Fall-La-La-La-La

Fall is here and I can prove it:
1) First Husker game (and win) of the season was on Saturday. Sorry we wiped the floor with you, W. Kentucky, can't say you weren't warned!
2) Pumpkin Spice Lattes and Salted Carmel Hot Chocolates are at Starbucks. I've only indulged in the first so far but the second promises to be almost as heart-stoppingly delicious and bad for me as the first so it will happen soon.
3) Squashes are starting to show up at the Farmer's Market and the first crop of apples is sneaking into the grocery store and consequently being swarmed by apple loves (I got the last two honeycrisps on the stand last week).
4) I'm already getting the "winter reading itch" and plotting the books I'll read in Winter 2010/2011
5) The weather has necessitated runs back into the house for cardigans and sweaters
6) My favorite clothing Web sites have been advertising shooties (booties + shoes)

7) Peach pies are beginning to give way to apple pies soon (though, the peach pies were fantastic, if I may say so myself—I acheived a lattice top this year too).












8) I've revived my ghost story I'm writing and it's coming together plot wise—now I just have to write the dang thing.
9) Previews for scary movies are coming out; I tell myself I'll go to all of them but really end up just renting one of the not-so-scary ones six months later.
10) Halloween candy is out and I bought my mother a bag of mallowcream pumpkins yesterday.

Frothy New Year

My coworkers and I are, in a word, obsessed with a gadget that cost $1.99 proving all over again that it truly is the little things in life.
At approximately 8:30 a.m. we gathered en mass in the lunch room; a circle of adults eagerly clutching their coffee mugs stood around a single beaming twenty something holding a magic wand: an Ikea battery-operated milk frother.
The twenty-something coworker graciously allowed a new member of the froth society into the circle; our thirty-something coworker had asked for the little gem for Christmas and we could now make office not-lattes at twice the haste as we could before. I even have one of these stupid things at home (bought at $12.00...flippin' gourmet food stores...) and have had since May but the magic lies in the dreamy looks on my colleagues' faces as the oxidized milk doubles, triples in height.
Meg: "Look at how big it gets!"
Steph/Christy/Todd: "That's what she said!" (snickers and snorts ensue)
Meg: (admonishingly) "Stay classy, San Diego." (frowns and leaves)

Chillin' with the Crazies

No five great things Friday, I plum forgot. Whoops! But I've got something better: I've got some of Cali's prime crazies at the coffee shop with me right now.

First pair of crazies a guy and a gal at the coffee shop:
MexiBarista: We roast our own beans.
Sport Sandals with Skirt: You know? That is SO great because in this world where nothing is organic or real or lasting, at least you can come to The Blue Mug and get a real cup of coffee.
MexiBarista: I hear ya (nodding vigorously). I mean I heard the other day...
Sport Sandals with Skirt: Think about it, we're all done in 2012. The ice caps won't melt because they won't be around anymore, the magnetic forces will be enough that it will melt everything down, but we're killing ourselves anyway so whatever.
MexiBarista: Right? I mean, did you see Wall-E? It's like the I Ching. You know how everyone floats around on hover crafts b/c we're all too fat and lazy to even move? That's gonna be us in, like...I wanna say...two years? Maybe.
Sport Sandals with Skirt: I never saw it.
MexiBarista: It's my favorite movie, it's not as good as anime, but for Pixar, it's really good. Funny.
Sport Sandals with Skirt: But you're missing the point. We're not going to hover (using hands to demonstrate complex concept of hovering) because we'll all be DEAD in two years! Did you know a woman dies in childbirth every. Single. Minute. (Pause for reaction).
MexiBarista: (Eyes raised to ceiling as if counting) You know, I don't really think that's possible. Wait. Wait, no, you know what, that's true. I heard that on the History channel. (Both nod.)

Meanwhile, "My Hips Don't Lie" comes on while Sport Sandals with Skirt tears open sugar packets three at a time and pours them into her coffee.
Sport Sandals with Skirt: I love this song (the velcro making little ripping noises as she flexes her feet, dancing).
MexiBarista: Mmmmmmnow see, I have to disagree. She's a little cocky when it comes to shaking her hips.

They look at each other for a minute, Sports Sandals with Skirt sips her coffee gingerly while she uses the other hand to wave good bye. Without a word, MexiBarista waves back and Sport Sandals with Skirt slowly walks through the coffee shop and out the door never taking her lips of of the to-stay coffee cup. Gets in her car, and drives off.

