More on hospitality

I hosted a bridal shower for my sister yesterday. My mom and I cleaned, planned, shopped, and chopped for 24 hours prior to the first guest arriving. As I prepared, I had some thoughts about hospitality. I guess you could say I had more thoughts on hospitality, a sequel to the discussion first begun here.

Hospitality is one of my favorite topics to think about and discuss. It involves food, people, history, creativity, cooking, stories, relationships, and memories. Providing a warm space for others is so important to me. When I was getting my master's degree in counseling, I remember one of my professors talking about hospitality. She said that we should have people over even if we're serving hot dogs on paper plates. It was at that point that I realized there is a difference between dinner parties and hospitality. I'd always thought of hospitality as a well-planned, fancy meal at a dinner table. Instead, I started to realize hospitality is a matter of attitude and availability. Don't read me wrong here, I love "fancy" meals. Fancy meals can be very hospitable, and the two aren't mutually exclusive of each other. But the important trait in hospitality, whether fancy or humble, is availability. Availability to talk, cook, share your life with someone else, not letting expectations for something impressive get in the way of connecting with others.

One of the most hospitable environments I've ever been in was a woman's home in St. Louis a few years ago. I had gone with some friends to a local church to visit a woman and her family who lived in the actual church building. Imagine this, 3-4 classrooms, side-by-side, part of a much larger building used by the church. That was her home. We walked in to her "kitchen", and she was sitting down ready to talk. Her kitchen was a complete wreck. I mean complete. At first I was put off and felt uncomfortable. There were no chairs, and I kept being distracted by the mess. But this woman's warmth and attentiveness to us was so superior to anything I'd seen prior. I left there telling my friend that despite all of the drawbacks (classrooms for home, messy kitchen, no chairs), that was the most hospitable environment I'd ever been in. That experience left a mark on me. While I imagine that woman's home doesn't look that messy all the time, she taught me that hospitality doesn't stop happening when life gets messy. Hospitality is a matter of attitude and the actions that flow out of that attitude.

Yesterday's party taught me that "enough" space is a relative term. My parents home is around 1300 square feet. I don't know the exact specs, but based on how hard I remember it being to find "alone space" as a kid in that house, 1300 may be too optimistic. As the rsvp's kept rolling in for the affirmative, I began to get nervous about bumping shoulders, seating shortage, and frustrated sighs from guests wanting their "alone space."

The day before the party, I gave the issue my full attention. Seating zones were the way to go. Groups of chairs throughout the house. They were perfect for conversation among friends who hadn't seen each other in a while or who knew each other very well. It was still somewhat tight, but I think it was cozy and fostered intimacy. I've been to so many beautiful, boutique-ish bridal and baby showers in gorgeous homes, and somehow that expensive style had crept up in my mind as the only way to host a shower. Once I kissed those expectations goodbye and blew them out the window, I felt free to let the party take on it's own personality. With more than enough food served, Cuban appetizers that were a huge hit, and people laughing in every corner of the home, I think we struck the personal and intimate cord just fine.

My abuelita and her childhood friend from Cuba making toilet paper flowers for the wedding dress game. I've played this game many, many times before, but watching them participate in this standard American bridal shower game was my favorite part of the party.

Telegram from home

Visiting parents. Quick visit to help mom. (STOP). House all set for party tomorrow. Food shopping still to be done. (STOP). Ominous clouds in afternoon. No tornadoes. Just warm tropical rain. (STOP). Good to visit. (STOP).

Say (grilled) cheese

It's been hot here. H-O-T, hot. And hot means summertime, and summertime invariable means shady outdoor fun, at least when the cooling but stuffy air conditioning is getting particularly...well, stuffy. So what's a girl to do while hanging out 10 hours a day alone with a two-year-old? She remembers a great idea her sister-in-law had and pops the small tent. Not the big one; that one can sleep an army. While we're an energetic and noisy duo, we are certainly not an army.

