Odi Et Amo

My Day Declared

2011-11-23T09:17:00.001-05:00

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!

2011-11-17T08:22:00.001-05:00

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!

2011-11-14T17:13:00.001-05:00

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

2011-11-10T17:30:00.001-05:00

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!

2011-11-08T18:00:00.000-05:00

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...

2011-11-07T18:01:00.000-05:00

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!

2011-11-03T18:05:00.000-04:00

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...

2011-11-02T14:53:00.002-04:00

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

2011-11-01T10:20:00.001-04:00

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

2011-10-30T21:16:00.002-04:00

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?

2011-10-28T13:35:00.000-04:00

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

2011-10-26T21:35:00.000-04:00

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

2011-08-21T14:20:00.000-04:00

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!

2011-06-17T12:22:00.001-04:00

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...

2011-06-14T12:24:00.000-04:00

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!

2011-06-07T09:37:00.001-04:00

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!

2011-06-03T11:13:00.000-04:00

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!

2011-06-02T09:28:00.000-04:00

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

2011-04-11T17:37:00.000-04:00

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

2011-04-06T16:28:00.000-04:00

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

2011-04-05T16:49:00.000-04:00

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!

2011-03-19T14:05:00.000-04:00

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

2011-03-06T16:54:00.000-05:00

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!!

2011-01-28T10:26:00.000-05:00

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

2011-01-19T16:19:00.000-05:00

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

2011-01-17T13:20:00.000-05:00

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!

2011-01-11T09:18:00.002-05:00

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....

It Doesn't Always Kill You...

2010-12-28T21:09:00.004-05:00

perhaps about 8 or 9 years ago i was sitting in my apartment on a sunday morning. i had been living in that apartment for less than a year and i was watching the new york marathon. my roommate (probably wanting to change the channel) said to me: you know, they run down fourth avenue so you can probably see them go by from the roof.
well, she didn't have to tell me twice. i grabbed my coat, my gloves and my keys and headed out the door. i was turning to head up the stairs when a thought hit me - if i could watch them from the roof, surely i could get a better view from the street corner? i had nothing to lose, right? so i dashed down the stairs and to the end of my block.

what a wonderful choice; i screamed until i lost my voice. i gave high fives to runners as they went by. i was excited and inspired. i was standing at around 6 miles into a 26 mile race and i couldn't believe that people were going by. a three mile run for me was a civilised distance and 6 miles was the kind of distance you ran to prove a point (a point that was generally followed by at least 2 days of hobbling around in pain). these people were planning on completing over four times that distance. i was full of respect.

fast forward a little bit and i was sitting at a wedding, chatting with a (then)stranger. she was telling a story when she mentioned in passing, "and then the other day when i was on my 20 mile run..." i thought i had to correct her, "ha, ha, you said my 20 mile run..." but she, instead corrected me, "yes, my 20 mile run. i run marathons..."

it must have been the cocktails for she convinced snowycage and me that a marathon was a distance that "anyone can do." and that, my friends, was how it all started. and now, with at least 3 half marathons and 1 full (new york here i come!) planned for 2011, i still can't answer why i do it. for all the moments of joy, there are moments of pain, of frost bite and of plain old ennui. and still i find myself making plans to go out, in the dark, in the cold, in the rain and, in the middle of it all, somehow i find some kind of peace.

Aw Shucks!

2010-12-21T15:34:00.003-05:00

i was so very touched the other day to receive this award from my blogger friend, Kristi Tencarre! especially since i have not quite been able to get back on my blogging horse, despite all kinds of good intentions. isn't there a saying about the road to hell and good intentions? it is now my turn to pass it on to folks who are incredibly deserving. i am supposed to pick 15 and i would say that i wish i had 15 blogs that i faithfully follow but... i don't. i love the blogs i follow; they each give me something that helps me see life in a new way, that makes me laugh (sometimes cry), that just helps me be.

first, there are the several blogs of Oscar Grillo, of which the one i visit most is okgrillo. i love this one because i get an image AND a song where i can be inspired twofold!
then there is dodos who apparently does things in seconds that i could not manage in a lifetime! this blog gives me smiles in seconds!
snowy cage is a new place i go to but her journeys to the end of the internet never fail to amaze me! oh and then there are the insights...
though he is not on as often as i would wish, fb remains a hero to me. such challenges, such strength.
oh carla, you are fab! the recipes, the succinct words of wisdom and the incredible photos!
Prettylyf is powerful and wise. i am reminded when she says things like, "courage is fear that has said its prayers."
The Full Story is a place i wish i would visit more often. I am always surprised and I am always tickled!!

Not fifteen but worth much much more to me.

The fine print:

The rules to getting this award are:

Accept your award and post it on your blog along with a link to the person who has sent it to you. Pass the award to 15 other blogs that you have newly discovered. You must contact the person to let them know that you have chosen them to receive the award.

By Any Means Necessary?

2010-12-01T09:56:00.003-05:00

We kick of the month of December with World AIDS Day. It's a day of reflection but it will, hopefully, become a day of celebration; a day when people break out the champagne or break into dance as they toast the eradication of AIDS.

To attain this goal, what are we willing to do? What sacrifice are we willing to make? Well, Kim Kardashian (and a few friends) is willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. She is willing to die for the cause. DIE! Impressive, right? Makes you look a tad uncommitted to it all... Until you realise that the death is all very pretty and symbolic. Death, pretty? Well, look at that wonderfully airbrushed dramatic photo of Kim in her Coffin (Koffin?). How many more people would be eager to die if death were so becoming?

And the death? It's no stabby death. No, it's far more new millennium. It's digital and, maybe, very temporary. Temporary death? Who does Kim think she is - Jesus? No, not Jesus... Lazarus! That's it. For she needs help coming back to life. We get to play the role of Jesus - it's incredible. But not just any Jesus, but a 21st Century Jesus. New and improved for the modern age, with money as our tool of healing and resurrection. It's genius!!

So Kim (and friends) has died... you know, digitally. When you wake up on 1 December and come to the internet, she will be nowhere to be found and you will be bereft. Without tweets and tales (you know except the one about her being dead) your life will be empty. There will be a hole in your heart. And to fill this hole, you will give money. And give. And give. Until you (and friends) have given ONE MILLION DOLLARS! And, like magic, poof, she (and friends) will be back. And all will be wrong with the world again. Imbalance will be restored as we return to worshiping those who are famous for nothing and existing in braindead worlds.

Is it so terrible that I am hoping for you (and friends) to raise $999,999.99. I'm sure AIDS day will forgive you a penny in the name of digital death.

Watch My Mouth

2010-11-18T16:27:00.003-05:00

sometimes i find myself in a place where there are a lot of people driving around in cars and good weather. on these occasions, i have noticed convertibles breeze by with the tops down and, thus, been able to get a view of the person driving the car. most of the time, the driver of the car is a man north of forty years old. i see this and i wonder - does this mean that by the time one can afford one of these fancy convertible cars, that person is at the point where they end up looking like a dirty old man or someone caught in the throes of a midlife crisis?

so, a few months ago i was sent to florida for a week, for work. i went to the rental company to pick up my car and the customer service lady turned out to be a woman who used to live in my current neighbourhood. it was like we were old friends! she asked about restaurants and bodegas, and we laughed and bonded. then she handed me some keys and said, "you're from brooklyn like me so i'm going to give you a free upgrade." i got a convertible. and upon the insistence of one of my assistants, i figured out how to get the top down and we rode the town. she sat in the back seat, with her sunglasses on and a huge grin on her face while i chauffeured her around. the passenger riding shotgun complained that he couldn't feel the air conditioning with the roof down.

fast forward to monday when i found myself picking up a rental car in another part of florida.
"are you here alone?" the customer service lady asked.
"well, yes, right now i am." i responded.
"perhaps i can interest you in an upgrade to a ford mustang convertible?"
"oh, no, thank you. i'm here for work; i really don't need to be driving around in a car like that. thank you though." i couldn't imagine explaining that to my boss. i don't think "i was on my own" flying as a reason for an upgrade to sporty convertible.
the woman, nodded okay and carried on with my application. at the end of it all, she smiled up at me and said, "well, i'm going to give you a complimentary upgrade to the mustang. you have to get out and have fun while you're here. you can't spend all your time working!"
such a lovely person, she handed me the key and i thought to myself -

maybe i missed a key demographic of the sports convertible market - the single woman spending a week alone in a holiday destination.

either that or i look like a middle-aged man.

Not The Hits I Want...

2010-11-08T08:21:00.004-05:00

several months ago, hidef and i headed moseyed on over to zimbabwe for a two week visit. it was hidef's first trip there, so i asked my mother to put together an itinerary for us that would give us a great experience of the country at a low cost. of course, being the superhero that she is, it was an incredible itinerary. it was intense (we drove 5,000 km in 5 days) but that is a tale for another day. despite spending a little time in a game park, we saw very little wildlife - the price you pay for a quick trip. apparently the animals either had not received my mother's memo about our touring or decided that getting on with their own lives was more important than coming out to parade for us.

having spent time out in the wild, we headed back to the city to visit art galleries, and sculpture parks. zimbabwean stone sculpture is rather famous in the world so going to check out some good works was very necessary. we arrived at the spot, placed in a suburb, not far from downtown harare, and ambled into the sculpture park to look at pieces. because a lot of the sculptures are massive, the parks like to create an atmosphere where pieces seem to rise, like mountains, out of the grass in the middle of nowhere. to add, i presume, more authenticity to this out in the wild theme, the park has brought in monkeys that hang about, looking all cute and lovable - as monkeys on tv tend to do.

so there we were, walking about, looking at art and then we headed out to an enclosure that contained the permanent collection. these are the masterpieces that are kept in their own space, reached by walking through a doorway in a wall of stones. sitting on one side of this doorway were two monkeys, one grooming the other. hidef looked up and said, "that's great." he pulled out his camera and took the photo that you see above, and carried on through the doorway, happy with his great shot. i was walking a few steps behind hidef and this is my story.

as hidef took his photo, the flash went off (which wasn't supposed to happen, but it was a new camera and he messed up the settings... at least that's what he says). the flash startled the monkeys and they hopped up and squealed - you can see in the photo that they are no longer grooming each other. perhaps if you look closer, you can see startled in their expressions. as hidef disappeared through the doorway, they focused on what was now standing where the flashing light had come from. it was me. the monkeys screeched more and jumped to the ground to place themselves menacingly between me and the doorway. i hesitated. that was my mistake. hesitation is weakness - i tell myself this almost every time i am jaywalking. hesitation is the difference between success and road kill. so back to me, hesitating in the face of the two startled monkeys. that split second gave them the time, apparently, to call for back up. out of nowhere, two more monkeys appeared next to the first two. they formed lined up, like soldiers, next to each other and started walking towards me, baring their teeth and screeching in a very intimidating manner.

i started to back up as thoughts raced through my head. those monkeys looked very angry and very organised. they moved towards me as though they had practised for a while; it was a terrifying military lockstep. i wished i had watched more shows on the animal planet and the discovery planet - perhaps i would have found out how monkey attack. i was digging frantically through my brain to see if somewhere was some knowledge about what monkeys go for first - eyes? neck? privates? and still they moved towards me, picking up their pace. was there a way to stop them? my brain was giving me nothing. nothing! finally, my lungs, heretofore frozen in shock, leapt into action.
"oh my god, i'm about to be attacked by monkeys!" hidef turned around to see the monkeys break into a run towards me. as he moved in my direction, sculpture park employees came running towards me, yelling and waving their arms. thankfully, the monkeys decided that they were outnumbered and outsized. i am happy to say that i still have no idea what monkeys attack first. i'm in no hurry to gain that knowledge.

Ode...

2010-10-08T09:16:00.006-04:00

i love my legs; as far as i know, i always have. i can't remember when i didn't love my, at times spindly, often-referred-to-as-chicken legs. even at a time when i either hated or was indifferent to every other part of me, i loved my legs. my legs, which i love by the way, were built for a life of leisure. they were built for high heels and miniskirts and, you know, that's not a bad thing to be built for. the trouble is that's not what my legs ever wanted to do. my legs wanted to climb trees, crawl through tunnels and fall off speeding bicycles - and they carry the many years of scars to prove it. my legs still want to win races, jump high and long, and play every sport they come across. but that's not all. oh no ... my legs want to run and run and run. ah, those legs. my legs. we always want what we shouldn't have. and when i try to reason with them, my legs ask me - would you rather sprain your ankle stumbling over the insanely high heel of some silly shoe or during a high-octane pick-up basketball game? when you soak your sore feet, isn't it great that it's because of a long run in the glorious outdoors and not because of some ill-fitting instruments of torture strapped to them? how cool is it that your knees hurt, not because you walked around all day on tiptoes, but because you ran faster, and further than you ever imagined possible?

i tell you, it's difficult to argue with my legs and, because i love them and because i want them to be happy and.. well... because they are right, i let them do what they will. these legs that i love.

To Go Where... Well, ONE Other Man Has Gone Before

2010-10-04T12:18:00.001-04:00

we're going to the moon! i'm so excited. i had almost given up on it, what with all the talk of mars travel, i thought the moon had been forgotten. i know neil armstrong and friends have been, but since when has anyone gone anywhere just once? of course, except maybe a dragon's lair and billings, montana... but we're going to the moon!

i sit and wonder about that man in the moon. are we going to make an effort to meet him this time? what will he be like? will he be really excited to finally be able to chat with us face to face, instead of just gazing upon us from distance? or will be he like a bitter miss havisham - tired of sitting around waiting and waiting, with the tea getting cold and moon spiders building webs around him? i had been getting tired of all the unmanned missions. can you imagine how disappointing it has been for the man in the moon to go running out to meet his guests, only to be confronted by soulless robots? the poor man. it may well end up being like the boy who cried wolf. we shall arrive on the moon and the man in the moon will stay in his house, in his pyjamas, slippered feet on an ottoman, refusing to be fooled by yet another empty rocket. i hope not.

but wait, what is this i hear? exploit? going to the moon to mine for titanium and seek helium? they are not interested in the man in the moon. it seems that folk have decided that we shouldn't limit our greedy digging and exploitation to just one place. what good is the moon if we can't profit from it? all these people yelling, but what about the consequences? money has no time for consequences! onward we go!!!

we're going to the moon.... uh-oh.

Not Quite The Cleaning Lady

2010-09-20T07:36:00.003-04:00

last thursday i was exhausted! i had spent the week almost constantly congested, due to allergies. i was actually looking forward to taking yoga at 6:30 am because it was the one time during the day that i could breathe. 90 minutes of lung-filling air and then, boom, back to being a mouth breather. at night it was almost impossible to sleep because my eyes were itchy, my throat was itchy, my nose was itchy AND blocked. i would drift off to some kind of sleep and automatically close my mouth. this would lead to self-suffocation and my jerking back to a crabby wakeful state. and by thursday, as i said, i was exhausted. i spent the day telling myself that i just needed to get to 5pm, then i could go home, eat something and then pass out.

it was a struggle but i made it. i made it and dragged myself to the subway. the train rolled into my stop and i stepped out to take the stairs to open air. i noticed puddles of water and thought - oh, thank goodness i missed the rain. it must have been a quick storm because it wasn't raining when i left work and it isn't raining now. oh well, lucked out.

then i stepped into my apartment and saw this:

this being windows wide open with the curtain twisted and billowing outside. this being the window screens on the floor and on the couch. this being almost everything that had been on the window sill now being on the ground and some of those things were broken into small fragments. i screamed inside my head, "oh my gosh, we've been robbed! but who would come all the way up to the fifth floor and break in through the windows and why would they break stuff and why did they have to leave the window screen on the couch - that's just rude." with all the windows open without screens, the living room seemed strangely open and airy and everything was eerily quiet. no sounds were coming from outside and i couldn't hear hidef, who is usually home when i get home. i made my way to the office and came face to face with this:

that's the back wall of the office and it looked as though the screen hit the wall, splattered mud all over the place the ground and then landed on the ground. yep, another wide open window. it was then that i noticed the water. everywhere - on the floor, the desk and the computer on the desk. i went back to the living room and saw that there was water on the furniture, the floors and the ceiling.

i called hidef and he told me he had just stepped out for a second and a storm had hit. it was pretty loud, he said. well, i answered, this apartment looks crazy, i don't know what happened. i hung up and surveyed the damage. i started wiping things down but decided i needed paper towels to completely dry off. i grabbed a bag and went out to walk up the block. whoa! what happened to the block? there were tree branches all over the place and people outside their yards, sweeping and looking shell shocked. i picked up the paper towels and bumped into a neighbour on my way back. his windows had been shattered by the wind. so he not only had a mess but he now also had no window. what had happened?

while i was cleaning up, hidef got back to tell me that the storm had caused major havoc in the neighbourhood. storm? turns out that we kinda got hit by a tornado. man! and i missed the moment. i could have clicked my heels and made a wish for something. like world peace. or sanity. or really good chocolate.

It's A Wonderful World

2010-09-07T14:27:00.002-04:00

you know, sometimes you step out of your house and for all the things you may imagine might happen that day, you just don't see some things coming. and suddenly things are so much better.

