Today was the first day of our Baha'i National Convention, the weekend when we elect our national administrative body. (For those of you that don't know, Hawaii is treated as a separate entity from the Mainland US in the Baha'i world.) I felt lucky to be there as a delegate. I love it when our events here really reflect the culture, rather than fitting the mold of mainland culture. We started with a visit to the gravesite of Martha Root and then went to the National Center for the official opening which was led by a Hawaiian chant. I think that, whenever the time comes and we leave here, I will miss the sound of Hawaiian chanting - the inflection is so unique. The Center also reflected our presence in the Pacific, with fresh leaves everywhere, some of them woven into archways.
We're also blessed with the presence of our liason Counsellor, Robin White of New Zealand (remember, we fall into the Australasian region in that sphere of things). Last weekend, she met with all of Auxiliaries, as well as the Local Spiritual Assemblies of this island. We all got really jazzed about the news that in the next month we will be launching our first intensive program of growth as we move closer to becoming an "A" cluster. Yeah, I know that last part probably made no sense to those of you who aren't Baha'is, but I still wanted to document it for myself.
Tonight, we had a presentation at the YWCA, in its lovely courtyard - dance, music.... One of the most interesting things to me was when a latin music band was playing and about 15 people got up to dance: all of them were women. Except for one guy, who was dancing with his daughter in his arms. Are women less inhibited?
Dear Papaya,
I love you! How could I ever have thought you smelled/tasted a little like vomit?
Your fan,
shokufeh
Embarassing but true - I easily tire of eating. It's rare for me to finish a sandwich, since I usually hit a point at which the pleasure of eating the sandwich no longer outweighs the bother of eating it. I like the different tastes and textures of foods. But something has to be really good for me to eat a lot of it. And I usually have to be at least mildly hungry to bother with the process of picking up a utensil (or two) and moving food to my mouth. Partway through a meal, it's not extraordinary for me to just stop. Not because I'm full, but because I'm just done with the process of eating.
This is not very convenient while pregnant. I need to get my act together before I either 1) hurl from the nausea because I waited too long between meals or 2) get carted away by Child Services.
Because I spend far too much time examining the lives of the rich and famous, I have been pondering the engagement of Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner. With his last fiance named Jen, the entity containing Ben was dubbed Bennifer. But it seems a little tacky to for the media to use that name again, even if he is again engaged to a woman named Jennifer. I propose they be called Jenjamin.
And since we're on the topic of Jenjamin, I think it interesting that the new movie Monster-in-Law stars their respective exes - Michael Vartan and Jennifer Lopez.
Does anyone else get distracted by how strange it must be for Michael Vartan and Jennifer Garner to act like they have a romantic relationship on Alias, but to have once had but no longer have one in real life?
I like to picture that we are all connected to one another by billions of threads - they're light and thin, like gossamer. We don't always notice them, but they're there, waiting to be tugged upon or woven together.
Please tug on the threads connecting you to Giao and her bean and keep them in your thoughts and prayers.
The offending pants of yesterday (I even had to walk home with them unbuttoned!) have been abandoned for the next 6.5+ months. Today, I donned the wonder that is maternity wear (ware?). I am really pleased with my new pants - the panel is so obvious, people overlook that they're maternity pants. None of that, "I know I'm a slightly different color and texture from the rest of the pants, but just ignore me." Instead, it's a "Yoo hoo! Look at me, I'm a nice stretchy panel." So people see it, but their brains don't register what it is.
You might think, when you put on your pants in the morning, that they fit okay. That maybe you can wear them for another week. That might be true, if your job involves standing all day. But if you're sitting at a desk, the pants start to feel a little tighter. So much so that, after eating lunch, you feel downright uncomfortable. So my tip is of two parts:
1) If you're a little on the fence about your pants, sit down for a few minutes before leaving home and see how they feel then. If possible, do this after eating.
