The day after Vivian was born, I got my first visitor (outside my in-laws, of course). My assistant from work, Jaynee, showed up with a stuffed bear. I was sitting in my hospital bed frustratingly trying to figure out how to breast feed. Vivian was crying inconsolably. She was not latching on and I was convinced (as all new mothers are) that I was starving my child. Jaynee, who had a child of her own, told me that I might want to try changing Vivian's diaper first. I looked up at her and with a panicked look on my face said, "I don't know how." The nurses had been taking care of doing that for me for the last day and I had absolutely NO IDEA how to change a diaper. I remember feeling embarrassed in front of this woman, who was 8 years younger than me and who reported to me within the confines of the office, that I did not know how to change a simple diaper. Jaynee kindly and gently said, "Here, I'll show you." And she did. That one small, seemingly insignificant gesture was my first indication that I needed a village - and that I was developing one.
Navigating the Asteroid Field
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Volume IX: The Village
The day after Vivian was born, I got my first visitor (outside my in-laws, of course). My assistant from work, Jaynee, showed up with a stuffed bear. I was sitting in my hospital bed frustratingly trying to figure out how to breast feed. Vivian was crying inconsolably. She was not latching on and I was convinced (as all new mothers are) that I was starving my child. Jaynee, who had a child of her own, told me that I might want to try changing Vivian's diaper first. I looked up at her and with a panicked look on my face said, "I don't know how." The nurses had been taking care of doing that for me for the last day and I had absolutely NO IDEA how to change a diaper. I remember feeling embarrassed in front of this woman, who was 8 years younger than me and who reported to me within the confines of the office, that I did not know how to change a simple diaper. Jaynee kindly and gently said, "Here, I'll show you." And she did. That one small, seemingly insignificant gesture was my first indication that I needed a village - and that I was developing one.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Volume VIII: Freddy Mercury is King
THE TELEVISION SHOWS:
Alex P. Keaton and Dr. Cliff Huxtable. No other explanation needed. If you don't know who they are, leave immediately. Your kind is not welcome here.
THE MUSIC
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Volume VII: THE WORLD'S GREATEST BADASSES
During further research, I encountered a Facebook quiz titled, "Which Historical Badass Are You?" "How apropos", I thought to myself, as I logged on to my Facebook account to take the quiz. A few minutes (and several rather ridiculous questions) later, I was informed that my super secret badass historical persona is...
Boudica, Queen of the Iceni.
"Well this sucks. I was hoping for Ellen Ripley or Joan of Ark. Who the hell is Boudica, Queen of the Iceni?" I thought to myself. As it turns out, Boudica was indeed quite an historical badass, having led a violent uprising against the Roman empire in 60 AD. Unfortunately for her, she and her gaggle of followers were later slaughtered by the Roman army, after having fallen into a trap. Facebook, warns that, "like Boudica you are a strong warrior who doesn't back down from a fight. You would be wise to be careful, though; you don't want to get too cocky." (Right. Roger that.)
I mention the Facebook quiz and the subsequent revelation of my alter-ego not because I have added Boudica to my list of greatest badasses, but to illustrate one very important fact about them: they need not always win. In fact (like William Wallace of Braveheart fame), sometimes they die tragic, painful deaths at the hands of the bad guys. It is the battle, the warrior within, and not necessarily the outcome, that makes them great. That said, winning sure does help.
But I digress... Back to the great badass attributes.
In no particular order:
MR. MIYAGI (HONOR AND THE ELEMENT OF SURPRISE)
For those living under a rock, Mr. Miyagi was one of two main characters in 1984's "The Karate Kid." A humble Japanese immigrant living in Los Angeles as a handyman, Mr. Miyagi single-handedly karate chopped half a dozen black belts who were trying to beat the living crap out of Daniel Russo, the teen aged, skinny New Jersey transplant. Mr. Miyagi goes on to become Daniel's sensei, teaching him karate (from scratch) and training him for the karate championships, where he goes head to head against Johnny Lawrence of the mega evil Kobra Kai Dojo.
