Back On The Market

It's official. The saga of "the Trader Joe's Guy" has come to an end. After an roller coaster ride together, we have decided to part ways.

I'm sad. I really did like him, even though it became obvious that not enough fit for a long haul. Every once in a while when we were out in the world together, I saw strangers who seemed to have what I want, and my heart ached. So I not-so-gracefully withdrew and avoided him as I tried to change how I was feeling, which was cowardly and hurtful and made everything worse. In the end, I had to give in and admit that what I really wanted wasn't what was in front of me - as much as I wanted to want what was in front of me. And I am so sad that I hurt someone.

I'm angry. Angry and hurt and sad. About the way we parted. I was reminded that you can see a whole new part of a person when they are hurt. If we are like most people, we instinctively just create hurt in return. It's those talented few who can open their heart up big enough to hold everyone's pain in that moment. It's the latter that I'd recommend thinking hard before parting ways with. The former certainly makes it easier to let go.

I'm confused. Angry at the universe. What was that?! He seemed to have been dropped in my lap for some reason. But I haven't been able to figured out exactly why. I am desperately clinging to the hope that there is a reason why, so I can continue to believe that there is some order in this crazy universe. I can't bare to face a world without healing forces nudging us towards growth and leading us to all forms of love, if we pay attention.

I do feel some relief. It was so hard to admit it wasn't working, and I hate the person I was acting like while I was so conflicted. After all the raw emotion fades, I think I will remember him as the bright flash that he was. A stroke of fate. A lesson on savoring the moment. And super yummy while it lasted.

Hiding Out From Life

Life is too much for me right now. I can't stand to hear about natural disaster devastation, but I can't turn away. The tragedy sinks right into my soul. And lots of smaller losses are piling up around me. Cancer is back with a vengeance in the mother of a wonderful young girl whom I love. A friend is dealing with the complicated death of her father. Friends are moving away. Other friends' lives are moving on in ways mine just isn't. (And riding 73 miles in 90 degree weather probably depleted some of my resiliency this week.)

Why is my life so easy compared to people in earthquake leveled China? How is that right? And why does my life still feel so hard? Life is delicate. Time is short. Make the most of it, right?! I believe that. But I just waste more time feeling guilty that I may not be making the most of mine. What will actually make it be the most? What do I even want? And if I know what I want, how do I get it? Do I even deserve it?

Right now I want more...
more time
more sleep
more freedom (aka more money)
more knowledge
more experience
more direction
more Project Runway
more Nancy Drew skirts to sew
more ice cream

And here's my big question of the moment: How much of what I want has to overlap with my significant other's? What can I compromise? If it is not possible to compromise, then how long do I hang around in the meantime? What do I really want?

I'm not sure. Or I'm not ready to stand up for it. Much less go after it.

So I slowly retreat. Turn inward. Hide out while it all churns in my head. Bury my head in Project Runway or whatever other distraction I can get my hands on.

Not sure when I'll be ready to come back up for air. Might be a while. My only glimmer of hope is that perhaps I'll come out the other side of all this rumination with some sort of brilliant epiphany...

Nina Luna Meets Project Runway

I finally got my hands on Project Runway, and now I can't get enough. Seriously. This, combined with the task of coming up with a Nancy Drew costume for my niece... and I'm off running.

I made a cute skirt reminiscent of the recent Nancy Drew movie look (hopefully). Headband and magnifying glass are on their way...

Now I'm on the hunt for a more vintage Nancy Drew look for myself for next Halloween. I already have the magnifying glass necklace. Now I just need the right dress/suit. Something very prim and proper 1940/50s with youthful full skirt. Perhaps plaid with a crisp white collar... Did you know they sell vintage sewing patterns on eBay?!

Inspiration is everywhere when I am tuned in. On the Nancy Drew quest to every local fabric store (it was incredibly hard to find plaid this time of year!), I got distracted and produced a purple and orange paisley corduroy skirt and a laminated cotton bag for Mother's Day!

