The surgery went well. I am home and recovering from the anesthesia. I had forgotten how it always makes me vomit. (My Dad reminded me that when I got my tonsils out in France we learned the French word for vomit--vomir.) But aside from that general discomfort and fatigue, I'm doing well. The surgery was 3 hours late, but the nursing staff and doctors were really great. I felt well cared for and calm throughout the procedure.
Thanks to all for your well wishes, thoughts, and prayers. I felt supported.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
New Beginnings
I know the focus should be on Christmas, since we are still in the advent period, but I'm already getting excited about the new year. I feel like something inside of me is shifting. I'm preparing for another break through of some kind. My dreams have been vivid and rich, I have intense desires to clean out my house, and I get butterflies in my stomach from time to time when I think of the new year. I feel like maybe this year I will make some real headway in figuring out what I want to do with this life of mine. I feel ready for work.
And I received a lovely box full of comfort to see me through the end of the year and the surgery. Thank you so much!
And I received a lovely box full of comfort to see me through the end of the year and the surgery. Thank you so much!
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Exchange
Yesterday I gave my very first "telling" to an audience of children. It was rather anti-climatic. I told a story at a party for homeless families in NYC, and the set-up was terrible. There was music blaring, it was a completely chaotic environment, and just as I started my first story, the food was served, and parents came and motioned for their kids to leave the story area. I started with about 9-10 kids and ended my first story with 4 kids, and my second story with 1 kid. But you know, the best part is that it really was OK. I felt good about my performance. I had been so nervous, and I knew that just going through with the performance would make me feel better. And it did. It made this thing--storytelling--a real thing, rather than some fear in my imagination. And it reminded me that when I'm looking at real children, or adults, something comes over me and I can focus on the task at hand and stop the obsessing about myself that makes me so nervous before an event. I look into their eyes and I realize that they just want me to give the best that I have to give them, and with grace, that will be enough. And that I can do.
On the train ride home I had a NYC moment--the kind that makes me feel like living here is magical. A couple of weeks ago, I learned a string story about a snake and a lizard. The string is the snake, and it winds itself around the sleeping lizard (the hand), but then another lizard comes along and pulls on one part of the string and the snake comes off--miraculously. I didn't practice the story after learning it, and now I can't figure out the pattern. So I was on the train playing with a loop of yarn, winding it around my fingers trying to remember the pattern, when I noticed that the people around me were talking about me. I didn't notice this at first, because they were speaking in Korean. But I looked up from my hand and saw that the woman across from me was motioning in such a way that showed she was talking about my string and me. I smiled at her and showed her the string and asked, "do you know how?" She took the string from me and handed it to a man sitting beside her. He smiled at me, pulled off his glove, and proceeded to stitch the sting onto his fingers. When all of his fingers were encircled by the string, it took his thumb out of its loop and pulled on the string and it all unraveled. I expressed my delight and the woman motioned for me to come sit between them so I could learn it. I watched him do it again, and then I did it while he looked on. They clapped when I figured it out. I did it again to be sure I had it, and then I went back to my seat smiling. The four people in this group were talking and smiling and nodding their heads at me, but we couldn't communicated any further. I showed them the beginning of cat's cradle and said, "do you know this story?" and the woman smiled and nodded, though I'm not sure she understood me.
Anyhow, I now have a new string story. I'll have to do some research and see if a story goes with it. Or maybe make one up.
On the train ride home I had a NYC moment--the kind that makes me feel like living here is magical. A couple of weeks ago, I learned a string story about a snake and a lizard. The string is the snake, and it winds itself around the sleeping lizard (the hand), but then another lizard comes along and pulls on one part of the string and the snake comes off--miraculously. I didn't practice the story after learning it, and now I can't figure out the pattern. So I was on the train playing with a loop of yarn, winding it around my fingers trying to remember the pattern, when I noticed that the people around me were talking about me. I didn't notice this at first, because they were speaking in Korean. But I looked up from my hand and saw that the woman across from me was motioning in such a way that showed she was talking about my string and me. I smiled at her and showed her the string and asked, "do you know how?" She took the string from me and handed it to a man sitting beside her. He smiled at me, pulled off his glove, and proceeded to stitch the sting onto his fingers. When all of his fingers were encircled by the string, it took his thumb out of its loop and pulled on the string and it all unraveled. I expressed my delight and the woman motioned for me to come sit between them so I could learn it. I watched him do it again, and then I did it while he looked on. They clapped when I figured it out. I did it again to be sure I had it, and then I went back to my seat smiling. The four people in this group were talking and smiling and nodding their heads at me, but we couldn't communicated any further. I showed them the beginning of cat's cradle and said, "do you know this story?" and the woman smiled and nodded, though I'm not sure she understood me.
