flushing

I am in the middle of 7-day fruit flush.

According to DiagnosTechs Lab in Washington State (to which I shipped samples of my own saliva all the way from East Asia last month), my hormone levels are way off.  My chiropractor and friend, Dr. P, in Holland, MI took the time to analyze the test results and put together a treatment plan.  Yesterday we received a large box from my parents which included such gems as reusable totes from Meijer, birthday gifts for our kids, a knit afghan in brilliant orange that was lovingly handmade by my wonderful mom, and the bottles of supplements from Dr. P that will hopefully restore my gimpy pituitary gland.

In the mean time, I'm flushing.  I figured a good cleanse couldn't hurt.  The first two days of eating only fruit I felt terrible.  I had a massive headache, felt nauseous, had zero energy, and wanted to stay in bed all day (which of course I couldn't do).  The second day I felt the same, until evening.  This morning, day three, I feel great!  I have tons of energy and my mind feels clear for the first time in weeks.  When I'm hungry, I just make another smoothie.  I did, however, discover that coconut milk wreaks major havoc in my system.  Who knows what that's about.

That's the scoop to date.  Hoping I'll feel like myself very, very soon!  My family hopes so too.

p.s.  If I ever figure out what caused all this, I'll divulge.  The suspects right now are birth control pills and diet drinks, both of which I have consumed in large quantities in recent years.  I suggest staying away from both.

hear me roar

One day this week during a breakfast of these muffins, boiled eggs, and chopped melon, the six of us discussed male and female roles in lion prides. Typical breakfast conversation.

Bright wanted to know why lionesses do all the hunting while the male lion stays behind to guard the cubs.  The roles seemed somewhat reversed to him.

Zion suggested that the daddy lion, being the strongest adult in the pride, needs to stay at home to protect the children from hyenas and other such dangers.

Daniel suggested that the ladies do the hunting because the males can't be bothered with it. You have my permission to roll your eyes.  I did.

I said, "I'll tell you how it is. Female lions are the ones who think, 'Hmm, meal time will be here before we know it, and all of these romping offspring of ours will be hungry.  I better put some ground beef on the counter to thaw, or start simmering some sauce, or go grab an antelope by the neck.'  Whereas male lions lay around napping in the tall grass until their growling bellies wake them and they grunt, 'What's for dinner?'  That's how it is."

Roar ;)

sweet girl

After her bath.  Awwwww...

This is where we live

I hadn't realized it until I started seriously studying the language this spring, but for the past five years of living in this country, I've had my head down.  Oh, I tried at first - to learn the language, to enter in - but I had two kids already, with one on the way, and they were dealing with so much culture shock that I didn't have time to mess with it myself.  Instead, I put up an invisible wall between myself and everything I didn't understand.  It worked.  I lived comfortably that way, and probably could have continued to live comfortably for years, maybe even decades.

But this spring I've torn down the wall (or at least I've built a door in it) and I am letting in the world around me.

And boy, am I culture shocking!  I'm annoyed, anxious, and homesick.  Linguistically speaking, I'm more frustrated than I was before.  The more I learn of this language, the more language I realize I have to learn.  Socially speaking, I feel more distant.  I used to think they lived next door to me, but it turns out we live on separate planets. 

But all of that said, I know this is normal.  It hurts to pull off a Band-aid, right?  I will adjust, as Daniel did, and as the kids have done since they can remember.  We live here, after all.  This is where we live.

56,000 words and counting

I can't stop now.  The average first novel is 80,000 words, which means I am nearly three quarters of the way through mine.  There is momentum, unresolved conflict, joys yet to be felt, and celebrations yet to be had.

Rachel leaves Tuesday for her new home in the greater Washington D.C. area.  Her poetry keeps getting published, and she keeps reading my fiction with the loyalty and diligence of a true friend.  How come we just met?  How come she leaves now, at the beginning of things?  So much left to share with this new friend of mine - this woman who shares my taste in clothes, my taste for international cooking, and my love of words.

Ugh.  My heart is slumped over this weekend, knowing it is the last I'll spend in close proximity to Rachel.

But we won't stop there.  56,000 words is no place to call it quits.  There is more to be written, more to be celebrated, and more to be learned.  I will write on, and she will write on.  This is one story that shall not ever conclude.

Ms. Candle

If only Ms. Candle could have taken this shot!

In Louisiana there lives a young woman called Ms. Candle.  Her actual name is Candace, but back when Jubilee was still learning English, Jubi confused the name Candace with the word candle.  Honestly, there couldn't be a more appropriate nick name for my friend, Candace.  Check out her personal blog here, and her amazing photography blog here, and you'll see what I mean. 

Candace is known for her light.  Her personal blog is titled, "This Little Light of Mine," and for good reason.  Her whole life is an endeavor to chase away the darkness from our world. 

And Candace's photography is also full of, you guessed it, light!  She finds light, holds light, even seems to bend light, until the subject of her photograph looks so real her blog might as well be breathing.  With her little shoulders pulled up and her little elbows drawn in, my friend hides her beautiful smile behind the lens and fires away, capturing what few others are able to capture.

This blog post is for you, Ms. Candle, because you gave Jubilee this night gown, and you gave Jubilee her precious "Lamby," and you have left your impression on her little heart.  And thank you, too, Anna Grace, for giving up your little lamb so that a 3-year-old in East Asia might be able to snuggle up with it every single night. 

between aftershocks

The liquid Benadryl is still on our hutch, but the biggest aftershocks seem to happen in the middle of the night.  Saturday night, for example, I awoke to my glass of water hopping across my night stand.  The folks at the epicenter have been hit by roughly 30 quakes since the ground began to move.  Over 200 people have been reported dead or missing, thousands injured.  The roads to the epicenter are still blocked except to emergency vehicles, but when they clear, volunteers from nearby cities like ours will start going there to help in any way possible.

Between aftershocks, we keep living our lives.  For example, here is a picture of Jubilee offering up her disappearing-eyes smile.

And here is a picture of Zion at the science museum to which Daniel took the kids on a field trip while I was in class.