Zora Travels

The high life

I've spent the last three days either sleeping, napping, or watching television.  My eyeballs are sizzling and my mind and body are gelatinous mush.  I wish I could say that the Food Network and home channels have sprouted a plethora of decorating ideas and gourmet cooking tips in my brain...well, actually, there is just one.  "Use only roma tomatoes when you're making bruschetta sauce because other varieties are too watery."  There.  Isn't that impressive for an ungodly thirty hours of cable television? This is what happens when I'm sick. 

The Zicams and Niquils are playing a sweet duet with my palate.  I've been well taken care of....brought tissue, tomato soup, and grilled cheese sandwiches....but being sick...umm...sucks.   Especially when you're at your future in-law's home, sniffling on their couch, drooling on their blankets, monopolizing their television with "Bridezilla," "Property Virgins," and "Top Chef" all day.

And when did I start my waltz with this pestry bug?  On the very day that we were celebrating our engagement in high style at the Palazzo down on the Vegas strip.  A fancy-schmancy luxury sweet on the 31st floor, plush furry robes, an elegant tub with dim lights, curtains that raise by remote, and a view of the pirate show below at the Tropicana.  It was amazing!  In between my sneezes and discreet sprays of Zicam, we had a fabulous time.

Our hotel was a bastion of hoighty-toity shopping.  We rambled past one bling shop, purse shop, and shoe shop after another.  The infamous Jimmy Choo's, which Carrie of Sex in the City wore so proudly upon the grimy streets of New York, were suddenly prancing in a window.  I simply had to go inside and see why they were slightly more expensive than the Pay Less varietals that sit in my closet.

You have to have big fashionista chutzpah to wear most of his shoes.  Not for the run-of-the-mill Old Navy t-shirt and Target jeans day.  Here is a shoe (on the right), that given the right frock, I could imagine wearing...briefly...then needing to sit down.  I am not sure when girls learned to walk in high heels, but I apparently was absent that day.  I mean truthfully, leave me some comments about when you first tackled "the walk" because I simply can't do it.  I'm 33 years old and I stumble, waddle, and trip when I even try to walk in shoes with a tiny heel.  And platform-schmatform...anything with height has my face contorted in a nervous twist, my ankles jiggling, and my feet throbbing.

But back to these golden jeweled babies.  Now, the woman at the counter spotted my dusty boots and continued chatting on her cell phone.  We were thus, given the freedom to chortle about the prices.  How much do you think these pearls cost? Well, if I broke it down in the number of sub days that I would have to work, it would come to eight.  If I sat in a classroom for eight days with random teenagers, controlling chaos, I could come home and proudly sit in these shoes.  Not stand...and certainly not walk...but sit.

Now, I'm naked, mind you.  I don't have a single garment that could splash dignity above these shoes...and I need a pedicure, so I'd hide my toe tips under a blanket....hmmmm...the look is ruined.  And you're dying to know how much they cost...so here goes.  Click to enlarge the sticker shock.

   

And then it was hat time.  I'm wearing "Oprah's Favorite Visor" and he's not.

   

Anyone for a sunlit stroll through the canals of Venice?

   

What about an overpriced almond cookie, coated with goo and flying dried apple wings at Woo?

All in all, our romp with the upper crust was fun.  We managed to stretch our free $50 on the slot machines for a ridiculous amount of time.  I floated on the same screen for twenty minutes while we waited for our free drinks.... pocketing the coasters, matches, and napkins for mementos, while milking the system for as many drops of free booze as possible.

And if you think there was single loofah, shampoo bottle, or lemon verbena bar of soap left in that suite at checkout?  You've got me all wrong.

Umm...those are my fingers

Last night at Tommy Bahamas, surrounded by fake safari relics and unknown drunk people from Daniel's high school days, I was asked about my ring.

"Let me see it," said the beautiful blond with tendrils tumbling from atop her head, lips shining, and eyes slightly crossed.  I reluctantly pulled my hand from the warmth of my pea coat pocket and held my hand in the air.

