Zora Travels

Struggle & a Rosebud Moment

It's a wonderful verb, "struggle."

It conjures up images of a gritty and vocal resistance.  A fight of words, fists, bravery, cowardice. Against indignities, inhumanities, and malice.

I am not entitled to use this verb "struggle" in relationship to my life.  Hyperbole, perhaps.  Nothing more.

This struck me this morning.  Clad in pajamas dribbled with creamy banana yogurt.  Nora's warm clothes even more indulgently splashed with yogurt and a wide variety of other breakfast foods.  NPR chirping the background, our beloved "Banana Boat Song" coming across the air waves.  It was an interview with Henry Belafonte, speaking of his mother.

Their family's poverty, so severe, that they had to "struggle to survive."  Struggle.To.Survive.

As I sit at this computer, an hour later, in those same pajamas, sipping cold coffee, monitor lighting up red with Nora's mild protest against her morning nap (we are separating nursing from sleep...a notion that strongly offends her).  My world has become myopic.  My fixation with child-rearing, child-feeding, parenting methodology...all pool into the cavern created by my abundance of time and energy, my fortune, my true "need" for nothing.  Vexation and analysis spawned from the privilege of lacking nothing.

I have no struggles...and my eyes glisten just typing those words. 

Boo hoo, I'm fat.  Boo hoo, my daughter likes to nurse and wants to be held too often.  Oh, it's so stressful to buy a nice home.  And piss to have a husband who craves another degree to further increase our financial stability...so I can stay at home...and pack picnic lunches for our afternoon at the nature center...and write this blog post...and watch the monitor still jump red while our daughter groans.  Not out of hunger or fear but of pure irritation...cause she likes me so much.

So, thank you, Mr. Belafonte.  Your eloquent words slipped under my skin.  They will stay with me today.  Make me slap myself around a bit.

Your mother also said, "Never let any injustice go unnoticed" and you claim this as your "rosebud moment." As you forged ahead in your career as a close friend of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., fighting for civil rights and human rights, and as your songs of Jamaican folk became part of every child's musical memory.

 

World on her Shoulders

Play THIS SONG in the background to capture the essence of the whimsical strummings that are my background music as I type this post.  Ali Farka Toure's lilting "Kala" is what signaled our guests to begin sitting down prior to the start of our wedding.  Always a tune that lifts my spirits.

Today the sun cast her first rays upon the mourning of a woman who radiated her own light.  Auntie Dee was known to me only a few short years...but left an indelible impression on my soul.  She illuminated a room.  She hugged me tightly, pushed food upon my plate joyfully, encouraged marital bliss sweetly, spoke of her faith passionately, supported my parenting genuinely, and loved living fervently.  The last time I saw her, she placed her hand upon mine, and said, "Be sweet to him.  Always be sweet." 

Only a day before her death, Daniel and I sat on the front porch at sunset.  Nora asleep...her sound machine whooshing from the monitor.  I asked him which marriages did he admire. Whose relationships would he wish to draw inspiration from for our own?  There were few. 

Both of us could only name a handful of couples.  Nuptial canvases that we appreciated not for their perfection, for all art contains an errant stroke, a drop of paint askew...but because of their beauty from a distance...a steady kindness, selflessness, communication, admirable parenting, consideration of dreams, respect of differences, a love that extends beyond children and manifests in time spent enriching the union of the original duo.  There are many lovers whose public faces belie the turbulence of marriage...but few who bravely expose their discord and genuinely seek to salve wounds the instant they occur.

Amidst the sprinkling of names...discussion of characteristics...and pondering of our own many shortcomings...Auntie Dee and Uncle Fred repeatedly came up.  Such grace, such generosity of words and touch, such dedication to one another.  Their love spoke on its own.

Will Daniel and my name also one day make it on Nora's list?  What will be her childhood impressions of our romantic connection, tensions and subsequent resolutions, words, tones, and ability to speak and to be heard?  Something to think about.  Wanting a marriage that not only nourishes and beautifies our souls...but stirs inspiration within our daughter.

On the day Dee met Nora, our usually stingy-with-smiles-daughter, shot her a megawatt drooly grin.  We all laughed.  Auntie Dee showered Nora with a mixture of sing-song phrases and snuggles.  Noodle knew she was a wonderful soul.  She knew her love; albeit only briefly.  Daniel's easy task will be to remind our family of his Godmother's hands, positive outlook, and kindness.  To make sure that her light shines on.

