Friday, July 29, 2011

Beach Oz Dream

I keep having visions of me as an old woman, maybe 70 (when I imagine "old" starts to kick in). But, that's not entirely relevant to what I am going to write next.

You see, I've been thinking about how much change has happened in my life. And of how many times I've thought "if I only knew then...," and you know the rest. The metaphor about veils being lifted has been so true and remarkable during my 38 splendid and terrible years.

In this regard, I dream that by 70 - or 80 - I will be given the secrets to the universe. Or, maybe just on my deathbed. Scratch that last remark.

I see myself with feet tied to the earth's core and hands that branch up to the stars. I am not a goddess or anything, but God has whispered in my dreams. She's played chess with my ego and gin with my subconscious. She has told me not to pass it on yet, but that every old woman becomes [some secret wonderfulness] and that heaven looks like [something amazing I could never share]. That those wrinkles digging down to my bones have been like rings on a tree, earning me enough tokens to look behind the red velvet curtain, to see up the magician's sleeve. (Yes, there is Wizard of Oz-ism oozing all over this).


"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? Then, we wouldn't have to wait so long?" I think I'd rewrite those Beach Boy lyrics to be: "Wouldn't it be nice if I could know now what I will know then." But, that's not entirely right either.

Wouldn't it be nice to know the final veil will lift. That we'll have that ultimate "Ah ha!" moment, and that it will be more than a beautiful dream.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Dear Blog,

We've been getting rather close in recent months, and I enjoy your company more and more. I feel connected to you in an inexplicable way. Lately, you've really been bringing out my sense of humor, and I appreciate that (although, who knows if our readers do...).

However, I am interested in something else too, and I wasn't quite expecting it. It's taken me by surprise really. No, it's not sewing. Haha. Who has time during Asher's naptime to sew? I found....a book. This is a special book, mind you. And, I didn't think one could suck me in like this right now; it's a rare situation. (To anyone reading, the book is Water for Elephants.)

You know those books that just grab you on the very first page? Well, this is one of them. What can I say? Don't worry, though, I will still write in your text boxes as often as possible. I still need you too.

Now that that's settled, it's time for me to...step out for a bit. ; )

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Who are the Joneses Anyway?

Have I mentioned guilt recently? I hope not. Gosh, I'd feel so guilty if I had. I ask you this mainly because I often feel I am repeating myself over and over, as if there are certain subjects which keep emerging to the center of my thoughts - and blog - every couple of months. As I was saying, have I mentioned guilt?

Seriously now, for ages, people have been writing and discussing the guilt which woman in particular seem to carry like a saddle bag. What becomes clearer to me the more I talk to other mommy friends is the sense of not doing enough. Because, motherhood just isn't enough by itself.

OK, it isn't enough by itself, exactly. However, if you've never had kids, being a stay-at-home mom is what I imagine an on-call ER doctor's life might be like. Essentially, breaks are few and far between. And, while "on duty," you never know how long those quiet moments will last. Like right now. At any moment, I could be called into action due to some immediate, urgent need in the next room.

Even though this is the reality for every stay-at-home mom whom I know, we all keep discussing how we could or should or would be doing more. We could be reading that great author's new novel; we could be sewing new clothes for ourselves; we could be gardening; we could be building Noah's ark....

To bring it down to earth even further - and much further than that last example - we could simply be getting clothes put away when they come out of the dryer. Or dishes put in the dishwasher by dinnertime.

We all ask each other questions like "are you doing this?" "Do you have time to...?" For me, I ask these questions because my sense of "not doing enough" can feel as heavy as the women's suffrage movement - all those protesters on my back. We've come so far, ladies, but the weight of guilt is still keeping us down. Keeping us back from a freedom which no politician can grant us.

For me, I think the real freedom begins when the guilt ends. When I stop trying to keep up with some other time period's Joneses.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Do Bobbleheads have a God?

I am sorry. I've neglected to respond to your email and can't remember if you sent it this month or last. I also haven't called in two or six months, and will probably ask you some of the same questions when we speak next. In what town are you living? Who is your current boyfriend/husband/child? (Realization that not all of those nouns fit with the adjective "current.")


