Hi there,

I know it’s been awhile…a long while. But I’m excited to be back. Mostly. To be honest, I probably won’t ever blog like I did in 2014. Because well…other social sites have gotten a lot better at sharing stories quickly than this baby.

But it is my baby. And it’s in need of some cleaning and some upkeep. I’m not sure exactly yet what that will look like. Definitely a re-design is in order. (Maybe I’ll get to show off some HTML/CSS and JavaScript skills I’ve picked up in the intervening years.) And hopefully some semi-regular blog posts to keep my writing in practice. And of course, more photos and video to better show, not tell, stories.

Mostly though, I just want to say thank you. What a pleasant surprise to find I still have followers! You may have forgotten about me, but I’m still here.

I can’t wait to write for you!


P.S. Here are some recent outtakes to catch you up.


Broadway boheme

In February, Zed and I moved in together.

The worst part of moving was finding a place to live. We needed to be close to my work, his school, and in a place that would allow for a 60-pound beast who looks intimidating and has a ferocious bark. Plus, it needed to be cheap. We ended up in a tiny place in downtown, mostly because of the price point and loose pet policy.

The building proclaims itself to be built in 1911 in a faded painted sign that no one has removed from the rooftop since it was placed there. The tiled porch is chipped and the sandstone foundation crumbling as the gray paint peels off in strips, it says this building is called, “The Nelson.” No one has ever called it that. The crumbling, faded porch overlooks a busy street.

In this apartment, SLC feels distinctly urban. There are people everywhere, all the time.

Somewhere between churches, shops, bars, public institutions, and homes for the homeless, we can watch people of all types as they wander through the city. Many looking for friends or family, some for a few pennies to catch a bus, others looking for a good night out, and some just looking.

I’ve called the cops twice in six months. Both times because a man was passed out on my doorstep.

I’ve mastered the art of avoiding vagrants asking for change or hawking stolen wares.  I no longer take the dog on walks at night. (Mostly because the meandering bar crowd doesn’t remember to ask to pet a dog, and mine is not happy to meet strangers.)

They’re always on this street–the wandering people. Some need help, some ask for it, others don’t want it, and some are just that way.

Black globe, neon nations

I’ve met at least two who claimed to be dog trainers and proceeded to offer me advice about my dog. One an old cowboy, the other a young woman, both seemed desperately out of place, time, and money. I don’t do much to encourage these encounters, but as I’ve mentioned, something about Archer encourages conversation.

Our daily meanderings have us meeting strangers still, only now in this neighborhood, the strangers are strange, seemingly desperate, and often in need of help that I certainly can’t provide. I’m always ashamed to mention resources that I know of that are available. And I don’t know if I should. I’m never quite certain what to say except to talk about the dog in question. (It almost always starts with, “What kind of dog is it?” if they are too polite to bring up his bat ears.) As I try to continue our walk without making this person feel terrible for asking.

Maybe what they really need is to feel human by talking about a dog. Archer's bat ears

To space camp and beyond

Me and team Atlantis in 1999. We were so cool. You have no idea.

Me and team Atlantis in 1999. We were so cool. You have no idea.

When I was in the fifth grade, I won a scholarship to attend a space camp in Ogden, Utah.

I was skinny, awkward and terrified of everything. It was the same year I started wearing glasses and getting boobies. It was terrifying. Personally I’ve always believed I was the epitome of awkward pre-teen in every single possible way. There just wasn’t much I liked about myself or the world around me.

Astro Camp changed that. A little bit. It was a week of hanging out with other kids who were equally intrigued by Newton’s Laws, engineering, space and the possibilities of the universe. I loved it.

I loved it so much I even managed to raise enough money to go again the following year.

It was the one week in 52 where I felt like me. I wasn’t ugly, friendless and strange at Astro Camp. I was smart, funny, pretty, likable and the best co-pilot on team. (No really, I actually won a blue ribbon for that one.) It was an intense week for a socially awkward loner of kid who was deeply homesick most of the time. I had to swim and even worse wear a swimming suit in front of boys. I had to wear my glasses all the time because there’s no landing a simulated spacecraft without sight. I had my first kiss. I cried a little for my family. But mostly I found my place, a tiny little corner of the universe where I could be excited about gravity and stars. A place where everyone was cool with me excitedly blurting out the story of Andromeda in a home-made planetarium.

It was awesome!

I miss the care free kind of way summer slips by in childhood, especially at space camp.

