Anniversaries

Six years ago today, my best friend died on a mountain. Exactly four years later, on June 28, 2006, our adoption dossier was logged in with the China Center of Adoption Affairs. When she died, Julie knew Saul and I were struggling to begin our family. She also knew my friend Lorraine was adopting from China and that we might eventually consider that option for ourselves as well.

I often wonder what Julie would have thought about our decision to adopt from China, and there are days I imagine what it might be like to call her on the phone and talk to her about our adoption plans and the unexpected and ever-extending wait. And sometimes I think about what I will tell our future daughter about the woman whom I always believed would be an aunt to my children.

When she's at the right age, maybe I'll tell her about the time Julie tried to explain to me how babies were made. I think we were six years old, maybe seven. I remember it was a hot summer day, and I was spending it at her house because my mom had to be somewhere and couldn't take me with her. Julie and I were drinking chocolate milk in what I think was her family's garage. There was a wooden box turned upside down between us. We were using it as a table. Out of the blue, she asked me if I knew how babies were made. I have no idea where my knowledge came from, but I remember shyly telling her about a seed and an egg that come together, divide multiple times and grow into a baby.

She pressed me further: "Yes, but how do the seed and egg get together?"

I was reluctant to show my ignorance, but I must have finally admitted to her that I didn't know because that's when she started giving me clues:

"It happens at night."

"Between a man and a woman."

"In bed."

She seemed pretty stunned by my stupidity. I had no idea what she was talking about, and I'm afraid my guesses gave her very little to build on. When the blank look on my face forced her to recognize I was never going to get it on my own, she finally whispered the dirty little secret in my ear:

"They sleep together." My initial silence moved Julie to elaborate. Still whispering into my left ear, she explained: "The man and the woman sleep together in bed at night and that's how babies are made."

For some reason, this solemnly delivered revelation cracked both of us up simultaneously. Sleeping together. In bed. At night. Babies. It was all so absurd and hilarious and naughty at the same time. We laughed so hard we upset the wooden box and spilled the chocolate milk all over my white shirt. I said I thought I was going to pee my pants and that made us laugh even harder. When we finally stopped laughing, I remember we were afraid we'd get in trouble over the chocolate milk. But our moms didn't seem too concerned. Of course, they didn't know what secrets had been spilled at the same time.

It took me awhile to connect my seed and egg story with Julie's theory about a man and a woman sleeping together in bed at night. I'm pretty sure it was a slightly older Julie who finally filled in the missing details for me. She was always a step ahead and ready to share what she knew.

I suppose that's where I'll start. "Your Aunt Julie? She was my best friend. She shared her chocolate milk and her secrets with me. And I loved her for it."

1:30 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Back up your data now.

This morning, my screen went black. And my laptop would not reboot. Fortunately, Kent State has an extended warranty on it so the Mac guys will get it up and running again. Unfortunately, that could take up to two weeks and there's no guarantee they'll be able to retrieve my data.

I bought an external hard drive several months ago for backing up my data. I never got around to it. Shame on me.

I've moved through the first three stages of grief fairly quickly, but am still in the midst of the fourth stage.

First, there was denial. "This is a simple matter of a bad power cord. It's been giving me fits for some time now. Once I get a new one, my computer will start up without any problem."

Second, came anger. "Damn it! Why is this happening to me? I'm supposed to be getting a new Mac from the University in two fucking months! Why does this have to happen now?"

Third, bargaining. "I will never treat my Mac so poorly again. I'll stop banging it around in my bag against my car door and the front office desk. I'll shut it down more often. I'll buy a protective sleeve for it. I will back up my data every night. Please, please, please. Just make my Mac all better."

And fourth, depression. "I am so very, very sad. What am I going to do without my laptop? What about all of the documents I need for work that may be lost forever? My laptop has everything on it. Personal. Professional. Everything."

Sigh. I know it's not the end of the world, but the fifth stage still seems out of reach. I'm just not ready yet for acceptance. Maybe tomorrow.

5:28 AM - 2 Comments - 3 Kudos - Add Comment

I love sweetened cereal.

Sometimes I even dream about it. Two years ago, I dreamt about trying to fix breakfast for my major professor from my doctoral program. She and I were standing in my kitchen, looking up into the cupboard, and I was pulling down cereal box after cereal box. Only I was mortified because every single box was sweetened cereal, and in my head, I was thinking, "Oh no. Karen will never eat this stuff. I don't think we have any unsweetened cereal. This is so embarrassing. Why can't we just grow up and get real cereal for our guests?" And I pull out something like 11 boxes of sweetened cereal -- Trix, Fruit Loops, Captain Crunch, Honeycomb, Peanut Butter Crunch, Frosted Flakes, Apple Jacks, Lucky Charms, and of course, three different chocolate ones -- Cocoa Puffs, Cocoa Pebbles, and Cocoa Krispies.  And the only box of unsweetened cereal is Raisin Bran, and I'm thinking to myself, "She'll never eat Raisin Bran. I'm sure she hates Raisin Bran. What am I going to do?" And she just kept looking at me with this strange smile on her face, a little dismayed about all the cereal. That's all I remember from the dream. But I woke up with this horrible sense of guilt because I couldn't provide her with appropriate breakfast food in my dream. Anyway, it's stuck with me. Every time I buy cereal now, I think about this dream.

My favorite sweetened cereal is Cocoa Krispies, but I also like Lucky Charms, Peanut Butter Crunch, Honeycomb, Fruit Loops...okay...pretty much all of the cereals I've already listed (except for the Raisin Bran because I really hate raisins). I'm afraid I'm a little addicted to sweetened cereal. I know the sugar isn't supposed to be good for me so when I buy sweetened cereal, I usually get a box of Multibran Chex or Cheerios or Special K as well. I have every intention of alternating cereals each morning, but usually I just finish off the box of sweetened cereal and then make my way through the unsweetened box before buying two more boxes of cereal. Fascinating stuff, huh?

