Zora Travels

Less stuffing next year

There's a cream house on a cul-de-sac, reddish rock and Lola's rose bushes line the path to the front door.  Inside are the remnants of Thanksgiving: tupperware filled with shrimp and quail eggs, foil enveloping salmon, bowls of caramelized chestnuts, and a large pan of stuffing (more than half of my stuffing).  All of which await our return today.

Daniel's family celebrates Thanksgiving profoundly different from my own.  My family often takes a "Martha Stewart"-ish approach from the dishes made from scratch, the linen napkins, the namecards (embossed by my mother), and the sultry sweaters and silks around the table.  These aesthetic and epicurean elements anoint the day with a sense of formality, beauty, and calm.  We relish each other's company in a demure manner.  Smiles linger on crimson lips, pants and skirts whirl around the kitchen, laughter and music eschew with courtesy, delicate china and Venetian glasses are laid softly to rest at the end of the night.  All diners heading home with full bellies and warm hearts at a decent hour.

What is Daniel's family doing at 11:00pm on Thanksgiving night?  His Uncle Ted grips the karaoke microphone while singing the German drinking-song "Lieber Augustin."  He's watched by other uncles who are plating up salmon, quail eggs, and rice (notice my stuffing is no where near their plates).  Daniel is chair dancing, sipping on Jack and coke and letting his pipes recover from his recent belting of "Under my Thumb."  I'm sipping a cocktail, eying more pumpkin bars, and relishing my recent triple 90 scores on "Blackbird," "Crazy," and "Bobby McGee." Bea and Nathan (the only children) flit about on the tile, relishing the frenzied energy of the adults in the room.  Anna, Daniel's sister, and our former Italy-traveling partners, Alexis, Jake and Marie, pour over the "Magic Sing" song book searching for their next tune.  Lola passes through with beaming smiles and knitted brow admonishments about our volume (yet her sparkling eyes bely her overall sentiment at the family being all together).  The kitchen counter is still covered with the half-eaten buffet. Nibblers pick throughout the day and night, plating up and grabbing a drink from the red cooler. 

I took my second family photo this year (**shown here).  I can't tell you how exciting it is to be invited into the photo.  Throughout the afternoon we were both ambushed by relatives inquiring about our marriage status.  I had expected just such a loving attack and had already prepared my responses.  "It is not in my hands" or "Ask him for the details."  Both of which worked quite well to deflect the heat to my boyfriend.  He was battered, pushed, encouraged, and requested under the auspices of Lola's "I'm not going to live that long" to get a move on, make it official, put the invites in the mail.  My face reddened throughout his valiant exchanges and I did feel for him...and yet, as we snuggled in bed last night and he said "What type of ring do you like?," my heart soared and I knew that I owed all of his family (and the recent nudges of my Uncle John and Aunt Pat) a bit of gratitude.  A little pressure can't be a bad thing?  Not too much...but just a little. 

And today, Black Friday, I listen to CNN reports on the Mumbai crisis.  The fearless Alexis and Marie (**shown here) already went shopping at midnight.  We'll probably go out into the fray this afternoon.  And this evening, after a Mass, we'll all find ourselves again around the kitchen counter of Lola's house.  We'll hover near the microwave with our plates of leftovers, fill up our mugs with handfuls of ice, a splash of Jack, and pour of coke, and begin our search for our karaoke debut.  At some point, Lola will hold my hands and take me over to the golden baby Jesus, "El Nino" in the livingroom.  She'll may tell me again about how she prays we'll get married soon.  She'll may touch the tips of her tiny delicate fingers again and say that she hopes for "one boy and one girl."  I'll smile, hug her, and think to myself "I do, too, Lola.  I do, too."

A Vegas Thanksgiving with a Coppola twist

Michael Corleone is courting Appolonia. Daniel nibbles on Church's fried chicken.  His father welcomed us an hour ago in his standard dashing morning attire, his mother and Anna are at Mass.  The smell of a 20 lb. turkey hangs in the air and soon will be joined by the glazed ham. 

The wedding dance is in procession.  I helped peel the potatoes.  Who knew that you could leave the peels on while they boil?  I was slightly traumatized adding lemon pepper and paprika into the bowl.  It's funny how  unwittingly, and yet fervently, we cling to our own traditions.  I mean mashed potatoes are mashed potatoes, yet, my mouth and mind know that these will taste different and it's only in tasting the same that I'm near my mother.  Her family recipes are those that linger upon my imagined palate when late November rolls around.

