Giving Thanks

Today I'm giving thanks.

The story is here

As I lay in bed this morning thinking about food and giving thanks, it occurred to me again how much of this holiday is spent giving thanks for some things and complete avoidance of other things. Often what I think about and end up hinting at in my not-very-consistent blog is how we as humans live very much unaware of certain things.  We are eager to give thanks for a healthy family or a roof over our head - and these things are monumentally important - but often we eat and celebrate in ways that do not truly represent "thanksgiving."  Do we think about how that juicy turkey came to be sitting on a serving platter in front of us? Do we think about who brought us the tomatoes on our November salad? Do we think about what it's like for people in other parts of the world who have nothing and no food to give thanks for?  Do we think about where all those shiny things we'll purchase tomorrow morning come from?  And doesn't learning and knowing these things put greater responsibility on us as the privileged few? If we truly thought about these issues would it change the way we live... maybe lead us to live a little more low-key... maybe consume a little less?

I've found in my own experience that the less I have/consume/"do" the more grateful I am for what I do have/consume/"do".  Something about living simply can mend the disconnect that we as Americans experience when we cloud our lives with stuff.  Perhaps living in a cabin with no toilet is not for everyone, but can I just say that the frustration of outdoor elimination (at 30 below 0) has increased the gratitude I have in my life..?  I am grateful to be at work and have a flushing toilet next to a sink to wash my hands. Isn't that what it's all about?  Finding gratitude everywhere?

And so on this day of thanksgiving I am attempting to ask more questions and ponder a little more than I would on other days.  I'm asking you to think about your life in particular.  How can you think and ponder and thank more?  How can you increase the awe of life in the humdrum of everyday?

"Freedom from Want"
Norman Rockwell, 1943

If your Thanksgiving is closer akin to Norman Rockwell's than the previous picture, then obviously you have mountains of things to be thankful for.  Sure, that's a given.  

But maybe, just maybe we can go a little deeper than that?

A Love Note for Your Birthday

Today, my little love, you turn one year old.  I can only try to put into words how much I feel being your mother.

You have changed me.
You have made me a better human.
You have opened whole worlds to me with your chocolate eyes.
Your little giggle is music floating on a breeze.
The top of your head is a whisper and a thousand kisses.

It seems only yesterday that I held your little body in my arms for the first time, and yet it seems a million miles away.  You are growing and changing so fast, but really it is me who is learning.  Learning to love so simply but profoundly. I wonder where we'll be next year, and the year after that.

How much your father and I waited and wondered for you... imagining your face and personality.  Feeling your busy feet in my belly.  And when you came we were amazed at you.  You were beautiful and perfect.

Our first moments together

And now we are amazed everyday at everything you do.  Watching you learn the world is just as much an adventure for us.  The way you squeal and scoot and hold down your kitties... Big peekaboo smiles... Tired, gentle head laid on a shoulder... Such serious, sweet talking.

I feel many times a day that I am not complete without you.  Even in my weak, frustrated mommy-needs-a-drink-moments, no sooner have I left your side than I feel I left a part of me behind.  They call this secure attachment or the "mother-infant dyad." I call it being in love.

Everything in my being wants only perfection for you, but I know you will hurt.  You will cry over skinned knees and a broken heart.  And every time you hurt, I will too. But I promise to try my best to let you be, even though I'll want to take on the world for you.  And even though I would keep you beside me forever, comforting you with arms and breast, I know I cannot.  Someday my part will be finished.  And that, my little one, is the absolute only tragedy of being your mother... that I see our future is finite.

And so I will cherish every moment we have.  Every exhausting back-breaking moment.  Every grin and tear and sleepy sigh.  Happy Birthday sweet baby.  I hope we've only just begun to show you how greatly loved you are.

            Love,
            Your mama

 

September exploring

Where've I been??

Well it's here.  Alaska's three weeks of fall. I remember my first year in Fairbanks it snowed on my birthday the third week of September.  I love the fall, but sadly I haven't had much time to enjoy the crisp air or yellow of birch trees.  We've been at full speed ever since returning from sunny beaches a month ago.  It's been moving madness and gearing up for winter.  The last weeks of August were spent tirelessly trying to leave the steel grip of Hell's very own landlord... (other than Satan that is).  We'll just say that I've never had anyone make me work so hard for money and then try to cheat me out of it at the last minute.  I think I've finally made peace with it, but the thought of "that man" sure did take me to a dark place.  Happily though we've traded him in for a nicer model.  She seems like the most normal person I've ever met.  It's like I don't mind writing a check for the rent.  How weird is that?

