In Whacky Week FIFTEEN, the Fonzarelli finds its navel and gazes in between light blinding flashes and thrashes. Theater begins and ends the madness with Shakespearian shysters and perilous propinquity to deadly deities. And HOME-OWNERSHIP?? OFFERS?? FINANCING? Holy crap, forget the marriage and the baby thing, our little couple just tripped headlong into adult-territory. Will their heads survive the throng?
Buckwheat to Buckwheat and Experiments to the Ashes! Post pancake party lindt ball considerations
No, I didn't burn the pancakes. Well, not most of them. And that cinereal tinge they might have in spots: not mold! They're all buckwheat baby! I don't know. I have a thing for buckwheat flour, but am too lazy to make bread very often. So from time to time, if pancakes are in order, they'll be some variation of buckwheat. I've made them in the past in a variety of ways. If you really want them to look kind of scrofulous, I suggest mixing in some avocado (tastes great, looks diseased).
Yesterday being Shrove/Fat/Carbo-loading Tuesday on the eve of our Lenten season, I felt that - no matter the complete lack of time in my morning for such tasks - it was mandatory to begin the day with pancakes. And I had buckwheat. And milk. And an egg. And half a banana (not the little Fonzarelli, I promise!). And some baking powder and baking soda. And coconut oil! And a mixing bowl. VOILA! I think maybe they were runnier than they might have been, so I made a number of mutant pancakes before finally hitting my stride. But eventually, the waters of lethe cleared from my system and the pancakes pullulated with a puffy rise and mellifluous eclat.
Tsk on me as a pregnant lady, I did eat the batter. I know. Raw egg. Big no-no. But I can't help myself. I had a spatula and batter. And it was in my mouth or all over the rest of the kitchen (and frankly, the kitchen has already been spackled well enough, greedy bastard). So far, no salmonella, but we'll see if my little nectarine banana shows up with fins and gills tomorrow!
Best part of pancake parties? I get the leftovers. Well, Andrew got the remainder of the normalish pancakes this morning (slathered in nuked strawberries and apples, which together comprise an excellent syrup with little additional interference). But I got the early experiments and some of the smaller ones! I really like eating these cold as a snack actually.
Anyways, other than not having a horrible headache while my husband did his weekly track workout, the pancakes were my big last hurrah before Ash Wednesday (appropriately reflected in that slight grey hue of my remaining pancakes). Now for Lent! And that means reflection. And mindfulness and not quite yet eating all those chromatic peeps and Reese's Eggs strewn about my grocery maunderings.
My lindt ball challenge for this year? A wee bit amorphous, but with some prongs.
My first hope is to continue the mommening type practices that I've recently begun. Limiting my internet use to deliberate times (once in the morning, once in the evening, and lunch-time check of email). Keeping my cell phone and all its demands in proper context, by which I mean that I am trying to avoid using it in the presence of others or as a crutch for moments of boredom. I think I mentioned this pans out to checking it only in private places like the bathroom. It's too easy to start out alone in a space and have somebody wander in while your attention refuses to return to the real world.
My second hope is to continue fostering compassion for myself and others, slowing down, and cultivating patience. Much of this is about mindfulness in the moment. But I am also trying to take time before each nap or during a sitting period to think positive thoughts or prayers for those around me, and repeating my hopes for myself to embrace that best self part of me during that time.
And in relation to that, I'm trying a new experiment, which makes Mr. Wright stare at me with that cornered-animal-thinking-the-person-in-the-clown-mask-may-be-either-scary-or-absurd-but-its-not-enthused-either-way kind of morning groggy. But I may have explained myself poorly.
So here's the idea - every morning, I want him to ask me (1) to send positive energy for some aspect of his day. Might be generic like hoping that he has a productive day at work. Might be specific like he hopes this one thing comes through; (2) to send positive energies to one other person in his life. This should be a wish or energy that does not directly benefit him. In turn, I'll do the same for myself and somebody in my life. Ok, so basically I'm asking him to pray in a fairly secular way, and offering to do the same for him and for somebody else close to him.
The idea is based on my happy fun pop-neuro-sci/mindfulness mania. Basically, when we think about others (especially purely in their own context and not merely as in the way they directly impact us) and wish them well, it enhances our relationship with them and makes us feel more connected. And knowing somebody out there is rooting for me at some point during the day in a specific way is empowering. As is sharing my hopes and (inevitably in inverse) my fears. Bringing in other people by asking the other to keep one more person in mind prompts me to think of our larger community of friends and family. And that's another connection. So, the end goal is an increased sense of connection, increased compassion, and a more positive sense of the world around.
Of course it's a little awkward as well when you're getting started. So right now it's more like stumbling around and maybe dragging some confused statements out of each other. But I'm hoping we'll get as used to it as we did with writing down "three things that went right" every evening.
