I got married straight out of my parents' home so I never lived alone. Never "kept house," never cooked or cleaned or felt responsible for the running of a home. In Argentina, my mother had a housekeeper who had been with our family forever. My Dad loved to cook and both he and my mother took turns in introducing us to wonderful food. There was no "I don't like this" before trying! No special meals made for you if you didn't like what was on the menu that night either! I learned everything that I now know about food from them. The joy of a perfectly heavenly piece of fried fish. The soundness (for lack of a better word) of a delicious "Puchero" Argentina's version of Pot of Feu...boiled dinner. Lots of veggies and a slab of bacon and garbanzo beans, a chunk of Caracu (bone marrow) and beef or chicken and sometimes both thrown in the pot.I ate my first Escargot at 5 and liked it. Nobody made mashed potatoes like my mom.
My father would dress up a simple beef cutlet or Milanesa with foie gras one day and another with anchovies and peppers. A perfectly baked chicken was a weekly routine and of course our Sunday asado which is the typical Argentine barbecue with sweetbreads and sausages and the best possible beef in the world. Sundays when we would all await in eager anticipation almost fainting from the aroma coming from the parrilla. I remember lying on the grass with my dog both of us salivating and waiting to be called to have our late lunch. After lunch...a bit of "sobremesa" which is just sitting around chatting. Soon enough, each one of us would drop into bed for an afternoon siesta. I remember the sounds in the house and in the garden on those lazy summer days. The birds chirping on the trees. An occasional bark from one of our dogs.
The only thing I ever made in those days was a cake called "Delicia"...pretty much a simple enough way to let a young girl experiment in the kitchen without much fuss. One of the most famous cooks in Argentina called Dona Petrona provided that recipe in her book. She was probably one of the first chefs to become a celebrity and have her own TV show in Buenos Aires (maybe the world?) and boss her assistant Maria around. Poor Maria did all the work...chopping, steaming, boiling, baking and acted as her gopher or sous chef! I don't remember seeing Maria's face, but I could see her shuffling stuff in the background and Petrona, an imposing presence took front and center stage.
So there I was, newly married and totally ignorant as to the mysteries of the kitchen and the rest of a house. I didn't even know how to make a proper bed! I still don't know how to wash clothes as my children will gleefully tell you. When they went off to college they knew they were on their own on that one!
Little by little and with the love and support of my husband, I learned what I needed to learn. After messing up a simple roast beef and on the verge of tears and feeling totally incompetent he simply told me that he was not interested in my homemaking abilities. He married me not Dona Petrona! The most important thing that I learned from him was to value and practice my independence. He trusted me to do well in whatever I undertook. He gave me space, time and enormous amounts of love and encouragement in everything I did. And I did these things in so many cities, in so many "new" homes and countries! Homemaking for me was building a new home from scratch every time we moved. And we moved a lot. Without knowing, Esteban taught me how to live without him.
And for the last 16 years of my life, I have lived alone. At first it was a little scary to think of all the responsibilities landing straight on my lap. Nobody to really ask. No shared decisions. No "this is your job, this is mine" type of thing. It was all mine. And in a hurry I had to learn how to do it all, including the tedious part, you know, the finances and the bills and the daily routines, and selling and buying homes and cars and being a strong presence in my kids' lives for both of us and most importantly, the loss of him. I think I should be awarded a PhD for all of this. I think I've done well.
And like he would have expected, I thrived. I have done more things that I ever expected to do and learned the ultimate lesson: how to live without him. Not alone but rather on my own.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Abu on Parenting
This Mothers Day made me think again on what a broad spectrum of skills it takes to do the job of mothering - more than any other really. So much multitasking. A job for life. There is no "statute of limitations" nor deadline when one can clock out. No turning away and looking the other way! No giving up. Never.
And it's a tough job. It's a judged job where the judges are people who parent differently, who question our "philosophy" our "methods" and "techniques" and who force us to doubt ourselves...even judge ourselves. As if only some special people know what our babies need. We're encouraged to breastfeed our little ones and then we're criticized about feeding in public (as if babies were polite enough to wait till they get home) or on how long we're supposed to continue. They, these critics, sit behind their computers and make statements about how inappropriate it is to nurse past a year. As if it pained them. They're offended by naked breastfeeding breasts but find nothing wrong with Kim Kardashian's exposed mammaries. As if breasts are supposed to be exposed in lace on billboards and ads but not in front of a baby's face. As if it were wrong somehow to give our babies what they need. Whatever kind of parenting these "experts" did themselves is what they are in one way or another justifying. If they did not breastfeed, they will say that "millions of babies are brought up on formula and thrived." If they felt that babies are "spoilt" by holding them and tending to their needs,attachment parenting will go out the window. And so it goes. Books and magazines tell us how to do it. The media criticizes us because we do it. Everybody seems entitled to give us advice from pregnancy till the kid is out of the house. And guess what! Nobody's asking the baby!
In this computer crazed world we live in, the judgement comes quick and in an avalanche. While there's never been more information at our fingertips, it's really up to us to carefully discern where this information is coming from and how it was obtained. Research papers funded by pharmaceutical companies try to push their agenda while everyone spits out statistics on this or that. And there we are, with our little baby, maybe living far from parents and friends, trying to make sense of what all the experts are telling us. And yes, we were not born "knowing" so we need these bits of info to help us in our work. And the work is constant. It's physical at first and then it's joined and intertwined with the emotional, with the spiritual. It's exhausting and of course exhilarating.
