Zora Travels

Melting

It's as if I'm melting.  Every few days another reason to cry.  Not a "hot tears and curled up" type of cry....but rather a slow glacial melt.  Why is it that my heart waters?  What is it that I need to say?

I don't think I'll ever say  all of "it" here...but my distance from writing represents this desire to not be sad here.  Keep it light.  Keep it hopeful.

And there is hope...but there is also fear.  I am getting married.  I can end that sentence in myriad ways.  I am getting married! married? married...  They all mean something different to me.  I am endeavoring upon a commitment that few in my family have honored until death.  I have divorce climbing all the way back into the vines of great-grandparents.  If members of my family weren't successful back in the 20's...with all of the societal & religious pressure of that time...then certainly today's stage sets no tougher standard.

There is no shock and horror when a friend announces their divorce.  No one bats an eye when celebrity vows unravel across the nightly entertainment shows.  I don't cry and fall into a dark contemplative space when my friends' husbands move out and divorce lies on their horizon.  Their children facing a reality of split holidays, parents dating, anger, sadness, and step-families.

But the disillusionment of a marriage deserves pause.  It is something precious being broken.  A marriage casts a wide net out from the altar pair to the sea of future children, and their children, and their children.  It is a commitment to a legacy.  A monumental decision that places two people together until one draws their last breath.  In ten weeks, I shall look into the eyes of a man to whom I pledge my enduring love and friendship.  I don't take it lightly.  Words are fragile; actions valued.

Nerves just needing a little bath, that's all.

**And meanwhile, in a moment when I wasn't the center of the universe, I lit a candle.  A candle from Jula and Katha that symbolizes friendships in unusual places.  Friendship that crosses wide swaths of land.  Friendship that surrounds and protects you.

This candle is for Olly and his family.  A little boy in Ethiopia who awaits coming home to his parents.  Cindy, my thoughts are with you and the others here, here, here, here, and here who yesterday endured court dates....and those who still await news of their children...and those who have brought their baby home.

I am in awe of the process and emotions endured as these families seek their newest members in the labyrinth of international adoption.

I am also already in love with the tiniest Boose, whose arrival is just around the corner.  Really, Claire, you won't be pregnant forever!

Super Sub

It is yet another fine day as "Super Sub."  I like to pretend that I deserve such a title because of how hard I try to keep the teens: learning something, sitting in their seats, ignoring their cell phones, and respecting themselves and me (as much as possible).

This morning that last request faltered a bit.  A student stood at the doorway and refused to leave without his hat.  He was blocking my ability to exit the room and demanding that I had to give him his hat back (a hat, by the way, that kept going on this head after repeated warnings).  I don't like someone blocking my way.  I don't like teenagers saying "no" to a logical and calm request.  I don't like how intensely angry he was as I had another teacher come and get him out of the room.

Funny thing is....I like the kid.  I really do.  He has "bad" days and today was one of them...but overall subbing at my old charter school is enjoyable.  Subbing at my previous school in Long Beach has also been better than expected but necessitates a bit more meditation prior to engaging with 150+ completely unknown teenagers.

One thing I do know....without a doubt... is that kids want to learn.  Their minds are hungry.  Their appetites for knowledge must be fed.  They will either feed off of your inability to teach or relish the buffet of information that you display.  I am fascinated by teenagers.  This phase of my journey was the loneliest, saddest, most horrific period of my life.  A time to which I would never wish to return. 

If you forced me to return, I suppose I would take comfort in knowing that: the boy that chases me during P.E. and chants about being on a "wild boar hunt" would eventually go to jail; many of the girls who whisper about my father and their mothers would cease to matter; and that Courtney & Kenny, would still remain my true friends.

Daniel and I see high school so differently.  He lavished in the popular circle, enjoyed many friends, multiple proms, and a stable family life.  I wallowed in self-pity, cigarettes, and Metallica-listening older boys in the hours that my newly-divorced parents went to work or out on dates.  I played the "parent switch" game as often as possible to suit my needs.  My brother alternated, too, leaving us more estranged at a time when we perhaps needed each other most.

