The mailman has been really screwing up lately. he keeps giving angel our mail and angel's mail to us, you know, stuff like that.

who's angel?

i can't believe i haven't told you about her yet. i think i've mentioned her once or twice. we met while mister and i were falling in love. he was helping me find a place to live and after exhausting every paper and For Rent list in Oakland, his brilliant idea was to just drive around the neighborhoods you want to live and look for vacancies ...

ok.

it actually worked! he spotted a ladder in a ground floor window of a duplex right down the street from the school i was studying/working at. he parked and rang the bell. then he disappeared for about ten minutes and came out beaming... "you gotta come see this" he motioned.

angel was almost 80 then. she was the sweetest little old catholic widow i had ever met. she took us up to her apartment and showed us around and all the cabinets her husband had made in her kitchen and bathroom and how he was a retired window-dresser before he died suddenly of a heart attack. her previous tenant, a longtime chain smoker, had just died of emphasema and had left the huge apartment empty for the first time in 35 years. it was perfect, but wouldn't be ready for a month or so. and we waited.

and mister decided to move in too and we turned from lovers into partners for good. i prayed that god would let me live there so i could take care of angel and look out for her.

she decided (against her daughters advice) to give it to us "kids" in the end and the rest is an amazing story of family and friendship. her daughters are so glad to have us so close to their mom. our children adore her and delight in her visits and our adventures upstairs.

she kept me company those long nights when mister was drinking and working and then sleeping all day. she took care of me and continues to look out for us. she is tough as nails. born and raised on a North Dakota farm, she took a water bottle to bed at night and then kicked it across the floor in the morning after it had fallen out of the bed and frozen solid.

she doesn't waste a thing and her place is not full of trinkets and things too many to notice. she has just enough of everything, no more or less than she needs.

her home is a sanctuary i have often escaped to.

boy was up there playing scrabble one night and she suggested it was time for him to go home. "but i AM home", he replied. she loves telling that story.

and i'm so glad i got my mail and she got hers today because a corner of a letter caught my eye and the return address said Z and Mrs. Z.

i opened the envelope while kiddos busied themselves with tube and easter candy. (They always seem to know when mom’s distracted and how to make the most of it.)

Surely it is from Mrs Z with details about Z’s memorial in august, no doubt that’s what this is. But the first thing I saw was a ten-dollar bill.

Huh?

Then I read:

“The following is a legal document to be executed in the event of Z’s death.

If you are not the intended recipient and you don’t know where to locate the intended recipient, please accept my invitation to take part in the following.

Enclosed Is $10 Dollars In Cash.

* Place the money in your wallet or purse, but be sure it is not mixed up among your other bills. At your convenience or the next time you venture out to a favorite bar, restaurant, or café use this money.

If you don’t remember me or you’re one of the countless people for whom I have no address, I simply pass onto you the knowledge that it isn’t the friends closest to us who make up our world; it is the strangers. Those anonymous people without names or expectations, who ask for little, maybe a smile, a few kind words, it isn’t much, but it is something.

Because when I strip down my life I discovered what I valued most were those unassuming strangers who stepped into my life whether for a moment or for a lifetime.

Though it’s not the memories or friendships I cherish; but the conversations.

These conversations covered all topics; they were rarely serious, sometimes passionate, and always entertaining. The best ones left a dull ache in my side, and looking back they had more meaning than I ever realized.

These conversations help shape my life and my view of the world, because through them I connected to you and the world outside myself. But as hard as I tried, I could not create these moments, they just happened. The most I could do was put myself out there, and I did, as did you, and for this I am grateful.

So today I want to buy you a drink to celebrate your life and all those strangers you are yet to meet.

CHEERS,

Z”

The first thing I thought was how cool that he did this and how true that he was like this and how much he was like his mom who always used to tell me “strangers are just the friends you haven’t met yet.”

What an awesome way to go through life. Believing and practicing his mother’s theory. And he did. He was always talking to someone and just interested in the people around him.

And I couldn’t help but think about blogging and bloggers and that this is what the blogosphere is all about. Conversations. Connections. Being moved and touched by strangers. people whose names and addresses you’ll never know. But they influence you profoundly and become so dear. I love that about this.

I’m going to enjoy my drink. If I could, I’d let Z buy Simpleton one too, cause he’s Z’s kinda people.

And I tucked the letter and bill back in the envelope and noticed the Ronald Reagan stamp and smiled. Z, always the joker, even from the grave.

Thanks for the letter, Z. and say Hi to terry schiavo for me. Bet she’s so happy to finally be there, huh?

great post !

this one dated march 31.

it's kinda like being labelled conservative just because you believe in Jesus, who was actually one of the more radical people to walk the earth.

so I can sorta relate. i also respect that he knows who's linking him and where, etc.

i'm so behind on my blog-reading and kinda going through it at the moment. if you have said anything nice about me anywhere - thanks. if you read me, linked me, visited or viewed my page (whatever the difference there is!) - thanks a million!

i really hope to be back in the mix soon. blog on!

link to pic i can't upload cause i'm at work and big brother's boss is watching what programs I download to my computer.

Work is CRRAAAAAZY!

Kids are sick

I'm sick

Mister's tired

Mother's bitter

Brother's far away

Father's MIA

Extended Family is at bay

Life is stressful as transitions often are. Still no paycheck for mister and we might just make it to payday. Daydreams of American Idolship. Son thinks I'm a ringer for all singers. Makes me wonder if I could ever make it anywhere but 9-5. And only if I believe I can will I ever get far enough to find out either way.

Still running and kicking and soon to be swimming. Anything to release the tension inside and empower me with whatever will keep me even keel and moving forward.

Must beware of the moment after the goal where every player has two choices: parade for the crowd or celebrate with the teammate who passed you the ball, making the score possible. It is a heady moment indeed.

Will pride or gratitude win the battle for my attitude? This is my challenge. Often humility eludes me like an afterthought I don't make time to consider.

I will get to the top of this mountain, wherever it is.

Unless we get a little crazy ...

A line from a song so true. Jesus was a little crazy. Broke all laws of society and religion and science.

It really is our only chance to get out alive, overcome the forces that pull us down like an undertow that steals the victory of riding the wave to shore. The envy that robs us of the magic of admiring others and basking in their glory, which can always become our own if we let it.

