Reading, Emotional Healing, and 2012

I've joined a virtual writing group developed by my friend Saleem and I'm quite enjoying it. 2012 has been marked by a feeling of disengagement and detachment and being connected to friends in far away countries has been very helpful for me. We were discussing the books that we read in 2012 that we liked a lot and I adapted my response for the blog to share with you all - faithful readers.

I like Goodreads (a social network for readers and writers) because it fits the "librarian inside" of me... I can sort the books I've read by categories, analyze trends, keep track, and challenge myself. I'm in a challenge this year to read 43 books. Last year I only managed 25 - an all time low for me but also a symptom of a pretty unhealthy year - spending hours on social media feeling lonely and unattached from the world and being strung along in a pretty unfulfilling relationship. It seemed like a marker of unhealthiness... I could only process short things online and my attention span was getting shorter and shorter.

And this year, I notice that I started out with very easy to digest books (which coincides with me leaving my job at the UN and coming to terms with the fact that I didn't have a full time job or attend school full time for the first time since I was 18 years old.) So as my mental health got steadier, I notice that my reading got deeper. And then I re-approached it as a pleasurable activity again.

But I also like knowing what my friends are reading. I miss my book club from Washington DC and in my sad little Asia expat life, I find that no one here reads. They may have read 50 Shades of Grey or the latest UN communique but who is reading anything else? I'm not even sure how to go about finding other readers because I'm sure they are here.

So my Goodreads feed has my bookish friends in it. I can comment and discuss with my friend Celeste and her husband in Ireland about the latest Booker winners, I was following a War and Peace reading club with another Irish friend, an Italian friend has plunged into obscure Polish novels and now I'm intrigued, a virtual friend from Germany reviews feminist novels for her grad school, and a friend from South Carolina is always reading funny things and writing great reviews.  My DC bookclub friends were on it for a while but they seem to have disbanded so I guess they are not reading either. So for me, Goodreads helps me keep in touch with literature in this shallow bubble in Bangkok.

So - no big thundering novels from 2012's infant terribles this year but the books that I liked that I read in 2012 include:

Jeanette Wintersen: Why Be Happy When You Can Be Normal?
(loved Oranges are Not the Only Fruit and the Passion... I want to re-read them now)

William Boyd's Waiting for Sunrise (I quite love William Boyd - I've been hooked since the Ice Cream War)

Marguerite Duras: The Lover (beautiful and tiny and exquisite) plus I read it while going down the Mekong..

Hillary Mantel's:  Wolf Hall (a book I had schlepped along to probably 12 countries before I just plunged in and then I couldn't stop)

Arundhati Roy's God of Small Things.  I had a snit for a few years where I didn't want to read Indian novels by Feminist writers because it seemed like such a cliche. Instead I wanted to read books by old white men -prferebly English. I do still love the way of writing that the old masters from the turn of the century have but I'm starting to open back up my mind again and not be judged by what people think about what I read.

I love the humor and humanity of Colin Cotterill's Dr. Siri novels aboul Laos in the 70s. I love Henning Mankell's dreary and resigned Kurt Wallendar. I like the funny and dry Inspector Van Wetteren from Hakan Nesser's books. I like a good psychological thriller like Eric Ambler's books. And I like the sensation of being drawn into a book, being unable to put it down and caring so much about the characters.

This year, I can chart my emotional healing through the novels I've read. I started out with adolescent literature - the Hunger Games. It allowed me to accept the angry adolescent inside - its not fair! why does it happen to me? I'm helpless! and then I slowly turned to the mystery genre - I'm solving problems, I'm in an odd situation but I have to make the most of it, and the soothing repetitiveness of my favorite detectives - Kurt, Dr. Siri, Inspector VV... and now, I'm back: Into Tudor England with Anne Boleyn, Going through the crazy Soviet regime of The Master and Margarita, into Kerala where women are not free to have the lovers they want and seek help from the God of Small Things, in McCarthyite Asheville North Carolina longing for Frida Kahlo in Kingsolver's Lacuna, and now discovering the elegant and intriguing expat world of Mavis Gallant (thanks to my friend Saleem). It feels good to plunge back into books again and turn my back on Facebook and Gawker and re-experience what it feels like to lose myself in another world.  

Lancing the boil

haven't talked that much about therapy in my blog but I am in it and I am a fan. Today I had a very painful session but I feel great. I feel like I lanced a 33 year old boil. I feel a little raw but some how happy and optimistic. Thanks to my great shrink!

Another Long Silence

Another long silence from me and some writer's block. It's partially because I've been traveling and had a lot of friends in town since the end of April. I had a rough time in Papua New Guinea but it was good for me - found some things out about myself and came to some good healthy realizations.  And then I got to see a lot of friends and family which is fantastic - my sister came to visit me for two weeks, my friends Clay and Elli came to visit, I saw a friend from Amsterdam - Jim and then one from MSF - Tirana.... all good. I love having guests and I love having people stay with me in my apartment. But when they leave, I get sad and feel lonely. 

