No place like...

Since true home is under 2 feet of snow and 3000 miles away, it's not really possible to get there right now (not to mention that plane travel wouldn't be in the "good idea" column right now).. I went to the next best place: Anaheim! No, not Disneyland, better than Disneyland. Rockwell land. Where there's food in abundance and hugs and soft puppies!

Ah, relief (and meat!) I have to hurry off to bed now so that I can dream about this magical place.

Sleepytime

A few weeks ago, I was told by someone close to me that they didn't know anyone else with so much energy. That was a nice compliment and I thought, I will never be slowed down! I am always busy because I CAN be busy. I have lots to do, short time to do it in, Chop, Chop! (This phrase is credited to Mr. Tim Wyatt, #1 WVa Mountaineer)

Wow! What a difference a few weeks makes. Here I am, having done nothing today except vomit, eat a little, gag a little, go for a walk, do some real eating, watch tv, do some more eating, and watch the Super Bowl, and I'm completely exhausted. I would have gone to bed at 7 if I hadn't felt so nauseous. What's wrong with me?

In addition to the extreme sleepiness, once I am asleep, I cannot remember any of my dreams. Nada. I just enter a big, dark, sleepy place. This isn't so bad, but sometimes it's nice to have dreams. I hear pregnant ladies have great dreams! Where are mine? They're trapped in Sleepytime, never to be found.

One observation I have had about my fatigued/sleepy state is that this must be how old or injured people feel. They want to go do something, but their body won't let them. This, in addition to the nausea, because that's sorta a revolt (and revolting!) thing, are the two toughest parts about the experience so far. As an athlete, and one who doesn't get sick or injured much, I am having a hard time with the this. I'm not really in control anymore. Before, I could do anything! Now I can't. And I certainly can't go up a set of stairs without feeling tired. I think about walking a few miles to the gym (since biking on the street is now out) and I know I could make it, but I get tired thinking about making it back home. Aaaahhh! I'm ready to feel normal again now... only, I know that's not going to be happening for a very, very long time.

Goodbye, moto

The moto is gone. I knew it had to be done, but I was reluctant to make the call. What came over me? I've decided it was a combination of guilt for not making it to any of my scheduled volunteer shifts at my local NPR station for the winter drive (www.kcrw.com) and finally admitting that no, I won't be riding it for at least 9 months.

I completed the web form to donate the motorcycle on Thursday and this morning it was gone. Poof! Just like that. No more cruising the streets of Beverly Hills with the smokin' maroon 400CMT. I hadn't ridden it for a long time anyway because people here are crazy drivers and it wasn't really fun unless it was 8am on a Sunday-- and what's fun that early on a Sunday?

Part of me is sad that I won't have it to tinker with (I admit, I didn't do a lot of tinkering, but I felt good when I did get it running after a while of sitting idle). I'm more upset that it's just another little thing that I won't be doing. No trip to India, no motoring, definitely no motoring in India. Arg!

Sweet and cold, I am very pleased with the watermelon I bought on Monday as I frantically ran through Trader Joe's hoping to be inspired. So far today, so good.

Sophie!

Here she is... the glorious French teething giraffe. She is the very first baby item in our house! Thank you Aunt Leigh and Uncle Geoffrey. The funny thing is, even as a not-even-novice parent, I know about Sophie. I read about her in the newspaper and HAD to buy one for my youngest nephew. She's one of Amazon.com's top wished for baby gifts and... she's ORGANIC. Sophie traipses around Paris wearing a beret and there are photos of her near the Eiffel Tower. She is only about six inches tall, but she's soft and very cute, and I think she'll be just right for baby teeth to sink into. I'm just wondering, will she teach my baby how to speak French?

Saved by the Chef (Thank Goodness!)

Just as my day was beginning to take the usual afternoon downward spiral, I tried a little nostalgia. First I was going to go for an In-N-Out burger, but as I got closer to the double double I was dreaming about, the flame went out as quickly as it came. So I was driving down Venice Blvd. and decided to go to Albertson's (a grocery or "food" store) and hope for inspiration.

