the pits

[This post is originally from 3/23/15]

It's Monday at 5:47pm.

Know where I usually am at this time?

Yoga. Not sitting on my couch. Not looking at a screen.

As previously discussed, I love my couch.

But right now, I want to be doing cartwheels and handstands, and general frolicking.

But I'm sitting here, on my couch.

Stupid back.  

birthday reflections

[This post is from May 2015]

Fifteen years ago, I turned thirteen. I was in seventh grade, the first year of school I was allowed to shave my legs. For my birthday, my parents bought me stilts. Not just any stilts - drywall stilts. They let me walk around their house in them and I balanced myself on the ceiling.

I remember ten years ago, when I turned eighteen. Eighteen felt so old. So grown-up. Anyone else remember feeling like that when you turned eighteen? I remember that my then-boyfriend came over early in the morning to surprise me.

Unfortunately, I am a difficult person to surprise at the average level. You see, in my family, we have a tradition of really good April Fool's jokes, and not just on April 1. [this year, I actually avoided talking to any of my family all day on 4/1, since I hadn't prepared anything and my dad had just had surgery.] For survival, I have developed a sort of sixth sense that I call the surprise sense. Sometimes this gets in my way because I love surprises.

So I got up even earlier, brushed my teeth and my hair, put on chapstick and the cute pajamas and tried to look peaceful. After he had "woken" me, I got the sense that he was trying to keep me from looking outside. Obviously, I then worked my way to a different window and saw one of my friend's cars. We went downstairs for a surprise breakfast. The most surprising thing was that they had filled my car with balloons. I recommend this as a very fun surprise.

Five years ago, I turned twenty-three. All of college behind me, I was finishing up my year of living in Spain and threw myself a party. I baked ALL my favorite American sweets - a huge layer cake, cookies, apple pie, and more. I invited everyone I knew. They sang me happy birthday in Spanish then in English. I loved it. It was beautiful. Even though I had specified on the invitation that the only gift I wanted was for no one to smoke, everyone still brought gifts - a Juanes CD, a coffee table book of pictures of Spain, jewelry from Galicia and from Jerez, scarves, and more. It was one of the most beautiful moments for me, to see all these people there, the life I had made in Spain.

And this year, on the eve of my birthday, I picked up my husband at the airport. He'd been in Central America all week, and I was so excited to see him. I couldn't stop smiling on my way to the airport, and  walked very quickly to get to his gate to be there in time to meet him - my ankles and hips burned. We got home and soon it was 12:04 am. My birthday!

We celebrated the next day by sharing stories from our week, swimming, and having dinner and cake with my parents and dear friend Carolyn. Though not a big celebration, it was just perfect.  

Digestion, bacteria, and the tornado

***This post contains descriptions of digestive upset. If you don't want to read about it, don't!***

"Isn't it basically like being on vacation all the time?"

Once I started my current position at work, which involves traveling, someone said this to me. Let me say this: I LOVE my job. I love traveling to other countries, I love building cross-cultural relationships, I love visiting the families we work with. However - it is not at all like being on vacation. It's kind of like... going to summer camp, except for that you take your laptop and work all the time. But you're far away from your family and friends and normal activities, and so it's not a big deal to work from 8 am- 7pm or even longer. Because that's what you're there for. And like I said - I love my job. But vacation it is not.

Since January 2015, I have taken six trips to six countries. Today I would like to talk about something I experienced on 50% of those trips - getting sick from something I ate. It's happened in three different countries from three different things, but the symptoms for me are always the same.

1. Start to feel a little carsick, but all the time. This is when the bacteria is in the top half of your digestive system. Some people get a little feverish or throw-up during this stage. I only threw up once during the three bacteria attacks.... could we call them bac-attacks?!?! I have a couple of photos of myself in this stage, but decided not to post them due to the yellow/ green color of my face + sweat.
2. Feel like your intestines are full of cold gel. (It's that creepy blue-raspberry color too, which sure doesn't help. Such an unnatural shade of blue for a food - and raspberries are red!) Sometimes you can put off entering this stage for a while by not eating very much... which if you are feeling carsick and nauseous all the time might happen naturally.

