Whoa! Wonderment

August 21st is my father's birthday. I am not sure when it become tradition but I did what I have come to do every year on my father's birthday: I opened up a little box of letters from him and read a few. I laughed and I cried and I thought about how much I still miss him.

Then I got ready to go out and experience the eclipse. I made sure I made no appointments on Monday afternoon as I was determined to see this eclipse. We were only going to have a partial experience, we were told. No matter, partial is likely quite different from no eclipse at all. Because I had not ordered glasses (by the time I decided I was excited about the eclipse, I couldn't buy the glasses anywhere), so I went to a local bar that offered glasses to those who attended. By the time I got to the bar, all glasses had been given out (it seems I was not alone in snagging glasses early). I was deflated.

"Would you like to take a look?" A very kind woman offered me a peek through the glasses she was holding out to me. She didn't have to ask me twice. I put the glasses on and I looked up.

Awestruck. Silenced. Reverent. That photo doesn't begin to communicate the moment. I got even luckier when an employee gave me a pair of glasses that I was able to hold onto for the rest of the afternoon, as I watched the moon move along until it was gone.

I think I may have a new obsession. I'm already checking calendars to see when I can do this again. This moment reminded me what wonder feels like. During many many moments of cynicism and frustration, this was such an aah moment.

Rough!

Monday was a spectacularly bad day for me. It was like that flower pot in the photo. There I was, with my green shoots looking to grow and flourish and all and people just came by and treated me like a garbage can. I mean, did I look like a garbage can? Do garbage cans have potted plants growing out of them? Ugh.

But yes, Monday was just horrid. It wasn't just the train nightmare, which started with a subway track fire and affected many lines, including mine. It wasn't the very early appointment that I had to make, and I am still not a morning person. It was that, after all of that, I received devastating news. The kind of news that makes you flinch as you try to approach the memory of it, so that you can try to absorb and process it all. The kind of news whose repercussions have nothing good going for them. The kind of news you really want to find a space where you can live in complete denial of it all.

That was my Monday, dumped on, like a plant being taken for a garbage can, still flinching at the memory of it all.

The More Things Change...

A few weeks ago I went out to dinner with some friends and somehow, talk of Zimbabwean handmade paper came up. Hidef had many questions about it and wondered if he could print some of his photos on this paper (he is always on the lookout for new media for his images). I told him that I was sure that I had some of this paper at home - it may the the rule that any self-respecting Zimbabwean worth their salt must own some Zimbabwean handmade paper.

After searching the bookshelf, I found a notebook that, according to the first entry, I received as a gift on 23 December 1998. I made the entry at 7:54 PM. I am not sure why I made a note of that but it seemed important at the time. Judging also, from the entries, even back then I was not a daily journal writer.  Back then on as the year closed out I wrote down some "Proposed Resolutions"

• Get Fit - get a flat tummy (I still try to get fit, mostly so that I can finish well the races that I now run)
• Get a great new job
• Get a company car (A very Zimbabwean concept. No longer a thing here in NYC)
• Get organised - get focused. (Always a work in progress though, in many ways, I think I'm better. Then again it may just be what I tell myself in order to get by)
• Carpe Diem! (Still a philosophy I try to follow)
• Get a better flat (I think I wanted a garden. I still do)
• Have fun (YES YES YES!)

On later days in January 1999, I did also add that I must "learn to be not so tired so I can meditate without falling asleep". I read this out to hidef who tells me that the one thing I don't do well is relax, and he laughed and laughed and laughed. I do try though - I now have an official bedtime and that is a step in the right direction. I don't always get to bed on time but at least I have a goal that I strive toward attaining.

I think the analysis of the proposed resolutions and what happened is that, at the Pandave Resolution Board Meeting, I decided to focus on "Carpe Diem" and have fun and let the rest look out for itself. I mean, really, if you aren't enjoying your life and making the most of it, what are you doing??

Tick Tick What?

Yesterday they took down the massive tree over at the Rockefeller Centre. Today, as I walked to the subway, the empty dark space in the sky made it official - we are in 2013. The people who thought they could read Mayan calendars were wrong and there is no going back to 2012.

