on labeling

labels, the great manifestation of organization! 

or rather, the idiot-proof way to differentiate jars of almond meal and pastry flour, fine sea salt and sugar.

prior to living with g, i had no need for labels. since it was just me by my lonesome, i rarely baked or even cooked, for that matter. my spice rack was spice-less because it never seemed logical to buy a full jar for a teaspoon of this or that. the only things that were full in my kitchen were the fruit bowl and fridge - loaded with fresh produce, labeling unnecessary.

and then i move in with mister kitchen-aid, king of ingredients. open the cabinet and behold every type of legume, grain, sugar, etc. when we first started dating, i was smitten by not only his bounty of cooking/baking goods, but also by his methodical labeling. i had met my match, indeed.

almost one year living together, labeling has become instinctive to me. as soon as we buy some loot (of the jar-able kind), we take it out of the original packaging to create room on the shelf, transfer it to a jar or canister, and label it. by doing this, we are saving space, reusing containers that would otherwise be thrown away/recycled, and making life helluva lot easier to locate things. happiness!

and just to put out there, i don't use any fancy-shmancy labeling machine. only a piece of paper, pen, and good ol' tape...just the way i was taught. 

just listen

i've felt exhausted today, my day off. after working two busy shifts on the unit, i had been craving this day of freedom. i created a list of productivity, an assortment of to-do's: go on a run, do laundry, buy some tidbits at target, study, bake granola, prepare a fun meal with g. but something deep inside me has been fighting the activity.

i felt the fight during my run, when my body sought relief at stoplights. i felt it when i glanced at my study material and thought "screw it." i even picked up on this exhaustion when g asked if something was wrong since i had been oddly quiet all morning. the thought of preparing a meal tonight seemed so daunting that i even entertained the possibility of ordering pizza for dinner. sheesh.

i have a feeling this sense of depletion is a manifestation of busy days at work, but how dare it rob me of being productive on my day off! i need this day to do things, dammit! but of course, something deeper said otherwise. that i need this day to be. be thoughtful. be peaceful. be still and just listen.

and so, here i am, writing in my moleskin in the courtyard of a charming cafe, with no prospects of going to target, studying, or baking granola. to be honest, i feel that the less i fight this internal voice, the more i'm gaining in my day. like rest. i even feel inspired to make a meal for g, because even in the setting of my own exhaustion, i am thankful for the promise of his selfless love. friday, today you are my sabbath.

29

married twenty-nine years and going strong, my parents have this thing about them that works. and when i say "works," i mean "sparks." growing up, i think i took their relationship for granted. it never crossed my mind that not all parents get along the way mine did. and it seemed far-fetched that not all parents love each other the way mine did and continue to do. life at home felt so natural, and the relationship before my eyes seemed so effortless. comfortable. organic.

fast forward 15 years, the latter three shared with g, and i've realized that what my parents have is respect, trust, and the will to fight life's unforeseen battles...together. mama couldn't be more different than daddy, and vice versa, but they meet where it matters. like lounging in their backyard. or over a plate of tacos at the local mexican joint. or in the family room on a saturday morning with their coffee, newspaper, and spoiled-ass dogs. and yet with all of their "differences," they find their common ground in the life they created together, the life that took 29 years to refine and learn to understand.

and so as g and i enter the month of the third year being together, i am humbled by my parents' example of real-time love. that i can be who i am and g can be who he is and we can love each other deeply as long as we both believe that the life we share together is worth refining. 

this past weekend, when g asked my dad what the secret was for a healthy marriage, my dad replied "a sense of humor." and with that, i'd say g and i are headed in the right direction.

the recreation center

hon, do you want to swim some laps? asked g.

yeah, sure, but where?

and so begins my story of the recreation center.

just when i want to throw the towel in and curse this city (drama queen, yes), i am pleasantly surprised with little gems. like the chocolate chip cookie at the larder. or our secluded beach spot in malibu. and now, the westwood recreation center.

within walking distance of our studio is a place where people of all ages congregate. where kids play basketball, new mommies attend support groups, racquetball people play racquetball, and where the rest of us swim laps. open from the wee hours of the morning until after dark, the center hosts a commuity of people wanting to belong, to be engaged in activity and fellowship.

it's only been one week of early morning swims, but i have a feeling this place is going to become part of my routine. i love watching the older women practice their water aerobics on one side of the pool, taking their conversation to the locker room showers. i love the morning sun beaming through the window, dancing on the water, as that one man glides through his lane with such graceful fluidity. and the feeling i get from working my entire body - my heart beating, my arms pumping, my legs strengthening - it's enlivening.

