Isabella in my non-existent book is what makes it a hipster love story. No whimpering little girl stuffing her face with ice cream and complaining to her cat about not finding a man.

She’s strong. She understands the world and herself. She accepts her femininity without letting society define what feminine means. She creates the new female architype with every breathe she takes. She’s the self-actualized bitch goddess of destruction, and love. Oh, she has issues. And she intimately knows each one like an old, comfortable blanket.

Her name and her identity aren’t a mistake. She came to life one day during one of my goddess kicks. Here’s some background. I came across this description of the book Reviving Ophelia, I’m sure Isabella read it. Probably given to her by her dreadlocked grandmother:

In Reviving Ophelia, Dr. Pipher explains how the domination of females is a direct result of social pressures to be beautiful and sexy rather than intelligent, independent and self reliable. A comparison is made to Ophelia who, as a girl, is happy and free but loses herself in adolescence because she falls in love with Hamlet and lives only for his needs and wants. Rather than being independent, Ophelia strives to meet the demands of her loved one; her self-esteem is based only on his approval. …. The author of the book brings a new light to definitions in which culture has defined them. Sexy is intelligence, the way you carry yourself, you confidence, and being your true to who you are.

The most amazing part of moving to the West Coast was finding these women. The Northwest somehow has bred this woman. I never saw this growing up in Illinois or Wisconsin. It’s truly breathtaking to be downtown, or in Freemont, or in Portland and see these women. They glow with an amazing internal energy.

I’ll leave you with the final part that gave Isabella her name. The song Isabella(click for mp3) from Mediaeval Baebes on the Undrentide CD:

Lyrics (Modern Italian)
Translation

Io Isabella danzando ne prati
I Isabella dancing

Verdi della primavera
on the spring meadows

Girando e girando, cascando e cascando
Turning and turning, falling and falling

Nel mondo delle elfi sognando
Into the world of the elves dreaming

Mi prendono la mano, mi portano lontano
They take my hand and they take me far away

Mi prendono la mano, mi portano lontano
They take my hand and they take me far away

I swear to myself and the blogosphere I will finish my hipster love story book…

It’s 6:30 am on a dreary Wednesday morning. A cloak of chill air is trying it’s hardest to hang on despite the receding night. The sky outside has that rare backlit quality to it thats causing everyday objects to take on a glow of etherealness. In other words, it’s a perfect coffee day.

Isabella is in the back room loading up an ice bucket to refill the bin at the counter. I’m finishing counting out the morning cash drawer. I know as a business owner I’m supposed to love customers, but it’s this morning silence that I love the most. It’s the stillness, the ability to move at my own pace, not the customers. The time to breathe, to intake the air and know that this space is mine. I created this place, this atmosphere. This public sphere of conversations and thought. Out of the corner of my eye I see movement in the curves of the clean latte glasses on the counter.

Isabella slides in next to me and unceremoniously settles the heavy bucket to the floor. I give her a goofy far off smile and she gives me a knowing back-and-forth shake of her head, “Sure you counted that correctly, space monkey?” “Of course”, I say, “One beeellion dollars.” She just rolls her eyes and begins scooping the ice into the bin. Another day at Ophelia’s coffee shop has begun.

My work desk…

Visiting Home: v. 1. Whereupon family from out-of-town descends upon the homestead rather like a swarm of bi-pedal locusts, devouring all that is placed upon the table by the full-time residents of said homestead.

Ok, so maybe it’s not quite that bad.  But mother does seem to like to feed us.  There’s a whole lot of “what do you need?” and “did you get enough to eat?” and “there’s more burgers”.  And through it all, I did manage to be strong.  Even when mom whipped out the spam macaroni salad.  (Ok, so I may have had just a smidge, but not enough for the guilt to kick in.)

In any case, I had a nice trip home.  The grandparents made the drive up from Iowa.  I don’t get to see them very often - maybe once a year now - so it was nice to be able to visit with them.   We’re never really out of touch though - Grandpa is pretty good with the emailing.  In fact, he probably emails more than I do.

This weekend is the Seattle library book sale.  It’s held in what used to be a plane hanger - so it tends to be a bit on the big side.  It also tends to be rather crowded.  (At the sale last fall, I actually had a biddy of a grandma literally elbow me aside at one table.)  And then next month is the Seattle Antiquarian Book Fair - book geeks galore.  I only ever really go to browse.  The book geeks tend to know what a book is worth and so the prices reflect that.  Half the fun for me is THE HUNT - finding that book bargain and snapping it up for my collection.  There’s not much opportunity for THE HUNT when you’re surrounded by people who know what they’re doing.  But it’s fun to look.  It’s also fun being among the youngest and one of only a handful of women.  (Just wait til I get my tattoo - then I’ll really be a minority.)

I should probably hold off on buying anymore books until I can get another bookshelf.  But we all know that’s not going to happen…

Due to re-scheduling, I had this week right after training off. Here’s one of the fun things I did. I visited Cicely, Alaska:

Not too many great things in the gift shop, honestly. Everything they have has to get flown in by a hottie named O’Connell, so selection is limited. For some reason, everybody kept hinting it was very dangerous to get involved with her… Odd.

Anyway, I picked up some good grub at the cafe.

Met up with my buddy Joel from my college days in the Big Apple…

Bumped into this really cool dude named Chris. Seems he’s the DJ in the town. We went riding a bit and just BS’d all night long about life, the universe, and everything.
All in all, it was a pretty fun trip.

Back home from training… I was invited by a co-worker to his campsite party this long weekend. My contribution was a bottle of Bulleit Bourbon Frontier Whiskey. We where intrigued by the TV show Deadwood and how they are always throwing back shots of whisky at all hours of the day. Let’s just say our attempt to re-enact those events didn’t turn out as wild or romantic as the Old West TV show. Still, it was a fun experience. The fire was quite lovely. As the whisky bottle made it’s rounds, I caught this warm blurry moment in time that also perfectly illustrated how the whiskey itself made our heads feel…

I just finished watching Tristan and Isolde. Lovely movie… great dialogue… didn’t hurt that Tristan was almost prettier than Isolde. Overall, it was a completely enjoyable film. HOWEVER - (and IMHO it’s a ‘however’ well-deserving of the all-caps) Isolde reads to Tristan a bit of poetry which becomes a sort of resounding theme throughout the film and even ends with it. That bit of poetry happens to be from “The Good-Morrow” by John Donne. Little problem here. John Donne was born in 1572, which is a good 500 years after the time period of the film. I’m willing to overlook the fact that Isolde had a book and was READING it during the Dark Ages. (Book? Dark Ages? Woman reading?) But couldn’t the writers have come up with some original verse for the film? Is it really that difficult? “The Good-Morrow” is a beautiful poem but I can’t be the only one who noticed that it was from completely the wrong era. I like to lose myself in good movies… we all do, I’m sure. But it’s the little things like this that really pull me out of the moment.