Pennermag.com

Tomorrow morning, I leave for a three week vacation in Portugal.  The question I’ve received more in the last week than any other is: Why Portugal?

When I’ve gone to London or Paris, I’ve never received this question.  Not even Tokyo, but when we went to Seoul I got the same questions.

The true answer: Why not?

I like traveling and it’s better going to countries I haven’t visited before.  We were negotiating a location and each of our dream destinations fell by the wayside.  For Adam it’s Greece.  For me it’s Australia.  Randomly, we discussed Macao and Goa and realized those two areas had one thing in common, Portuguese colonization.

We figured why not go for the real thing.  Portugal has a lot going for it as a vacation destination: temperate weather, a vibrant capitol city, and for DH, castles, castles, and more castelos.  He likes ancient ruins and it seems that Portugal will have that in spades.  We’ll be driving to every eroding brick in the country, if my itinerary is correct.

It may not be traditional, but nothing else in my life has been so far, so why start now.

I got up this morning and put on a reversible T-shirt – back to front, not inside-out.  I think it got it at The Gap or American Apparel.  The idea is that you get a scoop neck and crew neck in one shirt, the mullet of shirts (business in the front, party in the back).  I put it on, crew side forward, and went on about my day.

I briefly stopped at the mall to get something for the upcoming trip, and decided to try on a cute, but overpriced tank top, I saw on a mannequin.  Unbeknownst to me, however, when I put my shirt back on, it was scoop side front.

I left the store, and all of a sudden, I couldn’t keep men from smiling, and chatting, and thanking me for my smile.  It was like night and day.  For good ten or fifteen minutes, I couldn’t figure out what in the heck had changed.  I was the same person who’d left the house this morning in grotty, pet hair laden, sweats, sans jewelry and makeup.

Then, inadvertantly, I looked down, and realized I’d brought my milkshakes to the party.  I debated turning the t-shirt back to the more, uh, conservative side in the car, but instead opted for the great service that came my way at the library, and drug store, and Trader Joe’s.

DH (Vortigern) laughs when I use my, uh, ‘charm’ to get discounts, free stuff, good service (especially at electronics stores and auto repair shops).  But the female body, like it or not, has a certain, uh, currency.

When I was sixteen, and self-conscious, it used to bother me.  Now I think if I can get stuff and I don’t have to do a darn thing but stand there and look cute, then all to my benefit.

I suspect my fellow sisters would find the paradigm inherently sexist.  I say, let men lead with their, uh, brains.

Dear husband is forever advising me of what I should be writing about on my blog.  I’m working on other stuff, I said.  You should write them yourself.  So, he’s been gathering his thoughts, taking notes, and scribbling late into the night.

I suspect you’ll see more of him around here in the near future.

I don’t know which is harder, writing or running.

For the last six weeks or so, I’ve been training to run a 10K race.  When I was in high school, I was lucky if I could complete a mile in 15 minutes.  I specialized then in being skinny/flabby.  I ate what I wanted, never exercised, maintained 125 pounds, but was in terrible shape.  After I put on weight at the ripe old age of twenty-five, I decided, at twenty-nine (we’ll just ignore those intervening years) that maybe I shouldn’t just be thin, but fit too.  So I started exercising.  It was hard.  I was thrilled when I got my mile time to ten minutes.  Of course, I started thinking I could run more than one mile.

I started training for a 5K and did two last year.  The one five mile race I tried kicked my ass.  So when one of my trainers started a 10K clinic, I signed up.  Am I the fastest?  Not by a long shot, but it’s okay being last.  A lot of the other slow (not as slow as me) runners dropped out.  But I’m hanging in there.  Saturday I was able to run six miles in an hour.  Even though I can run a faster mile – less than eight minutes – I can maintain ten minute miles for a longer period of time.

When I finished my run this week, everyone else was done, sipping water, and eating oranges.  I may be last, but I haven’t quit.
This week my romance writer’s group has dedicated this week to writing, writing, and more writing.  So, I move on to a harder task writing a book.  I always start out with the best intentions.  It’s like a pop essay quiz: Imagine if these characters encounter this situation . . . discuss . . . .

Ideas abound, I take notes, then comes the hard part, putting words (that make sense) on paper.  I’m on page 63 of my current novel (about a third of the way through), and I’m trying to get at least a draft done by the first of August to pitch it as part of a series at a writer’s conference.

To say it’s slow going would be an understatement.  But if like running, I keep at it, I’ll get to the finish line, even if I’m not first.

I just need to collect my thoughts . . . soon you will see it here . . .