some quotes by my little lady...

to her pediatrician who does house calls and she is slightly in love with him:
"do you bring your lunch to work? what color is your lunch box?"
with a sly grin:
"are you going to give my little brother a shot?"
as doc is leaving our house, awkwardly because he know's it's coming and never knows how to respond:
"bye doctor wood, i love you!"

when discussing her birthday:
"and i am getting a cousin for my birthday."
me in spanish- "oh yeah, max will be a big brother and you will get a cousin"
m: "well, babies come out when they are ready to come out, mamá"

after doing anything "wrong":
"sorry mamá! but you still love me, right?"

to her little brother when they are sitting at the table eating and he throws something on the floor:
"¡en la mesa junot!"
gives item back and helps him put it on the table
"gracias, muy bien"

when pretending to play store with me:
"will you pay this señora?" ("to pay" is synonymous with "to buy" but also "to ring-up")
"do you want another one? Here's another one. do you want this? well you can't have it, you have to leave some for eli" (i think it's funny when she uses our first names)

she has started taking an interest (it only took 4 years) in speaking spanish. but her oral abilities are way behind her comprehension, so she just calls out single words like when we are walking:
 "look, mamá, 'bicicleta!'"
or she has started repeating back things she hears on a regular basis but gets it slightly wrong:
"sí, no como" (should be: "sí, ¿como no?")
or, "te quiero más en el mundo mamá"
close enough.

the morning after thanksgiving

i was still in bed and heard the following conversation between little m.k. (2 yrs old) and big m.k. (6 yrs old)

little m.k.: "can i have a turn?"
big m.k.: "no you have to wait"
little m.k. "ok"...."can i have a turn now?"
big m.k: "ok, fine"
a moment later some tears and talk of a sore finger
little m.k.: "are you okay michaela? do you want a hug?"
big m.k. : "yes, ok"
quiet hugging...
big m.k. "you are the best little girl"

menchu

yesterday was a long day
it was the end of a long stretch of days
that have been busy and exhausting...the most busy and exhausting of my life thus far
i've had a lot of work
a lot of late nights
yesterday was my last late night of a workshop
last time leaving m in daycare till the very last minute
my last big paper for the semester handed in
last late night staying up to finish writing in a fit of anxiety (for now)
yesterday was busy

yesterday was also when i found out a colleague of mine, with my same name, lost her fight against cancer. a fight she had been in for 4 years.

she was the type of woman who left an impression on you. one of the kindest, most optimistic and enthusiastic people you have ever met.

yesterday i wanted to do something for her
i thought about adopting a dog - she loved animals
i decided to make my classes more fun. i changed the itinerary for the day to include more games, more exposure to culture and music. she was a master of inspiring a love and interest in language learning in her students. yesterday i wanted to be a better teacher for her.

i hope to hold onto that feeling in her memory. no matter how tired or sick i may think i feel - she is a reminder that there is always more to give.

4/29/15

i never had a dog growing up, but always considered myself a "dog person"

i was so lucky to inherit such a loving dog like chloe and call her my own these past few years. 

she was a sweet sweet girl who was loved by many. 

we will miss her very much.

life is a beach

i have a lot of anxiety
about not finishing things that i start
or about not trying things i think about trying
but on a daily basis its about not doing something in the most efficient manner that it could have or should have been done

and sometimes that anxiety is self-deprecating or even paralyzing.
all the "if"s or "if only"s make me feel somewhat helpless rather than pushing me toward action

i was recently recalling a time only a few years ago when i was out doing a training run in preparation for a marathon on one of my favorite beaches in the world.
so i ran down the beach for 6 miles or so, but before i got to turn around, a storm had begun.

and without any time to have anticipated and worried, it was there:
thunder and lightening
and no one but me on the beach, six miles away from shelter.
and i remember feeling like i was trying to outrun the lightening (which is impossible for many reasons and trying impossible things can also give you anxiety) but it was only a moment before i suddenly felt a relief and a total sense of peace
relief in the fact that i knew i could not in fact outrun the lightening, and so the best i could do was enjoy that i had this whole beautiful island to myself for that time and that i was alone with the ocean and the big busy sky .

sometimes instead of fighting a current, you have to ride the wave.

how long?

i got back from a weekend away from m last night

while i was away wondering about every little thing she was doing or not doing i also wondered how long it would take for her to not remember who i was.

surely after those three days she would still remember, but what about three weeks? three months? she is not yet a year old so even though she has a very clear idea of who i am now, her "lifetime" is short, so all time is relative to that.

everyone assured me she would never forget. that even if she forgot, she would then somehow remember.  and while i believe that in part to be true (that even the things we dont remember from our past are somehow kept somewhere deep in our brains in a place that we may not always be able to access completely or clearly) i also still wondered, how long until she would look at me blankly and wonder "who is that person?"

