Zora Travels

The engine in the distance

Okay, it's jumping the gun.  I know it is.  But knowing this doesn't stop me from feeling it.  I'm blue, not a deep shade, just a light robin's egg.  I find myself stuffing my pockets with precious evenings of wine, cheese, laughter, yogurts, secrets, hopes, and desires.  I'm sharing myself, pealing back layers of doubt, picking at scabs of insecurity, and dishing frivolous wishes.  I'm bursting with stories and joy amidst new friends and old.  And all the while, I hear the groan of the moving truck's engine in the distance.  Sometimes the rattle of the heavy door clinking up into the roof is audible while I'm driving towards a fun evening.

Moving was a constant for many years of my childhood.  There was a bright decade of stability alongside a river Methow, albeit now slightly shadowed by knowing my parents were both unhappy. Then the move to Chelan, divorce, move to California and flip-flopping between the two.  I had boxes which stayed packed for years, clearly labeled with contents, just awaiting the next move.  My heart and mind felt perpetually in limbo between parents, loyalties, friendships and homes.  Romances came and went from my parents' lives; I jockeyed for a position in the midst of their post-divorce awakening.

Now, at a time when my profession, friendships, and family float along in a mellow stream, I confront and attempt to embrace the idea of moving once again.  Not moving down the street, or up the road...but perhaps across country.  Setting up our new home in New Haven, Ann Arbor, Austin, or Berkeley.  All of our options glimmer with the potential of new friends, new jobs, and new hobbies. 

Our relationship will be the one constant as the boxes are unpacked and my tension unwinds.  I am that girl that moves across country with her boyfriend so he can go to graduate school.  I never saw myself as "that girl."  What does "that girl" have at the end of this journey?  What does she feel when his friendships develop fast and easy in a grad. school cadre while she asserts her voice amidst teenagers at a new high school?  Catching mere glimpses of other adults at nutrition and lunch.

I touched Daniel's arm today during a back twist in yoga class.  Our flesh met for only an instant but I knew that it was those arms, those inhalations and exhalations, that move the man I love.  Those arms will carry most of our boxes, intermingled contents that have fuzzy ownership, and our mutual sacrifice will take us down this path...a path that currently holds so much uncertainty and anticipation.  On a day like today, it is easy for me to see only my sacrifice.  Loving friends and family fish for my true feelings on these impending changes. 

Which grad. school? Which financial aid package? Which city? Which non-profit? Which job?  Which friendships will endure the distance?  And with all of these questions that swirl in my mind, I seek a gentle route towards the future but more importantly, a calm glow in the present.

I faintly hear the engine groan but louder still is the pull of my mind.  It tells me that down the street, in a quiet Italian cafe, lurks a frothy cappuccino.  I'm going to walk to Aroma di  Roma, sprinkle cinnamon atop the foam, stir in three packets of sugar, and settle into a nook with my book.  My cell phone is off.  This laptop is closing...

Gratitude

I miss my boyfriend...although he's here.  In the bedroom, sleeping for another half an hour.

I miss long walks without students on my mind, lazy breakfasts without errands to run, late night cocktails that use the blender and lots of ice and rum.  Mutually embarassing afternoons on the Wilson High tennis court chasing balls.  Chilly mornings and silly kisses on my Grandma's porch.

Teacher mode swallows most of my waking energy.  Student-GMAT-MBA application-TA mode has once again zipped up Daniel until December.  We capture moments on the collapsed couch.  Olympic closing ceremonies (how many of them are wearing diapers this time?), Michelle Obama's speech (I cried...beyond my hormonal tears...emotion of pure joy and hope that she could be our First Lady.  That those little girls could be seen running after a dog in the Rose Garden), Hillary Clinton's less-than rousing endorsement (albeit understandably difficult).

The next few months hold significant milestones for us.  Natually, one event is hoped for, longed for, anticipated at every romantic interlude, invitation to dinner, or hint of tropical vacation; however, other time occupiers are solidly entrenched on the Fall calendar.

1. Daniel will keep studying (seemingly all the time) for the GMAT.

2. His MBA application packages, letters of recommendation, final selection of schools, finishing his economics thesis...must occur.

3. Trips to visit Berkeley and the Ann Arbor to explore the campuses, communities, and culture.  Can we imagine ourselves in these places for several years? (My alma matter is pretty easy...and Ann Arbor, I am hoping, is as fabulous as people say.)

3. Do I want to go to grad. school?  If so, where and to study what?  Do I have the courage and mind to tackle a Master's in German?  Does education still linger on my radar?

