Wish List, Item 1: Belly Laughs

At the request of her parents, one of Waffle Guy's daughters sends out a holiday wish list to a few key relatives. It's a very exciting thing to get, not only because her wishes are adorable, but because it instantly prompts my inner six-year-old to feel gleeful and joyous. Did you do that, as a kid?

 Remember sitting down with a toy catalog and circling every imaginable toy? Remember wondering what sort of magic you'd discover on Christmas morning?

Remember being certain that there would be magic?

In recent years, I've been an ardent subscriber to the "it is far better to give than to receive" school of the holidays. I'm sticking to it, for the time being, because there's a thrill in giving that is unparalleled, and I will continue to selfishly seek that high as often as possible.

But when I looked over the wish list in my email inbox, it occurred to me that a wish list is perhaps an exercise in faith. That Waffle Kid sits in her apartment, and compiles a collection of things that she believes will enhance her life. And then she sends them to people that she knows are waiting for it, wishing to make her happy. She is certain that there will be magic, too. Her list is proof.

And so, I browsed a Web site or two, looking for silly things that would make me smile. And I compiled my own list, imagining opening each of those ridiculous items and guffawing so hard that I ached. Really, it doesn't matter one iota whether I get any of them or not. The point is, I learned some important things about wanting.

First, it's not greedy to wish for things. Wanting exciting and new things in our lives is what keeps our lives exciting and new. It's possible to be generous and to want.

I know what I want for Christmas this year: A house full of people, a great big dinner, and a whole lot of laughs.

And also, this marshmallow gun.

Welcome, December.

Intently she gazes out the window for hours. Everyone else in the house assumes she is watching passers-by as they walk their own dogs, but I know better. Since we put the tree up, Gracie has been watching for Santa.

I have, too.

This is a vibrant and abundant life with which I'm blessed. I have my family, and opportunity. It's warm in my house, in every way. There is food and music and laughter and love. In here, there's almost nothing I'd change.

But this has been a month of contradictions, and the world isn't always so perfect outside of my doors. There are some things going on right now that terrify me. They're not fair, and they're not nice, and they break my heart. Yet somehow, in this season, I cannot let go of the belief that any second, it could all get better.

I love Christmas because it's so representative of the resilience of the human spirit. I'm stricken by how, on our darkest days, we dress our homes in twinkly light. When it's coldest, we gather close our loved ones to sit by the hearth. We feast, even as the fields are most barren. It's a beautiful sort of defiance.

Christmas, to me, is evidence that in our nature is a refusal to be overcome by darkness and cold. Instead, we seek shelter in the security of our homes and families. We notice the magic around us. We celebrate that which is important and real.

Spring will come soon enough. It always does, and everything becomes new and alive and promising once again. But for the time being, I'm content to sit here with Gracie, watching for miracles.

Love, Defined.

Atop my fiance's shoulders, the littlest Waffler explored Amsterdam from a vantage point high above the city. But it was a long day, and travelling had worn her out, and soon enough, she fell asleep. 

On his head.

Hilarious though it was, I worried that 43 pounds of limp, floppy kid might cause Waffle Guy epic chiropractic consequences. "I can carry her, if you want," I offered. "I'll help you get her down."

"It's no problem," he explained. "This way, we're moving forward, and she's getting some rest. That's about as good as it gets, isn't it?"

Maybe. But it still seemed like it might hurt, eventually. "You're going to get tired!" I insisted.

"Or I'll get stronger shoulders," he said. 

And in that moment, love made perfect sense. 

At once intricate and simple, the truth was there, as clear as water: To find it in one's self, day after day, to carry the ones who matter, and to find strength in that, is the gift of love.

Tomorrow, Bruges.

Shiva, The Destroyer

I thought I had finally hit my stride. That's when it always happens, isn't it?

My ex, who is a nice enough guy, is not terribly reliable when it comes to things like child support. I'm over that. On one hand, there's principle: It's a parent's responsibility to feed and clothe and support his or her children. On the other hand, for the time being, there's nothing to be gained by being The Enforcer, really. The girls and I are doing okay without the help, and simply accepting what is means that there's none of the conflict that can so crumple children. We're fine.

When he got fired and lost the kids' insurance benefits, it was harder to adapt. COBRA for the Little Waffles was just shy of $2000 a month, and freelance work doesn't come with benefits. I was going to have to get a "real" job.

The problem is that all of this occurred at a point when I was sort of on the cusp of having exactly the career I wanted. My pet project, Of Scars, was getting tons of attention as we finalized arrangements for our opening on October 1. I was working with someone on developing The Novel. A bunch of crazy things were falling into place. It seemed a shame to have to abandon all of the work that had gotten me there to take whatever job would pay me benefits.

Somewhere in a conversation with Waffle Guy, it occurred to one of us that this might represent a unique opportunity. Student insurance policies are a great value for the money. With a little bit of planning, it was possible that I could go back to school and insure the kids, for less than the cost of COBRA. I'd be able to go to school, plus freelance and nurture Of Scars on the side, right? And it represented a unique opportunity to set something right in my life. I was a very, very young mother, and so I got the education I could complete most quickly, and not the one I wanted. Maybe this was an opportunity to stop spinning my wheels, and to start embracing the things that move me.

We hatched a plan on a Thursday evening. The following Monday, I started classes.

It's so hard. Juggling a full course load, three school-aged kids and work is much more difficult than I thought it would be. My kids, used to having a highly responsive mom, must now learn to be more independent so that I can study. My dogs, used to daily trips to the dog park and endless games of Fetch, sit at my feet and look up at me with eyes that clearly say, "Can we go play now?" There's minimal sleep and a maximum amount of stuff to do. I feel like I am being pulled in a million different directions.