Anyhow, I now have a new string story. I'll have to do some research and see if a story goes with it. Or maybe make one up.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Indecision
I struggle with making decisions. This happens on a low-level, like "should I throw this mail in the recycling, do I need to shred it, does Eric need to see it, do I need to file it, should I just leave it sitting in a pile right here in the entry way and think about this tomorrow?"
And on major-levels, like "what should I do with my life? What career should I pursue? Should I be giving more money, more time, more care and if I do give more, to whom should I give it?"
It's like a constant buzz going on in my brain, and sometimes the accumulation of the small decisions, "what face cream should I buy, should I try to stop by that store on my way home or put it off for another day, should I go ahead and make the complicated dish or just make something simple tonight?" creates such a buzz in my internal mind that I have no energy or room for the big decisions.
And then there's the guilt. It sounds like this, "If you would answer the big questions, then that will give you guidance on the small questions. You should meditate more, create quiet in your mind, seek a higher power to give focus and direction to these little questions." But it never seems to work out so simply.
Almost every day I wake up with huge goals of getting a handle on this inner buzz. If I can just write it all down, I reason, or schedule it. Maybe I can set one decision aside per day... Or maybe I should just spend the whole day cleaning up the clutter in my house. Wouldn't that be therapeutic? No, I should probably arrange my to do list based on what's due first and leave the house until last.
And on and on the indecision goes. It bothers me most when I'm emotionally frazzled, like I've felt over the last week. I've got the constant clatter of Christmas present lists and card lists and fears that I won't express my affection properly for friends or that I'll forget someone or that I won't have time to get it all done before leaving for Florida. And I've been juggling dentist and doctor appointments in the midst of it all.
And the more I type out the chaos in my mind, the more neurotic I feel.
It's ironic to me how the more freedom I have in my life the more this chaos intensifies. When I worked full-time, that determined what had priority and so reduced my time that many decisions were just made by necessity. Now that I'm doing so much self-directed work, the chaos can be overwhelming. It can be such a relief to have others making the decisions. And it can be awful.
And on major-levels, like "what should I do with my life? What career should I pursue? Should I be giving more money, more time, more care and if I do give more, to whom should I give it?"
It's like a constant buzz going on in my brain, and sometimes the accumulation of the small decisions, "what face cream should I buy, should I try to stop by that store on my way home or put it off for another day, should I go ahead and make the complicated dish or just make something simple tonight?" creates such a buzz in my internal mind that I have no energy or room for the big decisions.
And then there's the guilt. It sounds like this, "If you would answer the big questions, then that will give you guidance on the small questions. You should meditate more, create quiet in your mind, seek a higher power to give focus and direction to these little questions." But it never seems to work out so simply.
Almost every day I wake up with huge goals of getting a handle on this inner buzz. If I can just write it all down, I reason, or schedule it. Maybe I can set one decision aside per day... Or maybe I should just spend the whole day cleaning up the clutter in my house. Wouldn't that be therapeutic? No, I should probably arrange my to do list based on what's due first and leave the house until last.
And on and on the indecision goes. It bothers me most when I'm emotionally frazzled, like I've felt over the last week. I've got the constant clatter of Christmas present lists and card lists and fears that I won't express my affection properly for friends or that I'll forget someone or that I won't have time to get it all done before leaving for Florida. And I've been juggling dentist and doctor appointments in the midst of it all.
And the more I type out the chaos in my mind, the more neurotic I feel.
It's ironic to me how the more freedom I have in my life the more this chaos intensifies. When I worked full-time, that determined what had priority and so reduced my time that many decisions were just made by necessity. Now that I'm doing so much self-directed work, the chaos can be overwhelming. It can be such a relief to have others making the decisions. And it can be awful.
Update from the Doctor
The surgery is rescheduled for Wednesday the 19th. I will be glad to have it over and done with. Such an emotional roller coaster!
