About a Girl

You know you live in Seattle when you listen to two different radio stations at two different times of day and you hear the same song...and it is a Nirvana song.

As I was finished prepping dinner, 'About a Girl' came on the radio and I turn to see my family rocking out! HA! Love these guys -- Nirvana too.

More Nina Videos!

Nina just gets more amusing. And willful. And cute.

Mostly willful. I don't know where she inherited that trait from -- enjoy!

Nina Update

Wow -- how time flies.

I can't believe the last time I updated was December.

I have been TERRIBLY busy with this silly programming class. I cannot wait till the terror that is this class is over. I just want to get through it...with at least a B average.

Still, Lance and Nina have brought joy to my life. Well, a joy when someone watches Nina for a few hours and I can come back and appreciate my baby some more. With the hours of work I must put into the this class, playing with her is next to impossible.

Again: I will be glad when the nightmare programming class is over. And I will NEVER take another online course! If I start talking about doing it in the future, please point me in the direction of this blog post.

Here is Nina being Nina:




Here is Nina developing gross motor skills -- let us all hope she inherits them from Lance!



Finally, on St. Patrick's Day, enjoy this pic of Nina in the crocheted skirt I made for her:



I wish I could get a better picture, but she won't stay still long enough for me to get a good shot. Plus, she wants to see the picture before I can take it. I should have taken a pic of her with the Bailey's buttercream on her face after helping Mama eat the Guinness Stout Chocolate cupcake with aforementioned frosting. She LOVED it!

End of the Year

Well, it is now the end of the year and a time for reflection. I have done A LOT.

January -- I don't remember what I did last January. Eh, I think I just tried to stay on top of everything, especially as I signed up to be Hospitality shepherd (read: coordinator) for our parish.

February -- This month is also a blur. I am pretty sure I started making the massive over-achiever poster for Pre-Sanctified Liturgy meal sign ups.

March -- Lent started. I made a baby terry cloth poncho out of a dishcloth because the one I saw at the gap cost $15 and I thought, "That is just a dishcloth with a hole in it".

April -- Holy Friday fell on Lance's birthday. Or something like that. Could not make pysanky due to dyes and baby. She was still a baby then! And I couldn't fit into my Pascha dress because my boob was too big. I made Nina a cute jumper with a willow pattern and started a skirt for me...that I still haven't finished. Hmm... I also completed a hat for Nina for Pascha.

May -- Wedding anniversary: it was 8 years! Wow. I bought a bunch of material in hopes of making Nina a TON of summer clothes. That never happened. Still have the material. I did make Nina a hat.

June -- Eh, more of a blur. I adjusted a skirt.

July -- Blur. Mom visited and that was awesome.

August -- Nina tosses hat to the winds.

September -- I start making matrushka dolls and finish Nina's hat for Santa Fe. Made dress for Nina out of old skirt. Stats class started.

October -- Nina's birthday with massive amounts of stuff making: party hats, invitations, cards for food, and various other items. Then massive doll and jewlery making for the All American Council. Whew.

November -- Matrushkas still not complete. Oh well.

December -- Matruskas still sitting there in sad pile. Have 50 pounds of fleece in hopes of making Nina pants. Discover Nina likes vests and needs more shirts. *sigh* And she out grew her socks. Have big plans to complete Christmas presents and am done with about a quarter of them. *HUGE SIGH* But stats complete, which is sad because I liked it.

Still, it has been a good year. It has been good even if most of it is a blur. Blurs are good -- blurs mean that I have been so busy and nothing bad has happened that I cannot remember. A good year indeed!

Making Mahtrushkas

I have no idea how to spell it, but basically I am making little Russian nesting dolls sans the nesting part.



I have an affection for these matrushkas -- I just think they are cute. I found one in the middle on etsy before Nina was born that I really liked and I wanted to make more for her. Then I got in in my head that I would make them for the AAC booth our church is having as a fundraiser.

I have been working through various patterns as prototypes. Matush.1 is on the right here. I named her Isabel -- I like the skin tone. I trimmed along the seam lines on the inside and then she started coming apart at the seams.



So then I made Matush.2, also known as Lucy, inspired by my friends' daughter Lucy who is quite tan with blonde, blonde hair and pretty green eyes.



I left the seams alone and the doll seems more sound, but both .1 & .2 look like little Muslim girls in burkas. So, enter Matush.3. with shortened headscarf in back.



Her name is Annie because her hazel eyes remind me of the cartoon Orphan Annie. The effect is much more Matrushka like and less Muslim. The head is better, but obviously the side of her body is a bit off. I think I will stick with the regular pattern shape for the bottom but change the head seams.



More to come! I don't know how many dolls Nina (and other various relations) will have at the end of all this as I don't feel I can sell my prototypes because they are not well made. Gah! I have a goal of five for the booth though.

Nina Dances

Though I do not remember it, apparently when I was about a year old (or less) I would sing and dance along to the "Muppet Show" opening. I am pretty sure there is a picture of me with a haircut like Nina's in a stripped shirt, diaper, and a pair of snow boots dancing in front of the tv. If either parent has the picture, I WANTS IT!

Whether Nina likes music because of an inherited disposition or whether it is just something babies like, I love that she dances to it. Here are a few short clips of Nina enjoying a good wiggle to music.

In her high chair:



In the next one, I promise I am not singing.

We had the radio on the tv. I know. What an age in which we live. Towards the end she stands on her own and dances.

Transfiguration Follow Up

My friends have a great bumper sticker that says something to the effect of "Love People/Make Them Good Food". The bumper sticker neatly sums up how I approach life. I love food. I love the people I love (to borrow a turn of phrase from my husband). So you know I REALLY like you when I cook for you. You won't go hungry under my watch.

I was excited for the Tiny's Organic All Fruit bag deal we got on Living Social. We were not disappointed and it neatly coincided with my Dormition Fast proposal: we eat food that is locally grown.

Look at all that fruit! We had 4 pounds of cherries, several pounds of pluots, peaches, and nectarines. Given that I live with two fruit bats, this bag was PERFECT. We eat the entire contents in about a week.

With regard to produce, I found some difficulty in keeping totally local. I did OK the first week. I came up with a list of dishes I wanted to make and then shopped the farmer's market for inspiration. It worked out pretty well -- out of a list of seven possible dishes, I was able to make three from totally local produce. I would have made vegetable sandwiches, but didn't find mushrooms that I liked.

I also couldn't find citrus. I remember when I was younger and we would get walnuts, apples, and oranges in our stockings. My cousins and I would be aghast as to why produce would be where toys should. I then began reading more books about frontier life and living on the prairie and discovered how precious citrus and fresh produce can be. It then made sense that my grandmother, who grew up on a farm, was simply keeping that tradition of holding fresh fruit as important. It made me respect her gift that much more. Of course, a few years later one could not find the mesh stockings stuffed with oranges, apples, and walnuts since the tradition died with my materialistic generation.