Tomorrow its the 4th of July - America's Independence Day - somehow this is making me homesick. Last year at this time, I had been in Bangkok for less than six months and I was able to pull together a 4th of July barbecue with about 20 people. This year, I know 2 people in town. Everyone else has either moved or is gone. That feels pretty sad.  But that is the nature of this transitory field I'm in and a big city like Bangkok. I can go out and meet people but I am sometimes overwhelmed by trying to make new friends. And social media feels like a crutch sometimes - I can stay in touch with my friends from all over the world but sometimes there is no substitute for just sitting across from someone and chatting. About nothing - about everything - and laughing. Or crying. As need be.

I'm now a consultant which means I work from home which I both love and is making me a little nuts. I love the freedom of not having to put on my "happy face" and go to the office but I miss copy machines and printers and inane chit chat in the hallway! I try to create routines so I am out and about but I get thrown off when I travel.

So two things happened this past week that threw me a bit... I had a big break through in therapy which is scary and exciting but leaves me feeling weak and scared.

And then when things were getting okay, I had the misfortune of seeing a terrible accident. In my apartment building, we have a big swimming pool on the 3rd floor. My balcony looks down on it. I like to come out on the balcony and treat it like my living room. I also like looking over the rail down at any swimmers below. I woke up from a nap on Sunday and saw a bunch of people down on the deck below - many in uniform and almost all of them Thai. At first I thought they were having some sort of ceremony or meeting. Then as I looked at the pool, I noticed a wheelchair lying in the shallow end. I had a horrible feeling about this and remembered this old 91 year old lovely American woman I met when I toured the building back in February of last year. I hope she's okay, I thought. And then my eye caught something else in the pool - her body, floating in the opposite corner facedown. It was such a horrible shock. And the police were all there investigating it but there was nothing anyone could do. And her body stayed there in the pool for over an hour. I have always been kind of sensitive and emotional. And this week I have been feeling even more so than ever. I was overcome by horror and sadness about this horrible lonely death. She was old. Yes. She was going to die eventually. But how terrible for everyone involved.

So... anyway, not feeling like I'm very bouncy or good company right now. But I think things are on the up for me. I'm going to Europe for a month and will get to spend some more time in Paris, a city that I have always loved. I'll see friends in Amsterdam, Berlin, and Hamburg. And then I get to come back to the tropics and live in Asia. So I know that my life is good... I'm grateful for the freedom, the love I have from people around the world, and for being able to live in such a delicious culinary world capitol. And I'll get through this rough patch.

This is meandering but I wanted to put something out there. Hopefully my next post will be about my exploits in Papua New Guinea, seeing my old friend in Ho Chi Minh City, and meeting fabulous French men in Paris. We'll see. xoxox

As popular as Durian in an Airplane's overhead compartment

Ever get the feeling that no one wants you around? I'm trying to get to Pakistan to help with the "Gender Marking" process and its rather unfruitful. Difficult to get visa, difficult to get anyone to respond to emails or phone calls, I feel rather useless...  In a bit of a funk, I went to the grocery store at lunch and bought some durian on a whim. For those not familiar with durian, its a delicacy in Thailand and SE Asia and rather notorious for it's "aroma".

According to Wikipedia, "the edible flesh emits a distinctive odour, strong and penetrating even when the husk is intact. Some people regard the durian as fragrant; others find the aroma overpowering and offensive. The smell evokes reactions from deep appreciation to intense disgust, and has been described variously as almonds, rotten onions, turpentine and gym socks. The odour has led to the fruit's banishment from certain hotels and public transportation in southeast Asia."

But that's not all! 

'While  "the smell of the ripe fruit is certainly at first disagreeable", later descriptions by westerners are more graphic. British novelist Anthony Burgess writes that eating durian is "like eating sweet raspberry blancmange in the lavatory."^[23] Chef Andrew Zimmern compares the taste to "completely rotten, mushy onions."^[24]Anthony Bourdain, a lover of durian, relates his encounter with the fruit thus: "Its taste can only be described as...indescribable, something you will either love or despise. ...Your breath will smell as if you'd been French-kissing your dead grandmother."^[25] Travel and food writer Richard Sterling says:

“

... its odor is best described as pig-shit, turpentine and onions, garnished with a gym sock. It can be smelled from yards away. Despite its great local popularity, the raw fruit is forbidden from some establishments such as hotels, subways and airports, including public transportation in Southeast Asia.[26]

”

Other comparisons have been made with the civet, sewage, stale vomit, skunk spray and used surgical swabs.^[27] '

So I had a couple of bites. Creamy - sort of the texture of a ripe avocado or a steamed artichoke heart. And a perfume-y taste... I would say similar to almond/rosewater. But three bites was enough. Its rich. So what do I do with it now? I need to segregate it from the rest of the house. 

"Throw it away," advises my friend Lauren, "Preferably in another country." 

I double-bag it and put it out on the balcony. I gaze over at the pool - 12 stories down, maybe I could toss it down there. 