Wait, no, wait! I'm not done with 2012. I still want to mull over it a touch. I want to look it over and dance out the good times. I want to take a moment and remember it. Wanna hear it? Here it goes:

1. I spent my year listening to a LOT of NPR. A LOT. And it was fantastic. For all I thought I learnt, there was always so much much to know and be amazed by. 
2. During the first half of the year, I did quite a bit of running. I joined a running class and made some fantastic friends. Unexpected bonus! Who knew that while running so hard you can't talk, a bond can be made, a bond that is cemented by a heaving-breath, silent high five?
3. I had my first stint as a rabbit! It was AH-MAY-ZING!There I was, waiting at a little before the 7 mile mark, waiting for my new running class buddy to come by. I was nervous as heck - she had asked me to help her attain a goal time and I, who had never done this before, wanted to make sure I didn't mess up. There were so many runners that I was afraid I might not see her. Also, there were cops about and I did not want to get busted for jumping into the race like a bandit. She came up and off we went. As we ran, I could not stop smiling - her effort and resolved were incredibly inspiring. And she made her goal time! A month later, she repaid the favour - without her I don't know how I would have made it up that last hill in the race.
4. I ran my fastest half marathon and it was in Brooklyn, my home turf. Helloooo Brooklyn! 
5. Granted, I spent a week in hospital, had my stomach operated on AGAIN, but the views from my hospital room were incredible and the hospital folk took excellent care of me. 
6. My, then future, mother-in-law came to take care of me after my hospital stay (hidef had to travel for work). We spent 10 days together and, during that time, she shared parts of her life that hidef didn't even know about. It was a quality time.
7. I spent Christmas with my mother and sister! I had not done this since 2003, when my father passed away. It was so joyous to celebrate a non-orphan holiday.
8. I got married! What fun the wedding was and how great marriage is now. It's funny - we were having a ball living in sin and we are still having a ball now even though we are no longer edgy sinful bad-asses.
9. I danced, and danced, and danced some more. That ALWAYS makes life better. ALWAYS. How can one be mad while dancing to music? 
10. Even though I did not share my stories as much as I would have liked, I was still very lucky to have about me blog friends like  Dodo, Prettylyf, Oscar and El Editor, and other new ones I came across. When sanity threatened to forsake me and when things looked bleak, I went to them and they renewed my hope and belief in thoughtfulness, beauty, art and a celebration of life.

 Look at that! That's not even a tenth of the great things that happened to me last year and it all seems really darn awesome. Now I'm ready.

2013, let's do this thing.

Having the Time of Your Life...

So, what have I been up to lately? Living my life like an ABBA song... or three! On December 9th, Hidef and I said I Do, I Do, I Do to each other and it truly was one of the happiest days of my life. From beginning to end, I could not stop smiling - even during the moments where I got a little (or a lot) choked up. I still have to pinch myself - I can't believe that Hidef and I found each other. Plus, our families got along as though they had always known each other - bonus!
It is no secret that I love to dance. How can anything be bad if you have dance? If it is, then you aren't really dancing. We danced. We really danced! And it was the best. I truly was a Dancing Queen and then some and I was on the arm of the most fun Dancing King in the world. Going into this, he was not so sure about the dancing thing. Now we shall dance the rest of our lives together.

Just In Case You Were Lost

I went to a football match a while ago where the United States played against Argentina. Often during the game, the chant would rise up through the stands, "USA! USA!" I also went to watch the United States play against Brazil and again that chant was almost deafening, "USA! USA!" It mostly made sense - I thought it would be nice to have a song that folk could sing but the chant worked.

Then Osama bin Laden was killed and people gathered somewhere in the city and the chant came again, "USA! USA!" It seemed odd that a chant that was great for a sporting event was also suitable for the announcement of the death of a tyrant, and yet, apparently, it was.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, I was watching the Yankees playing baseball, aka America's pastime and the crowd broke into this chant, "USA! USA!" I was confused because the American baseball league is very American. Though they hold a "World Series", it appears that the invitations get lost in the mail because only the American teams show up. I mean there are two leagues, the American League and the National League, but both refer to the United States of America. So, what was going on? Why was the crowd chanting?

Ah! They were playing the Toronto Blue Jays, the only team in the entire league that is based outside the United States and even then, it is barely outside and I doubt they come to games as representatives of Canada. Was this really necessary? "Let's go Yankees didn't cut it, all of a sudden?" I mean it is pro-sport, not a contest pitting nations against each other.

