Joy or Misery?

Why I Believe

2008-12-23T22:40:00.002+09:00

I've been thinking about Santa a lot recently. Magic or dishonesty? Years of joy and wonder, or a devastating "discovery" one never forgets? Hmmmm.

Then read Liz's post, "How I Came to Believe in Santa." Please go there and read it.

Thank you, Liz. I believe.

Enviromentally Friendly Wrapping

2008-12-14T22:57:00.006+09:00

A blogger I enjoy, Mary, wrote in a recent blog post about making and using cloth gift bags one year for Christmas, to avoid creating so much waste with gift bags and wrapping paper. I love her idea, which reflects something similar that used to be the tradition here in Japan.

Although these days, most Japanese use gift bags and tons of tissue paper, the old way involved using a large square of lovely silk cloth. The cloth, called a furoshiki (pronounced fu-rosh-key), often had different patterns on either side. On very formal occasions, very elegant, heavily embroidered furoshiki were draped over gifts borne and presented on trays or pillows. The furoshiki were whisked away *by the giver* to reveal the gift.

On less formal occasions, the gift(s) would be wrapped in the furoshiki, with the ends tied in decorative ways, There are many, MANY different "furoshiki folds" to wrap different objects, including specific folds for bottles, folds for melons, folds for long, thin objects, folds for short, fat objects, etc. The giver always keeps the furoshiki, and the recipient would never dream of keeping it.

I would love to use furoshiki as gift wrapping, but I am not sure I could ever figure out how to politely let the recipients of my gifts know that they must return the silk cloth! These days, the furoshiki is most often used to tie up one's bento lunch box, to carry it (and attendant washcloth, chopsticks, etc.) to work or school.

In the spirit of this idea, for Christmas this year, I'm thinking of giving some of my family members and friends books (in Japanese, but with lovely and easily-understood photos and diagrams) on how to use a furoshiki, along with a lovely large silk furoshiki, in different pretty patterns. I wonder what change we could effect?

Socially Awkward Moment

2008-10-04T16:16:00.002+09:00

Lori posted recently about a socially awkward moment she (and several others) experienced. Then she asked for her readers to relate their own most awkward moment. Not sure if this qualifies, as the only people present (well the only ones in hearing range) were me and the guy, but this is probably my most jaw-dropping socially awkward moment:

I had been dating a guy off and on while in college. I was a student, he was a "townie" and we'd finally broken up for good (or so I thought). He left notes and flowers on my car and in my mailbox several times over the course of a couple of weeks, begging for another chance. Finally, I agreed to go out on another date with him -- dinner and a movie.

We went out for pizza, had a pleasant, though very casual, dinner, and then headed to the movies. He drove and drove, way out into the countryside. I had no idea where we were headed. Finally, he turned down a gravel road. Turns out he'd taken me to a p*rn drive-in movie. It took me a few minutes to realize what was happening on that HUUUUUGE movie screen...and when I did figure it out, I was frozen with horror and amusement (mostly horror). He turned in the seat to face me, and as I struggled to find my voice, to ask to be taken home, he pulled a ring box out of his pocket...

And he proposed.

Marriage.

"Will you marry me?"...his arm outstretched, tiny diamond sparkling against black velvet...face half-lit with the flickering light of the silver screen rathe than candle flame, with a background sound-track, not of soft classical music or quiet guitar chords, but *boom-chicka-wa-wa* and "Oh baybee, oh baybee, oh yes, yes, YES!"

I laughed so hard, I almost fell out of the car. I laughed until tears streamed down my cheeks and I was gasping for breath. Yes, I know, any proposal is a big leap of faith for the proposer, and should be accepted with joy or rejected gently, with sympathy and kindness. But seriously -- a proposal at a P*RN FLICK?? Can you see telling such a story, at your 50th wedding anniversary "Kids, your granddad was so romantic...he proposed at the skin flick drive-in!"

He put the ring back in his pocket, and took me home, highly offended by my laughter (and I did feel bad that I laughed in the face of his earnest proposal). But honestly, I could only laugh hysterically or scream in horror.

I never saw him again, thank God. Although I am still just a little curious as to where the driv-in movie actually was. Wonder if it still exists, and whether fundamentalist farmers drive miles out of their way to avoid that particular road (and possible glimpses of the movie screen) on certain nights?

Silent Auction of Japanese "Sweetness"...and more!

2008-09-01T20:27:00.002+09:00

Please visit my "regular" blog at www.wordmagix.com for a silent auction to benefit the Nie family (and benefit your tastebuds and sense of kawaiiiiiii -- Japanese for "cute"!)

Angry

2008-08-19T18:12:00.003+09:00

I'm angry. No, wait. I'm furious.

I shouldn't be. I should not allow other people's whining to get to me. I should remember that when someone is in pain, that pain is real and immediate, and shouldn't be compared to the pain of others.

But I can't help it.

Dear Angry Single Mother -- I know it must be hard to be a single parent. I know you are angry that your child's father is not in your life. I admire your hard work, the fact that you put yourself through school and now you have a great job and your kid is in private school. But get OVER yourself. Every single day, you have a choice. You chose to sleep with the father of your child. You chose not to abort your child. You choose not to go out with/get serious with/settle down with any of the many men who would go out with you, because they are not cute enough, or rich enough, or you don't have chemistry, or whatever. Your life is about choices you are able to make every single day. Some of us would give ANYTHING to have a child, and can't have one. Some of us don't have that choice. -- Sincerely, A Parent Wannabe

Dear SAHM with a Traveling Husband -- I know it's hard to be a stay-at-home mother with a traveling husband. I know you miss him, and you didn't count on being a "single parent" (as you phrase it). But I hear you whine on and on and on, in front of the kids, who now see Daddy as someone mean and selfish, who makes Mommy sad. I see your half-million-dollar home with the swimming pool, and your supportive parents (who babysit any time you want to go out with friends or go shopping), and your weekly maid, and the fact that your kids are in school all day, and I think to myself "shut UP, you selfish bitch!" Your husband does not have to travel. You could ask him to give up a job he adores, a job that fulfills him. You could tell him to give up what he loves, so your life is easier and you aren't so lonely. Granted, you'd have to give up the expensive house, the maid, the expensive clothing and jewelry, the new car every two years. Those are CHOICES. You could choose to have him home with you, but every choices has negative facets. He stayed home with you, working out of a "virtual office" for the first four years of your daughters' lives, fixing breakfast every day, taking the girls to doctor appointments, cooking dinner, going to playgroups. How many parents would give their eye teeth for such an opportunity? And hell, he comes HOME every weekend. He's home one week out of every three, and home every single weekend...and he uses his frequent flyer miles to take you and the kids somewhere amazing every single year (Hawai'i, England, Jamaica, the Amazon, New York City). Hey, I have an idea. Come talk to some military families, each of whom has a parent on deployment, usually for months. Talk to women and men whose spouses are in Iraq and Afghanistan, who'd give every penny they have to get their spouses home on the weekends...or just home at the end of the year with both hands and both feet, and not in a body bag. -- Sincerely, An Active Duty Military Spouse

Dear "I'm So Poor" Whiner -- Yes, the economy sucks right now. Yes, I can empathize with difficulties finding money to pay the bills (hell, in high school, I cleaned houses with my mom so we could afford to pay the rent!) Yes, medical bills are very, very scary. But if you have enough to eat that you and your kids are overweight (or at least well-nourished); if you can write about how broke you are, then in the next post talk about the restaurant or fancy ice cream parlor you just visited with your kids; if your big problem is that the new backpack you got your son is sooo expensive, yet his old backpack is still in one piece...then you have no idea what "broke" really is. Broke is not being able to afford a sack of rice and some dried beans -- not "I can only buy Starbucks and McDonald's twice this week." Broke is finding a kerosene heater at a yard sale, and putting all the blankets on the beds at night in the winter, not whining about heating oil costs. Broke is pawning every bit of jewelry you and your kids have ever owned, so you can buy more rice and beans -- not whining that you can't buy your daughter a new formal for this year's prom (what's wrong with last year's formal dress? What's wrong with thrift stores, or forming a formal gown tradng club? What's wrong with NOT GOING to the prom -- plenty of kids in developing countries have no CLUE what a prom is!) Broke is explaining to your kids that there will be no birthday or holiday presents this year except "doing nice things for one another" -- not buying the supplies to make "handmade gifts" for the six or seven parties you've been invited to. Broke is growing your own lettuce and radishes and herbs from seeds -- not being unable to buy organic produce at the Whole Foods. Broke is using the cheapest bulk no-name laundry detergent, wearing clothes more than once before washing them, and hanging all your clothing on a clothesline to dry -- not bitching that the Bounce fabric softener dryer sheets are out of your price range. Broke is putting cardboard in the soles of your one pair of flats, so you don't feel the pavement through the holes -- not complaining bitterly that you can't afford to buy new shoes to go with your new outfit. If you ate meat last week, if you ate in a restaurant (even fast food) in the past month, if you went to a movie (or rented a movie) or pay for cable TV, if you own more than one pair of shoes or have bought clothing in the past three months (other than to replace necessary clothes that have completely disintegrated), if you have actual snack foods in the house, if you have the time to Twitter, Plurk, blog, etc. every single day instead of looking for a second job -- then you have NO IDEA what broke means. -- Sincerely, Fed Up with the Out-of-Touch-with-Reality Bullshit

Dear Self -- Get off your high horse. You don't really know the depth of pain other people might be in. You have no idea how many of them are mentally ill (beyond just being out of touch with reality and self-centered). You may be a military spouse, but your husband comes home at least every three months, and you are totally assured of his love for you. Sure, you don't have children now, but who knows what the future holds? And in the meantime, you have freedom and flexibility and hours to sleep or play that people with children only dream about. It's time to choose to be understanding, to stop judging. It's time to remember that your point of view is not the only point of view. It's time to choose some joy again, dammit. -- Sincerely, Self

Accepting Compliments

2008-03-03T20:06:00.002+09:00

I read a really interesting post on my cousin Susie's blog. I started to reply in her comment section, but then realized my response was too long for that So..here it is. (Go read Susie's post first, then come back here!)

It's so odd, but so many women feel as Susie does. You're smart, and beautiful, and talented...but if someone compliments you on your beauty, intellect or skills, it's hard to accept gracefully. We say things like "Thanks, but I hate my hair!" or "No, I'm not smart, YOU'RE smart!"

Maybe it would be easier to say "Oh, thank you!" and believe in the compliments if we could think of such kind words as actually praise to God, who created us? Sort of like, if someone tells us our daughters or nieces are beautiful, we beam with pride...we don't say "oh, no she's not!" So, when someone says "you are such a beautiful woman!" smile with pleasure at the praise aimed at God's creation instead of thinking "that person doesn't know what he/she's talking about...I'm not beautiful!"

When we think "oh, no I'm not" about a compliment, it's sort of like saying "the person who gave me the compliment is stupid, or has terrible judgement, or is lying..." We're saying that WE know much better than they do. Same with knowing God loves us just as we are, but feeling as if we have to prove it to Him, or earn it somehow. We're saying that deep down, we don't REALLY believe He can love everyone and forgive everyone, and that somehow, we have to do something to make it easier for Him to love us. What makes us so specially complex or supernaturally hard to love that even God needs help?? It's very hard, but somehow,we have to trust that God's love is so powerful, He doesn't need help to love us.

Some of those feelings of being unable to accept compliments come from society. We tell our young women, our daughters and nieces and friends, that they are smart and beautiful, and they should love themselves...but then they hear us downgrade ourselves ("Oh, no, I'm not pretty/smart/whatever," or "I hate my ugly hair/face/hands/feet/ears/boobs/etc.!") and they hear us downgrade each other ("Did you hear her say she thought she was pretty? She's so vain!") In order for our daughters and nieces to grow up secure in their own God-given intellect, talents and beauty, and grow up knowing that God and their families love them, they needs to know we love and admire ourselves....that we, the women in their families, who share genetics with them, like who we are and know that we are smart and beautiful.

I feel like I'm in a self-help group like AA, but here's the first step: "Hi, my name is Carolie, and I'm pretty, smart and talented."

All together now: "Hi, Carolie."

Next?

Questions Answered

2008-01-16T00:17:00.000+09:00

Mary has a wonderful review of an amazing book called Body Drama on her blog over at Resident Alien. Please, go there and read her review. I'll wait.

Doesn't that sound like an amazing book for every young woman? I remember knowing I could ask my mother anything at all, but really not wanting to do so. Mary hit the nail on the head about the locker room viewing. Not only do we all make it a point not to be caught looking at one another's genitalia, but how in the world does one see another girl's vulva?

Besides, junior high school locker rooms were horrible places full of embarrassment and cruelty...and from my point of view, especially so for early developing, plump girls without tan lines (that would be me).

My brothers (and later in life, many other boys I knew!) seemed so proud of their penises...but what I had was tucked away and secret. Mom tells me that when I was two, I asked what that was between my baby brother's legs, and why didn't I have one? Dad was not amused when I met him at the front door that evening (along with his dinner guest, The Boss), with a book clenched betweeen my thighs, exclaiming "see Daddy, I have a penis!"

Was what I had between my legs normal? What did it look like? What did other women look like? I was probably 16 when I found a copy of Our Bodies, Our Selves at a friend's house, and read it immediately. When I went home, I used a mirror, as suggested, to take a look. It was the first time I'd ever seen any woman's vulva, not just my own.

"OH!" I remember thinking. "The pee comes out there, not there!" Looking back, I realize now that I should have known so much more about my own body, and at a much younger age. Would it have changed some of my decisions as a teenager? Perhaps. Would it have helped me feel less like a freak, and less embarrassed by my own body? I think it would have.

