Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Oooooh...

In the twenty minutes I had today between school and picking up Jack, I stopped at my favorite coffee spot for a much needed pick-me-up. One of my favorite barristas, Annie, was working. Here was our conversation:

Annie: Hey! How's it going?

Me: The usual. You?

A: Nothing to report, really.. Well actually, I had an interview for a grown-up person job.

M: Oh really? How'd it go?

A: Not too well, I don't think..

M: What? Why?

A: Well, the interviewer was..um.. different.

M: What do you mean?

A: First of all, she did most of the talking and hardly asked any questions.

M: Not a great interviewing strategy..

A: Yeah. And when she did ask questions, they were weird ones like, 'Have you ever had a fish?' and I was like, 'Uh.. no..' and then she asked, 'Well you know what a fish looks like, right?' and I was all, 'sure', wondering where she was going. Then she took out a piece a paper and started drawing. Can I use your receipt? So on one side of the paper she drew this (drawing a fish-like scribble with teeth - totally abstract), and then asked, 'Do you know what this is?' 'Er, a piranha?' I answered. And she was like, 'Actually it's a Great White Shark.' And then on the other side of the paper she drew this (drawing another fish-like being made mostly of squares) and then she asked, 'Do you know what this is?' 'A clown fish?" I guessed. 'No. It's an angel fish. Here at our company we do NOT want a shark, nor do we want an angel fish! We want this (and she drew another fish scribble in between that looked a lot like the first fish). What do you think this one is, Annie?' And I was all, 'um..it's a,' and I must've paused too long because then she interrupted me and exclaimed, "It's a barracuda!" We want barracudas to work for us, Annie. Are you a barracuda?' And all I could think of was the song.

M: Heart!

A: Yeah. And so I think I nodded. I don't know. But after that she told me that she was looking for someone with more experience for this entry level job. I told her that I was perfect for the position and that I could definitely do a good job, even though I didn't have a lot of experience. She said she'd get back to me, but I don't know.. I wrote her a thank you note -I could really use this job - and I said something like, 'It was great meeting you! I can't wait to be your barracuda."

M: (Laughing really hard)

A: Yep. At least I got a good story out of it.. Maybe I should go to grad school.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Writing Woes

I used to be a writer. I suppose what I mean is I used to connect with people through my writing. Lately everything has been so forced, so impersonal. I hadn't realized to what extent this was true until today when I began going through old posts, especially ones from my first blog, Viaggio.

Obviously, the biggest change since Viaggio is I had a baby. I don't mean to blame him for my writing neglect, but I do mean to say that writing time - hell, thinking time, being time, reading time - is gone for me. Also, I am working full time at a job that demands more than the hourly parameters of what the pay scale defines. Teaching is not a full time job. It's a life consuming one if done correctly. And again, that isn't to say that it's the job's fault. It's just that I choose to make it a priority - children are our future, education is a gateway, yadda yadda, yadda. On top of that I actively work at my marriage, I try to have friendships (though those too have suffered) and run a household. I no longer exercise - that would be an activity that would require alone time.. So, obviously, the writing I do is sub-par.. at least in comparison to what I know I can do and want to do.

I'm pissappointed at little about it. I knew when I had a baby that I would have to make time for me. I didn't realize that the time I made would come in 10 minute increments or less- like the breaths I take between getting out of my car and taking the baby out of his car seat (15 seconds), or the cup of coffee I allow myself on week end mornings before I get the baby out of his crib (10 minutes), for example. I do enjoy a work day once a week - glorious Thursdays! - when Rich picks up Jack from Nanny's and I get to, er.., work. Sometimes I allow myself that time to work on my consortium posts, but mostly that's grading or studying time, apart from the time I work after the baby goes to sleep. I have vowed on many occasions, fists raised, that I will take back my life! And then the baby wakes up from his nap, and as is perfect and lovely, and I become Momma again, relinquishing the "me" that it would take to spend time here.

Mary Oliver, incredible poet and one of my heroes, said all writers should make appointments with themselves. That way they will be committed to the practice. I've tried. Believe me. I just can't seem to get things to fall into place without interruption, whether that be a demand from the baby or from work, or, God forbid, actually talking to my husband away from the clicking of computer keys or grading utensils.

Some would tell me that obviously writing, then, isn't important. That I should put that aspect of my life on hold for a while. Those folks obviously don't know me well enough to understand what writing truly is to me, or really how much writing is a part of who I am. It is me in a sense.

