Packing And Purging

The season has ended and once again we are in the time of year known as the off-season. And after the bittersweet celebrations and goodbyes, we end up facing the same reality as we have the last 5 seasons. Talk of planning, travel logistics, family visits and the infamous 'what/where next?' all become commonplace. And amid all this talk and talk, some actual action has to take place. Whether we move across the world or to another zip code in Bako, packing has to be done. YES, packing. The only thing worse is unpacking. So all this boxing, folding and jamming makes me once again take stock of what we have and what we don't need. I feel, personally, that I am an expert at the art and science of deciding what stays, what goes and what never should have been here in the first place. Let me share some of that expertise with you...

Get Real And Get Rid

Whether we're talking about fashion that was never fashionable, a misguided infomercial purchase or a gaudy gift, I can almost guarantee that you are hanging on to more than your share of things you never, ever use. Moving and packing every few months has it downsides, but one of the best aspects of this lifestyle is that I am virtually forced to purge such items regularly. Better yet, as the end of a season approaches or while we live in transition during the off-season, I lose all desire or urge to shop. I don't want to add books to my shelves, clothes to my closet or food to the cupboards. Every time I pick an item up in the store, I automatically ask myself 'where will I pack this' or 'can I bring this with me' or most tellingly 'would I replace something else from my luggage with this item?'

You probably don't move that often (unless you are Nell, Jill, Hilary, Sherry or my other readers from the world of hockey). So you probably have closets and drawers that hide the things you aren't using. And the more that's piled into said drawers/closets, the less likely you are to see or find any of it. Open those drawers, silence your inner hoarder, and be real.

You never will (and never should) wear those leopard print leggings. Despite seeming useful, the hand held misting fan will never be the preferred way of cooling yourself. A Snuggie is just a bathrobe worn backwards. You don't need an Ab Roller/Nordic Trac/Thighmaster collecting dust in the corner just because you fear to admit that you never intend to break a sweat using them. If, in your attempt to cleanse, you are tempted to listen to a little voice that says 'oh yes, we forgot all about that! NOW we'll be using it regularly!', I beg you to be realistic. That voice is a lying liar who doesn't love you. Silence that traitor and move on.

Take Your Clothes Off

Of all those closets hiding your clutter, the fastest, easiest and most productive place to start is in the one that holds your wardrobe. I am willing to bet that every morning as you stand there looking for something to wear, you shuffle through a number of items that are never, ever chosen. Those things are never given a chance because they no longer do (or never did) fit or flatter you. And they never, ever will. Don't get me wrong, I am not here to say that you won't lose those last 5 pounds or tone up your tummy. I'm simply saying that a) your overall body shape is what it is and b) having a dress two sizes too small staring at you from a hanger every day isn't so much helpful encouragement as it is cruel taunting.

Trimming down the size of your wardrobe is a way to shed more light, in both literal and figurative senses, on those pieces that do fit and make you fantastic. Fewer distractions means more creative outfits with much less fuss. Packing for a trip becomes much less complicated. Quality over ill-fitting quantity, my friends.

Go Go Gadgets

The allure of cluttering a closet full of clothes seems only rivaled by a desire to cram cupboards full of crap. Gadgets and gizmos, particularly for kitchen use, are over abundant. A walk through the nightmare that is Bed Bath and Beyond on a Saturday will prove that you can truly buy a device to do any random and often infrequently performed kitchen task. You do not need these things. You think you do, and you convince yourself you'll use it the same way you convince yourself that stirrup pants will come back someday. Even if you use the sandwich maker more than once (doubtful), it isn't worth the space it takes up. Even if stirrup pants are back in fashion (dear god), they aren't worth it for the way your ass will look in them. See where I'm going with this?

A short list of examples of gadgets not to buy includes but is not limited to: juicers, ice cream makers, any Ron "Ronco" Popeil invention, tortilla warmers, margarita maker (seriously, use your blender) and waffle irons.

