It's an honor just being invitated

I promise to contribute something to this week's blogathon. For now, I just want to say I'm thankful for The Ladies of My Right Margin. I wish Toni's stay in NJ were longer. I would have loved for us to laugh in person and drink beers together.

You can book your flight here, but I wouldn't recommend it

Recently I went to reserve a flight for Frank and hit a recurring snag. I like to use Priceline, but it's a no-bookie-bookie if your trip originates outside the US. I called my beloved to let him know I'd need a little time to search the airline sites directly, and he seemed a little aggravated. Because, you know, the Priceline thing is my fault. We exchanged "pleasantries" for a minute or two, then someone called someone an asshole, and then someone suggested checking flightsforassholes.com to see if anything was available. Cue the imaginary ticket site gigglefest. Here are the ones I can remember...

The aforementioned flightsforassholes.com
suckitandcrash.com
tryorderingyourowndamnticket.com
downinflames.com
icantdoanythingformyself.com
imaginingyouonfire.com
illbookthisflightandifyoudontlikeitcallyourlawyer.com
beagoodwifeanddoasisay.com
longwalkhomefromnewark.com
And Frank's clincher, enjoymyinsurancemoney.com.

I went directly through our usual airline and found a price I could live with, though I'll admit to being extremely tempted by that last one. Snort!

Art to Choke the Constant Reader's Heart*

Last night I stayed up late to finish reading Duma Key, and the end was better than I had hoped. If you're familiar with the work of Stephen King, you know he frequently and affectionately addresses the person holding the material as "Constant Reader", an act which I find excruciatingly endearing. My research on the man himself indicates that he's a great believer in giving it all away, which elevates him from 'respectable human being' to 'downright huggable' in my book.

Duma Key centers around a favorite topic of mine -- art. Sketching, drawing, painting... the kind of things you do a lot when you're a stay-at-home parent, whether or not you're an artiste. We generally do not permit the use of colored pencils as Olivia finds them to be particularly tasty, but occasionally one of the kids will turn up with one in hand. This morning Nico plucked a red pencil from somewhere (fellow Constant Readers, it was RED, ha-ha) and asked for a big piece of paper. We sat together at the table and I watched him make a self portrait.

"Look, Mommy, I'm drawing Nico. Here are Nico's eyes, and this is Nico's nose... and here is Nico's smile. Nico has arms and legs... and here is Nico's head, and look at his nice haaair. Look, Mommy, that's Nico."


Once again, there goes my chest. Caving inward.

Late note on the picture: when Nico draws faces, there are usually three eyes. First two vertical (open), then one horizontal (closed) to the left. When you look at this face as though the eyes are closed and the boy has long lashes, it's really a very accurate depiction of our Snuffy.

* Partial title theft from Henry Rollins Art to Choke Hearts, because you have to use that one when the opportunity presents itself.

Romantic comedy

Frank: Hey honey bunny, thanks for coming to Peru. Really, thanks. I know it wasn't exactly easy for you here, but I want you to know how much I appreciate it.

Me: No problem, Love. I know it meant a lot to you. I'm happy we did it.

Frank: I can't believe how tough you were. It sucks getting out of bed in the morning when it's only 50 degrees inside the house, and you have to wear a scarf all day and always have on a hoodie. You're a trooper.

Me: You know it!

Frank: Whoever said my wife doesn't have any balls, they don't know a fucking thing. You definitely have some balls, no doubt.

Me: Honey, if your wife had balls for real, I'm not sure that's the kind of thing you'd want to go around advertising.

Frank: Fuck it. You've got cojones!

Gracias, Mamá

While I was in Peru, my mother-in-law would often cook lunch for us in her kitchen. Then she would hop a taxi to our apartment and we'd sit around our dining table for a few hours, just talking and enjoying the delicious meal she'd prepared. Rosa would arrive with her canasta (Spanish for 'basket') and a bottle of Inca Kola, and though I wouldn't openly admit to it at the time, I was just as interested in the canasta as I was in the cloth-wrapped pots of food cradled within. It was pure awesomeness. Throw-back colors, hand-crafted, extremely sturdy, and put to obvious good use. I longed for one of my own.

A few months went by, and I decided I couldn't leave Lima without canastas. But the hunt for this particular variety proved more challenging than you can imagine. I scoured every small market in my district to no avail. I also searched larger markets - the kind that are the size of a football field and two or three stories tall, where you can buy a whole bloody chicken or the head of a hog and then march upstairs for a wristwatch and a three-piece suit. All that variety and still no luck. Sure, there were other, lesser canastas, but not like the one on which I'd set my heart.