Saul does most of the grocery shopping so usually he is the one actually picking up the cereal. But he knows what I like and sometimes I'll make a list for him with specific requests. However, this weekend, I went to the grocery store with Saul. I wanted some cereal, but I thought I'd be good and not buy any sweetened cereal. Well, sort of. I picked up the Multibran Chex as usual. I also got some Cheerios (the plain kind). But at the end of the aisle, there also was a large stack of Fruity Cheerios so I put a box in the cart. End caps in grocery stores: such an excellent marketing tool. Anyway, they're Cheerios! They don't really count as a sweetened cereal, do they?

True to form, the next morning, I skipped over the Multibran Chex and the plain Cheerios and fixed myself a bowl of the Fruity Cheerios. They were quite good, better than Fruit Loops, I think. But honestly, I found them almost too sweet. So today...and this is the big climax of my blog post...I mixed the Fruity Cheerios with the plain Cheerios. Gasp! Together, they were the perfect bowl of cereal. Seriously. That's it. That's all I have. I mixed two cereals together this morning, and I liked the result. I was delighted by my breakfast this morning. Small pleasures. Enjoy them.

I will also add here that Saul once created his own brilliant cereal mix when he put together Peanut Butter Crunch and Cocoa Puffs. Genius! Just to clarify, this was well before the Reese's Puffs came out. And speaking of cereal combinations, here's one I do NOT like: Cocoa Krispies and Rice Krispies. Ugh. Saul picked up a box a few months ago, and I tried a bowl. Despite my fondness for Cocoa Krispies, I could not stand this combination. Waaaaayyyyyyy too sweet.

Believe it or not, this is probably my third blog post to mention sweetened cereal. I love it that much. I've written about Lucky Charms and about my friend Lorraine's habit of hiding her sweetened cereal from her brothers. Fortunately, this is never something I had to do.

Speaking of brothers and their cereal, my brother Scott grew up eating dry cereal from a bowl with a spoon. He didn't like to pour milk over his cereal. I think he drank the milk, but he didn't like the milk and the cereal together. His three kids are the same way! That's just weird to me. I will occasionally eat dry cereal for a snack, but I don't use a spoon. And I always have milk at breakfast.

Well, not always. Sometimes, when I have breakfast out, I like to have a Coke. This is especially true when I'm having breakfast at McDonald's.

McDonald's. Such a wonderful breakfast habit to teach our daughter. Maybe I'd better stick with the cereal and milk. But only Cheerios. No Cocoa Krispies for her. Except maybe at Christmas. Of course, she'll have to hide the box from her mom. Oh well.

4:37 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

I had a dog once.

His name was Mittens. I loved my dog. During my childhood, I spent a lot of time in my backyard which is where he spent almost all of his time, unless there was a tornado or the temperature dropped below zero in which case he was allowed to come into our basement for the duration.

My parents got Mittens for us when he was just a puppy; I don't really remember this because I was so young myself. He was just always my dog. Mittens was a mutt. His mother was a toy collie and based on some of his features, we suspected his father might have been a german shepherd. He was various shades of brown and black with a white tummy and white paws (hence the name, Mittens). I thought he was the most beautiful dog in the world.

Mittens was very protective of me; he once bit a neighbor kid when he thought I was being threatened. Fortunately, the kid wasn't seriously injured. Well, there might have been a few stitches involved. I can't remember for sure. Maybe my brothers know. As far as I was concerned, Mittens was a hero (even though I hadn't been in any danger).

When I was very young, my brothers and I shared the responsibility of taking care of Mittens, but at some point, I negotiated with my parents to take over the job completely. I think this gave me an extra thirty-five cents each week in my allowance. But mostly, I thought I could take care of him best. When my brothers got their hamsters, I was sure they didn't love Mittens like I did.

I used to love to brush Mittens. I didn't do it as often as I should so when I did, lots of hair would come away with the brush. He had longish hair and it was so very, very soft. Mittens loved to have the white hair on his tummy brushed and he liked being scratched behind the ears and at the back of his neck. I can still remember exactly the way it felt to give Mittens a hug. He was not a tiny dog, but he was not enormous either. I thought he was the perfect size.

Mittens didn't know many tricks. He could sit and shake and stay, but I'm not sure he consistently followed these commands when they were given. My favorite trick though was when my dad would stand a few feet away and smack his chest with his open palms and call to my dog. Mittens would run straight toward him and leap into my dad's arms. Mittens was always so delighted to be acknowledged in this way by my dad. He loved me, but I always thought Dad was his true favorite.

Mittens died when I was a junior in high school, and I was heartbroken. He and I had been together since before I could remember. He was pretty old for an outdoor dog. I think he was 14 years. I found him in his doghouse. We took him to my cousin Michelle who worked for a veterinarian. She loved animals and knew Mittens. She also knew how much he meant to me, to our family. It was after hours, but she took a look at him and indicated he had died of natural causes due to advanced age. We didn't take the body home to bury; my cousin took care of it for us. We said our good-byes before we left. At the time, it was one of the saddest moments I'd ever experienced.

