My Summer of 2023 Renaissance

Last time on The Cat I was discussing options with my GYN. According to her, we had a bevvy of options from which to choose. I trusted her and was ready to explore. The first tool in her toolkit was low-dose birth control. It promised an end to the the roller coaster of emotions, pelvic pain and hot flashes. Sign me up!

The initial weeks on this protocol were phenomenal. I felt better than I had in months. My energy was up and my pain was down. My general outlook on the world was positive and optimistic. Low-dose birth control where have you been all my life? I wondered why I hadn't done this before. Things were looking up. I began to use the membership we have at the YMCA. Lifting weights, building muscle, and looking good.

By the second month the tides were turning, in the wrong direction. Summer was in full swing. Hunter and I decided to try FOUR different summer camps this year. With my job at The Savannah Book Festival my schedule gave me the flexibility to try camps with hours and locations that were previously out of reach.

Along with a diverse sampling of summer camps, Hunter had a two-week trip to Chicago, and I had a week in NYC planned for work. It all went off without a hitch, except for the mood swings. They were back. 

Spikes of fury and exasperation, some provoked others outsized reactions to normal inconveniences became frequent occurrences. A few other unmentionable symptoms kept me awake at night pondering the purpose of low-dose birth control and my harried existence. I traded my life for an existence. I was not living. I suffered physically in ways that sent me spiraling into despair one moment and feeling awkward and uncomfortable in my body the next. 

With the side effects outweighing the benefits, I ended my relationship with my GYN, and her protocol. Instead, returning to my acupuncturist and an herbal treatment plan. Within days I felt better. I emerged from a fog of incoherence like Italian Renaissance painter Botticelli's The Birth of Venus. I was refreshed, sharp and filled once again with my robust, impulsive life force.

As I basked in the newness of my post-hormone replacement therapy emergence, an urge to celebrate my survival and reinforcement of my ability to trust myself above all else became imperative. 

What better way to celebrate my renaissance than with Beyonce's Renaissance tour. Until next time on The Cat.

The 2019 Round Up

Turkey legs are a thing at Magic Kingdom

Although we are securely in 2020 I feel a 2019 roundup is necessary because it was such an amazing year. I found my footing in Savannah, both professionally and personally. To be sure there were challenges, but the rewards were better than I could have imagined, and I am grateful for all in equal measure. 

The highlights of the year were easily the Xena Retreat and the new job. To have one of those happen in the year would have been amazing. Instead I had the opportunity to spend three days immersed in my favorite television show and meet other women more obsessed than I am with Xena. Then when the timing was just right an amazing job opportunity plucked me out of obscurity. And just like that I was back in the corporate game. It is not the most exciting job, but it is in my field, near the house and I have enough flexibility to have lunch with Hunter once a week.  

We had dear friends from Italy spend the holidays with us. We took a quick trip to Orlando and spent a few fun filled days at Disney and Cape Canaveral. It was exhilarating to have a piece of my Italian life here with me in Savannah. 

I also chose to work with a life and business coach this year. I met Samantha almost immediately after my arrival in Savannah via Meetup. All the chaos you have likely heard about in the news is true, but the folks holding down the the fort at WeWork and are keeping the Meetup.com social networking platform alive, but I digress. I attended a few of Samantha's events and we soon became friends. She introduced me to a few other women online and a few others in Savannah as well. I watched the people she surrounded herself with grow, change and become more. Of what you may ask? More of who they are. 

It began to dawn on me that I had an unmooring after Italy. Seven years away from friends and family can do that to girl from time-to-time. With new adjectives and roles in my life I often felt adrift. I am American but, there are still a great many cultural obsessions that I missed out on and often don't relate to here. Memes, gifs., and a few Microsoft word shortcuts to name a few.

Let's welcome Samantha to the performance area that is my life. Although we are friends I wanted to change that relationship into something of a more professional nature. I had never done anything like that before. Your therapist can never be your friend. Same as professors, well perhaps professors can become your friend. That is a story for another day. Today we are discussing my decision to hire my friend as a business and life coach. 

When I approached Samantha with the idea she was surprised. She knew I had a business  idea I was trying to get off the ground. I had attended a few online workshops with her for that, but then I realized I needed to do some inner work to fix a vibrational issue. I knew she could help with that too. I was very clear with her: I want to vibrate higher and I think you can help me do that.  

We agreed to 12 sessions over the course of seven of the best months of my life. All of our sessions were online and recorded so that I could view them later if I needed (I have not needed.) She gave me books to read, The Four Agreements. Videos to watch, The Circle of Influence. There was even homework.

I was racing to work after dropping my son off at school one morning. A police officer stopped me for going 62 mph in a 55 mph zone. He let me off with a warning but, the traffic stop scared me half to death. Traffic stops gone wrong are allover the news and social media. Samantha helped me to pull apart all the fear and anxiety around the traffic stop. In some of our sessions we tackled 9/11, but mostly importantly she helped me regain the inner confidence I lost after a bout with postpartum depression and the house fire in Italy. There is always more work to be done, but the work I put in last year has set me up for a terrific 2020. 

If You Ask for What You Want, There Is a Good Chance You Will Get It

A brief description of EMDR

Over the years this little space I created to help my friends and family stay in touch with my comings and goings became a place for me to express my thoughts, hopes and some fears. In the last days of 2018 I used it to push through the end of the year with a flourish of consistency. I am beginning that practice earlier this year. I intend to post more frequently to close out 2019 strong. After all we start a whole new decade in a few short months.

And what a year 2019 has been. Since my previous post I landed a dream job at a local engineering firm. In fact it is one of the most prestigious engineering firms in the region. It came as a bit of a surprise to me a few months ago when a cursory glance at my calendar indicated that September 11 would fall on Wednesday. The job was still quite new and taking off so soon into my tenure seemed like one of the least favorable action steps I could take. Still I wondered if the alternative, going to work, was the best option available to me. Eventually, it became less of choice. A big presentation was due on Wednesday, September 11 at my new job.