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Not Comforting
"So I have to go over the risks of surgery with you before you sign this release form. Okay, so there's bleeding. Anyone can bleed when you go in for surgery. I don't expect to have to give you a transfusion, but it's always a possibility. Let's see, perforation. I could puncture your uterine wall. That's far more likely for pregnant women. Being pregnant makes the uterus wall softer. It actually takes a lot of pressure to push through a normal woman's uterus. Of course, the bladder and the bowels are right there, so if something did puncture the uterus lining, it could get complicated. Now I'm not going to wake you up at this point, I would just open you up and fix it and then deliver the bad news. I mean they're horrendous stories, but they do happen. But you could get hit by a car walking down the street and that's a horrendous story too."
Counting on fingers..."bleeding, perforation, oh yeah, so sometimes the cervix just won't open enough for the laparoscopy. That's not so common with a young woman like you, but if it happens, I have to cut and then check to see if I got the right spot. It's not ideal, but it happens. So we've done bleeding, perforation, anatomical complications...also, I put a fluid inside of you so that I can see better. Over time that gets absorbed into the blood stream. Gosh when we first started doing these surgeries women died from it. But now we have a way of measuring how much fluid you're absorbing and if the machine starts beeping, I just have to stop the surgery. It's annoying because then when you wake up I have to tell you we have to do it all over again. I don't think this will be a problem for you. You're having a short procedure. It's the huge fibroids that run into this issue.
"You know, I think I just say all of this so that you'll think I'm an amazing surgeon when it's all over. Well, and I have to tell you. Shall we go over the other options and the benefits of the surgery?"
Counting on fingers..."bleeding, perforation, oh yeah, so sometimes the cervix just won't open enough for the laparoscopy. That's not so common with a young woman like you, but if it happens, I have to cut and then check to see if I got the right spot. It's not ideal, but it happens. So we've done bleeding, perforation, anatomical complications...also, I put a fluid inside of you so that I can see better. Over time that gets absorbed into the blood stream. Gosh when we first started doing these surgeries women died from it. But now we have a way of measuring how much fluid you're absorbing and if the machine starts beeping, I just have to stop the surgery. It's annoying because then when you wake up I have to tell you we have to do it all over again. I don't think this will be a problem for you. You're having a short procedure. It's the huge fibroids that run into this issue.
"You know, I think I just say all of this so that you'll think I'm an amazing surgeon when it's all over. Well, and I have to tell you. Shall we go over the other options and the benefits of the surgery?"
More on Death
Today's poem from the Writer's Almanac fit quite well with my weekend reflections.
Read it here. (It's Tuesday's poem if you follow the link on another day, I think you'll get the current day.)
Read it here. (It's Tuesday's poem if you follow the link on another day, I think you'll get the current day.)
Monday, December 10, 2007
My Post-Dentist Weekend
I had a rich couple of days and I'm left with many thoughts. I'll list some of them here:
There are wonderful people in the world that I have never met.
Last year Eric and I met a couple that live in our neighborhood through our farm share. We’ve gotten together occasionally for dinner or lunch and traded a few emails over the last year. Saturday they invited us to their holiday party and we met several of their friends. We stayed at the party for almost 8 hours, because we were enjoying the conversation so much. It was such an unexpected joy. (I usually hate parties.)
My Story
I’m researching the Seal Skin story. From what I can tell, it is an Icelandic tale, though it’s widely told in Ireland and Scotland. There were two Icelanders at the party, so I got a quick overview of Icelandic history, clarification about the Vikings, and information on how Ireland and Iceland were connected in the 700s and 800s or so.
Vikings raided Northern Ireland and brought people as “slaves,” “feudal servants” some status similar to this idea. But then when everyone died in the winters, the masters would often marry the women for survival. I find this a very interesting idea to consider when reflecting on the story.
Clutter
It occurred to me this weekend that clutter is a physical manifestation of indecision. I think this might be why it feels so therapeutic to clean out my closets. I’m finally making decisions about what I need in the world.
Darkness
I really struggle with the early sunsets of winter. It fills me with panic when the sun sets at 4:42. I feel like the day is gone and I haven't done what I need to do. All night I walk around feeling like I should probably be in bed and this makes me so concerned. Candles are a comfort in this dark season. Bright lights just make the darkness seem more ominous, because the contrast is so sharp, but if I light candles, it makes me feel like I can relax and enjoy the soft light and not have to fear the oppressive darkness.
