A Thousand Healing Hands

A few months back, I wrote about my divorce and where I was emotionally.  I was drained.  And honestly, the divorce was the least of my problems.  Mentally and emotionally, I had left the marriage months before we had separated.  The damage had been done and I was already gone, even when I was physically in the same house with my ex.  

The problem was, I was left with a lot of the damage.  Words that are seared into one's memory and happen to echo similar words from the past.  It is so easy to believe things that people tell you about yourself, when you have spent most of your life seeing yourself from other people's perspective. I may have hated almost every perspective, but it was all I thought of myself.  There was years and years of damage, from multiple sources that needed addressing and no amount of plugging ahead was correcting it.  I stumbled a few times, and ultimately I crashed over the summer.  

The first stumble came early in the year, when I finally accepted that I had to face a medical problem that had haunted me for years.  I don't think I have felt as alone as I did post-op, alone in a room and unable to even sit up.  Friends had visited me the first day, the second day no one could come and nervousness turned into a pain that far outweighed anything physical that I was experiencing.  And despite the many, many medications I had at my disposal, the physical pain was excruciating.  That afternoon, I wondered if there would ever be a time when I wouldn't be alone.  I had spent my childhood alone and with no one to protect me when I needed it the most, somewhat due to circumstances that were out of anyone's control but not made better by anyone involved.  For one reason or another, things didn't change much throughout my adolescence or young adulthood, my marriage made that gnawing feeling even worse. But I survived the hospital and the surgery.  As a matter of fact, it gave me resolve to start over.  I would be pain-free for the first time in years.  My condition was not as catastrophic as was originally feared and frankly, dragging would not be an option.  

The Fall came in the summer, right before a trip I had been looking forward to for months.  I knew what lie ahead of me as the first doubts started creeping into my mind a week before my scheduled take off.  On the way to the airport, I just prayed that things would go well enough for me to still be able to enjoy the time I had with my friends.  Of course it didn't.  I took a black cloud with me.  I got physically sick due to heat I wasn't expecting; the last push came from people reminding me just how unwelcome I was.  Every single fear and doubt that I had had my whole life was smacking me in the face and I couldn't escape it.  By the time I came back home, I was shattered and I didn't care to hide it anymore.  

But then, things started to happen.  People started to embrace me and tried to put this Humpty Dumpty back together again.  Some of them were close, real life friends and others were people  I have never met who sent me love and and well wishes with no obligation or expectation.  I was blown away and humbled by it.  And frankly, it confused the hell out of me.  My own family literally couldn't get rid of me fast enough after I traveled to see them and strangers were reaching out to me with words and love that hit me almost every day as I checked my mailbox, finding something new from another unexpected source.  It was like suddenly, there were a thousand invisible, healing hands reaching out to support me when I was weakest.

At the same time, I started listening to well meaning advice and realizing that frankly some of it had nothing to do with me.  I suddenly started seeing me, not from anyone else's perspective but from my own.  I realized for the first time that I don't need to BE strong, I AM strong.  I am not thin-skinned for being offended by ass hole behavior.  Nor am I unreasonable for wanting things that make me happy.  For the first time in my life as shaken as I was, I started seeing myself for what I was and not what people told me I was. I kind of liked what I was seeing.  It was right around that time that I realized of all the hands that were holding me together, my own were the strongest.

I started planning in earnest and making changes.  I have taken to politely declining events that I know will cause me stress.  I minimize my interactions with people who make me feel less about myself.  I actually tell people when they're crossing boundaries.  I make a point of treating myself the way I try to treat my friends.  I am learning to value myself, even if no one else around me knows how to.  It is still hard and there are still cracks.  There is heartbreak.  There are things that catch me off guard, hurt and challenge me.  Underneath all of that is the knowledge that I can overcome things.  I have taken care of myself my whole life and frankly, I'm much better at it than anyone else I know.  It's good to know that for those times when exhaustion takes over, when I get overwhelmed or when I just need a reminder there are those thousand healing hands waiting for me.  For that, I am grateful.  

He Lived Beautifully

A dear friend of mine passed away today and I just got the news.  I keep telling myself I shouldn't cry because he is no longer suffering.  I saw him early this month, and I knew he was suffering.  


He kept up with his witty wife, quietly injecting responses with the sly look of a mischievous boy that  always made him look years younger than he actually was.  He had traveled the world and observed cultures, respectfully.  He influenced and inspired people with a calmness that was a gift in itself. His spirit was generous in so many ways, I can't even think of specific examples.  It was who he was.  In Farsi, we have an expression that guests bring light to the house with them.  It was never truer than when he entered my home.  


I admit that I always did my best to make him laugh, and cherished the time I made him blush. I learned that a couple could be deeply and truly in love from the beginning to the very end.  He loved my cooking with an enthusiasm that would inspire anyone to cook up a storm, just to see that smile on his face.


Every time we said good bye, he would say the same thing:  "I love you so much and am SO proud of you."  I never for a moment thought he said it lightly.  The day he told me he would be proud if I were his daughter, I hung up and cried for longer than an expression of love would warrant.  For all the negativity in the world, he was always a quiet force of what is possible.  Because of him, I try to make sure that everyone knows exactly how I feel about them, just in case it's the last time we speak.  


And now he's gone, his suffering is over and he will be missed.  I'll miss all the things that I took for granted as a part of the person he was.  Of course I mourn his loss but am so, very grateful that I had the chance to know him.  I know I'm a better person for it.     

That One Time When I Said 'Yes'

Saying 'no' is very easy for me.  It comes automatically most of the times because I typically need time to absorb things and let a concept settle in a little before I can accept it.  Unfortunately, this means I'm not the world's most spontaneous person.  I also know I'm missing out on a lot of fun.  So much fun passing me by as I contemplate the possibilities.  However, every once in a while I surprise myself.  Last summer, was one of those rare occasions--thank God.


