Zora Travels

Lucky #9

Noodle is now slumbering in the state of Nevada.  It was her ninth airplane ride...this one packed with Pacquiao fight fans...and after a bumpy and nauseating descent into the Las Vegas Valley, playing with Aunti Anna, and cuddling with her Lola, she insisted on her same bed time.  Quite the little schedule she's keeping.

This weekend's gallivanting is nipping at the heels of our Washington trip.  Luckily, Nora is a super-traveler.  Ever the observer and social butterfly.  This makes traveling with her enjoyable.  Not that post-baby vacations are at all similar to those of pre-baby.  I have these hazy memories of landing in Vegas, helping myself to several Bailey's on ice, snacking on salty nuts, and staying up into the wee hours of the morning watching International Househunters.  Mornings were lazy...waking up well after 10am...smelling the sizzle of breakfast.  Drinking giant cups of coffee.  Bathing in the light of the giant television.

Now there are glasses of water, bowls of blueberries for snacking, and an early bed time (to preserve my energy for the multiple nursings).  Gurgles will wake me at dawn.  Noodle and I will greet the desert morning light around 6:00am.  Breakfast will contain the colors of the rainbow...little shine; lotta fiber.  Coffee will be herbal tea.

But, hey, at least there will still be the television.  All of our parents have cable and glorious shiny televisions.  Daniel and I both sit slack-jawed drooling in each of their homes.  Playing a tricky game of keeping Nora's face turned while loving the images ourselves (our hypocrisy starts early).

Someone once said that vacations are more work for the mother than staying at home.  Oh, how true this is.  The thinking, packing, traveling, unpacking, sleeping pattern shifts, nap concerns, and repacking, traveling, unpacking, laundry, re-shifting sleeping patters, and re-establishing naps.  It's exhausting.  And worth it.  We are going to keep right on doing it.  Whenever possible.  Nora needs to visit our families...and also the big beautiful world.

After all, Daniel and I met because of travel.  I typed the following words into the search window on match.com.

"Gabriel Garcia Marquez + travel"

A New Year boat ride

Our family floated through Naples canals and saw Christmas lights to finish out the first day of the new year.  It was Nora's first boat ride.  And although she spent most of it under a nursing cover, she experienced crisp air and elaborate light displays when she did peak out.

Thanks to our super neighbors and friends, Marisa and Jeremy, who not only invited us out on the duffy boat, but brought Belgian ale and delicate creme-filled mochi. These mochi are incredible.  Found only in Honolulu or Tokyo.  Brought back on dry ice from airport visits once in a blue moon.  Marisa has doled them out generously to me over the past few months.  I very well might make a stop in one of these two cities to pick some up years from now when the memory of them still linger on my mind.

My dear mum also sent pictures of Noodle's baptism and our Catholic wedding blessing.  Below are a few of the best snaps.  It was a memorable day; although I can't say that I would wish to ever repeat the celebration of Christmas Eve, packing on Christmas Day, flying to Vegas, late family party, early rise for priest interview, rush to the church, participate in two masses to celebrate both a baptism and a religious marriage blessing...followed by another family party.  They were three whirlwind days with a baby in tow that left my head spinning.  Luckily, Daniel's family took care of the planning and execution of the event.  We merely participated. 

Not often does a bride not even know what their ceremony will ask them to affirm.  I suddenly found myself in the awkward position of agreeing to "submit" to my husband and "be a good housewife."  Phrases that would have NEVER crossed my lips, had I been involved in selecting the readings.  My Berkeley-feminist breath was literally sucked out of my body....and I dug deep to pull my jaw up off the floor and nod.  But these occasions were very special to Daniel's family and some of my family were sweet enough to come to Vegas the day after Christmas to share the day with us.  My heart hurt that my best friends, brother's family, and father couldn't make it...but it was a difficult date to attend from afar.

 

The baptism was lovely.  Nora bathed in the lights, deep voices, and scenery of the beautiful church.  Even when the priest poured water and oil on her head, she remained quiet and observant.  Her only little jump was when the church erupted in clapping to welcome her into the flock.  Still not a tear was shed.  Just a bit of hand gnawing.  She is defintely teething.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chew those hands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The three couples recieving a Catholic marriage blessing.  We exchanged vows and rings again.  It made me tear up a bit and I felt such emotion looking at Daniel while slipping the ring on his finger.

