Stupid internet. Guess who's never heard the lyrics to "Turn Around" before? Yeah.
My kid is nearly five months, but already I'm feeling this way about her growth. Every time I look up from whatever I'm doing, it seems like she's suddenly so much bigger. I was actually going to write a post about it called "Turn Around" because that's so close to what it feels like. GUESS I'M NOT THE FIRST PERSON TO FEEL THIS WAY.
You know how people always talk about living "in the moment" and I'm all, yeah, sure I will, but I have to like, make plans and grocery lists for tomorrow and stuff. So I've never really had the idea of living in the moment explained to me.
Yesterday I watched a Nature episode called "My Life as a Turkey" and the guy was talking about the beauty and stillness of the wild turkey (I know...) and how they didn't betray the moment by worrying about the future, which will by definition never come, so therefore the present is the best they've got. This comes close to my heart because I always feel that everything is passing by so quickly and I'm trying to catch it and relish the NOW but it just slips by before I can blink. And it suuuuuuucks. This was brought into perfect clarity right after my c-section, when I discovered that my previous feelings that I was a laid back, non-anxious person were proven completely wrong. It's almost as if post pregnancy hormones just bring any little hangup you used to ignore right to the surface of your personality, until you are bursting into sobs just watching your slumbering baby get her hearing test.
BTW Thanksgiving was yesterday! It was great fun, but prepping for that big meal is completely different when you know you have the ticking time bomb of a screaming baby in your near vicinity. However, I got not one, but TWO turkey carcasses out of it to make turkey stock later. Oh man oh man food boner you guys. SO EXCITE.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Non-Liquid Diet
GUESS WHAT I BOUGHT
Went to the pediatrician on Thursday. They'd screwed up my appointment as usual, so I was "late." Not sure how I can screw up inputing the appointment on my calendar when I do it RIGHT THERE IN RECEPTION. They'd also thought I had another appt next week. Um, no, also why? But I forgive them, because our pedi is also awesome and great and his nurses love love love C.
Anyway, he mentioned that we should start solids soon. Like, in a month. I'd been dreading this because seriously? C. is just five weeks old or something, she needs mommy's milk and THAT'S IT. In no way is she growing up or getting bigger or...wait she's nearly 5 months isn't she. Dear god.
My little itty bitty baby is going to start eating real food soon. How can this be? The delivery is still so fresh in my mind, I feel like I could go right back there. Can that really have been almost half a year ago?
Well, after sort of getting used to the idea (last week my brain was all NO NO NO) I'm kinda sorta looking forward to it. After all, figuring this stuff out is kinda fun. Should I make my own baby food? What about organic food? What about baby-led eating? I want to expose her to many palates and foods (OMG WHAT ABOUT CHOKING NO SOLIDS EVER OMG). Yeah, a bit bi-polar on this issue.
The other thing is she hasn't really shown ANY interest. Sure, she puts stuff in her mouth, but she's constantly teething right now with two little bumps in the center of her bottom gums ready for eruption. Sometimes she'll watch me eat/drink something with a weird fascination on her face. I've heard that in the first months, "feeding" them is more like "seeing what ends up down her throat, and cleaning up her face after." I sill have to find out basics like how much to feed at first, when to start feeding stuff that isn't mixed with milk, what about nuts and other allergens, etc. Sigh.
Also, not looking forward to different and more disgusting poops. Not. At. All.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
First World Awesomness
Hoo! *blows dust everywhere* Man, this thing hasn't been used in a while.
Wow, depressing last post. Everyone* must have thought I up and killed myself after my mom's cat died. Nope! I procreated instead. About four months ago. Yeah.
So I guess this is going to be a mommy blog now or something. I mean, not every post would be about my amazing snowflake baby but a bunch of them will. Say around 78% baby related stuff. Probably some other crap thrown in about my own thoughts or what happened on the last Buffy episode I watched (thx netflix).
My baby's name is [REDACTED]. Oh right, there likely will be no pictures and no names since I would like to keep her online footprint to a minimum until she can control it herself. Until she can expressly give me permission to post her info, say around 13 (hey, its good enough for Facebook) there will be very little.
