Goddess In The City

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 15:50:00 +0000

Only Cormac MacCarthy

In today's WSJ interview...

How does that ticking clock affect your work? Does it make you want to write more shorter pieces, or to cap things with a large, all-encompassing work?

CM: I'm not interested in writing short stories. Anything that doesn't take years of your life and drive you to suicide hardly seems worth doing.`

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 19:06:00 +0000

I'm blogging about the bambino over at Brownstone Baby. Swing by and say hi!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 19:51:00 +0000

When Guilt Becomes Your Dirty Little Secret

Last Tuesday I went to a yoga class for the first time since MAS was born.

In some ways it felt really good--to be stretching and moving unencumbered by that sweet babyweight. In other ways it felt terrible: I've pretty much lost all upper body strength and my legs are stiffer than stiff.

And? Something weird happened.

As I was rousing from savasana and gathering my stuff together for the trek home this voice--clearly my own; I wasn't "hearing" voices--piped up inside my mind and said, "Oh, so are you finally ready to forgive yourself?"

The voice wasn't angry or heavy handed. Mostly just curious.

And me? I too was curious. I stood for a few seconds frozen in place, waiting to hear what my response was going to be. (Again, an inside response. I sure as shit wasn't going to be caught talking out loud to myself. I save that sort of craziness for home.)

I'm still waiting actually. So: what's it gonna be Minerva Jane? Curious minds wanna know.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 16:26:00 +0000

The Shooter Who Cried Wolf

Big shocker: there's been another shooting. A guy shot and killed eight people and wounded three others in a North Carolina nursing home this past weekend.

Am I going to be the one to say it? Come on. Haven't all you psychos out there realized that after Columbine and Virginia Tech a plain old shooting really just doesn't cut it any more. You've got to be a little more dramatic than this to get our attention.

Plus: has it occurred to anyone else that Bush and his ilk had it all wrong. We don't need to worry about terrorists: we're perfectly capable of offing ourselves, thank you very much.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 21:13:00 +0000

He's So Easy

When MAS was in the NICU Rodor tried hard to be extra nice to me.

Case in point:

Rod: Hey you smell so nice.
Me: Really? (Perplexed because I hadn't put perfume on in months...)
Rod: What is that? Soap?
Me: Yeah, sweetie. It's soap. Dove I think. (Despite the inanity, still feeling pretty special that he noticed my scent at all...)

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 16:35:00 +0000

A lot has happened since my last post.

I had the baby at 28 weeks. He stayed in the NICU for 9.5 weeks.

I brought him home end of January and he's thriving.

How someone could be born at 7 months and have no real health consequences is beyond me, but there you go: life is weird.

I've of course taken a humongous blogging break but am poised to return.

Stay tuned!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 25 Nov 2008 22:46:00 +0000

Postcard From The Antepartum Wing @ St Luke's Roosevelt

Well, I finally have a reason to start posting again but I wish I could say it was because of more joyful circumstances.

I was admitted to the hospital on Sunday for preterm labor at 27 and 4/7 weeks gestation. I'd had two contractions Sunday morning at about 5 and 8 am, some blood-tinged discharge and of course freaked out. (Who wouldn't after my first pregnancy miscarried in March at only 11 weeks?) A quick call to me OB--who, it turns out is on vacation this week so I spoke with another doctor covering for her--sent us scurrying over the Brooklyn Bridge, across and up town to the Upper West Side.

We got to the hospital at about 10. They took a urine sample, examined me and then put me on a fetal heart monitor and a toco to measure contractions. I was contracting about 6 to 12 minutes apart. They discovered a urinary tract infection, a yeast infection and that i was dehydrated.

In goes the IV with some sort of water glucose mix and we wait.

Two hours later they discover I'd gone from 1-3.5 cm dilation and within five minutes all the talk of me going home ceased and I was immediately admitted to labor & delivery. A course of antibiotics, some steroids shots to speed lung development, and an NSAID to halt contractions and we settled in for the night: Rod sleeping on a pretty crappy excuse of a pull out chair and me in the most uncomfortable bed I've ever slept in.

