shokufeh is…home

Fall of 1999 – I’d finished my masters, recently started working here in New Orleans. I headed to New York City for Halloween. Or, really, I headed to New York City to reconnect with that city I love, and it coincided with Halloween. …The weekend involved heading down to the Village for the parade, and almost getting crushed by the crowd, all of us penned into some scaffolding. Hmm, I’d forgotten about that…. But, what I started out saying…. I remember telling my friend Mary, whom I was staying with, that I planned to buy a car. A used car. My first car. And that I planned to do so by mid-November. She seemed surprised by the short time frame that I’d set for myself. In some ways, there was no pressure – taking the bus to work was convenient, I was free to use my parents’ cars in the evening and on weekends. But I’d set my goal and announced it, not really sure how it would come to fruition. But it did. I found my ideal car – a Honda Civic hatchback – and remember picking Sam up from the airport in it when he came for Thanksgiving a few weeks later.

I’m a big believer in saying it, and it will be so.

November 30, 2007 – In the same vein, I formally announce my goal to find an apartment by the end of the year. Actually, I’d like it to be found in the next two weeks, so that we can use our ten day break between Christmas and New Year’s Day to move and settle in. Again, there’s not much pressure, as we’re still living with my parents and they have not announced plans to kick us out. We have decided not to buy a house at this time, so there is more flexibility in where we choose to live not having to be perfect. But I’d like it be perfect enough that we’re happy to stay there for at least a few years. It should have hardwood floors, a yard for MrMan to play in, a washer and drayer, and a den/study/third-bedroom where our non-sleep lives can take place away from the front door to the outside world. One should have to walk up a few stairs to get in it, as basement living is not my goal. Central air and heat would be nice. As would neighbors we get along well with. And all of this will be in a price range and a neighborhood we feel comfortable in. Universe, make it so!

1-check, 2-check, 3-check, 4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27,28,29,30 – check. All days present and accounted for. Thus ends NaBloPoMo.

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Last week, I started telling Sam that, starting the 28th, I’d be back on my game. For the past seven weeks, I’ve felt very off my game – physically, mentally, emotionally. The seemingly constant trips to the doctor, the underlying discomfort, the goopy head, have all been taking their toll. Probably more than I’ve been willing to admit. Limiting my carrying of the boy… having to back out of a dinner hosting commitment… taking a multitude of naps… packing on some pounds…. Depression hurts. And hurt depresses.

But I felt a weight lifted on the 27th, after I got the call saying that the pathology report was back and it was clean – this third biopsy was the last. Especially since a few nights before, I had a dream that the doctor called me to say that he was very sorry but he’d have to go in a fourth time. And yesterday, I got my bright blue stitches out. Harder for me to admire this time around, while they were in my scalp, as this was the ooziest incision I’ve had.

So, it was supposed to mark my being back. A return to normal life. A resumption of exercise, or just normal exertions. But, the head must still be gooped (with antibiotic ointment for now, vaseline in a few days) and I was advised to wait a couple of more weeks before taking up activities at the gym. Especially given my propensity for springing leaks. I do, however, feel like the clouds are slowly blowing away.

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Remember Toad the Wet Sprocket and the BoDeans? I was so happy when they came up on Pandora today. It’s scary, yet nice, how well these stations get to know you.

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I’m still feeling out of it. Jet lag? Vacation lag? This is my Monday?
Basically, I’m longing for time in bed, with someone to bring me treats that look like this. I’ve long been a fan of King Arthur’s White Whole Wheat flour. These paper pans give me more reason to love them.

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After more than twelve hours, door to door, we’re back home. (Oh, sweet wireless, how I’ve missed you.)

One of the many things I love about MrMan is that he’s someone who will happily share with me a sandwich of fresh mozzarella, pesto, and tomato on french bread. I also love that he was a pretty easygoing traveling companion today.

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Did you know Zappos has a storefront?
Yeah, me either.

Reminder to myself: another storefront to visit – Dirty Coast

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Yesterday, MrMan was smitten by his cousins and karaoke.
At 4:00 this morning, when he decided it was time to wake up, he was saying the name of one of his cousins, followed by “song” and “more.”
Too bad the cousins, and their parents, left this morning.

The rest of today was filled with adventuring outside in the backyard. Rocks and cacti make for a pretty landscape, but a nervous mother. Followed by a four hour nap for the boy. Four hours! Then we all went to Circus Circus and Caesar’s Palace. By 7:00, MrMan was saying “sleep.” At first I thought he was saying “tree,” but when he realized we were not on the same page, he clarified by saying, “Night night.”

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Literally.
We’re in Vegas.
That’s all I’ll say for now, as I’m afraid I’ll type more and then lose the connection.

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Written at 4:57 am
You’d think I’d be boarding my flight. (It turns out I was exaggerating – the flight was for 5:30 am.)
We got to the airport just before 4 am, which turned out to be perfect, since, as we discovered, everything is closed until 4 am. But at around 3:59, I heard a woman on her cell phone, very upset about the 5:30 am flight being delayed and her plans being ruined. At around 4:02 am, a Continental staff member announced that our flight was delayed. The crew had been delayed, due to weather, on their previous flight. Legally, and perhaps physically, they needed to rest before our flight, which set our flight back several hours.

Our window to change planes in Houston was only 45 minutes, so we were going to miss our connection. We had two options, get on the 6:30 am flight to Houston and hope that, miracoulously three spots opened on the fully booked 9-something flight to Vegas. Or go home and get on a confirmed flight tomorrow. Possibility of 24 hours in the Houston airport with a toddler? Guess which one we picked? Now we’re waiting for my poor dad to come pick us up. The stuff of slapstick comedies. I’m picturing Ben Stiller. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Written at 12:59 pm
My dad came for us, but had rushed out the door in response to my phone call, forgetting his cell phone and wallet at home. I’d been keeping an eye for him, but apparently had left my post just when he arrived. As I was coming back from filling MrMan’s cup with water, I found my dad at a pay phone about to call me. But it wasn’t all lickety-split to the car, since we had to wait for a man to finish using my laptop to email his wife back in Moldova, to let her know he was okay. Yes, a strange morning all around.

We came home and crashed. Unfortunately, it was in shifts, as MrMan was very alert and focused on putting on his helmet and pushing his tricycle around the house. I ended up dialing up the babysitter – the one by the name of PBS – and dozing while he was entranced.

Now we’re off to spend Thanksgiving dinner with family friends. Lots of my old friends, the people I grew up with. An unexpected perk associated with the disappointment of not making it to Sam’s family as intended.

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So. sleepy…. Mustn’t lie down…. Must leave for airport….

Happy Thanksgiving, y’all!

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