Goin' Up

Big Game and Little Kids

2010-01-30T23:35:00.002-05:00

Okay, so the whole "I'll write again next week" didn't exactly happen.

But yesterday, something came up that reminded me of lessons I learned in my childhood, and how very different my life now is from the way I grew up.

As a little one in northern California, I remember my grandfather and my dad and any number of great uncles and their friends going up to the mountains every year during deer season. My mom stopped going when she had me, but until then, she was out hunting right along with them. In most cases, each of them brought down a buck. They field-dressed them (or, if for some reason they couldn't bring out the whole deer, they field-butchered) and carried them out. The carcasses hung from trees for no more than a few hours before they went out and skinned and butchered them. Hides went to be tanned for use as blankets. Antlers were mounted or cut down to be used for this and that. And the full complement of good, lean, nourishing meat was sliced into cuts or run through the meat grinder in the kitchen, packed in butcher paper, labeled and packed away in the freezers, keeping us all in meat for the better part of the year.

In my dad's job, too, he'd often work on the ranches, first in the Cascades and Sierras, and later in western Nevada. It wasn't uncommon for him to come home with extras. Although he was certainly paid by his employers, the ranch families were often generous, and when they saw a man working hard to be sure they had heat, or kitchens to feed their herding crews, or what-have-you, they might offer something as thanks for the effort. One time, it was braids of garlic from a local farmer. Sometimes it might be good grass-fed beef raised by hand and butchered right out back of the ranch house.

In one case, one family had a bunch of new puppies.That's how I got my dog, Bingo--he came home wrapped in Dad's jacket on the seat of the truck while I was in the house for my nap the summer I was 3. I came outside and--probably having heard something or other--said to my mom, who was reading a book in her lawn chair, "Is there a puppy out there?" Bingo came running like a shot from where he was sitting under the chair and we were inseparable for the next 13 years.

But the thing that was always true was this: People were saying thanks by giving what was theirs. Meat that would otherwise get their family through the winter. Garlic that would otherwise go for sale to support their family. A dog that would otherwise grow up to herd the cattle and sheep that were their lifeblood.

If for some reason you already had a side of beef in the freezer or plenty of dogs in the yard, you said thank you, sincerely, and went home to tell your family about the kindness of the people you met that day--what a great pup they had or how they offered you a couple racks of ribs from this Angus steer they butchered that year. But mostly, you took the meat. Or the garlic. Or the puppy. And you said thank you. And every time you went to your freezer, or went out to play with the dog, you remembered the kindness. And when you could, you gave someone who did something good for you something that mattered to you. And on it went.

I'm Back

2009-07-17T10:48:00.001-05:00

Six months is a righteously long break. And it was needed. But now, I'm back with a renewed sense of vision and direction. So stay tuned for posts starting next week, with photos of yet another move.

Little Dots of the World

2009-01-11T09:25:00.002-05:00

It's snowing. I will have to go dig my car out of a snowbank again before it gets frozen into place. Of course, there's nowhere to put the car, which means that our delightful Department of Public Works will simply plow it back in. Yay!

The rest of my day will be taken up with an FBI questionnaire, an article for one of my company's newsletters (about change management communications), a couple of peer assessments for work and a freelance writing assignment for a health insurance company publication. Yeah ... I lead an exciting life. Happy weekend to me! (But at least I got to spend a few hours with one of my favorite kiddos yesterday.)

Anyway, as I sit here feeling decidedly trapped in the land of white precipitation and cold temperatures, I looked at the "Little Dots" counter down on the right side this page. Don't worry, it doesn't tell me who's seeing this blog or exactly where anybody is. It just puts a dot on a non-zoomable world map representing the basic place from where someone visited the blog, and then keeps a list of countries and the number of hits from each one. A while ago, I could guess who was behind a few of the dots--they were in places where I have family or friends. And the huge dot over New York state is mostly my own clicks! But the rest are mostly totally unknown to me, which makes this kind of fun.

I just get a kick out of seeing the countries that show up. I mean, the U.S., Canada and the U.K. are pretty much to be expected. But at the other end of the spectrum are China (the one person I know from there is not technically Chinese, nor is he actually there most of the year, so this is kinda cool to see), Slovakia, Moldova, Botswana and Bahrain (all of which are very cool as none of them are places that I know enough about).

The Last 15 Years

2009-01-07T19:32:00.002-05:00

So it appears that, fairly quickly, numerous members of my high school graduating class (and a few on either side) have joined Facebook. To be dead honest, while it is lovely to reconnect with them all, and to see them looking happy and well, surrounded by spouses and children and friends, in cities both near and far, the whole experience has me (once again) feeling very, very inadequate and as if I have achieved nothing of long-term importance with my life. That's not to say I haven't had great experiences--I have. I just haven't had the experiences that I consider most meaningful. The point was brought home further this week when I learned that one of my colleagues--who is my age if not a couple years younger, and has two young children--is getting divorced. Here she is contemplating starting all over again, while I seem to have given up hope on ever getting started.

So I decided, in the interest of summing up the last 15 years or so since high school, to give a brief timeline here of my important moments. But then as I started writing it, I realized that it basically boiled down to six jobs and one period of unemployment, four bands, numerous moves (mostly mine), Baha'i activities, a brief recounting of trips to Scotland, Ireland, Denmark and Sweden, a couple deaths (not mine), a few births (also not mine), some illnesses (not mine) and operations (both mine and not), losing track of friends as they grew up and I became a female Peter Pan (except more stressed out), a couple intriguing crushes, one memorable occasion being stood up, one time-and-place weren't right but the guy is sweet and I wish him well, and 14 years of M stories (which, since we are down to communicating by intermittent wall posts on Facebook at this point, are most likely really irrelevant to anything except my own tortured mind/heart). And that about covers it. Woo-hoo!

Having Myself a Merry Little Christmas

2008-12-25T10:20:00.003-05:00

You know, when you grow up with some small marker of Christmas--in my case, a Christmas Eve by the tree with its twinkling lights, opening family gifts and enjoying a simple meal, and then stockings and grapefruit with pancakes or something for breakfast in the morning--it is a hard tradition to let go of. Particularly when other traditions don't take its place.

But now, when my folks and I stopped doing Christmas together a few years ago, and my grandmother's moved away, and my extended family doesn't invite my folks or I to celebrate with them (they haven't for years, and I get the feeling that our Baha'i beliefs, which they don't understand, probably seem out of place to them at the Christmas table)...Christmas is rather depressing. I can practically see where a tree would go in my apartment, and the reflection of the lights on the windows, and which ornaments it would show off, as well as which music I would have played had anyone been around to share it, and exactly how I would have cooked up spaghetti with hot Italian sausage. I know where my stocking would go, and how delightful it would have been to peek out of my room this morning, and find it bulging with small packages, and pancakes cooking, and Charley Pride's Christmas album playing, and the tree lit up, and a row of cards from far and near lined up on the bookshelf. But none of that is the case. Truth be told, although there may be some cards hung up in the mail somewhere, I've only received one this year, from an elderly cousin in Tennessee. It made me smile that he thought of me.

Of course I've done what every self-respecting teacher of Baha'u'llah's Cause would do, and used the lack of celebration as one more way to introduce the Faith to someone. Put on a brave face and wished all my co-workers well. Laughed away any sense of discomfort by assuring them all that really, I was okay, and would enjoy my celebration-free days off. And to some extent, I mean that. I will be fine (I always am), and this too shall pass, and we do have our own holidays as Baha'is...we just don't have such all-encompassing holidays yet. And my dad, in particular, tends to prefer an ascetic take on things anyway, so even if other folks may have larger Naw-Ruz or Ridvan or Ayyam-i-Ha celebrations, our family's are likely to be restrained in comparison.

Anyway, I'm combating today's "left-outness," and a general sense of time rolling by in unrelieved waves, as I sit in my apartment alone, knowing that my friends and family all had places to be. I got myself a grapefruit. And some biscuits. I'm watching the annual Disney Christmas Parade (do the Jonas Brothers remind anyone else of the Monkees?). I bought some mashed potatoes and gravy--and I have a turkey breast in the freezer that I will use today as an excuse to cook (although it just needs cooking anyway). And I have some chocolate-covered cherries. And I will use today to catch up on emails to friends far away. Probably watch "White Christmas" and maybe "The Grinch" (cartoon version, of course). I downloaded Charley Pride's Christmas tunes from iTunes. And last night I revisited a few favorite stories. Here they are, for your enjoyment too.
* The Night Before Christmas, by Clement C. Moore, illustrated by Florence Sarah Winship
* "Secret in the Barn," by Anne Wood
* "Mr. Edwards Meets Santa Claus," from Little House on the Prairie, by Laura Ingalls Wilder
* The Santa Claus Book, by Eileen Daly, illustrated by Florence Sarah Winship
* "The Juggler of Notre Dame," by Anatole France
* "The Gift of the Magi," by O. Henry
* Virginia O'Hanlon's letter to the New York Sun, and Charles Dana's response
* "Annie and Willie's Prayer," author unknown

What Surprised You Today?

2008-12-18T17:23:00.004-05:00

My friend Dru posted this question on her blog for writers yesterday. Interesting timing, as I had been contemplating a surprising, yet not surprising at all, little thought that crossed my mind this weekend.

You see, this past weekend, all the Baha'is in the Northeastern U.S. were called to a conference in Stamford, Connecticut. The Universal House of Justice requested that we reflect upon--and celebrate--where we are right now in bringing Baha'u'llah's message to people all over the world. And to recommit ourselves to doing everything we can to increase our efforts, to help introduce this positive, world-changing spiritual infusion to even more people, at a time when wars and economics and so many other things are causing people to question the very foundation of their values and beliefs.

My friends were there. My parents were there (for a little while, at least). I had thought, ahead of time, that I would be intrigued to learn what I could pass along to M as additional Baha'i knowledge and interest. However, really all that I came away with that supported that intention was a few very short videos (audio was more the point) of music from the conference, like this one:

Instead, I was much more happy to visit with my friend Shahab, to compare notes about what each of us was doing in our home communities and recapture the sense of shared enthusiasm that characterized our joint activities here last spring, before he moved away. It was really delightful to have even a few minutes with someone who is working on the same things I am, with similar challenges. Very relaxing and reenergizing!

But what really surprised me was that, last spring, when I determined that "that guy" and I were decidedly not on the same path, I really did let go. However, leading up to the conference, and knowing he was registered, I was definitely looking forward to seeing him. So, when by Saturday night, I had not seen any indication of his presence--although I had seen people who most definitely are part of his immediate circle of friends and family, I asked someone if he was there. Of course, he wasn't. I was actually quite surprised to find that I missed just knowing that he was someplace in the crowd. I haven't really known someone whose very presence was such a source of warmth. Even the, as my friend Abby put it, "book" that he sent by text message was something I could just about hear him saying, and it made me smile.

Surprising. And intriguing. And how disturbing it is to realize that this is yet another situation where what I really would like would be to be an entirely different person. One who could be even 5 years younger (...or 10). Who could be an experienced and fearless globe-trotter rather than a diehard American who still--after multiple European jaunts--sees world travel from the viewpoint of a Beverly Hillbilly. And someone with a wide-open view of possibilities, instead of one that has ever and always been hemmed in by practicalities. But I am not. And so I continue to crave "that guy's" influence and presence, although I am well-aware that it is not mine to wish for.

And at the same time, I find myself recommitting to so many urgent needs in the Baha'i community. From tutoring three Ruhi study circles simultaneously for the next few months, onward and upward. I also find myself looking around and seeing so many people with whom I could share Baha'u'llah's message...yet so often I see them in passing when I am rushing to work or on my way to someplace that I have promised to be. 'Abdu'l-Baha's statement that "where there is love, there is always time and nothing is too much trouble" is sometimes hard to apply.

Catching Up

2008-12-04T20:54:00.003-05:00

My, my, my ... quite a little lapse in posts here. Busy time of year at work. Lots of projects. And honestly, trying to do enough in the off-time to avoid thinking about what time of year it actually is (Halloween through Valentine's Day are a little tough for me due to history, lack of my own family and lack of close relationships with my extended family). So I've been taking every opportunity to hang with friends when time and conflicting schedules allow.

It was on one of those occasions a couple weeks ago that I decided to pick up Twilight, the first in Stephanie Meyer's series tracking the romance between an unusually mature teenager and the love of her life, who happens to be a vampire. Oh, and come to find out, her best friend's tribe seems to turn into wolves when there are vampires in the neighborhood. I have spent my life with my nose in a book--that's always been my escape. But it's been years since I was so entirely captivated by a story. It's incredibly easy to suspend reality while reading these books ... yeah, I bought the next three within five days of the first one, and for about a week, all I did was work, sleep and read the series. It's brilliant. And I hope she writes more--the last book definitely leaves that possibility open.

Then Thanksgiving weekend cropped up. First Veggie Thanksgiving at my friend Lua's family's house, where I got to hang out with two of my favorite shorties, Lila and Liam. Lila was her usual crazy and funny little self, while Liam amused me by naming the foosball players "Elvis." His mom was very proud. Then Thursday I watched the parade while I made up homemade cranberry sauce--and I really don't eat cranberry sauce, so I'm lucky it turned out well--and then went to friends' home for the afternoon and evening, which was great fun. Mom and Dad arrived Saturday, and we went out for dinner at one of their favorite haunts, then watched the world's worst movie (Half Nelson, and honestly, you're hoping the main character will OD and take you out of his misery). Sunday was a run up to the tack store in Fort Ann and for lunch at Sally's Hen House, a great little coffee shop up there. I made gingerbread pancakes for dinner for us all--impressing my dad, who has always been the pancake maker in the family. I pointed out that if I waited for someone to make me pancakes, I would never have any. So he helped me get the technique right (less flame, more oil). Then we watched Whale Rider, which is a GREAT movie. They left Monday morning to head to Gramma's for the day and then back to Maine. It was really nice that I got to have time with them, especially since Dad seems very stressed out.

I also, over the weekend, ordered up two things I've wanted for a while. By shopping online on Black Friday, I managed to land a good knife set (and block) and a Crock Pot at a discount, with free shipping, using a gift card, for about $16. Score!! And now I can have real food anytime, even if I'm at work!!

Then today, we learned what our bonuses will be this year. With all of the difficulties people are facing everywhere, we're pretty lucky to be getting bonuses at all, so there's really no reason to complain about the amount. I just wish the taxes here in New York were lower, like they are where my company has its other office, so that we could keep more of that hard-earned cash! In any case, I'll be doing a little writing for the company on the side in the next few months, so with luck, I'll be able to earn a bit extra--and I'm looking for more freelance opportunities too, to try to augment the main income without expending as much time as a second job.

And finally, it occurred to me this week that at some point in our lives, time starts to lap itself. Having gotten through Thanksgiving, I have been trying to figure out what to do for Christmas and New Year's, since it would be nice to take the Fridays of those weeks off too, although I can't really justify that if I'm in town. And as I though of that, it dawned on me that I knew exactly where I was on New Year's Eve 10 years ago. I was out of college, in my first job and first apartment, I was corresponding with an Army buddy of my cousin's whom I'd met over the summer (and who I never saw again, despite the email exchanges), I'd had my only major car damage thanks to an errant deer incident in November and my dad had made it through emergency open heart surgery.

M was stationed in Virginia, and sometime in December, during one of our every week or more often phone calls, the idea of a road trip came up. I mentioned that I was headed down there to a couple mutual friends and they decided to come along, and M clued in another couple of mutual friends living in Arlington. So the few of us from up here got in the car New Year's Eve in the late afternoon and headed south--with me singing "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" anytime my travel companions started arguing, which inevitably led to hysterical laughter all around. We parked near our friends' apartment and took the metro to the station in Alexandria, which is elevated, and we arrived there at 11:55 p.m. to join M and the rest of the group for the fireworks, after which we all got right back on the train and went back to Arlington, where we had a late-night snack at IHOP before M and the crew from up here headed to his place in Fredericksburg.

Upon waking up in the morning (and being treated to ham, eggs and orange cinnamon rolls courtesy of our personal chef), we tried to decide what sounded like fun for the day. One of the gang was on duty as a medical resident, so the rest of us decided to go to the Smithsonian, then cross the (blustery and bone-chilling) mall to the memorials, eventually meet back up with everyone for dinner and then go out to the Marine Corps memorial (one of the gents was a former Marine). The next day, M took those of us from up here for a drive around the base at Quantico and a wander through the town there. I still remember him saying he always got a kick from the guards checking his ID and waving him through the gate with an "OOH-rah, sir!" And he assumed the former Marine (in the car following us) probably greatly enjoyed the experience--particularly since he had never been a "sir" and so hanging with M would have definitely had its perks! And after a brief lunch there, he headed home and the rest of us started the long drive north again.

I hadn't thought about it until this week, but that weekend, M was the age that I am now. How time flies. And how coincidences come about. Because if M is home this New Year's, I'm guessing that he will go see the fireworks over Alexandria with a bunch of his friends. I, meanwhile, will continue looking for someplace to be this New Year's, besides my living room.

I'm So Amused

2008-11-18T18:13:00.002-05:00

The e-mails I get amuse me greatly. For various reasons. Here are three I got today.

From a co-worker in response to the "Armed" video in the post below: "Dude, this is incredible! It’s sad, but uplifting at the same time. The actress that plays the mother/widow is actually a well known actress in 'the biz'. I don’t know her name, but I’ve seen her many times before. This Devon guy is good. I’ll have to check out more of his stuff. ..."

In response to a report of a good Ruhi experience: "Hooyah! Pa / FYI mom is having fun with the New Zealander. Should have got one a long time ago. The old Zealander was always breaking down, if it wasn't the brakes it was the ignition or whatever and the body was rotted. Those Zealanders will nickel-dime you to death, by golly."

Regarding a recent evening with friends: "... [The host] is a riot. Oh he believes in an armed populace. More later. Love Ma"

If anyone ever questions why I am as I am, just revisit this post...

Notes from the Slow Lane

2008-11-16T14:23:00.002-05:00

Or so it seems. Although the week's been pretty unusual, it's also been one of those where I am all geared up to change things and discover things--on the inside--yet feel as if my hands are tied and my feet stuck in mud when it come to actually making a move on any of the ideas ricocheting around the inside of my head. In any case....

Monday was the last Ruhi 7 session I was tutoring, so tomorrow night, I begin tutoring a Ruhi 1 elsewhere. And I'll also be doing a more casual Ruhi 1 with a couple of friends on the weekends starting in two weeks. I'm glad to be able to offer this service, especially since, like my field of work, it's portable--so no matter where I go (and I am antsy to go somewhere, although the universe seems to be uncooperative in that sphere at present), I am able to share the Baha'i Faith with folks in a meaningful way.

And on that note, Baha'i artist Devon Gundry has released a new video, "Armed", which is a very touching piece of work. Watch it. (Please. Thank you.)

Finally, two sites you've got to check out. First, over the next few months, Baha'is around the world are gathering in about 40 places around the world for special conferences called by the Universal House of Justice. At the conclusion of each conference, reports, photos and in some cases, videos, are being posted to the Baha'i World New Service site, here. If you have ever wondered what Baha'is mean when we talk about being one people, check the videos out and consider that all Baha'is, all over the world, have been invited to take part in these events, whichever one is nearest their home--and check back as time passes, because the video from the conferences will not look the same everywhere, although the mission and the spirit at each one is the same.

Second, if you find a moment to watch Kevin Locke hoop-dancing, please do. It's mesmerizing and inspiring. Somebody at a performance seems to have gotten a half-decent video, posted here. As much as Kevin is Lakota and from South Dakota, watching him dance always takes me back to my childhood in Nevada, in Yerington, where my schoolmates were as likely to be from the nearby Paiute reservation as they were to be Mexican migrant workers' kids or casino owners' young ones from Main St. And that makes me really want an Indian taco. And a rodeo to put on my boots and jeans for. Sigh...days of yore...

What a Weekend!

2008-11-09T11:39:00.002-05:00

Happy Early Birthday to Me! Yup, tomorrow is my day, but yesterday was my party, and today I got a fabulous gift from a friend.

So because my friends are altogether cool, we got together yesterday to enjoy treats and lots of chatting and laughter. Kudos to my friend Peter (professor, not engineer), who survived three hours with a gaggle of goofy women as the other guys invited were unable to make it. And my friends also know me well, so the gifties were perfect, from Loot and Mad Libs card games, to my own copy of The Alchemist (thank you, Jack and Irene!!), to unusual-and-sure-to-be-tasty chocolate, a Loch Desk Monster, a grow-your-own pirate, Academy Award-winning short films, a battery-powered puppy, and two particular pieces of note: a sign saying "Check Your Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda at the Door" (a subtle hint from Abby, who also added to the tea selection) and an Ear Ring, which is a bright blue, human-sized rubber ear key chain (never let it be said that Dawn let a punny opportunity slip past, and yes, she did know I was in search of a new keychain).

Dawn had to head out first, followed by Irene and then Peter. And then Lua's fiance called and was arriving in time to meet her for a night out, so she headed off too. So Adiya, Abby and Angeline, and I headed to Friendly's for an easy and kid-approved dinner. Then Abby and ART headed home. And Adiya and I wandered through Target just because, before she headed back to Cooperstown (as she is the longest-distance of our little gang of friends). Altogether a delightful day.

And then, I awoke this morning to find a text message from one of my friends asking about a Ruhi 1 book for one of her dearly loved ones who has decided that this may be a good time to investigate the whole spiritual side of things more fully. This, in addition to two of my other friends contacting me last week to request a Ruhi 1 study circle as they wished to reembark on the path they started some years ago. How wonderful!

Finally, although I have to work tomorrow, the best news is that the Ruhi 7 I've been tutoring since late June will conclude tomorrow night, launching two more Ruhi tutors into our area. We're going for Mexican food before class in honor of my birthday and their course graduation.

And now, I look ahead to a visit to my grandmother the weekend before Thanksgiving, unknown Turkey Day plans, and the Baha'i conference in Stamford, Conn., in mid-December, followed immediately by my friend Lua's bridal shower. What a whirlwind is ahead.

Five and Counting

2008-11-05T22:28:00.002-05:00

Yup, five days til my birthday. And seeing as how my folks are in Maine and my friends have families and kids and plans of their own, I decided to have a birthday party for me. So Saturday, a few friends will join me for an afternoon tea party. I enlisted M's second opinion on the menu yesterday (as he happened to be online when I was, and is very good at the cooking and the food pairing), and so I'll be serving two kinds of finger sandwiches (curried chicken salad, and PB and J), cheese, hummus with pita wedges, carrots and celery, and my favorite kind of cake: Duncan Hines Deep Dark Fudge with Deep Dark Fudge Frosting and raspberry filling. I found the coolest paisley plates, and coordinating cutlery and cups and napkins. A lovely afternoon awaits!

Once upon a time, my folks would ask me what I wanted for dinner on my birthday. And so every year, until I was of an age where taking friends to Pizza Hut was cooler, the three of us would have steak, real mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn on each of my birthdays. Sometimes, I miss simple pleasures like that.

And tonight, I talked with my grandmother for a little while. I need to take her the souvenir I brought back from Copenhagen for her, and photos of the trip. So we planned that little jaunt (she's in New Haven, which is a pretty solid 4-hour drive each way). And then we caught up on her most recent move. And then we talked for a little bit about the election result and the unique and historic nature of the race this year and its conclusion. What always amazes me is how similarly Gramma and I see things on the larger scale sometimes, although I'm not-quite-32 and she'll be turning 90.

Friday Night Thoughts

2008-10-24T17:51:00.002-05:00

An eclectic group of things that have crossed my mind lately:

1. The crew at Saturday Night Live has done it again. While I'm not in love with some of the bias (although I expect it here in the Northeast), they have been wickedly funny with so many things this year. And one of my favorites was back last night... Yup, another down-to-earth and totally relatable "Fix It!" sketch that had me laughing out loud by the end. Best line? "...but before we get off, we will come to find that our digital camera has fallen out of our shirt pocket, our brand-new Ray-Bans have flown off our head, and we are about to financially barf on ourselves." Yeah, that's about right!

2. And on that note, one of our major financial clients was purchased today. So far, the project I work on doesn't look like it's in jeopardy as the purchasing company doesn't have something like it, so it may survive. But I will admit that, based on experience at other companies, it still makes me nervous when my boss and her boss are closeted in a meeting for much of the afternoon. Not that there's a reason to be nervous (there's no imminent collapse of our clients coming), but it's kind of a natural reaction under the circumstances, I think.

3. In more amusing news, I got a Facebook friend request from a high school classmate today. Josh was the too-cool-for-the-world, nonconformist guy who was brilliant in a mad creative genius kind of way. I still remember ninth grade English class, where we all had to write under pseudonyms, and he chose "Flaming Eagle." His mom showed up at parents night and introduced herself to the teacher as "Flora Eagle, and this is my husband, Flying. We're Flaming's parents." ...And we wondered where he got the fabulous humor gene. Josh also lived up the street from me, and was a musician (as well as a beautiful singer when he chose to be), as well as being another of the "smart kids," so we were in the same places a lot in school. He's taken his art and made a life of it, as a playwright, director and composer/performer, and hopped from one side of the country to the other in the process. Of all the people that I ever considered would track me down on Facebook, he was one of the last--but by far one of the best. Totally brightened my afternoon!

4. But then, I walked into the grocery store this evening and was greeted by two boys, perhaps 8 and 10, screaming back and forth to each other as they ran all over the produce department, dodging the Friday afternoon, post-work rush of people. At the risk of sounding really curmudgeonly: EXCUSE ME? Where are the adults attached to these children? Who is teaching them to be courteous to others? Or for that matter, to have ANY self-control whatsoever? Oh, that's right, no one's doing that. Because rude is now a bad word. Heaven forbid we squash the little blighters' creative spirit by channelling it into something creative, or at least into a recognition that other people EXIST. Quick lesson in personal dynamics: These kids will grow up to be the leaders of major corporations who take money from people who can't afford it, and then go home with millions of dollars while their neighbors starve. And brag about what they bought with it. Teach them to think of others NOW, folks. When they're 50, all we can do is subpoena them to appear before Congress. Stepping down from my soapbox...

5. After a few years of really simply not caring about my personal state, I am gradually trying to reintroduce the idea of health and wellness, as well as feminine charms (which are not like Lucky Charms, although that would be fun), into my reality. What does this mean? Well, it means I finally ponied up and got an occlusal device (AKA, a "night guard") which should help me get past the fairly severe TMD in my jaw, which should generally loosen up my neck and back muscles. And at the same time, I also decided to try out some teeth-whitening stuff, which is working great--I had a client meeting this morning and slicked on some lipstick, and was really quite impressed with how white my teeth looked in comparison. However, at the age of nearly 32, I am absolutely swearing off one thing. What? High heels. From this point forward, nothing over 2.5 inches. Why? Because I like being able to walk. I don't ask for much, but not killing myself while mincing along like a helpless twit, that I insist upon. So there.

In Need of a Catalyst

2008-10-23T19:51:00.002-05:00

Oh. My. I am feeling incredibly stuck at present, in so many ways. I am that person who is fantastic under acute pressure. Quick decisions, decisive action, crisis management. Yeah, baby. However, give me plenty of time, no constraints, and what I do is to collect tons and tons of information, dream about all the options, consider all kinds of random steps I could take, and proceed to do absolutely nothing (or do something, but be entirely unsurprised when nothing comes of it).

I need a catalyst. Something that tips me in one direction or the other, so I don't sit and spin in circles until I am dizzy.

Peripheral Vision ... and Pie

2008-10-18T15:56:00.003-05:00

Honestly, the two are related. First, I won the office apple pie bake-off yesterday with a fabulous cranberry-apple crumb-topped concoction. Vindication for the chili cook-off loss earlier this year is mine. All of the pies were very tasty and very different, so yay for all of us!

