thefutureisred

Give Me Butterfly Wings: I Needed A Big Blog Break

Photo by e3000               

Sometimes death teaches more about life than what's on my computer.

After almost four months without a word from me, it's time to answer those gentle nudges of "Where are you?" What's going on with your blog?" I've been getting.

First, again, thank you for asking. I am grateful and, as they say, humbled that not only do people actually read this little red thing of mine, but even notice when it's gone. 

But it needed to be. It has become abundantly clear that I needed to focus on my non-blog life. 

The Catalyst

Or should I say catalysts, because it's rarely just one thing that causes change in our lives.

This past July while in New York, we learned from a friend of ours in Bocas del Toro that our old landlord Cher, a really lovely woman, had been murdered. By a serial killer. It almost sounds like a joke, but clearly, it's not funny. Not in the least.

Then, when I got back to Argentina after Burning Man, I learned that another friend of ours from Salta, Diego, had also been murdered. I don't really understand what happened. Apart from some vague intimations about it being a gay-related crime, that the murderer was an exotic dancer.... Quite frankly, that's when I stopped listening. Those details aren't the core of the matter. It is more that a really decent person is now dead for no reason at all.

It really fucks with a girl's head, you know?

I Wanted To Blog, I Really Did But...

I stopped writing soon after I heard about Cher's murder. Since then, the idea of writing about what was going on in my head just felt wrong, but to write about something else seemed forced and a waste of my time. I’d rather paint with Lila or hang with Noah or do something altogether different.

So that's what I did.

I Don't Want To Be Too Late For What's Most Important

With all the traveling, running around, trying to develop programs, meeting people and posting, I felt I never had time for anything. My life too often felt like a massive unfinished to-do list and I was always working to reach a constantly moving horizon.

If I continued like that, I would miss out on my real world. So I had to let go of the online world for a while.

My hits were at an all time high when I stopped writing, and I’ve watched them fall, fall fall, as well as watched how my connections with many of the people I know online have faded. That has been hard to see.

But I had intended give Diego a call and get together sometime, soon. By the time I got around to it, I was too late. I don't want to say the same about Lila or Noah or the other people who are most important to me. I want to be truly present in their lives and mine.

Making A Commitment To Real Life & Community

This week, Noah and I will sign the papers to buy a house here in Salta. It will be our home, yes, but it will also be a community center for traveling artists, writers and teachers. (And will be filmed for an upcoming episode of House Hunters International. We're even flying to NY in February to do some filming there.)

 

So far, we’ve formed connections with local universities and non-profit organizations. We plan to use the internet and social media as a tool to connect students between countries, allowing them to share their work with each other as well as with bring in international artists, writers and photographers, travelers and educators.

The goal of our program, though, goes beyond a creative exchange to an initiative to teach English, keep students in school and ultimately improve their economic prospects by connecting them with an international community.

We just finished our first semester working with 12 year olds at the experimental high school that is a part of the Universidad Nacional de Salta (la UNSa). Next year, we’ll work with the same group of students, incorporate online and gallery exhibitions of art and photography and are working to begin teaching at the two local universities of Salta.

Does This Mean We Will Be In Salta Forever?

It is unsettling to think of being settled. It is overwhelming, too, to commit to one place after being on the move for almost five years.

The underlying assumption of our program is that since it is based on the people, the needs and the soul of Salta, it will not need us permanently to continue growing. We are here until our work here is finished;then we will move on. 

Paper Mache Butterfly Wings and Walks By the River

Along the way of designing the project, I stopped to design paper mache butterfly wings with Lila. We picked dandelions by the side of the river flowing near our house. I stepped away from the to-do long enough to start weekly belly dancing classes with a really fabulous teacher. Someone who will be teaching as part of our community center.

And maybe, just maybe, I've learned a bit to accept that the most important thing I want to realize in this life of mine is how to be patient and not be too attached to any one outcome, because the bottom line is you never know what happens next.

Hey, Future Is Red! Where've Ya Been?

 

Yes, I realize it's been well over a month since my last post. That last post, the one about bulls in the main square of Meynes, said nothing about my sudden disappearance from blogging and from social media for that matter and I've been asked, "Where did you go? What's going on?"

First, I want to say thank you for even asking. The fact that enough people read this blog to care means a lot to me.

This last month, I've been mostly offline traveling and spending time with family. We arrived back in Salta Friday, began a new education project yesterday. I haven't talked much about this project because so many details are up in the air, but soon I'll have something more definitive to say. For now, I can tell you that it was fantastic to be back in the classroom. The students we have are amazing, and I'm really excited for the future of our program.

Tomorrow I leave for Burning Man. You can check out an article I wrote for Craig and Linda of Indietravelpodcast on ten steps to prepare yourself for this amazing event. They'll be publishing a Burning Man packing list in the next few days as well.

I'll be away two weeks, the longest I've ever been away from Lila, and I am feeling apprehensive about it.

In the meantime, I'm still writing and editing at Matador Life where Nick Rowlands and Candice Walsh have been keeping things running at times I'm offline. And I'm working with Simon from Neverending Voyage to rework this blog. I began The Future Is Red over three years ago and much has changed since then. I'd like what I post here to better reflect our new home in Salta and the new work we'll be doing here.

