It's 7am on a Saturday, and I'm up. This is partially due to the fact that I went to bed reasonably early last night because I am sick (just a cold). But this is also partially due to the fact that I woke up out of what must be classified as my first wedding anxiety dream. I'll tell you about it.
I was at the home of my great-aunt Erna (RIP)- this house no longer exists, because it was torn down along with the whole neighborhood when an business park went up. Anyway... we were back in that house, and I can see it clear as day. I was there with my Dad and my Step-mom. It was the day of the wedding, and I was supposed to be getting dressed. We were in the front living room, which was for some reason absolutely covered in cat hair (they used to have a cat, but, the place was never covered in cat hair that I remember). I was sitting on the couch and Malda was getting the dress out. I saw the veil first- it was a dingy yellow and full of weird holes- like holes that were sort of meant to be there, but, the veil wasn't supposed to have any holes in it!
Around this point in the dream, I start crying. Just a little bit at first. Then, I realized that I had a baby in my arms- a tiny, tiny newborn! And the baby was looking at me with these really big aware eyes, wondering why I was crying.
But then the dress came out... now, I don't want to say too much about what my dress is supposed to look like (my dress is strapless...), but as soon as Malda took this dress out, I let out a howl of despair. The dress had lace sleeves and shoulders- and it all attached to what used to be my strapless dress with a big ole thick white band of velcro. The dress looked dingy and old as well. I kept crying, and the baby was looking at me so sad. I was trying to comfort the baby, giving it lots of kisses on the head, but I could not stop crying.
Thankfully I woke up then, and rolled over to cuddle into Joel. But then it was hot, and I had to pee, and I got up. :)
So, I guess it's started. From what I've heard from my friends, no bride makes it through planning her wedding without anxiety dreams. So yeah, there you go... now I'm going to nap on the couch, because getting up at 7 on a Saturday is just not right. :)
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Book club tonight!
Here on campus we have a book club. I think I've mentioned it before, but I'll tell you about it, in case you've forgotten. :)
It's not a regular kind of book club. We meet once a month, and everyone brings books, or movies, or magazines, or well, just about anything else entertaining and not available in Angola that they are willing to lend someone else! See because, it's not very easy to come by books (or any of that other stuff) in English here in Luanda. Riga had LOADS of English language books compared to what you can get here. So, we do the book club the way we do it- and it's good. Everyone brings their stuff, everyone takes a turn telling about at least one book that they have brought and we talk. Of course, it's as much an excuse for a social call as to get a new book.
The thing is, there is one other major part of Book Club- the food and drink. Book Club has always been a kind of a potluck thing- bring a snack or a bottle to share kind of thing. Well, for those of us who LIKE to cook/bake, it's an excuse to do so. So some people who don't particularly like to cook/bake just bring a bottle of wine- which is fine. But if you're like me, you bring not just one, but two freshly homemade dishes. :) What other excuse would I ever have to make this stuff otherwise?!?
Funny, looking at that picture, they actually look like they could be some kind of savory fried cheese or fish ball or something. Well, they aren't- it's just coconut and condensed milk basically- with a couple stiffly (hand-)beaten eggs whites and some vanilla for good measure. So easy! Although the macaroons did not get eaten during the book club meeting, when it was home time, everyone took 5 or 6 for home, several people exclaiming that they were lovely. :)
Have I mentioned that I love to cook, but, sometimes, I make things I don't like (I wasn't a huge fan of the macaroons, mostly because I don't like that much coconut without chocolate), or that I like too much and need out of the house? I love these occasions when I can get away with cooking/baking and then not getting stuck eating it all myself. It's a good thing. :)
Oh, and the other fun part about book club tonight was bringing along and showing off my Kindle. At the last meeting, before the holidays, I had mentioned that I was getting one for Christmas. We all talked about whether or not we would like one, if we would use it, etc. Even though I had ordered it, I still wasn't sure if I would like it, or want to use it. Well, if I haven't mentioned it, I do love mine. I have read 3 and a half books on it already, and I don't miss having a paper book at all. I do have several books in hard copy to read, and of course I will- but I will definitely continue to buy books for my Kindle- if only because they are cheaper than hard copy books as well! :) I don't know that I talked anyone into buying a Kindle tonight- well, I wasn't REALLY trying, after all, I don't care what form people read in- but I think they were all fairly impressed by my little machine, and all that it does.
It's not a regular kind of book club. We meet once a month, and everyone brings books, or movies, or magazines, or well, just about anything else entertaining and not available in Angola that they are willing to lend someone else! See because, it's not very easy to come by books (or any of that other stuff) in English here in Luanda. Riga had LOADS of English language books compared to what you can get here. So, we do the book club the way we do it- and it's good. Everyone brings their stuff, everyone takes a turn telling about at least one book that they have brought and we talk. Of course, it's as much an excuse for a social call as to get a new book.
The thing is, there is one other major part of Book Club- the food and drink. Book Club has always been a kind of a potluck thing- bring a snack or a bottle to share kind of thing. Well, for those of us who LIKE to cook/bake, it's an excuse to do so. So some people who don't particularly like to cook/bake just bring a bottle of wine- which is fine. But if you're like me, you bring not just one, but two freshly homemade dishes. :) What other excuse would I ever have to make this stuff otherwise?!?
Do not be afraid of the color of this. It was delicious! Pea Pesto on Crostini (or something along those lines...)- several people commented it would be good for a St. Patrick's Day party or some other thing that you need green food for. It was super easy to make, and I really liked it. Taken from the cookbook the Dandenong Smedes got me for Christmas. Thanks!
Our school librarian sends out an email every week with library updates. At first I didn't really read these updates- whatever your profession, you know that there are emails you get that are regular, and you know won't change your life, and can in fact be deleted without being read. I thought the library updates were like this in the beginning. But then, one day when I suppose I had nothing better to do, and decided to read the update, I saw that the librarian had included a list of new adult books and dvds that had come into the library- including a movie I had been wanting to see for a long time. I was so happy- rushed to the library at my first free moment and got the movie to watch over the weekend. So needless to say, I read every library update now, looking for the lists of new stuff that has come in.
This week the update included a list of new stuff, which included the book, The Joy of Cooking. I have never used this cookbook/reference book, but was so excited to see another cookbook that I ran for it again as soon as I could the next morning. I spent every free moment that day flipping through pages upon pages of recipes, interesting facts about food, etc- The Joy of Cooking is MUCH MORE than just a cookbook. In the end I came across one recipe that caught my eye because I KNEW I had 3/4 of the ingredients, and could get the last one. :)
This week the update included a list of new stuff, which included the book, The Joy of Cooking. I have never used this cookbook/reference book, but was so excited to see another cookbook that I ran for it again as soon as I could the next morning. I spent every free moment that day flipping through pages upon pages of recipes, interesting facts about food, etc- The Joy of Cooking is MUCH MORE than just a cookbook. In the end I came across one recipe that caught my eye because I KNEW I had 3/4 of the ingredients, and could get the last one. :)
So, Coconut Macaroons it was:
Funny, looking at that picture, they actually look like they could be some kind of savory fried cheese or fish ball or something. Well, they aren't- it's just coconut and condensed milk basically- with a couple stiffly (hand-)beaten eggs whites and some vanilla for good measure. So easy! Although the macaroons did not get eaten during the book club meeting, when it was home time, everyone took 5 or 6 for home, several people exclaiming that they were lovely. :)
Have I mentioned that I love to cook, but, sometimes, I make things I don't like (I wasn't a huge fan of the macaroons, mostly because I don't like that much coconut without chocolate), or that I like too much and need out of the house? I love these occasions when I can get away with cooking/baking and then not getting stuck eating it all myself. It's a good thing. :)
Oh, and the other fun part about book club tonight was bringing along and showing off my Kindle. At the last meeting, before the holidays, I had mentioned that I was getting one for Christmas. We all talked about whether or not we would like one, if we would use it, etc. Even though I had ordered it, I still wasn't sure if I would like it, or want to use it. Well, if I haven't mentioned it, I do love mine. I have read 3 and a half books on it already, and I don't miss having a paper book at all. I do have several books in hard copy to read, and of course I will- but I will definitely continue to buy books for my Kindle- if only because they are cheaper than hard copy books as well! :) I don't know that I talked anyone into buying a Kindle tonight- well, I wasn't REALLY trying, after all, I don't care what form people read in- but I think they were all fairly impressed by my little machine, and all that it does.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
I have a person
Alright, this gets right down to the nitty-gritty, so if you're not into hearing my nitty-gritty, then go ahead and stop reading. It's a been a while since I wrote a post like this one, so, here goes...
