An Auspicious Start to 2010

It's a new month and my brain is firing on all cylinders, which, if I were to hazard a guess, would be more than four and possibly even more than eight.

First off, I'm taking an active role in an exciting new endeavor. For now, I can tell you: (a) it's a community-based project; (b) I'm inspired by the people involved and I'm so excited to work with them and (c) I'm hugely optimistic about the future of this group and where we'll go with it.

A large part of what we're attempting to do is covered here: LaunchPad. I invite you to read all about it! (I've also added some new friends to my "Local Links" roll.)

As a result of my collaboration with more people in my community, I've learned, quite surprisingly, that I have several new readers of this blog. Of course, that comes just when I'd been pondering whether or not to retire it, the main reason being that, as is the case with so many of my fellow blogging friends, the advent of Facebook means I spend less and less time writing here.

But I'd be lying like a rug if I said I didn't miss it.

I've been writing this blog since 2002. In fact, 2010 marks my 8th consecutive year of blogging here, with scattered gaps of only a month or two between posts. This blog has been my companion, my diary, my co-conspirator, my political soapbox and my personal punching bag for those days when I would strangle someone if I didn't have the outlet of venting here.

Discovering I have several new readers compelled me to look back over some older posts and I must say, I've enjoyed reading them. This blog has been a chronicle of my life as I made the difficult decision to leave New York for the quiet (if too quiet) haven of Arcata, then returned to city life (and school!) in San Francisco and, finally, came home to New York. It has chronicled the many potholes in my road to figuring out just who the hell I am, where I should be and how my life should be playing out. One important thing it's taught me is that there simply shouldn't be any "should." My life has played out the way I have steered and prompted it, with a little kismet thrown in for good measure.

So, now I'm settling in to a new year, with a new husband, a new business venture and a new community focus. I have no idea how things will turn out and I'm not sure I'd want to glimpse the future even if I could arrange it. But I'm sure as hell optimistic.

Welcome to the journey, new readers.

Thoughts on Haiti

Like so many others around the world, I've been moved these past six days by the plight of the people of Haiti. No more so, of course, than I was moved by the images and stories following the horrible tsunami in 2004 or Hurricane Katrina in 2005 or the terrible earthquake in China in 2008. Something about the notion that buildings, entire cities even, can be destroyed in mere seconds is just unfathomable and infinitely mesmerizing to me.

I'm fully aware that my fixation and fascination with natural disasters stems from my own experience during the 1994 Northridge earthquake, which I've written about before here and here.

I do not know what it's like to be without food or water or to be forced to live outdoors because my home has been destroyed. I don't know what it's like to suffer the gut-wrenching loss of my parents or siblings or children to such a horrific disaster. I don't know what it's like to truly suffer the consequences of a disaster on the scale of a Katrina or of an earthquake powerful enough to flatten my city to rubble.

But I do know what it's like to feel the kind of fear that only someone who has survived a significant disaster can attest to.

Yesterday marked 16 years since the powerful earthquake that rocked L.A. and changed my life. Haiti's earthquake measured about four times larger than our Northridge quake and yet the damage was substantially more extensive, for obvious reasons--California spends more on earthquake retrofitting of buildings, highways and infrastructure than the entire GDP of some countries.

Still, the 6.8 that shook L.A. in 1994 caused considerable damage to my parents' house, where I had returned home to live temporarily just a few months before. I was 22 and I took pride in my sense of fearlessness--at that age, even the smartest of us can tend toward carelessness. I sped in my car without a seatbelt, I ate and drank things I shouldn't, I took meds without reading the labels, I experimented with sex and drugs and laughed when I considered how I disputed my own intelligence and common sense when it came to taking care of myself. I was intrepid, but sensible, in that I knew how and when to look over my shoulder.

But being jolted out of bed at 4:31 in the morning by the world violently shaking beneath my bed--that was enough to turn me into a stuttering shell of a young woman in seconds. I know what it's like to feel like I am about to die. As I cowered beneath books and furniture being hurled across my room, landing on top of me, I felt the terror of imagining the entire house would come crashing down any minute and do me in. I know what it's like to fear that my beloved family members, experiencing the same ferocious shaking in their own beds, might not survive the fallout. I know the fear that comes with the sickening silence of the seconds just after the quake, before we called out to each other.

