Radio KBLA Live

SA + The Air

2012-02-09T13:12:00.003-06:00

I’ve been meaning to write for quite some time about my upcoming trip to South Africa. There are at least 4 major reasons why I’m excited for this adventure set to begin on May 17, 2012.

1) I’ve never been to South Africa or Mozambique and I love being new places as well as marking off notches on my travel-the-world belt.

2) I’m going to see Moira’s (not so) new life and finally meet Gabor, her fiancé.

3) I’m going to spend 10 days with Sarah, Sylia, Moira, and for a few days Susie. These are 4 of my favorite people on the planet. Sarah, Sylia, and Moira have all gotten engaged in the past 6 weeks. I will be bringing along a video camera to document the new reality series, “Bridezilla: African Adventure.”

4) This one might be the most important. I used to take off to new places at the drop of a hat. Nothing could stop me from jetting off to explore. My life has changed a lot since my early 20s and so, at least until I’m retired and Johan’s in college, I’m not going to have the same freedom of movement. Responsibilities are good. I have the most amazing kid and a job I love. I wouldn’t trade them in even for free round-the-world travel until the end of time. But, once I ended up on my own last year, I realized that I had fallen away from many things that were once important, or even defining, for me. One of those was international travel. I realized all I ever did was go to the Dominican Republic to see my in-laws. Not a bad trip, but not an adventure. What about what I want to do? What moves me? When Susie moved to Mozambique, just a 4 hour drive from Moira’s home in Johannesburg, I thought to myself, the old Kristina would have been on a plane straight away to have a new adventure. (This is not “ The New Adventures of Old Christine”). After talking with Sarah about it, we decided to go. And, of course, take our 3rd brother, Sylia, with us. So, I feel like this trip represents something bigger than the actual days or dollar amount. It’s me reclaiming, if only a little bit, some pieces of me that I let fall by the wayside while I was married to Eduardo. I’m still a lawyer and I’m still Johan’s mom. Those things haven’t changed and they never will. But this lawyer who is Johan’s mom sometimes is going to go on big wild adventures with her best friends and never stop pushing the limits.

So, yeah. South African and Mozambique. I can’t wait.

As referenced above, there must be something in the air, since 3 of my closest girlfriends have decided to tie the knot (knots?) since Christmas time. What lucky fellows these guys are who get to spend their lives with such extraordinary women. I better start shopping for dresses soon. And in the same vein, I’m feeling hopeful that I just may have someone to bring as my date to all these upcoming weddings. Something is in the air for me, too. I’m not engaged or even close to that, but I’m seeing someone. As that someone so concisely and wonderfully described last week, “we’re together.” And I’m sure happier than I’ve been since I can remember. I’ll take this air any day.

SOTU

2012-01-24T11:34:00.002-06:00

Tonight is the State of the Union Address. In college, we used to have big SOTU-watching parties with much argument, fervor, and shaking fists emphatically at GWB. I've never felt more engaged in something bigger than myself than when I was in college.

Tonight, Brianna, Addie, and a new great person in my life are coming over to watch the SOTU with Johan and me. It feels extraordinary to again feel surrounded by people who are engaged and who care about important things. You know, important things like healthcare reform, war, civil rights, and panini sandwiches.

And yes, I know this is the first time I've written in 2 months. Sorry, Emily Cooney. I'll be back again soon.

To Johan on the Occasion of Your 4th Birthday

2011-11-15T09:42:00.003-06:00

Dear Johan:

Last night you jumped into the pool at swimming lessons for the last time as a 3-year-old. You couldn't wait to get in the water and you jumped with vigor and passion, with your legs tucked and your arms flung wide. I love the way you tackle life that way- with arms flung wide. May you never stop jumping into the pool with all your energy.

This morning you awoke and announced you were still three. No way, Jose. Today you are four years old. I am not the kind of mom who wishes you would stay a baby forever. I have enjoyed every stage of your growth and I love to see the ways you continue to expand your mind. I mean, just in the past couple of weeks, you learned about the concept of zero. You are recognizing all the numbers and you pointed out to me how much a 4 looks like a capital A. You are so smart, Johan. Your future is so bright and it makes me excited to think about all the ways you will learn and grow while you are 4 years old.

I think a lot of people might say that they only want their children to be happy. That's not what I want most for you, Johan. What I want most for you is to have a deep sense of meaning to your life- that you always feel compelled to help others and to feel gratitude to a degree that you understand that you must give back to the world. I want you to appreciate your role as a member of humanity and that we are all in this thing together. I want you to feel a sense of responsibility to make the world a better place and I look forward to seeing how you will choose to do that.

So, it's not that I don't want you to be happy; it's that true happiness isn't in having an easy and "perfect" childhood or life. It's not in presents or having things given to you. It's in finding meaning in your relationships, in overcoming hardships, and in doing good for others.

Our life is not perfect. There are things about it that aren't how I imagined or originally planned. Some parts about your life might be harder than they are for others. There will always be tough parts about life. But that is what gives us character. And rising above difficulty is what helps us appreciate all the goodness in our lives. Think about the people we love and who love us. It gives me goosebumps just to try and count the people who love you.

Lots of things happen when you are four years old. More swimming, baseball, jumping on trampolines. Letters and numbers and writing. Tying shoes. Brushing teeth and combing hair. Making friends and strengthening friendships. Laughter and tears and naps and movies and games and costumes and make-believe and bike rides and dog walking and snow angels and plane rides and coloring and restaurants and reading books and snuggling. I can't wait to do all those things with you while you are 4 years old, Johan.

I love you more than words can say and I am so proud of you.

Prayers

2011-10-14T22:00:00.003-05:00

Johan and I practice the religion of be nice to people and don't be a hater. Before we eat, we hold hands and say "We're thankful for this food. We're thankful for each other."

He also says more traditional table graces when he's with my parents.

Last night at dinner, he told my mom, Roger and me that he wanted to lead the table grace. We all held hands and Johan began:

"Little bunny foo foo
Hoppin' through the forest
'coopin up da field mice and poppin' 'em on the head.
Along come the good very and SHE said:
Little bunny foo foo I don't wanna see you scoopin' up
da field mice and poppin' 'em on the head!"

Amen.

Tonight!

2011-10-11T08:24:00.004-05:00

My friends, this is the day I've been waiting for since I first heard Susanna Hoffs' unmistakable voice 25 years ago.

Today is the day I see my favorite band in concert. I know the words of every song. I know the order of the songs on every album.

Yes, dear Bangles, I do understand. I do feel the same. This is burning an eternal flame. It really is.

A Perfect Weekend

2011-10-04T06:53:00.005-05:00

While I don't normally provide weekend recaps here, there was something about this weekend that I don't want to forget. It was a perfect weekend; one that made me reflect on gratitude and how full my life is.

It started with a car ride home with Thomas, who then pulled on his climbing gear and pranced around in the trees for awhile, trimming the branches. Friends and neighbors; beer and wine; chainsaws and children. It was a crisp fall evening with good conversation and much laughter.

Saturday morning, Addie and I packed Johan and her nephew Louis into the Volkswagon and drove to Belle Plaine for apple picking. The sky was cornflower blue and the trees were the most brilliant reds and oranges as we drove along the highway listening to Raffi. The apple orchard was more than just apples. There were pony rides, a train ride, a giant hay stack for jumping, and old fashioned tractors to climb on. It was a wonderful and happy morning. Except when Johan's eyes got "pokey" because of too many jumps in the hay. Addie saved the day with a damp washcloth. Addie has an amazing camera and an even better eye. Her pictures of our outing are here.

Later on Saturday, after having the professionals finish trimming the trees at my house, Addie and I ate Thai food and watched "The Lincoln Lawyer." Considering the fact that Addie fell asleep during the movie, I think I liked it more than she did. It was a legal thriller, but the crux of it was legal ethics. It was all about attorney-client privilege. Super nerdy and fantastic. As we watched, Addie pointed something that I don't generally notice about a film- the art direction. I was happy to sit next to my friend who sees entirely different things in a movie than I do. We learn from each other.

Sunday morning brought an early rise and coffee with BJ and his family. BJ's house is just up from Minnehaha Creek and after some fantastic coffee, we went to the Parkway and watched the Twin Cities Marathon. Our other partner, TRA3, was running the marathon. As we stood in the brisk autumn air waiting for Thomas to run by, Johan practiced sprinting in the grass and chastised me for not letting him "run with Thomas." When Thomas came by, he stopped to sweatily hug BJ and me, as we cheered him on. It was a lovely moment and made me feel truly and firmly that we have a good partnership. We support each other professionally but we also support each other personally and moments where we cheer for one another are important.

After "Thomas won the race, and everyone else was slow" (Johan Alcantara Lund, 10/2/11) we picked Sylia up and had a delicious brunch at Hell's Kitchen complete with a bit of psychoanalysis, laughter, coffee, and lemon ricotta pancakes. Man, it is good to have her home. Rather than trying to pack 4 months of conversation into a single night, we can have a leisurely brunch and let the conversation flow as smooth as the maple syrup that covered and sweetened our breakfast.

After brunch, the Vikings lost. Ok, so not a perfect weekend. But that's ancillary. Mid-afternoon, it was brought to my attention that my parents' dear old friend Cal was in town from North Carolina and a rather last minute family dinner was impending. Pauly and I hemmed and hawed, lamenting the last minute nature of the dinner and complaining of how tired we were. Then we realized that you never would say, "Gee, I wish I would have stayed home rather than see our dear uncle" but if we missed it, we sure might wish we would have gone. So, I picked up Pauly and we reunited with our lovely, loving chosen family. There we told them our tales and listened to stories of us when we were babies. We hugged and kissed Cal and we knew we made the right decision. We talked about love and loss and babies and children the past and the future. We laughed.

After dinner, I came home and read stories to my wonderful son. I felt grateful for all the love that envelops him. From law partners to new(ish) friends in orchards to the oldest friends I have, that boy is surrounded by smart, kind, generous, caring people.

I closed out the weekend with a conversation with Sarah. It only could have been better if she had been sitting with me on my front steps.

Was it a weekend where Johan and I saw everyone that matters? Nope. We weren't at Mille Lacs, so of course there was something major missing for both of us. But, was it a weekend that exemplified all the goodness in our lives? A weekend that made me feel immense gratitude?

Hell, yes.

Not In My Name.

2011-09-22T07:55:00.004-05:00

I feel nauseated when I think about the death penalty. It's been that way since I saw “Dead Man Walking” at the Boulevard Theater circa 1994. I’m disturbed and disgusted that Troy Davis was executed last night. Just like I was when Timothy McVeigh was executed many years ago. I went to bed last night when the Supreme Court was still entertaining one final appeal for clemency. By morning it was done.

I have great reverence for the Court, even when I disagree with the Justices, but how can they allow the State to put a man to death for a crime where seven of nine “eye witnesses” recanted and admitted to police coercion? How can they disregard the historical significance of a white southern government putting a black man to death under the auspices of justice when it was really anything but? To me, the death penalty is nothing more than sanitized lynching. The statistics bear this out. The black and the poor die at the hands of the state. SCOTUS would be intellectually sound to ban such a heinous and barbaric practice under the 5th, 8th, or 14th Amendments. Or all of ‘em.

Parallel to Troy Davis’ story in the news, I’ve been thinking about the limits of human memory. Davis was put to death on the testimony of people who swore they saw what they saw. No DNA or biological evidence. People have been talking about memory. Do you remember where you were on Sept 11? Of course. Like it was yesterday. How could I forget?

I emailed my friend Susie on Sept 11 to tell her I miss her. She and I both lived in the DR at this time 10 years ago, and I have vivid memories of being with her during that time. We left our jobs at the UN and went to a plaza across from the Cathedral in Santo Domingo. We ordered cheese sandwiches. We sat in stunned silence.

Except we didn’t. Somehow my brain played a trick on me. Susie was sick that day, at home with food poisoning. I went to the plaza with a couple of other co-workers, but my dear good friend was not there. She was there all the days before and all the days after, so somehow my mind converged those things and I remembered her being with me. It’s an unsettling thing to think how time blurs experiences into soft pastels and oil crayon pictures where you can’t see the details clearly at all.

Combine the oil crayon drawings of eyewitnesses with a little racist police coercion and that’s how the death penalty is administered. And so here I sit listening to “Eve of Destruction” feeling at once angry, sad, and powerless to change something I know is wrong.

13

2011-08-30T20:44:00.003-05:00

At brunch on Sunday morning, my sister-in-law was describing a conversation she heard her (smart, bug-loving, kind, funny) daughter have with 3 of her friends. They are all 13 and entering 8th grade. The girls were talking about boys and then which girls in their class were "whorish."

Excuse me?

She said this with non-chalance as though she were describing the girls talking about a school dance or Halloween costumes. She sort of laughed at it, and I got a pit in my gut. My niece was not in the room at the time, but I could not just sit there and nod. I noted that I was saddened and disturbed that 13 year old girls are calling each other whores.

My sister in law said that this particular girl had already had sex. So effing what? Now, of course no one thinks 13-year-olds should be having sex, and this is disturbing in its own right, but that does not excuse being labelled a whore.

I suddenly felt myself get so upset by this that I was shaking and I could feel my face go red and hot. When I spoke up, I didn't even realize how upset this actually made me.

Name calling is terrible. Name calling that attacks a person's sexuality and sexual choices is some of the most vicious and damaging name calling. Girls can be awful. They can also be wonderful. I firmly believe and always have that women and girls need to be on the same team. There will be enough forces in the world that attempt to shame us, marginalize us, and make us feel less than worthy. We cannot contribute to that. And we have to teach younger girls why words like whore and slut should not be part of their vocabulary.

Now, of course, adults can't stop what 13 year old girls say when we aren't around. But this was a sort of unique opportunity where the girls were at a hotel sleep over and having this conversation while they knew an adult was in the room. It was a missed chance to bring up the issue of treating other girls and women with respect and compassion.

My sister in law just didn't get why it was such a big deal. Sigh. I realize that parenting isn't easy and that sometimes things come up so quickly, it's hard to know how to react. But, at least to me, there is no gray area here. My reaction was so visceral. I don't know if I'll ever have a daughter, but I will do all I can to impart these values to my son. He will always know where we stand on referring to women as whores.

Since this happened, this old Dar Williams song has been running through my head. "As cool as I am, I thought you'd know this already. I will not be afraid of women." Might be time to bring my niece to a folk concert or at least sit down over coffee.

Gluten Minimus

2011-08-27T17:44:00.003-05:00

I have fairly strong feelings about food allergies. I hate them and think they are mostly fake. Yes yes, I know some people will die if I say "peanut" in their presence, but mostly it's a farce.

In early August my mom and I decided to kick start a plan to lose some weight by doing the South Beach diet. It meant cutting out alcohol and all carbohydrates for 2 weeks. I almost immediately stopped getting heartburn. At first I thought maybe it was the alcohol. This was distressing. But then I reintroduced red wine and the heartburn did not return. So I started testing myself, and it's become clear that if I eat bread or drink beer, I get heartburn.

Gluten is the culprit.

What now? It's not an allergy. I mean, sometimes there is going to be pizza. Or artichoke dip and the only thing for dipping will be french bread. Maybe it's best described as gluten sensitivity. I'm trying to avoid it as it's nice to not have heartburn and it's also helpful in the weight loss plan. 12 pounds so far. Not too shabby.

The best news of course is that it was bread and not wine that was giving me trouble. And now that I'm not really eating bread, there's more time to drink wine. Salud!

A few weeks ago

2011-08-06T10:04:00.004-05:00

...someone I know moderately well, but is by no means on the inside of my life, made some very hurtful comments about how I parent Johan, the life we have, and about Johan in general. I have always kind of thought that I only get offended by comments if there is some truth to them.

For example, I can be passive aggressive sometimes. So if I were to get called out on that, I would probably take offense. And I can be mercurial. I am sensitive when that is pointed out to me.

But this stuff? Of course I am not a perfect mom. And Johan is not a perfect kid. Our family is not perfect either. But we are pretty solid. Johan is a bright, vibrant, spirited, kind kid. He can also be mercurial. He comes by that honestly. But I try hard to make sure he is not spoiled or coddled. I try to teach him to be polite and respectful and to treat others the way he would like to be treated. He does a good job with these things a lot of the time. But he's also three. And if he's overtired or overexcited, sometimes he whines or acts out. He's not allowed to "get away" with that kind of behavior and I discipline him for it, although not in front of other people. I usually take him out of the room and discuss inappropriate behavior privately with him. Public humiliation and shame are not part of my discipline routine.

I've thought a lot about the comments this person made. I've wondered if I'm sensitive about it because I worry she's right. I've thought, maybe she thinks I'm not disciplining him since I don't do it in front of her. I've now settled into some comforting conclusions. 1) She's wrong. 2) She doesn't know Johan, me, or our life. 3) It's none of her business. 4) Her opinion of our life affects us in no way whatsoever. And 5) I've been angry not because her comments are true, but because I am not used to be people being bluntly unkind.

When I think about the good people in Johan's and my life, I feel overwhelmed with gratitude and fortune. Our universe of family and friends, both blood-related and not, are not just folks who pat us on the back and say "good job." They challenge us to be the best we can. They call me out when I've got a head full of crazy. They do so, however, in supportive ways. They are not mean.

I'm not really sure of the thesis of this, but I can tell you that I no longer think that I am only sensitive to criticism I fear is true. Sometimes cruel words, even if entirely untrue, can seep in and get to you. Their sting is hard to forget.