I'm not entirely sure I can do it.

Here's the strange part: It's stressful, but it's delicious. I feel like I finally have a chance to see what I'm made of, and for the first time in my life, I suspect that I might really like what I discover. Someday, anyway, when I've got time to think about it.

I'm taking a class called "Perspectives in Non-Western Art", which I thought would be an easy, fun way to get myself back into the groove. In reality the class is super demanding. There's oh-so-much to memorize, and it's all built on history in parts of the world that mainstream American academia pretty much ignores, so there's no reference point for the memorization. Analyzing artistic techniques on slides in a lecture hall is much less exciting than seeing those pieces first-hand. The prof, who seems like a lovely person, is unbearably dry as a lecturer.

Strangely, I'm starting to absolutely love that class.

It's where I met Shiva, one of the gods in the Hindu trinity. He is called The Destroyer. In class, we have analyzed dozens of images of the many incarnations of Shiva. I really like him.

Often, we see Shiva with many faces. He bears a crescent moon on his head, and his hair is matted. In paintings, he smears himself with ashes. Sometimes, he holds a trident. Most often, we see him pictured in meditation. In my favorite incarnation, Shiva as Nataraja, or "Lord of the Dance", spreads his four arms and dances the Tandava, the dance that is associated with the destruction of the world. Always, his face is serene.

At first, I thought Shiva was spooky, but I'm beginning to understand that perhaps he and I have met before. For all his destructiveness, he is a benevolent force, seen as the cause of regeneration and renewal in the Hindu world. Perhaps this is why he smiles as he dances the Tandava, stepping on Apasmara Purusha, the demon of ignorance, while he moves. Perhaps he knows that sometimes, we are content to exist in our ignorance until our way of life is shaken.

In Hindu temples, it is commonplace to circumambulate--to walk in a meditative, circular path--around sacred objects. In Buddhism, circumambulation of Buddha's relics is practiced. Sacred texts in Judaism and Christianity recall divinely ordered circumambulations of the walls of Jericho. On Islamic pilgrimages to Mecca, the devout circumambulate the Kaaba. It seems that a meditative need to explore sacred spaces is engrained in human existence.

A month ago, I had a plan, and it looked nothing at all like my life looks today. I'm grateful for the opportunity that this situation has presented, but the transition is really difficult some days. The truth is, sometimes, Shiva visits. Plans change. We don't have a choice. This time, I was able to immediately recognize that the outcome would be worth it, but that's not always the case. Sometimes, we lose people who are dear to us. Homes are taken. We get sick. Families split up. Sometimes, Shiva is devastating.

Looking around at the remains of my plans, I'm trying to be conscious of the sacred space that my life has become. I'm trying to circumambulate the confines of my situation, meditatively exploring the new boundaries and possibilities of this chapter of my life. This time, I can't wait for what's next.

Moving Right Along

Most of the time, life strolls along at a predictable pace. You wake up, you go to work, you come home, you go to bed. Rinse, and repeat. There. I've summarized most of life, in two easy-to-read sentences.

Sometimes, though, for whatever reason, life propels itself into some kind of bizarre hyper-speed.

Waffle Guy and I went to New York this weekend to visit his Eldest, and it was a head-spinning whirlwind of a wonderful weekend. For all the amazing travel adventures the Guy has had, this was only his second time in the city--and the first time, he only stayed for 18 hours. I felt obligated to provide him with the comprehensive New York City tourist experience in a single weekend.

In less than two full days, we went to dinner with the Eldest and her BFF, walked around the Upper West Side, went to the Empire State Building in the middle of the night, explored Chelsea on foot, visited Ellis Island, bought a light meter at the Hell's Kitchen Flea Market, saw +/- 0.3% of the Met, ate at a darling little Basque joint, had brunch at an old friend's place (To be clear, he's not old. Our friendship is.), and came home. I'm so tired that every word I type looks misspelled to me.

And yet, I want more.

I wish that we had the energy to wake up every single day and sustain that level of enthusiasm and adventure, and to make the most of every minute, and to remember to appreciate the people we meet along the way.

I hope that, when it's our time to go to the Great Nuthouse in the Sky, we will leave behind a list of full-throttle adventures like this one. I hope that people will understand that this is why we go to crazy places and do crazy things and obsess about making crazy-good waffles.

Life passes by awfully fast, you see, and I can't think of anything that matters more than whirlwind weekends and the memories that they create.

Worth Doing: Meteor Madness

Stay up a little bit late tonight. It's worth it.

The famously active Perseids meteor shower peaks tonight, and between minimal moonlight and a relatively clear forecast, it looks like conditions should be ripe to see between 45 and 60 meteors per hour. Head outside after midnight, look Northeast, and start counting.

Anything measured in meteors per hour has got to be good, right? 

Lessons from a Tourist's Photos: It takes awhile, sometimes.

First, my Letter Writing Campaign fell miserably flat. This is primarily because I had a massive two-week bout of writer's block, but also partly because it was a dumb idea. This is what happens when one drinks too much coffee and stays up until four o'clock.

Second, I'm learning to make peace with the obstacles. Sometimes there are obvious reasons you can't move forward, and sometimes it's a mystery. But we're all stuck, sometimes. And when it happens, there's no point in wishing you were somewhere else. You've just got to listen to the music of honking horns, and notice the lights and the colors and the patterns around you, and stay behind the wheel, and wait.

After all, we all arrive at the same place eventually. It's what we see along the way that matters.

Buenos Aires, May 2010