It's been overwhelmingly busy, and I often remind myself of my Five Rules of Banishing Chaos. Mostly of the second step.

It will all eventually get done.

But it's also made me realize, I can't do everything. I'm going to have to make choices. And while we now seem to have a sense of stability we haven't had since we left New York, I feel like now is a time of amazing change.

Mother's Day Music Mix: What Makes A Mom?

The roots of Mother's Day run deep and wide. They day is celebrated differently on different days for different reasons worldwide, but all have in common a connection to some birthing body. It could be Mother Earth, Mother Mary and the day of the Immaculate Conception. It could be in protest to a war and the mothers who lose their children.

And every reason for Mother's Day reflects tenfold the complicated relationships we have with our own mothers and children.

Maybe you lie about what you've been up to in order to keep her from worrying or asking questions. Or maybe you're honest with her. I'm a bit of both; the older I get the less I need prevarication. It ain't easy having a kid who lives like a gypsy, so all you traveling folk, call your Mama Kin.

Mama's Got A Girlfriend to all the mamas whose papas aren't around or those who never wanted one in the first place. 

Moms are blamed for everything. Sometimes it's their fault. You made me cry; you told me lies. You could have been a better friend to me, but Mama I'm Coming Home. 

Bob Dylan's lyrics always hit home whether sung by Jeff Buckley, Jack Johnson or the original Mama, You've Been On My Mind.  "I'd just be curious to know if you can see yourself as clear as someone who has you on his mind." Because I'm not sure we ever see our mother's the way they see themselves. Or the way they are.

There's Danzig's Mother.

And what I think of as the Rolling Stone's homage to American stay-at-home mom's of the 60s. I won't speak for moms today, but I'd like to think things have changed. Although I know from experience how  difficult it can be to stay at home with your kid no matter how much you also love it. Then I also know from experience the difficulty often involved in making the choice to work. Often, it's other mothers who criticize each other the most for choices made in this arena.

And finally, Rosanne Cash's Motherless Children captures exactly what a mother means when she sings of life without your mom.  Your father will do his best. Your husband will try to understand. Auntie will do. Sister will be there until she gets married, then she goes to her own life.

No matter who your mother is. She can be the perfect hot chocolate when its cold mom or she can miss your birthday or maybe your mother is an abusive alcoholic. Mom will always be in your life in some way, even when she is absent.

Moms aren't perfect and never will be.

Something that becomes all too painfully clear when you become a mother yourself.

What mama song sings most loudly to you?

Happy Mother's Day, Mom and all you other mothers out there!

And for those who want to hear more of my budding DJ doings, become a listener of the futureisred on blip.fm

The Gift Of Memory Is the Greatest Gift of All

Recently, I saw an old Mork and Mindy episode where Mork, after freaking Mindy out when he gives her a dead fly broach as a Christmas gift, learns that it's the thought that counts when it comes to gift giving. So he uses his Orkan powers to give her a new gift, a long forgotten childhood memory.

Today, I read a post on Julie Shwietert's blog Cuaderno Inedito titled There Will Be Some Days When You Get Nothing Done Except Loving Your Family. Reading Julie's thoughts on time with her family brought back vivid memories of the days after Lila was born.

That first week was the most free week of my life. I didn't think about work, cleaning the kitchen or how much baby weight I needed to lose. I didn't look at my watch. I turned off the phone and didn't once check e-mail.

I completely disconnected, in a very very good way, from everything in the world that usually plays such a huge part in my life and focused only on Lila and Noah. It was, without a doubt, the most memorable, most beautiful week of my entire life.

We moved by Lila's needs.

When she was hungry we were awake to feed her. When she slept, we did too. We regularly changed diapers. It's amazing how many a newborn can go through so quickly. I remember Noah and I standing over that tiny naked body. Four hands, two brains petrified of somehow destroying this new life as we tried to remove the old wet diaper, wiped her down with water until clean and then gently lift her little body to place it on a clean one.

Neurosurgery performed by two inexperienced parents. Neither of us had ever before held a newborn until the day Lila was born.

Seven suns rose and then set.

One morning, I lay on the couch nursing and watching how her body spanned the width of mine. At the same time, the sun rose, turning the walls of our apartment orange and golden, then lighter and lighter. The sun poured through creating shadows of window pane on every surface inside. The shadows moved slowly from one side of the room to the other and then disappeared as the day arrived.

Never before and never since have I been able to be so consciously, so fully in the moment. It made me wonder if  perhaps the days when I accomplish all else -- work, writing, organizing the house, running errands -- but I don't spend as much time with Lila and Noah, if perhaps those are really the days in which nothing of equal worth was done.

Thank you, Julie, for reminding me.

Sharing Thoughts From Women Worldwide for International Women's Day

I originally had another post planned for today. It's already written, just waiting to be published. Then I remembered that March 8th is International Women's Day. So I decided, instead, to share something very special with you.

Uncornered Market, a blog written by Daniel Noll and Audrey Scott. I often mention them in many different contexts. Today, they posted a slide show today of Women of the World -- faces of women from the Andes to Uzbekistan. Mothers, children, grandmothers. Daughters.

That's Audrey in the center. I love how this photo so clearly makes the statement that she, too, is a woman of this world.