I've recently started seeing a therapist- ok, well, I don't so much see her as talk to her via my computer once a week. I've had 4-5 sessions now, and I'm really enjoying the work we do together. Where with my last therapist, I mostly just talked, with this lady, I'm actually actively working on healing old hurts, and moving past them. Turns out, looking for "my person" started when I was about 5.
As you all know, my parents divorced about this same time. I'm interested to talk to my mom and dad and find out some more details as to how it all actually went down, how much they told us kids, how much they worried about supporting us, etc. The thing is, I can only imagine, my mom was only about 8-9 years older than I am now (dad only 6-7) when she went through it, so, I can't blame them for not being able to support us they way they maybe should have.
What I uncovered tonight through my work with my therapist, is that when it all went down, I felt very alone- I didn't feel like anyone was supporting me, letting me know what was going on, etc. I had the impression (as a 6 year old might), not that it was my fault, but that, I was supposed to know how to deal with what was going on. From what I could tell, my brothers didn't seem to be having any problems (I'm sure that is SO not true!), so why was I? It seemed that I was stupid or slow or something for not being able to deal with this situation. All I wanted at that time, was someone who would spend some time with me, hear me, love me, be with me, and acknowledge what was going on. If only boys dealt with emotions the same way girls did, I might have had that in my brothers- but, alas, I decided then and there, that I didn't have a person- that nobody knew how I felt, maybe no one cared. For those of you who knew me when, you know that I pretty much locked myself away in my room from about age 8-12 reading books. It was better to be on my own, safe lost in the world of the Babysitters Club or Sweet Valley High than out there is this big unsafe world where the bottom can just fall out at any moment.
The saddest thing was, that because we moved from Indianapolis to Kalamazoo at this time of my life, I actually physically lost my person. My person until the age of 6 when we moved away to Kalamazoo, was my great-aunt Alisite. From years of my childhood that I spent in Indy (birth to age 6), I have far more memories at her house than anywhere else in Indy. I dare say I even have more memories with her, than with anyone else from those years. We spent a lot of time together; she was my babysitter quite often, but I think I spent time with her because I wanted to as well. Maybe I'm making that up (maybe I've blocked out other memories), but in any case, you can be sure that I was happy to be there when I was there.
She was a person who loved me unconditionally, and she let me know that, in the way that possibly only a grandparent-type figure can. The best memories with her are from our mornings. I would come padding down the plastic runner that bisected her dining room to the sun room- where she would always pretend that I had snuck up on her, that she hadn't heard me coming. When I got there she would take me in her lap, often letting me crawl into the warm folds of her dressing gown, wrapped in layers of flannel. We would sit, very still, watching the birds come to the feeder just outside the window. We would talk about my dreams from the night before, about plans for the day, about my thoughts, feelings- well anything! They were quiet moments, when it seemed it was just the two of us in the world. Never have I felt so safe, so loved, so known.
When we moved away from Indianapolis, I didn't just lose my sense of safety, I lost my person- the person who would have taken the time to be with me, to let me know that what was going on wasn't my fault, or that I didn't have to like it, or know how to deal with it (all of which I didn't, but thought I should).
It makes sense that for years after that I often declared quite assuredly, nonchalantly, that I believed divorce was a good thing- because living with parents who don't get along is worse than the alternative. I believed that I was better off, because this was a belief that I had established and talked myself into way back when.
It also makes more sense than anything that throughout my whole life, whenever I have approached a milestone (an important birthday, a graduation) or even thought about important milestones (a wedding, my first child being born) there is only one person who ABSOLUTELY MUST BE THERE. And you guessed it, that would be my Alisite. I actually remember when I was young having nightmares that she had died- one could easily interpret that to mean that my whole sense of love and safety was at stake.
Today, she is 90 years old- approaching her 91st in just over a couple of months. She still lives on her own, and is mentally as there as she ever was. Of course, her body is no longer carrying her the way it used to, and if I were to sit in her lap today, I would crush her- but none the less, when I do get to see her, I love spending hours talking to her, hearing what she has to say, listening to her remember times when I was little, and times before my time. I enjoy sharing with her about my life, and hope that she is proud. I wish more than anything, that I could afford to see her more often. Everyone knows that any time I get to the States, there is one trip that I must make, that is not negotiable, which is the 3 hour drive from Kazoo down to Indy to spend the day with my great-aunt.
I know she won't make it to Mexico, and I have only a tiny sliver of hope that she might choose to be packed into a car with my aunt and uncle to drive up for the party we are having in Kazoo before the wedding. If she is not up to it, there is no question, that while Joel and I are in the States over the summer, before or after the wedding, we, certainly I, will take a trip down to see her.
So, I have a person. But when I lost her when I was little, I also tucked away pieces of myself that didn't seem safe any more- being spontaneous and outgoing, the ability to have carefree fun, to trust that I am known and understood. All of that was way too dangerous when at any moment, the very foundation of life as I knew it could fall away.
So tonight, I worked, through regression therapy to be exact, on reclaiming the parts of myself that I locked away. I spoke to the scared little girl that I once was, and let her know that well, I am here, and I am willing to be there for her- to heal the pain that was never dealt with more than 20 years ago. I visualized the joyful, carefree child I was, and welcomed this part of me to be expressed once again.
It's been an emotional night to say the least. A lot of tears were shed, a lot of feelings relived. But at the end, I see that, if I can reclaim all the pieces of me that I have shut down at one time or another, I don't actually need a person, because I have myself. And of course, it goes without saying, that while I still have the time, and the opportunities, I will be with the person who was my original person.
(See how my eyes shine when I'm with her? It's what your person does to you.)
I've recently started seeing a therapist- ok, well, I don't so much see her as talk to her via my computer once a week. I've had 4-5 sessions now, and I'm really enjoying the work we do together. Where with my last therapist, I mostly just talked, with this lady, I'm actually actively working on healing old hurts, and moving past them. Turns out, looking for "my person" started when I was about 5.
As you all know, my parents divorced about this same time. I'm interested to talk to my mom and dad and find out some more details as to how it all actually went down, how much they told us kids, how much they worried about supporting us, etc. The thing is, I can only imagine, my mom was only about 8-9 years older than I am now (dad only 6-7) when she went through it, so, I can't blame them for not being able to support us they way they maybe should have.
