Surfacing, Crowning, or what have you

I've been meaning to write for several weeks, now. And I've been meaning to catch up on your blogs for a couple of months, now.

Here's the update: despite three individual complications - only one of which was relatively benign and could be more reasonably called an annoyance more than a complication - I delivered a healthy baby girl 6 weeks before her due date. Due to the complications, I was scheduled to deliver her at 35 weeks, but life being what it is, after yet another "oh shit" incident, we had to have an emergency C-section 5 days before her scheduled one. Though I think the final incident that preceded her birth could've been ridden out, as had other similar incidents that month, my doctor and the amazing staff at the hospital decided 4 "prep the gurney" incidents in a month was enough and to not take any more chances. I'm glad they didn't.

Honey and I are now the amazed parents of a little strawberry-blonde wiggly worm I will henceforth call Shortcake (like Strawberry Shortcake, get it?) on this blog. If she wasn't swaddled 90% of the time, she'd like to sleep with one arm over her head, just like her father. And like her mother, her hair changes color in different lights ... and she has my forehead. Luckily, she heard enough of Babydog's barking in utero not to be affected by it on the outside. Likewise, because she spent the first two weeks of life in the NICU, surrounded by lights, alarms, radios, screaming babies and jocular nurses, she's pretty unbothered by any sudden sounds or lights or what have you. For the most part, she's a pretty easy baby.

I return briefly to the "amazed" adjective. Honey and I are most certainly proud parents, but I like to think we're also really amazed. Amazed that we've been entrusted with the care of another human being from birth to the threshold of adulthood, amazed at how much our perspectives on life and about ourselves have shifted virtually overnight, and amazed that we have her at all.

There are several reasons to be amazed that we have her at all, and almost all of them have to do with chance. I could go into the tiny turns of fate that led to her getting here - we're all the results of chance, really - but sometimes I look at her and thank God she was born when and where she was. You see, of the two not-benign complications I had, one would've been fatal for her, and possibly me, as early as 50 years ago. We both certainly would've died 100 or more years ago. But the wide availability of C-section and ultrasound have made that complication easily and usually survivable these days. The other not-benign complication is one that would've been fatal for her, possibly as recently as 10 years ago. That complication, to this day, is often diagnosed after delivery, as in: "oh, that's why the baby died." And it's rare. Rare enough that most of my nurses in the high risk pregnancy ward had to look it up when I or my doctor told them what I had. And they always returned slightly ashen-faced and treated me with more kid-like kid gloves than they were prepared to. (I finally looked up the mortality rates, after Shortcake was safely with us. Those statistics are entirely against the favor of the baby.) Thankfully, advances in ultrasound technology have made that complication easier to spot at all, but not every ultrasound lab has the technology available still. So I'm thrilled that my choice of OBGYN gave me the chance to go to the lab I went to; my previous OBGYN would've directed me to another lab, which is good, but not as equipped. Had that happened, I may have carried to term and lost my daughter in delivery or sooner. So, yup. I'm an amazed parent, not just proud.

For those interested, below is a photo of Shortcake's precious right ear. This ear is resting in the crook of my elbow right now. This ear hears me sing into it and will hear sweet nothings whispered into it in the future. How I hope to never be the source of any vitriol or anger to pour into that sweet little ear. If I could, I would protect that ear forever from such rage. But as I can't, I hope I can shepherd this child such that she can hear that and filter it; to listen for the opportunities to deliver comfort to the pain behind the rage or to stand up against the evil in the rage.



I'll try to post more than just once a month! And best yet, I'll try to catch up on all your blogs, soon. In the meantime, I've got a dirty diaper to change!

Glædelig Jul!

After a much needed 8.5 hours of sleep on Christmas Eve, I sat in my hospital bed enjoying the darkened silence of the room. I considered sleeping past 6:30, since this will be last opportunity to do so for many Christmases to come. At least another 10 or 15 years, by my conservative estimate. But I wasn’t sure I want to take advantage of that. Besides, stuck in a hospital room for weeks, I needed to have something to look forward to. Something to make me giddy. The last few weeks have been so weird - not living with my husband or dog, or even my cat!; taking everything one day at a time, grateful for each day that I'm still pregnant, particularly since I've had a few close calls, including one that canceled my baby shower (my last remaining hope for some activity or item resembling a "normal pregnancy”) and another last week that got me the closest to delivery I've been, yet. Nope. I chose to be giddy and rise early to celebrate. Even if it was just me in my bed for a few hours, before Honey came.

I listened to Christmas music on my laptop and thought of Christmases past. Until I was about 12, we'd spend Christmas Eve at my grandparents' house. All, or most, of my moms' siblings would come, so the house was throbbing with cousins. My family would go to our church's candlelight service, usually over by 6 or 6:30 and then join the festivities in progress at Grandma's. It was loud, fun and largely unstructured. We'd eat tamales, rice and beans and chow on deserts. The kitchen was a traffic circle. Around 8:30 or 9, we'd open gifts and things would wind down around 10:30 or 11, when the cousins would start to head to bed and we'd head back home. Sometimes, this ritual would be in Dallas, at one of my uncles' houses, but it was pretty much the same deal. Christmas morning was just for our immediate family, opening our own gifts and Mom would make quiche. Her annual Christmas quiche brunch. We were never a "Christmas dinner" kind of family. We were a Christmas brunch family.

I’m wondering what future Christmases will be like with the new little one. This time next year, our kid will be just shy of a year old, so we might be chasing his/her little waddling bottom out of the kitchen, while Honey bakes up dozens and dozens of delicious cookies and he and I make chocolate truffles together.

My sister-in-law lives nearby and we more often than not spend Christmas and/or Thanksgiving with her and her family.

Her kids are way older than ours: high school and entering junior high soon, so I’m not sure what kind of relationship this kid will have with them. We’ve never spent Christmas or Thanksgiving with Honey’s father, since we’ve been together, to my knowledge. We’ve done a few with his mom and a couple with my family. But nothing that really establishes tradition. I suppose we still have a few years to figure that out. I’d just really like our kid(s) to have fond memories of playing with cousins and singing carols and eating traditional foods that they have memories of watching us prepare and grow up to want to learn to make. You know: like I had! (Side note: I tasked my mother with getting my grandmother’s tamale recipe, so I can learn to make them for Christmases future. Honey has perfected her pico de gallo, so if I can just make a passable version of her tamales, maybe we can at least keep the Mexican Christmas dinner tradition going.)

This barely felt like a regular Christmas this year. Even though we got a foot of snow. (Almost none of which I could see from my hospital window, as it looks into a courtyard!) This Christmas, my every thought has been on the safety of the little creature growing inside me. This Christmas, my focus has been on staying pregnant for one more hour, one more day; knowing that each day, each week means a healthier baby. I have no emotional or mental room for anything else, frankly. Just keeping this kid safe and incubating. I have my own drama to worry about.

Normally, we’ve got the house decorated by early December, holiday music wafts throughout the house, the kitchen smells of sugar and butter as Honey is constantly baking. I’m writing our Christmas cards and mailing them out to loved ones. And we’re scrambling to get gifts for family (my least favorite part of Christmas – consumer “obligation”). This year, my hospital room has received most of the decorations (for which I am grateful), and the house, none, as Honey has taken to preparing the house for the arrival of our little winter babe. Even though I have a chunk of Christmas music on my laptop, I’ve not listened to it enough. Mostly because it’s awkward to fetch my laptop when lying from a 33 degree angle. We’d not been able to go any Christmas parties, holiday shows or movies of the season. We celebrated in our own way, though. And all things considered, this was one of the best Christmases I’ve had in a long time. Just because Honey is so fantastic and it reminds me what my priorities are. And the visits from friends I got on Christmas day just added a luster to the day that I won’t soon forget.