Okay, enough about babies. Lets talk about the little things. You know, the things that make life easier and you can't really imagine it without them. For a FTM, there are but a few. Target. Amazon Prime. BJ's. Grandparents that live in the same town as you (both sets, haha, I got it made). Aden+Anais blankets. A husband who knows how to drive the oven.
And now, this.
Dude, it is a PUMP for your SHAMPOO. No longer do I need to laborously reach up to grasp my Suave. No more to squeeze out some variable amount of soap for my head (too much, takes forever to come out. Too little and you are stuck with oily patches in the back). What's that? The crack of the bottle cap as it snaps off because I banged it into the shower tile by accident? NEVER AGAIN.
You guys have no idea what kind of amazing this is. Did you ever want to ring those desk bells when you were a kid but never got to because who even needs those anymore, seriously? And if you do use it, YOU look like the jackass even though the guy behind the desk was AWOL? Pumping out your shampoo is like finally getting to ring that damn bell, only you get to do it every morning and you get the exact same amount of shampoo every time (and you can pump it again if you need more, wow!)
Why yes, I am a cheap date. I assure you I was this way before I had children as well, just ask my sister. And yes, I DO get to shower every morning because I have a husband who understands that daily cleaning of my body is not negotiable. That and I really really want to play with the pump action shampoo.
*No one reads this blog, what the hell
Wow, depressing last post. Everyone* must have thought I up and killed myself after my mom's cat died. Nope! I procreated instead. About four months ago. Yeah.
So I guess this is going to be a mommy blog now or something. I mean, not every post would be about my amazing snowflake baby but a bunch of them will. Say around 78% baby related stuff. Probably some other crap thrown in about my own thoughts or what happened on the last Buffy episode I watched (thx netflix).
My baby's name is [REDACTED]. Oh right, there likely will be no pictures and no names since I would like to keep her online footprint to a minimum until she can control it herself. Until she can expressly give me permission to post her info, say around 13 (hey, its good enough for Facebook) there will be very little.
Okay, enough about babies. Lets talk about the little things. You know, the things that make life easier and you can't really imagine it without them. For a FTM, there are but a few. Target. Amazon Prime. BJ's. Grandparents that live in the same town as you (both sets, haha, I got it made). Aden+Anais blankets. A husband who knows how to drive the oven.
And now, this.
Dude, it is a PUMP for your SHAMPOO. No longer do I need to laborously reach up to grasp my Suave. No more to squeeze out some variable amount of soap for my head (too much, takes forever to come out. Too little and you are stuck with oily patches in the back). What's that? The crack of the bottle cap as it snaps off because I banged it into the shower tile by accident? NEVER AGAIN.
You guys have no idea what kind of amazing this is. Did you ever want to ring those desk bells when you were a kid but never got to because who even needs those anymore, seriously? And if you do use it, YOU look like the jackass even though the guy behind the desk was AWOL? Pumping out your shampoo is like finally getting to ring that damn bell, only you get to do it every morning and you get the exact same amount of shampoo every time (and you can pump it again if you need more, wow!)
Why yes, I am a cheap date. I assure you I was this way before I had children as well, just ask my sister. And yes, I DO get to shower every morning because I have a husband who understands that daily cleaning of my body is not negotiable. That and I really really want to play with the pump action shampoo.
*No one reads this blog, what the hell
Thursday, May 6, 2010
A Gentleman's Personal Cat
My mom is an empty nester. My moving to college came as quite a shock to her, and even though my sister was still finishing high school at the time and thus living at home, she made the decision to adopt some new members into our until recently petless home.
There were a few false starts. There was a dog with a penchant for biting, and a cat who didn't know how to use litter (and was never going to learn). But it didn't take long for my mom to find a breeder who was practically giving away two Siamese kittens. I came home from school for Thanksgiving and Molly put one in my arms. I think my brain shut down from cuteness.
We named them Bertie and Jeeves, from P.G. Wodehouse's short stories of a 20's fop and his valet. Bertie was clearly the more delicate of the two, being slight and preferring to cross his paws just so and faff about in boas. Jeeves was physically larger, more stern and reserved. He would have a look about him of scrutiny and judgment, but in reality he purred and frolicked in sunbeams just like every other cat.