A recipe I wanted to make called for lemon zest and juice. So, I had to be creative and decided that red wine vinegar would give the necessary sweet tartness to the dish.

Martha Stewart's minions certainly know what they are doing. This is a dish of blanched local green beans, sweet red onion, tomatoes, and parsley tossed with canned chickpeas. There is some olive oil and red wine vinegar as well as salt and pepper involved. I could have topped it with the required feta cheese, but it was Dormition Fast, so Nina and I had cheese on the side.

Nina is wondering when I will stop taking pictures and we can start eating.

Then came Transfiguration after the annual blueberry picking. It was a great experience as always to pick one's own berries and pay next to nothing for them. It does make you appreciate the hard work that goes into it...especially when the priest's daughter keeps grabbing handfuls of your berries and putting them in her own bucket. "But you have so many," she said when I told her to knock it off. It is the only time I have given a moderately-conservative reply: "Then get busy picking your own!"

The second week of the fast we were going to the Methow Valley with friends. I had missed the farmer's market the week prior because of Transfiguration, so I had to make due with other farmer's markets that were not as good. Then I just got frustrated not being able to use the ingredients I wanted to use. So, I hiked down to Pike Place Market, with Nina strapped on, to find produce that was coming from local farmers as well as local vendors. I found some good looking citrus and an organic watermelon that looked small but felt so heavy by the time I got back up the hill. I had bruises on my shoulders from hoisting child and produce and was thankful this was not a permanent lifestyle choice.

We are so spoiled with our clean grocery stores and cheap food. I tend to be anti-corporations not because of my natural socialist tendencies, but because I believe that companies are so much bigger than the individual and it would be difficult for anyone to negotiate a better price for a product with a large entity behind it. So, I am saddened that I have gone back to the Trader Joe lifestyle after the fast.

Still, it has given me resolve that I as a consumer can control the market by only buying produce that is seasonal and trying to buy items that are locally grown. It will cost more money, but it will be money well spent if I can support local farmers. It is also so much better for my need to cultivate patience and moderation. While I may want to eat zucchini in the dead winter, the amount of fuel it took to get to me is not worth it to the earth which God gave man.

More Laughing Baby

For of course all to view, but especially for my dad on his birthday!

A Forced Hand

In my job search, at one point, I prayed "God, if you have something else in mind for me, don't let me get this job. I will take it. So, if there is something else for me to do...Your Will be done and all, but don't let me get this job."

And then I got the offer. I better understand what Julia Sweeney meant when she wrote "And God said 'Ha'". There was a lot of soul searching and crying that happened this weekend.

At one point I wrote on my pros and cons list:

"I really would love to take this job. I feel that is would give me some purpose. I could be useful. Right now I just feel like a huge burden to my husband and my child. I just sit around and watch her all day and try to apply for jobs. The house is a mess. Dinners are mediocre. I feel awful about myself because I do not enjoy staying at home with my child. I am not earning any money which makes just a mooch. What do I contribute to this family? More dishes to clean after meals that boring... Piles of laundry and hair clusters making the house unsightly. More bills for stuff we don’t need because I am bored and have nothing to do...

But, if I took the job, would it be any better? I would earn some money, but it would not be enough... And Nina would be sick [from daycare] and then Lance won’t be earning enough money and he makes more than I do and then where would we be?

... I wish I knew what made a person have meaning but I don’t know it. I suppose I put emphasis on earning money because I tend to equate happiness with stuff. But that is not where happiness comes from. I know that, but I don’t know what do so with myself.

I know I am blessed, but I hardly feel I have earned it."

Quite obviously, I have not been a great state of mind. I have been searching for a job, then finally the promise of one arrived, and yet when I got an offer I found it wasn't what I really wanted. The pay wasn't great and would barely plug the hole on a slowly sinking ship that is our finances. I would be rushed to find care for Nina and feel I had failed at not being an adequate mother to her as well as constantly worried about her well being. If the job was in a field I was interested in pursuing, it would be one thing. But it is in education, and I have been there and done that and wanted out of it.

Why would I then go back to make less money?

With heavy heart I had to decline the offer.

My plan so far is:

1) figure out what I want to do by asking people, researching more, etc.

2) join so sort of group or find ways to socialize so I don't feel so isolated

3) raise Nina as best I can without spending money willynilly

I felt as if my hand was forced and it was not the best time for me to make this choice. Yet, I am confident in the choice I did make. I need to figure out what I want and not pursue something to tide me over.

Baptism, Pt. 1

St. Katherine's is getting a new Priest in July and he asked us to write a "Spiritual Biography". He wanted to get a sense of the parish and how folks came to St. Katherine's.

Lance immediately said he did not want to do it. Apparently, he is not in a great place to talk about why he is at St. Katherine's.

So, I started to write a draft in my diary (which is over 10 years old and is not even half filled) and read it to Lance. We both found it funny and I thought I would share it on my blog.

I have been baptized three times.

The first I do not remember as I was a baby. My mother was Catholic when I was born and it was important to her that I be baptized. My father, apparently, raised no objections though he was Seventh-Day Adventist.

The second time I was baptized was when I was 10 or 11 years old. I do not recall the exact date, but somewhere in my mother's garage exists an embroidered handkerchief with the date. Obviously, I have lost track of it. I do remember the second baptism. I remember my father told me the parish council thought I was too young -- the SDA church typically baptizes at age 12. I remember talking to Pastor David Brass about my relationship with God. Pastor Brass is one of the nicest Pastors I knew and I will always think of him fondly. When he dunked me three times in the adult font at church, my feet rose to surface each time. My mother found this comical. I cannot quite recall who was there, but we must have had family because there was a pink iced "Congratulations" cake at the Top Gallant Court house in Houston. (We lived there while my Tio Jorge and Tia Lulu were in Kentucky -- it was their home.)

I grew up SDA and, besides an occasional Mass for a wedding or funeral on my mother's side, it was all I knew. My parents believed in God, we prayed at every meal (eaten at home or out), we attended every church service possible, and we carried our Bibles to church every Saturday. My parents were very involved in parish life -- my father on Parish Council, my mom helped with Sabbath School, and both lead the teen group until we moved to San Antonio.

No one knew my father's addiction to pornography or how I found it in second grade. So, when my father had an affair that lasted through my high school years, it came as a shock to our church community.

Dr. Flum, my OB, said once that the beginning of adolescence is when a child finally recognizes a parent's humanity -- his flaws and faults. I had my moment as a sophomore in high school and turned from God when I found out all that had happened in my parents marriage. If Christianity could not provide a stable home, I would find some other truth.