One thing we know for sure: next Christmas will be far different from this Christmas. We’ll be out in public again. The house will be decorated. The music will be playing and David Sedaris stories playing and the kitchen will smell of Honey’s magic. Christmas cards will go out (yes, probably with baby pictures in them). But there will be an extra energy in the house. An extra layer of happiness. And I have a feeling that once that happiness fills the house, we’ll struggle to remember what it was like without it. Kind of like how empty and slightly sad the house feels when our dog is not there. When Babydog is out for the night, I’m always sad a little, and struggle to remember what it was like without her joy filling the house. All I know is that our house wasn’t complete until she came along, even though we didn’t know it (okay I kind of knew it would be, having had dogs before). I suspect it’ll be the same with the kid. And we’re very much looking forward to discovering that unknown joy and rediscovering the joys of a celebrate season with this kid!

I hope Christmas, or your respective holidays found you happy and well this year. Have a fantastic 2010!

… and I apologize for not reading your blogs in a LOOONNG time. In addition to my general tendency to procrastinate, I’ve been limiting my laptop time in the hospital, so I’ve fallen waayy behind. I can’t promise I’ll catch up real soon, but I’ll try my darnedest!

Challenge to a true Thanks-giving

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Largely, I think, because it is what I so want Christmas to be: a holiday centered on a feast, on gratitude, on family and friends and spending time with one another, undistracted by notions of material obligations. Abraham Lincoln made Thanksgiving an official national holiday during the Civil War because he felt it necessary that we should pause and give thanks for our many blessings even among (maybe especially among) our worst trials. That there are always things to be grateful for. This Thanksgiving is challenging me to actually focus on thanks; to live up to Mr. Lincoln's original intent.

This year I will be spending Thanksgiving in my hospital bed, with my wonderful husband by my side. I won't get to overstuff myself and then go sprawl on the couch and shoot the breeze with whatever family I'm surrounded by. I won't have my favorite pecan pie; the only dessert I anticipate is the pumpkin mousse the hospital will provide. Honey has the turkey ready and will bring it and some sides from Boston Market. We'll probably play a game on my computer and maybe a card game; watch a movie and just hang out. Sadness washed over me this afternoon around dinner time as my hospital dinner sat before me. All my family will be spending Thanksgiving surrounded by loved ones, except for me. My brother with his in-laws, my parents with aunts and uncles, my in-laws with Honey's extended family at a wedding in Texas we couldn't attend. And I haven't even left my side of the room since last Thursday. Last Thursday since I've crossed this curtain. I've had exceptionally high spirits since I arrived here 10 or 11 days ago, but they suddenly began to crumble when I pondered how different this Thanksgiving would be from all the others in my past.

I began to cheer up when Honey came by for his (near) nightly visit. Honestly, he's all I need. And it's only one Thanksgiving. Next Thanksgiving will be completely different. And what an extraordinary opportunity to really think about what I'm thankful for and offer genuine thanks for those blessings. It's better than do what I usually do, which is to give my blessings a perfunctory blip of a thought and then dive into the traditional meal!

So what am I thankful for this year? In no particular order:

• That we are going to have a baby.
• That the complications with this pregnancy have been spotted early enough to mitigate them.
• That we have a delivery plan for this baby in the face of these complications.
• That if, heaven forbid, we have to deliver this baby this week, it is viable and would most likely survive and hopefully, eventually, thrive.
• That I have wonderful doctors.
• That I have a great nursing staff.
• That I have the window side of the hospital room.
• That I have a friendly roommate.
• That we have so many generous and amazing friends who love Honey and me so much.
• That this child will probably be one of the most-loved in history when he or she arrives.
• That I have great health insurance. That I have insurance at all! (Seriously glad for this.)
• That I have, at most, another 7 weeks here. (There are other women on this floor here for far longer.)
• That I live in an area where great health care is available to me.
• That I have a dog at home who loves me.
• That Honey and I have loving families.
• That the baby, by all available standards, is healthy.
• That my health has stabilized.
• That the baby likes to have dance parties in the morning and random parkour practices during the day.
• That I'm just an elevator ride away from delivery if we have a genuine "must do now" emergency.
• That we have clothes for the baby to grow into, at home.
• That we got a dresser for free and a co-sleeper for a steal.
• That, despite my irritations with my job, I know they want to keep me on-tap, even though I don't qualify for FMLA. I feel less in the cold about that.
• That our domestic life is stable, safe and loving. It's easy to take that for granted until you hear the concerns of other women in OB-emergency worried about their partners.
• That I have had good spirits throughout this, so far.
• That I have time to nap during this third trimester when I really need it.
• That I got to have a great, refreshing rehearsal weekend retreat with my fellow performers right before the incident that landed me here.
• And mostly: That I have an incredibly loving and thoughtful husband who lives the definition of standing by your spouse "in sickness" as well as in health. He's had to do it several times in the last few years, and I just pray that I'm as good for him when it's him who needs me, as he has been for me.

Happy Thanksgiving, all!

* photo courtesy earlycj5 via Flickr Creative Commons

Screw you very much!

The only thing I took away from this summer's health care "debate" - or really, rather, the town hall meetings - is that the most important person in the United States is me. Not me, Molly Malone, but "me," the person at the center of the universe whoever "me" is, wherever "me" is, whatever "me" does and whatever "me" believes. "Me" is so important that it's fine for "me" to interrupt, shout down, berate and shut out the "other" who is trying to implore my help, change my opinion or simply give me his/her perspective on a situation. While I understand and trust that most town halls went off without much drama - maybe just some folks with signs, but damnit, this is America and I'm all about political expression, whether or not I agree with you - the stereotype of the town hall health care "debate" seems to be a good example of the lack of civility in this country, not for the good of the whole, but for the good of "me."

I ran into a couple examples of this yesterday. I'd just spent the weekend in Texas with my husband's family, feeling the milk of human kindness (I love them so much), only to be greeted with the vinegar of "me-ness."

Some background: I'm between 4 and 5 months pregnant with our first child. Because getting to this point in our family-building journey has been a physical and emotional torment I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, this pregnancy is not something we take lightly, nor is it something we're entirely comfortable advertising. But we've moved past the letting those who need to know, know, to being more public, if for no other reason than I've got an obvious bump, now. (It is also not my current intention to discuss it much on this blog, hereafter, but I can't promise it won't come up.)

Yesterday morning, Honey and I rose early to catch one of the first flights back east from DFW. I ate a small bowl of Raisin Bran and washed it down with some orange juice. I'd been eating that same breakfast for two or three days at his grandparents' house to no ill effect. Apparently, yesterday morning was different. As we drove to the airport, I knew something was amiss. As soon as I had a chance to find a ladies room, I hurled. I've been lucky in that I've not had much morning sickness, and what I have had hasn't haunted me much. Nonetheless, I felt nauseous for quite some time after.

Honey and I were supposed to sit one behind the other in middle seats on the flight back. They were the only seats left when we booked the flight last month. I was hoping, however, that maybe some kind person would swap the aisle with me so I could have easier access to the lav in case the bagel I was using to calm my post-puke nausea decided to take the same exit as the cereal. That kind person was not in my row. That guy said he really liked the aisle. That kind person was not in my husband's row. "Not for a middle-seat," he shook his head. I explained to both of them that I was experiencing morning sickness, but neither man seemed to care. Thanks, guys.

