On Freedom Day.

On Freedom Day

Today is a public holiday in South Africa – Freedom Day. It was on this day in 1994 that the country held it’s first free, non-racial democratic elections, Nelson Mandela was voted into the office of the President, and the Republic of South Africa broke free of the chains of colonialization and apartheid.

I have vague recollections of this happening; I was 13 at the time and woefully ignorant of world events, though I remember hearing the word apartheid on the news and asking my mom what it meant.  South Africa might have well been a different planet to me back then.

But here I am today, in this place I now call home; a place I love living and with a myriad of cultures I’m slowly learning more about… in lockdown.  It’s strange, this dissonance, a holiday to celebrate freedom while we’re forced to stay home.  

Trevor Noah, a South African comedian and television personality, talks about growing up mostly inside as a kid, because his very existence was illegal in South Africa during apartheid.  I can only imagine what life was like in those times, and it makes me so very grateful for the freedom I’ve been privileged to be born with, and others my life choices have afforded me.  As I think along those lines, I think I don’t really have a great understanding of what freedom really is; like a fish not being able to understand water, I’ve always lived in and with freedom.  And I’m so, so grateful. 

And I’m grateful to get to live here in this time, to be a part of the free South Africa, to learn and grow and work together to see greater things yet to come for this nation and her people.

Happy Freedom Day!

My favorite ever photo I've taken in South Africa - Boulders Beach, Western Cape

On baking and breaking.

I woke up this morning with a tear-damp pillow; before consciousness was even fully realized I was aching and grieving and hurting and lonely.  This thing isn’t going away anytime soon; I wonder if I made the right choice by staying here, I wonder how many months or years it’ll be before life resembles that which was ripped away so suddenly a few weeks ago, I wonder how we as humanity will manage the toll on our mental health while fighting fiercely to protect the physical health of ourselves and loved ones.  Sometimes it all feels so big and overwhelming and heavy.

And like many across the globe I’ve found solace in baking.  There’s just something about it, isn’t there?  I went to the kitchen and mixed the oil and flour and water and yeast, spread the flour on my counter top and kneaded the dough, set the timer and while it raised I cleaned and organized and washed and felt the solace of just a little bit of control in a world that is in chaos, kneading again, washing the dishes in the sink and drying them while that heavenly smell of freshly baked bread filled my kitchen.

There’s something about bringing the elements together and having it make something beautiful, useful, that makes my kitchen smell amazing and my taste buds happy.  None of the elements on their own are particularly wonderful but when mixed together they transform into something glorious.  I’m sure there’s a profound metaphor in there that probably hundreds of bloggers much more talented than I have already written about; my heart just wants to marvel today at the magic that takes place when all those things are mixed together and you add heat and bam! There’s bread.

There’s something about kneading, about the transfer of energy from my body and heart into this process, the physical pressing and stretching and molding and creating.  Pressing into the dough always reminds me of my grandmother.  She would visit once a year in the summer and we always made bread with her, and I think about the generations of women that baking bread was as much a part of their daily existence as eating.  There’s something about the predictability of mixing these things together, following the recipe and the instructions and knowing that the end result will be successful. There’s very little I know right now about what my future looks like, but I know if I do these things right in a couple of hours I’ll have fresh bread to enjoy. 

And there’s something about dreaming of breaking bread together again in the future. Something I’ll never take for granted in the future; the way living in Africa has made me always appreciate clean tap water in a way others perhaps can’t relate to, being so isolated for so long leads me to anticipate the gathering around a table with bread and wine and laughter and love with such longing I never would have guessed I’d have.  

Yesterday: Sesame Bagels

Today: Hamburger buns

Also today: Banana bread

My Jay.

This is my Jay.

My Jay has a great smile.

He’s a handsome fella, and he brings me such joy… and occasionally frustration… but mostly joy.

I love his short stature... reminds me of a warthog.  Sometimes I call him my little porker.

