You Don't Know Me

It was all bullshit.
If you only know me from my online persona then you don't. Know me.

The sound of my voice when I'm sad. The way I laugh when something amuses me.
Did you know that hosting a party puts me in a place of concentration and absorption that is the closest I get to meditation? Cooking puts me there too. Unless you've seen me in that space - you don't know me.

My tendency to tremble when I'm nervous, the way I turn to mush when my kids say they love me – you've never seen that stuff.

Not too many people have. But them, they're the ones that know me.

To you, I'm Berzerkeley.
And really that's just fine.

I Feel Like I Know You

Blending online and offline life has become, of late, generally acceptable. Two years ago, when I made this YouTube video, it wasn't as true, but with the advent of "tweetups" and "gatherings" the tides  have shifted and hearing "oh, we met on twitter" isn't so odd. At least in my circle ... er, bubble.

Amazing in so many ways, social networks have created opportunities for me to connect with moms all over the world, introduced me to the smartest people I've ever met, gotten me interviews, jobs, dates. Doors have opened; worlds (literally and figuratively) discovered.

I tend to be transparent to a fault when presented with a social media platform, so when I meet people IRL (in real life) the first thing I hear is "I feel like I know you." And in many ways they do. If they watch my videos on YouTube they've seen my kids grow up, if they read my blog they know my struggles as a newly single mom. My twitter stream has, at certain times, been more revealing than the diary of a teenager.

You'd think this would make me uncomfortable. On the contrary. Much of the awkwardness I feel when meeting new people dissipates when someone says, "I read your tweet about xyz - how was that?" or "I saw that video of Maia - she's so funny." It opens up avenues of conversation and encourages a more immediate intimacy than with those who don't have online connections.

I've been lucky to meet many of my online friends in person. Berkeley has a nice contingency of people tweeting about local news and events, lots of moms, and foodies. Some I see often, others by happenstance (I'm always surprised by the number of people who recognize me by my twitter avatar). I've yet to have a bad experience.

That said, I've also connected with people who, without the Internet, I'd have never met. Folks with whom I share experiences but live across mountains and seas. Lucky for me, San Francisco is a destination that's fun to visit and hosts many trade conferences – IRL meetings have been generous.

The sweet potential of connection via online medium opens up the entire world for exploration. Everyone is as close as the click of a mouse. It makes our planet seem so small.... and then, inevitably, so LARGE. Spending actual physical time with some of these online friends is SO comfortable that it begs for ... well... more actual physical time. Therein lies the conundrum: While allowing us expand our social reach, the Internet also reminds us of our limits.

A teleportation device has yet to be invented and plane rides are long and expensive. Furthermore, the trappings of life - work, kids, commitments - make even the idea of frequent visits impossible. And so there is a vague bitterness that follows some of these meetings. In this advanced age of the Internet, geographical limitations still apply. Mountains and seas remain obstacles, and someone on the other side of the world who might have become a best friend, flame, or companion is, in all reality, still on the other side of the world.

Kale Chips

Last year the kids and I were visiting a friend at her Napa abode. Along with excellent wine, fruits, almonds, cheeses and breads she served kale chips. Delacate lacy leaves of salty crunch. The children devoured them

Recently I came across kale chips at a farmers' market in Palo Alto. Big jars of them. Super expensive.

Finally, walking along the side walk right here in town, I glanced in a shop window and saw a man busily making ... something. I got in close and started asking questions through the open window. "I'm making kale chips," he said as he brushed marinade onto a leaf. "We sell them all over the country." Turns out I was smack in front of Blessings Alive and Radiant Foods. I must have walked by the shop a thousand times and never noticed it. Unlike the chips I've tried, Blessings Alive dehydrates the kale. Making it extra crunchy.

So, kale chips seem to be a trend.

Of course I had to jump on the bandwagon and try doing it myself - starting with a thick hearty bunch of just-picked kale from my local market. Here's how I did it:

Ingredients
One bunch kale (thick leaves)
3 tbsp olive oil
1 garlic clove
salt

Directions
• Set oven to 250 degrees
• Pour the olive oil and the garlic clove in a large bowl. Let it sit.
• While it sits, wash and dry the kale leaves (it's important to dry them or they won't crisp)
• Remove the garlic from olive oil and discard (or use for something else)
• Put the kale leaves in the bowl and mix to coat with the olive oil
• Lay the leaves flat in a single layer on a cookie sheet
• Sprinkle with salt (and/or pepper, onion powder, garlic powder, chili flakes, etc)
• Put in the oven and let "bake" until crisp - about 20 minutes

Serve warm, or let cool and store in a sealed jar.
Also great crumbled over soup, salad or pasta!

Baby Baby Baby

More on this later. Enjoy.

A Place Callled "Expectations"

The first time I read The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster I was about eight. My parents had friends with teenage daughters that we visited often. I found the book in their room, made myself at home and opened it up. Honestly, all the backward words confused me, but I liked the idea of a land beyond the tollbooth... and the fact that Milo (the main character) was able to drive.

Like so many other great children's books (The Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland, etc) The Phantom Tollbooth can be read on several different levels. When I picked it up last week I was planning on gifting it to Joe (DS), but then I took a peek and was immediately sucked in.

The hook? Upon embarking on his journey, Milo bumps into a little man - the Whether Man - who points the way to "Expectations." What? "Why, Expectations is the place you must always go to before you get to where you're going. Of course, some people never go beyond Expectations..."