We kick and hate and tear each other to pieces because the hole is deep and dark and there's no hope of getting out of our prison so we bite and devour and kill our mate for a scrap of moldy bread or cheese.

But we call it a house, a car or a wealthy lifestyle. We think much more of ourselves than we ought and we're blind to the foolish waste of all that is priceless and worth dying for.

I'm tired of wandering this desert and waiting for gratitude and trust to fill my heart with the promised land i'm searching for. but i won't stop.

I find this easter i'm thinking about the countless times life has crucified me and my hopes and dreams. nailed to the cross of shame and disgrace and failure because i wouldn't listen or follow an example. because i dared to take a chance and fall flat on my face.

times when i felt all was surely lost and there was no sense in trying because the moment had passed and the opportunity missed.

the message of the cross and the resurrection? i'm telling my children it goes something like this:

there is no one too wretched who doesn't deserve your kindness and mercy. not even you.

there is nothing in life, no weakness, mistake, failure, no, not even death that you can not come back from.

if you ever choose to follow God and Jesus, leave your pillow at home stuffed full of your pride and insecurity and desire for popularity, jumping ship and casting yourself and your soul on the waters, knowing that life will come back to you manifold and fill your nets so full they'll be too heavy to bring back to shore.

this easter i want to rededicate myself to the dream of living life on the waters, unanchored by desires for stability and wealth. unpolluted by the unbelief that grabs at my faith with desperate drowning hands that pull me under.

i want to tune out the critics and the cynics and the let's just have a picnics and practice what i believe again. without shame or apology.

and that's what easter seems to mean to me this year.

Have you seen Bend it Like Beckham? It's an incredibly funny and candid movie about a young Indian woman's love for the game of soccer.

i love and respect soccer above all sports. i mean, it's the common thread that people all over nations the world over share. it is awesome, isn't it ?
it's a common language that everyone speaks, a common passion, one love. the only other thing we all enjoy the same way is food and perhaps the bottle and even tea & coffee, but even with those, there's a ton of variety.

and although there's only one rule book, there seems to be a ton of variety in how the game of soccer is played, too. my favorite people to play with are Latinos. I love their attitude, graciousness, love for the game and the people who play it, their sense of fun and sportsmanship, not to mention their skills are usually phenomenal.

i got my coaching license for under-8 kids a couple years back to move boy up the waiting list and get him on a team with his schoolmates with the promise of coaching any practices or games when the coach was out of town. shameless, i know.

all that being said, i am not nearly as skilled as you may think. but i can hold my own in a game or a scrimmage. i recently started playing again myself. joined a league, and all that. i'm not sure what i think of the league.

playing with americans as an adult has been a different experience than what i'm used to i think. i can't really put my finger on it and i definitely don't want to make any sweeping generalizations (like i already haven't!) but i have to say very simply, i'm not having as much fun with it.

many of the folks in the league just picked up the game in the last few years, so it's not quite in the blood and heart. and i guess i miss a certain "mind" for the sport that i learned from foreign coaches who i was lucky to have as a kid.

i don't know what it is. but i often find myself frustrated. i don't want to blame anyone for it. but i do want to get to the bottom of it.

i was really pms today at the game and kinda lost my temper. it really bothered me that people were not respecting the ref's calls and every tough call became a debate.

people's true colors really do come out in the heat of competition, don't they? even a friendly group of over-thirty-year-olds can turn into a whining, petty bunch of babies when the call goes against them and there's a penalty kick at stake.

i scolded everyone right there. "why even have a ref then if we're not going to defer to him?" geesh! first rule of soccer, the ref is lord.

the penalty-kick call stood and they needed a woman to take the shot. so i said, "fine I'll take it" and wouldn't you know, amidst all the controversy, i scored my first goal since i've been playing in the league.

then i got home and realized i'd been PMS and it all made sense. Ah-so... that's why a got so upset. i really couldn't figure it out. but anger is the best cure for the nerves.

also to note, i notice that even though it's a league, i really miss there being a coach calling the shots and telling folks what to do. without a distinguished leader, everyone's telling everyone else what to do or, more often, nothing at all and there is a breakdown of communication and organization. i find it frustrating because it means it's not so great a game. it feels like a waste of time and effort.

anyhow. it's good for me to run around and it keeps me out of trouble. most days anyways.

i may look around for another league/weekend game. i dunno.

he says "Don't read this." at the top of the post, but you gotta read it. it's great for all the true, well-spoken about things difficult to articulate reasons.

i must say that i've been reading all these great blogs off links or comments on simpleton's blog.

i'm tired too. gonna write about easter tomorrow. better rest up.

After a hard day's work ...

there is too much i need to say right now. it is overwhelming so i just need to think out loud and get it all out so i don't shut down and stuff it back like i'm trying not to puke ...

back to the "group mind" concept ... i finally brought some beef over there. and it's exciting what's happening and all. i am infused with the sense that something very small that i do can make a very small difference or just set off a few or maybe just one very small effect that so in turn becomes a cause and the substance of a million quotes from as many activists is revisted.

or perhaps a million and one quotes from one very small activist who said:

If i seem to take part in politics, it is only because politics encircles us today like the coil of a snake from which one cannot get out, no matter how much one tries. I wish therefore to wrestle with the snake .

he was a person, just a man, like him when he was talking about heroes yesterday.

ok, so my chain of thought just got totally interrupted by mr. coming in and turning on the tube.

we had a great time tonight. it was an unexpected end to a tough day. i knew this day would be tough because i was working on a deadline for queen. queen thinks the whole world revolves around her and her deadlines. the only reasons for ever missing a deadline that are acceptable excuses are her own. otherwise, everyone should be able to bring a pillow and shack up at the office.

forget her.

and i left early for good friday, but later than most, and went to the salon. it had been a while. nothing like a good manny/peddy with a brow wax to make me feel like a lady again.

all dressed up and nowhere to go? not quite...

boy and bud put their "pleeeeeeeeeeease??!" faces on at parent pick up and me and his mom were stuck. they've been beggin us for months. she looks at me, i look at her. um...

"could he come over to our place tonight?"

whaa? (do something spontaneous just like that?) uh, sure that would be ok. (no swimming in the morning). um, ok. yeah. thanks.

and in the midst of all the jumping up and down and yip-hip-hooraying, toddler thought he was going too and got his head bumped by the car door as he tried to follow his brother inside.

oh no honey, you're coming with momma... whaa?

um, you're sure? yeah he is still in diapers, so i understand, whaa....? yeah, i have diapers you could take. um, ok, so here's my cell phone number, let me get your number, um, you'll bring them back? no, we'll come pick them up, that's ok. thanks.

now where do you live again?