Everything they did was about love. They both loved food, and their dinner call became the "We are Siamese" song from Lady and the Tramp (it had to be, otherwise we'd just be singing that song all day). They loved getting pets and would prostrate themselves in front of complete strangers, demanding them. They were never far away from either of my parents, Jeeves had especially taken to my father, and was always trying to snuggle up against him, no matter if he was in the middle of something or not. They loved chicken and Jeeves would put out a paw, almost as if he were going to snatch some right out of my mother's hand as she made it for dinner. They were brothers, and so loved each other.
Their lives were happy and calm, playing and napping together in the sun, living what must have been a state close to bliss. So it was a severe shock to all of us when Jeeves passed away in the early hours on Monday, of extensive intestinal cancer. He was seven.
When my mother called to tell me this heartbreaking news, she told me that they had had to put Jeeves "to sleep" that morning. I know this is the normal terminology, and I know exactly what the euphemism means, but my first wild thought was "well, go wake him up!"
Of course, after a while, it started to sink in. It was hard realizing that I hadn't gotten to say goodbye to one of my first cat friends. He had basically been sick for a total of three days, which was a blessing and honestly, the way I would rather go. But I never once imagined that he would be gone by the time I was able to get back to my parents home. It is only now that I truly realize that he won't be coming back. I can't even remember the very last time I saw him and I think that's what hurts the most.
I found this picture of him I took with my phone a while ago. It's him and his favorite pastime, cuddles with my mother.
Love you, Jeevie.
There were a few false starts. There was a dog with a penchant for biting, and a cat who didn't know how to use litter (and was never going to learn). But it didn't take long for my mom to find a breeder who was practically giving away two Siamese kittens. I came home from school for Thanksgiving and Molly put one in my arms. I think my brain shut down from cuteness.
We named them Bertie and Jeeves, from P.G. Wodehouse's short stories of a 20's fop and his valet. Bertie was clearly the more delicate of the two, being slight and preferring to cross his paws just so and faff about in boas. Jeeves was physically larger, more stern and reserved. He would have a look about him of scrutiny and judgment, but in reality he purred and frolicked in sunbeams just like every other cat.
Everything they did was about love. They both loved food, and their dinner call became the "We are Siamese" song from Lady and the Tramp (it had to be, otherwise we'd just be singing that song all day). They loved getting pets and would prostrate themselves in front of complete strangers, demanding them. They were never far away from either of my parents, Jeeves had especially taken to my father, and was always trying to snuggle up against him, no matter if he was in the middle of something or not. They loved chicken and Jeeves would put out a paw, almost as if he were going to snatch some right out of my mother's hand as she made it for dinner. They were brothers, and so loved each other.
Their lives were happy and calm, playing and napping together in the sun, living what must have been a state close to bliss. So it was a severe shock to all of us when Jeeves passed away in the early hours on Monday, of extensive intestinal cancer. He was seven.
When my mother called to tell me this heartbreaking news, she told me that they had had to put Jeeves "to sleep" that morning. I know this is the normal terminology, and I know exactly what the euphemism means, but my first wild thought was "well, go wake him up!"
Of course, after a while, it started to sink in. It was hard realizing that I hadn't gotten to say goodbye to one of my first cat friends. He had basically been sick for a total of three days, which was a blessing and honestly, the way I would rather go. But I never once imagined that he would be gone by the time I was able to get back to my parents home. It is only now that I truly realize that he won't be coming back. I can't even remember the very last time I saw him and I think that's what hurts the most.
I found this picture of him I took with my phone a while ago. It's him and his favorite pastime, cuddles with my mother.
Love you, Jeevie.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
I'm the Witch!
What is the difference between being good and being nice?
When I was a kid, there was this really good musical I liked called "Into The Woods." It was a wonderful fairy-tale-with-a-twist story, with Bernadette Peters playing the Witch. Great stuff. And, as it is with so many things, when I got older, the story began to mean different things to me. Being little and not world wise, I just liked the singing. Now, each song has an important moral, be it about the pains of growing up, or realizing that you can't always tell right from wrong.