"Oh, what is it?" she asks, as she bends my fingers slightly. While awaiting my response, she tosses back more white wine and I notice her waxy lip prints circling the rim.

"Umm, it's this beautiful set of rings that we found together one night in Long Beach." 

"Oh," she says not quite satisfied with the lack of detail.

"Let me see your ring.  It's gorgeous."  I marvel, I touch, my eyes widen....I fawn.  I think there are questions about carats, cuts, and metal that I should ask but I can only add, "It's very shiny."

"And look at these babies." I again dig deep and muster up my amazement for the stones glistening on her ears.  "He really did good this Christmas."

"Oh, yes, very good." I reply as I notice the ginormous rocks that seem to be stretching her ear lobes.

Now, let me just say, I love my rings.  They are this beautiful, external, societally-recognized symbol of Daniel's intentions, of our future, and of my style.  But here is what they are not for me:  a crucial talking point to strangers in a room, an invitation for strangers to ever fondle my fingers, bend my fingers, or pry into their stone/metallic composition. 

I could lose these rings today.  I would be sad but we would find some other rings.  I would still look down the same path and envision myself growing old, wrinkly, dependent, forgetful and toothless with this incredible man.

Post-Christmas calm

There is such a calm after Christmas.  My mind, which has been scrambling gift ideas, shopping lists, and frequent social gatherings draws relief from today's stillness.

The mountains and natural surroundings of Vegas often slip unnoticed onto the canvas of my visits...but this morning I gazed intently on the faded reds of Mt. Charleston, dusted with snow, and acknowledged their beauty.  We have lightly considered moving here and it would rely so much upon my ability to stash more such picturesque scenes into my memory bank.  I would need something to draw upon as I see the neon nightmare of the strip blinking in the distance .  It isn't like I can claim Long Beach to be this blossoming evergreen haven...but Vegas struggles with its pink ocher dust and cactus landscapes to capture my heart from a natural perspective

Okay, so to say that Daniel's mother is "happy" about our engagement would be an understatement.  From our first entrance, her giddy demeanor and megawatt smiles have given me such joy.  His entire family has relished our engagement with such kindness, interest, and enthusiasm.  The women are anxious to help cook at the wedding and his cousin, Rufa, has offered to do my hair and make-up.

Daniel made a sweet champagne toast last night as we all enjoyed the Filipino delicacies typical for Christmas.  Shown here is: lengua (yes, that's tongue), pancit (glass noodles with seafood and tofu), chicken wings, lapulapo (steamed white fish), luchon (roasted pork) and malaga (cabbage and chicken soup).  For sweets there was cassava cake (purple root, like yams), povetica (Croatian sweet bread from my mom), and also my mom's magical peanut butter chocolate bars.

Thank God for 24 hour Fitness.  I sought such redemption this morning on the elliptical trainer.  I returned home and managed to bypass the ham, pancit, fried rice, and eggs...and munched down vegetables, yogurt, and toast.  The Filipino cuisine is brutal when it comes to fresh fruit and veg.  Everything shimmers with a greasy glow...delicious flavors, handmade efforts...but shiny, shiny, shiny.

Bells chime...must go to the mall and find a cashmere scarf on sale.  My most luxurious cocoa brown cashmere scarf was recently "borrowed" at a party by a departing guest.  This guest has failed to call to rectify their "mistake."  Crossing my fingers that somewhere out there is also a few Christmas knickknacks, sparkling, merry, and cheap.

I'm ENGAGED!!!

Daniel came home with a lot more than just stocking stuffers this afternoon.  With a sip of spiked eggnog still lingering on my tongue, Daniel proposed in front of our crackling fire.  The question and response were short and sweet.  And soon, three shiny rings from atop a tiny wooden pagoda were upon my finger.

I cried.  We danced.  I cried some more.  We're engaged.  Yahoooooooooooooooo!