Sunny has been ambushed on the causeway.  Eloisa chops mushrooms as Virgil hovers behind commenting on the superb quality of the film or a rekindled memory.  I'm captured in the past...imagining Nate & Erik peeling and mashing, Barbara simmering green beans, and Lola unveiling her pumpkin pies.  John's eyebrows arch over his ultra-sweet cranberry sauce, Cheryl's bars ooze and disappear, while everyone ignores John's small bowl of oyster stuffing.  My mother's genious glistening in various bowls, pie tins, and vases bursting with autumnal sprigs.  Pat pulls it all together upon a Guatemalan table runner and soon we settle around the table.  Prayers and thanks are given.  Embossed name placards and Venetian stemware fill with wine. 

Marlon Brando stuffed his cheeks with cotton for this film. I am rejoining this home.  The walls upon which glossy photos of "The Pope of Popes" adorn and gigantic canvas portraits of the Filipino family coat every inch of the walls.  Daniel's over-sized kindergarten pencil lies upon a cluttered bookshelf alongside Anna's beanie-baby collection. His mother finishes the dishes, the plates nudge into the dish rack and I think Appolonia is going to die soon.  Isn't that what happens?

Yes...a carbomb. By the way, what genetic material makes men always saying famous movie lines outloud?  Daniel has sunk deep into the couch and is muttering like he's in the mafia.  What is that about?

I wish all of my loved ones a Happy Thanksgiving! A special prayer towards the people of Mumbai. And to the three (maybe four) of you who I've never met and yet your eyes stumble upon my blog...may you also enjoy this Thursday as a day of thanks wherever you are.

Cooking for 30

I have boiled spaghetti for eight friends.  I have baked cookies for seven family members.  And I have popped popcorn for thirty-five students.  But I have never ever made a dish for thirty adults.  Add to the scenario the following elements: it's for Thanksgiving dinner, it's for my future in-laws, Daniel's mother usually makes this dish, and that a few hours from now we're driving through the night to Vegas with the half-baked concoction.

So, what does one do faced with a counter full of ingredients for cornbread stuffing and cranberry sauce?  Well, blog about it of course, eat the pumpkin bars that you had promised for dessert, and listen to PBS in the background (the economy is down by the way, Barack is having his 37th press conference, and Mumbai is on fire). Now, this plan of attack is illogical, I admit, but the piles of stuffing mix, rosemary sprigs (that we just cut from Emmanuelle's yard), and bags of tart red berries seem daunting.  The couch seems like an easier choice.

I already baked my cousin Cheryl's famous aforementioned pumpkin bars.  These spiced bars ooze with melted pools of white chocolate and crunch with buttery macadamia nuts.  Daniel's cousin, Daisy, speaks of them so often that I've made her (an ever dwindling) container all her own.  

"She'll never know how many were there originally," I figure.

"I'll really pay for this week at the gym," I lament.

The sugared orange-water is a'boiling, thus, I'm off to tend to the cranberry sauce.  I wonder if Daniel's family will wish for the merry can of jellied joy instead of my homemade effort?

Calls in the night

The past few months have brought several late night phone calls.  And it isn't just the heart palpitations and sweaty palms that the ring encourages; it's also the hours leading up to the ring that are infused with variations of anticipation, dread, and excitement.  A light sleep hovers atop heavy eyelids and vibrant dreams.

When Steve died a few months ago, the image of a hospital with its colored tubes, salty aromas, sterile halls and sticky sadness, was singed into my mind.  Even the briefest moment on tv of heart rate monitors, doctors scratching upon metal clipboards, and family members considering the simultaneous brutality and kindness of pulling the plug, caused tears to puddle and my throat to ache and swell around the memory.

Knowing that Mara's monitors and tubes were the tools by which we would welcome Rafaela (her most recent photo is here), helped me peek out from behind my dark hospital shroud.  I watched in awe as nurses issued comfort and encouragement, as her doctor allowed nine people to fill the chairs and sofas, as monitors spiked with contractions and fervently sounded with the baby's quick 160 beats.  I drew sweet solace from the scene.  I bathed in nurses jumping as they announced the gender.

Last night, I made gift bags for the two nurses who helped Mara the most.  Bags stuffed with organic tea, fruit bars, vitamin powder, French soaps, and cards expressing our gratitude.  The L & D nurses, Vanessa and Judith, who albeit vastly different in their approach, offered us all a peaceful and inviting place in the birthing room.  Vanessa who brought us all water and gave Emiliana her clicky pens.  Judith, with her spiked pig tails, who handed Emilana her stethoscope and made a contest of guessing the gender and weight.  I made these bags for them but also for my mother, a Labor and Delivery nurse for almost 25 years.  There are several times that she's spoken of people who return giving cards, chocolate, or tokens of their gratitude.  It's an intense moment in L & D and one that ends with mom and baby whisked off quickly to post-partum.  I wanted them to know that the hands they held, the nerves they soothed, the baby they helped to welcome, all appreciated their gift of nursing. 