Ah, adolescence.  What could I possibly tell my future children about this time?  Honesty would dictate that I simply wish them luck.  Logic would dictate that I strategize for how they can not repeat my mistakes.  Practicality would dictate that I tell them, "Go ask your dad."

Late but not jumpy!

I thought about the wedding today and decided to dust of the gigantic "planning binder" that my mom gave me.  For weeks it sat on a bench, basking in the sun, with this photo of our hands taped on the cover.  During each meal, I would glance at it...and most days fondle it at some point.  It had to go somewhere else.  There was nothing left on the to-do list in the 4-5 month range.

Deep into Daniel's closet it went.  His polo shirts camouflaging the box of myriad "to-do" lists, bridal magazines, boxes of invitations, and advice books.

Today...as yet another blissful day without work unfolded...the binder came back out.  And to my shock and dismay --- I was "over-due" on many items in the 3 month range.  Suddenly we needed to: apply for our officiant's license, pick out wedding bands, choose a tux, decide on the rehearsal dinner logistics, find all addresses for invitations, make an appointment for hair/make-up trial run, apply for a marriage license, and frolic in the land of honeymoon selection. Yikes!  Seriously!?!?

I hastily located the county registrar's website for marriage licenses.....what a labyrinth of paperwork I need to fill out just to change my name.  Good thing LA doesn't require blood tests.  And what a name I'll soon have!  I will never have to be punctual again; however, I will have to worry about being excessively jumpy.  *(This inside joke is unfortunately only for those who know both of our last names.)

And the guest list....ummm...it keeps growing (another mixed-blessing of the blended step-families that exist on both of my sides).  I recognize that with each additional name it means another person or couple whom we love that may attend....but it also meant that the caterer today added 3 more waiters, 1 more bartender, another bar table, and additional glassware rentals to our tab to accommodate these beloved folks.  But what can you do?  Can you seriously look a relative in the eye and say no to their request?  We both can't so far.  Maybe as weeks pass and the bills mount...we will muster up the guts to say, "Sorry, the guest list is full" but for now it's a "more the merrier" mentality.

So, tonight, an amazing gift compiled from friends and family will be of use again.  I am diving into the recipe book that Claire made me.  It is full of favorite recipes from all the women in my life (except it's still missing lemon bars from Barbara and Fadi's tiramisu)...and peppered with quotes about love and how to have a happy marriage.

This evening's menu: (one that I HOPE will draw Daniel from his computer/thesis to join me on the couch)

A Spanish salad with asparagus and oranges

Claire's red lentil soup (I simply can't get enough...the photo is of the virgin immersion blending experience)

Daniela's salmon with parsley and panko

I've got to stir up the energy to chop and saute things with my aching arms.  This Curves business is really giving me quite a workout.  30 minutes of dashing around leopard-printed carpet and weight machines...and hopefully, I'm shrinking.

Yes, I officially want to shrink.  He loves me now...blah,blah, blah...I'm beautiful just the way...yadda-yadda-yadda....bull crap....I want there to be less of me in that dress.  If someone says, "She has such a pretty face," I'll forbid the waiters from delivering them cake.  If someone thinks, "She looks really fit," it will telepathically reach me and they will receive extra cake.

Yikes!  Am I using food as a reward?.....oh....ummm.....I'm going to go chop carrots.

Spanning the ages

Today is a post told in pictures.

I spent a lovely afternoon with my Grandma Lola discussing her childhood, her siblings, and trying to crack the secret code for how she stays so flippin' happy all the time!

 

Running towards me with a big smile at 4:00pm was my beloved Graciela.  With energy and stories she helped me make pumpkin pie from scratch.  Here she is pinching the dough into a pretty scalloped edge.

*This really is what they recommend when you're dieting!

 

 

And here's what happened in the end.....they tasted good, too. 

 

 

In the early evening, I went over for yet another cooking lesson with Emmanuelle.  We are making pear and blueberry jam.  I had no idea it takes almost 6 lbs. of sugar to create a big pot of jam.

She also taught me her recipe for homemade bread and we started my own leavening ball.

 

And in the evening, I had 5 month old Rafaela, to wish me a goodnight.

