Birds and Bees

On today's to-do list: build a small cage around our strawberry patch to keep away marauding birds. I hate birds, even pretty ones (hummingbirds excepted), and the blue-jays and magpies that surround our house are at the top of my list. They've been picking off the strawberries as they ripen. This is unacceptable.

Other things on the to-do list: clean out old letters/cards. I have to admit, I'm something of a packrat. My husband, too, although less so. Between the two of us, we have quite an archive of correspondence. I have cards I received twenty years ago, from people I no longer remember. I have really personal cards from people I can't remember having been that close to (admittedly, my memory for such things is not long). I think I've kept every scrap of paper that anyone has ever written me, no matter how insignificant the message or the relationship. While it seems sad to toss away a fifteen-year-old message asking me if I want to go shopping, I think it's time to put these in the recycling bin. Of course, I'm going to continue to keep some of them, the ones from people who still matter to me, the ones with really meaningful messages.

A subset of the old letters/cards category is the memorabilia of past relationships. Both my husband and I had a "box" for each former flame. Going through these boxes was amusing - we've been together for so long that it felt like rifling through someone else's life, like gossip, rather than anything we had personally gone through. It did, however, make me feel old. Were we ever really as young as we sounded in these notes? I can't remember having been so young that it seemed important to keep things like receipts, showing where I'd been and when. And yet, they were there, in the Boxes. I do remember cutting paper snowflakes, which, when unfolded, said "I love u." Embarrassing to think of now. Hopefully, somewhere out there, my exes have already destroyed any Box they may have kept.

My husband, being a boy, had fewer such embarrassments. The same can't be said for his ex-girlfriends, who should be very relieved to know that these Boxes have now, finally, all been laid to rest in our shredder/recycling bin. The stuffed animals and other assorted gifts have been packed off to various charities. Ah, de-cluttering. Makes me feel like a new woman.

Back to Reality

Went surfing here in California yesterday. It's hard to believe it's the same ocean as the one I swam/surfed in, in Hawaii. The water is about forty degrees colder here. The waves are bigger and meaner. Whereas the water in Hawaii was crystal clear, the water here is murky and seaweed-filled. It was one of those days where it felt like I couldn't do anything right in the water. Huge clumps of seaweed kept getting tangled up in my leash, impeding movement. The currents were strong, and I felt like I spent most of my energy just trying to stay in the same spot, so I didn't have much left for paddling for waves. And the waves were closing out. I stupidly paddled into a couple of bad closeouts. That's one of the worst feelings, being washing-machined. The waves tumble you. If you're lucky, you're just disoriented when you come back up. If you're unlucky, the force of the wave throws you toward the bottom of the ocean, where you can hit your head on a rock (which has happened to me), or get your leash tangled on a rock and get trapped. If you're lucky, when you come back up the coast is clear. If you're unlucky, you might come back up to see a surfboard (your own or someone else's) hurtling at you. Or, as happened to me yesterday, you come back up just in time to see the next wave - a wall of water - coming at you and you have to dive back under before you have time to really even catch your breath.

Back!

Just got back this morning, on a red-eye so I'm a little fuzzy-headed. Hawaii was awesome (as is to be expected). Temps in the eighties, perfect waves, water a beautiful aquamarine. Didn't have my own board so had to rent one, which was the only not-so-great thing. The rental boards kind of sucked. I had one that was like a boat. Not sure what happened, but that board definitely got the best of me. Came out of the water bruised all over, and I hadn't even fallen! It was like I got bruised just touching it. Still, it was incredible to be in the water without a wetsuit and to not be at all cold! And sitting out there, I saw these tropical fish swimming around in the water near my feet. The water was unbelievably clear. We hiked Diamondhead, and even from the top, we could see the bottom of the ocean below us. Thanks to my sister for the trip, which was such a great bday gift, it more than made up for a not-so-great birthday.

Reve

- ...Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?
- A man may do both.

- The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien

Counting Blessings

One of the unexpected benefits to not working - at least, not working a regular job, or maybe just a law firm job - is a renewed appreciation of what a beautiful place this is. Seasons had always escaped me before: no matter what month it was, what the weather outside, my office always looked the same, and my office was all I saw. Now I actually get to go outside during daylight hours, and it's pretty amazing. I'd forgotten how blue the sky is here. It's full-on spring now, and the trees are budding, plants are flowering everywhere. Even just driving down the street to the grocery store is a pleasure.