Last summer, everything started changing at once.  My (ex)husband and I separated,  we filed for divorce and everything that I had worked on for the last eight years was suddenly over for good.  Some time in early August, a friend asked if I would consider a roommate as he was thinking of moving to my city and resettling here.  My immediate response, literally without thinking, was, "I'm sorry.  I can't."  I didn't even have a reason for it, I just said 'no'.  Despite being the person who tells my friends, 'My home is your home.  Always.'.  Then, I started thinking about it and justifying why I said 'no':  I was scared, too many things were changing, living with a friend would doom the friendship...and really many other perfectly logical reasons that I won't list here.  It was the right decision.  Except that it wasn't.  I called him back the next day and apologized, told him he was welcome to move in after I returned from my trip that my home was his home for as long as he wanted it.  And I meant every word I said, despite my fear.  The day he showed up on my doorstep may have been one of the better days of my life, even though I didn't know it at the time.  I felt like throwing up for the first week and wondered what the hell I was thinking.


I don't know how I appeared, but I slowly started to breathe a little more freely.  I occasionally forgot the chaos around me and felt a sense of calm.  I started leaving the house socially, with mixed results.  I even started trusting again, just a little bit and that felt good.  That trust is what had me driving around looking for a bunch of paddle boarders on a Saturday morning.  One of his friends had recommended a paddle boarding demo on the Bay that we could try for free.  It made sense for them, they were both surfers.  I was a professional couch potato, who typical of my kind would sink to the bottom of large bodies of water.  But there was that one time I said 'yes', and it had worked out okay and I had started trusting with no significant calamity, which was why I was driving around nervously looking for something I had never seen before.  Eventually we found the paddle boarders.  People took off and I was left on the shore watching them.  I looked down at my feet and realized my toes were curled into the sand, hanging on for dear life.  One of the owners noticed me and said, 'You're next.'  I protested.  I resisted.  I eventually said 'yes'.  Ten minutes later, I was on a board, paddling out and praying that I wouldn't fall into the bay and drown.  Not only did I not drown, but I realized I was breathing again and standing up on a board paddling to the opposite shore with the most overwhelming feeling of joy I had ever felt.  I felt radiant.  I looked over my left shoulder and saw my friend on a board of his own, grinning at me.  When we were on solid ground again, I asked him as casually as I could, 'What if I was this happy all the time?  Wouldn't that be insane?!'  


As hard as I tried, I couldn't remember the last time I was that happy.


Not long after that, my friend moved away.  I continued going to the demos and found myself looking over my shoulder to tell someone who wasn't there how happy I felt.  This Spring, I got Lasik, so I wouldn't have to worry about my contacts if I did fall into the Bay.  I practiced swimming, just in case I did fall.  Once I had the go ahead from my doctor, I bought my own paddle board and started going out on the weekends, enjoying the quiet that came with my new hobby.  After a while I was comfortable with my outings and wanted a little more so I tried to take my board into the ocean.  The ocean threw the board back at my head.  Repeatedly.  This inspired me to take surf lessons, which led to my hanging out with a bunch of surfers and going to surfing events, which got me out of the house on a regular basis and brought me joy.  An insane amount of joy.  


Almost exactly a year ago, I wouldn't have been able to imagine being here and feeling this.  I wouldn't have known this feeling at all.  


I do now, because of that one time when I said 'yes'.

A Handy Guide To Surviving a Blackout

As some of you may or may not know, I once lived in a land far, far away during a war.  As a result, there was a shortage of EVERYTHING.  Sugar, butter, meat, water and electricity.  Things were rationed, and one learned (even as a child) that you be without any given thing for an undetermined amount of time at any given moment.  Since I was a child and didn't have to worry about food things that my parents obtained, my biggest concerns were electricity and water outages, which happened every summer--all summer long (and other times as well, but summers were especially horrible).  The upside of this is that I thought I was an expert at blackouts.  Turns out, not so much in modern times.  Which is why I thought I'd put together a nifty little guide of things to do and avoid during a blackout*.

1. Avoid sarcastic conversations with your nice, older neighbors.  For some bizarre reason, sarcasm seems to be generational and people may get the impression that you're a nudist, trying to organize a block party.  It is always a safe bet to nod and smile as you walk by.
2. Don't plan on entertaining yourself by watching movies online.  Or listening to your favorite Pandora station on your ipod.  Apparently, wireless routers also require electrical power to function.
3. Reading is an excellent option.  Feel free to work on that giant pile of books and old magazines that are gathering dust.
4. Scratch the old magazine reading.  For some ungodly reason, they catch on fire if you hold them too close to your light source.
5. Candlelight is very flattering.  Enjoying looking at yourself in the mirror in candlelight.  You'd be surprised at how soft and beautiful you will look with fifteen tea candles flickering.  Please note, it's VERY IMPORTANT that you keep you hair away from the candles.  An up-do is your friend.
6. Don't feel pressured into improving on the perfection that is your candlelit reflection.  Your eyebrows?  They can wait to be plucked/trimmed during the daytime.  Maybe on your patio even, but evening time is for relaxation.   NOTHING GOOD COMES FROM SHAPING YOUR EYEBROWS IN CANDLELIGHT.
7. Life has handed you a bag of hot lemons under the guise of a power outage when it's 95 degrees outside.  Make yourself a tall pitcher of lemonade by planning out your day off.  While the city fumes what to do with itself, you can plan to spend a delightful day at the beach, complete with water activity of your choice.  Maybe even a picnic lunch.  How exciting are you?!
8. You've made it to 8:27!  Only three more hours till your bed time!  Don't open the fridge door, because all the cold air will escape and all the groceries you bought yesterday in a fit of hunger will be doomed.
9. It's 8:42.  Trust me, trying to eat all of the food in your fridge in a desperate attempt to save them from going bad will not end well.  You live alone and you've shopped for an entire week.  Accept the sad fate awaiting your food.
10. Massages are a great idea!  They will help you relax.  The room is already lit with candles.  Your neighbor is accompanying his opera singing wife on piano.  All you need is someone to actually give you a massage.  Avoid mentioning this to previously mentioned neighbor, who still looks confused about your lifestyle.
11. Board/card games are also a great way to pass the time.  As long as you have enough people to participate.  Of course, you could announce yourself Scrabble champion if you play on your own but people may not believe you as there are no witnesses.
12. It's 9:31.  Don't call anyone on your cell phone.  Well, you couldn't if you wanted to--it's dead and it will take forever to recharge it in the car.
13. You've made it to 10:05.  Just accept that going to sleep is the best thing you can do until you have power back.  Make sure to blow out all the candles and leave one light on, so you  will know if/when power returns.
14. Don't wake up cursing at 4:30 in the morning because power is back and your carefully laid plans are all for naught.  Yes, you were smart and made yummy, yummy lemonade with the stupid lemons life gave you.  But sometimes life punches you in the gut and steals your lemonade.  Lying on the coach with a groggy puppy and cursing will not change this.