(cell vibrates)

Hi babe! guess what? i'm taking you out for dinner. the kids? oh, they're in good hands. um, let me explain when i pick you up. where are you?

no really. they're fine. they went to boy's buds house.

now this is when the reality of the situation hit me and what i had done. i just let a mom of one of boy's classmates put both of my beloved offspring in her car and the time it took me to secure the car seat was not long enough for me to regain my senses.

i don't know where they live and i have only a phone number that prayerfully was keyed in correctly, otherwise ...

and i was in awe of the trust i had. she is a great mom and i knew they were in very good hands. how did i know? i dunno, i just did.

and i prayed mr. would have the same letting-goiest spirit about it. and he did!

and we were like kids in love again scrambling to get to our reservation so we got there early and spent not a dime on new shirts and fat dinner with gift cards saved for just such an occasion like after mr.'s boss filed for bankruptcy so all the paychecks bounced this week.

whew.

anyhow, the meal was grand, which of course we partly boxed for the puppies, and smiled at one another when waiter brought us our fortune cookies. they're not getting these, we might have been saying simultaneously. jinx!

know what mine said?

You deserve to have a good time after a hard day's work. 1 3 12 22 31, 4

and i felt like, wow, some thing's are just meant to be and i'm not in control of making everything happen that's supposed to happen to me.

you know?

what's the numbers for? that's what i said a couple years ago! now mister plays the lottery, like his father before him. not me, but i do now know what those number are for.

but i didn't see lotto numbers. i saw a blogger profile. and try as i did later after pups were in bed, no combination brought about a new blog discovery.

but it was a pretty cool idea, i thought. and woulda been the perfect bright red cherry on the top of my day.

i found this instead.

Prepare to be Assimilated...

Dear Radio, thank you for your post on Tuesday. It took my breath away, leaving me speechless and wanting some of the same. Then a few minutes ago I read Whitey's post you linked and exhaled.

It is so good to be here.

I found myself thinking about your post all the way home yesterday and what a beautiful person you are. (I hope this doesn't embarass you. Kinda tony -style, huh?)

I had carefully planned my earlier than usual commute to a couple appointments so that I could leave work as close to 4 o clock as possible and still get to a 4:30 on the east bay. I checked the bart schedule, plotted my course and even jogged to/from the stations.

Then, in the moment of decision, I boarded the wrong train and headed for Fremont. As I was thinking about your blog. Not your fault. Just testimony, perhaps, to the power of blog.

mr. and i found ourselves at a a surprizingly quiet post-dinner table last night while boy checked his email and toddler (quietly!) played with his toys in another room. Sometimes i believe they listen to our conversations and enjoy us enjoying the pleasure of one another's company enough to leave us alone for a minute. maybe it soothes them like a favorite radio show in the background. and i imagine if we season them just right, they may someday come out of the oven alright.

the half-baked gave mr. time to ask me what i was thinking and i told him about how i had tried to explain to docs how amazing writing and particularly, blogging, has been.

"what's a blog?" they both asked me, and I could tell they have heard rumors of something and are just picking my brain for more or perhaps a positive spin.

mr. became passionate and described it as "the group mind" and i mentioned the Borg, only not so aggressive and totalitarian, and my trekkie lit up and went on to say that sci fi writers have been talking about this inevitable phenomenon for years and when i asked for names he threw out isaac asim(in)ov. oh yeah, i remember him.

i liked the "group-mind" comparison. mr. blamed docs' interest on the fact that blogging just may put them out of a job. he would say that. i had merely thought that they were always looking for new and better ways to help their patients ... silly, naive ol' me.

then after tater tots were tucked in and angel upstairs (89-year old neighbor) was visited, we rendez-voused in front of the tube (Law & Order, our favorite) and he let me rub his sore back.

I love every post, comment and email you graciously write and share like precious pearls of the rarest wisdom. i truly hope you don't mind my saying so publicly that you inspire me, you challenge me.

you make me believe that there are kind and perhaps divine strangers in my neighborhood. that even though i may do nothing more than share the same grocery line with them, never catching their real name, and then absently studying their bumper stickers at the next traffic light on the way home, it makes me all the more hopeful to imagine you are them.

you make me love myself more because i sometimes remind myself of you. and that makes me smile.

see you around,

Speedy

Waste Not...

...your time here today and read this instead: And you thought yesterday was boring......

Joe Fernandez Age 74 Pace 736 for 15K in Freezing Rain

I did this today. It wasn't 15K, maybe 2+ miles in the rain. minus the snow.

mr. i-talk-to-everyone-and-make-us-all-feel-like family at the Y front desk asked me skeptically,

"you sure you don't wanna just hop on a treadmill?"

as I pulled over my hood and zipped up my not for rain jacket.

"you know, i'm asking myself that same question." i humored. but inside i thought, i'm damn sure i don't want to climb up on a warm dry hamster-wheel today.

today I want to feel something more. no, i need to.

i wanna run with the rain washing down my face and running off my shoulders, dripping off the soggy cuffs of my sleeves and freezing my hands. i need to feel the elements on my body. the wind, the water. to hear the rhythmic sound of my feet splashing down the empty sidewalk around the ballpark and back again.

besides, I've skied down mountains in blizzards. Why turn into such a wuss in the city?

and wuss i wasn't. there was this unspoken fellowship between us non-wusses today and it was hands down the best time I've had running. ever.

gonna do it again tomorrow. pray for rain, k?.

a year ago I couldn't make it a fourth of the distance i ran today without breaking down and walking / hating life all in the same moment. huffin and puffin along.

something to smile about.

good things are around the corner, I can feel it in my bone marrow. I just need to hang on a little longer. just past tomorrow.

and i want to go out and kareoke and sing with so much soul and passion that i have folks begging for more and then i'll bring my magic mic to their parties and get paid to sing and mc while they sing and wouldn't that be SO cool at $300 a night?

who says I don't dream anymore?

mr.'s paycheck bounced today. ever see Civil Action with John Travolta? Well. that's what his job is like right now. we can't afford his job right now.

i need to believe i can support this family and then maybe mr. could go to school and man the kids and stuff.

i must believe this will all be okay someday.

i need an Oprah moment of the seize-the-day-and-live-the-rest-of-my-life-insanely rich-and-happily-ever-after variety.

diggin tony & co. tonight. need sleep now.