2) If you've neglected to follow the advice in part one, make sure you have a blanket, or other appropriate item, to drape over yourself to hide the fact that you've unbuttoned (and unzipped, but just a little) your pants after lunch. You'll thank me.
Last night, we had TLT sandwiches for dinner - tempeh (Fakin' Bacon strips), lettuce, tomato, avocado, cheese, red onion, and mayonnaise, on multigrain bread. Mmm, mmm, good. Not only was it easy and tasty, it took me back to the summers of 12 to 13 years ago, when the TLT was always the answer to my need for, yet almost-aversion to, food, before a drug problem came between me and my favorite deli for TLT sandwiches.
Just seeing if you're paying attention. The drug problem wasn't mine - it was that of the deli/health food store owner. About 10 years ago, the shop abruptly closed. A year or two later, about as abruptly, the shop opened again. It was all very mysterious in my book. But a friend reported that she'd run into the owner, and that he'd apparently developed a hard drug habit that had landed him in jail. So the store closed, and then reopened when he'd finished his time. I didn't find the sandwiches as tasty after the reopening.
I'm not a big fan of pomp and circumstance or empty ritual, but I really like this idea of the Conclave of Cardinals using smoke to announce that a pope has been elected:
At the end of each morning and afternoon session, the ballots from that session will be burned and chemicals added to provide color.
If a pope has been chosen -- which requires a two-thirds majority -- the smoke will be white. If not, it will be black.
It sounds dignified and subtle, yet open for all to see. Kind of, "Don't bother us until you see the white smoke. Once you see the white smoke, we're ready to talk."
We received a surpise package yesterday. Sam's brother and his wife and almost-one-year-old daughter rock! Presents for me, carrying our future bundle of joy, and a little something for the bundle of joy. His or her first gift! A cloth book with a different bug on each page, and different textures to enjoy. And my first maternity clothes! And they're cute. I've been hesitant to make that jump, while recognizing that I've probably got only a few more weeks in my regular clothes. They're getting snug, I tell you. But with such cuteness available to me, I'm ready to make the transition, I think.
Last night I was poopered (my youngest brother hates it when I say that, but I guess that's one of the advantages of his not reading my blog), and went to bed at 8:00. So I didn't get a chance to check the store for Cinnamon's suggested product, or further explore George's jewelry line idea.
But I've come up with a temporary solution. I've torn a piece of orange peel narrow enough at one end to stick under the bridge of my glasses and long enough to hang down my nose. Good thing I'm not keeping my "condition" a secret, because I can tell from my reflection in a wedding picture on my desk that I look pretty goofy. Let's hope my nose doesn't break out.
I think if I'd had this link when I wrote this post a few months ago, I would have added it. It's a song that always moves me, and the photographs make it that much mo' bettah.
Yesterday, I received the invitation and registration form for NYU’s Alumni Reunion Weekend. While I finished college in December 2004, next month marks ten years since my official graduation. It’s crazy to me that so much time has passed.
I’m kind of bummed that I won’t be able to go to the reunion – one of those occasions when I wish I was living on the mainland. I guess that, technically, I could go, since I have the miles and I have just enough vacation time. But it wouldn’t be fun without the hubby. And there’s the added cost of accommodations and fun when we just spent a bunch of money on going on Pilgrimage. Not to mention that this Friday our taxes are due. Ouch! I didn’t establish many long-lasting friendships in college, so I’d be going mostly to see members of my scholars group and my old crewmates and, of course, The City.
While I learned many things in the classrooms at NYU, there were some things I learned just from living in the city. My favorite:
When I headed off for college in the fall of 1991, I said goodbye to my family at the New Orleans airport and boarded the plane with my friend Jennifer, a high school friend also going to NYU, and her mother. When we landed at JFK, we had to take two cabs into Manhattan with all the stuff we had among the three of us. Jennifer and I got in one, her mother in the other. We’d heard cab fare from the airport was very expensive, so we were ready to pay lots of cash. When we arrived at the hotel, the driver told us the cost – I think it was about $60 – which, in our minds, matched the anticipated high price. Jennifer’s mom, riding with a more honest cabbie, paid about $35. First lesson learned: always make sure the cab meter is on.
