Internal Complications

Tax season.

Ron filled out his info and then handed the forms over to me. Something caught my eye as I calculated numbers and input digits into their rectangle boxes: my husband rounds his numbers to the dollar.

It’s not $1754.37.
It’s 1754.

It’s not $205.23.
It’s 205.

Huh.

Do you know how many pencils I have destroyed (teeth marks, chewed erasers, etc.) due to the fact that I fill out my tax forms to the penny? I swear there is some internal mechanism in my core that causes me to automatically take the more difficult path.

By the way, Ron also doesn’t waste his time putting the little $ sign in front of his numbers. You don’t even want to know how frequently I erase the $ and write it again to make sure the symbol looks just right.

On the bright side, at least I’ve learned yet another way to simplify my life.

Girl Not Gone Wild

All 18 of us were supposed to get naked.

Sort of.

Everything off except our bikini bottoms.

I was with a group of women at a topless beach in Mexico and we were receiving a Mayan clay treatment. You apply the clay to your body, let the sun bake it onto your skin (giving it time to pull out toxins), and then wash off in the ocean.

It sounded fun, but I’m really not one of those “let’s get naked” type of girls, especially when the resort’s male staff was milling around the open kitchen. Still, for this, I thought, Oh, fine. I’ll strip.

But just as I was about to untie the strings of my bikini top the woman leading the clay treatment said, “Everybody bring your cameras!”

Cameras? In a day and age where digital photos can be posted on the Internet and spread like wildfire?

I’m really, REALLY, REALLY working on trying not to be so uptight, but cameras?

If you come across a picture floating around the Internet of a bunch of topless women on a beach in Mexico with clay smeared on their bodies – I’m the one in the back. With my top on.

Manna from Heaven

Lately I've been feeling like the sky is falling. Then I read a passage from one of my favorite writers. She quoted a verse from Psalm 78:

"God commanded the skies above, and . . . he rained down on them manna to eat."

The writer said when it feels like the sky is falling, maybe it's God providing us with nourishment.

Love that.

Top Secret

I have a relative (who shall remain nameless) who has taken a new job. She is working for a consulting firm whose main client is some government agency that she can't disclose.

You're working for the CIA! I exclaimed.

No, no, no, she assured me. It's waaaay more boring than that.

Uh-huh. Yeah, right. That's what the TELL you to say.

~

Is it obvious I just watched the movie Breach?

The Language of Love

Home from my trip to Mexico, I’m lugging my laptop, books, yoga mat, and bathroom kit up the stairs. Ron is behind me carrying my overstuffed backpack. The two of us had barely been able to talk all week. A wind storm blew down the wireless tower in the small town where I was staying, so Internet was out of the question. My cell phone caught a signal down at the beach, but the connection was so weak that Ron and I couldn’t understand what either person was saying, our voices distant and broken.

Hola,
Gracias, and
Vino rojo, por favor is about the extent of my Spanish, so not only was my communication with Ron cut off, it was limited with others as well. Six days as a solo traveler in a country where I don't speak the language gave me lots of time to think, and I realized my relationship with Ron needed a little rekindling.

At the top of the stairs, I glance in the kitchen. I see a plant with tall green stalks. The flowers aren’t ready to bloom, but they will be soon with a little water, sunlight, and love. Even though Valentine’s Day is over, Ron chilled a bottle of champagne and set out a plate of chocolate covered strawberries. Within minutes we are settled into our home celebrating our reunion.

“I love the plant,” I say.

“It’s for Leo,” Ron says (Leo was our baby that I miscarried last month).

I bury my head in Ron’s chest and thank him for reading my mind. I feel him kiss the top of my hair.

Who needs the Internet and cell phone when we have the language of love?

Greetings from Mexico

Driving down a narrow highway in the sprinkling rain, I’m keeping my tiny red stick shift car steady at 100 kilometers per hour.

By the time I arrive at my destination it’s dark and late. Inside my hut three flickering candles reveal a stone floor and stone walls with a thatched palapa roof. There is a sink, a bench, and a queen size bed with mosquito netting.