Here's me on a trip right before stage 3. Please note the skirt which is extremely stretchy and lose on the abdomen. When I got dressed that morning, I knew that pants were not going to work. 

3. Picture a tornado. Now imagine looking at it from on top. Now imagine that the point of the funnel is on your belly button. This is what stage three feels like and sounds like, complete with tornado-y rumble sounds from your belly. This is the best of the three stages so far because it means that your body is working to get rid of the bacteria. 

4. This is the stage where you can be certain that you had a bac attack: elimination. Eventually, you will start pooing liquid if you don't have an antibiotic. This can be a weird experience the first time it happens, but major props to your body for doing work to get the stuff out. Stay hydrated. 

And there you have it! 

international travel and coming home

I love traveling, but I also love coming home.

I love feeling the energy of another place, another country. It helped that on my most recent trip, I didn't get sick, and it was safe enough for me to walk around by myself. The country was beautiful, and there was enough infrastructure that we could get ourselves from the airport to the hotel. I read a lot on the way there, and had a lot of really good discussions with my co-travelers about everything you can imagine. I laughed until I cried twice.

The days were long - sometimes we were out working for 12 or 13 hours. We'd come back, grab a late dinner, and tumble into bed exhausted, but usually not before checking emails. One day, my mom had sent me a long email. I read it all and responded something like, "I read this. I loved it. Too tired to write more." (But really, isn't it better to respond this than to not respond at all?) On days where we were out and about less, we'd meet and plan the next day, figure out what things we needed to prioritize.

We made ourselves slow down a couple of times - a few hours on a Sunday, for Saturday night dinner, before we caught our bus to the airport on Tuesday afternoon. Those are the moments that you see photos of on social media. Like most social media, it paints an incomplete picture. I didn't photograph the time I stayed up till almost 1 am answering work emails, or the time I chose to go to bed instead of staying up to answer them (balance!). I didn't photograph our late night meetings. I did photograph myself when I found out my flight home was delayed yet another hour; but I won't be sharing that one. You can just imagine it.

I met some amazing people - international coworkers, hotel staff, sponsored families. I heard painful stories and stories of determination to get to where they are now. I had to write them down late at night because I want to remember them and I want them to shape me.

I believe that the amount to which we can experience and hold pain is also the extent to which we can experience joy. For me, traveling is a mixture of both. It's not just the wear and tear of travel - it's seeing the lack of opportunities or the corrupt power systems. But it's also seeing the spark that families carry inside them. To focus on only the positive things is easier - but just like in art, the negative space brings perspective, clarity.

I love traveling, but I also love coming home. Coming home gives me space to process the trip. And when I travel, I miss parts of being home, especially Caleb. But leaving makes it sweeter. I came home to a clean house, homemade lentil soup (per my request), flowers and a welcome sign, a fire in the fireplace, and taps on the maple tree to make homemade syrup. I spent a few days remembering what it means to slow down, rediscovering my own rhythms and waves.

I love traveling, but I also love coming home. 

Why I'm not a great client for hair salons

Today, I got my first non-spontaneous haircut in 5 years. I cut my own hair for most of that time, but was not brave enough to give myself a bob last fall, and called places until there was one that could get me in IMMEDIATELY. I told no one, not even Caleb, and then happily paid them to lop a lot of my hair off and it was awesome.

I made an appointment at that same place a few weeks ago for today, to get the exact same haircut. And I did, and it was awesome. I'd be happy to refer you, then we both get $10 off our next visit. I'm great at referring. This is not why I am not a great client for hair salons.

Here is what I have realized - when I had long hair, I had split ends all the time. All the time. And most of the time, it wasn't really that noticeable*. When it got noticeable, I would cut them off. When I got short hair five months ago, it was the best. I stopped using conditioner. Some days I would forget to brush it before leaving the house. I really enjoyed how it looked all the time. Once I even went to bed with wet hair, and woke up, and it still looked awesome*.

So, when I got my hair cut today, they commented about how I hadn't been in for a while, and wouldn't I like to schedule for a trim in 8-10 weeks? Nope. 

Well then, surely I would like to buy the product** that keeps my ends from splitting as they do when one prefers to wait a minimum 5 months between appointments? Nope. Wait, I had split ends? Oh yeah.