I don't usually find my way to that vast wasteland in the middle of the store unless I need something like cereal, but today I found myself looking at cans of fruit and vegetables, jars of olives, sauerkraut, and lots of things that were a full meal if I would "just add water." Right after the Campbell's soup I found something appetizing. A classic All-American staple food group: Chef Boyardee. Perhaps no other chef is as recognizable, except maybe the Swedish Chef.

This chef's food is MUCH BETTER than whatever the Muppet Chef makes. And he was a real guy! According to the very dependable (and mostly accurate) Wikipedia and the website for the Cleveland Museum of Art, the chef was born in Italy in 1897 and moved to New York in 1914. His name was Ettore [Hector] Boiardi, and he and his wife owned a restaurant in Cleveland (a city known for fine Italian cuisine, no?). Satisfied restaurant customers wanted the chef's recipes and once demand grew, he started to mass-market his sauces and pastas. Unfortunately, some folks out there in Cleveland couldn't pronounce his name properly so once he opened his factory, his pastas became "BoyArDee" to encourage proper pronunciation. And now, 82 years later, we've completely butchered any remaining Italian nuances that might have existed with the BoyArDee spelling. No worry though, I'm almost positive whatever is in these cans isn't Italian either.

I reached for a few and tried to keep in mind that just because I wanted to eat it right then and there, I may very well not be interested at all once I got it all home. I paced myself. A variety of 'pasta' options and I was headed for the checkout.


Not since getting off of bus 135 have I been so excited to use my microwave. I remember the first thing we did with the microwave when we finally got one: we boiled water. It was fascinating. After that first countertop experiment, we branched out to Bagel Bites, Hot Pockets, Mama Celeste pizzas for One, mini egg rolls, and just about anything that could be considered an after school snack. I'm not sure what made me think of Chef Boyardee, but he came to my rescue today. Twice. First I tried the classic Spaghetti-os (now called Spaghetti Rings and Meatballs) and a few hours later I tried what the Chef's people call lasagna. I cannot complain. I haven't felt like running to the bathroom for nearly 4 hours! Yay!

Thank you, Chef Boyardee. I know that there's not much nutritional value to your little microwave snacks, but right now I really don't care.

Worst Day Yet

This is a photo of a place I may never get to see. It's New Delhi. Part of today was bad because I couldn't leave the house. The other part of the day was bad because I got a grim travel report for my much anticipated trip to Southeast Asia: Don't Go.

It's been four months of anticipation. I have my Indian visa, tickets to KL and Delhi, places to stay, and plans to visit wondrous places like the Taj Mahal and a tiger reserve. And now it won't happen... at least not for me, not now.

My sadness comes as I think about how excited I've been to go and see the places I've been reading about since October. It's coupled with the disappointment of knowing I may never get to see where my friends live in Malaysia or the smells of the noodle stalls or the vibrant colors of the fabrics, flowers, buildings, ruins and more. I was told that there's nothing you can do to prepare for the sensory overload... but now I won't even be able to try.

My internist said that there was too great a risk to going and given how miserable I am now, it's totally possible I'd still be miserable when I stepped on a plane for an 18 hour journey in two weeks. Add some travel anxiety about food and drink, and I could be one very unhappy traveler. She went to the CDC website (I'd been on it but opted to ignore it) and talked about typhoid and malaria and all of the precautions I would have to take. Since I have only been eating fruit for the past week, she pointed out the fact that that would be a serious problem (too risky to eat anything sliced or with skin) and apparently pregnant ladies are tastier morsels to mosquitos. So it would be completely possible that I would be miserable and be 9,000 miles from home. Right now it's hard to be miserable and 9 miles from home.

I know it's for my own good-- for the good of the nugget -- but it has made me so truly unhappy that I don't remember being so unhappy. So many nights of losing sleep over all of the things I would see on my trip! I have books and maps and guides and a little binder with my itineraries. Thinking about all of this is hard, but it's even harder to think that I have to tell my friends who are anticipating my presence at their wedding (yes, this will be the first of two big weddings I'm going to miss this year... and I don't get invited to weddings very often). I know that friends understand things like this. I'm just not the type to disappoint and I feel like I'm letting myself down as much as my pals. It's really tough to accept right now but I guess the only thing I can do is look forward to September and hope that it will all be worth it.