People who know me well know that I am not all that into having pets or hearing about other people's pets. If people ask me about this, they'll get a long rant about pet owners who refer to their pets as their children or about pet owners who are insensitive to guests less fond of dogs and cats and gerbils and guinea pigs and birds. But I know pet owners love their animals, and honestly, I have tremendous respect for that bond. I believe the relationship between human and animal can be an amazing gift for both parties, and I understand the loss experienced when that relationship ends. I may give you a hard time if you show me a photo of your dog or cat (even more so if the accompanying story involves the animal's poo), but I get it. I do. Most of the time. The truth is I am just a one-dog woman. Maybe you've heard of one-man dogs, dogs who love their owners but don't seem to care for other people. That's me in reverse. I adored Mittens. And for me, there's never been another pet worthy of the same affection.

6:56 AM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Vacation Photos

Just before our road trip into Pennsylvania, we spent a few days in Kansas visiting family and friends. We went to a wedding, celebrated a birthday, and took lots and lots of photos. If you're interested, you can check out the links below:

Cemeteries
Martha
Dan and Crystal
Walkers
Flanners

I've also posted photos from the road trip I described in my last post:

Hershey
La Vida
Hopewell

Kai claims what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but that's only true if no one took pictures. Here are a few from our trip in May:

Las Vegas

7:09 AM - 4 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

On the road again.

Saul and I took a road trip into Pennsylvania this week. After our visit home to Kansas, we got in the Saturn and drove about 400 miles to Philadelphia. We stayed overnight at a Hampton Inn on Chemical Road in Plymouth Meeting.

I love road trips. And on this one, we stopped in Hershey, Pennsylvania on our way to Philadelphia and visited Chocolate World. We went on the Great American Chocolate Tour during which three cows sang to us about the importance of milk in Hershey's chocolate. We also got to experience the heat of the ovens that bake the cocao beans and the smell of Hershey's chocolate wafting through the air. Mmmmm...good. Right after the tour, Saul was asked to participate in a taste test. A "marketing specialist" took us into a special room and gave Saul crackers and water to cleanse his palate before letting him taste a peanut butter cup made with dark chocolate. He had to complete a written survey and was not allowed to leave with any part of the sample he didn't eat. We were "paid" in Hershey's chocolate bars. It was impossible to avoid the Marketplace Shops where we bought a t-shirt and too much chocolate for a road trip without a cooler. Although we passed on designing our own personalized Hershey's gifts and the Hershey's Really Big 3D Show featuring the Hershey's product characters, we did get on board the Hershey Trolley. We were given a little history lesson by trolley conductors dressed in period costumes. They led us in song and told us the story of Milton Hershey who was quite the entrepreneur and town founder. When he and his spouse discovered they couldn't have biological children, they decided to build a school for orphan boys. The school has evolved over time (girls are enrolled there; it's not only for orphans), but its mission remains the same. Milton Hershey School "nurtures and educates children in social and financial need to lead fulfilling and productive lives."

Saul and I have had our own challenges trying to start a family. Over the last eight years, we have had to shift our expectations many, many times and have gotten quite adept at doing so. As the wait for a referral from China grows longer and longer, we have wondered whether those expectations need to shift again. We aren't planning to open a school for orphan boys, but we thought we'd ask the staff members at our adoption agency some questions about their other adoption programs and about the long wait. Our agency is in the Philadelphia area -- hence the road trip.

We met with two members of the staff; they welcomed our questions and tried their best to give us answers, especially about the wait. Unfortunately, they don't have a crystal ball and they can't really predict when a referral might come from China. We talked to them about their Waiting Child program and about their Columbia program, but at this time, neither of those programs seem to be the right option for us. We did learn that moving to another state, starting a new job, or going back to school would not change our place in line as far as China is concerned. There would be some paperwork involved and expenses incurred, but our lives do not have to be put on hold while we wait. We're not planning any major changes right away, but we have wondered what such changes might mean for us if we pursued them. Both women who met with us were very, very encouraging. They seem to think that a speed up in China's referrals is inevitable and that the program is in no danger of closing. We were a little shocked by their optimism and didn't know whether to believe they were being purposefully deceptive, helplessly naive, or realistically hopeful based on prior experience and inside knowledge. We're going with the latter. What else can we do?

So our hearts will remain with our daughter in China as we countdown the number of days referred each month. Last month there were only three days worth of referrals (January 10 - 12). This month, there were eight days (January 13 - 20). Only 159 days to go before China reaches our login date of June 28, 2006!

In the meantime, I guess we will distract ourselves from the wait with a few more adventures. On the way back from Philadelphia, we made another stop: the Hopewell Furnace National Historic Site.

From chocolate to iron, do we know how to have fun or what?

Hopewell is the site of an "iron plantation" that was in operation from 1771 to 1883. After stopping to see some of the exhibits in the visitor's center, we walked around several historic buildings. We saw the large restored water wheel in operation. We were entertained by the very loud and hungry goats roaming the grounds. We admired the two-room houses where the factory workers lived as well as the much larger home of the iron master. We were impressed by the reconstructed anthracite furnace even though it didn't fare well in its day. It was never made viable because it kept melting its own back wall. We learned a lot about iron casting. The sand molds used to cast iron stove parts and kitchenware made it clear that such work was done by very skillful hands.

I confess I love this kind of history. Basically, any roadside stop that has me thinking about people who lived before 1971 is appealing to me, whether that stop is a single sign along the highway or an entire community represented by a few restored buildings. At Hopewell, I enjoyed thinking about the people who lived there when the furnace was in operation two hundred years ago. An iron plantation must have been hot and dirty and smelly twenty-four hours a day. The work so incredibly difficult and risky. I wondered about the small joys experienced by the people there. What kept them going?