So what makes Mr. Miyagi such a badass? What makes this seemingly innocuous little old man someone that I would choose to take into battle? Is it his wax on/wax off, sand the floor teaching technique? Is it his ability to do the crane kick while balancing on an upright log? Is it his refusal to back down in the face of bigger, seemingly tougher opponents? Yes, it is all of these things, but most importantly, it is the fact that he has honor and he possesses the Element of Surprise. No one sees him coming. No one suspects that this soft spoken man can open a can of karate whoop ass on half a dozen people half his age, twice his size without breaking a sweat. And he does it with simple, dignified honor. And, yes, the proud, almost undetectable smile on Mr. Miyagi's face in the last scene in the movie, when Daniel-san holds up the trophy, pumping his fist in the air yelling, "We did it Mr. Miyagi. We did it!" gets me right here (thump chest). Every time.
JACK BAUER (PATRIOTISM)
FACT: Jack Bauer can kill you with a butter knife.FACT: Jack Bauer doesn't miss; if he didn't hit you it's because he was shooting at another terrorist 12 miles away.FACT: Jack Bauer claims the entire world as dependants on his tax return.FACT: If Jack Bauer and MacGyver were in a room, Jack would make a bomb out of MacGyver.
Jack Bauer, the main character in the Fox series, "24," is the greatest, most dangerous, most patriotically righteous character television has ever had the guts to create. A former Counter Terrorist Unit (CTU) agent, Jack is the guy people call on when all hell is breaking loose. He is the guy that puts life and limb on the line to defend his country, even when his own government screws him over time and time again. He is the first line of defense against all that is evil and unholy. And although supremely tough and fearless, he is not impervious to pain and suffering. In fact, Jack suffers more (emotionally and physically) than everyone else in the world combined (including the bad guy in the last season that he gutted alive to retrieve a cell phone chip that said bad guy had swallowed in a futile attempt to keep Jack from finding it. Silly rabbit...). Jack has been tortured to the brink of death by the Chinese, the Russians, the Colombians, the fundamentalist Islamics and yes, even the Americans. But he manages to come back, every time, screaming bloody murder and always with an out-of breathe please and thank you. So on top of everything else, the guy's got manners.
So for all of you out there who have never seen 24, I encourage you to put Season 1 at the top of your Netflix queue immediately, if not sooner. I guarantee you that before the end of the weekend, you'll be riding on the Jack Train, with Season 2 ordered, wearing a "Superman wears Jack Bauer pyjamas" t-shirt (just like mine).
WINSTON CHURCHILL (GUTS)
"If Hitler were to invade Hell, I should find occasion to make a favorable reference to the Devil." - Sir Winston Churchill, upon signing a treaty with Stalin that allied Britain with Russia (which had been previously [and stupidly] allied with Hitler before getting stabbed in the back and subsequently invaded).
Winston Churchill is my pick for the most righteous historical badass of all time. He was elected Prime Minister of Great Britain after his predecessor, Neville Chamberlain, was unceremoniously thrown out of power for cow tailing to the bastard Nazi's. A short, somewhat funny-looking man who appeared about as menacing as a basset hound, Churchill took on the most evil of evil men when no one else was willing or able to. Not only had Hitler already taken over half of Europe, but his evil wrath was barreling directly and ruthlessly down on the British when Churchill took the reigns. Looking dapper as hell in a cool pinstriped suit, Churchill's "I'll see you in hell, Adolf" leadership rallied the Brits and eventually got the US and Russia to join the fight. As everyone knows, the Allies eventually prevailed, Hilter got his ass handed to him, and The Third Reich ceased to exist.
Sadly, not before they took 6 million lives.
SARAH CONNOR (DETERMINATION)
Sarah Connor, the heroine in The Terminator movies, is an obvious pick for a female bad ass. She's tough, she's determined, she's slightly nuts, and she's pissed off. But so are so many other badasses. So why Sarah?
Simply, because she's also really, really scared.