 

 

This photo is entitled "World on her Shoulders."  One of Nora's favorite games is when I take the fabric world map and billow it high up in the air, letting the colorful cloth fall softly upon her head...her hands stick out...she grasps at Mali, at Laos, at Argentina...whipping it off her head to reveal a now four- toothed grin.  We drape and peek and say the names of these distant lands over and over and over again.

Nothing like a little Caspian Sea around your neck, no?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Noodle is quite the mama's helper these days.  When I bring in the mail, she promptly samples it and reports back on texture, ink, and quality.  When I am doing the dishes, she clings to my pant legs and bounces in approval of my skills.  When I am washing her poopy diapers in the toilet, she attempts to double-check my work by grasping at the bucket, plunger, toilet lid, and soiled inserts...as I keep her at bay with my feet. 

When I am folding the laundry, she unfolds it in joyful disapproval of my creases.  Once I have put it away, she takes it back out, encouraging me to properly stack it. *Notice her extreme displeasure with the rate at which the stacked laundry comes out.

I must admit, her "help" makes each domestic duty stretch longer.  But we're a merry team, Lulu Bell, and me.  On the note of "Lulu," Daniel and I took note of all of her nicknames since the pregnancy.  Here they all are in a splendid list of silliness.

Nuglett

Nuggs

Monkey Mouse

Noodle

Noo-Noos

Noodles (pronounced like a mafia wise guy)

Budda Bee--Bee

Buddas Bee-Bees

Buddha

Lulu

Lulu Bell

 

Time to find a swing for my co-captain.  The wind tousling her hair (it's possible...I mean, look at all that hair).

 

 

 

 

 

Craning

There are so many things I want to write here on my outlet, my space, my venting venue...but, alas, anything too truthful or candid or honest about motherhood, marriage, relationships will cause alarm, vexation, worried comments from loved ones.  None of which I want.  Sometimes I want just to talk here.  Not be judged or cause anxiety.  But I don't feel I can.  There are always furrowed brows with such honesty.  This is not the place.  I've learned that if you want your writing to reflect your inner-most feelings...you have to write a secret blog or journal.

So, this space will smile and rarely frown.  I can vent to my dear friends in private...eshewing here the murky emotions and flirting with words that paint the blue skies and brightly-hued butterflies of parenthood. 

My writing feels this dishonesty...flat and empty...but it will bend back towards the light soon.  Every sprout arches and climbs towards the light source.  Craning around corners, clinging to lattice for access.  Unfurling in the sun.

I crane.  I cling. I will unfurl.

Maybe it's all just a matter of sleep.  Or the perpetual lack of it.

 

 

 

 

 

Holiday Rotations

No one ever mentions how hard it is to figure out a "fair and balanced" way to divide up the holidays.  And not the twisted distortion of the "fair and balanced" FOX News variety...but actually make it somewhat fair for all the parents involved.  And when you add in that my parents are divorced -  you are faced with a triangle of families, houses, traditions, travel plans and the impossibility that all parties could be satisfied at one time.

I've grown to respect my brother's take on the matter more over the past few days.  His method is becoming more often, "If you want to see us and the kids - come to our house."  This sort of takes the guesswork and hassle of travel itineraries right out of the mix.  It's a bold move; however, one that leads to the utmost pajamad-feet, cozy, and mellow holidays for his nuclear family (although the rest of us shed a silent tear and crave instant photo & video uploads every hour).

Daniel and I aren't near ready to issue such a statement to our respective clans...but having to face the upcoming holiday season and where we will spend Thanksgiving and Christmas has twisted my stomach up into more knots than I ever thought possible.

But some perspective is needed...How incredibly fortunate are we to have multiple-families that we genuinely wish to spend the holidays with...and them with us?  How lucky is our baby to be so pre-loved that people relish a chance to meet them months in advance?  How grateful are we to have the jobs, finances, security to be able to make travel plans to get to where we need to go?

And when I look back on this previous paragraph, I suppose there's nothing more to really say.  We will spend Turkey Day with one family and Christmas with another...we made the phone calls and purchased the tickets today.  We''ll have amazing memories, laughter, and stories of how Nuglett's first holidays were spent...surrounded by grinning grandmas and grandpas, aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings...the smells and flavors of Croatian blintzes, Filipino pancit, and mounds of cookies. 

Ah, cookies.  Holiday cookies.  How many more days will gestational-diabetes keep me from caressing and nibbling on sugary treats???  I really do so enjoy sugar.