The next afternoon, after the contractions had stopped I was moved upstairs to this wing, the antepartum wing and told to sit tight because they were keeping me here until 34 weeks--a little over 6 weeks from today.

I panicked.

And then slept. Woke to more contractions--perhaps linked to more dehydration. Back downstairs for more monitoring and discovered that after two bags of fluids contractions stopped and my cervix hadn't dilated any more.

So now here I am back at antepartum. I'm not allowed to sit up in bed--they're literally hoping gravity will help my little boy stay in my body for at least one more day. Every day counts they say. Every day he's inside me is another day of development, another day of maturation, a little better chance that if he does come out he'll survive with less of a risk of cognitive, developmental or physical problems.

I wish I could say that i wasn't feeling sorry for myself and for my son and for my husband. I wish I could say that there wasn't some part of me that's sitting here wondering why this whole thing has been so difficult--the time it took us to get pregnant, the first miscarriage, then this. But there's a bigger part of me that's hopeful: he could make it. He could survive. And my next pregnancy? Nothing's to say it won't be uneventful.

So tonight I'm celebrating that I made it through Tuesday November 25. One more day, my friends, one more day.

Please pray for us to whichever god or gods or forces you may believe in.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 14:16:00 +0000

23 Weeks: Linea Negra & Some Belly Shots

So it happened. I got the linea negra--the dark line running from pubic bone to belly button... it only shows up in some women and apparently I'm one of them. The only part of this that freaks me out is the suggestion that it may not ever go away. And of course I'm double-freaked out at the thought that this may signal stretch marks galore down the line. I've been moisturizing like crazy with extra thick shea butter but apparently all the creams and lotions in the world won't make a difference: a woman's propensity to get strech marks during pregnancy is a hereditary thing.

Other pregnancy complaints: lower back pain and my monstrous breasts. (I mean really: they're fucking huge.)

On the plus and eternally grateful side I'm feeling the little Sprout move around constantly. Doesn't matter if I'm sitting down at my desk, standing in the subway car, doing yoga, walking--he's squirming left and right up and down. It's the coolest and strangest feeling in the entire world and makes me completely awestruck each time I feel it.

Anyway, let's change the subject and take a look at my burgeoning belly!

23 weeks today, folks.

I swear my stomach was flat back in May: that's all baby in there. My breasts don't look as huge as they do in real life because I'm wearing an uncomfortably tight and binding job bra for yoga... (Oh, and lounging on the bed in the background is Jasmine, the fluffiest cat ever.)

The painting behind me was a wedding gift from the talented Todd Wright. He's got tons of other painting for sale; if you're interested in seeing his work, let me know. (Cat is cat #2: Janus, the craziest cat ever.)

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 19:49:00 +0000

Even The Grocery Stores Are Pretty In Brooklyn

This colorful flower display marks the entrance to our local Key Foods, at the corner of Atlantic & Clinton.

A new Trader Joe's moved in a block away but as far as I can tell it hasn't really affected Key Foods traffic yet.

Why?

1) Key Foods has better flowers. (I know. Weird, right?); and 2) Trader Joe's selection is woefully small despite the quality of the products being much higher. Examples? Well, Trader Joe's doesn't sell handy household items like, oh, say toilet paper and liquid plumber and sponges and Windex. And they only have one brand of cottage cheese! What's up with that?

So for now I'm grateful that I have two grocery stores within a block and half of my apartment building.

Viva la Key Foods y la Trader Joe's!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 13:17:00 +0000

Atlantic Antic

I love my hood. Yesterday Atlantic Avenue from the BQE to Atlantic Center was closed off for the annual Atlantic Antic festival. Tons of crafts, food, music and fun!

Some highlights of the day were: the best kettle corn I've ever tasted; yummy baklava; belly dancing; and the gogo dancers.

Gogo dancer outside of Last Exit bar

Rod embraces a mannequin.

Middle Eastern dancing outside of Sahardis.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 15:47:00 +0000

Baby X's First Portrait

Our 20-week anatomy scan went so well on Wednesday. Baby X was indeed doing step-aerobics: flailing and dancing about like a crazy man. No wonder I've felt like a punching bag the last few nights. And yes: I said man. We're having a boy! We got a fabulous 3D image of him that I've been staring at ever since.