What I uncovered tonight through my work with my therapist, is that when it all went down, I felt very alone- I didn't feel like anyone was supporting me, letting me know what was going on, etc. I had the impression (as a 6 year old might), not that it was my fault, but that, I was supposed to know how to deal with what was going on. From what I could tell, my brothers didn't seem to be having any problems (I'm sure that is SO not true!), so why was I? It seemed that I was stupid or slow or something for not being able to deal with this situation. All I wanted at that time, was someone who would spend some time with me, hear me, love me, be with me, and acknowledge what was going on. If only boys dealt with emotions the same way girls did, I might have had that in my brothers- but, alas, I decided then and there, that I didn't have a person- that nobody knew how I felt, maybe no one cared. For those of you who knew me when, you know that I pretty much locked myself away in my room from about age 8-12 reading books. It was better to be on my own, safe lost in the world of the Babysitters Club or Sweet Valley High than out there is this big unsafe world where the bottom can just fall out at any moment.
The saddest thing was, that because we moved from Indianapolis to Kalamazoo at this time of my life, I actually physically lost my person. My person until the age of 6 when we moved away to Kalamazoo, was my great-aunt Alisite. From years of my childhood that I spent in Indy (birth to age 6), I have far more memories at her house than anywhere else in Indy. I dare say I even have more memories with her, than with anyone else from those years. We spent a lot of time together; she was my babysitter quite often, but I think I spent time with her because I wanted to as well. Maybe I'm making that up (maybe I've blocked out other memories), but in any case, you can be sure that I was happy to be there when I was there.
She was a person who loved me unconditionally, and she let me know that, in the way that possibly only a grandparent-type figure can. The best memories with her are from our mornings. I would come padding down the plastic runner that bisected her dining room to the sun room- where she would always pretend that I had snuck up on her, that she hadn't heard me coming. When I got there she would take me in her lap, often letting me crawl into the warm folds of her dressing gown, wrapped in layers of flannel. We would sit, very still, watching the birds come to the feeder just outside the window. We would talk about my dreams from the night before, about plans for the day, about my thoughts, feelings- well anything! They were quiet moments, when it seemed it was just the two of us in the world. Never have I felt so safe, so loved, so known.
When we moved away from Indianapolis, I didn't just lose my sense of safety, I lost my person- the person who would have taken the time to be with me, to let me know that what was going on wasn't my fault, or that I didn't have to like it, or know how to deal with it (all of which I didn't, but thought I should).
It makes sense that for years after that I often declared quite assuredly, nonchalantly, that I believed divorce was a good thing- because living with parents who don't get along is worse than the alternative. I believed that I was better off, because this was a belief that I had established and talked myself into way back when.
It also makes more sense than anything that throughout my whole life, whenever I have approached a milestone (an important birthday, a graduation) or even thought about important milestones (a wedding, my first child being born) there is only one person who ABSOLUTELY MUST BE THERE. And you guessed it, that would be my Alisite. I actually remember when I was young having nightmares that she had died- one could easily interpret that to mean that my whole sense of love and safety was at stake.
Today, she is 90 years old- approaching her 91st in just over a couple of months. She still lives on her own, and is mentally as there as she ever was. Of course, her body is no longer carrying her the way it used to, and if I were to sit in her lap today, I would crush her- but none the less, when I do get to see her, I love spending hours talking to her, hearing what she has to say, listening to her remember times when I was little, and times before my time. I enjoy sharing with her about my life, and hope that she is proud. I wish more than anything, that I could afford to see her more often. Everyone knows that any time I get to the States, there is one trip that I must make, that is not negotiable, which is the 3 hour drive from Kazoo down to Indy to spend the day with my great-aunt.
I know she won't make it to Mexico, and I have only a tiny sliver of hope that she might choose to be packed into a car with my aunt and uncle to drive up for the party we are having in Kazoo before the wedding. If she is not up to it, there is no question, that while Joel and I are in the States over the summer, before or after the wedding, we, certainly I, will take a trip down to see her.
So, I have a person. But when I lost her when I was little, I also tucked away pieces of myself that didn't seem safe any more- being spontaneous and outgoing, the ability to have carefree fun, to trust that I am known and understood. All of that was way too dangerous when at any moment, the very foundation of life as I knew it could fall away.
So tonight, I worked, through regression therapy to be exact, on reclaiming the parts of myself that I locked away. I spoke to the scared little girl that I once was, and let her know that well, I am here, and I am willing to be there for her- to heal the pain that was never dealt with more than 20 years ago. I visualized the joyful, carefree child I was, and welcomed this part of me to be expressed once again.
It's been an emotional night to say the least. A lot of tears were shed, a lot of feelings relived. But at the end, I see that, if I can reclaim all the pieces of me that I have shut down at one time or another, I don't actually need a person, because I have myself. And of course, it goes without saying, that while I still have the time, and the opportunities, I will be with the person who was my original person.
Alisite and I, March 2008
(See how my eyes shine when I'm with her? It's what your person does to you.)Sunday, January 25, 2009
Do you have "a person"?
On one of my favorite TV shows, Meredith calls Christina "her person". She is the person that she goes to when she has problems; the person she knows will be there for her to talk, to laugh, to cry, to dance it out, if need be. I imagine that if Mere and Christina needed to travel, it would be assumed that they would share a hotel room. On a Friday night, neither worries, because they both know that if nothing else, they can hang out together. They are each other's person. (Just to be clear, your person isn't your significant other, maybe even shouldn't be- it is that other person, besides your partner, that is your person.)
I think the last time I had a person, was, no shit, in like grade 7 and 8 when I was joined at the hip with my old friend T. T and I reunited earlier this year when I was in Michigan, and it turns out that we no longer have as much in common as we did back then- but I tell you what, in grade 7 and 8, we were each other's person. We did everything together. In fact, once our friendship solidified (which took only a short time I'm sure) we spent basically every day together. In those two years of school, we actually even spent the night at each other's houses almost every day of the school year. We were good kids, we did our homework together, we mostly went to bed on time- and if we were together in the morning, only one of our parents had to worry about getting us to school, so it worked out for everyone. T and I shared everything- from our joys to our fears, our trials with boys- from heartbreak to first kiss, to first REAL kiss (I suppose those were in reverse order). We shared issues about our parents, our siblings, other friends. T started learning Latvian from just being around it. We celebrated together when she finally got her period. You can have a person when you're in middle school- and I did. T was my person.
But T and I drifted apart, and for various reasons, by the time high school was in full swing, we were still friends, but definitely no longer each other's person. I was person-less.
When I fell in love with A, D & T (not *that* kind of love- girlfriend love!), I had 3 persons- sort of. Although my friendships with A, D and T were all different, and close in different ways, at different times- throughout high school I had them, even though they were not a part of my every day life. It was ok, because we all lived in 4 separate towns, and we all had our lives outside us 4, but we had each other in all the same way. Through letters (yes, real letters), care packages, emails, and occasional visits, we remained each other's sort-of persons. But this was a strange situation, because while it was an understanding on a deep level- not seeing each other for months, sometimes years at a time, and then picking right back up like we were together yesterday- it did not serve the every day purpose of your personness.
And anyway something changed again. We all grew up. Men became a bigger (too big?) part of our lives. We made other friends. We were separated by not just distance, but new responsibilities, other interests. I dare say, that it changed already then. Even now, all three girls retain a special, special place in my heart, but they were no longer my person, sort-of or otherwise.
There are other women who have come through my life- two As, one K- women that I have leaned on, shared with, lived with- who were (are) a seriously special part of my life- and I hope they feel the same way about me. Everyone is elsewhere though. Everyone has their own thing going on.