4. Where in South America are we going? To do what? Where will we take Spanish classes?

My shoulders tense as I type these sentences.  They seem like such enormous enveloping questions.  I like things black and white... quick analysis ...decision...boom...done.  And as I feel a tiny mercury ball rise and fall in my chest, I remind myself that in the shadows of Decision Mountain, I should still find the time to be grateful.

Grateful that I have the love of my life with whom I can hike the mountain, see the vista, and descend into the valley of future.  Yesterday, he made my lunch and placed a love note in my bag.  He rubbed my feet, asked me not to do the dishes, and didn't roll his eyes when I shared my greasy flashbacks of potato chips and quesadillas that I had inhaled for dinner.

I will never know why or how I was so fortunate to meet this Marquez-reading, five-block-away, traveler, wordsmith, humanitarian, environmentalist, intellectual...but I hope years from now we are still so in love that he dances for me.

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Emergency Contact

At a wooden table carved with wolves and cacti, surrounded by tacky Mexican beach paintings, a basket of chips and chunky salsa, I cried last night.  Daniel and I had enjoyed a leisurely bike ride down to the new Wednesday farmer's market in the marina.  A mellow market ripe with peaches, plums, and avocados but also oodles of prepared foods.  BBQ and berry cobbler, whole pineapples filled with smoothies, Mexican corn cobs smothered in spicy parmesan and mayo, crepes oozing nutella, and two hungry bikers inhaling deeply.  Tucked away near the smooth water and shaded eating area was Lionel.  A flask of French anise liquor recently delivered from his flock; his wife, Mara waving from the mega-van which held the energetic Emiliana and Diega, his pyramids of cookies, scones, and organic granola deepening our hunger pains.

We decided to stick to the plan and enjoy our first meal down the street at the oft-lauded Enrique's.  Ice-cold Bohemias and a thick spicy salsa woke up my palette and then a scrumptious shredded chicken and rice soup mellowed my raging hunger.  Our waiter emphatically praised the pork shank with tomatillo sauce, so we waited patiently for this house special.  Although I have turned in my vegetarian membership card of fifteen years, I still bit my lip when this hot platter descended on the table with a gigantic pig leg.  Skin glistening and tender flesh collapsing from the bones into the smooth roasted tomatillo sauce.  It was a succulent meal and one that I didn't think would end with me crying.

My fork was idling in the pool of sauce, taking that deep breath that half-consumed Mexican meals beg you to take, when Daniel mentioned his job.  We started meandering through various topics related to his current and future career and for some reason I asked him about his emergency contact.  He looked up from his forkful of Spanish rice and said simply, "You."  His eyes shifted back to his rice as if nothing monumental had occurred.  To me, it was as if the sunset blasted through the cheesy thatched roof, splashing vibrant light onto our desert scape table.  I was someone's Emergency Contact.  My full name, in Daniel's engineer scratch, scrawled on HR paperwork and squeezed in some ginormous filing cabinet under lock and key.  I felt so special and my eyes immediately filled with tears.  Daniel looked up, chewing his pork shank, and looked puzzled.  I explained that I had simply never been someone's Emergency Contact and that this meant something to me.  Tears began to gather and spill over the sides of my eyes, I wiped them quickly and just stared at him.  He smiled.

"I love our life, " said I.

"We'll have a GREAT life," said he.

And then the pork-bellied bikers rode home.

Is there a doctor in the house?

Long ago, amidst the fireworks and orchards of Lake Chelan, my brother met his beautiful wife.  Courtney and I were just talking about this ancient summer the other day...we tried listening to their phone calls and watched with glee as he wrote her name in fancy-schmancy handwriting all over the scratchpaper by the phone. Kathy's a brainiac, but she also combines her wicked intelligence with beauty, patience, grace, kindness, and friendship...but her brains are seriously gushing all over the place.  Shane, baby Iris, and I accompanied her yesterday to the grand opening of her university.  A real official ribbon cutting ceremony with dignitaries and board members and donors (every one of whom apparently needed to have their names read in blazing sunshine).  I kept finding myself in awe.  Here is this intelligent woman who brilliantly balances a 6 week old baby, a busy 3 year old, various published articles in journals and magazines, and a professorship at a medical school.  She has a name plate, fancy office, real wood furniture, and soon medical school students will be addressing her as "Doctor" or "Professor" ( photo shows her office view).  I don't think she's quite used to the titles but they are so well deserved. 

I think all of us should have to call her Doctor.  "Doctor, I enjoyed your kids today." "Doctor, I think a veggie burger sounds lovely for dinner."  She would never agree to these shanagins...but it's appropriate for someone who toiled on a Ph.D. dissertation for years whilst working full time and mothering a toddler.