P.S. I posted this totally lame picture b/c it turned out so bad I thought it was appropriate to the crazies theme. I look positively headless.

As anyone reading this knows, I'm a coffee fiend, but if someone were to give me coffee that looked like this, I'd at least pause a moment before ingesting the delicious cuppa (don't hold the foam!).

A lot of us have seen coffee art like this...

...but I found the others to be pretty unique.







These were made using different strength brews like one would use watercolor paints. Can you find the coffee cup in each picture? (If you can't, I'd consider a visit to the optomotrist.




That's all! This is Meg Schudel, bringing you art in all it's unusual forms.

As an aside, I'm reading Rebecca and Screwtape Letters in case you were wondering which summer reads come first.

Here With Me

I'm back in my little French cafe, it seems to be good for writing as I'm certainly not getting any editing done.
As I came up the walk, I noticed that the cushions they'd bought last spring had gone from bright red to a faded poppy color. I knew where all the outlets were when I went inside and the server smiled at me with familiarity as she slid cups of coffee in front of a couple sitting near. Have I really lived here long enough for this? I hardly ever use my GPS to get around anymore, and I even gave directions to a stranger the other day.

I've lived here for well over a year now, and there are some other things that have lost some of their color and some things that retain their brilliance yet. I hardly ever visit the ocean anymore. After I came home from Christmas and flew over it on the way, I didn't feel the need to; I used to feel like if I didn't visit it it might recede and disappear altogether, so strange and wonderful it was to have it at my disposal on a day-to-day basis. Formalities at work have fallen by the wayside and I am more frank with my colleagues and they are more real with me too. I feel less guilty than I used to when staying indoors during a gorgeous day, having grown up with the mentality that a day of sun was a sin to waste.

Though I am far from the honeymoon stage, I am happy here. I don't mean to stay forever, but this place is good for me. I miss my people every day, not one goes by that I don't regret not having you here. Different days for different people: when I walk into Anthropologie (I like to think of it as a clothing museum due to the exorbitant prices) Leslie is by my side finding the pieces that are just on the wrong side of style and making jokes and eating popcorn with me whenever I watch an unusual film; when I'm curled up at home with a book and candlelight, Alison is across from me on the couch, our feet in each other's laps and we end up enthralled in conversation instead of our novels; Sarah is always with me whenever I'm near the ocean and thinking of her often results in my dropping a thank you note to God for whatever is good that day; Heather is there when I wrap myself in the music she's given me, her music is home to me; Laura's laugh echoes in my ears whenever I see something rediculous or offbeat and I can easily conjure her hug when I need it; when I hear Spanish, I pretend Jessica is there to help me figure out what we just heard--sometimes we make up our own translations; Peter, you are the smell of an orange to me; Gina, you sit invisible across from me whenever I dine alone at a restaurant or go out to coffee; Tiffany's words return to me when I lose clarity and usually bring me to prayer.

This list is by no means exhaustive, these are just the people on my mind at the moment. Thank you for your unwavering support and friendship despite the miles and the duration. You all make me a better woman and I'm so blessed to know you.

I Like my Mocha with MoCA

Two weekends ago I treated myself to an afternoon downtown to play at MoCA San Diego (Museum of Contemporary Art). The exhibits varied from genius, to provocative, to utterly laughable. But I adore contemporary art; art is to me as a battery charger is to a cell phone. Though, I admit, my favorite part was the museum store. I get sort of sad when I'm in an museum because I know I can't take my favorite works home with me, but in the museum store, it's art you can buy, keep, and touch without a security guard giving you the stink eye (or an escort out of the facility).

I followed up my excursion with a stop at a fabulously modern coffee shop here called Influx, where I dined on a decadent apple-smoked ham, swiss, and pineapple baguette paired with a mocha.

I encourage you all to go exploring sometime soon, especially a museum as they're always changing and your experience there promises to never be the same twice. Adieu to you!

Falling for Autumn Is Easy to Do

Theory: I am willing fall into existence in San Diego.

Proof: I have beautiful changing trees within the courtyards of my apartment complex so that I can look out my window and see bright red leaves against a brilliant blue sky. 'Tis a thing of beauty. Also, my parents are on their first visit to Niagra this week and I prayed VERY hard yesterday that my San Diego sun would be sent to them for the day (rain was predicted for most of their trip) and guess what? Contrary to all the weather reports Mom and Dad did receive sun yesterday and we have clouds! Amazing!

Truth: God is freaking amazing and no matter where I may or may not be in my faith walk right now--He still hears me and I really can't believe how good He is.