If not, at least it will be an interesting experiment for Lent.
The Apple of my Woo-Woomb Fifteen Weeks and the Re-match of House-Hunting House-Heating Hootenanies
Fifteen weeks! Squarely second-tri and feeling it. Mostly. Now that the little Fonzarelli has legs that are longer than its arms and a head that is not the bulk of its volume, I'm not sure how the roundish produce allusions really work. But some sites are holding out. Little nectarine has graduated to an apple! What kind of apple, I wonder. One of those bizarre Bellewood Acre apples with the flesh that stays white even after cutting it? A jazz apple (Fonzarelli does have those fabulous spirit fingers and kicking gams)? A huge honkin' Honeycrisp?
My competing produce allusion is "a large navel orange," so I'm guessing we're thinking maybe a braeburn or Gala. I like gala! Sounds festive. Apparently, although the wee one is just starting to develop bones and insulating fat, it still only weighs about as much as a chicken egg.
In other "how I can annoy the crap out of my proto-baby before it has the ability to strike back" news, little one can now sense light. So not only can I poke at it in order to induce suckling and thrashing, I can now shine a flashlight at my stomach and cause a recoil! Oh you poor little cutie. And yes, developing ear bones means it can really hear me now. I'm sure that renditions of Like a Virgin sung in medley with Britney Spears and Strauss' Elektra definitely constitutes a lullaby.
I am promised those mythical unicorns and rainbows, but also a little rhino and a lot of swelling. Pregnant ladies get themselves pregnancy rhinitis to complement our weakened immune systems and propensity for allergies. Basically, my nose will be dripping no matter what. Oh and my lenses in my eyes, they're bulging probably. Indubitably that doesn't help with the headaches which are also just more likely with all the blood flow and edema.
Good news, though. We had an appointment at the bo-bo-BOGA yesterday and my lovely Dr. Mallory assured me that I could take claritin, continue my eyedrops, and drop tylenol from time to time.
Andrew had been rueing his absence from week 12's awesome little Fonzarelli dance recital, so he took special measures to be at this appointment. Which of course did not have an ultrasound attached. That's in a month. Yeesh, I just got so used to these bi-monthly photo sessions. He did however get to hear the parumpumpum of our little speed freak, currently clocking heart-rates of 160 bpm (or as Andrew calls it "Zone 2 in the training guide"). And he got to feel the top of my uterus (oh my, the scabrous salaciousness of it all!) As did I. Weird sensation. And I'm sure our little apple only had a minor emotional breakdown from all that head-poking going on to find it!
But Fonzarelli may be able to strike back as soon as next week. We'll see when the little bugger makes itself known to my belly. I'm thinking soon. We heard a loud crash during the doppler that my OB suggested was a kick. Practicing...
Andrew had previously decided to take the entire day off so that we could spend the afternoon looking for rentals. This didn't pan out perfectly. After a dismal Craigslist culling earlier, we'd gotten ourselves down to a list of "meh" acceptables. The most likely candidate turned out to be already rented. More weren't available at the time for some reason or other. And the one we actually checked out was obviously not going to work before we even went (on the second floor of a duplex and smaller than our current place).
I eventually went back to work and Andrew spent the day catching up with things that our tax insanity utterly subsumed on prior weekends.
It was ... weird... having him there when I got home. And HOT. Steaming incalescence. Actually he'd just set the thermostat up to 68, which sounds reasonable, except to me that particular setting feels like roughly 680 degrees at the moment. I do think and have always thought that our thermostat is off and have previously kept the house at 66 or 67. I may have surreptitiously lowered the temperature to 65 at some point in my early "holy crap my skin is on fire" febrility. Which to me is still too warm to wear most of my pajamas and far too warm for prolonged cuddling next to the human furnace that is my husband. Anyways, we discussed the fact that my preferences may give him frostbite and his may cause my head to explode, and we came to a momentary compromise of setting it back to 66, having the heat stay on longer at night and maybe he can wear a sweater or a robe sometimes while I get progressively more and more estival in sartorial selection.
Sad. Andrew feels strongly that it is a basic hallmark of human civilization that one may be indoors without having to wear a robe. I, by contrast, think there is no greater luxury than being able to slip into a big fuzzy robe and slippers upon coming home. I can't wear my robe and he doesn't want to wear his! Oh well. I've changed the thermostat so that the heat stays really low during the time that I'm home before him. Just enough sometimes (though it's warm enough this winter, often not) for me to get away with a robe over a tank top. Which again is weird, because for a long time I was underweight and had low estrogen/thyroid and that meant I was freezing all the time. Now that the little Fonzabunny is hopping about and estrogen and body fat are resultingly escalating, being hot all the time is a bit dissonant with my self-identity.