That said, I need to practice. You can't be good at something unless you work on it. I need to work on it.
Maybe this confession will open some doors for me. Maybe the door is only open until I am overwhelmed by my other roles again. A week? Two? In any case, here is some genuine, heartfelt discourse, a bridge hopefully, to a more relatable subject and voice.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Hell

Dante and Milton have made egregious miscalculations in their assessments of hell in the form of a very obvious omission. Dante's circles are incomplete as such, as is Milton's burning, sulfurous terrain.
_______________________________________________
Rich and I, in the middle of enduring a very long "staycation" in our house over spring break, looked at each other, exasperated. In that raspy, "I see dead people" voice, the one only used in the face of some supernatural terror, he whispered, hardly audible,"Dear God. We have a toddler.."
"How in the hell did this happen?" I responded in the same hissy tenor.

And then we both started sobbing.

Earlier, I was horrified to find banana smeared all over the keyboard and screen of my laptop. I turned to Rich and began to complain, when I remembered that earlier that day, Toddler Jack had taken a crayon to Rich's. Unfortunately, it was too late. The statement was out. That's when we broke and started remembering all of the mischief that took place that day related to the actions of our almost-two-year-old Jack. The statements came rapid fire and generally began with "And then he...", "And then.." In the interest of brevity, here is that frantic exchange, ordered more cogently than the original and in a bullet point list (because it's alot):

* Computers - one artistically adorned, the medium being crayon, the other glazed in a sticky fruit compote.

* Shoes firmly planted.. in the flower pots...in the house.

* Items put away (somewhere) for the future:
- One half-eaten jelly bean
- One hairbrush (Daddy's)
- Ten pairs of socks (his)

*Items put in the trash (that were thankfully recovered):
- A check in the amount of $13.50
- A lovely necklace and one earring
- One copy of Alice in Wonderland
- One television remote
- One book of Christmas postage stamps
- One pair of glasses

* Bathtub - One toy boat played with in bath, the same boat that needed to be bailed out, as did apparently the bathtub itself.

* Climbing Practice (freestyle):
- On top of the dinning table
- On top of the bar stools
- On top of a dresser, using the back of a couch as a spring board

* Number of fits thrown: 5, not including diaper changing ones

* Number of diaper changes: 5

* Number of time-outs: 1, including fit

*Number of headache pills taken by parents as a result of fits: 4 (2 ea)

* Number of glasses of wine consumed: 4 (2 ea and counting)

* Percentage of patience lost by parents: 99.9% (.1% away from total breakdown)

And we're really good, attentive parents! I can't imagine the catastrophe that must happen in homes where parents aren't as attentive, or in homes where, and I shudder to say it, more than one toddler resides!
_____________________________________________
Dante and Milton clearly never spent very much time with an almost two-year-old kid. Surely, they would've considered them when writing their epics..

(Though all of the items on this list did actually take place in one day, I have to say that I have the best kiddo in the world! He's smart and sweet and wonderful... which is why we can endure the storm and which is why all of our spare change is going to the local vineyards.)

This post was inspired by the Loose Bloggers Consortium, a small and feisty(!) global community. We write weekly on a common topic (Hell, this week) and post responses - all of us together, simultaneously, from all over the world. (Lovely!) Please visit Anu, Ashok, Conrad, gaelikaa, Grannymar, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria and Ramana for other wonderful posts.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

New word of the day:

Pissapointed: adjective (though can also be used as a verb or noun (pissapointment): defeated in expectation or hope while feeling, at the same time, angry and/or irritated. eg. He forgot to pick up the kids at school leaving them waiting by themselves for hours. This made her feel severly pissapointed.

(Thanks for this Christine!)

Friday, March 19, 2010

Object(s) of Desire

Speaking of Anais Nin.. For a while I've been hoping to introduce myself to her writing, knowing that it would be a bit of a scandal. Probably it's not something I should mention in this space, except to say that she is part of my Womanifesto. I can say that I felt some guilt at being offered the teacher discount for her book at the check-out counter. Obviously, the clerk doesn't know about Anais Nin or about the section of the store I snuck to to quickly peruse the authors; he didn't recognize my excitement in the form of a knowing smirk at finding Delta of Venus or my hurry to get to the counter.



Or maybe he did know. Maybe that's why he offered the discount.. Anyway, I'm reading her now. She's wonderful!