As you may recall or if you are new to this space, I worked in WTC 2 and was directly outside of the building when the second plane crashed into the building and exploded. Being overseas for the last seven years both helped and hindered my healing from the horror I saw that day. On the one hand I was far removed from the memories and triggers of the day. On the other hand I was isolated because I chose not share the information. In Italy there were commemorations of course. I even tried to participate once only to realize the trauma was still very raw for me. This year was the first time I was in a new environment in the US with many variables outside of my control. The day did not go well for me. I was plagued by worry, fear and flashbacks. I controlled what I could. I asked my new boss to send an email asking for discretion around the topic because there was a survivor at the firm. I also asked that she not mention it was me. Not everyone got the email. It was a tough day. I called a close friend who put a name to what was happening to me: PTSD.

I was doubtful of her professional diagnosis at first (she is a licensed clinical practioner), but I trust her. All I could articulate was that I felt unsafe inside my own body. I wanted to be free of that fear. In that moment I surrendered. I let go of holding onto myself and reached out for help. My friend recommended EMDR, a form of psychotherapy used to treat PTSD. It is quite popular in military populations, and I have had exposure to it as a result. I did not think I had PTSD and never thought EMDR was something I would benefit from in my particular circumstance.

Frankly it was a lot to process quickly: (1) I have PTSD and (2) I need to go to therapy for something that happened in 2001. I often compared myself to the people who lost their lives, loved ones or their health that day. I suffered no such losses and therefore felt less deserving of healing. As I began to process those thoughts I came to see their disorganization and the need for reorganization.

I had my fourth session today. It is weird after all this time to speak about 9/11in the present tense. Namely because it was almost 20 years ago, and I am a vastly different type of human now. I am a recovering human doing. I have transitioned to a human being. That's a little something I learned in my sessions.

I also have a busy life and wondered if it was wise, necessary or important enough to make space for it. I had concerns about bringing this to the forefront of my life. This type of work is unsettling, but I decided to move forward with caution. It has been a challenge, but deeply and powerfully rewarding. Areas of my life long siloed are reintegrating into the whole again. The memories are intense, the connections are vibrant and exhilarating. Most of all I am learning that asking for help gets you the thing you want. And we are all deserving of that.

Like a Virgin; Shiny and New

This was one of those summers that as a teenager I would notate as being a turning point. An awakening, the beginning of the beginning. The Summer of 2018 will go down as one of those. I did the things I did not think I could. I crossed a meaningful threshold. Most importantly I stepped back into the joy of my life.

Three years ago a battery exploded in our apartment setting the course for series of challenges I was not sure I would survive. I lost most of my worldly possessions and Italian law enforcement wanted to throw us in jail for arson. Even though we were cleared of all wrongdoing in the case, it was a devastating blow to my sense of safety in small rooms and in the world at large. I was filled with fear all the time even though I jumped out of burning building and saved my life. I worked slowly to put the pieces back together. In an effort at total transparency I will tell you that after I jumped out of that window and clawed my way to safety I heard God's voice. He told me to look around and see that he had not forsaken me. It was a euphoric experience. I clung to it, hoping I would hear him speaking to me clearly again. He has not; at least not in that dramatic sort of way I hoped for after.

In the weeks and months that passed I tried to put the whole thing behind me, but the feeling that I was not safe anywhere lingered. Coming back to the U.S. was supposed to help, but there were even more unknowns here to keep me trapped in my fear. I was jumpy, skittish and a general mess. Last year an overcooked hotdog brought the fire department to our home. Hunter and I were so lathered up that the firemen insisted on coming into the house to make sure we were as fine as I said we were.

Then I started blogging regularly. Started a Meetup group to find my people. (It is thriving by the way.) Met the founders of my favorite podcast, and told them how they inspired me. They thanked me on social media. I met a Meetup platform director she loves the community I am creating. I was elected vice president of my Toastmasters club. I registered with a temp agency. My recruiter and I developed a candid relationship. She told me frankly that I am overqualified for most of the jobs in Savannah, but she can keep me busy if I am ok with assignments that are not as challenging or well paid as my previous roles. I agreed and once I let go of money and status I began to truly HEAL.

I accepted a two month temporary position at the most well known retail corporation in the world. It was basic office work, but the hours aligned with Hunter's school and karate schedule. It was also close to home and low stress. Most days I came home with enough energy to work on my special projects and spend quality time with Hunter. My days were filled with new people living in circumstances so vastly different from my own that I told them very little about myself. My days were filled with dramas tiny and large, and all the hot gourmet drinks I could drink, which wreaked havoc on my skin. I gave up trying to find a permanent position at this place. Although it is a multi-national corporation this particular location does not have a position for someone with my particular skill set. Let's leave it there.

Once I sorted through that dilemma I strapped in for the journey. I learned a lot about Savannah and the America of 2018. Juggling a full time job, a four year old, a husband in Afghanistan, and the rest of my life built my confidence back up a little bit at a time everyday. There were small indignities to be sure. Someone asked me to cut out little carboard ID cards, but I did it gracefully because I was out in the world in this place where no one knew about my past. I was just a lady in an office who wore nice clothes. I adored the anonymity. And it allowed me to shed that ash that clung so tightly to me.

I feel a bit like a virgin: shiny and new.  

