Lucky, Lucky Me

On my drive into work this morning, I was chitchatting with a good friend many miles away. She is about to embark on a major life change and I was lucky enough to be sharing both her abounding joy and smidgen of fear.

I started thinking about my own transitions in life. We've lived in PHX now for well over a year and I'm rounding my one-year anniversary of my job. My life has become routine and settled after years of transition. In three years, we moved twice, got married, had a child.

But now, my life is relaxed. When a long-lost friend (or just someone across country) and we haven't spoken in a while, I love the fact that when I am asked if anything new is going on, my answer is, "Nope, holding to the status quo."

A year ago, my life was on the brink in a bad way, even though I didn't know it yet. But miraculously, somehow my life recovered and became better than ever. How did that happen? How did I get so lucky?

I can't really answer that. Sometimes, I find myself crossing my fingers, waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering when the bottom will fall out again.

Maybe it will, maybe it won't. But all I can say is that right now, this very moment, I am satisfied with my life. I am lucky, lucky indeed.

Joy and Heartbreak

CEWG thinks she is a princess. Who am I to dispute, really?

This age is miraculous. She is uninhibited. She is joyous. She is filled with honey and with vinegar. She exudes confidence in everything she does. She knows she is the best dancer, the best singer, the best princess that has ever existed.

I wish I could bottle this joy. I wish that she could keep this love of herself forever. She has not learned to dislike herself yet, to wish that her hair was straight or her thighs thinner, to think she laughs too loudly or smiles too widely. She has not learned to criticize, just to adore and be proud that she can jump so high and dance so wildly.

How do I teach her to hold on to this part of herself? How do I teach her to love her body and her mind and her soul for all that she is? How do I show her that imperfections are not necessarily flaws that should be changed, but merely a part of the sum total of who she is and who she can be?

I try to show her by loving myself, by embracing my body how it is now, for all its imperfections which are not imperfections, really. My body grew another life, gave the light to that life, nourished that life for over two years. I am not only teacher, but also student, learning from my daughter to take pride in that body, to shower it with grace and love for doing all these wonderous things.

I want my daughter to hold on to her confidence forever. I want her built on a solid foundation of self-love and self-acceptance, so that inevitably, when someone calls her "fat" or "clumsy" or "ugly" she is not shaken and falls, but stands tall in herself and retorts, "No, I am better than that."

Revolution

(Warning: I'm about to get on my high horse and cliched, so be warned. Read at your own risk, dear reader.)

I read The Omnivore's Dilemma and I am duly horrified. Objectively, I knew much of the book's content. I've heard of docking chicken beaks and the cruelty of slaughtering beef on a slaughter line. I've always teetered on the edge of becoming a vegetarian because of my love for animals. (Ironic, of course, because I actually slaughtered my own chickens in Kenya.) But there is something about eating animals that I've always had a difficult time dealing with.

But there were plenty of things in the book that I didn't know. For example, it takes about 87 calories of energy to transport 1 calorie of food. I mean, that's crazy.

So The Doctor and I are attempting to revolutionize how we eat and drink in our small house in the desert. We're trying to buy local as best we can in Arizona. Farmer's markets, local stores, grass-fed, free range meats. I'm considering this my revolution, my food anarchy.

Styleless

Last night, I went to a coworker's home to see some photos from her recent trip to Asia (Hong Kong, China, Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam, in case you were interested). She made some appetizers consisting mostly of cheese (delish!) and uncorked a few bottles of wine. The photos were fantastic. I really enjoyed seeing and hearing her stories about rices paddies and buffalo shit.

But what I loved most of all was her condo. Her sense of interior design and style wowed me. Everything from the paint colors and placement to the wall hangings to the knick-knacks to the pillows and throws just complemented each other. It was bright, cheery, modern, bohemian, gorgeous. The style of the home was eclectic (e.g. NOT Pottery Barn, etc.), but it looked fantastic. So pulled together and lived in and I loved it.

For whatever reason, my sense of home design and style is terrible. (To be honest, my sense of personal style is kind of lacking, too. Clothes I can do, but accessories? Forget it.) It's not a family gene becauase Golden Brother has a fabulous sense of style (especially for a straight man) and his little studio apartment looks a thousand times better in shades of orange and green and modern art and contemporary furniture. Granted, Golden Brother studied art and architecture at university, so maybe it's a learned gene.

Whatever I lack, I lack in a big way. My house has prints hung up throughout, but they all look a little mismatched and oddly out of place. My furniture is a hodge-podge of stuff (and stained with child crap like food and paint and crayons).

I wish I had an innate sense of style. But for my house to look like anything other than thrown together and mishmashed, then I'll have to hire someone to come and pick out colors, furniture and wall hangings.

At least I can cook.

H-O-T Hot

This is the time of the year I despise living in Arizona. Everywhere else, it's the winding down of summer, the beginning of fall, the anticipation of school and a fresh start. A change of seasons.

Except in Arizona. Right now, it's only the middle of the summer; the heat will continue the sizzle for another few months as the air conditioner drones on outside my window, providing an incessant hum as backdrop to my nights.

I love the fall. I love the cooler mornings, the crispness in the air, the slow but steady change of the leaves from deep summer green to crackly orange and reds. I love apple picking and cider, pumpkin-picking and looking at new pink erasers.

I miss the change of seasons right now.

Rerouted

Clearly, I've quit doing a photo a day. My life has had a few speed bumps pop up over the last few weeks, the last of which ended up with me in the ER in VA Beach the day of my grandfather's funeral. Despite my smugness, apparently gallbladder problems do run in my family and hit all women right around the age of 30. I'm close enough to 30 for it to count and had a laparoscopic cholecystectomy (that would be a gallbladder removal surgery) on Friday.

So I'm home for a few days relaxing and healing. CEWG is at nursery school, the Doctor is sleeping off his night shift work and I'm watching bad reruns of afternoon television and generally enjoying being home.

8:11

Study in Clouds

8:10

8:9

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.