No matter, last Sunday I headed out to Yankee Stadium to watch a football match. Chelsea was playing an exhibition game against Paris Saint Germain. It was exciting and, as I stood outside the stadium, many fans passed by singing the team songs and I smiled. I said to Hidef, "this is great! No chance of people chanting 'USA'. America is not playing today."

Of course I jinxed it. Halfway through the first half, in the stands to the right of me, a group of fans (and I used that word very loosely) broke out in the chant, "USA! USA!" WHAT? WHY?HOW?
My brain was about to malfunction and crash when those around me booed the chanters and someone said the obvious, "You know no one from the USA is playing today."
That shut them up. But I think they were confused. You should have seen their pathetic attempt at the wave.

I'm Melting! I'm Melting!

I was so tired that sitting or lying down was not enough; I needed to just dissolve into the bed. I needed to become one with the bed. I was beyond exhausted.

Yesterday was my first day back at work, after a 6 week break that included stomach surgery. Yesterday was also a Monday. I could have done with another hour of sleep but I got out of bed when the alarm went off and started getting ready for the day. Despite my plans, when I left home I was running about ten minutes late. I walked into my office to find that my carpet had been cleaned and, as a result, the fuse in the wall sockets had blown. My office had no power - I could not use my computer. I decided that this was divine intervention making sure that I could ease into my first day back. However, my coworker felt differently and rustled up a laptop and empty office for me.

The office was windowless and airless and happens to be the office that, rumour says, I am to be moved to in the near future. It is half the size of the windowed office that I share right now and yet I am supposed to continue sharing an office... but I digress. I go into this office and start up the laptop. The laptop goes rogue and, as I am trying to set this up, starts up every five minutes. I also try to connect a mouse to this rogue laptop (in between the regular power downs and power ups) and the mouse won't work. All I get is frustrated for about an hour before the fuse issue is resolved and I head back to my desk.

At this point, my body was achy from being more physical than it has been in a while, but I soldiered on. I got to noon before two members of my staff got into an argument. It seems that they skipped the childhood lessons on sharing. After 20 minutes of their bickering I just wanted to moan, while holding my head, "can't we just all get along?"

At half past three I crashed. It was not pretty. I tried to tell my body that it had to get through only another hour and a half but my body's argument was that it had given me six and a half hours, why was I being so demanding. I can't tell you how I got through that hour and a half - it is all a painful haze - but finally it was home time.

I got into the train and sat down. I looked up and saw my reflection. I mean, it looked like a man in clothing that I didn't recognise, but that exhausted, semi-comatose state was mine. I was DONE!!

Idol Time

While we are talking about mysteries, I remember one about my own life. For a year in high school, I played in a badminton league. When I was a kid, my parents were avid tennis players so they insisted that all their children learn to play. Until he passed away, my father would remind me how disappointed he was when I gave up my tennis lessons. "You had a talent, Pandave, the coach said so." Perhaps the coach saw something that I never did - I just know that my serve was atrocious.

I went through a phase when I took up squash. Serving the ball was less challenging and the game was more dynamic. I loved whacking the little ball into the wall and running madly about the court, working up a sweat. The big mystery is how badminton came into play. Did we have to play it during gym class? Did I read about it in a novel and decide to emulate the heroine? Whatever happened, I ended up knowing how to play badminton. And then I ended up in a team.

The team was made up of three girls from my high school (I was one of them) and three boys from a nearby boys' school. None of us were friends before we started playing, so I have no idea how we three were picked. We called our team Mony Mony, played mixed doubles and travelled around town, playing in a league. Did a teacher at school set up the league and, if so, why? It couldn't be that the school was trying to promote badminton because no one from school ever came to watch us play. Did I mention that we were the youngest people in this league? By far? We were pretty much going to various recreation centres around town and playing mostly retirees (occasionally we would play against people who were our parents' age). Badminton was not a cool sport to play, which may be why we were the only kids playing in this league.

There are people who write about the crazy periods in their lives when they went on drug or alcohol-fueled benders. My bender involved a racquet and a shuttlecock. I don't know how it began and I have idea how it ended. I do know that Billy Idol was a part of it and I wore a lot of little skirts.