As you surely know (and if you don't, stop wasting your time reading this and go rent the movie - you've been living under a rock long enough), Sarah fights the Terminator in order to save the world from it's own future destruction. The Sarah we know in the first Terminator movie is timid, soft spoken and scared of her own shadow. The Sarah we see in T2 is tough, angry, has triceps that would make most men quiver with fear and, above all, is absolutely scared to death. But unlike the fear that makes her run in T1, her fear in T2 is her driving force. She is the badass that she is because she is scared - but she doesn't run from it - she thrives off of it. It is her fear, not her lack thereof, that brings her insatiable determination, making her tough, and dangerous, and ultimately, a hero.
HAN SOLO (LOYALTY)
Han Solo (for those who need to be hit in the head for not knowing this already) is a space smuggler with a price on his head for screwing with the wrong gangster slug (Jabba the Hut). His first appearance in Star Wars is in a bar, hustling Luke Skywalker and Obiwan for more money in return for a ride on the Millennium Falcon, his decrepit (but super fast) space ship. Han agrees to help Luke out solely for the purpose of saving his own skin, but he soon joins the Rebellion and, three movies later, helps Leia, Luke and the rest of the Jedi's bring ultimate peace to the galaxy.
So why Han? Why not Luke, a bonafide Jedi (albeit an initially whiny one) or Yoda (a kick-ass little guy who can raise a space ship out of a swamp with his pinky), or even Darth Vader (who, although admittedly a bad guy, can kill you with a mere thought)?
The thing that makes Han Solo such a badass, is that he holds his own - way more than his own - simply as an ordinary guy. He's not a Jedi. He's not a scary-looking space creature with weird powers. He's just a guy who flies a run down space ship, knows how to wield a blaster, and always, always saves his friend's ass. Han is arrogant, tough but not infallible, and undoubtedly and unfailingly loyal.
RACHAEL LAMKIN (DIGNITY)
Three years ago, my friend Rachael was diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma. Originally misdiagnosed, Rachael was about one month away from death when her condition was finally identified. I will never forget hearing the news. To say I was shocked doesn't even begin to describe it. I knew Rachael to be a beautiful, larger-than-life woman with a rapier sense of humor and a "victory is sweet" mentality. A born litigator about to embark on her career as a trial attorney, cancer crawled its ugly way into this lovely woman's body and tried to take her down.
But Rachael fought it. She shaved her head, took leave from her job, embraced (not hid from) her friends and family, endured six brutal months of chemotherapy, and, with unspeakable grace and dignity, emerged victorious and stronger than ever. What a warrior. I'll take her into battle with me any day of the week and twice on Tuesday.
Rachael has returned to the practice of law, litigating and eating opposing counsel for breakfast. She has found the love of her life in her partner, Ali, and lives in a fabulous loft in San Francisco. She is tougher than she was before the cancer, her sense of humor is equally, if not sharper than it was when we first met, she'll still stop everything she is doing to help someone in need, and, most importantly, she appears to really and truly be at peace.
A few months into her treatment, Rachael said in an email to her friends:
"Life can be random and cruel and sometimes, you just have to hang on, be gracious, and find something funny in the worst of it. But I will say that I am grateful that the one lesson (?) that seems to remain, is that none of this is very serious. If you are alive, you can fix it. And it probably doesn't need fixing anyway. So stop micro managing life (OK, I guess I do think I learned things. Don't you hate people that think they know something because they almost died? Its like a six-feet-under merit badge. Please.). And I am very happy. Isn't that worth the fight? (Hoping you are very happy too)."
In less than one month, on August 2, Rachael will officially be deemed "cured." Until then, there is a 50% chance that the cancer will return. I'm putting my money on Rachael.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Volume VI: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS IS YOUR CAPTAIN SPEAKING...
SECURITY
...was only the line to go down the hallway.
...was only the line to turn around and go back up the other side of the hallway.
5 people before you reach the front of the line: Take a mental inventory of what needs to be removed from your body (shoes, belts, jackets, etc).
And finally, 1 person before you reach the front of the line. Place all items in your bins. Empty your pockets completely. This includes coins, cell phones, plastic combs - everything. DO NOT LEAVE ANYTHING TO CHANCE. And if you have a metal plate in your head, well, you're screwed.