Forgive me for writing in this blog instead of writing to you, dear friend. It's not that I want to lose touch, probably; it's likelier that half of my head is now bobbling (word?) on a stick, as if I am Jesus atop a nice Christian's dashboard. Christian context aside, that image is not far off from the truth. By the way, I think it's completely fine if you like those Jesus bobbleheads, or if you are an avid (?) Christian. But, hiding a camera inside one, as if you are a Mexican drug lord, is not very cool (Anyone watch Weeds?).

Paradoxically, I am still rather sharp. In fact, my husband sometimes tells me I am wittier now than I was before my son's birth. 'How can that be?,' I think to myself. On so many occasions, I leave a room only to wonder why I am now holding my purse and searching on the floor. What am I looking for again? My head is blank. I am suddenly unsure what day it is, or if I have been drugged. Is my child still in the room? Oh, phew. He is right there.

Dizzy, cloudy-feeling lifts, as my lens starts to focus. Oh, yeah. Ok. Spoon. That's what it was! Asher's spoon fell on the floor in here somewhere. (This is his love object, in case you are curious). My purpose in life hardens; the knots in my belly soften. The worry that I am going insane...well, this could be a jello consistency.

I treasure you, dear one (probably). And, I thank you for being willing to stay "close." Now, with all due respect, can you get out of here so I can sleep!? Why are you even awake? Shouldn't you be working, studying, cleaning the bathroom? Catching up on The Food Network Star? Praising God, or Jesus, or your bobblehead god for you blessings?

You should call a friend or write your mother.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

And So it Goes

"And so it goes," as Billy Pilgrim, says. (I never finished that book by the way, and I know that puts Kurt Vonnegut to shame. To be even more honest, I am pretty sure it's from Slaughterhouse Five, but I can't be entirely sure. For a Psych major turned English teacher, you'd think I'd know.) Wow, that was a long parenthetical note.

So many thoughts of the world and all of its contents in my head. A mother's escape from death row. The nation's sadness at the shuttle's final mission.

To comment on the mommy escaping jail, my main thought is: it's not the first time a crazy mom was found innocent. And, is that so bad? Really? Aren't there much worse criminals on the loose? Aren't there also too many innocent folks convicted of crimes they don't commit, as it is? Outrage is so often wasted.

The shuttle's finality is sad, but no one keeps eating sushi and going to resorts when they're picking up unemployment checks.

Is all of this cynical? Jaded? The emotions we feel about these situations are valid, but what are we really sad or angry about? That the world won't be the way it "was?" That time changes things? That people commit crimes? Are these new ideas?

I am not entirely sure what this entry is about exactly. Just that, isn't it more interesting that we throw our arms up in the air in outrage when predictable events occur?

When the world operates as it always does. When things just plain don't go our way.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Just Add Basil

Food. Need I say more? Food has taken on all new heights in my life since giving birth. In fact, I think post-pregnancy has brought out the "foodie" (although food fiend seems to fit better) in me even more than pregnancy did.

No one told me that nursing would bring on a raving lunatic for an appetite. Actually, the crazed monster has subsided quite a bit in recent months. I finally realized that eating for three does in fact add weight to your body, even when one is nursing. Eventually, we all have to recognize our over-indulgences. Keeping a tiny human alive does not indeed mean a lady has to replace her plate with a trough. 

Ironically, in a sense, as I practice eating less and eating healthier, my love of cooking is reaching a new stage. I think we might be going steady soon - in particular, my relationship with veggies. Did you know that olive oil and balsamic vinegar can even make beets taste like raspberries? Or that hummus turns celery into lemon drops?

And basil. When added to a tuna salad with a little tomato and a sprinkle of alfalfa sprouts....like a sweet summer kiss upon a shaded porch.

Cooking is the love I've neglected for some time. And now that she's getting more attention, our creative energy can emerge. Egg salad on the fly, buttery baked potato chips for the whole family, or blended up veggies for a unique burger.

Now, Asher and I can have our kitchen play dates, where he plays with bowls and spoons, and I...play with bowls and spoons. As I stir the contents of my produce drawer into a pot, he stirs his wooden rings round and round with a plastic spoon.

Ring around the rosy at its best.