We spent a whirlwind weekend in Charlotte, house hunting for my aunt, who is moving from San Francisco to Charlotte and needs a place to rent for half a year or so. If house hunting is difficult, just try doing it for someone else! Yipes! The pressure was kind of intense, even though Joannie’s instructions were something along the lines of “As soon as you find a clean house in a decent neighborhood, just stop and go do something fun.” We couldn’t take the advice, though—and by “we,” I mean “me”—we had to pour over listings online first, swapping emails with a realtor who was kind enough to help us out, even though he’s basically not getting any money off this deal. The prospect of a future sale and the referral from Jesse’s dad were the only reason we got through the door in the first place.

At any rate, Jesse and I spent half the day on Saturday driving around kind of aimlessly, waiting for the rental company to get back to our realtor so he could get the codes to show us the houses. We snagged some wraps from a Trader Joe’s and ate them in the car, sharing a little jug of orange juice and finishing the meal with a couple of old chocolates the store had been giving away, pretending they were for the Superbowl, when really it was obvious they were just leftovers from Christmas.

Then, around 2:00 we finally got to see the first house. We spent the next several hours inspecting place after place, taking note of the carpet and the location of the laundry rooms, the noise levels, the quality of neighborhoods, and so on. I took notes on a little pad of paper, and after each house Jesse and I spoke our thoughts into a voice recorder. At the end of the day, we had settled on the two best possibilities, and we sent notes and pictures to my aunt. Now we wait and see…

So far this week, I’ve just been at home, doing chores and writing. Yesterday I went through some of my kitchen drawers, getting rid of things I never use and making room for some new gadgets from the Pampered Chef party. I washed everything—all the tools in the drawers, all the utensils in the holder next to the stove. I washed the cabinet doors. Then, I did laundry and baked this bread. Just call me Susie Homemaker! (By the way, you absolutely must try the bread recipe—it was freakishly delicious.)

Today I’ve spent the day writing. And reading about writing. And writing some more. I’ve got some shrimp thawing for dinner, and I’ve discovered this blog, which has me transfixed (the author survived a plane crash and is rebuilding her life and finding joy in the simple things—I found it via The Thin Chef, which also introduced me to the no-knead bread recipe, so bonus points to Kate for finding awesome things!).

Tomorrow my respite ends, as there are children to watch and groceries to buy and another Pod meeting to plan. But before that, I’ve got dinner, and small group, and LOST. Good day.

Today, I spent several hours at two different occasions on the phone with two of the smartest, kindest, most creative people I know. I feel charged up and inspired. Funny, it just struck me that they are both writers, and they’re both blonde. If there were any two women to slaughter the stereotypes of the ditzy blonde, it’s Simona and Visha.

Simona’s hair is light and wispy, wavy in just the right way, and it always looks perfect, like a halo. I once saw her after she’d spent the day at the beach, and her hair had taken on a windswept look that stylists spend hours creating for movie stars in movies about coastal romance. When I spend the day at the beach, my hair stands straight on end, the frizz propping up the rest of my hair in what I can only describe as Wind Tunnel Chic (well, without the “Chic” part). Simona speaks in an almost-whisper, with such a calming voice I always feel like everything will be just fine, if only because she is in the world. She talks about spirituality, about reality, about Congo and Darfur, and she quotes literature and tells me about philosophy, always having the decency to pretend that I already knew the complex concepts she’s outlining for me, listing off philosophers as if I know exactly who she’s talking about and might chime in with a reference to the philosopher’s third book, which I just happened to have read last week (when she talks about Kierkegaard, however, I do get rather animated). And in return for her brilliance, I tell her about my book, the fits and starts and endless rewrites, and she does not think my existence invalid because I don’t have a full-time job with benefits.

Visha’s hair is straight and strawberry blonde, and she’s got this wonderful radio voice, distinctive, a little husky, memorable. She’s spunky and fiery, but incredibly and unfailingly reasonable. She knows how many female directors have been nominated for Best Director in the Oscars, and she has trained two very large dogs into thinking that she—petite, adorable Visha—is bigger than they are. I think she’s magic. And funny, dear heavens, have I mentioned that Visha’s hilarious? If you know her, you already know she’s got a sharp wit, but you also know that she’s unendingly kind. Though I’ve given her plenty of ammunition, never once has she used that humor to make fun of me or to make me feel anything other than entirely good and happy. She cries for people with Alzheimer’s, and she pulls off the side of the road to care for dying dogs hit by cars that long ago sped off. She works at a bookstore, has read probably more books than said bookstore has in its inventory, knows all about experimental film, rails against injustice, defends the defenseless.