Death
Sunday night we went to an art show put on by a friend of a friend who is dying of brain cancer. (The friend who invited me is C. The friend who has brain cancer is A.) A. is an artist who was diagnosed this summer with a brain tumor. They’ve done surgery and radiation, but A. isn’t expected to live for very long—months maybe. She has poured herself into her art since the diagnoses and displayed 39 pieces for sale last night. Her friends, many of whom I’ve met at parties at C.’s house, were all at the opening and the paintings sold so fast we never even got a chance to purchase one. At the party, we saw another mutual friend. J. is best friends with C.’s husband and J. was diagnosed with a brain tumor a couple years ago. He had a successful surgery and chemo treatment, but life expectancy is still a gamble. So in case you aren’t following this, which would be entirely understandable, Eric and I are friends with a couple who each had their best friend diagnosed with a brain tumor in the last couple of years. And on top of that, C.’s mother is dying and she just got back from Europe where she was expecting to attend the funeral. So talking with these friends, surrounded by the art of a woman who is facing death, filled me with such grief.
All night I couldn’t shake the sadness. I keep reflecting on death, trying to make sense of what it means. What if there is no afterlife? What if it’s just the end? Is that a comfort or a source of panic? I go back and forth in how I feel about it. I feel like it’s very possible that we just turn to dust. But I’m attached to my consciousness. And sometimes the brevity of a human life in the face of the universe, the planet, the mountains, the trees, is shocking. Even if we are remembered for a time, eventually we are forgotten. Even the most famous fade away in the face of time. And then there’s the loneliness of watching friends die before you. I can’t bear the thought of the emptiness.
And then last night I had a dream about being on some kind of community service project on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. When I was able to climb up and see the Pacific Ocean, I was overcome with emotion and started crying. I kept saying, “it’s so beautiful. It’s so beautiful. So vast and beautiful.” And I feel cleansed a little after the dream. Like there was something healing about that immense expanse of water.
There are wonderful people in the world that I have never met.
Last year Eric and I met a couple that live in our neighborhood through our farm share. We’ve gotten together occasionally for dinner or lunch and traded a few emails over the last year. Saturday they invited us to their holiday party and we met several of their friends. We stayed at the party for almost 8 hours, because we were enjoying the conversation so much. It was such an unexpected joy. (I usually hate parties.)
My Story
I’m researching the Seal Skin story. From what I can tell, it is an Icelandic tale, though it’s widely told in Ireland and Scotland. There were two Icelanders at the party, so I got a quick overview of Icelandic history, clarification about the Vikings, and information on how Ireland and Iceland were connected in the 700s and 800s or so.
Vikings raided Northern Ireland and brought people as “slaves,” “feudal servants” some status similar to this idea. But then when everyone died in the winters, the masters would often marry the women for survival. I find this a very interesting idea to consider when reflecting on the story.
Clutter
It occurred to me this weekend that clutter is a physical manifestation of indecision. I think this might be why it feels so therapeutic to clean out my closets. I’m finally making decisions about what I need in the world.
Darkness
I really struggle with the early sunsets of winter. It fills me with panic when the sun sets at 4:42. I feel like the day is gone and I haven't done what I need to do. All night I walk around feeling like I should probably be in bed and this makes me so concerned. Candles are a comfort in this dark season. Bright lights just make the darkness seem more ominous, because the contrast is so sharp, but if I light candles, it makes me feel like I can relax and enjoy the soft light and not have to fear the oppressive darkness.
Death
Sunday night we went to an art show put on by a friend of a friend who is dying of brain cancer. (The friend who invited me is C. The friend who has brain cancer is A.) A. is an artist who was diagnosed this summer with a brain tumor. They’ve done surgery and radiation, but A. isn’t expected to live for very long—months maybe. She has poured herself into her art since the diagnoses and displayed 39 pieces for sale last night. Her friends, many of whom I’ve met at parties at C.’s house, were all at the opening and the paintings sold so fast we never even got a chance to purchase one. At the party, we saw another mutual friend. J. is best friends with C.’s husband and J. was diagnosed with a brain tumor a couple years ago. He had a successful surgery and chemo treatment, but life expectancy is still a gamble. So in case you aren’t following this, which would be entirely understandable, Eric and I are friends with a couple who each had their best friend diagnosed with a brain tumor in the last couple of years. And on top of that, C.’s mother is dying and she just got back from Europe where she was expecting to attend the funeral. So talking with these friends, surrounded by the art of a woman who is facing death, filled me with such grief.