Moving on...

So, we have a new home.  It's smaller and still doesn't have a flush toilet, but can I say that it is cute and cozy!  We're acclimating fairly well to loft life, and Ian is loving clean floors to chase kitties on.  Even the outhouse has appeal if that's possible.  

And... last week we added a new member to our family just in time for Fall... a big orange truck.  That's right people.  The Munozes are no longer a one-car family.  How exciting!  Big Orange has a helluvah lot of miles and one nasty tailpipe but it was some kind of bargain.  And what a thrill to pay cash for it... signed, sealed, delivered right in our driveway.

And the fabulous news keeps coming!  Also last week Manuel got an oh-so-tasty package in the mail from a certain King College in Bristol, Tennessee.  Yes! Yes! After much weeping and gnashing of teeth he is finally a college graduate with a B.S.  I am pleased as punch with the way this summer is wrapping up!

Today we celebrate (in thought only because Manuel works a fifteen hour day) our 3 year anniversary.  And next month my little angel will be one year old.  What?!  Can it be...?

*Sigh*


I have the distinct feeling that things are happening.  The pieces of the puzzle are falling in to place.  As I  stand outside in the cold air and watch for lights in the sky I feel a mix of anxious and calm.  This is me right now.  It could be the manic of last warm days or it could just be this moment in my life.  My sense of expectation is sure to carry me through the cold, dark days ahead.

But wouldn't you know that there are lights to light the way??

          

It takes a village...or at least a really big family

It's 3:10 in the morning, and I can't shut my brain off.  Everyone else - family and cats - has been asleep for hours, and I can only think about my husband's family many, many miles away.  Today, or yesterday I suppose, Manuel's abuelita said goodbye to this world at the beautiful, well-worn age of 101.  What a full life she led.  If the number of one's offspring is ever a marker of how full your life is then this woman had most beat:  8 kids, 80 grandchildren, God knows how many great grandchildren and actually, several great, great grandchildren (this is mind-boggling).  Ian falls among the most recent, but there is no way to tell where.

I met her on two occasions.  So many people were a product of that sweet lady's loins that whenever a grandchild came to visit they would have to introduce them by their parent's name.  She couldn't quite keep up with it all!  And so, when Manuel dropped in to say hello it was, "This is Manuel... Carmen's Manuel?"  I, naturally, was a nonessential footnote which bothered me none.  I just sat in awe of this woman who had seen and done so many things.  Manuel had told me little anecdotes of her experience of the Revolution... of how Pancho Villa himself had made a stand in her small town.  So much history in 100 years, and her mind was sharp to the end.

Her doctor said she was healthy.  What a wonderful way to go... from purely old age.  To die in your own bed with your entire family around.  That's the way I want to go.  And what a testament to our society.  For whatever reason, we're all just too damn busy to take care of each other.  That American dream, huh?  I suppose it's the price we pay for all our beautiful freedom and all our beautiful stuff.  We sure like our independence until suddenly we can't go to the bathroom by ourselves.

I guess my husband and his family has taught me much over the years we've been together.  Don't get me wrong.  There are things about Mexican culture that drive me batty, but they sure do know how to take care of each other... to really value family.  It's not some meaningless term like "family values" that gets tossed around like here.  We freak about a nipple slip at the Super Bowl, but dad's and mom's alike just bounce on their kids or work so much that they might as well forget Timmy's name. * End rant *

The whole town knew Manuel's Granny, and when he called to check in with his mom he said all he could make out was a mass of people crying.  "They must be pouring in to Jalpa by the busloads..."  I knew he desperately wanted to be there.  Money we don't have, but for this it didn't matter.  A quick check online showed a surprisingly cheap ticket to get him there by Saturday afternoon and home late Monday.  I did the same whirlwind funeral for my Granny two years ago.  And my good friend was also dealing with this two weeks ago.  It's like they say, death is never convenient, right?