Yep, I kept the ring

Last time on the Cat Who Swallowed the Canary I was having a moment at TEDx Savannah. I was on the precipice of discussing a little known fact about myself. When I ended my engagement with my first fiancé (yep, I kept the ring) I moved back to Brooklyn, New York from Rome, Italy. I worked hard to build a new life in my hometown mostly confident I had made the right decision. I landed my first job in finance. The job was stressful. There was a steep learning curve and the first tech bubble had just popped. I made time to date and create a robust social life. My cousin and shared a smashing apartment in a trendy neighborhood in Brooklyn with a sweet commute.

My boss at the time, let's call her Roxanne, was a stickler about time. It did not matter how late we stayed to get work done; at a few minutes before 9:00 am Roxanne made the rounds through our maze of cubicles to make sure we were in our seats. Late arrivals were not tolerated. My last Tuesday in the office began with a start. I slept through my alarm, and was running ten minutes behind. I pulled myself together quickly and bolted for the train. I was close to making up the time, when the train stopped just before it entered my station. Unbelievable! When the doors opened I slipped out with my eyes focused on getting through the turnstile. That is when I noticed a colleague from another department. He was rushing into the train. The expression on his face gave me slight pause, but then I thought about Roxanne staring at my empty chair in the meeting and regained my momentum.

I climbed the stairs out of the subway two at a time. At the surface I checked my watch. It was 8:55. It would take me another three minutes to get to the 33rd floor of WTC 2, but there was smoke and what I thought was debris coming out of WTC 1. I called Roxanne to tell her there was an incident and I would be late, but I could not get through. I know now from trauma therapy that I went into shock as my brain tried to protect me from the horror that was people making the awful choice to jump out of the windows of the highest floors of WTC 1. I continued to make my way to the building when the second plane hit. I was less than a block away. The ball of fire the explosion created was so big and so hot that I could feel the heat on my on the side of my face. There was a collective scream from the hundreds of us on the ground, and then a stampede of people running at me. I hid in a small space between buildings until there was a clearing. Then I ran.

I made it home to Brooklyn just before the Towers collapsed. I saw the ball of fire for weeks after in my nightmares. I worked for a large firm with an even larger parent company in Hartford, CT. With our headquarters destroyed, our fearless leaders decided to relocate us to CT.

When the dust settled we were asked to document the belongings we had in the building at the time of the attack. We were reimbursed with very few questions. With everything that had happened it was difficult to remember everything in my desk. In the end it did not matter much. Creating the list more than anything triggered survivor's guilt. I was wracking my brain trying to remember if I left my sweater on the back of my chair or not while others had lost their lives. It was a difficult process to work through, but being in Hartford helped. The distance created a much needed buffer.

Having survived together, my colleagues and I were tightly bonded. We recovered together in a sort of cocoon. We had shared this singular experience. One which very few people could understand. When I left the company five years later my anonymity and individuality returned. It was a relief to forget. September 11 anniversaries came and went. Fewer people knew I was there that day. It receded into the background of my life.

I was the guest speaker on base in Italy one year during the memorial, but was so triggered that I stopped talking about it for another few years. Then TEDx Savannah came up on my radar. This year the event is being held at the Savannah International Trade Center. I tried my best not to say the name of the location because every time I said it, I said world trade center. In this year of living authentically I recognized the Freudian slip. Instead of ignoring it I embraced it. In my correspondence with the Nick, the volunteer organizer, I told him I was there that day. He mentioned it at the first volunteer session. I knew there was a chance he might, but I was unprepared to speak about it with strangers. I faltered a bit. My apprehension is rooted in my desire not to profit in anyway from the lives that were lost that day. I honor them when I live. When I pursue my dreams. When I am fiercely authentic in my life that was spared on that tragic day. I survived that day, but I thrive everyday after.

Perception is reality

I hated hearing this term and I heard it often especially when I worked in New York. And yet yesterday surrounded by young teenagers listening to them discuss their love lives, as well as the love lives of others, I reminded them that perception is reality. The classroom went quiet. The same thing happened when I told them I love coincidences. This time the question came back quickly: Ms. Mickie what does perception mean? I laughed but my students were serious. They had no idea what the word meant. I told them it is the conclusion people come to whether they have all the facts or not. They gasped with recognition of the concept. I enjoyed the look on their faces as I exposed them to a new idea even if it was not one of my favorites. One of the highlights of the day was a teacher coming into the classroom and asking where Ms. Johnson, the regular teacher, was. I said she is out today. How can I help you? Then directed at no one in particular she asked, "Well who is in here with you guys?" We had a laugh because she mistook me for one of the middle school students.

This sort of thing happens with some frequency here. More than it happened in Italy. I think Americas are more focused on age than Italians. Once someone finds out my age they ask several questions. When they do not believe me I wonder if this is the sort of thing people lie about. Eventually the questions shifts to what do I do to keep the wrinkles at bay. Once upon a time I had an arsenal of skin care products. I have culled it down to the bare necessities of which sheets masks are my favorite. Here is the newest addition to my collection, and yes it rubber.

To take the edge off a long day some folks binge watch their favorite show or have a glass of wine or do a Korean face mask. I do all the aforementioned because why not treat myself when I clearly am so deserving of pampering. I am certainly a fan of the cotton sheet masks, but when I discovered this rubber treasure I could not wait to experience the benefits. The rubber makes it easier to handle and apply which is a great bonus, but what I love most about this mask is the two-step process. First I applied the cream, then the mask. It was a very satisfying experience especially after a long day. I think I look hella sexy too. You see the come hither look in my eye? Irresistible. 

Walmart surprises me sometimes. I expect to find the standard fare of beauty products on their shelves, but if you keep your eyes peeled, pleasant discoveries can be found. 

This is more than just a coincidence

The subtitle of the blog is I don't know how this happened because I often find myself in unexpected situations. This week was filled with them. It began with a request for a middle school substitute teacher at the school I visited last week. Yesterday was my first day, and it was filled with all the energy and excitement you should expect from a new job teaching at an exclusive prep school.