All night I couldn’t shake the sadness. I keep reflecting on death, trying to make sense of what it means. What if there is no afterlife? What if it’s just the end? Is that a comfort or a source of panic? I go back and forth in how I feel about it. I feel like it’s very possible that we just turn to dust. But I’m attached to my consciousness. And sometimes the brevity of a human life in the face of the universe, the planet, the mountains, the trees, is shocking. Even if we are remembered for a time, eventually we are forgotten. Even the most famous fade away in the face of time. And then there’s the loneliness of watching friends die before you. I can’t bear the thought of the emptiness.
And then last night I had a dream about being on some kind of community service project on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. When I was able to climb up and see the Pacific Ocean, I was overcome with emotion and started crying. I kept saying, “it’s so beautiful. It’s so beautiful. So vast and beautiful.” And I feel cleansed a little after the dream. Like there was something healing about that immense expanse of water.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Numb
Our dentist is out on Long Island, which is really very stupid. There are dentists in our neighborhood within walking distance, but instead of using them, this morning I climbed on the LIRR for a 20 minute train ride plus 30 minutes of waiting followed by a 5 minute taxi drive to the dentist. And all of this because I'm afraid to drive Lenny's car and I've never driven a car on the island and those skinny lanes on the freeway make me nervous. I really hate feeling like I can't drive. It makes me feel like I'm becoming dependent in an unpleasant way. So I think tomorrow I'm going to make myself drive Lenny's car!
I explain all of this hassle only to make it clear why I told the dentist to go ahead and numb three parts of my mouth and drill all 5 cavities in one office visit. FIVE cavities! I've only had 2-3 cavities in my life and today he worked on five. What's wrong with me? I still brush my teeth. I don't eat a ton of sugar. Eric says welcome to my thirties.
Anyway, my mouth is totally numb now, especially the bottom left side of my lip, tongue, and everything else in there. Eric is loving it. He keeps asking me to say "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious." (and that word is in spell check) I tell him he is a mean and insensitive husband, but since he drove out to pick me up, I guess I can't complain. Anyway, when I do, it just makes him laugh harder.
I explain all of this hassle only to make it clear why I told the dentist to go ahead and numb three parts of my mouth and drill all 5 cavities in one office visit. FIVE cavities! I've only had 2-3 cavities in my life and today he worked on five. What's wrong with me? I still brush my teeth. I don't eat a ton of sugar. Eric says welcome to my thirties.
Anyway, my mouth is totally numb now, especially the bottom left side of my lip, tongue, and everything else in there. Eric is loving it. He keeps asking me to say "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious." (and that word is in spell check) I tell him he is a mean and insensitive husband, but since he drove out to pick me up, I guess I can't complain. Anyway, when I do, it just makes him laugh harder.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Entitled
Today I went to get my pre-op blood work done at the hospital. It was 5 minutes of getting my blood taken and a brief chat with a nurse about where to go on the day of my surgery. But I sat in the waiting room for over two hours. "Why?" you ask. "Why?" I asked. Because my doctor's office forgot to fax over the necessary paperwork and I had to wait for the fax to arrive and then wait to be entered into the computer, and then wait for the computer print out so that I could confirm what had been put into the computer.
I have been so annoyed. I called my doctor's office last week to check that they would fax the paperwork. They assured me they would take care of everything. And yet, my day had to be rearranged, because they didn't do it.
I've been reflecting on how annoyed the whole thing makes me. Like I was dealt an injustice by having my two hours taken from me this morning. Doesn't my doctor's office know that they wasted my time. Isn't wasting someone's time very disrespectful in American culture? Aren't I entitled to better treatment? And then I think, "oh well, it was two hours. What's the big deal? Why do I have such a desire to bitch about this?"
And on a completely unrelated note, spending too much time in hospital waiting rooms makes me afraid of growing old. I don't like that it does, but it's a big reality check that I do not spend much time with people whose bodies are failing them. I really like being able to use my body the way I do.