On the day we were flying out from LIM, my mother-in-law said she would meet us at Ciudad de Dios (one of the markets in her district) to give canasta hunting one final go. We searched for an hour and found nothing, so we decided to bail and get some lunch. Shuffling down the crowded sidewalk, I saw Rosa talk to a passing stranger. Then she turned around and said we were going back inside. Why? It turns out this random lady had the right kind of canasta tucked under her arm, and had tipped Rosa off to a vendor on the lower level who had what we were looking for. We pushed our way back through the marketplace and there, hiding on a shelf 15 feet off the ground in the way-back of the downstairs of Ciudad de Dios, we came upon a secret stash of old school canastas. I bought every last one the woman had (five, yay!), and walked out of that place happier than anyone has ever been.



And this... this is the basket that sparked the obsession. A little gift from my mother-in-law, and it means more to me than anything else I've ever smuggled home from a foreign land. It's Rosa's canasta... the canasta... and now it's my canasta. I don't have a lot of prized possessions, but I can honestly say that if anything ever happened to this item, you'd find me in tears. Yesterday it did a dandy job as my beach bag, and it's far cooler than any of my previous farmers market stuff-holders. To me, this isn't just a basket. It's a memory, and I love it.

Sorry I'm late, Mr. Lipton...

Months ago, when my own writing tapered off, my sister put up James Lipton's famous Inside the Actors Studio list of questions for all the blogettes to answer. Liz is on vacation right now. To give her something to read while Drew is driving, here are my answers. Hold on to your muffins...

What is your favorite word? Love (funny side note: Liz's answer was 'Vacation')
What is your least favorite word? Blind
What turns you on? Courage
What turns you off? Snobbery
What sound or noise do you love? My kids having their own conversation
What sound or noise do you hate? Chewing, especially gum or crunchy things
What is your favorite curse word? Shitballs
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Race car driver
What profession would you not like to do? Politician
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? Oh good, you made it. So my directions were okay, then?

Alrighty, I believe that officially catches me up. Have a great weekend, y'all.

My son, the reader. My daughter, the ripper.

Now that I'm constantly walking around with a book in front of my face, Nico is growing more and more curious about what's stealing all his attention. You know I'm reading Duma Key (still), and I also plucked The Purpose Driven Life from one of my mother's bookshelves (unexpectedly God-based, but interesting nonetheless). What you probably do not know is that my sister gave my mom a fun little bit o' reading material the other day... a copy of Relentless by Dean Koontz. I quickly picked it up to see what it's all about, and have been ignoring poor Stephen King ever since.

So. My son. He loves books. Not yet able to read for himself, he is constantly choosing books for us to curl up with, and that's just fine by me. Olivia, on the other hand, could not care less about reading and prefers to - whoops! hi Mommy! - accidentally fall into my lap and - oh, no! rip! - brazenly dismember her brother's beloved stories page by page right before his very eyes. Oh, we brawl, people. We brawl.

But back to Nico. Yesterday evening he said he wanted to sleep in my room while I read him a story. I tucked him under my covers and after we finished laughing about how Ernie annoys Bert, he pointed to Relentless which was sitting on my night table. I opened it and said, "Well... no pictures, and it's scary." He didn't care. I leaned back against my pillows and he put his head on my shoulder. I read aloud (omitting anything remotely scary) from my grown-up book and he was fast asleep five minutes later. I lay there for another half an hour, half reading to myself, half wondering how I wound up with such a remarkable little boy at my side.

Readin'. Runnin'. Beerin'.

That's what I've been doing for the past two or so months. I really needed a break from the writing. Please forgive. I have been lending my writing time to other excellent hobbies (see post title) and, while this poor page has suffered horribly, I am happy to report that I have got three books going at once and am thoroughly enjoying a pretty much constant runner's high.

Additionally, I am happily basking in the NJ heat. Not sunning, necessarily, but warming myself to the bone. It's fantastic.

Daddy is the cookie alpha dog, although his bark is worse than his bite

Tonight I gave the kids each four little cookies as a bedtime snack. After I brushed their teeth, I got four cookies for myself. Just to stack on the desk and eat later tonight. Olivia ever-so-sweetly asked me for one of my cookies. "Coo-kee? Mommy?" I said no and explained that these were (placing right hand on chest) Mommy's cookies. Mommy's cookies for later. She persisted, and when she started skipping in place and escalating her volume, I told her to wait because they were Daddy's cookies. Daddy's snack cookies for Daddy to eat later. She said, "Okay, Mommy." Then she breathed in and walked away.

