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    what he was waiting for

    August 2006

    “Do you think he’s ready?”

    “I don’t know. I don’t know how much more time it could take, how much more we could do to know if this is it or not. I just don’t know what he’s waiting for.”

    ——————————————————-

    December 2006

    Despite the chill in the air, we felt glowy and warm. We huddled in our thick jackets and caught a bus to the Christmas market, where we stood under blinking Christmas lights, sipped gluhwein, watched vendors selling fresh marzipan and nougat, and smiled at shoppers mingling with their little ones in tow. Christmastime in Berlin is nothing short of magical – especially to this southern Californian who finds snow a foreign element.

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    On Christmas Eve, we went to Mass and reveled in the triumphant music, and then Toby and I joined his family at their home for more caroling, gift giving, and holiday joy by their tree which was decorated so beautifully with real candles shining their cozy flame.

    We each took turns opening our gifts and collectively appreciating each one, until finally there were none.

    The air buzzed with a satisfied glow.

    And then, Toby announced: “Well, I have do one more gift to give…”

    Looking around at him, my pleasant surprise turned into a heartstop, the only part of me moving was the blood rushing to my face.

    He was down on one knee.

    He took my hand, cleared his throat, and said, “I had a speech all planned, but now I’ve forgotten it. Will you marry me?”

    I burst into tears, grabbed him in an embrace, and cried very wet yeses into his neck.

    His family applauded, though his dad was still unsure. “Did she say yes?” he wondered.

    Yes, a thousand times, I said yes.

    I guess he was only waiting for it to be magical.

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    spacer This month, the gang at Bigger Picture Blogs is celebrating and sharing love.

    Join in the fun at Hyacynth’s this week and share the love!

    Tags: Bigger Picture Moment, love

    Thursday, February 9th, 2012

    10Comments

    A word left unspoken…

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    …is a terrible thing to waste.

    …is a blessing in disguise.

    …is a waste of time, a thought repeated in your head until you have no space or minutes for new thoughts.

    It’s a burden.

    It’s our safe zone of moral superiority. Our comeback to which the other can never retort.

    It fills you up and eats away.

    …it’s sometimes exactly what you need.

    …is 335 days a week long.

    …is felt stronger than it might have been heard.

    …torments you for as long as your attention span.

    …can make you feel more real.

    Sometimes we only know we exist because we feel the weight of the secrets we carry.

     

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    This post was written in response to Judy Reeves’ prompt, “a word left unspoken,”
    from her book, A Writer’s Book of Days
    Join in with Just Write at Heather’s!

    Tags: Just Write

    Wednesday, February 8th, 2012

    4Comments

    As Spotted on the Thai Side

    Journaling Life in Thailand

    spacer Coffee, pen, and paper…my favorite way to start the day. I didn’t actually start today that way though. This morning, I got up early for a yoga session, a quick shower, and then a trip to the American consulate to renew my American passport (and finally get my married name on it). I was all geared up for yet another bureaucratic pain in the A…but it wasn’t. Everything was smooth, friendly, transparent, thoroughly explained, and efficient. And in two weeks, I should be all up to date with brand-spanking-new passport. Oh melt my heart. Why can’t all bureaucratic functions be this easy to work with? I drove away from the consulate on my little scooter feeling all international and a bit like Nicole Kidman in The Interpreter, and for about five minutes, I pretended I was a U.N. official and I might have sung a few Imogen Heap lyrics inside my helmet.

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    This week has been a good one. Productive, with a good deal of fun tucked in too. We saw a great romantic comedy at the movie theater, went to a fantastic sushi dinner with friends, found a great new place for cocktails (called The Glass Onion), and a deli called Mighty Moe’s with yummy American sandwiches.

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    I had definitely been missing good cocktails and great sandwiches. While The Glass Onion doesn’t do cocktails like New York (oh, Employees Only, how I miss you), these were definitely above Chiang Mai average. Mighty Moe’s sandwiches, however, were a slice from home. The only better tasting sandwiches I’ve had are the ones from South Coast Deli in Santa Barbara…but that’s just because they have those fantastic sauces. What’s your favorite kind of sandwich?

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    On the weekend, some friends invited us to go camping at this park with natural hot springs. It was a great set-up: for  200 baht (about $8) you get a tent that they put together for you. There are restaurants nearby, or a market where you can buy food to bring back to the camp. Playgrounds for kids, pools, showers and bathrooms close by too.

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    And for another couple hundred baht, they’ll build a huge fire for you.