Less Is More Freedom

The truth of the matter is that the zen of simplicity can't be underestimated. We don't even own one closet or cupboard to clutter, but I can tell you that life was simpler when we had two suitcases worth of belongings rather than the amount that fills a half-full mini-Uhaul. The thought of owning a home to make my own and fill up is enticing, but the liberation of downsizing and possessing mobility, if not much else, wins for now. I could pack it up, two dogs and happy husband in tow, and move anywhere they would allow dogs. So where should we go, where should we stay...


Source.

Paso, Tilted

I have to start this post by saying that everything cool that has ever happened to my blog (wait, is that an oxymoron?) is completely to the credit of friends of mine who are also bloggers, but with much more creativity and talent. I was recently reading Abby's blog and learned of a site called TiltShiftMaker. Abby was shown this inspiration by our mutual friends Rachel and the always visual pleasing Emily. And now instead of just Picnik, I have another photo editing website to obsess over! TiltShitMaker takes your photos and makes them look like dioramas by picking an area of focus and letting rest blur a little. And this blurring effect seemed to be the best way for me to tell you about our recent trip to Paso Robles, California for a day of wine tasting and a visit to the ocean.

Just like many trips to an unfamiliar place, this one was made all the more amazing by having an insider to show us around. Mr. and Mrs. Fahsbender (the original) packed us in to their SUV road-trip style and brought us to four (or was it five? who keeps count) gorgeous and delicious wineries.

By the time we arrived at the second winery everyone seemed very concerned with getting me something to eat. Why? What's wrong? Sure I was talking in my outdoor voice while indoors and starting to get a little handsy with everyone, but what does that really matter? The sun was shining, the company was amazing and I was drunk before noon! Eventually, I ate, but only because they tempted me with delicious cheeses and french bread, not because I thought I was out of control.

When all was said and done we had learned plenty about wine and wine making that we didn't know before. If you have questions about tannins or legs or what makes a 2005 different from a 2006 I have the answers. Also, if you were wondering the polite way to ask for more of a certain wine you tasted, just say you want to 'revisit' that choice. Continue revisiting as much as possible.

As lovely as it is in Paso, the temperature is the same as it is in Bako, just with less pollution, more trees and many more elevation changes. So we left the boiling hot heat and drove 20 miles to the coast where the temperature dropped 30 degrees and our spirits lifted (which didn't even seem necessary or possible after the day we had) when we saw the water. WATER. Large, vast, endless water and cool, clean breezes. Sometimes in the desert you forget these things even exist. After a wharf side dinner of fish and chips for the boys and strictly chips with copious amounts of vinegar for me, we bellied up in a dirty little bar with a live band and had ourselves quite a night with the locals in Morro Bay.

We spent the next day recuperating on the beach before returning home. It was a last minute, unplanned trip that ended up being more fun than I've had in a while. Homesickness has settled in here after the post-season slump, but there's nothing like a change of scenery to make me suck it up and enjoy what's around me.

Biente Siete On Cinco De Mayo

On Tuesday we celebrated Dave finally turning 27, beginning the one month out of the year in which we are the same age. It just so happens that every single year Dave's birthday falls on Cinco de Mayo. Go figure.

Although there are margaritas and salsa and pinatas being slung all over the country on May 5th, in some kind of holiday coup we are pulling on Mexico, we are lucky enough to be in a place where authentic Mexican cuisine isn't hard to find. So in the spirit of Mexican independence, we got together with friends and celebrated Dave's freedom from the shackles of age 26 and his excitement to be beginning his 27th year.

Dave's birthday also came just in time to stave off some of our homesickness, as all of our teammates from the season are now reunited with their families, it was nice to be surrounded by friends.

The Fukifuji Family
Ashley, Lane and Jenn
Andrew, Scott and Mike
The Fahsbenders and David

And even though Dave was vehemently, nearly violenty, opposed to the idea of alerting the staff to his birthday, he couldn't escape a rousing Spanish version of Happy Birthday. He claims that he didn't want this because it is too annoying and embarassing for the staff to have to participate in such merriment. But when we told this staff that we had a reluctant birthday boy who we were not against embarassing, they did the job right.