Incommunicado, mostly

A few weeks ago, I left my cell phone in New Jersey. I´d forgotten it druing my final sweep through my mom´s house, and we were half way to Newark before I realized it was still charging on the kitchen counter. I haven´t had service on it lately, but it´s an iPhone and I use it almost every day anyway (for playing music and shows, as an alarm clock, camera, etc.). So, leaving it in Jersey was (and still is) a bummer. My computer died about a week and a half later. Then, yesterday, our living room television set fizzled out. Boo, boo, and boo.

My technology/communication situation is not quite as pathetic as it sounds, though. We still have what I like to call ¨tv on the computer¨ in the main office, and I can still check my email and whatever else. And I don´t know if it´s coincidence, but around the time my computer lost all signs of consciousness, I lost interest in the computer in general. There´s no real plan to fix my six-year-old laptop. We´ll take it to the repair people eventually, try to retrieve the data; right now I am just not in any hurry. If you don´t hear from me in the immediate future, rest assured that I still adore you all and I´m perfectly fine down here living in the moment.

Recent favorite photo

Here's a photo of a little boy who has outgrown afternoon naps. And he knows how to choose the most adorable footwear, which is important.

Humma humma humma

I'm thinking of a new name for the ol' blog here. When I come up with something decent, you'll be the first to know.

So yeah... just organizing to pack, and downing a couple of PBRs and some of this really tasty lamb-shaped chocolate cake my mom baked for Easter. I don't feel particularly stressed or overwhelmed. It'll be nice to sleep in the same bed as my husband for a change. We spend a lot of time together. Like, all day, every day. So when we're apart, it's really different for me. Going to work isn't like "OK, hon, see you in 10 hours", it's more like "OK, I'm going down the hall, see you in 10 minutes". We eat almost every meal together, take walks in the morning, watch soccer and make out in the living room while the kids are down the hall taking their afternoon naps... that kind of thing. It's nice.

Nothing much different to talk about. I've been trying to shake a headache for a couple of days. Maybe I'm thinking too hard about my laundry strategy -- how to time my loads perfectly so that I won't have to pack any unwashed garments or take anything to the cleaner's my first weekend back. Tapping my head over that one as we speak.

Saturday splendor

This morning and early afternoon were spent out and about with Mom and the kids. I am still whittling away at my take-back-to-Peru list, and I must say I had quite a successful time as far as that goes. Got the last of the kids' items and almost everything I need for myself, save a few books I have to order online.

This trip has been amazing. I spent the majority of my time at home with my mom and kids, but also got in a lot of quality friend time and even saw some relatives I haven't seen in years. In a way I feel... older. In a good sense. I have an uncle (my mom's brother, Uncle Pat) who has been living in Dallas, TX for a good 20 years and I keep thinking about him. If it's not too funny to draw this equation, I keep feeling like him. Hearing my mom making plans for her friends and cousins to come over for dinner because "Karen's visiting from Peru", or dropping what I'm doing to run out to lunch with a girlfriend, or taking the kids to places they might not see for another year... I understand something new about how it is to be away from everyone. That thing is love. It's hard to explain, but I realize I have so much more than I ever thought I did, many times over. I'm going back to the other side of the planet, but I feel more connected than ever to home.

We fly out on Thursday. Me and my babies. My good traveling, smart, funny babies. They are almost like twins, they're so similar. I'm excited to see my husband again. I'm excited for my kids that they will get to see their daddy. I'm going to miss being here, and I'm going to miss my family and friends again. It means more to me than I can describe with words that I got to see so many of your faces during this visit. Thank you. I can't wait to see you all again. Exclamation point! And my Mommy... oh my gosh, my Mommy... I love you.

We plant, and they grow

This morning we're doing a little digging in the dirt. I'm re-sorting yesterday's feelings (and lack thereof), thinking about the different funerals and burials I've attended in my lifetime. I also started thinking of tv and movie burials, and decided that my favorite fake burial happened in Six Feet Under when Nate took Lisa's body, buried it in the ground in the middle of nowhere, and gave her family someone else's ashes. D'oh!

