One Green Bee Designs

So nice to be here

We are so very glad to be in Carthage.

There have been risotto and lamb dinners. Artichokes. Preserved lemon pastas. Halvah, dates, and lots and lots and lots of olive oil. We are smitten by the blood orange trees (and resulting fresh juice), our hosts' espresso machine, and the gorgeous blue trimmed windows. Carthage is a beauty, and our friends are amazing. We have feasted and laughed and storied. 

We've had outings to the beach:

And we've learned to throw things:

We've sampled the local fare:

Enjoyed family evenings:

And created quite a bond with some great boys: Will be tough to leave such good dudes (who are so good to my little dude):

There's a few days left and good weather in the forecast. We've Roman ruins to cimb and more shwarma to eat. Woo hoo! 

Tunisia bound

We're getting out of here! And it's supposed to rain the whole time! And we all have colds! And the flight times are horrendous! And you're not invited! (Roz Chast readers, the last line is for you)

Colds and rain and lack of sleep are not getting in the way of our fun. We're off to see some of our best people---two of which are some of our favorite bloggers. Rain showers aside, there will be significantly warmer weather and olives and new sights and grand conversations. We are excited.

Perhaps not quite as excited as the puppy dog dancer in the background. But almost.

I've loved you more

P and I don't have an official song, but we do cook up some fine, off-key duets. Our best is Emmylou Harris and Mark Knopfler singing 'This is Us.' (it seems that they get the lyrics about as right as we do in this version) Although we are big Emmylou and Mark fans, at our hearts, at our hearts we are Johnny Cash people. We holler a good, 'Jackson', but you'd get raised eyebrows if you called that your song. And I'd feel awkward since P has a mean crush on June Carter. So, when choosing a tune for my P this Valentine's Day, I turn to a favorite Cash album: American IV: The Man Comes Around. He's singing solo on this one, and he does a beautiful cover of the Beatles'  'In My Life.' (are these links legal?) (It's powerful enough to make me consider abandoning my go-to karaoke classic, 'Total Eclipse of the Heart'. Almost.)

P and I are terrible at celebrating holidays that institute forced love (and awfully good at making fun of them), but I'm feeling especially soft for that good egg this year. I think there will be sincere heart-shaped pancakes at breakfast and a little Johnny on the stereo.

"There is no one compares with you."

Photo credit to the amazing dRops. He captured this image on the John Lennon Wall in Prague earlier this fall, and he also sang in public with tone-deaf me. That's mighty good friendship when you're musically talented and willing to harmonize with the musically inept. Thanks, Dave and Tracy!

What lies ahead

A friend shared a blog article today, and it was talking about how situations that drive us to go within---often end up limiting us. I don't think I agree with the article's greater point, but I did think about how the city of Prague---or my ability to survive in the city of Prague given my limitations, fears, and idiosyncrasies---drives me within. I work to limit my interactions with others, and I try to hide from what is uniquely and wonderfully Praha. (all self-imposed, mind you! No fault of Prague's!) But---and this is absolutely not a comparison of cultures or a weigh-in on whether one is better than the other, it's simply the result of my dreadful shortcomings interacting with the aspects of a culture---in Southeast Asia, the cultures I explored and lived in were ones that complemented my weaknesses and pushed me to be braver and to seek out interactions with others. (Again, all self-imposed choices and actions!) I could lose myself outside of myself-----and I really really miss that. I haven't been able to articulate what has been so hard about living here for me, and I think this is the crux. 

I appreciate where I am so much and am so very grateful for these two years. Given the choice, I'd live them over again. And I could return. But for now, in this phase of my life with a toddler in tow and a tentative spirit, I'm very much looking forward to the change that lies ahead.

Speaking of what lies ahead, it's already February!