I became an atheist for the remainder of high school and when I turned 18 I no longer went to church with my parents. I volunteered at Planned Parenthood and at an event I discovered the Unitarian Church. I began to attend services and became obsessed with Transcendentalism. Having dispensed with Christianity and searching for truth, I had a natural home in the Unitarian Church.

Before my senior year, when I was 17, I traveled to Greece, Turkey, and Italy on a school trip. Outside the cave where St. John wrote the book of Revelation, I saw a young man wearing a St. John's College t-shirt. I could not believe my luck -- since Sophomore year of high school I was enamored with this college. I had read every piece of literature I could find and was determined to go there.

After being a complete nuisance and obnoxiously irreverent in the cave of St. John, I made a point of connecting with this guy. As it happened, he was Greek Orthodox. I didn't really care as my main goal was to know more about the college. Though he attended the Annapolis campus and I was interested in the Santa Fe Campus, I was so excited to meet someone and get a first hand account of what it was like. He painted an ideal picture for me and I made a point of going.

I went in October of 1997 to visit St. John's College and there in a Sophomore math class I saw the most gorgeous guy ever. He was quiet in his blue hooded sweatshirt, curly brown fro encircling his head like a halo and large glasses framing his green eyes. The Great Books Program plus the promise of cute boys was all I needed -- I applied, was accepted, and started in the fall of 1998.

About half way through Freshman year, I read Plato's dialogue "Timaeus" and began to think about God again. I had read parts of the Kabbalah before I started St. John's and decided that since Christianity had failed me, I would become Jewish. I talked to Jewish friends, attended Purim and Passover meals, and bought a menorah for Hanukkah. Still, it seemed like a majority of being Jewish was ethnicity and I didn't have that background. I wanted to be a part of some ancient tradition but was running up against a wall.

At the time I was dating a guy who converting to Catholicism -- the cute guy from the Sophomore math class was no where to be seen. I began to attend church with the Catholic Catechumen which was a huge step for me. Growing up SDA, I was warned about the Catholic Church. They worshiped idols. The Pope was just Satan in disguise. It was all very evil and suspicious and the Godfather was cited as a reference (or something written by Mario Puzo).

I actually found it quite nice. The hymns were pretty, it had an organized system for services, and I liked the religious art. The statues were a little disconcerting, as were the relics; I was beginning to like Christianity a little better though.

One day in Mass it struck me that Sunday was a celebrated day for all Christians as a commemoration of Christ's resurrection. I mentioned this to my boyfriend at the time and he replied "Um, YEH," in a rather incredulous tone.

I was, as they say, hooked after that. Many of the prayers and Saints were starting to make sense to me. I bought prayer cards of two saints -- St. Joan of Arc and St. Therese of Liseux (the little flower) -- and tried praying. I wanted God, Christ, tradition, ritual -- still something about Catholicism wasn't right. My boyfriend mentioned the "backwards cousins" to the Catholics: the Orthodox. It sounded intriguing to me.

In San Antonio I purchased a copy of The Orthodox Faith by Bishop Kallistos Ware. During Christmas break Sophomore year I began to go to Orthodox services. The biggest listing in the phone book was for Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church and I went to as many services as I could. I found a little envelope in the pews: check here for tithing, here for other gifts, check here if you are interested in learning more about the Orthodox Church. I checked the box, gave my mom's address, and read all the pamphlets they sent.

It sounded amazing, but I was going back to school and didn't know if there were any Orthodox churches in Santa Fe. I mentioned this to my boss at the time, Matt Johnston. Turned out he was a Catechumen at a local Orthodox church. It was Russian though. I hemmed and hawed about wanting to go, but I didn't want to commit. He said it was no problem, he would pick me up on Sunday. And so I went and never stopped going.

St. Juliana's Russian Orthodox Church was a ROCOR parish under Bishop Gabriel and served by Father Cyprian at the time. Father Cyprian, however, was moving back to Georgia and I would have to wait to be baptized. Still, before the summer, I was made a Catechumen. I could have chosen St. Genevieve for my patroness and kept my old name, Jennifer. But, I never really liked the name anyway. So, I chose "Juliana" because I wanted my children to know where our family became Orthodox. Not that I thought I would have children or get married -- but it like saying "when I win the Lotto" and never playing. It was just one of those things I thought.

I had been accepted to the Minority Medical Education Program in Chicago for the summer before Junior year and planned on working in Admissions half the time. I was in the office when I received a phone call from a mom frantically trying to get arrangements squared away for her son who was going to transfer from Annapolis to Santa Fe for his senior year. Parents were not supposed to call the 1-800 number, but I always disregarded this because I knew long distance rates were high.

After talking with the mom and getting the necessary information to transfer her call, I discovered her son was Phil Navarro, the guy I met outside the cave of St. John in Greece. We were both so excited to connect and she seemed really excited that I was Orthodox. "But I am in a Russian parish," I said. "Oh, it's all the same," she replied.

Matt Johnston had hired his friend Lance Kirmeyer to help out in admissions that summer. The odd thing about St. John's is you knew who everyone was even though you hadn't been introduced. Lance had said "Nice singing" to me in the cafeteria after a chamber choir concert I was in and made some sort of joke about me being bored at the front desk. And he knew my name though we hadn't met. Lance had a pretty sweet deal -- he worked Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. I didn't really care for him and it didn't seem like he cared all that much for me.

When I came back from Chicago, it was a different story altogether. I had a traumatic experience in Chicago with folks being a little gruffer than I was used to in the South/Southwest and accommodations less than ideal. Add to that an adventure finding a ROCOR parish in Des Plains and going to a fairly hostile Greek church and it made for interesting stories to share with Lance while we were stuffing envelopes. Turned out he had taken a year off after Sophomore year to travel around the world and he shared his adventures with me. And I had broken up with my boyfriend. And he had kind of stopped seeing, or at least pursuing, some girls he was interested in pursuing. And he covertly asked me out, and we stayed up all night talking, and we just kept hanging out. Once evening, about 2 am, I realized he was the guy I saw when I visited St. John's as a prospective student. After a series of questions about where he was Sophomore year, it turned out he was the guy. The guy!

Now, I was becoming Orthodox and a new priest was on the way to St. Juliana's. And Lance was very interested in me and doing things very un-Orthodox even for a Catechumen. What was I do to?

To be continued...

Tired

I am so tired of applying for jobs. The rejection really gets to you and you just want to give up. Or send a cover letter like this:

To Whom It May Concern,

I am applying for a job.

I know that might be obvious as you are reading this cover letter, but I am frankly bored by the whole process of applying for jobs. I continually revamp my cover letters and resumes, carefully tailoring them to every job I apply for and never get. Well, enough is enough. I WANT TO WORK ALREADY! Chances are you already know who you will hire and, if you are the type of person I do NOT want to work for, it will be someone you know from college. But, you had to post the position to be fair, or legal, or fairly legal. If that is the case, just stop reading now because I don't work for your kind. If you are honest, then read on please.