"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage. "
-Anais Nin

This post was inspired by the Loose Bloggers Consortium, a small and feisty(!) global community. We write weekly on a common topic (Object(s) of Desire, this week) and post responses - all of us together, simultaneously, from all over the world. (Lovely!) Please visit Anu, Ashok, Conrad, gaelikaa, Grannymar, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria and Ramana for other wonderful posts.

Friday, March 12, 2010

The Opposite Sex: Wratch

I am unbelievably lucky that I have the partner that I do. His name, if you didn't know, is Rich. He's pretty much the most lovely person on the planet. I adore him.

Rich and I met in college. Actually, sometime during the first week of my college career, between orientation and my first exam, I saw him across the room. In a millisecond I knew that I would marry him. Seriously. You can stop gagging. It's true. A "voice" we shall call "intuition" whispered it in my ear. Instead of the pronouncement garnering that warm mushy feeling reserved for the beginnings of Nicholas Sparks books (the endings reaping a different emotion), mine was more akin to what it feels like when one's stomach drops at the first intonation of a tornado siren. Panic. I ran home and called Jen (who will confirm my account), and said, "Jen, guess what!? I just saw the person I'm going to marry!"

She, the ever-calm and rational presence, asked, "What's his name? Tell me about him."

"Uh. I don't know. I haven't actually talked to him, yet.."

And that was the beginning. It only took a month for me to collect myself and actually talk to him. Er.. really, it only took me a month to: find the perfect event, a street dance in this case (yes, darlings, it was the 90's), put together the perfect granola/attractive outfit to draw his attention, practice possible conversation openers with my roommate, and steel myself for the first words that would essentially begin what I was sure would be, "the first day of the rest of my life."

Melodramatic? Yes.

A true assessment? Also yes.

Obviously at that time I did not know the sheer impact of that first meeting, the extent to which knowing Rich - growing up with him, traveling the world with him, being a co-parent with him - would truly change my world for the better.

I suppose I could list traits and actions that describe why Rich exemplifies the perfect version of the opposite sex for me. Probably that is too much for a less than sappy blog post. What I will say is that Rich is the most considerate person on the planet. His love is unconditional, his patience infinite, his kindness apparent. He's reason to my manic. He's stability to my chaos. In short, he's both my opposite and my compliment and I am a lucky, lucky girl.

This post was inspired by the Loose Bloggers Consortium, a small and feisty(!) global community. We write weekly on a common topic (The Opposite Sex, this week) and post responses - all of us together, simultaneously, from all over the world. (Lovely!) Please visit Anu, Ashok, Conrad, gaelikaa, Grannymar, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria and Ramana for other wonderful posts.

Friday, March 5, 2010

Time Travel

If I could travel back or forward in time, where would I stop and why? It's a great question. I remember answering this question a few times before. When I was an innocent little girl, I said that I would like to meet Jesus. He and I were cool back then, and I imagined sitting among the other little children in his lap and around his feet in all of those cartoon images I studied in Sunday School. Later, as a snarky (but still innocent for the most part) teenager, I gave the same answer: That I would want to go back in time and meet Jesus, but for a different reason. This time it would be to experience him as a real person, and not just an untouchable figure head. I wanted to experience his wisdom and his gentleness.

Now, if I were to answer the same, and I'm not sure I would, I think I'd want to see Jesus to blatantly ask, "What the hell? Seriously. Because if this is what you were meant to represent, then stay out of Gethsemane. People are really going to screw this up and maybe it would be better to not be the human sacrifice." (sigh)

I mean that in the most reverent way possible.

Probably, though, I'd rather not travel so far back. Things happen, and just as we need our own faults to become the people we are, we need history to help define who we are. And anyway, there are too many atrocities to try and prevent to pick just one. Conversely, the future is too scary to navigate. That leaves me here - in this time and in this place. If I hope to move anywhere it is forward to when I'm finished grading the billions of compositions in my inbox. Relief won't truly come until June, a hazard of the job. Until then, I trudge along.. seemingly in slow motion.

This post was inspired by the Loose Bloggers Consortium, a small and feisty(!) global community. We write weekly on a common topic (Time Travel, this week) and post responses - all of us together, simultaneously, from all over the world. (Lovely!) Please visit Anu, Ashok, Conrad, gaelikaa, Grannymar, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria and Ramana for other wonderful posts.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Women International - March 8th



Dear Friends,

A hundred years ago, a group of women got together and decided we needed a day to celebrate women globally, regardless of our marital status, our ability or inability to have children, regardless of who we are in age, color, or where we come from. In countries like Bosnia and Herzegovina, every man and boy gives a flower to each woman and girl on International Women’s Day.