I know that having a person requires two way effort. I know that I have chosen to live quite far away from my friends. I think this has been the greatest challenge of living abroad for me. Your family will always be there when you go home- there is no question of that. But friendships change, and people grow apart, and you cannot just assume they will be there when you've been gone for 6 years. Of course I am lucky that until now, my friends are still there when I go home. But it is really hard to keep up with people. Every day life gets the best of you- you can't share all the little details. Time differences wreak havoc on communication. The cost of travel leaves two year spaces between visits. Pregnancies, husbands, children come into pictures and even years after the fact, some of these things are not mutually witnessed.
I can't wallow in self-pity, (that is not what I meant this post to be) because I know I have chosen this life. And I know that I do what I can to stay in touch with my friends. I do miss them all terribly, and I try to let them know that. I do the best I can with Joel- but he's my partner, my significant other, maybe my best friend, and just not my person. I mean, he's serving as my person now, but, sometimes, he just doesn't do that good a job. Just last night I tried to talk to him about something, and he said right away, "I'm not good at these kinds of talks. I give bad advice." He knows he can't be my person. I don't think it's healthy to have one human be your everything- we need different people for different purposes. Joel is a wonderful partner, he'll be a wonderful father, and that is enough- he doesn't have to be my person too.
The thing is, having lived abroad for as long as I have, and in as many different cities, I have seen lots of people come and go from schools (let's face it, they have been my community base), and lots of them have found a person. Maybe they still have a person back home as well- but they have a person for daily life too.
I guess what I'm wondering is, why haven't I been able to find a person since 8th grade? If I came close in the years before I left the US, I certainly haven't since. Please don't leave my comments box full of reasons why people wouldn't like me- this is sort of a rhetorical question.
It's a reason to navel gaze though- a reason to look inwards and ponder choices and actions. Maybe it's just chance- two such compatible souls coming together in a world so big and all that. Or maybe I only imagine that others don't feel the way I do. Maybe I only imagine that other people have a person- maybe other people feel alone too. Maybe it is going to take something bigger, more, well, something, I don't know.
Can I take out a want ad? Not-single White Female looking for her person. Do you have a person? Maybe I don't want to know.
I think the last time I had a person, was, no shit, in like grade 7 and 8 when I was joined at the hip with my old friend T. T and I reunited earlier this year when I was in Michigan, and it turns out that we no longer have as much in common as we did back then- but I tell you what, in grade 7 and 8, we were each other's person. We did everything together. In fact, once our friendship solidified (which took only a short time I'm sure) we spent basically every day together. In those two years of school, we actually even spent the night at each other's houses almost every day of the school year. We were good kids, we did our homework together, we mostly went to bed on time- and if we were together in the morning, only one of our parents had to worry about getting us to school, so it worked out for everyone. T and I shared everything- from our joys to our fears, our trials with boys- from heartbreak to first kiss, to first REAL kiss (I suppose those were in reverse order). We shared issues about our parents, our siblings, other friends. T started learning Latvian from just being around it. We celebrated together when she finally got her period. You can have a person when you're in middle school- and I did. T was my person.
But T and I drifted apart, and for various reasons, by the time high school was in full swing, we were still friends, but definitely no longer each other's person. I was person-less.
When I fell in love with A, D & T (not *that* kind of love- girlfriend love!), I had 3 persons- sort of. Although my friendships with A, D and T were all different, and close in different ways, at different times- throughout high school I had them, even though they were not a part of my every day life. It was ok, because we all lived in 4 separate towns, and we all had our lives outside us 4, but we had each other in all the same way. Through letters (yes, real letters), care packages, emails, and occasional visits, we remained each other's sort-of persons. But this was a strange situation, because while it was an understanding on a deep level- not seeing each other for months, sometimes years at a time, and then picking right back up like we were together yesterday- it did not serve the every day purpose of your personness.
And anyway something changed again. We all grew up. Men became a bigger (too big?) part of our lives. We made other friends. We were separated by not just distance, but new responsibilities, other interests. I dare say, that it changed already then. Even now, all three girls retain a special, special place in my heart, but they were no longer my person, sort-of or otherwise.
There are other women who have come through my life- two As, one K- women that I have leaned on, shared with, lived with- who were (are) a seriously special part of my life- and I hope they feel the same way about me. Everyone is elsewhere though. Everyone has their own thing going on.
I know that having a person requires two way effort. I know that I have chosen to live quite far away from my friends. I think this has been the greatest challenge of living abroad for me. Your family will always be there when you go home- there is no question of that. But friendships change, and people grow apart, and you cannot just assume they will be there when you've been gone for 6 years. Of course I am lucky that until now, my friends are still there when I go home. But it is really hard to keep up with people. Every day life gets the best of you- you can't share all the little details. Time differences wreak havoc on communication. The cost of travel leaves two year spaces between visits. Pregnancies, husbands, children come into pictures and even years after the fact, some of these things are not mutually witnessed.
I can't wallow in self-pity, (that is not what I meant this post to be) because I know I have chosen this life. And I know that I do what I can to stay in touch with my friends. I do miss them all terribly, and I try to let them know that. I do the best I can with Joel- but he's my partner, my significant other, maybe my best friend, and just not my person. I mean, he's serving as my person now, but, sometimes, he just doesn't do that good a job. Just last night I tried to talk to him about something, and he said right away, "I'm not good at these kinds of talks. I give bad advice." He knows he can't be my person. I don't think it's healthy to have one human be your everything- we need different people for different purposes. Joel is a wonderful partner, he'll be a wonderful father, and that is enough- he doesn't have to be my person too.
The thing is, having lived abroad for as long as I have, and in as many different cities, I have seen lots of people come and go from schools (let's face it, they have been my community base), and lots of them have found a person. Maybe they still have a person back home as well- but they have a person for daily life too.
I guess what I'm wondering is, why haven't I been able to find a person since 8th grade? If I came close in the years before I left the US, I certainly haven't since. Please don't leave my comments box full of reasons why people wouldn't like me- this is sort of a rhetorical question.
It's a reason to navel gaze though- a reason to look inwards and ponder choices and actions. Maybe it's just chance- two such compatible souls coming together in a world so big and all that. Or maybe I only imagine that others don't feel the way I do. Maybe I only imagine that other people have a person- maybe other people feel alone too. Maybe it is going to take something bigger, more, well, something, I don't know.
Can I take out a want ad? Not-single White Female looking for her person. Do you have a person? Maybe I don't want to know.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Apple Cider Donuts
Um, yum. And um, ouch. And um, yum.
So, last week it was decided that I would take a small group of children from my class and bake/cook something with them. We looked through my new cookbooks and ended up settle on Apple Cider Donuts. We almost made cinnamon buns, but one girl was SURE she didn't like them. I don't blame her, I'm not a huge fan myself. But anyway- so this was out of my Quick Breads book that J&J&L got me for Christmas.
So today was the day to make the donuts (yesterday was shopping day- that was fun too, going to the grocery store with 6 4-year-olds). I let the kids help me chop apples (very carefully yes, and of course I had to finishing chopping everything they started because their idea of small pieces is like cutting the apple in half). I let them help me measure and pour and do some stirring, but pretty soon, the dough got to be quite a large amount, and they just don't have it in their skinny little arms to stir it then. So, I got another arm workout.
(The girls were licking the bowl while I was flattening the dough and cutting out donut sized pieces.)