I am smart enough to know that there are at least 100 cover letters that are coming across your desk and you probably skim over the detailed descriptions of folks' past experiences.

I will make mine short and sweet: I went to college, I read a lot of books, I graduated, and I taught middle school for eight years. I am incredibly tech savvy and communicate well. I could run this country much less whatever job I am sending this letter to in hopes of gaining employment.

Why did I give up teaching? Because I have a child now and teaching sucks up a lot of one’s home time -- time that I would rather give to my child and husband. Sure, the opinion of a teacher’s work is rather low right now. Apparently I spent eight years baby-sitting and only working 5 hours a day for only 9 months of the year.

I wonder what happened to all those hours when I woke up at 5 a.m. to start grading papers or planning for some thrilling lesson. I wonder about all of those hours of professional development outside of school or during the summer, not to mention the time I spent after school tutoring students so that they could feel confident in who they are much less confident about math (which I taught for seven of those eight year). All those papers I took home to grade over Christmas vacation were gifts from my students (at least they were being thrifty).

I guess the 40+ hours I worked was only a fiction maintained in my head for eight years – which is odd because I never showed up for work intoxicated or high. Not once. Ever. Did I mention that I taught junior high? A little something something would have made it all much more bearable, but I chose to be competent rather than crude.

I have chased after rowdy kindergarteners during a cultural drumming exhibition (to the delight of my eighth graders), maintained blogs with countless pdfs so no child would be left behind when she conveniently left the rubric for a project due the next day in her locker for the past two months, had less than friendly conversations with parents who expected me to raise their child and teach them grammar, as well as changed my grades when a student at the 12^th hour finally turned in an assignment that would change her D- to a C-.

I been to Hades and back – it was fun but not thrilling, and compared to taking care of my baby, your job would a vacation.

I work hard for the money. So hard for it, honey. I could be a stellar employee if you would just hire me – and if you have a sense of humor.

If not, then clearly I am not the employee for you.

Kind Regards,

J. J. K.

Well

I have been so busy these past two weeks. First it was the massive amount of church services that came out of seemingly no where. Add to that Lance's need to study obsessively for his Professional Engineering exam. Then Nina decided to be needy and hardly strayed farther than 6 inches from me for more than 30 seconds. It was really annoying.

So, in consequence, I have not been able to blog.

Still, I am doing well. My gallbladder surgery scars are nicely healed and my bellybutton looks ok -- pregnancy did not do it any favors. I ate some ice cream the other day because: 1) it was old, 2) it was taking up room in my freezer. No problems to report after eating it.

Yet, I continue to lose weight. I noticed the other day that my one working mammary gland is huge. It is seriously massive. So, this week I have made it my goal to eat a lot more food. With Nina's neediness and my need to get stuff done, I rarely have time to eat. I just have to make more of an effort to get some food in my system because obviously Nina has been needing more milk. Lance felt my arm the other day and said "we gotta put some meat on your bones."

No joke. Lance never makes comments about my weight, so it came as a bit of a surprise.

In the midst of all the church services, and Lance's crazy studying, and Nina's neediness, I am also trying to coordinate Holy Week/Pascha preparations for church and family including sewing some clothes for Nina. If I get to sew some clothes for myself, it would be a miracle.

I am beginning to fear that I will never get to rest. My time is never my own nowadays and I would frankly welcome going back to work -- I might be able to get some rest then! I am applying for three jobs that I would really love to get, but only God and the people hiring know if I will get it.

So, all is well. I have first-world problems and I shouldn't complain.

The 40th Day

I grew up Seventh-Day Adventist (SDA) which means my family went to church on Saturday, I didn't eat pork (and was encouraged to be vegetarian), I didn't wear make-up or jewelry, I didn't read novels or play with occult themes (no ghosts, Ouija boards, witches, etc.), and I was not to listen to secular music, watch movies, or dance. Oh, and no caffeine.

Of course, as with any religion, I did just about all of these with or without the aid of my family. My father and mother love movies and dancing, so I saw LOTS of movies and danced all the time. We are also big coffee drinkers, though now I prefer a soy chai latte. I think my mother had a problem with her daughter knowing the lyrics of some questionable songs, so she began to listen to Christian (read "protestant") radio stations. I listened to some of the music, but I was far more into U2 and eventually jazz and classical music. I was a vegetarian by choice and don't really eat that much pork -- though, sausage is often my downfall. I still to this day do not wear make-up often, which Lance appreciates as he has been scared of clowns, Santa Claus, etc. since he was young. In fact, he still is a bit weary of women who wear to much make up -- as if they have something to hide. I love jewelry though! I got my ears pierced when I was 18. I remember my father was aghast. He said "what else did you get pierced???". An ear is hardly a bellybutton, a nose, or some other part of the anatomy that could be pierced.

Obviously, I have not remained Seventh-Day Adventist. As soon as I turned 18, I started going to a Unitarian church on Sunday mornings and started reading the Torah in an attempt to become Jewish. Then, finally, I found a spiritual home in Orthodox Christianity and converted. Or so I thought.

My grandfather passed away 40 days ago. He was an interesting man. He was born in Mexico, married my grandmother after flirting with her at his mother's funeral, and moved here reluctantly after a hurricane hit Tampico and destroyed the family's livelihood. He always wanted to go back to Mexico, and I am sure the Republican party that he supported would have been more than happy to send him back. I still remember him saying "Viva Bush!!!" (though it sounded more like "Viva Booo-shhh!!!"). He was a drinker and smoker and a womanizer -- all of which lead to the abuse of his family, his body, and, later, depression. He was injured as a roofer and could no longer make a good wage and his family had to rely on charity, which I believe angered him. He took it out on them -- though in good times, I suspect, he was quite kind.

He loved his family though, and in time chose them instead of all the pleasures the world can offer. He developed diabetes, and ignored it. He cursed during soccer games, and I repeated the words (which I got in trouble for doing). He was raised Catholic and did not like the SDA church that my grandmother attended. Later in life, when diabetes claimed two toes and when it began to fuse vertebrae, he chose to be baptized in the SDA church and try to turn his life toward the good.

He was always kind to me, smiled when he saw me, and inquired as to how I was doing or what I was studying. When I went to Greece, Italy, and Turkey and asked what he wanted me to bring him back, he requested a little dirt from each place. So, on my trip, I collected a little earth from each place: Rhodes, Ephesus, and Pompeii. I put them in little glass jars and decorated them with the names of the places (per my mother's instruction). He liked those little jars and all of the other little things he received as gifts from me: a wooden duck and a set of matrushkas. I understand now where my love of tiny objects of delight come from as well as a love of travel -- and a fiery temper and great sense of style (he always had cool hats).