One of the organizers had to dash early, though. She's dating one of the instructors from the local Navy training facility for the last few months and is totally smitten. It's really adorable, as apparently it's the first time in about eight years that this guy has been in one place long enough to get involved with somebody at all seriously. Anyway, he invited her to attend the Navy Ball with him last night. She's learned enough about his job and some military protocol to get that it's a big deal, and she was really excited to go. Made me grin, as I remember M being on the planning committee for a Navy Ball quite a few years ago and having a great time with the event (which I heard all about both before and after the fact).

Which brings me to the fact that M is officially back in the USA, and rapidly switching gears to get to his next duty station. These last few months in Iraq and over the course of his travels, he's made a couple of comments about this being, shall I say, not my first time at the party. In other words, I've been around for a number of deployments and trips and changes of station, and I know the flow and quite a few of the unspoken details. Through all the years, though, this has been the first time that M made a point of saying that he knew I knew the routine. It was a sweet acknowledgment, particularly since I know that my approach to a lot of things is colored by a certain loyalty and respect for M's career and the lifestyle that goes with it.

So when I ran into a CNN editorial this week by Rebekah Sanderlin, who is a journalist and military wife, and whose blog, Operation Marriage, gives some insight into her life, I was intrigued. She makes some very relevant--and for me, very familiar--points that detail what some of that loyalty looks like. Of course, she is much more closely tied than I am! But it's a message that people don't hear enough, and when they do hear it, in my experience, often don't understand.

The other thing I found this week was this clip. Certainly with M's specialty and mission in mind, I wasn't overly concerned for his safety in Iraq, although I watched the news closely. So I can only imagine how the kid in this video worried about her dad. And having been on the receiving end of a surprise visit at one point, when M was supposed to be well-occupied elsewhere, I definitely know the "you're not where you said you'd be" confusion and completely remember the sense of not wanting to let go. Seeing this girl's surprise made me smile.

Wow, do I sound old and reflective today!

Lookin' Good, Mistah Kottehr...

2008-10-12T21:48:00.002-05:00

So my latest art project involved gussying up the blog. I'm not totally satisfied yet, but, well, you can expect it to look this way for a bit, as I need to find backgrounds that I love, and that appears to take time. Especially when what I like most is bright, not-too-fancy paisley. In the meantime, enjoy!

Alarmo Clocko

2008-10-11T16:10:00.003-05:00

Mmmmkay, so apparently today is a blogging two-fer. Why? Um, probably because I'm presenting a political noninvolvement deepening in 1.75 hours and am trying to kill time.

Today I bought an alarm clock. This should not be a big deal. Except, in my typical way, I had been awakened by my previous alarm clock since I was in approximately junior high. This is now on the order of 20 years ago. Whoo-boy. It still had a cassette deck. I cannot find any of my old cassettes (the most recent acquisition was a mix tape M made me after moving to Puerto Rico in 2000...thankfully, I have "A Puro Dolor" on my iPod so I am not utterly morose at the fact that even if I could find the tape, I couldn't play it). And I would not have trusted the alarm clock with any tapes anyway. It had held up well, from NY to TX to NY to CT to NY and several mini moves in between. But it had long since lost its AM/FM capabilities, and recently the alarm slider contacts had begun to protest at actually causing the alarm to go off. So I got one that not only has AM/FM, but also allows an auxiliary input for waking to the greatest hits off my iPod.

I also did the weekly grocery shopping today. This means a few frozen meals, also frozen steamable brown rice. (Honestly, this time, I am going to stop eating most of my meals out of a paper bag handed to me through the window of my car by a depressed teenager with the service attitude of either a rabid hyena or a sullen cat.) I also found myself with a bag of fresh apples and a bunch of cranberries. No, this is not another "I'm getting kalamata olives and capers on a whim" thing. There is an apple-pie baking contest at work this week. I fully intend kicking serious stem. Or to quote from Good Will Hunting, "Do you like apples? How 'bout THEM apples?!"

And in the last 24 hours, I've made approximately three major decisions, upon all of which I now just need to execute. Check. Check. Check!

And for those counting, yes, I continue to be envious of Kuwait. Seriously. Yo.

A Few Notes on the Week

2008-10-11T07:40:00.003-05:00

So at the beginning of the week, I read a CNN story about Tim Reid and Tom Dreeson, both well-known comic types in their own right, who apparently had an interracial comedy act in the late '60s and early '70s. I watched this clip and burst out into such hysterical laughter at my desk that one of my colleagues thought I was crying. You have to check it out...priceless. While you're at it, this has been making the rounds for a while, introducing folks to a Persian-American comedian who does a dead-on and really hilarious bit about what it is to be Persian in the U.S.

Then, one of my cousins in Sweden sent me this, which is a performance by apparently a fairly popular Swedish singer. Disturbingly, as much as I first stared at this with shock and a vague sense of musical horror, it is growing on me. Still seems like hyperactive birthday cake frosting. But it appears that I may like hyperactive birthday cake frosting...

And Thursday night, I did tune into Saturday Night Live's first election special, which was really funny and many parts were dead on. For example, this clip from Weekend Update contains some great stuff. My personal favorite? Although I loved "Really?! With Seth and Amy," because we work with some of the companies getting caught up in all of the hoopla, and frequently question where they get the cash to do some incredibly unwise things, I really have to say that "Fix It!" was absolutely the best part of the show, hands down, no question.

So what else? Well, my mom went home Thursday morning after being here since Labor Day to finish up her work at the school in order to formally "retire," although actually she's just moved on to a job at Green Acre Baha'i School in Maine, along with my dad. Although I didn't have the time to get anything on the list of "what I need to do really" done while she was here, it was lovely to have some company. (Company who cooked and cleaned to occupy herself was also very helpful!)

Lately, I've had the "what the he-- am I doing?" sensation quite frequently. Both small-scale stuff, like plans that keep changing and messing up other plans, and also big-picture general life concerns.

On the large-scale side, I really have to change up the job situation. It simply isn't going to provide the opportunity for financial security as it stands now--and I'm an only child, so I look at my parents' future health and funds as well as my own, and I feel like I should try to reach a place where I can assist them should they need it, which may mean making some different choices. In addition, while my current workplace is a wonderful place to work in a general sense, I don't think it entirely suits me, personally. The company as a whole might be fine for me, but my branch of it definitely is not (and I have not interest in transferring to another office). There is just a, for lack of a better word, personality to my office that I don't appreciate. Looks just short of an eye-roll exchanged by a couple of senior staff when someone else is speaking in a meeting, etc., give the lie to the much-touted company culture and make it hard to "drink the Kool-Aid." I am also a bit tired of being seen as one-dimensional by so many of my colleagues. We had an exercise the other day where each member of our particular team selected a word for each other member of the team, and then explained why. Due to the culture and such, words that came up for most folks were helpful, supportive, encouraging, etc. "Feeling" words, if you will. I got mostly intelligent, articulate, knowledgeable. "Thinking" words. And I am so much more than a brain in a chair.

That said, I'm also in the position of trying to figure out what to do with my five-year gift. Rather than give us cash, the company gives us free reign to select a something (project, trip, jewelry, what-have-you) for ourselves. The problem? There are stipulations about what you can't use the gift for, such as paying off bills or covering daily expenses. And I am not a "shopper" for amusement. So I identified a few options, but I still can't decide what to get for myself. Upgraded stereo/TV/DVD/iPod gear? A few pieces from IKEA to replace worn furnishings? An actual dining table where people and dishes can fit? Gallery frames and a photo-quality laser printer? An off-season weekend trip to Newfoundland, just because I'd love to go there--even though I'd have to go alone? Still thinking...

And last, but not least, I find myself envious of the entire nation of Kuwait at present. The countdown until M is back on this continent is very short. And although I know well that I will likely not see him anytime soon, I still find myself caught up in the infectious excitement of knowing he'll be HOME. But for the next little while, I envy Kuwait.

In Today's News

2008-10-06T07:40:00.002-05:00

* Baha'i Unit Convention was this weekend. Ours focused a lot on teaching stories and generally really meeting people from around our (huge) area. This was the first time we've actually had the whole thing translated--thank goodness for Mano and his quick-like-a-bunny ability to switch from English to Farsi!

* If anyone wonders why I get along with toddlers so well, all you needed to do was see my excitement at the grocery store this weekend when I found a display of Barnum's Animals animal crackers in the red circus-wagon box with the string for carrying it around. Seriously, I was giddy.

* I managed to frame the photos my dad is receiving as souvenirs from the Sweden trip, and find a place that could print them at the proper size (8 by 12). Yay for Ritz Camera and One-Hour Photo and their fabulous online ordering system. Kudos and blessings upon you.

* And sometime in the current 24- to 48-hour cycle, M should be landing in a less volatile Middle Eastern country on his way HOME! While it is unlikely that I will see him anytime soon, I give a heartfelt "YIPPEE!!!!!!!" in any case.

Trip Log 7

2008-09-30T18:59:00.002-05:00

We were up at 5 and in the cab to the airport by 6. Security was very thorough. They are definitely using the El Al method of questioning and observation, which is just fine with me. On the way to the gate, we stopped for a quick bite to eat—chocolate croissant and water for me; coffee for Aunt Anne. Once we checked in at the gate, I thought to ask the agent if there was any chance of getting a seat in a row with an empty middle seat. She said she’d come back to me once they checked everyone in...and surprisingly, she actually did! So I had a window seat with no one right next to me, and a high-powered yet nice business type in the aisle seat.

I had forgotten how loud it is behind the wing though, and that it’s a bumpier ride. We were flying in a 757-200, and I was row 29 of 35, so every time we gained altitude we had a deafening roar. And it was a more than 8.5-hour flight back to Newark. I watched “Young at Heart” about a seniors chorus from Massachusetts, and a couple episodes of sitcoms. And then played a little solitaire. And watched part of "The Notebook." And finally found myself watching the miles click by again while listening to my iPod. Coming into Newark, we hung at 5,000 feet for quite a while. And then the tower made them call it from rather close and rather high, so we had a distinct and abrupt drop in altitude to get on the glide path—eliciting a scream from several of the teenagers in the seats behind me.

Immigration and customs at Newark was very pleasant. But then, cops like me. I have to say, I do enjoy coming through immigration, getting a nice officer who I can make smile, and getting a sincere “Welcome home!” when my passport’s handed back to me. Both Aunt Anne and I were booked for commuter flights home, so we caught the AirTrain to the other terminal and went back through security there...where my bag was searched (I don’t know whether to blame it on the camera or the lead crystal vase).

I spent several hours waiting in the terminal. Called the folks and Gramma Gometz. Saw Aunt Anne off for her flight. Then found myself chatting with a businessman from NJ who was headed for Tennessee for a week.

My flight boarded on time, and I had seat 1A. Lots of leg room, but it was just me on my side of the aisle, with the galley across the way and nothing but cockpit ahead of me. The flight was full, plus two spare flight crew—one riding jump in the cockpit and one taking the spare flight attendant’s seat in the back of the plane. We spent about 30 minutes taxiing, and then 25 minutes in the air to Albany—so lots of fun looking out the window at everything below from only about 15,000 feet. I was the first one off the plane and, Mom was there to get me, my checked bag came off fairly quickly, and I was sooooooo happy to be done with traveling, at least for a little while. Now my question is, “Where to next?”

Trip Log 6

2008-09-30T18:44:00.004-05:00

After a good rest, we got up and headed out north along Hans Christian Anderson Boulevard to the Stroget, the pedestrian shopping street in the center of the city. (Think Sauchiehall St. in Glasgow).

We walked along, looking in shops and generally enjoying the morning. Eventually, following Aunt Anne’s constant quest for coffee, we stopped in a little shop. I ate my chocolate croissant and drank some OJ while looking across the street at the chocolatier and the bakery, where very fine sweets and cakes adorned the windows in shades of brown, with candied fruits and piles of mousse.

We kept walking along and went into the Royal Copenhagen store. So beautiful... Then it was onward to the Kongers Ny Tarv, the old center square of the city, where flowers were blooming under trees that were just changing color.

From there, we wandered down Ny Havn, the canal built from the harbor to the center square when King Frederick decided that goods should be able to be brought straight to the city markets—he had Swedish prisoners of war dig the canal.

Then we spent an hour aboard a canal boat, touring the sites of the harbor, from the Little Mermaid to the royal yacht. We passed by the floating naval museum...interestingly, the tour guide made it sound like the Danish navy had only ever had one frigate, and it was now a museum. Sort of made me wonder if the current Danish navy consists of four guys and a rowboat... Anyway, then we glided around two of the other canals, ducking as the low bridges scraped the roof of the boat and marveling at the old architecture. I was enchanted by the spire of one church, which is four dragons with their tails intertwined, topped by the three crowns (once united) of Denmark, Norway and Sweden.

When we got back to the dock, we wandered down the opposite side of Ny Havn, where I popped into one of the many shops filled with amber jewelry and treated myself to a beautiful bracelet.

From there, we cut across to Christiansborgslot, where we went below the palace to tour the ruins from Bishop Absalon’s castle, built in 1100, and from the first and second Christiansborg castles, built and burned in the 18th and 19th centuries, respectively.

After finishing that, we continued back up to the Stroget looking for a place to have dinner, and stumbled across a lovely bar and restaurant. Aunt Anne opted for smorrebrod with smoked salmon, while I chose the Danish meatballs with brown gravy, boiled potatoes, pickles and pickled beets.

On the way back to the hotel, we stopped off at 7-11 to stock up on chocolate treats to take home. Dessert came from the pastry counter...along with the first plastic bottle of Diet Coke I’d had all week. By the time we got back to the hotel, I helped a couple of Australians figure out how to use the Internet, then watched a documentary in Danish about orangutans.

Trip Log 5

2008-09-30T18:29:00.004-05:00

By 10, we’d packed up and gotten ourselves and our luggage over to Gisela’s. While she went to clean the guest suite, Aunt Anne, David and Ellen went for a walk up to the Karnan tower in the park. I stayed with Keith and took him through all of the photos from the day before and answered all his questions. When Gisela came back, she wanted to see pictures too. Then she was mentioning to Keith that they might go to Raa, the old fishing harbor and village at the south end of Helsingborg, after Aunt Anne and I left that afternoon. When I said I’d read all about it before getting there, Gisela said, “Let’s go—we can be back in 45 minutes!”

So the two of us took off for Raa. We wandered down part of the beach, then around to the marina and back along the docks where the fishing boats were coming in. Whole families, groups of men and women, and solo anglers were lining up for a routine Sunday out on the water—and the boats coming in were full of folks with bags of herring and mackerel.

We only had a few minutes and then drove back to the apartment to meet up with the rest of the group. More chatting ensued, including me answering 20 questions about Baha’i funerals, weddings, worship, etc., and explaining how my folks as well as Dad’s cousin Sara, her husband and her mother (once a Gometz) in California came to be Baha’is.

Finally, Gisela drove Aunt Anne and I down to the ferry terminal, where Ellen and David met us (and Gisela then made a second trip down with Keith). We all said our goodbyes and then Aunt Anne and I cruised off to Denmark, where we caught the train down to Copenhagen, then walked the few blocks to our hotel.

The room we had was small. By which, I mean, there were two twin beds separated by a tiny night table. The closet was just wide enough to put a suitcase in sideways. And the desk was topped by a column with a coffee pot space, a TV space and a space for another teeny appliance. The bathroom was a shower stall in which a toilet and sink also shared space. It was...cute.

After a quick check of the room and basic settle in, we set off for Tivoli Gardens, which was on its last day of the summer season. We arrived in time to be physically removed from the path of small boys playing brass instruments and drums (the hazards of not understanding Danish directions). By that point, we were starving, so we ducked into the nearest restaurant, Den Rode Pimpernel. I opted for some mediocre fish and chips, while Aunt Anne went for the wienerschnitzel. Meanwhile, a solo guitarist on the dimly lit stage, in the dimly lit basement restaurant, treated us to various American standards. Or what would have been American standards had they been recognizable. “King of the Road” took a full three verses to figure out, thanks to the piano-bar stylings of our serenader.

After escaping from Den Rode Pimpernel, we wandered through a few shops, watched a couple of rides, the picked up ice cream in waffle cones. We walked about the whole park.

It’s completely magical, with people of all ages enjoying hidden corners and music and shows and rides. Children are enchanted by the flowers and lights, couples are strolling along the paths, and it’s just wonderful and fantastical (also clean and pleasantly full but not overcrowded). I understand exactly why it inspired Walt Disney to create Disneyland. But the small nature of Tivoli is even better.

Eventually, after touring the whole place, and being a bit tired anyway, we strolled back to the hotel. An email check and a snack in the lobby, and then it was upstairs to watch a Danish movie that mostly made sense to me, and to read for a while before nodding off for a solid night’s sleep!

Trip Log 4

2008-09-30T17:47:00.004-05:00

By 11, we were at Gisela’s to rendezvous with the Danish part of the family: Ulla, and her brother Bjarne, with his wife Johnna (originally from the Faroe Islands) and their daughter Leila. Gisela and Birgitta rounded out the group. Keith stayed behind, unfortunately. Thankfully, Bjarne had GPS, as Gisela self-assuredly led us onward. Right up til we missed the turn-off on a roundabout. Oops. Shortly thereafter, we arrived at Heagarten, a guest house and farm in the countryside that served as our gathering place.

As we entered, we kept being stopped by various folks who introduced themselves. Then we got in and found that we had name tags with colored dots that linked us to my great-grandfather’s generation. Ulf, one of the youngest of my grandfather’s generation, came over with the English translation of some of my great-great-aunt’s memoirs. And then I heard a voice behind me say “JoAnn!” and I turned around to find Eva, one of the cousins of my dad’s generation, working her way through the crowd toward me. She’s from Goteborg, and we’d had some emails back and forth ahead of time.

Once people were registered, we all filed through to pick up a freshly-ladeled bowl of beef and vegetable farm soup (incredible...the best I’ve ever had) along with a thick piece of multigrain bread topped by a schmear of soft cheese, a radish and slice of red pepper and a sprig of parsley. We all ate at tables in the large dining room—all 70 of us, from three countries and four generations.

Ulf offered a few words, and there was a moment of silence for one of the original organizers, who died just a few weeks ago unexpectedly. Ulf also explained a bit about the day, and about the goal to pass along some family history and to connect the younger folks. I spent a while talking to Leise, who is about my age and a graphic designer in Copenhagen.

We all boarded an extra-long tour bus and set off for Munka Ljungby to visit the grave of Magnus Gometz (the Swedish hussar given an odd name to distinguish him from the patronymically named soldiers around him, making our family very easy to trace). I wandered in with my third cousin Jan, a documentary filmmaker, and his very blond and blue-eyed baby son, Willum.

After laying flowers there and visiting one of the nearby family graves, we traveled on to the site of Magnus’s homestead. The whole thing was knocked down and rebuilt, except for one part of the barn, which is still there. Ulf and Christer spoke about the site...in Swedish...so I only got the bits that someone translated for me. The most interesting is that the year before, Magnus is shown in the census as having basically nothing—and the next year, he was the owner of this beautiful farm with plenty of stock and land, and no one knows how he got it. Personally, I was impressed by the fact that the current farm family has an Australian Shepherd. (Bingo, my dog growing up, was half Aussie and half Samoyed.)

Then we were back on the bus and on to Laholm. The driver earned applause for negotiating a 90-degree turn on a very small bridge without killing us all. We found ourselves on an island in the river Lagan, which is now a salmon fishery and power station, but was once a mill where Magnus’s son Fritz leased the property and made his home, and where my great-grandfather spent his childhood. And before that it was a fort, which is how it earned the name of “The Forecastle.”

After wandering around taking pictures and generally enjoying the late afternoon light, we were back on the bus and—after a pipe-band-style pit stop at a roadside restaurant, headed back to the Heagarten. As we drove up the drive, though, Ulf came on the PA system and explained the plan for the evening. He described how we would all “release” and then “there will be mingle and drink.” I was pretty sure he said something about the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards playing in the entryway to announce dinner—I was excited about that. Of course, then someone explained to him that he really meant “relax,” not “release,” which was why there had been muffled shrieks of laughter from many of those listening. And I was quite dismayed that the boom-box dragoon guards were of the Scandinavian variety after all.

We all filed through the farmhouse kitchen to fill our plates with salmon, pork, ham, pasta salad, green salad, scalloped potatoes, sauces, cheese, rolls and roasted veggies. And sat down at the tables to eat again, after which the owner of the establishment came out with song sheets and an accordion. Much to my surprise, EVERYONE, from kids to old folks, joined right in with the songs (I tried it and found that I could figure out the Swedish pronunciation that way.)

This was all cabaret-style, so they’d sing a verse, and then the manager would tell some local joke picking on the Skane (SKOH-nah) accent, which is in that part of Sweden (sort of like telling Newfie jokes in Newfoundland). Leila, who is a jewelry marketer studying for her MBA, and I kept looking at each other and shrugging—I had no clue what they were saying, and she’s Danish and had no clue what was so funny about the accent!

Finally, after dessert of flat, nearly flourless chocolate cake with mandarin oranges and heavy whipped cream, the Americans and the Danes and Gisela and Birgitta loaded into the cars and headed for the hills (or the ocean, in this case). There, we retold all of the day’s events for Keith before wandering off to our respective beds.

Trip Log 3

2008-09-30T17:36:00.004-05:00

At Gisela’s by 10, we waited for our cousin Ulla to come get Aunt Anne, Keith, Ellen and I for the day. Ulla and her husband Tim are Danish, but are building a cabin in Smaland, which is about two hours north in Sweden. So she came down from there to pick us up and take us across to Helsinor.

We rode the car ferry over, then drove the few kilometers to Kronborg Castle, where the story of Hamlet got its start. We took it easy, touring some of the state apartments and checking out the long gallery, which King Frederick built for his queen so she wouldn’t have to walk through all the rooms to cross the castle, and the grand ballroom, which the current queen still sometimes uses for state occasions. Then we turned back to get Keith, who we’d left below. Here are a couple of photos:

On the way out, I took a pass by the cannons and battlements to see the view toward Sweden.

We all piled back into the car and drove down the coast 10 kilometers or so, stopping at a local butcher shop to pick up the smorrebrod (Danish open-faced sandwiches) Ulla had ordered for us. Two huge boxes of little pieces of artwork. Thin, firm, dark whole-grain bread topped by all sorts of spreads and fish, pork, beef, liver pate, sausages, head cheese, and then veggies or fruits or whatever. I stayed away from the organ meats, sausages, head cheese and smushed fish, but the other stuff was delicious.

We ate our lunch at Ulla and Tim’s house, part of an old farm complex that they have converted into five sleek homes, then sat and talked some more. Found out about Ulla’s family—her two kids (32 and 36) and grandson, who is adorable. Here is a shot of the house, and the fabulous cousin herself:

Then Ulla drove us to the ferry terminal. We went across to Helsingborg again and found a taxi to Gisela’s place. The man we found to ask the address didn’t assume we wanted a ride—he just verified the direction we should take. We actually had to ask him to take us there! I noticed his tag and accent, and so when we got to the house, I asked where he was from originally. He said Iraq, so I asked if his family was still there and he said yes. I asked if they were okay, and got a very happy and surprised smile in return as he said “Absolutely.” I was happy. I made somebody smile.

Gisela and David had dinner ready. Marinated pork with amazing scalloped potatoes and fresh green beans. It probably sounds like I’m all focused on the food, but really, after a couple years of microwaved meals, I’m just amazed by how good actual food tastes. We spent a couple more hours talking before Aunt Anne and I went back to our suite to get some rest before the big family day.

Trip Log 2

2008-09-30T17:31:00.004-05:00

After waking up fairly late, we made it over to Gisela’s in time for an early lunch. There we found that Ellen and Keith, another two of my second cousins once removed, had arrived from Connecticut (Keith had flown up from Tennessee and then traveled with Ellen). There was more talking and photos and such—and it was clear at that point that I would need to just chill, as I was younger than the rest of the group by 30 to 40 years.

Thankfully, later in the afternoon, Ellen, David, Aunt Anne, Gisela and I got out for a walk around town. Down to the shopping district, which is in the narrow, old streets paved with cobblestones and bordered by old brick and stone buildings with interesting shapes and corners and moldings:

We had a quick lesson in Swedish when Ellen decided that a building labeled “Tartens Slut” could not possibly translate directly...she was right: “Slut” means “end.” We meandered through the local church and churchyard, seeing the model ships suspended along above the pews, and the 400-year-old memorial stones in the floor. After a stroll along the marina edge (with me trying to explain that I want a Newfie in order to do water rescue work and serve as a therapy dog, preferably in VA hospitals), we stopped by a coffee shop—one of the little corner places with soft armchairs and small tables and cases of pastries and cakes. I had a Diet Coke and a chocolate biskvie, which is like a mini chocolate mousse tart glazed in chocolate. And just looked out the window at the water and let the conversation roll past me.

By that point, dinnertime was right around the corner and so we walked over and up the flights of stairs to the park, where we cut across to Gisela’s apartment to join Keith. Of course, that meant a discussion about insurance and American versus Swedish government systems (and I had very little to add), and then a drift into discussion about the situation in Iraq and America’s role (and I don’t have that discussion, in general, as I am aware that I don’t have all the details...plus M's there, and so I suppose my loyalty leads me to think more about those carrying out the mission than about the mission itself).

Finally, we set out a meal of salmon with hollandaise sauce, green peas, asparagus and boiled potatoes. Simple food, but delicious! Then we walked across the complex to see Gisela’s sister, Birgitta, and her apartment, which is in the newer section and is all kinds of Ikea. We went back to Gisela’s for ice cream and cookies, and more chatter, before heading over to our suite for the night.

Trip Log 1.5

2008-09-30T17:11:00.003-05:00

Sorry for the delay posting anything about the trip. Work and Ruhi converged as soon as I got home last week! So here is the first part of the story...

With suitcase and carry-on packed and ready to go the night before, I was waiting eagerly for Abby to pick me up around 10. Angeline simply stared at me from her car seat as she had not been made aware of an Aunty J visit. They dropped me at the airport—I shared some Cheerios with Short Stuff before they took off. She’s very good at sharing.

Albany is testing the new TSA screening system, so the security staff are all much more professional than they were before. As I walked through the metal detector, the screener greeted me by name from my boarding pass and made some comment. I turned back and made a face at him, which cracked him up. Score! Made somebody laugh—and that made me happy.

After a brief and early lunch, I boarded the prop plane bound for Newark. My seatmate was a retiree from San Bernadino by the name of Milly. She had been in the area for her sister’s remarriage and kept up a string of banter for the 28-minute flight that began with a description of a porcelain sink she brought back from vacation in Mexico and ended with a critique of the pilot’s landing skills. (He dropped the plane on the tarmac about halfway down the runway and proceeded to fishtail it while standing on the brakes.)

I toddled off to find Aunt Anne, who was waiting at the boarding gate for the flight to Copenhagen. Here she is:

Our flight got off on time. Thankfully, once we boarded, the flight crew let us rearrange the seating assignments, so I got a window seat over the wing, with an empty middle seat and an outside seatmate who was a very pleasant and quiet man from Sweden.

Our take-off was smooth and we got up to cruising altitude quickly. I settled in to watch “Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day” on the seatback screen, and enjoyed a cute little tray of roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, veggies, salad and Pepperidge Farms Milanos (Gramma Gometz’s favorite cookies). I curled up with a blanket and pillow, and plugged myself into my iPod, nodded off at some point over Labrador, then found myself watching the miles click by on the flight map from Greenland on. Our pilot opened the throttle around Greenland, and we shot from there to south of Iceland at about 700 miles an hour before slowing back down. Earlier than expected, the lights came up and warm croissants with butter and strawberry jam, and fresh fruit appeared. Cute airline-sized and packaged snacks to amuse me! It’s like fairy food that little girls have at tea parties.

