tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60010306405038796202024-03-13T04:44:09.937-07:00mama, reduxone kid in college, one kid in high school and one toddlergaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-69480815148802119922014-05-03T10:00:00.003-07:002014-05-03T10:00:31.148-07:00Mama, Redux, RedefinedIt has become clear to me that I am not cut out to be a blogger. My journey as a mother continues on, of course, rich and wild and challenging and sweet, but this has not been the venue for me to explore it. Please follow/friend me on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/gaylebrandeis">Facebook</a> for the latest updates on my writing, my family, my life. And here are a few of the many essays I've published about my Mama, Redux experience since the last time I posted here:<br />
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<a href="http://therumpus.net/2012/05/get-me-away-from-here-im-dying/">Get Me Away from Here, I'm Dying</a><br />
<a href="http://therumpus.net/2012/09/where-i-write-23-the-house-my-mother-built/">Where I Write: The House My Mother Built</a><br />
<a href="http://www.kveller.com/blog/parenting/my-kids-will-move-on-but-ill-always-have-this-tattoo/">When Mom Gets a Tattoo</a><br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1075631095"></span><span id="goog_1075631096"></span><a href="http://fullgrownpeople.com/2014/05/01/seafoam-salad/">Seafoam Salad</a><br />
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Thank you so much for being part of my journey.<br />
<br />
<br />gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-20503159680762634982011-11-24T00:15:00.000-08:002011-11-24T00:24:46.516-08:00Happy 2nd Birthday, Asher!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D3fWNXAts2A/Ts39gdKLJaI/AAAAAAAAAoc/8mOHpoK_IGY/s1600/asher%2Bbirthday%2Btrain.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D3fWNXAts2A/Ts39gdKLJaI/AAAAAAAAAoc/8mOHpoK_IGY/s200/asher%2Bbirthday%2Btrain.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678473439209006498" /></a>I'm a couple of days late--his birthday is actually on the 22nd--but I wanted to publicly wish my sweet boy a happy 2nd birthday (this blog appears to be turning into nothing but a series of birthday posts, doesn't it? Will try to post something non-birthday related soon!)<br /><br />Asher--lover of trains and cuckoo clocks and rocket ships and bed time stories and ice cream and blueberries and spinning and jumping and the letter T and Mama's milk and exploring the world--may you find the same kind of joy in your life as you have given us these past two years. We are so grateful for the wonder you bring to our lives every day.gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-84593609619589100272011-10-11T14:22:00.000-07:002011-10-11T14:32:48.533-07:00Happy Birthday, Papa!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IXHKJpi9sSk/TpS16ThCPlI/AAAAAAAAAlA/8Uc880Behi0/s1600/papa%2Basher%2Bchair.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IXHKJpi9sSk/TpS16ThCPlI/AAAAAAAAAlA/8Uc880Behi0/s200/papa%2Basher%2Bchair.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662350644787428946" /></a>Happy birthday to the bravest, funniest, kindest, most thoroughly amazing 92 year old I know. I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am to be your daughter. Thank you for all you have taught me and continue to teach me about language and life and love.gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-22114728964572440032011-10-05T11:39:00.000-07:002011-10-05T11:47:37.693-07:00Happy 21st Birthday, Arin!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://hphotos-sjc1.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc6/216014_2007991724540_1386117557_32369281_3243664_n.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 483px; height: 720px;" src="http://hphotos-sjc1.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc6/216014_2007991724540_1386117557_32369281_3243664_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Lifting a bottle of (ginger) beer to celebrate the first day my firstborn can order a real beer. Thank you, Arin, for initiating me into motherhood with the sweetness, intelligence, humor and zest for life that's been with you from the very beginning. I am so proud of you, so filled with love for you, so lucky to be your mom.gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-9644448347153465362011-09-22T00:32:00.001-07:002011-09-22T00:54:45.113-07:00cuckooAsher's second love--after trains (he is utterly smitten with anything choo choo related)--is clocks. Cuckoo clocks in particular. Any time he sees a clock of any sort, he shouts "Clock!" with glee. Only he doesn't say the "L", so this can come out sounding a bit funny. He will often yell "Big c(l)ock!" if he sees a large timepiece, or "Dada c(l)ock!" whenever he looks at Michael's watch. Being the loving little guy that he is, he will sometimes blow kisses to clocks, and then loudly say "Blow c(l)ock!" or "Kiss c(l)ock!" Needless to say, some funny looks have been thrown our way.<br /><br />Michael has been working with him on saying the "L" sound in clock (which Asher says with ease in other words, like "yellow" and "blue"). "Cuh-LLock" he coaches, and Asher will gamely say "cwock" in return. After yet another round of Asher crowing about "c(l)ocks" out in public, Michael told him "When you say clock that way, it means penis." Asher cracked us up by putting his hand on his head and saying "Oh my!" with adorable alarm. He has tried since then to insert the L sound into the word more often (and when he doesn't, he'll sometimes say "Cock--Penis!" with equal enthusiasm.)<br /><br />Life with a toddler is wonderfully cuckoo. I'll try to do a better job of updating this blog than I have (although I can't promise anything, given the aforementioned cuckoo nature of our lives.)<br /><br />I've also been wanting to thank everyone who has emailed to inquire about Michael's health. The double vision has not returned, thank goodness, although he has had some other occasionally troubling issues of a neurological nature. No diagnosis at this point, other than possible atypical migraines (which would be much better than something degenerative). He is having another MRI this Friday--please send good thoughts to his brain if you have a chance, and I'll try to keep you posted as we learn more.