But, I get daily reminders from Johan that he is a wonderful kid with a mom who, while imperfect, is doing the best she can. When he offers to share his treat with a littler kid and then "read" her a story; when he wants to help clear the table; when he cuddles up to me in the early morning when I'm still half-asleep and kisses my cheeks, I know that we are doing just fine.

Anniversaries

2011-07-17T14:02:00.007-05:00

You all know how I feel about religious and cultural holidays- way too played up and usually end in disappointment.

Birthdays and personal holidays like anniversaries and graduations are different. I firmly believe those should be celebrated with much pomp and circumstance.

My 30th birthday was done right. On the Saturday before my birthday, we had a bash at Brianna's parents that involved almost all of the people that matter to me within 50 miles of Minneapolis, a swimming pool and jacuzzi, a strawberry souffle cake, mustard dip, glow necklaces, bubbles, wine "tasting" (read: guzzling), beer pong, and laughter that makes your kidneys hurt. At one point I was standing on the deck looking out at people, and I noted to myself that my life is damn good. It was a very similar feeling I remember having as I looked out into the ballroom at the Embassy Suites on July 17, 2004. Holy smokes, this life is beautiful.

Today is my wedding anniversary. I just thought of it about 30 minutes ago while taking a shower. And, unexpectedly, I became very emotional. I can't really articulate why. I remember that day so well. It was an incredible day. So much love. So much fun. So much laughter. So much. Kind of like my 30th birthday party actually (but for that the birthday party had a few key players missing and a few people present who didn't exist when I got married.) This is the first 17th of July that's come around since I got divorced. I can't remember what we did for our anniversary last year. Probably nothing.

It's weird how anniversaries work. Like, I never have any idea what I've done on any June 4th or December 9th or February 10th. Ever.

But there I will always know how I've spent November 15th (since 2007- never before that year) or July 11th. And I guess I will always think about my wedding on July 17th.
8 years ago, we were getting ready to head to the courthouse.

7 years ago, we were in the rose gardens at Lake Harriet taking pictures and then danced at least 5 times to "Heyya."

6 years ago, we ate at Kinhdo and drank rum on the balcony of our apartment.

5 years ago, we danced at Conga. Eduardo drank too many Pina Coladas.

4 years ago, I was studying for the bar exam and we waited until I was done and then spent a weekend at the cabin celebrating the bar exam finishing, our anniversary, and the baby growing in my belly.

3 years ago, we had take out from El Meson because Johan had a summer fever.

2 years ago, we stayed at a hotel downtown and ate an incredible meal at Masa. We drank champagne and toasted 5 years. There were chocolate covered strawberries.
And my dad gave us a Wii.

1 year ago...can't remember. Not sure why. Did we do nothing? Maybe so. Things were careening toward

And today. Today I am going over to Pauly's for a BBQ with my oldest friends in the world. Spending the afternoon and evening with people who were at my wedding, and who will be there when things are celebratory and when things are low. Getting through a day that is unexpectedly emotional and kind of hard. And more than "getting through," living it up.

It's this one life we've got and July 17th isn't a day that Eduardo and I will commemorate together anymore, but it's still a day. Today Johan and I will do something else and make new memories with our fictive kin and celebrate all the things we have for which to be thankful.

What?

We're supposed to do that on the 4th Thursday of November? It's a holiday? Thanksgiving? Uh-uh. We will have Thanksgiving on July 17th. We will grill shrimp and pineapple and eat potato salad with bacon and drink white wine and play with squirt guns. That's Thanksgiving.

I guess I really do like holiday traditions, after all.

Funny how that works...

2011-06-28T06:40:00.003-05:00

I've noticed over the past few years that a vacation comes just when I need it. Sometimes more frequently, sometimes less- but it never fails that when I feel like the rat race is about to become too much, just around the bend is a long weekend with people that nourish my soul. Not chicken soup. Don't be an ass.

The past few weeks have been trying and last night I went to sleep feeling exhausted, defeated, and angry at the day for treating me like that. This morning I awoke to these names running through my head.

SarahMoiraMichelleRoisinNateBadSarahLauraLibbyDalasieTuckerAlliKathie...and more. (You guys, can we do the Stevie Wonder performance again? Please?)

Take THAT, yesterday! In just 2 days, after bringing Johan to my dad and Ev's to begin his superherosuperfun long weekend at the cabin and swinging by Aveda for a haircut, I'm flying off to the left coast to celebrate the wedding of a fantastic couple with the rest of our fantastic friends.

Fine, call it chicken soup. You're probably right.

Oh, hi. Want to catch up?

2011-06-12T14:51:00.003-05:00

Did you think I was gone forever? Nope.

It's been a busy, interesting, enlightening few weeks. There have been parties, Twins games, Mille Lacs time, late night discussions, foiled plans that turned into better plans, old friends meeting new friends, family time, Johan's religious exploration, movies, house sitting, pools and Jacuzzis, tee-ball, the beginning of Montessori school, a spring program at the old school, swimming lessons, and me deciding I'm ready to think about meeting someone and be out there, as it were.

Dating sounds so silly, in a way. I am from the generation of hanging out and hooking up. I'm pretty sure that's still what the kids do, although I imagine it involves facebook and texting now. Hanging out, hooking up, logging on? Anyway, the word "date" reminds me of sitting across the table from someone at a diner having an ice cream soda and then going to a drive in movie. Am I thinking of "Grease?" Probably. Well, here goes nothing. And maybe someone will give me a letter jacket and we'll go steady. Dreamy.

In other news, I saw "Bridesmaids" with Addie on Friday night and it was the funniest movie I've seen in a long time. Addie and I decided we want to be friends with the women from the SNL cast (mostly former at this point.) If anyone has any ideas about how we could have a dinner party with Kristen Wiig, Maya Rudolph, Tina Fey, and Amy Pohler, I'm all ears.

It is less than a month until my 30th birthday. I haven't enjoyed my birthday that much for the past few years. It's starting to be like how I feel about Halloween: such high expectations followed by inevitable disappointment. I have an irrational fear that I will somehow spend my birthday weekend and the actual day alone and sad. All evidence points to that not happening, but worry I do.

Johan's last swim lesson was today. The next session starts already tomorrow evening. I'm glad a new session is starting because, while I think the Foss school is great and I'm happy with the progress Johan has made, I am not a big fan of his teacher from this session. Johan's class was only 2 kids- a 5-year-old girl and him. The entire time, the teacher was more vociferous in her praise of the other child, spent more time with the other child, and did not re-direct inappropriate behavior of the other child. I felt like Johan was getting minimal praise, being somewhat ignored, and only told that he needed to do things better and longer. I tried to ignore this at first because I do not want to be that mom who is always gunning for her kid. There is a delicate balance between being your child's advocate/ally and standing back to let them know the world is a place where they have to make their own strides and speak up to be heard.

But, it kept happening. For awhile I thought maybe the teacher just preferred girl children. When we did our mid-session reviews, I noted this on the form. Nothing changed. In last couple weeks of lessons, though, I realized what I think the problem actually is. Johan is 3 and the other girl is 5. But they are almost exactly the same size. Obviously the 5 year old is faster and better coordinated and has a longer attention span. These are all things that make teaching swimming easier for the teacher. I think the teacher either did not know or could not grasp the fact that Johan is a full 2 years younger than his classmate. It seems that the teacher was looking at them side by side, expecting similar skill sets and behaviors, and since Johan is 3, he could not keep up with the other kid and with what the teacher came to expect since the girl performed at that level. She thought she was comparing apples to apples, but it was really apples to broccoli (Johan's favorite). Since the teacher was expecting a sweet and tangy fruit, rather than a fibrous crunchy vegetable, she responded in kind. Imagine taking a big swig of Sprite or vodka when you're expecting water. We've all done it. You know what I mean.

Johan is in the 95th percentile for height and weight and 99th percentile for head size. He can pass for 5 easily when you look at him. But his physical skills, emotional maturity, and abilities are that of a 3 year old. He's broccoli, just how he should be, but people sometimes are going to expect him to be an apple. I remember vividly going to the park with my cousin when we were kids. I am 6 months older than her, but was always a full head taller than her. My grandma would tell me to "take care" of Carla at the park. I just seemed older because I was bigger. Instead of taking care of Carla, I would spin her really fast on the swings until she got dizzy and fell over. Then we would eat blow pops and climb up the slide. We were both broccoli.

Well, the session is over and I hope that Johan's new class has another 3-year-old in it. I may mention to his new teacher that he is 3, even though he looks older. Don't worry, though. I won't tell the swim teacher about my extended apple and broccoli metaphor. That would be weird.

All right, enough for now. But it felt good to sit down and write. I'll be back soon.

College

2011-05-20T22:26:00.002-05:00

Tonight during Johan's bedtime routine, one of the books he chose was Toy Story 3. Yes, it's a book too.

Well, in TS3, Andy is going to college. As such, Johan likes to talk about college. Tonight he told me he can't wait for college. I told him college is great and he will love it. And then he told me he wanted me to come with him to college.

I snuggled closer to him and said that I would bring him there but that when big kids go to college, mamas don't stay. He pouted and insisted that I stay at college with him. "We'll talk about it when it gets closer to the time," I said.

It makes me feel happy and sad at once to think of it. It's so far away but I know that one day I will wake up and be writing a letter to him as he graduates from high school reminding him of when he made me promise to come to college with him.

Then, for Johan's last bedtime story of the evening(it's not TS3, but I do my best), I told him a story of some very good friends who went to college together in a sunny place where the huevos rancheros were spicy and the political marches were passionate and the learning was deep and the fun was never ending. And I started to miss those friends something fierce and felt profoundly lucky to have them (even though they are far away now) and I got very excited for my upcoming long weekend with them in just a month.

College. Oh, Johan, you don't even know. It's going to be so good.

IG

2011-05-15T09:17:00.003-05:00

I have seen the Indigo Girls in concert a cool 9 times since age 15. For awhile, I was steady at once a year, but both being abroad and being a mom have kept me from some shows.

This summer the IG are playing at the Minnesota Zoo Amphitheater. I found this out in April and marked my calendar for the date tickets went on sale. They will be at the Amphitheater just 2 days after my 30th birthday and what a lovely way to start off a new fiscal year.

This is where the sabotage begins. The tickets were supposed to be on sale starting 10am on May 4th. When I checked on May 2 in the early afternoon just to be absolutely sure, the date had changed! Yes, it changed; I did not misread. Tickets were already on sale and I tried to get to Ticketmaster to order mine. Addie tried too. She even called Ticketmaster. No tickets. All sold out.

Seriously. Weak.

There are tickets available on stubhub but are prices at 2-3x the face value of tickets. I think my mom would call that highway robbery. And just because I'm almost 30 doesn't mean I have become any less of a tightwad.

I was a proponent of repealing the anti-scalping law in Minnesota. This was effected in 2007 (or 2008), I think, and I agreed with it. I suppose I still do. If I agree with a law (or lack of law), I need to maintain that position even if it negatively impacts me. Trying to not be a hypocrite is so boring sometimes.

And even though I can't curse the scalping process, curses on those people that bought up all the Indigo Girls tickets leaving none for a soon to be Dirty Thirty girl. Amy and Emily would not approve.

Holding the Twisted Triangle

2011-05-04T08:05:00.003-05:00

Yeah. More discomfort. This time because I didn't cite check before re-posting the partially fabricated quote in my last post.

Apparently, the first line of it comes from one Jessica. How much you want to bet she writes a book now?

Here's an article that I think deals nicely with the fake quote issue.

I'll leave it at that and move on, still pushing myself outside my comfort zone. And still refusing to celebrate the death of an enemy. And that's for real.

Choosing the Uncomfortable

2011-05-02T20:16:00.004-05:00

"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." --Martin Luther King, Jr.

I have repeated this meditation to myself again and again over the past several hours. There is a certain amount of vindication I have felt at OBL's death. But that is not an emotion I am proud of. On the contrary, I do not want to celebrate death. In fact, in the days after 9-11, I think I was the ugliest I have ever been in my life. I tapped into hate that I didn't know I could find within me, and I don't ever want to find that again. I have no desire to return to a place of hate, and seeing the images of 9-11 repeated on the news reminds me of how I felt and how I was in those dark and scary days.

I am not there now. I believe in love. But I must remind myself of that. I feel disturbed by the chants of U-S-A and #1 and the sports-like atmosphere. This is not a national championship or a Super Bowl victory. It's war. It's human life and human death. How can I profess to denounce state-sanctioned killing and teach my child to vehemently oppose the death penalty if I do not also refuse to celebrate OBL's death.

It's not natural to take that position, maybe, particularly with regard to such a vile enemy. I can certainly see how, in pain, people may find themselves feeling empowered in vengeance. But I have to resist that path. Similarly, it's perhaps not natural to work my body into a twisted triangle or frog pose during yoga practice. It can be uncomfortable and difficult. It can push me outside of my comfort zone. It can make me have to use all my strength and willpower to hold the position. But I choose that road. And like Robert Frost says, that has made all the difference.

As for my family and me, we choose love. And we will not rejoice in the death of another, even an enemy.

Growing Boy

2011-04-23T11:38:00.002-05:00

Johan's lunch today:

- 7 chick'n nuggets
- 1 cup broccoli
- 1 pint blueberries
- 6 strawberries
- 1 bowl of Crispix with milk

I'm going to need a second job to keep the fridge stocked pretty soon.

Montessori

2011-04-17T17:05:00.002-05:00

In June, Johan is going to start Montessori school at Child Garden. My visit there showed a place that was at once tranquil and bustling with positive energy. The sun shining into the classrooms is warm and inviting. The activities are classic Montessori materials combined with picnics in the sculpture garden of the Walker Art Center.

Johan's friend Ruby, who will soon be his classmate, has already started and she loves it. I was already excited for Johan to start Montessori, but on reading this article, I can't wait for June 1 to roll around. Check it out.

Deep Conversations

2011-04-09T08:45:00.002-05:00

Johan to my dad: Where is God?

Dad: I don't really know, but many people say heaven.

Johan: He's up in the clouds, right?

Dad: Many people believe that he's up there.

Johan: What is he doing up there?

Dad: Making mischief and raising hell.

Johan: Yeah, and God misses me.

Dad: Yes he does but he's also raising hell.

Johan: Let's play that you're the mommy Ernie and I'm the baby Ernie but we don't have any legs.

Dad: Sounds good.

Handyland

2011-04-02T15:30:00.007-06:00

I've never been handy. True story.

One day freshman year of college, Moira and I got back from the grocery store (thanks to our friend Ed who had a Jeep) with many healthy vittles to consume. Well, that may be an overstatement. It was probably ramen noodles, frozen burritos, and all flavors of Home Run Pies. Nevertheless, when we got home with our groceries to load into the mini-fridge, my dad had sent us a rocking chair that needed assembly. Ru-roh. I don't assemble. Not handy like that.

Moira got to assembling the chair with the allen wrench while I unloaded the food and started boiling water for some ramen. I probably prepared some beverages too. From then on, it was established that she was the handyman and I was the domestic. The funny thing is that she's probably a much better cook than I am, too.

But, lately I've been feeling the winds of change (mysterious whistling). Since Eduardo has been gone from the house, I've had to step up to do lots of things I would normally have left to him (or, you know, Moira).

From snow shovelling to minor fix-it projects, I've learned a lot. In the interest of full disclosure, yes, I had some help from a neighbor teen with the snow shovelling but I did plenty of it myself, as well. We had more than enough for everyone to shovel this year.

Last weekend, for the first time ever, I built something. Granted, it was just a piece of Target shelving with step-by-step instructions. And, yes, Jamie was in town so I had some help with it. (Thanks, Jamie.) But I did it. And it looks great in Johan's room. And I am damn proud of myself for it. And it makes me want to try to do more stuff like this.

I've also recently realized that I don't have to do the projects I don't want to do. I like planting flowers and I don't mind mowing the lawn, but I have been dreading doing the spring clean up. The get-in-there-and-rake-those-gross-leaves-you-should-have-raked-last-fall-but-you-couldn't-because-it-snowed-early-and-you-were-in-an-emotional-crisis-anyway-so-not-really-focused-much-on-lawn-care. I've picked up some of the leaves by hand but there is much to be done.

Then, a nice lawn care company came by and left a flier stuck to my glass door with a "custom quote" to do all the spring clean up in my yard- front and back- for $49.95. Uh, yes please! I can't ignore this project, but I sure can hire someone to do it for me.

That means that on this beautiful spring day, instead of having to worry about gross leaves and moldy yards, I could spend the day going on a walk with Johan, then to a birthday party with about a million little kids blowing bublles on the deck, and then sit in the sun and read a book. Worth $49.95? You bet.

Starfish

2011-03-21T16:01:00.005-06:00

This is a post in two parts.

From 3/21/11:

I find myself unspeakably angry about nuclear proliferation and radiation these days. Earthquakes and tsunamis are horrific and sad, but there is something so much more devastating to me about the nuclear meltdown.

An earthquake is out of our hands. Nothing you can do to stop those plates from banging together.

A tsunami is out of our hands. Nothing you can do to stop sea water from displacing after an earthquake.

But nuclear power plants? Built on the Ring of Fire? Built on these faults where we know earthquakes will happen? Built anywhere? I feel like shaking my fist at all of the heads of state and screaming "You did this! You!"

We did this. I did this. I certainly haven't done my part.

