Moving on...

As with everything else in my life, my blogging will from now until further notice be all about Millie. Please check out my new blog dedicated to my little one, or stay tuned...I may someday regain some sense of self and return.

Many thanks,

Alex

What a difference a few months make

I saw Lucas this week and she inspired me to update my blog. The past few months are a blur of joy and excitement and fear and love and total amazement. Oh yeah, and a little physical pain as well. Ok...a lot.

After a rather yucky pregnancy, we welcomed our little girl, Emily "Millie" Hope, on May 31st. She is six weeks old today and getting bigger right in front of my eyes.

Finding the time to blog has been impossible. Heck, finding the time to shower has been nearly impossible. It is amazing how this tiny creature can take up your every minute. They say newborns sleep a lot. LIES! All lies.

I would love to promise that I will now rejoin blogland, but that would also be a lie. So I wish everyone here the very best. I hear we have a couple of success stories on the writing front. Congrats Captain, David, and Dan H. You make me proud. I will check in when I can, and I promise not to bore everyone with "oh my gosh, look what Millie did today!" stories. But if you are interested in photos and updates, feel free to check out our web site.

Peace to all.

"Artist" Statement

Calling all fellow thesis-ers,

Now that I am putting the finishing touches on my thesis, I am faced with the next hurdle: the Artist Statement.

What in God's green earth did you write about for that many pages? I cannot possibly fill 8-30 pages with "I have been writing ever since I can remember..."

When oh when will this ever end?

Blogger issues

FYI, I have been reading everyone's blogs and have a lot to say about each post, but Blogger has not let me respond for a few weeks now. Big mean stupid Blogger.

Shorter of breath and one day closer to death

I know I've been MIA and I have no excuses. So there.

Just wanted to say that today is my 40th birthday. Last night a friend said, "enjoy the last few hours of your 30's" and it hit me like a ton of bricks. A new decade. Shit.

This is the first birthday I truly wanted to spend in bed with the covers over my head. But I didn't. I went to my prenatal yoga class and then to lunch with my family. We went to Yum! in St. Louis Park. Go there. Have the egg salad sandwich. You'll thank me.

Then I took the dog for a walk to my favorite coffee shop, stopping several times along the way to take phone calls from friends. I have the best friends in the world. They don't think it's so awful that I'm old now. I love them so.

Tonight my husband has even offered to go see a chick movie with me. Now that's love. This weekend he is taking me to Bluefin Bay for some R&R. I cannot wait. I assume it is the last vacation I'll get for the next 5-1o years.

Birthdays are good. It's good to be alive. I am going to say that over and over until I believe it.

Happy day to all.

Longing

Last night my husband and I went to Emily’s Lebanese Deli on University Avenue. I had been thinking about a large plate of hummus for a while, and Emily’s came highly recommended. It turned out to be a disappointment, just as all other Middle Eastern restaurants have been.


So I am throwing in the towel. I just don’t think that as a native Israeli I can be pleased. I don’t mean to be snooty about it. It’s just that it feels like I have tried every hummus and falafel sandwich in the five state area and it’s just not the same. I suppose it makes sense. If we get scientific about it, the water is different, which would make the wheat different, which would make the pita bread different…you get the point. Back home, a plate of hummus is served on shallow dishes and dotted with olive oil and paprika. Sometimes, it’s even garnished with an olive. It is also never as garlicky as the hummus served here. It has a much stronger tahini taste, and is served with fat, piping hot pitas. Sigh. I have been to restaurants where there are actual photos of this dish on the walls, yet when it arrives, it is in little bowls and has a slight resemblance to chunky pudding. This makes me very sad.




Big sigh.

Whew!

So The Holidays* are finally over. It has taken me this long to recover from a long weekend at the in-laws. I love my in-laws. They are the kindest, most generous people on the planet (well, most of them are anyway) and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. But…

There are too darn many of them, frankly. In a four-bedroom house, there were 13 adults and 12 children for three days. Then, on the last night, two more adults were added. Friends of my sister-in-law’s had come for the big 50th anniversary party held in honor of my husband's parents. Now granted, they drove from Minneapolis and Chicago, and I certainly wouldn’t have expected them to turn around and drive home, but still. It would never have occurred to me to assume I could stay in a house already filled to the brink. I would have made reservations at a hotel or other arrangements. To my husband’s family, it’s the more the merrier. To me, it’s rude.