Suspended Disbelief

a coworker emailed this pic to me with a caption that read "misbehavin children" and a note about disciplining your children. another woman she copied wrote us all back and said she found the image disturbing and not funny.

i replied and said i couldn't help but notice the car was over a bit too far to the right (parked on the shoulder?) and the background was way too unblurred for 99 miled per hour, whatever speed film they were using.

having been a video/film student, i find it harder to suspend my disbelief. it is what all movie makers count on the audience to do. however, once you've been behind the scenes, you can't ever go back. it's like losing your faith in santa claus or the pope or someone.

i was walking along the embarcadero today and this flatbed with car, lights and camera on it was driving up and down with a police motorcade and i realized i was behind the scenes again and made a mental note to watch for driving sequences where the car seems too high off the ground. blah blah blah

what's my point? well, i am about as gullible as they come and made a connection today with a person like me's ability to suspend their disbelief about their fellow man. and i do. all the time.

it makes me disarming for most and a sucker for some.

but anyone who has been backstage at some pretty rancid humanity knows better.

if i'm a liar, everyone becomes a tale teller. if i cheat and scheme, i'm always sniffing out the snake. if i've been hurt or betrayed, i'll never trust again. this is no new revelation. it's the well-known reason why crooks make good cops.

but to the pure all things are pure. is naive so wrong?

hey, this kid might really be screaming bloody murder travelling at speeds that ... would make his knuckles much whiter, don't you think?

what do i see? a kid having a ball. i can't help it.

this post sucks!!!! time for a snack ....

read these instead:

jesus' blog

jamie's blog

big bonky's blog

The Second Day

So it’s Monday, OE for the second day of the week, morning and we’re all here in our new digs, in the same boat, full of boxes and pieces of office equipment and movers milling about looking for some way to look busy and our office manager listening for applause, which she deserves, but will never hear over the boos and the hisses …

And we are once again reminded of the fact that change, no matter how positive and necessary, is rarely embraced by anyone.

And I am no longer tucked away in a remote corner of the office, but smack dab in the middle of the hub of it all, and I’m still blogging…

But I’m not online folks, I’m in Word, which is where I should have been all along, and when I’m ready to let go, I’m online long enough for “CTRL V”, “preview” and “publish” and I’m gone. Like outta there … like you won’t find me in a statistic for the corporate dollars lost to bloggers.

Change often means a new-to-you perspective that usually leads to progress.

I love these people on the right over there and what I know about them is overall less than what I know about any acquaintance in my life, but what I DO know is priceless and way more than I know about a few I would call “best friends”. CNN did a piece on blogging moms this weekend, and they described how inhibitors seem to evaporate in cyberspace and what was once tucked under the mattress is now posted for any and all to see and admire and invite and observe.

And I find I am so empowered by my time here. Similar to the Pilates I try to be disciplined about, it strengthens my core that supports the whole and I stand straighter with better posture and experience a balance that has historically often eluded me.

Mr. and I finally got some babysitting this weekend of the “overnight” variety. We enjoyed the uncreative “dinner and a movie” that is too rare to be overrated for our Saturday night “out on the town”. Yeah right.

Persian food at the bustling Papa’s Iranian restaurant on university in Berkeley, where if the “doogh” (carbonated yogurt/mint beverage) is any indication of how authentic the food is, then it must have 4 stars but only because it is not LA where the persian food is worth the 6 hour drive if you have that kind of time and craving.

Of course, every other Iranian in town had a taste for the homeland on New Year’s eve, so we waited for our menus, then we waited for our silver and water and waited for our bread to have with the eggplant dip appetizer we had waited for and then mr. waited for a fork to eat his food with after his salad plate was finally cleared with his previous fork and we waited gladly for everything all night as we gazed into each other’s eyes and enjoyed the uninterrupted conversation throughout the spill-free meal.

Then I surprised him by wanting to see million dollar baby – “a boxing flic?” and was equally amazed that after this many years together he can so quickly forget that I’m “jock-girl”, even on a date.

And I found it strangely spooky that I would lose my paralyzed cousin who decided he had had enough of the tubes and the chair and the hospitals and breathed his last the same year the best picture of the year involved the equally best actress who portrayed a woman who decided to do the same thing he had. Once again, well done clint. And morgan freeman is so lovable, isn’t he? If he played an uncle or friend of the family in all of our lives, the world would no doubt be a better place.

Spring sprung at 7:30AM Sunday morning and it really did feel like a “new day” (“Nowruz” translated) and I was determined to be superstitious like my culture and believe that however we spent that day would carry throughout this next year. Frankly, there was so much strife on “new day” last year (my parents were visiting), which did indeed forewarn many events these last 365 days, so I’m a firm believer if I never was one.

We picked up the kiddos and made it to 10AM service by 11:30 and in and out burger for lunch (mmmmm) and then it was naps all around and I made the traditional new year dish for my first time – white fish and “sabsi” polo (herb rice) and it was SLAMMIN!! Something’s are hardwired I guess.

And the hyacinth on our sofreh is infusing our home with the sweetest reminder of the 5th sense you could ask for. And even though I spoke to zero family because I didn’t want to risk any drama on this first day of all days, I was wishing they were closer and happier and healthier.
I am really loving simpleton and hun and radiohumper and big tanky, still. They’re over there on the right.

It's over!

hey ... i didn't lose the post after all! but the way they posted, it reads like i did and then recreated it later. but i didn't. weird. anyhow... yippee!

and less work for me describing how awesome the class presentation went today!

oh wait, back up. the video tape of the fire jumping. let me just say the camera does add like 50 pounds. i looked scary, but at least i made sense in the interview i gave and i saw a couple other interviews and realized i know more about the rituals and history than "real" iranians. go me!

so i went by the iranian market this morning with my grocery list and all was dark at opening time (9AM). There was a sign in Farsi on the door that I was so sure read something like "Closed for New Year" but i couldn't tell.

NNOOOOoooooooooo!

boy and i had plans! he was counting on me to bring all this stuff that he no doubt already told his friends about.

