Uprising

To break someone, you administer sharp and unexpected punishment over an extended period of time, so that he never knows when the next blow will fall, or why. Cruelty comes in many forms, only some of them physical.

But sometimes, people don't react the way you expect. Sometimes, they break, but not the way you wanted them to: they snap. They rise up. They find their pride again, and their voice. I am human. Whatever you may say, whatever you may do to me, I know I don't deserve this. I will be free.

Beat down

Flipping through a magazine at the dentist's office, I saw pictures of Matt Damon and Ben Affleck trying (and seemingly failing) to learn to surf in whatever vacation spot it was that they were in. Only, I'm not sure what it was they were trying to learn to surf. A ripple? It was a tiny, barely discernible swell in the water. Whatever it was, it wasn't a wave. A wave is a wall of water that comes at you at 15-40 mph. Waves are what we have here in NorCal.

Going out today, at first the waves looked all right and not too menacing. Trying to get outside, though, I found that the shorebreak was nothing to sneeze at. The waves weren't big, but they were breaking with a surprising amount of force.

Part of the problem was that I was just afraid (albeit without good reason today), and you can't surf scared. When you're scared, you'll pull back just as you should be pushing forward and miss the wave. Or you won't be paddling hard enough to get out before the wave crushes you. Or you'll stand in the worst possible position, letting the shorebreak hit you again and again, wondering if today is the day you're going to get concussed again.

In round 2053 of ocean vs. me, the ocean wins, yet again.

Lapse

People who are frozen in your memory never seem the same when you see them again. The lapse in time makes the changes obvious; often, they are changes for the worse.

Sisterhood

Cleaning around the house today in preparation for houseguests arriving tomorrow, I found an amulet, made out of clay and painted green, strung on black yarn. It's a strange-looking thing. For luck, he had said when he gave it to me. It surprised and saddened me that I have forgotten him for this long.

The eldest child, I always wanted an older brother or sister. Someone to whom I could abdicate responsibility. Someone who would hold my hand during tough times, take my side, get my back, defend and advise me.

We met through a mutual friend, an artist, because he was an artist too. One of the first things he did for me was paint me a watercolor. A girl, crying in a dark room. I don't know where it's gone.

He was the person I called when my drugged-out boyfriend (at the time) didn't recognize me, was hospitalized, was abusive. The person I called when I was too embarrassed or ashamed to call anyone else. The person who got angry on my behalf, who cared about little things no one else wanted to hear about, who drove four hours to see me for five minutes, to give me a little green amulet, for luck.

Like many little sisters, I suppose, I took all of this for granted. And I went away to school, and got busy, and lost touch. Lost the watercolor, and even many of the memories. But I still have the amulet.

Partying like a rock star

Vegas was great. It took me two days to recover. I must be getting old. I think I got more sleep last night than I did the entire weekend. We stayed at the Venetian; they'd done a nice job re-creating a little bit of Venice. I think our favorites were the Venetian, Bellagio, Caesar's Palace, and the Wynn. Saw some pro-basketball players at the Wynn. They were both taller and skinnier than I'd expected. There were also a lot of model-types, many women with abs I can only dream of. Oh well.

In other news, we're really excited that some of our friends will be moving from Chicago to the Bay Area. They're coming to stay with us tomorrow, and bringing their new baby!

No rain

1.

It's cloudy, gloomy, and that feels strange. After months of sunshine and perfect weather, I'd forgotten what an overcast day looks like. I wish it would rain, but nobody's calling for it.

I remember you coming into my room, hesitantly, to tell me what you had heard. Telling it as a story, rather than asking me, because you knew you had no right to ask. No right to be upset, but I could tell that you were.

What I don't remember is what I said, how I responded. Did I laugh? Get angry? Deny everything? The end of this story is a blank, the look on your face is a blank; what I remember is the hesitancy in your voice, because that was what calmed me. That you knew that you had no right.

2.

You had cut your hair and I didn't recognize you at first. Even your smile looked different. We went to a restaurant and I told you I was getting married. Both of us smiled widely, wildly, my cheekbones aching with the strain.

3.

I'm sorry I never showed up. I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

First Step

Mondays, Wednesdays, Saturdays are lap swim days. Tuesdays and Thursdays are Pilates. Weekends will be for surfing. Ah, the life of a writer. Especially one who's FINISHED A DRAFT OF HER NOVEL. People have been congratulating me, and I've been saying it's too early for that, but I have to admit that it does feel like an accomplishment.