Love Shower in Vegas

  

I often pinch myself that I won the in-law lottery.  Tucked up against the barren desert landscape at the end of Vegas lights, where vibrant orange sunsets burst in the sky, is the house that my baby will one day know so well.  A house that has portraits of Daniel with a high-top fade, Anna teetering down the road, and Eloisa and Virgil as a young, smiling couple holding a cherubim Daniel with electric smiles.

The room we stay in was where Daniel's Lola spent her final days.  It has a karaoke machine, anniversary congratulations from Pope John Paul to Lola and Lolo hung on the wall, and the Filipino wooden rocking chair in which Daniel once snuggled into his mama's lap.  It is a home that, albeit newly built, contains such warmth of memory, family, and harmony.  And the next time we visit, we'll have our baby with us.

My mother-in-law hosted an incredibly cheery baby shower for us this past weekend.  As the Lolo's sung "Danny Boy" with karaoke images of killer sea turtles in the back room, us ladies enjoyed the typical games and ate wonderful Filipino and American treats.  Our cup (and trunk) runneth over with the generosity of family and friends. 

Nuglett, now only 7 weeks from the due date, has quite the collection of fun items.  Organic lions and giraffes frolic inside of a mini co-sleeper, snuggled inside of soft blankets, with newborn outfits just awaiting a tiny cloth-diapered bottom.

I'm still feeling good.  Things take a daily turn in the evening when my only desire is to be on a couch with my feet up.  But in the morning - I've still got the energy to tackle myriad domestic errands and crafts projects.  Loving summer and the rolling kicks in my belly.  This morning, Nuglett had incessant hiccups and as Daniel and I enjoyed their rhythm, rays of sunshine shone across our bedroom and we soaked in the silence and luxury of sleeping-at-will.

Here is a picture of Daniel, Baby Chelsea and cousin Daisy. 

Below is cousin Tey-Tey with Baby Cloe...cousins that shall grow up with Nuglett and frolic together at all of the family celebrations.  The family is so excited for this Thanksgiving to have THREE babies cooing at the table.

 

A year ago today...

Exactly one year ago this evening, I entered a small room filled with light and friends and love and put on this dress.

I would soon walk down this rose-pettled aisle.

With these two at my side.

And this gorgeous man awaiting my arrival.

As this song began to play, I clicked with nervous grace down tiled stairs to meet my parents.

And after a memorable ceremony of readings, poetry, music, and vows, we walked blissfully out the door to great the summer sun as a married couple.

Daniel's face radiated.

As did mine.

And soon the hues of sunset painted our embrace.

We took a few more photos (by Noa).

Took a few turns on the dancefloor to this song.

Enjoyed the toasts and merriment of the reception.

Savored cake (decorated with the same wooden house that had held my engagement rings six months before).

And at the end of the evening, I went home with my best friend, my most sincere supporter, my husband, and the man who is just two months away from becoming an amazing father.

Happy Anniversary, Daniel!  Our first and ONLY before our caramel baby nestles between us.

The man I met for coffee

On a beautiful spring afternoon four years ago, I sat down at a small rickety table across from Daniel on our first date. 

Certainly another official anniversary will now take center stage in our lives; however, those hours passed between at The Library coffee shop, will always be special.  Interwoven into our discussions of taboo topics (religion & politics) were also invigorating forays into travel; languages spoken and those dreamed of; favorite literary characters; and world affairs.  It was a conversation that saturated my mind long after it ended...just as the man still does to this day...he saturates my mind long after he leaves.

 
This morning I was truly in "housewife mode"... a mode that shall be, in the not-so-distant future, a new and welcome dimension in my life.  I donned a puffy white robe and worn felt slippers, ignored my messy hair, and followed Daniel to his car carrying his two boiled eggs and commuter mug of coffee.  I kissed his freshly-shaven cheek (since he has the sniffles) and stood in the driveway waving goodbye...one hand on my belly.

Click here to play the soundtrack for this next paragraph.

It was a morning filled with glorious golden moments.   A morning that I want to somehow freeze in my mind.  No photo or video could capture this morning...but perhaps my words here and my already scrawled letter in the baby's journal will partially suffice.  I awoke from bizarre dreams of fighter pilots (a reflection of my recent literary voyage through The Storyteller's Daughter) to find Daniel meditating in the office.  I nestled into his lap and wished him a happy "Coffee Date" anniversary...Sophie nudging and purring into the mix.  Instead of his usual "our real anniversary isn't until the 6th spiel" (when he asked me to dinner), he simply dolloped kisses on my forehead and soon he began to sing.  His hand sought out the grapefruit-sized womb harboring our baby...and a soft soothing "Here, There, & Everywhere" floated into the air along with the first rays of morning light.  Tears wet my eyes, my hand met his, and I hummed as he gently sang another stanza.  An image of our baby swaying in warm fluids, fingers in the air, feet tapping, and a hint of a smile upon their tiny mouth entered my mind.