On an unrelated note (although this could still fall under the category of blessings), I am so happy that we didn't get rid of our stove. It's one of those electric, ceramic ones. When we first bought the house, I was adamant that it had to go (as I've mentioned before, I'm something of a Luddite in the kitchen). I wanted to replace it with one of those hulking gas Viking stoves with the roaring flames. In the final event, though, there was too much else to do, we didn't have a gas line running to the stove and would have had to have someone out to put one in (and I have no success with contractors), so we just left it. I'm glad we did. It is SO easy to clean, it heats up much more quickly, and, I think for that reason, cooks just as well as a gas stove.

Temper

What's the inverse of schadenfreude? Pettiness, maliciousness - not exact enough. A lack of gratitude for what you have, constantly believing that the grass is greener elsewhere, that someone else's life is (undeservedly) better than yours. These feelings plague me. The only thing I can say for myself is that I am ashamed of them, and, with my rational mind, I know that there is no one I would trade places with for even a day. I have been incredibly blessed, far more than I could ever deserve. I think at the root of all my negativity is my anxiety. It's like an evil mushroom sending toxic sprays out into the ground all around it. I've always been an anxious person, always been a worrier, but it's been worse lately and I don't know why. So many people out there have real problems: where their next meal is coming from, illnesses, etc. I only have neuroses. Isn't this what will power is for?

Getting a Grip

I was stood up by yet another contractor yesterday. Lovely.

I feel this low-grade anxiety humming in the back of my head like a motor. I've spent a lot of time lately trying to pinpoint its source, but not much luck so far. Instead, I've been acting like a mal-adjusted sprinkler head, spewing discontent in random directions. Well, not so random. It's more like a heightening of frustrations I already had. Thankfully, I'm going on vacation next week. (Can I call it a vacation, even though I have no "real" job from which to vacate?) Unfortunately sans husband, but it'll give me time to hang out with my sister. Who knows, maybe Hawaii will help me unwind. Looking forward to the surf.

The Ark, Reprised

When you get married, one of the things you have to get used to is how all your friends suddenly become "couple friends." Nearly all of our friends (at least, the ones we've made since we've been married, and not counting the ones who were our friends pre-wedding) come in packages of two. It makes sense, I suppose: everyone works hard, you don't have much time to spend with your spouse/significant other, so when you go out you want to go out together. I know I don't enjoy going out without my husband.

We went out with such a pair of our couple friends a few nights ago, and the couple phenomenon was duly noted amongst the four of us. Our friends then shared that one of the things they often discuss is, should a pair of their couple friends break up and they could no longer keep both of them in their lives, which one they would choose to keep. (It was a little awkward; my husband and I glanced at each other, both of us wondering which one of us they had decided on.) But normally, I don't think it's a tough decision. Even with couple friends, there's almost always one you feel closer to, the one who is the reason for the four of you hanging out together at all, usually the one you met first.

Becoming Handy

Rule number one of home ownership: things will break. Corresponding rules: plumbers charge > $150/hour (clearly I entered the wrong profession); contractors charge a gazillion dollars an hour, and, moreover, will not return your phone calls or keep appointments;
and, finally, your average, run-of-the-mill, non-bankruptcy-causing handyman has gone extinct.

Corollary to the above rules: you must learn to do many things yourself. Unless, of course, you have a lot of money and don't mind spending it all on routine house maintenance.

So, here are the things I have learned to do since purchasing the house:

• diagnose common plumbing issues;
  
• replace toilet fill valves and other toilet anatomy miscellanea;
• install drapery rods and other window treatments;
• engage in minor sprinkler repairs;
• dig holes and plant stuff;
• caulk many, many things (it's amazing how many problems can be solved by a tube of caulk);
  
• find studs;
• drill holes and attach stuff.

I've gotten to know my local Home Depot very well.

And I've gotten to spend much quality time with my sewing machine, making drapes, matching pillows, etc.

In addition, I now have a yard (both front and back) full of living things whose lives depend largely on my vigilance. Many, many hours a day are spent watering, weeding, digging, spraying, etc., etc. Someone suggested using a gardening service, but, being descended from my father, a master gardener, I feel like that would be a blow to the pride and honor of my family, not to mention cheating.

With all of this, who has time to work?

Tennis

To me, the best songs are the ones that remind me of something. I heard Alanis Morissette on the radio today. While I was in New Zealand, my cousin played her first CD non-stop. It was in New Zealand, skin cancer capitol of the world, that I first played on an indoor tennis court. Actually, it was the only time I've ever played on an indoor tennis court.