while she did indeed remember me when i came back from the weekend, she did have a funny reaction to seeing me. she went from smiling (something she does for everyone she sees in case she can get one in return) to a look of almost fear. she then looked over at her dad as if to ask for confirmation of something.

for the rest of the evening she preferred her dad over me and i thought "how nice for both of them"

as much as i love being an important person in m's life i enjoy watching her develop other relationships, most especially that one, even more. they are lucky to have each other. i am lucky to have them both.

processing

i got an email last night saying that one of the seniors from our school was fatally injured in a car accident last night on his way home from school.

this morning we gathered together to remember him and allow anyone who felt so inclined to say a few words.

i had never met the young man, but after hearing the news i began to learn a lot about him. mostly that he was a beloved classmate, and in the words of one of his coaches, "a tremendous teammate".  his facebook profile picture was of him in his football uniform with one arm around each of his proud parents.

as the day progressed the students became increasingly undone,
and so did i.
there were more meetings,
time to share feelings,
memories,
ideas about how to cope and remember or honor him.

seeing those young men cry reminded me of suffering my own first loss - my only one...
i remember people saying at the time that death has a way of triggering so many thoughts and feelings.
that one death may remind you of your own mortality, or even of a loss you previously suffered.
i remember being so annoyed by this.
for me, the only loss i had was enough - i did not have something to compare it to,and  it did not make me think about my own mortality or the memory of someone else.
 it was all encompassing and devastating all on its own.

and now, as i watch a community try to heal, i am reminded of those warnings...that one loss triggers the memory of another. and i have become one of those people, upset by the tragedy of this young man's early death; it is indeed itself, very tragic, but made more upset because he opened a scab for me that so easily bleeds. like the empathetic tears that flow with just the slightest suggestion.

babies turning into toddlers

i used to work at a daycare center. it was everything you could want for a little one - a fun, nurturing place filled with people who knew about kids, loved kids and were integral parts of helping those little beings become little people.

my sister's twins are finishing their first year there and she just sent me a video of them partaking in one of the annual traditions: move-up day.  move-up day is when a child transitions from one room into the next (the center is divided into three age groups: babies; toddlers; big kids). as part of that moving up ceremony, the babies take their cubby bin out of the baby-room-cubby in the baby room and carry it over to the toddler room to put it in a toddler cubby.

i always thought it was a sweet, sort of funny tradition. like we, the grownups, were imposing this meaning that they could not grasp on a particular moment in time. but i would say the same is true for many of these mile-marking ceremonies throughout our lives. we don't always recognize their importance when we are the ones moving through them. (i remember being bored at my high school graduation and being moved to tears at my little brother's).

the video my sister sent me, also made me cry. i think in part because i miss that place and the people in it, and because i am missing these milestones in those babies' lives, but mostly because i think, as my dad has said many times before, those two babies are a miracle. and i am in total awe of them.

an awesome day

hope we keep cracking each other up

photography

moments of time
then now here
frozen and contained in an image
a breath, an eternity; across four generations
quiet and still; inexplicably bursting with laughter
a story, a family was here.

happy birthday

i recently saw a note i wrote 17 years ago to a very dear friend.

today it's her birthday and i consider myself a lucky woman to have grown up together. she is a big part of my story.

happy birthday kb. you are truly a joy to be around and having had you in my life has made me a better person.

the stories inside the story

when i was ten years old my father called me into his office, along with my sister and brother, and told us he had an important question to ask. he wanted to move back to argentina, and felt that he needed our approval before leaving. after listing his reasons for moving he asked what we thought.  the first thing i said was "everyone will think i was abandoned."

he responded, "i don't care what other people think... i am asking you what you think"

even as a little kid i seemed so concerned with other people's perceptions of me that it inhibited my abilities to sort out how i, myself, felt. where did this preoccupation came from? perhaps it is the artist in me, looking for approval and validation from the audience.

erk and i had been acting out a lot of fake proposals (as seen above) while on vacation in san francisco (it started with planking pictures, and then naturally progressed into engagement-pose pictures.) so the fake proposals had been a long time coming and it both built up the anticipation of the real thing and ruined the possibility of it being a surprise. i even saw the box the ring was in in his underwear drawer weeks before he asked me. 

then on the night of roshashana (how very symbolic and jewish of us) when i was about 7 glasses of wine plastered, tired and dreading my 6am wake-up to go to work, eli asked me to leave the light on as i was heading into bed. i protested, saying i didn't have any energy, wasn't in the mood, and just wanted to go to sleep. he insisted and when i laid down he asked if i wanted to marry him.

