ships ahoy

Ahoy,

The past 2 weekends we've been out on the sea. This was very exciting for me because I've always loved any and all water sports. I first learned how to sail a dinghy at the Berkeley Marina. I had a great time with the Cal Sailing Club, and will always hold fond memories of the experiences there and folks I met. If I were ever to be in the East Bay again, I would definitely join their ranks.

Relearning to sail here was pretty simple for me because I had heard the terms and vocabulary before. I took this to mean I could skimp on studying, but regardless, the class and instructor were great and I would recommend the class to you too. The lingo is pretty easy to pick up once you get some turns on an actual boat. The RRS did not look at any study materials prior to the class (even though we were told to do so), so he was making a flurry of faces as the instructor spewed out more and more things to know. He makes a lot of faces in general, but he was making more than usual here. Sometimes I'm pretty sure he has no idea he's making a face.

The MAC has a lot more traffic than where I learned. We had to be constantly turning away from motor boats or other sailboats in designated passageways. In the Bay, you could go for ages in any direction without any other boats around you. The most entertainment was probably the capsize drills. I remember this was what we would do all day during the low wind days in the Bay. Lucky for you and me we only needed to do it once here.

We went through the whole course to get certified with US Sailing to sail small boats up to 14 knots. Thus dawns a new age of recreational activities for us. As soon as we came home, he started looking up boats for sale and boatwear. Ever the struggling swimmer, we'll have to invest in a PFD for the RRS before we start talking boat shoes.

The RRS remarked that he had a lot more fun than he was expecting. This seems to always be his reaction when I pick things to do.

longingly ashore,
jt

mundanity

Ahoy,

In corner #1, we have the RRS studying or doing homework or doing school. In corner #2, we have me watching youtube videos or surfing the web or not doing anything near the value of a banana slug. Less than an hour goes by, and he comes over to my corner - seeming like he is on break from his serious school robotics work. He has a seat in my corner, and makes himself comfortable.

And then! And then he proceeds to give me a mini lecture about buying and selling houses and retirement accounts and taxes. I didn't even open up this can of worms, but banana slugs help me I have no idea how to close this can of worms.

Me: "Aren't you studying? Is this what you were thinking about instead of studying?"
RRS: "I took a break. This is what I think about during my breaks."

 Now he had already procrastinated this school thing for over an hour, mind you, and then had been doing what I thought was school for less than an hour. Other peoples' study habits are nothing short of fascinating. There really should be a documentary about this sort of thing. But really, I am so very, very glad that he knows about grown-up, adult things like buying and selling houses, taxes, and retirement accounts because I'm pretty sure I could never focus enough to learn about these things myself.

Now what do I bring to the table?

tangentially tractored,
jt

Lunar New Year

Ahoy,

I haven't spent Chinese New Year at home in 5 years. I had forgotten how much more eating tradition dictates of me during this time. In addition to these mammoth meals, I had a bucket list of new places I had been looking forward to trying. A task too large, I found, for any stomach. As always, credit should go out to my fearless and unwitting companions, you know who you are and you have the scars to prove it.

Our first stop on any newcomer tour of Chicago in the winter is the library. Yes, he traveled 2000 miles to go to the library, and you should too. On the 9th floor, the large glass roofed atrium is adorned by sparse tables and chairs that look like they belong in a broke college student's apartment in Manhattan, but at least they match. They must have nicer ones for when people pay to read here, they must. There are also exhibits up there. Right now, there is a candy exhibit because Chicago is the candy capital of the US, and my world. You can go and look at things that make you salivate for candy, but doesn't sell candy. Also check out the swords and heads in the rare collections room, mustaches that make you feel unworthy.

The Chicago French Market is a fun place to go and eat things, as is Chicago. It's in a train station so expect to hear and feel a rumble reminiscent of earthquakes - but it's okay, it's just the trains and not tectonic plates moving the ground underneath you. We started with Belgian fries at Frietkoten with sweet spicy ketchup, and a mysterious buttery/mayo concoction. I stayed away from the concoction, but lapped up the ketchup mix like a barbarian. I picked up a disappointing horchata, O tried exploding boba, and N got a goopy green thing that made me healthier just by looking at it. But the doughnuts! The doughnuts at Beaver Donuts! These things are just heavenly, this is the stuff my dreams are made of. I gawked at some pastries but stayed away for fear of mishandling during transport. With my luck, I'd fall in a puddle and splatter them all over the ice laden sidewalk.