Some other links and tidbits I'd like to share for today:

10 Things You Need To Know About International Women's Day shared with my by Candice Walsh

Gendercide: The War On Baby Girls shared by Abbie Kearse

Che Che Cole Makossa by Antibalas feature Mayra Vega shared by Erika Clarke

Morning Walk in Bangkok shared by Aye GotPassport

African Burial Ground in NYC (Yep!) shared by Julie Shwietert

Remembering Colorado...Oh Mi Amor shared by Laura Bernhein

These are just some of the things that show the interest, love, passion and commitment of the many women I know. There are so many more.

Please share your own links here too!

Feliz Dia de la Mujer!

What Were You Doing This Time Last Year?

I just got a message from one of my favorite writers/bloggers/travelers @umarket saying that the last year has felt like a decade. I completely agree! 

Perhaps that's the nature of travel. When you move around so much, each day feels like a week feels so very long.

Not in a bad way, it's just that travel forces you to be acutely aware of each moment. You have to think about where you will eat, where you will sleep and often even something as simple as buying a new pair of shoes takes time and thought in a way it simply doesn't when you're home.

The drastic change only adds to this time-lengthening effect.

Last year this time, we had just arrived in Buenos Aires and had the good luck to meet a family from New Jersey who were living the month in an apartment right down the street from us. They have twins, and Lila and their two girls played every day.

We spent New Year's eve with them and another friend Jo at an extremely touristy restaurant near the Recoleta cemetary. I thought the evening would be overpriced with mediocre food. Turns out, it was one of the more memorable New Year's of my life.

Don David wine flowed freely (was included in the 100 peso price per person of the meal). Our three children were not the only ones out for the evening either. All the other tourists -- from Brazil, England, Holland, Chile, France and more -- brought their little ones out for the evening, and they all danced happily until 3am.

Since then, we moved to Salta, and attended Burning Man. Lila turned five and started school. We started an education project. I became editor of Matador Life. Noah began designing an art exhibit for next year's Burning Man, We rented a house and began developing our new-expat life in Argentina. So many new things. It's no wonder last January 1 feels miles and miles away.

And now, right this very second, I'm in the process of packing to go to Israel. It'll be my first visit there in almost 20 years, since I lived there in high school. I was religious then and attended an all girls seminary in an extremely ultra-orthodox neighborhood in Jerusalem. Should be interesting!

Now I want to know about you. I talk about myself all the time here. What about you?

What were you doing last year on this day? And what do you hope to be doing in a year from now?

Wishing you all a happy new year, filled with love, luck and promise. Thank you to family and friends for being such amazing support. Thanks to all of you who have taken the time to read this blog of mine. I've loved getting to know you through comments, Twitter and otherwise.

Happy 2010 to all from the whole Futureisred family!

Why Thanksgiving Can Never Be Just A Day Of Thanks

This morning I woke to see a post from Seth Godin saying that this is "the only holiday that really matters.” Thanksgiving. Are you freakin' kidding me?

Now, in no way do I intend to“call anyone out” for sending wishes of thankfulness. It is a lovely sentiment and should always be applauded. Still that post stuck in my throat like that little pointy bone in a chicken.

Thanksgiving has always been a day of ambivalence for me.

I love the big family meal where everyone brings something to the table. We all help out setting and cleaning up. I love watching Lila play with her friends, and the very tastes of turkey and cranberry, stuffing and my specialty chocolate pecan pie remind me of this time we spend together. 

Am I to be completely honest, if I could suddenly zip back to Atlanta right now to be with the whole ganza mishpacha, I would do it without a second thought. Thanksgiving holds a special place for many expats, because it tends to be a very American holiday.

It’s also my favorite time of the year. Crisp but not too cold to keep you from going outside. The leaves on the ground impart a unique scent to the entire city of Atlanta and everything is quiet on the streets as people sit down for dinner.

On the other hand and a hand that shouldn't -- although too often is -- ignored.

Thanksgiving is a day of mourning for many. It’s the yearly reminder of blankets with smallpox, families murdered, entire peoples marched sick and dying for thousands of miles, stolen land and lost hope.

For this reason, I couldn’t bring myself to post Thanksgiving recipes to mark the day on the Matador Life, and why we chose to post an article on Native American Thanksgiving traditions instead. Definitely check out the wonderful article Candice Walsh, the fabulous associate editor and angry redhead wrote.

Noah and I chatted about it over coffee this morning. He, as always, has a unique view of things, often stated so wryly and succinctly it is difficult to hear. In short, he sees the second view of Thanksgiving as “post colonial guilt.” As expected, I bristle strongly at the suggestion.

“The Indians lost,” he says. “If they had won, we wouldn’t celebrate Thanksgiving. We wouldn’t use their images as mascots for sports teams. Thanksgiving is a victory holiday. That is at base what we are celebrating, and history is littered with this kind of mangled crap.” 

South America. Australia. Canada. New Zealand. Name a country where you won’t find someone with a similar history. It's inescapable.

But to celebrate with a feast? It's something I simply can't reconcile.

Should reparations be made?

If so, how? And who? So many of the people living in the US are immigrants – including myself – and have no direct responsibility for what happened aside for our choice to live in a country that now offers greater freedom and opportunity than the countries we left.