Luckily, nothing came back up, but I did have a few moments that were gag-worthy. But hey, they got theirs, so that's all that mattered. If I was the kind of person who stubbornly refused to swap seats on a crowded aircraft, I would say this was just my airplane karma. But I'm not. When flying alone, I've swapped seats so people can sit with their party, before (I hate seeing parties separated on airplanes), without giving a thought as to which seat in the row it is. I've even surrendered my coveted window-seat for a teenager who was a first-time flyer, moving to the middle, so that she could see outside more clearly for reassurance. That was actually a rewarding experience: She was terribly nervous. I held her hand during take off and talked her through the initial motions of the plane, and then did the same during landing. I felt very honored to have shared the moment with her, to have calmed her.

What irks me most is: I don't care whether I'm pregnant or not, and it was a request, so it was theirs to deny, but are these men so adamant about holding their aisle seat that they show no mercy to one who is sick? If I were recovering from food poisoning, would they be okay to let me vomit in their laps or shit my pants because they got theirs? (I'm sure the puke bags never get it all.) If I were elderly with a weak bladder, would they still insist on the aisle seat? And neither of them got up during the flight on their own. I had to pee a couple of times, so my guy moved. But the guy next to Honey never did. His row spent all three hours sitting. Why the hell do you want the aisle if you're not going to use it yourself? If you were just going to sit for 3 hours, could you not have sat in the middle seat? I wonder if these guys give up their seats on the bus and subway for the elderly or disabled, as signs request.

But if you can't rely upon the kindness of strangers, we can at least rely upon the decency of neighbors, right? Wrong!

For the last month, or so, there's been some silliness abrew in our neighborhood. Apparently, our neighborhood association board denied a couple of requests for some minor architectural changes that homeowners wanted to implement on their homes. I don't agree with the denials - I'm not a fan of homeowners associations to begin with - but we all signed the paperwork when we bought, so we knew that a board would have right of refusal. A handful of neighbors are rather tired of the tight restrictions and have petitioned the board to have a special meeting where they will likely address the rules for proposed rewrite. Sounds good to me.

Yesterday I came home to discover that another family, however, has been so aggravated that they've filed at least one lawsuit against the board, filing against specific board-members. Our neighbors. But they've cloaked it under: because the trusts that the association invests its dues in lost money in 2008, these board members were at fault. Seriously? You're going to sue because our investments lost money in 2008? Do you understand that investments go up and down and that every fucking person in 2008 lost money? And you're going to sue by name, as if these people don't have their own real problems to deal with? You're going to sue your neighbors, by name - not even the corporate entity - under the guise of Wall Street failure because, essentially, you're sour that the admittedly ridiculously strict guidelines deny you the privilege of building a sundeck?

There are many things we'd like to do to this house, and many which we may have to run in with the stupid board restrictions about. Some may be worth fighting for, but none are worth suing over. If the board was leaving bags of flaming dog shit on your porch, sue. If a segment of the neighborhood was prone to hurl epithets at you and the board did nothing to address it, sue. If the neighborhood was otherwise making your life a living hell, sue. But if you're just sour over the board denying you a cosmetic change to your well-built house that would still fetch a shit-load of money even in this market, suck it up. Your "me-ness" is hurting other people.

Of course, I can't claim to be above the "me." We live in a time, and in a country that prizes the individual over the community. I've been writing ad copy for car companies this summer and the track I tend to take is, this car is all about "you." We like thinking "me" is something special. I like thinking I'm something special. But I also hope I live with enough humility to concede when the good of the other is greater than my desire.

This made me happy

The sheer joy in this moment brought me to tears when I watched this this afternoon. It's funny, I can almost hear my mom saying, "that's innapropriate for a church wedding!" But really, doesn't God delight in our love and our unions? Doesn't God want us to celebrate it with unbridled passion? Plus, it's not like they chose something with crass lyrics or danced lasciviously. But enough of me arguing with my mom in my head. This made my day because it's a group of people who embraced not just the joy of the occasion whole-heartedly, but the theatrics. Wedding ceremonies are spectacles in just about every society. If you're gonna do it, go balls to the wall. Good for them! And maybe I liked it most of all because it was, as the blog I discovered it on championed it, unexpected. Love it or hate it: no attendee will ever forget that wedding.

Sense memory flashbacks

Honey called this morning to say he forgot his wallet and ask if I could please bring it into work with me this morning. He doesn't work too far from my office, so he'll swing by and get it.

When I opened the drawer that held his wallet, I was struck by a sudden comfortable rush of nostalgia and timelessness. There was nothing exciting about his wallet. It's just a black leather bi-fold that's been worn a little thin around the edges. But that's exactly what gave me such comfort. It's like most other wallets he's ever owned - at least since we've been together - and almost exactly like each wallet my dad has ever owned. Non-descript, black, bi- or tri-fold and worn at the edges from the time it has spent in back, or front, pockets. A wallet like that, in my mind, belongs to a man who cherishes time spent with his family and friends and who is much beloved by those same folks.

I love the sudden rush of comfort that the familiar can bring.

My grandmother's kitchen always smelled of gas. I was probably in my 20s before I consciously considered what that odor was. I was never fond of it per se, but it pervaded the kitchen, and since the house was small, to a lesser extent, the entire house. But now, whenever I catch a whiff, I'm enveloped in contentment. And it has to be old gas with a used kitcheny smell to it. Gas in a furnace room? Nope. Gas in a new house kitchen? Pff. As if. Gas in the kitchen of the homeless shelter Honey and I used to volunteer in? Yup. The same goes for the vague scent of pine in a pre- or post-rainy sky. It's very rare, here in this part of the East Coast. But maybe once a year, right after a rain, the conditions are just right and I can smell a vague trace of pine on the air. It reminds me so much of northern New Mexico, and even of the desert southwest Texas and southeast New Mexico. The air has to be dry enough to carry it. It's so gentle, so delicate and fresh. It smells like life and renewal. (Honeysuckle has that same quality, for me.) The few times I catch that scent here, I'm at home and at peace, if even only for a few minutes.

The other day, I was eating a peach over the sink. It was particularly juicy and a droplet started making its way down my chin. I was instantly a gradschooler eating one of our backyard peaches in the sun. Back then, whole streams of peach juice would weep down my chin. I can't recall how sticky I'd get. Probably not too. I'd make short order of the peaches anyway, and as I was accustomed to drinking out of the back hose when I played outside, I'd likely wash off my chin. But it felt so good and right, even though I was a grown up, not in play clothes, in an air conditioned house, standing over a sink like some civilized stiff.

My mother in law was in town the last few days. Which meant my sister-in-law and nephews came over a few times. I have sense memories of my grandparents that I cherish: the rouge gel that Grandma colored her cheeks with, the smell of whatever cologne and hair product concotion Grandpa is part of his daily routine. I wonder what sense memories my nephews will take away from their visits with their grandparents. I wonder what sense memories I'm building now, in my adult life, that will comfort me decades from now.

Three Beautiful Things ... to pull me up

I've had a rather rough week (hence the last post with the boat, "The Heartbreaker"). I've been crying a lot and trying to cope with the implications of yet another defeat that is so absolutely beyond my control, and frankly, beyond that of just about anyone else. Today, I've been trying very hard to focus on fleeting moments of beauty and blessings small and large that are so easy to overlook in the dense fog of sorrow. So, in the vein of Clare, here are three beautiful things for which I am truly grateful this week.