Then I realize - I should keep and finish my durian. Because today I feel unwanted, ignored, and useless - about as popular as a durian in an overhead compartment of a plane on a long-haul flight.  So maybe instead of that old childhood song "Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I think I'll eat some worms" - I'm going to eat some more durian.

Homesickness: Depressed or Melancholy about being away from home and family

It was the fourth of July on Monday - and it snuck up on me. I have been traveling a lot - From May 18 - May 25 I was in Pakistan and then I was in Nepal from May 30 until June 11th, Afghanistan from June 11 - 24th, and Norway and Denmark from June 24th until June30th.  Almost 6 weeks straight! I sat there on the 4th of July missing South Carolina and Washington DC and New York City. I wanted to eat my dad's fantastic potato salad and a tomato sandwich (with Hellman's mayonnaise). I wanted a barbecue with hot dogs and hamburgers and corn on the cob. I wanted to watch fireworks. Most of all, I wanted to just hang out with my friends - good friends. The kind you can talk about inane things with and giggle and just HANG OUT. I didn't really make an effort to find out if there was any "American" stuff going on in Thailand though. I was "home" from traveling but it didn't feel like home.

But Bangkok isn't really my home unless home is where your cat is. I have belongings in a storage unit in South Carolina and a storage unit in Amsterdam. I have my things in my apartment in Bangkok but I'm still trying to make that my "home" - I bought some carpets in Afghanistan and i'm having a ceiling fan installed. By the time it becomes home - it may be time to leave.

I have a strong urge to travel - I've been wanting to go trekking in Nepal, learn to tango in Buenos Aires, or just travel through Laos, Cambodia, Burma, the islands of Thailand and Vietnam. But I also just want to have a place I can come home to. I've been thinking about downsizing to a cheaper apartment here in Bangkok and consolidating all my stuff here. But eh... I miss having a home. Where I know my neighbors - where I can pop out to the local shops and say hello to the folks. I feel a bit uprooted. or maybe I just need a holiday.

Reunited!

So this weekend my friend Mike kindly delivered my cat Simon to me in Bangkok. Simon is a world traveler. Simon came into my life when he was three years old. He was born near Washington DC and a woman who worked with my friend Jeanne had him since he was a kitten. She developed terrible allergies to him and had to find him a new home. He bounced around a bit through a couple of people and then Jeanne suggested I go and meet him. I had been missing a cat in my life since my cat Dante went to live with my father when I was in Guatemala (and my father refused to return him).

Simon came to live with me in Washington DC where we lived for four years on 18th street in Dupont Circle/Adams Morgan. He was very happy in our little one bedroom apartment and our biggest problem was figuring out how to keep him from being too fat. I traveled a lot for my job at Refugees International and my friend Brian who lived down the street was his "baby daddy" and pitched in.

When I took the job in Amsterdam, Simon made the flight over to Europe. Despite not enjoying European kitty litter and developing extremely expensive tastes in wet food and a neurotic hair pulling problem, we were relatively happy there for almost four years. The cold weather meant that Simon developed the habit of sleeping under the feather duvet at night with his head on my pillow. He was a very good winter cat as his body temperature kept me warm and he loves to sit on laps or stomachs. He adjusted to the changes and like any good Dutch person grew to love those few days of sunshine when we would sit on the roof deck and soak up the sunshine.

When I got the job in Bangkok, I wondered whether or not I should bring him with me. He's 11 years old and the separation time plus the time in the cargo hold of the plane can be very stressful on cats. He had already developed a hair pulling problem due to stress in Holland so how would he handle the international flight? My friends Jeremy and Marjolein acted as foster parents while I found a suitable apartment in Bangkok.

I was a nervous wreck the week of the flight - I sent copious numbers of check lists, emails, skypes, text messages, and phone calls to make sure Operation Simon Le Bon went smoothly. I first had to get time off work to go to the airport. My contract says I cannot take any leave for the first three months that I'm working here so getting a day off was a bit of a challenge. Luckily my supervisor is a pet lover and imported his own dogs in from Colombia so let me bend the rules. I left around 11am to get to the airport for Mike and Simon's expected arrival time of 12: 45pm. It was strangely cold in Bangkok that day and I hadn't brought a sweater with me. I was waiting for a taxi to take me to the sky train and there were tons of people in front of me. As I was so anxious, I decided to throw caution to the wind and take the motorcycle taxi.

Off we zoomed over the flyover and weaving in and out of traffic at a high speed. The mototaxi guy took us headfirst into oncoming traffic, up onto the sidewalk, and seemed to be relishing my clenched face in the rearview mirror. Again, I thought, I said I would NEVER DO THIS AGAIN! And I thought - what good will this do for Mike and Simon if I'm in a hospital or dead? But I made it to the skytrain and jumped on the Airport link for a smooth 30  minute ride to the airport.

While at the airport, I started to grow anxious as I stood with the hundreds of chinese, Russian, and Israeli tour groups welcoming people in from immigration. I found an office that said "Customs Control" and went in there to show them my pet import license. After many phone calls - they lead me behind security and customs onto the baggage claim floor where they warned me not to show anyone my passport and get out of there as soon as possible. I went to oversize baggage, a giant freight elevator opened up and there sat the tiny little kennel with a very pissed off looking Simon crouched in the back.