 The following day was filled with Chinese food and frozen yogurt. After feasting on new year luck, we ventured outside to "play snow" with our restless kid cousin A. Attempts at sledding were lost on the slushy hill so we tracked up the muddy path across the frozen walkway to the highest point in Chicago. We took touristy, scenic pictures up there before going back down to test the frozen quarry. And now you're thinking we're bad influences on this child we have been entrusted show a good, clean, fun time. But no, we weren't entrusted, we just got stuck with him.

And now we went to get frozen yogurt, meanwhile there is ice on the sidewalk. That frozen yogurt was delightful, and we weren't the only people in the shop. Alas, more feasting awaited at my grandma's house. I can only hope to be as rambunctious and skillful in the kitchen when I am her age. But nay, the night is not over. After a swift whooping of our backsides by my kid cousin in ping pong, we rallied on to dessert at Mindy's. We got doughnuts and hot chocolate. The doughnuts, not as good as Beaver's, and hot chocolate so rich and decadent, I can only drink half.

The last day, the rainiest, dreariest day, we got our backsides handed to us at the door of Little Goat with a 2 hour wait. How naive I must have been to believe we would be able to get a table without a fight at the sister diner of the most buzzed about restaurant in Chicago. Tail between our legs, we returned to Bridgeport and walked to Nana Organic, a walk that was pleasant despite the rain and wind.  This place was cozy, bright, and homey; the food was excellent - even by my distaste for breakfast standards. Lastly, no trip is complete without boba. Saint's Alp had added and changed things since my last time there, but only subtly so and looked and felt the same.

I have many more places and foods to conquer. I wish my mom would stop insisting on us eating at the restaurant multiple times, every time, but the RRS loves it. And she now lives to feed him, who is clearly more willing to eat all the foods she was never able to get me to eat.

excessively detailed,
jt

lost luggage

Ahoy,

I always love when I get to see my brother, love it! I've always felt my parents had him so I would have a playmate, but living in different places makes it difficult to play with him. How can he live up to his purpose in life if he is so far away? Not only that, the family has anxiety about his forays into the culinary world, which are limited and juvenile. No offense, K, but you should not be having grilled cheese for dinner. You aren't even in college anymore, there is no excuse. But to his credit, he tries, and is open to learning.

We began with leftover lasagna I had saved for him. It's his favorite, I'm told, because Garfield likes it. After an unsuccessful mad dash to the airport for his lost luggage, we got a run at the rock climbing gym. It was emptier than I had ever seen it, and I was delighted. We went to our old favorite, Father's Office across the street. The RRS swears by this burger.

The following morning, I made halfhearted attempts to get the sleeping boys up for yoga. We instead opted for a hike up the nearby Baldwin Hills, and snapped touristy action shots at the top. K and I ventured to USC to meet a friend of his who gave us the local's tour of campus. I coaxed him into climbing a horse. We had burritos and milkshakes that I later regretted having him finish. A new development, my brother is lactose intolerant, a "crippling disease."

Climbing outdoors in January/February is a luxury Midwesterners have to endure much more pain to be able to accomplish. We took advantage of the beautiful weather at Stoney Point for some bouldering. It was severly sunny and temperate outside, which is shockingly unsettling for me, but the boys loved it. This is not how the weather should be in the winter, but such is what my life has come to. As the RRS made a mad dash to a superbowl happening, my brother and I reluctantly donated per suggestion into the Museum of Jurassic Technology. Never have I seen a museum with such oddities, never will I again. It spooked my brother, who has always been prone to spooking - a quality I have indulged in testing far too many times in my life.

To cap the trip, I did my sisterly duty and made fried chicken for him, hoping he was taking notes in his head for how to cook real food on his own. Perhaps I will spend my life worrying if he knows how to feed himself.


craftily tender,
jt

crimes

Ahoy,

This is a post in which I admit today's great laundry foible publicly wherein the RRS will read years from now post-incident and not be nearly as upset with me as he would be if he were to witness this today.

Here goes:
I accidentally shrank one of his Italian Merino wool sweaters by failing to remove it from the wash after the wash and allowing it to continue a normal laundry routine of rolling around in the dryer. I can only imagine the impending doom in his poor garment's spirit as I approached the dryer with it still in the bucket, tangled in with the bourgeois of the fabric world who shall remain nameless. Why he's wearing sweaters in the summer is beyond me.

This is only the 2nd time I've orchestrated a laundry mishap. The first of which I was unable to hide/delay his knowledge of the incident. Remember the bleeding red skirt mixed in with the whites, thus rendering his whites pink incident? Worthy of any '90s sit-com if I do say so myself.

Seeing as he isn't prone to stop googling cars any time soon, I think I am safe for now.

stodgedly conditioned
jt

ps, don't tell the RRS