Late night calls continued this weekend with Mara rushing into the emergency room.  She's fine now...but my heart is still in recovery.  Lionel's voice on the other line, laden with panic and sadness, woke me more quickly then a bucket of ice-water thrown underneath my flannel sheets.  My mind is instantly acute and pants pull themselves on, keys steadily find the ignition, and I simply get there.

It was in the midst of another weekend of worry, hospitals, and little sleep, that I fell more deeply in love.  It was Sunday morning, fog misted the palm trees in Mara's yard,  Diega was kicking in her sleep, and beside her slept Daniel.  I looked at him and remembered how he'd helped pack a moving truck, picked up various kids from school, twice woken up in the middle of the night, played with toddlers, scrambled eggs, murdered mice, and made play dough pancakes.  All of this for my friends, now also his, who needed his help.  He does these things with ease and a smile.  He shows his love and his humanity in actions.  I often wish to satiate my soul with his words.  His words and verbalized sentiment become my focus.  Yet, time and time again, his gestures, his generosity of heart, and his patience saturate my reality.  This week, I give thanks for the blessing to know and to love him. 

Ah, Saturday!

It is the weekend and I am thrilled about it.  Daniel still has a slight sniffle which means he still gets a little extra attention.  He's curled up in a sunny corner of the couch drinking his Emergen-C and his eggs are boiling on the stove.

The day holds a Baptism for Lucian, which we'll miss, and an after-party that we may attend (**we did attend and this is Leigh and Andres' daughter, Isabella with her Indian bracelets).  This past week, albeit brimming with excitement and the joyous arrival of Rafaela (yes, the name has changed), created a foggy weight in my mind and a heaviness in my body.  I don't even remember going to bed last night.  We had come home from dinner with my Aunt Pat and Uncle John; Charlie Rose was interviewing some lawyer/author about Barack Obama, and the next thing I know, it's 10 in the morning.

Apparently, Daniel had started to pester me, his normal licking, tickling, prodding, and I just got up and slid into our flannel-coated bed.  Too tired to even turn on the fan...and I am a fan addict.  The sound of whirring air has long since been my companion.  Everyone in the family is addicted.  It is a serious matter when both my brother and I are coming to visit because there simply must be enough fans for all.  

So, here I am with my first up close, cleaned-off, hold of Rafaela.  Her name has migrated away from the French, Rafaelle, and into the Spanish, Rafaela.  Mara almost always changes the names, well, with the last 4 kids anyway.  Luz becomes just a middle name, Iliana shifts to Emiliana, Diega was something else at one point and now Rafaela moved back to the America's.

Bienvenue Rafaelle!

Rafaelle's looks up at her mama...just moments after entering the world.  She will forever share her birthday with her papa.  She weighed a whopping 9 lbs. and to watch her mother, with such strength, focus, and courage, bring her into the world, was truly one of the best moments I've had in my life.

The entire family joined in the experience.  With the patience and love of the nurses and doctor, everyone was able to participate and witness the amazing journey of this baby girl. 

 

 

Her little footprints danced upon Antonia and Graciela.

 

 

Lionel and Diega awaiting her arrival.

 

 

Dr. Emiliana checks on her mom during labor. 

 

 

And what do you do on the eve of such a great arrival?  Well, have a huge birthday party, of course!  Without even being present, Mara managed to infuse love and laughter into a grand fiesta for Lionel's birthday.  Friends arrived to wish him "Bon Anniversaire."  Here he is with the French flag alit (although my little detail escaped him). 

 

I haven't yet held the little one...too many naps, a sick boyfriend, and party errands awaited...but I'm already in love.  I am in awe of Mara and I can testify that labor looks incredibly painful.  Humanity is quite lucky that mothers have this mental abyss that allows their minds to forget the pain, thus, allowing for some to repeat this experience.  I think my eyes almost popped out of my head, my heart pounded outside of my skin, and as Rafaelle met the world, my fingers sloppily captured photos while my mind stood still in the sheer beauty of birth.

Bienvenue Rafaelle!  I love you already.

It's a GIRL!

Mara, the most amazingly calm and strong mother ever, gave birth to Rafaelle at 9:51am this morning.  She has luscious dark hair and strong lungs.  Both mom and baby are probably sleeping by now.

Pictures will be coming soon...

I'm off to bed but can I just say--- WOW!!!!  I am amazed at the process of birthing a child.  What strength, resolve, and trust in your body.  And geesh, it really looks painful.

Nap time. 