Everyone else has already retreated to their huts. They are sound asleep.

I brush my teeth, careful to use the bottled water someone gave me at the airport. Then I undress and crawl under the covers. The candles are settled low in tall glass containers and I decide it is okay to leave them lit.

The waves outside drop onto the sand, banging and smashing against the shore – the beach must be a few short steps away. It’s pouring rain now and the water hits the roof and rattles deep sounds through the night air. The candles throw bright yellow flames up and down the stone walls.

But the noise inside my head is louder than the waves and the rain and the fire. My thoughts pile up faster than I can keep track.

I take deep breaths and try to quiet my mind. Forcing stillness will get me nowhere. Better to just wait . . . listen and wait . . . listen to the water and watch the fire and wait until the waves and the rain and the soft light wash away the sounds inside me.

Five Blogs in One

I’m signing off of the blogosphere for a few days on a travel assignment (life's tough, I know), so here are a couple of thoughts for next week:

Feb 12 (Monday): My husband loves to dance. I was born with two left feet. Find out whether we were able to pull off a "first dance" on our wedding day in my article running in today's Style section of The Washington Post.

Feb 13 (Tuesday): If you’ve experienced a miscarriage, there is a wonderful article in the February issue of Alternative Medicine magazine titled “Interpreting Miscarriage” by Elizabeth Marglin. I found it comforting. It’s worth the read.

Feb 14 (Wednesday): Happy Valentine’s Day! Love plays a role in living a long, healthy life (love of friends, family, etc. – not limited to romance) If you want to make it to age 100, check out BlueZones.com. One of my favorite editors is in Costa Rica as part of the Blue Zones team – people who are on a quest to study the world’s longest living populations.

Feb 15 (Thursday): Visit The Urban Muse’s blog today where I answer five questions about starting a freelance writing career.

Feb 16 (Friday): Hmm…I’m outta ideas. Hopefully I’ll find an Internet café on my travels and blog again before Friday.

The Theory of Unintended Consequences

Ron’s big hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently.

“Time to wake up,” he says.

I snuggle my head in the pillow and slide further under the covers.

Buried inside the bed, it’s soft and warm, and I could sleep for another hour.

Outside, the temperature is in the twenties. Snow on the ground. Biting wind. Ron wants me to drive him to the train station so that he doesn’t have to walk the icy path.

“The theory of unintended consequences,” I joke.

Ron and I have been talking about this theory lately – how one, small, seemingly irrelevant action can set off a whole chain of unintended consequences.

Rewind to two years ago. My first official day as a freelance writer. I wasn’t simply embarking on a career makeover, I was embarking on a life makeover. Instead of forcing myself to abide by a strict schedule (shower at 6:30am, eat at 7:00am, commute at 7:30am, etc.), I was going to practice listening to my body and find its natural cycles. I’d eat when I was hungry, sleep when I was tired, and wake up when I felt rested.

But...

Leaving my job as a lawyer to pursue my new approach to life meant we had to move from our housing (provided by the university where I had worked) to the open real estate market...
Which caused us to dip into our saving to cover the high rent in California...
Which put stress on my frugal husband...
Which made him start searching for a higher paying job...
Which led us to move across the country to a more affordable community...
Which led us to sell one of our two cars that couldn’t handle the 3000 mile drive...
Which led us to an apartment within walking distance of a train station...
Which led me to get up early this morning.

Now wait a second...

Roughly Speaking Turns One

It’s my blog’s birthday today.

She’s 1.

When I asked Roughly Speaking what she wanted for a present, she said a large screen monitor for my author’s home office.

Aw, isn’t she a thoughtful blog, requesting a gift for moi?

Zing!

It’s 3:43am.

I’m back on coffee.

Grande size.

The I’ll take it black, no sugar, no cream kind of coffee. Scorching hot. The kind that would make Fully Caffeinated proud.

Yum. Now if only I could catch some Zzz's.