Yesterday, I packed a basket with grilled cheese sandwiches, noodle salad, chocolate milk, and chocolate yogurt (yes, indeed), and we headed to our outdoor dining spot. Karis was thrilled at first meeting of the tent. She ran from one corner to the next, and with six corners in it's hectagonal shape, she bounced around a lot. Then she inspected the mesh windows and decided it was a squeal-worthy coincidence that we could be both indoors and outdoors at the same time, but still have a view of the back of our house from our new piece of real estate. Very fun.

I finally put my camera down from photographing the event, only after she had looked at me in the midst of my snapping pictures and said, Cheese! I don't know why I was so surprised she knew exactly what to say. She is, after all, going to grow up empathizing with the rich and famous on this issue of being photographed. We then lay there and stared up at the tree tops through the open roof. It was a rare, relaxing moment between us.

I knew it was time to head indoors when she tried to cuddle with the picnic basket. I'd say the walk home was reasonably convenient, given the quick pace at which she showed her true nap-worthy behavior.

Signs of life, part 2

"Couples friends." These are the kind of friends where wife is friends with wife and husband with husband...and all get along in between. A seemingly easy concept, a somewhat difficult status to achieve given all the variables in personalities. Mexican Friday lived on this week, and it provided relaxed friendship with two such couples. We gave thanks at the night's end.

The vigor of skim boarders at Mickler's Beach this evening. We visited a place south of our normal beaching spot. The sand was not as fine, but the wave athletes were in rare form.

A brilliant prelude to a sunset, the sun stretching its lazy rays across a bedtime sky, and one lonely little window in a house along the shore.

The Shore

She's been washed over by the waves,
safe in her father's arms.
Danced her heart out to the Beastie Boys.
Like the seashore, life is gritty.
Like sea shells, we get smoother with every new wave.

It's been a busy and rough week around here. When Matt called me from his car yesterday asking if I'd throw some clothes in a bag and meet him outside to head to the beach, "Heck yes" was the first thing out of my mouth.

We never thought we'd be beach people. Not the surfing, displaying your pasty body, bake in the sun type of people. But when the thermostat reads 90 inland, it reads breezy and satisfying on the Jacksonville shoreline.

While I watched the surfers and hunted for shells, Matt and Karis rode the waves near the shore. That little girl is a natural-born beach bum. Loves the water, the sand, the chill in the air. Even purple lips and an all over shiver doesn't stop her from asking for more wave-riding. She gets her adventurous spirit from him, and I love to watch it flourish.

When the appetites and exhaustion soared beyond the point of ignoring them, we headed down A1A in search of a little beach diner. We found a pizza joint we'd been wanting to try. We stepped in, our clothes wet, my feet bare, and my head shaking in disbelief that I'd left my shoes outside my car door back at the beach. My "good" sandals. At least the bare feet added to the beach bum attitude. While waiting, a fun little ditty by the Beastie Boys came over the speakers, and I invited Karis to join me in an impromptu dance off. She beat me with a very sophisticated dance number involving standing up half way in her high chair. I laughed and clapped while Matt walked up and scolded her for standing up in her chair. I couldn't blame him, and I should have done the same. It was fun to get caught up in the moment.

The pizza was amazing. Matt called it our Lupi's at the beach. I said I was glad to have an "our Lupi's" anywhere near the Jacksonville area. Afterward, we headed back towards the beach area, and sure enough my sandals were sitting there covered in sand, unassuming, and having been most certainly run over by the SUV sitting over them. I was thankful to have them back, my "good" sandals. We decided since we were back at the beach again, it would only be prudent to take an impromptu walk. Of course, once out there, the gleam came over Matt's eye. In an instant, his shirt was off and he was riding the waves. I entertained Karis by playing a game of chase in the sand dunes. We both laughed hysterically and then walked back to the beach to watch Matt get tossed to and fro by the strong Atlantic winds and undercurrent. It was just the sort of relaxation he needed.

On the ride home, Karis sang about bridges, the beach, and her shoes. Matt and I listened to some country music, probably one of the only times I enjoy that genre (on our way back from the shore). I thought about how grateful I am for my life. It's been such a rough day (and week, for that matter). I'm trying to find a healthy balance for my body, mind, and emotions. It's slow going, and I'm not exactly brimming with hope at this point in my journey. But as the song on the radio reminded me, I've been washed in the blood not just the water.

