reflections on the old; resolutions in the new

Ah, 2008 is gone. History.

I began the month of December in quite a funk, not only due to the memory of and added loss but also due to what I perceived to have been a failure of a year. I wanted to have acheived my separation in 2008 and that did not happen.

However, I could not see at that point the great strides I have indeed made. What might seem like baby steps to some are huge to me. I have Him talking now in terms of "my weekend" vs. "his weekend" with the kids. I am no longer sitting home and crying during his time with the children; I am being productive, going out, enjoying my life and making the most of the freedom I have, trying to relax as much as possible so as to be a better mother when they are mine again. I am overcoming a fear of going out and doing things on my own; my basic insecurities that have ruled my life for so long are beign dismissed and I am coming out stronger and much more self-defined as a result.

And I am trying to laugh more.

That is how 2008 ended for me. What will 2009 have in store?

I want to build my business up just a bit more, as my youngest will be in school five mornings a week this coming year.

I want to cook more, bake more and eat out less.

I want to depend more on tea and less on coffee to keep my eyes open during the day.

Walk/bike more, drive less.

Simplify my life; less expenses, more experiences.

Develop more self-discipline regarding my computer use.

Define my various paths in my life.

Rid my life of that which is toxic and surround myself with healthy people and experiences.

More salads, less sweets.

More exercise, fewer excuses.

Get my backyard back into shape.

Ensure all in my life know who they are and what their roles in my life are; and conversely define what my role in their lives is.

Ascertain that He and I are playing on the same field, with the same expectations--about which, right now, I have an uncertain vibe resonating deep within me.

Start working on getting over my fear of confrontation.

Go somewhere I have never before been.

A new, different passport stamp? Hmmmm...would be nice!

Be the best mother I can be, and give thanks for these two greatest gifts I have been given each and every day of my life.

Keep a cleaner house.

Love more, live more; worry and resent less.

Let things go.

Be well.

Back to Izzy...

Okay. Izzy.

Now I think I see it. It is how we always, when alone, go back in our minds to what we know, what we were, finding comfort in memory so as not to have to deal with the fear of being alone. We try to go on with Life, go to work, play, meet people, learn, love...and then return to the quiet, the alone.

Why are we so afraid of quiet? Of being alone? Are we so accustomed to constant action, constant noise, constant mind-engagement that, when we cannot be externally stimulated we will go to great lengths--like bringing back the dead to fulfill a an active role, or at least a role of more than merely a memory in our lives, for example--to not have to be alone with our own thoughts and feelings? Are we that scared?

Interesting thoughts provoked tonight...

blustery beauty

Saturday was a balmy yet blustery day.

A strong cold front was blowing in from the northwest, ahead of which we had temperatures reaching the mid-70s. The warmth brought people out from all corners wearing shorts and t-shirts, attempting to capture what many acertained were the last of the vitamin D-bearing sunrays of the calendar year.

It was glorious!

I awoke feeling an inexplicable energy. Hearing the gara-gara of my bedroom windows all night, I had evidence of Mother Nature's power and sensed it was a day to take full advantage. Although I vow to never drive to the gym, I decided to couple my trip to workout with a trip to the grocer only around the corner, and my shopping spree demanded items much too heavy to lug all the way home on my slight frame. So I brought my clothes with, intending to shower and change at the gym.

Great workout, ran 5 miles in 33:05 (YIPPEE!) on the elliptical and showered. Forgot my comb of all things, so I pulled my long wet locks back into a pseudo-bun, a little eyeliner, a little lipstick and voila! done. Walked out and, working out right in front of me was a looker.

And he looked. And said, "Hel-LO!"

Damned my shyness, I smiled and lowered my eyes and barely audibly uttered a 'hello' back, and continued walking...but with my head high and feeling GREAT. Attractive. Noticed. Sexy. And with my presence validated.

Sometimes that is ALL I need. I am demanding, but my needs are few.

Off to the store, dropped the goods off at home, a couple of phone calls then off to be out and enjoy the morning. All the news reports warned of rapid changes at a later point in the afternoon, with plummeting temperatures ushered in with the wild wind, so I knew I could get away with single-layer jeans (no tights) and a sweater with no jacket for only so long.

I saw people I had not seen in a long time, I met a nice young waitress at CPK, recently graduated from high school, who wants to be a pastry chef and has been accepted into the CIA, I bought new tights in preparation for the cold week (always need footless tights and heavy socks), went to My Store (White House Black Market, if you're wondering) and actually found a sweater I could afford, and sat out in an open air square, eyes closed and just taking it all in--the air, the wind, the energy, the good moods...

...then the rain began.

As I am a wicked witch llama that melts when wet, I ran to my car as quickly as my clogs would allow me and drove the seven miles back to my home, where my children had spent the entire glorious morning downstairs watching cartoons with their father.

