Birthday Plans

Today is the actual day. We'll be driving the hour down to my parents' house, and even my brother and sister are coming for the occasion! First, a late lunch of Mexican food (not my very favorite, but will be fun, especially with margaritas in the equation). Then, we'll pick up my grandparents, return with them to my parents' house, and enjoy pineapple upside-down cake (my request). It's going to be fun.

But first: I'm getting out in the sun for a walk. I spent all day enjoying brunch yesterday; really fun, but no chance for sun on an exposed bit of face. This is crucial for my winter well-being.

Dinner with a Real Italian

Friday night, we had dinner at the home of a real Italian, from Italy; and his lady, a real Iowan. We had a wonderful time, eating a delicious meal seemingly tossed together with the greatest ease, drinking red wine, and allowing a vast selection of digestifs to pour down our throats. To aid digestion, of course. Really. (We provided the cake.)

Naturally, being a fauxtalian, I observed our host closely for hints. Here is what I noticed: that our Italian friend seemed to pass through dinner, conversation, and life surrounded by a cloak of ease. I do not mean that he doesn't work hard. I mean that he seems to know how to leave his cares behind at the end of the day, to keep from getting too worked up about the foolish aggravations of life, and to smile and enjoy a glass of wine. As a result, he seems to be wonderfully accepting and welcoming to a vast swath of people, some of whom (based on stories I've heard) are folks I would find intolerably difficult. But he can share a cigar with the difficult people and find amusement in their idiosyncracies.

But mostly, we just had fun. We were told upon leaving that the next dinner would be at another Italian's home. They revered the other Italian's cooking skills. He was sick and could not make the party Friday.

Brunch!

Today we are having brunch to celebrate the last day of my 20s. I love brunch: it can be sweet, it can be savory; it gives you a license to drink at breakfast. Everything goes in the name of decadence and sloth.

But, how will I decide between the wild mushroom quiche and the poached eggs on toasted cornbread?

People are really nice about networking.

I had some trepidation before I began networking, but I've discovered that people are really generous with their time and nice about sharing info about what they do. Wow. Thanks, all you nice people out there.

...Are these the same people who drive me crazy in traffic? Nah, can't be.

Very Serious.

One of the things that strikes me, viewing American culture as an "Italian", is how obsessed with self-improvement is this culture, and how self-improvement is always equated with denying pleasure.

Pleasure is un-virtuous. We are serious catz. Srsly.

Now, I know I am far from the first to make this observation about America, but it becomes more striking when, as an "erstwhile" American, an expat living right in the Lower 48, one excuses herself from the mindset. You begin seeing the madness everywhere.

I drink tea because I like it. I really like it. I would be very unhappy cat if you took my tea away.

Did you know that tea is good for you? It's really good that you drink tea. I should drink tea, too.

For a while, I tried out green teas, because they were better for me and all that nonsense. I didn't like them as much, though, so after a brief dalliance, I returned to yummy black tea: Prince Vladimir, chai from the local bakery that does chai really well (NO Dunkinbucks chai! You hear me?), English breakfast, Irish breakfast, Russian breakfast, anon. Sometimes I drink a green tea for pleasure/variety, but I relinquished my obligation to antioxidizing some time ago.

And then what happened? Oh look, black tea has health benefits, too! But that's beside the point.

Here is my question, Italia to America: What if tea (wine, greens, exercise) only benefits you if you enjoy it? Interesting premise, isn't it? Keep tweaking what you do until you find the joy.

PS And maybe if one can be less rigid about, Not Doing/Consuming X, one can find a way to do/consume X in moderation.

Tonight in Drumming

I went back to the drum circle for the first time in a while. We drum ceremonially, in a sort of eclectic, catchall, Native-Celtic-pagan way. Well, that's the structure; I see it is a chance to drop into that right-brained, creative space where symbols live instead of words. I don't necessarily believe in the Goddess etc., except as vivid symbols. (Don't tell the others.)

Before the drumming begins, we go around the circle and share our intentions. Most of the women have very prayerful intentions: healing on some level, giving thanks, offering blessings. These are lovely. Tonight, my intentions were threefold: to support the others in their intentions; to be open to new possibilities, in the circle and in life; and to be juicy! and creative!

We drum for each of the Four Directions: East (Wind), South (Fire), West (Water), and North (Earth). In the East, the direction of Winged Ones, I normally see eagles or owls soaring above tall pines. But tonight: goldfish. A school of shiny goldfish flew through the blue sky. And then, crisp white sheets flapping on clotheslines, with hummingbirds darting all around. New possibilities, hello! Let's turn everything on its head--YES.

In the South, I usually find myself around a campfire in a tribal setting, all of us dancing in a circle in the deep woods. But tonight--Carnival in Rio! Opa! Oh, how we danced on the float, the samba rhythms sweeping is down the crowded street. And wearing costumes--transformation. Axe, muito axe!

In the West, I often go for a canoe trip and meet some river animals. Tonight, however, was no ordinary night. I stood on the ocean shore, and the goldfish returned. They took me into an Atlantic City casino and we gambled, drank, and laughed! When I returned to the shore, the crabs sitting in the low tide mud were playing cards, too. Gambling, taking risks, having fun.

The North was a trip to Africa, where I danced under the giant tree where the first human live. The ancestral homeland of us all, Mama Afrikka. It was groovy.

In Which She Putters

My sweetie is away in lovely Pittsburgh, PA--in February--for the weekend. His last conference took place in sweltering Orlando in August. They are not seasonally astute, these people.

So I am having Unstructured Time. I am puttering. Yes, I started the day with a teeth cleaning (report: I need a filling replaced--but it lasted me a good 20 years) and a shiatsu appointment. Then I formed sourdough loaves and went for a walk, before my life-coach friend came over. We were supposed to trade shiatsu for coaching, but I suggested we just have tea and socialize instead, and she was feeling the same way. We chatted, ate some sourdough straight from the oven, drank tea.

After she departed, the order of events becomes hazy. At some point I napped on the couch, at some point read a little more Three Cups of Tea, and at some point spent 2 hours lying on the living room floor with my feet propped on my meditation cushion, listening to the Slate Book Club and starting at the plaster patterns in the ceiling. During some part of the Book Club, I did a few yoga asanas. Not very meditative while listening to podcasts, but still a good stretch. I also researched New Urbanism online, wondered why such good ideas make such creepy places (anyone?), and ate tuna fish (with terragon!) on corn chips and in a piece of lavash. I also ate the rest of my chocolate cream pie. No husband was there to chide me about the necessity of a "proper dinner". I contemplated making my own yogurt from the yummy goat milk they sell at Trader Joe's, but took no action in this regard.

I feel that sort of time dilation that happens when one is stoned. It's nice. It's sort of healing...recharging.

UPDATE: New Urbanism may be so creepy to me because the N.U. places look like they were manufactured in a test tube, clones of the olde-tyme main street. Celebration is doubly creepy because it is owned by Disney, the corporation that famously made a fake Main Street.

I have to wonder whether N.U. is, on some level, romanticizing the past, fetishizing Main Street, like pastoral literature romanticizes country life.

But, suburban development is not going well, so...