Our sisters, daughters, granddaughters, nieces and friends need to know these things. It's hard to ask Mom, or Aunt Sally, or even cool older sister these things...and even if Mom or Aunt Sally or older sister tells them these things, there's a good chance of the advice being dismissed (sort of like "sure, Mom says I'm pretty...but she's just MOM.")

But if a well-written, interesting and informative book tells them about the dangers of tanning, the drawbacks to tattoos, and the honest truth about VD, perhaps they will listen. If we want them to be strong, independent, courageous young women in charge of their own bodies and lives, they MUST know these things.

Thank you again for your fine words, Mary. Now, to figure out if my sister-in-law will freak out if I give this book to my nieces now, or if I should quietly give it to my mother, so they can read it on visits to Jammy's house.

Either way, this is a book they need to have.

If I'm dreaming, I don't want to wake up...

2008-01-03T20:38:00.000+09:00

It's not our anniversary yet. Our birthdays (4 days apart) are not for another month. Though Christmas is NOT over (wait for Epiphany, dammit!), the gifting part of Christmas certainly is.

So why is Fearless Husband behaving this way?

He's washing dishes. He's (gasp) folding laundry. He hasn't left the toilet seat up in a MONTH (be still my heart!)

Today, when I was in a frenzy for a freelance client, grumpy and frantic, I turned to find that he'd cleared his computer and various detritus off the coffee table and was spritzing the table with cleanser and wiping it down. (Why is his computer on the coffee table? Well, here in Japan, there's no central heat and no insulation, so when it's cold, we consolidate our workstations into a single room -- the one with the kerosene heater!) While I watched, jaw on the floor, he moved to the television and began dusting the top and wiping the glass. I felt a little guilty at the amount of accumulated dust, but not guilty enough to stop him!

He's been furtively going through my cookbooks, I think to cook for me on our anniversary. When he gets up to get himself a piece of Christmas candy, he brings me one, too. When I wake up, he hovers, trying to figure out when, exactly, I'm going to be ready for my coffee. He leaps to open the car door for me, and holds the front door open patiently while I am putting on my shoes (that I could do without, as the frigid breeze doesn't exactly help my dexterity tying my shoelaces!)

I'm 100% positive he isn't trying to make up for a heinous crime. I don't think I'm terminally ill without knowing it. Perhaps I'm such a terrible person that he's trying to put me in a better mood. Who knows?

Whatever it is, I certainly don't want to cure it! If I figure it out, I promise to share the secret.

I'm a lucky woman.

But All My Friends Get Li'l Debbies...

2007-12-31T22:51:00.000+09:00

Recently, I was going through the fascinating archives at Resident Alien (one of my favorite blogs) and came across a post Mary wrote about her daughters turning up their noses at her healthy offerings, and begging for the sugar-laden treats "all the other kids" get to have. I responded to her post, and then realized that my response would be a good post over here. Maybe if I resurrect this blog, I will be less likely to leave long-winded comments on other blogs (sorry, Mary!)

When we three were growing up, just outside Philadelphia and later in North Carolina, my mother went through multiple food phases (although refined sugar, bologna and Sunbeam bread were, aside from the very occasional bag of M&Ms, banned from our house).

We were vegetarians for a couple of years (after she and Dad divorced, of course -- I think my father would wither and die if he couldn't stick a chunk of some sort of animal on a grill five or six times a week, even in the heart of the winter), picking our way through bean-and-rice meals or huge salads of leaves, seeds and twigs.

She had her Earth Mother phase where she baked delicious sourdough bread, put wheat germ on everything, even ice cream (we'd cry when she ruined ice cream that way, much to her dismay!) and made her own yogurt from scratch. We got meat during this phase, but only occasionally, usually hormone-free from local farms (WAY before the current local food movement!)

She went through a Malaysian phase where everything she put on the table was insanely spicy. We had lots of meat, but it and whatever vegetables she used were cooked into unrecognizeable and highly fragrant pastes and put over super-spicy, sesame-seed-studded rice. Banana raita disappointed me badly -- cold and creamy, pudding-like and smelling of ripe bananas, it just seemed WRONG to my tongue that it was spicy and not sweet! My poor brother was miserable during this phase, as his favorite food is plain white rice, and he just couldn't understand why she insisted on RUINING the rice that way!

At the time, I was embarrassed by her food phases, and was sure all my friends laughed at me behind my back at school. My lunches were bizarre fare for a suburban Philadelphia girls' school and even more so for a small-town southern public school when we moved. Kids looked askance at my hummus and carrots and raw green beans, or wrinkled their noses at the strong aromas wafting from my thermoses of rogan josh and korma curry. "That's yogurt?" they'd exclaim with disdain upon seeing my honey-drizzled, wheat-germ-topped homemade yogurt in battered Tupperware. "No, that's not yogurt. THIS is yogurt," they'd say as they showed me their cups of Dannon (with the fruit on the bottom, the right kind of yogurt).

As an adult however, I brag about Mom and her "cool" food phases back when all my friends were eating nitrate-laden bologna and cottony white bread. I try not to lord it over them, biting my tongue (most of the time) on exclamations like "Really?? Your mother really let you eat TWINKIES? Oh. My. God. Didn't she love you?" These days, my brothers and I talk wistfully of those freshly buttered, hot-from-the-oven sourdough bread heels and that warm homemade yogurt with local honey. I begged Mom for her rogan josh recipe recently.

The other day, I had a bowl of ice cream, and more than chocolate syrup, more than caramel topping, what I really craved was a sprinkling of wheat germ on top.

Thanks a lot, Mom.

Intermission

2007-09-08T02:33:00.000+09:00

Life's crazed...but other than pneumonia (which I'm getting over), it's crazed with good things! I've got an absolute avalanche of freelance work (most of which is not pro bono for a change!), and Fearless Husband is home (which means more cooking, more laundry, more driving...but also more laughter, more hugs, more cuddling and more etcetera, so it's good!)

Soooo...rather than feel guilty that I haven't posted to two blogs, I'm going to take a hiatus here. I'll be back eventually (leave me a comment if you want me to e-mail you when I'm back here again!) and in the meantime, come visit me at my other blog (complete with its own set of parenthetical remarks!)

Annette

2007-07-28T15:02:00.000+09:00

(Cross posted on my other blog.)

Sorry to be quiet, but at the moment, we're not in Japan. Fearless Husband arrived home after a two and a half month absence. 12 hours later, we found out his mother was in the hospital and gravely ill. We scrambled, and with some help from the Navy and the Red Cross, we arrived in Nevada less than 48 hours after FH got off his ship.

My mother-in-law is an amazing woman. She's raised FH since he was about a year old, and has been a wonderful, loving, kind, laughing mother. She's tall and willowy, with big beautiful dark eyes and rich, dark hair and a gleaming, almost-constant smile. She and FH loved to trade books, and to tell each other about new authors each thought the other might like. She welcomed me like a long-lost daughter, taught me her recipes for FH's favorite dishes, and traveled all the way from Nevada to North Carolina to see her son marry me (and got along with absolutely everyone, the entire time!) She's gracious, elegant, and just plain fun to be around.

It's hard here right now for everyone. The grief and sadness is so sharp and heavy it's sometimes overwhelming. However, family has been brought together, old rifts have been healed, and though the illness was sudden, there has still been time for goodbyes to be made, and last words spoken. Those are the silver linings here.

My mother-in-law is the absolute opposite of all those old jokes. I'm so lucky to have known her, and could not have picked a better mother-in-law if I'd had the choice of any in the world. Thank you, Annette, for your friendship, for your laughter, for welcoming me like a daughter, and for doing such a great job raising the incredible man I married.

I love you.

Edited to add: Annette died this morning. I'm so glad we got to come and say goodbye, and receive that last, beautiful smile

Filling time

2007-07-11T22:23:00.000+09:00

I always imagine that "someday" I will have days and days of doing whatever I want. Painting, traveling, napping, learning to knit, writing the novel that's burrowed deep in the grey matter... That "someday" I will have a few days with absolutely nothing I HAVE to do, and tons of things I WANT to do.

I find myself aways busy though, and it frustrates me no end.

But I've recently realized that being busy is a choice, that I am choosing to be this busy.

I don't have to work while we are in Japan. The deal is that I get this time to do what I want, and in five years, Fearless Husband gets a year to try and write while I work. It's the first time I haven't been fully employed since I was 15 (and yes, I managed to finish high school AND college..I just worked a lot, too!) I don't have to take on any freelance work. I am not required to do any of the pro bono work I do (and there is a ton of it!) Sure I have a part time six-month contract with the Navy now, but it's a result of a year of volunteering, and I didn't have to take it. My husband's at sea quite a bit, and so I don't have to cook if I don't want to, or even clean.

So why am I so busy? Am I a wimp who can't say no, and who carries a flashing sign that says "ask me to help you!"? No. I purposefully and deliberately choose what I do to fill my time...even the stuff I don't want to do on some level, I do want to do on another level. No one is making me do anything right now.

So...I've got to work on changing things. Either I stop beating myself up about the choices I've made, and enjoy them, or I make different choices.

Easy to say. We'll see if I can follow through.

New Places, New Faces

2007-06-09T22:38:00.000+09:00

Today, I saw this snoozing mama koala, curled tightly around the baby in her pouch.

If this doesn't give you warm fuzzies, you might be broken....

Fruit Flies Like a Banana (or, Here's a Rambling Post with an Awkward Segue)

2007-05-10T21:32:00.000+09:00

Sorry. Silly punchline from a hairy old joke, that I know you've all heard: "Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana."

Ha ha ha ha ha.

We tell jokes a lot in my family. Wait, I take that back. We repeat jokes a lot in my family. Over and over and over. None of us can ever remember to whom we've told a joke (or who told it to us in the first place), and so we often tell the same people the same joke a bunch of times. As a result, one of our family favorites is the one about the new prisoner:

Every night, after lights out, the new prisoner on the cellblock hears numbers being shouted aloud, followed by laughter.

"377!"

"Hahahahahahaha!"

"14!"

"Bwahahahahahaha!"

"561!"

"HAHAHAHAHA*snort*HAHAHA!"

When he asks his cell mate what's going on, he's told that there is a single book of 1,000 jokes that's been passed around the cell block for years. As a result, they all know all the jokes by heart, so now, instead of telling each joke, they can simply call out the number, everyone remembers the joke, and everyone laughs.

The new prisoner wants to be popular, so he borrows the joke book and spends the next month memorizing every single joke. Finally, one night after "lights out" he begins:

"864!"

*silence*

He shrugs, thinking maybe they didn't hear him, and tries again, with greater volume.

"342!"

*silence*

"79!"

*crickets chirping*

Frustrated, he asks his cellmate what the problem could be. The cellmate shrugs. "Maybe it's your delivery?"

Ba-dum-bum!

Anyway, that explains this and other obscure fragment-of-the-punchline joke references.

Ahem.

My long-lost point...is that time is flying for me here, like the proverbial arrow. I can't believe we've been in Japan for almost a year and a half. I'm a month and a half from the halfway point of our tour of duty!

I began thinking about that this week, as I recover from houseguests (one for ten days followed by two for two weeks). I was making notes for my other blog, so I could post the various adventures we had. I was feeling some relief that I could finally stop "having adventures" and sightseeing and relax for a while.

Sure, I can relax...and I've needed to relax, as well as catch up with the piles of work that have built up. (I'm honing my skills in ignoring the piles of housework that have built up.) But life is short, and our time here is shorter. (Case in point -- I had to hold the Solemn Whirlie Ceremony for the late Ernie the Goldfish last week, sadly enough.) Rather than become a couch potato until the next set of houseguests, I need to keep exploring.

Yes, I've done a lot in the past month...but there is still so very much to see on this side of the planet. And now I've proven to myself that I can find my way around on Japanese roads, with Japanese maps and Japanese language signs....and that finding a parking place is not the Grail Quest I've tried to make it. The trains and buses are really lovely here, and easy to take. And I have the freedom, the physical ability, and (if I travel cheaply, plan well and pinch pennies) the financial wherewithall to keep having adventures. I must continue to carpe the damn diem.

Life is short. Time flies like an arrow.

(...and fruit flies like a banana. Hee hee hee hee hee...)

A Little Justice

2007-05-10T08:34:00.000+09:00

SueBob over at Red Stapler had a very frustrating experience with Dollar Rent A Car (read about it here). Dollar Rent A Car sucks. Please visit and link if you can. The "power of the people" is very much held by bloggers these days.

There is joy in "the people" holding a corporation accountable.

Thanks. Stepping off the soapbox now.

Muppets = laughter

2007-04-18T13:29:00.000+09:00

...at least for me! If you didn't grow up with The Muppet Show...if you don't know who Animal, The Swedish Chef and Beaker are...if you have never heard an ultra-serious, over-the-top version of "Danny Boy"...well, you may not find much humor in this.

Personally, I couldn't stop giggling.

Spur of the Moment

2007-04-02T19:15:00.000+09:00

In the year that I've been in Japan, I have not had a regular 40+ hour per week job. I've had such jobs all my life until now, ever since I was a teenager. WhenI first got here,I was a little worried that I would have too much time on my hands.

Not a problem, it seems. I've managed to completely fill my days with volunteer work, contract work, freelance work, entertaining houseguests, having adventures, racing around to various activities, etc. I've even managed to turn one of my volunteer gigs into a paying contract job for the US Government. I'm a little frantic for some time to myself, surprisingly enough!

Yes, I often remind myself of the fact that even though I'm just as busy as I've always been (maybe even busier!), I have precious flexibility to change, shuffle, and make new choices pretty much whenever I want.