(sigh)

I soon realized my cell phone was gone and, after making some key telephone calls to establishments visited, I decided it was gone for good. But no big deal--I was feeling great! Off again to another store, it was still relatively warm and windy with more storm clouds in the distance. With my iTunes "mood mix" playing at a volume louder than I would permit had my children been in the backseat, I enjoyed my ride out, did my shopping and rushed back out to my car in another windy rainfall.

As I arrived home, the sun broke through the confused sky and behold, a strong rainbow arched through the sky welcoming me back.

My pot of gold? A day of feeling free, accomplishing tasks and knowing I could go out and do all of this all by myself, and carrying this wonderful liberating feeling with me all this week! The warmth in my heart helps blanket me through the sporadic snow showers we expect this week.

The Izzy Factor

I am a fan of Grey's Anatomy. I consider it my "smut fix". However, in this week's show there were some occurances surrounding some conflict in the life of one of the principal characters that have remained vividly fixed in my mind.

The great love of Izzy's life died a few seasons ago when a heart transplant did not come through for him. The Great Love--meaning she was ready to marry him and have his children, and this was reciprocal. His "apparition" is now watching over her and has, as of the last episode, convinced Izzy that he is real--thus not permitting her to go on with her life.

The imagery was strong--he had her take her hand and place it on his chest and, in the moment I was expecting her hand to go right through him it of course did not, it touched a real person...or what Izzy believed to be real.

How do we reconcile our ghosts? These could be past loves, or those whom we love reciprocally but cannot be together due to current circumstances. Or those who have actually died. Are these people real? Do/Did these relationships exist? How would one bring realities together that would otherwise not coincide?

Current technology permits so much that was not previously possible. Webcams, live voice chats, cell phones and text messaging is worldwide, breaching any distance; lovers on two different continents can maintain great levels of communication, with quasi eye-to-eye contact in real time. I see that with my friend whose husband has 50 more days left in Afghanistan--I even get to chat with him every so often when visiting her house, a possibility unheard of in previous global conflicts.

However, the questions in my mind that the Izzy Factor poses are: How much does all of this enable the development of a complete fantasy, something that is true but yet is not as physical presence is mythical rather than real? (I am not speaking of seeing loves that have left this world. If that is the case, some sort of professional help is required in my opinion.) If physical presence of the other is truth for a short time say, every few months, how is that reconciled against a reality of distance, no matter how rich and deep communication lines run? When two people who live under the same roof cannot communicate as well as two who are forced to do so by circumstance, does that transcend the relationship level to a degree?

I suppose that would have a lot to do with the will of both individuals involved; the will to maintain something good and true even against all odds, the will to maintain the spark and to learn new ways of keeping magic alive that could easily die out if lacking a two-sided deep investment, the will to risk not being comprehended by those physically present just to keep something good alive, the will to believe that truth can sometimes not be touched.

Or perhaps I read way too much into the Izzy Factor.

The ability to sense and learn new ways

The diamond-shaped girdle of Venus prominent on my right palm says that I have a very highly developed sixth sense. My Mars line is also prominent on both hands, dictating a high degree of sensitivity to my surroundings that is not only innate (left hand) but that I am living up to my potential (right hand).

I am sensing and sensitive, and sensibly so.

Open to new ideas but with my code of ethics intact, I enjoy stepping out of my comfort zone to stretch my senses, to experience all of that which Life has to offer and to discover ways of keeping that spark lit. I have allowed that spark to be extinguished once, and I suffered a complete breakdown. Never again will I permit my spirit to be dampened by another. Yet that agreement with myself comes with a comprehension that only I have the power to maintain, nourish and permit that spark to grow into a fire that pushes me into new experiences and out of comfortable complacency.

I cannot depend on any other to make me sense Life; others can only strengthen or discourage this power, depending on the positive or negative influence they exert over me.

I can give pages of examples of when my sixth sense has told me that somebody close was in grave danger, or has saved my life. Some stories I have to tell I may, one day, weave into a perhaps rather narcisstic short story collection. I can experience physical manifestations of pain and the great trials of my loved ones, those with whom I share a multi-leveled bond. In my musician days, I permitted that the music would enter my being and carry me; indeed I was not a master of technique but instead it was my ability to sense and learn to make others feel the music I could offer that made me a good musician.

I allowed my senses to empower me rather than to hold me back. Yet there is a certain degree of maturity and being open to learning new ways that must accompany this sensing. And I cannot speak for all here, as we are all following different paths, but the numbing of my senses through medication or a dictatorial brainwashing of right vs wrong that does not jive with my inner being creates in me conflict so great that I feel forced into hiding, away from that which I feel is a true danger to the good in my soul, to the marvelous and unique creation that I am.

If I inhibit, or allow the inhibition of, my power to sense, how will I be capable of feeling?

Trusting my senses guides me, most often than not, toward a path that I might not normally have taken. The free will of decision still exists, but that intuition exerts great influence over which steps I take next. This often is the fabled "road less traveled" so alluded to by Frost, but I have seen from an early age how that does, in fact, make all the difference.

