye to K&J at the totally reasonable hour of 6:30 a.m. Monday (I mean, honestly, probably the only good thing about being unemployed is being able to sleep in--something I really don't think anyone can appreciate until after you've gotten up at 4:30 a.m. every weekday for months for a 90-minute commute each way, and especially during one of the worst New York winters on record), I packed up (and forgot a pair of pajama pants) and got on the road. But first, a pit stop--at the old alma mater. Bryn Mawr was my home for four beautiful years, and has never left my heart. I went around the campus, cataloguing the things that have changed (my old dorm has been gutted and renovated; there are hammocks outside the library) and the things that have stayed the same (my mail box still has the same stickers I put on it 13 years ago! Result!) Most of my coworkers from Canaday Library were sick and not in the office, but one, Beth, was around and generously off...

There's nothing quite as sad or terrible as knowing that each moment you have with your friends, doing your usual weekend-getaway routine, could be the last time. I know that sounds a little fatalistic. What can I say? I've had some fatalistic moments in life. Sometimes we like to tell ourselves we have all the time in the world, that the things and people we love will remain in a more-or-less permanent stasis until we return. They won't stay precisely the same, but you don't expect big changes. You don't expect people to move, or change jobs, divorce, or die, or anything that would really change their lives beyond the reality you know. On Saturday night, I met up with my friends K&J at their usual Saturday night hang-out, where several usual friends joined up with our usual karaoke DJ, Tom, and our usual bartender poured more-or-less our usual drinks as we sang our usual songs. It was all the normal thing, which was wonderful. The only difference was, this ...

I thought yesterday, leaving my home and beginning this trip to California, would be the most difficult part of the trip. Today seemed even harder. It's probably a sign of the company I've kept today that that last line is causing a few giggles. But, moving on. Today (or rather, yesterday--Saturday, Oct. 4) was my first full day of this trip to California. I spent it in Narberth, Pa., and Philadelphia. The weather today was lousy, and I took the opportunity of it being both rainy and a Saturday to sleep in quite late. When I finally did wake, it was in fits and false starts before finally being tempted with K's delicious breakfast of eggs, bacon and sourdough toast. I have to admit, that was even enough of a bribe to face the two voracious dogs (who, it must be admitted, stole quite a bit of my share of bacon from directly off my plate.) Eventually I found the willpower to shower and take the train to Philadelphia to meet S, another dear friend. I considered S somethi...

Just over 13 years ago, I got into my parents' car to drive to a motel near LAX airport. It was August 2001, and the ultimate destination for my parents and I was Bryn Mawr College outside of Philadelphia, Penn., where I was about to start college. There are many things I remember about the days that followed, but the first night of my trip to the east coast? That night itself is mostly a blur. The only thing I really remember about the trip to the airport that August night is fear. I don't really know where that fear came from--I'd started packing for college about five months earlier, and planning for it at about 8 years of age. Now the day was finally here, and all I could feel was fear mixed with sadness. I was 17 years old, so ready for the chance for a little independence from my overbearing family and from classmates who, like most teenagers, thought they knew who I was without hardly speaking a word to me. I only had one or two really close friends, and they were ...