 

 

 

 

 

All the parents.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The four generations!  Grandma Lola made it out despite bronchitis.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Auntie Barbara caught a gummy grin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   Four generations of hands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cousin Marie

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daisy & Courtney (unable to make the event) are Nora's Godmothers.  Jake is her Godfather.  Such a fantastic trio to be a support to Noodle.

Swimming the rivers

We pulled off another Christmas split this year.  Morning with my mom in Long Beach.  Evening with Daniel's family in Vegas.  Previous years this split has felt a bit frazzled...this year it felt like a whirlwind.  Finding and holding onto the holiday spirit whilst packing for myself and Noodle, preparing gifts for both families, nursing, attempting to nap Nora, celebrating at one house and then traveling to the airport for a party late into the night left me a bit weary.  And weary is simply not an option for the embrace and energy of our Vegas family.  No matter the time of our arrival or Nora's protests in her car seat, we always have a huge family gathering waiting.  We left the festive calm of my mom's house serving a warm frittata and povitica to a handful to enter the vibrant love of Daniel's grandma's house serving shrimp lumpia and chicken adobo to a massive crowd -- and even complete with a priest giving a seminar upon our arrival.

I have never before walked into a private home with a priest conducting a reflective lesson.  By this late hour on Christmas night at either my mom's or dad's, I would have been sipping on Bailey's and watching "A Christmas Story" in my pajamas.  In Vegas, we were circling our character adjectives and holding hands to sing religious songs in Kapampangan...and you have the unspoken feeling that a female drinking a cocktail is not encouraged.  I am never more struck by the diverse flavors of our families then when I split the day between the two.  It is exciting to know that Nora will always swim these two rivers as one.  She will relish her various cultures, savor the flavors of the Croats and the Filipinos, and enjoy a few phrases of her Lolas (my grandma is named Lola and in Daniel's family dialect, Kapampangan, all older women are "Lola"). She will always know this holiday medley.  One home with ipods calmly playing carols and another with jingles being belted out on the karaoke machine.  One with an emphasis on Santa...the other with an emphasis on Jesus.  Neither better or worse.  Both overflowing with hugs, kisses, memories, laughter, and stories.  Each family showering her with attention, smiles, and coos.  We are lucky.

Four generations.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Four generations.

 

Noodle the polyglot

One day Nora shall sit amidst her ates and kuyas in Angeles City, Phillipines.  After everyone says grace and makes the sign of the cross, "Mangan!" will echo throughout the room and pancit will be served.

One evening Nora shall sit amidst the Kocas in Cologne, Germany.  Fadime with her cherub Zoha.  Medina, Sevgi, Sevilen...all with their own little ones.  Barış Manço crooning in the background.  "Guten Appetit" will be spoken and Turkish and Kurdish dishes will be served.

One morning Nora shall sit amidst tetas in Zagreb, Croatia.  After photos are passed and stories told, "Dobar tek!" will call out and povatica with coffee will be served.

This is what I hope will be Nora's linguistic canvas.  A medley of Kapampangan, German, and Croatian.  Muddle in the daily exposure to Spanish in Los Angeles and French from many of our close friends, and she could be quite the polyglot.

I have remained steadfast in my dedication to speak to her in German.  Throughout the day we share moments that I sprinkle in the language of my high school/collegiate hobby.  The year that I spent in Cologne transformed me.  I left Berkeley full of misplaced anger and lacking self-confidence.  I returned keenly aware of just how vibrant, interesting, and beautiful other countries, cultures, languages, and people could be.  I spent months in the company of Kurds born in Germany.  Sharing their experiences of being a minority within a minority.

Before meeting Fadi's parents for the first time, she warned me that her father didn't particularly like Americans.  I was nervous, to say the least.  And as we climbed the stairs to their second floor apartment in the Turkish barrio of Vingst, my heart beat fast.  The door opened and we immediately turned left into a living room.  A portrait of Abdullah Öcalan hung prominently on the wall.  Fadi's parents and grandmother were introduced.  A string of bells ran from the couch to the other rooms, to allow her blind grandmother to finger her way to and fro.  Her mother peeled potatoes in the kitchen.  Her father and I exchanged a sparse and somewhat tense dialogue about Bush.  I knew that the US was somehow involved Öcalan's capture.