I knew about Hershey, Pennsylvania and that it was more or less on our way to Philadelphia so I looked it up online before we left. We found Hopewell from a sign on the interstate. It was 20 miles off the highway, but well worth it for someone like me and her very tolerant spouse. I noticed the Daniel Boone Homestead wasn't much further so we made a stop there too. But I'm afraid by then, we were too tired and hungry to enjoy it much. We browsed the visitor's center, took a couple of photos, and pretty quickly got back on the road again.

We had a late lunch at Isaac's Restaurant and Deli, a chain restaurant where all the sandwiches are named after birds. I had the Magpie. It was very good -- definitely warrants a mention in the chicken sandwich book. Seven hours later, we drove into Kent. It's good to be home, but I'm already thinking about our next road trip -- so many options right here in Ohio. Anyone ready for a trip to Mansfield, home to Ohio's only life-size wax museum: a Biblewalk and Living Bible Museum? I can't wait!

6:25 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

My brother Scott recently turned 40.

Scott is a little less than three years older than me and about 18 months younger than our oldest brother Randy who will be 42 in November. We weren't able to celebrate Scott's birthday with him on May 31st, but Saul and I are in Kansas this weekend so today, we got together in Topeka with the whole family. We celebrated Scott's birthday with some cake and ice cream and an original Banner by Flanner™.

The key to designing a good banner is choosing the right photos. Lighting and resolution are especially important factors. Saul can do a lot with a poorly lit photo, but there are limitations even to his genius. And despite what you see on Law and Order, enlarging a snapshot taken in 1976 for a poster large enough to see across the room (or from the road in front of a house) usually means losing some quality.

For a birthday banner with multiple photos, there are other considerations as well. Do you want to show an age progression? If so, you'll probably want to have a series of portrait shots. Ubiquitous school photos make childhood easy to capture for most people, but what about adulthood? How many of you have your portrait taken annually? Finding forward-facing photos can be a challenge. Finding enough of them to show a person maturing from age 20 to age 40 is even more difficult, especially if you live in Ohio, the other people who love that person live in Kansas, and you have less than a week to finish the project.

Flattering pictures of the person are not always required, but it usually makes the recipient happier if not every photo you choose is one in which he's eating a taco or has his eyes closed as a result of a blinding flash. On the other hand, those photos that reflect the person's unique character are usually appreciated by everyone who sees the banner even if the person himself doesn't think he's looking his best. I think the goal should be: "Yep. That's how I remember/picture/think about/imagine him. He's such an awesome guy!"

The best approach is to find as many photos you have of the person and go from there. Choosing 10 photos that meet the criteria I've identified will be a lot easier if you begin with 40 to 50 photos as opposed to 15. But if you start with 40 to 50 and only choose 10, you'll probably have a few (or more) you wish you could include in some way. Maybe they didn't make the cut because the person was a little out of focus or the person is standing too far away or the person has his arm around a friend who can't be photoshopped away without making the target person appear to defy gravity. Or maybe a photo isn't the right choice because the person is dressed as a gay pirate and that particular look doesn't really capture the person's usual character.

What do you do with said photos? If you're having a big party, you can include them in scrapbook pages, maybe on a gift table or as a centerpiece. If you have the equipment, they could go into a slideshow for the person's friends and family. If you write a blog, you could post them online wishing your brother a happy birthday for all his MySpace friends and yours to see. Yep. This is how I remember/picture/think about/imagine Scott. He's such an awesome guy!

I don't have any memory of when this was taken, but I assume the occasion was Halloween. I don't think dressing as a pirate is a regular thing for Scott. Really.



This is Scott with his best friend Jared. I'm pretty sure I took this photo with a Kodak Disc camera in the hotel room during our trip to Disney World.



Here is Scott on Christmas morning, probably in the late eighties. He is one classy guy, isn't he?



I think I took this photo after Dad helped Scott paint his car black. It's very shiny.



We went to Disneyland in 1976. My Aunt Betty and Uncle Eddie lived in California at the time. I think this was their dog.



This is probably my favorite school photo of Scott. I remember this expression very, very well.



I have several photos in which Scott appears to welcome the viewer into his realm. Here are two of my favorites:





This is the hallway of my childhood. I remember Scott standing just like this.



Saul and I introduced Scott to geocaching.



This is Scott and his wife dancing at our friends' wedding. It is always fun to watch them.



And here's Scott and his whole family on their first visit to Kent. I am hoping they will come out for another visit soon.

5:57 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

My birthday has come and gone.

I am now 37 years old or "pushing 40" as my dad likes to say. My actual birthday (April 8) was spent working. Between my research presentation to the campus ministry group, grading, back-to-back office hours, and my evening class, I put in a 14-hour day. Actually, it wasn't that bad. I enjoyed most of the day's tasks, even some of the grading. It just wasn't an especially fun way to spend my birthday. Even as a so-called adult, I still have this idea that my birthday should be all about me. I blame my mom. She was very good at making our birthdays feel special.

Saul worked pretty hard to make the rest of the week a little more enjoyable for me, and last Saturday was "Fried Chicken Day" with Kat, Kai, and Ross. I made mashed potatoes and green beans, and Kat brought over the fried chicken. I counted this as my birthday celebration, even if I did make my own mashed potatoes. Kai and Ross brought me a birthday cake, and most of my gifts were wrapped in my favorite wrapping paper ever -- Borders shopping bags! And Kat's present for me? A gift card from Chick-fil-A! I am a lucky woman to have friends who know me so well.