I look at my finger and just smile.  I stumbled calling him my fiance tonight.  It's still too new.  We had a quick toast at Mara's and then celebrated with my mom's whole family.  It's quite a kick to be betrothed.

So, what a Christmas Eve....I just can't sleep yet.  A special night has passed in which I spoke with all of my closest people (auser liebe Fadime...ich werde dich bald anruffen)... heard their wishes of love and congratulations ... and relished the wonder of the day.

I managed to convince the clever elf to pose for several cheesy pictures.  I had the darnedest time figuring out how to creatively get my hand into the frame.  The results aren't breathtaking....and you can't quite see the cool triple rings...but you get the point.

Merry Christmas!  I have got to try and fall asleep.  Tomorrow we toast with Daniel's family...the rain is pouring here in Long Beach...the fridge is humming...and oh, what's this??? My finger feels heavy.

giggling now...

Eggnog it was not...

...I'm sneaking on to let you all know I have a spectacular story to share.  I'll scamper to a computer again soon to share the details.

But it involved a question, an answer, and soon....champagne.

La Vie en Rose

**Before reading.....open THIS to play in the background. 

I'm still in my pajamas.  Velvet blue jogging pants and my favorite striped shirt that's over ten years old.  I'm blogging my little heart out and just wanted to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Years.

Louis' trumpet blares in the background and the mailman is stuffing our box with surprises.  I am warm, happy, fully-caffeinated and the sneaky-sneak face you see here just left to "pick up egg nog."  He firmly refused my help, planted a kiss, told me not to "fry my brain" on the computer and left.

I have my own sneakity-sneaks, too.  I'm going out to the trunk to pull it out and wrap it.  Good thing he won't read this blog in time.

We're going to light the fire (for the last time), drink light egg nog, and exchange our snuck gifts. 

Happy Holidays!

The whimsy of home

There's a sense of whimsy in my life the last few days.  Friends and strange dogs dropping by for breakfast (*Girlie is shown here licking crumbs off the coffee table), hours void of work, basking in curious foods and sweets, glasses filled with French wine, nights scented with stories from Istanbul.  I catch myself soaking in the moments with more clarity than usual.  I am keenly aware that we have less than two weeks in our beloved home.  That soon my picture frames, artwork, and travel knickknacks will be wrapped in newspaper, placed in storage, and not seen again until next August when we settle into our new home in Berkeley, Michigan, Connecticut or Texas.

On Sunday, Daniel and I splashed armfuls of guidebooks (Let's Go and Fodor's and Lonely Planet) upon the chairs at Border's and gorged on potential itineraries for our upcoming Latin American adventure.  There's something about looking together at pictures of floating straw islands, Incan ruins in Machu Pichu, and pristine beaches in Honduras that creates this unity and excitement for our trip.  We've decided that maybe Honduras (particularly the Bay Islands) warrant a visit versus Costa Rica because Daniel has been to CR three times in the past.  We'd like to relish locations together that are completely new, eyes wide open, and hand in hand.  I will be constructing or teaching, writing, reading, and gasping for air at 10,000 feet with the love of my life.  It will be a luscious four months.

The gritty shine of the Los Angeles jewelry empire became the site of my Monday adventure with Daniela.  She showed me the jewelers she knew and my chubby ring finger quickly blinged with more carats, cuts, and gold than I had ever seen.  I felt like a princess and familiar sayings tangoed in my head...such as, "it is a symbol of our love" and "diamonds are forever."  It was only once the fluorescent lights and "I can make you a good price" smilers were gone that I recognized that the "forever" part is the commitment, the trust, and the enduring friendship between us.  DeBeers can't convince me that the simplicity of jewels in the rings I adore devalues our love.

From ring shopping to Korea town we soon went.  I felt the thrill of travel, the wonder of the unknown, and the anticipation of mysterious foods as we sat and waited for our blue crab hot pots at Tofu Village. 