Coming Clean

There is a show that used to be on HBO called "Taxicab Confessions". In it, people would get into a cab and proceed to share their deepest and, sometimes, darkest, secrets with the stranger who was driving them to their destination. Today, I shall slide into this booth here - a surviving peepshow booth from the red-light-district Times Square of yesteryear - and I shall make my New York Confessions. I am going to come clean:

• For ages, I believed that the subway stop "Astor Place" was where the neighbourhood of Astoria is. It turns out that Astor Place is in Manhattan and Astoria is in Queens. The train that runs to Astor Place goes nowhere near Astoria.
• I have lived in New York for over 10 years and taken the subway since I got here. I found out, only two years ago, that the entrance to downtown trains is always on the west side of the street. I was with Hidef and wondering why he always knew which entrance to use in order to get on a train (I always guessed and mostly got it incorrect). He looked at me and said, "the downtown train is always on the west side of the street." I asked how he knew and he said, "I don't know; everyone knows." Not everyone.
• I lived in New York City, in Brooklyn, for years before I realised that Brooklyn and Queens are located on Long Island. How was I to know? I mean, no one who lives in Brooklyn or Queens ever says that they live in Long Island. Also, when you go to other Long Island towns they just feel like another country. Also on Long Island? The Hamptons.
• I have lived in the same neighbourhood, in Brooklyn, since 2001 and I still am not sure exactly how to direct a cabby exactly how to get home. Over the years, I have learnt how to fake the funk by throwing in phrases like "take Atlantic Avenue" and "if traffic is heavy we can try Eastern Parkway" so it sounds as though I know what I'm talking about. In this way the cabbies does not realise that if they ask me about taking the Van Wyck, I will get the deer-in-the-headlights look and start wondering what I need to say to make sure they don't take me on the expensive scenic route.

Oh my! Exhale! That was cleansing. Yes, I am a New Yorker and there are still mysteries in the city.

You're Still There?

The other day I went to the store down the street to buy a loaf of bread. I like to buy bread that has been baked using only wheat, water, yeast and a little salt - you know the classic bread ingredients. I am not interested in "enriched" bread or bread that is modified so that it will last for 6 weeks, in the summer heat, without any mould. I mean, really, do I want to eat what mould won't dare go near?

The challenge though, with preservative-free bread, is that one has to be sure that the bread is as fresh as possible going in. Crazy as it seems, the bread with the least ingredients is the bread that costs the most and, after paying all that money, it is rather painful to get home and discover that the mould got to the bread first. In this summer humidity, the risk of this is quite high.

So, I went into the store and picked up a bag of bread. I could not find a date on it so, at the checkout counter I said to the checkout lady, "I couldn't find a date on the bread, do you know if it was baked today?"
Lady:"Yes, it is sliced."
Me: "I don't mind about that, I just wanted to be sure that it was baked today."
Lady:"Most of our customers like to buy the bread already sliced so we slice it for them."
Me:"Yes, but I am trying so find out if I can find a date for when it was baked."
Lady: "We have bread that has not been sliced if that is what you want but our customers like the bead sliced."
Me: "Oh, okay, thank you."

I picked up the bread and left quickly. My brain was sending panic signals; there was not much more it could take. How many more times can it be in a place that just doesn't make sense? I'm guessing, there is only so much I can put it through before it calls it quits.

Brooklyn, We Go Hard!

 

It was quite the journey to get to this point - the point where I ran the Brooklyn Half Marathon, back in May. I travelled back in time, through my archives to the first time I didn't run in Miami. Many things have changed and a lot has remained the same. I had a day when I had a post race photo that was not a nightmare to behold. It is funny because it is one of the most difficult races I have ever run (the hills of San Francisco will do that to you) and yet somehow the photos make me look as though I was having the best time ever.

I was very excited about running the Brooklyn Half - Brooklyn is where I live and Brooklyn is where I love. I wanted to run it last year but found myself in hospital, with a tube up my nose, during the race registration. I came out to find that the race was full and I was going to miss it. This year, I checked the website like I had OCD and, I was not alone. Once the race opened, the website crashed often because it was overwhelmed by the masses that tried to register for the race. Apparently there are many who opt to experience Brooklyn through blood, sweat and tears.