What we're burying this morning is decidedly more innocent. Starters for some flowers and herbs. Livi was adorable, calling out "Boop!" as she poked each sunflower seed under the soil. We also did moonflowers and green beans. The lemon balm seeds went untouched, but I'll remedy that tomorrow. Must have the lemon balm. Doing simple things with my kids always makes me happy. It's so important to teach them that happiness doesn't come from the mall, but rather from family and friends and living a life that is real and kind and generous.

***

Breaking news, the phone just rang. It was a call from my sister. I couldn't pick up. Not just because I hate talking on the phone... I just know the news and don't want to hear it firsthand. She wouldn't be calling for no good or bad reason. It could be a glaring sign of immaturity on my part, or possibly an almost complete disconnection. My two sisters on my dad's side are actually amazing people, and they understand me quite well whether they realize it or not. And, really, I only use the word 'immaturity' because I just happen to be the youngest of all my siblings, and in my mind that's how they would categorize it.

***

Going back to semi-reality, I'm not ashamed to tell you my lunch today consisted of a slight amount of actual lunch, followed by two cocktails. Don't worry, I'm not home alone with the kids. And I'm not above dulling the pain. I'm in a weird spot. I wish I had my husband with me, and I am just one of those people who need their own space. If not physically, then mentally. In times of troubled thoughts, I take achievement where it can be found; I'm done contemplating and I need a complete zone-out. Clean the slate. Take out the trash. And so on, and so on, and such.

Some feelings. Nothing more, nothing less.

I just got off the phone with one of my sisters, and it turns out my one remaining grandparent is on her deathbed. Ask me if I can make sense of that.

Nope. Not really.

I haven't seen Sophie in 24 years. I remember her face, but I doubt she would recognize me. I'm sitting here thinking, and there isn't much about her that makes any sense. When I was a kid, she and my grandfather all but blamed my mom for the massive stroke that killed my dad. One encounter at one of my sisters' weddings, one birthday phone call, and a couple of decades later I'm here shaking my head. And my fist, a little. Not that I ever lacked family, what with three sisters, a brother, aunties, uncles, nieces, nephews, and a gazillion cousins. Obviously I've never had to spend Christmas alone. The thing that gets me now is the backward view. Looking through my memories and not finding any of Grandmom with my husband or my kids (not for lack of a brief effort on my part)... no pictures of her at my college graduation or my wedding.

There's no rule stating you have to love someone just because you are partly the same person. What I'm confused about now, though, is whether or not I feel anything at all. I don't hold it against her that she didn't seem to care much about what was happening with one of her six grandchildren. By the time I realized I should have been hurt, I was old enough to know that pinning your pain on someone else gets you nowhere. Am I a little jealous? Yeah, maybe. Am I a little sad? Yeah, but mostly because I don't like to hear about anyone dying. Did I cry when I heard she will probably not live another day? Almost... almost. I was shaking my head right there.

Sophie has lived 97 years, and is now dying of nothing more than old age. At this very moment, her body is missing that oxygen mask and asking itself what the fuck it should do next. Or maybe it already knows. Who can say for sure? Regardless, I wish Sophie a peaceful journey into the next life. I hope she comes back as something beautiful and free, and that she takes her final hours to realize how much she was once loved.

** late note **
It's about 30 minutes after I wrote all of that, and I just found myself in the kitchen mixing up a Salty Dog cocktail. So... hmm... I guess take that to mean whatever you think it means. I started to analyze, but it was just too massive either way and now I definitely need the alcohol. Partially kidding. And about that particular recipe, I like the little blurb about the drink but there seem to be a few variations. The common denominators appear to be grapefruit juice and gin or vodka. Oh, and P.S. don't put peach bitters in it like this guy suggests. Sub two of the ounces of grapefruit with bitter lemon soda. Sprite in a pinch. *ching*

Tag

Three names you go by:
1. Kar(e)
2. Love
3. Mommy

Three things you are wearing right now:
1. Light gray longsleeve tee, boatneck, six-button cuff
2. Wedding ring
3. Black fleece yoga pants

Three things you want very badly at the moment:
1. Cuddle with hubby
2. Service on the iPhones
3. World peace

Three people you are certain who will answer:
1. Toni took my answers
2. But also,
3. Definitely Liz

Three of your favorite foods:
1. Blue claw crabs & beer (count as one)
2. Satay tofu from Penang
3. My mom's homemade pasta sauce

Three people you last talked to on the phone:
1. Frank
2. Joei
3. Receptionist at pediatrician's office

Three things you are going to do tomorrow:
1. Put chocolate frosting on the heart shaped, two-layer yellow cake I baked for the kids
2. Go outside
3. Drink coffee

Three of your favorite beverages:
1. Ruby red grapefruit juice
2. Water
3. Guinness

I grabbed this off Toni's Tales and Travails. Could not resist.

