Pistachio Love

Life in a Camper

2010-04-12T22:30:00.000-05:00

It's finally getting warm here the North Star State...and, yet, here we are, selling everything we own and moving south. Go figure.

It all started a few months back...an unassuming sight-seeing tour through the Florida Keys. Turquoise waters spreading out on both sides of the narrow bridge pulling us south toward Key West. The islands had that disconnected feel which only islands do, but less so, as we knew Miami was only an hour away.

The sign said "Key Largo," and we pulled out our smartphone and found the song online.

"Here's looking at you, kid..looking at all the things we did...we can find them once again, I know, just like they did in Key Largo."

A month later, a lot had changed. My husband lost his job, and we knew we needed to move out of our apartment. We put our notice in with no idea where we were going. We talked and wrestled and thought and prayed. Eventually we said: why not?

The past two months have been filled with Craigslist-ing for vintage campers, as well as shedding most of our worldly possessions. We now find our lives running contrary to the Western consumerism which surrounds us.

How to get rid of things? I find it hard to let things go. I bought them for a reason, and many of them hold memories. Will I retain my memories without these physical reminders? Will my points in time fade if I don't keep souvenirs of them?

I spent the day sorting through a huge box of photos, which I've moved from apartment to apartment over the past 10 years, cross-country and back. I finally admitted to myself, today, that I've actually moved these photos more than I've looked at them in that amount of time. So, I went through them. I pulled out the ones I didn't want to let go, the ones that struck me, whether it was the emotion of the memories or the art of the photograph itself. I ended up with a comparatively small pile of photos, and a huge stack of dog-eared albums on the floor...waiting to be discarded.

It's not easy...this process of releasing things I've worked so hard and so long to hang onto. But, with each item that passes on, I feel a little more liberated, a little lighter. The older I get, the more memories I have...and that means that I can't save as much as I used to. So, in between the picking and choosing, I am learning to place more value on each piece, and to let the rest of it go.

Mother's Milk

2009-11-22T20:10:00.000-06:00

Anyone who says breastfeeding doesn't hurt is a rotten liar. Or they've never done it. One or the other. My lactation consultant (after Nat was first born) tried telling me that it didn't hurt. "It will only hurt if your baby's not latched on correctly." WRONG! Look! His latch is just like the picture in this book, but it feels like my virgin nipple is being drawn and quartered! Anyway, he was a guy...how would he know?

Colostrum is fairly thick and there’s not much of it to start. The baby has to work really hard to get it out. Nat's suck was so strong, that if you put your finger in his mouth, it felt like your nail was being pulled off! Even after my milk came in, his suck remained strong. For the first two weeks or so, I would wake in the mornings and lay there close to tears, not just because my nipples were so sore, but because I knew that another day of feedings awaited me.

At that time, I saw no light at the end of the lactation tunnel. All my pre-delivery ideals of breastfeeding for the first two years were fading, and my goal was quickly being whittled down to 9mos, no, maybe 6mos. Before Nat was born, I had never understood why so many women gave up nursing. In the US, less than 15% of infants are breastfed up to 6mos of age. Reasons like inconvenience and discomfort had seemed selfish and trite, and I had sworn that I would not fall victim to such shortcomings. What a different outlook I had as I nursed with gritted teeth that entire first month.

By the time I hit six weeks post-delivery, the pain had dissipated and left in its place a gnawing discomfort. Pardon the pun. At my postpartum check-up, my OB asked if I was nursing, and I remember her saying: “Isn’t it wonderful?” I said “yes” because the dreamy look on her face told me it was the only acceptable answer. But secretly I thought: “Are you NUTS?” Then she said: “There are some times during the night, when it’s just you and him, and it brings tears to your eyes.” Yes, tears. But, of course, those weren’t the tears she was talking about… I went away feeling frustrated and guilty. Even though breastfeeding wasn't hurting as much, my first adjective for it would've been far from "wonderful."

Her words haunted me. Later that night, and for the following few nights, I tried to find that feeling she'd described, that opium of nursing. No luck. My mind and body still only registered discomfort and fatigue. I’d lay back on the couch in his nursery and rest my head against the wall, willing him to eat faster. Sometimes I’d drift off, and eventually he would too, on top of me. We’d lay there in a heap, until I woke up and would put him back in his swing. This routine, twice a night like clockwork, carried us through his first two months.