Before the soup arrives, tiny dishes of free and abundant snacks dot the table.  Fish cakes, potato sticks, jellied seaweed, flattened gummy rice cakes, soy sauce peas and peanuts, and of course kimchee spice your mouth as you sip steaming tea. 

 

 

Soon large bowls of black rice arrive...the waiter scoops out the deep lilac rice, filling the original bowl with tea.  As you eat your bubbling soup of crab legs and spicy tofu, the crispy skin of rice is being loosened by the tea.  And within a few minutes of your scalded tongue sucking the last marrow from a crab's cracked leg, you find your spoon lifting a pale purple mush of tea-rice into your mouth.  Your tastebuds throw a fiesta...I whisper my new word again and again as I lift my spoon.

This is what Los Angeles, cities, and the urban experience mean to me.  The beautiful opportunity to have friends in my life whose parents hold stories of recent immigration, whose hands create foods I've never known, whose tongues harvest phrases in languages I wish to speak, and whose cultures hold families in the highest regard.

There may come a time when I relegate the cityscape for weekend ventures and embrace nature's tapestry more fully; however, for now I am a city girl.  Loving the pulse, culture, variety, and pace of urban living.  The grit of a condemned building, the resolve of a cracked-sidewalk dandelion, the honk of the cruise ships in the Long Beach port...this is my home.  The canvas has never appeared so vibrant as it does now that I'm about to leave.  I want to feel this vibrancy, this appreciation, this touristic embrace more quickly in my next home.  Live like a tourist in my own town.  Appreciate the tattered roads and brick walls of home before immediately salivating for the cobblestones that require a passport.

Melancholy bliss

There's a subtle stream of melancholy intertwined with my bliss these days.  Last night, as we were approaching home after a mediocre "let's order all new things" sushi experience, I requested that we drive over to Mara's.  I simply can't get enough lately.  Something about holding the warm, little, silky-wrapped Rafaela brings such joy to my heart.  I smiled, sang sweet whispered songs, and rocked her for an hour.  I tell myself that,  "we'll be back."  I console my spirit with, "we'll only be gone 4 months."  But in those months she'll bloom into a personality.  First roll overs, belly laughs, and grins of recognition will be missed.  In July, I'll recapture moments during our few last weeks here before moving for 2-3 years to Daniel's MBA grad. school of choice. 

We still await the decisions from Berkeley, University of Michigan, Yale, and the University of Texas at Austin.  All four schools issue decisions by mid-February; however, without an invitation to an interview by late January, it can be assumed there will be no admission.  So far, only University of Michigan has interviewed him (and it went well!).

It's unusual for me to have so little planned out.  I am usually highly organized and plotted for several years into the future.  Risky, fly-by-night decisions have never been my forte.  It won't be until April, as we backpack in South America, that Daniel will make his final decision of where we'll go (assuming there are numerous offers).  This decision will be based upon the financial aid packages offered, the potential professional networks, quality of life, teaching opportunities, and pout of my lips.

There's a sumptuous air about Long Beach this morning. Rain storms have booted the funky port smog into the valley and the brisk air whistles a cleansed autumnal tune.  En route to The Coffee Cup for breakfast, we peeked into the new corner store, El Mesa (shown here).  The family has been preparing to open their Greek and International deli market for weeks.  We've watched the walls turn blue, cases erect, and old Greek men sit on stools around high tables late into the night.  Imported tin oil containers, vats of shriveled black olives, lamb gyros, baklava, and those super-sweet shredded wheat-looking pastries await my trembling fingers behind the case.  I hope they feel welcome in our neighborhood.  I hope their door bells chime and their register rattles with business.  We'll make our first purchase tomorrow....hopes run high. 

I made a little display today of our Christmas cards.  These cards and our two stockings are the only remnants of holiday spirit in our house.  It's cute how few of my family and friends know Daniel's last name, thus, write my name and just "Daniel" on the envelope.  I just love that they include him...especially my grandparents for whom "cohabitation sans marriage" is not an ideal situation.  I wonder if one day I'll send out Christmas cards.  Every year I consider it...then never follow through.  I bought a box of recycled soy-ink cards this year...and they'll probably sit in their box until next year.  Would I receive more cards if I sent some? 