We flew low over Denmark’s Jutland, in clear sky so we could see the lights coming on in the towns below as the country woke up. In the grey pre-dawn, we glided over the ocean, then skimmed the beach and finally slid gently onto the landing strip just as the sun lit up the horizon in thin lines of pink and purple and grey. Thanks to a keen tail wind and our pilot’s speedy skip from Greenland to Iceland, we arrived in Copenhagen 1.5 hours early.

Like the airport in Reykjavik, Kastrup is paneled and floored in wood, almost like a sauna. We followed along with our planeload of geezers (most headed for a cruise ship docked in Copenhagen) and found restrooms. Not that I am fascinated by the toilet, but seriously, instead of stalls, each potty had its own walls and door, which probably speaks to the modesty of people in cold climates. Anyway, from there we breezed past a friendly immigration guy, easily gathered up our luggage—amazing how crowd-free the airport is at 6:20 a.m.—and following the directions and maps committed to my memory preceding the trip, made our way to the train station located in Terminal 3.

After a brief wait, we boarded the train for Helsinor (yes, the one immortalized in “Hamlet”) and watched large houses, then farmland and views of the channel pass by on our way north. Finally, we arrived at the unmanned station, in a building put up in 1650, where we waited, since we’d arrived so early. Finally, after almost an hour, in breezed Gisela (something like my second cousin once removed) to guide us the rest of the way.

Gisela is a physical therapist in private practice. She, like many of the Gometz women of the past three generations, has never married, and lives in a delightful apartment with two long-haired dachshunds. That is where we went after crossing the channel into Sweden aboard the ferry and driving up the hill in Helsingborg. Scandinavian modern architecture looks a lot like Soviet-era architecture. That was interesting to me.

The three of us talked and got familiar with one another over a simple lunch of wheat bread with margarine, ham slices and cheese. The Swedes eat this open-faced, in a way that reminds me of all the old stories of farmers the world over, who would sustain themselves at lunchtime with bread and cheese at the edge of the field. I’ve always loved those stories.

Eventually, I was fading and as we couldn’t get into our guest suite yet, I retreated to Gisela’s bedroom for a nap. When I woke up, Gisela drove us and our luggage to our suite, where we spent a half hour getting ourselves settled before we all drove down to the ferry terminal to fetch another cousin of that generation, David, who had flown in from Washington state. While Aunt Anne and I were on our first trip to Sweden, David was on his third or fourth—Aunt Anne, meanwhile, had not seen him since he was about 20, and I had never met him. I find him to be an interesting and entertaining family character—we had some good laughs.

As we all caught up, Gisela and I went to work on a dinner of cubed chicken in stroganoff-style sauce over noodles, with salad. Simple and easy, it was a delicious meal shared at the kitchen table amid a lot of laughter. We moved to the living room with coffee and cake to look over family photos and talk history and memories. I listened, mostly. And explained a bit about the Baha’i Faith when Gisela asked about it—she’d heard of it, but didn’t know much, so I answered a few questions (all triggered by the fact that I don’t drink, as usual). And then we walked back to our suite for a good, solid night’s sleep.

Flapping Wings

2008-09-15T07:49:00.002-05:00

Alright, so technically, I am on PTO, which means "paid time off," AKA "vacation." I still have paperwork to do and two manuscripts to edit today, but they will be done after anything (anything at all) is in my suitcase for tomorrow's Fabulous Flying Adventure. Here to Newark, LONG layover, then onward to Copenhagen, followed by train to Elsinore (yes, the home of Hamlet) and ferry to Helsingborg.

To this point, I have only had cause to fly about once a year since 2001--less frequently before that. And being someone who, erm, appreciates a level of control over my surroundings, being in a giant tube piloted by heaven only knows who, in crowded airspace, every time before a trip, I have to consciously overcome the fear of my imminent demise. Which means confronting questions like:
- Does someone know where my will is? (Wouldn't want all that debt to be forgotten, of course.)
- Are my files at work in good enough shape for someone to follow? (Don't want others to suffer because I'm dead.)
- Are my computer files at home in good order? (So many files...)
- Have I said what I need to say to people who matter? (My folks and M especially; also other friends and fam.)
- Am I wearing shoes that will give me a good chance at escaping a burning airplane? (Do not understand people who fly in heels.)
- What model of plane are we flying and what is the crash rate? (You might as well know your chances going in.)
- Am I okay with plummeting to the ocean somewhere south of Greenland due to a freak weather anomaly? (Not so much...visions of Titanic dance in my head.)
- How many bells does the captain sound on this airline when we clear the pattern on departure--two or four? (Biggest fear is malfunction or collision with another plane on departure as I can't see where we're going.)

Strangely, I actually appear fairly calm to those around me. I am not hysterical. I am quiet and calm, often chatting with those around me (if appropriate) until the five minutes of silent yet fervent prayer between the time we're cleared for take-off and the time those lovely bells sound and/or the captain tells us we're all good. And then I usually quite enjoy the rest of the ride and am somewhat giddy at enjoying airplane food on little trays, and watching first-run movies. The best part, though, is seeing Greenland in the distance through crystalline air, and then seeing the sun come up over the clouds as you get past Iceland. It's so beautiful every time. I also enjoy it when the pilot wakes folks up with a little plane-spotting ("If you look out the left windows, you'll see the Qantas flight headed for Moscow...").

Anyway, I am keen to meet my extended family. And keen to see at least a bit of Sweden and Denmark. And once I get over that first take-off (...in a charming little prop plane this time, joy...), I'll be feeling just fine.

So now, to pack. And work. And stuff. Eeeeeeeeeeek!

Play by Play

2008-09-11T19:36:00.002-05:00

You know, every year on 9/11, I remember what it was like in 2001. Being a news junky, I put myself through a few slideshows of the events of that day. But mostly it was just "and now."

And now, I was sitting at my desk at the public TV station, working on the member magazine, when our VP of Finance ran awkwardly down the hall, hurriedly saying repeatedly, "Something's happened in New York..." Managers had large TVs in their offices, complete with closed-circuit from our studios, all broadcast channels and cable...the rest of us had mini black-and-white control monitors with closed-circuit and broadcast channels. All of us flipped them on, tuning in the various morning news shows. I remember, a few minutes later, when the newscaster said that it appeared a small plane had crashed into the side of the building, saying, "What kind of idiot can't miss one of the only two buildings that tall?"

And now, I was watching the screen when another plane came into frame, lined up and flew straight into the side of the other tower. I will never forget the sound that erupted up and down the halls of the station. A combination of "Oh my God!" and "F--K!" and "J--- C---!" I know I hit my knees. And for the next little while, we were glued to the screens, staring to try to make sense of it. My co-workers were trying to reach family and friends in NYC; one of our VPs was flying that day and we were trying to find out her flight numbers and status too.

And now, I walked down the hallway to one of the managers' offices, just in time to see the live feed of the Pentagon damage, the first we'd heard of that crash. And we looked at each other and said, "How many of them are there?" My thoughts were immediately with M, stationed in the Caribbean, and hoping that he had not just lost people he knew and cared for. And more than anything, I wanted to hear his voice--but with airspace closed and the whole country at whatever is above defcon five, I wasn't about to call him while he was on duty, no matter how much I wanted to.

And now, the first tower collapsed and my office phone rang. It was M, reaching out and checking in. And saying that he figured he wouldn't be in New Hampshire (for the annual Scottish games rendezvous among a bunch of our former bandmates) that weekend, because even if airspace was open, there would be a lot of people trying to reach family in NYC, and he'd give up his seat on the plane. I knew that meant it would likely be a year until I saw him again, but I also knew that that is the kind of man he is.

And now, the plane crashes in Pennsylvania, and the other tower falls and all flights are accounted for and rumors come in about flights being diverted and where they're going and news is confusing and coming rapid-fire. In the middle of it all, my dad called to check on me. Then J emailed from Scotland to say he knew I wasn't anywhere near there, but please check in--which I did.

And now, all nonessential staff are released from the station for the day, so I left after we determined programming and contacted news media with a plan for safe children's programming and evening news coverage. I never realized how many airplanes are usually in the sky. There were none. Even as I passed the Air National Guard base, its perimeter extended, sandbags and barriers in place and checkpoints and barricades where they'd never been before.

And now, I got home and recognized the sound of a fighter jet overhead, making a periodic loop above the nearby Navy nuclear training facility. The only plane I saw or heard for days.

And then came days of staying glued to the news, seeing the world's reactions and feeling the bone-deep sadness of humanity grieving for a nation's lost innocence, checking up on friends, playing a pipe band contest where most of the judges and some performers couldn't get there from overseas, where our band wore our red, white and blue ribbons with pride, and took a photo of the band with an American flag as our small way of cheering up one of our pipers who was leading a rescue and recovery team in NYC. My act of defiance was booking my first flight to Scotland for two months later.

And in the meantime, two weeks after 9/11, at the end of the first day of a two-day pipe band contest, after massed bands left empty places on the field for two bands who had lost members and couldn't attend, our piper took a few moments to explain to us what he had seen, what he had to do, what he experienced in two weeks of 12-hour shifts on the pile. In blunt, horrific detail, and in gorgeous, human, life-filled detail too. And I will never forget it.

Pancakes and Patsy Cline

2008-09-07T15:22:00.002-05:00

It's been another long gap. Whoops. The last fiscal quarter of the year is always busy at work, and this year is no exception. Combined with a directive to move our Baha'i area along in its growth in just seven months, it makes life busy. Adding the ongoing out-of-area option search, a trip to Sweden in the next two weeks, and my mother staying with me for the next month ratchets it up to overwhelming.

So today I was thinking of the olden days, when I was a little kid, when mornings smelled like coffee and my grandpa would be making pancakes in the kitchen with a Patsy Cline tape in the tape deck. There would be dogs around to play with--Australian Shepherds and Aussie mixes--and dirt piles to play in outside and horses to ride. And when the weekend was over, it was okay, because the rest of the week would still be fun, at school and with friends. A far cry from dreading the week of stress and no time to think, let alone play outside...and maybe worst, no dogs. (I want a Newfie...and a place to put it...and water to go play in...yeah.)

And now, a few random thoughts, before I get back to the work I have to do tonight:

1. Two weeks from today, I will be nearing the end of my visit to Denmark and Sweden. Hard to believe. How bizarre that I will be there for just six days. I know that I will want to go back sometime and explore more. Now I just need to keep pursuing the resources to make that possible.

2. Most of the time, I'm grateful for my Childhood of The Many Moves. But there is one thing about it that is decidedly problematic. That is a profound sense of commitment phobia. I can't stay in one job, one house, one place for longer than about three years without getting antsy. I don't consider myself to have a home, really, so I tend to have a problem committing to "things"--I have a laptop computer, a world phone and am rapidly setting up arrangements that allow me to manage my life from anywhere. I have furniture I could easily leave behind--or replace upon arrival somewhere. But the more I cut ties and keep from building ties, the more restless and ready for change I am...and change isn't coming soon enough!

3. I had a dream last night that, yet again, had me waking up and saying, "Well, that was clear." I have learned that what I want, I cannot have (long experience has proven this on many fronts), so I sort of immediately quash whatever I want. Sometimes, those things show up in dreams. But because I am an inherently logical person, my dreams always make sense. This one was no different: It was all about being tested, and relying on God to get through the tests, and trusting the truth at the heart of complicated matters.

4. I had an email from M the other day that just made me smirk. He made a joke a while ago that I didn't get, and when I asked about it, he said he'd really just been "trying for a grin." If only he knew how often his quick and quirky notes get just that. This time was no different...he reasserted his position on the "when we met" debate, and then teased me about a mistaken Canadian musical/geographical reference I made recently. I smirked. Can't help it--M's teasing has always just sent my lips quirking upwards, no matter how hard I try to keep a straight face. It's a lovely thing to be able to rely on.

Shedding

2008-08-28T20:00:00.002-05:00

Not the hair kind--although with my stress puppy personality lately, that's probable too.

No, this is the "letting go of things that tie one to the past, embracing one's present situation, and creating a new future" type of shedding. In my case, step one involves stuff. I started this process a year or so ago and am now down to the things closest to me, like clothes.

Due to my precarious (at best) financial situation, I don't shop for clothes except when I really really need them, like for a trip. I leave for Sweden in about two weeks. So I confirmed my suspicion that I actually own no clothing by emptying my closet and dividing the contents into four piles: throw away due to stains, smells and holes; sell or give to charity due to bad fit or Never Should Have Bought This; keep for inspiration; or currently wearable. I don't even own a week's worth of clothes in that latter category. Thus, obviously, there are clothes winging their way to me from all over the country.

But as I was ruthlessly culling the closet, there were certain things that caught my attention. My last 15-year-old marching band shirt from my freshman year of college in Texas (tossed it). Ribbed sweaters that look classy and cute on the hanger but should never be worn by women who are in any way "endowed" (giving away). My 10-year-old uniform jacket that marked my entrance into the pro level of pipe band performance (selling).

The two things I found hardest to let go were both gifts and, coincidentally, polo shirts. I am a present person--I keep gifts from people forever because for me, it really is the thought that counts, and I am always grateful and happily surprised when someone gives me a gift just because they thought I'd like it.

The first shirt dates back to my first trip to Scotland, in 2001, and bore the logo of J's band at the time. It's white, and I've never worn it much for fear of messing it up, but J had gotten it for me weeks before I arrived, and I hadn't expected a present. It made me smile, and just seeing it reminded me of the parts of that trip that were good--museum visits and wandering through graveyards. But that story has played out, I think. J has a beautiful life, and we are not really in contact anymore. And so the memories are enough.

The second was the USS Enterprise shirt M sent me for Christmas when he was deployed to the Middle East aboard the ship in 2003--along with a coaster that still lives on my desk at work. (M once asked what I would like as a souvenir of a trip he took, and--not being one who asks for things, I told him that he could "send me back a coaster if it made him think of me and I'd probably have it framed." It became a running thing for a while.) But the shirt made me laugh. I'd made a comment about wanting a "NAVY" sweatshirt, so the polo shirt arrived with a Christmas card that said the ship was out of sweatshirts. It's been worn to oblivion. And that story has not played out. It's always been there and, I think, always will be. In one way or another. (And eventually, maybe I'll fetch my own sweatshirt...)

Friends and Futures

2008-08-23T21:07:00.003-05:00

It's been another crazy week here, capped off by last night's dinner and chilling with friends, and today's birthday party for my friend Irene.

Last night was an experience--one friend having a less-than-ideal relationship experience at the moment, one who got a whole new life and exhausting (yet wonderful) set of issues to deal with in the course of a day, and me, who seems to be constantly battered about by life, no matter what I do to try to change that. That's why it's good to have friends. We reassured one that we would absolutely help out with whatever she needs for her upcoming life changes. We listened to the other and (hopefully) let her talk through the things she wants to do to improve her situation. And as for me...it was just nice to be with people who didn't expect anything in particular and didn't force me to talk about my own worries, none of which are new.

I do keep thinking about "what next." My friends are settled (or settling) in lives that have natural paths, clear priorities, markers and points to look forward to. And I...don't. I never expected not to have those clear and measurable stages in my life. And so I find myself a little lost, I think, trying to figure out how to shift my whole orientation to life and figure out how to be someone I never thought I would be nor wanted to be--all while not having started myself out on the right path for this new orientation, so struggling just to keep my head above water. It's daunting, and scary, and lonely, and there are no road maps.

And tomorrow is just another day.

Second-to-Last Tuesday in August, 1995

2008-08-19T17:30:00.000-05:00

I happened to glance at the calendar this afternoon and have a flood of memories rush back. Interesting, since the importance of this date isn't in my own memory--I don't remember the day at all. But here is the story, 13 years on.

That was the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of college, when I was 18 and just finishing my summer job as a convenience-store clerk. I was the lead drummer with a small bagpipe band, and the driving force behind the pipe section was my longtime friend Pete. Both of us had found ourselves unexpectedly back in the area earlier in the year--me at the local community college and Pete as a Navy ensign stationed nearby.

The summer of 1995 was a good one for the band--our drum corps was undefeated. I was doing pretty well in solo contests, and I was teaching younger drummers on Tuesday nights before band practice, in the waiting room at our pipe major's medical office, where pipe students and parents also passed by on the way too and from their lessons. Contests and festivals were still fun then, and the whole gang of us spent lots of time kicking around over the summer.

The last Saturday in August, we were playing a festival on the far side of Vermont. Pete had a date that evening, so he had everyone on alert because his "new student" was coming to the festival, driving himself up so as not to disrupt Pete's plans. I remember teasing Pete about teaching elderly folks (as was often the case), and I remember him pointing out that the student in question wasn't old. Instead, he was a lieutenant working in the same building as Pete.

Eventually, up he walked, easily identifiable by the regulation haircut and the striped polo shirt with a Navy logo. A little over six feet tall, M struck me as attractive without being overwhelmingly good looking. And he had on sunglasses, which I remember because it was quite late in the afternoon when he finally took them off and I realized his eyes snapped with the same humor and intelligence that had kept me entertained much of the day.

That was all just the surface, though. I can't ever remember being so totally at ease with someone so immediately. Jokes came naturally and the chatter was comfortable (somewhat rare for me as I use big words and make obscure references that tend to bring discussions to a screeching halt). I knew M was a fair bit older than I was, but that really didn't make an impact on my impression. In fact, it was only apparent to me that day that this was someone real, who had likely walked into my world to stay, in some capacity. Our friendship wasn't one that developed over time--it was forged in an instant of some soul-deep recognition, I think.

So why, if I met M on a Saturday, did I title this post "Second-to-Last Tuesday in August"?

Well, because M has always disputed the account above. I didn't know how strongly he held that conviction until a couple of years ago, when one of his friends, upon meeting me for the first time and realizing M and I knew each other well, asked us, "How long have you two known each other?" While I gave a vague year-count, hoping to avoid fueling the curiosity, M replied decisively, "Second-to-last Tuesday in August, 1995."

I don't remember that day at all. But he has always sworn that it was the day we met, and so I concede that we must have done so. But I have always wondered why he remembers it so clearly. Yet another question mark on a long list of things I may never know.

Sunday News and Notes

2008-08-17T12:34:00.003-05:00

1. Once upon a time (and not that long ago), I was a drummer with a mighty solid bagpipe band, and I had the privilege of playing on the field at the World Pipe Band Championships in Glasgow, Scotland, with them the first year they competed. They've since gone back and racked up solid finishes four more times, the most recent of which was yesterday. So a big-time "Good on ya!" to my former crew in the Oran Mor Pipe Band for taking fourth (YEAH, baby!) in the Grade 2 contest yesterday. And a serious shout-out to the elite-level Simon Fraser University Pipe Band for winning their fifth Grade 1 Worlds (and major props to the most dedicated and amazing J. Reid Maxwell for leading the SFU drum corps to victory again, too). Big ol' North American yells all around!

2. I should not be allowed to go grocery shopping without a keeper. I always take a list and I always try to stick to it and also to shop for at least vaguely healthful foods (mostly). But I love the idea of trying all the tastes I've never tasted, and learning to cook dishes that area real food, not nuked. However, I only have me to feed, and not much money for groceries, and generally no time to spend cooking. So I wind up wandering the aisles with big eyes, thinking of all the wonderful things to feed people. Mostly, I don't get too dragged into buying things. But sometimes, one ends up with kalamata olives and capers in the cart and one doesn't know what one will do with them. But one wants to find out ...

3. The last few months, as M has been learning more "Baha'i stuff," for lack of a better term, have been a little like going through the Looking Glass for me. Everything is still the same, except the world's sort of tilted on its axis. Case in point: M and I both have a great deal of faith in the power of prayer, and we've both been very open about the fact that we pray for one another. I've shared some Baha'i prayers with him over the years, but I realize that to him, as a Christian, the Baha'i way of praying using the words of Baha'u'llah, the Bab and Abdu'l-Baha probably seemed a bit foreign. So when I had a really bad week a couple weeks ago, and I wrote to M that prayers would be good, I figured he would say, "Sure, absolutely." Instead, he explained how things are going for him (in short: the military is a complicated thing, and duty in the war zone is challenging for lots of reasons no one thinks about back home). Then he wrote that he'd found this prayer that "may help both of us." It was this one, which is familiar to many Baha'is (myself included). It's interesting to think that for the first time in the many years we've known one another, M and I are saying the same prayer--and he started it!

4. So the fabulous trip to Sweden is coming up in a mere four weeks. I am beginning to panic. Why? Because, as has happened the last two or three times I took an actual vacation, work and Baha'i administrative and life events are conspiring against me. I despise the last fiscal quarter of the work year because people who don't have to "make it happen" make decisions that require the rest of us do so. And to be honest, I just don't care that much. So I will be trying to remain calm and not let the general insanity get the best of me. Om....om...a wop bop a loo bop...om....om...

5. On an up note, I had a delightful dinner last night. My good friend ART was kind enough to allow me to come hang with her while her folks went out for an actual grown-up dinner sans the kidlet. If the photo below is any indication, I am the funniest thing ever and may have a future in toddler comedy (ART being, as you can see, a raving fan already):

An Olympic Moment

2008-08-12T20:37:00.002-05:00

I admit, I have been Sucked In to NBC coverage of the 29th Olympiad. This shouldn't surprise too many people--my earliest sports-watching memory was the 1984 Olympics. You know, back in the day, when

[Pause for half-hour while I try to figure out why all smoke detectors in my apartments are freaking out every five minutes, in the absolute absence of smoke ... and it appears to be the people that just moved in downstairs, trying to use their oven for the first time and it seems to be smoking, which means it was wafting upward into my apartment and setting off all of my detectors ... my windows are now shut. And resume.]

As I was saying, ... back in the day, when both winter Olympics and summer Olympics were in the same year, and it was leap year, and life was good. That was the year of Sarajevo and Los Angeles, and the year I fell in love with the Olympics. That was Carl Lewis, Mary Lou Retton, Greg Louganis, Scott Hamilton, Katerina Witt, and so many more.

Although I grew up in a family that valued amateur sport (my entire childhood, the only time my parents got out the TV trays and served meals in front of the TV was on weekends during the Tour de France), I hadn't expected to get caught up in this year's games. But I have.

Starting last week, someone at work mentioned that she fully intended to order Chinese food and park in front of the TV for the opening ceremonies. Several others of us followed suit, and I, of course, was in tears several times over the course of the evening. Plus, me being me, I was watching for who had selected a woman as their flagbearer. And who selected a refugee. And which nation's team walked in, hands linked, women and men together. And, of course, the drums. Whoo-baby, the drums!

So now, at midnight, I find myself unable to sleep until I watch the women's gymnastic team contest finish. But really, it's all about the diving and the swimming.

A Note on Overshare

2008-08-12T20:12:00.003-05:00

Sometimes I wonder where the filters are. I've received a few mass emails recently, sent by a friend of mine who is facing some health concerns and has chosen to do so using natural methods. This is not someone I consider myself particularly close to, although she certainly is someone I count among my friends--and so I'm honored to be kept up to speed on her progress. I'm just disturbed by the level of detail.

I don't really consider myself a prude (okay, maybe a little about some things), but there are certain words that I really nevereverever need to read in relation to the bodies of people I know in a casually friendly sort of way. Among them are "mucous-like," "toilet" and any reference to one's private bits, whether anatomically correctly named or not.

There must be some sort of rule of thumb. Like, "What happens in the bathroom stays in the bathroom." Or, "Nay, nay, va-jayjay." Or, "If it qualifies for the Discovery Channel, let me find out about it there."

Okay, time for a cool compress and some smelling salts.

Playing Catchup

2008-07-26T17:48:00.003-05:00

I keep thinking I will blog. And then I think I have nothing to say. And then I think about the million other things I need to do or should do. And then I don't write. But I do regress into this catatonic state where I'm just paralyzed by all of the everything and can't seem to motivate myself to do anything. I seriously need a change of pace!

The basics are easy to update, though. My parents have been eaten by a Baha'i School. I'm quite seriously contemplating what it is that a broke, single 31-year-old with no siblings, limited extended family connections and an effective lack of parents does for things like Thanksgiving and other holidays. Personally, I hope to be in a location by then that will allow for me to do something entertaining for the day. Like go to the Smithsonian. Or see a movie in a fabulous theater. Or otherwise expand my horizons. I've done two Thanksgivings away from family before--my freshman year in college when I had to stay down south due to marching band commitments (and spent a great couple of days with a bandmate and her family in a rented condo above the seawall in Galveston) and then the first time I went to Scotland (where, of course, it wasn't Thanksgiving, so it was simply another day with J and his kids, roaming about Lanarkshire). A good enough alternative, and it's worth it.

Work isn't bad. We renovated, and I'm not in love with my back being exposed to the whole floor, as it is now. But I do have a window, and so I'm trying not to complain about the feng shui disaster that is my desk position. We had a great Toys for Tots event a week or so ago, which was good fun. We'd had a couple of the Marines from the local reserve unit coordinating efforts in this area join us for the festivities, which was inspiring. And we had lunch from PJ's, which meant good brisket and all the fixin's--although M did say the photos I sent him of the events were "EVIL"...yeah, so I sent pix of a bakery cake, brisket, chicken and hickory barbecue sauce...I told him I owe him BBQ when he gets back to the States (I figure if I don't see him in person, I can still get something shipped). One of my colleagues unexpectedly welcomed her first daughter last weekend (a couple weeks before the due date), so we've been in a bit of a tizzy getting a handle on things left behind. And yesterday renovations started on our other floor, so crazy has happened quickly...I was really glad to see my friend Abby and her sister-in-law and their baby-kids show up in the neighborhood yesterday afternoon. That made for a lovely break.

The Ruhi 7 study circle I'm tutoring is going very well. one of the guys is starting his own Ruhi 1 group with some friends shortly. And another is looking for opportunities to share Anna's presentation with people he knows who may be interested in learning more about how he lives as a Baha'i. And the Ruhi 1 that I've found myself sitting in on is pretty cool too. We worked on memorization last week, and although the group is tiny, we're still enjoying ourselves. My friend Sue, who is tutoring, brought a delicious homemade blueberry pie to share, which was SUCH a treat.

I'm trying to figure out what to take to Sweden in September as far as clothes and luggage and such. We won't be there very long, but I'm thinking I ought to e-mail Gisela (a distant cousin whom I have never met, but my aunt has, and who has arranged accommodations and such for us) to ask what would be appropriate for general wandering, and what would be appropriate for the grand family day. And then I'll have to figure out how to pack things so they don't wrinkle. Well, and I'll actually have to find something to wear anyway...I've saved a couple gift cards so maybe I can get away without too much expense. And I can't wait to play with the camera overseas again. I got some great shots in Ireland and Scotland a couple years ago. In Sweden, we'll have some time at family sites, but then also staying on the coast in Helsingborg leading up to the event--and we're flying in and out of Copenhagen, Denmark, so I'll have a day or so there to play also!

Meanwhile, for all that I'm trying not to spend money, I did need to take advantage of my cell phone plan's every two year trade-in. And I learned two phones ago never to go for the free phone, but to take the discount, spend a bit of my own, and get a newer model. So I anted up and ordered a Motorola Z6c World Phone. Just one more tool in my quest to go wherever, whenever, whyever.

"Allah'u'Abha"

2008-07-13T16:53:00.002-05:00

I realized it's been almost two weeks since my last post. I suppose everyone has those times when everything just seems "off" or up in the air, and lately, that's certainly been me. But there are things to say!

The Martyrdom of the Bab was commemorated on Wednesday. But Tuesday afternoon I had an e-mail from M, who wrote to say "Allah'u'Abha" because he knew which holy day was approaching. And I hadn't mentioned it, so either his co-worker did, or he's been reading up on such things. It's really quite overwhelming to feel free to tell M the story about the miraculous events that surrounded the Bab's execution. And more so to see an email from him that starts with "Allah'u'Abha." When I wrote to M and explained what the words mean and when Baha'is use them--so that he would be able to say something to his co-worker several weeks ago--I also said that for most Baha'is, hearing that prayer "feels like home." Considering that M himself is, in a way, part of my definition of home, reading such a greeting from him was like having unexpected pieces fall into unrecognized places. Truly an extraordinary feeling.

