Sunday, May 8, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
helter skelter
"When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride." (Helter Skelter; Lennon McCartney.)
The days and weeks are going past too fast. California winter to California summer in one week with a trip to Chicago slammed into the middle of it. I'm all discombombulated.
The Easter weekend summed up the entire season in Tahoe by being cold and stormy. We braved the lifts, since we had guests determined to ski, and were glad that we did. Despite blizzard visibility at the end of April when we were expecting sunshine, beers and bands on the deck and the sight of teenagers skiing in bikinis, the fresh powder made for nice skiing. Geekygirl has transformed into a skiing daredevil, seemingly overnight. "I am faster and better than you, mummy" she informed me casually.
Monday was our semi annual advisory board meeting at work, and I was presenting data for the first time since I've taken this new job. I was almost hobbled by a dysfunctioning Maddona style headset mike, but I think I did a reasonable job. Tuesday I headed out to Chicago for the second time in a month. You know you are traveling a bit too much when the guy in the O'Hare airport gift shop recognizes you and points out which items in the store are new. Around midnight on Wednesday I was back at SFO, and Thursday, despite mentally being somewhere between Central and Pacific time, I was back in the office.
Sunday was the day of the Big Sur Marathon Relay, an event I had signed up for months ago as part of a team of coworkers, so we garnered enough energy to pack up the car and head down the coast on the Friday night. In startling contrast to the previous weekend this one was stunningly bright and warm.
We stayed in Monterey, and took the kids to the incredible Monterey Bay Aquarium for their first time. It turned out to be a wonderful family weekend. I'm not sure which the kids enjoyed most, the aquarium with its sea horses, sea otters, sharks and jellyfish or the motel room with its two double beds, close enough together that they could leap from bed to bed squealing hysterically when they should have been sleeping.
On Sunday I got up at 4.15am to be bused to my relay start point along with several hundred other equally insane individuals. I ran 6 miles along the most beautiful stretch of coastal road in the world, and felt on top of the world.
We all slept extremely well back in our own beds on Sunday night, despite the kids plotting to move some of our beds closer together so that they could continue their bed bouncing fun. You can only imagine how big the laundry pile was after a week like that. I think this weekend I might just crawl into one of those solitary flotation tanks for a day, especially if I can find a volunteer to come round and do my washing.
The days and weeks are going past too fast. California winter to California summer in one week with a trip to Chicago slammed into the middle of it. I'm all discombombulated.
The Easter weekend summed up the entire season in Tahoe by being cold and stormy. We braved the lifts, since we had guests determined to ski, and were glad that we did. Despite blizzard visibility at the end of April when we were expecting sunshine, beers and bands on the deck and the sight of teenagers skiing in bikinis, the fresh powder made for nice skiing. Geekygirl has transformed into a skiing daredevil, seemingly overnight. "I am faster and better than you, mummy" she informed me casually.
Monday was our semi annual advisory board meeting at work, and I was presenting data for the first time since I've taken this new job. I was almost hobbled by a dysfunctioning Maddona style headset mike, but I think I did a reasonable job. Tuesday I headed out to Chicago for the second time in a month. You know you are traveling a bit too much when the guy in the O'Hare airport gift shop recognizes you and points out which items in the store are new. Around midnight on Wednesday I was back at SFO, and Thursday, despite mentally being somewhere between Central and Pacific time, I was back in the office.
Sunday was the day of the Big Sur Marathon Relay, an event I had signed up for months ago as part of a team of coworkers, so we garnered enough energy to pack up the car and head down the coast on the Friday night. In startling contrast to the previous weekend this one was stunningly bright and warm.
We stayed in Monterey, and took the kids to the incredible Monterey Bay Aquarium for their first time. It turned out to be a wonderful family weekend. I'm not sure which the kids enjoyed most, the aquarium with its sea horses, sea otters, sharks and jellyfish or the motel room with its two double beds, close enough together that they could leap from bed to bed squealing hysterically when they should have been sleeping.
On Sunday I got up at 4.15am to be bused to my relay start point along with several hundred other equally insane individuals. I ran 6 miles along the most beautiful stretch of coastal road in the world, and felt on top of the world.
We all slept extremely well back in our own beds on Sunday night, despite the kids plotting to move some of our beds closer together so that they could continue their bed bouncing fun. You can only imagine how big the laundry pile was after a week like that. I think this weekend I might just crawl into one of those solitary flotation tanks for a day, especially if I can find a volunteer to come round and do my washing.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
the hairdog
When I first started this blog it was called "the hairdog chronicles", because we live our life in a fine miasma of dog hair. Geekygirl as a baby called it "hairdog" whenever she found it wound around her pacifier or hiding in her rice cereal. I changed the name to "Geekymummy" which had always been the pseudonym I used in the blog, and had become an identity of sorts, but kept the hairdog reference in the subtitle.