But that’s just me. I have one brother, and if you throw in his wife and in-laws, there are at the most six of us for any given holiday get-together. We all live here, so said get-togethers rarely last more than three hours. So to be thrown into the chaos of a large family for a long weekend takes a lot out of me. It would have been better if I could have had a drink, or three.

Yes, there are lovely moments. Watching the little kids open their gifts and downing several dozen cookies in one sitting, for example. But man, do I need a vacation.

*Also, why do we refer to these particular holidays as The Holidays? As a Valentine’s Day fan, I find that slightly offensive.

Ok. Thanks for listening.

It is best to give

Let’s face it folks. As much as we may complain about our crazy lives and our need for more time and money (and less Bush), we are all very fortunate in most every way. During this season of gluttony and rabid commercialism, wouldn’t it be nice to avoid the chaos of the mall while at the same time sharing a tiny bit of all that the universe has bestowed upon us? It’s just a thought.

If you are so inclined, here are some worthy organizations that could use our help. Of course, this is just a fraction of all the ways we can reach out and embody the true meaning of the holiday season.

Ok, I’ll get off my soapbox now.

Teach a man to fish…
Heifer.org

I love elephants. They are so gentle, and they remember their loved ones forever, unlike some people I know.
The Elephant Sanctuary

Kids begging for a pony? Here’s the next best thing.
Long Meadow Rescue Ranch

Sensing a theme here? Yes, my heart belongs to the animals. Their love is unconditional, and they rarely start wars over religious differences.
Humane Society of America

Or, act locally:
Animal Humane Society of Minnesota

But I do care about people. I really do.

Support people, animals, and the environment:
Rainforest Alliance

Stand up for the little ones:
Child Help

Give the gift of books:
First Book

Or, pick a cause that speaks to your individual concerns at justgive.org

Ho Ho Ho

I wish I was in Tijuana, eating barbequed iguana

I have the travel bug. Really, I always have the travel bug, but it seems to be worse today. Maybe it’s because it is December 1st today. It’s cold but without a fluffy blanket of fresh snow or sparkly icecicles dripping from trees to brighten the day. If it’s going to be cold, I want it to be pretty. Otherwise, I will need a vacation soon.

And no, Wisconsin Dells does not count.

For a long time I had no desire to travel. By the age of 13 I had lived in three countries, and was ready to stay put. I didn’t equate traveling with taking a much-needed break from the norm, I equated it with packing up everything I owned (again) and leaving my friends behind. Traveling meant learning a new language and being the weird new foreign kid. I refused to even own a suitcase for years.

Now I have such a long list of places I want to visit that I could never fit them all into this lifetime. Here are a few examples:

- Italy
- Southern France, particularly a tiny town called Eze.
- New England in the fall
- Spain
- Napa Valley
- Greece
- Prague
- Ireland
- Amelia Island, Florida
- Little Palm Island, Florida
- Fuji
- Galapagos Islands
- San Francisco in the summer

At this point, it looks like the closest I’ll get to any of those is Vegas for the Beatles Cirque du Soleil show in February. Which sounds awesome, but it’s no Tuscany at springtime.

Help please

- If you had a big birthday coming up, what would you ask for?

- What is your favorite charity/cause and why?

- If you could go anywhere on earth, where would it be?

Awhhh

For a lovely story about a man and his mouse, visit David's blog. You'll feel warm and fuzzy all day. Or grossed out a little, it's a toss-up.

Holidays

Thanksgiving is over and the shopping season has began. We have nine, count 'em, nine children to buy for. No, wait, ten. I forgot the godchild. This does not include the adults we buy for or any of my family. If my husband's family keeps reproducing at this rate, we will need to take out a second mortgage next Christmas. But it is fun to shop for others, wrap the presents in big ribbons, and see their little faces when they open that Dora the Explorer movie they asked for.