I also got several birthday cards. It was nice to be remembered all week. Both of my brothers left phone messages wishing me a happy birthday, and my parents called and emailed. One of my favorite birthday greetings was a yellow piece of construction paper waiting for me in the metal mailbox outside my office door. It was signed by several students and one of my colleagues. I was very tired coming into work the Thursday after my birthday. It had been a long week, and I was ready for it to be over. But my students' belated birthday wishes cheered me up considerably. I hung their card on my magnet board, and it continues to make me smile. It was also good to read a couple of MySpace comments and to get the e-card from Kai's mom. Thank you Lisa!

It's over a week after my birthday, and I have finally finished the last of some very good chocolate cake and the first of many birthday books: The Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs. At its center is the owner of a yarn shop, a single mother of a teenage daughter. Georgia is surrounded by two loyal employees and several quirky customers who become a family for her and her daughter as they gather every Friday night to knit away their problems. A couple of people from Georgia's past, including the father of her daughter, show up to make life a little more interesting for the Friday night knitters. Too bad their presence doesn't make the story more interesting for the reader.

The Friday Night Knitting Club definitely falls into the category of "chick lit" and while I hate the name of the genre, this book is adequately labeled as such according to Wikipedia's definition: "Chick lit features hip, stylish female protagonists, usually in their twenties and thirties, in urban settings (usually Manhattan or London), and follows their love lives and struggles for professional success (often in the publishing, advertising, public relations or fashion industry). The books usually feature an airy, irreverent tone and frank sexual themes." Kate Jacobs attempts to add a little depth to her characters. The protagonist is single but she has a daughter, and one of her dearest friends is an older woman experiencing a sexual reawakening as a long-time widow just beginning to date again. Although the theme of female friendship is present, none of the relationships are well developed. Their stories are simplistic and a little boring, even when tragedy strikes -- a contrived plot development in the last ninety pages meant to manipulate the reader into finally caring about these women. It doesn't work.

On the other hand, I liked the references to knitting when it wasn't being used as a too-obvious metaphor for life. The descriptions of the yarn shop made me want to visit a craft store so I could run my hand over the skeins and feel every unique texture. I don't knit or crochet so I don't have much use for it, but I've decided I really like yarn. And that's a good thing since yarn was the most interesting part of The Friday Night Knitting Club. My overall rating: Fair.

Saul selected this book for me mostly because of his newly found hobby. Thanks to some encouraging messages from Blueant, I purchased Saul a learning-to-knit kit for Christmas after he expressed some interest in learning how to knit. He had some trouble getting started at first, but recently, his friend, Chris, has been coming over on Tuesdays and giving him assignments. I think it also helped when Saul went from using the translucent purple, heart-topped knitting needles that came in his kit to using the sleek bamboo needles he purchased from Michael's. In any case, he is definitely making progress. See for yourself:

3:04 PM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Why I Love Beauty and the Geek

Beauty: When we partnered up, you smiled. You talked to me til four in the morning. You’re completely different.

Geek: You convinced me to wear pajamas and deodorant.

6:02 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Waiting (im)patiently...

Every once in awhile I go back through my blog and read previous posts. This happens most often when I am referring to a topic I have blogged about before and I want to link to the specific post focused on that topic. MySpace does not make it easy to look for these posts so I end up glancing through several in order to find the one I want.

Recently, I saw an early post that mentioned the ever-extending wait for our adoption referral. It was over a year ago, and I had written something about having to wait another eighteen months. Knowing how wrong I was about the wait when I wrote that post is a little distressing. Knowing that we might have another two years of waiting ahead of us is even more distressing. Knowing I could look at this post in two years and write about how wrong I was when I wrote it freaks me out completely!

I have tried to approach this long wait creatively.

Six months after our dossier was "logged in" with the China Center for Adoption Affairs on June 28, 2006, I started "walking to China" on my treadmill. I walked every day, seven days a week and kept track of my miles and the miles of friends and family as if we were literally walking to China. I tracked our progress westward across the U.S. and into the ocean all the way to Hawaii. I made regular weekly updates to our wiki. The updates lasted about nine months. I continued to walk on my treadmill every day for another three months. And though I’ve tried to continue with my morning walk on the treadmill, my commitment has dropped off considerably since January. I did pretty well over spring break, but it didn’t happen today and tomorrow doesn’t look much better.

In January 2007, Kai inspired me to write a story about our wait when he revealed his plan to fold one thousand paper cranes in anticipation of our daughter’s arrival. I finished writing my story, but the illustrations I planned remain in my head.

In May of last year, my friend Melinda sent me a list of items to buy in preparation for our daughter’s arrival. The idea was to purchase one item each week until we brought her home. That lasted all of three weeks. We haven’t looked at the list since last summer.

Every year, Saul designs a Flanner Planner for me. In August 2007, he designed one of his best yet. I selected paintings, sculptures, and drawings from a thousand years of Chinese art making to illustrate each week and month and created the first appendix I’ve ever needed for a planner. The appendix consists of brief descriptions of the over 70 images included. I look at a new painting every week, but usually fail to check the appendix more than once a month.

In September, when we were in Leavenworth for the 90th birthday of Saul’s grandmother, Saul’s mom asked us each to choose for ourselves a painting or drawing by her mother. We decided that one of the pieces we chose, a drawing of a tree, would be perfect for reproducing in the baby’s room. Our intention was to scan it, create a digital file, project the image onto the wall, trace the image, and then paint it. The drawing is still waiting to be scanned.

Last November, we sent out invitations to participate in our daughter’s one hundred good wishes quilt. So far, we’ve received approximately 20 quilt squares. We have yet to send any thank you cards or any reminder cards. We have not found someone to piece the squares together, and I have not bought a scrapbook in which to place the wishes.