1. Happy, wiggly puppy. God must've known I needed some fresh warm fuzzy, because right out side the door to my office, as I left tonight, was a 4 month old Australian Blue Heeler being walked by her mom. After getting permission from her mother to greet her, I approached her, speaking in my best puppy-loving voice. The fuzzy baby was both shy and terribly excited to meet me - alternately hugging close to her mom's legs and running up to me. There is nothing more adorable than a puppy in its wobbly, uncoordinated phase when life is new, everything is a delightful discovery and every stranger is just a friend she hasn't met.

2. My girlfriend's daughter. My good friend Earthmother and American Dad, her husband, were in town for a few days and spent Sunday with us. Their 4-year-old is going through a princess phase, despite her parents' encouraging her inherent tomboy nature. She can't totally shake the tomboy: during our pasta dinner, she took it upon herself to strip down to her waist to avoid getting dirty. But she's still eager for tiaras: while watching Wall-E for the first time in our basement, she kept turning to her father saying, "here come the princesses!" Hope springs eternal, doll. (For you and me, both.)

3. Genuine vacation coming our way. Because of family obligations, combined with the limited amount of vacation time, it looked like our vacation this year would be dictated by weddings and not by our own want for a new getaway. But because Honey is a fucking badass at what he does, it looks like that's changed. Honey received the highest award given within his company - awarded annually to only 10 out of the 10s of 1000s of employees in the company - for his badassery. Now, while I've worked in corporations who laud their employees with restaurant gift certificates or maybe a cash prize of $200, Honey works in a company that lavishes much better, IMHO. In addition to a swanky dinner with the company brass, and a token plaque, we're getting a choice of vacations including a cruise in the Bahamas or a trip to Hawaii, among the options. Those are the two we're most attracted to. Frankly, I'm more drawn to Hawaii, since I've never been there and after years of adamantly not wanting to go ("oh you MUST go!" sh'yeah, right. see 4), I'm finally interested. So, screw company time limitations. Life's too short not to take vacation just because some greedy corporation won't pay for an extra few days. I'm already so proud of Honey for all his badassery. I'm doubly proud that I'm not the only one who sees his genius. And I'm supergrateful that it's going to give us a genuine vacation. We need a genuine vacation so badly.

2009: The Year of Good Enough

I've been trying to decide what my inaugural post for 2009 should be about and I decided that I should begin by returning to one of my goals for 2008: my personal reading challenge. When I reviewed my post from last year describing my challenge (to read 10 books in the course of the year from my own library), I saw that the bulk of that post was dedicated to being grateful for the time we have with our loved ones because we will not always have them with us. There seems to be some sad coincidence in that.

I have fallen way behind on reading people's blogs and obviously on writing this blog. So far behind that I only learned yesterday that Mommanator's husband passed suddenly in the interim. Something that struck me was that she stated she was happy to have him 10 years longer than she thought she might. Again, I'm reminded that we need to love each other fully and seek delight in our loved ones as much as possible. We lose more than the person if we don't attempt it. I know I'm not the only one to express it, but just wanted to publicly convey my most heartfelt condolences to her and her family in their time of grief. I definitely keep you and yours in my prayers right now, Mommanator. Many hugs, doll.

Some good news about this new year for me, is that something in me switched when the clock struck midnight on January 1. I've been decidedly angry and emotionally stubborn about some health concerns of mine, lately. Though I'm progressing with more investigation and possible treatment, I'd been furious that this was something I even had to deal with. I was furious at my body for betraying me. Then at the beginning of the year the emotional stubbornness and the fury just dropped. I'm still angry, I still feel betrayed, but I'm not wrapping myself in it like a self-pitying blanket anymore. I have resigned myself to the probable. I'm still not happy about it, but I'm no longer emotionally resistant. I'm actually more accepting of it. Unless something changes: it is what it is.

That shift also freed me to review other things in my life. It's a new year. New choices? Maybe. I don't do "resolutions," but I do set personal goals. Among my goals this year are:

• Write more, of course. I've got at least one piece lined up. I work best with deadlines, so maybe I should look for more deadline-driven writing opportunities. But in the meantime, I should just keep tapping at the keyboard. I wrote more in 2008 than in 2007, so let's keep up the momentum.
• Become more craftily self-sufficient. Re-teach myself to sew on the machine that I've been ignoring for years and make something wearable.
• Make the house look more grown-up. Replace craptastic college-era plastic shelving with real stuff; paint at least 2 rooms in the house this year; buy a few furniture pieces (new sofa-set for basement, maybe?).
• Put stuff on the walls. Frame photos I like and hang them. Maybe buy some art. That costs money and spending money scares me shitless, but our walls are scandalously bare.
• Exercise more. Specifically, start running again! I never felt better about my life than when I ran a marathon 6 years ago. I don't know that I want to do a full 26.2 again yet (maybe in a few years), but I can easily do a 5 or 10K. There's no reason I shouldn't. Plus, I should really buy a friggin' bike. It's stupid that I don't have one.
• See more live theater. There's so much that's good out there and I don't take enough advantage of it. I had the pleasure of seeing some Shakespeare with Darla D and her girls this past week and I really enjoyed it. Why don't I do it more? I dunno. Routine lifestyle, I suppose. Honey and I go on jags every few years. This should be one of them and it should really increase to a regular habit.
• Re-up my reading challenge of 2008. Same deal. So many books in my collection that I've not gotten around to reading or only half-read. 10 more to read and/or finish for 2009. Just finished Born to Buy (pictured above), which was actually book 9 or 10 from 2008 - that's right, I fell short; sue me. I'm moving on next to God in the Machine: What Robots Can Teach Us About Humanity and God. I think I heard that author on Speaking of Faith a few years ago. Honey began reading it, but said it didn't teach him anything new. But he's a techie-guy. I hope that it'll illuminate something for me.
• Ditch the high-fructose corn syrup (and hopefully later the partially hydrogenated oils). I've known since sophomore nutrition class (thanks, alma mater, for making that part of our core requisite curriculum) that corn syrup is no good for me, and neither are partially hydrogenated soybean or corn oil. But damn, that stuff is addictive. So far, I've gone a week without the corn syrup. I've managed to gain weight, but that's mostly because I have no sense of portion control and I've not been exercising as much. Still, it's as much about being mindful about what I put into my body as it is about weight loss. Temptations may surround me, but if I can ward off just one of them, then the battle is not yet lost.
• Spend more time with Honey. Evenings, weekends, whatever.
  
• Find a new job, or a new path. Not necessarily outside my field, but just some path that allows me time to enjoy my family and to pursue my outside interests. My recent down-shift to part-time should help.
  
• Stop thinking I have to define myself by my career or other "achievments." I'd like to say I'm bigger than that, but I'm not. I'm just a regular achiever living in the land of hyper-acheivers. When I really contemplate it, yes career and title are in there, but the lifelong goals I'm most concerned with are more personal in nature: travel, family, language-learning, re-learning piano, etc, etc. I love my work, but I need to stop measuring myself against the hyper-achieving hyper-tense, hyper-paid peers in this town. I'm me. That's good enough.

Maybe that's what I need to carry into this year. Things don't have to be perfect. They just have to be good enough. I don't have to find the most extraodinary wine bar/buffet for our dining area. I just have to find good enough. I don't have to run a marathon. A 5K will do. I don't have to lose 15 pounds; 6 will be sufficient. I don't have to read all the ancient classics I should've read in college. I'll just read one. I'll do what I can. And that will be good enough.

3BT: avocation, aspiration, admiration

It was cold and alternately weeping rain today and into tonight. So, it feels like a good time to sit back and reflect a la Clare, on three beautiful things that popped out at me, today.