We all have envisioned a day where women will speak out and speak up, to break their silence and demand peace, justice, and more equality in this world. A hundred years have gone by and women have accomplished a lot in legal protection, political and economic representation, education, and so many other areas. But the road to full equality for women is still long, and our vision of justice and sustainable, full peace in our lives has yet to come.



On behalf of our sisters who are meeting on March 8 in Rwanda and the DR Congo, our sisters who are meeting in Bosnia and Kosovo, our sisters who are meeting in London and Sydney, and our sisters in over 50 cities, I am asking all of you to join me, Women for Women International, and women around the world on a bridge on that day. I ask that we, women from all over, consciously take the time out of the working day and our personal life to celebrate International Women’s Day.

It is a time where we will join the drumming beats of drummers, our own drums, and our own heartbeats. A time where we can march, tie our fabrics together, celebrate who we are and what we have given to our families and societies, and more than that, demand an immediate peace and an end to all the wars that are going on in our lifetime and are destroying many lives.

Women need to stand and speak up because:
* 80% of the women in Bosnia and Herzegovina are unemployed when they enroll in our program
* 75% of war casualties are women and children
* Women produce 50% of the world’s food and only own 1% of the property
* 82% of the women in our Afghanistan program are illiterate
* 70% of the women in our DR Congo program have had their village attacked

These statistics show women are disproportionally marginalized in the world. It is time to change that. It is time to speak out. It is time to break our silence. It is time to demand peace and justice. It is time to join on the bridge.
Please join us. I know I will be at the Brooklyn Bridge at 12:00 pm on March 8th. Bring your drums. Bring your fabric. Bring your dreams.

Let us make that day a day the time to celebrate our womanhood, our voices, our contribution to society.

For more information on all of the bridge meetings around the world, please visit www.womenforwomen.org/bridge.

In sisterhood,

Zainab Salbi
Founder and CEOWomen for Women International

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Oooooh...

In the twenty minutes I had today between school and picking up Jack, I stopped at my favorite coffee spot for a much needed pick-me-up. One of my favorite barristas, Annie, was working. Here was our conversation:

Annie: Hey! How's it going?

Me: The usual. You?

A: Nothing to report, really.. Well actually, I had an interview for a grown-up person job.

M: Oh really? How'd it go?

A: Not too well, I don't think..

M: What? Why?

A: Well, the interviewer was..um.. different.

M: What do you mean?

A: First of all, she did most of the talking and hardly asked any questions.

M: Not a great interviewing strategy..

A: Yeah. And when she did ask questions, they were weird ones like, 'Have you ever had a fish?' and I was like, 'Uh.. no..' and then she asked, 'Well you know what a fish looks like, right?' and I was all, 'sure', wondering where she was going. Then she took out a piece a paper and started drawing. Can I use your receipt? So on one side of the paper she drew this (drawing a fish-like scribble with teeth - totally abstract), and then asked, 'Do you know what this is?' 'Er, a piranha?' I answered. And she was like, 'Actually it's a Great White Shark.' And then on the other side of the paper she drew this (drawing another fish-like being made mostly of squares) and then she asked, 'Do you know what this is?' 'A clown fish?" I guessed. 'No. It's an angel fish. Here at our company we do NOT want a shark, nor do we want an angel fish! We want this (and she drew another fish scribble in between that looked a lot like the first fish). What do you think this one is, Annie?' And I was all, 'um..it's a,' and I must've paused too long because then she interrupted me and exclaimed, "It's a barracuda!" We want barracudas to work for us, Annie. Are you a barracuda?' And all I could think of was the song.

M: Heart!

A: Yeah. And so I think I nodded. I don't know. But after that she told me that she was looking for someone with more experience for this entry level job. I told her that I was perfect for the position and that I could definitely do a good job, even though I didn't have a lot of experience. She said she'd get back to me, but I don't know.. I wrote her a thank you note -I could really use this job - and I said something like, 'It was great meeting you! I can't wait to be your barracuda."

