About that Fasting Thing...

Especially if we've known each other since my childhood, you'll know that me deciding to observe even one single day of Ramadan is a highly unusual occurrence. You'll probably remember that I did not always get along well with my dad while I was growing up. I fasted a few times (not really by choice) when I was nine or ten, and was frustrated by the fact that I didn't have much say in the matter.

I was also confused about it. When I was small, when my parents were still married, neither was particularly religious. Oh, we observed holidays from two sets of religions, and pork was not a part of our diet, but that was about the extent of it. I have clear memories of me, my mom AND my dad gathered around the piano, singing while my mom played Christmas carols, just as I have clear memories of my mom exasperated at the insane amounts of traditionally butchered halal goat stored in our freezer after the observance of Eid. Me? I liked extra holidays. I was a materialistic little 1980s child, and more holidays meant more presents. (Incidentally, my dad's not in the picture above...I assume he was the photographer. It's my aunt, uncle, cousins, mom and grandfather.)

So when my father remarried—I was about nine—and started to become a more observant Muslim, that change reached into my life as well—when it was his visitation weekend, I went (reluctantly) to Sunday school and mosque. And on a couple of occasions, yes, I did observe the fast. But as soon as I was old enough to really assert my opinion, I refused to do it any more. I stopped going to Islamic Sunday school, avoided going to mosque as much as possible. By the time I was twelve, I was able to choose when I wanted to visit my dad, and although the frequency of visits didn't decrease by much, I was able to avoid having religion forced on me by anyone.

I'm still not a religious person. Neither is Rob. I generally feel like it's one of those cocktail party, polite company no-no subjects, along with politics. As for tomorrow's fast, we're not doing it for religious reasons. I'm not doing it to make my dad happy, although he is pleased we're making this small attempt. (I'm not sure how pleased he would be at our less-than-strict implementation. We're not going to adhere to the letter of every rule. More on that tomorrow.)

Why ARE we doing it? I guess it's complicated. I'm not doing it to connect with my dad, though it might help me do that a little. If I'm being honest, it has very little to do with that. What got me thinking about it was actually Rob's cousin Patrick. Patrick posted a Facebook update about how he's fasted a few times in the past to express support, kinship and solidarity with Muslim friends. And seeing him say that was very freeing for me. I had this realization that I don't need to let my own conflicted feelings about my relationship with my dad get in the way of me making a connection with my heritage, even if it's a tiny one, just for one day.

And I've felt really strongly about that heritage lately, with Muslims apparently being personae non grata in certain circles and Islam being denounced left and right. Like in the days after 9/11, yet again I'm afraid for my Muslim family members here in the U.S. I may not observe Islam, but I don't want anything to happen to my family and I want them to be able to practice their faith with dignity and respect. There's so much misunderstanding and disinformation circulating right now, which I suspect stems primarily from the fact that a lot of people don't KNOW, or haven't bothered to get to know, any actual practicing Muslims.

I'm not going to go off on a rant about that, though it would be easy to do. I'm just going to conclude by saying that this is going to be a very interesting experience for both Rob and myself. I'm hoping that it reminds me a little of where I come from, connects me with that a little more, even if my usual M.O. is to forge my own path, something that isn't likely to change. And maybe others will be encouraged by what I've decided to do—or at least take my words to heart—and open themselves up to their Muslim friends and neighbors a little more. I'm going to sound like a hippie here, but mutual understanding means we as Americans truly can be a "we" as opposed to an "us" and a "them."

Me As Pathetic Victorian Child

Among other things that have been keeping me pretty well occupied lately, I finally started the laborious long-term project of scanning old childhood photos into digital format. I'm putting some of them into Flickr (sorry, you won't be able to see them unless you have a Flickr account and I've marked you as a friend/family), including this one of me in London in 1981.

We were visiting Hampton Court Palace with a friend of my Mom's and her nephews (pictured). I look a bit disgruntled in my frilly dress. I have no idea why my mother put me in a frilly dress, but there you go. I guess I can blame it on the 80s, like the socks-and-sandals look I'm also sporting, and the bowl-cut/pageboy hairdo.