As I mentioned, there are things that have changed and things that have remained the same:

1. 13.1 miles is still a long way to run. Heck, 5 kilometres is a long way to run. Whether I run 100 metres or 13.1 miles I am exhausted at the end of it. How does that make sense?
2. It doesn't matter how many porta-potties there are, they will always come with super long lines and will always gross me out. I mean, seriously, who thought it would be smart to put the urinal right where your face goes if you need to use the toilet?
3. I ALWAYS need to pee before a race. It doesn't matter how many times I go before I leave home, I need to go just before the race starts. Sometimes more than once. It is probably because the gods know how much I hate the porta-potties and they need a good early morning laugh.
4.  My knees are more amenable about running. Thank you knees. On the other hand, my hips and feet are considering a mutiny.
5. Post race cocktails rock. Did I ever tell you about the beer I got as I crossed the finish line at the Chicago Marathon? Best idea ever, race planners, and an idea that needs to make the rounds.
6. I still have not run New York and now, due to the adventures with a scalpel that happened in my belly in June, it is very likely that I will not get to run New York this year. I am still trying to come to terms with that. Yes, I am trying to come to terms with the fact that I won't get to struggle while running 26.2 hilly miles. What is wrong with me?
7. It doesn't matter how much skin you cover with bodyglide, chafing will still find a way to make an appearance. Between your toes, right where your bra goes or under your arms, it will find that one spot that you missed.
8. As unexciting as talking about running seems, even while you are doing it, you will find yourself doing it. 
9. I love to run when I travel. I make it a point to get out and go for a run whenever I am some place new. I am going slowly enough that I can see things and yet quickly enough that I get to cover a decent amount of ground.
10. It doesn't happen all the time but, sometimes, I have a moment when everything is right - my stride feels good, whatever is playing on my iPod is lifting my spirits, the weather is perfect, the air is being kind to my lungs and the scenery is engaging. It is the best feeling ever and, anyone who sees me at that moment must think either that running is amazing or that I must be insane. Well, the nervous smiles they give me implies "insane".

It was a beautiful and sunny day, the kind of day that is perfect for a picnic and can be a killer for running. But no matter, we were running Brooklyn (even as I type I yell Brooklyn! in my head)! It was beautiful. It was awesome. To be able to run down streets that are normally congested with people rushing nowhere is a feeling I am yet to tire of. To run through the various neighbourhoods and have the people I live with out cheering me on is heartwarming. To finish on the Coney Island boardwalk, with the Atlantic Ocean stretching out into infinity is something I want to do again. Oh yes, and I managed to run my fastest time ever and, if you are going to do that, isn't it best to do it at home? So, yes Brooklyn, I did go hard. But I am also glad I have a year to psych myself up for this again.

Zoocosis!

My daily commute involves rushing up and down stairways that are never wide enough and then crowding into a train car that is always too hot (and stinky) or too cold. On lucky days I get a seat but what is guaranteed is that I and my fellow commuters are too close together. It does not make for polite society.

At times the train jerks to a stop and, after a few moments, the train's intercom crackles to life. On the rare occasions that one can actually make out the words said by the conductor (do they do that on purpose?) one gets a message that must have been scripted by someone who lives in a civil society where each person has at least a square mile of personal space. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have been delayed but will be moving shortly. Thank you for your patience." Patience? Where are we? Not even in the movies are New Yorkers on a train patient. People are busy trying not to kick, bite or punch that person who is digging their elbow into them or that kid that is kicking them in the thigh. There is that standing person who is leaning their butt into your seated face. Oh someone just spilt illegal coffee on someone else and now an argument is going on and it's not even 9 am.

It would make more sense to beg - please try not to maul each other. Finally, after years of this, an actual subway rider got a hold of the message and made a change. Now we get, "we apologise for any inconvenience caused." Of course they don't mean that - if they did we would get a more spacious commute - but at least we are being given free rein to pinch that kicking kid.

Huh? What?

I ended up spending seven nights in hospital and, during that time, I managed to work my way through a lot of reading material. This is how the reading material worked. When I prepared to go to the hospital, I packed my New Yorker magazines, a book about a programme to introduce black students to Holy Cross University, back in the '60s and other reading material that involved long paragraphs and marmalade words.