1. After an aggravating morning, I decided to call one of my best girlfriends, who lives a good 4 or 5 hours away, on my ride into work. She'd just loaded her kids in the car and was driving the 4 year old to preschool. I vented and ranted and she chimed in and offered her ear. We had a good visit, and we said our goodbyes as I pulled into my office driveway. Moments later she called me back. Her daughter had apparently asked who she was on the phone with, "Aunt Molly," she'd replied. "I want to go to Aunt Molly's house after school!" That turned my morning around

2.
I came across this today. A cousin of mine died almost 13 years ago from MD. This young man (who's already survived my cousin by 4 years) looks physically very similar to my cousin, though he has more use of his upper body, and more muscle mass, than my cousin did. Though I don't know if my cousin ever felt suicidal, there's no doubt in my mind that the mental anguish he carried must've been intense. However, like this young man, my cousin pursued all that his financial and physical resources allowed during his short time here. Seeing this interview reminded me of S and that being blessed is really a state of mind.

3. At a party tonight, a colleague told me that she loved some sweeping dance move that I and another performer improvised in a show a few weeks ago. Apparently, she's a ballet nerd and thought that we looked graceful and that I looked like I knew what I was doing and it just took her breath away. We didn't, of course. But I love that for once gravity was not my nemesis and I was evidently, if even accidentally, swanlike!

Everything's Coming Up Milhouse!

Last month, I said that something had to change in my job situation and I'm happy to report that the change is now in progress.

Starting soon, possibly as early as the beginning of next month, I will be scaling back my hours to work part-time. I detested going back to my boss with my tail between my legs, after having asked for a promotion during the heat of the monster project, and after he'd moved the discussion along, the week prior, about moving me up the ladder. However, I can't deny the fact that my entire attitude about my job has changed. I'm not inspired, I'm strained and a zombie lately. I do want to progress my career, but I think, for my own sanity, I might have to do it at a slower pace than I'd originally liked. Additionally, I genuinely do want to foster some side sub-careers, if you will, because I'm not a person who is laser-focused on one interest. I'm a more ADD version of Ben Franklin, not a John Nash. I always struggle with maintaining interest in any one job or place of employment when winter rolls in. I am sunk by the cold and dark. It seriously affects me. I'm a solar-powered person; 5PM darkness and overcast days are not my friends. This, of course, affects my productivity. (Apparently, I'm not the only one.)

But the main reason I've wanted to scale back is make myself more available to my family and take care of my general and specific health. As it is now, I have to make an appointment any day I want to leave work on time. Not early. On time. Have to give everyone a big heads up that I might want to go home at the time we say we're going home. Even now, in the down season. If I were a Secret Service Agent, I'd understand that my job is not a job, it's a life. But I'm not. Even when I don't have massive deadlines hanging over my head, that kind of tyranny over my time is stressful. After visiting Dad for his second open heart surgery, I've pretty much decided I need to slow the frak down. He had his first heart attack at 38. 38! Not the road I want, and the highway traffic of genetics is already going against me. I don't want to be on the chopping block. No job is worth that to me. Honey has already weathered two very stressful surgeries with me in the last year, I don't need to add more for him to worry about.

I'm hoping to work 2 1/2 to 3 days a week, when I begin this new regimen. So what am I going to do with the extra time? So many things I can do! Look for other 3/4 to full-time jobs that either a) I can work from home and aren't as driven by deadlines (currently pursuing one), b) speak to my creative side, but I can leave directly at 5PM, so I can eat dinner with my husband more regularly and pursue performing without feeling like a jerk; bonus points if the job is in my industry or c) both. I also plan on writing more; getting my personal website to look more presentable and profitable would be a plus; start working with a voice-coach and start pushing for paying voice-over jobs; avail myself to the rent-an-actor company I signed up with but have yet had time to pursue; sell the shit on eBay that I set aside last month; paint the basement; actually exercise again; go back to my thesis and figure out what I want to do with it; spend more time at the doctors' office, which is why one of my supervisors thinks I'm doing this anyway, which is about 20% true ... so many things I could do!

My only reservation about this is, of course, the current economy. I am worried about scaling back while jobs are hemorrhaging throughout every market. But Honey is supportive and isn't panicking, and since he speaks math better than I do - were I single, I'd live in a rattrap, even if I made a gazillion dollars a month, just because I'm terrified of spending a dime on anything - I take my cues from him the way I do from a flight attendant. We hit a bump. Is the flight attendant scared? No? Okay, I won't panic then. Incidentally, this is also why I'd be a bad flight attendant. Though I'm a pretty good host, I can't gauge normal from "holy shit" turbulence. Just like I can't gauge sufficient money from excess money. No money? That, I know. And right now, it looks like stepping back from my table for a while isn't going to leave us in trouble. It's going to mend more problems than it causes.

Yes We Can! Yes We Did! Yes We Will!

I've been running a mile a minute since election night, so I haven't had time yet to post since the United States made history Tuesday night. I am out of town, currently and will be returning within the hour, so I have to make this post brief, which is unfortunate, as I have so many thoughts and emotions. However, I will say this: I spent a large portion of yesterday grinning like a goofball and another portion of yesterday crying. Particularly since it seemed every song on the radio was speaking to my hope. ("Imagine" started the instant I turned on my car to drive home; cue the waterworks!) Not incidentally, Honey and I began listening to the Audacity of Hope in the car, yesterday, making me even more confident that we made the right choice and we've elected a man who chooses to build bridges.

So, instead of writing a well thought-out post expressing my joy and hope, I figure I'll just cut and paste from emails and direct you to other blogs. When I have time later this week (tomorrow night or Saturday), I'll sit down collect and go at it. Just suffice it to say: I am thrilled and proud of my country and hopeful for the man who will lead us for at least the next 4 years.

I emailed a bunch of friends and family yesterday expressing my joy and hope. Here are some (or portions thereof) of their responses - all misspellings, etc, theirs:

It is a great day! I also thought that I would be glad that anybody other than GW would be a breath of fresh air, but seeing Obama win gave me more confidence in our country and in our future than I ever could have imagined. It is a great thing that happened historically because of his race, but it is also a great thing that happened because he knows that people are going to help change this country and he can get us reved up to do so.
- from a cherished cousin in Texas

*************
My vote was based on Scarlett Johansen's endorsement of Obama. She is an avid Obama supporter and her shit don't stink. Serioulsy though, it was based on the belief that we needed a change. We needed someone (anyone) who could give us a different face to the world. As romantic as it seems to say "we don't care what the rest of the world thinks about us, we Americans!" As bold and patriotic as it sounds to say "stay the course". As proud as is sounds to say "we don't need their approval" it simply isn't the case. we live in this world, we use more of it's oil than anybody else, we owe trillions of dollars to other countries, we affect its finanical market as they affect ours. it is time for us to have a slice of humble pie and say "okay what can we do to be part of the solution?" There are some epiphanies you have that change the way you think for the rest of your life (I guess that's why it's called an epiphany). But I recall listening to NPR several years ago just after Arnold was elected as the Governor of California when I had an epiphany. I remember listening to a speech he made about "terminating high taxes" and getting the "girlymen out of the Senate". I laughed and thought very realistically that every citizen of California was an idiot for electing him. I had never been to California at the time, but all the stereotypes of how "hollywood" and "soft" they were came to fruition in my mind. Then a ton of bricks hit me and I realized "Holy Shit! that is what the rest of the world thinks of us when they hear Bush speak." Then it got even worse when I thought "Hoy Shit! that is what people think of Texans when they hear Bush speak." I went out and got a Natalie Maines tattoo that afternoon.