When I had my kids, I too was living very far from my family and there was no internet but there was Dr. Spock! Instead of the computer, it was his book that kept me company when I was trying to figure out what I could do for the million and one things that were new to me then. He always gave common sense advice and not too much of it. He gave me the basics and then left me to do the job. I so appreciated him. The index in his book is probably the best I've ever seen. Everything that I needed to know was in that book and easily accessible. Google is no competition to the speed in which you could find exactly what you needed! Dr. Brazelton wasn't too shabby either!
As parents we do the best we can with what we've got. If we can surround ourselves with other parents doing the same job at the same time, we can help each other without judgement and with kindness and compassion. Cause we've all had the worries and the anxiety and we all want to do a good job. We don't all have to think alike and some of these folks will enlighten us with a different way to approach a particular problem that we may not have thought of and yes, we too can provide comfort, support and our own little tricks. There is much to learn in a moms' group. Things you admire in others as well as some you prefer to steer clear of and that can be from birthing to feeding to discipline to whatever. The important thing is to let everyone do what their gut tells them to do and to encourage that in each other. We're all going to try different things and some will work and others not so much. And its OK. That is what parents do.
Loving and respecting our little babies, these little versions of ourselves, is the most important thing to do. Listening and parenting like we live. With intention and love. Turn off the computer and look at your baby. That will be my only and most important bit of advice.
And it's a tough job. It's a judged job where the judges are people who parent differently, who question our "philosophy" our "methods" and "techniques" and who force us to doubt ourselves...even judge ourselves. As if only some special people know what our babies need. We're encouraged to breastfeed our little ones and then we're criticized about feeding in public (as if babies were polite enough to wait till they get home) or on how long we're supposed to continue. They, these critics, sit behind their computers and make statements about how inappropriate it is to nurse past a year. As if it pained them. They're offended by naked breastfeeding breasts but find nothing wrong with Kim Kardashian's exposed mammaries. As if breasts are supposed to be exposed in lace on billboards and ads but not in front of a baby's face. As if it were wrong somehow to give our babies what they need. Whatever kind of parenting these "experts" did themselves is what they are in one way or another justifying. If they did not breastfeed, they will say that "millions of babies are brought up on formula and thrived." If they felt that babies are "spoilt" by holding them and tending to their needs,attachment parenting will go out the window. And so it goes. Books and magazines tell us how to do it. The media criticizes us because we do it. Everybody seems entitled to give us advice from pregnancy till the kid is out of the house. And guess what! Nobody's asking the baby!
In this computer crazed world we live in, the judgement comes quick and in an avalanche. While there's never been more information at our fingertips, it's really up to us to carefully discern where this information is coming from and how it was obtained. Research papers funded by pharmaceutical companies try to push their agenda while everyone spits out statistics on this or that. And there we are, with our little baby, maybe living far from parents and friends, trying to make sense of what all the experts are telling us. And yes, we were not born "knowing" so we need these bits of info to help us in our work. And the work is constant. It's physical at first and then it's joined and intertwined with the emotional, with the spiritual. It's exhausting and of course exhilarating.
When I had my kids, I too was living very far from my family and there was no internet but there was Dr. Spock! Instead of the computer, it was his book that kept me company when I was trying to figure out what I could do for the million and one things that were new to me then. He always gave common sense advice and not too much of it. He gave me the basics and then left me to do the job. I so appreciated him. The index in his book is probably the best I've ever seen. Everything that I needed to know was in that book and easily accessible. Google is no competition to the speed in which you could find exactly what you needed! Dr. Brazelton wasn't too shabby either!
As parents we do the best we can with what we've got. If we can surround ourselves with other parents doing the same job at the same time, we can help each other without judgement and with kindness and compassion. Cause we've all had the worries and the anxiety and we all want to do a good job. We don't all have to think alike and some of these folks will enlighten us with a different way to approach a particular problem that we may not have thought of and yes, we too can provide comfort, support and our own little tricks. There is much to learn in a moms' group. Things you admire in others as well as some you prefer to steer clear of and that can be from birthing to feeding to discipline to whatever. The important thing is to let everyone do what their gut tells them to do and to encourage that in each other. We're all going to try different things and some will work and others not so much. And its OK. That is what parents do.
Loving and respecting our little babies, these little versions of ourselves, is the most important thing to do. Listening and parenting like we live. With intention and love. Turn off the computer and look at your baby. That will be my only and most important bit of advice.
Monday, May 7, 2012
My space in the world
Before I walk into my studio, I leave all my anxieties, worries, restlessness behind. I read and acknowledge the sign that I've posted at the entrance for the people that I invite to visit: "Welcome! Please take responsibility for the energy that you bring into my studio and my home. I take a deep breath and enter.
