One more week

A week from tomorrow I get to go home. I wonder if I'll be surprised by the freshness of the air and the drastic decrease in population. It'll be a nice vacation.

This last weekend Mike, his sister, her boyfriend, and Mike's mom and stepdad and I (Whew!) had brunch and went to Rockefeller to witness the infamous tree. This year it is decorate with LED lights, making it at least 70 percent more energy efficient. This is the first time I'd actually seen the tree up close and although the size of it did not impress, I thought the LED lights were beautiful. Hooray for a smaller ecological footprint! Anyway, here are photos:

Mikey and I in front of the tree:

Scott, Jay, me and Mike across from Radio City:

It's fun to be in the city during the holiday season, surprisingly. Well, aside from wanting to punch slow-walking tourists in the back of the head... I've actually had fun doing my shopping in an outdoor market in Union Square with original artists who sell perfect gifts without ever having to set foot in a department store or feel like you're being an American consumer.

This morning I awoke to the classical music station playing Waltz of the Flowers. The Nutcracker has always been a staple for the holidays. I remember when I actually attended the ballet, wearing my too-small purple velvet dress that was reserved only for special occasions and eating my first ever hot fudge sundae (the things that really stick with us, eh?). I still have the ornaments to commemorate.

The Jan/Feb issue of the magazine came in the mail at the office today. I looked for my name in the staff box, expecting it to be under an "interns" heading. But instead, it said, "Reporters: Kristin E. Phillips, Shawn Query." Ecstatic. Even though I only have two blurbs and a book review, the title of "reporter" as opposed to "intern" just makes me feel like two-thirds of a person as opposed to half.

Mike met me for lunch today and I brought him a copy. He said, "Where are you?" wanting me to point out my articles and he read it as he walked, almost running into passersby on the sidewalk. "I'm so proud of you," he said as he gave me a peck. Wow. He has no idea how much those five little words can mean. He's proud. He's proud that I made it in this magazine, that I am his girlfriend, that I do things worthy of that phrase. I could cry.

On the way home on the subway tonight, trying to avoid a woman's butt pressed against my right arm, I thought about how accomplished I feel. If you look at my recent accomplishments in sum, it is hard to refute that I pretty much rock... I have never claimed to be modest. But then, on the MP3 player that I've had for about five years, the song "Invention for Guitar and Trumpet" arranged by Stan Kenton emerged. It made me wish I still played trumpet regularly and that I had a group to practice with. In fact, it made me sad that I am no longer active in this mode of expressing myself... music that is. So... maybe if I find a job here (god willing) and move into a normal household with some nice roommates (pretty please), I can find a community group to play with. That, I think, would make me an increasingly happy person, as I miss the opportunity to be creative through the nuances of lip buzzing, finger coordination and swing. That may sound very sexual. That's because it is.

Just watch Chet Baker or Maynard Ferguson and you'll instantly understand.


Edit: here's a video for reference


Counting down the days until my cross-country trip home,

Shawno

Snow in the Ham

I talked to my parents, Maria and Andrea today. All reported that it is snowing on the I-5 corridor, especially in Bellingham, the town where I went to school at WWU. The first snow is always such an interesting time. Mostly I just tried to figure out how I was going to get to work at Bed Bath and Beyond. Driving to work when I really shouldn't have has resulted in a car accident and losing a tire chain in the middle of the busiest street in the city. No one ever goes shopping on days when it's snowing in a town that has not added good snowplows to its infrastructure even though every year there's always the inevitable snow that debilitates the whole town for awhile.

Last year's snow in Bellingham was interesting. I decided to walk to Fred Meyer (about 5 Bellingham blocks away) to get groceries equipped with my purple and white striped soccer socks and every layer I could find that wouldn't make it hard for me to walk down the street with some groceries. On the way home I started to slip, and in a comical Three Stooges-type stumbling, crashed onto the ice and contracted the most purple bruises I've ever had. I showed them to everyone to mask how silly I felt for falling. I made a pie and sent a signal out to all who might be interested that if they could brave the storm, they could have some. And then we had the sushi party.

Jim, Andrea, Joe and Matt came over to my humble apartment, where many a good time had already taken place and all of us, bundled in layers even inside because I refused to turn on the baseboard heat, had beer and sushi and good times. This day is one of those that I could keep reliving over and over again and be completely content. The white winter wonderland outside the window, staying warm inside from the happiness emanating from each person, the laughter and the closeness of our circle of friends. Joe, Matt and I were on my white couch, doing a loosely coordinated dance:





Mostly we just all did our own crazy moves and laughed at each other.Then I fell off the couch. Or was pushed, most likely.


Then, as I often do after a couple of beers, challenged the nearest female to a wrestling match. This time it was Andrea. And I lost horribly, as is custom.Joe saw the opportunity to turn my pigtails into a dashing mustache.


This is when Andrea had hair.
And Jim took all the photos.


That winter was one where I would slip-slide down the treacherous hill to my favorite bars to sample the warmth of liquor. And I baked. Pies, cookies, chocolate covered things, rice crispie treats. I enjoyed the fact that the elements outside had limited me to the activities of drinking and baking and that was completely acceptable. But beyond that, I was glad that my home was a place of congregation for laughs, good beers and good times.

If you are reading this (you know who you are, kids), I miss you terribly. I wish we were all in Bellingham right now braving the first snow of the year with raw fish and wrestling matches. I wish we could all be the way we were that day forever.

I fly home the 20th. What say we have a sushi party at my old place (which my brother now inhabits) and try to recreate that day? Bundle up. Because I'm still not turning up the heat for you hooligans.