Daniel flew in last night at 1:30am.  After 9 long days apart, my excitement was only slightly dampened by the reality that sleep or not, two children awaited my patience and energy at 7:00 this morning.  It is wonderful to have him here in this tapestry of my daily routine.  To have an extra set of hands to stir the mac 'n' cheese, cut the peaches, and hand me warmed bottles with a few kisses is a wonderful thing.

His arrival also means that to Ewan I am now chopped liver.  I would have to have something monumental, like an actual train or life-size race car, to trick him into spending time with me.  My dinosaur lego houses, which up until today would earn a few chuckles, are suddenly not up to code.  My voices reading How does a Dinosaur say Goodnight are now boring and monotone. 

I'm used to this routine.  Daniel out-giggles me with all children we meet but in a few years when I radiate the essence of diaper cream, baby cereal, and mashed carrots, him whisking away a few toddlers for a good belly laugh will be a welcome reprieve.

Locked and Loaded

Kathy just left.  Smiling Ewan was lathered in sunscreen and off to school.  I'm officially on duty...day one.

There is a large mug of water waiting to be heated in the microwave, breast milk in the fridge, burping cloths placed in strategic locations, cell phone charged and on low, camera charged and ready, sunscreen & hat out for our walk, car seat locked and loaded into the stroller...waiting on the porch.  Now where's the house key? 

Okay, deep breath.  I'm an old hand at this baby stuff, right?  No problem-o.  4 bottles of Mama Juice - plenty of diapers.  Things are prepared and organized.

Yikes, she stirs!  Here I come....

False alarm, just some girgling.

Nope, real thing.

The Toothpaste Study

Okay, so it's safe to say that I have plenty of time on my hands this summer.  There is no international travel on the agenda necessitating research into the latest Dengue fever maps or the State Department's travel warnings.  My passport lies neglected and salivating in a wooden box along with my immunization record; thus, I decided to conduct a study.  "What happens to our toothpaste?" I thought, would make a great subject.

Now, let me premise this study by saying that it is a strong sign (in my opinion) of our cohabitable bliss that Daniel's only note-worthy domestic blight pertains to his toothpaste habits.  I am certain that others face far more irriritating customs and prurient behavior.  But again, I search at times for anything upon which to snag my affections.  I do love this man and he simply can't be as perfect as his patient, Habitat certified, intellectual, and soulful behavior would dictate.

For one week my goal was to observe how often our "Tom's of Main Peppermint Antiplaque" toothpaste found it's way back into the bathroom cabinet.

The results are in.  Scientific notes and photographic evidence is below.

***It is Tuesday, July 1st.  For the next week I am conducting an undercover toothpaste study in the bathroom.  The results will be posted on July 8th.***

Day #1 (7/1) - The suspect is out, capped, along with his compadre the brush.

Day #2 (7/2)-  He's nuzzled up against the q-tip box, mirror ajar beckoning to him.

Day #3 (7/3)-  Mirror is wide-mouthed, calling down to his arched pose.

Day #4 (7/4)-  Nestled next to the sink, painfully squeezed, face down.

Day #5 (7/5)-  Hanging out with his friend the comb, wide-flung mirror above.

Day #6 (7/6)-  Similar to day #3, except more dramatically arched.

Day #7 (7/7)-  He fell into the drawer with the floss.

The Cobra Blues

The Summer Special at Yoga World is unlimited classes for two weeks for $30.  I have been lusciously gobbling up classes almost daily.  One of my favorite postures is cobra.  It feels like such a gentle release and although my chest barely lifts off the floor....it's getting easier.

There is another COBRA that arrived yesterday in the mail.  This one did not provide release and instead injected much anxiety into my day.  Daniel, as always, takes it all in stride, simply smiles and says, "It will be okay."  I stress out and need to immediately return for another yoga class.  Much to our amazement and confusion Daniel's health insurance has been cancelled.  And due to the wonders of current politics and policy, it ended on June 30th and the piles of paperwork arrived on Saturday.

So, what can you do?  I can get angry, depressed, and mope around bitterly cursing at the Dotted HR people who didn't properly process or explain the policy.  I can get resentful and then guilty of being resentful that insurance costs us so much and is so vital with his pre-existing condition.  How can they charge so much for one person, a healthy person, to just want some peace of mind?  How is it fair that when a sickness comes you are forever burdened and punished by your past in the minds of all of the insurance companies?  Why is it that the HR people don't slow down and truly understand the ramifications of their hustled emails and explanations when you inquire about the future?  Why can't we be like the French where the "sicker you are, the less you pay."