Fun! Thank you Heidi and Tim Gunn (am I the only one who wants to take him home with me?!).
Make it work, people.
Carry on.

Lilac Watch 2008

I once heard a story about a woman whose life's work was her amazing lilac garden. She had many, many beautiful and unique varieties which she had collected and many hybrids that created herself. People loved her lilacs, so she often gave them lilac cuttings so they could take them home to grow their own. One winter there was a terrible storm and flood waters from the nearby river engulfed her garden and left it completely ruined. But slowly people heard about her devastation and brought back cuttings from the bushes they had started from hers, and she gradually replanted her garden again and restored it to its full beauty. I think you can extract the moral of the story.

(I think I found the real story about the garden which is actually just outside Portland. They say that people actually bought their starts from her and make rebuilding sound like no big deal. I'm going to stick with my romantic version.)

I think of (my version of) this story every year when the lilacs come out. That, combined with their old fashioned charm and the fact that they come in every gorgeous shade of purple imaginable, has made them one of my favorite things in the world. A few years ago I caught myself saying, "The lilacs have never been so beautiful!" Then it was pointed out to me that that I say that exact phrase every year. But every year I genuinely feel that way.

Several years ago I was down in Portland for Easter and the lilacs were in full bloom already. What happened this year? I know Easter was early but things have looked a little more like this...

Yes, that is snow in April in Seattle.

I think of lilacs as being in full bloom around Mothers Day, so maybe we are not that off schedule. But you have to agree the weather in Seattle is seriously wacky this year. I am in desperate need of Spring!!! Please.

But they're here. Take a look around. I found a few of my own lilac branches sprouting purple on the bush in my side yard (in the shade between houses, it's a little behind its cousins with sunnier real estate)...

Nina Luna finds her kitchen.

I don't cook very often because I don't think I do it well enough. Perfectionism (aka my constant companion and shadow) keeps me away. And of course eating is still not uncomplicated for me even after over a decade of healing from an eating disorder. If I do cook, it is in a Conquer kind of way: get a big idea and make a big production trying it once, then good or not - it usually seems like too much work to bother again.

But an unexpected result of my current romantic relationship is more time in the kitchen... somehow the gentle and accepting company of this particular companion has helped me be open enough to take this risk. Luckily, I have received a lot of personal coaching from my friend who cooks good food as naturally as she breathes. It started, of course, with bacon and brussels sprouts. Then came the fajitas - which turned out OK, but a little too chewy. Then I successfully tackled lasagna - after my friend calmed me in the midst of a dating crisis with the wise words, "A lot can be healed with lasagna." There was even a side trip into baking apple pie, which I have lots of practice at - I seem to be more comfortable baking. Or just more motivated to eat those baked treats.

Then, last Monday I read my favorite food/love/life blogger and came home to happily make her latest recipe for dinner. This might seem pretty ordinary to some people. But to me? Miraculous. Cooking on a weeknight just feels like way too much unnecessary frustration. And I am often limited to certain foods or textures as dictated by my emotional state, like my fascination with cottage cheese and rice crackers when I have an angry need to crunch but a milky comforting longing as well. In general, I often don't feel satisfied with a meal unless it somehow involves cheese. I probably ate Trader Joe's frozen pizza and a wild greens salad at least four nights a week for about two years. I'm still not sure exactly what emotional need that was filling, but the compulsion seemed like a little more than really liking pizza.

But the point is that something may finally be shifting inside of me. With some help and new perspective on food itself. This blogger, Shauna, gives recipes and directions but with rich context and an amazing passion for food. Like my friend with the lasagna advice, Shauna speaks in the language of textures, smells, and preferred taste more than exact volumes and specific amounts of time. The openness and focus on learning the process rather than rigidly following directions gives me the information, but with freedom. And the way she talks about food is teaching me to savor each aroma, color, and flavor with real creativity and love. Food not only can sustain life but enrich your life. It's not just something to fight against and control and resent. Who knew?!