I also wonder if we had it to do all over again today, with the knowledge we now have, would we do the same thing again?

The more I write, the more I realize I have no answers, only questions. With that, I leave you with my final one. How can we celebrate all the good we have without remembering what was lost in order to pave the way?

Photos courtesy of Jonathan Hamner's Flickrstream

Everything I Learned About Packing, I Learned From Grandma Ruth

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Grandma Ruth, the consummate world traveler, could never stay put. She jumped a bus to Chicago to join the communist revolution when was was still a teen, went back to nursing school in her forties and never hesitated to hop in the car to drive twenty hours across country just because. Even in her last years, when everyone, her kids, grand kids, doctors, everyone warned her not to fly, she ignored us all so she could see New Zealand.

She was just that kind of woman.

I learned a lot from her. How to pass the wind in mahjohg. How to make potato latkes – ahh latkes -- and home made pickles. How to get a good deal on just about anything. And of course, I learned how to pack a suitcase.

That I never listened to her is another thing. I tried my own way for years, but now, on the eve of yet another pack up and move (more on that soon), I’m finally taking her advice.

Pack Early and Often

We always knew Grandma and Grandpa were going on vacation because their suitcase stood already packed near the door of their bedroom for about two weeks before the departure date.

They laid everything out, arranged it just so. Made choices, took out what they didn’t need, and then, they were done. If at the end, they thought of something extra, there was space left to pack it, and always enough room for the gifts they inevitably brought back.

I am the opposite. You'll find me panicking in the early morning hours before our bus or flight is to leave, and my bags are too often close to bursting. I doubt I'll ever be the type to be ready weeks or even days before I go, but I have made a concerted effort to begin at least a couple days earlier than usual.

Know the Difference Between What You Want and What You Need

How many late nights have I spent surrounded by piles of things wondering how the hell I was ever going to get everything to fit? That’s when eventually it dawns on me. Choices must be made.

Need is relatively different for everyone, but most must-have lists will include passport, electronic or paper ticket, money, toothbrush and paste, underwear. Pants and shoes for walking and hiking. Soap. This ensures the basics of of staying clean and comfortable. Then, you think weather. Do you need a bathing suit or a coat and gloves?. Are you working or blogging? Then you may need a camera or computer.

I also include tea tree oil because its antifungal, antibacterial and anti-louse. I cannot tell you how many times this has been useful. Lavender, too, can come in very handy for the same things.

Beyond that, you’re getting into wants. Nothing wrong with wanting as long as you're willing to lug it.

Here is a small collection of packing advice gathered from other travel bloggers:

• Uncornered Market lists all the clothing and everything they need to travel the world, from Thailand and Malaysia to Central America.
• Or Nomadic Matt's ideas for the electronics you bring along on your trip
  
• Soultravelers3 offers tips for being a traveling fashionista.
• And finally, a universal packing list from Travellious that includes the ever lovely handy packing calculator.

Ziplock Bags Are Your Best Friend

There’s something magical about a Ziploc. Somehow you can fit more into the same suitcase when each individual item has been placed in one. While the laws of physics seem to defy this, it is undeniably true. And if something spills, the rest of your stuff is protected.

While Grandma and Grandpa put everything that would fit in a Ziploc in a Ziploc, I use them for those things I want to keep together. This little photo here to the right shows a week-and-a-half supply of both mine and Lila’s underwear, all clothing for running in warm to cool weather, both our bathing suits and Lila’s socks. It also keeps them in easy reach of the top of the suitcase.

I’ve also used those vacuum pack bags, the ones like giant Ziplocs that you can just roll the air out, close and go. One caveat: Use too many and your pack becomes surprisingly heavy.

You Can Buy What You Need When You Get There

Clothing, extra underwear, a warm sweater are very possibly cheap and easier to find after you arrive at your destination. For instance, why not buy a handmade llama sweater and gloves when visiting the Andes. It’s soft comfortable and designed specifically to keep people warm in that part of the world. Bathing suits on the Cote d’Azur? Mine was 10 euros. 

You Can’t Buy Everything You Need When You Get There

Noah has a size 14 foot. You cannot find shoes in his size anywhere in France, Italy, Panama or Costa Rica. We have yet to find them in Argentina. Noah’s shoes are enormous, but we make room for whatever he may need because they are not easily replaceable.

Grandma Ruth and Grandpa Charles had a list of medications they needed to take daily. While prescriptions are often cheaper in other countries, I personally wouldn't risk not finding what I need when I need it.

Ok, so this contradicts my previous Grandma Ruth lesson. The key is to do a bit of research before you go. My best advice for this sort of research is to talk to other travelers. Again, Trip Advisor, Couchsurfing, your basic Google search. There's also Travel Blog Exchange -- creation of Kim Mance of GoGalavanting and Debbie Dubrow of Delicious Baby -- where you can find links to and advice from hundreds of travel bloggers.

You Don’t Need As Many Pairs of Pants As You Think

We all teased Grandma Ruth because she was happy to wear the same clothing day after day. Laugh as you will, I think her mindset was always that of someone who wanted to be free to move around. She never wanted extra baggage.

