Selfish Endangerment

Yesterday, I willingly endangered the lives of my fellow passengers on the Airbus 320, which brought me back to San Francisco from my Christmas holiday travels.

I admit it was a selfish act, and yet, I am not ashamed. The reason for which I played with the fate of my planemates was entirely self-serving. And still, I spent less than a total of 3 seconds reconsidering my actions before pressing on.

Not only did I not re-stow my baggage under the seat in front of me before landing, but I left my electronic device on and continued to use it with abandon. As we touched down safely at San Francisco International Airport, I finished the game of solitaire that I had been playing on my iPod. And, I won for the first time ever.

That's hardly a negative consequence to keep me from breaking the rules, willy-nilly, in the future.

Delayed Gratification

Because we waited for my brother and his fiancee to join us, we had Christmas morning today. Here are some highlights from gift opening.

Me with aforementioned fiancee, Liz


Mom, Kevin, and Dad


For more of my trip photos, click here.

No Seriously, Arizona Kicks Ass

My dad and I went exploring again today, while my mom drove to Phoenix to pick up my brother and his fiancee at the airport. We found another incredible place to hike.


We came across some old train tracks.


We crossed them and kept going toward the mountains. We soon found ourselves in Coronado National Forest...


...where we discovered amazing views as we climbed higher into the mountain range ahead of us.



I had some fun climbing on things and jumping off... as usual.


My dad took in the view from one of the highest places we went.


On the way back in to town, we saw the lovely sunset.


It was quite a full day. I could get used to holidays here... and long weekends!

Christmas Day in Arizona

This year for the Christmas holiday, I flew to see my parents in their new home in Arizona.


Last year at Christmas time, I wasn't so sure about this whole Christmas in Arizona business. No snow? How Christmassy could that possibly be? Turns out, it completely rocks to be in Arizona instead of Minnesota in December.

Okay, maybe that seems immediately obvious, but it wasn't to me.

Yesterday, we went out to a nearby pecan orchard and snacked on yumminess.


Then, we went wine tasting!



And today, on Christmas Day, we went hiking in the foothills.

We ran into a lot of other people hiking, as well. Each one said, "Merry Christmas!" exuberantly.

I love Christmas in Arizona.

Inappropriate Signage

My wonderful brother, Kevin, just sent me a photo of a funny sign he saw on his way to the bowling alley the other day. Part of the last word, the part that said "tails", had burned out.

Stocking #6

I was just chatting on the phone with my mother about Christmas details. She mentioned that she had purchased new Christmas stockings for the entire family because she wasn't able to find one for my brother's new fiancee that matched our old ones. Then, she threw in, "I bought six of them, so that someday your significant other can match, too."

My parents' blind optimism on this subject never ceases to amaze me. It's very endearing. I hope they realize that that sixth stocking might sit in the box for a very long time to come.

Athlete's Foot

I was my parents' first child. When I was born, the umbilical cord was wrapped around my left ankle, causing my foot to bend upward in a rather unusable way. This was, of course, arguably better than having the cord wrapped around my neck, rendering my head unusable. Nonetheless, it turned out to be quite an ordeal.

An act of fate that was both cruel and kind, all at once.

The doctors operated when I was nine hours old, lengthening my achilles tendon in order to coax my foot into a more upright position. Then, I was put immediately into a cast, which was changed every several weeks as I grew rapidly from an infant into a toddler.

There was more surgery in my future. At the age of three years, I went back in to the doctors, who operated again, this time straightening my toes and putting a pin in my foot for several months. More casts.

My childhood was plagued by a series of casts, leg braces, and special shoes. The casts meant I had to be wrapped in a garbage bag before I could play in my kiddy pool. The leg brace had to be worn at night, and made it difficult to sleep. And the special shoes made me very unpopular in childhood social circles.

I have a specific memory, one of my earliest, in which I was sitting on a bench next to my mother, dangling my feet. I looked at my left ankle, which had been recently operated upon. It was still purplish. I asked her if the scar would always be there. She answered that yes, it would be, but that it wouldn't always be that color. I remember being fascinated and saddened by this information.

During my elementary school and junior high days, I spent my time trying to cover up the fact that I had scars on my ankle. I could walk fine, dance fine; my foot was basically normal, by that point. No one would know if I didn't show them my tell-tale marks. For this reason, I spent many humid Minnesota days in long pants and bulky shoes.

Because of, what seemed to me, my clear deficit in the physical realm, I never strove to be particularly athletic. I was always the kid who got picked last for teams. Not because anyone knew of the handicap that glared so blindingly in my mind, but because I wasn't very coordinated, mostly from lack of exposure and practice. My own father, the coach of my little league t-ball team, put me in left field.