I may be something of a masochist because as my anger builds over the radiation leaking into the water and spinach and the cows, I can't stop myself from reading again about the A-bomb and the Chernobyl disaster. I remember reading this stuff in high school and I felt the injustice so profoundly back then. Turns out I still do.

But I also feel inept. I feel like there is nothing I can possibly do that would actually contribute to disarmament or to making sure no more nuclear energy plants are built? It seems totally insurmountable. I mean, how do you get rid of these chemicals? What does disarmament even mean? It's not like you can just put them in the trash or recycling. What have we done?

I was going to link up to some slide shows and pictures of nuclear aftermath. The burns and the keloids; the birth defects and the blood; the crumbled buildings and dead trees. But you know what it looks like. And you can find those images easily. I don't need to put them here.

---------

Then I stopped writing and wanted to think some more about how to finish my thoughts.

From 3/23/11:

Then I had dinner with Addie last night.

We were talking about something deep, but not Japan, or even Libya. And she told a story that someone had shared with her.

There was a man standing on the seashore and a large wave came in and washed thousands of starfish onto the beach. They were everywhere. The man started throwing the starfish one by one back into the sea. Another man approached and said, "Why are you bothering? There are thousands of starfish and it will never make a difference." The man picked up another starfish and and threw it into the sea and said "It makes a difference to that one."

I guess that's the point, isn't it? If I think about the tragedy in the world on a grand scale, it's inevitable that I'll find the problems insurmountable. I can't fix the meltdown or undo atomic energy.

So I could sit around and feel badly about that or I could throw a starfish in the ocean.

I can treat my clients with dignity and respect, understanding that they might walk in to my office feeling angry and helpless and disenfranchised. And that just maybe I can make things better for that person.

I can be patient and loving to Johan. I can give him hugs and model kindness. I can make him feel safe in our home and at his school and in the world. I can teach him values of peace (and disarmament!)

And while those things won't save the world from natural disaster or nuclear meltdowns, they certainly will matter to the starfish I can get back into the sea.

Johan-style Party

2011-03-21T12:26:00.002-06:00

I know I promised stories of swimming and pink towers, but this just made my afternoon. The director of Johan's preschool just sent me this e-mail.

"Hi Kristina,
He doing well and not one with a fever;) I will be sure to keep you posted if I notice any changes in him though.
I'm glad you sent an email though because it reminded me that I wanted to share a cute story with you about Bronwyn and Johan from Friday. They were the only "young" preschoolers on Friday and were soooo cute playing together. Bronwyn announced they were going to a party and that there would be cake and ice cream at the party. Johan then chimed in and said there would also be wine and coffee -I thought I heard him correctly when he said "wine", but double checked and want to assure you he did not hear that here;) They continued to play for some time when Johan invited Cinderella (aka, Bronwyn) to go to the Ball with him. What a classy little guy -wine, cinderella and the Ball!"

Wine and coffee, eh? Yep, that's my son. No doubt about it.

Hope: You Know What it Does

2011-03-19T16:26:00.005-06:00

Or, just in case you don't know, it springs eternal.

I'd mentioned how much I am looking forward to Twins season because it means a new season is starting.

My divorce was finally final (signed off by Judge and entered as a judgment) on March 15. It already felt final to me, in a lot of ways, but the documents arrived to my office just this week. Without a lot of fanfare. There they were, mixed in with the rest of the mail at work: settlement offers, explanations of benefits on insurance claims, requests from USCIS for more information, visa approvals, and the Judgment and Decree.

The Judgment was not the only thing that arrived this week. This also arrived, with just as little fanfare. One day the ground was covered in snow and the next, there was green.

Underneath wet leaves and grass clippings (snow came early last fall, before I had the chance to finish cleaning up my yard) emerged the first plants of 2011. New growth. When I see perennial flowers sprout up from the ground in the Spring, I believe in renewal. Today I cleared some of those dead leaves out of the gardens and my yard, and the crocuses and I are starting anew.

I'm luckier than the crocuses though because I have sweet seats for the Twins and the crocuses will not be attending any baseball games.

I shall now return us to our regularly scheduled programming...awesome things that Johan does. Next up: swimming lessons and Montessori school!

Check this out

2011-03-06T07:49:00.002-06:00

Alright, well, Spring is a little sluggish right now.

Check out the new blog on my right side bar, Hot Sour Salty Sweet. You can also find it here.

My yoga instructor and her husband are traveling through Southeast Asia for several months. I'm so jealous and having spent a short time in Thailand, it makes me want to go back.

The stories and pictures are enough to almost make me be able to feel the warm sun close to the equator. But not quite.

A New Season

2011-03-01T21:17:00.003-06:00

It's been an arduous season. Minnesotans love to talk weather. I try not to since it's cliche, but this winter? Man, oh, man; it's been brutal.

I remember last fall in the throes of separation, pain, and cold, I thought to myself, just wait until baseball season. By the Home Opener, I will be in a different place. And I'm damn sure it's true.

There is something hopeful about March. It may be that there is more cold and snow ahead, but it's different than the cold of January. There's hope. There's an end in sight. Better said, there's a beginning in sight. As for me and mine, we decided that today begins the hopefulness of Spring.

Let there be cold and snow. We are looking toward warm sun and flowers erupting from the dirt in the front yard gardens. That was the intention sent out from my yoga mat this morning- hope for the new season. Bring it on.

To keep in the spirit of newness, in the past 5 days, I have received the most wonderful news that 2 (count them TWO) of my closest, dearest, oldest friends are moving home to Minneapolis (one is for sure; one is likely.) They have not lived here in a very long time and life's circumstances are bringing them back to me (and their families, but whatevs, this is my blog).

Another way to think of this is that 50% of my bridesmaids will be living within biking distance from me by the end of 2011. Of course, their importance to me and to Johan is much more than their sea foam green dresses and calla lilies, but if you had to ask me to pick 4 friends to live close by, those bridesmaids would be it. And suddenly, 50% of them may well be in Minneapolis by Labor Day? Now, that is a new season to celebrate.

Johannish

2011-02-23T21:28:00.002-06:00

Sometimes I feel corny blogging about the funny and cute and excellent things that Johan says. One time someone told me that my life was like the Family Circus. Maybe so, but this stuff is good, and I'm afraid I'll forget it if I don't write it down.

In the car today:

Me: Johan, I'm so proud of you. Miss Kelli said you had such nice manners today. You were a big helper and listened well and used your indoor voice.

Johan: Yeah, but Miss Kelli is wrong.

Me: What do you mean?

Johan: My voice is not indoors. It is in my throat.

--------

And then later, looking at some pictures in a magazine of girls in dresses...

Johan: Look at those party dresses!

Me: Do you like them?

Johan: Yes, they're so pretty it makes me want to wear a tie. [long pause] Momma, let's have a party and I'll wear a tie.

Chicken for the week

2011-02-13T16:07:00.002-06:00

Two things I like to do in the kitchen are 1) use the Crock Pot and 2) cook a bunch of chicken breasts on Sunday so I always have some for the week.

I have been experimenting for awhile. I have used different Paul Newman marinades (pretty good and no preservatives or corn syrup). I have made my own marinades usually involving a lot of garlic and balsamic. The problem with marinades when you are making chicken for the week is that I get sick of that particular flavor pretty quickly.

Two weeks ago, I came upon a recipe for roast chicken in the crock pot. All you had to do was put some tufts of aluminum foil on the bottom of the crock pot, lay the chicken in and season with salt and pepper (or whatever other dry spices). Sounded easy but also dangerous. Foil heating up for 6-8 hours? It seems like some chemicals might get released into my chicken that I'd rather not have. The recipe made it sound like the foil was there just to keep the chicken from sticking to the bottom of the crock pot.

So, I improvised and cut up a red onion instead. I added garlic, salt, and pepper. That was last week's chicken. It was good but had a strong onion flavor- kind of like french onion soup. The same problem as I have with the marinades- I got sick of it.

But, so committed am I to chicken for the week that I persisted on... and today I found the right combination.

I present to you, Chicken for the Week:

- 4 chicken breasts, trimmed. About 1 lb. I used boneless.
- 1 baking potato, peeled and sliced to cover the bottom of the crock pot.
- ground pepper
- olive oil
- seasoned salt

Lay the potato slices on the bottom of the crock pot. Rub a bit of olive oil on each chicken breast. Add pepper and seasoned salt (or just sea salt) and any other spices you want to taste.

Put the chicken over the potato.

Turn the Crock Pot on low for however long it takes. I let my chicken go for about 7hours but I think it was done in 5-6. I just forgot about it roasting away in the kitchen for awhile. It's fall-off-the-bone tender (even though the breasts I used are boneless), delicious, and is not dominated by bbq or sesame or garlic or onion. I think it's versatile enough to go over some salad greens, in some tacos with some cumin and salsa added, or just as dinner with some asparagus and brown rice on the side.

I threw the potato slices away because I only really like potatoes from the Capital Grille, but if you are a potato person, I bet they're pretty good smashed up with some butter olive oil, too.

Socially Networked

2011-02-11T23:09:00.007-06:00

I just finished watching The Social Network. It's the best movie I've seen in a long time. (I recently saw Garden State which is also an excellent movie. It made me laugh and cry. So that's good.) The Social Network didn't make me cry and I laughed just a couple times, but I was damn intrigued. It made me, at least for the moment, think about a lot of things. Here's that list.

- college (missing it way more now)

- the east coast (how would my life have been if I'd gone east instead of west?)

- Napster (That was my era, man. 1999. Downloading 80s hits and sexy rock songs and TV theme songs for hours at a time without standing up from the computer. One night it was a contest between Moira and me about who could "get" more songs. We stayed up until dawn and Moi had to catch a flight early in the morning. But why wouldn't we forgo sleep to get more songs?)

- Facebook. (I remember so vividly the night that I signed up for Facebook. It was 2006, I think. Sarah and I were staying at the Madison Governor's Club and Concourse Hotel in Wisconsin for admitted law students weekend. You think that's dorky? NEVER MIND. The point is, at the time, I was anti-facebook. I thought it was pretentious. Back then, you had to have an .edu email. I had two of them: @oxy.edu and @umn.edu, but still, it pissed me off. The same reason that most things about Harvard annoy me was the reason Facebook annoyed me. I'll chill on Friendster and MySpace where the masses can go, too. But then. Oh, then, Sarah convinced me to use my oxy.edu address to open a Facebook account. The first "wall post" on my facebook account is an inebriated list of *funny* inside jokes that Sarah and I formulated while in that Madison hotel. Is there any easy way for me to locate that now? And, on that fateful night that I joined facebook, one of those great jokes was our friend Jota...)

- Jota. Speaking of Jota. We met in Valparaiso, Chile in 2002. He was a Junior at Harvard. Now he's a fancy pants successful New York lawyer, but I still remember him as a skinny, beer-drinking, Che-loving, Sur America-obsessed, Ivy League liberal who I wasn't sure I liked when I first met him. Well, that was before I knew him as a kind, lovable, one-pecked genuine guy who would be my friend for long after we left the Southern Cone. He's great. I hardly ever talk to him, but when I do, it's absolute fun. It usually involves boxes of wine and Sarah, too. So, Jota, you were at Harvard 1999-2003...Why in the hell didn't you invent facebook.com?)

Anyway, it's a great movie. What else should I see before the Oscars?

DR

2011-02-04T23:20:00.005-06:00

I was 17 when I went to the DR for the first time. It was when I first met Eduardo and eventually fell in love with him, but that place was much more to me from the beginning.

There is something unique and absolutely exquisite about Dominican culture. It is happiness and optimism. There is always reason to smile, to laugh, to dance. In the face of whatever hardship, in the Dominican Republic, the outlook is always positive. There are electric outages that make you so hot and stifled, but lovely ocean breezes that make you feel full of life. There is trash in the streets sometimes, but always amazing coastline and the most pristine aqua blue sea you have ever seen. There is less to "do" than in the U.S. but there are open air bars with cheap cold beer and bachata and reggae music blaring with people who will dance unabashedly until dawn.

Here's the thing. I had kind of forgotten about that stuff. The good stuff. Over the past few years, I'd lost my appreciation for the country that got under my skin so many years ago. And this time around, I found it.

I had a few days alone in Santo Domingo staying in a hotel in the most beautiful square of the city. Across a plaza from the first cathedral of the New World, adjacent to a park where men smoke cigars and women smile and pigeons put St. Mark's Square to shame. I read books and drank delicious strong but mellow coffee. I ate sandwiches with melted queso danes and borrowed a cigarette or two from German tourists who invited me to show them the real Santo Domingo. Done. We walked a few blocks and I showed them Ocho Puertas, the best bar in the world where I had the best conversations with the best people 10 short years ago.

Then, after some time of much needed solitude came the Zuber sisters. Neither had travelled to a developing country before. Italy or Australia, sure. But they had not been to a place where 40 men pile in the back of a pick-up truck or on top of a conversion van. Or where toddlers straddle their mamas and papas on motorcycles, helmetless. Just for example. Fortunately, both Zubers are outgoing, life-loving people who were ready to immerse completely. And, seeing them absorb and fall in love with Dominican culture was nostalgic and powerful for me. It reminded me of why I couldn't stay away from this place.

Upon their arrival, we headed to an all-inclusive resort half an hour from Santo Domingo. Not the best for cultural immersion you say? Au contraire. This particular place had no guests. Truly. There was a guy from Tampa, FL, a Canadian, a few missionaries, and us. Oh yeah, and a bunch of fantastic Dominicans on the entertainment staff. By nightfall our first night there, Brianna and Kelsey had mastered the basic Bachata steps, and within 24 hours had discovered how charming Dominican people can be. Friday and Saturday night wealthy Dominicans flooded the place and showed off their incredible Bachata technique, but we had already sealed ourselves in the hearts of the entertainment staff (equipo de animacion.)

The entertainment staff/ animation team was a group of folks there for the express purpose of making sure were, uh, animated. Having fun. And they also became our good friends. There were late night conversations over Presidente and Santo Libres about love and life and children and immigration and happiness peppered by Bob Marley, Akon, and of course, Aventura and Prince Royce. There was dancing until our shirts were soaked with perspiration. Because in the DR, you seal most everything with a dance.

On Saturday night, when the hotel discoteca closed at 2 a.m., there was much more fun to be had, so at the invitation of our animation team, we headed to Chocolate Bar, an open-air bar that showed equal appreciation for the Black eyed Peas and Antony Santos. There were men on motorcycles in the street outside the bar just as much a part of the scene as the folks inside the bar. There were Dominicans, Americans, Canadians, Haitians, and whoknowswhatelse. Every single person in that place was full of life. Most drunk, a few not, but all in motion. All feeling the beat. All in celebration. It was a place of no tears, no maudlin; only upbeat, only optimistic, perfectly Dominican.

A few of the animation team wondered aloud during our stay at the Talanquera Resort how I could have green eyes and be Dominican. No, no, I'm not Dominican. Just lived here for awhile. But you speak Dominican and dance Dominican. It's true, but I'd forgotten. And it was about time for me to remember.

On the last night we were in the DR, Johan was with us and our new dear friend Fosforito told me that you can tell by the way Johan stands, by the way that he walks, and the look in his eyes that he's Dominican. I suppose there's no denying that.

And the best part is that Johan's mama finally remembered all the wonderful pieces of the DR. I'm not sure when or how I forgot. But I need to make sure not to do that again. This little boy is apparently so Dominican that you can see it in his stance and before long, he will have perfected the Bachata step and put Prince Royce to shame. And we will go there every year and be reminded of the magical place it is, full of happiness and optimism. And even when we are not there, by the look in our eyes, you will know that we are.

And, well, if you're still reading this, you must care quite a lot about how I feel about the DR. So, you should probably come with us on our next adventure. Who's in?

Junto a Mi

2011-02-03T21:52:00.003-06:00

We're back. There's so much I want to say. I'm still processing a lot of it. In some strange way, this trip to the DR was changing for me. It reminded me of the travels I used to take there many years ago. There was an incredible and positive energy for so many reasons. I'll go into it more later, but much of that positive energy was set to this newest, latest Bachata craze:

Call it cheesy, but let me tell you that under the stars and the palm trees, you would not be able to keep your feet or hips still and you would dance the whole night away. At least that's what we did, just not in shorts like the girls in the video.

Math

2011-01-22T13:52:00.002-06:00

+

+

= the best way to spend the last days of January.

Why We Don't Do That

2011-01-19T20:39:00.002-06:00

Johan: We don't poop in the bathtub.

Me: You're right. We don't.

Johan: Because if we do, the water is hot and then there will be hot poop.

Me: That's one of the reasons, but there are lots of other reasons we don't do that, too.

Johan: We don't want hot poop.

Me: Good point.

Johan: So don't do that.

Bar Food

2011-01-18T20:55:00.003-06:00

I just boiled some eggs and thought of Chile.

While we were studying in Chile, my friend Roisin always carried around a travel-size transportable shaker of salt with her. She really loves salt. I would tease her about it because, really, if we were at a restaurant and the food needed salt, they would have salt shakers on the table. This was Chile, not the U.S.S.R., you know?

Then one day we found ourselves in a bar and instead of peanuts or some sort of rice cracker mix, the bar food was hard boiled eggs. And they didn't have any salt. I guess Roisin had the last laugh as I asked to borrow her travel-size salt shaker.

I can't remember the name of that bar. Huevos Bar? No, that's too easy. How do you say bizarre in Chilean?