And now I have to laugh at myself, because upon rereading this entry, it occurred to me that my second paragraph isn't all that unrelated from my title. I think my enjoyment of my body is accepted as a sort of entitlement in how I go about my life. But every once and a while I'm reminded to not assume I'm entitled to good health. It is a blessing, a mysterious one at times, and one that makes me grateful that I've lived in places where efficient health care is even an option.
I have been so annoyed. I called my doctor's office last week to check that they would fax the paperwork. They assured me they would take care of everything. And yet, my day had to be rearranged, because they didn't do it.
I've been reflecting on how annoyed the whole thing makes me. Like I was dealt an injustice by having my two hours taken from me this morning. Doesn't my doctor's office know that they wasted my time. Isn't wasting someone's time very disrespectful in American culture? Aren't I entitled to better treatment? And then I think, "oh well, it was two hours. What's the big deal? Why do I have such a desire to bitch about this?"
And on a completely unrelated note, spending too much time in hospital waiting rooms makes me afraid of growing old. I don't like that it does, but it's a big reality check that I do not spend much time with people whose bodies are failing them. I really like being able to use my body the way I do.
And now I have to laugh at myself, because upon rereading this entry, it occurred to me that my second paragraph isn't all that unrelated from my title. I think my enjoyment of my body is accepted as a sort of entitlement in how I go about my life. But every once and a while I'm reminded to not assume I'm entitled to good health. It is a blessing, a mysterious one at times, and one that makes me grateful that I've lived in places where efficient health care is even an option.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Trade Fair
There's a grocery store in our neighborhood that caters to the multitude of niche markets that make up Jackson Heights. I went shopping there this evening with Eric, and it's amazing what you can find in this tiny store. (Tiny by grocery store standards. There are 8 skinny aisles--and if you haven't shopped in a NYC supermarket, think skinnier than you are imagining.)
Due to the limitation in space, this market uses every inch of vertical space. If you are looking for toilet paper, look up--as in 8 feet above the ground over the produce--up. This market doesn't use the psychological approach that the inexpensive items should be high or low, out of the normal range of vision. Instead, it seems to take a very practical approach of putting light items like toilet paper high as well as items that can hang from hooks, like feather dusters and frying pans. To find the items on my shopping list, I had to walk slowly and scan the aisles all the way up to the ceiling, and this is some of what I noticed in my search for Q-tips. (which I didn't find by the way):
-black rye bread like we buy in Germany
-British cookies
-half an aisle of Indian specialty products -- large bags of nuts, dried beans, spices, etc.
-a large section of canned Turkish items like stuffed grape leaves and specialty olives
-half an aisle of Goya products
-Kosher soap...which is right above the
-Catholic candles in glass jars with pictures of Jesus and the saints on them
-Mexican white cheese
-Columbian arepas
-Twinings tea
-Nestle and Hershey chocolate chips and generic American baking products
-organic, cage-free eggs and a new section of organic vegetables to cater to the new arrivals in the neighborhood
-mango concentrate and other sugary drinks with fruits that I don't recognize from South America
-Microbrew beers (including ones from Brooklyn)
-And then the somewhat bizarre assortment of items like hot pads and fly swatters and frying pans and charcoal and lighter fluid, which I know are common enough in normal grocery stores but feel bizarre to me since the store doesn't even stock Q-tips.
Due to the limitation in space, this market uses every inch of vertical space. If you are looking for toilet paper, look up--as in 8 feet above the ground over the produce--up. This market doesn't use the psychological approach that the inexpensive items should be high or low, out of the normal range of vision. Instead, it seems to take a very practical approach of putting light items like toilet paper high as well as items that can hang from hooks, like feather dusters and frying pans. To find the items on my shopping list, I had to walk slowly and scan the aisles all the way up to the ceiling, and this is some of what I noticed in my search for Q-tips. (which I didn't find by the way):
-black rye bread like we buy in Germany
-British cookies
-half an aisle of Indian specialty products -- large bags of nuts, dried beans, spices, etc.
