Chris came to visit

And it was glorious!

It was totally last minute, but so much fun. Both Nick and I were able to rearrange our work schedules so we could spend the maximum amount of time with Chris. He's an old college buddy whom I haven't seen in far too long.

We packed a lot into three days.

We played a bunch of games with our friend Keefe (Star Fluxx, Nuclear War, Illuminati), who totally trounced us at Illuminati, as usual. After that, we headed downtown and got lunch at Pete's Kitchen (a little greasy spoon diner that's a Denver fixture). It was delicious. Then we set off to catch a tour of the Great Divide Brewing Co. There was a very drunk, very garrulous man on the tour who seemed to be intent on telling the tour guide lots of things the guide already knew ("You guys are such a little brewing company, but you ship all over the country! You've got a really special thing going here, do you know that?" Yeah, man. He knows that).

We hit the Tattered Cover and Red Mango (Chris fell in love with it). I lined up a behind the scenes tour at the museum, which was AWESOME. We got to go onto the roof and walked around the catwalks above the dioramas. It was so much fun. Then, the boys participated in the museum's taste and genetics study, which involves getting your tongue painted blue.

My two favorite dudes with blue tongues after
participating in the museum's research study

We played Cards Against Humanity and Chris petted the heck out of Amber, Nick's corgi. She didn't like that at all. (False. She loved it.)

Then he went home. It was sad. I've decided that Chris will now visit us at least once a month. I wish I was rich so I could make that happen.

I like having guests. It gives me an excuse to get out and explore.

adventures

I think I may be hormonal, because I feel like I did in middle school - a longing for a life filled with passion and grace and fierce happiness and adventure and daring deeds. I think about the real world and get a little desolate. Good thing I'm a writer; better write novels that make other people feel the same way as I do.

Part of what's got me feeling all off-balance and cranky is that the kitchen is in pieces. Mike is DIY renovating a lot of the house. This includes laying tile, installing granite countertops, and putting in new sinks ... which he has never done before. I'm all for trying things and saving money by not hiring contractors. But, man, you gotta take the time to do it well, with precision. None of that is actually happening with the kitchen renovation. Fortunately, it's almost over.

Not being able to use the stove or oven, having to wash dishes in the bathtub ... it's really amazing how depressing that is.



But in unrelated, fun news, I went camping at the end of August.

Nick and I drove up into the mountains with some friends, Nick's little Honda heavy on its wheels with the weight of tent and food and toasting forks and sleeping bags and people. We walked around Estes for a while, watched a glass blowing demonstration and bought some saltwater taffy.

(I tried to convince everyone to take one of those touristy old-timey saloon photos, but they were being buttheads.  One day, I will manage to get one of those pictures taken. ONE DAY.)

It started pouring rain. It was cold and heavy with huge fat drops that audibly impacted with the ground. We held out our hands to feel the smack of rain on our palms, and then we ducked into a shop to look at fossils.

The rain let up pretty quickly, but it stayed cloudy and thundery - you could hear it grumbling away over the mountains. We drove to our campsite and set up the tent. We played some card games, then built a fire and had hotdogs, baked beans, and s'mores. Everything tastes better cooked over a fire.

I woke up in the middle of the night (thanks, bladder), but I'm so glad I did. Up in the mountains, away from the smog and lights of the city, the stars were crazy bright, Jackson Pollocked all over the sky. You couldn't see all the sky, since the pines hemmed it in on all sides, but it was still mind boggling, in a really great way. They looked so bright and moon-close, despite knowing how far away they really are.

Normally stargazing makes me feel both awed and insignificant. It's a positive and depressing experience at once. But this time, I just let the sheer beauty wash over me. Didn't think too hard about it. Normally, I'm all for thinking hard about things. But it was nice to switch off the brain and just enjoy the sight.



More good things: This weekend, one of my good friends from college is coming to visit! Nick and I are planning outings already. Casa Bonita, a tour of the Great Divide Brewing Co., maybe a trip to Boulder to play Boulder Bingo (with squares that say things like "man with ponytail" and "metaphysical bookstore"). I miss my college friends, and the collegiate life. I should go back to school.

a beautiful weirdo

Nick got a phone call tonight, telling us that someone we went to school with had killed himself.

I'm feeling ... shocked. Sad. Guilty. Angry. Numb.

Our friend was - we weren't terribly close, but I knew and liked him. He was odd, and funny. He had this offbeat view of the world, a wonderful quirky perspective.

Things I remember:

• He used to live off bowls of yogurt and granola, exclusively, until he got what he called "werewolf hungry," when he'd take $20 down to the basement vending machine, buy everything he could, and totally go crazy on it.
• He once brought nothing to school for the semester except a backpack's worth of clothes.
• For the monthly variety show, he once taped a bunch of plastic tubing to himself, filled it full of water, and tried to make it look like he peed his pants on stage, but ultimately just dribbled water everywhere.
• He had atrocious handwriting.
• He had a sense of humor unlike anyone else.
• He had a really weird cadence to his speech which was entertainingly unique.
• He was embarrassed by how ripped he was. Skinny legs, crazy pecs. He refused to take his shirt off in front of people.
• I once made some chocolate truffles for my friends for Christmas. He ate his bag of a dozen in ten minutes and didn't believe me when I told him I made them.
• He could play the theme song to Beverly Hills Cop on his little electronic keyboard.

I have to wonder if I'm at fault here. He lived a short drive away. Nick and I always meant to get together with him, but never really bothered to schedule anything. Did we contribute to his suicide? Could I have helped prevent it?

