Becoming Something You're Not

I am a runner.  I am not fast but I am steadfast and I love to run.  I love the predictable pace, and head clearing post run clarity.  A few weeks ago my friend Ed asked me to go on a bike ride and I agreed.  My pride took over.  My boredom superseded.  My guilt about a perfectly good red mountain bike sitting unused on my porch overwhelmed me.  I agreed to meet him for an early morning ride.

The first morning I couldn't find my helmet and deemed this unimportant until a truck nearly plowed me down as I merged out of my driveway.  En-route to Ed's house my pant leg nearly caught in the gears and while I swerved to fix the problem mid pedal I nearly ran over the carcass of a decomposing dog on the side of the highway.

Ed loaned me a helmet and some riding gloves.  He oiled my chain, raised my seat and asked for the combination of the bike lock I hadn't used in a year.  We departed towards the mountains and I remembered that ride a bike offers a wonderful sense of freedom.  We crossed traffic traversing a narrow back street.  I cockily sped uphill congratulating myself on my level of cardiovascular fitness.  As the hill peaked I choked swallowing buckets of misplaced pride.  The steep downhill was a paved death wish.

I refused.  An out of control race to the bottom and a certain superman over the handle bars followed by road rash was not in cards.  I walked down every hill sheepishly remembering I hated all sports involving wild out of control speed.

Ed was patient.  As we biked through tiny villages he provided tips on shifting gears.  We criss-crossed dirt switch back climbing in altitude and he celebrated my small victories.  "You almost made it up without walking," he cheered.  The scenery from the mountains was a serene contrast to the constant dirt and din of Kathmandu.  At the end of the ride I agreed to try it again next week and the following week I managed to bike down every threatening downhill without dismounting.

Today we road up and up and up.  Every steep incline I tried to repeat my inner mantra, "This is easy, you can do it."  I fell off my bike once and it took 20 minutes to remount.  When I rolled up to my gate I felt sick.  Every ounce of me was exhausted.  Two hours of endless hills had taken its toll.  My quads quivered from exhaustion and my hands cramped from my death grip on the breaks.  I walked in and lied down on my driveway.  JAC crawled over my body as I lay flailed out on the warms stones.  The alarmed gardener called for the housekeeper to bring water.  I wanted to never move from that spot.  I felt horrible and brave.  I felt accomplished and tired.  Mainly I felt sick and I remember in my exhaustive state, why I am a runner.  Biking is really hard.

I am not a biker but I love really hard things.  Next week I will once again attempt to master the foothills of Kathmandu and remind myself, "This is easy.  You can do it."  Hard things make you so much better and stronger.  I hope you get to fight your way up a mountain today and enjoy the accomplishment while lying exhausted on your driveway.  Happy Friday.

Confessions

I'm using my sore finger as an excuse not to run this morning.  It is still throbbing but mostly I wanted Jess to be able to sleep in really late this morning.  He needs to catch up on some rest.  He worked last Saturday and then we all woke up really early to watch the Super Bowl on Monday morning.  I think this is my new favorite way to take in the big game - eating breakfast burrittos with a few die hard fans.  It all felt very American, almost patriotic.

I woke up feeling really sick this morning.  It must have been that single glass of wine I had last night at Happy Hour.  I must be getting old if I feel a glass of wine in the morning.  The Marines have started hosting Friday Happy in conjunction with a kids' movie.  The kids watch a cartoon in another room under Marine supervision while the parents hang out at the bar.

We're making Huevos Rancheros this morning, because I'm homesick for New Mexico.  I find myself missing New Mexico all of the time.  It really is enchanting and a place where I feel most free. The Huevos Rancheros will be a whole family productions because I have to make the tortillas by hand.  It is an act of love and a tribute to my roots.

I'm trying to teach JAC how to dress himself.  For a week he has worn his underwear backwards.  I have explained to him several times that it is much easier to put your shirt on when you're not spinning in a circle but he hasn't caught on.  Sometimes I like to pretend my whole life is actually a comedy.  Watching JAC dress himself demands a great laugh track.

At Night

Last night our bed was full.  I was squashed between a little boy, a little dog and my husband.  JAC dashed from his room and vaulted feet first onto my chest before falling into the canyon between our sleeping bodies.  He shivered as I slid him under the blankets, wrapping my arm across his shoulder and tucking his icy toes under my leg to be warmed up.  Even after his hasty retreat to our bedroom he seemed disoriented by sleep, and I did not have the heart to return him to his bed even as he kicked me restlessly most of the night.

