Through the Glass Dimly

Patience. There's a certain patience that is required in being a woman. Its a lesson that I've been learning for a while now. First, the patience was knowing who I wanted to marry, and having to wait for said person to get ready to marry me. It only took eight years**.... but still. So there were many many nights of tears, wondering why. That story is far too long and we won't go into it now. I'd rather talk about other issues of patience, but I did want to let you know that, yes, patience is something that I've struggled with... at least since I was 15, if not my whole life. So then you get engaged, and then you have to wait for the big day. The wedding day. Then you're married. And everything is lovely. You are learning how to be a wife. How to meal plan. How to manage to keep the whole house/apartment clean. How to budget. How to do all these things and still hold down a grown-up job. And then it hits you. Because there is always something else.

Yesterday I went to this neat local Mediterranean Market to get good quality cold cuts to make sandwiches. Today I made the most yummy lunch ever for my husband , my parents, and I. I thought I'd share the recipe here for a delicious Saturday afternoon lunch. Italian Panini with Oven Yam Fries and Cinnamon Aoli Italian Panini 4 Slices Prosciutto Salami 4 Slices Capicolo Ham Provolone Cheese (or whatever cheese you prefer) enough to cover the meat Balsamic Marinated Red Onions (Recipe to follow) Some hearty, heart healthy bread (I used Multi-Grain Sourdough) Dijon Mustard The night before, thinly slice the Red Onion in half rings. Place them in a bowl and cover in equal parts Balsamic Vinegar and water. Place in refrigerator until needed. Lay out two slices of the bread of your choice. Put the Dijon Mustard on one slice of bread. On the mustard lay out the four slices of Salami, and then the Capicolo. Then put on the Balsamic Marinated Red Onions, and top with the Pr

I was standing in a barren desert surrounded with brown sandy nothingness. All I could see for miles was dry earth, sand, and a couple of tumble weeds. The sky was an eerie yellow color with a faint hint of blue. It was a Dali desert. It made me feel queasy. I must have been standing there for a while before she said to me, "This is the place I love to come and remember that I never have to have children. This is my happy place." I turned to see a friend of mine who I've actually only met in person once. She was guiding me through this desert place gently, smiling. I asked how this could possibly be a happy place for her, that it made me feel nothing but anxiety and nausea. She smiled and said, "This is the path I've chosen." Then, I was alone again, wandering through the sandy meadow, quietly aching inside. When I woke up this morning, I could not get that dream out of my head. So rich in symbolism. So... odd. I told a co-worker about it, after I had be

So, for a long time I saw myself as one who would fit well in a Corner-Office-With-A-View-Museum-Curator-Position. I would have all these wonderful contacts, I'd get to talk art theory all day long, I'd get to have a real voice in the art world. Even now there is something alluring in the sound of that description, and I was pretty sure that my life would feel pretty much complete if I got to do something like that, as long as I had a husband at home who would do the laundry, and the dishes. I'd have to make enough so that I could have a nanny for my children, and make sure that we could afford to live in the best neighborhood so that the children could go to the very best of public schools, where they would have so many opportunities to figure out what they wanted to do with their lives. Because programs, and "those" people that teach our kids, are, of course, the best way of forming well rounded children. This, of course, was before my Purple-Pilgrimage began.