My parents had met in London, and lived there before I was born. On this trip, we were touring around England and Wales, visiting old friends of my parents and sightseeing. I actually have quite a few memories from the trip, thanks to a travel journal that my mom kept. She'd write in it with me every evening, jotting down about a page about the events of the day. Back in Southern California, I would read it over and over again for years afterward, cementing some of the memories in my mind.

That day at Hampton Court Palace, my mom wrote, "We saw some lovely costumes from 'The Six Wives of Henry VIII' (BBC Production), and the king's kitchen, the beautiful gardens full of trees and flowers and interesting rock paths; and best of all, we went into a maze!" The hedge maze is nearly all I remember now of that day--scary but fun, with kids running and screaming down the rows, gleefully getting lost and finding each other again.

I have one other memory of that day, something that was significant to my child-mind but seems so ordinary now--finding a strange but interesting rock on the ground, somewhere amid the otherwise-unremarkable gravel of the paths. It looked broken, split open like a tiny hemisphere, with the broken side showing both dark greyish-brown as well as a lighter beige center. I remember showing it to my mom, who was sitting on a bench. She let me keep it as a souvenir. I'm not sure what ultimately happened to it, but I kept that for years with my other mementos of the trip--which included other stones, beach-smooth ovals from the ocean at Tintagel (where King Arthur was born, according to legend). Apparently I really liked rocks.

I'm Totally Normal. Abby Normal.

The more time I spend pursuing a career, a life's work, that's in the creative arts (visual or written), the more I realize that another major task for me is reconciling myself to the idea of living life in a not entirely linear fashion. What I mean by that is, creative pursuits don't always lend themselves to a straight road. It's not uncommon, I'm finding, for people to meander a bit.

Perhaps this will be a bit clearer if I provide some contrast. Take my parents. Though they are very different from one another in a myriad of other ways, they are both a bit linear, especially when it comes to how they see working life. This is not necessarily a bad thing, not at all. In fact, I envy them. For them, this is how life generally works: Kid is bright and shows potential. Kid goes to college and majors in chosen field. Kid becomes knowledgeable in said field. Knowledge leads to degree or series of degrees; degree leads directly and immediately to reliable and long-term employment in field of study. Success and stability are achieved in all acceptable societal measures of such.

In the arts, this just isn't always the case. But it's taken me a while to come to terms with that fact that it's not a sign of wrongness or failure, but simply NORMAL. The more I look at authors' book jacket or website bios, though, the more I recognize kindred spirits, the more weird jobs I find, the more--not flitting about, but doing a lot of other things to earn money so that you can pursue your art. And I realize that it isn't necessarily dilettantism that has caused my longest-held salaried position to be less than two years in duration. I look with a sense of relief at the biographies of other YA writers, like Jessica Day George or Jennifer Allison, both of whose bios I recently read. I look at my stepdad, one of the smartest and most creative people I know, and the fact that within his working career he's been a carpenter, an adult ESL teacher, an optician, a high school biology teacher, and a bit of an artist, too--in his retirement, he's making pottery using molds and a homemade kiln. I have to remind myself that it shouldn't be a source of embarrassment or shame to not hold the same job my entire life, to not have a "real job" in the same way that others see it. I AM doing my "real job." Every second that I live.

Holiday Chemistry

It always amazes me how much baking is about chemistry. (And yes, I'm just starting right in without any rationalization of my long absence, and no, there's not gonna be one, so there.) I set out to make my first lemon meringue pie today, which I'm going to serve tomorrow evening to Rob and our friend Fumi. I was daunted by the intimidatingly lengthy instructions in the Joy of Cooking, which included a lot of finicky specifications for timing, temperature, and the interactions of both. But I'm not a bad baker, on the whole, so I thought I'd try it, despite only having semi-success with meringue cookies in the past. Apparently I learned from my mistakes, since the photo above depicts my good(-looking, at least) pie. What remains to be seen is whether the bottom of the meringue is, as the cookbook put it, "slippery" or if it's nice and set. I have to say the lemon curd part tasted awesome. I'm not entirely sure about the crust, either, which I prepared using a different method ("pat in the pan") than I normally do. I just didn't feel motivated to slave over a bowl with the pastry cutter. We'll have to see how that went. I'm hoping good ingredients help--organic local eggs and Meyer lemons.