In that room, which to me is magical, I look around and see my life held within its walls. The childbirth books that I've read and shared with so many women. My many cookbooks, all the women's health and spirituality related texts. The art books. The corner dedicated to dyeing. Photos of my grandchildren. I open the door and let the breeze join the ceiling fan in making my dyed cloth float and fly gently in the breeze. My latest painting or drawing, or both, await. The smell of yesterday's incense is still there. My jewelry making corner is a mess. And its ok. I don't have to cover anything or make untidiness disappear. My brushes are drying in the sink. My music is ready to be turned on. Life it good.
I seem to gravitate to painting women. I don't draw well at all but these women seem to come out of my brush and we start our relationship right then and there.
There's "La Mejicana" made after a trip to visit friends in Mexico.
Sometimes I use acrylics, sometimes I draw and decide that the drawing needs to be painted. I keep many mixed media journals. Then I turn my attention to my witchy boiling pots and start dyeing!
The room opens up and becomes a patio where I dry the cloth that I've dyed
Here is "La Argentina." Natalia took one look at her and named her!
Hopefully when my grandchildren get a little older, they'll join me in my little sanctuary and paint with me, or draw or just hang out and string beads.
In that room, which to me is magical, I look around and see my life held within its walls. The childbirth books that I've read and shared with so many women. My many cookbooks, all the women's health and spirituality related texts. The art books. The corner dedicated to dyeing. Photos of my grandchildren. I open the door and let the breeze join the ceiling fan in making my dyed cloth float and fly gently in the breeze. My latest painting or drawing, or both, await. The smell of yesterday's incense is still there. My jewelry making corner is a mess. And its ok. I don't have to cover anything or make untidiness disappear. My brushes are drying in the sink. My music is ready to be turned on. Life it good.
I seem to gravitate to painting women. I don't draw well at all but these women seem to come out of my brush and we start our relationship right then and there.
There's "La Mejicana" made after a trip to visit friends in Mexico.
Sometimes I use acrylics, sometimes I draw and decide that the drawing needs to be painted. I keep many mixed media journals. Then I turn my attention to my witchy boiling pots and start dyeing!
The room opens up and becomes a patio where I dry the cloth that I've dyed
Here is "La Argentina." Natalia took one look at her and named her!
Hopefully when my grandchildren get a little older, they'll join me in my little sanctuary and paint with me, or draw or just hang out and string beads.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Notes (and a little advice) From a High Tech Abuelita
I seem to have become an “I” person…you know…IPhone, IPad, IPod, MacPro and all. I read on a Kindle and that’s because at my age, the non-glare aspect is crucial. It works well at the beach.
My son accuses “Mother, you have entirely too much technology!” I adapt every one of my gadgets to my life and give them the place they deserve. I walk my dog with my orange little IPod that matches my car and I listen to music and use the pedometer to make the daily obligation count for something other than exercising the pooch. Multi tasking is healthy sometimes.
I enjoy Facebook and finding out what my friends are up to. I adore my IPhone and have a million pictures on IPhoto. YouTube entertains me ad nauseum. Living Social offers me great deals. The Skimm amuses me, "the Huff" often annoys me. I travel with my IPad AND my computer which has become part of my daily life and quite frankly, I have trouble leaving either behind. I buy my theater and movie tickets and do my banking online. I have a GPS in my car and an Apple TV in my den. I hardly use my digital camera in favor of the IPhone camera, which is more convenient, and for my purposes, excellent. I Skype with my children and have managed to maintain a loving and close relationship with my children’s children (as far away as Singapore) with this mode of communication.
Before I became fond of I-products, I had a long history with computers, starting with my dear Commodore 64, which taught me everything I needed to know in preparation for the bigger and better things to come. I was involved in getting a computer lab into my children's school against opposition of some peers who did not think it was necessary, and insuring that every classroom had a computer and a trained teacher to use them and help the kids. I'm often amused when young computer whizzes on the radio or TV put down their parents or older folks as computer illiterates. How did they get so smart?
I couldn’t bring myself to dispose of my beloved Commodore 64 until I moved from New York to Miami a few years ago. Thought I might have to donate it to some computer museum. I remember the first time I used Windows! I also remember my daughter teaching me how to email her when she went to college and how to use the Internet.
Google helps my memory when it falters and I need to look up something that I know but can’t quite place. Smitten Kitchen, Food 52 and Epicurious offer me great new recipes to try. My computer keeps me company, especially on those nights when sleep eludes me. There she is, ready to serve, inspire and help the hours go by. “A Pinterest perhaps?” she suggests.
The most important thing that I have learned being part of this computer age is that all the technology in the world cannot and will not replace a phone call when I, or the person I’m calling needs it or is delighted by it. No apps for human contact. No apps can replace a wonderful movie in a theater or a play or a real delicious hug from a friend, a child, a grandchild. No app gives me a welcome like my two dogs and two cats. And lets not even go to the texting “thing!” I thought it was wonderful when we finally got rid of telegrams. To think that they have now been replaced by cold, short, unpleasant half-words that people use to excuse their lack of time, of care, of simple good manners and style of writing and speech.
We must espouse new technology readily. It keeps us current. It keeps us in the loop but in the process; let us not forget good manners and those come in the shape of eating in a restaurant and leaving our phones at home or in the car. Of not holding our phones in our hands as if we were all neurosurgeons waiting for an emergency call from the hospital when we’re in a social situation. Of being able to ignore that call or text until we are alone and not offending anyone and certainly not while driving.