It’s a choice, take those three pairs of jeans and two shorts. Pack two sweaters for fashion, and all the nail polish colors you want. I know, each item is small, doesn’t seem like a big deal, but somehow they add up quickly.

If you leave behind what you don’t really need, you’ll find quite a bit of freedom to move in return. And yes, feel free to take that as a metaphor for life as well. Because travel is about exploring the world outside your daily life, experiencing the new and expanding your world to include other people, countries and places.

What, then, becomes important to bring along in your bags?

Photo courtesy of David Master's Flickrstream

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Blog Break: Family Comes First

As many of you know, my dad is having surgery tomorrow. I'm in Atlanta to help out as much as I can and really need to focus on what's going on here. Thus, I won't be able to post regularly for the next week.

I will be participating in World Blog Surf Day on June 13th, though -- a day for expat bloggers to talk about food and connect with other expat bloggers.

I'm the only one representing from South America!!! And I'll be featuring foods I love, foods I miss and maybe a bit of food porn, too.

Thank you to Sher of Czech of the Beaten Path and Anastasia Ashman of Expat Harem for setting up and arranging.

The Downside of the Adventurous Life of Travel

There's an unspoken rule of travelers. You don't talk about the difficulty of long term travel. You can bitch and moan a bit about lost luggage or stolen wallets, but it is verboten to say you're tired, isolated and maybe, just maybe, the idea of chucking it all and going home has crossed your mind.

But admit it or not, everyone, everyone feels that way at some point. Yesterday was that day for me.

My parents visited us this month to be here for Lila's fifth birthday. They flew back Sunday evening, arrived in Atlanta Monday morning. I didn't hear from them, but considering we have limited internet and phone access, I didn't think much of it.

Around 4pm, I get an email from Noah's aunt. "Have you heard about this?" she asked. Turns out, my dad was rushed by ambulance straight from his seat on the airplane to the hospital. They didn't even have time to get their luggage.

My dad hasn't been well for a while now. A couple years ago after what seemed to be a routine operation on a torn rotator cuff, my dad emerged from anesthesia to find that his pituitary gland no longer functioned. It sounds so simple, doesn't it. This tiny little gland, the size of a pea, who could imagine what a difference it makes to your body? Without it, the body cannot regulate itself.

So I'm all the way over here in Salta with my parents in Atlanta. My parent's cell phone sat -- as usual -- battery drained on my dad's desk at home and no one's checking e-mail. Had I been in Atlanta, I would have hopped in the car and gone straight to the hosptial. Or better yet, I would let my mom take care of things in the emergency room while I went to the airport to track down their luggage.

Of course, it hasn't entirely escaped me that my parents luggage wouldn't have needed tracking had they not been on that flight from Argentina. Nonetheless.

So what did I do? I waited until my mom came home to answer the phone. I waited, because it was the only thing I could do.

I recently read an article on Worldhum by Rolf Potts about how to tell your family you want to travel long term. It's a solid article, well written with good advice, but geared primarily for people just graduating high school or perhaps college. It's not aimed at traveling families with children who need their grandparents.

Back in January, I had dinner with two friends I met in Buenos Aires. Alysa, a woman visiting for a month with her husband and kids. The other, Jo, a woman traveling alone in South America for six months. All three of us love traveling, love living abroad and each of us has at least one parent with a serious medical condition.

Over a couple bottles of really lovely Torrontes -- oddly, from the Jose Mounier vineyard we visited while in Cafayate this past week with my parents -- the three of us discussed the nature of leaving a sick family member behind while traveling. It's impossible to shake the feeling that if you go away, you may never see the person again. Perhaps you should stay, not travel,spend time with the person.

But Jo, her mother has been sick for over a decade. Should she have put all her travel plans on hold?

There will times you look back and know you did the right thing. Other times, you will look back and wish you had made a different choice. There's no way of knowing for sure at the moment. You just have to make the best decision you can with whatever information you have at the time.

So last night, Noah and I had a long talk about what to do. Should we stay or should we go?

This morning, I finally talked to my dad. You know what? He sounds great. Apparently what he needed was an additional dose of his medication to get those pituitary hormones back in balance. He gushed on and on about what a wonderful time he had with us in Argentina. It was the best vacation he's ever had. We did so many interesting things.

What a huge relief!

Last night, I looked on Lila's camera to see what she'd taken of my parents. I found a video at the Amphitheater, a huge rocky space outside of Cafayate, my dad doing a little birthday song and dance for Lila You see things like that with very different eyes when you know the person in the picture is in the hospital and you don't know why or what's going on.

This morning, I feel different. I'll soon forget the homesickness and isolation I felt last night. After all, I'm a traveler, we don't talk about such things

How Can You Be Homesick When You Don´t Have A Home

We packed the car to stuffed and drove out of Brooklyn. Over the Verrazano into New Jersey and on on on. We went through Hershey, Graceland, Rome, Paris and Amsterdam. Panama City, Lima, Miami, Buffalo and Buenos Aires. And except for a brief and terrible moment in Harrisonburg, VA, where Noah and I got into a screaming fight and almost called everything -- the trip, the marriage, the whole thing -- quits, we never looked back.

Well, of course I looked back. I thought about friends, places, memories, but I never felt sad.

Until recently.