<br /><br />Have a beautiful autumn!gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-3703444577926261902011-06-01T18:14:00.000-07:002011-06-01T18:24:19.322-07:00Happy birthday, MomToday would have been my mom's 72nd birthday. When I put together this little video for her 70th, I never imagined it would be her last--I'm glad we made that final birthday special for her (my sister assembled a gorgeous photo album of our mom's early years and my dad took us on a beautiful harbor cruise for brunch.) There are so many things I wish I had done differently with and for my mom, but her last birthday was thankfully not one of them.<br /><br />I love you, Mom. I'm so grateful you were born.<br /><object style="height: 390px; width: 640px"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/aTIWyHORofQ?version=3"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/aTIWyHORofQ?version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="640" height="390"></object>gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-85570890234991653352011-02-27T00:38:00.001-08:002011-03-02T10:48:59.014-08:00head cases<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IVNQ-MaNTss/TW6QJbhle6I/AAAAAAAAAZM/-r0ujmp8Hzc/s1600/Barack-Barack-Obama-Obama--35521.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 152px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IVNQ-MaNTss/TW6QJbhle6I/AAAAAAAAAZM/-r0ujmp8Hzc/s200/Barack-Barack-Obama-Obama--35521.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579555480040471458" /></a><br />As we sat in the neurologist's office on Friday, Michael turned to me and laughed. "All three of us have something wrong with our heads," he said. <br /><br />Asher's head is healing nicely, but there is still a long red semi colon stretching down his forehead. My own forehead is covered with shingles. And Michael's MRI shows three white spots on his brain, spots of demylenation that could indicate multiple sclerosis, and explain the double vision he's been troubled by most of the week.<br /><br />"We're head cases," I smiled back, forcing myself to breathe through the fear building in my chest.<br /><br />It's so wild how quickly life can change, how terms like <span style="font-style:italic;">MS</span> can suddenly become part of one's daily vocabulary. When 2011 began, I said that I was hoping for a nice boring year. Uneventful. No major life changes. Life, however, has its own plans.<br /><br />Just last week, I was worried about my own vision. One of my eyes was swollen shut from the shingles, lesions dotting my puffy eyelid. My doctor sent me to an opthamologist to make sure that the virus hadn't entered my eye (thankfully it hadn't.) Michael started seeing double a few days later; at first, he chalked it up to fatigue, but it started to get worse, even after a good night's sleep. Double vision has a name that's fun to say--"diplopia"--but the experience, while trippy, is not what he'd describe as fun. He found a picture online that he says captures the diplopian feeling--just looking at it made me dizzy--but after I posted it here, the site took it down and asked people not to link to it. I found the double Obama image above to replace it; it doesn't quite capture the same vertigo, but it's close.<br /><br />Michael still has a bunch of tests to do, so a diagnosis has not been confirmed yet. Hopefully the double vision will fade away as quickly as it came (just as my shingles are fading away, though not as quickly as I'd like. People still look at me in alarm when I'm out in public. It's been quite interesting to witness the changing landscape of my face--another reminder of how there is so much beyond our control, so many forces at play within our skin.) Whatever the future may hold, I trust we'll get through it with love and laughter and the support of family and friends. Despite all the marks on and in our noggins, we are not truly head cases, not by a long shot. If the last couple of years have taught us anything, it's that we are more resilient than we ever could have guessed, even if sometimes we're a bit shaky on our feet. And all we can do is continue to walk forward, dance forward, together into the unknown.gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-51997407484345877642011-01-17T23:04:00.000-08:002011-01-18T00:26:26.423-08:00falling<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TTU7xz7VP5I/AAAAAAAAAZA/oW6ZGA0kogc/s1600/head%2Bowie.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TTU7xz7VP5I/AAAAAAAAAZA/oW6ZGA0kogc/s200/head%2Bowie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563418641624809362" /></a>Asher had his first serious run-in with gravity today. <br /><br />We were at an open house for <a href=http://www.growcology.com/>Growcology</a>, a local gardening/arts/sustainability organization. It was a beautiful afternoon--I was feeling inspired as I sat in the barn, listening to speakers talk about ways they want to bring art and music and nature and community together, watching Asher play joyfully with other kids as Michael and our dear friends supervised. At some point, Asher ran down a gently sloped ramp and tumbled at the bottom. It didn't seem like too bad of a fall at first, but when we picked him up, blood was streaming down his face. There was a large gash on his forehead, but it was hard to see it clearly through the bleeding. With our friend Nancy in tow for extra support, we headed off to get it looked at.<br /><br />The first Urgent Care we visited didn't accept pediatric patients until 5:30; it was about 4:20. We called our family doctor to see if the office could work Asher in before the day was over; they were booked solid, but they told us our doctor would be attending at the Urgent Care we normally use, which opens at 5, so we headed over there. Before our doctor arrived, though, a nurse took a closer look at Asher's head and said they wouldn't be able to do stitches on a baby there because they didn't have a "papoose board" to hold him down; she suggested we go to the ER. Thankfully at this point, the bleeding had pretty much stopped and Asher was acting like his normal happy self again, but the gash was pretty wide at the bottom, and we knew it required attention, so off to the ER we went.