Tested

2010-08-30T20:52:00.004-04:00

i have an irrational fear of heights. i know it's irrational but it doesn't make it any less real. you see, my fear of rodents is completely rational but heights... all i know is that it is there and it is great and soon i may be tested. i shall have to choose which is more powerful - friendship or fear.

i often try to figure out where this fear came from; i remember spending a lot of my childhood climbing trees and other tall structures without a a second thought. one year, though, when i was about 11 years old i went on a class trip. we stayed at a camp and spent our days engaged in various outdoors activities, beginning each day with a run. towards the end of the week, it was time to conquer the mountains that surrounded our camp. the adults packed ropes and we set out, walking the paths up the hills towards rock faces in the distance. i had no idea what i was in for. how could i? i grew up in cities and climbed only trees and urban structures - no ropes involved.

the man in charge left a group of us and the bottom of, what appeared to me to be, a sheer rock face. he clipped rope to our belts and headed on up the path. when he reached the top, he stuck his head over the rock face and yelled that we were to take the short cut, up the sheer face. at first things went well, i clambered up, finding crevices and crannies to lodge my feet and hands and work up the rock face. i was almost at the top when it happened. i'm not completely sure how, maybe i slipped a little, maybe a tiny piece of rock came sliding past me and falling into nothingness. your guess is as good as mine but, whatever happened, i froze right up. i looked back and all i could see was empty air. i imagined myself falling through that air and, for the first time in my life i faced my mortality. i looked up at the man in charge and said, "i can't."
"yes you can."
"no, i can't do this - there's nowhere to put my hands. i can't go any further." my heartbeat had quickened and i was close to hyperventilating. and then he did it. he let go of the safety rope.
"well, you're going to have to do it because i'm not helping you up and now that i've let go of the rope, you are either going to fall or get up here."
it was like my skin grew suction cups or i had turned into a part-spider creature. i scrambled up to the top of the rock and collapsed.
"see, i told you you could do it." i didn't respond. i lay silently, trying to get my heart back from the place outside my body it had run off to. i think that was the beginning of the end.
generally, i live a life mostly on the ground so i almost never have to face this fear of not having terra firma under my feet. but last week i got a call. it was boston's birthday and, to celebrate, she wants to go skydiving. and she wants me to go with her. what to do?

i have reminded her of my fear. i have told her that any skydiving will probably come with screaming and tears (i can only hope i don't pee my pants). but i have said that i shall try. i do hope that friedship is stronger than fear. but my fear is pretty darn great. and who knows what will happen when i look out of the door of the airborne plane. who knows what irrational fear will do...

August 21

2010-08-21T12:45:00.002-04:00

when i was 15, my parents moved to a small town for work and i had to start boarding school. it was then when my father and i began our letter writing relationship that lasted through high school, college and beyond. it evolved to include the very occasional email - as much as a man who had a secretary to do most of his typing and thus was limited to a very slow two finger ordeal. this lasted until he passed away in 2003. he would have been 65 today and i think that i am finally emerging out of the state of denial, about that, that i have been in since then. i thought it would be fitting to share some of one of his letters. i think the fates agreed.

i went into the basement of our building and pulled out a box of some letters. the first letter i pulled out was dated 21/9/92:

"It's exactly one month today since my birthday and, already, I feel three months older than my tender age of 47. If this is an exponential decline that I will have nothing more to do with maths.

Today I feel much better. I have been counting my blessings. Actually I have been looking at the question of competition which cannot take place unless there are contrasts and comparisons. The competitive environment has many participants, few winners and a considerable number of 'also rans' and losers. All told, I consider myself to be a winner in contrast or comparison to other families. I have had reasonable parents who raised me well and I married a fairly reasonable wife (she was better than she is now) who has assisted me (or I have assisted her) to raise great kids whom I am proud of and for whom I can honestly and truthfully thank God. I shouldn't really complain too much about minor disappointments and setbacks.

A philosopher who has never amounted to much, for obvious reasons, once told me that 'life is not a bunch of bananas.' He obviously came from a tropical climate and didn't go far beyond that.

I must prepare for my annual Accident Prevention Function where I give the usual moving speech, but people still drink too much and we end up with someone getting involved in an accident.

Hope to see you soon. Make peace with your former r/mate. There is no room for physical wars in the 21st century."

now, i'm off to do something special and happy and it will start with a hearty steak and eggs!

Spinning The Wheel

2010-08-17T20:15:00.002-04:00

so i know i have told you about the surgeries that i have gone through - they're like hairdressers the way they seem so eager to cut me open and take things out - but there's this thing that hangs over my head. these doctors, they keep calling me in every few months, looking for something new to remove. every four months there is a tiresome process. i call and make an appointment to spend an hour listening to music in a claustrophobic tube, while techs perform an mri of various parts of my torso. i find it a great time to catch up on a little sleep up until they start giving you these crazy breathing instructions:
breathe in
breathe out
breathe in
breathe out...
and stop breathing. don't take a breath.

and just when you think you will explode

okay breathe normally

which really means gasp for breath and take in all you can before the crazy instructions kick in again.

so, after the mri is taken, there is the round of doctors' appointments - a minimum of two. you spend way too much time in the waiting room wondering why doctors can always be late but you never can and trying to find something interesting to read while wondering why you forgot to bring a book or something to write on. did i mention that all my appointments are at a cancer centre? what does that mean? not that i have cancer because i don't have cancer - my doctors tell me all the time that i don't have cancer (and that is a great relief). what i have is niggly things that insist on taking advantage of my apparently fertile insides and just growing willy-nilly. anyhoo, what it does mean is that i spend time with incredible women who have to wait for late doctors and strike up conversations along the lines of a shoplifter who finds themselves in prison with hard-core criminals:

so, i had surgery for breast cancer but i'm doing so much better now. i can't believe the doctors are so late. what are you in for?

oh, um, you know, just some irregular tissue. ahem.

it is almost a relief when i get to see the doctor. until the doctor tells me that i'm not all clear and that i need to come back. or that there is something else that they see but it's in a different part of my body from their speciality and i have to see a different specialist.

it's endless but i have realised that half the battle is admitting that there is a problem. i have to admit the toll this endless cycle of scans and doctors' appointments is having on my psyche. if i admit that sitting in waiting rooms and waiting to find out whether or not someone is planning on cutting into me and taking 3 months of recovery time away from me is stressing me out, perhaps that will help me better deal with it all. maybe taking time to say, i'm pandave and all of this gets to me and puts me on hold, that will help me take a look at all of this as a mere hiccup and not a time to grind my teeth and bite my tongue in my sleep.

most of all, maybe an embrace of the stress will keep my brain ticking and me doing what i love and enjoy and not just plugging through life and doing what i have to do. seriously, if i'm going to do what i need to in order to pay my rent and keep from being evicted, i sure as heck better be doing things that make me laugh and keep me alive!!!

We Are The Champions!

2010-07-29T07:23:00.000-04:00

even though i knew how early i had to wake up in the morning and thought i had some kind of idea what lay ahead of me for the weekend (or perhaps precisely because of that) i did not get to bed until close to midnight and i tossed and turned until the alarm went off at 5am. had i been waking up to go to work, it would have been a drag, but i was off on an adventure so i was full of energy as i hopped into the shower and double checked to make sure we had all our luggage. sure that we had everything, we headed to the door. i stopped and turned back - we needed a team mascot. i whisked our ventriloquist dummy off the book case and we dashed out to the waiting car of fellow team members. and then we were off!

where to? well, to woodstock, new york, over 200 miles away from home, in order to start a relay race back to new york city. we paused in manhattan (i live in brooklyn) to pick up more friends and a van and then again we paused outside the city to pick up yet more friends. twelve of us would be running and we had calculated that it would take us about 30 hours to run the race. but you know, thinking is never quite like doing. never.

so, before the details, here are the rules:
there are twelve runners and two vans. each van carries 6 people. luckily for us, two extra person volunteered to drive each van. at any given time, one van is on and the other van is off. so the way the race goes is that one person is running their leg of the race while the five other runners are in the on van. while the person is running, the van (with the five other team members) drives ahead to the exchange point, stopping at times to cheer on the runner. at the exchange point, the next runner jumps out the van and waits to receive the baton. after the exchange, the person who was just running, collapses into the van (even though they should be stretching) and the van sets off for the next exchange point. when the sixth runner in the van will then hand over the baton to the first runner in the next van, thus activating the van to on position and deactivating their van. each runner runs three legs during the race. WHEW!!! i ended up being runner 6 in van one, with a total of 19.5 miles to run during the course of the 30 hours.

our first runner set off at about 10:30 am and we all piled into the van to get to the exchange point. we were stocked up with power bars, energy drinks, salads and water. most of th etime we ate the most delicious cookies, brownies, candies. it was like we were on a fun sleepover for ten year-olds... with a whole lot of running thrown in. we did drink the water though, so, we kinda sorta acted like grown ups. oh the tummy aches the day after the race?! but so worth it - those cookies were the most delicious ones i have ever eaten; salad be damned!

my first leg was a beautiful one. i ran in the afternoon (rather warm) down a narrow road that ran past green meadows. there had been a lot of rain so there flora was abundant. there had been rain the night before so the bugs were also abundant and, apparently, attracted to sweat. by the time i got to the van, i had almost been blinded and choked by those aggressive bugs. maybe they were unhappy about the invasion of the city folks. i should have stretched once my leg was over (you know hindsight and 20/20 vision) but we all were ready for a shower and change. so, we got into the, now off, van and drove off to a friend's house. we were lucky to have one of those because we were actually able to take showers, eat some food and lie down for about a half hour. while we were doing this, our friend and team member, baked up another batch of cookies! then, in no time at all, we had to pack up the van and head out for the second change over. it was getting dark at this point and we were about to begin our second leg of the relay.

did i mention that we were running our race on open roads? that the roads were not closed so we were running with traffic doing what it does? that our starts were staggered so we would each be pretty much running alone so we could run on the shoulder of the road without disrupting traffic? so it was like going for your regular run, except for when your team van zipped by and your friends tooted the horn and cheered in support. so, once it got dark, so we could see where we were going and so that traffic could see us, we added head lamps (that we strapped to our foreheads) and butt lamps (do i have to explain) to our running gear. it was friday night and we were in pretty rural parts of upstate new york. my leg happened between 1am and 2 am on route 9 (a pretty busy highway) and was not scenic at all. my legs were beginning to feel the effects of not stretching and the effects of the 5 miles i had run earlier in the day. but i set off into the dark night with my headlamp and butt lamp.

i'll tell you this, there sure are some interesting people out on the streets between 1 am and 2 am. and there sure are some interesting thoughts that go through one's head between 1 am and 2 am on a friday night, like how most of the people driving at this time of night on a friday have probably been drinking. or how most people driving are not expecting to come across a bright light trotting along towards them and may not respond in a safe manner. or, who the heck is that guy in the white dress shirt and black jeans? and why is he running pell-mell towards me with his hair flowing out behind him like he's a character from a trashy romance novel? it's 1:30 am!! i'm tired, do i have the energy to escape him if i need to. oh, whew, he's got other things on his mind; he just zipped past me like i'm not even there. am i here? or is this a dream? could a dream hurt this much? i would have woken up at this point. oh my gosh, what the hell is that beast coming out of the bushes with eyes that glow in the dark. it looks like a hump-backed alien giant rat! is that a raccoon? does it have rabies? i did hear about a rise in rabid raccoons in upstate new york. how fast can a raccoon run? how hard can a raccoon bite? oh the oncoming traffic just freaked it out - it's disappeared back into the bushes. if i run past will it pop out? but i must run past because the van is waiting on the other side of this spot. oh lord, make me brave. whew. my knees hurt but i can do this. i can get to the end. it's 7.5 miles - i can run that. oh here is the sign saying there's one mile to go. this is the longest mile i've ever run. they must have miscalculated it. oh, hallelujah! i see the changeover point!

this time, there were no houses to go to so we parked our van in the parking lot of a high school. hi-def (van driver volunteer) and i headed into the school gym which was already well populated with bodies in various states of unconsciousness. at this point we were so exhausted - it was almost 3am and we had to be up at about 6 am in order to get ready to run again. there was a bathroom and the line was long. i was sweaty and i was exhausted. so, hi-def laid down, on the hard wood gym floor, an unzipped sleeping bag and a random blanket we found. we lay on top of them and before we could realise just how yuck we were, we passed out.

when i woke up a couple of hours later, the line for the shower was shorter so i hopped in for a quick wash off. what a gross shower! the walls were mouldy and i couldn't believe that people actually used them. that said, desperate times... i showered off and dressed in preparation for our third leg. we were tired. all of us. each would run their leg, get back into the van and the pass out for about 30 minutes. It was as though we had prepared ourselves to run our distance and not a step more. my knees were really hurting but i couldn't expect anyone else to run for me - we all had a lot we signed up to do.

that last leg, for me, was torture. i took it slow and i took many walk breaks. a friend guy caught up with me and offered me water. others drove past, as they headed to their exchange points, and shouted words of support. it kept me going. 6.5 miles later, as i came to my final finish line, i looked and felt rought! the baton exchanged included a hug of victory and then i took my turn at passing out in the back of the van. it wasn't over - we followed our van, cheering the remaining six runners, until we headed into the bronx. all of us congregated close to the finish line so that we could all cross the finish line together!

200 miles (almost)! 30 hours! 12 women - the XX-Tremes!!! and we were still talking at the end of it all. and talking about doing it again next year. even though i'm in physiotherapy now, paying the price for running too far and stretching too little, i would do it again in a heartbeat. what an awesome team.

then, a week ago, in the mail... a "bronze" baton. the XX-Tremes came third among the women's teams. i'm a bronze god...ess!!!

Violated!

2010-06-28T08:47:00.003-04:00

so this morning i mosied on over to go through the morning ritual that helps make my day faceable. i typed my blog address: amo-et-odi.blogspot.com and clicked enter. as the page loaded, i moved my mouse over to the right side of the page so i would be ready to clink on the links and instead i received a message. my blog had been disabled! Disabled! what was that about? there was a blurb about my perhaps violating the terms of service. what had i done? i know sometimes i go off on a rant or two but doesn't everyone? what was i to do?

my voyage of clicking on links led me back to my email account. i was prompted to enter my password and the response to my efforts was - your account has been disabled. Disabled? and after that was a little blurb on "suspicious activity" with respect to my account. i wasn't even using my account over the weekend so how could have been suspicious? briefly i wondered if i had indulged in any sleep-internet-surfing but i can barely surf when awake and so i doubt i would have the skills to do it in my sleep. so, this left only one thing... some nefarious somebody had broken into my account and was using it for their own evil deeds. how dare they? what kind of person does that? how do they live with themselves? they used my account to send out spam to friends who were probably now cursing me for filling their inboxes with nonsense. it was almost as though someone had walked into my apartment (without my permission) rifled through my drawers and left graffiti on my walls. and people coming over to visit would tsk tsk over the marred walls and would barely believe me when i said - i didn't do it! some stranger came in and did it! oh you hackers and spammers! shame on you.

shame on you even more for forcing me to have to prove that i am me, forcing me to reset my password and come up with something complicated enough that i'm bound to forget it at least once a month. but you haven't beaten me yet. and hopefully for the next couple of weeks, at least, the World Cup will keep you away from me. the next game is up soon...

Summer's In The Air

2010-06-08T20:08:00.003-04:00

so, this is how it happens...

a train pulled up and, in pavlovian mode, you hopped in. maybe you came running down the stairs and barely made it through the doors or, perhaps, you were exhausted after a long day at work and didn't give stepping in a second thought. it was rush hour and yet the car was suprisingly empty - there were empty seats all over the place - in fact almost the entire car was empty. fantastic, you thought, you'll be getting a seat all the way home. and then a thought makes it way through the tired fog covering your brain - how can this be? how can you have so many seats during rush hour? a moment too late you realise that there is something wrong. something terribly wrong. you lurch towards the train doors but reach them just as they squeak shut. you are trapped. you try not to, but you have to inhale.

and nearly pass out. the stench seems to be an impossibility. what could have come together to create this toxic odour? you look around and spot the mass of garbage bags piled around a seat and, in the middle of it all, a grey form. it is always grey colour cannot live among such smells. it dies and leaves behind only its shadow - like ashes after a cremation. you see a few people huddled on the opposite end of the train car. they are they ones who have decided they are going to try to survive the ride, in the name of a seat. their feet hurt enough that they are willing to let some nose hairs get burnt away for a little bit of rest. and then, there are those like you, squeezed against the train doors, trying (without any luck) to take in wisps of air from the tunnel outside. others try to find a scarf, sweater or piece of tissue to breathe into, hoping that the material will filter the poison out of the air. you all just have to last until the next stop. then you can dash out and run to the next car.

you make it and as you make your escape, and breathe in the less poisonous air of the subway, you see others jump on, lunge towards the empty seats. you see that familiar look of relief turn into horror as the train doors close...

It Could Be Worse

2010-06-03T21:41:00.004-04:00

my fellow travellers,
you know how you get up and get dressed and grab your keys to leave your home? and then you step out your door onto the street? and suddenly, like a miracle, you are out in public? and then you walk however many blocks it takes to get to the subway station and hop onto your train? well, guess what? strange as it may seem, you are still in public. i think, perhaps, that is one of the reasons they call it public transport. and all those strangers standing (or lucky enough to sit) around you - well they are part of the public.

so, why all these rudimentary lessons in the lines between public and private? because it appears too many have no idea. none whatsoever. it's like walking stepping into the (hopefully) temperature-controlled car and hearing the words "stand clear of the closing doors, please" feels like walking into one's bedroom. as the doors close, the toiletry bags zip open and all manner of items come out. there is the flossing of teeth, and the cutting and painting of nails. toenails are not excluded. there is the brushing of hair, with absolutely no regard for those who have the unfortunate fate of swallowing stray hairs. and there is a the full make up session. the other day a woman pulled out a spoon from her bag, which she then used to curl her eyelashes. a spoon.

so i see people that i don't know from adam, getting themselves ready to go out in public and i want to tap them on the shoulder and say - you know you're already there, right? i understand that things are tough in the morning. odds are you haven't had enough sleep and have had to drag yourself out of a comfortable bed to face the drudgery of another workday. perchance you have decided to sleep in an extra 30 minutes and that has resulted in your not having the time to do a lot of prettying up before stepping out. but, let me in on something - if you feel that you are presentable enough for the blocks between your home and the subway, if you feel you are presentable enough to get into a subway car, you are presentable enough for the rest of the ride and presentable enough until you find the privacy of a restroom or an office marked "private".

or you may find youself being tapped on the shoulder by a stranger, and member of the public, which may scare you and smudge your mascara (or very smelly nail polish), who will say, "hello! you're not alone. we are here and we are the public!"

I'm Sure She Has Bad Knees

2010-05-11T16:28:00.002-04:00

she was always small. a small baby and a small child. early on in life, the doctors told her mother that she would never be more than small. because she knew nothing else, being small didn't bother her. no, that is not what bothered her. what got on her nerves was how much it seemed to bother everyone else. people would rush around her to open a door, assuming that she could not figure out how to open it. she was small; she wasn't dumb! wherever she went, folk would reach up to get things for her, they would bend down to speak with her, as though their mouths had to be right up by her ear in order for her to hear them - did she look deaf? but what really got her goat was when people would try to pick her up, like she was some kind of toy. ARGH!!!

fortunately, she lived in an age when you did not have to live with your lot. genetics and the gods may have chosen to make you something, but you could now thumb your nose at them, pay doctors a whole lot of money and transform yourself into whatever you wished! so, as soon as she could, credit card in hand (even better than lots of money, apparently) she went to a doctor well-recommended by those in the practice of self-transformation. and he said - how tall? she said - well...
then the door closed because, even in that world, doctor-patient privilege is taken seriously.

