Gratitude and Humility

On the 24th, I woke with an enormous sense of gratitude. I've never experienced this before.

I was just very grateful to be awake and to have this beautiful morning in front of me.

I was grateful for my family, the food on my table, the clothes on my back, and the roof over my head. I was grateful for both the memorable and fleeting experiences and people I have met in the past. I was also grateful for all the bad and trivial things that had angered, saddened, and annoyed the hell out of me.

I don't know what it was that brought this amazing feeling that would last two days. Maybe it's the collective impact of the year's events. Or it could be my Kabbalah lessons. Whatever the reason, it was a humbling experience.

Breathe

I've learned that there is no escaping the past. Unresolved issues will sooner or later, come back. You can't escape them. They lay dormant. Just under the surface. I've learned that there is no need to be afraid. It's best to face the problem and move on. These trying times are here for my benefit. They are little bumps and potholes on the road to my destination. Nothing more. Nothing less.

The Light has always been with me. Like an un-seen parent holding my hand. When the situation does not go my way, I know there is a reason. I am where I am supposed to be. At this time. Nowhere else.

Of God and Babies

We've come to that stage where Seba wants to know where babies come from. He's asked all kinds of questions that have been followed with a "no." Just as quickly as he asks, he moves on to the next topic:

"Do babies come from the sun?"

"No."

"Can I go swimming?"

"Ok. But only for an hour."

"Do babies get planted like a flower?"

"No."

"Can my friends come over?"

"Not today. On the weekend."

By far, the best one was a few weeks ago. We were in bed. Seba was supposed to be asleep. I was trying to get into 'relax' mode, leisurely going over some new magazines.

"Mommy, did you eat me with a fork and knife?"

"Of course not." (still reading my magazine)

"Then how did I get in your tummy?"

(I was tired and definately, not prepared for this. I figured the quickest way to end this conversation was with the God answer. You know, the 'God did it' reason. End of story.)

"God put you there. Now go to sleep."

(about two minutes later an obviously disturbed Seba sat up.)

"God? Who's this God guy? Do I know him?"

"Sebastian, it's late. I am tired and tomorrow is a school day. We'll talk about it tomorrow. Please go to bed."

(After this, I really couldn't read my magazine. Now I am cursing myself for not being the good Catholic and giving my son some religious instruction.)

"I am thirsty. I need a glass of water."

(I knew he wasn't thirsty. I knew he wasn't satisfied with my answer. Markku was working in the dining room)

"Papi, how did I get into mommy's tummy?"

(Here comes the pragmatic Lutheran answer...)

"I put you there. Go to bed."

Can I Live With This?

"Can I live with this?" This is what I thought when I saw my new passport pics. I've never been vain. However, when I turned thirty, I told myself there was no point in keeping (any) more bad pictures. Hence, from that time on, any photograph deemed unacceptable met my scissors and the closest trash bin. As far as actual printed photgraphs are concerned, I've done well. Digital pictures stored on the computer are another story. I haven't quite figured out how to edit myself or parts of me. Anyway, to get back to the questionable pictures at hand. There was no time to get another set done. This is the Philippines and "six weeks at least," may actually mean eight weeks. I didn't want to add another day over my (hopefully) one month and a half. Specially since I am looking at a possible trip to Macau on November. I guess I can't believe I look this bland. It doesn't help that I don't smile. Smiling doesn't come naturally. It's a genetic thing. People in my family don't smile. It looks strangely un-natural and just creepy.

say "Cheese!"

Sebastian loves cheese. Recently he's taken to these little cheese cubes called 'party cubes.'
Apparently, string cheese is out and party cubes are the 'in thing' to have in your lunch box at snack time. No doubt the smiling red cow on the cheese cube label had something to do with
line of thought:

"What's butter made of?"
"Butter is made of milk."
"What's cheese made of?"
" Milk."
(a minute of silence)
"Then what's a cow made of?"

Annoyed, Annoyed, Annoyed

What was supposed to be a pleasant dinner turned into an ugly affair.
Complete with raised voices, sour faces, and flailing cutlery in tightly gripped fists. So much
for listening to opinion and keeping quiet. Besides the waitress forgot my gambas and my crema catalana was blah... It's time to turn up Franz F and sing "Take Me Out."

Sweet

We were talking about hair colour. Sebastian tells me that his older brother has black hair. I tell him, nobody has black hair (At least, naturally black hair - the un-dyed kind). Mikey has dark brown hair like me. I ask him what colour his hair is:


" My hair is the colour of a toasted bun. It's golden in some parts and warm brown in others."

This makes me smile. It reminds me of the homemade pulla Markku bakes on the weekends.

Second Careers

We were having dinner at Lappi when Seba earnestly asked his father,
"Would you like to be a lawyer for a ninja (referring to himself)
if you don't become a postman?" I look up from my poronkaristys.
I am trying to make the connection between postmen and ninjas.
Seba catches me smiling and asks, "What do you want to be when you
grow up Mommy?"

Lonely

There is nothing quiet as lonely as seeing a single shoe laying on the road.

I've seen mostly rubber slippers and the occasional sneaker. Last week,

we sped by a man's brown leather closed sandal. It looked to be intact

considering the crazy Bangkok traffic that whizzed by.

Anyway, this always gets me thinking, how does one lose a shoe in the middle

of the street or highway?

I have my theories: Perhaps labourers crammed into the back of a pick up, feet hanging out. One slipper falls. Or maybe the lone sneaker, tossed from a box at the back of an open vehicle as its driver goes over a speed bump. My third and most tragic theory involves a terrible road mishap with a single shoe being left behind in the chaos.

Shoes are personal. We take the time to chose them, fit them, and wear them. A single shoe laying in the middle of the road is just sad.

...Falling On Deaf Ears

I love the way Sebastian thinks. Sometimes he has such profound innocent thoughts.
He calls it as he see's it. We were in line at Vantaa airport, the boys were standing behind me.
I could hear his unsolicited advice to a sullen older brother:


"Mikey if the sky is falling apart, you know what you do? You slowly put it back together again."