I’ve moved basically to a new country every year for over a decade, and having a dog wasn’t ever high on my priority list (or on the list of remote possibilities).  I never really considered myself a pet person, but I think that was mostly because of my lifestyle (i.e. moving to a new country every year).  When I got this job and knew I’d be staying in one place for a few years at least, I started to look at the options for rescues in Pretoria.  I had some criteria:

1.  Must be a rescue

2. Must be an adult dog, preferably a senior dog. No way do I have the patience for a puppy. Not in a million years.

3. Must be a size that if he/she is unconscious I can still lift them, and be able to control them on a leash (big dogs out).

He approves of my pillows.

So I asked around and found the rescue that was most highly recommended in this area, and got a friend to go out with me one Saturday last August.  I was looking specifically at senior dogs (10+ years old) because it’s super expensive to move a dog across the planet, and I had 4ish years in Pretoria, so if I got a senior dog I could give them a fabulous end of life, wouldn’t have to deal with the crazy puppy stage, and they would die before I had to move them.  I also had a thing for floppy ears and wasn’t going to consider a shepherd because of previous experiences I’ve had with psycho shepherds. 

So we walked around and looked at doggies and I picked out a few that met the criteria, and took them into the play area to see how they interact.  They were fine, but I wasn’t feeling the that’s my dog feeling I wanted… and generally, in big life decisions, if I’m not 100% yes, it’s a no.  And taking on the life of another living creature for a significant period of time is no small thing.

Once when I was reading all day he made his displeasure known. 

So we continued to wander, I was actually thinking maybe we just leave and try again in a few weeks, when we went into a pen to look at an old lab.  She was a bit larger than I wanted, but sweet, so we sat down and started to interact, when this little brown mix of some kind came over and pressed himself up against me.  I could tell he was part shepherd and I was not interested, so I kind of pushed him out of the way so I could interact with the lab.  But he came back.  So I started petting him, and looked at him.  He kept pressing himself up against me, and was the first dog I had interacted with that was doing that.  I found out his name is Jay, he’s about 8 or 9 years old (they said… more on that later), and a shepherd/basset cross.  He was so cuddly right from the start, and came whenever I said his name.  I went all into analyst mode, thinking well, he’s a bit younger than I planned, but he’s the right size, and a great temperament, and short hair… all the things.  After about twenty minutes, I felt it, like, he’s my dog. 

So we filled out paperwork and they visited my house to make sure it’s all right and the next weekend I went and got him.  This photo was taken that weekend.  He definitely picked me, and we hit it off from the beginning.

He’s a dream dog.  I won the dog lottery with him.  He never once used the house for a bathroom, he even poops in the far corner of the yard so I don’t ever step in it. He doesn’t dig, he doesn’t chew on anything but toys, he doesn’t bark (except when we are playing and occasionally at cats), he’s a dream on the leash, and he’s very happy to sleep all day long.  He jumped on the bed once, and I pulled him off and said NO, and he never once did it again.  He loves to cuddle but if I’m busy with something else he’ll just take himself for a nap in the other room.  He’s everything I could have asked for, truly.

He also knows how to give paw (shake), here he is hoping I'll drop a scrap of what I'm cooking for him.  And his little Dobby ears are the cutest. 

I took him to the vet about a week after I got him just to make sure he was healthy and to get a couple things looked at; when I was there I noted when they started a chart for him they put his age as 4 years old.  I said, no, the rescue said he was 8 or 9 years old.  The doctor said oh no, not a chance. He’s 3-4 for sure.  I wonder if the rescue just told me that because they knew I was looking for an older dog?  But regardless, I rolled my eyes then, but now I love him and it doesn’t matter how much it costs, he’ll move with me wherever my life journey goes next. 

Post-run euphoria.

I wonder at his story.  He was obviously owned by people and trained; occasionally he cowers but very rarely so I don’t think he was beaten by humans, but he doesn’t have any front top teeth and his bottom front teeth are all broken down to nubs.  He has a tare in one ear and a scar across his muzzle; his life can’t have been sunshine and roses, I wonder where he came from, how old he is, what he has experienced.  Was he abandoned? A runaway? He’s so loving and sweet and gentle, I can’t imagine why anyone would give him up.  The shelter I got him from acquired him from another shelter about 4 months previous and didn’t have any history on him. Sometimes I look at him and wish he could talk; I’d love to know where his little paws have been.