So there we were, about to click, click and seal the deal when Manuel practically yells, "My passport!"  Indeed, the only passport in his possession was an expired one.  The irony is that he had applied for a renewal a week ago, and it will more than likely show up in a few days.  So sadly, he was still sitting there at 8:00pm knowing that others were boarding the flight that could get him home.  I take it for granted that my "back home" isn't really his "back home."  True, he's been here for more than ten years, but I know his head and heart were elsewhere today.

Only a little bit selfishly I was glad that he didn't fly.  Zacatecas is not the safest place to be traveling through right now... funeral or not.  Almost triple the number of people have died in Mexico's drug war in the past year and a half than in ten years of America's War on Terror.  Ever Googled that situation?  A grim one indeed.

But... that is another blog for another day.

We held Ian a little tighter today, knowing that we too have begun this journey.  Generations are gathering to celebrate the life of a beautiful spirit.  I can only dream of such a closing.  

Abuelita Lupe celebrating 100 years - June 2010

My Life as French Film

"What people don't realize is that Chinese are KGB Nazis..."

That's what I heard the crazy man on the Anchorage city bus say into his cell phone.  For thirty minutes, I listened to him ramble the most incoherent stream of nonsense I've ever heard in my life.  It didn't take long to realize that there was no one listening on the other end of the line.  He was dressed in hunting camo and was carrying a suspiciously shaped bag.  I'm still confused as to how he worked in the words wizard, radiologist, and fallout-shelter in that giant run on sentence. We'll just say that I was eager to head the opposite direction when the bus dropped us off downtown.  Manuel was off glacier-sighting with our friend for the day, and I had decided to strap on Ian and hit the streets.  No particular agenda and just enough quarters to get me to 5th street.  

As I turned back to make sure Camo Man was not in my shadow I noticed a blind man - complete with white cane - attempting to cross the busy intersection.  Two thoughts simultaneously crossed my mind.  One, he's going to get hit by that car that's barreling toward him.  And two, no he's not.  Of course he knows what he's doing.

I suddenly had this idea that my life was the script for a movie or I was experiencing some kind of Mary Tyler Moore moment there on that downtown sidewalk.  Before I knew what had happened I was standing beside the blind man asking him if he needed help crossing the street.  I believe I said, "You probably do this all the time, but can I help you cross the street?"  He assured me that he was just waiting to hear that the coast was clear.

I imagined that I would skip into the street with him like Amelie and bring grateful tears to his white eyes from my compassionate gesture.  Boy was I wrong.  We walked about two blocks, and I just followed along like a little puppy.  We exchanged small talk of the usual nature.  From Arizona...going to Glacier Brewhouse for a bowl of soup...been in Anchorage for seven years.  Yeah he was just fine without my kind gesture.

Fumbling here and there, I couldn't decide if I should help him maneuver around the busy Princess employees loading the tour bus or the pothole or the orange construction cones.  The silly one was obviously me, and the few times I attempted to steer him it just made him jump when I touched his arm.

As we rounded the last corner, he swung his cane wide and nearly whacked a busy looking man in the shins.  It was one of those moments, when you expect someone to really just stop for a second and address the situation.  A knowing smile or even a laugh...  But no.  This man who was clearly in the most important cell phone conversation of his entire life didn't even miss a beat.  He nimbly hopped over the offending cane and without so much as a blink kept on his busy way.  I was impressed by his indifference.  A few seconds later I was saying good bye to my walking companion.

And then I turned around and out of nowhere started to weep uncontrollably.

Gratitude, clarity, inspiration, and pure disbelief at how busy we have become... All of these things whirled through my mind.  I put my hand on Ian's oblivious sleeping head, and I sobbed.  On my worst day, someone else is experiencing suffering that I will never know. Perhaps it's cliche, but happiness in this life is purely subjective.  We decide the extent to which our problems and woes own us.  My blind man was content to feel his way down the street to get a delicious bowl of soup.  He probably won't remember me, but I'll never forget him.  Human interaction is all we have on this Earth.  Are we so busy with working and shopping and talking and texting and Facebooking that we don't see and hear those around us?  Can we stop and appreciate this very moment?  Not yesterday or tomorrow but now?  Is it possible to see past our own problems and feel genuine empathy for someone else?

