8:8

RADM Edward W. Carter III

8:7

8:6

8:5

8:4

8:3

A Favorite

8:2

Bits and Pieces

8:1

after the rain

Balance

Over the last few years, I feel like my life has lacked balance in many ways. In general, maybe, my personality lacks balance. I tend embrace life's extremes (hopefully not in a bipolar-kind-of-way, but in an exuberant-kind-of-way). The last five years of my life have been extreme. Graduated, married, moved, job changes, baby, motherhood, moved again.

I'm finally feeling settled. For the first time in my life, I'm living in a place with no end in sight. Up until now, my life has been divided into stages: university, Peace Corps, grad school, the Doctor's residency. Each stage had a finite life-span, a time when it was definitively over and it was time to move on.

But now, here I am. And I feel settled. I feel like I am sliding into my life, sinking in. The knowledge that I could live here for ever (or not) is comforting. This isn't a stage, this isn't a phase, there is no end in sight. It just is. This is my life.

And I am filling my life with bounty. I have a job that excites me, a child who inspires me to be better and stronger, even as she becomes her own person. I have the time to both work and cook, to do and create. I am enjoying summer and food and monsoons and rest. I am balancing my family, my work, my passions and my loves.

For the first time, I really understand how life is about the journey and not the destination.

Home Again, Home Again

We're back from a lovely vacation armed with Virginia peanuts (but no ham). I always feel so sad when I leave my family behind to head back out West, but simultaneously, it's always somewhat of a relief to be back in my own home. We sunned, surfed, spent time with beloved friends and family members, ate and drank and ate and drank and ate some more. My mother's brothers are both "foodies" in the best sense and family get-togethers inevitably result in massive piles of shaved parmesan, giant boxes of pasta, links of sausage and a hot grill. Oh yes, and lots of bottles of wine. There is nothing like beautiful, messy, lovely family to make a holiday trip feel blessed.

After getting home, we went shopping. I love having a fridge full of fresh foods. The colors of summer are so vibrant on my counters.

Discouraged

Tonight I feel discouraged. This week hasn't been particularly overwhelming (or underwhelming), so I'm not really sure where this maudlin feeling has come from tonight (maybe that second glass of white?).

We have had some client losses these last few weeks. It's been sad. I don't like telling women they are no longer pregnant. They hear the initial news from the doctor, but inevitably, they come to me for reassurance, for understanding, for asking "is it true?" It is so hard holding a woman's hand while she cries in a language that I don't speak. Grief is universal, but there is still a chasm between us for reasons I can't explain. I am not fluent in the specific language of miscarriage loss and I know the grief of any pregnancy loss is so personal and different for each woman and each experience.

I know there are reasons for loss, all loss. I believe there is a place for us all to meet again, to see those we have lost, known or unknown, again or for the first time.

In a few short days, I am headed back to the sticky summer heat and green of Virginia. I am looking forward to taking a break from work, seeing my beloved family and having my tired, dried-out soul renewed from the ocean's salty breeze.

Stoned Fruit

I used the term "stone fruit" the other day (as in, "Please pick up some stone fruit at the store") and The Doctor looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Though I didn't ask, I suspect an image of eating rocks flashed in his mind. Clearly "stone fruit" isn't a term that is as commonly used as I thought.

Stone Fruit: In botany, is a fruit in which an outer fleshy part (exocarp, or skin; and mesocarp, or flesh) surrounds a shell (the pit or stone) of hardened endocarp with a seed inside. These fruits develop from a single carpel, and mostly from flowers with superior ovaries. The definitive characteristic of a drupe is that the hard, lignified stone (or pit) is derived from the ovary wall of the flower.

Stoned fruit salad is a delicious summer treat. Cut up a variety of stone fruits into chunks (peaches, plums, nectarines). Add a handful of berries (your choice, but I'm partial to raspberries or blackberries, myself). Add 2 Tbsp of sugar (or to taste, depending on your sweet tooth). Squeeze the juice of one lime (or equivalent amount of refrigerated juice from concentrate if you swing that way). If you have a zester, zest away (but I don't, so I don't). Tear up a nice-sized handful of fresh mint and mix well. Let sit at room temp for 30 minutes to let the flavors absorb. Refrigerator or eat. Also amazing when paired with Dutch babies (as in the pancakes, not actual babies).

Cherish the Heirloom

Tomatoes are my favorite part of the summer. We always had tomato plants growing on our deck during the summers; they never yielded much bounty, but plucking tomatoes right off the vine and eating them on the deck, juice running down our chins was most certainly the best part of the summer (besides the smell of chlorine and no school).