M: (Laughing really hard)

A: Yep. At least I got a good story out of it.. Maybe I should go to grad school.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Writing Woes

I used to be a writer. I suppose what I mean is I used to connect with people through my writing. Lately everything has been so forced, so impersonal. I hadn't realized to what extent this was true until today when I began going through old posts, especially ones from my first blog, Viaggio.

Obviously, the biggest change since Viaggio is I had a baby. I don't mean to blame him for my writing neglect, but I do mean to say that writing time - hell, thinking time, being time, reading time - is gone for me. Also, I am working full time at a job that demands more than the hourly parameters of what the pay scale defines. Teaching is not a full time job. It's a life consuming one if done correctly. And again, that isn't to say that it's the job's fault. It's just that I choose to make it a priority - children are our future, education is a gateway, yadda yadda, yadda. On top of that I actively work at my marriage, I try to have friendships (though those too have suffered) and run a household. I no longer exercise - that would be an activity that would require alone time.. So, obviously, the writing I do is sub-par.. at least in comparison to what I know I can do and want to do.

I'm pissappointed at little about it. I knew when I had a baby that I would have to make time for me. I didn't realize that the time I made would come in 10 minute increments or less- like the breaths I take between getting out of my car and taking the baby out of his car seat (15 seconds), or the cup of coffee I allow myself on week end mornings before I get the baby out of his crib (10 minutes), for example. I do enjoy a work day once a week - glorious Thursdays! - when Rich picks up Jack from Nanny's and I get to, er.., work. Sometimes I allow myself that time to work on my consortium posts, but mostly that's grading or studying time, apart from the time I work after the baby goes to sleep. I have vowed on many occasions, fists raised, that I will take back my life! And then the baby wakes up from his nap, and as is perfect and lovely, and I become Momma again, relinquishing the "me" that it would take to spend time here.

Mary Oliver, incredible poet and one of my heroes, said all writers should make appointments with themselves. That way they will be committed to the practice. I've tried. Believe me. I just can't seem to get things to fall into place without interruption, whether that be a demand from the baby or from work, or, God forbid, actually talking to my husband away from the clicking of computer keys or grading utensils.

Some would tell me that obviously writing, then, isn't important. That I should put that aspect of my life on hold for a while. Those folks obviously don't know me well enough to understand what writing truly is to me, or really how much writing is a part of who I am. It is me in a sense.

That said, I need to practice. You can't be good at something unless you work on it. I need to work on it.
Maybe this confession will open some doors for me. Maybe the door is only open until I am overwhelmed by my other roles again. A week? Two? In any case, here is some genuine, heartfelt discourse, a bridge hopefully, to a more relatable subject and voice.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Hell

Dante and Milton have made egregious miscalculations in their assessments of hell in the form of a very obvious omission. Dante's circles are incomplete as such, as is Milton's burning, sulfurous terrain.
_______________________________________________
Rich and I, in the middle of enduring a very long "staycation" in our house over spring break, looked at each other, exasperated. In that raspy, "I see dead people" voice, the one only used in the face of some supernatural terror, he whispered, hardly audible,"Dear God. We have a toddler.."
"How in the hell did this happen?" I responded in the same hissy tenor.

And then we both started sobbing.

Earlier, I was horrified to find banana smeared all over the keyboard and screen of my laptop. I turned to Rich and began to complain, when I remembered that earlier that day, Toddler Jack had taken a crayon to Rich's. Unfortunately, it was too late. The statement was out. That's when we broke and started remembering all of the mischief that took place that day related to the actions of our almost-two-year-old Jack. The statements came rapid fire and generally began with "And then he...", "And then.." In the interest of brevity, here is that frantic exchange, ordered more cogently than the original and in a bullet point list (because it's alot):

* Computers - one artistically adorned, the medium being crayon, the other glazed in a sticky fruit compote.

* Shoes firmly planted.. in the flower pots...in the house.

* Items put away (somewhere) for the future:
- One half-eaten jelly bean
- One hairbrush (Daddy's)
- Ten pairs of socks (his)

*Items put in the trash (that were thankfully recovered):
- A check in the amount of $13.50
- A lovely necklace and one earring
- One copy of Alice in Wonderland
- One television remote
- One book of Christmas postage stamps
- One pair of glasses

* Bathtub - One toy boat played with in bath, the same boat that needed to be bailed out, as did apparently the bathtub itself.