Then, I sent the girls to join their classmates while I did the dangerous hot oil part:
And finally, we have donuts:
I don't think I've ever tasted fried dough that wasn't delicious, but this stuff is EXTRA delicious. It's nice and heavy, and tastes like apples and cinnamon. I imagine it would be the PERFECT accompaniment to a hot cup of something in at least two of my previous home-countries where people are freezing these days. The whole thing made me think of autumn, which is funny because my sense of time and seasons and all that is SO out of whack what with the last 8 months of summer I've had. :)
I made 30 donuts, and we only need 20 (one half per student) to feed the kids, which means teachers get to have the leftovers. Between all the teachers and assistants that won't come out to more than 1 or 1.5 per teacher, but, dang, it will be good. :) So yeah, the "yum"- pretty self-explanatory- these things are good. The "ouch" though- I burnt my fingers on almost every donut as I was dipping them in the sugar/cinnamon mix- why is it that even as an adult, you just can't leave well enough alone, and wait until they are COOL to do it? Who knows. But over and over again, I burnt myself. :) So, yum, but ouch, but more importantly, yum. :)
Thanks again J&J&L!!!
Oh and by the way- bad news. We were supposed to go out of town this weekend because we have Monday off work, but Joel is not well. He tried to go back to work today and ended up chucking a couple of times. Turns out when you're laying on the couch all day, taking pills, sleeping, etc, you're ok. But when your body needs time to heal and you try to run around and do stuff, you end up feeling faint, chucking and coming home early anyway. So Joel has had to admit that he needs to take it easy, and we are not going to go this weekend after all. Hopefully someone can take our place on the trip, because it should be a good one!
So, last week it was decided that I would take a small group of children from my class and bake/cook something with them. We looked through my new cookbooks and ended up settle on Apple Cider Donuts. We almost made cinnamon buns, but one girl was SURE she didn't like them. I don't blame her, I'm not a huge fan myself. But anyway- so this was out of my Quick Breads book that J&J&L got me for Christmas.
So today was the day to make the donuts (yesterday was shopping day- that was fun too, going to the grocery store with 6 4-year-olds). I let the kids help me chop apples (very carefully yes, and of course I had to finishing chopping everything they started because their idea of small pieces is like cutting the apple in half). I let them help me measure and pour and do some stirring, but pretty soon, the dough got to be quite a large amount, and they just don't have it in their skinny little arms to stir it then. So, I got another arm workout.
Eventually we got to this point:
(The girls were licking the bowl while I was flattening the dough and cutting out donut sized pieces.)Then, I sent the girls to join their classmates while I did the dangerous hot oil part:
And finally, we have donuts:
I don't think I've ever tasted fried dough that wasn't delicious, but this stuff is EXTRA delicious. It's nice and heavy, and tastes like apples and cinnamon. I imagine it would be the PERFECT accompaniment to a hot cup of something in at least two of my previous home-countries where people are freezing these days. The whole thing made me think of autumn, which is funny because my sense of time and seasons and all that is SO out of whack what with the last 8 months of summer I've had. :)
I made 30 donuts, and we only need 20 (one half per student) to feed the kids, which means teachers get to have the leftovers. Between all the teachers and assistants that won't come out to more than 1 or 1.5 per teacher, but, dang, it will be good. :) So yeah, the "yum"- pretty self-explanatory- these things are good. The "ouch" though- I burnt my fingers on almost every donut as I was dipping them in the sugar/cinnamon mix- why is it that even as an adult, you just can't leave well enough alone, and wait until they are COOL to do it? Who knows. But over and over again, I burnt myself. :) So, yum, but ouch, but more importantly, yum. :)
Thanks again J&J&L!!!
Oh and by the way- bad news. We were supposed to go out of town this weekend because we have Monday off work, but Joel is not well. He tried to go back to work today and ended up chucking a couple of times. Turns out when you're laying on the couch all day, taking pills, sleeping, etc, you're ok. But when your body needs time to heal and you try to run around and do stuff, you end up feeling faint, chucking and coming home early anyway. So Joel has had to admit that he needs to take it easy, and we are not going to go this weekend after all. Hopefully someone can take our place on the trip, because it should be a good one!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
He's going to kill me...
...but look at how cute he is!?!?!
My little gimpy boy. He broke a bone in his left hand playing soccer last night. He endured the ride all the way downtown just having his broken hand on ice (I'm not sure, but it took at least an hour) and then got worked on by a military doctor. But he got his hand set- without any anesthetic!- and is home safe now. Of course, he's home resting, sleeping through the pain today.
And of course, the worst part of this whole thing for him? He can't go surfing for the next 6 weeks at minimum- possibly as many as 8 or 9. :(
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Popovers with Goat's Cheese and Chili
I've never made popovers before, so I had no idea what these were going to be like- but the picture in the cookbook sure was nice!
Well, when I mixed the batter together and saw a runny, drippy mess, I double checked to see if I had gotten all the ingredients right. Yup- twice as much milk as flour. Ok... Wasn't so sure about it, but...
Turned into this:
They are kind of hollow, but the goat's cheese kind of sits in that little hole. And the chili adds a nice kick, but they are not really spicy. I put way more cheese in the second batch (just to use it all up- before picture above is the second batch) than I did in the first batch, so we'll see how much of a difference that makes. And, I lowered the rack in the oven, because it seems the upper heating element in our oven must be stronger than the lower one. These are just a touch too brown for my liking (the after picture above is the first batch). But, did I mention, they taste lovely! I guess they remind me a little bit of a savoury souffle- maybe that is what they are supposed to be like? I don't know, but thanks J&J&L for the cookbook- I'm sure these will be a hit at the party tonight! :)
Well, when I mixed the batter together and saw a runny, drippy mess, I double checked to see if I had gotten all the ingredients right. Yup- twice as much milk as flour. Ok... Wasn't so sure about it, but...
What started as this:
Turned into this:
They are kind of hollow, but the goat's cheese kind of sits in that little hole. And the chili adds a nice kick, but they are not really spicy. I put way more cheese in the second batch (just to use it all up- before picture above is the second batch) than I did in the first batch, so we'll see how much of a difference that makes. And, I lowered the rack in the oven, because it seems the upper heating element in our oven must be stronger than the lower one. These are just a touch too brown for my liking (the after picture above is the first batch). But, did I mention, they taste lovely! I guess they remind me a little bit of a savoury souffle- maybe that is what they are supposed to be like? I don't know, but thanks J&J&L for the cookbook- I'm sure these will be a hit at the party tonight! :)
Pavlova
Since Joel and I first got together I had always heard a story about how Joel, being the uber-polite boy that he is, once ate Pavlova even though he thought it was awful. It's something about the texture that he doesn't like. Fair enough, there aren't many desserts the man likes. Anyway, the point actually is, I had never HAD Pavlova. I don't think I had even heard of it- every time I heard the name, it just reminded me of Pavlov and his dogs. :)
Well, while we were in Australia I finally got a chance to experience Pavlova. YUM! Sometimes you just know you're going to like something- and from everything I had heard about it, I was sure I would love it, and I was right! I loved it immediately.
Pavlova is really sweet (right up my alley!). It is made of a meringue base, topped with whipped cream, and fresh fruit. I actually had so much while I was in Australia, that I almost had *enough*. Joel's parents have a friend who makes, "the BEST Pav", and I had quite a few pieces of hers. It WAS good.
Of course, before I even left Oz, I had decided I was going to learn to make Pavlova. Which by the way, if you're American reading this and are surprised you've never heard of this dessert, that might be because it was created either in Australia or New Zealand (they're still fighting about the rights to that one)- I learned this from the same page where I got the recipe I used.
Now, this was my first attempt. And, I think I deserve extra props because, unlike what the recipe suggests (using a mixer), I did it ALL by hand- because I don't HAVE a mixer! So, I whisked egg whites until my arm was going to fall off, but finally they were making "stiff peaks". I followed the recipe EXACTLY (which I sometimes don't do), because I knew this was a tricky recipe. It "flops" easily.
