travel

For my friends in Atlanta, you have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity coming up this weekend.

I'll be in Atlanta this weekend. With my mother.

Want to join us for a memorable dinner in which you get to sit at the table and threaten me by offering to tell her all the juicy, dirty stories we both know you know about me?

Saturday night, yo.

A dozing moment of insight brought some of my photos back to me.

I have been on a photo hunt for months now. The goal: find as many of my photo originals as possible, and lodge them on flickr. I was unhappy with storing them on domesticat, and decided it was well past time to archive them in one place.

I had considered the originals of my Sedona photos lost. Not any more:

As a result, I saw this photo for the first time in almost five years. I never posted it before, and I do not know why. Sunset sailboat:

The Grand Canyon and Sedona photos both need levels/curves correction, but for the time being I'm reveling in my photos having returned to me.

"I think a lot of people who come to visit Mauna Kea come for a reason," said James Kimo Pihana, a ranger with the Office of Mauna Kea Management. "People challenge the mountain. The mountain always wins; it is people who lose. But the mountain accepts challenges."

This is one of those stories about human nature and personality that lacks a tidy ending or an easy moral. Perhaps that's the difference between real life and fairy tales; in real life, you don't get to turn the final page to see the theme of the story and answer the questions.

In real life, you get the questions as you go along, and you answer as best you're able with the information you have at the time.

I stopped going to the gym around the time I started my current job. I worked a lot of overtime, especially in the first six months, and I started promising myself that when life got a bit easier, and I wasn't so mentally exhausted, I'd make time. I didn't expect eighteen months to pass before I finally hit that point; me, who was so religious about going to the gym every day.

Dateline: New Westminster, BC.
(Note to self: Go see the old one sometime.)

As I've retold this story countless times in the time since I've returned, I figured the least I could do is share it here as well. I suspect it loses some of its boozy, imperative nature when committed to the written word, though; I think it's probably far funnier in person.

A cultural difference worth knowing: I was raised to hear pretty words, but not to take all of them at face value. An invitation to come stay with someone, if not repeated or mentioned again, was very likely someone just being polite -- not something to be acted upon. It turns out this is not true of everyone: some people issue an invitation only once, really hoping you'll take them up on it, and then shut up if you don't act on it. Ah, North versus South, are there any gaffes this cultural divide can't inspire?

Fast-forward.

I suited up early this morning, intending to be out the door well before 7. I know that my daytime minutes start at seven a.m., and that any call that starts prior to 7:00 gets entirely counted under night and weekend minutes.

Jody lives in Atlanta, and works the overnight shift. I don't call him as often as I should, but the timing of our lives means that he is finishing up his day as I am readying to start mine. I take a perverse delight in making sure my calls to him start just a couple of minutes before 7, with earpiece tucked securely in my left ear as I drive.