No technology can replace that cafecito at our favorite Cuban coffee shop. A nice lunch with a friend. A call to remind someone you care. Nothing is as thrilling as a postcard from a friend in a faraway place who happened to think about you and put a stamp on it and mailed it to your real home address. A thank you or "am thinking about you" handwritten note. No email can replace that moment of hearing your dear friend’s voice on the phone when you’re feeling down. Apps don’t convey emotion. Texting cannot (unless you’re 13) let you encompass how you feel when you’re depressed. You need real-time-face-time with someone who can listen. Apps don’t hug.
So my advice to myself and to you is, be selective with your technology and use it to enhance your life. Use your voice, your handwriting and your dialing skills to do the real thing. You’re not the only busy person in the world. Make time for yourself and the people you care about and teach your children to do the same. Mindfulness counts.
My son accuses “Mother, you have entirely too much technology!” I adapt every one of my gadgets to my life and give them the place they deserve. I walk my dog with my orange little IPod that matches my car and I listen to music and use the pedometer to make the daily obligation count for something other than exercising the pooch. Multi tasking is healthy sometimes.
I enjoy Facebook and finding out what my friends are up to. I adore my IPhone and have a million pictures on IPhoto. YouTube entertains me ad nauseum. Living Social offers me great deals. The Skimm amuses me, "the Huff" often annoys me. I travel with my IPad AND my computer which has become part of my daily life and quite frankly, I have trouble leaving either behind. I buy my theater and movie tickets and do my banking online. I have a GPS in my car and an Apple TV in my den. I hardly use my digital camera in favor of the IPhone camera, which is more convenient, and for my purposes, excellent. I Skype with my children and have managed to maintain a loving and close relationship with my children’s children (as far away as Singapore) with this mode of communication.
Before I became fond of I-products, I had a long history with computers, starting with my dear Commodore 64, which taught me everything I needed to know in preparation for the bigger and better things to come. I was involved in getting a computer lab into my children's school against opposition of some peers who did not think it was necessary, and insuring that every classroom had a computer and a trained teacher to use them and help the kids. I'm often amused when young computer whizzes on the radio or TV put down their parents or older folks as computer illiterates. How did they get so smart?
I couldn’t bring myself to dispose of my beloved Commodore 64 until I moved from New York to Miami a few years ago. Thought I might have to donate it to some computer museum. I remember the first time I used Windows! I also remember my daughter teaching me how to email her when she went to college and how to use the Internet.
Google helps my memory when it falters and I need to look up something that I know but can’t quite place. Smitten Kitchen, Food 52 and Epicurious offer me great new recipes to try. My computer keeps me company, especially on those nights when sleep eludes me. There she is, ready to serve, inspire and help the hours go by. “A Pinterest perhaps?” she suggests.
The most important thing that I have learned being part of this computer age is that all the technology in the world cannot and will not replace a phone call when I, or the person I’m calling needs it or is delighted by it. No apps for human contact. No apps can replace a wonderful movie in a theater or a play or a real delicious hug from a friend, a child, a grandchild. No app gives me a welcome like my two dogs and two cats. And lets not even go to the texting “thing!” I thought it was wonderful when we finally got rid of telegrams. To think that they have now been replaced by cold, short, unpleasant half-words that people use to excuse their lack of time, of care, of simple good manners and style of writing and speech.
We must espouse new technology readily. It keeps us current. It keeps us in the loop but in the process; let us not forget good manners and those come in the shape of eating in a restaurant and leaving our phones at home or in the car. Of not holding our phones in our hands as if we were all neurosurgeons waiting for an emergency call from the hospital when we’re in a social situation. Of being able to ignore that call or text until we are alone and not offending anyone and certainly not while driving.
No technology can replace that cafecito at our favorite Cuban coffee shop. A nice lunch with a friend. A call to remind someone you care. Nothing is as thrilling as a postcard from a friend in a faraway place who happened to think about you and put a stamp on it and mailed it to your real home address. A thank you or "am thinking about you" handwritten note. No email can replace that moment of hearing your dear friend’s voice on the phone when you’re feeling down. Apps don’t convey emotion. Texting cannot (unless you’re 13) let you encompass how you feel when you’re depressed. You need real-time-face-time with someone who can listen. Apps don’t hug.
So my advice to myself and to you is, be selective with your technology and use it to enhance your life. Use your voice, your handwriting and your dialing skills to do the real thing. You’re not the only busy person in the world. Make time for yourself and the people you care about and teach your children to do the same. Mindfulness counts.
Monday, April 9, 2012
A Grandmother's Tale: Sammy's Birth
Birth has been part of my life and continues to be so. I've attended so many births of people who I hardly knew. I was intimately involved in the beginning of so many families. Now it was my turn. My own children were eager for me to participate in the births of their children. I think this was and continues to be the payoff for so many sleepless nights. For so many women in Japan, in New York and Miami who I, in one way or another, helped with my presence or the right word at the right time. Now I was getting to see the children of my children come into the world. I went to the midwife with Tracy. I paced like an anxious father for the twins's birth and half slept with the phone in my hand in Miami when Ruby was being born, also at home.