The commemoration itself was lovely. I went to Albany and joined several friends I haven't gotten to see in a while, as well as others I see often. Best thing was that I got to see my friend Jack before he took off for Cedar Rapids and his newest endeavor--lots of good wishes are following from here and its been wonderful to hear him sounding excited about the new opportunities. Abby and ART were there too, and then after I'd gotten home and into some hot weather clothes, Abs called to say her plans had changed and what were the chances I was free...so we spent a while just chatting and roasting here (while Angeline explored my living room and tasted the furniture, because she's 1, and that's fun) before deserting in favor of dinner and central air conditioning at Friendly's.

Meanwhile, my brain, body and sense of responsibility are all warring with each other. I'm seriously trying to make some definite changes in my life, but to be successful doing that, I feel like I need to focus my energies there.We're kind of at the point in our Baha'i community where people have the skills they need. Now they just need to take it upon themselves to find a way to use those skills. Then I can help them organize those activities or identify new opportunities...but I can't "make things happen" without a cadre of people who are already trying new things and learning from experience. One of my colleagues is about to go out on maternity leave for three months, so I'm anticipating increased work pressure too. And all of this while trying to make a sea change in me and my direction. Thus I find myself feeling rather antisocial at the moment, and preferring casual, unplanned and unscheduled time with my closest gang of friends to that with larger groups of people.

Did I mention that our offices at work are being redecorated this week, so I'm working out of a backpack at a cafe table in office space shared with one of my colleagues? I'm looking forward to having Marines join us for our Toys for Tots drive on Friday (good PR for us, good PR for them, and a way to treat some folks to a lovely lunch--which I wish someone could do for M and his team).

Mostly right now, I just want to escape for about two weeks to someplace with an ocean...maybe Acadia. Alas, that is not to be. Sigh.......

Fab 4 Days

2008-07-01T21:15:00.002-05:00

Okay, not exactly four days...slightly longer. But still, four cool things in a very short period of time.

1. Late last week, M emailed with the latest from overseas. I've taken to referring to him as "the foreign correspondent" in my head. In any case, as if all of the other interesting Baha'i knowledge he's acquired weren't impressive enough, he said he'd done some research on the Garden of Ridvan, figured out where it's said to have been located, and located that in relation to his last trip to Baghdad. And taken a look at the satellite imagery of the area. Altogether too cool, in my opinion. What an opportunity he has to learn these things while he's right in the region where it all happened!

2. Saturday was highly enjoyable. I met Abby and ART and Aunt Paula (that would be Abby's husband's aunt, who is a really sweet lady--and also now in the hospital, I learned tonight, with a fairly nasty dermatological infection...prayers, please) for lunch. And then Abby and I and ART ran around on some errands before returning to Abby's for some very tasty barbecued pork and mashed potatoes. Well, okay, so ART had a somewhat orangeish goo that the jar described as glazed ham with pineapple. But she seemed to enjoy it.

You know, being an only child, I have never had the experience of expecting to grow up and have nieces and nephews, since that would involve expecting to marry someone with siblings, which would involve expecting to marry someone (period). That's a whole lot of expecting before you get to the extended family part of the picture. That is one of many reasons why Abby and Shawn are so awesome. It's really lovely to know that "Aunty J" is one of the people Abby trusts to just open a jar of baby food, feed the kid, get her in and out of the car, and generally just be in the picture. It makes for a great afternoon and a nice reminder of what really matters in the scheme of things.

3. Last night I tutored my first session of Ruhi 7, which is the course that prepares people to tutor the preceding Ruhi courses themselves. The guys in the study circle are people I've known since I was a kid, and who were in Ruhi 4 with me. So last night we sat out on the back deck at the home of one of the guys' brothers (who is not a Baha'i) and started the course. The best part? These are guys who are already giving Anna's presentation and inviting acquaintances over to their homes to hear about the Faith. So they have people already that they can invite to study the Ruhi courses as a way to learn more. And I have no doubt that they will.

4. And it appears that I'll be sitting in on the Ruhi 1 that's being held at my apartment. That wasn't originally the plan, but so far only one person has come. She is an older woman, originally from Germany, and she's a friend of a friend, so it's less awkward if I sit in and fill the group out a little bit. Tonight, we had a delightful session, and she opened up quite a bit, telling us what she'd investigated before this, and the contrasts she sees between the Baha'is and other groups she's learned about, and what things have made an impact on her. She said she'd learned so much this week. That's awesome!

Bugle Calls

2008-06-23T20:59:00.000-05:00

Okay, if you know me, you know I'm a sap for the whole self-quiz, prompt-to-write thing. I found this new list on someone's blog. It's another one where you set the iTunes to "shuffle" and then write down the song that pops up in response to each of the prompts. No matter how goofy, you write it down. So here's the list. Why two songs in answer to each? Because I used this as a time-killer at lunch today and then came home and ran it again with my full iTunes collection. Some of these are TOOO true. Some are funny. And some are seriously random.

IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?
Let’s Make It...Tonite! (Big Sandy and His Fly-Rite Boys)
Piobaireachd: Lord Lovat’s Lament (78th Fraser Highlanders)

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF?
Come Undone (Robbie Williams)
Minutes to Memories (John Mellencamp)

WHAT DO YOU LOOK FOR IN A GUY/GIRL?
Good to Go to Mexico (Toby Keith)
The Gift (Aselin Debison)

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Low Rider (War)
Voulez Vous (ABBA)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE PURPOSE?
Oh My Friend in Word! (Martin Kerr)
Le Tambourin (Rameau)

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Jingle Bell Rock (The Platters)
Only One Girl (Saw Doctors)

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Barber’s Song/Golden Helmet (From “Man of La Mancha”)
Poca Mujer (Son By Four)

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
American Girls (Counting Crows)
Hello World (Red Grammer)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
No More Cry (The Corrs)
Megalomania (Mac Umba)

WHAT IS 2 + 2?
Belle (Jack Johnson)
XXXs and OOOs: An American Girl (Trisha Yearwood)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
You Can’t Hurry Love (Phil Collins)
When You Love Someone (Bryan Adams)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Narration from the Silbury Hill Gentlemen’s Room/”You’re Using Coconuts” (From “Monty Python and the Holy Grail”)
How Long (Bryan White)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Fly Like an Eagle (Steve Miller Band)
If It Don’t Take Two (Shania Twain)

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Forever (Martin Kerr)
Someday Soon (Judy Collins)

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
My Lover’s Gone (Dido)
Crash and Burn (Savage Garden)

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Liza’s Dream/The Westside Highway (Cherish the Ladies)
I’ve Got a Woman (Ray Charles)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Just a Closer Walk With Thee (Canadian Brass)
Capital Sounds (The Band of the Grenadier Guards with The Scots Highlanders)

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?
I’m a Rover (Great Big Sea)
I Am a Rock (Simon and Garfunkel)

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Sixty Minute Man (Billy Ward and the Dominoes)
The Ballad of the Green Berets (Sgt. Barry Sadler)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
I Love You (Martina McBride)
Drums (Simon Fraser University Pipe Band)

SONG THEY WILL PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
The Unemployment Line/O’Keefe’s Plough/Anderson’s/The Fermoy Lasses/Farewell to Erin (Kips Bay)
That Was Your Mother (Paul Simon)

WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Medley: March of the King of Laois/Paddy’s Jig/O’Keefe’s/The Chattering Magpie (The Chieftains)
Bugle Calls (Carl Peterson)

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

2008-06-22T19:51:00.002-05:00

Or at least, that's how I'm feeling at the moment. About four years ago, several things in my life went haywire all at once. Starting then, I developed a very high cortisol level, which...since life has not calmed down, and I am not good at preserving time and space for myself...is still in play today. It means that my body thinks it's constantly in "fight or flight" mode, so the littlest bit of new stress from any direction can rapidly push me over the edge to some unpleasant physical and mental symptoms.

Based on the issues at work lately, everybody's exerting pressure, and that puts me at a disadvantage, since my mind and body already think they are at max stress level, so absorbing more isn't really an option. And unlike the 20 to 25 percent of my officemates whom I know to be taking meds to combat work-related conditions, I figure the answer is to fix the situation, not continue to expose myself to the situation but medicate myself so I don't notice it. To me, while that might strike some people as a necessity, it strikes me as a denial that something is seriously awry.

Last week was particularly nutty, compounded by some opportunities I was looking at, by having to be home to open the apartment for the Ruhi 1 class that's using my place as a meeting spot, and by having to meet with my Ruhi 7 class to plan out their schedule.

So I was really glad when my friend Dawn called me Saturday morning and asked if I might like to join her and the munchkins for a jaunt to the Farmer's Market. That was a nice treat, after which, since neither of us had other plans, and Lila and Liam were in fairly angelic 18-month- and 3-year-old form, we decided to drive out to Grafton Lakes State Park and see what was what. Tooo coool! Hiking trails, which would be fun another time. A boat launch with rental canoes, kayaks and rowboats (no motorized watercraft allowed). And a wide sandy beach complete with several lifeguards, changing facilities, and a concession stand. Definitely a place to go again soon.

Oh, and regarding M's question about photos in my previous post...as I expected, they flew into Baghdad. At night. In a type of aircraft that really isn't designed for site-seeing. So he said he didn't even know if they crossed a river, let alone what direction anything was. No surprise there! He did send a photo of the Al-Faw palace that is currently on the grounds of Camp Victory...along with a disclaimer that his own camp has "NOTHING" like that. And he explained that the highlight of the trip was fresh fruit, especially melons, which they also haven't had. Go ahead and say it: "Awwwwwwwww......." I certainly did. There's nothing I can do about it, although I wish I could send boxes of fruit! In any case, I was glad the trip was successful and safely carried out. And I like my palace photo, of course. It's always been a treat to see where M's been, through his perspective of what was worth seeing, and I have never been bored hearing the stories and seeing the photos. (Although the one time I met M's sister, she thought I probably needed rescuing from the in-depth Suez Canal slideshow he was treating me to...I was actually quite enjoying it. When else would I see the Suez Canal from the deck of an aircraft carrier?!)

Blazing Heat, Baghdad and Bumming Around

2008-06-15T14:16:00.003-05:00

Last week started out at a lovely 90+ degrees. Which is when I learned that my apartment holds onto heat like crazy. It's especially bad when I'm at work all day and the place is all closed up. I bought fans last Saturday, thinking that would help. Um, no. I bought an air conditioner on Monday, then called my mom and asked if I could sleep on her floor that evening since I knew no one could install the A/C til at least Tuesday. I drove home to find the place at 98 degrees, dropped off the A/C, threw some clothes in a bag and drove back the hour or so to Mom's. We had a nice evening visit, and although the floor was very uncomfortable, it was far cooler there than here. My landlord came by while I was at work the next day and installed the A/C. So now I can sleep quite comfortably (more so than in recent memory) at about 72 degrees, no matter how hot the rest of my apartment is. Ah, life is good!

Then, Wednesday morning, I got to work and found an e-mail from M asking if there were any particular places or things he should take pictures of (if he could) as he was heading into Baghdad for a couple days. After spending a moment contemplating that extraordinary thoughtfulness, I sent back a reply with what little I know about the location of the House of Baha'u'llah in Baghdad--the chances M would be anywhere near there are miniscule at best, but perhaps if they flew in, he might have gotten an aerial shot pointing the correct direction. Of course, I also asked him to stay as safe as possible, and reminded him that he's more important than photos. Good Lord, the man constantly amazes me.... Here he is, in a war zone, newly promoted to a rather impressive rank, about to make the trip from his post to the capital, and he takes precious time to ask me about Baha'i sites that I might never be able to see otherwise. I suppose I should not be surprised that he would ask such a question...after all, were I someplace important to him, I would do exactly the same. But still, even after 13 years, it still staggers me that M pays such attention and gives such value to the bits and pieces that make me ME. Truly incredible.

This weekend...well, it's been quiet. Last-minute on Friday night, my friend Lua decided she was venturing out, so she came here when she was done with her errands. We watched a movie and just generally chatted about life. Me about work, and about the surprising note above; she about her rather fantastic boyfriend and their latest escapades. Yesterday and today were all about cleaning and errands as a friend is using my apartment for her Ruhi 1 class starting this week. Meanwhile, I'll start tutoring a Ruhi 7 in two weeks, and probably a Ruhi 6 later in the summer. And over the Fourth of July weekend, I'll be taking part in a Baha'i teaching seminar and neighborhood walkabout in Rochester. Then one of my colleagues goes out on maternity leave in six weeks or less, and the rest of us will be desperately trying to take up the slack for three months after that. Plus I'm trying to consciously focus on reducing stress, sleeping and eating well, and getting more fit--which means not being at the rest of the world's beck and call for things (I'm not good at focusing on ME, but I really need to learn to do so if I have any hope of a satisfying life). And then, of course, my quest for new environs and opportunities continues. Calmly, but with a certain amount of dedication that I have been lacking for some time.

And I also would really like to remember what "fun" looks like... hmmmmm...

Parade Rant

2008-06-08T13:54:00.003-05:00

Top conclusion from the parade I just watched from my window: I need to live someplace besides the northeastern U.S. Why? Well, while I am a Baha'i, and therefore certainly consider myself a citizen of the world more than a citizen of my country, I am, in fact, a citizen of my country and, for damn sure, a patriot. I find my sentiments are often in the extreme minority here.

That is why I spent the first 15 minutes of the parade in tears. Didn't care about the elected officials officiously walking or riding in convertibles down the route. Didn't care about the show of machinery from the various rescue services (glad to know they're there; don't need to be calculating my tax dollars as the gas tanks roll down the street in front of me).

No, I was in tears for a few simple reasons. Among the first in the parade were the local National Guard troops who have already done two tours in Iraq. And no one clapped. Behind them were sailors and officers from the Navy unit nearby. No one clapped. Then veterans that served in the Gulf War. Vietnam. Korea. WWII. And no one clapped. There was a bus of wounded veterans from the VA hospital. And no one clapped. Along rolled a police cruiser, followed by lines of the police elite unit. And no one clapped. Then the fire department, rows of fit men and women whose job is to go into buildings other people are (quite sanely) running from. And no one clapped.

Perhaps what got me most was a special trolley bearing several very old, frail black men and a banner saying simply "Tuskegee Airmen." And no one clapped. Are you [expletive deleted] kidding me? Those are heroes. Not for what they did in war, although their record was beyond impressive. But because they broke through a barrier that society--black and white--said could not be broken. And we treat them with so little regard? Not even a bit of applause on a hot summer afternoon for brave, noble men who are now in their 80s and 90s?

I clapped from my window and surveyed my fellow citizens as they stared up at me. What did I see? Apathy in large degree. Plenty of Northeastern activist mentality. (Read: "U Pick It. I Protest It. Oooh, Is That a Starbucks?") A fair bit of clueless. And people more concerned with their pants hanging below their behinds than they were about the people in front of them.

Do me a favor. Listen to this song. And then have a little respect next time you see uniformed personnel walking by. You don't have to like the policy that got them where they are. But we all owe them some thanks for trying to make sure we don't have to do what they've done.

Rant finished. Taking deep breaths.

I Want a Silver Dolphin

2008-06-08T11:05:00.003-05:00

And one just walked past my window. This only makes sense when you realize that today is Troy's Flag Day parade, which is currently holding me hostage in my second-floor apartment on the parade route, where balloon vendors are already trolling the route for early buyers. As one of my friends IM'd me this morning: "That's a a real holiday?" Well, certainly here it is. It's logical, since Troy is the home of the historical Uncle Sam. I hadn't planned on going to a parade today. But now one will be coming to me. Since it's something like 95 degrees outside and my A/C-less abode is hovering in the high 80s, even with two tower fans and another fan on high, I guess that's okay. But seriously, I want a silver dolphin. (Not "I want to buy a silver dolphin." More like "I want someone to think I'm delightful and buy me a silver dolphin." Yes, being inside my head is always complicated.) ...And my upstairs neighbors' guests have arrived and are thundering up the stairs and across the floor. What a peaceful Sunday...

Intercontinental Ballistic Plunger

2008-05-31T17:20:00.002-05:00

It may be my slightly low-temperatured brain, but this CNN headline cracked me up: "Shuttle Discovery blasts off carrying toilet fix." Honestly, I could just see a foil-wrapped, heat-shielded plunger being carried aboard the shuttle with great ceremony. Even better was watching a NASA spokesman try to keep a straight face and avoid references to toilet contents in any way while explaining the current gravity-defying flushing issues. I guess this answers any questions millions of schoolchildren have always had about how astronauts, um, "go."

Meanwhile, my temperature is low because at least once a summer, my dust/mold allergies come into contact with some form of air-propelling mechanism, and my sinuses revolt. Apparently our ceiling-mounted, forced-air A/C at work was the culprit this year. Aided by the fan I've been using at home to keep my bedroom at a comfy night-time temperature. At least it wasn't exposure to the A/C in my car this time, and I didn't really have plans this weekend, so I've been able to be catatonic and attached to a Kleenex box except for going out to the laundromat and grocery store. But still...not my fave feeling.

It's time to go eat something...as unpleasant as that seems. Have a good evening, and may your toilets function well both here on earth and in the skies above.

Teaching and Lessons

2008-05-27T21:21:00.003-05:00

Have you ever had something happen that just floors you? Like, straight out leaves you at a total loss for a way to react? Well, that's my latest news.

Last Thursday was the celebration of the Declaration of the Bab, probably my favorite Baha'i holy day. I love the story of Mulla Husayn's journey in search of the Promised Qa'im, and the way he was met by an unassuming and humble young man at the gates of Shiraz, and within hours, realized he had indeed discovered his heart's desire. This year was bittersweet, as there are seven Iranian Baha'is still being held without access to family, friends, or legal assistance.

After the celebration, which takes place at night, I came home and set out to write a quick note to M. He had emailed last week with an abbreviated version of his experience learning that one of his American co-workers in Iraq is a Baha'i. And he'd thanked me for the message I sent at Ridvan, saying that it had helped him feel better prepared in speaking to his colleague. So it occurred to me that on the Declaration of the Bab, I should send a brief reminder that it was a holy day, and what the significance was, in case it should come up in conversation there.

Knowing that M would probably want to be able to extend good wishes to the man he knows, I tried to think of how to explain that "Happy Declaration of the Bab!" is not exactly the phrase one uses! So instead, I explained that the prayer "Allah'u'Abha" means "God is All-Glorious." I also described how to pronounce it, noted that Baha'is often say it to one another in greeting, and said that it really does "sound like home" for a Baha'i to hear it. And then I wished him well and said that I would be at Green Acre over the weekend, and all the usual pleasantries.

Friday, my mom and I drove up to Maine (5 hours!) and met up with Dad. I immediately went to work helping in the registrar's office (or rather, chilling out and waiting for opportunities to do something useful). Saturday, I got to join in the Espiritu Latino session that was going on this weekend. It was an unusual position for me, since I tend to speak up at these things. I studied Spanish for 8 years--minored in it in college, actually--so I was understanding pretty much everything. But I haven't used the language in 10 years, except in brief snippets, so I didn't feel comfortable speaking it. It was good, though--to observe and be involved, but not be in the center of things. It validated that we Americans here in the Northeast are way too intellectual about speaking about Baha'u'llah to people. We need to stop thinking so much and just speak to people's hearts with what is in our hearts.

Anyway, it was Saturday morning during a break when I checked my email and found that M had indeed received my message on Thursday night. And he had walked into the office and greeted his colleague with "Allah'u'Abha!" He said he received an appropriate smile in response. ...I had to read the email three times to be sure I wasn't imagining things. For M, honestly, it was likely just one more way to serve one of his men, and to bring cheer and hope where it could be of use. For his friend, I hope it achieved that goal. For me...for me it was a gift that is really beyond profound. There is a special potency in the words of Baha'u'llah that touches hearts directly, none more so than when one speaks the words for oneself. For someone I have known and loved dearly for years to speak the words of Baha'u'llah aloud for any reason...it's shatteringly sweet.

The rest of Saturday was even better for that news. I also had a note from "that guy" regarding schedules and potential to run into one another before he jets off for someplace again this summer. That would be a nice treat also, although not one for which I am holding my breath. Dad finished up on campus at 4, so he and Mom and I went into Kittery for fried clams and haddock and fries, and then took a drive out to Kittery Point and Fort McClary in time to see the sun setting over the water. I'll post photos (if any came out well) later this week. Sunday was a little more Spanish for me, followed by an errand run and some work on campus for Dad. And then Monday morning I took some photos around Green Acre before Mom and I hopped in the car for the long drive home.

Even the rather painful result of hanging my sunscreenless arm out the window of the car for five hours on a very sunny day still hasn't dulled the extraordinary joy of the weekend's events.

What a Week

2008-05-16T22:02:00.002-05:00

In addition to events in previous posts, the week brought on other things to note, as well.

Six more Baha'is were arrested in Iran. You can check out the coverage on CNN, read the statement from the U.S. Department of State, read coverage of the Canadian government's response or read the release from the Baha'i International Community. The quieter their voices become, the louder ours will be. And we are tireless.

Then tonight, we had Feast. My friend Shahab graduates tomorrow, so this is his last Feast here--we had gotten him a couple of small gifts and a card. And cake, of course! I will miss him. He is a very nice guy with whom I have had great laughs and any number of running jokes, scrapes and major automobile malfunctions. The good news, of course, is that he won't be completely far away (a couple hours), so he can join the gang now and then for additional craziness. Holly and Rick are getting ready for their move to Tucson, which is coming up in just a couple months. Dave and Diane were at their first Feast here (my parents moved to Green Acre; the Jesters moved here). We wound up the evening with a full-on singalong of Beatles, John Denver and all sorts of fun tunes.

World Whirling

2008-05-14T20:57:00.002-05:00

I've been so bothered this week by the massive hardships around the globe--from the Midwestern tornadoes, to the cyclone and resulting human-caused horror in Myanmar, to the earthquake in China. It disturbs me greatly that as all of that happens, I'm sitting at a desk all day, every day, performing tasks that are not furthering the progress of civilization in any way (not even a little bit). Spending half of my waking hours engaged in utter futility is depressing. However, it pays the bills (basically), so for now, I just drive myself nuts while soldiering on.

Speaking of which, I had some interesting news from my mother today. I knew that she had been in touch with M since he'd been overseas, but I didn't ask for details, and she didn't give them. Until today, when she mentioned that apparently M recently learned that one of the Americans he's working with is a Baha'i! And although M doesn't feel that he knows a lot about the Baha'i Faith, the fact that he knows anything ... and because he is an exceptional man who doesn't give himself enough credit for retaining meaningful information, he knows more than he thinks he knows ... In any case, apparently he quite surprised this individual and they've now struck up a conversation. I can't wait to hear the story from M directly!

It brought an interesting thought to mind though. I think for most Baha'is, telling our friends and loved ones about the Baha'i Faith is actually harder than telling people we don't know so well. It's counterintuitive. Here we have something so precious, so important and world-changing, that you would think we'd want to grab those closest to us and make sure they knew all about it. Instead, when one describes the Baha'i Faith to a stranger or acquaintance, it is easier to simply offer them this gift because there is no true fear of their reaction (shyness, yes; fear, not really). But in talking to someone close to us, we're really revealing the very essence of who we are. It's far beyond offering our heart--it's baring our soul in the most literal sense. When someone truly comprehends the station and message of Baha'u'llah, of course, they can turn towards that, or turn away. And that's where the fear comes in ... because if someone close to us recognizes Baha'u'llah and turns away from Him, they turn away from an inherent part of us, too. At the same time, our loved ones can feel intimidated and hesitant to ask questions of us, for fear of looking foolish. The combination can sometimes lead to a total lack of discussion, which is a pity.

I have gotten over much of my fear about talking about Baha'u'llah. And perhaps, with this change in the dynamic, M will be able to ask a million questions of anyone he wishes. That's why, just the idea that he's run into a Baha'i who isn't me, isn't my parents and in all likelihood, isn't someone I know ... honestly, makes me a little giddy.

Sunburn Is Good

2008-05-11T19:38:00.003-05:00

Today, Mom and I went up to Sally's Hen House in Fort Ann for lunch. To be honest, I lose track of time and most minor holidays completely--so I didn't even realize today was Mother's Day until Friday. And Mom and I had planned today's jaunt before that anyway. Sally's is a little old-fashioned coffeeshop where the counter is the best place to sit, the food's simple but tasty, the prices are great, and the jokes and laughter come easy. In short, it's the kind of place my Grandpa Mel would have loved and felt right at home. Mom and I both sort of feel like he's around whenever we go there. In any case, today we sat at the counter, between a couple of old coots who are obviously regulars. The waitresses were giving out carnations to all the moms that came in. The man next to me was giving the waitress a hard time because she didn't give him a flower. So when Mom and I left, I took one of hers and handed it to him, and said, "Well, I figure you must've had a mother, so you should get one too." That made him laugh. Mission accomplished.

Then Mom and I went up the road to Walker's, the feed and tack store that also has good salsa and Western clothes, boots and farm gear. It's as close to northern California and Nevada ranchland as you get here on the East Coast. Neither of us really buys anything, usually. But today, we got a treat for when we go see Dad in a couple weeks. And there was a straw cowboy hat I really liked. It's not a rodeo hat, which was what my Grandpa Mel tended toward. I remember him telling me when I was little that you should never wear a beat-up hat. But I saw one today that, while not beat up, is softer straw, more the sort you'd wear with a tank top and jeans, or on a surfboard, than the sort you'd wear riding fence. And it wasn't expensive. So now it's mine. AAH-HAAH!!

Yesterday, my friend Abby called in the morning and said that she'd be up for going to the TuIip Festival in Albany if I felt like it. The very cool thing about Abby is that, while we've known each other since childhood, it's as adults that we've found ourselves relaxing into the comfortable sort of friendship that leads to random wandering, easy conversation and dinners with the fam (her husband, Shawn, is a stand-up guy completely, in my book). So yesterday it was Abby and Angeline (who is always seeking greater independence--I lent a hand here) and I just strolling along, gawking in awe at the profusion of festival food, listening to bands, perusing the crafts and, in Abby's case, tip-toeing through the tulips with her camera (ART and I rolled past instead). It was a wonderful day outside, complete with a corn dog, fries and a sweet strawberry lemonade. And I realized, halfway through the day, that it has been almost two years since the last time I was just out and about with a friend at some big public festival--the last time was with M, for the Fourth of July 2006 in Norfolk. It felt good to get a sunburn again after all that time.

Then, earlier this week, one of my friends from the office and I were out to lunch and talking about the challenges of being single, in this economy. Obviously, this has been on my mind a lot lately. So my current quest is to find a few freelance gigs on the side, in order to get ahead of the financial slide. I'm not quite sure how to start , but I'll manage it somehow. I am also trying to figure out how to get some photos into a show, so that maybe I can get some into a gallery for sale. Except I don't have the money to get them printed and framed ahead of time...so there's another challenge.

My mom was saying that she doesn't know why it is that I just keep getting buffeted around by life. I was glad to hear her say it, as it sure seems that way to me. Every time I think I have a career plan that makes sense, I don't get the opportunities or responses necessary to kick it off. When I think I have a plan to get finances under control, something comes along to blow the plan sky-high. We'll avoid discussing the complex world of interpersonal relationships, which, for me, is absurd at best. I don't know who I am supposed to be, or what I'm supposed to be doing, or how to make all the figures add up. But for a while, this weekend, it was lovely not to think about any of it in any amount of detail.