The next time you have the slightest urge to help that old lady cross the street....just do it.  You might find out that it's you needing the help all along...

It wasn't quite like this...

My High Maintenance Dream Come True

There is a bottle of ketchup, a snot sucker and piles of soaked tissues beside the bed.  Two fans going full blast, and it feels like an inferno in here if you can imagine that in Alaska.  I don't mind that my feet are summer dirty because the sheets are already crunchy with milky puke spots.  I feel like my life is an explosion right now. 

Ian is experiencing his first full-blown illness.  Seven months and not a sniffle or hint of fever, and right now he's got it coming from every orifice.  The peds say it's just a cold maybe combined with a stomach virus.  I guess mom's milk isn't entirely invincible.  I've been everywhere these last few days...from heart breaking for my pitiful little guy to sheer frustration that my magic boobs can't just get him to go to sleep.  We take it for granted that little ones don't know how to blow their noses, and they don't understand that the evil snot sucker is trying to help them breathe.  They just don't understand why they feel so miserable and no one can make it better.  It must be hard...

But I get it.  This is mothering.  There is absolutely nothing glamorous about it.  I've been covered in more puke the last four days than a weekend warrior on spring break.  And the thing is... life just smacks you whenever.  I just got a new job.  For my life in this moment, it's really a dream job.  Even though it will be the worst pay I'll have yet to receive in Alaska, I am more excited about this job than any I've ever had.  My official title is Breastfeeding Peer Counselor, which sounds slightly summer campish.  I got all dressed up to interview for a job that I get to do in my puke-covered pajamas.  As this counselor, I get to work at home calling new moms and providing basic breastfeeding support.  Nothing could be more perfect for me right now.  I don't want to leave Ian, but I can finally contribute a little to the family income.  And it is by far the most meaningful work I've ever done.  Not slingin' any coffee for tourists this summer.... No sir!

Even though this week has been an emotional rollercoaster, I am ever abundantly grateful for the shining sun.  Our mini garden is in:  herbs, lettuce, tomatoes and peppers.  I've been hitting my feet to pavement and sweating a little.  Manuel's grades are talleyed, and it's looking like the grand finale of school after many many moons.  And the best of all, I'm actually going to be oceanside in late July.  My little love might be under the weather but this summer might just be one for the books. 

Say and do something kind for a change...

Often listening to other people is such an eye opening thing.  We never get to hear how crazy self-centered and negative we really sound until it comes from someone else's mouth.  The last few days have afforded me several of these moments to reflect on how I want my words and actions to lift others up.  I can easily put people in a beautiful place or a dark one.  

So... we're walking in Fred Meyer and there appears around the corner a previous co-worker.  This person had never met our son, and we were of course excited to show him off.  The usual lines were said, and then this person turned to me and said, "Alison, you look tired.... but I guess that's what happens when you have a new baby."  

Now, this person probably didn't go to etiquette school and certainly didn't mean any offense by the comment.  It wasn't really a horrible thing to say, and I wasn't necessarily hurt by the comment either.  On the other hand, it did remind me yet again of the giant, now permanent bags under my eyes.  Ironically, I sleep very well these days.  I get plenty of it.  Ian sleeps with us and for the most part sleeps well.  He does wake up to nurse but I am hardly conscious when this happens, and we all go quickly back to sleep.  Being "tired" is the last thing I would describe myself as.  

I thought about the comment all day, much like I do when a less than positive remark comes my way.  Pregnant women are especially prone to sensitivity, and I got a few doozies last year.  However, instead of feeling sorry for myself and my dark circles, I thought of what a better comment would be, "Alison, you look great and have shed those pounds beautifully!"  I have in fact lost 30 pounds since this time last year.  What a great way to absolutely make someone's day and turn small talk into something positive.

Again yesterday I had a similar experience.  Manuel's science department had a cookout for students... and apparently for random tourists that wandered down from the museum.  A friend that was working the event said they grilled up 300 burgers and 150 hot dogs all in the space of about an hour.  We were toward the end of the line, and the grill line wasn't working as fast as the condiment/sides line.  Admittedly, the system in place for feeding this large number of people was not very logical.  And when some people scored burgers before others who had been waiting longer mayhem ensued.  I heard profanities.  I heard raised voices.  I heard condescension.  All directed toward the three people feeding a mass of hungry students, professors and free-loaders.  Seriously??  This was a FREE picnic.  Food for FREE.  Food you don't have to cook yourself or clean up after.  My God what is wrong with people??