And yet, our house remained standing.

When I saw the initial images of Haitians gathering in the streets, setting up tents and makeshift shelters, I was reminded of how my parents, my brother and I set up camp in our backyard--making toast and coffee on a little outdoor grill while we rode out the first of dozens of aftershocks. We stayed outdoors for the next 3-4 days, sleeping in our cars on the driveway while aftershocks continued to rumble through our house. My mom and I wandered our neighborhood at all hours with our sleepless golden retriever, Skylar. We met neighbors we'd never spoken to before--families, like ours, sleeping in their driveways or in tents on their front lawns, using flashlights to navigate indoors, walking across broken glass or toppled furniture to get to the bathroom.

In the daylight hours, we'd sift through the mess that remained in our house, but none of us felt safe enough to stay indoors overnight without electricity and with the threat of aftershocks doing further damage while we slept.

Still, we had food. We had water. We had toilets we could flush with buckets of water from our swimming pool. We could bathe. We had radios with batteries and cars with fuel and working engines we could run to keep us warm at night. We had no streetlights or TV or open supermarkets, but our week of inconvenience was nothing that could be described as desolation.

What I can relate to is the lack of communication family members and friends have been coping with in Haiti. (Or, at least my sister can. She was studying abroad in England when the earthquake hit and--upon seeing images on the news of the quake in her hometown 6,000 miles away--could not reach any of us by phone for a frantic couple of days.)

So, I can relate. And yet I can't. The magnitude of death and despair and desperate need for food, water and medical care are far beyond the realm of anything I can imagine. And yet the fear--that's something I know. I know the terror that explodes from within at the first rumbling of an aftershock. I know how hard it is to forget that deafening sound of the earth fiercely shaking, walls shifting, glass breaking, alarms and sirens going off, transformers exploding and fires burning across the city.

I know how it feels to wonder if you'll ever feel normal again, ever be able to go to sleep at night without the fear of being jerked awake (though one stroke of luck for the Haitians was that the quake happened in broad daylight--most won't have the added element of fear of darkness). I was always somewhat of an anxious person and I am well aware of the L.A. earthquake's effect on my general anxiety level. It changed my emotional and mental landscape, to be certain. But in spite of the fear I lived with for so long, I am fortunate enough to have walked away physically unscathed, as did my loved ones.

If only the people of Haiti could say the same.

Marriage - The Early Days

Oh, blog, how I've missed you...

In the often wacky world of weddings, brides are generally depicted and/or perceived as elated, joyful, even jubilant. Once the hectic wedding period is over, newlyweds fall into a state of bliss and ecstasy, gleefully opening gifts, setting up house and planning their idyllic future now that they’ve entered the coveted realm of marriage. It's all romance and sunshine and smiles.

What’s harder to find—on the myriad wedding websites, in countless books and magazines or anywhere else—is a realistic depiction of newly-married life. It's new. And it's scary and overwhelming and... did I mention new?

I have been married less than 2 months, so I am hardly a credible commentator on the joys or troubles of marriage. Last week, Jason asked me to share my feelings about this past month of our lives. I stumbled over my answer. Meanwhile, my new husband coolly asserted it has been the happiest month of his life, to which I smiled and remembered why I adore him so.

To say it has been a roller-coaster would be not only a cliché, but an understatement. My married friends warned me that the weeks leading up to the wedding (as well as the event itself) go by in a blur of planning, organizing, preparing and coordinating and finally, celebrating. We excitedly counted down the days to our wedding, only to have the day spring itself on us as if unannounced, then whizzing by in a magical haze of hugs, kisses, handshakes and clinking glasses.

Then, our parents and siblings left town, along with various other relatives and friends making their way back to the west coast or points elsewhere. We got our gifts put away, thank-you cards written, follow-up phone calls made, house straightened out, rings resized. Things seemed to settle down and return to normal for us. With one minor exception: we are now legally bound to one another. Our lives are intertwined in a way they've never been with anyone else before, involving our families, our finances, our health and everything in between.