So i did what many other desperate souls would do - i prayed. i went to the marina and prayed about everything but the noruz presentation.

i prayed about my dead cousin and his living loved ones

i prayed about my divorcing parents

my alcoholic husband

my faith and relationship with God

my family's glory and reflection of God

and i wiped the tears and looked out through the rain at the bay and felt hope for the first time in weeks.

i sang a few songs and drove over to the market just to see if it finally opened afterall?

YAY!!

and the very kind man at the store who spoke broken english that was still better than my farsi gave me pointers on how to water my sabzeh and sorry, no more sweet wheat pudding. that's ok.

i bought my first bottle of rose water and tons of the pastries made with it. the kids will love these, i thought. and they did.

then i went home and collected the mirror and the candles and the fish, etc, all the while going over my "script" in my head.

somehow, through the rain and plastic covered treats and breakable dishes thrown into a laundry basket, everything made it to the classroom intact, minus some water that spilled from the fish bowl.

and the fun really started. it was fun. the prep was a drag with the mourning and the office moving and packing all week. but the actual presentation was incredible.

i was so proud of my heritage as i saw their eager hands grab at the nut mixture and heard their young american voices call out "eid-e shoma mobarak".

they enjoyed the character that i acted out (a "family friend") who wore a chador (head covering) and greatly resembles my beloved aunt sha sha.

she was really funny. and they loved her as much as i love the real her.

a kid came up after and asked if my son could go to his birthday party next weekend, which was all the applause this mom needed.

his teacher was thrilled and said she wished more parents would give those types of presentations.

and i felt the guilt i sometimes feel that i am not teaching because i could and not many can afford to anymore, like me i guess.

my son blew me away. he was really informed and able to say so. he did an outstanding job and we were such a team too!

and even though i'm the unlikely iranian, me and my children are spreading awareness and educating others about an amazing culture that is beginning to reach past the politics and the hostage crisis and the axis of evil and into our hearts. where it should be.

Shopping for the exotic in me...

When i was pregnant with my first child, i craved food i grew up with and ate as a kid. most memorably bologna and mustard sandwiches on fresh white wonder bread and many of my mom's persian dishes.

i asked my mom for some of my favorite recipes and she sent me this cookbook.

it is gorgeous and really swell. and it did teach me how to make the food, and also all about traditions like weddings and New Year. it taught me how to cook stuff better than my mother, but that didn't really help me because i badly had to have it the way she made it.

but the book does truly have the best descriptions of traditions and customs, hands down, even "real" iranians will tell you that. for example, the Noruz "sofreh":

"In every Persian household a special cover is spread onto a carpet or on a table. This ceremonial setting is called sofreh-ye haft-sinn (literally "seven dishes' setting," each one beginning with the Persian letter sinn). "

This is my sofreh grocery list for the Middle Eastern market I’m going to later. It was burned down when I went last year, but I heard from my friend I ran into at shabeh chahar shambeh suri that they reopened bigger and better than before. it’s my blessed one-stop shop for everything I need for our sofreh.

check out the short version of the symbolism…

The Seven ‘S’ Dishes:

Samanu – wheat sprouts transformed and reborn as pudding, sweet although prepared without any sugar – which is meant to be further evidence that Persian cooking rules all others.

Sib – an apple, which I could just pick up at Safeway, but what the heck? The apple represents health and beauty, which is no doubt why we give them to teachers in this country and why dr’s say one a day will keep them away.

Senjed – sweet dried fruit of the wild olive, which is the bush whose scent when in bloom supposedly rivals cupid’s arrows.

Seer – garlic, symbolizing bad breath, I mean, medicine

Somaq – ground Sumac berries that is super slammin when sprinkled in large quantities on kebob or rice or both.

Serkeh – vinegar symbolizing age and patience, both venerated in this culture as in many others.

Sabzeh – big dish of wheat or lentil sprouts that looks something like an ungroomed chia pet.

Boy and I are going to set up a Sofreh in his classroom tomorrow. We did it last year too and let the kiddos sample the pudding, etc.

I really can’t wait until this week is over. I don’t do well with breaks in routine and with my office moving tomorrow (hence the day off) I’m on edge and uncaged. i'm the same way about christmas. kinda not very celebratory, huh?

No big deal, really… just me. which is what this is all about, right?

Shopping for the exotic in me...

i just lost this post. bummer.

i can try to recreate later, but it won't be the same.

i will try. i'm just too bummed to do it right now...

Lately i'm numb and it makes me have a hard time writing anything because i don't feel anything like anger or fear or pride.

just blank.

amazing things happen all around me and i can only think about all the stuff i have to do and the responsibilities that i have and all the bad stuff that will happen to people i care about if i don't pull through.

the other night at the "fire-jumping" or shabeh chahar shambeh suri, i remembered what it felt like to not be enjoying the moment because you're trying to capture it for all time or maybe just for a second grade presentation on friday.

nine years ago today i was in dublin video-taping the St. Patrick's Day parade and wishing i hadn't taken the job. i just wanted to be in that moment, you know, and take it all in and not worry about the lighting or the angle or what was coming down the road next.

kinda like tuesday. and after my son ran over the logs too fast for me to photo him for the 5th time and i told him in a not so patient anymore way that he needed to SLOW DOWN so i could get a good picture, mr. proved one more time he inspired ferris beuller and talked a grad-student from berkeley into giving us a copy of the video he was shooting. he would tape me and my son and give us a copy of the whole evening, with one small trade ...

he would interview me about the evening's events.

WHAAAAAAATT!!!????

now i've never been called shy, but i am totally shy when i'm around a big group of iranians. it has something to do with the fact that i stick out because i don't quite seem to belong until i tell them my name.

iranians are kind people so when they find out i don't speak farsi, i am more often pitied than judged. but sometimes i'm judged and people say who cares if your parents didn't teach you - take a class.

i walk around the crowd hearing people's conversations that all sound familiar but god forbid they quiz me on what they just said.

my son kept expecting me to translate and all i could do was ignore him and suppress all the feelings of frustration and isolation that i shared with him. why couldn't i just tell him, i don't know?

i thought it was iranic (ha) that i would be the one interviewed, i who learned the traditions of the evening from articles found on the internet last year and had to quick look up everything i said when i got home to make sure i didn't make a royal fool of myself (and my people) all the time hearing the mocking dismay if my representation was full of crap ...

but it wasn't. somehow i pulled out all the right words and explained what is really complex in a way that most "lay people" could understand. i left dude a message yesterday and he called me back - so i'll have a VHS tape of our evening to show boy's class tomorrow.

i'm too stressed to realize what a boon this is. i can't wait until the week is over.

simpleton + hun + radiohumper + BT (busblog-style)

Loser?