I will take a Jr. Senator from Illinois over the Governor of the greatest State in the Union who doesn't know his ass from a whole in the ground any day of the week.
- Bro

****************
Aside from the potty mouth, I am delighted that both my kids are thinkers with their heads on straight and their hearts in the right place. We do not really know what coming years hold or what President Obama can or will do to correct our course, but, like both of you, I am very hopeful - and very encouraged that this generation has made a powerful statement against apathy and cynicism.
- Dad

**********************
I agree! I, too, cried tears of elation and felt a deep sense of empowerment both as a black woman and as an American. I am proud to be an American. ALL men are truly created equal. We have overcome. I'm glad my grandparents and parents were alive to bear witness. Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we're free at last!!!
- a friend

Lastly, PLEASE visit my friend's blog here. She's an African-American woman currently teaching English in Japan and that's interesting enough. However, her reaction to the Obama win is cathartic just to read! (And she's got an awesome graphic included.)

Happy new day, America!!

Hurri-update

To the right, there is an image from the Houston Chronicle this week. I believe that's in Orange or Seabrook or some other eastern, coastal Texas town. I think it's AWESOME! Don't you think it looks like some Double Dare physical challenge?

I've been checking in on the Chronicle pretty regularly the last few days, to gather information that my family cannot access. I've been texting them updates about where FEMA has ice and food stations, how much of the metro area has power back, etc, etc, etc. Luckily (miraculously ?), their church has some power, so Mom and Dad have been spending parts of each day there, cooling off and checking email. Mom says they've lucked out in that, since Sunday, they've had at least one warm meal a day - either spaghetti made on a hot plate at church - or lunch at the slowly re-opening restaurants. The rest of their meals are typical hurricane/blizzard fare: tunafish from the can, peanut butter, breakfast bars, etc, etc. The water is still not potable, but at least it's back on.

My brother and his fiancee have skipped most of the misery hanging out in Austin. I guess nothing says "tough aftermath" like a Shiner on the roof-top of Maggie Mae's. But I think they're returning in the next few days. Bro reported that my cousin's wife pulled a 48 hour shift at the hospital for the first part of the storm. By the time she was driving home, she was so frazzled and frustrated by all the debris between the hospital and her house, she had a freakout moment and called my cousin to drive to wherever she was a pick her up. Be nice to your medical residents, people.

Folks are for the most part behaving themselves but they're wary of looters. Houston is equipped with cops who are arrest-happy right now, so I don't know that the citizenry minds that so much as they normally would.

I only lived in Houston for about a year and a half, maybe a little more. I wouldn't call it home, but I certainly have a fond attachment to the city. I never endured any hurricanes or tropical storms. My family has endured the latter more than the former. This is the first direct hurricane hit since they've lived there that I know of. What I'm trying to wrap my head around is what the city must look like right now. At roughly 4 million residents, it's the 4th largest city in the U.S. and it sprawls for-e-ver. And it's so humid. The moisture in the air is always pretty thick - not NOLA thick, but pretty darn close. Mom said the streets looked flat deserted the Sunday after the storm. I'm trying to picture the humming city silenced, dark at night, her downtown streets littered with shards of broken glass and metal scrap, the residential streets impassable because of downed trees. I think it's the dark metropolis that boggles my mind the most. No orange glow domed over the metropolis. In a small town, a dark city isn't as frightening. Comforting, even, maybe. But a sprawling city? I find no comfort in that.

... NOLA. Yeah, those are some people I'm concerned about in Houston these days. Those poor folks: displaced and the lion's share of them are in Houston, now. While the damage in Houston isn't NEARLY as bad as it was in New Orleans, it still must be disconcerting. NPR had a piece this morning about Katrina survivors in Houston now dealing with Ike. It was mostly hopeful, but I felt such a pang of sadness when one woman said that when Ike blew water under her apartment door she got scared; and when she stepped into some flooding in her street, she got a flashback.

I just hope this mess gets cleaned up to soon. I worry for my family. Even restoring power to their neighborhoods would be immeasurably helpful at this juncture.

Take a deep breath

After my freakout dream last week, and the subsequent slump I fell into later in the week, I was, according to my loving spouse, intolerable. Greeaaat. Luckily, a weekend of rehearsals and dinner with friends proved a good salve, I think. I'm still stressed out about work and life and balancing the two, but I suspect I'm back to being tolerable. Until I'm delightful again, I'll take tolerable.

So, this week, I've been trying to keep my eyes open to little blessings and inspirations. Always in the spirit of Clare. Here are some that I found that have made me smile, and feel good, in no particular order.

Honey, spotted a postcard from last week's Post Secret. It said "Nutella turns me on." He looked over at me. "Did you send this in?" I didn't. But we both know I may as well have.

Hearing The Beatles' Revolution this morning on the drive in to work. I almost changed the channel. I know this song. Frakkin' Nike used it to hawk overpriced shoes. Why hear it again for the umpteenth time on a station aimed at my parents? But I listened anyway with newer ears. It gave me a charge to keep on keepin' on ("Don't you know it's gonna be alright?"). And for some reason it seemed fitting today, the 45th anniversary of my childhood hero's seminal speech, the same day that Barack Obama, heir to that dream (though, I suppose we're all heirs), accepts his nomination as the Democratic candidate for President. My God, I'm ready for this revolution. Please let it work.

Walking to grab lunch after a morning rain, today. Seeing droplets clinging to the leaves of trees and their soggy blossoms. Feeling content in the saturated colors around me, in the soppy creation.

Homeward Bound

... I wish I was/ homeward bound ... home! where my thoughts escape me ... those lyrics were stuck in my head all during the last two weeks of July. Why?

I returned to the place of my birth, after an eleven-year absence, last weekend. I lived in the Texas panhandle until I was 12. It was kind of weird to me that I'd been gone from my native town for almost as long as I'd lived there to begin with.

We went for the wedding of a dear cousin and it was a much-needed escape. Frankly, I think I could've used an additional 2 or 3 days there. Going back home it felt like a favored sweater: safe and familiar. I remembered the streets and routes, for the most part. There's Grandpa's old church; there's our old church; there's my grade school; there's my favorite donut place in the world; that's where we saw a tornado in the early 80s (a field now populated by houses); there's the odor of the feed lots 60 miles away on the wind; there's where Honey and I spent an afternoon making out when we were young lovers and he came to visit me when I spent a summer here in college. It's a town that I relished revisiting and look forward to revisiting. After we moved, when I was in junior high (the wrongest time to ever uproot a child, by the way) to a very, very small town in Southwest Texas so amazingly far from anywhere that you had drive 3 hours just to do anything, my native town was even more dear to me. We returned several times a year during the 90s to visit friends and family. And my parents still trek there at least once a year.

But I also feel like my relationship with my native city has changed. I've grown and developed my own life. And as much as I love my native town, as much as it'll always be home to me, and feel safe, familiar and happy, my relationship with it is almost similar now to my relationship with my parents. I love my parents endlessly. I appreciate everything they've ever done and still do for me, but I wouldn't want to live with them again, if I could avoid it.

It's the same with the native town. It'll always be home and I want to keep revisiting it, because I love it, but I wouldn't want to live there again. There are definitely worse places to live, and if it came up that we needed to move there, I could easily do it; I just wouldn't seek it out.