As you can see it cracked as it cooled. Actually, I almost lost the whole thing, because after baking for as long as the recipe said, I noticed that there was liquid oozing out of the bottom of the meringue- which according to the recipe website, is a sign of under-cooking. So I left it in for longer- quite possibly, almost twice as long as it was supposed to be in. In the end, it came out ok.
I did all that last night, but it took so freaking long, that I just left it to cool in the oven, and then shut the door before going to bed, and left it til today. Today, I whipped up the cream (yes, BY HAND!) and cut up mangoes and grapes to top the Pav. It would have been better with strawberries, blueberries, kiwi, raspberries- but, the three berries are not available in Angola, and the kiwis were SUPER expensive.
That mango was RIPE. Delicious. :)
My meringue didn't come out quite round, so the design is a little off center as well.
Of course, I had to cut a piece and try it, before I passed it around to my neighbors.
My slice:
It was delicious. The outside of the meringue was a little too hard and crispy, but the inside was marshmallowy and lovely like it was supposed to be.
People seem to either love or hate Pavlova, so as I went around passing it out, I asked two questions. First, "Do you like Pavlova?" and then, "Would you like some?" I kept one extra piece for myself, and the rest was gone before I even made a complete loop of campus. :) I hope everyone likes it!
Now, I just have to figure out how to adjust my oven and cooking time, to get a slightly softer meringue next time.
Next this afternoon, I am making Popovers with Goat Cheese and Chili from the cookbook J&J&L got me for Christmas. I bet they'll be good too! :)
Well, while we were in Australia I finally got a chance to experience Pavlova. YUM! Sometimes you just know you're going to like something- and from everything I had heard about it, I was sure I would love it, and I was right! I loved it immediately.
Pavlova is really sweet (right up my alley!). It is made of a meringue base, topped with whipped cream, and fresh fruit. I actually had so much while I was in Australia, that I almost had *enough*. Joel's parents have a friend who makes, "the BEST Pav", and I had quite a few pieces of hers. It WAS good.
Of course, before I even left Oz, I had decided I was going to learn to make Pavlova. Which by the way, if you're American reading this and are surprised you've never heard of this dessert, that might be because it was created either in Australia or New Zealand (they're still fighting about the rights to that one)- I learned this from the same page where I got the recipe I used.
Now, this was my first attempt. And, I think I deserve extra props because, unlike what the recipe suggests (using a mixer), I did it ALL by hand- because I don't HAVE a mixer! So, I whisked egg whites until my arm was going to fall off, but finally they were making "stiff peaks". I followed the recipe EXACTLY (which I sometimes don't do), because I knew this was a tricky recipe. It "flops" easily.
Well, here's my meringue!
As you can see it cracked as it cooled. Actually, I almost lost the whole thing, because after baking for as long as the recipe said, I noticed that there was liquid oozing out of the bottom of the meringue- which according to the recipe website, is a sign of under-cooking. So I left it in for longer- quite possibly, almost twice as long as it was supposed to be in. In the end, it came out ok.
I did all that last night, but it took so freaking long, that I just left it to cool in the oven, and then shut the door before going to bed, and left it til today. Today, I whipped up the cream (yes, BY HAND!) and cut up mangoes and grapes to top the Pav. It would have been better with strawberries, blueberries, kiwi, raspberries- but, the three berries are not available in Angola, and the kiwis were SUPER expensive.
So, the finished product:
That mango was RIPE. Delicious. :)
My meringue didn't come out quite round, so the design is a little off center as well.
Of course, I had to cut a piece and try it, before I passed it around to my neighbors.
My slice:
It was delicious. The outside of the meringue was a little too hard and crispy, but the inside was marshmallowy and lovely like it was supposed to be.People seem to either love or hate Pavlova, so as I went around passing it out, I asked two questions. First, "Do you like Pavlova?" and then, "Would you like some?" I kept one extra piece for myself, and the rest was gone before I even made a complete loop of campus. :) I hope everyone likes it!
Now, I just have to figure out how to adjust my oven and cooking time, to get a slightly softer meringue next time.
Next this afternoon, I am making Popovers with Goat Cheese and Chili from the cookbook J&J&L got me for Christmas. I bet they'll be good too! :)
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Time for a new post...
Apparently, there are at least two people out there who miss my posts. Maybe there are more, but I have only heard from two. :) So here I am, back to try to pound out some news for all you lovelies.
As a side note, I do have to mention that I remember back in the day, when I still wrote mass emails, instead of having the blog, that after being in a new place for a few months, the emails became fewer and further between, because as always, even a crazy, new place, becomes "normal" eventually. And I think the more you move around, the quicker a place will become normal. But anyway...
I do have to say that coming through the airport on our way back was such a different experience from the last time/first time we came in. We stood in the immigration line (in an non-air conditioned room, packed with people, luckily lacking in mozzies this time) for about an hour, and got through the rest of the airport quickly. All our baggage was there, surf boards in tact, and we made it out to our drivers without being man-handled by any locals. I suppose we wore much more confident looks on our faces this time round.
Coming home was nice. Joel and I both unpacked quickly when we got home, happily stashing all our new stuff in cupboards, etc. I went for a run, we ate dinner, and by 7:30 I went to bed. Jet-lag and all that.
I have to admit that a few days before we left Australia, I started having heartburn, and by the time we were in the airport on that Sunday morning, I was in constant pain. I had to buy heartburn chews in the airport. I knew what the heartburn was about- I was nervous/fearful about coming back to my work situation. I don't want to go into it too much, but lets just say, last semester didn't go according to anyone's plan. My co-teacher (who also happens to be the head of department, and this year is the only one with experience/training in our program) was really ill for the whole semester, and out for more than half of it having surgery and then recovering from it. She is, thank goodness, well now, and back to work. But last semester was hugely stressful for me for a myriad of reasons, not least of which was the amount of pressure I put on myself, so I'm not just blaming others, but it was what it was. Coming back, I knew that she would be back, and that in a sense, we would be starting over again- stressful in a different way. So, I can't handle work stress, and when it happens, I get scared, and I get heartburn.
Of course, going back the first day wasn't as bad as I might have imagined, but, after being back a few days I made a choice. I decided that the co-teaching method, having 40 kids in one classroom with 4 adults all working together is just not my style. It's certainly not that any of the people I have to work with aren't wonderful- they are, but, I just find the whole thing too stressful, especially in a situation where I am not really an equal when it comes to knowledge of what we're meant to be doing in class. So, I applied for a change of grades. I knew that there were a couple of teachers planning on leaving next year, leaving vacancies in Kindergarten and Grade 1, both of which would be acceptable jobs for me. Luckily, my request was granted, although it is not yet determined which grade I will be getting. Either way, I am looking forward to having my own classroom again next year.
To deal with the stress of this school year, I decided that I would try to run instead of eat. So, since returning to Angola I have run 22 kilometers- which for only being back 10 days, I don't reckon is too bad.
The only bad thing about it is that a couple days ago I started having this pain along the outer edge of my left foot. It hurt when I walked, when I touched it in a certain place, but not when I was running (of course!). Last night as Joel and I lounged on the couch, I made him rub my foot, and then I kept asking him, "Do you think it's broken? Do I have a fracture? A hairline fracture? A stress fracture?"
I was annoying him, and being a bit silly, but it was funny. Today, when I was making lunch, I shifted my weight, and I got shooting pains all through my leg, starting at that spot in my foot. So today, when I was scheduled for an easy 3km run and some weights, I decided to skip it all, and rest my foot instead. Unfortunately, I also ended up eating unnecessarily, but, that is really a whole other problem that I won't go into here. I don't know how many days I will have to rest before the pain stops, but I reckon this is one of those important moments when I either rest it sufficiently, or end up with a chronic injury. Because I really, really do want to be a runner, I will choose to rest it sufficiently, and tomorrow, I might do some alternative exercise instead- yoga probably.