Am i a loser now that i spend more time on the internet most days than i do cooking for my family? reading books with my children? making love to my husband? writing to my loved ones? tending to our nest (egg)? reading the newspaper? volunteering at school? visiting my elderly neighbor friend? praying? finding a jobbier job? singing? spending time with friends? laughing? eating? playing outside? learning a new language? bettering my community? exercising?

that i can't resist risking more than i should dare to blog at work?

absolutely.

but i watch less TV and write to more soldiers and i think that counts for something that site meter can probably monitor for me.

Happy New Year!

Last year was the first year I chose to celebrate ('bout time!) Persian New Year, or Iranian New Year, or "Noruz" or "Norooz" or "Nowruz" or "New-rooz"... do you see now why you can call me "Speedy"?

Anyhow, I love it and all the symbolism of rebirth and new beginnings and life after winter. We all need to start over and the more often the better for me.

Last year we joined these folks for the funnest time ever. The food is to die for (grilled kebob, kebob and kebob) and the music and kiddos are all it takes to infuse the smoky atmosphere with free-spirited, fun-loving, festivity, and the women have more style than I'll ever catch up with.

My son still talks about it a year later. When else as a kid do you get to jump over fire ?!

So that's where we be tonight. Story tomorrow night at 11.

Eideh shomah mobarak!

SadII
i liked these drawings. they made me want to draw too. that's my favorite kind of art. the kind that says, "you can, too".

i ache like my stomach when i neglect it for too many hours, running on fumes, joy or the thrill of a victory. so empty and i'm not sure if it is pain i feel, but i do. could i be hungry?

i grumbled or growled at life all day. grrrargh...

losing someone is not a learned life lesson. you don't get better at it the more it happens to you. saying goodbye for good is never "old hat".

what am i trying to say? i'm sad. this is hard. i don't feel like doing anything and i don't feel like writing.

but i am anyway.

i need to read somewhere else tonight. perhaps you should too. thanks for coming though, really. thanks.

bye.

(see right, scroll up a little ... there)

Mrs. Z

She's incredible. I called her tonight because my Dad told me to in such a way that i knew i had to. My Dad and Dad-in-Law are the same in this. They understand stuff.

When my Dad's Dad died, my Dad-in-Law told me to call my Dad, so I did. I didn't know what to say so I said, "hi Dad" and he said, "oh, I'm so glad you called, it is so good to hear your voice." Whew.

That's exactly what my Dad-in-Law said he would say.

Tonight my Dad told me to call Mrs. Z if I had her number and I did, so I called her right away. I'm so glad I did.

Everyone is so grieving right now that it is hard to be considerate or even deal with anyone else's pain.

We had a great chat and all the time I tried to pretend that I wasn't in awe of her grace and wisdom and strength, so I wouldn't say anything stupid.

What a sweetheart she is. I asked her how she was sleeping and she said she finally slept through the night last night and that she was exhausted today. She was hoping for full night's sleep #two tonight.

a widow at 30. I wish angels could move into her apartment and have a slumber party so she would never have to be alone. And i find that i don't have any pity, just empathy and respect.

I think I made her cry at the end. (no, i didn't tell her the stuff about the angels).

I am determined to live my life in a way that shows how I have been touched by my cousin and all he endured. These things I have decided to do in his memory:

never try to keep up with anyone. be me. that's good enough.
speak the truth no matter who it might hurt.
seek the humor in every situation as if hunting a treasure. cause it is.

Sleep well, Mrs. Z.

I can't get this picture to post where I want it to. i want to leave my posts about my cousin and move on and i can't because of this stupid picture.

Everything was just fine until i took out the comments option and then it wouldn't post, like it did yesterday.

Oh well, it goes after the post below, before the part about "they started their family with 2 kids."

Argh.

This next series of posts reads top to bottom, first to last.

My story starts with them. It's where we all started, our aunts and uncles, their kids. They met 70-odd years ago in a far away land. Then they got married.

They began their family with two children, later followed by four more.
The little girl is my aunt, 60 years ago, the second child after my Father.

I noticed many things about her last week when we spent a few days together.

She always knew what was next and was there to offer her assistance, whether I asked for it or not. She didn't need an invitation and seemed to live inside my head. She could view the road through my windshield, and she can probably see through yours, too.

She would always laugh so hard and well, it was contagious and infectious in the healthy ways those words don't imply. Last week, however, she rarely broke a smile. She looks and even skiis like a much younger woman, but I know her zeal and her spice and they were gone.

She borrowed my chapstick a couple times and I teased her when she wiped it off only after she used it, never before. Her germs weren't shared with just anybody, she explained.

As a kid, I would follow her everywhere, for many years her only niece, and wonder how she could take so much grief from her boys, my forever Bermuda shorts-sporting, California cousins.

That family was always laughing about something, or more likely, someone. It was humor based on truth and honesty so cutting that only love could make it palatable, and there was plenty of that, too.

A family that started to love on this happy day.

And then grew by two in several years. The kid on the left is Goon (Cali Cuz #1) just several months younger than me. That's Z on the right and don't let his sweet and innocent demeanor fool you, the kid packed a punch and never raised a finger. His quick wit and sharp tongue did all the damage and, unless you were Goon, you adored him for it.

Z had a giggle that made anyone immediately check their feet for toilet paper. If you stepped in something, he'd be the first to smell it. If you ate something, he'd instantly see it in your teeth. He never missed a thing and he wouldn't let you either.

For a period of time when all our family gatherings included a video camera, his was the voice that narrated the madness and pulled it all together and put everyone in their place.

I wish he was writing this, it would be so much better.

A little over a year ago, he wrote something for our grandfather's memorial, which he couldn't attend. Just like his letters read at both our brothers' weddings, he IDed gramps like a professional comedian and everyone laughed to tears, remembering why they hated to love him.

He would have been wherever the family he adored was gathering, but his wheelchair kept him away from many occasions that painfully missed his company.