*---*

In a combined thematic writing effort shared with The Quest for T and The Exception, this is the first theme put forth. I had so many thoughts I first typed, then deleted, then tried again. Some of those thoughts might come forth later--we shall see. This topic will be discussed throughout the week, I am sure, in posts and comments; for any parties interested in becoming involved or posting on this same topic, please link in so we all can derive the maximum benefit from each other's points of view.

racing clouds

The sky appears overcast and gray. Another stormy arrival is imminent. The trees are quietly shuddering in anticipation, and the insects have quieted, out of respect for Mother Nature's forces. Lawns appear green beneath the gray, greedily awaiting their thirst-quenching drink.

Look closer at the sky. It is not a quiet gray. It is moving, mobile, clouds are racing east to west. It is not a heavy gray; there is instead a constantly evolving texture to the cloud cover not visible at first glance.

Busy, hectic, churning, drawing.

A police car drives by. Maintaining order?

Nothing is at it first appears.

facebook addiction

I have become a Facebook Junkie this week.

It is easy to become lured into the lineage of ex-classmates, ex-boyfriends, ex-roommates, ex-stand partners (I was an orchestra nerd--violinist, to be exact) and a plethora of other exes that dominate this attempt to reconnect after 5-10-20 years of not having spoken, emailed or seen each other.

At the same time, the connections made are extremely gratifying.

Some work in toy stores. Others with movies in Hollywood. Everyone is finding their way, following what they have discovered to be their bliss, reveling in their children/pets/homes/travels/etc. and are equally enthused about this sudden resurgence in interest in what "the popular kids" or "the geeks" or "the nerds"...what have you...have become in Life. The barriers have dissolved; it is almost like the 20 year reunion occuring virtually, with pictures and a few video clips to boot.

Better than the 20th, however, is the fact that I can see my friends' other connections, if they so permit in their privacy settings. The diverse paths that the Friends List take tell a lot about each person, where they have been, whose lives they have impacted and how each have been influenced to become the individual we all now are.

Some are single, some searching, some married, and my relationship status is listed as "complicated." It is a part of being true to myself. Why should I have anything to hide or be ashamed of? I feel need to admit I am human, daring to take a step further than the virtual reality of Facebook-- a class reunion weekend, whatever--would necessarily permit to be seen.

I loaded pictures and have found great joy in the photos of others' travels, children, fun times. I am enjoying this experience...yet not at all missing my schooling years. I am at peace with who I have become, and these people all played their part in creating the Me that I am now.

And I am learning that, evidently, I am not the only one yearning to feel a connection to that from whence I came. That reassurance, in itself, is comforting.

Facebook vs. ???

Hardly a week goes by lately that I don't receive an inbox message asking me to "confirm friendship" or to "link up" or the other wide variety of verbage that the wide world of social networking sites employ. I admit to having a Linked In profile, as I personally found that particular site extremely professional and polished.

I can't say that has brought me any new business, however. Craigs List has done much better for me there.

Classmates, Facebook, My Space, Linked In--is there a huge difference between all of these sites? Do people actually list themselves absolutely everywhere and spend grotesquely wasteful amounts of time uploading photos, filling out click-and-select menus to answer questions about everything from their political affiliation to whether they prefer Folger's or Starbucks, and skimming all the names of their high school graduating class to see if their ex is listed and what s/he is doing --or, even better, if pictures are posted?

Not that I am at all guilty of any or all of the above...

Is the purpose of these sites, at least for the professional, over-30 set of us out here, simply that of a facilitator: to not allow us to feel so alone in what has become a distant and impersonal world? So many of us move away from our roots to follow an education or a paycheck, the luckier ones perhaps to pursue a dream. When our loved ones (namely our elders, but also our siblings or friends' family members) leave us, or word arrives that a classmate or former teacher has died, does this strike a mortality chord deep within us at this age, when we have matured past the immortality and idealism of our youth, and create in us an almost desperate need to reconnect with those ties that were so key in creating who we are today?

Do you participate in the online social networking scene (not talking matchmaking or dating here)?
For what purpose?
Have you felt fulfilled in your quest?

saving the world, one baby birdie at a time

Today I gave Mother Nature a little hand.

As it is late Spring here in the Northern Hemisphere, there are many baby birds hatching from their nests in the various trees, filling the air with the joyful and sometimes frantic chirping of newly hatched chicks and first-time parents. New birds are learning to spread their wings and fly from their comfortable nests. However, this first flight can actually end up being much more of a stumble into a situation out of which Baby Birdie cannot quite find a way!

I heard a very insistent chirping coming from the garage early this afternoon, so I sent the little monkeys to investigate. The chirping ceased and no bird flew out of the garage, so I decided to take a look around. I could see nothing and, as there was no more chirping had no sound assistance to go on. Coming out of the garage, I noticed gray fuzz in my big rosemary bush, behind my lavender and oregano in my herb garden. It was a baby mockingbird! Still with some newborn down on its head and little feet that are way too big for its body, but just looking at me and staying calm in the rosemary. I called the children over and we all quietly admired this being that had no choice but to be our captive entertainment.