The next morning (today) I was up at 6am excited to volunteer at the Savannah Book Festival. I was there to help because hoards of people were expected to descend on the Savannah Theater at 7:30am. I have to say book lovers are the nicest people, and the lines were very orderly. I even met a couple from New York. We were all very excited to meet Douglas Preston. He is the best-selling author who has written about Amanda Knox, the American college student who was studying in Italy when she was accused, convicted and exonerated of murdering her roommate Meredith Kercher. I obsessed about this case for years, oscillating between her guilt and innocence. Our family had an unfortunate experience with the Italian authorities as well when an electrical fire destroyed our home. Douglas also had a jarring experience with Italian law enforcement while doing research for a novel in Italy. And so it was with deep excitement that I arrived at the festival looking forward to meeting Douglas. That is when it happened. At the moment I most believed it could happen. Just before the crowds came. The doors to the Savannah Theater were open and he walked in with an easy stride. I said good morning Douglas. He was warm, affable and genuine. I told him I spent seven years in Italy and was fascinated with the Amanda Knox case. We became fast friends, quickly transitioning to hushed tones when necessary. The most incredible conversation of my life was cut short when my supervisor for the event needed my help. When told her I was talking to Douglas she swept him deeper into the theater to set up for the most exhilarating presentation ever.

Selfie with Douglas Preston 

Some of us are better one-on-one while others are better in groups. Then there are the gifted few who are spectacular at both. Douglas Preston is one of those people. He told the wildly fascinating story of his new book, The Lost City of the Monkey God. It is a magnificent tale of his expedition in Honduras to one of the last scientifically unexplored areas on the surface of the earth. He gave the audience a synopsis of the adventure in a forest with deep vegetation, deadly snakes and quick sinking mud that could easily swallow an adult human. He peppered his talk with searing details about the deadly fer-de-lance snake known as the ultimate pit viper. It was sleeping under a member of the expedition's hammock. A former British SAS (a combination of our Army and Navy special forces) on the team stabbed it in the neck which caused the snake to explode into a violent cloud of dust and venom. I was riveted to my seat. The SAS guy cut the head off and left it as a warning to the others on the expedition because where there is in one fer-de-lance there are many. He answered a few questions about the Honduran government's plans to turn the site into a tourist attraction. He said they would like to but, almost everyone on the expedition contracted an incurable tropical disease known as leishmaniasis. They were treated at the National Institute of Health and are doing well. He made a joke about it being highly contagious. I recovered from that scare quickly. Then the lights came up and I sat in my seat anguished that I did not get a picture. I exited the theater with the other attendees when I remembered to be present in every moment. That's when I recognized his backpack and said, "Mr. Preston," touching his shoulder lightly. "Mr. Preston, can we take a selfie?" He turned to me with a warm smile and said yes let's go outside for better light.

I thought the Amanda Knox, Italy, Savannah, Douglas Preston confluence was just a terrific coincidence, but while reading his Wikipedia entry I saw that Richard Preston is his brother. Richard Preston is the author of the Hot Zone. The breakout non-fiction thriller about Ebola. Hunter's Godfather is a Veterinarian in the Army. He recommended the Hot Zone to me when I was going through my fascination with Ebola. It gave me a healthy dose of reality while scaring the heck out of me. I am not sure why all those details came together at this moment, but I am off to start reading Douglas' books. Something important happened today. It does not make sense yet, but what I know for sure is that it was an extreme pleasure to meet such an accomplished journalist, author and human. Yay!

I love Savannah!

The male gaze is a thing

The male gaze

As young women we learn all about the male gaze early in adolescence. Many of us oscillate between craving it and avoiding it. If you are one of the lucky ones you never come to hate or fear it due to a traumatic experience. Over the years I moved through many feelings about the male gaze, but I am happy to announce I am mostly indifferent to it especially as it applies to my fashion sense, and this is a thing now. In Italy I observed a movement among a younger generation of women who appear to be unconcerned with what their male peers find attractive. They dressed to appease their internal aesthetic or perhaps as an aversion to their mother's or father's idea of beautiful. This segment is averse to the traditional standards of beauty: push-up bras, neatly coifed hairstyles, structured dresses. Instead they opt for bag/saggy jeans with low crotches, sport bras and a generally more androgynous look. I thought this was a teenage fad but I found there were quite a few women in their thirties and beyond rocking this look.

Italian streetwear

Enter the Man Repeller blog. The creator Leandrea Medine is a style icon known for her eccentric, eclectic and (need another 'e' word here) evolved sense of style. She does not dress to attract the male gaze in the traditional sense. Instead she seeks to express herself through fashion. Her style is part Carrie from Sex and the City and part something entirely of her own making. I saw her at the airport last year in Amsterdam. I was travelling with Hunter and he is the only reason I did not go fan girl hysterical. She was wearing one of her more subdued ensembles and she was with her husband casually making their way to the next gate. I stayed close, but not too close rehearsing what I would say and how I would say it. The words never came and she boarded early as a first class passenger. I did miss my chance to speak to her about what inspires her fashion choices, but thought it was best to admire her from afar.

Leandrea style collage

At a glance her style looks haphazard, odd perhaps even unappealing. And that is where this concept transitions from weird to fascinating. These looks are all carefully curated. The first is a bit edgy due to the cropped sweater, but the second is quite odd. Notice the cuffed jeans and the stark white boots. The third is gorgeous. I have a pair of similar shoes. This is fascinating because except for the first look those are not the kind of outfits one would wear to girls night out where the objective was to attract male attention. She is not dressed to attract the male gaze, but for her own personal expression. There is a movement to dress in an original, anti-supermodel way and I love it. Some would argue this is an evolution of queer-girl style. Lesbians who have little to no regard for the male gaze have dressed this ways for years and years and years. But this trend is moving into the mainstream. It is standing out from all the other trends that come and go. Of course I have a few androgynous pieces in my wardrobe but, I have leaned away from the more creative utilitarian pieces that would make me a card carrying member of this revolution.