Early in February, we led the Sunday services in celebration of the Chinese New Year. I wrote a sermon about making our own luck and writing our own fortunes and praying to Eunice. Although we successfully completed the Sunday services, the book of fortunes I started remains unfinished. I have piles of Chinese fortunes on the fireplace mantle, various window sills, and on more than one flat surface in our office.

Seven weeks ago, Saul and I started Chinese language lessons. The only words I can say with much confidence are hello and thank you. I knew one of these before I started the class.

Two weeks ago, we bought over one thousand beads for a project that would help us count down the login dates between the most recent referrals and our own. We wanted to make six strands of 175 beads each: one strand for our house, one strand for my parents, one strand for Saul’s parents, one strand for my office, one strand for Saul’s locker at work, and one strand for me to carry in my book bag. The idea is for us to remove one bead for every login date getting referrals that month. For example, if eight days are referred in April, eight beads will be removed. So far, five of our strands remain partially constructed; only one of them is complete.

And of course, during these long months, I have read. A lot. Since starting this process in the fall of 2005, I have read over 40 books related in some way to China, adoption, or Chinese-American family life. Reading books is what I do.

But I read online too. A lot. I peruse multiple Chinese adoption related blogs. I joined over 18,000 other members of the Adoptive Parents China (APC) group on Yahoo. I am a member of an online adoption group specific to our adoption agency. I am part of a China Adoption group on MySpace. While it hasn’t been active for several months, I also continue to check the Walk to China Yahoo group to whom I initially was reporting my walking goals. And though I rarely spent time there before this year, I now find myself eagerly checking the Rumor Queen to see what has been heard lately and when the next referrals are expected and how many login dates will be covered that month.

Frankly, I am running out of ideas and motivation to maintain my sanity during this ever-extending wait. Intellectually, I know the Chinese government has decreased the number of referrals each month for a variety of valid reasons that generally benefit China and its daughters. And most of the time, I am content to wait. But emotionally, the lengthening time between login date and our anticipated referral has been a challenge for me. And sometimes, I just want to scream: Why?! Why?! WHY?!

Fortunately, it is during the very times I feel the most discouraged and frustrated that I discover some reserve of patience I didn’t know was there, usually borrowed from Saul’s seemingly infinite supply. And it’s enough to keep trying. Trying very hard. To think creatively. To look for blessings. To find inspiration. Inspiration within the words of a Chinese fortune. The lyrics to a song remembered by my sister-in-law. The gift of a dear friend. The distractions of work. The stories of others. The goofiness of friends. The love of family.

Most recently, inspiration came from the Call to Worship composed by the Worship Associate, Christie Anderson, during the Easter Sunday service at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Kent:

In this age of instant gratification
fast food, text messaging, googling,
we have grown accustomed to having things our way,
when we want them.

We want spring.
Ah, but nature, she teases us.
Our patience is tested as she flaunts her superiority.
So we wait with impatience and growing irritability.

Let us not forget to savor each moment
with depth and deliberation.
Let us not be so overwhelmed with disappointment,
that we overlook the blessing of each passing day.

Patience - a time for inward focus
and the practice of restraint.
May we dwell in patience,
sustained by promise - the promise of life renewed.

My screaming stops for now. I take deep breaths. And sigh heavily. Our wait continues, but we dwell in patience and are sustained by a promise. For the moment anyway.

Now where are those damn beads?

10:27 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

A Thanksgiving Easter

My parents and I no longer share a church or a religion, but I grew up in the church they still attend, and I have a certain nostalgia for its sounds and smells. I mostly miss the hymns, but I also have fond memories of the building itself and the intergenerational community of which I was a part. On holidays like Easter, I remember singing the joyous chorus of "He Lives!" and listening to the majestic sounds of the organ as my paternal grandmother played "The Old Rugged Cross" in the First Baptist Church sanctuary.

As a kid, I loved Easter. Every year, we boiled a couple dozen eggs and died them with PAAS Easter egg dye. The smell of vinegar continues to bring me back to those moments in my mom’s kitchen, dipping the eggs into the bright colors, trying hard to create unique designs that didn’t devolve into a pale brown. I also remember waking up and discovering my Easter basket with its eggs and candy. No Peeps for us, but we always had the Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs and usually a small toy or two. After breakfast, we got dressed up in our Easter finery and headed to church. I can think of at least one picture of me in white gloves and accompanying Easter hat; there are probably other, similar photos. In the Baptist church, Easter Sunday meant celebrating the resurrection of Christ, and by the time I was eight years old or maybe even younger, I knew the story by heart. The rolling away of the stone. The mysterious man who appears. The women who told everyone that Jesus lived. Doubting Thomas who didn’t believe until he touched the wounds himself. A promise of life ever after. The story of the resurrection brought welcome relief after the brutal violence of the crucifixion. Good triumphed over evil, and we were celebrating! After church, there was Easter dinner with the family. For us, it was usually ham and sweet potatoes and green beans. Grandparents were often there, and sometimes an aunt and uncle and cousins. Spring was in the air. I loved it all.

When I stopped going to church and stopped believing in God, I lost my connection with the Easter holiday. I rarely went home on Easter to celebrate with my family of origin and it became just another Sunday for Saul and me. I had difficulty embracing a purely secular Easter and found little meaning in the Easter story. Replacing it with a celebration of spring’s sense of renewal and rebirth felt forced and became particularly challenging after moving to Ohio where spring usually returns several weeks after Easter. Last year, my birthday fell on Easter so we celebrated more than usual. Kai and Ross came over. We decorated a couple dozen eggs. We went out to Ray’s for some appetizers and drinks. This year, Saul and I had pizza burgers for lunch and cold cereal for supper. Kai wanted an Easter dinner and first suggested that I make it for us. When I said no to that plan, he argued that Saul should make the dinner. When I said we’d come over for dinner at his place, he was less enthused.