An excellent example of that flexibility is happening right this minute. Fearless Husband asked me to join him in Busan, Korea this week. I studied my calendar, shuffled a few things, made a couple of phone calls...and less than 48 hours after his invitation, I'll be hopping on a bus, then on the hydrofoil (http://www.jrbeetle.co.jp/english/welcome/index.html) and heading to Busan for five days and four nights!

Korea never figured prominently on my list of Places to See, but I'm not really sure why. After doing a little very surface Internet research, it seems to be a fascinating place. We're staying in a spectacularly gorgeous hotel, (http://www.paradisehotel.co.kr/gate_en.asp) with a view of the ocean and the lovely bridge seen here.

I'm looking forward to exploring the streets, the food, the shopping, the food, the parks, the food, the art museums, the food...and did I mention the food?

Exciting, huh? I'm a little giddy at the freedom to be able to do this. I keep waiting to suddenly remember some obligation, some reason that I shouldn't do such a thing. I've got to keep holding onto the joy and exhilaration, and pushing away the unreasoning guilt.

I'm just a joyful, travelling fool!

It's the simple things

2007-03-17T00:21:00.000+09:00

My goldfish, Ernie, survived an overenthusiastic jump.

A client loved the FIRST draft of his new logo.

I managed to find an electric blanket just in time for the return of a few weeks of winter weather.

Fearless Husband is HOME for a few days.

All's right with the world.

Mindless Joy

2007-03-06T23:48:00.000+09:00

Mesmerizing. Fascinating. Addicting. Pointless? Yes. Lots of fun? You betcha!

http://ic3.deviantart.com/fs6/f/2005/070/6/f/linesuperfollow.swf

Click your mouse to change the form. Click on the dials at the bottom to make other changes.

Now leave me alone. I have a screen to stare at. (We don't need no stinkin' sleep...)

The Love of a Father

2007-03-03T16:24:00.000+09:00

I recently found this site. And today, I read this post.

I'm shattered. The intense pain and overwhelming love this father feels for his son is expressed so beautifully.

The commitment expressed to loving and helping his son without enabling him is almost too much for me to bear.

Even as my heart dissolves with sorrow for this man, I find a nugget of joy that such men of commitment and honor still exist...that this father has such love and is able to express it...and that there is still bright hope for his son, cupped in his father's capable hands.

Babbling About Dinks and Clicks

2007-02-28T16:32:00.000+09:00

You know how sometimes, when you meet someone new, you just don't like her (I'm choosing a pronoun here rather than writing "him or her" numerous times)? It has nothing to do with her, per se...she might be a perfectly nice person. There's just an indefinable something that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and if your fingernails were claws, they'd have extended already (and probably made you bleed, since your fists automatically clenched at the sound of her voice). Everything that comes out of her mouth sounds fake or condescending or grating to your ears, even if it's really not.

It's not her, it's you. And your brain absolutely knows that, but your gut continues to respond like a small, vicious, territorial mutt. (Sorry, odd visual, I know, but that's how it feels.)

My high school friend Amy and I used to have a code word we'd use to let one another know when some unsuspecting person had triggered that response. One of us would quietly say to the other "dink" and the other would immediately know what was going on. You know, "dink," like when cartoon cat gets angry, his back arches, there is a closeup of his paw, and the claws come out one by one: "dink, dink, dink, dink, DINK! MRRRROOWWRRR! FFSSSSSTTTTTT!!"

Sorry, got a little carried away there.

In any case, I'm lucky enough to have found a small group of intelligent, interesting, fun women. All of us came to Japan with a preconcieved notion that most military wives were not very smart, and tended towards gossip, backstabbing and infidelity, and all of us are thrilled to be proven wrong. We have a supper club on Friday nights, alternating between interesting Japanese restaurants and each other's houses. There are now five of us, with a sporadic sixth (my Japanese friend M), and we range in age from 22 to 41. We "found" one another sort of through my other blog...I was sort of an unofficial sponsor for B, who found me through my blog. She and I corresponded with N, who also found me through my blog. B met K, and invited both of us to dinner one night, to see if K and I got along. We did, and both B and K joined me for Thanksgiving. K and I met H on a "field trip" we took, and immediately hit it off.

Got all that? Good.

But now, we've been discussing bringing in new women. We don't want to hold "auditions" for our supper club per se, but we also don't want to bring in a new person, tell her "we meet every Friday!" and then discover that one of us has a Dink reaction to her. Would we then uninvite the new person? Expect whoever had the Dink reaction to get over it? Risk losing a core member of the group over this new person? How do we handle this?

Well, we are going to audition, in a way. We've decided NOT to talk about our group, or the fact that we meet every Friday, until someone new is invited to join the group. That way, we can each choose to bring someone new into the mix when it is our turn to host, at our house, and see how we all feel before inviting her or not. All the auditionee has to know is that I'm having a casual dinner party, and would she like to join us that night? Of course, the auditionee might not choose to be with us, and she might have her own Dink reaction to one of us!

Sounds good, with no hurt feelings, right? Sure, if we can all stick to that. However, there is the opposite response to the Dink. There is the Click. You meet a new person, and right away, it's as if your souls knew one another long ago. You laugh and talk, and feel immediately comfortable with each other. It's like finding a best friend from fourth grade, who you forgot about until just now. And you're somehow convinced everyone else you know is going to like this person as much as you do. I think our group of five had small Clicks with one another from the very beginning.

K and I have recently had big Clicks. (I promise, no more alphabet pseudonyms!) We have each met someone with whom we were immediately comfortable, and the new rule for auditions went right out the proverbial window. We both told our new friends right away about the supper club, convinced the rest of the group would feel as we do.

So, our next gathering is going to be interesting. I have found so much joy in this small group of women, and I don't want to lose it. But I also have joy in Clicking with my new friend, and don't want to hurt her feelings "uninviting her," or losing one of my other friends due to her presence. Here's to hoping we can leave junior high behind, and, as adults, enjoy one another's company.

And that our fingernails and neck hairs stay put.

Lucky, Lucky Me!

2007-02-15T19:15:00.000+09:00

Warning: sappy post about love ahead. Stop here and come back another time if your cynical streak is wide enough that such things make you barf. I'll understand, and will welcome you back with another ranty post soon, I'm sure.

Life's been chaotic around here, between our trip to the US (12/31 to 1/13), Fearless Husband's grandfather's death and FH's unexpected trip to the US, my grandmother's death, our anniversary (1/15), our birthdays (2/2 & 2/6), and a very tense scramble to get FH back to the ship. We've not done big Valentine's Day stuff in the past, prefering to celebrate our love for one another at unexpected moments throughout the year.

FH doesn't drive in Japan yet, and I'm the one in control of the car and any shopping trips. The base florist does not deliver in the community, and we don't speak enough Japanese to be able to order flowers from a local florist. And for my birthday, FH brought me a beautiful watch and a gorgeous enamelled box for my collection.

So, I really didn't expect anything for Valentine's Day, and that was OK.

He left Monday night. Tuesday night, I found a card tucked in a book I'd set aside to read...a sweet, funny card from my loving husband. I was touched by his thoughtfulness and figured that was it.

Until today...when I went to the post office and received a box FH had mentioned. He said he'd had too much to send back from when he visited home, and he needed me to watch out for the box and open it, to send some needed stuff to him on the ship. Instead, surrounded by pink styrofoam packing peanuts, I found the biggest, greenest stuffed frog I've ever seen, clutching a puffy red heart saying "Be Mine". Nestled against the frog was a white box, containing a single red rose and a pair of romantic, nested silver goblets.

Peabody (the frog's new name) rode in the passenger seat of the car all the way home, googly eyes sticking up over the dashboard, and I enjoyed the double-takes and big grins from other drivers. I really like frogs. I covet pretty pieces of silver. But most of all, I adore my husband.

In the midst of death and chaos, the insanity of travel and family and scrambling to catch up with his ship for deployment....he thought of me, and he acted on that thought.

He tells me I make him want to be a better man...but it is he who inspires me to be the best person I can be.

I am so lucky, and so filled with joy, knowing how much I am loved. I wish that same joy for each and every one of you.

The Ultimate Selfish Act

2007-02-02T20:34:00.000+09:00

Sorry for the long pause. Things have been a little up in the air here. Today is FH's birthday, a day he shares with Punxutawney Phil. But this year, we're going to wait to celebrate...wait to find a little joy in a few weeks, perhaps.

Fearless Husband's grandfather took his own life last week, and FH is back in the US with his mom, grandmom and sister.

I just don't get suicide. Can I understand hopelessness? Yes. I understand being in pain, having a terminal illness, not wanting to "be a burden", etc. I can even understand (and support!) those with terminal illnesses and chronic severe pain choosing a Kevorkian way out, getting their affairs in order, saying goodbye, and checking out of their own free will.

I understand depression, too. Been there, done that. The Pit of Despair and the Slough of Despond are real, and true, and very, very dark.

But I don't understand ending one's life with a gun, in the home one shares with a spouse and a daughter and her husband. I don't understand splattering blood and grey matter for a "loved one" to find in horror and terror and grief....for one's wife or daughter or grandson to have to wipe off walls and scrub out of carpet.

Some people say suicide stems from hopelessness and from worthlessness. I think it comes from a place of extreme self-involvement.

It's the ultimate act of selfishness. I can hear the stifled sorrow and choked back bewilderment in FH's voice on the phone. I can hear the heavy drag of grief and betrayal in my mother-in-law's voice. FH's grandmother can barely move, much less talk on the phone, her pain is so great. And right now, at least, even though I'm trying to be understanding of the motives behind such a drastic decision, I'm mostly just angry.

I know it's out there. But today, at least, I find very little joy.

Coming Home

2007-01-14T20:28:00.000+09:00

(Disclaimer: I'm posting an almost identical post on Adventures in Japan, so don't be surprised. Most of my friends and family get to see that blog, but few are invited to this one.)

Don't get me wrong...I love the USA. My country offers freedoms found nowhere else (see the Bill of Rights). We have an amazing abundance of inexpensive foods (we spend less of our total income on food than people in any other country on earth). We've got broad, smooth highways and shining skyscrapers and vast vistas of forest and field and mountains and plains. Our diversity is second to none, and when I arrive in America, I see a rainbow of hair color and skin color and eye color, and I exult in that variety that defines our melting pot.

We got to have a Prairie Home Companion visit with Fearless Husband's Lutheran Minnesota family, complete with a Norwegian holiday dinner of lutefisk, lefse, meatballs, krub, krumkake, fattigmand's bakkelse, sand bakkelse, and rommergrot. (I know why Norwegians are so pale...their food is all beige and white! Even the dark krub is covered in a cream sauce. But all of it, with the possible exception of the lutefisk, is certainly delicious! Grandma Betty can COOK!) We also had several intense rounds of Spoons, Spades and Whist, as well as board games after feeding the horses and goats at Uncle Chris and Aunt Jo's farmette.

Then we got to see my family, including my spectacularly smart and beautiful nieces (no, I'm not biased! Ha!) and my wonderful brothers. I enjoyed a contra dance, with my stepfather playing banjo, some time with the looms and dyes with Mom, and a truly glorious Epiphany Evensong at my home church (www.st-peters.org), complete with incense and delighted hugs from my fellow choristers.

I bought canned tomatoes with okra, and a box of kosher salt, and some lovely Christmas ornaments on sale, none of which are available here in Japan. I drove down the expansive highway on the right side at 70 mph (the top limit on the expressway here in Sasebo is about 49 mph). Mom and I both wept when we parted at the airport.

BUT...

Joy is coming home. Joy is getting on an ANA flight with perfect, doll-like, bow-bedecked flight attendants bowing and smiling and offering hot towels and hot green tea. Joy is strangers begging your pardon, and cashiers and clerks bowing and smiling and behaving as if their entire existences revolve around helping you, their customer.

Joy is staggering into the house with, God knows, FAR too much luggage, and sighing with happy relief to put it all DOWN. Joy is lying in my very own bed, beside my softly snoring husband, hearing the tick of the house settling itself around us once more.

Joy is coming home again. Happy New Year.

It's NOT OVER!

2006-12-27T13:13:00.000+09:00

To my Christian friends and family:

Christmas is NOT OVER.

Christmas is TWELVE DAYS LONG (remember the freakin' song??) and it does NOT start in October, or even November.

Advent begins in December -- it's a time of waiting, darkness and hope -- yearning for the Light of God. Ever hear O Come, O Come, Emmanuel? That's an Advent song, not a Christmas song...thus the mornful, yearning tune and words.

And then...THEN...at 12:01 in the morning on December 25, Christmas arrives, with triumph and trumpets and majesty and joy, with a tiny baby born among the lowly and the humble. That's when I'm oh, so ready to hearken to angelic Glorias, and for "FAAAAAAAAAALLL on your KNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES, Oh, HEEEEEEEEEEAR the angel VOOOOOOOOICES...." and the tears that slip out from between my eyelashes when I hear Silent Night sung quietly in harmony.

Christmas has just begun....not the frantic shopping, wrapping, baking and running around, but rather the sitting with the lights out, gazing at the Christmas tree with my husband's arm around my shoulders, Christmas music playing in the background. NOW is Christmas for me, twelve days of making an extra effort to find joy in the everyday, of finding moments of communion with my fellow human beings and with the earth (gee, I sound granola!), of reveling in "the season."

I keep reading blogs that start out "Whew, finally made it through Christmas!" and "Now that Christmas is over..." For me, it's not over, it's just begun. I refuse to allow commercialism to start my Christmas early, and make me sick of it just as it's finally arrived.

That means the Christmas tree lot is pretty picked over by the time I buy my tree (one reason I prefer to cut my own). It means friends laugh at me because I have my Christmas party in the time between December 25th and January 6th -- during actual Christmas. It means my tree stays up until Epiphany, when other people's denuded tree carcasses are tossed to the curb on December 26th. It means the wise men don't move from the sideboard to the chest with the rest of the nativity set on Thanksgiving weekend, or December 1st, or even Christmas Eve. They don't arrive until Little Christmas...Epiphany...the twelve-drummers-drumming Twelfth Day of Christmas.

