Duly Noted

Saturday night brought a crowd of folks to Slide Ranch to celebrate the Pisces birthdays. After losing track of the number of red wine glasses I'd consumed, I joined the "human stew crew" in the giant cow trough propped over a blazing bonfire. The lack of clothing, floating Eucalyptus leaves, and extreme water temperatures (someone kept showering us with freezing hose water) inspired a conversation about the mind/body connection. As the wine wore off, I realized that perhaps I wasn't doing my body any favors: sitting underwear-clad in a cow trough drinking from wine bottles with a bunch of naked strangers (okay, distant acquaintances) in the middle of the night. Sure enough, I felt pretty out of it the next day. The following afternoon, my friend Zia and I sprawled out on the deep wooden benches overlooking the Pacific and discussed "alignment." As the sun set, we pondered: are our actions in line with our mind and emotions? are we aware of what we need and ...

I was going to write :"our little nugget's due date came and went," but she isn't a nugget anymore!  Not even close!  She is feeling like a real baby in there!  All knees and elbows.  Regardless, her due date came and went on Wednesday.  This wasn't a surprise for anyone, including me, although I was hoping that maybe she would make an unexpected appearance in the days leading up to May 25th.  The good news is that Mike is done teaching for the year and I decided to make Tuesday my last day, so we have been enjoying some time together with Misha at daycare.  These past couple of days have been rather peaceful as we have finished some projects (our basement guest room is ready!), started some new ones (Mike is replacing all outlets- he is on a total home repair kick), whipped up some desserts (strawberry shortcakes with ricotta filling, one of my favorites), and organized stuff (like an electronics drawer- found an undeveloped one-use camera from 201...

I want to write more often.  Everyday, a least one idea runs through my head that pulls at me to write down, but I rarely do.  I plan to start carrying around a little striped moleskin I received in my stocking so I can capture these fleeting ideas. This afternoon, let's have a quick chat about routine. For me, routines are usually helpful and intentional.  These days, I eat before I run.  I run before I teach.  I make dinner for my family.  I read before I sleep.  During the school year and the work week, I have a pattern that I can count on for stability and balance. During the weekend, I have a few routines too.  I like to eat pizza on Fridays.  I run my longest run, usually with a friend, Saturday morning.  I try to go to church on Sunday. Then, there are my routines with little Misha.  We read before he goes to bed.  I sing him the same songs as I tuck him in at night.  He watches an episode of "Elmo" while he...

When I chose to teach a handful of Hemingway short stories in my twelfth grade English class, I did not expect to moderate a heated discussion about acquaintance rape.  Yet, to veer away from the conversation directly counteracts my belief in literature’s ability to tackle the most human and difficult of topics.   Hemingway’s “Up In Michigan” begins innocently.  Liz is infatuated by Jim.  Jim thinks Liz “had good legs,” but “he never thought about her.”  Suspense builds as Jim gets drunk and Liz waits for him in the kitchen.  Thanks to the omniscient narrator, readers learn that Liz is frightened but she goes for a walk with Jim anyway.  Even though Liz verbally resists, the narrator describes, “She was frightened but she wanted it.  She had to have it but it frightened her.”  After the deed is done, Jim passes out, and Liz, though miserable, covers him with her coat before walking away.   Whether Hemingway intentionally wrote Jim...

The self-congratulatory holiday letter.  Did everyone write individual cards by hand until the era of copiers and printers?  I suppose the holiday letter is considered a time saver as composing thirty plus letters before Christmas is an undeniably daunting task.  Additionally, I've been told most people can't even read cursive anymore, so handwritten letters are an effort in vain. I am a sucker for handwritten letters.  Over the years, I have read and re-read published letter collections of authors and cultural icons.  I head down to the basement to read my Grandpa Len's letters and prolific journals every time I visit my parents.  I imagine these writers at their desks in pools of warm light as night colors rise in the sky and their loved ones fiddle with pots and pans in the kitchen.   Mike teased me about my holiday letter conundrum.   "Nothing to be stressed about."   "I'm not stressed- I just want to say something...