I can't stop pondering his words. They roll around in my brain. What are my expectations for this little life of mine? And if I haven't defined my expectations, is it possible to move forward? Does expectation fuel the drive? What happens when expectations don't measure up? Or fall flat all together?

Now, reverse that: what if where get to exceeds Expectations. The roast is tender and delicious, the date went well, the raise was earned. Does it make you happier? By lowering expectations are we creating opportunities for success?

Reverse that (again): high expectations may result in defeat but do they push you beyond where you would have gone with lower expectations?

Confused?
Me too.

But I think the Whether Man is saying that the expectations we impose on ourselves can drive (quite literally, in Milo's case) us forward and perhaps take us to lands we never knew existed. The words have convinced me to raise mine - expect the universe - see how far I get. Watch me fly beyond Expectations.

How Does It Feel?

On Tuesday morning the phone rang and my attorney said, simply, "You're divorced!" The judge had signed my petition and my divorce had been granted. Since then I've been asked over and over again: "how do you feel?" My immediate answer was "kinda relieved, kinda weird..." I couldn't really put my finger on how it felt.

But I've had a few days to process now - talking to friends, reading back on my old journals and blog posts, generally thinking. So I'm gonna tell you how it feels.

There are certain events in life that are of epic importance yet are not celebrated or even marked - at least not in the Western world. There are three that immediately come to mind: losing ones virginity, becoming pregnant, and getting divorced. If you've done any of these things, then you know how it feels.

Remember the day after the first time you had sex? Wondering if people could "tell." Or how about the first trimester of pregnancy when you carried around a little secret that no one could see or feel but you? And then there's divorce. A piece of paper signed by a judge; the news delivered with a phone call. Kind of a vacant hole in the face of a major transition, don't you think?

So how to "celebrate" or at least mark the moment? A lot of people asked if I was gonna go get drunk ... (which I did) or have a party (at the bar). Though fun, neither seems sufficient. Maybe I've not "processed" or thought through this enough to find a way to properly honor the event. It deserves a ritual or a yearly memorial. Something.

I'm looking.

The House Across the Street

My house has a big window in the living room that looks east. In between the buildings I can see the Berkeley Hills which I find calming. Directly across the street is a lovely home with wisteria growing down the front stairs (left). I find it a source of intrigue and, recently, some sad nostalgia.

When I first moved in, almost a year ago, the neighbors in that house introduced themselves. Two school age girls, their dad and a male roommate. Their mom lived elsewhere.

We haven't talked much over the months but my "view" has made it clear that the girls live there only half time. Sometimes, during drop-off, mom and dad talked, or argued, on the sidewalk. The girls would disappear into the house. Moments like these would make me turn from the window, uncomfortable. Seeing something meant to be private. And so familiar.


Then, last month, there began a series of trucks coming to the house. Boxes and boxes of things being moved. On and off for weeks. Then, Memorial Day weekend, there was a big push. Suddenly mom, dad, roommate, kids and friends were working together to move everything out. It seemed an awkward collaboration where each was on their best behavior. Smiling extra wide.

Yesterday, bringing out the garbage, I had an opportunity to ask my neighbor if he was moving. "yes yes. I'm moving in with my girlfriend in Marin. Since the divorce, four years ago, I cannot afford this house."

WHUMP.

Like a time warp I'm brought back two years, three then four....

We lived in a classic Berkeley bungalow. Nine hundred square feet with a finished garage I used as an office. It worked well for many years. Then there was Moses (the dog), Joseph (first born) and finally, baby Maia, It became a squeeze. We considered selling and buying a new house - and even put an (unsuccessful) offer on one. Eventually, my husband, the architect, convinced me that he could add a second story to our existing house for under $100 grand. He introduced me to the contractor who would do the work. And so, the decision was made - we'd build up. Go.

We emptied the house and moved to a rental (oh how simple those 9 words are, the process was SO MUCH more, but I won't bore your here.) Construction began. When they ripped off the roof I was visiting my parents in San Diego and a friend sent me a picture. I gasped when I saw it. There was no turning back now.

Construction went on for 10 months during which time we plowed through two contractors and countless subcontractors. (yet another story) Eventually, my husband took over as GC and pieced together the work. It would save money, he said. But the reality was (is) that he is an architect and NOT a GC. And an architect who is given charge of his own project's construction is a dangerous proposition.

Needless to say we went waaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyy over budget. More than $250g over budget. The house (left) was basically beautiful (if finished quickly) but the situation itself was a disaster.

We scrambled to pay our new humongous mortgage just as the economy was sinking and our business were struggling. Our families were generous and helped us so we lived there for two years... and then I decided to end the marriage. It seemed sudden to everyone but me.

I moved into the garage, sleeping on an air bed and we struggled to find solutions as to how we might "save" the house.... could one of us live in it with a roommate? Could we rent out the garage as an office? None of the "solutions" came close to being able to cover the mortgage. There was no choice but to sell.

We were lucky. Even in the down economy we received four offers with one at sixty grand over asking and no contingencies. Done. HE and I secured our individual apartments and settled into being single parents.... (hahaha - that makes it sound so easy, doesn't it?)

Now, looking out the window has become like gazing in the mirror - a reflection of the pain of divorce, financial struggles, and finally, moving on (or out, as the case may be.)

I wonder who will buy the house across the street. I'm thinking it'll be a young couple, babe in arms. Maybe a dog. I'll bring them champagne and cookies and wish them the best. The window will cease being a portal to the past and, instead, a promise for a future.... at least for now.