Brave, Busy Days

2008-05-01T21:44:00.002-05:00

It's interesting, the last post I wrote. I suppose there must have been a reason I was thinking of that. I'll get to that in a moment though.

I went through last week as usual, from work to home, with errands in between. Saturday morning came and with it, a full day of Ruhi 7, followed by dinner out with my mom. Sunday brought another full day of Ruhi--and we finished! Yay for four more tutors! A quick turnover after class, and then that evening was our 19-Day Feast, here at my place. Monday I was at work, and then that evening, other Baha'is gathered here to commemorate the 9th Day of Ridvan with music, readings and dessert. I took Tuesday off for the Holy Day, and then worked Wednesday and today, before coming home tonight to host the 12th Day of Ridvan. I've taken tomorrow off for the Holy Day as well, and will be spending the morning helping our outgoing institute coordinator introduce our incoming institute coordinator to the structure of the task.

So that explains the busy. The brave? Well, after sleeping in on the Holy Day on Tuesday, I awoke and, as usual, checked all modes of communication (cell, e-mail, Facebook, CNN, etc.) to be sure I hadn't missed something interesting in the preceding seven hours or so. And that's when I saw M's Facebook status. I won't repeat it here, except to say that he was preparing to take part in a battlefield memorial. Beyond ensuring him of my prayers for the fallen and for him, I couldn't think of any useful comments to make. Platitudes have never been my style. At the time, I wasn't intending to be brave--I just wrote what I was thinking of that day, that was making me happy. It's only after the fact that I realized it was, perhaps, fairly audacious to express this to a devout Christian, which M is. So here is what I wrote. You can decide if doing so was brave.

"I was trying to figure out what I could do or say to help, and there really isn't anything. I found myself thinking of hope, though. So I thought I'd share a couple thoughts with you, at least, in case they're any source of solace.

"I think you know this time of year is really important for Baha'is--it's called the Festival of Ridvan (REHZ-wahn), and it is when Baha'u'llah publicly announced that He was the Promised One foretold by all God's Messengers in the past. At the time, He was a prisoner of the Ottoman Empire. He had withstood imprisonment under excruciatingly heavy chains in the most vile prison in Tehran, then been exiled to Iraq for about 10 years (most in Baghdad). In late April 1863, He was exiled still further. When He left Baghdad, He crossed the Tigris and spent 12 days in what was then called the Najibiyyih garden. This is where He openly proclaimed His station. And the garden, He referred to as Ridvan, which means paradise.

"From there, he traveled slightly west--probably to just above Fallujah, if I read the maps correctly--before crossing the Tigris again around Balad or Samarra, and traveling up through Kirkuk, Arbil, Mosul, etc., eventually reaching Istanbul (which, yes, was Constantinople). From there He was sent onward to Adrianople in Syria, and then finally to the prison city of Akka (Acre, if you're thinking of the Knights Templar ;-) in Palestine, now Israel, where He was kept a prisoner until His death in 1892.

"That's why the Shrine of Baha'u'llah is at the mansion of Bahji in Akka, and the Shrine of the Bab is across the bay, on Mount Carmel in Haifa. But one of the primary places of pilgrimage that Baha'u'llah prescribed is His House in Baghdad--and that is where Baha'is will go someday when it is safe. For now, they make pilgrimage to the shrines. So you're sitting on the doorstep of one of the most sacred places in the world. Imagine being where Christ walked (for Baha'is, you are, because we believe the same Holy Spirit was in each of God's Messengers).

"Fast-forward a century and a half. Now, the Festival of Ridvan is when Baha'is all over the world elect our governing bodies at the local and national levels each year. Every five years, the international one, the Universal House of Justice, is elected in Haifa. That's what's happened today!! If you'd like to read about it and see photos--of delegates from all over the world coming together with a common cause--here are links to the stories of the last few days. (On a personal note, in the election story, the chief teller happens to be my friend Bahiyyih's mom!)

"Arrival of Delegates: http://news.bahai.org/story/624
At the Shrines: http://news.bahai.org/story/626
Election Takes Place: http://news.bahai.org/story/627

"I might have told you this already, but the Baha'is of Iran are not allowed to have a functioning community administration. That's why, in the story on the elections, it mentions that they sent roses (I remember every regional election in the United States receiving such flowers from the Baha'is in Iran in about 1984, when we could hold elections and for one of the first times, they could not). Similarly, in Iraq, the Baha'is were not allowed to hold elections for more than 30 years. But after all that time, in April 2004, the Iraqi Baha'is were able to elect their National Spiritual Assembly. I am certain that Iraqi delegates took part in the election of the Universal House of Justice today.

"And all of this brings me back to hope. A wonderful Baha'i named George Townshend has on his headstone in Enniskerry the first words of Revelation 21. He was an Anglican bishop before he embraced the Baha'i Faith; in fact, he was the bishop at St. Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin. In any case, although I realize that I read the Bible from a somewhat different perspective than you might, when I find myself feeling down, I find inspiration in those 27 verses."

Happy Ridvan!

2008-04-21T23:14:00.002-05:00

It's late and hot and I can't sleep. So I'm committing the cardinal sin of insomnia and staring at the bright screen of the computer.

Today was the first day of the Festival of Ridvan, which commemorates when Baha'u'llah left Baghdad on the next stage of His banishment at the hands of the Ottoman Emperor. He rode out of the city with a few companions and spent 12 days in the Najibiyyih Garden on the banks of the Tigris--which He then called the garden of Ridvan (paradise). It was there that He declared that He was the Promised One foretold by all of the Messengers God has sent to humanity over the ages, and that this is the Promised Day for which all mankind has been waiting, the time of a new heaven, and a new earth.

Because my Baha'i community is fairly small, and not all are able to take the day off work, the celebration turned out to be me and my mom (who drove from her home an hour away). But we read the Writings I had selected anyway, and listened to the music (including "Down to the River" by Allison Krauss, which, while not a Baha'i song, certainly lent proper ambience to the occasion). And we enjoyed refreshments too. All in all, it was a delightful observance, if somewhat marginally attended.

As we were reading, though, I couldn't help but think of M, who (as you've likely gathered if you read this blog at all frequently) is currently serving somewhere in Iraq. There is something that has been eating at me quite a bit as I think of him being where Baha'u'llah was. In all the years I have known M, and it's been something like 13, I've mentioned Baha'i things, my involvement in the community, etc. And he's listened. (Sometimes more than I knew, as when military obligations required him to travel to Australia, and he called to make me guess where he planned to go while in Sydney...I said the Opera House...it took several clues for me to figure out that he'd taken it upon himself to look up the times the choir would be singing at the House of Worship, and the train schedule that might allow him to get there. It didn't work out, ultimately, but I was floored that he'd thought of it and planned on it.) But I don't think I ever really, truly introduced him to the station and person of Baha'u'llah...and really, what could be more important than that?

Of course, the other thing that truly bothers me is that M always expressed a great appreciation for human diversity, but periodically lamented his lack of opportunity to experience it on a casual basis...and that's one thing I could have offered in spades, had I not always been focused on music when he and my Baha'i friends might have crossed paths. I don't like thinking that I had this gift in my pocket all along and I was too self-absorbed to give it. It's easy to catalog all the things I miss about M since the walls went up between us...from knowing each other's daily schedules from a thousand miles away, to impromptu phone calls (made or received) with exciting news, to the reassurance of his hand on my back as he ushered me through doors. But what I miss most may well be the opportunity to share the most important things about my life: My love for Baha'u'llah and the united diversity of the Baha'is, our families and friends.

There's nothing that says M and I will never have that talk or that experience (although it is certainly less likely now than it was even a couple years ago). It's just hard for me to accept that we didn't have them already.

What I Learned from Home-Improvement Shows

2008-04-16T18:46:00.002-05:00

I mentioned some time ago my mild obsession with wedding-planning shows. Not because I have imminent plans to use any of the tips and tricks. In fact, I have become skeptical that I will ever have cause to use them, and have casually wondered how tacky it would be to throw a "Very Merry Unmarried" party.

In any case, my latest time-suck has been programs like Dress My Nest, where an interior designer uses basic information about someone to come up with a plan for their space. Why the interest? Well, in part because the questions they ask make me look around and say, "What does my apartment tell people about me?"

My apartment says that I am not someone of wealth, but I have simple, elegant taste. I like wood. I like a homey environment that welcomes people--and this is the first apartment where I've had that, really. I am quite allergic to dust, dust mites and mildew, so my pretty little knick-knacks are in boxes until I have a glassed-in case for them, although I do have some cultural or folk-art pieces out. Art on the walls and in frames are mostly things with which I have a personal connection--mementos of places I've been, or people I've known.

What's missing are the photos most people have in their homes. Even the photos I've considered putting up on the walls are landscapes I've taken--not people. My people photos are very limited: my grandmother and grandfather on their wedding day, my old bagpipe band at a contest five days after 9/11, my dad's late best friend, and my late grandfather and I when I was about 4. It's not a huge surprise--I've never liked the way I look in photos. And there have not been many moments I care to put up on the walls in recent years.

As far as three fashion items and three personal items that hint at my life and preferences...hmmmmmmm. I don't own the sorts of clothes I would like to own! Of what I do have...my periwinkle lightweight fleece from L.L. Bean, because it's soft, casual, sporty and one of my favorite colors; my navy blue cotton sundress that I've never yet gotten to wear, because I love the image it evokes and the clean crispness of the fabric; and...my bright red leather-like ballet flats, because they are fun and surprising, and they go with the dark blue jeans and white or black t-shirts I favor.

My three personal items? The vase my step-great-grandmother whom I never met brought from Sweden, because I find it captivating, and it's the most tangible piece of that side of the family I have; a bar of citrus soap from the Vermont Country Store, because it smells like good old Yankee ingenuity and the definition of clean and fresh; and the Bellefire CD that M sent back from Ireland, and which is a modern interpretation of my heritage, as well as a reminder of things that matter, and a sort of music that is bright and lush (unlike the brash pub songs, country tunes and rock songs I often favor in the car).

Non sequitur: Driving home today, what unexpectedly popped to mind was a phone call from M many years ago, when he wanted to tell me that he'd gotten to (successfully) land the shuttle simulator during a work event at NASA. He was so excited and so happy. It's been a long time since I heard him so pleased about something. I don't know why I thought of that today...maybe it's that I know he's not enjoying his current assignment in the war zone. Whatever the prompt was, the memory made me smile. You may now return to your regularly scheduled program (which, in my case, is Men in Trees, now that the National Geographic special on sumo wrestling has ended).

Ruhi-Land

2008-04-13T19:29:00.002-05:00

It has been quite a few days. After a long week-and-a-half at work (not worth trying to explain, except to say that calculated risks do indeed go awry, and those who did not choose to take the risk are often those left to deal with the craziness), I've spent the last two days in an intensive training for tutors of the Baha'i Ruhi courses.

The best way to explain these courses is to say that they give people the opportunity to learn about the Baha'i Faith by studying what Baha'is study and practicing what Baha'is practice. Each course is tutored by a Baha'i who has gone through the courses themself and been trained to facilitate the courses for others.

Our tutor-training group is small, but we're having a great time. Today at lunch we crowded around my small dining table with leftover spaghetti, grilled chicken, homemade bread, hummus and fruit. It was lovely.

5 Things That Might Surprise You

2008-04-02T20:21:00.003-05:00

I was thinking the other day, after a surprising comment from a co-worker, that people seem to have a perception of me that really isn't a true reflection. So I thought I'd share a few of the "what you may not know" elements of me.

1. Springsteen means stay away. I work in an office that has a completely open plan, and there are about 17 of us on our floor. It gets loud, and people end up talking right over your desk without meaning to. Headphones are the only way to create your own workspace. When I am totally stressed out, but intent on making everything happen, and I feel like my stomach is eating itself, and my head is whirling, I search for all the Springsteen songs on my iTunes, and I play them on repeat all day, just loud enough to block out anything else around me. Any other time, any other music, can be interrupted. But woe betide those who seek attention during the Springsteen songfest.

2. I cannot make decisions. This is not a general statement--in most circumstances, I am the most decisive person ever. Gather info, evaluate, decide, execute ... quickly. That's me. Or is it? Nope. If I am doing things intensely, I only think as far ahead as completion of the task, at which point, my brain will not process anything more, no matter how simple. This is how I found myself in a grocery store in Banagher, Ireland, in tears because I couldn't find anything to eat. Most people will never see me in such a state. M, though, had figured it out. After one too many, "Where should we all go for dinner?" questions being met with a blank stare at the end of a contest day, or upon arrival after a 10-hour drive, he began to recognize the catatonic, helpless expression and rephrase the question as, "I thought Mexican, okay?" Good move, sailor.

3. I will not respect you in the morning. Now, now, get your minds back up on the curb. I have colleagues and friends who have a long-standing belief that, because I don't drink, I have a problem with them drinking. Not true--culturally, drinking is something many people do. I happen to feel that it's unnecessary, but as a general rule, I'm not crusading against it. I will go places for a meal or a party or where there is good music, whether people are drinking or not. However, if I respect and like you sober, please forgive me if I do not want to see you while you are in pursuit of drunkenness, or looking to ... ahem, "hook up." Because in that instance, I can assure you that I will never look at you the same way again. Also any references to things you did because you were "so drunk" ... I will like you much better if I don't know. Trust me.

4. Sugar equals defiance. I recently described to my friend Abby a certain situation involving a recital on the benefits of wheatgrass, and why everyone should get rid of their microwaves, and why cooked food is bad for one, and why people eat what they eat because they swear it's the perfect diet. The end result was that I, who drive and work more hours, covering more mealtimes, than any of the people who were holding forth their opinions, wanted to plunge face first into the Curious George birthday cake. The workday is long and stressful? I want anything that has sugar in it. All day. Like an I.V. drip, preferably chocolate flavor. Self-destructive? Yup. Solution? Be able to control whatever factors are stressing me out.

5. I hate, "How was your weekend?" If I did something interesting, I'll let you know. If you want to tell me about your weekend, go ahead. But don't ask me this question unless you know I actually had plans. It's just awkward. Do you really want me to try to explain the intricacies of Baha'i community administration, and that I likely spent a decent amount of time working on reports or classes or something else that will sound like work to you? Even less interesting, do you want me to answer honestly: "I sat at home alone because I can't afford to shop, travel or routinely eat in sit-down restaurants, my friends have families and gas prices are prohibitively high." I seriously doubt that. So don't ask. Because if you do, I'll say, "Fine," and you will think I'm being standoffish. And then you won't like me, which will stress me out and I will feel the need for chocolate.

"From the Fury of the Norsemen, O Lord Deliver Us"

2008-03-29T15:19:00.003-05:00

Outside the walls of Clonmacnois. An interesting reminder of what people bring down upon other people. And how, centuries later, the sacking of vibrant communities becomes a funny sort of art on the landscape.

The Navigator

2008-03-29T14:55:00.004-05:00

This is a photo of one of the stained glass windows in the Cathedral of St. Brendan the Navigator in Clonfert, Ireland. Why would I be looking at cathedrals in Ireland with any degree of interest? Well, in part, because I was there, and I am always interested in wherever I am, have been and will be. But also because St. Brendan was said to have sailed in a curragh from Ireland to North America centuries before either the Vikings or he-who-shall-remain-nameless-because-we-got-here-first made the voyage. And because Clonfert is only a few miles from my family's ancestral village of Ferbane (although I'm told that the Protestant Egans from the area are buried at Clonfert, while "my people," or the Catholic Egans, are buried at the nearby and exceptionally impressive Clonmacnois).

Brendan died circa 577 A.D., which means that he was a contemporary of the historical King Arthur (not the literary one), who occupied space only one island further east. In any case, there is a prayer attributed to Brendan, who in the Catholic list of saints is the patron of Kerry and Clonfert, as well as boatmen, sailors, mariners, watermen, travelers and whales. As I read it, I think that perhaps I will blame this pious monk who may well have been related to my ancestors, for my love of water and travel--and for my restless feet. And perhaps also, for my devotion to Baha'u'llah, who has called upon the Baha'is to do just what the prayer says:

Shall I abandon, O King of mysteries, the soft comforts of home? Shall I turn my back on my native land, and turn my face towards the sea?

Shall I put myself wholly at your mercy, without silver, without a horse, without fame, without honor? Shall I throw myself wholly upon You, without sword and shield, without food and drink, without a bed to lie on? Shall I say farewell to my beautiful land, placing myself under Your yoke?

Shall I pour out my heart to You, confessing my manifold sins and begging forgiveness, tears streaming down my cheeks? Shall I leave the prints of my knees on the sandy beach, a record of my final prayer in my native land?

Shall I then suffer every kind of wound that the sea can inflict? Shall I take my tiny boat across the wide sparkling ocean? O King of the Glorious Heaven, shall I go of my own choice upon the sea?

O Christ, will You help me on the wild waves?

Our First 24 Hours as a "B" Cluster

2008-03-22T13:36:00.002-05:00

Some observations and questions on Day Two of our new adventure in Baha'i activity:

1) I'm pretty sure that if the Universal House of Justice posted some of its letters and statements on YouTube, set to music or read as voiceovers to top-selling movie clips, more Baha'is would know what a "B" cluster is.

2) Regardless of that, some people do "get it." Case in point, my friend Shahab, who was away for Naw-Ruz and thus learned about our B-clusteredness (clusterficiation? clustericity?) via a Facebook post, and replied as follows:
+ Posted on my Facebook wall at 9:10 a.m.: "OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG...thats awesome. You just made my year!!!"
+ Posted on my Facebook wall at 9:11 a.m.: "ok I'm done celebrating what do you have to do to become an A cluster?"

3) Just when the cluster figured out what "cluster agencies" are, and what "growth analyst" and "data liaison" meant, we've gone and changed my job again, to "development facilitator." Next, I'm going to recommend that I get to be called "Zorro." Mostly because I like the whole sword and cape idea. It works for me.

4) Now I have to choose Writings for Feast, oh my.

A New "B" Cluster Says Happy Naw-Ruz!!

2008-03-20T22:23:00.002-05:00

So the news came through today: Our cluster has been elevated to "B" status by the Regional Baha'i Council. People were soooooo excited at the various Naw-Ruz celebrations in different towns. Mind you, half of our cluster isn't really sure what being a "B" cluster means. But it sounds good. (And what it means is that we have learned how to be systematic and follow directions; now we need to get focused and enthusiastic.)

I spent the evening at my friends' house. Tahirih and Travis hosted a potluck where those of us from Troy and the surrounding communities got together for good food (simple and delicious) and lots of laughter. We said a prayer together and then sang a few prayers. And then after dessert, some people visited in the kitchen, and a few of us (including my friend Samantha, with the professionally trained voice) gathered around with my friend Rick (who had located Travis's guitar) and sang Beatles and Beach Boys and random other tunes until it was time to go home.

A lovely evening all around.

Modesty, Moxie and Mid-day Foods

2008-03-18T20:03:00.003-05:00

Watching Dancing with the Stars for the second night. I have always had this hidden desire to learn to dance. I'm terrified of looking like an idiot ... after spending about 17 years as a drummer in a male-dominated field, I tend to feel the need to be twice as good and three times as tough at any sort of performance. Besides that, my friend Adiya and I were talking at a wedding a few months ago. Both having been raised in towns where each of us was the only Baha'i kid around--and therefore the example of all things modest, we laughed about being a bit ... reserved ... in male/female close-up situations. I think we ultimately ended up saying that as fun as salsa and ballroom and swing dancing seemed, it would have to be with the right partner, i.e., serious boyfriend of the marrying variety, great friend of the utterly comfortable type, or husband. But it sure looks like fun!

Especially since today at work I had a bit of an epiphany. One of my colleagues and I have very different approaches to things--and while that doesn't bother me, it does bother her. And she has developed a habit of going to our boss whenever she doesn't like something I do (even if it has nothing to do with her). So today, when she and another of our editors spent 90 minutes or so closeted in our boss's office behind closed doors, I started getting really edgy. And I still am. I have no idea what they discussed--and it could have nothing to do with me--but the fact that I'm so conditioned to being on the receiving end of her criticism that I physically react to even the suggestion of that possibility... Well, that's reason enough to be considering the options, I think.

Meanwhile, the Fast is nearly over. Just two more days. It's been an interesting one. Very difficult for me to wake up for breakfast this year for some reason. Naw-Ruz will be quiet. Our little community is just having a potluck at someone's house on Thursday night. Then perhaps lunch out with other folks on Friday (which I will have off from work).

Then there may be a chance to see my dad before he moves to Maine on Monday (with Mom to follow at the end of the school year). Speaking of which, 30 or 40 Baha'i friends gathered on Sunday night to wish my folks well. It was pretty crazy to be sharing dinner with people my family has known for going on 25 years (in many cases). Looking around the room and seeing people I remember being under age 10 ... with their boyfriends and husbands and munchkins, as my folks get ready to leave ... It was an odd feeling. I did have a few moments to chat with my friend Jack, who asked some pointed questions about what precisely I have planned next. I always enjoy the times I get to talk with him. Although he is my friend Abby's dad, he's also someone whose outlook and opinion I value all on its own. Overall, it was a lovely evening, and Mom and Dad went home happy--which was the point.

On a Personal Note

2008-03-12T19:41:00.002-05:00

Amidst the whirl of Baha'i activities, including numerous Fast-breaking dinners with friends or family, and home visits, and getting people together to bid my parents good luck in their new jobs at Green Acre, and Ruhi homework, and answering odd questions, and keeping track of what everyone's doing (and submitting reports), and trying to actually get up in time for breakfast...amidst all of that, some semblance of life goes on. And today, I had just a few things I wanted to say about that.

1. A brief note regarding a current hot topic here in New York State. As a Baha'i, my only comment on the subject has to do with the exhortation of Shoghi Effendi to cast civil ballots along the same criteria that we cast ballots in Baha'i elections. That is, by evaluating, to the best of our ability, the capacity, capability and character of the candidates. Quite a departure from our current secular political system and the situations it produces.

2. An ad caught my attention on TV tonight. It amuses me greatly that at some point in time, the male of the species apparently crosses an invisible line after which they wish to be referred to as "guys" and not "men." I didn't even catch what the ad was for (...although I can guess...), but just that it featured a gaggle of males, most of whom did not display characteristics that would have spurred me to refer to them as "guys" probably ever, and yet the marketer who cooked up this ad obviously thought that the term would be easier on the target audience's ears. Right.

3. Celebrated anniversaries for 5- and 10-year staff at work today. Wives, husbands and kids were all there for the event, and the recognition speeches all referred to the employees' families and the support they receive from loved ones at home. Yet another reason why I am apprehensive about the upcoming year. Not only am I questioning what I want for myself (as I have been for sometime) but I realized that next year, I would be one of those recognized--and not only would I have no one to attend and celebrate with me, but there would be no well-rounded, balanced presentation recognizing me as a person as well as me as a wordsmith and strategist. Quite a sobering thought.

4. News reports about IEDs and bombs make me cringe. I am trained as a journalist. My assistant and I are both total news junkies (she also comes from a newspaper background) and so we tend to surf past CNN between tasks during the day. Now, though, with M someplace in a war zone, I suck in my breath when I see a headline about service personnel killed or injured. It takes me a paragraph or two to remember that he's not out on patrol and not likely to be spending much time on the road. In fact, I'd bet 20 to 1 that he's probably in some form of stone or cement locale, possibly windowless, "playing with computers" and entertaining those around him with eclectic music choices. However, even knowing that's the vast probability, the headlines still make me pause. Unspeakably messy and complicated friendship though it may be, it's still the truest one I've ever known, and so I worry--sometimes, that's all there is to do, I guess.

"You Don't Speak Spanish?"

2008-03-09T19:52:00.003-05:00

One thing about the annual Fast for Baha'is is that it provides an excellent opportunity to catch up on sleep on the weekends, because events tend to be planned for the beginning or end of the day, not so much the middle. That was my reward yesterday--I just slept 'til I couldn't sleep no more. Thankfully, I'm not someone who focuses on the food aspect of things, really (since I missed breakfast twice this week). But the Fast does make me aware of how often, normally, I reach for food because I'm bored or stressed or sad or lonely or feeling in need of recognition or affection that isn't forthcoming. It also makes me aware of how much we eat at work--this coming week, I have four lunch meetings at which I will not be eating!

Today, my friend Leila and I spent some time with one of the new families that enrolled as Baha'is a couple of weeks ago. We took with us Spanish copies of The Hidden Words and the Kitab-i-Iqan (Book of Certitude) for them. I took my Spanish prayer book for them to borrow until we can get them one of their own. I also took my copy of Reflections on the Life of the Spirit (Ruhi 1) in English so I could show them the format of the course, since we have Spanish copies of the book on their way here--and we let them know that the Regional Baha'i Council is helping to find a couple of Spanish-speaking Ruhi tutors with current knowledge who can come tutor for them and their neighbors. We also introduced them to "Anna's Presentation," an introduction to the Baha'i Faith in Spanish, which they can get familiar with and then share with their neighbors. And we found out what else we could do to help them get involved with the Baha'i community, like giving rides to different events and having some of the local Spanish-speaking believers help them get a devotional gathering started in their neighborhood.

By the way, TOTAL shout-out to the Regional Baha'i Council of the Northeastern States. It is an incredible feeling to know how loving and supportive this institution is, in their presence at events, their willingness and eagerness to assist us all, and their constant encouragement...seriously, what an inspiration!

Anyway, Leila and I also spent a lot of time listening today. The family has some challenges--their younger kids are in foster care at the moment, the father is not able to work in the construction field in which he's trained (after an accident several years ago), etc. What they have is a strong sense of family and two older sons who are still tight.

The eldest is a Navy MP whom we have not met yet, although he's stationed nearby. His father dearly wants him to be exposed to the Baha'is because he says he doesn't believe in anything. Hearing about him makes me remember my childhood in northern Nevada, when sailors from the mountain warfare training facility taught all of us kids how to swordfight with empty paper towel holders during holy day celebrations at Byron and Marianne Hopper's house. I wonder sometimes how many of those guys that were enveloped in the love of the Baha'is took something away that they could believe in.

Their other son is a college student, studying construction technology. Long hair, tattoos up both arms...great reading voice, open mind and soulful expression. He says he was really struck by what his stepmom told him about the House of Worship in Wilmette, with the nine doorways open to all people, from all religions. He also says he considers his relationship with God to be very personal: "I know what's right and what's wrong. People aren't perfect--we're gonna mess up. But when I sin, and I go home before bed and say what I say to God, the important thing is to ask for forgiveness, but not do the same thing again." I already know he'll be reading the Baha'i introduction that we left with his folks. He is the one who, when we read prayers today, selected one for families. I read the prayer for unity--in Spanish. I finished and looked up to find him staring at me. He finally said, "You just read like that, and you don't speak Spanish?" I explained that I studied Spanish for eight years, so I understand it fairly well, I can read and pronounce it well, I usually understand what I'm reading...I just can't have a meaningful conversation. All of us had a very good laugh!

Bits of Nothing

2008-03-08T18:49:00.002-05:00

Nothing particularly important going on today. Just some notes about the week, things that made me think. So for now, I thought I'd jot a few things down while I watch Pride and Prejudice.

- Had dinner with my friend Leila on Tuesday. We tried a Mexican place we hadn't been to before--it was very good. She'd had a hard weekend, and so took the opportunity to spend the evening giving me the proverbial thump over the head about why it is that I seems as stuck as she feels. Career, geography, choice of men...all were fair game. She was more upfront than many people have the courage to be, and I appreciated it. Not entirely sure what to do about it--as usual--but I appreciated it.

- Heard from a high school classmate today. Someone I haven't seen or spoken to since our graduation. Yet again, I found myself looking at my life from outside and wondering what I've been doing for the last 14 years. She's on the opposite side of the country, with two kids, running her own business.