Other things that have brought me joy: the Pumpkin Spice Latte from Starbucks, making a pact with myself that I will wear high heels at least twice a week, signing up for another 5k to support breast cancer awareness and forming a team to go with me, no joke--about 10 sightings of man capris in the past week, looking forward to seeing my dearest Sarah at the end of the month (!), compiling a new autumn playlist, a fantastic fall care package from my mom, two stories I'm working on, and a brand new beautiful leather journal I started Wednesday.

Ooh La La!

It's Sunday morning and I'm at Wired Le Bistro, a très chic little cafe in La Jolla whose name belies its fabulousness. It really is one of my favorite spots in all of San Diego. The inside is cozy enough to make you want to stay all day but trendy enough to be in keeping with its cuisine's Parisian edge. The ceiling undulates with old burlap coffee bags that have been tacked up above, seating options include hard wooden high backs, black wrought iron chairs, or cozy eggplant-hued benches that outline the perimeter of the room. I enjoy the old-fashioned patisserie glass case, and that they imported the female servers.
If I were a gentleman, I'd be tempted to haunt this cafe for nothing more than the beautiful women who drift past the tables. The first time I was here, I knew they were French before they opened their mouths to speak with their quick, sharp little consonants and longer sweeter vowels that charactarize their accents; petite graceful bodies, hair slicked back to expose their fine bone structure and wearing black. You can also tell a french woman by her Mona Lisa smile curling slightly and inexplicably on her rosy lips. Somehow, it makes me feel more beautiful to be around them.
Today, at the urging of the server who recognized me, I ordered crepes nutella (as in that sinful hazelnut/chocolate spread Europeans have the good sense to put on everything) and a cup of coffee, and cream. Her recommendation reminded me of an important fact I wish all to know: the key to ordering a breakfast that won't leave you with a bellyache. It's simple; order a plain coffee if you're going to have a sweet dish, order a sweet coffee if you're going to have a savory dish. That's it, don't be seduced by an indulgent mocha to accompany your crepes, or you'll be sorry.
I think now would be a good time to mention that I'm being watched by a handsome young gentleman. He is with a woman who isn't offended by her date's inattention to his and blatant window-knocking at me as I sit on the other side of that window on the patio. His feet dangle two feet from he ground, his plate, bearing a large sweet roll, is poised perfectly at mouth-level. His mother watches fondly as he takes advantage of his position. He reaches forward with both hands cupping the back of the roll, scoops it toward his face and sinks his teeth in. He then flings his arms apart that conveys some sort of achievement and turns to look out the window, directly at me with full mouth and messy face as if to say, "check it out!" I assume a serious face and nod approvingly. He grins with flaky bits and cinnamon frosting all over his small teeth and turns back around.

In unrelated news, a bee has alighted on and made a home of my book which is in my purse. My book that I would very much like to be reading as soon as I've posted this. However, he's been there 45 minutes so far and seems to have decided that my tome makes for a good napping spot. I have a straw I could use to prod him away from my belongings but in a zen moment, I decided that this would be an unkindness as I wouldn't like to be awoken in such a manner. So he stays.
What I love even more than the sun-drenched patio with its wood-framed umbrellas, and strong European coffee is that every time I'm here I am privy to a variety of languages. French on left, South-American Spanish on right, Castillian Spanish behind, some language I can't identify at the table in front of me, old women two tables away slipping in and out of their old Italian in croaky tones complete with hand gestures. By sitting on the patio I miss the great music inside, but I gain the musicality of these different dialects as they float around me.

Viva la Vivahhhhhhhno

Meg: I'd like to try one of your smoothies.
Bucky (the Starbucks lady): Oh these? (pointing to the big chalky ad) These aren't smoothies. (pause and her face stifled suppressed glee, like she had a great secret to divulge)
Meg: Oh, okay. Well can I have a banana choco...
Bucky: They're Vivahhhhnos.
Meg: ...colate oh, right. Well can I have a banana chocolate vivahhhno with a shot of...
Bucky: I'd recommend a shot of espresso.
Meg: Right, one of those and can I also have you...
Bucky: And we can use any kind of milk you want including soy and we can also add a powder shot that contains...
Meg: Nonfat. Espresso. Chocolate Banana Vivahhhno. Grande. Please.
Bucky: Mmmm, excellent choice. Here's our nutritions facts chart, you can see there's lots of fiber and protein and you've made the best choice by selecting non-fat milk...