Max's labor was long and I think my supportive role was for everyone involved. Helped the midwife convince Marisa that a walk around the block with lazy contractions would be beneficial. Poured a hundred cups of tea for the midwife and for myself. We chatted while Adam and Marisa were soaking in the birthing pool upstairs. Held a flashlight to assist the midwife given the place where Marisa chose to birth which required some illumination! Hopefully my presence was also beneficial for Adam who was also exhausted. It allowed him to be fully there for Marisa. Saw Maxi's face as he emerged. Saw Marisa and Adam's faces as they met their new son. Images in my mind that will be forever present.
Now Marisa was pregnant again, and once more the invitation came to be at the new baby's birth.
I arrived in Brooklyn after spending time in Indonesia with David and Alex and in Singapore and again in Indonesia with Steven, Tracy and the girls. One week at home and off to NYC on April 2nd still pretty jetlagged. The baby was due on the 7th. On the 3rd, Marisa and I cooked up a storm so that they would have meals prepared when the baby was born. On the 4th we went to Arthur Avenue in the Bronx where we met Frannie, Stephanie and Paul for lunch and to buy more goodies for the house. Armed with lots of prociutto, fresh made mozzarella and a big chunk of delicious Parmesan we returned to Brooklyn. That evening we made dinner, ate it and I left their house at around 10PM. Went to "my" (Natacha and Patrick's really) apartment and had barely fallen asleep when the call came. It was around 1.30PM when Adam informed me that contractions had started. He would keep me informed if they continued or whether they would just go away for the night! At 2.45 Marcie (Marisa's midwife) called to tell me that she would stop by and pick me up to go to Marisa's where things were heating up. We arrived at their house at 3.15am.
Sammy's labor was quick and his birth just beautiful. He emerged and was given to me by the midwife as she tended to Marisa. A nice oven warmed towel was waiting for this little hot body in my arms. I quickly handed him to his parents who were joyfully crying and kissing. It was sensational. He felt so warm and of course, slippery. His face reminded me of Goosie. All big open mouth announcing his arrival...as if we hadn't noticed! I was in awe of Marisa's strength, determination and courage. "I am woman hear me roar" doesn't even cut it. Adam's pride and emotion are hard to describe. Love was everywhere.
Sam was born at 3.59am (important for the astrologers in the family!) and the midwives were gone before the sun emerged. We were in the living room. Marisa, Adam and the baby dozing on the couch, me on the armchair where I too dozed off. Max who slept through the entire proceedings came to meet his new brother. I wish somebody had filmed both births because while Maxi's was long, it was a typical first birth and Sam's was birthed by a woman who knew what she was feeling and who had done this before! It would be very inspiring for a lot of couples who might reconsider their birthing options.
While home birth is not only not possible for all women it is also not something that one chooses lightly. Perhaps starting out with a birth center can help give women that confidence that might, just might inspire them to try a home birth for their second child... or not. They will surely have more confidence in their own ability to birth their babies with strength and determination away from the medical establishment's perceptions of what birth should be. A neat little package of interventions that are decided according to the practitioner's or hospital needs more than according to what the mother needs. Choosing the right birth attendant and place of birth is the one most important parenting decision that one can make.
Now these happy people are in their own little birth bubble home with their two boys learning how to incorporate this new delicious being into their lives.
My work here is done. Off to Miami tomorrow in my own birth capsule with beautiful images of love, strength and wiggly little babies.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Jetlag
The Joys of Jetlag
“A temporary disruption of normal circadian rhythm caused by high-speed travel across several time zones typically in a jet aircraft, resulting in fatigue, disorientation, and disturbed sleep patterns.”
Yep, I’ve got it alright! Have lived with this condition frequently over the years. Awake at night, exhausted in the morning, hungry at 3am, listless the rest of the day. Backache, headache, you name it. Melatonin? Sleeping pills? A relaxing herbal tea? A soak in the tub? Tried them all.
I’ve tried staying awake as long as possible and normalizing my patterns and yet, when I think I’ve got it licked, it comes back like a boomerang. I do yoga positions to alleviate aches and pains. I eat lightly throughout the day to relax my anxious stomach. No caffeine, no more spices for a while. Nothing seems to work for long.
A lot of this awake time happens at night and you know how treacherous night can be for musings and deep philosophy, I think a lot about the many things I should be doing in the morning or worry about things that I can do nothing about. I am not grounded enough to read a book or concentrate on anything for long, even my favorite taped shows on TV don't seem to do the trick. My a/c is turned high or lowered at random depending on the mood of the moment. Sometimes feeling that its terribly hot and then freezing because I’ve overdone the thermostat, the air is too cold. By 3PM (3AM in Singapore) I desperately need a nap. All in all, not a pleasant condition.
My air travel these days is still considerably easier than say during the years I lived in London or the 12 years that I spent in Japan. Any trip I made then with four kids in tow produced this condition with the aggravated assault of having to deal with a house full of children and their needs in the morning. I remember spending hours playing canasta with a similarly jetlagged Marisa in the middle of the night while the others slept soundly. I think we must have been resentful of their peaceful sleep while we tried to beat each other in the game.
I guess that’s why the movie “Lost in Translation” hit so close to home. I know how many cities feel in the middle of the night. I know how it feels to know that I’m probably one of the few people awake at that particular time.
