Prologue to "Fatima in Corinth"

I have finished my new manuscript! Well, the draft is written anyhow, but now the revisions must start. But in the meantime, I thought I would give my readers a little teaser. Here is the prologue for your reading enjoyment.

Prologue

The sun glittered over the ripples in the water, like a million stars in a turquoise sky. Fatima breathed in the rich, salty air and spread her arms open wide.
She relished this first trip over the Aegean, as different as it was from the camel caravans on which she and her father customarily traveled. What wonders would Corinth have in store for her? She let her imagination run wild as the sparkling, gleaming, white city gradually came into view. Excitement for the newest adventure bubbled up inside her. She could barely sit still, waiting impatiently for the long, wooden ship to dock. She glanced quickly at her father in anticipation, and he gave her the tiniest of winks and a smile. It would be one of the last of his smiles she would ever see.
A sudden shiver raced up her spine, surprising her momentarily, as she turned to greet the new city.

Sending love from Santa Barbara, CA to Weston, FL

One of my bestest friends in the world, my matron of honor, my confidante lives all the way across the continent. I think the only reason it really works is because we're each other's best friend. We can't seem to make a decision--at least not any of the important ones--without running it by each other first. We talk at least once a week, even if we don't have time, and even if our husbands complain about us racking up the cell phone minutes. There are priorities in life, right?

Thank God it's not a romantic relationship! I did the long distance thing in college, for WAY too long. Why is it girls have trouble giving up their high school sweethearts when they move to college? It never works out. Let it go. You grow up, you change, meet new people, discover yourself, and grow apart. And the boy who is still at home waiting for you stays the same. And somehow it becomes all too difficult to telling when loving someone slips into caring for someone. And it all ends in pain two years after it should have.

Being Happy Trumps Being Right

In family dynamics, one of the saddest things I see is the destructive nature of trying to prove that you are right. This "I told you so" attitude can rear its ugly head in nearly any situation where two people disagree. It comes in basic arguments about nothing of import. It shows up in stupid arguments about who forgot to do what on the honey-do list. And worst of all, it displays itself proudly in serious arguments, where the very foundations of trust and respect in a relationship are at stake.

Let me give you an example: Johan and Marie.
Johan and Marie have been married for several years, and though it has been rocky from time to time, they still love each other and have made it work. But Johan feels a bit unfulfilled in his career and wants to try something new. He used to play bass guitar in high school and college. He had even been part of a band. Now he is wondering if maybe he can make something of it. He picks up the guitar again and starts writing songs.

Marie sees this and she is worried. She knows how competitive the music industry is and how difficult it would be for a 40-something to break into the industry and make anything of himself. The last thing she wants to see is Johan pour his heart into song-making only to fail and have his heart broken. She knows he would be devastated and insecure. But how can she say that to him? Obviously she can't tell him he might fail so it's better not to try. So what does she do? She passively-aggressively undermines his attempts, making it difficult for him to have the time to practice or to work (more on passive aggressive manipulation in a later post).

And it works. He never writes anything completely, and eventually his dream falls by the wayside. He still dreams of it, wishing it could have been, but ultimately he has given up. Marie is sorry he is sad, but she figures he will get over it in time, and in any case, being sad is better than being heartbroken. But the trouble is, in the end, Johan is heartbroken--just in a different way.

Her passive-aggressiveness has not gone unnoticed. Johan thinks back and remembers why he never had time to practice music or write, and he ends up resenting Marie because somehow, however vaguely, he senses she has not supported him in his dream. Now he feels he would never know how he might have fared because she didn't give him the opportunity to try. Resentment, anger, sadness, distrust and betrayal build up slowly over time, undermining their marriage. He retaliates in other ways, perhaps by engaging in power plays with her, trying to reassert his power over her. Of course, by doing so, they can never actually talk about the real problem, because they are too busy dealing with superficial things covering up the true pain they should be addressing.

Marie was so sure she was right, she was willing to sacrifice Johan's dreams. And very probably, she was right. But did that spare anything? No, it didn't. It only caused bitterness and distrust in their marriage, and Johan was still heartbroken for not having achieved his dream. If she had only supported him, regardless of the outcome, then it is possible the two of them could have found happiness. Even if the worst had happened and Johan failed, then she could have been the bedrock of support to comfort him and help him stand up again. In his mind, the blame for his failure would have lain with the industry or himself, not with her.