That's all for now.

Oh, yeah, and Johan and I are leaving for the Dominican Republic on Sunday. I will be spending a few days alone while Johan and Eduardo spend some time in the campo and before my friends Brianna and Kelsey. I am armed with plenty of books, New Yorkers, and sunscreen.

Dinner Conversation

2011-01-12T21:24:00.003-06:00

I love dinner conversation. There is nothing I'd rather do than sit with witty and bright people at a table, eating a good meal, drinking good wine, and having good conversation. And I like it best when we sit at the table long after the meal is finished, laughing and talking.

When I was growing up, in both of my homes family dinner was important. It didn't happen every night but I liked when it did. I liked talking about our days, about politics, about ideas and plans, and how my dad would conduct the conversation according to the Federal Rules of Evidence.

During my years with Eduardo, the dinner table was sometimes too quiet for me. I think there are some cultural things associated with this. My experience in the DR is that Dominicans laugh and talk over beer or a game of dominoes, and certainly at the cock fights, but that dinner is really just a time to eat. Eduardo never wanted to discuss anything deep or serious or even funny over dinner.

Then, once things were less than stellar, we often would not even eat together. Or, if we did, I felt deeply the lack of robust conversation that I longed for.

Over that past couple of months, Johan and I have been at the dinner table together. Just the two of us. Recently, he's been really engaging at the dinner table. We share about our days and a couple nights ago he told me he was disappointed that he didn't get to do the Stretch and Grow class at school because we didn't sign up. We talked about how he'd like to do that and that I would talk to the director to make sure he got registered. It was such a special moment. It seems like a pretty small thing, but represents a lot to me. It means he understands that he can change his world for the better by talking about his needs and wants in a rational way.

And all of a sudden, I have a family where dinner table conversation is again an important part of the day. Pretty soon we'll be debating legislation and discussing articles in the New Yorker, but for now I'm happy to just stretch and grow with Johan. Pour us another cup of juice.

Moving On

2011-01-10T21:23:00.002-06:00

It's hard, you know.

New Years is one of my favorite times of the year. I like reflecting on the year just finished, and making plans and goals for the upcoming year. 2010 was a hard one. I guess every year has hard times and good times. As my previous writing documented, it was a lot of ups and downs for me. I felt emotional and vulnerable and maybe let that get the best of me.

I want 2011 to be a year of less drama. When Eduardo and I first split, Paul and I were sitting on his couch and I told him I just wanted to skip over all this. All the pain and the worry and the heartache. And he said No way. He said you have to just be in it for awhile. There are going to be some times where you have to just be in the stillness and silence and feel sad. And it will be awful. But it will slowly start to get better.

I think I spent the last couple months of 2010 trying to prove Paul wrong. Trying to skip over the really hard stuff. Then it caught up with me toward the end of December and hit me like, well, you know, bricks.

I'm fortunate that I was able to leave Minnesota for a change of scenery. While a cruise is not necessarily a relaxing environment, I did get to do some (wobbly) yoga, sleep a lot, and be near the ocean. These are all things that help center me and that help me to find clarity.

2011 will need to be a time of rebuilding myself and my life. A time of finding balance. I'm somewhere in between ok and a mess. There are going to be some times where I just have to sit in the stillness and feel sad. There's not any drama to it. There's nothing really to fix. It's a process that just has to happen so that I can get to a new version of ok. It won't look really how I'd planned, but what does?

One of the philosophical questions that I struggle with is whether everything happens for a reason. I've written about it before and I've wondered about it for as long as I can remember. There is something comforting about predestination, but at the same time, there is some injustice that makes me think predetermination is pretty sadistic, and that the world must be just a random sequence of events.

I read a Henry David Thoreau quote the other day that I think strikes some balance between destiny and randomness.

"If we will be quiet and ready enough, we shall find compensation in every disappointment."

I can't change what happened in 2010. I don't know if that was always meant to happen or not. I suppose I won't ever know that. The point is that it doesn't matter whether it's random or not. What matters is what I choose to do next. I can quiet my mind and ready myself. I can choose to find peace in the quiet.

Thanks, HDT, for some sound advice to start 2011.

Downs and Ups

2010-12-22T21:18:00.006-06:00

This has been a rocky week. Lots of downs and ups. I'm doing OK but it's quite exhausting. Like running bleachers at the track by Southwest High School. I haven't done that in about 12 years, but I remember how it wore me out so I felt like I couldn't even move. That's kind of how I feel right now.

The roller coaster week in review:

Started Monday by taking Eduardo to the airport at 3:30am. He is in the Dominican Republic now and will be back in Minneapolis mid-February. Sort of an UP because I'm happy for him that he can be in his place for awhile. DOWN because I started the week with a profound lack of sleep.

Monday morning continued with divorce court. DOWN. No fighting; just having to put all of the pain on the record. It was way harder than I expected and I haven't been able to shake it off. I feel like a moron for letting it get to me so much, even though it all happened exactly how I knew it would.

After court, Brianna and another friend of ours and I went to lunch and had a bottle of wine. At 11 a.m. UP. Felt good to be surrounded by two good friends who make me laugh and who don't feel weird when I cry in public.

Mid-way through lunch found out that someone we expected to come to the Vikings game with us wouldn't be able to join us because of some unforeseen circumstances. Vague enough for you? You're welcome. Anyway, the point is, DOWN.

Shortly after lunch, realized that we now had two extra tickets to the Vikings game and that since it was my Divorce Day, I had free reign to figure out how we use them. Enter Pauly and Kara. UP. Oldest dear friend in the world and his awesome wife joining RAA and me at the first outdoor Vikings home game in our lives? UP!

About 4 p.m. we headed over to TCF stadium where the Vikings are playing since the collapse of the Metrodome roof. Waiting in line in an ice storm? DOWN. in my new long underwear, wind pants, and parka while sipping Kahlua and taking pictures with my law partners? UP.

Got into the stadium and had pretty good seats in the end zone. Pauly and Kara arrived just before kick off. Wonderful energy throughout the game. Spent the evening with good friends cheering for our stupid football team. Didn't even matter that they lost. UP.

After the game, I fell into bed about midnight. I'd been up for 21 hours. Got up at 6 a.m. for work. DOWN. I can't actually remember much of my day at work due partly to being tired and partly to being out of sorts. DOWN.

Celebrated Christmas with Mom and Roger last night. Enjoyed delicious food, wonderful company, and the Charlie Brown Christmas Special. UP. And a new feather bed for my bed. UP. Got home to being unable to get in our house through the carriage walk since the plows had plowed it in again , and the neighbor teen I pay to shovel had not shoveled. Had to lug Johan and his gifts around the block to be able to get into our house. DOWN.

As for today, hotmail account was hacked and "I" apparently sent dozens of people Viagra and hot steamy love emails. DOWN.

Tomorrow? Nothing that will prevent me from wearing jeans to work. UP. Hoping to get out of work early enough to get a pedicure before leaving Friday morning for Florida to embark on the Norwegian Sun for 7 days at sea and in Mexico, Belize, Guatemala, and Key West. UP, UP, UP. And all of this with some of my favorite people. UP.

I may not write again in 2010 since I'll be on a ship in the Gulf of Mexico. Here's to a new year with plenty of UP. And if there's more running of the bleachers at the track, here's to plenty of good friends to stretch out with afterward. Movin' on up in 2011.

DADT

2010-12-18T20:06:00.002-06:00

The Senate voted to repeal Don't Ask; Don't Tell today. I feel embarrassed to even capitalize the words and the "acronym" as I write this.

But, it's funny how civil rights legislation happens. You hope for it and demand it and vote for it, and then, when you're drinking wine with some fantastic women and not thinking about civil rights hardly at all, there it comes.

It's a little strange how I feel about this, because I really don't want Johan to be in the military in any way, shape or form for any reason, but at the same time I feel glad that if, for whatever reason he should choose that path, that he could choose it while also being whoever he is meant to be without shame or apologies.

I wonder what a woman similarly situated as I am was doing when the 1965 Voting Rights Act was passed. Was there a woman soon to be divorced who was raising a little boy? Was there a woman who wanted that little boy to grow up in a better world than the one she had known? Did she feel a shift in the universe that night? Will all of this matter?

Tonight, for whatever reason, I feel like my vote on that fateful night in November 2008 matters quite a lot.

Monsters

2010-12-15T19:53:00.002-06:00

Me: Johan, how was your day?

Johan: Good. How was your day mommy?

Me: Well, not great. The judge is going to decide against my client and me in our court case.

Johan: What happened? Is the judge scary?

Me: No, the judge just didn't agree with us.

Johan: The judge is a little bit scary though, right?

Me: No, mommy's not scared. It's ok. Let's talk about your day.

Johan: The judge is scary, mommy. The judge is a monster.

Me: You're right.

Chair Legs

2010-11-29T21:07:00.002-06:00

Today, B.J. and I were talking about love and loss and family and holidays over bowls of hot soup. And he asked me if Thanksgiving was very hard for me this year. And I said, no, not really. Almost all of my closest friends were in town and I had so much fun. (Side note: And this other one is going to be here in less than two weeks. Heart swoons in anticipation.)

B.J. was quiet a moment and then he said, "Most people are supported with 4 or so chair legs to hold them up, and if they lose one, well, things get wobbly. But it seems like you have about 10 chair legs in your life."

Indeed. 10 chair legs. Make no mistake: things still get wobbly, but it's a lot easier to find a new balance when the chair still has 9 legs.

#Upsides

2010-11-22T12:50:00.005-06:00

I apologize in advance for the checklist style format recently. I realize it's a cop out from drafting actual prose, but lists are kind of how my brain has been working recently.

There is a lot of grimy muck in my world right now. Despite that, I am trying to focus on all the good stuff in life. There is plenty. I also find myself thinking about the upsides of this big upheaval. Some of them are petty and small and insignificant, but I think it's helping me through the day. Helping me get to the other side of the mountain, or at least see the view on the other side.

Without further ado, I present to you #TheUpsides. Or, Hashtag: The Upsides...

- I have a lot more closet space. My clothes are lest smushed up and wrinkly, and they are easier to find.

- There is less furniture in the house, which is particularly great in the basement because Johan has a more spacious indoor play area now. And, I am inspired to make it even cooler by having areas for legos/blocks, cars, dinosaurs etc. Having the bigger toys all in the basement will make the main floor of the house less cluttered and there will be more room in Johan's bedroom for his books. All good things.

- I don't ever dread going home, wondering if somebody is going to be in a bad mood or looking for an argument.

- There is no tension in our house. There is no animosity or distant silence. There is just Johan and me playing and laughing and chatting about what to do next. The lack of tension makes me feel more energy to take on fun experiments or random projects with Johan. My heart feels lighter and I am willing to bet Johan's does, too.

- I have a new bed which is just as firm as firm can be. All it needs is a nice plush feather bed to top it, and I will be in business. Even in spite of the turmoil recently, I have been sleeping great and I think it's all because of my new bed.

- No more main floor/living room TV. In college, we never had a TV and it was so peaceful. Well, ok, we had one at the Compound senior year, but Moira made us keep it in Sarah's closet. Finally we tricked her into keeping in the in the living room, but we had to cover it with some sort of belly dancing scarf. Anyway, while living with Eduardo, we have always had too many television sets and have had the TV on too much for my taste. I like a night of Law and Order or Family Guy as much as anyone, but TV can be such an energy-sucker. We still have one in the basement and I have one in my bedroom for watching Friends while I fall asleep, but no more on the main level. Instead, we have music. It is, at the risk of sounding dorky, glorious. I haven't listened to music at home in a long time and I haven't heard a lot of my CDs in years. In the past couple weeks, Johan has heard Manu Chau, Vivaldi, Wyclef for the first time. It puts a smile on my face and a spring in my step. It makes the house feel like a happy home.

There are more #upsides and I will probably share them as I realize them, but for now, that's a pretty good start.

Coming Clean

2010-11-18T21:11:00.004-06:00

My thoughts have been somewhat fragmented lately, bouncing about like a small boat in a big ocean. Paragraphs seem daunting. Here's what's up.

...Eduardo and I are divorcing.

...It is the harder better road.

...We are both sad but I think somewhat relieved.

...We both love Johan more than anything and have been working very hard to rise above our own messiness to make things good for him.

...We believe that Johan will be better off with two happy parents living separately than two unhappy parents living together.

...I will continue to live in my house.

...Johan will see both Eduardo and I every week. He will go to his same school. He has dinosaurs at both of his homes.

...Even though I know Johan will be fine, I also know all too well how these decisions will affect and define him for the rest of his life. I hope these experiences will equip him to be strong and resilient. I hope it will make him a person who knows that a family is any group of people who hold each other up. I hope that he will know the courage to make changes when he needs to, knowing that he is surrounded by people who will hold him up when things are rough. I hope he will be a person who can bend and sway. I hope he will be a person who can adapt to a multitude of situations and thrive in it.

...I never thought this would be my life.

...I sort of always knew this would be my life.

...I am humbled and moved by the outpouring of support and love that I have felt from my family, my closest friends, my law partners, and even my staff.

...I am not angry anymore. My soul is a little bruised and battered from the storm, but I am not angry anymore.

Birthday Eve

2010-11-14T21:35:00.004-06:00

Tomorrow is Johan's 3rd birthday.

Three years ago tonight, Eduardo and I decided to watch "Knocked Up" and I sat on the couch belly full of baby and mind full of anticipation to meet my son the next day.

He is more wonderful than I ever imagined. The love I have for him is more intense than any I have ever experienced. The richness that Johan brings to me. The peace that I experience when he snuggles up to me. The way my heart soars when his Lund-inherited rubber face scrunches up and his eyes sparkle. In a world that is uncertain, I am certain of this: there is no greater joy to me than loving Johan, than making his world good, than helping him become the person he is meant to be.

Happy Birthday, Pavo. Momma loves you.

The Times They Are A'Changin'

2010-11-02T20:53:00.002-06:00

I am in the middle of some big life changes. Hard and uncomfortable changes. Changes that make me wish I was 5 and that other people were in charge of my well-being and my decisions. Changes that make me want to crawl in bed and stay there until Spring. Changes that make me feel lonely and scared and doubtful and lost.

Changes that make me incredibly grateful for the opportunity to be Johan's mom and that reaffirm that he is the best thing/person in my life. Changes that reaffirm my love for my job and my law firm- a place I go for sustenance and strength.

Changes that remind me of the high quality of people in my life: people that will fly across the country for 48 hours just to be there to sit with me and laugh and cry; people that will come home from their honeymoons and spend 2 hours on the phone with me in the middle of the night; people that will drop what they are doing to be there for me. And for Johan. We are damn lucky.

It is hard for me for things to be in limbo. I do well with structure and order. I like answers and I like problems solved. That's not how things are now. There is much unknown and it makes me feel uneasy and uncomfortable. But, so it is. I go to my yoga mat and try to find some internal balance. And I keep going back to this quote.

‎"Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now."

I struggle to love the questions. It doesn't come easy to me. But I am trying. And slowly, slowly I am at least accepting that right now I have to live those questions, even if I don't love to do it.

Canciones

2010-10-20T20:23:00.002-05:00

Johan loves to sing and he is at an age where he can memorize almost anything very quickly. He sometimes misses a few words though.

"Old McDonald had a farm. Ee-eye-ee-eye-o. And on his farm he had a fight, ee-eye-ee-eye-o. With a fight fight here and a fight fight there. Here a fight, there a fight, everywhere a fight fight. Old McDonald had a farm, ee-eye-ee-eye- PUNCH!"

Hm. Hard not to laugh. But also must find balance between not condoning fighting or violence but also not overreacting to natural rough-housing and active play.

And this one:

"Shoo fly don't father me; shoo fly don't father me. Shoo fly don't father me for I belong to some mommy."

MSP-MIA-MSP

2010-10-17T20:42:00.003-05:00

I am just back from a rockin' 4 days in Miami. Take some attorneys, throw in some wine, a sparkly shirt, and a rooftop poolside bar on South Beach, and it turns out it's a mix for fun. We had a great time and had some QT with our Florida friends.

What's pretty clear, though, is that I am no Miami girl. There was a time when I was still in law school that Eduardo and I thought we might move to Miami after I graduated. I think he would still be happy to head down there, actually. We were drawn to it for the warm weather, the international atmosphere, the proximity to the DR, and the ready availability of Presidente beer and Santo Domingo Cafe.

But, after spending these days in South Beach, I don't think I could live down there. I like bars where there are video games, cheap beer, and awesome juke boxes with plenty of Guns 'n' Roses and Bon Jovi songs. And I like it that I can wear jeans, a tank top (or sweater, depending on the season) and some earrings, and fit in just fine. In Miami, they have a constant techno beat, girls in tiny black dresses and 4" heels and $65 dollar pitchers of champagne/vodka/strawberry cocktails. I'm not gonna lie, those cocktails were wicked good.

And it's not that I disliked Miami. It's that 4 days was just right.

And there was plenty of just right. Four days of swimming in the ocean, drawing in the sand, eating delicious Cuban food, dinner at Michelle Bernstein's restaurant, and drinking red wine at night on the beach with the attorneys at my firm.

Now, I'm home and glad to have tucked Johan into bed after a story and a song. No 4" heels required.