She's been washed over by the waves,
safe in her father's arms.
Danced her heart out to the Beastie Boys.
Like the seashore, life is gritty.
Like sea shells, we get smoother with every new wave.

You envy me

You know you do. While doing the dishes tonight, I slipped on the wet tile floor with a wooden cutting board in my hand. I caught myself before I could so much as wobble an inch, but the dramatic side of me says I nearly died by way of a wooden cutting board that wreaks of onions and cilantro.

After the cutting board incident of '09, I went to switch the laundry to the dryer and accidentally banged my head on the door frame. I wish I could say this was the first time...this week. It's an outside laundry room, and regrettably my neighbors can hear "head-banging" reactions. Not pretty.

While brushing my teeth a little while later, the paste unexplainable fell (jumped, if you ask me) off the brush. I looked all over the sink and floor, but I couldn't find it anywhere. About the time I gave up looking, I began to feel something squishy inside the sleeve of my sweater. Sure enough, a glob of toothpaste was smeared all over my wrist, inside my sleeve. I went to unzip the sweater, and, wouldn't you know it but the zipper was broken. (I've had it for years and it's NEVER had a zipper issue). In my emotional despair over the tile slip, laundry door, toothpaste, and zipper, I walked over to my husband who was lying in bed reading, and with the toothbrush still in my mouth, I silently shook my fists at the sky and tried to mime what had just happened. He put the magazine down, looked at me weirdly, listened to my toothbrush-slurred explanation, and simply asked, "Was I supposed to understand that?"

No. No you weren't. I just needed an audience. And come to think of it, I really should have taken that drama elective in high school.

Things that

::Cause my neighbors to wonder if I'm crazy
While watering the plants this morning, I was inspired by the cool shadows cast on the front of the house. Fast forward five minutes...There is a large tripod set up in the front yard and I'm setting the 10-second timer, pressing "play", and then running to the hose and watering. Craziness. Just craziness.

::Enthrall Karis at the library
The water fountains in the courtyard of the Jacksonville Public Library.

::Enthrall me at the library
The "Grand Reading Room": two tone walls painted steel gray and orangish-red, brushed nickel lamps, sturdy wooden chairs, and framed old maps and documents covering the walls. Grand, indeed.

::Annoy me at the library
1. The "No food or drink" policy when I have a screaming toddler. I boldly disregarded this rule and let Karis munch on some cereal while I looked up some books. In my mind, it was a total catch 22...let her scream and disturb others or let her eat and I get a "talking to" by an employee. I chose the latter. Right as we were leaving, an employee approached and informed me of the policy. I said, "Yes" and "Thank you" and continued out the door. If I had done this in the 1st grade at Pelican Elementary during library time, the librarian would surely have told my teacher, Mr. Blue, and I would have gotten my name on the board. Then again, I wouldn't have been pushing around a 2-year-old who doesn't understand the concept of "inside voices, please!" So, I'm ok with it.

Process and perspective

Karis asleep in her car seat, a rare moment of peace these days.

The winds are changing again in our household. I've been feeling a change of pace slowly creeping up on us the last couple of weeks. I think we're in the thick of the changes now, and I'm afeared I can't see my way out of the forest around me. I'm in need of some perspective, to say the least.

For starters, Karis is just shy of the two year mark, and she has hit the "terrible two's" stage. And when I say she hit it, I mean she is fully engrossed and completely drenched in this stage, leaving me tale spinning from the transformation. The remarkable thing about this though is that it literally happened overnight. She went to bed Sunday night a relatively even-keeled little girl and woke up on Monday a moody, stubborn teenager. While I have aversion to calling this stage "terrible", I'll admit that it is aptly named, if for no other reason than it brings out the terrible in me. The really terrible. A wild dragon of anger, a deep well of frustration, and an endless longing to escape it all...and that is just my half of things. Add her moodiness and brazen disregard for my authority and you have a recipe for a very.long.next.few.months (and here's to hoping it's only that long!). It's a good thing I immersed myself in 2 hours of the raw gospel this morning at my mom's group. I need to be hosed down in the truth daily.