Writing stuff down is totally important

There's something funny about moving around. One place feels different from the next. Like, Lima feels different than New Jersey. I don't know exactly what going back and forth from one hemisphere to the other does to my body. Whatever it is, I definitely feel it. Either it's like I live in two places at once, or I have so many steps to perform to get to the next breathing point that I lose track of days. I carry a note pad around all day long. Right now it's my best friend. Without it, even for simple stuff, I'm lost. Here's my list from yesterday:

post office
thomas - tracks - diesel?
food shopping
old navy - kids socks - nico pjs and tees
mortgage, two mos. condo dues
amazon - order books - coupon

And that was just what I did between 9 am and 1 pm. The exciting life of a stay-at-home mom, right? And it's not hard stuff. It's just that my mind is everywhere at once, and focus is nearly impossible to find when I'm here, but I'm also 3,000+ miles away. I still have to schedule a flight back, but I'm waiting to find out what Frank's plans are. Wouldn't want to show up at the apartment if nobody's going to be home. And plus, I'm not sure I brought my keys. That would suck, being locked out with two kids and luggage.

But anyway, back to New Jersey. Back to the moment. This has been a fantastic visit home, and the great news is there's more to come. I just want to keep soaking in all the goodness. I look forward to being back in Lima with Frank. I look even more forward to coming back to NJ. Freaking me out a little is the thought that my son will almost be ready for kindergarten when we officially "come home". I was putting his pajamas on him earlier tonight, and it struck me how he looks like a giant version of the baby he once was, or even what he was just a year ago. And Olivia? Forget about it. Amazing, all the changes and how much I love them. Seriously, sometimes my soul aches when I think about those babies. Soon enough, I'll be back with Frank, drinking a beer on the roof, talking about love and family and the meaning of life. Sweet days to come, my friends. Sweet, sweet days.

Heading back

Looks like the kiddos and I will be leaving on a jet plane in two weeks or so. We've got a husband and daddy waiting for us down there, but fear not. We'll be back for good soon enough.

Stuff I did today, not in chronological order

Ate half a theater-size box of Milk Duds.
Brushed my teeth, then washed and moisturized my face.
Packed a bag for me and the kids for tomorrow -- going to see my niece's school play.
Napped for approximately one hour.
Wore my winter hat indoors half the day, then switched to a pony tail.
Posted this video on FB for Frank.
Raked leaves out of the herb garden.
Got a workout pushing the babies around the back yard in a red kiddie car.
Made two phone calls; one to pay a bill, and one about re-enrolling for health insurance.
Chatted with Jen about Corey Haim while the kids watched cartoons.
Realized I like dressing the kids in coordinating outfits.
Had pot roast, potatoes with gravy, and honey glazed carrots for dinner.
Had Kix cereal with vanilla Silk for dinner number two.
Used a calculator five times.
Smelled fresh rosemary.
Got a little confused remembering winter here is ending, not beginning.
Tried to find a place for all the kids' cool new hand-me-down clothes, all the while being thankful for friends with good taste in toddler fashion.
Wondered if the show The Good Wife is on demand.
Searched high and low for the copy of Vicky Christina Barcelona we evidently still owe Netflix.
Read articles about sports, knitting, and typography, and also started up reading a second book.
Thought about life.

Space. The final frontier.

I'm watching some bedtime Star Trek (the original series). There are nights when I put on episodes I've never seen before, but this time I'm going with an old favorite. Balance of Terror. Arguably one of the best in the show's three-season run. Ahh, young Shatner. And I had a girlhood crush on young Leonard Nimoy. And no, I'm not embarrassed.

Tonight I wish I could snuggle with my husband, who is 3,000+ miles away. It's my not-so-secret wish that he will show up at the front door. It would be the most pleasant surprise ever. Right now I'm so tired but don't want to shut my eyes. I want Frank lying next to me, pretending he's too tired to scratch my back, then stroking my hair until I fall asleep. Sometimes when he does scratch my back, he'll do it for about thirty seconds before he gets distracted or bored, at which point he calls a 'commercial break' and reaches for the remote or picks up a book or does something else to let me know my favor time is over. It's fine, though, because I secretly prefer the stroking of the hair. Actually, there's other stuff I prefer over that, but that none of your beeswax!