Saul and I have been going to the Unitarian Univeralist Church of Kent for five and a half years. I think today might have been the first Easter Sunday we’ve attended services. Our minister talked about her own disconnect with Easter and how she has learned to find the truths in the Easter story regardless of whether or not the Easter story is true. These truths have made Easter meaningful to her again. I wish I could tell you what those truths were, but I can’t remember them exactly, and I don’t want to misrepresent the insights she shared this morning. In any case, her sermon got me to thinking about the truths I find in the Easter story.

But I didn’t get very far. I was distracted by my memories of Easter and the First Baptist Church. And then I started thinking about the recent controversy over the church’s name. The current minister was hoping to legally change the name of the First Baptist Church to First Family. He called for a vote. And although more people voted in support of the name change than against, he did not achieve the 75 percent majority he needed to make the change. My parents were immensely relieved. They had been very unhappy with the proposed name change, as was the 86-year-old woman whose ancestors founded the First Baptist Church in Valley Center. In fact, Ruth was so upset, she wrote a letter voicing her concerns and distributed the letter to the other members of the church. My mom read the letter to me over the phone. My favorite part was Ruth’s reflection on potential associations with the name First Family: "Actually, the First Family was in the Garden of Eden and that was a fiasco. Politically, we refer to our president and family as the First Family. Some are good; some not so good." I was impressed. A good Baptist woman calling Adam and Eve and their offspring a fiasco! That’s quite gutsy. I remember Ruth very fondly. She is one of the kindest, gentlest women I’ve ever known, and it’s hard for me to imagine anyone opposing her on anything. In my mind, her minister can’t help become a bit of a monster in this story. If she’s the sweet little old lady trying to retain the name of a church her family began, he’s the mean nasty villain who wants to take that away from her. Fortunately, Ruth is a feisty protagonist and she wasn’t about to be silenced. I love that!

I have written elsewhere about what I learned growing up in the First Baptist Church, and the list is surprisingly long. Some of it good. Some of it not so good. But what I value the most is having been surrounded by women like Ruth. Strong. Confident. Not afraid to speak their minds. Not afraid to question authority when necessary. Not afraid to call the First Family a fiasco. My mother and Ruth are two of these women, but I had other role models there as well. Viola. Ida. Dorothy. Helen. Glenna. As a little girl, I belonged to an important community of women who were powerful and good and worth celebrating. Although I no longer share their belief in the resurrection story, I deeply respect their faith and greatly appreciate the truths their faith taught me. That it’s good to be curious. That it’s good to wonder. That it’s good to ask questions. That it’s good to tell stories. That it’s good to sing songs. That it’s good to share. That it’s good to forgive. That it’s good to love. That it’s good to be grateful.

What does this have to do with Easter? Not a lot, I suppose. But I find myself feeling grateful today. Feeling grateful on the last day of my Spring Break. Feeling grateful on this Easter Sunday. Feeling grateful to the women who taught me the resurrection story. Feeling grateful for the women who taught me to celebrate when love triumphs even over death. It may not be the lesson they hoped I would learn from Easter, but it is my truth, and for that, I am grateful.

7:23 PM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Five Dots: Time to move on again.

In August of 2003, I went geocaching in New York and launched a travel bug in a cache near Niagra Falls. I called her Five Dots.

Current Goal: Five Dots wants to travel the world. She seeks adventure. She seeks fun. She seeks laughter. She seeks photo opportunities!

About this item: Five Dots was born in Baja California, Mexico. She traveled to Ohio with me but she wants to see more of the world. In honor of my best friend, an adventurer and risk-taker, I will be placing her in a cache near Niagara Falls. Julie loved to explore new places so Five Dots will begin her journey there. Please take photos of her when you find her. Five Dots wants to document her adventure in order to share where she’s been and where she is going. As Five Dots is fond of saying, "The rewards of the journey far outweigh the risk of leaving the harbor."

After leaving New York, Five Dots spent time in New Jersey and Pennsylvania. At the end of 2003, she hitched a ride to Europe and in the last four and a half years has traveled extensively in Sweden, Germany, Denmark, and the Netherlands.

This week, appropriately enough on Julie’s birthday, I got an update on the current whereabouts of Five Dots. The day before, a geocacher, Captain Gore-tex, had picked her up from a cache in the United Kingdom and left a note on her page:

"Interesting little bug. Time to move on again."

Apparently, Five Dots was residing in a cache called "Dragoncacher 2: George, Michael, or Margaret?" The cache was in Somerset, the land of dragons. According to the owners of the cache: "Legend has it that on Castleman’s Hill, a dragon resided. Not much is known about the dragon...not even who killed it. But St. George, St. Michael, and St. Margaret are all shown killing dragons in the 15th century ’dragon window’ in the Trull parish church a few miles away. Maybe one of them carried out the deed."

Maybe so. But I like to think the dragon escaped. "Time to move on again," said the dragon. "Too many saints with too much to prove around these parts."

Fortunately, 600 years has left few dragons and even fewer saints in Somerset, and Five Dots had little to fear during her month and a half stay there. But her journey hasn’t always been so easy or comfortable. A few snapshots from her photo album:

8:23 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

They say they are awake.

And they appear to be. But I am in constant fear that first one will drift off and then the other. It’s important the one behind the wheel stay awake lest we all die in a fiery crash.

I like road trips. But it’s very dark and getting late and I’m tired. Also, I’m not very good at The Song Game. The category is any song referencing or mentioning age in the lyrics. They’ve named numerous songs and sung several of them. I think I recognize most of them, but I can’t keep up or stay focused.