I tried to pet him and he let out a piteous meow and then turned his back to me and went to sleep.

I stood with Simon by the baggage claim until Mike made it through immigration. Not a sound was heard out of the kennel. We took off to the Animal customs/quarantine office. The two Thai officials who had been there before were nowhere to be seen but my import permit was sitting on their desk. Someone came in and called them for us where they were out taking a smoke break. They came in and started filling out lots of forms, rifling through Simon's forms, and fifteen minutes and 100 baht later - we were sent to the customs line. Mike showed his passport (they didn't even look at Simon) and I paid 1000 baht and we were free to the taxi. A 45 minute taxi ride home, I opened up the kennel and Simon popped out.

He took a quick saunter around the apartment and smelled everything. He drank a little water. Let out one big meow and then curled up on the bed to go to sleep. He's a trooper! He seems to like the warm weather, he hasn't vomited, pulled out any hair, or even yowled since he got here. He found a nook he likes in my sweaters (of course) and happily sits under the dining room chairs and explores the balcony.

We're renuited! And it feels so good!

More observations from Bangkok

I've officially been in Bangkok for 24 days. Well, I haven't had as much time to write as I had hoped - this city can be rather overwhelming and my hotel where I was staying was on a loud, busy, and chaotic shopping street (Thanon Petchburi) and after negotiating traffic or walking through the streets, I was normally reluctant to head back out. I was also having trouble sleeping - what with the noise, the air conditioning, and the very high pillows that they had on offer. I also struggled a bit with the air quality here - there is a lot of smog and I had throat and chest problems for the first few weeks.

Finding an apartment here was much easier than it was in Amsterdam - there are estate agents who will find tons of places fro you and show you around - they are paid by the apartment buildings not you, so they are not as biased as the ones in Amsterdam (who wanted to charge you a month's rent to help you and therefore only wanted to show you the most expensive apartments around). So after about 4 days of apartment hunting - I narrowed it down to where I wanted to live. I wanted someplace quiet (that crazy street was getting to me) and I wanted someplace that was vibrant enough that I could walk outside and find street food, massages, bars, and grocery stores. Sukhumvit Soi 13 seems to be the place! I can take a tuk tuk or a motorcycle taxi or walk 15 minutes to the end of my street and there is the sky train (Nana stop) and everything you could want from Indian/Bangladeshi food, German beer halls, department stores, McDonald's, Starbucks, tailor shops, teak shops, Thai iced tea stands, fresh fruit vendors, Australian bars, the CHIC hotel, the Trendy hotel, Seven-Elevens, and an expat grocery store. Meanwhile at my end of the soi, the khlong goes past and I can cut through an abandonded building to the pier and catch the taxi up to the main shopping area where I used to live where I can also transfer to the boat to my office.

My apartment is huge - I'm going to install ceiling fans because although its temperate right now, it gets stuffy. I have humongous bedrooms with king sized beds and three bathrooms with showers and tubs all for less than my apartment in Amsterdam. I could have spent less but my job is reimbursing my housing so i won't pay anything for this apartment and I do love having houseguests.

So - some random things that have gone through my head since moving here:

• The beautiful wats (temples) are sprinkled throughout the city - gold is everywhere.
• It's surprisingly green but not green enough. The air quality would improve and the noise would improve if all of those skyscrapers and buildings were required to have green roofs. How lovely it would be.
• The food is fantastic - but yet you can still find bad food. The backpacker's paradise - Khao San road has the worst food I've tried yet. Its also more expensive than even the giant shopping malls. 
• Thai culture probably has more to it than shopping and eating but I haven't discovered it yet.
• People are friendly and cheerful. It's a pleasant change from Amsterdam to walk down the street and greet and smile at people. Many of the working class people in Amsterdam were cheerful and friendly (all the market dudes and small shop keepers) but its hard to be cheerful and smile when you are cycling through hurricane force winds and rain to get to work in the dark. 
• Tuk Tuks and motorcycle taxis tend to rip off foreigners - they are supposed to be cheaper than the air conditioned taxis but inevitably they end up quoting me much higher prices... so I take the taxis. But I'd rather take the motorcycle. That is until I remember my trip through Sri Lanka (see "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again")
• There are more english language books here than there were in Amsterdam... I am going to go to the Khao San Road tomorrow and stock up. The backpackers trade them in and I'm sure I can get some good deals. 
• Its good to have friends visit you. I just had a fantastic Friday night and Sunday brunch with my friend Patrick and his partner. Awaiting my friend Olga to arrive at my apartment in an hour for dinner. I feel lonely sometimes but mostly happy to be still in touch with beautiful friends from around the world through the internet! 

Sunday evenings

On a trip to Devon with my friend Naomi, I recently met her brother-in-law, a singer songwriter named Chris Bond (pictured above surfing in Devon). He has a beautiful song called "Our Roots" that I really love. I have been having a bit of a rough time last week - too much stress and anxiety at work, dark winter afternoons, not enough exercise and fresh air, too much alcohol - so one day, when I was home recovering from a cold I couldn't shake, I listened to this song over and over again which soothed me. He has a refrain that says "its no good for our soul" (although it might say its no good for us all!) but I like the first interpretation better.

