shokufeh is…home

O ye beloved of God! When the winds blow severely, rains fall fiercely, the lightning flashes, the thunder roars, the bolt descends and storms of trial become severe, grieve not; for after this storm, verily, the divine spring will arrive, the hills and fields will become verdant, the expanses of grain will joyfully wave, the earth will become covered with blossoms, the trees will be clothed with green garments and adorned with blossoms and fruits. Thus blessings become manifest in all countries. These favors are results of those storms and hurricanes. (‘Abdu’l-Bahá, Bahá’í World Faith, p395)

Thanks for this, Delara!

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After a few months away from the pool, we’ve resumed swimming lessons. With the last session, I had the start date wrong in my head and neglected to sign MrMan up. Which turned out to be okay, as both Sam and I were not in positions to be getting him there in timely fashion.  Had I thought through it more, I might not have signed up MrMan for this session either. It coincides with the fast, we’ll miss the last day of it due to travel, the weather requires that it’s still in the inside pool….

I’m so glad I didn’t think it through further, and just went ahead and signed him up.  He’s so happy to be in the pool and his swimming is getting much better.  Our new routine (because of the location of Sam’s new job) involves me picking up MrMan an hour before normal and taking the shuttle bus with him to the uptown campus. He loves it! And I enjoy the time, as brief as it is (as distances are quick in New Orleans), just sitting next to him, watching his delight as we drive past everything from a higher perspective. Last week even involved a “Whee!” from him as we went up the overpass.

Because of the shuttle schedule, we get to the gym well ahead of class time, allowing a leisurely wardrobe change for Mrman. It’s nice not to feel rushed. Except by MrMan’s enthusiasm, as we wait at the pool and he wonders aloud where his teacher and swim friends are. They finally arrive.  Then the dude puts on his goggles and swaggers to the side of the pool. I love it!  He points his arms above his head and kicks through the water, and delights in swimming toward the bottom. He doesn’t always touch the bottom with his hands, as he’s so buoyant, but the fact that he wants to makes me so happy that I just went with signing up for this session, instead of analyzing whether it would be convenient.

I think this summer should include some time at the beach, so that he may become not just pool type, but ocean type. (A reference to a dear friend from our time in Honolulu, who described himself as such.)

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For real, Shokufeh? Almost two months? That would explain so much about so much – my mental state, my fatigue, my aches and pains. I should have written it out of me. The last two months have been filled with grant-writing, MrMan-school-applying, future-pondering. But it hasn’t all been bad. There’s also been Super-Bowl-ing, Mardi-Gras-ing, and future-pondering. Now we’re on the other side of all of that. Except the future-pondering. Which tends to be one of my characterizing traits.

Now I’m in my second day of the fast. Which I always want to write as the Fast, because it’s so much more than abstaining from food and drink. It’s reconnecting with my essential self. Or at least trying to. And striving to be a better version of me when I go to bed at night than when I woke up in the (way too early for my normal self) morning.

Randomness of the week: Monday afternoon, we pulled up in front of our house, in the pouring. rain. Pouring. I look out the car window and realize our grass has been cut. It had been looking ragged, but I wasn’t that worried, because most everybody’s does this time of year. The green grass just started poking out a couple of weeks ago, so I was thinking we’d cut the grass this coming weekend. But there it was – cut, and edged. Through the rain, I could see a sign stuck into the grass. Or maybe I should call it lawn, since it was suddenly looking much nicer. The sign read Y@rd D@wgs: M@rking our terr!tory, one y@rd at a time. So the mystery has been solved as to who cut it. Still a mystery: who paid for it?

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I was psyched to go the gym this morning. It’s not a regular part of my routine, but I’d like it to be.  So I really believed it was going to happen. Went to bed on the early side, set my alarm for early (but not super early, as that would be setting myself up for failure), put my exercise clothes in the bathroom for easy access, focused on the idea that I would be getting out of bed before my usual time. I figured I would hop up, get ready, out the door, quick drive to the gym, quick jaunt on the eliptical (I even had my earbuds so I could watch tv), quick drive back home, get ready for work, out the door with everyone else.

I thought the weather might be an issue. It’s been cold of late. Not just New Orleans cold (anything under 65 F qualifies), but normal cold. Hard freeze cold. And sure, Iwanted to snuggle down in bed, but I was at the car by 6:15. Faced with a car with iced over windows. And no ice scraper (see: definition of New Orleans cold). I put on my determined-not-to-be-deterred face and started the car. Looked around for some other means of cleaning off the windows. Newspaper doesn’t cut it apparently.