The past two months I´ve been horribly homesick. Which home? I´m not even sure. I just miss...well...I miss.

• I miss our IKEA MALM bed in Brooklyn and the way the maroon curtains tinted the room with their color.
• I miss Monteleone´s bakery. Amazing cheesecake and canoli. Truly the best you´ll ever have.
• I´m sad that my Lexington Coop bag got ruined when I washed it.
• I miss lazy days sitting with our newborns at Naidre´s (used to be Cammareri Brothers Bakery of Moonstruck fame)
• I miss Chinese food. Lord knows why. I never eat it when I can get it. But the fact that I can´t find any places here that are in anyway similar to the Chinese food I want, suddenly, I need it.
• I miss Sunday afternoons with the whole fam damily in Atlanta.
• I miss knowing where to get a good  haircut and where to find shoes that aren´t gladiator sandals.
• I miss peanut butter and maple syrup. (PLEASE IF YOU VISIT BRING SOME)

Most of the things I miss are silly. Usually food. Usually foods I don´t eat. It´s random what will strike a chord and suddenly this deep longing develops somewhere between my stomach and my heart.

Would I go back? I suppose it´s possible for us to leave here and return to any of the places we´ve lived. Top choices being Brookyn, Buffalo (clearly I´m eating my words on this one) and Atlanta.

But we´re here now, and much as I miss, I don´t want to go back. I want, well, I´m not entirely sure what I want. It´s hard to believe whatever void in me can be filled with peanut butter and sweet and sour chicken with tangy neon sauce and bits of pineapple.

What is it I want? And why did this start now? I don´t know.

Anyone else care to take a guess?

How, Exactly, Did I End Up Here With You?

Someone posted a comment here a few months ago saying something along the lines of how Noah and I must really like each other a lot in order to travel together the way we do. I suppose she's right. We must like each other. We must also work together really well. Seamlessly.

Right?

When I look through the posts I've written over the last year and a half, I notice that I have many about parenting, religion, family, so many other things, but not a single one about relationships. That must mean something.

Noah and I always have a lot going on. Where to go? How to get there? How long to stay? Where to stay? What to eat? How much will it cost? What will Lila do? How is Lila doing? Where can we find other kids for her to play? Where will she go to school? How is she adapting to the change? What will we do during the days with her?

And somewhere in there, the Noah and Leigh part of the equation becomes fuzzy.

Add to that a continual change of culture. You see, things move at a very different pace in Argentina. From what I can tell, no one plans ahead. Oh, they may have an idea of what the plan could be, but no one would consider telling you it's a finalized plan until the very last minute, because, quite frankly, things change. 

Add to that, all of us have adapted to the Argentinian schedule. Oh, and it's a wonderful way of life, really. It seems the day, in many ways, revolves around dinner, which doesn't even think of beginning until 10pm. This means, even if we eat earlier than most, Lila still doesn't go to bed until 11pm. Often not falling asleep until after midnight. She then wakes up at noon, at which point there's a rush to eat, dress, and head out for our day's activity.

Add to that, we are always together, rarely have time alone and generally spend most of our time in relatively small apartments and rooms with no real personal space at all.

We put ourselves on hold. We come last because so many other things need immediate attention.

Noah and I have been together a long time, almost twenty years.That's a good decade of marriage longer than many of the people we know our age. Over that time, I've learned a few things.

1. All couples fight. Our fights are much more mellow these days then they were in the past. Partly because there is a little girl around to hear them. Partially because we just don't have the energy or patience for huge dramatic arguments.

2. That you will not always be 100% (or even 50%) sure of each other. A friend of mine complained to me that she and her husband of 4 years were getting along horribly. She didn't like his family. She didn't like the way he interacted with their new son. She didn't feel he understood what it was like to be home all day with a child with colic (that I'm sure he didn't.) I began saying "Noah and I have been together long enough..." when she interrupted me. "Yes, I'm sure you guys don't have these petty fights anymore."

"Lord no," I told her. "I was going to say, we've been together long enough to know that at some point every relationship will go through a time when you seriously consider ending it."

Truthfully, it's when you work your way through those times that the marriage becomes stronger. It's easy to think of the day he proposed with a smile. Try doing the same when you think of the time she threatened to end things. Or he walked out angry one morning and didn't return or even call until well after dark. When you both thought "This is it. I can't live with this shit anymore."

3. You will repeat the same fights over and over for years and years. Some fights remain. A few drop off to be replaced by others, but mainly, it's the same thing year after year. Some see the lack of resolution as sign that the marriage isn't working. I've learned that that is simply the nature of tying your life to and living with another human being, especially when you spend a lot of time together. In the words of an old friend of mine, someone who happens to be the rector of an Episcopal church in New Jersey, "You marry the person who aggravates the least."

I suppose over the time, we've mellowed. The fights aren't as intense. We've learned to put off the issues and discussions until a more appropriate time. We've learned how to simply overlook some of those things, accept that your partner isn't going to change, accept that some of those things you can't stand, that you thought would be a relationship deal-breaker are simply part of your life now.

We are still learning to differentiate between those things that are important to bring back to the table for discussion and those that can be safely buried.

So with all this mess, how do you know if you should simply just end it? That, I can't answer because that is not my concern.