This is just one example, and the need to prove ourselves right comes in a myriad of guises. But underneath it all, when we find ourselves in a conflict, we can always ask ourselves what is at root. Are we really hurt and angry, or are we just trying to prove our idea is right and the other is wrong? Are we really so insecure that we need validation, that we need to prove someone else wrong? Sometimes, it is enough just to know that we are right. Sometimes it is more important to soothe a loved one's feelings than it is to prove to them why they shouldn't feel that way. Sometimes it is better to resolve the conflict than to win the conflict--because when the conflict is resolved, everyone wins. Think of it this way: if you "win" the conflict, that means your loved one loses. And in what world is it a good thing if someone you love loses?

A Letter to my Loved Ones

I am returning to my blog in an attempt to turn blogging into a daily (or at least 5-day-a-week) habit. The hope is develop a readership who will then be interested in picking up my novel(s) if I should ever be so lucky as to get published.
The trouble is, blogging 5 times a week is a lot of work--and words! And what could I possibly have to say that's of any interest, that I could discuss that much? There's only one thing: love. Family, love, relationships. That's what I do best. That's what makes me get up in the mornings. That's what I think about the most. And that is what I feel most qualified to talk about. And while my novels will primarily focus on issues of identity, themes of family, love and relationships will all be prominent as well. So if people enjoy my observations here, they'll have a good sense of what they're going to find in my novels as well.
However, I also realize that all my observations and ruminations written here are going to be based on my own personal experiences and my family and friends may not totally appreciate having their own stories pasted on the world wide web for all to see. The only thing I can say in my defense is I will never use names and will endeavor to keep things theoretical to avoid pointing fingers. Hopefully no one will be too bothered by this, and please know it was always well-intentioned. The things I say here, the things I think about...it is because I love you all.
A note on the title: This blog was formally titled "The Chinaman Is Not the Issue". It was a reference to The Big Lebowski, and it served my purposes as being both humorous (to me) and (in my mind) an oblique reference to my biracial identity. But it does not seem to fit a blog on family, love and relationships, so I've decided to change it. My working title now is "Tasting Grace". It has a dual meaning. One, I love and adore food, especially really divine food and so when I have a really superb bite of chocolate or sip of cappuccino in my mouth, I believe it is like tasting grace. Two, I am moved by and inspired by transendance, and the strength to move beyond pain to grace. The efforts we make as human beings to be more--our epiphanies, our triumphs--that, to me, is tasting grace. So we'll see how well that goes.

An Ode to Coffee

Santa Barbara is really a gem of a little city to live in. It's not a big city, so doesn't have quite the flair and pizazz of San Francisco or London, but it's got a lot of funk. And the best thing about it is that even though it is a small city (in a gorgeous location with perpetually perfect weather), it has a plethora of good eats, if you know where to go. Amazing sushi, decadent Italian, artful healthnut stops, fabulous tapas and drinks, to-die-for Indian, and quite a few places that have made sandwiches an art. And the list goes on.

But the one thing that Santa Barbara lacks is really, really great coffee. The locals are quite proud of their mom-and-pop varietals like the Daily Grind, the Coffee Cat, or Santa Barbara Roasting Company. And major chains like Starbucks and Peet's Coffee do very well. (In fact, between the two of them, I think they own a quarter of the real estate on State Street.) But I have yet to find a single place that does really, really fine Italian coffee, the likes of which you get when you are actually in Italy. Most of the coffee here is about mid-range and tastes fine, but some of it verges on bitter and you can actually taste separate layers of weak mediocre coffee flavor, artificial flavor as a pathetic attempt to mask the mediocrity of the coffee, and then oils from the beans.

The Italians have it down to an art: the high quality of the beans, the perfect degree of roasting, the exact grind, the temperature of the steam and press of the grounds. All of this combines to create a rich, smooth level of decadence that is unparalleled. When I first discovered true Italian coffee in a little cafe in Florence, I actually thought I might have found heaven. I even brought some Illy home with me, but alas, could not manage the artistry of the Italian barista.

