Dreams of Ocean City

I picked up a book at the library today for three reasons: 1) The title is One for Sorrow, Two for Joy, which is a line in one of my all-time favorite songs (it precedes "five for silver," in case that wasn't obvious). 2) The book takes the protagonist to Ireland, and I've always been fascinated by all things related to the Irish part of my heritage, especially lately. 3) I opened the book to skim over a few pages, and I opened directly to chapter 5, which begins "Ocean City, New Jersey..." At that point I felt it was destined to be.

I've been terribly nostalgic lately, an occurrence I blame primarily on my Facebook addiction and the hours of the day I spend with iTunes on shuffle, listening to song after song that yanks me backwards into various periods of my life. Consequently, my dreams at night are mostly full of people from my past- anywhere from elementary school up through college. They all take place at schools I've gone to, or houses I've lived in. And many, including last night's, take place in Ocean City, NJ- where my grandmother lives and where I've spent much time throughout my life. Ocean City, though somewhere I don't frequent much anymore, being on the other coast at the moment, is still the place that gives me the strongest feeling of home. It was always my happy place as a kid, even through the unhappiest times. And now it is the setting for too many dreams where the ocean comes up and swallows the town whole.

Last night's dream was a happier one. It was a dream in which time and age were fluid things. Where family and friends were one and the same. Where the living and the dead stood side-by-side for photographs on the boardwalk. I woke with an ache in my heart that has followed me around all day. I'm not usually one to be dramatic about these kinds of things, but when I read the narrator of this book describe Ocean City in winter time, I had to close the book. My ears filled with a ringing, and behind it, the far away roar of the Atlantic Ocean. I felt like the wind was knocked out of me.

It's too early for me to go on into any detail about why I reacted so. But it is deeply, terribly significant. And so I am certain I will dream of Ocean City again tonight, and again, and again, and again.

Eli Porter and my quarter life crisis (part 3)

Let me start out by stating that I have been in the midst of a quarter life crisis more or less for the past five years. Without going into detail (it's really not that interesting), my current state of mind is somewhere in the third phase of said QLC, the previous two phases bearing their own distinct questions about existence with brief periods of contentment in between.

So it was a nice break from the norm to go see my friend's band, Eli Porter , play a gig at the High Dive in Seattle last weekend. By my estimation, it had been a good two months since I'd touched a drop of alcohol, and about two years since I'd seen any live shows (a travesty on both counts). They played a great show, complete with glow sticks, balloons, and various light-up apparel (and really great music, too!).

Being out of the game for so long made me appreciate both sides of the nightlife coin. For one, there is something inherent about dive bars that makes it acceptable to dance when I have no business doing so. It's one of the only viable excuses I have to let loose and have fun and forget my annoying self-consciousness for a while. But even better than pretending to be a 21-year-old, drinking to oblivion, making eyes at boys, praying that someone will ask for my number by the end of the night, I found myself perfectly happy to be 25 and taken. Despite my nostalgia for my college days, it was a lot more satisfying to be able to dance around and be silly without worrying about who was or was not checking me out. It was easier to talk to the lead singer about the set without feeling like I would come across as a little college girl pseudo-groupie. At the end of the night, after a respectable two beers, I rode home with my married friends, and we talked about the music instead of the drama of who-checked-out-who. And I think for the first time since my last birthday, I didn't mourn 21, but celebrated 25.

The Most Awesomest Day in Kirkland Ever

I live in a large-ish town or small-ish city known as Kirkland, Washington. It's a great place to live. Since I love making lists, here's one (in no particular order) of why my town is particularly awesome today.

1) The Howard Mandville art gallery. I'm in love with everything in that place, always.
1a) They are latte-friendly.
1b) They currently display a painting of Manhattan that made me cry.

2) The Kirkland Antique Mall. I can, and did, wander this place for hours. While it is funny to compare the West Coast's idea of antiques (~1930s to 1970s) to the East Coast's idea of antiques (~1700s to 1950s), there is something really comforting and infinitely fascinating about taking in such a massive collection of people's former possessions. Every dainty little teacup and garish brooch and oxidized fountain pen whispers stories about the lives of the people who once owned them. I could see how every little thing could have once been representative of a child's favorite memories at grandma's. With my own grandmother's health failing, it made me realize how much of her will still be around in her patterned dishes and salt and pepper shakers and rocking chairs and prints on the walls. Hopefully as those things get passed around she will be able to tell everyone about our Thanksgiving dinners and summers when the ocean breeze would waft through her house.

3) Marina Park parking is now all free until 5 PM. No more circling, waiting for those five free spots to open up. Yes.

4) I saw two girls on unicycles today. Like, regular, possibly even popular, 14-year-old girls on unicycles. I wish I had been cool enough to get away with that when I was that age.

5) Van Morrison seemed to be playing everywhere I went. Including my favorite song of his, "Into the Mystic". Nice.

6) Earlier today I wandered through Juanita Bay Park (north of downtown). I heard at least 15 distinct bird calls.
6a) While walking downtown I heard at least five different languages, apart from English. That was one of my favorite things about living on Park Drive in Boston for a summer in college. Diversity is a beautiful thing.

7) I saw two separate dudes riding recumbent bikes . I don't get recumbent bikes at all. It seems unnecessarily frightening to be weaving through traffic on two wheels while reclined. But both of them looked like the happiest people on the face of the earth, so kudos.

8) It was a day of small pleasures, one of which was watching little kids delight in throwing rock after rock into the lake. I've often wondered if small children will ever tire of throwing rocks into a body of water. At 25, I think I have almost as much fun watching as they do in creating successively larger splashes. I remember taking pleasure in such a small feat when I was a child. I'm sure my parents did when they were children. I hope the trend continues.