Morning sun

There are few mornings during a typical work week that I would experience the bright warmth of the sun.  On weekends, I drag myself from slumber closer to noon.  During the week, I rise in the blanket of night and hurl myself towards the gym before dawn.

So, this morning at 7:30am, I asked Daniel to pull the curtains back.  He left the room and I just stared at the sun.  Radiant streams of light floated through the hummingbird bush and coated the green comforter.  Patches captured the image of my hand against the cocoa wall and allowed for paltry attempts at shadow animals.

Dust and feathers billowed and swirled in the light (I suppose this means something about our cleaning practices; however, it was beautiful).  My bones and muscles shifted within a massaged and well-rested body.

What am I without a job?  This is a question I have never faced.  Starting at age ten or eleven I worked.  I hustled for babysitting jobs, cleaning jobs, phone-answering, cafe work, restaurant work, security guard, math tutor, teacher.  Once a teacher, I relished vacations in foreign countries by myself.  Frolicking along the beaches and journaling aside cobblestone paths in exciting locations...with the ever-lurking curriculum of the upcoming year on my mind.  I have not been at peace within my mind, my skin, my body in a long time....maybe ever.  I have not learned to be still.

"What are you going to blog about today?" asked Daniel as he stacked up piles of wind-energy research on his desk and prepared to begin his thesis for the day.

"Um, well, I can't just keep writing about not doing anything....so, I don't really know," I replied.

But, alas, I can write about nothingness.  Not in a negative sense...but in a "I am more than my job" kind of way.  What is it within me that I can offer beyond my working self?  Who is it that I sit with when I am alone and without tasks to plan?  Why haven't I used any of this free time in the past few weeks to volunteer, to make connections in my community, to use my talents towards something completely outside of monetary gain?

Okay, I can finally admit that I am not in South America.  I accept it.  And yes, I gave up a year of work and salary and health insurance and now face a very real educational job scarcity due to our "grand plan"....that didn't work out.  And although it was a well-intentioned plan to volunteer and travel in various Peruvian villages, there is a village here.  Are there not people, children, animals, landscapes, culture, arts that need attention right here in Long Beach?

That is what I'm doing today.  I'm going to find something that needs my attention.  There are only so many walks, yoga, gym visits, books, gourmet meals (my most recent zuccini fritters with olive/chili jam, tortilla casserole and pinto beans...all from scratch) and scarves to knit in the world...and the wedding planning has long since been finished (3 weeks only to put that baby to bed in January)....and although there is an entire online bridal beast that encourages me to fixate on center pieces and the flower girl's basket and my choice in shoes...I refuse.  I have the dress, the food, the place, the music, the officiant, and the man. Done and done. 

As long as I don't fill my calendar so much that I avoid (yet again) time with myself in stillness to be mindful, grateful, and satisfied...then I can find a new niche for giving.  I'll find the Machu Pichu of Long Beach.

****By the way, in honor of our "Lola's" (the Kampangpangan word for "grandma" and also my grandma's name...cool, huh?) - I issue a request to all of you who believe in the power of prayer, positive wishes, and good vibes/mojo/juju to send them out into the world for both of our Lola's.  One is in the hospital and one took a nasty tumble. 

 

 

We love our Lola's and there are few wedding images we've discussed more than these two smiling and holding hands after the ceremony.  They raised our incredible mothers and we wish them incredible strength, recovery, and love.

Holding hands at 3 years

Yesterday, there was lots of hand holding.  It was our third anniversary since we met at the Library coffee shop (shown here).  This is lovingly called our "coffee date anniversary" and is celebrated by me.  Daniel believes it is actually not the "first meeting of each other and discovering our mutual attraction" that constitutes our anniversary, but rather when he asked me out to dinner and we saw each other for the second time.

(You see how craftily I can spin logic on MY blog? )

So, in a few days, we'll celebrate our "dinner anniversary" or as he calls it the "real one."

What happens after the wedding, I wonder?  Do these dates which have always created such a stir with candles, love notes, and kisses suddenly disappear?  Or can we be crazy and celebrate three anniversaries?  I admit, I'm partial to this idea.

