...And seeking lollopops

I've always thought my life happened with a dash of comic relief: whenever bad stuff happened, the good stuff was right around the corner. Or maybe it has some kind of Newtonian law: equal and opposite experiences, you know. But the other day, I thought up a new analogy: Life operates on the Doctor-Lollipop principle.

Back to childhood again:
You go to the doctor, get a shot, he gives you a lollipop. Unpleasant experiences chased by a pleasant experience.

Think about all the times that has happened to you. They're not necessarily silver linings or blessings in disguise; just random treats that chase down the bad stuff. Spoons full of sugar that come unbidden and make life a little easier to swallow. 

Mom's surgery was an unpleasant experience with actual doctors (who were, admittedly, perfectly pleasant). Besides her smooth recovery, I had my eye on a particular lollipop. Today I got it. 

I'm going to Columbia! (the school, not Colombia the country. See Spain post). I got my acceptance letter from Teacher's College and I can't wait to get started. 

So today's post belongs to gratitude. For my mom's good health--she's doing so well--and my good future. Good night! 

...And Hunting Monsters

"What are you doing?" Jared asked as I crouched over our hurricane-warped floors and peeled up our bedskirt.

"Looking for monsters," I replied.

In addition to being an overly sassy answer to a perfectly harmless question, my response happened to be (part of) the truth. I have been facing monsters lately, and--thanks to Sandy--a few of them washed up under my bed.

When we're kids, we lose sleep to the big, growling creatures lurking in the dark. We arm ourselves with teddy bears and blankets, but one little noise, one creak, one shadow and all our talismans are powerless: we're sure the monsters have found us. And then--hallelujah--someone turns on the light, and everything's ok. Our rooms look just like they did in daylight. The monsters may still be there, but the fear goes away.

That's kind of how I feel.

Yearly mammograms. Cautious dieting and exercise. Pink pajamas. Doesn't matter. Eventually, breast cancer found my mom (and in October, Breast Cancer Awareness Month. How cliche). She meant to tell me in person, but I figured it out on my own just before a planned trip home, leaving me one night to spend alone considering all the different shapes this particular beast could take. But then I saw her again and it was just like someone had turned on the light. The monster was still there, but everything else looked as it had before.

Then fortunately (or maybe unfortunately; it's hard to say) I was home in Florida when the hurricane hit New Jersey (why yes, that is ironic). I  got to watch the destruction from the comfort of my safe, dry hometown while I waited for a flight back to NJ. That's rather like watching Jaws on the way to Martha's Vineyard. I knew when I got back to Jersey the monsters would be waiting. No power: ugh, my fridge.  Flooding: ugh, my stuff. No heat. No hot water. Ugh. Ugh. Ick.

Even as I faced one monster, others loomed in my mind. In fact (this is embarrassing) I was so sure my fridge would be a spoiled, disgusting mess, I refused to open the door for...well, longer than I should have. I convinced myself that that was one monster I definitely couldn't beat. But I couldn't put it off forever. So I opened the door, and the light turned on, and I remembered: I cleaned my fridge before I left.

Monsters in your rear-view mirror are always smaller than they once appeared.

P.S. One little monster was harmed in the making of this blog post. Elmo, the wrong-shade-of-red shag rug we never loved went out with the tide. RIP, Elmo rug.

...and Watching the Sun Rise

Buenas Dias, Madrid.

This is the sun rising outside my hotel window. Literally. They don't let you open the windows all the way, so I stood on the sill, stuck my arm out and got the shot. Outside my window.

Now am I usually up to see the sunrise? No. Am I generally up at 1:42 EST? Not really. But after a jet-laggy night and a very realistic dream that on my last night in Madrid I still hadn't seen anything, I figure it's time to  out and see what I can see without a window frame in my way.

Today, the Prado, Madrid's famed art museum. (Ha! Autocorrect keeps trying to make "Madrid's" into "America's". A little too patriotic.) Tonight is fashion night out.

Hasta luego!

...And Going on an Adventure

Here in my jobless bubble, I can get awfully comfortable. I'm sorry to admit I can easily go a full day without stepping foot outside (an ability I use sparingly, I assure you). And with long blank stretches of time ahead of me, I find I don't get too creative in filling it all up. I doodle a bit here or there and call it a day if not a masterpiece. I sketch the smudgy outline of a full life. I have the gift of time and I'm treating it like scrap paper. Brilliant, huh?

But tomorrow's plan is primed with potential: I'm going to Spain.