<br /><br />I have never seen an ER so packed before. I have been pretty germ-phobic since Asher's birth, and bringing him with an open wound into a room full of germy people was quite unsettling, to say the least. Michael and I took turns staying outside with Asher while the other waited inside with all of the coughing, seeping Day of the Dead extras. When Asher's name was finally called, only one of us was allowed to go back with him, and because I have built-in food and comfort as a nursing mama, that one was me. We were ushered through the swinging doors to yet another waiting area made out of a tiny exam room, packed with other "Fast Track" patients with various maladies. One fellow, who was there with tingling legs, kept leaving the area and coming back with food he swiped from the "Patients' Fridge", magnanimously handing out string cheese and graham crackers to the other patients in the room. "I'm going to call you the Cafeteria Bandit," said one woman, there to see if her pneumonia had returned, as she gratefully unwrapped her string cheese. It was dinner time at this point, and most people had been waiting for hours. Asher kept tugging at the white ID bracelet they had wrapped around his ankle, but for the most part, as long as I kept singing to him and nursing him, he was doing amazingly well. <br /><br />We were eventually shuttled to our own exam room, where he freaked out a bit as they cleaned his wound; Michael was allowed to join us just in time to hold Asher down--no papoose board needed, after all!--as they glued and taped his head back together. The doctor said that glue would make for less scarring than stitches. It will be interesting to see how this fall leaves its mark on our boy's sweet skin.<br /><br />In the car on the way home, I thought Asher would fall asleep immediately, but he was wide awake and smiling, even hiccuping, which has always been a sign that he's having a good time. He weathered the whole incident with his usual good-naturedness; such a champ. He went to sleep after a bath and some playtime, and now we're supposed to wake him every two hours, just to make sure he's responsive, but the doctor wasn't really concerned about any real head injuries. It's just a precautionary measure, one I'm glad to take. <br /><br />I did not handle the whole episode nearly as well as Asher. Nancy had to keep reminding me to breathe as we went on our help-finding odyssey. I sort of shut down at first--Michael had to keep telling me to put pressure on Asher's wound because I would kind of glaze over and let go of the tissue. Of course I am greatly relieved now--it all could have been so much worse. I honestly don't know how parents handle more serious situations. I have been watching with awe and an aching heart as <a href=http://ourlittleseal.wordpress.com/>Emily Rapp deals with her baby son's recent Tay-Sachs diagnosis</a>, writing with such courage and honesty and passion, it takes my breath away. I can't even begin to imagine what she's going through--this scrape nearly did me in. I can only hope I have enough mama courage inside of me to draw upon whenever I need it. And in the meanwhile, I want to keep remembering to enjoy every moment I can with my amazing little guy, with all of those I love--we never know when one of us is going to fall.gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-17062131004765685822011-01-01T14:31:00.001-08:002011-01-01T14:36:44.757-08:00Happy New Year!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TR-rR6Z2SXI/AAAAAAAAAYg/R7Iqykyegi0/s1600/baby%2Bnew%2Byear2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 144px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TR-rR6Z2SXI/AAAAAAAAAYg/R7Iqykyegi0/s200/baby%2Bnew%2Byear2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557348789422279026" /></a>May this be a year of peace, health, joy, love, connection and creative fulfillment for us all!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TR-rWiA4QuI/AAAAAAAAAYo/nqXL5W-7NYw/s1600/baby%2Bnew%2Byear.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 128px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TR-rWiA4QuI/AAAAAAAAAYo/nqXL5W-7NYw/s200/baby%2Bnew%2Byear.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557348868774445794" /></a>Thank you (and happy birthday!) to soul-sister Nancy for surprising us with Baby New Year photos of Asher. :)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TR-rcT6szzI/AAAAAAAAAYw/xmmdEFVuHeY/s1600/baby%2Bnew%2Byear3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 141px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TR-rcT6szzI/AAAAAAAAAYw/xmmdEFVuHeY/s200/baby%2Bnew%2Byear3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557348968069648178" /></a>gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-62484784230827052762010-12-27T23:05:00.001-08:002010-12-27T23:08:12.439-08:00Happy 17th Birthday, Hannah!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TRmMc_k7FqI/AAAAAAAAAYU/NKqzNPPj6Ho/s1600/hannah%2Basher%2Bme.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 188px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TRmMc_k7FqI/AAAAAAAAAYU/NKqzNPPj6Ho/s200/hannah%2Basher%2Bme.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555626045068744354" /></a>I love you so much, my beautiful, brilliant, hilarious daughter. May your last year as a minor be full of major creative adventure.gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-54739093656138125242010-11-29T09:42:00.001-08:002010-11-29T09:49:36.000-08:00YahrzeitThank you to my amazing sister Elizabeth for creating a <a href=http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/chicagotribune/obituary.aspx?n=arlene-baylen-brandeis&pid=146852290>public memorial</a> to mark the one year anniversary of our mother's death. So much to reflect upon, to feel, today.gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-51247857265901419912010-11-24T18:48:00.000-08:002010-11-24T19:16:49.210-08:00The piano<object style="height: 390px; width: 640px"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BvBxlUGQORc?version=3"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BvBxlUGQORc?version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="640" height="390"></object>Last year, the house we rented in Redlands came with a piano. We were excited--Hannah had been wanting to learn to play, and we had been shopping for an affordable piano to no avail, so it was great to find a house with one already set up.