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    This is my kind of camping. Not rustic so much, (and it would probably offend the purists) but definitely relaxing! I especially liked the part where we didn’t have to put away a tent or worry about hauling around fire-making supplies. There was a group of about 12 or 14 of us and it was like one big party. I made snickerdoodles, we noshed on Thai BBQ, went for a late night swim in the natural hot spring water, and the next day, headed out for rock climbing. Are you a camper? Are you a purist, or lazy like me?

    Dot came too and she had such a blast. She ingratiated herself with everyone and did us proud as camp mascot. She thought it was such a treat to sleep with us in the tent (because we don’t normally let here anywhere near our bed at home) and to trek around on the rocks and hiking trails. By the time we were done she was so tuckered out, she was dragging butt and whining to get home and crash.

    Since then, we’ve all been dragging butt, but in that happy, kids-after-Disneyland kind of way. I kind of like those days, though. Slow-moving, they’re my favorite for doing housework because getting organized makes me feel refreshed, and though I didn’t get any writing work done, I still feel productive. But today it’s back to business! And I need to do some prep work, too, for teaching at SOLD this weekend.

    And I’m excited because I’ve been hearing so much about Downtown Abbey and I was moaning that we can’t get it out here…and then a friend said she would send it to me! I can’t wait to see what I’ve been missing. Do you watch Downtown Abbey?

    Anyway, I’ve blathered on long enough! I hope your week is off to a good start! A week into February, already. I can tell this year is just going to fly by!

    Kisses,
    - J

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    Tags: Communal Global, thailand, Virtual Coffee

    Monday, February 6th, 2012

    12Comments

    Books to Savor: The Book of Salt

    spacer  The Book of Salt
    by: Monique Truong

    When I normally introduce books to savor, I usually mean we can savor the language, the beauty of the words, the sharp poignancy of meaning… This book might actually be delicious.

    The Book of Salt tells the story of Binh, a 26-year-old Vietnamese cook working in the house of GertrudeStein (said all as one word) and Alice Toklas, in Paris in the 1920′s. He’s the silent observer to all that goes on in the literary echelons, and he brushes fingertips with power of the likes of the young Ho Chi Minh, as he battles his own questions and memories of home in Saigon, and looks for love in the city that both flaunts it and smashes it to smithereens.

    {Aside: Am I just on a kick, or is there a remarkable resurgence of all things Jazz Age, especially Paris? Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, Paris, 1920′s, slick prose and loose morals…these elements keep popping up all over the place! I suspect there’s a renewed fascination with that age since we seem to be going through its mirror image now, what with the highlife followed by a market crash and the malaise that follows. I digress…}

    This book was actually a Christmas gift to me, but Vietnamese cook transplanted on foreign soil, food, literature and Paris? I’m in. The language is beautiful and erudite, told in a compelling voice, all that much more plaintive and rich in contrast to the protagonist who himself is silenced and fumbles for words in a foreign tongue he can never own. In lieu of French expressions, he must convey all his sensibilities through the language of food, a thousand words served in an omelette, a hundred hopes on a plate of foie gras.

    Truong’s debut novel is full of delights and fascination. The narration does stretch past a few traditional limits at times, frankly observing and relating what the narrator could not quite plausibly see. I don’t mind a little rule-breaking so long as it makes sense. In this book, most of the time the narration gets a bit far out of course, the reader can blithely make excuses and continue along her merry way. But there was an instance or two where the narration says something that the narrator simply would not have said, it being so contrary to his nature, and there my willingness to play along ran a tad thin.

    Nevertheless, that’s a minor quibble for a book that should otherwise be a tasty treat to the foodies, the wishful, and the transplanted.

    Tags: book review, books

    Thursday, February 2nd, 2012

    2Comments

    The Way We Met

    …was a series of coincidences that might have easily gone any other way.spacer

    It was the first day of painting class in a bright, fresh new year at university. I spotted a guy across the room who I thought was so good-looking that…well, let’s just say, by the second day, I had my easel set up next to his. Nothing serious, of course. I did have a boyfriend at the time. Just, you know, when a girl’s gotta’ get her Muse on, it doesn’t hurt to have a nice view.

    We chatted and made friendly. But nothing serious, ’cause, I did have a boyfriend after all.

    One quarter bled into another, and then we had a different class together, but this time, he had a girlfriend too, and so all we exchanged were some hellos and a few blithe quips. Our worlds kept on going, always along the outer edges of each other’s orbits.