Isn't he the most handsome fetus ever? He's got Rod's chin!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 14:08:00 +0000

Happy New Year!

Forgot to post this yesterday, so I figured I would today: to all those who celebrate the Jewish holidays, Happy New Year!

Last night we went out to Long Island to Rod's Mom's house for rosh hashanah. It was really nice but I ate so much I felt ill the rest of the evening. (BTW, the truly great thing about marrying someone from a different religious background is that you never have to divy up holidays....)

Funny, all day yesterday I didn't feel the baby move at all, then this morning he/she's been doing flips non-stop. Not sure what's going on in there: step-aerobics?

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 16:40:00 +0000

Weight Watchers

You have to check out this site--Weight Watcher cards from the 1970s.

(Don't worry: I'm not dieting while I'm pregnant, I just think its hilarious and can't resist passing it along.)

Particularly check out the gruesome fish sauce and Mexican Shrimp-Orange Salad. Oh and the uber-icky melon mousse that looks like jellied cat vomit. (I have three cats: so I know of which I speak.)

On the pregnancy front: all goes well. The little bean continues to squirm once or twice a day and I'm finally showing a little. Now I actually feel pregnant: for weeks I just felt abnormally busty and strangely hungry all the time. Next week we go in for our 20 week scan to make sure everything's okay. (You know, like the babe has a fully functioning heart, two arms, two legs etc. No vestigial tails or anything like that.)

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 14:44:00 +0000

But I Have TV

My father's an oncologist who specializes in prostate cancer and as such he's got more than a few stories about kooky patients.

Like this little exchange he told me about a while back:

Guy comes into the clinic. My Dad, as part of his routine, asks about the guy's personal life, since so many cancer patients suffer from depression. (And depression can affect the success of their treatments.)

The man is retired. He's not married. He has no real friends. He has no hobbies. He has no siblings and both of his parents are dead. He has no pets.

My dad--deeply worried--asks: "Don't you get lonely?"

The guy's astonished: "Lonely!" he says. "Why would I be lonely? I have TV."

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 18:47:00 +0000

Wanna know why I love living in Brooklyn and rue the day I'll eventually have to move out to the burbs? Take a look at this photo I took--with my new swanky iphone no less--at the Fairway grocery store last weekend.

The guy's making fresh mozzarella right there at the counter. Can you believe that? I never saw anything like that at any of the grocery stores in Washington, DC, the DC suburbs, or central Virginia. Even San Francisco, folks. And it was good mozzarella, too.

(Mmmmm. Sorry: took a blogging break to grab a slice of that gorgeous cheese.)

Plus they've got a whole bar of pickled things made right there in the store--not just cucumbers but olives and green tomatoes (which I've been craving like mad lately.)

Why the cravings, you ask? Why, yes: I am pregnant again. Actually four and a half months along. I still can't believe that we got pregnant again so soon after the miscarriage, but there you go: and it seems just about fitting that the little munchkin's gonna get here right around Valentine's Day. Well, give or take a week, maybe two.... These things are notoriously hard to predict.

Aside from the cravings--and subsequent exuberant fondness for stores that provide satisfying answers to said cravings--I haven't really had any symptoms. No morning sickness. Not that much weight gain yet. Haven't felt any movement yet either. Slight indigestion but that may be because of my tendency to eat past satiety. Other than that I think I actually understand those women who don't realize they're pregnant until the fifth or sixth month. If I only got my period sporadically? I'd probably just think I'd put on a few pounds.... Well, of course there's the strange sensitivity to smells and the mysteriously expanding boobs. Seriously: I've gone up two cups sizes since June 1. It's kinda like going through puberty.

I kept the secret long after the first trimester out of superstition. There was a part of me that really believed that the first pregnancy ended last March because I'd revealed too much too soon. And I wasn't about to do it again this time. That in some way I'd failed to protect her/him. Now, I know that's totally unrealistic--most miscarriages are due to some chromosomal abnormality--but feelings have a funny way of ignoring reality. At least mine do.