I can eat a tomato like an apple. Heirloom tomatoes are my favorite. Often, they are so thick with flesh on the inside that I have to slice them and eat them like a steak, sprinkled with salt and drizzled with some balsamic vinegar and chunks of mozzarella.

I haven't been successful at tomato-growing, here in the dry and dusty southwest (but let's face it, I haven't been very successful at making anything grow--even weeds). Thank heavens for stores and farmer markets. There is a lovely place, just down the street, called the Fruit Barn which always sells delicious and fresh tomatoes a short walk away.

In honor of summer, here is my new favorite summer tomato recipe (so easy, I can actually make it after work):

Tomato and Goat Cheese Tart
Two sheets of puff pastry dough, thawed according to package directions. Slice one sheet into four equal squares. Cut the second sheet into strips about 1" thick. Lay the strips along the outside of each of the squares (goal is a tart with raised sides).

Bake at 400 for 20-25 minutes on a cookie sheet.

While the tarts are baking, different varieties of baby heirloom cherry tomatoes in half (yellow, orange, red, etc.). Set aside. Take 2 oz of goat cheese (or more) and mix with sizable pinches of rosemary, thyme and oregano. Add two or so Tbsp of milk and mix it with the cheese so it becomes thinner and more spreadable.

When the pastry is finished baking, spread the goat cheese mixture on each of the tarts equally, top with cherry tomatoes, a pinch of salt and pepper to taste and put back in the oven for another five minutes.

Top with torn fresh basil and serve warm (or room temperature).

Heat Wave

It's gotten hot. Summer has hit full force and the temperatures are soaring well over 105. The heat shimmers on the horizon and the asphalt is sticky.

I hate this time of year in the Valley of the Sun. It's unrelenting sunshine and heat.

I know that it's a dry heat, but still, sometimes, I feel like my soul is shriveling from the heat. The humidity represents a certainly level of fecundity that feeds a soul, keeps one alive even in the heat. Sweaty glasses of iced tea on a porch, the low hum of cicadas, the sticky feeling on the backs of your legs, the curls on the back of your ponytail.

I am looking forward to the humidity of VA.

Set Up

Since I started work, I've been wanting to participate in an apartment set up, but unfortunately, until today, I hadn't been given the opportunity.

In a nutshell, our organization receives clients throughout the week. When a new arrival is slated to come, it's our responsibility to set up an apartment for them the day before their arrival with furniture, food and other basic necessities so when they stumble into their new home, exhausted from travel and the unknown, they're covered for a few days to get their bearings as best they can.

Today, I learned just how basic those necessities are.

Three of us went to Walmart and went shopping off of a list which included things like "female deodorant" and "laundry soap." Total, the apartment I set up cost $194 (not counting furniture). That's it. $194 covered everything from dish soap to a shower curtain to pots and pans and sheets and utensils and towels and dishes and toiletries.

In one way, $194 went a long way. I mean, we got a significant amount of stuff for that apartment. But simultaneously, I kept thinking how much excess there is in this world and in my life. I don't go around dropping $200 on stuff every weekend, but it was a bit of a sobering thought that the money I spend on miscellaneous and inconsequential things in a few weeks could put together an apartment for a family of 3.

XYZ

Today, I walked around for a good portion of the day with my zipper down.

No one told me.

I hope the reason no one told me is because no one noticed my bright green panties peaking through my fly.

When embarrassing things happen (skirt caught up in tights, toilet paper on shoe, zipper down), I always wonder why people don't point out the obvious. Fear of embarrassment? I'll be honest. I'd much rather have a moment of slight embarrassment with one individual than a massive moment of embarrassment alone when I realize I've been walking around all day grinning at people with a big piece of lettuce in my front teeth.

Or flashing my green panties at all my clients as I sat on their floors playing with their babies.

Honesty Honestly

Perhaps one of the greatest things about getting older is insight about honesty in one's own life. (Now, I realize that "getting older" means closer to 30 in my case, but you know, bear with me.)

This weekend, I had a my weekly 2-hour phone call with my Law Librarian Jen. I can't even remember what sparked the conversation, but LLJ pointed out that one great thing about maturing is being honest with yourself and subsequently making decisions based on what you enjoy as opposed to what you think you should enjoy. It's not about faking enjoyment for something that you hate, but more showing enthusiasm for something you feel apathy for.