    Then summer came along and I had plans to go to Thailand. And then he had plans to go to Thailand. At the same time. And we said, “We should totally meet up.” “Yeah, totally, we should meet up.”

    And then we didn’t. Because it wasn’t ever anything serious at all.

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    And then, I moved into a new place and broke up with my boyfriend. He broke up with his girlfriend. Change was in the wind and I was a butterfly floating on top of it. I was walking to class with my friend, Sumit, and then I saw him.

    “Hey, you went to Thailand! I went to Thailand!”

    “Wait, yeah, that’s right!”

    “We should totally meet up and share photos!”

    “Right! We should!”

    And we never exchanged numbers or addresses or dates. But after we parted ways, Sumit turned to me and said, “What was that?”

    “What was what?” Except my blush coulda’ lit up a red light district.

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    And then, I was in the library and he was in the library, and I said, “Hey I’m in a new place. You should come over and we can share those photos.” And then we did exchange numbers and addresses and dates.

    And then he came over. And then he kept coming over. And I said, “I just got out of a three-year relationship. I just want to keep things loose. No commitments.” “That’s fine,” he said. Besides, it was nothing serious. He was the type to have nipple piercings and tell stories about all the crazy stuff he got into…and I was so not.

    But then I saw that he wasn’t that type at all, not really. I saw that if he was a type at all, he was the only one in it.

    And then I didn’t want to keep things loose anymore, and I said, “I don’t want to see anyone else anymore. I just want to see you.” “That’s fine,” he said. “Nothing serious. It’s just I like you, is all.” That’s what I said. What I meant was I liked him enough not to want to let him go.

    And then one day, he had to go to work, and I caught his hand. I might have squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn’t see my voice shake. “I’m in love with you,” I said. “You don’t have to say anything back, I just –”

    “Actually, I love you too.” And when I opened my eyes, I saw his bright blue eyes shining on me like I was his angel sent down to earth just for him. And I thought maybe I’d found my angel too.

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    Doin’ a little focus on love, for the month of February!
    Share your love with us, this week at Alita’s!

    P.S. And now we live in Thailand. Turns out it was pretty serious after all.

    Tags: Bigger Picture Moment, love

    Wednesday, February 1st, 2012

    13Comments

    Play

    He sat splay-legged on the wooden floor, amongst the pell-mell of scattered markers and paper scraps, lost in his own daydream world. He sat by himself, his back turned towards me, but seeing him there, my breath caught in my throat, and my mind snapped a picture to remember.

    He was playing.

    He danced his little dragon in the air, his shoulders rigid with the wonder and fascination at this creation he had made with his own two hands.

    I had just shown the kids how to make little Chinese dragon puppets. At the beginning, I had to show this little 8-year-old how to color. He watched me filling in the spaces with a marker, himself too daunted to put his own pen to paper. I worried he would never finish his, he was so busy looking at mine, terrified of doing something wrong. There are no wrong answers, I wanted to say, but too often I’ve seen disbelief in their eyes. So instead, I gave him time and whispers of encouragement. When the other kids left, he began to color in earnest.

    And then he finished. This child, for whom imagination was a forgotten story, for whom fear is a constant houseguest, and for whom pride and creation are foreign concepts, this child was playing with a beautiful dragon he had made.

    With his own two hands.

    My breath got caught in my throat.

    He stole my voice for a moment, and I thought I might give mine if it meant he’d find his.

    Did he see? It was there all the time, just waiting to be understood.

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    Tags: Just Write, The SOLD Project

    Monday, January 30th, 2012

    4Comments

    As Spotted on the Thai Side

    Journaling Life in Thailand

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    Happy Tuesday! What’s in your cup today? Me, I’m drinking some nice, floral Jasmine tea. Life is slowly settling back into routine, and I find I like that just fine.

    We went up to Chiang Rai this weekend to work at SOLD, and this time I taught the kids how to make Chinese dragon puppets.

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    I’m all excited about it because I think I’ve finally hit on something that seems just right for their speed.

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    (It only took me a year of Saturdays to figure it out…)

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    They may not be ready for fine art lessons, or deeper reflections on life. But these kinds of arts and crafts, they can do.

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    They’re super shy at the beginning, skeptical of the point of doing anything, and absolutely terrified of making mistakes. But when they finish, and hold something beautiful that they created with their own hands

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    That wonder and amazement in their eyes makes everything worth it. I feel like dancing. So I will continue with crafts like these to help build up their confidence, and then, when I feel they’re ready, I’ll start slipping in some higher lessons.