I'm in the second trimester now. 18 weeks today, actually. And I'm eagerly awaiting that first flutter of movement. I was going to wait to blog about it until after the 20 week anatomy scan--after I knew everything was okay with his/her heart, limbs etc.

But I'm tired of feeling apprehensive. If something bad happens, I'll deal with it. In the meantime: I'm going to let myself feel happy, feel hopeful.

Even start to think of myself as Mommy.

Sounds strange, huh?

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 15:56:00 +0000

I'm sitting in a coffee shop in the Village called Think--my usual hunt on City writing days. I'm surrounded by young NYU students engrossed in their laptops and books. Next to laptops lie cell phones and iPhones and blackberrries and half of the kids are wearing ear phones plugged into their computers.

And what do you think is playing at a slightly louder than comfortable level? Echoing almost in the coffee shop?

Bob Dylan's greatest hits.

And as I'm sitting here listening to his words I'm struck by how eerily right and accurate they are--even after all this time. Words from a generation before mine still speaking to the generation after mine.

Sometimes? Life is just too beautiful it breaks my heart.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 24 Aug 2008 16:09:00 +0000

When You're Ready To Give Up

I'm a writer. And even have the MFA girl scout badge to prove it. ( Go American U.!)

I wrote one novel that's collecting metaphorical dust in my cyber-drawer and have another on deck that I've been casually "rethinking" over the last nine months.

Sure, I've gotten a couple of short stories published, but really, the number of unfinished shorts far outweighs the completed ones and I have to admit the general lack of response to my work coupled with the drive to earn money (go iphones!) and the distractions of life have all led me to shelf the writing addiction for the past year or so.

I've even stopped really thinking of myself as a writer. (I used to write, is how I described my former passion to someone several months ago.)

So imagine my surprise when I get an email this morning from a literary agent saying she'd read my short story in StorySouth and was wondering if I had representation and, if not, if I had any full length work either completed or in progress.

Now, I've been through the lit rounds before. (At least five agents were interested in taking a look at my first novel, The Jar-Born Sage, only to pass once they'd seen the whole manuscript.) So I have no illusions that this could very well turn out the same way. I mean, the newer manuscript--which most resembles the story the agent read--is still an embryo, not even a fetus.

But still. Someone read my work and liked it.

And that, folks, feels just peachy keen right now.

And is making me think that maybe I gave up too soon. I mean, writing may not have much of a pay-off but its a more productive hobby than TV-watching. And certainly less expensive and less dangerous than skiing.

And if agents really do read those lit mags and really do troll for new writers then maybe there's hope after all.

So: hi writer-self! Sorry I've been MIA for so long. We've got quite a bit to discuss in the next few years. I've seen some crazy shit...

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 24 Aug 2008 01:07:00 +0000

Saturday Afternoon In Manhattan

Every time I decide I'm sick of this city and can't take the noise/crowds/prices/fast pace I run across someone like this: so utterly out there it makes my heart sing.

I heart you Nueva York.

Can you imagine how hard he must have worked to train that cat to ride around on his head in the middle of 5th Avenue?

All I can say is my cats are sooo not earning their keep around here.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 15:44:00 +0000

Bacon Ice Cream?!

Sounds disgusting and yet strangely intriguing, doesn't it?

I saw this recipe at Jumbo Empanada and I'm dying to try it if only for the You ate what? factor. Alas, everything I own is NYC apartment-sized (read teensy weensy) and so even though I actually own a mini ice cream maker, I cannot fit it inside my freezer. Such a sacrifice living here, you know.

Please please, someone make this and tell me what it tastes like!

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 19:06:00 +0000

The Life I'm Living

I realized yesterday that I'm actually living the life I always dreamed about. The only snag is the constant guilt I feel: I should be working harder, I should want to work harder, be more than what I am etc etc. If I could cabash the shoulds I'd actually be more content than I've ever been. Funny, how that old cliche proves true time and time again: I'm my own worst enemy.