<br /><br />Around the time we last saw my mom alive--one year ago tonight--Hannah had been teaching herself to play <a href=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fe4EK4HSPkI>"Kids" by MGMT</a>. After my mom's death, I couldn't get the song out of my head--there are lines about "making mama so proud" that would bring me to tears, lines about a baby being born that would also move me deeply. The chords of that song reached right into my own heart and plucked some string that reverberated through my whole body.<br /><br />This summer, I belly danced at the Orange County Fair. My troupe had performed there last year, and my mom had been in the audience--there are photos of her on Facebook still, clapping and looking so happy. While I was backstage this year, "Kids" came on over the loud speakers and I started to cry. My friend Nancy asked what was wrong, and I told her how that song felt so connected to my mom, how I wished she could be in the audience again. "She's here with you now," Nancy said. "She's showing you through the song." After we performed and were walking around the fair, a live band started to play that song; Nancy and I looked at each other, and I so wanted to believe that it meant my mom was there with us as we ate our corn on the cob, drank our fresh lemonade. Later in the summer, when we were shopping in Barcelona, the song came on over the sound system, and I started to cry again. My mom had so wanted to take the whole family to Spain, to explore the roots she had uncovered there. I like to think that this was her way of joining us.<br /><br />About a month ago, I got a call from my former landlord, asking if we were interested in buying their piano. When we had given our notice, I had asked if they'd consider selling it, but they weren't ready to part with it at the time (it had belonged to the landlord's mother). Now that their own baby was due, they were ready to let the piano go. I wasn't sure at first--Hannah has a piano at her dad's house, where she spends most of her time now, and I didn't know if it would really get played here--but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted that piano. It felt connected to my mom, to the song, to the last night I saw her, to the way she keeps visiting me now. If I was going to have any piano in the house, I wanted it to be that one.<br /><br />So now we have a beautiful Baldwin Acrosonic piano in our home, and Asher loves playing it (as you can see above). I love the way the sound rings through the house--big and rich, reverberating through my heart strings. It sounds like pain. It sounds like love.gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-68129490021621367912010-11-22T21:11:00.000-08:002010-11-22T21:33:36.110-08:00Happy 1st Birthday, Asher!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TOtNbEdGf3I/AAAAAAAAAYI/BLievnZkaIc/s1600/asher%2Bpapa%2Bbday%2Bcake.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TOtNbEdGf3I/AAAAAAAAAYI/BLievnZkaIc/s200/asher%2Bpapa%2Bbday%2Bcake.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542608893857136498" /></a>One year ago exactly, I was one hour away from giving birth to my beautiful baby Asher. How has it already been a year? How has it only been a year? Haven't I known Asher forever? Time is such a strange thing. Especially in a year like this, the most epic, transformative one of my life.<br /><br />I love this picture of Asher with my dad over Asher's birthday cake--they've had such a special connection from the very beginning, and this photo captures it beautifully. As Thanksgiving approaches, I can't help but remember last year's holiday; Asher was about 90 hours old, and my dad was 90 years old. The three of us took a nap together, me between them--I have never felt myself to be "middle aged" more powerfully or sweetly than that moment, sandwiched perfectly between someone so new and someone who has seen almost a century of life. Asher's newness has brought the whole family a healing freshness that has helped us weather our season of loss.<br /><br />Asher, I'm so grateful for your sweetness, your curiosity, your knowing, your humor, your pure, simple, profound love. Thank you for bringing us joy, so much light, when we've most needed it. I love how you've always loved light, from the time you were a newborn and would stare and stare at the light framed in the high bedroom window; I love how "light" is one of your first words now--you radiate it, my sweetie boy. Happy, happy birthday--I can't wait to watch you continue to grow, to learn, to shine.gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-82831568339879612262010-10-22T20:26:00.000-07:002010-10-22T21:38:38.109-07:00"It sucks"I have been so moved by and grateful for the <a href=http://www.youtube.com/user/itgetsbetterproject>"It Gets Better" campaign</a> started by Dan Savage and his husband, Terry Miller. I hope it will give countless LGBT young people the strength to get through profoundly difficult times. I wore purple on Wednesday to memorialize the young men who have recently killed themselves and support the end of anti-gay bullying; I wear a lot of purple anyway, but on that day--which was also Michael's birthday (interesting that three of the most important guys in my life have October birthdays! Happy birthday, sweetie!)--it felt especially meaningful. I was purple as Violet Beauregarde, all the way down to my skivvies. I felt as if I was wearing it to memorialize my mom, as well as the young men. I felt as if I was wearing it for everyone whose lives have been touched by suicide.