It seems like everything right now in my life is in flux.  I know that I should celebrate change, take comfort in the horizon of an unknown sky; however, a little lump stirs in my chest.  It is anxiety, uncertainty, and discomfort...ever so slowly gathering its form and shape to rumble around my chest.  Starting this November, nothing is certain.  I can sit calmly next to Daniel with maps of South America, read about another couple's adventure walking in the markets of Bolivia, and discuss our possible route through the continent but when I go to refill my iced tea...my breath snags on anxiety...and then the mail arrives. 

Despite having a plan, we are venturing into a year accented with question marks.  Will I be able to sub enough in November and December? Where will we go January through June?  How will we get insurance?  What will we do with the cars? Which school will accept Daniel?  Will we be moving to Michigan, New York, just up to Berkeley?  What type of work or graduate school should I pursue?  Do I want to teach 3rd grade or get a Master's in German and teach at a junior college?  The possibilities seem endless and that is unsettling. 

When is another yoga class?

Tonight at 5:30pm with Ramona.

What's "The Plan"?

Many people have asked me about "The Plan."  I am equally intrigued by my future and since much of it lies in the hands of others (admissions boards and non-profit organizations), it is mere playful speculation that this plan below unfolds.

2008

• July - marvel at the cutest niece & nephew ever up in Washington, Ewan and Lilly (complete with RV trips with Dad, river rafting with Courtney & Carl, and an overlap with Mom)
• August thru October - teach 10th grade English while the lovely literary Kaitie relishes motherhood
• November thru December - substitute teach; pack, purge, place all necessary items in storage; sell one of our cars; soak up time with family, friends, babies; celebrate the holidays with our families and friends

2009

• January thru June - work for a non-profit organization somewhere in South America (learning/studying Spanish, dancing salsa, sampling cocktails, finding Aashish)
• *April* - find out which graduate schools accepted Daniel, choose a school, toast to Daniel's future success in one of the following MBA programs (ordered by his preference, I would switch Michigan with Columbia):                #1 UC Berkeley, #2 University of Michigan, #3 Columbia, #4 Stanford, #5 Duke

            ****Daniel, take a deep breath****

• July - get married (ballsy of me, isn't it?)....click here for my favorite wedding video of all time, and yes, I know that somewhere above there needs to be an engagement.  But much to my dismay, not all things can I plan, organize, fix, and orchestrate.  This is one year away.
• August - relocate to one of aforementioned graduate schools
• September- begin working (potential options include: teaching, non-profit work, teacher coaching, German Master's program, education graduate school, ESL graduate school, administrative assistant, barista, waitress, personal trainer, yoga teacher, nanny)
• To Be Continued....

The Top Hollywood Cliches and The Tree

Daniel is studying for the GMAT.  Every day for several hours he works on either the GMAT or conducts research for his economics' thesis.  Today he's taking a full-length practice GMAT in the office; old fabric covers the french door window panes and I hear only the occasional squeak of the office chair as he adjusts his position.

Many years ago I dreamed of the man I would spend my life with.  His face and voice hazy underneath a gigantic white tent with twinkling lights.  We each held glasses in our hands (more beer stein versus champagne flute variety).  His laughter enveloped me and my heart filled with such assurance that he was "the one". 

Now, this "one" malarkey can be tricky.  It basks in simplicity as long as "the one" is eternal.  When "the one" fades/divorces/splits/betrays/ends, then it becomes a ridiculous step-child of pragmatism.

I can't and won't claim the cliches about Daniel and I that glisten within the factual and fictional depictions of other love stories.  I don't know for sure if he'd stand in the rain and hold up the boom box. And I think I'd be too nervous to ever shave his face.  He didn't have "me at hello" and I don't complete him.

What I do know is that when I hold his hand, I am proud, strong, reflective, and beautiful.  So, then he's "the one"?  No, because that implies that had he been living in London and I in Cologne, that we would have still found each other due to our mutual appreciation of One Hundred Years of Solitude.  What did happen is that on a sunny afternoon in March 2006, we discussed Said at The Library and knew that we had more to say.  He kissed me under an Ximeno tree weeks (yes, I said weeks) later.  I am so tempted at this point to end with a cliche.  My fingers literally hover over the keys itching to tap out the phrase; however, I shall instead let the following quote speak to what I hope we will one day become.  Not "the one" but simply one.

"Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are.

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.

- Captain Corelli's Mandolin. "Love is the beauty of the soul."
--St. Augustine