I thought that I was perhaps mistaken, that Rosemary Birdie was the one that I had heard and that it had gotten lost from its Mama Birdie. But then the panicked chirping ensued. We returned to the garage but found nothing. La Princesita's ride then arrived to wisk her off to play for the afternoon, so the Young Prince and Mama Llama were left alone to solve this mystery.

The chirping began again. Silently I entered the garage, deducing from the sound that it was on the right-hand side. Following the chirps, I found Baby Birdie #2 on top of one of the front wheels of the lawn mower! Remembering that baby bunnies, if carrying the scent of humans on their fur when newborn are eaten by their families, I quickly found a sweatshirt and inserted my arms and hands into the arms of the pullover so that I could catch the bird without tarnishing it in any way with my scent. I had to "calmly chase" the creature around a bit but, after a bit of coaxing was able to gently grab Baby Birdie #2 and ever so lightly carry it out to be with its sibling out on the rosemary.

There they sat for a good while, siblings, the one from the garage squawking quite a bit in protest of their mother having pushed them out the nest. "How dare you! You see what happened? We weren't ready and had to deal with those HUMANS you warned us about! And you pushed us into their world!" The eternal child-to-parent guilt trip--I could hear it in the chirp.

Later this afternoon, upon The Young Prince and my return, we noticed that one of the babies was gone. Still remaining was the vociferous one, but even it had gone from the rosemary to the stones just below the lavender. I mentioned to my son that it might be a good idea to watch from the large window overlooking our driveway and see what happens.

Sure enough, in flies Mama (or Papa, who knows) Birdie and gives Baby Birdie something to eat. Then Mama flies to the fence, looking back as if trying to coax Baby to follow. Baby stands its ground.

Later, I see Mama making another approach, hopping over the driveway and back to the fence. I never did see Baby Birdie follow as I was also sauteeing my first garden squash of the season, but when I went out to check on Baby's progress, I was surprised to see that Baby Birdie was gone!

I doubt Baby Birdie would have found its way out of the garage, or if Mama Birdie would have gone in after it to coax it out of hiding. So I feel that my intervention was warranted and gave Mother Nature a bit of a helping hand this afternoon.

After all--we are all in this together, are we not?

political condoms

Why haven't I heard about this in English language newspapers?

Or have I just been reading the wrong pages?

RPP.com, the Public Radio Service of Perú, says today that McCain and Obama condoms are for sale at 9.95/two.

For those who can't decide on who they are supporting (I think the entire world pretty much knows who they are voting for now, but hey...) they can try both and see which is the best, um...fit.

The Obama condoms cannot assure 100% protection in a night of complete illicit abandon with someone from the opposite party. They carry the theme, "Who said experience is necessary?"

The McCain condoms have gone with "Old but Not Expired."

Both say they offer better protection than the Secret Service.

Fujimori

I am not a political pundit, but someone I find an interesting figure in world politics is Alberto Fujimori. He is currently on trial in Perú for violation of human rights during his presidency, which is argued to have been more of a dictatorship than a presidency.

When trekking around the mountainous and altiplano region from Cusco south to Titicaca back in 2000 with a girlfriend, we noticed there was a great deal of local support for Fujimori in the upcoming elections against Alejandro Toledo, a man with indigenous roots who did, in the end, win the election. When inquiring to people about what made them favor Fujimori over Toledo, I was overwhelmingly responded to by one word: El sendero.

The Shining Path is a Maoist--and extremist--rebel organization that, in short, believes the path to true communism to be through a cultural revolution that would extend world-wide. There is a very sendero-esque group that has recently taken political control of Nepal.

The Sendero Luminoso began to show its public face in 1980 when, for the first time in years, the military force governing Perú permitted open elections. Ballot boxes were burned and, soon thereafter, dead dogs were found hanging from streetlights and the terror-filled battle for power began. The popularly-elected president at the time, who happened to be the great-uncle of a personal friend of mine, was wary of giving the military too much control to nip this in the bud as it was a dominant military that had ended Belaúnde's presidency in a coup before. So the Sendero gained strength, mainly in the Andean highlands, marking its force with brutal massacres that did not exclude women and children.

A Peruvian who has studied the actions of the Sendero in great detail for intelligence training in the 1990s taught me a lot about the Sendero. It was the children of the Sendero that would first lead the group into a community. The children would draw the attention of the citizens, who would come out and be met by the men, and then the women. The women are colder and more calculating, it was explained to me, than the men so they were often the masked killers as they were least likely to exercise mercy and would carry out much of the actual brutality.

The violence was not limited to the Andes. Over time it filtered into what had been popularly been considered the "untouchable" cities, with deadly car bombs in the districts I now visit regularly when I visit Perú. It is hard to imagine the terror that kept limeños off what are now such busily bustling streets.