My good friend Willy got me out of the house this afternoon and took me rowing on the Amstel. The sky was a pewter gray and the leaves that still clung to the trees were a dark gold. It's a beautiful palette and peaceful to be so close to the water. We went by houseboats, called in on a friend of hers painting in his studio, practiced my rowing techniques, and then cycled back home into the city. As we cycled by, we had the uniquely Dutch experience of 20 men in velvet pantaloons and blackface rollerblading past us. Yes, its Sinterklaas time!

So after a healthy afternoon, on a Sunday evening (one of my favorite times of the week), I'm trying to do a few things this evening that are good for the soul.

• Listening to Billie Holiday, Louis Jordan, Chet Baker, Blossom Dearie, Ella Fitzgerald, Van Morrison, Buena Vista Social Club and other music that reminds me of home
  
• Cooking with organic vegetables - tonight wild mushrooms called "pied de mouton" and freshly made linguini
• Drinking tea while wearing a cardigan and slippers.
• Snuggling with Simon, the fuzzy Siamese, who purrs contentedly on my lap
• Making little snacks of freshly baked Rosemary foccacia and pieces of Elstar apples.
• Reading a good book while curled up on the couch under a blanket.

Tomorrow, I'll face the office again. But now, I'm recharging my batteries, replenishing my soul.

Grief

"Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break." ~William Shakespeare


When my mother died in 1997, I was 29 years old and in graduate school. I was dating a man named Michael and living in Washington DC in a group house with three other women. I had a persian cat named Dante and I worked part time at Witness for Peace, a grassroots Latin American human rights organization.

Why my father died in 2009, I was 41 years old and had been working full time for twelve years. I am not seriously involved with anyone romantically and I live in Amsterdam, the Netherlands alone in an apartment in the Oost. I have a siamese cat named Simon and I work for Medecins Sans Frontieres, a medical humanitarian organization.

So a few things have changed - but not that much. Grief has caught me unprepared. I thought I could handle it- after all, he had been struggling healthwise and whenever he became ill, he would remind me that he had had a very good life and was tired and didn't want to live forever. I spent three weeks with him at Christmas, cooking him anything he liked to eat, and chatting with him, and taking him to doctor's appointments. We cooked spaghetti together and drank champagne on New Years Day. We had a wonderful time. I left in January, expecting to see him in April.

It's been eight and a half months since he died suddenly. I miss him dreadfully and as the Christmas season sneaks up and the year anniversary of the last time I saw him, the sadness becomes overwhelming sometimes. I feel unmoored by grief. Things I took for granted are gone. I don't have a 'home' anymore except for this rented apartment. Alyson and I are attempting to sell our childhood home and I haven't been back to South Carolina since March after the funeral. My landlady and I had a minor dispute about the use of the guestroom a few weeks ago and I felt a huge sense of violation of my privacy. I just wanted to go home and I don't have one that is mine anymore. I was enraged and overwhelmed by my anger.

When I travel to new countries now, I become overwhelmed by the fact that I can't call my father before I leave and when I get home to tell him about it. He always wanted to know what the beer was like. There's noone now, really, to worry if I arrive safely or if I return okay. My sister and friends care, I suppose, but its an empty feeling to know that the parents who always fretted over my safety and wouldn't let me drive to a Duran Duran show are no longer there to worry about me anymore. I cry now at departures because there is noone to wish me off and I cry at arrivals because there is noone there to welcome me home. Airports which before had been so incredibly exciting and dull at the same time are now emotional.

Sometimes the emotions are so raw that they feel unmanageable. I do not know if I can describe this feeling that sits on my chest like a heavy millstone. So for comfort, I turn to the words of others to assure myself I'm not crazy and that this is a human experience.

" The deep pain that is felt at the death of every friendly soul arises from the feeling that there is in every individual something which is inexpressible, peculiar to him alone, and is, therefore, absolutely and irretrievably lost."  ~Arthur Schopenhauer

"I see people, as they approach me, trying to make up their minds whether they'll 'say something about it' or not. I hate if they do, and if they don't."
— C.S. Lewis (A Grief Observed)
 
"Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it. We anticipate (we know) that someone close to us could die, but we do not look beyond the few days or weeks that immediately follow such an imagined death. We misconstrue the nature of even those few days or weeks. We might expect if the death is sudden to feel shock. We do not expect this shock to be obliterative, dislocating to both body and mind. We might expect that we will be prostrate, inconsolable, crazy with loss. We do not expect to be literally crazy, cool customers who believe their husband is about to return and need his shoes."

— Joan Didion (The Year of Magical Thinking)

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing. At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in."

— C.S. Lewis

"As long as I kept moving, my grief streamed out behind me like a swimmer's long hair in water. I knew the weight was there but it didn't touch me. Only when I stopped did the slick, dark stuff of it come floating around my face, catching my arms and throat till I began to drown. So I just didn't stop."