...

so there i was, at the yoga studio. i was turning around to head out of the locker room and into the classroom and, i almost had to pinch myself to make sure i was not dreaming. i was looking straight ahead but i was looking at a bellybutton. a bellybutton. and it was attached to a person. a real live person. the tallest woman, no, person, i have ever seen in real life. i was so close, and she was so tall, that i had to strain my neck to look up at her. i fought back the urge to push her down (a reaction born out of my long-lived, yet never realised, desire to be 6foot 2) and she smiled down at me. i swear i read her mind: "who's going to need help getting things off a shelf now, huh?"

Look Out, Mr Postman!

2010-05-04T09:35:00.005-04:00

it appears that the weather gods decided to test my commitment (or is it, just how crazy is she?) granted, i did decide to sign up for an insane relay that meant i had to start training in december, aka the middle of winter. and, had it been winter in zimbabwe, that would not be a big deal. in fact, winter training would probably be rather pleasant, except for the altitude. oh, also, it was a particularly, horribly cold winter to boot. good times.

so, in january, i was getting ready for the series of races that i have run thus far and will run as the year wears on. i went out and bought long running pants, a couple of long-sleeved thermal running tops, gloves, a neck muff and a hat. i asked for advice and the experts pointed me in the right direction. so, i had no fear when i got up and it was below zero degrees C. it was 16F which is like minus 9C and that was before the windchill. seriously, people, windchill? it's like, let's depress you by telling you how cold it is... but wait, there's more! we'll make you suicidal by tell you how cold you'll feel.

but, like i said, i had no fear; i had my gear and i read everywhere that i would warm up as i ran and might even feel hot, because the body works that well. so, halfway through my 8 mile run, one hand suddenly just felt cold. i tried to shake it back to life but it would not comply. i was four miles from home and trying to figure out what to do. i tried putting my hand under my armpit, but my armpit wasn't feeling warm at all. and the hand was getting colder. then the other hand, feeling left out, started getting cold too. i still had 3 miles to go and i was in the park with no warm buildings in sight. oh man! why hadn't i stuck to the treadmill? i pulled my hat off and and tried to wrap my hands in the hat. small comfort.

those three miles seemed to take forever but, finally, i was at the front door to the building. my keys were in my back pocket but my fingers were frozen in place. thankfully a neighbour was coming out of the building and opened the door, took one look at my face and just said, "oh." i went upstairs and rang the bell - hidef was supposed to be home. no answer. i could press a bell but i wasn't sure i could manage a key. i rang the bell again. this time hidef opened the door to find me with my dead hands held up in front of me and my face scrunched up in pain. because i had started defrosting and, for all the pain the icing caused, the defrosting was ten times worse. he took my hands and started rubbing them and i screamed and yanked my hands away and instead paced up and down whimpering, "it hurts so much, it hurts so much." i had no idea what to do but then the rest of my body decided to get super cold and start shivering. so my fingers were burning and the rest of me was frozen.

i started trying to peel sweaty clothes off - yeah, i was both sweaty and frozen - with non-functioning fingers so it was mostly hidef trying to catch me and help me as i paced like a mad person and whimpered. then i sat on the couch, under a blanket, in a pair of mittens. and then i cried a little. i would have cried more but i wanted to be brave for hidef.

the next day i went out and bought heavy duty, thick gloves, ready for any kind of weather. so much for "running gloves".

even though i have run in the rain before, last weekend my weather gods (what have i ever done to you?) sent me rain AND cold. how cold? well some needed to be treated for hypothermia cold. it was barely over freezing and raining hard. that's me, up there, before the race! i started out and my toes were tingling from being cold and wet. there were women running covered in garbage bags, but i thought that i might as well just get wet, because, i mean, once you're wet, that's it, right? you can't get any more wet? no, no you can't. but you sure can get more miserable. my shoes were water-logged and my spirit was drowning. it was a tough run, for sure. i kept having to give myself pep talks to keep me from giving up but it was not easy. i told myself that once i hit the last two miles it would be super easy. after 11 miles, what are two miles between friends? but it was not easy. i just kept telling myself - you just have to finish. you can finish this. you get up at 5am - it can't be for nothing.

and i did finish and my legs hurt. and i was cold. and i realised that i had forgotten to plan on a meeting place with hidef, who had my dry clothing. and i was trying to figure out what to do as i stood there, cold and wet with one of those silver blankets they give you at races to keep warm in. then a woman came up to me and said, "i just wanted to thank you for keeping me going those last two miles of the race. i just told myself to keep with you and i would be fine."

such a great silver lining to a really beyond cloudy day.

Committed

2010-04-28T16:50:00.002-04:00

i was slowing down and then i fell of a cliff. i keep asking myself what happened. what happened?

well, i have chosen to blame 2007. you remember, right? it started out with me not feeling so well and ended with surgery that had me asking a giant polar bear to step in for me. It slowed me down a little but six months later i decided it was time to make a comeback. how would i make i comeback, i wondered? not by trying to do the things i could do before my surgery. no, that would make too much sense. i decided to run a marathon. and, well, i did it. and i came out on the other side - invincible!

and so there i was, strutting to my check-up, three months after the run. i went in fully expecting them to tell me i didn't need to come back anymore - i was strong, i was back on my feet, hell, i was a runner. instead, two doctors walked into the room. lesson learned: if one doctor comes in to talk to you, all is well. if there is more than one, the news won't be good and they need protection, in case you lose it. so, first there was the standoff, and then there were more tests, then another doctor came into my life. so, i went through the process again, pretending i wasn't nervous, having doctors struggle to find a vein in my arm (at one point, there was a person standing at each arm, slapping them to try to scare one out of hiding) and then waking up to a voice saying - don't panic.

and so it began again. this time i was missing a piece of my stomach muscle and who knew that the stomach muscles control so much of everything we do? certainly not me. and why do allergies strike when sneezing is most painful? another unanswered question. but, no time to dwell, i needed to get back to it. more realistic about things this time, i signed up for a half marathon this time. granted it was in beyond-hilly-san francisco but, you know, it was a more reasonable challenge. and... i did it. more importantly i survived an inescapable gas chamber!

and with that, 2009 neared its end. and with 2010 coming, i decided that i needed to catch up on things that i had put on hold since 2007, when this all began. so i signed up to take intense preparation courses and then i signed up to take accounting exams soon after. i decided i had to commit or it would never happen. everything was signed up for in december. then i got into the new york marathon and so i declared 2010 my year of running (sorry knees). to make sure i kept running through the year, i signed up for a couple of half marathons and joined a team of women for a 180 mile, 24-ish hour relay. i shall be running a total of 19.5 miles.

so, you know what happened right? my busy season at work is from november through march, my first exam was in april and my second will in may. i ran a race in january, a race in february, a half marathon in march. in april, last weekend actually, i had a 3 hour exam on saturday and ran a half marathon in the cold rain on sunday morning. i have the relay in 3 weeks and a second exam in 4 weeks. i wake up at 5am and try to be in bed between 9 and 10pm so i can run, study and work. i shall have to share the tales of frostbite and other running-related dramas but the greatest tragedy?

brain death.

apparently being in a state of semi-wakefulness for months on end leads to auto-pilot brain activity which has killed the writing. and more than that, it seems to have killed the reading. i feel i am cheating myself and those who put so much into the fantastic posts that keep me going if i come to them less than whole. but maybe i should come to them so they can make me whole. i need to remind myself that, when my hope and energy are flagging, the pictures, the words, the music are like an oasis in a desert.

so now i must make another commitment. i committed to the running, i committed to the work, but now i must commit to pandave. before pandave herself is committed

Respect My Authority!

2010-02-10T11:32:00.002-05:00

so, monday, it has been a while. i thought after all the drama we have been through in the past, we had finally reached, if not a peace, at least a detente. you were beginning to feel like a tuesday or a wednesday and i could deal with you without too much drama. but i see now that you had merely lulled me into a false sense of security. so false.

this week, i got up at 5:30 am, as i do on any other monday these days. i got dressed and walked out of my building towards the bus stop. as i walked up the street to the intersection where the bus stopped, i looked up to see the bus go by. early. i missed the bus. i was forced to walk, instead, to the gym for my morning run. on the bright side - i was warmed up when i got there.

i dropped off my bag in the locker room and got onto the treadmill. i pulled out my ipod and was about to plug in the earphones when the ipod slipped through my hands, onto the treadmill and then... into the the treadmill. yes, people, the ipod somehow decided it wanted to get a closer look at the inner workings of the machine. perhaps it wondered where the belt that i run on disappears to. i got down on my knees and looked into the slot that the belt goes into and there was my ipod. hanging out. like it had nothing better to do. like it wasn't supposed to be with me, playing me music. i tried running the treadmill for a bit, thinking once the belt moved, the ipod would come out but it stayed put. maybe it was taking a nap - it was pretty early in the morning. so i had to go to the front desk and get one of their guys to open up the treadmill so i could get the ipod. in case you were wondering - the insides of a treadmill look dusty.

at this point, monday, i had realised that you are still the boss. you can still humble me with your little subtle ways of putting me off kilter. i was all - oh, yeah, monday is back. and then i got on with the day - i ran, i got ready for work and i went in. i sat at my desk and got on with the business of working and then i got up with my water bottle and headed to the kitchen. i was thirsty, you see and my water bottle was empty. i filled it up with half a litre of cool, refreshing water and turned to do something at the sink, i forget what. it's like my elbow suddenly grew about a foot and next thing i know, the water bottle is on the ground and all the water that was in it is on the floor. nice. and we don't have a mop in the office. it was just me and a roll of paper towels. very nice. but you know, it could have been worse. it could have been juice.

apparently i had not shown monday enough respect after the ipod incident. monday sent me a message loud and clear and now i know. from now on, when i arise on monday i shall say - greetings monday. you are the boss. i respect your authority.

for good measure, i may say that on tuesdays and wednesdays too. one can't be too careful, now, can one?

Look Ma! Little Green M... Oh!

2010-02-01T15:47:00.002-05:00

so it seemed as though everyone had watched avatar. everyone but us. we would go out to dinner and be unable to participate in a conversation unless it was to change the subjet. we would go out to an improv show and watch a skit that ended up being about avatar. we turned on the television and it seemed as though it was all avatar all the time. so, finally, hidef and i gave in and, on friday, we went to watch it.

i will say this - all my life, i have been told that the aliens are tiny green men with huge heads and they come "in peace" but really they come to probe us for nefarious reasons. boy was i wrong. first of all, the aliens are absolutely massive, they are blue AND we sought them out for nefarious reasons! i'll wait a little to let that big bombshell of information sink in. i know, right. BLUE! who woulda thunk it? only james cameron, that genius. are you ready for more? they have tails. it's mind-blowing.

so after i had adjusted to the new concept of the alien, i thought about the stories i had read about how people were depressed after watching avatar because pandora is so incredibly beautiful and that level of wonder cannot be attained on earth. i have decided that there is something wrong with me because i kept thinking - there are so many little bugs in pandora, i wonder if they bite, like mosquitoes. and then there are quite a few really large and rather scary beasts out there too that seem as though they could snap me in two while picking their teeth with their free paw. okay, so they have floating mountains, but i have a fear of heights and i got vertigo just watching the movie, so, i wouldn't be trying to get up there and hang about, suspended, goodness only knows how far above the ground. and yes, yes they do get to fly in the most awesome ways on some birdlike creatures but, then again, their clothing consists on some thong underwear deal and, i believe that thongs are instruments of tortured created by some very evil people.

the thought also, often crossed my mind - this pandora place, is probably not so far off from what the world could look like if we treated it with respect. maybe if people were like the massive blue giants and tried to live in harmony with the world around it then we could happily frolic with our own locally grown creepy crawlies and big roaries. if we let them, grass and trees would grow and all and sundry could feel free and climb up and leap off them. i just can't guarantee floating mountains, but you know, they cause vertigo.

What Did I Do To You?

2010-01-12T16:15:00.002-05:00

the other day i was called into a meeting. it was a meeting where bankers were trying to get the business of the company i work for. i am not sure why exactly i was in that meeting since only on person in the room of about 14 was making the decision and he didn't ask us what we thought. but, what was i to do? i work for the man and the man said - go to the meeting.

so there i was in this meeting that started at 11. there was talk of an online presentation and that made things sound like they might be interesting. but, you know, things are hardly ever like they sound. the meeting started late and then went on and on and on. for two and a half hours. two and a half hours. and i have no idea why. in truth, i barely remember what happened in the meeting beyond struggling to stay awake. i thought about doodling, but that wasn't helping. so i decided to engage my brain with haiku. and... well... this is what resulted:

rumbi yawns stretches
wishes she were somewhere else
so she could laugh dance

AND:

head falls back, oh no
a blink turns into sleep
what am i to do?

and when people saw me counting syllables, maybe they thought i was counting bank fees.

This Amazing Life

2010-01-02T12:47:00.004-05:00

as not just the new year but also a new decade began, i thought about all the fantastic things that came about over the year leading up to this moment. i listened to every episode of NPR's This American Life that was broadcast during 2009. i even listened to some extra archives here and there. for those of you who are not familiar with the radio show, it is a show where, according to them, every week, the staff choose a theme and bring you a number of stories based on that theme. I don't know how they find half they people that they do, in order to make these shows, but people have incredible stories to tell. Stories about themselves, their families or people they just bumped into on the street. Stories that start as innocently as a super who is not taking good care of an apartment building to that super turning out to be a hitman for the landlord and many others. i smile at my super all the time now.

my goal, initially, was to list my favourite This American Life episodes in 2009 but, as i browsed the list, i realised that choosing favourites is very difficult - so many are that good. There are the stories that help make sense of big things going on in the world, such as the financial collapse and health care reform. the first such story was "the giant pool of money" that first aired in 2008 and was put together just as it looked as though the financial boom was not coming along so well. what makes the series on the economic crisis and health care so interesting are the stories the reporters choose to tell when explaining the effects of the financial collapse. in one episode, the this american life team look at people who bought condo units in complexes where very few units were sold, the developers defaulted and skipped town and people ended up living in virtual ghost complexes. when these stories are told, we hear the stories told in the first person and what is sometimes told as a cold story of faceless millions gains life and relevance as faces come into focus.

there are stories like "switched at birth" that are so incredible that you barely believe they are true. but somehow it is no lie that two babies in a small Wisconsin town were switched, almost at birth and given to the wrong families. one mother realised the error pretty early but decided to keep quiet about it until the babies were over 40 years old. but is it as incredible as people who are so active while asleep that they not only walk and eat and maybe drive in their sleep, they also fight demons and end up bursting out of second floor windows and living to tell the tale? i don't know but maybe if you try "fear of sleep" you might be able to make a choice that i couldn't. but be careful; the tale of the building that can't get rid of bedbugs or the cockroaches that crawl into ears while people are trying to sleep may leave you paranoid for a very long time. how long? i don't know - i'm still paranoid.

i often try to figure out which i prefer - episodes that tell one story or episodes that have several stories about one theme. a great favourite of mine is not even from 2009, technically, but i have listened to it more than once - the story of harold washington, who was the first black mayor of chicago. he won an historic campaign and is a hero to many. his story is inspirational and fascinating. just as interesting, in a completely different way, is the story of mark whitacre upon whom the book and recent film "the informant!" are based. the fix is in is an amazing story with so many twists you might not be able to untangle yourself at the end of it. they speak with mark whitacre and still nothing is clear or resolved at the end of it except for the fact that you have laughed and snorted in disbelief more than you thought was possible in an hour.

thankfully i don't have to pick favourites; all i have to do is tune in for the stories. all i have to do is put my headphones on and take in tales of road trips and rest stops; stories of mind-boggling liars and those who love them; yarns that make you want more more more. but what am i saying - i always want more.

That State of Denmark

2009-12-28T14:37:00.004-05:00

so yesterday i pulled out my trusty notebook so that i could share, with you, the tale of my recent harrowing flight. i went through the notebook multiple times and came up empty. i mean, i clearly remember writing furiously in the notebook and, at most, was afraid i would not be able to read my scrawl. but now i have empty pages and a lingering fear that my trauma led to hallucinations. let me tell you (and hopefully this typing is no illusion).

it was when i was headed out to california for my run up many mountains. i decided to take a direct flight, so i could kick back, relax and maybe take a long nap. after a series of delays, we set out on our trip and the plane took off. all was well with the world until it hit me. out of nowhere. like a sucker punch to the chin. an awful rotten smell. someone had just farted. i willed myself to get through it, without making it too obvious that i had noticed - everyone has the right to release a little gas every now and then. but then, no sooner had that smell dispersed, than it returned again in full force. and again. and again. i was trying to fan the air around with my magazine, while not being too obvious but it was not helping. those next to me seemed unaffected but no one looked guilty. the stink, oh the stink. i leaned forward and the odor followed me. i whipped my head back and got no clues. i was trapped in the window seat, next to windows that don't open. what to do... what to do?

i toyed with the idea of pushing the call button for a flight attendant, but what was i to tell them? someone is farting around me, i don't know who it is but it's killing me! i considered asking to be moved but the flight was full. i was exhausted - the flight had taken off hours late and so it was getting to my bedtime but i couldn't sleep. heck, i couldn't breathe! once again, i jerked myself upright and scanned those around me. no signs of anything. i started having crazy thoughts related to farting. he who smelt it dealt it - i certainly smelt it but i knew i hadn't dealt it. instead i was the one who had been dealt a cruel hand. maybe that's what the rhyme should be - he who smelt it has been dealt it. then: ooh this is one silent but deadly gas attack. i wondered how this mystery person was able to control their farts so they made no sound. i wondered what they had eaten that disagreed with them this terribly. i was surprised that they were not running for the restroom to get it all out.

i grabbed my travel blanket and tried to bury my nose in it and oscillated between suffocating on the blanket and suffocating on the foul air, all while trying to get a little sleep. i would drift off and then be jerked back to wakefulness by another explosion of funk. it was a six hour flight and at least five were stinky. i started trying to relate this silent stench to the theory of the tree that falls in the forest, and no one is there to hear it. does it make a sound? and if a fart is released in a plane and we are all there but no one hears it, does it make a stink? tragically and traumatically and resoundingly. yes. and creates a fear of flying like no one has ever known. and inspires an overwhelming desire to run off the plane. and brings about note-taking hallucinations.