When it gets quiet, I hope they are just thinking. But I can’t always tell. I worry one of them is nodding off, but then I hear him begin the lyrics of Forever Young.

In the professional development class I teach, we spend one class period talking about what it means to be a helping professional. We talk about what they might worry about as helpers and why they want to be helpers. We talk about the role of the helper and strategies for helping and the people they might be helping. Most helpers target behaviors when they’re helping, but thoughts and feelings can be targeted as well.

It’s difficult to change our own thoughts, let alone help others change theirs. The first step is becoming aware of specific thinking patterns, distorted thinking patterns. I distribute a list of 15 in my class, and the students complete a matching exercise to help them identify each one. They work in pairs, and afterwards, we discuss the examples and generate some of our own. All of us know people who engage in polarized thinking, people who only see the black and white of specific issues and none of the shades of grey. We know others who engage in mind reading -- believing they know exactly what friends and strangers alike are thinking about them. But my favorite is catastrophizing because I know that thinking pattern so well. I am guilty of it almost every day, waiting for Saul to come home. He never leaves at 5:00 when his shift ends, but when he’s not home by 5:35, I start to get anxious. And though intellectually, I know it’s ridiculous to be worried about him before 7:00, it can be difficult for me to change this pattern of thinking. If I’m not careful, I’ll have him dead and buried and be crying over his grave before 6:00.

So I remain anxious on this road trip, in the back seat of the Saturn, listening to Saul and Ross, concerned they might be getting sleepy, but relieved when they start talking about the lack of computer knowledge among their FedEx Kinko’s customers. That should keep them awake for quite some time.

The same is true for me. Not because I am especially interested in Kinko’s customers, but because if I don’t stay awake, how will I make sure we won’t wake up in a ditch, maimed for life?

7:31 AM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Snow!

Saul just finished digging us out of 12 to 18 inches of snow. Thought I'd share some photos:



This was probably our deepest drift. Ugh.



My poor Festiva was buried.



As was the Saturn, of course.



This is about how much I cleared before I got tired, gave up, and went inside to fix some lunch for us.



Saul's stamina was better. Fortunately.



I am ready for spring now.

3:00 PM - 4 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment

Poopin unicorns and pissin rainbows...

...all the way to the White House.

I voted for Hillary Clinton in the Ohio primary, and I am pleased to support her bid to become our next president. But if Barack Obama wins the Democratic nomination, I'll throw all of my support his way. I think most of the differences between their candidacies are manufactured by their respective campaigns as they compete for the nomination. I think they're both passionate, intelligent candidates who want to serve their country in ways that are compatible, for the most part, with my own values. They're not perfect. They each have flaws, and they will be limited in what they can do as the President of the United States, limited by their own failures and by the failures of our current political system. I am not expecting a miracle, and I think it will take more than this election to solve the environmental, healthcare, economic and military crises currently facing our country and much of the rest of the world. But I am hopeful. And I will vote in November.

Honestly, I hope to be voting for Hillary Clinton. I haven't agreed with every decision she has made, but I have tremendous admiration for what she's accomplished on behalf of women and families, including legislation related to healthcare, reproductive choice, and fair wages. I am not as familiar with Barack Obama's record. This is not to suggest he doesn't have one; it's simply an admission of ignorance on my part.

On a purely emotional level, I am also thrilled that a woman may become president in my lifetime! I don't mean to imply that I would vote for a candidate just because of her gender. But having a candidate I can support who is also a woman makes me very happy. I find this difficult to explain to the men in my life, and I often rely on the standard line that Hillary Clinton has more experience than Barack Obama, as if that alone justifies why I am choosing her over him. There are worse reasons for choosing between two candidates who share more similarities than differences, but it doesn't entirely explain my choice. Supporting Hillary Clinton just feels right to me. She is making history, and I want to contribute to that history. I can't help it; I think it would be frickin awesome to have a woman president. And when I've talked to women colleagues and friends, most of them have agreed when I've explained my response to Hillary Clinton's candidacy. "Yes! That's exactly what I've been thinking too!" Admittedly, this is a pretty small sample, a very select group of women with whom I feel comfortable discussing politics even without knowing ahead of time how they might respond.

I don't expect all women, even all smart, confident women who are registered as Democrats, to vote for Hillary Clinton. Women do not think en masse. I know women supporting Barack Obama, and I respect their choice. He has inspired many, many people. And feminism is above all about choice. But I HAVE been frustrated over the last several weeks, not because there are women out there who do not support Hillary Clinton but because these differences of opinion among women have been discussed at all. No one would ever think to question why all men are not supporting a male candidate.

Mostly though, my frustration stems from the media's love fest with Barack Obama. There is a photo of him on the cover of the current issue of Time magazine. He is silhouetted against a white spotlight that becomes, with absolutely no imagination, a halo. A halo! I know I am not the only one who has recognized the difference in the media's treatment of Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton. Hillary Clinton herself has made jokes about it during campaign speeches and on television appearances. But pointing it out doesn't seem to help much. She gets accused of picking on Barack Obama, of not sharing his hope for the future, of not giving voters enough credit, of being shrill, of playing the victim card. I think it's great that Barack Obama's followers are excited. Like Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama is making history with his candidacy. But I could do without images of Barack Obama as the messiah. Seriously? A halo?

In the meantime, Hillary Clinton is skewered daily. She might as well be the anti-christ. And she certainly isn't poopin happy unicorns and pissin pretty rainbows like the other guy. I just hope if Barack Obama gets the nomination and wins the presidency, he shares whatever he's eating with congress. Nothing like a sugar high for getting some work done!

10:45 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment