For years I kept journals -- in composition, spiral bound, and French graph paper books. This blog is an attempt to get back to writing and documenting the world around me using photos, newspaper headlines, and other articles.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Sandy

Sunday morning we woke up to see a beautiful sunrise.  What is the expression about red sky at dawn?  No, not dawn, it's:  "Red sky at night sailor's delight.  Red sky in the morning, a sailor's warning?" 



Considering we were 60 miles from the ocean at the time I took the picture, I'm not sure that it was a true predictor of the wrath of Hurricane Sandy, but the colors were lovely.  Selim and I left the Ashram Sunday afternoon.  I wanted to get back home to make sure that we were prepared for the upcoming weather event.  I had bought flashlights, batteries, extra water, and some canned food.  We needed to take a walk around our property and pick up anything that had potential to be a projectile during the storm.

Sunday night, before the hurricane could be felt, we got the robocall letting us know that school would be cancelled in the morning.  It was nice to get it then, rather than 6:00 am.  We didn't set the alarm and enjoyed waking up on our own.  There wasn't anything spectacular happening in the morning.  But I took advantage of having power by running two loads of laundry and doing dishes.  We turned up the heat so that if we lost power, we would be starting with a warm house.

All morning I wondered if I would have to go into work.  At 11:00 the house phone and my cell phone rang with an emergency message that our building would not be having a second shift.  Yeah!  I was able to relax and just enjoy my day, waiting for the power to go out.

In the afternoon, the winds and rain picked up.  I made pumpkin pie and hot spiced cider for our afternoon snack.  We had gusts over 45 miles per hour.  I could see sheets of rain, blowing sideways down the street.  The Governor declared a State of Emergency and asked everybody to get off the roads by 3:00.   Around 3:00 the power flickered on and off a few times, but it never went out completely.



Nedim was antsy about the boat.  He wasn't able to get it out of the water over the weekend.  Every hour or so, he would say that he was going to go check on it.  But I reminded him that we were to stay off the roads and that his actions could be putting rescue workers at risk.  Since there wasn't anything he could do about a bad boat situation during the storm, he didn't need to go take a look.  He didn't go, but he was really fidgety.

Around 9:00 we got a call that school would be cancelled for a second day.  At 10:00 the phone rang again, this time letting me know that first shift would be delayed until 11:00.  I'm not on first shift anymore.  It is nice to know how well the central emergency notification system worked.

So today, we left the house around 9:00.  Our first stop was Barnes and Noble for retail therapy.  We had an hour to fill before Selim had a doctor appointment, and I wanted to see what the beach looked like.  The roads were open and there weren't any emergency signs indicating that we couldn't drive along the shore roads.  We went down Washington Street in Rye and then picked up Route 1A, south of Wallis Sands. 

The waves were roiling.  It must have been amazing last night at high tide.  As much as I wanted to bear witness to the storm's power, I wasn't going out last night just to see it.  There were lots of other people taking pictures this morning. 







My favorite house on that stretch of road was still standing and didn't look like it had sustained too much damage.




The seagulls were hanging out on the rooftops nearby.




Selim let me take a couple of pictures of him in between his, "Mom -- I'm freezing.  Mom -- it's windy.  Mom -- how many pictures do you need to take?  Mom -- can we get moving?  Mom -- I'm getting tired of this!"





We were lucky that we were spared the terrible damage from this storm.  The stories and pictures on the news this morning were so stunning.  They showed video from the evacuation from the NYU Hospital, NICU where the nurses were cradling the preemies.  They had to be carried down nine or ten flights of stairs, hand pumping oxygen the oxygen.  Since I have had weeks of NICU experience, I can't imagine the toll of an evacuation of that kind -- dreadful and miraculous at the same time. 

According to the Weather Channel or CNN, there are over 8 million people without power, stretching from New England, down through New York, New Jersey, PA and Indiana.  Places in WV are getting dumped on with snow.  This has been the "Frankenstorm" that the experts predicted.  I'm so grateful that we were not in the path of destruction. 

There was only one boat in the local marina that did not stay tied/anchored down.  It ended up on a nearby island.  But if that is the worst in our area, we are lucky indeed.

Saturday, October 27, 2012

Saturday

This morning while I was packing for an overnight at Mom's, I asked Selim if he wanted to go to karate before we hit the road.  He countered with, "Do you want to go?"  And the truth was, I didn't.  I hadn't gone to either of the lunch time classes on Tuesday or Thursday.  I wasn't eager to go back.  Looking at the clock, we had about eight minutes to finish packing, brush teeth, put on our uniforms, get our gear in the car and leave.  As much as I didn't want to attend class, I didn't want Selim to miss because of my reluctance.  So I told him that I would go to class if he wanted.  He said yes.

We got to class a minute late.  We took our places in the back of the room.  Mr Hebert asked Selim if he had fun at the tournament.  Selim said yes.  Then he asked me if I had fun.  I didn't want to answer the question.  After another prod, I said no and that I would be willing to talk about it later.  Later turned out to be the near the end of class.  We went back to the office and I relayed my experience.  He listened well, and gave me the encouragement I needed to keep showing up.  I think my awkward feelings have passed, mostly. 

The drive to the Ashram was uneventful.  In the afternoon, we went down to Ship and Judith's for a surprise birthday party.  Mira had flown up from Tennessee and surprised her mom.  It was a very sweet gathering.  The invitation was to show up anytime after 2:00.  Selim and I got there at 2:30 and there were lots of folks already there.   I love parties where you can move from one conversation group to another and the talk is meaningful and varied in topic.  Selim and Jacob played on the DS at the kitchen table while us adults conversed.  It is so nice that he is of an age where he can be independent; or rather I can have some independence, even when we are together.

Mom and I were the last to leave.  It was so sweet to spend the last few minutes having the four of us ladies chat.  We've been friends for 37 years.  We haven't always lived in the same area, but we have woven our friendship into the fabric of our lives for a long time.  A rich and treasured friendship is rare and something to cherish and nurture. 



Friday, October 26, 2012

Perspective

After the bus picked Selim up yesterday morning, I headed out to the beach.  The road crew was working on our driveway, tamping down the dirt in preparation for paving.  It was noisy, there was miscommunication between my hubby and I on the plan for the dirt area in front of the house, and I was pissed.  So I got out of there.

The ocean always provides a much needed change of perspective.  When I pulled into the parking lot at Wallis Sands, there was one other car.  I found a great back rest in the sand and plunked down my gear.  I walked for a bit before settling down to read.  But reading was too taxing, so I tilted my face to the sun and closed my eyes.  A few deep breaths later and I felt much better.





Not only did I need an attitude adjustment, but also the space to remember that I see things through my own angle of vision.  Nobody is going to see things exactly as I do -- and it doesn't make them wrong.  My hubby understood that I wanted to front semi-circular area in the front of the house for a patio instead of a glorified dirt patch.  The area in front of the ersatz rock wall had been prepped for field stone or some type of flat paver by Robert this summer.  Nedim thought that the area could be enhanced and therefore improved if the rocks were removed and the whole area were turned into a patio space.  That would eliminate the patch of grass on the other side of the rocks that was so hard to mow.  From his perspective, asking the guys that were working on the driveway to dig up the rocks was a good idea and he thought it would please me.

Imagine his surprise when I tore out of the house in a rage, heading right for him, mouth foaming, because the backhoe was tearing up the area where I have my crocuses.  He's looking at me like I've lost my mind because I'm going on and on about flowers that he can't see.  What he does see is an area with overgrown grass that he has trouble cutting. I'm in his face yelling at him that we didn't talk about this and turning the whole thing into a referendum on our marital communication.  Right, we NEVER talk!  Using absolutes always helps in these situations.  He's confused and rapidly getting mad at me.  From his perspective, we had talked about the plan for that area.  I told him I wanted a small patio area there and he was making it happen.  End of story.

When I open my eyes and start looking around at the beach, I look to my right and see in the distance, what looks to be an animal sculpture of wood.  Granted, I was not wearing my glasses, so clarity in vision was not happening.  It is hard to see from these pictures because I had on the zoom, but this looked like a big bird or bat with wings on the right side.  I knew it wasn't real.  But it did look like someone had constructed it on purpose.  I got up and walked towards it to see what it was.  Here I was, thinking that there was going to be a beautiful sculpture and it was nothing but happenstance wood and my poor eyesight.  It seemed to me to be a physical manifestation of my morning.  What I see depends on my angle of vision.






To reinforce the idea that I need to be better at adjusting my perspective, I watched the ship glide past the Isles of Shoals, heading to the mouth of the river to take its cargo into Portsmouth.  First it looks like it is out at sea.



Then, it looks like it will crash into the rocks.



And if I hadn't gotten the message already, how about a ship on top of the rocks. 



I'm not saying that I was wrong and my hubby right.  That would be going too far.  But, I need to do a better job of acknowledging that he has his own point of view and comes at things from his own perspective.  And he doesn't go about his life trying to make me mad.  I should know better than that.

I was happy that I had my camera in my bag.  There were bird tracks to document.  They reminded me of horseshoe crabs or some kind of ray.




The morning beach goers had left their prints behind -- bird, dog and human.



And the sun glinted off the water in such a beautiful way.



I spent two hours listening to the sound of the ocean and regaining some much needed perspective.  It felt like I recalibrate back to sane woman and not the raving banshee that I had been earlier in the day.  I can replace crocuses easier than I can repair the hurt feelings I caused.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Birthday togs

On Friday morning, Selim wore his birthday gear.  I love the early morning light at the bus stop.  Lately we've been calling Nan while we wait for the bus.  One can never have too many people say "I love you, have a good day," that early in the morning.






So last night before bed I spent some time online looking for dance classes for adults in the Seacoast area.  Instead of trying to make karate be more like dance, maybe I should just go find a dance class.  I might ask if I can peek in at a ballet class in Portsmouth on Tuesday morning.  The ballroom classes in this area seem to have evening only classes.  With my schedule I wouldn't be able to make any of those.

I know my hubby was trying to be helpful last night when I felt so sad and lost.  He asked me why I was so upset because it wasn't like I was going for my black belt or anything.  So who cares about low scores?  That gave me pause for a nanosecond.  Have I thought about training for the years it would take to be a black belt?  No, not really.  But I hadn't considered that I would never reach that level -- until yesterday around 1:30 when I realized that my high scores weren't as high as everybody elses lows.  Clearly, I had no idea what I was doing.

I have known that I have an uncomfortable relationship with physical power.  Take, for example, the fact that I cry every time I step into the center of the mat to spar.  But I thought I could get over it eventually.  Instead of embracing the demonstration of power that the forms are supposed to be, I've been turning them into my comfort zone of a more lyrical expression of movement.  And that is not what karate is all about.  So maybe I'm better off finding a dance class.

One of the reasons that I was so sad last night when I got home is because I can't imagine going back to class and finding any joy.  My favorite part of class has always been the forms.  And now that I know that I am so bad and the attention of movement that I have is all wrong I can't see how I go back to blissful ignorance.  Right now I don't feel like going back to class.  So I feel like I've lost a community of people that I have enjoyed. 

I have enough failure in my life -- my sputtering meditation practice, trouble keeping a clean house, body that is still way overweight, carving out any quality time to be with my hubby, meal planning -- I don't need to add karate student to the list.  I'm not sure that I'm ready to go back for weekly reminders on how bad I really am.

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Karate Tournament

So today was the annual regional karate tournament.  Last year Selim participated as a pee-wee and received a medal by virtue of participating.  This year was different; he had to earn it through competition.  He was nervous about that, and I was a bit apprehensive on his behalf.  He would be going up against other 8-9 year old kids, in his rank and that of the rank above.  Since he just turned 8 this week, he was at a bit of a disadvantage.

Since both of us were competing (more on my day later), we talked about the importance of giving our best effort.  He told me that I should visualize I'm kicking boards that have already been broken so all I would be doing was knocking them down from between the cinder blocks.  I reminded him that he should think about kicking the chest of the person holding the board -- don't stop at the board when his foot made contact, but to kick through it.  We gave each other pep talks and off we went.


The morning started off with the Black Belt competition.  That was fun to watch.  They did forms, weapons, sparring and breaking.  It was quite the impressive group.







When they completed, the rest of the ranks had our opening ceremony.  The Grandmaster of the Atlantic-Pacific Tang Soo Do Federation, Kwan Jang Nim, John St. James presided.  He gave us reminders that today was about victory, not necessarily in the conventional sense.  But it was a personal victory -- to train, have the courage to compete and try our best, as that brought us to that moment.



Once that was over, we were broken up into age and rank groupings.  Selim started in a group of students nine years and younger, both beginning and intermediate ranks.  However, even though they were sitting in the same area, they started with the beginning ranks and he sat patiently and watched them.  After the white, yellow, and orange belts competed in forms, sparring and breaking, it was time for Selim's group.  There were six of them in all.  He would not be guaranteed a medal because they gave out gold, silver, bronze and a co-bronze. 
For forms, Selim performed Pyung Ahn Cho Dan.  He did pretty well, although half way through he had a moment when he couldn't remember what came next.  But he worked his way through and finished.  Then came sparring.  The big thrill was getting a mouth guard.  Once he learned others were wearing them, he wanted one too and was eager to spar.  Point sparring is different than a self-defense kind of thing.  The point target area is the chest, below the neck and above the belt.  No head, groin, face or back contact.  His first opponent kept his hands and forearms covering his chest completely and didn't move them.  When Selim tried to kick or punch, the other kid kept his target area covered.  I don't know how many points Selim got.  He made some great kicks.  But he was able to move onto the next round where the match was close.  Selim got in two points and got beat by one.  But it was a much better match.  For his break, he did a front kick.  He broke the board on the second try.









In the end, he received two bronze medals.  He was happy for getting medals, but a bit disappointed because he wanted a gold.  I was relieved that he won a medal at all because his competition was older and many at a higher rank.  All in all, it was a successful first competition as a non pee-wee for him.



Warning, pity-party ahead.  I had a different experience.  I'm not certain that I can articulate why mine was so bad.  I think it started when I realized that the beginning men and women would be competing in the same group, which I was not expecting.  I had been led to believe that the women would be in one group and the men in the other.  It shouldn't have psyched me out, but it got into my head.  And then there is the power issue.  I have not concentrated on power when I have done forms.  I think about my spacial awareness of starting and stopping in the same place; trying not to stomp by landing as softly as I can; and the flow of moves together.  I wish that somebody had told me that power is the only thing.  What brings me joy in doing forms isn't important at all because those things are only a side bar to power.  
There were seven of us, three women and four men.  I watched the people before me.  I could hear the swish of their uniforms as they performed with power.  I could also hear the stomp stomping of their feet.  I noticed that they  started their forms in one place and finished over a foot away in a different section of the mat.  They are getting scores ranging from 8.3 to 8.9.  I go up and do my thing.  I know all my moves; I don't get mixed up; I start and stop in the exact same place.  I get 7.9, 7.8 and then I stopped listening.  I wasn't even in the same universe and my competitors.  Why didn't somebody clue me in before I signed up to participate in the tournament that I have been doing forms with the wrong attention?  That I suck.  And that I have no place on the same mat as every body else?


I had some time to regroup before breaking since I was not competing in sparring.  Although if I had been willing to be humiliated there, at least I would have won a medal because only three women competed, the other two from my group plus a woman from the another section that they had to bring in to make three.  Oh well.


Then came time for breaking.  I was up first.  I did an ax kick through three boards.  It was the most boards I've broken with one kick, so I do have some satisfaction from that.  My scores were OK.  But they were not good enough for a medal.  The other competitors did multiple breaks that were phenomenal.  In the end, I was in the back with the two people who didn't break all their boards.  I'm not saying that I deserved a medal because I didn't.  The other breaks were awesome.  But I did feel at a disadvantage going against four guys.  Had I been competing against just other women, I think I would have stood a chance at a medal.


And really, the medal thing isn't what is bothering me so much.  I knew going in that I might not get one.  My ego can take watching other people perform better.  But it is the lingering feeling that I'm not even practicing the same martial art as everybody else that is so disconcerting.  It makes me wonder what rock I've been practicing under this past year?  Why haven't I noticed that I'm that bad?  I must be delusional.


I'm still fighting tears.  My face is hot, my eyes sting and I've got a raging headache.  I decided to skip the post tournament dinner at Newicks.  I couldn't imagine there and being cheerful.  I guess I will mope for a bit more and then get over it.  If I'm still doing karate next year I will know better than to sign up for this experience again.  No thank you.  Once is more than enough.
 

Thursday, October 18, 2012

I can't sleep

I can't sleep.  I woke up around 1:00 having a hot flash or something akin to it.  Since the house is quiet, my mind is filling the gap with noise and I can't turn it off.  I've been thinking about Libya, Tunis, politics and how people discover their moral outrage during the election process.