although g and i are swimming in our own lanes, at our own pace, i feel like we are connecting - with our spirits, bodies, and community. i still find solace when i run, but during the days between - with g, with those old folks at the center - i am part of something shared. and it feels nice.

all i need

wake up shy of 5:55 am, with all effort to beat the alarm. stumble out of bed, trying not to startle the dog. bathroom lights on, time to brush my teeth and attempt to look decent. tea brewing, toast toasting, almond butter prepared for spreading. shoes on, bag packed, it's time to start the day.

driving two miles to the hospital, i have no idea what the day will look like. who will be my patient(s)? will i have a delivery? what kind of person will i have to become for the next 12 hours - the coach, the mediator, the cheerleader, the comforter, or the leader? am i ready for this? am i ready to adapt to this dynamic environment and give it my all?

i change into my scrubs and greet my co-workers. i give the central monitor a quick glance, trying my very best not to jump to conclusions about how the day is going to unfold. but i can't help it. i can already tell by the amount of fetal strips shown on the monitor that it's going to be that kind of day.

the deep breaths begin. it's time to collect myself, be open to whatever comes my way. i get my patient assignment and dive head first into a day in L&D.

and throughout the day, i'm the chameleon, changing my colors to meet my patients' needs. internally, i'm fighting exhaustion, hunger, and frustration, while externally, i'm exuding an err of confidence, joy, and full-fledged support. in the few moments i get to myself in the bathroom, i look into the mirror to remind myself who i am, to stay centered.

the day finally ends after 12 hours of laboring and delivering, teaching and consoling. i feel depleted. i feel proud. there's this sense of joy and happiness mixed with exhaustion and doubt. did i meet my patients' needs? was i a strong team member? could i have done this or that better?

so i make my way home, my mind being consumed by an ongoing train of thoughts. i shuffle my feet through the door, put my things down, and give g a kiss. and then i realize - after those long hours of physical, mental, and emotional challenge, of self-doubt and self-judgment - that all i need is exactly this....the promise of a home filled with unconditional love.

respect

when i moved in with g, i was a little nervous about space. living in a studio doesn't give either of us many options for retreating. hiding out. doing our "own" thing.

we basically eat where we cook, sleep where we eat, practice yoga where we cook...you get the idea. i thought the transition of me moving into an essentially one-person space would be borderline crazy. but it wasn't. and, surprisingly, it hasn't been.

over the course of this past year living together, we've learned how to negotiate our space. i know where he'll spend the better part of his morning. he knows when i'll be in the bathroom. we basically do a waltz when we are cooking in the kitchen, twirling past one another to put a hot pan down, gaining height on our tippy toes to reach for a wine glass. it's been a process, but it has been a great one at that.

i am in the midst of preparing for an advanced certification exam, and naturally, i need space. quiet space. distraction-free space. back in the day, i would retreat to my room, plant my butt at my desk for some odd-many hours, and study for as long as i wanted. seeing that i don't have that private space anymore, it's back to the negotiating tables.

how early should i begin studying, so as to not wake g up? where will i study so i don't have paper sprawled all over the place? how can i kindly tell g that i can't have a conversation right now because i'm trying to read?

thankfully, g has been an amazing support. he understands my focus and has made tremendous compromises so i can bury myself in the books. and for that, i love him all the more. the guy who respects my space, even when we don't have much of it.

what i saw when i looked up from the books: g practicing yoga with his ear phones on. silence!

the fruit!

i feel overwhelmed. with spring nearly over and summer inching forward, the bounty of glorious fruit is  driving me kinda crazy.

the melons and berries, the stone fruits alone! when i wake up in the morning, i have all of these options. and coming from a creature of breakfast habit, it's a little daunting to decide what to dive into. an internal monologue ensues...

should i have blackberries or peaches in my yogurt? how about both? but look at the cantelope...a refreshing side to my cereal. oh hell, i'm really in the mood for apricots in my granola. but the cherries! what about the cherries?!

and that's just breakfast. you can imagine what the rest of my day is like when i have to consider the other meals. crazy.

don't even get me started on treats. of course, these lovely summer fruits just scream TART! CRUMBLE! ICE CREAM! GALETTE! CURD! how the hell am i supposed to choose? it's all just so good.

please don't confuse this venting session with a summer fruit abomination. no, no, that's not the message. i'm just so smitten by this bounty that i get a little emotional and, at times, confused. but honestly, as long as my stockpile continues to grow, i try my darndest to put the drama aside and just enjoy.