I left the apartment that day knowing that not everyone longs for the "American Dream"  This realization that my country is not internationally idealized and fawned over by all world citizens would repeat many times over the years.  As my feet, my backpack, my mini-dictionaries continued to land in new countries, I came to know far more about what I was and what my country represented to others.  Not to say that every single time that my passport is stamped upon entry is not comforting and joyful...but I have grown as a traveler.  I have learned much from being able to engage in German with my Kurdish, Polish, Turkish friends and Croatian relatives.  And at one time, during my travels in Mexico and Guatamela, my Spanish allowed me to experience even more.

Language has been the door through which I attempt to understand other cultures.  It is with this belief in mind that I, perhaps naively, try to teach Nora German.  A grammatically challenged and error-ridden German; yet, peppered with the phrases, vocabulary, and character that this language gives me.  I found this website today that gave recommendations for parents who wish to impart their second language upon a child.  I am not sure if I know 3000 words in German...but surely sharing my passion with Nora can only bring us closer.

Es kann nicht meine Kleine weh tun.  Oder?

 

Thanksgiving in Vegas

All my travel jitters were for naught.  Nora was so bedazzled by the lights and sounds of the airport that she barely made a peep.  My breastmilk needed just a simple fume test with strips to pass security.  And the take off and landing were two snaps with Noodle nursing underneath her cover.

She was such a peach that we even visited Aunts and Uncles at 11:00pm so they could get their first sip of Nuglett sauce.  And in order to make Daniel and I appear crazy with our "she cries loud" mantra, she didn't make a sound the entire visit...she kindly waited to scream until we had pulled away from the house.

 

 

This amazing "vacation version" of our daughter continued today at church.  Naturally, you could find the entire family at this morning's 9:00am mass.  The familiar cadence of the priest's Filipino-English, chiming of bells, scurrying of cousins, and arms of smiling relatives surrounded Nora today and for hours she only drooled and stared at all of the new faces. 

 

 

 

 

At one point, to our thrill, she even napped with Lola.  There she was, hours since the breast; without pacifiers, blankets, noise-machines, yoga balls...simply sleeping in her lola's arms. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There were her two other baby girl cousins, Chelsea and Cloe, also smitten with their lolas.  Nora is guaranteed oodles of fun in this triple-cousin brigade.  We can see them now tearing up each holiday, dressed to the nines, smiles, teeth, giggles, dances, songs.  We expect full talent shows to start in a few years.

 

 

 

 

And as I hit "publish" on this post, we await the magnificent bounty of the Thanksgiving feast.  There are the traditional smells of my childhood mixed with the Filipino aromas of dishes that I've only started to know...some, yes, I am still nervous to try (anything that has blood as an ingredient, for instance).  These people. this home, these foods will always be a comfort, a refuge, a joy for Nora.  Into the tapestry of her childhood will weave the the bouncing dance of her lola, the ever-present video camera of her lolo, the laughter of her aunt, the dishes of her Auntie Ruffa, the aged-photos of loved ones passed on the walls, and the karaoke ballads that will certainly be heard later in the evening. 

I may not be home for Thanksgiving but my husband's smile always reminds me just how glorious it is to be here.

 

 

 

The "Nuglett Nooks Tour"

Those of you who know me outside of this blogosphere know that I tend to be fairly (or ridiculously, depending on your barometer) organized.  But this has been in the realm of work and my classroom...it has never translated into my home domain.

Now, due to the phenomenon of "nesting."  It has.  Daniel and I have worked over the months to slowly create honey-sweet nooks and crannies for Nuglett.  I thought I'd post them today...more than anything so I can look back in a few months and say, "Wow, the house was once really clean."

Here, Little Mouse, is your corner in our bedroom.  Lola Loi found the dangling yellow mobile recently in the Philippines and your changing table is right below.  The coolest wet/dry bags for your cloth diapers await the care packages...and I'm hoping I can figure out a good system of washing/drying and using these contraptions...otherwise the 7th Generation version is underneath for emergencies.