The only long trip I remember not having this disoriented feeling was when Natalia was a couple of months old and I took her from Tokyo to Buenos Aires to meet the family. Since we were on an on-demand nursing routine, I never felt the difference in time in these two cities which are on opposite sides of the globe. Neither did she. Nursing is nursing. Its always jetlag then even if you don’t fly at all!
Last night I slept better and woke up at 5am. I guess I’m beginning to normalize again. Still, you never know. Tonight is another test. Next flight is in a couple of weeks to welcome my new grandchild but that's only to NYC and the only aggravation will be to once again, remove my shoes for security and have to deal with American Airlines. The grandchild part? I should be fully awake, aware and delighted for that.
Yep, I’ve got it alright! Have lived with this condition frequently over the years. Awake at night, exhausted in the morning, hungry at 3am, listless the rest of the day. Backache, headache, you name it. Melatonin? Sleeping pills? A relaxing herbal tea? A soak in the tub? Tried them all.
I’ve tried staying awake as long as possible and normalizing my patterns and yet, when I think I’ve got it licked, it comes back like a boomerang. I do yoga positions to alleviate aches and pains. I eat lightly throughout the day to relax my anxious stomach. No caffeine, no more spices for a while. Nothing seems to work for long.
A lot of this awake time happens at night and you know how treacherous night can be for musings and deep philosophy, I think a lot about the many things I should be doing in the morning or worry about things that I can do nothing about. I am not grounded enough to read a book or concentrate on anything for long, even my favorite taped shows on TV don't seem to do the trick. My a/c is turned high or lowered at random depending on the mood of the moment. Sometimes feeling that its terribly hot and then freezing because I’ve overdone the thermostat, the air is too cold. By 3PM (3AM in Singapore) I desperately need a nap. All in all, not a pleasant condition.
My air travel these days is still considerably easier than say during the years I lived in London or the 12 years that I spent in Japan. Any trip I made then with four kids in tow produced this condition with the aggravated assault of having to deal with a house full of children and their needs in the morning. I remember spending hours playing canasta with a similarly jetlagged Marisa in the middle of the night while the others slept soundly. I think we must have been resentful of their peaceful sleep while we tried to beat each other in the game.
I guess that’s why the movie “Lost in Translation” hit so close to home. I know how many cities feel in the middle of the night. I know how it feels to know that I’m probably one of the few people awake at that particular time.
The only long trip I remember not having this disoriented feeling was when Natalia was a couple of months old and I took her from Tokyo to Buenos Aires to meet the family. Since we were on an on-demand nursing routine, I never felt the difference in time in these two cities which are on opposite sides of the globe. Neither did she. Nursing is nursing. Its always jetlag then even if you don’t fly at all!
Last night I slept better and woke up at 5am. I guess I’m beginning to normalize again. Still, you never know. Tonight is another test. Next flight is in a couple of weeks to welcome my new grandchild but that's only to NYC and the only aggravation will be to once again, remove my shoes for security and have to deal with American Airlines. The grandchild part? I should be fully awake, aware and delighted for that.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Airline Travel - Then and Now
I was 11 years old when I made my first inter-continental flight on Panam from Buenos Aires to New York Idlewild. It was pretty much like riding a grasshopper which stopped a thousand times along the way. I remember flying into La Paz and while walking to the terminal (they used to park the airplane miles away from the terminal then) in transit I saw some women on the side of the runway with their little kids and some livestock…just hanging out watching the planes and trying to sell some of their knitted stuff. I went over to pet a goat or a llama (can’t remember what it was) and stayed there while my mother watched me from afar. I was asked to get back with the passengers eventually and we continued with the pilgrimage up north. I also stopped in Havana and I remember my mother having a coffee at the airport and saying it was delicious. Little did I know that I need a fix of Cuban coffee daily! We must have made at least 6 stops.
The pilot flew over New York City and offered us a view of the Statue of Liberty while I tried very hard not to throw up! All those take offs and landings combined with the mountains of airline food that I consumed made my arrival at our destination rather shaky to say the least. Then I used to think that by the year 2000 we would all be flying our own planes. When I mentioned this to someone recently he remembered thinking the same thing although he asked me “well…would you like to fly your own ‘car-plane” to which I responded “no way!.” Its bad enough to deal with other drivers on land these days.
Since that momentous flight I have continued gathering flying hours and miles through the years. Pity that one couldn’t sign up for any frequent flyer miles in those early years of traveling cause now I would be flying free all the time! Living in all those different places in the world gave me the opportunity to do more flying than I ever thought possible. Few airlines are left in the world that I haven’t flown in at one time or another, from tiny little planes to the new humongous airbus which I flew to and from Singapore, not only this time but also at what I think was one of the inaugural flights 3 years ago – a beautiful and amazing machine that looks more like a hotel and than an aircraft - enormously comfortable and for those who feel confined by smaller aircraft, a roomier and less oppressing feeling.