How lucky I feel today, not only to have such friends, but to have hours to run down my phone batteries with them, to listen to them and to talk about writing with them, to find out what they think about plot and beginnings and the plight of the MFA workshop. The three of us are trying to do the same thing, really, to struggle with the words on the page, to find the balance between art and life, to find where the line is and to cross it.

Today was:

• Walking downtown, smelling doughnuts and hearing a man play a saxophone. It drizzled today but never rained hard. Our first stop was the Corcoran, where we spent most of our time with Jesse’s favorite sculpture (probably favorite piece of art, ever), the “Greek Slave” by Hiram Powers. So much time, in fact, that a woman from the museum came up to us and said she had to know what fascinated us so much about the piece. We had a lovely little chat about the sculpture, and she said if we came back again during our trip, that she’d give us her personal guest passes.
• Walking through the Museum of Natural History until our feet ached and our brains felt numb. Sitting outside the museum after it closed, drinking water and Dr. Pepper and enjoying the chance to just sit.
• More walking…this time to Chinatown for dinner. We found a crowded place with cooked ducks hanging in the window, and we ate steamed pork buns, egg rolls, and ginger beef with spring onions. I drank probably a half dozen little cups of tea, so wonderfully warm and soothing. The message in my fortune cookie said, “Your happiness is intertwined with your outlook on life.”
• And, then, heading back to the hotel, surrounded on the Metro by people dressed in Halloween costumes.

A picture. Of me, with a stuffed lion.

We’re in DC!

I wasn’t going to blog until we got back, but I’ve changed my mind because I’m having such a great time. We got here late this afternoon, took the Metro into the city, and met up with Jarvis, one of the most down-to-earth and best-dressed guys we know. No, make that the most down-to-earth, best-dressed guy we know. Which cannot be an easy combination to pull off. He teaches and writes up here, has the Metro lines memorized, and generally spends his days being awesome, as far as we can tell.

We ate at Chipotle (because it’s Jesse’s all-time favorite—but he has agreed that all other meals will be new and exciting and decidedly not at restaurants we can eat at in North Carolina) in a neighborhood that made me just happy to be alive. The air was brisk but not too cold, and we were surrounded by Indian restaurants, Japanese restaurants, a shop selling breezy, floppy clothes and bellydancing skirts. We talked writing, Star Trek, politics, weather, beach towns. Then we walked the Mall, saw the monuments all lit up and gorgeous, and I felt a little surge of patriotism. How can you not, when walking up marble steps, a brightly lit Lincoln seated and serene looking down at you? I nearly wanted to cry, it was so lovely.

Now we’re back at the hotel, and I’m showered and ready to relax. Jesse is playing a little toy electric guitar. We can hear traffic outside the window, but it isn’t bothersome. It’s actually rather soothing, a constant hum, a reminder that we are in a place with unlimited possibilities, that the vacation is just beginning.

Because I’ve been distracted by rattlesnake recipes and Fail Blog, here are some snippets to get us back to speed:

• A couple Saturdays ago, Jesse, exhausted from a yard sale, sits on the couch, watching bluegrass on PBS, while I’m in the kitchen making baked ziti while wearing a floral-print apron. The buzzer goes off on the dryer, and I fold clothes while dinner’s in the oven. And I look at the two of us and wonder: are we in our late twenties, or our late sixties? And I don’t care which. What a lovely way to spend an evening.
• Oh, and making hamburgers for dinner one night with a side of homemade, home-fried French fries. Cut-up potatoes, soaked in sugar water, then tossed into a pan of hot lard. Lard, yes! They were the best fries I’ve ever made, perfectly crispy on the outside and still soft inside. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to bake French fries again…or buy frozen.
• Since we’re on the topic of food (still), this Saturday night we went to Boleros for dinner to use our $25 gift certificate. The one catch was we had to spend $35. So, cell phone-calculator in hand—to try and hit as close to $35 as possible—we ordered a chicken quesadilla appetizer with a side of plantains, two entrées (Barbacoa enchiladas for him, Cuban sandwich with side of black beans for me), and followed it up with a fancy coffee drink for me. I thought, surely this is what it feels like to be rich. Our table was overflowing with food. Plates everywhere. More food than we could eat. We took home two boxes of leftovers. (Well, okay, probably if we were rich we wouldn’t have taken the leftovers. Or used the calculator. But still.) We never order appetizers and it’s not unusual to see us ordering water and splitting an entrée. So, an appetizer, two entrées, an extra side, and fancy coffee? Living large.
• On the subject of not-food, it’s freezing here. Last night, we slept with two extra blankets on top of our down comforter, and this morning we were so blissfully comfortable under all those blankets that getting out of bed into a sixty-five-degree room was particularly painful.
• And, I have a cinnamon-scented stick-broom-thing from Publix, thanks to my fantastic mother-in-law.
• Staying out late Friday night at Chili’s with the small group, talking about couponing, health care reform, the perils of renting your house and then leaving the country. Sleeping to eleven the next morning.
• And curling up on the futon with a zombie book, wearing Jesse’s black sweatshirt, both cats snuggling with me, all warm and purring.