— Barbara Kingsolver (The Poisonwood Bible)

Vacation - all I ever wanted!

"Vacation, all I ever wanted! Vacation - had to get away!" The Go-Gos

So its the first official day of my much anticipated vacation. When I planned it, I was in the midst of manic whirl of work, emotional turmoil, and lack of sleep. So it is a bit jam packed with activities and not necessarily all that restful but still - vacation!

I flew from Amsterdam to New York City yesterday - seasoned traveler that I am, I think its indicative of my mental state and the chaos I've been living in that I somehow got lost on the way to the airport. I go to Schiphol about once a month, at least, and I somehow managed to get lost. Granted, I shared a bottle of Prosecco, a bottle of sauvignon blanc, and some port with friends at a sunlit cafe in Amsterdam the night before so I was a little hungover but to get lost!? I blame it on my friend Jennifer who gave me a shortcut through the Amsterdam Zuid station to Schiphol from my house. Of course, it wasn't her that misdirected me, instead it was my hungover brain that made me misremember that and head to the Amstel station instead. I had to backtrack and that made me lose thirty minutes as I hemmed and hawed over whether to take the metro or a train. Then I missed the train to the airport and hadto wait another 20 minutes but hopped onto the wrong one. I caught my mistake and finally made it to the airport with only 45 minutes before departure. Luckily, I have an "elite status" with KLM so can check in with business class and cut the cue. Some seasoned traveler I am!

After an uneventful flight where I watched "the Watchmen" and "He's Just Not that Into you" along with a bloody Mary at the recommendation of my friend Mireille, I slept a bit and began to unwind a little. I zipped through immigration and customs at JFK arriving outside the airport about 30 minutes after I landed. Then I decided to brave the New York subway system to get to Harlem, where I'm staying with friends. After an uneventful ride, I arrived at Alka's house to a cold beer, good food, catching up and gossip. Slowly, the tension is starting to melt away.

So what's my crazy agenda like? Friday and Saturday - wedding festivities for Brian and Kevin in Brooklyn. I anticipate dancing like mad and laughing hysterically with my date and best friend, Alec. Sunday after a sumptuous brunch, we intend to drive back to DC where I'll stay catching up with old friends until Thursday.

Thursday morning, I fly to Omaha, Nebraska where I meet my sister and we rent a car and drive to George, Iowa.
for a family reunion. It's the 125th anniversary of my father's hometown and Alyson and I are trekking out there to honor him.

After 4th of July fun including: a street dance, duck race, tractor pull, and pie auction. Americana!!! I have made a special iPod mix to get me prepared for my immersion into my roots and to entertain my sister who is feeling a bit cynical about it all. She remembers our trip to Iowa as being filled with pig farms, corn, and 18 wheelers. I don't see why that is a problem but to cheer her up, we plan a side trip to the Corn Palace in South Dakota when we drive back to Omaha (even though its a bit out of the way). We are accepting other road trip destinations as well. Giant balls of twine?

On Monday morning, I return to DC and hop on a train to Chester Country, Pennsylvania where my good friends Rick and Cat will wine and dine me as we sit on their porch, drink great beer, grill out, perhaps walk around and look at the cows in their rural community, and reminisce. Their kids are gone to grandmas that week which means I'll miss them but it also means the adults don't have to be responsible and not stay up too late drinking for fear of children bouncing on beds in the morning!

On Wednesday, I return to JFK where I fly to Paris.

In Paris, I pick up a rental car and drive to Honfleur in Normandie where I will meet up with my old friend William and his fiancee. We'll spend a few days there drinking calvados, norman cuisine, touring the countryside and fattening up and then I take the train back to Amsterdam.

A bit whirlwind but sure to be fun as it encompasses some of the things I love the most: my family, my friends, road trips, and good cuisine.

Remembering what's important

It's Thursday night on a beautiful sunny summer evening in Amsterdam. My neighbors are outside barbecuing and I can hear them from my bedroom window. I'm listening to Django Reinhardt and trying on dresses. I just got my hair cut. I'm making peace with my life - trying to obey my horoscope and see the beauty everywhere. Enjoying the sun on my face as I cycle home. Ignoring the scar from my fall in Colombia on my knee as I try on neglected sandals and high heels from DC. When I open my email to find a note from my sister in South Carolina. She's got old letters and my mother's old diary which I gave her after I found it in my mother's bedside table. My sister scanned in a letter that she found that I wrote to my mother when I was so young offering to start doing the cooking and washing around the house if I could start washing my own hair.

Suddenly all the ridiculous self imposed stress from work and the petty dramas which make up my every day life seem so small and far away. And I miss my family. I miss those who knew me when I was 8 years old and thought cooking with my mother was the coolest thing in the world. Hanging out with my dad when he walked down the street to pick up the Sunday papers. Riding bikes with my sister around the neighborhood and putting the cat into ridiculous costumes.

