My Off-Broadway Husband...

...and I don't mean Off-Broadway as in not-on-Broadway, nor as an indication of my husband's preference for Off-Broadway shows. Simply said, my darling would just as well turn Broadway off.

Case in point: our last trip to the theater for a very good rendition of "The Phantom of the Opera", which by the way, still lives on, and does so with glory! If you know me, you know I just LOVE Phantom. I know every line to every song. I own the CDs, I used to listen to it three to four times a day, until I got so depressed I had to stop... I recently even read the book by Gaston Leroux. As I said, I LOVE Phantom. Jim likes it too, very much. To his credit, he likes the CDs, loves the music, and bought the movie (by the way, since we mention this... not crazy about Gerard Butler as the Phantom...)

So, what's the problem, you ask? So far so good... until we get to the points during the show when my husband fell asleep. Yes. A-S-L-E-E-P. Granted, he does relax with classical music... but asleep during Phantom??? Impossible!! No, my friend. Entirely possible, highly probable, and unfortunately true.

I should have known though... I mean, he did fall asleep during "Wicked"... I know... mental head slap. In his defense, it was a particular point in the musical when the music was particularly mellow. He didn't quite get it either, but unlike most of us growing up in the Western world, he missed the whole "Wizard of Oz" thing having been in Iran during his younger years, so can't blame the guy there.

In his defense too, I should say he didn't fall asleep during Chicago (or at least I don't think he did), which was fabulous by the way. In his defense as well, he stayed up for the entire "Aida" show (the Elton John version, not Verdi's...) Of course we were so close to the stage, the production might have come to a screeching halt had he been found sleeping.

I have hopes that he will be able to withstand "A Chorus Line" with me, since there is a considerable amount of dancing and that seems to be key. This will be my last attempt at sharing my love of Broadway shows with my sweetie. Love him as I may, I think I'd rather go with a girlfriend to fully enjoy the range of emotions, music and plot that are so unique to Broadway shows.

So perhaps I won't be able to share this with him, at least not that much, but then he's not able to share with me his love for action-packed, thin-on-plot movies either...

Role reversal

I wonder how, when and why it happens. When I was growing up, my parents cared for me, worried about me, and tried to steer me through the safest path, the one with the least amount of obstacles, the one that hopefully would lead me to a happy and fulfilled life as an adult. Now I find myself doing the same for my children, and oddly enough worrying about it for my parents.

When did I start feeling like I needed to care for them and protect them? When did the frustration start at finding myself unable to make things easier for them and solve their problems? I worry now morning and night about their decisions, their lives, and the potential consequences of their actions. They may have more experience, and they certainly have a very different outlook, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to, in a sense, mother them.

I wrestle with the inability to protect them, and finally find some reassurance in the fact that life really didn't mean for me to take on that role. And I close my eyes and pray that somehow, somewhere, they will find happiness and a way to live the rest of their lives with dignity. And I say "they" because I'd rather not point the finger at the parent that really is making me lose sleep. You know who you are, and I hope you know that, no matter what, I love you.

The hills are alive...

...and the devastation we saw during the October fires has given way to a carpet of green. As I drive down teh 241 Toll Road heading toward Rancho Santa Margarita, I find myself resisting the urge to pull my car over and soak in the view of the hillside.

I know Ireland has the claim to the greenest green, but right now, our hills are intense with it from new growth and rebirth. Here and there you can still catch the charred trees that no longer stand proud in stark contrast with the brilliant colors of Spring. And through it all, wildflowers have found their way once again, adding the beauty of their lavender and bright yellow. Rolling with the hills I also find a profusion of Mustard flowers, and my mind reels with the wonder of nature.

I sigh and wish I could stop the car, get out, and lay down on the green carpet to watch the amazing blue sky. Spring is around the corner, and while there was loss and desolation only a few months ago, now is the time to hold on to hope and life. My heart is filled with the beauty of the simple things around me.

Happy New Year.... happy new bugs!

I think we're on the clear now. We've gone through the western calendar New Year, and now we've turned the page on the Chinese one for good measure. And why does that matter, you ask? Because I refuse to concede that the New Year can start the way mine did, and instead prefer to think that I got a new chance for a better year once the Year of the Rat rolled in.

Let's start at the end of 2007...

It all started when I got itchy feet and decided I would find a way to go to a party for New Year's Eve - even if that meant throwing the party myself. As it turns out, when you have small children, that is the only way to do it. Babysitters are in high demand, and mine happened to have plans (never mind that she is 15 years old... she's got more of a life than I do). So, I contacted a few couples, who all thought it sounded like fun, and then notified my hubby, in that order.