I have eight cards this year (shown here).  I relish the glitter, photos, and update letters.  Everyone always sounds so happy in their letters.  I suppose it's not the time to lament about your ho-hum life,stagnate relationships, or regrettable choices.  I must confess my most beloved sentiment this year is found underneath the galloping golden reindeer.  My former student, Elysse, wrote: "You are such an awesome human being.  Your love for others is truly great."  Yes, you read that correctly, "a former student."  These words are from a teenager.

Can someone please tell me how you raise a teenager who would take the time to write cards to former teachers and hand deliver them during their college winter break?  I truly hope to help raise this type of child.  It is a far fetch...and I certainly think her Filipino roots and strong family ties have something to do with the respect and kindness she's always shown.  Don't we all wish to have the students that teachers compliment during happy hour?  The kids who we praise for their hearts, minds, potential, and respect?  So many teens can act proper when their parents are in the room...but how many, like Elysse, long after their parents drive away, always shake your hand with eye contact, ask sincere questions, offer to help you and others, and remain positive and kind despite obstacles?

And this lovable photo of my brother's children....I mean who can beat this for Christmas?  They have both grown so much since my last summer squeezes and kisses in August.  I await their February visit with twiddling thumbs and tapping toes.  I just hope and pray that Shane and Kathy want to go out on a date...leaving my mom and I to frolic alone with the munchkins.  My, my, my, how I love me these kidlets.  They have squishy lambchop legs, chomper cheeks, wispy hair, and I have a broken heart that they live so far away.  I envision stopping by on my way home from work just to take Sam to the park to feed the ducks.  Or maybe Rebecca needs me to read her a story or sing her a song.  I know they'll never know how cool I could have been as an Auntie.  Sure, I'll have them for summer visits as teenagers, and in college, they'll stop by on their road trips with friends en route to Mexico...but these young years...as Sam plays his first t-ball game and Becca cuts her first teeth...these moments I miss.

Damn geography.  If I could just pinch the map, crinkling poor Oregon and Northern California together, I'd rub up against Central Washington.  They could still keep their snow and we'd brown in our sunshine...and the munchkins would be just down the street.

Dirty Santa

Last night our entire staff school celebrated the holiday season at Truxton's.  We enjoyed a bounty of food including:  garlic-parmesan fries, sweet potato fries, salad, bbq pizza, seafood pasta and a decadent brownie sundae.  There is something utterly sinful about spooning mounds of gooey chocolate cake, doused in whipped and iced cream, and sprinkled with white chocolate shavings into your mouth.  By my 50th fry, I had shelved WW all together...and just relished the indulgence.  If you're going to veer from your diet...might as well not dilly-dally.  I dove in, licked my lips, wriggled in my pants, and dove in for more.  I am a card-holding member of the "clean-your-plate club."

We also played Dirty Santa.  Here is our gift table.  For those unfamiliar with this jolly game, it goes like this: 

• 1.  You receive a random number.

• 2.  When your number comes up you can either pick a wrapped gift or steal someone else's (thus, being #1 is the worst). 

• 3.  If you are stolen from, you can steal or unwrap a new gift and so on, and so on. 

I was #14, right in the middle of the bunch.  I eagerly awaited stealing the Best Buy gift card (intended for Daniel's ipod FM tuner); however, it was quickly stolen.  I then stole my own gift (wine and TJ's gift card).  I was robbed again.  I ended up with a $20 gift card for In-n-Out.  Which will be the destination for my dinner with Emiliana next week.  We can accomplish dinner (albeit questionably nutritious) and ice-cream in one location.