I want the Joy of Christmas...all of it, including Epiphany. I'm not willing to give it up just because stores want to sell more stuff earlier. And since I decided to renew the celebration of Christmas in my life, and use the weeks leading up to December 25th as a time of meditation and Advent reflection as I shop, wrap and bake, I enjoy Christmas more, and have much less "post-holiday depression" -- much less standing in a sea of torn wrapping paper, thinking "Well, it's over now. All that stress for THIS?"

Find Christmas. Celebrate Christmas. Enjoy Christmas, all the way through Epiphany. I wish you all peace, joy and epiphanies of your own.

Merry Christmas.

It's All a Matter of Perspective

2006-12-19T09:34:00.000+09:00

Fearless Husband and I participated in a party for a local Japanese orphanage this past weekend. The First Class Association (the First Class part refers to their rank, not the quality of the members!) provided a really nice party for about forty children, with bowling, tons of food, Santa and presents.

The kids were just amazing. They crowded in the door, looking around in amazement at the decorations, the tons of helium balloons, and the flashing lights of the bowling alley. One little boy was caught in mid-dive by a caretaker--seems he saw the table filled with cookies, candy and cake, and took off like a little round rocket towards the table. The image of that funny little boy in his "happy frog" shirt, caught by an adult arm around his middle, with both arms oustretched, chubby fingers splayed, face split with a huge smile as he reached with all his being towards all that delicious sugar, will stay with me forever, I think.

I snapped pictures and played with children...and picked out the three I wanted to take home forever and ever. I started to get sad, as I realized I wanted to take them ALL home. Poor little waifs. How tragic that they all lived such miserable lives in a children's home, parents incarcerated or incapacitated or dead, never knowing true happiness...

I worked myself into a fine state of tearfulness and pity.

And then I opened my eyes and stopped wallowing in my own perception of what these kids must feel. I watched a group of giggling teenagers, each with a piece of pizza, bring another member of their group a slice before they all chowed down. I watched sturdy little Frog Shirt boy carry on a serious conversation with one of the caregivers, waving his arms for emphasis, a chicken nugget clutched in each chubby fist,ketchup smeared across his face. I watched a very tiny girl with high ponytails on each side of her head and a brown jumper over her polka-dot shirt lug a vivid pink bowling ball to the end of the lane and very deliberately send it towards the pins. The ball rolled oh-so-slowly, and the child turned away to go get another ball. While her back was turned, the slow-rolling ball met the pins...and she got a strike! Everyone around her cheered and clapped. She turned around in surprise, looked at her applauding fans very solemnly...bowed with great dignity, and went back to dragging a new bowling ball towards the lane.

These kids aren't tragic. They aren't sad, or pitiful, or miserable. They're happy children, finding great joy in chicken nuggets, pizza, chocolate cake, helium balloons and an incomprehensible, ridiculous American game with insanely heavy balls. They're not poor little waifs, they're happy, normal children finding great joy in ordinary things. Why should I assume they're unhappy?

I guess it's all just a matter of perspective. And sometimes, I have to shift mine.

Lucky Me

2006-12-11T08:21:00.000+09:00

I had the most horrible sinus headache all day yesterday. I'd hoped to spend some time with my husband...taking a walk, maybe exploring the area by car TOGETHER for a change, playing cards, etc. The plan was to relax and do "together" stuff.

But the ice pick driven into my head by sinus pain precluded all that. I finally went to lie down...and fell asleep. Three hours later, I woke up, feeling a little panicky and a lot guilty. There was my husband, sneaking around the bedroom (well, "sneaking" isn't exactly what he was doing, but HE would have called it "sneaking").

He'd walked up the Hill from Hell to the store and bought me a can of hot tea, a can of cold coffee, my favorite ume o-nigiri, and a packet of rice snacks. The snacks had little bitty whole dried fish in them (eek) but he knew I was an adventurous girl, and he was trying to find something with wasabe flavor, to help clear my sinuses. It ended up being a delicious snack, even if I did leave a little pile of dried fishies in the bottom of the bag! He also brought me a bottle of water, and told me I could not get out of bed until I finished it. Then he sat beside me and began rubbing my back.

Can a woman possibly be any luckier, or more loved? I think not.

The Book!

2006-12-05T22:52:00.000+09:00

As my friend Liz would say (ok, DID say):

It’s live.

It’s for sale.

And it’s sold 48 copies already. Holy f-ing shit!

Motherhood is Not for Wimps: No Answers. Just Stories.
http://www.authorhouse.com/BookStore/ItemDetail~bookid~42258.aspx

Go buy a copy. Buy five. You know you want one...even if you aren't a mother, I bet you know a mother! I'm not a mother, and I find Liz's writing absolutely hysterical!

The typesetting and design ain't bad either. *grin*

UPDATE: It's on Amazon!!!! http://www.amazon.com/Motherhood-Not-Wimps-Answers-Stories/dp/1425976433/ref=dp_return_1/103-5951081-2004656?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books

Wow...it's REAL!!

Little Wishes

2006-11-25T01:06:00.000+09:00

I found the following post here. Wow--what an amazing way to share some joy!

Baggage writes:

"The program is called Little Wishes. It is a program in the St Louis area which grants Christmas wishes to children in foster care. The wishes vary from action figures, art supplies, popcorn parties, sweaters, a class ring, and art lessons.

"In Missouri, most foster parents receive less than $300 dollars a month for foster children. That money has to pay for everything the child needs. Many people are under the false assumption that you can make money doing foster care, however, $300 dollars doesn't begin to pay for just the basics, much less compensate a foster parent for the time they spend caring for the children. Most foster parents aren't rich. They just want to help a child. In addition, many children are living in group homes or residential homes like Bug was, and they don' t have foster parents to buy them any Christmas gifts.

"When Bug gave to live with me, she came with two pairs of underwear, three pairs of socks, and a suitcase of clothes that didn't fit her. She had a few dolls, a book, and a pack of play dough. She had never taken dance lessons, gone to mall and picked out a wardrobe, or got to go to an amusement park.

"There are over 1,000 waiting children in the St Louis area alone.
If you would like to grant a wish, click here. You can also help by purchasing holiday cards. The money goes to help the Little Wishes program.

"Also, if you are going to do any online shopping, please do it through this page.

"Each time you do, the online store will donate a portion of the money to Little Wishes. For instance, if you shop at Amazon through that page, 12 to 15% of your total order will be donated.

"You can choose a wish by category, child's name or price. Also, there is an option for you to donate additional money in order to help the cover the cost of finding families for children who are waiting to be adopted. You can also give a present in the name of someone else, and the organization will send you a card to give to the recipient.

"Please, please consider donating to this very worthy cause. Please tell your friends and family. "

I couldn't have said it better myself. Using the links above, I've already bought an art kit and a "make-your-own-calendar" kit for two teenagers. What gifts are you going to send?

On the Other Hand...

2006-11-23T01:33:00.000+09:00

On one hand, I could whine and moan and bitch. I have the flu. Fearless Husband is at sea (thanks a bunch, Mr. President!) and won't be home for Thanksgiving. I miss my family, my church and my choir. My sister-in-law is being thoughtless (giving her the benefit of the doubt) and has hurt Mom's feelings, and I'm not there to be a buffer. My house is a wreck and I need to get it clean. I desperately miss having a dog and a cat. I want so much to have/adopt a baby right NOW, to have my husband's arms around me, etc. Waah, waah, waah.

On the other hand, I could choose to see the blessings I've got: a husband who loves me beyond all measure, and who is NOT in mortal danger as so many men and women currently are in our armed services. I have the love of two living parents, two living step-parents, a set of in-laws complete with the World's Most Darling Grandparents, two brothers, a brother-in-law, two sisters-in-law, three beautiful nieces, one darling nephew and more first and second cousins than anyone outside Appalachia should have.

I have my dear Japanese friend and her parents joining me for a huge Thanksgiving feast on Saturday, and they are beside themselves with excitement. They've never seen such a big bird, and I'm excited to spread a table full of traditional dishes and my pretty crystal.

I am healthy and happy, in a lovely house, with more than enough...I have a gracious plenty of everything I need and most everything I want. I have the freedom and finances and good health to be able to travel a little bit. I have a few kind readers, and many dear friends (both via cyberspace and physically). I have more books than a library, and a great Internet connection.

I am one very blessed woman, and for all of the above (and more), I am truly thankful.

We Interrrupt Our Regularly Scheduled Programming...

2006-11-12T16:04:00.000+09:00

..to bring you this news bulletin.

The big news--drumroll please! The Book is at the publishers! For those of you who don't know, I've been helping a blogging friend with her new book. She trusted me with her witty, hysterically funny, occasionally poignant, brilliantly written words, and I put together a layout and book cover.

Yes, she's in New England and I'm in Japan. The cover photography was done in North Carolina (by Dad, a professional photographer), the illustrations were done in California, and the proofreading was done in Colorado. Truly an international (and electronic!) project. Perhaps one day, we can all meet face to face--other than Dad and me (of course), the rest of us have never met except via cyberspace. Hey, maybe can meet on Oprah!

Motherhood is Not for Wimps is at the publisher now, and should be available (we hope!) on Amazon.com and via Liz's website by December 1st. Visit Liz's blog at www.damomma.com and bookmark it-- you won't be sorry! To see the book cover, click here.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming. How's that for joy?

A Brief List

2006-11-08T22:29:00.000+09:00

Why I'm happy right now--in no particular order:

Finally, weather cool enough for the down comforter at night.

He should be home in less than four weeks.

Good friends (of diverse ages, backgrounds and interests) with whom I can laugh, or rant, or sit without talking at all.

Knowing that not everyone is going to like me...and being ok with that.

He should be home in less than four weeks!

Learning (oh, so very slowly) how to say "no" with a smile, and know that the people doing the asking aren't going to hate me (and that if they hate me for saying "no," they aren't worth having as friends).

Finally finding someone from whom I can get fantastic, professional manicures and pedicures.

Having smooth heels and cute toes again.

Deciding to damn the expense and go visit my cousin on the beautiful white sand beaches of Okinawa next week.

Did I mention he is going to be HOME in less than four weeks?

Need some joy? I've got plenty to spare!

There's Gotta be a Silver Lining Here Somewhere...

2006-11-02T18:18:00.000+09:00

Due to a typhoon in the area, the ship has cancelled their visit to Hong Kong. As a result, my much-anticipated trip to see Fearless Husband has been cancelled as well. Frustrating, as I was only able to get a partial refund for my plane ticket, but I guess that is the price of being a military spouse--things change. And to be able to get even a partial refund of a discount, "non-refundable" ticket about 36 hours before I was to leave is pretty impressive.

I'm sad not to see FH (or Hong Kong!), but am looking for a silver lining (like more time to catch up on various projects!) I will be seeing him in two to three weeks, we hope, so it won't be too much longer. Perhaps we'll both get to Hong Kong on vacation another time.

Regardless of my disappointment, I am glad the ship has chosen not to sail through the typhoon, and is instead choosing to stay safe. (And I'm still going to have that manicure and pedicure tomorrow, so there!)

Loss and Joy

2006-10-27T20:45:00.000+09:00

My Aunt Argie died on Saturday.

She had an amazing life. She was in her 90s, still driving, still sprightly--very active in her church, going out for lunch with her daughter several times a week, visiting her sister (my grandmother Evelyn) in the nursing home every day. She found out a month ago she had brain cancer, and left faster than we realized she would. She got to say goodbye to everyone, was happy with her life, and was almost excited about "meeting Jesus" and seeing her departed husband, both of whom she was convinced she'd meet right away. She had very little pain, and was truly "sick" for a very short time.

So, I'm not sad for her. I'm sad for me, and for my grandmother (we all thought Evelyn would go long before Argie, and Evelyn is devastated), and for Argie's daughter (my Aunt Judy).

I'm so grateful that I spent last Christmas day with my husband and my mom and stepfather at Evelyn's nursing home, singing and playing music and telling stories; hugging and holding hands and just listening. Argie and Judy were there, as were my father and stepmother (yes, all four of my parents), and for the few folks left alone in the nursing home for Christmas Day, I think it was a good thing.

I know it was a good thing for me, telling stories and singing along to my stepfather's fiddle music and my stepmother's piano playing. And there is an incredible power in the human touch--we hug babies, but we forget to touch the elderly, and they need it as much as we do. Watching my husband hold hands with an addled old lady in a reclining wheelchair, gallantly telling her how beautiful her eyes were--that was my Christmas present.

So my last memory of Argie is watching her tuck in the blanket around "Suhstah's" (southern for "sister" and the way each refered to the other their whole lives) legs as Evelyn sat in her wheelchair. She sat bright eyed beside Evelyn, holding her sister's hand and singing sweet, high harmonies to the Christmas songs. I got a good hug from her before we left, bending low over her sparrow's body as she held me tight, and watched her drive away in that huge Buick.

So, I'm grateful for that day, especially as we left for Japan a week and a half later. But I'm mad that I didn't "feel" it when she left the world, even though I know that's irrational. And although I'll remember the sadness and I'll miss her, I hope I can also remember the life she led, and find some of that hope and serenity myself, all the days of my life.

Thanks for the joy, Aunt Argie. I'll miss you.

New Horizons

2006-10-19T22:35:00.000+09:00

If you'd told me five years ago I'd be living in Japan, I would have laughed at you. Paris, maybe, if the stars suddenly aligned just right. But Japan?

And yet, here I am, and I love it.