I hope this guide helps you in some way. I realize technically you won't be considered 'prepared', but with any luck you won't do too much damage once you're thrown into the darkness.  For the record, I did extensive personal research on some of the points above.  For you, the two people who may benefit from my suffering.


*None of the things listed will help you with actual survival in the traditional sense.

"It's Just a Piece of Paper."

"It's just a piece of paper.", I said.

"I'm the one who said that. When we were getting married. I said it because that piece of paper wouldn't change how I felt about you. Do you remember?"

We were standing outside our lawyer's office, and I remembered exactly what he was talking about. I remembered hearing those words almost ten years ago and the pain they had caused. After all, that's not how you want your fiance to refer to your pending marriage. Nor do you want to hear that he actually doesn't believe in marriage, but prefers 'concubinage', despite the fact that he met you through an elaborate scheme between your parents, family members and assorted strangers. I wanted to ask him why he had been sending me wedding dress pictures and encouraging me to plan a wedding if he was going to tell me he didn't want a wedding, nor did he want to be married to me. I had a lot of questions in that moment, but I remember staring at him blankly and just asking, "What do you mean, 'It's just a piece of paper?'"

At the end of the day we got married, in front of a justice of the peace, with none of our family members present, and just two of my friends who had made it to the courthouse before the judge gave up and went home. Looking back, I remember the fear and loneliness as I repeated what I was told to repeat, said what I was instructed to say and worried that I would not be able to make this man realize that marrying me was not a bad idea.

Now, I was telling him--without malice--what he had told me. The papers we had signed were just papers. Nothing would change from the way they were right now. We had officially separated months ago, unofficially, we had drifted apart years and years back. Nothing would change because of those papers...

I stopped writing almost a year ago. Writing on this blog had become an exercise in self-censorship that was just another exhausting effort in my life. As it was, I was hiding the unhappiness and stress of my life from everyone in my real life. I had been for so long that I still don't know what it feels like to be open about anything. Of the nine years of my marriage, the last seven were officially in trouble. There were moments of happiness, I would be lying if I denied that. But those were all too short moments in the ocean I was drowning in. I stopped thinking of all of the things I wanted, hoping to bring happiness to my husband's life. I failed at every turn, and that failure began to define how I saw myself. It was not what I wanted for my life, it is not what I wanted to leave my husband with if I got hit by a car and died. Every time I asked him, "Are you happy in this relationship?", he would respond, "There is no other option." Knowing my husband, I knew I had to be the one to act. And finally, I did.

I try not to look back on the last 10 years of my life--almost a quarter of my time on earth. When I do, I try to quickly focus on what was good. My now ex-husband was and is a kind man, who always cared for me in his own way--even if he couldn't express it. I learned things about myself and had to face things that I would have preferred to look past. It taught me my limits and reminded me of my strengths. It taught me that I have to take responsibility and action for my happiness--something that I have failed to do for most of my life. These days, I do my best to look ahead and plan my future. In moments like this, as I write again, I have to admit that the future looks rocky and lonely. I worry about all the things that I won't be able to fix. Then, I go back to making lists and goals again--something I hadn't done for years. I try to only look back to reclaim things I liked about myself. Why else would I go back to the wreckage of the past decade?

And so, that is where I have been for the past year. I'm not sure what I will do with this space, and how honest I can be about the peaks and valleys. I want to come back and try to be funny and interesting, not quite sure if I will succeed. But this is where I am right now, on the side of a mountain trying to regain my footing.

How YOU doin'?

I Want to See My Name In Lights

Back in April, my dad surprised me and came to the States to visit me--on the exact same week as my grandmother's planned trip. Since he didn't want to fly from Phoenix to San Diego (for a number of reasons), my brother accompanied him. You would think that with 5 people, there wouldn't be time for the usual inquiries and inquisitions. You'd think wrong. There is ALWAYS time and opportunity for an inquisition. Historically, my father has some basic concerns: 1) my weight 2) my marital/parenthood status 3) direction of my career (=income). The best way to make me provide details is to bring examples from people we know and let him know where I am in relation to those people. I have hated these 'examples' (comparisons) my entire life.

This is a close paraphrasing (and occasional exact quote of the conversation):

'Your brother and I were talking on the drive over. He was telling me about his job and how stressful it is. I'm really proud of how focused he is on his job.'

'He really is doing well. I think he works too hard, though. He needs to pace himself, otherwise he'll burn out and hate everything.'

'He showed me this blackboard they have in his office. They have it on his computer*, too. It's a list of everyone at the company and who's the best**. He's been tied for either first or second for at least 5 months now...'

'I know! My baby brother*** is so cool! And he makes it look so effortless. I love that he doesn't just go for the money, he educates people and cares. You have no idea how unethical people are willing to be, just for a little extra money or to brag.'

'So, how about you?'

Blank look of confusion.

'Are you at the top of your blackboard?'

So I spent a good half hour explaining my job, how project management is evaluated differently and how my group is isolated so there isn't anyone else to rank me against.

'Are you saying there's no one else in the company that has a similar position?'

'There are, but different.'

'So where is your name on the blackboard compared to them?'

'Dad, we don't have a blackboard. Our work isn't measured like that.'