<br /><br />I wore purple again today--it didn't have any significance when I first got dressed, but now it feels appropriate. I found out today that a friend's father killed himself last night; earlier in the week, I learned a friend from college took his own life. My heart is aching for the families of both men, for the shock and grief and complicated emotions they are suddenly forced to face. I wish I could tell them it gets better--because it does, but then it gets worse again, and back and forth, and nothing is ever quite the same. Maybe a campaign for those who have lost loved ones to suicide could be called something like "It sucks". I think it's important to acknowledge how much it sucks, because it's not spoken about enough. It sucks big time. But you'll get through it. And you'll learn, and you'll grow even though you'll fall apart from time to time. And there will be people to support you, whether they're wearing purple or not. That's one of the biggest gifts I've received through the chaos of my mom's death--the support that's come from sometimes unexpected places. I hope that's what those touched by these recent suicides will find--steady arms to help guide them across newly unstable ground. I am reaching mine out now.gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-41974888909503501002010-10-16T22:42:00.000-07:002010-10-16T23:19:09.350-07:00belly dance<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TLqPlDDrIQI/AAAAAAAAAX4/tEiPFWcioAg/s1600/dancing+with+george.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TLqPlDDrIQI/AAAAAAAAAX4/tEiPFWcioAg/s200/dancing+with+george.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528889359189352706" /></a>Belly dance is my salvation these days, my creative outlet, my connection to the world. Because of life with a baby, I haven't had as much time to write as I would like (or email--if I owe you an email, please know I'm not ignoring you--I'm just woefully behind.) Somehow, though, I seem to be able to find time to dance.<br /><br />Until 2008, the last time I had performed as a belly dancer was when I was six months pregnant with Hannah, seventeen years ago. Then, shortly after I separated from my first husband, my incredible friend Nancy invited me to dance with her troupe. It was such a generous gesture--dance was a way for me to work through all the confusion and grief of that time, and find my way back into my body. Belly dance continues to be such a lifeline for me; the women I dance with are, too. <br /><br />One of my most powerful dance experiences was last weekend, when Nancy and I performed a "pre-funeral party" for the father of a friend; George knows that he is dying, and wanted to host a celebration of his life, surrounded by his many friends and loved ones. It was such a beautiful event to begin with, and the best audience I have ever performed for--I have never felt so much love and joy radiate from a crowd before. At some point, George joined the dance (you can see him above in his motorized scooter festooned with a smiley face balloon); later we invited others to join us, as well, and most people were shy, but below you can see the young man with Downs syndrome who grabbed my hands and led us into some wonderfully spirited twirling.<br /><br />Nancy had been encouraging me to choose a dance name (hers is Saahira; our troupe is Saahira's Gypsy Soul). I had originally decided upon Ghaliya, which I liked because of its similarity to Gayle, but then I learned that it is also a type of lamb stew, and it didn't suddenly didn't seem as appealing. I ended up choosing Nasheeta, "full of life", the night before we performed for George. I have to say that most of the time I don't feel so lively--I am exhausted and overwhelmed a fair amount of each day--but when I dance, the energy kicks in, and my heart opens up and I feel fully alive, so in that way, the name seemed like a good fit--certainly something to aspire to.<br /><br />At George's celebration, his daughter came up to us and told us that her dad had wanted the party to be about life and she was so grateful for how much life we brought to the event. It made the name I chose feel all the more meaningful. <br /><br />Lately, a snippet from a poem by Wyatt Townley has been running through my head--"We are here so briefly, weather/with bones". Why not take that brief time, this transient weather, and dance?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TLqPbGYgGtI/AAAAAAAAAXw/OWg-3RW8cgA/s1600/dancing+for+george.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TLqPbGYgGtI/AAAAAAAAAXw/OWg-3RW8cgA/s200/dancing+for+george.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528889188283325138" /></a>gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-18882718410495034462010-10-11T00:02:00.000-07:002010-10-11T00:15:25.614-07:00Happy 91st birthday, Papa!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TLK3Gu3TWvI/AAAAAAAAAXg/95ZaUJI4H44/s1600/dad+salad2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 188px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TLK3Gu3TWvI/AAAAAAAAAXg/95ZaUJI4H44/s200/dad+salad2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526681019024104178" /></a>Happy birthday to the most amazing 91 year old I know (it's wild that the picture above--one of my favorites--was taken 41 years ago!) I don't know how I got so lucky to be your daughter. Thank you for teaching me kindness, teaching me playfulness, teaching me goodness (not to mention the proper way to toss a salad) :). I am humbled and inspired by your example, and love you with all my heart.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TLK30DUFoqI/AAAAAAAAAXo/0tO0iH8QdZU/s1600/papa+sphinx.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TLK30DUFoqI/AAAAAAAAAXo/0tO0iH8QdZU/s200/papa+sphinx.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526681797607662242" /></a>p.s. Your harem sends their love, too. We are all so glad you were able to come watch us dance on Saturday!gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-7055948216223855082010-10-05T12:02:00.000-07:002010-10-05T22:29:22.489-07:00Happy 20th birthday, Arin!I can barely believe it's been 20 years since I first became a mama. Happy birthday to my amazing son, Arin. May you always be as exuberant as you are in this video (thanks to your beautiful girlfriend Prany for putting it together). I love your zest for life, your kindness, your all around wonderfulosity. Thank you for being who you are--I love watching you soar.<object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1Qp8o6DMGoc?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1Qp8o6DMGoc?