So: here's to respecting joy where and how you find it.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 16:54:00 +0000

Red Horse Cafe In Park Slope

I'm always on the look for new wi-fi cafes. As a nomadic worker, I rotate my days through a list of places with a wi-fi connection, a desk, some inexpensive coffee and an outlet within a three subway stop radius. Lately I've been sticking to my usual round: Carroll Gardens tea lounge, naidres, starbucks, with an occassional two hour stint at Margaret Palka Bakes. But today? Today I ventured out into the Slope. Three stops along the F and its a whole new fucking world, folks. I'm here at the Red Horse Cafe where I had a chicken and grape salad on wheat and a cup of decaf. (Salad: eh. Next time I'll get a muffin or bagel. Decaf: well, it's decaf.) But the atmosphere is sweet. It's quiet. The ceiling fan circulates the AC quite nicely and they're playing Wilco softly in the background. Haven't spied any outlets yet, so once I'm down to 15% I'll motor over the vast Park Slope Tea Lounge. But until then, I'm a happy camper.

Oh, and right now they're featuring Francis Simeni's artwork. Check it out:

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 14 Aug 2008 13:22:00 +0000

Summerz

August in New York: streets empty of locals and fill with tourists. Days are hot and slow; evenings echo with the sound of cicadas--a sound that always, without fail, brings me back to the summer evenings in suburban DC of my childhood.

No pools here. No ripening gardens. No evening BBQs. Just strolling through the city's streets, gaping at the strangers who've come visiting.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 15:24:00 +0000

Family Farm

I've been down visiting my parents at their Charlottesville, Virginia farm this past weekend and I'm amazed at the number of changes in the five months since I've been here. They're in the process of converting their non-working farm to a sustainable organic working farmlet. They've now got about forty chickens, eighty guinea hen, three hives of bees, a couple fields of hay, a massive veggie garden and a new dog. Plans are in the works for goats come Spring. The next year: cows, maybe some sheep. All organic, grass-fed, humanely-raised and slaughtered.

I love visiting here for a couple of reasons: there's the obvious draw of my kooky but lovable parents; the lure of farm life with its growing plethora of produce and animals, both of which I love; and the peace of the country pace.

So different from both the life I'm living in Brooklyn and the world I grew up in. (My parents only left our comfortable suburban Maryland existence when I was in college., although their farming tendencies manifested early. We had huge gardens during my childhood, baked our own bread, made our own pasta, yogurt, & sausage and even brewed beer.)

Sometimes it feels like this big disconnect inside me: urban Jessie exists but beneath her exterior is this other potential self waiting for the right time and place to emerge.

I don't know if I could live here permanently, or farm on this scale, but I do have fantasies of buying a 2-3 acre house in Jersey or NY 45 minutes outside of The City and setting up a mini-farm: 4 chickens; a garden; a dog; my darling cats... And of course a gaggle of children.

Of course, I have an equally strong fantasy of my potential Brooklyn life: a three bedroom garden level apartment with an outdoor space in Carroll Gardens or Cobble Hill seems about right. With a gaggle of kids, of course. Or as many as I can squeeze into the two extra bedrooms....

I look at my life now and feel this weird sense of curiosity and excitement. I wonder where I'll be in ten years. Will I be living the urban fantasy or the mini-farm/suburban one?

It's anyone's guess, really. But if the next ten years are going to be anything like the last, its going to be one hell of a ride.

And luckily, I've got my seatbelt fastened and the radio turned way on up.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 18:59:00 +0000

Woes of Brooklyn Parking

Our car got towed on Saturday--for blocking a pedestrian walkway. In our defense: we saw no walkway! But $200 poorer and several hours later, we've retrieved the trusty Elantra from the scary Brooklyn Navy Yard impound lot.

All I can say: there are some angry people out there.

Strangely, though: the cops at the lot were nice. And seemed happy with their jobs. How odd.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 17:06:00 +0000

You Know What? Its Friggin' Hot

Its so hot here in Brooklyn that as I sit here in Margaret Palca Bakes having my decaf iced coffee my thighs are literally sticking to the seat--this despite the AC.

O August, I heart you.