By the start of his third month of life, Nat was starting to gain some serious weight. Fortunately, I had discovered the forgiving nature of nursing while laying down. I would nurse this way during the day, and the comparative comfort gave me a needed break. When Nat was first born, I couldn't bring myself to co-sleep because he was so small. I worried that he would be rolled over, pushed off, or smothered in blankets and sheets. But he was bigger now, a fairly still sleeper, and had thus far shown no intentions of sleeping through the night anytime soon. I decided to give co-sleeping a try.

He has been in our bed for two months now. Some nights he starts out there. Me, sitting up and working on my laptop; him, laying on his back and watching the ceiling fan, eventually falling asleep to its monotony. Other nights, he falls asleep early, before I am in the bedroom, and is put down in his nursery, until he wakes for that 2am meal. At that point, I go in and gather him up, cuddly and warm, and bring him back to bed with me; a small child nestled in the crook of my arm, drinking, dozing, drinking, and so happy to be tucked in next to mommy. It took me four months to get to this point, but I have half a mind to call my OB and say: “Yes. Yes, it is wonderful.”

Mommy 101

2009-08-26T11:50:00.000-05:00

I won't even comment on it being nearly a year since I last posted...though I guess I just did. I almost feel that I should start over with a different blog, somewhere else, so as not to have to look (and allow others to look) at my derelict writings. But, this seems to be a necessary part of tacking down, that is, not allowing myself to start something new, not finish it, and start something else instead...never finishing anything.

So, since I've last written, I've gone through 9 months of rigorous pregnancy, one move from hell (seeing as I was in my 2nd trimester AND we didn't even own a vehicle at the time...yes, we carried it all on our backs), and one attempted birth induction resulting in a Caesarean from which I'm still healing.

It will be one month tomorrow since Nathanael was born. I never could've imagined how something so small (just over 8lbs) could completely take over my life. Prior to his birth, my only point of reference was my cat. She is about 12lbs. I feed her and hold her and play with her every day. I change her litter box and buy her little treats and toys made from hemp. How much more involved could a baby be? From what I'd heard, they do essentially the same things. After 2wks of 3am feedings, I realised how terribly naiive I'd been...

This, of course, led to the question: WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME WHAT I WAS IN FOR??

The painfully obvious answer being that, if people told young women the truth about pregnancy, birth, and newborns, none of these women would have kids. This would result in the immediate decrescence of the human population, as the older ones died off and none came along to replace them. We would be extinct by the turn of the century. Plus, I think there's some kind of sic vengeance on the part of other mothers: no one warned me ahead of time...now it's my turn to just sit back and laugh!!

So, here I am, seemingly bemoaning my sweet son's very existence... but not at all. He's amazing and I wouldn't trade him for all the ice-cream and plane tickets in the world!!

Confederate territory

2008-11-29T16:38:00.000-06:00

We arrived in Georgia last night. The airport was massive and the concourses sat independently from each other, connected by a train, which ran a full mile, the length of the terminal. As usual, it took longer than expected to reclaim our luggage and secure our car rental. Finally, we were on our way, in a metallic gray Nissan Versa. We tore north, out of Atlanta, heading toward South Carolina. The city was spread out and surrounded us in a way Minneapolis never could, though it didn't seem necessarily big; nothing compared to Manhattan or LA.

Our hotel along the South Carolina interstate was exactly what you'd expect: small, with a lumpy bed, and a bathroom with a ceiling vent that pumped in the smell of stale cigarette smoke. Each room had its own seperate entrance from the outside of the building, like a motel, and I got that creepy feeling. In psychological thrillers, the murders are always committed at motels. Your anonymity is stripped from you, as your car is parked directly in front of your room and, somehow, no one ever notices the shadowy figure sliding down the passageway.

But the night passed without incident, and we were up sometime between too-late-for-continental-breakfast and before-checkout-time. Andrew took a shower, so I had the remote control to myself for a while. Sadly, the only thing broadcast was a Roy Orbison concert from 1985. So I dressed to "Pretty Woman."