Vegas, baby, Vegas

It's a big birthday for the husband this year, so we're partying in Vegas! Can't wait.

A rose

My middle name is the one that friends and family use, but my first name appears on all legal and formal documents. It gets confusing, fast. And, since I've been married, there's also the confusion as to which last name I'm going to use. Officially, it's my maiden name. But I use my husband's name when making reservations for the two of us, or, occasionally, in social situations, to simplify the identification of who-goes-with-who that people do at parties. (I also use my husband's name with my in-laws, who have never gotten used to the idea that a woman could keep her own name after marriage.) Mail from old-fashioned friends or from my husband's friends continues to get addressed in his last name, whereas from my friends or coworkers it comes in my maiden name. It's gotten so that even I am confused as to what my "real" name is.

In law school one of my recently-married friends said that she changed her name so that she and her husband would feel more like a family. This comment has stayed with me all of these years. Lately, I've been thinking more and more about changing my name. My husband is indifferent - when we were first married, he wanted me to, but he's become very sympathetic to the notion that all of my accomplishments were done under my maiden name. In addition, he is white and I am not, and we both think that it might be strange for people to meet a "Jane Smith" who looks like me. I'd like to keep my maiden name as a middle name, but then I would have to drop my unused first name, or else have four separate parts to my name, both of which are unacceptable options. Even though I don't use my first name, and have never used it, it's such a part of me that I can't let it go.

So - if I have no name, do I still exist?

Urban Dwellers

Living in the suburbs has a lot of advantages (e.g., space for a garden, streets that don't smell of urine, etc.), but sometimes I really miss being in a city. I've been spending a lot of time in the city lately, and a considerable amount of that time walking around. Today I was stopped twice by French tourists, looking for directions. I love tourists, maybe because I spend so much time traveling and being a tourist myself. They struggled to ask for what they needed in English. I considered talking to them in French (my French, sadly, was probably better than their English). One of my good friends is from France and she's always trying to get me to practice. Given the poorness of my French accent, however, coupled with the sensitivity of French ears, I decided it would be less painful for all of us if we stuck to English. But - it was fun just running into them. You never run into tourists in the suburbs.

I also really miss public transportation. Today I got from the Mission to the Marina for $1.50 on the bus. Cheaper than the gas it would take to go that distance. I didn't have to worry about traffic or parking or anything, just hopped on and hopped off. Easy-peasy.

And people are a lot more interesting to look at in the city. More different kinds of people, more different kinds of clothes, etc. At the risk of sounding frivolous, I have to admit that I'm very much into clothes (although you may not be able to tell by looking at the way I dress). I love fashion magazines and fabric stores and all that sort of thing. When I was younger, I used to draw clothes constantly. So it's fun to see what people are wearing when they're not all buying their clothes at J. Crew.

That said, I realize that I'm probably the worst offender in this respect. As I was getting dressed today, I noticed that I was head-to-foot J. Crew. Some days, it's all BR, or the Gap. It's all about comfort, man.

Standing Still

It's a funny feeling, watching people you've witnessed worrying over who to ask to the prom, or whether they should re-take the SAT, or what to tell their parents about the wrecked car, suddenly become parents themselves. I get so many baby announcements these days - as many as, or maybe even more than, wedding invitations. Pictures of boys and girls I used to know suddenly transformed into fathers and mothers. It freaks me out. All these pictures of these now-strangers, holding these babies, these miniature people that didn't even used to exist and now suddenly do.

I spent several hours today shopping for baby things. Of course, every time I went to check out, the salesperson ringing me up would have to ask if I was expecting. I like to think of myself as perpetually young, but I, like seemingly everyone around me, am at the age where this is a not-so-improbable supposition. It does seem, however, that the world has a singularly one-track mind when it comes to the subject of babies. I can't escape it. At a party the other day, I found myself sitting next to two anesthesiologists. The talk inevitably turned to epidurals. I asked a lot of questions (being afraid of needles, and even more afraid of incompetent doctors, since so many of my classmates went on to medical school). Eventually, one of the anesthesiologists turned to me and asked if I was expecting. Sigh. Do I really look old enough to be someone's mother?