-a large section of canned Turkish items like stuffed grape leaves and specialty olives
-half an aisle of Goya products
-Kosher soap...which is right above the
-Catholic candles in glass jars with pictures of Jesus and the saints on them
-Mexican white cheese
-Columbian arepas
-Twinings tea
-Nestle and Hershey chocolate chips and generic American baking products
-organic, cage-free eggs and a new section of organic vegetables to cater to the new arrivals in the neighborhood
-mango concentrate and other sugary drinks with fruits that I don't recognize from South America
-Microbrew beers (including ones from Brooklyn)
-And then the somewhat bizarre assortment of items like hot pads and fly swatters and frying pans and charcoal and lighter fluid, which I know are common enough in normal grocery stores but feel bizarre to me since the store doesn't even stock Q-tips.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Ego
I recently read a very cute children's book titled The Dot. It's about a little girl who can't begin anything in art class. She battles the blank page, and her teacher encourages her to just begin, with anything. The girl leans over and puts a single dot on a page to show her teacher how stupid it will be, but instead her teacher says, "sign it."
The next day her dot is hanging on the wall and the girl thinks, I could make a better dot than that. And this begins a huge creative outpouring of dot art. Eventually she gets her own show and a little boy says to her, "wow, I could never be a great artist like you. I can't even make straight lines. See?" He shows her his crooked lines and she says, "sign it."
Just this last week I realized that it's time for me to stand up and declare my intentions. A year ago I quit my corporate day job to wrestle the demons that haunt me and find work that will flow from my soul. I now feel like I can say that I am a writer and storyteller. I am in the apprenticeship stage. I have a lot to learn and I'm not exactly financially viable yet, but I have found what I love and who I am and I know that my path will involve this work. I can't see the full path, I don't exactly know how I will use these tools in the world, but I feel like it's time to "sign it." It's time to let my ego inflate enough to carry me through the creative process.
I had a lovely ego boost today. I was attending the Small Press Book Fair on the recommendation of my writing teacher. I happened to bump into her while looking at the books for sale by small publishers. She was talking to an editor at a publishing house and when I interrupted to say hello, she turned to the editor and said, "and this young lady is working on a great project where she's telling stories about growing up as a missionary kid." I was quite taken aback, because she's simply read my essay for the anthology and she's been telling me it's an outline for a full-fledged memoir, but I haven't exactly committed to the idea. (though I've been thinking this week I should take it more seriously.) So I said, "well, just beginning the project." And she said, "well it's a darn good beginning!"
I was quite flattered. I know she's my teacher and it's her job to build up her students, but she doesn't suffer fools, she's very frank and honest about feedback. So perhaps I should go further with my memoir writing, even if I do think it would be hard to publish. Maybe I need a little dose of hope and ego.
The next day her dot is hanging on the wall and the girl thinks, I could make a better dot than that. And this begins a huge creative outpouring of dot art. Eventually she gets her own show and a little boy says to her, "wow, I could never be a great artist like you. I can't even make straight lines. See?" He shows her his crooked lines and she says, "sign it."
Just this last week I realized that it's time for me to stand up and declare my intentions. A year ago I quit my corporate day job to wrestle the demons that haunt me and find work that will flow from my soul. I now feel like I can say that I am a writer and storyteller. I am in the apprenticeship stage. I have a lot to learn and I'm not exactly financially viable yet, but I have found what I love and who I am and I know that my path will involve this work. I can't see the full path, I don't exactly know how I will use these tools in the world, but I feel like it's time to "sign it." It's time to let my ego inflate enough to carry me through the creative process.
I had a lovely ego boost today. I was attending the Small Press Book Fair on the recommendation of my writing teacher. I happened to bump into her while looking at the books for sale by small publishers. She was talking to an editor at a publishing house and when I interrupted to say hello, she turned to the editor and said, "and this young lady is working on a great project where she's telling stories about growing up as a missionary kid." I was quite taken aback, because she's simply read my essay for the anthology and she's been telling me it's an outline for a full-fledged memoir, but I haven't exactly committed to the idea. (though I've been thinking this week I should take it more seriously.) So I said, "well, just beginning the project." And she said, "well it's a darn good beginning!"
I was quite flattered. I know she's my teacher and it's her job to build up her students, but she doesn't suffer fools, she's very frank and honest about feedback. So perhaps I should go further with my memoir writing, even if I do think it would be hard to publish. Maybe I need a little dose of hope and ego.
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