I woke up from surgery to find myself connected to an IV that supplied me with an on demand stream of pain medication. The morning following my surgery, I reached for a New Yorker and found that the words would not stay still on the page and that, after staring at the page for about ten minutes, I was still on the first sentence of a story and that sentence made no sense.  It was then that I realised that the pain medication also rendered my brain rather diminished. I had lost the ability to even pretend to be deep. Lucky for me, I have friends who had foreseen my diminished state. They arrived with piles of celebrity rags - full of pictures and very few and very short words. I was able to spend my days sitting in a chair, bathed in sunlight from the massive window in my room, paging through magazine after magazine. I was asked to wonder "who wore it best" and challenged to "get that bikini bod" even though I do not have millions of dollars and trainers at my beck and call. Even with my half functioning brain, I was sure that my brain got even smaller.

During the week I was sitting around, it was two days before I was even allowed to drink a sip of water. I then spent another three days being given only clear liquids to consume. Toward the end of my stay I graduated to mashed potato and dry grilled fish (party time!). It was not so terrible as pain in my stomach kept my appetite at bay. I was also staying in a ward for people with stomach issues so there was very little food going around and none of it was appetising.

Half way through my stay I received a visitor. She sat down to chat and said, "I brought you something to read," and pulled out a magazine. I looked at the cover "FOOD & WINE". How did that happen? Was she walking around the bookstore wondering - hmmm... what do you give the person who cannot eat or drink most things? Oh, I know, the dream of food. Show her the life she cannot have. I mean, she has been paging through a bunch of magazines where people are in dresses that cost her annual salary so this is along the same lines, right? Right?

The Skip They Do...

Double dutch? That's my dream! Ever since I was a preteen, I have wanted to learn how to. I first knew of it through a Malcolm McLaren song, aptly titled "Double Dutch." I fell in love at first sight. It looked like so much fun. I would jump away and try little tricks, imagining two friends spinning the ropes around and around. In my mind I was a champ! It was so much fund and, from that moment on, I dreamt of learning how to double dutch with actual ropes.

Last year, Hidef and I went to New Orleans for Jazz Fest and one of the features was a children's tent. I noticed on the agenda - Double Dutch! "Do you think they'll let the audience jump?" I asked Hidef, barely able to contain my excitement. There was only one way to find out. We headed to the tent, at the appointed time, and I sat on the grass, along with children a fraction of my age. What a fun show it was - a mix of teens and preteens turned their ropes and performed routines for us. I was clapping and yelling the whole time. The show ended and the jumping troupe announced that audience members were welcome to come up and try jumping the ropes. They did not have to ask me twice. I hesitated for a second only because I did not want to take space from little kids but, even though I was towards the back of the line, I got my turn. Do you see me? I was glowing for the rest of the week just from the few seconds I was able to successfully double dutch.

If I have a resolution for this year and every other year to come it is to do this as often as I can! The skip I do's the double dutch, that's me dancing!

Celebrate Good Times, Come On!

I do realise that, at this point, almost everyone would consider us quite firmly in 2012. It is the beginning of March tomorrow, after all. You know what else I realise? I realise that this is my space, my spot, my domain and so I can live in the past if that is my wish. Right now that is my wish. I feel that I did not give 2011 the sendoff and recognition it deserves.

We have New Year pomp and circumstance and it is all about making resolutions about all the things you must do in the new year to be bigger, better, faster (or in the age of the eternal diet perhaps I should say smaller?) And yet, we do not take the time to say farewell to the year past and to look at the glorious things that happened in that year. Don't folk get tired of picking at themselves, seeking what is wrong and what they need to improve on? It's time to look and love!

2011! Thank you!

