"Insecurity is your biggest hurdle."

Anyone who knows me knows that this isn't true. Except it is a little true when it comes to feeling prepared for my PhD exams. After a nice talk I had today, though, I'm feeling more secure about them.
Today was my first day back at work after a long, hot summer which ended with a road trip to California and back again. We pulled into town just in time for the kids to go to Tae Kwon Do class yesterday after a rather eventful trip.
I dragged my sorry butt out of bed this morning for convocation. It was lonely with my best friend on sabbatical in Mozambique, but I had a good time chatting to people, and ended up in a long discussion with a friend who is also a PhD student in my program, but a few semesters behind me.
Then I lunched with a friend who is ahead of me in the program, and she's the one who really encouraged me to go ahead and take me exams, trusting that I am more prepared than I think I am. I know she's right, as I'll never really feel ready, and the best thing is just to get done with them.
After a division meeting and a bit more catching up, I returned to a messy house- no showings this week, I hope, as I don't have the energy to unpack yet!

"You will step on the soil of many countries."

This sounds a little ominous. Is this because people from many countries are going to be tracking soil into my house tomorrow during the open house?
Yesterday we had a Lebanese guest here who lives in Angola, but was raised in Liberia and who once had a Cuban girlfriend. Maybe that's what the fortune meant, but he had new shoes, so he wasn't tracking in soil from any of those countries.
Speaking of tracking in soil, when we used to fly back to university in the US after spending Christmas vacation back home in Colombia, the agricultural inspectors would ask if we'd been on a farm. If we said yes, they would spray our shoes, which was strange, since they weren't the shoes I'd worn to the farm. They didn't ask that.
Really, this fortune is a little oddly worded. Do they mean I'll travel to many countries? Or is it more threatening than that? If I travel to a lot of countries, I hope I'll do more than step on the soil. Though, if you think about it, there are some countries one could travel to and never step on any soil at all- just pavement. Hmmmm.....
(I count landing in airports on my way to somewhere else when I count the countries I've been in, and it helps up the number. I'm somewhere around 30, I think.)