Tomorrow we've got a rockin' playdate planned. I'm debating getting my shower tonight. The eternal dilemma. Do I shower tonight and get it over with, or wait until morning and risk getting into a time crunch? It's 12:45 a.m. and I still don't have an answer. Typical. I hate going to bed. Isn't there a magical pill that could solve this? There's a pill for everything else, it seems. If a little tablet can accidentally give a guy a boner for four hours, then why not purposely invent one that allows you to cram a full night's rest into three?

Let me go think on that one. Better yet, let me brush my teeth and watch more of my show. I might start it again from the beginning, so that I can see my favorite parts and then drift off to the sights and sounds of grown men and women acting out space drama in outrageously cool costumes.

Pandora, what's your prob?

I'm having one of those nights where Pandora is completely wasting my time. Enough with the "two-man duo" bullshit, okay? Snooze.

Comfy pants, book. Will be playing The Ecstatic (Mighty Mos) on low.

Oh, let me mention this before I go. I had a fabulous lunch with my friend Lauren this afternoon. By the time we got the check, we were laughing so hard that I had to dab under my eyes to make sure my mascara wasn't half way down my face. Comparing notes with other parents is so refreshing. Now I don't feel so bad for being furious at Livi for that split second after she kicks me in the sternum while I'm changing her diaper. Maybe I shouldn't have watched so much kung-fu while I was pregnant. Livi's ability to absorb Bruce moves is not to be underestimated. Feet of Fury and whatnot.

Ok. Now, really, comfies/book/Mos.

King is bringin' it

Shit, I wish I could write something. I know why I can't. I can't put two real thoughts together lately. Not to sound weird, but Peru changed me. I'm a little freaked out, a little amazed, and a little proud. I want to say thanks to Toni, whose recent blog comments have helped me put words to all the feelings. I just feel like a different person. I feel like I just plain feel more. It's deep, deep shit, man. Deeeep.

In more tangible news, I'm engrossed in Stephen King's Duma Key. Again, weird. I'm not really one for the scary stuff. At least not last time I checked. Hell, maybe it's my new nightly job of chasing scary things out of the kids' room that's got me feeling so bold. Here's what we do. The kids are in their beds, all tucked just right, and Livi says, "Mommy. I scare. Monsters." I stop patting Nico's back, then stand up and say, "All you monsters and dragons and ghosts and trains and engines, go... a... way!" As I'm saying that last part, I swish my arms out in front of myself like I'm snapping a bed sheet. Wa-BAM! Beat it, monsters. The kids congratulate my efforts, and now everyone can sleep.

Except me. I'm off to read some fright and drink my special herbal tea blend. Hot lemon tea, lemon slice, tablespoon of honey, and 2oz. of Southern Comfort. Sleep tight.

Adjustment

I'm going to start writing poetry about the United States and all it has to offer. That's right. Poetry. I missed this place with all my heart. Peru, I like. New Jersey, I love. When I walked into my mom's house the other day, it was just... home. I went from room to room gushing to myself. *Oh!* Dishwasher. Sanitized sippy cups. *Oh!* Large capacity washer and dryer, both with delicate cycle. *Oh! Oh!* Everything. Drywall. Bath tub. Furniture. Warmth. And then after a few hours, I got to sifting through some mail and papers I had left in the dresser. And some of the less pleasant things I'd left behind began to stack up in my mind. The shitty economy. How much everything costs here. Joblessness. Commercialism. Uncertainty.

I've been trying to focus all day. Yesterday I started to go through what can best be described as emotional let-down. I was so amped for days before the trip. Tensed up by the thought of a midnight flight alone with two toddlers. Anxious about the three of us being apart from my husband. And then, at the airport, a delayed flight. Problems with Immigration. Having our passports confiscated. Explaining (in Spanish, mind you) that I had gone to Immigration in downtown Lima four months ago, shown them -- three times -- the exact same papers and been told I was legal for six months.

Getting formally reprimanded by three separate officials. "No. No, no, no." That part translates pretty clearly. Ha. Being pointed in the direction of the MAC machine and being told that I had better return with the appropriate amount of cash, and being warned not to try to get on the airplane without paying. "Remember, I have your passports. If you try to leave, you won't get them back." What the... what?! Remembering that, shit, I had no cell phone if I needed Frank. It was, hands down, the most stressful time I've ever had getting on an airplane. And I've flown, people. I've flown plenty.