BTW as an adult, I love dropping the “space camp twice” bomb on anyone who thinks I’m not nerdy enough to love astronomy. Boom! Yeah, I know who Neil deGrasse Tyson is and I understand why we’re “all made of stardust.” I only wish I was as bad ass as Astronaut Abby.

One year

Zed and me at a Jazz game.Last summer I went to a party for a friend who was leaving town for a bit. I wasn’t planning on staying long. I just wanted to pop by say, “hey” and get home.

I walked in, said my hellos and was handed a beer. As I was catching up with Jess on all the gossip I had missed, this guy in black t-shirt kept interrupting us. I was kind of annoyed, but intrigued by this guy who could hold the attention of an entire room while making fun of himself. He was making jokes and taking the piss out of everyone.

I couldn’t stop laughing.

Without even noticing how it happened, he introduced himself, sat down and we suddenly we were bitching about Asian beer. I found out he taught English in China for a year or so, then he owned a bar, then he went sailing. We swapped travel stories for a bit. Then moved on to some more heavy stuff like God and religion. Despite the subject, we kept laughing. I thought he was the funniest, sweetest guy I had met in a long, long time. I couldn’t stop staring at his upper arm/chest area. (This is a seriously under-appreciated part of male anatomy.) He apparently also found me hilarious and likable. We talked so long every one else managed to make their way inside. The host had even gone to bed.

Finally I had to go home; it was way too late.

I was shocked he hadn’t asked for my number in the three hours we had been cracking each other up. So I told him my name again and asked him to find me. He said he would.

The next day he did.

It’s been a year now since that first beer and first laugh. He still makes me laugh every day; and I know a helluva lot more about beer now. 

Keep calm and carry on

Not so much my style, WWII propganda poster.

I want to go every where, see everything and do everything.

Well, nearly everything.

Most things. Anything new. different. exciting. Something I hadn’t done before or never imagined I would do. Write? Yes. Bunjee jump? Yes. Fall in love? Yes.

I wanted to do it all and have it all.

But lately it feels like I’m stuck. I’m doing few of the things I wanted to do. The universe of my life felt so big immediately after graduation, and three years later it feels so tiny. All the people I know could fit into my one bedroom apartment, and the people who would actually show up? Well one couch and a chair is more than enough furniture for all of us.

It’s not a bad life. I love the closeness I share with the few friends I have. It’s a much more stable life than being friends with everyone.

I’m just not patient. I never have been. And I’ve struggled to learn that apparent virtue. It feels an awful lot like neutral to me. I’m waiting I just don’t know what for. Every day I have to remind myself that this is good, this kind of quiet same-ness taking place. It’s okay to just be. 

God, I don’t want to sound like too much of a hippie, but that’s all I can think of when I’m anxiously tapping my foot waiting for the next adventure to begin.

I’ve never been one to sit still, or even to stay in place. It’s hard. I know all of my neighbors’ names, their dogs, their troubles, their life stories. It’s nice. But annoying. It’s a routine now to meet in the backyard at 10 a.m. drink coffee and bitch about the early risers with the other stay-at-homers. When did this happen? I like my neighbors well enough. But who am I?

I usually feel a bit more like this. Thank you very much.

I have to keep reminding myself that it’s okay to wake up at the same time each day, eat the same breakfast, drink the same coffee, have the same conversations and go through the same motions.

It’s so damn boring.

Maybe that’s what’s bothering me. The routine has become rote, I could make it through most days blindfolded. Also t’s a Monday and news stories aren’t happening. (That is generally a good thing for the world, but bad for my malaise.) Thanks, holidays.

P.S. If you read anything online today, it should be this. It’s a great article from “Dominion of New York” by Ben Becker on the origins of Memorial Day, which was actually meant as a day to celebrate black men who fought for emancipation.

Suddenly sleepy snores

Sleeping Archer

After a morning of beef tendon chewing, puppy chasing and running away, Archer decided to pass out next to my desk.

He snores in his sleep sometimes. It’s cute. So of course, I had to film it. He wakes up a bit when I turn the camera on him, but around the 40 second mark he lays back down and gets his snore on. Apologies for the shakiness and low quality. Next time we’ll get fancy. And maybe catch the monster chasing birds in his sleep.

Since last week’s ode to non-ownership, I’ve decided to focus a bit more on the pluses of puppy love. And the cuteness factor is a huge part of it. The most adorable times are the sleepy times sometimes.