Taking the chart from her and nodding as she went on I wanted to be annoyed, but I remembered my days at the GAP.
Customer: Um, how much are these jeans.
Meg: (drawing on pre-programed script) Oh they're not jeans.
Customer: Really?
Meg: They're denim trousers, see the flat back pockets and trouser clasp front...
Customer: So these cotton, blue pants aren't jeans?
Meg: No, and it's not really indigo, it's a special dye designed to be resiliant against the harshest detergents so your jeans never lose their color.
Customer: Trousers.
Meg: Righ...what?
Customer: You said jeans.
Meg: Right.

I don't miss that job. Maybe the discount, but not the job.

In conclusion, thanks Peter for the recommendation on the Vivanno. It was absolutely delicious!
P.S. An editor's delight: these photos came from Reuters blog and I love that this latter features a misspelled "Vivanno," looks like even baristas have trouble with Starbuckanese.

First Things First

An updated list of firsts for Meg Schudel:
1) Ate "Pirogi" last night for the first time, it's a Russian potato dumpling--my Argentine/Armenian friend made them for me...it was an ethnic and delicious moment for me (Ha! Thanks Natalia!)

2) My first car wash, no, I'm not kidding. I'd been through a couple before with my grandfather when I was a little girl. Back then, I laughed and clapped my hands like I was on a ride at disneyland. But now that I've grown up, I only laughed and smiled like an idiot when the waves of water, suds, and "rainbow wax" drenched my vehicle. This was during my second visit to the car wash, my first attempt was utterly anticlimactic. I just assumed the machine took plastic, so I sat in a line of five cars for thirty minutes waiting for my turn only to arrive at the inescapable entrance and not have any of the needed currency to obtain a wash! It asked for a code or cash, after frantically checking every nook and cranny of my car for dollar bills, I gave up in futility and (I'm not kidding, I get really anxious in situations where strangers are waiting on me) yelled at the machine , "WHAT IS THIS CODE YOU SPEAK OF AND HOW DO I GET IT?!" Nothing doing, and unable to escape any other way, I simply had to drive right through, in the car wash hut and out the other side, leaving the person behind me to think that I was 10 kinds of crazy...which I suppose I am a little. Once her laughter had subsided, the benevolent Alison Selig gently explained the code thing to me later, I get it now.


3) First horned melon. Yeah, check it out, it's the funnest fruit!! It's slimey, brilliantly colored and WAY too much work to fish the seeds out of the juicy membranes you're supposed to consume. It tastes a little like kiwi, honeydew, and a green grape.

4) Got my first business card ever! Scary. And corporate. But embossed on crosshatched cardstock so I suppose I should be grateful.


5) Tried Pike's Place brew at Starbucks, it's everything. Try it (dedicating this one to Peter).

6) On a sort of sad note, I had to cut two friends out of my life. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I've never done that before. Until recently, I'd always believed that every relationship is salvagable. Then I grew up. I knew these individuals would continue to unapologetically break my heart, and that I had nothing else to offer them either. They already took what I could give them and, let's face it, left me a bit empty handed. In the end, they know I still love and pray for them. To those who've supported me through this, I can't thank you enough.

7) I have my first California library card, I'm feeling more and more like I actually live here! Tip to the poor: rent movies from the library, it's free! I dropped Netflix like a bad habit and hit the library's DVD collection. Libraries tend to have the more obscure books-made-into-movies pieces you can't find other places. No time for movies? Do the books on CD, my mother's discovered them and finds excuses to hang around the house to catch up on her "reading," if you can't get to the library, do librivox for free literature downloads.

8) I left my number for a stranger. I've given it out before, just not in a "call me" scrap of paper way, always verbally. Sarah and I were at a restaurant in Little Italy and the waiter was the sweetest guy, we talked Argentina while other tables seethed at him for his inattentiveness to their appetites (I know b/c the table next to ours teasingly called me out on it when waiter was absent and Sarah had gone to the loo, "thanks for distracting the waiter, we'd like to get our tirimisu sometime today".) Andrew, the waiter, seemed enthusiastic to have someone relate to his Buenos Aires experiences, so I left my number with the tip before I left in case he wished to continue the convo. No, he hasn't called yet, I really don't mind. I was more curious to hear his stories than to date him, promise.
9) Found sand dollars on the beach! I've only ever found seashells! They were sort of dirty looking and cracked around the edges, not like the bleached white ones you see in stores, but I like them anyway.

9) Had to shake sand off of my car mats.

10) Made what I consider to be my first major purchase, a piano. The most I've ever spent on any one thing and I love all 88 out-of-tune keys of it.