Fast forward to the spring of 1995. I’d said goodbye to my parents, who’d flown in for my graduation, and headed to the airport for my flight. (I guess they were flying out later or out of a different airport?) I got in the cab and told the driver my destination. He started driving. I looked at the dash and asked him to turn on the meter. He did and I smiled, feeling a rush of pride. My time in New York had not been wasted.
Last night we had a simple and delicious dinner. I wanted to keep eating because 1) it was mmm, mmm good and 2) eating keeps the nausea at bay. But I finally had to face the sad truth: that there was no more room in my stomach.
Within an hour, I prepared:
- local sweet potatoes (purple skin, orange flesh), baked at 400 degrees for 45 minutes
- asparagus, also baked at 400 degrees, following Orangette's recipe
- a ripe tomato, sliced and mixed with chopped garlic, salt, and pepper
- wild Pacific salmon (bought frozen, but still a preferable choice in my mind to the Atlantic variety), cooked on the stovetop with salt, pepper, a little garlic, and lemon juice
An hour after eating dinner, I had room in the tummy again, so we had vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate ice cream with banana slices and chocolate sauce. Yes, I've gone pregnant.
I'm now contemplating a means of hanging a piece of orange peel under my nose. The scent also helps reduce nausea (and is a nice alternative to constantly stuffing my face), but my arm gets a little tired holding the peel all the time. And sometimes you want to use both of your hands.... I'm thinking maybe a thin curved piece of metal hanging down from the bridge of my glasses. Or a string draped over my head. Maybe to go with these, I'll need a curtain across the door of my cubicle.
Since the news of Ms. Wheelchair Wisconsin being stripped of her title hit the air and web waves, I've been thinking of a story -
We read it in high school. I think it was a short story. And it was about a society where everyone was required to be equally abled. But this was achieved by things like wearing glasses to make your eyesight bad (if it was perfect), or wearing a block under your foot to make your height unlevel (if you were a good runner), or having your head zapped with electrical pulses (if you were smart). I don't know if these examples I offer were the exact "solutions," but you get the idea of the mindset.
However, I can't remember the name of the story. My younger brothers, who went to same high school, say the story sounds familiar but also can't remember the name. Anyone remember this?
Update: Julia rocks! Harrison Bergeron by Kurt Vonnegut
Julia, after posting this, I thought that you would be the most likely to answer the plea. Even without the detail that I thought the title to be someone's name. Thank you for allowing me to use my brain for other purposes now - it's been weighing on me for days.
If anyone's interested, Page High School in Franklin, Tennessee has great reading lists. Even if they're not reading Harrison Bergeron. I've decided to use them to guide my reading choices for a while.
Wednesday, I had my second prenatal visit. My first was a few weeks ago with the nurse practitioner. This one was with the NP as well, with an ultrasound done by one of the practice’s obstetricians. Being new to the game, I thought I was going to have my abdomen gelled up and the image gotten externally. But they followed the path of least resistance and did it through my vag (um, for the sake of the search engines, let’s call it the) baby portal.
I got to see our little bean for the first time! She confirmed that it is indeed a bean (so to speak), not beans, and that the egg I contributed came from my right ovary. I could barely distinguish the head from the rump, and I could see the blurriness that was the heart beating 180 times per minute. So very exciting.
I found out I’d gained two pounds in the last three weeks. I thought it would be so much more. It feels like so much more, with my pooch having more substance to it and my finding it uncomfortable to sleep on my stomach. And my pants are becoming snug. But I guess things are just shifting about.
I’m also feeling better about my recent increased nausea. I’ve still yet to vomit (and let’s keep it that way – no need to break a 21 year streak), but this week I’ve felt on the verge of such. I’ve also been having increased problems with my allergies, waking up in the night to claw out my eyeballs. And I find myself waking up foul-humored (is it the numerous trips to the bathroom in the night?). But it turns out I’m in the few weeks when my estrogen levels are peaking, so everything’s going a little haywire. I read the books, but it’s nice to have a real live person confirming what the books say.