• I went to New Orleans Jazz Fest. It was New Orleans so the food was delicious. It was Jazz Fest, in New Orleans, so the music was glorious. To cap it all off, Hidef proposed and that was just perfect!
• I survived a 5-day stay in the hospital. Granted, I did miss our Super Bowl party but I did get to see what an emergency room looks like in real life. The nurses were wonderful and did right by me.
• I went to Austin, Texas, and ran a in a 5 km race. I came second in my age group! Whenever I run in New York, even when I run faster than I ran in Texas, I am lucky to place in the top 50 in my age group. So, yeah, I was pretty pleased to do that well without having to trip anyone up.
• I went to Niagara Falls. I had not been in Canada since I was 6 years old and had never been to Niagara Falls. I cheered my friends on as they ran a most scenic race.
• I renewed my relationship with my incredible 3 year old cousin and his mom. What a light that has brought into our world. He is smart and funny and helps me see the world in new ways. Bonus - he calls me Big Pandave. The looks we get when we're out and about are priceless.
• My brother graduated college! My mother came to visit and I spent a summer surrounded by family from far and wide. I have three siblings and none of us live in the same state. My sister lives in a different country on a different continent. My cousins are spread out far and wide. To have a family moment is something that really cannot be put into words. Naturally, there are moments when you want to strangle them but who better to strangle than family? They understand. Oh and my family is growing too - I now have extra family via Hidef and that's welcome too.
• I smiled, a lot. Smiling and laughing are really awesome and infectious and, if you are going to resolve to do something, that's a good thing to resolve to do.
• Oh and dancing. Always with the dancing. Have you ever danced the second line in New Orleans? Have you ever rocked out in your home, when it's just you and inhibitions have been shown out? Have you ever just danced and danced and danced? I did and I did it often. And I still wished I could do it more. Music and dancing are things I can't live without.
• I fell off the wagon several times but I always came back to my writing.

There are so many other incredible and amazing things that happened. I ran races, I hung out with friends, I travelled with Hidef and went to new and old places and spaces. I fought my fear of heights and walked over boulders. I never conquered my fear of rodents but, so far, they have not given me a heart attack. Oh I see them trying, running across my path and staring at me without fear. And I can't lie, I tell myself I shall react better but I just yell and flea. Maybe one day I'll be brave. But for now I give a water toast to 2011 (I am at work so the glass of wine will have to wait) and I say - 2011 I lived you!

I am amazing and I love super and I resolve only to keep on being me!! Look out 2012, I'm ready for you now.

Like A Cancer Grow...

Oh man! What a long time it has been. And for that, I received my just desserts. So, I am going through a transition in my little world and I am discovering that transition leads to a lot of bellybutton-watching behaviour. When I hang out with my friends and, during the dullest of moments, conversation drifts to workplace conditions, everyone I know declares that I need a new job. It is not a surprise to me - even after we get past the whole "boss smoking in an office where windows are locked" thing, there are many reasons that making a move may be wise. A big one, I am discovering is the soul-crushing nature of a less than ideal workplace. None of this is helped by a totally sluggish job market. So...

I have often found myself wanting to write, because I love to write and because I can't draw to save my life. Yet, I am either too emotionally and physically drained or I fear my posts will be full of bitterness and darkness. But now that I've written that, what is wrong with a little bitterness and darkness? It is the full spectrum of emotions that make this world an interesting place. Now I know. Always the tiredness though. Oh to speak of it, I would need a divan and corseted gown. I would need to swoon on it and groan "Alas" as I sank into the the massive cushions laid, just so, on the divan. "Oh, woe is me!" I would proclaim and the world would buckle at the weight of my distress.

For my lengthy silence, the gods sent true silence upon me. On the afternoon of 2 January, my throat began to tickle. I sucked on lozenges and drank water. I gargled with salt and drank more water. On 3 January I woke up to find the frog had firmly lodged itself in my throat. I sounded like Eartha Kitt's less talented cousin. It got worse for a few days and then it started to get better. I thought of writing but produced nothing. A friend told me that my rasping non-voice was a sign that I was holding things in and needed to let them out. I needed to write everything I felt out, she ordered me. I agreed heartily and yet wrote nothing.

The gods struck again, this time silencing me completely. I was whispering. Whispering. For a week. Any attempt to vocalise resulted in breathless coughing fits. I could not call my mother for sympathy, for I could not be heard on the phone. When people spoke to me that week, they all shouted. I kept wanting to say - I can't talk but my hearing is just fine - but they could not hear me... even when I shouted. Is that irony?

As my voice crept back, "The Sound of Silence" kept playing in my head. A few days ago, as I was in the shower, I sang the song (with mixed results as my voice still lacks range) and as I sang the line,
Fools, said I you do not know,
Silence like a cancer grow

I saw that I had forgotten this and was allowing the cancer of silence to grow in me. So, I must crawl out of this dark echo chamber of silence. I must do right by the gods and use my voice. Look out world - it's about to get loud in here!

My Day Declared

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

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

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

Off The Hook!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, I mean No, I mean Yes!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ease on Down the Road...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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