I call him my soulmate; he fits so perfectly into my life and heart I can’t imagine existing without him. Especially now, as I’m spending 24/7 home alone, if it weren’t for him I don’t know what kind of mental state I’d be in. He gives me a reason to get out of bed, he cuddles with me, he likes to play and run and clean up my kitchen floor and lick the tears from my face.  I’ve accepted that I’ve become one of those people with an album full of doggy photos and doggy fur stuck to my sweatpants; once a guy I was dating scolded him and I knew that was the last date we were going to have.  I never thought I could love a non-human as much as I love this guy.  Thanks for picking me, I’ll be forever grateful you did.

yum.

On rhythms and grace.

Congratulations, you survived yet another week in this upside-down world.

It’s a small consolation that everyone in the world is going through this at the same time.  This discombobulated semi-existence that looks nothing like real life and feels like a shadow of what it should be, where everything is as it is yet nothing is right, is the lived experience of billions of people and we’re all going to come out the other side looking and feeling changed.  And I keep reminding myself, that change can be for the good or for the bad, and how I approach each minute of each day of the unending weeks is up to me.

SO I’ve figured out what kind of rhythm works for me, for now, for today and tomorrow and we’ll just have to see after that. I’ve given myself a to-do list for every day:

1.  Clean 1 room. I have a pretty big house and I need to keep on top of the sweeping, mainly, to keep control of the dog hair situation.  Sweeping and dusting, with the bathroom getting a good scrub, of one room per day keeps it under control. 

2. Organize something. This can be something small like one drawer or shelf, or something bigger, but usually, when I start with something small I’ll usually keep going on a little bit.  Eventually everything that needs organizing in my house will finally be organized and I’ll have to replace this one with something else, but for now I still have to hit at least four shelves of my closet, my briefcase, my giant pile of work paperwork on my kitchen table, the kitchen utensil drawer, etc. Plenty to organize. 

3. Run.  I managed to acquire a treadmill about a week ago and I have really, really noticed a difference in my attitude and emotional state, which I’ve always known. I’m just a nicer person to be around when I’m running regularly, and now I can keep on towards the 2020 marathon goal.

4. Yoga. See number 3, I’m a nicer person when I exercise regularly, and having a regular practice is helpful in a myriad of ways, including flexibility, mindfulness, grounding, strength, and presence.

5.  Meditate.  This might be centering prayer or a mindfulness practice but in the end it helps me to focus on the immediate; the intake of breath and the beating of my heart and the intentionality of focused time not worried about the future or the world or the news or the next work project but the inhale and the exhale and the peace found in between. 

6. Do something outside. Regardless of what it is and how long it takes, get outside for a little bit each day.  I desperately miss nature and hiking but even if all I get is a little bit of time in my yard, it's better than nothing. 

So that’s my daily to-do list, and alongside the commitment to these things I have a huge bucketful of grace.  Because this upside-down world is disorienting and I can’t know in advance when the grief or the fear or the lonely or the longing will come by and punch me in the gut, leaving me breathless and gasping and wondering what the hell just happened.  (that happened today)

Someone asked me yesterday if I had any fun plans for the weekend and the only thing different today than yesterday is that I will probably only work a few hours instead of several and I let myself lounge around in bed a little longer than usual.  What else is there?  But I’m simultaneously so grateful for a bed that’s comfy and a refrigerator full of food and a dog that loves me, and instead of thinking about what might happen in a few months I’m going to focus on what will happen in the next few hours, and then I’ll keep doing that day after day until the world is right again.  It’s the best I can do.

My Jay hiding in the bushes while I washed my car.

On flickers of hope.

Well it’s day whatever of the lockdown and it’s been (not surprisingly) extended a few more weeks and overall, I'm doing really pretty alright.

The last few weeks have really been a blur; since the stress of evacuating all volunteers and the emotional toll that took, to renegotiating life in general and being forced to stay home, all with the backdrop of fear and anxiety.  The potential for massive civil unrest, martial law, rampant illness and infections overwhelming and crashing the health system, hoarding of food and supplies, and desperate people all make for a pretty bleak outlook; wondering if I was crazy to stay here (along with thousands of others who have chosen to stay) while watching the health and wellbeing of America slowly deteriorate into war zone conditions in New York and toilet paper shortages across the country.