The rational part of my mind says that there's nothing anyone could have really done, that I wasn't a close friend, that I didn't matter much to him one way or another. But then the other rational part of my mind says that's bullshit, that friendship always matters, that connection is the only way to fix isolation.  Never having been suicidal myself, I don't really understand the motivations behind it. Does it come from despair, or relief? Does company curb the appeal of ending everything, or enhance it? Does it stem from an overwhelming sense of isolation, or from a sense of an insurmountable disconnect despite being among others?

All I know is that I'm left with useless regret, aimless guilt, and a vague sense of failure.

I've been seeing a sort of restrained grief on facebook. Some of our friends, mourning the loss. I know it's genuine sorrow, but I'm still a little bothered by the public preachy tragic noble suffering of it. "I'm so sad about this, we really need to reach out and love one another and hold each other close."

For some reason, the stuff on facebook bothers me more than standing up and saying a eulogy would. It seems more for the benefit of the person saying it, like it's a way to garner applause. Look how eloquent and heartbroken I am. Look how strong I'm being.

I know I'm no better, writing about it here on this blog. I could just process what's going on in my journal, privately.

But I do feel guilty. I feel at fault, like someone should accuse me of willful negligence. I need this to be seen, so I can be judged and convicted.

And even that feels selfish and self-aggrandizing, like I'm saying that I'm the reason someone got sick of life. That's not what I mean. I'm pretty sure I was more aware of him than he was of me. But I feel responsible, nonetheless, for just some small part of his decision.

I was right here, and maybe I could have helped.

But I didn't, and I can't change what's happened.

So now I just have to figure out how to deal with that, I guess.

I keep thinking about the last time I saw him, three years ago. He was happy then. The world was more interesting.

AK and Nick, at college just after graduation, summer 2010

He was a beautiful weirdo, and when he was around, he made me happy and gave me new things to think about.

As Nick says: we don't get a lot of time, but I'm glad I got to spend some of it with my friend.

Book Review(s): Anya's Ghost; Wildwood; Doll Bones

I've been rediscovering libraries.

I finally got a library card out here in Colorado. Checked out:

• Anya's Ghost, by Vera Brosgol
• Wildwood, by Colin Meloy (illustrated by Carson Ellis)
• Doll Bones, by Holly Black (illustrated by Eliza Wheeler)

 ... and I read them all in three days.

Yes, okay, they're all kid's books.  They're all fantasy.  Why? Because books for kids are fearless and daring and vulnerable in a way that books for grownups aren't. Or often aren't, at least.

They're scary in a primal way.  Beautiful. Fierce and raw. Blacktop and skinned knees and papercut perfect.

Anya's Ghost is about a teenage girl. Pretty standard story - feeling insecure, fighting with friends, trying to fit in, feeling lost. Except she's also got a ghost hanging out with her. And her new friend is sure she and Anya will be best friends. Forever.

It's honest. A girl, self-involved. Learning to be better, to think about more than herself. The themes are less about ghosts and the supernatural and more about fears and disappointment and what drives us to do what's right.

Wildwood reads, as you might expect, like an entire Decemberists album. A baby boy is stolen by a flock of crows, and his big sister must venture into a mysterious woods that grown ups avoid talking about. There are coyote soldiers, a beautiful but crazy Dowager Duchess, a useless Governor-Regent, an owl prince, a band of bandits, and mystics that talk to trees. There's the threat of civil war. Sacrificial rituals. Black magic. Quests. Bicycles. Doubt. Fancy, slightly archaic vocabulary.

Needless to say, I loved it.

It doesn't pull any punches. Characters die. There is bloodshed and terror and hunger and uncertainty. The protagonist, a prickly girl named Prue, has to learn to trust herself and her friends. It's a lush, wayward offering of love and betrayal and courage.

Doll Bones is at once eerie and familiar, like de ja vu. Part ghost story, part coming of age tale, part adventure, it's haunting and legitimately creepy at times.

It struck chords with me, because the heart of the story is three friends who've played and pretended together, reaching that strange in-between time. That time when the heart still wants to make believe, but when the head can't let you.

It's also about unraveling a mystery behind a china doll, and the strange mix of ash and bones that's inside it.

It's about growing up, letting go of some things and holding onto others. It's about belief and wishing and trying to understand what goes on in your own head.

There's a really heartbreaking passage toward the end, which I can't resist sharing here. If you plan on reading the book, look away. 

SPOILER:

One of the kids can see the others are pulling away, that their need to pretend isn't as strong as it used to be, as hers still is.

"It's not fair. We had a story, and our story was important. And I hate that both of you can just walk away and take part of my story with you and not even care. I hate that you can do what you're supposed to do and I can't. I hate that you're going to leave me behind. I hate that everyone calls it growing up, but it seems like dying. It feels like each of you is being possessed and I'm next."

Okay, it's safe to look again - spoiler's over.

I read this and couldn't help feeling gutted.

It's exactly how I felt when my friends and even my own treacherous brain couldn't carry on playing. When the stories were taken away. Things that had been important. It was hard seeing my friends moving away from our games, living easily without them.

The end of the story is about how the story goes on - just in a new way. Not with dolls - but with words.

Doll Bones is a little scattered. It leaves some questions unanswered. But it resonates so fully. It's honest. It took me back to the first heartbreak I knew.

I devoured these books. I need to get back to the library.

Smooooooooooooooth

The days keep getting longer, the temperature keeps rising, and it's turning into smoothie season.

Nick and I have been playing with smoothie recipes. Smoothies with oatmeal. Smoothies with peanut butter. And now - smoothies with spinach!

Get the recipe (and more delicious, pretty pictures) after the jump!