After some discombobulation for both of us at the additional time of cohabitation (and after maybe I opened several doors and windows and doused myself in water) we adjusted fantastically.
And then more news: there's a condo in the area that my dad used to live in (which I have said would be kind of perfect for us) available for sale. Now, we'd been looking for rentals, but... we kind of have the money. Actually at the price they're asking, we have the money to buy outright. My dad called about three times, left a few texts and emails before I got the message, but we've contacted the realtor. The hope is maybe we could make an offer contingent on being able to rent the place while the sale pends and inspection going well.
After being deadset against the house-hunt based on some preconception that all house-hunts take several years to finalize, Andrew had a change of heart. I suspect the conversation with him mom that followed our condo excitement helped on that front.
So, I think now he just wants to forgo the rentals and look for a house to purchase. I think. Which I was asking about a few weeks ago, so I'm game for trying. At least realtors are actually motivated. Rentals in Bellingham are such a hot commodity, the rental companies barely want to spit in the direction of prospective tenants.
Anyways, an exciting day that possibly invaded my sleep-space. Or maybe that's just the pregnancy insomnia of leg cramps and temperature fluctuations (to continue a theme, I was utterly stifling most of the evening and may need to purchase lighter pajama pants, despite wearing a pretty light pair already! That and the hunger. Because well I hadn't eaten in a few hours! Apples need calories for all that thrashing!!)
I'm still riding high on excitement and fumes. Hopefully the crash isn't too brutal and lands gently on my sleeping bag for a mid-day nap!
Surreal Estate and the House-Hunting Hullabaloo
I brace myself as I say this - because yikes! - we have found a house we want to buy. Condo actually. Townhouse condo. Which is perfect for us. It's Goldilocks approved in the sizability department. No gaping caverns or excess roomage, but a grand basement which could accommodate both a bike dungeon and a play room. A trail into Whatcom Falls just a few feet from the door. A paucity of lawn or landscaping responsibilities. Three bedrooms. Pre-stained carpets (we're about to have a child, so bring on the stains), a renovated open kitchen and open living/dining area. A cute porch. A (single car) garage with an extra fridge and plenty of tool storage space. Central vacuum (ok, I don't care about that, but my dad was thrilled). Access to a pool, hot tub, sauna, exercise room, and tennis court. A reasonable condo association size and decent estimated utilities costs.
While some may prefer to shop around, this is actually the condo that I'd mentioned being almost perfect for us before we even knew it was on sale. My dad used to own a unit a few houses down, so I knew what I was talking about. Andrew can have a separate space to carry his evil bicyclist machinations in a way that won't send me hissing and fleeing up to the bedroom, for instance. The neighborhood is very family friendly. The location is close enough to town and closer to Lake Whatcom and my mom's area. If Andrew finds a job closer to Bellingham, it will be pretty ideally situated. And it's actually closer to Andrew's big mountain biking spot than where we are currently.
I guess in passing conversation I mentioned this to my father. We even were hoping to rent a unit down the way, but lost the opportunity. That unit didn't have the daylight basement and we still thought it would be worth checking out. Of course my dad does real estate in about the same vein as my husband does bicycles. So ever since I mentioned we would be looking for a place, I've been getting constant ledgers of every real property and rental in town. Advantages and disadvantages.
He stumbled on this, of course. Called me three or four times in an evening. And after all that, we invited him to come along to look at the place. A good call, since I think he knew more about the unit and area than the realtor! And it really assures me that this is a good deal, because he has a finger on every other comparable option in town.
So onto step two: money!! We technically have enough to buy this place outright. I even thought for a brief spell that we were intending to do this, but Andrew raises the reasonable if irksome point that with interest rates where they are and the possible return on investment of investing our separate funds, it may make more sense to partially finance. I hate debt, so I'm imprudently inclined to waste these sorts of opportunities, but I understand his point. So we're meeting with a mortgage lender recommended by the realtor on Tuesday. I am still pretty ready to just make an offer though.
Anyways, I am in theory very excited about this, but of course I'm also pregnant and prone to random mood swings. And this was exciting enough to push those off the chart. For now I'll be weepy over the state of my live streaming radio (whether it's on or off and how it gets turned on or off), and the relative qualities of yogurt. Because making an offer is very scary I suspect and I've got an opera to attend this afternoon in the meantime.
Down the Rabbit Hole of WEEKDAY Exciting Adventures Doth Not a Restful Weekend Make
Phew, it cannot be Monday. I call a no-fair. This weekend was awesome, but not a thirty-something-pregnant-woman-introvert kinda weekend. There was, of course, the condo viewing and subsequent "WOW, let's MOVE MOVE MOVE (wait how? Contingent on what? Finance what??)!" discussion on Saturday. Followed by an eventually relaxing, but pressing massage appointment for me. And then more condo and financing discussions. Yesterday, Andrew was off early for a race. I was out late from the opera... Yawn. My body is still severely jet lagged from a minor ride down and back to Seattle and the three and a half hours of oddly endued Greek gods and other eidolons in discontinuous sartorial mackle.