Our child, whose hummingbird heartbeat was heard yesterday with my excited mother, will grow up bathed in The Beatles.  On our first weekend trip together, Daniel and I snuggled into our hostel room above a bustling street in San Francisco, he placed one headphone in my ear and proceeded to sing the entire Abbey Road album.  He knew every word.  I was smitten. Behind the waterfalls engraved with Dr. King's words, near the folklorico dancers in the park, in the midst of the Haight & Ashbury festival, and along the sea shore where we shared a brownie...I fell in love.  The Beatles will always perfume our love, our life, our children.

So, to the man who met me for coffee four years ago, I am forever "here, there and everywhere." 

 

Opera costume dreams

I had these grand ideas for today.  The LA opera is selling loads of costumes: elegant royal satin and lace, palry peasants, mostly sized 12-16 for ladies, fancy hats, complete outfits - for garage sale prices.  I envisioned Daniel and I driving downtown, looking for parking using "The Secret," and then diving into costume bins spanning hundreds of epic fashion eras.  Not because I've ever been a huge fan of Halloween or opera...but because these particular costumes and the chance to buy a complete era-outfit just sounded like so much fun.

Instead, I'm on the couch, nuzzled beneath a grey furry blanket, the warmth of the laptop on my legs, a cozy hat and green hood covering my head, a tummy rumbling, a throat aching, and occasional moans (just to make sure everyone knows I'm sick).  An email just came in from my principal that "one of us" has swine flu and that all the surfaces in our classrooms will be disinfected this weekend.  The mystery person will be back on Monday or Tuesday.  Do I have the swine flu?  One of my students called and asked for homework for the week...due to flu.  Now a teacher has it.  Is this the cause of my own aches and pains?

I'll wait it out.  See tomorrow.  My doctor doesn't have the H1N1 shot in yet.  They're still waiting.

Our kittens, Max & Sophie, need their first shots.  We'll tackle that this week.

How do you avoid your weekends not becoming an "errand-ridden" span of time?  It seems that the list just grows all week long, expanding to occupy the majority of at least one day of the weekend.  But I've barely seen Daniel all week.  Just two hours of "after-work-tired-just-commuted" time and then we do the dishes and go to bed.  Saturday and Sunday are to be our haven.  Our respite from work and time to have fun.  How can we avoid the doldrums of errands, grocery shopping, house cleaning, and kitten care?  Maybe we're spacing it out wrong.  Maybe we just became far too spoiled with our initial three years of him in graduate school and gorging on unlimited time with eachother.  Now we live like most "9-5 'ers" in the concrete LA jungle.  A dense maze of freeways that leave us on the cell phone with one another at 5pm...across a distance that's short but time that takes forever...both inching towards our home with NPR on in the background, the cell phone on speaker, and bottles of water on the passenger seats.

This is our adjustment.  How to make the reality of a few tired hours each weeknight and a weekend that always passes too quickly feel like enough.  To squeeze out of these moments the same quality of discussion and connection and enjoyment that we used to find in the abundance of time we had before.  I love being married and I just wish there was more time to be together.

But as I read posts about Miss V or posts about Miss M, I realize that the trajectory of marriage typically finds only less time for one another as you add in the cuddles and sniffles of little ones.  I am completely baffled as to what you do once the jobs, commutes, pets, and babies have nestled into your time schedule.  If I think I see little of Daniel now, what will happen when the sweet cherubs arrive.  With their cocoa eyes, long lashes, and sweet toes?

I guess it all just somehow works out.  You adjust to the new reality of the hours you have.  I need to be more grateful for the minutes that I'm able to lie in his lap and feel his fingers running through my hair.  Sure, it used to be a half an hour...but these minutes are just as precious.  I am just as lucky.  I should be just as grateful.

Pitter patter

First, let me say that I love NPR.  These voices are the friends I've come to know on my long commute, and my weekend mornings as I stretch into the sunrise.  My "school-year 4:30 wake-up call" has now crept into my weekends.  No longer are my first blurry-eyed visions and yawns in company with Daniel; instead, these two furry faces greet me.

Max (left) and Sophie (right), have brought incredible joy to us in their first week.  It is such fun to hear their paws pitter patter across the hardwood floor.  To see their fuzzy faces waiting behind the window as you sit outside.  To feel their purring bellies and velveteen throats as they curl up on your lap.

Motor Max is the "Momma's Boy" and Sophie is "on the side of the business."  She wants to always be near you, in your business...just not on you or on your terms.  But it's this little shy girl who, when we allowed them to sleep with us last night, took up the offer and curled at our feet for the night.

Is it really the marriage, I wonder, that has created this strong urge to get an official dining table (thanks, Alexandra & Gilles), purchase matching placemats and napkins, start receiving Food and Wine magazine and studying their recipes with zeal, adopt two pets, and start grinding my own coffee beans?  It's a domestic transformation.  That young girl who used to toss any edible in saran wrap now searches with consternation for the perfectly sized tupperware.  Tubs without lids are no longer welcome.

We have become a family of four.  I want to be good to these pets.  Just because the years will age their faces, rough their fur, slow their hops, I want to still show them kindness and attention.  Pets sometimes slip into the shadows after children arrive.  Losing more and more glances and strokes until they diminish into a nuisance.

I whispered into both of their silken ears that I would take good care of them.  Even though one day (in the next few years) we hope that the pitter patter will not only be feline paws but baby feet.

***Yesterday, I listened to this radio story from a father who lost two sons on 9-11.  Tears streamed down my face and I felt such sadness and gratitude.  Sad that so many, near and far, have lost their lives in the intricate web of the attacks and aftermath.  Grateful that my life, my friends, and my family have not suffered directly in the tragic and heroic dust. 

I remember that morning eight years ago.  It was my first week of teaching in Compton.  A new Miles Davis cd, "Sketches of Spain," filled my classroom as I stood at the board.  It was the day to launch "Othello."  A colleague came by and asked if I'd heard "the news."  I turned from cd to radio and as I continued to flit about my room, another plane went down. 

What about "Othello"?

Irrelevant. I thought.

What would my students need? I wondered.

Would they even come to school?

A few did.  We spoke of the incident in every period.  They asked if the Compton Court would be a target.  They asked if the World Trade Center in Long Beach would be a target.  They asked why.  Of this, I knew nothing. 

All of us a little on edge, shocked, scared, and uncertain.  By the afternoon, I knew that we were "talked out."  So, I spoke, just for a few minutes, of a stage long ago, where all the actors were men, the scribe wrote in iambic-pentameter, and the heroes were flawed.  Of this, I knew a little.

That night I walked on the sidewalk and saw candles flickering in windows.  The only nation-wide solidarity that I'd ever seen.  And eight years later, our swords are unfortunately still bright.

"Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them."
Othello, 1. 2

Pure Paradise

One week of pure bliss.  That was our honeymoon...probably everyone's honeymoon is captured by those words.  A vacation designed purely to celebrate, relish, and frolic in the happiness of being newly married.

And we did frolic and relish...and relax.  Our normal "pocket-knife and a backpack" travel style gave way to simply waiting for our next meal and rum cocktail by the beach (a  white-sand beach in a small cove in St. Lucia that was surrounded by lush green mountains, by the way).

It was heaven.  A giant creamy sunshine slipping behind the turquoise horizon...leaving swirls of creamsicle, salmon and lime in the sky.  Hours spent basking in the sunshine by sand and our own private pool (and yes, I wore my sunblock).  Finding cover under a thatched roof when the rain drops began to fall.  Being massaged atop a mountain cabana as a light storm pattered the roof above us and magic hands rubbed warm coconut oil into our backs.  Yellow and translucent crabs scampering sideways to their holes...sting rays dusting up the ocean floor at our feet.  Dancing to Soca music on the streets of Castries as smiles painted the faces of all the Lucians around us. 

I've often wondered what all the fuss is about "luxury travel," I mean how could I have known that having a villa with plush robes and a private pool, sweet rum cocktails and glasses of wine, plates of fancy fish and tiny desserts that mesmerized my senses could be so fabulous?  Once in a lifetime for us. 

The next trip will merrily be once again a "camping, hosteling, sandwiches in the car" kind of trip...and that's exactly why we took this honeymoon.

And now we're home.  And home is lovely....but it ain't no tropical island. So, enjoy a montage of paradise, if you'd like.  I'm going to go chop onions for dinner.

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com