As the night approached, I spent my limited free time dreaming up concoctions, since there is nothing like a party to test your latest recipe and try your hand at a new hors d'oeuvre. I got all my supplies, the hats, the blowers, the serpentine, the champagne glasses, and started buying the food.

Just as we were about to turn the corner on the much expected festivities (at least by me), people started falling like flies with bad colds, bronchitis, etc. In the end, from a potential crowd of 12, we ended up counting with 8, and the night of most of those canceled as well. In light of this experience, I have decided to run a hospital next year, which probably will meet with greater success.

Let's turn the page to 2008...

January came somewhat uneventfully, but I was looking forward to it. We had plans to go to Big Bear for our godson's birthday and spend the weekend there with the Maxwells and the Eros. And after that, we'd be rolling into my birthday season (yeah, season, more accurate). I had gotten tickets for an Argentinian Tango show, with an Argentinian dance company, and I was researching my options for an after-show jazz bar where Jim and I could hide in a corner, have a drink, enjoy some music, and yes, make out. Why not?

So, Big Bear came, and with it disaster. Katarina got sick with a bad cold that generated very high fevers, so she had to stay home most of the next week. As she went back to daycare and I back to work, Jim came down with influenza. He spent four days in bed, flat on his back shivering and miserable, through the long weekend AND into my birthday, when we had planned to go skiing (for free in Big Bear!) My birthday came without the skiing, so I took myself out for ballet class and got a few things done, including baking my own cake (which turned out scrumptious). That night, Larissa and I came down with Katarina's cold and fevers, so Larissa had to stay home from school, and I had to work from home despite the fever. By the end of the week, I was told I had pneumonia (happy freaking birthday to me!!), the day before my show and dreams of a jazz bar. Next Wednesday, Katarina got another cold and was sent home from daycare with yet another fever AND covered in spots.

Need I say more? We've said good-bye to 2007 and its viruses, and we've said good-bye to the year of the Pig with another set of bugs. I'm done. This new year, which I decided to welcome yesterday, will be better, even if it means I have to mark my door with the blood of the sacrificial lamb!

Why I'm not a caterer...

So, most of you who know me also know I am all about the food - and this includes eating it, enjoying it, savoring it, admiring it when it's someone else's work, and also buying it, chopping it and cooking it myself, so I can complete the cycle just outlined above and call it my work. Among the things on my mental to-do-list (you know, to do before I die...) is taking some cooking classes, the fancy kind without the CIA degree.

Now, I have my days. Some days, things go well. The gods of cooking and eating smile at me, and the creations coming out of my kitchen are pretty darn good, considering I'm not a chef. I can play Rachel Ray and do 30-minute meals, I can play Iron Chef and come up with something when there's virtually nothing in my fridge, and some days I think I can play Martha Stewart, but then that may be a bit too much (and it's more like Lucy Ricardo entered the kitchen...)

I had this small jewelry party at my house with a small number of moms from the daycare and their kids - kids went upstairs, where we hoped they wouldn't kill each other, and moms stayed downstairs with the baubles and the wine. And the food that I'd been thinking about and working on from the day before.

So let me say this - I had a decent level of success. And bless my husband, he did call me Martha Stewart. The reason? I decided it was time I tried my hand at my version of petit fours. I have learned my lesson since - they are a royal pain in the ass. I did take some shortcuts, so it looks like I also can play "semi-homemade". The end result was really delicious - I started with a vanilla cake, which I filled with boysenberry jam and a bit of Armagnac, and fudge. I then cut the blocks into strips and then cubes, and then I worked on covering them in sinful semi-sweet chocolate, which is when the pain-in-the-ass factor came in.

It was such a good idea. It looked so simple to implement. It was going to be my piece-de-la-resistance. It could've been better. Melting the chocolate will have to be perfected - not sure double boiler is the way to go. Not sure adding cream to thin it out is a good idea. Not sure I can afford the amount of chocolate that gets consumed in this process.

The petit fours, to my own credit, were sinful. And people loved them. And my husband called me Martha Stewart, which gave me more satisfaction than anything else. But let's face it, some things shouldn't be attempted without adult supervision... let's just say it took me a while to get the hang of it, and while they were delicious and the top of them was decorated prettily, the chocolate covering itself wasn't perfect (which so goes against my anal retentive nature).

So, why should you care? You shouldn't. I just had to get it out of my system.