Tennis saved me during high school. Only in my hours on the court could I forget about the body of which I was so ashamed (believing myself to be fat and ugly). Only on the court did I feel in control. During the summers, I would sometimes play seven hours a day; sometimes with a friend, sometimes with one or another of my coaches, sometimes by myself, practicing my serve over and over and over again, till my eyes were bloodshot from staring into the sun. There were nights when I couldn't fall asleep, replaying certain points in my head, seeing the tennis ball in vivid color behind my closed eyelids, a zahir. I played till my hands blistered and bled, till my muscles would no longer support me. I wrote my college essays about tennis.

And tennis extracted a price from me. The pains I have now - my knees, my wrists, the shoulder I dislocate time and again - are all from those hours I spent. Moreover, tennis cost me one of my best friends at the time. I was voted Most Valuable Player our senior year, and she never forgave me for it. We both knew she was the better player, but I won more matches and our coach and teammates loved me for it.

I wonder sometimes what she's doing now, if she's happy. I wonder how well we ever knew each other, and if she would recognize me if she saw me now. I don't often play anymore. I've long since lost the trophies, misplaced the pictures. I wonder if I've really changed all that much, or if tennis could somehow save me again.

Phasing Out

above these walls of concrete and glass, these cars, these people, and me, the sky is a cotton-candy blue pulling apart in wisps of white cloud, close enough to reach it is tasteless. i sit in the car in the cold with the engine off and behind the strip mall i see hills green from winter rain, peaked with radio towers like the spindles of a magic loom to put me into a deep, deep sleep from which i can only be awakened by magic. safe in here and people's voices only come at me muffled, their faces through the glass like animals in a cage at the zoo with me safe on the other side. bright morning california morning but it all feels the same.

Procrastination

Last night's dinner: baked mahimahi breaded in a mixture of ground macadamia nuts, coconut milk, flour, and bread crumbs, and an artichoke risotto. I used rice vinegar in the risotto, which added an interesting flavor - I kind of liked it. I'd had an artichoke risotto in Rome, and was trying to re-create it. Ditto with the mahimahi, although that was not in Rome but somewhere in the U.S. I was winging it and a little nervous about how everything was going to turn out, but it worked.

These are the things I think about while I should be writing.

Awesome Love

Benny Hester sings a song called "When God Ran." It starts off with a list of some of God's characteristics: "Almighty God, the great I am, immovable rock, omnipotent, powerful, awesome Lord, victorious warrior, commanding king of kings, mighty conqueror." Then it goes on: "And the only time, the only time I ever saw Him run, was when He ran to me, took me in His arms, held my head to his chest, said 'My son's come home again.' Lifted my face, wiped the tears from my eyes, with forgiveness in His voice He said, 'Son, do you know I still love you?'"

I think I manage to avoid some of the obvious sins, but I've left God, hurt Him, many, many times with my not-so-obvious (to the world anyway) sins. Like my lack of faith. Despite the countless number of times that He's shown me how much He loves me, whenever I get into a rut or things stop going my way, I feel like He's abandoned me, or that He's let me down. I stop believing in His plan. Especially when it comes to my career-life, I've spent the last few months wondering if He has a plan for me at all.

I've been struggling to deal with the after-effects of giving up my career as a lawyer: the loss of salary, the loss of prestige, and of concomitant self-respect. My husband ran into a partner that I used to work for, who told him that I was one of the best associates he'd had. Immodest as it sounds, I knew it already. I was a good lawyer, a very good lawyer. But that just makes it harder for me to feel like I've done the right thing, dropping my job when I was doing so well.

What makes it worse is that my mental struggles over the rightness of what I've done have made it harder for me to write. And that, in turn, makes me feel even worse about giving up my legal career. All of this sends me whining back to God: "Why, Lord? Why are You silent? Why aren't You leading me/telling me what to do?"

I've been looking for signs, even though I know God is more subtle than that. I had to leave the house today to run an errand. I was wearing my college sweatshirt. Driving over to the store, I was, as usual, thinking about my job-less state and wondering whether I should just give up on the writing thing, feeling bad about being "unemployed." It was the middle of the afternoon, the time of day when those gainfully employed are not free to run around to the stores. An old man in line ahead of me looked at my sweatshirt. "I went to that college," he said. "Are you in school there?" "Graduated," I said. He looked at me, "Graduated and not employed?" I muttered something and left to go wait in another line. I can't stand nosy strangers. But the same thing happened in the other line! Another old man, another conversation about my sweatshirt, another remark about how I'm not working.