The country. (Someone asked.)

Naturally, being me, my reaction to this is...trepidation. I'm not really sure what to do with myself in Spain. I won't have my trusty cell phone! No laptop! A vocabulary of maybe 20 disparate words and half-remembered conjugations (¿Podría manzanas tener algo si por favor fanfarrón?)! A 7 hour flight taking me up and away from the sweet lullaby of Main Street, USA!

But it's an adventure. And something in me knows that an adventure like this is something you should just say yes to. So away I go! Wish me luck, wish me safety, wish me a splash of adventure!

Good night! Buenas noches! Hasta pronto!

...and everything's coming up flours

My kitchen is a national disaster area. Cordon off the island. Don your HAZMAT suit. Don't let anyone in a 5-mile radius light a match (flour is explosive). Can we call in the National Guard to deal with this so I can go to bed?

In other news: yum

This recipe for yeast donuts made decent treats. However, the dough's a bit mild and it takes some coaxing to rise. Baking them works much better than frying, too. I proofed the yeast and added flour to compensate, though, so ymmv.

...And Patriotic

"Heroes" would be the wrong word. I know these people are saving the world one breaststroke at a time the way I'm saving the world one keystroke at a time--which is to say, not at all.

Emblems, maybe. Icons. Yes, let's call them icons.

I am a patriot. I see someone wearing the stars and stripes and think, I'm with him. 

And so I love the Olympics. I love my arbitrary rooting interests. I love the baseless emotion. I love it all because in an election year (aren't they always?) when we disagree for the sake of disagreeing and find fault in the best of intentions, isn't it nice to cheer our champions on just because we're all American? And individual though we are, doesn't it feel good to be on the same team?

Good luck, Team USA. Do your country proud.

Good night! (Across the pond: Good morning!)

(Retro) Hiatus Day 4

**This post was supposed to go up on August 5, 2010. I just found it in drafts and oh how familiar it sounds. See update at end**


And make new friends, but keep the old: one is silver and the other is gold.

Strike that. Reverse it.

There's a necklace I always wear. I really do mean always. If it isn't on my neck it's still somewhere on me: on my wrist, in my pocket, pinned into my bra. Two silver charms on a silver ring. We call them my movie tickets: wonky, dented rectangles. Together, they're a Jewish star.

This necklace has endured nine years of heartbeats while it rests on my chest. It is battered, it is bent and it needs to be polished. But even when it's hazy, I can see myself in it.

It's simple, plain even, but from a distance, with our jagged strips of metal laying just so, we're beautiful in our way.

I really love this necklace.

Which is why, I'm sure, a few people who love me very much (and who always read this blog) went through an awful lot of trouble.

It all started when my grandmother gave me my great-grandmother's gold charm bracelet for my 21st birthday. I love that piece of jewelry, too. I said something about loving gold but never wearing it because my necklace is silver.

So now I have a very beautiful, custom-made gold star. And everyone thinks I don't like it. And I can't seem to explain out loud, so I thought I could put it in print.

I feel so comfortable with this unassuming, silver charm, this witness to nine years of changes. I have nine years of pictures marked with a flash of silver. I don't like my star because it's stylish or fancy; I like it because it's familiar.

I keep saying it because it's true: everything can change in a moment, and I don't know when that moment will come. I can't settle into anything.

**Gramma had that necklace made. Gramma died on 7.15.2011. I lost it recently. Tore my apartment apart looking for it. Emptied my jewelry roll (from Gramma), filled with other things (often from Gramma). Asked if anyone had seen it. Time went by. My job ended. I had an interview. I went looking for my nice pearl earrings. I opened my jewelry roll. It was sitting there. You couldn't possibly miss it. Who can explain? Fate and time do funny things. Or maybe this, too, was from Gramma.**

...And this is a story about time

The clock above the door on the way out of my apartment doesn't work.

It hasn't for some time now. I don't know how long; I'm not good at keeping track. When the second hand hits the seven something goes awry and the seconds go backward. Then forward. Back again. It twitches. It's stuck. And before it can get itself moving in the right direction again, real time slips by and this clock can't catch up.

Yes, time stops in my apartment.

But outside things keep moving on.

Day 0 again

...and the universe is roaring.

Oprah says that the universe first speaks to you in a whisper, then in a roar.

The universe is roaring. Sometimes so loud I can't hear what it's saying. Just the earsplitting rush of wind and wave.

The winds of change and new waves, that is.

Welcome back, blog.