Johan + Friends

2010-09-26T19:04:00.003-05:00

The other day, Johan got his first demerit/warning at school. His color was changed to yellow- green is good, yellow is not so good (or "slow," according to Johan), and red is big trouble. Anyway, in the course of all this, I spoke to Johan's teacher and she confirmed what I had already guessed from listening to Johan- he has a best friend. The kid's name is Gabriel. He and Johan love trains and baseball and shenanigans. They hug each other and laugh and make trouble. I was telling Addie about how I started giggling when the preschool teacher told me how they are naughty together, and she astutely pointed out how my wife and I probably had our colors changed, too. True enough.

I don't know Gabriel well, but Johan talks about him every day. It warms my heart to know that Johan has a best friend. Nothing like it in the world.

Prior to all of this, I had started to talking to the mom of another boy in Johan's class, and we had set up a play date for today. This morning we went over to Andrew's house and then on to the park. I didn't really know Andrew either, but the moment Johan saw him, both their faces lit up and they ran up to each other, babbling on about baseball and farm animals.

There is something amazing about watching Johan with these kids with whom he has forged relationships. It is sort of a quintessential moment of his independence- this are HIS friends- the people he has chosen to be in his life. It isn't about me or our family or people I have chosen. I mean, Johan doesn't really even choose his own clothes yet, but he certainly has chosen his friends.

It's exciting for me to imagine how long these friendships could last - how these little boys might (or might not, who knows) be part of each other's lives for a very long time.

At the very least, I think Johan is ready to have a friends birthday party this year. Johan, Gabriel, and Andrew. Ok, who wants to volunteer to help with that?

Weekend

2010-09-14T21:16:00.002-05:00

I don't do a very good job of recounting the adventures that are Weekends with Johan. We have fun. We do. This summer involved huge weekends at many cabins and lots of running in the sun, mosquitoes, water, bubbles, trucks, and goofery.

But, you know, the details don't get told. So, please visit here for a nice story about how Johan and I spent last Sunday.

Before the Annoyance Gets Stale...

2010-09-13T21:10:00.002-05:00

I always feel like a jerk writing something negative after a long absence, but you know, it wouldn't really be my blog if it was any other way.

I have to say I was completely irritated all day long on Saturday. 9/11, that is. This year I was absolutely annoyed by the "Never Forget" sentiment. It seemed more this year. Or maybe I'm just done with that sentiment. I'm sure part of it is the recent surge in anti-Muslim thinly veiled racism in the debate over who should be able to build near Ground Zero. I can't even begin to tell you all the Amendments that would be violated by prohibiting Muslims from building. Um, hello?! Religion! Property! America loves those things!

As an even further aside, on Saturday one of my religious cousins had a cartoon showing Jesus blowing the match that the crazy pastor was going to use to light Qurans on fire. It said What Would Jesus Do? I couldn't tell if the cartoon was depicting Jesus blowing the fire out or trying to make the flame grow by adding oxygen. So, who the hell knows what Jesus would do? I don't have a direct line, but I commented to my friend that, from what I remember, the big J.C. seemed to be into forgiveness and whatnot, so probably not vengeance. Then my cousin called my a slippery lawyer. Great.

Anyway, maybe that's my problem with "Never Forget." Yes, it was terrible and painful and made me feel angry and vulnerable. But, at some point you've got to pick up and move on. "Never Forget" means keeping the raw pain ever present, doesn't it? It means fanning flames of anger that can foster resentment and hate. That's an awful lot of energy spent on preserving and protecting bad feelings and negativity.

I say, no thank you.

Divorced kids learn early on to be resilient. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and learn to have a little joy in life. (This is not an endorsement for raising kids in divorced families. Well, it sort of is. Because we are cooler. And "better" cite SKE. Ummm...we'll talk more about that later.) Maybe "Never Forget" means different things to those who insist on writing such mottos as their facebook status nine years later. But with the flag-waving and the political cartoons, it seems like not.

So, how about a new slogan? Or perhaps a good old Wellstone standby: Stand Up; Keep Fighting! And make sure you remove your crazy cousins from your newsfeed!

Carlis the Baby

2010-08-27T22:12:00.003-05:00

A few months ago, our neighbors had their niece, Rose, over at their house. She is 2
and brought her friend, Carlis, 3. Yeah, Carlis is not a real name, but what are you going to do.

Johan played with Rose and Carlis all evening as Addie and I drank wine, and King and Bergen did...I can't remember. Anyway, since then, Johan always talks about Carlis. He makes me include Carlis in stories that I tell, and now his imaginary friend/baby is named Carlis.

Carlis is a VERY small baby. He fits in Johan's cupped hand. He goes to school with Johan (and gets to participate in all the activities at school) and Johan makes sure that Carlis the Baby gets plenty of naps and calm but firm discipline. He cups his hand to hold Carlis and lays Carlis the Baby gently on the bed so he can rest. Johan insists that Carlis be offered a cup of yogurt and fruit at breakfast so he isn't left out.

I love that Johan has an imaginary friend. I love it even more that his imaginary friend is a "baby" that must be approximately 1-2" long since he seems to reside only in Johan's pudgy tiny cupped hand.

15 years

2010-08-10T22:52:00.004-05:00

I know I already posted about Jamie's wedding, but this is so worth sharing. It remains in my heart a beautiful evening. My mom posted these pictures on the good ol' facebook tonight. I can't even begin to comment on how impressed I am that she figured out how to scan a picture from 1995.

Even better, I think these pictures do more to explain how and why I felt so emotional being together with Jamie and Alexei on Saturday (and Johan and Pelagia playing together) than any words I could write or say.

Here we are last Saturday night:

And here we are in 1995:

On Tacos

2010-08-08T20:30:00.003-05:00

One of the things I missed most about Los Angeles is the tacos. The true Baja, California style tacos: palm-sized corn tortillas with carne asada, white onion, cilantro, lime, sometimes a little radish, and hot sauce. These tacos are best eaten from a taco truck standing on the street at 3 a.m.

The other day when Brianna and I were walking back from lunch, I noticed a truck selling food. My pulse raced as I became hopeful that Minneapolis finally had a taco truck...we got closer and the menu included "Lobster club sandwich" for $12 and a sausage sandwich for $8. Boo.

And seriously, who would buy a $12 sandwich from a truck? Or, even more disturbing, purchase lobster from a truck? Who are these people? Don't they know how much more popular they would be if they sold asada?

I went back to my incomplete existence as someone who only gets real tacos on my yearly sojourn to Southern California.

Then, lo! Sunday during the baseball game, I saw a Taco Bell commercial for "Cantina Tacos." From what I can tell, they have nothing to do with cantinas, but actually would be better named Taco Truck Tacos. I'm not sure if it's worth trying them, although Taco Bell seems to be making an effort to make them real- corn tortillas, onion, cilantro etc. I bet with a little hot sauce, they might not be half bad.

In the alternative, I should start planning my next trip to L.A. Maybe I'll go get some tacos and do that.

Jamie's Wedding + Fevery Johan

2010-08-08T20:00:00.004-05:00

Jamie's wedding was yesterday. It was a fantastic day.

It was good to get to know some of her other friends from college and Chicago and to see some old faces from high school. The ceremony was simple and lovely and the music was mostly 80s rock - pure Jamie. She was an absolutely exquisite bride. I will try to get some pictures soon.

Besides celebrating Jamie's new beginnings, for me the wedding was also a reunion of sorts.

Alexei, who was, once upon a time, one of the people I was closest to in this world, was there. We hadn't seen each other in a couple years but we have the sort of relationship that we are able to pick up just where we left off and feel intensely connected the moment we get together. It's been like that since we first became friends in 1993. There have been ebbs and flows with respect to how often we see each other or talk, but the connection remains. This was the first time that Alexei met Johan and the first time I met Alexei's daughter Pelagia (Pel-a-GHEE-a).

As we waited for the salad course to be served at dinner, Alexei and I were in the area outside the dining hall watching Johan and Pelagia play. It was intensely emotional for both us to see our little ones together. I suppose something about the passage of time and generations. I felt at once old and intimately connected to my youth in a way I haven't in quite some time.

Jamie and her new husband are now on their way to sunny Lincoln, Nebraska for a honeymoon (their real honeymoon will be in Bali next year), and Johan has spent most of today feverish. A little too much weekend for him, I guess. Or maybe he's feeling emotional about his youth, too.

No strep or ear infections, and the doctor at Urgent Care told Johan to drink lots of fluids including water and popsicles. What part of that do you think he heard? Yep, he sucked down four (4) All Fruit popsicles today. Can you say milking it?

8

2010-08-05T08:16:00.003-05:00

I can not completely articulate how absolutely full of joy my heart is that a Federal Judge in California overturned Proposition 8 yesterday. Here is the full decision. It is worth reading.

Proposition 8 was the one glum moment of election night 2008. Well, that and Michelle Bachmann getting re-elected.

I was not in Castro or Chelsea or West Hollywood where I understand some raucous celebrating to have occurred, but I have to say that I was pretty moved by the sort of virtual rally and celebration that occurred on Facebook. I seem to have over 300 Facebook friends, which, of course, is no reflection on how many actual friends I have, BUT it was very cool to see so many statuses of people from many walks of life and all over the country celebrating the same victory. And it reaffirmed that I know some of the best people in the world, even if I only stay in touch with some of them via status updates.

Finally, I think it's pretty clear that the next step in this Proposition 8 battle is the 9th Circuit and then the SCOTUS. If SCOTUS upholds the decision from yesterday, it will be a landmark civil rights case and likely recognizable by name similar to Roe v. Wade, Brown v. Board of Education, Gideon v. Wainwright, Church of Lukumi Babalu Aye v. City of Hialeah...

Oh. Wait. You haven't heard of Church of Lukumi Babalu Aye v. City of Hialeah? That was the case where SCOTUS overturned a Hialeah ordinance banning animal sacrifice as it infringed upon the religious freedom of practitioners of Santeria. You know, that pesky 1st Amendment and all. I wrote a paper on it in college and another in law school.

I have digressed into SCOTUS rambling. It happens too easily. I haven't even had any wine today. Sometimes I really miss law school.

My point, though, was that the name of the case that overturns Proposition 8 is Perry et al v. Schwarzenegger. This name will go all the way up to SCOTUS and if the esteemed Justices follow the U.S. Constitution, the landmark case legalizing gay marriage throughout the country will be named after Arnold Schwarzenegger.

This is totally awesome.

Activity

2010-07-25T21:19:00.002-05:00

Sometimes I get lazy. For example, I haven't been to yoga in several weeks. Part of it is that I now have a radio show on Tuesday mornings which means I can't do Tuesday class at Blooma, but that's mostly an excuse since I know the basic sun salutations and I have a Yoga Shakti DVD that I can do any day of the week. I hate that I'm not doing it and I am changing the day of my show post Labor Day so I can go back to my Tuesday class. But, in the mean time, this laziness has to stop.

Back in 2003, before I was in law school, I was doing pilates regularly at the Calhoun Beach Club. Then, one day, I showed up to the 6:30 am class and it had been cancelled. It disheartened me so much that I never went back. Yeah, I know, weird.

I've been riding my bike some this summer, but not the long rides I was envisioning, and not as often as I was when I first bought it.

It's kind of a circular problem of tiredness- if I get into a pattern of not working out, then I feel very tired and then I feel very tired so I can't drag my ass out of bed in order to do yoga or bike or walk before work.

Today Johan and I went on a 5 mile, brisk-paced walk. Well, I walked and he sat in his stroller eating oranges and pointing out various animals along the way. I know it's not running a marathon, but I felt awesome all day - while Johan was napping, I read my book and did laundry and organized the house. Tonight I still feel good and am hoping that my long walk is the catalyst to getting back to the mat/bike/paths.

One of my facebook friends (the Mister of my good friend Sarah) had a status update a few weeks ago that is apt and is important for me to remember:

"And to think I almost skipped yoga this morning due to tiredness. That would have been like skipping one's favorite meal due to hunger."

Fiscal Year

2010-07-12T22:37:00.002-05:00

Well, Friday at work was just about one of the worst days at work I've had in a long time. No one single thing was disaster, but a bunch of annoying and unpleasant things added up to one bad July 9th.

But fear not.

It was the end of my fiscal year, because, see, on Sunday I had a birthday. So, July 9 was my last day as a 28-year-old lawyer. Today I started anew. A new fiscal year. A new settlement; a new kind of hearing (fighting to get my fees paid after winning the substantive case); and then wine with Brianna.

I don't do New Years resolutions much, but I do feel contemplative at my birthday. I like to think about the year ahead- things to change and ways to grow. Or whatever.

Here's what I've got so far for age 29:

- Stop fidgeting. This include clicking pen tops and unraveling paper clips. Immediately.

- Get regular pedicures. Shallow, you say? Then you haven't seen my feet. This is $40 well spent.

- Do new stuff in my practice. Done! What? On the first day of the fiscal year 29, I already did it! I had an attorney fee hearing which is a Work Comp hearing I'd never done before. So, now for the next 363 days, it's time to try out some more. Go.

- Teach Johan to write his name. (that might be in the 4th quarter of my current fiscal year.)

Let's vamos! Time to seize 29.

7 Weekends

2010-06-27T21:29:00.004-05:00

1) Carla Emeott's wedding + Jamie's bridal shower.

2) Brianna's cabin in Glenwood, MN. Tubing behind a speed boat? Why, yes, thankyouverymuch!

3) My 29th birthday + Sarah in Minneapolis!

4) 6th Wedding Anniversary + Sylia in Minneapolis!

5) Mille Lacs with Addie, King, + Johan!

6) River boat cruise and mini-vacay in Stillwater for Mom and Roger's 25th Anniversary!

7) Jamie's Wedding!

So...if you want to hang out, how's mid-August?

It was time...

2010-06-20T16:19:00.002-05:00

...for Sarah's dad to be on his way home.

...for me to update the Johan stats.

...for summer to start with a bang featuring Johan running across the lawn with a couple of neighbor kids for 3 hours last night.

...for me to discover Minneapolis' dueling pianos bar. Awesome. Pretty sure I want to celebrate there again very soon.

...for me to discover Great Lakes Brewery.

...for the sun to come back.

...for me to celebrate my husband as father...whatever disagreements he and I have, he sure is a great dad and I do love to watch him with Johan.

...for me to get a Father's Day gift for my dad that I think he is really going to love (I'll let you know tomorrow!)

One last thing-
it WILL be time for me to post some new pictures of Johan. One of these days.

Schoolyard Drama - International Edition

2010-06-12T15:03:00.004-05:00

I haven't been blogging and it's mostly because I've felt like everything and anything I would say would be trite in light of my best friend Sarah's dad's situation. If you aren't aware, you can catch up on my facebook page but he is currently imprisoned in Rwanda for words written and spoken in conjunction with representing clients. Rwanda is a police state and there is no love lost between Peter and the current regime.

I have also felt like I haven't wanted to write too much about his situation for a few reasons 1) I don't know enough background on Rwanda and Peter's work to speak with any authority on it; 2) it's not about me and what I would write on my blog would be about me; and 3) I sort of hate Rwanda right now.

It's crazy, really, to hate Rwanda. I guess better said, I hate the government that has so little regard for human rights, free speech, free exchange of ideas, due process, an independent judiciary, the presumption of innocence, and all other sorts of things I like.

And at a very basic level, I hate the Kagame regime because of the way it has caused an upheaval in Sarah's life. I mean, she's my best friend. Remember the intense feelings of loyalty to a friend in elementary school and how that loyalty would become even mroe pronounced when some mean kid started picking on your friend? And remember those primal feelings of anger and detest for the mean kid-even though he wasn't picking on you directly?

Imagine that, but on a greater scale. This time the schoolyard bully is the Kagame regime. And I kind of want to punch his lights out to defend my best friend. (Note to self: this probably counts as a threat to Rwandan national security- do not ever travel to Rwanda so long as current laws still exist.) And this time punching his lights out means cutting off U.S. aid to Rwanda until they start respecting international law and human rights standards.

Zero dollars of U.S. aid to Rwanda? How would that affect Rwandan national security, huh?

Shopping

2010-05-22T12:43:00.003-05:00

Johan: This store smells like poop.

Me: Is that because you just pooped?

Johan: Don't worry about it.

TR Part 2

2010-05-22T12:21:00.004-05:00

It's been a good break. I've been doing a lot of reading. Last weekend Johan and I were up at Mille Lacs with my dad. It was wonderful.

Before my last post that had the TR quote, I'd found myself becoming extremely negative about some aspects of my firm; or not really the firm itself but some of the people. This was sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy - the more negative I was feeling about things, the more I noticed the things that bothered me. And then I realized that I was becoming hypercritical about this entity and a job that I absolutely love. And what for? Nothing is on the brink of collapse. On the contrary, there is so much GOOD going on at my firm that some days I can't wait to spring out of my house just to get started. Yep, I am that lame.

So, I stepped back. I realized that me being hypercritical about some things I want changed is not the way to do it. I have been practicing law for 3 years. And I have had an ownership in this business for 5 months. That's not very long. I am not an expert.

Except for that I might be an expert on how to finagle my way out of questions about my clients' social security numbers in Depositions (Q: What's your SSN? A: The same one I had when the employer hired me. Q: Well, what's that? Me: OBJECTION! Asked and answered. Also 5th Amendment. Move on counselor.)

Just a little Saturday afternoon tangent there. OK, but the point is that my boss/partner has been running this law firm successfully for many years. So hypercritical me needs to chill out. This doesn't mean ignore the ways we could improve- in order to remain relevant, successful, and profitable we always have to be willing to modify and reinvent ourselves. That's just what this business is like. But change takes time. And patience. Patience?! As you may know, patience is not something I am an expert in. But I am trying.