'Are you telling me that your name isn't even on the blackboard?! BUT WHY?! Can't you try just a little harder?'

And this is why I say I'm a perpetual disappointment to my parents. This was also before we even got to the topic of my burgeoning obesity which will kill me before my time. My poor parents cry just about every time we talk about anything outside of the weather.

*My father is not very computer savvy.
** My brother is in sales, not project management which is why it's easier to compare his work against his co-workers.
***He hates it when I call him my baby brother, but it's true. He will always be my baby brother.

Understandable, Really

It seems my blog doesn't recognize me anymore. I don't blame it. If I had been neglected for almost three months, I would shun wayward bloggers as well. I need to be on my best behavior and tell stories. Maybe even bring flowers and candy. That's what blogs like, right? Right.

Dodge-y Commercials

Due to the fact that I don't know anything about football, I don't watch the Super Bowl--which means I may be one of the last people in America to hear about the annual controversies. The Janey Jackson thing? I heard about it three days later from an old co-worker who was just a little too excited that many days after the show. Calm down, Grandpa! It was just a woman.

That's why this year, I had no idea about the Dodge commercial that may have been offensive or just plain stupid, but still managed to inspire a video response. I had to watch it on YouTube when some friends had posted the women's response.

My first reaction was that of annoyance. I mean, really? Walking your dog and eating fruit for your own well being needs a reward? Is carrying lip balm in your pocket is that much of a burden? Or perhaps, holding down a job is so difficult that you need a car that goes vroom vroom to make you feel better about your life (and if so, will a car actually make you feel better)? The implication being that men suffer so because of the women in their lives. Which makes one wonder, why the hell do they stick around to live life as soulless zombies? Are they masochists or just passive-aggressive?

But the more I thought about it, the more I was offended. For my male friends. Most of the men I know are responsible, work hard and enjoy the company of their companions. Sure they have their toys and make fun of our love of jewelery or shoes, but they're not whiners. I come from a family of men who had plenty of faults, but whining about waking up at 6:30 was not one of them. (Actually, both my grandfathers always woke up before four every morning to go to work; did manual labor for more than fourteen hours a day; each raised five children and worked into their 60s. I'm pretty sure I never heard either of them complain about eating fruit with their breakfast.) So I'm left to wonder, what do men think about the commercial? Do you really resent your partners so much? Is your only refuge your attention getting car? Or do you find it insulting to be called entitled man-children whose only escape in life is expensive toys?

Now, in the interest of fairness, I'll link/post the response to the original commercial, which addresses the original as a bunch of annoying children. Quite appropriate:

Fashion Police On the Beat

I have no idea what that title means, except it implies a judgmental person offering unsolicited fashion advice. And that is exactly what I'm about to do, because I'm helpful. I'd also like to add that it's not really me being judgmental as much as it is a predisposition of sorts; a genetic condition that is passed down the matrilinieal line in my family. A superpower that I'm trying to use for good.

• Velour track suits, no matter how outrageously priced, are still comfort clothes. If it has been attacked by a bedazzler, it does not become any more formal. Adding high heels does not change the equation either.
  
• 'Juicy', 'Pink' or letters from the Greek alphabet across the bum in any material is not flattering, no matter how nice the bum. If you are over 60, it is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
• Showing your underwear in public is kind of tacky. Especially in church.
  
• High heels and mud are a bad combination.
  
• Ed Hardy: No. You'll look back at that phase of your life and wonder what the hell you were thinking. You'll question the judgment of friends that didn't stop you. Or you won't wonder and you'll still be one of those people.
• "Subtle" is not a dirty word.
  
• Louis Vuitton purses don't 'classify' tube tops and cut off jeans. Also, 'classify' doesn't mean what you think it means.

Your friendly neighborhood fashion cop,

GWCH

Fake Generosity

If I were to list my pet peeves, I'd have a little peeve zoo. The list is honestly endless--to some people (my brother) quite entertaining: poorly assembled sandwiches, water in plastic gloves, open closet doors, willful ignorance...I have a hard time keeping track of them myself. But high on that list is fake generosity. If you're not going to give it with meaning, just skip the gesture.

When I was in San Francisco for Nike, there was an Expo as there is at all big marathon/triathlon events. The sponsors have booths and give away free things. In 2008, Kaiser had free massages (bless them many, many times), JetBlue had manicure tables set up, BearNaked had free granola...It was really a wonderful treat. This year, due to the economy there were fewer sponsors and the gifts were more modest. Still, all of the participants loved the festivities and appreciated the goodies. One of the sponsors was new beauty product company that was handing out shampoo, conditioner, face masks etc. I asked to try the face mask, in case I was possessed with a sudden bout of girliness that required me to put things on my face. The girliness didn't hit me until yesterday while I was multi-tasking. After all, what could make a woman wielding cleaning agents more attractive than a carrot face mask? I was so excited! I opened the tub of goop and looked a petrified cylinder. There was no way it could be applied to skin without scrubbing layers off. I read the label, looking for instructions to soak it or otherwise revive it to its moisturizing nature when I saw the expiration date on the bottom: 9/09. It expired in SEPTEMBER! The Expo was in late October! They were handing out expired skin products. Is that not rude?! Why bother? I'm going to think you're a bunch of cheapskates trying to look good while dumping your crap on people.

Ahem. In conclusion, I do not like people who try to score generosity points while being exceptionally cheap. Sadly, my beauty regiment is so marred by this event that it could be YEARS before I think of exfoliating again.

Serious Commitments

I am writing now, only because I have promised myself I would write every day of this month. And technically, it is already Sunday morning, but I'll pretend it's still Saturday. A Saturday when I woke up when I normally go to bed, suffered a bus ride through windy, icy mountains and went to a ski resort where I proceeded to not snowboard (or ski), but rather sat in the lodge as close to the fire place as possible.