In the dawn hours I rolled over and watched my little family in the amber light.  In the middle of the night JAC migrated to the far side of the bed and was curled into the hollow of Jess' chest. He has been familiar with this place since his babyhood.  Each curve of their bodies fit like well formed puzzle pieces.  JAC's head was just below Jess' chin and I felt like I was looking at the future.  Their faces are so similar in form and their expressions were so identical.  I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

Dirt, blood, mold - I could not decide which covered the concrete walls of the hospital corridors.  White paint was splashed with brick brown stains that grew up from the floor almost touching the ceiling.  We walked through the hallways that closed around you like dark tunnels and my chest tightened.  It was hard to breath.  It was hard to see.  Sporadic single light bulbs clung to the ceiling barely fulfilling their purpose.  A poster encouraging hygiene peeled off the wall curling at the edges.

This is the only Childrens hospital in Nepal.  Children lie listlessly on metal wracks covered in slim pieces of decomposing foam.  Parents slump near children resting their heads against the wall or talking quietly to each other.  IV's pump chemotherapy into a small child while the ward down the hall houses burn victims - their flesh melted away.

Nothing is guaranteed here.  There is often no running water and the stomach turning odor from the bathrooms drifts down the hall, heavy and wet.  Patients are not fed.  The hospital cannot provide food and families bring small provisions to cook on the hot plate in the corner.  Medicine is not available.  A small wall cabinet spills out half empty glass bottles of donated medication.  Recovery is not guaranteed here either and parents cling loosely to hope.

This hospital fights for funding from a corrupt government.  While Nepalis love small children, funding the recovery of a weak child is seen by many as a poor choice, because some believe that a sick child will only be a drain on resources in the future.

While my son sleeps nested comfortably between loving parents other parents sit in dark hospital wards without electricity.  They watch their breath form in the frigid air. They hold frail hands and cling to hope.

Love is in the Air

JAC is "baby bear" and I am "mama bear."  Sometimes he likes me to, "hold his paw."  Today rain poured down on Kathmandu and it was a cozy treat.  JAC wanted to make a bear cave and we created a huge blanket tent in my living room.  We ate bear snacks in our tent - fish and berries (goldfish crackers and fruit loops).  We read all of our bear books and explored the cave with our head lamps.

I am nursing a very sore paw.  Last night I was rushing out the door to pick Jess up for date night.  In my hurry I crushed my finger in the iron gate of our compound.  My finger is purple and swollen.  It continues to get larger and the skin feels tight like an over stuffed sausage.  Sometimes I stop and poke at it.  I wonder, "what if it swelled so large that the flesh exploded?"  Then, I realize that is a disgusting childish thought and remember that pregnancy proves that your skin can swell enormously and not explode.

Even with my finger in a bag of ice we had a nice date.    Love is in the air.  I received a perfect Valentines care package in the mail.  I am now trying to set the world record for most Reeces Pieces consumed in one sitting.  I am guarding the mail room because I ordered Jess an awesome Valentines present.  All of our mail is addressed to Jess because he works at the embassy.  I don't want him to open his package early and ruin the surprise. 

I know it is not cool to like Valentines Day but I love the holiday.  I'm not interested in the romance but I love the opportunity to be more thoughtful towards people I love.  I have several friends who are amazingly  thoughtful and they inspire me to excel at thoughtfulness.  Whether it is a well planned care package or a much needed hug - what thoughtful things are happening around you today?

Yup

Valentines Day is coming.  Is anyone else madly in love with their spouse today?  We had date night last night and went to a high class joint named, Pizza Hut.  Pizza Hut in the states is a dive but in Kathmandu it is a delicacy.  The waiters wear nice outfits and you eat with silverware.  Plus, it still has all the greasy goodness of American pan pizza.

I have been so sleepy lately.  I think it is because I switched to decaf.  A month ago I fell down my stairs four times in a week.  The final tumble ended in a badly sprained ankle.  After some analysis I realized the caffeine from my six daily cups of coffee was making me dizzy and I switched to decaf. 

We have started taking Roxy on walks outside of our compound.  I know this seems like really mundane news but dog walking in Kathmandu can be perilous.  My gardener made us each long heavy walking sticks to fend off fierce stray dogs.  We walk on each side of Roxy - virtual bodyguards - scaring off dogs eager to defend their territory.  Roxy is oblivious and happy to trot along sniffing the ground.