'Tis the Season To Be...

2009-12-08T10:39:00.004-05:00

i doubt anyone would make movies of my family christmases when i was kid, heck, i don't really remember them myself. i have vague memories of laid back days where we hung about doing very little. sometimes we were invited to a christmas party for family friends but we never hosted anything and my parents seemed happy to just not have to go to work (i assume that is why they were happy, since that is why i am happy now on holidays). at some point in this holiday deal, my mother decided to plant a fir tree in a massive flower pot and that there tree remains our family christmas tree to this day. during the most of the year, it hangs out in the yard but, come december, the tree is brought in and decorated with some lights and tinsel. any christmas cards that are received are propped up around and on the tree and there you have it, christmas. we would put little gifts around the tree that we would open on christmas morning. my mom pretty much always bought me a pretty nightie and my dad always gave me a diary with his name printed on it. i still love nighties and am yet to find a diary that i wish to fill as much as those i used to get for christmas.

it doesn't sound like much, does it? yet it really was a perfect family day, even when my grandparents gave me a dress i would only ever wear to make them happy. and it wasn't even a day that i would rave about if anyone asked me how my holidays were. but you know there is a saying about hindsight giving you excellent vision or it's my mother saying, "you'll think about this later," and, well, adage writers and my mom were right.

i have lived in new york for ten years now and, for years i have honed the art of the 'orphan holiday season.' and i am not alone. the the time i have been here, i and my fellow expats who are unable to be home with family for the holiday season, come together to pretend we are not drowning in a heavily marketed christmas. i cook enough food to feed people into an amnesiac trance and we do things like watch a coupling marathon or the matrix trilogy. and then it's time for dessert! the day of big feasting and vegging out was becoming a great time in december. but then, as some party pooper once said - all good things must come to an end.

friends moved on, and some even returned to pat, and i have new family, by way of hidef. and it is wonderful and it is great and at the same time, it is poignant and a little sad. having moved out of the purgatory of denial, i am a part of a new family tradition but it is one that has me thinking of my own family, scattered around too far and wide to join us. perhaps my mission this year is to invent a word for this happy-sad transition from one place to another. something as cool as schadenfreude or marmalade!

Apocalypse When?

2009-11-29T22:00:00.002-05:00

so, i'm sitting here, pretty much watching hidef watching american football. he tells me it's a good game, so it's a good game. the fans tell me that it is a most interesting game and that, when i understand it, i shall understand all the starting and stopping and high impact crashes.

then a commercial comes on, and it comes on again and again, because it is sponsored by the football league. guess what the commercial is about... play. yes, play. it is a commercial encouraging children to play. wait. that's not it. it is a commercial stating that it is recommended that a child get at least 60 minutes of play every day in order to stay healthy. i know, i know, a little mind-boggling but there it is. apparently children no longer do what children have done since children were invented. i mean, what are children for if not to play? if not to run around in the dirt while eating a little dirt, then what do they do? why are parents being told that children need to play? what evil lies over the land that children have ceased to play? does someone need to pay the piper?

heck, forget the children; what about the grownups? how are they to remain sane if they are not locking their children out of the house so the kids can tire themselves out and minimise the trouble that they get up to while in the house. i mean, how can you have a child with cabin fever and not lose your mind? perchance this may be why we live in a very medicated and completely nutty world.

so open the doors, tempt the kids outside with, i don't know, candy, and, while they are blinking in the unaccustomed sunlight, jump indoors, lock the door and tell them they need to run around and PLAY until it starts to get dark. Then they better come back indoors, or else...

The Hills Are Alive

2009-11-13T16:16:00.005-05:00

Four weeks ago... Wow! It's been four weeks? How time flies but let me not ponder upon the relativity of time. That is a conversation for another day.

Sooo.... four weeks ago on Friday I boarded a plane headed for San Francisco. I was relaxed and happy - I had given myself enough time to stop at the candy store in the airport that sells Cadbury's chocolate and picked up a couple of bags ot stock for my emergency stash. We sat in our seats and watched the safety video as the plane made its way out onto the runway. Then we sat, and sat, and sat. Then an announcement - apparently there was some technical issue that we had to go back to the terminal for. And then we sat a little more and were informed that the issue could not be solved and we were going to switch planes. I was fine with that - once they tell you your plane has technical issues, how comfortable can you really be with it?

We deplaned and sat in the terminal for a half hour. Then another announcement - apparently our problems had been solved and we were getting back onto the plane; the same plane that, just a few minutes earlier, had a problem the could not be solved. Back onto the plane we went and watched the safety video one more time, for luck, I suppose. Then, as we headed back out onto the runway, the pilot came onto the intercom system. I paraphrase - "ladies and gentlemen, let me explain what has been going on. we had a indication light that was on earlier. the engineers said that they fixed it earlier but, when we went out onto the runway and tested it, we received conflicting information that led to us going back to the terminal. the engineers now say they have fixed the situation so, we'll see what happens."
And with that, we set out on our trip. That was an adventure, but more about that later.

I was in San Francisco to run half of the Nike Women's Marathon. I figured that San Francisco's hills were so legendary that a half marathon would feel like a full. Not that I needed any excuses to run 13.1 miles, but I had them just in case. I was travelling solo - my friends had not signed up to run with me and hi def had to work so it was just me and my t-shirt that declared that I "flatten hills". I spent Saturday walking around the hilly city and taking in breathless views from atop some of these hills. It was a wonderfully warm day and there was barely a cloud in the sky. I prepared my gear on Saturday evening and turned in early.

I rose before the sun on Sunday and went downstairs to join the many other mostly women who were milling around the entrance hall of the hotel. I went over to an overpriced coffee shop, whose name rhymes with Barsucks and had to pay over a dollar for one banana! A DOLLAR!!! Nerves and outrage kept me warm as I stepped out into the cold per-dawn and made my way to the start line. The national anthem was sung, I tied my shoelaces again (after triple checking for a potentially hobbling rock in my sock) and then we were off. I had latched on to a pacing group, so I could keep a pace that would help me beat my previous race time without having to think to much about it. All I had to do was keep my eye on the pacing flag that declared that, if I could keep up, I would finish my race in two hours. Yes, yes, according to my "hard training" schedule, I was supposed to run in 2:09 hours but, isn't two such a great round number?

A couple of miles into the race, we hit a hill. I had perused the blogs and asked random strangers at the race's expo and they told me that there really was one hill in the race and it was a short one where I could see the end from the beginning. I looked up and it seemed there was an end in sight so I soldiered on and was relieved that the hills I had heard so much about before I got to San Francisco were far less intimidating in person. It was soon over and I was still running with my pacer. I refused to think about anything else - to do so would be to find pains in my knees and labour in my breath. I carried on.

We hit mile seven and the land began to slope upwards. Our pacer warned, "take it easy up this hill" and I thought, well, that's an odd warning - this hill seems flatter than the last one. We rounded a corner and I expected a downhill. So much for expectations; more uphill ahead. I gritted my teeth, determined to keep going and not let the thought of climbing up a hill kill my spirit. I should have started repeating the mantra I had practiced in previous training sessions - I love hills, I love hills - but the only two things going through my head were - I can't keep up with the pacing group - and - oh man, why am I moving my legs and arms and getting nowhere?

I rounded yet another corner and still, nothing but hill. Was this even possible? How long can a hill be and what human with a heart would have people try to run up it? Through the foam of my earphones, I could hear the heavy breathing of those around me, yet it didn't make me feel better that I was not alone in my suffering. My lesson of the hill - misery does not always love company. I could barely see the flag of my pacing group any more. I promised myself that I would try to catch up with them if the uphill ever ended but for now, I just had to will myself to keep running, even though the running motion didn't seem to help me cover any ground. I tried to take in the amazing views but my mind kept coming back to - it's so hard, when will it end?

Just as I was about to throw in the towel, I passed the man who shouted out - keep going, you are about to reach the crest!
And he was right. I rounded a corner and I got to run downhill. Hallelujah! I enjoyed the moment and my knees did a little dance and cheer.

But I had been traumatised. I knew now that the declarations I had been given that there was only "one little hill" were nothing but lies. So now I was left to wonder how many other slopes were in my future and how much spirit I had left to face them. By the time I got to slope number 3, I was asking myself who I was trying to impress. I had no idea where my pacing group was - I could not see the flag anywhere. I could just give up and walk the rest of the way. And still, there was a little voice - come on, Pandave. You have come all this way; you worked hard, waking up early and running long. You still have something to give - give it. I was past the 11 mile point and so I told myself - this is shorter than your usual short runs. You can do it.

I passed the mile 12 sign and smiled. Just a little further to go and then it would be all over. I ran on, not even feeling too badly about the slight upward slope I had just hit. I had, maybe, half a mile to go now, I estimated. A young cheering volunteered yelled out to me - looking good. just one mile to go!

What? Not one mile? Hadn't I passed the 12 mile mark a while back? Hadn't I covered more than just 0.1 miles since? My mind had to readjust to the new distance - it's crazy how a half mile can feel like ten when one is tired. As my mind was working on this, I came to a bend and then, in front of me, a huge sign that declared "FINISH". Was that my finish line? Or was this a mirage? No time to think, my knees took charge and picked up the pace.

As I channeled all my remaining energy into the final sprint, the master of ceremonies shouted into the PA system: Come on everyone, give the runners a big cheer! They have just run 13 miles. And look at Pandave! She Flattens Hills!!
That was me he was talking about - I had those words printed on my shirt. I started waving and grinning and running even faster. What a moment. I crossed the line, fists pumping the air, to be greeting by a smiling firefighter in a tuxedo. He gave me a lovely silver necklace - a finisher's medal that I can wear every day - and congratulated me.

What for? Not just for finishing but, for finishing in 2:00:36. And really, what's 36 seconds between friends?

Where's My Cape?

2009-11-06T11:14:00.002-05:00

so i have been going at a manic pace the last few weeks. i have been taking on more than i can chew and swallowing without bothering to try to chew. i have been constantly exhausted, with a barely functioning brain, and marvelling at how well i am getting the impossible done.

then yesterday my superwoman cape was yanked off my shoulders without ceremony. around lunchtime i started to feel cold... really cold. like cold in my spine cold. i pulled on my sweater and wrapped a scarf around my shoulders. yet, i continued to shiver and shake at my desk (at work) and focused my energy on making it through to the end of the day. i tried tea, but my body still hurt and the cold would not go away.

by the time i got home, my body and face felt hot but my hands were frozen - doesn't it suck that apparently nothing can stop my cold hands from being cold? i crawled onto the couch, under two blankets with a hot mug of honey-water and some vitamin c. hi def came home and took my temperature - 101 F (which apparently confirmed that i had a fever). he forced me to drink even more water and take some ibuprofen for the aches. feeling very sorry for myself, and whining all the way, i dragged my creaking bones into bed and fell asleep. i woke up in the dead of night, soaked in sweat and feeling quite yuck.

this morning, the sun woke me and i stretched. no pain, no creaks! well no more than the usual. i felt human again and ready to face the world. now the challenge is to resist the temptation to reach for the cape.

My Chariot Of Fire

2009-09-29T22:04:00.003-04:00

i have long dreamt of becoming a great athlete. apparently, so did my father. i don't know if it was my dream that became his, vice versa or a moment of zeitgeist (or if i just wanted to slip zeitgeist into my every day conversation). it doesn't matter now where it began; all that matters is where we are now and where we are is my deferred dream of athletic greatness. but, let me be clear here, it is not a dream that came from nothing. i am not that lead-footed youth who long dreamt of running with the wind. oh no sir. in my youth, i was the wind. i mean, i barely knew how to walk, i just wanted to get there and get there first. and it wasn't just running - i swam, i jumped, i wielded racquets. the one thing i did not do was climb - but that is a tale for another day.

but then i went to high school where the headmistress declared - ladies don't run. she didn't ask me if i considered myself a runner or a lady. instead she banned me from running. does this mean she believed that all who do not run are ladies? also, i embraced my short attention span, trying everything that appeared on the school calendar, from ballroom dancing to social badminton, from public speaking clubs to organising talent shows. in between trying to grow my nails while playing basketball and learning how to play the piano, how was i to be a great athlete?

also, my spirit had been broken by my body's refusal to grow taller. my two brothers are each 6 feet tall; my sister is 5'10". I am significantly shorter and very bitter about it. what happened? i longed to dunk and waited for a growth spurt that never came. i wanted to be a loping runner, covering distance with the grace and speed of a gazelle. what happened? i have so many reasons to curl up into a ball of defeat.

but not me! i have a dream! to be a great athlete and you know what? if it takes me until I turn 75, i shall persevere. because you know what? my knees may not be anything worth writing home about but, at some point, i shall be the fastest, even if it is only because i am the only one left.

i have long dreamt of being a great athlete and, last time i checked, dreams have no expiration date.

Have Mercy On My Nose!

2009-09-21T20:05:00.004-04:00

i have read about it. the wrath of the gods. they send floods and plagues and locusts and, heck, every once in a while slay a first born child or two. but who am i in the greater scheme of things? what do my thoughts or words matter, really? apparently more than i imagined.

there i was, late last week, taking my run in the park while planning the night ahead. i would take a shower and then sit down with my laptop to try to catch up on life a little. the run was a good one. i hit a great pace and, at the end of it all, the voice of tiger woods came up on my ipod, congratulating me on my excellent run. i was stoked. i picked up a bottle of milk from the store, ignoring the stares of those who, apparently, have never seen a sweaty female before, and headed down the block towards my home. then... a sneeze. another. another. and more. what was going on? the sneezing would not stop and my eyes were streaming and my nose would not stop tickling. now people on the street were staring at me for different reasons.

i rushed home and grabbed a box of tissues and blew my nose. no use; the sneezes kept on coming. this was starting to hurt. i warmed up some water and used the neti pot to try to rinse out my sinuses. the sneezes did not cease. i took a shower, sneezing all the way and then dug up my nasal spray. that helped for maybe half an hour and then i started up again. it was horrid. i was now congested on one side of my head and the other side hurt to breathe. why had the gods seen fit to punish me in this way? right then, i might have preferred a couple hundred locusts. instead i felt as though i was breathing in pepper and unable to escape the cloud. several days and many doses of antihistamine later, i was able to clear my head and figure it out.

me? i am ms summer - as soon as the month of june comes around, i am all smiles and positivity. it could be 100 degrees and humid out but i will tell you it's a wonderful day. we get a good three months of summer and i am summer's biggest cheerleader because i remember the misery that is winter. but this year was different. this june was wet and cold and it was all downhill from there. any sunny day was greeted with a bah humbug from a me, bitter because the days were few and far between. any beach day was taken grudgingly by me, as i would complain that tomorrow would probably be cold and wet. i was looking the gift horse in the mouth and counting cavities. and now i want to make amends.

i entreat the gods take mercy upon me and my sinuses. i did try to offer the animal sacrifice but couldn't even find a fly - may the gods forgive me. but i still solemnly swear to change my attitude. i pledge to keep my spirits up, at least until November (after that, as the cold, dark days come upon us, nothing can be promised). i tell ye gods that every morning i shall tell at least one gloomy soul that it is a beautiful day. for each day that i can breathe without sneezing and the itching inside my skull is the best day of my life. i heed the gods.

It's Arriiiived! It's Arriiiived!!!

2009-09-11T08:34:00.000-04:00

Many a morning, Oscar Grillo and El Editor have given me a reason to get up and go. So, imagine my excitement when I found out that Oscar had collaborated with William Shakespeare! Well, I could barely contain myself and still in all my imaginings I had no idea it would be as awesome as it ended up being. They said that it would be the end of September before I got anything in the mail and then it came and well, Oscar and William put it best:

Folk around me are confounded when I raise my book to read. It is all - hey that's Shakespeare, but no, is that a graphic novel? And if they ask, I shall glow and tell them - it is all you imagine and more. It will take you on a journey to places you never imagined. It will surprise and delight and expand you. Ah-oooohh!!!
Now, excuse me, I going to try to contain myself so I can actually get some reading done. I become "something rich and strange".

For Prettylyf

2009-09-09T21:56:00.002-04:00

I know it's been forever since I was tagged but you know what they say - better late than never (though let it be known that I hate waiting).

1. What time did you get up this morning?
-06:30 But I don't think I was really awake until maybe 9:30/10

2. How do you like your steak?
-medium well

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
-Food Inc. Yes, I need to get out more and yes, I need more comedy in my life.

4. What is your favorite TV show?
- The Wire. Far and away the absolute best show ever. See above comment about need for comedy in my life.

5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
-You have the whole world and you want me to pick one place? Nah-uh. I'm working my way around the globe.

6. What did you have for breakfast?
-A bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar, butter and milk. A cup of hot water with honey. A glass of cold water

7. What is your favorite cuisine?
-hmmm - I love Thai, Japanese, Indian, Peruvian and that's just off the top of my head. It really just depends on how I'm feeling. Oh oh oh... I LOVE calamari

8. What foods do you dislike?
-Don't eat mushrooms. I have realised though that sometimes you try something and it's not so bad.

9. Favorite Place to Eat?
-hanging with friends. Is that a place?

10. Favorite dressing?
-not really a dressing person. yep, I'm a nudist.

11.What kind of vehicle do you drive?
-I have a bicycle. I love it.

12. What are your favorite clothes?
- pyjamas. I like it to be comfortable.

14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full?
-I try to be half full.

15. Where would you want to retire?
-To my world tour.

16. Favorite time of day?
-don't think I have a favourite. I do know that I am not a morning person.

17. Where were you born?
-Zambia

18. What is your favorite sport to watch?
-Today it is tennis. But most of the time it is basketball, I'm thinking

19. Who do you think will not tag you back?
-well I haven't really tagged anyone...

20. Person you expect to tag you back first?
-see above regarding lack of tags.

21. Who are you most curious about their responses to this?
-it is always good to learn new things about folk.

22. Bird watcher?
-Birds? In New York City? Not really.

23. Are you a morning person or a night person?
-Oh, so NOT a morning person. I am legend when it comes to my lack of sunshine in the morning.

24. Do you have any pets?
-A Beta Fish named Gandanga. I also have my plants

25. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share?
-The weekend is nearly here! Did you know that?