- Also had a note from M. He seems well, and fairly pleased with the lodging situation--he says "a little privacy in the middle of a war is a good thing." I can imagine it would be. Being in places such as where he is now...it's all part of the job. But still, I hope that he's taking care.

- Have been receiving random questions from members of our local Baha'i community lately. They remind me that I am not a patient person in most ways. I suppose that all I can do is try to be patient and kind, and not to say what is truly on my mind.

- Watched the movie Flyboys last night. I would recommend it--it's the story of the Lafayette Escadrille, the American squadron of pilots flying for the French in World War I. Well-done and full of exciting biplane and triplane action.

Ni Hao, Leah!!

2008-03-03T20:07:00.003-05:00

Today was Gotcha Day in China...the day my cousin Leah got to meet her new family for the first time. My Aunt Selina and Uncle Dan, along with my cousins Dylan and Cody, welcomed her with open arms, and presents, and, evidently, noodles. They won't be back to the States for a while yet, but...at least they are finally together.

Just Before Sunrise

2008-03-02T06:13:00.002-05:00

It's the first day of the Baha'i Fast, so here I sit, at 6:15 a.m., convincing my unwilling body that eating a healthy breakfast is a good idea. The sky is just beginning to lose its blackness in favor of a grayish cast.

In our cluster, the Baha'is are taking part in a "95 Steps. 19 Days." campaign during this Fast. Everybody's been asked to do one thing extra. One thing they are not already doing--like completing a Ruhi course, or starting the next one, or visiting someone to study a prayer or discuss a Baha'i topic. It's all tied to study circles, devotional gatherings, children's classes and junior youth groups. The idea is for each person to take one step, so that the whole area takes 95 steps. We're not quite there yet in the tally, but I am hopeful.

In addition to various other steps I'm taking (as one of the collaborators who cooked up this campaign, I suppose it's only to be expected that I'm doing more than one thing), I'm finishing Ruhi 3 today. That should be interesting.

Meanwhile, the signs of interest in the area keep turning up. Yesterday at the Ayyam-i-Ha party at a public library near here, I was visiting with my friend Jack and his granddaughter (okay, so ART was mostly chewing on my necklace, but, you know, whatever) near the door when a woman I didn't recognize asked me if this was the Baha'i, and was I one of them. Come to find out, she worked at Kodak in Rochester (3+ hours away) for many years and two of her dearest friends were Baha'is. So when she saw the sign that said "Ayyam-i-Ha," she wanted to find out where the Baha'is met here and how to contact them.

We chatted for some time. Jack knows one of her friends. And we pulled in another Baha'i from closer to where she lives to make a local connection. She was asking about the cultural background of the holiday, and mentioning how much of an outsider she feels in this area because she's been so many other places. My smile grew a little wider when she said she was originally from Shanghai. When I invited her to stay and have some food and join in the fun, she hesitated only a second before accepting, and then seemed to jump right in with everyone. She also asked that we keep her posted about Baha'i activities taking place in the area.

I however, left shortly thereafter as my carload mutinied--one of my friends had a couple buddies along, and the singalong and hula lessons sent them over the edge. They were quiet, but reaching a point of desperation... It sort of reminded me of my friend Rabi, who once brought a friend to the "Woodchuck Festival" that my parents and their friends used to host on Groundhog Day. Apparently Rabi had the impression...possibly because Frank Whitson told her so...that the event was a fireside (when Baha'is gather to informally answer questions about the Baha'i Faith with our friends). It wasn't. At all. But there was some dancing around a bonfire, into which people were tossing evergreen decorations from earlier in the winter. Rabi yelled "STOP!!" Everyone did. She looked at her friend and said, "This is NOT a Baha'i ritual!" Everyone said, "Right," and then went back to running around the fire and "sacrificing" tree parts. Sort of the same disclaimer we offered in the car yesterday: "Baha'is do not attach special significance to 1970s children songs and/or hula dancing; these reflect diversity in the community and should not be seen as official Baha'i rites or ceremonies. Any and all singalongs and dancing of various types are merely celebratory techniques and should not at this or any other time be seen as a mandatory activities at Baha'i functions."

The sun is now up, and the last section of Ruhi 3 is calling my name...

Presents and Futures

2008-02-28T22:21:00.002-05:00

Ayyam-i-Ha has been pretty quiet here so far. My mom loves doing the one-gift-per-day-thing (as do I, when circumstances permit), so I have had four lovely presents so far. A pair of cowboy and cactus socks; a very nice unabridged copy of The Dawnbreakers; a pair of earrings (as usual, chosen by my dad); and a nonstick omelette pan. I'm curious to see what's in tomorrow night's package. Meanwhile, I made cardamon bread--it's a Swedish traditional bread--for each of my teammates at work, my upstairs neighbors, my parents, myself (I only make it once a year usually!), one of my other coworkers who adores it, a loaf for the rest of my office to share and a couple loaves that found themselves magically transported to NYC (funny how the UPS truck just happened to be headed that way).

Last night was my parents' little Ayyam-i-Ha party, which turned out to be exceptionally "little" due to the snowstorm blowing through...just my folks, me, one of the people in their Ruhi 6 study circle and his wife, and my friend Gabe--who I grew up with and has moved back to the area with her husband. Then Saturday will be the cluster's big Ayyam-i-Ha party. I should be looking forward to it, but mostly I'm just hoping to disappear into a corner with the munchkins and not have to make small talk for several hours (not my forte).

And in other news...it appears the cat is out of the bag: Yup, my parents are headed north. On March 25, Dad starts as the new facilities coordinator at Green Acre Baha'i School in Eliot, Maine. Mom will be there as a volunteer a few weekends this spring, then on-site all summer, and on-staff as the newly created hospitality coordinator as of Oct. 1. They are looking forward to it with some trepidation--it's a huge step to leave the regular working world in order to serve the Baha'is. Keep them in your prayers.

I Wanna Go to the Zoo!

2008-02-26T19:03:00.004-05:00

You've gotta try this. Go to Build Your Wild Self. You get to choose all kinds of animal elements and build yourself as a critter. In my case, I picked reindeer antlers because of my Swedish lineage...and 'cause they're antlers, for pete's sake...cool! Polar bear ears 'cause I liked them and bears are cute. California condor wings for my homeland...er, state. And a Siberian tiger tail 'cause I like the stripes (and it twitches in the application--sassy!!). I found it on the Bronx Zoo site.

I think I might be exceedingly happy if I could get a job at a zoo. Or a museum. Or an aquarium. I would LOVE that. Educating munchkins and saving the world one endangered species (or fossil) at a time. Yup. Bliss.

Whirlwind and Declarations!

2008-02-25T16:10:00.003-05:00

What an insane week it's been. Although I didn't mention it in the last post, my car broke down in CT when it was time to leave NEBY, so we had to leave it there and get a ride home with friends. Which left me riding to and from work on Tuesday with a colleague, and then to work with her on Wednesday--and then my dad being kind enough to come get me and drive me the four hours back to CT to pay the four-digit repair cost so I could drive home, have the engine light come on halfway here, and get home late that night to find I had no heat in my apartment. (Heat has since been fixed and car's latest malfunction was corrected this morning, under warranty.) Thursday night, I picked up some Bread Basket cupcakes (the best) and went out to a local haunt for dinner with my folks to celebrate Mom's birthday. Friday night, mid-snowstorm, some friends and I got together for a pizza and movie night.

And then came Saturday, and the home visit to some seekers that I'd been asked to follow up with. Being not entirely insane, I asked my friend Shahab to come along with me. Good thing. We drove out to one of the housing projects, walked up to the apartment and found "Allah-u-Abha,” the Baha'i prayer and greeting that means "God is All-Glorious," written in chalk on the molding above the apartment door. We went in and spoke with the wife (who was raised in a Baha'i home but said she hadn't paid a lot of attention as a kid) and her husband, who had begun to learn about Baha'u'llah from his wife's parents. The family is Puerto Rican, and the complex where they live is nearly entirely Spanish-speaking.

We listened to their story, including the husband's explanation that he'd been raised Catholic but “it didn’t really take,” and when his mother-in-law told him about Baha’u’llah, he “felt that” (spoken as he thumped his fist against his heart). We walked through the statement on the declaration card with them, and found that at each step, they were offering up things they knew—the date of the Bab’s declaration; His station; Baha’u’llah’s place and date of declaration; ‘Abdu’l-Baha’s relationship to Baha’u’llah; and some of the laws, such as noninvolvement in politics. They lit up all over when we said they could register their kids at the same time--they have five under the age of 10, and filled out cards for all of them.

These incredible people called their older son (college-age) down from his room to be their when they signed their cards—although he is not sure that the Baha’i Faith is for him, he said he “had an open mind” and would listen to anything. And when we gave them some new prayer books and a copy of Gleanings from the Writings of Baha'u'llah, they wanted to read prayers with us right away. Not only did the wife, Shahab and I each read a prayer, but the son asked to read one for youth, and then at his father's request, he read a prayer for unity (his dad does not read English fluently).

This couple has already been teaching the Faith to their neighbors, including one woman who knocked on their door to talk to them about Christ and the Bible. When she finished, the husband told her that there was something she needed to hear, and he proceeded to tell her about Baha’u’llah. She asked if she could come back and have him tell her more. Now, he says, the neighbor feels that Baha’u’llah is the truth and considers herself a Baha’i. That is just one of the neighbors who will be invited to the Spanish-language Ruhi 1 study circle I’ll be tutoring at their home (wish me luck..my Spanish is rusty!). Meanwhile, Shahab will be starting children’s classes for the kids and their neighbors. And upon learning that Troy has only about nine Baha’is, the husband said, “That’s not enough! We will have to talk to more people!”

So our own community just doubled in size. And went from zero children to five of them. When added to a mother and her two children who enrolled as Baha'is late last week in a nearby city, our cluster grew by 10 percent in three days! And potentially more to come...!

Needless to say, the rest of Saturday was taken up with phone calls to members of our local community, our Auxiliary Board Member, and e-mails to members of the regional Baha'i Council. Plus a run to the grocery store with my friend Samantha, dinner out with Abby, Shawn and ART (who I introduced to refried beans and guacamole, because her parents and I are probably slightly warped). And then a few hours with my friend Dawn, both in her official LSA liaison capacity and mine as the cluster's data liaison, and also just as my pal who was cheering me on toward seeing a bit more of "that guy" regardless of my overwhelming inferiority complex and gigantic fear of rejection. :-)

Typing Tired

2008-02-18T20:05:00.002-05:00

I know better than to blog while exhausted. But I'm doing it anyway. It's just been that kind of weekend. NEBY was fantastic. Amazing music. Great talks. Inspiring devotions. Lots of laughter. Familiar friends to stay with and chill with. Old acquaintances to renew. And lots of people who are totally into spreading the Word of Baha'u'llah.

Then, in the midst of all of it, a few moments of pure, total calm. Maybe it's just me--but have you ever had the experience of feeling your normally jangling nerves suddenly settle into stillness when you're in a particular person's presence? Like something about them automatically balances your emotional pH? That's how it is whenever I'm near "that guy." I think I knew that before, but this weekend, because there were very few opportunities to meet, and even those opportunities were very brief, it became crystal clear. And two related things caught my attention also.

First, hugs, at Baha'i events, are pretty much a given. There are lots of them, and they are always heartfelt. But only this weekend did I learn how it feels to have someone drop their bags to fold me into a hug, reach out a hand on the way past, casually sling an arm around my shoulders while teasing me, or simply see me coming and wrap me into a hug when our paths crossed. There's something warm in that that defies any words I know and, for me at least, lets me exhale the breath that I sometimes don't even know I'm holding.

Second, I usually prefer to preserve my personal space (as my friend Betsey explains it, "I'm an MURR-cun; stay back..." as she swings her arms around her body to define the 3-foot radius that no one should violate whilst walking through international airports). But somehow this weekend, as on previous occasions with "that guy," I found myself in near-whispered conversations at close range, not out of necessity or choice of subject matter, but as if a momentary cocoon of "hush" descended. And in that, I suppose, there is just something quiet and gentle--almost fragile.

For me, those are all unique experiences--not ones that I expect are unique for many others, but things that are out of the ordinary for me. Not things I'm used to, but ones I've always wondered about. Things that are both scary in the vulnerabilities they reveal and uplifting in the pure, basic interaction they entail.

I wonder whether, in The Alchemist, that is what is meant by learning to listen to the truth the heart speaks, from the Soul of the World.

Contemplating Love and Other Mysteries

2008-02-13T21:29:00.002-05:00

Here it is, the eve of Valentine's Day. My folks sent me a card, which was very nice of them. But other than that, I expect no flowers tomorrow. No candy. No cards. Nothing special at all. Honestly, if I can just make it through the day with people stopping at the desks to either side of mine to compliment the ladies sitting there on the fine bouquets they are sure to receive (one is engaged; the other, pregnant), without drifting into a fairly profound depression, I will be content.

What's interesting though, is that for all the people who see me as utterly practical and unflappable and, to be dead straight with you, unemotional in the extreme ("ice queen" comes to mind), there is a smaller number who know that in fact, I am a complete romantic. I love song lyrics that say something real. And movies with happy endings involving ugly ducklings turning into swans and riding off into the sunset--forgive the mixed metaphor.

I'm difficult to surprise, but I love surprises. I don't "want" or "need" many things, but I love it when someone gives me a gift, especially as a "just because." Red roses from the wrong guy scare the hell out of me, but the idea of red roses from the right guy is enchanting.

So the distinction, I think, is this: I don't think that the romantic version of love for its own sake is real. But the gritty kind of love, the kind that rests on real people forming a real partnership and working to make it strong and lasting? That, to me, is romantic. I am too strong to want to be with someone who will always cave in to me, follow me and cast me as the leader in a relationship. And I am also too strong to want to be with someone who will constantly need to be the leader, need me to follow him and need me to give into him. I want the partner in crime, the equal, the person I would admire as much as a friend as I would as a man. I want the guy who's going the same direction I am, and wants to walk together for a while. Somebody who understands that one person will be stronger sometimes; and the opposite will also be true. Someone whose character is good on its own--and also good in partnership with mine.

It makes sense to me as 'Abdu'l-Baha explains it: "Humanity is like a bird with its two wings--the one is male, the other female. Unless both wings are strong and impelled by some common force, the bird cannot fly heavenwards."

What has been going through my mind most lately is a question, though. 'Abdu'l-Baha explains that, "...first thou must choose one who is pleasing to thee..." But how does "thou" know that "one" when he or she is found? And how does "thou" go from finding "one" pleasing to determining whether "one" finds "thou" pleasing? These are the things I do not understand.

The Week Ahead, The Week Behind

2008-02-10T18:37:00.000-05:00

Not exactly in that order. The week just past has been busy. Not only with the usual trying to keep up with necessities, but with helping my boss prepare to head off on her first true vacation in a couple of years. Also getting my apartment ready to host people last night, and spending money like water to try and infuse some new duds into my wardrobe (seriously, this means jeans, t-shirts and fleece items...I am someone who has no actual fashion style, and a job where I have to dress above jeans about once a year).

Last night, as you can see, was the first Baha'i 19-Day Feast (when we gather for worship, community business and fellowship) at my new apartment. Something about this flat seems to just set people at ease immediately. Our community often has a potluck dinner ahead of time, too, just to enjoy the experience of all being together. It helps that many of us are within a 10-year age range so we can all just chill. And then there's Franklin, who is nearly 2, and was thrilled to find that I still have my rocking horse from when I was a wee kid (yes, I am the heroine of the under-4 set).

The upcoming week boasts some interesting events. Of course, it's Valentine's Day...not my favorite holiday. I'll be fine, of course, but it is likely to be a long day. Also, M deploys to Iraq this week. And while we are not as tight as we used to be, he will certainly be in my thoughts and prayers.

And then there's NEBY. There are so many people from our area that will be going. I think about 25 of us at last count. I've never been, so I'm psyched just to get to see what's going on. And also psyched that I will get to see "that guy." And I remind myself again that he is really just a friend (regardless of how often he's in my head, the weird dreams, how excited I am to see him, and how dizzy I am when I'm around him). I have a sneaking suspicion that I will really only get to see him through a vast gang of people that I know he intends to meet up with. But still...sometimes, I am just a girl, who likes a boy (paraphrasing Julia Roberts in Notting Hill), and even a glimpse is better than nothing.

Stray Thoughts

2008-02-05T19:27:00.000-05:00

There are very few things that make me say, "This makes me want to gouge my eyes out," but in the last two days, two things have definitely arisen.

First, tonight's play-by-play of my nation's political primaries. Really, every statistical representation of how you GUESS the pre-election popularity contest MIGHT turn out? C'mon now. Let's just wait 'til the news at 11 (TOMORROW night, when perhaps the absentee ballots are counted) and then we'll know who has qualified to insult one another for the rest of the year. Yo.

Second, La Vie En Rose, the movie version of the life story of famed French singer Edith Piaf. Maybe I missed the sign, but the first thing I knew about the subtitles was when I started reading them...and then read the rest of the movie, thereby missing any subtleties of the story. To sum up: Deprived daughter of drunk street performer and circus performer grows up to be drunk stage performer, leads tragic life, sings well, dies of pickled liver. You pretty much get "not happy" when the most romantic and uplifting scene in the 2.5-hour movie is the 30 seconds when she's dreaming of the boxer she's having an affair with, right before she finds out he was killed in a plane crash the night before, and then she staggers through all the rooms of her apartment screaming his name in gut-wrenching despair. Party on.

Meanwhile, next weekend is NEBY. I'm kind of excited, although my shy streak is SOOOOOOOOOOO coming out. I feel exactly like I did when I went to Baha'i conferences and stuff when I was about 14, and everybody knew everybody, except me. And I wanted to fit in, but I really didn't. So I'm glad a ton of my friends are going so I at least know some people!

Restless!

2008-02-03T21:15:00.000-05:00

It is that time of year when I am absolutely losing my mind and wanting to be anywhere except where I am. Case in point, my desktop background at work is my very favorite place on earth (so far), which is the stone doorway through the wall at the edge of the New Lanark World Heritage Site in Scotland, which leads out onto the path along the Falls of the River Clyde. I love the place. I love the photo (above). And I haven't been there in nearly two years and have no idea whether I will ever get to be there again. Interestingly enough, for the first time, it is entirely the place I am missing, and not really J. While I have always missed the place most, there has also always been a tinge of missing J mixed in. But he is finally as happy as he deserves to be, in good health, with a girl who entirely suits him, and a job he is (at last check) enjoying, and playing the music he loves. And so I am happy for him. But I miss the place.

Meanwhile, all around me, lives are moving on, things are happening, and I am feeling utterly stuck and irritated in that I don't have the ability to just up and flip my whole life upside down just to see where everything lands. People are moving, marrying, buying houses, having kids, traveling, changing jobs, changing careers, doing new things and I am repeating the same bloody day over and over and over again. It's like my own personal Groundhog Day, only I'm not nearly as amusing as Bill Murray. It occurred to me recently that it takes 10 months to create a human life, yet I seem to take way the heck longer than that to find a way to change mine.

Today, thankfully, I got to spend a couple of hours not being the serious person with too many responsibilities and not enough adventures. It is always a pleasure to hang out with my friend Dawn and her munchkins, because I don't have to be anyone in particular, and I don't have to be serious. We can explore the fish tank in L.L. Bean and come up with names for the fish, and introduce Lila to the differences between kayaks and canoes, and play "You're so not quick enough to get my glasses, kid" with Liam. And indulge a few guilty pleasures, like trying on lotions in Bath and Body Works, and buying romance novels at the bookstore (yes, I'm an editor, but unlike most people I know, that means that when I come home at night, I don't want to read something serious, and I don't want to read something deep or depressing--I just want to read a happy story where the princess gets her prince, even if he starts out as a frog).

And in two weeks, I will be in CT with several of my friends and several hundred people I don't know, most of whom are way younger than I. Among them will be "that guy," who, for all that he is, in reality, just a friend, is still in my head. So my inferiority complex is kicking in at full strength. Ridiculous. But true.

Nostalgia

2008-01-28T22:06:00.000-05:00

I just flipped on the TV in time to see Mr. Miyagi giving Daniel-san the "Wax on, wax off" directions. It was a moment.

Head Spinning

2008-01-27T20:32:00.000-05:00

There are simply not enough hours in the day to accomplish all the things one needs to accomplish. This is a realization that I constantly fight against, as if somehow, by keeping my head going triple time, I will actually get more done. (Just FYI, all this does is make me move slower or just stand still while my head spins around like whatsherface in The Exorcist.)

Physically, the liquid bandage is wearing off and the stitches are obviously dissolving as intended. I have my follow-up visit with the surgeon tomorrow afternoon. when he will likely tell me that all is well. My one question will be "When will it be okay for me to go see a chiropractor to get my neck straightened out?" Moving beyond that, I really need to get the whole cholesterol/blood pressure concern under control, per my regular doctor. I have an exercise plan. I have some dietary guidance. Now I just need to remember how to live my life outside my head so I actually enact and stick with those things.

And being an only child, my default setting is "alone." Which means that I love my privacy and quiet time, but I have no doubt that it will be waiting for me when I go home after whatever I'm doing. So I look for every opportunity to be with people, so that alone time doesn't see like a constant, karmic punishment. Even when I'm home by myself, the TV is usually on for background noise. (You know how they used to put people in a dungeon in solitary confinement until they went crazy? That's the alternative.) So I've been contemplating what movies I've seen a million times and have grown to like simply due to overexposure--cinematic value notwithstanding. Among them are the following:
- Down Periscope, which is, I admit, one of the stupidest movies ever made. I find it hilarious.
- The Replacements, because it seems to showcase Keanu Reeves' natural ability to express absolutely no emotion for a good couple of hours, yet still be quite amusing. Ole, ole-ole-ole!
- The Longest Yard, which also falls under the "stupidest movies ever made" category. And cracks me up.
- The Hunt for Red October: "You arrogant ass! You've killed us!" Priceless.
- Whatever that one is where Amanda Bynes goes to England and finds out Colin Firth is her father, and also, that cute Brit boys do randomly play guitars and sing in youth hostels.

Also, my least favorite holiday approaches soon. I will be the one in my office wishing to disappear for the day. The woman who sits to one side of me at work is engaged; the one who sits to the other side is pregnant with her first child. Two of the other women on my team appear to be awaiting engagement rings. Another is cheerfully dating one of colleagues from another department. And then there's me, who just doesn't wish to deal. I'm not bitter. I'm just ... removed. As with many situations in my life, I simply can't relate. I don't know what it's like to have that sort of relationship with someone, and so I just can't appreciate the relationships around me quite so much. Especially on the one day each year when everyone celebrates them. And I never have.

Jalapeno With an Ascendant in Cancer

2008-01-23T22:45:00.000-05:00

So my apartment is overwhelmed by the subtle scent of chili tonight. My office is having a chili cook-off on Friday, and I am simmering my contribution tonight so it can settle. Because even though my boss's boyfriend is a professional chef (and is cooking my boss's entry in the contest), I am confident that no yella-bellied, flatland, greenhorn, East-Coast tomato sauce is gonna beat real northern California chili. Boy howdy.

This morning, one of my colleagues finally ran my astrological chart. Our company is one that requires us to take a lot of personality and workstyle profile tests. Our team decided that we'd see if our astrological charts were just as accurate and said the same things. The answer: Yes and yes. In any case, apparently I have a rather intense (gee, no kidding) and complicated astrological situation. Needless to say, my colleague sees this as a fascinating puzzle. I see it as confirmation that destiny and I do not seem to be the best of friends.

I spent a couple hours on the phone with my Aunt Anne earlier this week. She cracks me up. We're getting ready for the big family reunion (or, as I keep calling it, "family meet-for-the-first-time") in Sweden in September. For my part, that means checking out airlines and in-country infrastructure. Aunt Anne is on the "what cool stuff can we do while we're there" quest. We're all about the Viking center...although honestly, the idea of the resident Viking reenactors kinda worries me. I'm not sure whether to think of it as like the creative anachronists (erm, odd...) or like the credit card commercial involving the hoard of Vikings. And then, of course, I'm intrigued by the idea of getting to use the photo caption "Me with Sven and Ole and the boys."

What Da Song Says

2008-01-22T21:59:00.000-05:00

For Christmas, my boss got us all iTunes gift certificates. I think I had mine less than 24 hours before collecting some of my fave songs. So here they are, along with a brief thought for each. (Ahem...)

My Strongest Weakness by Wynonna. Obvious to anyone who knew me in the 1997 to 2006 period. Less obvious to those who have met me in the last couple of years. Probably very obvious to anyone who reads this blog regularly.

Beat the Drum by Great Big Sea. A little nostalgia. this reminds me a lot of when I was drumming as a teenager, in my first pipe band, where we did loads of fun stuff in addition to the hard work.

Where Do You Go To, My Lovely by Peter Thompson. SOOOO folky, 1950s, 1960s kinda thing. Just a little "you're so foreign; psych--not really" goin' on.

Heads Carolina, Tails California by Jo Dee Messina. I'm restless by nature and have frequent urges to jump in the car and drive until I reach warm weather and ocean. This song expresses my ideal situation.

Piece of My Heart by Faith Hill. Angry chick music, but without the Janis Joplin insanity or Melissa Etheridge violent lesbian overtones. And sort of explains why I am often (in person, perhaps not in blog) so guarded--if not, I give too much and pretty much request that someone take advantage of my affection and desire to make them happy.

Blame It On Your Heart by Patty Loveless. More angry chick music. Also a lot of fun to sing along with (as are most of these).

Bye Bye by Jo Dee Messina. And now we move on to the strong chick music. Because really, whatever the wrong choice is, watching it disappear in the rearview mirror is pretty empowering.

New Strings by Miranda Lambert. More strong chick music. This is my "Does geography have the power to change reality?" song.

Watching Airplanes by Gary Allan. I just know how the songwriter feels on this one. When you know exactly what's goofed up but you don't know how to respond, so you second-guess and you worry about it and you contemplate crazy things and all the time, you're really just watching the world move on.

I'm Alright by Jo Dee Messina. I think this might be my anthem. Seriously. It's about a woman who just is who she is, middle of the road, gettin' by, and how she relates to someone who she used to know who's taken a different road. It's what I sing when I need to reassure myself that I'll be okay--or when I'm happy with where I am.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. This is the musical equivalent of a hammock on the porch of a beach house, with warm sun and a light breeze off the ocean. Aloha.

My Love's Been More Than Two Hours Long by Martin Kerr. Definitely one of my favorite songs ever. Having folks who do not believe in fairy dust, I appreciate this song greatly. The chorus describes my attitude perfectly: "Love at first sight isn't wrong; mine's been growing daily." I stumbled across this last spring, and it fit my playful mood. Curiouser and curiouser.

Fireflies by Martin Kerr. A great song about falling in love in unexpected ways, with people from unexpected places, all with smooth vocals and a simple instrumental score. Late night lullaby music--or a waltz on the porch. My favorite line? "And you said I'd be giving you a ring / But girl, you're not from England; your rings aren't on the phone / You meant you'd be making me your own."

Level With You by Martin Kerr. Total ear candy. But ear candy about people who get together and stay together, and what they learn in the process. Nicely done.

Henehene Kou Aka by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. Really, it's not hard to pick up the Hawaiian lyrics. And who doesn't love the idea of "always a good time / for you and I"? Seriously?

Cute Kids

2008-01-20T14:10:00.000-05:00

So last week, while I was off work, my friends Dawn and Abby brought their respective munchkins over for pizza and "bernias" (brownies, per the too-fast two-and-a-half-year-old pronunciation). So here are the cuties, captured quickly.

The angelic Angeline (also known as ART):

The wee man, Liam:

The lovely and lyrical ("sweety-petey, oh rudy") Lila:

Dreams

2008-01-19T11:41:00.000-05:00

Okay, first, medical update: In technical terms, I'm doing freakin' awesome. Other than a little bit of tired here and there, the whole recovery is going fabulously.