As someone who has always relished her independence and enjoyed, for the most part, her singlehood, I've struggled with conflicting emotions: The joy and elation of sharing my life with someone I intend to stick with and whose company I intend to enjoy until I'm too old to enjoy much else, coupled with anxiety over sharing my life so completely and openly with another human being. I'm aware that this is my own crap and I'm dealing with it. And when I'm feeling overwhelmed by it all, I just remember I'm not the first, the second or even the millionth newlywed to experience these emotions.

Then, I cuddle up to my husband and wrap my arms around him and everything else falls away. That's when I know it's all worth it.

Newlyweds

After a day and a half of heavy humidity, ominous clouds and off-and-on downpours, we were beyond delighted to awaken Sunday to a perfectly sunny, crisp autumn day for our wedding in Central Park's Conservatory Garden.

The flowers exploded in rich, fall color around the perimeter of the fountain and nary a cloud appeared in the bluest of skies. "Lucky" is too small a word to describe how we felt (and how I'm sure our 80 guests felt, enjoying the glorious garden without the need for umbrellas!).

It was a truly perfect day and I'm still slightly dazed and emotional three days later. Countless thoughts, images and emotions swirling around in my head today... I know I'll need to get them all out sooner or later! Meanwhile, thanks to everyone for the warm wishes of luck and congratulations. We are truly blessed.

Distraction

In an effort to spend 5 minutes NOT thinking about how overwhelmed and excited I am to be getting married this weekend(!), I thought I'd throw out something useful--this guide to 99-cent store shopping, courtesy of the chock-full-of-neato-stuff website, Brokelyn*:

The Do's & Don'ts of 99-cent Store Shopping

DO BUY

Spices and herbs: Canadian-based Encore makes FDA-approved seasonings, spices and herbs you can find at many Brooklyn dollar stores.

Gift wrap: The recipient probably won’t notice if you spent on "good" wrapping paper—most times, it’s ripped up and tossed within 5 minutes.

Laundry detergent & cleanser: If you don’t balk at big names, try these instead: Trend (made by Dial), Suavitel (Colgate-Palmolive) or Ariel (Procter & Gamble). Among household cleaners, Spic ‘n Span is from the same manufacturer as Comet, but a lot cheaper.

Pregnancy tests: Dollar-store pregnancy tests are under $5 and detect HCG at the same levels as more expensive, name-brand tests.

Shampoo: Often, dollar stores have name-brands like V05 and Suave, but try out Hairvitalize, Fruitamin and Johnson Parker’s line—all $1.50 or less.

Baby wipes: You can get 80 for under $1.50. Sleek Sensations, one common brand, is hypo-allergenic and alcohol-free; Soffs wipes have aloe and vitamin E.

Kitchen utensils: A stainless steel whisk is the same at a dollar store as anywhere else. But stay away from dollar-store can openers—they never seem to work!

DON’T BUY

Batteries: Most dollar-store batteries are carbon-zinc, which drain very quickly. Look for alkaline—they last much longer.

Toothpaste: Some dollar-store toothpaste (even name-brand) is made in other countries, and may contain many times the amount of fluoride allowed by the ADA. Check the label.

Vitamins (dollar-store brand): In a 2004 study, over half the dollar-store multi-vitamins they tested were missing at least one listed nutrient.

Electronics: They can contain undersized wiring, which poses the risk of overheating. Be sure the product is UL certified.

Toys: Many have sharp edges or pieces that can be easily swallowed. No-name packages don’t always include the appropriate age range for the toy and many have been recalled for containing lead paint.

Jewelry: Also has been recalled for having high levels of lead.

*I know--it's a copout. I have so much I want to write about my emotions leading up to my wedding and I've been trying to organize my scattered thoughts in a way that won't leave me or anyone else completely flummoxed. I hope I can soon write something coherent to express the myriad emotions I'm experiencing these days. Most of all, I am excited and exhilarated!