The Real Deal

Okay, this boy (I officially predict) is coming!  The whole darn family just left for the hospital...I'm here tending to the 2 year old until the last possible minute.  I am calm, relaxed, and sleepy, thus, perfect for my sluggish nerves.

Mara looks fabulous!  Brightly colored, long hair flowing, breathing deeply, trusting her body's talent to sail through labor and produce their 7th gorgeous baby. (Yes, you read that correctly, their 7th child.  What's funny is that you could NEVER imagine this household, this table, this family with one less.)

It's officially Lionel's 47th birthday!  What a birthday gift....his best one ever.

**Updates to come soon...

AHHHHHH...Lionel just called.  She's delivering soon (3:10am)

"No x-actos today"

As a sub, it's always reassuring when the teacher scrawls upon the board that the children may not use wickedly sharp tools during my visit.  Knives that can surgically remove fingers should be kept at bay when the regular teacher's away.

I'm spending time today in an art class...an astonishing room filled with clay heads, collaged books, and students almost entirely smiling, laughing, talking and painting.  Their brushes dip too generous into the sloppy paints and lids filled with glue but they seem to lose themselves in the activity.  Sunlight streams through the door, drying their pages on the steps; it fills the space and lifts my spirits.  These are my students from last year.  Many of whom said it was great to see me and one who said, "You are the most 'real' teacher here."  That feels so good.

I've missed them and my mind spins with what my future will hold.  Will I have days once again in which students, like these, holding dreams buried behind stagnant societal expectations, will laugh about Beyonce's weight gain, Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles, and Barack Obama?  Ten months from now, I may or may not be blogging about yet another first day of school.  It may take just that long for me to figure this out.

Each day the list of potential careers unwinds.  Some days it's short:

1. 1.  high school English teacher

2. 2.  high school new teacher coach

3. 3.  high school counselor

While other days, crazy spectacular entries weasel their way into the mix.  At various times they include:

• community college German teacher
• community college writing teacher
• non-profit educational director (a job previously beloved at 826la)
• children's/wedding photographer

Yesterday, my friendships guided my day.  Forklifts and bolt-cutters freed Claire's prized possessions in Gardena.  Gigantic bathtubs (turns out it's a hip table from the 70's), tortoise shells, and boxes of memories were loaded (mainly by Daniel & Tom) into an enormous 18 wheeler.  Tom will drive across country dropping off a Honda in Phoenix, Claire's goods in Chicago, and a final stop in upstate New York.

And as the last padded blue blankets were wrapping chairs, and a two-ton iron table, my cell phone began to ring.  It was the call I thought I'd been waiting for.  "It's time," Mara said.  We scurried down the freeway and we were just in time for absolutely nothing to happen.

My heart was in a constant race all day.  I told Mara to take calming breaths while I almost hyperventilated.  I rubbed her tummy sweetly while my own stomach rumbled with anxiety.  The exhaustion that fell my eyelids and drifted my mind to a quick and deep sleep at a little past 9pm was evidencece of the day's toll.  It was a day that I was positive would yield the newest and last baby for my beloved friends.  A family that I spend far more time with than even my own. 

Perhaps today I'll meet the sweet French/Mexican delight.  Babies come when they're ready...and I don't blame them for wishing the warmth and solitude of the belly a little longer. But we have Barack Obama for president, and it's Lionel (the dad's) birthday tomorrow...and my heart just can't take it...so, please come.

Okay....6 minutes apart

I'm here at Mara's.  Bags are packed.  Kids have all been scooped up from school.  Daniel is practicing his photography.  Her belly is contracting....10 minutes, 7 minutes, 6 minutes.

I hear her laughing.  What an AMAZING person!  She just called in an order for the bakery, oiled her stomach with calendula and is as cool as a cucumber.  I can tell you this, when I'm 2 hours away from birthing a huge human through a very small orifice, I will NOT be ordering baking supplies and oiling my tummy.  I can't say quite what a mess I'll be....but I pity Daniel and my mother who will have to see it all.

"I'm having another one!" she just called out from the couch.  I'm writing it down.  3:10pm.  Last one at 3:05pm.

Why on EARTH are we still sitting around waiting for pizzas in the toaster oven?????   Shouldn't we be driving to the hospital?  

My jobs today --- 

#1 tell her when I see the head and hair

#2 call Lionel's parents in France with the news of the gender

An update with a picture will come later.  I can't wait to meet the little one.

 

***UPDATE***

 

Baby is just not quite ready to meet us yet.  We've talked to him/her.  We've sung.  We bumped Mara off the monitor with all the laughter....and after 4 hours, the contractions slowed, and they sent us home.

 

 

Tuesday; however, is a GREAT day because I chose it in the baby pool.  Alexis always wins these...but he had Monday, so did Daniel.