Cuppa at Pannikin

Pannikin Coffee & Tea is my Sunday afternoon spot today and I’m soaking in my surroundings. It’s a lovely little place with the feel of a backyard even though it sits just off of busy Girard and Pearl streets in La Jolla’s quaint beach community. A white-washed wooden front with slightly protruding bay windows introduce a natural wooden deck with plastic patio chairs and mismatched, wobbly tables, all of which overlooks a small cement and garden patio with umbrella-shaded tables with chipped Spanish-tile tops.

http://entertainment.signonsandiego.com/places/pannikin-cafe-la-jolla/

I’m perched at the corner of the wooden deck with a perfect vantage point of all the diners and drinkers, just under the outdoor speaker exuding pleasantly mellow music in a language I don’t recognize, Portuguese maybe. There’s a man sitting in the space across from me on the opposing porch corner smoking and doing what I’m doing. He languidly takes in his surroundings as he smokes and, I imagine, records what he sees in his mental journal. He seems particularly fond of looking up through the leaves of a big tree around which the porch is constructed, with a big hole in its wooden slats with enough room to allow for the tree’s girth as it ages.
Two women sit below me, chatting sporatically over their cold dishes. One has hair color that, even in Dr. Seuss’ world, does not grow naturally on human heads. She separates the components or her salad (alfalfa sprouts, tomatoes, red onion, carrot shavings, etc.), then, spears each in assembly line fashion. Her friend is sipping an impossibly frothy cappuccino and an plate of pita bread, hummus and assorted veggie sides. The smell from the cucumber slices on her plate pleasantly waft up to me.
There are others too, the man sitting at the table directly in front of me is old and a bit grumpy. He, in what must be his 60th year of life, has still not discovered the art of anchoring down loose items that might blow away in the breeze. Since he sat down, he has lost three napkins, the sports section of the Union Tribune and his to-go coffee cup—the latter of which provoked the most grumbling and under-the-breath cursing on his part.
My tranquil setting is interrupted only by the banging of espresso tools and crotch rockets firing down the street I forget is there b/c of the high hedges around the patio and lulling music overhead. I’ve spent the whole last week in bed, at work, and all else is a medicated blur. I did have a few meaningful conversations on the phone, close girlfriends from Lincoln have proven to be as loyal as can be and frequently ring to keep tabs on me. I also had a lovely chat with my endlessly-talented friend, Peter, who has written the most fantastic play. I’ve read it three times now and my liking for it increases each time. Like any good fan, I’m already impatient for his next creation.

(Note: this photo isn't mine, I stole it from the Internet. Again, hopefully this is enough to prevent someone from suing the pants off me.)

So much for Sunday morning...

So, I couldn't access my Internet last night (yes, Internet is capitalized), so I was forced to rely on the phone book to find a church to go to this morning and I really wanted to try somewhere I hadn't been before. So I got out "Lost Lucy" (name of my GPS device) to help me find the address listed under one that looked good and this morning I ventured forth.
I arrived in the dead-ghetto of Mira Mesa, and the church looked genuinely sketchy. So I used the GPS to find some other surrounding churches. It found one that wasn't going to start for another two hours and one that no longer holds services. I know it makes me a quitter, but after driving to my fourth church (ended up being Christian Science) I threw in the towel and did a GPS search for coffee houses nearby. It pulled up "Lestat's" (as in the vampire, named so because they stay open twenty four hours a day), which I'd heard was a cool place from people at work.

(Not the most flattering of photos, but adequately expresses my half-exasperation with the circumstances)

So here I am, sitting in Lestat's coffeeshop, paying homage to the damned (albeit, unwittingly) and--get this--sitting across from an underwear model.
Okay, I don't KNOW that he's actually an underwear model but oh.my.gosh. Seriously the hansomest guy I've seen in a loooooong time, perhaps ever. He seriously looks like he tumbled out of some haute couture ad and landed at the table across from me. His perfect physiognomy is beautifully set off by his strong, square-jawed face complete with manly scruff and a sort of formidable brow with intense hooded eyes...not that I'm looking. Because I would never. Huh-uh.
UGH, what's a girl to do? I wish I could get a picture of him for you to see yourself, but that would be beyond the pale.
Okay, here's my solution. I will move seats in half an hour if he doesn't move before then and I brought "Mere Christianity" in what was apparently a moment of clairvoyance that I might somehow need the spiritual shot in the arm. I will proceed to read it after that half hour passes. Good plan.