Me wearing a pair of low-crotch pants 

As women the male gaze is constantly upon us. As women in the western world we have immense freedom of choice to decide how we react to it. Some of us choose to embrace it, others choose to avoid it, while some choose to let it not explicitly inform their sense of style. To some the baggy pants are just ugly, but the Italian women wore them with so much confidence I eventually grew curious. I see their low crotch pants and checkmate the move with hot pink heels. Let's call it the selfie gaze. An expression of how I want to see myself.

Me trying to look suburban

The year is quickly coming to a close, and every year I say I am going to do more with the blog. Yet here I am with the new year coming at warp speed with no new exciting things happening on the blog. Of the many goals I had this year posting more frequently was definitely on my list. As we slide into 2018 I am going to try meet my goal and post new content everyday. This should be easy because I still have not found a job. February will be one year since we moved back to the United States of America where a TV star is the President.

To be perfectly honest being back is not what I expected. I expected to continue being a harried working mom, but without a nanny or husband because Ryan would be gone for three months shortly after we got here and I could not bring Marina with us. I thought I would miss Italy more than anything in the world. I was certain I would face discrimination based on my race, my bi-racial kid and my white husband. Maybe throw in gender and my northern accent for good measure. The Georgia state flag does incorporate the confederate flag...This gave me a general sense of foreboding. Most of all I thought I would be working at the Army base with a 45 minute commute wondering how I ended up working in a stifled office as a mid-level government employee in the deep south.

It is with great joy and exquisite pleasure that I tell you none of those events came to pass. The government job has not materialized. My transfer remains tangled in red tape that I fear will never be sorted. We live in a beautiful, safe and diverse community in one of the fastest growing cities in the country. Convenience and yes southern charm is everywhere. My little family is happier than we have ever been.

At Sam's. Buying in bulk is so American

A job would be nice, but I know the perfect opportunity will come when the time is right. For the time being I am focused on spending these precious days with Hunter and Ryan. He heads back to the middle east in a few months. Let us hope and pray things go smoother than last time he was gone. More on that hopefully tomorrow.

The Best Four Days

You know that episode of Xena: Warrior Princess in season 2 when she goes to the Land of Chin and she is dressed for the those below freezing nights? It is one of those high adventure story lines that gave the fans details about Xena's backstory.

Well that episode was running through my head all weekend as I paraded the streets of Eastern Europe, specifically Croatia and Slovenia. It was one of those unplanned adventures that ended up being the best four days I have had in long, long while.

To get the full effect of the trip I need to provide some context. Ryan and his brothers are serious Stars Wars geeks, with my father-in-law serving as the ring leader of the group. When he suggested Ryan come home for Christmas so they could all go see the Stars Wars premier together Ryan became a little teary eyed. It all happened so fast and my work is so crazy at the moment, it was impossible to get away for three weeks with a little over a week's notice.

Friends and family thought I was crazy. Who stays in a foreign country ALONE for Christmas, their birthday and New Years? It probably sounds incredibly lonely, sad and downright depressing. My dad kept asking how long I was planning to wait before I bought my ticket. To be honest I did think about buying a last minute more than once, but I didn't. My aunt asked how I could let Ryan take Hunter away. I reminded her that Ryan is Hunter's father not some random guy from who-knows-where. I stuck with the plan and part of the plan included taking care of our three cats while Ryan took Hunter on his own very big adventure.

It was Hunter's first transatlantic flight and it went very smooth. He watched movies, ate, slept and was in great spirits when they arrived at their final destination.

Introducing my doppelgänger, Ky. What's that you ask? What's a doppelgänger? It is a German word for twin.

Introducing Ky My Doppleganger (I am exhausted in this picture)

For a few months now I have heard that there is a woman in the community that 'some' people think we look alike. (I am not one of those people.) Imagine my surprise when my friend Ky told me she was sick of people calling her Mickie. Incredulous, I inquired about the circumstances. Of the five people that have made the mistake of calling her Mickie two of them I know fairly well. They whole thing is weird but the best part, no the funniest part is her response. It something like this:

Oblivious person: Hey Mickie how are you?
Ky: Excuse me?
Oblivious person: Oh I'm sorry. I thought you were Mickie...
Ky: (All smiles) No, I'm the other black girl.

The oblivious person responds in various ways. It ranges from embarrassment to annoyance. The weird part is the reverse does not happen to me. As in I have yet to have someone think I am her. This  confusion was the spark of our friendship. We were acquaintances before (we were in Tanzania together last year) but, the hilarity of the situation created a simpatico familiarity. It was this new friendship that took us to Eastern Europe for New Years weekend.

We took a shuttle bus of all things to Croatia. The three hour drive went quickly. We had just enough time to drop our bags off at the hotel and make it to one of the outdoor concerts set up around the city. They keyword in the previous sentence is outdoor. I was freezing and no amount of hot wine could change that. We lasted approximately 45 minutes in the below freezing temperatures before heading back to our warm hotel. The next day was filled with sightseeing and preparation for our zero dark thirty train ride to Slovenia in the morning.

Ljublijana, Slovenia has been on my must see list for years, and with good reason. It's beautiful, cosmopolitan and has a dark side. Lots of dragon and witch motifs around the city center. All told it was a great trip. Looking forward to a visit in warmer temperatures.

I am well-rested in this picture

How to Survive Surviving a Fire

Jumping out the window to save my life was just the beginning of the story. In the weeks and months that followed a lot happened. We moved twice, not including the original move from our apartment before settling down in the new place. At one point we were managing three apartments, moving our belongings around as needs arose. All that moving was exhausting and a dear friend asked what I was doing for myself to remain resilient.

