I’m heading out of town tomorrow morning with a crew of Unitarians to go to church camp. Being Unitarians, we tend to like to say “church camp” to people for the shock value and then qualify it with the Unitarian word, so that people know that we aren’t really going to spend the weekend doing any sort of religious activity (in fact, no religious activity whatsoever), but instead going to worship the sun, the Chesapeake bay and several bottles of cherry rum. I’m looking forward to a weekend spent with a book, friends, cute foreign waterfront staff (who are all 19 years old and completely adorable), marshmallows roasted on sticks and evenings with visible stars.

I’ll be back Monday, hopefully with a good story or two to tell.

I’ve always been a champion cry-er. A girl really (REALLY) easy to tears. As I’ve grown up, I’ve gotten a little better at controlling the waterworks, but there are times when I can’t stop the flow and just have to let my tear ducts run their course. It’s especially inconvenient when I’m walking down the street, dealing with a supervisor or grocery shopping (all situations that have occurred both in the past as well as recently).

I spent a big part of yesterday crying publicly. I’ve been dealing with some disppointments with my new job (the reality of it has been very different from what I hoped and expected it to be. I now have to figure out how to release my expectations and be okay there, because face it, that’s where I am and I have it on good authority [okay, my mother] that it will get better). But before I get to okay, I have to spend some time crying, because that’s how I deal with stuff. Yesterday, the crying couldn’t wait until I got home, so I walked down Market Street, sniffling, tears dropping out of my eyes in heavy drops, behind my sunglasses, my mother trying to be supportive via the cell phone from 3,000 miles away.

When I was a sophomore in college, I was back in Portland for spring break. I had gone to Trader Joe’s to pick up some stuff for my mom and just as I got there, managed to lock my keys and wallet in the car. It was the days before cell phones were ubiquitous and I had no change to make a phone call, because my money was in the wallet, locked in the car (I believe I was able to call using a memorized calling card number, though). So what did I do? I started to cry. I had wanted so much to be productive, to do something helpful for my mom, and instead I had manufactured more work for her by creating a situation where she had to them come and meet me with keys to my car. So, I stood by the front door (come on, it’s Portland, of course it was raining) under the shelter of Trader Joe’s, weeping for a good half hour. People wear a unique expression on their face when confronted with a crying stranger. They don’t know whether to ask you if you’re okay, give you a hug or just turn away and be thankful that at least they aren’t sobbing next to the shopping carts. There was one woman, who did stop to ask if I was okay, and while there was nothing she could do, I appreciated the gesture.

Yesterday I wept while trying to grab a container of ginger peanut noodle salad from the prepared section of Trader Joe’s. I don’t know what’s with me and TJ’s (maybe because the first time I went there I was a couple days old, it must feel like home). But, if you’re in Trader Joe’s and see a girl crying in front of the prepared pizza dough, give her a hug, it might be me.

Last night I left work a little late and went running for home, to get my car and head for East Falls. I was meeting up with some friends to head for Phoenixville to have dinner at Majolica for Erin’s birthday. I thought that we were getting picked up at 5:45 pm (five in a car to save gas) so I was rushing like crazy to get there. Turns out I could have taken my time, everybody was running late. It was nice though, I had ten minutes where I got to sit on a couch with my friend Ingrid, both of staring into space and not thinking. It was fun to share a spacey moment with her.

So, when I first moved to Philadelphia, I didn’t have a car. I lived and worked in Center City, and so I really didn’t need it, except for those rare instances when parties were happening in East Falls or there were concerts to attend at the Keswick or weddings to attend in Williamsport, PA. Jamie and Scott didn’t live far from me (and still don’t) and when I fell into their social group a couple months after to moving to Philly, I could typically count on them for a ride to wherever the party was happening. I really got to know these two from the back seat of their car, and became privy to their couple-quirks and loving bickering while sitting back there. At their wedding, they announced that if people wanted them to kiss during dinner, that instead of clinking glasses, we would have to get up and tell a story about them. I got up and told a story about sitting in the back of their car on the way to an Allison Krauss concert the second month I lived in Philly. I was a little drunk when I spoke, so I don’t think I managed to nearly as funny as I thought I was being, but since Jamie remembers it fondly, I’m not going to argue with her recall.

Anyway, we took their car last night, and while there were two other people in the backseat with me, I felt nostalgically transported back to those days, when I had a little window onto their coupled life.

I was really impressed with Majolica (they got a review in the Inquirer last weekend, which of course I didn’t read, because I thought “when am I going to go to Phoenixville for dinner?”). When it came to ordering, I followed my cousin Mike rule, which is, “If there’s duck on the menu, you always go with the duck.” I have to say, I’ve never been disappointed with my meal when following his rule and have had moments when I sad that I hadn’t listened to his wisdom. Erin got a lobster appetizer, it was really beautiful to look at, and from the speed with which she ate it, I have to guess that it was pretty darn terrific. There was also wine. Mediocre rolls with really amazingly creamy, whipped butter (I could have eaten it with a spoon. But I didn’t.) Passing of plates in a circle to better shares bites and tastes. Figs with honey/lavender ice cream. A home-made raspberry napoleon.

And that folks, was the evening. Nice, mellow, good people, terrific food. Not bad for a Wednesday.

From my friend Andrea:

I’m getting on my soap box to encourage you to think about donating to charity or Katrina victims, if you haven’t already. There are many organizations to donate to and I ask that you consider one of them.

Here is one example… United Airlines will credit your mileage plus accounts with 500 miles for donations of $50 or more to either American Red Cross, Americares Foundation or Operation USA. United is also accepting donations of miles (minimum donation of 1000 miles), which will be used to offset travel expenses for charitable organizations.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. If you have already donated, or will be doing so soon – way to go!!!

Thanks and be safe,
Andrea

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DSCN0025, originally uploaded by Marusula.