There were moments last night when I was keenly aware I would soon be leaving this school.  I've already been operating on a part-time basis, as a sub; however, in mid-January I've been offered a new full-time (just until the end of February) position at my old high school.  This removes all of the stress about hoping for sub days, which is a GREAT thing.  It also removes my entire commute on the evil 405 freeway.  I will be 15 minutes from work on wondrous Long Beach sidestreets.  If you could see my face right now, just typing these sentences causes a sparkle in my eyes.  On a sad note, it also means no more lunches with the ladies I have come to love.  Lorraine, Mary, and Daniela are shown here.

 

 

And on a final Dirty Santa note, here's what we all hope to never see our bosses wearing...someone's cruel gift of size 42 underwear.  

"At least they're Calvin Klein," said someone to make him feel better.

His gift was never stolen.  

The broken deal and the Spongebob squeal

Daniel and I made a loose agreement.  It's imperative that I throw the word "loose" in there because I've already broken it.  We had said we would not utter the "m" or "w" words for one week.  This would allow both of us to catch our breath after we were both mutually congratulated on our impending nuptials.

Imagine the scene at Saturday's party:  I enter the kitchen, cocktail in hand, and a group of friends yell out, "Congratulations!"  I am excited.  Something wonderful has happened....I am wondering what it is. They continue, "You're getting married!"  Now, I'm really excited.  Daniel beams brightly with his third (or sixth) cocktail in hand.

This mini-celebration, lubricated with alcohol and friendship, left us both Sunday morning a little parched for words.  The hangover certainly didn't help loosen our lips; however, by evening we had planned to let these topics lie dormant for a while.

The plan was running smoothly, even surviving the cookie exchange and all of the female power brokers in my family (shown here).  It wasn't until yesterday that a little red box crimped my best intentions.  Clad in spandex and bathed in the golden after-glow of yoga, I tore open the box from Claire.  She had stuffed it with a truly spectacular glittered Christmas card, a borrowed book, and a package wrapped in red twine.  And what did I find inside?  A box laden with books, magazine, bridal bargain advice, and untraditional vows/traditions for weddings.  It was like a bride had just barfed on our kitchen counter.

I tried to just read the California section of the Times.  Daniel certainly remained intent on the front page...but my mind drifted to the stack o' wedded bliss.  I soon relinquished, picking up the smallest of the lot, and returned to breakfast.  I couldn't help making comments on a few (or a hundred) ideas.  I had lasted only 60 hours.

Yesterday was also the seventh birthday of my Goddaughter, Emiliana.  The berry blue lips and Spongebob grin belong to her and she certainly has a flare for celebrations.  With her squeals of joy we cut into a nuclear blue ice-cream cake and gifts of markers, scissors, and clay were soon revealed.  It will be such a treat to watch this little one grow up.  I've been with her, like most of Mara's kids, since day one.  Daniel and I will take her for our own celebration next week - dinner and ice-cream (without 6 other siblings).  Sounds good, eh?

 

 

 And just what happens to tongues dipped in questionable frosting?  Well, you get adorable mouths like this...

 

 

 

...like this...

 

 

...and finally, like this.

 

 

And although our tongues weren't blue....let it just be said that food at The Green Temple, served by the fantastic Gene, my Aussie cousin, is fantastic.  Shown here is the tofu steamer plate, roasted spicy corn chowder, and turtle bean tostaditos.  The cuisine is 100% vegetarian with oozing curry sauces, local organic produce, and the lightest post-Mexican experience my stomach has ever had.  I delved into this Bohemian rhapsody of a restaurant in Redondo Beach on Tuesday with my friend/wedding coordinator, Sara.  We discussed all the endless possibilities for the summer affair. 

There are so many options...and I admit this monster (think cute Monsters, Inc.-type monster)...has invaded my brain.  I try and think, breath, and unthink my way around it...but it's always lurking in the background.  It's a soft, warm, lovable invader...but invading, nonetheless. 

Carrying a pocket guide to brides in my purse certainly isn't helping, mind you, but I'll find a way to let it go in South America.  Won't I?