Which brings me to something I realized about myself. I can talk to just about anyone. Not at networking events that are made for such things or at parties where I don't know people. But in random places like the grocery store, airplane or ski lodge. I spent about three hours talking to two families (grown-ups and children alike) and ended up exchanging numbers and email addresses. If they had brought the family dog, I probably would have conversed with him as well. As if that wasn't enough, on our way back, I noticed a fellow traveler with a Team In Training vest. We spoke over people for almost an hour, reliving the glory of distance training, mentoring and injuries. When we were done, M just looked at me and shook his head. I baffle him, poor man.

On a slightly random note, I thought I'd share a life lesson with everyone: Trying to emulate the dance moves from this video as you sing off key in the shower may lead to bruising and/or other unsightly injuries. You're welcome.

More after sunrise on Sunday.

Out of Respect

I'm going snowboarding tomorrow. It is our annual trip, during which we get a lesson, fall down the barely sloping hill as 5 year old children point and laugh at me and gladly return to the comfort of home where we forget everything they told us until the next year.

But I'm writing something today 'out of respect'. Here's the story about that phrase:

I have a co-worker who is ridiculously funny. She enjoys food so much, it is entertaining to watch her talk about it. One day, we went to a Brazilian steak house--the kind where it's basically all you can eat as servers walk by with skewers of assorted steaks, sausages, chicken and pork. It was our first time, but Nadine had been there before and decided to act as our guide. On our way there, she taught us her strategy: what to eat first, what to skip, how to make sure you got your favorite cut of meat prepared to your liking...And then she mentioned the salad bar.

"It's actually a very nice salad bar with cooked vegetables and appetizers. I usually stop by and take a few things. You know, out of respect."

"Respect for what?"

"The vegetables! You don't want them to sit there, ignored by everyone because they're too distracted by the meat."

"You're going to the salad bar to eat vegetables so they don't feel neglected? You know they don't have feelings, right?"

Looking at us impatiently, "I just know, I wouldn't want to be ignored after getting dressed up for a big party. Just take a couple of things! They're really good!"

So out of respect, I'm not ignoring my daily blogging, even though there are bigger events looming.

It's Raining Babies (Wheee!)

A brief note on the state of things around me now: I have 9 friends who are either pregnant (and due soon) or have given birth in the last year. I am possibly claiming a pair of twin boys amongst them as my own. I mean I'm happy for everyone, but the twins (and their parents) make me do the happy dance just about every time I think of them. Under the guise of 'niceness' and 'being a friend', I have been slowly bribing the parents with food and baked goods for access to cute, cuddly babies when they arrive. My plan is going quite well so far. I don't even mind occasionally sharing said babies with other friends and aunties.

Speaking of babies, everyone in my family is asking about them. My grandmother, aunt, uncle, cousins...the parents have been asking for years and I ignore them as best I can. Which brings me to an odd(er) exchange I had with my mother over the last few days.

We were talking about my new sister-in-law who had gone to apply for papers/visas to come to the US to visit their family. They're a very extensive, close-knit family. Apparently, their typical Friday lunches involve a good 80-100 family members. I find this impressive, if for no other reason than the fact that that many people can get along well enough to not want to gossip, back stab and out-rumor each other. I'm also amazed that we have married into such a family. I'm not saying we're the gossiping and rumor mongering type (we kind of are), I'm just saying I find it interesting that my almost hermit family has been joined by the bonds of marriage to such a people.

Back to my conversation with my mom: her advice to the in-laws was to skip the trip and the paperwork, just stay home and avoid the hassle. After all, it would be so expensive and even if everything worked out and they got their papers and came to the US, it would be so depressing. They'd be stuck in their relative's houses during a time of economic hardship, surrounded by bad news and reminded of how bad things are every time they went out and saw all the closed shops and businesses. My mother is nothing if not an optimistic ray of sunshine. "But, what can be done? They're the kind of people who just can't get enough socializing. I mean they LOVE spending time together. It makes them so happy..."

Which got me thinking, what makes my mother happy? She has had a very difficult life and endured great sorrow, but there should be something that brings her joy. So the next day, I emailed her and asked, "I don't think I've ever asked or known, what makes you happy."

She replied, in all caps, "BABYSITTING!!! I LOVE BABYSITTING!!!"

Nice try. So I responded as the optimistic and observant daughter that I am, "That's GREAT! Older Brother will be so glad to know that once he has kids, he can bring them to you. You'll be happy, they'll be in good hands and he can go about doing the things he does..."

To say that she freaked out a bit is an understatement. "I MEANT YOUR BABIES!!! I DON'T WANT TO TAKE CARE OF HIS BABIES! STOP PRETENDING YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. WHERE ARE MY GRANDBABIES?!"

And what is there to say to this kind of mania, really? "You should really be careful what you wish for mom. Of course, it's too late now, but for future reference you should think longer before you scream to the world that you want to 'babysit!!!'"

I'm such a good daughter.

October 2009: Month of Awesome

It's been a few months now, and I realize I never got around to writing about the events of October 2009, which by any standard was an amazing month. I saw not one, but two bands I have wanted to see for more than 15 years; I ran (but mostly limped) through my second half marathon; I spent time with my college roommate and good friend, whose name I can't say here; and I made a fool of myself in front of Tall Lanky Guy, which really is just me reminding him of the good old days.

First with the concerts: I saw Pearl Jam, people. PEARL JAM! I realize I know nothing about music, but I know what I love. I fell in love with Pearl Jam when I came back to the States and have (im)patiently waited to see them for the better part of the last fifteen years. There was always an excuse to miss their concerts: schedule, finances, not having anyone to go with...but my day finally came. I went, I saw, may have made a fool of myself and I didn't care. I loved every note and word. The whole thing was surprisingly tame (we've all aged) and simple. The set wasn't fancy, there weren't flashing lights and video screens--just the band, the music and a mostly adoring audience (and perhaps a few slightly confused newbies like my husband who came along). Strangely, immediately after the event I couldn't remember the order of songs that were performed or the details--just the joy of having seen them perform live at last. And despite my very high expectations, they still managed to exceed it. Sheer bliss.