26. What did you want to be when you were little?
-a singing and dancing gymnast!

27. What is your best childhood memory?
-Childhood is my best memory. Pretty much every time I think back, whatever I remember makes me smile.

28. Are you a cat or dog person?
-Not really an animal person. I think I am more of a people person. people may not agree.

29. Are you married?
-no

30. Always wear your seat belt?
-When I'm in the front seat I do. In the back seat, not always.

31. Been in a car accident?
-I believe so. Nothing serious, touch wood.

32. Any pet peeves?
-oh, where to begin. Spitting, loud gum chewing, people who don't curb their dogs...

33. Favorite Pizza Toppings?
-I really just like a very good base. Anything else is a bonus but if the base is no good then nothing else matters.

34. Favorite Flower?
- chrysanthemum - my birth flower.

35. Favorite ice cream?
-my favourite ice cream is ice cream. Like chocolate in it, i like caramel, i like fruit, and I love a creamy rich ice cream.

36. Favorite fast food restaurant?
-Don't really do fast food, but, if it counts - IHOP.

37. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
-Twice, once in Zimbabwe and once in the US.

38. From whom did you get your last email?
-HiDef

39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card?
-Either Amazon.com or a hardware store. Ooooh Strand Bookstore

40. Do anything spontaneous lately?
-Went to an awesome beer hall with more beers than I even knew existed.

41. Like your job?
-As much as one can.

42. Broccoli?
- I really like broccoli

43. What was your favorite vacation?
-There are several - Puerto Rico was fantastic. Hawaii was awesome. Victoria Falls was amazing.

44. Last person(s) you went out to dinner with?
-HiDef

45. What are you listening to right now?
-US Open Tennis match between Federer and Soderling

46. What is your favorite color?
-Black. I just love it. I have also accepted burgundy as my colour. Red is good too.

47. How many tattoos do you have?
- Zero. I have decided to get one when I am 70.

48. How many are you tagging for this quiz?
-I have not tagged.

49. What time did you finish this quiz?
-2034hrs

50. Coffee Drinker?

At most, a cup a day. Is that bad?

Wishing On A Star

2009-09-08T21:12:00.003-04:00

Ah Serena, you have won my heart. When I see you I am lost for words. "Wow" and "Lovely" don't quite seem to capture quite what I want to say when I see you play, when I see you.. heck when I just see you. You are something else. I really like your big sister Venus; I always have liked her. When I watch her being your big sister, even when she is playing against you and winning, I imagine that I am as good a big sister as she is. I remember the one time my sister send my dad an email, telling him how I was her best friend and how much she loved me. I try to forget the times she declared, in the middle of an argument or a tantrum, how cruel I was and how she didn't want me to be her sister any more. I watch Venus comfort you when you lose to her and I think to myself - yeah, I would totally do that too.

I am distracted. Back to the heart of this matter. Serena, you rock. You and your incredibly muscled arms, legs and the rest of you rock. It is like you are carved out of rock and then you rock. Is that mind-blowing? It must be for my mind is blown and my heart is captured. You are made of steel and yet your insides are so endearingly human. We have seen you weep, we have watched you vent and we have seen you sulk. As with Achilles, you remind us, that as strong as you are, you have weakness and it is this weakness that makes it possible for us to adore your strength. But, just to make sure we don't get too comfortable, you do not hesitate to flex and leave us breathless.

Over the years, as you have matured and grown more graceful, my admiration of you has grown too. I am at the point where I cannot merely say that "I am a fan." No, I must declare, so there is no doubt, "I am a fanatic." Please, Ms Williams (the Younger) may I squeeze your muscles?

Not Chopped Liver, Chopped Liver WITH Onion

2009-08-26T17:21:00.005-04:00

Yeah, I could see the Manhattan Bridge getting into a big sulk over being sidelined by just about everyone. "It's always Brooklyn Bridge this, Brooklyn Bridge that. What am I, chopped liver?"

Well, Manhattan bridge, take heart; I think you're awesome. You are my Cinderella - the beauty no one takes notice of until the fairy godmother brings along a pumpkin and next thing you know a prince is searching for you high and low, armed with a glass slipper. Does that make me a fairy godmother? Who would be the prince? Is this all a very bad analogy? Am I losing my train of thought?

Let me get back to it. There are three bridges that run between Manhattan and Brooklyn - Brooklyn, Manhattan and Williamsburg - but all you ever hear about or see in the movies is the Brooklyn Bridge. You would think that's all there is. Well, I'm here to tell you, there's another way, maybe even a better way (sorry Williamsburg, I can only godmother one at at time). How do I love thee, Manhattan Bridge? Let me count the ways.

Nine times out of ten, maybe even 9.9 times, I get lost trying to get onto the Brooklyn Bridge. One moment you are following signs and the next you are driving under the bridge, towards the East River, on a one-way street, with no clue how to get anywhere. And, once I get over it, I have no idea where I am. Cab drivers probably pay their rent with the extra money that they make through people lost around the Brooklyn Bridge. Manhattan Bridge? Well that is straight off Canal Street, in Manhattan, a hugely popular street and the soul of Chinatown. And it leaves you right on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn, which is straight into downtown. I mean there is no getting lost there. No siree Bob!

Also, let's not forget, the Manhattan Bridge has it all - lanes for cars, subway tracks (for trains taking me straight to work for the last 6 years and counting), and a bikeway. Now that I have a bike and I actually had to ride it from Manhattan to Brooklyn, I have used all three services. The Brooklyn Bridge doesn't do subway, so there.

Still not good enough for ya? Well, just look at it. It's not a bad-looking bridge. And it has decent views. From the Manhattan Bridge, as you ride the subway, you look one way and see the Williamsburg Bridge, and then you look the other way and see the iconic Brooklyn Bridge AND the Statue of Liberty. Now, tell me how you are going to see the Brooklyn Bridge, while on the Brooklyn Bridge? Haha! Got you!

So there you go, Manhattan Bridge, Ugly Duckling no more. You may not be the oldest suspension bridge or the longest of the first steel wire suspension. But you keep me from wandering back streets for hours, unable to get home or to where I was going in the first place. You may not be in the photos on the walls of every place advertising Brooklyn, but you give me a view to enjoy on my way to work, while others have only the dark passages of the underground tunnels to see on their morning commute. You may not be getting respect, but I'm here with a horse-drawn carriage and stunning dress. Tonight, you are going to the ball!

Be home by midnight!

Self-Flagellation

2009-08-12T16:50:00.003-04:00

Where have I been, you may wonder? I have been sitting around trying to figure out how to make things right. How could I have done such terrible wrong? I tried to tell myself that I had no idea but, apparently, ignorance is no defence. So I am having to face up to what I have done and try to fix things. Maybe you can help.

So about a week and a half ago, I was reading USAToday and the lead story had this headline "Older White Males Hurt More by this Recession". My first thought is - what a poor headline; that's almost an essay. My second thought was well, this is the top story, let me check it out. And thank goodness I did. I may have carried on in life, clueless about my evil deeds. You, on the other hand might be thinking, well Pandave, you are not an older white male so what is your deal. Well, you keep reading, because I am going to tell you how this all comes together and lands on my doorstep.

The story starts with heartbreaking mini-stories about three men from Columbus, Ohio, who, after working all their lives find themselves, in their 50s and looking for work. These are men who have worked hard, served the community and done nice things for strangers and now they are sitting around wondering what is wrong with them. Life just came up and punched them in the gut. Unemployment for this demographic is at a record high level of 6.5%

And me and my demographic? What do we have to say for ourselves? Well yeah, yeah older black men's jobless rate is 10.5% but it peaked in 1983 at over 11.5%. And black women? 12.2%, is what it is. The untrained eye may look and say, well that's almost twice the rate for older white men but that's because you don't realise that it once was 20%.

And to put it all in a nutshell, let me quote USAToday:
"In other words, this recession has shrunk the racial gap in unempolyment, largely because white men are doing so much worse than usual."
And I ask you, is that right? Is that fair? How can one group do better at the expense of another. Granted, the group doing better is still having a rather sucky time but, it should be accustomed to the bad times and not wish to take the good times away from others. We won't talk payrate discrepancies - those are distractions. What matters is that a bunch of folk are getting a little closer to the rest and that is just not right.

I for one feel just awful. I feel as though I should start calling people up, apologising and maybe offering them my job. You know, to get things back to normal again.

It Only Takes A Spark

2009-08-05T22:56:00.004-04:00

So, this is what happened to me today. I got up and my body ached and so I thought - ten more minutes. It felt like all I did was blink but then it was helluva long blink because, the next time I opened my eyes, it was half an hour later. I dragged myself out into the unreal humidity that is a New York phenomenon. Damp and weighed down by the grey skies, I finally parked myself at my desk at work and decided to visit my blog friends to help lift my spirits. My fellow bloggers never cease to amaze, inspire, motivate and fascinate me. And, when the endless rain has soaked my spirit into submission, this is what I need in order to get me going.

I headed over to Oscar's site, where only yesterday he and El Editor had me smiling and bopping at my desk and saw that he had encouraged me to read the lyrics of the wonderful song Marcianita (My Little Martian Girl). I am being very generous when I say that my Spanish language skills are limited, and Oscar suggested I use a translator and so I did. I realised that, in my office, I have coworkers from Puerto Rico, Costa Rica, Peru and that's just on my side of the room. So I asked the lady from Costa Rica if she had a little time for me and a little song. She took the song and enlisted the assistance of yet another coworker and, in no time presented me with translated lyrics. She took the time to type them up! I was touched and impressed.

Well, after all that, I felt I owed her an explanation and so I did, from the beginning, together with illustrations, provided by me clicking on Oscar's site. "Oh, that's really cool," she said and the proceeded to translate the comment "eso de una sola teta....pobre flaco!" that was also left on the site. Then she told me that, before she had kids, she used to love to draw a lot. Having grown up in Orlando, right near Disney, she loved to draw cartoon characters. Those who know me know I can barely draw a line and so I was excited - you draw? Then you must draw.

And draw she did - behold, people, and animaniac! And suddenly my sticky, grey day had meaning. For had I not sought inspiration, would I have ended up here, as happy as Dot, up there? Thanks Oscar!

Fait Accompli!

2009-08-04T07:31:00.003-04:00

It has been a while since I embarked on my mission to become an eco-terrorist. A jigsaw puzzle with wildflower seeds embedded in the pieces? What a genius idea! Fuzzy pieces that are so difficult for my eyse to make out? Not so good. I stopped and started; I almost gave up. I rolled up the puzzle and put it away and focused on tryign to make the most of the rare sunny days we have had this summer. But the puzzle drew me, like a magnet. It taunted me - 500 pieces, Pandave. Are you going to be conquered by 500 pieces? There were days when the answer was a resounding - yeah, I just might be. Last week, this is where things stood:

Sunday was a rainy day and my brain was fried from three intense weeks of classes. The yellow puzzle pad sat on my table, taunting me. And I am a sucker for a taunt - challenge me? You want to challenge me? Well... You're on! I positioned the lamp to shine down on the pieces, I pulled the table close to me and got busy. You see the bags under my eyes? The tired and puffy face at work this morning? The less than four hours of sleep I got on Sunday night? Well, HELLO PANDA!!

I am sad about taking this apart but you know what would make it better? Finding people all over who will take in the pieces and spread the wildflowers around the world. Eco-terrorism... Who is with me?

AbraCa-Luv-Ya

2009-07-29T22:43:00.002-04:00

This morning I stepped on the train, on my way to work. I noticed behind me, as I stood, some whimpering. I glanced backwards and there she was, a cute little girl, maybe three years old, sitting on her father's lap. I turned back and carried on with my half-asleep-on-my-way-to-work stance. But the volume increased, gradually. Then came the almighty holler and all bets were off. She was full out of control crying. I looked over again and now her face was red, her mouth a cavern, with what looked like a wad of gum, balanced on her tongue. She squirmed in her uncomfortable-looking father's lap, as he whispered to her ineffectually, trying to calm her down.

I looked away - I didn't want to make him feel any worse than he obviously did. He should be concerning himself with what was bothering her, not with the curious staring masses sharing the subway car with him. Then, suddenly, silence. What happened? I looked back and noticed that there was a sister, perhaps a year older, sitting in a stroller. She had reached over and grabbed her little sister's hand and was yanking on it, getting her sister's attention. The formerly crying girl was now sniffing as she stared at her older sister. The older sister, then started stroking the little girl's arm, wiped her tears away and spoke magic words that got the little girl smiling. I too smiled and wondered if I had done the same for my little sister.

I DOUBT IT!

I probably would have leaned over and threatened to pinch her. She would have screamed, "dad! pandave is trying to pinch me!"

my father would have said, "Pandave!" in a threatening tone. I would have protested, "but, but."

"No buts, you're the older sister. Come on."

I would have folded my arms in a big sulk. My sister would have smiled triumphantly.

So, mission accomplished, no more tears...

Right?

Weakend

2009-07-26T22:42:00.002-04:00

So on Friday at about 5:30 pm, I decided to call it a week and start my weekend. I was ready for a break. The week had done me in, I felt as though I could sleep for a week. But first, an errand or two to run. So off I went to Bed, Bath and Beyond - I needed a few hangers for me and Hidef could do with some prettyfication of his space. Then it was off home to reorganise my closet a little and move some winter clothes under the bed - maybe if the clothes are hidden, winter will take its time about coming back.

But there was a box under the bed; what was in the box? Papers, tapes and goodness knows what else and, the next thing I knew, it was almost midnight and I was maybe halfway through. But I was tired so I hit the sack.

It felt as though I had barely I closed my eyes than someone rang my doorbell. It was Saturday. Who was uncivilised enough to come a-calling at 8 in the morning. The exterminator, that's who. But what could I do? I was awake now, right? So I pulled on my sneakers and headed out for a short run. I came back, I showered and I dressed comfortably and then I sat in front of my computer. I have signed up for a class, you see, that is supposed to help me get better at my job but has only, thus far, helped me get worse at having free time. It was almost seven, by the time I had made my way through the online turorials and half of my homework, but I couldn't make sense of the sentences floating in front of my eyes any more. So I headed out to a place around the corner for dinner. I took my time - I knew what was waiting for me back home.

Finally, I couldn't put it off any longer. I went home and faced the paper piles again. What needed to be shredded? What could just be trashed? What still had to be stored? Two trashbags were filled and yet there was still stuff under my head. How does that happen? It must be some law of exponential trash - the more you throw away, the more that is left behind.

Once again, it was late and I needed to get some sleep. I took a crossword puzzle into bed, filled in, maybe, two clues, and was dead to the world. It was eight when I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. My legs felt as though they weighed a tonne. each. I wasn't ready. I lay down again, telling myself that it would only be for ten minutes more. Next thing I knew it was half past nine. I got up and went out to Cafe Regular for a latte and amazing muffin, and a read of the Sunday paper. Slightly energised, I headed back home, turned on the computer and started working on the endless homework.

It was just about 1pm when I decided to take a break and head out to the farmer's market to pick up my vegetables for the week. All local and all delicious. I lugged it all back home, put it in the fridge, grabbed my bag and headed out to the subway station. I needed to pop into Manhattan - I needed frames and today was the last day of the 50% off sale. Darn! The train that runs 16th street, just two short blocks away from the store on 18th Street and Fifth Avenue, was not running! So I took the alternative, which left me on 16th and Broadway - two long blocks and two short blocks away from my destination. It was no sweat getting there but then I had to lug my huge frames and smaller bag of extras back to the station, navigate the turnstiles and stairs and lug everything all the way home and up the four flights of stairs to my apartment. I plopped everything down in the hallway, grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs.

I stopped at Hidef's to pick up my bicycle. I got a bicycle after he tired of my always borrowing his, but the wheel is squeaking and scraping against the frame. So the bike is then walked to the subway station, carried down the stairs, navigated through turnstiles and taken to the bicycle store, in Manhattan, via the train. I stand around as they adjust the bicycle and return it to me, good as new. I pull on my helmet, ask for directions back to Brooklyn and start to cycle.

It starts to rain. Lovely.

I almost get hit by a bus and realise that I am supposed to share my bicycle lane with buses. Great.

Did I mention that this is the first time I have ever ridden in Manhattan? And then I hit the Manhattan bridge and a dedicated cycle track so I can admire the view without worrying about traffic. Now I'm starting to have fun, even though I am huffing uphill. I keep hoping that I hit the halfway mark soon. If I have gone up, I must go down, right? Right. Except down only starts about three quarters of the way in. Oh well, I'm cruising now, so I can't complain. I hit the right speed, I barely have to consult my directions and I am on a roll. Wheee!

I get home, park the bicycle and realise that I'm out of milk. It's raining hard now, so I grab and umbrella, some shopping bags and pull on my wellingtons and head out to the grocery store for milk and, of course, pick up a few other things to add to the menu. I get home and it's after 8pm.

I still have homework and it's due before midnight. Did I mention that at a point I did a bunch of homework and my page crashed and I lost it all? Bygones. But I am at it until almost half past ten, pausing only to do a spot of quick cooking and drink some water.

And now? Now the day is almost over. I go back to work tomorrow. And you know how I feel right now? Exhausted. Like I need a weekend to recover from my weekend. I'm weakened. I'm done.

Don't Let It Go To Your Head

2009-07-09T09:50:00.003-04:00

So what's my beef with Physics? Even though I only have one side that I can technically get out of, maybe I broke the laws of Physics and was able to get up on the wrong side of the bed? No. Ooh ooh, maybe I really shattered those rules, defied gravity and floated around my apartment like a helium balloon! Nope. It was all about the financial crisis. Financial crisis? Yes, good people. Let's walk and chat a bit.

So, it is generally assumed that the financial bigwigs of this world are economists. Turns out those assumptions became more and more wrong as we entered the late nineties and early noughts. More and more physicists were leaving rocket science to become financial wizards (perhaps being a wizard is cooler than being a scientist, even if you are working with rockets). Turns out Physicists could harness the power of quarks and anti-matter to create mind-boggling formulae that made you money, no matter who you were. Formulae were created that made money even if a person didn't have a job or assets. Heck, things worked even for people who had a proven history of unpaid bills in their past. Backing these formulae were screeds of legalese, books bigger than the bible, taking all responsibility of any failure away from the financial institutions.