You can also see your co-sleeper.  Your father swears that you'll only by in our bed - right in between us- for months (or if he had his druthers - years)...but I think we'll just have to see.  I refuse to succumb to the prevailing sentiment in baby books and some relatives that I'm a bad mom if I don't snuggle and sleep with my baby until they're a toddler...or in school.

Here are "the goods" that are all going to the hospital.  The two gifts bags are for the nurses and the doula.  Having a mom that's been a nurse for 25 years has always helped me realize what an incredible job they perform.  In case you're curious what a nurse recommends for an appropriate "gift bag" gesture, I was told: 

good quality coffee (already ground)
box of chocolates or donuts 
healthy granola bars/snack bars/cookies

The doula gift back for Lauren contains various fun items...but since she peruses this blog...the contents will remain a mystery.

I also have a nursing pillow/contraption and the little suitcase with just a few items.  I know the mere fact that I packed this bag three weeks before my due date makes me the "typical first-time mom" but that's what I am and I like knowing that the clothes I want are comfy and clean inside.

 

This, Nuggles, is your dad's favorite corner.  While his mom was picking out a yellow mobile in the Filipino market, he was fingering this multi-colored version.  He also found these vibrant butterflies and wanted all of it to hang above your crib (your eventual crib that's in the garage for now).

This is the "Grandparents Nook" for all of our parents who will stay with us at various times in the next few weeks.  We have a comfy sleeper-sofa and on the walls are many pictures from the Philippines and also a painting by my Uncle Paul of my great-grandparents, Matt and Zora.  We can't wait for our Lola's and Lolo's to be with us! 

Aunties, uncles, and little cousins are coming, too!

And lastly, Noodle, here is the area that you and I may end up occupying the most.  A plush glider and ottoman, near a sun-drenched window, and all of your baskets of toys and books.

Sometimes your dad and I sit looking at this space...just sipping in the silence that still pervades throughout the house...then one of us will smile a big goofy grin.  We're so excited to meet you!

And this is Sophie about to lick her chops.  She's normally camera-shy but I caught her off-guard.  She may not like you getting real close...but she is my ultimate snuggle-girl and curls up with her paws up around my face each day.  Watching you kick underneath her belly has made me laugh many times.  She gets very perplexed by the movement and just has no idea how things will shift around here once you enter the scene.  But Daniel and I have vowed to keep paying as much attention (as possible) to our furries.

That concludes the "Nuglett Nooks Tour".  I'm sure that all of these locals will blend and transform after your arrival (and by "transform" I mean turn into total chaos and disaster that I won't mind).

"Sort of" Bilingual

I used to be in a friendship circle that included this woman who was a Spanophile.  Her gringa accent thickly coated her attempt at Spanish; and yet, at every possible moment she engaged with anyone in the language.  She had taken an interest in the language in college...leading her to travel in Spain...and eventually, met and married a Spaniard and had two daughters.

Much to my amazement, although her vocabulary wasn't particularly expansive; nor, grammar necessarily correct, or pronunciation pleasant, she endeavored to speak only in Spanish with her daughters.  Now, granted, her husband also spoke to the girls in Spanish.  But after several years of seeing them at random festivities, I noticed that the girls did indeed communicate in Spanish with their mom and understand la idioma.

So, fast-forward a few years, I would not be considered a Germanophile; however, I do adore speaking the language.  It started in the summer of 11th grade when a counselor at my school presented me with my three choices:

1. continue with Spanish (but I vehemently hated my mother's Mexican boyfriend who would continue to poke his nose in my homework)

2. start French (but everything sounded too beautiful in French...you can't even say, "look at that truck full of sh_t," without it sounding like purple velour on your tongue)

3. start German (interesting, never considered this language, not a single person I knew had ever studied it, people say it's difficult)

I chose option #3.  And within a few months, we were sitting in Frau Rudman's class watching a small television as people scrambled over the Berlin Wall. It was historical and memorable.  Frau Rudman cried.  Many of us cried.  By that point in my language-development, I could have said hello and introduced myself to the wall-climbers.  I could have participated in the celebration with a minuscule amount of comprehension...and this was thrilling.  I craved a visit to Germany.  I was hungry for more and more of the language.