In the back of my mind, I knew he would be my first grandparent to die. He was not in the best of health and he was so very weak. I used think I would be able to emotionally handle his repose and I would be able to sing at his funeral. When the time came, when I heard of his death, I was shaken to my core. There are people that you think will always be here and then they are not. It is not as if I have never experienced the death of someone I loved, but a grandparent is just that strong foundation into one's past and it is difficult to see it washed away by waves of time. You know it will happen, but when the tide comes in and they are taken, it hurts beyond measure.

It was difficult to see his body, cold and not smiling. I was reminded of when my great-grandfather passed away and there was no jolly countenance -- the familiar "hey hey" he would say when he saw you. It is in that moment of seeing the body without soul you realize they are truly no more on this earth.

I thought I had fully converted to Orthodoxy until I realized I still do not understand how the church views death. I would hear all of the SDA pastors and family members say "he is sleeping", but he isn't. The SDA teaches death as a sort of "coma" -- the soul does not leave the body, but hangs out in hibernation until the coming of Christ. I grew up with this teaching and when I compare it with what the Orthodox church says, there is overlap, but they do not agree.

I do believe what Orthodox theologians tell me: the soul departs from the body and therefore it is important that we pray for our loved ones so their souls can be at ease.

The SDA church has a difficulty with this teaching. I am not sure where their idea of the soul still resides in the body comes from, as it is obviously not biblically based (see Christ's Gospel teaching about Lazarus and rich man). Having grown up with this idea my whole life, I was always skeptical about ghosts and after-life experiences as well as the Catholic teachings on purgatory.

As an Orthodox Christian, I understand that it is important to bury after three days and on the ninth day one should also pray because the soul faces judgment before God and is then assigned a place either with God or without God. Obviously, to be with God would be preferable as the human soul is designed to reside with It. However, if one has not in her time on earth loved God or sought after Him, it is more difficult for the soul to chose to reside with God or for God to chose the soul to reside with It. (I use "Him" and "It" interchangeably as a pronoun for God, as God truly has no gender, but on earth He was manifest as God and male MAN, so "He" is also an appropriate pronoun).

Still, I am confused. I am not sure where the third, ninth, and fortieth day traditions come from or how the church fathers can verify all of the teachings on death. My ultimate confusion comes from this question: where is the soul of Grandfather right now? Is it ok? I have prayed on the ninth day for him and will pray today that he is where the just repose. But is he there? Or where is he? Is he suffering? I am so confused and terrorized by these thoughts. Of course I also selfishly think: what will happen when I die? And will my listening to Amy Winehouse somehow take me away from God? Or is there something more to eternal salvation?

I hope in order to reside with God I need to follow God's two big commandments: love Him and love everyone too. I think if I truly loved God, it will be easier and less confusing for me to love everyone else. I always have to remind myself that God loves everyone -- without exception. The itinerant who harasses me in the grocery store, the woman talking on her cellphone while driving, the flamboyant trannie on Capital Hill (with AMAZING shoes) -- God loves each of them and I love them too.

I have been trying to get through Father Seraphim Rose's book "The Soul after Death", but it is a weighty read after a day of caring for Nina. Besides, it is not something I wanted to read before going in for gallbladder surgery. My goal was to finish the book before the fortieth day, but alas, that has not happened. Instead, I will say the Cannon for the Dead for my Grandfather and continue to read about what happens to our souls when we die.

I often recall the "wager" from Pascal's "Le Pensees" -- we gamble when we believe in God. We can risk giving up eternal peace for earthly things or risk pleasures for nothing at all. I don't believe that there is nothing after death; all of the love I feel must mean something is there and I hope I can experience a greater love with God when my time comes. I will continue to pray for those who have departed before me because I love them, because I have hope that I will be able to meet them again in some far better way than I experienced them on earth, and we will all be at peace and love with God.

Gallbladder Crisis of Conscience

Here is a gallbladder.

I remember dissecting various specimens (cadavers included) and not paying very careful attention to this lovely organ. However, I have become quite aware of it because of the pain I have been in lately.

Apparently, my gallbladder is full of tiny stones and lots of calcium billirubinate. Those two items should not be there -- it is equivalent to having soda and cheerios in your fishtank when there should be only fish and water. So, instead of my digestive system receiving the bile it should to help me digest fat, it is receiving nothing or this calcium substance -- at least this is what I have been able to piece together.

When my stomach has not received these enzymes, it tends to cramp under my right ribcage and just below my sternum. I have had this pain off and on for about a year, but doctors were unable to diagnose what was wrong with me. Finally, after two days of cramps, I went to a new doctor (due to insurance changes), who immediately thought I might have gallstones.

Apparently, many women during pregnancy, and after, can develop gallstones. The hormonal changes prompt one's gallbladder to go haywire. It is also a prevalent disease in the Hispanic/Mexican community (especially for women) due to obesity and diet. It also happens to run in families.

Now, I am Mexican who has several relatives short a gallbladder and I was slightly overweight prior to pregnancy, so gallstones shouldn't be a shock to me. But it is. How many more organs am I going to lose before I am forty? I am already down a pair of adenoids and a breast -- and I consider myself pretty healthy.

Getting my gallbladder out would mean having to give up ALL CHEESY, SPICY loveliness that I eat. No more enchiladas, quesadillas, pizza, chile rellenos, brie & fig sandwiches, GRILLED CHEESE, vodka, BEER, chocolate, anything fried, etc.

The news of what my diet would become has sent me into crisis.

First of all, I am so accustomed to eating whatever I want. For a few years, I had to give up chocolate and coffee (caffeine basically) because I thought I had fibrocystic condition, and it was a hardship. Still, when I was diagnosed breast cancer, the one solace I had was that I could have chocolate. If I was going to die, I was going to die happy (and possibly with a Toblerone in my hand).

With this diagnosis, there is no solace except for an answer for the physical discomfort I have felt for about a year and a half. I have always been happy to eat whatever I wanted. I remember being a serious fasting-freak when I first became Orthodox before deciding that offending people and being a noisome wasn't worth it. If I was out to dinner with folks, I would not make a big deal about fasting because what was more important was to love the people I was with than to be pharisee about what I eat.

Second of all, now that I will have to go on a fairly strict, no-fat diet I will turn into one of "those" girls.

"Those" girls are the girls who don't eat anything while you are gorging on a piece of molten chocolate cake. They have one slice of pizza (no crust) while you eat an entire pie. They make a fuss about the type of food they eat when you just order whatever you want off the menu.

Not that I dislike girls who do this, I just find it sad. Why worry and fret about your thighs when there is brie to eat? Not that one should have brie everyday, but once in a while, it is good to indulge.