I pulled a muscle in my shoulder of couple of weeks ago, and so I've been walking around like an old lady, holding in my left arm and extending it only to stop Karis from running in traffic or when I forget and load the dryer and re-injure it. It has made things more difficult, and I find myself hoping against all hope that this injury heals soon. It hit me the other day that my suffering is so small compared to others. It's a thought that I angrily dismissed when it first came to mind. But I'm reminded that life is about trusting and waiting.

I'm also realizing life is about process, the stuff that happens "in the mean time," before you achieve your goals. I'm not good with process. The other night I stayed up late trying to get the kitchen perfectly spotless. I knew my husband was hoping I'd come relax with him in bed. I found myself repeating, "Process, Alina. It's about process." But process be damned, I argued back and continued to scrub the counters. I want results: A clean kitchen. A healthy arm. A well-behaved child.

So back to the truth I go, diving right in to the basics. Repentance, Forgiveness, Trust. Over and over again. How many times a day will I have to remind myself?!

Process, Alina. Process.

The good, better, and best

::A toy that rocks
Matt was looking through the artwork section of our local Goodwill when he heard a gleeful, "Weeee! Weeee!" He turned around to find Karis rocking back and forth on her own piece of artwork, a wooden rocking horse, in excellent condition. The happy little shopper sold us immediately on the toy. Of course, the $6 price tag didn't hurt.

::Challah-lujah
I'm so grateful for our recent membership to the JCA, a local Jewish community center complete with a gym, exercise classes, and fantastic childcare. Really, I'm beyond thankful. I get to sweat and feel young again while knowing Karis is getting safe social interaction.

We walked through the front doors today to be greeted by the receptionist and about 20 loaves of gorgeous challah. I couldn't resist. I mean, really, how beautiful is this bread?! When Matt and his co-worker came home today on their lunch break, they caught me in the middle of my photo shoot. They looked at me and the bread and then asked in disbelief, "Is that real?" Yes. And incredibly delicious. I think French toast is on the menu for breakfast tomorrow.

::A Mexican compromise
I'm an extrovert, and Matt is an introvert. I have been begging to have people over more often, and Matt said he would enjoy a party atmosphere on Friday nights to celebrate the work week's end. Thus, out of the ashes of our marital discord, Mexican Fridays have been born. Spicy fajitas, a casual atmosphere, friends in our home. And beer. Yes, let's not forget about that. This week we had some good friends over for Mexican Thursday. I learned that no matter what day of the week it is, whenever fresh pico de gallo is involved, it's a party.

finding balance

The dishwasher is chugging along in the kitchen. Karis is asleep in the room on my left, and Matt snores away in the room north of me. I would be sleeping, but I got up to check the stove. All knobs are off. They always are.

Matt took last Friday off of work so we could rest. Three solid days together as a family, and rest we did not. There was shopping, organizing, cleaning, and gardening to be done. We felt like we accomplished a lot by weekend's end, though I did make a comment to him that perhaps we need to be more intentional about our "down time"...like, you know, do some resting. Once that bug of productivity hits us, all moderation and community goals are thrown out the window. I don't want to become the hermit couple with a well organized home. (shudder)

Look who has joined the morning watering ritual. On Saturday, I filled the can and asked her to help me water the gardens. It was love at first pour. I'm not sure what she loved more: caring for the flowers, helping mom, or watching the water come out the spout. She found it challenging to hold the heavy can and control where the spray landed. I'm pretty sure we have the best watered concrete boarders in the whole neighborhood.

friendships and fire

They played together for hours, Karis and her friend E. Flowers were sniffed and toys passionately disputed over. Their personalities are so different; Karis babbled on the whole time about everything, while E was quiet, taking it all in, and only speaking when she needed to eat. We loved having her over to play and even scheduled another date for next week.