And I never looked back.  Every opportunity to speak this language, whether it be at community-college, Berkeley, or in the grocery store, was seized.  Much to the occasional grimmace of friends and family, I launch into this language whenever possible...shocking the poor German tourists by offering any sort of logistical advice or "Can I take your photo?" the instant I hear their tongues issuing the pronounced crackles of the language I love.

So, how about Nuglett's German?  As much as I used to think the Spanophile mother odd for speaking to her daughters in a paltry amount of Spanish (using a poor accent) - they DID develop their language.  But it isn't the language of her dreams, her deepest memories, her witty stories and jokes and soothing phrases.  The same scenario faces me now.  I recently picked up a few German baby books.  I salivate to read them to Nuglett.  Snuggling my baby's body as I flip the thick cardboard pages and hear my voice crackling and rolling out the words in  German.  But if I do talk to our children in German, they will most certainly inherit my grammatical errors, my severely-lacking verbal repertoire, my simplistic adjectives.

True, they will be able to visit Tante Fadi and engage with her and other friends and little ones in their elementary German, but is this enough?

Are you helping a child if you make them "sort of" bilingual?

It's a shame that Daniel's family stopped speaking to him in his mother's native Kapangpangan.  But he is far more limited in that language than I am in German.  I hope he teaches Nuglett the pleasantries.  I pray that his mother's family teaches him even more.

I know that deep in the night, when the little one cries, my songs and my heart and my mind will string together pearls of English comfort; however, in the day, when I see the sun, the sky, the joy of life - German will always pepper into my mind.  So, why not?  I don't think it could hurt to share with them the level of German that I know.

Besides, it might give some German tourist quite the story to take back home, "I saw this woman butchering German as she spoke to her child.  Why wouldn't she just speak to them in English?"

"Because, Dear Frau, I love your language.  What some consider "harsh," I have always considered melodic and beautiful.  I want my baby to share this joy with me...and please, next time, help me by correcting my errors."

***Und Maedels - woehnt Ihr mir helfen?  Anna, Jule, Eva, Fadi - Irh wird uns besuchen und mit unsere Kleine die Sprache sprechen, oder?  Und im Zukunft, nach viele Jaehre, ich will eine Kleine mit eine schoene Deutsch im Mund haben.  Es wird wuenderbar sein.  Es freut mich.  Tante Fadi- ich bin sehr gespannt unsere Kinder eigentlich zu tauschen.  Kannst du dass vorstellen?  Unglaublich!

Inauguration Day!

We have been stashing Obama odds and ends on top of our bookshelf for months.  A campaign poster picked up in Ellensburg, our ballot stubs with "I voted" stickers, the front page of the LA Times on November 5th.  I smile thinking that the only bushes at the White House tomorrow evening will be shivering outside in the ground.

I can't sleep tonight...hence this tryst on the computer that I shall surely regret tomorrow as I struggle to teach 11th graders rhetorical devices and shadow poetry.  Luckily, there is coffee.  It will be my savor.

Meanwhile, I kvetch about all things wedding.  How is it possible that for hours I've thought of little else?I try and read...but visions of handmade paper invitations dance in my head.  I knit a few rows of my neverending scarf (which is a good thing because it means I'm not eating)...and find myself considering what type of shawl my bridesmaids might like.  I chop vegetables for the soup...while thinking of how to haggle with the caterer for a lower price.  I watch a PBS special on India...and visions of henna swirls on our wedding cake come into mind.

When will the constant list-making stop?...well, according to my just-opened account at The Knot...in 171 days.  That sounds like an eternity right now.  I envision dozens of afternoons sizzling my eyes on this computer screen looking at potential center pieces, online florists, and low carbon footprint invitations that are so expensive that the "green" approach loses it's pull.  I've looked at more fair trade handmade paper from cow dung, banana leaves, coffee plantation waste, mango leaves, and lokta fibers than anyone really ever should.

I am working on a wedding website, importing my guest list from Excel, researching ways to pay respect to Daniel's Filipino culture with traditions and Pampangan phrases and capiz shell candleholders.

And more than anything...tonight...I just wish I could sleep.  The alarm is set for 4:40am.  A final freeway commute with microwaved coffee, a cruel treadmill with blaring rap music, and bored teenagers with texting fingers await me tomorrow.

...just one more look at post-consumer recycled rice-straw paper from the Philippines.  That would be a nice touch, wouldn't it?

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.

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.