nina turns 40

Now that mr. CL and I officially have a date, our emails have gotten flirtier. Which is fun--I love to flirt, I'm a great flirt--but also terrifying. I don't want to like this guy. I just want lots of empty meaningless sex (can't wait to see how many hits I get from folks who google that phrase). No, not really. Not at all, in fact. That would make it all so much easier though. Oh, well. Easy is for wimps.

Doing some sort of year end round-up seems rather redundant for someone who has blogged all year. Plus, thinking about this past year just makes me sad, and I'm tired of feeling sad. Considering the way it started, I sure as hell didn't expect it to end like it has. But that's part of the fun of life, no? Never knowing what to expect. If you can accept that wholly, then yes, those Zen teachers are right, you'll be free of all suffering, and from the root of all suffering. Accept each moment completely, openly, as it is; then let it go.

When I was in Kona last February (is it just me, or are more and more of my posts starting this way?), I went on a little jaunt to the top of Mauna Kea, one of the world's best places to watch the sky. Besides feeling like it was extreme cheating to drive to the top of a mountain, I had a blast. The best part? Oxygen deprivation. They warned us that we might feel dizzy or nauseous, and that if we had heart conidtions blah blah blah. But what I felt was sheer love. It was one of the best highs I've ever had. I loved everyone and everything, and the whole world was beautiful. We got to stay at the summit to watch the sunset, and then drove down a few thousand feet to gaze at the stars. I didn't want to come down. And despite the bizarreness of wearing a parka in Hawaii, it was the best thing we did the whole trip.

Back in the Saddle

Dear lord, I kind of have a date this Saturday. A meeting for drinks, anyway. With the possibility of dinner later, if I don't freak him out with my radical left wing commie pinko politics or my recent inclination to refer to men as assholes. What the hell am I thinking? Well, that it would be nice to have a drink with someone, for one. That all men aren't assholes, for another. At least not all the time. That if he's even reasonably good looking and can manage a decent conversation, I'm gonna rip his clothes off before the--ha! just kidding! I would never ever rip off anyone's clothes until after the, what's the rule, third date? And of course, I always follow all the rules. Fear not, though. I'm wary wary wary of this whole game, and will not be easily swayed to even like anyone, much less trust them. I don't feel particularly sexy or flirty these days, either (though I am so marvelously svelte that I've recently had to buy a buncha new clothes so my pants wouldn't fall off), so it may be that I am simply rather boring to hang out with. Who knows. I'm certainly not going to pass up the opportunity now that it has presented itself. Truly there is no longer any doubt: I've lost my freakin' mind.

I forget what the proper meteorological term for this is (and my googling for it was in vain), but it's one of those really cold days where the mountains seem to have moved in closer, and you can see every detail of the foothills, and each peak and valley and crevasse, and the clarity of it all hurts your eyes. This used to happen sometimes when I lived in Chicago, and you could actually make out the shore of Michigan across the lake. But there's nothing more gorgeous than a day in Seattle when all the mountains are strutting their stuff. Wow.

word spy

Found this cool site while cruising around the blog of a woman who has commented here. Not surprisingly, I seem to be attracting lots of (fabulously interesting, it seems) readers who are also women over 40. Since my best homegirls and my sister are all still in their 30s, it's nice to see what other gals of my generation are up to. Seems quite obvious that we rock!

For the last few months I have been going through a period of grief. This grief was triggered by the loss of a relationship, but is by no means simply about that. It is much bigger, and I don't quite understand where it has all come from or what it is about. I realize that it is important, however, and have been trying to just go with the flow of it. Not an easy task.

"I have heard Wm. Brugh Joy, MD speak of scientists who, by measuring sound vibrations, know that the caterpillar in the cocoon is shrieking! Screaming in pain as its body changes from the caterpillar--a lowly creature, to most senses--to the beloved and beautiful butterfly. The butterfly is used in many traditions as a symbol of transformation and especially transmutation through death. Yet, in our highly romanticized versions, we do not acknowledge that transformation is a painful process. Painful but not fatal. Reassure yourself that, like Alice in Wonderland, you have fallen through a rabbit hole into a totally different reality. Things look the same but they aren't. They sound the same but they aren't. You don't recognize yourself. You are not crazy. You are in an unfamiliar landscape. And there you need to trust yourself and your instincts just as if you were 'lost.' Send out flares and stay put. Help is on the way."

~Deborah Morris Coryell in her book Good Grief

When the kidlet and I were in Hawaii last February, we had a layover in the Honolulu airport, and so I went scouting around the shops there to find something to keep the kidlet occupied while we waited. I ended up buying a book called Origami for Keiki (keiki being kidlets in Hawaiian). Turns out the origami was too hard for him to do himself, but it was a beautiful book with fun Hawaiian-themed things to fold (a surfboard, a sea turtle, a Hawaiian shirt), so he watched as I made my amusing attempts. I found it to be harder than it looks, but really fascinating and fun, so I bought myself an origami calendar for Christmas. It's one of those page a day dealios, and in this case each page is an origami project. Can't wait for the new year to start so I can get foldin'!

I would just like to say that I make the best damn mashed potatoes. I'm eating them now with roast chicken and spinach salad. Comfort food at its finest.

For the last couple of years I have become the official Christmas bartender of my family, inventing a new cocktail for our Christmas Eve bash. This year's cocktail was Absolut Citron, fresh grapefruit juice made from grapefruits plucked from the tree in my sister's yard, and a splash of cranberry juice, shaken over ice and strained, martini style. Dee-lish. Until you've had fresh Florida grapefruit in season, you haven't had grapefruit--it's the sweetest most amazing citrus ever.