Sometimes I love my life - so "glamorous" living in Amsterdam, hanging out with fabulous and beautiful women, drinking wine in the park, and traveling to dangerous lands to try to help people. But right now I would trade it all just to come home again to 2 Warren Court, Sumter South Carolina and eat my dad's potato salad and catch up on the gossip of the court with him and just be home. Home Home Home. Where I often felt 14 years old and ridiculous but always loved and accepted.

My eulogy to my father

We gave my father full military honors yesterday for his 23 years in the US Air Force with Taps, a flag, and a 21 gun salute. Here is the eulogy that I wrote and read at my father's funeral yesterday followed by the poem posted before, "Somewhere over the Rainbow" by Judy Garland, his favorite singer and then remembrances from friends. We closed it with the theme song to Zorba the Greek which summed up to Alyson and I his joie de vivre and love for that sunsplashed country and its music, food, and people.

The Eulogy
When my father was ill last year, I came home from overseas to help Alyson take care of him as he recuperated. We spent a lot of time together and one day he told me how much he hated growing old – that it was not for sissies. We reflected on how some of his woes were caused by his lifestyle – good food, good drink, and living life to its fullest. “Would you do it differently, if you knew?” I asked him. “No,” he said firmly. “To thine own self be true.” And he was – he was always true to himself.

He was born in George, Iowa, a small town near the border of Minnesota where he had what seemed to be an idyllic childhood. He told us his stories of his grandmothers hollyhocks and four o’clocks, rhubarb pie, hanging out with his friends at the swimming hole, helping out his grandfather Pa at the bar that they owned and running home from outraged teachers to be protected from spankings by Ma. But he lived through the depression (and we were always reminded of this when he would advise us not to spend all our money on frivolous things and that a sandwich with one piece of cheese was PERFECTLY ADEQUATE). His father fought in World War II ending up in Papua New Guinea which I recently visited. His mother moved to Minnesota to work to support the family and he told us funny stories of selling gardenias to soldiers out on dates and being terrorized by priests at Catholic boarding school. We heard stories of his working in a hotel in New Mexico, picking apples (and being fired) in Washington State, working in a bowling alley and a bank in Los Angeles. He talked about his glamourous cousin Sue who took him to lunch at the Top of the Mark in San Francisco and cherished memories of driving through the night to come home to his cousins Catherine and the Veenker clan to drink beer, play cards, and catch up on the family gossip.

Eventually he joined the US Air Force- and traveled the world as he had traveled the US. He went to England where he developed a deep love of British culture. He was stationed in Turkey and Greece – we have the old Bouzouki records to prove it. Eventually, he ended up in England again where he met my mother, as legend has it, on his birthday. He claims he wooed her with American whiskey and cigarettes. They fell in love, married, and had adventures together all over the world – from Taiwan to Belgium to settle in Sumter, South Carolina.

Alyson and I remember South Carolina the best – Mom and Dad dancing together and family parties with other mixed British-American friends. Dad would pick us up from school when we got sick and haul our bicycles home. Parties at the house included Dad’s specialties: Brandy Crème Royal, Cherries Jubiliee, his world famous Iowa potato salad and other amazing meals. It’s a tradition to watch Jeopardy in our family and he was so proud when I made it onto the show (although he soundly beat us at a game of Trivial Pursuit the night before my audition). He sat through numerous football games, marching band contests and piano recitals but also went to New York City to see Broadway shows and enjoyed long evenings at the beach playing Steal the Pack.

I received many gifts from my father: a love for traveling the world - he gave me great advice that I foolishly ignored about the tourist traps of camel rides behind the pyramids in Egypt; a love for reading – sharing a taste in British police procedurals, fantasy novels, and “bawdy thrillers”; a love for cooking – one of my most cherished memories is making his famous spaghetti sauce one last time this past Christmas and arguing over how much celery to use; liberal politics – oh how he missed not being in Sumter when a Democrat took the White House in November so he could rub it in to his Republican friends, and a love for music and dancing – including Frank Sinatra, big band music, and Broadway musicals. His love for adventure and sense of humor made our lives fun and rich. He would come to visit me in Chapel Hill or Washington DC and even Guatemala – often staying up later than the youngsters and regularly shaming us on the dance floor. One of our favorite stories is how he charmed a Dutch girl in Guatemala away from my friend Jamie because he was such a good dancer. We had to drag him out of the disco.

He was always surrounded by women– from the ladies of Warren Court like Lynn and Sandy and the Wand girls visiting him in the hospital, to the ladies of the British Wives Club, to the nurses and physical therapists with whom he flirted during his illnesses. Even in his last hours, a nurse admired his fine head of hair – one of his biggest vanities. “Imagine that,” he said to me once “ 80 years old and still vain.”

I'd like to thank my sister Alyson who brought Dad into her home and took care of him the last six months. The last 11 months since he fell and broke his arm have been hard for all of us. When his good friend Mrs. Farris gave us a photo from his 80th birthday party the other day, Alyson and I were quite taken aback to see how he had aged in a year. He told Alyson once how shocked he was to look in the mirror and see that he had become an old man overnight. Whenever we would be worried that he was becoming a hermit, traveling only to Aldi’s and the library, we would suggest he try out the senior center. He would tell us with great outrage that he didn’t want to hang out with old people and he was CERTAINLY not going to learn small engine repair or whatever scut work they palmed off on old folks.