Which reminds me of something we did just before we left Melbourne. On our last full day, we decided to head to the shopping center one last time to get a few odds and ends, and so that I could get a massage. Joel decided to get one as well. As luck would have it, there was a Chinese massage place right there in the local center. Actually, from what I saw, they seem to be everywhere. But the thing for me was, they were Cissy's Massage, straight out of Shanghai, in Melbourne. The masseurs were pretty much "off the boat" as one might say, speaking barely a word of English, the tables and we were covered in sheets (instead of oil) and they even pulled out the cupping cups. I was pretty excited, because I have to say that, although I have had quite a few massages since leaving Shanghai, I have not had as good a massage as I got in Shanghai, since then.
Well, the lady that took me, touched me once, and gasped, and for the next hour as she beat the living crap out of me, just kept muttering, "So stiff, so stiff!" She used her hands, her elbows, the cupping cups, her knees, some oil, some paddle shaped piece of wood, hot towels and more to try to work some of the tension out of my body. I think she succeeded a bit, but, if her reaction when we were leaving was any indication (she handed us an appointment/VIP type card and kept repeating "come back, come back") she was pretty sure there was more work to be done. The last masseuse I saw in Latvia also said to me, "I can't tell a difference between your flesh and the table. You are like a rock. I won't be able to do anything for you today- I'd have to see you at least 10 times before I could even start to work on your shoulders."
So, the message is pretty clear, those ladies aren't mincing their words, I need to relax, I need regular massages. Of course, the only time that my body wasn't "like a rock" was when I was living in Shanghai, when I was having weekly massages, because they only cost $10 a session. Neither Latvia nor Angola has similarly priced massages. :( But, here in Angola, I might just have to bite the bullet, and pay the price, because I really feel that this is not a luxury kind of pampering myself kind of thing, but like a necessary for my health kind of thing. Before I end up with, well, I don't know what chronically tense muscles can do to you, but I'm sure it ain't pretty.
So, that's where we're at. Well, that's where I'm at. :) Joel is doing well; he's back into his sports and his surfing (getting used to, but loving the new surfboard), and plugging along in his classroom, where he is much happier this year than I am. We do have a long weekend coming up in two weeks time, when we will be taking another little road trip to a place called Malange with the same friends that we traveled with in October. So, at least I should have something truly interesting to post after that!
As a side note, I do have to mention that I remember back in the day, when I still wrote mass emails, instead of having the blog, that after being in a new place for a few months, the emails became fewer and further between, because as always, even a crazy, new place, becomes "normal" eventually. And I think the more you move around, the quicker a place will become normal. But anyway...
I do have to say that coming through the airport on our way back was such a different experience from the last time/first time we came in. We stood in the immigration line (in an non-air conditioned room, packed with people, luckily lacking in mozzies this time) for about an hour, and got through the rest of the airport quickly. All our baggage was there, surf boards in tact, and we made it out to our drivers without being man-handled by any locals. I suppose we wore much more confident looks on our faces this time round.
Coming home was nice. Joel and I both unpacked quickly when we got home, happily stashing all our new stuff in cupboards, etc. I went for a run, we ate dinner, and by 7:30 I went to bed. Jet-lag and all that.
I have to admit that a few days before we left Australia, I started having heartburn, and by the time we were in the airport on that Sunday morning, I was in constant pain. I had to buy heartburn chews in the airport. I knew what the heartburn was about- I was nervous/fearful about coming back to my work situation. I don't want to go into it too much, but lets just say, last semester didn't go according to anyone's plan. My co-teacher (who also happens to be the head of department, and this year is the only one with experience/training in our program) was really ill for the whole semester, and out for more than half of it having surgery and then recovering from it. She is, thank goodness, well now, and back to work. But last semester was hugely stressful for me for a myriad of reasons, not least of which was the amount of pressure I put on myself, so I'm not just blaming others, but it was what it was. Coming back, I knew that she would be back, and that in a sense, we would be starting over again- stressful in a different way. So, I can't handle work stress, and when it happens, I get scared, and I get heartburn.
Of course, going back the first day wasn't as bad as I might have imagined, but, after being back a few days I made a choice. I decided that the co-teaching method, having 40 kids in one classroom with 4 adults all working together is just not my style. It's certainly not that any of the people I have to work with aren't wonderful- they are, but, I just find the whole thing too stressful, especially in a situation where I am not really an equal when it comes to knowledge of what we're meant to be doing in class. So, I applied for a change of grades. I knew that there were a couple of teachers planning on leaving next year, leaving vacancies in Kindergarten and Grade 1, both of which would be acceptable jobs for me. Luckily, my request was granted, although it is not yet determined which grade I will be getting. Either way, I am looking forward to having my own classroom again next year.
To deal with the stress of this school year, I decided that I would try to run instead of eat. So, since returning to Angola I have run 22 kilometers- which for only being back 10 days, I don't reckon is too bad.
The only bad thing about it is that a couple days ago I started having this pain along the outer edge of my left foot. It hurt when I walked, when I touched it in a certain place, but not when I was running (of course!). Last night as Joel and I lounged on the couch, I made him rub my foot, and then I kept asking him, "Do you think it's broken? Do I have a fracture? A hairline fracture? A stress fracture?"
I was annoying him, and being a bit silly, but it was funny. Today, when I was making lunch, I shifted my weight, and I got shooting pains all through my leg, starting at that spot in my foot. So today, when I was scheduled for an easy 3km run and some weights, I decided to skip it all, and rest my foot instead. Unfortunately, I also ended up eating unnecessarily, but, that is really a whole other problem that I won't go into here. I don't know how many days I will have to rest before the pain stops, but I reckon this is one of those important moments when I either rest it sufficiently, or end up with a chronic injury. Because I really, really do want to be a runner, I will choose to rest it sufficiently, and tomorrow, I might do some alternative exercise instead- yoga probably.
Which reminds me of something we did just before we left Melbourne. On our last full day, we decided to head to the shopping center one last time to get a few odds and ends, and so that I could get a massage. Joel decided to get one as well. As luck would have it, there was a Chinese massage place right there in the local center. Actually, from what I saw, they seem to be everywhere. But the thing for me was, they were Cissy's Massage, straight out of Shanghai, in Melbourne. The masseurs were pretty much "off the boat" as one might say, speaking barely a word of English, the tables and we were covered in sheets (instead of oil) and they even pulled out the cupping cups. I was pretty excited, because I have to say that, although I have had quite a few massages since leaving Shanghai, I have not had as good a massage as I got in Shanghai, since then.
Well, the lady that took me, touched me once, and gasped, and for the next hour as she beat the living crap out of me, just kept muttering, "So stiff, so stiff!" She used her hands, her elbows, the cupping cups, her knees, some oil, some paddle shaped piece of wood, hot towels and more to try to work some of the tension out of my body. I think she succeeded a bit, but, if her reaction when we were leaving was any indication (she handed us an appointment/VIP type card and kept repeating "come back, come back") she was pretty sure there was more work to be done. The last masseuse I saw in Latvia also said to me, "I can't tell a difference between your flesh and the table. You are like a rock. I won't be able to do anything for you today- I'd have to see you at least 10 times before I could even start to work on your shoulders."