 

February Sketchers

My entry is due Monday. You can see the good works the other amazing folks are doing--here. This month I had Cindy's book, and her theme was "home." I'm not into portraits and decided not to sketch P. Though that might have been fun. Instead, I turned in this:

"I am not a good decision maker, but I can say with certainty that I married well. Whew. One of the more superficial yet delightful aspects of my marrying up is where it landed me in the summers. What a view! The Ranch is a special place for us, but I still struggled to think of an image to capture Cindy's theme of "home" because P and I have always considered our relationship place enough for us. But Gus--that complicated Gus--has given us pause. While this tiny family is where we hope our collective hearts reside, we also recognize our little dude may need (because we honestly have no idea) a stable place in which he can return should he want a familiar community and a sense of roots. It didn't take too much arm twisting to decide to make that "home" near the Green compound so that G can know the same mountains and rivers and hills and trails and orchards and sunsets that his cousins will know and that his grandparents and great grandparents and father and aunts and uncles have known their whole lucky lives."

It came out more cartoonish and silly than I was aiming, but maybe that's the effect of today's -17 (celcius) weather on my chilly hands. Tomorrow--and I am not kidding--the forecast says -28. Holy smokes! 

 

Status Update

If I was less discerning about facebook statuses, today's would say:

-10 C is the official breaking point of my cold weather running gear. 

Make the Kaye Syrah beans. You won't regret it (and yes, I added spinach).

Something long overdue is finally in the mail:

Hallelujahing and Hiding

It's all hallelujahs and hiding spinach around here. Almost 11 months ago, I found myself unable to get out of bed or pick up my baby or hold a cup of coffee. A pesky joint disease altered life for this family. Altered it a lot. It hit when I was finally gaining a little confidence after a bucketload of bewildering newness. We'd kept the baby alive for nearly a year and survived our first months on a new continent. I was back in shape and clocking happy kilometers on long runs, and our first winter in seven years--a long and gray one--was starting to lift. It was a cruel time to find myself abruptly bed-ridden, and I let that disease knock the hope right out of me.

But I've got good peeps and Grace and This Too Shall Pass. And it did. It's not the same body; there are joints that will never quit growling but I can move. Hallelujah, I can move! Today marked a milestone of moving---18 glorious kilometers through Praha with a dear friend. It was hard, but it was beautiful, and I never ever ever thought it possible. I am one grateful girl.

Tomorrow will be Advil and ice and spinach muffins. That's right. I'll take this poor transition from what really is an awfully Big Deal to explain that I obsess over iron intake, and so we've been eating Rebar's Broccoli Soup (take the time to make a pesto to swirl in, toss in some steamed florets and you will never ever ever make any other creamed brocolli soup--or possibly any other soup at all. You'll find the bare bones of it here.), which should really be called spinach soup, and finding other creative uses for the green stuff.

The boys have no idea there is wilted spinach in these delish carrot muffins. 

And tomorrow's fruit smoothies.

Bad photography aside, you have no idea how happy this all makes me. 

I hope I am able to be kind

Since we returned to Prague, Gus and I have been having a hard time speaking each other's love language. He's hid all of my winter accessories. My hands are freezing. He gave me a bloody nose and dropped his oatmeal in my coffee. And then there was Wednesday. When someone you love hands you their own poop, you know your relationship needs some attention.

That night, before he went to bed, we prayed together as a family. Well, I prayed and he poked his father in his closed eye (it really hasn't been easy for any of us). I asked for a little help around here. Help learning to parent with joy.

I've been getting all sorts of appropriate parenting advice and notes and insights from folks, and it's felt sort of bleak to have well-intentioned people say such lovely things like, "Don't you feel like you're just living the best life has to offer?" when I'm scrubbing the toy excavator my son has just filled with his own urine. I've really questioned (and probably will forever) my ability to execute and endure the dirt and grime and nuts and bolts of parenting. 

Thursday Gus and I left early for school. This walk was rich with the giddy anticipation of a breather from one another. And so it was surprising when we found ourselves missing our bus in order to crunch ice. All the puddles from the day before had frozen over, and we are people who do not miss an opportunity to smash things without consequence. So we smashed and hopped and slid and skated and reminded ourselves not to eat dirty ice or to lick the tempting pieces that look like candy. (I thought of you fondly, MS, and all the times we watched the movie Beautiful Girls. I always liked the scene where Natalie Portman is just stomping snow. I share her pleasure in a good snow stomp). While ice chunks flew and Gus learned to land on his knees for a really good ice ride, a neighbor walked by and took in our mayhem. She is not a parent, but she has more parenting mojo than I'll ever muster. I'm bewildered by this girl's kid-magnetism. Kids love her. She loves kids. Oscar is totally smitten. I was pretty sure she walked off making a mental note to investigate Czech child protective services as I yelled things like, "Run over here, this puddle is REALLY slippery!" But I was wrong. Instead she later emailed that she just wanted to share her joy in "witnessing kairos (she and I must read the same blogs)", and how she was so happy to have seen such a beautiful parenting moment.