I cooked chicken fajitas with sauteed peppers and onions out on our grill tonight. The aroma of the dish cooking on the gas burner smelled so much better than it ever has when cooked indoors on the electric coil burners. I've been wanting to find a way to cook more with the raw element of fire. Something about being out on the patio, in the open air, cooking over an open flame...it made me feel like Tom Hanks in Castaway, with hands up triumphantly in the air, rejoicing over his hard-earned flames.

Easter has me longing for redemption. I was looking forward to going to church on Easter Sunday in NYC, and although we didn't make it to a service, I found myself humming all day long the words to the song "Christ the Lord is Risen Today." So many areas in my life and in those people around me has me longing for that deep, restorative, "everything made brand new" kind of redemption. I love Easter's promise.

Inspiration and a very long nap

Andrew waiting for the train.

I realize I haven't updated since my first two entries posted amid the flurry of activity in New York City. I definitely spun my wheels until they could spin no more. Saturday's schedule was just as full as the previous two days' itinerary. There was a shopping trip to the Flatbush coop for organic groceries, a visit to a Brooklyn art exhibition, early dinner at a Mediterranean restaurant, my official favorite cappuccino to date in Park Slope, and drinks at Milano's, the second oldest bar in Manhattan. Whew! I barely made it home on the subway that night without passing out. It was all so fun and inspiring and memorable.

Building where Art Exhibition was held.

I was encouraged by meeting one of Andrew's friends at the art exhibition. An aspiring photographer herself, she has dreams and ambitions much like my own. That was affirming to discover, and I find my own goals for photography taking shape after such an inspiring weekend.

Me, in Prospect Park. Photo courtesy of my brother.

As awesome as this all was, I was so grateful to come back to my husband and daughter. I love our life we've built, and I was glad to realize that I wouldn't trade it for all the international glamour of NYC.

Matt picked me up from the airport, and on the ride home we had a very near encounter with the side rail of the interstate, thanks to a car full of criminals evading the cops (a dozen cops following closely behind). I, of course, found the close scare very ironic considering I just returned from NYC, a place stereotyped for it's criminal activity. Not a proud moment for Jacksonville.

Heavy winds whipped around our little home last night and this morning. They were so strong, at one point, that I took Karis and hid in our windowless hallway and played until the most ferocious moments passed. I love spring rains, even with the tornado warnings and downed trees they bring with them.

It's been a full 7 days, and we are all looking forward to catching up on some much missed sleep.

Andrew in front of Prospect Park.

2nd Annual Represent Brooklyn Art Exhibition.

Five senses Friday

Seeing:: a purple sky, a dark building with one window lit, and a couple waiting for their train. The man eventually noticed I was taking their picture, and in my final shot he bent over backwards in an exaggerated dancer's pose. I smiled and waved before the subway zipped between us and interrupted the exchange.

Smelling:: the full, yeasty aroma of a glass of organic wine at dinner. A nonchalant first sniff turned into a more committed second sniff, my nose completely disappearing into the glass to take it all in.

Tasting:: fresh, creamy goat cheese tossed in a vinaigrette with greens, tomatoes, and crispy French bacon.

Hearing:: the specials described by our French waitress. Her lovely accent made even her offers to refill our water glasses sound like poetry.

Touching:: a sweet gift by my brother's girlfriend. A beautiful pea green mug, silver earrings, and a passport cover featuring a print of vintage birds, true inspiration to apply for my passport.

:: a cozy subway ride home on a rainy evening in Brooklyn.

She boards a plane

I packed my favorite black suitcase, kissed the good, good man that is my husband, waved goodbye to my daughter, and headed into the Jacksonville airport. I squealed a little under my breath. "Bon Voyage" and "Happy Birthday to me" kept going through my head. I went through security, was stopped and subsequently searched, the illegal bottles of shampoo and conditioner swiftly confiscated. I shrugged and walked off knowing that on any other day the scenario would annoy me. But not today. This weekend is about celebrating.

I sat in the terminal, pulled out my laptop, drank my iced americano, and read emails through my intermittent people watching. I had no tiny hands to corale, no one else to discuss the plan with. Just me. I emailed Matt and told him how immensely I was enjoying myself though I hadn't even left the airport. He later told me he envisioned me having kicked my shoes off. Let me tell you, it came pretty close to that.

