Preparation (and play)

I've got houseguests -- or rather, loft guests -- coming to stay for a couple of nights. That has required an additional level of overhaul to my regular housekeeping.

I had to clean off my dining table. It has been substituting as a work table where I have been working on some art projects. It had been completely taken over by the art stuff about two months ago, and I have been living with it like that. I've been eating dinner at school or in one of my arm chairs. Or out.

It took a while to organize all the different things I've been cutting for a collage I'm playing around with. I've been afraid to put it away because of how I fear that the unpacking of it will make me reluctant to finish it. So I spent the extra time of breaking it down and putting it away in a manner that wouldn't dissuade me. I've come to realize that I need some kind of functional storage, probably tucked under the bar that separates my kitchen from the rest of the space.

Now that it's essentially cleared, I realize how much I've missed my table as the thing of beauty it is. Seeing the light reflecting off its warm cherry surface at night feels like a sight for sore eyes. It has been so covered with crap that I'm enjoying the return of visual order to my space.

I'll deck it with some flowers, and call it good.

Got a few other small things to touch up tomorrow. I'll wait for the light of day to put the cover back on my duvet. For whatever reason, it took the dry-cleaners almost two weeks to launder the cover and two pillow shams. I was bitching to a friend today about how much it cost me to have them drycleaned. But I have to remember that I got this lovely, embroidered silk duvet cover for $9.99, thanks to a bit of lagniappe from the Big Box Store. One of my best deals EVER.

Then, except for my messy desk -- whatever -- and an errant pile of library books or two, my place is looking pretty darn nice. I like my digs. I think it's important to live in a space that feels good to you. I would prefer a bigger space for some greater distance between my dining table and my bed, but I feel like this loft is just the right thing. For one person.

It'll be interesting to see how it is to have two more people in here again. Spitfire and her boyfriend stayed for a night or two when they passed through Portland on the way back to New Orleans. But my schedule and their other responsibilities in the area kept us from crossing paths until the evening. My friends are coming for a visit, which is different.

I'm really looking forward to seeing them. The Asian, who lives in the Bay Area, is an good long-time friend. We can go for years without seeing each other and months of not talking very much, but whenever we connect, our energy is just as engaged as it always has been. We've had our share of difficulties and faux pas, of course. But I sometimes suspect that our friendship was forged like one in battle. We met in the newsroom of a daily newspaper, which is more of an intense and politically insane subculture than a workplace. We came to know each other first as colleagues. Then came a friendship that has endured and developed its own integrity.

The Asian is also a wonderful philosopher, a poet and writer who brings a considerably different cultural lens to my life. As the only daughter of two Chinese immigrants who was raised in L.A., The Asian has on many occasions shared with me her experience of being treated as a walking stereotype. This goes all the way back to a pair of taupe pants she wore to work several times back when she was in her early 20s. The pants were not age-appropriate. She was trying to make herself look more serious or more "adult" because everyone took her gracious cultural posture and thoughtful manner as an indicator that she was a submissive push-over.

The Asian is anything but. Early on, I learned what a shrewd mind and a tenacious will she had. Very much like XGF when I think of it. Except that The Asian has a manner of speaking her mind that can turn everything on its head. For example, when I was talked to her about starting this blog and asked her what she wanted to be called, she told me, "Oh, why don't you just call me 'The Asian,' since that's all people seem to see when they look at me lately. Not even 'Chinese.' Just 'Asian.' We are not even bothering to distinguish these populous and influential countries and cultures from one another. We're just all one big lump. So just call me 'The Asian.' "

So it was spoken, so I made it. Even though I think it makes me look like I'm an ethnic idiot.

Anyway. She's coming to town, and I'm excited. If I may invoke another bit of ethnic referencing, when I sit and talk with The Asian, I sometimes imagine the experience is similar to how it might be talking with a young Maxine Hong Kingston. So I anticipate having my mind stimulated in some different ways than it has been of late.

Not that there's anything wrong with how I've been stimulated of late.

In fact, my mind has been quite stimulated, both by conversations with friends here and by ... some weird shit I still don't feel like writing about.

Despite the preparation I was doing earlier today (including three loads of laundry, which I must fold before sleeping), I still took off the late afternoon and early evening for a swim in the lake. I had not been up to the lake this late in the day before, and it was simply marvelous. The warmest part of the day in this region is usually around 5 o'clock, which is just when we laid out our blankets and towels on the grass.

The friend who went with me is one of my classmates from practicum who I'll call ... uh... Another Aires, on accounts I seem to be finding friendships with these willful, independent-minded women in my life (my old friend Mountain Girl and S2 among who knows how many others). So Another Aries -- AA for short -- and I passed the afternoon with mainly lightweight conversation. I was in story-telling mode, entertaining her with the reason I don't date on-line (aka "The Woman with the Brown Finger Tip") and how I got hypnotized to bust my snake phobia.

Turns out we're both good at creeping each other out and getting creeped out, so I have a feeling the story about how the deepest parts of the lake (an extinct caldera) have never been measured and how a plane that crashed into the lake and was never found (even though it's a small lake) may have creeped us enough to shorten the first swim. Then, when I went into the lake for a second swim on my own, AA said as I walked away, "You'll get creeped. The water moccasins will find you."

I *know* there are no water moccasins in the lake. But I'm *not* so certain there isn't a monster in it. Or some strange outflowing river down in its blackness that might suddenly suck me under water and carry me away. Yeah, AA, the bitch, got me to creep myself out. I swam perhaps 150 yards before I going back in, the monster at my heels.

We hung out for a while. Laid in the sun. Talked. Then we had a relly stunning drive home through the country. Came back across the Columbia River into Oregon just as the sun was setting over the river: Mt. Hood picking up the first of alpine glow, a nearly full moon rising, the clear rolling hills, the greenery and the city surrounded by it spread out in a vista before us as we drove across the river. Just lovely.

I dropped AA off at her place and cruised on back home to walk the pup and get a burrito.

There are a few more chores to finish before I get to sleep. But I'm glad I took the time to play in the middle of doing all that. AA is a wicked gem of a young woman, and the lake water was so lovely and warm (by PNW standards) that I was able to forget everything for a couple hours and enjoy myself. Good work, and good play makes your UCM sleep good, too.

Once I make the bed...