First, they hit the lights and came in force with loud and raucous full-staff singing. Dave is not amused, but Justin (on the left) and Danny (on the right) look pretty excited.

Then, they put a sombrero on his head. The power of the sombrero coupled with the enthusiasm that double margaritas bring and combined with Dave's realization that sitting there all glum was just going to make him look like an a-hole got Dave up and dancing.

Finally, the promised embarassment ensued, and even after a very stealth-like waiter put a cream pie in his face, Dave kept the beat.

Happy Birthday, David!

Better Team

While I’m still not ready to discuss the hard fought yet abrupt end to the season and the sadly quick departure of this seasons’ teammates/friends, I am happy to think back on what made this season unique from those that came before it. Of course each year brings new people, and for us a new physical place, new coaches, a different outlook on life. But in a more literal sense, each season has it’s own sound.

Last season Grosch instituted Snipe Dog, which led them to, for no apparent reason, shout out “B-O-N-K Snipe dog” (or any other last name, really) and then die laughing. No one knows what that meant exactly. Liebs was the expert at talking like a Drunken Walrus, which may or may not been an impersonation of their coach, with popular phrases like “Ok, Mr. Smart Head” and “You don’t gonna do that.”

In Tilburg Burgy used batter chatter to get the guys pumped up in the dressing room, and consequently the term “honey now” became commonplace. When something went really well, we could all exclaim “honey now!” Eventually, it took the form of a verb and it could be said that you really honey-now’d someone. In it’s final stage, as we all became more familiar with the Netherlands and the language, “honey now” became “honig nu”, a literal and therefore nonsensical translation into Dutch. We used it liberally and shouted it while biking drunkenly through the streets after they won the championship.

But this year things were taken to a whole new level. I can handle a catch phrase, even a catch phrase that turns from a declarative exclamation to a verb and/or adjective. But this year, an entire language was developed, possibly what the cavemen would have sounded like if they had spoken English and learned that English from Yoda. It goes something like this: Say I made a delicious lasagna for dinner. After the guys devoured the dinner, the appropriate Condors-ese reply would be “better dinner.” Or perhaps “more stuffed am I.” If it’s exceedingly hot one day, that would be described by saying simply “hotter” or “more sun.” If we were caught out in a rainstorm someone would probably say “wetter I am.”

Seriously. Entire conversations are carried out this way. And as sad as I was when the season ended and our friends started to disperse, I thought the one silver lining would be that Dave’s communication skills would return to normal. But I was wrong. There are a few lifers and a few injured stragglers from the team who are still here in Bakersfield, and they are keeping this language alive. I find myself slipping into the pattern, saying things like simply "dumber" or "more hungry I am" and I just want to slap myself across the face.

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Another aspect of this season that made it unique was the unusually large number of significant others on the team. There were 10 full-time ladies attached to the players, and at least 4 more who came to visit from Canada, the Eastern U.S. and even Germany throughout the season. And while stereotypes dictate that we are all mindless, uneducated, bimbos who alternate between cat-fighting and naked pillow-fighting, I actually beg to differ. Of course in a group of 10 the differences are many, but that just made us a more interesting group as a whole. Let me break it down for you in simple terms:

Ten women…

From three countries (Canada, U.S. and Japan).

Counting among us 6 blondes.

Three of whom are Bakersfield natives.

Proudly claiming one retired professional hockey player in the group.

With an average age of 24.3 and an estimated average height of 5’4”

With nine dogs between us (Stan, Missy, Trixie, Kai, Bingo, Hardie, Falcor, Enid and Cali).

With the one and only Miss Bakersfield among us.

Carrying two fetuses, currently known as Clem and Arturo, soon to be children.

Four of whom are married.

With a general propensity for unpractical footwear.