The blog is about us, the geekyfamily, an ordinary mum and dad with two kids, two cats and one hairy dog, living in an extraordinary city, San Francisco. Geekygirl will proudly tell you that we live in the most beautiful city in the world.
Before children, the dog herself used to be a bigger feature in our lives. Weekends were devoted to doggy activities, taking her to socialize and play with canine friends, long walks, even dog agility training classes. In retrospect it is a good job I had kids as I was well on the way to becoming a crazy dog lady, thought it is a role I think I would have played with aplomb.
We are lucky enough (at least at the moment, the rules are in being questioned) to have a beach in San Francisco where dogs and children are both welcome. It is a busy place on our rare hot days. Children and parents paddle and play. Achingly fashionable young people lie around and snog. Elderly folk watch the scene. The dogs gambol in the surf, explode the odd sandcastle, run off with children's shovels, and occasionally drench an unaware sunbather with a vigorous shake. I love it there.
People who don't have dogs can find it hard understand how much a dog is part of a family. Being able to take Geekydog along and to see how much she enjoys herself, being with her people and having the sand and water to play in makes for such a lovely time. There is nothing quite like a happy dog to put you in a good mood. This picture is from the last time we took the whole family to the beach, the hairdog in her element.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Blog Pimping
Apologies for the blatant self promotion but its time for the annual MADS UK blogging awards.
If you like reading mine, I would be most grateful for a nomination in the Best MAD Blog for Family Life category. Or in any of the other categories if you think I'm eligible.
Click on over here to nominate me. The different categories are at the bottom of the page.
Browsing through the blogs that have been nominated is a great way to find new blogs to read, too.
Awards aside, thank you just for reading, I'm always a bit surprised at how many people come and read my little blog, and I'm very grateful.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
The girl with the golden gate bridge tattoo
We contemplated leaving San Francisco for a career move a few years ago. Faced with the prospect of leaving my beloved city, I decided that should I leave I would get a tattoo representing it somewhere on my body. Though we ultimately ended up staying here, the idea of making my city a permanent part of me remained. Years passed, San Francisco remained my beautiful home, but I never found the time to actually get the tattoo.
Every now and again I would catch a glimpse of skyline in my rear view mirror, a picture postcard on a taqueria wall or a cityscape screen print on a T shirt, and a tattoo started to take shape in my mind. I began to look at my body in the mirror and think about where best to put it. I like the way my body looks. Like most women, I haven't always felt this way about my face or figure but after having two children and approaching forty I developed a new appreciation for my compact, slightly sturdy yet pleasantly curvy frame. A tattoo felt to me like a stamp of approval. An outward expression of the way I feel on the inside. A gift from me to my body that says "you and I have been through a lot, and I like you". After all, at forty years old the worst that can happen is that I may really regret it when I'm eighty. Maybe I'll get some funny looks in the nursing home. Maybe I'll struggle to find one that admits tattooed octagenarians. Of course my parents might be a bit baffled by my decision, but given that I have a PhD, a fine husband and two lovely kids, I think they will forgive me.
I've always been the good girl type, but I secretly wanted to be a wild child. I did very well in school and in university. I wasn't the kind of teen who got into any kind of trouble. I even went to church every Sunday when I lived with my parents. I have smoked about four cigarettes in my entire life. (I have had quite a lot more alcoholic drinks though!) Still, ordinary as I was, I always loved to create original outfits from second hand clothes, and tried to look interesting without being brave enough to deliberately cross over the fine line into freakish. For a while in my mid twenties I had a striking platinum streak in my long, straight hair, and had my navel pierced with a sparkly stone. Hardly exotic in San Francisco, or even in England in the 1990's, but it was the "look" I liked the best of any that I have had, and is still the way I see myself in my minds eye.
If I actually look at myself objectively now I am a tidy, respectable looking woman who favours conservative pant suits or plain jeans and T's. Work doesn't give me much opportunity to show my personality in my outfits. I gave my short leather skirts to Goodwill sometime ago. Feeling the need to get back a bit of the girl I used to be, I decided last year that I would commemorate mymidlife crisis 40th birthday by finally getting that tattoo, and thereby putting some of that inner freak back on the outside.
I've talked before about the wonderful parent community we have here in our neighborhood, and how useful its email group is. So, much as if I needed a plumber, accountant or jewelry repair recommendation, last fall I posted an "off topic" request to the group asking for tattoo artist recommendations and I got several glowing referrals. Our parent community is truly an amazing resource.