There's one song that the Witch sings, called "Last Midnight" that always stuck in my mind. You see, in the story a giant is threatening a whole villiage unless they give up this one boy to them. No one want to do that and they all begin to blame each other for starting the mess in the first place. The Witch cuts in, basically saying that they know the right thing to do is to give up the boy to save everybody, but everyone is too spineless to do it. Her words: You're not good/You're not bad/You're just nice/I'm not good/I'm not nice/I'm just right/
It sucks having to do the right thing sometimes, although in this story they were able to get around it, but the Witche's words really rang true for me. Being a nice person isn't the same as being a good one. A nice person is someone you can't always trust, who takes the easiest road that pleases the most people. A good one always tries to do the right thing, even when it's difficult.
A guy down the street from me a couple days ago asked if one of us could drive him somewhere before we went to work. We didn't know this guy particularly well, certainly not well enough to take him somewhere alone in one of our cars. The answer was always going to be "no" but what bothered me was how the "no" was said.
I told him we all got up pretty early (around 5:30) which was too early for him. This was a lie, we don't get up that early, but pretty early for most people. And we would have had to get up even earlier to take him. It would have been quite inconvienent and a hassle and not I, nor anyone else within earshot, wanted to do it. I like my pattern, getting into work on time and leaving at a set time, and if I have to mess that up, there had better be a good reason.
Why didn't I just tell him that? Why lie? That was the "nice" thing to do. But really, it was the worse thing because he knew we were lying (he'd seen us leave at later times) and it was really an offense to both our intellects that I thought he would believe it.
As I went to bed, I continued to talk to this man in my head. "We would have had to get up real early to take you, and then you'd have to wait for the place to open, I don't want some stranger in my car." I was annoyed with this man for messing up my night with these guilts and self-doubts, but really I was annoyed with myself for being nice and not the (hopefully) good person I try to be.
When I was a kid, there was this really good musical I liked called "Into The Woods." It was a wonderful fairy-tale-with-a-twist story, with Bernadette Peters playing the Witch. Great stuff. And, as it is with so many things, when I got older, the story began to mean different things to me. Being little and not world wise, I just liked the singing. Now, each song has an important moral, be it about the pains of growing up, or realizing that you can't always tell right from wrong.
There's one song that the Witch sings, called "Last Midnight" that always stuck in my mind. You see, in the story a giant is threatening a whole villiage unless they give up this one boy to them. No one want to do that and they all begin to blame each other for starting the mess in the first place. The Witch cuts in, basically saying that they know the right thing to do is to give up the boy to save everybody, but everyone is too spineless to do it. Her words: You're not good/You're not bad/You're just nice/I'm not good/I'm not nice/I'm just right/
It sucks having to do the right thing sometimes, although in this story they were able to get around it, but the Witche's words really rang true for me. Being a nice person isn't the same as being a good one. A nice person is someone you can't always trust, who takes the easiest road that pleases the most people. A good one always tries to do the right thing, even when it's difficult.
A guy down the street from me a couple days ago asked if one of us could drive him somewhere before we went to work. We didn't know this guy particularly well, certainly not well enough to take him somewhere alone in one of our cars. The answer was always going to be "no" but what bothered me was how the "no" was said.
I told him we all got up pretty early (around 5:30) which was too early for him. This was a lie, we don't get up that early, but pretty early for most people. And we would have had to get up even earlier to take him. It would have been quite inconvienent and a hassle and not I, nor anyone else within earshot, wanted to do it. I like my pattern, getting into work on time and leaving at a set time, and if I have to mess that up, there had better be a good reason.
Why didn't I just tell him that? Why lie? That was the "nice" thing to do. But really, it was the worse thing because he knew we were lying (he'd seen us leave at later times) and it was really an offense to both our intellects that I thought he would believe it.
As I went to bed, I continued to talk to this man in my head. "We would have had to get up real early to take you, and then you'd have to wait for the place to open, I don't want some stranger in my car." I was annoyed with this man for messing up my night with these guilts and self-doubts, but really I was annoyed with myself for being nice and not the (hopefully) good person I try to be.
Monday, November 23, 2009
The First Day of the Rest of Your Life
I knew there was something going on in my household.