Baby Magic

I made the decision to take Sami to the CAA (College Art Association) conference with me back in December, when all he did was eat, sleep, and get his diaper changed, with brief stops to wonder at the world around him. The conference was last weekend, and by now, Sami is much more active, spending long periods of time interacting with the people around him, and even "talking" rather loudly. And while he isn't a big crier, he can, when he feels the occasion demands it, put out.
We flew into LAX on a big 757 that was pretty full. The young man sitting next to me tried to give me privacy as I breastfed, and assured me that he was used to baby stuff as he had a young nephew. When I went back to change Sami, though, I found some empty seats next to a mother of young adults, and she held Sami while I moved my things back and then we talked the rest of the way into LA.
Once there I picked up my rental car and headed through the rush hour traffic of downtown to get to my parents' house, where dinner- (one of my favorites- thanks Mom!) of hamburger pinwheels was ready. My sister and her family joined us.
Wednesday I headed down a little late to the LA Convention Center where two citizenship ceremonies were being held that day. (They up the price of parking to take advantage of the immigrants that day- doesn't seem fair!) It was interesting to see people dressed up, carrying congratulatory flowers, pushing baby strollers, buying commemorative teddy bears and making a day of it. My Mom had her ceremony there a couple of years ago. My dad did not give her flowers- in fact, they couldn't even find each other in the crowd.
But I was there for the conference. I checked in and then checked out the student and emerging professionals lounge, thinking that would be a good place to escape to when Sami was fussing. It was quiet and serious, with people huddled over their laptops and speaking only in whispers. I quickly made my escape.
The first session I went to was about Feminism in the early modern age, and the woman behind me was happy to see I'd brought a baby and offered her arms if I needed them. Had I seen her later in the conference, I would have passed the baby on right then, but the first day I had no idea how tired I'd be. This was the beginning of people loving on Sami, and me. Older women came up and told me how they'd brought their babies to conferences, and younger women told me about babies they'd left at home. One mother/scholar suggested I take Sami to hear Mary Kelly- artist of Postpartum Document- speak the next day. One woman in the exhibit hall on Thursday asked to hold him because her children were all grown up.  Several people thanked me for bringing him.
I was worried that I wouldn't see my professor at all, but ended up running into her when I got off the elevator, and then again later, and indeed, saw her many times throughout the conference.
On Wednesday night I left him with my parents so my sister and I could go to a talk about the Weegee exhibit at MOCA by the curators of the show. Then we picked him up and went out to dinner nearby.
Thursday I got up early, ready for a full day of conference. I started at a panel on Latin American art and then switched over to hear one of my professors on another one. Sami kept me busy and I went in and out off all the sessions several times. I went back to the lounge for a discussion on working and art practice and even talked about being a mother and an artist/student in response to someone else's question. Two of the panelists (profs from Texas, no less) were fathers with 4 and 6 children, and one of them talked about his wife, a sculptor, and how she worked. Afterwards he came up and asked to hold Sami because his own youngest was 15 months already. Both he and the other father came up to speak to me and show appreciation for my bringing Sami. The other dad has a two weeker at home.
I only caught bits and pieces of Mary Kelley's talk. 
At the exhibit hall Sami was cooed over and I got the chance to talk to a lot of different people. Then we headed off into rush hour traffic. Sami screamed his way up the 101 until I could do his preferred speed of 60+ miles per hour. He's kind of like that bus in the movie Speed- go below a certain speed and everything explodes. I had a delicious dinner at my sister's house and then crashed into bed, too tired to do anything.
Friday I set off a little later for the conference. As I pushed Sami toward the conference, a colorful, rotund man came up and said- does he have a ticket? I asked if artworks needed one as Sami was my biological genetic sculpture. He thought this was pretty funny and then kept telling people that Sami was a genetic experiment- not quite the same thing.
We attended several sessions- in and out again- and I thought it would be a good idea to go to the business meeting/reception in the evening. While the business part of it was not very relevant for me, the keynote speaker- with a short presentation- was very interesting. She mostly showed us a presentation with very little talking, so Sami decided he needed to add narrative. Luckly most people enjoyed that- or at least, they are the ones who came up and told me so afterwards during the champagne and cake reception. One woman even told me I was too young to have 3 kids! I told her I was too old to have this one.
Again, we got home to eat dinner and fall into bed exhausted.
Saturday morning I left Sami at home with my Mom again and only went for half a day. I got to sit through the whole panel discussion this time, but was disappointed that one of the speakers listed didn't speak. Then I went down to the exhibit hall and bought some books at the last day 50% discount, scoring a nice retrospective Cindy Sherman tome which my dad will have to ship media mail to me.  I was surprised that many people asked me- "Where's the baby!" I thought they might not recognize me without him.
My professor recommended I go to LACMA to see the surrealist women show, In Wonderland, so my sister and I took Sami down there in the late afternoon. He didn't want to stay in his stroller, so we ended up taking turns carrying him through the extensive exhibit- and once again, people looked at him instead of the art. (A nice foil to all the surrealism I guess.) We really enjoyed it- I want a catalogue so I can remember it all- K was good at this. Silvia Fein had some pieces I want to revisit.
For once I wasn't too exhausted after dinner and so we played a cut throat game of Scrabble, which my mom won.
Sunday morning we actually left for the airport a little earlier than we needed to, which was a good thing, because without warning, the entrance to the airport freeway was closed and I had to go east instead of west and do a u-turn down in Watts to get headed in the right direction. Sami slept through it all and was still sleeping when I pulled in to return the car. The woman who received it took a look at him and told me to hold on a minute and leave him in the car. She came back and announced- I'm taking you to the airport. So we loaded up the trunk again and she took us right to American. Apparently she almost never does airport direct, but can't resist a baby. (Or really, likes to help the mamas!) On the way over she told me about her 2-year-old who she got to daycare before her 6:30 shift started. She didn't want a tip, but I insisted she get something for her baby.
There were no baby specials on bag checking, but Sami did get me out of going through the scary, invasive x-ray machine without getting a pat down. Once at the gate a Vietnamese woman came over and started playing with him and then picked him up and held him for quite a while.  When they asked if anyone wanted to gate check their bags, I leapt at the chance. I'm not going to pay $25, but I don't want to carry it on the plane and risk conking Sami on the head lifting it into an overhead compartment. (Baby magic/chivalry saved him on the flight out).
The woman from Vietnam saw us again while we were waiting for H and the kids and came over to talk to Sami some more.
When the rest of the family arrived there were big smiles all around. I think Sami really missed them, and they all missed him, too. Now, if only baby magic could get my bags unpacked!