Coincidence? Some sort of sign? And if so, of what? Is He trying to tell me through these various old men that I should get a real job? I feel like I'm having a panic attack, my anxiety rising up through my throat and choking me. Lord, I do believe. Help me in mine unbelief.

Weight

These are the things that make it hard to get out of bed in the morning, that weigh down on you like a craggy boulder crushing you with sharp edges.

We used to live in a poor neighborhood of a big city. Not poor as in working-class or blue-collar, but poor as in food stamps, prostitution, drugs, and drive-bys. People were killed in the gas station two blocks from our apartment. A bullet from the street came in through a wall and hit our downstairs neighbor in the hip. On the corner of our block, a girl was killed when she stumbled into crossfire between two drug dealers.

In this neighborhood, there was a fortress of an apartment building. In this apartment building (not ours) lived people who were only in the neighborhood temporarily, usually students or professors, and who were all white. A big fence surrounded the yard behind the apartment building, but it was a fence made of wrought iron and you could see through the pillars to what was inside. In the yard was a big playground structure. Nobody from the apartment building used it. Probably too afraid to let their children outside. I was walking past it one day, and saw two little neighborhood boys standing on the outside of the fence, staring in at the playground. They were probably five or six years old. Just stood there staring. I watched them for awhile, heart breaking, and then I kept walking, knowing there was nothing I could do. When I turned around farther down the street and looked back at them, they were still there, still staring.

There were no other playgrounds in this neighborhood that I ever saw. Driving by an abandoned lot one day, bordered on one side by an abandoned brick building and on the other by a gas station frequented by toughs driving old American cars, falling apart but still equipped with rims, I saw children bouncing a ball off the old brick wall. This was where they played and how they played, bouncing a fifty-cent rubber ball off a wall adorned with a huge Miller Lite ad.

But they were playing, not running with gangs, not dealing drugs. You take hope where you can get it. What gets me down is the helplessness I feel - even if I had Bill Gates' money, could I ever begin to make a dent in even just my little city, much less all the cities in all the countries in the world where children suffer?

Heavy Bass

We listen to hip hop while changing into our wetsuits, the car radio blaring, the doors open. It's almost time for a new wetsuit, but I'm reluctant to give it up just when it's gotten stretched out enough to make it easier to put it on and take it off. I've learned how to change faster, to keep up, even though I was never good at deck changes. Once the wetsuits are on, we pull on our booties, pick up our boards, and head down to the ocean. If we surf on the south side of our usual spot, the walk down to the ocean is covered with rocks. They prick our feet through the booties; walking without the booties would be miserable. If the waves are good, we're excited, practically running.

We've seen a lot of things while surfing. Dolphins, sometimes. Seals pretty frequently. Once a large crab, Dungeoness maybe, trying to dig a hole in the sand by doing the twist. We were heading down to the water one day when we saw a starfish, big and orange, lying on the beach. It had been washed in by the waves, and it had been lucky - we had found it before any predatory birds had, or a curious dog. My husband put it on the deck of his surfboard, by the nose. He paddled out with it past the waves, only letting it drop into the water once we were outside the break. Why paddle it out? I asked. Why not just toss it back into the water? I wanted to make sure it dropped into the water somewhere deep enough so the birds wouldn't get it, he said.

In an aquarium in the Bahamas I watched a starfish lose an arm to a crab. In Norway I watched a crab lose a leg to another crab; the losing crab skulked to a corner of the tank. The winner proceeded to eat the leg. Animals are cruel by nature. But then, cruelty is subjective. Maybe it's a term that only has meaning when survival is not at stake. When I was younger, I had a fish tank, fairly large and full of fish. But one day I woke up and all the fish were on the floor. They had jumped out somehow, my father said. I was only six and this haunted me for years, that my fish had committed suicide.

Although maybe it was foul play. Around that time we'd had a cat. A fat, fat cat who was meaner than mean. I had long scratches up and down my arms. We named the cat Doughnuts, because he liked to eat them. He would steal them from our plates, scratching his way to his prize. My parents were disturbed by his bad nature and gave him away. Years later, on an island in Greece, I would be scratched by yet another cat, this one black, that I had been feeding bits of fish off my plate. And I still wouldn't understand, why something I loved and was trying to care for would want to hurt me.

Cats, starfish, dogs, birds. And the world keeps turning round.