Ryan's mother and childhood best friend came to visit, providing much needed support. While we had help with Hunter, I went London to see my cousin. Even in August London is cold! The cooler temperatures were refreshing. I let my cousin dote on me. She cooked all my favorites and we spent most of our time talking. Our conversations went way into evening hours reminding us both of our childhood summers in Guyana.

I returned to Italy renergized and prepared to deal with a steady stream of questions about what happened and where we were living, and keeping Hunter's routine as close to normal as possible. I won't try to pretend it was easy and it was not until my father and stepmother arrived in country that life began to feel normal again.

We had such fun together! They got to know Hunter, we took day trips and spent a lot of time at home eating, our favorite pastime. We were enjoying ourselves so much that my father extended his stay three weeks. We both had the time of our lives. The extra time meant a day trip to Rome, wine tasting at my favorite winery and more after dinner trips to my favorite gelataria for dessert. Saying goodbye is never easy, but these days with Skype and FaceTime it's not so bad. 

Our time in Italy is winding down. We should be back stateside by summer next year. The past five years here have been incredible. Good thing I took the time to make a few notes about it here!

Where There's Smoke...

This photo was taken a week before the fire

Most of you have some idea about the electrical fire that destroyed our apartment in Vicenza last month. The important part is we all survived. All the details are not here, and I some of them are thankfully are already forgotten. I may never know why it happened, but I know this for sure:

Each obstacle we are faced with is another opportunity to use our power to be great

Military life is transient. I make friends here and after a time they move on to their new assignment. Susan is one such friend. Last month she moved to Korea to further her career as an Officer in the United States Army. As is the custom, her colleagues threw her a farewell dinner party. I had never eaten at the the restaurant where the dinner was scheduled so I ate a big meal before heading out. I am loving those Chili's chicken fajita bowls right now. I ate one of those and then several boiled shrimp. Feeling satisfied, I left Hunter with Ryan in the living room and went up stairs to freshen up before dinner. I was powdering my nose when I heard a loud pop and the electricity went out.

I yelled down to Ryan that the electricity went out again. This happened fairly often if there were more than a few appliances on in the apartment. As I approached the stairs leading to the area where Ryan and Hunter were I smelled and saw smoke. I immediately new something big was on fire, but I was not sure where. I screamed for Ryan. I waited a few seconds to hear what was going on before I proceeded down the stairs, but the sound Ryan made let me know something had gone terribly wrong. The staircase quickly filled with smoke. I yelled for Ryan to get Hunter and get out. I could not see my way down and was still unsure of where the fire was. I quickly went over to the window in the upstairs hallway to open it so I could get some light and air to see my way down the stairs, but to my horror thick black smoke rolled me back onto my heels. In shock I gasped taking in a chest full of smoke. I stumbled back to the bathroom with eyes burning and smoke choking my throat. 

I forced open the window and leaned out trying to breath, but there was too much smoke. Without thinking I jumped out of the window onto the adjacent window of a nearby building and waited for the fire department to rescue me. It took the fire department approximately one hour to extinguish the fire and rescue me. They frantically searched the apartment before they found me on a nearby window sill. I was rushed to the hospital, treated for mild scratches and shock, and reunited with Ryan and Hunter there. 

The fire destroyed over 70% of the apartment. The kitchen and parts of the living room are ok, but the rest including the bedrooms and our clothes are mostly gone. The most important items made it out just fine: Hunter, Ryan and me.  

The details of the days and weeks have lost their clarity, but a few things stand out. Our support system rallied around us, providing shelter and emotional support until we could figure out our next steps. We are still figuring out some of those, but we are safe,

together and moving forward!

Fashion: A Form of Self Expression

I take fashion seriously because it is my favorite way to express myself. For the last few years my look has been comprised of bright colors in unexpected pairings. The infamous Aquaman outfit comes to mind easily.

Old me in inadvertent AquaMan outfit

Whimsy played a large role in my aesthetic. Then I had a baby and nothing fit for awhile. Add to that the uncertainty of will my favorite dress EVER fitting again and I was adrift in the warm waters of Italian fashion.

Something about having Hunter in my life makes me want to have less whimsy in my wardrobe. It was just a feeling at first and then my recent exposure to the fashion icon known as the "Parisian Woman" cemented it. The women were all so elegantly styled: statement sunglasses, a flourish of a scarf, and the perfect red lip. This simple uniform interpreted in various ways throughout Paris woke me up a bit.

I came back thinking more carefully about my silhouette and color palette. Taking second looks at basics such black and white. Rejecting A-line skirts and dresses for sophisticated Body Cons. The change has been subtle..sort of. I work in an office with mostly males. They notice when a woman wears a curve hugging dress. Not the kind of attention I covet. All the same I want to look less like the quirky girl at the office and more like the sophisticate who gets things done. I thought I found just the thing to spark the change. I love these shoes! They are comfortable and stylish, but my boss refers to them as granny shoes and others often ask if I couldn't afford the laces...

x

I added cropped pants to my office rotation, and several folks asked if I have trouble finding pants in my size. I came home with a dress that was clearly out of my comfort zone.

Me: What do you think?
Ryan: It looks like you are wearing your underwear outside of your clothes...
Me: Are you kidding?
Ryan: Sort of but, not really..I hope you don't wear that to work.

He is not the jealous type, but I noticed he furrowed his brow with consternation when said it might work if I wore a blazer over it. The thing is this is not about Ryan or the guys at the office or my boss. It is about self expression and projecting the confidence I feel inside. The journey continues.

Getting there

Mickie McNamara: The Medalist!