Even though we're not having our big dinner with all the trimmings until tomorrow--or the family dinner with my in-laws, which is Saturday--I still feel the holiday spirit. (How can I not, with that pie staring at me?) I called my mom. I called my dad. I even called my aunt & uncle, and had a chance to talk to my cousins (and put up--hopefully relatively gracefully--with my aunt pestering me about babies). This is a lot of phone calls for me. Making phone calls to multiple relatives always says "holidays." Also, I haven't done a lick of "real work" since midafternoon, which is pretty good for me these days. Instead, I started playing Twilight Princess on the Wii, made a pie, and continued labeling photos from our trip. It's going to take ages to actually sort everything and upload a good selection, but for now, you can check out Day One in Rome. If the chemistry continues to be right--and I'm adding a little red wine to the mix--tonight will hopefully be relaxing, tomorrow should be a tasty food extravaganza with a roast duck, and Saturday...well, there will be hyperactive nephews aged 2 and 4, but plenty of turkey and thankfulness, if I may indulge in a sappy moment for a moment.

Revisiting Resolutions

Today, as I folded the laundry about a week later than I would have liked, I realized that I've fallen off the wagon as far as my 2008 New Year's resolutions are concerned. One of those was to get out of the habit of leaving the baskets of clean laundry to languish in the living room until I needed the baskets for the dirty laundry the following week. I actually did really well on this resolution until a couple of months ago. Then somehow I stopped being able to find the time to do on-time folding of laundry. Granted, this is not a particularly huge problem. Housework only takes priority insofar as routine maintenance needs to be performed (i.e., dishes, laundry, occasional vacuuming and tidying) and is generally of the keeping-the-house-from-being-a-complete-shithole nature, not the anal-retentive, must-keep-surfaces-immaculate nature.

However, as you can see from the images, one resolution from this year that I'm so far managing to keep is practicing my figure drawing. These are from the second session we attended, and they're somewhat better than the ones I produced in the first session (which I've deemed not good enough for public viewing). The drawings up top are one-minute gesture poses using graphite, and the ones just above are 30-minute poses, the large one charcoal and the smaller one graphite on toned paper. I still need practice, though, so I'll be going to Rob's figure drawing class from time to time. I'm realizing that the figure drawing class I took way back when was less technical in terms of learning bones, muscles, etc. and more focused on using various media, which is fine, but also means I don't have as much knowledge of anatomy as some artists. Rob is teaching that to his students, so I'll probably absorb some by proxy.

Re: my other resolutions for this year, so far--well, I thought I was halfway to my goal of losing 5 pounds, but evidently it was all negated this weekend when I was visiting my parents. My dad routinely tries to get me to eat more, MORE! and has the added quirk of possibly not knowing what a vegetable is. Meanwhile, my mom is strangely fond of breakfast/brunch, so when I'm at her house, I end up eating a lot more in the morning than I normally do, as someone who generally only has coffee and toast or fruit first thing.

The morning meal often also consists of unwanted personal conversation with a cafe waitress, since my mom is one of those people who will start conversations with just about anyone. This means that the waitstaff at her favorite haunts will know far more about me than I would normally divulge to random people. There's also a lot more talking than I usually want to do in the morning, as someone whose preferred method of communication pre-coffee is mainly caveman-like grunts and pained moans.

Anyway, I did go to the gym for an hour today, though, so I'm still holding out hope for the pounds going away again. The meditation resolution has yet to materialize (or immaterialize, as the case may be). I have a meditation CD that my therapist, Dr. Yoda (not his real name), kindly gave me, and I keep meaning to listen to it. Haven't yet. It's been a couple of weeks. I'm hoping to get to it before our appointment this week so I don't seem like a complete slacker. Wish me luck.

Ow. Yum. Argh. Sigh.

The above title is the approximate sound of the inside of my head today. My back hurts from cleaning the house, but we ate some awesome food; also, my mom and stepdad are staying with us for a visit and the house is therefore a bit more action-packed than usual. I did manage to kick back a little over the past few days and play a video game--something completely and entirely and wonderfully unproductive. Sometimes it's difficult to begrudge myself the down time, but I really do need it, as proven by past episodes of hives that won't go away and other such fun stuff.