I looked everywhere for good coffee, and eventually succumbed to my fate, thinking I wouldn't be able to find such good coffee anywhere but Italy. But then we went to Costa Rica and discovered Costa Rican coffee. I was astounded. Costa Rican coffee does not have the decadence of Italian coffee, but it does have a wild variety of smooth flavors that make for a different, wondorous java experience. I was so surprised since normally developing countries export all their good stuff and the locals have to make do with the dreck. Not so with Costa Rican coffee. They hoard all their delicacies so that even the chain bakeries have coffee superior to that of the States. Apparently, they export all their dreck. Smart.

So I sighed, again wondering why the U.S., which has access to the best of just about everything, continues to have only mediocre coffee (yes, I am spoiled and discerning when it comes to my taste buds). And then I went to New York. Besides the bagels and other baked goods which are divine, Manhattan offers real, true, primo Italian coffee. We popped into a little Italian bistro called Via Quadronno and ordered a couple of cappuccinos to go as we were on a trek across Central Park to the Natural History museum. I took my first sip and practically melted into a little puddle of delight in the middle of Central Park. It was so good I couldn't decide if it was heavenly or a sin. Still, perhaps that little bistro could have been an aberration. A bright spot; a diamond in the rough, so to speak.

And then we found Joe the Art of Coffee. Well, I can't exactly claim that we found it as the place was recommended to us by friends who had lived in New York. But they have several locations across Manhattan and they have mastered the art of truly fine coffee. They select the finest beans, and they have a policy of never using any artificial flavors, and when they serve up their coffee, it is an actual artpiece with designs swirled into the foam.

With the offer of places such as these and Employees Only (which has turned cocktail-making into an artform as well), I could almost consider happily trading my sunny apartment in Santa Barbara for an over-priced shoebox in Manhattan.

New Year's Resolutions

I'm generally pretty good at forgetting what my New Year's Resolutions were by, say, February. So maybe by putting them down someplace I check every so often, I might actually be reminded enough to keep them. :)

This year, I resolve to:
1. Maintain my current weight. In other words, stay healthy and exercise, which--ahem--the Christmas holidays have cruelly and evilly put me off of. I blame the holidays entirely. But as soon as I get over this friggin' cold and replace the shoes the dog ate, I'm back to the yoga studio and my daily walks.

2. Finish my dissertation. Or get very close to finishing. I want to have an end in sight by this time next year.

3. Get published. Something, anything. An article...or even a novel! Just gotta get my name out there.

4. Be more frugal. I must confess, I am a clothes whore. I have apparently no self-control when I find something I like, that fits, and I could theoretically have the money for. Which basically means, I'm not in any kind of debt, but I'm not so good at saving either. Thus I vow to avoid the shops as much as possible.

5. Wear underwear every day. Not that I don't already (tho Toby might complain about this one if presented with the option that I might not wear underwear every day). I was just looking back at the previous resolutions and they all seemed like a lot of work. So I thought I'd include one that was easy so come December 2009 I can look back and say "Hey, well at least I kept 1 resolution!"

Officially Four-Eyed

So after at least a year of squinting at the TV, asking Toby to read subtitles for me, and desperately trying to make out street signs, I finally acknowledged I might be in need of glasses. I used to just blame my inability to see the TV properly on our tiny ass old TV that was all the way across a longish living room. But then when we went out and bought a big ass new TV and I still couldn't see anything, I admitted my eyes officially sucked.
So I went in for an eye exam. I did two tests before I even met with the doctor, and before me even saying why I was coming in, the doctor was like "So...distance vision getting a bit blurry these days?"...."Yes..." I say sheepishly. He runs a few more tests and doesn't even bother with the news that I will need to wear glasses and goes straight to telling me he is figuring out what prescription I need. Le sigh.
And today I have brand new glasses! I'm sure the novelty will wear out soon enough, but I'm excited cuz all of a sudden I understand what "sharp detail" looks like. And I don't have to wear them all the time, only when I'm driving, in a lecture, or watching a movie. So 5 years into being an academic and I finally look like one.