My Day Declared

It's official!  It was my day, though I am happy to share it.  What an incredible day.  I woke up to this awesome poster (references to my racing number tags that I have to pin to my shirt) and a text from my sister.  It only got better. 

I forget, sometimes, so it was a great time to remember what an amazing life I have lived and still live.  I have friends and family from all over the world and incredible experiences to show for it all.  I come across a song and I remember a joke, a dance, a cry or all three.  I read a birthday message and I laugh because I remember something from years ago - a slang word shared among friends, a show we snuck into without permission or a heartbreak that I just knew then I could never get over.

Every day the there are more experiences, more laughs, more music and more love.  Isn't life just grand.  Even when it gets dark and infuriating and you just can't believe the idiots (who put them in charge and how did that happen), I am just pleased as punch that I get the day to remember that there are stupendous people out there - and some of them are in my life!

Trapped!

I find myself locked in a room with four other people, at least as many calculators and eye-damaging screens. I find myself in a room of technology yet, strangely, no Internet. I find myself in this room, clinging to one tiny hope - they tell me freedom will come on Friday.

Off The Hook!

I have been telling you of the adventures that the wee one and I had between somewhere in Virginia and Brooklyn, where we ended up.  But none of this happened in a vacuum and, though I live to have a life like an ABBA song or moments like I'm in The Sound of Music, the real deal is not as glamourous.  First of all, driving is very exhausting.  The adrenalin that came about from hearing the news of my aunt and the wee one and then rushing out to Virginia kept me going for a while, but when I lay down for the night, I was done!  All this time though, my phone kept ringing - it was the police, then the medical folk, then someone from social services (about the wee one), then friends of my aunt, then family.  What it was, was never ending.  I was getting questions I could not answer, requests for information I was hazy about, and advice, some of which was helpful and a lot of which I had no intention of following.

On Wednesday morning, when the wee one awoke in Virginia (in a home that was unknown to him) I picked him up and gave him a hug and then I continued to hold him as I chatted with the aunt from Virginia we were staying with.  As we chatted, I noticed a squeaking sound coming from the wee one.  I looked at him, curiously, as I tried to figure out what was going on.

"He's grinding his teeth," my aunt said.

"What?"  It was the sound of nails on a blackboard, how could this be coming from this little person? 

"Yes, he has been grinding them since we picked him up."

The sound was so painful to hear.  Still not quite believing it, I put my fingers against his cheeks and I could feel his teeth moving away.  A trick from my yoga class, for relaxing a clenched jaw, came to me.  "Wee One?"  He looked at me. "Open your mouth like this."  He opened his mouth wide for me.  "Okay, we need to keep doing this, alright?"  He looked at me but, for a bit, the grinding stopped.  It became a thing we did often.  Whenever we came across people he did not know, the grinding would begin.  I would just say his name and open my mouth; he would follow suit and the grinding would cease.  This was the biggest indicator of the level of stress that he was under - most of the time he was quiet and obedient.  If he didn't grind his teeth, you could almost con yourself into believing that he was unaffected by everything that was going on. 

To keep up with the phone calls and the various things that I needed to do, I found the notebook above.  I put everyone's phone number in it, even the ones I knew by heart.  Under duress, the brain goes absolutely blank and in moments that are already panicked, trying to recall it all often results in more blank brain.  The cycle would go thus - the phone would ring and it would be, say, the hospital with an update on my aunt and questions about future plans.  I would take notes and tell them what I could.  Then, with the receiver still warm, the phone would ring again and it would be family with questions - Ask her this or ask them that.  I would tell them what I knew, remind them that my aunt was very ill and we needed to do what we could without stressing her out any more than she probably was already.  We had a woman who was sick and needed to get better and we had a mother who was worried about her son and feeling terrible for not being there for him.  It was our job to make sure that she knew that she had people and all she needed to focus on was recovering.  Also, we had a hospital that took their patient's right to privacy very seriously and wished to keep me informed without violating that right.  I can't say this enough times - all the people from Virginia were incredibly understanding, helpful and friendly.  When I felt overwhelmed, they had calming words of advice.  When I felt useless, they let me know that I was doing okay.  When I was afraid of the outcome of all of this, they assured me that everything would be okay.  To leave my aunt behind in a strange place, alone, was a hugely difficult thing for me to do.  And my feelings were nothing compared to what I imagine she must have felt.  She was sick, and alone and had no idea what was going on and when and how it would all end.  And through it all there was the wee one. 

Everything that was going on had him fleeing into a shell of quiet.  He did not speak much most of the time - driving back to Brooklyn, it took a few hours before he was relaxed, smiling and reading route signs.  But his teeth grinding was a painful indicator and at other times, he would look really angry.  It's funny, but you could almost actually see the dark clouds above his head when a wave of anger came over him.  I couldn't blame him, for he was taking everything incredibly well.  I was impressed that he very rarely showed anger and mostly that anger came in missiles being thrown at people he believed I was going to leave him with.  Boy does he have a great arm!  Perhaps a future in baseball awaits him.  All of that said, the ride back to Brooklyn involved no tantrums, only a little teeth grinding and a whole lot of adorable big eyes and chipmunk cheeks!  You take one look at that face and you just have to hug him!

Sidebar

yesterday i was heading home and waiting on the subway platform for my train.  a confused-looking woman approached me hesitatingly to ask if "this train stops at 42nd Street."  because many trains stop at many parts of 42nd street and that does not necessarily mean that train is stopping where you wish to go, i asked her where she was trying to go.  "i was just told that i needed to get on the 7 train to queens."  i consulted my handy subway map (i always like to be sure before i give directions, as i have no sense of said direction) and i confirmed that she was indeed in the right place.  she still looked frustrated, so i said - are you new to the subway? "yes!" was the response and a grimace that told me that she was not enjoying any of the benefits of public transportation.
"i'm just going through a lot right now," she continued and then i noticed that she was fighting back tears.

now, for the past few weeks, i have had an overwhelming feeling that the world needs more hugs.  a very simplistic approach to everything but my simple heart looks out and sees how easily people throw out their anger but it is so so hard to give a hug... especially to a stranger.  in recent times, often i think of my dear blog buddy dodo and imagine that right now i could send many hugs and more.  dodo's wonderful images convey such emotion, reflective of the roller coaster ride we are on right now.

the lady on the train sat down next to me and sniffed.  i smiled at her and then looked into my bag and rifled around a bit.  i found what i was looking for.

i handed her a tissue and then we were at her stop.  i wished her good luck and sent her a virtual hug.  maybe the world is not quite ready for random stranger hugs, but i think we could handle more smiles and virtual *hugs*

now i want to dance too! 