It gets even better, and at least to me, more unbelievable--in two weeks, I'm headed to Hong Kong! Yep, Hong-freakin'-Kong! And Kowloon! And China!! (FH better watch closely, or I'll be shopping for my new daughter while I'm there!)

I'm meeting Fearless Husband (huge hurrays!) as I have not seen him in a long time, and won't see him for a while afterwards. I get there the day before he does, so I can get settled, and clean and not cranky and mean from traveling. I can stock the room with water and fruit, and finish with the OCD need to unpack, and maybe explore a little bit before he shows up. Then I am staying an extra day and a half after he has to leave, so I can go to a museum and an open market on my own--not his speed.

We're going on at least one tour of the area, maybe a cruise of the bay or a funicular ride to the top of Hong Kong Peak. We'll walk the streets and eat odd food and explore. And we'll have at least one day of "just each other" in the lovely hotel room.

When he and I finally talked on the phone for the first time in a month, I expressed my concern over the expense of the ticket and the hotel room. His response: "you are my world, and it's worth twice that much to get to spend time with you in my arms."

Sometimes, he knows exactly the right thing to say. I'm a lucky woman. And in two weeks, I know someone who's going to be a very lucky man indeed! Ha!

That frozen moment...

2006-10-12T23:38:00.000+09:00

This post is courtesy of Fearless Husband--though he doesn't know it. Hopefully, he never finds this particular blog. But I got the best laugh I've had in a long time out of it, and just had to share:

The moment of "oh shit."

The moment of "oh shit" is that single spot in time when you realize exactly what you fucked up. I had a moment like that today. Our ship pulled in to Nameless Port for refueling, and of course had to pull out again the same day, so there was no opportunity to go to the base. Since we also had a scheduled downtime with our internet connection, I took the opportunity to sleep after the watch I had last night.

F. , my fellow First Class woke me up at noon to let me know that people were allowed off the ship to get the local facilities on Nameless Beach, including the laundromat. In about three minutes, I was up, dressed in shorts and short sleeved shirt, and had the laundry, detergent, and sheets in the seabag. I then walked over to the laundromat.

On the way out I was scanned and had my bag searched, which seemed odd. The Marine who had to go through my seabag full of dirty laundry was not amused, saying "I'm not getting paid enough for this shit". He also accidentally ripped the side of my laundry detergent box with his weapon. I agreed with him and headed out to the laundry.

There was a sign-up sheet which I filled out, but of course that really didn't matter. There was a virtual herd of people trying to get laundry done in the four hours before the ship pulled out, so politeness was not an option. I managed to get my two machines finally, dumped in the soap and 2 dollars in quarters, cleaned out the lint trap, started the 45 minute cycle then staggered outside, relieved that one task was down.

I then spent the time talking to some of my fellow sailors from the shop, reading a little bit and calling you. About 30 minutes later I headed in to check on the machines. They were running fine, but something seemed off. I couldn't put my finger on it, so I shrugged and opened up the machine. Thats when I saw the white crystals of the detergent in a nice clean pile in the lint trap. That was the "oh shit" moment.

Yep, I put all the dirty laundry in the dryer instead of the washer. I was tired, and hungry so that might have been part of it. As I looked around the laundry room I also saw that it looked pretty similar to the laundry room I had in the apartment in Arizona, and other places I've done laundry. The exception was that this time the front loaded washers were mounted on the walls instead of dryers, and the top loaded dryers were in the front instead of what I was used to.

So anyway, here I am going "oh crap," and grabbing the laundry in one hand and seabag in the other hand to start scooping in the stuff before anyone realizes that I'm already done with laundry even though I came in well after them. A. sees me pulling laundry out and says "Hey can I use that dryer?" I'm nodding and finishing with stuffing all of my laundry into the bag. She then looks at the lint trap, and I see her brow furrowing as she tries to figure out why there is detergent in the dryer. I point at the box on top of the dryer, side torn from where the Marine had earlier broken it, with detergent leaking out. We both nod, her relieved at figuring that the detergent spilled and me that my secret was safe.

It's too late for me to put it in for the next load so I decide to cut my losses and head back. As I start to step away, F. says "oh, giving up for now?" Right as I say "yeah," A. steps out and I see the brow furrow again, because she just saw me pull stuff out of the dryer. Luckily her phone rang right then so I made a run for it.

So now I have a bunch of dirty laundry that smells clean. I guess I'll hold out for two days and do laundry on the ship when they get the water thing fixed, hopefully with the right machines this time.

Love,
Fearless Husband

Aunt Argie's Serenity & Owen's Caress

2006-10-12T00:26:00.000+09:00

Warning...whining ahead!

Fearless Husband is doing well, and his schedule hasn't changed (yet) due to the theatrics in N. Korea. I hopefully will head for Hong Kong to visit him in a couple of weeks. Then I'm off to Okinawa a couple of weeks later to see FH again and also my cousin...FH will be in port for a couple of days, out to sea for two days, then back in port for two days...then family members can board the ship for the two day cruise back to the home port. I'm not crazy about the idea (I am claustrophobic and get seasick easily) but I think it's important to FH, and it's important as the president of the Family Whining...err Support Group that I go. We should arrive back home on T'giving afternoon. I have an opportunity to go to Kyoto in between Hong Kong and Oki, and the price is fantastic...but I'd be going alone, and I don't think I can fit it all in and stay sane. Guess Kyoto will have to wait.

I may not be officially working full-time anymore, but I feel like I can't breathe sometimes, and have never been so busy, between a lovely plethora of paying work (yay paying work!), pro bono work, the Family Bitchfest...err Support Group, the volunteer work for the base newspaper and website, being an unofficial "sponsor" for new folks here (picking them up at the airport, making lodging reservations, taking them out to eat and to the grocery, etc., to find a car, whatever--I love it, but it takes time) and a woman from the OSC, for whom I am designing several pieces! The doc has finally decided that my swollen legs must be due to stress (my legs, feet and ankles are so swollen the skin hurts all the time, it's stretched so tight, and I can't wear any shoes except my beat up sandals). I've been on diuretics for three months, drinking water like crazy, walking, and watching my salt, but the swelling won't go away.

And of course, a client (and dear friend) whose been fighting brain and breast cancer is suddenly back at work, and doesn't understand why I can't drop EVERYTHING RIGHT THIS MINUTE and do her stuff...at least twenty hours of work and she wants it done within 48 hours, and it's only twenty hours of work if I guess right as to what she wants, so I have to read her mind while I am at it...and thanks for pulling that ad out of my ass for her for free while she was in the hospital, but why did I choose such ugly colors...and she'll consider sending me the money she owes me but not right now, could I please just hush and do what she wants me to do, which is to be creative and colorful and she doesn't know exactly what, but she will know when she sees it...? But can I say any of this to her? NO! She just got out of the hospital. With BRAIN cancer. And BREAST cancer. For the SECOND TIME. And I'm evil and bad and selfish and horrible for even considering being mad at her!

Jeez...I can't stop whining! Maybe the other Navy wives have rubbed off! The Family Stupidity...err Support Group is another issue entirely, with women completely and totally misunderstanding (or making shit up!) but not telling me, oh no, instead e-mailing their officer husbands who then e-mail the Command Master Chief, who e-mails me to ask if I really said that and if so, why? Luckily, I got two e-mails from kind women who praised me for all the tapdancing I've done so far, and so I put away the gun ( that is totally in my imagination folks...I don't have a gun!) and poured a drink instead (which is currently sitting, undrunk and sweating, beside the book I've meant to read for a week....)

And although I absolutely love Japan, I'd really counted on coming back to the US this fall, and now it really is out of the question, financially and time-wise. And I discovered that my annual storytelling festival will NOT have its seventh year if I am not there to headline it, which makes me very, very sad. And all my friends who came to my wedding are going to Homecoming at our college in November, and I will be the only one of the gang not there.

And my Great Aunt Argie has brain cancer, and is going very, very fast. She's quite elderly, and she's serene and happy about it all, but I really would like to see her and say goodbye. She's a tiny, bright-eyed bird of a woman, still driving a land yacht around, and giggling with "Suh-stah", which is southern for "sister", and what she calls her sister Evelyn, my step-grandmother, who everyone thought woud be the first to go by years and years. And I don't want either of them to go anywhere.

SO.

I can't tell you how grateful I am for my friends, and their presence, even if most are half a world away, and the glimpses I get of their spectacular children--my brother's daughters and the children of my friends. Today I held a woman's chubby, grinning, GORGEOUS, smiley baby boy. He reached out one fat little fist, but instead of grabbing my earrings or my glasses, he gently stroked the back of his little hand across my cheek, back and forth, as he grinned into my face...and even though I want a GIRL, I suddenly was seized with the desire to run away with him forever! Lucky for me, Owen's mommy, and little Owen, I gave him back before I fell apart!

Hmmm...world events, selfish people, PMS, and the fact that I ran out of OCD meds a week ago? Could be...could be...

A couple of rays of light...Mom and my brother have bought their tickets to visit me next spring. The Public Affairs Officer at the base thinks they might be able to find a small chunk of money to pay me for coming in 10 hours a week or so for the next few months and helping them with the website (which I am doing already for free, but if they will pay me, YAY!) And, it looks as if FH will be home for T'giving, and then for Christmas, with two weeks to spend alone with me the first two weeks of January...we might even come to the US to visit his grandparents during that timeframe!

I want to visit Mom, of course, but his grandparents are amazing people, they are in their 80s. I want to make sure we spend whatever time we can with them while they are still on the planet. Watching his Grandpa Conrad beat the hell out of everyone in Whist from his wheelchair, shouting happily in Norwegian when he gets excited, or seeing his Grandma Betty grab the spoon and giggle like an eight-year-old, her eyes alight when we play Spoons...it's an episode of Prairie Home Companion come to life! And Grandma Betty has a need to teach me as many Lutheran "hot dishes" and Norwegian cookie recipes as she can..and I have a need to learn! I LOVE it!

Hmmm...good thoughts to end this on. Aunt Argie's serenity and anticipation for whatever is next, Grandma Betty's gentle joy and culinary skills, Grandpa Conrad's competitive spirit and camaraderie, and little Owen's fat-fisted caress.

Thanks for listening.

Hugs to You

2006-09-30T01:58:00.000+09:00

I don't know why, but this brought a lump to my throat even as it made me smile. I hope you manage to find a hug every day of your life.

And don't forget...the elderly need hugs and loving touches just as much as children do. Just as much as you and I do.

Hugs to you.

To Every Season...

2006-09-29T00:42:00.000+09:00

Cool breezes...check.
Vivid skies...check.
Sun sparkling on water...check.
A renewed sense of purpose...check.

Summer's over and autumn's arrived!

YIPPEE!

Brief Pause

2006-09-19T13:52:00.000+09:00

Sorry about the delay between posts. Life's wonderful here in Japan, but things got busy, between FH being "out at sea/no he's not/yes he is" and my freelance work, and my first typhoon (ShanShan brought wind and rain and rattling houses, but no damage).

Missing FH, frustrated at the changeable nature of life in the military, but trying to remember that we both chose this....

Joy? Well, I didn't get blown away, the sun is shining, the insane sticky heat has tempered to lovely balmy breezes...life is good.

Farah Jeudy

2006-09-11T00:55:00.000+09:00

Farah Jeudy was a 32 year old administrative assistant from Spring Valley, New York. On the morning of September 11, 2001, she was at work for the Aon Corporation on the 99th floor of the World Trade Center. She was killed when a terrorist-controlled passenger jet struck the tower.

Religion was the centerpiece of Farah's life, and she devoted much of her free time to her beliefs, saying, “It’s God’s word and you have to have it in your mouth all the time.”

Born in Haiti, Jeudy, 32, came to America when she was 4 years old and grew up with four brothers. She attended high school and graduated with a business degree from Baruch College in Manhattan.

Farah was a woman, a worker, a sister, a daughter...a living, breathing, laughing, loving human being. She and 2,995 others were killed on September 11, 2001. They shall not be forgotten.

Visit 2,996: A Tribute to the Victims of 9/11 to read more, or to visit other blogs participating in this tribute.

Overwhelmed

2006-09-08T14:28:00.000+09:00

FH is back at sea. But I'm the one who's swamped! I'm overwhelmed with freelance work. That's a really good thing. I love what I do, and the work keeps me busy.

So why am I so angry?

It seems to be feast or famine. It would be great if all my clients would each pick a different week during the year to give me assignments, but instead, they all seem to clamour at once for my attention. And of course, though each understands that I have others, each wants to be my number one priority...and I need to make each one feel as if he or she is indeed important to me. But if I have ten clients, someone has to be number ten on the list! And just because I have instant messaging and e-mail and a VOIP phone line does not mean I am able to drop everything, including three other conversations, in order to talk right-this-minute.

Rather than get furious with them all and run in circles trying to please them all, I need to take a deep breath. No one will dump me as a freelance contractor for being up front and honest. No one will "hate me forever" if I have to say "I can't do that right now." I will do better work for everyone if I slow down and take them on one at a time. And if there are those who would leave me for another, just because I refused to put them ahead of earlier clients, I didn't need their business anyway.

Setting priorities is hard, especially when I want to make them all "number one" just as much as each of them wants to be "number one!" But I have to do it. It isn't fair to the clients if I don't, and it certainly isn't fair to me.

So I will try to breathe deeply. Make priorities and live by them. And find joy in being needed, being valued, and having an overflowing cup!

No Complaints

2006-09-04T20:29:00.000+09:00

Due to a typhoon where FH was supposed to be headed, his ship came HOME for three days! So...we've had a lovely little holiday weekend interlude.

No complaints, no need to actively choose joy over misery right now. I'm safe, I've got the basics, and I'm loved.

Lucky me!

Am I a Bad Person?