Right now, we are once again in between places. We leave this particular apartment in about a week. I'm not sure where we're going next. Possibly directly to Salta. Possibly to do some WWOOFING - work in exchange for room and board in a nearby community. I don't know yet.

On Friday, I'm going with a friend to a WWOOF site called Eco-Yoga Park just outside of Buenos Aires to see what's there and make sure they have room for us. If they do, we'll go for a week. If not, we will go to Salta. Whatever happens, we will have to make plans, and they will have to be made quickly.

Once all this has been figured out, once we arrive in Salta and have a place of our own, once Lila is settled in a daily routine with other children, then Noah and I will be able to talk. Sometimes it feels like that moment, that time will never arrive. But it will. It always does.

How Many Jews Does It Take To Make A Christmas Party?

Tomorrow night, there's a Couchsurfing Christmas dinner. Argentinians are with their families and don't seem to be around so much these days, but there are a lot of us others floating about.

Originally, I offered our place for the dinner, but when it seemed like more than 20 people were coming, the venue was switched to elsewhere. Now it's at Dan's place, and I'm doing what I can to help him organize.

Now it looks like it could be upwards of 50 people. This should be a lot of fun.

For me, this Christmas dinner is about meeting new people and spending time with other travelers who are away from home on a day they would normally be with family and friends. It's not just about the particular holiday.

But what about Lila? How does she see all of this?

I know I'm Jewish and it has always been such a part of my identity that I don't think twice about it. I know at least a few of my family members are worried that Lila will not be brought up properly Jewish. And if they want her to be Orthodox, then no, she will not be properly Jewish. I do, though, want her to know that she is Jewish, know the holidays, learn Hebrew, and have some idea of Jewish History.

I also want her to be able to go to a Christmas party, wish someone an Eid Mubarak or experience a Hindu wedding and not feel like she's doing something wrong. In fact, I hope she would want to know about other people's traditions, holidays and enjoy the celebration.

A few months ago, though, Lila got very upset when we told her she's Jewish.

"No," she shouted. "I'm not Jewish. Not Jewish." She stomped her feet and left I shocked. "What was that?" we asked ourselves. The first thought that we never wanted our families to hear her say these things, because they would most certainly blame it on us. That was fall out I did not need.

But I don't think either of us are anti-Jewish nor do i believe we have passed that message onto Lila.  It did make me wonder who in her life portrayed "jewish" as something bad. Then again, with a child of four years old, you never know how connections come together in their growing brains.

So how to deal with this Judaism issue? I don't want her to think I'm upset with her for not seeming to want to be Jewish. Because, really, I'm not even sure what it means to her to be Jewish. Then add to this, the constant travel? It's not easy. It's a priority to meet families with children because I want to make sure Lila doesn't spend all her time with adults, entertaining herself. But we rarely meet other Jewish families.

Much of our Judaism comes when we spend time with family and close friends. We light Chanuka candles with the cousins. Last Rosh Hashana we spent with Ken in Buffalo. Succot was with Ken, Rachel and finally my parents in Atlanta. We spend shabbat with friends in NY, with my parents, with Noah's sisters. And we do as much as we can on our own. I do have to admit, though, what we do on our own is a bare minimum, particularly when finding housing or transportation to the next city is on our minds.

This year, on the first night of Chanuka, we tried going to the Chabad chanuka lighting. When we arrived, we found nothing but an enormous chanukiya with the shamash and one light already lit. And crickets chirping.

So yesterday, when Lila asked me "When will Christmas be here," I started to worry about this again, because she hasn't asked a word about Chanuka.

What will we do?

We'll still go to this Christmas dinner, because it's important to have community wherever you are. But to make a point for Lila, we bought the makings of our own chanukiyah and will bring it along and light it, so we can all celebrate together, all of us, all the holidays. Everyone is welcome.

Now If You Could Just Release Your Grasp From My Pantleg

I went to NYC for Halloween weekend to finish the translation with Ali. It was a wonderful weekend.  The perfect mix between work, seeing old friends, parties, dinner or drinks, and time alone.  

It was odd not having two other people around all the time to consider before making plans, choices, thoughts. When I was ready, I went where I wanted and did what I desired.

It felt empty at first. Noah and Lila walked me to security, waved and waved as I walked beyond the point where they could go and two minutes later, I was alone. Well, I suppose as alone as one can be in an airport surrounded by thousands of people. But nonetheless, something was missing.

Soon enough, I began to enjoy the extra space, even as much as I loved my nightly calls with them. Lila took the phone, gave me an air hug, then rubbed her nose against the phone for our traditional nosey-nosey-nosey goodnight. “I love you because I miss you because I don’t want you to go and I want you to stay with me,” or some version of that she’d say.

Since I’m almost always with Lila, I rarely hear her on the phone. When I do, I’m struck with how much she sounds like Rebecca, Noah’s youngest sister. Rebecca and I used to spend a lot of time on the phone, mostly when she was in high school and college. Now that we don’t have those conversations anymore, it is difficult to hear Rebecca’s voice when I talk to Lila.

My weekend on 110^th and Broadway revived for me the days when Noah and I lived uptown our first year of marriage and the years before we got married. Halloween, I joined my mom friends in Brooklyn for a post trick-or-treating party. It was perfect. There, I saw all Lila’s old friends, all so grown up and mature, and met their little brothers and sisters, who are now the age Lila was when we left NY.