It all started so innocently. Scott was texting a friend out in AZ, and I asked what he was typing so much about (it sounded like paragraph after paragraph from the clicks). He gave me a wry smile and a "none of your business" response. I was not going to take that kind of talk lying down (though we were in bed at the time, so I guess I did kinda). He elaborated only that it was "about me" and that it was "all good." I was perturbed, but at least it didn't sound BAD.
The next hint was a week or so later, when Scott's mother took us upstairs to look at her mother's jewelry. Into his hands she pushed several diamond laden rings and necklaces, giving him knowing looks and smiling alot (though she smiles alot anyway, so maybe that didn't mean anything).
At this point, I knew Something Was Up.
"Okay." I thought. "He's gearing up to give me some kind of fancy jewelry for Christmas." Nevermind that I don't wear alot of jewelry and never really expressed any interest in the stuff, but whatever. It's the thought that counts right?
But it could be for something else...something more permanent. My mind started racing in circles like a little rat wheel. Is he going to go for it? After all this time, is this it? Around and around, for days I thought, living in anticipation of the moment he might spring.
For me, being in control of everything in my life is not a huge deal. I'm easy, mostly able to go with the flow. Is everyone happy and comfortable? Then so am I. However, I do make a point to be "in the know" when it comes to what's going to happen in the near future. Are we going to a new movie this weekend? I want to be informed. Are we throwing a surprise party for a friend? Please don't tell me this a day before the event. Being able to plan and maximize everyone's enjoyment is something I really like, nay, need.
So after a couple of days, the suspense was figuratively killing me. What is he going to do? When is this thing happening? Where? I wanted to look nice, to know what to say, how to say it. But you can't plan something that's supposed to be a surprise to YOU. So I stewed.
There was one thing I wanted, and that was for it to not be a big deal. In fact, if it could be just us, that would be perfect. None of this flashy "you're on the jumbo-tron!" crap. And every time I thought about it, one place came to mind.
The Assabet NWR, a beautiful piece of conserved land. Back during WWII, it was owned by Fort Devens and used to store ammunition. Because of this, the land not only has sprawling marshes teeming with wild life, but also massive bunkers built into the landscape. The bunkers are huge, but they are so overgrown with moss, grass, and trees that you could walk within 10 feet of one and not know it. There's other evidence of human activity spotted around, and even though we've crossed the property several times, we always find something new.
I love this place. And I feel close to Scott when we're there. The best parts of him come out. His patience, his love of nature, his stillness. The place is quiet and few come there, especially during this time of year.
So I started suggesting that we go, that we see what the changing of the seasons and recent rain activity had uncovered, that I loved going there with him. So he said we'll go on Saturday.
I wasn't expecting anything to happen. I thought it was a nice place to be with him, just us. And I thought maybe, in the future, he would remember it was that way and take me back there. So I dressed as I always would, in a dumpy sweatshirt and crap-pants in case I fell in some mud (as I was wont to do).
It was morning and the place was cool, and we walked the trail down to the marsh area. It was partly flooded and we had to step gingerly around the new little rivers that were forming. There were hawks and ducks and mergansers and geese in the marshes. We walked while they fussed quietly and the day heated up. Eventually we began walking between the paths, stepping in areas that had not felt human feet for months. After a while, we came upon a new bunker, almost missing its dark and silent frame. It had no number, and the most interesting thing was the tree next to it that had absorbed a bittersweet vine, making the trunk look like a corkscrew. Pushing on, we came to a different smaller trail, and an official notice saying certain parts of the conserve were closed to hikers while they constructed a new visitors center. No problem, we weren't really near those areas, but it was Scott who spotted something strange in the trees beyond.
At first I thought it was some discarded bit of construction equipment, but a closer look showed it to be the scaffolding for some tower, only incomplete and fallen over from rot at its base. Despite the obvious age, it was still bright red like it had been painted yesterday.
“It’s probably something they forgot to clean up from when this was a base.” Scott said, switching out his far sighted lens for the short one.
“That is so cool.” I love seeing old structures overgrown by nature, thus my fascination with the bunkers. Scott snapped a few pics while I inspected the remains. The metal on the legs connecting it to the ground was rusted completely over and cracking. It was short, only 5 feet or so, and looked like there was more at one point, but it had decomposed. It was amazing to see, to wonder who had built it and why, fifty odd years ago, they never came back for it.
