A discussion at neighborhood book club the other night: being the "poor people" at the school-that's pretty funny considering we all live in houses worth 1million dollars, most of the people there have advanced degrees (including 2 MD families) and no one appears to be "struggling" in any way.  We all take nice trips, drive expensive cars and have tons of "stuff" -yet compared to some of the other  really wealthy people at the school, we are decidedly middle class.  And listening to the other women, clearly this has been a topic of conversation within their families.  I don't know if I feel immune because my kids' friends are all like us (or I know they have "less" than we have), I certainly don't feel like our family wants for anything, plus I just don't care.  I don't feel the need to keep up with other people.  And there's also the fact that I have WAY more (and my kids have much more) than I had growing up.  In retrospect, I had a perfectly fine house, we took trips, I went to a private high school and college-but it felt like we were definitely the "poorer" people.  Maybe because of my parents' insecurities regarding money and status.  And it seemed like all the other parents in Dominican were lawyers, doctors-and since neither of my parents graduated from college, I'm sure it was a weird thing.  I also can't help but realize that this is the other side of the coin from living in an expensive suburb for your kid:  there's so much homogeneity.  And everything becomes about comparison because everyone has so much.  If we all lived in a more "mixed" area, the schools would be crummy but there wouldn't be that weird feeling of consumerism and keeping up with people.

Why I love living here, an ode to Winter in Southern California:
When I see that the temperatures back in Bmore are single digits, with gusts of wind, more snow to come mid week.
When we drive to LA for the day and I get to see the Hollywood sign
The lovely consumerism that is The Grove
When we have Vietnamese food in Little Saigon
And In N Out for dinner
Walking down the street in Studio City and seeing the sidewalk signs for long ago shows and movies
Palm trees
The Sun shining
Elizabeth wearing a sundress and flip flops
The boys and Stefan in shorts and tee shirts
Flowers blooming all the time
The Pacific Ocean
No one's birthday party is ruined because it snows
The beach over President's Day weekend

Valentines Day

Seventeen years ago we went to IHOP for breakfast (I could barely fit in the booth) and then walked through that pretty neighborhood of Guilford to try and induce my labor.  Even though I wasn't due until the 16th, I had been having contractions for a month, made a trip to the hospital to be monitored, was already dilated and effaced enough that my ob told me not to labor at home, but to come right in if my contractions were strong and regular or my water broke.  The nursery had been ready for months.  The adorable clothes (some of which I had bought prior to even getting pregnant) were washed and put away in the dresser.   I used to go in, sit in the rocking chair and daydream about holding my very own baby girl.  I could.not.wait.  There was never hesitation.  I had wanted to be a mommy my entire life.  It's crazy that it's been seventeen years.  Happy birthday, baby girl.  Thank you for helping to make my dreams come true.

Hearing about other people's marriage struggles, even when your own marriage feels strong and healthy, hits some kind of painful spot.  Those couples were in love once.  They held hands.  They got excited to hear each other's voices on the phone.  They were each other's best friends. They were silly and had private jokes.  They planned to have children-were so thrilled together when they held their very own babies.  They listened to each other's work struggles.  They went out to dinner with other couples.  They bought first houses.  Put together Ikea furniture.  Struggled through sleepless nights, teething, tantrums.  And very possibly other, harder things-job losses, miscarriages, sicknesses, diagnoses, deaths of parents.  When do those things start driving a wedge?  When do the silly annoyances, "oh he's sloppy" or "she's just so negative" start adding up?  How do you go from feeling like you're a team, to feeling alone? misunderstood? not supported? cared for? To feeling like you'd rather go through the agony of tearing your family apart rather than living together in misery for another day?  Do you see it happen?  And where is the point that it's irreparable? When you just don't care to even try?  When it seems hopeless?  The older I get, the less black and white the world becomes.