And just as I was realizing all these things, there was the TR quote. With that, I decided (perhaps narcissisticly) that his words were spot on with respect to my situation and I promised myself to stop criticizing and being so harsh on every less than perfect situation. I still want and am pushing for the changes I think will help our firm prosper. I love this firm. It is great for what it has been, what it is, and what I think we are on the cusp of becoming.

So I decided to change. The change is not so much outward, but within me. It's a mental shift. It's recognizing each of our strengths as well as weaknesses, and being grateful that where one of us has a weakness, the others can pick up the slack. It's acknowledging how much good this law firm does and how fortunate I am to be excited to go to work (almost) every day; how lucky I am to feel like I am helping people, doing good and making bad situations better. I think that meaningful work is one of the keys to contentment in this life, and it is not commonplace. So, I'm trying to be the man in the arena- doing, acting, creating, making change. And it's working, which is just fantastic.

How Teddy Roosevelt Saved Me: Part 1

2010-05-04T09:31:00.002-05:00

I don't have a lot of time right now but I do have some thoughts brewing. That will be Part 2. For Part 1, I will leave it to good old Teddy Roosevelt. This passage was quoted in the Minneapolis paper on Sunday in an editorial about cynicism and the need for a new commitment to public service.

To say it moved me is an understatement. It has caused some serious self reflection and introspection, of which I will share more later.

For now, here you go:

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."

-Theodore Roosevelt
The Sorbonne, Paris, France
April 23, 1910

Patron of the Arts

2010-04-24T15:03:00.002-05:00

Thursday night was Johan's nursery school Spring Program. All four (4) of my parents were in the back of the auditorium (eh...sanctuary...the school is housed in a church) because they had other engagements after Johan's performance. As it happened, Johan was not happy that he was expected to walk down the aisle and sing songs after seeing his beloved grandparents. The only way to get him down the aisle was if my step mom carried him.

So there they were.

A group of toddlers dressed in yellow shirts with black tape on them looking like the most delicious little bumble bees on the stage...together with Johan's Grandma. It was very sweet. And makes me think that my boy may not be like his momma in her love for performance and being on stage (now manifested as the courtroom with juries and judges my audience.)

That's OK. He's a lot better at tee-ball than I am. We all have our strengths and weaknesses.

Then, last night we went to the Apple Valley Middle School Spring play, "Annie." My niece had a small role but threw her all into it and she loves being on stage. Before the show started my sister in law asked if I brought books or toys for Johan to play with during the show. I hadn't really thought of that. I mean, we're here to see a show!

I was right that I wouldn't need toys to engage Johan. He was absolutely enthralled from beginning to end. Clapping at the right times; laughing when the audience would laugh; point out each time Samantha would come on stage and asking where she went when her part was over. I had thought we would leave at intermission but this upset Johan who shouted "More show!" and so I let him have a later bedtime in order to see the show to its conclusion. It makes me happy that, even if Johan is not destined to be a stage performer, he nevertheless loves music, dancing, and theater. It makes me excited for all the shows we can go to together in the next several years.

One more thing about Apple Valley- when Daddy Warbucks was making digs at Democrats (remember how FDR is part of Annie?), the laughter was a bit too genuine for for my comfort zone. This was no SW Minneapolis crowd. In my head, I was all "Dudes! FDR is the reason you have Medicare and Social Security! Not to mention that Democrats are the ones that support arts curricula in schools for your kids so they can put on performances of Annie and then go to Perkins for a cast party of pancakes and Sprite afterward to celebrate the joy of being middle schoolers!"

But that's beside the point. So I didn't say that. And when Johan and I got home, he asked me to sing him a song so I started one of our old favorites, and he said "no, not that one!" until I started singing "Tomorrow."

In the Car with Ramire

2010-04-17T22:13:00.003-05:00

I haven't written about Ramire in a long time, and sadly, until today I hadn't seen him for almost a year. He has always been one of my favorite kids, and I think it's fair to say that until Johan was born, he was my #1. He's still right up there. He's a cool 9 year old now, but I was pleased to find that he is just as kind,thoughtful, affectionate, and insightful as he's always been.

My cousins and I took our kids to a great park this afternoon and Ramire rode with me. He's big enough to be in the front seat now. We decided to crank some Black Eyed Peas on the way to French Regional Park (where you can only speak French, and a beret is required).

We both really like "Imma be" (or, in the alternative, "I'm a bee"- awesome visual, right?) and Ramire asked me who my favorite Pea is.

I said Will.i.am. Of course.

He said Fergie. I asked him why.

And he said, "because her voice sounds different in every song and she looks different in every video. She's really got a wide spectrum of talent."

And in my head, I'm all "wow, I thought you were going to say because she's cute."

Out loud I said "That's a fair point."

Then he said, "Remember a long time ago when we would drive around honking at John Kerry signs?"

And I said, "We did that once on Election Day in 2004."

And he said: "Oh, well it seemed like we did that a lot. Do you ever do that with Johan?"

I replied "Nobody has John Kerry signs anymore, babe."

And he said: "Fair point."

When Dalasie Comes to Town...

2010-04-13T16:36:00.002-05:00

...this is what happens.

Bark

2010-04-11T16:53:00.001-05:00

Johan, (groggily, and half awake as his nap is disrupted by the neighbor's yappy dog): "What's that? A dinosaur?"

Here We Go...

2010-04-05T20:53:00.003-05:00

Johan is entering that fabulous stage of childhood of awesome unedited funny things to say. If memory from my Montessori days serves me, this stage lasts from about age 2.5 to 4.5 with the best material usually landing at just about age 3.5. My friends, let the hilarity ensue:

Johan: What's this, Mommy?

Me: That's my leg, Johan.

Johan: No, that's grass.

Me: Huh. Well, I guess it's also time to shave my legs.

Johan: Yep. It's grass.

On a Bicycle at 64th and Penn

2010-03-29T18:59:00.003-06:00

I bought a bike on Saturday. TREK brand. It's pretty excellent. I also bought a trailer for Johan who's my wing man. We roll. We've been out for 5 rides since Saturday which is more bike rides than I've done in the past 5 years.

It wasn't until I was out on the roads that I realized I am pretty nervous about sharing the road with cars. Hmmm. That's a problem. Saturday and Sunday I stuck to side streets around my neighborhood. If I weren't afraid of the busy streets, I could have biked a good 20 miles. Each day.

Yes, that's a complete lie.

Yoga doesn't really get you in shape to ride a bike for more than a couple miles. The truth is that I think it's about 5 miles to get down to Lake Harriet, around the lake, and back to my house and my goal is to be in enough shape to do that by May 1.

So, busy streets are not the only catch to my new life as a bike rider. But especially because of the trailer being quite a bit wider than me on the bike, I was nervous about venturing out further than the side streets. I mean, what's the etiquette for when I am biking on the right side of the road (this is America, of course), but need to make a left turn? This is a serious question. Please answer it.

But, finally, tonight, I decided to harness all my courage and go over to Brianna's house. This involves crossing the freeway (AKA certain death.) On the way to Brianna's house, I got off the bike and walked it across the highway overpass. Then I biked on the sidewalk of Penn Avenue until I could turn onto 64th Street, at which point I went back on the black.

After hanging out with Brianna for a short time, Johan and I put our helmets back on for the bike ride home. As I approached the intersection of 64th and Penn, the light turned red. I needed to make a left turn onto Penn Avenue, which is pretty busy. Before the light turned green, another biker pulled up next to me.

Biker: It's so nice out. Isn't it great to get out on the bike again?

Me: Yes, it's great, but I just got this bike and haven't really been biking in a few years.

Biker: Well, welcome back! (Aside: I did not correct him to tell him it wasn't really accurate to welcome me back to a community I had never really joined.)

Me: Thanks. I'm kind of afraid of cars running me over, though.

Biker: Ahhh, you'll be fine. Follow me!

With that, the light had turned green, and Biker turned left onto Penn, indicating for me to "come on." And follow him I did. Right down Penn Avenue and I even crossed the highway overpass without walking.

Obstacle conquered. Next challenge: extreme super BMX bike flips! (Is that a thing?) Maybe the next step will be doing it without a guide, kind as he was. Or, better yet, the next step will just be getting back on that bicycle tomorrow and each day after that.

Worth Sharing

2010-03-26T19:44:00.003-06:00

I have articles and essay that I go back to over and over. Things I read again and again that never grow tiresome. Things that I learn from each time I read them; that never cease to make me feel like I have more insight than I did before. One of them is this graduation speech that David Foster Wallace gave at Kenyon College a few years ago. Lately, I've been reading it almost every day. Here we go...

Transcription of the 2005 Kenyon Commencement Address - May 21, 2005
"(If anybody feels like perspiring [cough], I'd advise you to go ahead, because I'm sure going to. In fact I'm gonna [mumbles while pulling up his gown and taking out a handkerchief from his pocket].) Greetings ["parents"?] and congratulations to Kenyon's graduating class of 2005. There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says "Morning, boys. How's the water?" And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes "What the hell is water?"

This is a standard requirement of US commencement speeches, the deployment of didactic little parable-ish stories. The story ["thing"] turns out to be one of the better, less bullshitty conventions of the genre, but if you're worried that I plan to present myself here as the wise, older fish explaining what water is to you younger fish, please don't be. I am not the wise old fish. The point of the fish story is merely that the most obvious, important realities are often the ones that are hardest to see and talk about. Stated as an English sentence, of course, this is just a banal platitude, but the fact is that in the day to day trenches of adult existence, banal platitudes can have a life or death importance, or so I wish to suggest to you on this dry and lovely morning.

Of course the main requirement of speeches like this is that I'm supposed to talk about your liberal arts education's meaning, to try to explain why the degree you are about to receive has actual human value instead of just a material payoff. So let's talk about the single most pervasive cliché in the commencement speech genre, which is that a liberal arts education is not so much about filling you up with knowledge as it is about quote teaching you how to think. If you're like me as a student, you've never liked hearing this, and you tend to feel a bit insulted by the claim that you needed anybody to teach you how to think, since the fact that you even got admitted to a college this good seems like proof that you already know how to think. But I'm going to posit to you that the liberal arts cliché turns out not to be insulting at all, because the really significant education in thinking that we're supposed to get in a place like this isn't really about the capacity to think, but rather about the choice of what to think about. If your total freedom of choice regarding what to think about seems too obvious to waste time discussing, I'd ask you to think about fish and water, and to bracket for just a few minutes your skepticism about the value of the totally obvious.

Here's another didactic little story. There are these two guys sitting together in a bar in the remote Alaskan wilderness. One of the guys is religious, the other is an atheist, and the two are arguing about the existence of God with that special intensity that comes after about the fourth beer. And the atheist says: "Look, it's not like I don't have actual reasons for not believing in God. It's not like I haven't ever experimented with the whole God and prayer thing. Just last month I got caught away from the camp in that terrible blizzard, and I was totally lost and I couldn't see a thing, and it was fifty below, and so I tried it: I fell to my knees in the snow and cried out 'Oh, God, if there is a God, I'm lost in this blizzard, and I'm gonna die if you don't help me.'" And now, in the bar, the religious guy looks at the atheist all puzzled. "Well then you must believe now," he says, "After all, here you are, alive." The atheist just rolls his eyes. "No, man, all that was was a couple Eskimos happened to come wandering by and showed me the way back to camp."

It's easy to run this story through kind of a standard liberal arts analysis: the exact same experience can mean two totally different things to two different people, given those people's two different belief templates and two different ways of constructing meaning from experience. Because we prize tolerance and diversity of belief, nowhere in our liberal arts analysis do we want to claim that one guy's interpretation is true and the other guy's is false or bad. Which is fine, except we also never end up talking about just where these individual templates and beliefs come from. Meaning, where they come from INSIDE the two guys. As if a person's most basic orientation toward the world, and the meaning of his experience were somehow just hard-wired, like height or shoe-size; or automatically absorbed from the culture, like language. As if how we construct meaning were not actually a matter of personal, intentional choice. Plus, there's the whole matter of arrogance. The nonreligious guy is so totally certain in his dismissal of the possibility that the passing Eskimos had anything to do with his prayer for help. True, there are plenty of religious people who seem arrogant and certain of their own interpretations, too. They're probably even more repulsive than atheists, at least to most of us. But religious dogmatists' problem is exactly the same as the story's unbeliever: blind certainty, a close-mindedness that amounts to an imprisonment so total that the prisoner doesn't even know he's locked up.

The point here is that I think this is one part of what teaching me how to think is really supposed to mean. To be just a little less arrogant. To have just a little critical awareness about myself and my certainties. Because a huge percentage of the stuff that I tend to be automatically certain of is, it turns out, totally wrong and deluded. I have learned this the hard way, as I predict you graduates will, too.

Here is just one example of the total wrongness of something I tend to be automatically sure of: everything in my own immediate experience supports my deep belief that I am the absolute center of the universe; the realest, most vivid and important person in existence. We rarely think about this sort of natural, basic self-centeredness because it's so socially repulsive. But it's pretty much the same for all of us. It is our default setting, hard-wired into our boards at birth. Think about it: there is no experience you have had that you are not the absolute center of. The world as you experience it is there in front of YOU or behind YOU, to the left or right of YOU, on YOUR TV or YOUR monitor. And so on. Other people's thoughts and feelings have to be communicated to you somehow, but your own are so immediate, urgent, real.

Please don't worry that I'm getting ready to lecture you about compassion or other-directedness or all the so-called virtues. This is not a matter of virtue. It's a matter of my choosing to do the work of somehow altering or getting free of my natural, hard-wired default setting which is to be deeply and literally self-centered and to see and interpret everything through this lens of self. People who can adjust their natural default setting this way are often described as being "well-adjusted", which I suggest to you is not an accidental term.

Given the triumphant academic setting here, an obvious question is how much of this work of adjusting our default setting involves actual knowledge or intellect. This question gets very tricky. Probably the most dangerous thing about an academic education -- least in my own case -- is that it enables my tendency to over-intellectualize stuff, to get lost in abstract argument inside my head, instead of simply paying attention to what is going on right in front of me, paying attention to what is going on inside me.

As I'm sure you guys know by now, it is extremely difficult to stay alert and attentive, instead of getting hypnotized by the constant monologue inside your own head (may be happening right now). Twenty years after my own graduation, I have come gradually to understand that the liberal arts cliché about teaching you how to think is actually shorthand for a much deeper, more serious idea: learning how to think really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience. Because if you cannot exercise this kind of choice in adult life, you will be totally hosed. Think of the old cliché about quote the mind being an excellent servant but a terrible master.

This, like many clichés, so lame and unexciting on the surface, actually expresses a great and terrible truth. It is not the least bit coincidental that adults who commit suicide with firearms almost always shoot themselves in: the head. They shoot the terrible master. And the truth is that most of these suicides are actually dead long before they pull the trigger.

And I submit that this is what the real, no bullshit value of your liberal arts education is supposed to be about: how to keep from going through your comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a slave to your head and to your natural default setting of being uniquely, completely, imperially alone day in and day out. That may sound like hyperbole, or abstract nonsense. Let's get concrete. The plain fact is that you graduating seniors do not yet have any clue what "day in day out" really means. There happen to be whole, large parts of adult American life that nobody talks about in commencement speeches. One such part involves boredom, routine, and petty frustration. The parents and older folks here will know all too well what I'm talking about.

By way of example, let's say it's an average adult day, and you get up in the morning, go to your challenging, white-collar, college-graduate job, and you work hard for eight or ten hours, and at the end of the day you're tired and somewhat stressed and all you want is to go home and have a good supper and maybe unwind for an hour, and then hit the sack early because, of course, you have to get up the next day and do it all again. But then you remember there's no food at home. You haven't had time to shop this week because of your challenging job, and so now after work you have to get in your car and drive to the supermarket. It's the end of the work day and the traffic is apt to be: very bad. So getting to the store takes way longer than it should, and when you finally get there, the supermarket is very crowded, because of course it's the time of day when all the other people with jobs also try to squeeze in some grocery shopping. And the store is hideously lit and infused with soul-killing muzak or corporate pop and it's pretty much the last place you want to be but you can't just get in and quickly out; you have to wander all over the huge, over-lit store's confusing aisles to find the stuff you want and you have to maneuver your junky cart through all these other tired, hurried people with carts (et cetera, et cetera, cutting stuff out because this is a long ceremony) and eventually you get all your supper supplies, except now it turns out there aren't enough check-out lanes open even though it's the end-of-the-day rush. So the checkout line is incredibly long, which is stupid and infuriating. But you can't take your frustration out on the frantic lady working the register, who is overworked at a job whose daily tedium and meaninglessness surpasses the imagination of any of us here at a prestigious college.

But anyway, you finally get to the checkout line's front, and you pay for your food, and you get told to "Have a nice day" in a voice that is the absolute voice of death. Then you have to take your creepy, flimsy, plastic bags of groceries in your cart with the one crazy wheel that pulls maddeningly to the left, all the way out through the crowded, bumpy, littery parking lot, and then you have to drive all the way home through slow, heavy, SUV-intensive, rush-hour traffic, et cetera et cetera.

Everyone here has done this, of course. But it hasn't yet been part of you graduates' actual life routine, day after week after month after year.