Now, on to the subject line. Yet again, I woke up this morning to one of those confusing yet uplifting dreams involving "that guy." Very strange. Some people dream a lot. I do not. Or rather, I don't usually remember dreams. And my dreams are usually pretty clearly understood and generally of the "alright, alright, I get it" variety. Unlike a former coworker, I'm not the sort of person who dreams in dread of something (in her case, making a mistake that would cause one of our VPs to lock her in a conference room to fight a ninja to the death--but she made friends with the ninja and they escaped together).

I had nightmares periodically as a little kid--usually didn't have a clue what they were, just that they scared me silly. Have, as an adult, had one or two dreams involving specific people, usually simply reassurances that something was fine, or that wherever I was in an interaction made sense (i.e., the "it's hard to let go of someone you care for, and that's okay, you don't have to pretend they don't exist or this doesn't hurt" dream).

Several years ago, I had a vivid dream--more of a vision, really--involving the Bab and Baha'u'llah, that rededicated me toward all things Baha'i.

But at no time have I repeatedly, and with such inexplicable frequency and reiteration, dreamed of interactions with the same single individual. Especially not dreams that allow me to wake up with a refreshing sense of cheerfulness and calm optimism about something entirely unknown. Who knows? Definitely "that guy" is a cherished friend, and a delightful companion when we are in the same location. I don't know what this whole dream thing is about. It makes me curious.

In my quest to understand everything (an infuriating characteristic, I realize), I was chatting with a friend whom I've known a long time, and who has a fair bit in common with me as far as backgrounds go. We were laughing about guys we've known and assumptions we've held. In her case, based on the Baha'i teachings about the importance of unity among the races, she had long thought she would end up with someone of substantially darker skin color (not difficult, as she's as pale as I am) with mad musical skillz. Of course, her current gentleman is ... as pale as we are, and has no musical talent at all, although a great appreciation. I, however, had long assumed that I would wind up with either a cop/soldier (long history of positive influences) or a Baha'i of some degree of Persian extraction. I don't know where the latter idea came from, but it's been with me a long time--and it's odd, because I've never been in communities with large numbers of Middle Eastern Baha'is, and those whom I have known have not generally possessed character traits that I thought would be particularly positive in combination with my own.

"That guy," however, I get on with famously. And he is of Persian extraction although somewhat different ethnic identity. And he apparently keeps showing up in my head when least expected. "Think, think, think," said Winnie the Pooh. "Curiouser and curiouser," said Alice.

The Eve of My Return

2008-01-16T19:09:00.000-05:00

Bright and early tomorrow morning, I'll head back to the office. There's no reason to stay out longer--although the idea is tempting.

You know, my friends have wished me well with the whole surgery thing. Thoughts, prayers, and plenty of "don't push it" and "take your time healing." But it's occurred to me that I only heard that from two professional contacts. One is a co-worker who has cancer and whom I've repeatedly told to ease up on himself and let himself heal (during six months of chemo). The other is the NYC photo guy, who had gotten in touch about showing his portfolio and then gave me hell for writing him back the same day I had surgery. The rest of the comments from work have been in the vein of "Glad it went well; now hurry back."

Considering that yesterday, one of my colleagues called me to ask a question that did not require my input, but she's so used to asking me for validation of things that she decided to call, it sort of makes me feel a little pressured. Then today, reading my work e-mail (preemptive strike to give me a head start tomorrow morning) just made me feel totally stressed.

My friends' take on the subject is that I should develop "complications" and stay out several more days. But that would be lying. And that's not me. So yeah, the incision line hurts (extra strength Tylenol every 6 hours or so) a bit still. The muscles of my back are still twinging, and my back and neck are popping and adjusting. So I will go in, and I will probably leave early.

Is it distressing to anyone else that the most relaxed I've been in several years was the hour I spent in the MRI tube in November, when no one could reach me, and I couldn't do anything even if I wanted to? There's something off about that...

The Deed Is Done

2008-01-15T17:03:00.000-05:00

Well. What can I say? I can stand up straight for the first time in years. My right eye no longer seems oddly detached from my left. The veins in my right wrist have miraculously reappeared at a proper diameter. I can sleep on my stomach and lie on my back. I can breathe better, swallow better, and generally feel better than I have in a long, long time.

So, kudos to Drs. Reynolds (surgeon) and Wurl (anesthesiologist), as well as Robin, Chris, Kelly, Jo and about three more nurses whose names I can't remember. A fabulous job altogether. And I would definitely recommend the Saratoga Surgery Center--caring staff and very pleasant facility.

Mom had booked us a hotel in Saratoga Sunday night due to forecasted snow and a 6:30 a.m. appointment. I actually got a fairly restful sleep before getting up tres early. I was totally coherent and lucid through the whole pre-op period, including my EKG, the insertion of the IV into the back of my left hand, my attachment to the automatic blood pressure taker thingy, and the pulse-ox finger doohickey. That meant being awake enough to make sure that Dr. Wurl knew I didn't want to know anything about anything until Dr. Reynolds was all done. And teasing Dr. Reynolds about having had his Wheaties that morning, gaining a laugh, as he took a purple marker and drew pretty pictures (AKA incision lines) on my back.

About five minutes before I was supposed to go into the operating room, they pushed some kind of anti-anxiety drug, which, by the IV, hit like a load of cement flowing over me, Still totally coherent, just viewing everything through a fog. With that, they wheeled me off to the OR, where they asked me to roll from the gurney onto my stomach on the operating table. That's when they started to push the real sedation, and the last thing I remember is having the nurse anesthetist sit down in front of me and move my arms out onto arm boards like I was going to swim the breast stroke. When I came to, the nurses were using a soap solution to clean off my shoulders and neck, explaining what they were doing as they went along (to which I said "okay"), then asking me to roll back onto my back on the gurney. They covered me with a layer of warm blankets, as I said "So the shakes go away, right?" (answer: yep) and wheeled me out to the post-sedation area. As I resurfaced from the haze, I chatted with one of the nurses, who observed my vital signs, waited for me to cough (a key post-sedation sign to ensure that depressed lung function is restarted) and made sure I got some juice into me. Mom came back to sit with me, and then we all went over the post-discharge instructions.

Dr. Reynolds had stopped by the waiting room earlier to let Mom know when I was out of surgery, and he'd mentioned that the lipoma was "a bit larger" than expected. When he stopped by to see me before discharge, he told us how much larger...the size of a styrofoam coffee cup, rather than a small clementine. So a little more than double the anticipated size, and definitely pressing on all sorts of nerves, blood vessels, veins and bones. The good news was that it lifted out easily and the incision stitched up nicely.

Mom and I were out of there by about 9:30 a.m., and went to pick up the hydrocodone on the way to IHOP for some breakfast (kudos to my friend Ashley, who offered invaluable "eat before painkillers" advice). I took the minimum hydrocodone dose then, around dinner time, and again before bed. This morning I switched to straight extra-strength Tylenol, which is doing fine. And to be honest, it still doesn't hurt nearly as much as the constant ache I was dealing with before surgery, so YAY!

The incision line is about 4.5 inches long, sealed with fully dissolvable, internal stitches, and covered with a liquid bandage. It goes from about an inch and a half left of my spine, along the collarline, to about 3 inches right of my spine. It will heal up over the next couple weeks, when I'll go in for my post-op appointment and be sure everything's looking good. Meanwhile, my spine and the muscles around it are slowly getting to be friends again, with minor twinges and tweaks and pops and such.

I think I'm a major fan of modern medicine.

Better...and Worse

2008-01-11T23:53:00.000-05:00

I've been doing so well at not bursting into tears at random moments. Tonight, though, sorta cancels that streak. But I'll get to that.

I found out some good news first today. My surgery will be first thing Monday morning, and when I asked how long they intended to keep me for observation afterward, I learned that the anesthesiologist has decided to use MAC, rather than true general anesthesia. I'm good with that. Since I have to be face-down for this, I wasn't excited about the intubation that accompanies general anesthesia. With MAC, I get to skip the muscle relaxers that make that necessary, so I'm breathing on my own, but otherwise I'll be totally unaware of anything going on, and not remember anything about it. Right on. That's a load off my mind.

Then my friend Lua came over and we had dinner and some form of non-dairy crazy good dessert, and watched the movie Come Early Morning, starring Ashley Judd. It was a good movie, although the ending was a bit too realistic for my taste. And as usual, we had fabulous conversation involving an upcoming trip to the Northeastern Baha'i Youth Festival, her students (she teaches high school physics), various random topics, and her fairly terrific boy. Okay, so he's rather far beyond "boy" stage. But he still gets my enthusiastic approval for being perhaps one of the nicest individuals I've had the pleasure to meet in quite sometime. And he's crazy about Lua. And that's a good thing.

And then I came back upstairs and checked my e-mail. There was a message that sort of hit the solar plexus. It's really hard to read something and know that you're totally helpless. For so long, I knew what to do in this situation. I could mobilize the care-packages and cards like nobody's business. Offer unequivocal support, a shoulder and an ear. Send hugs--or give them, if time allowed. And now ... the rules have changed. So all I can do is pray.

And remind myself that Baha'u'llah's footsteps fell along the Tigris, too.

Only Minorly Terrified

2008-01-09T22:16:00.000-05:00

Okay, so it will come as no surprise to anyone that I am a bit of a control freak. Not, by the way, intentionally so. Just, well, sorta turned out that way. Also a coping mechanism, but that's a little too much psych for right now.

Yes, I am the one who gets around her issues about flying by doing some preflight preparation. For some, that would take the form of relaxing meditation or a stiff drink in the moments leading up to the flight. For me, it takes the form of checking airline safety records and aircraft crash histories due to mechanical or human failure unrelated to terrorism. I therefore have an overwhelming preference for French-made aircraft as well as airlines based in small, highly industrialized European island nations. No, I don't take it quite to Rainman levels, but I do my research.

So it only makes sense that, leading up to my surgery this coming Monday, I have studied up on the type of tumor, its location, possible complications, the details of general anesthesia, possible complications of that, aftereffects, etc. I realize that many people would rather not know ("Let the nice man with the scalpel do his job, and wake me up when it's over"). I am the opposite. I'm sure the nice man with the scalpel is entirely capable--after all, this is normal for him; it is not normal for me. Therefore, I want to know what he's doing so I know what to expect. And, frankly, I'd rather scare the bejeepers out of myself and panic a week ahead of time, thereby being fairly calm by the day of the procedure, and able to joke with the nurses and doctors and be that patient who, you know, they don't want to kill or maim.

And then there's the recovery time. Since they are knocking me out cold for this (hallelujah--except for the intubation, which does not get me all excited, but I've been promised I won't be conscious for it, nor for the removal of it), I have to have someone drive me in, drive me home and stay with me for the 24 hours after surgery. And possibly slightly more depending on what sort of painkillers they prescribe. That someone, in this case, will be my mom, who is taking a couple days off work for the occasion. I love my mom. But as I've mentioned before on this blog, the woman has a cleaning obsession. And it doesn't stop when she leaves her house. She also cannot sit still for longer than about 30 seconds at a time. If my folks still had a house where I could go to recuperate, this would not be an issue--I could retreat to a bedroom, and Mom could putter and pace and sweep and mop and sponge things to her heart's content. But my folks now have a one-bedroom apartment. So my mom is coming to my place for the recovery period. This makes me edgy, because I feel that I have to entertain her--or at least stock up on cleaning supplies. And then deal with my sneaking suspicion that I must not clean well enough on my own if every surface requires a second, within-an-inch-of-its-life, bathroom-floor-so-clean-you-can-eat-off-it scrubbing. I am already plotting Netflix strategy to get a movie here at an appropriate time. And trying to unearth all books of interest to leave in obvious places. And trying to make sure that I have food in the house that she will eat (my dad has gone stringently vegan for health reasons, and my mom has regressed to sticks, nuts and berries with frequent commentary, both of which tend to make me feel incredibly self-conscious about my single-working-chick-living-alone fare). I will be a good surgically impaired hostess. I will. I will. I will.

Why don't they prescribe the narcotics BEFORE the surgery? Seriously.

Floodwaters Rising

2008-01-05T23:09:00.000-05:00

I have lived in so many places ... it's still odd to hear familiar towns tossed about on the news. In particular, locations in Nevada and the Sierras.

Earlier this year, it was the gazillionaire pilot who who disappeared while flying from a "private airstrip" near Yerington, Nevada. Now, you gotta be pushing it when you're using Yerington as the nearest large point of reference. But you also gotta realize that it is the closest thing to a home of record that I had as a kid (spring of kindergarten through winter of fourth grade). So I heard that description and immediately called my mother to say, "Flying M?" Because everyone, once upon a time, knew that Baron Hilton was the only one out there with a private airstrip. And also the Flying M is probably the size of a small New England state, and mostly sagebrush and sand. It also helps when you realize that my dad did the gas work on the ranch, so we'd hear stories about the Flying M as a matter of course. Dad had a great deal of respect for Mr. Hilton. Having been lost overnight in the desert near there with my folks when I was about 5 or 6, I can assure you that I had no trouble picturing a plane going down and a man either sitting still or walking until he ran out of energy and running into no other people.

And now, it's a levee breaking on the Truckee and flooding Fernley. We had to drive through Fernley to get to Reno, where we'd go grocery shopping every two weeks until they put the real live grocery store in Yerington. And then still every couple weeks to the chiropractor--who happened to be a Baha'i, and a good friend of my folks.

Even more intriguing, they're measuring the wind at 163 mph on Donner Summit. Yes, to some, that area is still known because of the people who didn't make it any further on their journey west--in storms not unlike these. But to me, it's where we drove, where we skied, and where my dad rode his bicycle in the 100-mile ("century") rides that took athletes over the highest peaks in the Sierras in a matter of hours.

My life has been in so many segments. So sometimes Nevada seems like forever ago. And sometimes, it seems like I could step through a window in my memory and be right there.

On the Brink and a News Flash

2007-12-31T22:18:00.000-05:00

Yes, it is creeping up on 2008, less than an hour from now. And here I sit, by myself, watching the news. Oh, the exciting life I lead. I will admit that this does seem to go along with being single and traditionally a person who prefers a few close friends to massive crowds of people I don't really know. It does, however, lead me to contemplate the meaning of the universe, the mysteries of life, and what it is that I'm (not) doing. You know, the "I should be doing something I love everyday; life isn't infinite, so carpe diem; vini, vidi, vici" thoughts that are inevitably followed by the "why DOESN'T money grow on trees" thoughts which inevitably lead still farther toward wearing an indentation in my favorite chair while puzzling through the conundrum.

So, resolutions. I don't usually make them. But let's go for these, if I were making them. Health: Better, lighter and minus the Quasimodo lipoma that will be removed two weeks from today (after which, I'll be able to actually use my back properly, which should help with the "better" and "lighter"). Career: Better, moneyer and funner, with offshoots involving things I really like and that might open new doors for me down the road--like, roads that involve passport stamps and new adventures. Friendships: Better, including Baha'i activities, and maybe actually meeting my neighbors when we're not shoveling our cars out...again. Love: Let's not go there--I think I'll pay attention to the other three areas and just hope for the best in this one.

Also, fantastic news came today from my Aunt Selina and Uncle Dan in Arizona. After more than two years of waiting, they've received the approval to go get their little girl from China. Her name will be Leah Kaylin King (currently Dang Li Ying) and she hails from the Tongren area of Guizhou Province, which is in the south-not-quite-eastern part of the country. Suffice it to say that she is a bit of a surprise. My aunt, uncle and their five kids and one grandkid had been picturing our Leah as a delightful baby, ready to be delivered into their arms and transplanted pretty much without difficulty into her new American home and family. Now contemplate that my new "baby" cousin apparently recently turned 4. That would be years, not months. Whoo-boy. The car seat, crib and accoutrements will require some quick rethinking. Also, the whole "what language barrier?" theory is pretty well out the window--this kid probably thinks she can express herself quite clearly, thank you. So I will be the very best grown-up cousin I can be (which should probably start with learning how to say, "Hello, dear one. I'm your cousin," in Mandarin; thankfully, "that guy" and my friend Sam can both help with that). So here she is. Meet my very cute cousin Leah:

Notes for Sunday

2007-12-30T11:49:00.001-05:00

- Get blood drawn at an outpatient clinic on the weekend, because it's tres fast. Yay!

- Check out Martin Kerr and his new CD, I Know You're Out There. Good stuff. And I'm somewhat addicted to "My Love's Been More Than Two Hours Long," because we Baha'is have needed some good ceilidh songs, and this one gets it done.

- Also, a proven antidote to cold, dreary, overcast Northeastern days is a highway, a defiantly open sunroof (with heat kicked up rather high to compensate) and Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo'ole singing the somewhat altered and slightly risque lyrics to "Henehene Kou Aka." And for those of you who didn't think that song had slightly blue lyrics, you haven't heard Bruddah Iz sing it.

Reel Life

2007-12-29T22:23:00.000-05:00

In the last two evenings, I have seen two movies that are new to me. Yesterday afternoon at work, I was bouncing off the walls, so I called up my friend Abby and offered to use my movie gift card to get us in to see something in the theater. And after some debating between chick-flick and smart film, we went for the more intelligent side. Charlie Wilson's War is a great movie. Tom Hanks and Julie Roberts are both brilliant as always, and Philip Seymour Hoffman shows some amazing deadpan comedy. It is probably the most entertaining presentation of a really serious subject that I've seen in a long time. You sort of see the ending coming, but not quite the way they play it. When I was in NYC in November, and whatsisname and I went to see American Gangster, this was one of the previews that got an enthusiastically shared "Yep"! And it lived up to that.

Then, today, much to my surprise, my new DVD from the mail-order rental service arrived earlier than expected. So this evening, I got to watch Broken English. The director tried to take it a bit art-housey in tone, probably as a nod to the French influence in the film. But once I got past that, it was actually quite an insightful flick. The main character is not unlike me--of similar age, friends all married, engaged, etc., and disillusioned at being alone. IN her case, however, she deals with it by drinking vast quantities of alcohol and having gratuitous sex with strangers. Not exactly my technique. In any case, edgy, somewhat depressed and isolated, she takes a step out of her comfort zone, comes in contact with a younger (barely noticeable), low-key Frenchman who truly is interested in her, and even while she spends time with him, she continues to try to be responsible and upstanding and everything that is expected of her. He leaves. She is even more out of sorts with things around her. She winds up in Paris looking for him. Circumstances conspire against her and she gets even farther outside her comfort zone (in a good way). And it winds up in a happy, yet nontraditional, ending. So why did this appeal to me so much?

Aha. The answer to that is simple. Because the most flattering thing someone (of the male persuasion, and in whom I have at least a passing fancy) can say to me is something to the effect of "Come with me," or "Come see me," or "Come here." But it has to be that blunt. It has to be "I desire the pleasure of your presence." Just a request to be in the same place at the same time, and even more so than that, an invitation to share the place he is--not to meet somewhere neutral, but to see who he is, where he is. I have only know two men like that though.

J was the only one who had the courage to put it so baldly: Come stay with me so I can show you around; I wish you were here. The invitation opened up so many possibilities and adventures. And I did go, and there were some adventures, and the possibilities didn't exactly turn out. But it was a tantalizing glimpse at what it is like to have someone just care to share time of no particular importance.

The other one, of course, is "that guy." For him, too, it's something of a cultural thing, I think, the ability to just pass time with people. His family is that way, he says. But he's able to say that it was good to see me and tell me to come back soon. It's a nice thing to have someone say, when that is just who they are. Especially because, while I am not unadventurous, I prefer to be adventurous with someone. Perhaps it's being an only child, and so my default setting is "alone," but I really like the idea of somebody actually wanting me around--me specifically, not me as part of a crowd.

I was thinking about "that guy" the other day--when I was in college, my friend Nancy said to me that she thought I gave up on men I liked too easily. I am quite sure that neither M nor J would agree with her. But in a different sense, she probably had a point. The two of them were entirely different situations from those Nancy was pointing out, both screwed up and unhealthy in their own unique ways. Nancy, though, was talking at the time about situations very much like "that guy." The ones that I talked myself out of because they were too exotic or too good-looking or too smart or too athletic or too artistically talented or too whatever. And in fact, they were just who they were. And I was just who I was. And so now, while still considering "that guy" a friend, I do also find myself considering why it is that, since such a delightful person doesn't despise my existence, I'm not looking for more opportunities to at least be where he is. Sometimes, I think perhaps I just don't make sense.

Can I also add, in a total non sequitur, that my upstairs neighbors are not exactly the gentlest of walkers? And also, I'm fairly certain that their doorbell works no better than mine, and that, where my visitors have instructions to just call my phone if I don't answer the bell, it appears that their visitors simply yell "HEY!" from the street in the general direction of their windows. Which, being on the third floor, are above mine. Thus I get the pleasure of the angry-sounding people on the street. But, it looks like I can maybe set out window boxes in the spring. So yay!

Ze Qvest Continues

2007-12-26T21:45:00.000-05:00

Well, here it is, Wednesday night, the night after Christmas, and I am tracking the "what have I done lately" things that go through one's mind occasionally.

I've succeeded in taking three genuine grown-up steps in the last few days:
1. Made a creative network connection all on my own
2. Acquired a cordless drill (thanks, Shawn and Abby!)
3. Purchased coffee that requires brewing

In the process, I have braved my hesitance about contacting those who are, perhaps, better at what they do than I am at what I do. I have gotten to spend a lovely morning with one of my favorite wee kids, who graced me with grins and grabs for my glasses (thanks, ART!), while I chatted with her mom about the shared and sometimes isolating experience of growing up Baha'i in America. And I have tasted some flavor of coffee (Ipanema sumpin'-sumpin') that tasted no less vile to me than any other flavor, but gave me an opportunity to chat with a barista who was kind enough to inform me about the various terms that describe the taste notes within this beverage whose appeal I cannot fathom, but that I should keep on hand for visitors.

I'm also actually making attempts at interior decorating--I have no style, very little money and cheap, handmade or hand-me-down furniture, but an eye for what I want to see where to make my home welcoming. I've found two or three places where I might be able to exhibit some photos and see what sells (if I can learn how to mount them properly, in order to keep the cost of this endeavor under control).

And in one of my total non sequiturs, it is now time to turn my full attention to the only awards show I truly love: The Kennedy Center Honors. There is nothing like seeing the very best of the best saluting the cream of the crop--especially when the performance salutes include elaborate tributes that surprise the honorees. I've cried twice so far this evening.

The Night Before Before Before Christmas

2007-12-22T21:46:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I caught one of my favorite Brit-coms, The Vicar of Dibley. I happened to get home tonight just in time to see one of the Christmas specials, in which Geraldine performs the midnight mass...impaired...after greeting the Archbishop of Canterbury while covered in chocolate. Really funny...

I met up with my folks this morning and we drove down to Connecticut to see my grandmother and my aunt for lunch, and spent the afternoon with them. My aunt has a broken shoulder and some other health problems, so she was pleased to have us there to visit since getting out is a bit difficult at the moment. And Gramma's definitely getting older and isn't quite as sharp as she used to be, although she's still Gramma. She asked about M--where he's stationed, how he is. She always did think very highly of him, and even though she knows we aren't as close as we once were, she still asks after him pretty much whenever I see her.

A long day, but goofy Christmas music helped. Along with several cars bearing fuzzy antlers on the back windows and red noses on the grills.

A Good Start and a Few Thoughts

2007-12-19T22:04:00.000-05:00

Today got off to a great start. Well, after a neighbor tried to get their car out of the snow by revving the engine and spinning the wheels immediately below my bedroom window from 5 a.m. to 5:43 a.m. This caused me to a) want to fling my snow shovel out the window and hope they'd either take the hint or be knocked senseless, and b) be somewhat later than usual for work. But the light snow delicately settled on tree branches provided a scenic and ethereal backdrop for the drive to the office, perking up my groggy morning. And today, being slightly late paid off.

I ran into my friend Linnaea in the parking lot, and we walked into the building’s staff entrance, where we held the door for one of the building's maintenance guys. He, in turn, called out to someone who’d obviously been waiting for him to arrive. What to our wondering eyes should appear but a tall, tan man in desert fatigues, boots and glasses, carrying a bouquet of roses. (Being as close to a military training facility as we are, there are always cars with base stickers in the parking lot--but we don't often see uniforms around.) The two men followed us in and then the maintenance man swiped his card for one of the other companies' entrances inside the building, throwing the door wide so the visitor could catch it while staying out of sight. My friend and I caught the guest's twinkling eyes and shared a grin with him—saying quietly as we passed, “THIS looks like a surprise...” He replied happily, “It IS a surprise!” Linnaea and I kept walking, ears perked for the inevitable burst of delighted noise as the door closed behind him. We exchanged a smile, each with a glint of tears in our eyes, silently happy for whichever wife, mother or girlfriend got her wish for Christmas.

And a sidenote--I'm rather proud of me. You may remember me mentioning a photographer I met at an awards dinner in NYC last month. In my current quest to make connections and also be a functioning adult, I tracked him down yesterday (not enough info to Google--but good contacts through an industry association panned out) and got him in touch with our designers. Why is this a big deal? Well, because sometimes I am a total chicken. And he looks like a model (come to find out, he was a model). And so even on a professional front, I might have been intimidated. He's quite nice, though, and seems to do great work, so I do hope we'll get to work with him. And if not, well, I've been asked to call with amusing jokes occasionally. I think I can handle that. (When I mentioned this all to my boss, she saw great potential in nonprofessional arenas and hoped I'd get photo-guy to come this direction on the pretext of meeting the team, until I pointed out that, while straight, he is not single, and therefore the reason for inviting him should actually BE to meet the team.)

Also in my quest to be a functioning grown-up, I am on a quest for a cordless drill. Just sharing. And unrelated to anything aforementioned.

Ice, Ice, Baby

2007-12-16T20:51:00.000-05:00

And by that, I do not mean diamonds. Which are lovely also, but not as fabulous as rubies or emeralds or sapphires. No, this ice is in the "coating my car in a sheet of miserable frozenness" variety. About now, North Carolina coastal towns look about perfect to me. Actually, anything above freezing and free of ice and snow sounds delightful.

So after a crazy few days, the week capped off with a really good annual party after work on Friday. We'd gotten our bonuses earlier in the day, and everyone was in a great mood. The food was tasty, the band was good and the events of the evening were entertaining. The senior managers gave everyone "paper plate awards" for various silly things (their revenge for the roasts we inflicted upon them). Thankfully, my boss and I get along well, and she is a genuinely nice person--so I got the "Person You'd Most Like to Have With You on a Game Show" award.

Then yesterday morning was a meeting of some of the Baha'i agencies in our area--at my place, which is now large enough to have that work. After which, I ran errands before settling in later on in the evening to watch a movie or two and wait for the snow to fall. Which it did.

And so this morning, I got to unearth my car from where it had been plowed in along the curb, and shovel the sidewalk along the front of our building. As I was finishing that, one of my landlords was coming along after shoveling out the back and side of the building (she lives about three block away). So we stood and chatted, and I got some more info about the block and the neighborhood and the building. Altogether, good stuff.

And now, the week begins again. With more snow. Oh yay.

Pasteurized Processed Cheese Food

2007-12-11T18:33:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I admitted this to my friend Abby a couple Saturdays ago, but I will admit it here as well: I have a holiday weakness. Follow along ...

I love presents, but small things are just as delightful to me as big or expensive things. A friend spending 20 pence on a museum donation so I could do a rubbing of a grave panel, and then splitting a candy bar with me--very special. After much asking what should be brought back as a souvenir following a prize-won trip to Ireland, M filled a box with nifty gifts, among them a gorgeous blue wool fisherman sweater and also four coasters of the type on which drinks are served at the neighborhood pub (inside joke)--while I love the sweater and have gotten many compliments on it, I adore the coasters. Scribbly little-kid drawings--yup, in my eyes, suitable for framing.

