Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: 40th birthday party, blogging, boules, cultural differences, integrity, Internet, kids, Persian, Therapy
Tonight, I spoke with J., my therapist. He talked me down from abandoning my boyfriend, again. He coaxed me into considering the cultural aspects of some of our challenges, how Persian men may have a different sense of integrity. Personal integrity rather than integrity to society’s rules for example.
Tonight was Susanne’s birthday party. She is 37. Her husband, P., threw her a lovely, intimate party. We had the baba ganoush I made, roasted peppers stuffed with goat cheese, cheese and pate, grilled salmon with pesto sauce, rice, pasta, and salad. And good wine. Didn’t catch the label, but all wine at P’s house is good.
We discussed the Internet. How it’s changing news, what blogging is all about, how news is now sorted and parsed and personalized, and what it means that we don’t all necessarily share the same sources anymore. How specialized it’s all become.
The kids (we had at least eleven) were all watching a movie inside while the grownups sat outside. We actually had real, blessed conversation, a rare treat. So much so that P. was tempted to leave the kids out of the candles/birthday cake. But as a group we decided the kids would miss that, and we invited them, and we were all grateful we did. The kids’ voices rang out above all the others to sing for Susanne. They were lovely and sweet, leading the way with the cake, their voices thin and pure. They all gathered around Susanne’s legs, and she leaned over and hugged as many of them as she could before she blew out her candles. It was a lovely image. Priceless, really. How could we have considered even for a moment omitting the children?
I played boules with the guys afterwards. Most of the other moms had left, but since my children are still in Venezuela, I was a free bird. And, I’m decent at boules! So, that was fun. P was proud to have me on his team. It’s hard to get P’s approval, so that felt good. It’s a wonderful game. I have always loved it. I played boules along the Canal du Midi with Christoph, what, twenty years ago, on the boat trip we took with his friends. I liked it then too.
The boules court was lit beautifully from the sides. Baby bamboo plants leaned into it. We discussed P’s upcoming 40th birthday party. He is expecting 60 guests. He is younger than I by a few months. The party is in a couple of weeks.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Add new tag, breakfast, Food, Full House Cafe, marketing, Obama, Persian food, Spanish, stability, Uncategorized, Venezuela, Woodminster Cafe
F. and I just returned from the Full House Cafe on MacArthur. We shared a spinach/mushroom/jack cheese omelette and a bowl of gluey oatmeal. They had only half and half or 2% milk for the coffee and granulated white sugar. I wanted whole milk and brown sugar. I had to laugh at what an old woman I am becoming. It’s hard to go out for meals because I’ve learned to like things just so, especially breakfast. I now prefer to stay home where I can make Blue Bottle Coffee in my French press just so, stir raw brown sugar in it just so, pour whole raw organic milk in it just so… where I can grind fresh pepper on my omelette and not have to use glass dispensers of flat pepper flakes. Where I can gaze at my garden instead of ants on the wall (yes, there were ants on the table and wall at the cafe). Where I am not assaulted by the cheap perfume of other diners. I need to remember flexibility, not rigidity!
The kids will be home from Venezuela in nine days. I miss them, but not acutely like last time when I was in tears for a week. I’ve teared up only twice, for very brief periods. Magda called the other night and cried, “Mama! How much longer do I have to stay here?” I had to laugh. She is surrounded by plentiful relatives who adore her. She misses me; I’m sure she does, but I believe she will appreciate these visits later, and I am working hard to lay a foundation of Spanish for her. My goal for her and Ryan both is to speak, read, and write Spanish fluently by the time they are 18. This is why we are considering moving to Argentina or some other Spanish-speaking country in the next couple of years. I had originally set January 2009 as the date, but with my new boss I think it’s important to stay and learn as much about marketing as I can.
Also, with Barack Obama hopefully coming into office, I find — rather surprisingly — that I want to be here for America’s revival. It’s been embarrassing to be here during this excruciating eight-year Bush debacle. I’m excited, as is the entire World, by the prospect of a real thinker and leader like Obama.
Last night, F. and I had a glass of Tarrica 2005 Zinfandel (Paso Robles) at the little round table I placed in the driveway last weekend. It was cool, and I brought him my big, burgundy cardigan. Afterwards, we went to Woodminster Cafe for Persian dinner by Sima. We had lamb shank and kebab. Fazi got his beloved tadiq and commented on how it would be three times the price for this food in San Francisco.
Sima welcomes us sweetly each time we arrive for Friday night Persian dinner. He was out of the stew, a perennial favorite. We forgot to bring the rest of the wine, but that was okay. F. was happy to be eating Persian food. F. commented when we left that the staff asked him why he wasn’t with me last time I came (I took Dodie, his friend Jody, and the kids there the night before the kids left for Venezuela; F. and I were in the throes of one of our break-ups).
F. commented that it’s interesting how simply by asking the question Sima’s family lays down norms and expectations which help us to stay together… something our culture as a whole does little or none of. He is right. Whenever I go in there, the staff say, “Say hello to your husband!” I haven’t had the heart to tell them that not only is F. not my husband, but we’ve only been dating a year, we’ve broken up at least ten times (we’ve lost count), and we’re not at all sure how to be or if we want to be in a committed relationship. When they quip, say hi to your husband, however, it gives me a hopeful feeling. Why? And what does it mean?
J. says to notice how I introduce trouble in my life when there doesn’t need to be any. How I create problems in my life that didn’t exist before. He says, get used to what stable feels like. Explore stability. See how life feels when I’m not leaping from emergency to emergency, drama to drama… when life is safe and predictable enough to actually plan and set goals and go forward in my career, personal development, and healthy relationships.
And yet, seeing A. briefly on Thursday night sent a rush of energy all over my body. I felt so happy to see him. His dynamic expression, his sparkling eyes, his innate intelligence, his keen observation, his perception. He interests me. He intoxicates me on some level, and yet I sense he would not be good for me. He is not ready for a relationship, doesn’t want one (esp. with a Shiksa), and may even have psychological problems. Good God. That’s all I need.