This trend continued throughout college and into the Peace Corps. When I moved to California, something changed. A friend dragged me to the rock climbing gym with her. And I do mean dragged. I was very clear about the fact that I was not physically adept enough to do something as active and adventurous as rock climbing. And then, surprisingly, I really enjoyed myself. Several months later, I went back, joined the climbing gym, and worked on improving my skills. As it turns out, I'm actually pretty good at climbing.

As is apt to happen when a person uses her shoulders to push and haul herself up the face of a very steep wall, I created some new physical problems for myself. I already see a chiropractor for my foot, my sometimes out-of-whack hip, and my often jammed lower back. (Many of these issues were created by me in my dancing and/or my climbing escapades.) Several weeks ago, I went in to have him look at my recently injured shoulder. I expressed my dismay over the fact that I had chalked up yet another injury to my joints. It seems I get them more often these days. I hypothesized, out loud, that I was just getting old.

Then, my chiropractor said something that I'll never forget. He stated offhandedly, "Well, you're an athlete; it's not a matter of if you'll get hurt, but when." I didn't hear the rest of his instructions because I was stuck on the first part.

"You're an athlete."

I cried a few little, happy tears on my way home from his office.
I never knew.

My Athlete's Foot

Outrage

Today, I was listening to NPR on my way home from work. The news story was about a women's rights group in Iraq who are opposing the custom of honor killings. Basically, this term refers to the killing of a woman who has brought shame upon the family. I have heard of this custom before. It exists in many cultures.

The part that left me dismayed and outraged was that these women who have "brought shame" to the family are generally young girls who have been abducted by groups of men. Sometimes, for the men's own pleasure. Sometimes, for ransom. The story they told on NPR went like this:

Fatima was a 16-year-old girl, living in Iraq. She was kidnapped by a group of men who demanded that her brother quit the Iraqi army or they would rape and kill Fatima. Her brother, not wanting harm to come to his sister, quit the army, as requested. Fatima was returned to her home, only to be killed by her family. According to her uncle, the family could not take the risk that Fatima had been raped, bringing shame upon the family. "Yes, he said, "I did not even ask her what had happened. She would not have told me the truth. We could have taken her to a medical professional to find out if she was still a virgin, but that would have only made it worse, calling attention to our family." Instead, they chose to extinguish her life. Because her brother could not bear to shoot his sister, and because her father could not make himself pull the trigger, Fatima's uncle shot her. He described her reaction, "I could see that she did not expect to die by our hands. I could see in her eyes that she expected us to open our arms, hold her, and tell her 'We are so glad you are home unharmed.' But, instead she got bullets. We rapped it up quickly. We know some people at the morgue, so they were able to bury her. She is gone. It is done."

He went on to say how her life would have been miserable, had she been allowed to live. "The family would have kept her indoors at all times. Her father would have had to hang his head in public."

The Islamic religion does not condone honor killings. The people of Fatima's town, however, maintain that culture is stronger than religion. Her uncle expressed his fatalistic beliefs as such, "It has been this way for so many years. What can change?"

In cultures where women are treated as property, honor killings, throwing of acid, and sexual slavery are commonplace. I took the liberty of looking up some more information about this on Amnesty International's website. On it, you can find a link to donations and organized activism to stop violence against women.

Random Thought of the Day

Carob is a piss-poor substitute for chocolate. Eck.

More Than 20 Questions

Recently, a fellow blogger did 20 questions on her blog. I stole them in order to talk about myself because I am a self-absorbed kleptomaniac.
- - -
How old do you feel?
Recently, much older than I ever have before. In a good way. With my recent completion of graduate school and my subsequent Real Grown Up Job, I've been feeling more like an adult than ever before. It completely rocks. It kind of makes me want to go out with my friends, get really wasted, and moon people.

What do you believe is the meaning of life?
I think the meaning of life is that it's different for each person. We all have our own meanings, ideals, beliefs, and opinions. The meaning of my life is to remember that that's okay. And to maybe remind others that their meanings are totally valid, too. Also, part of my meaning is to create space for people to live their lives in a way that makes them happy, and to make the world better for as many people as possible... one at a time, if necessary.

Why is the sky blue?
Smurf residue from the Great Smurf Battle of '86.

What is your favorite thing to cook?
Duh. Macaroni and cheese with soy hotdogs. Unless baking counts as cooking. Then, it's cakes, pies, and cookies of all kinds. I make stuff up. Lemon stuff is my favorite.

What would your last meal be?
Hopefully, mashed peas through a straw.

What is the youngest age you have memories of?
About three years old. My family and I were going to California on a plane. I remember that on the plane, my mom had all of these cool, new toys for me. Then, when we got there, we stayed with my parents' friends. One afternoon, I was jumping on the bed at their house. My mom came in and told me to stop. I nodded, but when she left the room, I got right back up on the bed. Unfortunately, there was an earthquake right at that moment. The house shook, glasses broke, and I was positive that I had caused this chaos by jumping on the bed. Traumatized. (I do still jump on the bed, however. I got over it.)