Untitled

"I've found I'm scared to know I'm always on your mind." - Howie Day

Life, London, this day in June...

It's odd to wake up one day and realize that your happiness or lack thereof has little to do with your circumstances. I was dreaming about a house, with a little garden, and peace, and freedom to do whatever I wanted . . . a long-time dream for me. And then I realized - I already have all these things, and more. Much, much more.

Off the Hook

For the sake of my sanity and because it is a constant interruption, I no longer answer the phone unless it is someone I know. I suppose you could call this screening. The screening process is complicated by the fact that some people will not leave messages. For instance, today the phone has been ringing off the hook all day. Four times, it was a recorded message (from banks, utilities, etc.). Screening spared me from having to interrupt my work to answer these calls. BUT - three or four other times, the phone rang until the answering machine picked up, and then whoever it was hung up without saying anything. Friend? Headhunter? Telemarketer? Now I'll never know. If you are my friend, I DO want to talk to you, so please please please say something to the answering machine so I know it's you!*

* As I was writing this, the phone rang twice more. Same thing - no message. The last time, I was so frustrated I went to go answer it, but didn't get to it in time. Who is it that wants to talk to me badly enough to call six times, but not badly enough to leave a message????

On Weddings

I was one of the many, many people around the world who attended a wedding on Saturday, 7/7/7. And it was a beautiful wedding. Both my husband and I choked up, as we almost always do at weddings, particularly when the bride and groom are both such good friends of ours. The bride is an organizational genius with a great deal of style and an eye for detail, and all of these powers were brought to bear in their wedding. We've attended far more lavish and expensive weddings, but few more elegant or beautiful. Heartfelt congratulations again.

My favorite weddings are the ones where you can tell how happy the bride and groom are to be getting married. At one wedding I was at, the bride leaned, briefly, against the groom during the minister's sermon, and he briefly put his arm around her. Immediate tears. At another wedding, the groom, normally an impassive military man, had the biggest smile on his face the whole time, particularly as he watched his bride coming down the aisle. At yet another wedding, it was the way he looked at her while the pastor prayed for them.

It's also touching when the family gets in on it. At one wedding, the groom's older brother - a tough-looking guy with a crew cut and scowl - suddenly started sobbing. This happened at my own wedding, too: I have no recollection of what the pastor said, but I vividly recall how loudly my brother-in-law was crying.

Also, there's something about hearing the vows again, for us old married people, that kind of gets you choked up too. Not only does it take you back to your own wedding, but it makes you think about the days, months, years of your marriage - the joys and hurts and all of it - and how you measure up against the solemn vows you took: "for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish 'till death do us part."

Do The Right Thing

Why do people say this like it should be so easy, the right thing apparent in any given situation? I want to do the right thing - I want to do what God wants - but I just don't know what it is anymore. Do the "responsible" thing and go back to work so that my family doesn't have to worry about money, so we can give more to church and charities? Do the "self-fulfilling" thing and stay here, stay home, keep writing and hoping and praying for someone to buy my book? Do the "practical" thing and keep looking for a middle ground, for a job that won't take my life and my soul, that will leave me time to write on the side? Which one of these is the "right" thing?

I have been so depressed and discouraged lately. It's hard to keep putting one foot in front of the other when you don't know if the journey is leading anywhere. I need a pick-me-up, but I don't even know what that would be, I'm so play-challenged.

Languages

The Academic Bookstore stands on the Esplanade in Helsinki. During the summer, the Esplanade is a beautiful place to walk. A park runs through the center. Street musicians perform on the sidewalk. Everyone looks happy.

I sat inside the Academic reading a book on Finns. A blond man walked up to me and, in perfect Mandarin, asked me if I was Chinese. His accent was flawless - at least, as far as a non-speaker like me could tell. (Although, to bolster the credibility of my claim, I should add that I grew up hearing Chinese, even if I can't speak it myself.) "From China?" he asked. "No," I said, in English. "American."

"Ahh." He smiled nervously and hurried away. Was I more threatening as an American than as a Chinese tourist? Was he embarrassed at his mistake? Nonplussed at my appearance and seemingly contradictory claim? And where had he learned to speak Chinese like that?

I've been to many cities around the world, but Helsinki holds a special place in my heart. It's comfortable, and peaceful, and clean. I could see myself living there, at least during the summers. Maybe I should learn to speak Chinese.