I boarded the plane headed for NYC with a layover in DC. The first flight was uneventful. Had a chance to organize my photos...a job I always think about doing but can never find suitable time to do such a laborious but necessary task.

We flew over the Pentagon, and I marveled at how small it was considering it's national significance. I guess I always imagined it being much grander. Maybe my perspective was off because I was flying above it. The layover was short, and then we boarded the second plane. I accidentally jammed my knee in the rear of the girl sitting next to me as she tried to squeeze past me. That was awkward. We both laughed it off. Thank goodness planes are an instance where typical space rules don't apply, otherwise that offense might have qualified as physical assault.

I landed in New York without incident. I was greeted with taxis, swiftly walking people, a rainbow of shades of black clothing, and city energy. Yes, I love this. Yes. Yes. Yes.

This trip is a generous gift from my older brother. Known as "Uncle City" to his nieces, too me, he's my successful, New York-wise brother...who knows how to give a good birthday present.

We didn't waist any time getting the city fun started. First off was a trip to a Russian bar for oysters on the half shell, a fig martini, and a lychee cucumber martini. I have never had raw oysters. Let me here announce: I LOVE RAW OYSTERS! I'll admit, I never thought they could be so good. I imagined they wouldn't have any taste since they were raw. Turns out, they have all the amazing oyster flavor of the cooked variety but with a delicious raw texture, complimented beautifully by shallot vinegar and horseradish sauce. (Sigh)

From there we made our way to a Pan-Asian restaurant and ate salt and pepper shrimp, shrimp dumplings, and seafood tossed with Cantonese noodles. During our time at both places, we had fun pulling out the Nikon and taking pictures of the low lighting and urban atmosphere. This might be everyday for Andrew, but it's a lifetime of inspiration for me.

In good city fashion, we strolled around after dinner, walking swiftly, block by block, avoiding aggressive drivers and sketchy people. We settled in Little Italy at an outdoor cafe and partook of "the best cannoli on the planet" and espresso. The cannoli didn't live up to the hype, but the people-watching was primo.

Three restaurants were enough for me, and I expressed interest in heading back to his apartment. It was, afterall, midnight, and this homebody had reached her limit for the night. We hopped in his car and headed to his home in Brooklyn, where he checked in to see if I wanted to go to one of his favorite night spots in his neighborhood. I was flattered that he thought I might have that kind of energy, but I said I'd rather head in to bed. I had, afterall, been struggling with insomnia all week and had a date lined up with Ambien.

(She sleeps!)

I heart Ambien. Really and truly. There is nothing like sleep to rejuvenate. In fact, I might go take a nap right now. Andrew is taking me out for French food tonight to celebrate my birthday. I need all the energy I can muster for French cuisine.

My cup runneth over.

I spy (part 2)

:: My Cuban grandmother cooking cheese croquetas, black beans, and cornmeal soup.

:: A palatial dining room.

:: Tia's collection of pill boxes from around the world.

:: An aqua and clay color palette.

:: Bright flowers and Mexican tiles.

I spy

:: A jewelry collection to die for.

:: An inherited lamp (standing 3 ft. tall), proof that some heirlooms are meant to be graciously declined.

:: A cabinet full of colorful tchotchke's.

:: A lone hibiscus flower blowing in the wind.

:: A mosaic dolphin in ice blue waters.

:: Orange blossoms with an aroma so intoxicating that sometimes I think I love them more than the fruit they eventually become.

We are having a good time visiting my parents in south Florida. The sun is shining, the humidity is rising, and my parents' a/c is on the fritz. Bad timing aside, I'm loving the sights in and around my parents' home.

Wherein a paper plate becomes a telephone

Paper plate: noun, a disposable plate made of cardboard.

Today I learned of another use. Once veggies and dip have been consumed, a paper plate makes an excellent telephone.

I'm not sure who was on the other line or what she was discussing, but she spoke so seriously, only to follow it up with roaring laughter.

I was impressed and thought it quite genius, though I'm fairly certain Alexander Graham Bell would not appreciate his world-changing invention being reduced to cardboard and an overactive imagination.