* Climbing Practice (freestyle):
- On top of the dinning table
- On top of the bar stools
- On top of a dresser, using the back of a couch as a spring board

* Number of fits thrown: 5, not including diaper changing ones

* Number of diaper changes: 5

* Number of time-outs: 1, including fit

*Number of headache pills taken by parents as a result of fits: 4 (2 ea)

* Number of glasses of wine consumed: 4 (2 ea and counting)

* Percentage of patience lost by parents: 99.9% (.1% away from total breakdown)

And we're really good, attentive parents! I can't imagine the catastrophe that must happen in homes where parents aren't as attentive, or in homes where, and I shudder to say it, more than one toddler resides!
_____________________________________________
Dante and Milton clearly never spent very much time with an almost two-year-old kid. Surely, they would've considered them when writing their epics..

(Though all of the items on this list did actually take place in one day, I have to say that I have the best kiddo in the world! He's smart and sweet and wonderful... which is why we can endure the storm and which is why all of our spare change is going to the local vineyards.)

This post was inspired by the Loose Bloggers Consortium, a small and feisty(!) global community. We write weekly on a common topic (Hell, this week) and post responses - all of us together, simultaneously, from all over the world. (Lovely!) Please visit Anu, Ashok, Conrad, gaelikaa, Grannymar, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria and Ramana for other wonderful posts.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

New word of the day:

Pissapointed: adjective (though can also be used as a verb or noun (pissapointment): defeated in expectation or hope while feeling, at the same time, angry and/or irritated. eg. He forgot to pick up the kids at school leaving them waiting by themselves for hours. This made her feel severly pissapointed.

(Thanks for this Christine!)

Friday, March 19, 2010

Object(s) of Desire

Speaking of Anais Nin.. For a while I've been hoping to introduce myself to her writing, knowing that it would be a bit of a scandal. Probably it's not something I should mention in this space, except to say that she is part of my Womanifesto. I can say that I felt some guilt at being offered the teacher discount for her book at the check-out counter. Obviously, the clerk doesn't know about Anais Nin or about the section of the store I snuck to to quickly peruse the authors; he didn't recognize my excitement in the form of a knowing smirk at finding Delta of Venus or my hurry to get to the counter.



Or maybe he did know. Maybe that's why he offered the discount.. Anyway, I'm reading her now. She's wonderful!


"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage. "
-Anais Nin

This post was inspired by the Loose Bloggers Consortium, a small and feisty(!) global community. We write weekly on a common topic (Object(s) of Desire, this week) and post responses - all of us together, simultaneously, from all over the world. (Lovely!) Please visit Anu, Ashok, Conrad, gaelikaa, Grannymar, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria and Ramana for other wonderful posts.

Friday, March 12, 2010

The Opposite Sex: Wratch

I am unbelievably lucky that I have the partner that I do. His name, if you didn't know, is Rich. He's pretty much the most lovely person on the planet. I adore him.

Rich and I met in college. Actually, sometime during the first week of my college career, between orientation and my first exam, I saw him across the room. In a millisecond I knew that I would marry him. Seriously. You can stop gagging. It's true. A "voice" we shall call "intuition" whispered it in my ear. Instead of the pronouncement garnering that warm mushy feeling reserved for the beginnings of Nicholas Sparks books (the endings reaping a different emotion), mine was more akin to what it feels like when one's stomach drops at the first intonation of a tornado siren. Panic. I ran home and called Jen (who will confirm my account), and said, "Jen, guess what!? I just saw the person I'm going to marry!"

She, the ever-calm and rational presence, asked, "What's his name? Tell me about him."

"Uh. I don't know. I haven't actually talked to him, yet.."

And that was the beginning. It only took a month for me to collect myself and actually talk to him. Er.. really, it only took me a month to: find the perfect event, a street dance in this case (yes, darlings, it was the 90's), put together the perfect granola/attractive outfit to draw his attention, practice possible conversation openers with my roommate, and steel myself for the first words that would essentially begin what I was sure would be, "the first day of the rest of my life."

Melodramatic? Yes.

A true assessment? Also yes.

Obviously at that time I did not know the sheer impact of that first meeting, the extent to which knowing Rich - growing up with him, traveling the world with him, being a co-parent with him - would truly change my world for the better.

I suppose I could list traits and actions that describe why Rich exemplifies the perfect version of the opposite sex for me. Probably that is too much for a less than sappy blog post. What I will say is that Rich is the most considerate person on the planet. His love is unconditional, his patience infinite, his kindness apparent. He's reason to my manic. He's stability to my chaos. In short, he's both my opposite and my compliment and I am a lucky, lucky girl.