Friday was awesome! I was awarded the Achievement Medal from the Department of the Army. When I arrived here four years ago I saw many of my colleagues had medals and plaques on their "I love me" walls. Often when visitors came to my office they said they expected to see framed degrees and medals on my wall. I am not the type to frame and hang degrees. In fact the only framed item I have hanging in a place of prominence is Hunter's first artwork from daycare. He painted the sun with his little fingers.

Hunter's first artwork (Excuse my polka dots in the refection!)

Secretly I longed for a medal of my own. After a few months I was given a certificate of appreciation. I came home pleased with myself. Ryan looked at me and then at the certificate. He said what you want is a certificate of achievement. That's something you can put on your resume. Ryan ends many of his sentences with: "Put that on your resume". I kept those words in mind. Taking on developmental assignments that would get me ready for that achievement certificate.

Earlier this year President Obama announced the Army was going into Liberia to assist with the Ebola crisis. The rest as they say is history. I ended up with the Achievement Medal for my efforts. It did not come with a certificate. I get that later, but my medal sure is pretty.

My first Mother's Day

The weather has been unpredictable. To sidestep a potential Mother's Day washout, we celebrated Mother's Day yesterday, Saturday May 10. I volunteered to plan the day, and Ryan was so grateful. Planning something special for the two most important women in his life, his mother and I, had him worried.

The three of us went to our favorite restaurant in Venice, La Patatina and then to one of my favorite museums, The Peggy Guggenheim Museum. I went there for the first time in 2009. It is a wonderful little museum in her former home. This was Hunter's first of many visits to a museum.

This morning I took him to church for the first time. He was very calm and interested in all the new sights and sounds. I hope he will continue to find deep comfort in going to church.

The Best Made Plans

I had high hopes for this weekend. Especially today, Saturday. It has been a rough week, filled with highs and lows and lots in between. Because of my gestational diabetes diagnosis, and my advanced age..my doctor wants to see me twice a week for fetal monitoring until I give birth.  I am required to go to the clinic, climb into a bed, be hooked up to a machine that monitors the baby's heart for 40 minutes twice a week.

I balked at the idea that the Silver Fox, that's what I call my doctor, thought I had 40 spare minutes in my day, twice a week to lay around at the clinic. I had my second session on Friday and it was so nice to have a break in the middle of the morning to put my feet up and listen to my little guy's heart beat for 40 minutes.  This was another lesson in the changing priorities in my life.

I waddled back to work after; all the nurses thinking I was going home. I am not quite ready to stop working. I should be, but I'm not. My job is such a large part of my life and it is odd to think about not having the challenges and opportunities that come with it. I know I have new set of challenges waiting for me when the baby comes, but he is not here yet.

I have been feeling good this week. Tired and uncomfortable, but believing that it would be perfectly reasonable for me to to go the mall to look at Italian baby strollers that just happen to be on sale this month. Everything is on sale this month in Italy. Italians make so many beautiful things, and strollers are no exception. Along with my trip to the mall I added a matinee at the movie theater on post to my plans for the day. Last night before bed, I fantasized about the sense of accomplishment I would feel at the end of today.

When I woke up with vomit surging up my esophagus in the middle of the night I was confused. It felt like a nightmare, but clearly I was awake, and those nachos refused to stay put. I hate throwing up. Not just the heaving, but I worry about the damage the acid will due to my teeth and gums. Pregnant women have vulnerable teeth and gums. I brushed and rinsed with Listerine knowing my father would be proud.

I stumbled back to bed in a cold sweat. Ryan whispered that the nachos he made for me were probably not a good idea so late at night before drifting back to sleep. I slept until 2:30. I did not go to the mall or the movies. I started watching the tv show Girls instead. It is the new Sex and the City, except the girls are in their 20s instead of their 30s. At one point I turned to Ryan and said that we always go out with friends and rarely alone on dates. I was reciting lines from the show, "Are we even dating? Is this relationship going anywhere?!" He turned to look at me, chuckled and said umm ok, then went back building his model tank. We are way beyond dating, but those outbursts sure are fun!

These are my pajamas

Artist rendering of my hospital room...My room DID NOT look like this.

During my four days of confinement at San Bortolo I was the source of curiosity for the staff. It started off with Ryan and I getting separated. He dropped me off at the entrance and went to park the car. The Army has Patient Liaisons to assist Americans from the base. None of them were in the office when I arrived.

This is a good place to note that Italians do not have a sense of urgency about most things. Perhaps it has to do with their flair for the dramatic. They do not get excited in the moments you would expect. For example, an impatient pregnant woman in line at the OB section of the hospital (me) There was a woman in line in front of me. I was definitely breathing down her neck. She moved closer to the desk, and I was still there, breathing down her neck. Italians do that to me all the time. She whispered whatever her ailment was and walked away.

The intake lady wanted to know if she needed to wait for the Patient Liaison to interpret for me. I politely said no and handed her my ID card. That is when the contractions started to come back. The heavy breathing started and I gripped the plastic partition that separated us with my sweaty hands. She looked at me slightly concerned but, continued to ask me demographic questions. Then she told me to have a seat, but I could not stay seated for long. I was trying to walk off the pain and soon I was panting again. I remember seeing a few nervous faces staring at me. I looked down the hall hoping to see Ryan, but he was lost somewhere in the facility. All it took was one guttural  moan for the examination room doors to slide open. Suddenly, the Patient Liaison was in the room with Ryan and I was being admitted.

My first stop was the delivery floor. I think if I knew that then I would have freaked out, but I was oblivious to my surroundings. Although I do think I heard one woman give birth. The nurse started an IV and things began to calm down shortly after. Once I was stabilized they moved me to another floor and I changed into my pajamas. The nurses kept asking me if I would be more comfortable in my pajamas. I kept saying these are my pajamas. One nurse asked why my leggings had sparkles. Another referred to my snoogle as a snake. When I realized I would be there for more than one night I had Ryan bring in rugs for the bathroom and my bedside. That seemed to surprise the staff the most. Did I mention there was no tv? I was bored so I did a little decorating, well Ryan did the decorating.