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    It’s a process, and I’m learning too. Sometimes, it’s hard to see how this is really helping, but I have to believe that every bit of pride in self I can instill in them is just one more barrier preventing them from thinking that selling themselves is a way out of poverty.

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    In other news, I’m currently awaiting feedback on my novel from a small group of writers and readers. Once I hear back from them, I can make a final set of edits and then start shopping my book out. Call me Excitement and Impatience. I think this is the part where I feel most unproductive. I’m still writing and practicing my craft…but mostly I’m just waiting.

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    Otherwise, this is a pretty low key day. Laundry demands some attention, and we have to go renew the registration on our motorbikes, but I’ll spend most of the day writing. I have plans to make some home made hamburgers for dinner tonight. I even splurged and bought some cheese – really expensive stuff here, probably twice the price that it is in the States. After entertaining for over three months, we’re ready for some serious downtime, with simple home cooked food.

    Salads. We miss salads.

    Last night, I made some rice and chicken (rubbed with cumin, salt, garlic, spices, and a touch of Worcestershire sauce) and steamed asparagus. Simple, right? Heavenly because we didn’t have to go out anywhere and it wasn’t restaurant food. It’s funny how eating out used to be an indulgence, and now the rare meal at home has become the treat.

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    If we were really meeting for coffee today, I’d probably tell you how I’ve been getting back into listening to music lately, especially with some old favorites. Tori Amos is one in particular I’ve had on repeat. I remember listening to Cornflake Girl on the bus on my way to high school in the mornings and liking the song well enough, but I never knew what it was about. Only just a couple of days ago, I actually read up on the song’s meaning and inspiration…and realized Tori Amos is far more complex than I originally appreciated. And these lines, from Silent All These Years, keep running through my head: “Cause what if I’m a mermaid/In these jeans of his/With her name still on it/Hey but I don’t care/Cause sometimes/I said sometimes/I hear my voice/And it’s been here/Silent all these years”

    Anyway, it’s getting late. I’d better get going on that laundry if it’s going to get dry before that sun goes down. What’s on the docket for you this week? (And let’s just not talk about how it’s already February tomorrow, m’kay?)

     

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    Tags: Communal Global, self, The SOLD Project, Virtual Coffee

    Monday, January 30th, 2012

    12Comments

    Simply, Sparkle

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    For the past month or so, I’ve fallen prey to a feeling that isn’t homesickness, so much as it is fatigue. I’m tired and want to retreat, to hide away from the seemingly simple things I can’t understand and the basic, easy concepts that I just can’t explain. I’m tired of fighting to find the words, and hearing ones I don’t recognize. No matter how quickly I learn, there’s always more, and the better I get at speaking Thai, paradoxically, the more impatience I meet when there is something I don’t understand. I hate seeing that look, the one that says they’re mistaking a lack of language for a lack of general mental capacity. And I think that, maybe I did that too: that, in impatience, maybe I treated someone as though their inability to express themselves in English meant they had little inside to express at all.

    Long time readers will know about the struggle I had getting my ID card here, and then our battle for T’s visa renewal, and now my American passport needs to be renewed from abroad. These all seem like basic things, but then, each time, it’s never nearly as easy as these things should be. Where once it was an adventure and a story to tell, it’s now beginning to feel like we’re under constant attack, fighting a never ending fight for the right to simply be.

    In my fatigue, there are times I know I’ve stopped dancing the dance of social niceties and gone straight to honesty, because I just don’t have it in me to dance. My feet hurt, and I’m going to sit this one out simply because I can.

    I feel compelled to wrap this up in a tidy bow, to find the sparkle in the ordinary glass of water, and to say something like, “it’s a journey, and maybe the soul just needs a rest,” or maybe “I think I expected to find home, and it turns out I’m still traveling,” or that I need to “buck up, sistah, because there’s lots who’ve got it worse than you.” There’s good. Lots of good, and hopefully my regular readers will know that I see the good too, and feel it in my bones. But right now, at this moment, this is my truth. I’m stripped to essentials, futilely trying to cover the exposed parts with my too-small hands.

    ::

    …and admitting all that, it feels better already. Saying all that, I think, is exactly what I needed to do to cast off the burden making it too difficult to take the next step.

    And so, the next step, I now take. And maybe I found that sparkle after all.

    spacer Have you found the bigger picture in a simple moment? Join us at Sarah’s!

    Tags: Bigger Picture Moment, self

    Wednesday, January 25th, 2012

    17Comments

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