Of course, in all of this reflecting on my diet, I have come to realize that perhaps I do indulge myself a bit much. I can consume half a bag of baked cheese crunchies because, well, it tastes good and is a 1/3 of the fat of cheetos. However, the problem isn't so much the source as the quantity. I could buy locally produced brie from a producer who feeds his cows only choice grass and plays them classical music, but that doesn't make the brie have less fat.

Finally, there are very few things I am good at doing. Many of you may be aghast at this thought, but I find it true. I am a fairly good crocheter and can draw a straight line. I am pretty good at math and explaining how math works along with diagnosing when folks have computational issues or problem solving issues. I can sing, though often flat -- but I am reliable when performing with a group. I can read and remember almost everything I have read (to the annoyance/amusement of many).

The one thing I consider myself REALLY good at is cooking. I love cooking and I have always loved cooking. I can dissect food and tell what is in it. I can interpret recipes and find ways to make them better. Generally, people like my cooking.

Now what will I do when I am limited in my cooking? Seriously, I think one of the reasons Lance fell in love with me is because I knew how to cook and it continues to improve. He loves when I make roasts and reuben sandwiches for him. He teases me (I think) that I do not bake enough for him. Lance has been nothing but supportive through all of this, but it is hard not to think of "cupboard love" being a part of our marriage.

With all of these negative thoughts running around in my head, I have had to try to think positively. The one piece of advice I was given that I have tried to stick to is to think of at least three good thoughts for every one bad one that you have about a person/situation.

So, I have a complied a list of 10 things that will be good about my gallbladder being removed.

10. I will be forced to lose weight with a diet -- For years I have wanted to lose 10 pounds or so in order to be healthy. I would start running, swimming, Bollywood dancing in attempts to get back into shape without any regard to what I was eating. Now I will have to pay attention and hopefully get down to a healthy weight of 110.

(A majority of the list from here on out is food. Though it might be easy to say "But you won't be able to have...", I have to think positively. I can substitute butter and live without fried food.)

9. BEETS -- Lance grows a lot of these, so it is a good thing it is a recommended food!

8. SUSHI -- I love sushi and apparently on this new diet I should eat more fish. Hurray for sushi!

7. BERRIES -- Good thing I live in the Pacific Northwest where berries are abundant and plentiful. Nina and I will have to do more berry picking this summer and stock our freezer full!

6. YOGURT -- I love yogurt and it is one of the few dairy products I will be able to have post-surgery (along with cottage cheese, which I have only eaten once and thought was ok).

5. APPLES -- I have an apple a day because I love apples. I hope to perfect my pie making skills so Lance can still enjoy apple pie!

4. EGGS -- I do love eggs and I can still have one occasionally and in baked items!

3. OLIVE OIL -- After surgery it is highly recommended that I have olive oil and I love to cook with it! I am also supposed to have a shot of it along with lemon juice in the morning. I will have to see about this...

2. AVOCADOS -- At first I thought these would be out of my diet, but it just so happens that all of the good fat will help flush out the toxins that the gallbladder bile would normally flush! So, YAY because I cannot imagine a world without avocados -- it is a vegan staple!

1. Maybe Nina won't need to have her gallbladder out! -- I know I can't blame DNA and culture for everything, but possibly less fried chicken, okra, corn on the cob (no joke, it was tasty) and less beef will be good so that our little one can be healthy!

It's Been Awhile

Wow -- this is the first blog post of the new year...and it's February. I was on a "one-post-a-month" plan, but Nina absorbs just about every moment of my time. I have had a lot I have wanted to write about, but have not gotten to do so. Therefore it is time for one of my lists:

Blog Topics:

- Nina & General Motherhood

- Baptism

- Dying and Death (woot ?)

- Oscar Nominated Films

Geez, light and breezy topics...where to begin.

I suppose I will start with my most recent thoughts: Nina and motherhood in general.

Nina was born in a state of panic -- or at least I was in a state of panic. As she was positioned in such an odd angle, there was no dilation and her heart rate kept plummeting every time I had a contraction. The doctor finally said "ok, your baby is not liking labor, and we need to get her out!" and we were ferried to the surgery at lightening speed.

When you hear the heartbeat you have heard for nine months suddenly slow and stop, something happens to you that is hard to describe. Whether it is instinct or emotion, a wave of panic came over me. It was the sort of frantic panic one has when things do not go according to plan for something very important. A very strange thing happened: I began to pray frantically.

Now, normally when the poo hits the fan, I either get super mad or I pray. I fully anticipated that if anything went wrong in labor, I would get super mad. It didn't happen; perhaps because it was possible that my child would die or perhaps because I realized getting super mad was not going to solve anything. I am just glad I could remember how to pray.

I whispered my prayers -- not a sound left my mouth. Lance said he could tell what I was doing : the way my eyes looked and the way my lips quivered.

The first prayer that popped into my head was "Have mercy on us O God, for we have put our hope in Thee. Be not angry with us greatly neither remember our iniquity, but look upon us now as Thou art compassionate." I have no idea where this is from (Psalms?), but it popped into my head. I prayed the "Hail, Mary" (known in Orthodox circles as "Rejoice, O Virgin") over and over along with the "Our Father" (even in Slavonic).

The anthesiologists (I had two) were trying to get a spinal tap going and I was not cooperating. One of them said "If we can't get this in, we are going to knock you out". Oddly enough, what helped me remain still and steady as they put the needle in was thinking "what would Lisabeth Salandar do?".

I did not set them or their cars on fire.

Instead, I neatly curved my back as I had been instructed and took the pain, like Lisabeth Salander would, knowing it was all for a great purpose.

As they began the extraction process, I returned to prayer and started the 50th Psalm (Have mercy on me, O God, etc.) figuring that if I bit it, I would at least be started on the Psalms for the funeral.

Lance said he peaked around the curtain and saw my bladder hanging out where it ought not be. He quickly returned to my side of the curtain. Soon we heard cries and one of the nurses showed us our wriggling bundle of pinkness. I took one look at her and thought "Nina Sophie" - - it came to me quickly and without hesitation.

And since then, motherhood has been a series of unpredictable events and stumbling blocks no one can anticipate.

I have been to lactation "workshops" with mothers running around with no shoes on, talking about how they needed an "outing" when I was trying to get help feeding Nina on just one breast ('cause I only have one). I have been to the pediatrician with other screaming children hoping that mine does not join the chorus. I have had not one, but THREE diaper blowouts at one venue. I am amazed at the vast amounts of laundry as Nina tends to "cheese" and does often when I have finally had a chance to take a shower.

I have said this often recently: motherhood is not intellectually straining as much as it is emotionally and physically demanding. I am rather good at being intellectually challenged as I think any human is. But I find myself quite the weakling when it comes to remaining emotionally balanced and physically capable of tending to a little person.