These physicists were locked away in rooms probably full of paper and super-computers, where they could work on their massively complicated work. Out in the world were the sales people, selling-selling-selling and answering any questions of those who were taking breaks between counting their mountains of money to actually ask how this could be. Maybe they would refer you to the bigger-than-the-bible volumes or they would mutter: " Not sure how it works. When I try to think about it, it makes so little sense that it makes my head hurts. But it's working, look at that mountain of money behind you. Why give yourself a headache when you can have a party?"

So, I was listening to this talk about these amazing formulae that very few could understand and I thought, what happened to logic? What happened to reason? What happened to proof? How could you run with Quarks and Antimatter when you had no idea what they were? You took beautiful math and pure physics and thought this could apply to people? There is a big rule in economics, the rule that means that you can have a theory for every economist on the planet, and that rule is that human behaviour can throw all logic asunder. For example, you can tell a dude that he can earn 10% interest on his money which will be safe in a high security lockbox that only he can access and he will go ahead and stuff his money in his mattress... in his straw hut... that he built next to a blazing furnace because he "don't trust those bastids with my money."

Oh, but wait. Hold it right there. See what happened? These formulae took mountains of money (matter) and got it together with these bigger-than-the-bible documents (antimatter) and we ended up with nothing. They proved what made me walk out of the Physics class when I was 16. The mind boggles; perhaps in this crisis I shall find the proof of quarks - up, down and sideways! Is it too late to start to believe? Can I sign up for the new religion? Or is it to late for me and physics. Has Physics abiit, excessit, evasit, erupit?

I Don't Even Like Kool Aid!

2009-07-08T00:05:00.000-04:00

I was 16 when I took my last Physics class. It was the first time I had a choice about whether or not I wanted to take Physics and I had chosen to take Physics. A subject full of logic and reason and proof. Heard about gravity? See this ball? See this ball drop to the ground? Gravity. That was when I was 15.

Then at 16, in that first class of the year, my Physics teacher started on a spiel. How excited he was. Yes, yes, he had told us, for four years in a row, that protons and electrons were the smallest particles known to man. But wait... there was more! Quarks. Up quarks and down quarks. Wha? You mean like ducks, we wondered? No. QUARKS. Going up and down, apparently. They had never been seen but they were there. We just had to believe. Oh, but he didn't stop there.

Remember how, when you were 15, and you learnt that matter can neither be created nor destroyed? Yeah, well, let's rethink that. There is this thing called antimatter and when antimatter meets antimatter you end up with nothing. Nothing? Yup, he said, nothing. To drive the point home, he said that out there was an Anti-Pandave and if, by chance, we happened to cross paths and bump into each other, even if it is totally by mistake, there will be nothing. No Pandave; no Anti-Pan. Just nothing. Not even a puff of smoke! I mean, really, not even a puff of smoke. What kind of chicanery is that? We just had to believe he said. We would learn and our worlds would expand, and it would be incredible.

He was fired up, my Physics teacher was. He could barely keep his feet on the ground and his arms were flailing about. And I thought - I can't do this. He wants me to accept a new religion. A religion of unseen quarks that go in all directions; a religion of an anti-me I should pray I never meet. That is just unacceptable. To accept would mean to live in fear of becoming nothing while walking around just minding my own business. To accept would mean I could never hug a stranger again - who knows what would happen then?

So, at 16, I left my Physics class and walked into a Latin class. I walked in to speak of love and hate, of victory and defeat, of Catullus and Pliny. For how could I embrace a new religion when it didn't even come with chocolate, popcorn or ice cream?

Food? Ick!!

2009-07-02T15:16:00.002-04:00

So, while I was working on developing my body scars, I did a spot of reading. One book I read is called "The Eater's Manifesto", where we are instructed to "eat food. not too much. mostly vegetables." Despite the simplicity of the statement, it was a dense read which was both informative and a little unsettling.

A few days later, I received an email inviting me to a jazz performance by a friend. The invitation included a rebuke to "Monsanto". Recognising the name from the Manifesto, I queried 'What do you have so strongly against Big Food?' In response, the friend sent me a link to a "The World According to Monsanto", a documentary about Monsanto's control over the world's agricultural industry. All I can say is that, it is never a good thing when a chemical company is in charge of your food. After watching the documentary, I was afraid to enter my kitchen. What evil lurked in there? What had allowed into my home - genetically modified, growth-hormoned, maybe even cloned (industry doesn't want to have to label it because they are afraid we might not want it if we knew)?

I needed a break!

I stepped over to the TV and slipped in a DVD of a televised version of my favourite radio show, "This American Life". The theme of the episode was "Pandora's Box" and the crew went to a pig factory (at this point, it can no longer be called a farm). At this factory, the start with a super-ultra-hyper bred pig, give it steroids, disguised as nutrition and, presto!, six months later they have a 300 lb, incredibly nervous hulk of meat. 300 pounds. It sounds like a big number, but let me put it in perspective. One of the many things that my sister does on the farm is raise pigs. So, I gave her a call and asked her all sorts of questions, including, 'how big your pigs get?'
She responds, rather pleased that I am finally really fascinated by her work, 'A good size is about 60 kg." Now, my conversion skills are not the best, but I believe that 60kg is about 140lbs. Let's put those numbers next to each other. 300 pounds. 140 pounds.
And remember - Nervous.
Nervous? Why so, you may wonder. Well, turns out that the massive pigs spend their lives in little pens, being stuffed full of some grower mix that makes them a bit nervouse. Then, one day, six months into their tiny world lives, they are ushered out of their pens to take the longest walk of their lives - to the truck that will take them to slaughter. Though the farmers try to keep them calm, these pigs get worked up pretty easily and, sometimes, this maybe 50 metre walk is too much for the pig. Its muscles seize up and it dies on route to the abattoir.

Yeah, so much for that break.

But, I was on a roll. So, why stop now? I'm no quitter! So, last weekend I watched "Food, Inc." another documentary about Big Food that brought together the flora and fauna of the business. I learnt several things, three of these things being:

There is corn in everything, even diapers
Chicken is grown in half the time and to twice the size
They feed animals the darndest things

Since watching all of this I have flashbacks, like - what? why would anyone use ammonia in the processing of meat? or, How does cookie dough end up with E.coli?

At the end of the day I wonder - why does it take so much effort to make sure that what you eat is actually food?

On My Street Corner

2009-06-30T21:42:00.003-04:00

He's been there as long as I have been there. He was there before I was there. I assumed.

Every day he works at the store at the end of my block. Tirelessly, he opens the store, he is there all day and then he closes it. Sometimes I see him cycling up the street, on his way to work. For thirty years he has been doing that. For nine years I have been a witness.

We chatted and one holiday he cried as he told me how he missed his wife, who was no longer alive. He was not looking forward to going home to an empty house; so we talked a little. And by we, I mean the neighbourhood. In the morning as I walked by and wished him a good morning, he would hold my hands and kiss my cheek. He didn't mind if I was super-sweaty from a run, I was never too gross for him. Or maybe he was just too polite to say. Or maybe he just knew how he lifted my spirits and how he made me smile.

Sadly, we lost him on Saturday. He was in an accident as he cycled on Saturday. He was a part of my neighbourhood. He was there before I was there. He would be there after I was there. I assumed.

No Dessert for You!

2009-06-21T00:01:00.000-04:00

There's been a coup! In my state. So why aren't there riots in the street? Or curfews? Why are we all calmly going about our lives as though nothing has happened? There's been a coup!

And yet it all just feels like a bunch of petulant children squabbling at the expense of the state's residents - literally and metaphorically. People are switching sides while others are claiming that they won't talk to one guy because he spends all his time on his Blackberry. And then the main players leave us wondering what we were thinking when we voted them in; and by we I mean not me. One has been accused of slashing his girlfriend's face and another may or may not have stolen campaign funds and may not even live where he says he lives. My, oh my, it makes you just want to throw your hands up in the air and give up.

But we can't give up because there are bills out there that are due to expire and who knows what happens in the world when bills expire. The state senate is supposed to make some kind of decision about who controls the schools in the city of New York. The state is supposed to make a ruling about what our sales tax is going to be. The senators is supposed to determine how much our rents can go up by. Everyday, the state is losing money due to some snafus that can only be resolved by the state's senators going back to work. Instead each side is claiming victory, posturing in front of TV screens while doing absolutely none of the work they were elected to do.

There's been a coup? Why doesn't it feel revolutionary?

A Dream Deferred?

2009-06-14T15:20:00.002-04:00

Several months ago Hidef and I went over to the Whitney Museum to check out an Eggleston retrospetive - which was great, by the way. On our way out, we stopped over at the Museum store where, among many other things, I spotted a jigsaw puzzle of one of Edward Hopper's pieces on sale and I thought, "Why not?" I like puzzles, I liked the piece and I had never had to put together a 500 piece puzzle of any kind, so this should be fun and better for my brain the television.

My friend, Boston, was absolutely correct, the puzzle took over my table. She wasn't wrong at all when she said I would spend a lot of time away from home thinking about how best to attack the challenge. She was right when she said my puzzle was going to become the first thing I went to when I got home from work. But it was a lot less physically painful than training for a marathon, though there were times when my brain hurt.

I was so proud of the finished product - yes, finished - that I hunted down some glue and stuck it all together. Ah the joy, the satisfaction... the empty hole in my life once the glue was dry and my table clear again. What was I to do next? Well, Hidef went out to another museum and spotted a Basquiat jigsaw puzzle, and I came across a 1,000 piece Obama one. I started with the 1,000 pieces and boy did that take a while. The pieces were cut a little loose so if I bumped into my table while working, pieces would fall out of place. Also, there was a lot of blue in the puzzle. A lot and really sometimes all blues look quite alike. I plugged away and about two weeks before I went under the knife, I had a huge completed puzzle the declared - Yes We Can. And I did. I had been forced to go out and get a little side table because there was no space for anything but my puzzle on my big table. For this masterpiece, I went all out and mounted the puzzle. This much work must be remembered somehow.

Soon after Earth Day, I was strolling through a Barnes & Noble and came across something I couldn't leave behind. It was an "Earth Friendly Jigsaw Puzzle". A 500 piece picture of a Panda bear, each piece is actually a mini-picture of something else to do with being friendly to the earth. But that wasn't want caught my interest. Yes it was on sale but that wasn't quite it either. What got me? In this little box was an opportunity for me to indulge in some eco-terrorism. How, you might wonder. Well, people, the box declared that each piece of this puzzle is imbedded with wildflower seeds! So, after I finish this puzzle, I can walk down the street, casually tossing jigsaw puzzle pieces into empty lots and, in a few months, I can walk down the same street and be greeted by beautiful, blooming wildflowers (so much more fun than being greeted as a liberator). I can send little pieces out in every letter I write and spread the love by way of flowers.

However, I have hit a minor roadblock. I am struggling with the puzzle. The little pictures in each puzzle piece serve to confound and confuse me. The images are tiny, and in less than full-on bright sunlight, I can barely see them. My will to terrorise the masses by way of beautiful flowers and nectar for the bees is begin slowly and steadily eroded by my ever-squinting eyes and failing sight.

The only thing renewing my resolve is the occasional glimpse I have into the future. As I disappear into the sunset on my bicycle (another project) people will wonder - "who was that masked flower bloomer?"

And others will respond, "I don't know but people around her call her the Masked Padaaave!"

Keep The Nightlight On, Please

2009-06-12T00:01:00.005-04:00

There was no sport on the TV this afternoon but I needed a break from NPR's Planet Money so I went channel surfing and happened upon BBCAmerica on Demand. Hmm, "Super Botox Me". Well, I did watch Supersize Me and that was interesting so let me see what this is about. There is a journalist, Kate Spicer, who is talking about how she has decided to enter the world of, I don't know, let's call it 'extreme beauty'. I'm thinking, it's 4pm on a Thursday, I can't do much worse than this.

First she goes to a celebrity photographer and has him take untouched photos of her, sans makeup. Post photos, they sit a sixteen year old girl next to Kate and three beauty professionals, who have been sitting in the audience, come forward to answer the journalist's question, "What does she have that I don't?"

Oooh, let me take a stab in the dark and say, well, she is young enough to be your daughter, but apparently that is not it. I hear talk about necks and lips and small faces, which is odd to me because a lot of celebrities have huge heads (ahem, Larry King). But, moving on.

Ms Spicer decides then to travel to America, cosmetic surgery Mecca, and makes an appointment with, and I'm not making this up, a "Knife Coach." People pay this coach $500 to get advice on plastic surgery. Honestly, she is the plastic surgery of a hair dresser with a bad perm that is falling out - I would not trust her with my face (a thought that recurs throughout the show). She talks casually about starting off by injecting toxins in ones face. Toxins? Do we no longer know what the word toxin means? I'm horrified because her face doesn't move even though she claims that she's raising her eyebrows. I'm horrified because she is pleased. I'm horrified because we are only ten minutes into this programme.

Well, this show is not called Super Botox Me for nothing. While an allegedly conflicted is chatting happily with a consultant about Botoxing her toes and I am wondering why she doesn't just wear more comfortable shoes, a surgeon slips into the room to talk to her about the wonders Botox can do for her face. He has a sense of humour and that's all it takes to convince her to have multiple shots of poison in her face. Holy hell! People do this willingly? Just to make the face lifeless.

Before I can take a calming breath, she is off to meet with the doctor who does Madonna's face. It's like I'm watching a horror movie - I am terrified yet I can't look away. The doctor is talking about looking the best he can and he looks scary. I am not sure I could look him in the face while having a conversation with him. He doesn't look human and yet he is proudly stating that he does his own face.

And I can't help thinking through all of this that these doctors are the devil's minions. They really know how to break a person. After talking to them, one really needs Dodo's ego pump. Only one doctor in this whole thing that she is beautiful and still he found lots of things he could do to "improve" her. So Kate ends up being injected in the face, with poison, over 75 times, having the skin around her eyes lasered off and still not feeling much better yet needing more, more, more.

Finally, with a frozen face, filled out cheekbones and substantially less skin protecting her eyes, she returns to have her photo taken and her ego picked apart. Did I mention that one of these beauty experts has obviously had a plastic surgeon work on her face. She is the one to rave about how Kate looks as though she just took a fortnight off at a spa and now looks naturally rested. The male beauty pro says Kate looks great but feels she went a little overboard with the Botox - her face from the cheeks up just doesn't move anymore. But plastic-surgeoned expert disagrees vehemently. "you look natural." As though she even knows what natural looks like anymore. Could she know a furrowed brow if it kicked her in her toxined behind?

I fear soon that none of us will.

If It Lasts More Than Four Hours...

2009-06-10T22:37:00.004-04:00

My mother came to town to take care of me as wonderful mothers do. My mother loves CNN and live sport. Therefore, I have been watching a lot of live television. In my regular life, I live by the creed of the digital video recorder where, if it can be helped, no TV is to be watched live. The great benefit of delayed television is the ability to fast forward through commercials.

Instead I have spent the last month learning about how "I should ask my doctor" about all kinds of drugs. Drugs for depression, mood and skin control via a birth control pill that is not really for birth control but actually to keep your skin clear and your moods light, erectile dysfunction drugs, oh and some medication to grow eyelashes! Yes, I am supposed to ask my doctor about some medication that will, apparently, give me eyelashes like Brook Shields'.

So how exactly am I to broach the subjects with my doctor, you know the one with all the medical degrees?

"Um, Doctor? Mr M.D.? I was sitting at home watching my television and I know you are telling me that I'm just fine but I was watching my TeeVee and this guy with an awesome voice told me that I needed to be talking to you about this medication that will make my life awesome. I see you shaking my head but the voice sent me to a website with amazing coupons, I'll be paying like half price for these drugs and, well Brooke Shields says my eyelashes can be so much more than what you see before you. Yeah, yeah, okay so the risks are suicidal thoughts, loose stools and maybe death, but the voice sounded so happy as it rushed through these risks and, honestly, they can't be that serious. If they were serious risks, would this drug be all over television, at at prime time to boot? I don't think so. I have learnt a lot when I thought I was just watching a tennis match and I think I know a little more than you give me credit for. So what? You have the degrees and the prescription pad but I have CABLE TV! Don't keep me from the glorious air-brushed me; make me as cool as the people in the ads."

But please give me your personal number, you know, in the "rare case of side effects".

Ode To Mmm... Mmmmm Good

2009-06-09T16:44:00.002-04:00

I love lychees. I love litchis. I love a fruit that can be spelt in many different ways and still be correct. Aren't they awesome? Such delicious little fruits, I don't get why it's near impossible to find them in the grocery store. Perhaps the grocery store owners think that we'll be put off by their crackly, knobby exteriors. Oh owners, how little you know! Such exteriors add to the joy of consumption. You crackle and peel your way past the knobby skin to the beautiful, fleshy, delicious interior. Such sweet tanginess. And a perfect size to pop inside your mouth and work away. And just when it's getting good, just too keep you interested, you get to the seed. And not just any old seed, let me tell you, but a perfectly smooth round seed that can then be used by children as some kind of pelting toy. Or a fake marble. So it is not just great-tasting it also serves multiple purposes.

And yet my opportunities to enjoy this wonder of nature are few and far between. In fact, I pretty much only ever come across the litchi in the form of a litchi martini which, I know, is not a real martini but tastes so good AND has a litchi (two if I'm lucky) in it. As I wrote this post, I was at a street fair, sipping on a litchi in sparkling wine. You see, I'll take my litchis however you choose to give them to me. Can anything be as fabulous as the litchi?

Oh look, cherries...

Forget The Horses

2009-06-05T15:59:00.003-04:00

You know what the great sign of the Apocalypse is? Autotune. People out there are going on about war and pollution but I'm telling you this - you know how we can be sure that the end is nigh? The fact that just about everyone on radio sounds like a computer with laryngitis.

How did this happen? When did this happen? And, how have we not all gone catatonic from the assault on our senses? This is worse than McDonald's and Pizza Hut trying to pass off their fare as gourmet. yes, McCafe, I'm looking at you. Adding an accent grave does not high quality food make. It just serves to deaden the taste buds, apparently.

Dead ears. Dead taste buds. Oh no... wait... Is this it? Is there no hope left?

Excuse Me, You're Who From Where?

