Thanksgiving gratitude

Today is a holiday designed for several purposes:  cooking, eating, football, and, most of all, gratitude.  Thinking back on the last year or so, it's not difficult to come up with a list of people and experiences for which I am grateful.

I'm grateful for...

• my husband, who is kind and patient, loving and loyal, and never ever says no when I want to buy books
• my friends and family who have showed me, this year in particular, how much they care
• our little apartment, way up in the trees, in this neat, clean, safe western corner of Oregon suburbia
• great co-workers at a job that pays well and a boss who goes above and beyond the call of duty to support and encourage me
• (true, but hard to say...) the experience of being pregnant twice this year - even if I never become a mother, the experience taught me so much about priorities and grief and stretched the capacity of my heart beyond whatever boundaries I imagined were there

As the year winds down, there are moments that I occasionally wish I could erase, but then I realize that they have taught me a great deal.  Horribly painful lessons, but lessons nonetheless.  I cannot deny that life is largely good.  My marriage has been the biggest blessing, the saving grace, of this year.  Thank you, Husband.

Joy and Grief

Spring flowers, like a snowdrop, breaking through the
snow seem an image of hope to me.  

I've heard it said that love and hate have more similarities than one would at first suspect. In Taoist philosophy, yin and yang, opposites, create balance. I'm not sure about all that.  But what the last few months have taught me is that joy and grief can enter your life in what seems like the very same moment, leading me to suspect that they have some interconnection that I had never previously considered.

This past Christmas, my fiance and I received the most extraordinary of gifts. I didn't discover the gift until early January. Two pink lines changed both of our lives, though it took me three pregnancy tests to convince myself and him of the truth of it. Our joy was immense, though coupled with understandable fear and anxiety. Still, I think both of us could prove to anyone that we had more hope, more excitement, more happiness about the prospect of our child than about any other event in our lives. That was jubilation. That was joy.

Grief came with a ruthless swiftness a few weeks later during my first prenatal doctor's visit. There were no smiles in that office that day, just an unforgettable look of consternation on the doctor's face as she stared at the ultrasound screen.  It took her a long while to say softly, quietly, "I don't see a heartbeat."

Our brains are marvelous organs. Mine immediately put up a wall that prevented me from accessing any ounce of intelligence or emotion I possess, though it left me the power to ask dumbly, "What does that mean?"  But even when she stated the obvious, I didn't believe.  I couldn't believe. She wanted to schedule a procedure to remove 'the tissue' the very next day. I refused. I wasn't ready. The baby measured 7 weeks and 2 days. It seemed the right size. My body had deceived me and given no indication that anything was wrong. I was suffering with all of the normal indicators of pregnancy, and doing so happily, always with the end goal in mind.

I made the decision to wait a week to see...if there might be a heartbeat, if there might be growth. During that week, I came to accept that there would not be either. I needed that week. My brain needed that week to gradually tear down the wall. And within that week, joy came again. John's visa interview had been scheduled - the last step in the fiance visa process. That step that would bring him back home.

His visa application was approved.  He will be returning in a few weeks.  That is joy.  And we have much to look forward to - being together, trying again, and even the opportunity to grieve the loss of our gift together.  Joy and grief have been our constant companions these past few months and we know there is more to come. Yet, I think what we both look forward to in the future isn't either extreme, but merely contentment and, finally, a sunny patch of stability.

Uncle Sam's Christmas Gift

It has taken nearly five months - the national average for K-1 fiance visas - for USCIS to finally approve J's visa.  When I tell everyone this, they smile and congratulate me because, to them, it seems like the end.  However, as J says, it's more like the end of the beginning.  Forms must still be filled out and submitted, criminal history checks completed, money paid, and an interview conducted in the UK.  However, it is at least an initial Yes.  It is an Approved.  It is Uncle Sam finally giving his (almost) blessing.

The hardest part was not just the waiting, but not knowing how long we might wait.  During that wait, we decided that J should come back in December. Perhaps for a visit.  Perhaps, if all had been wrapped up by then, for good.  Due to the painfully slow processing of everything involved in this visa venture, it seems that it will have to be a visit and he will return to the UK after a few weeks. However, we will spend the holidays together and Lucy will finally have someone to spoil her again.  I worry that he might be as happy to see the cat again as he is to see me!

Anyone who knows me would agree that patience is not one of my virtues.  I work at it more than anyone would probably be willing to believe.  I wish I could say this process has taught me patience.  Instead, I would have to say that it's mostly taught me how insidious loneliness can be.  And that's from someone who is pretty good at keeping myself occupied, being an only child.  It's taught me that it takes two (at least) to make a house (or, in our case an apartment) feel like a home. And, most importantly, it's taught me the value of commitment to purpose.  J has called it a soul destroying process and we both said, on more than one occasion, that we could see how mixed nationality couples (particularly those where one member is a US citizen and attempting to bring their intended to the US) would just say 'heck with this' and bow out.  However, we both persevered, despite distance, despite loneliness, despite the difficulties of living two lives in limbo, and are now looking forward to the payoff - stability, home-making, and togetherness.