The second concert was completely unplanned and unexpected. When I met my former roommate at the San Francisco airport on my way home from the Nike Women's Marathon (woohoo!), she mentioned that she may end up with an extra ticket to the U2 concert that would be the following Saturday in Pasadena--did I want to go? Sure, why not? Because what kind of a crazy person would say no to a U2 concert with one of the funnest (and funniest) women around? And behold, the ticket became available. We went, we saw and picked up exactly where we left off from our college days. My least favorite part of the show? The Black-Eyed Peas opened for U2. Why? Everyone, including the opening band seemed a little confused. The best part? Sitting on the sidewalk, laughing hysterically as people walked by and wondered if we had both completely lost our minds (we hadn't).

In between these two concerts, I went to San Francisco and ran my second Nike Women's Marathon. Technically, I only ran the first five miles of a half marathon and limped the other eight in ridiculous pain. Technically, for the second time I did it for someone else. And technically, I felt happier then than I have doing just about any other thing in my life. Despite the joy, there was a sadness and tears. But despite the pain, tears and absence of people I cared for I wanted to bottle that day and take it out when I need a boost.

I'll write more about the details later, but for now, I needed a reminder that October was a wonderful island of time in a stormy and hectic time.

Sophomore Year: Year of the Awakening

If I were to name my college years, my freshman year would no doubt be called 'The Year of the Hermit'. I rarely left my dorm room if not for my class schedule and spoke to few people who weren't brought into my dorm room by my roommate. Despite that, I managed to establish a reputation of sorts and also make a few friends that I am still close to. That is the magic of college life.

By the time my sophomore year rolled around however, I was determined to change things. I had not come to America to lock myself in a dorm room. I was going to make friends and experience Life! I was going to learn the ways of the world for myself, and that couldn't be done from the safety of my dormitory. As a result of my New (academic) Year resolution, I started signing up on just about any sheet that was posted in the lobby. Dorm treasurer? Yes! Resident Hall Representative? Absolutely. Application for Resident Assistant? Yes, sir! I eventually signed up for a bunch of other things that actually didn't have to do with the dormitory system, however, I knew myself well enough to take small steps. This is how I met and was befriended by a motley crew of fellow dorm dwellers. Some of them were much older than typical dorm residents. 'Grandpa' was thirty two, but lucky enough to look as young as the college seniors who had long moved off campus. 'Dad' was twenty seven and a Wildcat for life, in that he didn't seem to be in a rush to graduate and move on with his life as a non-student. The rest of this group was also somehow tied to or directly involved with campus life and its 'government'. The best thing about it was the loud mix and politics of the group. Everything was cause for passionate discussion--including the number of washing machines in the boys vs. girls dorms, visitation hours and vending machine offerings. I could easily attend every meeting, get to know everything about these people and never need to talk or be noticed. This was the Life! Ironically, it was very similar to the last Life I had left behind in search of more involvement and participation, but I was in no rush...

During one of the bi-weekly meetings, I was taking notes on the latest controversy and people watching when 'Dad' walked in--late as usual and looking solemn. After some whispers and tasteless teasing he yelled at everyone to shut up and this was no time for 'monkey business'! This was not the jovial 'Dad' we were used to. Over the next hour, he told us how his younger (19 year old) brother, Todd, had suddenly moved out of their parents' home and in with his girlfriend. His 47 year old girlfriend, who was actually his best friend's mother. The relationship had already ruined Todd's friendship and their parents had sworn to wash their hands of him for good. 'Dad' was just confused and angry at everyone. We couldn't sympathize, hug or soothe him, so we all finally gave up and canceled the meeting.

As I packed up my bag and got ready to leave, George asked me if I wanted to grab a bite to eat from the Student Union. I said yes immediately, because I had a soft spot for George. We had become quick friends in a quiet way. He was surprisingly protective of my innocence around the campus debauchery, I was in awe of his brilliance. I may have also been in love with his beautiful blue eyes and smile. When he looked at you, you had his full attention and felt special no matter how bad your hair looked or how deeply you blushed at your own ignorance. He was in a word, lovely.

We walked towards the SU discussing the evening's events and their consequences. I said something along the lines of how strange the relationship seemed to me, but it wasn't right for the parents to basically disown him. If anything, he needed family around him more now. Suddenly, he seemed to be contemplating something; like he was tasting something for the first time and couldn't decide what he thought of it.

"GWCH, can I tell you something? Something personal?"

I nodded eagerly. I loved being confided in and to have George's confidence was something special.

"I know how he feels in a way. Telling everyone he loves someone he's not supposed to, being afraid. Do you know what I mean?"

I nodded again.

"You see, I'm kind of like him." Pregnant pause. Deep breath. "GWCH, I don't like girls. I don't know if I can tell my parents. They'll probably disown me, although I think they kind of suspect..."

At this point I had stopped in my tracks, literally in the middle of the bike path. My eyes may have been coming out of my head as I searched for the right words. I didn't want to hurt his feelings after he had confided something so personal. I tried to find the words and tone that would be kind and supportive, and finally I blurted, "YOU LIKE OLDER WOMEN, TOO?!"

It was his turn to stop. He looked at me closely, with an expression I would only later understand: confusion, trying to determine if I was mocking him or actually meant what I had just said; combined with pity at my simplicity. I don't know how long we stood there and looked at each other. I remember distinctly thinking, "But he's too PERFECT to fall in love with old women!"

He was the first to blink. He laughed his beautiful laugh, shaking as he said, "You are so different from anyone I have ever known. So different."

Of course I blushed, not sure if this was a compliment, a simple statement of fact or just something to say at an awkward moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I think if you find someone that is good to you and you love, that's all that really matters. And I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to. I promise."

"Thank you," he said, chuckling.

We continued on to dinner, without a hint of awkwardness. We were friends again--in the same way we had been before the Great Revelation. His love life wasn't discussed and we went on for months in the same manner. It wasn't until summer session when he introduced me to his date--with dancing eyes and a mischievous smile--that the meaning of that conversation finally dawned on me. And it was only then that I understood the look on his face the night he bore his soul to me.