I get so frustrated with her, but constantly remind myself that she has not been in the country for that long. I recognized in myself that if I am not physically at least 50%, that is operating on half the amount of sleep and food I would normally have, I will not be able to take care of her. It has all become a balancing act: finding ways to keep my constantly busy mind engaged while still taking care of physical and emotional myself so I can take care of her.

I am also looking for a job because I don't think I can continue in this vein of work. I purposefully gave myself no job so that I could find out if I liked being a full-time mom. I have come to the conclusion that I do not like being a mom 24-7. It is hard work and I am not cut out for it. Since the stork does not accept returns, I must return to work so that I can better appreciate her. I am so grateful that I live in a time where this is possible, that I can decide what is best for my family.

Of course, returning to work during a recession is not easy and especially so when you also factor in childcare. Still, I return to prayer and know that God blessed us with Nina and so He will bless me with work when the time is right. I just have to continue to put hope in Him.

Confinement

Sadly I have been unable to find a job - even temporary work. The whole summer has felt as if I have been under confinement - with nothing to do or prepare for except the birth of my child. Honestly, the preparations are not a huge, time-consuming endeavor. I have cleaned the house, re-organized, and purged till it became obvious that I had to stop because I can no longer lift heavy things.

I had grand plans to learn how to sew, but I am currently stuck as I am really scared of needles. I have read the manuals and understand the basics, however a machine with a needle is still quite scary to me.

Therefore, much of my time has been spent crocheting items for the little one. I have gathered various patterns for bibs, sweaters, toys, etc. I started some in Houston and have finished a few.

The bibs were the first things I have completed because they seemed less complicated and pretty straightforward. The only difficulty was that the pattern I selected had ties on the bib which I am not fond of - ties seem dangerous to me. I wanted to put straps on the bib instead which resulted in some problem solving. The end result looks quite charming in my opinion.

(REMEMBER: you can click on the picture to get a bigger image!)


The frog bib front followed a pattern I got from Lion Brand Yarns and the other bib follows a pattern I found in one of my crochet calendars I get every year at Christmas.



Here you can see the straps I added onto the frog bib. I can see how the ties would look better with the frog, but I think the straps are safer. Plus one gets to choose cute buttons! I just hope they are not too much of a chocking hazard.

The next bib pattern I attempted also came from Lion Brand Yarns and was an owl.


Here is my attempt using a variety of yarn I had left over from previous projects.



Here it is with the straps, which I fear I attached to close together - it might be better as a bib for a toy or doll later.


An unexpected result of the owl bib is I was able to have my own Rorschach test! Here are the results so far:

Lance - "oh, a dog! Nice!"
Renee - "A monkey!"
Megan - "A little fish!"

I have not developed a rubric for what these responses tell us about each individual, but I was confident that the bib did not look like an owl at all. I started to make another owl following the color scheme in the original pattern.

When I went back to look at the pattern, someone commented that it really was too cute a design for a bib and I quite agree. So I am making what hopefully resembles an owl, but I will make it a stuffed toy. I am also working on a pear-container with a snail toy inside. I will post those pictures when I finish.

I was also able to complete a cute sweater - I am stuck on what buttons to put on it. I could also choose one button at the top for a more swing-coat like design.



Here is the sweater up close.



I also finished a blanket. It was supposed to have a hood, but after looking at the picture long enough, the hood would make the baby look like a tiny, colorful Ku Klux Klan member. Not wishing to encourage idiotic behavior, the hood was out of the design and I made a tiny hat instead.



The hat looks like a little jelly fish. Lance was quite fond of it and wore it on his head as a fascinator.


He is starting to get a little sentimental about the cutie - all the little clothes are making him realize there will be a little person in our lives soon. I will take sentiment over what he said in the first months of my pregnancy which consisted mostly of scatological references and diapers.

More of what I have been making just as soon as I finish it!

An Expectant Mother's Day

My husband and I had hoped that in the ultrasounds that we had this week and the last that we would find out the gender of our child. For some reason my husband seemed blase about the whole thing - or wanted it to be a surprise. I was quite vocal that I wanted to know and I would not let it be a surprise for him because I dislike surprises so very much.

Well, our little one really didn't care what we thought - it really does have a mind of its own. During the first ultrasound, the only thing we could really see was its hands, feet, and limbs moving about. Its whole self was mostly turned toward me and the 32 ounces of water I had to drink before the exam continually filled my bladder such that I had empty it several times.

I *thought* I saw the characteristic three lines between the legs that would signal a girl, but I was old that was a bone. :| Good thing I did not enter the medical profession! I was told there was nothing visible between the legs - which could mean a girl or it could mean that nothing between the legs is visible at that moment. It didn't help that the little one kept wiggling around like a squirmy worm!

We were given a few pictures - I find the frame amusing.

Who looks like this after they have a baby? Maybe people with servants.

Here is the squirmy worm:

It is amazing how skeletal the baby looks - but since those are the most dense parts of the child right now, it would be what is most visible.

The technician thought she got all of the pictures and I was sent back to work. Then I got a phone call that afternoon in the team office saying I had to do ANOTHER ultrasound because they did not get all the pictures of the heart that they needed. But every thing looked NORMAL - which helped soothe my frazzled nerves.

I had a OB appointment on Tuesday and this resident was in the room (with my permission) - I swear he was twelve. He had trouble locating the baby's heartbeat. When the OB came in the room, she felt my belly, put a dab of goo (as opposed to the half bottle the resident did) on the monitor, and instantly found the heartbeat. It was pretty amusing to me :D

So, we went back this past Friday for more pictures of the heart and hopefully to find the gender. It appeared that the baby was kicking back or taking a nap - its body was mostly turned towards me, its head toward my left and feet to my right. Its legs were tucked it and it was very calm - but not too calm with a 140 bpm heart rate! The tech was able to get a few pictures, but I still had to empty my bladder again and get tilted down in an attempt to get a better angle on the baby. The tech jostled the ultrasound wand against my belly and, though my husband says he didn't notice it, the baby moved its hand in a type of swatting motion - as if to say "knock it off". I would not have thought much of this movement except that after it opened its mouth repeatedly - the way I do when I first wake up.

I cannot believe how much personality this little one has already.

And it is hiding its gender REALLY well - I didn't see three lines or any lines between the legs. The tech said it she thought it might be a girl (she thought she saw some indication) but nothing was readable.

On the way back to his office, my husband wondered what he would do with a little girl (if, indeed, it is a girl). I said "What you would do with a boy".

His response: "But she can't play baseball"

Me: "Yes she can. (pause) She better play soccer, too. If it's a she."