And enjoying my kitchen tools really helps - I am in love with my cast iron pans (thank you Uncle Jim). There is something so timeless and wholesome about them. Seasoning them feels like caring for old friends. I picture pioneers cooking with them over open campfires and grandmothers with rich equatorial skin pulling them out of outdoor clay ovens. And they work really well.

This week I was inspired enough to feel like it was creative and fun. So I made Shauna's savory black beans. (The grape tomatoes on the top make it a masterpiece - I couldn't find yellow, but red were delicious.) I cooked them along with some rice, quick chili-lime prawns, and roasted asparagus. And enjoyed myself.


File under: small victories and simple delights... like actually using my sewing room to sew. I know, I'm getting it. Sometimes it just takes me a while.

Winning is fun.

It's true. Winning might not be everything. But it sure is a whole lotta something. Something super fun.

My volleyball girls played SO well this weekend. We experienced moment after moment of sheer delight and joy. Even the girls who have never been the strongest were passing with precision and pounding the ball down on the other team. Are these the girls who couldn't set a ball to save their life a few months ago?! Amazing what a little instruction and happy motivation can do. I am proud because I think I am actually learning to be a technically good coach and would like to think I've had something to do with it. But I am also so proud of them. With a heart full of love. Like the proud volleyball mama.

I've certainly grown along with them. The "playing time" dilemma nearly got the best of me. But I think I found where I am comfortable. I had to fight a few people around me to make things fairer again, but that felt noble. And I swear everyone started playing better when things got more equal again. Who knew?!

The semi-final game this Wednesday may well be our final game (I've seen the team we're playing, and it might not be pretty), but I think we will remember this season very fondly (angry parents and all) regardless.

Love. Injure. Retreat. Recover. And Repeat.

I received another complaint about my coaching, but from a parent this time. Eek. And it touched on something I wasn't entirely happy with myself at that moment. Those complaints that ring in the vicinity of true are especially hard to take.

They were not happy with the amount of playing time their daughter is getting. (Apparently, she was devastated and ready to quit?!) I freely admit that balancing inclusivity vs. competitive edge in the heat of the game is by far the hardest part of coaching volleyball for me. As a group we've talked through their frustration with losing and chose to be more "strategic" with who we play when. I actually haven't been comfortable with how far we've swung toward the competitive side recently. But I really didn't think that if you counted up the minutes (which apparently they had) that she'd been on the bench far more than anyone else. That really wasn't my intention. But they didn't care. They were MAD.

I am sure we both see what we are looking for in the situation. This year I am noticing how hard it is to sift through my assumptions about players to see what they are actually accomplishing on the court. The appearance of how athletically they move and the actual result of their action doesn't always match up. And growth creeps up on us. I don't always see each person with fresh eyes each day, even though I desperately hope other people give me that chance to grow in their eyes. This girl had been working hard and doing better, and I was slow to respond.

But please tell people how you are feeling before it reaches crisis levels in your eyes!!!!

It is devastating for me to feel like I've injured someone. Especially when my intention is exactly the opposite. For a brief moment after hanging up the phone, I actually wanted to quit. To retreat completely. From this, one of my favorite things to do in the world. Because of one hard conversation.

Then I remembered that I really do trust my intentions. To understand and teach and love all of those girls the best I can. Not only that, but I am open to learning to do better, which is rare and remarkable. I also remembered it will feel better the next day. And even better the next.

Injure. Retreat. Recover.

And then I had a date where I thought that I had ruined everything. As my words came out, I felt like that girl who needed a boy's validation to be OK. And I didn't get the response I thought I wanted. Pain. And so I pulled back.

Injure. Retreat.

But I remembered that I am not that girl - I am an honest individual who is brave enough to risk revealing my messy insides. (Although, I admit it can get confusing for everyone involved. Often I'm not really sure what I am feeling... then I spend a lot of time wishing that I wasn't feeling what I am feeling... then I'm not sure how to express it... but eventually I get there.) I retreated and recovered. Then I was able to say what I actually meant. And it went back to being joyful and fun.