I’ve been grieving the things we’ve lost, as humans, and the things I’ve lost, as an individual. And I’ve been trying to still lead my team while we’re all working at home, trying to be somewhat productive, trying not to lose too many hours watching Netflix, waiting for all that bad stuff to happen.

And... it hasn’t.

Here’s an article from BBC from a few days ago about the unexpected lull we’re experiencing:  BBC Story

And while I do think there is a lack of testing and I do think the numbers aren’t accurate, there’s also a flicker of hope that gradually is getting stronger; maybe, just maybe, all that bad stuff just won’t.   Maybe we’ll work from home for a few months, maybe (for sure) the economy will struggle, maybe… just maybe… the widespread chaos and despair and destruction I’ve been waiting for won’t happen.

And instead of being consumed by the paralyzing fear I’ve been living with for the last few weeks I’ve found myself feeling hope again.  I’m getting out of bed and doing productive things and cleaning and baking and I’ve started doing the daily yoga I’ve talked about doing for weeks and haven’t done.   I’ve really struggled with working and suddenly I find myself looking forward to using my brain again and navigating this season that has the potential for so much creativity and growth and learning and a much needed reset to launch us into bigger and better and stronger. 

And I’m looking forward to flying again, my travel bug is getting quite antsy; to seeing family and friends and giving out huge hugs and laughing together and feeling the joy that is exploring the world with people I love. In the meantime, I’m working hard to be grateful for the joy of today; for time and space that isn’t stress filled, for the smell of freshly baked bread, for the love of my dog and for the hope of things that are yet to come.

I made Challah for the first time and it turned out delicious. 

The cooking post.

When my mom was here in January she was (rightfully) appalled at the lack of certain things in my kitchen.  I said at one point, “Know what I need?” and she said, “Mom to come visit and actually use your kitchen”.  She wasn’t wrong in that.

It’s not that I don’t like cooking; on the contrary, I like it a lot, when I am cooking for someone else who will appreciate it.  And when I have the time and space.  The last time I cooked a lot was when I was living in Boston, I was dating someone who enjoyed what I ate and I had easy access to anything I needed at the store down the street.  Since moving here, I have been drowning in work, and the last thing I want to do after a ten hour stressful work day is come home and cook. I’ve had a lot of grilled cheese, salad, cereal, and an occasional Uber Eats delivery.

But now, those reasons have gone out the window and suddenly I find myself with time and energy and plenty of desire (even though I’m still just cooking for myself).  About two weeks ago something possessed me to buy a whole chicken in the store; I’ve never cooked a whole chicken before, but I stuck it in my slow cooker with some vegetables and seasonings and man, it was beyond delicious.  Honestly, I won’t ever buy a rotisserie chicken again.

With the carcass and some instructions from Mom, I made some really, really delicious chicken soup.

  

Pita chips, and hummus.  Both are so easy and so not worth the price in the grocery store.  Pita here is a little different than in West Africa, I had to roll it down thinner (the first round turned out more like croutons) but pairs perfectly with my garlic hummus. Yum!  (next I’ll try making pita myself….)

Zucchini bread, with some substitutions for things I can’t find here. Side note, zucchini in South Africa is called marrow and in England is called courgette.

Other things that didn’t warrant a photo: sloppy joes, tacos, butter chicken with halloumi instead of chicken, a second chicken, pesto pasta from my garden basil…. That’s what I can think of off hand.

Today was the best so far – I made bagels. I can’t find decent bagels here in SA and I’ve heard they’re easy, just a little time consuming.  They turned out AMAZING.  Next time I’m at the grocery store I’ll look for some sesame seeds to sprinkle on them!  I’ve been dreaming of good bagels for awhile, and am looking forward to making a breakfast sandwich with one of these beauties.

What are you making while on lockdown? What else should I try?? 

On comparing shipwrecks.

Congratulations, you’ve made it another week in this upside-down world we currently find ourselves living in.