I stepped back next to him, smiling, happy with our find. Happy in this quiet place, bare branches above our heads, brown leaves below under our feet.
His hand moved fast. Before I could comprehend it, there was a white box open in front of me, and a diamond ring glinting in the soft light. I couldn't believe it, everything that I had thought about and had been building inside me for so long, my mind shut down from the shock of staring at it. But I was looking at him when he asked me.
There were a few seconds where I was having trouble understanding his words. Agonizing for him, but my brain needed to hard reboot. Finally I took the box and croaked out “With all my heart.” I then burst into tears.
It all started so innocently. Scott was texting a friend out in AZ, and I asked what he was typing so much about (it sounded like paragraph after paragraph from the clicks). He gave me a wry smile and a "none of your business" response. I was not going to take that kind of talk lying down (though we were in bed at the time, so I guess I did kinda). He elaborated only that it was "about me" and that it was "all good." I was perturbed, but at least it didn't sound BAD.
The next hint was a week or so later, when Scott's mother took us upstairs to look at her mother's jewelry. Into his hands she pushed several diamond laden rings and necklaces, giving him knowing looks and smiling alot (though she smiles alot anyway, so maybe that didn't mean anything).
At this point, I knew Something Was Up.
"Okay." I thought. "He's gearing up to give me some kind of fancy jewelry for Christmas." Nevermind that I don't wear alot of jewelry and never really expressed any interest in the stuff, but whatever. It's the thought that counts right?
But it could be for something else...something more permanent. My mind started racing in circles like a little rat wheel. Is he going to go for it? After all this time, is this it? Around and around, for days I thought, living in anticipation of the moment he might spring.
For me, being in control of everything in my life is not a huge deal. I'm easy, mostly able to go with the flow. Is everyone happy and comfortable? Then so am I. However, I do make a point to be "in the know" when it comes to what's going to happen in the near future. Are we going to a new movie this weekend? I want to be informed. Are we throwing a surprise party for a friend? Please don't tell me this a day before the event. Being able to plan and maximize everyone's enjoyment is something I really like, nay, need.
So after a couple of days, the suspense was figuratively killing me. What is he going to do? When is this thing happening? Where? I wanted to look nice, to know what to say, how to say it. But you can't plan something that's supposed to be a surprise to YOU. So I stewed.
There was one thing I wanted, and that was for it to not be a big deal. In fact, if it could be just us, that would be perfect. None of this flashy "you're on the jumbo-tron!" crap. And every time I thought about it, one place came to mind.
The Assabet NWR, a beautiful piece of conserved land. Back during WWII, it was owned by Fort Devens and used to store ammunition. Because of this, the land not only has sprawling marshes teeming with wild life, but also massive bunkers built into the landscape. The bunkers are huge, but they are so overgrown with moss, grass, and trees that you could walk within 10 feet of one and not know it. There's other evidence of human activity spotted around, and even though we've crossed the property several times, we always find something new.
I love this place. And I feel close to Scott when we're there. The best parts of him come out. His patience, his love of nature, his stillness. The place is quiet and few come there, especially during this time of year.
So I started suggesting that we go, that we see what the changing of the seasons and recent rain activity had uncovered, that I loved going there with him. So he said we'll go on Saturday.
I wasn't expecting anything to happen. I thought it was a nice place to be with him, just us. And I thought maybe, in the future, he would remember it was that way and take me back there. So I dressed as I always would, in a dumpy sweatshirt and crap-pants in case I fell in some mud (as I was wont to do).
It was morning and the place was cool, and we walked the trail down to the marsh area. It was partly flooded and we had to step gingerly around the new little rivers that were forming. There were hawks and ducks and mergansers and geese in the marshes. We walked while they fussed quietly and the day heated up. Eventually we began walking between the paths, stepping in areas that had not felt human feet for months. After a while, we came upon a new bunker, almost missing its dark and silent frame. It had no number, and the most interesting thing was the tree next to it that had absorbed a bittersweet vine, making the trunk look like a corkscrew. Pushing on, we came to a different smaller trail, and an official notice saying certain parts of the conserve were closed to hikers while they constructed a new visitors center. No problem, we weren't really near those areas, but it was Scott who spotted something strange in the trees beyond.