Can I just say, I REALLY love this man!  I am so lucky.

 

 

And what did my favorite grad. student, hunched over his thesis for over ten hours, receive on this big day?  A meal fit for a king (albeit a dieting king because his queen is trying to shrink into a wedding dress).

The menu:

1. Red lentil soup (using the immersion blender and recipe from Claire)

2. Leek, turkey bacon, and shitake mushroom quiche (yup...dough from scratch using Emmanuelle's recipe)

3. Brown rice & raisin stuffed cornish game hens (didn't have cranberries...but raisins worked fine)

The verdict...delicious!  I believe he said, "You can really cook!"

The aftermath...we looked at each other over flickering candlelight, went for a walk to get him a Sobe energy drink for more thesis-writing, and I watched online videos of how to make a souffle before falling asleep in an egg-white peak coma.

By the way, I knew that I was really not a vegetarian any more as I was trying to gain access to the hens' hinterlands.  I had to get in there, rinse the cavity (removing foreign matter), then pat the skin dry, season and stuff.  I entered a level of intimacy with the fowl couple that I had never known.  Flashbacks of walking with PETA signs across Sproul Plaza at Berkeley flashed before my eyes.  Fellow animal rights club members suspended from the Campanile on sleeping boards and being handed food and supplies through a labyrinth of rope pulleys from us below.

What a long way I've come!  My 16 years of vegetarianism broken after Daniel sat on the couch with a bowl full of Lolo's steaming pancit.  The smell of chicken, shrimp, and noodles wafting towards me.

"Can I have a bite?" I asked with confidence.

"Are you sure?" His voice like a timid teenager after prom in a dark room.

"Yes." And it was done. 

Fast-forward several years --- and I'm making cornish game hens hold hands for our anniversary.

Fondue fingers

Last night in an elevator going down, after a fabulous evening at Melting Pot, Alyce made "fondue fingers."  Her graceful hands danced waves in the air and the movement captured the essence of our evening.  Four friends relishing a break in spring.  A much-deserved and pined for teacher's reprieve.

Yes, I'm always on spring break...but for my friends...their walk is lighter, banter freer, and we all can lose track of time on a Tuesday.

We had gathered in Pasadena to feast and drink.  We skewered bread and bathed the chunks in artichoke cheese with a hint of garlic; we boiled lobster tail, portobello mushrooms, and spinach ravioli in spiced broth; we swirled strawberries, and brownies, and cheesecake bites into a pool of milk chocolate.

Bellies grew under the forgiveness of bohemian clothes.  Wine flowed and conversations poured.

I adore the friends that I've made from school.  Women, who I respect and appreciate as teachers, have slowly blossomed in the garden in which I seek comfort and support.  Each unfurling another vibrant, strong, and jagged layer beyond the workplace.  It takes time and wine.  But around the table last night I remember thinking and hoping, "let this circle remain."  I looked at Lorraine and marveled at her gentle courage; at Sara with eyes alit about Catalina; at Alyce with her adventurous Puerto Rican agenda.  I sent Daniela a wish for the most amazing Hawaiian sunset that her and Hayes have ever seen.  There was abundant gratitude.

I've had friendships die before.  Painful slow deaths that grind to a halt after too many unreturned phone calls.  Horrendously abrupt deaths that knife into your heart with confusion, betrayal, and shock.  It remains a mystery how some of them ever came to be and how some now cease to exist.  One such friend from the "abrupt demise" category recently emailed.  She had heard that I was engaged and issued congratulations.  How do I respond to this email?  Her hatred was bitter and poignant eight years ago.  A fury that singed ties with nearly all of the other friends in the circle.

Forgiveness was difficult.  Apathy is the result.  Nostalgia rears up.

Oh, it would be nice to see pictures of the sons I know she's had.  I envision jet black curls that pile on their caramel heads.  Eyes kissed with curves and lilac mouths.  A lush blend of Vietnamese and Dominican hues.

But to reach out...to respond...means there is trust again. 

To not respond means that her email just sits in my inbox.  Her name staring back at me.