However, visiting got me thinking about what kind of lifestyle I want. I think about that occasionally, but the last two or three weeks, it's really been on my mind. Going to home to a place where there is NO SUCH THING as rush hour, where family hews together and people are home by 5:15 at the latest, surged the question the front of my mind. Honey and I have always said we'll move west again, seeking a slower pace of life, and I suspect we'll do it at some point - probably after we have kids. But where west? And frankly, after a couple of years when I was aching to move west again, I'm really enjoying where we are right now, I simply want a break from the hyper-acheivement and suffocating time-crunch of this area. I typically get to work between 8:30 and 9, often earlier (though today, I'm allowing myself 9) and don't get home till well after 6, sometimes well after 7. It's often the same for Honey - worse even, seeing as how he goes in earlier than I do. It's been particularly hectic for the last two months and only promises to get worse into the fall. (That's why I've been posting and commenting so infrequently, lately.)

Calvin Trillin, in an interview with Diane Rehm, or maybe Terri Gross, once said he wanted his kids, though raised in Brooklyn, to think they were being raised in Kansas, where he grew up. I think that's what I want, not just that my kids think they're in West Texas, but I want some West Texas here, on the East Coast amidst the 70% humidity, the over-acheivers and the road rage. I really like where I live; I just want to like my life more. I want to breathe.

Oh, and as for the mixtape above. Just a sampling of the soundtrack for the weekend.
1. At the Zoo - Simon and Garfunkel. Every morning, we had a home-cooked breakfast at my aunt and uncle's house. They made sure to have music playing at meal times. One morning the selection was Dylan and Simon and Garfunkel. This was one of them. I simply included it, because I love this song and hadn't heard it in years.

2. The Dress Looks Nice on You - Sufjan Stevens. My dear, dear cousin used this as her processional. She's 22. She's one of the few youngsters who I think is mature enough to make this leap. The ceremony was really low-key (literally a backyard event) and though religious, they chose not to use any religious music. I think their recessional was from The Beatles. I'm ambivalent about the choice of song, but I love that she loved it, and that she bucked panhandle norms: a wreath of flowers and ivy on her head, little make-up, eastern-inspired jewelery, barefoot under her gown, walking herself down the aisle ... she, like me for my wedding, wanted to do henna tattoos on her hands, but didn't know anyone who could do it. (Had I known, I'd've offered Virginia Gal's talents!)

3. Our Town - Iris Dement. As we drove around town one afternoon, Mom was lamenting the changes that have occurred in our old stomping grounds. (Though I was also struck by how little had changed in decade.) This song happened to be on my iPod and popped up on our connecting flight from DFW. It just felt fitting.

4. Viva la Vida - Coldplay. Another one that popped up on my iPod, on the return flight. I'd heard it a time or two, but it hadn't really grabbed me yet. I think it ciezed me this weekend - and I've been unable to shake it since - because going home to the far slower pace of life, to sunrises unimpeded by mountains and hills and skyscrapers, to the constant 10 or 15 mph breeze and the negligible humidity, was nothing short of reviving. My happiest self is a sprite who soars among clouds and stars and skims close to the ground. This weekend tickled her again for the first time in years. I was weightless. And for some reason, this song, at this moment, found that chink in my armor to sing to that weightlessness.

3BT: winged beasts and feathered skies

Been working like a madwoman, lately. Exhausted as all sin. Was even smited late this week with some nasty allergic reaction all over my frakkin' body! I blame garlic.

Nonetheless, the pain receded and I took Babydog for a walk this evening that allowed me time to pause and soak in the beauty of the evening. It was lovely. Humid and hot, but peaceful. Felt lucky to be alive and witness the simple wonders around me.

So here's another nod to Clare's mission, and three beautiful things I noticed this evening:

1. The song of the cicadas. It is eaily the sound of summer for me. I love their drawn out trill of weeeee-oooo, weeee-oooo, weeee-oooo. Lots of people hate cicadas, but I hear their chorus and it fills me with joy: it's persistent and only comes once a year. It's like a hymn of praise that swells up amidst the heat. A reminder of impermance and the need to live in the now. When I hear them, I think, "Enjoy this now. Summer will end soon. When they stop, school will start again and all your summer freedom will be over." They sing of the present.

2. A high sheet of thick cirro-cummulus clouds spanning over the sky like a vast silvery, bluey-white bridal train. They looked almost like the tips of peackock feathers, only white. Often, those kinds of clouds precede thunderheads. I could see a line off in the distance behind the sheet, but whether we'll have storms tonight, I don't know. These clouds this evening were pure icing, though.

3. Spotting a hawk on a neighbor's fence. I did a double take. It was about 30 feet from us, calmly perched on the chain link fence, glancing around. I inched us closer to it - maybe another 5 feet - slowly and quietly and just watched him for a bit. Even though we live in a solidly urbanized part of the metro area, he was a reminder that wildlife will not be denied. Sprawl be-damned. These are our neighbors, too.

Book Challenges and Blessings

Darla D is participating in another blogger's book challenge for 2008. I considered joining it, especially since I own some books by the authors in the category around which the challenge revolves. But then I thought, "wait a second here. How many books do I have in my personal library that I haven't read yet, or that I've gotten half-way through only to be distracted by schoolwork, performances, cupcakes, newspapers, a movie, a butterfly, or sleep?" I have plenty in that category.

Heck, I discovered one on the bottom shelf of my nightstand just the other day. I'd gotten about a third into it last year, when school started up and my nights were sacrificed to the thesis god. I just returned a book to the library yesterday that I took a break from to read another book. Had that book not been a library book - and not been about a health issue that I'm dealing with and trying to manage - there's a good possibility that that book would've migrated to the bottom shelf as well. I'm looking at a book right now that I just scored off of BookMooch.com. It's a follow up to a book I began 4 years ago on MLK weekend. I got a few chapters into it and school began, and the rest is history. Plus, it didn't help that I took it with me on vacation. It's hard for me to read on vacation, particularly if I'm visiting someplace new. And starting a book on vacation is almost a guarantee I won't finish it. I'd rather spend time with my family and friends or discovering the newness of the place. So, maybe I should go back to the original book and read it first? Hmm?

My reading challenge for 2008, then: read at least 10 books in my own library which I have not read at all, or which were sacrificed to some other distraction, earlier. ** Side note: I've often wondered if that's a character or intelligence flaw that I have, that I don't always finish books that I begin. Remember in grade school how educators and authority figures always kind of poo-poo people who don't finish what they start? But maybe that's as much an indictment of the writing. If the story itself, or storytelling, is not engaging enough for me to ignore the family or friends I'm visiting, or the sound of the surf, or the DVD special edition of The Big Lebowski that just came in the mail, then maybe that's not my fault. (Of course, I almost always finish what I start; it might just take me months or years to get interested in the activity enough again to complete it. Clearly, I'm not the industrious personality that built America.)

Another thing I'm trying to do for 2008 is be grateful. I think I become crabbier the older I get and the last thing I ever want to be is a grump or a curmudgeon. I want to be aware of my blessings, big and little.

Saturday, I was hefting a big box toward the post office to mail out. As I approached the pull-out door, a woman who was walking my direction, pulled open the door for me. I thanked her. She began to go inside, and I pushed open the push-indoor with my hip. "Oh, okay, you've got it," she said and smiled as she walked away. She wanted to help me all the way in to the post office, even though that's not where she was going. When I realized that, I couldn't help but smile and feel blessed. She was going out of her way to help me, a stranger! It's a little thing, but in an area where so few people thank you for holding open the door - and I am crabby about it - it stands out.