Obviously we made it home, blue passports in hand, with a few extra gray hairs on my head. I have missed my family, and home, and I still miss my friends since I'm spending the first week of the visit with my mom. I'm also doing things like *oh!* getting my hair done and driving a car for the first time since August. This morning I had to go down the hall away from the kids and my mom to let loose with some tears. It was just total decompression, and it hurt and felt good at the same time. Life in Peru is not easy. Life in the U.S. is not simple. But I love being here, and I want all of it. I'm cramming it all in, bit by bit, one whole wheat cheddar cheese Goldfish cracker at a time.

Wassup?

I'M HOME, BITCHES!

That's right, the kids and I are visiting. We don't have a return flight yet, but we'll be in fantastical New Jersey until at least St. Patrick's Day. Frank is busy at work, like, super busy. And since we're transitioning our apartment to an office space, Husband is going to find another home space for us while we're out of town. So much is happening in Lima. Not only with the studio, but just inside my head in general. Living in Peru has brought out so many things I would never have realized about myself... about life... about people... about how to live and love and be satisfied and help people... it has been an amazing experience so far. It's hard to put it all into words. Maybe it will help if I show you this -- it's part of my answer to the question Frank asked me a few nights ago at our super special husband-and-wife rooftop party...

"So, Señorita O'Toole, what have we learned about Peru?"

1. Wear socks. All the time. Or at least flip flops when it's warm. And just to be safe, have a scarf for all seasons.

2. Keep a warm blanket on your bed for when the fog rolls in around 3am.

3. Shoo the cockroaches. Kill the mosquitoes. Ignore the ants.

4. It's okay to drive in between the lanes of traffic, as long as you keep honking to let people know you're there.

5. Floors (which are mostly tile, marble, or hardwood) should be mopped several times a week, but will be dirty again an hour later due to the dusty, dirt-y desert climate. Additionally, the dirt will find its way through the bottom of the socks you should be wearing at all times. If your floors are dirt or concrete, forget the cleaning and just wear shoes.

6. Nobody cares how many days in a row you wear the same clothes, but change them as soon as they get wrinkled or stained.

7. Anything labeled "sin perfuma" (unfragranced) will inevitably smell like flowers. This holds true for everything from household cleaners to body lotion to feminine hygiene products.

8. Almost nobody uses tampons. No lie, the ladies' section at the supermarket stocks pads and tampons at a 50:1 ratio.

9. In matters of beer, choose Cuzqueña over Cristal. And don't forget your empties when you go to buy.

10. Sweet wine is gross. That one's universal, but especially true in Peru.

11. Don't eat chicharron (savory fried pork) at night, and don't eat ceviche at a restaurant where you can't see the ocean.

12. Know the exchange rate and check all your bills (just like here, hold them up to the light).

13. If you're an hour late, you're still on time.

14. Don't expect hot tap water. Furthermore, don't expect hot water in the shower.

15. Expect seven kinds of red tape, in varying shades, when you try to resolve any kind of official matter or file any kind of paperwork.

16. There are several places on every block that sell bootlegs of all the latest theatrical releases from across the globe, and the quality is excellent. At the beginning of every bootleg DVD, there is a high-budget anti-piracy commercial.

17. My name is Karen Rivera O'Toole. Pronounced Kah-den Rre-beh-dah Oh-tuhl.

18. Polite pushiness is the way to get things done. Flattery helps, especially when delivered in baby talk.

19. Adhere strictly to the rules of the Peruvian drinking circle: pour a small amount into the community glass (fill it about 1/4 of the way), pass the bottle to the next person, drink your share in a timely manner, pass the glass, make fun of anyone who deserves it, and don't you dare wipe the rim of the glass or yawn while someone else is talking. I made the mistake of being super tired during a drinking circle and yawned during one of Frank's stories; I was promptly ripped to shreds by the other attendees. Lovingly, of course, but still.

20. Only stress yourself out if you really feel like it. Nothing is more important than your family (or people in general, for that matter) and nobody will fault you for being carefree. Mostly because nobody wants to hear your complaints. The End.

Talkin' shite

Actual dialog from this morning:

Nico: Sissy, are you okay?
Livi: Poop.
Nico: Sissy, how are you, okay, Sissy?
Livi: Poopies.
Nico: Mom, Sissy's speaking Spanish again.

Because I like knowing if Brad's available. You know, just in case.

We don't get a lot of US internet content down here. It's "unavailable". I've been left high and dry as far as juicy gossip videos and useless information.