Hello? *tap tap tap* Anybody Out There?

It seems I overestimate my popularity. Which makes me sad, because I don't feel especially popular. Nobody sent me questions to answer, which means that my resolution to write something every day/night of the month of February will consist entirely of my over sharing. In a way, you all asked for it--indirectly.

Since I waited so long to post today, I'll just tell you what a lovely, lovely day I had.

It was a Monday, which means it is by its nature cursed. I went to bed at 5 am, on Monday morning knowing I had to be up at 7 for a meeting with my director. By the time I was talking to her, I sounded as good as I felt. I decided to work from home soon after I burned my neck with the curling iron. This may sound familiar considering how I burned my general chestal area a few months ago--scars still there. And just as I remembered, it hurt like hell. This time, I had aloe readily available, so I didn't completely lose it, but I still have a scar on my neck and am in pain.

Somehow I got work done (and yes, took a nap) and thought I had rested enough to get some cooking/baking done since I didn't make anything this weekend. Things were going fine until I cut my finger with a potato peeler and in my panic jumped back and burned my shoulder on hot cookie sheet. It was around this time that I decided to step away from the kitchen and plant myself on the couch until Monday is officially over.

If there is a Hell, I seem to be preparing myself for it. Either that or punishing myself for my sins.

February Resolutions

I have reached a point in my life that I don't feel the need to have New Year's resolutions any more. Why resolve to do things that I will abandon a week or so later? I have accepted the fact that floss and I are never going to be best friends and I will not wake up at 5:30 every morning, because frankly some days that's when I go to bed. I am trying to change some things though, and I may need your help. Lately, for a number of reasons I have stopped blogging as regularly as I'd like. Not for lack of things to say. I have PLENTY to say, but I have been actively censoring myself. Unfortunately, I miss writing and left to my own devices will write about things that are better left unwritten.

So I had the brilliant idea (borrowed from other bloggers and slightly modified) to ask you all for help. Ask me questions* and I'll try to respond in my own delightful way, brightening your day and satisfying your curiosity. Aren't I wonderful? I realize that there may only be six or seven people reading at this point, and that won't get me past the first week of February, but I'll try to add some original stories from my exciting life as needed. I'll try to post something every day, just to get back into the habit. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity (not really) to ask me anything you want and possibly get an answer of some kind. Ask now!

*Before you ask questions, please remember the prudiness that is me.

Spook-y Debriefing

I have recently committed myself to a good amount of research which may or may not involve a lot of BBC programming. Contrary to what some people may call it, it is not an obsession. It's not like I'm watching anything that has a BBC label on it, I'm being selective, limiting my viewing to specific themes and educational programming. One of those themes is Spooks (known here in the US as MI-5)--ok, so that's not a theme so much as it is a series. So great is my dedication to learning and research that I have watched all eight seasons since the week after Christmas in between work, entertaining, cooking and occasionally sleeping. The good news is, tonight I watched the last episode of the last series* (season). I have learned a great deal:

• According to Spooks, which is produced by the BBC, the BBC is indeed an arm of the British spies' propaganda machine which misinforms people at the whim of the government.
• This confirms the Iranian's long held claim that the BBC News is unreliable and manipulative.
• Iranians have a bizarre admiration/paranoia/love/hate relationship with the British. We think that they have a secret hand in every financial, domestic and international event in the world--which is truly admirable for such a tiny little island. I'm pretty sure no one gives more credit to Winston Churchill's intelligence than Iranians, including the Brits themselves. Spooks has taught me that there may be something to that admiration/paranoia.
• Gas is a big problem in London. Apparently, the gas pipes are so leaky, that every other time that an MI-5 agent wants to come in and inspect your house, evacuate a building or plant a bug, they claim a 'gas leak' and no one every questions them.
• While they may not directly require it, MI-5 seem to hire an inordinate number of good looking people with exceptionally good orthodontics. Especially for Brits. I'm not sure where they find these gorgeous people who are also very intelligent, strong, ethical and brave but there seems to be a disproportionate number of them in the service of the Queen. For that alone, I envy her. (I also envy her all the jewelery and funny hats, but that kind of goes with the Queen territory.) If you'd like an example of the fine, fine people who join the service, I refer you to Lucas North**.
• There seem to be CCTVs everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. I'm very curious about the actual cameras. I would like to go to London and investigate. If there really are that many cameras covering the city, I may stand under one and hold up a sign that says, "HI! You all are doing great! I'd like to buy Lucas North a cup of tea."
• MI-5 agents never tell you their real name. They also blend in with the general population. I fear that if I ever go to England, I won't really beleive anyone's name is what they tell me it is, even if they provide documents. They print that stuff up like it's a Google Map.
• It seems the Brits are a bit unhappy about the 'special relationship' they have/had with the US. They don't trust us any further than they can throw us. This is a theme throughout the series. But stronger than their suspicions of the US, they seem to truly dislike and distrust the Russians. Not that I blame them, of course. I mean itty bitty England standing up to BIG, GIANT Russia. Plus, British spies get kidnapped and tortured by the Russians. Again, refer to Lucas North who had to have his body covered in tattoos while imprisoned and tortured in Russia. Frankly, seeing what Lucas suffered, I too dislike the Russians.
• MI-5 loses a lot of good civil servants very tragically. This is heart breaking, except they're quickly replaced. It's truly amazing how there seems to be an endless supply of them.
• Life as a MI-5 officer is very difficult. They don't seem to have much of a social life, everyone they want to date has to be vetted and they have to maintain a stiffer upper lip than the average Brit. That alone is impressive. I have trembly lips which will forever disqualify me from entering the service of the Queen (I'm also a suspicious American who trips over her own feet and burns herself while getting ready in the morning, but I'm sure it's the upper lip thing that will work against me).
• Contrary to what you may have heard about London's constant bad weather and rain, it seems to be generally sunny and pleasant there. I feel compelled to go there and investigate.