Four Days in Lockup

This could go down as the worst Christmas ever, but I am pregnant with my first child. Being pregnant trumps everything else. How I ended up in an Italian hospital for four days goes back to a few weeks ago when I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. The diagnosis was a surprise and a disappointment. The irony is that before the pregnancy I ate whatever I wanted without much consequence. Now that I am pregnant I have to watch my carbohydrate and sugar intake. It has been stressful trying to get accustomed to the new diet. I have never dieted in my life!
After a visit to the dietitian, I decided I would make more of an effort to be active to help burn off the excess sugar in my system more effectively.

I strapped on my support belt and started waking up earlier, doing the the grocery shopping, running around to office celebrations and of course looking for the perfect gift for Ryan, which I found. By Saturday I knew I was pushing myself, but I thought this is good stuff. I have my heart rate up, I feel energized and I am getting stuff done.

With Ryan's gift sorted it was time to find my Birthday/push prize. It took sometime to find parking at the mall and I ended up much farther away from the entrance than usual. The hike included a short flight of steep stairs. That is when I felt the first sign of trouble. It was a sharp pain in my lower back. I never felt anything like it. Sort of sharp, hot, pulling pain. I headed home.

We had dinner and were deeply entrenched in our nightly routine of watching TV and lamenting over all the shows we love that are currently on hiatus: Sons of Anarchy, The Americans, Mad Men, Homeland, Game of Thrones and Hannibal.  I felt a mild Braxton-Hicks contraction. Those have been common in the last few weeks, but over the course of the evening they increased in severity. Before long I was panting and moaning like a grizzly bear in heat.

The pain subsided a bit and I went to bed, but tossed all night. In the morning I called the Army clinic. They advised that if I could not talk through the contractions I should go to the Italian hospital. I was in pre-term labor, and the doctors administered medication to stop the contractions, as well as steroids to help develop the baby's lungs in case he insisted on making an early appearance.

They were able to stop the contractions with medication, but it took three days to run its course and then they wanted to monitor me off the medication. I was released last night with strict orders to rest, including NO SEX...

My experience in the Italian hospital deserves its own post, which will require reflection first. I can say for now that they were thorough, attentive and kind to me. The rest will have to wait.

Not the Baby Shower Type

If and when I can I avoid baby showers like the plague. In general I used to find most events that involve pregnant women and babies boring, icky or some combination of both. Over the years I got over myself and grew up, but the baby shower aversion clung to me like a bad cold. My friends began the baby shower chatter a few months ago. The idea made me very uncomfortable. There were a few baby showers at various offices that I could not avoid in my past. They were strange events with cakes made of diapers, and silly games that left the mother-to-be resembling Little Bo Peep.  The guest of honor always ended up with paper plates on her head and streamers wrapped around her body. Once I watched in disbelief as the the guests made dress out of the wrapping paper and made the soon-to-be mom wear it! I wanted no part of that. I finally confessed my fears to a friend, and she gave me a bit of sound advice. She reminded me that the process of preparing for and the raising of a child is a community effort. She said it was an important "rite of passage" to let my community shower me with their support. She added that I would need many of them in the months ahead.

Her words stimulated me and I realized I could have a baby shower on my terms. I discussed my fears with the friends I trusted the most. They assured me that my shower would be a tasteful event. Once assured of their promises we set a date: 23 November. The next important decision was the location. With holidays almost upon us it would be difficult to find the appropriate venue. My apartment was the obvious choice. The other details were easily the best part: the menu. We selected all of my favorite dishes. Some were purchased at the Commissary and others were homemade, but all were delicious.

The games were fun and mostly for the guests. Although at some point I did start tying ribbons around myself...The best part was support of my friends. It was just as my friend said. The women in my community rallied around to support me. It was beautiful and heartwarming. We had a few guys over to keep Ryan company. They stayed in the kitchen where  Ryan was frying up batches of his delicious hot wings. By the end of it I did feel like I had crossed another threshold. One that brought me closer to motherhood.

Summer wedding Italian style

We are halfway through the summer already, and I only have one beach visit under my belt. It's been that kind of summer. Azzura and Nao's wedding is certainly the highlight thus far. Nao is one of Ryan's air soft buddies. The team and their wives/girlfriends are part of our surrogate family and the third pairing to get hitched in as many years.

Azzura and Nao are both from Soave and have known each other since grade school. They dated for seven years and got married last Saturday 20 July. The wedding was a very traditional Italian affair, which is quite different from an American wedding. For staters there was no wedding party. All of the guests waited outside the church for Azzura to arrive, and when she did arrive it was a very dramatic entrance. Her brother drove their father's cherry red Ferrari with it's feline purr of an engine up the narrow street where we all waited. Her fairytale princess dress billowed inside the car. She would later tell me how she and her brother struggled to get her and her dress stuffed completely into the Ferrari.

Finally the car came to a stop in front of the church and she emerged unruffled. Her father walked her from the car to Nao, who waited for her outside the church. Inside there was a standard mass replete with communion.

After the ceremony we headed deep into the hills for the reception at a well known local winery. Nao pointed out the different grape varietals and encouraged us to try the exquisite red wine made on the grounds. There was an endless array of appetizers. Soon the owner came by and asked in Italian how Nao came to have so many foreign friends. Ryan and I sat together with Arnell, his Soldier friend in uniform and the Japanese-German couple Azzura met at language school in Germany. Nao looked at all of us and said it's just the way it is.

Us in Soave