Argh. What a stinker. I wanted to tell her, "That's parenting? That's the crap Gus and I waste our time doing all day when we should be learning to cut with scissors and sing our ABCs and put on our own coat. That's the stuff that distracts him from eating vegetables and bathing properly. That's the fun stuff I do when I want to avoid what parents should be doing. That is NOT parenting." But, I got it. I get it. Thank-you-very-much pre-eye-poke prayer.

I was pretty happy to pick up Oscar after school and get my buddy back. Affirmed now in our aimless ways, we did all the voices to The Pout Pout fish together when we were supposed to be learning to tie our shoes and may or may not have hung up our jackets. And can you believe it? He even asked to use the potty and not his own hand or the Nepalese carpets. I was shocked.

This is a strange gig, this endeavor growing a human. In an On Being podast from NPR with Sylvia Boorstein, two phrases recently stuck in my head (poorly quoted):

"Your measuring stick that you're thinking clearly is that you are able to be kind."

and

"In this moment, am I able to care?"

I'm looking forward to putting those up on the wall and trying them out on the next day where I find myself gritting my teeth. And while I'm not super keen on the amount of attention fecal matter gets around here, I am pretty keen on living hopefully and on watching someone grow so admirably despite my best efforts at messing up this process. I am grateful for a community of outspoken women who remind me what I am doing and remind me what I should be doing and give me pause. I don't always agree with them, but I am happy to be walking in this path if it is one where Gus and I can take a break from the horror that is learning-to-zip-your-own-coat with an impromptu ice skate.

About twenty blissful seconds before he poured hot chocolate on my shoe.

Happy Birthday P

Fifteen years ago, in the Schroeder farm kitchen, I met my beloved P. Someone asked me the other day if I liked him from the moment we met. I was in a hurry and regretted my quick response. If I'd taken advantage of a moment to sing out our song, I'd have explained that before that encounter at the Schroeder farm, yeah, I had seen P. He'd been in some of my classes at University. He was outspoken and confident and always seemed surrounded by a gaggle of good looking people. At that point in my life, I was unimpressed by anyone that seemed remotely competent and thus ignored him. But when a mutual friend (thanks, SV) had us both over to make a batch of her mother's homemade raspberry hooch, it was like at first sight.

It's only been a few times that I've had the experience where you meet someone and your friend-meter starts shaking. You just know that you're in the presence of Something Good. We squashed raspberries, sang rowdy songs at the top of our lungs, and saw each other almost every day after that. The Schroeder farm (and a nip of raspberry liqueur) has a way of bringing out the humor in folks. We decided we were the funniest people the other had ever met.

I didn't know what love was for nearly ten years (fully aware that everyone around us did). I just knew that P and I were soulmates. We made lists, we laughed, we learned things, we cooked, we crafted, we ran and kayaked and stirred up a lot of silly. P has a way of making the ordinary unbelievably entertaining.

I'm so happy that we both finally figured ourselves out and so grateful that I get to celebrate his 36th year with a gorgeous Gus and a hopeful heart.

Since Gus was born, we've both felt like we are in humilty boot-camp. So, to commemorate our year of new horizons with continued hopes of self-improvement, I painted and drew P one of our favorite (and timely) verses. It's become a bit of a manifesto:

P also got his favorite cake: carrot. Gus was happy (though you'd never know it from his somber face) to help:

And happy to eat:

Happy Birthday, dearest P. You're the best Something Good I've ever met. 

Gong Xi Fa Cai!

It's MY year! The year of the dragon! Put on your red shirts and prepare your reunion dinners! Unaware of Chinese New Year until I moved overseas eight years ago, I've waited a long time for my turn. And, fitting for an Asian symbol that bodes revolution, this year holds a move back to Singapore and back to teaching. Big things are on the horizon.

I just hope my class sizes aren't too big.