Which is why I’m typing about my gym plans rather than living them. Tomorrow morning promises to be warmer. And if the car is iced again, maybe I should plan on getting my workout in the form of rubbing down the car with newspaper.

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It really says something about the universality of Bahá’u'lláh’s words that they’re being used in a United Way public service announcement of season’s greetings.  And let’s face it, at this time of year, set to this music, Season’s Greetings = Merry Christmas. It does make sense, though, to use the words of one Manifestation of God to celebrate the birth of Another.  All part of God’s everlasting Covenant.

This PSA, along with my morning thoughts (about my love of Mardi Gras) could trigger enough thoughts and feelings in me to circumvent my annual grinch-iness.

The utterance of God is a lamp, whose light is these words: Ye are the fruits of one tree, and the leaves of one branch. Deal ye one with another with the utmost love and harmony, with friendliness and fellowship. He Who is the Day Star of Truth beareth Me witness! So powerful is the light of unity that it can illuminate the whole earth. The one true God, He Who knoweth all things, Himself testifieth to the truth of these words.

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Apparently, I’ve been in a tizzy for the past two-plus months.  I knew I was stressed, but didn’t realize how much so until the weight of it was lifted.  In the past few days, Sam’s been offered  and accepted a job. Which led to us being able to say we’re going to stay in our apartment.  Suddenly, I can breath easier. I don’t get a tightness in my chest wondering about what comes after December 31, and how well we’ll adjust to living in my parents’ home again (and how well they’ll adjust).  I don’t have to think about acquiring boxes and filling them. So far, I’d reached a grand total of one box, packed and labeled (though not yet taped).  I’m still trying to continue the purging, though. We just don’t need all this stuff.
Bonus: Sam’s new job is in the same building as his current one, and will start right after his current one ends, so there will be no disruption to routine. Except that it won’t be accompanied by the stress we’ve been under for the past nine weeks.

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Eight years ago today, I was cleaning my apartment, in anticipation that Sam was going to break up with me, and wouldn’t it be better to wallow in a tidy space? And what else is one supposed to think when one’s boyfriend says we need to talk? He was busy cleaning his face of his beard, as he felt it more appropriate to propose without facial hair. It is probably an understatement to say I was surprised at what came out of his mouth when he arrived at my apartment. So much so that I wasn’t really in a position to answer just yet.

Eight years ago tomorrow, I said yes.

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Somehow, it’s become December. And already December 2.  The past few days have been focused on my child’s stomach pains and bowel movements (or lack therof in the case of the latter). Fun, fun, fun!  In my mind, staying home with him would also provide an opportunity for preparations.  Think on, mama.  There is no time for preparations when one is busy rubbing a tummy, listening to moaning and groaning, and trying to create an atmosphere for release.  All while feeling like I’ve suddenly been thrown into a universe where my child is suddenly four months instead of four years old.

Preparations for what, you might ask. Our next phase in life, scheduled to start at the turn of the year.  We’re not sure what this next phase will look like, but we know that in the next month (minus 1.5 days, and counting), we need to:

• Reduce the amount of stuff we have, via Craigslist and donations
• Find a storage and transport arrangement for the rest of our stuff
• Pack our apartment
• Arrange things at my parent’s house so that we can temporarily move in with them
• Sam needs to finish up his work stuff
• I need to get on top of what has come at me this semester and put things in place for next semester, while also working on the proposal grant that funds my program

This kind of freaks me out since we have only a few more weeks before we hit winter break.  This is a good thing, since we can then shift attention to packing. But I feel like I have too many things vying for my attention.  I know people get through similar situations all the time. Hopefully, in another month or so, I can count myself among them.

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Wouldn’t it be funny, but not really, if, after twenty-nine days of blogging, I missed my NaBloPoMo goal?

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We’re now going on about 24 hours of MrMan complaining about his stomach. The first few hours were understandable, as I didn’t plan his eating very well into our trip back from Atlanta, and he ended up throwing up. Twice. But since 11 pm last night, it’s more of a mystery. He ate food he kept down, but then writhed around in pain every half hour or so. We eventually ended up in the (very relaxing) emergency room, but left with no specific answers. We’ve spent most of today in our pajamas, with impromptu naps and belly rubbing, and a bit of sweating and vomiting. I’m hoping he keeps down the broth I’m making for dinner, and that he’s well enough to go to school on Tuesday.

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