Anyway, speaking of begrudging, I haven't seemed to be able to justify the blogging time lately (except for the writing blog). It's been a very busy month, and I've been mentally and physically exhausted. A New Year's resolution for me is to do more quality blogging. If quality blogging means that I have to set a regular day and time and stick to it, then so be it. One part of that resolution is to ponder the desired purpose of this blog, and how best to achieve that. Right now, I just post whatever whenever, without much regard for structure/subject matter or potential interest level. And I suspect that the latter could be improved by addressing the former. So, we'll see.

Gluttony: My Favorite Deadly Sin

...though I'm also quite fond of Sloth and Lust. Anyway, I'm trying to give some love to my poor neglected blog here, so I've decided to post our menu for tomorrow's Thanksgiving dinner. It's just the two of us, plus Rob's mom and dad, so (believe it or not) we're trying to keep it relatively simple. ("Relatively" being the operative word, of course.) Rob's parents are bringing the wine, the bread, and the pumpkin cheesecake. We're making:

• Roast goose (which we've done a couple of times before in past years)--allegedly free-range--with bread stuffing, to which I'm adding water chestnuts and apple.
• Gravy. Of course.
• Mashed sweet potatoes with caramelized leeks and butter (this is sort of an experiment)
• Green salad.
• Brown rice mixed with wild rice.

I'm very excited, though I'm still attempting to thaw the goose, which is sitting in water in the sink. The goose requires day-before prepping--you have to dip it in boiling water for 1 minute to dry and tighten the skin and then let it sit in the fridge for a day. I realized earlier that I already passed the 24-hours-ahead mark for that, but oh well. I don't think a few hours will be critical in this case. I need to wait for Rob, though, who is a lot less grossed out by raw poultry than I am. I don't know what's worse--the moist and flabby texture, or the grease it leaves on my hands. Still, it's worth it for the sheer gluttony which we will gratefully exercise upon this meal's consumption.

And, of course, there's the thankfulness. That's there. I just hate sounding sentimental.

The Fun Never Stops

I don't want to go into detail at this moment, but I had an overdose of family fun time this weekend. I enjoyed going to my cousin's college graduation, but awkward after-parties at which both sets of divorced and re-married parents are present (MY divorced and re-married parents, I mean), plus various step-relatives I haven't seen or gone out of my way to contact since I moved out of the house for college 15 years ago, plus a few extra-special family friends I haven't seen since my age was in single digits...well, let's just say I spent most of the evening nervously fidgeting and trying to appear normal.

Oh. Let's not forget that my dad was extra-grumpy due to having had knee surgery a month ago and being in some pain. It also meant he couldn't be up and about and ordering people around to the extent that he normally does, which probably made him even more of a grouch (and I unfortunately had to watch him being unnecessarily bossy to my other cousin--the older sister of the one who graduated). Even more awkward? He didn't bother to hide it, either. So of course all of the friends of the graduating cousin noticed and thought (rather astutely) that he was being a complete jerk.

Oh. Also my brains had been roasted in the sun for two days in a row and I was nursing a few sunburned spots. I sorely wished I had been nursing a good stiff drink, but this was an alcohol-free party.

The high point of the weekend was going to San Diego for the day on Friday. I visited a friend from high school and college who recently had twin girls--they were four months old and very cute, and it was great to see my friend again after a couple of years. Then we went with my mom and stepdad to the San Diego Zoo, which is always pretty fabulous. At least there was one non-stressful day this weekend.

From the Inland Empire to the O.C....

Jeez, seems like I never have time to blog anymore. We just got back a few hours ago from a visit to the many branches of my family tree in Southern Cal. It was actually a surprisingly good visit. We went to see an incredible, awesome movie--Juno, which I highly recommend--with my mom and stepdad, and had an amazingly chill visit with my dad, stepmom, and stepsister on Sunday, and a good visit with my aunt and uncle earlier today on our way out. We also got to visit my younger cousin in her new digs--she moved out of her parents' house a few months ago and is very excited to be in her own place (well, with a roommate). She called looking for my advice not too long ago because her dad (my uncle) didn't seem to be dealing well with her moving out; but I know he'll come around, and she's good with the parental visits--she comes over at least once a week. They only live about half an hour away.

It's hard for them, though--my uncle is a little traditional in some ways, and my cousin is a hairstylist and Starbucks barista with numerous tattoos. Not exactly what he was envisioning, I'm sure. Her younger sister is graduating with her BA this upcoming May, which makes him a little happier, but I know he's not looking forward to the empty nest. Poor Uncle.