This post was inspired by the Loose Bloggers Consortium, a small and feisty(!) global community. We write weekly on a common topic (The Opposite Sex, this week) and post responses - all of us together, simultaneously, from all over the world. (Lovely!) Please visit Anu, Ashok, Conrad, gaelikaa, Grannymar, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria and Ramana for other wonderful posts.

Friday, March 5, 2010

Time Travel

If I could travel back or forward in time, where would I stop and why? It's a great question. I remember answering this question a few times before. When I was an innocent little girl, I said that I would like to meet Jesus. He and I were cool back then, and I imagined sitting among the other little children in his lap and around his feet in all of those cartoon images I studied in Sunday School. Later, as a snarky (but still innocent for the most part) teenager, I gave the same answer: That I would want to go back in time and meet Jesus, but for a different reason. This time it would be to experience him as a real person, and not just an untouchable figure head. I wanted to experience his wisdom and his gentleness.

Now, if I were to answer the same, and I'm not sure I would, I think I'd want to see Jesus to blatantly ask, "What the hell? Seriously. Because if this is what you were meant to represent, then stay out of Gethsemane. People are really going to screw this up and maybe it would be better to not be the human sacrifice." (sigh)

I mean that in the most reverent way possible.

Probably, though, I'd rather not travel so far back. Things happen, and just as we need our own faults to become the people we are, we need history to help define who we are. And anyway, there are too many atrocities to try and prevent to pick just one. Conversely, the future is too scary to navigate. That leaves me here - in this time and in this place. If I hope to move anywhere it is forward to when I'm finished grading the billions of compositions in my inbox. Relief won't truly come until June, a hazard of the job. Until then, I trudge along.. seemingly in slow motion.

This post was inspired by the Loose Bloggers Consortium, a small and feisty(!) global community. We write weekly on a common topic (Time Travel, this week) and post responses - all of us together, simultaneously, from all over the world. (Lovely!) Please visit Anu, Ashok, Conrad, gaelikaa, Grannymar, Judy, Magpie 11, Maria and Ramana for other wonderful posts.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Women International - March 8th



Dear Friends,

A hundred years ago, a group of women got together and decided we needed a day to celebrate women globally, regardless of our marital status, our ability or inability to have children, regardless of who we are in age, color, or where we come from. In countries like Bosnia and Herzegovina, every man and boy gives a flower to each woman and girl on International Women’s Day.

We all have envisioned a day where women will speak out and speak up, to break their silence and demand peace, justice, and more equality in this world. A hundred years have gone by and women have accomplished a lot in legal protection, political and economic representation, education, and so many other areas. But the road to full equality for women is still long, and our vision of justice and sustainable, full peace in our lives has yet to come.



On behalf of our sisters who are meeting on March 8 in Rwanda and the DR Congo, our sisters who are meeting in Bosnia and Kosovo, our sisters who are meeting in London and Sydney, and our sisters in over 50 cities, I am asking all of you to join me, Women for Women International, and women around the world on a bridge on that day. I ask that we, women from all over, consciously take the time out of the working day and our personal life to celebrate International Women’s Day.

It is a time where we will join the drumming beats of drummers, our own drums, and our own heartbeats. A time where we can march, tie our fabrics together, celebrate who we are and what we have given to our families and societies, and more than that, demand an immediate peace and an end to all the wars that are going on in our lifetime and are destroying many lives.

Women need to stand and speak up because:
* 80% of the women in Bosnia and Herzegovina are unemployed when they enroll in our program
* 75% of war casualties are women and children
* Women produce 50% of the world’s food and only own 1% of the property
* 82% of the women in our Afghanistan program are illiterate
* 70% of the women in our DR Congo program have had their village attacked

These statistics show women are disproportionally marginalized in the world. It is time to change that. It is time to speak out. It is time to break our silence. It is time to demand peace and justice. It is time to join on the bridge.
Please join us. I know I will be at the Brooklyn Bridge at 12:00 pm on March 8th. Bring your drums. Bring your fabric. Bring your dreams.

Let us make that day a day the time to celebrate our womanhood, our voices, our contribution to society.

For more information on all of the bridge meetings around the world, please visit www.womenforwomen.org/bridge.

In sisterhood,

Zainab Salbi
Founder and CEOWomen for Women International