Getting Older

After the sun sets, but before the light has faded from the sky, even the most familiar places seem new and exciting. Driving down a street I've driven down a million times, the traffic lights look brighter, the neon signs pop out from the shadows. Maybe it's because, in my memories, this is the time of day that I would usually arrive in a new city when traveling. I used to love airports and the sensation of heading off somewhere unknown. It's different now that I'm older. Now, airports project stress rather than promise. It's a little like losing Disneyland - the last time I was there, I felt too old for it; it wasn't the happiest place on earth for me anymore. Is there anything left of my childhood in me?

Setting Myself Straight

I've had a rough few months, trying to deal with the psychological fall-out from giving up my high-salaried, high-status job to staying at home and making zero money. When we were buying the house, insurers, lenders, etc., would put my occupation down as "homemaker." And that has never been the woman I thought I would be.

It hasn't just been psychologically difficult. I've also been extra worried about money, lately, with the recent acquisition of a frighteningly large mortgage. To top it off, my husband is in the process of changing jobs and taking a pay cut. I'm exceedingly happy for him - it's an opportunity he's really excited about and should be better hours-wise than his current job - but still worried.

And so, many, many times, I've wanted to give up and go back to work. Work was hard, but in many ways, it was the easier route. I'm good at climbing ladders, at working hard, but in an already-existing framework. Law was easy that way: go to law school, graduate, go to a firm, work your way up the ranks. The format was there and all I had to do was fill in the blanks.

But yesterday, driving around in the hills and thinking about how to go about finding another legal job, one that wouldn't drive me crazy, it occurred to me that life is bigger than our frameworks. Life isn't a pre-printed form where you fill in the blanks. It's a blank page, where you create whatever it is you want. So I need to start creating, and focus on creating, and not keep trying to run back into the hole it is from which I emerged. I've been like Plato's cave people, only too eager to settle for the shadows. I don't want to be that anymore. I want to be enlightened. And screw other people's opinions. It's not their life.

Yeah, the money thing is more difficult, but it'll work out somehow. Sure, I made good money as a lawyer, but is that the dollar amount I would put on my life? Surely my life is worth more than that.

Making a Place

Especially when we first moved in, it was hard to think of this house as ours. I kept thinking about the person who used to live here, what he used each room for, how he lived, what he thought about as he looked at and touched and used the same things that we do now. People, or maybe me in particular, spend so much energy keeping other people at a distance. We put such a premium on privacy, on personal space. It's strange to think that no matter what you do, though, your life will be touched by someone else's, sometimes a stranger's, in fundamentally intimate ways. The house or apartment where someone lived the dramas of his life, where someone breathed his last breath, is the house or apartment you inhabit and fill with the flotsam and jetsam of your own life. It seems strange to have what feels like a strong bond with someone you will probably never know.

When I think about this, I think that maybe I should be more open to meeting strangers. Who knows what kinds of bonds we might share? I've always been the kind of person who does what I call "circling the wagons": only certain people, my family and close friends, are in the circle, and everyone else is on the outside, being guarded against. I am cynical and suspicious of people unknown to me. I do not easily let people in. It's self-protection, but how effective is it really? There will always be people whose lives will touch mine in ways that I cannot guard against.

Learning New Things

I have only been a homeowner for a few weeks now, and I have already learned so much. All about retaining walls and sump pumps and grout - phrases whose meanings were unknown to me until very recently. I have also developed new attitudes, about rain, for example. We were hit by an unexpected shower this morning (although it is now sunny and cloudless outside). And, upon waking to find rain outside my window, I didn't feel nostalgic or depressed. Instead, I thought, Great! Now my plants will get watered and I can put off figuring out the sprinkler system for another day!

Foodwise

We've become highly domesticated. Since purchasing the house, we spend almost all of our free time doing things to it. (LOVE the house, but I have to admit that I'm aching to surf.) First was the moving, then the furnishing and fixing up (still ongoing processes). Stores which I have gotten to know very, very, very well: Home Depot, Costco, Target, and Ikea (a great place to buy mirrors). Especially Home Depot, which I visit every day. During yesterday's visit, we bought a lawnmower and the husband mowed our lawn for the first time! We've spent time planing doors, installing shelves and towel rods, tending to the garden, etc., but the lawnmowing was what made the house really feel like ours.

Moreover, today we had our first dinner guests. I made pork chops with a soy-honey glaze, accompanied by baby carrots sauteed in the same, and mashed golden potatoes with pan-roasted garlic. And a banana-nut concoction for dessert. Simple but satisfying.

Home sweet home.