What is your favorite thing in the world?
The happy lump I get in my throat when something great happens. It's usually when I help someone, but can be at any number of happy occasions. It's like all the happiness in my body might just explode out all at once, lighting up the world with sparklies.

What living person would you want to meet?
My future husband.

What dead person would you want to meet?
Mohandas Ghandi. But, only if he were still alive at the time. Otherwise, yuck.

Where in the world would you like to live?
I love living here. It's the best place, so far. I would also like to try out Portland and/or Seattle. I want to be close to my family, but if that weren't an issue... most places in New Zealand, London, Barcelona, the west coast of Italy, anywhere on Hawaii... and hell, why not? San Diego.

Who has the most influence on you?
My family. They love and support me no matter what I do. Even when it's stupid and makes no sense, they smile and nod and wince when I mess up. They've taught me a lot about love.

What is your favorite dessert?
Anything with lime or lemon in it. Oooo! Oooo! Key lime cheesecake. Damn straight!

Can you make cookies from scratch?
Of course! My favorites are gingerbread and peanutbutter cookies. (Not together, though, that deserves some testing.)

Would you rather be single forever with a great family or be with your soul mate and have no family?
Family. All the way.

What is your favorite scented candle?
This is a really stupid question, but if I take it out, there will no longer be 20. And 19 questions just sounds silly. Earth scents like patchouli, sandalwood, sage, and rosemary make me happy.

Have you ever read the bible?
Some of it. I was forced to in my early adolescence by a very old man at my parents' church. I had to memorize the books of the bible. Matthew Mark Luke John... that's all I've got. Obviously, it did me a lot of good. I'm such a heathen, now.

Who do you dislike most in the world?
Dislike? I don't like that question. It's very negative. Each person has redeeming value. That said, G. W. Bush is at the bottom of my likeables list, right now.

What is your ideal date?
Hanging out with my best friend and then realizing that we're madly in love... and not having any stupid pretenses about dating and having to feel awkward at the beginning because we already did that part long ago, when we were just friends.

What is your favorite shape?
Mine.

What color do you feel represents you?
Blue. I wear it a lot. It feels calming. Or green because it's all earthy-like. I think I just listed my favorites. I'm not into that "represents you" hippy crap.

Would you rather be honest and poor, or a liar and rich?
I call lame question. I would rather be well-enough-off-to-support-two-kids-and-take-a-great-international-vacation-each-year and be honest.

What is your ideal ice cream creation?
Strawberry cheesecake ice cream, whipped cream, strawberries, and butter cookies (for good measure).

What is your favorite thing to do?
Be in love. Failing that, rock climbing or partner dancing both really trip my trigger.

What is your favorite junk food?
Ice cream and/or whipped cream. Oh, and cheesecake. And any kind of cake, really. And butter cookies. And lemon cookies.

What is the longest you've gone without talking to anyone?
Probably about 15 seconds. I can be pretty verbose, given the chance.

What is your favorite board game?
Candyland with my clients. I love the look on their faces when I let them win.

What is your favorite book?
Well, if I had read the bible, I suppose that would be a good thing to put here to get me some points or something. But, not being all that religious, I guess I don't so much care about those specific points, anyway. I would have to say... that there are too many to list. I recently read Blink by Malcom Gladwell. That was an awesome book. I also love National Geographic magazine. And anything about how the human mind works.

What toy have you always wanted and never gotten?
A motorcycle. I think it's too dangerous to ride them in the Bay Area, but someday...

What item could you not go without during the day?
Human contact.

Do you consider yourself smart?
In many ways. I can't find my way out of a paperbag, but I can read people. I can do math. I can spell (most of the time) and punctuate (at least half of the time) as though I were well-educated. And I have tons of common sense, which I believe to be priceless.

Is there anything you have to do every day?
Smile. It makes me feel like I'm going in the right direction.

Do you curse in front of family?
Hell yes.

If you had to get back with an ex who would it be?
I don't want to get back to together with any of my exes. There were very good reasons for breaking up in the first place. And, although some of them remain good friends, the romance part was not right. I'm leaving open space for Mr. Guy On A White Horse, thanks.

When was the last time you felt truly loved by someone?
Now. I feel very loved by various different important people in my life right now... which makes me feel very lucky to be me.

What character trait would you change about yourself?
I hate being jealous and/or insecure. I'm not always that way, but I do get that way given the right circumstances. However, as a caveat, those circumstances are generally so f-ed up that I should change them, anyway. And I do, therefore regaining my superhero powers.

Which of your five senses would you give up?
None, thanks. I don't like this question. Sight is important for living and for art, beauty, nature. Hearing for music and the soft voices of loved ones. Taste for great food and wonderful wine (I love living in California). Smell for the little tiny white flowers on the tree outside my house that smell more strongly at night, and for the scent of lovers (pheromones rock my world). And touch... well, there's no giving up human contact.