Insights on Dubya from a Former Speechwriter

GQ magazine recently published excerpts from former George W. Bush speechwriter Matt Latimer's new tell-all book, Speech Less: Tales of a White House Survivor. Here are some particularly amusing highlights, via NY magazine:

8. Bush Wears Crocs: Particularly when he practices speeches.

7. Bush Nicknamed Speechwriter Jonathan Horn "Horny":This is not surprising at all, just funny.

6. Bush Is Arrogant About Things He Shouldn't Be Arrogant About: "I know it sounds arrogant to say," he told Latimer, “but I redefined the Republican Party."

5. Bush Takes Pride in Thinking up Very Simple Jokes: “If bullshit was currency,” he said straight-faced, “Joe Biden would be a billionaire.”

4. Bush Refers to People As "Cat": "We got to make this understandable for the average cat," he said of one speech.

3. Bush Didn't Have Much Regard for Barack Obama: Bush remarked, "This guy has no clue, I promise you."

2. Bush Didn't Understand His Administration's Own Economic Proposals: “We’re buying low and selling high,” Bush kept saying about the Treasury's plan to snap up troubled mortgages. The problem was that his proposal didn’t work like that. One of Bush's staff members anxiously pulled a few of us aside. “The president is misunderstanding this proposal,” he warned. “He has the wrong idea in his head.”

Eventually, Bush, exasperated, deliver[ed] a classic line: "Why did I sign on to this proposal if I don’t understand what it does?" he asked.

1. Bush Was Remarkably Prescient About Sarah Palin: Right after Palin was selected as John McCain's running mate...Bush delivered what would become a spot-on assessment of her liabilities: "This woman is being put into a position she is not even remotely prepared for," he said. "She hasn’t spent one day on the national level. Neither has her family. Let’s wait and see how she looks five days out." Never mind the fact that Bush, when he ran for president, also lacked experience on the national level.

More Thoughts on the Twin Towers

Last Friday night (September 11), I arrived home from work relatively early to find Jason watching NY1. Like they've done before, NY1 had spent the day running tape of their real-time coverage from September 11, 2001.

I am one of lucky ones. I did not know anyone killed on 9/11. A couple of my friends were directly affected (and still are) by the events of that day. But, outside of my sadness for the victims and outrage over the damage a group of fanatics was able to perpetrate, what sticks with me now is how I felt about losing those two towers. The towers that framed my earliest childhood days in NYC; that filled my airplane window on repeat visits to the city after we'd moved away; that excited and welcomed me when I returned to live here in my 20s.

Swirling around with all the other emotions I experienced on 9/11 was my initial feeling of shock and sadness at the towers having been so badly marred. I remember wondering how they were going to repair that gaping hole all the way up there and picturing how atrocious the buildings would look until repairs were done. Next, I felt shock and sorrow at the grotesque sight of one tower standing by itself, alone on the skyline without its twin. Next, utter devastation as both towers vanished from our skyline forever.

To this day, a sense of disbelief prevails.

Now, years later, when I watch coverage of the events of that day, I am struck with a feeling of loss not unlike what I've felt for a beloved pet. It's as though I've spent the past eight years mourning a trusted friend. And still, I mourn for those buildings and the lives lost inside them. I have read, talked and thought quite a bit about 9/11 since that day, but have always tried to avoid visual imagery. It's too painful to see the look of fear and sorrow on witnesses' faces, to see images of firefighters rushing in to the buildings, of the buildings themselves crumbling with so many souls inside.

Yet, this year, I could not tear myself away from the images. I felt as though I owed it to the victims and the towers themselves to revisit that day, to remember and to reflect. I needed to remind myself how fortunate and how grateful I am to have survived that day and to have not lost anyone close to me. Watching the news with Jason, I laid my head in his lap and and held him close, remembering the overwhelming loneliness I felt on the night of 9/11, when I did not have him (or anyone) beside me on the couch as I am so lucky to have now.

After Jason went to bed, I watched a couple of hours of A&E's coverage with a very heavy heart, but a sense of duty to the victims and the towers themselves not to change the channel. I felt I owed it to myself and to those who were sacrificed to reflect as intensely as I did this year, after so many years of passively marking the anniversary. I realized you don't need to lose a family member or dear friend to be in mourning. I still mourn.