Recover. Repeat.

My Love Affair with Bacon

It was bacon all week last week. No joke. It started with BLTs and root beer floats (the brilliant boy's idea), yum. Then eggs and bacon. And a strip of bacon here and there on the go. Another BLT for good measure. Then the clincher... the Bacon Party thrown by good friends.

The Bacon Party was lovely. Probably one of the loveliest parties I've ever been to - not just because of the bacon, but because of the mix of good friends to see again and really nice people to meet. Usually I dread "stand around and talk to people" parties. But I credit L & B, the hosts, for being two of the kindest, most genuine, and intelligent people I know, so I shouldn't be surprised when the people they surround themselves with are stellar as well. The brussels sprouts and kale I made (cooked in bacon fat, of course) turned out really well. I've never cooked brussels sprouts, but I thought it was a fantastic balance of seemingly opposite foods.

But as someone who has had so many painful issues with food and weight, allowing myself to savor something so devilishly good is simultaneously essential and a miracle. And I'm trusting those miles on the bike to start paying off...

Time On My Hands

For the record, it is very hard to think (much less write) about anything but dating right now, since my brain is consumed by the current deliciousness. Thank you blog for the opportunity to remember the other sides of myself that I've worked so hard to cultivate for at least a moment...

Life has actually been good. Although, a little romance tends to make just about anything rosier. We just had Spring Break. The kids at school all asked, "Where are you going?" Because we are all headed to some exotic tropical location, of course [yes, that is a hint of bitterness that you detect]. I answered, "To my couch." And pretty happily, actually.

My usual plan of attack for any open expanse of time is to dive onto the couch and indulge in the luxury of doing nothing. And "nothing" inevitably means television. But the TV binge usually ends up feeling like a hot dog does for me; a fun idea at the time, but empty and regrettable. I was determined not to feel like I had wasted this gift of time. It took me a while to figure out what I needed to for that to happen. Turns out shopping isn't entirely the answer (though I gave it a good shot). I realized that the first flash of intuition is usually the answer... I needed a project. Like the vacation when I locked myself in a garage with some power tools and came out with a bookshelf.

So I decided to finally make a skirt out of some vintage fabric I have been holding on to. I am lucky enough to have a finished room in my basement, and I have done my best to make it conducive to creative endeavors. Great color and inspiration on the walls. Convenient and attractive storage for lots of supplies. A big fold-out table to spread out on. But I can never actually get myself to use it. It's cold. Kind of dark. I'd rather lug everything upstairs for the slight distraction of the TV... Just more shades of resistance and perfectionism, of course. And a reluctance to be entirely alone with myself.

But I had a breakthrough. Did you know I have a whole room in my house just for creating things?! Somehow I was ready to quit making excuses. I turned on the lights, turned up the heat, and put on some music. And got lost (or perhaps found) in the work.

The cats loved it, too. They even tried to help - if you can call lying on top of whatever I am trying to work on "helping".

Love Me, Love My Blog?

I've discovered a new, uniquely 21st Century, dating dilemma. We have always had to decide when to introduce a new man to friends, family, unattractive personal attributes, deep dark secrets, etc. Now, I am wondering how you decide when to tell them about your blog. I'm all for full disclosure, but I'm a little afraid there is such thing as too much disclosure all at once. And there are many things I'd rather share naturally and in person than via technology.

Out of respect for the party who doesn't yet know they are being discussed and a desire to keep some things just for myself, I will suspend the practice of sharing specific dating details until a more appropriate time. Sorry.

But first, let me just say that (in my opinion) we had a lovely first date. Long, luxurious, meandering. Fun. No need for any contrived tests - especially after we discussed at length a mutual love of bacon (and loathing of raisins!) and spit off the Aurora bridge together. The best test that I forgot about: I thoroughly enjoyed not only his presence, but the parts of myself brought out in his presence. And awareness of possibility for the person I am still becoming.

Yes, there are plans for a second date.