For most of Sunday afternoon, I kept saying...

Peyton, WTF?

When you are in love with someone they can make you happier than anyone else on earth.  They can also cause you the most despair. I've come to realize that having a football team of your heart is a paler version of that emotional entanglement.

I have put my heart behind the Colts this season and early on that seemed like a really great idea. Peyton Manning is widely regarded as the best quarterback in the NFL.  He is great - statistics prove that. But, lately, his most glaring statistic relates to his propensity to throw passes that are intercepted and, even more painful, often returned for a touchdown.

Yet, you don't stop loving someone simply because they mess up or don't live up to your perhaps too high expectations. Love is an investment and they say you should invest for the long-term and look at performance over time. As a whole, there is no doubt that the Colts are a fearsome team. Is their O line rather crappy at the moment? Yes. Can they be successful without players like Joseph Addai being healthy and giving their all on the field? I think so.

Whatever the combination of factors that have put their playoff fate in question (I'm still watching their game with the Cowboys and am not ready to assume they will lose), they have become the team of my heart. So, if this isn't the year, then I will believe in their ability to do it next season. Though that doesn't mean every loss  and interception won't hurt between now and then. Still, I guess the benefit is that the lows make each touchdown that much sweeter.

Later, after the game:  Okay, it really hurts.  Another pick!  Another "Peyton, WTF??" out my mouth and another loss for the Colts putting them behind the, gulp, Jacksonville Jaguars in the AFC South.  Good grief.

The good news (potentially)?  They play the Titans next.  They are a team that is currently not doing so well, to say the least.  They have scored a total of six points in the last two weeks and, no, they weren't on a bye week during that time.

The bad news?  The Colts need to effect a speedy mental and physical recovery for that game which starts on Thursday night.

The spirit

It happens to me every year.  As much as I may want to be dismissive about the enormous commercialization of Christmas and roll my eyes at the fact that Christmas decorations and candy and gifts are already on the shelves before Thanksgiving, at some point I always get sucked in; possessed with the Christmas spirit.  It's a matter of the senses: the smell of pine and cinnamon, the sound of beloved Christmas carols, the feel of fluffy red Christmas stockings, a glimpse of the first cleansing dust of snow.

Today was the first time that I seriously considered getting a tree.  I realized that it was enormously important to me to have a tree this year.  I didn't like the notion of getting it by myself, but when I ventured to Fred Meyer today I found a tree I couldn't leave behind.  It was a Noble, one of the most desired of Christmas tree options in the Pacific Northwest.  It was small and I wanted something diminutive for the apartment.  Finally, it was on sale, and I have very little resistance against a bargain.  

So, I bought it, carried it up the three flights to the apartment and pulled my small box of Christmas decorations out of the storage closet.  I used to have lots of Christmas decorations, but somewhere among all of my many moves in the last few years, they were lost - given away inadvertently, most likely, in a box sent to Goodwill.  The loss I most regret is a little angel that used to sit on my Grandma and Grandpa's tree top every year.  She wasn't very elaborate, but she had a rhinestone on her eyelash and I thought that made her magical somehow.  My consolation is that my current tree topper lights up.

I think the little tree looks good in the little living room, between the plant stand I found at Goodwill and the crackly cat tube that the cats use to hide from each other, despite the rather revealing 'window' on the side.  Stockings for over the fireplace are next on my list!

Thanksgiving alone?

Thanksgiving a la Norman Rockwell

I honestly thought I was going to end up spending this Thanksgiving alone.  The prospect bothered me immensely, and I realized that Thanksgiving is, perhaps, my favorite holiday.  It’s more laid back than Christmas.  It involves cooking for others, which I always enjoy.  And it doesn’t require loads of decorations and presents, just a turkey and side dishes, and loved ones with whom to share a meal.

My childhood Thanksgivings are happy memories.  They usually took place at Grandma's house, where she did most of the cooking and other family members contributed various desserts or a jello salad side dish.  The meal involved passing lots of Grandma’s best china around her long dining room table, eating delicious food, and laughing with family.  I suppose it is that sense of family that I am trying to recapture when I make my own Thanksgivings now.

The first Thanksgiving meal I ever cooked was, perhaps appropriately, after I had moved to Oregon in 2000.  I did the whole thing myself – turkey, gravy, two kinds of potatoes, stuffing, green bean casserole, scalloped corn (a family tradition), and dessert.  I made the meal for myself, my then beau, and his friend, another voluntarily displaced Hoosier.  For that meal, we became a little family unit and it was excellent.

Until a few days ago, the last Thanksgiving meal I cooked was two years ago.  I, again, did the whole thing myself.  That has become a personal tradition that I actually enjoy.  It is absolutely rewarding to prepare food for someone you love.  I did that two years ago, and he was appreciative and helpful and we were a loving family of two and I was content.  His only request was that we finish the meal in the living room rather than at the dining room table so that we could watch football. 