Last night, as I was lying in bed, falling asleep, I was listening to Honey breathing deeply. He's the kind who can fall asleep when his head hits the pillow. (Me: I always have a million thoughts competing for attention in my waning waking moments.) All I could think was how grateful I was for his health. I listened to him breathe in and I thanked God for his healthy lungs, for their ability to intake and process. Then I started praying thanks to God that he is healthy, that he is healthy now, that I have him now, that he has his health now. And it began to grow. I began to pray thanks for the health of others and for myself and for the time we all have here and all have together.

A good family friend of ours - her parents and mine are college buddies - lost her husband to a car wreck a couple of months ago, leaving her with a two-year-old. Since I learned of her loss a few weeks ago, I've been unable to feel anything but just sorrow for her. I can't even begin to imagine her grief right now. But last night, I was also thinking that she was very lucky to have had him when she did. I imagined the laughter they shared. This is not to minimize her grief and her loss, but I also thanked God for the time that she had with him, and of course, asked him to comfort her. That's probably what was the impetus for my impromptu thankfulness: death. A freelancer in my office yesterday learned that good friend of hers just lost a baby, a few hours after she gave brith. Again: unimaginable grief. How thankful I am that I have the people in my life and how they are in my life, for however long they are here!

We have to be thankful for what we have, when we have it; and for who is in our lives and how they are in our lives. I was thankful for Honey, in his current health, lying beside me. I will be thankful for him when he's ailing or decrepit. I will be thankful for him when he's gone. I thanked God for my current health, jagged as it is these days. I want to learn to be thankful if the jaggedness ever actually calcifies into something that affects my permanent health. I am who I am and I have what I have. I may as well be grateful.

Hola, 2008!

I'm exhausted and have to get up early for work, tomorrow, but I want to start the new year off right with a post.

First off: THANK GOD, WE'RE BACK IN AN EVEN NUMBERED YEAR! ... though I suck at math, I have a thing for easy patterns and even numbers, particularly even numbered years. I LOVE even numbered years. Maybe it's because even numbers represent symmetry, where odd numbers don't. eh ... I digress.

I hope everyone reading this enjoyed whatever manner they rang in the new year. We had a few friends over to play board games and switched on the TV to watch the ball drop a couple of minutes before the year rang in. Man, Carson Daly looked bad! Low-key and fun. I'm down with that.

I insisted that we have black-eyed peas for breakfast. Honey hates them, but he'll have a few forkfuls to appease me. It's the only time of the year he eats them. But that's okay; it's the only time it counts!

This afternoon, Honey and I went to the local movie theater. I assumed if we got there with 10 or 15 minutes to spare, we could get a good seat. After all, yesterday that was the case when I went to the same theater with a girlfriend. Not so much! We were in the second row and craned our necks to watch Juno. It was worth it, though. Fantastic movie. I highly recommend it. I laughed. I cried. I laughed and cried simultaneously. Come to think of it, that was a great movie to start a new year off with: it's all about birth and choices and hope. And the soundtrack was great. I think we'll buy the soundtrack, soon, and the movie when it comes out on DVD. It was so great. After an hour or so at the local IKEA on a (successful) hunt for a lamp, we ended the day with dinner with friends. It was the perfect way to close a day and begin a year.

So there's my boring day. I wish I had something profound to write, but I don't. I just needed to write at all. WRITE, WRITE, WRITE! I hope 2008 brings you and yours nothing but good fortune!

Hymn for Year's End

Hello all.

I don't have a proper post for you all tonight. I just wanted to wish everyone a safe and happy New Year's Eve. Ring it in safely! I'll make a note to post tomorrow morning. And for anyone who lives outside the US, who has already rung in 2008: I hope you had a fabulous evening.

In the meantime, I'd like to share the lyrics of a song that I love during this season. It calls for bells ringing out for Christmas, but I like it for New Year's Eve, too. (Plus, I like the liturgical calendar that celebrates Christmas through January 6 or 7. Why stop the festivities on the 26th?) It's called "The Closing of the Year" and was written for the movie Toys, back in 1992. (I loved that movie, btw.) I've always loved it and its desire to bring hope in times of coldness. Apparently Sarah Brightman and Placido Domingo like it, too because they performed it last year at some Christmas concert.

Since I haven't figured out how to embed video so you can just click and play, here's a link to the original movie video on youtube. Enjoy!

If I cannot bring you comfort
Then at least I bring you hope
For nothing is more precious
Than the time we have and so
We all must learn from small misfortune
Count the blessings that are real
Let the bells ring out for Christmas
At the closing of the year
Let the bells ring out for Christmas
At the closing of the year.

If I cannot bring you comfort
Then at least I bring you hope.

Now all the winter bells are ringing
Hear them echo through the snow
And the children's voices singing
on the streets so far below

This is a time to be together
And the truth is somewhere here
Within our love of people
At the closing of the year.

What a difference a week makes

This time last week, I was strapped to a hospital bed, with an IV drip in my arm. I also had a morphine button to juice me up when I needed. And I was totally loopy from anethesia. Now, my scar is itchy, but the pain is diminishing in noticeable increments.

My mom is coming up to visit this coming week. I'm looking for it. She's going to help us out while I recover from my surgery. By the time she gets here, I'll feel even better than I do, now, but her assistance will still be appreciated immensely. Honey will be working a LOT, and I can't decorate the house with these stitches, so Mom will have her work cut out for her.

Operation recovery has been harder than I thought. The doc said to take one to two weeks off of work. I'm playing it by ear, right now, hoping to return to work by Wednesday. But I find that I'm still pooped. It took me forever to wake up this morning, and it's been a week! My scar is healing up okay, but if I'm up and about too much, I just get malaised and tire quickly. I just made the mistake of checking my office email. There's an irritated customer there. I don't know if my body needs that kind of stress right now. (Yeah, that's the ticket!) But frankly, as I'm paid by the day, I really don't have the luxury of waiting till I'm fully recovered. Eh. I'll probably be okay enough by mid-next week, at least to do half-days.

In the meantime, I am going to count my blessings, like my grandmother told me I should:

1) Everything was caught in time.
2) Everything so far feels like it's healing up alright.
3) I'm catching up on Netflix and TiVo.
4) I'm blogging more.
5) My cousin just had a baby.
6) My dog no longer smells like the dead bird she excitedly nosed around in in our backyard.
7) I'm getting some reading done.
8) I'm take a legitimate breather after a year of hectic activity.
9) Showering is optional, since I'm not going anywhere. (Woohoo!)
10) I'm getting lots of my Christmas cards done.
11) I have discovered how utterly fantastic my friends are.

There are many more, but it's about lunchtime and I'd like to cruise the fridge.

Three Beautiful Things

since i've been stressed to the max, lately. i'm going to return to the 3BT formula which Clare has beautified the world with. plus, i think y'all would rather read what's going right in my life, for a change!

1. Despite a mix-up in the formatting of the signature page and sending it off at the wrong time, my first professor has dropped the signature pages back into overnight mail for me. I should get them tomorrow. How merciful that my prof doesn't mind doing the administrative bull on vacation!

2. Chatting with my favorite cousin on the phone this morning. And hearing her toddler, normally a terribly sweet, gregarious and precocious girl throw a fit in the background. She's being potty trained and apparently has a favorite kind of wet wipe, which my cousin didn't have available to her.

3. Knowing that well-placed, compassionate wisdom is a family trait. My cousin, after hearing of one of the stresses I've been under lately, emailed me some sympathetic encouragement her father, my dad's brother, gave to her when she was in a similar situation. And it sounded just like the kind of thing my dad would say to me - or anyone really. And he's so good at that kind of stuff. It warms my heart, for some reason, knowing it runs in the family.