2006-08-29T09:35:00.000+09:00

He's headed out...and I miss him already.

But the joy I am finding today is the joy I find in having him gone.

I have the house to myself again. All the pillows are MINE-MINE-MINE. I can have popcorn for dinner if I want, or leftovers for breakfast (or nothing but good, strong coffee). Meals no longer have to be on a schedule. I can sleep late, and stay up all night if I want to. I can turn the AC to "sub-zero-Arctic-chill" and no one will complain. I can use ALL the wireless bandwidth, and not worry about slowing down his World of Warcraft.

Sure, I miss him, and I wish he wasn't going to be gone so long. But am I a bad person that I'm rather thrilled at the moment?

The Joy of the Mundane

2006-08-23T07:51:00.000+09:00

I didn't mean to go quite so long between posts. Fearless Husband is home, though he leaves again soon. We haven't done anything special, haven't gone on any adventures, haven't broken out of the rut.

The rut is rare for us, since FH is gone so much, so the rut is not a miserable place to be. There is a delicate and quiet happiness in the everyday puttering and the mundane ordinariness that we fall into...

...the quick but heartfelt goodbye kiss when I drop him off at the pier each morning, his head tilting a fraction more than usual so he doesn't bop me with the brim of his cap...

...the tattered terrycloth robe and pajama bottoms he wears for half the day on weekends, which you'd think I'd hate but which I vastly prefer to a tattered undershirt and boxers...

...weekday breakfasts eaten on the fly at 5:30 in the morning, forget fancy omelettes or waffles, instead oatmeal or scrambled eggs and fruit, prepared quickly but with love...

...packing lunches and snacks the night before with not-as-much-variety-as-I-wish-they-had, since we're both trying to lose weight (and also because he's not home for very long and a big variety of foods purchased would not get used up before he has to leave again) but still each element fresh and pretty and in its own container, nestled in the Mr. Bento I was so proud of finding on eBay....

...lying on the bed laughing over nothing, talking about the banalities of the day and listening to each other's heartbeat...

There are so many on this planet for whom the above would be absolute heaven...the lonely, the dispossessed, the hungry; those in pain, in want, in need. So, I have intense gratitude for the joy and serenity found in the mundane moments of life. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I hope I can pay it forward.

Not Because He HAS to...Just Because He WANTS to.

2006-08-15T00:40:00.000+09:00

FH is home, and it's wonderful. I missed him, he missed me, and it's lovely to have him home.

It's also frustrating, as we've both been "doing our own thing" for a while, and we've got to get used to being aware of another person's needs/desires/presence again. We're both trying hard to be aware of the other.

I got really cranky yesterday, for no reason, really. I was hot, and frustrated with a freelance job, and angry with FH for not reading my mind and knowing automatically what I wanted him to say and do (and the fact that what I wanted from him was two completely contradictory things and I hadn't told him either of them is just beside the point, ok?)

Instead of picking a fight, I went upstairs to try and work out my bad mood getting more books unpacked. I came down in a much better frame of mind, glad I hadn't exploded at him, glad I had just waited for the irrational irritation to blow over.

But...where was he? I couldn't find him! That jerk! Did he just leave without telling me??

Then I saw him.

Outside, in the 95F heat--there he was, bent over in our teeny, overgrown yard/garden space, pulling weeds. He knew it was something I wanted to get done, and he knew I hadn't gotten around to it for a lot of reasons, the heat and humidity being two main considerations.

He's not a gardening-type person. He wasn't doing it out of guilt, or to make up for anything he'd done or to assuage me. I hadn't yelled, or been huffy, or let him know I was feeling cranky. He didn't even know I was upset! He just decided that I must be doing something productive somewhere in the house, and he needed to do something productive, too--to contribute to the "us", and to show me he loved me and was thinking about me.

He wasn't out there long. It really was insanely hot and humid, and grassy and buggy and sticky. But he weeded about a third of the yard space, and it looks SO much better.

He helped me find joy today, and in the process found his own joy. You know how that works...his joy brings me more joy, which brings him joy, etc., etc., etc.

I'm grateful. I'm lucky. And I'm in love with my husband.

Sometimes It's Simple

2006-08-09T19:39:00.000+09:00

He's coming home. I'm joy-filled. 'Nuf said.

YAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

Sometimes, It's Difficult

2006-08-06T19:52:00.000+09:00

FH got the news yesterday that he didn't make chief. We pretty much knew the chances of him making it this time were very slim, and we both know his chances will be much better next time...but we were still disappointed. I'm proud of him though, and of all of his accomplishments over the past year. He's a good man, and very good at his job. There is no shame in not making it this year.

The one guy from his department who did make it is a great guy. We all knew that if anyone was going to do it, this guy would. He really does deserve it.

But despite all that logical, rational stuff...emotionally, I want to rant and rave. I want to find some reason to be mad at the guy who made it. I want to find some reason to say "it isn't fair!" I resent his promotion, and I'm mad at him, as if he did something to me, personally.

Why are we humans like that? Why do we get angry when something good happens to others, shooting evil glances at a coworker who got an extra day of vacation, or a raise due to her good work? Her hard work, and her good fortune, does not affect us--and yet, we aren't just angry at the situation, we're angry at the friend or family member or coworker with good fortune, or who gets a well-deserved reward. Even as teenagers, if something good happened to one of our friends, we would say "Oh, you're sooooo lucky! I hate you!" Yet, if good things happen for us, we'd hope our friends would be happy for our successes and joys.

Sure, it's valid to be angry or upset or regretful about a situation. But jealousy is really ugly, and being angry with those that succeed where you fail is petty.

I'm going to work hard at being happy for FH's coworker and friend. His success doesn't affect FH in the slightest, after all. I'll continue to strive to find joy in the successes, rewards and good fortune of others. If I can get past my own jealousy, I am very pleased when good things happen to good people.

Sometimes, though, it's really difficult.

It's Not Very Long, But It's Deeeeep.

2006-08-03T22:33:00.000+09:00

I hate to sweat. I mean, I really, really hate to sweat. I don't mind hard work, and I'll work very hard. But I sweat easily and copiously, and it drips in my eyes, and off my nose, and down my back, and it makes me itchy and cranky.

Today, I really wanted my pictures hung (finally!) and so I hung them. Of course, this involves climbing on and off furniture, hammering, hanging, removing the hung picture, pulling nails out and re-hammering, rinse and repeat. So I was a sweaty mess. I love having my pictures hung, and it feels much more like "home"-- but I was just icky.

So, to the bat-room, Robin! (Sorry -- old and silly family joke.) I filled the bathtub with cool water and... ahhhhhhhh. I just love being here in Japan. They really *get* baths as pleasure and luxury and necessity, all at the same time.

The tub is not long enough to stretch my legs out...I have to sit slightly cross-legged. But the tub is deep. I mean really deep. Like water-to-my-shoulders deep. And my little plastic stool used for showering (it's Japan, people, don't ask) was absolutely the perfect tub-side table, holding a refreshing beverage, my book, a hand towel, etc.

So now I'm clean and cool and relaxed, and able to get more done before bedtime. Isn't it fabulous how something so simple as a bath can be so fantastic?

The Real Thing

2006-07-29T21:06:00.000+09:00

You want some joy? Some pure, unadulterated, right-from-the-source joy?

Visit here, take a look at that little face, read a little bit about her...and tell me you're not smiling right back at her.

That, my friends, is the expression I wish I could have plastered on my face more often.

Steeeeeeam Heat

2006-07-26T22:28:00.000+09:00

It's hot here. I mean really hot. Not in the triple digits, but with humidity thicker than gravy, it's plenty hot. And I sweat. A lot. With no provocation. I take two or three cold showers or sponge baths a day, and it's not enough. Sure, it's often raining, but when it's 90 degrees and pouring, it's like living in a fishbowl. A mildewy fishbowl inside a microwave.

These days, getting out of my car with its pitiful air conditioning and stepping into the thick haze is enough to completely fog my glasses, and make me stumble around like the cartoon Li'l Orphan Annie. (I'm old. Get over it.) I'm gasping for breath in the oppressive steam-that-calls-itself-air.

So today, I got up, and of course it's still hot. It's the end of July at the southern tip of Kyushu. But it's DRY. The sun is shining, it's about 92 degrees, and it's DRY. Blue-skies-puffy-clouds-lets-fly-a-kite-or-film-a-movie dry. I practically danced out the door and into the car. Sure, the car was an oven, but it was a dry heat, and I did NOT break a sweat.

I ran my errands, did some work on base, got my hair cut, stood in the shade of a gazebo at the harbor's edge (Skin Cancer Girl here isn't taking any chances!) and watched a submarine come in or go out (I'd never seen one in real life before) with sailors lined up at attention along the curving spine. The flags were streaming against the impossibly blue sky, the harbor water sparkled as if it was not filled with flotsam and nasty stuff...it was a SPECTACULAR day!

Ran into a friend in the post office. Made the standard remarks, including "isn't it a wonderful day today?" I mean, after two solid weeks of rain, rain, humidity and rain, to have sunshine, blue skies, and DRY air...who wouldn't be thrilled?

Her response? "Oh, it's horrible! All this sun! I prefer it cloudy. I hate summer."

I was stunned. I mean, it's not as if either of us works outdoors. We were making our way from air conditioned building to air conditioned car to air conditioned building....and then, in her case, she and her kids were headed to the pool, where she'd sit in the lovely, astonishingly cool breeze under the awning while her sunscreen-slathered kids played in the sparkling water.

Glad I'm not responsible for her joy!

As for me, I found plenty today.

Judy, Judy, Judy

2006-07-24T02:38:00.000+09:00

Sorry for the dearth of posts...am dealing with trying to figure out what my body is trying to tell me (more on that later, as events warrant, but nothing to worry about) and dealing with the very serious illness of a friend.

Judy's one of those really vibrant people some of us are lucky enough to have in our lives. She's distinct and vivid and all the way there in my life. There's nothing halfway about Judy. She can rub my nerves raw, and having her as my friend and having her as my client is sometimes a demanding proposition. She runs a successful business, and was one of my first freelance clients, long ago. I thought maybe she was tossing me some work to be nice, because she's known my dad forever--but she's become quite an important client for me.

Judy's got strong, loud opinions about things, but they aren't narrow minded or mean...and she's willing to listen, which is more than I can say for a lot of people. I've had blow-ups with Judy, which is very rare, as I avoid conflict with almost everyone. I don't know how or why I've been able to have, um, rather vigorous discussions with her, when I have almost never been able to raise my voice to another person (well, except my parents when I was a teenager, perhaps, and even then, very rarely). Maybe because I know she can take it. Maybe I just instinctively know that we can air our differences and she will love me anyway. Judy is quick and clever and creative. She was a trained graphic designer before the computer age, and we have lively dialog about what's "right" and "wrong" and "done" and "not done" from a design perspective. It ain't easy being a graphic designer for a graphic designer. She's a hell of a businesswoman, and lots of fun to go out on the town with. Judy lives life all the way out loud.

She has helped me in my slow process to live my life out loud, both by example and by her stalwart friendship.

Judy's been battling breast cancer for the past couple of years. For the second time. Yeah. She's that strong. Well, July 8, she had a seizure, out of the blue. They did some scans, and found a small shadow on the right side of her head. More cancer. So, on July 17, they went in. It was bigger than they thought. They hope they got it all. They aren't sure. Somehow, during the surgery, her entire left side became paralyzed. Right now, she's in ICU with brain swelling.

I found out all this finally, because I e-mailed her assistant, complaining that I was still waiting for some instruction on a project I was doing for Judy. Nothing quite like that return e-mail to take the wind and indignant huffing and puffing right out of my sails.

They're hoping the paralysis will go away when the swelling goes down. They're hoping she will make a full recovery. They're hoping she won't have to go through much radiation this time (her third or fourth time).

I want to help, but I don't know what to do. I'm half a world away, for God's sake. And I have to keep telling myself, this is not about me. It's about Judy. I want to help. And I can't.

Ok, so where's the damn joy?

Judy's a fighter. She's mad as hell that she's paralyzed, and that they won't let her get out of the bed. She's got a business to run. A husband to love. A brand new, gorgeous granddaughter to snuggle. (Umm...probably not in that order.) And a friend, over here in Japan, who loves her.

Judy inspires me. Her optimism, her fight, her drive, her great bursts of laughter, her zaniness (yes, she is the one person I know who is truly the embodiment of "zany!"), her understanding...how lucky I am to know her. She's brought me so much damn joy.

Get well soon, Judy. We've got a project to fight about.

Finding Joy in Being Sick

2006-07-18T23:24:00.000+09:00

I'm sick. Bleah. So is FH.

So, where's the joy in that, you ask?

He's in San Diego, and has to take care of himself. I'm here in Japan, with flexible hours (sometimes, being a freelancer rocks!), no one to take care of, no need to get dressed. I can pretend Mom is allowing me to have all the ginger ale and Saltines I want. I can sleep until I wake up. No one complains if the medicine makes me wired and I watch bad TV until 5am and sleep until 1pm. I can be as selfish as I want to be!

If I have to be sick (and I can't go back to being 7 years old with Mommy taking care of me) then this is definitely the way to do it! Yes, I love FH. Yes, I'm sorry he's sick. Yes, I'm glad he's there and I'm here, and I don't have to ignore my own misery in order to cater to a sick man!

Good Wife vs. Manipulative Spouse -- Sometimes, You Have to be Both

2006-07-16T21:25:00.000+09:00

Lissa made a good point in her comment to my last post. I'm sure if Fearless Husband was still single, he would've packed the way single men do (wad it all in the suitcase, buy new underwear, socks and toothbrush once he reaches his destination). And the gifts I bought for him to take to his parents, grandparents and sister? Wrinkled and/or broken. Would that have bothered him? Not in the least. But it sure would've bothered me. So my choice to "help" him pack was for me (and for the sake of assorted silk kimono and pieces of porcelain), not for him.