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object>gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-40537320815849018852010-09-14T16:38:00.000-07:002010-09-15T15:01:20.867-07:00laying Jette to rest<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TJE99WBquZI/AAAAAAAAAXA/amYF9POIxuQ/s1600/jette+flowers.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TJE99WBquZI/AAAAAAAAAXA/amYF9POIxuQ/s200/jette+flowers.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517259142599457170" /></a><br />The real reason for our trip, of course, was to lay Michael's mom's ashes to rest. I can honestly say that I have never experienced a burial as a "laying to rest" before now; when I have seen coffins go into the ground, I've always felt a sense of panic and claustrophobia that had nothing to do with rest. When we scattered my mom's ashes in the harbor, they bloomed and billowed under water, full of motion; I can't think of them resting, per se, because they're part of something so dynamic and grand. But Jette feels at rest, at home, now.<br /><br />I have never seen such a beautiful cemetery--it felt more like a garden than a graveyard, so green and lush, each family's plot surrounded by its own little row of hedges. Michael tells me that when he visited Denmark as a child, his mother would always take them to the cemetery to visit the family plot; his great grandfather had been the mayor of Struer and has an impressive headstone (which you can see below). The small hole waiting for Jette's urn was surrounded by coral colored roses and sunflowers; it looked festive and inviting, more welcoming than any grave I've ever seen. While there was a heart-aching finality to the burial, there was also a sense of homecoming, of her being where she wanted to be, where she belonged.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TJE-QgAhvZI/AAAAAAAAAXI/5twVYM1uXI8/s1600/grandfather+stone.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TJE-QgAhvZI/AAAAAAAAAXI/5twVYM1uXI8/s200/grandfather+stone.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517259471696543122" /></a><br />Earlier in the trip, we stopped at the amazing Roskilde Cathedral, which was originally built in the 12th century and has been the main burial site for Danish royalty since the 15th century. One of the more contemporary tombs incorporated three sculptures that so perfectly captured the experience of grief, I was brought to tears (you can see one of them behind Michael and Asher.) <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TJFAxCxZukI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/KGAmKraN1WE/s1600/cathedral+grief.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TJFAxCxZukI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/KGAmKraN1WE/s200/cathedral+grief.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517262229807413826" /></a>I was also brought to tears, for other reasons, in the Sagrada Familia cathedral in Barcelona, but I'll write about that and more of our trip in another post. If there was a statue above Jette's gravesite, though, it wouldn't look like this. Michael and I have talked about maybe putting a small stone sculpture of a bird on or near her grandfather's stone to represent Jette, something peaceful, something that looks like it's home.gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-82033642765886479012010-09-12T23:23:00.000-07:002010-09-13T00:40:40.696-07:00Our journey<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TI3Ur3OXW3I/AAAAAAAAAW4/7NUF1Qw5nr8/s1600/little+bear+labyrinth+land.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TI3Ur3OXW3I/AAAAAAAAAW4/7NUF1Qw5nr8/s200/little+bear+labyrinth+land.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516298968622390130" /></a><br />We've been home for about a week and a half now, and already our trip feels like a dream--a dream full of vivid sensory detail that sneaks up on me during the day, nipping at the edges of my thoughts.<br /><br />It was a beautiful trip, as meaningful and enjoyable as I could have hoped (even with the brain-crushing jet lag.) Here are some scattered memories that I'd like to capture before they slip away...<br /><br />--Asher's baptism the day after our arrival. I never imagined I would baptize one of my babies, Jewish heathen that I am, but it is a tradition in Michael's family, and we thought it would be cool to honor that tradition in the same historic Copenhagen church where Michael and other members of his family had been baptized. We approached it in the spirit of family ritual rather than religious significance; thankfully the priest understood that's what we were doing (and knew that I was Jewish) and he didn't get lecture-y and dogmatic about it at all. I couldn't understand the service (which is probably for the best) but Michael tells me he asked the babies if they wanted to get baptized in water or Fanta, so it's clear the guy had a sense of humor, too. :) Hannah's job was to wipe the holy water from Asher's head after the sprinkling; she said that she liked to think of it as wiping away the baptism. I must say I was relieved to hear that the baptism doesn't "stick" unless the person is later confirmed; otherwise, as my sister joked, Asher would get awfully lonely in heaven some day. ;) It was actually a very sweet experience; the priest asked the whole family to put our right hands on Asher's head to bless him after the ceremony, and it was a lovely moment of honoring our sweet boy (who was a champ of a traveler throughout our trip.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TI3TDfsYoKI/AAAAAAAAAWw/CF6nwC6CZQg/s1600/post+baptism.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TI3TDfsYoKI/AAAAAAAAAWw/CF6nwC6CZQg/s200/post+baptism.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516297175599456418" /></a>(here's Asher getting the baptism wiped off) :)<br /><br />--The Danish tradition of eating bread slathered with a thick schmear of butter and a thin slice of Havarti for breakfast. I find myself craving it now, but the butter here is nothing like the butter in Denmark, which was so incredibly rich and creamy. They say the Danes are the happiest people on earth; I have a feeling their cows are the happiest, too (despite the whole California "Happy Cow" campaign. I've seen the packed, depressing cattle yards here; those cows have nothing on the cows that dot the Danish countryside.)