I’ve noticed something happening that’s really unhelpful and it’s been on my mind for a few days now.  This is not the first time I’ve written about this unhelpful phenomenon, and it’s probably not the last.  It’s something that slithers in to our seemingly innocent conversations, perhaps under the guise of “gratitude” or “perspective”, both good things at face value, but when used as a mask for something else can be incredibly harmful, hurtful, and dangerous.

I’m talking about comparison.

One of my favorite quotes of all time is Comparison is the thief of joy, widely attributed to Theodore Roosevelt, and over and over in my life I’ve found it to be entirely accurate.   In other seasons it might be comparing accomplishments, awards and acclaim, working hours or salaries, busy-ness levels, love, body shapes and sizes, or any one of a million other things we can compare to others and be left feeling insufficient, unwanted, or unappreciated.  Whatever it is that makes you think that’s not fair.

In this season what I’m seeing is something even more sinister; instead of comparing what is usually considered good, we are comparing the shipwrecks we all find ourselves in right now, in one way or another.  This usually starts with at least or includes a comment such as lucky you, and is intended to point out how much better someone has it right now than another person.  These are all things I’ve seen in the last week or so; some of them, I do confess, are my own.

At least you don’t have to worry about losing your job, I don’t know if I’ll have one tomorrow.

At least you don’t have children to worry about, I’m losing it trying to homeschool and work and feed them all and keep my house from imploding.

At least you have people who love you in your home to keep you from feeling the desperate loneliness I experience every single day. I haven’t talked to another human in over a week.  No one would notice if I died.

Well, you’ve only been on quarantine for four days; I’ve been under for twelve. It only goes downhill.

Lucky you have Amazon and restaurants are still delivering; you can order anything you want to keep you busy, 

At least you have a fridge full of food and a house to live in.  Did you read that story from India about all the starving people walking for days to get to their hometowns?

At least you have a house, we don’t even have a yard to spread out in, we’re crammed into an apartment.

At least you still have good internet, ours is trash.

Lucky you are near to your family, mine is a million miles away and all flights are cancelled.

And on and on.  I’m sure you can think of a few more.

Joy is hard to find right now, I know. I feel it. The news is awful, the restrictions keep coming, the numbers keep climbing, the supplies keep dwindling. But comparing one situation to another is like comparing one shipwreck to another; while they look different, it doesn’t end well for anyone. The ship is never meant to sink.

I’m not saying this won’t end well; on the contrary, I think once we make it through this upside-down season we are in we will come out stronger and more resilient, more appreciative of things like hugs and runs and grocery store clerks and hospital cleaning staff and all the millions of others laying down their comfort and stability to save lives.  We will also all be touched with grief, with loss, with financial or familial struggles, with a sense of this isn’t how it was supposed to be… but this is how it is, and comparing that grief and loss to someone else’s will still be unhelpful, long into the future. At least her mother didn’t die.  At least they still have a happy marriage. At least she didn’t lose her life savings. At least they didn’t have to go through what I did…. It’s so unfair.

Yes, it really is. It’s so unfair. It’s so unfair that the world is upside down, that some people are devastated while others complain from their comfortable homes while others are killing themselves trying to save others.  Pointing out where others should be grateful might sound like a noble thing to do, but often it comes with a backhand of shame; be grateful for what you have, because you’ve actually got it really good, compared to me (or them).

That may be true. I’ve got it really good compared to a lot of people, but also, it’s still really hard.  And minimizing that isn’t helpful.  I want to be compassionate towards the grief and loss that everyone is feeling, no matter how ‘insignificant’ someone might judge it to be, it’s significant to them, and loving others well means holding space for whatever needs to be felt and grieved and surrendered, not minimizing or comparing or shaming. 

I’m sorry for your loss.  I’m sorry life doesn’t look like it was supposed to right now.  It’s okay to be angry, or anxious, or fearful, or sad, or whatever else you feel.  I’m glad I can feel because it means I am alive. And for that I will always grateful.  

 

My Jay, gazing at the houseplant with longing.  He wants to go hiking, I'm sure. Same, buddy. Same.