But it will be. And many more dreary, annoying, seemingly meaningless routines besides. But that is not the point. The point is that petty, frustrating crap like this is exactly where the work of choosing is gonna come in. Because the traffic jams and crowded aisles and long checkout lines give me time to think, and if I don't make a conscious decision about how to think and what to pay attention to, I'm gonna be pissed and miserable every time I have to shop. Because my natural default setting is the certainty that situations like this are really all about me. About MY hungriness and MY fatigue and MY desire to just get home, and it's going to seem for all the world like everybody else is just in my way. And who are all these people in my way? And look at how repulsive most of them are, and how stupid and cow-like and dead-eyed and nonhuman they seem in the checkout line, or at how annoying and rude it is that people are talking loudly on cell phones in the middle of the line. And look at how deeply and personally unfair this is.

Or, of course, if I'm in a more socially conscious liberal arts form of my default setting, I can spend time in the end-of-the-day traffic being disgusted about all the huge, stupid, lane-blocking SUV's and Hummers and V-12 pickup trucks, burning their wasteful, selfish, forty-gallon tanks of gas, and I can dwell on the fact that the patriotic or religious bumper-stickers always seem to be on the biggest, most disgustingly selfish vehicles, driven by the ugliest [responding here to loud applause] (this is an example of how NOT to think, though) most disgustingly selfish vehicles, driven by the ugliest, most inconsiderate and aggressive drivers. And I can think about how our children's children will despise us for wasting all the future's fuel, and probably screwing up the climate, and how spoiled and stupid and selfish and disgusting we all are, and how modern consumer society just sucks, and so forth and so on.

You get the idea.

If I choose to think this way in a store and on the freeway, fine. Lots of us do. Except thinking this way tends to be so easy and automatic that it doesn't have to be a choice. It is my natural default setting. It's the automatic way that I experience the boring, frustrating, crowded parts of adult life when I'm operating on the automatic, unconscious belief that I am the center of the world, and that my immediate needs and feelings are what should determine the world's priorities.

The thing is that, of course, there are totally different ways to think about these kinds of situations. In this traffic, all these vehicles stopped and idling in my way, it's not impossible that some of these people in SUV's have been in horrible auto accidents in the past, and now find driving so terrifying that their therapist has all but ordered them to get a huge, heavy SUV so they can feel safe enough to drive. Or that the Hummer that just cut me off is maybe being driven by a father whose little child is hurt or sick in the seat next to him, and he's trying to get this kid to the hospital, and he's in a bigger, more legitimate hurry than I am: it is actually I who am in HIS way.

Or I can choose to force myself to consider the likelihood that everyone else in the supermarket's checkout line is just as bored and frustrated as I am, and that some of these people probably have harder, more tedious and painful lives than I do.

Again, please don't think that I'm giving you moral advice, or that I'm saying you are supposed to think this way, or that anyone expects you to just automatically do it. Because it's hard. It takes will and effort, and if you are like me, some days you won't be able to do it, or you just flat out won't want to.

But most days, if you're aware enough to give yourself a choice, you can choose to look differently at this fat, dead-eyed, over-made-up lady who just screamed at her kid in the checkout line. Maybe she's not usually like this. Maybe she's been up three straight nights holding the hand of a husband who is dying of bone cancer. Or maybe this very lady is the low-wage clerk at the motor vehicle department, who just yesterday helped your spouse resolve a horrific, infuriating, red-tape problem through some small act of bureaucratic kindness. Of course, none of this is likely, but it's also not impossible. It just depends what you what to consider. If you're automatically sure that you know what reality is, and you are operating on your default setting, then you, like me, probably won't consider possibilities that aren't annoying and miserable. But if you really learn how to pay attention, then you will know there are other options. It will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that made the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical oneness of all things deep down.

Not that that mystical stuff is necessarily true. The only thing that's capital-T True is that you get to decide how you're gonna try to see it.

This, I submit, is the freedom of a real education, of learning how to be well-adjusted. You get to consciously decide what has meaning and what doesn't. You get to decide what to worship.

Because here's something else that's weird but true: in the day-to day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And the compelling reason for maybe choosing some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship -- be it JC or Allah, bet it YHWH or the Wiccan Mother Goddess, or the Four Noble Truths, or some inviolable set of ethical principles -- is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It's the truth. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally grieve you. On one level, we all know this stuff already. It's been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, epigrams, parables; the skeleton of every great story. The whole trick is keeping the truth up front in daily consciousness.

Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to numb you to your own fear. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. But the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they're evil or sinful, it's that they're unconscious. They are default settings.

They're the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that's what you're doing.

And the so-called real world will not discourage you from operating on your default settings, because the so-called real world of men and money and power hums merrily along in a pool of fear and anger and frustration and craving and worship of self. Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom. The freedom all to be lords of our tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the center of all creation. This kind of freedom has much to recommend it. But of course there are all different kinds of freedom, and the kind that is most precious you will not hear much talk about much in the great outside world of wanting and achieving and [unintelligible -- sounds like "displayal"]. The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day.

That is real freedom. That is being educated, and understanding how to think. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race, the constant gnawing sense of having had, and lost, some infinite thing.

I know that this stuff probably doesn't sound fun and breezy or grandly inspirational the way a commencement speech is supposed to sound. What it is, as far as I can see, is the capital-T Truth, with a whole lot of rhetorical niceties stripped away. You are, of course, free to think of it whatever you wish. But please don't just dismiss it as just some finger-wagging Dr. Laura sermon. None of this stuff is really about morality or religion or dogma or big fancy questions of life after death.

The capital-T Truth is about life BEFORE death.

It is about the real value of a real education, which has almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness; awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all around us, all the time, that we have to keep reminding ourselves over and over:

"This is water."

"This is water."

It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive in the adult world day in and day out. Which means yet another grand cliché turns out to be true: your education really IS the job of a lifetime. And it commences: now.

I wish you way more than luck."

Da dah dah dah dah do de do do do (that's a song for bicycling)

2010-03-25T21:10:00.002-06:00

Remember that scene from Wedding Crashers when Owen Wilson and Rachel McAdams are riding bikes? I could watch all of that movie over and over again, but I sure do love that scene. And whatever song it is playing as they bicycle along the coast. It encompasses the total joy and freedom of summer.

And I want a bike. I haven't had a bike in several years. I now have couple of friends that like biking distance from my house and a little boy who loves to "ride bikes." This means he gets on his tricycle and I push him. Boo.

I am on a a mission to find a bicycle this weekend. I need the whole she-bang. A bike, a helmet, and a child carrier thing for the back. There is a Schwinn store that sells used bikes nearby my house so I think Johan and I will start there on Saturday, but it's been a long time so if anyone has any advice for bike-buying, bring it on.

Reading Rainbow

2010-03-20T06:41:00.002-06:00

The song from Reading Rainbow has been running through my head as I've been thinking about this. Remember?

Anyway, I was a literature major in college. I read literature all the time. In Spanish. In English. All the time. So much, that by the time college ended, I was burned out on it. I only read non-fiction for quite awhile. Biographies, social commentaries, history etc.

Then I went to law school. And spent three years reading cases, analysis, and dense law review articles. After the bar exam, I didn't read anything besides magazines and the newspaper for a long time. I started with some short stories. Some mindless mystery novels. Like candy they taste good but satiate nothing.

I have just recently delved back into the list of New York Times Bestseller and started to feel like a voracious reader again. I am currently in the middle of Outliers (thanks Addie) and Game Change (thanks BJ, although I don't think he reads this and may not know that I have a blog.) It feels great. I had almost forgotten how much I enjoy reading non-fiction. It's like catching up with an old friend or coming home or hot chocolate or some other metaphor that makes you feel comfortable and warm and cozy.

Book reviews of each are forthcoming.

Take a Look; It's in a Book...Reading Rainbow.

Airports

2010-03-14T07:21:00.004-06:00

Airports are one of my favorite places. As we were navigating the (huge) Dallas airport and figuring out the internal tram system to get from Terminal B to Terminal D, Eduardo commented that he wishes all flights were direct flights. I don't.

The airport is part of the adventure! The coming and going; the departures and arrivals; I find the tempo of it invigorating.

Of course, pre-2001, spending time in airports during layovers was even better. When non-travellers could go to the gate to meet their people or take them to the gate to say goodbye, airports were a place to see some of the rawest human emotion. Elated reunions and tearful goodbyes.

1999 to 2003 were my busiest travel years and I spent a LOT of time in airports during those years. I miss it. i miss the anticipation of seeing a new place and the satisfaction that comes with getting myself there, airports and all.

When we finally got to the gate in Dallas to meet the airplane that would take us to Corpus Cristi, there were 3 gum-smacking, smart-mouthed, laughing Georgetown co-eds also waiting for the flight, probably going on Spring Break to Padre Island. I didn't even pretend to not be listening to their conversation. They for sure wondered why this weird lady didn't mind her own business and make sure her toddler was sitting quietly rather than listening to their conversation, but whatever. It's the airport. Anything goes.

Sea

2010-03-06T05:26:00.003-06:00

The first 2 months of 2010 have felt like a roar. For good and for bad, a bit like a blur.

We are getting on an airplane in 3 hours to go to Rockport, Texas (near Corpus Cristi). It's not the tropics, but it is on the ocean. This counts more, as for me there is nothing more calming and humbling that sitting or walking along the seashore, listening to the waves and the gulls, watching the tides.

See you on the flip side.

Art

2010-03-03T21:30:00.003-06:00

I found a couple of Monica's paintings online. I couldn't remember quite what her work looked like, but now that I see it again, I remember her even more fondly and feel so bittersweet about how the past few days have developed.

Monica

2010-03-02T22:28:00.003-06:00

Well, more on Chile. My Chilean friend, the one I've been writing about, there's more to say. See, the back story is that I stayed with his grandmother for a few months in 2002. As I've reconnected with him, he has told me that his grandmother died in May of 2008. I don't yet have any details about this, but let me tell you that it has hit my heart hard.

This woman was in her mid 60s when she opened her home to me. She was a painter. She painted landscapes and women's bodies and she was incredibly talented. She had a strained relationship with her children, but was incredibly close to her grandkids. She was devoted to the women incarcerated at the Arica Women's Prison- she went there every week to talk to them, teach painting classes, and just be their friend. She brought me there and opened up my eyes to a world where women are incarcerated while men go free for turning in more connected drug lords. She found this an incredible injustice. She was right.

She had her own emotional and substance use issues. Our relationship was not always smooth or tranquil. As is so common in relationships among people with strong personalities, we had arguments. But for whatever reason or happenstance, our souls were aligned. We made sense to one another. She painted me. I posed for her paintings, something I have never shared with anyone. I never have seen the finished product of what she painted.

I am feeling a tremendous amount of regret for having lost touch with her. A tremendous amount of regret for never telling her how dear she was to me; how much she impacted me; how much I learned while living with her. I always imagined that I would go back to the little poblano artesenal where she lived in Northern Chile and revisit all of her energy and love and art. It won't happen.

I am looking for her paintings online- but haven't found any. Hopefully, I'll get my hands on one and be able to share. I am hoping that I will be able to purchase one of her works from her grandson. We are trying to work out the details.

It is extraordinary and bizarre to me that I would never have known she died were it not for the earthquake. She died almost 2 years before the earthquake, yet in this minutely small way, the earthquake's aftershocks are more tremendous that one can imagine.

Chileno Update

2010-03-02T06:32:00.003-06:00

On closer inspection of old Chilean friend's Facebook profile and in reading the messages he's sent me, he seems to have found God in the 8 years since we've seen each other.

At first, I was like, huh? Seriously? Back in 2002 he was sort of half-hippie, half- black leather rocker type. Completely godless musician type. Unless you count guitar and/or Tori Amos to be religion.

Then yesterday, I was telling this to my friend Brianna and she pointed out that perhaps he only found God because they just had an 8.8 earthquake. Good point.

The moral of the story is: if you only contact your old, long lost friends after terrifying and deadly natural disasters, you might find them to be more religious than you once remembered them.

Terremotos and Facebook

2010-02-28T14:19:00.004-06:00

Minneapolis better watch out- I've lived here a lot longer than either Hispanola or Chile. Seems that several years after I leave a place, it has a major earthquake? Oh, what? It's not about me? Oh, ok.

I get overly sentimental. I find it an absolutely annoying part of my personality but basically harmless. When I was in Chile in 2002, I didn't love it. To be more precise, there were situations back home that kept me from enjoying it entirely. However, I made some pretty incredible friends there, mostly Americans. Ok, fine. All of them. I spent my time traipsing about the country with some of most fantastic Americans I know. And we had a blast. Wouldn't change a thing about it.

Today, I've been looking through my photo album from Chile. Twenty year old me, Sarah, Roisin, Liv, Jota, Christie. I can't remember vividly the bad feelings I had while in Chile. My pictures certainly don't reflect those. It looks like the time of my life. In some ways, no doubt, it was. Much laughter. Much debauchery. Much freedom. Much adventure.

Then I started to wonder about this friend I had in Chile- the grandson of this old woman that I stayed with when I was in Arica. He was the only Chilean friend I had. I haven't spoken to him since leaving Arica, but I found myself wanting to know what he's doing- hoping he was ok after the earthquake.

Enter Facebook. I pity the fools who grew up pre-Facebook. Like, when you lose touch with someone you might actually never know what becomes of them. Or there might be reunions 50 years later chronicled in novels or on Lifetime Television for Women! Pu-shaw. I have Facebook. Click, click, click. Oh, there he is! Still in Chile. Still playing the guitar. Married! 4 year old daughter! To not be entirely creepy, I sent him a message along with the friend request. Is that actually creepier? No, it seems strange to friend request a real (would this be the appropriate place to use "IRL"?) old friend without actually talking to them. It is entirely unlike accepting the friend requests of people I was never actually friends with. I need to stop accepting those requests in the first place. I would never actually talk to any of those weirdos.

Back to my old Chileno friend. I like knowing where he is. I like being in contact with him again. So, yeah, I get overly sentimental and nostalgic. Earthquakes make me find old friends on Facebook. Maybe if there's some sort of monsoon in Minnesota this summer, I'll actually want to talk to my Facebook non-friends! But, I'll probably have de-friended them by then so I'd have to go back and do new friend requests. Tiresome. Let's hope for calm weather.

"Norwegians are Traditionally Very Graceful Jumpers." - Olympic Announcer

2010-02-22T20:40:00.004-06:00

Positivity

2010-02-17T20:49:00.002-06:00

This has felt like a rough couple of weeks. I feel things deeply and tend to take things hard, but only for very short periods of time. I think I am pretty resilient. One thing I am trying to improve is my ability to see the good in even things that are difficult. Addie's comment on my last writing talks about this somewhat.

For example, today when I went out to my car after yoga class, my car would not start. It turns out my car needs a new engine that would cost more than the car is worth. And I still owe money on the car.

But as I walked a few blocks to my dad's house and then back to the yoga studio, I made a list of good things about the situation:

- I got to enjoy yoga class

- I wore good walking shoes, even though I wasn't planning on an early morning icy walk.

- I have resources to get my car towed and people around me to help me get where I need to go.

- I have a job where showing up "late" doesn't jeopardize my employment.

- This happened on a day when Johan could stay home with Eduardo, even though that wasn't the plan.

Even after finding out that my car is DOA and I am going to have to scramble to figure out new wheels, and feeling some fierce frustration that accompanies that, I am trying to keep things in perspective. Today my dad sent me this.

This is such fantastic and hopeful news for my dad and my family and anyone living with MS. A pill to make walking easier. There are smart, dedicated people out there creating pills that can help people with MS walk. That can help my dad walk along as Johan learns to ride a bike.

As I am sitting around trying to come up with money I don't have for a car I wasn't planning on buying, feeling a little sorry for myself, I kept going back to this article. And, well, today was a pretty great day after all.

Bad Things (Do NOT) Only Happen to Bad People

2010-02-06T22:19:00.003-06:00

In my (not so) secret life, I follow the blogs of Christian mommies. One thing they all have in common is believing that everything happens for a reason. And that their God is directing it all with some grand plan in mind. I sometimes want to believe that everything happens for a reason. It can be a comforting thought when things seem particularly difficult or painful.

But, really, how can it possibly be that everything happens for a reason? If you subscribe to that theory, doesn't that mean that bad things happen because someone deserved it? Because someone was bad?

In senior year of high school, several of my friends and I took a class called Theory of Knowledge. Many of the brightest students in my high school were part of the class as it was required to get the IB diploma (don't feel like going into that now and most people that read this either a) have an IB diploma or b) know what it is). One day during a philosophical discussion in class, one of the guys I thought was particularly bright said that bad things don't happen to good people. At the time, I found it so offensive. Really? Did he really think that? As an aside, it turns out this guy is extremely bright (think Ivy League including a Post Doc at Harvard. Yeah.)

Anyway, when he said that, I felt a firm conviction that I believe the exact opposite. Sometimes horrible things happen to very good people. In fact, most bad things that occur happen to good people. There are a lot of bad things. More bad things that bad people, certainly. And there are a lot of good people. I will venture to say that most people qualify as good. Not necessarily smart, funny, and of strong conviction (which are my top criteria for friendship) but nonetheless, good. So, if you believe that, then it is only logical that bad things happen to good people. And if bad things happen to good people, what kind of God is out there directing that?

As I write this, I am pretty sure I have blogged something very similar before. This seems to be a recurring theme that I ponder: how I cannot reconcile wanting to believe that things happen for a reason and the reality that a lot of bad things happen to good people.