How does Fujimori enter this picture? Upon election to the presidency, he established a forceful military power with right to fight the Sendero. The military, upon (apparent) orders from above, carried out various human rights violations, killed many more civilians than necessary and made themselves, in essence, look worse than the Sendero.

My informant was also behind the design and planning of the liberation of the Japanese Prime Minister's residence in Lima of 1997. Interestingly, I was in Japan at the time, watching everything unfold surrounded by a completely different cultural context--that of a horrified Japanese public who suddenly felt themselves almost as under attack as they had in the bombings of WWII, but this time without reason. The MRTA behind this seizure, a militant group similiar in ideology to the Sendero. The tunnels...the signals...everything in that liberation was so carefully timed, tunnels so painstakingly dug, the details of how they managed to drill without the rebels hearing the noise...amazing details...only (if I remember correctly) three deaths in the rescue.

Fujimori had the support of many because it was realized a very firm, dictatorial hand was required to put this group down. It is not like Colombia's FARC. The FARC are kidnappers with motives to raise funds for its survival, thus its involvment not only in the cocaine trade but also in the secuestros of high-profile individuals. The Sendero are killers. The only way to revolutionize is to annihilate and start clean with new ideology in place. There was no way to reason with them. Was Fujimori acting within his bounds in his military orders? Was he too firm of a hand? That will be for the judges hearing his case to find. I think that, when all is said and done, history will see Fujimori as the one who brought peace back to Perú. At a price, mind you, but there is a freedom and a peace that did not exist for over 15 years there. Can Alan García keep this up? We shall see. His economic policies are sure to reestablish a passionate fire amongst the Maoist groups.

What happened? When top Sendero officials were captured, the group went in different directions as "peace talks" were requested. Some wanted to go that route, others did not. The central driving force was gone. However, militant factions continue to exist. There is the Proseguir movement which sounds driven by many similar motivations as the FARC. Plus, there are a generation of children who have been raised with this Maoist mentality who are now coming of age and power. Captured senderistas are ending their terms and are being released. There is a degree of reorganization, with spotty activity in the highlands mainly north and east of Lima.

So where will I go in 16 days? Not into Huánuco or Ayacucho. This time I will stay closer to Lima but still head out to the highlands to explore. I had wanted to go to Trujillo but have been warned against that; even Peruvians consider Trujillo extremely dangerous right now for various reasons. The province also borders Huánuco region. Much in how I would love to explore Colombia or Venezuela, now is just not the time to go to certain places, and the State Department can only tell you so much with their list.

another sleepless night

I know, it's too early to tell as it is only 9:30. This has, however, been the holding pattern now for quite a while, for various reasons. Some of which stem from stress, others from big question marks, and the past nights from the temperature and heat advisory we are under; indeed, tomorrow and Tuesday have already been named "Code Red" days for air quality.

Of *course* I broke down and turned on the A/C.

I am not *that* stubborn.

(a-hem)

I have the temperature set at one reasonable for the budget and so that you can walk in from The Great Outdoor Sauna and tell that, in fact, A/C is on and operating In This House. 81/82 degrees is low enough during the day, and with my ceiling fans on to assist in circulating the air, I still have to wear a long-sleeved shirt over my t-shirt so I don't get too cold.

I let it go down to 79 degrees at night. This is because I cannot stand the feeling of breathing stagnant air while I am sleeping; even if the ceiling fans are on, I need more than that. So when, last night the air was kicking on all throughout the night without fail and I still could not sleep, I had to re-rationalize my theory.

In all complete honesty, I think I am claustrophobic.

I do not like the feeling of having my windows closed tight. Even in the winter, except on the most coldest of winter nights, I keep the window over my bed ever so slightly cracked to act as that all-night humidifier (green note: without the waste and expense of running an electric humidifier or the mold build-up that can result, or the incessant filter changes. Okay--hopping off soapbox)

Although I have snorkled quite a bit, I don't enjoy the breathing aspect of it nor having the mask over my eyes. I get panicky easily. I could never bring myself to take a scuba class while in Thailand (and I was there long enough to actually take one). This was an accentuated trait during my first pregnancy when, having entered the Sistene Chapel after hours of waiting, I could not appreciate the beauty once inside due to the stale air, the hundreds of people and the horrible, nagging feeling that I could never find my way back out. In month 4.5 of pregnancy I climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower. In mid-June. It was hot. But I was NOT going to take an elevator...

Whenever possible I avoid elevators. I thought it was because I once was stuck in a really old one back when I was about La Princesita's age. Now I think it is because I really feel uncomfortable in closed-in places.

I do not like my head covered nor my neck touched.

Come to think of it, the list does go on.

This is a brand-new revelation to me as of this evening. I had often joked about "being claustrophobic" in a pop-culture sense of the term--like everyone has some fear, be it of spiders, heights...almost a 'conversation topic' in a way. However, thinking back on certain very strong reactions I have without even consciously realizing this--for example, my extreme sleeplessness being due to the fact that my windows all shut tight as opposed to the lack of fresh (?!) outside air circulating in my room that I had always said was my reason why... hmmm... --makes me question this as a veritable hang-up I have.