And today should be equally relentless. I have an actual consult this afternoon, we're meeting with the realtor to type up an actual offer (eek!) tonight, and we have a, actual loan application to get started on to make our visit with the mortgage lender easier tomorrow. Lest I forget, the cleaners are supposed to come tomorrow, so our mad tsunami-oriented decor might need a bit of a actual simplification.
I'm keeping a high red alert watch on the eyes and head today. I don't know why it is so agonizingly desiccating to do the Seattle McCaw Hall venture, but I was clouding over by the middle of Semele.
Semele, incidentally is a fascinating Handel opera, and this is a thoroughly quirky production.
For those unacquainted with the vagaries of greek myth interpreted into Lenten Oratorio (seriously) turned opera: Semele is about the mortal lover of Zeus/Jove/Jupiter/Saturn/Whatevs, Semele. Before her marriage to some mortal dude, she asks Jupiter to intervene. So he does. And takes her to a pleasure palace in the clouds. But there she gets kind of weepy and anxious and bored, and she starts pressing him to make her a goddess, This prompts him to avoid her a bit more and then to fly her sister out (literally). Which was maybe nice and Ino seems to enjoy it, which is a little weird because she was in love with Semele's fiance and after Semele went off to her cloud-palace it looked like they were gonna hook up. Anyways Saturnia/Juno/etc. kinda doesn't dig her husband shacking up with a mortal or anyone, so she makes a deal (involving the trade of nymphs for services - gasp) with Somnus to invade Jupiter's dreams and make him lust for Semele so much that he'd promise anything to get down with her. And then she uses Somnus' somethingorother to drug the dragons guarding Semele, and send Ino to sleep. At which point, she pretends to be Ino (easily accomplished since the same singer plays both roles) and shows Semele an enchanted mirror in which Semele is way hotter and goddessey than she actually is. Semele falls madly in love with herself and then takes Juno-as-Ino's suggestion that she get Jupiter to promise he'll come to her bed in full god-form instead of in his human guise. Turns out that actually will kill her. And it does. But it's ok, because from her ashes shall rise Bacchus!!!! Who is more awesomer than love and full of guilt-free pleasure.
See, clearly a Lenten tale! Obviously meant as a companion piece to the St. Matthew Passion, really.
The highlight was most certainly the intricate lighting design, which utilized about eight different surface screens for various complementary projection work. Gods, images, rotating stars, the planet earth from outer space, Semele's perfect image interlayed over itself, roses... everything you can imagine. And in a way that complemented the action more than distracted. They were also canny in adding some action in the form of a troupe of eerily clad ballet dancer god-type people for all the singing and whatnot. The singing was also beautiful in that pristine Handel type way.
It's not exactly an opera I'd add to my all-time favorites. It didn't propel me into paroxysms of catharsis or fits of hysteria. But it was interesting. And worth seeing. I think my dad felt about the same. As I said, the costumes were the most perplexing part. Several fantastic concepts, but scant continuity between them. Some looked steam-punk (but lighter, literally), some were medievalish, some were on-fashion hipster lookes, some looked like Star Wars, and others were more romantic, and others yet could have come from the Ring Cycle.
It appears that in their blog, Seattle Opera summed it up thusly: "The beauty of doing a piece involving classical gods is: what on earth do they look like? To answer the question we have to go to the heart of what the myth is about and deliver accordingly. So we have what you might call a modern take on Greek mythology. The team has created sculptural costumes for the mortal scenes and given sensuality and flamboyance to the gods. Because in a sense that’s where the heart of the story lies, the love triangle spread across those two worlds. Semele aspires to a glamorous world beyond her mortal existence. So our costume designs for the gods are soft, sensual, flowing fabrics, whereas the characters of the mortal world are really quite stiff, they’re geometric. It’s no surprise that Semele wants to get out of the stiff mortal world into the sensual and flowing world of Jupiter."
Not sure I really caught that, especially in Irises case, but we'll pretend.
Anyways, the moral really being "Jupiter holds fast to his promises and Juno is kind of a biyatch, so probably you ought to steer clear." Really "avoid being noticed by the gods" is probably the pinnacle of greek mythological moral, so I guess that works. But then again it's ok if you burn to a crisp, because then you'll give birth to a happy party-god. And apparently your family and friends will go from weeping over your death to living it up. Good motto for a pregnant lady!
I'm sure I can find a way to apply that to my crazy busy day today. No problem!
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