1. The Queue: This one is very simple and one that even the most inexperienced of travellers should not need much direction on. Do not attempt to board before your row number is called. Just don't.
(This one is tricky but vital to proper etiquette for air travel) Rule #1: . Start looking for a place to store your overhead baggage 3 rows before you get to your assigned row. This does not necessarily mean you should automatically store your luggage 3 rows ahead of your own, mind you. It simply means that you start looking 3 rows ahead, all the time craning your neck to see if there is room above you own (which, admittedly, if you're short, can be challenging). If you see nothing available ahead of you, store your bag in the bin closest to your seat. The reason, my friends, this is so important is because nothing disrupts the otherwise peaceful and civilized boarding of an aircraft more than the person that needs to make an about face and backtrack to find overhead storage space. It creates chaos and unnecessary roughness. Don't be "that guy." Be smart. Think ahead.
Rule #2: Don't hog. There is limited overhead compartment space. If you're the first to get to an overhead bin, don't lay your nice little hanging bag flat across its entire 3-foot span and NOT expect someone to either unceremoniously push your bag to one side or lay their bag on top of yours. Because if they do, the fault is entirely your own.
I have two children. I have two very active children who do not quietly entertain themselves for hours on end. I've had to buy everyone two rows in front and in back of me drinks as a token of my sincere appreciation for not opening up the door mid-flight and throwing my screaming child out the plane. I've had to apologize to the flight attendant for the urine-soaked seat that occurred because turbulence forbade me from taking my daughter to the potty. So believe me, no one is more sympathetic to the plight of parents traveling with children than me. That said, you probably expect me to go on for paragraphs on end stating numerous (bitchy) rules for travelling with children, including putting muzzles on them and threatening them with the dismemberment of their favorite Care Bear if they don't shut the hell up. but I'm not going to do that. Because I get it. I know how hard it is to travel with little ones and I am sincerely sympathetic when sitting next to a parent with a screaming child. So I am only going to offer one tidbit of advice...
Do a test run on new meds. The first time I travelled with my eldest child, our pediatrician told us it was perfectly okay to give her Benadryl one hour before boarding to make her drowsy. He advised us, however, to do a test run before the trip, because apparently, in a small percentage of children, Bendaryl has quite the opposite effect and turns a normal child into a Satanically hyper child. I did not heed his advice and gave Vivian Benadryl one hour before our flight. And it worked beautifully. She slept damn near the whole way from San Francisco to Mexico City. So, a couple of years later, on our first family flight after my son was born, I ignored Dr. Cisco's advice yet again. And my one-year old son, Jesse screamed bloody murder for four thousand miles, clear across the Pacific, from Hawaii to California. It was the longest five hours of my life. And, by the way, the time we bought drinks for a dozen fellow passengers.
Experienced fliers are either window people or aisle people, meaning, of course, that they either prefer to sit in the window seat or the aisle seat (no one in their right mind is a middle seat person). I myself am an aisle person. I have a notoriously small bladder and, if stuck in the window seat, will quite literally stress throughout an entire flight thinking about the next time I will have to ask the two people sitting next to me to get up. So I give up having a sturdy wall to rest my head up against (the window seat) for the freedom of being able to get up whenever the hell the need arises. That is my sacrifice. And I accept the good with the bad. Because the downside of sitting in the aisle seat is having to move when people need to get up. And therein lies the compromise:
This one is for flight attendants. Two years ago, when Cristina and I were flying to Honduras, I heard a flight attendant say something that, in all my years of flying, I have never heard. She said, "Ladies and gentlemen, our captain has informed us that we are going to experience some SEVERE turbulence. We ask that you all return to your seats IMMEDIATELY and make sure your seat belts are very securely fastened around you. And if you are traveling with children, we recommend that you hold on to them. Tightly."
Cristina and I have flown together dozens of times. We've had more than our share of choppy flights, rough landings and unpleasant take offs. But never, ever has a flight attendant sounded so stern or so ominous. Never have I seen a flight attendant cause so many people to turn sheet white without an iota of reassurance or calm. As the flight attendant buckled herself into her own seat, Cristina looked at me and said "oh shit" as I looked at her and said "here we go."