Yes, I mean No, I mean Yes!

during the wee one and my wednesday drive from virginia, hidef was at work, organising for life with a wee one.  wonderful and generous friends gave clothes, toys and advice.  he was tireless and supportive, checking up on us as the day went on.  his big project was to find emergency childcare services for the wee one.  i had to go back to work on thursday morning, as did hidef, and we decided that, at three years old, the wee one was not quite old enough to be left to his own devices for an entire work day.  this project turned out to be pretty challenging.  daycare centers, at least the ones near us, are not big on emergency care and some places needed us to have all kinds of paperwork that would prove that we were valid caregivers and not crazy kidnappers.  fortunately, hidef was able to organise a babysitter for the next morning.  she was due to arrive at 8am, so we could head out to work.  it was a relief to arrive, at close to midnight, to find a wonderful bed for the wee one and a plan for the next day.

because we live in a new york apartment, the wee one's bed was set up in the living room (where it would fit) and i slept on the couch, so i could be right there, in case the wee one needed anything.  who knew driving could be so exhausting?  the alarm went off at 7 am and i was still tired, but it was time to go.  i was barely stretching out my cramped muscles when hidef's phone rang.  he was in the bedroom so i could not make out what he was saying but a few seconds later he popped his head into the living room and said, "the babysitter just cancelled.  she says she had another commitment that she had forgotten about."

i am sure that real parents always have a plan b and maybe even plans c and d but we had the one emergency plan that we had been so proud of.  what to do now?  the wee one was very well-behaved but i get antsy at work, how would a 3 year old deal with being cooped up in a boring office all day?  i did not want to find out.  but what could we do?  who could we call?  hidef sent a text to one of his daddy friends and we waited for a response while trying to think of other people who might be able to help.  there had been some of my aunt's friends who had initially offered help but (i don't blame them) seemed overwhelmed by the idea of taking care of a child and had withdrawn their offers.  the 7 am woman called back and offered to send a friend but we no longer trusted her and, even though we did not yet have back up, declined.  i mean, how could we trust our wee one with someone who had started out so unreliable?  the phone beeped - a text from the daddy friend.  he sent us a number that his children's nanny had given him.  we called and a wonderfully friendly woman offered her daughter's services.  relieved, we accepted and waited for her to arrive.

i was already late for work but at least i knew i had a plan.  the wee one was awake by now so we got him cleaned up and ready for the day.  i had a talk with him, telling him that he was going to spend the day with a babysitter but that i would be back after work, i promise.  he had seen so many faces over the past couple of days, i wanted to assure him that my face was going to be a regular one.  hidef and he started playing with toy trains - the wee one LOVES trains - while we waited for the sitter to arrive.  finally she arrived i opened the front door and welcomed her in.  a second later, she was dodging the train that the wee one sent flying towards her head.  i was impressed by her reflexes, impressed by the wee one's strength and aim, a little afraid that we had just scared off the sitter and very surprised by the intensity of the wee one's reaction.  he had seemed so game about spending the day with a sitter.  to our relief, the sitter laughed it off, stating that having a little brother had taught her how to dodge missiles.  whew.

the sitter then started asking us questions that we had no answers to - was he potty trained? well he was wearing a diaper when i picked him up, so i assumed so.  did he nap and, if so, at what time?  i had no idea - he has slept most of the drive over but that may have been because we were driving.  did he have any allergies?  no clue.  was he on any medications?  you know, we only just picked him up yesterday so we were not sure but, since no one had given us any medications, we assumed not.  she took all of this in without showing any shock (she would make a great poker player) and told us that it was all not a problem. 

i bid the wee one goodbye for the day, let the sitter know to call me for anything at all, and rushed out to work.  it turns out the sitter had a great poker face - she told the daddy friend's nanny that hidef and i had no idea what we were doing.  she was pretty correct.  at least we had gotten the sitter (someone who had an idea) right?

Ease on Down the Road...

i woke up early, the next morning, for i had errands to run before hitting the road to get back to new york.  my previous forced vacation had used up the few sanctioned days one tends to get in these united states, so i had to be back at work the day after.  the wee one was still asleep so i headed out to a store close by to pick up a car seat for the ride back.  who could have known that something as simple as a car seat could come in so many varieties?  but look - one was on sale.  it was pink but i decided that boy and girl colours are a useless social construct and, if i was wrong, one day in a pink seat could not possibly ruin a 3 year-old's life forever.  pink it was.  i took the seat out to the parking lot and pulled out installation directions that appeared to have been designed by ikea.  There were pictures and words and neither made any sense.  i generally consider myself to be an intelligent person - i have even been known to successfully assemble ikea furniture- but this car seat made a dummy out of me.  i ended up ditching the instructions and weaving seat belts through gaps and hooking hooks to other hooks until the seat felt as though it would not fly out of the car. 

i drove back to virginia aunt's place and found that the wee one was awake and eating breakfast.  he looked up at me and my heart melted.  his big eyes were so expressive.  he was such a cutie.  my virginia aunt had told me how he had been upset to be taken from his mom and freaked out but calmed down when he was told that i was coming to get him.  i was impressed at his memory.  remember, i told you how terrible i had been at keeping in touch - thank goodness he was such a forgiving young man.  he wasn't really talking and i couldn't blame him.  there was a lot going on and none of us could really explain it.  so, instead, we talked finishing breakfast and packing his things.  virginia aunt checked the car seat - i was shocked to discover that the seat was okay.  it turns out that, instructions be damned, all you have to do is make sure the seat is secure and you're good.  we were good to go.  the wee one was strapped in and we had the directions home programmed into the gps.

of course, the phone rang.  it was the camp my aunt had been at when she had taken ill - somehow my aunt's wallet had been forgotten; could i come and pick it up.  it was an hour in the opposite direction but it was still early and i was curious to see what this place was like.  it is totally nonsensical but emotions are not about what makes sense.  i say this because i got there and it was a regular old camp.  there was no ominous music playing and there were no zombies (that i saw, at least).  we picked up the wallet then, like a mystical power that works outside human understanding, my phone rang.  it was my aunt, from the hospital.  i had tried to call the hospital earlier but, as i was not my aunt's spouse or guardian, they would not tell me anything about her.  i was incredibly relieved to hear her voice - she sounded tired, but that was completely understandable.  i was able to see her before heading back to new york.