Today I'm missing out on the following clips:

Pitt and Jolie Really Over?
Brave Cat Clashes with Bear
'Price is Right' Guest Faints*
McConaughey Debuts Baby
Tourists Trapped in Machu Picchu Flood (actual big news here)
Lindsay Lohan's Father Arrested Again in NY*
Alito Caught Reacting to Obama Remarks?
'Idol' Contestant Scares Perry (while not technically embarrassing, this one is a little out of place since I enjoy neither 'Idol' nor Perry)
Rhianna's Fashion Faux Pas
Clinton's Franco-American 'Trip'*
Stamp May Sell for $350,000*
and finally...
Top 40 Celebs Over 40

* Embarrassing, but would watch.

Estadio in the darkio

Tuesday night, Frank took me out on a hot date and it was super fun. Not exaggerating on the super fun part. 50,000 people at Estadio San Marcos to see Metallica play their first ever show in Peru? Come on... it would have been un-American of us not to go.

Since you've all seen concert photos before, and I'm pretty sure even my mom could spot James Hetfield in a crowd, I'll show you what it's like to go to a big outdoor event here. Crappy camera (which is soon to be replaced with a spiffy one) aside, I've taken a liking to doing small things which I can safely say nobody else I know will get the chance to do in this lifetime. That being said, here I am. After Metallica, after the crowd cleared out, after midnight, I walked across the soccer field at Estadio San Marcos. Right before the concert, we had to walk past/through a whole lineup of mounted police. Now, I know better than to walk behind any horse, let alone these Gigantors. But not everyone is so smart. One horse started to tippy toe around a little, and then another, and then another, and before I knew it I found myself in the unique position of easily being able to head butt a police horse in the chest. Don't even ask me for a photo of that, because I will sooo give you a dirty look! Anyway, here I am by the sideline at center field. Olé, olé, olé, olé...


Little did I realize there was more walking in my near future. Here's the scene coming out of the venue. And like I said, most of the people were already gone.






Half an hour walking down the highway, then a fifteen minute ride standing up in that little white bus, followed by another fifteen minute walk before we found a cab driver who would take us anywhere close to home. He brought us to Miraflores (the district next to Barranco) where Frank and I drank two beers each and woofed down an entire pizza pie. We took a cab home, hung out a little more, and finally crashed around 4am.

Thanks, husband, for a night out that was a lotta, lotta fun. You rock.

Concrete, ceramic tile, wood, and glass

Okay, so I know it's lame that I am barely writing lately. There are five half-posts waiting to be completed. I keep starting, then losing direction, or the idea fire goes out and I forget what I wanted to say. While I organize, I thought I could tell you what you're looking at in these photos. I have a story about my bathroom so you'll see that soon, and I don't spend that much time in the kitchen so I'll get to that when I get to it.

Some basic information about the place:
Solid concrete
10' ceilings
No HVAC, screens, ceiling fans, or hot tap water

Here we have the entryway. The front door is at the bottom of the stairs, and this red door leads to the patio and half bath. The window is made of brown plate glass and looks out over the little courtyard in the third photo.


When you walk up the stairs and turn around, you get this view of the apartment. The bedroom is on the right. The office is on the left. Down the hall are the bathroom, living room, and guest room/play room. Originally I was going to put my desk in there, but I like working in the living room and having a separate space for the kids to go when I need to get things done.


And finally, the view from the bedroom.



I can't wait to tell you about the bathroom. I'm still baffled over the way we get hot water for the shower. You'll see what I mean. Soon.

Popping bottles, deterring thieves

Here's your favorite expat at midnight. Already a little toasted, fumbling with the cork wire. No worries, though. The cork hit the front steps of the restaurant across the street.


Next to that restaurant, which happens to have excellent food and fresh pineapple juice, is The Jesus Store. It's a great place to fill all of your religious and/or shamanistic needs. Candles, giant glass-enclosed statues of the virgin Mary, scented waters, rosaries, incense, herbal soap, and the like. There happens to be a very old, recently restored church on our block, so The Jesus Store always has customers and the owner seems to know her stuff. She suggested hanging this on our door to bring goodness and prosperity in the new year. The small wooden cross behind it was there when I moved in. I wouldn't necessarily hang a cross on my front door, but far be it from me to move (or remove) one that's already in place. Have a look.


While you're at it, check out the closure and lock system on the front door of our apartment. Burglars would be wise to steer clear. A poorly coordinated horizontal slide of any one of these metal pieces could result in an excruciating pinch on the finger. Ye intruders beware...