And we closed our eyes and waited. And waited. And waited.
Twenty long and deathly quiet minutes later, we heard the ping over the loudspeaker. The flight attendants got up and pleasantly began serving drinks without so much as a word. The plane had not bumped once. Not once. We might as well have been sitting on the tarmac.
Happy (and safe) flying.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
My Tribute to a Lady
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Today, the world lost a great citizen; Mexico lost a Grand Dame; and I lost my grandmother, Lady Dolores Francis Hadow.
Lola (or Lolita), as she was known to her friends and Ata, as she was known to her grandchildren, was born in New York City on March 23, 1917. Her parents (both American) were living in Mexico, where her father had a mining and lumber business. Soon after she was born, my great grandparents returned to Mexico with Lolita in tow. Aside from her days in boarding school and college, Lola never lived in the United States again.
In 1939, Lola married my grandfather, Joseph Turner, in Mexico City. Two years later, my dad, Michael, was born, and eight years after that, my aunt, Gay, came along. Grandad, a Mexican national by birth, had duel citizenship with England and served in the Canadian Army during World War II. My father's first international trip was in 1944, when he and Ata flew up to New York to visit my grandfather during one of his leaves. They went on a DC-3, which was a 2-engine, 21 passenger plane that had 2 wheels under the wings and a little one under the tail. The plane cruised at about 160-170 MPH and took two full days to get from Mexico City to New York.
In 1954, Lola and Joe divorced, and a couple of years later, Lola married Michael Hadow, a British diplomat, in London. During their years together, Michael served in the Foreign Office in London, was Minister in the British Embassy in Paris, and served terms as British Ambassador in Tel Aviv, Israel and in Buenos Aires, Argentina. In 1972, Michael was knighted for his services in the Foreign Office and Lola became Lady Hadow. Michael and Lola divorced a few years later, and Lola returned to Mexico to live with her daughter, Gay (whom we call "Tia").
This was when I got to know her.
I loved my grandmother deeply. Even as a child, Ata always treated me like an adult. I don't remember her ever using the grandparental "baby voice" with me, and I certainly don't remember her ever really scolding me - (which is probably why, as a kid, I loved hanging out with her so much). I don't recall there ever being many toys for us to play with at her house, but she did keep three notebooks (one for me and each of my brothers) in a drawer next to a box of coloured pencils. On Sunday afternoons, I would sit in her living room and colour, while she and Tia visited with my parents. After I'd get bored with colouring, I'd wander around the house, looking at all the black and white photographs hanging on the walls.
No, Ata was not your typical grandmother. I thought of her more as a friend, a person I loved talking to and spending time with. I was fascinated with her life in Europe, the Middle East and South America. She was my living, breathing (and equally as beautiful) Ingrid Bergman. Despite my incessant questions and fascination with her life - the places she'd lived, the things she'd seen, the people she'd met - she rarely spoke of them unless asked. And when she did, it was with an almost passive voice - as if she could not understand what all the fuss was about.
Lolita loved animals, especially dogs, and had the most beautiful smile and exquisite hands. She loved watching PBS, especially "All Creatures Great and Small" and the Agatha Christie "Poirot" series. She had a very close circle of friends in Mexico, getting together often for "Ladies' Lunches", which were never complete without the standard glass of sherry or tequila (or both). She was always impeccably dressed and accessorised, even when she was dressed down, and her beautiful, long nails were always painted a light rose. Lolita had a beauty mark above her lip, which she accented with a sharp eyeliner - something I always thought was so glamorous, and even tried out once or twice myself (with little success).
I deeply regret that in the last few years of her life, Ata and I didn't see each other very much. Living so far away, with a full time job and two children made it very hard for us to visit, especially to a place like Mexico City. And Ata's health made it difficult for her to travel long distances. I'm grateful though, that although she never met my son, she did meet my daughter (whose original due date, ironically, was March 23rd- Ata's birthday). I spoke to her often, though in hindsight, not often enough. What I wouldn't give to hear her voice again.
Godspeed, Ata. I love you.