Breakfast:
I've been eating a lot of oatmeal lately, and like to add things to keep it lively. This morning, I added walunts and frozen raspberries, blueberries, and marion berries. It was like a quick cobbler. I highly recommend.
Every night, before I sleep, I pray for those I’ve known who are no longer in this world.
O my God! O Thou forgiver of sins, bestower of gifts, dispeller of afflictions!
Verily, I beseech Thee to forgive the sins of such as have abandoned the physical garment and have ascended to the spiritual world.
O my Lord! Purify them from trespasses, dispel their sorrows, and change their darkness into light. Cause them to enter the garden of happiness, cleanse them with the most pure water, and grant them to behold Thy splendors on the loftiest mount.
(`Abdu'l-Bahá)
As I’ve grown older, the list has grown longer. I guess it makes sense that the older you get, the more dead people you know. But many of these people, for the progress of whose souls I pray, did not die of old age. They’ve died of cancer of various kinds, AIDS, other medical conditions, violence…. I feel sad that those who loved them most no longer have a physical connection to them.
I used to feel sad that the list keeps getting longer. But then I realized that part of the reason the list keeps getting longer is because I’m part of a huge family. I count in that family not just those with whom I’m connected by blood or marriage, but those who’ve been a part of my life for whatever reason. I’m thankful for all the connections I have to people, the small-town character of New Orleans (I can never go home without running into someone I’ve known for 20+ years), the community my parents built for me beyond our family. I’m happy that I’ve had a life rich enough to care about a person who worked in our elementary after-school program, my mother’s coworker, a person a year behind me in high school, our travel agent, the mother of a friend….
With each connection you make, you run the risk of losing a piece of your heart. But it strikes me as something that has capacity for infinitesimal expansion. If you’re willing to let it scatter and grow.
Yesterday, I was singing the praises of pregnancy to a female relative. Her parents would probably prefer that she got married first. And in retrospect, I should have stressed that component of the formula as well.
We come from a family of people with high levels of stress. And we are no different. Whatever is going on in our lives, we stress about it. Whatever went on in our lives, we stress about it. Whatever could possibly happen in our lives, we stress about it. Whatever is happening in the lives of others, we stress about it.... You get the idea.
I realized yesterday that pregnancy has set me free from much of that stress. Cerebrally, I know that there are things I could be doing in my life and things I could concern myself with. But somehow, I tune much of that out. Instead, I'm focused on sleeping, eating, zoning out, growing a baby. Sam and I worried that I would be a stressed pregnant woman, but this is the least stressed I've been in years. I feel almost like I've returned to high school, when I wasn't phased by having to do a month of homework in one night - before the stress gene kicked in at 18.
But, I wouldn't be able to carry on in this low-stress state without Sam. He's done an amazing job of picking up the slack I've left in my wake. He makes dinner, cleans up after dinner, makes both of my breakfasts (the cold cereal I eat while still in bed and the hot oatmeal I eat once I get to work), brings lunch home for me when I've called in sick to work.... Are you sensing a theme here? Many feedings are required in this whole baby-growing thing. There's also much sleeping involved, also encouraged by Sam.
I used to approach each weekend with a to-do list, worried about how many things I could accomplish. I now nap and read and watch TV and nap some more. With a number of feedings interspersed. Sam is happy with this new development, as it allows him to relax more on the weekends too, without my pulling him into my to-do list. The trade-off is that he is more stressed in general, having taken on many of the responsibilities I once carried. And will probably carry again. But, for now, I carry on in a state of bliss. As does my husband, just in a different way.
So, relative of mine, revision of yesterday's advice:
Find yourself a nice man who is happy to contribute to baby-growing (beyond the initial investment), and then enjoy the stresslessness of pregnancy.