The same nostalgia poked at me as I walked through Morningside Heights. So much has changed. Grandma’s diner – where Noah and I ate grilled cheese with hot chocolate the night we got stuck downtown without money and had to walk 50 blocks in the freezing snow – is long gone.

Our last few trips to NY have been so unpleasant and exhausting, so it was nice to be reminded how lovely so much of my life had been. But it also made it all the more bittersweet knowing that in less than three weeks, we fly to Argentina and once again have no idea when we will return. If all goes as we hope, it could well be a very long, long time.  

I waded through a NY soup of memory until my friend Levy pointed out I was fighting with ghosts. “Why attach to things that no longer exist?” he asked me. Particularly, I thought to myself, when these memories fill my present with that slight sense of loss. Who needs it? And I tried to let go and enjoy my time.

Noah and Lila met me at the airport where. I saw Lila’s sweet smiling face first. She grabbed me and hugged me and didn’t let go for a long time.

The Politics of Poop

This afternoon I was reading a friend's blog. I swear, this time I was not procrastinating. I wanted to see which of two possible jobs she chose, and I didn't check IMDB once. She was talking about the daycare she just found for her son Ben. The woman running it had lots of questions and suggestions, mostly about poop. Only every other day! That's not good. Not good at all. How often does he poop? What are you doing to get him to poop more often? Are you regular?

When I read this story, I had to smile. It reminded me of Grandma Ruth.

Suddenly, I was whisked back to Pesach 1996. Not the first time I met her, but the first time I visited her home in Florida. Boca del Mar, I think it was. The one with the swimming pool and a longer walk to schul. You had to walk past a little lake on the way there. Noah and I went there often for night walks and such. (AJRBL) We both ended up with bug bites all over from those walks.

Grandma Ruth and Grandpa Charles lived in quite a few houses in their time. Four or five of them in Boca Raton. I knew only the last two of those. The memories of those places run together alot. Where did we ride bikes through the neighborhood. Where did we walk Dylan for three hours when he had diarrhea. Where was that huge fight. The one that started about the pillow, not about the dog. I try to differentiate by remembering which had the pool and which did they remove all the carpet and turn the pantry by the garage into another bathroom.

This one was the house by the pool: We were all sitting at their rounded wood kitchen table. It had big clawed feet with tall spindle-backed wood chairs around it. Overheard hung the Tiffany lampshade that followed them to all their various kitchens. This particular night, Grandma made latkes. Grandpa Charles, as always, prepared. Chopped onions, peeled and grated the potatoes, as Grandma Ruth sat on a wooden stool supervising. "Chop those finer. Rinse those in water. Now add eggs, flour."

Grandpa swears he doesn't know how to cook. He needs her direction.

At the table, Grandma, as always, sat forward on her knees. I think it gave her a better view of things. From there, she saw what and how much everyone ate, commenting if you were a good eater or didn't eat enough. Or she would watch the serving plates as they emptied. From time to time, her always manicured hands would reach out and pick a choice morsel from one of the plates then pop it into her mouth.

As we finished, she pushed back her plate and spoke with the most satisfied sigh. "Ah, latkes. I love them. I remember once time I ate so many I was compacted for a week.Grandpa had to take me to the hospital to get cleaned out."

One thing with Grandma Ruth. No subject was off limits. She asked when you were getting married, when you'd be having kids, when would another one be on the way. "Just promise me you'll have a child before I'm dead," she once pleaded with me. "Grandma," I told her. "You're just going to have to stay alive."

She was alive long enough to meet Lila. By that point, though, Grandma and Grandpa had already moved to Atlanta and were no where near as autonomous as they had been in Florida. There were no more frantic trips to Sawgrass Mills to look for a green wedding dress to walk down the aisle at my friend Gaelle's wedding. "Leigh, you look like a green angel in that dress." No long drives to Miami just to take me to lunch at a particular and very fancy kosher Chinese place. It was wonderful, Grandma and Grandpa.

That was the same also my first visit with them. Noah's flight left the day before mine, and the rest of the family were long gone on their return drive to Maryland. I was horribly nervous to be all alone with the formidble Grandma Ruth. She could really be a hardass when she wanted. But those days alone with the two of them cemented my relationship with them as one that was loving, caring and good.

There was a memorial in Atlanta soon after she passed away. What impressed me so much about it was the pure honesty when talking about her. She was not turned into a saint. Yes, she could be loud, mean, caring, pushy, loving, generous, bigger-than-life, honest, soft, nosy and did I say pushy? No one needed to pretend she was anything but what she was and every word of her came true and unvarnished.  Each story made us laugh and then in turn we cried.

Now, that big table sits in Jason's kitchen in Colorado. I picture him and his wife sitting there with their ten month old baby. The chairs backs are breaking, in spite of Grandpa Charles ingenious fixes over the years, and the stools remain with the rest of our things in storage in Atlanta. I'd like to keep them in the kitchen the very next time we have one.

I truly miss her. I do.

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This was taken in Atlanta at Aunt Jane's house-up-on-the-hill. I think Lila was 18 months old.