<br /><br />--As long as we're talking about food...the pastries. My favorite quickly became the Danish Crown with vanilla cream and thin slices of hazelnut. I tried it in several different bakeries, and do you know where the best one was? The 7-11. Shocking, but true. They had the freshest, yummiest pastries there. Now why don't they carry these at the 7-11 down the street?<br /><br />--And okay, since we're still on the subject of food...the fruit. Sadly, I didn't get to eat as much of it as I would have liked. We passed many amazing looking fruit markets, and I kept telling myself that I wanted to try the spherical little strawberries (I've never seen anything like them) and the tender looking Santa Maria pears, but somehow it was never quite the right time to pick up fruit. Our first meal on the airplane home featured a fruit plate that had one of those little round strawberries, though, and while I'm sure it was not as delicious as the more fresh ones in the market would have been, it was yummy (best airplane food I've had, for sure.) A funny thing about the naming of fruit...in Denmark, oranges are called appelsin, which confused me on menus. Also, pineapples are called ananas--at a buffet (and wow, the Danes create lots of beautiful buffets), there was a pitcher of ananas juice, and I was surprised to learn it was much more acidic than banana juice would have been!<br /><br />--My favorite meal of the trip had to be the dinner we had at Michael's cousin's restaurant, Blue Bird, in the Danish countryside. Klaus had taken all the tables in the small, lovely space and created one giant table down the center of the room, then covered it with candles and a gorgeous feast he had made for all of us and some of Michael's other relatives. I felt as if I had stepped into a gorgeous foreign film as we passed large bowls around and clinked wine glasses and communed.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TI3QyegTVzI/AAAAAAAAAWo/23j4r6XWagk/s1600/blue+bird.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TI3QyegTVzI/AAAAAAAAAWo/23j4r6XWagk/s200/blue+bird.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516294684199311154" /></a><br /><br />Okay, this is getting long, and I'm tired and there's still so much to tell, so this will have to suffice for now. Be on the lookout for a non-food-related (well, at least lesserly-food-related) post about the rest of our trip soon. :)gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-14763513860818004522010-08-19T18:16:00.000-07:002010-08-19T18:28:17.092-07:00MotherlandsTomorrow morning, we leave for Denmark to bring Michael's mom's ashes back to her homeland, and inter her in the family plot. The reason for the trip is sad, but I hope it will be a beautiful, meaningful journey. I am eager to meet Michael's relatives and learn about this part of his history, Asher's history. Hopefully Asher will weather the plane trip, jet lag, etc. with his usual aplomb. Arin and Hannah will be traveling with us, as well (Arin's actually been in Europe since early August, visiting his girlfriend who is studying abroad.)<br /><br />We are also taking a short side trip to Barcelona, which feels like a way of honoring my mom, as well. She loved Barcelona the one time she visited, and had been wanting to take a large family vacation to Spain to explore our Spanish roots (supposedly her father's family emigrated to Russia from Spain with some time in England in between.) I am sorry we'll be there without her, but I know she'd be happy that we're going at all (even though we're not going to live out her fantasy of trying to reclaim the Bailen Castle!)<br /><br />I don't know if I'll have a chance to post while we're away, but hopefully I'll have some stories and photos to share when we return on the 31st. Be well!gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-32687719530532427922010-08-13T22:56:00.000-07:002010-08-13T22:59:35.526-07:00Annie Oakley and Family<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TGYwFZafhBI/AAAAAAAAAWI/MXc85Qy-41Q/s1600/annie+oakley+and+family.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 156px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TGYwFZafhBI/AAAAAAAAAWI/MXc85Qy-41Q/s200/annie+oakley+and+family.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505140463786492946" /></a>When Michael and Asher and I were up in Sacramento a couple of weeks ago to promote Delta Girls, we happened upon an old timey photo place. Since Michael and I first met doing a production of Annie Get Your Gun, we thought it would be fun to do a portrait as if Annie Oakley and Frank Butler had a baby (they never did, although they were spouses for life.) Here is the resulting picture--isn't Asher a natural cowboy? :)gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-15541298981020538752010-07-19T10:51:00.000-07:002010-07-19T11:03:20.363-07:00First Anniversary<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TESRnBfpPbI/AAAAAAAAAVo/4xPFzPeJCrA/s1600/mr+and+mrs+brandeis.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TESRnBfpPbI/AAAAAAAAAVo/4xPFzPeJCrA/s200/mr+and+mrs+brandeis.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495677544900935090" /></a>It's hard to believe it's been one year since our wedding--in some ways, it feels like it just happened last week; in other ways, it feels like a whole lifetime ago. So much has happened in this last year, my head spins just thinking about it.<br /><br />Happy anniversary, my sweet Michael. I look forward to sharing the top of our pear cake tonight (hopefully it will thaw out in time!) and many delicious years to come.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TESSMdG9UhI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5bd2uwxpuUg/s1600/let+them+eat+cake.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TESSMdG9UhI/AAAAAAAAAVw/5bd2uwxpuUg/s200/let+them+eat+cake.