If you've watched the TV series Panam and got a taste of the luxury that it meant to fly in those days and compare it to a regular flight these days, airline travel has certainly changed. One of the best and most positive changes is that more people are able to fly now than then and that is the most notable difference. The planes are larger and somewhat faster. The standards of service (or lack thereof) however, have declined to being nonexistant. Passengers feel like cattle because they are treated that way, they are not imagining anything that isn’t actually happening. I flew American from JFK to Miami, a short flight that I know so well that I could probably navigate it myself! Remember, I had just gotten off nearly 24 hours of flying on Singapore Airlines considered to be one of the best in the world to a tiny domestic flight which would bring me home. It was less pleasant than riding a bus. The flight attendants were tired and disheveled and in a very poor mood. The passengers looked like they were planning to end up at the beach on arrival, wearing cut off shorts, t-shirts and flip flops and carrying onboard what seemed to be all of their earthly belongings. As to “tiny domestic flight” in Asia I flew a couple of those on AirAsia, their budget airline. A great experience.
On American, the drink service was carried out with less charm, manners or grace than one is served a Big Mac, in fact, one can get better service at McDonald’s any day of the week! They charge for bags, for crummy earphones, for food and anything else they can put a price on. It used to be a relief to board a plane after check in, immigrations, lugging bags and the normal anxiety and excitement of travel. You left all that craziness behind and settled in for a pleasant and of course, faster journey than say, taking a Greyhound! Now we’ve added endless lines of “security” carried out by disgruntled TSA personnel to the list of things we do before we board the plane, we’re pointed to our seats (if we’re lucky) and we never see a flight attendant again until they throw a “complimentary” Coke at us while they chatter among themselves and ignore us. They lug around a black plastic trash bag to collect empty plastic that we need to dispose of while they talk among themselves and barely regard you as a person. One flight attendant dropped a napkin on the floor, saw it, left it and walked off while I was supposed to be making sure that my space was clean and tidy. Two other flight attendants passed by that little piece of paper smack in the middle of the aisle and ignored it. The plane looked like it had been struck by lightning when we disembarked and let’s not even discuss the bathrooms which were atrocious.
While I had just stepped out of the comfort and joy that Singapore Airlines crews bring to every single passenger onboard with their politeness, care and pride in their work and their planes, flying American yesterday was so different and insanely deficient as to merit my attention and in-flight musings for what would happen if the standards changed. If yes, they charged for what they needed to charge but did so with charm and respect for their passengers…that flight attendants would have seen fit to groom themselves to look professional and in charge and addressed you as guests rather an another pain in the butt passenger. Perhaps if one of the crew were to help that Mom with the three kids to get settled in her seat rather than bark at her that she was holding up the takeoff. That the flight attendant who dropped that piece of paper would have leaned down to pick it up and throw it in the trash. Maybe, just maybe, people would follow suit and not see fit to fly in their pj’s and clean up a little when they have to sit in close proximity to their fellow humans. One really doesn’t know what comes first here, the chicken or the egg. There’s no doubt that attitude begets attitude.
The title was “purser” or “hostess” in the past. Then we upgraded it to “flight attendant” and we thought we had progress in “liberation.” What we liberated them from was the responsibility and pride that one has “hosting” a gathering in one’s home. The house is clean and tidy, the food edible and hopefully tasty, the drinks served with care and the little extras that one does when a guest needs or wants something that we can provide. That was the original idea. They hosted their passengers. It was their home or plane that we were boarding and the feeling was different. The excitement that one naturally has when one starts a trip being business or pleasure is swiftly dispelled by their behavior, lack of humor and social graces which brings out the worst in us, the people, the passengers.
After nearly two days of flying Singapore Airlines and I do know the difference between international flights and domestic, with a short stopover in Frankfurt, the plane that I disembarked from was spotless. The bathrooms impeccable and most importantly, the crew looked fresh (granted, in Frankfurt we got a new crew) and professional in a warm and welcoming way. A new set of passengers could have boarded that plane back to Singapore without even cleaning that plane! No blankets or pillows on the floor, No newspapers strewn about and even the air was fresh and as pleasant as it can be on a plane after such a long flight. The tired passengers left with a smile on their faces expressing their thanks to the crew sincerely, definitely not faking it!
I did not feel the need to thank anyone on that flight to Miami yesterday. In fact, I think American owes me many thanks for even considering flying with them and submitting me to the whims and lack of energy of their crews. Oh by the way, we were held up for nearly an hour on the runway on arrival because they assigned our gate to another flight.
And I won’t bore you with the efficiency and beauty of Singapore’s Changhi Airport which is material for an essay of its own. I’m sure David, Alex, Steven and Tracy can help me with that one at some point. I would like to thank Changhi for making my entrances and exits from Singapore so pleasant and stressless. I enjoyed every second spent there.
The pilot flew over New York City and offered us a view of the Statue of Liberty while I tried very hard not to throw up! All those take offs and landings combined with the mountains of airline food that I consumed made my arrival at our destination rather shaky to say the least. Then I used to think that by the year 2000 we would all be flying our own planes. When I mentioned this to someone recently he remembered thinking the same thing although he asked me “well…would you like to fly your own ‘car-plane” to which I responded “no way!.” Its bad enough to deal with other drivers on land these days.