2009-06-02T12:34:00.001-04:00

My attention was caught by the news story on the Air France plane. The TV blared - plane disappears while en route to France. Of course I had to stop. How can a plane go missing? In this day and age and nowhere near the Bermuda Triangle? For all the puzzlement I feel and for all the updates on television since the story first broke, I have no answers. It feels like an episode of the Twilight Zone gone tragically wrong.

Then, last night I tune into CNN and my future best friend, Anderson Cooper, declares - coming up, a plane disappears while flying from Brazil to France, along with all its passengers which included 2 Americans. He proceeded to flash a photo of the, apparently, only two passengers on the plane worth reporting on and I had an Animal Farm moment - All Animals are created equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

Funny how a book I read what feels like several lifetimes ago can pop into my head and make me feel so sad.

Well, one can only hope that the plane, and all it's passengers, might have decided to take a break on an island because the pilot is a huge fan of Lord of the Flies.

Note To Self

2009-05-29T13:25:00.002-04:00

Pandave, remember this always - never live in a place where you might be snowed, rained or anything elsed in for days on end. You do not function too well without outside.

It really hit home last night when I made an awesomely bad joke and started laughing. And then I felt as though I would burst into hysterical tears if I didn't stop laughing soon. Yet, the laughter would not stop. Had I not had guests, I might have let go but how do you explain to people that you are okay while crying hysterically at the worst joke you have probably ever told? Well, now that I write it down, crying at a bad joke seems quite reasonable.

I digress. I just want to be out and about and unafraid to skip, hop jump. If this is anything, it is a supreme test in patience. The grey and damp weather doesn't help much either. Maybe if my toes didn't feel like ice blocks, I might not feel so squashed on the inside. But, enough of this nonsense, hidef is coming by to carry my laundry so I can take it to the laundromat. He will also take me to the post office so he can carry my package home for me.

But let me share cool news - my dressing came off and my scar was relieved. My mother said she was not happy but I think it looks really good. Not as intimidating as I might have imagined but it is about 4 inches long which, I would say, is not to be sniffed at should I have to assert some kind of street cred somewhere. Plus, I am standing up straight now, my mother informed me, and the weather forecast is talking sunshine in the near future.

Putting it all in perspective, anything that gets me excited about doing laundry can't be all bad, now can it? That said, I'm not making any plans to move to any extreme weather zone.

What The Doctor Ordered

2009-05-22T00:08:00.002-04:00

Today I made it all the way down from the fourth floor of my walk-up and I made it outside into the sunshine. How glorious that was - my small victory for the day. Also during this time, I read about a certain young stoat whose life makes this last week seem like a stroll in the park. I mean, people, when he gets cut up, he doesn't even have anyone to stitch him up again. I doubt his scars will look anywhere as pretty as mine.

I haven't seen the scar yet - the doctor won't let me take the dressing off - but I do know that it will be rather intimidating should I ever end up in the slammer. I think I could really grow to love it.

It is just great to have a clear mind again - no more meds now - I can actually finish a sentence, or few.

They Saw, He'll Saw, I'll Soar!

2009-05-12T22:28:00.002-04:00

Well, the doctor was wrong, kinda, but she was also right, kinda. She was wrong, so she doesn't get the pleasure of cutting me open. But she was kinda right so another doctor gets the pleasure. Now he is intent of pushing me to start a new fashion trend - I'll have to learn to love my new scar. It will be a symbol of strength, surivival and the power of the MRI. I'm thinking that after all the jabbing and blood-taking and mumbled discussions that I have had to endure, a trend-worthy, don't-mess-with-me-in-prison scar is the least the medical profession can do for me. The bonus? I get to take a couple of weeks off work. So I'm out for a couple of days but then, like a bad Terminator movie - I'll be back.

It Should Be Every Day

2009-04-30T21:38:00.002-04:00

Today in New York, is Poem In Your Pocket day. The 7th annual Poem In Your Pocket day. And I only just found out. I mean, I know I have been out of the loop lately, but this is ridiculous. I have long mourned the demise of poetry, I have often admired those who can string a few words together and create a novel-worthy story. I live to read a few words that move me to tears, laughter or an ah-ha moment. And I had no idea! I am really beginning to believe that I am living under a rock for real.

But, now that I know, I have embraced this day with zeal. I have produced one really bad poem that I gave to hi-def to carry in his pocket. I stood in the shower and hoped to come up with something I could share with the world. I couldn't even come up with a haiku and that's 17 syllables.

I want to rhyme with reason

In every clime and season

Except, well Winter, I don't know

All I want to do then is go

Huddle under the covers and cry

Until the cold and misery pass by

But forget that, it's now time for sun

And warm rain and nothing but fun

But for longevity I'm thinking maybe a locket

It's not always safe to have a poem in my pocket

Busy, Busy, Aahhhh

2009-04-26T22:45:00.002-04:00

I ran away the other day. I ran away to sand and surf and an ocean that one can frolic in without a wetsuit. I made just one plan - to take a surfing lesson; and that was it. Yesterday, I took the lesson in very windy conditions and super-choppy waves. I fell off my board countless times and came back with half the beach in my swimsuit. And the biggest smile in the country. I spent the evening with family and friends, laughing, eating and drinking. Today I got up at noon and still managed to take a yoga class, sit in a hot tub and take a swim in the pool. Oh and walk around a bookstore and visit an all you can eat buffet. Did I mention the sunshine? Did I mention that I was in no hurry to do anything? Did you know that even if I had not done any of those things, it wouldn't have mattered because I didn't have to do anything today.

Oh sunshine - all you have to do is be there and I'm happy. Yep, I'm super easy to please and you have me over the moon.

Kumbaya

2009-04-22T17:35:00.004-04:00

It's earth day today and all I have received in my mail inbox about this is a lot of messages about how I can be greener and friendlier to my planet by buying more stuff. I am sure that, if I thought about it for long enough, it would all make sense. Either that or my brain would explode. I am not taking any chances so I'll just delete the emails and forget all about them.

You know, I could get all cliche about it all and compliment Earth on how great she looks for her age, despite all the abuse she has to put up with. I could try to make her feel better by telling green lies about how we all really care and everyone is doing all they can to make sure that she lasts as long as possible; or rather how everyone is doing all they can to make sure we stick around for ages and ages to celebrate her birthday. I could head over to my email's trash, reclaim said emails and go on a huge shopping spree in her honour. But I don't think she wants to hear all of that - I am guessing that is why she made sure today was so unseasonably cold and damp that my fingers could not work well enough to spend the day writing endless odes in her honour.

Instead, a song got stuck in my head during my morning yoga class (yes, I am still going, and, no, it is not getting any easier to wake up, but, maybe, just maybe I am a friendlier person in the morning than I used to be). And only two lines from said song. So, all day long, as I have gone about my day, celebrating the awesomness that is Earth, if you put a microphone in my head, all you would hear is:
Love, love, love one another
We can remake the world

Yup, and it doesn't even rhyme.

And then just as I started writing this, a word popped into my head - Kumbaya. To which another part of my brain responded - but what does that even mean?

What About a Shoutout for Me?

2009-04-20T20:24:00.002-04:00

So, President Hugo Chavez, word on the street is that you have the golden touch and I would like just a little brush up. Just a touch, sir, please. First, you were hanging out at the UN and you held up "Hegemony or Survival: America's Quest for Global Dominance" and suddenly Noam Chomsky was the number one bestseller on Amazon. Bookstores were selling out of the book. People called it a fluke but now you have shown them.

Just a few days ago you were out and about at The Summit of the Americas, rubbing shoulders with American leaders and you spotted Barack Obama across the room. All week all kinds of conversations had been going on but you decided that spoken words can be fleeting, they can float away like leaves on a stream. So you strode across and handed Barack Obama a book - Open Veins of Latin America: Five Centuries of the Pillage of a Continent - and now Eduardo Galeano, the author, is the hottest thing about. He jumped over 50,000 spots on the Amazon bestseller list to land at number two, and all in just two days!

So, I'm just asking you to give my book a little shoutout. Granted, I don't even have a publisher but I know you speaking of me and my work will have them breaking down my door. Actually, I don't need a publisher, just say my name and mention my manuscript and I'm sure the unpublished pile of pages can sneak into the top 100. Okay, okay so my book is not directly about politics but, if you think about it long enough, isn't everything political? Right now I have no scenes set anywhere in Latin America, but I'm willing to work with you - the heroine could take an exciting vacation - I'm a flexible person.

I just ask for a little of your magic dust. Seriously, sir, you have more book power than Oprah.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire!

2009-04-18T13:37:00.003-04:00

You know what the biggest con is? No, not Bernard Madoff or Made for TV products. I'll tell you what it is. In visible Solid Anti-Perspirant. Bottle after bottle on the drugstore shelf declares it. INVISIBLE! Black-dress-friendly! We swear it won't leave marks on your clothing. And yet, every day I get dressed and, no matter how carefully I pull my top on, I end up with massive white streaks on my clothes. Then I have to decide: do I go out as is and try to pass the streaks off as a fashion statement or do I clean said streaks off witha wet towel and try to pass the wet patches off as the fashion statement?

I have tried waiting ten mintues for the solid to dry - though one would think a solid would already be pretty dry. Either way, the streaks still prevail. There is no beating them. There is no getting around them. Youc oudl start off with a "clear solid". CLEAR. And still get the streaks. I mean, seriously, scientists, you can invent seedless watermelons, you have Viagra, and I still have streaks on my clothing.

But then again, maybe I'm the sucker here. I am the one who keeps walking into the pharmacy and thinking - oh look, they say this one won't leave marks. I'll try this one, I'm sure they have a better formula now. I'm beginning to think that they have decided that the market is pretty inflexible and so we will buy whatever they throw at us.

Maybe I'll start a grassroots movement for truly invisible anti-perspirant. We'll all stop wearing anything at all and gather around the scientists until they flee the sweaty stench, into their labs. We'll stand outside until they have found something that works. They will not dare emerge and face our stinky selves until they have a solution. Oh yes, I think that's what I'll do.

Look out, scientists, we're coming for you!

Cease & Desist

2009-04-09T07:01:00.002-04:00

Dear Weather:

I have long understood your power and acknowledge that you are way stronger than I could ever hope to be. You can break the will of entire nations, what hope does little old me have? I believe that I give you the deference you deserve but, if you feel I disrespect you, I apologise. I do try.

I am therefore writing to respectfully ask you to cease and desist your current actions. It was a punch to the stomach when I turned to the window, during yoga class, and saw snow but yesterday was out of order. I mean, it was the 8th of April. We are well into spring and I am trying to deal with the fact that it is still too cold to put away my winter coat. Getting out of bed in the morning to come to work has been difficult enough under grey skies. I have tried to be zen about the splashes of sunlight and decent weather followed by day upon endless day of rain, cold and gloom. I have tried to remain upbeat about it all, and I have tried to convince myself that this is just the normal path to the warmth of the summer months.

But yesterday was clearly a malicious act that not even the weather people had the heart to warn us about (or maybe their crystal balls are defective). We came to work, sans coats and umbrellas and some had even uncovered their pools. And then... SNOW. Weather, how could you. SNOW? You drive us to the edge of sanity. I'm about to fall over the edge. I want to stop talking about you; I want us to live in harmony.

Right now, all I am is demoralised. I have no morals left.

Yours sincerely,
Pandave

Do You Dare Look?

2009-04-03T10:01:00.000-04:00

i always have too much and for that i blame my mother. i can say that because i also speak of how organised my mother is and wonder i inherited absolutely none of that. but yeah, i always have too much. my mom, she can never throw anything away - she is always convinced that you can squeeze a little more out of anything. i have a pot in the house that barely has a bottom. i mean, seriously, what can one do with a bottomless cooking pot? and yet it is still in my house. so, i can't throw stuff away and, in glorious addition tot hat, i am the queen of just-in-case. to show you, let's take a trip through my handbag.

I have a small magic wallet that holds my driver's licence, metro card (for the subway), bank cards and a little bit of cash for small things like a snack, water and gum.
I have a large wallet, in which I keep my health insurance card, my doctors' business cards, receipts, change (magic wallet only holds bills), cheque book, extra cash, just in case I run out of cash in my magic wallet, my New York Roadrunners membership card, my dental benefits card and my eyecare benefits card.
I have two ChicoBags. One is blue and the other is purple. This is just in case I stop some place for some groceries. Then I can tell them - No plastic bags, thanks, I brought my own.
I have a litte mini note pad. Just in case I need to write a little mini note.
I have a mini tub of Vaseline, a lip tube of Vaseline and several lip glosses. Apparently I have a subconcious fear of dry lips.
I have a mini pouch that I originally got for my change. But that was before I got my current large wallet. Now this pouch holds my AAA membership card (even though I don't have a car), my airline miles club cards and my Prospect Park membership card. Oh and a piece of stone that broke off a necklace about two years ago.
Sunglasses - just in case it gets sunny.
Hand cream, for when my hands get dry
Several different typs of pens and a pencil - for taking notes, and doing puzzles while I travel.
My Ipod for listenign to music and podcasts
Allergy pills and eyedrops and a nasal spray. To keep the allergies in check. I almost never use the eyedrops because I hate waiting to be able to see again after I have put the drops in.
Tissues - just in case I need to blow my nose or offer tissues to a kid with a runny nose on the subway.
I mini-case holding my business cards. Whenever I go to a meeting at work when I actually need to give someone my business cards, I leave my handbag behind in my office. So this case is quite full and unused.
A case that has clear pockets that holds my Zipcard for when I rent a Zipcar. The zipcar has these awesome cards that unlock the doors just by holding the card up to the sensor on the windscreen. This case also has a tip table, more airline membership cards, and an expired Costco membership card.
A clock/calculator that Time Magazine sent me. It is rather unwieldy but sometimes I need a calculator or maybe just to know the time in Moscow.
A book of matches - I have no idea why that is in my bag.
Rice paper - apparently for when my face gets shiny. My face gets shiny every day and yet I use the rice paper, maybe, once every three months.
My work ID - the one that gives me first access to the building, before I start entering pass codes et al.
My very super old cellphone that works only half the time.
Sore joint rub, compliments of medicine of the people. It is my Navajo approach to the pain in my knees.
Nail files for smoothing and shaping my nails - whenever they aren't just breaking.
A mini torch, aka flashlight, just in case the lights go out.
Herbal tea bags.
A book to read (I try to listen to a podcast on my way to work and read on my way home)
EMERGENCY CHOCOLATE.

So, I don't have a makeup bag because I have not figured out where to find the space without breaking my shoulders. But I do have my other bag for lunch, sports gear (if I'm going to the gym), extra shoes for work (even though I already have about six pairs under my desk, that I sometimes cycle during the day if my feet get sore), a sweater - just in case it gets cold, and any other extras I need to take in to the office.

I also have a drawer at work where I keep an umbrella, just in case it starts raining while I'm at work, another sweater, a spare charger for my barely working phone, more tea, dental floss and brown sugar.

Now, on the weekend, I try to stop and unpack the bag and seriously ask myself - Pandave, do you really need this? And the answer is always - well, just in case.

Want Ad?

2009-03-15T21:58:00.003-04:00

i was persuing the paper the other day and came across a story about a woman who had allegedly bartered her two kids to a couple, in exchange for an exotic bird and $175. The couple that owned the bird and the $175 were a couple who had been trying to have a child - they went so far as to have fertility treatments - but were unsuccessful and also now no longer had much money. But they had a bird and a little under $200 and out there there was a woman who wanted a bird and cash with which to buy birdseed, it looks like. And so of course, it all begs the question - how did that deal all come about?

Apparently the woman made this deal after responding to an ad on a flier that she saw. Now, I spent a train ride trying to come up with possible wording for that flier:

For Sale Exotic Bird. Will take Cash or Children

Great Parents Seek Children. We have nothing but Love to Give. Oh and a Bird

Your Kids Too Much For You? How About a Bird? So much Less maintenance. Let's Swop.

And then, how did the conversation at the house go?
"I thought the bird would fill the void, but it's just not working. You are so lucky to have those kids."
"Oh no, you're the lucky ones; that's one beautiful bird you have. Hey, you know what? Give me the bird and $200 and I'll give you the kids. I think we'll be just about even."
"Well, we only h ave $175."
"You guys drive a hard bargain but, you know, that is one gorgeous bird. It's a deal."

Oh to be a fly on that wall.

Call Me Crotchety Grandma

2009-03-10T14:44:00.002-04:00

There are many newfangled things that I don't understand. I don't get how it is now fashionable for women to wear a leotard sans any kind of bottom (skirt, pants, shorts, anything) and consider that an outfit - I'm looking at you Madonna and Beyonce. I'm still trying to wrap my head around Twitter - I thought tweeting was a thing only little birds did. So, yeah, I'm not the model of modern life and I do get that things change but I hope the world changes its mind about putting the word QUICK out to pasture. How can the English language survive without it? I mean it goes beyond, the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog or a rhyming word for candlestick (as in jack be nimble, jack be quick). It just brings a little colour to a conversation. Fast this, fast that - can't we be quick every once in a while?

And you can do so much with quick - you can be quick, or run quickly; you can quicken your pace lest you sink in quicksand. And, well it just seems like a word full of speed. Maybe I have a bias. Maybe I'm just using the demise of quick as a way to block the painful-like-nails-on-a-blackboard rampant use of the word "good" as an adverb. I mean, people, well is just as short as good - is it too difficult a word to learn?

And for all this grumpy old-lady grumbling, I blame my high school English and Latin teachers for brainwashing me with the rules. I shake my fist at you, Mrs Davidson, you did bad!

Oh March, Why So Literal?

2009-03-05T09:10:00.002-05:00

Okay so I get that the word on the street is that you are "in like a lion and out like a lamb", but you know people don't really expect you to take that seriously. And, even if you did, we would be quite okay with you being "in like a lion CUB"; being that a lamb is a baby sheep and all, I think that would make sense. Even if you forgot and just gamoled like a lamb all the way through, we would also be okay with that.

But no, you had to send us the worst storm of the season, coupled with bitingly cold high winds and frigid temperatures. I mean, there is a point where numbers on a thermometer cease to matter and I'm thinking that point is when it's so cold it feels as though there is an ice drill working it's way into your skull, via your exposed forehead. As I trudged down the street to catch the train to work, I wondered if I was walking too slowly and carefully. That question was promptly answered by the sight of a woman who had just rushed past me slipping and falling to the icy pavement. I battled the elements in to the office, only to find that a snow day had been called. Oh well, since I was out anyway, I went over to the Apple store to take a class on using my MacBook (yes, I have finally made the switch and it is way more awesome than I imagined!)