On Tuesday evening I ate my dinner in the break room, watching soccer -- men's USA versus Guatemala in World Cup Qualifying.  The singing of our National Anthem was wild as the crowd seemed to be singing louder than the person with the microphone and they weren't all in sync.  But then everybody got to the line "Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there" and I started to cry.  There is power and symbolism to our flag.  A few days ago, a woman who blogs under the title Four Globetrotters wrote this about the attack on our Embassy in Tunis, followed by another piece on the clean up.  The picture of the flag on the Embassy building after the attack that is the heading photo on her blog.  What it took for it to get there, will stay with me for a long time. 

I've been trying not to get sucked into the false debate over Libya.  The question has been posed, "But did they have to die?"  What kind of question is that?  The conditions that our Ambassador and others faced at the time of their deaths must have been horrific.  I can't imagine the terror. What do you want me to say?  If you are looking at me to start bashing my Department's big boss or the President over this, I am not going to.  Am I angry that we have lost four of our own over there, yes!

In this time of budget slashing and a general disdain for those who work for the government, a better question is how are we going to make sure that the Americans serving our nation abroad have the resources -- monetary, intelligence, security -- they need so that this doesn't happen again.  How can we turn this indignation into tangible resource allocation to help prevent another attack?  Please don't act as though there has never been any confusion before in the aftermath of a terrorist attack.   We will get to the bottom of what happened in Libya.  We are living in the age of information; nothing stays buried for long.

Unequal political grandstanding does not sit well with me.  Don't come at me with brimming moral outrage over these deaths yet not over the thousands of men and women who have died in Iraq and Afghanistan.  Should I counter with a question of my own -- Did the thousands of soldiers have to die?  What about the Veterans who have come home missing limbs or with brain damage...did that have to happen?  Do they deserve the lasting physical and psychological trauma?  Do the phrases "mission accomplished" and "weapons of mass destruction" ring any bells?  I feel that historical perspective is lacking in this current uproar.

It is so hard to stay on an even keel.  A few weeks ago when I went to Satsang, the reading Kent chose were what I needed.  As I work myself up into a tizzy during this election season, I can't lose sight of the fact that my criticisms of others in the end, only hurts my spiritual growth.  None of us know when our end time is near.  We don't know when our allotment of breaths for this life will run out.  The promise of a next breath is not a given.  While I am still alive in this body, I need to pay more attention to -- my own rhetoric, my attitude towards those who disagree with me, treating others with respect and dignity since they are also children of God, and how my actions are the examples that Selim will mirror. 

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

8 years old

My Dearest Selim,

Happy Birthday!  Around 1:30 pm eight years ago, you came into this world.  You have come such a long way from your 2 lb 2 oz beginning to your strapping size now. 

The morning started off right when cousin Joshua and Aunt Heather called and sang to you before you left for school.  As we were walking to the school bus, I warned you that I would be taking lots of pictures of you today.  At first you resisted, but then relented and accepted your fate.  While we waited, we tried to blow big breath clouds.






And then I asked you to smile for me.





I had to run back to the house to take off the zoom lens and put on the regular one so that I could take a picture of the two of us.  Because, you know, I need more of you and me, even if I did have woodjie hair.




When you were at school, I got to working on the house.  With Dede John and Grammy Valerie coming, some attention was needed.  I picked up a lot of Legos off the floor.  I unearthed the kitchen table; scrubbed off ancient ice cream spills off the coffee table; sorted toys; and vacuumed.  I baked a chocolate cake and made frosting with mascarpone cheese as the base. Yum.  I started another batch of bread.  I napped for a few minutes.

Right before you came home, the presents were wrapped and on the table.  Mimi and Patches were on the day bed, ready to hand you a small gift.  The cake was frosted and the candles were ready to be lit.  Nan and Dad were home and ready to greet you when you bounded off the bus.  You were uber excited.  It had already been a great day -- you brought in something to share; you had art class and you were anticipating more fun.






You scored -- new shirts, jammies, shark hat and gloves; Legos, books, puzzle, art supplies and a DS game.  It was quite the haul. 








I am so lucky to be your mom.  You are so full of life, joyful, happy, resourceful, and sparkly.  I love you with all my heart, my lovey lamb.

Love,
Mom