we drove from the camp into town, found a parking spot near the hospital, fed the parking meter and then i took the wee one's hand and we walked into the hospital.  we visited with my aunt for a little over an hour until i remembered that the parking meter had run out.  in a panic i jumped out and we exchanged a tearful "see you soon".  then the wee one and i dashed back to the car.  it was actually a bit of fun for us both.

with the wee one strapped back in the car seat, it was time for us to head back home.  we had a long drive ahead of us and i was trying to get us home at a decent hour.  all was going well for the first couple of hours - my plan was to drive as far as washington d.c., stop for gas and a meal and then carry on to new york.  i had not factored in hitting washington d.c. right at the evening rush hour.  entering d.c. the gps told us that we would arrive in new york before nine pm; d.c. added an extra hour and a half to the ride home.  it was while we were stuck in traffic that i noticed that i was low on gas and it was also then that the wee one woke up and asked when we would stop for food.  i couldn't blame him, i was getting hungry myself.  i am really impressed at how patient he was with me - i can be extremely cranky when hungry but he sat and read numbers off route signs with me.  finally we got out of traffic, found a highway exit and refueled ourselves and the car.

the ride home went without incident until we were on the verrazano bridge, a mere 7 miles from home.  it was almost midnight at this point and traffic was not moving. we were on this bridge for 20 minutes - a 20 minutes that feels like an hour when you are tired and so close to home that you can almost smell it.  then... it was over.  we parked, hidef came out to meet us and help us with luggage and the three of us went inside.

what a lovely surprise!  hidef had made a little bed for the wee one, with two companions for him - a little tiger and a little lion.  we dressed him up in pyjamas, laid him down next to his new friends and he fell asleep almost immediately.  another long day for all of us.  now that we were home, what next?

It's a Wee One!

i clicked over to the Deputy Sheriff, my heart in my mouth.  he spoke too slowly for my racing mind, as he introduced himself and confirmed that i was family.  the trick question that he asked was - can you describe your cousin's (it was not the time to correct him on the relationship) son.  "he has these big eyes and cute cheeks and he's three. he is so small."  i write this down and i have no idea how the guy accepted this as a valid identification; i'm guessing that he heard something in my voice.  then, relief.  they had found my aunt and the wee one and both were safe.  however, he continued, my aunt was doing so well and he was thinking they may have to send her to the hospital.  he was just a policeman and so he was not going to make that decision but, he wanted to know, was there any family close by that the wee one could go to while his mother was being taken care of.  i thought of a friend, but he was too far away.  then i remembered another aunt (related on another side of the family) who had moved to virginia and, luckily for us all, she lived about an hour away from some spot in virginia.  i hung up and called her, and caught her just as she was getting up.  i hurriedly explained what was going on - could she take the wee one until i was able to show up and take over?  of course, she said, without hesitation.  she just had to find a friend to drive over with.  there was a back and forth of calls - deputy sheriff, me, my virginia aunt, verifications of arrangements and identifications.

at the same time, hi def woke up and found me pacing around the apartment - well it was more walking in tight circles because i live in a new york apartment.  but i was hectic.  i was putting my work bags together and talking and thinking i was thinking.  i got off a call and he asked what was going on.  i tried to talk and my voice broke.  ten seconds of tears later, i pulled myself together and told him what i knew so far.  "so, what are you going to do?"  "i told the policeman that i was coming to virginia to pick up the wee one."  "so what are you doing now?"  he was looking at me in my suit with my bags. "i don't know."  i was in auto mode, doing what was familiar.  "ok, let's talk about this and try to figure it out."  you see, it would have been easier if some idiot in a van hadn't decided to mess up our car.  the car was in the repair shop and everyone seemed to be taking their time about sorting that mess out.  i had to find an alternative.  i pulled out the computer to start looking for something.  the phone rang again.

the hospital people had shown up and decided that my aunt needed treatment - they were not yet sure what was going on but they needed to help her.  she was worried about the wee one, of course, so they needed to be sure i was coming - yes, i assured them, i was on my way.  the deputy sheriff was calling with his updates. i was calling car rental spots to see if they had anything for me that i could use immediately.  hi def was keeping me calm, helping find car rental prices and getting me to write lists (i am so bad at those). 

finally i was on my way - it was an 8 hour drive, according to the gps, but it took over an hour to just get out of the city - rush hour.  but, i had coffee and i was good to go.  the woman from the hospital called to let me know that my aunt was at the hospital and being assessed.  the deputy sheriff called to let me know the same.  during my drive, my virginia aunt called to let me know that she had picked up the wee one, taken him out to lunch and they were headed home to wait for me.  my aunt's friend called and i let her know that i was on my way out to virginia.  i passed a huge fire that had shut down the highway; thankfully it was the other side of the highway.  i drove on without delay. 

it was close to midnight when i got to my virginia aunt's place.  a day that seems so long sometimes can just rush by in an instant - dealing with the phone calls, the rentals, the rush hour traffic just swallowed up the day.  oh and it started raining, which slowed me down a little.  but i was there.  i hugged my aunt and she took me into her bedroom - the wee one was asleep.  so so cute.  and so so tiny.  it was time to go to bed - tomorrow promised to be a long day too.

What I Wanna Do Right Now Is Go Back...

my aunt.  a little background here.  in 2000, after an awesome celebration of the new millennium, i moved to the united states.  i flew in to boston and moved in with my brother in worcester, the armpit of massachusetts.  i was embarking on a completely new phase in my life and i had the option to start it wherever i pleased.  the story of how new york ended up being the choice is another story but it includes a bus ride to new york, on the invitation of an uncle who lived in new jersey.  he believed that new york was the best place for me to find work, so i had agreed to spend the weekend with him so he could convince me.  the bus arrived at the port authority as i stepped off the bus, i was overwhelmed by the hugeness of the place.  there were so many buses and doors and people.  oh and it was nighttime on a friday night.  i looked around and had no idea how i was expected to find anyone.  i stood around for a bit.  nothing.  i found a pay phone and tried to call my uncle.  voicemail.  i waited a little longer and tried to call him again.  voicemail.  this cycle was repeated until a couple of hours had gone by and i was out of quarters.  what was i to do.

although the port authority of 2000 was a much friendlier place than the port authority of 1990, it was still a rather intimidating space for a jenny-come-lately with no sense of direction and no plan b.  what was i to do?  i sat at the top of one of many stairwells and tried to come up with an idea.  a young man walked up to me and asked me what i was doing.  according to him, he had seen me and could tell that i was in trouble - i looked very confused.  i explained that i had run out of quarters, was trying to find my uncle and had no plan b.  he happened to have a mobile phone and offered it to me.  "try to call him again," the young man said.  voicemail. "don't you know anyone else in new york?"
i shook my head, no, and sat back, defeated.  what to do, what to do... but wait! i remembered that a few months earlier, an aunt had called me.  and aunt i had not spoken in to many many years, maybe more than ten.  i remembered that she had mentioned that she was living in new york.  could this be true.  i paged through my little notebook and showed the number to the young man.  yes, he confirmed, that was a new york number.  it was almost midnight but i was desperate.  i called the number and waited.  the most welcome voice in history answered and insisted that i come over immediately.  she took me in and made room for me.  i ended up staying with her for the weekend and, when i decided to move to new york, she let me stay with her for several months, while i sorted myself out. 

she is my family in new york.  but, we lived in different neighbourhoods and i, for one, got busy with work and life in general and i was not keeping in touch as well as i should.  i had been there for this awesome arrival and we had spent christmas together.  we also spent a little time hanging out when my mother was around but i really had no idea what was going on with her.  and then there was that call from the deputy sheriff.

Voices

On the morning of 28 June, I woke up at 5 am, as has become my very uncivilised habit, and set out for my morning run.  It was a pretty good run; it was cool and not too humid and I walked back into the house feeling very good about the day ahead.  I picked up my phone to check on the weather so I could make final decisions about my clothes for the day.  To my surprise, I had several missed calls and two voice messages on my phone.  I almost never check voicemail - I prefer to just call the person back so we can have a conversation - but the obscenely early hour made me curious.  Who was calling me at this time of day and why? 

I started out with a number I did not recognise.  I pressed play and I heard, "Good morning, Pandave, this is Deputy Sheriff from some spot in Virginia.  We are trying to locate some information on your cousin.  She is possibly missing from a location down here in Virginia and we're just trying to get some information on her.  Please give me a call back."

Whatever I may have been expecting when I pressed play, that was not on the list.  My cousin (who is actually my aunt) lives in New York, so I was really confused.  Why would she be in Virginia?  She has a three year-old son, why hadn't the Deputy Sheriff mentioned him?  Where was the son?  As my not-really-awake brain tried to process this, I dialed the phone number that the Deputy Sheriff had left me.  I got his voicemail.  Then I listened to the second message on my phone - it was my aunt's friend, asking me to call her back.  So I did.  I got her voicemail.  Panic.

I started pacing and trying to figure out what to do.  Well I thought I was trying to figure out what to do, but how can you figure when you know next to nothing.  It was so early in the morning and I couldn't even begin to try to imagine what was going on.  Should I try the Deputy Sheriff's number again?  Should I try to be patient and wait for him to return my call?  What was going on?

My phone rang.  It was my aunt's friend.  What she knew was that my aunt had gone out to Virginia to a summer camp that was run by a church.  The previous night, my aunt had been on the phone with her friend and sounding a little frantic and confused.  She was not clear, but my aunt believed that she was in danger.  At some point in the evening, the sequence of events was fuzzy, the police arrived at the camp and my aunt and her son were missing.  The police were searching for her and were trying to figure out what happened.  Before I could ask my aunt's friends any questions, my phone beeped.  It was the Deputy Sheriff calling me back.

The Beginning... I Think

So there we are, the day before my mother was to head back to Zimbabwe.  She looked over at me and said, "I told you that I don't want to die in America."  At the time, she was sitting in the passenger seat of the red car you see above; the passenger seat is the side closest to that van's open door.  Look closely and you will notice that the car door is a tad askew.  It is askew because it is wedged into the side of the red car; you know, the red car my mother was sitting in at the time.  It became wedged because the driver double-parked van thought it would be a good idea to open its door into a car as the car passed by.  Mother was not hurt and lived to tell the tale - as you can see from the quote above.  The car was towed away and embarked on its own separate adventures.

My brother graduated from college, my mother came to visit, for a month, to celebrate the graduation and spend time with her children.  My cousin came to New York for a summer internship.  It was crazy, it was hectic, it was wonderful!  I almost never see my family and to be able to spend time with them and to get a hefty dose of my mother's wisdom was a gift.  But that kind of intensity does come with a price.  Trying to fit a year's worth of visits into thirty days can be exhausting and a car knock up at the end of it all made it all the more nutty.

That said, it was a June full of love, laughter and great food.  Are there words for how difficult it is to say goodbye, knowing that it will be another forever before you get to spend time with your mother? 

Then it was home and back to the usual grind.  Turns out that the usual lasted only 7 days.

What? Where? How?

I have been mulling over this for a while... What have I been up to? Where have I been?  How do I describe it?  Sometimes I think of Jonah and the Whale and how perhaps I was swallowed and have now, finally, I hope, been spat out and can now try to carry on with life as before (without trying too hard to catch up, since I know now that never works).  Then I think, no, maybe I fell down the rabbit hole like Alice (it was a rabbit hole, right?) and I have crawled to the other side and am now free.  Okay, I am a little hazy on how the Alice story ended so I can't use that.  The Wizard of Oz?  Gulliver's Travels?

Oh I don't know.  All I know is that life just galloped up and threw me for a loop and it is taking a while to get back on board.  But fear not... or fear some, for I'm about to share my tales!

In The Stars

Once a fortnight, I pick up a free magazine that I read while waiting for the bus. On the back page is the best horoscope for Scorpio folk. I say for Scorpio because sometimes, when I have a lot of time to kill, I read other signs and I invariably come away glad to be a Scorpio. And this week it was as though the horoscope gods were sending me an action kick from on high. I quote:

Daytime. An empty room. Some wine spilled on the floor. Tile curling up under the sink. The fridge door is swung open and it is obscene. Upstairs there is shouting. Outside, sirens. Why can't you move, Scorpio? Why can't you just bring yourself to some small moment of action? This $@1% is depressing.

So, there it is. My small moment of action.

The Things That Stick

My parents and, by default, I spent many years in exile, waiting for Zimbabwe to come into being.  Of course, they spent more years in exile that I did and, being that I was seven when we went to Zimbabwe, I had no idea that I was a stateless person.  Once we were living in Zimbabwe, the parents insisted on our travelling around the country, and making history lessons out of these trips.  One of our early trips was a tour of the places in which my father had spent his childhood.  He took us to his old primary school, where the school buildings were painted a vivid blue, like the colour of swimming pools in the movies.

As we were in the middle of the school holidays, we walked around the empty school buildings, peering into windows  and listening to him reminisce about being a kid.  We peered in, trying and failing to imagine our father as a kid.  The history lesson over, my geologist father took us into the schoolyard for a lesson the the stones and rocks there.  He walked us over to a large rock that was rising out of the grass and tried to get us to believe that this grey rock, that he referred to as talc, was what was used to make baby powder. 
"If you take a stone, you can write your name in the rock because the rock is that soft."
We were skeptical.  Now, our father, as he reminded us often, was the smartest person around but write in rock? He handed my sister, brother and me each a stone and said, "Try it."
He directed us to the rock and we each took a spot.  I reached out and gasped in amazement as the stone sank into the rock and the beginnings of my name were scratched in.  The rock looked solid and yet I was pretty easily writing my name in it.  We were all so absorbed by this that we forgot that, as siblings, we were obliged to be constantly squabbling. 

"Step back, quietly."  My father's voice cut through the peace.  When he used that tone of voice, we knew to put our millions of questions on hold and simply act.  We stepped back as he stepped forward brandishing a massive stick that had somehow found its way into his hand.  He brought the stick to the ground and hit the grass over and over again.  The, he moved the stick in the grass and, when he raised the stick again, a snake was wrapped around it and the snake was quite dead.  I am not sure how big the snake was in real life but, to my eight year-old self it was ginormous!  And, as my father declared, it was a cobra.  Since he was correct about the rock, we took his word on the snake.

So there was my father, discoverer of writing rocks (I wonder if our names are still in the rock), killer of giant cobras (that had not attacked because for once in our lives we were actually quiet) and general maker of exciting days.  And we had not even had lunch yet!  And, as though the day was not cool enough, it turned out that he had spotted smaller talc rocks that we got to take home.  There is another tale of how my brother ended up with an allergic rash from homemade talc powder but that is for another day...

No Cameras Please!

It happened.  Yesterday Congressman Weiner announced that he is going to resign because, with reckless abandon, he distributed photos of himself in all his natural glory (along with memos singing his glory's praises).  He found out the hard way that although it is par for the course for the world to see an emperor with no clothes on, those rules do not apply to a congressman.  That you are doing your job pretty well, which, when you are a congressman or senator, is as rare as spotting a dodo, is besides the point.  We don't need our leaders to represent us; we need our leaders to be dressed!  No matter if they work only for whomever gives them the most money, not their constituents, as long as they are the most puritan folks on the block, they can keep their salaries and we'll vote for them over and over again. 

So, if you are ever tempted to take a photo of yourself, consider instead handing out cheques from tobacco companies before a vote related to the dangers of tobacco - that could get you the cushy job of Speaker of the House.  Another alternative to the camera is taking on four rent-stabilised apartments in a city where the limit is supposed to be one per person, use one as an office (also against the rules) and then go all out by not paying taxes on a home you have near the sunny beaches of the Dominican Republic.  You know why all this behaviour is acceptable?  Because it doesn't matter what you do, how you dress, or rather don't dress is what matters.  As long as we don't know what naked you looks like, you're good.

I'm working on my slogan for the special election to fill the empty seat:  I WON'T WORK FOR YOU - GOD FORBID!  BUT I PROMISE I SHALL ALWAYS DRESS FOR YOU!!

Left Behind...

Once again, I have missed the boat.  Do you think that having a talent for writing and spending the time and energy sitting down to write a story and create a website is what it takes to get people to follow your work?  Well, think again!  You know what it takes?  Being a lesbian, that's what.  Who knew?  Well, I for one did not but consider me schooled!

First of all the wires were buzzing, and by wires I mean wireless, magic interwebs, because "A Gay Girl in Damascus" had been kidnapped by Syrian security forces.  It turned out that the Gay Girl had not realised just how important she would be to the international world because the world responded in full force, demanding her immediate release.  And when the Syrian forces claimed to not have this Gay Girl, the world was relentless - "We know you are lying so let her go and let her be!"  The Gay Girl would have been touched by all this support if indeed the Gay Girl had been a gay girl and not a Guy from Scotland.  I wonder how his/her girlfriend in Canada feels about this... I am a little surprised that the two were dating when they had not even met - that's taking a long distance relationship to a whole new level.  So maybe a Gay Girl had tired of her website and wanted a way out but we have now learnt that the way to get out of a blog is not by being kidnapped by Syrian security forces.

Some might sit around and think - who would even think to do this?  Well, this action is not out of the ordinary at all.  No, sir, it is not.  Before A Gay Girl, aka Amina, branched out and launched her own blog, she was writing on the website Lez Get Real - a lesbian news website.  When Amina went missing, the editor of Lez Get Real, Paula Brooks, reported the kidnap.  When Amina turned out to be Tom, reporters became curious about everything.  It turns out that Paula is actually Bill.  Bill wrote as Paula because he felt that he would not be taken seriously as a straight man (what a joke those folk are). 

So there you are, slaving away with your ideas and your words and your ethics that somehow include being yourself.  How dare you!  All these important stories that you are robbing the world of because you won't take the leap and be a lesbian.  Shame on you!

Quit Complaining!

You know what the big news story is today?  No, silly, it's not about how people are recovering from floods, tsunamis, earthquakes and tornadoes!  It has nothing to do with unemployment, the high cost of education or injustices against the poor.  I am sure some people you have come across mention things like this but, when they do, you can now tell them that those things can't possibly be important.  They can't be because they are not the big news story.  Let me tell you the big news story.

So there is this guy who works for the government.  Not just any government job; he has one of those cushy jobs that pays you almost $200,00 a year, gives you a pension and health insurance for life.  When I say health insurance, I don't mean the kind where they ask for your insurance card so they can see just how well they can treat. No siree bob, this kind of health insurance is the kind where the best specialists rush to your side and declare loudly the Hippocratic Oath as they pull all the stops to make you better than new.  So, this guy, whose job gives him 2 months of vacation time, compared to the whopping 10 days I and many others get from our jobs (15 if you stay for 7 years!), also gets to work Tuesday through Thursday.  Tuesday through Thursday because, technology being what it is, they require Monday and Friday to travel to the nation's capital for work... And here I am complaining about my daily commute that takes almost an hour each day.

He has this great job and actually championed some noble causes, like healthcare for all, and earned the respect of many for standing up to lobbyists.  It turns out that, for all the good things he does while working, from Tuesday through Thursday, he does not make such smart choices during his considerable free time.  Apparently, perhaps during that long long (like a day long) ride from New York to D.C., he seeks out young women online and is all like, "Hey, my name is Weiner, do you want to see my weiner, hehehe?"  And then he sends photos of things that go bump in his pants, as well as photos of his bare, rather scrawny, chest.

This is the news!  We are outraged!  We are betrayed!  This man is destroying our society with is chicken chest and grey undies and now we need therapy and a day off to try to come to terms with it all.  Bring out the pundits to tell us how terrible he is and how this will affect our lives, our nation, our world.  Perchance he is the reason for the floods, earthquakes, tsunamis and tornadoes.  If it weren't for him, there would be no poverty and we wouldn't need healthcare for we would all be well.  So, you see, this is why this is the top story.  We report and resolve this and everything else will be okay.

Celebrate Marmalade!

my sister and her friends went through a phase where they declared that every day they would use a word with at least as many syllables as marmalade in their conversations.  whenever this happened, the others would nod in approval and declare, "marmalade!" 

today i woke up to a new word - cymotrichous.  this is a word, so obscure, my spell-checker has underlined it and suggested that perhaps i wished to say meretricious or polymorphous or maybe even dichotomous.  so now, even though my hair is not cymotrichous being, instead, a probably obnoxious person, wearing meretricious jewellery, at a dinner party may refer to it as ulotrichous.  i would then realise that, after several hours of a polymorphous evening, the room had become dichotomous and i was standing on the wrong side.

i would then shift over to the meat and potatoes, no-thesaurus-needed section and grab a cocktail.  because sometimes you tire of marmalade and just want a little jam.

Catcher!

words keep floating around in my head and they float and they taunt and they tease.  and i tell those words, you just wait, once i find a pen and i'm done adding numbers and cooking and cleaning and staring into space and making excuses... oh you just wait, words, i'll catch you and then you'll see... you'll see!!!

Potaytoe-Pohtahtoe

Some weeks ago, I read that some scientists had discovered a new species of monkey.  Such exciting news - what are these hidden corners of the worlds that man has not yet stepped upon?  That, for me was the most fascinating thing.  I mean, if we have not seen all the world, could the world maybe have corners that one could, theoretically, fall off of?  If we haven't been there, we don't know.  Instead of the Bermuda Triangle, it could be a Bermuda Edge and that is where people disappear - they actually, literally, fall off the earth! 

But I digress - back to the new monkey.  This monkey is a little thing and its outstanding characteristic is a nose that looks like the one Michael Jackson ended up with.  I was intrigued - how did said scientists find this monkey, heretofore unknown?  It turns out that the scientists were hanging out with some hunters that they came across and that the hunters had skulls of a shape the scientists had never seen before.  "What are these skulls and where did they come from?" the scientists wondered out loud, in the presence of the hunters.
"Oh, we'll show you," replied the hunters and then the hunters led the scientists to where the monkeys were.  And this is the tale of how the scientists discovered the monkeys.

And this really brings up a question (in my mind, at least).  If you hear people talk of things and you have them take you to see these things, an it really be called YOUR discovery (I'm looking at you David Livingstone, with Victoria Falls, aka Mosi-oa-Tunya)?  At what point are people going to start admitting - no, no, I didn't really discovered.  What happened is that a few people who knew of something, told me about it and I decided to tell the world.

Or is the power of discovery a power enjoyed solely by the powerful?  If you know of something and you have no power, does that mean that thing does not exist?

Maybe that's the deal with that tree in the forest that no one is hearing... yet.  Don't worry, tree, the scientists are coming!

Naples, Florida

I spent a week working in Naples, Florida and finished earlier than the flight I was booked on.  I headed out to the airport, in the hopes that I would be able to get moved to an earlier flight but I was out of luck.  Plane trouble had led to cancelled flights but, as I had already returned my rental car, I was stuck at the airport for most of the day.  I sat about and wrote in my notebook a little:

- Spotted several men in muscle shirts; skintight technical gear that one is really only supposed to wear while exercising and, even then, one should probably just say no or at least "not so tight."  Thought - maybe the muscle shirt is the male equivalent of the sexy top, miniskirt & high heels worn by the ladies.

- Folk may be wondering about me too, as I sit with coffee and water, barefoot, with knees drawn to my chest, feet on seat as I read my magazine.  I just finished reading a story about John Lurie and then discovered that, apparently, Edgar Allan Poe invented the detective story.

There are so many things that I learn while on these trips, catching up on my magazine reading

- Picked up the Wall Street Journal that I decided, years ago, to stop reading.  I never liked the articles.  I read one that was flat, but then I found out that Rothstein, who allegedly fixed the 1919 World Series, was murdered.  This struck me because I have been watching the TV show, "Boardwalk Empire" and he is a character in it.  So... I read this and I think "Darn! Now I know how he leaves the show!  They shouldn't have printed that spoiler."  Then I stopped myself.  Silly me, the guy really existed!  I should have known how he ended. The blur of reality and TV.  Does this mean that there is a tendency now to view stuff on TV as not real? And can that really be all bad?  Look at all the things people believe because they have seen it on TV - like how a spray-on tan or spray-on hair, for that matter, will be seen as real and believable by people.

- Wow I also just learnt that Shelock Holmes used to be felled by boredom and cocaine!  I read those books in my youth; did that come up in the books or were my books censored?

- Again with the tiny bathroom stalls.  I couldn't change my flight and they tell me that it's too early to check my luggage.  Now, I have to try to fit myself AND my bags into the minuscule bathroom stall with doors that open inwards.  Great thinking, airport bathroom designers.  What are you trying to do - tick us off before we even get squashed into a seat with no legroom?

And with that I schlumped to a restaurant for a meal and a cocktail. At least it was warm and sunny

Creature of Attempted Habits

When I travel, I don't like to be rushed.  There are those who like to arrive at the airport with only the smallest sliver of time to spare, tap their feet impatiently in the security line, huff and puff as they are sent through the metal scanner more than once (it's that darned penny that got caught in the lining of my coat!) and sprint through to the departure gate as though they are trying out for the Olympics.  I prefer to take everything at a leisurely pace - rushing, among other things, leads to losing things, dropping things and breaking things.  Towards the end of last year, I spent quite a bit of time in airports, waiting for one kind of flight or another. 

My preferred modus operandi involves me getting to the airport with at least an hour to spare, before my flight.  If I'm lucky, I get to check my bag in for free.  I still have not gotten used to the idea of having paid for a flight, having to pay again to take my things on said flight.  Here, one cannot take liquids on a plane (a few weeks ago an agent confiscated my Nutella!) and, as lightly as one tries to pack, there is never enough space in the overhead for everyone's overnight bag.  This means that people disregard the boarding instructions, make a mad dash for the plane as soon as they can, and stuff their way-too-large-for-overhead bags into the compartments and things get ugly.  But I have leapt ahead of myself.

I tend to get to the airport, work through security - I don't wear jewellery and I wear shoes that are easy to slip off and on - and try to make it all as painless as possible.  Once through that obstacle, I look around for a restaurant.  Depending on the time of day and the length of flight, I may or may not get something to eat.  Nowadays, it can be difficult to get food even on an 8 hour flight.  Plus, that airline food is not known for being tasty; you're lucky if it's edible.  Regardless, I always get a cocktail.  Flying makes me a little nervous, so I like to be able to spend a good amount of time, zoning out and sipping on my drink.  Aaah.

Finally, it is time to head to the departure gate and wait for my row to be called for boarding.  I then amble on through and head for my seat.  I like a window seat and sometimes my row neighbours don't like me because, I often need to get up to go to the restroom.  I have already told you about the lack of space involved in travel and the general stresses that come with stuffing people in small spaces for hours at a time.  I try to ease the pain and a window seat (sorry I need to go to the bathroom) goes a long way.  I have reading material on hand, and I'm good to go.  If I have hand luggage, often the flight staff ask to check my baggage at the gate.  I welcome these moments because then I don't have to play the overhead stuffing game.  One less thing to navigate through the narrow plane aisle.  I squeeze into my seat and exhale.

I always listen to the safety instructions - I don't want to jinx things.  Then it's "hold the arm rests and try to make the best of it."  On a really good travel day, I fall asleep while waiting for takeoff and don't wake up until we're airborne.  However it is that it ends up, I'm doing what I can to make it as painless as possible.  I won't lie, that cocktail goes a mighty long way.

Spring To It!

i am engaged in a project that i regretted about an hour after i began.  i am trying to reduce the amount of paper i have in my life.  doing so involves going through boxes and file folders and scanning and shredding and, finally, a whole lot of trashing.  i thought i was done last weekend, and by done i mean i had scanned a lot, and trashed a lot but seemed to still have a lot.  however, i was wrong.  i went into our storage room in the basement and found a box labelled "documents".  what?  more?!  how is that possible? 

i don't know about you, but i am terrible at throwing things away.  i have found that what i throw away i need a day later; you know, after the trashman has taken it all away.  also, many papers hold a story, a memory, a history and looking at it brings it all back.  if it's gone, is the memory gone?  does it mean it never happened?  oh my, i see how i have boxes and boxes now.  and all this in a tiny new york city apartment. 

so, today, i brought the box up and started going through it.  a few moments ago i came across the beginning of a letter.  it is a letter i wrote to myself years ago, to the future me.   wrote it less than ten years ago and i wrote it to the me ten years in the future.  this is what is on the paper:

Put pen to paper & start writing

Dear Pandave
It's been 10 years and what have i got to say for you, me, us? I won't say it's been easy because I have not always been as brave as I want to be, as honest as I should be, as strong as I dream to be.  I wrote, yes, but not always.  Sometimes it just gets too scary to be that open, no? I am better, though, than I used to be and that must count for something.  You finished the book, no small feat, giving people that window into your soul, let people know how you think, giving them wind of your madness.  But maybe that was the release -

and there the letter ends.  so who knows what else the years ago me thought was important to say to the future me.  or maybe that was exactly it. i mean, that's all i, me, we said.  back to paper.

did i mention that i also started a clothing purge and donation project?

Not Knocked Out Yet

a few weeks ago, i was getting ready for a half marathon.  i got up for my pre-work run and headed out.  i ran around the park, marvelling at just how much snow was still on the ground - i was getting tired of winter running and thinking to myself how i couldn't wait for spring to come.  doesn't it feel like the spring will never come?  especially when the ground is coated in cold-hardened snow.

as i headed back home, i started feeling not so well - my tummy was not so happy with me.  i figured maybe i hadn't had enough to eat or drink before my run.  it gets a tad complicated, trying to fit in a run and food before work - too much food before a run and you feel awful and too little you feel awful.  oh well.  i had a workday to get through and the feeling would pass.

except, it didn't.  i felt progressively worse as the day went on and nothing i did helped.  i just wanted to get the day done and go home to rest and the day seemed so long!  finally it was over and i decided to raise my spirits with some sushi.  that didn't help either and i spent the night with my tummy feeling worse and worse.  i finally conceded defeat early saturday morning and we headed out to the emergency room.  i was so sure they would tell me that i had bad gas and needed to burp or fart, pat me on my embarrassed behind and send me home.

That is not what happened.  instead, i found my doubled over self being admitted and tubes being stuck all over me.  i went from being in denial and insisting i would be home and running errands by noon, to being on a drip and unable to eat or drink anything for four days.  four days.  four days of all my nutritional needs being piped into my body through a tube stuck in my arm and dealing with having a tube down my throat that i was reminded of constantly.  four days of waiting and hoping all of that would work because the alternative was more surgery and another belly scar is not on my to do list. 

relief came at the end of those four days as the throat tube was removed (hence the huge smile above) as was the threat of surgery.  a day and a half later i was home!  hallelujah, home!! oh and eating and drinking again.  i had parsnip soup that was the most delicious thing i had ever eaten in my life.  joy, relief, happiness.

sadly, i wasn't energised enough to run my race - a week of no real food can do that to a person.  but happily, i am back and healthy and strong and still only counting 2 belly scars; not enough for anyone to play tic tac toe on just yet.  

But I Don't Have A Thousand!!

i so wish i could draw, i really do.  because sometimes, something is in my head and it's not really a story one can tell as effectively as what i saw.  i know that just about 100% of the time, the movie is nowhere near as good as the book but sometimes an image can hit the spot just as well or better than the words.  enough with the waffle.  the moment.  the dream.

two nights ago i dreamt that noam chomsky was at the state of the union address, in disguise.  no one noticed him until the president introduced him.  and then all eyes were on him and there he was.  wearing his glasses and a huge fuzzy orange sweater.  he looked a little like the bear up there, but with noam chomsky in glasses in the middle.  apparently when wanting to go incognito, one should choose the most obnoxious piece of clothing one can find.  the audience began to boo (was it because of the sweater or because of noam?) and then security arrived to drag him off.  throughout the dream i kept thinking - why did he pick that sweater?

then i woke up and thought - what is going on inside my head??

What Happens When You Breathe

always always running is the story of my life.  i am running to get to the gym, running to get to work (who knows why one would rush to that?), running to get out of the rain, snow or to get to some sun before it disappears.  my parents were always saying, "hey, slow down!" i was rushing through a story, a meal or a book.  i could never tell you what i was rushing towards but i still hurtled a full speed.  and many times during the running, i would bump into him, coming in or out of our building.  usually he had a surf board and i would hold the door so he could get through and usually i was dressed in sweats, on my way to some kind of gym class where i worked to release the tensions i constantly accumulate in my shoulders.  i would pause and say, hey, while envying his surf board.  seriously, what is cooler than surfing?  sometimes i would make a little conversation, suggest that perhaps one day he could take me with him and teach me how to be as cool as he was.  he would say, sure, anytime but what time was that, especially since we didn't even have each other's phone numbers?  but it would be said and then i would get back to the rushing. 

then, in october 2007 my rushing was brought to a screeching halt by a doctor's scalpel.  for a little bit there, there was barely walking, let alone running.  two friends and my mother came to pick me up from the hospital and help me up to my fourth floor walk-up apartment.  as my friend helped me up the stairs, he opened his apartment door and saw me struggling.  the thought that popped into my head, "oh, no, he's going to think i'm super drunk and need to be carried home."  so i put on my biggest smile and said, "hi, i'm okay!"  later he told me that the hospital bracelet i was wearing was pretty obvious proof that drunk wasn't my problem.

later, i was able to gingerly walk outside and i bumped into him and he stopped to chat - he had started taking a yoga class and it was great and maybe once i felt a bit better, he could take me to try it out.  and this time he pulled out his phone so we could actually exchange information. i made a plan to take a bikram yoga class with hidef.

fast forward to 19 january, 2008.  we walked over to the yoga studio with me chattering away (nervous).  and just before we stepped into the yoga studio he warned me, "it will be really hot but you'll be okay."  i walked in and i thought, "forget hot, it stinks up in here!"  and so began the most unforgettable first date i have ever been on.  90 minutes later, i was drenched in sweat and had just finished a display of my tragic lack of flexibility.  and yet he wanted to hang out again.  and i was so looking forward to it. 

i still look forward to hanging out with hidef.  today we go out to celebrate 3 years together - with great tasting AND smelling food.  and the only stretching will be while purring like a cat and rubbing my full belly.  taking another moment to stop and breathe... aaaah!!

I Know I'm No Angel

it's been years, yet i think it will a while before i forget this.  i had a boyfriend and he had a couple of friends who were always in trouble.  we were in our early twenties - at that point in life where the expectation that we behave like adults was growing - but it seemed that they had not received the memo.  until one day, when we met up with them and they shared with us the various epiphanies they had recently had.  the nutshell was that they had found a church and a pastor who had convinced them to change their evil ways and would we celebrate with them by attending a prayer group with them?  well, i am always up to give support to those who have decided to try to be better and so we were all - sure, we have no plans for saturday that couldn't be put off. 

friday came along and we all went to this man's house for an evening of prayer and fellowship.  it was pretty standard and came with the bonus of bumping into an old high school friend i had not seen in years.  all went along in a pretty unremarkable way (and by that i mean i don't remember a single thing we discussed but i would hazard that it had to do with the bible) until the final prayer before the end of the night.  we stood up and held hands as the pastor began to pray.  i have found that, generally, closing my eyes during prayer is like giving my mind licence to do what it wants.  so, i kept my eyes open and worked to focus on the prayer, and this is what i was doing when it happened.

a woman standing opposite me in the circle of held hands fell forward, stiff as a tree.  it was like slow motion and yet i could not react.  by the time my brain had realised that she was hitting the floor, well, she was already face down on the floor.  then she rolled over and started writhing on the ground, hissing and appeared to start foaming at the mouth.  had we been, say, walking on the street or hanging out at work, i am sure that the first reaction probably would have been that she was having some kind of seizure.  however, the reaction of the pastor was to start shouting  orders to the devil to leave the young woman's body.  as he spoke, others in the room stepped towards the woman and some knelt to touch her as they repeated the pastor's exhortations.  not me.

i had flashbacks of the bible stories i learnt in my youth and the one that lodged itself in my mind was that of jesus casting evil spirits out of someone.  i remembered that when this had happened, the evil spirits had not simply vaporised and disappeared.  no siree bob.  they, instead, needed some place to go and, lucky for those witnessing the event, there were some hapless pigs hanging out nearby and that is where the evil spirits found their new home.  so, there i was, witnessing this scene and i thought to myself - hmmm... now, if this group manages to oust the evil spirits residing in this young lady, they need go someplace?  where will that be?  everyone else here may be fully confident about their resistance to evil and ability to fend off the spirits but me? not so much.  and i really don't want to have to deal with what could happen were to i to be possessed - that lady's drop to the ground did not look fun at all.

so... i stepped back.  and then i took another step back, just to be safe.  you know, i'm not saying that i believed that the woman was being possessed; i'm just saying i wasn't taking any chances.

Stir It Up, Little Darlin'... Then Burn It Up!

so there i was, people dropping like flies around me, as i stood strong. it was the flu, it was some kind of chest infection, it was the sinuses and i sailed strong. i was the nurse, the chef, the courier. hidef, in particular, was really ill. he was miserable and barely functional and, most of all, shocked that i did not catch what he had. i had no time for that for there were holidays to deal with - people to entertain and dinners to host. i did take a moment to marvel at my immunity of steel; my parents must have let me eat a lot of dirt in my youth. and then the gods punished me for my hubris. so i was stopped in mid-stride by a fever and a cough. so, gods, forgive me. i am weak and fallible and losing my pride.

BUT! what i meant to say before i was knocked out... the year came to and end and the talk on the street was all about resolutions - what were we going to do to make ourselves better, stronger, faster? or something along those lines. but i remembered something that snowycage told me about that i really like. i would love to take this idea as my own, but that would probably lead to more punishment from the gods (they don't play). here goes - we have completed a year, a year that was probably a year of joy and pain, of triumph and defeat and a lovely mix of good and bad. it is human nature to carry all of this with us - our baggage, that gets heavier as time goes by. as humans, we tend to hold on to the weighty bad more tightly than to the lighter good - the negative energy builds around us, creating dark clouds, narrowing our view of the world, blocking out any light of hope. instead of working out, we dig deeper into the hole or we tire and buckle under the load. well, it is time to say no more!!! let us shed the loads! let us dance into 2011, unburdened and fairy footed!

sit, or stand, or headstand (if you so wish) and make a list. list what burdens you. write out what brought you down in 2010 (or even during the week i was paying for my immunity arrogance). put it all down - don't edit, don't hold back, don't be coy. this is your list. this is your honesty. this is your time. take that list and read it. see your weight, the heft of your past. and then...

burn it.

matches, lighter, flint and stick, whatever. watch it burn and let it go. and resolve only to leave everything right there in the ashes.

ahhhhh....