We (and by we, I mean, my husband) put up our new tree. It is fake and came with its own lights and pine cones. Say what you will about the tradition and natural beauty of real trees, this tree rocks. It is our first tree even though we've been together four years. And now our house feels like a home.

After two funerals in one week, I am thankful for good health, family and friends, and watermelon. Don't ask.

A cloudy day

I went to a funeral today. A wonderful man, an amazing, spiritual, kind-hearted man died Saturday morning. He was 53 years old. His wife could not wake him up, and then he was gone. He leaves behind two young daughters and a church full of stunned friends and colleagues. I don’t get it. I can’t wrap my head around it.

Life is not fair. The world is full of horrible, mean-spirited, small people who seem to live forever. Several names come immediately to mind. Why him? I don’t get it.

After the funeral, I went to Victor’s on 38th and Grand for a Cuban breakfast. I sat by myself in a booth because my brother was out raking leaves and could not join me. I actually enjoy eating alone. When I was younger, I was sure everyone was looking at me and wondering why I didn’t have any friends. But now I am close to 40, and I love alone time of any kind. I love to shop alone, eat alone, even go to a movie or two. During the day, when the theater is empty. I love that.

I will be 40 in February. I am 13 years younger than this man, this lovely spirit of a man that died. I don’t get how a heart just stops. I just don’t get it.

Sigh

Thesis not going well. More later.

One year down...

Last weekend my husband and I celebrated one whole year of marital bliss. Saturday was a beautiful Minnesota October day, just like our wedding day, so we took the dog out to breakfast (ok, he had to stay in the car) at Coffee News Café. After a long relaxing breakfast surrounded by a bunch of bohemian Macalester college students, and one group of women loudly discussing the evil that is Tim Pawlenty, we went to a little park on the river banks. It was stunning. Across the river was the Minneapolis neighborhood where my husband used to live before I converted him. The trees wove a dense curtain of bright orange and gold, it was breathtaking. Nearby, a crew was setting up for a wedding. I am always so happy for the couple when I see a wedding on a gorgeous fall day.

On our wedding day, I decided at the last minute that 50 degrees would be too chilly for the guests and we moved the wedding inside. It turned out fine, the room was beautiful and romantic, and later that night our guests did seem to enjoy the patio.

They say that your wedding day goes by in a blur, but I remember every second. My friends Anna and Therese spent the night, and in the morning our friend Marnie (who took the lovely photos on our site) brought over coffee. It was a wonderfully relaxing way to start the day. The ceremony itself was approximately 8 minutes, exactly how we wanted it. We stood under a Huppa that my mother made, and our friend John sang Crazy Love.

One of the highlights of the reception was the signature cocktails, Mojitos and Cosmos representing our wedding colors, for which our friend Brett stayed up and squeezed 846,700,192 limes. People still talk about those cosmos. I got one sip before having to put my glass down to hug someone, but that’s how it goes. The kids took over the dance floor, so months of picking out just the right mix of Prince, old Michael Jackson, and Frank Sinatra was not as appreciated as I had hoped, but now we have great mixed tapes for our children’s bar mitzvahs.

It was perfection, start to finish. Our friends and family worked hard to make it so. This past year has been no less. It has also been very busy, which might explain why after a full year we still do not have our professional photos up on our site. But like Rand says, what is time? I've been too busy smelling the roses to worry about stuff like that.

Thank you all for indulging me on this little trip down memory lane.

Oh yeah, and Lit 6 tonight! Rock on!

Whew

Survived the weekend, mostly with the help of three and a half hours at the spa. We stayed at a beautiful cabin that is a part of the mega resort Wilderness Waterpark. It really is a great place for families, and fall is a great time to go because it is quiet. I don't think I could have tolerated it if there were thousands of screaming children and long lines for each ride. A cabin full of kids just about put me over the edge as it was. Now I am back in my quiet home office, with the dog and Food Network. Sigh.

