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.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Prayers
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Tonight!
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
A Perfect Weekend
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.
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.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Not In My Name.
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
13
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.
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.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Gluten Minimus
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!
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!
Saturday, August 6, 2011
A few weeks ago
...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.
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.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Anniversaries
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Funny how that works...
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.
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.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Oh, hi. Want to catch up?
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.
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.
Friday, May 20, 2011
College
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.
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.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
IG
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Holding the Twisted Triangle
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.
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.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Choosing the Uncomfortable
"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.
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.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Growing Boy
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.
- 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.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Montessori
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.
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.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Deep Conversations
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.
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.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Handyland
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.
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.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Starfish
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.
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
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.
"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.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Hope: You Know What it Does
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!
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!
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Check this out
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
A New Season
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Johannish
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.
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.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Chicken for the week
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.
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.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Socially Networked
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?
- 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?
Friday, February 4, 2011
DR
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?
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?
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Junto a Mi
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.
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.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Why We Don't Do That
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Bar Food
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Dinner Conversation
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.
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.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Moving On
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.
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.
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