Ok breathe....  

So I say all that to say this.  Instead of complaining about what isn't going right, say something nice.  Try just for once to frame your words positively. 

I can give one more story to illustrate this beautifully.  

Standing in the checkout line on that same Fred Meyer trip I noticed a young couple and child behind us.  I didn't get the whole scene but I assume the child dropped a piece of candy or whatever she was eating and started to cry.  All I heard from her father was this..."I'm sorry it's gone but be grateful for what you have.  It's important to be happy about the things we do have than to cry about what we've lost." 

Well said Dad.  I'm doing my part.  How are you framing your day?

 This is what I had to be thankful for.

Mama Mia

For most of my life, Mother's Day has been a sad day.  Seventeen years ago my mother slipped over to the next realm leaving me with sadness on this thoughtful yet commercial holiday.  For years I've worked the restaurant circuit and had to endure the giddy families taking their mom's out for a juicy steak.  Occasionally, they'd ask the lowly server about her mother, and I would kindly deflect the question.  She was supposed to be there.  She was supposed to bless me on my wedding day and hold my hand as I gave birth.  Instead these joyous events were shaded with hints of sadness.  Perhaps certain things always will be.  Sometimes your mom should just be there.

But I have come to understand how birth and death are inextricably linked.  The bringing of a baby into the world is that delicate moment - the brink.  It is truly the edge of the world and can sometimes end in sadness as well.  In Spanish it is called dar a luz - to give light.  How beautiful and fitting.  

July 11, 1994, the phone rang.  I went to tell my father.  Light flooding from the bedroom, he came out with a red face.  He said that he needed to talk to me and my sister.  Of course I understood.  We sat on her bed and gravely whispered what we already knew.  He came in and said two words - "She's gone."

But where two words can bring all the sadness of the end of a life spent together, they can also bring all the happiness and possibility this world can offer.

I screamed.  I groaned from the depths of my being.  I felt the burning ring of fire.  I grew and grew and grew 39 weeks of baby in my belly.  And then in that moment... with all the strength in my worn body, I gave light.  And all I could say was two words - "He's here! He's here!"

Like my mother before me and the millions of women before her, I stood at the edge of life and death.  Where one light was extinguished, another was illuminated.  Where a last breath sighed, another sputtered and cried into existence.  

I am the guardian.  I am the nurturer.  I am food and comfort.  I am as present as this life will allow.  Most of all... I am Mother.  And today is all about me.   

Photo by Amy Komar

    

Summer I can feel you...

Yesterday I went running outside for the first time in ages.  My off and on workouts over the years have usually been on a treadmill in an air-conditioned gym.  It felt good to have cool Alaskan spring wind hitting my face.  I didn't sweat because frankly I was cold, but it made me feel alive to breath fresh air.  Winters here are brutal.  For the obvious reasons of course, but also because air quality suffers.  A parking lot in December is toxic and makes me hold my breath for all the idling SUVs.  But man did that air feel and smell and taste good yesterday.  Breakup is in full swing, and the side of the road is a river of months long trash and grimy water.  I can feel it in my bones....it won't be long now.  The sun is already strong and long and feels so good on my ghostly skin.  I feel like I really deserve this summer.  It was such a long winter.  Our first real winter experience here in Alaska and with a new baby in tow makes for very long, dark days.  Manuel has never worked and schooled so much before and you could definitely say that I felt alone.  But it was also a defining few months for me.  All the down time napping with Ian in our king sized bed... reading and thinking.... Really has transformed me.

Not only am I ready to seize this summer but I feel ready to seize life.  Shortly after Ian's birth I finally felt ready to make changes that have been years in the making.  It is a process for sure, but January 2011 was one of those defining times - a moment of such clarity and inspiration and nervousness all at the same time.  How fast our son seems to be growing out of our grasp already!  And birth is inevitably transforming because it makes us aware of our own mortality.  His hands grow bigger and more mature every day while mine juxtaposed seem so wrinkled and worn.  I am coming full circle here at the close of my twenties.  I realize that  I have but one life to live and I better make it joyful and vibrant.  This has translated over the months to terms of health and intention, not necessarily in financial ambition or education or "accomplishments."  I once had a dream to "teach," but now I am realizing that our greatest teacher is life itself.  I now want to spend my days teaching my son how to live and love, and for me that is done by his side.