I can't believe I had such a positive visit with my dad. Usually I'm super stressed when we go over there, and if he's in a bad mood...well, both my parents are the type of people who can affect an entire room or situation with their mood. If they're happy, everyone's relaxed or at least non-stressed. If they're not happy, then everyone feels like they're walking on eggshells. This time, my dad was in a really good mood, and showed us pictures from his latest vacation to Dubai and India (Kerala, Delhi, and Bombay), including numerous cousins and second cousins and so forth whom I've never met but are apparently incredibly successful lawyers or something.

My dad finally sold his stupid Quizno's franchise, which was a retarded idea to begin with, in my opinion, especially during his retirement, for God's sake. Now he's back to just consulting (he used to be an electronics engineer/systems analyst) and semi-retirement. So I think that's probably made him much happier, and as a result, our visit was far less awkward than usual. AND, he actually spent a fair amount of time asking me about my writing projects and apparently also listening to the answers, which is amazing. I was floored by that part. Usually he asks questions but then interrupts me when I'm halfway through the answer. So I guess he's calming down a little.

Anyhoo, I seriously need to get back to blogging regularly, and I still owe y'all pictures of the addition, with the press moved into the studio and everything. I swear, it'll be soon...

Venice and Other Distractions...Part I

I've been wanting to post for a while, but ever since we've been back, the shit has hit the fan in terms of work, getting caught up, household construction, family fun time, etc. My back currently aches from helping Rob grout tile in the new bathroom in the addition (I was the water-bucket hauler--and I seriously tested the limits of my upper-body strength with each load, of which there were at least 15). But I finally feel like I've made some progress work-wise and can therefore justify some blogging time. Oh--did I mention the 25+ (and growing) pile of books sitting on my office floor waiting to be read and judged? I'm having this horrible fear that I'm not going to agree with what anyone else likes. So far, of the 9 titles posted to the short list, only one is also on my personal list of favorites. Granted, I haven't yet read a lot of the titles people have posted, so I can't actually say I won't agree once I get there. Anyway. Here are some impressions of our Italy trip, in no particular order:

• Bridges. Venice struck me for its myriad of little footbridges just as much as for its canals. Wooden footbridges, concrete footbridges, footbridges with wheelchair ramps in the tourist area near San Marco, footbridges with no ramps that we had to haul extremely heavy luggage up and over, young parents hauling their kids' strollers up and down footbridge steps, tourists taking pictures of the most insignificant of canals from the tops of the bridges. The Ponte dei Pugni, or Bridge of Fists, where young noblemen used to fight and throw each other off into the canal, marked with footprints set in the concrete where combatants are supposed to start off. The Ponte Accademia, a wooden lattice arching over the Grand Canal and affording almost unreal, Disneyland-like views of the cityscape.
• Roman stuff. I love going to see Roman historical sites, just as I like going to see ruined castles. What can I say? I like wandering around the remains of history. Verona was a fantastic (and unplanned) surprise in that regard--for one thing, they have the third-largest Roman arena complete with gates where the gladiators and beasts used to be released. And it's still in use today for operas and performances. There was also a Roman amphitheatre and a reconstructed bridge over the river. I'm always amazed by how the Romans really built to last.
• Not quite enough alone time. This was but a minor note of dissatisfaction, but traveling with the in-laws didn't quite give Rob and I enough time on our own. His parents aren't experienced overseas travelers--China was their first trip abroad, and that was an almost completely guided event with pre-set daily itineraries and tour guides for each city. For Italy--Rob and I were the tour guides. We set the itinerary, except for one guided tour we took in Milan. And Venice is a little confusing to get around at first, so they were content to let us take the lead and just kind of follow along. Which was fine...but resulted in only about half a day that we actually had to ourselves. Not as much of a romantic trip as you'd expect from Venice.
• Da Vinci's The Last Supper. It's in terrible shape. I'm glad we saw it (it's in Milan, and that's why we bought the guided tour--it was the only way we were able to get tickets to see it). You go in through what is essentially a series of airlocks, keeping the room climate-controlled, and enter the former refectory of Santa Maria delle Grazie, and there it is on one wall of the rectangular room. It was much bigger than I'd pictured (sort of like the Mona Lisa tends to be smaller than people imagine) and parts of it are what I'd call nearly obliterated by time and wear and overly-zealous restorations of the past. I'm glad we saw it before it fades even more, because it really is an incredible masterwork of its time.
• The Euro. The dollar. GAAAAH! We are po' now.