Most anyone who knows me knows I am also an infamously cheap date. A year or so ago, I did some extra work and was told to take anyone I wanted to out for dinner, on the company. I used it as an opportunity to catch up with a friend I hadn't seen in ages. At a Mexican restaurant where we had a fabulous time, and racked up a whopping $35 dinner bill between the two of us. (Another co-worker given the same reward ended up in the triple digits, which was expected.) Steak and lobster dinner? Nah, for me it's all about good company and eating fried clams and onion rings from a paper cup on the beach.

So what is my holiday weakness? No, not fruitcake (although Klaxton's is tasty). Chocolate-covered cherries? Well, yes, but that's not what I mean. No, for me, the true gold star holiday gift is one of those sampler packs of Hickory Farms or similar meat and cheese and what-have-you. Preferably with the hard strawberry candies as decoration. And usually with random kitchen gadgetry. I have no clue why I have this random fascination with plastic-wrapped, preservative-injected, tube-shaped sausage varieties, inevitably bland crackers, and logs or wedges of pasteurized, processed cheese food. But there you go. I heart the holiday junk stereotype.

A Good Day

2007-12-10T21:45:00.000-05:00

So I'm sitting here wrapped in my Timberland fleece blanket (excellent for keeping the chill out of the air until my insulated window coverings arrive) and what to my wondering eyes should appear but one of my favorite holiday movies. Yep, White Christmas. Much to my parents' chagrin, since this was one of the "Don't make me watch that" movies of their younger years, I absolutely adore this movie, corny dialog and all. They're at the end, where it snows and they all pose in red and silver costumes.

Today we learned what our annual bonuses are. My company doesn't offer a 401(k) match, so the bonus/profit-share program is a much-anticipated event. This year...crazy good bonus. So I'll get to pay a couple things off, finish getting window coverings and such, get a couple treats I've wanted for quite a while, and still have some to put in savings and/or make a couple trips next year. Very good news.

Santa, Surgery and Satellites

2007-12-06T21:29:00.000-05:00

So the holiday season is definitely upon us. I say that not just because I am slip-sliding my way to my car every morning, but because the vendors have started sending their annual gifts to inundate our office with all sorts of sugar. And the lights are up in the windows of the building across the street from my apartment--every window, all 18 or so.

It used to be that, until a few years, my parents and I had traditions around Christmas. We're Baha'is, but we're also American--and my folks both grew up in Christian families, so our extended family does the Christmas thing up pretty big. Christmas books and music and linens and things came out December 1. And then a week before Christmas, we'd go cut down a tree. When we were in Nevada and California, that involved a drive up into the mountains to find one growing naturally somewhere; here in the east, it involved a tree farm near the border of Vermont. We'd get it all decorated, and it would stay that way until New Year's Day, when we'd take it all down. From the time I was fairly small, we only did stockings with each other. But Christmas Eve, we'd get together with whatever family was around--usually one or another of my grandparents. And we'd eat a simple dinner of spaghetti with marinara sauce and hot and sweet Italian sausage, or pizza, or stew. And have some special dessert. Listen to Christmas songs. And then open whatever presents came from family and friends. Christmas day was breakfast of grapefruit and pancakes or cardamon bread. And then stockings--one present at a time, taking turns. We'd have some kind of special meal--for the last few years before we stopped celebrating, it was enchiladas.

I've been thinking a lot lately about that last Christmas that we celebrated--before so many things changed, and life became even more austere and ascetic in my family. It was 2003. By that point, my grandmother didn't necessarily come on Christmas Day, preferring to spend it with her friends. Our stockings were still fun, although my dad prefers giving gifts just because, not at assigned times. And the Christmas Eve gifts had whittled down to whatever gifts my grandmother was opening, and the gift I received each year from M. That year, it happened to involve a shirt and an inside joke about coasters. Mostly what I remember from that year is a phone call on Christmas Eve, though--timed carefully across an 8-hour time difference to catch me at home if work had gotten out early. That call was one that had come every year on Christmas or the night before, for several years at that point. The difference that year was the satellite phone, which added a real sense of distance, with the several-second delay between words and reply. Until then, I'd never realized something as simple as a phone call could take my breath away--even though it wasn't intended to.

And that comes to mind because I finally got the scoop on the whole surgery thing. In mid-January, I have to go in and have a rather large lipoma (6.5x5.5x3.5 cm), which is a type of benign tumor, removed from my back, where it is firmly wedged at the top right side, just under where my back and neck meet. The surgeon prefers me to be under general anesthesia (right on, buddy!) although the procedure should take less than an hour in the operating room. And that means I have to do lots of pre-op testing and clearances. It's all a little overwhelming and kinda scary. Of course I told my folks first, as one of them will have to take time off work to drive me to and from the surgery center and make sure I don't do anything stupid. After that, though, there was really only one person I wanted to talk to. Of course, I couldn't exactly do that--or shouldn't--because it's not four years ago. And in four years, everything has changed.

A friend of mine was commenting recently about how very rationally and logically I approach all things personal. Things which others would relate to emotionally. I've had to learn to do that. Because for all that I am resilient, I am not made of steel. I am still breakable. And logic and reason are like the glue holding the vase together, while emotion sends it crashing to the floor.

Giggles

2007-11-30T22:29:00.000-05:00

So after writing the jokes with which our department will roast our boss at the holiday dinner in a couple weeks, I've been loopy for the last couple days. Which meant that when I got to Target this evening--in search of curtains that they don't make anymore, and allergy meds that they do--and found a certain movie on the sale rack, I couldn't resist.

If you've never seen Down Periscope, you have no idea what you're missing. It's NOT for the mature sense of humor. But it's absolutely hilarious. As in, bust out laughing ridiculous.

Seriously...it's just a trip.

Defying Gravity

2007-11-29T21:46:00.000-05:00

That would be the description of my new apartment. I think there's a 6-inch drop from the outer walls to the center of the flat, which means that all of my furniture either is shimmed, or will be shortly. But it gives the place character. Seriously. Besides which, my walls are painted a lovely shade of French Vanilla, and most of the trim is Chocolate, so it's kind of like living in an ice cream sundae. And after a two-day duel with the cable company, I finally have TV, and Internet, and phone. Now, my quest is on for appropriate window coverings/insulation against the winter cold, which is approaching rapidly.

I'm also on a corner that provides excellent people-watching opportunities. Diagonally across the street is one of the city's best-loved coffee shops, while immediately across the street is a well-known sports-event organizer. Across a parking lot is the local CYO, where what seem like hundreds of kids descend on a daily basis for basketball. The back of the place looks across two parking areas and onto one of the last remaining American parks that is wholly operated by the building owners surrounding it (the other is Gramercy Park in NYC). And alongside that street is a large grey stone Catholic church whose bells ring out the hours for prayers. And down my block is a remarkable family-owned Italian food import shop and pizzeria, a constant reminder that I am in the heart of "Little Italy." The idea of being in a neighborhood is quite appealing. Now I simply need to get over my shyness and go meet the neighbors.

I am looking forward to seeing Bella, and P.S. I Love You, and Enchanted. Winter is made for movies. I am sort of looking forward to the annual office party in a couple weeks due to the events planned, which may be fun enough to keep me occupied in the absence of a date. And I'm looking forward to getting some of my landscape photos blown up and posted on foamcore so I can hang them in my apartment and show them off (and maybe get some into a gallery and see what they can do).

And after much thought and reflection, I have realized that I am, once again, entirely on my own. "That guy," while a delightful person and a fun friend to have, is not in the same place I am either geographically or in any other way. And I already learned the hard way (and the long way) how wrenching it is to be more invested something than the other person is. So. Casual friends it is. And that is not such a bad thing. I promised myself a year ago that the next time I truly let myself care about and envision a future with someone, it would be someone who considers me in the same light. After all, I deserve that.

Whirling, Whirling

2007-11-15T22:09:00.000-05:00

Lately, I've been singing along to the most random songs. "Einstein on the Beach" by Counting Crows. "I Only Want You for Christmas" by Alan Jackson (iTunes makes it way too easy to have holiday tunes available year-round in moments of desperation). And you can tell I'm stressed because in my car for the last few days, I've been belting out "If I Had a Boat" by Lyle Lovett, as sung by Iain Mackintosh. I will admit that I probably take too much pleasure in the last verse: The mystery masked man was smart, he got himself a Tonto / Tonto did the dirty work for free / But Tonto he was smarter and one day said, "Kemosabe, / Kiss my ass, I bought a boat, I'm goin' out to sea." But, of course, that's why I sing the song when I'm stressed.

My apartment is a total wreck because I have to start moving this weekend. I don't have enough boxes, and don't have space to put the boxes I do have, so this is an interesting predicament. Having been gone during prime packing time last weekend, I've been trying to do things after work, which is difficult when Baha'i quarterly reports are due and a visit to the laundromat was necessary. Today I finally was able to get enough time free to get utilities switched over to the new place. Now it's just getting moved properly while maintaining excellent relationships with my friends. Also without WWIII breaking out with my dad: We are very much alike in the way we react in certain situations, thus we should not be together in those situations. Moving is generally one of them. Yet I realized recently that I will be moving into the 17th or 18th building, and about the 8th town, that I've lived in during my life (excluding the college years). No wonder I have no sense of stability.

The job...is frustrating. Just generally feel like things are constantly frantic. And like there's a couple people who are waiting like vultures for me to screw something up. I'm working on every angle, but...it's all frustrating.

And as the holidays approach, the year gets difficult. Thanksgiving will be okay--with friends, mid-moving. Being Baha'is, my parents and I stopped really celebrating Christmas several years ago, though. So it's pretty easy to feel like an outsider when most people around me are gearing up for a grand shared experience. I will, as usual, be revisiting O. Henry's "Gift of the Magi," which is by far my favorite Christmas story (followed closely by Laura Ingalls Wilder's recounting of the year that Pa and Mr. Edwards rode out and returned with the Christmas gifts).

The rest of my thoughts lately have been caught up in a sort of review of Men Who've Mattered, Why, And What I've Learned. It should be a lecture. A few years ago, a friend told me that he thought I had just decided that M was the perfect guy. I said that wasn't true, and that in fact, the perfect guy for me was a combination of three friends, M, J and E--each of whom has specific qualities that I really value, and each of whom has allowed me to learn things about myself. To streamline the description: M, the "older man," confidante and point of comfort; J, the "dangerous edge," temptation and one who wore everything on his sleeve; and E, the partner in crime, the "mature younger guy" who made me laugh at myself. I shared my closest friendships with them at the same time, so it was easy to compartmentalize: love, attraction, camaraderie.

What intrigues me, though, is that "that guy" shares many of their best traits, in my opinion. And so what I find immensely disheartening is that, whether as a friend or whatever, circumstances prevent me from getting to know him as he actually is. Even last spring, we weren't involved in real activities together--and purely social situations only tell you so much about a person. Now, he's farther away, so there aren't even normal social opportunities--instead, to wind up in the same place, it requires going outside daily life. My friend Nicole today pointed out that it is just like me "to go for an overachiever with no free time, who flies away, like, 20 times a year." And she's right! But I've been wondering...maybe there's a reason I had those compartmentalized friendships with M, J and E. I wonder if that was the only way for me to learn what character traits matter to me so that I would recognize them when they're all mixed up in one person. Deep, huh?

I Am Radioactive and Want to Wander

2007-11-12T15:36:00.000-05:00

Dude, I'm so not kidding. I went in for my MRI this morning, and after the first five scans, they slid me most of the way back out of the crazy tube thing, shot me full of the radioactive isotope Carolinium, and slid me back in for two more scans.

Explaining this to my mother over the phone was enough to make her feel a bit faint. I will admit that being laid out flat on one's back, with one's head in a cradle, earphones on to pump in music and block out the thumping and banging of the MRI machine, a restraint device holding one's head still, and then slid into a tube small enough that one's elbows hit the sides, is a fairly disconcerting experience. Getting shot full of something that's probably being generated by the ruins at Chernobyl just ramps up the level of "disconcerting."

My word of advice: Consider the blue line on the inside of the tube like a highway line and just picture someplace you want to go. It also helps to choose the "country music" option for the headphones because you get to hear lyrics like, "If you're goin' through hell, keep on goin'..." and although you can't move or sing along, there's a lovely irony that becomes apparent by about the third 6-minute scan.

Meanwhile, the reasons I should become a freelancer continue to stack up. In addition to the new cousin visit to Arizona next summer, followed by the friend's wedding in Alaska, I've now been told that a distant cousin in Sweden is setting up a once-in-a-lifetime family reunion for next September, where they hope to include the American relatives (my great-grandfather was from Sweden, and the Swedish family has kept track of the Americans--a unique occurrence among families I know).

Plus, of course, my wanderlust is getting the better of me, and 9-to-5 desk jobs don't lend themselves to extended trips abroad. Last week's visit to NYC stoked that fire again. There is nothing I like more than the feeling of me, my jeans and my backpack hitting the pavement, the air, the rails or the road for adventure, small or large. The sense of being unencumbered and completely in the experience is priceless.

And "that guy" certainly adds to my sense of being stuck. Not that I think he even considers such things, but his travel experiences intimmidate the bejeepers out of me. I don't think there are two people who could have had much more different childhoods--he grew up in places that only existed in books for me, winging his way all over the world from an early age. I've covered 36 U.S. states, Ireland, Scotland, the edges of two Canadian provinces and northern England, and Iceland's Reykjavik airport. In my ongoing quest for "where am I supposed to be," I often receive tips from those who have been elsewhere. "He" suggests I go to Haifa to work at the Baha'i World Centre--an idea that is not, at present, a practical possibility, unfortunately. Another friend thinks I could be of great service in "the guy's" home country. When I mentioned this to him, he gave me the raised eyebrow and smirk and said, "You should go to [location deleted]." But then, as best I can tell, he thinks everyone should go there!

Now to figure out how to create conditions that make any of those things possible. "Think, think, think," said Winnie the Pooh (possibly without the addition of radioactive isotopes).

Happy B-day; Get Mickey Out of My House

2007-11-11T10:00:00.000-05:00

What a crazy week this has been! Work was hectic early on--and I was trying to get things set on my new apartment and make sure I had all the pieces together for the NYC trip.

I signed the lease on the new place, which is just a block off the top end of Washington Park, in Troy, on Wednesday. The landlords seem very responsible and also very reasonable. And the apartment is pretty large, with lots of renovations, and a nice feel to it. I think it's about time I give this city thing a try. After all, who knows where I'll end up in the future! Now I just have to spend the next couple of weeks moving in. It's a second floor walk-up, so I'm trying to make this move fairly orderly and easy, rather than having everyone running up and down narrow stairs with boxes on the same day.

Then I went and visited with the surgeon after I signed the apartment lease. He's guessing that the back problem I have is probably caused by a benign form of tumor (fairly common) that forms above, in or below the muscle. So I'll go in for an MRI on Monday, and then meet with the surgeon again in December to figure out what to do. He says that for most people, once it's removed, the back pain goes away quickly as the muscles and bones are able to shift back into proper alignment. Here's hoping!

Thursday afternoon, I got all gussied up and caught the train down to NYC. I learned several things. First, arriving in Manhattan at evening rush hour is fairly stupid. Second, traveling in a cocktail dress and pashmina while carrying a heavy tote bag over one shoulder is even more stupid. And even low heels won't save your feet when you're hiking several blocks up 8th Ave. to hail a cab. The awards dinner was at The Rainbow Room, on the 64th Floor of 30 Rockefeller Plaza (yep, "30 Rock"), and it was entertaining. Since I don't drink and am hopeless as a shmoozer, I tend to hold up walls and corners. Thankfully, the waitstaff and I developed a humorous reparte, and the photographer covering the event came over to chat since he wasn't getting great shots out of the suits. He was funny, and my colleagues thought he was, I quote, "hunky" and "hot." I thought he made for better company than the suits. My magazine didn't win anything, but a colleague's did, and the company took home a total of six awards, four of them gold, I think. From there, it was a decadent car service ride to Brooklyn, under the capable stewardship of a very nice driver from Colombia, with whom I had a great conversation.

And then there was "that guy." It's odd how, even when you don't know someone all that well, haven't seen them in months, you can just step in and feel completely at ease. Sure, being anywhere around him sends me a little dizzy. But not in a scared way--more in a surprising way. In any case, we caught up for a while; I met one of the roommates; saw the other one in passing. Generally a very late-night "hi" and excellent hosts, one of whom happens to make me dizzy. Friday morning I just kicked around for a while until whatsisname got free. And then we shared Mexican food for lunch (my favorite!) and rode back into Manhattan in time to catch a movie (American Gangster, which I can recommend, although the first part is a little confusing). There was a slight chance I might get to meet his sister, whom I've heard a lot about, but the timing didn't work out. And the movie was long enough that it only left me time to hightail it back uptown to catch the train home. NOT a long enough visit. But I'm grateful for even a minute. Sort of makes me feel like I'm living in fast-forward, though.

Upon arriving home at 11 p.m. Friday night, I looked down to see a mouse scurry from under my stove across to the kickplate under my sink. Eeeeeeeeew!! I'll be calling maintenance for a reinvestigation of the rodent issue. And I couldn't be happier to move out in two weeks!

Then my mom stopped over yesterday morning at 6:45 and we headed for Syracuse for a Baha'i institutional gathering (a development and training session). Not the representation I would have hoped for from folks in our area, but some were there, at least, so that's a start. And it was a long day... We left there a little after 4 p.m.

By 7:30, we were back in Albany, greeting my crazy friends at a Mexican restaurant where about 17 of us went for dinner. Lots of talking and laughing and surprise gifts. It was really just a wonderful way to cap off my birthday. There's nothing better than seeing friends and family all enjoying themselves. And presents don't hurt my feelings either. :-)

Two Steps Forward...

2007-11-05T22:33:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I really wrote something meaningful here. But the last couple weeks have been pretty crazy, so here goes.

My friends Travis and Tia hosted a pretty fabulous pre-Halloween bash that was a lot of fun for everyone. And costumes were interesting. From one friend who taped a leaf to his hat and blew on it periodically (a leaf-blower), to the requisite Chucky's bride get-up, they ran the gamut. My friend Lua's ebola virus was definitely creative. And then there was me. I go for the obscure. And with my Justin lacers, blue jeans, thermal shirt, bandana, sunglasses, Army surplus jacket, leather work gloves and leather outback hat, carrying my bedroll, rope and campfire-style coffee pot, I was the swagman's ghost from "Waltzing Matilda." If you're like most Americans, you only know the chorus, so to expand your horizons, go here to listen to a great version of the tune.

My friend Dawn and I introduced our pal Taraneh to the wonders of the Vermont Country Store and some of the outlets in Manchester. While it was a rainy day, it was really nice to take a drive, enjoy good food and lots of laughter, get a few bargains, and just generally get to be giggly girls for a day.

Some things have happened at work that I won't get into here, except to say that I'm disappointed, and feel like the last couple years have been characterized by decisions (others' as well as mine) that are making me think quite hard about precisely what it is that I want.

Meanwhile, I'm frantically trying to find a new apartment (and hoping that I will get the one I saw last Thursday, which is delightful, in a historic building that's just been renovated). My lease is up at the end of November, so I really hope I have a place to move to!

Last weekend, I went to Vermont to lead a study session on political noninvolvement for the Baha'is in one community, plus some friends from nearby. It's one of the Baha'i principles that seems to me to really challenge some of my fellow believers. So the deepening that I put together is more to draw everyone back to the guidance from Shoghi Effendi and the Universal House of Justice about why the principle exists and exactly how stringently we have to apply it in our own lives--with each person, ultimately, having to decide for himself or herself what that looks like. It went well. The day went well--and now there are two more places that would like to study those materials, and a third where I'll be offering a fireside to help explain the concept to people who are only just learning about the Baha'i Faith.

And a couple of weeks ago, while searching for several old friends on Facebook, I did a search and realized that M has a page. So I sent him a friend request (although we haven't spoken in a year), and oddly, he accepted it. He tagged me with the most generic description of our friendship, siezing on "were members of" rather than coming out with "second-to-last Tuesday in August, 1995" as he did last summer when one of his friends asked how long we'd known each other. And I figured that was it. Then he sent a Facebook message earlier this week, and we exchanged very basic notes. And then, as of Friday morning, he was deployed quick-response back to somewhere unnamed in the Middle East--third or fourth time in two years. I hope he keeps his head down. And last night, I had a strange dream, although the symbolism was pretty evident: It's enough just to say that some people are hard to let go of.

Now, I prepare for one surgeon visit on Wednesday, a bizarre trip to NYC on Thursday for work and to see someone who has actually used the phrase "can't wait to see you" in two consecutive e-mails (I don't remember receiving that in any consecutive e-mails at any other point in my life, so I'm diggin' it). And then the crazy drive to Syracuse and back on Saturday --which is my birthday--for a Baha'i meeting. Followed by Mexican food with hopefully lots of my friends! :-)

Seeking Travel Pals

2007-10-26T15:37:00.000-05:00

Well, it's certainly interesting 'round here lately. My friend Carol gets married next August in Fairbanks (I do not relish the idea of going solo, as I've never been to Alaska and would like to hang out and explore). Meanwhile, my aunt and uncle have finally received permission to go pick up my new cousin (to be named Leah) from China and so have asked me--and a friend, if I wish--to come visit them outside Phoenix next summer to meet the baby. For the Alaska trip, a date-type-guy-person would be great (I don't have one of those). For the Arizona trip, any friend could come along (if they don't mind hanging with my fam for a bit).

And in the midst of all that, I'm looking for a new apartment, trying to get things straight at work, preparing for a whirlwind few weeks of Baha'i activities, work trips, my birthday and a visit with a friend (assuming he's still alive...hellloooooooo?), and generally feeling crazy restless. Yeeek.

Song Lyrics Are Good

2007-10-11T22:21:00.000-05:00

The last week or so has been a little nuts. Just generally. I mean, I have my ROOTS hoodie from Ottawa courtesy of a Canadian co-worker. And that's good. :-)

But then things with my back are looking a bit odd. I may be in for all kinds of imaging and testing and quite likely, surgery of one kind or another in the next couple months. We'll see. I don't meet with a specialist for a few weeks, and then I'll know more. On the one hand, I say, it'll be fine. And hey, at least my first consult is the day before I go to NYC for this big awards dinner and then get to spend a few hours or maybe even a day with "that guy." So at least I'll have something to look forward to. On the other hand, I think, "My grampa died during back surgery." So...that's something I'm trying not to think about.

And then also lately, I've been getting all introspective again. You know how sometimes, there are those dreams that you're pretty sure are more about your own fears revealing themselves than they actually are about the subject of the dream? There have been one or two of those lately, which kind of have me humming "She's Like the Wind" tonight. Only in my head, it's more of a "He's." A deeply ingrained inferiority complex, supported by repetitious experience, is a hard thing for the mind to give up.

A friend asked me this weekend--having met "the guy" last spring--why I have not yet made it down to NYC to see him. There are two very good reasons: Time has been at a premium, and cash is required. And then there's the real reason: I am, without a doubt, completely chicken. Not sure there's a song lyric to fix the sense that he is, in fact, out of my league.

Stories From My Past

2007-10-07T18:08:00.000-05:00

I am sitting in my living room contemplating a piece of art that I finally framed this weekend. It is a Chinese painted papercutting showing two cranes in flight above a pine tree. Apparently, as I recently learned, the crane is a symbol of longevity or wisdom that comes with age, or of good luck. Two cranes flying upward indicate a wish to "rise high." And two cranes can also symbolize a wish for a long marriage. Pine trees, as I've recently learned, indicate longevity, steadfastness and self-discipline. Of course, I learned these things only recently, when I developed a sudden desire to learn more about China and so brought this design out of hiding to see what the elements really were. This little piece of delicate handiwork, I've had for almost exactly 22 years--carrying it from one side of the country to the other, through many moves. I've kept it flat between sheets of tissues paper so as not to fade the exquisitely vivid colors. And finally, it's framed and sitting in my living room.

Why all that fuss? When I was 8, there was a visitor at our Baha'i Convention (the annual time when Baha'is elect their representative to the National Convention, where the delegates then elect the National Spiritual Assembly, the governing body of all the Baha'is in the country). Anyway, her name was Beth McKenty. And that was quite a year at Convention. That was one of a couple of years that we, as a Convention, were sent a vase of crimson roses by the Baha'i community in Iran, so persecuted for our shared Faith, and unable to function as were were free to do in the West. It was the year that Canadian musician Doug Cameron's "Mona video" (click here, then click "Video") came out, revealing the 1983 murder of 10 Baha'i women in Shiraz to the whole world. It was the year I was invited to join the youth class, because the children's class material was not new to me (being an isolated family, my parents worked hard to be sure that I did not suffer from any lack of Baha'i education)--I chose to stay and help the younger kids instead. And it was the year that Beth McKenty, recently returned from some time in China, took notice of my little 8-year-old self as my folks and I spoke with her. She selected that papercutting from the artwork she'd brought back, gently wrapped it in a piece of typing paper and inscribed a note on the wrapping. I've framed that behind the piece of art so I won't lose it. I still remember her calling me a "very special little girl," and indicating to my parents that she saw something different in me. This from a woman who, at last count, was well into her 70s and teaching art to children in Nunavut, in the far northern reaches of Canada.

I was reminded of that today. It was the first of two times that well-traveled and fairly amazing Baha'i women indicated that they felt I had some special task ahead of me. The second of those dear ladies was Margaret Ruhe, wife of the late retired member of the Universal House of Justice Dr. David Ruhe. Immediately after Dr. Ruhe had retired, and the couple had returned to the United States from Haifa, Israel, after about 25 years at the Baha'i World Centre, my parents and I were involved in pulling together a "one-day school" for all the Baha'is in the area to help familiarize everyone with the principles and practices of Baha'i administration. Dr. Ruhe was our keynote speaker. Mrs. Ruhe, after watching me run around doing everything that needed doing (all at the age of about 13), caught up with me around lunchtime and asked me a few pointed questions about myself. My age, my work in school, who I was as a person--with her dancing eyes fixed on mine, she apparently had the answers she wanted, and piercing me with a look of assurance, said, "You will do great things for the Faith." Needless to say, it was a surreal moment. And I've often wondered what it was that she saw, and what it was that she felt I would do. She was at our Convention today, leaning heavily on her son's arm, frail and somewhat vague--no longer the vivacious and assured woman of 17 or 18 years ago. She knows many of us belong around, but who we are escapes her. Still, I will never forget her statement.

And it is when I remember those two women--Mrs. Ruhe and Beth McKenty--that I wonder just what those great things are that they felt so sure I'd accomplish. My parents have each said that they, too, in prayer at different times, have felt assured that I had tasks to perform and a purpose beyond what they knew. My mom says her moment came when I was perhaps 10 or 11, and had prepared the devotions for our community's 19-Day Feast. She says somewhere in the middle of a prayer she had this sense that she was being told that her job was just to raise me, because I had a job to do in service to God. For my dad, it didn't come until he dropped me off at college in Houston, Texas, and then drove home to upstate New York, stopping only once for a few hours' rest. Distraught at leaving his only child someplace so very far away, and where he was convinced was a horrid place (Dad's never been fond of Texas....and really didn't like Houston), Dad prayed fervently. He says he rather clearly felt that he was being told that I was in God's hands, but that he needed to fully commit me to God, and hold no expectation for himself. And so, he says, he did.

Meanwhile, I am still wondering what this great task is that I am to perform. I continue to be convinced that I must be one of those people whose life's purpose is to serve as a scratching post on which someone is supposed to sharpen their spiritual claws! Who knows...maybe eventually I'll find my crane partner and fly off over those pine trees...