The rest of the day has been a blur of tall trees, tall signs (honestly, they stick all their advertising signs way up in the sky...maybe they're for airplanes, too!!), and fast food (yuck!). First real road trip since we've been married, and I'm quickly learning that we have different ideas as to what makes "tripping" enjoyable. He takes more potty breaks than me, and is always up for a burger or some onion rings. I, on the other hand, will puke if I smell one more bag of fast food today. I hate interstates! There is never so much as a deli for a fresh sandwich, let alone any natural food stops. Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia have been carbon copies of each other: BP station, McDonald's, Wendy's, Exxon, Starbucks. I wish we had time to take the windy back roads, so I could actually see some of the countryside! Art told me that there are all kinds of interesting historical sites along this route, but I haven't seen a single sign. My only photographs have been of fellow cars, traveling side-by-side, state after state, along a never-ending strip of pavement.

The best thing we did today was stop at a peach stand. I call it a "stand," but it was actually an indoor store, offering every kind of peach concoction you could imagine. There was peach jam, peach preserves, peach salsa, peach cider, and, of course, peaches. I worked my way down the sample table, and finally settled on something called "Chow-chow." It's spicy, but the heat dissapates as soon as you swallow it. The guy was telling me how you can put it on beans, hot dogs, and a whole list of other things I'd never dream of eating. I had to stop myself from laughing, between his culinary suggestions and his accent! Andrew made sure to tell me that he was not from South Carolina, and that the peach stand was nothing close to what Tennessee is like! :)

A Puzzling Challenge

2008-11-25T09:57:00.000-06:00

This is our cat, Willow. She likes long walks in the living room, and putting together puzzles. She is currently working on her biggest one yet, a 1,000 piece monster!! But, she remains undaunted. Her furry instincts tell her that she's got what it takes. She is grateful for the soon-to-be-falling snow, which holds the promise of many uninterrupted nights to be spent in quiet contemplation of puzzle pieces.

Eggplant Parmesan

2008-10-20T17:48:00.000-05:00

It started three days ago. Hours of rinsing, peeling, slicing. Eggplants. Come to think of it, I don't even like eggplants. A bit late now.
Then came the eggplant press. The idea was to squish out any remaining water from the vegetables. The recipe wasn't specific about anything other than weight. So, half a dozen sliced-up eggplants went into a strainer, with a small plate on top as a cap, and then every dish I owned was piled on top of it. It came up and out of the kitchen sink, like some strange gastronomical Dr. Seuss contraption. A "Smashy-fudd." Suess-esque? Would I, could I, in my kitchen? I did, I did, Sam I Am!!
A day later I saw the tower and rememebered it wasn't the usual stack of dirty dishes. These were clean dishes that could actually be used! The day after that, I remembered there were eggplants underneath it all, and set about plying them out. Thoroughly dry eggplants. Mission accomplished!

Blogging, take one!

2008-10-14T09:35:00.000-05:00

Ahem.

Welcome to my very first blog.

I ended up here somewhat accidentally...following a string of connections from my friend, Kady, who'd set up a blog for her South African adventure! And since I've been wanting to start a blog for some time, well, I guess this is just perfect.

I will begin with a brief description of me and my life.

I currently reside in Minnesota, where I was born and raised. I am thirty years old (maybe) and was married just a few months ago. My husband's name is Andrew, and we have a cat named Willow.
We live in a loft in the Warehouse District of Minneapolis. It's very close to the River, so I like to rollerblade in the mornings. It's getting a bit cold for that now. Andrew recently started a job in Eden Prairie, which is a shame because the commute sucks! But, work is work, and in this economic state of things I guess you take what you can get.

It's really all just temporary anyway, isn't it? Sometimes I think back on all the things I've felt strongly about in the past: jobs, apartments, ex-boyfriends....and I realise: "Hey, they didn't really matter much at all!" Except, of course, that it does something to shape your path. If I'd chosen a different profession or a different neighborhood, things would not have played out the way they have and my life would be something other than what it is now. Or would it?

Sometimes I think it's a shame that alternate universes don't exist. Even if I couldn't hop from one life to another, if I could just poke my head in once in a while and watch them play out, respectively...I really think it might help. It seems to me that you spend your first 40 years figuring out who you are and what's best for you, and then the next 40 years figuring out how to remedy all the choices you made in the first 40 years that weren't in accord with your nature, prior to your knowing who you are and what's best for you.

Thought of the day.