One thing I've learned though...if I had let him throw away the little embarkation card thingie, to try and teach him a lesson, guess who would've had to put up with Mr. Crankypants?

Yeah, that would be me.

Now though, he owes me for saving him big beaurocratic problems. I'm sure he'll try and make up for it (hopefully with something sparkly!) So, I'm not being a good wife as Lissa asserts. Instead, I'm being selfish -- because I prefer him to be sheepishly grateful rather than cranky.

Sly? Yep. Evil of me to find joy in his guilt? Probably. But hey, it's still joy.

I Told You So!

2006-07-16T00:06:00.000+09:00

Got the baby...err, Fearless Husband...all packed and off to training in the USA for a month. I miss him already. But I can't figure out how the man was able to function for all those years when he lived alone--he sure has forgotten how to pack a suitcase and what to put in it!

However, he made up for a lot of the frustration when he called mid-trip from the Tokyo airport. When we came into Japan, we were each given a little "embarkation" card thing. Mine was stapled into my passport. His was handed to him, as he uses his military ID card instead of a passport. His little card ended up in the trash can at the hotel that evening. I happened to see it perched on the pristine trash can liner, fished it out, and put it in my wallet, "just in case."

Fast forward six months. This morning, I handed him his embarkation card thingie, and said "I know you said you don't need this, but please, just carry it in your wallet." He rolled his eyes and grumbled, but took it. Lo and behold, it was REQUIRED for him to leave Japan! Since he had the card, he didn't have to step out of the insanely long line and argue and plead to be allowed to legally leave the country.

After he got through the long line and into the proper terminal for his flight to the US, he called me. When I answered the phone he said, "First of all, thank you. Second, go ahead and say 'I told you so.' Go ahead, say it. You were right." (He really is a thoughtful man, see?)

I struggled hard, managed to supress my gloating, and said "Oh, honey, that's ok. I'm just glad I saved it for you. Now, can you say that last part again, the 'you were right' part? Maybe a little louder this time?"

Hey, sometimes joy can come from a little self-satisfied smugness, and that doesn't make it wrong....right?

My Kind of Foreplay

2006-07-12T19:08:00.000+09:00

It works. Pavlovian training works, people! (Ok, that, and actually spelling it out in a kind, gentle, not-while-we're-having-a-heated-discussion sorta way.)

I finally realized FH does not have a copy of my mental script, and thus doesn't know his lines and blocking. So...I spelled it out. I said "Beloved, rubbing up against me when I am hot and sweaty and trying to get the dishes done? Not a turn-on. Stripping naked, flinging dirty clothes everywhere and shaking your hips at me? Not a turn on. Doing the dishes/using the Swiffer/taking out the trash/ironing your own uniforms without me having to say a word? Major turn-on!"

Then I proceeded to follow up with physical demonstrations.

You know, it really is like Pavlov's experiment. "Reward" him often enough (completely heartfelt, may I add!) and he gets it! Now, when a certain gleam enters his eye, instead of groping me while I'm in the middle of some household chore, he gets up and grabs the mop or the garbage or the sponge!

Joy for him, joy for me...it's all good!

Carry an Umbrella and It Won't Rain

2006-07-09T00:39:00.000+09:00

Well, Typhoon Ewiniar is headed towards China now, predictions notwithstanding. It's probably because I was more prepared for "weather" than I've ever been in my life! Evacuation paperwork, check. Batteries, flashlights, radio, check. Big Rubbermaid container of food and supplies, check. Steel storm shutters, check. Sheesh!

FH is still afloat, even though the weather guys said the ship would be safer (yes, you read that right) in port...once they spent the money to restock the galley, they "had" to go out to sea, or waste all that food and money. Great...put our sailors into danger, so we don't waste the money spent on powdered eggs, powdered potatoes and powdered milk.

Silver lining? I'm safe. FH is safe (and catching up on paperwork and studying). We've had rain here, but no destructive winds, no flooding, no mudslides. Hopefully, Ewiniar will lose some steam before landfall in China, and we'll all be fine. Nobody needs to re-enact Katrina, thankyouverymuch.

By the way, from what I've been able to figure out, typhoon is simply the term one uses for a hurricane in the Pacific...if it's in the Atlantic, it's a hurricane. No other difference.

We're safe, we're healthy, we're happy. Life is good.

Where's Toto?

2006-07-06T19:12:00.000+09:00

Well, we've got some...err...weather headed our way. FH was supposed to have a few more days at home before resuming normal work hours and then heading off to A School in San Diego. We think San Diego is still a go (at least as much as anything in military life can be "a go" until the moment it happens), but for now, everything else is up in the air--no pun indended! Click on the photo for a larger image of Typhoon Einiar:

Click here to visit Adventures in Japan and read the rest of the story.

Please keep those who are still are in the storm's path in your thoughts and prayers.

Check out http://www.npmoc.navy.mil/jtwc/warnings/wp0406.gif and http://www.npmodsasebo.navy.mil/welcome_2.htm for storm updates.

Where's the joy in all this? Well, we're prepared, we're healthy, and we're safe. FH may be in the position to help if there is a need for humanitarian relief. And my biggest worry is whether or not I will lose Internet access. That's right...my biggest worry.

We're really damn lucky, you know?

Independence

2006-07-04T22:45:00.000+09:00

I love Independence Day. It's Mom's favorite holiday. On most humid summer days, if you ask what either of us would like to do, we'd both inevitably choose something air conditioned, probably a museum or something. Chamber music, anyone?

July 4th is different. My mother and I have our own tradition...we find the most minor league baseball team possible (Hello, Kannapolis Intimidators!) and take ourselves to the ball game. It's usually something like "Bring a Can of Food for the Hungry and Get a Dollar Off Night". We bring cans of corn and greens and Dinty Moore beef stew. We eat horrible food we'd never want on any other day--hot dogs or pretzels or nachos--and drink a plastic cup of beer or two. We sweat and smile, and watch the little old people and the wild children and the baby-faced ball players (when the hell did they get so young?) and revel in America. The "Wheel o' Fortune" game is made of plywood and dowel rods and the cut-off head of a flyswatter. This is farm team baseball.

After the game, there are always fireworks on July 4th. Both teams come back out and sit together on the darkened diamond. The fans all stay in the stands. We sing along with crackly recordings of "My Country 'Tis of Thee" and "God Bless America". They play bad medleys of patriotic country and rock songs when the fireworks start, and we all ooooh and aaaaah. There's something about all those faces--every color, every age, every background--turned to the sky, reflecting reds and blues and greens, reflecting wonder and joy. That's Independence Day for me.

So, I was a little worried...I knew there would be no ball game, and no fireworks. Would it be a bust of a holiday?

FH and I ended up celebrating Independence Day in what I think was quite an appropriate manner. He didn't have to go to the ship (woo hoo!), so we stayed home all day. He played his video games and I worked on freelance stuff. I know, that sounds boring, but I love my work, and it felt so good to get a bunch of it done! And after spending so many days aboard that ship, he deserved a day to purely do nothing.

We worked independently of each other, each in our own world--but it was right somehow...comfortable...knowing the other was so close, occasionally looking up to find him looking at me with love or vice versa. I made three meals (pretty good ones, actually--scrambled egg whites with roasted red pepper, onion and swiss served with a little bowl of fresh cantaloupe/banana/strawberries/cherries for breakfast; homemade-from-scratch clam chowder with the cutest little fresh Japanese clams served with celery and radishes and a surprisingly delicious tahini/tofu "faux cheese" spread; pork tenderloin cooked with apples and a little white wine served with fresh garlic-almond green beans and barely steamed corn on the cob; and the big splurge, homemade butter pecan ice cream for dessert. Don't you wish you'd been here?) but otherwise spent about 12 hours at the computer.

Sounds like a boring July 4th to most folks, I bet. But to me, we embraced independence as we each did our own thing. We embraced unity as we worked smoothly around one another, each doing little things for the other to silently say "I'm thinking about you. I care about you. I love you." Independent and united. Pretty appropriate, don't you think?

To finish the day on a perfect note, FH found an amazing little program that shows astonishingly realistic fireworks on the computer screen. How thoughtful is that?

Happy Independence Day!

It's Not My Fault, It's Not My Fault...

2006-07-03T23:15:00.000+09:00

...it's not my fault.

I'm still working on this one. If I go to a restaurant, even if I didn't pick the restaurant (but especially if I did choose), and Fearless Husband or Dear Friend or whoever I'm with doesn't care for the food, I get tied up inside. I feel like it's my fault whoever I'm with didn't enjoy his or her meal, and I feel guilty. I feel like I have reparations to make, apologies to extend...I'm sooooooooo sorry!

FH and I went out to lunch today. The restaurant we'd chosen (the yakiniku restaurant I'd gone to with Miyuki on Saturday, which I knew he'd love) turned out to be closed for some sort of renovations, so I pointed the car towards town. FH was hungry, and he was hungry right now. As most women know, a hungry man tends to be a cranky and irrational man. So, I gave him the options (places that I knew were restaurants--an issue since neither of us reads Japanese, places where I knew we could park easily, and places which lay in the direction we were currently traveling) which included a family-style, medium-price Japanese chain restaurant called Yumian (or maybe Yu Mi An, I dunno. I pronounce it completely incorrectly as "Yummy Ann", but hey, that's how I remembered it in the first place.) He chose the latter, probably because it was about 50 yards away when I gave him the list from which to choose. I'd been there before, but he had not.

I loved my lunch, which included their fresh-made-this-morning homemade tofu (really, unless you've tried it, you don't know what you are missing!) and probably the strongest, thickest iced coffee I've ever had. FH didn't particularly care for most of his lunch, which included about ten different things to taste.

Now, just to recap--FH chose the restaurant. He ordered his own food, from a menu with lovely color photographs to let one see exactly what one is ordering. And when I expressed concern that he might not like what he'd chosen, he assured me that he was very pleased for the experience and adventure of trying all the new foods, even if he wouldn't be ordering most of it again. And he meant it. (Yes, I love this man!)

He did eat a good portion of what he ordered, and neither of us is in any danger of wasting away any time soon. (Hell, we're the ones you want with you if you are stranded on a desert isle and decide to turn to cannibalism...one of my thighs could sustain a small village!)

Intellectually, I know all of the above. But it was still hard to leave it alone, to walk away pleased that I'd had a good meal and we'd both had a new adventure. I wanted to apologize to him profusely, and to hurry home and prepare something that I know he likes, to "make it all better."

But I did it. I left it alone and didn't apologize. Hopefully, it will get easier to ignore the irrational guilt. And maybe, one day, it will go away altogether.

Just a Little Space

2006-07-01T20:55:00.000+09:00

Fearless Husband is home, and that's a good thing. I've missed him while he was at sea, and am enjoying spending time together. We worked it out, and in the 18 months we've been married, we've spent a grand total of 4 months actually in each other's company.

Wow.

But today, my friend Miyuki came by with her mom (who speaks NO English) and whisked me off for an incredible meal at a yakiniku restaurant, shopping at the base commissary (sshhhh...don't tell!) and shopping at the great big Japanese grocery store in the huge JUSCO department store. I had a blast, trying new foods, talking with Miyuki, talking to Miyuki's mother through Miyuki, having the two of them try to explain what everything was in the Japanese grocery and how to fix it, etc. They were astonished that I don't have the ingredients as pantry staples to make miso soup from scratch, and helped load me up with bonito flakes for dashi, dried wakame seaweed, Japanese tofu, miso, and "shells", which look like fat-shelled little bitty clams to me. We also loaded up on cute candy and snacks to add to my box o' birthday gifts that I'm sending back to the US. I figured my nieces haven't lived until they've had Hello Kitty brand dried fish chips.

"But...but...your husband is home!" cried my friend via IM. "How could you actually choose not to be together? What did he do all day?"

Hmmm.

He played video games. He took a nap. He ate leftover homemade pizza. He probably scratched and farted, but I don't want to know. Basically, after spending ungodly amounts of time on a very big boat with very small quarters shared with about 2,000 sailors, sleeping on a shelf, he really enjoyed being able to stretch out and not touch any walls. He reveled in being completely and totally alone.

And I get that. Because I need that, too.

So when I got home, we had adventures to tell one another (well, I did...and I pretended to listen as he told me about his video game triumphs). We were thrilled to see each other. He was way more relaxed than he had been. We both had a wonderful day--and choosing to have that day apart doesn't take anything away from our love of each other. Adventures apart only add to the richness of our life together.

Being married doesn't mean joined-at-the-hip, thank God.

Well, Duh!

2006-06-30T19:17:00.000+09:00

I hung around for-freakin-ever today waiting to pick up Fearless Husband from work. I was sitting in the car, mumbling under my breath, planning what to say to him to express my displeasure at having to waste my oh-so-valuable time...

Then I realized...this is my job. A huge part of my job as a military wife is to be flexible, to remember that he's not in charge of his own schedule, to just be there for him, so he can be there for our country. Sappy, perhaps, but true.

Last time this happened, he got in the car really grouchy, and we sniped at one another all the way home. Sitting and waiting today, I realized that part of his grouchiness stems from feeling guilty that he's kept me waiting, and from wanting to be out the door waaaay before he actually gets to leave. He wants to be with me. He misses me. He doesn't want to inconvenience me, but often, he doesn't have any choice.