I will never forget when I was about 20 my mother confided to me that she, in fact and contrary to what I had thought for the last 15 years, didn't actually care for shrimp. It sounds rather ridiculous for something so seemingly mundane to make a lasting impression in my adult mind, but after an entire life of summers spent at the beach, peeling and deveining freshly caught shrimp to boil for my entire family, I felt rather taken aback. Why on earth, if she didn't really care for shrimp did I have to stick my fingers in shrimp guts for hours on? She, like I, was taught that shrimp were a treat and something special saved for the summer (which it is in my opinion), but if she was honest with herself, shrimp would never be her choice of a treat or special meal. It isn't that she hates shrimp--just that if given the choice of a summer seafood meal, she'd rather enjoy something else instead; she simply tired of pretending that she thought shrimp was something special and was completely unapologetic about it. She said, "Life is too short for other people's shoulds."

She's right. LLJ is right. As I get older, and I'm sure LLJ and I are not alone in this, I find myself becoming more secure in myself and the small choices I make. Who I surround myself with, the parenting choices I make, the food I eat, the movies I watch, the music I listen to and the books I read. And frankly, no one cares that I'd rather read a modern British mystery novel than the searing political commentary of our time.

Honest.

A Farewell to Pride

During 8th grade, one of the required readings for my literature class was The Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway. I hated it. I dreaded reading it, writing about it and (to be completely honest) am not entire sure I even finished the book. If you know me and know anything about my literature consumption habits, you know that refusing to finish a book is a rare thing indeed.

Since that 8th grade misfortune, I've refused to have anything to do with Hemingway. Flat out refused to read any of his novels or show any real interest in his life as a historical figure. In fact, I'd go so far to say that I purposely have been openly critical and hateful toward Hemingway and his writings (all based on one novel read when I was 14).

Weirdly, my life has paralleled his in many ways--at least in travel experiences. I've been to Havana (and am sure I insulted many a Cubano by telling them I was not interested in "Papa," and no, I didn't care about his damn six-toed cats), I've lived abroad in Spain (but refused to watch a bullfight), I've traveled to Kilimanjaro (though I failed to take home any big game animal heads).

Yet, the entire time, I adamantly maintained that Hemingway was an author I'd never read again.

And then a coworker and I started a conversation about books. His preferences tend more toward what I think of as *man-lit*--a combination of nonfiction and novels that appeal to men. But he mentioned Hemingway as one of his favorite authors. I laughed and told him I'd never touch a Hemingway book thanks to my 8th grade experience The Old Man and the Sea.

What a smug person I am. A day or two later, I found myself wandering the fiction section of the library again. I routinely do this--go to the library needing something to read but with no concrete ideas of actual books to take home. And then the idea occurred to me. I *could* check out a Hemingway novel.

After browsing the new releases but not finding anything inspiring, I settled for The Sun Also Rises. Short. Not too intimidating. I checked it out with low expectations.

I am a jerk. Clearly. I am willing to admit this publicly and openly.

All these years of my life, I've spent hating Hemingway, publicly denouncing my dislike for his writing and one novel, one short novel of his that took all of two days to read, felled me like a tree. I loved the story. Loved it.

I don't know if I was too young to appreciate his writing style, too immature to understand such adult themes in literature or maybe I've been a jerk my whole life. Who knows (although, I suspect the latter)? His descriptions of Spain's countryside had me reminiscing about riding through the countryside. The aimlessness of the characters floating through life abroad, the lost innocence, the effects of war on an entire generation, the drinking to suppress feeling the emasculation just resonated with me in a way I didn't expect.

All I know is this: I have given Hemingway another chance and I suspect it's a relationship that will last a lifetime.

PHX

This city of shimmering heat is starting to grow on me. So much so, we're actually debating buying a home in the next year. Committing. To one of the hottest metropolitan places in the world. Forever. (Or at least a good 10+ years.)

I never thought I could make PHX my home. Too hot. Too crowded. Too sprawling. I would grow weary of the commuting, the distance, the sheer volume of people in my space.

Or so I thought. And then, I started to notice the culture, the arts, the community (yes, community) in this improbable city in the middle of the desert.

Maybe this isn't so bad, after all. Maybe, just maybe, I ended up in the right place.

I Forgot

This year, I forgot.

Five years.

The days slipped past me without conscious thought and before I knew it, the moment had passed and I had forgotten.

I thought somehow this year would be momentous. Five years is not to be taken lightly. But miraculous that five years has passed and the day slipped by and I forgot.

For the moment of my life I thought I would be scarred forever and yet, here I am.

So for one more year, one more moment. Even if a bit late.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

ee cummings