I got a haircut today. Nothing major, just a much-needed trim and layers. It’s been, gosh, over a year since my last haircut, I’m almost ashamed to say. The reason has been a little forgetfulness plus a little laziness plus a lot of no-money-ness. But, my hair is happy I finally got rid of the split ends I’ve been sporting lately. And besides, I love getting haircuts. I know it may be weird, but my favorite part is getting my hair washed. If I were rich and famous, I’d pay someone to wash my hair every day. Well, okay, probably not, but I do love the feeling.

After getting my hair cut, I went to CVS. And then, because I had a new haircut and was feeling confident, and because I have been reading up on “CVSing,” I saved a ton of money. First, I bought Zyrtec and Benadryl and signed up for a CVS card. I had a $4 off coupon for the Zyrtec and a $1 off one for the Benadryl, and a $3 off $15 or more coupon, and I got $4.50 off for signing up for the card, so I spent $12. I then had $10 in “Extra Care Bucks,” so I turned around and bought shampoo, deodorant, and toothpaste, spending a couple bucks to make up the difference (only because I picked up the wrong size toothpaste—well, better luck next time). Now, I have $3 more in ECBs from those items to spend next time. The whole thing would have cost me more than $40, but I got it for about $15! If I can use those $3 on items that give me ECBs back, I can continue the cycle…

And then, I found out about a sale restaurant.com is having, and I got a gift certificate for $25 at Boleros and $10 at Firebelly—and paid less than $4. (Go to restaurant.com before Monday, and when you go to check out, type FOUR as your promo code, and you’ll get eighty percent off.)

This whole couponing thing is becoming addictive. (I’m loving this site: Southern Savers.) I can’t seem to buy anything that isn’t on sale. Once you get things half-off, it’s really hard to pay full price. I did buy milk and pasta that wasn’t on sale, but that 96-cent box of spaghetti really irked me. But, no bad moods here today, because I talked to Beth on the phone for an hour, and I’ve got half-price ribs in the oven, and I’m going to make cornbread and cabbage and maybe I’ll get crazy and make some mashed potatoes. And there’s the haircut, the fact that it’s Friday, and I think the cone is coming off poor little Oliver tomorrow…

This is the day: the morning spent studying before the sun was really up; the mid-morning spent babysitting, pushing a stroller around a lovely, idyllic neighborhood with brick houses that are all different; a trip to the library to pick up books on philosophy. Simona told me about these little So-and-So in 90 Minutes books, so I grabbed all our library had—Spinoza, Kant, Schopenhauer, Hume, and Sartre. Plus, The Essential Kierkegaard, partly because I’ve read him before and want to read more, and partly because I am in love with his name. Sometimes I say it quietly to myself, just because I love it so much. Kierkegaard. Ah!

Lately, I’ve felt this drive to learn. Maybe it’s being out of school for the longest time, well, ever. A year and four months now since the MFA was finished. I’ve embarked on a personal quest to study the book of Luke forward and backward, and that’s part of my morning study. I also want to learn more about philosophy, about physics, math, history. It’s an almost frantic drive, like there’s something I’ve got to catch up to, but it’s the exact opposite of unpleasant.

Have you heard of iTunes U? I just found it today, and I am beyond thrilled. Tons and tons of courses from a variety of universities and colleges, all for download on iTunes, free! Well, I don’t know if they’re all free, but the ones I was looking at were. I downloaded a seminary course on the Gospels and Acts this morning—forty-some lectures about forty-five minutes to an hour each. And on them, you can hear the professor writing on the white board! I just about died with happiness.

Now I’m listening to the Beatles, Elton John, and Simon and Garfunkel on Pandora, getting ready to make a sandwich for lunch and maybe crack open one of my new library books or keep browsing iTunes U for more “classes” I can take. Oh, what a lovely Friday.