Getting a tattoo is traditionally thought of as a spontaneous, madcap decision. The result of too much tequila and a bad dare. I treated it more like choosing a wedding dress designer or buying a house. I did extensive internet research, met with artists, and eventually I made an appointment. The artist I selected was so sought after that the appointment was eight months in the future. Finally, last night, six months after my actual birthday "T day" rolled around.
My dear friend Stan, companion on so many San Francisco adventures, came along with me for this one. Way out by the beach in a quiet, bohemian neighborhood that smelled of coffee and of the Pacific Ocean I finally sealed my love affair with the city in ink.
When I returned to my car, sore and saran-wrapped I turned on the radio. The song "Save me San Francisco" by Train came on. I love this song, and in the warm endorphin haze created by the past two and a half hours of needling, I realized that San Francisco has saved me. I'm not sure what from, exactly, but when I think of all the other lives I could have lived and all the fates I didn't meet I'm pretty sure that by coming to San Francisco I sealed for myself the very best of them all.
And now, with my love for the city written across my body, If I ever wash up on a boat with complete amnesia, a la Jason Bourne, my rescuers will at least know where I should be returned to.
If you want to see the result, go here.
Every now and again I would catch a glimpse of skyline in my rear view mirror, a picture postcard on a taqueria wall or a cityscape screen print on a T shirt, and a tattoo started to take shape in my mind. I began to look at my body in the mirror and think about where best to put it. I like the way my body looks. Like most women, I haven't always felt this way about my face or figure but after having two children and approaching forty I developed a new appreciation for my compact, slightly sturdy yet pleasantly curvy frame. A tattoo felt to me like a stamp of approval. An outward expression of the way I feel on the inside. A gift from me to my body that says "you and I have been through a lot, and I like you". After all, at forty years old the worst that can happen is that I may really regret it when I'm eighty. Maybe I'll get some funny looks in the nursing home. Maybe I'll struggle to find one that admits tattooed octagenarians. Of course my parents might be a bit baffled by my decision, but given that I have a PhD, a fine husband and two lovely kids, I think they will forgive me.
I've always been the good girl type, but I secretly wanted to be a wild child. I did very well in school and in university. I wasn't the kind of teen who got into any kind of trouble. I even went to church every Sunday when I lived with my parents. I have smoked about four cigarettes in my entire life. (I have had quite a lot more alcoholic drinks though!) Still, ordinary as I was, I always loved to create original outfits from second hand clothes, and tried to look interesting without being brave enough to deliberately cross over the fine line into freakish. For a while in my mid twenties I had a striking platinum streak in my long, straight hair, and had my navel pierced with a sparkly stone. Hardly exotic in San Francisco, or even in England in the 1990's, but it was the "look" I liked the best of any that I have had, and is still the way I see myself in my minds eye.
If I actually look at myself objectively now I am a tidy, respectable looking woman who favours conservative pant suits or plain jeans and T's. Work doesn't give me much opportunity to show my personality in my outfits. I gave my short leather skirts to Goodwill sometime ago. Feeling the need to get back a bit of the girl I used to be, I decided last year that I would commemorate my
I've talked before about the wonderful parent community we have here in our neighborhood, and how useful its email group is. So, much as if I needed a plumber, accountant or jewelry repair recommendation, last fall I posted an "off topic" request to the group asking for tattoo artist recommendations and I got several glowing referrals. Our parent community is truly an amazing resource.
Getting a tattoo is traditionally thought of as a spontaneous, madcap decision. The result of too much tequila and a bad dare. I treated it more like choosing a wedding dress designer or buying a house. I did extensive internet research, met with artists, and eventually I made an appointment. The artist I selected was so sought after that the appointment was eight months in the future. Finally, last night, six months after my actual birthday "T day" rolled around.
My dear friend Stan, companion on so many San Francisco adventures, came along with me for this one. Way out by the beach in a quiet, bohemian neighborhood that smelled of coffee and of the Pacific Ocean I finally sealed my love affair with the city in ink.
When I returned to my car, sore and saran-wrapped I turned on the radio. The song "Save me San Francisco" by Train came on. I love this song, and in the warm endorphin haze created by the past two and a half hours of needling, I realized that San Francisco has saved me. I'm not sure what from, exactly, but when I think of all the other lives I could have lived and all the fates I didn't meet I'm pretty sure that by coming to San Francisco I sealed for myself the very best of them all.
And now, with my love for the city written across my body, If I ever wash up on a boat with complete amnesia, a la Jason Bourne, my rescuers will at least know where I should be returned to.
If you want to see the result, go here.
Monday, April 11, 2011
by jove I think she's got it.
IT has been quite a journey. It has taken a lot of false starts, much crying, growling and whining, a lot of crashing, falling down and getting up again, and a fair bit of chocolate consumption (and that was just me), but I think Geekygirl has actually mastered the basics of skiing!
Go Geekygirl!
Go Geekygirl!
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