As far as my thesis goes, I have lost any interest in it. That's bad. I am tweaking it, playing with word choices and sentence structure. But I can't seem to care about the characters anymore. It's like having a friend who talks about the same things over and over when you see them. I've heard what these people have to say already. And I've stopped caring. This is really not good.

My action plan is to spend a few days reading good short stories and books with the hope of being inspired. I just finished Drown. Any suggestions?

This is no Breakfast at Tifffany's

I did not leave my meeting with my advisor in tears. I did not crawl into a corner with my thumb in my mouth. I only drank one cup of coffee. It was the size of my head, but still…

In general, it was good meeting. The only surprise was that Susan feels that the collection of stories, which are meant to function as separate short stories about two separate sets of characters, works better as two novellas. I think I hate that idea. I don’t know. I have taken the last couple of days off from thesis, trying to let the conversation sink in. Novellas? All I could think of was Hispanic telenovellas.

I know that is not an accurate connection. I know about Kafka’s and Joyce’s novellas, among many other worth-while works. I don’t know. It’s a strange feeling, thinking you are creating one thing and being told you have created something else.

I get the message though. As stand-alone short stories, several do not work yet. I can live with that. I have two months to make it work And I will, I will make it work (she said, channeling Rand.)

In the mean time, I am off to Wisconsin Dells for a long weekend with Husband’s family, which includes nine grandchildren. Nine kids and 300 water rides. For three days. Please keep me in your prayers.

Sell crap- check

If you've missed me this past week, it's because I have been in my garage. Cleaning, sorting, and sign-making led to a weekend garage sale to beat all garage sales. We rocked. Like Christmas time at Rosedale, people just kept coming and buying shit. I mean, stuff. Teeny tiny microwave from husband's old apartment, gone. AC unit weighing a little more than a baby elephant, gone. Leather jacket from 1987, complete with Bon Jovi-like fringe (I kid you not), gone. Ah, the joy of cleaning house. In the process I also met many of my neighbors and got the inside scoop on the goings-on. Who died recently, who has wicked fights on their back deck, whose children required nightly police interventions. I know it all now. I am in the loop.

Now my attention has shifted from my garage to my thesis. Yeah, remember that little project? I meet with my advisor tomorrow and I am anxious/excited/ill to my stomach. She will have comments on my first draft. I will drink lots of coffee and listen to her while trying not to twitch too much. I will also try not to cry when she is done, and then I will go home and start over.

I love my advisor though. Read her book, The Grass Dancer. It's lovely.

The Joy of Pain

Previously, I had posted a list of things that scare me. Rand, being the positive chap that he is, asked that I next consider listing things that inspire me. That was a great idea. Except that when I thought of it, I realized I had not felt inspired in a long time. Which is a problem, considering that I am supposed to be deep in the middle of thesis work.

This brought me back to a question I have been grappling with for years. It has been a topic of many discussions over the years, but I don’t feel any closer to an answer. So I will post it here, my dear friends, for you to ponder and possibly respond to.

Does contentment kill the creative soul? Do we need angst in our lives in order to create?

I have done my best work while under some sort of emotional stress. And deadlines don’t count. Heartbreaks seem to produce the best quality of material, but frustration and anger are close seconds.

Some personal pains are, at times, too much to bear and do not produce work until we have had time to heal a bit, steep in those emotions for a while. Like Voix’s great work on her past relationship, some fires need time to burn out before they can produce art from the ashes.

During these types of discussions, I usually present the likes of Jack Kerouac, Ernest Hemingway and Vincent Van Gogh as evidence that true art can only flow out of a life filled with booze, women, and self-inflicted wounds to the head. These tortured souls died too soon and left for the world the fruits of their madness. What will I leave behind? A fat dog and a well-equipped kitchen.

In general, immediate torment has worked best for me. Break my heart and I will sit down and write about it in poignant detail. I will spend days in a haze of crazed typing, fueled with coffee and tears and emerge exhausted and fulfilled. But allow me to live in peace and tranquility and I will morph into a mute housewife, loving life and producing absolutely nothing of value. Which is preferred? I honestly don’t know.

Good junk

Today I got a spam email from "Jesus Currie" which I thought would make a great band name.