Montreal Connection

I'm eating a bagel with smoked salmon from Fairmount Bagels, just down the street from the house behind me, where my grandfather grew up in Montreal. The buildings look the same, but the businesses are mostly different.

Welcomes

I called H as soon as I landed last night from Philadelphia. Our plane was early, and he hadn't left the house yet. After I called him, we sat on the tarmac until the gate opened up, and ended up getting off at the time we were supposed to have arrived, anyway. I hurried to get my luggage so I could make it out to the curb where we'd agreed to meet, but I heard a "Hey" from across the carousel and there the three of them were. I hurried over to get a warm hug from Leila, but Ali just said, "I'm hungry." After I bought some overpriced vending machine snacks I got a smile and a welcome from him, too.
Later I asked Leila if she'd missed me. "I didn't miss you," she said. "I just wanted you to be here."

My life in ...

If you count airport stops and short border crossings, and I do, I've been in about 24 countries. If you count six week summer visits, I've lived in six countries, on five (or four, depending how you count them) continents, the only exceptions being Australia (that is a continent, right?) and Antarctica, which I have plans to never, ever, live on. (I don't mind living in Australia, though. That could be fun.)
I've swum in the Carribbean, the Mediterranean, the Pacific, the Atlantic, and the Indian Ocean, and even floated briefly in the Dead Sea.
I've ridden camels in the Sahara (at sunset), canoed up tributaries of the Amazon, hiked up to an insolated Korean temple for Buddha's birthday, stalked rhinos in South Africa, and woken up in some interesting places. And, I've had root canals in three or four different countries, sometimes without being able to communicate too well with the dentist, but always with anesthesia! (they aren't that bad, actually.)
It's sounds terribly exciting written like that, doesn't it? Perhaps I should add that I'm only just about to turn 40. But really, it's been, like every life,rather mundane.
In the British comedy As Time Goes By on PBS, the male protagonist has returned to England after a spending his working years as a coffee plantation manager in Kenya. Now he does the lecture circuit and has written a book called, My Life in Kenya. It sounds terribly exciting, and the publisher does his best to sex it up with wild cover art involving safari clothes and a half naked woman. But in truth, the story is rather dull, because it is just about his life in Kenya. And like most real, non fiction lives, there is an awful lot of everydayness to it.
Indeed, the only way to make real life interesting enough to engage readers is to edit out the everydayness and highlight the exotic. I'm going to try writing a seriew of posts with a little bit of both- the exciting bits, but also the mundane bits that were sometimes just a little more exciting than usual because of where they took place.