But here is what I realized. Split ends do not cause any serious damage. They are not giving me arthritis down the road, and they are not causing indigestion, and they are not making my hair fall out or my skin turn purple. And suddenly, I felt liberated. Like I will never again buy the argument that finding a split end means you urgently need to get a haircut. FREEDOM!

What a good day. Sorry to the hair salon people. But thanks to them for still always treating me as if I were a great client who faithfully came in every 8 weeks and bought all the products.

*Ahem. To me anyway. And that's all that matters.

** I know they have to do this, cause of their deals with the product companies, etc. etc. 

On terror and grace found in the library

There was another shooting today. I found out about it during a meeting that was covering a difficult topic. I found out that there were mentally disabled people involved and that there was an "active shooter".

Mass shootings have become all too common - so much so that many of us don't react anymore, except to acknowledge that it's tragic and then explain why this confirms or is generally unrelated to our politics. But today it was different for me. Today when I heard the news, I got nauseous and closed my eyes. I swallowed a lump in my throat. I prayed desperately and constantly - for the people involved, for the shooter to stop, for the softening of American hearts towards some kind of gun control.

I asked those around me to not hear the details, explaining that I just couldn't handle it right now, that I would look it up when I got home and could process and cry. And I thought about how it is prudent for every school, business, and family to have a plan and practice for these things, just like we practice for natural disasters like fires and tornados. I became scared.

In the wake of other recent events, I read a post about three reactions we have to terrorism: denial, transmission, and transformation. Allow me to pause here and say that there is SO much transmission on Facebook. It's hard to know what to do with our fears, and spreading them is sometimes the only way we know how to relieve the pressure. [Read here about being an anxious or non-anxious presence.] I thought today about being a non-anxious presence, about ways to react to the shooting with "creative non-violent courage". But mostly, I just felt scared to go out into the world, scared of how fragile life is.

Caleb asked me if I would be willing to go get him a library book while he changed the oil in the car. I wanted to stay blockaded into my house, where I had the illusion of control, but I went. I was afraid, but I went. I couldn't find the book he wanted and was going to give up, but decided to ask a librarian. [Bless the librarians.] After I reached out to this stranger, my fear started to dissipate. I needed her help, and she offered it. Something shifted inside me and fear started to drain away.

You guys. We NEED each other. And we need to examine our fears and prejudices and the scary things and face them. It is the only way forward. It's a step we all need to take together, because we cannot do it alone. 

The gluten-free piecaken

Sometime this week, I heard about the piecaken. I also immediately disagreed with the name. It should just be the piecake or the pake. But it seems the internet has dubbed it the piecaken, and I will respect that. 

I wasn't feeling great on Thanksgiving, so I didn't eat very much... which meant that today was a great day to do some catching up. We made waffles, baked mac & cheese, and .... a piecaken. (All gluten free, cause that's how we do it around here.) 

Here are my learnings and photos:

What made this project manageable is that I made the pie crust last week in preparation for Thanksgiving. However, I had initially planned on just baking it without filling, so I pricked holes in the crust. More on why that was a problem later.

This morning, I made the pecan pie filling, using maple syrup instead of corn syrup. Then I put it in our garage to cool. This afternoon, I made the cake batter - chocolate cake with chocolate chips. The cake called for two cups of sugar, and I cut it in half.

Now. Imagine the pie crust - with holes in bottom - filled with delicious, but now cold, maple syrup. Whoops. I spread a layer of cake batter in the parchment lined spring-form pan and flipped the pie plate and... nothing. 

I tried to take a fork around the edges of the pie, but it was pretty much a goner. But I did not worry, because pecans + chocolate = amazing. 

Sticky, syrupy pie crust

Completed cake ready to go in the oven for... about 90 minutes

Finally done! I covered it with foil for the majority of the baking process.

You can see the pie chunks... An alternative cake flavor considered was fresh peach

The first piece! Caleb didn't want icing on his.

The inside, pre-frosting

Post frosting - a maple chocolate frosting topped with pecans

And there you have it! I was really amazed when I transferred the cake - erm, piecaken - to the cake plate that it was extremely stable. Now we just need to find some helpers to eat it!