It’s a simple life, an easy life,
in El Dorado Hills.
Where cookie-cutter houses sit,
on cookie-cutter hills.
Where all the people drive to work
in fancy, shiny cars.
And all the children laugh and play
and look up to the “stars.”*
It’s a simple life, a quiet life,
in heaven’s spot on earth.
With all the fences whitely washed,
and mothers giving birth
To little ones who’ll laugh and play
and look up to the “stars,”
and grow up doing just the same,
in fancy, shiny cars.
It’s a simple life, a little life,
the one we’ve bought and sold.
Where all that matters is our health,
our riches when we’re old.
Where nothing’s to be thought, of course,
about the world outside,
for all that matters is our own,
America’s our pride.
Have you ever done something stupid and said, “That’s it — never again,” and then done it again . . . and again and again?
Last night, after putzing around on my blog for several hours, I decided to wipe down my MacBook before heading to bed. I am a clean freak, and while I love the sleek design of most Apple products, the fingerprints and other marks that love to show up on my screen drive me nuts. Well, I got out my Windex (I ran out of electronics cleaner a while ago and keep forgetting to replace it), sprayed it on a soft napkin, and then proceeded to “Cypherize” my computer . . . Only there was this one smudge that wouldn’t come off. I rubbed and rubbed . . . It was late, and I was tired, and in my impatience, I decided to use the Windex bottle to spray the spot directly. I did, and wiped it and the rest of the keyboard squeaky clean, and “Wha-la!” I went to bed and forgot all about it . . .
It’s mid-afternoon on Saturday. I’ve been home nearly a week and have only posted . . . once?! Big race is tomorrow (I’m running the Nike Women’s Half Marathon in San Francisco), and all I keep thinking is, “What do I want to say?” There ought to be a lot after my trip—and there is—but all I keep coming up with is:
Life is . . .
Which then launches into:
“Life is . . . too short, so love the one you’ve got, ‘Cause you might get run over, or you might get shot . . . Take a small example, take a tip from me: Take all of your money, give it all to charity . . . Lovin’, is what I got, I said remember that. Lovin’, is what I got . . . I got, I got, I got.”
It’s the lyrics to a popular song by Sublime that came out when I was in grade school. It’s a song that’s a little bit timeless—as in, it could have come out yesterday, the melody and beat are still so fresh in my mind. Not all of the lyrics are good, of course. But I find it interesting that even mainstream artists who talk about smoking pot and getting high keep coming back to the idea that life is short and love is all we’ve got . . . Continue reading →
One of my first views in Florida, not far from the Tampa Airport.
It’s been funny, these past few weeks, not writing regularly on my blog. I feel like such a bad blogger. A good blogger — one seriously committed to her readers and to growing her blog — would have written posts ahead of time and scheduled them to appear at regular intervals during her absence. But not me. Those of you who know me well know that that’s not how I operate. I’m spur of the moment, genuine as can be, or not at all.
And so here we are: Two posts in . . . how many days?
I’ve missed my blog — and you. Writing is such a huge part of my life. And yet . . .
What kind of blogger reads while waiting for her ride at the airport instead of blogging on her iPhone? A bad one!
It’s been good to live away from my blog for a few days, too. Good to think without writing, to ponder without sharing. Not that I’ve been thinking deeply or found many profound things to say. This trip has been crazy — visiting New Orleans, participating in my good friend’s wedding, taking long walks on the beach (beneath the stars, of course), catching up with old friends . . . I’ve even extended my trip to this next Sunday so that I can visit Chattanooga. I can’t wait to revisit my old stomping grounds . . .
But with so much activity, there hasn’t been time for deep thoughts and great writing. It’s been good, and yet . . .
I can’t wait to get home so I can catch up with all of you! :)
Sh**. As I ran, purse bouncing on my thigh, shoelaces untied, down the brick walkway toward the front gate, I could already see the Pony* pulling out of the apartment driveway. Damn. I stopped in my tracks and put my hands on my hips, exasperated. Grrrr! I was already late, and now I would have to walk the mile into town and catch a bus to Danshui from there. Dammit!
I considered turning around and going back to my apartment. I could text Lara and tell her I was sick and spend the rest of my Saturday evening alone, as usual. That would be easier. But somehow, I couldn’t make myself do it. I’d spent almost all of my Saturday nights alone recently. I knew I needed to get out. Continue reading →
My last few posts have catapulted my mind in a million different directions. All of my posts do, actually. It’s just . . .
Sometimes it’s hard to focus on a single string of thoughts. Tangents are everywhere.
Today, then, rather than wax philosophical, I’ve decided to talk history. It occurred to me recently that I’ve never explained how I ended up in Asia in the first place. I’ve also been thinking about starting a weekly section — “Forever Friday” . . . maybe? — and, well, if I do that, why not combine the two?
And so, without further ado, here is the first installment of . . . whatever this is. I hope you approve! Continue reading →
I made it. Starting at 7:45 a.m. (we got a late start) and 45° F (7° C) on Sunday, my dad and I took off from our cabin and didn’t look back. We rode clockwise around the lake, starting from the south shore. It was my first organized ride—Bike the West: America’s Most Beautiful Bike Ride—and kind of fun. There were a lot of cyclists on the road and people cheering along the way.
The first big climb was around Emerald Bay, a popular tourist spot on the lake. At the bottom of the hill, right by the shore, is an old home called Vikingsholm. It’s quite pretty and made entirely from materials native to the Tahoe area. Continue reading →
I’m in Tahoe this weekend. Lake Tahoe is about an hour from my hometown and an hour and a half from where I currently live. It’s a lovely place, famous for its natural beauty. Just outside my cabin window are huge pines and a forest floor littered with pine cones and dry pine needles. During the winter, it snows.
Lake Tahoe is the largest freshwater lake in the Sierra Nevadas, and, at 1,645 feet (501 m), is second only to Crater Lake as the United States’ deepest. The lake is 22 miles (35 km) long and 12 miles (19 km) wide, making it the 26th largest freshwater lake by volume in the world. It’s a popular destination for tourists, including cyclists, skiiers and snowboarders, gamblers, and renaissance fair enthusiasts.