Since that momentous flight I have continued gathering flying hours and miles through the years. Pity that one couldn’t sign up for any frequent flyer miles in those early years of traveling cause now I would be flying free all the time! Living in all those different places in the world gave me the opportunity to do more flying than I ever thought possible. Few airlines are left in the world that I haven’t flown in at one time or another, from tiny little planes to the new humongous airbus which I flew to and from Singapore, not only this time but also at what I think was one of the inaugural flights 3 years ago – a beautiful and amazing machine that looks more like a hotel and than an aircraft - enormously comfortable and for those who feel confined by smaller aircraft, a roomier and less oppressing feeling.
If you've watched the TV series Panam and got a taste of the luxury that it meant to fly in those days and compare it to a regular flight these days, airline travel has certainly changed. One of the best and most positive changes is that more people are able to fly now than then and that is the most notable difference. The planes are larger and somewhat faster. The standards of service (or lack thereof) however, have declined to being nonexistant. Passengers feel like cattle because they are treated that way, they are not imagining anything that isn’t actually happening. I flew American from JFK to Miami, a short flight that I know so well that I could probably navigate it myself! Remember, I had just gotten off nearly 24 hours of flying on Singapore Airlines considered to be one of the best in the world to a tiny domestic flight which would bring me home. It was less pleasant than riding a bus. The flight attendants were tired and disheveled and in a very poor mood. The passengers looked like they were planning to end up at the beach on arrival, wearing cut off shorts, t-shirts and flip flops and carrying onboard what seemed to be all of their earthly belongings. As to “tiny domestic flight” in Asia I flew a couple of those on AirAsia, their budget airline. A great experience.
On American, the drink service was carried out with less charm, manners or grace than one is served a Big Mac, in fact, one can get better service at McDonald’s any day of the week! They charge for bags, for crummy earphones, for food and anything else they can put a price on. It used to be a relief to board a plane after check in, immigrations, lugging bags and the normal anxiety and excitement of travel. You left all that craziness behind and settled in for a pleasant and of course, faster journey than say, taking a Greyhound! Now we’ve added endless lines of “security” carried out by disgruntled TSA personnel to the list of things we do before we board the plane, we’re pointed to our seats (if we’re lucky) and we never see a flight attendant again until they throw a “complimentary” Coke at us while they chatter among themselves and ignore us. They lug around a black plastic trash bag to collect empty plastic that we need to dispose of while they talk among themselves and barely regard you as a person. One flight attendant dropped a napkin on the floor, saw it, left it and walked off while I was supposed to be making sure that my space was clean and tidy. Two other flight attendants passed by that little piece of paper smack in the middle of the aisle and ignored it. The plane looked like it had been struck by lightning when we disembarked and let’s not even discuss the bathrooms which were atrocious.
While I had just stepped out of the comfort and joy that Singapore Airlines crews bring to every single passenger onboard with their politeness, care and pride in their work and their planes, flying American yesterday was so different and insanely deficient as to merit my attention and in-flight musings for what would happen if the standards changed. If yes, they charged for what they needed to charge but did so with charm and respect for their passengers…that flight attendants would have seen fit to groom themselves to look professional and in charge and addressed you as guests rather an another pain in the butt passenger. Perhaps if one of the crew were to help that Mom with the three kids to get settled in her seat rather than bark at her that she was holding up the takeoff. That the flight attendant who dropped that piece of paper would have leaned down to pick it up and throw it in the trash. Maybe, just maybe, people would follow suit and not see fit to fly in their pj’s and clean up a little when they have to sit in close proximity to their fellow humans. One really doesn’t know what comes first here, the chicken or the egg. There’s no doubt that attitude begets attitude.
The title was “purser” or “hostess” in the past. Then we upgraded it to “flight attendant” and we thought we had progress in “liberation.” What we liberated them from was the responsibility and pride that one has “hosting” a gathering in one’s home. The house is clean and tidy, the food edible and hopefully tasty, the drinks served with care and the little extras that one does when a guest needs or wants something that we can provide. That was the original idea. They hosted their passengers. It was their home or plane that we were boarding and the feeling was different. The excitement that one naturally has when one starts a trip being business or pleasure is swiftly dispelled by their behavior, lack of humor and social graces which brings out the worst in us, the people, the passengers.
After nearly two days of flying Singapore Airlines and I do know the difference between international flights and domestic, with a short stopover in Frankfurt, the plane that I disembarked from was spotless. The bathrooms impeccable and most importantly, the crew looked fresh (granted, in Frankfurt we got a new crew) and professional in a warm and welcoming way. A new set of passengers could have boarded that plane back to Singapore without even cleaning that plane! No blankets or pillows on the floor, No newspapers strewn about and even the air was fresh and as pleasant as it can be on a plane after such a long flight. The tired passengers left with a smile on their faces expressing their thanks to the crew sincerely, definitely not faking it!
I did not feel the need to thank anyone on that flight to Miami yesterday. In fact, I think American owes me many thanks for even considering flying with them and submitting me to the whims and lack of energy of their crews. Oh by the way, we were held up for nearly an hour on the runway on arrival because they assigned our gate to another flight.
And I won’t bore you with the efficiency and beauty of Singapore’s Changhi Airport which is material for an essay of its own. I’m sure David, Alex, Steven and Tracy can help me with that one at some point. I would like to thank Changhi for making my entrances and exits from Singapore so pleasant and stressless. I enjoyed every second spent there.
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