At 14, an anyeurism was discovered in the base of his brain. What happened to Superman, happened to him, minus the horse and the split-second timing. His was a slow and steady progression from barely noticeable, to shaky, to no movement at all from the neck down.

He pushed the boundaries of his limitations at each phase of his illness, biking hundreds of miles just because he could and knew soon he wouldn't.

I remember him most for the time my husband met the family (my parents) for the first time. We met on neutral ground, at his Mom's home, where he also was able to come and visit.

It was the first time I saw him in his wheelchair. A couple years earlier, we had sat and ate together at my aunt's table. We spoke about Jesus and His "only way" and he told me "if Jesus says that my Muslim and Hindu grandmothers aren't going to heaven, then i'd rather spend eternity with them in hell." Or something to that effect.

His Mom was so proud of him that day. (So was I.)

He gave my future husband the huge thumbs up, minus the actual thumbs up, at a time when everyone else had their doubts.

Turns out he was right about him. (So was I.)

He explained to me that day what it was like having other hands feed him and the insight (he always had tons!) that he gained into each helpful person who lifted the spoon to his lips. Some fed him at their own quick, thoughtless pace, and some waited too long bite to bite. I can not imagine what it was like for him to lose his independence with such methodical certainty.

I can't imagine what it was like for his mother to watch.

The last time we interacted was before my grandfather's memorial, and I pissed him off in a big way. Others reassured me that it happened often and not to take it personally. I wrote him a few times and once again a few weeks ago, but I never heard back and I never will.

I found out late last night that Z died last week due to complications from a blood clot lodged near his spinal cord in an untouchable part of the brain. He could have received oxygen to help with his breathing and liquid to help with his eating, but Z had made a decision: no more tubes.

A year ago, he wasted away and the family watched, pained and objecting, insisting he go on with life and hold out for a cure. This time, nobody knew.

I am awe-struck by his courage to die the way that he did and I'm so proud of him. It's beyond pride, actually, perhaps "reverence" would cover what I am feeling about him and the decision he made.

Stevenson wrote in Treasure Island, "dem's dat dies are da lucky ones". Most of my tears now are for the ones I know he left behind, a wife, a mother, a father, a big brother, a niece, a grandmother, an aunt, four uncles and us cousins.

The hole in their lives and hearts is profoundly deep and empty. I pray they can fill it up with all the joy he would want for them. The greatest tribute to his memory would be our laughter, which he was never without.

Bye Z. Say Hi to Gramps for me.

I often take the elevator at the Y. I could explain myself, but I don't need to. I'm an American.

my new favorite word is "screw".

"wanna screw later?"
"oooo, i like that...let's go.."
"with the kids in the tub? you crazy..."

psst... "scrrew".

ahhh, Spring.

Be on guard. Stand true to what you believe. Be courageous. Be strong.

i read this before i got out of bed this morning. and for some reason it reminded me of this:

fear and trembling ... do everything without complaining or arguing ... in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe ...

the challenge is to humbly go about what could easily become lofty.

i often want to escape from the world and be back in a teenage bubble where everything revolves around my latest triumph or cribulation.

i don't want to feel your pain - i don't even wanna feel my own pain most the time.

crooked and depraved is still our generation. everytime i open up a paper or hear the news after several days shut out, it hits me like a grand piano dropping out of a twelve story window (a big window) and i make nearly as much noise.

so i must stick to my guns and remember that kindness does make a big difference. gratitude, guts and the ability to love no matter what. this is how i overcome.

and just like i climb up on that god-awful treadmill each day, a terrible means to an end, i must feel my own pain, and feel yours, too, and feel connected and alone, all at the same time.

The Dorkiest

when you catch yourself being very uncool, the only thing to do is to own it and laugh.

i've often been accused of taking myself too seriously. (oops) really, though? i'm a goof.

i just saw a "1" in a comment link on my blog and got all excited and when i went to read it, all hot and eager, i found out it was ME ... again.

i am hyped about my blog, though, because it's finally kinda looking like one.

i was writing code on my template and envying folks who really know what they're doing.

um, this can take up lots and lots of time, huh?

cybelle's makes some goood pizza. think i'll go have a slice and try to remember i'm married to this really swell guy.

I have a blog roll and pix on my blahg!!!!!! "m-m-movin on uh-up..."

blogger read my mind and made linking easy enough for dummies like me to do!

so's I gotta run and put you all on here, k?

surfin ...

radiohumper got me started and then bounced me to green catfish who bounced me to australian teen and then i noticed i was on green's blog roll, and then radiohumper's nice people roll and also on simpleton's roll!

yikes, i better write something worthy of attention now. which brought me right back to green catfish and radiohumper and thoughts i had all weekend about skiing under the chair.

think about it. skiing under the chair, where people watch you ski and comment. and they do. some of the time it's some stupid whistling "hey baby baby" and most of the time it's simply a howl, "yahooo" or "yeehaw" or "yeeeow" - those are my faves.

only the bravest skiers ski under the chair. not because it's steep and bumpy. but because of the people who watch from their comfy cozy you ain't ever gonna see me down there seat. those ones are the harshest commenters, cause they've never been there and don't have a tiny clue as to what it takes or what it should look like. oh yeah, and they're full straight up through their beedy little eyes full of jealousy.

but anyone who dares appreciates anyone who does.

this year i tuned out the comments with my nifty mp3 and had a ball. i don't know what they said, but heard someone howling through my beat. i had fun. i'm glad one someone did watching, too. but even if they didn't, i still had the time of my life.

skiing under the lift last weekend helped me understand what expert bloggers (who use blogger!) feel when they blog. raymi, tony, anti, dooce, hunster, radiohumper - they're in their element having a blast and people love to watch and yell out their inspiration.

who knew blogging and skiing had so much in common?

then i read robin's post about dooce and got mad too.

and anti's still smokin, which is comforting somehow, like the certainty of sunrise and the circle of life.

i'm all bug-eyed from staring at this screen for the past 1.5 hr. and i still need site meter and pics on my blahg.

speaking of decimals, today the precor machine i slobbered and sweated all over at lunch read the following after my workout:

Time: 50.0 (minutes)
Distance: 4.21 (miles)
Calories: 536.8 (burned)

I am 20 pounds away from pre-pregnancy me ... BABY!

Does anyone else hear the Rocky theme song being sung by a chorus of thousands of angels atop a sunbeam from heaven shining down on that precor treadmill?