i said "no" (standard part of our fake proposal routine) and he then asked if i was sure. i said of course i wanted to marry him, but if he was joking again, to fuck off (or something to that affect - i don't actually remember, as i said, i was drunk/tired). what i do remember is that he then gave me a nice, long kiss and while we were kissing, he put the ring in my hand, not on it. 

my first reaction was protest - "you're supposed to put it on my finger!" he said something like "close-enough".

in the moment, i was annoyed. it was late, i was drunk, and i had to wake up early go to work and then was leaving to go to ny for three days and wouldn't see him till i got back. what kind of a proposal story would this make? that thought actually crossed my mind and was part of what put me instantly in a bad mood. what would other people think about this story? what the hell was wrong with me? how did other people enter into my "engagement story"?

the next day, we rearranged the weekend; went out to dinner alone and then made time to share the news with our families, etc. the funny thing is that i love our long, sloppy story. while i can blame my initial reaction on my intake of wine that evening, the truth is that i still am working through some of the same issues i was working through as a ten year old kid - wondering, "what will everyone else think?"  while it's important to consider others (maybe especially for me) it's a balance, perhaps a lifelong one to achieve. 

perspective III

in chatting with an old friend today i remembered something my brother told me about when he was a little kid.  he said that before he could read, he would only see the yellow spaces around the red "s" of the superman seal - he never realized that the red formed an "s". i have been fascinated by this for a long time.

the moment we begin to learn our letters, we are trained to see them and put them together to make meaning of things. but like any training, it can potentially limit our abilities as well. most of us literate people would never look at the superman "s" (or something equivalent) and first see the shapes around the letter - our eye would directly be drawn to the letter we so readily recognize.

why is this interesting? i think that in general we are trained to see and understand things in certain ways. the more experience we have/life we live, the more this is true. this is what i love about kids and their ability to remain open to things.

where were you ten years ago today?

i was at a health center at rutgers. i dont remember why. i had felt sick? i needed a form filled out? i just remember sitting in the waiting room and overhearing the secretaries talk about what they had just heard on the radio. "idiots" i thought. they were clearly misquoting; "a plane flew into one of the twin towers"? did they even know where the twin towers were? they were obviously mistaken.  by the time i heard that a second one had hit i was even more convinced that someone, somewhere was confused. it was possible that a plane could accidentally hit a building, but not two planes. then the images on the television in the waiting room confirmed what had been said: the buildings had been hit; but also clarified a misconception - it could not have possibly been an accident.

on my bike ride back to my house just off campus i passed a clinic collecting blood for the hundreds of estimated victims that would need it. months later i got a letter in the mail thanking me for my donation that day.  i remember thinking how odd it was -  there were no victims that needed my blood on 9/11. the most injured victims had all died.

the following day i took the train into new york. the new jersey transit was not collecting fares from anyone - at least not those entering or leaving new york city. when i arrived to penn station i went up to the street level, despite needing to stay underground to get to my mother's house. i was struck by how quiet that part of the city was. struck too, by the smell that reached all the way up to my mother's house at least six miles away from where the towers' remains were still burning.

part of me wished i could live in a tree somewhere and hide. the feeling of not being safe was so foreign to me - and yet, there was no relief like that of being with my family. weeks and months later relief continued through the cheering of pedestrians, as firemen passed by on their way down to the site to help clean up. a city that could at times be so cold, came together in such a lovingful way. im thinking about that city and that time today.

30

Last minute scavenger hunt orchestrated by my big sis (check)
Older set of niece and nephew assistance in completing scavenger hunt and having just as much fun as I did (which is to say a lot) (check)
Electronic birthday card sent by my hip grandmother in her 80's (check)
Face to face phone call on my bro in laws iPhone to Miami crew in which my father directs a small silent film complete with text starring everyone in my miami family (check)
lunch in mediocre restaurant in Siracusa Sicily in which everyone is sweating buckets from the heat, lack of air and at one point holding a crying baby during the meal (check)
Swift exit from apartment with my sister and her four children in our half dressed state (some of us more half dressed than others but all equally barefoot and underwear-less) due to the false alarm that the floor of the apartment may be collapsing under our feet* (check)
emails from my family in Argentina all a day early because they all thought my birthday was august 3rd (check)
Phone calls from three different countries because that's how far my family spreads during the summer months, and how good they are about calling (check)
dip in the sea with naked twin niece and nephew six-month-olds (check)
Phone call from my boyfriend back home reminding me what his voice sounds like, that he's no good at talking on the phone and that I miss him (check)
Finding at end of scavenger hunt and reading with tears in my eyes (I'm easy) of "30 things we love about Carmen" and "30 memories of Carmen" with contributions from my whole family (check)