So what to do with all this time on my hands? I suppose I could make a midnight run to the gym and have a great work-out all by myself--but I already did that this morning in an effort to thoroughly tire myself out for sleep tonight. Not happening. Sudoku? Crosswords? Bore myself to sleep? Always an option, I suppose. Nothing good on TV on a Sunday night anymore..although I see that NEXT Sunday at 9 there is a Best of Mike Myers special--ah, my SNL generation.

I *could* actually work... nah, too easy.

(sigh) Sweet dreams, y'all.

bird droppings and corresponding good fortune

I have found myself at three different points in my life, the most recent being yesterday, wondering if the belief that, when shat upon by a bird you are to be graced with good luck, is a semi-truth with roots in wives' tales...or a huge crock of, well, guano.

(By the way, etymology of the word guano dictates droppings not exclusive to bats but rather, with roots in Quechua--the Language of the Incas--to indicate any bird dropping, usually that of sea-living birds--sorry, nerd moment...but I did learn something out in the Ballestas of Paracas, see???)

Yeppers...just outside Buckies. Shat upon again. Right on the right shoulder.

Rather than this destiny being met with the dreaded "Ew, gross, Mom!" or the more infantile (and fitting for a three year-old), "HA HA HA HA HA!!!!" responses I was expecting, I was instead the object of great fascination by my children.

Oh, Mom, does this mean you are really lucky? How many times has a bird pooped on you? I wish a bird would poop on me. Did you see it coming? Did you see the bird? I wonder what the bird ate...

You get the picture.

After rushing into the Buckies baño to wash off this Mark of Distinction from my newly tie-dyed-by-hand-thank-you-very-much t-shirt I proceeded to place our order, then we sat outside and ate our Buckies treats that we, yes, biked downtown to enjoy (yeah, I'm still trying to save gas even if others have given up the fight. I'm stubborn like that.).

A lady we know then stopped to say hi, then invited us to swim today (we didn't end up having time, unfortunately). Then said that we could come at any time during the summer that we wanted, because she owns (not rents) in the complex where the pool is located and all we have to do is sign in saying we are her guests.

Dude. Major score.

And all occuring within nano-um-minutes of having been shat upon.

My honest side then kicked me in the ribs and I asked, "Well, isn't that a violation of some sort of ethical code or rules or something?" "No," she responded. "I own there, so I can say who goes on my name and who doesn't."

Oh. Okie dokie then.

Pros: It would save a lot of gas while giving us something cool to do--less than a mile from home and the kids can easily bike there. The closest pool is almost 2 miles down the major street--which isn't bad getting there but the operating term there is down. Which means going uphill all the way home is a completely different story with the Youn 3.75 year old Prince riding his own, um, self-propelled chariot.

And it would save a lot of moo-lah as well, even for an August-only membership at that pool.

Cons: We would be the only ones we would know there and I would not take advantage of this extension of kindness to "invite" others on my invitation. I just am too guilt-ridden (can you tell, born and bred Catholic?!) to consider that. And I would still feel like I was completely taking advantage of an invitation that perhaps was simply made in kind; it can be very, very hard for me to discern sincerity from niceties. I have an inbuilt defensive side, always cautious, always wary of fully trusting. This inhibits my very well-developed sixth sense, so much so that my sixth sense has been put on the back burner lately.

Anyway, digressing to the bird poop.

Was this all coinki-dink? I also succeeded in getting two screen doors installed yesterday, completing the front door this morning. The little monkeys and I had a glorious day filled with joy and togetherness at the Town festival with La Princesita demonstrating some really beautiful facets of her personality (no, I am not being facetious). I am so truly blessed...

...or just bird-sh*t lucky.

margarita-laced dreams

A girls' date to Artie's last night with Queens from Neighboring Kingdoms was on tap. It was a spontaneous decision to go out on what was a really chilly last night of February but, as one who craves spontaneity in her life, I depend on others to impose their spontaneous spirit onto me (thank you, She-ra!).

We had a lovely night, got home around midnight (this is becoming a pattern...!), did a little necessary computer research and then fell asleep....

The time was 2:00 a.m. and, at that magic hour the roof of Artie's opens up to the starry skies. It was no longer a cold night; we continued sitting at the bar, hardly aware that the six hours had passed. I look out the window and see that the Men are starting to arrive; first, She-ra's husband, then L's husband, and finally some really dark and handsome good looker I have yet had the pleasure to meet... And I thought, "Uh-oh, I am in trouble now." But then the guys decided to stick around for a couple drinks, then we left in She-ra's husband's super Captain Raptor Turbo Jet, of which I was to be the managing co-pilot and thus we would skillfully avoid the cops awaiting in the Artie's parking lot to check the 3 a.m. drinkers trying to make their ways home.