What does cooking mean to me?  It's relaxing, nurturing, therapeutic.  I very rarely find it stressful.  It brings me happy memories-Nonni cooking, my mom cooking dinner while I did my homework and hung out in the kitchen.  It seems simplistic to say food is love-but in my semi-Italian family, it did.  I never liked to bake because you had to be so precise.  I am many things, but precise is not one of them.  It's my slightly rebellious and independent streak to not want to be tied down to specific directions (see also, "thinking Catholicism was a story and fiction, not reality from the time I was a small child".  I never had the beliefs to lose.  I never believed in the first place.)  I like throwing things together, improvising, reading a recipe for ideas, trying new ethnic cuisines out at restaurants and wanting to recapture the flavors, watching a cooking show to get the gist-then trying it out myself.  I just think about what I'm in the mood for, how much time I have to prepare it, what ingredients I have on hand and go for it.  It's funny because cooking is probably one of my only activities where I'm more comfortable winging it.  Usually I'm more comfortable going with a definite plan and am not spontaneous.  Which is sort of a weird juxtaposition if you think about it:  I'm a conformist but I'm not rigid and I hate being forced to do something I don't want to do, seems unreasonable or unfair.  If I could have some foods again that I don't prepare, are specific to a now defunct restaurant or long ago time-in other words, things I'll probably never eat again (just typing that out makes me feel sad):  that stuffed veal pocket Nonni used to make, also scottia (I think she may have shown Chris how to make it-I should ask him), House of Nanking's beer chicken and zucchini, chocolate mousse from Le Camembert, minestrone from Marin Joe's (they're still around though, just an airplane ride away), bagels & the accompanying spreads that Bobbie and Steve used to get, the moo shu chicken they would get (which I know you can certainly get other places, but it's never tasted the same), hot and sour soup from some Chinese restaurant in Deerfield who's name escapes me, Lemon Chicken that Lisa's parents used to get from god knows where, the pork buns from Chopsticks in San Rafael, 3 Delights (Anita's Thai Kitchen which I actually realized recently was Vietnamese not Thai, but I'm guessing it was so soon after the Vietnam War that she thought it safer to say her place was Thai), a cod and potato dish Mom made from their French cooking class (which I actually do have the recipe for but who wants to repeatedly rinse dried cod?  plus I'm fairly certain that my family would just think it was fishy, salty potato salad, so why bother?), Nonno used to bbq these ribs that were soy saucy and delicious, Amy's cornflake chicken (I'm sure that one is not tricky but whatever.  I'm sure it's better in my memory than in reality.)  She was actually a very good cook (I remember some yummy coq au vin) and definitely an appreciator of fancy, French and Italian cuisine (and Chinese-I think that was a holdover than growing up Jewish in New York), but she really made the same dishes over and over.  Sort of like her wardrobe:  talk about a capsule wardrobe.  Long sleeved silk blouses or long sleeved cotton fitted tee shirts, leather or suede slacks, high heels, and then really expensive leather or fur jackets or coats.  And lovely scarfs.  And simple, expensive jewelry.  She was funny because while she definitely looked the part of the sophisticated, cultured, really wealthy society woman-she couldn't stand most of those women.  She thought they were snobby and provincial.  But anyway, she had a formula for dressing, and cooking dinner-and both were executed pretty flawlessly.  Then she had time for other pursuits like her music.  That's what I'm enjoying about the capsule wardrobe.  I have so few things in my closet-and I think I could even get rid of more.  It's freeing.  And at Target the other day I was momentarily tempted to look through the clothes and mindlessly grab something-but then I thought, oops-I don't do that.  I have enough clothes  right now.  I'm good.  And it was fine.  I felt relieved later.  I know I need to keep purging the house.  I have so much kitchen "stuff" that I never use, and don't need.  Serving pieces and glasses that are just up in cupboards that (as much as we've entertained) never get touched! Any way-I have gotten totally off track here.  As usual.  Food.  Memories. Holidays.  It's interesting that the other day E mentioned "we should have more Jewish food."  Um, well.  Not something I grew up with .  So other than matzoh ball soup, roast chicken, matzo brie, passover brittle, brisket, mandelbrot-I'm sort of at a loss.   A lot of Ashkenazic Jewish cooking is like Eastern European cooking:  pretty awful.  If you've grown up with it you'll retain a fondness for it (hence the foodie Levines always had margarine and matzoh in their house.  Together with a sprinkling of salt: swoon.)  But since I didn't grow up with it and I'm a food snob-not too much Jewish cooking going on around here.  Occasionally at a holiday with (Jewish) friends there will be kugels.  I should try more Sephardic recipes-that would probably bridge the gap between my natural bent toward Mediterranean cooking and my kids' Jewish heritage.