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495678187968746002" /></a>gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-89951714292691694452010-07-16T22:34:00.000-07:002010-07-16T22:34:02.113-07:00Shadow Dancers<object style="background-image:url(http://i2.ytimg.com/vi/1Tr3MUUe1Ms/hqdefault.jpg)" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1Tr3MUUe1Ms&hl=en_US&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1Tr3MUUe1Ms&hl=en_US&fs=1" width="425" height="344" allowScriptAccess="never" allowFullScreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object>Some friends used our house for a belly dance rehearsal last week. After we got Asher to sleep, Michael and I came downstairs and added our own little background touch to the dance (I had no idea he was doing this until I saw the video!)You can get a bit of a glimpse of our crazy house in this video in addition to our crazy dancing. :)gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-18911956679276928382010-07-04T23:29:00.000-07:002010-07-04T23:58:04.324-07:00pedi-cure?Today, I got a pedicure for the second time in my life. The first time was four years ago, when Hannah was about to graduate from sixth grade. She wanted to get a pedicure before the graduation, and when I brought her in to the nail place, the receptionist asked if I wanted a pedicure, too, and I thought, why not?<br /><br />Today's decision was more pre-meditated. Two people--my sister (who I get to see tomorrow--yay!) and a dear friend both mentioned getting pedicures within the last week; my sister put it in the context of taking care of herself, and my friend said that she felt reborn afterward. I felt I could use a little of both. I definitely have not been focusing on self care since the baby's been born, and I am feeling the repercussions of this deeply. I am tired and achy all the time, and am really not doing anything to remedy the situation. My feet, especially, have been paying the price. Every morning, it takes them a while to get going. They are stiff and sore and heavy, as are my hands when I wake up. This concerns me greatly--I worry about arthritis, I worry about potential loss of movement (although I hope I'll always find a way to dance, to write.) I finally set up an appointment to see a foot doctor in a couple of weeks, but I wanted to do something else to take care of myself, something to thank my body for all it's been doing, my body that feels like an unfamiliar home these days. Something, too, to celebrate Entertainment Weekly calling Delta Girls a "best new paperback." If that doesn't call for a pedicure, I don't know what does.<br /><br />I was worried I wouldn't find a place open on the 4th, but the first place I called, a place I've noticed a few blocks away, said to come on in.<br /><br />Soaking my feet in hot water while sitting in a massage chair was lovely. I loved the foot and leg massage. I said yes to a bunch of extras they offered--foot mask? Bring it on. Leg waxing? Sure; my legs, which I only shave sporadically, had grown pretty weedy. The only thing I didn't agree to was eyebrow waxing. Three different women asked if they could do my shaggy, untouched brows. Looking at the thin lines above their eyes, I had to say no.<br /><br />The pampering brought up a lot of stuff for me. Feelings of guilt, of unworthiness. Feelings of vulnerability, of exposure. Feelings of missing my baby and husband, my big kids, too. And feelings of missing my mom. With the baby, I don't get a lot of time to just sit quietly with my thoughts, and my brain quickly filled with a wild rush of emotion. I thought of how my mom used to get pedicures, how that's something she and I never shared together, since I generally shy away from such indulgences. I found myself wishing that she and I could have gone to a spa together, wishing that I could talk to her about having my second pedicure. Every song that came on the radio seemed to be about missing someone, and each note just about tore my heart out.<br /><br />The women there took great care of me. When I told them I had a seven month old baby, they turned more tender; my scruffy feet suddenly made more sense. I spent much of the time there holding back tears; I probably should have just let myself cry, but I didn't want to have to explain. As soon as I got in the car and called Michael, though, the tears began to flow.<br /><br />I know I need to take better care of myself--go to sleep earlier so waking up with the baby doesn't take such a toll, go to the chiropractor, etc.--I just hope I'll be able to do it without guilt. Maybe as my pearly green toenail polish (which looked better in the bottle than on my feet, I must say) starts to chip, I'll remember that I need to do a better job of keeping myself whole.<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001030640503879620.post-68316146109935994752010-06-15T23:18:00.000-07:002010-06-15T23:24:28.048-07:00Hannah took some pictures todayHere are a few of my favorites. :)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TBhtiJCY7RI/AAAAAAAAAVE/v4EFvc56kqw/s1600/june15-2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TBhtiJCY7RI/AAAAAAAAAVE/v4EFvc56kqw/s200/june15-2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483252979632499986" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TBhtSgvAn9I/AAAAAAAAAU8/cXJoGIuUtqg/s1600/june15.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TBhtSgvAn9I/AAAAAAAAAU8/cXJoGIuUtqg/s200/june15.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483252711115759570" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TBht7DSkOOI/AAAAAAAAAVM/yY7wPc8ikYM/s1600/relish7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TBht7DSkOOI/AAAAAAAAAVM/yY7wPc8ikYM/s200/relish7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483253407586466018" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TBhtLTcUoxI/AAAAAAAAAU0/FlnUTOcLGig/s1600/relish3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TBhtLTcUoxI/AAAAAAAAAU0/FlnUTOcLGig/s200/relish3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483252587288634130" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TBhs7I3BOsI/AAAAAAAAAUs/38CeFyptIzI/s1600/relish2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-PeyV7IMtlQ/TBhs7I3BOsI/AAAAAAAAAUs/38CeFyptIzI/s200/relish2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483252309569911490" /></a>gaylehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03745788005478202736noreply@blogger.com4