And so it went...until my little monkeys jumped on me at 6:30 this morning.

*-----*

I was hoping all day that the headache I felt coming on from about 11 this morning was more a function of alcohol, although I had not imbibed in any amount that would ever normally give me the most minor chuchaqui. As the day went on, however, the headache intensified despite my best efforts to maintain hydrated and well-fed and to stay off the computer. As March did enter in a rather lion-esque fashion today with some strong north winds, I did get outside with the little monkeys to fly the kite, thinking that perhaps some fresh air would do some good. By the evening, I could feel my glands at the base of my neck swollen and all I could think is 'great, now I'm getting the flu.' It is starting to go around here like crazy. Although I have felt unreasonably cold all day, I am not running a fever and it is thus not a chill, and the intense headache is all that is getting me--no sneezing, no head stuffiness, nothing else. So I'll ride it out, take it easy and hope that this is something minor that just is knocking me down a bit for the weekend. I would like to spend tomorrow working on finishing more with my book, but that will depend on how I am feeling.

*-----*

I found a salsa school here in town that I am looking into for getting back into dancing. I have always wanted to learn more on a formal scale (as opposed to discoteque salsa, where I can hold my own) and I absolutely love to dance...and what better way to get to know new people? The last "classes" I took were in swing and in belly dancing, and that was almost 10 years ago. There are beginner salsa classes, which is where I would start even though I can survive on a dance floor; better to be taught correctly and have bad discoteque habits undone early. I'll have to figure out a schedule and two hours a week that I would dedicate, without exception, to ME. This will probably have to quite a few more years yet until both kids are old enough to be left home alone responsibly, but it is worth at least looking into as a possibility. Too bad nothing like this is offered through the gym; I pay a membership fee monthly but still go and never speak to a single soul. I need to be forced into interaction, as I can fall all too easily into complacency, solitude and silence.

Does this year seem early to you?

It does to me.

Everything is happening so early. Easter is celebrated very early this year. Mardi Gras was extremely early. My mother even said that her birthday is NEVER the same week as Easter.

So I researched the question a little bit.

The Christian celebrations of Lent and Easter are determined by the lunar year; Easter traditionally falls the first Sunday following the first full moon after the Spring Equinox. I did know that. This year, all of these occurances take place during the same week in March, with Easter falling on the 23rd. This is a rare occurance, I learned; indeed, Easter has not fallen so early as March 23rd since 1913. Woodrow Wilson was President. Lent that year began on February 5 (this year February 6 due to it being a leap year).

Easter will not occur this early again until we are all gone from this Earth, in the year 2160.

In case Alex ever were to ask that on Jeopardy!, you are now prepared.

ice storm

Even the power lines look elegant with the drooping sway of 1-2 inch icicles lacing their lengths. The limbs of the cherry and the infant maple are encased in whitish ice.

If the sun were shining, it would be quite a sight. Alas, it is a gray and heavily misty day, with the ice slowly melting away.

I will try to take some pictures but, as I do not own a digital camera but a 35 mm, it will be a while before I will be able to post them.

The schools in this district are on a two-hour delay this morning, and power was temporarily knocked out in the middle of the night, only for about an hour and a half. After dropping la Princesita off at her class, I will head down to the City for another dubbing project for work. Unfortunately, this schedule meant I had to cancel my morning class--win some, lose some.

my father-in-law

He is a good and generous man, my father-in-law. He is a dentist by trade, is known for being good and gentle, and would take payment in the form of fresh fish or kahlua pig if a patient could not monetarily recompense services rendered.

He suffered a bilateral stroke last night and is in the hospital now. It appears his speech is quite slurred and he can be hard to understand...

...oh, the painful memories of my own dear father this brings rushing back to my heart...

He is far away, on a distant island and currently inaccessible to those in his family who are constrained by money, childcare, their own health issues, jobs and/or geography--two of his children, his brothers--so many on the mainland, so hard to get back.

No need to rush right now, so my sister-in-law says. Many people recover from strokes.

Perhaps that is so.

But I know better.

Maybe it is my own bitter life experience that has shown me otherwise.

Tonight my heart hurts. For his family, for the pain all must endure in knowing and seeing such a good, strong man become suddenly so weak. For this period of unknowing that inevitably occurs. For feeling all of that they are numb to, for I know and intimately understand the numbness and dreamlike, auto-pilot state of being we kick into under these circumstances. For my own memories that I cannot let go.

blessings and challenges

Happiness is sipping Starbucks hot chocolate with a six year old who adores you on a girls' night out shopping on a Saturday night. I love that she is getting older and yet I dread the day she prefers to spend that time with her friends rather than with me.

Which shows me that I desperately need to get a life.

I did extend myself this week and met up with another parent in La Princesita's class. I tried. Meeting at her (new) house, of course (inferiority complex, my boro-boro 40+ year old brick home just does not compare...) we sipped cappuchino and had a wonderful morning on Friday. Problem is, I realize just how obvious it is that I am so not happy with certain aspects of my life--it is impossible for me to even answer the inevitable questions that all relationships begin with, things like, "So how did you and your husband meet?"