I had a book with me this afternoon (of course). I remembered two errands I'd forgotten, and got those done while I was on base. I'm working freelance right now, so my hours at the computer are entirely flexible (and there aren't enough paying gigs to consider myself even close to "full time" yet!) It's not as if I had big obligations elsewhere. I just didn't want to sit in the car, in the rain, and wait for him. You know, wait for that guy who just spend the past five days aboard ship, doing drills and excercises, working 12 to 18 hour shifts, having no privacy, no Internet access, no freedom, while I sat at home sleeping late, watching TV, making popcorn, playing on the computer, spending the money he's making... (Yeah, I did work quite a few hours, but still...)

When he got in the car, I greeted him with a kiss, and a declaration of love. I listened--really listened--to his initial grumpy monologue. He got less grumpy and more serene as he poured it out. Without me pouring the lighter fluid of my own pique onto the fire, the flames died out quickly, and the smiling, romantic man I love made his appearance much earlier than usual.

I know, I know...you're all thinking "well, DUH!"

Trust me, so am I.

Raindrops

2006-06-29T20:29:00.000+09:00

It's raining. Again. Still.

The silver lining? When it rains, I get more done.

I sat in the rain today, on my balcony, and watched the sheets of water approach over the harbor. Then I crawled back in the window, dripping and grinning. I feel clean, inside and out (and if the rainwater is dirty, I don't want to know!)

Now I'm dry and happy, in a pool of golden light, with work finished, about to crack open a new library book.

Fearless Husband comes home tomorrow, and should be home for several days. The grocery shopping is done. Meals are planned. Laundry is finished.

Sure, I have more stuff to do, but that's part of being alive, no? I'm fed, sheltered, warm, dry, and very, very loved.

All's right with the world.

What Happened to the Joy?

2006-06-28T17:29:00.000+09:00

I re-read my last few posts, and they don't sound very joyful. That rocked me back a little bit, as I feel pretty darn happy, and I meant this blog to be a place for me to celebrate choosing joy, and maybe to post about times then I had to make that conscious decision.

Hmmm.

If I post about having to consciously choose joy, that means I'm going to be posting about difficult times. And that means it may sound like my life is fraught with anguish and I'm struggling to try and find that silver lining.

While that is true some of the time, it's a very small percentage of the time. So please, if you are reading this (anyone out there?) bear in mind that you are only hearing about the tough stuff, not the other 95% of my life.

And as for yesterday's post, I found a silver lining! I was making a list of menus today (I feel so damn housewifey right now it makes me laugh!) to make sure and offer Fearless Husband a variety of meals, to make sure I had the pantry basics to make most of those meals, and to make sure I was offering a HEALTHY variety of meals.

I happened to see Ms. Misery online, and had a bright idea...I asked her what she served her husband. We chatted for almost an hour. She perked right up, sharing some great ideas, some dishes I'd never heard of and some I'd never considered. She even mailed me the recipes for several dishes. And we laughed about the fact that many of the recipes on my list would so NOT be on her list. So...she seemed to have some fun, she got some joy out of teaching me and sharing with me, she spent a full hour NOT complaining, and I got some good new recipes! Woo-hoo!

No, the woo-hoo isn't "good for me for making her happy", the woo-hoo is "hurray, we found some common ground and I found a way to enjoy her company without feeling guilty or trying to fix her!" So woo-damn-hoo! (And if you want the menus or recipes, just leave me a comment, and I'll be happy to share!)

I Can't Fix Other People...

2006-06-28T00:37:00.000+09:00

..and I have to remember that. I get so frustrated sometimes though.

I've been asked to sort of be a big sister-type for a fellow Navy spouse. She's been married about the same amount of time that I've been married, she has two very little children and I am currently childless, and I'm older than she is. But I've got this whole "choosing joy" thing going on, so...the ombudsman asked me if I'd touch base with her. No, this isn't "hey, pretend to be her friend" or anything like that. The ombudsman just asked me to give her a call, reach out...you know.

I know what it's like to feel alone and scared in a new place, and I do have plenty of nauseating cheer-bunny crap to share. So I called her, and we're now hooked up on IM, which is nice...either of us can message with questions or venting any time, without that whole phone-ring-waking-the-baby stuff.

Here's the problem. I've never met anyone so determined to be miserable in my whole life. She's choosing misery even more determinedly than I've ever been able to choose joy. And it's bringing me down.

She absolutely hates Japan, is convinced that no one wants to be her friend, just knows that everyone must be rolling their eyes the minute she walks away, is convinced that her hardworking husband is going to have an affair, etc. She hates the food here, hates the people, hates the babysitters, hates never having time away from her kids. If our husbands are at sea longer than anticipated, she's convinced the Navy is trying to screw us spouses. If our husbands come home earlier than anticipated, she's upset that she didn't have time to clean the house.

I've suggested that she get together with a couple of other mothers and do a rotating playgroup three days a week, so each woman gets two full days sans kids, and each woman has a houseful of kids only once a week, but she doesn't like other people's children. I've suggested we go out to eat off base, but she doesn't like Japanese food. I've invited her to the movie theatre, but she isn't into the movies that are showing.

I suggested a therapist, and possibly anti-depressant medication, but she's convinced a therapist won't help, and she doesn't want to try changing her current meds (like they are working?!?) She told me today that she's really concerned about her husband's health from all the hours he's working...then in the same breath told me how jealous she was of his last port visit, because she "feels like she's been sentenced to three years of jail." And she doesn't see any contradiction in that.

Maybe she's clinically depressed (which I suspect). Maybe she's one of those folks who isn't happy unless she has a list of things to complain about. Or maybe she's one of those people who simply can't be happy--everything was always better in the past (back in high school, with her last boyfriend, whatever.)

But this post isn't about her...it's about my reaction to her. I have this desperate need to fix her. To help her find joy. I've tried and tried. And I can't. It's freaking me out.

I feel guilty that I can't help her, and I feel angry with her for not "letting" me help her. I want to fix her and make her happy!

I have to let go of all of that. She gets to choose how she feels, and I get to choose how I feel. I can only fix me.

I'm going to try and remain friends with her. Maybe some of my half-full will rub off on her...but if not, I have to be ok with that. And I will have to make a concentrated effort not to let her half-empty rub off on me. I might have to find the strength to say "Please don't talk to me about those things". And she might choose not to talk to me anymore as a result.

But all I can do is choose for myself. And stop trying to choose for anyone else.

Balancing Act

2006-06-26T13:15:00.000+09:00

I read this post and it made me laugh. Then it made me think. I really do need one of Lori's seminars. I need to learn to look at a project and say "Eh."

Sometimes, I have to let go. I find great joy in completion, in stepping back and heaving a big breath and smiling at something finished and finished well. But sometimes, there is pleasure in shrugging and smiling and leaving something not finished, but "done enough".

At least, that's what I'm told. I'm just a little obsessive-compulsive about finishing stuff, even stuff that is unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

I can't accomplish everything I want to accomplish in this world. There is simply not enough time to learn, see, do, experience or complete everything that this world offers. So I have to pick and choose. I need to find a balance.

For example, when Fearless Husband is home (instead of floating around on the big boat for a change) and he says "want to make some popcorn and cuddle on the couch watching a movie?" and I say "I'd love to! Just as soon as I finish blah-blah-blah..." sometimes I need to just stop whatever I'm doing and curl up with a movie, some popcorn and the husband. Instead, last night when this happened, I kept saying "I'll be there in just a minute" as I resized photos to post on my Japan blog.

Three hours later, he got up from the couch and headed for bed. I was frustrated with him ("why couldn't he have waited just a few more minutes?") and frustrated with myself ("because it's been three hours since he asked you, and he has to be up at the ass-crack of dawn").

So my pride in a completed job (the blog post with photos) was tainted by regret and sorrow--regret that I didn't leave it for today, when he's back out at sea and I'm alone. Sorrow that he must feel that spending precious time with him is not as important to me as completing the task I'd set for myself, with its completely arbitrary deadline. If, God forbid, something happens to FH, I would regret the cuddling time deferred, not the blog half-finished.

I don't want to drop everything and wallow around in half-assed attempts and ignored commitments. But I do need to pick and choose what's important to the here and now. Sometimes, the unpacking and the floor-cleaning and the paper filing and the blogging need to give way to the spur-of-the-moment invitation and the desire to sit on the balcony in the rain and watch the storm sweep across the harbor and the good book calling my name. Sometimes, the joy to be found in popcorn and a movie and my husband's arms is a better choosing-of-joy than finishing whatever it is I think needs finishing.

Now, I just have to remember that.

Sometimes, You Just Have to Say It Out Loud

2006-06-25T13:57:00.000+09:00

This post is a slight re-write of a comment I left here. The comment ended up getting pretty darn long, and I felt pretty passionate about it. Then I thought "wow, that's practically my own post!" So, here you go!

When Fearless Husband came home from Korea and showed me the computer games, full-length black leather duster, books, t-shirts, and 250GB hard drive he bought himself, I was pleased for him. Then I realized he hadn't even THOUGHT to get me anything. Nothing. Not one single thing. (I take that back...he bought the first season of a show he watches on DVD, and claimed it was for me. Yeah, right.) His first long trip away and me a brand new Navy wife, and nothing?? I was really upset. You know, the quiet, fuming, slamming-the-dishes-around, "nothing, HONEY" sort of upset.

I have to remember that we just think in fundamentally different ways. I go somewhere and I see sixty-seven things that he would love, that my mother would love, that my best friend would love, and I have a hard time not buying them ALL. He goes somewhere and sees only the things he wants for himself. Yes, he loves me. He just doesn't think the same way I do.

Shoot, think about sex, for example. *Warning, huge generalization ahead that makes me sound way more cynical than I really am..* Men do pleasurable things for women, but only so men can ultimately get what gives them pleasure. Women do pleasurable things for men to please the men, so the men will love them more. (I know, WAY too simplified and not always the case, but STILL...)

I don't want him to get me anything out of guilt, or because he "has to". I don't want the "here's a diamond necklace because I had to buy you something and this was expensive." I want the "here are ten individually (and clumsily) wrapped presents, each of which only cost a dollar, but I spent six hours picking them out and thinking about what would make you smile." I come close to weeping with joy when he brings me flowers for no reason...and I know he stood there and told the clerk which specific flowers to put into the bouquet, because he remembers the ones I've pointed out as being beautiful.

Basically, I want a man who thinks like a wife or a girlfriend, not a husband...but only in certain circumstances.

*sigh*

I've learned I have to tell him things, out loud, in specific words. It's not his fault that he doesn't know his lines in the script I've written in my head. He's got many fine qualities, but ESP isn't one of them.

Before Christmas this year, I told him very specifically and very gently that I really wanted some presents in my stocking...nothing over $5, he didn't have to wrap anything, he just had to fill my stocking. I told him I'd give him some hints, and that the hints didn't mean I wanted everything--I was just giving him a pool from which he could select. Then, I asked him to "help" my father get stocking presents for my stepmother (having discovered that my stepmother had never had a Christmas stocking from my father, even though she makes one for him every year!!)

I took them both to a gifty-sort of store, and gave them a brief demostration: "This, not this. She'd love these, not these." etc. And "Oh by the way, look honey! I think this right here that I've put into your hand is really pretty, don't you? And that over there on the little shelf--here let me steer you right over to it." Then, before all that info could leak out of their empty little heads, I left them standing bewildered in the store and told them I'd meet them in an hour at the bar and buy them each a beer. (You know, you have to dangle that carrot...)

Best Christmas stocking I ever got. He even wrapped everything. My stepmother loved hers, too. I made a HUGE deal out of each and every little gift, exclaiming and showing everyone and jumping up to kiss him, etc. I showed my appreciation in other ways later, behind closed doors.

So I guess I need to say, out loud, "Beloved, when you go away on the big boat, and you get to stop in a port for a day or two, I would really like you to bring me back one dinky, cheap souvenir, and occasionally one relatively inexpensive something sparkly, please." And I've been talking a LOT about the set of about fifteen different, beautiful, thin, sterling-silver bangle bracelets my great-grandmother had, and how each one was from a different place, and how much I LOVED those bracelets, and how I'd love to start a collection of my own in sterling or in gold.

Sometimes you have to hint with a sledge hammer. And sometimes, you just have to say it out loud.

Choosing Joy

2006-06-25T13:53:00.000+09:00

I ought to name a daughter or a cat Patience...so I'd have some in my life.

Joy, I've got. We all do. Sometimes you have to work at it, though.

I don't want to go to bed, in case I miss something. But what happens at 3:00 in the morning other than labor (not an experience I've had--labor that is), sudden stomach ailments or bad TV? Then I either wake up without enough sleep, or I oversleep and am behind and cranky for the rest of the day.

I procrastinate. A lot.

I hate to work out, and I really, really need to.

I'm forty years old and I really want a baby (adopted or biological...either one will be just fine).

I've recently sold my house (which I loved), quit my job (ditto), left my family, friends and choir (double ditto) and moved halfway across the world to follow my new husband.So I have lots of things I can whine about.

But...

I believe we are each responsible for our own emotions to a great extent...I choose to be happy, or choose to be pissed off, or choose to be embarrassed when my husband sings to me, off-key, at the top of his lungs in a public place. I may not always achieve happiness, but I'm a lot more likely to get close if I've chosen happiness than if I've chosen to be sad or upset or angry or whatever. And no, I'm not talking about depression, which is not a choice, and is a very real and very serious illness -- I'm talking about taking personal responsibility for myself and my emotions on a regular, day-to-day basis, barring medical issues. I refuse to dump the responsibility for my bad days onto others or "Them" or "the world," and I'm not giving anyone else credit for my good days, either.

Thus my mantra--I do my very best to consciously choose joy.

Every.

Single.

Damn.

Day.

And you know what? I really love Japan, and I really love my husband, and I really love my life. Even though sometimes, all those things are hard to love. So am I, when it comes down to it.

Stick around. I'll whine pretty often, sure. But then I will find a silver lining. Or die trying.