If I gave myself a goal of writing 1,000 words a day for a month, what would happen?  Would I be able to do it?  Well, okay, I could fill a page with 1000 words-but would they be readable?  Would there be a glimmer of something there?  Some bit of wisdom?  Or humor?  Or would it just be trite observations to fill the pages?  I won't know unless I do it.  I'm feeling inspired by "Wild" and all the walking I've been doing.  I've also done a gossip fast and scaled way back on the screen time.  I'm trying to listen to good music.  I'm trying to keep myself from running around.  I did have really nice birthday lunches with E and D-but it seemed less frenetic than it's felt.  And last night's dinner was really fun.  Usually I enjoy being at our home more than being over at other people's because then I don't worry about the boys and what they're up to.  If it's our house I don't care if they're loud, crazy, make a (bigger) mess.  However, it was so nice to just bake challah and mandelbrot and show up for the whole rest of the meal.  It seemed so luxurious to be walking, then reading, then taking a long shower and leisurely getting ready versus running around like a mad woman making dinner and trying to make things "pretty."  And worrying that I'll do shabbat "wrong" somehow.  Even after all these years.  I like to see how other people do it.  Candles on the dinner table.  Then the blessing over the wine.  Then the blessing over the bread.  And putting all the food out on the table and passing it around.  I've done buffet style for years.  Maybe because our kids were always little and handing hot platters around seemed daunting.  But it was nice.  I should switch it up a bit.  I hope they didn't find us too much.  Because .  .  .  I know sometimes she'll talk about other people and I don't want to be them:  the ones who's kids are awful, messy, bug the dogs.  I think I need to get over that.  It's not really trusting your friends if you think they're dissing you behind your back.  I think overall the kids were good.  They were polite.  Nobody's perfect-but they are sweet, well mannered kids.  However, it made me realize that their table manners need work!  I kind of knew that but somehow they'd pull it out if we were out.  They need to learn to cut their food!  That's a lot of pressure you put on yourself and them.  You do realize this?  The only time I've found other kids rude is when they've announced they're "bored" or there's "nothing to do."  Or if they've really intentionally trashed something (or gone into our bedroom) or let out our cats :).  Other than that (and it still hasn't stopped friendships or social gatherings) I'm really easy going.  I think that's one of my best qualities.  I love to host.  I love to entertain.  I am pretty social for an introvert.  But I need to keep my spaces too.  Like today being wide open:  so nice and regenerating.  Tomorrow we have plans.  But today-ahhh.

January

I've been much better about writing more, reading actual books, doing projects like closet organizing and capsule wardrobing,  and cutting back on the internet nonsense.  I've been listening to the classical station in the car-not junky pop music.  No celeb gossip sites in weeks.  I am going to cut back on the online stuff even more-even the "good stuff"-because even that becomes a time sink.  Here I am.  I have the answers for myself if I sit quietly and listen.  Or walk outside and look around without all the noise.  I want to simplify more.  I want to just be.  Breathe in and out.  Breaths like the waves.  One of my best memories is going to the beach alone to recharge after a rough night with a sick kid.  Sitting at the Self Realization Gardens is the best.  I love the guided meditations on you-tube.  Even right now.  Gabie's in bed, the older kids are with Stef clustered around the computer playing WOW.  It feels peaceful.  Quiet time.  I need to make sure I am getting enough of that.  I've spent a lot of time over the last few years establishing us here.  I have made friends.  I've volunteered.  I did some work on starting a business.  I was out and about a lot.  I was presenting myself as someone who is connected, who has a lot of friends, a lot of plans.  But sometimes the stuff or people I was filling my time with were not necessarily "my kind of thing."  I need to keep remember my Word of the Year:  Nurture.  Let that be my guide.  Also-not every moment has to be planned.  The weekends could be more laid back and not so filled. (although if I don't plan, we end up at home around screens-so I do need to give us some activities.)  Part of that is in reaction to what feels like years of wasted time we could have been doing "more" when we lived back east-like museums and sightseeing.  Of course remember that most of the time I was pregnant and/or had really small children.  It's hard to do stuff all the time with little kids.  Plus with S's career at the time-the last thing he wanted to do on the weekends was to be on the go.