When I visualized moving overseas I forgot to remember that "normal" would be totally reshaped.  My son thinks it's normal to throw rocks at stray dogs or pee on the wall when there is no public bathroom.  I think it is normal to put pass other vehicles while driving on a dirt median.  Honking is normal.  On the way home from church we were stuck in heavy traffic and the cab in front of me tried to pull a u-turn across four lanes of traffic.  I honked my horn so hard I bruised my wrist. I showed him.

That's the news from Kathmandu.  How are the states today?

Notes about Wednesday

Yesterday was another bandh day.  All traffic was forbidden by protesters angry about the rise in fuel prices.  Economically the bandh is a bad thing.  The bandh creates a climate of insecurity and commerce suffers.  I have heard that some bandhs grow violent but we have not seen this yet.  Mostly, young men stand in the street burning tires while the rest of us take to foot to reach our destinations.

Forgive me for admitting this, but I love bandh days.  I am saddened that the Nepali political climate permits these disturbances but I enjoy our bandh day routines.  I even wonder if this slow quiet version of Kathmandu was what first spurred the hippy migration to Kathmandu.

Yesterday the city was very quiet.  No horns blared.  Large trucks did not rumble by and even the dogs seemed to bark less.  I have grown so used to the noise that its absence felt almost like a missing appendage.  As I cooked breakfast for Jess and JAC, I sipped my coffee relishing the silence.  The view of the Himalayas was perfect, devoid of vehicle pollution.  The morning was serene.

Later Jess walked to work.  I let JAC pick out snacks to put in his duck shaped backpack and we left our compound.  My son is at his best with a mission and with his backpack on he felt important.  He marched forward down our street tightly holding my hand.  We walked side by side through back neighborhoods and climbed a steep trail. We each carried a small rock to throw at angry dogs.  This was JAC's idea.  "We need dog rock," he instructed. Later, he told me, "My duck backpack heavy."  I looked at him earnestly and replied, "But you are strong."  With this small encouragement JAC stumbled up the dirt trail.

We arrived at our friends house and I spent the morning drinking coffee, eating muffins and loving the conversation.  Her teenage daughter played with JAC and he disappeared to her room loving the attention.  Later we tripped back down the trails and JAC found a huge stick.  He chased me a bit and I chased him without worry of being mowed down by an unexpected truck.  We jumped over potholes and I stopped to snap a picture of JAC carrying a branch twice his size.  "I take picture of mom?" JAC asked.  I handed over the camera and marveled.  Only a few years ago he was crawling.  Now he is my hiking buddy with ideas of his own.

Falling

I only knew my husband for six months from the day we met to the day we were married.  My family was understandably very concerned.  I can't explain how our marriage has worked out so perfectly.  It was not well thought out and yet we are so completely happy.  I liken it to a small planted seed growing into a sturdy tree.

I didn't fall in love with my son until he was almost seven months old.  He suffered from colic.  Hours of non-stop screaming, sleep deprivation and a bit of postpartum depression didn't endear me to the poor kid.  At seven months JAC learned to crawl and I remember looking at him.  I felt like I was seeing him for the first time.  He was an intense, joyful, active little guy and I loved him.

Today I had a perfect morning with the same little guy I fell in love with.  He is still intense, joyful and active but his personality has so many more layers.  He is very ordered and determined.  I watched him drag a bag full of basketballs out the club door like and undersized Santa with his pack.  He removed each ball and put them in a perfect line.  He was happy.  We played baseball, investigated each vehicle on the lot and ate french fries for lunch.

Today I learned three people I love dearly are coming to Kathmandu for a visit.  My excitement is brimming because I want to hug them and enjoy every minute with them.  I also want to show them my Kathmandu.  When we moved here I spent the first two months trying to catch my breath.  The following two months I hated the traffic, complained about the pollution and constantly missed my old friends.  Recently I noticed a change.  I have fallen very unexpectedly for Kathmandu.

I think learning to navigate the roads helped.  When my driver quit I took over behind the wheel and now I know back alleys and secret shops.  I feel a sense of ownership  The never slowing traffic feels ironic and I'm honking at every inconvenience like the locals.  The grittiness adds personality and makes me even more thankful for the iconic snow covered peaks in the background.  Kathmandu is my home.

All of the best things in my life were unexpected.   I know consistency and planning are more valued skills but today I hope something wonderfully unexpected happens to you too.