Alyson and I hated having his freedom curtailed and leaving his beloved house in Sumter. Moving to Columbia was difficult for all of us. However, even in his last months with us, we still enjoyed our family pleasures of watching “obscure Irish dramas”, arguing about politics, visiting with dear friends like the Arndts and Farris’ for gossip and British treats, and cooking elaborate breakfasts with both bacon AND sausage. While his death came as a shock to Alyson and I, we both feel some sort of peace in our grief, because he is reunited with our mother who he loved, and won’t have to suffer the indignities of old age any more. We can both imagine him now, dancing and laughing and enjoying all the good memories of a long life filled with love and happiness.

My father

At about 9pm, February 21, 2009 my father, Donald Julius Martin, died. My sister, Alyson, was with him and she said he died very peacefully. I am, of course, grief stricken as I loved my father very much. But he hated not being able to do what he wanted exactly when he wanted and how he wanted and he missed my mother very much. He was extremely independent and active up until last March when he fell and broke his arm which led to him moving in with my sister in Columbia and leaving his beloved house in Sumter. Here's one of the last photos I took of him this Christmas when we cooked his famous spaghetti sauce together in the house in Columbia.

He will be very much missed.

Banishing a Bad Mood

Have you ever just been overtaken by irritation, anger, snappishness and the like? I once walked into my friend Alec's office and noticed that he seemed like he was in a bad mood. I said "I sense an air of pissiness about you" and it sent him into a totally terrible mood. Today, I don't know what happened - I had a great weekend seeing my friend Dumiak at the Dusseldorf Christmas market and chatting with my friend Jen over dinner. It's Monday morning. I woke up late, I rushed to work, I couldn't get motivated to do anything and suddenly - I was in a bad mood. Every email is infuriating me. Every minute late people are to talk to me is a minute too much (coming from someone who is chronically late, this is rich).

I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want to be bothered. I want to sit on the couch and knit or pet Simon. I want to lay in bed and sleep. I certainly don't want to struggle with my colleagues at work and attend meetings and push along my dreary work. It's an uphill struggle every day anyway, and it doesn't help when a bad mood has perched itself on my shoulders and is threatening to make me lose my temper and say or do something I might regret. I still have four hours left in the day and numerous minefields to avoid.

So - according to the internet, here are some ways to banish my bad mood. I would appreciate any readers sending suggestions of their own as well.

Step 1: Decode Your Mood
Sometimes you know exactly what’s upsetting you. Or do you? Figure out what’s wrong.

Step 2: Calm Down
Start by taking a few deep breaths to get your emotions under control. Then choose one or more of the following techniques to help clear your mind.

Focus on Breathing
Take 10 deep breaths. Breathing may help restore the balance between the parasympathetic (or restorative) and sympathetic (fight-or-flight) nervous systems, buffering your body’s natural reaction to stressful situations.

Make a Pie Chart
Draw a circle and create slices of a pie chart to represent all the things that are upsetting you. Include everything you can think of, even if it’s as mundane as the nonstop rain outside. The act of presenting your concerns visually clarifies things making the problems easier to identify and therefore to manage.

Find a Quiet Place
Ideally, go someplace where you can have privacy to shut down the stimulation to your brain. If you’re at a busy place, like your office or a restaurant, he suggests, head to the bathroom and take a few minutes for yourself. If you’re at home, go to your bedroom or a place that feels comforting.

Distract Yourself
Read a favorite funny website, play with your dog, fold laundry, or wash dishes for a few minutes. Diversions allow your emotions to calm down. And because your brain keeps processing the problem even when you’re not consciously thinking about it, you’ll be better able to deal with the issue once you return to it.

Get Some Exercise
If possible, go out for a brisk walk, or do some stretches or yoga poses. Just 10 minutes of an active and distracting activity breaks the flow of rumination and lifts people’s moods. This leads them to think more clearly.

Blow Off Steam
Call a patient friend. Be sure to tell her you’re not trying to fix anything — you just want a listener. Talking through your concerns makes them seem more manageable. But once you’ve vented, it’s important to let it go.

Step 3: Create a Strategy
Talk to a Problem-Solver
People often think they should be able to handle problems on their own, and they don’t want to burden others. But it’s easier to strategize with support. Discuss things you can do to feel better as well as fix the problem.

Make a List
It should include things that will make you feel better, like sending flowers to your husband, calling Dad’s doctor to discuss his progress, or going to the gym at lunchtime. Lists force you to structure your concerns and help you move into problem-solving mode. Number the items in the order that you want to accomplish them.

Visualize Your Ideal
Take a few minutes to close your eyes and picture what you want in the moment, as if it’s actually happening. This visualization technique is basically a form of rehearsal. For instance, after you and your sister argue, imagine the two of you having a great time over dinner at your favorite restaurant. The memories of the fight will be replaced by a positive picture of harmony and fun.