So, the message is pretty clear, those ladies aren't mincing their words, I need to relax, I need regular massages. Of course, the only time that my body wasn't "like a rock" was when I was living in Shanghai, when I was having weekly massages, because they only cost $10 a session. Neither Latvia nor Angola has similarly priced massages. :( But, here in Angola, I might just have to bite the bullet, and pay the price, because I really feel that this is not a luxury kind of pampering myself kind of thing, but like a necessary for my health kind of thing. Before I end up with, well, I don't know what chronically tense muscles can do to you, but I'm sure it ain't pretty.
So, that's where we're at. Well, that's where I'm at. :) Joel is doing well; he's back into his sports and his surfing (getting used to, but loving the new surfboard), and plugging along in his classroom, where he is much happier this year than I am. We do have a long weekend coming up in two weeks time, when we will be taking another little road trip to a place called Malange with the same friends that we traveled with in October. So, at least I should have something truly interesting to post after that!
Thursday, January 01, 2009
The post-engagement pre-wedding party
Last Sunday, the 28th, Joel and I celebrated our engagement and our upcoming wedding with quite a crowd. In three hours at an afternoon cocktails and canapes event I met more people than I can possibly remember. I was honestly moved by the sense of love and community- by the very clear fact that I am being welcomed to join a wonderful group of people. It was really lovely. Thanks to Joel's parents who hosted the event. I would say it was quite a success- and here's the photos to prove it. :)
The cake
The smiling, standing up straight and tall, small talk, answering the same questions over and over again, etc starts... :)
To us!
Family...
Jon and Courtney and old friends of the Smedes....
That guy was from Texas and she liked my shoes- this I remember. :)
Jamin, Luka and Julie enjoying the party.
Lovely people...
Jon and Courtney talk to one of Jon and Joel's cousins
Joel: "Yeah, Angola is good... I teach year 4, and Mara teaches 4 year olds..."
Mara: smile and nod, smile and nod...
Grandpa's and their grandkids...
Cousins and an uncle...
Oma Oma, an uncle, and the guy from Texas ;)
Aunties and Oma Oma
Luka!
One of Joel's friend's dad
Good friends of the to-be in-laws
Cutting the cake
Joel and an old friend
One of Joel's friends and his former boss
The lady in white reminded me a lot of my Aunt J- I liked her immediately. :)
Talking with K's mom and the ex's dad
Jon catching up...
Cousins... possibly discussing when the one in the middle of the picture might deliver- she was VERY pregnant and 5 days past her due date. :)
Joel's and his ex's father. Well, it's true.
People started saying their goodbyes, as K's mother is doing here...my cheeks hurt so badly by this point- I'd been smiling non-stop for three hours.
Courtney's dad talking to that old friend of the Smedes...
Smiley, happy people
Guys Joel used to play soccer with
We were talking about running into old students, because the guy standing next to me is a teacher, I'm sure...
The kids had lots of fun. :)
I'm sure no one got hurt...
Whew. There you go. Mook, that was mostly for you, because, who else that reads my blog wasn't there AND knows anyone of those people? :) I think you have to admit that I did fairly well remembering who almost all of those people were. I will admit that some of the older folks, who all had subtle, or not so subtle Dutch accents blended together, but even them, at least some of em, I can name, just obviously, not here on the world wide web. :)
Joel and I before the party
The cake
The smiling, standing up straight and tall, small talk, answering the same questions over and over again, etc starts... :)
To us!
Family...
Jon and Courtney and old friends of the Smedes....
That guy was from Texas and she liked my shoes- this I remember. :)
Jamin, Luka and Julie enjoying the party.
Lovely people...
Jon and Courtney talk to one of Jon and Joel's cousins
Joel: "Yeah, Angola is good... I teach year 4, and Mara teaches 4 year olds..."
Mara: smile and nod, smile and nod...
Grandpa's and their grandkids...
Cousins and an uncle...
Oma Oma, an uncle, and the guy from Texas ;)
Aunties and Oma Oma
Luka!
One of Joel's friend's dad
Good friends of the to-be in-laws
Cutting the cake
Joel and an old friend
One of Joel's friends and his former boss
The lady in white reminded me a lot of my Aunt J- I liked her immediately. :)
Talking with K's mom and the ex's dad
Jon catching up...
Cousins... possibly discussing when the one in the middle of the picture might deliver- she was VERY pregnant and 5 days past her due date. :)
Joel's and his ex's father. Well, it's true.
People started saying their goodbyes, as K's mother is doing here...my cheeks hurt so badly by this point- I'd been smiling non-stop for three hours.
Courtney's dad talking to that old friend of the Smedes...
Smiley, happy people
Guys Joel used to play soccer with
Center of attention...he did well...
We were talking about running into old students, because the guy standing next to me is a teacher, I'm sure...
The kids had lots of fun. :)
I'm sure no one got hurt...
Whew. There you go. Mook, that was mostly for you, because, who else that reads my blog wasn't there AND knows anyone of those people? :) I think you have to admit that I did fairly well remembering who almost all of those people were. I will admit that some of the older folks, who all had subtle, or not so subtle Dutch accents blended together, but even them, at least some of em, I can name, just obviously, not here on the world wide web. :)
It was a really nice party- and now I really can't wait for the real thing! Whoohooo!!!!! I loved being the center of attention, I loved the heart-felt messages that people gave us, and the whole fact that they were congratulating us on getting married (soon)! It was great. Thanks again Maria and Gerry! :)
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Happy New Year! (and hanging out with Joel's friends...)
NYE this year was pretty chill- we didn't have big plans, which was fine by me. I find that often NYE has been a let down. It's always one of those nights when I feel like it's supposed to be really big and monumental- a night you're not supposed to forget- and yet, they usually end up with me being bored, tired, not drunk or too drunk and well, anyway... I was happy to have some simple plans. Hanging out with Joel's friends, heading into the city to see fireworks, coming home again. So that is what we did. Unfortunately, one of Joel's best friends, K, was busy and had other things going on, so we didn't see him- but R&D were around, and the four of us had a nice time.
After a fair few drinks at D's place, we head into town- here, R and I wait for the tram.
Then R flashes his gang signs and I do "peace" because it's the only thing I know how to do.
And then we add D into the mix- gang signs all around- but I'm still flashing peace. :)
In town, Joel and I sit and wait for the fireworks.
Fireworks!
(And can I just say that the show lasted a good 12-15 minutes, and fireworks were being shot off from several different locations, resulting in the entire skyline being lit up, and one needing to continually turn one's head left to right to try to keep catching what was going on- after three years of LV fireworks, Joel and I were in awe!)
After a fair few drinks at D's place, we head into town- here, R and I wait for the tram.
Then R flashes his gang signs and I do "peace" because it's the only thing I know how to do.
And then we add D into the mix- gang signs all around- but I'm still flashing peace. :)
In town, Joel and I sit and wait for the fireworks.
Fireworks!
(And can I just say that the show lasted a good 12-15 minutes, and fireworks were being shot off from several different locations, resulting in the entire skyline being lit up, and one needing to continually turn one's head left to right to try to keep catching what was going on- after three years of LV fireworks, Joel and I were in awe!)
After the fireworks we headed straight for the trams to get back home. The crowds were huge, and it took us about an hour to get on a tram. We did witness a cat-fight in the wait time, which was interesting. Some girl got a whole lot of hair torn out of her head. Ouch! Once we got back to D's place, we had some more drinks, but around 2, I found myself assuming a more and more horizontal position on the couch, until eventually, I was asleep. From what I remember, R was doing the same on the floor. So, we passed out. Ah well. :)
We got home thanks to Joel's wonderful dad picking us up- and proceeded to have a good long sleep. Nothing like waking up at noon on Jan 1st! :)
Here's wishing all of you a very happy new year! I know I'm looking forward to lots this year- hoping you're all as excited as I am (about your own lives!). :)
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