Derailed

2010-02-05T20:34:00.007-06:00

I have a tendency to have episodes of irrational anxiety. Some of it is at least explainable- I have quite a lot of anxiety around doctors. I don't want them to tell me I am dying. I don't want to be vulnerable. And speaking of vulnerable, don't even get me started on Camel pose at yoga. Heart raised above head and arms thrown back? What if the T-rex rips my insides out?

See what I mean?

Stranger, though, is the anxiety I have leading up to deposing doctors. It's stupid. There are things much more challenging about my job. Judges! Juries! Insane Clients With Unrealistic Expectations! None of that phases me. But for days leading up to deposing a doctor, I don't sleep well and I'm on edge.

My anxiety then becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy of madness. And things that are not that big of a deal feel overwhelming.

That chiropractor's assistant says that I'm not calling clients back?

Ordinary reaction: Well, she's lying. Which clients? I'll call them right now and verify everything is fine.

Pre-doctor deposition reaction: Why is nothing I do enough? How can I spend 50 hours a week working my ass off and still not be doing it right? Is this how everyone sees me? Will everyone believe what she says and I will be first marginalized and then fired?

Yep, that's right. It's absolutely insane. Today one of my law partners (technically partner but really still my boss) commented that I am so brave in everything I do and that this is such a strange thing to allow to derail me. Strange indeed. Fortunately, I tend to bounce back quickly and am back on the rails within a day or so.

And I am reminded that I need to go back to my yoga mat and find camel pose until I can depose a doctor without becoming derailed. Even for a day.

Thanks, Mr. Zinn

2010-01-29T20:45:00.005-06:00

Not a good week for men of consequence. Certainly Catcher in the Rye is defining for any introspective person. I used to keep a copy of it tucked into the side of my loft bed between the mattress and the wood when I was in college. I haven't read it in quite awhile. I would like to say I am going to brush the dust off that old book and start it again. But we all know when I get home I am just going to watch Law and Order.

The loss of Howard Zinn this week has touched me even deeper. There are few writers whose prose is powerful enough to change someone's entire outlook; there are few books that have affected me so profoundly that I remember the extraordinary feeling of my mind opening as I read.

That is how it was for me when I first read A People's History of the United States. I was 17. I could hardly speak when I finished the first chapter. I remember sitting on my bed in the quiet of my thoughts. Tracing the stitching on the quilt covering my bed. Trying to process what I had just read. Knowing that I would never look at things quite the same again.

I was raised by educated people who encouraged critical thinking, no doubt. Nevertheless, until I read Zinn, I didn't realize how many ways one history could be told; how differently things are experienced; how the voices of the conquerors and the conquered have different intonations.

So thank you, Mr. Zinn, for your work and for your words.

Politics Trumps Football Every Time

2010-01-24T22:02:00.003-06:00

The Vikings lost. It's a shame. But they truly had so many opportunities to win...whatever.

So now it's Colts v. Saints. Indiana v. NOLA. Manning v. Brees.

Who do I cheer for?

Nola? But they kept my team from the Superbowl!

Indiana? But who's Indiana? Manning is a pompous, RNC-donating conservative. He will donate all that money to a political party I despise.

NOLA. There's something about rooting for New Orleans that feels right- even though the Vikings lost to them. 2005 is not that long ago. It's not so long ago that the Bush Administration made one the hugest blunders (oh the blunders...they are countless) of those shameful 8 years in its lack of responsiveness. The definition of inert. I realize success at football doesn't mean a successful city. There's obviously a long way to go. But if New Orleans won the Superbowl, I guess I would feel some sort of moral victory on their behalf.

"Ain't no one gonna hold me down. Oh no. I got to keep on moving.."

Something like that.

So, in short, the combination of Manning the RNC supporter and NOLA the city that won't be drowned means I think I have to root for the Saints in two weeks.

Don't tell Adrian Peterson.

Success...

2010-01-22T18:54:00.002-06:00

Work Comp trial today. Whether I end up winning or not, this is success:

Me: Well, on direct examination, you testified that blah blah blah.

Witness: Yes.

Me: And now you're saying the opposite of blah blah blah.

Witness: Uh, yes.

Me: So are you telling the truth now or were you telling the truth then?

Witness: Then.

Me: And you're lying now?

Witness: Wait. Am I supposed to tell the truth, or...

Me: Or what?

Witness: The other stuff.

Me: What other stuff?

Witness: The other stuff I was supposed to say.

Me: No further questions.

Just Kidding, THIS is the Best Video Ever Made.

2010-01-17T12:45:00.002-06:00

I tend to be slow on the uptake (upload?) when it comes to technological advances.

I believe I have just successfully recorded a video on my Black.berry, e-mailed it to mysely, downloaded it to my computer, uploaded it to YouTube, and now embedded it in my blog.

Worth it? You be the judge:

The Best Video Ever Made

2010-01-15T21:26:00.001-06:00

Created by the 9-year-old nephew of one the paralegals at my office. I can't stop laughing:

Haiti

2010-01-14T22:20:00.002-06:00

I don't have a lot to say. It's a bit overwhelming.

There is a very selfish part of me that is just grateful that the epicenter was not close enough to Eduardo to hurt him or anyone in our family.

There is another selfish part of me that feels that I am *more* connected to this than a lot of people. While my time was mostly in the DR with only a very brief sojourn to Haiti, that's my island. You know, not like I own it, but MINE, nonetheless.

There is the historian in me. Feeling a renewed interest in colonial history and Toussaint L'ouverture and the birth of revolt in the Western Hemisphere.

There is the Occidental student in me. A girl who traipsed off to Afro-Haitian dance class with my roommates and Professor Chin every Tuesday and Thursday. Learning about a country through its dance.

Then, finally, there is the common humanity of the whole thing. This isn't about me or how I feel about it. It's about a time to find a common humanity, and act like we ought to all the time: here on this planet to hold one another up when we need it.

Ok, I guess I do have quite a bit to say.

Places

2010-01-09T18:19:00.003-06:00

I've been thinking about how I haven't been to New York in quite awhile. During the early 2000s, I made several trips as Sarah was living in Connecticut and then later in Brooklyn. Most of the times I went, I was visiting her (except for once in 2002 when I stayed at the Midtown Crowne Plaza with my mom and step dad after 4 months in Chile and that Midtown Crowne Plaza was about the best shower I've ever had in my entire life).

BUT.

The point is that my memories of New York are inextricably tied to Sarah. When I think of New York, I think of the times there with her. This is weird only because I am sure she doesn't associate New York with me at all. I mean, she shouldn't. I never lived there- she had a life there with many people and while I am sure (ahem) that she had fun during my visits, I doubt very much that I am the first person to come to mind when she reflects on time in New York.

I wonder if there are other examples. For me, when I think of the Dominican Republic, I certainly immediately am reminded of the first several years I knew Eduardo. My memories of that place are wrapped up with him, but for him, I am only a small part of his memories there.

I don't know that any of this really means anything, but it's just strange to think about unilateral associations. I just made that term up now. Unilateral associations. Let's see if it catches on. And if I can think of other examples.

It Still Takes My Breath Away...

2010-01-08T21:35:00.004-06:00

Sometimes, when I am enjoying a quiet night at home, I watch this:

I realize it is really nerdy to watch old(ish) MSNBC news on youtube. Get over it because it's more awesome than it is nerdy.

And it still takes my breath away.

You Must Eat This Now.

2010-01-06T21:33:00.009-06:00

Last Sunday night my friend Brigid came over for dinner. She brought the dinner. That's how I roll. What she made was so deceptively simple and so fantastic. With a green salad, it is an excellent dinner. Cut into small wedges, it could be an awesome party appetizer. I must share.

Take one of these (Brigid recommends Jack's brand):

Don't cook it quite yet.

Next, saute one of these in butter or olive oil. Everyone knows butter is better.

Once the onion is translucent, spread it over the uncooked frozen pizza.

Then add some chevre, either crumbled or in slices:

Finally, drizzle this over the top of the pizza:

Pop it in the oven and cook according to directions on the pizza. So good. So very, very good. I wish I had pictures of the finished product. Or of my happy face after I ate it.

Eat, drink, and be merry. Cheers.

Milestone

2010-01-03T17:01:00.003-06:00

Happy New Year.

The last few weeks have been full of holiday parties, celebrations, and reunions. I noticed in Johan a new interest in other kids. Rather than wanting to play with me or by himself, or just look at other kids, he actually wanted to play with them.

This is so cool to watch as it seems to be a major marker in his development as an autonomous being. He doesn't need me to entertain him or to have fun. He interacts with others in his own way, without direct cues from me (although my comfort level in a given situation is mirrored by him- in other words, he is quicker to get accustomed to a new environment if I appear at ease.)

This is also an exciting milestone in that it makes for more momma-enjoyment when bringing Johan to parties. It is fun to watch him interact with kids and also to have more freedom the engage in adult conversation.

There are so many milestones kids reach. The first step. The first word. The first time he sleeps through the night uninterrupted. The first tooth. You don't hear much about the first time your kid just goes along with a bunch of cousins and spends the morning playing with stuffed animals, wrestling, jumping on the bed, and playing make believe princesses and castles and knights while mommy drinks coffee with the grown ups. Well, let's be honest, I'm not sure if Johan knew he was supposed to be a knight or just liked riding the pretend horse Even so, believe me, this is a milestone to be celebrated.

Happy New Year.

Reflections on Being a Divorced Kid at Christmas

2009-12-27T20:57:00.003-06:00

Don't worry- this isn't depressing. I've long since gotten over the self pity and anger of being a divorced kid. In fact, I think that growing up divorced has given me the ability to take the presence and/or absence of loved ones in stride.

Let me explain.

I was never with my mom on Christmas Eve and never with my dad on Christmas Day. There was always somebody missing who I wished was there. Nope- this still isn't self pity. Because who wants to sit around feeling gloomy on Christmas? So, you just get over it- enjoy the holiday with who is there and pretty quickly come to the realization that there's no such thing as a perfect holiday and you don't always get everybody you want to be with all at the same time. And that's ok.

So, would I prefer to be with Eduardo on Christmas? Sure. But it's not the end of the world. We had a Christmas celebration before he left and we talked both Christmas Eve and Day.

And do I miss my brother and wish he would have been noshing on Norwegian meatballs and lefse with us on Christmas Eve? Hell yes. But, life isn't always just the way you want it.

Apparently there is/was a rumor going around Linden Hills among some friends of my brother that my whole family was sitting around on Christmas Eve sad and weeping, unable to enjoy Christmas because we missed David. Those rumor-spreaders obviously don't realize what it's like to be part of a blended family- every person at our holiday celebration knows that there's always going to be somebody missing.

Of course we love David and miss David and look forward to the Christmases we can be together again. But, his absence doesn't mean we won't eat delicious food; tell stories about my late Grandpa and his goofy stocking-stuffers; watch Johan try to figure out his new gravel yard boulder smasher toy; laugh at the dog in his new blanket with sleeves; laugh some more; and otherwise enjoy our time together.

In fact, that's just what we did. So lay those rumors to rest, Linden Hills gossipy youth. Divorced kids got the skillz.

Christmas Shopping in the Eastern Bloc

2009-12-21T22:09:00.002-06:00

I am home from my Christmas Shopping Bonanza. Johan is at my mom's for the night since she is taking care of him tomorrow and they want to sleep in. Christmas shopping was much less nightmarish than it would have been had I also been responsible for Johan's enjoyment. Maybe it's because there are only 4 days until Christmas, but I had numerous WTF moments:

- There was no Scotch tape at Target. None. I have no idea how I am going to wrap these gifts. There might be some blue painters tape in the basement.

- I stood at the jewelry counter at Macys for a good 20 minutes and no one even tried to sell me anything. I could not find a single person willing to open the case. Finally, I tracked someone down and insisted on an extra 10% discount for my 20 minutes. It should have been an extra 20%. I may write a strongly worded letter to Macys and hope for some more discounts in the New Year.

- The guy at the JC Penney men's clothing counter did not know how to scan a credit card. He sheepishly asked me if I had cash and I said No. He had to call the manager over. I had a $10 coupon so I didn't bitch too much. I mean, poor kid, he works at JC Penney.

- My cousin's daughter likes Barbies so I thought I would get Doctor Barbie or Astronaut Barbie or Trial Attorney Barbie. The only ones at Target were in bikinis. Rows and rows of bikini Barbies. I finally found one in jeans and a shirt that says "Hussy" or "Bee-yotch" or something. How retro of Barbie to no longer have a career. Unless you count hussy as a career. I don't.

And finally...

- The only to/from labels left at Target were one sheet of Disney princess labels. Another woman was also looking for labels and these were the only package left. She didn't want them. They were stupidly expensive and the package is sort of bent and tattered. And I don't know anybody who likes Disney princesses. But I bought them anyway. Everyone damn well better love Disney princesses this year.

The shopping is done, though. I am most excited about wrapping the tiny little trinkets that will go in Johan's stocking: 2-inch Big Bird figurine; an Elmo bouncy ball; tiny-sized Doctor Seuss board books; a yellow shirt; a yellow matchbox car; a yellow tin of M&Ms; striped socks; and some other stuff I can't remember.

Now if only I had some Scotch tape.

Alcantfalas

2009-12-16T21:57:00.003-06:00

Today I received a Christmas card from a 2nd cousin once removed or something.

It was addressed to "The Alcantfala family."

I don't think it was a Deck the Halls and fa la la la la la la la la joke.

I think he just doesn't know our last name.

But that's cool.

Good to know...

2009-12-13T20:55:00.003-06:00

I have become totally addicted to this website. You can search for celebrity political contributions and there is even a ticker that gives you the total dollar amount for certain celebrities and then you can expand to see if they are Red or Blue.

Some are no-brainers. Yep, Tom Hanks and Bruce Springsteen are staunch Democrats. (But seriously, only $12,000, Boss? Come on. What you been singing about?)

A couple of interesting surprises:

Alec Baldwin has donated over $130k to Blue candidates. I guess I will be watching 30 Rock more often .

Don Henley (yep, the very same who sings "Boys of Summer" and "End of the Innocence" has donated over $650k to Blue candidates and causes. Holy shit. Maybe I should buy one of his CDs instead of just periodically checking the radio station featuring the best of the 80s, 90s, and today.

Also, you should know that Amy Grant is only donating to Republicans and the RNC. Disappointing since I was just about to buy her latest CD. As if.

On Making New Friends

2009-12-12T20:43:00.002-06:00

Sometimes I think I don't need new friends. I have some pretty fantastic ones. The one thing about them is that they are all far away. Flagstaff, Jo-burg, Los Angeles, Chicago. I have many minutes on my cell phone plan.

Since moving back to Minneapolis in 2003, I have made a couple friends. We went to law school together and they are great, but I don't see them often and one has a kid just a bit older than Johan so usually our time together is about the kids.

Recently, I have realized I do need some new local girlfriends. There is little I enjoy more than hours of conversation where one topic just seamlessly flows into the next without hesitation or awkwardness. And wine. Wine goes well with conversation.

I have recently spent this kind of time with 2 people- another attorney at my firm and a friendly acquaintance from high school who I reconnected with a few weeks ago at a reunion.

There is something very exciting to me about this- it's almost like when kids first connect with people at a new school. So much to talk about; so much to learn about the new friends; exchanging phone numbers; first play dates. Except we are in our late 20s. And drink a lot of wine.

Johan's a STAR.

2009-12-09T21:25:00.002-06:00

Johan was featured on a friend's blog recently.

He is one of my favorite things, too.

2009-12-05T20:25:00.002-06:00

It's official and I can now share this very exciting news. Beginning in 2010, I will be a shareholder of Robichaud & Anderson.

I am thrilled. It is faster than I thought it would happen, but I have already felt as though the firm was "mine" for quite some time and it feels great to have that made official.

Last night at that law firm annual party, Robichaud of R&A announced to our staff that I would become a partner in January, which is why it's now ok to announce in the blogworld.

I have been thinking today about how fortunate I am to love going to work every day. It's a rare thing, I think, to love both the work and the people. Sure, there are rough days and frustrations, but this law firm and I are a match made in...downtown Minneapolis. It feels right and I think the best is yet to come.

I mean, when an annual party ends at bar close with a red hot dance performance by middle aged lawyers, how could anyone ever want to leave that?

So, as of 4 weeks from now, it will be Robichaud, Anderson, & Kristina the Shareholder.

Marketing Ideas

2009-12-02T05:48:00.002-06:00

The life of a lawyer at a small law firm involves constantly thinking up new ways to get clients. Recently, one of our more useful contacts terminated and we are on a mission to start 2010 with a strong marketing effort. We've got the traditional bases covered: newspapers; radio; TV (yes, launching a TV commercial in 2010!), and wining and dining classmates, colleagues and others who can be good referral sources.

But, I know that I have some people out there who read this and MUST have some good ideas for creative marketing strategies. Come out, come out wherever you are. Come out of the woodwork - and please, share what's worked for you in your quests for clients. I'm not necessarily even just looking for strategies applicable to law- a lot of marketing I think applies across different industries, so let's hear (read) those ideas.

Go!

Where Credit is Due

2009-11-27T10:32:00.002-06:00

Re: Previous post.

1) It was my wife who pointed out that the creepy wife blogger was thankful for freedom.

2) It was my wife who noted I should be thankful for a lawyer card.

3) She has good ideas. Sometimes I hear them and run with them.

4) My name is Kristina and I am a copycat robotface.