What do you do when the power goes out?
Since I lived in the Dominican Republic with no electicity for so long, I generally enjoy going outside to look at the stars, take a walk, and, if it's raining, enjoy the thunder and lightening show. Depending on company, I also might light candles, pour some wine, and whatnot.

Would you rather spend the night out or in?
It depends on the day I've had and with whom I am spending my time that evening. Just me = in most of the time. Friends and dates vary.

I tag Carrie and Aaron to answer these same questions.

8th Grade Epiphanies

There I stood in my school-issued swimsuit, damp and goosebumped, as I padded out into the pool area of my junior high school with the other pre-teens in my physical education class. The once blue suit was now faded to a muted and uneven purple. The leg holes were frayed on the edges and made a 1950s style horizontal line across my thighs, which modestly cut off my circulation and made my skin bulge in unsightly places.

Swimming class. It was an adolescent girl's nightmare. Not only did I have to parade around in this unbecoming, outdated swimsuit, but I also had to wet my perfectly coifed junior high hair in order to get a passing grade in P.E. We only had 15 minutes at the end of class to shower, blowdry, and reapply blue eye shadow as needed. For someone who went through most of her school career feeling like the Elephant Man, this was a deeply shameful time.

Being the first child of two wonderfully well-meaning, but horribly unfashionable, parents, I was doomed to be the one kid at school wearing maroon culottes in 1987, almost a decade after culottes were actually in style. The people around me wore pegged jeans, giant sweaters, and loafers with no socks. I came to school wearing clothes straight out of Saturday Night Fever. I held my cloth lunchbox, with my full name emblazoned upon it in craftsy fabric paint, clutched in one hand while I adjusted my enormous, pink and blue glasses with the other. I would duck behind lockers as the cool kids came down the hall. I had decided early on that being invisible was much easier than being fashionable.

In swimming class, the pre-teen playing ground was somewhat leveled, however. We all wore the same ill-fitting, school-issued swimsuits in either mottled purple or faded was-once-red. I was even lucky in this department. Being slower to develop, I didn't have the same issues that some of the more well-endowed girls had, as they tried, unsuccessfully, to squeeze oversized knockers into swimsuits developed in a much simpler time, when girls, apparently, didn't go through puberty until well into high school.

The boys didn't have it easy, either. They were forced to wear a 1950s version of a Speedo-looking suit in the same fabric, worn thin with age and chlorine. They suffered as their already tiny packages shrunk to microscopic when they entered the water. Or, god forbid, did the opposite when confronted with the plethora of smooth, adolescent girl skin sitting on the metal bleachers, while we all waited to be told our swimming assignment for the day.

It was on those very bleachers that I learned one of the most important lessons of my life. On one very ordinary day, three of the cool girls were chatting as we waited for our teacher. Not having any of my dorky friends in the class with whom to commiserate, I decided on invisible mode and leaned against the wall several feet away from them with my arms crossed over my minuscule breasts. I watched from afar. What made them cool, anyway? Was it the way A. tossed her black hair over her shoulder in disdain? Or the way E. rolled her eyes when something was obviously beneath her? Perhaps it was the way J. laughed more loudly and wildly than necessary at certain jibes made by the others.

Then, the moment of truth happened. J., with eyes like a predator, spotted a small cut on the top of A.'s big toe. She inquired about how it had happened. Much to my surprise, instead of a snappy comeback bathed in biting sarcasm, A. shrunk about three inches, looked down, and mumbled something unintelligible. Peaked by the smell of fear, J. pressed her to say it louder. A. looked up, knowing she was found out. Her eyes darted back and forth like a scared animal as she stuttered, "You know how it is. You're all lathered up in the shower, and, you know... you just, like, shave your toes, too." What?! A., the dark-haired, ivory-skinned, green-eyed beauty shaves her toes?! And, evidentally, she knows what a freak of nature that makes her, and has the decency to try to normalize this outrageously aberrant behavior. To no avail. Tragically, A. fell out of cool that day. Later, in high school, she became one of the drama geeks to save herself from becoming the Quasimodo of New Brighton, Minnesota.

And so that day after P.E. class, I took my time putting on my sparkly, blue eye shadow as I watched A. over my shoulder in the mirror, getting dressed by herself. She looked devastated. J. and E. finished their primping and giggled their way out the door together, on their way to lunch to find more unsuspecting victims. The battle was over. And I was smarter for it. It was that day in 8th grade that I realized we are all dorks just bumping through life, trying not to let our embarrassing secrets spill out into the world too quickly. It doesn't matter how cool our facade is; inside, everyone is an 8th grade schmuck, just trying to be as cool as the other kids.