As for the specifics of our new lives we are on a mission to cleanse our bodies.  We are slowly bringing only whole, real food into our home.  We started with a pantry cleanse and realized just how much junk we had in our cabinets.  Now if what we purchase even has a label on it then it must contain few ingredients that are recognizable.  If you've ever gone down a similar road then you realize how life-changing that alone can be!  Our next step was the commitment to cleanse all non-edible toxins.  This really started last year with our commitment to cloth diapers but has expanded to everything else... from toothpaste to cleaning products.  It hasn't been easy, and we have a long way to go but it seems so worth it.  I've heard more than once that natural living is more expensive when it comes to organic produce and natural hygiene products.  That is absolutely true, but by making that commitment you are then forced to compromise on other things.  Local, grass-fed meat is definitely more expensive but isn't the point that Americans eat way too much anyway?  So our solution is to eat considerably less:  problem solved!

Perhaps even more importantly is the bottom line that you can't put a price tag on your health.  The modern "healthcare" system would disagree, but it's true.  You only get one shot at living and everything that we ingest and put on our bodies affects us.  I use to roll my eyes at the endless "Don't do ________. It causes cancer!" I didn't even stop rolling my eyes when I lost my own mother to cancer.  I really didn't stop rolling my eyes until I had Ian.  Then it all made sense.  Just because something is on the shelf in the grocery store or Walmart doesn't mean it's safe.  How often do we hear of drugs being pulled from the market because they literally kill people?  And that speaks nothing to the overall accumulation of toxins over a lifetime.  I guess I could go on for days about any number of things - the cancer industry, our "sick care," factory farms, sweat shop clothes, flouridated water, peak oil, the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, blood diamonds, rampant consumerism..... on and on and on.  It is overwhelming.

We are doing our part.  I am waking up and taking the blinders off.  The "man" does exist.  He is our complacence.  Our inability to slow down and live with intention and awareness.  I will believe that we are at a turning point...that others are waking up.

I will go outside and feel the coming of summer.  I will breathe fresh air and be grateful for it.  I will recognize the good that is happening.

"Life is not merely being alive, but being well."

Marcus Valerius Martialis

Everybody's doing it...

Why does anybody blog?

I think it follows a simple formula:  One part information + One part inspiration + Dash narcissism = the average blog.  I guess I'm no different.  I don't have anything profound to say.  And I don't think my life is particularly interesting.  All I know is that sometimes at night my head spins with conversations that never happen.  I feel myself explaining to various people why I do things a certain way.  Or I just feel a surge of mildly creative energy.  The need to verbalize ideas or just get my thoughts out so I don't have to think about them anymore.

And so, after much deliberation I've decided to give this blogging a whirl.  Maybe through it I'll have a place to send people when I'm misunderstood.  Or when people ask me, "Why on Earth did you move to Alaska?"  Or, "Why are you sitting at home when you could be using your degree?"  These are all great questions, but I've found over the last few years that life answers don't come quickly.  Knowing is not always a good thing.  As I approach thirty this might appear to be a precarious place to be, but for me it's just fine.  I am learning and discovering and deciding who I am in my own time.

Naturally, the birth of my son five months ago was a transformative experience for me.  If you know me at all then you've probably heard me refer to the past year as a journey down a "rabbit hole" of discovery.  Everything is put into perspective when another person exists for whom you are completely responsible.  I find myself doing and saying things I never thought I would.  My love is not only limitless for this one little person but also brings to life so many possibilities.  In short, because I feel myself open up so much, great change seems so much easier.  The future is wide open.

I can't tell you what this blog will be about, but I have an inkling that it will be about my journey of self-discovery.  It might be funny.  It might be pensive.  It might be sad or joyful.  More than likely it will contain grammatical errors.  For the first time in my life I am not writing for a grade.  I am only writing for me.

"The tragedy of modern man is not that he knows less and less about the meaning of his own life, but that it bothers him less and less."     

- Vaclev Havel