At first I thought it was some discarded bit of construction equipment, but a closer look showed it to be the scaffolding for some tower, only incomplete and fallen over from rot at its base. Despite the obvious age, it was still bright red like it had been painted yesterday.
“It’s probably something they forgot to clean up from when this was a base.” Scott said, switching out his far sighted lens for the short one.
“That is so cool.” I love seeing old structures overgrown by nature, thus my fascination with the bunkers. Scott snapped a few pics while I inspected the remains. The metal on the legs connecting it to the ground was rusted completely over and cracking. It was short, only 5 feet or so, and looked like there was more at one point, but it had decomposed. It was amazing to see, to wonder who had built it and why, fifty odd years ago, they never came back for it.
I stepped back next to him, smiling, happy with our find. Happy in this quiet place, bare branches above our heads, brown leaves below under our feet.
His hand moved fast. Before I could comprehend it, there was a white box open in front of me, and a diamond ring glinting in the soft light. I couldn't believe it, everything that I had thought about and had been building inside me for so long, my mind shut down from the shock of staring at it. But I was looking at him when he asked me.
There were a few seconds where I was having trouble understanding his words. Agonizing for him, but my brain needed to hard reboot. Finally I took the box and croaked out “With all my heart.” I then burst into tears.
I'm ecstatic. My journey with him has been such a fairy-tale, from being highschool sweethearts to finding each other again at the end of college. But rather than seeing this as my Happily-Ever-After, I'd rather it be my "Once upon a time..."
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
The Last Straw and the Nail that Sticks Up
My boss gave me some good advice the other day. She told me to write down as much as I can remember from Japan through the next few days as stuff comes to me, or I might forget it. It's true there is much that I'm remembering only just now, and I'm sure little flashes of things will come to me with time, reminding me of a specific event or memory, especially as I rifle through all our pamphlets and receipts.
So above, I would like to introduce you to Straw-san! Almost from the moment I entered the country, Straw-san was my constant companion. Remember how I mentioned on our first night, we went to Family Mart, the convenience store inside the hotel? Well, I bought a small carton of coffee-milk while there. I didn't drink it that night, but the next morning as we hustled to the shuttle to the station, I popped it in my purse. On the bus, I was drinking delicious sweet coffee beverage, but I'm an adult, so I never used the straw. It had, in fact, fallen off the carton and into the depths of my purse.
Suddenly Straw-san was everywhere. Every time I took out my camera, or the map, or the english/japanese dictionary, he would be stuck to it! The refrain was always "Haha, do you need a straw for that?" But as silly as it was, I couldn't bring myself to throw Straw-san away. He seemed so eager to help. Eventually his little piece of glue came off, so he stopped sticking to everything, but I made sure he stayed in my purse no matter what. And when I cleaned out my purse at my house back in America, he was there too. Who would think such a little straw would make such an incredible journey?
Another thing that I remember about Japan was Kyoto tower. The tower is basically a Seattle type space needle looking thing, only not nearly as tall. It's right next to Kyoto station and was a reference point for us whenever we got lost. There are a bunch of business places inside, mostly for tourists, but we saw a lot of people there, including a bunch of school kids.
The thing about schools in Japan is they go a long way to make every child look the same. Uniforms are strictly enforced, with children not even allowed to use different types of socks (even if they are the same colour). Conformity is held in the highest regard on all levels. So when I saw a girl in a crowd of highschoolers who was obviously half Caucasian half Japanese, I was taken aback.
I am ashamed to say I stared at her, because it was something so rare and unique that I couldn't look away. Massive crowds of asian faces with only slight variants, laughing and jabbering, and she stood in the middle of it, quiet in the tumult. She looked adorable in her uniform, but as soon as she saw me, we locked eyes. I don't know what mine said, but I know what hers did. "Go away, I'm trying to fit in. Leave me alone."
I could tell that school life for her must be hard. She wasn't talking to anyone around her, and didn't have a phone in hand like half the students there. She was probably being excluded from certain social groups and functions, likely only had a couple of friends. I wished she could know how much she and I had in common, and not just because she too, was an accidental gaijin in Japan.
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