To be continued...

Back Just in Time...

...to be totally behind on work and also have to prepare for Thanksgiving. Oh well. It was worth it. In between bouts of cleaning the house, I'm trying to upload our pictures to Flickr, and I've done about half as of this moment. For once, I took most of them.

Usually Rob likes to be the photographer, but this time he was the backpack beast of burden and map-reader. Well, we took turns reading the map, but he was definitely the official carrier of items. Rob's mom was in a car accident just five days before we left for the trip, and her wrists were still really sore (possibly mildly sprained), so we all helped out with carrying bags, etc.

More soon! Must get back to vacuuming, sweeping, tidying, and food prep. We're going to have duck, lamb, roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, green beans, and rolls. Fumi and Tricia are bringing appetizers, and my mom and stepdad are bringing pies. It's going to be a ridiculous amount of food, plus our house is still in crazy construction mode, but it should be fun...provided I can get everything ready in time.

Be It Ever So Humble...

This is a rear view (i.e., from the backyard) of our household construction project, which will ultimately comprise an additional small bedroom, a bathroom, and an art studio. Rob likes to call it Stevenson South. I will attempt to post a few more pictures here as things take shape. As you can see, we're also getting a small covered patio out of it. It's very exciting, although it is evidently true when they say (good old "they") that if your relationship can survive a major construction project on the house, it can survive anything. There has been much noise and general aggravation in the Stevenson residence. There's nothing like being awakened at 7 a.m. by infernally loud banging on the roof to put you in a fabulous mood, or having to answer the door in your pajamas to greet the plumbers you didn't know were showing up. Et cetera.

Anyway, I also posted the rest of the New York pictures, including the ones from the crappy disposable camera. I had to retouch those a little in Photoshop, but they actually came out okay.

Sigh. I can hear Rob stomping around. My mom and stepdad are coming up for a weekend visit and evidently Rob thought they were showing up tomorrow evening instead of tomorrow morning, so now there is extra stress in the air. Sigh sigh sigh. And me not getting even half of what I hoped to done this week in terms of work, due in part to house cleaning and also to feeling yucky on Wednesday. Can't say I feel a lot better right at this moment, but at least I don't have quite the same headache. Yet.

Post-4th Hangover

Sad to say, my hangover is from parental visitation, not from alcohol--yet the effects are rather similar in that I had to sleep it off for a couple of hours today. And this was a visit from the less stressful set of parents. Still, my mom can be a little high-energy (okay, a LOT) and so visits tend to exhaust me. I won't go into detail. It'll just make me tired all over again.

Of course, my dad inflicted his own unique form of stress on me this week, too, via telephone. I'm never sure whether he says these things to be motivational (however misguidedly), or if he's trying to shame me into reconsidering my career path. Anyway, he told me about the son of a family friend, a guy my age who I used to play with when we were kids (incidentally also the product of a very similar mixed marriage, only he's half Afghani). I get occasional updates about this guy from my dad--he got his MD and is working for the military; he's working in Afghanistan for Doctors Without Borders, etc. etc. Anyway, now he's apparently going back to school to get a second master's in public health or something. I mean, great for him and all, but is my dad trying to tell me something? He did spend an awful lot of time lecturing me when I was a kid about becoming a doctor, lawyer, scientist, or engineer. I'm probably the black sheep of that side of the family.

On another topic, here, finally, is the promised JPEG of my latest poster for the Prospect Theater. Rob did the little drawing of Shakespeare, as well as the sketch of the skull which I then experimented with in Photoshop.

Also, here is a scan of a very interesting piece of misdirected mail we got. It belongs to a neighbor around the corner who is evidently on the aged side of life. I used to think Sunset was an old-person's magazine when I was a kid, mainly because my grandfather got it, but now I actually like Sunset, and after seeing this magazine cover, I realize that THIS, people, is truly an Old Person's Magazine. In case you can't read the tiny print on the scan, it says "The magazine that brings back more good times." Good Lord.

And, oh yeah--I've been crazy hella busy. No rest for Sarah. Not much blogging, either.