In short, I have enjoyed Spooks very much and learned a great deal. So much so that I may be interested in going to England and further researching their spooky ways.

*I'm learning to speak British.

**Lucas North (Richard Armitage) may have been the reason I started watching BBC productions. In case you're wondering, I called dibs on him first. Please don't get any ideas.

Another New Beginning

I have been away, and I miss writing. While some lovely things have happened since my last post, I continue to censor myself for fear of the many bad things overwhelming what I write. I still like to think I am too private a person to expose myself that much here. Still, I hope that in the new year, I find a way to balance my need for privacy with a need to write and say something. Writing has always made me happy and I need all the happiness I can get my grubby little hands on these days.

When I woke up this morning, I realized that 18 years ago today, I was lying in bed at my uncle's house, praying and hoping that I would be able to change my life. My parents would call to wish us a happy new year and confirm my return flight information. I hadn't made any plans to return, despite my promise to do so a week earlier. I had no intention of going home. My first 18 years had not been very happy ones, and I knew if I returned, they would continue to be as they had been. The trip to the US was unexpected and (typical of my father) unplanned. His sudden and early return home had been a God send. I had spent the week between Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve thinking of what I could say to convince my parents to let me stay and go to school. I had never disobeyed my parents before, hadn't said no to any of their demands until I was 17. This would be on a scale that would undo all of my daughterly goodness. I was scared, alone, clueless and on a high that must come from doing something completely insane. And I did it. With that one call my life changed. Eighteen years later, I'm reviewing my life again. I have fallen short of many of the things I have wanted to accomplish by this time in my life. I have failed in so many things and occasionally succeeded. The victories have been sweet, the failures unforgiving.

I did not enjoy the year that I am about to put behind me. While some of my friends had great joys and beautiful additions to their lives which they have generously shared with me, I have spent the better part of the year torn and in pain. Sadly, I haven't been alone. I lost a dear friend who may never have known how much she meant to me. I still think of her daily, grateful for the little time I had to know her. I was abandoned by a friend who meant the world to me; and while I got him back, I cannot see myself as I was before everything happened. I doubt myself more today than I did before--and I was always full of self-doubt. I have had a number of friends near and far go through separations and divorces. Watching them suffer, I felt utterly useless and could do nothing but share their sorrow. Back home, there is unrest and chaos as the government that once pretended to follow the will of the people turned against them so cruelly that we have all passed the point of no return. I spent most of the year holding on to myself for fear of falling apart completely, and while I still stand in some form, I know I am not the woman I was last year. My sense of self has changed and the drained person I see before me is not what I want to be. I am trying to see it as a blessing in disguise--perhaps the person I was couldn't improve because she had to be rebuilt. Through this, I tried to find the strength to help others in small ways; in return I discovered new friends that helped carry me through some of my darkest days. For that, I am eternally grateful--even though I wish we had met under happier circumstances.

So with few hours left of 2009, I say good riddance. I will not miss the year that passed at all. There were historical moments, glimmers of hope and joy--but I was too busy trying to keep my head above water to appreciate them properly.

Welcome 2010. May you be gentler and more joyous than your older sister.

With a Flood of Pictures Come a Flood of Memories

I've been taking a lot of pictures lately and been in a lot more than I have been for almost all my life put together. It's a weird feeling. Actually, it's unsettling. Every time I look at the recent pictures, I feel the same tension I had when the picture was being taken--an uneasiness that the pictures won't turn out right; that my face will look wrong; my eyes will be closed or that I have the wrong smile. For the most part, the concerns are grounded in reality. I look inexplicably intoxicated in many of the pictures I 'pose' for, even though I don't drink. My favorite pictures are those that I'm hiding behind dark sunglasses, preferably a hat or a tall person--proof of my presence should an alibi be required, but none of the ugliness.

As I was looking through pictures from my most recent trips, there is one of me laughing as I cover my mouth. It may be one of my favorite pictures, because every time I look at it, I remember the exact moment I acquired the habit.

Since about the time I was five years old, my mother has been trying to 'fix' my nose. Learning from the Chinese tradition of foot binding, she would scotch-tape my nose and have me sit still for hours to correct the offending feature. After seeing no results, she was sure the problem was with the tools not the method, so she upgraded to duct tape. Sadly, this was the one problem duct tape couldn't fix. By the time I was in second grade, promises of rhinoplasty* were made in exchange for good behavior and grades. Until then, every time I came home with a school picture there would The Talk. I had been warned not to smile the way I smile (how does one change their smile?) in pictures, but it was hard to obey my mother when school photographers adamantly insisted that I smile and show my teeth. Soon my pictures became glaring reminders of the necessity of rhinoplasty--and I hated it. Logically, I stopped smiling in my pictures--which made me look either scared or baleful. Neither look is flattering.

Just as I was getting the hang of not smiling at picture time, another problem presented itself: my habit of laughing and/or giggling and its subsequent effect on my face. Not good. The Talk was amended to include not laughing when I spoke, sticking to 'serious' topics, controlling my laugh and holding my head at certain angles if I had to laugh. Now, I'm sure models and other beautiful people go through training of how to stay beautiful at all times and that there are more flattering angles than others, but all of this was too much work and instruction. I broke out in giggles for no good reason, I was an unintentional joke waiting to happen and got a crick in my neck when I tried to maintain the 'flattering' angle. I really did try for a couple of years before I finally gave up. One day, when some neighbors were visiting, something or another was said and of course I started to laugh the uncontrollable laughter of a bored adolescent. As soon as I started laughing, I thought of the effect it would have on me. I immediately covered the lower half of my face and continued to laugh, even more at the sheer genius of my solution to the problem. Since that summer morning, I cover my face when I laugh--and love the picture that has captured the habit.

*To my mother's great sorrow (we literally discuss this every time she visits), I never had rhinoplasty. If God answers her prayers one day, I will get over my stubborn resistance and make her dream come true. I think God is on my side on this particular topic and will continue to cover my face to spare people the horrors of seeing my laughing face.