I digress, March. I'm here on a mission. To implore you to try to be less literal about things. By the time we get to you, we are tired of winter. We are mentally at our limit - we can't do snow, cold or general dark weather anymore. We are ready for spring blossoms, lighter coats and we are so ready to smile up at the sunny sky (while avoiding poop, of course). So feel free to create a new cliche, like maybe "hope after a bleak winter" or "spring starts here" or "April, Schmapril". But, you can wait until next year - just to be sure, let's close out the cliche, please. We really need some lamby weather.

But Why Where I Walk?

2009-03-01T13:54:00.002-05:00

I come across a lot of poop in my life. Now, if I lived on the farm with my mother and my sister, that would make a lot of sense; in fact, it might even be a given. But I don't. I don't even, to the best of my knowledge, live near a farm. I actually live in a city of many, many people and many bathrooms. And yet I come across a lot of poop.

I believe that the bulk of it is dog poop. There are a lot of pets in my neighbourhood. It fascinates me because New York apartments tend to be slightly larger than a walk-in closet and I have barely enough room for me, but some people find space for dogs that are the size of small ponies. But, I say, if they are both happy, that is great. However, if I have to come across your pooch's poop as I go about my life, then I am not happy and that is not good. There are signs all over the place telling people to "Curb your dog" and threatening fines of $250 for those who break the law. Now, curbing a dog means that a dog is supposed to do all its business in the in the gutter, off the pavement, so that the general public is not playing a game of avoid-the-animal-waste and those who live in ground floor apartments don't feel as though they live in a long-drop loo. This is the law and yet everyday I see owners whistling away as their dogs go where they please and we end up feeling lucky when the owner takes time to scoop the poop (always leaving smudged remains on the pavement). Let me also take time to state here, I have never seen anyone fined for not curbing their dog. I mean, who do you report them to? How are they identified? I know the crazy lady next door (who lives on the ground floor) sits outside her building at times, yelling abuse at those who bring their dogs by to pee on the trees outsider her apartment. She complains that she spends all kinds of money trying to remove the odours emanating from her garden and the dog-owners look at her as though she is wicked witch of the west. To which she responds, "If you don't think it's a big deal, why don't you let them go outside your home?"

Let me add that I can't put all the blame on the dogs and their owners. For, one night I dashed out to pick up something from the corner store and as I walked back home, I heard a sound to my left. I looked over and found myself looking into the eyes of a man squatting, between two parked cards, with his pants around his ankles, holding a toilet roll. I quickly looked away, stared ahead and hurried to my apartment. I had two thoughts - if he tries to chase me, I have a head-start while he pulls up his pants and, hopefully, wipes his bum; and at least he curbed himself.

So, when I walk through, I'm sure, my very scenic neighbourhood, I cannot take time to smell the roses - they tend to smell rather foul - I can't look around and take in the sights - for fear of stepping into an uncurbed surprise - and I can't walk as I please - I have to step around dogs doing their business. I feel badly for the pets, as they are just trying to let it all out after being indoors for hours at a time, and now passersby are giving them dirty looks like it is their fault their owners are not disciplined and responsible. But not badly enough. I shouldn't have to negotiate an obstacle course every time I leave my home.

Yes, everybody poops, but do they have to do it everywhere?

Is There Hope?

2009-02-23T21:31:00.002-05:00

We have already established that I am not a morning person. But I think I have been backsliding lately. Last week, I decided to try out 6:30 am yoga classes. Not only is this rather ambitious, it is also very challenging, in terms of time. The class is a 90 minute class and, therefore, ends at 8am. I start work at 9am and I work about a 40 minute subway trip from home and I have to fit a shower in. Now that I am typing it all out, it seem a tad insane but thinking it through, it made complete sense.

So to make this work takes planning. I have to decide what I am going to wear and pack it in my sports bag the night before. I must pack my shower gear and lay out the yoga wear as well. Nothing must be left to do in the morning, except feed my fish, Gandanga.

I wake up at 6am and head to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I change into the yoga gear, pull a coat on, grab the bags (I leave them near the door the night before) and I walk briskly to the studio. About 100 minutes later, I am hitting the shower and changing into my work gear. I make a brief stop at home to drop off the sweaty gear and feed Gandanga and then it is a fast walk to the subway station and off to work. I am perfecting the art but that is the plan.

Now, to try to keep my body from being traumatised by ever-changing wake-up calls, I have resolved to wake up at 6am every day. The thinking is that I'll get time in the morning to catch up on life. Well, last week on Thursday, I woke up at 6am. God only knows what I did with the time but I found myself rushing out of the house after 8am, with nothing to show for my wasted two hours but sleepiness. Where did the time go? What was I doing?

This morning I got some idea. I think I applied Vaseline to my lips about 3 times. I forgot stuff maybe twice and I misplaced my mittens and spent a good five minutes looking for them. Sometimes I spill water while taking my iron and I have to mop up some. I spend time getting my lunch together - I really should do that the night before. Sometimes I sit down and find myself drifting off and thinking about how tired I am. Next thing I know, it's five or ten minutes later. I have been known to decide to iron some clothes because I think I have extra time. And all is done in a daze.

And all the time I wonder - how do people do it? How do I get to the oiled-machine-get-up-and-go mode. Most people take about 30 minutes to get ready in the morning - I'd be happy at 45.

Less Is... Less

2009-02-17T20:57:00.003-05:00

The other day, Oscar brought some things back to the forefront of your mind. Sometimes when things take effort, we push them to the back of our consciousness. Why think about the effects of our actions when doing that may lead to having to do something about it?

A few weeks ago there was a man in the news. Why, you may wonder? Well, he was in the news for not throwing away any trash. For a year. He kept a record of the year and talked about the things he did in order to reduce waste in his life. What most people did was read about him in the news, maybe talk about him next to the water cooler and then forget about him while taking out the daily trash. Because there is a lot of trash generated in these United States and it is almost as though it is the right of the nation, nay, its duty, to create as much trash as possible. Oh, and consume.

Just last week, I was listening to the radio and heard about how maybe this year or next China will over take the United States as the primary consumer of motor vehicles. The population of the United States is 300 million, give or take. The population of China is 1.3 billion - 4 times as much. Oh, and the population of India is 1.1 billion - still over three times as much. I throw that in because I remember listening to a show on radio where people were outraged because more Indians were buying cars. The logic was - well we have had cars for so long so we can't live without them (and God forbid we have to give up our SUVs) and so India must sacrifice for the sake of the environment. They don't deserve our wasteful luxuries. I just think it's crazy that with so many people out there, the United States leads the way with the vehicles.

Instead we'll turn up the A/C as we drive our 10 miles to the gallon massive car - a car so huge it is practically scraping the sides of the buildings on either side of the street as it hulks on by - and we will marvel at this man who managed to accumulate only 8 yoghurt tubs with tops in 365 days. All this enviro-babble; isn't it all up for debate still? I mean, one could read the tips he lists for reducing the amount of waste created by day to day living but isn't it so much more fun to chat about it for fifteen minutes and then carry on with life as usual?

Hot Moo!

2009-02-09T21:56:00.003-05:00

I'm a meat eater. Those who have seen me at a barbeque might tell you that I eat more than my share of meat. I might tell you that I could eat another steak. However, no one would term me anything close to vegetarian. I also have spent a lot of my life learning about holes in the ozone layer and the green house effect. So, imagine my despair when I started hearing about how livestock causes more global warming damage than a lot of industry - perhaps all of industry. It's all - yeah a field of cattle create more pollution than an oil refinery (or something). And I wonder. How?

What is that livestock doing that other wild beasts are not? Farting, apparently. And I know that a fart can smell bad. I mean, you can be on a train and think you are going to die because a fart is that stinky, but destroying the world? Causing global warming? And why just livestock? Why not other vegetarian animals roaming the land? Why can a giraffe be gassy to its heart's content, but a cow's gas can kill the world? What is livestock eating? Why is no one doing anything about it? Are the world's cattle being fed baked beans?

Are we going to have to start slipping gas-x into their food?

Awful Camouflage, If You Ask Me

2009-02-08T20:47:00.002-05:00

There is a fashion trend sweeping the city that is just a bit beyond me. Fur. I try to figure out what the aim is and I just don't get it. All it does is trigger questions from me.

Without us even going into the issues of how people come about this fur and what animals have to go through. We live in a world where people pluck and electrocute and laser pretty much all the hair off our bodies so we can steal the hair of another beast's back.

First of all, if you are caught in a rain or snow storm and your fur coat gets wet, do you smell like wet dog?

And then, um, why? I am seriously freaked out by the whole beast fur - you know where someone makes a scarf out of, say, a dead fox and the mouth is biting on the tail. How is this attractive? And who decided on a for versus your favourite deceased cat or dog?

Oh... and the coats. Are they supposed to be some kind of camouflage? So that when the vampires come hunting for the humans, they see massive expanses of fur and think, well what huge ferrets, they kinda look like they have human heads but they must just be mutants. Let us seek humans elsewhere.

I don't know. All that fur around my face would just tickle my nose and get me sneezing all the time.

Maybe One Can Know Too Much

2009-02-03T12:31:00.002-05:00

I have been listening to a podcast called "Stuff You Should Know". I think I subscribed because the title was almost a taunt - I mean, look at me - I'm no spring chicken and though I probably don't know how to learn a lesson, I think there is quite a bit I do know. Any show about stuff I should know would probably be full of stuff I really already know. I would spend the 20 minutes or so of the show rolling my eyes and wondering at the incredible ignorance of the world, while, of course, feeling completely superior and wise.

So much for that.

I found out the best places to get shot. I would have picked the little bit of hair just above my left ear but apparently it is the hands and feet. Some also suggested that being shot through the buttocks ( as in through the left cheek and out the right, or vice versa) is not so bad. Another suggestion was through the cheeks of the open mouth, making sure to not touch the tongue - one would be left with some dimples, but those are cute, right? That said, I am hoping that this is stuff I really never have to know.

Last week, I did find out something I should know. I did know about a huge island of trash, twice the size of Texas, floating in the Pacific Ocean. Scarier are the minute pieces of toxic plastic that are ingested by sea animals. What I did not know though is that there are levels in the realm of plastic recycling. It is an amazing thing and makes me wonder - why didn't I know this? Turns out that on the bottom of pretty much every plastic product is the recycling triangle with a number in it. This magic number basically tells you how recyclable the plastic is. The numbers range from 1 to 7 and the little triangle has us thinking that it is all recyclable. Rinse it out and throw it in a see-through plastic bag and it will not clog up a land fill or add towards the girth of garbage island. But no. Only 1 and 2 are really recyclable. The rest are basically just there to make us feel better about our trash. That's a lot of numbers of uselessness, if you ask me. And all of this so we can sit around telling ourselves that we are good people and saving the world, and meanwhile, back at the ranch, we are contributing to mountains of trash somewhere over the horizon.

Now, because of Stuff I Should Know, I am a shopper with OCD, not only checking to see if the food is something I want to eat but also if the packaging is something I want to throw away!

Sigh... Not Again

2009-01-28T22:47:00.002-05:00

it seems my doctor thinks one scar is not enough for me. she wants me to go under the knife again. maybe she feels i need to gain more symmetry through two scars. i might be wrong, maybe she wants to make my current scar bigger. you know, just in case i REALLY have to prove how tough i am. i can be all - you don't scare me, look at my scar! and no one will say, what? that little thing?

funny thing is though that, after a couple of hours in the office, i still have no idea whether or not they are going to cut me open. she pushed, i resisted and we compromised with more tests. so the standoff continues...

Get It Right!

2009-01-26T22:15:00.002-05:00

i don't ask for much, generally as a rule. on most days, if i am warm and the sun is out, i'm good. a lot of the time, people mangle my name. i mean, mangle it so much that sometimes i wonder if perhaps i am saying my name incorrectly. however, i have decided culture has something to do with it - depending on where i am people tend to destroy my name in the same way.

sometimes i think they have it right but then they send me a note and i see that, yeah, they're still off. Sometimes they go phonetic to the extreme and I get notes on my desk addressed to the likes of PahNdahVe. Or maybe to PawNdaVee (because that is how they heard it, apparently). And you know it's fine because it could be worse. My brother used to get notes addressed to Josie, which is a girl's name and sounds nothing like his name. So, yeah, I'm getting the better deal.

However, what I find absolutely unforgivable, what really gets my goat, is when people spell my name wrong when responding to emails from me! So you see my name in the address line that tells you who the email from. Then, you see my name when I sign off, probably sending you all kinds of terms of endearment. And then you click reply and proceed to decide how you feel I should spell my name. And not only do you do that, nine times out of ten you spell it in a way I have hated since I was 8. So what? You think I don't know how to spell my name, the one thing I remember since the first grade? Or maybe you think the way you do it is better. You go in and add letters and syllables and it makes me wonder if you really read my email. You can't even blame spell check because what you did, spell check won't even accept.

All I am saying is that if Eureka can tell me "It's pronounced Erica, the U is silent," and I can give her that, because that is her name, how difficult is Pandave?
If you feel you just can't type it, feel free to cut and paste.

Day One

2009-01-21T15:54:00.003-05:00

A sea of people. That is what it was. Each one of us was a drop, an excited, happy, inspired drop. Standing in it was one thing, looking up at the screen to see that it was larger than we could imagine was a moment of wonder.
There was a woman who has lived in Northern Virginia for over 20 years and yet this was the first inauguration that she was attending. After experiencing the smaller crowds on Sunday, she considered staying home and watching the festivities on television. However, when she woke up on Tuesday, she realised that there was no way she could stay home. She set out, boarded the subway and sat behind me. She gave us priceless information on how to best get a good spot when we got to the inauguration.

There was the man standing next to me on the crowded train. He was smiling with everyone else, and encouraging others to squeeze into the train car with us. He looked down at me and my coat, which was adorned with buttons I had collected during the presidential campaign. "Can I have a button, you have so many?" I hesitated - each had a story. "I'll pay you a dollar, no a dollar fifty for it." I looked down at my coat and took one off. "You can have this." "You want something for it?" "No, not at all. Enjoy it." He smiled at me, looked away and shouted "Obama button! Five dollar!!" Of course he was kidding. But I was happy - my button now had a new story.

There was the young lady standing behind us at the National Mall who kept bending down, as though she had dropped something. It was really crowded and I was worried that perhaps she was not feeling well. "Are you okay?" "I forgot to wear my socks today." I looked down and saw that she was wearing cute moccasins and, indeed, no socks. "My feet are really cold and so I am trying to cover them with my hat and keep them a little warm." "I have a foot warmer." It was true. I started out with two - I put one in my boot and felt hobbled so I put the second one, unopened, in my coat pocket. Hidef also had one and so she ended up with two foot warmers and I hope it helped. She stopped bending over to adjust her hat over her feet.

There were the many around us with whom we shared this incredible moment. We cheered as dignitaries came out onto the Capitol. Yes, some booed as our former president came out but they soon bit their tongues - there really wasn't any need anymore. It was past. Why hold on to that? We just move on. Hopefully, unlike me, the rest of the world learns from its mistakes. We smiled at the cuteness of Malia and Sasha. We roared when President Elect Barack Obama came out onto the stage. Then we were silent as first Joe Biden took his Vice Presidential oath and then Barack Obama took his Presidential oath. The elation at the reality that we now had a new President was like nothing I have ever seen before. There were tears, there was singing, there were hugs and kisses and words of relief. Then a hush as the new President made his speech.

There were so many of us, we could barely move but that was okay. We struck up conversations and made jokes as old friends do. When the announcer instructed people to stand and sit, we the people, with barely enough room to move, let alone sit, shouted back "Well, if you insist! If we must. If that's what makes you happy." When a woman standing by us was moved to make proclamations "Yes! It's time, it's time! I'm so tired. Lawd bring him in." We laughed and nodded in agreement. When we someone unable to wait any longer, squeezed by us on their way to a porta-potty, we squashed ourselves closer to strangers without complaint. And as we travelled through a wonderful rainbow of emotion, it still felt like an awesome dream.

There was the most helpful Metro man who had to stand in the frigid cold, with no bodies close to keep him warm, as he herded us into trains to set us on our way. There were the police and army men who were smiling, helpful and amazingly polite as they tried to help us as we walked in amazing masses around the capital. It's amazing how much order a little goodwill can bring.

And this morning I woke up, turned on my radio and heard reference to "President Barack Obama" and it really started to hit me - it really is a new day today.

Let's Talk About Sex, Baby

2009-01-15T16:38:00.002-05:00

I was reading the paper the other day and I saw that a 22-year old woman is auctioning off her virginity. The latest bid was $3.6 million. That's US dollars. The knee-jerk reaction is "What is wrong with people?" But I am not going to be all knee-jerky. I am going to take an objective view. Yes, I am.

Perhaps virginity is a sacred thing of great value. In fact, one might say it is priceless. Can a value even be placed on it? Isn't $3.6 million a huge bargain? Perhaps... No.

This is pure economics - supply and demand. Virginity is scarce, almost impossible to find, like a diamond or a unicorn. So it only makes sense that it would come at a high price. So if we follow the laws of economics we can... No.

Okay, Okay. So, Ms Dylan (the virgin in question) says she was inspired by her sister who paid for college by working as a prostitute. She decided that the smarter thing to do would be a one shot deal of a lifetime and, it seems she will be able to go to college for a mighty long time on those funds. Ms Dylan plans on going to college to study Family and Marriage Therapy. So this is like pre-emptive research - we are living in a pre-emptive strike world, after all. Because auctioning off her virginity to someone with a few million dollars hanging about and the desire to spend it on something special is a great study in human... No.

Maybe virginity is the cornerstone of Family and Marriage and with it we wouldn't need therapy... No.

I can't help it, I just keep coming back to "What's wrong with people?"

But you know what? If Ms Dylan's virginity can go for 3.6 million and she's only 22, what of the 107-year old Chinese virgin, Wang Guiying, who has decided that it is time for her to meet Mr. Right and get married. I mean, that is like antique virginity. Like an original Da Vinci or something. Oooh no, maybe even like relics from a Pyramid. We might be talking $700 billion virginity here. I can't believe she's not even trying to auction her virginity. Hey Ms Guiying! It's never too late to go back to college and you know it's not getting any cheaper!!