This year I found myself approaching a Thanksgiving alone as my adopted Oregon family had made other plans.  They tried to include me in those plans, but I was wary of inserting myself.  I considered just making a small meal for myself and sharing turkey with the cats.  It only took me a moment to deem that prospect pathetic.  Then my adopted Oregon family emailed to say they had spent so much money at the grocery store that they had been given a free turkey.  My friend had to work, but if I wanted to come over and cook the meal, we could have Thanksgiving on the Saturday before the actual holiday.  I gladly agreed and so found myself, two days ago, making a Thanksgiving meal in the home of my friends.  We sat down later and enjoyed a good meal, had an excellent conversation, and expressed gratitude for the good things in our lives. 

Intimate Entertainment

A scene from the NW Classical Theater's
production of Dracula

That title sounds awfully provocative!  But perhaps provocative isn't a bad way to describe a recent entertainment experience that I enjoyed at a small, local theater here in Portland.  The Northwest Classical Theater is located in the industrial area of downtown Portland, across the river from the city center.  It's not an area that I usually frequent, unless I venture down to see a film at the Ominmax theater at OMSI (the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry).  I had actually had tickets to a Sherlock Holmes play at this theater years ago, but I never made it to that performance.  Thus, I had no experience of the theater and few expectations when I recently bought tickets to their production of Dracula.

Yes, some of us actually enjoyed reading about vampires before the advent of Twilight.  Bram Stoker's novel is a classic of Victorian fiction, and I still enjoy reading it.  I find new layers in the story each time I read it or see a film adaptation.  Coppola's visually lush Bram Stoker's Dracula does hold a permanent and influential place in my mind, however, I was eager to see a live production of the play.  I was curious to see what modern actors would do with the story.

I drove to SE Lincoln and 6th Avenue expecting to walk into a theater and take my place in a row of seats next to a hundred or more theater goers.  I expected to be looking down onto a stage and merely hoped I would get a seat with a good view. What I walked into was a small brownstone building with a large rectangular main room.  A jovial man in jeans took my e-ticket and directed me through a doorway draped in lack.  Apropos, I thought.  When I walked through that doorway, I entered a room the shape of a breadbox and nearly as small.  This was the theater.  A rectangular box with black walls and a concrete floor that was painted black.  Along each long side wall, red bucket seats were arranged in a neat, tight row.  I counted twenty seats along each wall.  The only stage setting included a bed at one end of the room, a 'coffin' at the other end and a small, slightly raised wooden platform in the center of the room.  I took a seat near the bed, my knees just a foot or so away from the silky purple bedspread draping off the edge.

That platform in the center of the room was occupied by a man who seemed completely at ease, as the forty of us filed in and found a seat.  He was young, thin, and wore a tuxedo.  He lounged in a wooden chair that looked much less comfortable than he looked.  Two other young men sat at the edge of the room, both dressed in black slacks, boots, and white smocks that looked a bit like chef's uniforms.  They leisurely read what appeared to be old fashioned newspapers.  After I was seated, I noticed that the man in the tuxedo wasn't wearing any socks.  I thought, "What kind of a theater is this that their actors aren't even provided with socks as part of their costume."  Every once in a while, the young man would turn and look at one of us, the audience, and grin.  He did it to me twice and I was totally disconcerted.  I looked away as if I was very taken with a spot on the black wall across from me.  Soon, the doorway's curtain was pulled down and we were enclosed in that tiny rectangle together: the two white clad men, the grinner in his tuxedo, and forty playgoers eager to see Dracula come alive.

The young tuxedoed man soon revealed himself to be Renfield, Dracula's pet, whose mind the count controlled and destroyed.  He wasn't wearing any socks because he was in an asylum and having one of his delusions.  The play had started and the actors were just a few feet away from me!

It was the most real, intimate, and visceral entertainment experience I have ever had in my life.  When the scenes would change, the lights would go completely down, the room bathed in darkness.  I couldn't see a thing, but I could hear the actors moving around, taking their places, right in front of me.  At times, I could feel the long gowns of the female actors brushing my leg or across my feet as they walked by in the darkness.

Best of all, the actors were fantastic.  They were compelling and believable.  They never even glanced at us or broke the spell of the play, yet they pulled us in with their vivid, emotional portrayals of the characters.  They screamed, they ran, they fought and cried.  Dracula bit Mina and Lucy and fake blood spilled from his mouth.
And, in that, I did see one of those new layers of the story.  I had personally never seen the story as particularly titillating or erotic, though it was quite controversial in the Victorian era and its sensual undertones have been much examined in literary criticism circles today.  Yet, it was only at this play that I saw it, that I understood how intimate and sensual the story is.  When the actor who played Dracula was kneeling on the bed in front of me and the actress who played Mina was sucking fake blood from a supposed cut on his chest, I recognized the implicit carnality of the scene.

I have been telling everyone about my experience, and I can't wait to go back to the theater for another performance.  Their next production is of Two Gentlemen of Verona and I'm already looking forward to it.