I was hauling and it felt awesome at the end but i hated it at first and just wanted to quit the whole first mile. then something takes over. it's everything they talk about: runners high.

but i hate running. deeply. i'd rather play soccer or ski. soccer's way cheaper and i'm a poor princess.

thank you anti and tony for leaving your comments here! dudes. i'm honored. i mean: anti, no bud here, and tony, no babe either. but you're too kind and you're here. thanks again!

blind and afraid
out of the fog
a ship of hope
old woman inspires
from beyond
my horizons.
footprints
standards
expectations
too high or low?
finding
balance
truth
peace
the future
me.


* This started as a list of things i wanted to blog about later and i just decided to go with it.

my husband emailed me this today and i found it super blog-worthy:

"Remember:

The day starts and the day ends, but it is the poise and humility that you show during that time that defines you - and your day - and no one else.

Hang in there :) "

i love that he emails me happy faces and he's not the happy face type. i see a side of him nobody else does. i bring out the smiley in him.

i watched Oprah's movie with Halle Berry last night and realized that despite all my doubts, i had the good sense to marry my Teacake.

picking cucumbers with the one you love sure beats being some successful somebody's accessory.

thanks, Oprah, that was good and timely like everything you do. i only wish i'd read the book first.

I'm back!!!!!!!!!!!! And there is no better way to turn 35 than doing something you LOVE and where you grew up doing it, and if you're me, that's skiing in mormon country. And nothing would have made me feel younger than hanging out with my dad and aunt without my kids. I was twelve again.

Odd thing? suddenly doing dishes and helping homework and commuting to 8:30-5pm and eating out 3-4 times a week and dirty diapers and pairing clean white socks for three sizes of Male of the species, while trying desperately to find time to stay Woman, doesn't seem half as impossible as it did last Wednesday.

i want to review a bunch of stuff when i have time, like the mountain, the new booming digi ski-photo business, new (to me) ski technology, my discount shmealy deal at the Berkeley Northface outlet parka (love it!) and the Shallow Shaft restaurant at Alta in Little Cottonwood Canyon (blows away much fine San Fran dining) .

Alas, paradise has its pimples and conversations were at a standstill due to Dad's blue mood re: pending divorce with Mom. It breaks my heart to see his so broken and I'm mad at him for taking so much for granted. We all did.

So I mostly blew off those conversations, stuck to the higher ground, keeping things positive for all of our sakes, and skiied my little heart out. I went to bed too sore to roll over, waking up at 2AM to gaze out at the cresecent moon over an electrified snow-covered mountain top. nice night light.

As a kid I used to love watching the snow-cats and their headlights as they groomed the slopes for the next day's skiing. So we kept the curtains open, but mostly so there was light enough that we wouldn't trip over every aunt, uncle or cousin on my father's side of the family on our way to the potty in the wee hours of the morning as we packed the two-room condo every two weeks in March.

the last few days were full of fond memories colored painful by current family events. but it was very fun.

I'm packed FINALLY! why is it that for someone who hasn't skied in 3 years, all my ski clothes were dirty?

i'm beginning to get excited about my trip. when i'm on the plane, one full workday + lunchtime leg wax + bart & airport shuttle ride + curbside checkin + shoeless security check later, i'll be fully hyped.

why the leg wax? cause i'm looking forward to the hot tub, minus all the terrified stares.

mistermom is such a prince. sad faces in the back seat at drop off this AM. everyone had their own flavor of chapstick in honor of my adventure, and, of course, wanted to share.

so now my coffee tastes a little bit like melon, berry and grape blistex. and i'm a Mom, so i love it.

There are some very inspiring things happening over here. 5,000 of them to be exact!

That's FIVE Humvees at a time folks.

There's only one Anti.

if you haven't already, because like Raymi says, you're so last sunday, like me, or else a little late to the blogosphere, read how to blog by THE Tony Pierce, not T. Pierce loser knock-off, ie knock people off their search on their way to this incredible post. i learned tonight why everybody links busblog.

so it's really what I've needed as far as knowing, hey am i doing this right? am i on the right track? cause i for sure am not knowing, but do find that i'm growing. (at least in my ability to rhyme!)

Tony's post was like the song that comes on when you're plodding, not jogging, forget calling it running, and the beat ignites something you knew not was in you and you're full on training all of a sudden for the next marathon.

I'm so glad to be blogging. I have so much to learn still and too many heroes. no, you can't ever have too many heroes.

i'm herein making a list of things i would like to do to take my blog higher:

- post more picture, audio, etc.
- start a blog roll of my own so i don't have to go to busblog to link to raymi, or to odd-child to link to anti or to big tanky to link to trueboy or to anti to link to jamie. well, you get the idea.
- get site meter like tony said. i wuz wondering how people knew i was talking about them, and like, FAST
- dare to delve deeper, which i am proud to say, i started to this week.

i should really be packing right now. i can't believe i'm blogging when i was already tripping earlier that i wouldn't have enough time to do the laundry, clean the kitchen, love up on the family, who I'm leaving behind.

i'm going to the snow to spend a few days with my dad and favorite aunt. she's my favorite because she's like me, or i'm like her, and i guess i'm vain like that. well, you are too!

anyhow. there will be some skiing involved, some free fine-dining and hopefully some blogging if i can logon somewhere. i think pops has a lap top.

anyhow, if i don't or can't - i'll be back on saturday, which is also my birthday, but please don't feel like you have to do anything special or nuthin.

cheers!

So i blow my nose with toilet paper. What's so gross about that?

What if there was a button that you could push that would immediately purify everyone's motives within a 6 mile radius?

You'd create (36 x pi?) miles worth of sheep for the slaughter.

I've been thinking that most of the time folks lie, it's because the consequences of telling the truth are so grave. We don't seem to encourage the truth, do we?

We want to think folks can be perfect, and if they're not, we sure as sin don't want to know about it.

I have been thinking about this as far as public personas are concerned. But if you think about it, the same thing happens in families between the married and parents and kids, etc. Except for maybe Best Friends (life coaches? Oprah? Dr. Phil?) who expect and dish out gut level honesty or else lose that title, we lie without shame about anything.

I want to promote honesty from those I love. Guess this means I can't come apart at the seams, punishing them when they give it to me.

That's going to be tough. And what? Do I let people crap all over me because I want them to be honest about it?

More on this later ...