I am starting to think that I just can't do this. Not the separation part...that is becoming more firmly defined with the arrangements we figured out last week, although still not quite to the point that permits me my comfort zone (i.e. separate roofs). We are on separate floors, and are doing the "housemate" thing, sharing the (upstairs in my "apartment") kitchen and the (downstairs in his "apartment") laundry room. I'm trying to find a cheap, small, flat LCD TV that can fit in my room so I don't have to be downstairs to watch my Univisión. The kids have free reign. My office is unfortunately downstairs, but there is no way to move all that up to the classroom. No room. I need an office if I have a home-based business.

What I don't think I can do is comfortably meet people. Not the kind of romantic meeting people--I am still married, technically, by a sheet of paper; Heavens knows I do NOT need complications in my life; and I will never again be 'marketable.' I'm resigned to that. No, I'm talking about meeting other women, forming that community of women in my life that I vowed so long ago I would never let go. I know and was comforted by the fact that there are others who feel the way about the "alpha mom" syndrome (I gave it that name) around here that I feel and how the few of us do need to stick together and not let ourselves be taken, in the name of just allowing our children to be kids...the only time in their lives they'll be able to do so. The problem is with the personal stuff...I can't converse or, if it enters into a conversation, I will end up opening floodgates about the disaster I have made of my marriage and how dreadfully unhappy I am.

And who wants to get to know someone who feels like that? What a downer.

So I'm back in my hole, where it's safe, and afraid to leave. Trapped.

I was going to the gym this morning but stopped myself. I already have a splitting headache for the second day in a row and I have work to do here this morning (which I am obviously procrastinating by blogging), plus I should not go two days in a row when I'm trying to put on weight. It's just the getting-out-of-the-house routine that I like to maintain. But I did that yesterday.

The piercing place here in town doesn't exist after all. The Town will not permit such places within its borders (it's a fairly conservative little town). Have to go to the neighboring communities to do that. Rats. I was hoping for simplistic proximity.

It's a chilly, windy yet sunny day. Maybe I should bring my work up here to the classroom and work, even though I'll have to deal with Everyone Else if I am here. I need to get La Princesita finished with her obligatory shows of affection for her classmates for Vday. It's nice not recognizing Vday myself, although for the children's sake I have some cute little presents (new socks, some notepads/$1 store toys that they go nuts over) for them. I bought myself a hurricane candle holder and three big candles for my room. And yes, they are scented. My "housemate" does not like scented anything and evidently, by the way he smashed my irreplaceable, hand-made candleholder last year in the same tyrade in which he smashed the kitchen window, doesn't care for candles at all.

So that purchase was for me. And the candles were on SALE! Yippee! So that is a blessing.

I'm trying.

heavy

I am just feeling so heavy. So much weighing me down. Jobs to do, trying to fill another class, taxes, finances, unexpected RDOs (that absolutely KILL me--probably hence the funk), the not-feeling-anything--I don't feel like a woman, I don't feel like a human, more like a machine on auto pilot. It's just heavy today.

I'm tired. That's all. I'm just tired. Tomorrow we're supposed to get a little snow. Maybe that'll be enough to lift my spirits a bit; the change. I need weather sometimes--storms, something to break the monotony. Thunder, lightning, wind. Sun when I can be out in the garden. Even a steady rain when I can be out with my hands thrust in the mud, working Earth.

Something to make me feel alive.

*---*

Valentine's Day is arriving. I absolutely hate Valentine's Day. Perhaps it is because I was always in the middle of some breakup at that time in my youth. I grew to believe that I was broken up with so as not to have to be given anything for Valentine's Day...self-esteem statement right there. Thus, in high school we nicknamed it "VD Day." I have always hated Valentine's Day. Obligatory gift-giving is perhaps one of my greatest pet peeves. Obligatory expressions of affection, another. If I want to tell you that I love you, I will probably do it any other time and date than on Valentine's Day. Why am I thinking about this now? Because the children do Valentines at school. Gotta train them early, right? Ugh. So I found the materials today with which we will be creating ours for classmates this year.

This does not mean I am not a romantic. I love romance, I like to be romanced and I love to creatively give romance; I just personally do not believe it should be dictated by the calendar.

And there you have it.

peace

So many of us are experiencing turmoil in our lives right now. Some are mourning the death of a beloved guide, some are losing a pet, others are ending a marriage, some are trying to find themselves, others trying to get home, many trying to move on in their lives and some are at the beginning of becoming a support system of a huge fight for life.

I just looked out my window and in the wintry twigs that the deciduous trees leave behind in their yearly evolution, I see a red cardinal watching the world go by. I am sure nobody else sees him, everyone is so busy in their daily comings and goings to take note of a mere spot of beauty amid the gray browns of winter.

But I see him.

Deep breaths.

Peace.