This Mother's Day I am no wiser as to what the gender of the child will be as well as what it will be like to be a mother. Oh well, I guess I have some time still :D

A New Creation

Some of you may know and others may not, but my hubby and I are expecting a little one around October 4th.

And to clarify - this pregnancy was accidently-on-purpose. It was a new year and we thought we would give it a try (we had nervously thought about it in 2009, but somehow 2010 ushered in new resolve). We stopped using birth control and paid a tiny bit of attention to the calendar of my cycle I have been keeping since I was 12 (I LIKE to plan, what can I say).

After I proctored an SAT one Saturday morning, I came home and found that I had started my period. I cried. I thought it was hopeless - I was not going to ever have a baby and was certain God was telling me something. My hubby tried to calm down my perfectionist state and cheered me as best he could.

But then the rest of the "stuff" that comes with a period never came. And it never came for a week.

The next Saturday morning I went to Target at precisely 8 a.m. (when they open) and the hubby thought I was nuts.

But I wasn't!




What - I had to take a picture! As soon as I took the test and saw the second window turn blue, I yelled for him to come to the bathroom. We laughed, we hugged, we jumped around and praised God.

And then we were totally blindsided by the thought that we would have a little one and there was no turning back. As my mother-in-law would later perfectly say "You say you're going to do something, and then you do it, and it happens and you think 'oh crap, it happened!'".


The first person I told was the priest, because who else are you going to tell who will keep it quiet. He told me I would no longer fast (woo-hoo! I mean, DARN!) and I would have to commune more often (DARN! I mean - yay!).

Those communion prayers are long - that's all I'm saying.

And then the news slowly trickled. I made doctor's appointments, we told our parents on Valentine's Day (or around that time), and I told my boss.

But here the two of us were, guarding this little secret, trying hard not to burst.
Or at least the hubby was - I was still kind of in denial. I refused the first ultrasound (which apparent they use to confirm something is in there) .

By my second appointment, I could no longer refuse the scan. It was a vaginal ultrasound, which EW. I always felt like the machine and I should at LEAST have dinner first. All I can say is at least it had a condom!

Here is our little one at 9 weeks (March 2nd):



It was really cool - when the first image came up, it moved its little arm! Like it was waving or giving me confirmation that it was indeed there. Waving at me - its little heart beating so fast.

I couldn't help it - I started to cry. I think I fell in love - I fell in love with this tiny soul inside me growing and becoming a person.

It is all really scary to me and seems to be growing WAY to fast. I feel like Winne the Pooh with a tummy to round to keep a shirt and pants over it.

In the months to come I am SURE I will have more posts about maternity gear, tendinitis, and other such lovely things about pregnancy. For now I and the hubby are elated that we will have a little one to share our lives.

And hopefully I won't screw up too much.

Is There Any Felicity Greater Than This?

*drools*

I love pan dulces!!! My mom is in town and brought these to me - all for me! (My hubby is not fond of the pan dulces - he mostly likes rich, chocolaty things and these are sugary.)

Why can I not bake like this?

These are "conchas" - l think translated as "shells". It is similar to challah but infused with a hint of cinnamon. The sugar decorating on top is a little bite of heaven.

CORRECTION: the official name is pan de huevo...I think I only call them conchas.



OOOOOoooooooohh....these are a snickerdoodle-like cookies, but no cinnamon on top, just pure sugar goodness. They are very delicate (though hearty looking) and fall apart at the touch. In Mexico, for breakfast, I would drop one in the bottom of a cup and pour the dark Mexican coffee on top.

*drools some more*

But I can't bake like this! I attempted to make Vegan scones this morning using coconut milk instead of cream. I ended up with this slopping mess that resembled a drop-biscuit batter instead of a regular biscuit batter that one can roll and knead.

>:(

I blame the egg replacer.

Here it is in the oven - I decided to scoop the whole thing in a pie plate and bake just one giant scone/biscuit.


I need to clean the oven window...here is final golden biscuit-like product.



And I decided a little taste was in order...but it really didn't have a strong coconut flavor. It wasn't fragrant, but the texture was very biscuit like. There are pecans, candied ginger, and diced dried plums in there too.

I shouldn't feel too bad though. Last night I made peanut noodles with a trader joe brand peanut sauce and my hubby told me later that he thought my peanut sauce was better.

:D

MOTHER!!!

So, my great-uncle Vincent recently reposed. It is amazing to me that I knew my great-grandparents siblings and I consider myself quite fortunate. Tio Vicente was a really kind and funny man - he and his wife Virginia were the best of people. I really feel for Tia Virginia; I cannot imagine losing my husband. I know she has her children and grandchildren to comfort her along with our whole family.

I went on the tribal pages website to see if any news was on there, but everyone in Texas is rather busy and I know it will take some time before any pics go up from the funeral.

I strolled down memory lane, looking at pictures of my family...events...old pictures of my ancestors (what a weird idea, but I guess that is who they are) when they were younger...

Here are some of my favorites:



Check out the bow on my great-grandma Sophia! She was rockin' it. I did not know she had a sister Virginia who died at age 18.



And here are Great-grandma Sophia and Great-grandpa Jose (Joe) -- they are so beautiful here. They would later go on to have 9 kids (though I think there were two who reposed along the way), divorce, and then go on to have three more -- each of them!

Whoa.

Great-grandpa Joe and Great-Uncle Vincent were brothers. It is funny, but I knew them as Grandpa Joe and Tio Vicente -- we are not formal in our family, thankfully.



My Grandpa recently celebrated his 80th birthday! And he still looks this good - seriously. He is the titanium grandpa -- he drove himself to the hospital when he was having a heart attack. I did not inherit his pain threshold AT ALL. Both of my grandparents look stunning in here -- I wish I had inherited my grandmother's looks. She is still super cute too :D

Speaking of good looks...here is why I titled my post "MOTHER!!!"



Of ALL the pictures she has of me, she chooses our bad 80s glamour shots???

????????????????????

I guess because she looks good. Check out my EYEBROWS -- I mean they are pretty bad now, but I could have easily been Frida Kahlo. Just photoshop in a spider monkey and it is a whole new picture. I have NEVER worn that much make-up since, not even on my wedding day.

Speaking of which...



Well, Lance looks good in this one. I know I am a nerd, but do we really need to showcase that fact on Tribal Pages. Seriously -- I know I kinda dashed my mother's dreams of a fairly-tale wedding for her one and only daughter by having a kegger at church, but of all those wedding photos THIS IS THE ONE she chooses.

:|

At least I am holding an icon. But I am a stick figure; if I remember correctly, I was about 90 lbs - gross! By gross I mean TOO SKINNY. And I cannot believe I have gained 40 lbs since the wedding...double gross.

Gah! I will have to send Aunt Bea some new pics where I don't look like such a dweeb...if such pictures exist.