More Places

I've woken up in basement bedrooms on freezing Canadian winter days. Groaning, I climb out of bed to bundle up for school and classrooms full of strange strangers. My brother and I walk to school through the biting wind when I am 9. When I am 14 I have to walk alone. I wear earmuffs since my ears are always cold. Davilyn Atchison is the only girl I know when I am 14. She was a sort of friend in 3rd grade, when she wore Grease pants, but now she is unfriendly. Bleached blonde hair, paled face, and super tight zipper jeans- she is one of the wraith crowd. They remind me of the Pink Ladies. I dress like a grownup- the principal thinks I'm a substitute when he sees me in the hall. When a boy asks me to go out with his cousin, I shoot him down, thinking they are making fun of me.
I've woken up on the hard ground inside tents- in Canada, in California, on the beaches of the Florida Keys, and in Orlando, at Teen Missions boot camp. The former all have an element of fun. This last one is pure hell. Although it's summer, the mornings are biting cold, and I have no luggage. My duffel bag, having flown no problem from Bogota to Miami, gets sent to the Dominican Rupublic instead of Orlando on the last leg of the trip. My teamates lend me a sheet and I buy socks and t-shirts, but every morning I dread waking- it is so cold. The only thing I can do is pray, and it helps me get out of bed. Every infraction of the rule leads to a "special blessing" punishment. I am not bad, but cannot get a hold on time, so I lose free time. I am miserable. The days are hot and muggy. We train in puppetry and attend church services.
Our team flies to Luxembourg, then takes a bus to Paris. Fireworks explode in celebration of Bastille day. We try to sleep in the train station, but they don't want us to. We are exhausted. On the train to Gibralter we sleep. That night we disembark in Iruna?, lay our sleeping bags right on the platform, and sleep. The boys take turns keeping watch- it makes them feel like strong protectors. Another day, we're sleeping on the train, packed tightly into a Pullman. I awake to see a red sun rising over a walled city set on a hill. I shake my friend to show him the beauty. He is angry with me.
In Gibralter we've changed from sleeping on tents in the beach to sleeping high on the hill in a milatary encampment. There are two rooms underground- the girls get the larger and the boys the smaller. Our married chaperones get a Quonset hut above, next to the kitchen. There is a shower below that 15 girls must get through in 1/2 an hour. The outhouse is high above. We drag ourselves off the hard floor early in the mornings to do exercises on the bare ground. The long walks down to town and up again are just not enough. When the military come to do their training exercises one night, we are required to stay below, out of the way of their bullets. Even the married couple come down. In the day time we go to town and witness to the tourists and locals, practice skits on religious themes and perform them. It feels awkward and strange.

Places I've woken up

Inspired by Mark at Stone Soup...

I've woken up on Radio Tower Hill on New Year's Morning, bundled in a sleeping bag damp from morning dew, head pointing toward the middle of the water tank we are lying on. "Look," says my friend who has woken me up. The sun is rising on the year over the lake- clouds tinged pink- sky blue. I drink in the sight and then close my eyes to sleep until the heat drives us in search of coffee and pancakes. "If I could just see that familiar sunrise through sleepy blue eyes, how happy I'd be."
I've woken up bundled in a hammock, rain tapping on the thatched roof over my head and mist seeping out from the jungle trees that surround the village. Breakfast is granola and instant coffee, and then I cuddle back into my hammock to read Gabriel Garcia Marquez in the faint light from the window.
I've woken up in a Buddhist temple on Buddha's birthday at the bottom of Cow Mountain in South Korea. After a traditional breakfast of rice and greens, we hike up to the hermitage at the top of the mountain. The gracious monk serves us pine tree liquor, and coffee, when he learns I have a headache from the lack of it.
I've woken up to the sounds of donkeys' braying, my hammock slung between two palm trees next to Parque Tayrona beach. The sun shines in my eyes and we head down the beach to buy fresh rolls cooked in an outdoor oven that burns half of each roll. It's the most delicious bread I've ever eaten. Our camping neighbors from Israel make us strong Turkish coffee over their campfire. A few days later, in the same hammock on another beach, I awaken to find two Guajira girls staring at me and my friends in our wall less hut. This beach is an extension of the desert, not the green, jungle-surrounded one of before. We haven't planned to stay in this far northern reach of Colombia, but have gotten stranded by the lack of public transportation.
I've woken up in the dark African morning and driven out to see wild game. After the sun rises, the driver stops to serve us strong tea and rusks, and when we get back to the lodge, we are served a delicious breakfast, eggs cooked before us, and strong coffee. Later on the same trip I wake to see the waves of the Indian Ocean breaking on our secluded beach. We sip coffee on the veranda and watch for whales. In the evenings we hike to the top of sand dunes to watch the sun set in the west.