*for photo of "collapsing" floor please check V's blog-go

old house

while admiring the beautiful job erk did on the floors of our new old home, i came across a newspaper shoved behind a baseboard in one of the upstairs rooms. i tried to take a picture of the date on it because it was that unbelievable. it was difficult to get a shot because the more i touched the fine paper, the more it disintegrated between my fingers. it was dated march 1923

waboos

keewaydin: the camp my brother went to as a child; where, on parents' visiting weekend, i told my mom that i too wanted to attend the camp. "it's only for boys" she said "i don't mind" was my oblivious response. i was about 9 at the time. several years later the organization reopened the girls camp they had closed in the 60s and as a 17 year old staff i finally had the opportunities i had missed as a potential camper.

i discovered mother nature for the first time, discovered boys for the first time and fell in love with the darkness that doesn't exist in new york city, where i had grown up. i learned how to paddle a canoe, build a fire, lead a group of 8 year old girls through the woods and believe in myself.

throughout my brother's time there as a camper, and our time there both as staff (me for five years, he for six) there were certain staples and traditions that went unchanged. songs that were sung at distinct parts of the day, ceremonies marking various achievements and routines shaping our summer lives. and there was always waboos.

waboos had been the director of keewaydin for over 50 years after having been a camper there in the 20s. when he retired from being the official director of the camp, he remained the symbol of the camp's history and identity, always around, always welcoming, always ready with a compelling story from the past - his memory was sharp for a man in his 90s.

this morning i received an email with the news that waboos passed away last night. while he had an incredibly long and rich life, i cant help but feel sad - but also grateful, for having met him and having been a part of the world he helped create.

college

i got to play parental figure today; taking my little sister to an overnight for perspective students at a nearby college. not wanting to be one of those overprotective "parents" i kept looking around, making sure that she wasn't the only kid still accompanied by an "adult" in the room. i didn't want to be a nag and stay too long with her, but i also didn't want to leave her. leaving her was an acknowledgement that she was ready for all of this new, independent life. and that i was too old to pretend to be a prospective student myself (although i was delighted to find that two people mistook me for one)

i still remember my sister like this (above). the kid that came when i was old enough to really appreciate getting a younger sister. i spent an entire year painting a portrait of her as a baby. i collected photographs of her like this - little and adorable.

and now she is suddenly all grown up: mature, grounded in her beliefs, with a good head on her shoulders and ready for the world. i'm proud of the woman she grew to become.

peggy is____________

"a tiger"
that was how mora filled in that blank when she was asked at the age of 3 and a half.

today i went and bought new crocs just like the ones i had two years ago when peggy would make fun of me for how they made my feet stink

and lena just forwarded me a group chat she had saved in her gmail between the three of us plus isabel. reading it made me tear from laughing so hard

while all these recent little things remind me of peggy, i think what most struck me was seeing my brother fall apart over the loss of someone from his life yesterday. it reminded me how devastating it was - how impossible to understand

i have been thinking about peggy a lot.

and how much i miss talking to her.

the day of her funeral i wrote to her
and every day after that for months, i continued to write.
sometimes long and emotional letters
sometimes little informal notes

i haven't written to her in almost a year
but i still have her number in my phone, as i am sure many of us do
it's a comfort to keep it there

bicycle, bicycle

i rode my bike to the upper east side yesterday to tutor .then over to williamsburg for my silks class. on my way back home i went thru so many neighborhoods in manhattan it felt like taking a professionally routed tour of the city. some of it made me think about how nice it would have been to share the experience. other parts of the ride recalled personal memories making the experience more private. probably the most interesting was my interaction with my fellow new yorkers. the following is an ode to my city, inspired both by my ride and by ed norton's monologue in spike lee's 25th hour - very much a new york moment:

f the cars whose left turns block the bike lane, forcing me to stop when i've picked up momentum
f the cab drivers who find the need to speed dangerously close by me; as if the lane they are in is not sufficiently spacious for their sloppy driving
f the people that j-walk as they watch me coming toward them at full speed; thinking that because i am not a car, they can stroll out in front of me rolling towards them
f the chinese and mexican delivery bikers riding against the traffic - not only giving bike riding a bad name but also making it more dangerous for those of us that can follow basic traffic logic
f one delivery man in particular for making animal noises behind me as we both rode up 6th avenue
and to the other delivery man who came biking across 6th avenue even though he had a red light?
well i would say f him too, except that he and the animal noise biker almost crashed into each other - both stopping short and flipping up onto only their front wheels (which made for a spectacular sight.... and it also shut up the animal noise maker) so instead i say thank you.
it was a good ride